Barefoot

The rainy season means one thing for me. Mud. Fat raindrops on the tin roof are a nice thing to fall asleep to, though. Loud, but nice. I don't know how the Peruvians do it, but somehow they manage to walk through the mud in little flimsy flip flops with grace. Their feet are hardly ever dirty when they arrive at their destination. And they most definitely don't wave and flap their arms around trying to catch their balance in the slippery goo. I, on the other hand, without fail, always have muddy feet and am always slipping and sliding my way through the life of the rainy season.
Today, for instance, I went to the market with Stephanie and Rachel. We went to a market that I had never been to before. It was right next to the soccer stadium, Bella Vista. We go there because it's cheaper than Mercado 2, I was told. It was a huge market. Filled with stands upon stands of fruit, vegetables, bras, mayonaise, whatever you could possibly want. I wish markets in the States could be more like that. A mishmash of everything together. And cheap. I don't know of anywhere in Phoenix where I can get 40 oranges for $2.50. Anyways, this market, although cheap, is extremely dirty. I felt like I was wearing suction cups on my feet. Just sucking my way through the vegetable stands. I almost almost got run over by a motokar. It's really hard to try to run out of the way of a quickly approaching motorcycle with suction cups on your feet and 11 kilos of rice and beans and flour on your back.
The best way, I have learned, is just to take your shoes off. Yeah, the mud is dirty. Probably filled with parasites and worms, but for me at least, there is no other way. Besides, I like the squishy feeling and skin is 100% waterproof. Good going, God.