The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be our doubts of today. Let us move forward with strong and active faith. – Franklin D. Roosevelt
Wednesday, March 21, 2012 (DAY 17)
It is 7:30am, and for one of the first times of my great journey, I am deeply saddened. The friends that I have come to know and love will be departing, as we travel in opposite directions. The contagious laughter that is Char, has become a contagious tone to my ears, from the first time I heard it, I knew that it was special, and even weeks later, I can still hear it ringing in my ears and it brings happiness to my soul. Tim also brought much laughter to our trio as we shared in our constant Boris accents, very nice, and had a passion for adventure as we continually ended up exploring more than the rest of our group, especially in Tikal. Reminiscing, we have been in shared rooms from Caye Caulker, San Ignacio, Flores, Coban, Lanquin, and now, our last location, Rio Dulce (and Gabanna), Char you still crack me up with that. I think back to all of our nightly conversations and inside jokes–Serial killer, Xanax, being top hats, jail-bait, senorita your amigo he is sleeping on me, chicken buses galore, and in no time at all we developed looks among one another that transcends words from across a room. These and so many others are memories that I will always have as the beginning of this incredible journey. I wish my friends great success in life and in all of their endeavors and dreams. I pray that we will find one another again, perhaps in a different part of the world to explore, and, while the memories we have from our first meeting can never be duplicated I look forward to possible future experiences and adventures.
It is 7:30am, and for one of the first times of my great journey, I am deeply saddened. The friends that I have come to know and love will be departing, as we travel in opposite directions. The contagious laughter that is Char, has become a contagious tone to my ears, from the first time I heard it, I knew that it was special, and even weeks later, I can still hear it ringing in my ears and it brings happiness to my soul. Tim also brought much laughter to our trio as we shared in our constant Boris accents, very nice, and had a passion for adventure as we continually ended up exploring more than the rest of our group, especially in Tikal. Reminiscing, we have been in shared rooms from Caye Caulker, San Ignacio, Flores, Coban, Lanquin, and now, our last location, Rio Dulce (and Gabanna), Char you still crack me up with that. I think back to all of our nightly conversations and inside jokes–Serial killer, Xanax, being top hats, jail-bait, senorita your amigo he is sleeping on me, chicken buses galore, and in no time at all we developed looks among one another that transcends words from across a room. These and so many others are memories that I will always have as the beginning of this incredible journey. I wish my friends great success in life and in all of their endeavors and dreams. I pray that we will find one another again, perhaps in a different part of the world to explore, and, while the memories we have from our first meeting can never be duplicated I look forward to possible future experiences and adventures.
After long hugs and well wishes were passed from one another, I climbed into the small wooden vessel to make the journey back to the mainland and on to my next location, Poptun, Peten, where I would be volunteering for the next 6 weeks at Finca Ixobel. The only other passengers in the boat are an elderly couple from Canada, Edward and Mary Farrar. The kindness of their tone reminds me of my grandparents as we begin a conversation of our current experiences in Central America thus far. Feeling sheepish by inquiring their age, after several hours of talking I guess that they are in their seventies, and this greatly impresses me since they are also fellow backpackers that choose to take local transportation. Traveling around the country for the past four weeks with two more still remaining before heading back to North America, I learn that Edward is a retired Geo-Physicist University Professor and I cannot help but feel slightly insignificant with my bachelor’s degree in Broadcast Production Management. They tell me that they are en route to Flores for the typical excursion to Tikal, and, of course, I had to direct them to Mesa de los Mayas and tell them to ask for Luis. 9:30am, standing in the small shaded lobby of Fuente del Norte, the shuttle arrives as promised and the three of us climb aboard the overcrowded school bus. Uncomfortably positioned, Mary is wedged between the driver and Edward, sitting on the console of the transmission, I feel for her as the driver repeatedly elbows her in the back each time he shifts gears. I would trade her spaces but I am standing just inches from the semi-open doors of the school bus, and decide that my balance is probably more keen than hers. After nudging her husband to move to his left as much as he can, she seems to find some relief.
Our discussion that first began in the boat ride continues as we bounce along CA 13. After a series of back and forth questions, I mention to Mary that I am also adopted and have begun the process to locate my birth parents. This in turn, allowed her to open up and share with me the intimate details from an opposite perspective–years ago, a young girl, she found herself pregnant outside of marriage. Explaining the differences of social acceptability decades earlier and the shame that she would surely endure, this frightened young girl chose to give her baby up for adoption. She continued to share with me all of the emotions and pain that only adoptees and the mothers that make the tough sacrifice can truly understand. More than thirty-years later, she received a phone call from Copenhagen, Denmark and heard the voice of her daughter for the first time in her life. It was one of the most inspiring stories I have heard, and she could not encourage me enough to continue to have faith and patience in the search process, because in the end, there are no words to describe the experience.
Thanking them both for the time we were fortunate enough to spend together, we exchange emails and promise to stay in touch, as I climb down the steps and find myself standing at a gas station in Poptun, Peten. No more than five seconds later, a tuk tuk driver is loading my bag in to the backseat of his bright red, three-wheeled scooter, and we are off to Finca Ixobel. Zipping around the airport with the traditional single dirt airstrip, he suddenly turns right, passing a tower that resembles a tree house more than an air traffic control tower with it’s miniature stature and height, we turn off the paved road and are bobbing down a dirt road with pot holes that would make any off-road driver ecstatic. We, however, are in a scooter that has ten-inch wheels and no shocks. Rounding a corner, we come to a large metal gate that is open, inviting guests to enter down a smooth concrete driveway that circles a grassy soccer field in the middle. The tuk tuk comes to an abrupt stop at the front entrance of the reception area where four people sit staring at me as I approach. No rush to arise from their comfortable positions, I am greeted with a friendly hello. Declaring I am the new volunteer–fresh meat–even larger smiles light up the faces of the four and Spanish chatter breaks out among laughter. Welcome to Finca Ixobel, my home for the next six weeks.
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