Counting the Strikes

            As I type this I am listening to Christmas music trying to get into the holiday spirit, but none of the normal external clues are present so it’s a bit of a stretch. I am now my third week of adjustment and it’s going quite smoothly, although last weekend I do feel as though I might of hit a bit of a bump in the road. On Friday the small annex of a town next to mine had a celebration for a Saint, not quite sure who. As part of this celebration they had a cow show. The women at the cheese factory where I put cheese in to molds once in a while invited me to go with them. I was honored by the invite and we agreed to meet up after lunch. As is pretty usual this time of year during lunchtime it started to down pour, so I was trapped in the house waiting for the rain to pass. Every time I thought there was a break, by the time I got ready to leave it started up again. My host mom brought out her big umbrella and insisted that I take it along with me. I reluctantly agreed knowing that me caring an umbrella would bring more attention to my gringo self, and I already got plenty of stares on the street.  Not matter, finally after three hours of rain it seemed to lighten up and I made my break for it, hoping that my cheese making friends didn’t leave without me. I walk down to one of their houses, which I was given the instructions of ‘look for the house with the red roof, it’s the only one of its kind’, and sure enough it is pretty easy to spot. They are still hanging around and invite me in to sit on their couch, the first couch I’ve seen for at least three weeks; it was a pleasure to sit down on! They get themselves ready, commenting about the rain every other sentence, and we head out the door. I receive many comments on the umbrella, but I tell them they will all be pretty jealous when it starts raining again.

            The cow show was amusing if not a bit humorous. There were about 15 cows in total, so pretty small. Most of the men formed circles of friends where they passed around a beer and chatted, probably about the rain, while the women sat on the side gossiping and watching after the children. In groups the cattle owners would bring out their cows, walk them around in circles, but mostly struggle to get them to stand all in a line. The judge inspected them and pronounced a winner for each group, to which a spattering of applause followed. Mid way through this excitement it started to rain again and I pulled out the umbrella, which was then a sought after item, and we huddled under it, unable to see the action, but sticking through it as committed fans. Just as they are judging the last group of cows it really starts to downpour, we decide it is time to run for cover, and head out of the open arena, to the side of a house with covering. Huddled in we wait out the end of the judging and then start the journey home. Before I know it a car pulls up beside us and I am told to get in for a ride. We pile in all except two moms who have their babies on their back. They call to me to lend them my umbrella, which I quickly do, desperate to make any friends that I can here. Later I realized I have no clue who the women are or how to get back the umbrella. I arrive back at the house wet and tired, and I explain in broken Spanish what happened to my host mom’s umbrella, she does not seem to pleased about the whole fact that I don’t exactly know who has the umbrella. Strike one.

            The next day the same annex is having a sports day as part of their celebrations. I am invited to go with my host mom’s sister, because my host mom has to go to the farm to harvest potatoes. They come by my house right as I am getting out of our freezing cold shower. I ask them to wait five minutes while I get dressed to which they agree. Finally ready we head off to the games. We find a seat in the grass and watch the men play soccer (the municipality taking on the near by university), and we watch the women play volleyball. It is all pretty exciting, especially when balls come flying towards us, and I had a two-year-old girl to also keep me company. About two hours into this my host mom and dad show up to join us. All is going well when suddenly my two-year-old companion finds money on the ground around me, and proceeds to question whose it is. I deny it at first thinking I didn’t have any money in my pockets, but then I realize it can’t be anyone else’s so I embarrassingly say, oh yeah it must be mine. My mom demands that I stand up and they proceed to find seven more Soles in the grass where I had been sitting, which amounts to a little more than two dollars, but here is quite a bit. I am pretty embarrassed as they exclaim that I can’t be walking around with that much money, and I need to keep my jacket zippers closed. The next day my host mom proceeds to tell the shocking story to everyone she meets on the street, heightening my shame each time. Strike two.

            While sitting watching the sports on that same cloudy day we stayed passed sunset as the volleyball game got more heated. Every volleyball game you have to pay a small amount to get in, and then the winning team takes all, so the games are pretty serious. Anyways when the sun sets in the mountains here the temperature drops about 20 degrees, a pretty significant change. I hadn’t quite come prepared for this, and apparently the air in the annex is much colder according to my host mom, so I quickly start to feel my toes and hands freezing off. In desperation I look over to my host mom, who is snuggled under her poncho talking to the person on the other side of her. I figure that I will cozy up and prove that I am a loving daughter, so I borrow a bit of her poncho and cover my legs with it. I am pretty proud of my bold daughterly move, and I feel slightly warmer. Little do I realize that I may have crossed the line a bit, for ponchos are a point of pride to people here. When my host mom notices she is a bit taken aback and exclaims to my host dad that I have taken some of her poncho in disbelief. I sit there a little awkwardly, and yet for whatever reason still leave the bit of poncho covering my legs. We watch through the end of the game and finally head home, at which point I am so cold that I can barely speak or think straight. On the walk home my host mom exasperatedly explains what happened with the poncho, and then exclaims that she never shares her poncho with anybody. Too cold to do anything, I sort of try to laugh it off, and pretend that I don’t understand. Strike three.

            Well with all these strikes against me by Sunday I was feeling pretty unconfident. After a long afternoon nap my mom invites me to go play volleyball with them so we walk together to our court in town and I sit down to watch. The whole town is out so there are plenty of young kids to play with and the time passes smoothly. On our way home we walk with a neighbor that I’m not sure I’ve met before, just as we get to her house, she remembers that she is the one that has my umbrella, and tells us to wait while she runs in to get it. The relief seems to run down my shoulders, and I can tell my host mom is pretty pleased to get back her umbrella. Things since have gone very smoothly, and this week for the first time my host mom shared her gossip and feelings about certain people in town with me. I felt like I was actually on the inside for a brief moment. Patience in transitions is always hard to find, but I try to run with the little successes, and pick myself up after the cultural misunderstandings. I will always be over grateful for my host mom’s love of vegetables!