Travel has a way of teaching us—whether we like it or not. Sometimes, it’s a new lesson; other times, it’s a not-so-subtle reminder of what we should already know.
Take community for example. As Americans, we’ve mastered coexisting without actually interacting—self-checkouts, food delivery apps, even texting “here” instead of knocking. Technology makes isolation effortless, and human connection starts to feel optional. But when you have less, you need your community more. In many places, that’s just life. It’s a reality check we could all use—because no one’s ever survived a crisis thanks to Amazon Prime.
Monterrico, Guatemala
I woke up to the sound of a dog barking in the distance—or at least that’s what my half-asleep brain assumed. I was in that weird limbo between sleep and consciousness, where you’re not really awake, not really asleep—you just are.
"Shut up, dog," I thought, clinging desperately to sleep after a long travel day to Monterrico, Guatemala, a remote beach town on the Pacific Coast. But sleep was not in the cards, because the dog kept at it. Then, voices. Shouting. My sluggish brain tried to process what was happening as I was yanked into full awareness.
I cracked open one eye. A strange glow seeped through the first-floor window of my hostel room at El Delfin—not the kind of glow you want to see at what I guessed was around 1 a.m.
More shouting. This time, closer.
"Fuego."
Fire.
Well, that woke me up.
I hesitated before opening my door, not entirely sure what chaos lay beyond. The moment I stepped out, people ran past me, their urgency snapping me to attention. Then, from the corner of my eye, I spotted him—the grandfather of the family who owned the hostel. He was sprinting toward me with a bucket in hand, wearing what appeared to be nothing but an oversized Mickey Mouse T-shirt.
Then, without missing a beat, he filled his bucket from a nearby hose and hobbled off toward the growing inferno.
I turned my head in the direction he was running and immediately realized why everyone was in full panic mode—the banana leaf roof of the hostel’s restaurant was completely engulfed in flames. Ten-foot-high fire licked the sky, thick black smoke curling ominously into the night.
More people swarmed past me, frantically filling buckets, while other guests, just as groggy as I had been a minute ago, stumbled out of their rooms, their faces shifting from confusion to sheer terror.
My first instinct? Run.
I mean, come on. The entire hostel’s roof was made of dried leaves. If the fire jumped just a few feet from the restaurant to the rooms, the whole U-shaped building would go up in flames, potentially trapping us inside.
But then I noticed something - no one was booking it toward the gate. The entire local community was running toward the fire, buckets in hand, ready to help. The fear I’d felt moments before was quickly replaced by something else.
Adrenaline. Determination. A very strong urge to not be the useless gringo standing in the middle of an emergency.
So, I grabbed a bucket.
The next 30 minutes stretched into what felt like hours. A makeshift assembly line formed—buckets and tubs of water passed hand over hand, lifted up ladders, and dumped onto the raging fire. The town’s two police officers arrived in full uniform—shirts unbuttoned and askew, looking like they had just rolled out of bed (because, let’s be honest, they probably had). Despite their disheveled state, they managed to bring some order to the chaotic effort.
Slowly but surely, we beat the flames back.
As the last of the fire fizzled out, we all took a collective step back, finally exhaling. I looked around at the surreal scene before me—a rainbow of humanity catching their breath, adrenaline still coursing through their veins. People from all over the world, sweaty, exhausted, and likely reconsidering their vacation choices.
And then, there he was.
The local town drunk, still clutching a bottle of rum, staggering over to a picnic table, as if this had just been another Tuesday night for him.
In that moment, it hit me—without the immediate and selfless help of every single person there, this hostel would have burned to the ground. A lovely family would have lost everything.
But instead, we saved it.
And I? Well, I learned that if you're ever woken up by a barking dog in the middle of the night in a remote town in Guatemala, maybe check to make sure the whole place isn’t on fire before rolling over and going back to sleep. Also, keep your eyes open because teacher’s are everywhere.