Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Lessons in How to be Conspicuous in Peru:

1.) Be a 5’10” white girl

2.) Go out into your barrio (neighborhood) and take photos of La Fiesta Para La Virgin

3.) Slip on a driveway and fall flat on your ass in front of all of the people you were just photographing.

After you make a fool of yourself in front of everyone hopefully you will be handed a beer and asked to dance. Because you know there was a 30-hour party with dancing in neon versions of traditional outfits and beer to celebrate the Virgin. Although I’m not sure which Virgin, apparently there is more than one. Silly me majoring in Religion and thinking the only Virgin was Mary.

My first week in Peru has been filled with bewilderment, minor miscommunication and friendly Peruvians making a valiant effort to talk to the giant gringo. My host father, or my little man (don’t worry I do not call him this to his face) comes up roughly to my boobs and has had seven volunteers before me. Every time I say something that is downright incorrect he says he had a volunteer who could only say “hola!” and now lives in Peru. Poco a Poco. I’m glad he is so forgiving because roughly every time he tells me plans and pertinent details they either completely changes or I totally miss what is actually going on.

For instance- I thought that all of his 6 daughters live in Argentina. This is in fact false. So when one of his daughters casually showed up for dinner I asked her how her trip from Argentina was. She didn’t exactly know how to respond to this and said I live near the Peace Corps Center, roughly a 7-minute drive away. Not the 7-day bus trek I had imagined. Or the mysterious whereabouts of my host mother- she is in Argentina visiting her 5 daughters that live there and every 3 days or so her return date changes dramatically and she may or may not have found a job. Who knows. I’m just waiting for her to appear one day when I get home.

And then there are the rules of the house. After the first 2 days I asked my little man if there were any rule I should abide by. When he was talking he just sat back stoically in his chair and began speaking in a very profound tone. Honestly all I got was “nothing bad happens here.” The whole time he talked instead of translating Spanish in my head all I could focus on was how he reminded me of a munchkin mixed with The Godfather. I know none of the rules of the house. Since I had a well-rounded dinner of beer on Saturday night, followed by a 2am serving of my actual dinner I’m not the most concerned I didn’t understand what he said.

My normal morning consists of waking up to cafĂ© con leche, which is instant coffee, condensed milk and lots of sugar. About as good as it sounds. And whatever my little man cooks for me in the morning. He makes a valiant effort but the only thing he really knows how to cook for breakfast is fried eggs. So my breakfast is either a fried egg with juice and coffee or something far far more interesting such as bread with olives, a bowl of warm milk, bread with some sort of caramel spread. You just never know. At least we discuss all the light apolitical topics bright and early such as genocide in Sudan, the houses of Congress, crystal meth, the cocaine trade and prostitution, just to name a few. You know the fluffy topics that are easy to talk about in a different language at 6:30am. And don’t worry I told him there are 500 states in the USA instead of 50. I amended my error after I realized someone should not be so startled by 50 states in one nation.

Finally, the past week was also filled with an exorbitant amount of bathroom talk. I know you are all dyyyiiiinnngggg to know what I’m talking about so I’ll enlighten you. No worries. It started out with the Peace Corps telling us that we should ask our host family how to flush the toilet during the first hour of our stay because all bathrooms are not created equally. Mine is a pour flush toilet; which literally means that I am supposed to pour water into the bowl aiming at the center and it will hypothetically disappear. Its terrifying. I avoid it like the plague.

And then there was the 45 min lecture about diarrhea. Ya know how I said that the Peace Corps said you would poop your pants. I wasn’t lying. At all. There was a 45 min lecture discussing how I would poop my pants that included video testimony and songs discussing this pending doom from volunteers. Yup this is my life. Pretending I can speak Spanish, having 8 hours of class a day that sometimes leave me more perplexed than the day before and worrying about pooping my pants. It’s like high school with a splash of preschool.

Oh and don’t worry I just got a lecture from my 5 year old host sister about how I have too many cuts on my lets and need to be more careful. This coming from the girl who has 3 cuts on her face from slinging the cat over her shoulder like a purse.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Safely in Peru

I just wanted to let you all know that I have safely arrived in Peru!

Prior to arriving to Peru we had one day of staging in DC. In my head I imagined staging as all of the volunteers standing in a long line, getting their passports, 100 vaccines and then being shipped off on a plane. In reality it was more of a meet and greet and informational session. Far less interesting if you ask me.

The travel was nothing noteworthy besides the plane turning into a sauna before take off to thaw out the air conditioners. There was a point where I was seriously considering breaking the window because it was a struggle to breathe. But then the problem was resolved so far the other direction that I was wrapped in a wool sweater and blanket. But enough about planes.

Today we were in a retreat center in a valley with palm trees and parakeets surrounded by mountains that I can only describe as large piles of dirt. It legitimately looks like someone took a massive bulldozer and just dumped enough dirt to create a mountain. The retreat is placed just off the highway where the traffic is psychotic. Lots of honking and minimal street lights. I decided it was unwise to go on a casual stroll next to such traffic.

The beginning to Pre-Service Training has unexpectedly been filled with a lot of dancing, not arguing with that one. After training we played pick up volleyball and naturally I have already bruised my wrist, finger and ripped my pants. Standard.

Well thats all for now.

Buenos Noche!

KCM

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Are You Ready?

People often ask me what made me apply for the Peace Corps. I generally give them the virtuous answer- my dad was in the Peace Corps, the economy is terrible and I want a great opportunity, I love to travel and want immerse myself in another culture, blah, blah, blah.... But let’s get serious for a moment, the reason I applied was my friend Jane Farrell. Don’t get me wrong everything I say in my stock political answer is true, but Jane was the reason I actually began my application. Jane is the definition of an over-achiever. She is the girl who would read the entire New York Times, Washington Post, Economist and Wall Street Journal, go to 3 classes and 14 meetings, run a marathon and write a 35 page paper in one day. During the summer between junior and senior year of college she started to apply for things. And by apply I mean apply for everything I had ever heard of and 30 things I had never heard of. It came to the point that I couldn’t go to happy hour with her because I would have a panic attack just talking to her. So in order to preserve my social life and not feel like an epic underachiever I decided to start my Peace Corps application.

Now the applying for the Peace Corps and making it all the way though to your invitation is no easy feat. You are dealing with the federal government so by nature everything seems to take way longer and be way more convoluted than it needs to be. Also the wording of nearly every Peace Corps document seems to be hell bent on confusing and moderately terrifying you. For instance the Peace Corps medical packet is roughly 30 pages long. Somehow while filling out my forms I managed to tell the Peace Corps that I have braces, am on blood thinners and am morbidly obese- none of which are in fact true.

And then comes the glorious day that you get your invitation… For the first time the Peace Corps seems real because dates and names are placed with a mythical idea. Not that chilling in a retirement community in Cleveland, Ohio after graduation wasn’t the most riveting thing I have ever done with my life, finding out I was leaving for Peru was a necessary change of pace. When I got my welcome packet and felt like probably the coolest person ever until I read the plethora of booklets. To sum up the Peace Corps packs in a few simple bullet points:

· You will poop your pants- get over it.

· You are representing America always- no pressure.

· You will struggle- get over it.

· You will not change the world- get over it.

· You will have extreme emotional highs and lows- shit sucks.

· You will hate America when you return- get over it.

· You will spend all your money on long distance calls calling fellow Peace Corps Volunteers upon your return. (Clearly this point has not been updated since the invention of nationwide long-distance plans).

Exciting right. I know you all want to join now. I inspired you. Admit it.

The weeks and days leading up to my departure were filled with family, continuously eating myself into a food coma, friends, packing and the perpetual questions: Are you scared? Excited? Nervous? Literally every person asks this question, being sure to jumble all three emotions into one question. The answer. Obviously. Duh. Wouldn’t you be all of the above if you were leaving the country for 2 and a half years? And what am I supposed to say, no, I’m a such a bad ass I don’t feel fear. False. And in case you were wondering no I’m not fluent in Spanish. I’m roughly passable but when asked in my Spanish language interview what I did on a daily basis I said I read a book, go swimming, go to the movies, go dancing with friends, eat dinner with my family and drive to DC. It’s a jam-packed life I lead.

Why not ask questions like what is the most random thing you packed? Answer: a headlamp and Johnson & Johnson No More Tangles. Or how will you feel about a cold bucket shower for the next two years? Answer: mildly less than ecstatic. What was your most ridiculous freak out? Answer: being really concerned about Selena Gomez being on the radio, and being anxious everyone would think I’m boring because my shoes are all black or tan. If you know my shoe collection at all you can understand why all black and tan shoes would lead me to this incredibly logical conclusion. So anyways, next time you encounter a Peace Corps volunteer on the brink of leaving don’t ask the obvious questions because you will get the obvious rehearsed answers- try asking them a question they won’t have answered a million times.

So to sum it all up, yes leaving for the Peace Corps is an exciting and daunting task but I’ve had a year to begin to wrap my mind around it. And either way I’m going to be completely clueless upon arrival. I don’t even know what part of Peru I’ll be in past November 15th. So I think am as prepared as I could be, which is basically a passable state of unprepared. I am thoroughly prepared to go to Peru and I noooooo clue what’s in store. But then again when do you have any idea what’s in store? When do I really ever fully know what’s going on? I generally lead my life in a mild state of cluelessness, so that feeling will come as no shock, and the rest will come when it comes. And hey, why not go to the Peace Corps? Your only 22 once.