living fruitfully, fretlessly

the air today has been noticeably cooler than day past; meaning the high only reached a tender 95 instead of a smoldering 99+. this break in heat also so graciously allowed my temperature-sensitive body to sleep in past 6 a.m., opting for an almost-nine wake up call.

after peeling the sweat-soaked sheets, quite literally, from my backside, i decided out of boredom to make breakfast: two slices of whole-wheat french toast, with a coconut-annais syrup (props to the roommate for that sugary-sweet concoction!).

realizing there was nothing scheduled for the day (which didn't take much thinking to arrive at that avenue), i decided to lay out on the couch and continue reading the memoir i started yesterday, eat pray love by elizabeth gilbert. i managed to read a good portion yesterday afternoon between lunch/nap/dinner; and prior to going to bed. reading has been a nice escape to solitary confinement, which is exceptionally nice in a place where privacy is almost forbade.

i read through most of the morning, stopping only to give alain or patrick cold water as they worked (yet again) on the broken water pump in between the apartments and to cook myself a late lunch of macaroni noodles with fresh garlic, red pepper flakes, and butter, washing it down with my last mountain dew over ice, both prized commodities here in St. Marc. i was also gifted with a resee's peanut butter cup, another prize here, and found out

that deli mart has a whole box for sale (note to self: go to deli mart tomorrow. bring cash. lots of it.)

i read my way into the late afternoon, too. okay, i partially lied. i dosed off a little bit on the couch as the doors allowed a (dare i say) cooler breeze drifted between our perma-opened doors. my arms and legs are still doing this crazy, restless thing where they either tingle, ache, flinch, twitch, or just generally feel like someone cranked the voltage and is sending electric shocks throughout my nervous system. its a dull, annoying pain, and generally only frustrating when my mind is the cranky old man upstairs, ready for bed, and my limbs are like the college frat boys the moved in to the central apartment keeping everyone up at all hours of the night with their united chanting and drone of bad karaoke to 80s songs that were written long before they were born.

well after i awoke with one leg hanging off the couch, foot on the ground, and the other sprawled across the arm of the couch, i stood up to go use the restroom before getting ready for the market. or, i told myself rather that i was going to stand up. but without hesitation, my body rejected the idea and i collapsed, barely grabbing the chair before i would've hit the ground. that's odd, i thought, and tried again. nope. my right leg put me to my knees faster than the fear of the Lord. the odd thing was, my leg didn’t feel asleep. i could wiggle my toes without pain. i shook my leg out for a bit, and i was able to walk like normal, but it was still bizarre enough to make note of.

***

for lunch, i wanted nothing more than home-fried potatoes with onions. but thats the thing with cravings here: you have them, and it takes days, even WEEKS, to get the ingredients, track down the OJ (still waiting on that one), and fire up the propane (assuming you have it) before you can placate your pallet. it at least put enough of a drive in me to recruit anne, jenna and sarah to head to the market mid-afternoon, following the heat of the day.

the overcast skies gave way to a beautiful land-breeze, complimented by the additional wind on my face from the moto drive. i find myself squinting even sans soleil and realize i've left my sunglasses at home. so, i close my eyes; this time not out of fear, but solely from the dust. in fact, i find my body limber and relaxed as its pressed between the driver and anne on the back. its an odd sensation of relaxation that is only typical of two things: courage of the liquid kind, that allows for a sense of looseness in the inebriated; or a natural comfort that usually comes from birth, or a desensitization of the fear from frequent participation in it. clearly, the latter.

we arrive at SD, where my only purchases are two more cans of precious mountain dew, and a container of salt. the four of us almost in complete silence as unknowingly fall into a single-file line as we walk the busy street toward the market. as we pass natives eager to use whatever english they may know, i catch a few "i love you, honey"'s and blown kisses. i'm wondering if my stoic face shows that i don't understand there cat-calls, or that i simply don't care. i keep walking. and i wonder, does the look on my face show the comfort i also felt on the moto? or does it show that i am merely a foreigner in this place, a blanc, still uncertain about each step and easily taken advantage of at the market?

either way, because i'm white, i am taken advantage of at the market, but i figured 50 gourdes for 10 decent-sized, freshly dug up potatoes was fair-- even though the merchants were all-too-eager to make the transaction, meaning i could have gotten them for less. c'est la vie.

we crossed national 1 (the busy highway that i would rather not walk on, ever), and i greet the vender lady on the corner, as i do every week, hoping that she will remember me and i can establish a good merchant relationship with her for the duration of my time. in search of bananas, we press in deeper in the market than we

usually do, and eventually give way to asking a vender where we could find them. with the exchange of a few words in creole, another woman and a small boy, around 7 or 8, are leading us through the tight, busy market paths. i've heard that densely-populated india has some of the most congested marketplaces in the world; at this rate, i'm okay not seeing for myself. dead-ending like a maze, we play this game of cat and mouse as anne disappears before me, and the little boy lingers behind to make sure i've caught up. having to turn sideways at parts just to pass men with wheelbarrows and women toting their goods atop their heads, as usual. another dead-end, and we turn around, opting this time to go left instead of right ... right into a tight-squeeze of a meat market, where all the insides of a cow, or a pig-- i couldn't really tell at this point-- were strung about in a large metal bowl, random organs and intestines overflowing the sides. holding my breath through much of the market, i really couldn't even tell you if and when i was going to vom, nor could i tell you where this dear woman was leading us! we continued to follow and suddenly the congested market gave way to a slightly less-busy street, still void of bananas. our search had lead us far from any familiar territory, so we stuck with it, and alas-- bananas! in a country with so many dang banana trees, you don't think you'd have to trek so far to find them!

with the help of the determined woman, we managed to get a gourdes deal (i crack myself up with that one every time!) and pay just 75 gourdes for her last two, plump, ripe bunches of bananas (about $2USD). and as a bonus: 3 avocados for 25 gourdes. i'll take it. but now, where were we? we tried to go down a nicely paved street, but it was a dead-end. noticing a bunch of of taxis gathered at a cross street by what appeared to be a primary school and a kindergarten, we decided that might be the best route to get home. before we knew it, we got our bearings back as we once again crossed national 1 and headed back for the mission.

***

the evening was spent reading, blogging, and chatting with some of our neighbors (stacia, keturah) as they dropped by. later on, we made our maiden voyage to deli with anne-ruth, the mission's newest driver! cheering her on as if she had finally procured her driver's permit for the first time (although she's had it for 17 years now), i felt like i was back in high school, eager to drive with my friends as their parents handed over the keys to their mini-vans and we were finally free to do what we want, on our own. just the girls!

***

in the book i've been reading, the author writes a chapter about being in Italy, talking to a hardworking man about vacations. the difference in America is that we work hard, take vacation, and don't know how to turn off our productivity and just be. the Italians can work hard, take a mid-day siesta without problem, and take holiday without a second thought on what is going on back at their place of employment.

yesterday, i began to understand how to just be. to not be concerned with productivity, but to sit and read and just float through the day in relaxation. this is definitely a must-do; even in ecclesiastes (which i've deemed the depression ward of the bible!), solomon warns that there is no pleasure in this world; prompting many times to just "eat, drink, be merry and enjoy your work under the sun." sounds like a plan.