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Cultural differences are not barriers, which allow the “feast of communication” to become rich. Tags: feast communication ThefourmenaheadandacrossareholdingaloudconversationinArabic.Oneofthemmakesgestureswiththehandmotionsofaflamencodancer, anditisdifficulttotellifheisarguingorjusttellingastory.Onthetable, infrontoftheman, areapackofcigarettesandacardboardboxofopenedSpriteandCocaColacansthatseemtoresistallourlurchingandswaying.Heandhisfriendsweardifferentcolorsofthesamecheapplaid, acommondressI eseenintheorchards.
four men sitting next to me with impunity in Arabic talking about. One of the waving arms, as if dancing gypsy dance in the end they are still in the fight in the story is really elusive. In front of that person on the table, arrayed a pack of cigarettes, there is a box of opened cans of Sprite and Coca-Cola, it seems none of us even think about moving it. He and his friends dressed in a variety of denim clothes, very common in the kind of farm. Icanpretendweareonaship: thereisnothingbutbluewaterontheright, bluewaterthatcouldbeanentireocean, itsskykeener, largerthanourownsummersky, paleandsubduedbetweenmountainranges.ButthenextstopisModesto, wherethemenacross, nodoubt, willgeelectric cigarette rolling machinetoffforafewminutesandstubhalf-smokedcigaretteswhentheconductorcalls.
I think we are in a boat: at my right hand in addition to the blue like the ocean water nothing, the water inside the reflection of the sky, than between the white snow-capped mountains more. But after the next Mohammed Stowe, director told us, we have stamped out cigarette butts to the following to be half minutes. Theblueofthebayisgone.Iwatchthegreenlinesofcrops, thewhite-skinnedeucalyptustrees, thesolitaryoaksmovepastinslowmotion.Arowaheadofthemen, agroupofhighschoolgirlswithglossyhairandspaghettistrapsplaysaclappinggamethatdoesnotseemtoannoytheotherpassengers.ThereisalullintheArabic, andIcanhearachildsinginginSpanishfromacrosstheaisle.
Blue bay disappeared. I saw the neat green fields, with long white bark of eucalyptus, oak Yi Keke begotten, in front of the slow movement. A row of people in front of a group of well-dressed high school girls are playing clapping games, does not seem to disturb other passengers. Then a few Arabs temporarily quiet down, I heard the hallway there is a child singing in Spanish. “Senora,” saysamalevoice. “Wouldyourdaughterlikeasoda?” Thechild mother, aprettygirlindrabpolyester, smileswithoutshowingherteeth, shakesherhead “no.”
A man said: “Madam, your daughter needs of soda water?” That the child mother, wearing a brown synthetic clothes beautiful girl, with no exposed teeth, smiled shook his head. Thenagain, thistimeinSpanish: “Senora, whatisyourdaughter name?”
Spanish man and asked: “Madam, your daughter is called what?” “Mercedes,” thewomananswersandturnsherattentionbacktothelittlegirl, whoiscoloringwithapenonanotepad.Thesunisstartingtoset, turningcloudwispsneonredinthedimminglight. < br />
“Mercedes,” the woman replied, then turned to her daughter, her daughter is painting a pen and notebook. The sun would go down, the corner of the cloud becomes slightly red. “Senora.Whyareyousosad?” IputdownmymagazinetolookbetweenseatsfortheSpanishspeaker.ItistheArabwithflamencohands.Hepronounceshiswordslikeanative, andifitwerenotforhisbodylanguage, hecouldpassforaLatino.InoticehehasagoateeandablueLakerscap.Hiscompanionsdoze.
“Madam, you seem relentless melancholy, what sad thing?” I put down the magazine, looking at sitting in the middle of the Spanish speaker. He is waving arms that seemed to dance gypsy dance Arabs. His pronunciation is very authentic, if not his gestures, just like Latin blurred. I noticed that he keep the goatee, the Lakers with a blue hat. His companion was asleep. “YouspeakSpanish,” thelittlegirl mothersayswithoutevidentsurprise.
Little girl mother said: “You speak Spanish,” but not very surprised. 2>
> “Iam50percentArab, 50percentMexican.”
“I am half Arab and half Mexican.” “Ah.”
“Oh.” “IamPancho.”
“I was Pancho.” “Pancho?” Thewoman politenesshidesherdisbelief. “IsyourmotheroryourfatherfromMexico?”
“Pancho?” the woman courtesy of the hidden her doubts. “Your mother or father is Mexican?” “Ilivedthere.”
“I live in Mexico.” Sheseemstoconsiderthisforawhileandthenasks, “Whereislifemoredifficult?”
She thought for a moment, and asked, “how kind of life there, very different you?” Icannotheartheanswerbecause “Modesto” blaresthroughtheloudspeaker.ThemancalledPanchorouseshissleepingfriends.Astheymoveofftosharetheircigarettepack, theelectricalsystemabruptlyshutsdown, thefluorescenceofsunsetouronlylight.Asuddensilencehasreplacedtheairconditioning whitenoise; itisasifthetrainwereholdingitsbreath.
answer because I did not hear. ” Mohammed Stowe “Station to noisy. The man who called Pancho wake his companions. When they get off to that pack of cigarettes divided, then, a sudden failure of the circuit, only the sun light shining on us. The car suddenly quiet down, the air is full of silent noisy; really a train seems to have held their breath. Whenthelightsfinallyflutteronandthetrainresumesitsownsounds, thewindowsareblack.ApassengermovesdowntograbthevacatedtableacrossfromtheArabs, whoarefilingbackin, smellingofashandsmoke.Theywatchidlyastheotherpassengerinstallsablackinstrumentcase, slapsaSanFranciscoChronicleonhertableandsetsdownafast-foodbag.Sheisinaplaint-shirtanddarkleathervest.Herhairiswhiteandshorn, andshehasthreesilverringsineacheyebrow.
Light finally lit up again, the train resumed the usual noisy, the windows are dark outside the. Occupy a passenger under that several Arabs Teng table, full of smoke. They looked lazy other passengers into a black toolbox on the table and spread a San Francisco Chronicle, put down a bag of fast food. She is wearing an ordinary T-shirt and black leather shirt. Her hair is white, hoop together, around the next three silver eyebrows. Thetrain gainingmomentumrocksusallintosilence. Idozeafewmilesbeforeregisteringthevoiceofthewomanwithaninstrumentcase.
Train suddenly accelerated when we quiet down. That put a black woman to speak before the toolbox, I slept for a while. “Punkrock.Mystepson theleadsinger.”
“Punk band and my stepson is that they take the lead” “Ohyeah? Iplaytoo.” ItisPancho voiceagain, thistimeinanelasticEnglish: hesoundsalmostAmerican.
“Oh really? I was in this band.” Pancho voice rang, this is fluent in English; he sounds like the Americans. “Acousticorclassical?” Sheasks.Iwondertomyselfifthosearediscreetcategories.
“Classical acoustic instruments or instrument?” She asked. I secretly wondered what these two instruments in the end the difference. “IplaywithBuckOwens.”
“I told BuckOwens playing together.” “Bullshit.”
“Cut the crap of it.” ThehighschoolgirlshavestoppedtheirclappinggameandarepretendingtospeakinSpanishbetweenlaughingfits.TheMexicanmotherispatientlybraidingherlittlegirl hair.TheArableansover, flickstheedgeofthepunkrockmusician openedChronicle.
that several high school girls playing clapping games quite down, try to say that while Spanish. Mexican mother patiently compiled daughter hair. That Arabs leaned over the body, gently pull open the punk musician goes San Francisco Chronicle. “CanIseethesportssection? IhavetoknowabouttheLakers.”
“Let me see sports column? I want to know the Lakers news.” “YouneedtowaituntilI done,” shesays, notraisingherhead.
“When I read it.” she said, did not lift head. “Man, that messedup,” hemutters.Thewomanstartshumming.
“Really.” He whispered complaints. The woman started to whisper singing. OutsidetheValleyisinvisible.Icannotseethefarms, thesteepcanals, thetrailers, thethemutedgoldofdrystretches.Ihavespentthedayinafabledplacemoredistantthanatrainrideaway, awell-litworldunderabrightersky, withNobelLaureateparkingspacesandcatacombslinedwithbooks.DistendingmybackpackisathickfolderwithascheduleforOrientationsessionsonacademics, financialaid, tours, andaperiodentitled, “Conviviality.” Whathappensinthattimeslot, peopletherewondered: apanelondormlife, clubs, drinkingoncampus?
Valley outside can not see anything. I can not see the farm, steep cliffs, tractors, and finally the golden twilight gradually disappeared. I have the place to go than the train isred dragon electronic cigarette far spent a day in the illusion, under a blue sky and the land well, Nobel Prize winner in the parking spaces and hidden books of the ancient tomb. My backpack was a lot of calendar entries bristle, meeting schedules, meeting minutes, financial aid, travel, and awards “banquet.” At that time, people are curious: party in the apartment, club, school or reception? 3>
here enter translation “Iwasmajoringinlaw, gettingadoctorateinlawatStanislausState,” themusicianistellingPancho.Henods.Thenshehandshimaphotograph.
“My major was the law, states get a doctorate in StanislausState, “That musician told Pancho. He nodded, and handed him a photograph musicians. “Theireyesare -”.
“This side is -” “Myex-helectronic cigarette health concernsusband Japanese,” sheexplains. “He justaspermdonor.”
“This is my ex-husband, he is Japanese, “she said. “He is a sperm donor.” “Asperm -”
“a sperm -” “Igotanicelady.”
“I have a good wife.” “Youlivetogether? “
” You live with it? “” Wethoughtaboutgettingmarried.Youthinkit belegalinCalifornia, butthere toomuchchaosintheBayArea … toomuchstigma ….”< br />
“We thought about marriage. You might think this is legal in California, but in the San Francisco Bay Area would be too difficult to accept the shame of the … … too … … “” There abarinBakersfield. Man, thatplaceispacked! “saysPancho.
” This is Bakersfield. You see, this place is the construction of nice 1 Pancho said. “Idon goforthatshit.”
“I will not go to the garbage somewhere. “IlookbackdownatanarticleinElAndar.IboughttheLatinomagazinelastweekataValleybookstore; itscoverphotoisoneofapairofeyesstaringthrougharectanglecutinblackfabric.WhenIwaspayingforthemagazine, ablondgirlbehindthebankofregisterspointedtothecoverwithinterest.ShefounditamazingthatwomenintheMiddleEastcouldlivewiththeirfacescovered.That actuallySubcomandanteMarcos, Ipointedout.Yeah, shewenton, addressinghercustomer, it justsoincrediblethatthesewomeninsistonbeinghiddennomatterhowmuchyoumighttrytohelpthem. Iguessit justhowyou eraised, sheshrugged.Thecustomer, takinghercreditcard, noddedknowingly: youjustcan imposeyourcultureonotherpeoples.

I played a ElAndar hard to see the article on my last week in a bookstore to buy this lowland Latin magazine; cover image is kept in a rectangular black veil of a pair of eyes when I bought this Journal of pay, a brown-haired girl behind the counter pointed to a very interesting picture on the cover askew, her veiled Middle Eastern woman living was surprised I said that is the deputy commander Marcos. Yes, She walked over to greet her customers, and unbelievable, no matter how hard you try to help those women, they still insist on veiled life is so I guess they grew up, she shrugged. that the customer, took her credit cards, thoughtfully nodded: you can not impose their own to ask for other people. TheyoungMexicanmotherisbucklingsandalsonherlittledaughter feet, smoothingdownherclothesastheloudspeakercomesalive.TheArabcalledPancholookspointedlyathiscompanions, whosit, weary, noncommital, suppressingsmiles.Thepunkrockmusicianishummingagainoverhernewspaper.Nowandthenshereadsawordoutloud.

the young Mexican mother daughter sandals off, finishing her clothes, but those loud noisy people back to life. that the Arabs looked Pancho, loudly called him, Pancho was sitting there, tired, confused , and a slight smile. Then again, that noise up punk musicians she read the newspapers from time to time if the student officer Thetracks rregularitiesaremorepronouncedasweslow. IzipElAndarinmypurseandstandtoslingonthebackpack, avoidingeyecontact, spottingonthefloorafewextraOrientationhand-outswiththeday scheduleofsessions. Irememberthatattheendofoneofthosesessions, astudentcounselorwithatonguestudsatonatabletakingquestions.Sheconfessedthatthe “Conviviality” segmentonouritinerarywasamysterytocounselorsandparticipantsalike. “Noneofusknewwhatitmeant,” sheadmitted.But “Conviviality,” sheexplained, is “justascheduledsocialtime”-anopportunityforpeopletomeetandtalk.Someonefromout-of-statehadtoldherthatdaythat “conviviality” iscommonlyheardwhereshelives. “I emovedallaroundCaliforniamywholelife,” saidthecounselor, “andI eneverusedit.”
collision of trains and tracks sound more and more school I ElAndar in my bag and stood up to bring my backpack to avoid eye contact with others, accurately set foot on the meeting agenda. I remember journey coming to an end when a student officer to attend a question and she frankly, our journey in the “feast of communication” part of the organizers and participants is a difficult thing to understand. “None of us do not know what it means, “she admitted, but” banquet feast of communication, “she explains, is” an arrangement of social time “— a person to meet and talk with other opportunities, and one day one of the other states who told him “dinner” in her very ordinary place to live. “My life is spent around in California,” the officer said, “and it is not my habit. “