Hello sloth in the tree.
In our visit to Okinawa last week I left with an eerie sense that it might be a little too posh for comfort. We will have a four room house to ourselves, complete with a flush toilet, shower (no hot water, but it’s generally 95 outside and humid as roasted peanuts), and water that runs 24 hours a day. And get this, you can drink it straight from the tap (yee who have been to Latin America knows how extraordinary this is). All the fruits and veggies, socks and undies, coffee and milk, and other basic things we’ll need are available in one of the many small stores around town. There’s a cute, clean park in the central plaza, a well organized water co-op we’ll work with, three good schools, sunny skies (except during rainy season when our house will likely flood), a public pool, cell phone coverage, a beautiful baseball diamond, and a competitive round of croquet at four every afternoon. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind when we signed up for two years of service in a developing country.
Some of our good friends will be living up in the altiplano, which is cold and barren and beautiful and dry and practically devoid of life outside of the small towns that dot the vast landscape. In the stores there you’ll find beer, toilet paper (on a good month), and rice. It’s a four hour bus ride to the nearest vegetable (remove any thoughts of traveling on a greyhound, it ain’t a cushy ride). Some will have running water, some will have water on Mondays and Thursdays from four to six in the afternoon (but don’t count on it), some will have electricity, some will be reading by candlelight, some will bathe in buckets, one has a mile long walk to the nearest toilet. That’s more like it.
I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky, but I feel like we got a site that someone else would die for. Despite the rugged image it has, the Peace Corps draws a surprising number of preppies, snappy dressers, and those who depend on hairdryers. The picture I had more in mind was of me and Tom deep in the jungle or high in the altiplano, shaggy haired and dirty, eating potatoes straight from the fire and sharing some local moonshine with our neighbor inside his hut. Looks like we’ll have to settle for the deluxe side of the developing world. I guess when we’re done with the Peace Corps we can seek out a more rustic life.
Some of our good friends will be living up in the altiplano, which is cold and barren and beautiful and dry and practically devoid of life outside of the small towns that dot the vast landscape. In the stores there you’ll find beer, toilet paper (on a good month), and rice. It’s a four hour bus ride to the nearest vegetable (remove any thoughts of traveling on a greyhound, it ain’t a cushy ride). Some will have running water, some will have water on Mondays and Thursdays from four to six in the afternoon (but don’t count on it), some will have electricity, some will be reading by candlelight, some will bathe in buckets, one has a mile long walk to the nearest toilet. That’s more like it.
I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky, but I feel like we got a site that someone else would die for. Despite the rugged image it has, the Peace Corps draws a surprising number of preppies, snappy dressers, and those who depend on hairdryers. The picture I had more in mind was of me and Tom deep in the jungle or high in the altiplano, shaggy haired and dirty, eating potatoes straight from the fire and sharing some local moonshine with our neighbor inside his hut. Looks like we’ll have to settle for the deluxe side of the developing world. I guess when we’re done with the Peace Corps we can seek out a more rustic life.
Okinawa's baseball fields.
Family of four on a motorcycle in Okinawa. Don't judge, it's totally normal.
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