December 30th, 2006- Another holiday season ends

Well, as I sit here listening to Wham´s ¨Last Christmas,¨it becomes clear that once again, I am having trouble letting go of the Christmas season. I spent the last few months dreading a quiet and different holiday, but my friends, host family, and I joined forces rather successfully to combat that preconceived notion of mine. In fact, we succeeded so wholeheartedly that the end of our festivities brought me great sadness, so much so that I am thinking that a more serenely spent holiday may have been easier to recover from. The only things that are keeping me afloat right now are the six Christmas cd´s that my mom mailed to me (which I plan to listen to continuously until next Christmas, or at least until my host family pilfers and burns them. After all, what depression can survive the Chipmunks Christmas Compilation?) and the package of my grandmom´s icebox fruitcake that is lost somewhere in snailmail space, hopefully inching its way towards me. While the lot of you may cringe when thinking of fruitcake (arguably the worlds most loathsome gastronomical entity), let me assure you that Lucy Light defies every fruitcake stereotype with that delectable aforementioned treat. I´ll let you know how it tastes when it arrives stale sometime early next year.

So, Christmas in Peru. Do you want to hear about it? Well, do you? Since it is no skin off my back reliving it, I suppose I´ll tell you ALL of the details. First off, it is worth mentioning that with the start of December came my perpetual desire to transform myself into a Christmas elf. If Peru wasn’t going to paint itself red, white, and green (with gold and silver accents), the responsibility would lay in the hands of no one other than Lindsay Jean Buck. Since it proved impossible to find a stocking that would endure being stuffed with anything heavier than a grain of salt, I made stockings for everyone I know here. Some choice adornments were glitter glue, buttons, Christmas-printed ribbon, you know, the whole sha-bang. My family especially appreciated these, considering the only decoration they brought to the table was an empty cake box that we hung festively on the ceiling. I don´t have too many complaints about this makeshift ornament, considering it was reddish and had a bough of holly painted on it. Christmas is all about improvising, especially when living away from home. By the way, just to keep you updated and in the holiday spirit, I am now listening to Elvis´ ¨Blue Christmas,¨an oldie but goodie.

Many of my friends happened to be celebrating Christmas in my regional city, a mere 15 minutes away from me. This meant that I had access to the best of two worlds. I was able to witness Peruvian traditions while enjoying the company of fellow volunteers, so I had very little to complain about. Preparations began by helping a friend decorate his hotel room with holiday cheer, which this year encompassed red and white musical lights, a colorful array of garland, a huge red bell, and approximately 30 handcrafted snowflakes (I´m sure this was all particularly pleasant for his cleaning lady to walk in to). Perhaps the only disheartening aspect of Christmas was realizing that I, Ms. Crafty herself, am snowflake challenged. Snowflakes are supposed to be uniquely exquisite and pleasing to the eye, but all of mine turned out uniform and choppy. Harumph. Some people involved turned it into a contest, but only after they realized how awful I was at it. I feel like that is comparable to betting money on a game that is already over, so I refuse to accept the title of loser. Better luck next year, suckers.

Peruvians celebrate on Christmas Eve (La noche buena) at midnight with a turkey dinner, paneton (a huge muffin-looking fruitcake) and hot chocolate. Two of my friends joined my family for this celebration, but unfortunately we had to tweak the tradition a bit because the turkey that we raised from an infant and planned to eat was stolen by a family member and sold on the Christmas Eve Turkey Black Market for a large sum of money. This was a big deal, since turkey is super expensive and therefore only enjoyed once a year. And oh, what a handsome turkey he was! This whole debacle resulted in my friends and I picking up a fastfood order of chicken, french fries and wilted salad for my family to enjoy on Christmas Eve. This was supplemented by cookies, paneton, wine, and some deliciously rich hocho (hot chocolate) made with our own cows milk. The highlight of the evening was sharing marshmallow fluff that my friend brought from the states. Most of us chose to put it in our hot chocolate, but my 24 year old host sister, who apparently didn´t get the memo, took a heaping spoonful and motioned to plop it on her chicken and fries. Whoa! Easy there, Maribel!! As if the chicken wasn´t displeasing enough on its own. While it probably would have been the right thing to do to let my host family have the remaining fluff, I surreptitiously shoveled it into my purse after supper. Number of fluffernutter sandwiches enjoyed since that fated moment: 9 ½. You can appreciate that, dad (the only person over 10 years old who regularly purchases marshmallow fluff).

Christmas tune currently playing: ¨Merry Christmas, Baby,¨ by Bruce Springsteen, his only redeeming musical ensemble (Blake, it´s time you learned the truth about him). Well, this next holiday memory is a tad emotional for me. A friend and I went to great lengths to make a Christmas day dinner reservation at the nicest hotel/restaurant in Cajamarca city. Two weeks before the event, they promised us a holiday buffet of hundreds of mouthwatering delicacies, none of which were potatoes or rice, our regular fare. In our excitement, we even encouraged some of our friends to change their holiday plans to join us for what was sure to be a spectacular feast. As the ten of us strolled into the restaurant for our 7pm reservation, I heard some brave and perceptive soul whisper, ¨Where is the buffet?¨ After asking the management that exact question, we were told that we were one day late for the buffet. I am still unsure how this miscommunication occurred, considering the man who took our reservation spoke perfect English and clearly said to us, ¨We´ll be awaiting your arrival on the 25th. Here is the list of all of the delicious foods the buffet will include.¨ Let´s just say that I was more devastated by the lack of buffet and mediocre dinner that followed than I was when I learned that Santa didn´t exist. I guess not all was lost though, because we made a pretty awesome batch of eggnog. It´s funny that some of us managed to convince ourselves that Christmas was not Christmas without making eggnog. I am pretty sure that none of us had ever made it before, but gosh, what is Christmas without making eggnog? I can´t believe that we drank it after seeing what goes in it. It would be more appropriately named Salmonella Cesspool with how many raw eggs are included. But oh what a treat it was!

So here I sit in my bed on the day before the very last day of 2006! 2006 was a year of many big changes, but I remain satisfied with how I rang it in and how I am ending it. I am celebrating tomorrow night with my host family, and am excited about all of the new traditions they are going to introduce me to. At midnight, everyone eats 12 grapes and makes a wish with each, each grape representing a month of the new year. Some families also pack their bags and go traipsing around the neighborhood, but I have yet to figure out what that signifies. I hope we don’t do that because my suitcase has a lot of junk in it and the ground is supremely muddy. Some people make little yellow sachets of rice and lentils and some money to save for next year. The most common tradition is making life-sized dolls out of old clothing and burning them at midnight to symbolize out with the old and in with the new. I hope I don’t have to do this though either because I only have about six outfits here.

Well, one thing that is guaranteed is that I will be thinking about all of you as I ring in the new year and hoping that all of you are in wonderful company and enjoying yourselves. Happy 2007 with much love from me!

December 14, 2006: Is this for real?

Just as my time in Peru was beginning to exhibit some hint of normalcy, here I surreally sit wondering, ¨Hmmmm…is this really happening?¨ Today I was supposed to meet with my counterpart from 1pm-4pm in the Puesto de Salud, our towns makeshift hospital. Upon my arrival, the secretary told me that she had to leave immediately and that my counterpart may or may not come back in 3 hours. Are jobs optional here in Peru? If this were the case in the states, I have a feeling that ¾ of the population would be infinitely happier, and the world would generally be a better place. It took me a few minutes to calculate that if the secretary left, and my counterpart didn’t come for another three hours, I would be running the hospital BY MYSELF. Well, that is technically a lie. There is a stray tabby cat that hangs out in the Puesto de Salud who probably knows the ropes around here better than I do, so maybe between the two of us, we will be able to tackle any emergency situation that comes our way this afternoon. I have every crossable body part crossed in the naïve hope that no patients come in while I am here alone, because their visit may lead to my town disowning me in response to my sheer incompetence and inability to function in panic situations. I wish that I at least exhibited either the fight or flight reaction when panicked, because while the flight response is rather spineless, at least there is a psychological explanation for it. I, for some unknowable reason, neither fight nor fly when I am startled. Instead, I stay very still hoping that I might just blend in with whatever backdrop envelops me, praying that no witnesses to my cowardice ask, ¨Hey, why isn’t that imbecile helping?¨ This brilliant strategy is going to get me nowhere quickly today, because every wall in here is painted blue and my sweater is pink so camouflaging is an impossibility. Great…and that worked SO well before! ¨Oh, hello sir, I see that you are profusely bleeding from a knife wound. Have a seat. I expect the nurse back in 2 hours, or maybe not at all. Let´s just sit around and play a little game of chance in the meantime.¨

December 3, 2006- My culinary conundrum

One of the more uncomfortable aspects of the Peace Corps is discussing/negotiating rent with your host family. It seems that in discussing this theme with a few of my fellow volunteers, some common trends have presented themselves. Sometimes a family will refuse payment, only to assume that they have access to whatever they want in your room, whenever it is that they want it. Other times, they will blatantly overcharge you for lodging that doesn’t include a bathroom, hot water, food other than rice, and a bedroom sans rats. For others (the lucky ones), the family expects the bare minimum financially, yet gives you the best room in the house, accepts you as one of the family, and feeds you the most delicious food. My family is most in alignment with the latter scenario, but with a twist. They become squeamish when I talk finances with them, and refuse to name a price for me or let me in on what the past Peace Corps volunteers were contributing. While some people might appreciate this unfixed situation, I hate it because I feel like I could offend them both by giving them too little or too much. While I´d rather them assert themselves by stating a price, I am left to come up with my own plan, which I have decided is going to be a combination of going to the market weekly with them to pay for the food, and helping around the house with the cooking and cleaning. This past Thursday I decided to wow them with my first culinary treat, being eggplant parmesian accompanied by a ginger sprinkled salad. This probably would have been received better if Peruvians in the campo had appreciation for the finer foods in life (anything outside of rice and potatoes).

Allow me to set the scene. So I spend approximately 5 hours preparing the meal (since we only have a wood burning stove that burns my eyes more effectively than it cooks the food). The entire time I am cooking, I have my 24 year old host cousin condescending to me about every move I make. ¨Gringita, we don’t eat that much cheese here, Gringita, you bought too much pasta, Gringita, are you sure you need to use that much salt?, Gringita, this doesn´t seem like it will taste good AT ALL.¨ I gave great thought to throwing myself on the open flame, but I waited with hopes that the rest of my family might be more appreciative. So I serve dinner after a little taste test during which I discovered that I might be able to pass as a gourmet chef. But before I can pat myself on the back too much, I discover that something slightly suspicious is going on. We usually eat as a family around the dining room table, but tonight, everyone took their plate of food and dispersed. Ten minutes later, they call me into the TV room, where I find them eating plates of rice and potatoes that materialized out of NOWHERE. ¨Gringita, your food was muy rica, thank you,¨ they said, but something (maybe the fact that they were presently chowing down on four day old rice over my delectable eggplant) told me that they hadn´t even tried it. This sinking suspicion was confirmed when I sat down only to catch a glimpse of all of their plates in a neat line (still full of food) under my host parents bed. Sweet, I am happy that I slaved over Earth´s most primitive stove only to produce something that probably got fed to the cows.

I had a minor meltdown the next day when my host cousin insinuated that I couldn’t cook instead of recognizing the truth (that some Peruvians are resistant to change). With food in my mouth, I spit out the most heinous run-on sentence that resembled something close to, ¨For your information, I lived with boyfriend before coming here and we cooked delicious food together all the time and we used however much salt we saw fit and my friends say I am a good cook and people always want me to make them cakes and why can´t you understand that food is different in the states and that different doesn’t mean bad and while you may not have been fans of my salad last night my dad thinks I am the best darned salad-maker he knows.¨ This verbal stream of consciousness was problematic for a few reasons. 1. It quickly convinced them that I belong not in their house, but in a psych ward, 2. I highlighted loud and clear for them that I lived with my boyfriend before marriage, which makes me a sinner in their religion. A sinner who is living in their house instead of in a psych ward where she belongs, and 3. I can´t think of a three, but believe me, two is sufficient. Did I want to be a big baby and cry about it? Absolutely. Do I ever want to cook for them again? Absolutely not. I´d rather give them every cent the Peace Corps gives me to ensure that I will never have to step foot in the kitchen again.

In barricading myself in my bedroom out of embarrassment, I came face to face with Peru´s largest spider. In trying to murder it, I hallucinated and saw it propelling itself at me, fangs first, causing me to fall backward, cracking a floorboard and probably my coccyx. My host mom came to the rescue with a broom, but proceeded to crack jokes at the dinner table about how the heck I would conquer Peru´s education and poverty problems if I couldn´t even deal with a small spider in the corner of my bedroom? Right, Graciela, because education and poverty have fangs and eight hairy legs. I can see EXACTLY why you view the three as analogous.

Countdown to Christmas: 22 days

November 27, 2006- Back to reality

After a (never long enough) five day vacation, I am back at my site. This is the first time in my Peace Corps experience that I haven´t had a P.C. event/gathering/vacation planned to look forward to and motivate myself with. Over Thanksgiving, my group seemed to be on the same page with this notion of what the heck do we do next? We are all settled in our respective towns (with me as an exception), and no longer have the language barrier excuse, so it seems like the time to buckle down and start some serious projects. Our observation and integration phase has almost come to its end, and while we all have what I consider very good ideas for our towns, it´s overwhelming to think about putting them into motion, especially in areas that seem comfortable with their disadvantages and reluctant to trust change. Above all, it was nice to reunite as a group to discuss possible strategies for overcoming our frustrations.

It was also nice to prepare and feast on food that is not readily available to us here in Peru. Each of us contributed a staple dish to the Thanksgiving table, and some even went as far as having their parents mail them fixings that can´t be found here, such as cranberry sauce and green bean casserole ingredients. Those crispy (and completely necessary) onions to top off that aforementioned delicacy are not in existence here, and clearly, the Peruvians don´t know what they are missing out on. Despite the paranoia that people in our group might get lazy from lounging on the beach, we ended up having an impressive homemade spread including one of the moistest turkeys I have ever tasted. It was an utter success, to be honest, and I demonstrated my thanks by downing about 5 plates chock full of food in a span of about 20 minutes. Now, the countdown begins until our next Acción de Gracias supper. Or maybe I should start planning Christmas, the very best holiday of the entire year!

The name of the beach we stayed at is Huanchaco. It is located in La Libertad, a department that is south of mine. The beach is a mere 15 minutes outside of Trujillo, Peru´s third largest city and one of its driest desert towns. In just a six hour busride from Cajamarca, it was amazing to watch the topography change from rugged vegetation-filled mountains to a dry, flat, brown and cracking desert. We stayed in a really cozy hostel right across from the water that was equipped with hammocks to lounge in, nice airy rooms, a firepit, two kitchens, and an overly accommodating staff. I guess in North American standards, the beach was not that extraordinary nor did Huanchaco offer many entertainment options, but the lack of activity outside our hostel made pure relaxation a distinct possibility. Outside of our big feast and our Turkey Bowl football game the day after Thanksgiving, we had a very unstructured schedule. I am not sure how everyone else in my group spent their time, but my activities included eating most of the leftover food from our feast (by myself), getting a second degree sunburn on my legs and lower back (probably karma from not sharing the leftovers), watching Elf for the fiftieth time, choreographing sophisticated dances to Britney Spears songs, learning how to throw a football and dominate on the field (just TRY me!), and thoroughly enjoying the company of my closest friends here. I´d say it was an extremely successful trip overall.

Now, back to work. The aspect of my town that is the most difficult is its layout. There is no plaza that the townspeople live around and travel through daily, which means that it is a lot harder to introduce myself to people. I am thinking about printing up a little introduction letter about me, the Peace Corps, and my goals here. I really want to include little sketches, like of me with a Te Amo Peru t-shirt on, but Peruvians are fairly formal people, so I am not sure how accepting they are of juvenile doodles a la Buck. If I were still at my other site, I´d be jumping into my project right about now, but being a newbie here, I have to observe for an additional two months (ARGH!!!). I have been filling my mornings with observations at the lower and upper schools, and spending time with my counterpart down the road at the Centro de Salud. My afternoons are spent cooking or going to the market with my host family. Life is pretty slow here in the campo, but I am enjoying the change in pace.