There is so much to write that I can't possibly write it all now. That's the problem with blogging. You need time, lots of time, to sit down and do it. Down here in Venezuela, I haven't had a moment to myself for more than ten minutes. Now that's not a bad thing. In fact, that's why I have so much to say. But even now my new uncle-in-law is strumming a cuatro and dancing around the living room of Lena's family house while her brother plays the mirachas and whenever I look up at them they beckon me to join in. Alba, my mother-in-law, just walked in with two of my new cousins and Lenhart, my father-in-law, is on the way home from a business trip to the tiny country of Curacao. When he arrives, we're all going to pack into the Chevy and head for the beach, a four-hour trip. It's already 6PM. Write, Stephen, write fast.

Lena and I packed the bags two days ago. This is my last night in the Saldivia household, which is sad. I've come to call this place home, I've come to call the people in it my family, and they have come to call me one of their own. I've never been so honored in my entire life.

It's been an exciting ride, too, if a bit bumpy at times. My Spanish is only OK, good enough to count past 1000 and speak a few verbs in the past tense, but not good enough to converse. More on that in a later post. Also, for the past four days I've played host to a gifted virus, which has been delighting in my completely unexperienced intestines. I've been to the restroom, lets see, six times today already. The country also has insecurity problems, as the police are merely window-dressing and violent crime is as common as palm trees. All in all, these have been minor issues when compared to the complete experience, but strangely I find tragedy easier to twist into comedy than simply making comedy itself.

The only other country I've spent a considerable amount of time in was Korea, and be prepared for a lot of comparisons. The hallmark of Korea was a culture that emphasized order and control, a country with nearly zero crime and high security imposed by a crushing unwritten social contract. Venezuela the opposite. Venezuela is a free-wheeling culture that emphasizes friendliness, brotherhood and the power of friendship. Perfect strangers can become best friends in seconds here. In Korea, if they didn't know you, it was like you didn't exist.

Both cultures emphasize the family, and in Venezuela I have been immersed in it, and thus my cultural experience here has been much, much richer than any other international trip I have ever made. And my life here is just beginning. Even now Lena and I are talking about how we can make a life here.

Well, that's it. Lenhart is almost home. It won't be five seconds through the door before he starts pushing everyone to get back into the car and head strait for the beach where he can rent a small boat and do what Lenhart does best: Fish!

Notes

Well, looks like Sokonotes the photo blog is about to transform itself into Sokonotes the travel blog...Again. Yes, for those of you new viewers, Sokonotes was originally my travel diary in Korea where I worked for a year in 2005-06. Ever wanted to see what I look like as God, Santa Claus, or (most shocking) an English teacher? Now you can! Just click on those archives on the left side of your page.

My second year in business has come to a close. My first year living on my own in Atlanta has come to a close. Probably the greatest year of my life is quickly nearing it's spectacular finale. Thus, I thought I'd keep everyone in the know.

I'm just over an hour away from boarding a jet headed to Caracas, Venezuela where Lena and I will get married before nearly 300 of her closest friends and family. Luckily we've been practicing. We've already had two weddings: The official one in April and the Jones family reception in September. This third wedding is the Big Enchilada. Lena has been in Barquisimeto for the last two weeks already, planning, buying and working to pull the event together. Her secretario is on the next flight!

It's raining outside Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International airport. People of many nationalities walk the concourse in front of a garishly lit "On The Border" mexican joint. My ears record a host of different languages being spoken: Korean, Japanese, German, French, and yes, Spanish. But the it's the thick-accented, sharp-witted Venezuelan Spanish that is the most distinct, and I grin when I recognize it. It makes me think of Lena. I miss her a lot.

I'm so happy to be traveling again, even if it's somewhere dangerous. I still remember my trip to Korea, a trip that started with a road trip through Wyoming with Wes, then a three-day stop in sunny San Francisco followed by a trans-pacific flight to Seoul where I caught a high-speed train to Busan. This is a much easier four hour non-stop flight, but to a much more mysterious place; a place filled with danger and beauty as well as a new family to get to know. It's altogether exciting, though this time I have to make a serious attempt at learning the language, not just how to ask for kimchi.

I'm also really happy to be finished working. I haven't had a single day off in months. Even today I was up at 7 in the morning preparing images for GSU. Then I took my lens to the repair shop, bought some fishing gloves for my father-in-law, delivered an album, made my last deposit, had lunch with my friends and delivered my car and keys to my sister. I can't wait to be sitting on some crystalline beach in Venezuela, a martini in one hand and my sweet baby Lena in the other. We deserve this.

Well, it's 4:10 and people are starting to fill in the empty blue seats of the terminal gateway. You can always tell international travelers when they are leaving America: Giant carry-on bags packed with everything they can fit in them crouch like leathery trolls next to their masters. It's Christmas, too. The pilot probably needs to strap on another engine.

Venezuela, here I come!