After my detox session last night, I was feeling pretty good this morning. The shuttle picked me up at 3 in the morning, along with six other passengers and we made our way to Guatemala City. I thought that all of the other people would be going on the same trip I was, but instead we dropped two people at the airport, then another two at this tiny little plane, and the last two on a road by a bus. It was still dark out at five in the morning and I was the last person in the shuttle. Where would he take me? Would I have to wait on the side of the road until six when the bus would leave for Flores? The driver turned a corner and pulled up behind a charter bus. This was my stop. Luckily I was able to get on the bus and wait there (rather than the side of the road). Slowly, light seeped through the darkness, people began boarding the bus and the time came to head out.

Now, in my mind, I figured that the bus would pretty much be a straight shot to Flores. We'd stop in the three or four towns listed on the ticket to pick up and drop off passengers. Not quite the way it worked out! There was the bus driver, along with two men who stood in the doorway of the bus. As we made our way out of the city, we stopped every block it seemed to pick up anyone who made some slight gesture on the street. Sometimes we didn't actually stop but just slowed down and the guys in the doorway would help hoist someone into the bus. Or they would jump off the bus and take baggage that needed to be stored underneath, then they would run along side the bus and hop back on. This went on for a good half hour before we left the city and continued along a quiet, windy road.

Across the aisle from me were a mother and son who had gotten on the bus right after I did. The boy was about ten or eleven and kept looking over at me and smiling. I looked over at him as we whipped around corners and moved into the lane of oncoming traffic to try and pass another car. He had a plastic bag out and was throwing up into it. The poor thing was sick for the next three hours and continued to throw up until they reached their stop and got off.

Once we got through the first two hours, we came upon a small town. The bus stopped to let people off and on came a woman with homemade tamales and fried chicken with tortillas. They walked down the aisle, selling food as the bus continued on its way. A few miles down the road, when all bellies were satisfied, the bus pulled over and the woman got off. This is how the trip continued for the next six hours. We drove through dense jungle areas, passing concrete homes without doors or wooden shacks with a clothesline running through the trees. If someone needed to get off the bus, they let the doorkeepers know and we pulled over to let them off. If someone was on the side of the road and waved us down, we stopped to pick them up. The bus driver was smiling and honking and waving as we forged ahead. People were talking and laughing, getting up to talk with the doorkeepers, arranging where they would be dropped off.

I watched all of this from the sidelines, with a big smile on my face. Who knew an 8 hour bus ride could be this entertaining? When things quieted down on the bus, I would focus on the scenery outside. Guatemala is a beautiful country...green and lush and alive.

When I finally arrived in Flores, things spiraled downward and out of control quickly. Within the first ten minutes I had spent all of the money I had on my hostel and a sunrise tour of Tikal the following day. My guidebook and the map at the hostel showed that there weren't any ATMs in Flores and that the nearest one was in the next town over, Santa Elena. It was just about a mile away. I had not eaten all day, it was about 95 degrees outside, and I had no water and no money. Before I even crossed the bridge out of Flores, sweat was pouring out of me and I felt lightheaded. Every bank I stopped in told me to keep walking a few more blocks to the ATM. I powered on down the street, past all the dirty looks and stare downs I was getting. Two miles later, I got there, swiped my card and saw the words "out of order". I turned to walk back, defeated. The tears stung at my eyes, my mind frantically ran off in a million directions. I put one foot in front of the other and made my way back to Flores.

I stopped at a little cafe once I was back and asked the woman in a shaky voice if she spoke English. She did. I was too tired to attempt asking for what I needed in Spanish. I explained what had happened and asked if there were any other ATM that she knew of.

"Oh, there's one right down the block, here in Flores."

Deep breath...what's the lesson here, Great Goddess? I sheepishly walked the two blocks to the ATM.

Had I asked stopped to ask someone before running off on this wild goose chase, I could have avoided all of this. Another theme in my life...I don't like to ask for help. I don't want to look "stupid" or bother anyone, so I just figure things out on my own. Yet, how much wasted energy would I have saved if I had asked someone at the hostel about an ATM in town? Sometimes I need help and I need to learn to ask for it.

Alright, Great Goddess, I see the lesson. I know that before the trip, I asked that you would show me the things that I needed to learn from the trip and that I would be open to receiving them. I still want that, but could you also be gentle with me from now on? Please, be gentle with me.