FAMILY PHOTO

God, this is awkward. And just for the record, lest the expressions on their faces lead you to think otherwise, THEY were the ones who wanted a photo. And that guy on the left, no idea who he is.

LA CASA

So here're a few shots of the home I stayed in this summer. It's Espana house is made of up of three different buildings around a patio. The first (and coolest) is where I stayed (you might recognize my worn-daily plaid shirt hung over a chair), which was right beside the senora's in-house restaurant.



The second building is where the great-aunt Matilde slept. Notice it has no doors. This 92-year-old lady just slept out in the open; tough old bird. This is the same room where they store the corn and coffee.



Here's where the family lives.



And here's where one bathes, washes clothes and does the dishes.



I think I'm going to miss bathing outdoors.

CLOSE-UP

Follow-up to "PIZZA NIGHT" post where I wrote:

(If you look carefully in the cabinet in the background, you’ll see the postcard of the Twin Towers I sit beside every morning at breakfast… the Señor España sent back home in the early ‘90s when he was working in upstate New York. Honestly, this world.)

JUST TO MAKE GRANDMA JEALOUS

Wanted to include this photo of my typical breakfast: cup of coffee with a roll that’s remarkably similar to a Moravian lovefeast bun.

WHAT GOES UP HAS TO GO DOWN… RIGHT?

This past Sunday, Yolanda and Jesus were kind enough to take me on a mega hike. Our plan was to hike all the way to the top of the highest mountain that looms over Buenavista, and well, we almost made it. If it weren’t for trails that more than once misled us into thinking they led back down to the main road only to subitously turn back up the mountain, banging knees on boulders, and the overhang has obviously cut for people who measure under five feet, we would have made it. Regardless, it was still a rewarding hike, and we got some great photos to boot.

If you had any doubt about how remote Buenavista is, this photo’s for you:


On the top of the second-highest mountain in Buenavista, there sits this cornfield. Pretty good real estate.


A photo of the trail.

PIZZA NIGHT

On the night before Berta (the youngest daughter of my host family) goes back to college, she made good on her promise to make me homemade pizza. “Pizza” is an understatement, when you look at the size of the pies she made. (And when I asked her how she learned to make pizzas, she replied that she “has a cousin that works for McDonald’s.” … gotcha.)

The pizzas, regardless of their undecipherable origin and the fact that they were baked in an oven made from a converted metal oil drum, were delicious and a great taste of home, and moreover, another warm night spent with the España family in the kitchen.

Señora España warming up the oven.


Berta preparing the pizza with cut-up hotdogs, ground chorizo, quesillo, and chiles for pizza toppings.



The final product! (If you look carefully in the cabinet in the background, you’ll see the postcard of the Twin Towers I sit beside every morning at breakfast… the Señor España sent back home in the early ‘90s when he was working in upstate New York. Honestly, this world.)

SCARY MEXICAN DOLL-BABY