Reading in bed at 8am on a Sunday morning, I hear a familiar yet faint tune from somewhere in the neighborhood. I expected church music, but it sounds like people singing along to… Nirvana? Yep, as they move into their next song and a woman belts out an off-pitch refrain, even with almost indistinguishable lyrics, I’m certain it’s Nirvana. That’s a Sunday morning (delightful) surprise. Throughout the day, I hear a marching band rehearsing, people singing at church two blocks away, laughter from next door, a baby crying in up a house up the hill, the evening cacophony of dogs barking, and the whistle of the neighborhood night guard letting neighbors know that he is making his rounds. Over the last month, I’ve also heard rain in all strengths: downpour so strong conversation has to stop, steady rain that provides a pleasant layer of background noise, hard drizzle plunking against metal roofs, and light pitter patter of raindrops outside my window. The evening after a hard afternoon rain leaves the neighborhood surprisingly quiet, even the dogs are pacified.
I have fairly good hearing; at work I could hear the slight high-pitched feedback over the AV system and the hum of the lights warming up in the morning, while others were unbothered. However, my smeller is not as delicate. But, I can identify the smell of the coffee roasting nearby, there’s a slight smoke coming from the other side of the trees to confirm that the roaster is in action. I’d like to track down the building to see if I can buy some coffee from them to match a taste to the smell. It hasn’t been a priority because my mamá grinds coffee fresh every morning for the French Press. I’ve drunk enough instant coffee in Latin America to know that I am really fortunate to have hosts who appreciate good coffee.
I can also appreciate all the flowers and fresh herbs growing in our garden, both smell and taste. I’ve learned that I like fresh lemon grass tea, particularly from the Winston-Salem, North Carolina, mugs gifted by a former student.
We live on at the end of a street that dead-ends up a hill. If I’m not hot when leaving the city center, I’m usually sweating by the time I get home. A neighbor across the way is an ice-cream distributor for the men (haven’t seen any women) pushing small refrigerator carts with Eskimo ice cream. I went over to get an ice cream on Thursday when I decided ice cream sounded better than Zumba. The young man who was just ending his day, returning the slight soft ice cream to the bigger freezers was dripping with sweat. I don’t envy him pushing that thing around town, then up the hill. I’d be tempted to eat the merchandise if I were him. I happily bought an ice cream from him for 12 córdobas (about 40 cents). I never had a problem in Eugene living near Sweet Life; I hardly ever went for dessert, but this might be dangerously available and affordable.
I’m over a month into this journey. The first month was full of newness and discovery, the “honeymoon” stage if you will. I’m shifting into my own routine, daily life here. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with my host family. I enjoy watching movies in Spanish and working on puzzles at the dining room table with the family. About once a week I visit Jaime at his office, the local branch of the Unidad Nacional de Adulto Mayor which works with senior citizens. Two or three times a week I go to Zumba with my hermana and her friend. I’m connecting with new folks too. I just went to a two-day theater workshop that allowed me to connect with 11 fabulous women living in Matagalpa, and may lead to some opportunities to join them again in the future. I’ve started a couple language exchanges (half the time we speak in English, half in Spanish). One is with a woman my age who offered to talk while we go on day trips and hikes around the city, which I think sounds fabulous. I’m only using Spanish for communication here but grammar improvement is slow. These exchanges should be useful for correcting my errors. Now I move into month two, a little more settled with the sounds, smells, and tastes becoming my new normal.
I have fairly good hearing; at work I could hear the slight high-pitched feedback over the AV system and the hum of the lights warming up in the morning, while others were unbothered. However, my smeller is not as delicate. But, I can identify the smell of the coffee roasting nearby, there’s a slight smoke coming from the other side of the trees to confirm that the roaster is in action. I’d like to track down the building to see if I can buy some coffee from them to match a taste to the smell. It hasn’t been a priority because my mamá grinds coffee fresh every morning for the French Press. I’ve drunk enough instant coffee in Latin America to know that I am really fortunate to have hosts who appreciate good coffee.
I can also appreciate all the flowers and fresh herbs growing in our garden, both smell and taste. I’ve learned that I like fresh lemon grass tea, particularly from the Winston-Salem, North Carolina, mugs gifted by a former student.
We live on at the end of a street that dead-ends up a hill. If I’m not hot when leaving the city center, I’m usually sweating by the time I get home. A neighbor across the way is an ice-cream distributor for the men (haven’t seen any women) pushing small refrigerator carts with Eskimo ice cream. I went over to get an ice cream on Thursday when I decided ice cream sounded better than Zumba. The young man who was just ending his day, returning the slight soft ice cream to the bigger freezers was dripping with sweat. I don’t envy him pushing that thing around town, then up the hill. I’d be tempted to eat the merchandise if I were him. I happily bought an ice cream from him for 12 córdobas (about 40 cents). I never had a problem in Eugene living near Sweet Life; I hardly ever went for dessert, but this might be dangerously available and affordable.
I’m over a month into this journey. The first month was full of newness and discovery, the “honeymoon” stage if you will. I’m shifting into my own routine, daily life here. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with my host family. I enjoy watching movies in Spanish and working on puzzles at the dining room table with the family. About once a week I visit Jaime at his office, the local branch of the Unidad Nacional de Adulto Mayor which works with senior citizens. Two or three times a week I go to Zumba with my hermana and her friend. I’m connecting with new folks too. I just went to a two-day theater workshop that allowed me to connect with 11 fabulous women living in Matagalpa, and may lead to some opportunities to join them again in the future. I’ve started a couple language exchanges (half the time we speak in English, half in Spanish). One is with a woman my age who offered to talk while we go on day trips and hikes around the city, which I think sounds fabulous. I’m only using Spanish for communication here but grammar improvement is slow. These exchanges should be useful for correcting my errors. Now I move into month two, a little more settled with the sounds, smells, and tastes becoming my new normal.