It’s bizarre, as I’ve been writing these blog entries my mind wanders to Spanish. Sometimes I can’t think of the word I am searching for and I’ll find myself searching through the Spanish dictionary in my head until I find the right word only to realize that it is of no use. On a side note, my Spanish is getting better.
I truly expect to run into Pablo Escobar every time I walk around my town. It is exactly what you imagine when you think of a small town in rural-esque Latin America. In a town of about 3,000 (feels like 500), there are 5 churches, 1 billiards hall, dozens of small shops in peoples’ homes (pulperias), a police station (haha…. there’s one open room, a desk in the corner, a typewriter on a table in the center, some articles taped to the wall, and a file cabinet in the other corner. I didn’t even see a phone.), 2 schools (elementary, high school), 1 basketball court with soccer goals, and any open field/flat road/cement surface/any surface whatsoever has futbol goals and soccer lines painted on whatever that field may be.
As you can see from the links in the prior blog entry, San Juan is a town of artisans who sell handmade jaw-dropping ceramic pottery. Everyone in the town is involved with the crafting or distributing of these pieces. One of the volunteer’s family at my site distributes their work to a small retail chain in the U.S. called Target. He lives in a nice house/estate down the street with a house that you’d expect to see in Florida. When you go to big stores again and see Made in ____ , I'm only now realizing that these pieces may be made by hand in far away places.
All the people are extremely friendly. Friendly beyond friendly. When I’m walking around, it is perfectly normal for me to stop and attempt a conversation with anyone hanging out in or near the street. Even punk-ass 15 year olds say ‘Hola’ when I walk by with a smile on their faces.
My house sits behind a small house/shop on the corner in a sort of L shape hugging the other house and corner. Mine house, as are nearly all other homes, is seemingly one with the outdoors. There are essentially no doors or windows and if there are, they are fixed open. The house is split into two separate buildings. I live in one with a storage room to my right and a bathroom to my left. The other building contains the kitchen and living area and the bedroom that the family shares.
My family has two dogs that I have only seen off their chains twice since I’ve been here at night. They also have a rabbit who my little brother, Orlando, loves to manhandle and show off to me, a colorful green parrot, and what sounds like a thousand roosters and chickens. Nights are loud. So loud.
Since water functions every other day, barrels store water for the days when it is not available. Most water routines revolve around buckets that you dip into these barrels and take to wherever you need one.
Washing your hands? You’ll need a bucket. Take a bucket of water to the sink area, grab some soap and scrub.
Going to the bathroom? You’ll need a bucket. You flush the toilet, by tossing enough water from a bucket in the bowl to fill it past the point of flushing.
Want to shower? You’ll need a bucket. These are the most difficult because the water is most definitely not hot. Using a small bowl, you suck up bucket water and pour cold water over you until you have lathered up and washed yourself clean. I’m slowly becoming an expert.
I’ve developed new bathroom routines to say the least.
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