Today was a busy one. My shift at The Forest started at six am, with me preparing a gigantic pot of lemongrass tea for the teacher trainees.
"Aimee?" Victoriana quizzically lifted the lid on the lemongrass. "No piña?"
"No...ellos... umm... ellos... no... gusta la piña," I smiled awkwardly, not sure what I'd managed to stutter in Spanish, but hoping that Victoriana got the idea that the teacher trainees don't like pineapple in their tea.
"Solo hierbas?" Victoriana glanced down at the boiling lemongrass with a doubtful, disappointed expression.
"Umm.... esta?" I rummaged around in the nuts/tea drawer and drew out a bag of hibiscus.
"Si, bueno," Victoriana nodded, still looking a bit reluctant, but accepting that there would be no pineapple in the tea.
"Bueno?" I asked after I'd poured a few hibiscus flowers into the pot of solo hierbas.
"Un poco mas...." Victoriana advocated for strong tea.
This is why I'm 28 years old and only speak one language. The beginning phase is so hard. And awkward. And uncomfortable. And I hate it. But... but it does sort of crack me up to think about what it would be like to be Victoriana right now. Listening to me bumbling my way through a "conversation".
My body language has also gotten exponentially more expressive. The back left burner of the stove is a royal pain in my sculpted ass. It takes about a minute of pressing the knob before the damned thing will remain lit on its own. The first few times I attempted to light it, the kitchen ladies gently nudged me aside with an amused, "permiso," and proceeded to light the burner for me. However, I have recently conquered the back left burner. And didn't know how to express my joy in Spanish, so broke out into a dance of happiness.
Victoriana glanced at me in surprised bewilderment, shaking her head and smiling slightly as she sliced tomatoes and onions for breakfast.
I grabbed the yellow cutting board and began slicing fruit. Heaps of fruit. Oodles of fruit. Three papayas, three pineapples, many strawberries, muchos bananas. We currently have thirty-seven hippies residing in The Forest. That's a lot of tea. And salad. And fruit. And dishes.
Holy fucking bananas, I thought as I washed dish number one million and seven, THEY DON'T END. This is the land of neverending dishes.
I was also in charge of the cacao this morning.
Benefits of making cacao: stealing occasional tastes.
Downsides of making cacao: chopping panela (bricks of unrefined whole cane sugar) is wrist-annihilating work. As is chipping away at solid blocks of cacao.
"I'm making cacao for the ceremony," I'd told a guest the night before. "It'll be my first time. I'm kind of nervous."
"Oh, don't worry. As long as you have a positive attitude and infuse it with love, it'll be great."
"Oh.... okay."
So as I grunted my way through chopping cacao and panela, I tried not to hate the process too much. I didn't want to infuse the cacao with my ire.
Happy. Thoughts, my wrist throbbed. HAPPY. THOUGHTS.
Michelle came over to help me pour the chopped cacao into the boiling lemongrass/panela liquid.
"I feel like we're witches," I laughed, swirling the dark, thick beverage in the enormous pot.
"A bit of nose hairs," Michelle played along, sprinkling cacao into the mix. "A bit of toad's warts..."
"We ought to learn some Macbeth for next time," I laughed.
Nele led the opening for the cacao ceremony and the ecstatic dance. Then the guests drank my cacao. Then there was crying. And dancing. The cacao sent the new volunteer, a lovely woman from Austria, into bed with sore muscles and a stomachache. Blake drank cacao during his shift and claimed the cacao instigated some pretty intense life processing.
So. Nele made people cry and I made them sick. We're a dream team.
Maybe no more playing witches while making cacao...
Or... I mean... why not...
I'm still trying to make time to paint, although I've been missing more days now that The Forest is at full capacity.
One of the best things about painting so prolifically is noticing that I'm developing some manner of style. There is something, "Aimee" about my work. Something uniquely me. I can't quite pin it down, but I'm beginning to see it. Which is something I've wanted for years.
A style.
Something me.
In other news, there are things I still miss profoundly about being in Colorado with my community. I miss the painting on the porch (with lots of wine). The dinner parties (with lots of cheese). Being able to drink water in the shower. Having wi-fi all the time. I miss having a kitchen in which I can experiment with all manner of baked goods. But most of all, I think I miss washing my laundry not being a big deal.
I washed my laundry this morning. It was a big deal. I woke up at five so that I could get it done before my shift, carting my stanky bag of hippie clothes up the mountain of stairs and to the shower.
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Which continued to dribble just long enough to make my clothes wet. And then stopped.
Fucking Guatemala.
I fiddled with the faucet for a few more moments, then gave up and hightailed it down to the kitchen. But as soon as I turned the water on, I heard the shrill shriek of the baby who was not pleased about being woken up at five fifteen in the morning.
Damn. Guess I can't be here either. Everything seems to wake up this baby.
Poop.
I rushed off to the other shower, carrying the bucket of my seriously smelly (and now heavy with water) clothes. A small part of me was pissed with how it was all turning out, but most of me was just amused.
Good god. The trials of my life. Washing my undies and socks. An insurmountable challenge.
The other shower didn't have a sink.
I'm ruined, I thought, glaring at my pile of clothes that smelled like sweat, bug spray, campfire, and chips.
Hours later, I was finally able to wash my clothes. And now they're merrily dangling on the strings holding up my circus tent.
I did another happy dance. If Victoriana had been around, she would have shaken her head and given me another indulgent half-smile.
When my shift finally ended, I practically hurtled down the mountain and into town.
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| I love that this cart is called "Super Tacos". I want to find "Super Tamales," "Super Pupusas," and "Super Enchiladas." |
I settled into "my" seat at Circles Cafe and ordered a cappuccino from Farina, a cheerful German girl who sometimes makes it up to The Forest for yoga classes.
I'm going to Xela on Tuesday. My Spanish cheese buddy (Nacho) decided to go to Hawaii (because why not?). So he's coming back through Guatemala, going to journey up through Mexico, and will then fly from LAX to Hawaii. And since there are currently seven volunteers at The Forest (which is at least one too many), I figured now would be a good time to take a week off to have an adventure.
Because why not?
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