We’re in Puerto Limon for the afternoon, and I have about five minutes of Internet access. I’m just going to use my thumb drive to post my latest four journal entries. Do not be offended if you do not receive an e-mail, I have very little time.
9/25/11
Dear Everyone,
I can’t get over this situation I’m in. I’m currently in bed, surrounded by a mosquito net that I have romanticized into a four-poster bed. This home, this culture, it is the most drastically different situation of any situation they can throw at us on this trip. I can’t believe they chose this for our first destination. I don’t know whether to respect them or resent them for refusing to ease us into the habit of culture shock.
Today after four hours on a public bus, followed by one hour in the back of a truck (that Dave (our leader) commented would send his mother into ballistics) we arrived in Los Naranjos. Our homestay families we all there waiting for us, and I was shocked to find that the Internet had not over-exaggerated. The women here really do wear the customary colored striped skirts; many of the men do have hair slicked back with red, and the children are covered in black drawn-on stripes. I’m assuming the black stripes, like lots of black eyeliner in India, are to protect the children. I will eventually ask one of the better Spanish speakers of our group, to ask one of the better Tsachilla Spanish speakers.
My homestay mother, Carolina, speaks about as much Spanish as I do (for those who don’t know, which is mas poco.) Her husband, Victor, speaks only a little more. It feels very strange to call them my homestay parents, when at twenty-four and twenty-five it’s biologically impossible that they would have a child my age. Carolina married Victor at seventeen. That’s a year younger than I am! I’m practically an old maid here (haha for those of you who saw Hello Dolly!)
Upon our arrival, we were introduced to Alejandro, the leader of the Tsachilla tribe, and a few of the community members. After a short argument with one of the homestay mothers on how we could possibly work for four hours every day and only have a sandwich for lunch (yes, we will be well taken care of here,) Jemma (our Australian coordinator here) paired us with our families, and we proceeded to their homes.
My home here consists of four rooms: the kitchen/dining room, the bathroom, the room in which Lizzie and I sleep, and the room in which my parents sleep. All four rooms together are about the size of my bedroom at home. The floor is tile in the kitchen and bathroom, and concrete in the bedrooms. The roof is metal, which leads me to believe that we are staying with one of the more affluent families in the community, Most of the homes have thatched roofs, wooden floors, and no indoor toilet. Although I must specify that although there is an indoor toilet, there is no running water. We brush our teeth and wash our faces with a jug of clean water, and this runs into a basin beneath the sink. To flush the toilet, we poor the water that collects under the sink into the toilet, causing enough pressure to flush.
Despite the lack of running water, we do have lights, electrical outlets, a gas stove, and an eternally playing television. It’s funny to think I’m living in such an isolated community, with so few of the technologies I’m used to at home, but I’m able to fall asleep to the Spanish-speaking Selena Gomez voice-over. I mean, there are so many chickens running around here, that they sometimes enter the house. And yet, as I sat in the plastic patio furniture at the kitchen table for dinner, I was accompanied by the sound of “The Simpsons” in Spanish. No doors to the bedrooms (which makes changing a game of chicken,) but 24/7 access to the telenovelas.
Dinner was the best meal I’ve had here since we left home. It was simply boiled chicken (very fresh I imagine with the amount of chicken running around) with pasta, vegetables, and rice, but it was seasoned to perfection. The portions were extremely generous, but thankfully Carolina has no children, so is not biologically predisposed to force seconds on us. McKinley (of TBB ’10-’11) scared us out of our minds about always being hungry in Ecuador, and with horror stories of eating grubs (maggots.) It seems the food Lizzie and I stockpiled in preparation will go to waste, as Carolina is such an excellent cook that I’m sure even her grubs will be delicious. I’m going to try to fall asleep now; it’s been a long day.
Love,
Katherine
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