To view pictures of my trip to Ica, follow this link:
http://picasaweb.google.es/karen.b.petersen.
http://picasaweb.google.es/karen.b.petersen.
Huacachina Sand Dunes, Ica
Huacachina, Ica
Islas Ballestas, Paracas Saturday, April 25, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Happy Feet
Since 80% of the Peruvian population is catholic, Holy Week is one of the largest national holidays of the year. I ended up spending Holy Week in Ica, a coastal department south of Lima, with a few other volunteers. Amazingly, Ica is actually drier than my site but has a similar appearance. Algorrobo trees also dot the landscape; however, in Ica these trees are called huarango. Ica is known for its wineries and as the hub of the small Afro-peruvian population. It was also the epicenter of the 2007 earthquake which struck shortly before I arrived in Perú.
My vacation in Ica included stops in Chincha, Ica, Huacachina, Pisco, and Paracas. Chincha turned out to be a typical Peruvian coastal town, not very noteworthy and not a tourist destination. We attempted to visit an old hacienda there but after a S/.30 taxi ride we discovered it was still closed due to the earthquake.
In Ica we stayed at Huacachina, an odd but pretty oasis in the midst of sand dunes. It’s overrun by tourists but worth a visit nonetheless. Once a ritzy resort for wealthy Limeños, Huacachina is now popular for its dunebuggy rides and sandboarding. While this activity sounds innocent enough it’s really somewhat dangerous. I should have known better as soon as we boarded the dunebuggy with our driver, a Jean Claude Van Damme type who didn’t bother to acknowledge our existence, filled the gas tank while lighting a cigarette, nearly ran into someone before leaving the parking lot, and didn’t wear his seatbelt. Regardless, the dunebuggy portion of our trip turned out to be the safest part. The sandboarding, which is like snowboarding but on sand, was not. Proof in point, I nearly made it down the final hill standing up but terminated my run spiraling around and slamming my head into the ground, hurting my neck in the process. Jean Claude did not ask me how I was but rather commented that everyone breaks their clavicle that way. I’m still not sure how I would have broken my clavicle but who am I to say. Later that night I saw him drinking at our hostal. He mumbled some gibberish to me which must have meant, “How’s your neck?” and then hit me on the back of my neck. Literally, he hit me.
While in Ica we also visited a couple of wineries and an excellent chocolate factory (Helena’s.) Rather than opting for the hostal’s package tour we did this on our own which cost less than half as much. We spent the savings on chocolate.
The final stop of our trip was Pisco where we stayed in the room of a fellow volunteer, Aaron, who has the good fortune to step out his front door to a beautiful ocean view. Pisco was hit hard by the 2007 earthquake and, approaching two years later, the effects can still be seen. On the outskirts of the town the shantytowns are much larger than I expected. Adobe houses which were left standing are mixed with a smattering of temporary housing.
From Pisco we visited the Islas Ballestas on a boat tour. The islands are part of Paracas National Park, a coastal desert ecosystem preserved for the large amount of coastal wildlife it protects. Called the “Poor Man’s Galapagos” in Lonely Planet, the islands don’t really compare to the Galapagos but are home to an incredible number of birds including penguins. A secluded nesting beach overflowing with hundreds, maybe thousands, of sea lions and their cubs, reminded me of a scene typical of National Geographic.
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I wear a seatbelt so infrequently in Perú that I don’t think twice about riding in a vehicle without one. More than once I have had a seatbelt available to me which I didn’t even wear because encountering one here is such a rarity that I no longer bother to check. Moto-taxis clearly don’t have seatbelts but I’ve always just assumed that they were a safe form of transport. On the moto-taxi back to my site after vacation I was feeling particularly safe, especially in comparison to my recent dunebuggy ride. Then, rounding a curve near my community, the moto-taxi I was on collided with an oncoming moto-taxi propelling the driver of my moto-taxi through the air. The moto-taxi almost landed on top of me but, luckily, we were going slowly and I only bruised my arm. The driver of the other moto-taxi started yelling at the poor kid who went flying through the air before he was even standing. Seriously though, the accident was absurd. Both of them were driving on the wrong side of the road. My moto-taxi driver decided to move to the correct side while the other driver decided to do nothing. As we were approaching the other moto-taxi I recall thinking that surely one of them was going to stop or move out of the way. Instead they just ran right into each other. Just kept going straight ahead as if there were no other option. To top it off, they decided to settle the matter somewhere else and drove off without a word, leaving me and the other passenger, an old farmer, standing on the side of the road to wait for another moto-taxi.
-------
Happy Feet was on television last Sunday. My little brother could hardly contain his excitment. Halfway through the movie he turned to me and declared matter-of-factly that all those penguins weren’t actually real but rather they were humans dressed up in penguin costumes. He sounded so proud that he had figured out the trick that I felt bad informing him that it was actually a cartoon.
During the movie my host-mom also told me that for two years while she lived in Lima, she had a pet penguin which they had discovered one day in the Río Rimac, the major river which runs through the city. His name was Juan. Just to clarify, penguins are NOT natural inhabitants of Lima.
My vacation in Ica included stops in Chincha, Ica, Huacachina, Pisco, and Paracas. Chincha turned out to be a typical Peruvian coastal town, not very noteworthy and not a tourist destination. We attempted to visit an old hacienda there but after a S/.30 taxi ride we discovered it was still closed due to the earthquake.
In Ica we stayed at Huacachina, an odd but pretty oasis in the midst of sand dunes. It’s overrun by tourists but worth a visit nonetheless. Once a ritzy resort for wealthy Limeños, Huacachina is now popular for its dunebuggy rides and sandboarding. While this activity sounds innocent enough it’s really somewhat dangerous. I should have known better as soon as we boarded the dunebuggy with our driver, a Jean Claude Van Damme type who didn’t bother to acknowledge our existence, filled the gas tank while lighting a cigarette, nearly ran into someone before leaving the parking lot, and didn’t wear his seatbelt. Regardless, the dunebuggy portion of our trip turned out to be the safest part. The sandboarding, which is like snowboarding but on sand, was not. Proof in point, I nearly made it down the final hill standing up but terminated my run spiraling around and slamming my head into the ground, hurting my neck in the process. Jean Claude did not ask me how I was but rather commented that everyone breaks their clavicle that way. I’m still not sure how I would have broken my clavicle but who am I to say. Later that night I saw him drinking at our hostal. He mumbled some gibberish to me which must have meant, “How’s your neck?” and then hit me on the back of my neck. Literally, he hit me.
While in Ica we also visited a couple of wineries and an excellent chocolate factory (Helena’s.) Rather than opting for the hostal’s package tour we did this on our own which cost less than half as much. We spent the savings on chocolate.
The final stop of our trip was Pisco where we stayed in the room of a fellow volunteer, Aaron, who has the good fortune to step out his front door to a beautiful ocean view. Pisco was hit hard by the 2007 earthquake and, approaching two years later, the effects can still be seen. On the outskirts of the town the shantytowns are much larger than I expected. Adobe houses which were left standing are mixed with a smattering of temporary housing.
From Pisco we visited the Islas Ballestas on a boat tour. The islands are part of Paracas National Park, a coastal desert ecosystem preserved for the large amount of coastal wildlife it protects. Called the “Poor Man’s Galapagos” in Lonely Planet, the islands don’t really compare to the Galapagos but are home to an incredible number of birds including penguins. A secluded nesting beach overflowing with hundreds, maybe thousands, of sea lions and their cubs, reminded me of a scene typical of National Geographic.
-------
I wear a seatbelt so infrequently in Perú that I don’t think twice about riding in a vehicle without one. More than once I have had a seatbelt available to me which I didn’t even wear because encountering one here is such a rarity that I no longer bother to check. Moto-taxis clearly don’t have seatbelts but I’ve always just assumed that they were a safe form of transport. On the moto-taxi back to my site after vacation I was feeling particularly safe, especially in comparison to my recent dunebuggy ride. Then, rounding a curve near my community, the moto-taxi I was on collided with an oncoming moto-taxi propelling the driver of my moto-taxi through the air. The moto-taxi almost landed on top of me but, luckily, we were going slowly and I only bruised my arm. The driver of the other moto-taxi started yelling at the poor kid who went flying through the air before he was even standing. Seriously though, the accident was absurd. Both of them were driving on the wrong side of the road. My moto-taxi driver decided to move to the correct side while the other driver decided to do nothing. As we were approaching the other moto-taxi I recall thinking that surely one of them was going to stop or move out of the way. Instead they just ran right into each other. Just kept going straight ahead as if there were no other option. To top it off, they decided to settle the matter somewhere else and drove off without a word, leaving me and the other passenger, an old farmer, standing on the side of the road to wait for another moto-taxi.
-------
Happy Feet was on television last Sunday. My little brother could hardly contain his excitment. Halfway through the movie he turned to me and declared matter-of-factly that all those penguins weren’t actually real but rather they were humans dressed up in penguin costumes. He sounded so proud that he had figured out the trick that I felt bad informing him that it was actually a cartoon.
During the movie my host-mom also told me that for two years while she lived in Lima, she had a pet penguin which they had discovered one day in the Río Rimac, the major river which runs through the city. His name was Juan. Just to clarify, penguins are NOT natural inhabitants of Lima.
Issues
In the past month I have started at least five different blogs on random topics and I haven’t finished a single one. Rather than continue on this path of complete unproductiveness I realized that I could probably write one blog and convey the same thing. It’s surely for the better because I can’t imagine many readers would have survived five such blogs.
Education:
In Perú, the education system is abysmal. Really horrible. My 15 year old brother didn’t know what an island was. He couldn’t even locate Perú on the map. Believe it or not, he is actually intelligent; however, he has been subjected to one of the worst education systems in the Western hemisphere, second worst only to Haiti. Not only is the teaching method antiquated and devoid of creativity but the schools lack resources and teachers. Futhermore, of those teachers that are teaching, the rare few are outstanding. It is not unheard of for teachers to arrive at school drunk or just not arrive. It is also common for students to pay teachers to pass them.
Asistencialismo:
Asistencialismo is a word that doesn’t even exist in English, at least I can’t find it in my Spanish-English dictionary. Asistencialismo is a dependence on government handouts, welfare, and outside assistance. In Perú this phenomenon has been inculcated by its own government. During the rule of Fujimori, or “El Chino” as Peruvians call him, a huge number of social welfare programs were created. People became accustomed to free government handouts and now they expect them. Despite Fujimori’s highly questionable human rights record, many Peruvians love him. El Chino gave them free tin rooves and abundant food to cook in the local comedores populares, soup kitchens. What happens when the government has no more to give? Well, what has happened on the rural Peruvian coast is that people got so used to government assistance that they now take little responsibility for getting things done themselves. If they don’t get something free, such as a kilo of rice, they don’t participate.
Corruption:
The Peruvian government is corrupt. Peruvian police are corrupt. Even the teachers are corrupt. Money moves under the table and everyone knows it. Not everyone participates directly in the corruption, but it is an accepted part of life. For example, the mayor of Pacora spent S/.6.000 ($2,000) on his birthday party using local funds which must have involved some shady maneuvers. No one did anything. Nothing. Now the municipality claims to have no money. Until someone does something nothing will change. To quote a Calle 13 song, “Aprendí que mi pueblo todavía reza porque las fucking autoridades y la puta realeza todavía se mueven por debajo de la mesa.” (I learned that my town still prays because the fucking authorities and the bitch royalty still deals under the table.)
La hora peruana:
I’ve mentioned la hora peruana before. It is basically the widely accepted idea that Peruvians operate on their own time, which is an hour behind real time. For example, when scheduling a meeting, you will be told to schedule it at 3:00 so that people will get there by 3:30 but they will actually arrive at 4:00. While most people from the States literally could not handle this lackadaisical concept of time, la hora peruana is not the end of the world. If everyone knows and accepts that things will actually happen an hour after they are supposed to, well, I guess that is okay. However, if you actually want to get something done, la hora peruana can be exasperating. In the last year, every single meeting I have ever had has made me feel awkward because I feel badly for the few people who arrive on time but have to wait up to an hour for the meeting to start. I never know when to start the meeting, asking every five minutes if we should start yet, always told patiently that there is no rush. Inevitably the meetings always end up being less productive than they should be because people continue to arrive after they have already started and those people who arrived on time lose interest. Interestingly enough, la hora peruana bothers me more now than it did initially. I’ve arrived at the conclusion that punctuality is actually important when attempting to get things done. And, clearly, there is no shortage of things to be done.
Education:
In Perú, the education system is abysmal. Really horrible. My 15 year old brother didn’t know what an island was. He couldn’t even locate Perú on the map. Believe it or not, he is actually intelligent; however, he has been subjected to one of the worst education systems in the Western hemisphere, second worst only to Haiti. Not only is the teaching method antiquated and devoid of creativity but the schools lack resources and teachers. Futhermore, of those teachers that are teaching, the rare few are outstanding. It is not unheard of for teachers to arrive at school drunk or just not arrive. It is also common for students to pay teachers to pass them.
Asistencialismo:
Asistencialismo is a word that doesn’t even exist in English, at least I can’t find it in my Spanish-English dictionary. Asistencialismo is a dependence on government handouts, welfare, and outside assistance. In Perú this phenomenon has been inculcated by its own government. During the rule of Fujimori, or “El Chino” as Peruvians call him, a huge number of social welfare programs were created. People became accustomed to free government handouts and now they expect them. Despite Fujimori’s highly questionable human rights record, many Peruvians love him. El Chino gave them free tin rooves and abundant food to cook in the local comedores populares, soup kitchens. What happens when the government has no more to give? Well, what has happened on the rural Peruvian coast is that people got so used to government assistance that they now take little responsibility for getting things done themselves. If they don’t get something free, such as a kilo of rice, they don’t participate.
Corruption:
The Peruvian government is corrupt. Peruvian police are corrupt. Even the teachers are corrupt. Money moves under the table and everyone knows it. Not everyone participates directly in the corruption, but it is an accepted part of life. For example, the mayor of Pacora spent S/.6.000 ($2,000) on his birthday party using local funds which must have involved some shady maneuvers. No one did anything. Nothing. Now the municipality claims to have no money. Until someone does something nothing will change. To quote a Calle 13 song, “Aprendí que mi pueblo todavía reza porque las fucking autoridades y la puta realeza todavía se mueven por debajo de la mesa.” (I learned that my town still prays because the fucking authorities and the bitch royalty still deals under the table.)
La hora peruana:
I’ve mentioned la hora peruana before. It is basically the widely accepted idea that Peruvians operate on their own time, which is an hour behind real time. For example, when scheduling a meeting, you will be told to schedule it at 3:00 so that people will get there by 3:30 but they will actually arrive at 4:00. While most people from the States literally could not handle this lackadaisical concept of time, la hora peruana is not the end of the world. If everyone knows and accepts that things will actually happen an hour after they are supposed to, well, I guess that is okay. However, if you actually want to get something done, la hora peruana can be exasperating. In the last year, every single meeting I have ever had has made me feel awkward because I feel badly for the few people who arrive on time but have to wait up to an hour for the meeting to start. I never know when to start the meeting, asking every five minutes if we should start yet, always told patiently that there is no rush. Inevitably the meetings always end up being less productive than they should be because people continue to arrive after they have already started and those people who arrived on time lose interest. Interestingly enough, la hora peruana bothers me more now than it did initially. I’ve arrived at the conclusion that punctuality is actually important when attempting to get things done. And, clearly, there is no shortage of things to be done.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Photos
I finally got around to posting pictures.
To view, follow the link below...
http://picasaweb.google.es/karen.b.petersen.
http://picasaweb.google.es/karen.b.petersen.
ECO chocolotada.
Huaca Rivera grade school promotion.
My sister, Kelly, at Colca Canyon, Arequipa.Saturday, March 14, 2009
Chew Your Food Completely
Noodles can look like worms to the untrained eye. So can onions and bean sprouts. Months ago I thought I encountered a parasite in my stool only to discover that it was actually an onion. This past weekend I was so convinced that I had discovered a worm floating in the toilet bowl that I actually removed it and showed it to my friends Val and Susan. In fact, I was so convinced that I took the worm all the way to the hospital in my pocket to have it examined in the laboratory. The man in the lab was extremely professional but his first question was, “Have you eaten chifa (chinese food) recently? Of course I had eaten chifa the day before. Regardless, he examined my “worm” under the microscope and confirmed that the worm was indeed a noodle. Yes, a noodle.
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I’ve recently spotted some more catchy T-shirt phrases.
Greenish Kansas Kids
WOW! You have nine babies! Chick
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Since January, Susan and I have been working on a solid waste management diagnostic of Pacora. Amazingly, the endeavour is actually going well. Honestly, I’m amazed it’s even going. We have formed a committee which is formally named the “Comité de Apoyo al Manejo Sostenible de Residuos Sólidos del Distrito de Pacora.” The name is a bit cumbersome in my opinion but typical of Peruvian titles. I’m just surprised it hasn’t yet been given an equally absurd acronym, another common Peruvian practice. For example, COAPMASOREDIPA would be a viable option.
The committee, consisting of 5 local representatives, includes the director of the health post, the president of the women’s association, the president of the beekeeper’s association, a high school teacher, and a city council member. A couple of our meetings have been canceled and the majority still does not arrive on time, but I think we are making strides. Besides the committee, numerous local citizens have been attending and support seems to be growing.
As part of the waste diagnostic we organized a group of people to do household surveys. We divided Pacora into zones and assigned a couple of people to each zone. Susan prepared very clear maps so that they could easily orient themselves and figure out exactly which houses they were to survey. Now, I should not make sweeping generalizations but, from our experience it appears that Peruvians from Pacora can not read maps. Pacora is not even that big – it has something like 10 streets – but we had to explain the maps to every single person. For example, one seemingly capable committee member appeared to understand his map, but as Susan was doing her surveys she began to encounter random houses in other zones that he had surveyed. Once we found him wandering through the plaza heading away from his zone on his way to conduct more surveys.
Susan and I also took on our part of the surveys. I forgot how entertaining these can be. In one house I was sat down in a tiny pink children’s chair while the person I was surveying sat across the table from me in a normal sized chair. Other chairs were available. Another woman gave me a huge guava which made surveying the remaining houses awkward. Really, has anyone ever arrived at your house to do a survey with a riduculously large green pod sticking out of her purse? Probably not. At one house I surveyed the woman outside who was selling slushies and cebada, a common local drink made from barley and flavored with sugar and lemon. Several men were sitting around and they all insisted on answering every question that I asked her. One of them invited me to a cebada which I actually like in normal quantities. Unfortunately, this cebada came in pitcher size. The first half was fine, but I actually thought I was going to vomit as I attempted to drink the rest. Concentrating on the questions at hand became difficult because I could only envision how I would explain hurling my cebada all over the place. One teenage boy who had recently returned from Lima could not understand me and I had to repeat EVERY single question. An ancient woman with crazy hair could not see me but still let me into her house. I was moving along at a decent rate before I got to her house. By the time I left I was even privy to the type of canned milk that she uses. I don’t really think she got the point of the survey either. When asked where she disposes of her trash she told me that she sometimes throws her trash over her wall into the neighbors house to get even with them.
On Wednesday we collected the surveys and now we have to compile the data. Next comes a study of waste generation and separation...
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The female volunteer park guards who have been working with me on a tree nursery have reverted to sweeping the forest. I went to the nursery on Tuesday to work and no one was there. It is what it is. I'm not surprised. However, what bothers me is that they are following the instructions of a local "environmental" NGO that is currently doing a project in the buffer zone which requires that the women are sweeping in order to recieve monthly food handouts. Now, I approached one of the NGO workers, a girl my age and supposedly a biology graduate, and told her my thoughts. My thoughts being that sweeping the forest is not only illogical but also hinders soil recuperation. Apparently she didn't comprehend. Furthermore, it really bothers me that the women do not take a proactive role but rather blindly follow the orders of whichever authority figure commands them. It is easy to assume that the women are genuinely interested in conserving the forest because they are volunteer park guards. Not so. They really have never bothered to understand the importance of conserving it. This may be due to a lack of access to education and custom but, partially, it is just apathy.
-------
I’ve recently spotted some more catchy T-shirt phrases.
Greenish Kansas Kids
WOW! You have nine babies! Chick
-------
Since January, Susan and I have been working on a solid waste management diagnostic of Pacora. Amazingly, the endeavour is actually going well. Honestly, I’m amazed it’s even going. We have formed a committee which is formally named the “Comité de Apoyo al Manejo Sostenible de Residuos Sólidos del Distrito de Pacora.” The name is a bit cumbersome in my opinion but typical of Peruvian titles. I’m just surprised it hasn’t yet been given an equally absurd acronym, another common Peruvian practice. For example, COAPMASOREDIPA would be a viable option.
The committee, consisting of 5 local representatives, includes the director of the health post, the president of the women’s association, the president of the beekeeper’s association, a high school teacher, and a city council member. A couple of our meetings have been canceled and the majority still does not arrive on time, but I think we are making strides. Besides the committee, numerous local citizens have been attending and support seems to be growing.
As part of the waste diagnostic we organized a group of people to do household surveys. We divided Pacora into zones and assigned a couple of people to each zone. Susan prepared very clear maps so that they could easily orient themselves and figure out exactly which houses they were to survey. Now, I should not make sweeping generalizations but, from our experience it appears that Peruvians from Pacora can not read maps. Pacora is not even that big – it has something like 10 streets – but we had to explain the maps to every single person. For example, one seemingly capable committee member appeared to understand his map, but as Susan was doing her surveys she began to encounter random houses in other zones that he had surveyed. Once we found him wandering through the plaza heading away from his zone on his way to conduct more surveys.
Susan and I also took on our part of the surveys. I forgot how entertaining these can be. In one house I was sat down in a tiny pink children’s chair while the person I was surveying sat across the table from me in a normal sized chair. Other chairs were available. Another woman gave me a huge guava which made surveying the remaining houses awkward. Really, has anyone ever arrived at your house to do a survey with a riduculously large green pod sticking out of her purse? Probably not. At one house I surveyed the woman outside who was selling slushies and cebada, a common local drink made from barley and flavored with sugar and lemon. Several men were sitting around and they all insisted on answering every question that I asked her. One of them invited me to a cebada which I actually like in normal quantities. Unfortunately, this cebada came in pitcher size. The first half was fine, but I actually thought I was going to vomit as I attempted to drink the rest. Concentrating on the questions at hand became difficult because I could only envision how I would explain hurling my cebada all over the place. One teenage boy who had recently returned from Lima could not understand me and I had to repeat EVERY single question. An ancient woman with crazy hair could not see me but still let me into her house. I was moving along at a decent rate before I got to her house. By the time I left I was even privy to the type of canned milk that she uses. I don’t really think she got the point of the survey either. When asked where she disposes of her trash she told me that she sometimes throws her trash over her wall into the neighbors house to get even with them.
On Wednesday we collected the surveys and now we have to compile the data. Next comes a study of waste generation and separation...
-------
The female volunteer park guards who have been working with me on a tree nursery have reverted to sweeping the forest. I went to the nursery on Tuesday to work and no one was there. It is what it is. I'm not surprised. However, what bothers me is that they are following the instructions of a local "environmental" NGO that is currently doing a project in the buffer zone which requires that the women are sweeping in order to recieve monthly food handouts. Now, I approached one of the NGO workers, a girl my age and supposedly a biology graduate, and told her my thoughts. My thoughts being that sweeping the forest is not only illogical but also hinders soil recuperation. Apparently she didn't comprehend. Furthermore, it really bothers me that the women do not take a proactive role but rather blindly follow the orders of whichever authority figure commands them. It is easy to assume that the women are genuinely interested in conserving the forest because they are volunteer park guards. Not so. They really have never bothered to understand the importance of conserving it. This may be due to a lack of access to education and custom but, partially, it is just apathy.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
¡Ay, Caray! Los perros no me dejan…
I have a history with dogs. Twice when I was younger I was bit by dogs; once it was a fairly serious attack. I actually love dogs, probably more than normal given the circumstances. Nonetheless, I still have a residual fear of them which I thought I had conquered in Perú out of neccessity because psychotic dogs abound here. My friend Sam Goodman, aka “Buenhombre,” has been bit 5 or 6 times here, so many times he’s lost count. Sam is basically oblivious to life which might have something to do with it, but he had never been attacked before coming to Perú.
Lately, one dog in particular has been inhibiting my ability to go to the bathroom. It started one night when it was raining. During the early evening I went to use the latrine and I encountered a new dog which looked like a pit bull. I approached with caution, it sniffed me and wagged its tail. However, at two in the morning I had to go to the bathroom again. There was no sign of the dog but, as I emerged from the letrine, it was rounding the corner of the house, trotting in my direction. The dog sniffed me again and then started playing which is normal, except that it quickly got out of hand. The dog was riled up and it started jumping around and mouthing me. Luckily I grabbed a nearby shovel and it ran away. I was certain that it would have otherwise attacked me.
For several nights I did not go to the bathroom after dark which led to some very uncomfortable mornings. Finally I got up the courage to visit the letrine once again to find a donkey blocking my path. I shooed it out of the way, which startled it. It sprinted towards the latrine, in the process disturbing the menagerie of animals which lay sleeping on top of a nearby pile of corn stalks. Calves, chickens, at least five dogs, including the pit bull, and a disconcertingly large pig all rained down from the pile of corn stalks shrieking and generally causing an uproar. In the pandemonium, I became convinced that the pit bull would attack me and sprinted towards the house. I must have looked absurd.
A couple nights ago I was going to the bathroom before I went to bed and the pit bull was once again outside. I went back into the house and my little brother who is seven years old was still watching television. I asked him to accompany me to the letrine because the dog was outside. Of course, I let him go first and when he saw the dog he simply yelled at it and told it to go home... “¡Caramba!Vaya a la casa. ¿Qué haces por acá? Vete.” The dog ran off with its tail between its legs. My brother stood guard outside the letrine but the dog was no where to be found. Last night my brother ran the dog off again. My brother is seriously not even half my size. I think that maybe tonight I can go it alone.
Lately, one dog in particular has been inhibiting my ability to go to the bathroom. It started one night when it was raining. During the early evening I went to use the latrine and I encountered a new dog which looked like a pit bull. I approached with caution, it sniffed me and wagged its tail. However, at two in the morning I had to go to the bathroom again. There was no sign of the dog but, as I emerged from the letrine, it was rounding the corner of the house, trotting in my direction. The dog sniffed me again and then started playing which is normal, except that it quickly got out of hand. The dog was riled up and it started jumping around and mouthing me. Luckily I grabbed a nearby shovel and it ran away. I was certain that it would have otherwise attacked me.
For several nights I did not go to the bathroom after dark which led to some very uncomfortable mornings. Finally I got up the courage to visit the letrine once again to find a donkey blocking my path. I shooed it out of the way, which startled it. It sprinted towards the latrine, in the process disturbing the menagerie of animals which lay sleeping on top of a nearby pile of corn stalks. Calves, chickens, at least five dogs, including the pit bull, and a disconcertingly large pig all rained down from the pile of corn stalks shrieking and generally causing an uproar. In the pandemonium, I became convinced that the pit bull would attack me and sprinted towards the house. I must have looked absurd.
A couple nights ago I was going to the bathroom before I went to bed and the pit bull was once again outside. I went back into the house and my little brother who is seven years old was still watching television. I asked him to accompany me to the letrine because the dog was outside. Of course, I let him go first and when he saw the dog he simply yelled at it and told it to go home... “¡Caramba!Vaya a la casa. ¿Qué haces por acá? Vete.” The dog ran off with its tail between its legs. My brother stood guard outside the letrine but the dog was no where to be found. Last night my brother ran the dog off again. My brother is seriously not even half my size. I think that maybe tonight I can go it alone.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
JANUARY
The Move:
I believe that I had partially convinced myself that I would never actually change houses. However, in the first week of January, I finally did. With much help from Susan, I moved my things down the street to my new house. We walked all of my things from one house to the other, even my denser-than-lead mattress.
Everything went smoother than I had imagined it would. I was worried that the entire town would emerge to watch me move but the town was silent. Even the gossip I feared seems to have been held at bay. Having to, once again, tell the moto-taxi drivers where I live has really been the biggest nuisance. Not once have I regretted moving. My new family--a young family of four--probably talked to me more in the first day than my old host-family talked to me in an entire year.
The Vacation:
lima:
After more than a year my sister came to visit me from the States. I went to pick her up at the airport in Lima on Sunday night. Waiting at the airport in Lima is different than waiting at an airport in the States. A large crowd of anxious relatives mixed with hotel and tourist agency representatvies huddle around the exit waiting for flights to arrive. The hotel and tourist reps are all waving around signs on sticks with the names of the tourists they have come to collect. The awaiting family members exuberantly rush to meet loved ones who often now reside in another country.
My sister was taller than I remembered which might have had something to do with the new straight-leg jeans she was sporting. I regretted not having made one of those signs on a stick to grab her attention. She would have appreciated the humor.
The next day we went to visit my Lima host-family. On the way there, Kelly, unlike most tourists, actually saw the vast impoverished urban sprawl which comprises most of Lima. The visit was wonderful as always. Kelly was subjected to a viewing of the infinitely long and horribly edited video of the Santiago festival that I attended in July, the same video my parents got to watch. She also got to go on her first moto-taxi ride.
It was interesting to see how my Lima family has changed since they hosted me, especially since they have since hosted two other trainees. One notable difference is a marked improvement of the pronunciation of their dog's name, Snow. It actually sounds like English now. Also, my host-mom, who used to fret and think I was crazy for running all the time, told us, in all seriousness, how she had tried, in vain, to convince the last two trainees that they needed to excercise.
I managed to leave my footprint in the newly poured concrete step in front of the house. I don't know how I didn't realize that I was supposed to step over it. My host-sister, Rosa, stopped before going over it and asked me to go first because she wasn't sure how to avoid the step. I, oblivious, didn't understand why she was so perplexed and stepped directly onto the wet concrete. A few minutes later, my host-Dad came in chuckling and said that it was just like the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
For dinner we had the traditional holiday meal of hot chocolate and panettone. Kelly made me look a little less stupid by biting directly into the paper wrapper of the panettone.
arequipa:
The next morning at 4:00 AM we had to go to the airport for our flight to Arequipa, a one hour flight which costs nearly the same price as the 14 hour bus ride. Stepping off the plane was the prefect antidote for sleep deprivation--snow capped mountains, crisp air and the early morning sun.
Arequipa is one of the southernmost provinces of Perú. The capitol city, also named Arequipa, is an impressive city, with abundant colonial architecture. It bears the nickname the "White City" due to old proclivity for building with the white volcanic stone common to the area. Arequipa houses numerous churches and monasteries. On our first afternoon in the city we visited the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a rambling old convent which occupies an entire city block. We didn't leave without trying some of the famous desserts prepared by the current nuns.
Not one to mess around or to allow time for relaxing when on vacation, I scheduled a bus trip to Colca Canyon for 7 AM the next morning. Sometime before the end of her first 48 hours in Perú, Kelly became convinced that it was actually her 3rd day in country.
The bus ride to the canyon was a trip in itself. Much of the route passed through the Reserva Nacional Salinas y Aguada Blanca, an austere altiplano reserve which is home to vicuñas, llamas and alpacas. At its highest point the road reaches an elevation of 4800 meters.
We arrived at our destination, Chivay, a small town at the mouth of the canyon, mid-morning. After breakfast, we walked to some local hot springs. Somehow we ended up in the pool with all the other tourists. Roughly four guides attempted to get us back on their tour bus before they left, as they were convinced that we must have been on their tour. Either way is was very relaxing.
The following day we visited La Cruz del Cóndor, a short but picturesque busride away from Chivay. La Cruz is now a popular tourist stop on the Gringo Trail due to the Condor family which resides in that particular section of Colca Canyon. The Andean Condor is considered by many to be the world's largest flying bird, with a wingspan reaching up to 3 meters. Nonetheless, it may come in second to the Wandering Albatross. Kelly and I waited long enough to see the condors pass within several meters. The closest condor to pass us I actually watched through binoculars. The view clearly would have been better without them but I was too dense to figure that out. Rather I got a very good look at a blurred mass of black feathers. Binocular use has never been my forte.
Colca canyon provides a beautiful backdrop to the family of condors. At a depth of 3191 meters, Colca canyon is the second deepest known canyon in the world. The deepest known canyon, el Cañon del Cotahuasi, is actually also located in Arequipa, several hours to the north.
Our last day in Chivay we walked a little over an hour through the valley to the neighboring village of Corporaque. It was a beautiful walk through the bucolic countryside of the sierra, passed fields and terracing. The town itself was nestled among hills with a sweeping view of the valley and a tranquil plaza.
After another day in Arequipa, which we primarily devoted to walking around, we flew back to Lima. Being back in Miraflores was bizarre as always; it doesn't really fit with the rest of Perú with its fancy beachfront highrises and hotels. Kelly was a little sick which probably resulted from the fact that I encouraged her to eat salad and street food. I've clearly been here too long.
huaca rivera:
At the combi stop for Pacora in Chiclayo, we were greeted by the driver with, "So, you're headed back into the war zone...there's gonna be blood." Indeed, I took my sister back to my site on the eve of the removal of an invasion of people from a section of the Bosque de Pomac. Called a desalojo, or eviction, it was a government action to recuperate close to 1200 HA of the dry forest reserve which also houses archeological remains. The situation was rather complicated because around 200 families were implicated and, of those, some had lived there for 9 years. The government itself funded the construction of a health post and a school. And, in a country basically comprised of invasions it's difficult to pick and chose who to evict.
Anyway, nearly 2000 police came into the area for the desalojo. In the end, the "invaders" were heavily armed and 3 policemen were killed. Everyone in my site, was clearly preoccupied with the daily events. I decided against taking my sister for a walk in the woods. On the third day of the desalojo, my P.C. boss called to ask if I had heard what was going on, as if the people in my town would be completely oblivious, and told me that I should probably be careful.
Another visitor from the U.S., Susan Abraham, arrived in Pacora on Wednesday morning. Within an hour of her arrival she was serrenaded by the gerente of the municipality, aka Loco Sapote. We also went to visit the 83 year old store owner, whose birthday party I went to awhile back. As the mid-year festival of San Pablo was coming up, nearly the entire plaza was surrounded by restaurant booths and stands. Nonetheless, in front of our friend's store, there was, indeed, a 3 meter empty space, which she informed us that she had purchased in order to be able to watch the action uninhibited. She actually seemed annoyed that they would even consider blocking her view.
Susan and Kelly both adapted wonderfully to my site--except for a few issues with the outhouse and hard mattresses. They, both vegetarians, even ate fish. We played soccer a couple of times with the girls and transplanted some seedling in the tree nursery. My little host-brother, Patito, grew quite attached to them within the first day. By the time they left they were sad to go.
Since my sister is studying in Ecuador during the upcoming semester, her and Susan had to head north to Quito. I took them as far as Mancora, a popular beach in Piura. Amazingly, it was even hotter there than my site. We taught Susan how to dive under waves rather than simply being destroyed by them. However, while unsupervised she chose to practice in about one foot of water and ended up diving directly into the sand, scraping her forehead and smashing her nose in the process.
I believe that I had partially convinced myself that I would never actually change houses. However, in the first week of January, I finally did. With much help from Susan, I moved my things down the street to my new house. We walked all of my things from one house to the other, even my denser-than-lead mattress.
Everything went smoother than I had imagined it would. I was worried that the entire town would emerge to watch me move but the town was silent. Even the gossip I feared seems to have been held at bay. Having to, once again, tell the moto-taxi drivers where I live has really been the biggest nuisance. Not once have I regretted moving. My new family--a young family of four--probably talked to me more in the first day than my old host-family talked to me in an entire year.
The Vacation:
lima:
After more than a year my sister came to visit me from the States. I went to pick her up at the airport in Lima on Sunday night. Waiting at the airport in Lima is different than waiting at an airport in the States. A large crowd of anxious relatives mixed with hotel and tourist agency representatvies huddle around the exit waiting for flights to arrive. The hotel and tourist reps are all waving around signs on sticks with the names of the tourists they have come to collect. The awaiting family members exuberantly rush to meet loved ones who often now reside in another country.
My sister was taller than I remembered which might have had something to do with the new straight-leg jeans she was sporting. I regretted not having made one of those signs on a stick to grab her attention. She would have appreciated the humor.
The next day we went to visit my Lima host-family. On the way there, Kelly, unlike most tourists, actually saw the vast impoverished urban sprawl which comprises most of Lima. The visit was wonderful as always. Kelly was subjected to a viewing of the infinitely long and horribly edited video of the Santiago festival that I attended in July, the same video my parents got to watch. She also got to go on her first moto-taxi ride.
It was interesting to see how my Lima family has changed since they hosted me, especially since they have since hosted two other trainees. One notable difference is a marked improvement of the pronunciation of their dog's name, Snow. It actually sounds like English now. Also, my host-mom, who used to fret and think I was crazy for running all the time, told us, in all seriousness, how she had tried, in vain, to convince the last two trainees that they needed to excercise.
I managed to leave my footprint in the newly poured concrete step in front of the house. I don't know how I didn't realize that I was supposed to step over it. My host-sister, Rosa, stopped before going over it and asked me to go first because she wasn't sure how to avoid the step. I, oblivious, didn't understand why she was so perplexed and stepped directly onto the wet concrete. A few minutes later, my host-Dad came in chuckling and said that it was just like the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
For dinner we had the traditional holiday meal of hot chocolate and panettone. Kelly made me look a little less stupid by biting directly into the paper wrapper of the panettone.
arequipa:
The next morning at 4:00 AM we had to go to the airport for our flight to Arequipa, a one hour flight which costs nearly the same price as the 14 hour bus ride. Stepping off the plane was the prefect antidote for sleep deprivation--snow capped mountains, crisp air and the early morning sun.
Arequipa is one of the southernmost provinces of Perú. The capitol city, also named Arequipa, is an impressive city, with abundant colonial architecture. It bears the nickname the "White City" due to old proclivity for building with the white volcanic stone common to the area. Arequipa houses numerous churches and monasteries. On our first afternoon in the city we visited the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a rambling old convent which occupies an entire city block. We didn't leave without trying some of the famous desserts prepared by the current nuns.
Not one to mess around or to allow time for relaxing when on vacation, I scheduled a bus trip to Colca Canyon for 7 AM the next morning. Sometime before the end of her first 48 hours in Perú, Kelly became convinced that it was actually her 3rd day in country.
The bus ride to the canyon was a trip in itself. Much of the route passed through the Reserva Nacional Salinas y Aguada Blanca, an austere altiplano reserve which is home to vicuñas, llamas and alpacas. At its highest point the road reaches an elevation of 4800 meters.
We arrived at our destination, Chivay, a small town at the mouth of the canyon, mid-morning. After breakfast, we walked to some local hot springs. Somehow we ended up in the pool with all the other tourists. Roughly four guides attempted to get us back on their tour bus before they left, as they were convinced that we must have been on their tour. Either way is was very relaxing.
The following day we visited La Cruz del Cóndor, a short but picturesque busride away from Chivay. La Cruz is now a popular tourist stop on the Gringo Trail due to the Condor family which resides in that particular section of Colca Canyon. The Andean Condor is considered by many to be the world's largest flying bird, with a wingspan reaching up to 3 meters. Nonetheless, it may come in second to the Wandering Albatross. Kelly and I waited long enough to see the condors pass within several meters. The closest condor to pass us I actually watched through binoculars. The view clearly would have been better without them but I was too dense to figure that out. Rather I got a very good look at a blurred mass of black feathers. Binocular use has never been my forte.
Colca canyon provides a beautiful backdrop to the family of condors. At a depth of 3191 meters, Colca canyon is the second deepest known canyon in the world. The deepest known canyon, el Cañon del Cotahuasi, is actually also located in Arequipa, several hours to the north.
Our last day in Chivay we walked a little over an hour through the valley to the neighboring village of Corporaque. It was a beautiful walk through the bucolic countryside of the sierra, passed fields and terracing. The town itself was nestled among hills with a sweeping view of the valley and a tranquil plaza.
After another day in Arequipa, which we primarily devoted to walking around, we flew back to Lima. Being back in Miraflores was bizarre as always; it doesn't really fit with the rest of Perú with its fancy beachfront highrises and hotels. Kelly was a little sick which probably resulted from the fact that I encouraged her to eat salad and street food. I've clearly been here too long.
huaca rivera:
At the combi stop for Pacora in Chiclayo, we were greeted by the driver with, "So, you're headed back into the war zone...there's gonna be blood." Indeed, I took my sister back to my site on the eve of the removal of an invasion of people from a section of the Bosque de Pomac. Called a desalojo, or eviction, it was a government action to recuperate close to 1200 HA of the dry forest reserve which also houses archeological remains. The situation was rather complicated because around 200 families were implicated and, of those, some had lived there for 9 years. The government itself funded the construction of a health post and a school. And, in a country basically comprised of invasions it's difficult to pick and chose who to evict.
Anyway, nearly 2000 police came into the area for the desalojo. In the end, the "invaders" were heavily armed and 3 policemen were killed. Everyone in my site, was clearly preoccupied with the daily events. I decided against taking my sister for a walk in the woods. On the third day of the desalojo, my P.C. boss called to ask if I had heard what was going on, as if the people in my town would be completely oblivious, and told me that I should probably be careful.
Another visitor from the U.S., Susan Abraham, arrived in Pacora on Wednesday morning. Within an hour of her arrival she was serrenaded by the gerente of the municipality, aka Loco Sapote. We also went to visit the 83 year old store owner, whose birthday party I went to awhile back. As the mid-year festival of San Pablo was coming up, nearly the entire plaza was surrounded by restaurant booths and stands. Nonetheless, in front of our friend's store, there was, indeed, a 3 meter empty space, which she informed us that she had purchased in order to be able to watch the action uninhibited. She actually seemed annoyed that they would even consider blocking her view.
Susan and Kelly both adapted wonderfully to my site--except for a few issues with the outhouse and hard mattresses. They, both vegetarians, even ate fish. We played soccer a couple of times with the girls and transplanted some seedling in the tree nursery. My little host-brother, Patito, grew quite attached to them within the first day. By the time they left they were sad to go.
Since my sister is studying in Ecuador during the upcoming semester, her and Susan had to head north to Quito. I took them as far as Mancora, a popular beach in Piura. Amazingly, it was even hotter there than my site. We taught Susan how to dive under waves rather than simply being destroyed by them. However, while unsupervised she chose to practice in about one foot of water and ended up diving directly into the sand, scraping her forehead and smashing her nose in the process.
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