Roomies

We had a lot of bets going about my two Venezuelan roommates, Cesar and Tadeo, before I came to Panama. I didn’t really know what to expect. My contact at the university set us up a few weeks before I arrived, and I signed on to live with these guys in a two-bedroom, one bath apartment for a year, sight unseen. Fortunately, I lost all those bets, and my worst fears never came true.

They’re both normal, Latin American Idol-loving Venezuelans who don’t mind sharing everything, like… my toothbrush and shower soap. They feel quite comfortable with me and don’t feel the least bit shy about hanging out all day in their tightie whities. We tenderly refer to each other as “juevon,” the Spanish version of jackass. I've quickly learned that locker room talk transcends any cultural barriers, and dirty words provide instant entertainment as they roll off a foreign tongue. My Spanish my still be rusty, but after intense training from my roommates, I can talk perversely in about 15 different Spanish ways. Whatever bridges that cultural gap, right?



Although we’ve got a few cultural differences, we get along famously. It just might be due to the bonding power of the country’s national fermented sugar cane drink – seco. That stuff is awful. I could probably use it to degrease my car or at least clean out a drain. It must be brewed in the pits of Hades, because this devil juice is fierce. But it does taste surprisingly delicious with just the right amount of tonic and lime.

The guys are great cooks and make fresh food every day. It’s like I’ve got my own personal chefs. My hearty contribution is washing the dishes and taking out the occasional trash. I’m actually learning a lot from these guys- like how to make coffee with a pair of fine pantyhose, preferably unused. Today, I made my first empanada, a tasty deep-fried Latin Hot Pocket. Yum.