Where did I leave things? My first night of sleep on US soil in a Vacation Rental By Owner in Jersey City, air conditioning puttering, skyline dazzling as I fell into dreams on an orange IKEA pull-out sofa. The 5 of us in my immediate family went to sleep with plans to wake up early and take the town.

We did not wake up early.

Around 10am my father and BIL (brother-in-law) left the scene to buy breakfast sandwiches, my Dad famously declaring: “I need to put something on my stomach.” 40 minutes later they returned with Cosí Cafe egg and cheese breakfast sandwiches wrapped in tin foil with coffee to wash it down. Delivery service with a smile, I ain’t mad! Adrienne and I arranged Wicked for 2pm and bought tickets online, shout out to Dad’s wallet, so we could get one Broadway notch in our belts without the stress of standby lines and decision-making in the moment with all 5 of our interests in mind.

Before the show we tracked down Dunkin’ Donuts and I ordered my long lost love: a $3 Dunkin Donuts Iced Caramel Macchiato. The three of us sat while I connected to wifi (so I could message other volunteers and say: “Hey, I’m alive!”) It was 1:25pm, nearly time for us to take our seats for the 2pm show. I am not a punctual person but BROADWAY IS DIFFERENT.

Wicked is a safe bet for the whole family. And Wicked‘s been around since I was 17, making the sting of Broadway a little less stringent and making it a safe bet for my mental health too. I could sit back and watch America’s most accessible musical and assess the matinee performance (are they mailing it in because it’s a matinee?). I tried to laugh as hard as I could without feeling embarrassed because matinee audiences are classically dead. No one cracked up at the lines that usually kill: “You just take that one road the whole time” (referring to the Yellow Brick Road) or “Well, we can’t all come and go by bubble!” My brother-in-law laughed too, so he earned some points by me.

Humid and hot: New York had not changed, not at all. We ebbed our way through the crowd to Junior’s Restaurant, my favorite no matter what my mom says. I split a burger and salmon salad with my sister, both luxuries, and the table ordered an array of fabulous desserts. I was so happy to see New York Classic Cheesecake that I look pictures of it several different angles. I imagine myself in my pueblo, looking at the pictures to cheer myself up on days when I especially miss dairy.

And I was, truly, bottle-it-up-and-sell-it-on-etsy, happy.

I’d seen a show, stolen a sideways shot of the set just to remember the moment even though this is a Broadway NO-NO, and I was with my family who all seemed to enjoy it too. I got to peruse the program and play six degrees of separation with the actors: “Gretchen, we saw him in Next to Normal” I would whisper as Fiyero made his grand entrance. 5 minutes later: “No, no wait, we saw the original Gabe played by Aaron Tveit, Kyle David Massey played Gabe afterwards so we didn’t see this guy..” I’d whisper about No Good Deed “This is actually the shows most challenging song, forget Defying Gravity..”  during the applause, my sister letting me have my moments of geekery without judgment. I have a good sister.

Then everything switched gears to wedding mode as we met up with family. I saw my Aunts and Cousins and Uncles in different groups as we returned from lunch to Jersey, hugging as we said hello with smiles and open arms. That morning I put on a dress I love from Spain and said to my sister: “It’s going to annoy me if anyone asks me if this is from Guatemala when it is nothing like Guatemala. It just looks ‘ethnic.'” 5 minutes later my mom complimented: “Beautiful dress! Is it from Guatemala?” Actually, that could have happened in reverse because I can’t remember who said what. Either way, we all laughed and my sister said: “Well what do you expect?” That’s a good question, always. What do I expect?

And I was happy that my relatives didn’t say anything about the origins of my dress.. We were so full from Junior’s that after we got back, my parents and Chris retreated to their respective rooms and passed out. Adrienne and I rallied and headed to the post-rehearsal-dinner after party… So many after parties.. and we stood in the heat of Jersey as the wedding guests drank. I greeted the bride and groom to be, the motivation for my visit, who were having a great time despite the heat. I haven’t been in that type of heat or humidity, which I had to remind everyone when I heard a few comments: “You are used to this heat though, down there!” Down there is where I live. “Down there.”

When my cousin hugged me he yelled over the music: “You came the farthest!” I think that means “I appreciate you..” And I thought about it… anyone who came from California came the exact distance as me. But I get the point of what he was saying because it seems farther, and if you think about it, no one else drove 5 hours to an airport. No one else lives 5 hours from an airport, if I had to guess. But if you count the hours I’ve logged in culture shock…

This was a sweaty, sticky party of dancing, jiving, be-rompered bodies mixed with folks I knew from growing up in Tampa, talk about a clash of universes, neither of which could appear as my current life circumstances with the best of disguises. I waited at the bar 20 minutes for a beer and made the mistake of leaving my tab open, another 20 minutes to close out. She couldn’t find my credit card in her file box and had to search through it twice. Normally that wouldn’t make me panic but if that credit card disappeared, the amount of hoops I would have to jump through to retrieve another in a country without international mail while in a different state for four days on a holiday weekend… Good God the shudders. She unearthed it and I signed, ready to reunite with my patient relatives downstairs. As we headed out my sister and I walked back to the hotel in the heavy night air of Jersey, chitchatting with relatives. I hate chitchatting so much.

We went to the hotel room where my drunk, tired and sober relatives (it’s all a mix at any given moment) calmly chatted on an L-shaped couch. What could I say to relate to these people? “So, any flea bites lately?” I was surprised by how much I wanted to talk about my life. I thought I’d be worried about repeating myself all the time, but I wanted to repeat myself. I speak words in a Mayan language man! I hand-wash my clothes and buy my food by bartering in a marketplace. I won’t be able to talk about this forever!

My drunk aunt was on the phone with my sober aunt in another hotel room, regaling a tale about how the hotel called her to ask if someone from our party threw up by the elevator. “No..?” We were learning of this tale through my very drunk Aunt on the phone, cracking up. So, someone called Aunt Debbie from the hotel staff to tell her that a random stranger threw up by the elevator? Only this stuff happens with my family when we are together.

I got a few minutes to talk about Guatemala with my uncle and cousin but there were other conversations to be had. I lingered over the generous display of snacks, not regretting one bite. I even ate salsa and chips, which I thought I’d have no interest in.. But typical salsa in Guaté is cooked tomato with onion and hot sauce. It doesn’t taste like the packaged, refrigerated sodium trip that only the US seems to dole out. I ate it just the same.

My sister and I made the 2 minute walk to our VRBO and passed out. Tomorrow is the wedding day.

With all these iced coffees and sugary desserts and subways, I’m not mystified or perplexed by how different New York is from Santa Clara. I’m just happy to be here. And (TBH) I’m happy to experience both.