The One Where Emilie’s Parents Visit

12-14-10

So, you are quite possibly asking yourself, what’s happened to my favorite blogger, Emilie?  Where have all her witty yet heartwarming blog posts disappeared too?  Has she been killed by a falling coconut?  Kidnapped by maras?  Bedridden by parasites?  Have the roosters waking her every day at dawn broken her fragile hold on sanity and forced her into a chicken killing spree?

No, no, and no.  And sadly, no.  The roosters are still alive and well (although not for much longer, if I have anything to say about it).  Actually, I’ve just gotten sort of lazy about writing.  I haven’t even been that busy, I’ve just been hanging out with people in my community and other volunteers so much that I haven’t really gotten around to writing.  But I’ll try to make up for it now.  Can’t be disappointing all my regular subscribers.

Thanksgiving week was a lot of fun for me, because my parents came on a long-anticipated trip to visit me.  I was a little worried that they would get sick from the food, or get robbed by a sneaky nine-year-old pickpocket, or get lost on the sign-less streets and end up in Honduras.  Fortunately, their visit was blissfully uneventful.  I decided it was best to ease them into life in El Salvador with a day in the capital, so I booked a room at the Hotel Intercontinental, one of the nicest hotels in the country.  Mom and I spent the day relaxing and gossiping by the pool, Dad spent it relaxing and drinking beer by the big screen TV in the cantina.  We finally joined him, and things got a little crazy.  Who knew Mom could knock back shots of tequila like such a pro?  (Not even kidding here.  Like.  A.  Pro.)

After San Salvador, we headed north to Chalatenango to visit my site.  We got there without getting lost, and with minimal disturbances from Dad, the backseat driver.  (“Well, Linda, if you’d just pass the three huge semis on this curvy mountain road, we’d get there a lot faster!”)  We got there without passing the trucks, but in one piece still, so that seemed like a good call to me.  My community was thrilled to see my parents, and thought my mother looked so young (she does) and that my father looked just like a cowboy (he did).  Cruz and Angelita made pupusas for us that night, and Mom even tried her hand at it – not too shabby, either.

The next day, it was our turn to cook for them, and Mom whipped up a delicious turkey and an all-around impressive spread for a country that doesn’t celebrate the holiday.  (We even had pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce!)  Lighting the oven was a little tricky at first, but Elena and Mom managed it.  I tried to stay at a reasonable distance from the kitchen at all times, so as to avoid ruining the meal with my bad-cooking-karma.  My host family all came for the meal, which we cooked and served in Don Mario’s house, the biggest house in town.  They loved it.  Angelita in particular couldn’t get enough of the cranberry sauce.  Much like men, the way to the Salvadoran heart is through their stomachs.

The only disappointing thing was that we had to leave the next day.  I had no less than three women come up to me asking, “Your parents aren’t leaving yet, are they?  I wanted to cook them tamales (or soup or chicken or carne)!”  My parents had to promise to come back next year, so everyone who wanted to cook for them would get a chance.  But I give my parents incredible props for sleeping in my house for two days.  Mom and I took the air mattress, and Dad squeezed himself under my mosquito net to sleep on my twin size bed.  (Funniest.  Thing.  Ever.)  The only teeny, tiny hiccup that occurred happened when I had the bright idea to take them down to the river where I wash my clothes.  I’ve gotten really used to the Salvadoran attitude of, “If an animal of some sort can make it down into that place, so can we!”, so I forgot that perhaps the climb down and the rock-hopping might be a little challenging for my parents.  My Dad decided to clamber over the rocks in the river like he was a spry young man of 60 again, which was a mistake, because that ended with him sitting waist deep in water.  Oops.  We decided on no more rock climbing after that.

After visiting my community, we spent a relaxing three days at the beach in El Tunco.  The majority of that time was spent drinking, since I couldn’t seem to stop guzzling bloody marys starting at 8 am (hey, they have tomato juice, that makes them a breakfast drink!) and Mom was sucking down piña coladas like the whole country of El Salvador was running out of both pineapple and coconut milk the next day.  I pointed out that I’ve never seen her so relaxed before, and she pointed out that I’d never seen her on vacation before.  Touché.

I took them to the airport at the end of the week, sad, but happy that we’d passed such a fun week together in my new home.  The next challenge is getting my sisters down here. 

They take tequila shots like pros, too.  J