"I moved to Texas, and all I got was type-2 diabetes"

Woah, Texas is huge. Seriously huge. Not just the sheer size of it, but everything within it too! The sky. The pigeons. The people. The food. The charm.

Who knew I’d love Texas so much? The deeper in I got, the more carnivorous I felt. By day two, I lost any sort of vegetarian repulsion I had for chicken and dove into a plate full of enchiladas verde. Yum. I see signs for meat everywhere—homes converted into deer processing stations, steak houses on every corner and punctuating the highways like mile markers (not to mention McDonald’s and Sonic as well), cows and sheep out grazing in pasture, and signs for barbacoa, chicharron, and caldo de res.

The drive, though incredibly long, was surprisingly beautiful. I had no idea how green Texas was. I’d pictured a giant dust bowl with tumble weeds blowing by. I remembered something of the sort from a fall trip during my childhood, but it appears to be a whole new world in the springtime. There were also the oddities that only an American roadtrip can supply, such as “Safari” parks, roadside chapels, cowboy supply stores or “emporiums,” saddle and boot repair shops, and factories wrapped in giant star-spangled banners. Tractors rested in the bright yellow and green prairie, and bluffs gently enclosed the roads. There were windmills in vast rain-filled fields and creeks with names like Potato and Pecan.

I arrived in Weslaco last night around 8:30. I spent the night before in San Antonio with Jill, which was wonderful as can be expected. We dined on breakfast tacos at a 24hr Mexican restaurant after my 15 hours of driving that day.
Weslaco is a lot bigger than I expected and I’m actually feeling very at home…whatever the hell that means at this point. It honestly feels like another country though down here, 10 miles from the border. It’s basically Mexico, but with a distinctive Texan "qual-ty."

The clinic feels a lot like the clinic in Bali. There’s the minimally stocked clinic next to the giant communal kitchen and the staff dorms. There are chickens, and cats and a dog. And though it has a very communal feeling, it also feels lonely. Once the lights go out, people stick to themselves, and there’s no tv or internet to keep you company. (That’s a lie: there is, but not in the capacity of most American homes, were it serves as the great adult after dinner activity/babysitter). The place used to be full of nuns I’m told, but they’ve all left. Currently there is an LPN, a PhD student, and the midwife/director’s son who are living here. However after next week, it’ll just be me and the 19 year old son. The midwife lives down the road, the other RN lives in town, as do the administrative and cleaning staff.

It’s so hot that I have no desire to leave the little compound, and I’ll admit I’m a little intimidated by the strange town. Hopefully I'll become more acclimated soon, and venture out by bicycle. I brought her all the way out here, and I'll be damned if I don't load up my little red basket with fresh corn tortillas and have myself a little picnic!