I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it.
– Rosalia de Castro
This is my first Fourth of July outside of the United States and you would think I would be celebrating with other Americans, but I find myself stuck with a Kiwi, Nikki. Just moments after bidding farewell and good riddance to Krista at the free shuttle pick up in front of the Taco Stop I hear a familiar voice calling my name. Walking towards me from across the single lane street is the fair skinned girl with dark hair I met several months ago in San Pedro La Laguna, Guatemala that lived down the narrow walkway just behind my apartment. The reunion comes as I am making my way to the beach, but welcoming the company we set out on a walk around SJDS instead. The typical topic of conversation of where we have both been over our time of separation begins what will become our daylong adventure together. Upon reaching the limits on the other side of the miniature Golden Gate Bridge that seems to be slightly out of place, we walk back towards the main strip of grass huts that line the beach. Sliding off our flip flops to walk bare foot on the sand as the surf creeps up over our skin, we can’t help but laugh at the stories and experiences each of us has had in the absence of the other. I tell her of Roberto’s determination to bicycle from El Salvador to Managua, only to have his lone form of transportation stolen only a few days after purchasing the tank of a bike, and how he was left without a choice and was submitted to sleeping in seedy motels that charged by the hour. Oh, the things we do in order to survive that would otherwise have us disgusted beyond belief. This, is Central America.