The Hardest Part

For the last seven months as I've made my way through southern and eastern Africa, bits of Asia and pieces of South America, it has required a constant, on-the-go lifestyle. Every four to six days I am once again crouching by my suitcase, repacking my things, and double-checking to see if there is anything I forgot or can get rid of. I have packed over fifty times since I began this journey, yet each time, I still dread the moment when I need to turn my bag into my a horse and myself into a cowgirl, hoping this time it will somehow be miraculously easier to close the zipper. The more clothing I have to wash, the more stubborn my horse becomes. But all this packing and the long hours on buses and planes really doesn't seem so bad when compared to the moment at which I have to say goodbye to people to whom I have met and grown attached without knowing if and when we will meet again.

I'm sitting in a bus station in Medellín, Colombia, reflecting on the past two weeks. I spent the first part of my visit on the northern coast of the country in Barranquilla, where I spent six days in the home of a lovely family of ten; three incredibly smart and well-mannered brothers, their parents, aunt and uncle, grandparents, and the woman who has been helping around the house and has been part of their family since the mother and her two siblings were small children.

It takes a very special type of person to open his or her home to a foreigner s/he has never met and welcome this stranger with the enthusiasm this family showed not only to me, but to a French couple who was also staying in their home that week. To say I was moved by their hospitality feels like a horrible understatement. Upon arrival in Barranquilla, they picked me up at the airport, and returned the next evening to pick up the French couple. They even threw a party for the French woman's birthday! Carnaval arrived and we went to concerts, attended parades and shared meals. They showed us traditional dances of Barranquilla's Carnaval, Cumbia being the most popular and my personal favorite, and I shared Brasil's Samba with them. Mom and Grandma were always there to make sure I had eaten, to help me with laundry, and to make me feel at home. The brothers and I quickly became friends. We had plenty to talk about, and they were kind enough to include me in their social engagements that week. It was amazing how far everyone's hospitality extended. When it was time to leave, I found myself wondering if and when they would come visit me in Boston, and I do believe they will.

My Colombian family singing Happy Birthday to Caro, the French visitor. 

Carnaval in Barranquilla

I then came to mountainous Medellín, and once again, I was blown away by the hospitality with which I was met. My hostess was my own age, and was getting ready for her first trip to Europe, and would be leaving in just a few days. That in itself spoke volumes of her generosity. I don't believe there are many people who would make time to house and entertain a total stranger while trying to get ready for a big trip of their own. Could you do it? Maybe you could, but would you?

As soon as she arrived to pick me up, I could somehow sense how well we were going to get along, and the following days truly felt like visiting an old friend. We share a love for salsa, so we went out dancing along with some friends of hers. We spent the following days sharing ideas and experiences, telling stories and laughing, jogging and doing some things to get ready for her big trip. I also spent a lovely day with one of her friends who invited me to her family's home for lunch, took me to visit the University of Antioquia campus and to the Plaza Botero where one can find several of the world-renowned artist's proportionally exaggerated sculptures.

Everything about my visit to Medellín had this strange sense of familiarity. Instead of the awkwardness that often exists when you spend time with people you've just met, the three of us fell right into a comfortable rhythm, as if we had known each other for years, and were just doing what we always do. They didn't have to make time for me in their busy schedules. I am just a tiny, insignificant dot roaming this massive, pulsing planet. Yet they chose to make me feel worth their time, and our exchange made my dot status feel like something more meaningful.

 It seems that no matter how much time I spend traveling, I still find myself astounded by just how good people are as a whole. I don't know that when I set out on this thirteen-month journey I had any particular goals in mind. I just wanted to live each day doing whatever felt right to me, and to let my heart carry me in whichever direction its beat would decide. I can say with certainty that I learn something from every interaction that takes place, and they have been overwhelmingly positive. I sometimes struggle when it comes to these blog entries, because I worry about boring my readers with sappy, cliche tales of how amazing people can be. But let's stop and think about that for a minute. Is it not pretty inspiring that the world in which we live is just brimming with benevolent people who want to reach out and spread compassion? It makes the world feel like such a promising place.