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.

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!

Mamma Mía

To those of you who follow this blog (all five of you), it will come as no surprise that Peruvians love any excuse for a party. Mother’s Day was no exception. Before I tell my tale, I would like to give a special shout out to my real mom – I wish I could have been with you on Mother’s Day. I miss you and I love you.

Mama numero uno, Liz.

Mama numero dos, Lucha.

Our celebration began on Friday with a trip to Saltur for the school’s Día de la Madre celebration. The show included a number of dances and performances, including poetry, by the students. But the big moment was when they handed out the canastas of prizes for a few lucky moms. Bryan’s mom Cinthya (my host sis) is now working in Chiclayo so she couldn’t make the party. Right before the drawing, Lucha (my host mom) had to duck out to attend an Avon conference. Papy leaned over and asked if I would escort Bryan if they called his name for anything. Not really sure what that meant, I of course said yes. Immediately after this mumbled conversation, we hear Cinthya’s name being called. Everyone around me starts shoving me and yelling for me to go up there. Turns out we won the goodie bucket and I had to go up and collect it, in front of everyone. Like several hundred people. There were a lot of confused people in attendance as Bryan and I sauntered up to collect the Mother’s Day prize. Skip to a few minutes later when there is another raffle for the moms. Lucha had handed me her ticket before she left asking me to collect the prize if she won. Well, guess what? We won. Back to the stage goes the gringa to collect her second Mother’s Day prize. Needless to say, my family got a big kick out of this. And several people asked me if I was Bryan’s mother. I’m still not sure if I should be insulted.

The stage where I received my prizes.

A portion of the entertainment.

After the show was over, and a very pleased Lucha returned to discover her loot, we headed to a restaurant (I know, crazy times) for a little snack. Papy then informed me that he had scored us invitations to the post-party luncheon for all the teachers. He’s the president of the PAFA (kind of like PTA), so he’s got friends in high places. On to our second lunch of the day! And I had been fed a sandwich at the school (only the moms got sandwiches -- I think Peru is trying to tell me something). Anyway, off we go to the private staff party. Papy was clearly disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm shown by the teachers, who were busily sucking down Pisco Sours and exchanging gifts, so he arranged for a little speech, as Papy is prone to do. His speech turned out to be an introduction of me, meaning I in turn had to make a little speech. I mumbled some variation of my usual “Hi, I’m Jessica. I live and work here. I also work for the U.S. government. Hopefully we can work together. Yes, I’m single. No, I don’t want to marry your son/cousin/nephew/brother/husband. Thank you so much for having me.” Business taken care of, we turned up the music and started dancing. I think I left the party with a few new friends, or at least I took it as a good sign when several teachers asked me when I was coming back.

Teachers fleeing after my ¨speech.¨

We had plans to leave bright and early Sunday morning for Pacherrez, where the majority of Lucha’s family lives. At dinner on Saturday night Lucha asked me what time I would be waking up the following morning. Unsure as to what was the correct response, I hesitantly said 8am. After a few whispered sentences, she and Papy decided I could come later, at 9am. Clearly this was going to be a big day.

I arrive around 10 the next morning with Pierre, Cinthya and some random dude with a car. The majority of the women were already in the back getting lunch ready. Luckily I got there just in time to participate in the killing of the three ducks. A quick snap of the neck, a precise knife strike to the jugular and the deed is done. My job consisted of de-feathering the steamed ducks. I lasted about 20 minutes before the elders decided that I was slowing them down. So I took up my usual spot, in the corner with the men, passing around a bottle. Despite my brief appearance, I’m pretty sure I made my grandmother’s month. She is incredibly old but surprisingly spritely. Every time I see her she grabs my cheeks and pets my hair and mutters incoherently about “mi gringita.” After the duck incident, she really took a shine to me and would turn and stare at me every so often and then burst out laughing about her crazy gringita. Everyone also got a big kick out of an uncle referring to Lucha as my mother-in-law. Apparently Pierre has been spreading the word around the family that we will soon be married. It’s the joke that will not die. Seriously, Peru what are you trying to say?

So basically the entire day consists of the women preparing an elaborate lunch while the men sit around getting drunk. Good to know that Mother’s Day doesn’t really change anything. Though I will say it was heartwarming to see so much of the family together. A few aunts, uncles and cousins had come up from Lima and everyone who lives in the Chiclayo area was there, probably close to 30 people in total. After stuffing ourselves silly with duck and more duck, I was finally invited to join the cool kids, i.e., all the twentysomething cousins. Usually I get stuck with the adults, which is fine, but I’d secretly been dying to be part of the hip group. Only took me nine months to get in. Who’s cooler than this girl? We hung out in the park, listening to American music, taking pictures and sending the younger kids to fetch more drinks. Out of nowhere the random dude with the car returned to drive us back to Huaca Rajada, where there was to be a baile. A baile just like any other baile – drinking circles and cumbia dancing. The band was a new group formed by some local Huaca Rajadeños, aptly called “Son del Barrio.” I think they still have a few kinks to work out since I heard them play exactly one song and the rest of the music came from a stereo. This serves as an appropriate metaphor for the town itself – we’re trying, sort of. Poco a poco...

Hanging out with the cool kids.

Anniversary Antics

This past week (Jan 24) marked the one-year anniversary of both the museum and artisan complexes, as well as the formation of my artisan association. It was a busy, busy week. I’m pretty sure I danced more in the past week than I have in the previous six months combined. Now, not all of the following events were directly related to the museum anniversary, but they all happened in the same week so I’m lumping them together because that is my right as the narrator of these twisted tales.

The week began with un almuerzo de cofraternidad with my association. I was coming back from errands in Chiclayo and was rushed to get there on time, which I’ve finally learned means about an hour after the scheduled start time. So I rolled in, fashionably on time, and sat down just as the cebiche was being served. There were bottles of Pepsi on the table and about 20 people gathered around. Perfect, I thought to myself, a low-key lunch and plenty of time for me to teach my English class and get in an afternoon run. We tuck into our cebiche and goat, make a few toasts and then Papy strolls in with a case of beer. Silly Jess, have you learned nothing about Peruvians? He takes the microphone (oh, right, one of the museum guards moonlights as a DJ and he had kindly offered his musical talents to our little celebration) and instructs us to get the party started. Cumbia sufficiently cranked, chairs shoved to the wall, cups circling, we take to the dance floor. As afternoon rolled into evening, the drinks kept flowing and the music kept playing. I was feeling my dance moves, and emboldened by compliments on my dancing (“you have really improved since the last time we danced”) and a few vasos of Pilsen I requested some Michael Jackson and proceeded to perform a thrilling rendition of Thriller. Alone. In front of everyone. They loved it. Our relationship has reached a new level thanks to the immortal words of MJ. Suffice to say, I did not run on Monday. Nope, I stayed until the bitter end (8pm), outlasted only by the DJ who was last seen passed out behind his stereo. Happy anniversary to us!

A few days later we celebrated the official anniversary of the opening of the museum. The museum director had warned me that their budget did not allow for much, but they wanted to do a little something to commemorate the day. I got to the complex around 2pm just in time to see the band start. Oh yes, there was a live band playing on the steps of the museum. It was a motley gang of local musicians who I’m assuming offered their services for cheap. Not that they weren’t talented, it’s just that they weren’t very talented. We did a little folkloric dancing on the steps of the museum, took some pictures and called it an afternoon. I was actually surprised by the restraint. Usually a low-key party means one meal instead of two and ten cases of beer instead of twenty, but they really stuck to it this time. Just a few hours of singing and dancing and couple vats of chicha de jora (corn liquor).

The merry music makers.

Saturday afternoon presented one of the things I love most about my life here – the unexpected invitation. I was relaxing (napping/sweating) in my room when my mom came to my window and asked if I wanted to go to a wedding with her. Obviously I accepted, even after she told me I had to wear something nicer than usual. Implying, I suppose, that my uniform of dirty shorts and tank tops would not suit this occasion. Nonplussed I roll out of bed, douse myself with a few buckets of water and put on a dress. And make-up and real shoes. What? Who is this person? I walk outside and everyone gives me a serious once over, but I apparently meet the dress code and we’re off amid a soundtrack of whistles and catcalls.

Turns out this wedding is in Chiclayo (fan-cee) so we head down to the road to wait for a car. As usual, I am given no information or details, I simply go where I'm told. Mom tells me the wedding starts at 5. We arrive to the church at 5.45. No one is there. We ask the guards (the ceremony was in the main cathedral of Chiclayo – a tourist spot) about a wedding and they tell us there is a wedding at 6pm. They also mention that I will not be allowed to enter because my dress is too short. I instantly feel ashamed and cheap and start tugging at my dress desperately trying to cover the scandalous three inches of thigh showing. My host mom doesn’t seem too concerned about either comment, prudently (prudishly?) wearing pants, so we sit on a bench outside and wait. 6pm comes and goes, along with an entirely different wedding party. I’m beginning to think our grand adventure is over before it starts when up pulls a green bus bearing the name Sipan in huge letters. Ah, turns out we were supposed to get on the bus the family had rented for the evening. Also turns out the wedding starts at 7pm. Details, details. I end up being allowed in, God deciding he would let my risqué attire slide this one time, though I’d secretly been hoping I wouldn’t be able to go so I could sneak across the street for a glass of wine and some French fries.

The happy couple.

The ceremony was…um, different. I don’t know if it was because it was in such a public church or if this is how it always is, but everything was very public. It was basically a regular Catholic mass, open to anyone, with a few additions (vows, a homily about love). And no one seemed very happy. There was no smiling, no tears, no real emotion at all. Only a frilly white dress and few rose petals strewn about gave any indication that it was in fact a wedding. Business taken care of, we board the bus and head for the reception site. (Note the following photos were taken by my 12-year-old photographer’s assistant. She was big on taking pictures but not so big on focusing or zooming.) After an hour or so of toasts, receiving lines, first dances and photos, the reception resembles any other Peruvian party. We get our plate of mystery meat accompanied by rice and beans (added bonus this time – hotdogs and olives in the rice…um, gross). In fact, the party lasted so long that we received this meal twice. Not really wanting a second round, I turned mine down, much to the disappointment of everyone at my table who retrieved plastic bags from the depths of their other plastic bags for a makeshift doggy-bag. I was sitting with the campo family. I’m pretty sure we got a few dirty looks from the Lima/Chiclayo crowd. Snobs.

Somewhere early on I was informed that we would not be shuttled back to Huaca Rajada until 4am. Without any other options, I committed myself to enjoying the party and doing everything possible to keep myself awake. This included lots and lots of dancing. As Most Improved Dancer, I must say I was a popular partner. Maybe too popular since at one point the bride’s dance partner (not the groom) tried to switch in the middle of a song prompting her to snap “are you here for her or for me?” Awkward. I think my popularity might have had something to do with the fact that I was the only woman over the age of 18 who (begrudgingly) went out to catch the bouquet. I ducked when it came towards me.

Me awkwardly trying to avoid the bouquet toss.

The rodeo clown dancing with the bride.

Anyway, the party was going along swimmingly and I successfully entertained myself until the bus pulled up around 3.30. In typical Peruvian fashion, everyone ran for the doors in order to secure a seat. I was still on the dance floor, figuring they wouldn’t leave without their most inconspicuous passenger. Sure enough I walked out to the bus with nine people yelling my name and calling me over, in case I couldn’t spot the only car on the street. Relaxing into my saved seat (shotgun!), I reflected on what a great evening it had been. Lots of dancing, lots of weirdness, new friends and, best of all, the bus arrived just at the right time. I was ready to go; recognizing that glassy-eyed stagger that usually signifies the party is about to get ugly. Content and tired, I nodded off only to be abruptly woken by a severe jostling of my seat and the pungent aroma of beer breath wafting alarmingly close to my face. It was the groom and his crew, begging the driver to stay longer. The driver went from being my best friend to my nemesis in one shrug of the shoulders. Stand up for yourself man! Don’t do it! I know you’re tired too! Caving under the slightest pressure, my nemesis quickly agreed to stay until 5. Five AM! I went from reveling in a successful evening to plotting the deaths of all the groom’s men in about 23 seconds. Quietly fuming, I waited out the next hour-and-a-half shooting death glares at anyone who so much as glanced at me. Finally, after squeezing about 147 people into a 50-passenger bus, we rolled off. Hurtling down the pitch-black, pot-holed roads, the darkness broken only by clusters of lights identifying unexpected hamlets of civilization among the seemingly endless fields of sugar and corn, I was overtaken by the strange beauty of it all. That’s the thing about Peru – my moods never last long here. There’s always something new, good or bad, just around the bend.

The next day I forced myself out of bed, or should I say, I was driven from my bed by the oppressive heat, after only a few hours of sleep. I had some last minute coordinating to do with the girls I’m taking to a leadership camp. Meaning that I ate about four lunches since it’s impossible to go to someone’s house without sharing a meal. There’s a heady feeling that comes with parents telling you they trust you to take their daughters away for a few days. I pedaled back home, belly full of generosity, overtaken by my love of this country and its culture. Yeah, I know, my mood swings give me whiplash at times.

Cut to four hours later. Huaca Rajada was celebrating the beginning of Carneval with a yunza, which is a big party that culminates in the chopping down of a gift-laden tree. My family and I walked over to the plaza after dinner and the party was in full swing. As in, everyone was tanked. Not to belabor the point, but drunken Peruvian men really annoy me. I spent most of the evening dancing with my six-year-old nephew. But I’m glad I stuck it out in order to see the main event. (Sadly there are no photos because my photo assistant killed my camera’s batteries in her attempt to capture every single moment of the wedding.) So the organizers of the party have to dance around the tree wielding a large axe. They take turns swinging at the base of the tree until it topples. The person who delivers the killer blow is then charged with throwing (and funding) next year’s event. Everyone (excluding yours truly, I have learned enough in my time here to know that drunks + axe + falling tree is a recipe for disaster) gathers round the tree waiting for it to fall so they can pounce on the free gifts, of which a large percentage were, oddly enough, brooms and dustpans. The tree fell, madness ensued and then it was over. It was kind of anticlimactic, although that could have been because I was standing at a cowardly distance of about 100 yards and couldn’t really see all the mayhem. Judging by the hangovers of many neighbors, the party continued until the wee hours, but once the tree fell I headed home for some much-needed rest.

And that, friends, was my week. Jealous?

Traveling Tales

Happy 2010! I apologize to my faithful followers for the long absence; I’ve been surprisingly busy over the past month. Mainly due to travel, but hey, busy is busy. So my first Peruvian Christmas has come and gone. It was…interesting. I’m glad I was here and experienced something new but it was definitely hard to be away from my family and friends. My host family was, as usual, wonderful about including me in the celebrations, limited though they were. Peruvians celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve, so we had a traditional dinner of turkey, cheese, empanadas and panetón (dry Peruvian fruitcake. I’ll be happy to never eat another piece again) at midnight on Christmas Eve. At the stroke of 12 everyone jumps around yelling, toasting, hugging and setting off fireworks. Papy made a sweet toast about welcoming a new member to their family. I think I held on a little too long during the round of Christmas hugs – it just felt so good to be wanted and loved. After dinner the celebrations started full swing…sort of. There was to be a DJ dance party in the plazuela outside my house. The music started on time (about 1.30am) but no one seemed ready to leave their houses and start dancing. So we waited and waited and waited. Finally at about 3am people started entering the dance. Exhausted after all that waiting (plus the pre- and post-dinner drinking circles), I slipped into my room to use the bathroom, lay down in my bed and never returned. I could hear the party going until about 7am and when I emerged from my room at 9 on Christmas morning there were still several drinking circles going strong.

Christmas Day was kind of a bummer. Everyone was either still incredibly wasted or passed out from the previous night’s revelry. I did a lot of reading that day. They literally don’t do anything for Christmas Day, at least not here in Huaca Rajada. Luckily I had a few days at the beach with all my friends for New Years to look forward to, otherwise I think I might have snapped. New Years was incredible – I spent a few days at a beach town near the Ecuadorian border with some of my favorite people. Sun, sand, tropical drinks and lots of laughs – what more could you ask for. It was the perfect antidote to the lonely Christmas week. It’s crazy to think that people I didn’t even know a year ago have become so important to me in such a short time. I wouldn’t be having near as much fun without them.

Christmas dinner table

The fam at Christmas dinner

Some friends with their nativity scene

I also spent a week in Lima recently for an in-service training event. The trainings were…how do you say...dull? But it was great to see all the other business volunteers from my group and hear about their sites. The highlight was definitely spending time with them and exchanging stories about all our crazy Peruvian adventures. That and Papa Johns. Oh, Lima, you tease me with your delicious U.S. delicacies.

Arriving back in site I was quickly reminded that Lima is not the real Peru. No, no, the essence of Peru lies in the desert campo town of Huaca Rajada. Where pigs roam the town on their afternoon walk, where you’re just as likely to see a goat outside your window as a dog, where children climb through your window as you’re changing, where you’re served French fry omelets for dinner, and where everybody knows your name. I was repeatedly greeted with “Oh, Jessica, where have you been? Are you leaving us? We miss you. Please don’t leave. We miss you.” Peruvians have turned guilt trips into an art form. You don’t even realize they’re doing it until you walk away feeling sad and ashamed.

Pigs out for an afternoon stroll

I got back to my house early one Sunday morning after a long, hot, uncomfortable overnight bus ride. Wanting nothing more than to sleep in my own bed, I quickly greeted my family and headed to my room. They told me they were headed to Pacherrez (a town about 45 min away) for lunch with my mom’s family and I was to meet them over there when I got up. This is a typical Sunday activity so when I finally roused myself from my bed (driven out mainly by the heat as opposed to any actual motivation to be active) at 3pm, I figured it wasn’t worth it to make the trek over there since they usually come back around dinner time anyway. A couple hours later I start receiving frantic calls from my host brother. Explaining, for the fifth time, that I was tired and resting, I was a bit confused by the ruckus in the background. Finally I agree to head over there. I wait for the combi for half an hour, all the while being attacked by the vicious evening mosquitoes, get on a nearly empty car, freak out when it pulls over in the middle of nowhere, drops off the driver, leaving me alone with the 15-year-old cobrador-turned-driver. Luckily we made it safely and I rolled up into a full-swing pollada party. Seriously, my family leaves out the most important details. If I’d known it was a party, I would have been there hours ago! As it were, the party was entering hour seven and I was the only sober person to be found. It was my first experience at a real Peruvian party stone cold sober. Not as much fun. The party broke up about an hour after I got there because all the drunks were throwing bottles at each other. This is usually how and why parties break up here. So we pile into the back of the DJ’s pick-up truck wedged between the speakers for the bumpy midnight rides back to Huaca Rajada. Welcome back to site, Jess!

It’s summer vacation here, so I’m doing a lot of mini-projects with the kids in my town. We’ve formed a culture club and are learning about the U.S. right now (feel free to email me any photos or stories I could share with them about life in the States). I’m still teaching a few English classes a week. And I’m preparing for a leadership camp for girls with some young ladies in my site. And playing a lot of hide-and-seek with my neighborhood posse. Ah, the rough life of a Peace Corps volunteer.

Hope you’re all well and enjoying the new year. I miss you all! Stay in touch!

Birthday Basics

I have attended more birthday parties in the past two months than I have in the past twelve years. Given the time of year, (hint, hint) I thought I’d take a moment to share some tidbits on the basics of celebrating a birthday Peruvian style. The following rules have proven true at all the parties I’ve attended, regardless of age, status or location. I went to one party during training, but was too new to the Peruvian party system to appreciate its intricacies. Now I’ve totally gotten the hang of it – and the parties are super fun! Take notes, I’ll expect this in 2011.

Rule #1: The party never ends. Just when you think you’ve survived the fifth hour of dancing, a new guest will arrive with a caja of cerveza. Said guest will greet everyone individually, open up a beer, crank up the tunes and the party starts anew. Seriously, I put in a good 10-hour day at one birthday party and was still bested by about 20 people. I’ve yet to see the end of a party, a decidedly un-Jesster-like move. Often there are shifts of partygoers, an afternoon crowd and an evening crowd. Only the truly diehards even attempt both shifts. I’m beginning to realize my family considers themselves diehards. Or maybe they just really like seeing me dance for hours upon hours. Either way, we’re a two-shift family.

Rule #2: The drinking circle. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this custom in passing in previous postings, but I don’t think I’ve actually explained the art form behind this magical circle. Beers are served in large bottles here (kind of like a 40 by U.S. standards). There is one glass for the entire circle. The bottle of beer and glass start with Person A. Person A pours a shot of beer into the glass and passes the bottle to Person B. Person B holds the bottle while Person A downs the shot. Person A passes the glass to Person B. Person B pours his glass and passes the bottle to Person C. You get the picture. At first I was slightly disgusted by sharing a glass with 20 strangers, but now I’m really into it; it’s a very communal and social way to drink. Plus there are all kinds of weird rules that are fun to discover. For example, when you’re the unlucky one to finish the bottle, not only do you have to find and open the next bottle, but you also have to pour in a sip from the new bottle to get rid of the bad luck. And it starts to get crazy when we introduce an extra glass and bottle going in the opposite direction. Par-tay! These circles are not just for birthday parties; they’re for everything. Soccer games, festivals, parades, cockfights, Sunday afternoons.

Rule #3: You will be fed at least twice. Most birthday parties start in the early afternoon. You arrive, take a seat in a large circle and wait for lunch to be served. Lunch is always served on Styrofoam plates with plastic silverware. Let me tell you, for the inexperienced, it is tough to cut goat with a plastic spoon. I held onto my manners as long as possible, but I finally caved and now eat Peruvian style – sucking the meat off the bone I’m holding in my filthy hands. A couple hours after lunch, you’re served a "snack", which is usually just smaller portions of what you ate for lunch. Although one time we had popcorn. That was pretty exciting and everyone was amazed that I’d eaten popcorn before. A few hours after the snack, you’re served dinner, which is a repeat of lunch and snack. It’s expensive for the hosts to feed everyone, which is why the most popular birthday gift is a caja of beer.

Rule #3b: No cake. This struck me as odd for awhile because Peruvians love their sugary snacks and drinks, but upon further investigation I’ve discovered that big, fancy cakes are a) very expensive or b) impossible to find out in the campo. Oh well, more room for three servings of rice! Extra carbs for extra dancing, which brings me to rule four...

Rule #4: Gringas are popular dance partners. I’m usually the first one on the dance floor and the last one to leave. Women don’t choose dance partners here; we sit demurely in our plastic chairs waiting for an invitation. You don’t stay on the “dance floor” between songs. Once the song ends, everyone goes back to their chairs. Thirty seconds later, everyone is out of their chairs dancing again. I’m still not sure why we have to sit down between songs because it’s not like people aren’t dancing to every song. My best guess is to ensure variety in partners. You also can’t say no to a dance invitation. That would be incredibly rude. Which is why I spent the majority of a recent afternoon dancing with a 75-year-old man who was at least a foot shorter than me. We took a lot of pictures. Granted, it was his birthday.

Rule #4b: Dancing does not start until after at least five spins around the drinking circle. The motivation behind this should be fairly obvious.

Rule #5: Peruvian women never have to use the bathroom. After a few turns around the drinking circle, nature calls for this gringa. Invariably I’m somewhere I’ve never been before, so my usual tactic is to turn to the closest female relative and ask quietly where I could use the bathroom. Now, I am extremely fortunate to have my own bathroom with a toilet. I’d venture to say that 95 percent of the population in this area does not have sewage services, so they use latrines. I’m aware of this fact and am becoming a very low-maintenance girl. I can squat with the best of them. However, no matter how many times I tell my family that I can go anywhere, my inquiries about a bathroom spot always lead to loud shouting across the patio roughly translated as, “hey, my gringa has to pee, but she’s used to a toilet. What should we do?” Slightly embarrassing when everyone turns to look at you. Luckily this only happens once, after being pointed in the right direction, I stick to my spot for the rest of the day. Oddly, no one else ever ventures near my spot. Must be all that weird water I drink. (My host brother is convinced my water is a secret potion that allows me to stay more sober than all the Peruvians. Amateurs.)

Hopefully in my next post I will be able to share some insight as to how it feels when the birthday is your own. At least I’ll know the drill when the “birthday” song comes on (no, not Happy Birthday, some cumbia song) and the guest of honor has to stand in the middle while everyone dances and claps in a circle around him/her.

I’m also happy to report that I finally bought a replacement camera (a little early birthday present to myself). I’m on my way back to site to take pictures of my family, town, house and friends. So stay tuned, This American Life is about to go visual.