Teustepe on my Mind

OK, sorry for the long hiatus again...I thought my blog was malfunctioning, but apparently it´s working again, joy to the world. =) The children´s program in the campo was great...we painted, sang, read, and even picked up trash together on the way to the river together (the hippie inside me rejoiced until I realized that there was nothing to do with it except burn it.)Anyway, without further ado, here is my Teustepe story that will probably not be so funny now that there has been almost a month of build up for it lol.

So, my week in Teustepe in April was basically spent stuffing my face in people´s houses and generating that awkward initial getting-to-know-you conversation. For the most part, it ended up being fine, and I could at least talk about how especially delish their maduros and gallo pinto were. With one particular family, however, I knew their would be trouble when they didn´t arrive until an hour after they were supposed to. I had already eaten lunch and I began to freak out because, well, what was I going to do at their house, if not eat? Nonetheless, I hopped in the bicycle riksha that would take me there, praying for a miracle.

Upon arriving at her house, I realized that she could understand none of my gringa-accented Spanish. Nor could any of her family. And I was stuffed, so I couldn´t even eat anything that she had prepared for me for lunch. It was probably a couple of the most awkward hours of my life, sitting in a rocking chair, desparately trying to think of words that were easy to pronounce. Finally, the neighbors began cutting wood with a chainsaw, so we all went out back to watch.

That´s when the fight broke out. The pig that was chained to the tree got loose and began chasing around the ducks there. In the ensuing craziness, one of the ducks necks broke. I´m not actually sure if one of the little boys accidently did it trying to save the duck from the pig, or if the pig was the culprit. BUT, so then the little boy keeps trying to help support the duck´s neck, holding it up as it keeps flopping down. It was a painful process to watch. You would then it was dead, and then its head would flop up again and the boy would rejoice, only to see it go again.

Then, we go inside and watch some shoot ´em up U.S. movies, which they ask me to translate, which at least gives me something to do. As I am getting ready to leave, they hand me an invitation for the father´s birthday party that weekend. Glorious.

So, we go back for the party that weekend. Ivania, the fifteen year old girl I am staying with, has taken a beauty course and decides to use me as her mannequin, making me into a Latina superstar, complete with heavy makeup and hair parted very much to one side. She, who is a stick, also decides that I should wear her clothes, so I am crammed into her skinny jeans and tanktop. Email me if you need a laugh and would like to see pics.

So we get there and guess what we are served to eat? Yep, you guessed it. Duck. Ivania tried to convince me that it was not, but I am almost entirely positive that it was. On top of this, the dad is drunk. Wasted, actually, and dancing around like a looney. He is also huge, which means you have to watch out for him falling on you. Then, someone gets the idea that it would be funny to watch the chela dance with him. I am forced to try salsa-ing with him, but it turns into me backing away from him and he charging at me. It is the closest thing to a bull fight I have seen this side of the Atlantic Ocean. The only thing that keeps me going at this point is the scrumptious looking 3 level cake sitting on the table.

In order to get this cake, however, I knew we would have to stay until the end. In the meantime, I am also forced to dance with his son, who is married and whose wife is also sitting right there glaring at me like this is what I want. By this point, the dad can barely stand, and we are all trying to throw other people in front of him to dance, in order to avoid having to do it ourselves. We run and escape into the kitchen for a little bit, where I am offered my second glass of Coke. As most of you know, I hate Coke, so I passed it off to my fifteen year old sister. Turns out it was spiked with rum. So now I am also guilty of feeding alcohol to minors. We return to the dance floor, and Ivania asks me if I want to leave, but I am so desperate for the cake at this point that I tell her we should stay. That´s when I began dancing with the drunken aunt, because it ended up being a much better alternative. BUT, then they start cutting the cake and everyone is getting a piece except me, who can´t get rid of the drunken aunt. Finally, I pass her off to the dad, they end up serving us the cake, and we eat it on our way home. And that, my friends, is my Teustepe story.