Home Sweet Home

Fact: It has been over 2 months since I last blogged.

Fact: Each year 56 to 100 million cats and 54 million dogs are born in the United States.*

The blog doesn’t seem like that big of a deal now, does it?  Alright, I have a good excuse.  I was so busy spending 3 fabulous weeks in the States over the holidays that writing really was not much of a priority.  But lucky for you, I am back in Ecuador with nothing but taaahm (southern accent).  So, as somebody very wise once said, “Let’s get it started, in here.”

Ah, the United States.  Land of the Chipoltle burrito, The People’s Court, and Tivo.  Home sweet home.  Some friends and family were curious to see how I felt being back in the States for the first time in over a year.  I have to admit I was pretty curious too.  That said, I am not even going to use the phrase.  You know the one: it starts with an “r” and rhymes with schreverse scrulture schrock.  I won’t use it because I think that it is something that should be reserved for much more extreme cases than returning to the States after living in Ecuador for 18 months.  Like, say I were to move to an island with only 12 inhabitants whose diet consisted of iced tea and baked potatoes and who only communicated through song.  I could see how going home to the States after a stint with culture X could cause one to experience: “psychosomatic and psychological consequences of the readjustment process to the primary culture.” **

So no, I was not so overwhelmed with United States culture upon reentering the country that I retreated to a corner and refused all attention.  That said, I did realize that I had developed a few habits that I found especially hard to break.

1. Mumbling in English

The nice thing about living in a country whose national language is different than your own is being able to spout off in your first language whenever somebody crosses you the wrong way or gets on your nerves.  Take the following hypothetical situations for example.

Situation #1: Woman cuts me of in the market on our way to the last mango. 

Me (In English): Oh, right.  Real mature, lady.

Situation #2: Guy headed the wrong way on a one-way narrowly avoids clipping me with bike.

Me: Hey! Watch it, bucko!

I have found that mumbling in English in such situations does a couple of things for me.  First, it lets the offending party know that I am irritated, without allowing them the opportunity to rebut or defend themselves.  And second, it allows me to express myself in a way that even after almost two years here, I am still unable to do in Spanish.  The best snide comment I can think of in response to situation one is something that would roughly translate to, “Hey!” and “Careful!” for situation two.  I have tried to spice these up by following the comments with a fist shake or disgruntled glare, but have found that it doesn’t quite do the trick.  Letting out my frustration in English is much better for mental health. 

What is not so good for mental health is drawing attention to yourself because you become so accustomed to doing this that you continue to do it upon return to the States.

Situation #3:  While patiently waiting for my luggage at baggage claim in Minneapolis, text messaging man nudges passed me and scoots his way between myself and the carousel. 

Me: (under breath) No, don’t even worry about it. You’re clearly the only one who needs his bags anyway.

Man: (turns around*surprised look*)

Me: No, heh…what am I even doing here? *Looks around, pretends to check watch and retreats to other side of carousel*

2. Throwing the toilet paper in the trash can.

In Ecuador (and many other South American countries), toilet paper is not to be flushed down the toilet.  If you ask people why this is, they will give you some long, drawn-out explanation about the plumbing system but I don’t buy it.  My theory?  Flushing the toilet paper down the toilet will cause it to self-destruct with you on top of it.  Not only would this be a messy and painful situation, but somewhat embarrassing as well.  That’s why it is in your best interests to just make a habit of throwing the TP in the trashcan that is conveniently located alongside the toilet. 

The good thing is that these self-destructing toilets are only located in South America and on select islands in the Pacific.  Since in the U.S. it is perfectly acceptable to flush the paper you would think that I would have had no problem returning to the bathroom habits I had before joining the Peace Corps.  No such luck.  I realized that this was no easy habit to break.  Living on the verge of catastrophe for over a year had turned something routine like using the bathroom into an all-out internal struggle.  It’s like when something really traumatic happens to you.  Say, you go swimming with sharks and one bites you.  Are you just going to jump back in the ocean try to make nice with those big fish again?  Maybe.  If you’re an idiot.  “Just a second,” you say, “you are not making any sense.  And you’ve never had a toilet explode under you anyway.”  Maybe not in “real life” I haven’t, but I have in my imagination and let me tell you, it is not pretty.    

3. (Not) driving.

Something else that proved to be quite habit forming was relying solely on public transportation.  Not only do we not own cars or any kind of motorized vehicle here, we are simply not allowed to drive.  Anything.  Ever.  So was I a tad nervous when on my second day home my sister tossed me her car keys and told me she would not be able to drive me to my hair appointment in Minneapolis?  Yes.  Yes, you could say that I was.  But I caught the keys and told myself that it couldn’t be any more difficult than getting back on a bike.  I mean, right?  Note: Driving in downtown Minneapolis in the middle of winter for the first time in two years is not like getting back on a bike.  Though maneuvering through the cities proved to be somewhat challenging, I think my time on the freeway was the biggest nightmare of all.  I received honks and obscene gestures from the elderly and visually challenged and shot them terrified, wide-eyed looks in response as I thought about what kind of car I would be repaying my sister with once it was all said and done.  Minnesota Nice was thrown out the window as it seemed that everyone on the road was at least two hours late to surgery.  Here’s my defense:

a)      it was snowing

b)      the roads were slick

c)      keeping your speed around 50mph (even on the freeway) is good for the engine

d)     I was lost

e)      my feelings were hurt

      That said, I would like to offer my deepest apologies to anyone in the far right lane on I 94 between the hours of 10 am – 10 pm on December 9^th.  Yes, I understood that speed limit was 70 and no, there was nothing wrong with my car.

Leaving home was bittersweet; saying goodbye to my family again was tough, but I was more than ready to get back to unlimited seafood, tropical weather, and TP in the trashcan.  Today Avelina invited me over for lunch.  I sat down at the table and she served me a big, steaming bowl of cow hoof soup. 

Ah, Ecuador.  Home sweet home.





* Animal testing statistics: buzzle.com
** Reverse culture shock: Wikipedia