Being a Stranger

It’s December 12 and I’m sitting outside in a tank-top, no shoes on, listening to Christmas music for the first time this year desperately trying to get myself in the mood. In my own experience what makes me love the end of the calendar year is all the family traditions we have and the opportunity to spend so much time together. Being located in a different place this year makes it, well, a completely different experience. In terms of the atmosphere, there are lights up in two of the big plazas in the city and I see out-of-place snow-flake and snow-man decorations on one side of a store window that on the other side has a woman selling ice cream to a sweating passersby. However the smells, the sounds and the feeling in the air does not communicate the normal indicators that Hanukah, Christmas and New Years are upon us (Happy Hanukah by the way, I realize it’s over now, but a belated cheers).

I am reminded what sense-oriented beings we are and how much I count on physical senses to direct or reflect my inner senses. Probably why it didn’t matter to me that we used every dish we own on Thanksgiving day, thereby calling for over an hour of dishwashing, and burned our only candles and dirtied our only table cloth—the point was that we were celebrating and making it special to reincarnate what Thanksgiving is normally like. I have a much stronger appreciation for immigrants in the United States who go all out for their traditional festivities. From a distance, one might say, “Why are you spending so much money and energy on all that food or clothing or decorations, when you don’t have enough money for _________???” But you know what? When every day you walk around amidst a people that doesn’t speak your native tounge, that knows the unwritten rules of the codes of communication and culture that you are desperately trying to unlock, that has some shared but many different historical values, that stares at you because you look so different…it’s just nice to have a little taste of familiar every once in a while, and celebrate who you are and where you come from. I get it.

One of the gifts of being an outsider is that I get the opportunity to experience not being offered hospitality and the contrary of receiving it and being welcomed in to other people’s homes and lives. Even though I left my host-family 6 months ago, they still continue to be a source of love for me. The grandmother of the family is in her late eighties and probably less than a 100 lbs because she’s been ill for several months. My host mom was having a really hard time managing who in the family was going to take care of her when, who was going to make her food, take her to the doctors etc. Having gone through a similar situation in my own family, I offered to come spend time with her during the week and my host-mom eventually took me up on that.

So, for the past couple months I go over every Thursday morning and hang out with Abuelita (grandma). I’m happy to say that she is doing so much better! I really thought it was the end, but she’s come back. She reminds me of my own grandpa in several ways, which is all the more reason why I like to go. (Speaking of him, he just turned 93 on Friday and I think he deserves a special Birthday recognition, Happy Birthday Grandpa!) I went several hours later than usual last week because I was working on planting and caring for our compost piles in the morning before the real heat started, and of course, she told me she thought I wasn’t coming and was just wondering whatever could have happened to me?

On Thursday one of her granddaughters turned 15, which is a big deal here. They had a small party at the house, which was very lovely. While the candles were on the cake, Abuelita got a chance to say a prayer for her granddaughter. She started crying while asking God to protect her granddaughter and her friends, to guide them and to love them…it made ME cry because how absolutely strong and real her love was for her family. The tone of her voice just soaked the air with her love and blessing.

Even though it was so late at night and 10 seconds before I was wishing I could be in my bed resting my sleep-deprived eyes, I felt so fortunate to be able to witness this and forgot about my physical needs. My former host mom sent me home with two delicious pieces of beautiful cake she slaved over and my former host sister insisted on driving me the half-hour ride home. I’m not giving them money anymore to live with them, they’re not obligated to care for me anymore, and yet they continue including me in their family, and I couldn’t be more humbled and honored.

I guess a lesson for me in this particular situation is that it really does make a difference to welcome the stranger, include the outsiders. I hope that I can do the same in my lifetime.

Before ending this entry, I’d like to share a little about a backpacking trip I took a month ago in the mountains outside La Paz along the pre-Incan/Incan trail called the Choro Trail.

 

I traveled with friends who are an American couple I met in language school and a Canadian we met along with way. From what we figure, we walked about 65 km, which is 40 miles, descending from an altitude of 16,300 down to 4,200, so about 12,000 ft (or 2.3 miles) drop in 2 days and a morning. It was so incredible to witness the drastic changes in geography, climate, vegetation, and animals, made much more noticeable because we were walking and not flying down the curvy mountain roads on a truck. Needless to say, I loved it.

 

 

The second night we camped on the property of this older Japanese gentleman who came to Bolivia around the time of WWII and says he hasn’t left the Yungas to go up to the city of La Paz in over 30 years. If you saw his view he wakes up to every morning, you could better understand why he wouldn’t need to. It was by far the prettiest place I’ve ever camped.

 

Whenever I stopped along the trail to take a water break or rest my feet, I was struck by how many new beautiful little plants I was surrounded by, which I hadn’t been noticing while walking along…another reminder to me that it’s not all about arriving at a destination, but also the journey or path getting there that brings so much richness to daily life. I wish I could have recorded the sound that this squeaky “carpet” of little green fern-like plants covering the ground made when I walked on it looking for a rock to serve as my restroom stall. I’ve never heard a sound like it before or felt anything like it beneath my feet. I was like a little toddler giddily discovering the novelty of walking on wet sand for the first time.

 

 

 

I hope that wherever in the world you find yourself today, you are safe and well and happy. I wish you a wonderful week and many opportunities to welcome strangers…we really appreciate it!

5 things I’m thankful for today: the first piece of toast for breakfast that I’ve had in Bolivia that I got to have this morning; skyping with my relatives at their 40+ person Thanksgiving gathering—I loved every busy moment of it; watching a movie on a couch last night (I miss couches); a really relaxed fun group dinner effort with friends; Zorro, the sweetest dog I am dog-sitting for.
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