Backpacking in the mountains!

...That`s what I`m planning to do outside of Merida this weekend. I`m off to the bus station right now. More to come. Love you.

The day a feather fell from the sky into the house...

Today, many things happened to me that would never happen in the US. A few examples, today was the first time in my life that I have ever ridden a mule, the first time a US embassador recognized me and asked me where we had met, (I think) the first time I have ever drank canteloupe juice, the first time I saw a lime the size of a football, and definitely the first time I have seen that a feather had fallen from a bird in the sky directly into my house. All this and it`s only 5:33. When I return from the university director`s house in a few hours, where I will be socializing with the American ambassador and company, I`m sure that I will have more experiences to report on.

So, let me be clear-- the US ambassador arrived in Valera today. While it seemed like nobody really knew that he was coming, the preparations that went in to two very short events were somewhat unbelievable. Security people, embassy people, university people, community members, etc… everyone rounding up to show the ambassador and his wife and daughter a good time, to take some pictures, donate some cheesey toys adorned with American flags, and photograph the ambassador with some donkey-mule-horse animals. His arrival was part of a larger trip, in which he traveled to three or four major cities in Valera to do various things. In Valera, he was meeting with Bibliomulas because they are donating $7000 to buy another mule, books, materials, etc, and he was going to inaugurate the American Corner, which was going to involve ribbon cutting and little kids speaking English.

Sounds nice, right? Well, there were only a few problems: 1) The fact that nobody had really done any of the preparations until this morning/afternoon, and 2) The violent protestors blocking off the streets.

When I came home, I said something that I hear my family say all the time when something gets messed up, “Se jodio la verga.” But when I said it, they all burst out laughing. Apparently, that means roughly, “Shit got all fucked up.” This is when I realized just how much my host mom swears, and how much I am like a little kid, repeating whatever I hear. Haha. I kind of love it. They wanted me to say it to the ambassador. I told them that I didn`t want to get sent home…

In other lack-of-news, there is no word on my computer. The police have been overly nice to me, in that they have not only helped me look for the ugly beast of a man that stole my stuff, but they have also asked me on dates and said things like, “I thought about you as I went to bed last night.” Real nice, huh? Well, hopefully my blonde hair will attract enough help that my stuff will be recovered. Word about the robbery traveled fast, for example, I met someone from the embassy in Caracas today. I said, “Hi, I`m Anna.” To which he responded, “I`m really sorry about the bad thing that happened.” Awesome. In class, one of my students said, “Why were you at the Petejota (police station) this weekend? My dad works there and he said a gringa came.” But seriously, a lot of people are really mad, and a lot of them happen to know people who work in the police station. The more eyes, the merrier. In the meantime, I am considering buying a netbook. Any thoughts? Opinions? Objections?

I will leave you with my biggest epiphany of late--- that I`m pretty sure our dogs are actually more fashionable than I am. For example, they went to get haircuts last week (something I rarely do) and came back with little bows in their hair (or should I say on their ears?). The old blind one has pink bows, while the young spastic one has yellow bows. They have been wearing them for about a week, and every time I see them I think that maybe I should go buy a headband, or at least a sparkly scrunchie or something…

....nahhhhh.

Tootsie roll...

Last night I found a tootsie roll wrapper in my pocket, so worn out it must have been washed several times. Funny, I thought... I haven`t seen one of these in a while...

Maybe the wind blew it away...

Do let me explain. I realize that I you with very little information about this robbery…

Many people live in our house, as I have previously described. I assumed that these are all people that Susana and family know or at least trust on the most basic level. Some of them have been living there for years, coming and going, others not. The thing is, I don´t know who is who.

Alberto has been friendly with me, sending me nice text messages daily, bringing me dinner at night, proposing marriage. It almost seemed like an obsession for the past week, he was contacting me so much. The other night, he came into my room when I was on my computer. I had my camera on my desk, and he saw it. He warned me that I shouldn´t bring my camera to the university because there are thieves all over the place.

Yesterday he told me he was on his way to the cyber cafe, so I told him that I wasn´t using my computer and he could use it this once. I had to go to class, but every other person who lives in the house was there. I couldn´t imagine that someone who lived in the house, who knew that we know where he works, where he´s from, could steal something that valuable right under the noses of everyone.

Talarin, Susana´s uncle, bought two chickens yesterday. He brought them home in a big,opaque black plastic bag. He left the bag in kitchen. He said that when he came back from the bathroom, the bag was gone. Maybe the wind blew it away, he thought, reasonable since the house is essentially outside.

When I came back from class my computer wasn´t in my room. I sent Alberto a text message asking him where he had left it. He didn´t answer. I went to the park with Susana, and on the way for the first time I thought that maybe the computer had been stolen. I decided I would look for my camera as well when I returned.

I went straight to my room, and the camera and charger were gone. My webcam, computer charger, hard drive and my cellphone from the US were still there. Shit hit the fan when I told the family.

The thing is, the bruto (translated: dumbass) left all of his most important papers in the house. He left the equivalent of his driver´s license, passport, birth certificate and resume.

This morning we went to the police station, where they looked at the documents. The officer told us that he had been recently arrested for something related to drugs. He hasn´t come back to the house. I sent him several text messages, offering four hundred dollars for the stuff, saying dont sell that computer to someone else because it is worth much more to me than to anyone else in this country.

In reality, I had almost everything backed up, I think. All I don´t have are the pictures from Nathaniel and my trip and the pictures I have taken here. What I was really upset about was losing the ability to talk to you guys when I want to, to connect to the outside world ¨magically¨ as my dad says, which it really is. I have the money to buy a new computer and camera, and I guess I will.

Having my bike stolen was like sick, good practice, this honestly feels like round two of that robbery. My frustrations with the two things are opposite: With the camera, I am frustrated because it was so old that it wasn´t worth anything, with the camera I am frustrated because it was brand new, a waste. I kind of expected to have one of those things stolen, but not at the beginning of the trip like this, and definitely not from my bedroom. I feel like there is no chance I will get anything back. The guy is obviously a drug addict, out of his mind. I´m sure he stole it to get his next high and now he´s wandering the streets, can´t go to work, can´t come home.

In the house, everyone told me that they thought it was very trusting that I often left my windows and doors open while I was home, where he could see your computer. BUT THAT´S WHAT I WAS TOLD TO DO!!! I was specifically told to leave my windows and door open. Geez. Sometimes, I just don´t know. People here assume that I know things that I could never intuit… Like to do the opposite of what they tell me.

We are going back to the police station tomorrow. Several friends of friends are helping us, but I honestly can´t imagine what they can do. Perhaps arrest him, but recovering my stuff is like a needle in a haystack. Not to mention they have things like regular homicides to deal with, slightly more important than a rich gringa getting robbed of an old computer.

I guess it´s another excuse to go shopping. Or for you all to come visit me soon.

Maldito.

Someone who has been renting a room in the house where I live stole my computer and my camera. I am in a state of shock. He also managed to steal the camera charger, but fool forgot the computer charger. Idiot.

Snow? In Venezuela?

In general, Venezuela is really, really hot.  So you can imagine my surprise when I saw snow this weekend…  On Thursday, I made a last minute decision to go visit Merida, a city higher up in the mountains, known for being a land of adventure.  In Merida, you can go hiking, mountain biking, paragliding, canyoning (which I think means belaying down waterfalls?), whitewater rafting, or participate in basically any other extreme mountain sport you can think of.  Unfortunately, I did none of these things this weekend, but I did get to visit two wonderful Fulbrighters who are living there.  And we made tentative plans to do almost all of the above in the future.

The road between Valera and Merida is absolutely stunning.  I thought that the mountains in Valera were beautiful, but I had no idea just how picturesque the Andes could be before this weekend.  The trip was about 4 hours long, and I spent nearly the entire trip (both directions) with my arm hanging out the window, snapping picture of the unbelievable vistas. There was so much to see, so much to capture in pictures.  Brightly colored houses, fields of artichokes and papayas, strawberries and cabbage, a world-class observatory, palms and cacti growing in the shade of pine forests, broken down cars, houses in impossibly high places, fields of all different shapes, wrinkly old men in cowboy hats, gorgeous middle aged women in parkas and winter caps, crosses adorned in flowers along the side of the road commemorating loved ones, cars with many dents, broken down cars, epiphytic vines draped over the forests, children playing, children working, sheep, horses, stray animals, rushing rivers and small waterfalls.  Wildflowers dotted the sides of mountains as we climbed, but at the top of the peaks, there was only one single plant covering every square foot of land—a simple yellow flower grew for as far as you could see, and further.  The rainshadow on the eastern side of the mountains was readily visible—the Western side was cloudy and wet, while the Eastern side was dry, almost desert-like, after the moisture was squeezed out of the clouds.  When we turned a sharp corner to see the snow-covered Pico de Aguila (Eagle Peak), I let out an audible gasp.  Everyone agreed with me that it was, “demasiado bonito,” “It is too beautiful…” when covered in snow.  I felt lucky when they told me that only occasionally is it dusted with snow like it was that day.

But the trip was more than just sights— my throat felt cold as I breathed in the clouds that surrounded us and filled our car, and I fought coughs as my lungs were filled with trails of black smoke left by trucks struggling to climb the mountains.  The smell of chicken grilling on the side of the road was like summertime at home, but the smell of sour garbage reminded me of how far away I am.  The drivers changed CDs every hour or so, and we listened to ballads in Spanish, mostly love, and Gaita, the traditional Christmas music in Venezuela. I felt dizzy and slightly nauseous as we wound around the endless curves, the whole way up to Pico de Aguila, and the whole way back down.  I felt the person sitting next to me lean on me, perhaps resting against me for a while, I enjoyed how normal it is to touch another person in this culture, enjoyed the fact that everyone in the car refers to me as “hija,” their “daughter.”

Merida was really fun— I stayed with Zach (the Fulbrighter who visited Valera last weekend), who has a refreshing amount of independence given his lack of host family.  We slept in, ate French toast with pineapple, mangoes and passionfruit when we felt like it, walked all over the city, met our friend Emma when she wasn’t working, drank wine when we wanted to, and lounged around just because we could.  I love my host family, but it is sometimes exhausting to tiptoe through a culture that is not your own, trying your hardest to not offend anyone, sometimes unsuccessfully.  The American companionship was greatly appreciated, and even more needed on my part.

We were planning to go to the zoo with Emma over the weekend, but we ended up like gringos so often do, walking in circles until we realized that it was too late to do what we wanted. Instead we went to a vegetarian restaurant for dinner and just relaxed the night away.  It was wonderful.

My trip to Merida was refreshing—it was fun to experience an adventure on my own, to have some level of independence restored in my life.  I was also lovin’ the sightseeing along the way, especially once I realized that basically the only sightseeing I have done thus far is visit statues of religious figures and/or virgins that tower above the rest of the city, like the ones featured in pictures to come...

Uncomfortable with touching?

An excerpt from my level one English textbook:  “Dancing:  Up Close or at a Distance?"

"Richard loves to dance, and he goes dancing often.  Margaret is the opposite.  She says she can’t dance.  Maybe that’s true.  She says people always laugh at her when she dances.  But is it possible that there’s another reason?  Maybe she’s afraid to dance.  When you dance, you usually have to touch another person, your partner.  Maybe Margaret is uncomfortable with touching….  Richard likes ‘free’ dances with no specific steps, like rock.  Many people prefer free dances because they allow them to express their individuality.”

These are the materials I have to work with to teach about English language and culture… I really believe that everyone should try explaining the phrase "uncomfortable with touching" to a group of about 25 16-18 year olds in a foreign language.  It's bound to be a hilarious experience...  No wonder everyone wants me to dance for them, they just want to make fun of my individualistic “free dances” that they have studied in class.  Ridiculous.  

Bathrooms and nightclubs...

I must warn you, there will be explicit bathroom talk in this blogpost.  Here’s the thing, when you are in a new place, it’s always nice to know where the bathroom is, and understand how to use it.  So in case anyone reading this blog is planning to come to Venezuela, pay particular attention.  Bathrooms here are not like in the US, and some things require explanation.

Here’s the first thing I don’t understand.  Nobody keeps toilet paper anywhere near the toilet.  For example, at the university, there are like 8 stalls in the bathroom, but only two toilet paper dispensers outside of the stalls.  So you must predict how much toilet paper you plan to use and bring it in with you.  This is true in public and private places.  For example, in our house, the toilet paper is stored in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror above the sink.  It took me a while to figure out where it was, wondering if this was a repeat of East Africa, where nobody used toilet paper.  I don’t understand why people do this.  There are empty toilet paper dispensers in every bathroom stall, and next to every toilet, but the toilet paper is always kept elsewhere.  It’s almost as if people did not understand what those little attachments on the wall are for, but they put them in each bathroom anyways.  I asked my host mom one day why she keeps it behind the mirror, and she said that people steal the toilet paper when she leaves it next to the toilet.  This makes no sense to me, given that people could just as easily steal it from the medicine cabinet, because we all know that that is where it resides. 

There are other important differences in bathrooms here.  For example, once you find the toilet paper, it is very important to remember that you cannot put it in the toilet.  The plumbing here cannot handle toilet paper, so you must throw it in the trashcan next to the toilet.  I have been pretty good about remembering to do this— but 22 years of throwing toilet paper into the toilet creates a pretty engrained habit, so I occasionally forget.  Another major difference, you often must flip several switches, rotate a lever in the other room, open a faucet and wait 10 minutes before you will be able to use a bathroom.  For example, in our shower at home, there is a switch on the wall, and one on the showerhead that apparently regulate water temperature. As far as I can tell, though, the water is always the same tepid temperature, regardless of the switches.  I have showered in other places where you must first release the water from a large tank on the roof by climbing on the roof, and must align a series of levers before water will flow into the system so you can enjoy your tepid shower.  Other differences, you must often pay to use public bathrooms in populated places, like bus terminals or malls, and you must sometimes flush toilets with buckets of water. If you are very tall, you must also be aware that bathrooms are made for people who are roughly 5’ 2” here.  For example, when I stand up in a bathroom stall, the walls are usually only up to about my shoulders.  You may have to scrunch under showers, or lean down towards sinks, if you are not comfortable looking someone in the face while you button your pants up.

I am used to drinking a lot of water during the day—several Nalgene bottles at least.  This means that every couple hours I have to pee.  This seems healthy to me—keep your system cleansed, stay hydrated, even if it means that you will have to find a bathroom… but people here don’t EVER go to the bathroom!  My host mom told me that she absolutely does not use public bathrooms.  I don’t understand how she does this.  When we go out for the entire day, she doesn’t pee that day, she waits until we come home.  This just seems like it must be a very unhealthy habit, and one that I’m not sure I could ever pick up.

My favorite bathroom that I have seen so far in this country, though, was one that I saw this weekend.  We went out to a night club/bar, where there was a lot of dancing.  The bathrooms were adjacent to the dance floor, so that one had to walk through the dancing people to arrive at the bathroom.  The women’s bathroom was fine, dirty, but as expected.  But the men’s bathroom was hilarious.  The door to the bathroom had no hinges, which meant that on occasion, while someone was inside using the bathroom, the door would fall, crashing onto the dance floor with a loud bang, causing an uproar of laughter in the crowd and revealing the person inside.  At several points during the night, the door was just removed, men still using the bathroom while people danced three feet away. Inevitably someone would replace the door again, and when you heard the loud bang, you knew that it was just the bathroom door slamming onto the dance floor.

We had several visitors in our house this weekend—Zach, another Fulbrighter from the next city over came to visit, and Antonio—the son that we visited in Maracaibo last weekend was here as well.  We went out Friday and Saturday nights (my first experiences going out here), and the main thing that I took away from the experience is that I now understand just HOW important it is here that one wear sparkly shoes. (Note: I took these shoe pictures in a shoe store here, I still haven't gotten any of my own)

On Friday night, we went out to a bar on the main drag.  When we got to the bar, we had two choices of drinks, Blue and Green.  These colors refer to the colors of the bottles of the only beer that you can buy here, the blue being the light version of an already bad and watered-down beer.  I have seen 3 types of beer in this country, and they all taste about the same, with slightly different amounts of carbonation.  We had a couple beers at that bar, listening to Guns and Roses and “What if God was one of us” playing in the background.  Afterwards, we went upstairs to another rooftop bar, where there was a computer screen projected onto a large screen showing music videos.  We sat for a few minutes, enjoying the breeze, with our “Blues” in hand, when the electricity went out.  Nobody really reacted when it went out, we all just sat there, finished our beers, and left.  We took a cab to the other side of town, where we went to a place where people were dancing!  Everyone here looks like a professional dancer to me—their hips move in perfect synchrony, in patterns I can’t even follow with my eyes, their faces devoid of any expression, not entirely clear if they are having fun, their bodies never missing a beat of music.  A sketchy looking young man waved his hand to come over and dance.  I pretended I didn’t see…  and I kept talking with Zach and Yervio. 

As I watched the dancers, someone made a surprised face at me.  I ignored him too, not wanting any strangers to approach me.  But when I looked up again, he was still staring, still making faces.  OH! I realized, it’s one of the students I have been tutoring.  So he invited me to meet his friends, and to dance.  He taught me to Merengue, slowly, only basic steps, for one, two, three songs.  Everyone here knows how to dance, and he knew exactly how to lead me so I could follow him.  It was really fun.  We went home at about 1:00, knowing that tomorrow we were going to go out again.

The next day was relaxed, we hung out at home, Zach and I walked around the city a bit, we watched a movie, and decided we should take the fam out for pizza and then go to the disco.  So we walked to the pizza place, sat around and ate the biggest pizza I have ever seen (bacon and sweet corn, very intriguing).  We were picked up by a man named Sami, who took us to a strange unmarked building.  After speaking with the bodyguard, the doors to the building opened to reveal a very well lit, swanky casino.  Someone immediately brought us enormous glasses of really bad watered down whisky, and we sat watching a live band (who were really good and have some pre-determined choreography).  We mostly just sat, trying to pour as much of our drinks into ashtrays as we could.  Zach hid his drink between slot machines, I eventually spit my gum into mine, hoping no one would notice when I ditched it.  From across the room we spotted one of the men who lives in our house—the one who I have never really met.  I asked Yervio his name, to which he just shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I don’t like him.”  This struck me as odd, to not know the name of someone who has been living in your house for several years.  But I blew it off. None of us actually played any slot machines; we just took lots of pictures and enjoyed the music.

After we left the casino, we went straight to another bar/dance club.  This place was even higher class, we found out, when the bouncer refused to let Zach and I in because we were wearing sandals.  He talked to the manager, we told him that this is the way we dress in our country, that we didn’t have any sparkly shoes.  Once we got in, we sat some more, Antonio twirled me around and around a bit, and before we knew it, it was 3 o’clock.  Then came the big drama of the evening.  By 3 o’clock, Zach and I really just wanted to go home.  We had been out since 6 doing essentially nothing.  So Zach asked for the bill, to my delight, and to the surprise of my host brothers.  “It’s early,” they said, “we are going to stay 2 more hours and then the party starts.”  HOLD UP.  2 hours until the party STARTS?! No no no no…. we have got to get out of here.  So we insisted, begged, pleaded, and finally our wish was granted.  A taxi was on its way.  About 3-4 beers later, one showed up.  And we were on our way home.  We were told to think twice if we go out in a big city, because we might not be brought home until 9 or 10 in the morning.  Dear lord, I don’t think I can handle this place. Haha.  I’m fine with being the square gringa for my time here… that might even be the best plan. J

Well, I must go plan lessons for this week.  My host uncle says hello to everyone!

 

At one point, he wrapped an anaconda around me...

This weekend, I learned several new things about traveling in this country. 

First, I learned that if you pay for a three to four hour taxi ride, under no circumstances will the driver stop the car for you until you reach your destination, even if you kindly tell him that it is likely that you will pee all over his car. 

Second, I learned that despite the fact that the driver will not stop when you are about to pee all over his car, he will stop in order to eat lunch in a restaurant while you wait outside, wondering where he went.

Third, I learned that it is ridiculously easy to travel here. This weekend, we went to the bus terminal, found the person shouting the city we wanted to go to, and got in the car.  When the car was full (5 people + driver), we left.  As previously mentioned, we did not stop, and we arrived promptly.

I learned these lessons on a trip I took to Maracaibo this weekend-- what a fun city!  To locate everyone, Maracaibo is in the northwestern part of the country, at the tip of a huge, brackish lake.  It is the central of the country’s oil production, has several very good universities, and is the center of the opposition movement (anti-Chavez).  I went with my host mom, and we stayed with her other son, Antonio.  Antonio studies computer engineering and works as an engineer for one of the largest banks in the country.  He greeted us with roses and kisses at the bus terminal, and took us all over the city.  My favorite part was when we rented bikes and rode along the lake.

I was surprised by all of the entertainment that was available— swimming pools, tennis courts, big parks with go carts and paintball, bowling, live music… Valera is pretty dull in comparison, but MUCH safer.  I was not expecting to have such a good time there, because apparently it is the hottest part of Venezuela (hot days are about 45 C which is roughly 115 F), so I was anticipating a near-death experience in which we all melted into puddles.  But luckily, it rained the day we came and stayed fairly cool the whole next day.

We went to see the Basilica, a large church where “La Chinita” resides.  Despite the fact that “Chinita” may also be used as a derogatory term for a young Chinese woman, la Chinita in Maracaibo has nothing to do with China, Chinita is just her nickname because her real name is essentially impossible to pronounce, Virgen de la Chiquinquirá.  The story has it that waves on lake Maracaibo magically carved the image of this young virgin into a piece of wood in 1749.  A woman who was washing her clothes picked up the piece of wood, planning on using it, and shouted, “Milagro! Milagro! (Miracle)” when she saw the image.  You must wait in line to visit la Chinita at the Basilica, and many people come to bring her flowers.  It is obvious that people worship her as an idol, but I think that the real reason most people love La Chinita is because every November 18 there is a wild party in her honor, where apparently everyone gets really drunk, really crazy, and celebrates the appearance of the virgin’s image two and a half centuries ago.

On a different note, today was my first official day working with bibliomulas!  Just so you all know, the mulas are world famous!  Here’s an article about them from the BBC.  Click here. Christina, who is in charge of the program, brought me to one of the schools that is fairly close to the University today (~30 min).  I met the 4^th, 5^th, and 6^th graders that I will be teaching, as well as the school’s faculty.  The children were absolutely adorable.  Whenever anyone enters the classroom, all of the students stand up at their desks and shout, “Buenos dias.”  The person who entered then greets them, tells them to sit, and they shout, “Gra-ciasss” at the top of their lungs, and sit back down.

After meeting all the students, I went to one of the classrooms where there was a biologist giving a presentation about reptiles in Venezuela.  He had boxes and boxes full of snakes to show everyone, as well as a t-shirt with a snake painted on it that said, “Take care of me.”  To many of the students’ delight, he draped snakes around everyone’s necks, let them loose on the floor, and brought them around the classroom on a long pole.  At one point, he wrapped an anaconda around me, and someone snapped a picture.  If I can ever track down that picture, I will be sure to send it.

Speaking of pictures, I am working on the picture situation.  Our internet is not fast enough to upload pictures, so I have to figure out how to make it work.  But you will all have pictures soon, I promise.

Last, I thought I should tell you about the latest robbery that I have seen here.  Someone stole the mirrors off of the side-view mirrors of a car parked in front of the university.  There are several watchmen at the university (who apparently are somewhat worthless), and the mirror-thief must have robbed the car of its mirrors right in front of them.  I didn’t even realize that side view mirrors were valuable, or that you could resell them…

Well, I better go prepare class for tomorrow.  Now that I have something to do in the morning, I am starting to feel much, much busier!  And I am very happy about it. J   

Angel's Placenta

I must admit that I have a slight case of hypochondria, especially when I am traveling.  A minor cramp inspires in me visions of malarial delirium, a gurgling stomach surely indicates that I have contracted amoebic dysentery, a headache inevitably means a brain tumor that must be operated on in hospitals that have no lights, medications, or even doctors.   This hypochondria is not totally unreasonable, for I have had some strange encounters with medical conditions and facilities while living abroad.  For example, when I returned from Africa, I had a stomach infection, a sinus infection, and fluid in my lungs.  In a state of delirium in the doctor’s office in Zanzibar (that had no electricity), I was taken to a white room, given a good slap on the butt, and a shot of some mystery medicine (I had a witness). In El Salvador, several of the people I was traveling with returned with dengue fever and giardia.  But here it’s different, I feel like I am the person with the fewest medical ailments in the family that I am staying with.  I feel good—some minor issues, but generally good.  Everyone here seems to have daily medical problems, and they definitely want to talk about them.  I am so pleased, because this means that under no circumstances will I ever appear to be a hypochondriac here, even if I am.

 

I am also glad that for nearly every ailment, my host family has a natural remedy.  For example, the other night, my host mother was handing out spoonfuls of a powerful, brown elixir called, “Uña de dios” or, “God’s fingernail.” I abstained, but it’s good to know that when I feel a little off I can ask for some God’s fingernail and possibly feel better.  When I open the bathroom cabinet, I see bottles that say things like, “Angel’s placenta.”  I don’t know what these remedies are for, or whether or not they work, but it’s good to know that I will at least have some sort of placebo medicine to calm me while I am sure I am terribly ill, but really I just need some water/sleep.  My host mother also believes in the healing power of limes.  I love limes, so this will work out very well.

 

On a totally different note, there has been a second robbery in my life here.  Not my stuff, but the language department’s stuff.  And this time it was serious.  This afternoon someone stole a laptop and a projector (one that you connect to the computer to project what is on the computer screen) from one of the English classrooms.  Discussion of the missing equipment prompted discussion of other things that have been stolen from teachers and employees in various situations.  It made me glad that I didn’t bring many things here that I would be horribly sad to lose…  Because it is always a possibility that things here will be gone in an instant.

 

Despite the robbery issue, I really love the university here.  The teachers are all so warm and kind to me, giving me tight hugs and kisses on the cheek every time we say hello or goodbye.  They ask for help with pronunciation, and teach me slang.  There are 7 faculty in the English department— three full time and four part time.  They are all women except Yervio, and I am happy to surround myself with strong, intelligent women in this land of men that I have been told to not trust. I usually just see the four part time teachers in passing, but now that I have got them straight I am excited to talk with them more. 

 

My involvement with the university is also starting to expand beyond my one English class.  Today I met the director of Bibliomulas, a university program that brings books to rural schoolchildren on mules.  I am going to start working with them next week, and BOY am I excited to montar una mula and ride to the top of the world, which is apparently where they go. I am also beginning to work with the Rincon Americana (American Corner), an office that is an extension of the language center at the University.  I spent this morning tutoring English students there, and I have big dreams of having holiday celebrations, movie nights, possibly book groups, or other activities there.  Hopefully I will also be talking with the director of Community Service at the university and getting involved.  The past two weeks have been good, I have had plenty of time to adjust, find my bearings, get to know my host family, and surf the internet. The problem is that everything is a little slower here than I like, and I am itching to explore! Almost three weeks have gone by already, which means it’s definitely time to get out and see the country, meet new people, and appreciate the world around me that I know won’t be there forever.