Mee Nah-may ees Keemberlee: English Teacher Extraordinaire

And that’s a wrap. Today marked the last day of classes before the two-month vacation here in San Miguel, and all the kids are singing, “School’s Out for Summer!” Although it’s technically summertime in the southern hemisphere and thus the country of Peru, the temperature here in the mountains begs to differ. It’s cold. It’s rainy. Worst of all, nobody wants to do anything that requires leaving the house. Fortunately I’ve been incredibly busy over the last few weeks, with finishing up classes, making up exams, printing certificates (have I mentioned before how much Peruvians LOVE certificates? In the United States, we usually trash them before you can say, “waste of paper,” but here they go nuts for them. Even the most useless certificate will be cherished and undoubtedly given a place of honor on the living room wall, between the thirteen free calendars and the beer posters with naked women on them). I have to admit that I was rather nervous about how my students would fare on their exams; after all, I’ve never done this before. What if they all flunk? Would that make me a failure as a teacher? Will the whole town realize that I’m a fraud, have no actual teaching credentials, and perhaps even stop calling me “professora”? Noooooo… anything but that! To try and preclude this potential catastrophe, I had no less than four review sessions for my Computer and English classes. Overkill? Perhaps. Regardless, everything turned out to be a smashing success. Now is my time to play the role of proud mama and pull out my brag-book… in the form of my students’ progress reports:

Computer Class, Beginner Level: I am particularly pleased with the progress of my beginner Computer students. The majority of these kids* had never touched a keyboard before, neither could they turn on a computer. We now laugh at those days, as they whip that mouse around double-clicking icons like there’s no tomorrow.

Computer Class, Intermediate Level: Most of my students fell into this category. We focused mainly on typing skills, using an awesome typing program that another Volunteer leant me. Although it was designed to let one work independently, I had to intervene (aka: hover uncomfortably) constantly. At certain moments, I thought I would rip my hair out if I once more uttered the words, “LA FILA CENTRAL! LA FILA CENTRAL!” (“center row”). In the end, however, all of the kids in this group got through the alphabet… some can even type numbers on the keyboard without looking. Boo-yeah!

Computer Class, Advanced Level: Even I was impressed with the skills of some of these students. I have a sneaking suspicion it came from booking long hours in the Internet Café, playing Dungeon Quest or updating their HighFive Accounts (Peruvian version of Facebook), but at least they kept me on my toes. They wanted to learn PowerPoint… so I made them start with Word and Excel first. They ended up mastering all three within a matter of weeks. My favorite part of the class was when the Director of the Institute asked if I could help them with a special project. They were holding a contest where each student had to create a new product, to be judged on taste, appearance, creativity and use of ingredients indigenous to the region of Cajamarca. The “appearance” category is where I came in. Using their newly acquired Word skills, I helped them come up with their own unique product labels for their products. As you can imagine, there was a lot of clip art involved. Lots and lots of clip art. In fact, I think my main job was to try and impart the idea that sometimes less is more. Being Peruvian by birth, this was a difficult concept for them to grasp. I apologize for the over-generalization, but I believe most Peruvians live by the mantra: when in doubt, go ostentatious. And they did. But in the end, they were proud of their works of art, and more importantly… Bill Gates would shed a tear if he could see how they maneuver Microsoft Office like professionals.

English Class: I didn’t break up the English class into skill levels, which was a mistake on my part. It certainly made things interesting though. I had kids who had never spoken a word of English sitting next to Professors from the Institute, who could already conjugate regular and irregular verbs. Oops! Anyhow, I tried my best, and kept it loose. The result was four of my favorite hours out of the week… and it wasn’t just because I got a sardonic kick out of hearing them butcher English pronunciation (although I must admit I did have an internal chuckle or two when they attempted words like, “purple” and “refrigerator”). They most enjoyed learning songs, so I incorporated several of my favorites into the lesson planning. Although they were nervous beyond belief to take the Exam, I am happy to say that they all did surprisingly well. They are not, by any stretch of the Peace Corps Volunteer’s imagination, proficient in the English language, but they can count, greet a stranger, tell time, etc. Not to mention sing every word to many a Bryan Adams, Alanis Morissette and Eric Clapton song. So I guess my work here is done… just in time to enjoy the rainy season!

*I say kids, but the students range in age from about 17 to early 20’s. The Institute where I teach is for poorer kids, who cannot afford University after High School. They also accept some students who weren’t able to finish High School for financial reasons. It is free to attend, and stays funded through aid from the government of Cajamarca and through sales of their products. The students learn the entire process of making dairy goods (cheese, yogurt, etc.), all the way from raising the cows to packaging and selling the final good. Their sales strategy is far from advanced, so I am also helping them with a Marketing plan. Anybody wanna buy some cheese?

You’ve all been patient and (hopefully) read this entire entry, so I’ll now deliver what you’ve all been waiting for. Pictures! Here are a few relating to my classes… and a few thrown in just for the heck of it. Buen provecho!

A couple of my advanced Computer Class students slaving away...




One of the finished products; notice the clip art AND word art. Get it!!

More of the students' fine work

My English Class... pens a'flying to take notes!

My English class, playing a game of "Simon Says" to practice body parts.

The teacher becomes the scholar... they say I milk like a first-year student. I'm going to take that as a compliment.

Random Photo #1: The other day I awoke to this. My family hired some guy to come plow up our garden to prepare for the corn harvest. Who needs a tractor??

Random Photo #2: The only power outlet I have in my room finally kicked the bucket. I cannot imagine why it stopped working...

Día de Gracias

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

I know that I just updated the blog a couple of days ago, but this is a special edition for a special day. This will mark the first time I have spent Thanksgiving outside of the great U.S. of A. It’s a tough one, considering A#1: Thanksgiving is just about the most American holiday out there (save Fourth of July, but with all due respect to our Nation’s Birthday… it doesn’t have pumpkin pie); and B#2: This is without a doubt my favorite of the holidays. I love it mainly because it is all about the food. No flash, no flair, just food. Plus it has a sort of understated dignity; it doesn’t even complain when radio stations start playing Christmas carols the first of November… although I certainly do. So to pay homage to the best day on the calendar, I decided to stop harping on all of the things that I cannot get here in San Miguel (mail, hot water, cold beverages, etc.) and give thanks for all that we do have. Here goes; top things that I’m grateful for this year:

Disclaimer: This list excludes the obvious blessings: great town, awesome host family, fulfilling vocation, lack of weird/uncomfortable disease to date. These are the more overlooked, though equally important, blessings.

6. Flannel sheets. As I kid, my mom always tried to push flannel sheets on us, claiming they were, “so warm and comfy!” I hated them; no matter what, I’d end up in a pool of my own sweat. When the Bon offered to mail a set to me here, I accepted out of desperation (add “no heat” to the list of do-not-haves), although I was incredulous that I would actually use them. Oh how wrong I was! These sheets have totally redeemed themselves, and are now the best thing since sliced bread (oops, we don’t have that here either). Not only do they keep me nice and toasty all night, but I miraculously haven’t had bed bugs since their arrival. Just don’t ask me how many times I’ve washed them….

5. My thick foreign accent. This is going to sound really awful, but being from the United States opens A LOT of doors in Peru. I have dark hair, so I can sometimes blend in the crowd, but as soon as I open my mouth to speak, all heads turn. This allows me to basically get whatever I want, as people think I know things. My favorite example of this is when a group of us went to our first Grupo Cinco concert in Cajamarca. Grupo Cinco is probably the most famous band in Peru… pure Cumbia… pure fun. Anyhow, we paid for the cheapest tickets available, then sauntered up to the guards in the VIP section and said we were foreign journalists. Yes, yes, of course. Come right in foreign journalists. Boom… just like that. As I said, literally opens doors.

4. Cheerleaders. I’ve heard so many complaints from my Volunteer friends living in coastal towns about the constant cat-calls from guys. This is especially true when they go running. Although I do get the occasional harassment, my mountain-dwelling neighbors are pretty polite. I run 4 or 5 times per week, and I run into quite a few country folk along the way. At first they were extremely confused as to what I was running from. The idea of running for enjoyment and exercise doesn’t exactly resonate with people who walk four miles, uphill, barefoot and with 60 lbs. of rice on their backs to sell in town. After awhile, however, they started to get the idea, and now they actually cheer me on. I get anything from “Run, gringa, run, you can do it!” to “don’t stop skinny girl, you’re almost up that hill!” Talk about motivation; I can’t let me adoring fans down! I just might reach that marathon goal after all.

3. My electric kettle. If you’ve never had the joy of owning one, you may think it just a device that boils water. But it has become oh-so-much more than that to me. I purchased it on my first day in site, and never regretted the $12 decision. It boils water for my safe consumption, prepares the essential element for my bucket bath, steams the wrinkles out of my clothes and even cooks the perfect hard-boiled egg for snack-time (teaser: this involves panty hose and an old toothbrush). I know I sound like Vince Shlomi, trying to push the Sham Wow on you… but seriously. This thing is amazing.

2. The guinea pig colony in my kitchen. My feelings toward the guinea pigs living on my kitchen floor have gone full circle: from humor, to annoyance, to absolute amusement. I have come to adore my furry companions, as they offer non-stop entertainment during my meals… sort of like dinner theatre. You never know what those little rascals will be up to. I don’t think I’ll ever truly enjoy lunch again unless I’m watching two baby guinea pigs fighting over a banana peel.

1. Support Network. This is technically a tie. I am so fortunate to be surrounded by the greatest group of people serving as Volunteers here in Peru. Thanks to them, and to the free inter-network calls that we all have, I manage to stay sane. I also rely on the emails, cards, letters and packages that I receive from friends and family back home. They all mean more to me than you will ever know. So for those of you keeping me afloat here in Peru and State-side, I am forever grateful. Happy Thanksgiving / Feliz Dia de Gracias to you all!!

Gettin' Down, Graveside

Well hello there! Sorry about the long absence; I never would’ve thought it possible, but I’ve actually been too busy working to write (well that, and the Internet guy in town didn’t pay the bill last month, so we were cut off for awhile). This past week marked the big Artisan Fair at the U.S. Embassy, and preparations were quite the ordeal. I took two members of my artisan group, and deciding on the lucky lady was not easy. I tried to present it to them as a great opportunity for traveling to the big city, meeting new people and seeing the inside of the great United States Embassy. They see it as being forced to exit their homes during the rainy season, travel on a crowded bus for 20 hours and stay in one of the dirtiest cities this side of the equator. So we did what any highly structured organization would do: we drew straws. That was just the first of many struggles, along with deciding on how to get there, where to stay, what to bring, how to price the products, etc. etc. etc. The very night before the trip I found myself in their workshop, knee-deep in scarves, tying on price tags until my fingers were numb. I know that I have always had a problem with procrastination, but these ladies make me look like a Type-A control freak. I was 97% sure that they wouldn’t show up at all and I’d be stuck there looking the fool. They certainly surprised me, however, and the preparations more than paid off. They sold more than anybody else, doubling the sales of the next closest group. Boo-yeah! Okay, I’ll stop bragging on them now, but I’m just proud as pie.

Other than the Artisan Fair, my life has been a hodge-podge of random activities these last few weeks. Because it has been so long since my last entry (and because I have a poor short-term memory), I’ll just try to feature some of the most notable occurrences.

PARTIES: As it turns out, San Miguel is not in complete and total hibernation… yet. As the rainy season descends upon us, my town seems determined to squeeze in all the partying they can before bad weather forces us all into a routine of eat, nap, eat, nap… ad nauseum. The parties are obviously, and quite necessarily, much smaller than the 17 day blow-out that I experienced back in September. They are usually just one or two days of gettin’ down, and I never know when to expect them. All of a sudden a marching band will appear, slinging its brassy tunes into the San Miguel air. The worst is when they show up at Mass. They somehow manage to sneak into the back after we are all seated, then scare the hell out of everyone (no pun intended) as they strike up at full volume. Okay, I guess they just scare me. The rest of the town seems to know instinctively when these events are set to occur, though they all fail to mention it to the gringa. All I can do is go with the flow, as I’m carried out onto the plaza by the rest of the congregation. Sometimes we march a few laps around the square, sometimes we get fireworks displays, but always always always we dance. Afterward I’ll try to find out what the fiesta was about, although it usually has to do with some saint or another, of whom I’ve never heard. The weirdest and, naturally, my favorite of all these parties was the recent all-day affair that took place at the cemetery. Yep, you read that right… party at the cemetery and EVERYBODY’S invited! So apparently instead of celebrating Halloween here, Peru celebrates All Saints Day on November 1st and Day of the Dead on November 2nd. On Day of the Dead, the cemetery in town turns into a circus of sorts. It is packed with those who have come in to pay their respects to their deceased loved-ones. The tradition involves placing fresh flowers and a lit candle on the tomb, then hanging around the grave site for the day… and night. I didn’t believe it until I saw it, but people actually camp out all night in the cemetery. As if that wasn’t creepy enough, everywhere you look vendors are selling food, flowers, candles and snacks… including ice cream and jello! The townsfolk also set up little make-shift grills to cook out. The whole scene sort of reminded me of a baseball game. Except for the fact that you’re trampling over dead people. It wouldn’t be my first choice for a party locale, but again, sometimes you’ve just got to go with the flow.

I’M A LEADER: Two weeks ago I helped out the other Volunteers in my department with an annual leadership camp for teenage boys. The idea is that Volunteers pick two of the more outstanding boys in their towns, then everybody comes together for three days of leadership workshops, talks, games, etc. It was such a great experience, getting to see the best and brightest of Cajamarca; made me feel much better about the future of my beloved region. The best part: we were each responsible for planning and running an activity each day, and I was given “exercise hour” one morning. They asked that I teach the Michael Jackson Thriller dance to the kids, as we had learned and performed the dance during training. I figured the boys would hate this activity, so I tried to worm my way out of it… but I was overruled. So I begrudgingly got up at 6 am to teach a room full of teenage boys a choreographed dance. Let me just say, I had a definite “Dorothy, you’re not in the U.S.A. anymore” moment. Not only did the boys NOT find it lame, but they actually got into it. They had quite the impressive zombie faces. Pictures to come at a later date.

RIDIN’ IN STYLE: I have a bike! Okay, I actually got my bike months ago, but I’ve just started using it recently. Technically I have it so that I can ride to a neighboring caserillo (small community that’s technically part of San Miguel, but not in the town limits), where there’s another group of artisans that I’m helping. Off the record, I take her out for a spin every chance I get. The only issue I have is that I live on top of an Ande. This means I have to ride downhill and then back up. Each leg of the journey has its own challenges; going down requires constant use of the hand brake to keep from flying head-first into gravel. Going back up has its obvious issues. More often than not, I hitch a ride back to town on a milk truck. All in all, I’d call my bike riding experiences a success.

KING OF THE CASTLE: I got a chair. Uncle Tio loaned it to me awhile back b/c I had to stand on it to reach the hole in my roof (I had to replace the beer poster that was covering the hole). I now know exactly how Borat felt when he walked into the New York hotel. I felt like quite the fancy pants, sitting in my chair at my desk (I use the term “desk” loosely here). I thought Tio was going to let me borrow it indefinitely, but alas he asked for it back last night. Back to square one.

TOURIST IN MY OWN TOWN: In an effort to better acquaint ourselves with this great state of Cajamarca, my friends and I have been trying to venture out and see the major tourist spots that she has to offer. One such outing was a winner… another, not so much. The former was a trip to Cumbe Mayo, a trek through giant rock formations just outside of town. Beautiful. The latter was a trip to the Banos del Inca, which is pretty much right in the city. The Banos are advertised as relaxing, natural hot springs, frequented by the Incas for their medicinal powers. Don’t buy into the hype. While they are technically hot springs, they’ve been captured into pipes and are now pumped into a series of small rooms with bathtubs. To experience the magic, you pay a couple of soles and pile into a dirty room, which has been experienced by dozens of other patrons just before you. Good news: you can purchase a warm beer and a cold hot dog to enjoy along with your soak. Bad news: You have to wonder if they clean the rooms between each group of visitors. What do you think? I’ll let you ponder that one for awhile. Until then… adios my friends!

Nothing like an ice cream vendor in the cemetery

Flowers: check. Candles: check. Shoes: .......... oops!

#1 Party excuse: A Birthday! Cheers Grandma!

My 3 year-old cousin had a bit too much vino at the party... she was a dancing fool that night

A view from my favorite bike ride. Not bad, eh?

Hiking around Cumbe Mayo, highly worth it

Banos del Inca: highly NOT worth it

Back to Life, Back to Reality

After a grand finale of midget-bullfighting in the rain, the San Miguel town festival finally scampered off and died. The candy vendors and game booths were packed up, along with their prizes, which included Tupperware containers and stainless-steel washtubs. The marching bands have all but disappeared; I’ve only seen one in the last two weeks, when it unexpectedly appeared at Mass one night and then accompanied us, the congregation, as we took a giant portrait of Jesus for a stroll around the Plaza. Most notably, the people have gone back into nocturnal hibernation until the next party arrives. The unofficial, though strictly followed, curfew of 7 pm has been reinstated. I have to admit that I’m rather relieved. The fiesta was fun while it lasted, but if I wanted round-the-clock partying all the time, I’d move to Brazil. Just to finally close the chapter on San Miguel’s festival, I feel it necessary to disclose a conversation that I had with Uncle Tio regarding the massive amount of money that was poured into it. He explained to me that Peru is poor because it chooses to spend money on festivals and having fun (and rightly so!), while the United States is rich because we only work and have no festivals or fun. Oh, is that it? I thought maybe it was the years of corrupt leadership, poor infrastructure and lack of resource management that made Peru poor. Thanks for enlightening me Uncle Tio!


For this blog entry, I wish I had some exciting stories for you, stories that would rival those from the festival and knock your socks off in the process… but frankly I’m plum out of wild tales. Like a firework to the face, I’m afraid this blog entry may be a bit of a buzz-kill. But fear not; I will press on! Due to the shortage of amusing anecdotes, I figured this would be a good opportunity to put the spotlight on my host family here in San Miguel. I really haven’t given them the attention that they deserve; they are, individually and as a whole, fantastic. Before I begin, however, I do have a bit of exciting news… I have a functioning toilet! And get this: it flushes. Woah, Woah, Woah-ee! I haven’t had one of those since I left the northern hemisphere. I now find it difficult to walk past the bathroom without feeling an enormous urge to run in and flush the toilet just for novelty’s sake. The shower also works now, but I simply cannot and will not go back to a life of cold water bathing. I’ve become a little too accustomed to my bucket baths… at least I’m warm for the few seconds it takes to pour the hot water out of my old paint can and over my body. Call me spoiled if you must! But I digress…. Here goes my tribute to all things host-family related:



Mama Madi. My host-mama is still her over-protective self, though she has eased up a bit over the last couple of weeks. I still have to show her proof that I’m either wearing two pairs of pants or one pair made of super-thick material if I want to leave the house after 5 pm, but I am now allowed to wash my clothes all by myself. Granted, she pulls up a chair and watches me the whole time, with only the slightest hint of laughter in her eye as I struggle to get the dust out of my poor designer jeans (those things don’t know what to think as I wring their snobby little necks). She also still laughs… a lot. This works out well for me, as humor is a tough one to tackle in another language, but she’s an easy target. If I say anything even remotely witty (witty is probably a stretch… let’s say, silly, maybe?), she laughs generously. One time I even made her spit coffee out of her mouth and onto the kitchen floor. Good thing the floor is made of dirt… no clean-up required. Keep the jokes a’comin’ gringa! In addition to worrying and laughing, she also cooks. And I mean COOKS. She can spin the most delicious meals of out of basically nothing (potatoes and rice, for example?). Granted my standards have most likely dropped drastically after the hot-mess of food that my Lima family would serve, but still it’s good stuff. What’s more, every meal includes hot sauce made by hand from the peppers we grow in our yard. Like I said, she spins gold, that woman!

Jonathan. My little brother Jonathan really likes to high-five, to which I indulge him lavishly. I’ve taken it a step further and taught him the fist-pound. He took to it like a duck to water, so we’ve since added the ‘hand-explosion’ after the fist-pound. We now do this approximately 37 times per day. In addition, our communication abilities have improved drastically in the last few weeks. I now understand a good 35% of what he relays to me, which is good considering I only understand 50-60% of what other people say. We still play a lot of charades, though. Here’s a typical conversation for us: “It’s time to eat? Oh, no… you’re going to school? No. Hmmm… mom needs help in the kitchen? YES! That’s it! Fist pound!!!”

Grandma. Oh, grandma! She just may be my favorite character… 81 years old, but full of piss and vinegar. My favorite thing about her is that she swears like a sailor, especially at Gringito the cat (named such because he’s white, of course). Grandma hates Gringito. I guess you could say he’s technically mom’s cat. Likewise, the dog is my grandma’s, so mama hates him equally. The sides are clearly drawn… I’m trying to stay neutral. My second favorite thing is that she swears by the medicinal powers of an herb that she grows in her garden. The herb is not ingested, but instead placed on the skin and taken in via osmosis. Her favorite place to put it is smack-dab on the check, which means I am more often than not treated to the site of her walking around with a giant leaf on her face. I think even Gringito finds it hard to take her seriously on these particular days.
And to really seal the deal for you all, a few pics of my fab fam:

Here's Mama Madi accepting a shot of canazo

Little bro surveying the sheep population

Here he is jamming out on the guitar somebody gave him

Grandma bought herself a bottle of this canazo after taking the shot...

Grandma getting avocados off of the tree... this picture also shows my new bathroom! (just behind Grandma to the left) My bedroom is the second floor of the white building to the left of the bathroom... much closer than the old latrine, which is so far away it's not even in the photo.

My little bro and cousin, watching Uncle Tio scale the avocado tree to get the ones Grandma couldn't. This is my job when Uncle Tio isn't around... makes for an exciting Saturday.

So that's all I have for you at this time. I'll try to scrounge up some awkward moments to relay for future entries... shouldn't be overly difficult for this girl!

Until then... cheers!

Sniffing Cheese and Dodging Fireworks

Just when I think my life absolutely CANNOT get any more outlandish… San Miguel’s Town Festival comes waltzing in to tear that theory to pieces. As I try to begin this blog-post, I find myself at a loss for words (yeah I know, it is no common occurrence for this girl). It’s not that I have nothing to say; it is in fact the exact opposite. Every night for the past two weeks, I have gone to bed thinking, “that was the weirdest day of my life.” But how do I put the pen to the paper and make you all understand it all? For lack of a better idea, I guess I’ll just start from the beginning. Here, in chronological order, is a break-down of just one of most bizarre things that has happened each day (although many of these events continued to occur every single day of the festival):

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 25th: The Professors and students from the Institute where I teach (heretofore referred to as “my friends”) invited me to go watch a band that was playing in the Square that night. “A band in the square on a Monday night?” I asked my friends. Silly gringa! There’s a band in the square every night during the festival. “Oh, okay. Sure.” What the heck, I figured it would last until 11, 11:30 tops. I was right, in some respect, as the marching band finished playing at about 11 pm. They only stopped, however, because the real band was starting to play. The entire town, myself included, danced the rest of the night away (and every night following). Suffice it say, this is when I realized that I had sorely underestimated this little festival of ours. At least 2-3 times per day I have been asked if the United States has parties like this. My initial reaction has been to give a resounding “Heck No,” but then I remembered New Year’s Eve… and St. Patrick’s Day. So imagine combining the night-time debauchery of New Year’s Eve with the day-time nonsense of St. Patrick’s Day… then do it every day for two weeks. Voilá! Such is this “little” festival of ours.

Here I am with my friends in the Plaza:

Showing off my mad dancing skills:

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 22nd: I awoke at 6 am to a live marching band and fireworks right outside of my house. In my half-sleep state, I tried to ignore it, thinking they would move on. After thirty minutes or so, even my semi-conscious self realized that the band was steadfast. So I finally went on my porch to see what the fuss was about. Bad Decision #1 of many... My host mom saw that I was awake and coerced me into coming on the street with her to watch. “Just put on some shoes!” she said. Okay mom. I threw some tennis shoes on, but remained in my pajamas, as I figured we'd stay at the house and watch them pass. Wrong! We followed them, along with half of the town, around the streets of San Miguel for over an hour. Every three blocks or so, the band would stop and everyone would dance. I, of course, had to dance with every single person in my town. Again, still in my pjs. Then we all went to the Kindergarten (band included) and feasted on sheep-head soup. All of this went down by 9 am. Afterward, my family and I returned home and ate our breakfast as if nothing had happened.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd: Sports Night. This was to commence at 9 pm SHARP, so I went with my family and friends at about 10. Of course, it had not yet started. At about 11 it all got going, and the people of San Miguel were treated to three hours of soccer, volleyball and basketball tournaments. The soccer and volleyball games were rather impressive; the basketball game was rather humorous. They also had the kids from the Elementary School showing off a gymnastics display. Equally entertaining. The best part, however, was the prize for the soccer tournament. Much to my delight, the winning team went home with a live sheep. We don’t bother with silly trophies around here, no sir.

First prize being accepted on behalf of the Mayor (in the sombrero) from the winning town:

Some 10 year-olds enjoying some soccer and booze:

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 24th: Vaca Loca (or “crazy cow” in English): A townsperson that runs around with a large basket-like structure, in the shape of cow, on his/her head. This is the “vaca” part. The “loca” part: the basket is covered with sparklers and fireworks, which creates a fire-ball that spreads out for a good 10 feet in diameter. The object of the game is for the crazy cow to envelop as many people as possible in the fire ball. In Spanish, the saying “Safety First” does not translate. I will have to admit, however, that it is one of the funniest things to watch Peruvians shrieking in delight as they try not to be set ablaze by that crazy cow.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25th: Not to be outdone by the Vaca Loca is the Castillo. The Castillo is a huge tower of fireworks that is set off concurrently in various colors and designs. The “fun” part is that everyone packs around so closely that sparks and shrapnel go flying into the crowd; some nights they even set up “arms” of the castillos that stretched down into the streets. Each street in the town is responsible for one night of castillos, so they all try to compete for the honor of having the most elaborate show. If you can ensure that someone takes a bottle rocket to the eye, you’re probably going to win. All-in-all, they are rather impressive, and it makes me feel fortunate to have been placed amidst the laid-back mountain folk, as I’m told Castillos have been banned in many parts of Peru. I didn’t actually think that anything was ever banned in Peru (especially after seeing every corner Pharmacy selling highly-addictive prescription drugs over the counter), but I guess Castillos skirted the crazy line a little too closely and got the axe from those uptight city boys. Everyone here was delighted when I told them that fireworks were legal in my state, and they are encouraging me to start my own Castillo company when I return. “You’d make a fortune!” they say. Hmmmmm, something tells me that even good ol’ rebellious South Carolina would find this a little extreme. I know this is difficult to envision, so I’ve included some photos for your viewing (and envying!) pleasure.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 26th: Today the proud farmers and casual livestock-enthusiasts came out of the woodworks to showcase their finest cows, sheep and… cuy! That’s right; Saturday was the big livestock competition, and apparently guinea pigs are included in this category nowadays. You could smell the excitement in the air (not to mention a whole lot of excrement), as the competitors filed in. The town even hired an expert to come in from the city to judge the entrants. He did a lot of poking and prodding, even making the owners take their cows and sheep for a little spin, before announcing the winners before an anxious assembly. It reminded me a lot of the Westminster Dog Show, if you could substitute Boykins with Brahmas and German Shepherds with Guinea Pigs…

Examining a fine-looking flock:

In case you're wondering, the one on the right took top honors:


My BFF Manuelita won a prize for one of her cows (I got to present the award to her):

Some good eatin':

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27th: This had to have been one of the longest, and more ridiculous, days of my life. As part of the festival, there was a Fair for local goods Saturday through Monday. My artisan group participated, as well as my Lactation Institute and my mom (she sews clothes). So all weekend I was racing around to the three booths, trying to help out wherever I could. As if this weren’t enough, I was asked to be part of the judging panel for the competitions, which took place Sunday. The competitions included: Cheeses, Yogurts, Typical Foods of the Region, Woven Goods and Crocheted Goods. They didn’t even seem to mind that I have no qualifications whatsoever in any of these subjects. So my day consisted of sniffing cheeses, nibbling on fried cuy, scrutinizing the details of crocheted blankets, and faking my most pensive expression as I ranked them all. The funniest part was discussing the criteria with the other judges. “Well, Cheese #2 had the most complex texture, though the flavor of the wooden casing in Cheese #5 was rather impressive…” Many thanks to my Volunteer friend Alex for making the trek to San Miguel and capturing the day on film (we were supposed to be models in the Fashion Show, but our judging duties interfered).

Updating the Resume with "Cheese Connoisseur":

Learning the process for yogurt fermentation:


Announcing top honors to the crowd:

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28th: Monday morning I again arose at 6 am to the sound of the marching band (I swear there had to have been 20 marching bands in my town throughout the Festival… you couldn’t swing a cat without hitting a trumpet). This time, I would be joining them. Today was the big parade through town… even bigger than the other two I had already marched in. I got to march not once, but twice this time! I marched with the Institute first… then we celebrated the long march with a few drinks. I then raced back to the start-line to march with the Group for Disabled People. We too celebrated the completion of the parade with a few drinks. I think you can gather how the rest of the day and night went for me…

Finishing up marching with group #1:

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29th: Tuesday was a struggle. By this time, I felt like I’d been hit by a milk truck. Or perhaps I should say “Canazo Truck.” For those of you interested, I’ll tell you “off the record” what Canazo is later… Regardless, I had to attend an all-day ceremony to mark the Grand Re-opening of the town’s Coliseum (it was supposed to be completed for Sport’s Night last Wednesday… but hey, this is Peru). This ceremony, of course, included a marching band, a Cumbia band and local folk dancers. No event in San Miguel is complete without this tri-fecta of ostentatious entertainment. It ended with the selection of next year’s Fiesta committee. Talk about ostentatious… wowzers. This somewhat-simple act of nominating a candidate and putting it to vote would be completed in a matter of minutes in the United States. Here, every nomination had to include a 10-15 minute fervent plea from the nominator on why this person would make the absolute BEST Secretary as opposed to anybody else. This would inevitably lead to zealous clapping, hissing and/or fists shaking in the air. The voting was even more passionate, but not nearly as much so as when the winners were announced. The band would play, and the winner would come to the stage to make a long-winded and often tearful speech. I am not kidding you when I say that one particular speech began like this, “I would like to thank God, and my husband, for without them, I would not be here in San Miguel to accept this great honor.” This woman had won the title of Treasurer. You just can’t make this stuff up.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 30th: Wednesday was opening day for the town Bull Fights. I didn’t even know the town had a Bull Ring. I was expecting some dinky little show with a few under-fed cows prancing about, but I was in for quite a shock. First of all, it started on time. Excuse me? Nothing here has ever started within 45 minutes of the expected departure time. Second, there were professional-looking matadors and six massive bulls. Apparently, Peru takes bullfighting rather seriously. If it weren’t for the presence of that darned marching band, I would’ve thought I’d left San Miguel altogether.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 1st: By Thursday, many of the activities were winding down, thank heavens. It was not, thank heavens again, without its odd and hilarious moment. At Mass that night, we were all treated to a very special and solemn Passion Play, involving the crucifixion of Christ. There was a man dressed up as Jesus… carrying the cross, wearing the crown of thorn, etc. This is not the unexpected part… that came with the appearance of the Rodeo Clown. Yes, that’s right, the Rodeo Clown. I was unaware, previously, that they were around in the Biblical times. Apparently I was wrong. I couldn’t actually figure out what part he played, but my mom told me that he represented the stupidity of mankind. God bless you Latin America.

Jesus, Rodeo Clown:

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 2nd: Friday, I was told, there would be another Bull Fight, but the bulls are not killed in this one. I was slightly confused by this paradox… but comet to find out, this event is closer to a Rodeo than to a Bull Fight. The same Rodeo Clown that was present at Mass the night before made a resurgence, along with some friends: Superman, Aunt Jamima and a midget. Peruvians love slap-stick comedy, and this certainly scratched their itch. The kooky characters ran around in circles with four baby bulls, until finally a bout of unexpected rain forced the ridiculous display to end. I couldn’t think of a more ideal ending to the madness that was San Miguel’s Town Festival 2009.

The random mix of randoms:

And now, I rest. Although, people are already beginning to talk anxiously of the Carnaval Festivities, which gear up in February. I can only imagine what's in store...

Thank you Fiesta, I had a blast!

Breaking rules, breaking hearts

Three weeks into site, and I’ve already broken my one and only rule. I told myself that I would not turn down any requests from people in my town for at least a month; I planned on being open to every new experience and opportunity, no holds bar. From my newly acquired familiarity with things, however, I now advise against this plan of attack. Trust me; it can get out of hand, especially in this town, where everybody wants a piece of the gringa. I have accepted appeals to sit on just about every committee formed by just about every organization in this town, from the “Municipality Council Town-Planning through the Year 2021 Committee,” to the “San Miguel Festival Planning Committee.” Although they can be rip-your-hair-out frustrating sometimes, I rather enjoy most meetings here. Once you understand the basics:

1. The meeting will begin 1 to 2 hours after the scheduled time. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

2. No matter how late the meeting begins, people will continue to enter for another hour. In the U.S., one would try to arrive without making a scene. Here, oh no. One must “saludar,” or greet, every person in the room with a hand-shake or a kiss. The Mayor himself is the worst culprit of this cultural-annoyance.

3. Cell phones will go off; people will answer them. It is not unusual for the person giving the meeting to do so as well.

4. Snacks are an absolute must. This is my favorite rule of the bunch, naturally. I have yet to attend a meeting, no matter how official or casual, where I did not receive a pack of crackers/cookies and a cup of Inca Kola (the beverage of choice here… I would equate it to adding 12 tablespoons of sugar to Mountain Dew. Delicious!).

I’m not really sure why I’m invited to participate in all of these meetings; I really haven’t added much to the conversations. I do my fair share of smiling and nodding in agreement, but other than that, it’s hard to add much when I still know nearly nothing about the town itself. When it comes down to it, I think my presence is their present… makes the meeting seem more important, heaven knows why.

Speaking of heaven, my presence was also summonsed by God himself (okay, okay not God… but the Catholic Church), to participate in Mass this week. Again, they are all fully aware that I am not Catholic, yet I had the specific privilege of reading the Apostle Paul’s letter to Timothy 3: 14-16 in front of the devout masses of San Miguel. Palabra de Dios… I was rather nervous about it, but I ran into a Nun at the hardware store the next day, and she complimented me on my excellent performance. I’m just racking up karma points left and right! Obviously, this was something I agreed to before officially severing ties with my rule.

The proverbial final straw, however, came when I was asked to be the “Queen” in the upcoming town festival. Being Peruvian in nationality, this festival is no small fry. It is two weeks of planned activities, including parades, ceremonies, bands, bull fights, etc. etc. etc. The Queen takes on a pageant-esque role, complete with crown, scepter and lots of makeup. She will also have to compete with Queens from all of the surrounding towns to be the Queen Bee, or something like that. It was here that I was forced to decline, as genteelly as possible, for the first time. Although following my rule lead to some memorable experiences, I’m happy to retire it. I still plan on accepting most invitations, but sometimes it’s nice to be the spectator, instead of the spectacle.

Now, instead of boring you all with more verse, I'll let my photo-journalism skills (ha!) do the talking for awhile, and show you a little bit of San Miguel, lately:

The car to/from Cajamarca... last time we piled 11 people in here and three sacks of cuyes

The parade from Friday... this is when I still thought I would be a spectator.

After I was pulled into the parade... I marched through town, snuggled up between the Middle-School class and the brass band.

Even better than the bullhorn car... a bullhorn wheelchair

That's my grandma in the center, watching me march in the parade.

Our newest editions to the family

Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed... doesn't know what he's in for

Our cemetery in town is kinda creepy

Every deceased gets a mini-shrine... like I said... creepy!

My first class in hand-washing clothes... grandma was quite pleased with my progress

Success! Though the ducks had to look at my skivvies for two days

How San Miguel travels...

Market Day!

Gotta bring my pig to market...

And my cow ( however unwillingly)...

and my sheep.

My favorite part of Market Day: The Livestock Auction...

There are cows ALL over town...

even in the playground.

Lots of fruit being sold...

and the freshest chickens...

or perhaps these are the freshest chickens.