Sunday, July 10, 2011

Following Your Feet

Feet: I gotta apologize. I take you to every place imaginable in Guatemala and back again. You’ve crushed bugs, specifically the three inch cockroach in Monica’s room (…yeah cockroach whisperers), you’ve tapped to live music in cafes regardless of the fact that the band playing featured a fifty-year-old white woman interpretive dancing; and you’ve climbed up and down rock faces amidst windy, beaten “paths” in pursuit of glimpses of Mayan caves and the most gorgeous views of the lake the rest of your body has ever seen—to name some of your most recent adventures. Pick-up trucks have assisted the ascent of mountains while taxi-like Tuc Tucs have helped maneuver Pana’s winding streets. But for the most part, feet, you’ve been on your own. 

Post-cockroach Battle
                                              "Concert" with interpretive dancing
With officially six days left here in Guatemala, I guess my sense of where I’ve been and where I continue to go has been growing more and more attentive. As I followed my feet to the edge of a boulder resembling the Guatemalan version of Pride Rock in San Jorge and stood overlooking the vastness of Lake Atitlan, the three volcanoes, and the sleepy town of Panajachel below, I couldn’t help but be sentimental—reminded once again of the magnitude of the earth and where I stand in comparison. It was a quiet moment—which is saying something for a country dictated by the honking of aggravated drivers, barking of over-populated stray dogs, clucking of persistent roosters, and cracking of randomly ignited firecrackers. No phone. No e-mail. No T.V. Just my feet and me.  Even here, where time blurs and a schedule is hazy at best, it’s easy to get caught up and forget to reflect on the experiences that piece together to form our lives. This moment offered me that luxury.

Soak it in, I told myself. Please keep this in your memory for safe-keeping when you feel down or disillusioned with the world. Don’t let these moments slip away. But feet, I leave in six days. Am I supposed to let you simply take me home?