Beware of Unknown Moto-Taxi Drivers

I feel like I should issue a general warning before this entry. If it seems like there is no flow that´s because there is not. It's somewhat spastic. But then again, that's kind of what it's like being a Peace Corps Volunteer.

The last couple of weeks have been tranquilo, in other words tranquil if you need a translation. As usual, they have been filled with their fair share of entertaining happenings. I started English classes and the first Monday nobody came. The second Monday about 12 kids came but they all came in one large dawdling herd, about an hour late. It wasn´t hard to fill up the remaining hour with the alphabet. I found myself explaining things in absurdly preposterous ways. Case in point: While attempting to clarify the pronunciation of the letter G, I actually said that we commonly say, ¨What up, G?¨ as a way to greet people. No we don't, at least not the vast majority of United Statsians. At the very end of the class someone asked me to translate a poster hanging on the wall. Mindlessly, I translated ¨With Jesus we can make a new world!¨ onto the chalkboard and waited while they all scribbled both the translation and the Spanish version into their notebooks. Then it hit me that all of their parents would later be looking at their notebooks and see that I was not only teaching English but simutaneously feeding their children religious propaganda. Ironically, their parents will probably be thrilled.

One morning, for the first time since I arrived, I decided to do some vocabulary flashcards. My host-mom, nearby eating breakfast, looked up suddenly and shrieked, ¨BY GOD, KAREN!¨ I, momentarily baffled by the unprovoked outburst, had to contain my laughter as she proceeded to explain to my visiting Aunt that I contantly study. She apparently thinks that every time I read anything it is all part of my rigorous study schedule. I had no idea. I figured they thought I was just being lazy, but no one reads here so I guess it's considered to be a very intellectual persuit.

On the subject of my host-mom, whenever I do anything to worry her, which is literally just about anything I do, she gives me the same lecture. Oddly enough, this lecture is about moto-taxis and, more often than not, has nothing to do with anything that has provoked the lecture. I could mention that gringos sometimes can´t handle the water in foreign countries and suddenly she is telling me never to get in a moto-taxi driver I don't personally know. That driver will drive me into the middle of nowhere and abandon me. If I'm wearing my good shoes, he might steal them. Justifiably, I used to be really perplexed every time the moto-taxi subject popped up in the midst of a seemingly unrelated topic.

There is one moto-taxi driver that has a very obvious crush on me. It's more annoying than anything. Every time I get in he asks me something suggestive such as, ¨What kind of music do you like? Romantic music? Then he proceeds to ask more equally ridiculous questions, all the while driving half-speed, prolonging our precious time together. What joy.

I've started walking to places by myself more frequently. As a result, I've been arriving to meetings way too early. By that I mean that I arrive 5 minutes early and the locals arrive 35 minutes later. It is standard to come 30 minutes late. The reason I continue to arrive early is only partially due to my ingrained U.S. concept of timeliness. It is not due to an internal desire to spend more awkward time than necessary staring silently at the one other person that also bothered to arrived on time. More than anything, I'm so punctual because trips which I previously thought required at least 15 minutes now require a mere 2. I thought we were walking slowly but I had no idea just how slowly.

I called someone Tio Lonche, which translates to Uncle Small Dinner. My family won't let that one drop. I don't blame them. I also asked my sister if she thought she was going to rain.

In the same day, one person asked me if my host-sister was my daughter and another person asked me if my mother was Peruvian. I'm not sure what's bringing about the sudden confusion but I'm fairly certain I don't look anymore Peruvian than when I arrived.