"More important than talent, strength, or knowledge is the ability to laugh at yourself and enjoy the pursuit of your dreams."
Anyway, the idea here is me laughing at myself or you laughing at me...either one.
Vinicultura….
My first excursion outside of the city was to a little district called Palcoma. An NGO I’m working with had been discussing a project with some of the authorities in the rural community, and I came along just in time for the presentation of the project at a community meeting. So off we went in the minibus through an hour of dirt road, another hour of waiting for the community to assemble in the town square, and then role call, old business review etc…until the new project came up on the agenda. I had written in my notes that the project would either be camellos or vinicultura, and the community would be choosing which to pursue. At the time, I didn’t know what either of these words meant, but my trusty diccionario revealed camellos as Alpaca and Vinicultura as the horticulture of wine (is that what we call it?). Early on it was clear vinicultura had won, as there was no talk of the camellos, but something didn’t make since. To my credit the meeting fluctuated between Aymara and Spanish several times but it was obious the rivers and lakes in the area were being discussed a lot. Okay, so vineyards probably need a lot of irrigation… But then they started talking about fish, and then baby fish and then fish eggs. I was really lost.
After the meeting the director and technical expert asked me what I thought, and I said I didn’t understand what fish had to do with vineyards. They looked more confused than I. After a long discussion, followed by a humiliating bus ride back to town, I figured out the plan was never vinicultura, it was Piscicultura: FISH. Cultivate rainbow trout using all the natural water in the area and by building a hatchery and tanks! So embarrassing…but what can you do but laugh at yourself, right?
Mi Baño Publico
I’m currently living at an apartment in a strange little building that could hardly be called an “apartment building”. You enter through a garage like opening where a rather unfriendly young gentlemen sells gas illegally. Or at least he sells it at an illegal price, since gas (propane) is heavily subsidized by the government and has a regulated price. The catch being that its only sold by the government a few days a week, so if you run out in the mean time you might be willing to pay the extra to my neighbor. He also has big barrels of cooking oil, which he pumps away at for customers who bring their own containers. And best of all its usually him who manages the Baño Publico (Public Bathroom) that is also housed in our little complex. Meaning that for 20 cents you can get a nice wad of pink toilet paper and partake of the plumbing. Along the rest of the street are vendors hawking dry goods such as pasta, beans, and grains, constituting el Mercado de Abarrotes. Its like instead of living at 1245 Smith Lane, I live at the Public Bathroom on the Dry Goods Street. So amongst the large open-air bags of rice and quinoa, often mixed with pigeon droppings and the like, I always look for my beloved Public Bathroom sign to find my way home. A few nights ago, however, I came home after the gas guy had closed shop and closed the entrance to the complex. So when I didn’t see him and his big barrels, I just went to the Public Bathroom sign. I tried to put my key in what I thought was the door, but it didn’t work. Finally some lady started talking to me and pointing down the street, then several ladies started hollering and pointing. I guess they all know where I live, even if I don’t. They were trying to tell me I was at the wrong door. Apparently the Bathroom sign gets moved down the street once my complex closes. This too was embarrassing, but at least I’m popular amongst the do-dry-gooders.
Best for last: Oh come on.
Last week, I was at my Aymara lesson, with my teacher who speaks English, Spanish, Aymara and who knows what else. Though I’m learning Aymara, the lesson is more or less conducted in Spanish, but sometimes he tries to help me by translating certain words into English too. I have to admit that even though I go to my lesson three times a week, I haven’t been studying in between at all, mainly because I’m still studying Spanish, and for better or worse put that at a higher priority. So when he gives me little verbal quizzes I’m not so good. So in this particular lesson, we would do a little dialogue or grammar drill and then after I responded, he would say, “oh come on”. The first time I laughed, but after the third or fourth time I was a little perturbed, was he really disappointed in me and suggesting I could/should do better? So finally I just asked him: Did you say, “Oh come on”? He stared at me for a second then said it again, then started laughing and pronunciated for me: Ukahmow. Which in Aymara means “that’s it” or “there ya go”. He continues to tease me about it.
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