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.

Proud Poverty

I suppose it’s stating the obvious when I say that the people in my town are poor. I’ve mentioned before the lack of amenities that we take for granted in the U.S.; things like running water, refrigeration, telephones, etc. And while I have not forgotten the sublime pleasure of a high-pressure hot-water shower, these things become less and less important with the passing days. I’ve reflected often over the past few months that people have an amazing capacity for adaptability. If you had asked me six months ago if I would be comfortable eating goat or washing my clothes in the river, I might have put on a brave face and laughed the question away, but I can guarantee that I had no idea what I would be comfortable with or what exactly I was getting myself into. Most days I still don’t know what I’m doing or how much further I can stretch my flexibility. But I’m finding that I am increasingly comfortable with doing (or eating!) what would have been unfathomable a year ago. The physical hardships and lack of material comforts begin to fall away and I’m left focusing on the personal, the human side of this experience.

I don’t like to write negative feelings here for public consumption since my wildly unpredictable emotions change from day to day and nothing is as bad as it seems the next day. But I’m not gonna lie, sometimes this is really hard and really lonely. I definitely have moments where I’m cursing Peru, Peace Corps, Peruvians and myself all in one breath. But after some reflection and the comforting wonders of either chocolate or a long phone chat with a friend, I feel much better and am able to realize that I’m extremely lucky to have this opportunity to get to know another country and another culture. And what I keep coming back to is the incredible generosity of the people here. I can’t imagine what my host family thinks of me or says about me when I’m not around – I must seem so strange to them! But they’ve never treated me with anything less than kindness, welcoming me as another daughter/sister and including me in the numerous family celebrations. In the past few weeks my two nephews have started calling me tía (aunt) to my face. They’ll never know how much that little gestures goes to making me feel loved. Granted it’s not the same as my real family (miss you guys!), but it’s so nice to have some sense of belonging in this strange and foreign land.

Nearly everyone I meet is immediately welcoming, inviting me to a snack or a meal or a beer, or asking me to stop by their house to meet their family, or marry their son/cousin/nephew. The artisans I work with are always giving me little gifts of jewelry or sweets. They want me to know and love their culture as much as they do. I’m always hearing that I’m lucky to live in this part of Peru because the people are so friendly and warm, and while I can’t speak for the rest of the country, I have to agree with this characterization. It’s humbling to hear their stories of hardships and struggles and watch them shrug it off with a laugh or a shake of the head. Peruvians are tough, especially the women. In a male-dominated society, these women have to put up with husbands who treat them like possessions. Machismo is not a myth here. But the women I know are proud and resilient. Like women everywhere they’re just trying to get through the days, provide a better life for their kids and have a few laughs along the way.

We learned in training that Peru has one of the highest proportions of entrepreneurs among developing countries. I was skeptical of this fact at first, but after a few months and a better understanding of the economic context, I’m totally buying it. Take the women in my family, for example, they’re forever selling something or hosting some sort of event to raise a little cash. My host mom, in addition to her work as an Avon saleslady, sells food to tourists (and workers) outside the museum a few days a week. She and my host sister organized a pollada a few weeks back, which is a lunch where everyone pays a few soles for a plate of food. My sister and some friends held a Halloween dance in our town and charged an entrance fee and sold beer at one sole over cost. My cousin recently organized a soccer tournament, charging an entry fee for each team and selling cebiche to all the spectators. It’s just another small example of the basic human desire to have more, to do better. Turns out people aren’t so different after all.

I was watching a documentary with my family a few nights ago on the appalling poverty in the slums of Lima, the focus of which was child labor. My family called in the two little boys to make them watch this, telling them how lucky they are that they don’t have to work and get to go to school. It was an eye-opening reminder that my family doesn’t really consider themselves poor – they know they’re better off than millions of their countrymen. I can learn a lot from them about how to appreciate what you do have instead of always looking for more or for better.

I know this isn’t my usual tongue-in-cheek commentary on the oddities of my daily life, but I think it’s important to illuminate some broader themes of what it means to be dropped in the middle of a rural Peruvian town.

I hope you all have a wonerful Thanksgiving with friends and family. I´m grateful to have so many wonderful and supportive people in my life. I miss you all immensely.

Grinnin´Gringa

And so it continues. I’ve survived my first week and am plodding steadily along. The days are starting to move a bit quicker as routine slowly settles in and some (SOME) of the awkwardness dissipates. There are still plenty of times that all I can do is laugh and shrug my shoulders because I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Case in point: my family and I went to grandma’s house last Sunday. I was under the impression that we were just going over for lunch and to chat for a couple hours so I could meet some of the extended family. Which I did. We ate, we talked and then we stayed. And stayed. And stayed. We were there for over six hours. Grandma was snoring on the couch. We watched Rambo in Spanish. We watched some futbal. We watched an episode of Lost. Grandma has cable magico (lots of channels, some with English programming with subtitles! Oh, the luxury.). My family watches a LOT of TV. Well, more like illegal bootlegs of movies since my house does not have cable. I’ve averaged a movie a day since arriving. Some are better than others. We watched Creoposculo (Twilight) a few days ago. Ratatouille was a good one, but someone in the front of the theater kept walking in front of the camera so that was kind of distracting.

Anyway, Sunday was a nice day, but it’s hard to tell if that’s what everyone wanted to do or if they were trying to accommodate the mute gringa in the corner. But everyone is so incredibly nice and welcoming. They all kept telling me I was so pretty and tall and skinny and looked way younger than 27. I will go back every Sunday to have people tell me those things. Funnily enough, my dad told me last night that we are going back on Sunday for dia del padre. After we go to the cemetery for a few hours in the morning. What a life.

We get these random assignments from PC aimed to teach us ways to integrate into communities and get to know the local business owners, municipal workers, etc. For our business class we’ve been given a long term assignment to spend at least an hour a week with someone from our community talking about their business, their challenges, hopes, etc. So I asked mi papi if he knew of anyone I could talk to -- he told me his brother-in-law works for a plataria (I don’t know the exact English word, someone who works with silver. Yes, it’s true; I can’t speak Spanish OR English.) but he makes his own jewelry on the side. Perfect, I thought, this will be easy and convenient since we’re related. By the way, I´m related to approximately half of my town and many people in neighboring towns. I´m kind of a big deal. So uncle Juan lives at grandma’s house, which is a three-story compound with separate “apartments” on each floor. I’m not sure what my host dad told Juan or what my host dad misunderstood from my explanation, but I ended up in Juan’s workshop for about an hour as he painstakingly took me through the process of how he sizes rings, where he finds his materials, how hot he has to get the metal in order to bend it. I had terrible flashbacks to the jewelry making class I nearly failed in Italy. Solder is not my friend. So instead of a nice casual chat about his clients and how he operates his business, I got a crash course in silversmithing (is that a word?). Interesting, but hardly useful for my business journal. I think Juan felt sorry for me because he did give me a pair of handmade, beautiful earrings. People are so generous. Back to the drawing board for my community partner. I might have to go at this one alone. Vidal just isn’t getting the picture.

Showers are still cold. Still doing a lot of squatting, but I’ve gotten a lot better. Hardly a drop of water on the bathroom floor now. We’ve started a little running club after classes at the training center. My friend Kim is leading a yoga class this afternoon. Staying after to get some exercise has been crucial in breaking up the days and getting to unwind before heading home. It’s also a good way to break it to dad that I will not be coming home at 5.30 every day. I got in trouble last Friday for not getting home until 7pm. But we’ve talked a little and now that I’m more familiar with the area, I can go out with friends. So he says. I´ve yet to test him on that one. Who knew I´d move all the way to Peru and have to abide by another respect hour (don´t worry Dad, I´m following). All the trainees are going to Lima on Saturday, which I’m really excited about. Big city lights! I’m sure we have some sort of activity, but hopefully there will be some free time. I’m dying to eat in a restaurant and actually order what I want to eat. Ah food, how you make me laugh.

One of my family’s favorite games to play every day is “what will the gringa eat?” About 90 percent of our conversations revolve around food. Some of the food is good. Some is bad. Mostly it’s just a lot. A lot of rice. A lot of potatoes. Usually both in the same meal. After a couple of days I had to have a little talk with my family about portion size. They can put away some serious rice. I cannot. But I have tried everything they’ve put in front of me and they like to brag to their friends and family that their gringo eats everything. Not a lot of everything, but she tries. I play little mind games with my food…if I eat four more bites of rice in the next two minutes, then I can mix in some mystery meat, take four more bites and hey, I’m a fourth of the way done. As I’ve gotten more comfortable with my family and with my Spanish, I’ve been able to express sheer delight at some foods (tomatoes, avocados) in the hope that they will take this as a sign that they should serve more of that. And I’ve already told them that I do NOT like bologna or hot dogs, which had started showing up in the fried rice. The aji (hot sauce) here is amazing, so now that they know I like picante, it’s on the table for every meal. A few dollops of aji makes the rice much more palatable. The food is actually not bad, but it´s always a crapshoot on how the day will go (we eat the same thing for lunch and dinner). And I’m very proud of myself for being a trooper. Not that I really have a choice, but I like to applaud myself for the things that I do have control over since much of my day is spent nodding in acquiescence to who knows what. Pretty sure I’ve already committed myself to spending Christmas here. Oh, and my friend Paul just bought some pregnant guinea pigs. I’m going to claim one of the babies as my own, raise it and kill it for an end-of-training fiesta. That’s right. I’m super hard core.

A few photos from my first couple weeks. Stay tuned. XOXO