It is a funny feeling returning to a place you have left for the holidays. As soon as you walk back in the door, it is officially over, back to real life. While there is always a lingering yearning to walk back out the door and do it all over again, there is also a feeling of release getting back into the normal routine, especially when it is a routine that you find challenging and rewarding. After almost three weeks and countless miles crossing the Gulf of Mexico, the Atlantic Ocean, and the Iberian Peninsula, it feels good to be back in La Ceiba and back in school.
I had a wonderful vacation on the Pinkston extended-family excursion to visit Nell in northeastern Spain. Joined by our cousins from Houston Texas, we flew to Barcelona then drove across southern France, around mountains, through tunnels and over passes to the tiny former principality of Andorra. We arrived on Christmas Eve night and after settling into our small bed and breakfast, we were able to track down the English Speaking Church of Andorra, a bimonthly Anglican Church . Together we enjoyed a service of readings and Christmas carols followed by minced pies and mulled wine in a restored Romanesque chapel. While much of the structure had failed, they managed to keep of the old adornments and windows, maintaining the beautiful character and history of the church.
The family then spent the next fours days skiing the snow fields of the Pyrenees. We made a brief stop over to visit Nell’s host parents in Zaragoza, where my brother and I both studied our junior years in high school as well. Then it was back to Barcelona, where we spent a festive New Years feasting. The only tricky part was trying to eat traditional Spanish good luck grapes with lots of seeds in time with the chiming bells. I made it to four, got behind, then downed the whole handful. Very pleasant. Although I am not sure that was the proper procedure, I already felt very lucky to have such a great family to share the holidays with.
Hospitality is not usually a term given to us northeastern folk but I feel like it should be. I was very fortunate to have a place to crash for the 12 hours in between my flights in both directions. My rugby classmate and friend from Colby put me up for the night in NYC while I waited for my family to join me the next day in Newark. On the way back, old friends from Camp Hi-Rock met me in the Queens, took me out for Indian food (yum… there is nothing close to Indian food in Honduras) and even made sure I made it to Penn Station on time for my 1am train, as at that point I was a jet-lagged zombie.
While it was awesome to catch with friends whom I had not seen in six months, it meant even more as a traveler to be able to get my body and mind off the road. I love to see the world, but I find the time in the airports and bus stations to be absolutely draining and dehumanizing. Line up, wait, line up, strip down, pat down, sit down, wait, line up, sit down, wait, drink, wait, eat, wait: I feel like a steer being herded through a feed lot. Reflecting upon my initial journey down in April when I spent the night in the Atlanta airport, I realize I was never able to step out of that system and it made the traveling very difficult. Escaping Newark and the travel grind was true gift.
I faced two major delays in my return from Spain. The first was a two hour wait in Barcelona as the post-underpants bomber TSA regime now requires a full frisk and inspection of all passengers and their carry-ons. As it was 6am or so, I happily slept through most of it. The second delay interrupted my nap as my bus started shaking then quickly slowed to a halt on a dirt pull off on the side of the road about half way between San Pedro Sula to La Ceiba.
When the bus didn’t move and the DVD theme music to “Charlie Wilson’s War” played for about the tenth time, most of the passengers shuffled to the exits to see what was up. The driver and his assistant were head first up to their waists in the back diesel engine of the tour bus, working away with wrenches replacing a belt that had blown out. While they worked, I started chatting with some scraggly dressed college guys from the University of Utah. They were on their way to Utila for some cheap diving as they finished up their three week tour of Central America. Ten minutes went by, the engine slowly turned over, fired up and we were back in the bus.
I continued talking with them about their trip and plans and found that they had no place to stay in La Ceiba. At this point it was dark and raining and I had no idea where one might stay besides the equivalent Ritz. They seemed like good guys so I invited them to camp on the floor of my apartment and they offered me dinner at Wendy’s. Both party's were quite pleased with the deal. So we hiked from the bus station, dumped the stuff in the apartment, did a bit of grocery shopping and ate Bacon Double Cheeseburgers. They used my internet and guidebook before taking off the next morning to catch the early ferry.
It couldn’t have been a better way to end my journey. I was able to pay it forward with some hospitality of my own, meet some great guys and I now have a place to ski in Utah in the future. And even better, I was able to extend my vacation one more night.
“Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.” Romans 12: 12-13
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