I was sitting momentarily on the very conveniently placed stone wall, resting from the rabid south American sun that can leave you toasted…even in a rain storm (an entirely different story), pondering my next move in my attack on the weed garden growing up from among the rocks and few random grains of dirt here and there. Kicking my feet and splashing precious cold water all over my head and t-shirt, I was immensely enjoying the moment when out of the corner of my eye I spied one of the long standing, semi permanent patients hustling my direction with a frantic look in her eyes. As I said, I was thoroughly enjoying the moment and hoped that if I closed my eyes and continued splashing water in a thoroughly enraptured manner maybe she would go barreling on past and bug someone else. No such luck. The frantic look in her eyes was accompanied by a frantic, rapid babbling in Spanish and much arm waving by the time she appeared up under my elbow, ignoring all my best efforts at water splashing reverie. Opening my eyes slowly as if I hadn’t noticed her marching my direction before, I decided to do my best to listen to what she was saying so that she would go away sooner. NO! you cant sit on that wall! NO! NO! NO!
Now, why ever in the world can I not sit on this wall? It doesn’t have somebodys name on it and it is rather conveniently placed to afford a few moments of…ahem…
Undisturbed peace…So do tell why I cannot continue to sit on this here wall, I'm all ears and waiting with fishy, baited breath…
At this point the frantic look leaves her eyes and is replaced with a somewhat embarrassed look, glances both directions, gets real close and lowers her voice to a whisper.
Well, er, ladies cant sit on hot surfaces because, well, you know, they…its just that, ahh, well you know, they you know…
Thoroughly intrigued by the moment and whatever might be in her vivid imagination, I helped her out with the most understanding answer I could come up with on the spot. Lowering my voice to match hers I leaned in close and whispered, "I'm sorry but I have no idea what youre talking about…"
Still intent on educating the ignorant Gringo she trys again. Well you know…it ahhh, breaks them…
Ahhh, OK, I see…very interesting. It breaks them then... Hmmm. Hoping she might have something else stored up to tell me from that active imagination of hers I continue nodding my head and looking very interested in the topic. Unfortunately she assumes the Americano has been sufficiently educated, takes my nodding as a cue that what she has said is sinking in between the ears of the thick skulled English speaker, turns and heads back toward the safety of the shady, and very cool chair she had been sitting and watching me from before I had committed the grave error of choosing the hot seat as my place of rest.
Dichos as they call them, ...sayings, proverbs, words of advice. Hispanics have dozens of them stored up to share at just the right moment when you might need some counsel. Jenni and I have laughed hysterically at some of them for their utter uniqueness.
She was told once that if she eats pasta without avocado her stomach and intestines will go into strange twisting contortions which will leave her writhing in much agony.
Just the other day we were making a drink for supper by blending coconuts with soy milk when the dean and her husband came rushing into the kitchen and turned it off. Waving her arms and with much dramatic sound effects she told me the reason: the blender might explode…
But none of them beat the reason they gave for why the girls didn’t get to move into the new house they just built. The reason: it is dangerous because it is built on top of a hill.
Considering the fact that I have lived on the top of a hill in every house they've ever put me in since the day I set foot in Venezuela...
Well, now that you mention it, I do see the logic. Living on top of a hill just might be dangerous…
Monday, April 6, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Christina's addition to the list...
You know you have traveled to the third-world too much if:
When you arrive in the country and are hit with the first wave of heat/garbage smell, you think, "Ahhh...it's good to be back."
You wonder what is happening when the electricity is ON.
A two-hour travel delay means that your trip is progressing at a positively frightening speed.
You understand that the phrase "After some time..." can mean anything from 5 minutes to six months from now, and that doesn't bother you.
You think that having hot water to bathe with is an almost-positively-sinful luxury.
You feel that diarrhea is an expected, though only slightly inconvenient, side-effect of moving to a new location in the country.
You don't even blink when your taxi goes roaring down a crowded road, horn blaring, while swerving violently to avoid the constant stream of bikes, motorcycles, animals, and small children who step nonchalantly in front of the car.
You see two men holding hands and think that they are just friends.
You know you have been away from America for too long if:
You arrive in the airport and wonder what that strange feeling you have is...and realize, "Oh wow...all these people are speaking English!"
You are shocked how clean the streets are.
You wander aimlessly around the grocery store, eyes bugging and mouth gaping, exclaiming "Look at all this STUFF! All in one store!"
You can't get over how many white people there are everywhere.
You feel that you are taking your life in your hands whenever you drive faster than 50 MPH.
Everything looks brown to you. Where are all the plants and trees?
A husband and wife holding hands seems like a shocking display of public affection. I mean, seriously, get a room.
When you arrive in the country and are hit with the first wave of heat/garbage smell, you think, "Ahhh...it's good to be back."
You wonder what is happening when the electricity is ON.
A two-hour travel delay means that your trip is progressing at a positively frightening speed.
You understand that the phrase "After some time..." can mean anything from 5 minutes to six months from now, and that doesn't bother you.
You think that having hot water to bathe with is an almost-positively-sinful luxury.
You feel that diarrhea is an expected, though only slightly inconvenient, side-effect of moving to a new location in the country.
You don't even blink when your taxi goes roaring down a crowded road, horn blaring, while swerving violently to avoid the constant stream of bikes, motorcycles, animals, and small children who step nonchalantly in front of the car.
You see two men holding hands and think that they are just friends.
You know you have been away from America for too long if:
You arrive in the airport and wonder what that strange feeling you have is...and realize, "Oh wow...all these people are speaking English!"
You are shocked how clean the streets are.
You wander aimlessly around the grocery store, eyes bugging and mouth gaping, exclaiming "Look at all this STUFF! All in one store!"
You can't get over how many white people there are everywhere.
You feel that you are taking your life in your hands whenever you drive faster than 50 MPH.
Everything looks brown to you. Where are all the plants and trees?
A husband and wife holding hands seems like a shocking display of public affection. I mean, seriously, get a room.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
These are a few of my favorite things...
I’ve entered a strange phase of life where I’ve live long enough in ‘third-world’ for it to become normal enough that I really can’t tell the difference between third world and first world. I’m trying to make a distinction in my mind, so I’ve come up with a list of things right off hand. Feel free to help me out those of you who travel…
You know you’re in third -world if:
#1 The number one most highly valued and most frequently used product in any given car is the horn.
You know you’re in America if:
#1 You get followed for miles by a flaming, rabid, road-raged, caffeine over-dosed driver shaking his fist and screaming profanities all the way after honking your horn at a very unfortunate and miscalculated moment during rush hour.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#2 A well educated, married man…well old enough to know better, walks up to young ladies of tender age and fragile self-esteem, and tells them with a big smile and much glee, “Why! You certainly look fat today! In fact, you’re ever so much fatter than when you first came!”
You know you’re in America if:
#2 A well educated, married man…well old enough to know better, gets beat to a bloomin’, bloody pulp after agreeing with his wife when she said the dress makes her look fat.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#3 Bathroom doors are made of solid metal and dead bolt from the outside (like get real…what’s someone really gonna want to steal, the toilet or the trash can…)
You know you’re in America if:
#3 Toilets and trash cans are nice enough to consider stealing.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#4 Sabbath School doesn’t end until 12:15
You know you’re in America if:
#4 The pulpit automatically retracts into the floor at exactly 11:59 A.M.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#5 You get fat and skinny a couple dozen times over every day…or so they tell you.
You know you’re in America if:
#5 Your fat jeans are at least four sizes too big, and only after outgrowing those do you start saying, “I think I might be gaining a little weight…” At which point everyone around you starts lying through their teeth and exclaiming how skinny you’ve actually been looking lately.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#6 Deep fried, crispy or live, juicy bugs seem to enhance the flavor of your food.
You know you’re in America if:
#6 Your mom freaks out when you find a worm at the bottom of your mug of hot chocolate. I mean come on, doesn’t it stand to reason that if the hot chocolate was tasting good before you found the worm that it must have been enhancing the flavor…?
You know you’re in third -world if:
#7 Bugs come super-sized, maybe even super-GRANDE-de-duper sized
You know you’re in America if:
#7 Mom’s idea of “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A REALLY big spider!” is at least as big around as a pencil eraser…maybe even bigger!
You know you’re in third -world if:
When thinking, “Wow, Vacation! Let’s sleep in and get up late!” Means go to bed at 10 and set the alarm for 5:15 a.m.
You know you’re in America if:
When thinking, “Wow, Vacation! Let’s sleep in and get up late!” Means go to bed at 5:15 and set the alarm for 10 a.m.
You know you’re in a third -world for the first time if:
Home seems like a million miles away.
You know you just arrived home to America from the third world if:
Every time you walk into a dark room you think the electricity’s out, and start looking for a flash light instead of the light switch.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#1 The number one most highly valued and most frequently used product in any given car is the horn.
You know you’re in America if:
#1 You get followed for miles by a flaming, rabid, road-raged, caffeine over-dosed driver shaking his fist and screaming profanities all the way after honking your horn at a very unfortunate and miscalculated moment during rush hour.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#2 A well educated, married man…well old enough to know better, walks up to young ladies of tender age and fragile self-esteem, and tells them with a big smile and much glee, “Why! You certainly look fat today! In fact, you’re ever so much fatter than when you first came!”
You know you’re in America if:
#2 A well educated, married man…well old enough to know better, gets beat to a bloomin’, bloody pulp after agreeing with his wife when she said the dress makes her look fat.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#3 Bathroom doors are made of solid metal and dead bolt from the outside (like get real…what’s someone really gonna want to steal, the toilet or the trash can…)
You know you’re in America if:
#3 Toilets and trash cans are nice enough to consider stealing.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#4 Sabbath School doesn’t end until 12:15
You know you’re in America if:
#4 The pulpit automatically retracts into the floor at exactly 11:59 A.M.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#5 You get fat and skinny a couple dozen times over every day…or so they tell you.
You know you’re in America if:
#5 Your fat jeans are at least four sizes too big, and only after outgrowing those do you start saying, “I think I might be gaining a little weight…” At which point everyone around you starts lying through their teeth and exclaiming how skinny you’ve actually been looking lately.
You know you’re in third -world if:
#6 Deep fried, crispy or live, juicy bugs seem to enhance the flavor of your food.
You know you’re in America if:
#6 Your mom freaks out when you find a worm at the bottom of your mug of hot chocolate. I mean come on, doesn’t it stand to reason that if the hot chocolate was tasting good before you found the worm that it must have been enhancing the flavor…?
You know you’re in third -world if:
#7 Bugs come super-sized, maybe even super-GRANDE-de-duper sized
You know you’re in America if:
#7 Mom’s idea of “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A REALLY big spider!” is at least as big around as a pencil eraser…maybe even bigger!
You know you’re in third -world if:
When thinking, “Wow, Vacation! Let’s sleep in and get up late!” Means go to bed at 10 and set the alarm for 5:15 a.m.
You know you’re in America if:
When thinking, “Wow, Vacation! Let’s sleep in and get up late!” Means go to bed at 5:15 and set the alarm for 10 a.m.
You know you’re in a third -world for the first time if:
Home seems like a million miles away.
You know you just arrived home to America from the third world if:
Every time you walk into a dark room you think the electricity’s out, and start looking for a flash light instead of the light switch.
Monday, March 2, 2009
"Jumper What's..."
America, Columbia, Venezuela
Dude, we are AMERICAN women…hear us roar!
“Jumper cables” I repeat, “Don’t you have jumper cables?”
Elizabeth gets this weird look on her face. “Jumper whats…”
Jumper cables, you know, cords…electrical wires that you hook from one car battery to the other car battery being careful not to touch the little red end to the little black end and blow yourself to Bermuda…makes dead cars come to life and do the whole honk, honk, vroom, vroom thing…
She’s already forgotten the point of the conversation and gives me a ‘we’ll continue this conversation later’ wave of the hand.
OK, well have it your way. They don’t have duck tape down here, maybe they don’t have jumper cables either. I mean really, anything is possible in a country that doesn’t stock duck tape!
So Jenni and I stand and watch as three of them push and one steers their dinky little dead car trying with all their might to pop the clutch on the bottom floor of the dinky little parking garage. Forward, backward, forward, backward. Then they realize that the poor little lady they have steering has no idea how to pop a clutch. “What! You mean I’m not supposed to be just steering?” …Now little old lady is pushing and big guy is inside, tentatively to pop the clutch, provided one of these times they get up enough speed to do so. Forward, backward, Forward, Backward…just when I’m thinking this is entertaining enough maybe Jenni and I should pop some popcorn and pull up chairs, they suddenly get a bright idea.
“Say Melissa, you and Jenni wouldn’t mind helping would you?”
I consider mentioning the ‘jumper what’s’ again, but decide to save myself the oxygen. Sure why not.
So we relieve the senior citizens of their post and take our stance at the back of the car. Surprisingly the car isn’t as heavy as it looks (or maybe it is our spectacular muscles…) and first try, just before the car slams into the concrete wall with bumpers and airbags flying…the car coughs and chokes and comes back to life…
Hu Ah! Americans, hear us roar!!
Dude, we are AMERICAN women…hear us roar!
“Jumper cables” I repeat, “Don’t you have jumper cables?”
Elizabeth gets this weird look on her face. “Jumper whats…”
Jumper cables, you know, cords…electrical wires that you hook from one car battery to the other car battery being careful not to touch the little red end to the little black end and blow yourself to Bermuda…makes dead cars come to life and do the whole honk, honk, vroom, vroom thing…
She’s already forgotten the point of the conversation and gives me a ‘we’ll continue this conversation later’ wave of the hand.
OK, well have it your way. They don’t have duck tape down here, maybe they don’t have jumper cables either. I mean really, anything is possible in a country that doesn’t stock duck tape!
So Jenni and I stand and watch as three of them push and one steers their dinky little dead car trying with all their might to pop the clutch on the bottom floor of the dinky little parking garage. Forward, backward, forward, backward. Then they realize that the poor little lady they have steering has no idea how to pop a clutch. “What! You mean I’m not supposed to be just steering?” …Now little old lady is pushing and big guy is inside, tentatively to pop the clutch, provided one of these times they get up enough speed to do so. Forward, backward, Forward, Backward…just when I’m thinking this is entertaining enough maybe Jenni and I should pop some popcorn and pull up chairs, they suddenly get a bright idea.
“Say Melissa, you and Jenni wouldn’t mind helping would you?”
I consider mentioning the ‘jumper what’s’ again, but decide to save myself the oxygen. Sure why not.
So we relieve the senior citizens of their post and take our stance at the back of the car. Surprisingly the car isn’t as heavy as it looks (or maybe it is our spectacular muscles…) and first try, just before the car slams into the concrete wall with bumpers and airbags flying…the car coughs and chokes and comes back to life…
Hu Ah! Americans, hear us roar!!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
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