The Wrath of R

Sigh. Times are a bit hard for me today. Why? Today was supposed to be a good day: my first day of work. That part wasn't a total disaster (although pretty close). Mostly however, I am mystified by the strange, strong mix of Argentine culture embodied in my host mother, R. Yesterday, I felt sure we were getting along well, today I am convinced she hates me. If only I could have the words to say to her: explain! But that's not the problem, the problem is culture, culture clash, and my seemingly endless faux pas in this household.

Last week, when I entered the kitchen to make some tea, R stopped me and said she "wanted to talk. To both of us." Sounds ominous to me. When we are all gathered in the kitchen and she has sealed us off from the rest of the house with the big oak and glass sliding door, she says the following, more or less: "Nelly (she refuses to use my real name because it is too difficult to say, like many people here), you can't wash dishes." Really? That's news; I have 20 or so years of practice. Clearly, I am not doing it correctly because she has some examples of my shoddy workmanship on hand to show me. Exhibit A was a heavy cast iron pot and lid. I had left a smear of grease on the lid. Fair enough. Exhibit B a butter knife that showed trace amounts of soap. Oops, I messed up. Sorry, sorry, sorry R. It won't happen again. I'll do it better next time. A few days later, however, she asks me "why don't you wash my dishes too, if they are in the sink? You are washing yours, why leave them?" Hmmm.... because you think I do a crappy job? Because they are yours? A few days previous, I had used the wrong chair to dry a pair of jeans by the heater. The day before that, I wasn't cooking the pasta correctly. We can't touch the washer because we will "break it." Some goes for the tea cups, the fireplace, and most of the appliances.

Now, I am a firm believer in homestays. I think they are great way to learn more about the host culture, the language, and work out some of those embarrassing faux pas in a safe and forgiving environment. But your host family should be a little flexible as you get the hang of it, right? So we come to today's episode with Ros. Running low on food, we dragged ourselves to the supermercado last night after a long day of wine tasting/biking. There, we bought a few necessities to tide us over for a few more days. With work slow for me and nonexistent for Pat, we are on a close budget. Upon waking up this morning (before sunrise for me), I found that all of our bread and most of our ham and cheese were gone. Eaten. Adios. After work, I decided to ask R about these mysterious disappearances. Taking a cue from her own past behavior, I left a simple note, asking: "Sorry, R, but did you eat some of our food? We don't mind sharing but would you ask please?" Oh Nelly (hehe). In response I got a page of closely worded Spanish, in which she informed me that her "manners and education" would never allow her to eat someone else's food without asking. But sorry, her son ate it. Right.

So she was pissed. She was pissed because her son ate our food and I asked, thus insulting her manners. Crap. But now, I get only stony silence from her and I am positively petrified to enter the kitchen. This is what I really hate about homestays: when they go wrong. Now, home is not a haven but yet another source of anxiety. I want to be friends. I really do. I want to sit and be involved with her, have a nice conversation. Most of the time, she is out or sequestered in her room upstairs. S, the previous homestay occupant in our room, said she sometimes went upstairs to have a chat with R at night. But whenever I go upstairs, she looks at me like I'm intruding and asks what I want. I'm feeling overwhelmed, upset, and bad about myself. How can I make this work? The last thing I want to do is burn any bridges in Mendoza, especially since her brother is the mayor. Any advice? I've done the homestay thing before but always with families, never just one individual. Maybe she is just more set in her own ways and I'm not fitting in? I feel like the loser at a middle school dance after the most popular kid in school spit on me.

Not to mention, in my first teaching lesson today, just about everything that could go wrong, did. From running out of time to being unable to get the technology working (classic teacher mistake), I felt like I should just give up. Miraculously, at the end of the disaster, my boss said I did a pretty good job. At least I'm not fired, I guess... Now, my stomach hurts due to the huge, over sized knot of anxiety I've built up and i can't stop thinking about how I'm going to pay the rent next month, let alone find a new place if R doesn't defrost soon. What to do, what to do? These are the days when I feel like crawling back into bed and hiding my head. Which is, more or less, exactly what I'm doing now. As I cower in my bed, I find myself thinking: when do I get to experience the real Argentina? The nightlife, the friends, the laughing and chatting that I see all around me? Is this life really any better than the one we left behind? Is it time to give up?