Morning. Rehoboth Beach. I'm dying for some coffee! Dew has formed under our trailer, and Ira is lounging on one of the sleeping bags we got with the trailer, staring at the dew drops. Rural, natural bliss!
There are several streets of trailers here, and it's clear some people spend the whole summer, or even the whole year, here. The trailers themselves have full-blown verandas attached—what they call a patio—with roofs over them and mosquito nets instead of walls. I mean, they're full-fledged houses, not just trailers. After all, it's cheaper than living in a hotel all summer!
Although, by the looks of it, this isn't typical for Rehoboth. Along the main road, which is always packed in the summer, there are real hotels—not small motels or rental cottages. On the way to the beach, there aren't old wooden houses with shops selling beach umbrellas and beer, but rather quite urban-looking, albeit slightly toy-like, boutiques, cafes, and restaurants. And if you walk here in the evening, you might run into people in evening gowns—or so we were told—because this is practically the most fashionable resort on this part of the coast.
We didn't see any of that, though: it was pouring rain. The day passed without further adventures with law enforcement. And we ended up, of all places, in a church. (Maybe we were supposed to repent for the day's previous sins?)
The thing is, in some local churches, international students are fed for free at least 4 times a week. Four churches participate in this project, and each hosts such a lunch weekly. It's mostly elderly folks who decided that students need a little looking after, since they'll be going back home and sharing their impressions of America. Also, about 4 years ago, they noticed that people were trying to squeeze money out of students in every way possible: for taxis, mobile phones, and substandard housing. So they thought they should cheer them up and keep an eye on them. That's why they invite them over once a week to feed them boiled corn, salads, and delicious homemade cakes and pies. And they don't follow any religious program: they hope that good deeds will inspire students to do good, but they don't force them to pray, or even suggest it.
In general, it all looks like an American school cafeteria—or even a cafeteria during some kind of school holiday or party. There are long plastic tables with gray rubber covers. Behind them, attractive young people—tanned, made up, and dressed quite decently (which is why it looks like a party)—are sitting, laughing, and flirting. True, on the walls there are, of course, notices like "this week in Sunday school," and on the sides, on similar long tables, there are children's crafts—a paper church with a big cross; a stained-glass window colored with markers. But the building itself surprised us—well, me less, but Juris and Lena—a lot: a huge wooden barn in the middle of a parking lot, not decorated with a cross or any other symbolism. (The church was Lutheran and, by the way, was called: Lutheran Church of Our Savior.)
Apparently, this Rehoboth Beach can afford free lunches for 150 people every week. (Yesterday, there were about 30-40 students, but the program organizer, who also hands out bicycles to those arriving for the summer, says that this year all three churches serve about 150 students a week. Last year there were twice as many, but due to the financial crisis, fewer J-1 Visa holders came to town this year.)
