Sexy Breakfast

Day 8 (Thu, Sept 23)

            Buzz. Grumble. Mumble. Sigh. Shuffle. Shiver. I look at my watch. I don’t think I’ve ever consciously read my watch face at this time. At least not AM. It’s 6:31 on another beautiful Argentinean morning and the sunrise outside my bedroom window is a breathtaking blend of warm milky pastels. Pardon the verbosity and the blag hiatus and hello again, only this time it’s pronounced hola. That’s right, I didn’t get mugged or stabbed to death while navigating Buenos Aires. I’ve made it to my first farm just outside the small rural town of San Andrés de Giles and life is sorta awesome. Even though I sort of addressed it, you’re probably wondering why this post is so delayed. I’ve been experiencing the sharp learning curve of traveling alone in a foreign country, and I’ve just been very busy, among other things. Also, I’ll be making posthumous posts of days past, and yes I know I used that word incorrectly but you know what I mean. I will also post pictures when I can. With that said, let’s dig in, media res style, oh yeah!

Today I have the pleasure of making breakfast. I’m a little anxious, because I know everyone’s counting on me. They don’t yet know the extent of my competence. I manage to slap together a decent breakfast considering the aliments I’m working with. Cut up apples, orange, we’re out of cheese for the moment, rice from last night and hot milk and water. In less than thirty minutes breakfast is done and we’re off to work on a typically chilly morning (note: not Chile).

Working... hardly  

            Today’s job is to finish hoeing the huge dirt plot so that it’s flat and aerated. There are vestigial mounds left over from the furrows of yesteryear that we must level, and because working hoes isn’t hard enough, we also have to pimp slap them stubborn weeds into submission with a scythe. But we already did that. Right now we have to chop up the earth. It takes hours upon hours, and it’s not easy. I tell the brothers that my back is starting to hurt and they show me the appropriate technique. They tell me that each tool has a proper motion and if you can learn it, then the work will be much easier. I experiment with their advice and it helps plenty. The brothers consist of Estefan, Filipe and Joel. Joel isn’t actually related to either of them, but he might as well be. They all wear hemp clothing, have the same long curly hair, come from Costa Rica and essentially define kindness. More about them later. Twelve o’clock and it’s lunch time. A bell makes sure that we know it’s lunchtime but we know. Everyone knows. We might wake up for breakfast, but we work for lunch.

Lunch is amazing as always. How can you go wrong when all of your ingredients are gathered within a half mile radius, straight from the ground, picked only earlier that day? Anyways, we all eat rather quickly because lunchtime is also break-time, and it’s unwise to abuse potential nap time on a farm. I take the opportunity to fashion a boombox out of a bucket, my ipod, a small travel speaker and some duct tape. I think one the brothers called me Chuck Norris, but I know he meant MacGyver. Ok back to work. Talk later.