I ended up at Ruby’s diner, an old-fashioned themed diner put smack dab in the middle of a busy airport. It opened up just as I got there. I sat at the bar for some early 6am breakfast. There was a Sephora vending machine that I could see clearly across from Ruby’s diner just to the right. I’d never seen something like this before. A vending machine that takes your credit card just incase you were strolling through the airport and needed a new bottle of Chanel No. 5? To me this sounded crazy, but then I began to think how Mandy might see this as something that she might call, “wicked-awesome.” (of course she has the same vocabulary as me, why not?)

Across from me sat an older gentleman who drank two glasses of white wine during my short-lived breakfast of uncooked scrambled eggs and over cooked bacon. Obviously he had to be an international man of mystery if he was having wine for breakfast. To my right sat a young man in a military uniform. Between both of us sat a business man type who ignored the time of day and drank a vanilla milkshake with his legs up on the bar stool closest to me.

I watched the local Houston news while I ate. 6 states. 54 tornado reports. 11 dead in one state, one more found dead in another. The headlines ran along the bottom of the screen. A man stole thousands from students who were fundraising at their local high school. Many people were robbed and killed in addition to that headline. A few more were on trial.

My informative session on current Southern US news continued at my gate. I’d never watched so much CNN or local ABC channel news in my life. I was getting ready to board my flight to Guatemala City and absorbing ads for every CNN political show that they had. Nancy Grace commercials were being played over and over again. Apparently, this angry blonde woman is fun to watch because she uses the words “demand” and “justice” very frequently.

I get on the plane. Seat 19A, window again (score), Houston to Guatemala City, no one sat in the middle seat, a gentleman on the end, and two pastors behind me who spoke loud enough for me to hear their conversation. I tired to piece together why there were several pastors on my flight. All of them were in khakis and simple polos that were neatly tucked in. They looked like happy 12 year olds who were way too excited about being on a plane.

The man who sat behind me and to the right said that he grew up in East Texas. He had been working on a series of sermons focused on following your dreams. The pastor he is talking to, which I should mention they had never met each other before that flight, shares that he too is working on a series of sermons focused on a certain section of the bible. The pastor from East Texas eventually talked about how he ended up with the church. He said he could of gotten a big degree and had a high paying job, “you know?” he says. But against what others told him, he describes how he knew that wasn’t right for him.

I listened some more. Dreams of teaching at the academy, a family member is currently on bed rest, and other tidbits of casual conversation. These guys must of been on some big group trip to Guatemala from a bunch of different churches in the south. I fell asleep soon after take off. I think of how much that breakfast sucked (sorry for using that word, mom). I woke up when we landed with a Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwich next to me and the gentleman on my right standing up to exit the plane. Laughing, the pastor from East Texas said to the other pastor, “Wow, I never let him talk the entire flight!”

Part Three of my trip to Guatemala will be posted over the next week.

When you listen to enough This American Life, everything around you becomes profound. Scotty D knows what I’m like after I’ve listened to a few hours of it. When I was traveling from Seattle to Houston, and Houston down to Guatemala, I began experiencing an episode, or a trip through one, of This American Life. I hard the stories of travelers who have all be brought to the very same spot for one brief period in time.

Seattle midnight flight to Houston, Texas. Meet Mandy, seat 20B sitting between myself in the window seat and a boy who’s name is Dexter. We only learned his name from the name tag on his sharp service uniform. He never said a peep the entire flight.

Mandy is around my age, a high school graduate, not working or in school, but knows she’s interested in cosmetology. She was on her way to Florida for her grandfather’s funeral. He was 98. It was a somber conversation, with little hick ups of laughter and conversation about what UBC is like as a school.

Mandy’s parents sat across the aisle from us. They leaned over every once in a while to see who I was and what a girl in a burgundy cardigan would talk about with their daughter. What did they think I was up to? We began chatting because she noticed my TOMS Shoes when I almost fell over her and Dexter when I was making my way to my window seat. It’s a classic part of my character to fall over everyone I can on a plane, to hit people with my backpack, to say sorry 78 times for hitting people with my backpack, and to fall up any staircase I find.

Mandy saw the TOMS logo on the back of my shoes as I made a head dive for the window. She wondered if they are comfy and worth the buy. She’s looked at TOMS before, shown particular interest in the black sparkly pair, but has never made the move to buy them. I wonder what would of happened if I didn’t wear my TOMS. Would we of started talking? Would we of went to sleep and been like Dexter, not saying a peep the entire flight?

Mandy seems like the kind of girl who is still coming out of her shell. She knows she likes TOMS shoes, but has never had the guts to buy a pair. She knows she wants to get into cosmetology but hasn’t applied to any schools yet. Yet, I still think she knows who she is deep down on the inside, which is the ultimate cheesy thing I can say in this blog post. Rock on.

We land in Houston. I had fallen asleep to CBC Radio 3, which features Canadian artists for en entire hour of podcast-goodness. Maybe it made Mandy’s accent stand out more, or maybe to her it made me seem more exotic to someone who had only been to Edmonton’s airport.

It’s six in the morning. My face felt like it needed to be washed, I had hardly slept in the last few days and I knew I need some breakfast. I headed in the direction that looked more promising for food inside Bush Intercontinental Airport. I never bothered to put on my glasses during this struggle to read signs in the airport, I was giving in to the lack of sleep. This meant for difficulties in reading displayed menus. Smart choice, Erica.

Part Two of my trip to Guatemala will be posted over the next week.

I’ve got a story. Last week, I road around the mountains in Guatemala in the back of a truck. Jalapa is about 2 hours east of Guatemala City. Dusty roads. Roads that go Up and down. A lot of cowboy hats and a lot of tiendas, which are little convenience stores that serve the best Fanta you could ask for. There was a play list that went on in my head while I stood in the back of the truck. Bon Iver’s For Emma, The xx’s VCR, Belle and Sebastian’s It Could Have Been A Brilliant Career.  I brought my signature black Volcom backpack. Rocked the side bun and front braid. Wore my TOMS with outrageous pride.

I landed in a country where I didn’t know anything more than how to say “hello” and “good bye.” Because really, what do you do? I flew down straight from UBC all by myself. How do you get to your hotel? How do you communicate your needs or ask for prices on goods? I arrived at Guatemala City’s airport in my big nerdy glasses. I already stood out because I was the only young white girl there. The glasses didn’t help.

I could tell you about the things I did while I was down there volunteering, but what I found to be more interesting was the people I met. An engineering masters student from Iraq in Texas, the man who blew up the Death Star, a girl on her way to a funeral, and a teenage boy living in the mountains who was never taught how to mix primary colours.

I’ll be posting a series of stories about these people and the experiences I had with them in Guatemala and in my travels. They’ll be up on the blog over the next few weeks.

Summer 2010 is just beginning.