Dancing on Pine Needles

My family is painting the house this week. The heavy-duty kind of paint that smells like a chemical plant. I think it's slowly rotting my brain. Remember those commercials about drugs back in the late 80s/early 90s? The ones with the frying pan and it said "this is your brain, this is your brain on drugs." I think my brain is the one on drugs right now from the masses of paint that I've been huffing in my sleep. Everything I own smells like I dipped it in paint thinner, which is just how I like it.

Thursday was the worst then best day ever. I got into some small arguments this week with my small 65-year-old Guatemalan teacher, and it came to a head Thursday afternoon. How is that even possible you might ask? Maybe I'm an evil giant (by Guat standards), but it's frustrating when you don't understand something despite really trying, and your teacher won't explain anything further except for saying "Es incorrecto". I almost walked out of class but then thought better of it. 

All I wanted was to go home and take a nap, but I couldn't because they were painting my room, and my bed was folded up in the middle of the living room. I decided to get a new attitude, and spend the afternoon sitting in the sun reading. Lilian's good friend Loki was back in town, and they excitedly told me I was invited to a party in the living room that afternoon, ladies only. I didn't ask any questions, but agreed that I would definitely be there. 

I noticed that all the ladies in the house were dressed up and wearing makeup. I hadn't even showered since I woke up late, and started wondering if I should freshen up. I didn't have to wonder much because Brenda asked me if I had some lipstick, and I took that as my cue to paint my face and put on my best tank top. I so appreciate Brenda and her ability to constantly communicate what's on her mind, appropriate or not.

I spread pine needles all over the floor, for reasons I didn't understand at first. It turns out that the smell of the pine soaks up some of the paint smell so it's bearable. At 4:30, some more of Lilian's friends came over, and we sat in circular formation in the living room, snacking on Mexican tostadas, fruit and drinks. And then, the most wonderful thing happened. Lilian cranked up the stereo, and we broke into one of the most spectacular 3-hour dance parties in the history of my life. I'm talking 12 women just dancing about, fast dances, slow dances, you name it. Marco was infatuated with my camera and documented the occasion with over 200 photos. I look like a giant in every photo because I am taller than everyone.  It turned out to be the best day I've had in Xela. 

Me, Julia, and Brenda getting the party started

Brenda and I 

slowing it down, breaking it down

Me, Heydi, Wendy 

This is my favorite moment of the night. Loki was teaching me how to go low, and I took it too far. I'm not sure they realized it was a joke.

Friday we had a salsa lession at school, and my confidence in my dance moves has returned. We learned some basic moves, and though my hips may not move like those of a Latina, I've got the steps down. Now if I could only learn to look up and not at my feet the whole time. Last night was graduation for a bunch of our Volcano crew from last weekend. It's so weird to watch people come and go every week at school. Each week we rotate responsibilities. This week the students made the food and the teachers brought the beverages. It was an amazing international potluck, and I added salad. A lot of people were nervous about eating the lettuce, so I had to wash it in bleach (which seems worse, but was fine). It was so delicious and luxurious to eat salad and greens!

Preparing food for the graduation fiesta

The teachers leading us in rounds of song and dance before diner

Volcano Crew: only this time with feeling in our fingers and toes

We went to a bar afterwards full of drunken Americans, acting a fool, and I hated it. More power to them, but it's just not quite the experience I'm looking for. Hayley, Stephanie, Tanya and I traded that experience for some live music at El Cuartito, which has become sort of our spot. A Spanish guitarist was playing, and it reminded me of Spain, and how much I love Spain, and how much I want to go there after South America. But one place at a time. The show was great, and he played an hour longer than the bar was open. It was like we were part of a secret club but we couldn't understand all of the words being spoken.

El Cuartito show

I had a dream last night that I came home (at the end of a year on the road) and just sat at my mom's house and cried because I didn't know what to do next. I know that will be a reality one day, and I'm really glad I don't have to think about it for a while.