Birthday Hotdogs

So I realized after I posted my first blog that I put the cart before the horse a bit. I didn’t even tell everybody about my town, my home, my family, etc. My B! Hindsight is 20/20, as they say, but that’s tough when using the Internet is a semi-rare occurrence. So here goes…

I am currently living in a community called Yanacoto, located about an hour outside of Lima in the foothills of the Andes Mountains. Don’t try to google-map Yanacoto, because you’re plum out of luck. There are approximately 2,000 Peruvians and 14 gringos living here. I am a one of 36 “trainees” in the Peace Corps Peru 13 Group. We are (obviously) the 13th group of volunteers to come to Peru after the program was re-introduced in 2002. The other 22 people in my group are spread out amongst a few other surrounding communities. My days are filled with a mix of language, cultural and technical training, to better prepare me for working in the field of small business development in my site. On July 24th, the Peace Corps will tell us to which site we are assigned. Color me nervous! All Volunteers will be placed with another host family in a small community either on the Coast, or in the Sierra (in the mountains). We can suggest our preferences, but ultimately they place us where our skills and experience will best match the needs of a particular community. Stay tuned for that update; should be interesting! In the meantime, here’s a bit about my life in training...


My home in Yanacoto is modest but adequate. It is a Peace Corps rule that all volunteers have a room that locks with a key. My room is huge, but the bed leaves something to be desired. To this day I am surprised each and every time I sit on it that some jerk passed a slab of concrete off to my family as a mattress.



The bathroom is also questionable at best, but I have electricity and running water… so no real complaints at this time (other than the icey-cold showers, but I feel that I have complained sufficiently on that subject. Enough is enough, Larson).








My host family is wonderful; they have truly taken me in as one of their own. Peruvian people in general I have found to be incredibly kind, generous and fabulously quirky. I’m not sure about my mom’s age, but my dad is really young - less than 35 for sure. They always make sure to converse with me and help me greatly with my Spanish. If there are words I do not know, they will explain them, even jumping into games of charades when necessary. I have four little brothers and sisters: Milagros (15), Jorge Nicolas (9), Jennifer (5) and Marcos (2). It really makes me wish I had younger siblings growing up, because I love it.
Milagros takes me with her to her dance recitals, and I “help” her and her friends with their English homework. Okay, Okay, I pretty much just do it for them… I spend a majority of my time feeling like a child that can only express herself in elementary words and phrases, so I think I have more than earned the right to feel smart for an hour or so. Anyhow, her group in English class is singing and dancing to a Grease song in a couple of weeks. If you know me at all, you know that I AM PUMPED. It brings a tear to my eye to teach teenage Peruvian girls how to pronounce, “You‘re the one that I want!” I taught Nico how to play War and Go Fish (La Guerra and Pescar) with cards. I smoke him every time. Okay, that’s a lie too. He’s a quick study, to say the least. Jenni insists on sitting on my lap or holding my hand whenever is humanly possible and draws me pictures every day. We also hug quite a bit. I still don’t really understand a word that Marcos says, but we have a mutual understanding: I read him stories, and he lets me play with his toy helicopter. What else could a girl ask for?


So, I know I promised to refrain from becoming overly self-absorbed, but I have had several people ask me what I do all day (no, seriously, I have), so here’s a general recap:

4:30 am: The roosters that live next door begin crowing very, very loudly. I keep my Ipod handy, so I can usually go back to sleep and only wake up 2 to 17* more times. *this number varies depending upon the number of roosters crowing, plus the volume at which the stray dogs are fighting in the street, multiplied by the number of times the bull-horn car drives by making announcements (yes, our neighborhood “bulletin board” is a car with a bull-horn strapped to the top).
7:00 am: My actual, non-living, alarm clock goes off . I head to the kitchen to wash my face and brush my teeth (don’t ask me about showering… I seriously don’t like to talk about it), then I eat breakfast with the family. Breakfast typically consists of Quaker (which is, as the name suggests, similar to oatmeal, except that the consistency is so thin that you drink it from a mug) and bread/butter. On a good day (in my opinion), we get avocado or an egg to accompany the bread. On a bad day, we get hot dogs. The family clearly doesn’t share my sentiments regarding the hot dogs, because they served me a plate of no less than seven hot dogs the morning of my birthday. Guess it’s the thought that counts…

8:00 am: Most days we have language classes in our community, so I only have to walk to a house a few minutes away. When we first arrived in Peru, we had one-on-one oral interviews with a Spanish professor. Based on that interview, we were divided up into different levels of language capacity. My class consists of four people, all in the same level, and Sarita, our professora. The classes are completely in Spanish and last for four hours. Sarita is from Peru and is fantastic, so I love this part of my day. She too likes to hug-it-out as well and gets extremely excited when we make any minor progress. She also says, “Okey Dokey!” a lot and in the most adorable accent you’ll ever hear. The only bad part is when we have to do entrevistas (please refer to my list of funny things in the previous blog) with the locals. I feel sure the shop owners and poor victims in the street LOVE when one of us comes strolling up, pen and notebook in hand…

12:00 noon: The first week of training we were in the center all day, so my host parents had to pack my lunch for me. I loved it. Now we are usually in Yanacoto in the morning, so I head home for lunch after class. After a mountain of potatoes and even more rice, I truck it down a massive hill and take a combi to the Training Center, which is located in Chaclacayo, about 30 minutes away in total. A fun game to play is, “Will I get a seat on the Combi today, or will I be vertical-spooning with 20 strangers?”

1:00 pm: Afternoon sessions begin and either consist of business classes (our group of 36 is just about split evenly between two programs: business development and youth development) or “what to expect” sessions. The business classes have been really great; we are learning a lot about small businesses in Peru, the local economy, etc. The “what to expect” sessions are essentially intended to scare us all to death, I am convinced. A few examples:

• A two-hour talk about diarrhea, complete with photos, descriptions of the seven different types and fun statistics, including the fact that 99% of all PC Peru Volunteers will do it in their pants. I am vowing not to become a statistic.
• Speeches from three current volunteers, all of which have been victims of aggravated assault… usually at knife-point.
• A review of the fun and deadly diseases in Peru, most of which we “probably” won’t get, but we will get a vaccine for regardless. I have received more shots than I can keep track of. Did you know that one must receive three shots for rabies prevention? It’s a good thing though, because we may or may not be bitten by a rabid bat. In case we didn’t believe him, our medical officer showed pictures of one bat that attacked one volunteer in his room. I have started a list (though a short one) of things that would cause me to high-tail it back to the States, and being attacked by a bat is definitely numero uno.
• A video of a current volunteer living in the mountains who discussed the problems his town has with men having “relations” with donkeys.

5:00 pm: Afternoon session ends, and Peru 13 Fit Club begins. I have been leading a yoga class in the training center on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I run with other volunteers on Tuesdays and Thursdays. By Friday we are all ready for a cold one after classes… but only until sundown. Although it is somewhat unofficial, I have a curfew of 7:00 that I abide by. Afterwards, I head back to Yanacoto and either do some internet time or take a shower… depending on how warm it is outside. Decisions Decisions!! Oh, I almost forgot to mention how much fun it is to return home. The combi drops us off at the bottom of the hill and we begin the 20-minute HIKE, and I do mean HIKE, straight uphill to the town. Even on the coolest evenings, I am sweating profusely and out of breath upon reaching my house. All of the locals take a mototaxi up the hill, but at 70 cents a pop, we gringos can’t really afford that luxury. I guess this is a good segue into the money situation. We trainees are living on the equivalent of $9 per day, and more than 2/3 of that goes directly to our host families for room and board. You do the math on my walk-around money. Fortunately everything around here is incredibly cheap. Going to Lima on Saturdays, however, is painful. A medium latte at Starbucks costs more than a total day’s salary. Depressing…

7:00 pm: I am usually back in my house by now, so I spend the next couple of hours talking to my host family, playing with the kids, eating supper and working on homework. My family gets really excited when I have homework and love to help out. It’s really strange here, everybody in the family gets involved with each other’s work… including the parents. It is not rare for my host dad to be cutting construction paper into little Peruvian flags for Jennifer during breakfast, while Milagros is finishing up Nico’s math homework. I compared notes with other volunteers, and most have seen the same thing. Strange indeed.

9:00 pm: Lame as it may be, I’m usually tuckered out by this point in the night. Don’t judge until you spend an entire day trying to think in another language; it’s exhausting. Sometimes my head is such a jumble that I cannot even speak English properly. I head to my room and spend about an hour of Kim time before passing out .
Lather, rinse and repeat (figuratively, not literally)!

Kim's First "Blogging for Dummies" Post

I have always found that laughter is the best, and sometimes the only, option for coping with strange situations. I spend a majority of my day laughing… usually at myself and often at my situations. As I find myself finishing up week three of 115 (but who’s counting??!!), I have made a list of my funniest experiences so far. I know that I’ve shared a few of these with a few of you, but humor me…

1. Cuy.

For those of you who do not know, cuy is the word for guinea pig in Peru. Everybody here has a mother, brother, uncle or cousin that raises cuy… and no, they are not pets. I made jokes before coming here about eating guinea pig, but it really is a common practice. On Father’s Day, my host family and I went to our great-uncle’s farm for some good old-fashioned family bonding. While touring around the farm, I was delighted to be taken into a basement FILLED with guinea pigs racing around. They are not quite large enough yet, but I’m pretty sure we are going back next weekend to grill up some cuy. Mom wouldn’t let me have a guinea pig for a pet when I was a kid because they were “dirty.” I’m actually glad for that, because now I can enjoy my cuy with a completely clear conscience…

2. Entrevistas.
Part of the Peace Corps training philosophy is hands-on learning and experience. I completely agree with this strategy, but it is certainly not easy. The most difficult (and awkward) is where we go out and “hacer entrevistas” or interview people in the community. We have to ask fun things like, “In your opinion, what are the strengths and weaknesses of this town?” I would feel ridiculous asking some of these questions in English, so imagine how much I enjoy doing this in my broken Spanish. A favorite past-time for us volunteers is to imagine what we must sound like to a native speaker. I’m sure it goes something like, “Excuses me, but may I to give to you a interview please?” or “How thinks you in the subject of marketing?” If you are ever approached by a foreigner in the U.S who does not speak English, I beg of you: be kind to him. I feel his pain.

3. Fresh food.

One Monday morning before class , I was making my way to the kitchen to brush my teeth, when I was greeted by a live chicken casually strolling around the house. My family did not have any chickens, as far as I knew. Nobody was awake, so I couldn’t ask why, exactly, the chicken was wandering about. I went into the living room to eat my breakfast, and the chicken followed behind, along with two more friends that seemed to appear out of nowhere. I assumed that we had just acquired some new pets; it was not until much later in the day that I discovered the chickens were not around for long. Shortly after I left for school, my host family killed the chickens and fried those puppies up for supper. I thought I’d win the funny story of the week award amongst the other volunteers, but alas, Jessica beat me: at a family reunion she was served soup made from EVERY part of the chicken… she literally had to pull feathers out of her mouth while eating it. *Note: although Jessica is the only one who has eaten the feathers, most of us have eaten every other part of the chicken… including the feet. Waste not, want not.

4. Horse Meat.

One Saturday we had a project called, “Mission Impossible,” which required us to go out and interview a formal and an informal business in the area. We were paired up and told that the group with the most unique informal business would win a prize. My partner and I asked a couple of locals (we will not reveal our sources, in the event that we need their help again) if they knew of any really strange business in the area. They told us about a slaughter house in the area that butchered horses and donkeys and sold the meat on the black market to restaurants in Lima. Bingo! This practice is illegal both in the United States and in Peru, so this was definitely an informal business. We took off in search of this prize-winning locale and, as it usually is, the journey was almost as great as the destination. The directions we had were pretty terrible, so we had to stop approximately 15 times to ask for directions. We ended up on the correct street, but the location was so hidden that we didn’t know which building it was (for some strange reason they don’t advertise). As luck would have it, two police officers were driving by, so we flagged them down and asked for directions. In hind site, we probably shouldn’t have asked policemen how to get to an illegal business, but I guess that’s where the “20/20 saying” comes in. Regardless, the officers were so obliging that they invited us to get in the backseat of the squad car, and they drove us the to the correct building. We pressed our luck a little by asking them to take pictures with us, to which they gladly accepted and even let us wear their hats. The policemen then showed us where to knock to be let into the slaughterhouse and stayed there to make sure we got in okay. Somebody came to the door, but wouldn’t open it until we identified ourselves. We had to lie and say that we wanted to buy some meat. We finally made it inside and explained that we were with the Peace Corps and wanted to interview them. At first the woman didn’t want to talk to us and even asked for Peace Corps identification (which we do not have). We just kept pestering her with questions, until she finally opened up, after which she gave us a full tour, explained their business process, took pictures with us and invited the entire volunteer group to a party in her town. I love this country.

5. Modes of transportation.

Everything about the public transportation here makes me laugh. First of all, the government-sponsored system failed miserably years ago, so the people came together out of necessity and started their own network of transportation vessels. The head honcho, so to speak, of this system is the Combi. A Combi is essentially a cross between a small bus and a large passenger van, with a driver and a money collector. The money collector also serves as a passenger collector; the Combi doesn’t really have any set stops, but it will pull over if it sees anyone standing on the road looking like they may need a ride somewhere. The money collector hangs his head (and often his entire body) out the door and tries to get people to ride on his Combi. The more passengers they can pile on, the more money for the driver and collector. Not only are the stops not set in stone, but the prices appear to be negotiable as well. Last year, they tried to raise the price for a trip from Yanacoto to Chaclacayo from 50 cents to 70 cents (a difference in U.S. dollars of about $0.07). This didn’t site well with the locals, so most refused to pay more. Now, you can get away with paying 50 cents, but if the collector makes a big hassle about it, you might have to pay 70. As a business volunteer, I get a kick out of this market-driven enterprise.
There are several other options for getting from point A to point B, but I’ll spare you the details on the rest, except for my favorite: The Mototaxi. A Mototaxi is a three-wheeled motorcycle with a cabana-like structure attached to the back. They are quite ridiculous looking, but the drivers make it even better by adding their own flare. You will probably see a Mototaxi pimped out with colored lights, rims, even airplane wings attached to the side. You will definitely see a Mototaxi with a cross and Bible scripture stickers on the back. This is somewhat ironic, because the drivers are without a doubt the worst drivers I have ever seen. I think they purposely try to hit people passing on the streets. A Mototaxi should really only hold two people, plus the driver.. Max. My family, however, will pile all seven of us in. It’s certainly cozy!

6. Dogs.

Peru has a bit of a dog problem: they are everywhere. It is difficult to determine whether they are pets or strays, because they’re all pretty much treated the same. Peruvians also like to put a sweater on a dog, even the strays. I don’t think you can actually buy dog clothing here, so people will use their old t-shirts, sweatshirts, hoodies, etc. Whatever is available. My favorite dog lives on my street somewhere and likes to strut his stuff in a zip-up Halloween vest. It. Is. Hilarious. I haven’t gotten a picture of him yet, but I do see this guy quite often as well.

7. Spuds.
In addition to Machu Picchu, llamas and cuy, Peru is very proud of….. Potatoes. If you ever visit Peru, be sure not to say something crazy like, “I thought potatoes were more of an Ireland thing.” You’re likely to get a swift punch to the face for that. The potato was officially invented in this country, and they have more than 2,000 varieties. During my first two weeks, I believe that I was served at least 400 different types. I have even eaten a purple one, and I’m not talking grayish-lavender… that thing was electric purple in color. It was delicious.

8. Water.
It’s a very strange reality to be faced with… my drinking water is never below room temperature, but my shower water is ICEY cold. Hands-down, the most difficult adjustment has been the cold showers. There is no hot water at my house, but not only this, the shower water is from a tank that somehow manages to stay freezing at all times. Most of you know that I don’t particularly love to shower anyhow, so imagine how much desire I have to bathe now. Add in the fact that I only have a 1 foot x 2 foot camping towel to dry off with and you may get the idea…