The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it. – Rudy Kipling
Thursday, March 22, 2012 (DAY 18)
I cannot help but feel as though I am twelve-years old again, back at summer camp in my new surroundings. Small houses that are sparsely spread throughout the property, each one slightly different from next, the volunteer house, La Cometa, has four bedrooms–one attached to the other with a small outdoor patio in the front cluttered with several chairs, the shared bathroom has an outdoor shower with a panoramic view of the pyramid-shaped hills in the nearby distance, and I have come to occupy room numero dos.
I cannot help but feel as though I am twelve-years old again, back at summer camp in my new surroundings. Small houses that are sparsely spread throughout the property, each one slightly different from next, the volunteer house, La Cometa, has four bedrooms–one attached to the other with a small outdoor patio in the front cluttered with several chairs, the shared bathroom has an outdoor shower with a panoramic view of the pyramid-shaped hills in the nearby distance, and I have come to occupy room numero dos.
My job duties for the next 6 weeks are quite simple, check-in English speaking guests as they arrive and work in the restaurant as customers appear between periods of lazily sitting at the outdoor tables conversing with my new coworkers. After a tour of the property–the bungalows, dormitories, tree houses, camp grounds, and natural swimming lagoon–we return to occupy our posts, wooden stools that sit around large wooden tables in the shade as the afternoon breeze brings a small amount of relief to the hot humid air.
Living without a watch in a relaxed stress-free environment, I begin to wander around the corner of the building near one of the brightly colored hammocks that sits vacant, when a beautiful girl in a pink dress approaches. She introduces herself, Karen, a former volunteer at Finca Ixobel, she is visiting from Guatemala City for a few days to escape the concrete madness, and is locked and loaded with a smile that is unforgettable as she flashes it once more walking away over her shoulder. Shy and unsure of what just occurred, I brush off this encounter, despite the flirtatious glances and her excellent English pronunciation. The rest of the afternoon is quiet, and soon, the sun begins to set on my first full day, bringing with it, dinner. Each night there is a delicious buffet, as every one of the food groups are represented accordingly, including homemade breads that are made daily onsite in the bakery, my mouth begins to water with all of the various food options.
Living without a watch in a relaxed stress-free environment, I begin to wander around the corner of the building near one of the brightly colored hammocks that sits vacant, when a beautiful girl in a pink dress approaches. She introduces herself, Karen, a former volunteer at Finca Ixobel, she is visiting from Guatemala City for a few days to escape the concrete madness, and is locked and loaded with a smile that is unforgettable as she flashes it once more walking away over her shoulder. Shy and unsure of what just occurred, I brush off this encounter, despite the flirtatious glances and her excellent English pronunciation. The rest of the afternoon is quiet, and soon, the sun begins to set on my first full day, bringing with it, dinner. Each night there is a delicious buffet, as every one of the food groups are represented accordingly, including homemade breads that are made daily onsite in the bakery, my mouth begins to water with all of the various food options.
Lounging in my post-dinner state, sitting on the stone-covered retaining wall just outside the entrance of the kitchen, Karen approaches. She seems to be curious about me and begins a series of direct questions–my previous career, travel experience, exchange of philosophies, even marriage and children–she was not shy. Finding this all very humorous, I sit and answer each question honestly. Through her answers to my fewer questions asked, I learn that she is well traveled and has a mature air to her, however it is not long before I place my foot in my mouth. We dance around the how old do you think I appear to be part of the conversation and my hesitation and reluctance to answer is eventually worn down by her soft brown eyes and contagious smile that exposes her deep dimples, twenty-seven I declare with uncertainty. Horrified, she screams at me in disbelief, since I am five years beyond her actual age, and I cannot believe what I have just done. This commotion draws attention to our conversation as she is still in shock of my guess. Aldo, one of the volunteers, cannot stop laughing at hearing how ignorant my response is, but after apologizing without reluctance, she regains her composure and with it the ability to forgive me. I may not always be the smoothest character, but I can be memorable even amid my stupidity.
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