CUY FOR ME

2011-07-17T15:59:00.000-07:00

Editor’s Note: The following is a second guest blog written by the one and only, BonBon Larson. I apologize for the delay; this trip took place in early June and should have been posted weeks ago. Unfortunately for you, my audience, I have had two of the busiest (and perhaps, best) months of my life. In addition to my mom and aunt visiting my town, I began the process of finishing up my Peace Corps service and saying goodbye to some people I have come to love dearly. I’m not fully prepared to reflect on that yet, so stand by for my grand finale blog post. You won’t be disappointed.

Another Great Peruvian Adventure:

I wasn’t sure if I would get back to Peru or not, but I really wanted to visit Kimberly’s Peace Corps site of San Miguel. My sister Jackie graciously agreed to accompany me on this beautiful but arduous journey. The department of Cajamarca is not exactly traveler friendly. After spending the night with the nuns and flying from Lima to Chiclayo (Kim note: a group of nuns used to live in San Miguel and now live close to the airport offered to let us stay with them one night), we spent hours on buses and taxis which flew precariously around hairpin curves on the paved and unpaved roads along the Andes Mountains. We look back now and laugh about one driver who took a curve a little too sharply and ended up running into a rock slide. After crawling out the driver’s door and watching the men pick up the rocks one by one until our van was freed, we were on our merry way once again.

Enjoying the not-so-traveler-friendly transportation:

But we made it to Cajamarca!

Sunset overlooking the city of Cajamarca:

Hiking in Cumbe Mayo, just outside Cajamarca:

We were warmly welcomed not only by Kim’s host family, but also the entire town. I don’t believe they had ever seen tourists before, especially not blonde sisters! We got lots of stares, giggles and people touching our hair and telling us we had beautiful heads. I’m not sure which was more attractive, the mountains surrounding San Miguel or the lovely people living there. We were wined and dined wherever we went. One day we ate no less than six meals! Kimberly’s host mom killed some chickens for our lunch and hung them from the ceiling. She must have known we were a little squeamish, so she kept them covered with a towel (Kim note: Host Mom gave me a wink and said she knew how to handle “real gringas”). We kept Kimberly busy boiling water to drink and bathe in. She was very patient with her high maintenance mom and aunt.

Host Mom cleaned my room (and washed my shoes!), hauled a bed and mattress into my second-floor bedroom and made a welcome sign for their arrival. She was pretty pumped.

("Vani" = Bonnie and "Yaqui" = Jackie. I assume she wrote "okey" because it's the only word Host Mom knows in English. I love her.)

Kids LOVED the American candy - especially these candy necklaces

We helped her celebrate her birthday with a big feast, followed by the traditional dunking of the face in birthday cake and lots of dancing to wino (Editor's note: it’s spelled huayno, but I enjoyed my mom’s use of the word “wino”), cumbia and salsa music.

Our next destination was Kuelap, a pre-Incan fortress in the eyebrow of the Amazon jungle. We stayed in the quaint town of Chachapoyas and made a side trip to one of the highest waterfalls in the world, Gocta. As usual, Kim’s hikes (at 10,000 feet above sea level) tend to be grueling. Luckily I was able to ride a mule part of the way (led by an Indian woman wearing flip-flops and a skirt). The scenery and waterfall were breathtaking. I was able to top it all off with a meal of cuy (guinea pig) and rice. The views from Kuelap were equally stunning. Our guide kept us laughing even as we viewed thousand-year-old bones and a llama who met his demise falling off a cliff.

All too soon (or as Jackie says, not soon enough) it was time to return to the luxuries we take for granted in the USA. I will treasure the wonderful memories of the warm people and the rugged beauty of the Andes Mountains. And once again, I am grateful for our young people in the Peace Corps who live and work under less than ideal circumstances to bring joy and hope to so many.

Chau Peru,

Bonnie and Jackie

Another Editor’s Note, to the Guest Blogger and her sis:

I would like to formally apologize to you both for dragging y’all from one uncomfortable situation into another. Thank you for being good sports, even when it was scary. More importantly, thank you for coming, even though it was scary. You’ll never know how much it meant to me.

Upon leaving Peru last week, I am only barely beginning to grasp how much I will miss that place and those people. The past two years already seem like a dream to me, having flown by in a haze. Just knowing that you have been to San Miguel, stayed in my house, met my friends and coworkers and seen why I love it so creates a bridge between the two lives I’ve lived. I can’t imagine living without my memories of either. Mil gracias!

The Cotton Anniversary

2011-06-05T12:07:00.000-07:00

Today, June 5th, commemorates my second anniversary here in Peru. It seems just yesterday that Peru and I first met, thrown together in the oddest of circumstances. The first few days were, in a word, awkward.

Next came the honeymoon period, and we’ve spent the last 700-odd days getting to know each other up close and personal … sometimes too intimately for comfort. Like any relationship, we’ve had our ups and downs, but with time the highs became a little less high and the lows much less low.

A comfortable understanding of each other has now replaced the former awkwardness. In fact, I can’t imagine myself ever feeling awkward in any situation again. For that, I thank you Peru.

To celebrate this special occasion, I went through the volumes of pictures I’ve taken over the last two years and selected a few of my favorites. So here they are: the best-of moments between me and my guy Peru.

Celebrating Christmas in San Miguel

So many memories with Host Mom and Host Bro

Visiting the deepest canyon in the world (and my friend who actually lives there)

Sharing my favorite American holiday (and favorite American foods) with Peru

Hiking through the highlands of the highly underrated Cajamarca

Three birthdays in Peru!

Hanging out with my fabulous students

Helping my artisans pass on their art to High School students

Our Rehabilitation Center for the disabled actually got built!

San Miguel now LOVES pizza

I picked up a few new hobbies ...

... but managed to find some down-time with friends

The San Miguel fiesta nearly killed me, twice.

Oh, and so did the Amazon jungle

I saw geysers!

I crossed into Bolivia!

I went sand-boarding!

I held a sloth!

My Peace Corps bosses came to visit, and San Miguel showed them a good time

Hiking with other Volunteers

Including hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu

My house threw the best parties in town

Teaching Business skills to youth

and they taught me how to rock the sombrero

Two Christmases in Peru!

Youth Entrepreneurship Club

I found my true calling: cheese judge

Did I ever mention San Miguel was founded by Francisco Pizarro? We love him.

And another birthday in Peru

My favorite tradition: Unshas!

Cascade escapades

Boy will I miss Carnival in Cajamarca

and donkey transport

and the other white meat!

but of all things I love in Peru, above all I love Peruvians

Flamingos, Geysers, and Llama Fetuses

2011-05-16T19:54:00.000-07:00

What do these things have in common, you ask? The answer: Bolivia!

For Easter vacation, I made a run for the Peruvian border and crossed over to visit our neighbor to the southeast. Peruvians had always told me that Bolivians are a happy-go-lucky, fun-loving, joie-de-vivre bunch, so I was eager to meet them. Boy were they way off.

It’s not that Bolivians were outright rude, but they certainly weren’t happy-go-lucky. I found them closed-off and lacking that silly, slapstick humor that most Peruvians possess. The one thing I kept saying to myself was, “I sure miss Peru.” It truly made me appreciate the people I’ve come to know and love over the past two years. As a whole, Peruvians are sincere, open, curious and always, always quick to laugh. They are a transparent people; what you see is what you get. This is refreshing for someone from the U.S., where sarcasm and cynicism are easier to find than a person who wears his heart on his sleeve.

Although the people in Bolivia weren’t quite as welcoming as I had hoped, the sights did not disappoint. It contains some of the most drastic landscapes I have ever encountered, from La Paz, the highest capital city in the world, to Uyuni, with its miles of open white salt flats (left behind from an ancient salt lake which once covered most of Bolivia). Throw in vast desserts, snow-capped mountains, red lagoons and eerie sulfur-spouting geysers and you’ve got some eclectic terrain. More than just a different country, it felt like a different planet sometimes. Only pictures can truly do it justice, so I’ll let them speak for themselves:

First stop: the floating islands of Lake Titicaca (the highest navigable lake in the world)

These islands (and everything on them) are made of reeds, literally floating in the lake.

The islands were originally populated (and still are) by the Uro people, a pre-Incan tribe native to Peru and Bolivia. Most of the women look like this little lass (not much excercise to be had when you live on a tiny island!)

Boats remain the main mode of transportation (and are also made of reeds)

From Puno, we made our way around Lake Titicaca to Bolivia's capital of La Paz. It's a truly dramatic city, sliding off the side of steep mountains into the valley below. It is steep and smoggy, but not without its quirky charms.

One example of such charms: the witches' market, where you can buy stuffed-armadillos and dead llama fetuses, among other things.

A lovely local, proudly showing off one of the larger of the llama fetuses

Guess I should explain, why the llama fetuses... Andean culture believes that they bring good luck, so it is important to bury one under your house for protection. Here's my little lucky charm, after receiving the ceremonial blessing.

From La Paz, we made our way south to Uyuni, where we took a three-day tour around southern Bolivia. First stop: the train cemetery, where the Bolivian train system went to die.

Next stop: the salar de uyuni, the world's largest salt flat. Blindingly blanch-white as far as the eye can see, the salt flat is an overwhelming sight to behold. Part of it is covered in an inch or two of water, resulting in reflective views of the pure blue sky above.

Looks like snow, right? Wrong! Pure salt, as far as the eye can see.

The endless white made for odd perspectives and funny picture opportunities. Here I am, doing what I do best... holding up my friends.

Moving along, we drove into the mountainous lake district.

Our sweet ride during the trip!

No civilization in site.

We then travelled through the "rock gardens," lands filled with huge rock formations.

So many posed-photo opportunities, so little time...

Enjoying a little lunch with our group

The "tree rock," which looks a bit like South Carolina, doesn't it?

A national park, where we stayed the night. Gorgeous.

The red lagoon, so colored because of micro-organisms living in the water

The floating white stuff is borax

The only thing cooler than a red lagoon is a red lagoon full of flamingos. Hundreds of them live in the lake, feeding off of the organisms (which makes them pink) ... and I took hundreds of pictures of them.

A couple of my new buds, up close and personal

Taking flight...

Sparing you more of my flamingo pictures, I'll move along to the geysers. We arrived at the top of the mountain-range before sunrise to see them in the eerie morning light.

The natural geysers and bubbling pools spew hot sulfur into the air, which helps keep you warm on the freezing cold morning (altitude is over 14,500 feet).

This spot, more than any other, made me feel like I was visiting Mars.

Near the geysers, we wrapped up the tour with a visit to the natural hot springs for a relaxing soak.

When in Bolivia, watch out for the llamas crossing the road!

I took nearly as many llama photos as I did flamingo shots ...

Thanks Bolivia, I had a great time!

(one last picture just to prove that Bolivians put silly clothes on their dogs as well)

It Ain’t Over Til the Fir Tree Falls

2011-04-01T14:42:00.000-07:00

There are far too few parties, in my opinion at least, that involve machetes. To her credit, Peru does incorporate the machete into more social functions than most countries, my favorite of which is the Unsha. Called by many different names depending upon which part of the country you live in, the Unsha (as it is called here in San Miguel), is a sacred and time-honored tradition. It comes about during Carnival season (the weeks leading up to and surrounding Ash Wednesday on the Christian calendar), and for us marks the last few days of celebration.

I actually began a blog entry about this event last year, but was so exhausted/overwhelmed/awestruck by the entire Carnival experience that I couldn’t muster the energy to finish it. This time around I knew what to expect and was able to participate in the events like the seasoned veteran I believe myself to be. I was worried that this year’s Carnival experience wouldn’t live up to last year´s, simply because the factor of “the unknown” was eliminated.

That was not the case. This year proved just as insane and exhilarating, perhaps even more so because we were able to plan properly. We prepared the necessities (paint, buckets, water guns, water balloons, old clothes) in advance and were able to put ourselves in strategic locations before others could target us.

Malicious tots looking for a nice gringo target...

but we would not go down without a fight!

If you were reading my blog this time last year, you know that Carnival is celebrated longer, harder and more earnestly here in Cajamarca than anywhere else in the country. I won’t repeat all the details again (reference my blog from February 2010 if you didn’t already read about it) but will just say that 2011 did not disappoint.

This year the “Peace Corps Volunteer Tribe” took to the streets, joining into the parade with the rest of the tribes and marched through the streets, leaving paint-streaked cars, buildings and people in our wake. I even made it onto national TV by giving a thoughtful and profound interview with a reporter! Okay, okay, perhaps one would call it unintelligible low-brow more so than thoughtful and profound, but a national TV appearance is still a national TV appearance.

Tribe Gringo, approximately 25-deep

Of course, there is always some fraternizing with the enemy

Although it did not disappoint, this year’s Carnival celebration had a bittersweet flavor for me, as it was the last one I’ll get to participate in. After discovering the unexpected joy of it all last year, I had a full year to look forward to the next one. Now that it’s over, I am sad to feel the void of that anticipation. But just as I come to fully realize this fact, the good ol’ Unsha sweeps in to cheer me up! As aforementioned, the Unshas come around during the days following Ash Wednesday, when nearly every “neighborhood” (aka street) in town plans their own Unsha party.

The process is this: in the morning the neighborhood’s Unsha-planner tramples out to the woods and hunts down a proper tree: typically medium-sized with a skinny trunk and ample branches. The lucky tree is then hauled back, where it is literally planted in the middle of the street. That’s right, we jack-hammer a hole in the middle of the street, dig a hole there and plant the tree as naturally as if it had grown there.

Before the Unsha tree can be raised, however, it is filled with presents! The quality of presents depends upon the fiscal situation of the Unsha-planner and his/her committee, as they pay for everything. For this, you really don’t want to end up as the planner (I’ll explain shortly how one actually becomes the planner). Mostly you see house-hold goods in the tree, such as buckets, brooms, blankets, etc., as we have to rely on things you can actually buy in San Miguel (alas, Target has yet to set up shop here).

Once the tree, presents and decorations included, has been raised, the real fun begins. After night-fall, the neighborhood residents and friends start gathering around the tree, along with… you guessed it, a marching band. As the band plays, everyone dances around the tree and revels in post-Carnival glee. Somewhere around 2 am, the machete finally makes its appearance. The Unsha-planner is given the machete, and, after several speeches, takes a whack at the trunk of the tree. The machete is then passed to everyone present and each gets a shot at the trunk.

Your goal is actually not to knock down the tree, as the last person to hit the trunk before it falls inherits the title of Unsha-planner for the following year. And the townsfolk do NOT forget who was wielding the machete when the tree came tumbling down. But it’s also an honor to be Unsha-planner, and the chosen one nearly always accepts the responsibility as such. Plus everyone else wins when the tree does finally fall, because then there is a free-for-all on the presents! You wouldn’t believe the rush that ensues to grab whatever you can from the tree branches, as if that plastic bucket is its worth its weight in gold.

To summarize, we drink for 4-5 hours, then swinging a machete around a tightly-packed group of people… good wholesome fun, really. Just one more reason I love this place and will miss its ridiculous traditions. I´ve participated in many Unshas now, and I´m happy to say that I have never gotten stuck with the final blow… but boy have I enjoyed watching it fall.

Oh Carnival, thanks for the memories!

Summer is here and the weather is (not so) beautiful...

2011-02-08T16:44:00.000-08:00

After several false starts through December and January, rainy season has finally taken control of life as we know it here in San Miguel. Between coalition forces of rain, fog and mist, we haven’t seen sun here in weeks. While my fellow volunteers living in coastal Peru suffer the sweltering heat of another summer without air conditioning, we serranos are bundling up in three, four, sometimes five layers of clothing… and we look GOOD!

The good news: it’s been so cold and rainy that pre-carnival antics have been miraculously calm; even tween boys don’t want to brave the great outdoors to throw their balloons and buckets of water. At present count, I’ve only been hit by TWO balloons so far this year – yee haw! Of course, the carnival climax isn’t until March this year, much to my chagrin, so I am probably jinxing myself here.

The bad news: the weather has brought all ambition to a screeching halt. Kids are out of school for summer vacation, most of the town has gone to seek refuge with extended family on the coast, and those left behind have zero motivation to leave the house. Needless to say, I have found myself with a bit more time on my hands.

While I am still trying my hardest to keep projects up and running, there is only so much you can do when enthusiasm is limited. After all, Peru has taught me that projects are must successful and sustainable when you can convince locals that it was their idea to begin with. So instead of pushing against it, I have decided to embrace this slower pace of life for the month. Part of the Peace Corps experience is a cultural exchange, and I’m grabbing onto that with both hands.

My revised agenda now includes things that I have wanted to do for over a year but haven’t managed the time. Host Mom is taking me under her wing in the kitchen, teaching me the delicate art of Peruvian cuisine… including how to make ceviche. Yikes! I am finally learning how to weave from my artisans, which is also an interesting, if not completely successful, endeavor. I made friends with the local women’s group, and we have started a lecture series (with yours truly as the lecturer, of course) in which they ask to hear about topics such as personal savings plans and even environmental protection. I am also making lots of house calls these days. As the only person in town with a rain jacket, I am afforded more freedom of movement and take advantage of it with little visits and chats. This may be my favorite new rainy season ritual. Not only do I get to have intimate conversations with my neighbors, but I have found that I am always greeted with food. Win-win, really.

So maybe I’m not working 9-to-5 these days, and maybe attendance at my meetings is at an all-time low (we’re talking 20%), but I’ve found a way to fill the hours in a more fulfilling way than I ever imagined. By embracing the down time, I feel more connected to this community and its people than ever before. Even better than being “professor,” I can just be daughter, sister, neighbor and friend.

One GREAT thing about this time of year: mango season!

At least the rains make my lovely town even lovelier...

but often we can't even see the green hills through the fog

Host Bro and I get lots of Q.T. these days

No raincoat? No problem... grab a tarp.

Here I am, weaving myself a rug!

Some new friends in the women's group

At least construction on our rehabilitation center is still underway!

Spending my free time in the hammock... and spreading the joy of pop rocks to the youth of Peru

Thanksgiving 2010: Turkey, Stuffing and Frog Milkshakes

2010-12-04T12:39:00.000-08:00

This Thanksgiving I made my way down south, to the department of Arequipa. And when I say south, I mean waaaaaay south; Cajamarca could not be further away if it tried. While we share a border with Ecuador, Arequipa is practically a part of Chile.

They also like to think of themselves as their own separate country, joking that passports are required to enter their “independent republic.” Kind of like Texas, if you will, which is one more reason to love it. Another reason: Arequipa is renowned for their delicious food. From ceviche to rocoto relleno (a wonderfully spicy pepper stuffed with beef and cheese) to queso helado (literally translates to frozen cheese, which sounds gross but is oh-so-good), Arequipa is sure to burst your buttons. What better place to celebrate Thanksgiving, no?

This trip was scheduled over a year ago, upon learning that two volunteers would be placed there with a family that runs a buffet restaurant… I’ve been drooling in anticipation ever since.

The city of Arequipa, second largest in Peru, is stunningly beautiful, with mountainous views, cobble-stone streets and gleaming white buildings (it is nicknamed “The White City,” as most of its buildings are constructed from a white volcanic rock called sillar).

While I was chiefly concerned with what, exactly, I would eat in Arequipa, I completely forgot to do any research on what else there is to see and do there. Fortunately for us, our volunteer friend John met us in the city and gave us the grand tour. John just happens to be an aspiring Chef, so our tour was actually 78% food-related, which was a-ok me.

Just a couple of "yankees" down from the north

Our fantastic tour-guide John, coincidentally, is from the Independent Republic of Texas

Plaza de Armas at dusk

Between stuffing ourselves silly every two to three hours, we managed to see the sights, including a tour of the beautifully medieval Monastery, dating back to the 1500’s. One of the highlights of the tour was our trip to the local market, which I always love in Peru. There is so much bustling about, as locals buy and sell their produce, meats, spices and just about anything else you could require. Plus, there’s always that one unique feature that identifies a city within its market stalls. In Iquitos, it was the witch-craft loot. In Arequipa, the frog milkshake stand fills that role. Said to relieve stress, the shake consists of a whole frog, skinned, sautéed (but not gutted or de-boned) and puréed with a milk-like substance.

In the end, it’s not a bad little snack, except that it’s hot, slightly lumpy and everyone is aware of the fact that it’s made from frog guts. In addition, your appetite is somewhat curbed by watching them kill the live frogs right in front of you. This involves pulling one unlucky fellow from an aquarium, banging him against a table a few times, then in a rapid flurry of movements, the skin is peeled off in one foul swoop. After that, it’s into the frying pan for you, my little friend! As for the stress-relief, I’m not so sure about that, unless you really despise frogs and wish them ill will.

The lovely Monastery

More fun things for sale in the Market: Alpaca!

The "frog juice" stand

A cute fake frog amongst the real ones...to lighten up the mood, I suppose?

If you look closely, you'll see the froggy in his right hand, literally on his last legs. HaHa.

On Thanksgiving morning, we made our way to Chivay, where a group of 18 people were waiting in the restaurant to begin cooking. The owners of the restaurant, Enrique and Amanda, were so excited about our presence there that they gave us complete access to the kitchen and all of its equipment, even pulling out chef’s uniforms for all of us to don. Dividing responsibilities, we made the most perfect Thanksgiving spread, with turkey, stuffing, gravy, cranberry, mashed potatoes, biscuits and more. Take a dozen or so semi-starved Peace Corps volunteers and throw them into an opportunity like this, and you’re sure to have some serious over-indulgence on your hands, almost bordering on the obscene. Most of us were forced to adopt the gross-Peruvian-man technique of lifting up the shirt and appreciatively rubbing the belly.

On the ride to Chivay, we passed over this spot, which is over 16,000 feet above sea level. It's what I imagine Mars to look like.

Tasted even better than it looks!

In order to feel slightly better about our gluttonous behavior the day before, we spent most of Friday on a “bike and hike” excursion (only after starting the morning off with espresso and left-over pie). Chivay just happens to be at the base of the Colca Canyon, which is the deepest in the world. In your face Grand Canyon! We spent the next few days touring different Peace Corps sites around the canyon, taking in the sights and even accidentally stumbling upon a giant condor up close, which are famous in the area (some tourists come just for this, and spend hours or sometimes days looking for them). Then it was back to the city for a last 24-hour session of stuffing our faces… or fatting up for the winter, as I like to think of it.

Sharing the roads with local ladies and local llamas

Colca Canyon

Most homes here are built out of stone, and blend in perfectly with the lanscape

Typical dress of Arequipa

Our bike ride took us to some pre-Incan tombs... creepy

Bones everywhere

According to local custom, I left my offering

Kristen's site, Cabanaconde, is the starting point for most hikes into the Canyon

Our accidental condor sighting

This trip just reminded me why Thanksgiving is my personal favorite. It is the underdog of holidays, Christmas’s red-headed stepchild. But it is the most genuine of holidays… no gifts, no jingles, just food. And family, of course. Many thanks to Jean, Russ, John, Kristen, Enrique, Amanda and all the others who welcomed us into their Arequipa family.

Now, as we all know, Thanksgiving is all about sharing, so I give to you all the delectable recipe for frog milkshakes (roughly translated into American ingredients), just in case you want to serve them at your next get-together. Provecho!

• 1 large frog, skinned and sautéed over a low flame (see first photo below)
• 1 TBSP honey
• 1 cup of ground cereal
• 2 tsp Bee Pollen
• 1 tsp chocolate syrup
• 2 cups soy milk
• 1 whole, uncracked, quail egg (see second photo below)

Throw all ingredients into a blender, mixing until (somewhat) smooth and creamy. Enjoy with friends!

Missed Opportunities

2010-11-17T14:41:00.000-08:00

I’ve had a tough run of luck in 2010. This year alone, I have lost, broken or been robbed of three bank cards, two iPods, one passport, four computer chargers, one digital camera, two sets of house keys, one pair of shoes, three cell phones and one laptop.

Granted, I’ve never been accused of being overly careful with my personal possessions, but this seems a little excessive, even for me. I am convinced that all of Peru is conspiring against me… and then laughing heartily as I discover just how difficult it is to replace ANYTHING in this country. It often involves a trip to Lima, double the amount of money it would cost in the U.S., and weeks of waiting (or sometimes months, in the case of a passport or bank card). Don’t even get me started on the paperwork involved. I once tried to exchange a shirt for a different size here, the same exact shirt mind you, and it took me two hours, four store employees and no less than seven signed documents to accomplish my task.

I’m not sure if it’s a mistrust issue, arising from years of dealing with poverty and corruption, but Peruvians absolutely adore official documentation. If you want to meet with the director of the High School, for example, you must first take three copies of a meeting request to his secretary, each stamped and signed, and she will in return stamp and sign all copies, keeping one for the director, one for their files and the final for you. All this just to request a meeting… the actual meeting itself involves lots more paper, stamps and signatures. At first the process left me befuddled, but now I have been converted. I won’t even consider attending a meeting in town unless the proper channels have been executed via my secretary (aka host brother, Jhon). And I’m even on my second pad of stamp ink!

Anyhow, back to the issue at hand: my losses over the course of this year. Although the laptop was arguably the greatest setback (I mean, how else am I expected to watch all those bootlegs DVDs I’ve acquired?), a recent loss has utterly brought me to my knees. Somehow, both of my camera chargers have disappeared. With dead batteries and no way to charge them, my picture-taking has come to a screeching halt. New and hilarious events cross my path daily, yet I have no way of capturing them. Tragic. Absolutely tragic.

To add insult to serious injury, the last two months have been filled with more ridiculousness than I could have ever hoped for. Considering I am literally the only one in town who finds life in San Miguel odd and entertaining, I simply must share these things with outsiders. I realize the effect is not nearly the same without visuals, but in the interest of continuing to blog about this amusing life, I shall do my best to portray what my lenses currently cannot.

Top Things I’ve Wanted to Capture on Film, But Couldn’t:

1. The “New” Ferris-Wheel. While I mentioned in a previous blog that this year’s festival was essentially the same as 2009’s, I overlooked one major detail. This year included one additional joy for the kiddies… a shiny new ferris-wheel! Well, calling it new might be a slight exaggeration. Each seat consisted of two pieces of plywood roughly slapped together with rusty nails. I can only assume it was put together for the World’s Fair Paris, 1889.

Best part… are you ready for this?... the wheel was turned not by a motor, but by two guys grabbing the sides and pulling down in swift motions. I kid you not. The two guys did this for hours on end, night after night. I feel sure this provided more entertainment for me than for the kiddies riding on the archaic disaster-waiting-to-happen. “Sure you don’t want to hop on?” the wheel turners asked me multiple times, as I hovered around like a creep. No thanks… think I’ll stick to the firework towers for now.

2. Trick-or-Treat. If you read my blog from last year, you will know that Peru doesn’t celebrate Halloween, they celebrate Day of the Dead and All-Saints Day. Remember, party in the cemetery, complete with dancing, hot dog vendors and campfires? While this is all well and good, I still missed the traditions from my native land.

So I lectured to a few kids in San Miguel about costumes, going door-to-door and the bags full of candy that we know and love in the U.S. It was early October at that point, so I had forgotten all about it until Halloween day arrived and one of the little boys called me from his mom’s cell phone to schedule a time for his “trick or treat appointment.” Thank heavens I had just received a huge bag of candy from my aunt in the States, or else I would have ended up with some angry kids (I do recall mentioning the “trick” part could involve toilet papering and/or egging someone’s house. Stupid!).

Sure enough two little boys showed up at my door promptly at seven o’clock, dressed in what they thought to be appropriate costumes. One was a “dead zombie skateboarder” and the other was an “army killer with a knife.” They were so earnest and adorable that I ended up giving them half my candy stash.

Word spread like wildfire throughout the town that the gringa was giving out candy, so I ended up with every kid within a 5-mile radius, parading their homespun costumes and demanding their fair share of the loot. It cost me every one of my precious chocolates, but it was worth it to see them indulge in what I would consider to be one of the great American traditions.

3. Traveling in Style. Getting to and fro in rural Peru is always a treat. You literally never know what to expect. Sometimes it’s a good surprise, like when the car gets stopped for an hour as 250 llamas cross the road. Other times, not so good, like when you get stopped for three hours by landslides and impassible roads.

More often than not, however, the surprise comes from how many objects, living and non, can be stuffed into a mid-sized sedan. At current count, my record is eleven people, two large pieces of furniture, five sacks of potatoes and a crate of cuyes. It is certainly not unusual to carry animals along, as their owners will often sell them in the city for a better price. The question of how to carry a live animal is simple: tie it up and strap it to the roof. This is no new thing for me, but my last trip to the capital shook things up a bit.

We picked up a man along the road who was traveling with a rather large goat. He refused to put it on the roof because it was cold outside and he did not want the goat to pick up a sniffle… that could seriously lower his asking price, after all. Peruvians have a hard time saying “no” to anything, so the goat was hog-tied around the ankles and tossed in the back with the luggage. The goat was not pleased with this situation.

I happened to be sitting directly in front of it, so I spent the ride with his head on my shoulder, bleating as loudly as possible into my ear. I couldn’t even get upset, because it was just so funny. You would’ve laughed too, especially if you could’ve seen the picture.

4. Camp. This past weekend I had the pleasure of hanging out with 26 teenage boys, which always makes for some photogenic moments. The event was a leadership camp in Cajamarca run by us Peace Corps volunteers, and we each brought two upstanding kids from our town to participate. The kids participated in leadership activities, toured the local University, spoke with community members in a Professionals Panel and got the chance to interact with other adolescents from around the department. We also threw in some fun, and for many of them, it was the first time travelling to the capital city, first time riding an escalator (there is only one in all of Cajamarca), first time going to the movies and first time swimming in a pool.

While I really enjoyed watching them take interest in college courses, discuss future plans and improve their leadership skills, it was the social aspect that really made me fall in love with these kids. While they were all timid at first, by the end of the first day boys from opposite ends of the department were working together, joking with each other and even walking around arm in arm. It reminded me just how loving the people of Peru can be; they will show their affection toward you in a million ways, even if you were a stranger just the day before. After all, how many American boys (juniors in High School, at that) would put their arm over a male friend’s shoulder as if it were nothing?

Although I don’t have the physical photo, that image will forever remain with me.

5. Sheep-head Soup. It’s not that I’ve never eaten sheep-head soup… trust me, I’ve licked that bowl clean and asked for seconds. But when you witness the process of making it for the first time, it can come as a real shocker. For me, this event happened a few weeks ago when Uncle Tio 2 came to visit (Host Mom’s long-lost older brother who lives in the Jungle, not to be confused with regular Uncle Tio, who lives next door). To celebrate the auspicious occasion, we did what any regular family would do (at least in biblical times): slaughter a sheep. In case you’re wondering, watching a sheep being killed falls right in the middle of the livestock-death scale… worse than watching a cuy go but not nearly as bad as a pig.

The unpleasant part comes when you watch all the pieces coming out and realizing what you’ve been eating over the last year. I’ve learned from experience that ignorance is bliss when you tell yourself everything is breast meat. Those days, unfortunately, have been ripped from me, and I now know exactly what mondongo really is. Although I was generally grossed out by most of this, the fun and photo-worthy part came when we finally ate our sheep-head soup the following day at lunch.

I guess I’ve always just been served a bowl without looking in the pot before, because I assumed the name was just an adorable way of saying that sheep meat was involved. No, no, the title is literal, my friends. Mid-way through our bowls, Uncle Tio 2 opens the pot and proudly pulls out the entire sheep head, then commences to display it as a centerpiece on the table. I thought he was joking as he asked who wanted the eyeball. Turns out Grandma really likes eyeball. The entire family then bartered over ears, lips, tongue, you name it, as the poor little lamb was carved up, Thanksgiving-turkey style.

So for those of you looking to mix up the menu a bit next week, let me know if you’d like the recipe for sheep-head soup!

And Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

A Brief Reprieve From Donkeys and Drinking-Circles

2010-10-29T19:47:00.000-07:00

I know you all tune into this blog mainly to read about my seemingly endless supply of weird food and/or livestock stories, but I must take a short break from my mindless musings to bring you a posting with substance. I know, I know… this is certainly not my strong suit. But let’s give it a whirl, shall we?

As aforementioned, I have been working with a group here in San Miguel that is aimed at helping the disabled population in the surrounding area. When you take a disability and throw in the factors of extreme poverty and a remote location, the problem is exacerbated greatly. There are very few resources here; case in point: San Miguel’s health clinic is equipped with one wheelchair, which, I kid you not, is a plastic lawn chair rigged up with two small wheels on the bottom.

In addition to the physical problems, the handicapped of San Miguel have to deal with the stigmatism of an uneducated population. Many people look at them as freaks and treat them like outcasts.

For these reasons, the civil association “Grupo de Apoyo a Personas con Discapacidad,” or Group for the Advancement of Persons with Disability, was formed. The mission is two-fold: help with the necessary medical treatment and improve the overall quality of life. The group provides money for medicines, operations, etc., as well as offering sensitivity lectures for community members and special events for the disabled.

So where do I come in, you ask? Well, the group has for some time had the dream of building a rehabilitation center here in San Miguel, offering speech therapy, educational courses and more. There is currently no such facility anywhere in the department (department is to Peru as state is to the U.S.). I was asked to help with their organizational development and fundraising campaign. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to receive full funding for the center during my two years here… but that is exactly what has happened. Through multiple donations, the largest and most recent of which coming from an NGO in Germany, we have now reached our monetary goal. We have also secured a plot of land, donated by San Miguel’s Municipality, and medical/educational services through other local institutions.

The ground-breaking ceremony has already taken place and construction is beginning this week. In order to keep our investors updated with the progress of the construction, we have created a group website (just launched today!). It will be updated frequently with more photos and information… I hope you’ll check it out:

http://www.gapdperu.com/

Dreams really do come true!

The Parents' Perspective

2010-09-21T12:22:00.000-07:00

After managing to survive their trip down south, I invited my parents to write a guest blog about their experiences and impressions. I was a bit nervous about what I would get back, fearing that they would tear my poor host-home to bits. For better or for worse, Peru is my home, my country, my people. And nobody bashes my people but me.

The overall review was not nearly as bad as I expected. I was pleased to read that my parents did appreciate some of the wonders found here, but I guess it takes time to see it all with the rose-colored glasses that I now wear after fifteen months. Sometimes I forget that Peru, in spite of the trash and because of the funny transportation situations, is an acquired taste. I find it perfectly palatable, but others may find it a bit fishy. It was odd to see Peru through fresh eyes, but in the end I enjoyed seeing the perspective. I hope you all do as well:

My husband, Ric, and I were fortunate enough to travel to Peru to visit our Peace Corps Volunteer daughter, Kimberly. I’ve never been to a third world country, so it was quite an eye opener. Kim had warned us that visiting Peru is NOT like a trip to Spain, and she was right in that respect. If you require luxury, I would suggest limiting your visit to Lima – but then you would miss out on some awesome sights. After 24 hours of travelling (actually most of this time was spent sitting in airports), we arrived in the ancient Incan capital of Cusco, gateway to Machu Picchu. We were met at the airport by our guide, German (pronounced Her-mon’), with whom Kimberly thoughtfully charged with our safety. He instructed us on what to do and not to do in this cobblestoned city set at a lofty 12,000 feet above sea level: Take it easy for a day or two, stay hydrated and eat lightly. We heeded his advice and enjoyed strolling the narrow streets, visiting sixteenth century cathedrals and Incan ruins, browsing in shops and watching beautiful dark -eyed children in colorful costumes in the beautiful Plaza de Armas, which in Inca times was the heart of the capital. My personal favorites were the little girls with baby alpacas or llamas who requested that we take our picture with them (for a small fee). Our hotel, Casa de San Blas, was quaint, rustic and very clean.

Mom with her three favorite things: German, an alpaca and a tourist-trap

Two days later we were on our way to Machu Picchu. From Cusco we took a 4 hour train ride and then a 30 minute bus ride to the site. We took the easy route. Kim and her friends hiked for 4 days on the Inca Trail, through rain, hail and snow to reach the summit above Machu Picchu at sunrise. Unfortunately, it was cloudy, so they didn’t actually see the sun come up. They slept in tents at night and were always wet and cold. When we finally met them, they looked so bedraggled! My motherly instincts made me want to give them all a bath and some cocoa. But after a hot meal, they were off and running again, describing the beauty they experienced on the Inca trail. Ric and I had a 2 ½ hour tour of the ruins with a very knowledgeable guide, Pasqual. No picture or documentary can do justice to this site. It truly is one of the wonders of the world. I’m grateful that this was one place the Spaniards did not venture, as they had the habit of tearing down Inca temples and erecting churches. They were not nearly as skilled in the art of building as the Incas, who were truly master builders. I cannot begin to comprehend how they cut blocks of solid granite with such precise angles and used no mortar. Their buildings were virtually earthquake proof, while the Spanish buildings were not. The systems of terraces, aqueducts and fountains, drainage, etc. are amazing. But what makes this place truly remarkable is its setting in the most beautiful mountains and rainforest I have ever seen. It is literally in the clouds. One moment you can’t see anything and then the clouds recede to reveal spectacular views.

The "bedraggled" travelers in need of a bath

Stones of Machu Picchu

Mountainous view behind Machu Picchu city

Post-bath, overlooking city of Cusco

We said goodbye to Cusco and flew back to Lima, a beautiful city with mountains sliding into the Pacific Ocean. It felt great to be back at sea level! We stayed in Miraflores, a lovely section of the city, dotted with parks (one was dedicated to John F. Kennedy), cafes and shops. From Lima, we headed by bus down the coast to the desert town of Huacachina. It is an oasis surrounded by towering sand dunes and is a favorite with young people who love to go sandboarding down the dunes. We all strapped ourselves into dune buggies which raced up and down the dunes, stopping occasionally for Ric and the kids to try out their sandboarding skills. I was the holder of the cameras. The outing ended with a Kodak moment as we watched the sun setting behind the sand dunes.

Miraflores, overlooking the Pacific Ocean

Riding the dunes in Huacachina

Kodak moment

Enjoying a break between buggie-riding

Next we traveled to Pisco where we boarded a boat to visit the Islas Ballestas, or ‘poor man’s Galapagos.’ Along the way, we saw the famous three-pronged Candelabra geoglyph, a giant figure etched into the sandy hills, something like the Nazca Lines. We spent an hour cruising around the islands’ arches and caves, watching sea lions, penguins and thousands of sea birds, such as the Peruvian booby. All too soon, the trip was over, and we were on our way back to Lima.

Sea-lion sunbathing

As we said goodbye to all the Volunteers and their friends, I felt such a sense of gratitude for the dedication and skills these young people exhibited. Peru may have many beautiful and interesting destinations, but it is definitely not for the faint of heart. I found the images of squalor, endless piles of litter and stray dogs quite disturbing. Many Volunteers live without complaining in adobe huts without electricity. They are definitely helping to improve the quality of life for countless people through education, fundraising and better business techniques. I personally will probably not be invited back to Peru because I could not always remember to place the toilet tissue in the trash can, not flush it down the toilet. In fact, I have a feeling the whole country’s sewer system will never be the same!

A Propensity for Partying

2010-08-17T14:17:00.000-07:00

As I write this blog post, I am finding it difficult to lift my fingers high enough to type. This little gringa is exhausted! Last month San Miguel’s annual festival came blowing through town like a hurricane and nearly took me out in the process. Seventeen days of no work and all play can be seriously strenuous. This marked my second, and last, San Miguel festival, so I was determined to live it up… I also have more friends than I did last year, so they forced me to stick to that vow.

What resulted was a string of nights where we danced til 5 am, then started dancing again at 6 am, breaking only to drink some soup for breakfast. The events were essentially the same as last year (parades, towers of fireworks and marching bands galore), so I’ll spare you the redundancy. What the festival made me realize, however, is that I haven’t fully explained the party process in all of its sordid details. Trust me, after a year of living with this particular family in this particular town, I’ve got it down to a science.

It really is a fascinating thing to behold, in that every celebratory party, whether it is a birthday party, wedding reception or even a funeral, follows the same precise pattern. I know I would be doing you all an injustice if you find yourself in the middle of a Peruvian fete and you didn’t know which way to pass the glass. So here goes, I offer you the instruction manual that I have pieced together during my many months of partying:

1. Do not show up on time. Trust me, I’ve learned this the hard way, showing up to somebody’s house and having the hostess usher me inside to sit by myself for two hours while she washes her hair. Under close study, I have formulated a general guideline. For weddings, show up 30 minutes after the advertised time, one hour for funerals and baptisms, and two hours for a birthday party. The only two events that start on time here are Mass and Bullfights.

2. Once you arrive, greet every person in the room (with a kiss on the cheek for ladies and a hand-shake between men), then sit down, do not talk and stare off into space without making eye contact with anyone. Usually the chairs are arranged in a circle, so it can prove difficult not to catch a stray eye here or there. It takes practice, so do not expect to master it at your first few parties. This first stage of the party usually only lasts for about half an hour, and you’ll know it has ended when the host and his/her minions begin to pass out napkins and plastic utensils.

3. Next comes Meal #1. Typically it involves a questionable piece of meat, rice, potatoes and a vegetable (vegetable = one piece of lettuce). Just a smaller version of your lunch, so nothing exciting there. What makes it fun is trying to cut the mystery meat with a plastic spoon, while balancing the small Styrofoam plate on your lap. Add to that a Dixie cup of Inka Cola and you can just picture the awkwardness that ensues. An important note: don’t forget to bring a few little plastic bags in your pocket for leftovers. Say it’s for your dog.

Every party requires a small staff to prepare the food

The man above demonstrates an excellent balance-your-plate-on-your-lap technique.

4. Speaking of awkwardness, the next phase is without a doubt my favorite. Awkward Speeches!! Beginning with the host and moving around to many of the attendees, each person spends a good five minutes thanking one another for attending or throwing the soiree. The longer your speech, the better. Bonus points if you specifically name and thank 90% of the people in the room. And don’t think that I don’t share in the fun. I have my standard speech, requiring slight tailoring based on the situation that I have given more than a dozen times.

It doesn’t really matter what you say. At Host-Mom’s birthday, I watched as three people who had just roamed in off the street (we always keep the door open on party nights, no matter how cold it gets) and barely knew her gave heart-felt toasts. I really don’t want to Peru-bash and/or stereotype here, but this is a genuine observation that I have made over the last year. Peruvians are really horrible public speakers. And yet they continue, celebration after celebration, to stand up and say their peace. You’ve gotta respect that.

Host-Mom is a master at the speech...

... and so am I, apparently. Check out the applause I garnered!

5. Once the speeches have concluded, everybody gets to down their thimble-sized cup of wine… the sweeter the wine, the better. This serves as a sign that the drinking portion has begun, and those who do not want to partake should go ahead and leave. I’ve never actually seen anybody leave, though. Breast-feeding mothers, five year-old children, Priests, Nuns, the elderly, the disabled. They all stay for at least a round or two (and often many more) of the drinking circle.

The drinking circle is perhaps the thing that most differentiates a Peruvian party from its North American counterpart. The host brings out one bottle (of beer or canazo) and one glass. He pours an appropriate amount into the glass and passes the bottle on to the person at his immediate left – this is VERY important, the bottle must be passed on before drinking. This is his way of saying “Cheers” to everyone. He then drinks the entire contents of the glass as quickly as possible (others are waiting for their turn, after all), occasionally accompanied by a nod of the head and tip of the glass to his neighbor out of politeness and camaraderie. Then, before passing the glass on to his neighbor, he dumps the remaining contents of the glass (foam and/or leftover drops of the beverage) into a communal bowl strategically set in the middle of the drinking circle… or if no bowl is handy, onto the floor. This act serves two functions. First, on a practical level, it clears out the nasty backwash issue that arises when dozens of people are sharing one cup. Second, it symbolically gives a drink to “Pacha Mama,” which is quechua for Mother Earth.

This process continues around and around the circle for the remainder of the night. Simple enough, but a few factors can complicate it. If a man is standing next to a woman, he will often serve her first. If a man is standing next to five women, he’ll go down the line and serve all of them before taking his own turn. Then it can become confusing when dancing begins, as the perfect circle becomes a little discombobulated. But by that point, most are too tipsy to notice or care.

Here's a visual for you:

Lady with the hat passes bottle to boy on her left (let's just ignore the fact that he is clearly not drinking age, shall we?)

Boy pours himself a little...

After passing the bottle along, he drinks...

After dumping contents on the floor, he passes along the cup. Continue ad nauseum.

6. Although the music comes on as soon as the speeches wrap up, dancing does not begin until the drinking circle has gone around a few times. They may be Latin in more ways than one, and the opposite of timid when it comes to asking personal questions and professing their love for you, but Peruvians can be shy to dance until they have the proper incentive.

Enjoy this time, though, because once the dancing begins, do not expect to get much of a rest for another six hours or so. Everybody seems to agree at the same time that it is time to dance, but women have to wait for a man to ask her to dance. You don’t really see groups of girls dancing together, as in the United States. No, no, it must be a one-guy-to-one-girl affair. Also it is considered rude for a woman to turn down a dance request from any man. It reminds me of a 1950’s High School dance, except for the booze, of course.

7. As aforementioned, dancing ensues and dominates the scene for the remainder of the party. It is only interrupted for a series of small meals, depending on how long the party goes on. Meal #2 is usually (in San Miguel, at least) a cup of pre-sweetened coffee and a small plate piled high with cheese, bread and cake. Note: here is another great opportunity to use those little baggies you brought along. This cake is not to be confused with the “Fill-in-the-event Cake,” which will come out later. When the official cake is served, you usually have another round of speeches and shots of sweet-wine. These speeches, I’m sure you can imagine, are a lot more fun to witness.

They seem to be really enjoying their cake and jello, right?

8. Drinking continues and dancing gets more intense. You often find whoever is controlling the stereo will begin playing the same three or four songs over and over again… the real crowd-pleasers. At this point (most) guests with small children begin to filter out first, followed by older people and people who can’t dance (unless they’re directly related to the host). Then there’s a three hour gap where nobody leaves. This is the real party time. Usually the host will fish out a few old Coke bottles filled with unidentifiable liquor and add them into the drinking circle. Several beer runs inevitably take place. LOTS of posed photographs are requested and taken. As a rule of thumb, the party doesn’t die until: A.) The alcohol (and money to buy more alcohol) runs out, or B.) The sun comes up. I’ve seen plenty of both endings.

Posed-Photo time!

Often you think the party is about to end... then somebody rolls in last minute to save the day.

5:30 a.m. and the party is still rolling on!

So there you have it, in a nutshell. I’ve come to really enjoy the Peruvian party and its quirky nuances. Nothing has taught me more about the culture of this community and how greatly they esteem communal bonds, created through sharing a meal, a dance and a cup.

A few more visuals for you:

No bottle-opener? No problem! I've learned to open a bottle using the lid of another bottle.

(I'm currently at 65% accuracy, but hoping to have it down pat before returning to the States.)

I'm also learning how to open a wine bottle by slamming it against the wall. Seriously.

Sometimes Host-Mom and I break tradition and dance together.

Don't forget that babies like to party too!

From Peru to You... CHEERS!

Down and Out Down Here

2010-08-02T16:37:00.000-07:00

I have just completed a true rite of passage for Peace Corps Volunteers, which is the inevitable period of drawn-out and dilapidating illness. Most, at least in Peru, deal with stomach issues for months without end. I have had my minor issues here and there (the word “minor” changes drastically between first-world and third-world countries), but I have fortunately avoided the diarrhea-fate of many of my friends thus far. Instead, I paid my dues in the form of a minor cold, which escalated to a flu and then bronchitis. If you knew me in the U.S., then you know that I am NEVER sick. On the incredibly rare occasion when it did occur once a decade or so, you also know that it would pass in a matter of days and I generally wanted to be left alone. I don’t like to be babied; I just like to sleep it off in peace and quiet… sort of like a dog will just disappear when it is ill and reappear a few days later as if nothing had happened. No muss, no fuss. I guess I expected things to be exactly the same for this little cold when it developed, but boy was I wrong, as I have been about so many things here in Peru. This episode went on for weeks, and I am just now coming out of the dark tunnel onto the other side. And although I was able to spend a few relaxing weeks in Lima by myself, my time in San Miguel was far from peaceful. I should have expected the outpouring of pestering, considering how darn nosy the people of my lovely town are known to be. What I call “nosy,” they consider being concerned about the general welfare of every individual. It is their duty then, to care for those in need, especially the only outsider living within their ranks. And judging by the fact that I did crazy things like drink cold water (the number one cause for disease and number two cause for death, just after “catching some bad air,” in San Miguel) and prance around town in just one pair of pants (not even fleece pants for the love of Pete!!), I was clearly not competent enough to handle myself, in sickness or in health. So Host-Mom took control of my get-well regimen at home, and I could barely make it out the front door before helpful advice came flying at me from every well-intentioned direction. The experience showed me just how superstitious the people of Peru remain, especially those in the rural Andean region where I live. Just as the Haitians created and still cling to Voodoo practices, superstitions arise and survive more prominently in regions that suffer from poverty and/or lack of proper medical care. Once I remembered this, I was able to take the advice in stride, without wanting to pull out too much of my hair. The poor and uneducated have to blame illness on something, and there has to be an equal cure available in some form. To illustrate, here are a few examples of beliefs that are still widely believed here in Peru:

As I’ve already mentioned, The Bad Air is a well-known and widely-feared cause for illness and even death in rural areas. The Bad Air can be caught any time and anyhow, and I have found that it is typically blamed for just about everything when people do not know the real cause or when the real cause is too scandalous to imagine. I’ve heard stories of a man who was hit by a car and when he died, it was blamed on catching the Bad Air just before being hit by a car.

The Evil Eye: This is a big one, and I know that many cultures around the world have something similar. The Evil Eye is transferred from another person, often unintentionally, who is jealous of you or dislikes you for an unmerited reason. You can go years with an evil upon you, and it brings you bad luck and possibly even illness. To diagnose, somebody (preferably a reputable shaman… naturally) will hold an uncooked egg an inch or two above you and move it along the entire perimeter of your body. It is then cracked in a glass, and if a round “eye” separates from the yoke and rises to the top of the glass, then you my friend have been given the Evil Eye. In that case, you must flush the egg down the toilet without looking at it. Just like that, problem solved! I actually had this little ritual performed on me last year during training, after accidentally volunteering myself to my language professor, who just so happens to moonlight in shamanism from time to time. I was told I did have it, and I flushed her down as told… but I’m seeking a second opinion once I find a shaman who is backed by the American Medical Association. As if this wasn’t weird enough, just guess how this custom is varied here in the mountains. That’s right, instead of an egg, they use a live cuy. Of course they do! I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Two friends who live in on the coast relayed to me that there is a belief that any sickness can be cured by grabbing chunks of a person’s hair and yanking it as hard as possible until you hear a popping noise. This act is repeated all over the head, and my friends casually mentioned that their host families had performed this act on them several times. I think I’ll take the mountains and our hovering guinea pigs.

With all of these colorful diagnosis and treatment options, I was somewhat surprised by host family’s ultimate conclusion. They ran the numbers and determined that I was sick, simply enough, because I am too skinny. The cure for this dreaded disease was also a straightforward one: more potatoes. That, and I really really have to stop drinking cold water.

So, sorry for the lack of pictures in this blog. I did quite a bit of google-searching for a picture of a shaman or any one of these treatment options, but I came up empty. Guess Peru’s medical practices are not widely known. Well now the three of you know… lucky bunch!

Land of the Free and Home of the Seven-Layer Burrito

2010-06-19T16:59:00.000-07:00

I must apologize to those 2 or 3 of you who regularly keep up with my blog, as Cuy For Me has been out of commission for quite awhile. Sorry folks, but this has been quite a month for me. First of all, I went to visit THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. It was weird… but wonderful. I’ll get to that in a bit. Anyhow, upon my return, I celebrated two major milestones within one week. The former arrived on June 6th, and it marked one-year of living in Peru. The latter, a much more common occurrence, was June 9th, and it was my birthday. It is only notable because it was the second birthday I have spent here in Peru. The first came around (obviously) within my first few days of arrival to the country last year. It was surrounded by a haze of confusion and apprehension. Just days before, I had been thrown into a group of total strangers, shipped off to a foreign country, and poked and prodded with every injection known to man. This year could not have been more different. I am now comfortably settled into this country… I have friends, family, co-workers and students, all of whom could not WAIT to celebrate my birthday. Peruvians just love to celebrate birthdays – shocker! Upon meeting a new Peruvian, the question, “When is your birthday?” will undoubtedly occur within the first five minutes of conversation, just between “Are you married?” and “How much do you weigh?” They also seem to harbor some internal clock which automatically banks all of this information. You may try to tiptoe around the whole birthday thing, hoping that maybe people have forgotten, but no such luck.

My cake was so pretty that I didn't even mind the misspelling on my name!

The big day will arrive and out of nowhere the entire town descends upon you with birthday wishes, parties and (best of all) lots of food! Now this all sounds well and good, so why would anyone try to hide from it? The answer is a four-word phrase that has been daunting me for months: torta en la cara. This means ‘cake in the face,’ and describes the custom for birthday celebrations in my town. The lucky lad or lassie has to “taste” the cake before eating, and is inevitably shoved so that the cake is smeared all over his/her face. There have also been cited incidents where extra icing is requested from town-cake-lady and comes flying in from all directions, landing on your clothes, in your hair and in just about every other uncovered flesh. No hot water and 30 degree temperatures make night-time bathing impossible, so add “sleeping in icing” to the element of fun.

Despite the eight-month build-up, my torta en la cara celebration was actually not that bad. In fact, it was pretty fun. I turned the tables on my friends and spread the cake on them. It resulted in quite the evening, and it is definitely going to remain high on my list of memorable birthdays. So I must give a great big “thank you” to all of San Miguel, for without this loving little town, birthdays, and Peru in general, would not be nearly as enjoyable.

Now, reaching these milestones brought about the need for reflection; people in their “late 20’s” have a tendency to do this, or so I hear. Not only have I officially spent one year in Peru, but I am still processing my recent trip to the U.S. How do I even begin to describe my beloved country? It’s chock full of so many things: big people, big cars and even bigger food portions. But if I had to sum it all up in a word, it would be ‘freedom.’ It may be cliché, but this is without a doubt the one word I would use to describe the United States of America. Not that I am necessarily an expert on this subject anymore, but my recent visit home afforded me quite the fresh perspective. It was just a hair shy of one year without seeing my homeland when this little gringa arrived on U.S. soil. Overwhelmed with feelings of nostalgia and fatigue, I sobbed my way through the customs and baggage-claim process. It was so strange to hear English being spoken everywhere, to pay with American bills and to realize that not every single person was starting at my whiteness. Leaving the airport was when the real fun began. I was reminded just how easy everything is: hop into your own car, drive out on paved roads and go wherever you want. There is no waiting hours for 7-8 other paying passengers, no strangers sitting on top of you with their breast-feeding babies or sacks of cuy and (most amazingly!) no hopping out of the car to help push it through especially muddy parts of the road. While taking in the ease of transportation, I was also reminded of the vast food choices that exist out there in the real world… and just how easy it is to access them. My eyes bulged and my stomach growled as we passed convenient stores, drive-thru joints and ethnic restaurants galore. Taco Bell, Arby’s and Bojangles… oh my! And I’m not even going to START on the joys that are Publix and Costco. It was not until I lived without such luxuries that I truly came to appreciate them. I try to picture what life might be like in San Miguel if everybody had a car. I cannot imagine such a sight, as they really wouldn’t have anywhere to go. It’s a 3+ hour trek to the city, and there are no shopping malls, restaurants or grocery stores between here and there. In a way, however, it is kind of nice. Any place you need to go, anything you need to buy, any person you want to see is within a 5-minute walk. Granted we don’t have Big Macs or 1,000-count boxes of Splenda, but we have a stronger sense of community than anywhere I have ever seen… not to mention some really great party traditions. So although it was hard to board that return flight in Hartsfield-Jackson and say goodbye to all the freedom and delights of America, including that one last bagel with flavored cream-cheese that I scarfed down all the way through the jetway, I know that Peru has her own special treats in store for me.

Just one more year to take it all in!

Jungle Fever

2010-04-22T10:32:00.000-07:00

They say there is a first for everything, and I have experienced my fair share of “firsts” this month. Just a few of these include handling a live anaconda, going for a night-time crocodile hunt and boating up the Amazon River in a canoe. The last on this list ended up being the worst, albeit most memorable, experience of my life. But I’ll get to that in a bit. Let’s begin from the beginning, shall we? For those of you not living in Peru, it might have slipped past you that the first week of April was Semana Santa, or Holy Week to my non-Spanish-speaking friends. The Peace Corps was gracious enough to give us hard-working Volunteers a few days off, so we took advantage of the rare opportunity and ventured out to see the Peruvian jungle. Here’s an interesting statistic taken directly from my Lonely Planet for your educational pleasure: roughly 50% of this country is covered by jungle, yet only about 5% of its population lives there. After this trip, I’m surprised it can manage to hold onto such a high percentage. Don’t get me wrong, it was everything I imagined and more… it’s just that jungle life is intense. Getting around this region makes transportation in the rest of the country look more efficient than a German train system. Example of a "taxi" we took numerous times... and got stuck in the mud several times:

I guess it doesn’t help that we chose the city of Iquitos for our final destination on this trip. Iquitos is famous for being the largest city in the world that you cannot reach by land. The result was a whole lotta boat travel. Our planned itinerary went something like this:

Bus from sites to meeting point in the city of Chiclayo (5.5 hours for me)
Bus from Chiclayo to city of Tarapoto (16 hours, over ROUGH terrain: several moments I found myself airborne)
Car from Tarapoto to town of Yurimaguas (3 hours, lots of hairpin curves)
Boat from Yurimaguas to town of Lagunas (10 hours)
Three-day canoe trip from Lagunas through a natural preserve, returning to Lagunas
Boat from Lagunas to Iquitos (32 hours)
Fly from Iquitos to Lima (1.5 hours… this was hard to believe after the week it took to actually arrive in Iquitos)
Bus from Lima to sites (16 hours for me)

Sounds like a good chunk of travel, no? Well, just hold on to your britches, because it gets better. The 32-hour boat ride to Iquitos was supposed to be on a large vessel, where we could hang up our hammocks, walk around, use the bathroom, etc. Not too bad. Unfortunately for us, this particular boat couldn’t leave due to “excess rains.” Apparently the mighty Amazon River couldn’t handle a little excess water. Seriously. So we were all stuck in the town of Lagunas an extra night, which was one night too many. The only decent hostel in town was full, so we ended up in the most horrid place I have ever seen. Trust me, that is saying a lot for a Peace Corps Volunteer and former backpacker. After being eaten alive by mosquitoes and other less-expected creatures in our room, we awoke to the news that the boat would not be leaving again the following day. It is difficult for me to explain how little the town of Lagunas has to offer, but let me just say that the extent of its “entertainment” that we found was eating canned-cheese and stale crackers in a hardware store. I could just envision myself being stuck in that remote and insignificant jungle town, being adopted by natives and eating grubs for the rest of my life. Any alternative was better than spending another night there. Alas, the list of alternatives was limited to one option: we could hire a couple of locals to take us in a smaller boat. It would cost us some serious soles, but it would only take 8 hours. Or so they said. When we arrived at the dock, we saw a small boat that seemed barely large enough to contain all of us (14 Volunteers in total and 3 locals). There was no bathroom. They didn’t answer when we asked if we could hang up all of our hammocks on this boat. In hind-site, this question must have seemed rather hilarious to our local drivers. We could not understand why they chuckled until a canoe, roughly 1/10 the size of that boat pulled up. Each of us watched incredulously as the men took the motor off of the small boat and attached it to the back of the much-smaller canoe. Clearly they don’t plan on piling all of us in that thing for eight hours, right? Oh Peru, you never fail to shock me.

Lovely town of Lagunas... it was hard to leave her behind!

The boat we thought we'd be taking... and the tiny canoe to the right of it

As the town of Lagunas waved from the shore, our little troupe of 17 took off to tackle the vast Amazon… in our canoe. All was going well until about the 5-hour mark. Somebody asked the driver how much further we had to go. The response was, “in an hour, we will be 8 hours away.” Excuse me? I thought we were 8 hours away 5 hours ago?? Yes, there was a “slight miscalculation.” Well there’s an understatement for you. So this meant that our 8 miserable hours on the canoe would turn into 14 miserable hours. We might have actually reached that goal, if not for the fact that our driver got lost somewhere in the middle of nowhere for about 4 hours. You do the math. 18 hours, 17 people, 1 canoe. Now add to the equation heavy rain with only a mildewed tarp for protection, a temperature drop of 30 degrees from day to night (and no way get to any extra clothes in our bags) and no padding between the hard planks and our battered bodies. Tons-o-fun! Needless to say, we all reached our breaking points… several times over. Each time I thought I had reached the depths of misery, a new factor would be presented to make me yearn for the comforts I had previously enjoyed. For example, I complained of the blistering heat during hours 1-4. Oh how I longed for some warmth just a few hours later as I sat in soaking wet clothing and spooning with Steph under a dirty hammock for the body heat. We finally arrived in Iquitos just after dawn, more than a little worse for the wear. The expression, “rode hard and put up wet” comes to mind every time I picture us clambering out of that canoe and stretching our legs to full capacity for the first time in an eternity. Beginning to understand why I called it miserable but memorable? I do have to say, we made some memories.

All 17 of us snuggled into our mighty canoe

Here we are at dusk, approximately 5 hours in... still smiling! But that was before the bad news hit

Truth be told, the rest of the trip more than made up for that little bubble of gloom. Because I spent so much time and energy describing the canoe trip, I’ll have to resort to bullet points to highlight the rest of our trip.

The town of Tarapoto, called the “eyebrow of the jungle,” was quite lovely with its mix between tropical jungle and mountainous terrain. We went to see a huge waterfall and were able to jump from behind the waterfall into a pool below. The water was freezing, but totally worth it for the photo-ops:

On the boat-ride to Lagunas, everybody brings a hammock and hangs it in the boat. The result is a crazy maze of ropes and bodies, and is truly an experience. Nothing beats relaxing in a hammock and staring out over the Amazon River, as an endless line of tropical trees and thatched-roof villages passes by. The best part about this leg of the trip was its authenticity. The locals in this region really do travel in this mode; it is certainly not put on just to entertain tourists. In fact, we were the only “tourists” on the boat. Even the live chickens in the kitchen had their purpose for being there:

The 3-day canoe trip through the Pacaya-Samiria Nature Reserve was a paramount experience that I will not soon forget. It was just our group of Peace Corps Volunteers, our local guides and the jungle… no other signs of life, except for the millions of animal eyes watching us as we glided up the river. We slept outside (with nothing but mosquito nets and a thin sheet for protection), ate what our guides cooked for us over open flames and got to hold wildlife that I had never even seen before.

Moment of embarkation with our fabulous guides, Felix and Arri

Felix could always get us out of a tight spot

I got to look at these lovely heads for many an hour!

Even a little (or a lot of) rain didn't dampen our spirits at that point

Night-time crocodile hunting: why not?

Problem: How does one use the bathroom when on a canoe?

Solution: Felix takes you off in the canoe alone and turns around as you squat off of a log.

Our guides cooked all of our meals for us (seen above washing the veggies in river water)

But don't forget the main course!

Night 1 Sleeping quarters: this was before we had a hatred for hard planks

Night 2 Sleeping Quarters was the lap of luxury compared to the night before!

Bath time!

Enjoying a little nap in our wall-less hut

This Reserve is famous for being home to pink dolphins, monkeys, anacondas, iguanas, caimans (small crocodiles), piranhas, tarantulas, sloths, tree-dwelling guinea pigs, macaws, river-wolves and more. Thanks to the amazing perception of our guides, our group was able to see all of them in their natural habitat. My favorite animal was hands-down the sloth. They have a definite “so ugly they are cute” quality… kind of like trolls. Our guides found a mama sloth with her baby in a tree and brought them to us to play with. Surprisingly, sloths are not all that difficult to catch. Also, one would think the mama would be upset when we took her baby away from her for awhile. Oh contraire. She was so apathetic about the whole situation that she actually tried to go back to napping within seconds of capture. I love her attitude! On the far end of the “fun animal” scale is the river-wolf, as I discovered after we ran into a pack of them and several swam right under our tiny canoe.

Again, our guides truly wanted us to be one with the jungle, and thus took it as their duty to bring us up-close and personal with the animal kingdom. A few examples of us messing with nature:

They spotted an iguana sunning in this tree. Do we leave her alone? Heavens no! Let's try to knock her off and play with her!

Oops, she fell into the water instead...

Playing with piranhas

Catching anacondas with our bare hands

Cudding with Mama Sloth (we do have a lot in common, after all)

And my absolute favorite play-thing, the baby sloth. I want one!

Iquitos is a pretty modern city, but it has its fair share of jungle-quirkiness. The highlight for me was the witch-craft section of their market, where you can buy such treasures as fetal-pigs, hallucinogenic herbs, or anacondas in mason-jars. You never know when you might need an anaconda in a jar!

We also visited a community in Iquitos called Belen, which is completely submerged in water for 9 months of the year. Thus all of the houses, stores, etc. are literally floating in the river and people get around by canoe. Although my group was wary to get into another canoe, and reasonably so, we had to get into a canoe to see the town during this time of the year. We found a local to take us around, but warned him that if he kept us on that canoe for more than 30 minutes, he would be sacrificing his fee, and possibly even his life. I believe he was a little confused by this, but he delivered on his promise.

The lovely (if slightly smelly) floating town of Belen. Amazingly enough, they have electricity. Seems safe enough, right?

The River is used to travel...

Wash clothes...

Swim...

Catch delicious fish...

Bathe...

And last but not least... go to the bathroom! (note latrine on the left)

We realized that this area is a bit sketchy after two armed policemen boarded the canoe with us, without saying a word.

After the full week it took to travel to Iquitos, I could not get over the fact that it took us 90 minutes to fly all the way back to Lima. 90 minutes: 990 minutes less than we spent on the canoe ride. God Bless you, Wright Brothers.

So there you have it: Kim’s “trip of firsts” in the Amazonian Jungle. I’m glad I did it… but it was undoubtedly my last. Unless you want to come along next time!

Painting the town red... and blue, and purple, and green, and yellow...

2010-03-06T11:20:00.000-08:00

Okay, I believe I left you all hanging a bit with my last blog entry. I just really wanted to let the suspense build before revealing how I finally got revenge against 12 year-old boys across the land. Well, that and I was a little tired of writing at the time. So let me continue on where I left off before I forget all the sordid details… when you last saw Kim, she was soaking wet, running from water balloons and more than a little annoyed with the state of affairs in Cajamarca. All of this changed, however, on the final weekend of celebrations.

Step one was the arrival of my favorite volunteer ladies from the coast… they left their hot and sunny homes to brave Cajamarca’s rainy season and witness the grand finale of Carnival with the rest of us mountain folk. We don’t have much going for us here in the northern highlands of Peru, just beautiful views, delicious cheese and one hell of a Carnival celebration. Through a lucky turn of events, we ended up on the one top-floor room of our hostel, which just happens to open up to a huge porch rising levels above the street and its unsuspecting victims below. Perfect pent-house location for this particular weekend… especially considering it allowed us to launch water balloons and buckets of water while remaining almost completely unseen. It was quite a rush to hit someone, whether it be an individual pedestrian, a pack of kids, or the occasional motorist. The best part of it is: people cannot get mad at you… because it’s part of the fun! There are only two rules to this ingenious game: you cannot hit little old women or people talking on cell phones. Although neither rule is strictly enforced or adhered to. We ended up playing this little game for hours, getting into wars with kids below, other roof-top dwellers and even some fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. The only problems arose when we had to leave for food and beverage runs. Two people would sacrifice themselves to the streets and try to dodge blood-thirsty seekers of revenge and their retaliation balloons. Needless to say, we all got our turn of being soaked. But in the end, I now fully love and appreciate the art of water-balloon-throwing. I suppose I have crossed over to the dark side. But at least I won’t feel quite so disgruntled when those 12 year-old Peruvian boys come at me again next year.

That night we made our way down to the main Plaza in town, which was absolutely brimming with people and music. People were divided up into big groups of varying size, forming hundreds of large circles. Within each circle, the people were playing instruments, dancing and singing coplas. Coplas are short songs of about four or five lines that are sung only in Cajamarca and only during Carnival time. There are hundreds of them, and everybody here seems to know them all. Some of my friends from site taught me the more essential coplas, but I could only remember two. They are mostly silly songs, discussing such subjects as one’s heritage or one’s mother-in-law. So basically they are the equivalent of country music back in the States. A couple of examples of coplas and my rough translations:

“Si quieres bailar, si quieres gozar,

A Cajamarca hay que visitar...

Cuy con papa vas a comer,

la rica chica vas a tomar”

“If you want to dance, if you want to have fun,
To Cajamarca, you must come…
Guinea pig with potatoes you’re going to eat,
A beautiful girl you’re going to take*.
*this is a play on words; “tomar” means both to take and to drink.

“Cuando se muera mi suegra

que lo entierren boca abajo

por si se quiere salir

que se meta más abajo”

When my mother-in-law dies
Make sure they bury her upside-down,
For if she wants to come out
She’ll go further in.

The accompanying dance to these coplas is called, naturally, “Carnival.” It is a lot like the traditional Sierra dance, huaino, but adds some swinging about with your partner. Think a mix between the Shag and two roosters hopping about. Not to toot my own horn, but I have mastered both dances. To be fair, I have had my share of practice here in San Miguel. My friends living in coastal communities had never seen this before and were not too happy when I pulled them into the middle of the circles to dance. Of course, as a large group of gringas, we were quite popular and heavily recruited by just about every circle. It was exhausting, but quite memorable.

As if the balloons and the dancing circles were not enough, the main event for Carnival started up bright and early on that Saturday morning. We awoke to the sounds of drum beats and loud, daunting chants. We all went to the porch to see what the ruckus was about, and saw that it was coming from large gangs of people, donning crazy costumes and painted faces. These gangs were not limiting themselves to water this time… they were also attacking with paint, of all different colors. Just trying to walk the six blocks to breakfast was like racing through a war zone. Passing these tribes of people involved getting pummeled with gobs of paint and buckets of water. Clearly, we were not yet prepared to do battle. But after donning our oldest clothes, sunglasses and hats/head wraps (the paint stings like crazy when it gets in your eyes and getting it out of your hair is a battle in itself), we were ready to enter the streets anew. This time, we would be ready for them. We bought our paint and buckets, filled our squirt guns with the fun-colored dyes, and marched through the streets to our own drum. We sang our verions of the patriotic coplas, including “Proud to Be an American,” and “The National Anthem.” Trust me, reader, the gringo tribe struck fear into the hearts of all we encountered that day. We stopped only long enough to taunt the more aggressive tribes, or dance and sing with the friendlier ones. Even when the rain came pouring down late in the afternoon, an inevitable occurrence this time of year, the streets remained teeming with the mob of multi-colored maniacs. We danced in the streets, soaking wet and looking like loons, but having the time of our lives. So now the fun is packed away. No more water balloons, no more throwing paint. But I have some great memories, a lovely tie-dyed ensemble and the realization that I get to experience it all again next year.

One of the crazy costumes worn in one of the many parades

Another great parade shot

A few tribes terrorizing the streets of Cajamarca

We gringas were not intimidated - here we are on our porch

One of the friendlier tribes

This was after walking six blocks from our hostel to the plaza

Not even vehicles were safe from attack

Taking a quick break to re-charge

Don't you want to come visit next year?

Running the Risks

2010-02-18T16:12:00.000-08:00

I have recently decided, probably against my better judgment, to run a marathon here in Peru. Training for this marathon has been anything but easy. Not that I expected it to be a cinch; I was prepared for the blisters covering my feet, the aching in my legs and even the daily dose of “I just don’t feel like it.” I was not, however, prepared for the unexpected perils that have come along with maintaining a running program in Peru. First of all, I live on top of an Ande. That means 99% of our “roads” (I use that term VERY loosely) require me to run straight downhill, then back up. Better go ahead and pencil me in for a knee surgery Dr. Jorge! Fortunately, I have found two roads that wind around the mountain, and are thus relatively flat. One of the roads is only about three miles long, so I end up having to back-track to get my long runs in. Imagine how puzzling this is for the people I pass along the way… four times.

Problem number two is that I live in a region which blesses us with five straight months of rain. Again, please try to picture the locals watching this weirdo white girl running (for no apparent reason) in the rain, while the rest of the town is desperately seeking shelter. Now when you combine these issues: mountains + rain + dirt roads, you get massive puddles. I have to cross several of them along my routes, and they are getting larger and larger with each passing rainy day. I’m pretty sure some of them are deep enough to drown a donkey. I’ve yet to fall into the abyss, but my pretty white shoes are now indistinguishable from the russet-potato color of those puddles. How appropriate, my entire existence here really does revolve around spuds.

In addition to the terrain matter, I am also dealing with an excess quantity of animal aggression. For some reason, the animal kingdom here in Peru is more troubled by my running antics than my body is. I’ve been keeping a mental tally, and to date I’ve been chased by thirteen campo dogs (campo roughly translates to mean “redneck”), six geese and one inexplicably hostile turkey. I am able to take most of this in stride, but one new menace has threatened to derail my marathon training for good. This pest is of a particularly evil nature and appears to have no natural enemies. What could this thing be, that is multiplying in horrifying numbers? My friends, it is none other than the water balloon. I was hit by the first water balloon in mid-January, and since then I have yet to leave the house for more than three minutes without being hit by another. This tradition revolves around Carnival, which is the celebration leading up to Ash Wednesday. In some places, Carnival is a one-day affair, also known as Mardi Gras. I just happen to have landed in the Carnival capital of Peru… Cajamarca celebrates longer and harder than most places on this planet. I’m not sure how the whole thing got started, but I have a feeling it came from too many bored kids with two months of no school and too much rain. I suppose the theory toward getting wet around here is, “if you can’t beat it… join it.” The result is a full-fledged water war between everyone in town, with no apparent winners and at least one big loser. The balloons and, when people run out of balloons, buckets full of water, come from everywhere: balconies, second-story windows, sometimes even from passing vehicles. So after weeks of running with fear and paranoia, this gringa was ready to get even. My means of retaliation came in the form of 50 other volunteers descending upon the city of Cajamarca last weekend for the climax of Carnival celebrations. Let’s just say I am no longer cursing all inflatable devices, but instead embracing them as my friends. But that’s another story for another day. Stay tuned.

In conclusion, my training schedule has remained intact, and I’m feeling better than ever. Although I’ve never run anywhere close to 26 miles, it is particularly appealing to me at this point in my life. I guess I’m attracted to the seemingly impossible length of distance and time. Trust me, the congruence between marathon training and two years of foreign service is not lost on me. Nor is the struggle to stop focusing so much on the finish line and just enjoy the journey. I’m taking that goal one day at a time, even if that means dodging a few frustrations along the route.

Enjoying a little run in the sun

(please note this picture was taken months ago... the skies haven't been that blue since October)

One of the frienlier beasts I pass along the way

They look sweet and innocent, don't they? Don't be fooled reader! Those black bags are chock full of ammunition

See the yellow one floating in the air?

Gringa in the Manger

2010-01-07T15:55:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: I actually wrote this blog entry a month ago, but circumstances (i.e. travel, an Internet connection that makes AOL circa 1996 dial-up look like high-speed DSL, etc.) have kept me from posting it. The result is a series of stories relating to events that seem completely irrelevant now that it is nearly February. My sincerest apologies!

Feliz Navidad y Prospero Año Nuevo a todos! If you can’t understand that, you haven’t listened to the Jose Feliciano masterpiece, “Feliz Navidad” nearly enough. I, on the other hand, listened to it approximately 672 times this past season. I thought I could escape it in Peru… and I nearly did. But alas, my English class implored that I teach them the entire song. Against my better judgment, I agreed. I thought those two (I repeat: TWO) lines in English would be a cinch to teach and learn. False! I’ll let you guess how long it actually took, as I’m tired of dwelling on it. In fact, I had better change the subject before that pesky song creeps its way back into my head. But it is an excellent segue into what I DO want to dwell on: Peru has just finished celebrating the holidays and it took Kim along for the ride. I’m sure you can all guess that this will involve dancing… and drinking. Which it of course does. No surprise there. There are, however, a few more unexpected traditions that have seeped into the drink/dance/drink/dance routine of the typical Peruvian celebration. So here’s a breakdown of how this little gringa spent her holiday season:

The phrase “Jesus is the reason for the season,” is not just a sweatshirt logo around these parts. Oh no… it is all about Baby Jesus. Around the first of December people begin constructing their nativity scenes. You will see one in every household, park, town square, bank, municipality building, and so on and so on. So sorry people of differing faiths; no such thing as separation of Church and State for us! I thoroughly enjoy this tradition, as people get quite creative with their nativity scenes… especially when it comes to which creatures were actually present during the birth of Jesus. My favorite attendees that I’ve seen include: Darth Vader, Michael Jackson, and a saxophone-wielding California raisin. Not sure how they got left out of Saint Luke’s version of the story.

The Nativity Scene in my house, post Baby Jesus's arrival

In addition to the nativity scenes popping up like weeds, another sudden appearance lets you know that Christmas has arrived. One word, three syllables: Panetone. Panetone is the Peruvian version of fruitcake, but it is oh-so-much-more. It is pure deliciousness spun into a cake-like form. I believe I ate my personal mass in panetone throughout the month of December. Peruvians hold events called “Chocolatadas,” where they give out panetone and hot chocolate to the poor. I helped plan and run no less than 15 of these events. While I certainly enjoy helping the poor just as much as the average Peace Corps Volunteer, I secretly loved helping with the Chocolatadas because there was always some panetone left over at the end of the day. Don’t judge. Fortunately for me, this sweet loaf of delight plays a part in most every holiday season event here in Peru. Speaking of, let me continue on with the festivities.

Host-Mom handing out delicious panetone to a group of disabled people in San Miguel at one of many Chocolatadas

December 24th: In Peru, Christmas Eve is called Noche Buena and is an even bigger deal than Christmas Day itself. From what I was told, everybody goes to Mass at 10:00 pm, followed by a solemn dinner with family, and then a champagne toast as Baby Jesus is placed in his manger at the stroke of midnight. I’m sure that many people do this, but my family started the party a little too early that day (3 pm) and missed Mass. Oops! We did manage to take a break from the dancing to count down to midnight, ceremonially place Baby Jesus in his manger (Grandma and I each held an arm), and open gifts. That all took approximately 10 minutes, after which we returned to the huayno and cañazo. Priorities!

My little bro unwrapping gifts

I believe Uncle Tio liked the gifts more than the kids did.

December 25th: Host-Mom must have felt guilty about boozing through Mass the night before, so she rounded us all up early the next morning to attend the Christmas Day service. I cannot be sure if they were there for the same reason, but the church was packed. Padre Juan gave a riveting sermon (I can now understand about 2/3 of what he says), and we then watched as he took Baby Jesus out of his manger and walked him out of the church and into the plaza. What followed next was no surprise... I now feel like an old veteran of the San Miguel fiesta. Cue the marching band. Cue the little kids dressed in crazy costumes. Cue the procession around the plaza. The only difference was that this time we took little Baby Jesus for a stroll around the plaza instead of a portrait or statue. And also what came next. After the mini-parade, we all returned to the church. Some talking ensued, and I began to hear my name being tossed about. Before I knew what was happening, I was being ushered to the front, and coerced into climbing into the nativity scene. Once there, I was instructed to cradle Baby Jesus while the entire congregation took pictures of us. Who knows, this could be a completely normal tradition, but I’m slightly suspicious that my townsfolk just thought it would be a hilarious sight to see. Well, you’re welcome San Miguel… and Merry Christmas!

Padre Juan, removing Baby Jesus from his manager

Here we are, just taking Baby Jesus for a morning stroll

I don't look awkward and/or uncomfortable at all, do I?

The only thing weirder than the gringa craddling Baby Jesus? This lady here, who asked that she place her live baby in the manager along with Baby Jesus.

Children's Pageant on Christmas Day... this picture is only notable because of the creepy Santa Claus lurking in the back.

December 31st: The Peruvian New Year’s Eve celebration is more or less identical to its American counterpart. There are fireworks, there’s a countdown and there are a lot of screaming people at midnight. There are even cheap plastic glasses with the New Year formed into lenses. Peru does , however, have two noteworthy customs that give it a leg up on us. #1: Everybody must wear yellow underwear. Don’t ask me why. Something to do with luck. But who cares really, it’s just fun to wear them and know that others are as well. #2: You must make a doll of yourself and burn it. They say it symbolizes ridding yourself of all the evils from the past year. The doll is supposed to really look like you, which means that this tradition is an awful lot like the practice of voodoo. Again, I try not to ask too many questions.

Rocking my yellow shades... among other things.

In retrospect, I’m glad I was able to see all of the holiday customs here and participate in a few of them. That being said, 2009 was without a doubt my last Christmas in Peru. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly enjoyed the Chocolatadas and marching bands, but Christmas is about family. Real family. So next year this gringa will be celebrating South Carolina style: with a tree, stockings and 24-hours of “A Christmas Story” on TBS… though I might just bring some panetone along with me.

Happy Holidays from our family to yours!!!

Mee Nah-may ees Keemberlee: English Teacher Extraordinaire

2009-12-23T16:02:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-25T17:41:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-23T16:46:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-22T15:18:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-03T08:50:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-19T16:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Me and My Latrine

2009-09-05T09:53:00.000-07:00

Phew. That’s all I can say about getting through the monstrous Week One of being alllllll byyyyy myyyyseeeellllllffffff. Truth be told, it was not quite as bad as I anticipated. I will admit, however, that I was a big fat chicken about leaving my friends in Cajamarca and heading off to San Miguel alone. Did I put it off until the last feasible moment? Bet your biscuit I did. To add insult to injury, I found out that my host family wasn’t even in town; they had gone to Lima for blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah (that’s approximately what I understood from my first phone conversation with my host mom, who speaks really, really quickly). So I wasn’t 100% sure what to expect upon arrival, but fortunately my host mom is the over-protective type and had arranged for babysitters to care for her gringita (little whitey, roughly translated). Her brother, sister-in-law and two nieces thus moved into the house with me for a few days. They were very kind, and Uncle Tio, as I call him, even carried my ridiculous amount of luggage up to my hay loft for me. Sorry for the hernia Uncle Tio! As I unpacked my things, the boom was dropped on me, so to speak. It finally hit me that I would be living here. In this room. In Peru. For two years. At first, I had nowhere that I have to be… ever. It might sound gleefully liberating to my fellow Americans, those of us who are used to complete and total structure, but it is actually quite frightening. These thoughts made me just want to curl up under my mound of llama-fur blankets and not come out for my first week. San Miguel, however, had a different idea in mind for me and my time. She and her people scooped me up and made me feel like just one of the townsfolk, except of course for the fact that the language barrier makes me really, really awkward. So here’s a recap of what I’ve done, what I’ve seen and what I’ve learned in these first days of Volunteer-living:

1. I made some friends. In this new circle of friends, I would consider my closest confidants to be a 19 year-old girl, Manuelita (though she’s very mature for her age) and a middle-aged ex-nun, Annita. Obviously I get different things out of each friendship, but they’re both lovely in their own right. Manuelita teaches me all the latest and greatest Peruvian tunes, and I go to Catholic Mass with Annita. Though she knows full well I’m not Catholic, Annita even scored me an invitation to the Priest’s Birthday party. I’m pretty sure you cannot get better than that in a Latin-American country.

2. My dirt floor has lost its initial rustic allure. The snag came in the form of my 3 year-old cousin popping a squat in my room before I could stop her. I realized immediately that there’s no real way to clean up dirt. If I pour water on the puddle, it just turns into mud. Not sure how to remedy that quite yet.

3. I have a latrine. Latrine, as I’ve come to learn, is just a fancy word to describe a hole dug into the earth. No light, no seat. Nada. This is also where I take my bucket-bath, which requires me to balance on a little piece of wood on top of the hole, while hunching over so that the entire town cannot watch the process (the wall comes up to mid-navel). Fun times. Supposedly we have a real bathroom, but it has been out of commission since I moved in. They say it will be fixed “very, very soon,” which in Peruvian time means, “maybe sometime possibly.”

4. I made some money at a cock-fight. The sport is incredibly popular here, and legal, in case you’re wondering, so I’m surprised this was my first time attending. There was a festival in a neighboring town, and I went with some of my new friends here (not the nun). Another Volunteer, Alex, lives in town nearby, so I met up with her as well, and we went to the cock-fight together. Her entire host family was there, and the kids had even taken off school to attend. The scene was straight out of a movie; it was all I could ask for and more. First of all, we were the only females in attendance. There was some serious testosterone flowing in that room, as drunk, passionate Peruvian men scrutinized each other’s cocks. People were arguing, money was changing hands and I wished I had five more pairs of eyes to take it all in. With the help of Alex’s host-dad, I placed a bet on a nice-looking cock and ended up doubling my money. I would’ve stayed all day, but a brawl broke out (as one would only expect), forcing us to high-tail it out of there. Guess some ballsy man insulted another man’s cock. Oh no you didn’t…

5. I’ve taught some classes. The Lactation Institute asked that I teach Computer and English classes, to which I agreed on all counts. This has somehow snowballed into a total of seven classes per week, at 2 hours a pop. Add in preparation time, and I have stayed incredibly busy. I enjoy the classes, though, so I plan on continuing. Some of the students have had computer experience, so we’re working on Microsoft Office systems, Word, Excel, Powerpoint, etc. Others, however, have never typed on a keyboard before. It is frustrating, to say the least, but rewarding at the same time. The English class is just plain hilarious. Their favorite activity thus far has been learning the lyrics to songs. This week was, “I Just Called to Say I Love You,” as we’ve been learning days of the week, months and seasons. It has taken some practice, but I think they would make ole Stevie proud.

6. I’ve played some sports. Football (soccer), namely. As if massacring their language wasn’t enough, I’m also doing a number on their beloved sport. I know that I’m pretty terrible at soccer, but it doesn’t help that everybody here is really, really good. I thought they were going to take my Peruvian Visa back after my first attempt, but people keep inviting me to play again and again. My only retribution has come in the form of basketball, which I have dominated in. Not that I’m overly talented at basketball either, but 95% of the people here have never played before. Just like English class, this is the only time when I don’t feel like the weird gringa. I’ve also been invited to join a women’s volleyball team. We played for a couple of hours the other day, until some men literally forced us off the court so they could play soccer. Priorities.

7. I have eaten lots and lots of cuy. This may be due to the fact that I showed somebody here the video of me killing one a few weeks back. Word travels quickly in this little town, I suppose, because I’m now getting offers left and right to eat cuy with people. On a similar note, one of the cuyes in my kitchen just had her litter; they’re the cutest creatures I’ve ever seen. One of the babies escaped the other day, and my family was horrified (can they really be surprised when the kitchen door is always open to the great outdoors, and the cuyes don’t live in cages??). Regardless, we spent an hour searching for the “crazy little cuy,” as they kept calling him. Yeah, he’s crazy alright. Crazy like a fox. I can just picture him hopping the first boat to North America, where he’ll live out a life of luxury in someone’s living room.

8. I refuse to turn down any invitation for the first month. Thus, I have been given three welcome parties, been coerced into making five impromptu speeches (Peruvians LOVE speeches, so long as one begins and ends the speech by thanking every single person in the room for their attention) and have eaten at least seven meals a day with various community members.

So after this whirlwind week of mine, I’m exhausted. And really, really full. Thank you San Miguel!

So, I know what you're all thinking... stop talking already, and show us some pictures. So here goes:

This is the entrance/exit to my hayloft

My cousin, moments before peeing on my floor

My latrine

Kimbo

Where men can be men

My winning cock on the left

Drinking some yogurt after English Class

Welcome Party #1: Making pizza from scratch

Some of them had never had pizza before... very fun

Enjoying the fruits of our labor

The Pizza Party turned into an impromptu dance-off

Love Letter to Yanacoto

2009-08-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

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…

2009-08-12T15:32:00.000-07:00

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!

Site Placements and Swine Flu

2009-07-28T15:32:00.000-07:00

Happy 28th of July to all! Today marks the Independence Day for the great country of Peru. Peruvians certainly know how to celebrate in style, and by “in style,” I mean for a really long time. Why take only one day to celebrate when you could devote an entire week to partying? Businesses have been shut down and schools are closed. Well, schools have technically been closed for a month, but that’s just a lucky coincidence relating to the swine flu. As you must know, the evil swine flu has grabbed the world by its grubby hands and is killing off people before you can say H1N1! Wait, is that not the case? Yeah, I didn’t think so either. But Peruvian newspapers do not quite agree. They would have one think that the swine flu is the worst thing to happen to the world since the birth of traveling flute bands…And the Peruvian people are buyin’ what they’re sellin’. They are also a bit wary of us gringos. Clearly we all packed this epidemic in our suitcases, between our fancy electronics and our Lonely Planet guidebooks. In fact, the Peace Corps staff had to send a letter home with all of us Volunteers to explain to our families that we are all healthy and swine flu-free. We will also be given face masks to wear in the event that they are needed. I cannot wait to rock mine and really freak people out in my town. Speaking of, I need to get back on the real topic at hand: I GOT MY SITE ASSIGNMENT! Beginning August 21st, I will be spending the next two years in the town of San Miguel, in the department of Cajamarca. Cajamarca is in the central highlands of Peru, and to quote my Gringo Bible (Lonely Planet travel guide of course), “Far off the gringo trail, the central Peruvian Andes are ripe for exploration. Traditions linger longer here, with delightful colonial towns among the least spoiled in the entire Andean chain.” Not bad, eh? I have not been to the town, but I have been to another town in Cajamarca. The other business group went to visit San Miguel, and they had some really great things to say about it. I’ll start with what I know, then make some general assumptions to give you all an idea of how fabulous my town is:

The town is situated at an altitude of over 2700 meters. I’m a coastal plains girl, so this will be quite different. I plan on training for a marathon which is held in July… my poor lungs don’t know what they’re in for.
Cajamarca is the dairy capital of Peru. This means two things. #1 I will be eating A LOT of cheese for the next two years, and I cannot wait. #2 Clearly, I will be purchasing my own cow.
The people of Cajamarca still wear the traditional dress; colorful skirts for the women and giant cowboy-style hats for all. The taller the hat, the greater your status within the community. Closer to heaven, as they say! Integration is key, so I will be saving up to purchase my own hat.
San Miguel has a population of 7,500. I could not locate it on a map. These are two good signs that I may get a parade when I arrive in town. At least I can hope…

Some other important information about my future:

Working Hard for the Money.
I will be taking over for a current volunteer in Peru 9. She works with an association of female artisans that weave textile goods. I hear they make really nice things, so you should all expect some home-made Christmas gifts! I believe she also works with a “lactation” group, helping with the production of cow and goat milk/milk products. In addition, there is a local Institute that has asked for help giving business classes. Looks like I’ll have plenty of work to keep me busy… as I always say, idle hands are the devil’s playground! Okay, I never say that, but I just may start.

L.I.V.I.N.
My new host mom is on the wrong side of 80 years-old… 81 to be exact. I’ve loved all of my grandparents here in Peru so far, so I’m pretty excited about having one for the long haul. My “big sis” is 50, so I have a feeling she’ll be more of the mother-figure. I also have a 15 year-old brother, who I believe has some sort of handicap. I’m not sure if he belongs to the 81 year-old or the 50 year-old. Guess that’ll come out eventually. I’ll be going to visit for a week beginning this Saturday, so I should be able to take some pictures for my next blog post.

Some pictures to enjoy!

My new partners! Three ladies a'weaving...

A local gal I found on google (and nice example of the Cajamarca hat)

I thought you might also enjoy a picture that the other business group took while going to San Miguel. This is a very questionable bridge that the taxi tried to drive across, but his brake line got stuck on a piece of wood before they made it across. I think I jinxed myself when I said I was okay with questionable bridges in my last blog:
(Please also note the angry farmer on the other side. The taxi debacle forced him to wait an hour before he could walk his cow across the bridge. Just another day in San Miguel!)

Also, I am thrilled to present you with the absolute BEST-EVER dog in human clothing photo. I will probably retire this segment of my blog after this one, because it cannot get better than this (at least until I can capture that cunning little guy that wears the Halloween vest). The best part is that this one involves my own dog, Rambo. We had three days of extreme cold here (temperatures dropped below 60 degrees), and my family became concerned that Rambo may catch a cold. The remedy came in the form of my 3 year-old brother’s terrycloth bathrobe, complete with hood. Rambo was not too happy about his ridiculous outfit, but he did survive the brutal cold snap, so all is well...

2009-07-21T16:50:00.000-07:00

Well hello my faithful followers! I know you’ve been sweating it out for more than a week in anticipation of another blog entry, but I assure you this one will be well worth it. The past week has been a whirlwind of fun and debauchery, also known as Field-Based Training. The Intention: to get “real-life” experience in the capacity of teaching business concepts to a class at a Peruvian Technical School. The Setting: Contumaza, Cajamarca: a sleepy but lovely little town in the mountains of central Peru. The Culprits: Kevin, the business program facilitator, Sarita, the fabulous language professora-extraordinaire, and nine PC Volunteers in the business program.

Before I begin, I would like to offer many thanks to Kevin, for he not only allowed us to carry out our debauchery, but he highly encouraged it. Without his subtle, yet firm pressure, I may not have such fantastic stories to share with you today. Without further ado, I present a photo-journal of:

Kim Integrates into Peruvian Life

This just happens to be number two of the three Peace Corps Goals, as well as my personal favorite.

Exhibit A: I ride in the back of a truck with 10-12 other people.

(Note to Peace Corps Staff reading this blog: we only rode on unpaved roads, and there were no other means of transportation available. Thus we did technically abide by rule #9 under the Motor Vehicle, Travel and Transportation Policies in our Volunteer Handbook.)

Until it breaks down of course.

On a side-note, I also ride in dump trucks, but unfortunately I didn't have a camera for that particular event.

Exhibit B: I don’t think a thing about crossing very questionable bridges.

Exhibit C: I participate in donkey races.

I’m not exactly sure how this idea was formulated, but I know it began when Kevin asked us one evening, “how can we make this trip more fun?” I told him that I would very much like to ride a llama. Being that there were no llamas within a five hour radius, however, somebody else suggested a donkey (Contumaza has an abundance of donkeys, as well as sheep and goats, that roam aimlessly through the streets). This naturally progressed into the idea of having a donkey race in the town’s main square. Two other volunteers were assigned the task of securing the donkeys for the race, which would take place, of course, at High Noon on our final day. This turned out to be great practice for our next two years in site, because it involved getting out amongst the good people of the town and conversing. Friday morning we set out in search of some suitable steeds. Paul, our designated cattle-herder, initially approached a sprightly young couple, who couldn’t be a day under 92, to inquire about their mules. He explained to them that his wife (me) and son (another volunteer, age 27) were from the United States, and we had always dreamt of riding donkeys around the square of their small village. Much to my surprise, they did not seem surprised at all. They said to him, “Senor Gringo, unfortunately we are on our way to our farm and need the use of our donkeys. If you come back tomorrow, Senor Gringo, it would be an honor to lend you our finest mules.” They were highly disappointed when he told them we were leaving early the next morning. We had more luck at the next house, though, and were able to rent two lovely donkeys from another family, who also didn’t seem bewildered in the least by our request. We started by walking the donkeys through town to the main plaza, but we ran into some of our students from the institute, and they insisted that we ride the donkeys. What resulted was a bizarre little parade, with people waving to us as we walked up the main street to the plaza. Paul was also able to secure us some local flair for the race, and after all bets were placed, we commenced to race the two donkeys around the square, much to the amusement of the locals. Clearly, this never would have been acceptable in the United States, but even the local police in Contuma weren’t concerned a bit when we rode right by them. God bless Latin America. P.S. As it turns out, I am a natural at donkey racing, and left the other jockey eating my dust. In all fairness, I did have the finer steed, but I do still hold the course record…

Exhibit D: I know everything there is to know about obtaining, killing and preparing cuy (guinea pig) for consumption.

Cuy is a popular dish in this region, so my goal was to eat it while in Cajamarca. My colleague, Keith, took that goal a step further and decided we should learn how to cook one as well. Being the great coach that he is, Kevin encouraged us to take that on as a side-project. Never one to turn down a challenge, I accepted. Although I’ve never actually killed an animal before (and I always said I would become a Vegetarian before doing so), I had to remind myself that I am in the Peace Corps. I am here to integrate, and people here do not cuddle the cute little guinea pigs… they eat them. Also, the meat is high in protein (second only to rabbit!) and low in fat/cholesterol. I may have to teach people in my pueblo how to raise them for consumption one day. Also, I repeat: I am in the Peace Corps. I must be hard core, no matter what the cost. I’m just putting this out there, because I know I will be judged for the following segment. I did have to mentally prepare myself for two days, and I nearly chickened out when the moment of truth came. That being said, I can now ask myself, “Are you proud of what you’ve done?” The answer, my friends, is a resounding yes. But I digress. I know you are all anxious to learn how one goes from a fuzzy little friend to supper, so here goes.

Step 1. Find out how and where to obtain the finest guinea pigs at the best price.

In case you’re curious, a gringo should never attempt to purchase cuy… you will be ripped off. Best option: talk to the local priest; he will know people. Also, do not be surprised when you show up the next day to pick up the cuy, and he hands you a large sack.

Step 2. Find an experienced guide to teach you how to kill and cook the cuy.

If you’re ever in Contumaza, you should know that Milagritos, a local restaurateur, is a most excellent choice. Or, you can always give me a call; I think I could be considered an expert now.

Step 3: Kill the cuy.

We bought three cuyes, and Milagritos killed the first one to demonstrate the method. As you could probably guess, this is the part where I was ready to throw in the towel. I thought it would be a quick process, but oh no, it was not. Fortunately, Kevin would not let me back down. Nor would Milagritos, for she literally heaved the knife into my hand and held the little cuy down. After all my big-girl talk, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was. This part is a bit graphic, so I am not posting any pictures, but if you are interested, let me know. I can send pictures and/or a video of this step being carried out. Keith and I actually put together a pretty informative little video documentary.

Step 4: Prepare the cuy for cooking.

Again, this part is a bit too graphic for the general public, so I’ll skip ahead a bit…

Step 5: Fry the cuy and enjoy with friends.

Bon Apetit!

So as you can see, Field-Based Training was a great success!

P.S. Contumaza is no exception to the rule; it has some adorable stray dogs dressed in human clothing, a la this sassy little pup…

P.S.

2009-07-10T17:45:00.001-07:00

In case you just CANNOT get enough of me/Peru, some of my friends here have fabulous blogs that you may want to check out as well. Obviously, some of our updates will overlap, but they do cover some things that I don't and often include pictures of me (naturally). Plus, they are funnier than me...

http://millamayyo.wordpress.com/

http://jessjoye.blogspot.com/

http://www.stephinperu.blogspot.com/

Let's Hear it for Water!

2009-07-10T16:54:00.000-07:00

Before I begin, I must make a quick retraction from a former blog. I quite irresponsibly said that Peru has more than 2,000 types of potatoes, when en actuality they have over 3,000. I apologize for this blatant and disgusting misstatement.

That being said, I know that I just updated less than a week ago, but I’ll be out of commission until next Saturday, so I figured I’d better go ahead and do it while I had the chance. This Saturday we leave for Cajamarca, a Department to the north to perform what is called, “Field Based Training.” As a Business volunteer, I will be in a group of three people, and we will be teaching a four-day business course to a group of approximately 35 high-school students. Did I mention we will be doing this in Spanish? Yeah, that should be interesting. I would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize to the students who have to listen to us butcher their beautiful language and talk to them about balance statements… double whammy. Anywho, it should be great practice for us, so I am actually rather excited. The following week we get our site assignments, for which we are all getting more and more anxious. The other day a current volunteer from Peru 12 (if you recall from previous blogs, I’m Peru 13.. stay with me people) came to give a little educational chat and showed some pictures of his town. He is in the environment program, and most of them are in very tiny, very remote communities. He lives in a town of 300 people smack dab on top of an Ande. He had some incredible stories that make me want to visit, but not live in, his town. The best example: His town got into a fight with a neighboring town over a cattle dispute. There were machetes involved. That’s right: machetes… and these machetes were being thrown. One man took a machete to the back and another got a graze across the skull. My list of things that would cause me to go home now include:

1. Being attacked by a rabid bat; and

2. Being injured by machete, even if only a “graze”

I know I am here for the “experience” and all, but throw me a bone here… I just don’t think I could handle that. I’ll try to find a link to his blog and post it on here. He will clearly have better stories than me… at least I hope. Okay, so back to my life. This week has actually been quite eventful. First of all, we have experienced the fourth day of massive strikes since I’ve been here. The people have been striking for various causes, but the majority of the strikes have been transportation-related. The government raised the fines for traffic violations, such as speeding, running red lights, etc. The people have a serious beef with this and thus have organized nation-wide strikes by all public transportation. Even the good ole mototaxi drivers are throwing their hats in the ring. It is quite debilitating, as most people do not have their own car and rely entirely on public transportation. The result is that schools are closed (except for mine, I’ll get to that momentarily) and nobody can get to work. Way to give it to ‘The Man,’ people of Peru. Apparently the police got involved in the center of Lima and were able to get some transport running, but they definitely didn’t make it as far as my little community. To ensure that the strike would persevere regardless, some rascals in my town littered the streets with giant boulders and tree trunks, thus preventing any ambitious drivers from getting to and fro. The result is that I had to truck it 45 minutes to the next closest town for language class and stay there most of the day. Tomorrow the Peace Corps is going to send some “unmarked vehicles” around to collect us and hope that we aren’t mistaken for public transport, which would clearly result in rocks to the windows and tires. Just another day at the office!

In addition to the strikes, last Sunday was a HUGE day for our little town of Yanacoto. Right now, we only have access to water for one hour, twice a week. Everybody has a tank on the roof that they fill up as a reservoir, but once this is gone, it’s gone. Better plan your icy cold shower accordingly! They would really like to have more frequent access, and after some serious pestering, they were able to get an audience with some big-to-do fellow from the government in Lima. He was invited to a town meeting, and the townsfolk spent weeks preparing. They strung Peruvian flag banners all over, gathered up every musician and dancer they could find (I was awakened at 6:00 am by a 10-piece brass band positioned casually on someone’s roof). They even had a parade to welcome/impress the special guest. Definitely not the typical town-hall meeting in the U.S., which nobody ever attends. Oh no sir, every single person living in Yanacoto attended and stayed all day. Men and women were in their finest dress, and every Mototaxi bore some lovely streamers or balloons. A few little entrepreneurs came out to sell snacks and popsicles to the masses; the whole event had a very carnvialesque feel to it. Although I may have lost something in translation, I think it ended with a promise that they would have more water access by 2011 (may want to hold off on booking your trip to Yanacoto until then). Afterward they celebrated with lots and lots of drinking. I left pretty early, but I could hear the festivities continuing on well into the night, as the brass band competed with the speaker-strapped car for the honor of most obnoxious. I don’t know if I can really make you all appreciate how excited people were about this town meeting without some pictures and videos, so here goes:

The town dressed in her Sunday-Best:

Mototaxi looking all spiffy:

Even my dog Rambo (in the middle) didn't want to miss out on the action:

*** I have two GREAT Videos from this event, but the Internet is questionable at best right now, so I'm going to have to post these at a later date... you must come back to view. All apologies!

Although this blog post is getting a bit wordy, I feel that this a good place for an important disclaimer*. I’ve had more than a handful of people email me on the side and ask if I’m “really doing okay.” Upon looking over my last few blogs, I realize why there is such concern… I’ve certainly been a little more negative than intended. Guess I was just trying to keep my audience entertained! Nobody likes a Debbie Downer, however, so I would like to take a moment and set your minds at ease: I am incredibly happy right now. Although I miss people and conveniences of home, I cannot get enough of this country. My favorite part is clearly the Peruvians themselves; the best way to describe them is that they are transparent. They put on no airs and truly know who they are; it is utterly refreshing to be around. In addition, the more I learn about the Peace Corps, the more fortunate I feel to be a part of it. I have so much respect for my country for starting this program and continuing to fund it. Not only does it have some of the loftiest and noble goals, but it employs the best and the brightest to educate and facilitate its volunteers. I feel so honored to be chosen as a representative of the United States here in Peru, and I will do my best to represent it well. Now, before I climb too far up my high horse, I do want to remind myself and others that I am currently being paid by the government to learn Spanish and gallivant around Latin America. It rocks. Bring on the rabid animals and machetes!

*To the Peace Corps Peru Country Director, Mr. Michael Hirsch: Thank you for reading my blog! I hope I don’t say anything to embarrass you. I would like to take this moment to say that I had already typed the above disclaimer prior to your conversation about keeping blogs “positive,” so I am not doing this out of guilt, I promise! Keep up the great work!

2009-07-05T11:33:00.000-07:00

Happy Day After the 4th of July Friends! I don’t know how you celebrated the Independence of our nation, but I celebrated it in typical U.S.A. fashion: hot dogs, mac n cheese and a few cold ones. We couldn’t find Budweiser, but Cristal made for a decent exception. Before you start thinking that the Peace Corps is paying us enough to down fine champagne, I should probably mention that Cristal is a local brand of beer. Needless to say, I always order it because I get a kick out of uttering the words, “A big bottle of Cristal for me, please,” in a casual manner. Tee Hee. So while I’m on the subject of U.S. events, I should probably address the most recent tragedy: the death of National pop icon, Michael Jackson. Peru is very fascinated by U.S. music, movies and fashion, but for some reason they are most keenly interested in the “culture” that occurred in the U.S. between 1982 and 1991. Exhibit A: Scrunchies are EVERYWHERE. You aren’t cool unless you are rocking one scrunchie in the hair and one on the wrist. Extra points if they match your tube socks and Chuck Taylors. Needless to say, the country is traumatized by the death of Michael Jackson. I have been completely unaware of any sort of International news for nearly a month, but somehow I found out about this event within hours of its occurrence. I have been asked no less than 17 times by my host dad what I think about it, how I feel about it, how the other volunteers are coping, if I have spoken to my family in the States about it, etc. etc. etc. My host family does not own a DVD player, yet they own a DVD of M.J.’s greatest hits. We watched it on my laptop last weekend, and now the family is bent on learning the Thriller dance. If they can find time in-between making their friendship bracelets...

Other than MJ’s death and the 4th of July, things have continued without major event here over the last week. I am learning a lot though, and not just about language and business. I feel that I have already gained some serious life skills that will help me for years in the future. I now dabble in the arts of growing lettuce, baking banana bread over open fire and killing a guinea pig without ruining the meat for consumption (kidding…sort of). In addition, here are a few more proficiencies I can cut and paste into the ole résumé:

How to barter.

I learned how to cook my first Peruvian dish, Aji de Gallina, and it was delicious if I do say so myself. As part of my language class, we went to an open-air market in a neighboring town to buy the necessary items. I absolutely love the markets here - you can buy anything from a stove to a live chicken (perhaps that is where my family went a couple of weeks ago…) in a series of hundreds of adjoining stalls. Sarita, my language professor, makes us barter everywhere we go. It is somewhat embarrassing, but I have gotten some good deals that way. The first time she made me do it was in Lima, in a shoe store. I had to go to up to an employee, ask the cost of a pair of shoes, and immediately ask if I could have a discount. I thought the woman would look at me like I had an arm growing out of my head, but she seemed to think this was perfectly normal. She dropped the price by 10 Soles on the spot. Might want to remember that if you ever go shoe-shopping in Peru (I mean, who doesn’t do that?). Bartering in the market was worse, however… I had to haggle with some of the poorest people this side of the Sahara over a can of evaporated milk. I know that this is part of the Peace Corps language curriculum, but I can’t shake the feeling that the language instructors get a kick out of watching us. Dance gringos, dance! As bad as I felt in doing this, I’m quite excited about putting my bartering skills to work in China Town, New York. Those Pucci peddlers won’t know what hit them!

How to perform Karaoke in Peru.

So, I’m not sure if anyone is aware of this, but I somewhat enjoy singing karaoke. Apparently I’ve come to the right place, because Peruvians love it as well. I have found my people. The format here is slightly different, though. You sign up for two songs at a time, and they take the microphones from table to table, in order of where your table is located, so you can sing while sitting at your table. Being the attention-hog that I am, I prefer to stand up, but hey, when in Rome. The Karaoke Bar we went to was called McDonel’s (again, with the American pop-culture) and was fantastic. My friend Jess and I sang a couple of songs in English, which were big hits with the local patrons, but our attempts at songs in Spanish failed miserably. After our first song, they abruptly snatched our microphones away before we could sing the second (Jess swears they even turned hers off). Tough crowd. I now know, however, that the way to the hearts of Peruvians is clearly through American pop songs… bring on the Backstreet Boys.

How to purchase a high-quality bootleg DVD.

The bootleg DVD business is huge here. You can buy 10 movies for less than the cost of a sheep’s head (which you can buy just about anywhere as well), but you need to know which “merchant” sells the higher quality DVDs and which sell the ones that were clearly filmed by a guy sitting in the back of a movie theater holding a 1987 RCA camcorder with a shaky hand. During a fun-filled family bonding day at Tio’s house awhile back, I was treated to a showing of the entire Fast and the Furious series (Los Furiosos y Rapidos). I know a few of you will ask, and yes, it was definitely dubbed in Spanish. Quite entertaining. What was more entertaining, however, was the back cover of the DVD, where it explained that Fast and the Furious 2 & 4 were both nominated for Best Picture Oscars in the U.S. Excuse me? Come again? I must’ve missed those Oscar ceremonies. I was so intrigued by this, that I did some P.I. work myself and casually took a gander at a few other movie cases. Just as I suspected, blatant and hilarious lies. I found some priceless jems, but to save time, I’ll leave you with my favorite… Apparently the movie, “Fireproof,” starting Kirk Cameron earned over $200 million dollars in the U.S. and debuted at #4 upon its release. Betcha didn’t know that!

Well, that's about all for now, but I will leave you with my second installment of, "Dog Wearing Human Sweater." ENJOY!!!

Birthday Hotdogs

2009-06-28T09:27:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-25T16:59:00.000-07:00

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…