The End

So this is the end, my friend.

By the pool soaking up the last couple of hours in the Florida sunshine. As always holidays play a time distortion trick with my brain. I feel like we've been away for five minutes and at the same time five years. "Home" seems fuzzy, I can remember it but not very clearly.

I am trying to get my head around normal life: shopping, cleaning, cooking, work, school and after school routine. Like Pavlov's dig I'm sure I'll slip right into all the old behaviours without a second's hesitation. But sitting here by the pool it still feels a million light years away.

We certainly chose two very contrasting places for this trip. In a word Guatemala is dusty, physically and culturally. In a word Orlando is shiny, in all aspects.

Many times during this trip I have vowed to never take the children anywhere ever again. But in the sage words of Justin Bieber I know to never say never. Even as I write I can feel my resolve softening and the negative memories fading into the background, slowly to be reborn as humorous stories. The good, fun times jostle for position in the front row of my mind.

Who knows what the future will bring. Definitely more visits to Guatemala, next time hopefully in more of a helping role than simply a tourist role. A visit to Marianna's Colombia is a certainty in the next 4-5 years.

Orlando is hedonistic fun. It's beautiful weather, first class hotels, service, shopping and eating. We've loved every minute. Sharing part of the time here with my sister made it extra special and we are so happy they could join us.

But in the end it was all about this: Will leaning into me as we watched a movie in bed last night and saying "I'm really glad I met Ana Mercedes". Three weeks of middle class over indulgence with just one true purpose. One special day for us all but especially for Will.

So goodbye from Orlando...normal transmission will recommence from Sydney in 30 hours.

Guatemala: Random Thoughts

I'm sitting here on our final morning not really wanting to leave. It rained most of the night and all I could think about was the poor float carriers and other members of the processions. They keep going rain, hail or shine. It is part of the process to suffer like Jesus but really?!

During our visit with Ana Mercedes S told us the average age for first births here is 12. Think about that next time you are arguing with your pre-teen or early teen about iPod time. You see lots and lots of little girls with babies; I always think it must be their baby brother or sister but the fact is it's probably their own child. In Guatemala you really see that babies are easy to make but hard to look after.

Middle class people (possibly any people earning a formal wage) pay 5% income tax. The indigenous Mayan make up 60% of the population, safe to say most don't work in a formal sense (though they are very hard workers) requiring a tax deduction from their income. The people don't trust the government so don't want to pay more tax (nothing new there). So the maths are pretty simple: no money for infrastructure and services.

Another interesting point. You can become a teacher right out of high school, no higher education needed. Which is why public schools are of such poor quality and anyone who can afford it sends their children to private schools (most are not what we think of when we think "private school", except for some exclusive and international schools). Private schools are just better, in terms of teachers with higher qualifications and better resources.

Public hospitals here offer a diagnosis but no medicine. So if you get diagnosed with cancer you need to find your own chemotherapy drugs and wait until they can treat you - possibly months. There are good private hospitals but only for those who can afford them. There is a Jesuit free hospital here in Antigua which has volunteer international doctors and surgeons.

As Giovany told us the Mayans don't really have a concept of future. He said the past is always in front of them. Wow!

I am leaving with a fascination for the culture and a love for the people. We have discussed coming when the children are grown, with or without them, to volunteer and spend some "real" time here (as opposed to tourist time). It is something we both feel really strongly ab

Hasta la vista Guatemala.

Day Four: Later

We were dropped off after the Ninos visit and had about half an hour to relax before our guide Giovany was coming to take us on a walking tour of Antigua.

It was fascinating to spend time with someone who knew the town so well and it's history and the history of Guatemala and the Mayan people. He is a trained Anthropologist and had a lot of interesting things to tell us.

We walked around the Cathedrals; there are so many here. Everywhere we went we heard a little more about the history of Antigua.

I can't recall any details precisely but the most important aspect of how easily the Catholic Spaniards dominated the Mayan was that so many of their symbols matched. The Catholics had crosses and so did the Mayans, they just symbolised different things.

It was also interesting to see the Star of David and other Jewish symbols incorporated into the stonework in some of the churches. The priests were coming during the Spanish Inquisition and some were Jews pretending to be Catholic to escape persecution but taking their own religion with them.

The children were fascinated to go down into a crypt under one of the cathedrals which was used as a bone receptacle for bones dug out of the cemetery. I think they were slightly disappointed not to find a pile of bones still there.

After all that heavy history and culture a little retail therapy was in order and Giovany took us to the Jade Factory (obviously a must on all the tour guides itineraries - we went there in 2000 and here we were back again). Of course I had to buy a few trinkets, just to help the economy of course.

We returned home for another brief rest before heading out for dinner with our new friends, an American family staying at another house in our complex. The kids have hit it off with their son P (who in many ways is an older, male version of Miss M). They are gorgeous people from North Carolina and it's been fun getting to know them...and a playmate for our two monkeys is an additional bonus.

Dinner was at the fabled Frida's (thanks for the tip Rebecca) and it didn't disappoint. Their big tables were full so the children had their own table next to ours. Because P speaks very good Spanish due to being in a Spanish immersion program at his school he took charged and helped our two order. They were beautifully behaved, ordered, ate and played without asking for anything all evening. Bliss.

We walked home through the mild Antigua evening; Miss M and P holding hands. There is a constant carnival atmosphere here this week and lots of people out on the streets, particularly around Parque Central. So walking home feels safe and enjoyable as we mingle with tourists and local families, all out enjoying themselves.

It's Wednesday night and we are the end of three physically and emotionally tiring days. It's wonderful to think we have two "rest" days coming up before we head to Orlando.

Day Four: Antigua Pics (Ninos)

Day Three: Antigua Pics

Ninos con Bendicion

Wednesday morning was a highlight. We visited Ninos con Bendicion (Children with Blessing), a small organisation run by the delightful couple Lesbi and Tino in the nearby village of San Antonio Aguas Calientes. I had heard a great deal about this visit and was full of anticipation.

Nancy Hoffman, who had been my go-to person for all the on the ground travel arrangements in Guatemala, collected us in a mini bus full of American families. It was lovely to meet her in person after exchanging so many emails and "knowing" her on the Guatemalan Adoption "Big List" for many, many years.

A highlight of the drive was seeing Volcan de Feugo, burping smoke into the clouds. It is the most active volcano in the immediate vicinity, last erupting in 2007.

As we drove the short distance to San Antonio Nancy gave a brief introduction about "Ninos" and about the work they were doing there. Lesbi and Tino run it from their home. Currently they have 17 children who participate in the program. They are offered quality education in a private school, after school support, a hot meal each day and the opportunity to strengthen their cultural ties.

They fundraise by teaching the children traditional dances and music which they perform for visitors such as ourselves. Currently the children range in age from 7 to 15.

When we first arrived we had another introduction and then the children came out individually, introduced themselves and told us the area from which their particular traditional costume came. The older children did their introductions in English, as that is one of the subjects they are learning.

The first song was their own special "Ninos con Bendicion" anthem and I have to say it was hard to see through the tears. The children are just beautiful, performing in the way that children do... with giggles and sideways glances at each other. It took a lot of self control not to bawl my eyes out; I didn't think that would be a good response to such joy and optimism. The older children kept an eye on the younger ones and in the background Lesbi and Tino kept an eye on the whole proceeding. I have to say my personal favourite was the little dance I like to call "Romance, Guatemalan Style" (otherwise known as La Pedida) - precious!

After the performances were over we were told about the beautiful weaving Lesbi does (and obviously teaches the girls to do). This town in particular is famous for the double sided weaving and it is lovely indeed. Of course there were lots of items to buy to support this group... but first the tortillas.

We were taken over to Lesbi's outdoor kitchen and the tortilla making process was explained. The drying of the corn (there are four varieties commonly used: white, yellow, black and red), the removal of the corn from the husk, the grinding, the boiling (or it might be boiling, then grinding), then the milling which is done at a central mill outside the home. This paste is brought home and further refined on the stone in a process Lesbi made look very simple but which was actually quite difficult (at least to do neatly and properly).

This refined paste, in our case a blue-grey colour due to blue and red corn being used, is shaped into balls and then flattened between dampened hands to produce a tortilla. Lesbi produces an average of 300 each day to feed the children and family. Get your head around that number next time you're complaining about throwing dinner together. The tortillas are then cooked on a large flat dish which is heated (a lot) over a bbq with an open flame. I'm not sure but I think this stove might be going all day.

It's immodest of me to say but I may have won the unofficial tortilla making competition because when Nancy saw mine she called Lesbi over and they both admired it (or silently laughed at it, I prefer to think they were admiring). While the tortillas were cooking we shopped at their little stall. Will played soccer with the boys which made him a very happy little Vegemite.

We were then served up the tortillas (obviously the evenly shaped ones made by Lesbi previously) with the most delicious black beans and green chili sauce. That chili sauce is addictive, just the right amount of heat with a little kick - so good!

This is an instance of good people doing good work, plain and simple. There is a simple but special quality about Lesbi and Tino. I could feel Jay and Tino (who is obviously a carpenter by the tools and half finished work in his workshop) form a silent bond.

The cost (per year) is US$300 to put a child through primary school, US$450 for high school and US$400-$1200 to put an exceptional girl through higher education. I am just putting it out there. What do you spend $300 on? How much of a difference can that money make to a child's life? If there's a little spare cash burning a hole in your pocket email Nancy - NancyinAntigua@yahoo.com and she'll help channel that money into something very useful.

When the time comes to go I don't really want to. There is a lovely warm atmosphere at this place which just makes me want to hang out. We emerge onto the street and there is a procession going past so we are "trapped" for a while. We watch the procession; each one we've seen is similar yet different, each has it's own quirkiness. A helado (ice cream) vendor rolls up and while I'm getting the children an ice block each (abour 60 cents each) I get a brain wave and ask for one each for all the Ninos (17 of them), plus Lesbi and Tino (who would never ask for themselves), plus the shy toddler of the family next door. One of the other families on the tour go halves with us and suddenly we have one happy helado vendor. It the simple things in life and it was a small joy to watch these beautiful children enjoy a tiny treat our children take very much for granted.

Finally the procession ends and we say our goodbyes. We head home but a little bit of our hearts stay at Ninos con Bendicion.

Lago de Atitlan

After a restless night (for me, everyone else is sleeping like the proverbial logs) we were ready for our big day trip to mythical Lake Atitlan (Lago de Atitlan).


We were collected promptly at 8:00 am and then proceeded on a bone rattling tour of Antigua to collect the various other passengers. Antigua does not seemingly have a sealed road within the city limits and driving around on the cobblestone streets yesterday morning made me pity anyone who earns a living from driving in this town. Like anything I suppose you would get used to it. These streets may look beauiful and rustic but they are not a good match for modern cars. The shock absorber repair companies must make a killing here (not to mention to brake and tyre merchants).


Our mini bus is finally full and we leave the town proper. We pass the industrial areas which are not dissimilar to our own, large warehouses and merchants of various kinds: bricks, plumbing supplies, electrical. Except it looks like a bomb has been dropped on most of the buildings. This is the very curious thing about the buildings here, most are in various forms of disrepair or partial construction. Sometimes just the four walls are up, no windows or doors. Most look like they were going to put on a second storey but never got around to it, with pipes and reo sticking out. [Found out today people don't finish their houses because they don't have to pay taxes on unfinished houses. Genius!]


The road turns into a very impressive freeway, two lanes each way. The cars, buses and trucks zoom along. The road is quite steep in many places. Often we'll see a lone bike rider, sometimes with a load. Other times a person or small group walking; the women balancing giant baskets on their heads. It is baffling: where are these people going seemingly miles from anywhere. But they walk a long way each day to go to work or to sell something at the market. While it appears that we are in the middle of nowhere there are small clusters of homes (not what you would think of when I say "home", there are no McMansions here), tiny villages of sorts on every hillside.


We stop for a "banos" break at a lovely looking restaurant. While us ladies line up (this seems to be a totally universal problem) for use of the toilets a boy of 8 or 10, neatly dressed in black pants and white shirt, hair combed and shined, runs in, quick as a monkey jumps on top of the paper towel dispenser, opens it and takes out the roll. Nimbly he puts the cover back on and proceeds to rip the paper towel into squares and fold them to hand out to the ladies as they finish washing their hands. He has a sweet smile and greets each lady as she passes. Of course we all tip as we file past. [Yet another example of enguinity for survival.]


We carry on up and down the mountains. We turn off and proceed through a village and then onto a windy road which tested my ability to control anxiety. When your driver is talking on his mobile phone and there is a sheer drop on one side of the vehicle it's hard not to imagine a grizzly end as we all plummet to our deaths.


But we do not plummet anywhere. We descend towards Lake Atitlan and soon enough we start to gt glimpses of water. It's a misty day, so everthing appears as a water colour, slightly grey, slightly blurry. As we get closer and closer realisation sets in. We have no plan; I have booked our visit to Panajachel with no thought to what we might do once we arrive. Panic! Those who know me will understand I don't function well without a plan, when, where, who and why. All those "w's" must be addressed before anything happens. Suddenly we were here and no idea what to do next.

Luckily we were quickly swept up by a man whose job was hard to pinpoint but he was very happy to take us in hand. Within seconds of getting off the bus we had agreed upon a private boat to take us to two towns on the Lake's shores. We had just over four hours before our trip back to Antigua so we didn't have much time to muck around. A brief tuk tuk ride later we were being introduced to our boat driver Edgar, a boy of anywhere between 15 and 25. His fibreglass launch, no fancy overheads here, was to be our pleasure cruiser for the day.

I can't describe the feeling of moving across the lake for the first time. It was exhilirating, our small boat skimming the small, choppy waves at a rapid pace, spray flying from all sides. A few minutes into the journey a previously glum Marianna shouted "I know I didn't want to come to Guatemala but this is the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!". It was almost magical. The lake is huge and flat, surrounded on all sides by mountains and volcanoes. Yesterday those mountains were vague shadows amids the mist; as we approached they would emerge from the gloom and reveal their beauty.

There are villages of various sizes dotted around the lake. There are also luxurious private homes and resorts, by far the best structures I have seen anywhere in Guatemala.

We approach the first village on our itinerary, San Antonio Palopo. It is a tight knot of tiny buildings dominated by a large, white church. Gingerly we come onto shore and look around. Very quickly a tiny Mayan woman introduces herself to me as Manuela, very politely asking my name in good English. In the blink of an eye she is doing something complicated to Marianna's hair, turning her into a minature Mayan girl. The effect is gorgeous and of course we buy the scarf. Meanwhile Jason has been accosted by two or three boys selling woven bookmarks. He buys a handful and I haven't got the heart to explain to them why they should cease and desist in making further bookmarks in this Kindle world we now live in.

Manuela senses an easy target and drags us to her home/showroom where she shows us the beautiful weaving she creates with her family (sister/mother/aunt?). As usual in these situations I feel flustered and pressured but unable to simply walk away. We buy a gorgeous table runner and escape as quickly as possible before another purchase is manufactured.

The town is steep and tiny, mountain goat country. We huff and puff up the narrow streets while children scamper around our legs and young women go about their business, young men seem to simply loiter. Everyone has a smile and a "hola" or a "beunos tardes", even the ones with nothing to sell.

We briefly visit the church, which is not particularly remarkable, apart from being large and white. Jay is anxious we stick to schedule so we head back down towards the jetty. There are a group of boys playing soccer on the basketball court and Will is keen to join them. Language is no barrier to soccer and soon enough he's on the court playing. It's a mind blowing concept: Guatemalan born, Australian raised Will is playing soccer on a dusty court in a speck of a town on the shores of Lake Atitlan, a million physical and cultural miles from home.

I find a general store around the corner and buy the boys a new ball and a dozen lollipops (no helado at this shop). The boys are not super impressed, accepting the ball without comment and sneakily taking more than one lollipop each, leaving me short when it comes to giving the boys selling bookmarks one each. We don't have enough for the older boys so we give them one quetzal for a Coke. "You're mean" they shout at us as we get on the boat.

Again we bump across the water. I am concious that this lake is the crater of an old volcano, that we are moving across history. Next stop is the more substantial village of Santiago Atitlan. Here the markets meet the shore, so you barely set foot of the boat before you're hit with the full force of Mayan economy.

We are starving so manage to keep our game faces on, with a million "no, gracias" we stumble up the hill in search of lunch. Many stalls and shops, none selling food more substantial than Doritos and Coke. Finally we find a cafe which is busy and looks clean. We get a table and order lunch, which involves a great deal of arguing with Miss M about why she can't order the spaghetti bolegnese. Then we wait, wait, wait. We have to be back at the jetty by 3:00 in order to be back at Pana for our 4:00 pm bus. Finally Jay's order arrives but nothing else. We tell them to cancel the rest and share his sandwich. Miss M is sulking due to aforementioned spaghetti situation so won't eat anything.

Edgar is waiting for us aboard "Ingrid" and we head back towards Pana. The mists are settling in and there is very little visibility. It adds to the magical effect. The mist can't hide the three ugly green hotel towers someone has built to the left of the central Pana area. It's hard to believe even the most corrupt planning official could allow something so horrible and inappopriate to be built in this area. Not that the town is beautiful by any stretch of the imagination, but like most of the towns outside of Guatemala City it has its own particular charm.

We arrive back at our designated collection point with time to spare. What else do you do in Guatemla but shop? Generally I am more attracted to the quiet merchants, the ones who sit with their goods and wait to be approached. I like to browse without feeling pressurised to buy. Outside the hotel which is our meeting spot sits a lovely young woman. I enjoy buying from her because she is helpful but placid and polite, with a sweet smile. She won't be calling us "mean".

Four o'clock comes and goes and no sign of our bus. We start checking our paperwork, asking at the hotel's reception desk, but still no bus. A little anxiety creeps in? What if no-one comes?! But they do, this time in a much smaller mini-bus. Jay has to sit up the front with the driver. The kids and I squished in the back. In front of us an American couple, the husband straight out of Fawlty Towers... complaining about every little thing, the traffic, the driver. "I bet he doesn't even know where he's going," he mutters not so quietly at one point.

After many traffic delays (the Semana Santa processions are what it's all about here this week) we get dropped off at Parque Central and look for somewhere to eat. We have literally shared one sandwich all day... oh, and a bag of plantain chips. The centre of Antigua is buzzing but it's hard to find a restaurant which either isn't full to capacity or looks fit for human habitation. We find Fusion which is empty but looks welcoming. While we're perusing the menu at the door the wild haired American manager rushes out and we're hooked by her friendly manner.

We order (Miss M seems happy to order ribs and not the spaghetti bolegnese I had caved in to) and while we wait for our meals a procession descends on the street outside. We get to see it close up. What a fascinating sight. Rows of boys and men in purple hoods, KKK style, various men and women in suits, then the actual floats depicting Jesus, all carried by men and boys. The last float is carried by women. I know there's meaning to all this but you'll have to look it up yourself because I don't know enough detail to present a coherent description here. Needless to say it all looks extremely tedious and strange to a heathen like me, but certainly culturally fascinating.

Our host tells us she is from Alaska originlly and is finishing up this job to manage an exclusive spa on Lake Atitlan (from where we've just come) which is only accessible by helicopter and private boat. Oh, the extremes of third world countries. The poverty and the excess.

Exhausted, the kids scream for a tuk tuk, but none can be found. So we walk home. It's been an amazing but very long day. Another one coming up tomorrow.

Day Two: Antigua Pics

The Big Day

Today was the big day: meeting Ana Mercedes, Will's birthmother. She was to meet us here together with S, the searcher who is nothing short of a miracle worker when it comes to finding and connecting with birthmohers.

They arrived promptly at 10:00 am. Jay and Will had been waiting by the gate and Miss M ran in to tell me "they are here". I walked up to meet them and there were lots of hugs all around. I hadn't realised how tense I was until those first few moments were passed and the world was still spinning on its axis.

I don't like to build up anxiety so I had spent a lot of subconscious energy dismissing any "what if" type questions which had arisen over the last few months. Today, looking at Ana Mercedes, holding her hand, felt comfortable and natural and any anxieties I had allowed to build up dissipated instantly.

We sat around the table in our sunny courtyard and talked, asking each other questions, laughing. S's relaxed, confident, friendly yet professional translation made the whole experience much easier than I had anticipated.

Ana Mercedes has the most twinkly eyes and she loves to chat. Knowing what a tough life she has led by anybody's standards makes this a marvel. How does someone live through all that and still smile, laugh, talk openly, open herself up to total strangers from the other side of the world?

After a while Miss M wanted to swim so we moved our entourage to the shade of the tree beside the pool and continued our chatting. Soon it was lunchtime and after a quick discussion we decided the local Italian restaurant was just what we needed.

As the only customers we had the whole second floor area to ourselves, which meant we were both cosy and private. Lunch was ordered and eaten and the talk never stopped.

I have to say Will seemed like a cat that had swallowed the cream, quiet and content. He sat next to Ana Mercedes everywhere we went and was happy for her to hold his hand or rest her hand on his arm or leg. There was a simple, unspoken bond there which broached the language barrier; it just was.

I don't feel any jealousy about this, if anyone is worried on my behalf. We don't own Will; he came to our care through the incredibly mysterious alignment of our fetes. It is what it is. I feel nothing but love and awe and appreciation for Ana Mercedes. He is our son and he is her child; those are undisputable facts. Love is not a jug of cordial which is reduced when poured into multiple cups, there is enough for us all.

There were lots of things said today which can't be reproduced here because they are private between those who need to know. I'm not the secretive type but there is no value in sharing what was discussed today in a public forum.

All I know is that today was a beautiful day, enjoyed by all. Will is happy that he has made a connection with his mysterious "birthmother", somewhat saddened that the same thing wasn't possible with his birthfather (at this point). Knowing Will I'm sure there will be much under the surface processing going on and questions brewing which will pop up at the most unexpected times. He is not a boy who will have a lot of words to say about today's experience but that doesn't mean he isn't thinking about it all.

After lunch we walked all together to Parque Central where we watched Miss M ride a horse around the square. We said goobye to S and her assistant C and walked around a bit more with Ana Mercedes. Then it was time for her to go. It was a simple goodbye: hugs, kisses, tears, smiles. But it was the most difficult part of the day.

I know that as a family we are doing something (what is enough? or the right amount?) to help Ana Mercedes whose life is unimaginably more difficult than ours. But there is still guilt or something like it. I'm not responsible for her life. But I believe her life is entertwined with ours and no matter how hard I try to logic it it still hurts to think we'll be spending more on our take away dinner than she might earn in a week or a month.

So here's to a strong woman who has to fight very hard to survive in life. A woman who has made the toughest of decisions, one of which has allowed me to indulge in the whim of motherhood. Such is life.

Day One: Antigua Pics

Hola from La Antigua, Guatemala

This is our humble abode for the next week. It is a very comfortable two bedroom casa in a small gated compound which is about a ten minute walk from Parque Cental, the hub of La Antigua.

Let's catch up on the last however many hours... I have no idea how many because it could be less than 24 or it could be more than 100... I have lost track of day and night and which way is up.

We departed Sydney on a Virgin Australia fligh at 2:40 pm on Saturday 31 March. It was pretty much a faultless flight; the worst thing I can say about it was that serving a pasta side salad is not a brilliant idea when the main is a pasta or even a Butter Chicken (which was delicious by the way). Great service, great and plentiful food and top notch entertainment system. Big Jay even got double lucky with a seat across the isle from the kids and I and a bulkhead seat with the extra leg room he needs.

So a smooth flight into LAX. The usual crazy long standing around in Customs; finally fresh LA air and freedom. Straight onto a hotel shuttle to the Hilton LAX. There's nothing like the comfort, physical and psychological of a highly rated hotel. When I walk into a lobby of such an establishment I know that all is well with the world; nothing is too much trouble and everything can be fixed with the swipe of a credit card.

The kids were tired and out of sorts, especially Will who had come down with a fairly nasty cold on the flight; a combination of a lingering sniffle, airplane air conditioning and tiredness. They didn't wan to eat so we settled into the hotel room and went down for some lunch.

The Hilton was hosting some sort of US Army event, uniforms everywhere. There's something bigger and better about a US Service[wo]man. They just seem more of everything, more patriotic, more capable, more don't-mess-with-me-mofo, they fill out their uniforms better, they just project an aura which is "more".

After lunch we headed back to our room just in time to stop a brother-sister squabble of jet lagged proportions. Luckily we didn't require the assistance of the aforementioned military personnel, but it was touch and go there for a moment.

The afternoon turned into evening as we lazed about, dozing on and off, watching Cartoon Network and trying not to think about getting on another plane.

At 8:00 pm we cleared out, somewhat sorry to leave our cozy cocoon. Check-in was relatively hassle free, apart from the slightly worrying moment or two when the Delta check-in chick thought Marianna wasn't booked onto the second leg of our flights from Guatemala to Orlando. Mystery solved we proceeded to the Sky Club Lounge for more sitting around doing not much of anything. Decent snacks and a quiet place to hide from the unwashed masses, that's all one requires in a business class airport lounge.

On board, the business class seats were OK but not what I was expecting/hoping for. Not even a footrest... though the seats were wide and reasonably comfy. I couldn't sleep due to seats, turbulance and not wanting to sleep through breakfast. Guess what? No breakfast. It was advertised on our itinerary but didn't eventuate.

Then the pilot is announcing we will be landing in 8 minutes and the beatiful lights of Guatemala City are spread out underneath us. Flying into a city at dawn is special and this was our second dawn landing in GC. Lucky us!

The airport was virtually deserted and we were through baggage claim and customs in minutes. Our lovely driver Mauricio was waiting, waving his sign above the waiting crowd. In seconds we were in his van and driving through the waking streets of GC. The dusty diesel smell was probably the main memory trigger for me. It brought back arriving in that city in September 2000 full of hope and anticipation.

Now we were returning with our 12 year old son, the baby we had first held on that humid September day. He was tired and sniffly but we could tell the city was making an impression on him. He could tell we weren't in Kansas any more.

One of my favourite feelings is driving through an unfamiliar city, straight off a plane, a little dazed and confused... quietly just absorbing the sights, sounds and smells. Allowing my brain to process, admire and file the sensory data for future reference.

We were going to stop at a WalMart on the way to Antigua to stock up on life's little necessities but they were all closed. So we stopped at a smaller supermarket in Antigua and stumbled around trying to choose what we needed using brand recognition and educated guesses.

Mauricio brought us home and we laid down for a brief rest but very quickly all four of us were fast asleep. Waking at 11:30 am I realised I needed to get everyone up and out for lunch or we wouldn't be able to sleep tonight and thus our sleeping patterns would continue to be out of whack. We would also be very tired tomorrow when we are meeting Will's birthmother, Ana Mercedes.

I got the boys up easily enough but Miss M put up an admirable fight, only being enticed out of bed by the neighbours tiny (I am talking TINY, people!) puppy Tamarindo. After a quick chat with our lovely Spanish neighbour Lilith, we emerged into the street and made our way towards Parque Central, where the Holy Week fun was starting to heat up.

Last time we visited Antigua it was quiet, very quiet. Today it was chock full of people; Holy Week is probably the most important festival on the Catholic Guatemalan calendar and we have landed right at the start of it. There were lots of Mayan folk in their colourful clothing, selling goods and also enjoying the carnival atmosphere with their families. The restaurants were all full, some with queues... including Campero Pollo which was our intended lunch stop. The queue was out the door and we didn't have the patience to wait.

We found a quaint, traditional style restaurant across the road and were soon tucking into the most delicious nachos I've probably ever had. I'm going to put it down to the corn chips and the guacamole - both were sensational and just that much different to what we have at home. Yum!

Slowly we made our way home. The streets around Parque Central are being closed off and we found people (families? church groups?) making signs or pictures out of some sort out of pine needles and other plant cuttings in the middle of the street. We couldn't tell what they might be but they are obviously of some sort of religious significance. All will be revealed in the next few days when Holy Week will rev up to full throttle.

Now Will is resting on the sofa, flicking through dozens of tv channels and settling on none. Big Jay took Marianna for a swim and now they've headed back into the centre to get her hair braided and to pick up something for dinner (dare I hope for Campero?).

I'm weary, ready to go to bed but trying very hard to stay up for another 2 or 3 hours. It's now 5:00 pm... if I can stay up until eight and get a reasonable night's sleep maybe my body clock will start to adjust.

Anyway, that's all the dull details so far. Tomorrow will be a big, emotional day. Stay tuned.

Anniversaries

This is the weekend for big anniversaries. The date 11 September has a lot of significance for us for two reasons.

On the Australian 11 September 2000 we arrived home from Guatemala with Will. It was exactly a week before the opening ceremony for the Sydney Olympic Games and we shared our flight from LA with the Brazillian Volleyball team. I'll ever forget the group of giants crammed into their cattle class seats, their knees awkwardly sticking out into the aisles.

Getting off that plane I was overwhelmed with so many different emotions. Mainly exhaustion. Long distance travel with a 16 month old baby we had known for less than a week was a totally new experience for me. I was probably bordering on hysteria, if I'm honest.

However coming through the gates was amazing. My family was there and a whole bunch of friends, especially those who had recently brought home their own boys from Guatemala. In some ways we were all the walking wounded; survivors of an ordeal which had left us all exhausted, frustrated and confused. Yet we had all come through and triumphed....

It is hard to describe how I felt holding my gorgeous little boy, my longed for, dreamt of son. The little boy who had waited for us for 16 months, neglected in a dirty cot in an orphanage in Guatemala City. Disbelief that he was real, that we were together, that bureaucracy had been overcome and we were home.

There is a photo of our group at the airport, holding our children, beaming. I adore that photo. It is meaningful and poignant.

My dad drove us home to our little house in Lisarow. It was clean and peaceful and quiet. And strange. We had been fighting a battle over three long years and now we had returned with the "spoils". It was hard to accept. The anti-climax was enormous. How to live in peace when you have been slowly conditioned for war?

A year and one day later, in a different house, our new house, we awoke to the horror of what was to become 9/11. September 11 changed our lives and the lives of most people around the world.

What a surreal day it was. To this day, despite 10 years going past, I can't accept what I saw that day. I so clearly remember turning on the early morning news that day and looking straight into an image of the first plane flying into the first tower. My brain reeled, at first thinking they were showing something from a sci-fi movie, but knowing instinctively that something was terribly wrong.

The next few weeks went by in slow motion. I became addicted to CNN, staying up until 1, 2, 3am... then rising at 5 am to watch again. I felt I needed to see what would happen next. It felt so important to see, to know...

So for us 11 September has a double meaning. It is the day our family changed forever and the day the world changed forever. The day our dream came true and the day the world woke to a nightmare.

Lest we forget.

2011: The Year of the Frequent Flyer Points

I've just booked our flights to NEW YORK CITY for May/June 2011. My dear sister is getting married, which is wonderful and amazing news. But more importantly I am going to NEW YORK CITY, THE BIG APPLE, THE CITY THAN NEVER SLEEPS.

Just a little excited about it. I just hope it doesn't disappoint like LA.

I'm on a no-shopping diet between now and then because I plan to hit the shops hard in NY. It's going to be a tough nine months.

And because spending endless hours on painfully uncomfortable long haul flights is just too much fun we are starting to plan what we've been calling THE BIG TRIP.

December 2011/January 2012 we'll see us visiting Colombia, Guatemala and then back to Orlando, Florida. We want to take the kids back for a good visit to their countries of birth which will be very special. Then we want to finish the holiday with a week or so in Orlando visiting DisneyWorld and most importantly Harry Potter World.

I don't know what I'm most excited about really (apart from the actual wedding part, though secretly I think I'm just a little more excited about Harry Potter World, sorry JB). It's going to be a huge travel year and I'm starting to feel the familiar happy/scared anxiety building.