2 Perspectives

Yo vivo en el campo. The training site (essentially where I live for the next 10 weeks) is a quiet, rural community with rolling hills. My host family is determined to please and make sure sure I am never lonely. Some may think I am spoiled as I lift no finger in order to be fed, laundry washed, and own room. The community watches over me and the other aspirantes like a hawk--they know where everyone lives and what funny remarks we have made. Days are busy with Spanish class on a neighbor´s back porch and technical class under a rancho among banana trees. Evenings are filled with pasear (sit-talk-awkward silence-repeat), perhaps un juego de futbol or learning to dance el tipico, and hw (yep and lots of it). It´s all so exhausting and since it gets dark by 6:30 I go to bed at 9:30 under my princess mosquito net.

OR . . . it is like a bad high school dream . . . my host mom won´t let me help out with anything . . . smelly pit latrine . . . cold, dark shower--good thing it is extremely hot and humid here, huh? . . . I can talk to my host family, but I can´t really talk to them. Crossing cultural borders is no easy task.

I prefer the former.

Culture craziness note: diablo rojos--scary, pimped out public trans buses complete with shark fins and strobe lights.