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!