That´s a Crock!

So, I was walking to Oviedo this morning with Erin. I had been visiting her site for the weekend, and we got rained in. No buses, and definately no walking into town on the muddy roads. It was a little cold, and i didn´t bring any sensible mud shoes, socks, or clothes. We were talking about fashion and how in Peace Corps, it seems to be non-existent in the campo (country). We thought that the city volunteers when seen at the Peace Corps office in Asuncion always looked so cute and put-together. We had also taken the time while I was visiting Erin to look at the 2 ginormous Vougue magazines her friends who just visited from NYC brought for her.

I thought, well if I lived in the city, I too would look cute. But then I thought, wait- I look cute now! I mean of all the things I wear (and borrow from other volunteers) at least I have not created the biggest setback and or death of fashion. I have never in my whole life worn a birkenstock, and more recently, the revamp and awful fashion faux pas, The Croc.

And no, if you put charms on your Crocs, that doesn´t make it better.

The Croc is a garden clog. I believe my mom owned garden clogs long before crocs were popular, and can I just say, she never wore them to the grocery store - let alone to her work. Socks with your Crocs? Are you kidding? What about a plastic shoes tells people that it´s okay to wear them with socks? I mean, I thought the whole premise for this shoe was comfort, as well and the ability to stick your foot underneath the spicket if you foot got dirty. How can you do that with a sock on? No, no one wears garden clogs around in Paraguay. I´m seriously doubting they wear them around in Paris, London, or even friggin New York City. Think of the Birkenstock of the early 90s, people. This is the same for the early 2000s, and I bet you´re saying you wouldn´t be caught dead in ratty hippie shoes like you once were.

The question of Paraguayan fashion is much different. There really ISN´T any. I know while in Peace Corps, I will most likely NOT ever look cute or attractive to anyone. First, I´m not in a completely tight pair of jeans. Tight jeans are world renown, but what is really popular is a really tight, 2 sizes too small shirt to go with the tight jeans. That and women here really don´t have large chests, which I and many of my PCV girlfriends have been finding out while trying to shop. Why can´t we find a shirt that doesn´t make the state of Delaware actually look like Brazil? Body types alone, it´s tough to look good while at the same time building a latrine or harvesting cotton south of the equator. Let´s put it another way. I came here expecting to work my azz off, but i didn´t expect the need to SHOW the azz off. But like every woman after six months of living in the middle of no where, you want to feel pretty. Even if it´s to impress the mosquitos and occasional ox cart.

On a lighter note, our Easter week went by pretty fast and I just got back from a much needed weekend trip to Asuncion for a NVAC meeting. Every area of PY has a representative come to meetings every couple of months to hear about the goings on in Peace Corps. I had a wonderful time and really felt like I was more connected to other volunteers. I now bring back all my wonderful knowlege to the rest of the volunteers in my area -which consists of me, Erin, and one other volunteer (we had a group of 5, but 2 of them leave in April and aren´t getting replacements). Some groups have as many as 15 people in there region, but I guess we are special.

Here is a picture of me with one of my senoras and her daughter. They made me a special 'Lilu' chipa for the Easter week, which they call Semana Santas (Saint Week). Everywhere I went I was helping hand grind corn to make chipa, a gummy snack bread (made of ground corn and pig fat). Wednesday of Easter week is chipa making day, Thursday is feast day, Good Friday is a fast of only chipa bread and juice, and Saturday is set aside for visiting and church.

I hope everyone had a good easter and ate lots of chocolate bunnies and deviled eggs. In a couple weeks I have a three month re-connect and some language training. I get to stay in my training community for a week and stay with my host family in Porvenir! I´m really excited! Check out my pics I uploaded on my flickr account, and I hope to update more photos as soon as I can!

Ants in My Pants

For real.

The other night, I´m sleeping in my bed - dreaming about Kraft Maccaroni and Cheese (cause it´s the cheesiest) and I wake up to use the bathroom. I feel like an old woman who can´t hold it till morning, but hey - that´s what happens when you drink liters and liters of terere during the daylight hours. So I crawl back into my bed under my mosquito net only to swat my arm as I am almost back asleep. I think nothing of it, and peacefully return to a light slumber. In my light slumber, I swat my leg.

And then I swat it again.
This time, I retain what I have crushed on my leg, and in grabbing my head lamp (which is always by my pillow) I turn it on to find I have swatted a small black ant. I begin to wonder if I had somehow stepped in a pile or trail of ants on my way back to my little house from the bathroom. Here in PY, it´s very common if you step amongst ants, they will immediately cling to your foot and leg and proceed to bite you. HARD. It is a common site to see a big, muscly Paraguayan farmer dancing around in his feild because he stepped in the path of ormigas.

I get up to turn on my light which is next to my door. As I turn to the right, I see tons of little black ants which have come in under the door, milling around for no reason. I proceed to get my bug spray and spray them all to kingdom come. Whew. As I killed the last of them, I wondered if there were more by my bed, that I could have tracked in. I looked and saw no trail to my bed, but upon closer inspection, saw a mass of them by the bookshelf at the foot of my bed.

This is when I proceeded to follow the ants. Up the bookshelf, up my wall, onto my windowsill, covering my shutters, above the windows on the wall, to the ceiling, and sure enough, as my sight came back down from my rafters, there were tons of them on top of my mosquito net, and yep you guessed it - in my bed.


Well, I´m sure you can guess what happened next.


I freaked,

I danced,

I indeed had ants in my pants.

It took me 2 hours to combat this ant problem. I slaved from 2 am to 5 am and finally, FINALLY had them all dead - at least the ones I could reach. I even when outside my window (the point of entry in which I have no screens) and saw the GINORMOUS path of ants which infiltrated my house. I sprayed and danced all night long. The following morning after snagging a few unsettling hours of ant anticipating sleep, I washed the floors, window, walls and the outside of my house. I have since then not seen any ants.

A curious conclusion to my ant story, is that everyone I´ve told (Paraguayan that is) knows all about the crazy ants. They asked if they were small and black and came at night, even before I said something! The señora to whom I rent my house from even said the volunteer before me had the same problem! Whaaaa????? This is NORMAL????

Well, I have learned to adapt. I have decided to be like the Paraguayans and not worry about the ant infestation. In fact, I´m not going think much about the ants in my house, bed, hair, and yes, my pants. Cool, collected thoughts about becoming one with the culture and going with the flow. I am a duck, and I will let the problems slide off my back like water! Heavy Sigh.

I bought screens and sealant paint for the windows.

Recovery and Displacement

After a 2 week hiatus, I am back on the blog roll. Thanks for being patient with me. The last couple of weeks have been harder than I thought. I want to thank everyone for the good thoughts, messages, emails, and calls for Rebecca.

Rebecca and her family loved the below posts and comments. I wanted to leave them up for a couple weeks as they were getting 40 + hits per day.

As for me, I'm trying to move on and get a routine going. It's been pretty hard. Last week was my first week and weekend here in KC. It's been rougher than I thought. I'm still a bit weepy from Matt's death, and keeping busy here at my mom's has been my main priority. I've also tried to get back onto my bike saddle (so to speak).
Now, when I moved back, I knew that Kansas City was different from Denver in many ways. I knew from my mom that it is a lot less bike friendly. Well, nothing prepared me for my first ride along the new Southern Platte 'bike path' near my mom's neighborhood. A pair of sidewalks put in along Highway 45 connecting Parkville to Kansas City. I thought it might be an interesting ride - and I wasn't wrong. As I rode this 'bike path' and got a response from one drive by car, "GET A CAR" and another closer to the end of the path, "NICE ASS!!!! WOOOO!!!" As I turned off the bike path down a busier street to circle back into my mom's neighborhood, I got honked at (as if to say "get off the road") and as I waved at a car to thank them for NOT pulling out in front of me, I got an old man mouthing something close to, "%$#@*# bicyclist!"
Needless to say I won't be riding THAT path without my ipod!

So Saturday I went to see my rock star friend Greg's band play. It was really fun to see him rocking out like a heavy metal superstar. He was really good, and their band was a lot heavier than I thought. But all the same, I felt displaced. Old people, old places, and yet I still feel like I don't fit in. Even at his show, there weren't any people I could identify with. I awoke Sunday morning severely depressed. Although today I'm feeling better and excited to join the bike club tomorrow, I am starting to feel the pangs of relocation. I've already enrolled in a Spanish class, and am excited to visit my dad the first couple weeks of June - after which I'm debating on St. Louis or trucker road trip with Denny. It really depends on my money situation!

So as I prepare to go downtown to ride my bike around the airport in a somewhat less exciting but safer environment, I'll leave you with some pictures Josh made for me.