A Room of One's Own

They say that home is where the heart is.....Once I arrived in Xela - my home for the next 2-4 weeks (still TBD), I was just left wondering exactly WHERE my home indeed was....

So I arrived on the crazy chicken bus with my classmate, Erin, and headed toward what I thought was the address for my house. I had received the address information in an email from the school's coordinator. Because I was arriving on a Sunday I was to go straight to the house rather than going to the school, during the week, and then being escorted to my host family.

Erin showed me the way to my house, which I was told was across the street from the school. But, of course, when we got to the block, neither one of us could locate the exact address I had been given. Oh the joys of traveling! So I was off to the Internet cafe to check my email, double check the address and try again! It was 3pm on Sunday and if things didn't work out I'd get a hostel room for the night and figure things out at the school on Monday.

Well, when I checked my email, it turned out I had indeed written down the correct address, the address that didn't seem to exist, so what was I to do? I thought maybe it was a typo in the email...maybe the address wasn't 25...maybe it was 45, 55, 65...So I hit the pavement again and I realized that 65 was located directly across from the school. A ha! Maybe this is it...I knocked on the door with luckily enough Spanish under my belt to communicate my situation to the young man that answered the door. I was to go to the house of Miriam Alonzo, and told him this. He said that Miriam lived in his house; he seemed to know what he was talking about; and after having me wait outside for about 5 minutes, the door swung open and he invited me in.

He told me that they hadn't been informed I was coming - and I figured if I had received a wrong address, it was also completely possible that someone at the school had dropped the ball in informing them about my early arrival. But I was shown to my room. A lovely aparment-like room with private entrance in the back area of the house. A bed, a desk, a couch, and even plenty of open floor space for yoga!!!

The young man is named Walter, the 24-year-old son of the couple that apparently was away for the day in Mexico. He showed me around the house, literally telling me that his house was my house, and I was to make myself comfortable. His parents would be returning around 7 and then we'd have dinner together. I also met Miriam...the housekeeper.

I went to my room, unpacked a bit and began to relax...The hours passed and by 8:30 I was starting to worry...Would I get dinner tonight? Should I go out and get something to eat? Will I be asleep before I even meet the owners of the home at which I'm staying?!? At about 10 minutes to 9, I hear a voice call up to me...."Hola!? Hola chica!" I opened my door to find a woman on the staircase...who quickly informed me that I was at the wrong house!

Wow. Was I ever embarrassed! But this was not just my mix-up. Walter had invited me in, fixed me up a room and given me a tour of the house...I'm still not quite sure whether something was lost in translation, or whether Walter just figured he could help me out when he realized I was a bit lost and needed to find my home. Nonetheless, the woman, Lety, told me that she'd be happy to have me stay with them (they'd hosted other students in the past; they just weren't expecting one today!) and that if I was happy I was more than welcome in their home. Hugs ensued and then dinner was quickly fixed for me at about 9pm....Off to bed after that....It had been an exhausting day of traveling and confusion, and classes started at 8am the following morning.