A Trip to Paradise: Part IV

When I wake up, I can hear the family in another room. I don’t want to bother them. I get out my stuff to take a shower. I have no idea what time it is. The water is cold. I am actually not surprised. Nathan warned me in his emails that water in Chile is cold.

I feel much better now. Davis’s family has made me lunch. It is really good. They eat a lot of rice, fruits and juice. I’ve never tasted fruits like these before. I don’t remember what they said the fruit is called. The juice is amazing. I have two glasses full. I eat as much as I can. It looks like I ate only a little, but my stomach is so full. They are very kind. Davis tells me not to worry about it.

Davis translates as I talk to his sister and mother at the dinner table. His sister teaches dance classes. She is interested in my students. Davis gives me his Ipad so I can show her my students. I don’t have pictures of my students on my Facebook page. It’s illegal for me to post pictures of them. I show Madeleyn pictures of my family instead. She is amazed by how big it is. I am grateful that we just covered families in my Spanish class. Most of the words I remember, so Davis doesn’t have to translate so much. I am glad, too, that I have so many pictures since most of my family got together for Nathan’s farewell only a few weeks ago. Madeleyn especially loves the pictures of the babies. I show her my baby pictures. I was so cute back then.
Davis tells me it is time to leave. We are going to meet up with my other friends. I am very excited. Many people from back home sent gifts with me for their dancers. I put all the gifts in my carry-on bag and take it with me. It’s pretty heavy.

Finally, I get to ride with Davis on his motorcycle. I am in heaven! He is a much better driver than the taxi driver was and he’s certainly a better driver than I am. I have only had my motorcycle license for a few weeks. We drive through the city to a shopping mall. I have to get off while Davis parks his motorcycle. While I wait for him I see motorcycle helmets for sale. I wish I could get one to take home with me. Mine is ugly and falling apart.

Davis and I walk together through the mall. It looks pretty ordinary, though it’s open air, like the Riverwoods mall back home. We are early. Davis buys me some ice cream. He tries to get me to order in Spanish. I order chocolate. It’s pretty much the same in Spanish as it is in English. It is quite delicious. It has a brownie at the bottom and a weird looking cookie thing on top. Yum!



We sit on a low brick wall to eat our ice cream. I watch the people and take pictures. Back at Davis’s house, he gave me a used cell phone. I have it with me. We take it to a store to get it activated. It takes a little while. I look at the store as I wait. I notice that all the cash registers have cashiers. Most of them are not doing anything. There are no lines. This amuses me. I am always annoyed at stores in Utah. They have up to twenty registers and only three or five of them are open so I have to wait in line for ten or twenty minutes.

My phone is ready to use. We try it out, just to make sure it works. It does. We leave the store and walk through the mall some more. Eventually we make it to a food court. We find a table and sit down to wait. There is a movie theater nearby. They are advertising the new Iron Man movie. Davis and I are both excited to see it.

David and Maria are the first of my friends to show up. They hug me enthusiastically. I give them their gifts, earrings for Maria, a Nerf gun for David. More friends arrive; Vivii, Kissy, Jenzer, German, and Ana. My carry-on bag is getting lighter.

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We all walk together through the mall. We are joined by more friends, Diego, Sergio, and Sandra. They take me to a fast food restaurant called La Areperia. I cannot say the name right. They order for me. “No onions, no tomatoes,” I tell them. They think I’m funny. I really really don’t like onions or tomatoes.



I am so happy to be with my friends. We sit at a table with an open view of the parking lot and the trees beyond the mall. I take many pictures. I try to eat my food. It is very good, better by far than a burrito back home. Still, I am already full from lunch at Davis’s house. My friends say that it’s alright for me to take it home with me and eat it later. I wrap it up and put it in my bag.



David declares that I need a new schedule. Someone produces a paper and pen. After much discussion, every moment of my week is planned, with a little bit of time with everyone. Underneath my schedule David writes “The time is too short!!!” I am more than tempted to agree.



We leave the mall together. Outside, there is a train engine. We take some pictures in front of it.



Then we crowd into taxis. The taxis take us to a hill with many people. The street is lined with hundreds of motorcycles, parked as close to each other as possible. I’ve never seen so many in one place. We get out of the taxi and meet up with the rest of the group. They show me a souvenir shop. The gifts inside are beautiful, not like the boring things found in gift shops back home. They have beautifully painted figurines and carved chess sets. They have many bags and hats. I have a little money left, but not enough to buy many things. I find some scarves for Aunt Coral, my cousin Christel, and Stacie. Maria helps negotiate the price with the cashier. Diego sees how much I love the scarves. He buys one for me. It is purple and black. It is beautiful. I also buy gifts for Addy and Maddison, cute little knitted finger puppet animals, and two postcards. I try on a hat for a picture, but I do not buy it.

After paying for my gifts, my friends take me up the hill. There is a stone path going up. There are people everywhere. Some people have blankets covered in items for sale. Sergio buys me a bracelet with my name on it. We continue up the hill. There are performers, dancers and singers. One man is performing with fire. I see only the very end of his show.



At the top of the hill is a catholic church. It is very old and very beautiful. It is the church of San Antonio. It is hundreds of years old. We take many pictures, but they are not so good since it is dark now. I take pictures of the city. The view is magnificent on top of the hill.

David takes me inside the church. The artwork inside is breathtaking. I wish I could stand and study it for a while, but there are too many people. We move to the front of the room. There are candles on the floor. In the corner, there is a stand with rows of smaller candles. David tells me that people put money in a box next to the candles, then they lite a candle, and make a wish. He puts some money in for me. I take an unlit candle and touch the wick to the flames of a lighted one and say a silent prayer. I put my candle in an empty space. I can understand why people use candles in their worship of God. They are majestic.



As we leave the church, David shows me a statue of a man, San Antonio, the saint for which this church was built. Outside, the others are waiting. We take more pictures. Davis is wearing his motorcycle vest. It has reflective strips on it so he can be seen by other drivers in the night. The flash of the cameras light up his vest. Everyone jokes that he is from the movie Tron.

We walk around the church and further up the hill. There are kids riding in wheeled boxes, like wagons, down the hill. David asks if I want to try. It looks fun, but the others say it is too dangerous for me to try now. I don’t mind too much. We continue up the hill to a small stand selling interesting desserts. My friends get some for me. They are like ice cream popsicles. The first one I try is good, but not fabulous. They take it away and give me another. It is wonderful. It is made of cheese and fruit. They give me another one. It is made of fruit, too. The third is my favorite. It is made from a fruit I will find out later is passion fruit. I’ve never had passion fruit before. As delicious as they are, I’m afraid I will be sick if I eat any more. I pass off my snacks to David and it’s time to go home. I hug my friends goodbye and climb back onto Davis’s motorcycle.



The drive home is magical. The city at night is beautiful and warm. Davis and I talk as well as we can through the wind in our ears and our helmet padding. I notice the roads are in pretty sad shape. There are potholes everywhere. I am suddenly grateful for Utah’s constant construction. We make it home and Davis drives the motorcycle right through the front door and into the living room. I am amused. I fairly certain my mother wouldn’t appreciate me parking my bike in the house. Of course mine is a lot bigger and we have a lot more parking space outside.

It’s late, but Madeleyn is waiting for me. Before I left, she promised to do my nails when I came back. Their cousin, aunt, and friend come over and the living room is suddenly a full on spa and I am given the royal treatment. They painted my fingernails and toenails with cute little frogs. Usually, I’m not the kind of person who paints my nails, but something about getting a manicure creates a bond between girls in a really unique way. I guess, it reminded me of the only other time I’ve gotten my nails done. I was with Cynthia. Maybe it made me feel closer to Madeleyn because we did something together that I’ve only done with a sister. I don’t know it’s hard to explain. I am amazed that, after only one day, I feel so close to Madeleyn. We don’t even speak the same language.

A Trip to Paradise: Part III

The first thing I notice as I walk out the doors of the baggage claim is the trees. I have never seen anything like them. They’re so beautiful, and thick, and so green. I need to find a way to call Davis. I see a payphone, but again, I don’t know how to use it and I have no Colombian coins. I go back inside the airport. There are people inside, but not so many; at least, it’s certainly not as crowded as US airports. I find a bench to sit on and pull out my laptop. The internet in the airport is called “Vex”. I find that ironic since it won’t let me connect. I wait a few minutes and try to connect again. A drop of water falls from the ceiling and lands on my laptop screen. I scoot down the bench a little farther. Another drop falls and lands on my shoe. I don’t bother moving again. I don’t mind my shoe getting wet.

I try the internet again. Finally, I am convinced that it will not work in this spot. I pick up my bag and roll my suitcase to a new spot. No dice. The internet still won’t work. Another spot, nothing. Third spot, right in the middle of the room, I sit next to a lady and her baby. I tell her that her baby is cute. She doesn’t understand English. The internet connects at last. I skype Davis. He says he will be on his way. Ten minutes, he says. Thank goodness.

I am starving as I wait for Davis. I have had nothing to eat since pizza before my flight the day before. That was nearly 24 hours ago. I look around at all the food shops, but I still don’t understand the money. Even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to order in Spanish. I decide to wait for Davis. Thinking about waiting, I realize, I forgot to tell Davis where to find me. Maybe he will look for me back by the baggage claim, but I will not be there. Maybe he will look for me outside. Hmmm. I decide the best idea is to keep moving. If I spend a few minutes in each area, eventually I will find him. I pull my heavy suitcase back to the elevator and ride down to the baggage claim area. I look at the trees some more. A bird comes to say hello. It is so beautiful, green and yellow. I see taxi’s waiting. They are so small, like the cars my friends used to call “Barbie Cars”. I take more pictures.



I decide to go back upstairs. I take the elevator and start down the hall. There he is! I let go of my suitcase and run to him. I am so relieved to finally see a familiar face. I am also happy that that familiar face belongs to Davis.

We hug for a moment. Davis asks about my night. I explain what happened as well as I can. I don’t think I make much sense because I am tired and my brain isn’t making the right words come out of my mouth. I tell him that I am hungry. I have money to pay, but he buys Subway for me. Like Walgreens, I do not go to Subway often, but I find a new appreciation for it under the circumstances.
After food, it’s time to meet the city. Davis has only a motorcycle. Obviously, he cannot carry my suitcase on his bike. I must take a bus. Davis buys me a ticket. The bus driver loads my suitcase into the back of the bus. The bus is small, smaller than a short-bus at home. It’s blue. I put my carry-on bag on a seat inside, then I get off to wait with Davis until the bus is ready to leave. I hug him again, wishing that I could go with him on his motorcycle instead of going by myself on the strange crowded bus. On the bus, someone has moved my bag next to the window. I have to climb over a girl to get to my seat. I instinctively apologize. She looks at me funny. Oh, duh, she doesn’t speak English.

Looking out the window of the bus is nearly as captivating as looking out the window on the airplane. Everything is not quite familiar, like the ideas are the same as back home, the farms, the roads, the telephone lines, but they are unique in a subtle way. The trees are the biggest difference. Back home there are evergreens. Here, there are palms and fruit trees and so many trees I’ve never seen before. I am amazed by the greenness. I wish I could take a picture, but the bus is too crowded. I cannot get into my bag without bumping the girl next to me. I will get plenty of chances to take pictures later.

It’s not long before we reach the city. I have read about South American cities before, how the houses are stacked on top of each other, how everything is built so close together. This was not what I pictured. It’s true; the houses are built on top of one another, sometimes as many as four. Some of them have spiral stairs to the upper levels. I love spiral stairs. They are so beautiful. What I didn’t expect was the colors. The houses, like the trees, are much more rich in color than I could have imagined. There are pink houses and yellow and green and blue, and they are all connected in a beautiful mosaic to make up this maze of a city.



The bus keeps going. I can see Davis driving beside the bus. I wonder how long it’s been since we left the airport. The bus turns. Davis does not. My anxiety returns. Where is he going? What if he’s not there when the bus stops? I try to relax. The bus keeps driving down street after street. I try to keep track of where I am, but there are too many turns. I know, if it were left up to me, I could never find my way around this city.

Finally, the bus pulls into a small station. The passengers unload. I unload with them. The driver unloads my suitcase. I pull it onto the curb. The bus driver points and says something to me. He is pointing at a railing a few feet away from the curb. I think he wants me to go behind it. I do. I don’t see Davis. I try to control myself. I need to trust him.

I see a red motorcycle pull up. Thank goodness, again. Of course Davis knew where the bus would take me. He didn’t need to follow it. I was stupid to be worried. Next time, I will trust him better. Davis gets me a taxi. This will be my first taxi ride ever. The driver drives like a crazy person. He drives in the middle of two lanes. He does not stop for stop signs. He does not ever use his blinker. He drives really fast. I am grateful when the ride is over. Davis pays the driver and the driver gives me back my suitcase. Davis leads me down a very narrow road. There are houses on both sides of the road. Many of the doors are open. We can see inside. People talk to Davis as we pass. Davis says that I look international. I think he means that I look like I could be a really light skinned Colombian. People don’t know that I’m from the US just by looking at me.

Davis’s house is somewhere in the middle of the block. He lives on the ground floor. He drives his motorcycle right through the front door and into the living room. His family is waiting for me. His sister, Madeleyn, is so sweet and full of energy. She hugs and kisses me right away. She doesn’t speak English, but we are instant friends. They show me to my room. They tell me it is the nicest room in the house. I am flattered. Davis asks if I want to shower. I showered just before my flight, so right now I only want to sleep. I tell him so. He laughs. He thinks I am really funny apparently. He laughs at a lot of things I say. It makes me happy to make him laugh.



The bed is hard, just the way I like it. Beds back home are always too soft. They make my back hurt. There is a fan in the room. I am grateful for it. Cali is hot. There are blankets on the bed, but a thin sheet on top. I use only the sheet. I finally let go of all my anxiety and let relief take me to sleep.

A Trip to Paradise: Part II

My plane departs for Bogotá, the capitol of Colombia. This flight is even more exciting than my first. It is night. Most people are sleeping or have their windows closed. There’s not much to see in the darkness. I am still mesmerized by the view. I struggle to pick out spots of light from the earth below. Most of the time, I see nothing. I wonder if we are flying over water. We probably are. I try to sleep, but I cannot. I can see the stars out my window. I don’t recognize them.
The plane starts to shake. Looking out the window I see something more marvelous than I can describe. Below me, a huge storm is raging. Lightning flashes more frequently than in any storm I’ve ever seen. The clouds are bright with electricity, even when the lightning is gone. Yet, when I look up I see billions of stars in a clear sky. We were safe from the storm, so high above it. I will never forget how I felt at that moment when I witnessed God’s marvels while the rest of the passengers had their eyes closed.
I watch the storm until it falls away behind us. Then, I watch the darkness again. There are more of them. Someone in the airplane is sick. The flight attendants ask if anyone on board is a doctor, just like they do in movies. There is a doctor. I don’t watch. One thing I have learned is that people don’t like to be stared at when they’re having problems. Until now, the two seats next to me have been empty. Now, though, they move another passenger to give the sick person more room. The man that sits next to me is very nice. He speaks a little English. He is going home to Bogotá. He quickly falls asleep. I go back to watching the window.
I finally see a row of lights, ships, maybe. Soon, I believe, we are flying over land. There is light everywhere. The captain announces that we will soon land. Bogotá is immense! Lights stretch out over the mountains and as far into the distance as I can see. I must confess the immensity overwhelms me.
We land and I snap a picture on my phone. I send it, with a message, to my family to let them know I made it safely to Colombia. Oh, right, I’m stupid. My phone doesn’t work in Colombia. The message never sends. I follow the people off the airplane to the baggage claim. I look around, but I obviously know no one here. The signs are all in Spanish. When my luggage finally comes to me, I walk up and down the long hall two or three times. I find a place to exchange my money. The lady at the exchange counter doesn’t speak English. I figure out that she needs my finger print, mostly from a sign giving me directions. I notice that I can understand printed Spanish a lot better than spoken Spanish, but still not as well as I would like. She gives me a stack of colorful bills. They mean nothing to me.
I cannot figure out where to go next. I try to watch the other people. They finally lead me to a line. At the end of the line I must present my papers to immigration. I do not fill my papers out right. I do not know the address of the place I am staying in Colombia. I tell the lady at the desk that I cannot give an address. I cannot call my friends. She says that I can write down a phone number instead. I am relieved.
I finally get through. I pass rows and rows of baggage check stands, but there are no one people around other than janitorial staff and taxi drivers. All the booths are closed. I come to an elevator and take it up to the next level. The gates are on the next level. No one stops me. I walk to my gate. There is no one at the security desk, but I can see passengers waiting to board. A security guard sees me and comes up to the desk. I ask him where I can get a boarding pass. He does not speak English. I leave. I wander up and down the halls asking people if they speak English. No one does. I find an information desk. The guy at the desk speaks a little English. He says I need to go back downstairs to get a boarding pass. He doesn’t understand that there is no one down there. I go back down anyway. The elevator is turned off, so I carry my luggage down the stairs. Why did I bring so much stuff?
Back downstairs I find two taxi drivers. One of them speaks English enough to help me. Still, we are unsuccessful. Finally, we conclude that the only option is for me to get a hotel for the night and change my flight in the morning. The men take my luggage and tell me to follow them. I walk with them out of the airport. I want to cry, but I do not want these strangers to see my tears. I hold it in.
I have been warned all my life not to get into a car with a stranger, especially a male stranger, and especially two male strangers who don’t speak the same language I speak. Yeah, I am grateful to Heavenly Father for protecting me that night as I completely ignored that warning. The man who speaks English asks questions. I try not to tell him anything unsafe. He tells me that his son is a soldier in the Colombian Marines. His son speaks English. He calls his son on his cell phone and gives the phone to me. I am relieved to speak to someone in English. His son explains better what is going on. He tells me that his father will take me to a hotel and then come to get me in the morning. The airport opens at 4:30 am. He will come to get me at 4:00.
I am relieved to arrive safely at the hotel. I pay the nice man. Then I pay the hotel manager. They take the bills they need. This makes me nervous because I don’t know what the bills mean or how much they’re taking. I am relieved to have internet. Still, the moment my door is closed, I let myself cry, and cry, and cry. I am terrified. It is hard to write about. Writing about it makes me cry more. I have never felt so alone, so completely lost, and so helpless.
I have no phone, but I have Skype and a debit card. I quickly buy Skype credit and make a call to my friend Davis. Davis is waiting to pick me up at the airport. I tell him I am not coming. He tells me not to worry and he will see me in the morning. I am disobedient. I am very worried. Next, I call my parents. I tell them what is happening. I ask them to get on Skype so I can talk to them for free. I cry as I talk to them. I talk to them until I cannot cry more. They stay up with me until I am ready to sleep. I love my parents.
I sleep for three hours. My alarm wakes me up. I get ready and take my luggage down to the lobby. My hotel is on the fourth floor. There are no elevators. My arms hurt from pulling my luggage all over the airport last night. The hotel manager is waiting in the lobby. He tells me in Spanish that I am too early. It is only 3:00 am, not 4. The clock on my phone is still set to Florida time. It usually changes automatically, so I did not know that it was wrong. Apparently, if I don’t have service, the clock won’t change. The manager puts my luggage behind the desk and sends me back upstairs. I sleep for another hour.
The manager calls the phone in my bedroom. The taxi is here. The drive back to the airport is silent. The taxi driver parks and takes my luggage into the terminal for me. He points me to the line I need to be in. I thank him then pay him then he is gone. I wait. When it’s my turn I feel clumsy. I drop my papers and I can’t find my passport in my bag. The man at the counter doesn’t understand English. He asks someone to trade him. The new man speaks English. I stand awkwardly as he clicks buttons on the keyboard. It takes forever, but he finally finds what he’s looking for. I pay him a little money, less than I paid for the hotel, so maybe it’s not too much. He hands me a boarding pass. I look at it. My flight leaves in ten minutes. I take the elevator back up to the gates. This time, I get through security. They don’t ask me to take off my shoes or empty my water bottle like they did in the US.
I find my gate. There are only a few people waiting, maybe four or five. I hope I can get my computer to turn on fast enough for me to skype-call Davis and tell him I’m coming. My computer loads quickly enough, but the internet won’t work. I try it several times. I move around the room. It still doesn’t work. My flight is late by a half an hour. I think about using a pay phone to call Davis, but I have no coins and I cannot read the directions. I consider asking someone to loan me a cell phone. I don’t know how to ask that in Spanish. I give up.
They say a lot of things over the intercom in Spanish. I can only pick out words. Eventually everyone starts to line up in front of the gate. I follow. Apparently they don’t call people up in groups like the do in the US. We all board at the same time. Finally, I’m on my way to Cali. I am a little sad. My friends won’t be waiting for me at the airport. They don’t know I’m coming.

A Trip to Paradise: Part I

I begin to write, but am stopped. My tone is too familiar, too common, for this uncommon phenomenon that is my first exposure to international travel. I must change my words as the experience has changed me. My attitudes, my perspective, my heart I must re-focus to include my newly acquired knowledge; knowledge that cannot be found by reading a book or watching a movie, or even through word-of-mouth rendition. Here, I start again.

I am unsure. This is new. It’s getting late. I’ve been assured that what I’m doing is right, but my fears are more numerous than my questions. I click a button on my laptop. Numbers, prices cover the page. Most of them are beyond my budget. I scroll to find the right number. Hours, weeks actually, I have been searching for the best way to make this work, the best way to get what I have been waiting for, that is, my first ever airline tickets. I am doing it. I am going to Colombia.

I am really grateful that my mom is taking me to the airport. I have no idea what goes on in an airport. All I know is that people magically appear somewhere near the baggage claim when they get off the airplanes. I assume there is something to do with metal detectors and tickets, but seriously other than that I am clueless. My all-knowing mother is teaches me about boarding passes, gates, and baggage checks, then she sends me into the security line to figure the rest out on my own. The wait for my first ever airplane ride takes forever! I have butterflies worse than I've had since, well, probably since I started donating plasma...that was a bad day. I take some pictures, then feel stupid for taking pictures. Everyone around me seems so sure of themselves, so experienced. I definitely don't feel that way. As I wait, I text my sisters. Sisters are wonderful. They help calm me down.

My plane pulls up to the gate. I watch as the gate extends to meet it. My plane is small compared to the ones around it. I check my boarding pass a dozen times at least to make sure I am in the right place. I also watch the people around me. There are a lot of missionaries. Two sister missionaries are on the payphones saying their last goodbyes to their families before they fly. I remember Nathan’s last call from Florida before he left for Chile. I realize that, soon, I will be closer to him than any of us have been since he left on his mission. I miss him.

When they finally call my group to board, I walk for the first time down that weird retractable hallway thing onto the airplane.
I try to notice every detail of this new experience. I notice that I have to step over a small gap between the gate and the airplane. Looking down for a split second I see how high off the ground I really am. I’m glad that I am not really afraid of heights. I am surprised by how small it is inside the cabin. I can certainly imagine anyone with any sort of claustrophobia would not survive the hours of flight ahead.

Lucky for me, I get to sit by the window. I watch people on the ground driving baggage carts and walking around waving orange glow-sticks. I wait, and wait, but I am not impatient. I am watching the people in the plain find their seats. Some of them are alone like me. It’s not that unusual, I guess, to travel solo. Some of them are very anxious. They push forward to stow their luggage and find their seats. The captain asks us to put on our seatbelts and turn off our electronics so we can take off. A lot of people don’t listen. What are they thinking? The flight attendants walk down the aisles making sure the captain’s directions are followed. I wouldn’t blame them for being irritated that so many people ignored a direct instruction, but they are still polite and smiling. I think I should not ever be a flight attendant.

Take off is more thrilling than any rollercoaster I’ve ever been on. We start by taxing around slowly. I can tell, though, when we’re taking off because there is a sound. It’s a loud roaring, but it’s not deafening. I am aware of the giant tires beneath us wobbling under the weight and speed. I am not afraid, though. I trust the pilot that I cannot see. I trust that he knows better than I what a take-off should feel like. The roaring grows louder, and finally, I feel the wheels leave the ground. What a marvelous miracle this is for a machine so large to simply lift into the sky so gracefully. We gain altitude. My ears pop. We turn and I can see the buildings and roads and mountains below. I can see the temple. I can also see our shadow. How is our shadow so small? I cannot believe how high up we are. Then, it disappears.

Even though I brought things for entertainment like movies, books, and homework, I don’t touch them. My eyes are locked on the tiny window, and I'm fairly certain my mouth is open, but I am unable to close it. First, the Great Salt Lake passes beneath us. I take some pictures, deciding that I don’t care if people think I’m funny. I take a lot of pictures, but I am disappointed that they don’t really compare to the live view. Every second, the landscape changes beneath me. Ground that would take me half a day to cover passes by like clouds do. They look as though they are moving so slowly, but my brain tells me that we are moving at speeds I have never experienced in my life.

We land in Phoenix, Arizona. I am not surprised by the heat. I am one of the only people I can see wearing a jacket; still, I do not take it off because I don’t want to risk losing my $200 leather jacket. I considered leaving it at home, but I obviously want to look my best and feel the most comfortable on my trip, so it comes. My next flight is a lot longer.
Flying is wonderful. The world seems so big from the ground, but from the unique aerial perspective, it doesn't seem so vast. Everything seems within reach when you're in an airplane. The world is full of so many things I never knew I didn't know. I think about this as we fly over Texas. The state is so flat, even if I were on the ground, I’m certain I could see for hundreds of miles in all directions. I have to take more pictures. Texas looks like tile to me with all its grid-plots of land. Some of these plots have big green circles instead of squares. I wonder why they are circles, and such perfect circles, too. I learn later that the circles are caused by circular sprinkler systems on farms.

When we land in Florida, we are early. I know that no one will be there to pick me up, but I look around at the all the people anyway. There is a British family nearby. I think the only British people I’ve ever seen have been on T.V., not that they look any different from anyone else, but their accents are interesting to listen to. I guess I have heard so many fake British accents in my life that the real thing sounds faked, too.

I follow the signs through the airport to the rental car desks. I am anxious because I didn’t find out until I was in the airport in Salt Lake that they might not accept my debit card. Most companies require a credit card. My mom had loaned me her credit card, but without her ID it is possible they won’t let me use it anyway. My concern turns out to be unnecessary. I pay with my debit card. They direct me to a parking garage. I pull my heavy luggage along. They tell me to just pick a car. One boy working there says that if I tip him $20 he will let me take a Mustang. I should do it, it would be so awesome, but I’m pretty anxious already. I pick a shiny black 2014 Ford Fiesta. What do I do next? Apparently, I’m supposed to just put my stuff in and drive away. It feels strange, like stealing, even though I know I paid for it.

Getting to my hotel from the airport is complicated. I didn’t even think about getting lost, but I get in my car and miraculously navigate out of the airport. Now, I have no idea where to go next. I know that I am supposed to go south, but...um...how do I tell which way is south when there are no mountains? I’ve never been anywhere without mountains before. It’s unnatural. Still, Heavenly Father takes care of me. I call my mom for help looking up directions. Before her computer loads I find a McDonalds with free wifi. I look up directions to my hotel myself.

I spend most of my time in Florida with my best friend from High School, Kassi. We had planned to go to Disney World because she works there, but she isn’t allowed to let me in for free this week because it is spring break and the park is super crowded. We go, instead, to the Orlando, Florida temple. I learn something new about temples outside of Utah. Apparently, they’re not busy enough so they don’t have workers just hanging out in the baptistery to help you when you show up. You have to make an appointment so they know when to send people down there. Weird…I’m used to Provo temple where you have to wait two or three hours. Lucky for us, there is a group scheduled about an hour after our arrival, so we just have to entertain ourselves by taking pictures and driving around for a little while before we can go in.



Inside the temple, we meet a grandfather and his two granddaughters who are visiting from Idaho. They are very kind. We talk quietly about how crowded temples are in Utah and Idaho. More than flying, temples are a wonderful thing. I notice as I sit with my best friend and some complete strangers, that even though I am farther from home than I have been in my entire life, I still feel like I’m where I belong. I am in my father’s house. The rooms and the people are familiar and welcoming. The temple is always a place to belong, rather than just a place to be.

After the temple, we go to the Disney Cast Retreat. It’s really just a small park with all sorts of cool stuff to do only for people who work at Disney World. It gives them somewhere to go to get away from the crowds on their days off. Kassi says she’s never been there. She spends all her days off in Disney World. I don’t blame her. Really, how many people get to go to Disney World whenever they want for free? Anyway, it is kind of cold, so we didn’t swim or go canoeing, though that would have been fun. We walk around for a while, enjoying the beautiful trees and sun. We stop to play a game of tetherball, remembering elementary school tournaments fondly. I accidentally hit Kassi in the face with the ball. The game ends. We hang out on the beach instead, playing with the sand and catching up. The sand in Florida is awesome and soft and beautiful and white and awesome.



When we get bored of the beach we go to dinner at a restaurant in Downtown Disney. It takes forever just to find a parking spot. All the lots are full, so we have to wait for someone to leave. I would be happy to just go eat somewhere else, but Kassi really wants to show me this place, so I get over it. It really is cool. There are many shops, most of them selling food and souvenirs. There is one huge shop selling Disney merchandise. It is impressive, but crowded. Kassi shows me some giant lego sculptures. My favorite one is of Prince Philip fighting Maleficent, the dragon.



Inside the restaurant, the line snakes back and forth, filling the building. We wait, and wait, and wait. I am grateful for my cell phone that has Facebook. I chat with my sisters while we wait. I order a sandwich. It was good, but only barely worth the wait.

When we get bored of the beach we take a bus to a Polynesian resort just outside of Disney World. We wander around the resort for a while looking at overpriced merchandise. I am seriously tempted to buy something, especially a really neat, Pirates of the Caribbean pin that Stacie would love. I remind myself that I soon I will be buying gift from Colombia, and that will be way cooler than a Pirates pin. I buy a postcard instead.
We find a beach with a great view of the Disney castle…well, the castle is on the other side of a huge lake, but we could see it well enough to watch the firework show. It is marvelous, sitting in a hammock on a white beach watching fireworks with my best friend. During the show, they play a song called “Wishes”. The song begins and ends with a little girl signing. Kassi told me that the girl that sang the part was a girl who died of cancer. Before her death, the Make-A-Wish Foundation granted her wish to stay in Disney World forever by having her sing the song that is played every night in the park. It makes me cry a little.



The next day is a lot less eventful. Kassi has to work, so I set out to Orlando solo. I find a flea market and buy some gifts since I’ve never been to one before. I also spend a long time trying to find a post office. Along the way I find another beautiful lake and a pretty little row of colorful shops. I take some pictures. I succeed at finding the post office about fifteen minutes after it closed.

Kassi calls me to tell me she is home from work. I drive toward her house, but I get lost again. In the darkness of the evening, I miss a turn and end up on a toll road. I have learned that Florida loves toll roads for some reason. They are everywhere. I stop at the toll booth. I have no cash for a payment. I explain my situation. They are lenient and give me directions to get back to where I came from. I find Kassi’s apartment eventually, but both of us are exhausted. We eat and talk. Then, we stop talking and just rest. I fall asleep. When I wake up, I decide that as much as I love my friend, I need to go to my hotel to prepare for my flight tomorrow and sleep. We say our goodbyes. She will be coming home to Utah in a few weeks, so our farewell is not too sorrowful.

My head hurts a lot. I realize I forgot to ask Kassi for some pain killers. I don’t have any in my luggage. It gets worse as I drive toward my hotel. My stomach starts to feel nauseated. I decide it’s probably a good idea to stop somewhere to buy medicine. The first two stores I see are closed. It’s pretty late, nearly midnight. I am having a hard time focusing as I drive because my eyes hurt so badly. Finally, I find an open Walgreens. I have never particularly cared to shop at Walgreens, but tonight, it is my favorite store in the world. I buy pain killers and Icy Hot just for good measure. I will find out later that I already have Icy Hot packed in my suitcase. Ah well, one can never have too much Icy Hot.

I find the post office again the next morning and send my postcard. I still have a few hours until my flight. I can’t think of anything else I want to see. I drive in what I think is the direction of the airport. I stop for pizza. I stop for gas. My rental car must be filled up less than ten miles away from the airport. I have no idea how far away I am. If I need to, I will stop again. I keep driving, hoping that I am not driving the wrong way. Finally, I see airport direction signs. The road turns out to be the most direct route to it. What luck!

I drop off my rental car. It is too early for me to get my boarding pass. I know because I tried and the machine says I must wait another hour. I find somewhere to sit and watch a movie. The people around me are more interesting to watch than the movie. There is another British family nearby. I watch them and listen to their accents. I love it when the children speak. I am hungry, but I have only a few snacks. I feel silly eating string cheese and fruit roll-ups. I guess these foods make me feel childish. I remind myself that it is more than likely that I will never in my life see any of these people around me again. I eat my snacks. I wait. I get my boarding pass and I wait some more. I am grateful for Facebook. My Colombian friends are online. They ask me where I am. They tell me they are excited to see me. They will be waiting at the airport for me. I will be arriving at 11 pm tonight.