Beaverton, Oregon - March 8, 2006

Monday afternoon, almost exactly two months after arriving in Mexico, I returned to the airport, to make my way back to Portland. I'd improved my spanish, enjoyed the warm weather, met lots of interesting people, and overall had had a great time, but after two months, I was ready to go back home.

"The three o'clock flight to Houston," I told the woman working at the Continental counter at the airport, in front of a Mezcal shop. I took a last look around the airport, reflecting on the many things that were different in Mexico, compared with the United States. I was going to miss this country. I was going to -

"There is no three o'clock flight to Houston," she told me.

"Huh?" I stared at her blankly. "But... but... I've got my flight reservations right here... I'm going to Portland..."

She looked at my reservations, an annoyed expression on her face. "Please wait here," she told me, and left.

A half hour later, she came back. "We've reviewed the flight information for every airline, along every possible route, and there's no way to get you back to Portland tonight. Is there somewhere else you'd rather go?"

12 hours later, I flew into Los Angeles. My relatives in Glendale, to whom I shall be eternally grateful, picked me up from the airport, and I spent the night at their house. After months in Mexico, it was definitely a shock to be in LA, driving on 20 lane freeways, surrounded by buildings so high they seemed to scratch the sky. I booked the continuing flight to Portland for the next evening, so I got to spend the day there with my family, showing them my Mexico pictures, making brownies, and watching movies and reading while my cousins were off in school. That evening, they drove me to the airport, and I walked to the gate, ready, once again, to return to Oregon.

"Attention please. There is going to be a slight delay, due to mechanical problems. Please wait for further updates..." D'oh!

That evening, an hour late, but otherwise no worse for wear, I got back in Oregon. And it's cold here. My feet are freezing. I complained to my mom, and she laughed. "Of course you're cold! You're only wearing that dinkly little sweatshirt!"

Sob!