27months2bags

In an attempt to not seem too self-centered I would like to say HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Alright, now that we have that over with, I can get on with what this post is really about…which would be me spending my first birthday outside of the ol’ US of A. That’s right, folks. I am 23 years of age as of today. I’d like to make a big shout-out to the parents, Richard and Pam, for the kindness of bringing me to this earth. You know how people ask you on your birthday if you feel any older? My family always does that. I never really do, of course, but being here in Peru has made me reflect a bit more. Although this day feels no different than the last (besides being back at site instead of celebrating the new year on the beach with 20 other english speakers) my time overall here makes me feel, well, old.

Its not the fact that I am old, but rather the fact that finally I am invested in a job full-time, post-grad which feels like a committment to a new stage of life. Oh, and that engagement or pregnancy announcements from highschool acquaintences are blowing up my news feed. This last year I spent a LOT of time wondering what comes next, but being where I am and working with this community pressures me to reverse that way of thinking and SLOW DOWN. In that regard, I have taken today to celebrate this new fashion of living by doing essentially everything in that manner. Here is a run-down of a birthday in Peru…

5:27 AM- wake up because two of the three kids you live with are screaming outside your room, the sun is up, the air is fresh, and also a donkey is braying in an attempt to drown out the sounds of the crying cat. You attempt to go back to sleep but instead just lie awake and pretend the faunal symphony is your favorite cumbia band playing.

6:43 AM- You finally get out of your sleeping bag and go downstairs to use the latrine. ‘Happy Birthday ‘ you say to yourself as you acknowledge beginning your 23rd year with having diarrhea in a hole in a foreign country.

7:15 AM- Make a DANK egg sandwich for breakfast (which would be considered extremely mediocre in the US, but you dona’t care, its a breffast sammy) and use the rest of your precious coffee grounds to make a yummy brew in your french press.

7:17 AM- You go to press the coffee and the apparatus breaks. You almost cry, not knowing that karma will relieve the situation at 12:13 PM, but decide to be happy with coffee that contains a few grounds.

8:00 AM- Visit the new mayor’s office to ensure a primo workspace before they get everything organized. By arriving promptly (and knowing everybody else will be late) your proposition is accepted and BAM you got an official desk with the gov’ment. *You also had to wait 45 mins to have this conversation with the mayor.

10:53 AM- Return to the municipality for your meeting at ‘eleven sharp’ so as to go on a tour of the nearby Pre-Incan ruins that your mayor wants to show you. You get in the car with him twenty minutes later and he drives you to a house where you have potato soup. After the soup he asks if you can quickly return to the municipality. You did not visit the ruins

12:01 PM- Mayor apologizes for making you wait so long, but as it’s his first week in office you are understanding. You say you have a meeting to avoid eating 3 pounds of rice and potatoes with him for lunch, and instead he gives you coffee (black! Precious black coffee!!). You leave promptly under previously stated pretenses.

2:30 PM- Indulge in the internet cafe! After a quick stop at home to eat the dark chocolate you have hoarded since your parents sent it in a christmas package you relax in the darkness of a small booth while writing this post in English with 5 Peruvian prea-teens looking over your shoulder.

So, dear reader, as you can see, up to this point I have been ‘going with the flow’ and really enjoying my day. It might not be full of grand celebrations, loved friends, and ritzy cocktails, but its pretty damn nice. I even treated myself to some dried figs from the market ( I. Love. Figs.)

Until next blog I’ll let time keep on keepin’ on.

Happy 2015.

Here´s to a change of pace! This post is coming to you live from Muquiyauyo, Junin for the first time in my blog´s young life. And I am not joking when I write change of pace. It´s been a test transitioning from the hyper-scheduled training life to the tranquil and slow moving days here at site. After having been surrounded for three months  by friends with whom I could speak English, a boisterous host family, traffic, assessments, hot water, homework, grocery stores, expectations, and whatever other hustle and bustle  I´m enjoying making myself a new daily routine despite undoubtedly being in an ‘awkward phase’.

With just a few weeks under my belt I’ve gained some pretty keen understanding about certain aspects of living here while others remain completely ambiguous to me.  For instance, I’m really enjoying market days, the rising early of the neighborhood that embraces the morning light, small formalities and greetings, and I’ve mastered being able to differentiate between the threatening sheep dogs and those who let you pass without the slightest snarl. On the other hand much of my day is spent contemplating about everything else I see. What do you mean wheres the  ‘room temperature’ spot in your new refrigerator? How do you have internet AND a latrine?  Why do people here eat SO MUCH Jell-O? As well as things of more profound nature.  Luckily I’ve remained optimistic, keeping in mind that even  though days seem to drag on, and  people constantly question my being in the town  (I myself doubt my understanding of my position daily), it takes time to become familiar with any new situation and will take patience to  ‘get the ball rolling’. More than with any job this one has forced me to recognize my part within a whole  and how I really can make or break my own experience. Self-reflection has become an inevitable passtime, partly because I spend so much time planning how to go about surveying the community for my initial project, a community diagnostic, and also because there has so far been little in-depth interaction with other people at my site. My family here is quiet and shy, and though we make small talk they keep busied with housework or caring for the animals, leaving me to have most of my conversations with Johan, Alison, and Mijael  (who are 5,4, and 3 respectively). As you can imagine talking about toys, why I have piercings, and the fact that its raining can cause one to seek more trying themes of thought.  The second part of this is that being at site requires a great amount of self motivation. I’ve never been one to keep inside the house all day, I doubt anybody who knows me would describe me as an introvert. Lets face it, I like to be out and about. Plain and simple. Trouble is that mother nature and local politics decided to team up to have my arrival coincide with the least productive time of the year. It’s rainy season here, and a new mayor was just elected meaning it is extremely difficult for me to find people to introduce myself to, let alone ask about opportunities and interests regarding my field. Every day  requires me to choose to invest time into  going to the municipality, schools, individual homes, etc. so as to be recognized  by my neighbors and counterparts. I also  need to motivate myself to plan how I’ll start to go about analyzing environmental problems here and how to gain cultural understanding so as to assist with sustainable change.  Basically, I think a lot and jot down notes upon notes.  Without a thurough assessment of why I am here and what I would like to do it would be impossible for me to feel justified in beginning or continuing projects with the people of Muquiyauyo, so for the time being I’m taking it slow and enjoying  getting to know the area in order to play a strong part in the future.

In the meantime I’ll continue to busy myself with crossword puzzles, knitting, daily hikes, and the occasional jaunt out to the fields with the host fam.   Pics will come once I get more settled in and figure out the technology situation more completely.

Hopefully the ambiguity of the title doesn’t give the theme of this post away, so let me clarify. At this stage in the game I have one more day left of training and then will be on my way to swear in as a volunteer at the ambassador’s residency later in the week. By Sunday I will be on my way to settle in to what will be my home for the next two years. The process has been flying by, especially in these last few weeks, and I am anxious about where the next step will take me.

These last few weeks have offered many good memories to my experience here thus far, which helped me appreciate how blessed I have been over the past months. Last Thursday we had a soccer tournament at a local field with our host families which was a blast. We went all out, trophy and everything. Injuries were minimal (we now have two people at the center on crutches) and despite the fun we accidentally left the sad legacy that soccer tournaments at the center are banned. We also had a foosball tourney (tournaments are pretty popular here) that got pretty intense. And as for some quality time with my family, my host sister’s first communion was on Sunday so there was plenty of celebrating, cooking, dancing, etc. around the house. I didn’t get a picture at the school/church, but did get one with the host fam at the party after (disclaimer: they did not turn out, so I’ll just include the best one).

Saying goodbye is always hard, and I feel that this week’s farewells will definitely bring a tear to my eye. I’m one of the few who hasn’t had an individual bawl-sesh so far, and I’ve been thinking I should maybe keep a count of how many days I can go until breaking down. Having lived in this limbo of integrating with a host family yet still seeing American friends every day will make it challenging when I arrive to Muqui. At the same time I feel prepared and glad to have built a support system of others who will be in service with me. Think of it this way: when I get there and it’s raining and I still don’t have a bed, electricity is out, my host siblings won’t stop touching my stuff, and I am taking bucket showers in 30 degree weather at least I can call 50 other people who are going through the exact same thing, and hopefully we can laugh about it. Living as such is one thing, but being pessimistic about it is another that can break you down quick. I’m lucky to be in a group of such positive and driven people.

This post doesn’t say much, just a little note to let people know about the big upcoming change. They say the first three months at site are the hardest you’ll experience. Primarily because nobody knows you, it takes a while to get projects rolling, and you need to be hardworking, persistent, yet very autonomous. With that said, I am optimistic about the prospects at my site and can’t wait to share some fun stories of my experiences there, no matter how rarely I can access some wifi to post.

I’m reluctant to say that training has gotten…old. We’re over it. This isn’t just me blabbing about how I’m sick of “feeling like a high-schooler again” or “being doted on all the time”. Honestly, training phase has lost its charm. On another note, I’m glad to say I’m not entirely fed up with my situation right now. I still am eternally thankful for the friends I have, excited for what’s to come, positive about the progress I’ve made thus far in cultural and language immersion, and curious about the grand scheme of things. Yes, 10-12 hours in a rented, renovated condo five days a week gets long, but I should really take this time to thank my teachers, directors, and facilitators for doing this professionally 40 (or more) hours per week.

This week reached the point where people started taking “sick days”. We went out and got beer instead of going on daily runs. We congratulated each other for having made it through language classes only taking two coffee breaks. It was rough. After having been through field based training, preparing to go to our real sites for a week to meet our new host families and communities next week, there was no way our heads were fully in the game this week. Let’s face it, we’re all focused on getting to the good stuff right now. Whatever “D.C.” Wants to tell us about common diseases, applying for grants, and action plans goes in one ear and right out the other.

That being said, I have some things I’m really thankful for in these last few weeks and would like to take this time to share them…

1. The post office isn’t on strike anymore!!! This means that letters, post cards, and packages are slowly arriving! I got a few messages from loved ones this week and could not have imagined what a pick-me-up handwritten notes are. I’m currently working on responses.

2. My host family is awesome. Not only do they nourish and shelter me, they provide a really nice atmosphere where I feel comfortable. It seems simple enough but I really appreciate being able to “be me” in my own home.

3. Tournaments! Everybody at the training center is huge on tournaments. Basically this means I have a good reason to hang out with other gringos during lunch break and after classes to play fooseball, volleyball, basketball, and other games. Much fun is had by all.

4. Coffee. I cherish coffee here. If you are a coffee drinker in the states, you can relate. Here you either get really good espresso to make an americano (which I do, thankfully) or you get the powdered instant stuff. Here, coffee is more than just a support system. It is my better half. It’s a booster, a crutch, a kind of side-kick. I love it. The end..

So with that I will leave y’all until my next Internet excursion… Hopefully I can find the most accessible wifi while visiting my site to prepare. If not, I’ll still be able to write about my glimpse of my future upon my return!

First and foremost, to my fellow fanatics, happy Halloween! I am pleased to say that although it isn’t formally celebrated here I had a successful celebration. The holiday gave me another reason to appreciate how lucky I am to have such a great host family.

Last Monday Marina asked me what I usually do for Halloween… Thinking of the last four years of house parties and Freakfest groups I told her that “we have a small party”. This prompted her to ask if I would like to host a gathering at our home on Halloween to celebrate “my culture”. Of course I was not going to turn down an opportunity to have a fiesta here and celebrate one of my favorite holidays, so I said I would love to. After being accustomed to the ” you’re old enough, do it yourself” attitude of the states this party was not what I expected.

Friday night I got back from class with my friend Matt and my mom had somehow converted from concerned spanish speaking care-taker to interior-decorator-and-event-planner-extraordinaire. She had bought construction paper, glue, tape, fish line, scissors, markers, wall hangers and everything in between to make sure we had decorations galore. Having invited her Peruvian housewife friends, aka the moms of the other gringos in my neighborhood, over we whipped out a 5 star looking party room in no time. And then Matt asks me “do you think your mom knows what an American party is like?” “No” I answered, surprised that Marina hadn’t put out a tub to use for bobbing for apples along with the spread of snacks that consumed the table I had intended to use for beer pong.

So as Matt and I prepared our costumes in my room, door wide open so as to not conduct suspicion despite the fact that we were essentially just doing arts and crafts, I got excited for my first non-American Halloween! And it was a blast! My culture was celebrated, my mom met all my friends, my sister made comment after inappropriate comment about how many gringos were gathered around in weird clothes. Honestly I couldn’t blame her, it would be like if some foreigner cleared out my garage and invited his freak show of friends to drink case after case of beer there for 5 hours. But ultimately the party was a success. And on a selfish note, my costume was celebrated as I was a world heritage site of Perú, the Nazca lines. And might I say I impressed with Peace Corps worthy resourcefulness in creating the outfit.

Aside from their keen interest in American holidays there is a tradition of celebration on this date for Perú as well. It was the Dia de la cancion Criollo. And of course this meant that in training we were to memorize a song and present a traditional dance for the rest of our group. Being this far into training I didn’t expect to learn so much but as we practiced and practiced a fun game came about that I like to call “homophones”. It’s kind of like learning homophones, but not. All you need is 4 players, 2 Americans and 2 Peruvians. The rules are simple.

1. Pair up one American and one Peruvian (the others are there for support)
2. Have the American explain the difference between the words bird, beard, bear, and beer.
3. Repeat basically forever.

This game can also be played with mouse and mouth, horse and hoarse, or the spanish words cabello, caballo, cebolla (hair/fur, horse, onion), Maquillaje and mantiquilla (please put makeup on your face, not butter), or años or anos (feel free to ask somebody’s age, but not how many anuses they have).

So as long as days get during my training to be a successful volunteer, the culture clash creates loads of new ways to become entertained, and teaches you a lot about where you come from and the lenses you’ve created to view the world with.

It’s true! As of today I am past the halfway point. Of training, that is. I’m sure it would feel like a real accomplishment if only every day didn’t run together like watercolors on my timeline. Although other weeks have been pretty entertaining, I think that this one takes the cake for “most host family memories”.

First and foremost, we got our official site placements this week! Wahoo!!! As was predicted, I will be in a cluster of folks in Junín, more specifically the Jauja area. There will be 4 of us living around this hub, and three more volunteers in Junín mismo, or the province and district of Junín in the department of Junín. Big congrats to my three friends who will be placed there as they will be occupying the highest Peace Corps volunteer sites int the world at 4,100 meters above sea level! Impressive, eh? I’ll be living at a mere 3,400 and already am hoping to acclimatize and exercise daily at altitude within a month. We’ll see. Anyway, everybody was really excited to find out specifics about their sites and host families for the next two years. Following is a list of my situation:
– My town name is Muquiyauyo (lots of vowels, I know)
– I will live with 9 others permanently (perhaps 12 at times).
– The ages of those 9 are… 3,4,5,13,26,38,40,63,65. Every decade except 50.
– Due to the recent elections/change of government administrators I have no specified counterpart in the community, basically enabling me to establish whichever programs I find fit for the needs of whomever might choose to work with me. (Yes, I am very optimistic about this which could be exasperating during my service)
– My site has a considerably well organized collective of farmers with a very motivated boss who will be helpful in getting projects started.

There were two main factors in the designation of my site. One being my Program Director, Diego. As I wrote before, he had the main say in which department and sectors I would be working. Being that I’m in a cluster and a nearby town has very similar needs, I got the special option to “choose” which site I would be assigned. By choose I mean that last Monday morning after being awake for about one hour on zero cups of coffee (my brain was functioning at the level of an inchworm’s) he asked me and another volunteer if we like kids. Both of us answered indifferently, and both knew that our next two years depended on this answer. We decided to flip a coin. The toss up was between a solitary elderly couple and my previously described situation. As my loyal subscribers (or happenstance readers), please cross your fingers that the 50/50 chance ends up in my favor.

With the excitement of my new host family info I returned to my house yesterday ready to politely share the news with the current victims of my presence. While I can’t imagine how stressful it would be to host some independent young American for 3 months, my kin of Morón have adapted well and often joke about keeping me around. One of their favorite jokes is about the broken lock to get out of the front gate. The iron bars are about 2.5 meters high and try as I might, I just can’t get my key to work in the lock to get out. Only about 3 weeks ago did I master the other side to get in.

Side note– Sometimes, when I’m really desperate, I wiggle my hand through the wrought iron vines and jimmy the key around until it fits into the hole. In the most conspicuous of manners I turn the lock while neighbors anxiously watch, stifling their laughs and holding back their offers to be accomplices in the escape of the gringa.

Upon my arrival last night nobody is home. I figure my brothers are busy studying and Marina and Elvira are at some school function or another. thank goodness I think, ready to respond to a couple messages and rest a bit before dinner. I plop down on my bed and out of the corner of my eye see a scurrying, too quick to be a scorpion, and I tell myself it’s just a hallucination after a long day. Reassuring myself, I go to my desk to grab a pen, and in the next second all that is clear is that a mouse and I simultaneously jumping and screeching and freaking out in my room with a closed door. I immediately think to run outside and yell for Marina, but upon getting to the iron gate realize a) it is locked b) the key is in my room. Fight or flight mode activates unnecessarily and I make a pros and cons list for retrieval of the key which goes like this:

Pros: get out of the house, you won’t get bit by the mouse.

Cons: you need to face the mouse to get the key, you will be unable to unlock the door even with the key, the mouse may bite you, the mouse may poop on you, you can’t find the key and thus get stuck in your room with the mouse for longer than anticipated, if you find the key neighbors will gossip because you are barefoot outside, neighbors will stare you down while you try to unlock the door yet not offer help, Marina will come back while you are frantically searching for the key and dismiss you as a stupid American for being this afraid of a tiny rodent.

Let’s remember that throughout this analysis I am standing in pajamas alone in a courtyard in the dark in my neighborhood grasping onto the iron bars of my front gate like a psycho fleeing the grim reaper while Peruvian children galavant around with cups of jello and volleyballs.

I stayed in the front garden until Marina appeared half an hour later, described the situation, and upon not finding a mouse in my bedroom two hours later, reluctantly went to sleep.

Waking up this morning was another great experience. Of course I remembered within seconds the events of the night before, and thus proceeded to combine my morning routine with the childhood game of “lava monster”. For those of you who endured dutiful, drab, and devastating upbringings this means I made it “against the rules” to touch the floor in an attempt to evade my newfound room-mate. For those of you who would like to critique and are experts on mouse behavior, yes I know they can climb and this has no legitimate reasoning as the mouse could well have fled up my nightstand to where I was balanced while taking my daily vitamins. All in all, it was kind of fun to have an excuse to play on the furniture and change up the norms a bit this week.

While there are undoubtedly more fun experiences to come with host families (who knows what can happen with 9 rural Peruvians and a volunteer?!) I’d be content finishing out my training as is, no more surprises.

Well, well, well… Long time no blog. That’s what happens when one goes to visit the site that they will soon call home– this past week I got the chance to take a full tour of Jauja, Junín and the “metro area”. If only one could call it that. I was one of the lucky 4 who got a real taste of what their home base will be like and I am happy to say I can’t wait to go back. Every vista was a real treat for the eyes, and I was quick to fall in love. Although it was neat to take a “vacation” (the trip was for field based training where we work on ongoing projects and meet in-service volunteers to get a taste of our futures) I found myself missing home and the schedule that I have become accustomed to with my host family. In just over a month I’ve become comfortable enough with my life in Morón to feel content with the familiar faces, smells, and general demeanor that one misses when on a trip. While I enjoyed the independence, dorm-like habitations, and activities in Jauja, being back feels… good.

My return came with its fair share of memorable moments which blatantly advertised my foreignness. After being around gringos day in and day out one forgets how awkwardly they stick out inn even the seemingly inclusive area of their home. My family tells me to take time for myself, they’re understanding if I want to just hang out in my room and relax, and are quick to be at my service for any need I might have. And on the other hand they watch me like I’m some exotic pet that they took in, which I am. I can only imagine what goes through their heads sometimes when they catch me peeling my orange the wrong way or walking barefoot in my bedroom.

One of the highlights of my trip was a visit to a pre-Incan site of ruins on the top of one of the hills. The views were breathtaking of the patchwork farmland below, lakes in the distance, sharp mountain peaks beyond. The most beautiful earthen colors streaked the landscape around, and I was elated to be indulging in some personal interests. As it wasn’t a site that was part of a participatory study I was digging around and found a bone. Nothing special, but the archaeologist in me got really excited to have something to remember the moment by and I decided to slip it into my pocket. It was a small vertebrae, nothing more, and I would just combine it with the rest of my collection of fossils, rocks, bones, and other knick knacks. Having forgotten all about this come Saturday my exhausted self decided to give my laundry to my mama and help out setting the table for breakfast. I also forgot what my American momma always told me… “Always check your pockets before you put your clothes in the wash!” Yep. That morning my host brother woke up to the panic of my mom after she encountered my treasures in the washing machine. Thank the lords above he was an ally and helped explain that of course I would want to collect random bones from old places as I apologized profusely. I am happy to say that my collection is now safe and sound in my room where it will not be disturbing a single Peruvian mother.

There’s a first time for everything, and so far I’ve been lucky enough to have some really neat first experiences. For instance, the trip to Junín required us to drive through the highest pass in the world at 4818 meters above sea level, or about 15,800 feet. My expectations didn’t quite align with what I saw when I got there (barely any snow and it was warm enough to be wearing only a light sweater, where I had thought that the pass would be a frozen tundra). A small truth I’ve found here: higher you climb, the better the view, and standing at the top of that pass was no exception.

Some less exciting moments included teaching my first class successfully, having a Jehovah’s Witness try to convert me in Spanish, and eating chicken feet.

Now that I’ve been with my family for a while the chance arose for me to do one of my favorite things…cook! For the last few weeks cooking has been high on my list of hobbies I miss from the states. Cooking has always been a small passion of mine; it gives me peace of mind, its comforting, it’s an art, and the final product can be shared which is rewarding. As much as I help out in the kitchen I still have had a longing to make a meal myself. That being said, I took advantage of my free time today and made my family a hearty chicken pot pie. A few things went down with this. Firstly, they looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I was going to make a chicken pie.

“Will it have apples?” they asked confusedly “No, it’s not sweet like apple pie, it’s filled with chicken and veggies kind of like a stew.” “So, nothing like apples or peaches?” “No,” “Well can you make apple pie?” “Uhm, yes” “What about mango pies? Have you made mango pies?” “Well, no, but I guess i could… But this one is chicken and veggies…not like a dessert.”

Once they got the gist of it, the inevitable came about. Here I was, happy as can be to make them a nice meal, sharing a bit of my culture through one of my favorite hobbies, dreading the question that came next.

“You eat rice with it, right?”

And dreading the fact that no matter what answer I gave to that question, there would be a heaping serving of rice on each plate to accompany my chicken pot pie.

“No, we don’t eat rice with it. I suppose you could but no, we don’t serve it with rice.”

Thirdly, their high expectations, constant gossip, and impatience made this one of the most stressful cooking sessions I have ever had. Despite the fact that many meals take an hour or so to prepare, and despite the fact that we ate breakfast at 11:30, had a “snack” of fried fish, corn and potatoes at one, all the while munching on fruit throughout the day, and despite the fact that I told them I would make it later in the day so we would be eating a late lunch (which happens every Sunday) they felt the need to pop their heads into the kitchen every five minutes to remind me that they were hungry. Here I am wrestling with the chicken, pulling bones out of places that I didn’t even know we’re edible, searching for utensils that were hidden in, what seemed to me, the least intuitive of places, and trying to concentrate on reading the bullion cube directions in another language while the family is dancing to Enrique Iglesias and shouting at me to hurry up. They had told all of the neighbors that I was cooking today, so of course the doorbell is ringing like mad with different relatives coming in and out, staying for coffee, watching me as I chop and sauté. Not to mention my future was invested in this meal… My skills in the kitchen were the top indicator of if I was proper wife material, and thus let them know if they should be keeping their eyes out for suitable young men. Uhhfda.

Wanting to impress them, and secure a marriage for myself, I powered through and in the end successfully converted the entire family into pot pie lovers. It was a nice way to bring Minnesota to Morón. This week is back to the grind at the training center, Wednesday I receive my official site placement, and from then on I’ll be counting the days ’till I have a more permanent address down here in Perú.

And here are a couple fun pics from last week…

When first submitting my application for the Peace Corps I knew it would be a pretty big endeavor. I knew full well of the time that I was contracting myself out for (it still doesn’t seem a ridiculously long investment to me), I knew it would be “challenging” in many ways, and when I was invited to Perú I had spent many hours contemplating what my biggest goals and toughest demands would be. Even though I realized that in general this experience would be a roller coaster of emotions, I failed to think of how much the small moments each day would contrast. Today was a great example of that.

Now being at about a month in to our service my peers and I have started to become somewhat comfortable around town. We know the ins and outs or our neighborhoods, are having deeper dinner conversations with our host families, and even have started to go out on little excursions to break the monotony of going to the training center every day. On Saturday we visited the historical city center of Lima, went to markets or on hikes, did our fair share of Spanish homework, and Sunday came to an uneventful close. It was Election Day for the governors of districts and thus a dry weekend so everybody was considerably well rested. Coming off of the past few days with a feeling of rejuvenation and anticipation (we were to chat with our directors about where our site placement would be today) I set out to school with my classmates.

Some fun pics from Lima.
I especially liked the new campaign that the Lima Parks Department has put on for planting trees and green space.

I was not ready for what I saw on our walk to the training center. Our neighborhood is placed on a service road right next to some train tracks that follow the main highway from Lima to the inner departments of Perú. Each day we trek about 40 minutes along the railroad lines to get to class, unless we feel particularly tired and decide to deal with the crowded busses. The bus stops are somewhat designated here but even so most consist of a piece of cement on the shoulder of the road against a retaining wall that you stand on to wave down the bus. Needless to say there aren’t crosswalks to help the chicken get to the other side. Below is a snapshot of me at my stop from Saturday.

We were about halfway to the school when we saw a crowd of people standing on the train tracks with a couple police cars, and a semi carrying lumber stopped in the middle of the highway. Naturally we stopped for a minute as we passed to see what all the commotion was about. It took me a second to see a smear behind the wheel next to a sneaker and hat and I knew all to well to look away. On the other side of the wheel lay the body being covered by a sheet. Walking in silence the rest of the way it was hard to process what I had seen, coming from a place where traffic accidents and pedestrian deaths were so rare, hoping the family was well-off enough to afford a funeral, thinking on how I had never seen something so grotesque and saddening so close. The situation itself was discomforting as well as the fact that there was really nothing I could do.

So I had traveled the path from optimistic to morose by 7:30 am and knew there was still a full day ahead of me. It was nice to have my friends around to walk with and once we got into the center the bustle of people making coffee, refrigerating lunches and chatting about their weekends ligthtened us up a bit. I had almost forgotten the excitement about chatting with Diego, our environmental programming director, but when my friend came back from her chat with him and seemed overly satisfied anticipation took over. My turn finally came and when I sat myself across from him I was full on nervous to face my fate.

This is the second time I had been one on one with Diego. A sly-sounding middle aged Peruvian outdoorsman at heart with piercing eyes and a peppered mustache, his presence compels you to be a perfectionist without being goody-goody. You want to please him, but you’re also aware that he could sniff out a lie from a million miles away. He’s quick and to the point, kind but not overly friendly, intuitive, and can be as vague or frank as he wants which, today, was exasperating.

“How are you?” He asks, after a quick greeting. “How is everything going here?”

“Good, good” I tell him, “Classes are all right, I’ve settled into the schedule s bit, and I’m really getting along with my host family.”

“Hmph!” He grumbles, and I feel almost shocked as he sneers back at me. “Don’t get used to it. Your new family won’t be anything like this one.”

After immediately feeling a pang of fear I realize I have no idea what to even think next or how to respond and that recommendation was this guy’s way of basically describing to me my caretakers/family/closest friends for the next two years. My nerves are about to explode inside of me until he follows up with a sentence as simple as “You’ll be living in the mountains,” (MY HEART IS PUMPING!!! THAT WAS ALL I HAD HOPED FOR!!!) “In a cluster,” (I TAKE EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH I HAVE TO NOT BOUNCE OUT OF MY CHAIR AND KEEP A COOL FACE). A cluster, you see, means that other volunteers will be about 45 minutes away from you walking distance. Which is phenomenal in Peace Corps neighbor terms.

As the day progressed we all gossiped about who we deduced would be by who, what regions we would be in, what partners and organizations we would work with, and below are my predictions…

-I will be placed in a cluster consisting of my friends Alyssa, Kelly, Matt, and myself. I’m additionally excited because these are three of the people that I have been spending most of my time with.

-We will be in the department of Junín, in a location that has not had a Peace Corps volunteer previously. There will be 7 of us there total from my group.

-I will be working and living in a town of about 2000 people and most likely working with schools for environmental education and farmers in the community.

That’s really all I know for now. We have the rest of the week ahead of us to do some more lessons in a local school and then the week after we go to field based training which I really look forward to! Despite some downs, unexpected events, and lots of information being up in the air I’m just remembering ya gotta take the highs with the lows and keeping a positive outlook.

Oh, and here are some more pics just for fun…

Well, we’re on to week three here in Chaclacayo and I feel like I’m starting to get the hang of things around town. Class is becoming normal, I no longer come terrifyingly close to peeing my pants for fear of riding public transportation, and I’ve been able to get a few solid nights of sleep in a row! There really isn’t too much more to report on from training… While the days don’t necessarily blend together there is a certain flow of the schedule that has set in. Reflecting on these patterns earlier today I decided it would be fun to compile a little list of things that I’ve found to be reassuring in the last 19 days.

1) Know your sandals. This does not mean that one should instantly name their sandals, but that they should be conscious of the benefits of knowing whose sandals are who’s. By this point in the training I am able to identify exactly who went out on a run after class by looking at the collection of Chacos and Tevas lined up by the front gate. Say I dozed off during lunch, I could immediately tell who I was sitting with without even looking up. I could tell who has rafting experience (Chacos or Keens), who just wanted comfy sandals or good quality for a lower price (Tevas) and who had no idea they would be wanting durable sandals that lasted them a full 2 years in the Andes (none of the above). Oh yeah, it’s really fun to see what webbing patterns people are into also.

2) No matter your previous ability, you too can be a volleyball star! Obviously I don’t mean that you’re going to jump straight into the Peruvian national team, but you can definitely get in a couple hours of practice on the reg. I don’t think I was able to properly hit the ball if it had been coming right at me last month, but now I’m easing into the sport and, not to brag, have a pretty consistent serve. Not to mention the games are a great way to get moving during lunch break and non-competitive to boot! I think the last time rules were this relaxed was when we were 5 playing t-ball.

3) The food pyramid takes on a new meaning. Someday I’ll draw a version according to my diet here. Have you ever seen the diagram of the iceberg as a metaphor for envisioning something? Peace Corps loves that metaphor. I mean LOVES. So let’s just say upon my arrival to Perú I was told that they like rice. Potatoes too, but mostly rice. My ship could see a little iceberg of rice. There were a couple of veggies, some protein, and fruit hanging out on the iceberg too, but it was mainly medium-grain steamed white rice. You finally eat with your host family, and realize that in reality this iceberg is COLOSSAL and it is made ENTIRELY of rice beneath the surface. Michael Phelps couldn’t eat this much rice carbo-loading for the Olympics. And that’s okay, because you can practice telling them that you’re allergic or something completely implausible before going through the process again with your host family at site in 2 months.

4) Fruits are fun! I’ve always been a fan of different fruits in different forms, and while some parts of the diet are less than exciting (ahem, see above) some parts are really awesome! Of course people in the states have heard of papaya, guava, mango, etc. but eating them fresh and local every day is such a treat. Avocados are served morning noon and night, as well as smoothies and freshly blended juices of practically any flavor combo imaginable. Some of my favorites that I’d never seen back in the U S of A include granadilla (like a pomegranate with much more accessible seeds with the texture of fish eggs which one slurps down in a single gulp), chirimoya, also called “custard apple ” and tastes just as the name suggests, and basically all sizes and shapes of banana or plantain possible. It’s also fun to compare the names in English and Spanish… A popular dinner time game. My favorite round was that of the camote, or what I would normally call a sweet potato. With over 4000 varieties of potato here my family was enraged that we would call such a tuber a “potato” for it was no such thing. They argued with me for almost 5 minutes until I finally told them I had been mistaken and that we actually call them yams. Aside from being good for you, the variety of fruits and veggies has also proven to be great entertainment.

And this concludes my list for the time being, of course there are other small comforts that I’ve forgotten in the moment. I also realize that these perceptions will surely change with my experiences here, but for now I feel like any volunteer of Peace Corps Peru 24 would agree that this post sums up where we currently stand.

Also, some photographic proof… I wasn’t kidding about fish egg fruit…

Birthday parties are a wonderful thing. Everybody likes a reason to celebrate and celebrating a birthday is probably one of the least exclusive reasons to host a bash. There is not a person on this planet that can’t relate to a birthday party; we were all born once, and let’s be honest it’s pretty hard for even the strictest dieter to pass up an excuse for cake. I’ve been here in Perú for less than two weeks and as of today I have been to TWO celebrations of the cumpleaños. The first for a one and two year old, the second for their grandpa. While I thought I had seen it all last Sunday, today held many more surprises than the first.

First off, I again was the only gringa in a 10 kilometer radius but unlike last time I felt a bit more at ease because I had already met the family, “knew” what to expect, yada yada yada. So I enter the house, sit down, make small talk like the polite Peace Corps representative that I am and everything rolls by nice and smooth. For the first hour.

We start to eat and I politely excuse myself from consuming the huge steak that they have lain across my pile of rice and potato salad, they joke about how I’m not really consuming a meal if I don’t eat every last crumb on my plate (this was difficult as I had already eaten about 3 meals throughout the last 6 hours) and they clear the plates away. I slip away to the bathroom, and upon my return there is a glass of wine sitting in front of my place.

Oh what joy! A glass of wine! I do a small thank-the-lords-above-for-their-graciousness dance in my head and take a sip. Then I look to my right where a relative of about 13 years is sitting. I could be confused but I’m pretty sure Inca Kola has bubbles and is bright yellow, not the crimson color of the drink in my hand. “Okay,” I think to myself “maybe it’s just the cultural norm for youths to taste just a bit to fit in with the family”. Then I look to my left. Another boy of about 10 years has a glass as well. I take a swig and realize that this wine is nothing like that of the French or Italian vineyards but instead sweet and fruity like a juicy brandy. No. More like Juicy Juice with an after taste of brandy. I look at the bottle sitting across from me and clear as daylight the ABV is printed on it, a good 13%.

As I move to the couch to sit near my host mom my hypothesis of the youths drinking a sip to “fit in” is completely uprooted as one of the 5 year olds holds out her plastic cup and her grandpa pours in a good half a cup of wine! She takes the glass, walks over a few steps, and downs the drink like its water and she’s been parched for days! Meanwhile behind her the one year old is being held by her aunt and simultaneously given a sip of the sizurup from the caretaker’s glass. Start ’em early is apparently not just a joking phrase here, but rather a way of life.

Along the lines of things that everybody can relate to, you are lying to yourself if you think you’ve never been the one person in a group that just isn’t on the same page as everybody else. Tonight’s birthday party granted me with not one, but three opportunities to make it clear that I was in no way accustomed to their culture. The first was of course that it was an all ages drinking party. The second happened when I needed a phrase explained to me.

Very rarely am I timid when asking the meaning of a word or saying, especially lately as I’m trying to expand my vocabulary 3-fold to fit in. So when my host mom offered to describe something to me I was a bit taken aback to find out that the conversation had traveled to none other than the famous “coca forests”. I was even more taken aback when, with a straight face, my host mom made a hand motion signifying lighting something and asked right out if I’d ever tried it. Of course I said no, to which her response was “Don’t worry! We put some in your soup!” I was at a loss for words, everybody laughing heartily about me, and she leaned over to tell me that I would probably have to try it in my time here. That conversation is still turning over in my head.

The final time outsider-awkwardness took over was the moment the cake came out. I’d learned the lyrics to the happy birthday song in Spanish my freshman year of high school, listened to it since then a few times, and felt confident in my ability to sing along. What slipped my mind is that the Peruvian version is not your typical Latino Feliz Cumpleaños but rather a 10 minute long rendition with about 5 lyrics. It was like when you visit a friend’s house for dinner and the mom goes into some elaborate grace while you awkwardly hold your fork because you started eating already and mumble along some words until the amen finally arrives. I’m surprised they don’t have a hymn book for the birthday song! Try as I might I stood towering over everybody for the second time in a week, a familiar tune playing all around me, with no idea where it was going or when it would stop. I will give them some credit though. The cake was delicious and it was pretty satisfactory to giggle to myself about the grandpa having a girlfriend when he failed to blow out one of the candles.

All and all, it was a great party. If I could give any advice here it is to never pass up a birthday bash. Free entertainment, and it provides a lovely look into the social norms of the people you’re surrounded by for the next big step of your life.