Besos

Kisses to all of you who have been praying for housing for me, because Friday I was finally able to move into a room of my own. If my room at college was a shoebox, then the room I inhabit now is more of a cigarette case. Besides an itty-bitty living space, there is a nice den with a tv and pull out couch, for anyone who wants to visit ;), kitchen and bathroom. I share the apartment with a Columbian ex-pat named Alejandra and an Italian-Spanish fellow whose name I know not and whom I have not yet met. Alejandra is very helpful, speaks English, and has taken Cate and I under her wing. Cate is still looking for an apartment and it is quite a grueling process. Our little Spanish skills make it difficult even to ask questions or understand answers, and we walk miles and miles in the wrong directions for lack of direction sense and just about any other type of sense. And then at the end of the day, we are just goldilocks with apartments that are too small, too large, and waiting for one that is juuuust right. But Alejandra is allowing Cate to stay in an empty room for a month or so while we look for something suitable, so that is a nice relief from hostal fees.

But let me not digress from the title of this blog, which is besos. I'm sure my family knows how much I dote on the American habit of hugging. Since a child, my hugs involve arms rigidly at my side, eyes glaring into the distance, and bottom lip spilling over in contempt. While Spain provides a relief from this tradition, it introduces the newer and even more invasive greeting of besos. I had avoided the salutation for the most part, until Cate and I had our second day of Spanish class. After an outing in the mountains with our teacher, our session ended with the farewell of kiss on the right cheek, kiss on the left. I have had Europeans explain this custom as completely friendly, and I'm sure in time that I will get used to it. But, thus far, I do observe that men are not quite as methodical with one another as they are with women in this sticky hello.

I must say that it was quite a warm greeting this morning, however, when Cate and I attended our first Spanish church. The church was a Presbyterian church of about 12 or 13 people, and we had to use our rudimentary skils, once again, to try and get to know a nice taxi driver who was very patient and nice to us. Leaving early because of a prior appointment came as a relief, however, due to many factors. I believe most of you understand the difficulty of evading the sunday morning sand man, but i believe this difficulty is intensified when one cannot understand the sermon at all. Added to a hot and sticky room and waking up 3 hours prior to a regular schedule, I barely escaped collapsing in my chair 10 feet from the pastor.

Touring through the local supermarkets has provided some diversion: beer in a plastic 2 litre bottle, meat pastes and unrefrigerated boxed milk are only a few of the interesting items. The rumor about a shocking absence of peanut butter is true, along with any items for cooking Mexican. But if I miss these items, the Fruteria located just next to my apartment has provided a welcome surprise of the most deliciously juicy peaches. I do not intend to make all you Southerners jealous, who might not have even tasted this delectable fruit all summer...but...well...yes I do :)

Please pray for an apartment for Cate that is cheap and comfortable, and that our Spanish would continue to improve, and, most importantly, that the besos stay on the cheek ;).

Gracias (Gro-the-as, as the Castillians say)