Lost In Translation

I scribbled the following back in February, when, at 23 weeks pregnant, I suddenly decided to go to a conference in Guatemala City... A few musings on impending motherhood to share...

What is it about sitting in airport bars at stupid times in the morning? I've done this so often - usually half collapsing with exhaustion - that it feels part of the experience now. The journey wouldn't be complete without my dramatic, romantic, self-indulgent 'lost in translation' moments. This time I am in New York's JFK airport. As far as I'm concerned, it is 3.20am, but in New York, it is only 10.30pm. The barman and two blokes sitting next to me are speaking Spanish, which is oddly comforting. To them, I am just another Gringa, but it is still nice to listen in unnoticed. And I much prefer a Latino accent to an American one. I am on route to Guatemala after all.

The first time I did this sort of thing - sat alone in a strange bar full of strangers in a strange country - I was only just sixteen, drinking melon flavoured cocktails underage in the hotel bar in Helsinki, having accidentally on purpose 'lost' the rather dull Finnish bloke I'd come out to meet. This time, for obvious reasons, I am not on the alcohol, but that is irrelevant. I am still luxuriating in anonymity and possibility. This time I am not alone, however; Little One is with me always, kicking her appreciation or annoyance. Right now I really am "navel-gazing", - with good reason. I have to grow up, be responsible for another tiny life rather than just myself, and that is both terrifying and exhilarating. Will this style of anonymity and possibility - the desire to experience everything I can, everywhere I can - ever wear off? What, after all, is the point? Intercontinental travel is lonely and exhausting. Why do I do this to myself? Unfortunately I think I need to travel more to find out the answer to that.

(Here's my Guatemala adventures on my work blog)