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)!