When I arrived to my host family's home in Guadalajara I realized that I had gotten in over my head. I heard them talking all the way from the airport to their home but I had only understood two words: Pizza Hut. My roommate understood more and apparently the Pizza Hut across from their neighborhood was the bus stop for the bus that would take us to school in the morning.
When I look back on that six week "adventure" a few things come to mind: my crazy roommate who tried to get me to join a cult; my host mom who taught me to say bad words in Spanish; getting the worst stomach infection I'd ever had...explosive diarrhea being not the worst symptom. I remember calling home weekly to cry and ask to go home! But I also remember that my host family was amazing and kind and threw me a birthday party. I remember really fun friends who were patient enough to try to figure out what the heck I was trying to say to them in my broken Spanish. I went to beautiful artisan markets and saw amazing murals and pretty much fell in love with Mexico. I realized that people here are kind and helpful and pretty funny too. And the food was amazing...except for whatever I ate that declared war on my stomach.
So, when I graduated the following year, I knew I had to come back for a longer amount of time. Of course I had no idea longer would come to mean permanent! I have to say though I complain sometimes, I really am content with my life in Mexico. The good things definitely outweigh the bad. And I can't even say how amazing my husband is and how happy I am that we found each other. But I'll save that story for another day.
|At my 22nd birthday party my host family gave me. My first "mordida".|