Monday, April 12, 2010

A glance at the past til now...



How does the earth turn so quicly? The summer has come and swiftly gone in a whirlwind of family visits, vacation, and attempting to stay cool, leaving little energy for cyber communication. After a year and a half, this place has become something that resembles home enough that I don't crave the internet connections I used to so look forward to.

After Chrismas and New Years in Uruguay, Hannah came back to my site with me, where we played in the river, went fishing with bamboo poles Huck Finn style,shucked and ate many many peanuts, and led an environmental summercamp. She got to see the way I live, including getting bored to tears by the bingo games the Señoras love so much. It was refreshing to have someone to share in the hilarious misery of it all, and to laugh with over a cold beer that I wouldn't have the guts to buy by myself.

We then continued our sister adventure in Brazil, where we had rented a one-bedroom apartment in Rio de Janiero for nine days with seven other volunteers. The limited space was made up for by a fabulous rooftop terrace,complete with grill, pool,and pool table. We were located in Copacabana, one block away from the Copacabana beach and walking distance from the famous Ipanema beach, where we could watch the sun set over the fantastical cliffs that surround that majestic city. Rio is unlikek any place I`ve every been. The sheer drama of its geography is jaw dropping. The view from the top of Sugarloaf makes me imagine what it must have been like to first come across that land, uninhabited, to stumble upon it by land or sea for the first time. Itś like Neverland, with lagoons and inlets, but now with lights covering all, and the flavellas (shantytowns) climbing hodgepodge up the sides of the steep hills. Acai is the life food and large asses reign supreme. Kids play soccer on white sands and the ocean washes away lastnightś sins. Carnaval, of course, attracts herds of people from all over to celebrate the worldś most famous party.

I was ready to get back to my little casita after 10 days. It felt good to get back to my routine of washing clothes, working bees, and having little plan for the day but to see what happens next. It wasn't long, however, before it was time to go again, this time to meet up with Mom and Bobo in Argentina. We met at the bus terminal in Cordoba, after a year and a half with no parents. We rented a car and headed north a couple hours to the magical little town of Capilla del Monte, where we celebrated the fall equionox with a healing sound bowl ceremony. We continued north, stopping at a town with thermal hotsprings, and then Cafayate (Mendoza's cute cousin) to taste wine. We left there with a case of organic wine and a block of goat cheese to keep us happy on the 23-hour bus ride to Iguazu Falls. We spent one night in Ciudad del Este, where we met up with my sweetie, Jorge, and then continued on to my site.

The two of them accompanied me on the sweaty journey to the high school for my photography class, and Bobo became famous for fixing the one computer in my community (no internet, of course). Mom, as you can imagine, became famous for being herself. On Boboś last night we had a chicken BBZ with a few of my Paraguayan friends and family. Mom stayed on for the rest of Semana Santa, doing useful things like de-iceing my fridge, deep-cleaning my wardrobe, and hand-washing my clothes. I also took advantage of having a mom to cook for me, and we feasted on chicken soup, macaroni and cheese, and the traditional Easter breakfast of creamed egg on toast. There were lots of community activities that week--prayer gatherings, decorating, and making a "Judas" scarecrow, complete with firecrackers, to be burned at the stake on Easter morning before mass. That Sunday we woke up at 4:30am to join the candlelit singing procession, making its way through the community and finally stopping at the church. That afternoon was the soccer tournament. Fall came all at once, the south wind gusting up and blowing antarctic air through the cracks in my walls.

Mom left on Monday, and things are back to normal, or as normal as can be expected. Life back home in the States continues with weddings and babies and changes. I sometimes think about the things I'm missing on long walks back home. There are barefoot footprings all over the sandy road that takes me back to my house, and I cramble them with my own shoed prints, weighted down by a body covered in and a backpack full of supplies I am taught to need. I have my waterbottle, as always, my hat and sunglasses, and my muisc, which helps me along the hour-and-a-half trek from the next communityi. I have my beegear, covered in soot and honey, a plastic bag full of honey still on the comb and crawling with drunk bees; cinnamon roles, the product of my cooking class, fresh out of the brick oven and keeping warm in my dirty shirt.

I wonder which are the moments I will carry with me when I go. Memories are surprizingly fickle and random. The moments that stand out most are those that seem inconsequential, and the so-called "memorable" ones melt away until I can recall only that the event took place. The actual scenes are hazy and unstill. Will I remember pressing up close to Jorge's back as we run away from the sunrise and the wind bites at our fingertips and noses? Or will I only recall that he took me the 45 minutes to put me on the bus to Asuncion? Will I remember the weight of my 2 and 4-year-old nieces on each of my knees and the blueness of the sky as we crouched in the field of manioc and I sang to them, trying to drown out the sound of their father and uncle fighting back at the house? There is so much beauty and hurt, too heavy to carry.