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
Monday, March 7, 2011
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
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Better than Emma Watson
Landing in Cuzco at the "Some other famous Peruvian man" airport brought me immediately in touch with members of my program, all girls except for 3, possibly 4, as well as an hour walk around "los calles" (look it up) of the area with my new classmates/roommates/friends. By the time everyone had arrived we hit the road and headed towards Urumbamba and onto my current resting place of Chichubamba. Urumbamba is a small Andean style town nestled at about 9,000 ft in a valley surrounded on all sides by the looming Andes. From there we drove through numerous cramped streets, at one point having to stop to find the owner of an abandoned truck in the way, and stopped at what seemed to be a little mud-brick building in the middle of nowhere. As soon as we got off the bus a half-dozen little kids came running towards us to take all of our luggage to an eco-lodge down a small path nearby. In a few minutes we reached the eco-lodge and it was absolutely gorgeous. The three guys in the group were automatically asked to aid the little kids and their wheel barrows with the luggage so we trekked back and forth from the bus a few times.
Dropping off all the bags and getting settled brought us to hammocks and wooden chairs along with a mass amount of fruit which led to a two course dinner of beef, potatoes, peppers and rice formed into a heart. All of this ultimately led to everyone feeling really full and kind of sick which is how I find myself lounging and writing as a few of the SITers take a stab at the pan-flute with some of the chicos. Altitude sickness has not slowed me down and other than a fun encounter with some road donkeys and a ravine to pee in, everything is spectacular. I love it here already, love all the people and understand about 30% of what is going on. A great start to a great semester.
alpaCasey
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