Atitlan warms us back to life.

The Guatemalan mountains and byways, with flooding rivers and volcanic pointy peaks, look much the way they did in other Central American countries, but I could feel a rush of relief and sparked energy warming my belly as soon as we crossed the border, for the last time. Our ultimate dealings with Customs and Immigration will be with George and Homeland Security. An Orwellian yet reassuring thought.

Funny, in my mind, I was waiting all along to go to El Salvador. It was my secret ambition on this pan geographic trip, the verdant country most recently ravaged by another stupid war, where the bad guys upset by farmers striving for land and social reforms were funded by another stupid American president and Congress to the tune of 6 billion dollars. Alas minimal socialism was held at bay and thousands of innocents and guilty died, and corporate CEOs can sleep at night. Siemens, 3M, Goodyear, they are all there.

Going in it had everything an adventure and cultural whore like myself could ask for in the way of language, culture, and scenic splendor. But the truth is, we did not give it a fair shot, we just could not focus anymore, and now of course we will have to go back on vacation some day in the future. An opportunity lost it seems. One thing that San Salvador did drive home, really continued to drive home for us is this; every one of these capital cities is so incredibly polarized in prosperity. The glissening malls, chain restaurants like Hooters, wide avenues and opulent hillside mansions and neighborhoods match anything we have at home, but only a short distance away, often directly behind in the runoff ditches, disparity pulls your heart cords with communities crafted out of nothing more than cardboard and corrigated metal. Fifty dollar pairs of Adidas and the latest Hollywood smash hit, and people with no means of potable drinking water and sanitation, are separated by only a chipshot and chainlink fence with razorwire at the top. Managua, San Pedro Sula, Guatemala City, and to a lesser extent San Jose.

Anyway, somehow Guatemalan seems like a familiar friend, almost a mom with big arms holding us. We have grown so much in seven months, everything is so much easier now. The language, for one thing, we can actually understand the accents here. Navigating the buses has been a breeze. We are unfazed by hawking vendors and delay. We have retreated back to Lake Atitlan, really where it all began, and we could not be happier. We are in awe of the beauty and power of this spiritual place once again, and seemingly in a better state of being to appreciate it. It`s cool air and waters, and mountains that appear to fall on top of you, exhaust a person`s vocabulary. We have nestled into, by happenstance, the most delightful lodge carved into the side of a mountain, where there is a big sweet akita dog to lay on the floor with, funny and charming new friends from Australia, a clever one year old baby that is learning three languages, and tastey foods filling our bellies. We are happy. I held Heather`s belly in my hands today and felt the New Dickens pat my fingers four times this afternoon. The Maya are everywhere here, this has always been their stronghold and it still is. Their colorful garb and quirky language surround us.

Three more days.

All in a day

Just a day down here can bring forth such a sensitized mess of emotions. Take a few days ago, maybe a week ago in El Salvador. At this point of our travels we`ve lost a bit of our awed souls, just wanton for home and familiarity and a bit ashamed to admit the lessening of the drop-jaw wonder. We`ve decided to hunker down at the beach again, our consistent refuge from constant travel and unrelenting heat. The beach is an awesome rocky surf beach with long point breaks, big swells and strong currents that amaze but don`t dazzle much for the non-surfer. We stay in a tranquilo place but decide to book up to Guatemala after 2 days.

I awaken in the raw morning light with a hardening of the belly, strong and stiff with one side poking way higher than the other, and then there comes this rolling wave like a bitty bowling ball being released with ease from the hand. It`s wild, it`s weird, it commands every bit of my attention and I just lay there on my back, hands spread wide across my tightening skin and for the first time really feel the growing life, the strength of our baby. I could just lie here like this for hours, smiling, oozing joy. It`s taken me so long to internalize, to accept that this gift is real. Matthew wakes, joining my hands, feeling the earth moving, thumping, kitty-flopping through my belly.

Later that day we grab a bus, and then another to make the 35km journey back to the capital - San Salvador. At home, this might take 20 min, but here 2 hours. But we`ve grown accustomed and the sun is not so hot today, so we sink back for the bumpy ride, space out at the mountainside, sway to the Latin music, and gaze out the window. The bus grumbles up the hills and then comes to a stop. We spot 2 police vehicles, guys with guns, a woman in a white medical coat. I look and immediately wish I had not. A severed, dirt-mucked head of a young man lies on the side of the road. Yes, I said head, nothing else, no accident. My body stiffens, I want to scream, to cry, to get out of here now! I look around the bus, others look shaken, but as we move along they gain their composure, continue their conversations, and I just continue to tremble with this stifling reality of a life so different, so harsh. Or is it just so blatantly in my face here? This was showy El Salvador gang violence, where they leave a reap of their execution for the media to take hold of and shock the world, the onlookers.

Eventually, we roll into town, weary through the vendor thick streets selling watches, plastic bowls, American clothes, baseball caps, tortillas, tamales, mangoes, nike shoes, plumbing parts, live turkeys and chickens, 12 inch thick, smelly, unrefrigerated cheese - really anything you could think of is here. It is like the annual state fair melted with the grandest of flea markets, all packed full of people, lively sounds, pungent smells. And here we are on a decorated school bus, weaving our way through the maze. And later, that day end up in the biggest mega-mall I`ve seen in Central America, snacking on a bloomin onion, later buying apple danishes.

Like I said, all in a day.