Que Verga Pasa

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The first full sentence I understood from the lady who feeds me is "Neil es tranquilo." This makes me very happy. Earlier this year when I was in Mississippi, my uncle gave me some good advice. He ensured me that I need to be prepared to be laughed at/with when I attempt speak in the native language. People laugh at me all the fucking time. It's usually impossible for me to know if I'm being laughed "with" or laughed "at" or something in between. Or maybe their spectrum of humor is on a different dimension. Doesn't matter I guess, laughter is always a good thing. Except if you're laughing at, like... war.

I was thinking about the fact that men in all cultures tend to be less formal, more crass, and use more slang words and greetings than women. In this area, a quick whistle is a greeting between two dudes passing on the street, but only dudes. We tend to use more vulgarities, talk about sex and our genitals, and laugh about the banal and disgusting things that women appear to avoid, because women are delicate and angelic creatures who can't fart or get dirty. Experiencing a new culture firsthand is quite different for a person depending on their gender. I pondered this while I sat in my tent after chillin with the hombres, eating a hamburger with no pants on, thinking about this girl that I fancy, and laughing about poop and balls. All at the same time. Yeah, I have access to hamburgers.
I have a new favorite past time: sitting with the boys at the cemetery and throwing mangos at cows. I have a new favorite expression too: "que verga pasa," which I think translates roughly to "what the fuck is happening?" ("verga" is like "fuck" in its linguistic versatility and caliber of vulgarity, but means penis) It's a good one for me to know because it applies so often. I frequently find myself driving people around without knowing where we're going or why we're going there, so now when this happens I can just say, "que verga pasa?" and everyone laughs and says some shit, and then I still have no fucking clue where we're going.

I had an interesting experience the other night involving some very drunk local muchachos getting into a motorcycle accident. At one point, I was standing by the side of the road next to a guy I thought could actually be dead, with tequila, broken glass and blood on the road, listening to three dudes frantically speaking in Spanish. Obviously I didn't understand anything. I'm pretty sure cocaine was involved. Muy loco we. I have instincts/training about the protocol in an emergency situation, but that changes when there's no actual emergency service available, no cell phone reception, it's midnight, and you can't really talk to or understand anyone. No one died or was seriously injured fortunately, and as it turns out, scrubbing a shitload of blood out of your upholstery is shockingly easy. One thing that's universal: people like to get fucked up.

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