Home

At the end of July, I went home to Montana for a little over a week. The biggest culture shock I experienced was in the airports on the flight over, making the transition from speaking English to strangers rather than Spanish (I of course speak plenty of English with my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, but in interactions with the general public, it´s always Spanish). In the food court, for example, a (white) man mumbled something to me, clearly asking if he could sit at my table as all the others were occupied. I told him, yes of course, take a seat... but in Spanish! I´m sure he was wondering why this fair-hair white girl is pretending she´s a native Spanish speaker.

Other than that, almost as soon as I arrived, I felt right at home. The first thing that struck me was the smell. Montana has a wonderful dusty, grassy smell that I had forgotten. And the taste of that dry, clean air.

I flew into Missoula, the town where I went to college and where my little sister currently lives, and she met me at the airport. I spent the first night at her and her boyfriend´s place, catching up, and the next day we hit the town to shop with some money from the parents. Target! REI! Fish tacos at Taco del Sol! Micro brew beer! All the wonders of the United States of America. In the late afternoon, we drove to the cabin (an hour from Missoula) to meet up with the parents.



The next morning we hit the road early to go up to Glacier National Park, my favorite place on earth that I´m maybe slightly obsessed with. We spent a few days just driving around, admiring the views, stopping at the Park Café (where I worked and lived for the two best summers of my life) to fill up on delicious pie and catch up with old friends, and my sister and I escaped a couple times at night to Charlie´s, the local bar (another old haunt). The sweeping beauty of the place was as gorgeous and familiar as ever.





After Glacier, we returned to the cabin for a reunion of family and close friends, which included my other sister and grandma. We spent the day at Seeley Lake, swimming, floating, sun-bathing, and chatting ceaselessly. In the evening we had a campfire at the cabin and roasted marshmallows (of course!). After the relatives left, I had another couple relaxing, lovely days at the cabin with my parents. On the last day, it was back to Missoula. I did some last-minute shopping and went to see Harry Potter with my mom, then got together with my parents, little sister and my second cousin and his family at an Italian restaurant for a last dinner, before getting on my evening flight back to Guatemala.





While I was home, I was surprised that things weren´t stranger. I felt as if I´d picked up where I left off; home didn´t feel like it had changed for me. What was strange, however, was to think of my life in Guatemala, how drastically different it was, and to even believe that it was real. So, to be honest, I didn´t really think of it much. It was easier not to, and to just enjoy my time home as if nothing had happened. That´s not to say that I don´t love Guatemala. Returning to it was telling. On the plane, as I looked down at the velvety green landscape, interrupted by the sharp triangles of austere volcanoes, I felt content to be returning to my life here, my other home.