My Favorite Souvenir: Not What I Was Looking For

We spent New Year's 2017 in Guatemala with friends. Friends who lived in Guatemala and hosted us like family. For our first two nights, we stayed at their home in Guatemala City. Their two boys had to sleep somewhere else while we took over their room. The next four nights we spent at their home overlooking Lake Atitlan. It was on the journey to the lake that I found one of the best souvenirs ever. It was not in a shop or a roadside stand. It was in the front seat of my friend Betty's car.

We were getting ready for bed on the second night, and making plans with Betty and her husband Rafa.  Tomorrow we would be driving to Lake Atitlan.

"What time should we be ready?"  I inquired.

"Don't worry, we'll go when the cars are packed," Rafa assured me. "There will be no rush." But we wanted an early start to miss the traffic.

I pressed: "I just want an idea of what time you want to leave, so I can have my little family of four ready -- are we looking at 6:00am or 10:00am?" 

Finally, Betty and Rafa committed to leaving "between 8:00 and 9:00." Close enough. We don't have to set an alarm, but once we're up, we need to keep the bus moving.

The next morning, we got our coffee and tea. The maid had breakfast ready. (Everyone of a certain income level has lots of "help" in Guatemala.) The kids were all pretty bleary-eyed. 

Around 8:30, we started to pack -- two cars, four adults, seven kids (our two, their four, plus a friend for the teenage girl, of course), one dog, two kitesurfing kites and boards, food for 15 people for a week (all of us plus friends meeting us there, plus the friends that drop by),  luggage, and musical equipment.  

We had decided that "girls" would go in the Audi station wagon, and "boys" (including the dog) would go in the Suburban. There was luggage (teen girls take a lot of stuff). The food was in giant grocery bags, not very stackable in the back of the Suburban. This line item included 60 eggs. They were in one layer in a giant cardboard egg carrier -- like what eggs come in at the grocery store, only much bigger.

By now the cars were full. But we still had kitesurfing kites to pack. Rafa is the head of the Guatemalan association of kite surfers. There's no way he's spending a week on the lake and not bringing these giants with him. The packing team (Rafa, my husband Mike, and Rafa's houseman) wrangled the gear onto the roof of the Suburban. Now we were really full. But there were still the musical instruments. We would be there over New Year's. Daughter Marcella is a singer. Rafa loves to bang the cajon. It had to come with us. 

I felt like I was in a cartoon. Just when we thought the cars were full, we'd squeeze in something giant that seemed completely ridiculous. 

Somehow we managed to get it all in. Kids were smooshed together with their feet resting on bags, but we got it all. It had felt like hours since they started packing the cars at 8:30. After all the final trips to the bathroom, and grabbing "one more thing", we were ready.  Sitting next to Betty in the front of the Audi, I looked at my watch and said in wonder: "9:03 -- wow! not bad." 

And then Betty gave me my souvenir. She said in her light and bright manner, "oh, Nancy! You and your watch! I don't ever wear a watch. We'll get there when we get there!" Mind you, the "we" to which she refers includes her easy-going (read: not time-obsessed) husband and four kids ranging in age from 9 to 15. We'll get there when we get there?! If I had four kids to wrangle, their watches would be permanently strapped to their wrists using the technology commonly associated with ankle bracelets for prisoners, and we would synchronize said watches every Sunday evening to ensure smooth sailing for the week. Betty had no watch and did no synchronizing. Yet they managed to be ready just 3 minutes past "on time". (For many people, there is commonly a five minute -- or more -- grace period for "on-time". We Martzes tend to adhere pretty strictly to "on-time", allowing fifteen minutes for "fashionably late.") 

Yet here we were, bouncing down the road to our lake adventure. No frustration, no anger, no resentment. Even though they seem to let go of time pressure, this family managed to get on the road when they said they would.

This was such a gift from Betty --"you and your watch!"  It would take a few days to ditch the watch.  The schedule at the lake was generally breakfast at 9:00am, lunch around 3:00, and dinner around 9:00pm.  But this wasn't set in stone. Depending on the day's plan, it would be adjusted. I struggled at first. How can I eat lunch at 3:00? I'll be starving! Well, you're not hungry at noon when at 9:00 you ate eggs, black beans, bacon, and tortillas. Magically, you're not hungry until 3:00. And who wants dinner at 6:00pm? The summer sun is still high in the sky, the lake is shimmering. No need to rush home for dinner. 

Gradually I acclimated to this lake time, Guatemala time.  Eat when you're hungry, leave when you're packed. If the kids know there's a plane to catch, they are smart enough to kick it into gear.

I have not worn a watch since that trip to Guatemala over a year ago.  I have given myself a break about punctuality. More importantly, I have given others a break -- no need to get into an internal lather when someone is running late. And I've discovered that no one gives me grief when I arrive a few minutes after the expected time (see, I didn't say "late"!) It turns out that most people are pretty untethered to their watches, too. 

The best souvenir was not a thing. It was the removal of a thing, and all that the thing represented.

For six months my left wrist lay empty, unadorned, a blank canvas. Now that once-busy wrist showcases a delicate bracelet discovered at the St. Tropez marche. The bracelet is a lovely souvenir. It reminds me of the place I bought it, as a good souvenir should. But it reminds me of Guatemala, too, and Betty's life-changing gentle admonition.