Viaje Norte

Last you heard from us, we were back in Guatemala and determined to stay forever, right? Well, shortly thereafter, the plans that had been marinating in the folds of my mind finally got to cooking. Ironically enough, they led straight back to the US, though this time I was flying solito – well, without the family, at least. Yes, only days after our two new puppies were delivered to our door – and only days before our two new kittens were to be born – I left the wife and kid on their own in Guatemala. Madness, I know, but such are the ways of our dreamlike plans.

To my credit, there was a dual necessity that this trip resolved: what to do with the van, and what to do with Leroy. If we were going to stay in Guatemala and make a go at “stability,” then a camper van was rather an incongruous luxury. The transition from four wheels to four walls was nearly complete, and we no longer had need to drive. What’s more, selling the van would provide much needed cash to replenish the gaping whole left by a long hospital stay. So selling the van made sense, although the logic had its tragic dimensions.

Then there was Leroy – that big beast who’d been passed around like a huge hot potato from Virginia to Florida, all the while with the promise of a reuniting, dim as it seemed. If we were truly going to make a home at the lake, Leroy would be required to make it feel complete, to bring closure to the epoch voyage, to appease our guilty consciences. This meant a trip to the US to fetch the old boy. Selling the van in Guatemala was not a bright prospect due to monstrous import taxes, so the plan became clear: drive the van to the US, get Leroy, come home. Oh so simple.

The only hitch was finding a co-pilot, as Thea and Court were committed to the homefront, and I was not interested in driving Mexico alone. So I cast the net out to a bunch of folk who all had too many obligations to jump into what I was billing as a self-styled Latin adventure. Finally I wore two people down at the same time and ended up with a co-pilot and a flight attendant.

The day after the Spring Equinox I set out on my last voyage in Catarina with my old friend Simon and my new friend Will (aka, Chivo). We cruised across Guatemala, through Belize, and up into Mexico, roaming about Mayan ruins and swimming in a different body of water each day (at least that was the plan). We drove nearly everyday, but still managed to take in our share of waterfalls, hot springs, lakes, and beaches. Simon’s mania for “new water” every day even led him to hitch his way out to the waterfall at Misol Ha just as night was falling. He had to sneak his way in to get to the waterfall, then later talk his way into the guardhouse to arrange a floor on which to sleep.

Semana Santa was fast approaching, and our goal was to get to Texas before everything in Mexico was either crowded or closed. We were almost stalled by a huge electrical storm when we were only one day out from both the border and Semana Santa. Though it gave us a fright, the water and sand fortunately could not match Catarina’s all-terrain tires.

Our first day in Texas took us to the home of the world’s largest biscuit (big as your head!), a fortress of a mansion outside San Antonio where we dropped off Will, and finally to the Gillette homestead near Austin, where Courtney’s sister and her family warmly welcomed Simon and me with horseback riding and three amazing meals a day. We also got the added bonus of visiting with Courtney’s parents, Jerry and Gloria, for a bit. It was a healthy dose of in-laws that defied the much maligned stereotype. The time there passed all too quickly, as Simon returned to DC and I moved on to Melbourne Beach, Florida.

I landed at the McKinley’s the night before Easter and found Andrea making two wool bunnies while Zach fed two real bunnies. Before long we found ourselves discussing the pros and cons of presenting the rabbits to the kids by releasing them in their room while they slept. The next day I was privileged to join in the Easter festivities at the elder McKinley’s house, where I met Zach’s parents (and Andrea’s parents), his siblings, his aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces. There was a strange comfort in the markedly Southern character of the event that I was not expecting – the chicken casserole (just like mom’s), the “y’all”, the dirt bike, the granddaughter everyone called “lil bit.” Tones of Alabama, I guess.

During the week that followed I spent my mornings hanging out with the kids, my afternoons reconnecting with Leroy and making preparations for his trip to Guatemala, my evenings fishing on the beach, and my nights roaming Melbourne Beach with Zach on bikes. All of this was continually punctuated with great meals and good conversation. I was, however, going on week three away from my family, and this was starting to take its toll.

Arrangements for importing an animal into Guatemala are actually rather straightforward. A form is circulated from the vet to numerous officials and back again---involved but clear. Arranging a flight for an animal is another matter all together, especially when that animal is just shy of 150 pounds. On top of that there are only two airlines that fly four-legged creatures to Guate; they’re expensive and won’t book a reservation until within three days.

So I found a cargo company out of Miami that was much cheaper and somewhat more convenient, or so it seemed. The only catch is that the two flights a week left at midnight and arrived in Guatemala at 5 am the next morning. Andrea and Zach kindly offered to drive Leroy and me down to Miami in their truck.

So there we are in the pick-up rolling down 95, the wind flapping in Leroy’s ears and the cell phone rings. Leroy’s flight is cancelled.

We pulled over to think it through, and I started to scramble. I called kennels in Miami – all full. I started calling other airlines. My ear was burning from hours of cell phone calls. Then another call from the cargo company: the flight is back on. Wait, hold on, no, maybe it’s not…call back in 15 minutes.

We decided to go straight to the offices for a face to face, but when we showed up no one was there. Now things were getting weird. Ah, wrong address. When we arrived at the correct location, they told me that the flight was a go – they were going to make a stop in Guatemala just for Leroy.

Once Leroy was checked in and secure, we went off to have our little night in Miami. We roamed South Beach for quite a while, navigating the zoo of restaurants and bars, dodging the myriad Vegas-esque food displays, and noting the people dining on either side of the walkway. We wondered who exactly was on display. When we finally settled at an outdoor club with black-clad waiters serving mojitos over mediocre salsa music, we found ourselves saying over and over again, “this is just like being in Miami.” I guess that’s the South Beach experience.

When I arrived in Guatemala the following afternoon, the trauma of Courtney’s Guatemalan bureaucratic nightmare had started to wear off slightly. She spent three and half hours going back and forth between various offices and corridors of offices and checkpoints where you fill out a form and leave your ID. One guy made an issue of a two pound difference between Leroy’s cargo weight listed on two different forms. Another guy sent her to an office that was mysteriously vacated. And yet another demanded her Guatemalan ID number, which she was forced to make up. Finally, she was faced with an “official” who told her that Leroy was too big to be released in Guatemala without authority from the Ministry of Agriculture, which was closed that day. Courtney realized it was time to either pay up or tear up. She chose the latter (to my great satisfaction), and Leroy was released to her within minutes.

Now Leroy is safe and sound and enjoying retirement. He spends his days off-leash, hiking mountains and swimming in the lake. He’s even stopped shedding, which I never imagined possible. He’s getting along reasonably well with the two pups, though the male tends to annoy him and often steals his bed. The kittens, however, are his new obsession. He will follow them around all day sometimes, just watching. They’ve learned that if they don’t run, he won’t chase them.

And us – we’re doing well. We’ve gotten through feria (the noisy, trashy, weeklong birthday of the town – Saint Mark’s day), the month of May (and the ubiquitous illnesses referred to singularly as “mal de mayo”), and the start of the rains, which brought about a number of suddenly imperative home improvements. We’re getting into the flow of rainy season now, which means getting up early to enjoy the sun and cozying up somewhere for the afternoon rains. And we're starting to get a great pitaya harvest.






We have also thrown ourselves headlong into starting a small Waldorf-styled school at our place. Right now we have a kindergarten that meets twice a week, and we’re planning to formally expand it to five days a week in January. It’s an exciting project, but the amount of work (and politics) involved is sometimes daunting. I think back a lot to the hike that Simon and I made to the top of the San Pedro volcano just before leaving on our trip north. The volcano is some 10,000 feet high, a long and terribly vertical hike – definitely the most difficult of our lives. At many times I found myself saying that I was going to blow it off and turn around. Then somehow we’d just keeping moving. Often I had to literally move my legs with my arms, just to make a step. In the end, it was worth it though, as we were treated to one of the most remarkable views in the world. The lesson I took away from that experience – which I remember in my mind as well as my body – is that when you are climbing what feels like an impossible mountain, you must simply keep your eyes three feet in front of you.

[check out more pics, if you want, by following the link above in the "links" menu at left.]