note, Guatemalan ceviche is just like all other types, except that if you aren't Guatemalan you will
almost definitely become remarkably ill. Being ill at this point is really just common place. I am pretty
sure that my intestines and bowels have been the topic with my family more here than any other
singular thing. It could be that diarrhea is pronounce the same in both languages, or the fact that when
someone turns that weird greenish color and you can literally hear their belly rumble and then they do
that weird I must get to the bathroom fast, but not move to fast for fear of shitting myself walk/run is
the universal signs of disaster looming. The only thing I have experience worse than that feeling, and the
shame of leaving a table under these circumstances, is barely making it to the bathroom only to realize
that there is no toilet paper (we have two bathrooms but somehow only one roll of toilet paper, and
I always choose wrong). Clearly, I don’t realize my poor bathroom choice until I am already frantically
reaching back for the non-exisent paper. Then there is the moment, the one that separates the boys
from women (or whatever that saying is). Do you sit there waiting to die or be found (whichever comes first) or McGyver style try to figure out how to escape the very precarious quandary? Whichever is decided be aware, before you are able to get out of the bathroom everyone in the town will now about your diarrhea. Yay!
Other fun things that might have contributed to my random illnesses:
We aren’t supposed to turn food down. Ever. PC rules. However, we weren't told how to say “as much
as I would love to eat that chicken I am absolutely positive that it was left in the oven over night”. For
some reason people here seem to think stoves are like fridges and you can keep food in them and it will
still be safe to eat in the morning. SO we end up eating whatever is given to us.
I cannot count the number of times I have bit or cut into meat and thought please, please, please let this
be cooked all the way.The other day my family and I ate out while in town. By eating out I mean we stopped by this cart that had some question ingredients frying. My mom ordered four “gringas” which generally means
white girls, but apparently is also a type of food. I decided to inquire about our meal while it was being
prepared.
The convo went like this: Mama Susana: “Do you want a gringa?”
Me: “what kind of meat is that?”
M.S. “I don’t know, do you want one?”
Me: “umm, sure.”
Though I am still not entirely sure what that gringa is made of, I am pretty positive it is called a gringa because there is no way a gringa could eat it without becoming horribly ill. I think maybe they assumed that no one would eat a food named after them. Touché Guatemalans, you give us far too much credit.
Despite being sick many times, I absolutely love it here, and wouldn't change anything, except maybe
buying another role of TP.
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| gringa |
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