I thought I had escaped the curse of the beets. Nearly every day, my fellow students regale each other with stories of how they had to choke down cold beets or cold beets in cold beet juice or cold beet soup or warm beet soup or beets with eggs. And I privately snickered at their misfortune, because beets are so gross looking, with their vile, red, gelatinous, congealed-blood appearance, and I had not been forced to choke them down. And Victoria almost always serves really good food for supper – frijoles, “chapín” food with unpronounceable names, grilled cheese sandwiches, Mexican food, rice, soup… But it was not meant to be. This evening, Victoria asked me if I would like a boiled egg. I love boiled eggs. So I said yes. Thank goodness I only said I would like three. Because in a few minutes, there appeared on my plate three tostadas drowning in beet juice, topped with beets mixed with lettuce stained red by beet juice, and the finish it all off, a bit of a boiled egg, sadly marked with that malevolent liquid that is beet juice. Ugh. And those awful beets stared up at me with their spiteful little eyes, daring me to choke them down, knowing that I had to, because Victoria was in the kitchen with me. Ugh. I hate beets. It’s the texture. I can eat anything, so long as it’s not slippery, slimy, or with that weird texture that is peculiar to squash. Beets are just gross. But I ate the darn things, rewarding myself with a bit of boiled egg for each laden tostada that disappeared from my plate.
On the bright side, we visited a museum with my literature today. It was very interesting – lots of pottery and replicas and Mayan carved stones – everything one expects in a museum. The other classes went to the zoo, and it was packed with thousands of little Guatemalan boys and girls on field trips. I was jealous of the other CASAS students, because zoos are just AWESOME. Jealous until I heard that they had essentially been the walking, talking gringo exhibit, openly gawked at by all of the children. Then I was thankful for my nice, quiet museum trip. We are quite a novelty here, with our light hair, light skin, blue eyes, and strange clothes. Add to that the fact that we obviously do not speak Spanish with any degree of fluidity, and we may as well hang a giant flashing sandwich board around our necks, proclaiming “WE ARE FOREIGNERS!!!” Oh well. I don’t really mind the turn-and-stares or the point-and-laughs. It’s all part of the experience, along with the beets and the impenetrable literature and the daily, hourly, minute-by-minute language barriers and blunders. I love it.
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