"Home" has become a moving target for me this year. Of course we know that our home is with our family in America and nothing's ever gonna replace it, but we've tried to find a couple places on the road to come as close as they can. The Kathmandu Peace Guest House was like that for us, our base for explorations out into the Himalayas, Tibet, and the jungle. We came and went four different times, and the guys there always saved the same room for us, put up with our 17 day mountain stink, and, with big smiles on their faces, always said "Welcome Home."
Now, on Thanksgiving, home is the Hombro a Hombro clinic in Santa Lucia. My buddy Jon and I spent the last 5 days on Honduras' Carribean coast, realizing that we had wandered into the aftermath of Tropical Storm Gamma only when our bus took a 3 hour detour past washed-out bridges and flooded homes. We started heading home on Tuesday, hoping we could find enough detours and patched roads to make it back to Meg by Thanksgiving. It took us five buses (riding on the roof of the last one for 3 hours on dirt roads because there was no room for us inside), a $20 taxi ride, and a mile-long hike around a hole that could eat a truck in the middle of a flooded road, but last night we arrived.
And today the three of us hiked to El Salvador, riding a poor man's zip line over a river to cross the border. For our feast tonight, we're sans turkey, cranberry sauce, and stuffing, but we've got Honduran chow mein (what?) and dark chocolate that Jon brought from America for us.
Don't get us wrong: if we could teleport ourselves to Texas, California, Florida, and Wisconsin to be with our families for a real Thanksgiving feast, we'd do it in a second. But short of that, we've got 3 friends, some good food, and a temporary home to give thanks for. The pilgrims would be proud.
--rahul
