Pachamama is the name of my landlord. She is also my neighbor, my Chilean mother, and my closest friend here in Colliguay. ''Pachamama'' means ''Mother Earth'' in Yquechua. And yes, Pachamama doth provide . . .
Thank you Pachamama for my two story cottage. What appeared at first to be very ''cozy'' was really two large ice chests, one stacked upon the other, in disguise. Yes, I haven't quite figured it out yet, but for some reason it is colder in my cabina than it is outside. However, if I wear every bit of clothing I have, do 28 sit-ups before I get into bed, and spoon my Nalgene filled with boiling water, I manage to stay warm.
Thank you Pachamama for my 8 gaurdian angels who come to me in the form of semi-wild barking dogs. The first night asleep in my little igloo I was suddenly awoken by the little angels barking up a storm . . . or better yet a hurricane. I'm pretty sure they were protecting me from the completely deaf demon (or town drunkard) Ramoncito. You can't have a small town without one. But because of them, I feel safe.
I think I also feel safe due to the little string attached to my bedroom window, running through my grape-vined patio, across my private pool (yes I have a small, empty pool with some cow bones in it), to a bell hanging on the front door of Pachamama. This contraption, along with many others in the house, was invented by the Usado.
Ahhh the Usado (''used'' for those non-spanish speakers). He is Pachamama's partner. I call him this because after our first lunch together (Pachamama, the Usado, the 8 angelitos, and myself) he preferred to be called ''used'' rather than ''old''. It was a little joke of ours. And I was so happy to have an inside joke with my new neighbors, that upon seeing him the next time I yelled out ''Hey Usado!'' You can imagine my surprise when he stared back at me blankly and continued about his business of cutting up empty, plastic Coke bottles.
But all the same, thank you Pachamama for all that you have given me . . . pumpkin, persimmons, walnuts, chicha, a lesson on heating my bath water, a Jehovah's Witness book in Spanish, a room with a view of the snow-capped mountains on all four sides, and all the love and carino a girl could want to keep her warm in this freezing little mountain town.
Thank you Pachamama for my two story cottage. What appeared at first to be very ''cozy'' was really two large ice chests, one stacked upon the other, in disguise. Yes, I haven't quite figured it out yet, but for some reason it is colder in my cabina than it is outside. However, if I wear every bit of clothing I have, do 28 sit-ups before I get into bed, and spoon my Nalgene filled with boiling water, I manage to stay warm.
Thank you Pachamama for my 8 gaurdian angels who come to me in the form of semi-wild barking dogs. The first night asleep in my little igloo I was suddenly awoken by the little angels barking up a storm . . . or better yet a hurricane. I'm pretty sure they were protecting me from the completely deaf demon (or town drunkard) Ramoncito. You can't have a small town without one. But because of them, I feel safe.
I think I also feel safe due to the little string attached to my bedroom window, running through my grape-vined patio, across my private pool (yes I have a small, empty pool with some cow bones in it), to a bell hanging on the front door of Pachamama. This contraption, along with many others in the house, was invented by the Usado.
Ahhh the Usado (''used'' for those non-spanish speakers). He is Pachamama's partner. I call him this because after our first lunch together (Pachamama, the Usado, the 8 angelitos, and myself) he preferred to be called ''used'' rather than ''old''. It was a little joke of ours. And I was so happy to have an inside joke with my new neighbors, that upon seeing him the next time I yelled out ''Hey Usado!'' You can imagine my surprise when he stared back at me blankly and continued about his business of cutting up empty, plastic Coke bottles.
But all the same, thank you Pachamama for all that you have given me . . . pumpkin, persimmons, walnuts, chicha, a lesson on heating my bath water, a Jehovah's Witness book in Spanish, a room with a view of the snow-capped mountains on all four sides, and all the love and carino a girl could want to keep her warm in this freezing little mountain town.
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