Word of the Day:
efeméride- celebration, special day, anniversary. Average number per month? I'd venture to say 5 or 6, but that might be a conservative estimate.
So this week was pretty underwhelming as far as teaching goes. It was good to be back in Rio San Juan though!
On Monday, there was no school, because Teacher's Day had fallen on a Saturday, so everyone needed to have off. Ah, yes. I tried to read Spanish picture books to my neighbors, but they got bored.
On Tuesday, I taught my only classes for the week, in San Miguelito. Mostly, though, we just reviewed old material, so my contributions were minimal. I also went to El Tule, but because the teachers had to meet about the students' grades, I didn't do a whole lot more than help a student make a powerpoint presentation.
On Wednesday, my counterpart told me there wouldn't really be class in Las Palomas, but I went anyway, because I hadn't seen everyone in a while. He told me they would be making a mural. This turned out to mean that the teachers were making a giant paper presentation board (for lack of a better term) to celebrate July's efemérides: World Population Day, Day of the Triumph of the Sandinista Revolution, 124th Anniversary of the Publication of national poet Ruben Dario's book Azul, Day of the Nicaraguan Sportsman/woman, Day of the Students. The poster featured a lot of flowers, a giant butterfly, flags and revolutionaries. Best looking revolutionary on the poster: Carlos Fonseca Amador, founder of the FSLN. Can't get enough of his geeky hot glasses. Worst looking: Fidel Castro. His beard is really struggling with age. But I suppose outlasting 5 (is that the correct figure?) US presidents is hard work.The fact that I had time to make such vapid observations is pretty indicative of how much I was contributing to the process.
On AMERICA'S BIRTHDAY, we had a Rio San Wide volunteer meeting and then had a goodbye party for Matt, a business volunteer in San Carlos. It was a fabulous day. We went down the Rio Frio, a smaller river that flows from Costa Rica into Lake Nicaragua, fishing, swimming, jamming. Great people and scenery.
On Friday, I tried to organize my room. It is overflowing with English materials. I officially don't have enough space for all my pronoun/verb dice and my "materials that could perhaps be turned into recycled crafts" collection.
On Saturday, I went to school, even though the teachers were just turning back grades. We didn't teach, although I did some play some bingo and hangman to review with my favorite 8th grade class. There was a meeting with a lot of parents who were worried because their children had failed this semester. I also helped the teachers rework the schedule after they had made it, because according to the old schedule, I was going to be at the school for nearly 5 hours with nothing to do; they've extended the school day, and there are only 2 sabatino English classes this semester.
Now, headed back to Managua for a regional NicaTESOL conference; my friend from training, Jamey, and I are giving a presentation about how to speak more English in class using cognates. Should be a fun time!
Sunday, July 7, 2013
A Different Kind of Road Race, or, How I Came to Know Güisquiliapa
During training, I received a piece of advice that I've always tried to follow: accept any invitation that doesn't make you feel uncomfortable.
Adhering to this philosophy with my host family in Carazo during training frequently led to amusing incidents where I blindly tagged along and got an insider look at various aspects of Nica life. There was the time I accidentally attended a FSLN rally on my 4th day of training (the political party currently in power; probably a HUGE no-no since Peace Corps is apolitical), the time we randomly surveyed some land (still not really sure what that was about), the time we took a trip to the town nursery to pick (steal?) guayaba fruit, and the time I crashed a family party and was made to dance to marimba music, among many others.
When I went back to El Rosario to visit my old host family last weekend, accepting a "Vamos!" invitation once again led to an unexpected adventure.
I was sitting on the porch with my old host mom's granddaughter chatting and thinking about getting some fritanga (the Nica equivalent of grilled meat) for dinner when her cousin invited us to accompany him to some sort of parade. Bored, we agreed to go along, and after he buttered his Evangelical aunt up with a story about how we were going to do "an errand," he brought us along with a group of his friends to go in a Catholic parade celebrating Santiago (Saint James), who is the patron saint of the nearby town of Jinotepe.
A ton of people had turned out to watch the saint's image as it passed through the dark streets, which led to highly dangerous near collisions with cars and motorcycles as we exited the pueblo, headed for the highway. Many people were dressed in camouflage, which the cousin explained was not for military purposes, but chosen because they would be making a 16- day pilgrimage up to the mountains and then back to the sea. Spurred on by the gigantic drums at the rear of the procession, which began to beat a faster rhythm, people broke into a trot. This officially marked the only time I have seen Nicas run when not trying to catch a bus. It was quite joyous.
Not wanting to be an aguafiestas (party pooper), I said I didn't particularly mind if we continued to follow the procession more. And so, we walked on to the town of Güisquiliapa (pronounced Whiskey-lee-Ah-pa), which supposedly lies at the same distance from the highway as El Rosario. I personally think the road there is far longer, but maybe this was an illusion arising from the absence of fritanga in my stomach. Güisquiliapa is a tiny, although seemingly very nice town, with dirt roads, a tiny school, and a church. After the procession finally made its way to the church and was blessed by the priest, we made the long walk back home, witnessing a duck trussed up for strangulation and a wild west style line up of horses, ready to gallop off somewhere. No idea what those elements of the festivities were about. The "pagan" undertones of Latin American Catholicism are really fascinating; you've got to wonder where some of the syncretic practices originated and how they've been adapted through the centuries.
We got back after 8 o'clock, super late for Nicaraguan standards, so there was no fritanga left, but I did get some pizza from a new restaurant in town. A comforting standard after a new cultural experience.
Adhering to this philosophy with my host family in Carazo during training frequently led to amusing incidents where I blindly tagged along and got an insider look at various aspects of Nica life. There was the time I accidentally attended a FSLN rally on my 4th day of training (the political party currently in power; probably a HUGE no-no since Peace Corps is apolitical), the time we randomly surveyed some land (still not really sure what that was about), the time we took a trip to the town nursery to pick (steal?) guayaba fruit, and the time I crashed a family party and was made to dance to marimba music, among many others.
When I went back to El Rosario to visit my old host family last weekend, accepting a "Vamos!" invitation once again led to an unexpected adventure.
I was sitting on the porch with my old host mom's granddaughter chatting and thinking about getting some fritanga (the Nica equivalent of grilled meat) for dinner when her cousin invited us to accompany him to some sort of parade. Bored, we agreed to go along, and after he buttered his Evangelical aunt up with a story about how we were going to do "an errand," he brought us along with a group of his friends to go in a Catholic parade celebrating Santiago (Saint James), who is the patron saint of the nearby town of Jinotepe.
A ton of people had turned out to watch the saint's image as it passed through the dark streets, which led to highly dangerous near collisions with cars and motorcycles as we exited the pueblo, headed for the highway. Many people were dressed in camouflage, which the cousin explained was not for military purposes, but chosen because they would be making a 16- day pilgrimage up to the mountains and then back to the sea. Spurred on by the gigantic drums at the rear of the procession, which began to beat a faster rhythm, people broke into a trot. This officially marked the only time I have seen Nicas run when not trying to catch a bus. It was quite joyous.
Not wanting to be an aguafiestas (party pooper), I said I didn't particularly mind if we continued to follow the procession more. And so, we walked on to the town of Güisquiliapa (pronounced Whiskey-lee-Ah-pa), which supposedly lies at the same distance from the highway as El Rosario. I personally think the road there is far longer, but maybe this was an illusion arising from the absence of fritanga in my stomach. Güisquiliapa is a tiny, although seemingly very nice town, with dirt roads, a tiny school, and a church. After the procession finally made its way to the church and was blessed by the priest, we made the long walk back home, witnessing a duck trussed up for strangulation and a wild west style line up of horses, ready to gallop off somewhere. No idea what those elements of the festivities were about. The "pagan" undertones of Latin American Catholicism are really fascinating; you've got to wonder where some of the syncretic practices originated and how they've been adapted through the centuries.
We got back after 8 o'clock, super late for Nicaraguan standards, so there was no fritanga left, but I did get some pizza from a new restaurant in town. A comforting standard after a new cultural experience.
"The West Stuffed with Money, Power, and Things"*: A Trip to the Land of 1% Milk and Honey
*Quote by Salman Rushdie, The Jaguar Smile
Word of the Day:
una potencia- superpower
I went home to the States for my sister's graduation! It was amazing to see my family, eat salad, and take stock of things 6 months into my service.
The story of how I arrived home is pretty comical, and deserves a few lines. On Monday, the day before my flight, I took the "6 am" bus out of San Miguelito. While it is the earliest bus to arrive in Managua, the ride is never a fun experience, because it is a guaranteed 6 hours to the capital. This time was no exception, as we stopped every few hundred yards to pick up passengers, got stuck behind plenty of cow herds being moved, made a detour to a fish factory, and the police searched our bus with drug sniffing dogs.
In the middle of all this, I got a voicemail from the Peace Corps doctors saying that my follow- up appointment for my #kidneyinfection was cancelled because they had a meeting, and I began to squirm frustratedly in my seat, aggressively reading Brian Greene's The Hidden Reality for distraction. As luck would have it, I eventually got into the city, got my appointment back and confirmed that the infection was gone, which was all much simpler than I had expected.
The next day, after waking at 3 am fearing I would miss my taxi, I went to the airport at 4:30 am to catch my flight. I got to Atlanta extremely smoothly, where culture shock set in very rapidly, especially in my sleepless state. The first shocking thing was the scale: I'd venture a guess that the Atlanta airport is bigger than many small Nicaraguan cities. Secondly, I was thrown by the diversity. THERE WERE SO MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF PEOPLE!!!!!!! I guess I've become sort of Nica in the fact that whenever I see people who do not phenotypically resemble the majority of Nicaraguans, I check them out extra, trying to figure out if they are other tourists or Americans or how I can place these "people from away." So I had to remember that I was in America, and that diversity was normal, and that I should probably stop checking everyone out quite so much. After paying $10 for a Chipotle burrito, which is basically 2 days of my Peace Corps salary, I was profoundly unable to deal with anything anymore and settled down between two hipster parents and their brood and a Hassidic Jew to wait for our flight. Wait we did. I got stuck on the plane for basically 6 hours due to a bunch of absurd thunderstorm related delays, but I eventually got to the airport a little before midnight.
It was so good to hug my parents! Physical contact with loved ones is one of the things that can be hardest about Peace Corps service; it's easy to go for months without having satisfying physical contact with other people.
So what did I do while I was home? An exhaustive list:
-Hung out with my awesome family
-Vacuumed! I had not seen a vacuum for 9 months, so this was much more exciting than it sounds.
-Attended Adeline Clayton's high school graduation. Watch out University of Vermont! Plenty of promise headed your way!
-Had a lovely family party for the graduate, and hung out with my cousins, which was fun because we almost never get to see each other anymore
-Visited my grandmother, great aunt, aunt and cousin in Connecticut
-Ate grilled cheese, bagels, homemade pizza (which I sort of made, although with a ton of help from family members), smoked salmon pasta salad, chips, salsa, cookies, brownies, cake, cheddar cheese, broccoli, artichoke dip, SALAD, ice cream, and tons of other delicious things. Hence, nobody in San Miguelito thinks I am "delgada" anymore.
-Walked my adorable dog Maisy, who (not unlike moi) has become rather portly of late, but who is still the sweetest basset hound we've ever had
-Watched Season 4 of Arrested Development on Netflix (which is not available in Latin America)
-Went on bike rides
-Caught up with a few childhood friends
I also went shopping with my mother and sister, which was terrifying because of the overwhelming amount of choice in all of the stores. And also you could touch the things and didn't have to know their names!! I came very close to having a panic attack in Target. I am extremely bemused by one of the products apparently now sold in grocery and big box stores: cat food in weird refrigerated Pillsbury crescent roll-esque packages. These seem highly unnecessary to me, but what do I know. Also, I'm convinced they changed the size and or weight of quarters.
At least at home in the Somerset Hills, things felt very surreal. It was definitely bizarre to be somewhere so...perfect. I felt as if I had wandered into a picture the background that Nicas frequently photoshop into the background of their photos or hang as wall art: a fantasy-land representing freedom from want, the best of what can be imagined materially. I've always had a really weird relationship with where I'm from, because I've never felt that I belonged there, even though it was all I really knew for 18 years, so being back definitely brought up mixed emotions.
Despite living the dream, after hearing people tell me over and over about how I am so blessed to live in "una potencia," it was painfully apparent how damaged, divided and hypocritical my nation is. A few salient examples: after driving through one of the most air polluted zones of the nation, I spent most of my last day in America in the airport, cursing at CNN's vapid coverage of George Zimmerman's trial, and grumbling at Marco Rubio's religious rhetoric pandering to the Tea Party on the immigration bill. (Having lived in a country with minimal separation of church and state, I've become a bit fanatical about this not respected very often principle of our governance.) And while it was amazing to be home as the Defense of Marriage Act was struck down, the ramifications from the Supreme Court's other decisions have plenty of potential to be negative for many minorities.
Talking with my sisters, my family, friends and simply reading again made me realize how disolocated I am from so many things I cared about before I left: politics, environmentalism, vegetarianism, struggles against racism,etc. Sometimes, I'm blatantly unsure whether doing Peace Corps has made me a better or worse person, a more or less "active citizen", a more or less concerned child, family member or friend. It's not a question that's easy (or maybe even a good idea) to ask oneself during service. It's so easy to lose focus on the bigger picture (sporadic internet certainly doesn't help) and not become incredibly self absorbed, especially when you are first settling in to life in a new country and are the center of everyone's attention, quite literally.
On top of that, I've been doing so many things to fit in and because it's easy (and so much of my life, compared to life in the States, is not smooth or easy): going to church, even as my time here has made me increasingly uncomfortable with organized religion, eating meat, not eating well and exercising out of laziness, loosing track of the issues back home, not questioning sexist or racist attitudes more than is absolutely necessary, constantly buying things encased in plastic, etc.
I hope I'll be able to use this trip home as a springboard to re-evaluate my Nicaraguan life, re-center, and re-invigorate my work here. It's not enough to be "saving the world." (What an awful expression!) I need to hold true to the principles that I've developed for a reason. And to be less ambivalent about everything and everyone. Hold me to that.
Word of the Day:
una potencia- superpower
I went home to the States for my sister's graduation! It was amazing to see my family, eat salad, and take stock of things 6 months into my service.
The story of how I arrived home is pretty comical, and deserves a few lines. On Monday, the day before my flight, I took the "6 am" bus out of San Miguelito. While it is the earliest bus to arrive in Managua, the ride is never a fun experience, because it is a guaranteed 6 hours to the capital. This time was no exception, as we stopped every few hundred yards to pick up passengers, got stuck behind plenty of cow herds being moved, made a detour to a fish factory, and the police searched our bus with drug sniffing dogs.
In the middle of all this, I got a voicemail from the Peace Corps doctors saying that my follow- up appointment for my #kidneyinfection was cancelled because they had a meeting, and I began to squirm frustratedly in my seat, aggressively reading Brian Greene's The Hidden Reality for distraction. As luck would have it, I eventually got into the city, got my appointment back and confirmed that the infection was gone, which was all much simpler than I had expected.
The next day, after waking at 3 am fearing I would miss my taxi, I went to the airport at 4:30 am to catch my flight. I got to Atlanta extremely smoothly, where culture shock set in very rapidly, especially in my sleepless state. The first shocking thing was the scale: I'd venture a guess that the Atlanta airport is bigger than many small Nicaraguan cities. Secondly, I was thrown by the diversity. THERE WERE SO MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF PEOPLE!!!!!!! I guess I've become sort of Nica in the fact that whenever I see people who do not phenotypically resemble the majority of Nicaraguans, I check them out extra, trying to figure out if they are other tourists or Americans or how I can place these "people from away." So I had to remember that I was in America, and that diversity was normal, and that I should probably stop checking everyone out quite so much. After paying $10 for a Chipotle burrito, which is basically 2 days of my Peace Corps salary, I was profoundly unable to deal with anything anymore and settled down between two hipster parents and their brood and a Hassidic Jew to wait for our flight. Wait we did. I got stuck on the plane for basically 6 hours due to a bunch of absurd thunderstorm related delays, but I eventually got to the airport a little before midnight.
It was so good to hug my parents! Physical contact with loved ones is one of the things that can be hardest about Peace Corps service; it's easy to go for months without having satisfying physical contact with other people.
So what did I do while I was home? An exhaustive list:
-Hung out with my awesome family
-Vacuumed! I had not seen a vacuum for 9 months, so this was much more exciting than it sounds.
-Attended Adeline Clayton's high school graduation. Watch out University of Vermont! Plenty of promise headed your way!
-Had a lovely family party for the graduate, and hung out with my cousins, which was fun because we almost never get to see each other anymore
-Visited my grandmother, great aunt, aunt and cousin in Connecticut
-Ate grilled cheese, bagels, homemade pizza (which I sort of made, although with a ton of help from family members), smoked salmon pasta salad, chips, salsa, cookies, brownies, cake, cheddar cheese, broccoli, artichoke dip, SALAD, ice cream, and tons of other delicious things. Hence, nobody in San Miguelito thinks I am "delgada" anymore.
-Walked my adorable dog Maisy, who (not unlike moi) has become rather portly of late, but who is still the sweetest basset hound we've ever had
-Watched Season 4 of Arrested Development on Netflix (which is not available in Latin America)
-Went on bike rides
-Caught up with a few childhood friends
I also went shopping with my mother and sister, which was terrifying because of the overwhelming amount of choice in all of the stores. And also you could touch the things and didn't have to know their names!! I came very close to having a panic attack in Target. I am extremely bemused by one of the products apparently now sold in grocery and big box stores: cat food in weird refrigerated Pillsbury crescent roll-esque packages. These seem highly unnecessary to me, but what do I know. Also, I'm convinced they changed the size and or weight of quarters.
At least at home in the Somerset Hills, things felt very surreal. It was definitely bizarre to be somewhere so...perfect. I felt as if I had wandered into a picture the background that Nicas frequently photoshop into the background of their photos or hang as wall art: a fantasy-land representing freedom from want, the best of what can be imagined materially. I've always had a really weird relationship with where I'm from, because I've never felt that I belonged there, even though it was all I really knew for 18 years, so being back definitely brought up mixed emotions.
Despite living the dream, after hearing people tell me over and over about how I am so blessed to live in "una potencia," it was painfully apparent how damaged, divided and hypocritical my nation is. A few salient examples: after driving through one of the most air polluted zones of the nation, I spent most of my last day in America in the airport, cursing at CNN's vapid coverage of George Zimmerman's trial, and grumbling at Marco Rubio's religious rhetoric pandering to the Tea Party on the immigration bill. (Having lived in a country with minimal separation of church and state, I've become a bit fanatical about this not respected very often principle of our governance.) And while it was amazing to be home as the Defense of Marriage Act was struck down, the ramifications from the Supreme Court's other decisions have plenty of potential to be negative for many minorities.
Talking with my sisters, my family, friends and simply reading again made me realize how disolocated I am from so many things I cared about before I left: politics, environmentalism, vegetarianism, struggles against racism,etc. Sometimes, I'm blatantly unsure whether doing Peace Corps has made me a better or worse person, a more or less "active citizen", a more or less concerned child, family member or friend. It's not a question that's easy (or maybe even a good idea) to ask oneself during service. It's so easy to lose focus on the bigger picture (sporadic internet certainly doesn't help) and not become incredibly self absorbed, especially when you are first settling in to life in a new country and are the center of everyone's attention, quite literally.
On top of that, I've been doing so many things to fit in and because it's easy (and so much of my life, compared to life in the States, is not smooth or easy): going to church, even as my time here has made me increasingly uncomfortable with organized religion, eating meat, not eating well and exercising out of laziness, loosing track of the issues back home, not questioning sexist or racist attitudes more than is absolutely necessary, constantly buying things encased in plastic, etc.
I hope I'll be able to use this trip home as a springboard to re-evaluate my Nicaraguan life, re-center, and re-invigorate my work here. It's not enough to be "saving the world." (What an awful expression!) I need to hold true to the principles that I've developed for a reason. And to be less ambivalent about everything and everyone. Hold me to that.
Reading Reviews, Vol. 5
It's pretty easy to spot a slow month of teaching and lots of bus time in my reading patterns...almost halfway to my 100 books goal. Not halfway done with service.
36. A Thousand Splendid Sons- Khaled Hosseni
God, I think if we were to engage in the highly dangerous and ill- advised game of measuring suffering, I think Afghan women would be strong contenders for a "worst lives" prize. Heartbreaking story, pretty good at giving a quick run down of Afghan history since 1950, in a highly readable format.
37. Underworld- Don Delillo
THIS BOOK IS AMAZING. It made me, ambivalent as I am to sports, want to go watch a baseball game immediately. The writing is that good. Chock full of memorable characters. I don't think there's any writer more adept at portraying how modern American life can be so beautiful and so ugly simultaneously.
38. The Bluest Eyes- Toni Morrison
Toni Morrison attempted to do many things in this novel: depict small town American life in the 1940s, show the psychology of being black in America, critique society's narrow view of beauty, and write about childhood from a child's perspective while still trying to comment on occurences with a sophisticated, adult voice. The result was sometimes a bit jarring or overdone, but her writing is beautiful, political and heartbreaking all at once.
39. The Hidden Reality- Brian Greene
Different theories of the possibilities of multiple universes explained in relatively simple language? AWESOME. A lot of this book went over my head because I read most of it on a bus that was full of babies, filled to the gills and reeked of fish, but it was still fascinating to ruminate about how wild the universe(s) could be, without having to use much math.
40. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason- Helen Fielding
Probably I should stop trying to read chick lit thinking that I will like it. However, I hated this one less because it vaguely reminded me of my friends and I overanalyzing things. Except whereas B. Jones and Co. tended to limit their discussions to the men in their lives (or not in their lives), we overanalyze everything humanly possible.
41. River Town: Two Years on the Yangtze- Peter Hessler
Classic Peace Corps memoir about working as an English Teacher in a Chinese University. I've been making an effort to read Peace Corps memoirs a lot lately, because many family members have told me I should write a book about my experiences here, and I'm trying to take notes on what's been done and how well it worked. I have a zillion reservations about whether or not this is something I actually want to do, but I certainly don't lack time to ponder post PC options. In my opinion, PCVs in China definitely have an advantage in the book writing department because China is so fascinating to Westerners, rapidly changing, "mysterious," etc: they have another angle to write about in addition to the vagaries of their service.
Despite the very different realities of our service, there were many aspects of Hessler's service that I identified with: the blessing and curse of having a sitemate, running, terrible transportation and students becoming obsessed with phrases you use in class. Overall, an interesting read, and one I'd recommend to people contemplating Peace Corps, because I think he captured the ups and downs of volunteer life pretty well.
42. In Cold Blood- Truman Capote
Classic non-fiction crime novel, ripe with details of 1950s rural Kansas life, early psychology, and with subtle commentary on the death penalty.
43. The Tiger's Wife- Tea Obreht
A short but multi-layered novel, set in the Balkans, filled with wonderful "magical realism" style story telling with war, identity politics and a girl's relationship with her grandfather as the backdrop.
44. Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)- Mindy Kaling
Not the funniest memoir I've ever read, but plenty of relatable and amusing tales of how Mindy Kaling got to her role as a writer and actor on "The Office."
45. Gone Girl- Gillian Flynn
This bestseller was quite the page turner, but I got frustrated with it towards the end because the plot became too overblown, unrealistic/inconsistent and the characters became too unlikeable. I found this really unfortunate, because Flynn writes so well about modern relationships (her description of the pressure to be the "Cool Girl" was one of the [sad] funniest things I've read in a while), post- recession blues, and the polite culture of small towns. I think that writing simpler story about how a relationship falls apart post-recession would have made for a more genuine and challenging (and certainly depressing) book, but it wouldn't have the bestseller lists in the same way. I guess I only like my plots to be fantastical if there's an element of magical realism intended, so that's a serious prejudice on my part.
46. To Die in this Way: Nicaraguan Indians and the Myth of Mestizaje, 1880-1965- Jeffrey L. Gould
A really important book for Latin American studies, looking at the way Nicaraguan nationalism developed in an exclusionary way that inhibited the survival of indigenous communities and customs, enabling and enabled by the imposition of an export driven capitalist model.
While Nicaraguans are well aware of the ethnic diversity of the Atlantic Coast of the country, the dominant discourse of "we are all mestizo, and this racial mixing occurred a long time ago, harmoniously" has blinded Nicaraguans to the violence, exploitation, and scorn which undid or threatened indigenous communities on the Pacific Coast, Central Highlands and North of the country during the 19th and 20th century.
With the exception of some regions of Guatemala, many of the historical processes that Gould describes can be seen all over Central America and for that reason, I think it's really valuable in understanding Central Americans' myths about themselves, and more generally, for reflecting on the myths that nationalisms promote.
47. On the Plaza: The Politics of Public Space and Culture- Setha M. Low
On an ethnography kick apparently! This had been on my reading list for a while. Using two Costa Rican plazas as a starting point, Low traces the dual histories (Indigenous and European) of public spaces in Latin America and looks at how public spaces are used, contested and experienced. While sometimes the theories in the book were presented without a ton of depth, particularly the connection between public space and democracy, I found it to be a really interesting starting point for thinking about (urban) public space and I thought the different methods used, ethnography, history, literature survey and interviews, made for a eclectic whole.
36. A Thousand Splendid Sons- Khaled Hosseni
God, I think if we were to engage in the highly dangerous and ill- advised game of measuring suffering, I think Afghan women would be strong contenders for a "worst lives" prize. Heartbreaking story, pretty good at giving a quick run down of Afghan history since 1950, in a highly readable format.
37. Underworld- Don Delillo
THIS BOOK IS AMAZING. It made me, ambivalent as I am to sports, want to go watch a baseball game immediately. The writing is that good. Chock full of memorable characters. I don't think there's any writer more adept at portraying how modern American life can be so beautiful and so ugly simultaneously.
38. The Bluest Eyes- Toni Morrison
Toni Morrison attempted to do many things in this novel: depict small town American life in the 1940s, show the psychology of being black in America, critique society's narrow view of beauty, and write about childhood from a child's perspective while still trying to comment on occurences with a sophisticated, adult voice. The result was sometimes a bit jarring or overdone, but her writing is beautiful, political and heartbreaking all at once.
39. The Hidden Reality- Brian Greene
Different theories of the possibilities of multiple universes explained in relatively simple language? AWESOME. A lot of this book went over my head because I read most of it on a bus that was full of babies, filled to the gills and reeked of fish, but it was still fascinating to ruminate about how wild the universe(s) could be, without having to use much math.
40. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason- Helen Fielding
Probably I should stop trying to read chick lit thinking that I will like it. However, I hated this one less because it vaguely reminded me of my friends and I overanalyzing things. Except whereas B. Jones and Co. tended to limit their discussions to the men in their lives (or not in their lives), we overanalyze everything humanly possible.
41. River Town: Two Years on the Yangtze- Peter Hessler
Classic Peace Corps memoir about working as an English Teacher in a Chinese University. I've been making an effort to read Peace Corps memoirs a lot lately, because many family members have told me I should write a book about my experiences here, and I'm trying to take notes on what's been done and how well it worked. I have a zillion reservations about whether or not this is something I actually want to do, but I certainly don't lack time to ponder post PC options. In my opinion, PCVs in China definitely have an advantage in the book writing department because China is so fascinating to Westerners, rapidly changing, "mysterious," etc: they have another angle to write about in addition to the vagaries of their service.
Despite the very different realities of our service, there were many aspects of Hessler's service that I identified with: the blessing and curse of having a sitemate, running, terrible transportation and students becoming obsessed with phrases you use in class. Overall, an interesting read, and one I'd recommend to people contemplating Peace Corps, because I think he captured the ups and downs of volunteer life pretty well.
42. In Cold Blood- Truman Capote
Classic non-fiction crime novel, ripe with details of 1950s rural Kansas life, early psychology, and with subtle commentary on the death penalty.
43. The Tiger's Wife- Tea Obreht
A short but multi-layered novel, set in the Balkans, filled with wonderful "magical realism" style story telling with war, identity politics and a girl's relationship with her grandfather as the backdrop.
44. Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)- Mindy Kaling
Not the funniest memoir I've ever read, but plenty of relatable and amusing tales of how Mindy Kaling got to her role as a writer and actor on "The Office."
45. Gone Girl- Gillian Flynn
This bestseller was quite the page turner, but I got frustrated with it towards the end because the plot became too overblown, unrealistic/inconsistent and the characters became too unlikeable. I found this really unfortunate, because Flynn writes so well about modern relationships (her description of the pressure to be the "Cool Girl" was one of the [sad] funniest things I've read in a while), post- recession blues, and the polite culture of small towns. I think that writing simpler story about how a relationship falls apart post-recession would have made for a more genuine and challenging (and certainly depressing) book, but it wouldn't have the bestseller lists in the same way. I guess I only like my plots to be fantastical if there's an element of magical realism intended, so that's a serious prejudice on my part.
46. To Die in this Way: Nicaraguan Indians and the Myth of Mestizaje, 1880-1965- Jeffrey L. Gould
A really important book for Latin American studies, looking at the way Nicaraguan nationalism developed in an exclusionary way that inhibited the survival of indigenous communities and customs, enabling and enabled by the imposition of an export driven capitalist model.
While Nicaraguans are well aware of the ethnic diversity of the Atlantic Coast of the country, the dominant discourse of "we are all mestizo, and this racial mixing occurred a long time ago, harmoniously" has blinded Nicaraguans to the violence, exploitation, and scorn which undid or threatened indigenous communities on the Pacific Coast, Central Highlands and North of the country during the 19th and 20th century.
With the exception of some regions of Guatemala, many of the historical processes that Gould describes can be seen all over Central America and for that reason, I think it's really valuable in understanding Central Americans' myths about themselves, and more generally, for reflecting on the myths that nationalisms promote.
47. On the Plaza: The Politics of Public Space and Culture- Setha M. Low
On an ethnography kick apparently! This had been on my reading list for a while. Using two Costa Rican plazas as a starting point, Low traces the dual histories (Indigenous and European) of public spaces in Latin America and looks at how public spaces are used, contested and experienced. While sometimes the theories in the book were presented without a ton of depth, particularly the connection between public space and democracy, I found it to be a really interesting starting point for thinking about (urban) public space and I thought the different methods used, ethnography, history, literature survey and interviews, made for a eclectic whole.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Hello there
I have so many blogposts I need to put up! A surfeit of emotions, observations and recountings! However, I did not transfer them to my flashdrive to bring them to the internet cafe, so I´m going to put up some pictures instead, which I´ve been meaning to do more of anyway. Enjoy!
TEFLeros hard at work editing textbooks from the Ministry of Education. The results are on the right. I was actually working hard during this endeavor, I just really like coffee and breaks. At least everyone else looks diligent, because we are. As my boss loves to say, TEFL rocks!
Some of the members of the ¨Teachers and Other People Who Speak Lots of English¨ class, at a goodbye party for German volunteer Verena (center). From the left, my counterparts Jonathan and Antonio, my sitemate Christina, Verena, my neighbor Kleydi and moi. I was sick, which is why I am so inappropriately bundled; it is never even remotely cold enough to warrant such garb in San Miguelito under non-extenuating circumstances.
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