Road Rage

I have never willingly put myself through such constant physical discomfort as I have by braving the cars, vans, and buses in Peru. I think by now you all understand that I am much, much taller than my Peruvian counterparts. My legs are literally twice as long as some of the women I know here. It’s silly that I even try to fit into Peruvian-sized spaces, but when the alternative is staying in Huaca Rajada indefinitely, you better believe I’ll squeeze myself into the first thing with wheels that’s headed west.

 Terminal Epsel, Chiclayo: organized chaos.

Taxis are ubiquitous in all Peruvian cities. In Chiclayo, both mototaxis and ticos are popular and cheap ways to get around. A mototaxi is a similar to a rickshaw but with a small motorcycle for power, usually steered by a 15-year-old boy. As with all things wheeled here, there are varying degrees of luxury and age. Roads are rough and bikes and cars take a beating. Shocks are pretty much non-existent and we ride low to the ground, which can make for a bone-jarring ride on the best of days. Especially when you’re loaded down with gallons of water, boxes of wine and stacks of books to take back to site.

Ticos are mini-taxis most often seen in northern coastal cities. They’re like a miniature version of a Mini Cooper but a whole lot jankier. I would say they comfortably seat about half a person, but we routinely squeeze four gringo-sized people in there. Anything to save a few centimos (that we then go spend on overpriced and underwhelming pizza). I have ridden with six full-sized adults before, plus the driver. It’s like the circus – how many clowns (Peace Corps volunteers) can we fit in one tiny car?

Looking frightened on one of my first Lima combi rides.

Combis are beat up minivans that run circuitous routes around the cities or shuttle people between the capital city (Chiclayo, for example) and a campo town. Rides can cost anywhere from 50 centimos to 4 soles (one good thing about public transport: it is cheap). The best seat in the front passenger seat but then you have an up close and personal view of the many, many times you almost die in a head-on collision. A combi can comfortably seat eight people but they routinely squeeze up to 15 adults, a slew of nursing babies, and bulging bags of produce and/or livestock. I once rode for two hours with a pig strapped to the roof. That pig seemed to enjoy his trip about as much as I did (side note for all you non-farm dwellers, pigs are extremely loud. Like louder than you’d ever imagine.).

How many Peruvians does it take to change a tire?

Coosters are what I’ve spent a large percentage of my time on these last two years. A cooster is a larger version of a combi, sort of like a public school bus in the States, but much older, more beat up, and all-around horrible. The average trip from Huaca Rajada to Chiclayo takes about an hour-and-a-half, but this can vary depending on a number of factors: road conditions, the driver, passenger weight and cargo, number of stops, flat tires, etc. The best ride I ever had took just under an hour and the worst was upwards of three hours. There’s an art to riding coosters that I’ve finally perfected.

Fun with Peruvians on moving vehicles.

Not even visiting siblings are immune to the joy(e)s of public transportation.

As a tall lady, I initially sought out the aisle seats so as to provide myself with a little extra leg room. This is correct in theory, but as the cars inevitably fill up and all manner of Peruvians squeeze themselves into the aisles, your extra leg room is quickly overtaken by muffin tops, squealing babies, and unsteady drunks. There is no such thing as personal space on a crowded trip. I’ve become intimately acquainted with more strangers than I’d like to recall. No, the best seat is a window seat in the first or second row. The back seats take the brunt of the potholes and it’s nearly impossible to disembark from the back row (picture the gangly gringa literally climbing over seats knocking unsuspecting grandmothers upside the head with giant bottles of water). I wish the pictures I had did better justice to my stories, but the best/worst rides are far too crowded to even think about getting out a camera and snapping a pic. Just trust me when I say it’s a painfully hilarious experience.

Please note the difference between the length of my leg and the back of the seat.

Long-distance buses range from the awful to the luxurious. I once took a 14-hour trip to Lima on a directo bus (i.e. economic) with Papy’s head on my shoulder and my seat unable to recline. That was pretty bad. But on the whole, overnight buses are pretty comfy, especially after two years of practice.  I just bought my LAST BUS TICKET EVER and went for the nicest of the nice – a 180 degree reclining leather seat. I’m giddy.

My typical Peace Corps experience: waiting for a car to anywhere.

I started out this blog post intending to convey how much I hate public transportation, but writing and remembering some of my favorite stories, well, it all seems kind of funny and endearing now. I’m sure this also has something to do with the fact that I have only about two trips left. Hindsight is a funny thing. 

Back to Basics

I’ve spent a lot of time and space chronicling the amusing oddities of life in Peru on this blog. Recently feeling reflective, I skimmed over some previous blog entries, and it was both horrifying and enlightening to see how my writing (which I suppose is an extension of me…hey, cool, I’m “evolved”…) has evolved over the last two years. Reading early entries I'm struck at my own naiveté, my confusion, my awe. I thought everything was so strange, so funny. About a year or so in, I started to become a little more analytical; no longer confounded by drinking circle etiquette I focused more on the differences between here and there, between us and them, and realized that maybe things weren’t so different after all. And then all the things that had delighted and confused me in those early months started to annoy me in their repetitiveness and predictability. I was desperate for escape and set my sights further afield.

And now?

In my own banal predictability, I’ve come full circle and am again charmed by this place, by these people. The little things that became invisible in their familiarity are now blindingly apparent. Like the smell of the adobe stove that clings to your clothes after lunch, the spicy-acidic taste of fresh ceviche, the gurgling sounds the faucet makes every morning around 11 when the water turns on, the thwacks of the soccer ball outside my open window.  I am trying desperately to commit to memory these images, smells, tastes, and sounds. Trying to linger a little bit longer in my daily routines absorbing what makes them so familiar and, at the same time, soon-to-be so foreign.

I know I’ll never forget this experience, but I also know that these comforting sensations will someday soon be relegated to far reaches of my memory. I’ve started carrying my camera with me everywhere, taking random pictures of dirt paths and doorways because I know one day I’ll forget the way the sun reflects off the tempered glass of my neighbor’s window every afternoon.  Even my daily runs through swaying sugarcane fields seem profound from this perspective of almost-hindsight. Will something that has been such a part of my daily existence be easily forgotten?

And the people. Argh. The people. How do you say goodbye, most likely forever, to the people who have been the one constant in your rollercoaster emotions? Their laughter and conversation sustained me on days when there was little else keeping me here. How do you thank someone for literally keeping you sane? I can only hope to carry a little of my host mom’s sly wit and boundless capacity for mothering with me, to sear the sound of Bryan’s high-pitched giggle to my heart, to hold onto the optimism and generosity that so many people have shown me over countless lunches and lazy afternoons. Sitting beneath my open window on a typical afternoon, I can look up from my book and identify the neighborhood kids by the tones of their shrieks, the chords of their laughter. Will the new soundtrack of my life ever hold this much innocence, this much promise? I doubt it.

It’s becoming all too real, friends. Goodbyes suck. 

Saucy Seniors

It's a Peace Corps tradition to put together a "yearbook" for the outgoing "seniors," and I'm a senior, baby! Much like anxious 17 year olds suffering from a severe case of senioritis,  my friends and I have spent the last few weeks bandying about our "senior quotes" and "senior superlatives" over rambling phone conversations and extended weekend getaways. As with any graduation, I'm feeling a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. As I keep telling my friends, I'm ready to look back on this experience fondly. I am undoubtedly ready to move on and start the next great chapter of my life, but I am equally sure that there is a great deal I will miss about Peru, Peruvians, and this crazy Peace Corps lifestyle. I'm sharing an excerpt of my COS profile (COS = close of service) with you in an attempt to summarize some of these feelings.

Description of your service in 100 words or less:

Jessica spent two years trying, unsuccessfully, to learn the names of all 723 other inhabitants of Huaca Rajada, playing hours of Uno and hide-‘n-seek with neighborhood kids, and gossiping around the kitchen table with her host family. In her spare time she helped develop a new product line for the costura association, gave general marketing and accounting talleres, helped construct a cockfighting ring, and taught some English. She is an unapologetic fan of drinking circles and campo bailes, where she is heads above the rest on the dance floor. All in all, it was a weirder and funnier two years than she ever could have imagined.

Was it worth it?

Without a doubt. For all the long and boring days at site, there are just as many hilarious and fun memories. I’ve learned more about myself, and the world, than I ever imagined possible.

Favorite peruano en tu sitio:

My host family for teaching me the true definition of generosity. Special shout out to my chanchito nephew, Bryan, for always finishing my leftovers and for letting me play hours of Super Mario Bros with him.

What do people in your site consider your strangest behavior?

Sleeping with a fan every night, exercising, and drinking cold water. Frankly, even I am surprised to still be alive.

What's the longest amount of time you spent in site?

15 long and sweaty days.

TV/Movie character who kept you company in site:

Josh, CJ, Toby, and Sam were the best friends a girl could ask for.

Worst movie you’ve watched on a bus:

I once watched three Hillary Duff movies in a row. You say worst, I say awesome!

Longest you've gone without bathing:

5 or 6 days, which is a little excessive considering I have my own bathroom (sans agua) and live in the very hot desert.

Arroz y papas. A necessity or a burden?

Rice is only good for soaking up oil or masking the taste of unidentifiable meat. I will gladly eat 5 kilos of potatoes if it means I never have to eat yucca again.

Weirdest medical issue:

That would have to be the heretofore unknown mango allergy, which resulted in eyes swollen shut, face expanded to three times its normal size, and an unpleasant stint in a Peruvian ER.

Thoughts on cumbia/huayno:

I used to be annoyed by the sameness of every cumbia song, but like many other things in this country, it snuck up on me and I now find myself requesting cumbia songs at parties and adding Grupo 5 songs to my running playlist.

How many cell phones/bank cards/hats/sunglasses/cameras/girlfriends/boyfriends have you gone through? 

4/2/1/15/2/and depends who you ask.

Did you pick up any new hobbies or activities?

Sweeping, Nokia Snake game, and watching entire television series I’d never heard of before from start to finish.

Favorite wall décor in your host family’s house:

The Avon poster with Reese Witherspoon and Patrick Dempsey. They kept me company during many an unpalatable meal.

Combi story:

I was coming back to site on the Sunday of the presidential elections and the car was more crowded than I’d ever seen before, which is saying a lot. I spent the better part of two hours with one baby on my lap, another awkwardly sprawled on my shoulders/head, and a woman’s lady parts melded to my left arm. I quite literally couldn’t move a muscle. Oh, and the woman sitting next to me had propped her broken ankle across my legs, effectively pinning me to the seat. Did I mention it was 9,000 degrees?

Most amusing misconception you have heard about the U.S.?

Everyone is rich and drives two cars. We eat everything, especially meat, out of cans.

Have you been robbed?  What did they take?

Peru robbed me of my dignity, modesty, and any sense of shame very early on.

What’s the most creative thing a Peruvian has said to you in English?

“I love you but I don’t know what to do about it.”

Best/weirdest gift from a Peruvian:

On my second day in site, my host brother gave me a framed picture of his recently deceased grandmother. In her coffin.

Most embarrassing story:

As I said, I lost any sense of shame early on and, as a result, don’t realize many of the ways in which I embarrass myself daily. But this one still stands out: I had come back from an afternoon run and was playing tag with some kids outside my room. After about 15 minutes, I reached into my running shorts to get my key, but I couldn’t find it. I jumped around a little and felt the key move. After a couple awkward minutes groping around, I realized the key had somehow worked its way into the lining of my underwear. There was no way to get it without pulling down my pants. I tried to get the kids to walk away but they refused to leave my side. So I walked around a corner and discreetly pulled down my shorts only to look up and see several concerned parents starting at me. One hand in my underwear, five kids around me, and a terrified look on my face. Awkward.

Biggest lie that you’ve told:

To my host family: “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Meltdown story:

Toss-up between the hospital stint and the 18-hour canoe ride. Or all those times my community completely bailed on my meetings and/or projects … but I kind of got used to that after about a year.

How has Peace Corps changed your future plans?

It’s actually made me less certain of what I want to do or where I want to be – after this anything seems possible.

What Peruvian article of clothing or accessory are you planning to rock when you return stateside?

Graphic tees are the new black.

What will you be sad to leave behind?

My host family. The unwavering generosity of Pervuians and their amazing ability to feed however many people show up with whatever is in the pot. The rambling conversations. The freedom to do whatever and be whomever I want. The serenity of campo life. Huancaina sauce, tacu tacu, and ceviche.

What will you not be sad to leave behind?

The complacency and machismo. Not fitting on combis, collectivos, taxis, or buses. Public urination. The way drunk campo men smell.

What has Peru taught you?

Not to take myself too seriously. To go with the flow. To find beauty in the most unexpected places.

What scares you the most about returning to the States?

The 2012 election.

First meal you will have when you get back to the States:

Chips con queso, chicken enchiladas with sour cream and guacamole, veggie fajitas and ice cold beer out of a can. My stomach is growling as I type.

Any advice for current/future PCVs?

Don’t take anything, especially yourself, too seriously. Sure there are down moments and times you want to kill your host family, counterpart, etc., but being able to laugh at your situation is the only way to stay sane. And, c’mon, it’s funny.

And my superlative? "Most likely to bring Papy." :-)

Sipan Stories

As I’ve mentioned before, my site is home to some ancient Moche ruins – a civilization which pre-dates the Incas by nearly 1,000 years. The ruins are most famous for the 1987 discovery of the Señor de Sipán, an incredibly well-preserved tomb of a warrior king. Many of the artifacts from this tomb, and others more recently discovered, are on display at our local site museum, a state-run facility.

The story of the discovery and excavation of the tomb is a popular one around these parts. There is the version that exists in the “official” history of the region, and there are the versions that are passed from family to family. As you can imagine, the official history lacks some of the local color and flair I’ve come to expect from my Peruvian neighbors. I’ve been here long enough to listen with a heavy dose of skepticism, but after nearly two years piecing together the disparate bits, doing a little of my own research, and brushing up on archaeological vocabulary, I’m ready to take the story public.

Get ready – it’s a fascinating yarn of mystery, the supernatural, history, and international intrigue. And also one that’s surprisingly heartbreaking.

Seriously.

The Moches were dominant from around 100 AD to 800 AD, an impressive reign by all accounts. The surviving pyramids (the huacas for which my town is named) don’t look like much; they’re large, misshapen dirt mounds. Before the archaeologists descended, local residents didn’t know, or didn’t care, that they were valuable relics from the past. In the time of Spanish colonization, homesteads were built directly on the huacas. Weather, time and human destruction have taken their toll.

Local legend claims spirits still haunt the area. I’ve heard a number of people tell me about times they were walking by the tomb at night and heard strange whistling noises. One of the night guards swears he saw something glowing above an excavation site. The dogs, which supposedly have a sixth sense about these things, won’t go near the tombs on a full moon.

Beginning in the early 1980s, local residents began finding little gold statues or ceramics in the fields around the huacas. My host mom loves to tell a story of her kids bringing home huge hunks of turquoise they found in the mud after a particularly hard rainstorm. Every local family has stories of treasures found and lost again.

In the mid-1980s the Bernales family claims to have received a divine message directing them to the source of all these riches. Mr. Bernales, who coincidentally is a distant cousin of Papy’s family, told his friends and family that he’d dreamt of four donkeys pulling carts of gold from the mounds. He is said to have pressured Papy’s father to go on a late-night raid with him. Papy’s papy declined and the secret raid went ahead without him. The Bernales family racked up some serious loot, and they weren’t shy about telling people: supposedly their windowsills were decorated with gold statues. A local bigwig got wind of the fortune and alerted the authorities. According to my host family, a few months later, police stormed the Bernales residence, severely beat Mr. Bernales, and sacked all the loot. Mr. Bernales died in the car on the way to Chiclayo.

Shortly thereafter, in the spring of 1987, archaeologist Walter Alva discovered the warrior tomb, directly below where Bernales and friends first hit it big. The artifacts were hauled down in donkey-pulled carts. To this day, long-time residents of Huaca Rajada and Sipán scoff at Alva’s name, not believing he deserves the credit and fame for the discovery that cost one of their own his life.

The relationship between the town and the archaeologists was doomed from the start. Archaeological journals and history books mention little of the role played by the local excavators, to say nothing of the Bernales family saga. In the months following the initial discovery, huaceros (loosely translated as ‘grave robbers’) descended on the site, pillaging hundreds of priceless artifacts for sale on the black market. International investigators, including the FBI and Interpol, were called to the scene. Artifacts were found as far away as Philadelphia. A large majority of the pieces were recovered, but some remain lost to this day.

It’s unfortunate to lose such valuable relics, and with them a window into the past. But what is perhaps more tragic is the daily reminder to the people of Sipán and Huaca Rajada of the narrow window of their future.

In the wake of the 1987 discovery Sipán landed on the international archaeology scene. And with the subsequent discoveries and the construction of the new site museum, there was a hope that the community could at long last capitalize on its rich history.

Unfortunately, the increasing numbers of tourists and high-profile visitors do little to change the economic realities in these towns. The museum employs very few local workers, choosing instead to bus in “experts” from Chiclayo, Trujillo or Lima. The excavation site is only open for part of the year, and the additional workers hired earn a pittance for their manual labor. None of the proceeds from the ticket sales are invested back into the town.

This certainly does not mean that there aren’t opportunities for improving relationships between the museum and the community. There are. I’ve been trying to facilitate those meetings for two years. But the river of mistrust runs deep around here. Damn the man!

Editor’s Note: I am not an expert on this issue, and it’s more complicated than one blog entry can tackle, but I do feel confident in expressing my opinion as someone who has lived here, among the people, every day for the past 22 months.

Like Lists

My volunteer friends and I jokingly like to put together lists poking fun at Peruvians, a tongue-in-cheek way to let out some steam. I’m not going to publish “Things Peruvians Like” or its companion list, “Things Peruvians Are Scared Of” here because without understanding the context or the spirit of the lists, they seem a little harsh. We laugh because we love.

Instead, I've decided to share with you another list I've been working on:

Reasons I Like Peruvians:

• Their unwavering generosity;
• That no matter how many unexpected guests turn up at the dinner table, there’s somehow always enough food to go around;
• The women have a surprisingly raunchy sense of humor;
• They love to dance and do so completely unselfconsciously;
• They will tell you their life story immediately upon meeting you, which might be heartbreaking or heartwarming, but is always honest;
• Their lack of body image issues;
• And hand-in-hand with that, their rich culinary traditions;
• They love to throw a good party or tell a good story;
• That despite all the hardships they endure, they love to laugh – at themselves, at each other, at their country – and their humor is infectious;
• Because they welcome me into their homes as a friend, a sister, a daughter.

Some of my favorite relatives showing off their hospitality (and adorableness).

To me, Peru is like that kooky friend or aunt or cousin we all have. The one we roll our eyes at and laugh a little about, but who we secretly, passionately hope never changes because we love her for being exactly who she is with no apologies, and because when you break through the surface barriers and see the essence of the person (or place), it’s startlingly beautiful.

Peruvians: always a good time.

Summer Sundays

January is a slow month around these parts. The kids are out of school, the artisans are taking a break, and lots of Peruvians spend the month visiting family around the country. I've spent the past few weeks re-acclimating to Peace Corps life by lounging in the hammock and cranking my fan up to high speed. I've read a lot of books and watched more movies than I'd like to admit. The days are long, lazy, and hot.

My favorite part about the summer here is Sundays. On Sundays everyone puts down their machete (for hacking down the sugarcane) or aprons and spends the day relaxing. Last Sunday, my host fam and I attended the opening of a "beach" bar across the river. We rolled up our pants and waded through the pebbly water to the sandy shores of Pucala to while away the afternoon enjoying ceviche and cerveza, and do a little dancing, of course.

The river is a big summertime destination. Peruvians aren't big on bathing suits, so men and boys alike splash around in their tighty-whities (sorry ladies, no pictures), while the women sunbathe in tank tops and shorts (though one day I saw a brave exhibitionist wearing only a bra -- scandalous). On the weekends there are literally hundreds of people playing in the shallow waters of Rio Reque.

Papy has been busily constructing a coliseo de gallos (cockfighting ring) over the past month and yesterday was its inauguration. The last week has been a flurry of activity with last-minute construction, the arrival of out-of-town family members (and their chickens), and cooking. The day was a big success -- tons of people came from all over and all 100 cases of beer were consumed. I dusted off my bartending skills and served lukewarm Cristal the thirsty masses. I also served as the event's madrina (sort of like a guest of honor/patron) and presented a weird plaque/statue to a famous gallero.

Performing my duty as madrina.

With the other VIPs.

I watched a lot of fighting gamecocks but couldn't get the hang of the betting system and ended up losing 10 soles to a drunk old man wearing a cowboy hat. I had better luck on the dance floor where all the Peruvians got a big kick out of watching my gringa hips swaying and shimmying. I'll do anything for a laugh.

A full house.

Watch the action live!

I'll be the first one to admit that I've struggled with finding meaningful and sustainable projects as a volunteer, but I consider my relationship with my community, especially my host family, to be my real success. I never tire hearing my host family refer to me as their daughter or sister. I don't know when it happened, but I really do feel a part of this family. We've even reached the point of good-natured ribbing. This morning my host mom handed me a huge plate of ceviche (the national hangover cure) with a knowing wink and the first thing Papy said to me was "Wow, Jessica, you sure made a lot of new friends last night." Love it!

The intervening days might be long and sweaty, but these summer Sundays are welcome reminders of the many reasons I do love this country and its people.

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!

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!

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.

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!