In BA with Daddy ... will catch time to post soooooooooon swear! But right now, Dad and I are going to find a massage parlor ... which is something PJ and I used to joke about doing in Cusco as we scratched our bugbites and paid our $7 a night ... and if it sounded wonderful then ... well, now I feel like God has come down from heaven to personally give me a hug and a beer.
Love,
Me
viernes, 11 de julio de 2008
lunes, 7 de julio de 2008
Airports.
I want to sort out my two days in Lima here ... but I have to take off for my crazy endless Chile bus ....... so, I give you ... my Airport Story:
When I arrive to the airport in Puerto Maldonaldo at 11 in the morning for my 12:40 flight, the line is short. I´m grateful.
In Cusco, LAN had cancelled two flights but hadn´t had the sense to seperate the queues of people ... so I was stuck anxiously watching the time behind dozens of people who weren´t going anywhere that day ... but all still had to argue with the staff. It was nerve-wracking. I kept pleading with guards in Spanish who moved me from line to line still behind all of the flight-cancelled people with no order at all (I swear this to you) and I barely caught my plane with 5 minutes to spare.
So in Puerto, even though it only HAS two airlines it´s so tiny and I make sure to arrive with almost 2 hours this time, the short lines make me sigh with relief. Until 25 minutes into watching the little kids run around me, I realize that they aren´t moving. At all.
The man in front of me is getting antsy. He moves up, talks in Spanish, comes back, and moves up again with his bags to crowd the desk and stays there. I glance nervously at the people behind me. And them at me.
I start looking around for somebody in a jacket who might be important. I still have almost an hour to meander through the surely extremely relaxed security, but still. What is going on?
A man in a tee-shirt approaches me (he looks like a guide, maybe). He asks me when my flight is ... and I tell him today, at 12:40. His face is suddenly intense concern. I´m in for it.
(I´m going to put our spanish conversations in italics ...)
You have to go up to the front. Now.
I look around. All of the receptionists are busy but he ushers me urgently with his hands and I try to get a handle on my very heavy bags to sidle awkwardly up to make myself counter space.
A man turns to me. They´ve closed the flight.
I don´t even understand the term. Closed? How is a flight closed? Cancelled, yes. Closed, no. What the hell? Did they lose the keys to the cockpit or something?
I give him a funny look, so he tells me the same sentence more slowly. Right, great. He tries again.
There are no more seats.
No more seats? I´m baffled. I hold up my ticket. No, I tell him, I have a seat, it´s okay.
I hand my ticket to the receptionist who asks me if I´ve checked in. It seems like a weird question ... isn´t that what I´m doing right now? I tell her yes, just for good measure.
She accepts this, scans my ticket and then looks at me with her eyebrows raised.
I´m sorry, you can´t board. The flight is closed. There are no seats left.
I´m completely confused. No, this is my ticket. I bought it weeks ago. I. Paid. For. It. My receipt is here ... I flew HERE like this. How is the flight closed?
She pushes me aside and looks for the next customer. Confused, I let her look but don´t move from my spot. My tour guide friend finds me.
They´ve sold too many tickets. It´s not your fault, but you´re too late and they don´t have seats now. You have to be insistent now and talk really, really fast if you want to get on the plane.
Right. Easy for you to say. I take a deep breath.
Excuse me, miss, but you cannot keep me off of this plane. I am boarding. I have to get on. I must be in Lima. It´s urgent. I have a bus waiting for me that I paid 400 soles for and I can´t miss it. My dad is going to be in Buenos Aires and he doesn´t speak Spanish and I have to be there. This is not my fault. I will board this plane.
I´m as intently urgent as I know how.
Another employee asks when my bus leaves.
Tomorrow. A lie. My bus leaves the day after. The immediate smoothness of the lie terrifies me a little. But outwardly, I don´t even flinch. I latch on. My bus leaves tomorrow and I paid a lot of money. I must get to Lima today.
They look at me nervously. I put my baggage on the scale and stare at them.
You will let me on the plane. You have sold a ticket that is mine. This is not my fault. It is robbery. I am flying today.
The tour guide looks at ME nervously now and tries to tell me to calm down. But I am feeling something else too- besides anxiety about the plane. Travelling, you get the sense that everybody is discriminating against you because you´re foreign. I mean, when taxis and shopkeepers try to charge you triple rate, it´s a fair sense. But other times you are so frusterated, you are sure that it is Us and Them no matter what. I was sure suddenly that the moment I walked up to the counter, that lady saw me and decided that a tall, blonde foreigner was not worth the effort.
That is what makes me angry.
I stare at the airline lady. She is intently clicking on the computer now. Good, because being so argumentative has brought me close to tears. As much as I am determined to get on the plane, I will not cry, I tell myself.
I will give you a standby ticket, she says. You will go into the lobby and wait to see if there is any space.
No. I tell her. I am flying. No standby. I point to my baggage on the scale. Put that on the plane.
Another man comes up to fight the same battle I am fighting. He holds out his cell phone with, presumably, somebody on the other end to yell at this woman. Who, in all other circumstances, I would feel deeply sorry for ... but right now I am sure that she is snobby and aloof and if she had a choice, she would keep me off just to spite me.
I impatiently watch her argue on the phone.
I have never been this mad at somebody in public. Ever.
Ten minutes later, after more circular arguing, she produces a ticket. I take it quickly. I have no more than 10 minutes to be boarded now. With the help of my guide friend, I run to pay my taxes, slam through security, and dump my backpack in the ... peaceful long line waiting to board the plane.
When I arrive to the airport in Puerto Maldonaldo at 11 in the morning for my 12:40 flight, the line is short. I´m grateful.
In Cusco, LAN had cancelled two flights but hadn´t had the sense to seperate the queues of people ... so I was stuck anxiously watching the time behind dozens of people who weren´t going anywhere that day ... but all still had to argue with the staff. It was nerve-wracking. I kept pleading with guards in Spanish who moved me from line to line still behind all of the flight-cancelled people with no order at all (I swear this to you) and I barely caught my plane with 5 minutes to spare.
So in Puerto, even though it only HAS two airlines it´s so tiny and I make sure to arrive with almost 2 hours this time, the short lines make me sigh with relief. Until 25 minutes into watching the little kids run around me, I realize that they aren´t moving. At all.
The man in front of me is getting antsy. He moves up, talks in Spanish, comes back, and moves up again with his bags to crowd the desk and stays there. I glance nervously at the people behind me. And them at me.
I start looking around for somebody in a jacket who might be important. I still have almost an hour to meander through the surely extremely relaxed security, but still. What is going on?
A man in a tee-shirt approaches me (he looks like a guide, maybe). He asks me when my flight is ... and I tell him today, at 12:40. His face is suddenly intense concern. I´m in for it.
(I´m going to put our spanish conversations in italics ...)
You have to go up to the front. Now.
I look around. All of the receptionists are busy but he ushers me urgently with his hands and I try to get a handle on my very heavy bags to sidle awkwardly up to make myself counter space.
A man turns to me. They´ve closed the flight.
I don´t even understand the term. Closed? How is a flight closed? Cancelled, yes. Closed, no. What the hell? Did they lose the keys to the cockpit or something?
I give him a funny look, so he tells me the same sentence more slowly. Right, great. He tries again.
There are no more seats.
No more seats? I´m baffled. I hold up my ticket. No, I tell him, I have a seat, it´s okay.
I hand my ticket to the receptionist who asks me if I´ve checked in. It seems like a weird question ... isn´t that what I´m doing right now? I tell her yes, just for good measure.
She accepts this, scans my ticket and then looks at me with her eyebrows raised.
I´m sorry, you can´t board. The flight is closed. There are no seats left.
I´m completely confused. No, this is my ticket. I bought it weeks ago. I. Paid. For. It. My receipt is here ... I flew HERE like this. How is the flight closed?
She pushes me aside and looks for the next customer. Confused, I let her look but don´t move from my spot. My tour guide friend finds me.
They´ve sold too many tickets. It´s not your fault, but you´re too late and they don´t have seats now. You have to be insistent now and talk really, really fast if you want to get on the plane.
Right. Easy for you to say. I take a deep breath.
Excuse me, miss, but you cannot keep me off of this plane. I am boarding. I have to get on. I must be in Lima. It´s urgent. I have a bus waiting for me that I paid 400 soles for and I can´t miss it. My dad is going to be in Buenos Aires and he doesn´t speak Spanish and I have to be there. This is not my fault. I will board this plane.
I´m as intently urgent as I know how.
Another employee asks when my bus leaves.
Tomorrow. A lie. My bus leaves the day after. The immediate smoothness of the lie terrifies me a little. But outwardly, I don´t even flinch. I latch on. My bus leaves tomorrow and I paid a lot of money. I must get to Lima today.
They look at me nervously. I put my baggage on the scale and stare at them.
You will let me on the plane. You have sold a ticket that is mine. This is not my fault. It is robbery. I am flying today.
The tour guide looks at ME nervously now and tries to tell me to calm down. But I am feeling something else too- besides anxiety about the plane. Travelling, you get the sense that everybody is discriminating against you because you´re foreign. I mean, when taxis and shopkeepers try to charge you triple rate, it´s a fair sense. But other times you are so frusterated, you are sure that it is Us and Them no matter what. I was sure suddenly that the moment I walked up to the counter, that lady saw me and decided that a tall, blonde foreigner was not worth the effort.
That is what makes me angry.
I stare at the airline lady. She is intently clicking on the computer now. Good, because being so argumentative has brought me close to tears. As much as I am determined to get on the plane, I will not cry, I tell myself.
I will give you a standby ticket, she says. You will go into the lobby and wait to see if there is any space.
No. I tell her. I am flying. No standby. I point to my baggage on the scale. Put that on the plane.
Another man comes up to fight the same battle I am fighting. He holds out his cell phone with, presumably, somebody on the other end to yell at this woman. Who, in all other circumstances, I would feel deeply sorry for ... but right now I am sure that she is snobby and aloof and if she had a choice, she would keep me off just to spite me.
I impatiently watch her argue on the phone.
I have never been this mad at somebody in public. Ever.
Ten minutes later, after more circular arguing, she produces a ticket. I take it quickly. I have no more than 10 minutes to be boarded now. With the help of my guide friend, I run to pay my taxes, slam through security, and dump my backpack in the ... peaceful long line waiting to board the plane.
domingo, 6 de julio de 2008
Lima
In Lima again.
Lots of thoughts (most of them curly) but things to do ...
Will write soon .............. love love love!
Me.
Lots of thoughts (most of them curly) but things to do ...
Will write soon .............. love love love!
Me.
viernes, 4 de julio de 2008
tidbits and notes
Things I would like to say to you in bullet form ...
My tummy hurts.
Edson, I found out from his mama, lied to me about his age ... hes 17 so THATS why he looks so young! HA! Also, I guess it means that in dragging him to bars with me I have enabled a minor, lol.
My tummy hurts.
Today is my last day in the jungle!
Love,
Me.
My tummy hurts.
Edson, I found out from his mama, lied to me about his age ... hes 17 so THATS why he looks so young! HA! Also, I guess it means that in dragging him to bars with me I have enabled a minor, lol.
My tummy hurts.
Today is my last day in the jungle!
Love,
Me.
jueves, 3 de julio de 2008
Dance Dance!
Ohhhhhhhh dear the dancing in this city wants me to stay forever. People sure can shake their hips here!!!!!!!!!! Cumbia, salsa ... you name it, theyre movin it. Love it love it love it.
miércoles, 2 de julio de 2008
Things left unsaid
Today and last night I spent with three other people. One- my trusty friend and roommate, the quiet Ekson. He only speaks Spanish. Two- his cousin, Aldo, who is talkative, outgoing, and a bit of a womanizer. He speaks some English if you talk directly to him and very clearly. He loves to have a few beers and dance. Three- an English (as in England) girl named Laura who volunteers researching with macaws in the jungle (SO cool! ... she and Aldo work together). She speaks almost no Spanish.
Aldo and Laura communicate laboriously in English and poor Ekson, who is so quiet to begin with, is more or less unable to contribute. He and I chat some, but Aldo seems less interested in talking to him (like I said, womanizer). I am the only person in the four of us who more or less fluently speaks both languages.
Its funny ... the dynamic in groups of people when there is no common language. Frequently confusing and frustrating, you feel like there is SO much there that everybody can reach individually but nobody can all together, all at once ... even though you know that a group conversation, if you could have one, would last for hours. Instead, you communicate in bits and phrases- in translated words, glances, gestures, and infectious laughs. If simple card games (as the official rule explainer, I request simple ones) and a few bottles of beer in a cool bar can provide hours of entertainment for people who can hardly hold a group conversation, imagine what it would be if we COULD talk and joke fluently.
Sometimes I feel like because Im the only person who is following all of the conversations, Im the only person who knows exactly, precisely whats missing. I frequently translate between one language and the other anymore- and watch, every time, the other persons brighten up as they understand a subtly, an insightful comment, a goofy joke.
Sometimes I love to be the translator. In the middle of it all. Needed. Because it is so hard for my new friends to talk to each other, they frequently talk to me for a brain break. I love the attention and the conversation but every time I speak one language I feel guilty for leaving somebody out by not speaking the other. Today Laura and I talked for a long time about travelling (I needed a brain break). Because shes going a lot of places Ive already been, she had a long list of questions that took up the entire 45 minute drive back from Infierno (the native community). For 45 minutes we discussed living and travelling in the country of Perú in detail while the Peruvians themselves stared blankly out the car window.
Before now, Ive been doing a lot more of tourist travelling. Most all tours on the Gringo Trail (nickname for the white-people-traffiked Machu Pichu/Cusco etc travel plan) are given in both Spanish and English. Many people in tourist towns are bilingual (or are intently set on becoming so ... sometimes no matter how much better my Spanish is than their English, our conversations continue in English anyway), and most European travellers speak English and also their own language. In Aguas Calientes near Machu, I was talking to a German guy who told me (in English) that he was picking up Spanish as his second language ... when I pointed out that it was clearly his third (his English was very fluid) he responded that learning English was standard and it hardly counted. It has been rare, really, that Ive come across a group dynamic where not everybody speaks at least a decent degree of English.
But here, in Puerto, the tourists all pay hundreds of dollars to flock almost immediately to cush jungle lodges with bi and trilingual natualist guides. The people of the town itself are far less used to tourists lingering for any real length of time (if the language thing wasnt a hint, the stares I get definitely are). In staying with my Puerteño family, this is one of the first times since Ive been here that Ive been truly forced to speak Spanish. Even in Argentina, Ani and her mom (my family there) both spoke some English, so if I got really stuck we could start swapping languages to figure it all out. Mery was the only one who didnt speak much English, but even shed taken classes and knew some.
I think now, with these new friends in this past day and a half- how amazing is it that we all hang out together even though half the time we can barely talk to each other. Where exactly do we meet up in our shared grey area? When we have no real common language or even culture and way of life, we always seem to find something real to laugh about. What exactly, I wonder, are we all doing?
Aldo and Laura communicate laboriously in English and poor Ekson, who is so quiet to begin with, is more or less unable to contribute. He and I chat some, but Aldo seems less interested in talking to him (like I said, womanizer). I am the only person in the four of us who more or less fluently speaks both languages.
Its funny ... the dynamic in groups of people when there is no common language. Frequently confusing and frustrating, you feel like there is SO much there that everybody can reach individually but nobody can all together, all at once ... even though you know that a group conversation, if you could have one, would last for hours. Instead, you communicate in bits and phrases- in translated words, glances, gestures, and infectious laughs. If simple card games (as the official rule explainer, I request simple ones) and a few bottles of beer in a cool bar can provide hours of entertainment for people who can hardly hold a group conversation, imagine what it would be if we COULD talk and joke fluently.
Sometimes I feel like because Im the only person who is following all of the conversations, Im the only person who knows exactly, precisely whats missing. I frequently translate between one language and the other anymore- and watch, every time, the other persons brighten up as they understand a subtly, an insightful comment, a goofy joke.
Sometimes I love to be the translator. In the middle of it all. Needed. Because it is so hard for my new friends to talk to each other, they frequently talk to me for a brain break. I love the attention and the conversation but every time I speak one language I feel guilty for leaving somebody out by not speaking the other. Today Laura and I talked for a long time about travelling (I needed a brain break). Because shes going a lot of places Ive already been, she had a long list of questions that took up the entire 45 minute drive back from Infierno (the native community). For 45 minutes we discussed living and travelling in the country of Perú in detail while the Peruvians themselves stared blankly out the car window.
Before now, Ive been doing a lot more of tourist travelling. Most all tours on the Gringo Trail (nickname for the white-people-traffiked Machu Pichu/Cusco etc travel plan) are given in both Spanish and English. Many people in tourist towns are bilingual (or are intently set on becoming so ... sometimes no matter how much better my Spanish is than their English, our conversations continue in English anyway), and most European travellers speak English and also their own language. In Aguas Calientes near Machu, I was talking to a German guy who told me (in English) that he was picking up Spanish as his second language ... when I pointed out that it was clearly his third (his English was very fluid) he responded that learning English was standard and it hardly counted. It has been rare, really, that Ive come across a group dynamic where not everybody speaks at least a decent degree of English.
But here, in Puerto, the tourists all pay hundreds of dollars to flock almost immediately to cush jungle lodges with bi and trilingual natualist guides. The people of the town itself are far less used to tourists lingering for any real length of time (if the language thing wasnt a hint, the stares I get definitely are). In staying with my Puerteño family, this is one of the first times since Ive been here that Ive been truly forced to speak Spanish. Even in Argentina, Ani and her mom (my family there) both spoke some English, so if I got really stuck we could start swapping languages to figure it all out. Mery was the only one who didnt speak much English, but even shed taken classes and knew some.
I think now, with these new friends in this past day and a half- how amazing is it that we all hang out together even though half the time we can barely talk to each other. Where exactly do we meet up in our shared grey area? When we have no real common language or even culture and way of life, we always seem to find something real to laugh about. What exactly, I wonder, are we all doing?
Notes from the Jungle
Yesterday was so hot I thought I was going to dissolve in my own sweat around 2 in the afternoon. I was on the hunt for some tourist information in the morning (the first time Ive ever had to deviate from my trusty LP!) ... I wanted to know the DL on getting to a nearby native community so I jumped on a moto to get across town to the INRENA office (for the national park service). That proved to be a bust and I had to grab another moto to another office which was in such a confusing part of town that the young guy helping me offered to walk me home when he got off (in 15 minutes).
We ended up having lunch and ice cream together. Here, you really have to watch how you invite people out to eat. It is cultural that the inviter pays (wheras for us, this only happens if its a date). I have had a little confusion with this and havent quite sorted out HOW exactly to ask somebody if they want to go out for lunch without implicating that I will pick up the tab. I mean, I dont care if lunch is super-cheap (actually, better that way) I just like having company, you know? But I guess I figure picking up the tab for friends on occasion is the least I can do in a town where everybody has treated me so exceptionally kindly.
Anyhow. I wanted to elaborate a little on taxis. There are two kinds of taxis here. One: motocarro/rickshaw. Two: moto. Motos are ... motorcycle taxis. There are a lot of motorcycles here in general because theyre cheap to buy and fuel up. Its actually pretty weird to see a whole car in the street. You know which motocycles are taxis because they drive around town like mad, honk their horns excessively, and stop if you so much as glance in their direction. Seriously, though, I think they just like to honk.
The driving age here is 14. As far as I can tell, there is no real drive test. Moto drivers wear helmets but the passengers just jump on and hold on. It is really common to see an infant squashed (and often asleep) between the driver and the passenger. I also saw one tough guy zooming through town with his little black dog balancing free on the front of the bike (front paws up near the handlebars). The motos here are so fast and cheap Im frequently tempted to take one just for the joy ride ... theyre about US .30 to get across town.
I should add here that, no, very unfortunately, I cant post a picture of a rickshaw taxi. My camera got stolen along with about $100 US cash on a night bus between Lake Titicaca and Cusco ... I lost about 400 pictures of everything between Lima and Lake Titicaca which I am desperately trying to recover through email by friends I have made throughout the trip. I have been taking pictures here with disposable cameras which, I am sure, will give my photos a terrific jungle flair. I will point and shoot my new professional green paper-covered cameras at a rickshaw taxi for you, Max.
I have to take off ... Im supposed to leave for the native community of Infierno at 11 with friends.
Love,
Me.
We ended up having lunch and ice cream together. Here, you really have to watch how you invite people out to eat. It is cultural that the inviter pays (wheras for us, this only happens if its a date). I have had a little confusion with this and havent quite sorted out HOW exactly to ask somebody if they want to go out for lunch without implicating that I will pick up the tab. I mean, I dont care if lunch is super-cheap (actually, better that way) I just like having company, you know? But I guess I figure picking up the tab for friends on occasion is the least I can do in a town where everybody has treated me so exceptionally kindly.
Anyhow. I wanted to elaborate a little on taxis. There are two kinds of taxis here. One: motocarro/rickshaw. Two: moto. Motos are ... motorcycle taxis. There are a lot of motorcycles here in general because theyre cheap to buy and fuel up. Its actually pretty weird to see a whole car in the street. You know which motocycles are taxis because they drive around town like mad, honk their horns excessively, and stop if you so much as glance in their direction. Seriously, though, I think they just like to honk.
The driving age here is 14. As far as I can tell, there is no real drive test. Moto drivers wear helmets but the passengers just jump on and hold on. It is really common to see an infant squashed (and often asleep) between the driver and the passenger. I also saw one tough guy zooming through town with his little black dog balancing free on the front of the bike (front paws up near the handlebars). The motos here are so fast and cheap Im frequently tempted to take one just for the joy ride ... theyre about US .30 to get across town.
I should add here that, no, very unfortunately, I cant post a picture of a rickshaw taxi. My camera got stolen along with about $100 US cash on a night bus between Lake Titicaca and Cusco ... I lost about 400 pictures of everything between Lima and Lake Titicaca which I am desperately trying to recover through email by friends I have made throughout the trip. I have been taking pictures here with disposable cameras which, I am sure, will give my photos a terrific jungle flair. I will point and shoot my new professional green paper-covered cameras at a rickshaw taxi for you, Max.
I have to take off ... Im supposed to leave for the native community of Infierno at 11 with friends.
Love,
Me.
martes, 1 de julio de 2008
I have to pee but ...
... I thought Id leave a post first. This is how much I love you all: a bladderful.
On my new family. Its the same family that I went with to the jungle lodge. The mom, I guess she likes me, invited me while I was staying out at the lodge to her home and family. Theyre hillarious and adorable. Theres a mom, a dad, a grandma, and four kids (one girl whos 16, three boys- 9, 15, 19). The house is cement (mostly ... I think it has one or two wood walls?) ... with a corrugated tin roof and dirt floors and its on one of the main city drags. The roof doesnt match up with the walls perfectly (its supported by wooden planks so theres a couple inches between), but they gave me a mosquito net so I wouldnt get munched in the middle of the night. My bed is as cozy as the hostel bed, but its quieter and I dont worry so much about the people coming and going.
My bedroom is a boys room ... it makes me laugh. The three oldest brothers share a room, and I have the bed of the brother who has gone into the military. Theyre artists, the boys, and they have decorated all of the walls and the door with graffittied names of girls, faces, marijuana leaves, and one lovely lime-green rendition of a hairy penis. When the mom directed me in there, she just kind of laughed and shook her head. Boys. The youngest one just hides any time I get near.
My bedroom-mate is Ekson, who was also my guide in the jungle. Contrary to what you would think given the wall art, hes pretty shy. Hes shorter than me and very round in the face-- I would have guessed he was younger than 19. When I asked about the girls names, he got very embarrassed very quickly ... especially when I pointed to the one above his own bed ...
Last night the mom worried about how dirty I was and wasnt I going to take a shower ... and this morning before I left she worried that I hadnt washed my face ... and when was I going to do my clothes ... and where was I going today ...? Mothers.
Love,
Me.
On my new family. Its the same family that I went with to the jungle lodge. The mom, I guess she likes me, invited me while I was staying out at the lodge to her home and family. Theyre hillarious and adorable. Theres a mom, a dad, a grandma, and four kids (one girl whos 16, three boys- 9, 15, 19). The house is cement (mostly ... I think it has one or two wood walls?) ... with a corrugated tin roof and dirt floors and its on one of the main city drags. The roof doesnt match up with the walls perfectly (its supported by wooden planks so theres a couple inches between), but they gave me a mosquito net so I wouldnt get munched in the middle of the night. My bed is as cozy as the hostel bed, but its quieter and I dont worry so much about the people coming and going.
My bedroom is a boys room ... it makes me laugh. The three oldest brothers share a room, and I have the bed of the brother who has gone into the military. Theyre artists, the boys, and they have decorated all of the walls and the door with graffittied names of girls, faces, marijuana leaves, and one lovely lime-green rendition of a hairy penis. When the mom directed me in there, she just kind of laughed and shook her head. Boys. The youngest one just hides any time I get near.
My bedroom-mate is Ekson, who was also my guide in the jungle. Contrary to what you would think given the wall art, hes pretty shy. Hes shorter than me and very round in the face-- I would have guessed he was younger than 19. When I asked about the girls names, he got very embarrassed very quickly ... especially when I pointed to the one above his own bed ...
Last night the mom worried about how dirty I was and wasnt I going to take a shower ... and this morning before I left she worried that I hadnt washed my face ... and when was I going to do my clothes ... and where was I going today ...? Mothers.
Love,
Me.
So you´re going to laugh ...
I got adopted completely.
I´m staying with a Puerteño family now in the same room with their 15 and 19 year-old sons. Their 9 year old son hides from me. I took a shower last night in the kitchen/bathroom/laundryroom in a cement stall with a shower curtain duct-taped up (they had to adjust it higher for me because I´m so tall ... It´s pretty hillarious. I meant to leave a long post, but I´m feeling lazy and I want ice cream, so I´ll do it later.
Love,
Me.
I´m staying with a Puerteño family now in the same room with their 15 and 19 year-old sons. Their 9 year old son hides from me. I took a shower last night in the kitchen/bathroom/laundryroom in a cement stall with a shower curtain duct-taped up (they had to adjust it higher for me because I´m so tall ... It´s pretty hillarious. I meant to leave a long post, but I´m feeling lazy and I want ice cream, so I´ll do it later.
Love,
Me.
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)