I keep getting blown away by things I see. I wonder how long it takes to be so acculturated that common sights lose their ability to astound. Until that happens, I’m enjoying the constant surprises. Here are a few:
Sunday, there was such a clamor on the patio of the house I live in. The parrot in his cage was squawking wildly and there was other noise I quickly identified as a cock fight, but as it occurs in nature. We have roosters and hens and chicks roaming around all the time. Two cocks got into it and someone in the family had to intervene to stop it. One cock was placed in the shower to segregate him from the other and life returned to peace. I was reminded not to open the shower door. This morning I walked around the house to the lavadero, the cement basin in which we wash clothes and dishes. There stood the señora of the house with a dead rooster in the lavadero. She was plucking it. I was taken aback first because the señora has a responsible job in the world and I’m always amazed that her status doesn’t insulate her from the hardest household work, including apparently, plucking roosters. Second, I wasn’t aware of this additional use for the lavadero. A little later I went to take my shower. The only sign of the deceased rooster was a fair amount of ñaña on the floor of the shower. Por eso always wear flip flops in the shower.
Speaking of chickens, a week or so ago I was traveling into the country in a cab. This sounds kind of posh, but it is a common form of transportation in my part of the world where busses pass by infrequently and nearly no one has a car. When I take a taxi I expect to share it with at a minimum of three and a maximum, in my experience, of six extra people, not including the driver and children who sit on laps. We all pack in somehow. On this one trip, however, there were only two of us in the back seat until the cab stopped to pick up a woman who carried a large bag, the kind people buy rice in, plastic but reinforced with cross hatched string or thread. In the bag she cut two holes and out of each stuck the head of a chicken. I did the proverbial double take. On the way home, I caught the bus along with a lady who had two chickens tied together at the feet. No bag.
One day my packed taxi stopped to pick up another passenger. There being no room inside the taxi, he climbed into the trunk which was left open to accommodate him as we sped down the road. I’m used to that one now as it happens fairly often. I am hoping to find out how much the trunk riders pay. I bet it’s the same as those of us who ride inside. Everyone pays for the ride so the cab driver is motivated to shove in as many people as he can. No one complains. Everyone is glad to have the ride.
The father in the family where I live was taking down the dry laundry from the line. As he took each piece he folded it into a neat square and put in on top of his head. By the end of the line he was balancing a tidy stack.
His mom is a charming and unassuming señora, very warm, in her mid to late 70’s I’d guess. She came to visit and was very interested in me and kind to me. She asked about my children and I took her to my room where I have pictures of my family and friends. She was much taken with a snap shot of Alex and Tina on their wedding day. It’s the only wedding picture I brought with me. The señora asked for the photo and when I handed it to her she left the room with it clutched tightly to her breast. I wasn’t sure that I could get it back, but knew it was gone when I saw her a few minutes later. The wedding picture was tucked inside her bodice, the edge peaking up over the neckline of her dress. She left with it. These are the kinds of misunderstandings that are impossible to negotiate with my level of Spanish. Easier to ask Alex and Tina to send me another snapshot.
In the campo life is even more traditional than it is in my pueblo of 2400 people. I always see ancient ladies walking along the road with heavy loads on their heads. I see men riding burros bareback. I see women gathered at the one well in a village early in the morning with their barrels and pails talking as I imagine women have been doing for all time. In the house where I give lessons, a very old señora naked but wrapped in a towel from the waist down makes her slow way over the packed dirt floor to shower. I love to watch the oxen walk in the road. They are various and complex shades of cream and taupe.
I am reading a very good set of short stories, Ideas of Heaven: A Ring of Stories by Joan Silber (thank you to whomever recommended this one) and in one story a character thinks back on his years as a tourist when he would look at amazing sights as if his seeing them somehow validated them, as though in a way they weren’t real until he saw them. Not sure I explained this right but I think I recognize the idea. I’m still a tourist here and these sights make me want to turn to a companion to say, “Did you see that!!” as though the sight was placed there to blow me away. In time the sights, and maybe I, will just be a part of the landscape. Not sure I’m looking forward to that time. My life now is very vivid. The visuals are a part of the sensory overload that makes me sleep a solid 9 hours every night.
Amazing Sights
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