The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

Another week has gone by in this little country. I had a lot of work to do, and sometimes, I have to scrounge work up to get in enough hours. I taught a lot of yoga classes. I really am getting better and better at it.

Jill and I have been switching the garden over to hydroponics, which means that the substrate in which the plants grow is not soil, but rather coconut shell fiber and rice husks. This means that there are no molds, pests, or chemical imbalances in the substrate. Whereas in soil, you have to worry about balancing your nitrogen, potassium, etc, in hydroponics you've got a blank slate. To give the plants nutrients, you feel them plant food, basically. We've got some organic food to give them. The soil on our land is very high in clay content, so hopefully we will get a better crop now! The rainy season is ending and now comes the windy, dry season. We planted tomatoes, sweet red peppers, arrugala, spinach, lots of lettuce, parsley, dill, and cukes. It was nice to work in the dirt, and it reminded me of when I was young and my family had a garden. We plant here by the moon: you plant seeds that grow up on the new moon, seeds that grow down when the moon is dark and waxing. You transplant and graft when the moon is waning in the last quarter. Why? I don't know. I asked though. It has to do with water in plants.

I watched the movie The Hours, which was very good, and I finished a book called "The Other Boleyn Girl" which was fun but too romantic. Why was it too romantic? Because here is what romance looks like here:

Cato, our usual driver, sent his uncle to pick me and Kenny up at the hotel and bring us home. While waiting for Kenny to get in the car, the driver and I strike up a conversation; where are you from, you speak great Spanish, do you have a boyfriend, etc. While in the U.S. the boyfriend question is a very suggestive thing to ask, or considered nosy, here it is a vital stat. Then he tells me I am very beautiful. Whatever. This guy's like, 70 years old. When Kenny gets in the car, they start talking- about me- saying, yeah, she's pretty, she's single, she even speaks Spanish. This is broing out, tico style. But it's at my expense. I tell them they are snakes. They laugh. As I'm getting out of the car, the driver tells me I'm guapisima, "very attractive", and I awkwardly say thanks. When I get inside, I explode. I tell Kenny how I am so sick of men treating me like a piece of meat. "You're a tourist", he says. "I'm not a tourist, Jesus Christ, I'm a human being!" I'm yelling now. "And you! You're talking to him in Spanish about me, AS IF I'm not there, AS IF I don't speak enough Spanish to know what you're saying! I hate it! I hate being treated like an animal or a piece of furniture! It's disgusting! It's like no one cares what I'm like, how I feel, or what I want!" "Rachel, I'm sorry, I won't talk about you anymore like that." He is exasperated. Kenny and I have barely spoken since then, although I did apologize for yelling at him. I spent the rest of the day festering in my room, feeling trapped in a horrible ugly house in a horrible country where everyone is terrible and I have no friends and no money and nothing to do but try to get rich old people to chill the fuck out. I also ate an entire pack of Oreos. When was the last time I bought Oreos in the US? I don't even remember.

That was the lowest point. Because there is a part of me who loves solitude. I just need more solitude that is actually alone. That feeling where there are tons of people in the room, and you've never felt more alone? That's bad. Being the only person in the room? That's the best. At least for me.

Which is why today was a great day. All our guests left. Kenny is on vacation. Pablo has the day off. Bob and Jill are off at their friends' house, and I am babysitting the telephone. They said, you can eat whatever you want. They said, you can tan by the pool. They said, you can watch TV in our house. They said, please redo our wellness brochure.

Today was dedicated to my inner child. My inner child likes feeling safe, being in charge, eating sugar, loud music, being alone, being barefoot, and fixing problems. I ate papaya for first breakfast. For second breakfast, I ate vanilla ice cream crepes. I tanned by the pool. For lunch, I made garlic potatoes, the way my grandfather makes them. Then I had another ice cream crepe for lunch-dessert.

As I was tanning by the pool, I reached my hand back behind my head to grip the top of my lounge chair. Something bit me, something with insect legs that stick to your fingers. I screamed and flung it off, my finger covered in blood, and went to find Eugenio to ask him if I was going to die. He said, what bit you? I don't know. I dragged it off (meant to say flung, but messed up with the Spanish). Does it hurt? No, but it did. Where is it? I don't know. I dragged (flung) it off. But it had claws on its legs. Let's see. Not a scorpion. Not a snake. Not a wasp. We looked around the pool for it but found nothing. I went upstairs to check on my potatoes in the oven. Then Eugenio came up holding an enormous bright green grasshopper, called an esperanza, in his hand. I screamed. Then I looked very closely at it once the heeby-jeebies were out of me. Two enormous pincers. Yep. That's what bit me. And no, it's not poisonous at all.

Later, I put my ipod on the big lobby speakers and turned it way up, and worked on the wellness brochure. Now, I am not in any way a genius about Microsoft Word when it comes to formatting. Also I am at a huge disadvantage because there are only PCs here, and I have been learning how to use them since I got here. However, it was readily apparent that the last person to make the wellness brochure not only knows nothing about Microsoft Word, but has no internal need for perfection, consistency, order, and organization. I totally re-hauled the document, making a totally new one, and now it is perfect in every way. Everything is located in a text box of the exact same width, justification, font, and size. I feel very satisfied with this work.

It is difficult that I still don't know how to live my life here in a way that feels good. But I'm trying. I'm trying to remember that I am in paradise. And have no homework. And really no responsibilities besides working 30 hours a week. Which just goes to show, outside conditions do not really affect our happiness as much as we think they do.