The two backpacks looked incongruous in the boot of our hire car. We were unleashed; free to pull out of the airport and hit the freeway. A culture shock.
Interstate 45 took us south. Cars, manicured lawns, roadside churches and giant signage was the new landscape of our travels. But, after 13 weeks of struggling to speak Spanish, it’s the human interactions that had changed. The lad serving us in Subway loved the way Roger requested gherkins rather than pickles. The man at the RV park said At least you’re not THAT woman when Hilary (one l) introduced herself. And the young woman at the motel in Huntsville gave us the classic Texan welcome of How y’all.
In the town centre bar Hilary had a Pina Colada and Roger a beer. On the giant tvs two live baseball matches were being screened. The beach in Costa Rica seemed along way away, but this was another type of freedom.