José Can You See?

Nothing beats being a displaced American on the anniversary of your country’s independence. And certainly nothing can beat forty displaced Americans together in the Chaco of Bolivia, forty American Peace Corps Volunteers who took an oinking pig and made it their dinner, who woke up in the early morn to squirt milk from the teat of a cow and mix it with moonshine, who dressed in red, white, and blue, barbequed, played wiffle ball, built a bonfire, put on a fireworks show, and sang the national anthem loudly and obnoxiously in the middle of Machareti, Bolivia, population 400 (or something like that.)

How do you describe that sense of pride coursing through your veins as you sing the Star Spangled Banner for the third time that day, with an American flag (albeit with only 48 stars) hanging behind the beautiful pig who sacrificed his life so a bunch of Volunteers could celebrate their love and pride for their country? Never have I enjoyed the 4^th of July as much as I enjoyed my first one in Bolivia.

All my life I have been acutely aware of the fact that though I am American, I am Asian- American. Vietnamese- American, to be exact. I’ve always realized that my cultural background has certainly had a strong influence. After all, how American American could I be? I attended the #1 party school and never drank one beer. Never played beer pong or flip cup or bonged a beer. Not that it makes you American or not, but I also didn’t like hotdogs, hated mustard, and I don’t play cards. I don’t like watching football or baseball or basketball. Guess I don’t fall into the stereotype. Up until now, I had never even noticed. After all, I am Asian-American. That’s my excuse.

For the first time in my life though, I realized that here in Bolivia I have stopped identifying myself that way. Here, I am American. Period. Only with a little prodding do I give up the fact that I am “decendencia Vietnamita.” Growing up in the U.S. has shaped the person who I am today, and though I may not fit the stereotypes, I’m American. And proud of it.

Hope you all in Gringolandia had a fabulous fourth as well.

Sr. Chancho enjoying his last moments here on this earth

No one wants pork with hair on it

Paying homage to the homeland. And of course, Gracias Chancho, for giving yourself to us on a very special day.

A recap from the wonderful host (and my not-so-secret crush):

¨I'd like to thank you all for coming and contributing to the best 4^th of July celebration in Machareti's history (and my life). We drank over 300 beers and 25 bottles of wine, over 10 kilos of cow and one whole pig, 50 sausages and 50 bagels, and we broke the record for most Gringos drinking rubbing alcohol and milk in a Chaqeño corral. My family was beyond impressed with the belly dance (gracias kasia!) and fire-on-the-end-of-the-bally-string-thing fire show (gracias britta!). And I've been informed by multiple community members that we were successful in waking up at least half the town with Ben's Amazing Fireworks Show, some saying it was the best show they've ever seen. So, needless to say, this is something that I'll never forget and that the Machareteños will be talking about for years to come.¨

I heart Gringolandia.