Adios San Ramon

Today is my last day in San Ramon. I can´t say that I´ll miss it terribly. It´s just a regular old town with people doing regular old things. The family I´ve been staying with have been nice enough, but with the language barrier we haven´t really been hanging out too much. Plus, there are way too many teenagers. They have a 13 year old girl, and boys aged 15 and 18. My first day there were so many kids wandering in and out that I had the wrong boy pegged as the 15 year old. A few days later I heard someone at the door calling him, and then the boy I thought to be Darió turned out to be the friend on the sidewalk. Oh well.

My career as a volunteer construction crew has drawn to a close as well. Sometimes I was busy and happy, and sometimes I was purely decorative. I felt kind of like the magician´s sidekick, who just stands around much of the time until she needs to hand over something. I was the human saw horse, vice grip, and sometimes I just was a spectator. (When I was helping my friend in NY last summer with construction on his house, we noted how it seemed to be a specator sport.) Today was my last day, and there were no teary farewells. There weren't even any Thank Yous, for that matter. I'm going to guess that's a cultural thing, for they all seemed quite pleasant. The 10 year old was proudly wearing the t-shirt that I had pawned off on him this morning under his school uniform, however. And when I was at the bus stop, one of neighbors (I think that's who she was) saw me and came over to chat. I didn't really understand anything she said, so I just took hold of the conversation and told her that I was going to the beach tomorrow and home in a couple of weeks. She at least gave me a hug and a kiss. (I HOPE it was a neighbor....)

The grandpa (although I don't think he actually is the grandpa, for the kid called him by his name, not Abuelo) commented on the heat to me this morning (it was damn hot), and asked if I wanted juice. Sí. Lemon or oatmeal? I opted for the lemon this time, so off he trotted to pick some lemons. Gotta love that. This afternoon he offered me a glass of milk. Every day around noon the milk truck comes down the road, honking it's horn. Picture a milk truck in your head.... That's not what this was. This was a little red pickup truck with a bunch of silver milk jugs sitting in the back (remember how hot I said it was?), and people come out to it with their jugs or soda bottles, or even plastic bags, and get some milk ladled in. So when I was handed the glass of milk, it was slightly warm, and some seriously whole milk. There was so much cream in that milk that it left bits on the side of the glass, and I could actually feel the fat on my lips when I drank it. Much to my dismay, no oreos or chocolate of any kind was served with this huge glass of milk, and Gramps just stands there watching you drink, so you have no choice but to basically chug it. I haven't gotten sick on my trip yet, but I figure if I am going to, it will be from this.

I have to say that doing construction in third world country is both similar to and different from that at home. OSHA standards are a bit lacking here, but just like at home there is a lot of standing around taking measurements and discussing how many pieces of wood to buy. Here the wheelbarrow may only have one handle and the ladder is homemade, but just like at home, when the officials come they stay for only 25 seconds-- long enough to ask the name of the owner, write it on a piece of paper, and drive off.

A few other random bits about being here. In attempting to converse with the construction guys, I pretty much adhered to the policy followed by my father's mother (yes, she would be my grandmother, but as she died 13 years before I was born, I think of her as dad's mom) when she (being French) attempted to talk with the local Yorkshire folk-- Say yes unless they look surprised, and then say no. I totally did that the other day when we were talking about the Brazilian dance style called capoeira (I think). I thought I was asked if I knew of it, but when I said yes and got a very startled look, I figured I was actually asked if I knew how to do it, and I said no.

The younger son was sitting with me at lunch one day. He had in his hand a little cup (like the sort that comes on the top of a NyQuil bottle), that had some light blue liquid in it. I sniffed it and decided it was probably mouthwash. The child actually drank it. Alas, my Spanish skills didn't extend to Do you really think you are supposed to drink that??

I guess that's the end of that. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn I head off to the beach. After all this hard work, I clearly deserve it.