Time Travel

“Time keeps on slipping into the future” – Steely Dan

Time has a funny quality here. There are days that seem endless and months that pass in mere minutes. I at once can’t believe I’ve lived in Peru for all of 2010 and also feel like I’ve been here much, much longer. There’s a sense of sameness in small towns like Huaca Rajada, a feeling that time is somewhat irrelevant. People come and go, easing in and out of our lives as they seek work in Chiclayo, Lima, or further afield, but they’re always welcomed back as if no time has passed at all. Conversations veer to the familiar – the weather, family members, the latest town gossip. One doesn’t have to be here every day to understand the cycles of the seasons or the small family dramas that play out similarly in households around the world.

We tell time by the cars leaving for Chiclayo. It’s time for lunch with the “Rápido” (even after 16 months, I have no idea why this particular car is so named, they all seem equally slow to me) lumbers down the dirt road, Chiclayo-bound. I know it’s Saturday because Jackey (my other host sister) and her son come spend the day with us. Otherwise there is little difference between a Monday and a Thursday, or a Tuesday and a Sunday; the days blend together in a lulling rhythm broken only by the occasional campo baile.

When I return to site after a week or two of travel, I’m always a little worried that my artisans or family will have had some important meeting or participated in some big event without me. But every time I come back, they greet me as if I’ve always been here. As if my absence was a fleeting second. Sure, there’s a little friendly guilt-tripping – “Jessica, it’s been years,” they say. But I get this snarky retort whether I’ve been gone two days or two weeks. No, they respond, nothing new is going on here, nothing new to report. “Aqui estamos,” they reply day after day.

In many ways this blasé attitude toward the future is incredibly frustrating. It’s hard to motivate people to work when they are convinced that this is their lot in life and little they do will ever change their situation. Granted, there are a few incredibly motivated people in my town, but two or three people, mighty as they are, can’t carry an entire population forward. So from a development standpoint, time works against me.

But on a personal level, it’s been comforting to realize that I’ve woven myself into the fabric of this town, of it’s unique pace and personality. I don’t know when it happened, but one day I suddenly knew the combi schedule, I could predict what was for lunch based on the weather. It’s odd to find yourself at home in a place that once seemed so remote and alien. Time has a way of making everything eventually familiar.

Sometimes I wonder if they’ll remember me when I come back to visit in five, ten, or twenty years. I can’t answer for sure, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll find the same women gossiping in the shade of the algarroba tree, and they’ll welcome me back into their folds as if no time has passed at all. As if I’ve always been here.

I hope you are all enjoying a wonderful holiday season, wherever you are!

Turkey Trotting

I spent my second, and last, Thanksgiving in Peru on a fantastic journey to the southern highlands of Arequipa. Kim and I ventured down to the Texas of Peru (so called because of their fierce independence and autonomy) for a week filled with beautiful scenery, incredible food, and great company. Thanks so much to John, Kristen, Russ and Jean for their wonderful hospitality!

Plaza de Armas, Arequipa.

We arrived to the white city of Arequipa late in the afternoon. Under fellow volunteer John’s expert tutelage, we still managed to get in about three meals that day, plus several sweet treats. Some ingenious arequipeña created a most delectable desert – queso helado (cheese ice cream). It’s incredibly buttery, velvety, savory and icily cold. I made it a mission to try as much of this ridiculously good dessert as possible. Warning: this entry might include a lot of food talk. We basically ate our way through Arequipa. It was our duty as red-blooded American girls, acknowledging (and exceeding) the time-honored tradition of stuffing yourself silly over Thanksgiving. Anyway, John showed us around the city for two days. Highlights include: go-kart racing at a place that makes Frankie’s Fun Park look downright classy, visiting a hauntingly beautiful convent in the heart of the city, drinking a frog milkshake at the market (yes, a live frog was killed, skinned, sautéed and blended before our very eyes. I have a video if you don’t believe me), feasting on crepes, tacos, stuffed peppers, and generally enjoying what I now consider the prettiest city in Peru.

Frog juice = good for stress.

Santa Catolina convent, Arequipa.

Getting in touch with my artistic side.

Beautiful red walls of the convent.

We headed for Chivay on Thursday to prepare our Thanksgiving feast. Chivay is a district capital and the base for many of the Colca Canyon (deepest canyon in the world) tours. Two volunteers from my training group live in Chivay – the indefatigable Russ and Jean. They graciously opened their house and kitchen to our hungry group and we prepared what can only be described as a feast. We spent hours in the kitchen preparing every traditional dish we could think of, laughing the day away in our borrowed chef’s coats. I’d forgotten how much I’d missed cooking and the fraternal atmosphere of a bustling kitchen. My contribution: heart-cloyingly buttery mashed potatoes and slightly-burnt-but-still-delicious homemade mac ‘n cheese. We had a lovely meal, complete with the vocal stylings of Russ and Jean. I literally had to wheel myself away from the table. So good.

A happy kitchen. (Jess, John, Kim, Russ)

The feast before the starved volunteers descend.

Now that’s a good looking plate.

Instead of hitting the mall on Black Friday, Jean, Kim, Kristen, and I opted to burn some of our Thanksgiving calories on a hike ’n bike through the Colca Canyon. Jean led us to some nearby towns, stunning canyon views, and one seriously scary bridge crossing. We then rewarded ourselves after our very strenuous four-hour excursion with soak in the local thermal baths. Obviously I’d earned this after my one attempt at exercise during the entire vacation. Vacation, people, vacation. You are supposed to stuff yourself silly and wile away the days in public baths. Have you learned nothing from my previous blogs?

The fearless travelers overlooking the Canyon.

Finally we headed for Kristen’s site, Cabanconde, a supremely beautiful town on the edge of the canyon entrance. Cabanaconde is only about 3,000 people but they have no less than three bars and five hostels, including a really swanky hotel. Needless to say, lots of tourists come through. I can’t even begin to explain how different all the canyon volunteers’ sites are from mine. I’m more than a little jealous. We only had about 12 hours in Cabanaconde but we did manage to spot the famous Colca Condor (honestly, it looks just like a regular bird) and trek out to the edge of the canyon for more great views.

Wow. A bird.

It was a whirlwind trip but well worth all the traveling. Obviously, I will always cherish childhood memories of Thanksgivings with family, but this year will go down as one of my favorites, and certainly one of the most memorable. There was something really beautiful about mashing everyone’s family traditions in a completely foreign setting. What resulted was echoingly familiar but decidedly unique. Far from home, in a land rich with their own cultural traditions, we recreated a notion of our collective home.

Dancing with the Dead

Leave it to Peruvians to turn even a trip to the cemetery into a celebration. Gone is the hushed grief, the painful silences, the eerie stillness of it all. Instead we visit the dead, leave them flowers, share a large family picnic around the gravesite. We tell them stories about neighbors, cousins, and ourselves because we know the Peruvian thirst for gossip is never quenched. We throw a big party twice a year in their honor –- on the anniversaries of their birth and death, marking the bookends of their life. They might be physically gone from our lives but their presence is acknowledged and celebrated on a daily basis.

There is something quite beautiful and moving in honoring your departed loved ones in this way. I’d noticed it in passing before, but over the past few weeks I’ve spent a decidedly un-morbid amount of time in and around Peruvian cemeteries.

A few weeks ago, for Day of the Dead, I spent an entire day in the cemetery with my host family. We packed a big lunch and camped out for the day. There were families visiting almost every grave, enjoying their own picnics and paying their respects to deceased parents, grandparents, spouses and friends. Kids were laughing and squealing in the background, making dirt pies to sell to the adults. The ice cream vendor made a killing (pun intended) selling sweet treats to the sweaty revelers. Instead of a somber event, it was a happy day punctuated by chatter and sweet rememberances. It was a time for family and friends to share meals and memories. Obviously I don’t have a personal connection with any of the deceased relatives so it’s easy for me to gloss over any sadness, but in talking with my host family and observing the day, I really don’t think it’s a time for sadness. The dead aren’t honored here by crying over our losses, we honor their memories by spending time as a family, united in a shared love for someone no longer here.

A couple weeks later, Papy’s sister died. She’d been sick for a long time so it was no big shock, but it’s always sad to lose someone. What followed was a whirlwind of familial activities: a wake, a funeral precession, a burial ceremony, a post-burial ceremony, and lots and lots of shared meals. I was present for it all -- what’s a family event without the token gringita, after all? Sure there were some awkward moments, namely walking behind the coffin, standing heads above the rest of the mourners, throwing flower petals as we marched through the streets. More than one person stage whispered, “who is that white girl?” But overall it was a time for family and I was welcomed, as always, with open arms. The generosity of the Peruvians I know is boundless. Amid their sadness they found the kindness and love to feed me, include me in the rituals and ceremonies, and talk to me. The whole three-day affair was marked less by sadness and more by joyous moments of family love. It was unexpectedly moving for me. Once again I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude for being able to be a part of these private moments.

For all its hardships and loneliness, Peace Corps really does offer us this incredible opportunity to live in another culture, with all the joy and pain that brings.

Swanky Soiree

I've spent a good deal of time and space -- too much time some might say -- explaining the Peruvian party system on this blog. I recently found myself at a victory party for a local mayorial candidate, camera in hand. It seemed the perfect time to visually document (and prove) everything I'd been saying. Thus, I present to you, loyal blog followers, a photo story of the generation of a typical Peruvian soiree. Consider yourselves enlightened.

First, everyone must sit awkwardly against the wall in a giant circle. There's no dancing, not much talking, just a lot of sitting and waiting.


Waiting for what, you might ask. For the beer to come out, duh. Here, Papy (far left, proudly wearing his Carolina hat!) and company demonstrate the practiced art of nonchalantly scoping the crowd while passing cervezas around the circle.


These ladies are old-hands. They know the drill: a little waiting, a little lunching, a lot of dancing. One of the best things about Peruvian parties is the fact that, eventually, everyone will be on the dance floor. There are no age limits on fun here.


Next, we see what I like to call the "early adopters." These are the first people on the dance floor. They hear a favorite song and they're ready to cut loose. They don't mind that the majority of the crowd is still awkwardly balancing their paper plate of rice and beans on their laps.


Here, the early adopters are joined by the crowd at large after the band calls them to the front to listen to the mayor's acceptance/thank you speech.


You can't keep them off the dance floor at this point. The band is pumping out one hit after another. The beer is flowing. The sun is setting. The party has officially (four hours later) started.


The true mark of success -- getting the gringa to dance in your cirlce. Here I demonstrate how to two-step your way to popularity. Clearly my dance partner is impressed.


The truly amazing thing is that every single party I've been to follows this exact same format. Even the meals are the same. At least I always know what to expect, and at this point, I am more than happy to join in on all the fun.

Here's hoping you're enjoying your own special dance party!

Pisco & Peanuts

This blog title is in reference to my dinner tonight (yummy) and because it sounds like a pretty Peruvian way to say "odds 'n ends."

I found myself today with some unanticipated Internet time, thus I spent my time as any lonely foreigner would do -- partaking in some good old-fashioned Internet stalking. Perusing some of my favorite blogs (and lurking creepily around on strangers' blogs), I realized my own blogging is a bit wan. Sure, it's hard to stay on top of an Internet-based journal when you live in a town with NO Internet access, but still, I feel like there's so much I want to say and should have said to document this crazy experience. Although if you've read any of the previous entries you can certainly attest to the difficulty with which I summarize or succinctly relate my Peruvian life. What can I say? I'm wordy. Hence, the roundabout introduction to what I can only call a random update.

Birthday 2010.

My first couple weeks back in site after my Charleston trip were kind of rough, I'm not gonna lie. It's hard to go from constant activity and everyone wanting to talk to you and see you to being alone in the middle of a Peruvian desert town. But I'm happy to report I've gotten over myself and am back to loving Peru. There's something about Peruvians that just won't let you feel sorry for yourself for long. For one thing, they are hilarious in a completely unintentional way. They're also incredibly generous and welcoming.

Case in point: I was sitting this afternoon in an unassuming restaurant, working on my laptop, and ended up engaged in a nearly three-hour conversation with the owner (my Pisco purveyor). We chatted about everything from weather to politics to Hollywood stars. When he found out why I was living in Peru, he called over the other waiters to share some Pisco in honor of me and my selflessness. Ha. If they only knew how much more I am getting/learning from nearly every Peruvian I meet. Honestly, their openness and generosity touches me when I need it most. Quality people.

Besides swilling Pisco with locals, I've been steadily working on some projects in site. My artisans and I recently participated in the annual U.S. Embassy-sponsored artisan fair in Lima. I traveled with Maria and Papy for the two-day event. Papy is a Peace Corps veteran these days. He has literally been to every PC-sponsored training event that exists in the past 18 months. He loves it. He introduces himself to other Peruvians as a Peace Corps employee. I overheard him coaching Maria (who had never been to a PC event) on what to expect, pointing out who's who of the staff, and generally acting the consummate pro. It was ridiculous and endearing. This year's fair was a smaller than last year's, so we didn't sell as much as I'd hoped, but it was still a good experience for the Bad News Bears from Huaca Rajada. Poco a poco.

Maria preps for the artisan fair.

Up next: continuing with my community bank and HIV/AIDS work (two separate projects), traveling to Arequipa for Thanksgiving, studying Portuguese (I've decided it's time I learn a third language), and counting the days until I'm back in the US of A for Christmas (yes, I love Peru, but nothing says holidays like home). Hasta pronto amigos!

Saludos from Huaca Rajada!

Amazing Americana

I came, I saw, I conquered. And I’m ready for more. It turns out six days can go by extremely quickly in the fast-paced first world. It was a whirlwind trip in all senses of the word, but reassuringly familiar at the same time. But let’s start from the beginning.

I had been looking forward to my first trip stateside for months, literally counting down the days for weeks. I barely slept the night before I left and subsequently arrived to the Lima airport with plenty of time to spare. I landed in Miami with tears in my eyes. Corny, I know, but I couldn’t help it – 16 months is a long time to be away from your home, your family, your friends. After clearing customs (where the customs agent gave me a hearty “Welcome home!” after seeing how long I’d been in Peru, again bringing tears to my eyes), I headed straight for the nearest airport bar and chowed down on a burger with fries and an ice cold Bud Light draught. I’d bought some magazines to peruse as I ate my lunch, but all I could focus on was eavesdropping on the conversations swirling around me in English. I’ve gotten pretty good at tuning out Spanish when I want to be left alone, but English? In America? Forget it – I desperately wanted to strike up one of those unique airport conversations. The kind where you become instant friends with a fellow traveler, revealing personal information on a whim because you know you’ll never see them again. I made a few new friends, but was soon whisked away on the quick shuttle flight to Charleston, where I was greeted by a joyefully tearful family waving signs.

I spent the next six days in a blissful haze of shared meals, wedding activities and familial comfort. It was almost as I’d never even left. Almost. I found myself noticing the strangest things – the incredible road maintenance, the friendliness of waitresses. I was amazed by the cleanliness of everything, the luxury of modern bathrooms (though I did continue to throw toilet paper away in the trashcan, much to my mother’s disgust), the scope and breadth of food options, and just how good we have it in the U.S. I don’t want to get preachy or political, and I am certainly aware of the problems in America, but, man, it is nice over there. We, collectively, are incredibly fortunate. I guess some clichés are true for a reason – you really don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. And I certainly had no problem indulging myself in hot showers, cold beverages and warm beds.

Reunited and it feels so good

Keepin' it classy with some of my very favorite people

I’d be remiss not to mention the main impetus behind my quick trip home: to be a part of Britton and Rob’s wedding. I am so glad I was able to be there and share in their special weekend. It was a beautiful wedding (with lots of good food) and gave me the opportunity to see and catch up with a lot of old and dear friends. Thanks for including me, Britnin!

The happy couple

Suffice to say, the trip was over way too quickly. I struggled through my return travel day, spending nearly eight hours in the Miami airport where I gate- and restaurant-hopped the day away. Finally dragging myself to the Lima departure gate, I was greeted by mass confusion. Now there are a lot of Latin American-bound flights leaving from the Miami international terminal, but everywhere I turned were orderly travelers calmly boarding their flights. Until you reach the Peruvian gate – mayhem. Peruvians sprawled everywhere, playing cards, shouting into their cell phones, harassing the gate agent with all kinds of questions. I have no idea what was so dramatic about this particular flight – we left on time and it didn’t seem to be overbooked – but I had to shake my head and laugh a little. Peruvians live with gusto and it cheered me a little to recognize some familiarity even here, bound for my other home.

It’s incredibly reassuring to know that no matter how far you travel, or for how long, home will always be there to welcome you back. Thank you to everyone who gave me a hug, laughed at my stories, bought me a beer, and reminded me what true friends look like. I miss you all over again!

Work Week

Lest you think all I do is flit from one exotic locale to the next, I thought I'd take a minute to fill you in on some site- and work-related news. Generally, my vacations and misadventures on the road make for much more entertaining blog posts, but the real essence of Peace Corps is what happens when you're at site, alone, and without Internet to keep your loyal blog followers abreast of your day-to-day activities.

As you all know, (because I have proudly pointed it out numerous times) I've been in site now for more than a year, which means I'm now reliving events and occasions from last year -- birthdays, anniversaries, artisan fairs, etc. It's a really odd sensation to come back to these events from the perspective of a more experienced, less naive version of myself. Talking with my volunteer friends, it seems we're all having these mid-service musings, noticing that everything we thought was so weird and SO awkward last year now seems, well, normal.

The past few weeks have seen me enjoying the following activities: a super swanky, super professional gastronomic fair in Lima. I accompanied my crazy artisan friend who somehow scored an invite to display her algarrobina products, representing our department. We were so the campesinas at this thing. MISTURA, as it was called, makes the Charleston Food & Wine Fest look downright redneck. Seriously. There were apparently 40,000 visitors on day one, and chefs from all over the world. Maria and I were both a little overwhelmed, but we put on a brave front and ate our way through the next four days. And, on an exciting note, she sold all of the algarrobina she brought -- nearly S/. 2000 soles worth. It was a big deal for us, but I'm sure there were vendors there who were selling well into the tens of thousands.

Maria proudly displays her algarrobina

Hard at work. I promise she likes me.

Upon arriving back in site, I was greeted with the exciting news that it was time for the second annual livestock competition/fair in Pomalca. Loyal readers will recall my amazement at last year's inaugural event. I was so confused that whole time! I walked into an impressive number of admirers, all of whom remembered me from last year. I was immediately whisked away to the VIP stage, where I had to sit for hours upon hours staring out into the hot and dusty crowd. I judged a beauty pageant, pinned some ribbons on some prize heifers and tried to avoid the leers of the drunken cattle ranchers. I don't know what I expected, but somehow the second go 'round just wasn't as hilarious as I remembered. I think it has a lot to do with knowing the audience a lot better. Knowing that you can't be too friendly unless you want to be the happy recipient of 37+ phone calls a day. Knowing that the cattle round-up is going to take three hours. A minor dental emergency prevented me from participating in the weekend finale, which was when all the crazy stuff went down last year. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've learned my way around this country and its customs, for better or worse, I know what I'm doing (especially when you break out a drinking circle) and that is both reassuring and anti-climactic.

After a recent "shaman" night outside the museum. Papy, second from left, played the shaman's assistant.

We've also been prepping for several other artisan fairs in the coming months -- working on presentation of products, streamlining production schedules, and networking our little artisan arses off. I'm in the midst of the initial stages of starting a community bank in my town, kicking off an HIV-AIDS prevention campaign, and making over a dirt field into a community garden with the kiddies. As always, these projects prove more challenging than they sound. But with my year (hey, did you here? I've been here more than a year) comes patience, a higher tolerance, and hopefully a little wisdom. Just keep on truckin'.

Local dance troupe at a museum event

Speaking of exotic locales, I am writing this en route to the U.S. of A. Yep, This American Life is going back to the motherland for a quick visit, where I'm sure my idea of normal will be spun on its head all over again. Can't wait to see many of you in the flesh in just a few days! Don't worry about recognizing me -- I'll be the girl with the bad hair, wearing a slightly dazed expression, a can of Diet Coke in one hand and a Bud Light in the other.

Editor's note: I wrote this post before my American extravaganza, and I can't help but to leave that last paragraph in, mainly because it proved to be almost exactly true (Mom sprung for me to get my hair cut before the wedding festivities). I'll post a post-America post soon.

Picchu Pics

I'm just back from yet another amazing Peruvian adventure. I, along with brother Ted, DC friends Emily and Kevin, and a whole mess of PC volunteers + friends, successfully hiked the Inka Trail! It was a grueling four-day trek through some seriously high Andean mountains, made all the more grueling by the freezing rain/snow we encountered while summitting the highest point (4200 meters!). But we arrived, only slightly worse for the wear, at Machu Picchu and the views more than made up for the tough hike. It was absolutely incredible. I am hoping to post a guest blog in the coming days, providing additional details and alternate perspectives from my intrepid visitors. For now, here are a few pictures to quench your Jess craving. Enjoye!

All smiles at the trail head.

Day one: bright, warm and having fun.

Team Jess! (Ted, Jess, Emily, Kevin)

Day two: embarking on a very steep, very cold ascent to 4200 meters (to be followed by a very steep, very cold descent).

Emily and Jess exploring Machu Picchu.

Looking a little tired, but happy, at the Sun Gate.

The clouds part, revealing an incredible sight.

Proof that I made it!

Found: one lost brother wandering one lost city.

Being silly on the train ride back to Cuzco.

Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Plaza de Armas, Lima

Loving Language

Break out the champagne flutes, pop open the bubbly -- I’ve reached another landmark in my Peace Corps service. August 25th marked one year living in Huaca Rajada. I have lived in my little room in the middle of the Peruvian desert for longer than I have lived in any other apartment or house in the past five years. Weird, right? And I still have another year to go – when all is said and done here, the only place I’ll have lived longer is the house I grew up in Charlotte, which I haven’t lived in since I was 17. Who knew the Peace Corps would actually help me put down roots?

Now I had a lot of goals for myself when I set out on this grand adventure, and chief among them was to become fluent in Spanish. I assumed that after a year of living among Peruvians, not one of whom speaks any English, I’d be well on my way to crossing at least one goal off my list. But, it turns out that being really and truly fluent in a language is a lot harder than you think. I can get by in Spanish. I go days without speaking a word of English (other than the running commentary in my head) and I even have the occasional dream in Spanish. But just getting by is not the same as being able to eloquently and succinctly express your thoughts, your ideas, your sense of humor, especially for someone who has such a love of words and good conversation. In a foreign language I am stripped down to the barest of myself. It is humbling to say the least.

On the flip side, I find my English getting worse. When I am talking to friends and family back home I find myself grabbing for words, unable to think of the English equivalent of gaseosa (soda), chisme (gossip), malecon (boardwalk) and other seemingly random words. The life I’m living here exists somewhere between languages – we volunteers communicate in a pidgin language of English/Peruvian/Peace Corps. Basically, I’m fluent in no language, which has led me to think a lot about the meaning of words, their origins and how living across languages trips up our brains. So I present to you some of my linguistic observations:

• Embarazada means pregnant. I’ve started working on a sexual health project, so this word comes up a lot but I still can’t say it or read it without thinking of the English word embarrassing. I have a feeling this has a lot more to do with my personal views on reproduction than any sort of linguistic derivative.


• When you ask a Peruvian to repeat themselves, they repeat the requested question or statement followed by “digo.” Digo translates to I say. So they’re repeating something they just said followed by the proclamation, “I say.” As in, “what time does the next car leave, I say.” This always makes me think of Elmer Fudd. I say, I say, I say pass me the rice.


• Peruvians love to make words diminutive by adding –ita to the ends of words. I find this endearing and can not say a number of words without adding that cute, little ending (aguita, bolsita, pancito). It also softens the blow when someone calls you a gordita, as in, hey cute, little fat girl. It seems no word is immune from this trend, including my name. Somehow Jessicacita doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.


• Playa means both beach and parking lot. For some reason I find this endlessly amusing, envisioning a crowded beach packed with broken down cars.

There are countless more examples of words and phrases that confuse and amuse me, but I can't seem to articulate them right now. I originally wrote this post a few weeks ago and reopened it today to edit and publish, but in those intervening weeks, I’ve spent a great deal of time with English speakers. Non-Spanish-speaking English speakers, which has made my head spin even more. Translating from Spanish to English, carrying on rapid conversations in English, forgetting who speaks Spanish and who speaks English, trying to listen in on conversations in multiple languages. I don’t even know how to think anymore, let alone how to post a witty and bilingual linguistic analysis. Really, is language learning supposed to be this jumbled?

Expert Em

Hello to anyone and everyone who reads this blog. Jessica has asked me to do a guest blog entry after recently traveling to Peru. After our nine-day rendezvous around Northern Peru it goes without saying how much respect I have for not only Jessica but all Peace Corps volunteers.

Having traveled around parts of Peru before, through a high school program back in 2006, I thought I had a pretty good idea on what the trip would be like -- I was wrong. Before I had traveled around the "ritzy Peru," going to cities like Cuzco, Arequipa and Macchu Pichu, staying in tourist friendly homes and hotels, believing I was becoming more worldly, when really I was still situated perfectly in my comfort zone. This time around was different. Jessica was able to show me the real Peru. A filthy yet gorgeous country blessed with so much history but poisoned by visible poverty everywhere.

Our trip started out like any other trip, I got in late and we quickly got to catching up and hanging out like it had only been a few days since we had last seen each other, not 14 months. We toured Lima, had an embarrassing night at one of Lima's more glamorous restaurants and wound up eating at good ole' Chili's, talking about the latest American gossip. After scheming our way into buying some knock-off DVDs and checking out the catacombs, we were off to Mancora, a small surfing town located on the Northern coast close to the Ecuadoran border.

Being in Mancora was awesome! The beach was right there, the mountains were right behind you, everyone had such a laid back attitude, and I was lucky enough to have been able to spend some time with one of Jessica's best friends, Steph. One night, after hanging out with some of the other backpackers at the local surf bar, Jessica quickly became famous after performing her original take on the Michael Jackson's classic "Thriller" dance. The next day, we all three had one last trip to the Mexican restaurant and then Steph went home. From there, Jessica and I were off for our romantic date. But before our romantic date at the natural hot springs, we had to get in our workout. We were led by two teenage Peruvian boys up the side of a dry rustic mountain with an 75 degree incline. We strapped on our helmets and harnesses and ziplined our way down the mountain only to be welcomed by goats! And lots of them. Once I get all of my pictures developed I'll be sure and include some of our hiking pictures to the blog, that is if Jessica allows them. Once we made friends with the goats it was off to the natural hot springs where we watched the moon rise and enjoyed a nice bottle of red wine and chicken and mayo sandwiches (mmm). Another overnight bus and boom! we were almost to Jessica's site. I was so nervous about going to meet Jessica's 'new' family. However, they were so welcoming and kind about another gringa staying with them. We enjoyed our first, and my last, meal together -- a chicken that Jessica and I supplied and a house salad. Now, I'll spare everyone the details, but after that meal I was down for the count until my flight left 2 days later.

Not too many "oh my gosh" memories stand out about my trip to Peru, yet I still had the best time of my life! Being able to finally see where my sister lives, what she does, who her friends are and how she is living was what I hoped to gain from my trip. The last day before I left, as Jessica and I were sitting and enjoying our Snack Wraps from KFC at the mall, Jessica told me what she thought she had learned about Peru and Peruvians after being there for over a year. While my time there doesn't even begin to compare to her, I did fall in love with the contradictions that seem to make up Peru. For example, in Jessica's site running water turns on at 11:00 am and shuts off at 3:00 pm yet satellite TVs and cell phone reception were always available. I could continue to share more of the things that I love about Peru, but I don't want to spoil the excitement of Peru. I strongly encourage that everyone pay Jessica and Peru a visit. Jessica is a FANTASTIC guide and really does show you the real Peru, whether you are ready for it or not!

I hope you all enjoyed my take on Peru and my visit. Visit Jessica! I know she would love the distraction!

Emily

Editor's Note: Everything you read above is Emily's original post. For once, this editor resisted the call of the red pen -- not that Em needed it, great job! Emily was a great guest; a real trooper. Being exposed to "my" Peru is not the easiest or most relaxing vacation, but we definitely made the most of our time together. Oh, and she's right, I would love visitors. In the immortal words of Rod Roddy: "Come on down!"

Jumpin' July

In an effort be a better blogger, I'm summarizing an entire month in order to get caught up and pave the way for more, better and funnier blog posts. Plus, I can't pass up a double-J alliterative title.

July has been somewhat of a whirlwind month, mainly because I've been traveling a fair amount. The month started off with a trip to Huaraz, Ancash to celebrate July 4th with some other volunteers. Ancash is home of some of the world's best trekking and climbing trails. It is absolutely gorgeous -- stunning glacial lakes, soaring Andean peaks, lots of outdoorsy backpacker types, and some truly delicious cafes. Steph and I decided ahead of time that we were in the mood for a true vacation; no more extreme adventure trips...for now. Mission accomplished. In Peru's premier activity spot, we participated in exactly one activity: a three-hour horseback ride through the mountains. To be fair, I was sore afterward so I'm pretty sure that counts as strenuous exercise. We spent the rest of the time in the aforementioned cafes, eating tasty American breakfast treats, sipping on real coffee, reading, doing puzzles and playing Trival Pursuit. It was perfect.

Mt. Huascaran, the highest peak in the Andes, as seen from a great distance.

The horse whisperer, Peruvian edition.

We celebrated July 4th in true Peace Corps style -- a bunch of loud volunteers taking over an unsuspecting Peruvian bar. We made friends with the DJ, played our favorite American classics (including Lady Gaga, obvi) and danced the night away. We made sure to acknowledge the special day by talking incessantly about our favorite foods from home. Yep, get a few over-carbed, under-proteined gringos together and the talk inevitably turns to food.

After spending an uneventful week or so back at site, it was time to hit the road again. This time I was headed north of Chiclayo to a town called Olmos to participate in a leadership camp for teenage boys. Each volunteer is to bring a few boys from their communities to participate in the event, which involves lots of team-building activities, self-esteem workshops, sexual health classes, and a chance to meet other kids from all over the region. In short, it's a really cool (and free) experience for the kids. Sadly, the boys I was supposed to bring backed out at the very last minute -- literally, I was on the bus waiting for them and they never came -- which left me more than a little annoyed. One of the most frustrating things about my work is here is the lack of follow through. I mean, if you're going to turn down a free two-day camping trip, how are we ever going to move forward? But I went anyway and had a lot of fun just watching the other kids. We had a similar camp for teenage girls back in February, which my girls actually participated in, and loved.

The infamous condom race...preventing teenage pregnancy one banana at a time.

Despite the disappointing turn of events, I kept my spirits high because I was headed to Lima to pick up my little sister! Emily arrived to spend about 10 days following her big sister around Peru. It was a great trip! I've asked her to write a guest blog entry to give her perspective of our time together, which I hope to be able to post in the next few days. So stay tuned for that!

Sisters!

In the meantime, a brief overview of our Peruvian adventure: spent a few days in Lima, checking out some of the main sites, eating decidedly non-Peruvian food, and shopping for bootleg DVDs. From Lima we embarked a long and multi-stop journey to the extreme north of the country for a couple days in the cool, hip beach town of Mancora. From Mancora, we took another bus (Emily realized that she, in fact, wasn't the biggest fan of Peruvian public transport) south to Chiclayo so she could see my town, meet my family and get a taste of the campo life. Obviously, there was a lot more to our trip, but I don't want to steal her thunder. We'll post more details later.

Which one of these is not like the others...

In short, it was fantastic to see my baby sis, show her around, hear about her life, listen to her observations on Peru and Peace Corps and to simply spend time together, laughing and opening up in a way that's only possible with those people you've known forever. I am so so happy she came, saw and semi-conquered. Em, I miss you already!

Despite a couple of hiccups, July was a good month for me. A much-needed good month. I'm always excited to see more of this amazing country, and to have someone I love with me for some of these journeys certainly added to my enjoyment. Playing tour guide is a great way to remember the reasons why I really do love this country, and the many, many ways it makes me laugh. At the end of the day, finding the humor in this whole crazy experience is the best way to stay sane.

Up next: a few weeks working hard in site and then headed to Cuzco/Machu Picchu at the end of August with the next round of visitors. Thanks for reading this blog, stay tuned for more -- I promise to update more often! Comments are great ways to motivate me to update! Miss you all mucho.

Still Standing

Apologies for the lapse in posting. I think I’ve said before that I don’t want to use this blog as a public platform for complaints, negativity and insight into my schizophrenic emotional breakdowns, so I try not to post in the middle of such breakdowns. Which is a long way of saying that it’s been an up-and-down couple months. It’s hard to explain the frustration that comes with watching good idea after good idea fall into the “Little Project That Could But Won’t Because of Lack of Follow Through” category. I gave up my life, or at the very least put it on hold, to come here for a variety of reasons, many of which were selfish. But one driving reason was a desire to do something different, something for the greater good, as cliché as that might sound. And also a belief that I was somehow qualified to do this thing, whatever it is. As one failed project rolls into another, it’s hard to keep motivation high and it becomes harder to justify my presence here. That’s not to say that I am unhappy, but I feel like I’m taking so much more than I’m giving.

That’s the abridged version of what’s been going on with me, at least internally. I’m happy to say that I’m feeling much more positive about my situation. I have a few small pilot projects in the works that seem promising, which I won’t go into detail about for fear of jinxing them. I continue to build and strengthen a few meaningful relationships with people in my town, relationships that, at the end of the day (or two years), will do more to define my time here than any project I could hope to develop.

My buddy, Violeta

Case in point: meet my friend Violeta. She’s 42, has two grown children and one grandson. She sells artisan products at the museum complex. She was one of the first people I met and has never failed to make me feel at home. Despite never having traveled much further than Chiclayo, she has a tacit understanding and empathy for what it must feel like to be so far from home. She talks to me like a real person, asking my opinions on anything from fashion to politics to marketing strategy. She is always giving me little trinkets from her stand; friendship bracelets, rings, perfume samples. She invites me to her house for lunch where she feeds me really good food and then lets me take a nap on her couch in front of the TV. In short, she is amazing – this nurturing and fun hybrid of a girlfriend/aunt/mother. I like to think I’m teaching her things or opening her eyes to a broader understanding of the world, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting the better deal out of this relationship. For someone who spends so much time alone, the power of a kind word or an unexpected hug can not be overstated.

I am also so lucky to have my host family, who puts up with my unpredictable stomach and/or appetite, who leaves me alone to read for hours in my room but somehow intuits when I need company, who invites me everywhere and who has opened my eyes to a whole new dimension of generosity. And what would this whole experience be without my hilariously witty and insightful volunteer pals? They remind me that anything can be dealt with if you just laugh at it and inspire me to “just keep swimming.”

Some of my very favorite people

AND…drum roll…I’ve made it a YEAR! Yep, June 6th marked the one-year anniversary of my arrival in Peru. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been here forever and sometimes it seems like mere weeks. It’s been a whirlwind year. I’ve lived through more once-in-a-lifetime experiences than I though was possible, some of which I’ll be glad never to repeat – namely that 18-hour canoe ride. I wish I had some clever turn of phrase to summarize this year, but so far this experience has proven impossible to summarize or neatly package. Suffice to say it’s been a year of contradictions and a year of learning. I’m looking forward to seeing what the next year brings; hopefully plenty more blog material at the very least. But for now, I’ll just say that I’m proud to have made it this far, still standing.

Happy July 4th weekend!