pieces

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Today I drank coconut milk in the fading sun after biking around for the afternoon with Zo. We swam in a volcanic lake and laughed so much the guide thought we were crazy (or drugged). Walking down the road today I felt like I was 7 again, the air feeling like an old friend on my face. Walter, an acquaintance in the internet cafe keeps calling me his amor and pinching my stomach which is making it kind of hard to concentrate, but here goes...

Las Tunas in the morning, 5 45, quiet and fresh with the first lights turning on. The time that everyone rolls out of bed and starts doing something... sweeping, cooking, shuffling, dressing. It´s the first time I´ve been up at this hour, hitting the alarm snooze button like I would before going to school, feeling slightly cheated out of sleep... but now it´s my choice so it´s different. Eyes blurry and puffy, my tiredness reflected in Zoe´s face. So much of me reflected in Zoe that lately it´s hard to imagine life without her. Our realities are so intertwined that often I feel that we´re the same being, stretching out a limb here and there, but ultimately returning to a centre that lies at the heart of our frienship- We don´t say anything to eachother sitting on the curbside waiting for the bus. There´s nothing to say and it´s to early anyways. The birds are flying overhead, the classic shape that you´d draw when you were little, wings perfect arcs silhouetted against the grey sky. Gliding like they do, riding the wind. (Interjection... theres a little girl beside me, probably 7 or 8 watching a video of a group of girls shaking their bums in mini skirts. there´s a gross man in a suit following them with his eyes. she´s watching with glazed with a glazed expression and a slight smile... even after a lot of exposure to a different culture, this kind of thing still makes me feel weird, I guess it´s world wide though... I´m going to hold myslef back from another machismo rant... for now.)

Right now (really a few nights ago) I´m lying in the hammock outside of our room snuggled in my sleeping bag. It´s the same day, but now it´s night and everyone´s asleep except me because I ate to many cookies and I´m high off the sugar. We spent the evening at Elly´s house baking cookies and a cake for Kevin´s birthday. There was about 15 of us at one point, drifting arounf the kitchen eating cookie dough, joking around, making farting noises in anticipation of what raw eggs and flour might do to our digestion systems. One person was stirring, one licking, one beating. Around each person with a task was a ckuster of others watching eagerly and building the excitement. The cookies are ready and we´re all eating them even though they werern´t fully cooked, warm gooey mounds in people´s palms, chocolatety lips smacking together saying ¨muy rico, muy rico¨(delicious). It´s pretty amazing because I feel home here more then I have anywhere else. In fact, i´ve been telling people who ask that I live in Las Tunas beacause that´s how it feels, not just a stop on the road but a place that´s becoming more and more a part of me as the days go by. I´m going to try and describe some people as hard as it is because so much of this town is its interconnectedness that even Zoe and I have become a part of, at least for now.

Angela and her family run the little store on the corner that I go to daily to buy water. The door of the store is always locked so I have to holler ¨hola!¨through the black metal bars and watch as Angela comes through her kitchen to open the door. I always ask her how she´s doing and she often says ¨fine, thanks to god¨. At times her voice strains slightly, and there´s a resignation there, to the challenges to life and whatever it has thrown her way. One of her eyes closes slightly more then the other and her smile is always warm. She likes it when it´s cloudy and always calles me Clara, asking me to sit for a while. Angela and Karena (her daughter) tease me about marrying an ecuadorian or taking her youngest son home with me in my luggage. Karena laughs like a mischevious kid and makes me think of Dr Suess and the cat in the hat. Outside of the store is where the men that don´t work play cards in the afternoon, drinking beer through a window that Angela serves them through a little window. Sometimes Angela´s shoulders droop and she meets my eyes slowly, letting it show in her body and manner that she´s been through a lot. Once I asked her what she likes to do and she told me she didn´t have time for much other then what she had to do... cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, minding the store. ¨We live every day Clara, and life goes on¨

Owaldo is the padre (father) of the family that has semi adopted us. He´s about half my size and usually has his head tipped to one side like he´s asking a question. He laughs easily, and often chuckles to himslef long after a joke has died out. he´s really eager to show you things. One time I asked a question about fruit which led him to walking me around town, pointing out everything with seeds in Las Tunas. He often rides his bike, coming to find Zoe and I when we´re late for lunch or for some other random thing. He´s around the cabana a lot, nailing inspecting painting or just hanging out. One time I came upstairs and he was laying in the hammock reading Marie Claire even though he can´t understand the articles. He comes by at night to eat popcorn and drink hot chocolate with us, talking about his or that, or reading out loud from something lying around. He´s amazingly kind and generous in a really simple and genuine way that´s rare and beautiful. He says ¨claro¨(clearly) in this way that cracks me and Zoe up, high pitched and really sincere with one eye closing half way. Sometimes his eyes are red which means he was drinking and everything´s slower and more deliberate. Once when we walked to the house he picked red flowers from the bushes on the side of the road. Zoe and I put them in our hair, and we went like that, arm in arm.

Aurelio is Owaldo´s father and the head of the Flores family. Zoe describes him as ¨the most charming South American old man that has ever lived¨. He wears white collared shirts that are loose from wear, but still make him look elegant. He has white teeth that I think are dentures and is often standing by the beach talking to a friend. Whenever he sees me he says ¨my family¨, and hugs me in a slow way. He´s worked the land for his whole life, and you can just imagine looking noble on his horse, walking in the mountains. When he eats his soup he looks at it, observing every spoonful. The bottom of his house is a dance floor that hosts town fiestas, paper decorations hanging from the ceiling like multi colored bats. I told him that I would come back to visit him and he said, ¨I hope I´m alive¨his smile bright and glowing.

The last bus is leaving back to town, and we have an art class to teach in an hour... more to come. I love love love everyone.

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