After nearly six weeks of living comfortably back in the U.S. it is time to reflect on all my time in Peru, what I learned, how I've changed (or not), and what my fondest memories are. Since returning to VT I've had plenty of time to become familiar once again with the taste of bagels, my thumbs have grown accustomed to the movements necessary to change the T.V. channel and play Xbox, and the lack of worry about entering a local store without exact change has yet to lose its magnificence, yet I continuously find myself looking back on Peru with longing and the feeling that I would willingly trade the lack of change or bagels for another glimpse of the Andes Mountains or another taste of my host Mom's outrageously portioned home cooking. Since this feeling is at its strongest now, as I prepare to return to school in the visually unspectacular Ohio, now is the perfect time to flush on to paper (electronic paper) all my sentiments about my time abroad...
One of the most important things I learned while in Peru was that it is a complete waste of time to be surprised and put off by the openness of 90% of the country's population. To shrink into a shy, uncomfortable shell when faced with the mothering nature of every Peruvian woman over the age of 25 would take away from a large majority of what makes the Peru experience so great. With that said I can safely say that what made visiting Peru so great was the people that I came across, especially my host family. They were not only welcoming but Lucho, his wife, Luis and Jean became friends, close friends versus simply hosts. Even outside of the family it was hard to turn a corner without running into some person who, despite their initial sales pitch, tended to be truly interested in your story, the story of your life, the story of your time in Peru or simply a story that could make them laugh and smile. This is not easily obtained in the U.S., it is hard to forge a strong friendship with the lady that serves you chicken soup (sopa de pollo) or with the shopkeeper who sells you breakfast bread. Returning home was so nice in many respects but I missed the human connection that Peru provided me, I had missed my family when I first moved to Peru and now as I flip through pictures of my time abroad I begin to miss my Peruvian family, including that shopkeeper and the soup lady.
I did not spend the last semester in a rural village hurting for water and nutrients, I did not come face to face with famine and disease and I did have to deal with striking poverty but I did live in a world where even the smallest things are cherished and every day is 24 hours of calculated time structured to yield the most and cost least. I am not one to experience overwhelming guilt and that aspect of my personality had not changed when I came home from Peru, I immediately took advantage of the abundance of food in my cabinet and the access to hot water, constant electricity and an automobile but I drove and showered and snacked with a new perspective. I enjoyed every second of being able to drive around on my own schedule and I relished each bite of the mixed nuts and crackers. It is easy to pass things off as trivial when you don't realize how rare they can be in some places. I am sure that everyone who returns from a developing country says the same thing, "They have so little and we have so much, I just can't believe that people can be so obtuse and unaware, how can I do (x) when they cant even do (y)...", but although that is an easy stance to take upon returning to the U.S. I have to disagree. It is not wise turn against what you know as comfort because a lot, not all, but a lot of those people who "can't even do (y)" are comfortable. I lived with a family of 4 who had 1 car, lived in a one level apartment and were more than willing to open their home to me and to feed me and to care for me. The same goes for the rural, indigenous families on Taquille Island and in Sibayo, despite living in mud constructed homes their doors were open to me. It is a more obtuse and ignorant assumption to see these people as charity cases for whom you should give up all of your material possessions in order to right the wrongs that have been brought against them. If Peruvians have taught me anything it is that you should never take away from your enjoyment of life, and if that includes a jacuzzi and a Bentley so be it, as long as you are aware of what you have and are aware that others can enjoy life on less. Do not feel guilty and do not pity, instead show respect for others by being observant and taking the time to get to know those around you, jacuzzi or not.
Living in Peru was amazing, it would be hard to express all my feelings for my time there or for the people I met there in words on an internet blog so instead I will end my Peruvian Adventures of the Modern Ginger by simply sending out to the people of Peru what so many of them have sent to me...un abrazo.
alpaCasey
Friday, August 19, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Diners, Drive-ins and Peruivan Dives: Good Eats in Peru
Watch out Guy Fieri! I am quickly forging my way to Food Network fame. Over the past 6 weeks I have spent the majority of my time in Lima either working, running or eating Aji-nomen (the Peruvian raman noodles). Once a week though all that changes and I substitute the microwavable pasta bowls for a classic Peruvian meal at a renowned local restaurant. I can almost solely attribute these delicious opportunities to the fact that I have a boss who is both a friend and loves to eat as much as I do, it also helps that he is not college-student broke like myself. Usually on Wednesday of each week my boss and I will dip out of the office at 12:30 and head towards some corner of Lima to try a globally recognized dish or a local favorite or even a personal favorite of his. I can honestly say that I have almost never ate as well as I have in Peru, and Lima is no exception.
As part of a program trip, while still living and studying in Cusco, we traveled to Lima for a few days and in order to land the job that I am currently holding I went out to lunch with Tom to talk and sort out a game-plan for the summer. The restaurant was called Pescado Capitale and is known for its diverse ethnic variations on the famous Peruvian ceviche. The most memorable of which were Ceviche Mandela (using traditional South African spices) and Ceviche Ghandi (bathed in a rich Indian style curry), yuuuummm! A plate of ceviche Ghandi, some calamari, a few parmesan baked oysters, a nice bottle of wine, a pisco sour and two deserts sent me out the door fully stuffed and loving every second of it.
When I finally arrived in Lima to live and work the streak of amazing meals continued. First was a local place, with a name I can't remember, which served us an amazing chaufa de mariscos (seafood fried rice) and cold glasses of sweet and delicious cicha morada (the unofficial juice drink of Peru). Before leaving the table we were approached by the waiter who offered us two signature shot glasses as gifts, I assume it was because the bill had been quite high and we were white, but I like to think it was because I am such a swell guy. The next week we walked a bit farther from the office and landed at another local seafood restaurant called El Pez Amigo. I had known about this particular restaurant since the first time I visited Lima but had never had the chance to go there, now I took full advantage of the opportunity. Drinking a cold orange Fanta I dove into complementary plantain chips and a plate of arroz con camaron (shrimp and rice) which was served in a slightly spicy and creamy orange sauce, delicioso! Only a few days ago we returned to El Pez Amigo and despite how great my first dish was I decided to go with one of the daily specials and was more than pleasantly surprised with how amazing my lasagna de camaron was, 2 for 2.
After my first trip to El Pez Amigo we started on our tour of the two most renowned restaurants in Peru featuring globally ranked dishes and chain smoking chefs. The first was Costanera 700, a Japanese-Peruvian fusion restaurant led by Chef Humberto Sato. The most magnificent dish that I tasted while there was a chita a la sal (white fish in salt). Covered completely in salt and served on fire, the salt crust is cracked open and the fresh fish is spooned onto your plate boneless and accompanied by melted butter and garlic sauces, it is pretty much rich lobster Peruvian style. The second of the two renowned Peruvian restaurants is said to have the best ceviche in the world, hand cooked by a man who has recently received the highest Peruvian civilian award for his cooking and has been ranked among the greatest chefs in the world, Javier Wong. An old Japanese-Peruvian man who tends to smoke and cook at the same time, Javier Wong is credited with introducing the idea of Japanese-Peruvian fusion to the world. The restaurant, Chez Wong, is located in an unmarked building, which also serves as Wong's house, in the dangerous neighborhood of La Victoria. The dining area is very small and modest and therefore a reservation is required. There are no menus and Wong simply will serve you what he chooses to cook that day, almost always an ultra-fresh ceviche, cooked in front of you with only the best pacific flounder as well as a deliciously rich stir fry served without rice and seeping with a sweet brown sauce. Over the course of the meal Javier Wong took breaks to take photos with the customers and come to chat with Tom at our table, being that close to a man like Javier Wong is no laughing matter in Peru, comparable to hot-tubbing with Megan Fox (gents) or Taylor Lautner (ladies) in the U.S.
Between these super-meals, I ate hot sandwiches at the restaurant with the best bread in the area, Carmelitas, and dined on local style empanadas stuffed with different meats, vegetables, potatoes and the occasional egg. Taking into consideration all of the scrumptious meals that I was served by my host mom in Cusco, almost all of which consisted of heaps of rice and more than one plate, I can say with complete confidence that the food in Peru, whether served at a world-renowned restaurant or out of an apartment kitchen in Marcavalle, Cusco, is some of the best in the world, tan rico! I have eaten in a handful of different countries and have enjoyed almost everything I've consumed, but at almost 21 years of age I am satisfied with the following food experience ranking...
1) Hot pastrami on light rye with a side of meat knishes and a root beer from Weintraub's Jewish Deli, Worcester, MA
2) Mama Arenas' cuisine in Cusco, Peru
3) Chez Wong & Costanera 700 in Lima, Peru
3) Baby-back ribs in Playa del Carmen, Mexico
4) Shepards pie in some town (Mom and Dad you can help me remember the town name) in Ireland
5) Carrier's Canadian meat pie cooked by Peggy Ellis-Green in Burlington, VT
6) Coleslaw and fried oyster burger from Vermont Pub and Brewery in Burlington, VT
7) "Trash", crawdads, peach cobbler and oyster po' boy sandwich in Moss Point MS/New Orleans LA
8) Waffles from the waffle maker in Lowry Dining Hall, Wooster, OH
...to be continued over the next 60 years of my life...
alpaCasey
As part of a program trip, while still living and studying in Cusco, we traveled to Lima for a few days and in order to land the job that I am currently holding I went out to lunch with Tom to talk and sort out a game-plan for the summer. The restaurant was called Pescado Capitale and is known for its diverse ethnic variations on the famous Peruvian ceviche. The most memorable of which were Ceviche Mandela (using traditional South African spices) and Ceviche Ghandi (bathed in a rich Indian style curry), yuuuummm! A plate of ceviche Ghandi, some calamari, a few parmesan baked oysters, a nice bottle of wine, a pisco sour and two deserts sent me out the door fully stuffed and loving every second of it.
When I finally arrived in Lima to live and work the streak of amazing meals continued. First was a local place, with a name I can't remember, which served us an amazing chaufa de mariscos (seafood fried rice) and cold glasses of sweet and delicious cicha morada (the unofficial juice drink of Peru). Before leaving the table we were approached by the waiter who offered us two signature shot glasses as gifts, I assume it was because the bill had been quite high and we were white, but I like to think it was because I am such a swell guy. The next week we walked a bit farther from the office and landed at another local seafood restaurant called El Pez Amigo. I had known about this particular restaurant since the first time I visited Lima but had never had the chance to go there, now I took full advantage of the opportunity. Drinking a cold orange Fanta I dove into complementary plantain chips and a plate of arroz con camaron (shrimp and rice) which was served in a slightly spicy and creamy orange sauce, delicioso! Only a few days ago we returned to El Pez Amigo and despite how great my first dish was I decided to go with one of the daily specials and was more than pleasantly surprised with how amazing my lasagna de camaron was, 2 for 2.
After my first trip to El Pez Amigo we started on our tour of the two most renowned restaurants in Peru featuring globally ranked dishes and chain smoking chefs. The first was Costanera 700, a Japanese-Peruvian fusion restaurant led by Chef Humberto Sato. The most magnificent dish that I tasted while there was a chita a la sal (white fish in salt). Covered completely in salt and served on fire, the salt crust is cracked open and the fresh fish is spooned onto your plate boneless and accompanied by melted butter and garlic sauces, it is pretty much rich lobster Peruvian style. The second of the two renowned Peruvian restaurants is said to have the best ceviche in the world, hand cooked by a man who has recently received the highest Peruvian civilian award for his cooking and has been ranked among the greatest chefs in the world, Javier Wong. An old Japanese-Peruvian man who tends to smoke and cook at the same time, Javier Wong is credited with introducing the idea of Japanese-Peruvian fusion to the world. The restaurant, Chez Wong, is located in an unmarked building, which also serves as Wong's house, in the dangerous neighborhood of La Victoria. The dining area is very small and modest and therefore a reservation is required. There are no menus and Wong simply will serve you what he chooses to cook that day, almost always an ultra-fresh ceviche, cooked in front of you with only the best pacific flounder as well as a deliciously rich stir fry served without rice and seeping with a sweet brown sauce. Over the course of the meal Javier Wong took breaks to take photos with the customers and come to chat with Tom at our table, being that close to a man like Javier Wong is no laughing matter in Peru, comparable to hot-tubbing with Megan Fox (gents) or Taylor Lautner (ladies) in the U.S.
Between these super-meals, I ate hot sandwiches at the restaurant with the best bread in the area, Carmelitas, and dined on local style empanadas stuffed with different meats, vegetables, potatoes and the occasional egg. Taking into consideration all of the scrumptious meals that I was served by my host mom in Cusco, almost all of which consisted of heaps of rice and more than one plate, I can say with complete confidence that the food in Peru, whether served at a world-renowned restaurant or out of an apartment kitchen in Marcavalle, Cusco, is some of the best in the world, tan rico! I have eaten in a handful of different countries and have enjoyed almost everything I've consumed, but at almost 21 years of age I am satisfied with the following food experience ranking...
1) Hot pastrami on light rye with a side of meat knishes and a root beer from Weintraub's Jewish Deli, Worcester, MA
2) Mama Arenas' cuisine in Cusco, Peru
3) Chez Wong & Costanera 700 in Lima, Peru
3) Baby-back ribs in Playa del Carmen, Mexico
4) Shepards pie in some town (Mom and Dad you can help me remember the town name) in Ireland
5) Carrier's Canadian meat pie cooked by Peggy Ellis-Green in Burlington, VT
6) Coleslaw and fried oyster burger from Vermont Pub and Brewery in Burlington, VT
7) "Trash", crawdads, peach cobbler and oyster po' boy sandwich in Moss Point MS/New Orleans LA
8) Waffles from the waffle maker in Lowry Dining Hall, Wooster, OH
...to be continued over the next 60 years of my life...
alpaCasey
Friday, May 27, 2011
Hello Goodbye
It's hard to say what it was like setting my sights on Cusco and the Andes Mountains for the first time, I could say it was like the first time I heard the Beatles, or when I first took a bite of some baby-back ribs in a tiny restaurant in Mexico or when I finally set foot on the Wooster campus and realized I didn't want to go to any other school, but honestly none of those really do the trick, it was more like...."HOLY $#!T"!!! Now that I have moved away from Cusco it is a lot easier to look back on my 3.5 months in the city and realize how great my time there was. I did not end my semester any more tan than I was at the beginning but I did manage to improve my Spanish, expand my cultural appetite (which means I'll be eating even more times per week at the International Food station in Lowry), and accumulate a whole number of stories to share when I return. I really did love Cusco, my fellow students, my host family and all the various adventures that we went on over the course of the semester, good or bad. If I have done my blogging job correctly you all know about the majority of the trips, adventures and mistakes that have occurred over the last few months. There have been ups (playing on the beach, Cienciano games) and downs (JELLO, and sunburns) but all in all Cusco was amazing, the semester abroad was incredible and I have will return home with a greater appreciation of Peru and the United States...and all of you.
I have now officially made my way out of Cusco and have been moved into Miraflores, a neighborhood in Lima looking out over the ocean, for 2 weeks. I christened my move by taking a run on my first morning along the Pacific Ocean and on a bike path along the cliffs above the ocean. Lima is very different from Cusco but I love both cities in separate ways. Cusco was cultured and "old school" while Lima is much more modern and "shwanky". The running here in Miraflores is amazing and thus far I do not have a single complaint about how my next 4 weeks will more than likely pan out. I am living in a brand new, incredibaly lavish apartment with a view of the ocean from both my room and our roof-top balcony. My roommate is a 30something year old electrical engineer named Abel who spends most of his time traveling Latin America working for an international technical company, meanwhile I get to kick back and relax in his expensive apartment. I've started work as the "Peruvian Development Intern" for the non-profit World Computer Exchange and seem to be hacking right through all my duties in the first few days. Everyday I get to wake up, put on a nice shirt, a pair of slacks (yes "slacks"not just pants, I'm a big boy now) and occasionally a tie. I then march my way down a gorgeous Miraflores avenue to my office with a piece of bread in hand...I think I might add a cup of coffee from some yuppie cafe just to complete the business casual look. 7 to 8 hours later I wake my way back looking exhausted, bored and generally like any modern business man, never in my life has the movie "Office Space" resonated so powerfully with me. Not that my work isnt interesting, but for a guy who has thus far made his money during the summer by running around in swimsuits and playing games, this is a bit of a shock...plus a pidgeon decided to relieve himself on my head this morning about 15ft from the office front door, good impression.
I will deny that at times I would love to be back on Shore Rd. lounging in teh backyard, or floating in Lake Champlain or even back in Wooster running through campus with my team, but the more time I spend in Lima the more I will appreciate all of that when I return. I am slowly integrating myself back into popular culture and similar interests so that I will not seem like a complete outsider when I get back to the states. I have started going to movies, which were unavailable in Cusco and have even discovered a department store in my area where I can once again feel at home choked by immense amounts of perfume and body checked around aisles by middle aged women looking for the best deal on velvet gloves. It is stange moving from Cusco to Lima but although I love my area and I find it to be exciting and beautiful, I think its greatest gift is that it will transition me back to the U.S. with ease. I won't be immediately leaving an ancient city of culture and heritage with an amazing host family for the bustling America, but instead I will be leaving a metropolis of 8 million people for the quaint and calm 40,000 of Burlington. Lima and my new "life" here is making it easier to say "goodbye" to Peru, I'll enjoy the time that I have here but ultimately my experience in Cusco will never be topped by fancy apartments, ocean views and modern shopping malls. Watch out U.S. of A.!!!
alpaCasey
I have now officially made my way out of Cusco and have been moved into Miraflores, a neighborhood in Lima looking out over the ocean, for 2 weeks. I christened my move by taking a run on my first morning along the Pacific Ocean and on a bike path along the cliffs above the ocean. Lima is very different from Cusco but I love both cities in separate ways. Cusco was cultured and "old school" while Lima is much more modern and "shwanky". The running here in Miraflores is amazing and thus far I do not have a single complaint about how my next 4 weeks will more than likely pan out. I am living in a brand new, incredibaly lavish apartment with a view of the ocean from both my room and our roof-top balcony. My roommate is a 30something year old electrical engineer named Abel who spends most of his time traveling Latin America working for an international technical company, meanwhile I get to kick back and relax in his expensive apartment. I've started work as the "Peruvian Development Intern" for the non-profit World Computer Exchange and seem to be hacking right through all my duties in the first few days. Everyday I get to wake up, put on a nice shirt, a pair of slacks (yes "slacks"not just pants, I'm a big boy now) and occasionally a tie. I then march my way down a gorgeous Miraflores avenue to my office with a piece of bread in hand...I think I might add a cup of coffee from some yuppie cafe just to complete the business casual look. 7 to 8 hours later I wake my way back looking exhausted, bored and generally like any modern business man, never in my life has the movie "Office Space" resonated so powerfully with me. Not that my work isnt interesting, but for a guy who has thus far made his money during the summer by running around in swimsuits and playing games, this is a bit of a shock...plus a pidgeon decided to relieve himself on my head this morning about 15ft from the office front door, good impression.
I will deny that at times I would love to be back on Shore Rd. lounging in teh backyard, or floating in Lake Champlain or even back in Wooster running through campus with my team, but the more time I spend in Lima the more I will appreciate all of that when I return. I am slowly integrating myself back into popular culture and similar interests so that I will not seem like a complete outsider when I get back to the states. I have started going to movies, which were unavailable in Cusco and have even discovered a department store in my area where I can once again feel at home choked by immense amounts of perfume and body checked around aisles by middle aged women looking for the best deal on velvet gloves. It is stange moving from Cusco to Lima but although I love my area and I find it to be exciting and beautiful, I think its greatest gift is that it will transition me back to the U.S. with ease. I won't be immediately leaving an ancient city of culture and heritage with an amazing host family for the bustling America, but instead I will be leaving a metropolis of 8 million people for the quaint and calm 40,000 of Burlington. Lima and my new "life" here is making it easier to say "goodbye" to Peru, I'll enjoy the time that I have here but ultimately my experience in Cusco will never be topped by fancy apartments, ocean views and modern shopping malls. Watch out U.S. of A.!!!
alpaCasey
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Semana Santa: Magnificient even for a kind-of-Jewish kid
So its been quite a while since I've logged on as the mysterious and cultured alter-ego alpaCasey to fill all of you in on my adventures in Peru, but to be honest the adventures have been few and far between over the last few weeks. There have been no food crises, no Indiana Jonesesque experiences, no misa challenges and no great escapes, its been a calm existence since my fateful day on "Dos de Mayo". With that said I though I would take a chance to take a relatively uneventful yet culturally fascinating experience and turn it into an epic adventure of the best kind. So here it goes, enjoy reading the adventure of the decade, titled "The Body-Squishing Power of El Dios"...
The scene opens on a group of friends, much like you and I, young, exuberant and filled with an urge to explore and discover, soaking in the sights of beautiful Cusco, Peru on a Monday much like any other Monday. The leader of the group is a tall (in a Peruvian's eyes), handsome (in everyone's eyes) young man with a strong jaw and long flowing orange hair like the sun. His friends refer to him as "Peligroso Pelirrojo" but for our purposes we will call him simply "P2". With P2 is the mammoth man called "Yake", a bearded monster from Indiana who because of his ferocity was forced to attend an all-Boys college since everywhere else was too scared to accept him. Along with P2 and Yake is Mateo, a friendly skinny hippie character with an easy smile and a flavor for jam bands like Phish. The last member of the gang is "J-Lo", the flashy ladies man of the group, a former soccer star who has turned his fancy footwork on the soccer pitch to the dance floor where he is generally considered to be the best gringo-salsa dancer in all of Peru. The 4 men make quite a site in the land of 5'6" tall, tan, Spanish speakers. On this fateful day though their unique appearances will serve to hinder them in their quest.
It is 7pm and P2, Yake, Mateo and J-Lo have risen early on this Monday. Strapping their equipment to their backs, tightening their adventure-ready boots and covering their eyes with protective and reflective lenses they venture out into the slightly unfamiliar territory of Cusco, Peru. The trek to the city center is slightly more crowded than normal, strangers surround them on all sides, shooting them questioning looks and bumping and jostling at every turn. The usual 10 minute hike from HQ to the base of operations (called Norton's Rat Pub by those with the highest clearance level) is off to a slow start. It quickly becomes apparent that this Monday is not like any other Monday, the air smells different, strange sounds float through the team's ears and every building seems to be covered in flags of allegiances. Luckily for the fateful four, Mateo is an expert investigator and within minutes he informs his partners that it is the first day of a week long heart-straining experience called "Semana Santa", or "Saint Week". "Semana Santa" acts as the path leading to the most sacred of days in Peru, "Pascua", or "Easter Sunday", and now the fantastic 4 have found themselves right in the middle of it!
Within minutes P2 has developed a complex plan to avoid the possibly fatal trek to the base of operations, the team must avoid the plaza at all costs, a slight slip into the mayhem the is the Plaza de Armas could cost the team their lives. Instead P2 orders that the 4 make their way around the plaza and in an old Civil War trick, approach the base of operations from the rear. The tactic seems flawless, the crowd will never expect a reverse entrance...oh how wrong they were! Making a quick right on the tourist-covered Avenue El Sol, the 3 musketeers (plus 1) begin a downward assault across the gray, cement surface of the avenue. Suddenly disaster strikes, the team becomes divided against the current of the opposing forces, suddenly Mateo and P2 are too far ahead of J-Lo and Yake, their strength in numbers has been depleted, survival instincts set in. Luckily Mateo and P2 are used to these kind of crowds, their training in MA and VT have prepared them for this type of situation. Using gazelle like movements the two dodge and weave their way through the hordes until they finally reach their 2nd turn. The ease at which they cut through the crowds turns the disaster into a friendly competition between the two, they race walk their way up the left-hand turn, flashing each other looks of competitive prowess. It isn't long before they reach another left-hand turn, and here the brash leader P2 falters. Mateo wisely suggests that they take this turn, but P2 says "nay, we must continue ahead if we want to reach the base of operations safely." The two continue ahead only to find that they have over shot their route, they are more than 2 clicks too far east, a disastrous mistake. Fighting against still more minions of "Semana Santa" the two journeymen make their way back to the correct route and seeing an opening in the masses make their way ahead with fervor.
Suddenly a wall appears ahead of them, not a wall of stone or wood or metal, materials that could easily be surpassed with the team's superior strength, but a wall of people, a mass of hundreds upon hundreds of people, unbreakable, unbeatable. The two men are at a stalemate, they cannot make their way forward, even with all they strength there are too many innocent children in the way and they cannot risk any casualties. The entrance to the base of operations is a mere 50 meters ahead but all that can be done is to wait patiently, a tactic that is not often used by this advanced team. Spotting a ledge overhead, P2 suggests a boost up from Mateo could get him up and over the crowd along the ledge, all the way to their destination, the plan is foiled though when a quick analysis of the low balconies above the ledge displays limited room for movement, and so they wait. After 20 minutes of the painful waiting they realize that they have been completely outflanked, the crowd has appeared behind them in equal force to the one ahead, yet in that crowd to their rear Mateo and P2 spot Yake an J-Lo only a few feet behind, a welcoming and relieving discovery. The wait continues and eventually the group is reunited, force in numbers once again, but even the power of 4 cannot overwhelm the power of faithful hundreds.
Soon the team discovers the source of the barrier, a statue of the crowds religious leader, Jesus Christ, is being toured throughout the plaza and until the statue enters the church, the crowd will not budge. For now the team surrenders to the crowd and takes an opportunity to regain strength and marvel at the thousands upon thousands of faithful who have left the safety of their own HQs to view their savior. It really is quite a site, especially when in unison the thousands throw up their hands in prayer and after a few minutes of absolute deathly silence clap all together as the statue enters the church. Even for 4 battle-hardened men, it is a powerful experience despite any lack of religious faith. By 8:15 the statue of Jesus Christ has once again returned to the church and the masses begin to shift. "Yes, now is the time, FORWARD" shouts P2, the team must take advantage of the movement in the human wall. Yet the wall is coming towards them, not away, the masses are flowing away from the entrance that the team seeks, what to do?!?!?!?! Lowering a shoulder and gripping the bear-like Yake for support, P2 makes his way against the current, slowly the team begins to make progress. Among Spanish cursing and yelling, the 4 fight their way forward, shifting routes occasionally to decrease any collateral damage. A few times one of the 4 will trip or fall but their battle formation of a straight line allows for each member of the team to support the other. 50 meters is covered in 25 minutes but with the help of friendly, chuckling members of the tide the team eventually makes it to their final destination. Releasing their breath, shaking out their weary limbs and breathing in the sweet smell of freedom, the formidable 4 climb the stairs to safety, comfort and cold glasses of Norton's top-secret elixir of life. For the next few hours, the team, joined by other compatriots, marvel at the events occurring below them in the center and wonder how they made it out safely and why they had never faced such an incredible and magnificent experience before in all their adventures together.
THE END
alpaCasey
The scene opens on a group of friends, much like you and I, young, exuberant and filled with an urge to explore and discover, soaking in the sights of beautiful Cusco, Peru on a Monday much like any other Monday. The leader of the group is a tall (in a Peruvian's eyes), handsome (in everyone's eyes) young man with a strong jaw and long flowing orange hair like the sun. His friends refer to him as "Peligroso Pelirrojo" but for our purposes we will call him simply "P2". With P2 is the mammoth man called "Yake", a bearded monster from Indiana who because of his ferocity was forced to attend an all-Boys college since everywhere else was too scared to accept him. Along with P2 and Yake is Mateo, a friendly skinny hippie character with an easy smile and a flavor for jam bands like Phish. The last member of the gang is "J-Lo", the flashy ladies man of the group, a former soccer star who has turned his fancy footwork on the soccer pitch to the dance floor where he is generally considered to be the best gringo-salsa dancer in all of Peru. The 4 men make quite a site in the land of 5'6" tall, tan, Spanish speakers. On this fateful day though their unique appearances will serve to hinder them in their quest.
It is 7pm and P2, Yake, Mateo and J-Lo have risen early on this Monday. Strapping their equipment to their backs, tightening their adventure-ready boots and covering their eyes with protective and reflective lenses they venture out into the slightly unfamiliar territory of Cusco, Peru. The trek to the city center is slightly more crowded than normal, strangers surround them on all sides, shooting them questioning looks and bumping and jostling at every turn. The usual 10 minute hike from HQ to the base of operations (called Norton's Rat Pub by those with the highest clearance level) is off to a slow start. It quickly becomes apparent that this Monday is not like any other Monday, the air smells different, strange sounds float through the team's ears and every building seems to be covered in flags of allegiances. Luckily for the fateful four, Mateo is an expert investigator and within minutes he informs his partners that it is the first day of a week long heart-straining experience called "Semana Santa", or "Saint Week". "Semana Santa" acts as the path leading to the most sacred of days in Peru, "Pascua", or "Easter Sunday", and now the fantastic 4 have found themselves right in the middle of it!
Within minutes P2 has developed a complex plan to avoid the possibly fatal trek to the base of operations, the team must avoid the plaza at all costs, a slight slip into the mayhem the is the Plaza de Armas could cost the team their lives. Instead P2 orders that the 4 make their way around the plaza and in an old Civil War trick, approach the base of operations from the rear. The tactic seems flawless, the crowd will never expect a reverse entrance...oh how wrong they were! Making a quick right on the tourist-covered Avenue El Sol, the 3 musketeers (plus 1) begin a downward assault across the gray, cement surface of the avenue. Suddenly disaster strikes, the team becomes divided against the current of the opposing forces, suddenly Mateo and P2 are too far ahead of J-Lo and Yake, their strength in numbers has been depleted, survival instincts set in. Luckily Mateo and P2 are used to these kind of crowds, their training in MA and VT have prepared them for this type of situation. Using gazelle like movements the two dodge and weave their way through the hordes until they finally reach their 2nd turn. The ease at which they cut through the crowds turns the disaster into a friendly competition between the two, they race walk their way up the left-hand turn, flashing each other looks of competitive prowess. It isn't long before they reach another left-hand turn, and here the brash leader P2 falters. Mateo wisely suggests that they take this turn, but P2 says "nay, we must continue ahead if we want to reach the base of operations safely." The two continue ahead only to find that they have over shot their route, they are more than 2 clicks too far east, a disastrous mistake. Fighting against still more minions of "Semana Santa" the two journeymen make their way back to the correct route and seeing an opening in the masses make their way ahead with fervor.
Suddenly a wall appears ahead of them, not a wall of stone or wood or metal, materials that could easily be surpassed with the team's superior strength, but a wall of people, a mass of hundreds upon hundreds of people, unbreakable, unbeatable. The two men are at a stalemate, they cannot make their way forward, even with all they strength there are too many innocent children in the way and they cannot risk any casualties. The entrance to the base of operations is a mere 50 meters ahead but all that can be done is to wait patiently, a tactic that is not often used by this advanced team. Spotting a ledge overhead, P2 suggests a boost up from Mateo could get him up and over the crowd along the ledge, all the way to their destination, the plan is foiled though when a quick analysis of the low balconies above the ledge displays limited room for movement, and so they wait. After 20 minutes of the painful waiting they realize that they have been completely outflanked, the crowd has appeared behind them in equal force to the one ahead, yet in that crowd to their rear Mateo and P2 spot Yake an J-Lo only a few feet behind, a welcoming and relieving discovery. The wait continues and eventually the group is reunited, force in numbers once again, but even the power of 4 cannot overwhelm the power of faithful hundreds.
Soon the team discovers the source of the barrier, a statue of the crowds religious leader, Jesus Christ, is being toured throughout the plaza and until the statue enters the church, the crowd will not budge. For now the team surrenders to the crowd and takes an opportunity to regain strength and marvel at the thousands upon thousands of faithful who have left the safety of their own HQs to view their savior. It really is quite a site, especially when in unison the thousands throw up their hands in prayer and after a few minutes of absolute deathly silence clap all together as the statue enters the church. Even for 4 battle-hardened men, it is a powerful experience despite any lack of religious faith. By 8:15 the statue of Jesus Christ has once again returned to the church and the masses begin to shift. "Yes, now is the time, FORWARD" shouts P2, the team must take advantage of the movement in the human wall. Yet the wall is coming towards them, not away, the masses are flowing away from the entrance that the team seeks, what to do?!?!?!?! Lowering a shoulder and gripping the bear-like Yake for support, P2 makes his way against the current, slowly the team begins to make progress. Among Spanish cursing and yelling, the 4 fight their way forward, shifting routes occasionally to decrease any collateral damage. A few times one of the 4 will trip or fall but their battle formation of a straight line allows for each member of the team to support the other. 50 meters is covered in 25 minutes but with the help of friendly, chuckling members of the tide the team eventually makes it to their final destination. Releasing their breath, shaking out their weary limbs and breathing in the sweet smell of freedom, the formidable 4 climb the stairs to safety, comfort and cold glasses of Norton's top-secret elixir of life. For the next few hours, the team, joined by other compatriots, marvel at the events occurring below them in the center and wonder how they made it out safely and why they had never faced such an incredible and magnificent experience before in all their adventures together.
THE END
alpaCasey
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The Great Escape
I have always been a huge fan of the classic film "The Great Escape", Steve McQueen as the Cooler King was one of those characters that I as a kid I hoped to grow up to be, minus the jailing in a WWII P.O.W camp. The Cooler King was always calm under pressure, he constantly showed the utmost ability to lead, he was as clever as a fox and never let anyone stop him from obtaining his goals, which in the case of the movie was to escape from the P.O.W. camp. At 20 years old I like to think that I am on my way to living up to the standards of the Cooler King but I have honestly never been tested, I, up until this weekend, had yet to be thrown into a foreign position in which I had to stay calm, think logically and take what was thrown at me. Steve McQueen, prepare to be matched!
This weekend was originally going to be our time to spend a few days in the rainforest, in Manu, viewing all types of exotic animals and fending off malaria but a series of unfortunate circumstances forced those plans to change. Due to torrential rain and flooding in the Manu area SIT was unable to take us to the rainforest and instead they scheduled a trip north to the Amazon River area where we would spend a few days in the jungle city of Iquitos and take a day trip to an Amazon river community called "2 de Mayo" or "The 2nd of May", for a reason I have yet to fully grasp. Friday morning all of the students met at the Cuzco airport to fly through Lima and end eventually in Iquitos. After a slight delay in Cuzco and a 4 hour layover in Lima we finally reached Iquitos where we were shuttled by bus to the extremely basic, but thankfully airconditioned, Hotel Europa. After a quick walk around the stifling city and a meal of chicken and french fries at a local Polleria most of the students, including myself, made our way to bed in order to be well rested for the next days activities. Saturday was spent working with a group of student activists who focused on the rights of indigenous children. We watched various documentaries they had made and finally I got to try my hand at interpretive dance/body motion, which is one thing that I would not subject any of you to watching. The experience was eye opening and made me seriously question what I was doing when I was 15, 16 or 17 years old. At the same age that I was eating boxes on and boxes of Annie's, playing video games, and attempting to succeed in football, soccer, tennis, and XC skiing, not at the same time, these kids are marching in protest, changing the lives of local youths and putting a solid dent in the negative aspects of their country's society. Despite being 4 or 5 years older than most of the kids I was working with I could not help but look up to them and envy their passion and dedication...lesson learned.
The next morning my challenge to the title of Cooler King began. Our entire group was awoke at 5:00am to be on a bus by 6 headed for the river port town of Nauta. A 2+ hour bus ride landed us in Nauta around 8:00, the time that we had planned to hop on a boat for another 2 hour ride to the river community of "2 de Mayo". For reasons that were not quite clear, we were unable to set foot on our boats until between 9 and 9:30, putting us at least an hour behind schedule. The sun was smoldering and the majority of us had gone out to the local nightclubs the night before which created extreme irritation and exhaustion among the 25 college students. Finally we loaded onto the 3 boats, divided into 3 groups, 1 of 10 students (including me) headed by our director Ursula, 1 of 5 students headed by our director Sonia and 1 of 10 headed by our last director Donaldo. We all pushed off from the docks at the same time and began our journey towards "2 de Mayo", or so we thought. This is the point where I will have to split my story between what occurred among my group and what I have heard occurred within the other groups. Donaldo's group set off at a quick pace and was slated to arrive at the community first, my group was a close second and Sonia's group was just slightly behind us. Within 1.5 hours, of what was supposed to be a 2 hour trip, our boats engine had already died 5 times, which meant an average of 15 minutes or repair time for each "death". By this point is was 11:30 and we were already very late for our arrival. Eventually my boat's captain decided to pull over to the side of the river, tie the boat to a tree and attack the engine problem at full speed. 30 minutes of sitting in the outrageously hot weather led to what was believed to be a final solution to the engine problem. We once again began our journey towards the community, but of course the engine was not fixed and it continued to break down various times over the next few hours.
By the time we reached the community it was 1:30, we were 3.5 hours late, the feast we had been planning on attending had been canceled by the community so we were greeted by a number of frustrated locals, mostly children. As we docked and made our way onto land we realized that we were the first group to arrive, but seeing as our engine had died so many times it was not outside the realm of possibility that the other boats had experienced the same problem. We made the best of the situation and set about chatting with the locals, asking questions and getting to know the culture as much as possible. An hour later Sonia's group of 5 finally arrived having experienced the same problems with their motors plus running out of gas and having to switch boats with another local group. With increased numbers we began to interact even more with the locals, especially the children and started up a game of soccer between the 4 male SIT students and all of the local young boys. Outnumbered and most certainly outplayed, we lost the game 8-2 but had a great time as the entire village served as fans, although they only cheered when the gringos made a mistake, fell in the mud or had a goal scored against us. After the game we gathered up the teams and set about diving in and out of the river, splashing around and throwing around a volleyball. It was a great 3 hours or so yet even as we exited the river around 5:30 the third and final group of students had yet to arrive. Sonia and Ursula started to get worried and set about trying to contact Donaldo or find out what had happened to the final boat. Around 6 a heavy ran began to fall and we were all forced to find cover and buckle down until the rain stopped. Since all of our program's food was on the missing boat and since we had arrived too late to enjoy the community feast, the majority of us had gone without food for nearly 12 hours and it was beginning to become noticeable. In the midst of the rain word arrived from some locals that they had seen the final group of students in a different community and that there was a diplomatic problem with their departure from the community. Despite the torrential rain, Sonia hopped on a boat with the community Apu (president) and a few other local leaders and set out for the other community to sort out the problem. This is when my self-described Great Escape instincts really cam in handy, among the nervous pacing, worried chatter and fictional stories of an Amazonian kidnapping, I laid down on a wooden floor and promptly fell asleep.
By the time I awoke an hour later Sonia had yet to return and because she had taken one of our 2 boats we were unable to leave the community due to a lack of sufficient space on a single boat. By 7:30 it was extremely dark and we as a group had made a decision to prepare to spend the night in the communities school house since we could not leave the island, had no idea if Sonia was returning and did not have a clue what was going on with the other group of students. By this time a few of the men in the community had become sufficiently intoxicated and were making the environment slightly more hostile especially towards the women of the group. The 4 male students were contracted by Ursula to keep a watch out and run interference between the drunken men and the female students, despite how capable the SIT women are. So for the next 30 minutes or so we stood around in the dark discouraging a few drunken men from bothering our group. Around 8 o'clock we saw a pair of lights in the distance and rushed to the river shore to welcome our remaining students and directors back to the community. The boat docked and as we stood waiting to cheer, clap and in some cases hug, 3 local men exited the boat followed by no one. This was not our fellow students or even our directors and the local Apu but instead it was a captain and his crew who had docked and were prepared to attempt the voyage with us back to Nauta in the pitch black. It was rumored that Sonia, Donaldo and the other students had reunited and had already made it back to Nauta where there would catch a bus to Iquitos. Our group had the option of attempting the boat ride back or sleeping for a few hours and leaving at the crack of dawn. A group meeting led us to the decision to stay until the morning and make the voyage back between 4 and 5 in the morning. Without 100% certainty that the captain was reliable and would actually be back in the morning we were shuttled towards the school house to begin our night on the hardwood floor. Before we could fully settle into our "bedroom" Ursula was called over to a 1 community telephone and all of the students were moved out of the school house and towards the telephone as well in order to distance ourselves from the substantially more intoxicated local men.
The phone call between Ursula and Sonia was short and bittersweet, it consisted of Sonia telling Ursula that although she had found the other students they had actually not left for Nauta and were still waiting at the other community and that we were to as quickly as possible load onto the two available boats and meet them. Ursula rushed us back to the schoolhouse, we rounded up our things and made our way to the boats where the male students were divided between the 2 boats and I was for some insane reason put in charge of one of the boats. By 9pm we had left "2 de Mayo" and were headed for a community which was only 10 minutes away by boat. Due to the complete lack of visibility our boats were forced to travel extremely slowly and on top of that my boat ran out of gasoline about half way through the journey and was towed the rest of the way. After an hour of boat travel we finally reached the other community were reunited with the rest of the students, loaded up our gas tank and made our way towards Nauta. Over the course of the ride the story of the missing boat was recounted to us in Spanish by Donaldo, so although I did not catch every detail, the basic story goes a little something like this...
On the way to "2 de Mayo" the third boat became lost on the river and eventually ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. While the captain, the one-man crew and Donaldo tried to figure out what to do, the students sat in the boat, snacked on the SIT food and eventually dove into the river where they got a chance to swim with the local river dolphins, something that I would have willingly been stuck on a boat in order to experience. After about 4 hours of sitting on the river a few locals came by and offered to tow them to their community where they could gas-up the boat and return to their trip. Happy as can be the group of students began to sing and cheer for their "saviors". Within the hour they had docked at the local community and were prepared to quickly acquire some gas and get on their way, and then issues arose. Apparently the entire region of communities on this section of the river had made a pact to keep tourists, and in general gringos, away from their area and out of their communities. The reason for their general hostility was that in the past the only gringos who had come to their communities had been representatives of the oil companies who had attempted to bribe their leaders, exploit their natural resources meanwhile the dumped the waste from the crude oil into their river, killing the fish and therefore seriously depleting their food source. I can not be sure whether or not the community thought that these 10 college students were undercover oil workers but in order to be cautious they refused to allow the group to leave until they proved that they were not a threat to the communities health and way of life. This could of course not be proven by anyone except the regional president Alfonso who lived in "2 de Mayo". When Alfonso finally arrived at the community with Sonia in took over an hour to explain that these were students on a trip to learn about the communities not to harm them. Sonia made a grand statement that we were there to learn so that one day in the future maybe one of us would return with the power and influence to help fight with the locals against the oil companies. Despite a general lack of faith in foreigners as well as the potentially corrupt local leader, which Alfonso certainly was not, the community finally decided to let the gringos leave, and that is when we finally arrived to meet them.
A slow trip back, with yet another stop for gas and a number of engine problems, landed us in Nauta as a full group at about 2 o'clock in the morning, 8 hours later than expected. Luckily a bus was there waiting for us and 2.5 hours later we arrived at our hotel in Iquitos where we promptly passed out on in our beautifully airconditioned rooms. Although we attempted to stay awake from 5am-7am in order to catch the morning continental breakfast, my roommates and I were asleep in minutes and woke up around 10:30 having not eaten in more than 24 hours. The rest of the day was spent reflecting, eating as much food as we could afford and lounging in our beds watching the Jersey Shore marathon on MTV and the tear-jerking movie Dear John, it was a very productive 8 hours.
For all that we went through on the Amazon river, for all the exhaustion, hunger and frustration I actually learned more about myself and quite a bit about local community dynamics and how much of a mess big international companies are causing. I now know that the negative effects of oil companies can reach into even the most remote regions, that my stomach cannot go more than a few hours without eating, that I can sleep in even the most uncomfortable positions and that I have a few things to teach Steve McQueen.
alpaCasey
This weekend was originally going to be our time to spend a few days in the rainforest, in Manu, viewing all types of exotic animals and fending off malaria but a series of unfortunate circumstances forced those plans to change. Due to torrential rain and flooding in the Manu area SIT was unable to take us to the rainforest and instead they scheduled a trip north to the Amazon River area where we would spend a few days in the jungle city of Iquitos and take a day trip to an Amazon river community called "2 de Mayo" or "The 2nd of May", for a reason I have yet to fully grasp. Friday morning all of the students met at the Cuzco airport to fly through Lima and end eventually in Iquitos. After a slight delay in Cuzco and a 4 hour layover in Lima we finally reached Iquitos where we were shuttled by bus to the extremely basic, but thankfully airconditioned, Hotel Europa. After a quick walk around the stifling city and a meal of chicken and french fries at a local Polleria most of the students, including myself, made our way to bed in order to be well rested for the next days activities. Saturday was spent working with a group of student activists who focused on the rights of indigenous children. We watched various documentaries they had made and finally I got to try my hand at interpretive dance/body motion, which is one thing that I would not subject any of you to watching. The experience was eye opening and made me seriously question what I was doing when I was 15, 16 or 17 years old. At the same age that I was eating boxes on and boxes of Annie's, playing video games, and attempting to succeed in football, soccer, tennis, and XC skiing, not at the same time, these kids are marching in protest, changing the lives of local youths and putting a solid dent in the negative aspects of their country's society. Despite being 4 or 5 years older than most of the kids I was working with I could not help but look up to them and envy their passion and dedication...lesson learned.
The next morning my challenge to the title of Cooler King began. Our entire group was awoke at 5:00am to be on a bus by 6 headed for the river port town of Nauta. A 2+ hour bus ride landed us in Nauta around 8:00, the time that we had planned to hop on a boat for another 2 hour ride to the river community of "2 de Mayo". For reasons that were not quite clear, we were unable to set foot on our boats until between 9 and 9:30, putting us at least an hour behind schedule. The sun was smoldering and the majority of us had gone out to the local nightclubs the night before which created extreme irritation and exhaustion among the 25 college students. Finally we loaded onto the 3 boats, divided into 3 groups, 1 of 10 students (including me) headed by our director Ursula, 1 of 5 students headed by our director Sonia and 1 of 10 headed by our last director Donaldo. We all pushed off from the docks at the same time and began our journey towards "2 de Mayo", or so we thought. This is the point where I will have to split my story between what occurred among my group and what I have heard occurred within the other groups. Donaldo's group set off at a quick pace and was slated to arrive at the community first, my group was a close second and Sonia's group was just slightly behind us. Within 1.5 hours, of what was supposed to be a 2 hour trip, our boats engine had already died 5 times, which meant an average of 15 minutes or repair time for each "death". By this point is was 11:30 and we were already very late for our arrival. Eventually my boat's captain decided to pull over to the side of the river, tie the boat to a tree and attack the engine problem at full speed. 30 minutes of sitting in the outrageously hot weather led to what was believed to be a final solution to the engine problem. We once again began our journey towards the community, but of course the engine was not fixed and it continued to break down various times over the next few hours.
By the time we reached the community it was 1:30, we were 3.5 hours late, the feast we had been planning on attending had been canceled by the community so we were greeted by a number of frustrated locals, mostly children. As we docked and made our way onto land we realized that we were the first group to arrive, but seeing as our engine had died so many times it was not outside the realm of possibility that the other boats had experienced the same problem. We made the best of the situation and set about chatting with the locals, asking questions and getting to know the culture as much as possible. An hour later Sonia's group of 5 finally arrived having experienced the same problems with their motors plus running out of gas and having to switch boats with another local group. With increased numbers we began to interact even more with the locals, especially the children and started up a game of soccer between the 4 male SIT students and all of the local young boys. Outnumbered and most certainly outplayed, we lost the game 8-2 but had a great time as the entire village served as fans, although they only cheered when the gringos made a mistake, fell in the mud or had a goal scored against us. After the game we gathered up the teams and set about diving in and out of the river, splashing around and throwing around a volleyball. It was a great 3 hours or so yet even as we exited the river around 5:30 the third and final group of students had yet to arrive. Sonia and Ursula started to get worried and set about trying to contact Donaldo or find out what had happened to the final boat. Around 6 a heavy ran began to fall and we were all forced to find cover and buckle down until the rain stopped. Since all of our program's food was on the missing boat and since we had arrived too late to enjoy the community feast, the majority of us had gone without food for nearly 12 hours and it was beginning to become noticeable. In the midst of the rain word arrived from some locals that they had seen the final group of students in a different community and that there was a diplomatic problem with their departure from the community. Despite the torrential rain, Sonia hopped on a boat with the community Apu (president) and a few other local leaders and set out for the other community to sort out the problem. This is when my self-described Great Escape instincts really cam in handy, among the nervous pacing, worried chatter and fictional stories of an Amazonian kidnapping, I laid down on a wooden floor and promptly fell asleep.
By the time I awoke an hour later Sonia had yet to return and because she had taken one of our 2 boats we were unable to leave the community due to a lack of sufficient space on a single boat. By 7:30 it was extremely dark and we as a group had made a decision to prepare to spend the night in the communities school house since we could not leave the island, had no idea if Sonia was returning and did not have a clue what was going on with the other group of students. By this time a few of the men in the community had become sufficiently intoxicated and were making the environment slightly more hostile especially towards the women of the group. The 4 male students were contracted by Ursula to keep a watch out and run interference between the drunken men and the female students, despite how capable the SIT women are. So for the next 30 minutes or so we stood around in the dark discouraging a few drunken men from bothering our group. Around 8 o'clock we saw a pair of lights in the distance and rushed to the river shore to welcome our remaining students and directors back to the community. The boat docked and as we stood waiting to cheer, clap and in some cases hug, 3 local men exited the boat followed by no one. This was not our fellow students or even our directors and the local Apu but instead it was a captain and his crew who had docked and were prepared to attempt the voyage with us back to Nauta in the pitch black. It was rumored that Sonia, Donaldo and the other students had reunited and had already made it back to Nauta where there would catch a bus to Iquitos. Our group had the option of attempting the boat ride back or sleeping for a few hours and leaving at the crack of dawn. A group meeting led us to the decision to stay until the morning and make the voyage back between 4 and 5 in the morning. Without 100% certainty that the captain was reliable and would actually be back in the morning we were shuttled towards the school house to begin our night on the hardwood floor. Before we could fully settle into our "bedroom" Ursula was called over to a 1 community telephone and all of the students were moved out of the school house and towards the telephone as well in order to distance ourselves from the substantially more intoxicated local men.
The phone call between Ursula and Sonia was short and bittersweet, it consisted of Sonia telling Ursula that although she had found the other students they had actually not left for Nauta and were still waiting at the other community and that we were to as quickly as possible load onto the two available boats and meet them. Ursula rushed us back to the schoolhouse, we rounded up our things and made our way to the boats where the male students were divided between the 2 boats and I was for some insane reason put in charge of one of the boats. By 9pm we had left "2 de Mayo" and were headed for a community which was only 10 minutes away by boat. Due to the complete lack of visibility our boats were forced to travel extremely slowly and on top of that my boat ran out of gasoline about half way through the journey and was towed the rest of the way. After an hour of boat travel we finally reached the other community were reunited with the rest of the students, loaded up our gas tank and made our way towards Nauta. Over the course of the ride the story of the missing boat was recounted to us in Spanish by Donaldo, so although I did not catch every detail, the basic story goes a little something like this...
On the way to "2 de Mayo" the third boat became lost on the river and eventually ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. While the captain, the one-man crew and Donaldo tried to figure out what to do, the students sat in the boat, snacked on the SIT food and eventually dove into the river where they got a chance to swim with the local river dolphins, something that I would have willingly been stuck on a boat in order to experience. After about 4 hours of sitting on the river a few locals came by and offered to tow them to their community where they could gas-up the boat and return to their trip. Happy as can be the group of students began to sing and cheer for their "saviors". Within the hour they had docked at the local community and were prepared to quickly acquire some gas and get on their way, and then issues arose. Apparently the entire region of communities on this section of the river had made a pact to keep tourists, and in general gringos, away from their area and out of their communities. The reason for their general hostility was that in the past the only gringos who had come to their communities had been representatives of the oil companies who had attempted to bribe their leaders, exploit their natural resources meanwhile the dumped the waste from the crude oil into their river, killing the fish and therefore seriously depleting their food source. I can not be sure whether or not the community thought that these 10 college students were undercover oil workers but in order to be cautious they refused to allow the group to leave until they proved that they were not a threat to the communities health and way of life. This could of course not be proven by anyone except the regional president Alfonso who lived in "2 de Mayo". When Alfonso finally arrived at the community with Sonia in took over an hour to explain that these were students on a trip to learn about the communities not to harm them. Sonia made a grand statement that we were there to learn so that one day in the future maybe one of us would return with the power and influence to help fight with the locals against the oil companies. Despite a general lack of faith in foreigners as well as the potentially corrupt local leader, which Alfonso certainly was not, the community finally decided to let the gringos leave, and that is when we finally arrived to meet them.
A slow trip back, with yet another stop for gas and a number of engine problems, landed us in Nauta as a full group at about 2 o'clock in the morning, 8 hours later than expected. Luckily a bus was there waiting for us and 2.5 hours later we arrived at our hotel in Iquitos where we promptly passed out on in our beautifully airconditioned rooms. Although we attempted to stay awake from 5am-7am in order to catch the morning continental breakfast, my roommates and I were asleep in minutes and woke up around 10:30 having not eaten in more than 24 hours. The rest of the day was spent reflecting, eating as much food as we could afford and lounging in our beds watching the Jersey Shore marathon on MTV and the tear-jerking movie Dear John, it was a very productive 8 hours.
For all that we went through on the Amazon river, for all the exhaustion, hunger and frustration I actually learned more about myself and quite a bit about local community dynamics and how much of a mess big international companies are causing. I now know that the negative effects of oil companies can reach into even the most remote regions, that my stomach cannot go more than a few hours without eating, that I can sleep in even the most uncomfortable positions and that I have a few things to teach Steve McQueen.
alpaCasey
Monday, March 21, 2011
La Furia Roja vs. The Furiously Red Sunburn
Each of the past two Sundays I have spent the majority of my day experiencing first-hand major aspects of Peruvian culture. Each Sunday has been quite enjoyable although very different and have helped me more firmly grasp any Peruvianess I have developed over the past 1.75 months. Last Sunday was a day of futbol (that's soccer for all you Americans), which consisted of my family taking myself along with a group of friends to the local Cienciano game. Cienciano or CC is the only 1st Division (highest division) futbol team in Cuzco which means that everyone in the city goes nuts for the CC Reds. Although I had written my Junior Thesis at Wooster about race and class relations on the Peruvian futbol pitches I had never actually attended a professional game, and wow was I unprepared. Let me preface everything I am about to explain that in comparison to what I have read about the futbol games in Lima, Peru as well as in Argentina, Chile and various countries in Europe, the Cienciano game seemed pretty tame.
When we arrived at the stadium, a 5 minute taxi drive from my house, the streets were shut off like Yawkey Way and Lansdowne St. and people lined the curbs selling an uncountable number of CC jerseys, hats, flags, and various other souvenirs, my parents will be happy to know that I didn't blow the majority of my money on any of it. As we got closer to the stadium my Dad started having quick conversations with various women who were wandering around the outer walls. At first I thought, hey my Dad is a really friendly guy, he has so many friends, but then it quickly became apparent that he was arguing with each woman trying to get a cheaper price for the tickets we were about to buy off the street, I mean why simply walk over to the ticket booth when you can haggle your way to a few soles cheaper. Of course being a pro at the Peruvian form of hustling, my Dad found one woman who was willing to sell us good seats for 15 soles a piece (about $6). With our tickets in hand we entered the stadium and sat on our cement benches ready to watch some futbol. By the time the game had actually started I had been offered countless cups of jello, a fact my friends found quite hilarious, as well as various skewers of meat, a couple chicken sandwiches, pork rinds and popcorn. The vendors sold their goods to me as if I was sitting past Pesky Pole at Fenway but everytime I looked for a Fenway Frank or a bag of salty peanuts I found myself staring at chicken hearts or papas fritas in a bag.
Right before the players took the field to take their first shot at scoring a roar came from one end of the stands, thankfully quite a ways from us, and out of a tunnel emerged dozens of young men dressed in red, singing as loud as their voices could manage. When they had finally all finished bursting from their hiding spot I caught a glimpse of the enormous banner they were carrying with them, it read "FURIA ROJA" or "Red Fury". Once again I was experiencing in person something I had only read and studied about, a real "barra", a real futbol gang. Over the course of the match between Cienciano and Alianza Atletico I came to more completely understand the role of a "barra" in Latin American futbol, their job was simply to attempt to distract and harass the other players as well as the referees as much as possible while continuing to show their undying loyalty through song, chants and screams. Despite the fact that Cienciano took an early 2-0 lead with a penalty kick and and beautiful header, La Furia Roja continued to throw water balloons at the referees, patrolling police and the opposing goalie. The vicious hurling of water balloons seemed not to surprise any of the victims, telling a sharp-minded bystander like me that this was common practice. At the half La Furia Roja took a break from tormenting the visitors and set about buying drinks and snacks to refuel for the second half. I took similar action and went with two of my friends to find some soda or chips of some sort. What we found was simply more meat sandwiches and a number of sweaty men yelling "POLLO" or "CARNE" throughout the crowded room. Eventually I gave up looking for something to curb my hunger and instead turned to quench my other urge, the necessity to pee. I quickly found the "bathroom" and made my way to the trough where everyone seemed to be relieving themselves. As I stood there, minding my own business, keeping my eyes straight ahead like Men's Bathroom custom says, a little boy stepped up beside me and began to pee, only he was a little less accurate with his aim. Before I knew it I felt wet running down my right leg, I quickly analyzed the situation and decided to cut my bathroom break a bit short in order to avoid inevitable drowning. With a soaked right leg I dipped out of the bathroom, which had no sink, and made my way into the sun to drown. Now I would like to say that as a little kid I was a sharpshooter at the urinal but honestly I think that would probably be a lie, so I apologize to any men who are reading this that may have been splashed on by me over the years.
The second half of the game had little more to offer in terms of excitement than the first, Alianza Atletico looked like a pee-wee team and Cienciano put 2 more goals into the net. Cheering like a maniac every time a ball came close to going in was a lot of fun but I would have really liked to see some type of competition, not an absolute crushing. Either way I loved the atmosphere and watching La Furia Roja in their prime was quite a sight. I walked away from the game happy, pumped up, a bit more wet than when I arrived, but smiling none the less. The next 5 days passed without any real excitement, by the time the weekend came around I was ready for another cultural adventure. The first came when I woken up at 7:00am Saturday morning to go with my family to a local recreation center to play a few hours of volleyball with some family friends. Not thinking ahead, of course, and being beyond tired, I quickly threw on my basketball jersey and a pair of shorts and rushed out the door. Within a few hours of playing volleyball with the skills of an 8 year old I began to notice that my shoulders and neck were getting a bit red. After 3 hours I was back home and as I stood in front of the mirror shirtless it was hard to tell that I had ever taken my jersey off. From the shoulder down my arms as well as the front of my neck had turned bright red while the rest of my body was as white as ever.
Even now I am in immense amounts of discomfort and have turned to Advil and massive bottles of aloe to bury my pain. The next day, Sunday, didn't really help my physical discomfort, although mentally and aesthetically it was amazing. Sunday morning I was up at 7:30 to get in the car and begin what would be a 12 hour journey around Peru to various ancient ruins. Traveling from Saqsayhuaman to Pukapukara and then to Q'enqo and finally arriving at Ollantaytambo I spent countless hours climbing over countless stones, snapping pictures of enormous and perfectly shaped boulders and being forced to race up every set of stairs we came across simply for the enjoyment of my family. Each set of ruins seemed even more amazing and impossible to construct than the last and by the end I was thoroughly tired both physically from racing up and down stone steps as well as attempting to take in all of the beautiful sights that I came across. My sunburned ached the entire ride home but it didn't really matter because I was in and out of sleep the entire time and after about 45 minutes was met with the biggest portion of chicken, french fries, fried bananas, rice and fried cheese that I had ever witnessed...Supremo Pollo. A full stomach later we were back in the car and headed for home. Before we got back to Cuzco though we had to pass through dozens of pueblo "road blocks", I use quotations because these road blocks consist of various basketball sized boulders and tree trunks thrown into the middle of the road. One of the many things I've learned in this country is that "road blocks" like this are very common in small towns throughout the country. They are generally used as a type of protest, attempting to halt the trucks of foreign companies from getting to their mines or factories where they can exploit the towns natural resources and labor, it does not always work but it doesn't seem to stop towns from trying.
Of course these "road blocks" were not aimed at us, despite the gringo sitting in the front seat, so it was easy enough to find help moving the occasional boulder that could not be driven around. Also handy was the fact that Peru has no traffic laws or lane lines that are followed so most of the logs and rocks were simply avoided by swinging into the other lane or up onto the sidewalk, what a ride. Back at home I was greeted by a warm cup of tea, a bottle of aloe and a soft bed, it was almost too easy to fall asleep. By the next morning, although still uncomfortable and covered in raw skin, I could not help but finally fully realize how lucky I was to be in this country, where in 1 day I could see a large chunk of a 600 year old civilization, while still managing an enormous lunch/dinner. What a life I live!
alpaCasey
When we arrived at the stadium, a 5 minute taxi drive from my house, the streets were shut off like Yawkey Way and Lansdowne St. and people lined the curbs selling an uncountable number of CC jerseys, hats, flags, and various other souvenirs, my parents will be happy to know that I didn't blow the majority of my money on any of it. As we got closer to the stadium my Dad started having quick conversations with various women who were wandering around the outer walls. At first I thought, hey my Dad is a really friendly guy, he has so many friends, but then it quickly became apparent that he was arguing with each woman trying to get a cheaper price for the tickets we were about to buy off the street, I mean why simply walk over to the ticket booth when you can haggle your way to a few soles cheaper. Of course being a pro at the Peruvian form of hustling, my Dad found one woman who was willing to sell us good seats for 15 soles a piece (about $6). With our tickets in hand we entered the stadium and sat on our cement benches ready to watch some futbol. By the time the game had actually started I had been offered countless cups of jello, a fact my friends found quite hilarious, as well as various skewers of meat, a couple chicken sandwiches, pork rinds and popcorn. The vendors sold their goods to me as if I was sitting past Pesky Pole at Fenway but everytime I looked for a Fenway Frank or a bag of salty peanuts I found myself staring at chicken hearts or papas fritas in a bag.
Right before the players took the field to take their first shot at scoring a roar came from one end of the stands, thankfully quite a ways from us, and out of a tunnel emerged dozens of young men dressed in red, singing as loud as their voices could manage. When they had finally all finished bursting from their hiding spot I caught a glimpse of the enormous banner they were carrying with them, it read "FURIA ROJA" or "Red Fury". Once again I was experiencing in person something I had only read and studied about, a real "barra", a real futbol gang. Over the course of the match between Cienciano and Alianza Atletico I came to more completely understand the role of a "barra" in Latin American futbol, their job was simply to attempt to distract and harass the other players as well as the referees as much as possible while continuing to show their undying loyalty through song, chants and screams. Despite the fact that Cienciano took an early 2-0 lead with a penalty kick and and beautiful header, La Furia Roja continued to throw water balloons at the referees, patrolling police and the opposing goalie. The vicious hurling of water balloons seemed not to surprise any of the victims, telling a sharp-minded bystander like me that this was common practice. At the half La Furia Roja took a break from tormenting the visitors and set about buying drinks and snacks to refuel for the second half. I took similar action and went with two of my friends to find some soda or chips of some sort. What we found was simply more meat sandwiches and a number of sweaty men yelling "POLLO" or "CARNE" throughout the crowded room. Eventually I gave up looking for something to curb my hunger and instead turned to quench my other urge, the necessity to pee. I quickly found the "bathroom" and made my way to the trough where everyone seemed to be relieving themselves. As I stood there, minding my own business, keeping my eyes straight ahead like Men's Bathroom custom says, a little boy stepped up beside me and began to pee, only he was a little less accurate with his aim. Before I knew it I felt wet running down my right leg, I quickly analyzed the situation and decided to cut my bathroom break a bit short in order to avoid inevitable drowning. With a soaked right leg I dipped out of the bathroom, which had no sink, and made my way into the sun to drown. Now I would like to say that as a little kid I was a sharpshooter at the urinal but honestly I think that would probably be a lie, so I apologize to any men who are reading this that may have been splashed on by me over the years.
The second half of the game had little more to offer in terms of excitement than the first, Alianza Atletico looked like a pee-wee team and Cienciano put 2 more goals into the net. Cheering like a maniac every time a ball came close to going in was a lot of fun but I would have really liked to see some type of competition, not an absolute crushing. Either way I loved the atmosphere and watching La Furia Roja in their prime was quite a sight. I walked away from the game happy, pumped up, a bit more wet than when I arrived, but smiling none the less. The next 5 days passed without any real excitement, by the time the weekend came around I was ready for another cultural adventure. The first came when I woken up at 7:00am Saturday morning to go with my family to a local recreation center to play a few hours of volleyball with some family friends. Not thinking ahead, of course, and being beyond tired, I quickly threw on my basketball jersey and a pair of shorts and rushed out the door. Within a few hours of playing volleyball with the skills of an 8 year old I began to notice that my shoulders and neck were getting a bit red. After 3 hours I was back home and as I stood in front of the mirror shirtless it was hard to tell that I had ever taken my jersey off. From the shoulder down my arms as well as the front of my neck had turned bright red while the rest of my body was as white as ever.
Even now I am in immense amounts of discomfort and have turned to Advil and massive bottles of aloe to bury my pain. The next day, Sunday, didn't really help my physical discomfort, although mentally and aesthetically it was amazing. Sunday morning I was up at 7:30 to get in the car and begin what would be a 12 hour journey around Peru to various ancient ruins. Traveling from Saqsayhuaman to Pukapukara and then to Q'enqo and finally arriving at Ollantaytambo I spent countless hours climbing over countless stones, snapping pictures of enormous and perfectly shaped boulders and being forced to race up every set of stairs we came across simply for the enjoyment of my family. Each set of ruins seemed even more amazing and impossible to construct than the last and by the end I was thoroughly tired both physically from racing up and down stone steps as well as attempting to take in all of the beautiful sights that I came across. My sunburned ached the entire ride home but it didn't really matter because I was in and out of sleep the entire time and after about 45 minutes was met with the biggest portion of chicken, french fries, fried bananas, rice and fried cheese that I had ever witnessed...Supremo Pollo. A full stomach later we were back in the car and headed for home. Before we got back to Cuzco though we had to pass through dozens of pueblo "road blocks", I use quotations because these road blocks consist of various basketball sized boulders and tree trunks thrown into the middle of the road. One of the many things I've learned in this country is that "road blocks" like this are very common in small towns throughout the country. They are generally used as a type of protest, attempting to halt the trucks of foreign companies from getting to their mines or factories where they can exploit the towns natural resources and labor, it does not always work but it doesn't seem to stop towns from trying.
Of course these "road blocks" were not aimed at us, despite the gringo sitting in the front seat, so it was easy enough to find help moving the occasional boulder that could not be driven around. Also handy was the fact that Peru has no traffic laws or lane lines that are followed so most of the logs and rocks were simply avoided by swinging into the other lane or up onto the sidewalk, what a ride. Back at home I was greeted by a warm cup of tea, a bottle of aloe and a soft bed, it was almost too easy to fall asleep. By the next morning, although still uncomfortable and covered in raw skin, I could not help but finally fully realize how lucky I was to be in this country, where in 1 day I could see a large chunk of a 600 year old civilization, while still managing an enormous lunch/dinner. What a life I live!
alpaCasey
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Just Like My Childhood Except with More Rocks
The next day, after another set of morning lectures, I left the hotel with my friend Lucia to meet Tom Reily, a coworker of my Dad and the head of an ARD project in Lima. Having lived in Lima for many years and being a self-proclaimed "food lover", Tom took Lucia and I out to lunch at a classy and delicious seafood restaurant in Miraflores where he had us sample various local dishes including as ceviche (called ceviche Gandhi at this particular restaurant), swordfish and scallops. Coupled with a bottle of wine, some pisco sours and two delicious deserts the meal could most accurately be described as heavenly. Lucia, a 5ft tall, 100 pound college girl, out ate both Tom and I and spent the entire walk back to the hotel saying things like "Oh My God!" and "Yuuuuummmmm" and "That was the best meal I have ever even dreamed of eating", so I would venture to say that it was a successful lunch. Getting away from the group for some good conversation and a great meal could not have come at a more perfect time so I would like to extend my thanks to Tom for putting up with two ravenous college students for an afternoon and introducing me to the best ceviche I think I will ever have.
The next 2 days were spent touring the city and bar/club hopping up and down "Pizza St." which, on one fateful night, took us until 6:30am. Although exciting to walk outside a club only to be faced with sunlight and to eat a continental breakfast before going to bed, I am not quite sure that I will choose that again in the near future. Within 5 hours of going to sleep my roommates and I were woken up by a few girls who busted in and demanded we get out of bed so that we could go to the beach with them. Even though I had only rested for a few hours and knew that I was going to spend the entire day with sagging eyelids, I could not pass up another March beach opportunity. Its a good thing that I chose to hop out of bed and get moving because that day at the beach was one of the best days I have had while in Peru. Myself along with 7 other friends made the trek from our hotel to a nicer section of beach where we sprawled out and took a quick nap before rising to play frisbee. Not only did the fact that we were throwing a circular piece of plastic around attract stares but also the fact that most of the guys were wearing sleeveless shirts exposing our ultra-white skin created ample opportunity for the locals to yell "Gringo" and giggle as they walked by, such is life.
Towards the end of the afternoon it was finally time to venture into the water, take our chances and attempt to exit the ocean wearing the same color shorts the we entered it in. Now some of you didn't know me when I was younger, at the height of my obnoxious energy phase (which I believe I am still going through) but I have always loved playing in the water. Whether Lake Champlain or the Gulf of Mexico I could literally spend hours by myself just splashing around and diving in and out of the water. Since I left for college in Ohio, a land void of natural water sources to play in, my opportunities to indulge in my childhood fun have been few and far between so when I set my foot in that water in Miraflores and realized that it was warm and clean I honestly became a bit overwhelmed. For the first time in a long time I had the opportunity to splash around again and man did I splash! While my friends sat on the shore and mostly got their feet wet I had my own personal water party. The waves coming into shore were massively powerful and that mixed with the rock only ocean surface versus sand made the water party at times a bit painful but even that couldn't deter my joy. Finally after being bashed around by the waves for a while my friends dragged me out of the water, kicking and screaming, and we marched up to the edge of the cliffs overlooking the ocean to watch the sunset, a perfect end to a perfect child-like day.
Before we left Lima to return to Cuzco we spent one afternoon learning traditional Peruvian dances and practicing all types of acrobatic feats, most of which required lifting the other male students in strange positions and straining every muscle from my neck to my butt. At the end of the circus section of our lesson we put on some colorful, traditional ski-masks and spent a few hours dancing around in circles with a whip in hand. When we finally left the studio every student was sweating profusely, feeling outrageously tired but happy that they finally knew how to make a star out of whips and had the skills to acrobatically rival the Big Apple Circus. We were rewarded for our hard work with a dinner of Chinese food, FINALLY, and the freedom to spend our last night in Lima however we saw fit. By this point I was down to only 15 soles for the trip, not quite enough to fully enjoy a night out, so, thinking like the logical person that I am, I decided to visit one of the many casinos in our area. Using 10 of 15 soles to buy one hand of cards at the blackjack table I prepared myself double my money, maybe even triple it and walk out of the casino with enough soles to enjoy the rest of the night. Well, as is the case with most hands of blackjack, not including Rain Man and Alan from The Hangover, I lost all 10 soles immediately and left the casino with just enough money to buy a bottle of water the next day at the airport, you win some you lose some.
Even with the losing hand of blackjack and a number of bruises thanks to the combination of waves and rocks, I left Lima happy, relaxed and ready to hit the ground running in Cuzco. I have now been back for 3 days and it almost seems as if I never left, I didn't miss a beat getting back together with my host family and with classes staring up fully on Monday it will not be difficult at all to get back into the swing of things. In a few more months I'll be back in the U.S. of A and things like getting bashed around by waves and dancing in colorful masks will be exactly the kind of things I'll be missing from Peru, the little things, the important ones.
alpaCasey
Monday, March 7, 2011
The MammaLlamaCuyMummy
Cuzco is great, I love the city, I love my family and I especially the cheap taxis and the cheap snacks (and beer). Every once in a while though it goods to get out of the place that you love, like I left Burlington for Wooster and like I left Wooster for Peru. In my current period of life though I needed to leave Cuzco for a bit, to truly appreciate it and to find different cheap beer. Despite this necessity I find myself, at the tail end of my 2 week excursion, really missing Cuzco, the familiarity, and my mom who never lets me go without a full stomach. In two days I will be back in Cuzco and even without the beach and sun of Lima or the rural comfort of Sibayo, I'll be happy. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself though, Sibayo and Lima are not very far in the past and I am neglecting to describe my experiences in either.
Sibayo is a small, very small, rural town in the mountains of the Colca Canyon region. High altitudes, no housing heat and the wind funneling into the mountain-surrounded town means that I spent the majority of my nights in 6 layers, a sleeping bag and with my hands stuck up in my warm armpits...a bit sweaty gross but oh so necessary. I lived mainly with a 44 y/o woman, her sons and husband would be by occasionally but they worked and had school so I got to fill the "mother son time". In the village of Sibayo though "mother son time" meant backbreaking manual labor so while the 2 other female SIT students in my village got to cook a bit and mostly relax, my 5'11" frame was taken advantage of by my host mother. Each morning I would rise, eat fried trucha (trout) for breakfast, grab a little Soviet flag style sickle and hack at grass for a few hours in order to feed the Cuy's in the "Casa de Cuy"...and I did not even get to munch on the plump little buggers. Days of grass cutting, trout fishing, herb gardening and walking up and down cobble streets put me to bed each night by 8 pm, leading to my best 5 days of sleep in quite a while, the one positive coming out of not having hardware stores.
After 2 days of manual back breaking the SIT group from the high altitude towns, 8 of us in total, converged to hike to La Estancia, the alpaca herding community much higher in the mountains, about an hour away by foot. Hiking in altitude is not an enjoyable experience in the least but the beautiful scenery, the crossing of a rickety wooden bridge and the use of a slingshot/whip to throw rocks into the canyon made it pretty much all worth it. By the time we got to La Estancia it had begun to rain, go figure, and we were forced to observe the enormous alpaca population only briefly before returning to our beds or rock floor as a more accurate person would call it. Before leaving the alpaca farm, on impulse, the 3 men in the group plus our male director decided to hike/rock climb a nearby peak to get a better view of the surrounding area. After a few slips, a couple scares and a number of deep breathes we made it to the top and got a chance to experience some of the most amazing sights i have seen
in my long life. In order to appreciate it even more we gave a coca leaf offering to Apu, the mountain spirits, and descended the mountain hoping that our offering would stop a rock slide or a lightning strike or a cactus prick. The rest of the night was spent eating bread, drinking coffee and, by the light of headlamps, playing card games like Spit and the mid-west favorite Euchre. The next morning it was time to chop wood for breakfast, which the two countries boy could do, not so much our Philadelphia native friend, and then return to the alpaca farm to bless and shave the long-necked mammals. After a bottle of wine was splashed on the herd in a blessing to Apu and Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) we got to take a stab, almost literally, at shaving an alpaca. Not to brag but I think I found my hidden talent, after all those years of trying different sports really all I had to do was try alpaca shaving. When the alpaca was trimmed and looking fresh we began to hoof it back to our villages, an enjoyable down-hill hike with the prospect of a softer bed at the end of the trail.
On my last day in Sibyo I met up with the two other SITers in Sibayo and with the guidance of one of their host father and my host brother we marched an hour into the canyon to a site where we were met face to face with a young mummy, curled up and marked off in the side of a mountain. The mummy's name was Juanito and he was a young Incan child who had been sacrificed to the gods. Meeting in person the shocking realization that this was a common practice, that communities believed so utterly in their gods and their god's power to change their lives that they would kill one of their own, a child no less, was something that I will be working over in my head for a while to come. It was a nice trip though, hot, sweaty and required a lot of stair climbing but rewarding none the less. On the way back from our visit to Juanito we were met in the road by a younger cow wandering quite a bit behind his owner. Quickly remembering my sisters story in Africa about being headbutted by a cow into mud and taking into account the fact that to my back was a cliff into a raging river, I managed to plant my feet and stick my arms out just in time to catch the cows head as it bucked towards my chest... phew, thanks Lindsey.
The next morning it was a plate of trout, lots of goodbyes and an 1.5 hour ride back to our bus in Chivay. Leaving Sibayo had its ups and downs, I was heading towards Arequipa and Lima, two warmer cities where we were to be set up in hotels with heat, comfy beds and the opportunity to avoid a sickle and tall grass. On the other side though I loved the freeing feel of a town cut off from the rest of the world and, although I will deny it until I die from here on, I really liked eating 6 fried trout per day.
Last night I had a dream that I had randomly run into my sister on the streets of Sibayo during my time there. It was not expected and completely perfect, we had a classic Casey and Lindsey verbal interaction and she gave me priceless advice about how to go about making it through the rest of my time living in a foreign country. When I woke up I still had the feeling that I had seen my sister, that she had really been there and that it was all just another part of my Peruvian Adventure. By the time I realized that it had just been a dream it didn't really matter because I had already internalized all her advice and come to the realization that no matter what, whether I spend my nights freezing cold, stuff myself with a food I don't quite enjoy, crush my spinal chord under a bag of freshly cut grass or nearly meet a freakishly strong animal's head with my chest, I am progressing through life in a way few people get a chance to and enjoying myself every step of the way so why dwell on those little inconveniences that will probably set me up in the long run for something better, a good story, a toughened stomach or a chance to make a first date laugh. So, once again, I say thank you Lindsey!
alpaCasey
Sibayo is a small, very small, rural town in the mountains of the Colca Canyon region. High altitudes, no housing heat and the wind funneling into the mountain-surrounded town means that I spent the majority of my nights in 6 layers, a sleeping bag and with my hands stuck up in my warm armpits...a bit sweaty gross but oh so necessary. I lived mainly with a 44 y/o woman, her sons and husband would be by occasionally but they worked and had school so I got to fill the "mother son time". In the village of Sibayo though "mother son time" meant backbreaking manual labor so while the 2 other female SIT students in my village got to cook a bit and mostly relax, my 5'11" frame was taken advantage of by my host mother. Each morning I would rise, eat fried trucha (trout) for breakfast, grab a little Soviet flag style sickle and hack at grass for a few hours in order to feed the Cuy's in the "Casa de Cuy"...and I did not even get to munch on the plump little buggers. Days of grass cutting, trout fishing, herb gardening and walking up and down cobble streets put me to bed each night by 8 pm, leading to my best 5 days of sleep in quite a while, the one positive coming out of not having hardware stores.
After 2 days of manual back breaking the SIT group from the high altitude towns, 8 of us in total, converged to hike to La Estancia, the alpaca herding community much higher in the mountains, about an hour away by foot. Hiking in altitude is not an enjoyable experience in the least but the beautiful scenery, the crossing of a rickety wooden bridge and the use of a slingshot/whip to throw rocks into the canyon made it pretty much all worth it. By the time we got to La Estancia it had begun to rain, go figure, and we were forced to observe the enormous alpaca population only briefly before returning to our beds or rock floor as a more accurate person would call it. Before leaving the alpaca farm, on impulse, the 3 men in the group plus our male director decided to hike/rock climb a nearby peak to get a better view of the surrounding area. After a few slips, a couple scares and a number of deep breathes we made it to the top and got a chance to experience some of the most amazing sights i have seen
in my long life. In order to appreciate it even more we gave a coca leaf offering to Apu, the mountain spirits, and descended the mountain hoping that our offering would stop a rock slide or a lightning strike or a cactus prick. The rest of the night was spent eating bread, drinking coffee and, by the light of headlamps, playing card games like Spit and the mid-west favorite Euchre. The next morning it was time to chop wood for breakfast, which the two countries boy could do, not so much our Philadelphia native friend, and then return to the alpaca farm to bless and shave the long-necked mammals. After a bottle of wine was splashed on the herd in a blessing to Apu and Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) we got to take a stab, almost literally, at shaving an alpaca. Not to brag but I think I found my hidden talent, after all those years of trying different sports really all I had to do was try alpaca shaving. When the alpaca was trimmed and looking fresh we began to hoof it back to our villages, an enjoyable down-hill hike with the prospect of a softer bed at the end of the trail.
On my last day in Sibyo I met up with the two other SITers in Sibayo and with the guidance of one of their host father and my host brother we marched an hour into the canyon to a site where we were met face to face with a young mummy, curled up and marked off in the side of a mountain. The mummy's name was Juanito and he was a young Incan child who had been sacrificed to the gods. Meeting in person the shocking realization that this was a common practice, that communities believed so utterly in their gods and their god's power to change their lives that they would kill one of their own, a child no less, was something that I will be working over in my head for a while to come. It was a nice trip though, hot, sweaty and required a lot of stair climbing but rewarding none the less. On the way back from our visit to Juanito we were met in the road by a younger cow wandering quite a bit behind his owner. Quickly remembering my sisters story in Africa about being headbutted by a cow into mud and taking into account the fact that to my back was a cliff into a raging river, I managed to plant my feet and stick my arms out just in time to catch the cows head as it bucked towards my chest... phew, thanks Lindsey.
The next morning it was a plate of trout, lots of goodbyes and an 1.5 hour ride back to our bus in Chivay. Leaving Sibayo had its ups and downs, I was heading towards Arequipa and Lima, two warmer cities where we were to be set up in hotels with heat, comfy beds and the opportunity to avoid a sickle and tall grass. On the other side though I loved the freeing feel of a town cut off from the rest of the world and, although I will deny it until I die from here on, I really liked eating 6 fried trout per day.
Last night I had a dream that I had randomly run into my sister on the streets of Sibayo during my time there. It was not expected and completely perfect, we had a classic Casey and Lindsey verbal interaction and she gave me priceless advice about how to go about making it through the rest of my time living in a foreign country. When I woke up I still had the feeling that I had seen my sister, that she had really been there and that it was all just another part of my Peruvian Adventure. By the time I realized that it had just been a dream it didn't really matter because I had already internalized all her advice and come to the realization that no matter what, whether I spend my nights freezing cold, stuff myself with a food I don't quite enjoy, crush my spinal chord under a bag of freshly cut grass or nearly meet a freakishly strong animal's head with my chest, I am progressing through life in a way few people get a chance to and enjoying myself every step of the way so why dwell on those little inconveniences that will probably set me up in the long run for something better, a good story, a toughened stomach or a chance to make a first date laugh. So, once again, I say thank you Lindsey!
alpaCasey
Friday, March 4, 2011
Natalia and the Snow Storm
That being said, I spent a large chunk of the next three hour boat ride dreading the possibility of returning my lettuce lunch to Lake Titicaca. The three hours on a small motor boat took us from Puno to the man-made reed islands and then onto Taquille, an indigenous island in the middle of Lake Titicaca where we would be staying the night with an indigenous family. The reed islands honestly were a little too much of a tourist trap. It quickly became clear that these people were playing up their culture to make money off of us and that some of the inhabitants had houses on the mainland and simply "worked" on the man-made islands during the day. The construction of the islands was fascinating but when 7 different brightly dressed women tried to sell me exactly the same generic flute I quickly became uninterested. The rest of the way to Taquille was tranquil, soothing and put me right to sleep. When we docked on the mainland of the island we were met by a handful of indigenous men, fathers all looking to retrieve their student for the night. All of our names were rattled off and one by one students began to depart for their homestays up a cliff side, lead by strong, hardened men. When my name was called I quickly scanned the remaining fathers expecting one to step out and lead me up into the hills but no one did. Then, from behind one of then tough old men stepped a tiny little girl who approached me, told me I was to go with her and began to walk off. This girls name was Natalia and she was a 14 y/o inhabitant of the island, she had been sent to come get me and I could not help but feel a bit cheated, I quickly learned otherwise. Natalia was great, she was funny, friendly and extremely sharp for being only 14, she toured me around the island all day, instructing me on what I could do, constantly repeating the phrase "puedas caminar", "you can walk around", when I would simply be standing in one place waiting for instructions. Contrary to my initial thought of her being the wife of some sketchy older man, she lived with her mother and grandma in a gorgeous lake side house which meant I spent a lot of time looking out onto the lake as well as being fed a lot and babied by these older indigenous women...it was fantastic. At dinner that night I returned from the plaza without Natalia because, due to the language difficulties, I had interpreted her words as I should return home when I was done taking pictures versus her actual comment that I should wait around for her to go sell some corn. Once back at the house I sat down to eat, began to eat my first bowl of soup and was just about finished when Natalia arrived back and exclaimed with a smile "You escaped the Plaza!" I smiled said "Si, lo siento" and then asked her what that sound was coming from a cardboard box on the floor which had been rattling all if dinner. She responded by saying that it was their two hens who they locked in a box for the night, jokingly I stated that it was scaring me and in response to the gringo being scared of some hens she nearly spit her soup back into her bowl with laughter. I've almost never been so willing to be made fun of, I simply could not be mad at this girl for laughing at me, impossible.
The next morning after a night of Coca Leaf fortune telling and fire dancing with other indigenous families, we all left Taquille and headed back towards Puno, I of course slept the whole way. Once back in Puno all the students hit the computer, grabbed some snacks and geared up for a 6.5 hour drive to Chivay, the city which would act as a gateway to our next rural homestays in Colca Canyon. Within 3 hours of the trip the bus slowed down and pulled to a stop. I, not paying any attention to where we were assumed we were making another bathroom stop and since the last one had been so fun, all the guys took the opportunity to pee off of an enormous cliff, I didn't mind stopping again. When I lifted my head though we were stopped in a line of traffic, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the white stuff which I just could not comprehend. Snow was all over the ground, we were so high in the mountains that we had hit a snow and hail storm and since most Peruvian drivers were not used to this type of weather, silly people, we were jammed up in a traffic jam. For the next 3 hours we sat in the snow, threw snowballs, and ran up and down the snowy roads. It was refreshing, fun and cold, exactly the kind of stuff I was missing from home/Wooster. By the time the bus got moving again I was soaked from head to toe, smiling and curled up bare foot on my bus seat watching The Departed. Peru could not have been more like the U.S. at that point in time...perfection!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Misa Challenge
I only remember going to mass only once before in my life and it was quite the event. I want to say that I was around 10 years old and due to my parents absence for the day I was left under the care of my neighbors and close friends, the Howards. I ate with them, spent time with them and ended up at the local church with them. Although not at all religious I truly was fascinated by the atmosphere and the overwhelming faith which resonated through the space. Of course as all things go in my life I managed to cause quite a scene when, during silent prayer, I knocked the Holy Bible off of the pew and onto the floor where, like the faith, if not with more force, the sound resonated throughout the chamber. Now, since then I have not attended a Church service until this very morning. I'm going to have to back up a bit though, tell you the stories leading up to my graceful return to religious services.
This week was filled to the brim with almost solely Quechua language class. Although we had afternoon lectures, the main focus for each and every SIT student was Quechua since it was our final week and we had our final exam scheduled for Thursday. Monday through Wednesday, after each 3 hour session of Quechua and after our 3 hour siesta we returned to the SIT classroom for cultural lectures ranging from Andean religions to gastronomy to musicology. Each lecture had its own high and low points but in general they were enjoyable, although quite difficult to understand. By the time Wednesday night came around all of the students had crammed themselves into a local cafe where we spent 3+ hours studying for what we thought to be a verbal and written exam able to kick our butts up and down the Andes Mountains. The next morning we all boarded a bus at 7:30 and began a 1.5 hour drive to the indigenous town of Qorca. Driving up and over the hills surrounding Cuzco, past the cities trash dump and across dangerously narrow ledges we landed in Qorca and was immediately set upon by the stray dogs of the rural setting. Making our way past the dogs, horses and cows we divided into three smaller groups and began our "exam". 3 hours of bread-eating, cola-drinking, coffee-hounding studying was not at all necessary for the exam that we faced. Each small group was presented to a family, and, as a group, all we were required to do was read a list of questions from a sheet of paper and write down the answers that were given to us by the Andean families. Even in Quechua, with the collective powers of 8 college students, it was almost too easy to answer all the questions correctly.
More important than the exam was the experience of spending an entire day in a ultra-rural Andean village. From the tours of the guinea pig pens to the Quechua guided explanation of all of the functions of a kitchen, it was beyond eye opening to trek through fields of cow poop in order to reach a living space or to cross flowing rivers to get to a platter of food. After the "exam" was finished, all of us convened at a house deep in the valley, a 15-20 minute downward hike. Upon reaching the house we saw more guinea pigs, plump and prime for a feast, and on a whim decided to take a dip in the nearby river. A handful of gringos plunging into icy water did not seem to phase the locals at all and by the time we had dried off a soccer game had been all set up and we once again passed the time by kicking a round ball between two rocks, a very basic yet exceedingly enjoyable activity. A hike down into the valley of course meant an eventual hike up out of the valley and through sweat, gasping breaths and a few tears I made it back to my haven, the bus parked on flat ground.
The return to Cuzco meant one more day of classes before the weekend and what the boys of SIT had dubbed the Misa Challenge. Having been asked to attend a Quechua mass at 6am on Sunday morning we had made the intelligent, college level decision to attempt to stay awake and dance at the discotecas from 10pm Saturday night until 5:30 the next morning when we would attend mass or "misa". With the recommendation by my host parents that I drink Coca-Cola as well as Burn energy drinks in order to complete the challenge I was rip-roaring and ready to take the misa by storm. Friday night was a night of dancing and meeting other foreigners which led perfectly into a Saturday of laundry, more cafe bread and the watching of Fight Club, a cultural classic. Energized, roudy and decked out in clean clothes I was ready to take the Misa Challenge by the figurative horns. To start the night all the boys convened to watch Due Date and laugh our way to the discotecas and what a night it was. One movie, an enormous pizza called the "Terminator", and 2 liters of Coca-Cola later we were all set to.......go to bed.
The Misa Challenge crashed and burned in an epic fashion equaling a Red Sox loss or the last month of a Mets season. Each of the SIT boys were asleep by 10:30 or 11, to the surprise of my host brother, and upon arriving to misa the next morning were subjected to comments which were as complex as "OMG, even WE stayed up longer than you" and as simple as "hahahahahaha". Quechua misa within itself was an experience, to say the least. I understood 5 words of the entire hour and for the most part spent my time bundled up in the drafty 40 degree church marveling at the ancient Spanish architecture of the Catedral de San Sebastian. Statues of Jesus Crista adorned the walls, sharing space with other Spanish Catholic saints and many, many, many candles. The priest was dynamic, inspired and had quite a set of lungs if I do say so myself. At the end of the misa as we all shuffled out surrounded by well over 100 locals I could not help but think about my earliest church memory and how even without the dropping of the bible and even with the 8-foot thick language barrier I still felt the same awe being in a space so packed with faith and belief. My host parents could not believe that Quechua misa had been only my second time at a church service, another aspect of Peru which I have come to recognize, a lack of religion, more accurately a lack of Catholic faith, is rare and met with questioning looks and at times even a light chuckle.
Tomorrow I depart for a 16 day excursion to Lake Titicaca in Puno, Colca Canyon near Arequipa and Lima, Peru. I'll be staying with an indigenous host family in both Puno and in Colca Canyon, "chilling out maxin' relaxing all cool" with a number of alpacas and trying to balance my body between being ice cold and sunburned. Look out for some quippy posts during the trip and a recap upon my return. Unquestioning faith and a relaxed sense of time, these are what I have found to be the basis of Peruvian society and although I might go about approaching these two aspects quite differently I now can say that I have begun to grasp and understand a very alternative way of life to that of my own.
alpaCasey
This week was filled to the brim with almost solely Quechua language class. Although we had afternoon lectures, the main focus for each and every SIT student was Quechua since it was our final week and we had our final exam scheduled for Thursday. Monday through Wednesday, after each 3 hour session of Quechua and after our 3 hour siesta we returned to the SIT classroom for cultural lectures ranging from Andean religions to gastronomy to musicology. Each lecture had its own high and low points but in general they were enjoyable, although quite difficult to understand. By the time Wednesday night came around all of the students had crammed themselves into a local cafe where we spent 3+ hours studying for what we thought to be a verbal and written exam able to kick our butts up and down the Andes Mountains. The next morning we all boarded a bus at 7:30 and began a 1.5 hour drive to the indigenous town of Qorca. Driving up and over the hills surrounding Cuzco, past the cities trash dump and across dangerously narrow ledges we landed in Qorca and was immediately set upon by the stray dogs of the rural setting. Making our way past the dogs, horses and cows we divided into three smaller groups and began our "exam". 3 hours of bread-eating, cola-drinking, coffee-hounding studying was not at all necessary for the exam that we faced. Each small group was presented to a family, and, as a group, all we were required to do was read a list of questions from a sheet of paper and write down the answers that were given to us by the Andean families. Even in Quechua, with the collective powers of 8 college students, it was almost too easy to answer all the questions correctly.
More important than the exam was the experience of spending an entire day in a ultra-rural Andean village. From the tours of the guinea pig pens to the Quechua guided explanation of all of the functions of a kitchen, it was beyond eye opening to trek through fields of cow poop in order to reach a living space or to cross flowing rivers to get to a platter of food. After the "exam" was finished, all of us convened at a house deep in the valley, a 15-20 minute downward hike. Upon reaching the house we saw more guinea pigs, plump and prime for a feast, and on a whim decided to take a dip in the nearby river. A handful of gringos plunging into icy water did not seem to phase the locals at all and by the time we had dried off a soccer game had been all set up and we once again passed the time by kicking a round ball between two rocks, a very basic yet exceedingly enjoyable activity. A hike down into the valley of course meant an eventual hike up out of the valley and through sweat, gasping breaths and a few tears I made it back to my haven, the bus parked on flat ground.
The return to Cuzco meant one more day of classes before the weekend and what the boys of SIT had dubbed the Misa Challenge. Having been asked to attend a Quechua mass at 6am on Sunday morning we had made the intelligent, college level decision to attempt to stay awake and dance at the discotecas from 10pm Saturday night until 5:30 the next morning when we would attend mass or "misa". With the recommendation by my host parents that I drink Coca-Cola as well as Burn energy drinks in order to complete the challenge I was rip-roaring and ready to take the misa by storm. Friday night was a night of dancing and meeting other foreigners which led perfectly into a Saturday of laundry, more cafe bread and the watching of Fight Club, a cultural classic. Energized, roudy and decked out in clean clothes I was ready to take the Misa Challenge by the figurative horns. To start the night all the boys convened to watch Due Date and laugh our way to the discotecas and what a night it was. One movie, an enormous pizza called the "Terminator", and 2 liters of Coca-Cola later we were all set to.......go to bed.
The Misa Challenge crashed and burned in an epic fashion equaling a Red Sox loss or the last month of a Mets season. Each of the SIT boys were asleep by 10:30 or 11, to the surprise of my host brother, and upon arriving to misa the next morning were subjected to comments which were as complex as "OMG, even WE stayed up longer than you" and as simple as "hahahahahaha". Quechua misa within itself was an experience, to say the least. I understood 5 words of the entire hour and for the most part spent my time bundled up in the drafty 40 degree church marveling at the ancient Spanish architecture of the Catedral de San Sebastian. Statues of Jesus Crista adorned the walls, sharing space with other Spanish Catholic saints and many, many, many candles. The priest was dynamic, inspired and had quite a set of lungs if I do say so myself. At the end of the misa as we all shuffled out surrounded by well over 100 locals I could not help but think about my earliest church memory and how even without the dropping of the bible and even with the 8-foot thick language barrier I still felt the same awe being in a space so packed with faith and belief. My host parents could not believe that Quechua misa had been only my second time at a church service, another aspect of Peru which I have come to recognize, a lack of religion, more accurately a lack of Catholic faith, is rare and met with questioning looks and at times even a light chuckle.
Tomorrow I depart for a 16 day excursion to Lake Titicaca in Puno, Colca Canyon near Arequipa and Lima, Peru. I'll be staying with an indigenous host family in both Puno and in Colca Canyon, "chilling out maxin' relaxing all cool" with a number of alpacas and trying to balance my body between being ice cold and sunburned. Look out for some quippy posts during the trip and a recap upon my return. Unquestioning faith and a relaxed sense of time, these are what I have found to be the basis of Peruvian society and although I might go about approaching these two aspects quite differently I now can say that I have begun to grasp and understand a very alternative way of life to that of my own.
alpaCasey
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Sick Pan-Floutist
Today officially ended my first full week of classes in my new home of Cuzco, Peru. Its been a long, difficult, humorous and generally engaging week with ups and downs and quite a few visits to various bathrooms. Yup, you heard right, the bathroom. Not only did today mark the completion of 5 days of classes but it also marked the completion of my first week of complete and total environmental sickness. By the end of the first day of class I was beginning to feel a bit funny, a lack of appetite, a constant rumbling in my stomach and the occasional rush to the bathroom. By day 2 my body decided to pick it up a notch, really raise the bar and after a trip to the plaza during the night I found my self popping out of bed at about 12:30am and lets just say I had to make a quick decision on what to aim at the toilet...so is life in a foreign country. In any case the next few days were interesting and really peaked when I was asked to leave class early on Thursday after really outwardly expressing my discomfort, projectile vomiting in the bathroom and more or less passing out during our very important lecture. Suffice to say that night was spent watching a bootlegged Social Network, sleeping and having my host mom fret over my every pain...so is life with a middle aged Peruvian woman.
Moving away from the graphic details of my immense bodily discomfort, the day after my in-class debacle the entire program departed on a two day excursion to Calca, the same town where my market adventure developed and now the site of a 2 day music and art fest. We arrived at the sprawling house of a Swedish art professor and her Peruvian musician husband. The art professor had already been a lecturer earlier in the week for class and its safe to say that no one stayed awake for the entire talk, she is that kind of speaker. The house was of course gorgeous, the two dogs were cute and their daughter was a handful but beyond that the experience was a bit too much like elementary school for 25 independent, intelligent college students. For about 6 hours each day we "practiced" 3 different songs using our professional voices, natural talent on Incan percussion instruments and heightened aptitude for the zampona, more commonly referred to by Americans as the pan-flute. 36 hours later we were ready to perform our masterpieces around a bonfire with a grand audience of ourselves. Our teacher, thinking we were preparing to perform in Carnegie Hall forced memorization for all songs and displayed the general attitude of Johann Sebastian Bach. Well I can say with complete faith that I do not think we lived up to the expectations of Mr. Holland's Opus, but we had a lot of fun, danced around and got to yell in foreign languages (Quechua and Spanish).
After our unforgettable performance everyone was ready to leave and luckily we were able to get out a bit early and get back in time to enjoy some time at the infamous Plaza de Armas discotecas. Today was the best day yet with the family, upon waking up I ate a few hardboiled eggs, yum, and read a bit, quite exciting if I say so myself. Then it really got exciting, a couple hours after my eggs my family took me out to eat in a nearby town and they ordered me what they called a "Peruvian Platter" which is really nothing more than 6 different types of unidentifiable meat and a corn bread type substance. One type of meat was easily identifiable though, if not solely because there was a clear rodent leg sticking off the back end. Cuy, or guinea pig, tastes like a really salty type of meat with a stringy texture and strikingly resembles the actual live animal. While eating I attempted to explain to my host family that I used to have a pet guinea pig named Hunter so this was quite an emotional rollercoaster for my soft, emotional self. Either way I plowed through it and enjoyed almost every bite, except maybe the foot. After polishing off my former pet we took off to a little town nearby for desert and I could not resist buying a piece of the Obama cake, which of course in Peru where political correctness is nonexistent, was made up of a mix between brown and vanilla cake with light brown frosting. As I finished my slice o' Barack, my mom asked me if the cake was as good as my President and I had to say no because my god it might have been the most amazing thing I have ever eaten. Anyways it was quite a week filled with all types of foods, all types of people, only one type of music and a really good piece of American political history.
alpaCasey
Moving away from the graphic details of my immense bodily discomfort, the day after my in-class debacle the entire program departed on a two day excursion to Calca, the same town where my market adventure developed and now the site of a 2 day music and art fest. We arrived at the sprawling house of a Swedish art professor and her Peruvian musician husband. The art professor had already been a lecturer earlier in the week for class and its safe to say that no one stayed awake for the entire talk, she is that kind of speaker. The house was of course gorgeous, the two dogs were cute and their daughter was a handful but beyond that the experience was a bit too much like elementary school for 25 independent, intelligent college students. For about 6 hours each day we "practiced" 3 different songs using our professional voices, natural talent on Incan percussion instruments and heightened aptitude for the zampona, more commonly referred to by Americans as the pan-flute. 36 hours later we were ready to perform our masterpieces around a bonfire with a grand audience of ourselves. Our teacher, thinking we were preparing to perform in Carnegie Hall forced memorization for all songs and displayed the general attitude of Johann Sebastian Bach. Well I can say with complete faith that I do not think we lived up to the expectations of Mr. Holland's Opus, but we had a lot of fun, danced around and got to yell in foreign languages (Quechua and Spanish).
After our unforgettable performance everyone was ready to leave and luckily we were able to get out a bit early and get back in time to enjoy some time at the infamous Plaza de Armas discotecas. Today was the best day yet with the family, upon waking up I ate a few hardboiled eggs, yum, and read a bit, quite exciting if I say so myself. Then it really got exciting, a couple hours after my eggs my family took me out to eat in a nearby town and they ordered me what they called a "Peruvian Platter" which is really nothing more than 6 different types of unidentifiable meat and a corn bread type substance. One type of meat was easily identifiable though, if not solely because there was a clear rodent leg sticking off the back end. Cuy, or guinea pig, tastes like a really salty type of meat with a stringy texture and strikingly resembles the actual live animal. While eating I attempted to explain to my host family that I used to have a pet guinea pig named Hunter so this was quite an emotional rollercoaster for my soft, emotional self. Either way I plowed through it and enjoyed almost every bite, except maybe the foot. After polishing off my former pet we took off to a little town nearby for desert and I could not resist buying a piece of the Obama cake, which of course in Peru where political correctness is nonexistent, was made up of a mix between brown and vanilla cake with light brown frosting. As I finished my slice o' Barack, my mom asked me if the cake was as good as my President and I had to say no because my god it might have been the most amazing thing I have ever eaten. Anyways it was quite a week filled with all types of foods, all types of people, only one type of music and a really good piece of American political history.
alpaCasey
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Jello or Icecream?
I've only been in Peru one week and I can already see drastic improvements in my communication ability, despite the fact that I still only understand a percentage of what is being said to me or even what I am actually saying in response. I found myself on the way back from Machu Pichu reading a quick history of the Incan Trail in Spanish without even realizing it was in a foreign language. Now this might have been because this sign was aimed towards tourist with only a slight grasp on Spanish but I like to stay positive and say I'm getting better. Another example of this "improvement" is that in our first day of classes in Cuzco we began learning the local indigenous language of Quechua. This would really not be that impressive since we are all learning at a kindergarten level and thus far I am having trouble saying the word for "bread" or "dog" but the important part to remember is that we are learning Quechua in Spanish. So I am struggling through a 3rd language with the use of my already choppy 2nd language. Confusion is of course expected and I quickly realized that in the first day as we sang a song while we clapped our hands, stomped our feet and more or less looked a like a bunch of crazy gringos for 3 hours.
Thus far my Spanish has only served me wrong in one very very very important aspect of my life here, food. In general my Peruvian Mama is a fine cook, nothing complicated, lots of rice and meat, but I can't complain. I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life though on the very first day I was living here with my family. At my first meal I was digging into a plate of rice and chicken with my host brother, a 17 y/o student, when I was asked by my mother if I would like some "gelato" and of course my immediate reaction was "YES, please, I love it!" Now this was met by a smile and and hustling around by my host Mom to fix me some "gelato" and man was I excited. I held my breath waiting to taste the wonder of Peruvian "gelato" and when I finally inhaled I was faced with a bowl of jiggling, wiggling, red Jello. Now, few of you would actually know this but arguably my least favorite dessert ever is Jello. Its not so much the taste but just the slimy, slippery texture. I of course was not about to tell my Mom this and take the smile right off her face so I took a deep breath and dug in, wincing with every bite or swallow or whatever it is called when you eat a Jello like substance. See the catch is that I mixed up the words "gelato" and "helado", I was expecting a nice cold bowl of icecream and instead ended up with jumping Jello. I don't have the heart to tell my Mom that I actually don't like Jello so therefore each and every lunch I top off my stomach with a bowl of the slippery red stuff, despite my true feelings. Sometimes you just have to make sacrifices for the betterment of your Peruvian mother's feelings, lesson 2 of my time in Peru.
Other than that little daily bump in the road, my time in Cuzco with my family has been great. I spent the last two nights exploring the city, making and drinking Pisco Sours with other Peruvian families, frequenting Gringo-filled clubs and high-stepping my way through Spanish language situations. Yesterday morning I was able to piece together enough Spanish to get myself and 3 other students a spot in a morning soccer (football) "tournament" at a local cement field (pitch). The game ended after 2 scores by one team or 10 minutes of play. We of course lost all of our games to the locals but my pride and glory came when my fellow American Chris, who plays soccer for Wooster, passed me a perfect ball which I was able to tap into the goal, the only one of the morning for our team! Watch out world I'm switching to playing soccer! Shortly after my miracle goal a hail-storm erupted and all the players were forced to huddle under the 10 inch edge of a tin roof to wait out the storm, oh what a country.
Hail, getting smoked in football and more Jello than a stomach can handle has not suppressed my positivity though. Maybe someday I'll actually be good at soccer, the rain/hail will actually stop and I will no longer be affected by the texture of Jello, we can all dream!
alpaCasey
Thus far my Spanish has only served me wrong in one very very very important aspect of my life here, food. In general my Peruvian Mama is a fine cook, nothing complicated, lots of rice and meat, but I can't complain. I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life though on the very first day I was living here with my family. At my first meal I was digging into a plate of rice and chicken with my host brother, a 17 y/o student, when I was asked by my mother if I would like some "gelato" and of course my immediate reaction was "YES, please, I love it!" Now this was met by a smile and and hustling around by my host Mom to fix me some "gelato" and man was I excited. I held my breath waiting to taste the wonder of Peruvian "gelato" and when I finally inhaled I was faced with a bowl of jiggling, wiggling, red Jello. Now, few of you would actually know this but arguably my least favorite dessert ever is Jello. Its not so much the taste but just the slimy, slippery texture. I of course was not about to tell my Mom this and take the smile right off her face so I took a deep breath and dug in, wincing with every bite or swallow or whatever it is called when you eat a Jello like substance. See the catch is that I mixed up the words "gelato" and "helado", I was expecting a nice cold bowl of icecream and instead ended up with jumping Jello. I don't have the heart to tell my Mom that I actually don't like Jello so therefore each and every lunch I top off my stomach with a bowl of the slippery red stuff, despite my true feelings. Sometimes you just have to make sacrifices for the betterment of your Peruvian mother's feelings, lesson 2 of my time in Peru.
Other than that little daily bump in the road, my time in Cuzco with my family has been great. I spent the last two nights exploring the city, making and drinking Pisco Sours with other Peruvian families, frequenting Gringo-filled clubs and high-stepping my way through Spanish language situations. Yesterday morning I was able to piece together enough Spanish to get myself and 3 other students a spot in a morning soccer (football) "tournament" at a local cement field (pitch). The game ended after 2 scores by one team or 10 minutes of play. We of course lost all of our games to the locals but my pride and glory came when my fellow American Chris, who plays soccer for Wooster, passed me a perfect ball which I was able to tap into the goal, the only one of the morning for our team! Watch out world I'm switching to playing soccer! Shortly after my miracle goal a hail-storm erupted and all the players were forced to huddle under the 10 inch edge of a tin roof to wait out the storm, oh what a country.
Hail, getting smoked in football and more Jello than a stomach can handle has not suppressed my positivity though. Maybe someday I'll actually be good at soccer, the rain/hail will actually stop and I will no longer be affected by the texture of Jello, we can all dream!
alpaCasey
Friday, February 4, 2011
A Market Adventure, An Ancient City, and a Fashion Show
The nest adventure of my new life was not only for comfortable but also proved to be one of the greatest experiences in my 20 years. At 4 in the morning the day after the Calca Mercado all 25 of us rose to the sound of a bell/gong calling us to the main hotel building to depart for the majestic Machu Pichu. A 30 minutes van-ride through the dark early morning sky brought us to a train station where we boarded for a 2 hour trip to the little town of Machu Pichu. As night became dawn the train curved between the Andes, past cows, lots of dogs and the occasional coca-chewing worker. While on the train I took pleasure in reading my guide book with some other students and mocking the language used, all of which I remember seeing and not understanding while taking the SATs. By the time we reached Machu Pichu, which is the name of the town, national park and mountain but not the actual ruins, everyone in the group was chomping at the bit to reach Incan city. Weaving our way through the tourist loaded town we caught a bus up switchback turns to the base of the ruins, from there it was like nothing I have ever seen. We began with a tour led by a friendly Peruvian and as we made our way through the city, which is enormous, much larger than any photo, it was nearly impossible not to take a picture of every perfectly situated stone and man-made waterway. Although I would love to explain all of the sights, sounds, smells and feelings of the city I will not, it is impossible to do it justice with words and therefore I highly recommend that everyone reading this begin to pack their bags immediately, quit your job if you have to and hop a plain to Peru. At the end of the tour we were given 90 minutes to explore on our own and with the company of two of my fellow students, females of course, who else, I walked up and down the entire area, played with llamas and took a couple of pictures from the famous picture-taking site. The train ride back from Machu Pichu featured a dancing tribal-dressed man and a sweater fashion show put on by the stewardesses. With my creative explanation abilities running out of steam I would like to end simply by saying that these first 5 days have been more than I could have ever expected, I do not think I have ever woken up in a place more beautiful, met more wonderful people and had my jaw drop so many times. With that said I continue to look forward to all that is going to happen in my near future and hope that soon you will all personally know how hard it is to express feelings of absolute wonder as I have in these past adventures.
alpaCasey
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