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The homestays at Santa Marta were a great observational experience for me. My limited spanish rendered me a spectator, as our host father directed all of his comments and attention to Will, who was kind enough to throw me the occasional bone. Will tried to tell a stupid english joke in spanish, and it was even stipider, so nobody laughed. I just covered my face and layed on my stomach in the corner. My gullet loves having twenty-eight pounds of yucca trucked down it, and was sad when it found out that it won’t be gettting more for a while. I still have a lot of questions about Santa Marta and life in the Campo in general, so hopefully Marc can throw me a bone, or something. Regardless of what any of the whiners say, we are all better off because of our recent experiences.

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