Feel like Turkey?

Have you ever thought that your life would make a good movie? Yesterday was one of those days. I woke up before 4 with a pounding headache and itchiness from my fingertips to my toes. I think I’ve recently discovered an allergy to mangoes. Can we just say BFB (Big Fat Bummer)? One day we woke up and every street of Paraguay was covered in fallen mangos. Naturally, we ate mangos for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. The next morning the size of my face had doubled, with my right eye swollen completely shut. After 24 hrs of steroids and benadryl, the effects of my mango gluttony began to subside. I think I’m still breathing the pollen into my bloodstream, though, so I’m on the 24-7 Actifed/ Advil overdose plan to reduce the itching and sinus pressure. Anyway, my Thanksgiving started out by satisfying my drug habit. Several hours later, I took off for 6 hours of private Spanish instruction. It’s important to note that I was still wearing my glasses, on account of my tired eyes/ sleep deprivation issues. I was not in top form.

So I walked the 10 minutes to Sacramento, and took my stand on the side of the double lane highway. I was having a little trouble flagging down my bus (hacienda senas, I learned yesterdayJ), because I couldn’t make out their numbers until they were barreling past. Finally, though, I saw a “55” and stepped out into the middle of the left lane to wave him over. Now, note that I am the only one who boarded at this time. I was not at a bus stop. Those don’t exist. You just stand on the side of the road, wherever and whenever you please, to catch the next passing collectivo. Therefore, instead of me having to walk an extra 2 minutes to a bus stop, the bus stops every 10 seconds to pick up random people scattered along its route. I really think someone should give this system a second thought. Anyway, I paid my 2.200 when I boarded and settled in for the 10 minute show. er, I mean ride. The next person to board was a man selling pineapples. After him came the guy with sunglasses, chewing gum, socks, earrings, CDs, fingernail clippers, and an assortment of other treasures. Then came the girl with the cards. They look like the valentines that you exchange with your grade school friends, and they have a note attached that says something like “I’m poor and I don’t have a way of earning money, so I’m selling these cards. Would you buy them as a demonstration of mercy and compassion? God bless you.” I had seen all of this, before. But then I had a surprise. The next guy to board starts out, “Good morning, everyone. On your ride to work, this morning, I have a very exciting offer for you! Did you know you are breathing in ugly air that will eventually kill you? Our world is being trashed and you are at risk, together with your aging parents and precious children. But I have a solution for you. This is my miracle powder. Dissolve 2 tablespoons in a glass of milk or water, morning and night, for the rest of your life and your health will be spared. In the stores, you can buy one week’s worth of my miracle powder for 25.000, but this is your lucky day! I am offering YOU a special price of just 5.000! Care for yourself and your loved ones. Buy my miracle powder, today.” Then he went down the isles and people really bought the stuff! I was in absolute shock. Not 2 minutes later, another guy got on and gave another presentation for another product. And people bought his stuff, too! I was witnessing Paraguayan infomercials on a public transport!

When we got close to the school, I made my way to the back and pulled the cord above the door. The driver threw open the doors as he was coming to a quick stop, I jumped out onto the curb, and it sped along its way. On my way inside I passed a guy who declared, in English, “Oh my G--. You are so beautiful!” I’m sure it’s one of the only phrases he knows, because it’s a statement that I’ve heard by countless Paraguayan men. Same phrase. Same obnoxious vocal inflection. Somewhere in Paraguay, I’m convinced that there’s a “how to pick up a Peace Corp Volunteer” class that teaches its pupils to say, “Oh my G--. You are so beautiful!” And just to make sure you don’t think I’m exhibiting false humility, let’s remember condition of my face. Those of you who have seen me in my glasses understand my reason for doubting this man’s sincerity. For those of who you have not had such a privileged viewing, I assure you that there is a reason for my denying you. It was at this point that I just started laughing and wished someone were following me around with a video camera.

OK. So then I had 3 hours of class with a new teacher named Edgar. He has spent some time living in the States, so he knew that it was Thanksgiving. Naturally, all of our examples were related to celebrating the holiday with loved ones. We were working on the subjective grammar structure, so we had to make sentences that followed the pattern “It’s necessary that… It’s important that… It’s horrible that…” He would ask me questions, using one of these phrases, and I would have to respond. Our class went something like this (in Spanish):

Edgar: It’s necessary that you eat turkey on Thanksgiving.
Alyssa: It’s important that you…
Edgar (interrupting her): No, Alyssa, use necessary.
Alyssa: It’s not absolutely necessary that you…
Edgar (again, interrupting her): No, Alyssa, you need to practice the affirmative response.
Alyssa (feeling the potential of prolonged tiredness, loneliness, and glasses induced ugliness combining to create sudden and unexplainable weepiness): It’s necessary that you eat turkey on Thanksgiving.
Edgar: Exactly, Alyssa. It’s necessary that you eat turkey on Thanksgiving.

That’s just one example. We had 3 hours together.

Everything, though, turned around after lunch, gracias a Dios. I typically (por lo general, I’ve learned this week) avoid Paraguayan coffee, because I know that to drink it would just be setting myself up for extreme disappointment. And I emphasize extreme. On this occasion, however, I was beginning to wallow, and didn’t think that a lousy cup of coffee could make things too much worse. So like a country singer who had just lost my house, dog, boyfriend, and taste for quality, I approached the counter of Havanna’s and ordered a shot of Italian Espresso. Little did I know the impact of that decision on the remainder of my life, here in Paraguay. That little Paraguayan barista served me the most nirvana inducing shot of espresso that I have ever experienced. The moment it hit my lips, my body fell into an immediate state of deep tranquility unlike anything I have previously known. As I stood to make my way back to the classroom, my entire body felt as if it had just received an hour long massage. Is that what drugs feel like? If so, it’s good that I never tried them at Taylor, or I would have been a quick addict.

After class, I went grocery shopping and then headed back to the guest house to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for myself and Fiona, another SIM missionary. Fiona’s British, so it was her first time eating a Thanksgiving dinner. I have an amazing mom and grandma who always cook, so it was my first time preparing a Thanksgiving dinner. I felt like such a grown up. I was greatly enjoying myself until I couldn’t turn on the stove for the fried chicken. It had been working earlier, so I assumed it had run out of gas. The woman who manages the property wasn’t home, so her daughter gave me keys for the downstairs kitchen. So as not to create extra clean-up, I prepared everything upstairs, limiting the downstairs one to the use of the stove and oven. This meant countless trips up and down the stairs, in and out the doors, both hands occupied with pots brimming with hot grease and boiling water. The evening was not tranquilla (a favorite word of Paraguayans).

Gracias a Dios, almost no tears were shed on my first real holiday away from home (talking on the phone with Grandma Betty was a little much). On the contrary, it was a very funny day, earning it a noteworthy place in my personal history as the most ironic, thus far. If only I’d had my camera for the Paraguayan infomercial. Oh, and today I discovered that my gas hadn’t run out, last night. I had unplugged the stove to beat my mashed potatoes.