So I am expected to be ecstatic at the thought of being flown hundreds of miles to a land I have not been since infancy, my father’s homeland, El Salvador. Nevermind that the last time I spoke Spanish was years before, when he didn’t even desire me to learn Spanish initially. And forget the even larger problem of regional dialect being different from my past learnings. Forced against my will, alongside my parents, two of my brothers (other than the one living in Guatemala), and my eldest brother’s girlfriend, to travel 1000s of miles by plane. Chicago to Fort Lauderdale, the flight was uneventful, as we didn’t have the fortunality of being lost somwhere above the southwestern U.S. Between flights (next was to San Salvador), the only memorable event was my incorrect placement of a recyclable bottle into the trash. Luckily, a kind, casually dressed worker informed me of my mistake. After making my apologies, the appearingly African-American man with a noticeable accent said,
¨Ít’s Ó-K. I fíx.¨
Following the end of that ordeal, I slept on a comfortable carpet before we went onto the next plane without issue. I slept most of the ride, staying awake only to see our ride above Cuba, and awoke just minutes before we our arrival. Following a 20 minute wait in line, and confirmation of identities, we picked up our bags from the designated location. Miraculously, we found both bags among the two which were continuously circling on a conveyer belt. Finally exiting the building, I must note the incredible scenery. There was an actual palm tree! Having yet to leave the airport, since we were waiting for our steed to arrive, I was thouroughly astonished with the nation already.
Arrive is one thing our steed excelled at, in a 1977 Volkswagen van with only two seatbelts. Before entering such an incredible work of German engineering, we exchanged pleasentries with our relatives. My father’s niece and her husband, speaking only Spanish themselves, merely embraced us with open arms. My well-rounded cousin Jeannette, at the young age of thirty-something, was wearing a pleasant floral shirt, making me feel as though I was in Hawaii. Her husband wore formal attire, including sunglasses (which I saw him without thrice), cargo shorts, and open-toed leather sandals, emphasizing the humid climate.
Once in the car, the offering of sweet bread by Mr. Husband was no less than a declaration of friendship to us. Baked just hours earlier, the first showing of cuisine was exquisite, as expected. Appearing as merely sugar baked onto bread, it was most definintely a a five star dessert. Without seatbelt, the car ride was exciting, feeling every bump of the road as we traveled towards our home.
Our arrival at our humble abode was shocking. I never expected to live in a gated community, with armed guards at the entrance. There even existed a small shop for residents within 200 paces of our home. Yet, all left to do for us was sleep. Beneath the open electrical wiring, in a hammock, beside the iguanas crawling across the wall.
Upon awakening, I was informed we would meet our extended family. Not of the working cousin we met first, but of my father’s sister, Sicilia. And so, we set off, in back the back of some sort of 80s Toyota pick-up truck. Without anything to protect us from flying out, of course. Onto the open highway, the breeze was refreshing for the single minute we were traveling, before onto another dirt road, traveling among free-range cattle and chickens, displaying the clear reign of freedom in the country. Aunt, cousin, and unmemorable person(s) alike came for us to meet, and of that meeting, spawned absolutely nothing. No connection, feeling of kinship. Of all happenings on the day, my sole conclusion was that the country was indeed warmer than all summers I experienced previously in Michigan.
Another day, another laze of sitting in the unfinished household. The gate seperating us from the muddy, crap filled street was still standing, black and metallic as ever. In the span of one week, I still had yet to accomplish my goal of completing the TV series I picked up in the sweltering heat, which only spawned boredom. Oh, how the markets were chaotic, including minors of all ages attempting to sell small packages of anything to earn money. At the very least, the abundance of armed guards in most locations emphasized the safety of the locations. Never did I feel insecure with an Uzi-wielding guard opening the door as we walked in to pay for gasoline. A shotgun wielding man guarding the parking lot, which led to a supermarket with an armed guard next to the door, and greeter with a sidearm furthered my relaxed state throughout the country.
Traveling to the Pacific ocean ¨Club Atami¨ gave one a chance to relax, and abandon the ways of all commoners of the nation. Wherever, since apparently, our house was far too terrible for us to live in (without regards to commoners living in worse conditions). To civilization, tourist locations, I felt I was back home, with a great three-prong outlet for my electronic needs. Not breaking the feeling of safety, armed guards were patrolling Club Atami as well, appearing similar to the guards seen in all other places. As uneventful as in our actual house for the summer, only sleep was what we were able to complete successfully.
After just two days of sitting in the house upon returning from the vacation’s vacation, it was decided that we would travel by van to a small pond to play in. After around 13 people entered the same two seatbelt van we rode in on, leading to my decision to sit in the trunk for space. Feeling every bump, and noticing an old, squashed piece of sweet bread on the floor, I decided to stand throughout the ride..  The journey was unsuprisingly uneventful, and once we arrived at the bond, it was merely a fourty pace walk through a path in the jungle to our destination. Following my father’s claim of traveling to this pond every so often in childhood, I decided to only stay adjacent to the pond, as I didn’t want to get my clothes wet. I would have had no problem in completing this action had I not been thrown in by my father.
Following the travesty of being thrown in water, I faced only more trials. Only more surmountable obstacles had remained in my future, extensive enough to warrent an entirely new story. Of those, I will only state that they had as much of an impact as the small group of those which spoke to me without prompt. As for this story, it only contains a fraction of the stories of which I speak. Of the isolated experience described, I felt the needlessness of my brother’s complaints fully, and finally began to enjoy the vacation fully afterwards. The turning point led to only greater surprises later.