The feel of a body

On the final day of my four-week stint in Guatemala, I progressed through the tearful goodbyes that seem to bookend every extended sojourn. First it was my Spanish school classmates, two American girls with whom I'd consumed vast amounts of Guatemalan coffee, cementing our friendship with slices of macadamia pie. On the cobbled streets in front of my rented room, we hugged our farewells.

The airport shuttle pulled up to the house, unexpectedly on time (this was Central America, after all). I rushed to collect my luggage then said a quick adios to my host family with more tears and a single kiss on the cheek, Guatemalan style.

My Canadian friend and housemate Jack, whose AA meetings and affection for the underbelly of Guatemala helped me discover a different side of the country, accompanied me to the airport. When we said goodbye, I hesitated, unsure how to approach the cross-border North American send-off. Jack stuck out his hand, a gesture that felt strangely formal. After all, we had shared a bathroom (no delicate feat given the intestinal ups and downs of the last month) and seen each other's underwear drying on the clotheslines. In response to his outstretched hand, I opened my arms.

"This is how we say goodbye in the U.S.," I said. Jack opened his arms too and we hugged for the space of several heartbeats. It was a brief touch but still strangely intimate, and I realized it was the most physical contact we had shared during my entire stay in Guatemala.

In America especially, where we are forever surrounded by the press of people, it is easy to forget how little we are touched. True, we hug hello when it has been awhile and, yes, we hug goodbye when absence stretches before us, but even these gestures are wrappedup with the back pat, that universal signal that it's time to finish the body touching and re-establish personal space.

In France, where an entire culture is based around seduction, they favor the two-cheek kiss, not just for serious greetings and goodbyes, but for every hello and see-you-later. French people kiss before movies and after coffee, when they meet up for a cigarette or go out to a bar. To Americans, it can feel shockingly forward, but I sometimes wonder if we couldn't use more of this casual touching in our own physically standoffish culture.

I remember reading an article about how best to help a friend who has recently lost a spouse. One of the answers: Give him or her a gift certificate for a massage. How true, I thought. Those of us in relationships — with its hand-holding and couch-cuddling — easily forget the physical wasteland of being single in America.

In Guatemala, people prefer the single cheek kiss and considerably more warmth in their physical gestures. During a museum visit, one of my teachers looped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a quick hug. "I'll miss you when you leave," he said. It was a casual gesture sprung from a place of friendship, but still my body sizzled where our skin touched. It occurred to me then that I had gone too long without feeling a body beside mine, and I was suddenly glad to be heading back to the States.

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