It’s been a month. That’s the one phrase I’ve been tossing over and over and over in my head: a month a month a month a month. Einstein was right: time is most certainly relative. Because there is not a doubt in my mind that if I had spent the first part of the summer in the United States of America that it would still just be mid-June and not early July. But instead, we spent the first part in Mexico, and we are returning to the United States tomorrow. When you’re sitting at home with your family, arguing about whose turn it is to wash the dishes or who has to sweep the floor, one minute can feel like one hour. But when you’re in Mexico, scaling mountains and climbing pyramids, cave diving and exploring museums, when you’re taking three or four interesting classes a day and doing tons of homework every night, one hour can feel like one minute. So it’s extremely hard for me to process that yes, a month has gone by and yes, I do have to return to the United States now. I feel like singing Dora’s song, “We did it. We did it. We did it. Lo hicimos. We did it. We did it. Hooray!” Because we did do it. We paid our dues, we boarded a plane, we landed in Mexico, and WE DID IT, we did everything we were supposed to (and more). We ate quesadillas, and tacos, and burritos, and sopes, and CRICKETS. We walked and climbed and crawled and jumped… and we had a blast. We had the time our our lives. We taught and we learned. We spoke (Spanish) and we listened. We understood and were understood. We did EVERYTHING you can imagine. We fell in love with Dr. Cook and Rosalina Zetina, our beautiful, thoughtful, funny, intelligent, caring and absolutely amazing program directors, who made all of this possible. Year after year, they continue to support students, and we are more than grateful. We fell in love with our families. We fell in love with our professors. We fell deeper in love with the Spanish language. In a month’s time. Only a month. Time, you know, is relative.





















Popocatepetl Volcano on the way to Cuetzalan. Another legend of the two goes a bit differently. Popo and Izta were in love, but Popo had to go off to fight a war. One of the enemy soldiers sent a letter to the emperor (Popo’s father) informing him that Popo had died in the war. When Izta learned of his death, she could not stop crying and refused to eat. A few days later, she died of heartbreak. As her father was preparing for her funeral, Popo returned victorious from the war. The emperor was taken back, to say the least, but he informed Popo that Izta had died. Popo was very sad. He took Izta’s body and carried it to a far away town, where he placed it in front of a mountain and ordered his men to build a table of flowers and he laid Izta’s body on top. He knelt over her crying all night until his heart gave out from the sadness. The Gods were touched by his sacrifice and turned their bodies into great volcanoes. Popo’s volcano is the biggest, and he sometimes throws out smoke to signify that he is still watching over his princess, who lays by his side.








