An amoeba, some meds and motion sickness walk into a bar...

Is there a better way to return to the Southwest than walking into the invisible mist and distinct smell of creosote and be greeted by family? I don't think so.

Yesterday, we arrived in the El Paso airport at about 4 p.m. with moisture and the perfume of that wonderful desert plant in the air and Tony's mother, step-sister and brother waiting for us. But even before the creosote and hugs hit us, some of my senses had already landed in New Mexico; eavesdropping on the conversation between the two gentlemen seated behind me on my flight from Dallas-Ft. Worth to El Paso was like being trailed by my very own Sound Off! column. Talks of jobs in Mexico vs. the U.S., development in Cruces and Sonoma Ranch filled the shared air for the 30 minutes we sat on the runway in a Texas rainstorm and for the hour and 15 minutes in the air. While it's good to be home, our last days proved more of a journey than anticipated.

At about 11 p.m. our last night in Honduras, I was curled into a whining little ball in the center of my bed. Helloooo, amoebas. While I would definitely repeat my last month in exchange for a repeat of the amoebic experience of sprinting to the bathroom between crippling abdominal cramps that made me question my ability to withstand the pain of childbirth, this night was not fun. I had made it 26 of my 29 days in Central America with a clean bill of health, and now, the night before a five-hour bus ride back to Guatemala City to be followed by two flights back to the U.S., this.

That night, I took the remaining amoeba meds from Tony's bout with the creatures and managed about four hours of sleep. The next day, Tony ran to the pharmacy and got more meds. I took two pills with breakfast, two pills of motion sickness medicine and hopped in the van that we thought was headed for Guat. City. Why did we think this? Because we had asked three waitresses in our hotel (the registration and departure point for the vehicle) and one driver of the shuttles, "Does this bus go to Guatemala City?" and they all had said "yes." An hour-and-a-half into the ride, we ask our driver where in the city we would be dropped off, and he said, "Oh, no. We'll pass by it, but we're going straight back to Antigua." That would land Tony and I an hour-and-a-half past our destination and still pretty close to broke, money-wise. Thank the Lord, the Guatemalan-American family that had so charitably complimented our funds to get into Honduras so many days ago...was in our same van again. As a family of six, they made up 60 percent of the clientele in the van, and said they wouldn't mind if the driver took us straight to our selected hotel (a Hojo in Guatemala for $80 a night -- highway robbery). Tony and I made their 60 percent 80, and, frankly, we didn't ask the couple in the front of the van, but they didn't object, so happy sailing for Tony and I!

Yada yada yada, long story short, we got dropped at the hotel, I took one last dose of meds with my sub-par dinner that night, we packed, passed out and woke at 5 a.m. for our 5.30 a.m. free shuttle to the airport (why we volunteered for the Hojo swindle). We're home now and I've just come back from the doctor here to try and figure out how to kill off whatever amoebas, bacteria or stowaway slices of Central America I still have in my intestines. The remainder of the day will be full of errands, bill paying, check deposits and other little tasks aimed at reacclimating ourselves to life here. Last such efforts included a dinner of red enchiladas and a dessert of Scoopies (Caliches). Delicious, but alas, my amoebas didn't appreciate these distinctly New Mexican flavor explosions, and revolted.

Anyway, that's all for now, and I'll probably do one final "Best Of Guat Happened" entry and one final picture posting as soon as I'm able.

Until then, Central America is more beautiful than I imagined, more welcoming than I thought possible and not always as dangerous as people make it out to be. Go!!