It's 2 am and the neighbor's rooster is having a crowing battle with a rooster down the road. On the other side of my bedroom wall one of the roosters will sound off an impressive cock-a-doodle-do then a few seconds later another rooster down the road will respond with an equally impressive but slightly muffled cock-a-doodle.
The human noise of the day, my new neighbors and Itzalco's weekly procession of the cross, died down around midnight, now animal noises rule. Dogs punctuate the air with weak whimpers that seem to protest their life on the streets. Cricket like insects sound off occasionally and the ever present coo of doves replace the hoot of owls I'm used to back home.
I'm living in a Latin American post card. The house that I am staying in is more of a compilation of 4 different houses with a large courtyard in the middle. The courtyard is overflowing with plants and large trees grow right up from "inside" the house. We went to the market yesterday to find a few clothes and the sights amazed me. We only walked a block through the open air market but one block might have been all my senses could handle for the day. Vendors sold the usual; vegetables, eggs, fruit, knicknaks, clothes and seafood. Every usual item, however, had it's own Latin America flair.
The vegetables were all different than the manicured ones I am used to, the carrots were gigantic, the broccoli was already wilting in the unforgiving sun and the onions were half the size as the ones I use back home. The eggs were all different shapes and sizes, apparently the Salvadorians realize that uniformity means nothing when the egg is cracked into a dish. The fruit looked like it could have been foraged from the forest just that morning. The seafood was the most startling to me, it was still alive. The crabs were slowly clambering out of the buckets and the fish, although dead, were still 85 percent intact their eyes stared blankly into the passerby's eyes. You also have to remember that there is no refrigeration at the market. Chicken, fish and meat is left in the hot sun to breed the e.coli that recently invaded my gut.
I feel like the lone gringa, a shining sentinel to remind these people of my countries unsanctioned involvement in their civil war. Despite this Latin hospitality meets me at every corner.
The human noise of the day, my new neighbors and Itzalco's weekly procession of the cross, died down around midnight, now animal noises rule. Dogs punctuate the air with weak whimpers that seem to protest their life on the streets. Cricket like insects sound off occasionally and the ever present coo of doves replace the hoot of owls I'm used to back home.
I'm living in a Latin American post card. The house that I am staying in is more of a compilation of 4 different houses with a large courtyard in the middle. The courtyard is overflowing with plants and large trees grow right up from "inside" the house. We went to the market yesterday to find a few clothes and the sights amazed me. We only walked a block through the open air market but one block might have been all my senses could handle for the day. Vendors sold the usual; vegetables, eggs, fruit, knicknaks, clothes and seafood. Every usual item, however, had it's own Latin America flair.
The vegetables were all different than the manicured ones I am used to, the carrots were gigantic, the broccoli was already wilting in the unforgiving sun and the onions were half the size as the ones I use back home. The eggs were all different shapes and sizes, apparently the Salvadorians realize that uniformity means nothing when the egg is cracked into a dish. The fruit looked like it could have been foraged from the forest just that morning. The seafood was the most startling to me, it was still alive. The crabs were slowly clambering out of the buckets and the fish, although dead, were still 85 percent intact their eyes stared blankly into the passerby's eyes. You also have to remember that there is no refrigeration at the market. Chicken, fish and meat is left in the hot sun to breed the e.coli that recently invaded my gut.
I feel like the lone gringa, a shining sentinel to remind these people of my countries unsanctioned involvement in their civil war. Despite this Latin hospitality meets me at every corner.
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