I feel like I’m in a Hemingway novel…

There are lots of shy and pretty girls, forks and knives with wooden handles, good wine, bread, cheese, and meat. It is all followed by coffee. My Castellano is okay, but it is improving quickly and everybody is patient and sweet with me. I understand most things, but speaking is harder. It is strange for me to find listening easier than talking but it is also refreshing. I listen to everybody who will speak to me. I think Carro, the maid, and Juancho, the man who takes care of the horses, both like me. Their stories are interesting and I smile when they try to say my name, as they smile when I try to say most things.

I went riding yesterday and scattered a flock of bright green parrots off the road. It is winter here and I am surprised they can handle the cold. Then again, the cold here is not our cold, it is the cold of a late fall. I am very comfortable in a sweatshirt, and at times, a jacket.

A man told me he had to wait an hour in line for gasoline today and when it was his turn they were out. I had no intelligent reply, then or now. Oranges are grown behind the house next to the clotheslines and the old plywood they burn to start the fires for the asados. It is also burnt, at times, to keep the house warm.

That is all I have to say for now. Things are not that different really. Simpler maybe, but no, they are not that different. I cannot say for certain but I think this is true for most places and times. What is good is good for everybody. I do not know if this holds for what is bad.