The 50th Anniversary

This year was the 50th anniversary of my town and in light of that fact there was a weeklong party. Well not really in light of that fact, because every year there is a weeklong party to celebrate, this year they just did it for the 50th time. A town anniversary is the American equivalent to a cities centennial celebration, but unlike America, Peru celebrates it every year. Obviously. Really America you should upgrade your block party. The anniversary is a time when all the people who live in the annexes or have left Cusicancha for the coast to come back and remember la tierra de sus padres.

To give you a chronogram of events the first day, the day before the actual towns anniversary is the dia centera. This day starts with a 10k that many people participate in but few actually finish. There is a bus that travels behind everyone and picks up the lagers, slow runners and those who generally want to quit before you have to climb up about 300 meters of switchbacks.

I decided to do sed 10k, but I’ll admit in the morning I thought I was running an 8k. a lot of times during the town anniversary marathons the women run 8 k and the men run 10k. Just to make things difficult we actually ran a 10k. Awesome. Don’t get me wrong I had no intentions that I would win the marathon against 18year olds that were used to walking 12k up and down from the annexes on a semi-daily basis. I decided that I wanted to finish for the sheer sake of saying that I did. I ran successfully for about 6 km and then the pure subida started. When the bus passed me, everyone was shocked that I did not want to get on. Around kilometer 8 I began to seriously regret the decision not to but there was nothing I could do at that point.

Eventually I made it into Cusicancha and pretty much wanted to kill myself at this point.

Since it is Peru I was obviously handed a bubblegum soda and stuck in a 30-minute conversation explaining who I was and then told to eat a bowl of Patasca- soup with corn and lamb. Exactly what I wanted at that moment. Although I will admit the Patasca was better than I thought it would be for the moment. when I finally made my escape I went home to contemplate my impending death and bucket bathe. I think I came in either 3rd or 4th by the sheer fact that I was one of only 3 or 4 girls to finish the race. I did tell my community I would come in dead last. At least I didn’t lie.

The rest of that day there were events like a food fair with the mothers of JUNTOS preparing typical dished from the region, football games, and the christening of the new bull-fighting ring. Oh yeah I forgot to tell you my municipality dropped S/.3,000 on a new bull-fighting ring for the anniversary. Because that’s a logical thing to spend your money on. Somehow at the opening ceremonies my site mate, Alli, and I became madrinas (godmothers) of the bull-fighting ring. I don’t know how being a broke volunteer qualifies you to be a godmother of anything but I did have the giant white stranger thing going for me I guess.

As part of being a madrina of the ring we had to participate in the christening. The only christening I had any familiarity with was with boats where you crack a bottle of champagne on it before you set sail. Here there were bottles of champagne but the cracking part was not as easy. Instead of just cracking it on the side of the ring, three bottles were hung over the bill entrance and we had to throw rocks at the bottles until they broke. Now I don’t know if any of you have seen me throw but I am the reason there is a stereotype that girls cant throw.

After the bottles were successfully broken, not by me, I found myself in a conversation with a man who looked far fashionable to be from my site. There is one little fun fact I forgot to tell you. Randomly the man who own Full-Color textiles, a textile company that works globally with companies like Victoria Secret, Ambercrombie, Life is Good and Gap, and who also run Topy-Top (the Peruvian cross between Gap and Forever 21) was born in one of my annexes. He is quite a philanthropic man, especially when it comes to parties, and who remembers where he was born, comes with a POSSY of family and friends. That first day of the fiesta my site suddenly was filled with a heard of loaded Limenios. Quite a contrast and change of dynamic. Instead of trying to stealthy avoid drinking too much quemadito- home brewed liquor; I was stealthy trying to figure out how to avoid drinking too much top shelf whiskey and pisco. According to stories I may have turned down giving my phone number to one of the wealthiest men in Peru. If only he hadn’t come up to my boobs maybe we would have had a future together.

There was suddenly what seemed like a million people in my site and a giant concert. I must admit I did not make it as long as I would have liked into the night due to my legs being moderately in a state of struggle and having to avoid large groups of drunk, single men. At one point a tiny little chauffer asked his boss for permission to dance with me. I suddenly felt like I was dealing with the mob and I had some how been claimed without my knowledge. It was odd to say the least. I’m not all that said that I didn’t make it forever into the night because around 5 am a kid got smashed in the face with a bottle.

The second day of the fiesta generally centralized around the parade through the plaza and events with the schools. Since the schools were still in strike during the anniversary the desfile was much smaller than normal. Also since it was the 50th anniversary there was much more talking about he past, present and future before the parade actually began. We had time to go get lunch in between the parade participants were told to line up and when we started. And this was not a long parade; it was one block, through the plaza. Anyways Peru was playing Uruguay this pay so needless to say the communities attention as less than focused on the parade.

The second night was really nothing to write home about. I’m pretty sure that everyone had gone out an hour longer than they should have the night before and the majority of the Limenios returned to the coast.

The third and final day of the fiesta my town indulged in some good old-fashioned bull fighting. Every other corrida de los torros I had seen at a town anniversary to this point had basically been bulls on a soccer field and drunk men waving their jackets at them hoping not to get stomped in the face. Sadly they were not always so lucky. Since we now had a new, classy, christened ring we brought in actual bullfighters from Lima for a real bull-fighting show. As I was walking into the ring one of the bullfighters (matadors) shouted something at me, but I didn’t really think anything of it. I have become accustomed to a certain amount of catcalls.

This particular matador decided that he was going to lay his moves on me during the bullfight in front of my entire town. At the beginning of the fight he handed me his phone to guard. I was seriously wondering why I matador even had his phone with him at such a time and why he would trust some random person with it. Especially considering it was a smart phone and the longer you know me the less you will trust me to be within 50 feet of your smart phone. Either way I took it because I didn’t really know what else to do at that moment.

Further into the fight the matador handed me his hat, which I understood about as much as him giving me his phone. Under the provocation of my site mate I put it on for a photo. Really how many times would I be handed a matadors hat in the middle of a bullfight. While this made for a great picture, it also solidified in my health posts mind that the matador was in love with me and I with him. You know I love my men, short and in tight, sequenced, blue and gold suits.

To continue laying down his game the matador decided that I should take photos for him. Initially he asked me if I had a camera, which I did but had run out of batteries, then he resorted I should use his phone. He was clearly trying to force us to meet up after the fight to give him the photos. Not likely. Anyways since his phone was a smart phone he had to give me the password. It was some made up Spanish word that I could not understand so my social had to help me. She had never had a touch phone and I hadn’t seen one in so long my fingers might as well have been sausage so needless to say it took a while to figure it out. Now I could crack the code to an awkwardly talking phone with a background of the matador leaning up against a shiny red Suzuki. Every girls dream.

At one point in the fight the matador got rammed in the ass by a bull and flung against the wall. He will now forever have that moment on video, which will inevitably be the highlight of his life. After taking a moment to recuperate he came over to where I was sitting. By this point my health post was practically planning our wedding and every time he came over I felt like I was in 7th grade. I simply thought he was coming over to get his phone and hat, which would be the logical thing but things are never that simple. I did manage to hand his things back to him but I also agreed to something. APPARENTLY he asked me if I was a nurse, to which I replied yes. He followed up by asking if he came to the health post later would I cure his ass, which I also replied yes. This was one of those moments where I was only half listening, not really understanding what he was saying and simply saying si to say something. My health post ran with this like they had just struck gold.

The rest of the night I was called the matadora. I also realized that I had been sititng on the opposite end of stadium seating and my entire town had seen the matador hit on me and were all convinced I was in love with him. Not the case, but there was little room for argument.

In the night we had a “Unsa,” which is a party where you basically dance around a tree and chop it until the tree falls down. Whoever chops down the tree is in charge of supplying the tree for the next year. During the unsa we danced a chopped and I finally figured out that I had