Love Letter to Yanacoto

How quickly it comes and how quickly it goes. This past week, I shook off the Yanacoto dust and trekked it up to the lovely hills of Cajamarca, this time with a one-way ticket. Adios training, hello rest of my life! While I have been eagerly awaiting this time, it is certainly bittersweet to close this chapter of my Peace Corps paperback. To pay her the respect she deserves, I’ve decided to make a verbal shrine to all the things I will miss about my lovely town of Yanacoto.

THE GOOD.

My Rockin’ Family. We’ve had some times, that’s for sure. The highlights for me include:

Hanging out with my adorable siblings. Their favorite pastime was coming into my room and taking inventory of my belongings. Marcos liked to rearrange my shoes, and Jennifer liked to open and close my “singing card” over and over again (she can now sing “I Say A Little Prayer For You” in perfect English). But most of all, they liked to look at the album of pictures that I brought along from home. We went over the names of every person in every photo at least six times per day. They would then give each other quizzes as a check-for-learning activity. It always made me chuckle when I would be sitting at my desk reading, and I heard the voices of four little Peruvians saying things like, “No Nicolas, Caroline isn’t blonde, she has curly hair. Duh!”

Sharing American deliciousness. Peruvians, for the most part, love sweets/anything sugary. You can find cookies, candies and general snackage being sold every ten feet, even the most remote areas. In fact, my family was horrified that I didn’t put sugar in my coffee. Every morning they would expectantly set a cup of sugar in front of my cup and stare at me with great anticipation, only to have their hopes dashed again and again. Then we would talk about my strange habit for a good fifteen minutes or so, as they each dumped five heaping spoonfuls of sugar into their pre-sweetened cocoa. So I decided to take advantage of their saccharine fixation by teaching them the art of s’more-making. Needless to say, it was a huge hit with the fam. My parents were so excited about the new treat that they didn’t even seem to mind when Marcos got marshmallow stuck in his hair. Success!

Being the official photographer at my parent’s wedding. After nearly 15 years together, Dad decided to make an honest woman of Mom. Kidding… sort of. In Peru, weddings are expensive, so most people have what they call “civil marriages.” Which means, from I’ve gathered, that the couple agrees to live together in cohabitation and call each other pet-names. Sort of like common law in the States, but less official. So the ‘rents decided it was high time to make things right between their Union and the Man Upstairs. Mom borrowed a beautiful white dress (I tried to suggest otherwise due to the whole “you have four kids thing,” but I couldn’t think of the word for ‘ecru’ in Spanish…), and we all trucked it down to the church on a Saturday morning. As it turns out, there were nine couples getting married at the same time. Apparently the Lord offers a buy-in-bulk discount.

THE BAD

Rowdy neighbors. On one side of my house lived a lady who insisted on shrieking at the top of her lungs from the hours of 4 am through 2 am. I’m not sure why she screeched or to whom she was making this awful noise, but I know one thing for sure: she always did it at the highest decibel known to man. On the other side of my house lived a family who insisted on rocking out to bad soft rock music from the 80’s. “Making Love Out of Nothing At All” and “I Thought I Loved You, But I Lied” were two constant favorites. In addition, I also had a little store next door where all of Yanacoto’s finest did their stoop-drinking. For those of you unfamiliar with the art form, stoop-drinking is just that: you buy beer from the store and sit on the steps outside to drink it. Sundays were a big day for stoop-drinking, and the men would get rather loud and obnoxious by 10 am. Though it always annoyed me, a few of us finally broke down one night and did a little stoop-drinking of our own. I guess if you can’t beat ‘em… join ‘em.

The bullhorn car. My biggest regret upon leaving the 'Coto was that I couldn't get a picture of the bullhorn car. I believe I mentioned it in an earlier blog post, but at 5 in the morning a car would drive around making announcements over a bullhorn, which was strapped to the roof with an old rope. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I really learned the purpose of this broadcast-mobile… they are hired by the municipality to call out people who haven’t paid their electricity or water bill. So if you try to screw the system, the system humiliates you in front of your neighbors. Ouch!

The combis. Oh, the joy that is riding a Combi! My life will have such a void without my daily trips on this pleasure-mobile. In reality, I do not hate the combis nearly as much as some others, but not a day goes by when I don’t think: A. We are about to crash head-on with a car/bus/wall/mountain, and/or B. There are so many bodies on this thing that I cannot tell which body parts are mine and which belong to my fellow passengers. R.I.P. Combi… you will be missed.

THE UGLY

The food. I love my family dearly, but this doesn’t necessarily mean that we see eye to eye on every detail. Food, namely, has been the biggest source of disparity. Don’t get me wrong, I know that the Peace Corps is about culture exchange, and nothing is more cultural than food. Hence I eat it all, and I do it with a big fat smile on my face. In retrospect, I am not sure that this was the best strategy. The more I ate crazy foods and pretended to enjoy them, the crazier my food array became. This last week has proven to be the pinnacle, as my family is trying to bid me farewell by serving all of their favorite “delicacies.” I can judge which foods I hate the most by how many times I have to swallow whole without chewing. The winner’s circle for this week includes, drum roll please…

#4: Anticuchos. This is grilled animal heart in shish-kabob form. These are a really popular street food here, you’ll see them everywhere. The aren’t so bad if they are beef, but my family went the chicken route. Bad idea. I believe they did so because we had these on the same day as my number one pick, which I’ll get to in a moment.
#3: Cau Cau. This is cow stomach. Yep, the most vulgar of the internal organs, save maybe the intestines (getting to that one in a moment as well), the stomach tastes about how it sounds. This meal required me to ask for seconds of my rice/potato mountain, solely for the purpose of hiding the stomach pieces in between.
#2: I kind of gave it away back there, but chicken intestines wins the honor of first runner-up. I’ve been served these a few times, but I only recently found out what it was. It is served cut up in a soup, along with a soggy popcorn-like creature. I thought it was squid. The discovery made things so much worse on a physiological level.
#1: Sangrecita. Those of you who speak Spanish may already have guessed what this is. For everyone else, let me enlighten you. Sangrecita is animal blood, in this case chicken, fried up in big fat chunks. That’s right, fried blood. Yummy! To make matters worse, this was my breakfast Sunday morning, just a few hours after getting in from an all-nighter. No rice/potato mountain to save me this time! As always, I grinned and bore it as any good Peace Corps Volunteer would.

Well, there it is: the good, the bad and the ugly. But in the end, it was all really, really good.

Cuyes get the last laugh…

Well hello there my dear friends, family and random blog-addicts! I have just returned from my first visit to San Miguel this past week, and it was a terrific time indeed… and at least slightly less awkward than anticipated. First of all, it is visually stunning, surrounded by mountains and green pastures galore. To quote my good friend Siobhan, it is “Sound of Music pretty, minus the Nazis.” In addition, it has some damn-fine dairy products; I frequented one particular ice-cream joint three times within a 24-hour span. So with Julie Andrews-worthy views and all the cheese you can eat, you might ask, “why is this place not crawling with tourists?” Transportation, my friends, transportation. I believe every one of my posts thus far has mentioned public transport in some way, shape or form, as it is: A. Incredibly important to daily life here, and B. Really, ridiculously screwed up. I have to submit to our Safety Officer a description of how to get to my town in case of emergency (as well as a place nearby where a helicopter could land in the event that that is needed, which I’m secretly hoping for), so I thought I’d share with you the details:

Leg 1. Bus from Lima to Cajamarca: 17-19 hours. This is actually the best part of the trip for me, as the reclining seats are comfy, and my childish nature allows me to sleep for 90% of the trip. Also they’ll play your movies on the TV system if you ask nicely.
Leg 2. Find a car that will drive you from Cajamarca to San Miguel: This can take hours, as you have to wait for the driver to find enough passengers to make the drive worthwhile. The minimum is five, the maximum is eight-ish, I believe, though it could be more if there isn’t luggage in the trunk. On my first ride, we were pulled over by the police on two occasions for having excess passengers. Fortunately the driver was the second-cousin-once-removed of the first policeman and had fixed the second policeman’s leaky radiator last year, so we were able to continue on our trek (though out of respect, one of the passengers hopped out of the car each time and walked up a few blocks, where we picked him back up “out of sight” of the police).
Leg 3: Once you have secured driver and passengers, the final phase commences. The first hour of this trip is on a paved road, but the next two to three hours are a doozy. Let’s just say it involves potholes big enough to swallow a llama and some seriously sharp curves. Oh, it may also involve the sketchy bridge from my previous post, but don’t worry, they fixed it. And by fixing, I mean they threw a mound of dirt over the top. We drove across it on my way back from San Miguel without incident. I’m not going to lie, I was sort of disappointed not to get stranded on it like my friends. I’ll suffer just about anything if it makes for a funny story. But anyhow, now you’ve made it to San Miguel; best case scenario: 21 hours of travel and only four large men sitting on top of you. I honestly cannot wait for visitors!


A few pictures San Miguel in all her glory:

This is the main plaza in the town, as well as the (only) church. The church is made of Adobe, which is essentially compacted mud. The majority of the buildings in this region are made of Adobe.










This is actually the view from my house; my only visible neighbors are seven pigs, twelve sheep and a cornucopia of cows.





Speaking of my house, I was a tad nervous about seeing it. Upon arriving in Cajamarca on Monday morning, the nine of us that will be living in that department met with our Regional Coordinator. He went one-by-one, describing our families and homes. I was last, of course. After talking about really nice houses with tile floors and cable TV, he came to me and stopped dead in his tracks. The description went something like this, “Well, Kim… your family has a BIG heart. They are a bit on the poor side… but they have BIG hearts. The house is humble, and you may want to change after a few months… but gosh that family has a BIG heart!” Hmmmmm… interesting. To make a long story short, I met the family and fell instantly in love. They really do have big hearts, in all honestly. Within the first ten minutes of meeting, I received no less than twenty-two hugs. My mom, Madi, cannot decide what she enjoys more: hugging or laughing. These two actions fought it out for the majority of my visit. My little brother, Jonatan, is fifteen and has down syndrome. He cannot speak very well, but he can make motions to express himself quite well. He is incredibly caring and loveable, just like his mommy. As if this wasn’t great enough, I am also graced with the presence of my 81 year-old grandma, Elvia. She is equally delightful; very energetic and bubbly. She tells people in town that I am her granddaughter, not bothering to explain the whole Peace Corps/American thing. This garners quite the befuddled look, but good ol’ Elvia doesn’t think a thing of it.


This is in our yard, where we have a cornfield and garden (complete with avocado tree… I couldn’t be more excited if it were a tree of pure gold). After lunch, we sit out in the cornfield and chat for a few hours. Every twenty minutes or so, we see a car pass by on the main road into town. Mom points each of them out to me and gets rather excited, often leading to a fit of laughter.

My new house can be described as very “Peace Corps,” perhaps even pushing the envelope to be called “National Geographic.” The walls are Adobe, and the floors are Mother Nature’s finest dirt. The kitchen consists of a fire pit and stone covering used for a stove/oven. There is nowhere for the smoke to escape, so the walls and ceiling are covered in soot. I’m in desperate need of a health volunteer to teach me how to fix this, before I come home with the black-lung. The highlight, however, is that there is a colony of cuyes living in the kitchen, and I do not mean in cages. I counted at least 25 of them, and they scatter about as they please. During meals, they run over my feet and nibble at my toes; I just know they are getting revenge for my killing one of their own a few weeks back.

A few more pics to enjoy:








A few of my new siblings











I brought tomatoes for a salad one day. Mom peeled them up and let the peels drop on the floor for the cuyes to enjoy as well!











My room is on the second-floor, though I have to climb two ladders to get up there… sort of a hay-loft, if you will. The room is very large and spacious, though also dirt-floored. I do have a balcony off of my room with some incredible views; I’ll definitely be investing in a hammock once I can afford one. Pics of my room (second floor) and staircase:






















Though they may be humble, I could not be more pleased with my house and family. I truly believe that this experience is about living as the locals live, and this is much more than what many Peruvians have. I look forward to many months of conversation, and of course hugs, in this new home of mine.

So a little more about the work that I will most likely be doing over the next two years (though we’ve been warned that ultimately many projects fail, while new ones may arrive)…

1. Artisan association: I will be working with a group of women who make woven goods, such as scarves, pashminas, table-cloths and other similar items. This type of weaving (and in particular, the design) is exclusive to the region of Cajamarca. The group has been formalized association for over ten years now, and may be ready for exportation soon. They are definitely ready for some serious marketing initiatives, so that should be fun. I have seen some of their work, and it is incredible; it would definitely sell in the States and other more “demanding” countries. To see more, take a look at their website: http://www.sabinevess.nl/miguel.html (Step One: Fix their website!!).

Also, they gave me a cake to welcome me to town. Boo-yeah!














2. Lactation Institute: There is a local Institute (sort of the equivalent to a technical school in the U.S) that focuses on teaching students how to make and sell dairy-related products, including cheese and yogurt. One of the “lactation specialists,” as I like to call him, is my community partner, so I should be working quite a bit here. Not to mention it is right next-door to my house. They have already scheduled “Learning Computer Skills with Kim” classes for the week that I arrive… yikes! They also want me to eventually teach a business course to the students, and maybe help them in the sales strategy for their products. I think I am most excited about this particular project, as it combines two of my favorite things: teaching and cheese. I cannot wait to dazzle you all with my dairy-product-making abilities in the near future! In addition, one of their cows had a baby while I was there, and they named her Kimberly. Which means I get to watch my little namesake grow into a lovely young lady during the next two years. I’ll be sure to post lots of proud-auntie pictures for everyone to enjoy.

3. Group for the Disabled: My host-mom is actually a part of this group, which aims to help disabled youth in the community. As mentioned, my little brother has down syndrome, but right now there is no school, facility or specialists to help him. I also met two other families with disabled children, one of which is 18 years-old, but he has to go to the Elementary School with his little sister. It is pretty sad, but the group is incredibly motivated in obtaining government and NGO-grants. I believe I’ll be helping them most with their group organization and searching for more funding opportunities. The leader of the group is another of my community partners, and he is wild and fun. He gave me not one, but two tours of the town, introducing me to at least 90% of its inhabitants. Also, his name is George. Not Jorge, but George. And yes, he is from the Jungle (one of the three regions of Peru). I’m sure he and everyone else has heard the joke a million times, but when I mentioned that he is George of the Jungle, everyone laughed hysterically for a good five minutes. “Wow, the gringa has a sense of humor!” I think they love me already…

So now I’m enjoying the last few moments of living in Lima, with my host family, and close to my Peru 13 buds. Next Friday I officially swear in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The last 9.5 weeks have FLOWN by, which I’m sure the next two years are sure to do as well. I look forward to the challenges and gratifications to come, as well as sharing them with you.
Chao!