September 17, 2006- A superb weekend with a superbly painful ending

This weekend, a bunch of my fellow Peace Corps volunteers and chums (including one of my two closest friends here) were in my city for a conference about this adolescent camp we are having in a few months. This meant that in between meeting about our business, we had plenty of time to explore the city, eat the most delicious yogurt (in the world, probably), and break my foot. Only two of the mentioned three activities was planned, of course. The other was an unforeseen exasperation, a rather regrettable way to end a wonderful weekend.

Let us never focus on the negative, though. Instead, I should use this space to relive the pleasurable couple of days I have had. My good friend Kristen lives 4 hours away from me in a city called Bambamarca. Her distance from me makes it so we will probably only be able to see each other every 4-5 weeks when she comes into my city to check her mail. Our unsolicited separation from one another makes each of our visits reason to celebrate, which is precisely what we did this weekend, maybe even excessively. We justified our unearned jamboree (*we have only been in our sites for two weeks) by claiming that we were celebrating Kristen’s birthday, which occurred at the start of this month. In her honor, we paid a visit to one of the nicer spas I have ever visited, set on a beautiful green farmland and outfitted with roaming horses and llamas, thermal baths, two fancy restaurants, and a small travel agency catering to local destinations. Here, along with taking in the picturesque setting, we purchased two neck, head, and back massages. While we thought such a treat would be outside of our budgets, they offered us a Peace Corps discount (probably not realizing that we have barely begun our tasks here) which made our visit pleasantly affordable. Our masseuse asked us in Spanish (obviously, as I am in Peru) as she led us back to the spa whether we wanted it soft or very hard, and I responded that I would like it hard and deep, to work out all of the knots that the week and a half of my Peace Corps stint had caused me. Little did I know, she had actually asked us if we wanted to go in the warm steam room or the sweltering hot death room, and by replying that I wanted it “bien fuerte,” I had given her permission to lead us to our deaths. Immediately (and I mean immediately) upon our arrival in the death room, all fluids were sucked out of our bodies, my glasses fogged up so that I couldn’t lead myself to safety (forget about Kristen at that point, as my life was clearly in grave danger), and two seconds later, thanks to Kristen’s quick and selfless thinking in telling me to remove my glasses, we found ourselves gasping for air and life outside next to a laughing masseuse. Very funny, where again is that warm and more manageable, existence-supporting steam room? Having never visited a steam room, I was a little confused initially about why anyone would subject themselves to a needless bout of heavy perspiration coming from body parts that I didn’t even know contained sweat glands. Much to my amazement, it ended up being really refreshing, and was followed by one of the best massages I have ever had.

Kristen accompanied me back to my site for a short visit, during which she completed a critique of my current living environment. My family made us what they considered a nice dinner (loads of spaghetti with a fleck of chicken), and when we asked for some more meat since we were both craving protein, my host mom gave us each another heaping plate of pasta. Same difference, to them apparently. For about an hour following dinner, we rummaged around my town for food to satisfy our lingering cravings, and in our search, we ended up exploring parts of my town that I didn’t know existed. I wouldn’t go as far to say that Jesus is a limitless locale, but I was definitely surprised by how many new tiendas and new people I was introduced to with Kristen’s assistance. Did I mention previously that my entire town can be covered on foot in ten minutes? I really do love it though, despite its petite nature. It’s actually quite quaint.

The majority of Kristen’s friendly criticisms were aimed towards my bedroom, which she said had potential that I was wasting by using my sleeping bag as my sole decoration. I love decorating and color coordinating, don’t get me wrong, but I really thought that if I did too much with my room past making my bed in the morning, that I would never want to leave it to get my work done. This logic didn’t fly with her, and she gave me a challenge of transforming my room into a chic and heavenly haven by the next time she visits. As she was verbalizing this challenge, I felt myself getting dangerously excited, knowing fully that once I started this task, that I would become obsessive about it. The next day, we spent about 5 hours in the sweltering sun of Cajamarca city in search of the perfect furniture and accessories to adorn my room with. I picked up a table, a couple of chairs, a comforter, a shelving unit, some quintessentially Peruvian tapestries, and some pillows, all the while forgetting to consider how I would get all these things back to my site. It was quite the comedy, because I picked up the shelving unit at the start of our shopping spree, realizing afterwards that I would have to carry the bulky larger-than-life thing through the crowded city streets while we looked for other necessities. I sort of felt Kristen and I were the modern day Laurel and Hardy, knocking people over with my shelving unit as I turned to talk to her. Everything is so much more complicated here. Each store specializes in one item, such as lamps, so there is no such thing as a one stop shop. I wanted about 20 things, so we had to pay a visit to twenty stores, carrying around large pieces of furniture with us. Of course the stores weren’t in the same neighborhood, either. If I had been with anyone aside from Kristen, I think I may have had a nervous breakdown. Also, simple things that we take for granted in the states, like pillow cases, cant be bought separately here, so you have to have them specially made. I won’t tell you what a hassle that was, because while they measured my pillows from every which direction during my first visit, they managed to make the cases too big, and then too small, and then I just settled because a fourth visit to the fabric store didn’t appeal to me. Dad, you would appreciate this next thought of mine. While I was busy being pushed around on the street by some people, and knocking out others with all of the stuff I was holding, I really developed a fondness for malls in the U.S. While they used to be the last place you would find me in the states, I think I will do all of my shopping there when I return. What an exceptional idea malls are, when you think about it. Everything you could possibly want in one place, organized in an ordered and eye-catching fashion. Brilliant, I tell you, simply brilliant! As we were headed back to Kristen´s hotel before catching a taxi back to my site, I realized that I forgot to purchase a laundry basket. I asked our taxi driver if he could stop by an outdoor market, and that I would just be a second as I knew exactly where to find the laundry baskets. He agreed, and I left Kristen in the car to guard all of our newly purchased furniture. I ran into the market, pointed at the basket I wanted, and expected a quick transaction to transpire. Instead, the vendor decided he wanted to overcharge me for the crappy piece of plastic I was trying to buy, and he refused to budge on his price. I was, of course, 40 centimos (10 cents) short, and he was not in a giving mood apparently. He told me that a few blocks down there was a cheaper store, but geez, I had a cab waiting! Didn’t he understand??! So, in jogging to the other store (and partaking in my first real exercise since moving to Peru), I rolled my ankle, fell in front of the entire market, and could barely move my foot afterwards. OUCH!

Getting a taxi back to my site with all of my shit was a hoot. The taxi driver tried to tell me I might have to pay for a couple of taxis (not such a cheap expenditure) to cart all of my belongings back to Jesus, but even I, the least spatially talented person I know, could tell that we could somehow fit everything into one. After much experimentation and the threat of an impending rain storm, the taxi driver, half of Cajamarca’s furniture offerings, and myself were squeezed miserably into his taxi and battling to conquer the bumpy ride back to my site. Of course, when I got home to organize my findings, I was disheartened to realize that I had forgotten to pick up five things, and there were another five that I needed that I wasn’t previously aware of. Four days and four trips to the city later, my room looks nice. And not full of clutter, as I am infamous for. Not too shabby of a set-up, if I do say so myself.