Finding Myself in Guatemala

When a relationship ends, some women join a support group, take up knitting, write a novel, or become—in the case of one of my best friends—a top national athlete. When my boyfriend and I called it quits after three and a half years, I did what any normal, soul-searching girl would do: I high-tailed it to Central America.

Jeff was the love of my twenties and the first man with whom I could imagine sharing a life. Because we met while he was in medical school across the country, our relationship had more than its share of ups and downs. Long distance coupled with the pressures of his career made for quite a tumultuous ride. It ended in that final, definitive, heart-crushing way—he met someone else. We had been growing apart for some time, but the break-up was still devastating, despite the build-up.

Instinctively, I wanted to roll into a ball. Instead, I chose to take a risk. I forced myself to consider something I’ve always wanted to do. I booked flights, readied my passport, suffered shots, contacted Amerispan—a study abroad program—and bought a Spanish dictionary. After years of listening enviously to friends’ stories of studying Spanish in South America, I was on my way to Guatemala.

As I drove at night from the airport to my host family’s house in Antigua, I saw billboards spray painted with political slogans, kids playing in the streets (well past their bedtimes, I thought), and as always, that gorgeous moon lighting my way to a new adventure. I felt open, ready, and unafraid. The feeling lasted until the next morning.

Antigua is truly one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. The town is surrounded by volcanoes, and on my very first morning, I was greeted with the sight of a rainbow soaring over the highest one. Most of the streets are cobblestone, and everything is within walking distance. It took about five minutes for me to walk from my home down the hill to the Parque Central (the main square), where I settled in a café, Casa de Condesa, with a strong cup of coffee. The café, like most of the architecture in Antigua, had rooms surrounding an open courtyard filled with heavily-scented, bright flowers and a large, majestic fountain. Tanned, scruffy, and wide-eyed tourists were splayed across chairs, backpacks at their feet, Lonely Planet and Rick Steve’s guides at their sides.

There it struck me: I was alone.