après moi le déluge

Welp, I told them. And it wasn’t as hard as I thought. Well, it was hard, but their reaction wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The only one that interrogated me was my roommate, but the teachers were totally understanding. I even cried a tiny little tear at the colegio (primary school).

And now, as I sit here in the colegio computer room next to about eight buckets slowly filling with rainwater that is dripping through the roof, I realize that my leaving is for the best, since if this rain continues at this rate, there won’t be a La Puerta de Segura anymore. Ok, so that is probably not true, but I did walk down to the river again yesterday to see how the flood possibilities were looking, and let’s just say that water was WAY higher than before. And all the goats and mules and horses that normally roam around the side of it were gone. And the water was pure mud brown. They were saying on the news that the water in many villages in Jaén is now unsafe to drink because so much mud and dirt and other unsavory things have floated into the rivers that they are having to truck fresh water in. I have not seen any of these trucks so instead I bought two liters of tropical fruit juice and have not touched the water.

They also said that this season has already brought more than double the rainfall of last winter, and according to the people who I talked to at the beginning of my time here, last winter was one of the wettest on record. That explains why my room in Baeza, the classroom I am sitting in now, and the bathroom in my La Puerta piso are all covered in awful, disgusting mold. I told my landlady about it in Baeza and she said it is normal (it is NOT normal, it is really awful), and that I should just buy some bleach and clean it. Ok. In La Puerta, our amazing landlord Jose came over and had it cleaned off immediately. He is like 5498 years old. He used to be a carpenter so he also fixed our broken brasero. He is great.

Anyways, I feel like I am abandoning La Puerta to its fate of being swept away in a terrifying, brown, swirling flood, filled with an assortment of goats, pieces of moldy apartments, and olive harvesting machinery. I don’t wish it any harm, in fact I wish it the best of luck, but I can’t say that I am super sad that I won’t have to walk a mile every day in this weather anymore, or that I won’t have to worry about my ceiling leaking (fingers crossed), or that the metro is UNDERGROUND where the rain can’t hit it. Today is the last Friday I will ever spend in La Puerta. This weekend is my last in Baeza, and Tuesday marks the start of my very last week of being an auxiliar. More to come.

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