Peace of the Pie

In June 2010, I quit my job so I could bike around Europe for the summer. I planned to return to San Francisco in September. 'Sure the economy's rough,' I figured, 'but I'll find something.'

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Best of times, worst of times

We just finished an exhausting week in Las Nubes that felt like two. In one week, I walked 45 minutes uphill to class everyday, I got really sick from some of the food my family fed me, I slept on the cold floor in a house without electricity or running water, and for the majority of the week I felt isolated and ignored by the family with whom I was supposed to integrate. During the other week, I lived in some of the most beautiful country I've seen, I helped teach two mostly successful classes in Spanish at the elementary school, I hiked to and swam in an amazing and amazingly cold waterfall, and my family and I started to get along well, especially my little brothers.

I had thought about doing this entry in 'Tale of Two Cities,' simultaneous differences fashion in order to emphasize the dichotomous feel of my week, but thought better of it. In short, it was incredibly challenging at times, but now, sitting in touristy Volcan, I kinda miss Las Nubes.

Las Nubes means 'the clouds,' and is appropriately named. Every afternoon, the clouds roll in like fog to the Bay. In the picture above, my house is about to be engulfed.

The first night, I got to the house when it was already dark. On top is my room, or more properly, sleeping space. On the bottom is what it looked like without the camera flash. That night I felt like John Muir; it was great. I slept about nine hours a night that week. It is pitch-black by 7:30, the only light coming from the small, car battery-powered television around which everyone hovers in the next room to watch Tierra de Pasiones (Land of Passions), their favorite telenovela. Whatever your stereotype about overwrought, ridiculous, steamy latin soap operas, multiply that by Desperate Housewives and you might be somewhere in the neighborhood of the glory that is Tierra de Pasiones.

So I slept well, which was good because I needed the energy. My family lives down the hill from the part of town where we had class, but up another hill from there, so it was literally uphill both ways. That, along with the elevation (about 6500) and the Ghandiesque diet, and I think I'll be drilling a new hole in this belt really soon. And it was cold. Too cold for a river bath, which was the only means I had all week.

I feel like I'm complaining, and maybe I am. But it was a good week overall. I was ready to wave the white flag on Wednesday. A war was raging inside my stomach and my family was bringing me my food to eat alone like a prisoner. But I got better, and things got better. I think I learned this week that I need to learn patience. By Friday, by brothers we following me around like my brothers in Santa Clara, and the host parents actually laughed at a few of the jokes I made about Tierra de Pasiones. Also, we went to the waterfall. That's me waistdeep; I'm proud to say I was the first gringo to go in. Not the first overall though, my little brother Jose Luis was doing laps in the 40 degree water before we'd even put a toe in.

This morning I managed to finally get a picture of all the kids together. Usually one or more is working out in the field. This is the best one I think. Looking very responsible and like the older brother is Jose Luis in the green shirt. Josue is next oldest and the reason that he looks like mischievous Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes in the picture is because he was able to force shy Edwin (far right and two years younger) to be in the picture. Luisita is the youngest and the only girl, and she's all smiles one-on-one but maintains a cautious eye when the brothers are around.

We have Saturday off, but tomorrow we're due in Rio Sereno, which is right on the Costa Rican border, where we'll have Technical Week. I really hope that's not as bad as it sounds.

A few other odds and ends:

The Spanish word for fertilizer, abono, is the same word used for down payment, which I guess makes sense in a weird way. 300 dollars to fertilize your future ownership of a Ford Fiesta.

Not to be too political, but since my uncle Steve brought it up, I do in fact, work for the government. And, as he was quick to point out, that means that I, in a roundabout way, work for George Bush. This is tragically undeniable, but Steve wasn't done, going on to say that the better I do, the better he looks. A man has to draw the line somewhere, and I'm drawing it here. In the State of the Union speech made famous by the term 'Axis of Evil,' he stated his plan to double the Peace Corps budget while instead choosing to cut it the next year. So hopefully, the better I do, the dumber he looks for having chosen to do so. Not that he needs any help.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

The Coffee Gods Test Me Once More

To my fictional fans, I apologize. On Wednesday we found out where we are assigned to live and work, and I had planned to write immediately after, but celebration ensued and blogging did not. Peace Corps made a big deal of the whole presentation, showing us old Peace Corps commercials, even JFK's original address about the founding of Peace Corps. I was damn near getting choked up until they flashed a clip of our current remedial president drawling about the importance of Peace Corps to the mission of world peace. Killed my buzz. Oh, well.

Without further ado, I am going to a town called Cerro Iglesias (church hill). If you're looking at a map, and mom and dad I know you are, it is east of David, just north of Interamerican Highway. Cerro Iglesias is in the Comarca Ngabe-Bugle, which is equivalent to one of our Indian reservations. The Ngabe (no-bay) are the largest of the few remaining indigenous populations in Panama, and the majority live in this province. Cerro Iglesias isn't that big, about 500 people, but the coffee cooperative is there, so the town is somewhat of a hub for the surrounding communities. I'll be working with the cooperative, helping with basic business practice (which I know nothing about). To keep this from getting too boring, just a few more details in easily-skimmable bullet points:

I'll have cell phone reception, running water (10 out of 12 months), and no electricity.

I'm only a 45 minute chiva (pickup) ride from the main highway, which hopefully will make it easy to get in and out. But the chiva only runs every two hours.

The people there speak both Spanish and Ngabe, so I've started taking Ngabe classes. It is hard. Really freakin' hard.

I'm excited. I wasn't at first, not nearly as much as those who ended up on the beach, but I've heard really good things about Cerro Iglesias.

As I mentioned in the title, I am again being tested by the coffee gods. First, I manage to not drink coffee despite having an addicted mother who left mugs of lukewarm coffee in various places throughout my childhood. College, with its long nights of studying, and nary a sip passed my lips followed by a smile. Now, I am sent to a coffee growing region. Be strong Adam, be strong.

In other news, the hard part is over. The first four weeks of training are done, we now know where we're going, and we spend the next two weeks on the road. We have been split up into smaller groups and are set to spend a week at a site that resembles our future home. I'll be living with a Ngabe family in a really small town called Las Nubes (the clouds). The next week will be in Rio Sereno, close to the Costa Rican border, for more training. The thing is, I want things to be hard, and I expected them to be so. But hard in the bucket shower sense, not the bureaucratic bs sense. And I think most of that is thankfully over.

My sandals suck. Of everything here in Panama, that perhaps has bothered me more than anything other single thing. So I'm going to dedicate some blog space to it. My sandals, they've got no traction (obscure Sgt. Bilko quote for the brothers, if anyone else got it, kudos). It's not the bottom of the sandal, but rather the top, whereupon my foot rests. Anytime it's wet or muddy, which is everyday, my foot slips out of the sandal, especially when I attempt ascension. Gentle reader, the next time you purchase sandals, make sure that there is adequate traction not only on the bottom but on the top as well. That is the best advice I can offer.

Last story: On Thursday it rained about 5 inches in two hours. It was incredible. To get to our technical classes, we have to cross a small creek, but on Thurday, it had swelled to a river. At one point the water was higher than the bridge and we had no choice but to wait for the water. Trapped. It was cool. I didn't have my camera that day unfortunately, so all I have is a picture of the bridge and creek on a normal day. I'll try to get a picture of the inundated bridge from a friend.


Here, on a normal day, you can barely see the creek and might wonder why the bridge need be so high. Below, it's more clear.







Thursday, September 07, 2006

Meet the family

I spent this last weekend visiting a volunteer in a town called El Valle (The Valley). He, and it, were thoroughly disappointing, and my disappointment was only compounded by hearing stories about the other trainees' weekends. I came back to Santa Clara in a bit of a funk on Monday night. But when I got to the house, everyone in the family gathered around to say welcome back and to hear about my weekend. I've only lived there for two weeks, and they can already pick me up out of a bad mood.

Manuel

Manuel is, I suppose, my host father but is much more of a grandfather figure. He's right out of Dickens or Hemingway: salt of the earth, simple, kind, strong and usually silent. Very 'old school,' as the kids say. He, like his wife, still have an antiquated view of photographs, which is why he is seen here wearing his best shirt and not smiling. It's the only way he would allow me to take his picture, because I'd much rather have one of him shirtless, machete in one hand, recently-killed, latrine-dwelling snake in the other.

Christina

Abuela (grandma) runs the show. She is as 'old school' as her husband, as evidenced by the photo. She is quick to laugh and quicker to add salt to every dish she cooks. I can tell she is genuinely baffled by the gringo living in her house, but her patience never flinches. She makes a mean tortilla too.




Íran

Íran doesn't live in my house but next door, a grandchild of Manuel and Christina. He was the first one to give me a tour of Santa Clara, as we walked around on that first Sunday while he tried to kill birds with marbles and a slingshot. He has a little bit of Dennis the Menace in him, but he's a good kid and a decent cardplayer. When my technical classes are in the mornings, which is every other week, we walk together because his school is on the way. I think we share a little bit of the older brother bond.



Gabriel

The reason that I mention the older brother bond is that Íran's younger brother Gabriel is impossible not to like. He has a million dollar smile, which he refuses to show for pictures, and a wealth of natural kindness. Everyone in town seems to know and like 'chino,' as he is affectionately called because of his small stature. He's always eager to practice his English with me and laughs when I tell him apple isn't pronounced app-lay.

Íraña

Íran and Íraña's father clearly has a bit of a George Foreman complex, because he too is named Íran. Last year, Íraña was Little Miss Santa Clara, probably because she is just as naturally likable as Gabriel. She wasn't as quick to warm up to me as her brothers, but she's coming around. She likes to whisper secrets to me and then run away, which is great, the only problem being that she is missing her front teeth and I can never understand her.




Adalberto

Adalberto is another grandchild, but from a different family. He is four years-old and absolutely insane. I mean that in the best way possible, because he's not really insane but rather has more energy than any other human, or mammal, I've ever seen. This could be in part due to the coffee he drinks in the morning and the Fruit Loops at night. Every night, when others are getting ready to go to bed, he is finding new ways to throw himself on the ground. I think he is made entirely of cartiledge.

There are others, but those are the main players in the dramedy that is my life. I found out yesterday that my site is east of David, working with coffee cooperative up in the hills. I'll write more about this next time, but for now, I need to get back for dinner with the family.