Missing people and places
Sights and sounds of this place are more numerous than I will ever be able to fully describe. If living in another culture is like swimming in an ocean, I can say that the novelty of floating in the sea has given way to riptides and I have drowned.
Driving to language school from La Mora to Mas Blanc each morning, a typically mundane event in the states, is punctuated by 89 curves on a narrow road past olive groves, vindyards, almond and carob trees, crumbling towns, political graffiti, dusty sidestreets and high stone walls. Every task is burdened with beauty. I could charge people $50 bucks in the states for this drive if I served them chocolate pastries and coffee in the back seat. But for every amber ray of sun on on dusty ancient walls, there is a longing for the life with compatriots I left in Kansas.
But I can feel myself embedding deep in this place, and the words to describe the stretching deep in my spirit are not sufficient to the task. All that remains is wonder and longing. I would pay fifty euros for a Thursday night at men's group, or a game night with friends.
I've made friends with a rooster. I stand by a fence and throw old pieces of baguette at him while he crows into my face for not being more forthcoming. There are tiny lizards that could make nests in bottle caps along the walls, and I chase them with my finger. The storms, called tormentas here, remind me of Kansas as wall clouds move in from the sea and blow the rain in wet rages against the glass.
Friday night I helped prepare for the men's church dinner (fiesta de hombres) that was to begin at 10pm. That evening I was the only EstadoUnidense at the long table. I sat between pastor Juan Antonio (who is always good for a hug without a kiss) and George (horhay) from La Paz, Bolivia. Across from me was Santiago. He asked me (in Castillian) if I liked the driving here. I said (in Castillian) that I did because of the curves. Everyone laughed when I explained that Kansas was flat and straight the further oeste you went. When the 20 or so guys sang the worship songs (that I'd never heard before) I felt that I was witness to a night far back in history before a major battle or extended exploration.
Well, this is probably enough dramatics for one morning, and I will wrap it up. Hasta pronto mis amigos...
Driving to language school from La Mora to Mas Blanc each morning, a typically mundane event in the states, is punctuated by 89 curves on a narrow road past olive groves, vindyards, almond and carob trees, crumbling towns, political graffiti, dusty sidestreets and high stone walls. Every task is burdened with beauty. I could charge people $50 bucks in the states for this drive if I served them chocolate pastries and coffee in the back seat. But for every amber ray of sun on on dusty ancient walls, there is a longing for the life with compatriots I left in Kansas.
But I can feel myself embedding deep in this place, and the words to describe the stretching deep in my spirit are not sufficient to the task. All that remains is wonder and longing. I would pay fifty euros for a Thursday night at men's group, or a game night with friends.
I've made friends with a rooster. I stand by a fence and throw old pieces of baguette at him while he crows into my face for not being more forthcoming. There are tiny lizards that could make nests in bottle caps along the walls, and I chase them with my finger. The storms, called tormentas here, remind me of Kansas as wall clouds move in from the sea and blow the rain in wet rages against the glass.
Friday night I helped prepare for the men's church dinner (fiesta de hombres) that was to begin at 10pm. That evening I was the only EstadoUnidense at the long table. I sat between pastor Juan Antonio (who is always good for a hug without a kiss) and George (horhay) from La Paz, Bolivia. Across from me was Santiago. He asked me (in Castillian) if I liked the driving here. I said (in Castillian) that I did because of the curves. Everyone laughed when I explained that Kansas was flat and straight the further oeste you went. When the 20 or so guys sang the worship songs (that I'd never heard before) I felt that I was witness to a night far back in history before a major battle or extended exploration.
Well, this is probably enough dramatics for one morning, and I will wrap it up. Hasta pronto mis amigos...
posted by godwinsinmedia at 5:03 PM
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