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Several times during the day, I remembered, "I am somewhere different." There was the pickup truck in front of us on the road, not only kids sitting in the open bed but also the sheep traveling with them. There was the family waiting to cross the street, dressed in ordinary everyday clothes, except for the dad who was wearing clown makeup. There was the church service at least three times longer than the average American Sunday worship gathering. There was the waiting and waiting for the tacos to arrive. When the guys were finally arrived, there was the watching in surprise as they wheeled their own propane stove into the kitchen. There was "Bistek o trompo? Con todos?"

And in all of that, there was the joy of reunion, and much celebration, and the good kind of tired that comes after a very full day. There was the peace of contentment, knowing that there is no place else I would rather be.