Day 1-2, Travel Day + The Gift of Margin
We began scattered across the country and slowly converged on Houston like a slightly sleep deprived migration. You could spot our team immediately. Not because we moved with much efficiency, but because of this year’s baby blue Faith in Practice shirts. A hopeful shade. Cheerful. Optimistic yet unforgiving to coffee spills.
There’s something about airports before sunrise that will humble anyone. Top preforming medical providers just become unassuming people guarding their lukewarm coffees and negotiating terminals with their carry-on luggage. We assembled in small clusters before funneling south toward Guatemala City.
The Guatemalan air felt different. Softer. Warmer. Familiar.
We loaded into the shuttle bus — backpacks tucked under knees, heads turning toward the darkened streets — and made our way to the Barcelo Hotel. The lobby lights were warm, and dinner was waiting. After months of planning, spreadsheets, and packing lists, it now felt almost almost easy.
There had been news earlier this year — prison riots, unsettling headlines that travel faster than context. But here, on the ground, the rhythm felt steady, even ordinary? We felt safe and warmly received.
Sometimes the world looks louder from a distance.
By Saturday morning we were winding our way toward Antigua.
What Guatemala City breaths, Antigua exhales.
The La Quinta welcomed us with fountains murmuring in shaded courtyards, tiles still cool underfoot, and gardens thick with bougainvillea and other exotic flowers. The kind of place where water seems to move constantly and no one feels rushed by it.
This year, we came a day early on purpose.
Experience has taught us that charging straight into surgery week is like attempting a high altitude climb without acclimatization. You might function — but you’ll feel the cost by Wednesday. So we gave ourselves margin.
Orientation took place on the open veranda — blue tables, carved wooden chairs, bright theatrical clusters of fruity decoration overhead. Veteran volunteers stood at the front, calm and steady, while new volunteers listened with the focus of those who understand that tomorrow everything accelerates.
Then came the unofficial initiation.
We stepped out into cobblestone streets that seem specifically designed to humble weak ankles. Yellow stucco walls glowed in the afternoon sun. Iron-barred windows held hanging plants and tall snake plants reaching toward unfiltered light, paint peeling in dignified layers.
Motorcycles buzzed past in tight quarters. Cars slid by with inches to spare. You learn quickly that Antigua traffic operates on eye contact and mutual bravery.
We wandered toward the plaza where a massive wooden cross stands against the sky, and the cathedral facade rises in ornate cream and gold. Above tiled rooftops, the Guatemalan flag snapped in the wind — blue and white against the volcanic hills that tower like guardians beyond the city.
Veteran volunteers pointed out their favorites:
The café that opens early enough for pre-round coffee, and the establishment that will greet you when your shift is over.
The farmacia to take note of in case you need something.
The corner tienda that sells the best snacks and coldest drinks.
The shops that specialize in chocolate, silver, souvenirs…
It wasn’t just a walking tour. It was social stitching.
By evening, we gathered again under dark wooden beams, fruit-shaped chandeliers now glowing overhead, plates clinking, water bottles sweating onto blue tile tabletops. You could feel the subtle shift in the group — strangers becoming teammates, new volunteers founding their footing, now the laughter becomes easy.
Not yet in scrubs.
Not yet exhausted.
Not yet carrying the weight of patient care.
Just present.
Tomorrow, we’ll walk through the gates at the Obras Sociales del Santo Hermano Pedro.The pace will quicken. The waiting rooms will fill. The reasons we’ve come will arrive, holding winkled paperwork sitting and waiting with quiet hope.
For now, the fountains keep running and we rest.
Brian Jensen
Team blogger, Robinson – Jensen Surgery 888
