I was in the sweet little mountain town of Boquete, Panama for two
weeks, part of my quest to experience more of life and chase my elusive
dream of Spanish fluency, whatever that is. Trips like that are always
eye-openers for me. I get to see how the vast majority of earthlings
live, and how the roiling confluence of that lifestyle with
the relentless current of the new "world culture," so long on aspiration
but so short on patience, affects their simpler, purer—some would
say more sustainable—traditions.
But that trip proved to be more than merely instructional. One day I had an epiphany. Here's my account, written that very day:
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Habla Ya,
the fine Spanish school I'm attending, arranged for me to stay with a
local family. Señor Guillermo Bell Miranda is a coffee farmer, working
the land atop the steep
cerro just behind his home. He and his
extended family couldn't be nicer or more generous with their home,
their time and their help with my Spanish. Nonetheless, I had just two
requirements for my lodging: a bed at least six feet long, and WiFi (so I
can keep up with my commitment to regular posting here and on my travel
blog, El Viajero Contento. (http://elviajerocontento.blogspot.com) With
classes taking up most of the day, and the prospect of a few excursions
into the gorgeous area surrounding Boquete in the mornings, I was
counting on being able to connect with the Internet every evening, in
the privacy of my room.
I saw a crystal clear image of Guillermo's and his family's faces when they learned that I'd found their home unacceptable.
The
bed is long enough. But the Internet connection, a sluggish,
intermittent, dial-up service, requires 17-year-old Antonio's shoving a
well-used CD onto my laptop and installing a huge program.
My reaction to all of this—well within reason, I thought—was to let Lorena,
la directora
of the school, know that we'd have to find some other arrangement that
would accommodate my needs. After all, who's the customer here? Wouldn't
anyone in his right mind hold a supplier more or less to the terms of a
contract? I assured Lorena that the last thing in the world I want to
do is to offend the Bell Miranda family, but work is work.
Just
then, another staff member in the office, overhearing our conversation,
came over to explain, in what I took as a paternalistic tone, that I
couldn't blame the Bell Mirandas nor any average Panamanian family for
not knowing all the ins and outs of Internet connections.
My
Spanish always collapses to the level of rank beginner when shaken by
any degree of emotion. Explaining that to the young man, I let him know,
in English and in no uncertain terms, that I wasn't blaming the family
at all. And I didn't need to be told that the school's inability to meet
my very few requirements was
my fault. At this, Lorena jumped in
to suggest that they might, indeed, be able to locate another family
with WiFi. I reiterated my concern with hurting the feelings of
Guillermo and his family with my decision, but she assured me they could
explain the situation to the family with minimal offense. So I agreed
to that solution and thanked her.
I wondered why I cling so to the
illusion that I can control my life.
I
retired to the student lounge (where WiFi is available), and started
writing about my first couple of days here. I couldn't think straight.
Too many feelings plucking at the edges of my concentration. I tried to
imagine two weeks at my adoptive family's home with nothing "productive"
to do in the evening, especially considering that they all retire by
9:00 or 9:30.
I recalled, from all my experiences in Mexico, how enigmatic Latin American values can seem to a
Norteamericano,
but how, at some level I've only occasionally been able to embrace,
they made sense. Then I saw a crystal clear image of Guillermo's and his
family's faces when they learned that I'd found their home
unacceptable.
That's what did it. In that split second
of clarity, everything resorted itself in my mind. I released my hold
on my frustration, disappointment and self-righteousness, and let
acceptance and flexibility gently nudge them aside. And, after all that
consternation, the answer seemed so beautifully simple. I wondered why I
cling so to the illusion that I can control my life.
So
now I'll spend my evenings patiently and happily with this kind,
generous family. I'll write what I can without access to information and
photos. I'll read my book—very slowly, so it'll last the two weeks.
Then I'll use my free mornings to get online at school. Self: see how
easy that is?
The cosmos wasted no time in rewarding me
for my little awakening. For the rest of the morning, as it turns out,
in the busy student lounge, I had the chance to meet many of the staff
and my fellow students I'd never have met otherwise. And tonight,
arriving home after classes, everything seemed different with Guillermo
and the family. Was it just me, or can they see the change in my
attitude?
Funny, you can read about how to behave
gracefully in other cultures. You can learn some of the language and
customs. You can try doing in Rome as the Romans do. I know these
things, and have wrestled with culture shock before. But, at least for
me, it's taken that little extra jolt, that little injection of emotion
followed by reflection, for me to actually
get it. Now if I can only remember it.
