Ñantori

Cultural Week: check. Starting to learn a lil´ bit of the indigenous language Ngabere (ñantori is hello . . . ti ka jessica, ti nune virginiate) and what it is really like to live with no privacy and 3 small children who watch your every move . . . and no electricity (which i have been spoiled with in the training community) . . . and something (bat? mammoth moth? *?) flying above my bed and nose diving at me (me darting beneath my sheet and continuing to sweat to death but fear kept me tucked underneath until several hours later) . . . explaining the evils of factory farming in spanish to my host family (how the heck did we get on that topic???) . . . and teaching a tough crowd of fourth graders about nutrition (their shyness must have prevented them from throwing those cut-out paper tomatoes at me). Happily recovering in Boquete, a beautiful mountain town with lots of flowers, coffee, strawberries, and cool temps. Oh, and what do ya know, baked brie.