Pura Pinolera

So...your formerly itching-to-start-work PCV has converted herself into a workaholic.

And she likes it. A LOT.

I went from working 0 hours a week in December and January to upwards of 30 hours a week. That´s a whoooooole lot of English, and Spanish, and the precarious balancing act of drifting in and out of languages.

In a nutshell, as I complete my 7th month in Nicaragua I can finally attest that I feel at home. Case in point- last night I had a strangely real dream that I traveled home to America. But when I got to my bedroom, it was my room in Nicaragua. WEIRD. Additionally, I think for better or for worse I´ve finally disassociated myself with the everyday happenings of America. Once upon a time I could pore over news, write leisurely letters, overall be in-touch with the good ole US of A. Not that I´m renouncing my patriotism or anything (far from it!) but well, I sort of feel like for the time being, Nicaragua is my country and its people are my people.

Sappy? Yes. Trite? Perhaps. Poignant? For me, everyday is.

So folks, in my glaring absence from the blogging world I´ve been busy frolicking about, teaching lots and lots of lots of English, making real Nica friends (exciting!!! I am no longer the socially awkward ¨new kid in town¨) and slowly but surely becoming a little more Nica everyday. As they people here proudly proclaim, they are ¨puro pinoleros¨ aka fanatics of pinol, the chocolately national beverage of choice. Believe you me, the integration was not seamless, nor was it altogether pleasant. But integrated I have, and well, it´s a little euphoric.

I tend to think in Spanish.
I (occasionally) dream in Spanish.
I look forward to hearing friendly hellos on the street.
I look forward to laughing at the lewd remarks machista bastards (still) hurl at me.
I have landed, planted my feet, and am wobbling less and less everyday.
I am a pro at winding through 200 sweaty bodies packed into a school bus.
I can adeptly translate cordobas into dollars, and vice versa.
I can bargain with the merchants who give me a run for a money.
I can terrify said merchants when I bust out ¨Estoy encachimbada!¨ y ¨Que jode!¨and other colorful language when they try to rip me off.
I am learning not to roll my eyes when people (still) ask me if I´m a tourist.
I can identify and appropriately peel or eat a variety of tropical fruits.
I can flush a toilet when there´s no running water. No small feat.
I can effectivlely teach English grammar.
I am unafraid of ferile street dogs.
I can promptly hail a cab, with hardly a flick of the wrist.
I am pura pinolera.

And I am happy.

Hope you all are doing well! Be not mistaken- while I´ve ceased to constantly think about life in America, I do think about you all, my treasured friends. And often at that! I will absolutely make a point to notify you when some day I make a trek Stateside.

Hasta luego y con todo mi carino,
Elizabeth