Reality Road

Swear-in was Wednesday.  Friday we were all on our way back to site.  I think I have a relatively painless trip from the capital – a straight 3-3.5 hour shot north on respectable bus lines.  The tricky part comes at the end; I get off on the main highway and the next and last step to getting to my town is catching a motoconcho 10-15 minutes down a long dirt road, not in the best of conditions.

It was about 6:30pm and getting dark when I got off at my stop.  It had also been raining for a few hours.  Traveling with me were a backpack, duffel bag and newly acquired USPS package I picked up in the capital filled with essential supplies (soccer ball, baseball glove, English teaching books, sunglasses and sleeping pad), thanks Dad! 

These are all factors one needs to consider when knowing one is going to be riding a motoconcho, and I had all working against me – dangerous road, rain, darkness, and too much crap to haul around.  I hustled across the highway and ducked into the colmado at the entrance to my campo road.  It’s also where all the motoconchos congregate and wait for passengers, however, there were none to be found at this particular time.

Now, I had been attempting to circumvent this predicament most of the 3-hour voyage from the capital, but none of the numbers I had were working or being answered.  I finally got through to my Don and after asking him to repeat what he said about 50 times (phone calls are never easy, the combination of crappy reception, crappy phone quality and volume, and gnarly Cibaeño accent is disastrous) I learned a moto was coming for me.  The next 30 minutes I spent thinking about how in the world I was going to take my 2 bags and box with me on the moto, and talking with patrons of the colmado.  Nice folks, most lived in the town next to mine, called Higüero and located before my town on the same campo road.   The three gentlemen I spoke to most happened to know and claim to be good friends of the volunteer in Higüero, who I met during training and visited the week before. 

Finally the moto arrived and I strode out to meet it in all my gringo glory – bags hanging in every direction and helmet at the ready.  The driver just looked bewildered as I handed him the box.  One of the guys from the colmado came out and offered to hold the box for me until tomorrow.  He knew the family I live with and would drop it by.  I didn’t want to leave it since I had JUST got it after waiting what seemed to be an eternity and since I barely knew the guy, but he seemed like a person of confianza and I didn’t have much of a choice.  I took down his number and hoped for the best as I waved goodbye. 

Leaving the package was a smart choice.  There are 4 rivers you have to cross to get to my site, and while it wasn’t raining that hard where I was, it must have been up in the mountains because the water was a-flowin’.  Side note: the local government has just really done a cracker-jack job creating safe passage for residents here.  The bridges constructed at these rivers are of an interesting design; they simply threw cement down over the dirt so I guess the water would have an easier time moving over it.  It is not raised, there is no water flowing under it, so after any rain, the water level rises and immediately makes crossing more difficult and dangerous.  Congratulations on constructing bridges perfect for only ideal situations.  It’s times like these I wish I studied engineering. 

Soaked up to my shins and part of my shorts, this journey was a good reality check of what I’m up against should conditions worsen and call for evacuation.  I’ll have to keep just a small bag packed and ready in case of emergency.  People at home, reading this over again, it sounds bad, but I live in a relatively safe, high place where floods are uncommon and I don’t anticipate problems (although I guess one never anticipates problems).

The next day I tried calling the gentleman I left my package with, but his number was bogus.  It’s okay; maybe I copied it down wrong…849 area code?  I’ve never seen that before, but I remember him saying that.  It still hadn’t come after lunch, so I hopped in the pickup truck with my host brother, Kelvin, and went to find it and pick up some cacao.  Sure enough it was at his place, unopened and perfectly fine.  Never should have doubted him.      

In my last post I spoke of being in Purgatory.  Well that’s over and I’m back in my site for good, for better or for worse.  So if I passed Purgatory, I guess this means I’m either in Heaven or Hell.  While any unwitting outsider walking through my town might jump to conclusions, I believe that just like me, this place has a soft, sweet center beneath it’s rugged exterior.  HA!