Ok. This story’s long, but must be told. It is a perfect example of how I generally understand about 25-50% of every conversation I have here, even with the people I live with. So last Saturday (my first Saturday here), my hostess says to me (in Spainsh) what I recall as, “tomorrow, we’re going to eat lunch w (my contact here), his wife and some friends at La Finca.” I was like, “cool” (thinking we’re going to a restaurant or something). The next morning, we skip church and take off to the farmer’s market, get all kinds of great fresh fruit and vegetables, then go to the house of my contact to pick up his wife who is very good friends w my hostess. So we pick her up, then 2 of her nieces, then her mom (that’s right - 6 of us in a corolla). We stop by a bakery and get a cake (which was the exact lesson I had done the night before on Rosetta Stone, so I was down w the bakery words). So I’m starting to put together that maybe this is a bigger lunch than I thought, probably not at a restaurant, and that it might be a special occasion. Me and abuela were chattin it up about her last trip to the States in the hot, crowded backseat, and I didn’t get around to asking what the cake was all about. We carry on.
The next stop is a walmart type superstore where we get paper plates, cups, napkins, snacks, water, juice, soda, vodka (you know, the essentials), and I get breakfast cause I’m starting to figure now that we wont be eating for awhile. Now I’m thinking maybe we’re eating at the beach, though I’m thinking to self, “I’m sure I would have remembered hearing ‘la playa’ somewhere in the conversation yesterday.” We carry on.
So another car of folk meets us in the parking lot of the ‘walmart’ and we space out a little (whew!). Now we’re off to the place, I think…. Two full cars in tandem, we head off on the highway out of the city. Twenty minutes later, we get off the highway onto a bumpy unpaved road winding through the hills (I say you haven’t had a true experience in the Caribbean until you’ve been thrown around on a bumpy road in the hills – more classically on the back of a pick-up truck J) I’m thinking now, “definitely not the beach.” So my hostess’s friend says to me in english, “have you been to ‘la finca’ before?” I say, “no.” Then she says (thinking aloud), “what is finca in english……, hmmm… oh! like a farm, yes, a farm!” Mind you, I’m wearing jeans, a nice blouse, and strappy healed sandals… We carry on.
So, for the next ten minutes, as we’re negotiating our way up and over the hills, I’m trying to remember if I have hand wipes in my bag, or even hand sanitizer. I’m trying to prepare myself for all the shit I’ll surely step in and subsequently have to clean off my shoes and feet. I’m starting to think I might not be up to eating this afternoon anyway, and I’m thankful for the snack I had at walmart…. Alas, we’re here (see photos).
Imagine my relief when we pull up to this huge, gorgeous, country home with a broad paved driveway, a beautiful garden, and a small dog but no other animals to speak of. It turned out to have been a great afternoon of stories, cooking, drinking, and laughing. Turns out it was someone’s birthday, but mostly we were there just to have an afternoon out of the city (on ‘the farm,’ as it were). FYI: the strict translation of ‘la finca’ is ‘the property,’ but everyone in this family calls this place their farm. Turns out they had a farm on this property generations ago. Again, perfect example of my comprehension at this point; also exemplified, the lifestyles of the ballers I’m living with here. Que bueno!
