I again greet you on a Sunday morning from "my office," the partially-private alcove on the second floor of the hostel. This window seat is prime real estate and the early bird gets the arm chair.
It's not for the view, however,
but rather the electricity outlet and a temporary reprieve from dance floor foot traffic of the comings and goings of hostel life . We have been near full capacity (54 guests) this week and the introverts like me are exhibiting mouselike behavior. Thank goodness I've got my tent to retreat to, which I have moved to a quieter location since the last travelogue. I’m across the street now, so hidden in a clump of bushes that not even the most observant of passerbys would detect me.
I I feel like a kid in a hideout--fun!An announcement of my new hood on Facebook brought out the momma hen in my friends--“Are you crazy? Get back across that street! You’ll be robbed, raped, dismembered limb by limb!” they exclaimed. “I forbid it!” even said one. I slept with a hatchet by the pillow for the first few nights after these comments were made and then decided the likelihood of any of that happening is about the same as the Boogieman my brothers swore would get me was.
Just in case, however, I made a little dog house outside the door for the hostel hound, Pelusa (mother of my beloved Buho), for protection. She’s an overly sensitive security system and sets off the bark alarm at the passing of any dog, drunkard or lizard.
- (I've had prettier neighbors.)
Anyway, enough about housing. Of late, I have been receiving this question, “How are you….REALLY?” The tag leads me to assume first, that there is doubt that I might be well and second, that, “Fine, thanks, and you?,” will not do as a response. The answer is, more content than I would be, feeling stagnate in the rut my life had become in Dallas. Do I roll out of my tent every morning grinning like a Cheshire cat eager to greet the day? Not yet. That's the goal, be it a tent or a mansion I'm exiting each morning.
I have gotten exactly what I asked for…a change and challenge, but with the uprooting necessary to bring that about has come a resurgence of all my “issues.” It’s been humbling. Some days I feel like a pouty 2 year old, others an indignant teenager, others a cranky old lady. And then there are the days when I feel I am exactly where I am "supposed" to be, meeting the people who I need to influence and who need to influence me. I see a pair of nesting owls in the dunes or flowers blooming out of nothing but parched sand and remember just how blessed I am to be in new surroundings.
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It's now Wednesday, I'm wiped out from working the overnight, so I'm going to tie this up with random writings and photos, so I can get it out in time to wish you Happy Thanksgiving. Of the 365 days we are gifted a year, T-day is my favorite and it's been over 15 years since I've missed the 1'o'clock feast at the homeplace followed by the annual Cowpatty Bowl touch football game played in the pasture. I'm nostalgic, but will try to stay focused on the natural beauty surrounding me and be thankful for what I have where I am and where I'm not.
My job: For the first three weeks it had my back muscles in knots, my patience in the red and my temper at boiling. A receptionist, I imagined, would answer the phone, receive guests warmly, show them their room, check them in and out and occasionally have to deal with an unsatisfiable asshole who says the towels aren’t soft enough. No, no,no--I spend hours in front of the computer trying to figure out which of the 11 types of rooms we have are available, how many beds are in them, how much they cost during the week, how much they cost on the weekend, how much the price goes up during high season, do they have an ocean view, what % of a deposit the guest has to make, will they be making it on Paypal or wiring it, etc. Then there is keeping track of the money. We work with 5 currencies and when you get some German who has been making a whirwind tour through the south of South America, this is the scenario: we charge everything in US dollars, his bill is $350, he wants to put part on his credit card and pay the rest with some Brazilian reales, part with Argentinian pesos and prefers his change in euros because he’s returning home. I have some euros, but the rest must be in Uruguayan pesos. Put that one on an algebra exam and see how many pass. It's frequent that at the end of my shift the box ends up short or over and it's got nothing to do with my honesty or generosity.
I've started teaching language classes to the staff and guests, and I'm enjoying it. What a difference it makes to teach someone who actually wants to learn! It seems a ridiculous statement to make, but for 11 years I felt like I was force-feeding knowledge. Now, I've nests of open mouths awaiting worms. The other upside to the is fewer hours in reception and only 1 overnight shift per week.
My social life: I don't exactly fit in at the hostel. Here’s an excerpt from a travelogue I started writing to you on October 30:
"Down below in the commons area, the youngsters are assisting one another in the recollection of their most asinine drunken acts of absurdity last night. "Dude, like you were so wasted you threw up all over the girl you were dancing with." "Man, that's nothing, do you remember taking off your shirt and pretending you were a black widow screwing a boy spider on the ceiling?" Given there was a Halloween party in the bar, the competition is stiff. Glory be that I had to work my first graveyard shift and thus didn't have to get mean with my polite decline to attend. Drunks are insistently obnoxious and I'm obnoxiously insistent in just saying no. As my college mates will tell you, I've never conformed to sloshery under the vice of peer pressure. Not that these are my peers. I could be their momma. As the old hen of this hostel nest, however, I look at these whippersnappers and feel concern. Some drag in at 6:30 a.m., just in time for a 7 a.m. shift (or don't as in the case of my replacement this morning) hung over as hell dawn after dawn."
Not everyone is like that, but the majority are here to party. I’m finding my friends in the village--a supercool woman from Spain, for example, my same age who owns a set of rental cabanas a ways up the road. Most exciting of all, I met a botonist on the bus who wants to give nature tours in the national park that borders the town. We did a trial run this morning and I am so pumped up to start giving my first eco-tours. I’m doing the marketing, organizing and translating and he’s doing the guiding, teaching and storytelling. The serendipity of him chosing a seat beside me on the bus and me feeling lead to start a conversation with him seems like a Universal conspiracy to me. We are very much in the planning stages, but even if it doesn’t pan out, just the idea of combining all of my passions--Nature, education, spirituality and Spanish--revs me up.
Weather permitting, I've started the habit of taking coffee and my journal down the water's edge first thing in the morning to greet the day.
The wind will blow the hide right off your hair, as Pop would say, and piles up wads of sea suds.
I'm off to the tent to try to recoop the lost hours of shut eye. I leave you with a sunrise, much love and wishes of a most happy Thanksgiving, G
