We're still here, but...

apparently just don't have much to blog about.  Our great friend Andi summed it up best on her blog with the following:

"It has been so long since I've updated this 'ol blog. But it's funny, the longer I'm here the less the experiences I have impress upon me the need to record them. They become less out of the ordinary. I don't carry my camera with me as often and my journal, instead of filling with the happenings of the day, is a place of introspection and answerless questions."

Life is pretty "normal" for us now.  We've got our routine, we're settled in, and it really takes something crazy to shock us now!  We're happy, healthy and busy, but none of that is very interesting. But, we'll keep up with this - we're done with one year in our community, which means less than one year to go! 

A preview: The next blog to come promises to be of real import - a discussion on the abundance of rain, and thus, mud in or community.  We know you're sitting on the edges of your seats waiting for it!

* You may have also noticed an addition to our disclaimer.  Corriente Resources, a mining company from Canada, recently took and used a photo of ours in a powerpoint presentation in our community WITHOUT our permission.  Peace Corps volunteers are not allowed to be involved in political activities.  If anyone would like to use or reproduce content from our blog you will need the express written consent of both Ben and I.  Thank you.

Tale of Two Birthdays

As many of you know, Lisa and I have our birthdays two weeks apart. Hers usually comes first so she has time to plan mine based on how well I fared with hers.

This year, we had a really good friend named Andi come up for the day and spend the night. She lives in a village a couple of hours away. Early that morning, I snuck out of bed and joined our neighbors/landlords at their store to help butcher a cow. I'd written on their announcements all around town that the cow-killing was for Lisa's birthday though they had planned it before they knew. After an hour and a half of waving flies off the meat with a leafy stick, all the edible parts had been sold and I went home to find Lisa up and ready.

We paseared a bit (strolled around the community passing the time), waited until Andi came, and had a nice little snack for lunch. We'd started a chill afternoon, just hanging out with Andi and another couple of new volunteers who just started their tour in the Comarca (one lives in our village and the other uses it as a chiva stop before his two-hour hike.) As we were discussing how to get the meat smoked in the communal fogon (three-rock cooking fire) that our family group shares, a gringo was lead up to our house by our old host grandpa.

This guy was very white, appeared to be in his late 30's, and spoke excellent Spanish. He immediately asked which of us was Ben and Lisa. He explained that he was traveling around Central America to look at different mining projects. Although we were weary at first, he soon explained how he found us and what was his angle.

This guy was a professor of a university in Canada and part of an NGO that monitors the mining activities of Canadan companies around the world. It seems that he was at another volunteer's site a few days before and had gotten our names from her as the closests PCVs to the huge (4th biggest in the world) copper deposit further up the road from us. He was interested to know what kinds of propaganda and trainings the most recent petitioner had been offering to the indigenous people.

After talking with the guy for a while (during which I'd excused myself for a bit to smoke the meat), and introducing him to our neighbor so he could ask some questions directly, this newcomer invited himself to Lisa's birthday dinner. The two new volunteers had already left for their own meals with their host families. We turned the fresh delicious cuts into fajitas. We'd brought up tortillas, refried beans, and salsa already and picked up some veggies from the local market. They were scrumptuous, but it was kind of a drag having a stranger around, even though he left us with a beer and some fruit juice.

Lisa was a bit frustrated that most of the day had been about mine.  It was not the best birthday on record.

My birthday, on the otherhand, was better. Again, we had some strangers come to visit, but of an entirely different sort. While I was acting as a training facilitator for the new group of business volunteers, our boss pulled me aside to ask if a married couple could visit us that weekend. This was Monday and they would basically be coming back with me on Thursday. Another curveball: Lisa was supposed to be out of town for the first few days of the visit although that ended early so it was only one night. Originally, the couple had been scheduled to go to another site, but those volunteers had ended their tour early so a quick change had to take place.

Being the flexible, hardworking PCVs that we are, we agreed right away. Nevertheless, it was another birthday for me with people that I barely knew. This has happened to both Lisa and I often in our lives because our birthdays are late in the summer and because we moved so much, thus we were able to have a good time regardless. It also helped that the people who came to visit were very friendly and a lot like us (you could say he's a smartass and she's the planner).

Over the weekend, we hiked to villages around us where Lisa and I have been working. We gave a talk about planning, paseared with families that we enjoy spending time with, and started a clay oven. They held up really well, and like us, fell in love with the Comarca cloud forest almost as soon as they arrived. It was a bit rainy (it is the rainy season) during their visit, but all in all it went well. The best part was the cake that Eli cooked for me before we went to work on the oven. MMMM: double layer chocolate cake covered in chocolate frosting.

Overall, we really had a good time with them. We played hearts in the evenings and joked almost constantly. They did some of the hardest Comarca hikes/car rides and held up admirably. We are looking forward to seeing much more of them, especially considering they'll be back for Tech Week on the 20th!

Random Fact from Lisa: Government of Panama is building a sidewalk in our community.

What's new?!

Time is flying by, and it's been a while now since we've taken a moment to step back and blog. This blog doesn't have any particular theme, but I thought we'd update you on the happenings in our lives over the past month +.

We've been busy, for one! We've been finding ourselves traveling more and more out of our community for various seminars, office initiatives, trainings and other commitments. It's great to be busy, but it feels really good to come home to our little shack, rest, relax and hang out with the wonderful friends we've made! I'm looking forward to getting back tomorrow after more almost 2 weeks gone. Unfortunately, most of our time in site recently feels like it's filled with endless washing of clothes that never dry.

On that note, all of our clothes smell like blue cheese. This is not a good development. Mold is good in cheese. Not in clothes.

We're going through a time of transition right now with Peace Corps volunteers. We had the latest training group arrive in April, and swear-in in July, which means we've got new faces, and another new volunteer in our community, working in agriculture. He's settling in, which means that we'll soon be saying goodbye to Stephanie as she finishes her 3rd year in our community and is moving on to bigger and better things. Change is good, but it will be really hard to see her go - we've developed a really strong bond with her, and she's been such a great influence in our lives! On top of that, as one group enters, another one is leaving, so we just said goodbye to a group of volunteers, of which included some great friends as well. And if you can still follow this, the next new group arrives in mid-August, like we did - almost ONE YEAR AGO! Wow!

Ben and I are going to be quite involved in the training of the new group. Ben will be coming in during their first whole week in country to train them about community analysis, and share our experience of community integration. I have been working on developing an analysis tool for our sector. Something that will help us assess the needs of groups and communities and help us target our work a bit more - "community economic development" tends to be a bit vague! On top of that, we've been asked to host the Technical Training week in our community - the 7th week of training, for the new business sector volunteers. This means that we will host 19 trainees in our community, and help them to go through the process of assessing a group's needs, planning a presentation or other activity with their group, and then delivering a community-wide presentation. It's a hard week - and I remember from my experience, after coming from my culture week in the Comarca, and into my tech week, I was drained! Having everyone come to the Comarca during this week will definitely be a strain on some people, but we're excited, and we know our community is a great place to host this special training!

What else is new? Well, in the beginning of July, Ben surprised me with a trip to Cartagena, Colombia to celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary! It was a huge surprise, and he had me thinking of a million different possibilities, but definitely not Colombia! The trip was AMAZING! It felt so nice to get on an airplane and be somewhere so quickly and easily! The city was beautiful, and we spent the majority of our time wandering around the streets of the old city, with no particular agenda - popping into museums, soaking in the scenery, drinking fresh limeade and eating lots of delicious street food! We also lived it up a bit and treated ourselves to some really nice dinners and Ben bought me an emerald ring - we were in Cartagena, right?! More than anything, it was nice to get away, and be "normal" again (aside from the blue cheese smell which followed us in our clothes).

After coming home from Colombia, Ben went to the doctor in David to check up on a little diarrhea issue. He'd come down with it a while before, and was supposed to send in samples while he was in Panama City, but didn't, and then it passed, so he figured he was fine. Not so. Upon returning from Colombia, the diarrhea returned, so he went in, and they found that he had not one, but two different types of amoebas living in his system! Hopefully he's cleared out now, after all the medications he was taking to clear out his system, and replace the good organisms. While at the doctor's office, he was weighed with all his clothes, shoes, hat, things in his pockets, etc, and weighed in at 201! This means at least a 50 pound weight loss for him! Incredible! He looks and feels great!

The last thing is that we're coming home for Christmas time! We've scheduled a two-week trip back to the states to see family, and we're really excited to see everyone and hang out!

That should cover everything major! To sum things up, we're pretty healthy, very happy, and really enjoying our time here in Panama!

Changes....

Before discovering I was robbed this morning, I was reflecting on a potential blog topic about things that I´ve noticed have changed with me since coming to Panama - most of them for the better.

Changes to Lisa:
1. I eat, and actually enjoy now, a lot of white rice.

2. I am a lot more patient. I can think of a lot of examples, but lets just say that most involve children, culture shock or a candy bar.

3. I´m a lot more comfortable being alone with myself. At the beginning, I think I had too much time to think. Now, it´s not so bad. I´m pretty cool. *giggle* Although, I do realize that I need to learn how to quiet my mind.

4. I´m also a lot more comfortable being around Ben 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Which makes number 3 seem totally ironic. Let´s just say that going from our life in the states to being around each other constantly was a struggle at first.

5. I get a lot more male attention in this country. It makes me angry when I´m hissed at, called ¨joven,¨ my queen, baby, etc. I didn´t know this about myself before.

6. I don´t miss food much anymore. Along that line, I´ve had a lot of time to think about my food issues and wrestle with some demons.

7. I can speak Spanish! And a tiny bit of Ngöbere. That´s pretty cool.

8. Although I still really like having stuff to do, I am now fine with dedicating a day to a good book in the hammock.

9. I´m a lot more social in a community sense than I ever was or wanted to be in the states.

10. I feel a lot more appreciative of just about everything. It´s really easy to take so much for granted.


Now, how about some things that I miss... (and I think that it goes without saying that I miss family, friends, and Nikodemus ♥ )

1. Carpet. This may seem odd, but when I think of home, it´s one of the first things that comes to mind. I want to squish my toes in carpet. This is probably because my floor now best resembles a litter box.

2. Being able to follow just about any conversation. I can speak Spanish, but it´s not perfect by any means. I have to still piece things together at times, and if you throw in a conversation in Ngöbere, I just try to catch a verb here or there and laugh when appropriate.

3. Cold. Winter. Snow. Bundling up in lots of clothes.

4. An indoor toilet. Hell, a toilet for that matter. I´d still go outside for it if it flushed away the shit.

5. A dryer. Maybe this should be number 1. Clothes don´t dry here. Everything we have is at varying levels of moldiness.

6. A washer. Washing clothes in the campo sucks. I´m convinced nothing is ever really clean. Stupid mold.

7. Dryness (is that a word?).

8. Nice clothes. Dressing up. I think this experience is making the girly girl in me scream to come out. Oh how I used to hate dressing up for work. Now I´m a perpetual scrub. And now, a perpetually muddy scrub. Lets throw in cute shoes too. Although, I do love my rubber boots.

9. Good mexican food. Yeah, food was bound to show up somewhere.

10. A reliable power source. Charging my phone over the past two weeks has been ridiculously difficult.

Okay, one more. A bug-free environment. I´ll take those whimpy spiders and tiny crickets in Colorado again anyday. I killed the largest spider I´ve ever seen in my life the other night. While I do realize that I feel more like a badass for that, I´d just rather not have to do it!

This is turning out to be harder than thought. I guess the bottom line is that while I do miss things from home, I´m happy to be here, and I´ll have those things I miss again in the future. And if most of my personal changes end up being good ones, then I´m all the better for being here, and doing something I love.

A reflection on being robbed.

A long, LONG time ago, I remember my dad taking my sister and I to a museum in Boston for a day. I had a little purse, I probably didn´t have much in it, but it was mine. We had lunch in a Friendly´s restaurant in the museum (they had these wonderful peanut butter chocolate sundaes), and I left my purse on the seat of the booth when we left. When I realized it was gone we returned, but no one had seen the purse. I remember being sad - how could someone steal a little girl´s purse?

Now I reflect on a new robbery. Yesterday was a day when, as fellow Peace Corps volunteers would say, ¨Panama got me.¨ Everything went wrong. I left Santiago in the morning after attending the Volunteer Advisory Council meeting (that´s fancy talk for an organization like student council) the night before as the new Treasurer-elect. I had work to do to prepare for a Business Plan Seminar that I´m helping to facilitate at the end of next week, so I made a plan to stop off in San Felix, hit up the Internet cafe, do my work quickly and head back up the mountain to home. The first problem was that I didn´t look at the work beforehand, and actually ended up having a lot more to do than I thought. So, after 1 hour at the cafe, I decided to shift gears, print a large document to read on the bus to David, so I could plan, and then spend the night preparing my work in the comforts of the regional capitol.

I went to ask the manager of the cafe to print my document, and found out that he finally hooked up the 6 computers there to the printer so I could do it myself - what this meant is that my jump drive was in and out of my bag, and things were shuffled around, BUT, I know I put it back in my bag on my way out. I then waited for a bus to David. In the meantime, some kids asked me to help them with their English homework (this actually happens a lot), and I tried to offer some advice, and then the bus came.

The ayudante (or pavo, as they are sometimes called, which is a totally funny sidenote since pavo means turkey, but I digress) grabbed my backpack, and put it in through the window of the bus near the back, on a seat. I didn´t think of it until I had a panic attack half way through the ride, wondering if I had my jump drive. I reassured myself that I did, although I probably should have trusted my intuition.

I got to David. I get my hotel room. I look in my bag. No jump drive. Well, not the end of the world, I probably did leave it in the internet cafe, right? And at least we downloaded everything from it onto the computer recently. I called Ben, upset, and left a message. Upon getting it (he´s still out having marvelous adventures in the Darien), he called the internet cafe, they hadn´t seen anything, but the guy who was there was I was wasn´t in at the time.

So, last night I head to another internet cafe to get down to work. I spent hours planning everything out in the hotel, and just had to revise and make up my powerpoint presentation. I could only save my work to the computer, but I could email it to myself right. Wrong. I wasted a lot of time (after working for hours on the presentation) trying to get the huge file to attach to email, and it wouldn´t do it. But, I was at the ¨nice¨ internet cafe, they even sell jump drives, sweet, I´ll just get a new one right? Wrong. They don´t sell them anymore, but they do sell floppy disks. Floppy disks? Do computers even have slots for these anymore? Apparently. So, after another panic attack, and cutting down the presentation to just what I had added and edited, I get it to save, and miracle of miracles, to email.

My next move - some dinner and a beer. What a day it had been. I saw a good friend on the way back into the hotel and got to vent about the day, and then watched movies until 3am. Oops. This morning I get up, I want to shower, but WHERE ARE ALL OF MY TOILETRIES????

Then it hits me. I really was robbed. I should have noticed that my bag was less full when the turkey showed me the bag sitting on the sidewalk after arriving in David. There were people sitting in the back of the bus. Even the turkey himself hung out in the back for a while, so there was definitely an opportunity.

My first instinct is to tear apart my bag again (mind you, this is a small backpack) and even crawl on the floor looking under the bed (did I somehow put them there in my panics yesterday? Oy. I´m sure it was a funny sight).

I was robbed. It´s a little hard to misplace a black rectangular toiletry case. This is the first time I´ve been robbed since that small incident so many years ago. It could have been much MUCH worse. The most valuable item I lost was my prescription medication, but I can get that soon. But the worst part is the feeling. Someone went through my things and took them from me. Hopefully they enjoy my new shampoo, my toothbrush that smells like mold, and that Mach 3 razor that I really did like, and the jump drive. Ugh.

I cried. I probably cried way too much for lost toiletries, but the feeling of violation is the worst. That someone hit me up when I was already having such a frustrating day. That I did what I´ve done on countless bus trips here - hand my bag to someone to be stored - but that this was the time. I´m thankful that they didn´t take my expensive raincoat, any of my clothes, my work documents, and my knitting project that I just started. And I´m thankful that they didn´t take the whole thing. But reflecting on it all... being robbed...being robbed in a foreign country, when you´re by yourself...really sucks.

Croc Hunting in the Darien

After fighting through the guerrilla barricade and blasting my way into the FARC stronghold, I strode alone through the fecund jungle gardens of illicit drugs into the heart of the Darien. Among stilted villagers’ huts and captive gringo hostages, I sat down to unpack my presentation on formulating business plans and the proper way to set up group norms. It was time to get these kids organized and renouncing violence. Peace Corps Fuck Yeah!

Actually, I had a very peaceful ride in a white Peace Corps Toyota with several other volunteers. We passed a few checkpoints and had to make sure to have our IDs on us at all times, but we are in a very safe place. The capital of Santa Fe is a nice little town with several supermarkets, internet cafes, restaurants, and a big Catholic church. The site of our seminar is a nice concrete, wood, and palm leaf two story rancho at a complex run by nuns.

Nevertheless, I am out in the Darien Provence, the only place from Barrow, Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, Chile/Argentina where the Pan-American Highway does not go through. Neither Columbia nor Panama has a military presence in the center of the Darien Gap, thus leaving it to the control of local militias and paramilitaries. With the Peace Corps staff and other volunteers, I’ve crossed the American Embassy’s security line, but that was just to go to the closest bank and do a little shopping.

I am here as the future co-coordinator for the Agro-Negocio (Agro-Business) Initiative from the Business Sector side with Kat Fraser as my partner from the Agriculture Sector side. We are learning from the outgoing group about the structure and subject matter. The participants are all local farmers or future farmers, some indigenous and some Latinos, who are learning more about the financial, legal, and general business aspects of farm planning. It has been a great experience thus far and we are only half way through the workload.

The first night we were here, the Regional Leader volunteer and business volunteer who live in Santa Fe told us about a caiman (little species of alligator) that had moved into the fish pond on the farm at the nuns’ complex. They said the lizard wasn’t very big and the fish pond was small but deeper than a person. The local guys to run the farm weren’t about to get him. I offered to try to catch him myself.

The next day we went to the farm during the seminar and I looked for the caiman. I didn’t see him. Back at the Regional Leader’s house, where all of us facilitators are staying for these few weeks, I got more information about crocodile hunting from Leah’s boyfriend Colin, who said that you can see them at night with a flashlight and that it will help hunt them.

I went out that night with new batteries in my headlamp. I spotted the alligator almost right away, but I wasn’t sure I was looking at it because it was just a strange orange reflection on the surface. I watched him for about an hour and a half. I saw him float around, dive and resurface, and could kind of see his body beneath the murky waters. I also saw bullet ants, leaf cutter ants, and a crazy-big beetle, heard night birds, and got eaten by a truckload of mosquitoes despite my Off Spray. I returned home to get some more data before getting into the muck-water. Besides, I’d just showered.

This brings up a fascinating and often-cited fact of Peace Corps: the network of volunteers has rarely failed to offer up information on a topic. You can send an inquiry into the grapevine and it will come back with anecdotal and/or technical answers to nearly anything like grad schools, countries’ GNPs, or alligator wrestling. And generally, that’s just in your own country. These are amazingly capable and experienced people.

In this case, Colin knew from first-hand experience living in Ghana that the beasts hunted at night, that a flashlight in the eye confused them allowing a single person to get close enough to pounce, that it was best to grab them around the neck and hold them while they thrashed to let the lactic acid build up in their muscles and quickly exhaust them, and that you can then inch your hands up their snout until you close and can tie their tooth-filled jaws shut. He had a memorable event in his amateur wrestling career late one night at a campground (alcohol use possible) with a seven-footer that he tackled outright. Beware the quiet ones!

Armed with this invaluable information, I returned to the pond the next night, and I convinced two other volunteers to go with me this time. I hadn’t showered and had sweated buckets during the seminar all day so I figured the water would do me that good at least. We had a rope and flashlights, and Ed and I had had three beers each. We were ready. Mateo didn’t feel the need for bravery-in-a-can.

We found him after only a couple of minutes. Ed and Mateo kept an eye on him while I walked around the rest of the pond to see what’s what. When I came back, the gator submerged, but that was fine. I wasn’t planning on going in dressed.

I left my boxers on so that I would have something to which to clip my one-hand-open knife. This handy little three inch blade has been helpful since my days in Alaska and I trusted it to be a quick weapon if necessary. In my shorts with my headlamp, sandals, and rope, I eased myself into the water and approached the lizard. When I was close, I could see that his belly was enlarged like a ballast and guessed he used it to keep effortlessly afloat.

When I got within two arms lengths, he did a lightning quick U-turn and dove into the murk to my right. Remembering that Colin had told me he would resurface soon, I stoically scanned the surface while trying to ignore the constant bubbles bumping up my legs and torso. After several quiet minutes, I saw his eye again, in the opposite direction from which he’d dove, about five yards further and slightly left from where he’d been the last time.

Even more slowly this time, I slipped nearer and nearer until I was closer enough to make my move. I kept my body low in the water as the bottom came up so that my arms and shoulders could mobilize without alerting him. The whole time, I’d been wondering if I was really going to go after this beastie barehanded. I could get bit. I could get in trouble with the Peace Corps Medical Office. I could look foolish and overconfident (or worse) to the other volunteers.

This time, the caiman slowly closed his eyes and sunk backwards into the dirty water. I shot out my hands and caught him by the snout and throat. I raised him out of the water easily, lightly, and saw that he was only about three feet long at the most. He scarcely could struggle as I carried him back to Ed and Mateo, but he couldn’t do much.

We marveled at his ancient looking eye and strange ridges. We tied up his mouth tight. His tail whipped whenever free. We figure it couldn’t have gone any better or easier.

We gave the lizard to Ishmael who sleeps at the farm as well as runs it. The next morning, he showed him off to the seminar’s participants before taking him to the river and releasing him. He’s now happily fishing in a bigger place with more variety and less humans.

Both Ishmael and the nuns asked me if I had seen the two caimans. Or their mother. She hasn’t been seen in a while, but we are going to go back to find any more little ones. Kat called the next one, though Leah is itching to impress her fiancé and Ed and Mateo might want to get their feet wet. Peace Corps Fuck Yeah!

Balseria

The summer was ending.

The rains were coming.

The traditions called for it.

The people wanted it.

The time was ripe.

Balseria.

They came from all over.

They came to Ceble.

They came from tiny villages.

They came from our town.

They came from the capital.

They came from the other side of the mountains.

They came from San Felix, and San Lorenzo, and one even came from San Francisco, CA.

There must have been 300, at least.

They had made the chicha fuerte and sancocho.

They had covered hats with vulture feathers sticking straight up high.

They had fashioned musical instruments from turtle shells and cow horns, bones and conchs, and bits of left over modern trash.

They had dried out hunting trophies in splayed eagle to hang on their back: jaguars, sloths, monkeys, and a little squirrel.

And they had cut the balsa wood in five foot lengths.

The slightly sloping field can be seen from our town.

A lush green of short grass dotted with large black volcanic rocks.

We three girls and three boys hiked for over an hour and a half.

The trail drops off precipitously at first and then picks its way over hill and creek.

The sun was shining high and strong.

We were sweaty from the start.

The Balseria had started a few days before.

We had been planning to go for some time.

We learned that it had been moved, and then moved back.

We heard the balsa throwing would continue for one morning more.

We didn’t want to miss this.

We passed people on the trail headed in the opposite direction.

We asked each for the latest news.

“Are they still throwing the balsa?”

“Is there still chicha fuerte?”

“Are people still there?”

Many of these people had mashed up faces, swollen lips, cut eyes.

They had blood on their shirts.

Vomit on their chins.

Grass and mud on their knees.

They walked with a limp.

Sometimes we passed them without a word for they were passed out under a tree.

We arrived.

We were questioned.

They wanted to know who we were.

Why we were there.

Then our friend saw us.

He wanted to know who was the owner of these women.

Ryu and Eli pointed at me.

Lisa and Steph laughed.

Jen protested, loudly, in English.

We saw more friends,

We drank the chicha fuerte.

We tried to get our faces painted.

We made new friends.

We drank much chicha fuerte.

We joined the groups in the main field.

Only men were playing then, though women do, too.

Each group was split into two teams.

The teams came from the same family or village.

There was much bellowing, oohing, ahhing, and hooting.

Many men were wearing naguas (Ngobe dresses) to hide their legs.

One man has the balsa.

Another stands his ground.

The balsa-thrower may skip in close, circle the target.

The balsa-dodger might taunt, blow a whistle.

The thrower cocks his arm lifting the balsa high.

The dodger rolls to the balls of his feet.

Like a javelin, the balsa flies.

Only between knee and ankle can the balsa fly.

Like a dancer, the dodger’s feet move.

IT FLIES.

IT STRIKES!

The dodger’s teams race to pick up the balsa.

The thrower becomes the dodger.

The one who got the balsa becomes the thrower.

The dance begins again.

Eli, Ryu, and I race after the balsa.

We are excited to try our luck.

I get the balsa after a throw.

I chuck it rather lamely, easily dodged.

It is the receiving that I want more.

Balsa wood is a light wood.

I had planned to let them hit me.

I had planned to show my Alaskan strength.

I had thought that the balsa would be shorter.

I had thought that the balsa would be thrown sideways.

I had assumed it wouldn’t hurt much.

I was wrong.

The other side picks up the balsa.

There is much shouting for the throw at the gringo.

The other man begins to approach, running in a circle.

He moves in right to my shoulder.

He wants me to be scared.

He wants me to be distracted.

He backs up to throw.

I lose my nerve, try to dodge.

I throw my left leg out straight in fear.

The balsa hits my right leg, not fast enough to evade.

The inside of my right calf explodes with pain.

I do not fall or cry out,

But I regret my decision to show off.

The welt rose immediately.

The welt continued to rise for some time.

The welt drained blood into my ankle hollow.

The bruise was ugly for some time.

The rest of the day I dodged much better.

We drank more chicha fuerte.

We played the turtle and the horn.

We whistled and bellowed, oohed and ahhed.

I didn’t get hit again. Ryu, twice. Eli, not at all.

The women fended off marriage proposals.

Normally shy, respectful men become enamored.

"You are the sun in the sky.”

“I do not yet have a blonde wife.”

“Come meet my other wife to see if you like each other.”

Not one proposal was sufficient to ensnare a gringa.

At midday, the bare-knuckle fist fighting began.

Shirts were removed to protect them.

Men stepped up to square off.

Always one man fought with only one man.

They aimed for the head and nowhere else.

I had planned to fist fight as well.

I saw the bulging farmers’ arms and chests.

I saw the blood flowing freely.

I saw that the fights don’t end quickly.

I chose not to fight.

We hiked home early in the afternoon.

We started off a little tipsy.

Soon the sun and hiking cooked the booze out.

I had to limp a little for a week.

Ah, balseria, we can’t wait for next year.