*''Cold'' Spell*

Santa Cruz got a taste of winter last week. We woke up under cloudy skies, and huddled under the bed sheet and blankets we had grabbed at three am. We were careful to not let our bare feet touch cold tile floors, and our morning showers were cascades of hot water (as opposed to the normally cool and refreshing). We wore our hair down for the first time in months, because it was the first time in months our necks weren't sticky with sweat. We forsook our school uniform of mini skirts and light cotton button-ups for jeans or sweat pants, sweaters, scarves, and gloves. We bought hot chocolate from the school snack stores instead of soda. We turned off the air conditioners and closed the windows. We wore socks and real pajamas at night. We couldn't see our breath. It was sixty degrees.

Perspective is required to understand this insanity. Really, the thought of a northerner such as myself freezing at sixty is absurd. We exchange students mourn our loss of cold tolerance. We are from Alaska, Washington, Minnesota, and Michigan. Santa Cruz's ''cold'' spell was nothing, or should have been. We are outdoorsy, and love skiing, ice-skating, and sailing on the frigid days of winter in the States. Now my Bolivian friends laugh at the gringa who was just as cold as them last week. I’ve been here for nine months, so it makes sense that I’ve become accustomed to the heat. When it drops twenty degrees practically overnight, of course I feel it. I’ve thought back to the beginning of the year when there were a couple chilly days here and there. I had laughed at the Bolivians huddling to conserve body heat at recess. Now I’m just like them.

I won't go as far as to say temperature is merely an illusion, but how you think about it does make a difference. The other night I was talking to my dad on the phone and mentioned the weather. I hinted that when he and Brittany visit Bolivia in June, it will be officially winter, and time spent pool-side might be put to better use at the theatre with a sweatshirt. He caught me off-guard with his frank answer: ''Erika, it's forty-three outside right now. Sixty is not cold.'' I thought back to summer in Sitka. Any day a coat is not required is nice. Any day in just a light jacket is warm. Any day in a tee-shirt is ''Pack your swimsuits; we're going to Sandy Beach!'' In comparison, the rules in Santa Cruz are that any day you can wear your hair down is nice. Any day you wear jeans is comfortable. Any day you wear long sleeves or a sweater is chilly. Any day there are actually blankets on your bed is cold. I don't know of anyone back home that doesn't sleep with blankets.

I'm a little bit worried about going home and freezing. It’s a bit daunting to return to a place where I can wear my favorite shorts maybe four times a year. On the flip side, I may have to have a little reunion dress up party with myself and my winter closet. I’m hesitantly thinking forward to frost and snow. What will get me the worst? I have a feeling those sneaky sunny days that come wrapped in cool temperatures will disarm me entirely. I may just be found someday frozen to my deck while attempting to sunbathe. But humans adapt, and I think that soon as I slip on one of my old green sweaters I'll go back to my normal, cold-tolerant self and be able to swim when it's sixty degrees out.