It feels like Christmas outside. I’m sitting in the kitchen… in my pajamas trying to acclimate. I knew I had entered the United States of America when I entered the airport in Georgia and was met by several sour faces and had to run the gauntlet of shoe removal and liquid checking by security. I accidentally said, “lo seinto” and “gracias” on several occasions.

Don’t mistake this as complaining, mind you, I haven’t any right to. I was so incredibly lucky in my travels to: never run into any crooked cops; packs of wild rabid dogs with flesh barley clinging to rib cages and nipples dragging on the ground; any pickpocketers who cut your pocket open while you’re in an orgy of bodies on any given chicken bus; the really tricky and clever pickpocketers who throw their baby at you and when, in utter shock, you go to grab the falling baby they lick you clean of wallet, passport, overpriced camera, etc. No, the worst I can say is that my Tevas were stolen while I wandered barefoot and stoned on scalding back sands. And, lets face it, it was for the best, because now none of you will ever know that actually owned and wore with pride a pair of Tevas.

And I haven’t any reason to complain about coming home since it has become obvious quite quickly that I have returned to the most incredible and generous friends on this cold little island.

In my last week I traveled with two very comical French men. Simone was 50 and quite large. He slept in his speedo and snored with vigor. Emmanuel was 23, giant and could have been a Tommy Hilfiger model. His English became far better and funnier when he was drunk or stoned, so we spent the last week engaging in any combination of the two. We traveled to the Tikal ruins together, which were lovely, but that was due mostly to their setting in the jungle; otherwise I have decided that seeing such things is only complimented by good company and somewhat devoid of mystical power because of the reconstruction and tourist families making it all feel like I was in Maya Land at Disneyland. No, not really. It was beautiful and terrifying to climb temple number 5 which takes you far above the tree line, and the tour guides love to tell you about how many tourists have slipped and fallen to their death on these temples.

After that Simone traveled back to France and Emmanuel and I traveled down to Rio Dulce which is both a town and a big river on the eastern edge of Guatemala. We arrived at night and after taking a look at the ratty hotels in town took a boat to the nearest hotel on the river bank. We were taken to our dorm room which was basically a tree house fort cabana over the water. Basically the best thing ever. The next morning I walked around to discover that we were staying at a yacht club full of richies. Mind you, our awesome fort only cost us five dollars a night. I met a dirty old Italian man who invited me to sail the Caribbean with him, and he told me tales of islands with shores awash with bags of cocaine that drug sailors had dumped to avoid getting caught, and he told me of the locals’ brutal style of taking the law into their own hands. He also told me that when he first saw me he wanted to give it to me and then when he talked to me he found out I also had a brain in me. Very sweet, very sweet. I have his number if I ever decide to become an old Italian sailor’s babygirl, so . . .future plans?

I ate tacos for Thanksgiving and saw fire flies for the first time.

Now I’m back, sending text messages and taking hot showers. I will be around for the next month and then I leave January 6th for Congo to begin work on a big documentary project.

more to come.