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My family of five had never traveled outside the U.S. before. We had our passports ready and were waiting for the right opportunity. When the email came about the drop in airfare from Houston, Texas to Guatemala City, I quickly began doing some research. Yes, there was a travel advisory from the U.S State Department about Guatemala City but nearby Antigua, a haven for tourists, had no warnings. A few clicks later, we were booked to fly out in two weeks. Living in Texas for the past four years, we had learned a little Spanish but truth be told, we hadn't tried all that hard. However, for the two weeks before our flight, we crammed. We read books. We watched YouTube videos. We ate dinner at a local Guatemalan restaurant. We tried to prepare ourselves for this adventure as best we could. Our flight arrived in Guatemala CIty and we went through the customs process. For the first time, my children stood in front of an officer with their documents and spoke in Spanish. We headed out to the passenger pickup area to find the driver, Rosuel, our hotel had recommended. He was holding a piece of paper with my name on it and my kids were quite amused by this. We loaded up into his van and set off into the city. I can only describe our entrance into the city as one fighting their way out from under a heavy blanket made of the colorful, woven textiles you see everywhere in Guatemala. The traffic, the bright colors, the images we saw were overwhelming to our senses. I sat inside the van feeling as if I had left my body and it was all a dream. I kept turning around to scope out the faces of my children sitting in the back seat. They looked as though they felt the same way I did. Lanes were only suggestions painted on the streets. Families of four were perched atop motorcycles speeding between the cars and trucks. Trucks spewed out thick, black puffs of exhaust. People we refer to as panhandlers in Houston were dressed as clowns, juggling and flipping, holding their cup in the middle of an intersection during the red light. When the light turned green, they hurried back to the safety of the curb. Buildings painted in blue, yellow, red and coral blurred past as we made our way though the city onto the six-lane highway that winds through the mountains to Antigua. Once on the highway, we saw trucks, cars, motorcycles, bicyclists and pedestrians all trudging up the steep, curvy road of the mountain. Pickup truck beds were full of supplies, workers and once, a brown and white cow who looked bored. A few cars were broken down, causing more traffic than usual on a Saturday afternoon. People were selling food like bags of chips and fruit on the side of the road to take advantage of the stopped traffic. One man was selling helado from a cart. I asked our driver, in my subpar Spanish, if he and his family ever purchased food from the street vendors. He told me yes, it was very good, and did I want to stop to purchase some? Looking back, I wish I had stopped. But in that moment I was so awestruck I said, "No, gracias." The amount of trust we had to place in this one man, unknown to us, is remarkable. I am thankful he was an excellent, experienced driver and an honest, kind man. Rosuel expertly wove his way through the lines of traffic, honking his horn when necessary and even being relaxed enough to have a short conversation with his children on his cell phone while driving. "I will be home soon. Ask your mother." I took note of the people's faces as they passed by. Whether they were driving or riding or walking, they had calm, content looks on their faces. Some were even laughing or smiling along with their passengers. There is a different attitude, a different vibe in Guatemala than what I am used to. I saw it over and over during our visit. I will return soon to experience it again.