A conversation and the return

The taxi cab driver who took me to the Cancun airport yesterday spoke to me the whole way--in Spanish--and I understood most of what he said. He worked pouring concrete in Oregon and wishes he could return. Now he works seven days a week driving a taxi in a town with cheap and convenient bus service. He bemoans the drugs and alcohol problems that he feels are impacting the young people of his country. He feels there is little justice in this world for a hardworking man like him.

So I tipped him an extra $5. Perhaps that was his ploy, the whole purpose of his speech. But I enjoyed listening to him. I wished afterward that I had remembered the right form of the past tense of "venir (to come)" and instead of saying "I went here from Guatemala" I had said "I came here from Guatemala." But hell, at least I used the past tense. And he seemed to understand. I guess that is progress.

Then I boarded a plane. And when I reached Denver the air was freezing cold, and it finally felt to me like Christmas is coming. And the faces and hugs of friends and family are better than even the most unexpected kindness from strangers. And I am surprised that I find comfort in the material things about America I thought I didn't need--well-insulated homes with warm blankets and high-speed Internet access that is actually fast and a Walgreens on the corner that is brightly lit and has everything you could possibly need on a cold night as you arrive, weary from a long day of traveling.

It feels good to be home.