March 15th, 2007- Are we all in agreement that this is edible?

I have been known to be slightly paranoid about meat going bad (after leaving it out of the fridge for a mere 5 minutes), but today´s little fiasco pushed my paranoia to the limit. My host mom awoke to find one of our 8 cows dead in the river. It happened to be our biggest bull which means my host parents lost a considerable amount of money with its death. We were unsure of both the cause and the time of its death, and this uncertainty led me to believe that it had died of madcow disease a looooooong 24 hours before. Hoping that my host parents would jump to the same conclusion, I was positive they would refrain from slicing up its carcass and serving it to me for the next 24 meals (you should have seen the size of its ribs!). My hopes dissipated when my host dad made 10 trips back from the river with various bull body parts slung over his shoulder, leaving them on our kitchen table (where I often cut my vegetables sans cutting board) to bleed onto the floor and eventually be cooked. No refrigeration, no cover, no guarantee that this meat wasnt spoiled from becoming swollen with contaminated water and acid rain. When I was served my first portion of bull at lunch time, I did everything in my mental power to convince myself that cooking at high temperatures destroys everything evil, but this didnt make the meat easier to swallow, especially since his uncooked and hairy legs were resting next to my plate as a reminder of where this meat had come from. Vegetarianism seems like an absolutely awesome idea at this point!

Now, onto my work here, which is just about as grim as eating rotten bull. School just started again after a 3 month summer vacation, which means work is more plentiful for me. Now that I have a steady and purposeful job, I figured everything would be just peachy. I presented my first schoolwide project a couple of days ago, which I have been planning for the last two months. It was going to involve many interactive activities, as well as some pretty spectacular prizes for the most participatory students. As I was presenting the plan, a kid raised his hand and flagrantly announced, ¨I think I speak for all of us when I say we have no interest whatsoever in this.¨ Sweet. So where, exactly, do I go from there? What a tiring job it is, working with kids who dont value education and who dont appreciate me trying to make their lives a little more fun and informative. I guess I just have to take a deep breath and attempt another strategy.

February 23, 2007: After a long while...

Reporting LIVE from Peru, where I just experienced my first earthquake. I emphasize ¨live¨ because I love being theatrical about things like these AND because earthquakes are the major cause of death amongst PC volunteers in Peru. Not that many have died, but STILL! Fortunately, I remain amongst the living. I´m perturbed though, because all throughout the fuerte 20-second quake I was sure that it was just my sporadic visitor, Mr. Ratface, shaking my bed like the annoyance he is. This means that I didn´t even get to enjoy it for all it was worth because I thought all the ruckus was caused by my arch nemesis, the varmint. In all of the tremors I have felt in my life, I always seem to be sitting or lying down. I am so curious to know what it would feel like if I were standing. Would it be like surfing or maybe being on an elevator? Would I be able to defy the laws of the land and maintain my posture and composure? Probably. I am pretty tough. But what if there were a mild earthquake during a runway modeling show? Those girls look pretty frail. Would they just be propelled off the stage by the forces of Mother Nature? I wonder…

I recently returned from a two week South American tour with my mom. By tour I mean select parts of Peru and Colombia, but still, it was a lot of traveling. My mom got pretty sick in every way possible, but Peru will do that to you. Colombia was a treat and spoiled me in more ways than one, so here I sit in the campo of Peru, trying to nurse myself out of the depression that being back has caused me with nothing more than my Christmas music play list. Some highlights of our trip included visiting the site where the female tattooed mummy was recently excavated (see National Geographic, June 2006), drinking a Starbucks frappucino (vanilla, if anyone cares. I would have gone for chocolate, but I had just scarfed down a few chocolate donuts, Dunkin Donuts-style, obviously), seeing my best friend teach in her very own classroom in Bogotá, and spending some quality time with her family. Colombia is one rad place.

I was fortunate to return to Cajamarca just in time for the Entrada of Carnival. February 17th marked the official start of the festivities. Even though Carnival is celebrated all throughout January and February (mainly by everyone throwing water balloons and beer bottles at my head), Feb. 17th was when the real fun began, initiating a huge party that lasted for about a week. People travel to Cajamarca from all over, and the celebration here is said to be only second or third to Rio´s. It was pretty incredible. The tradition for the 17th is that EVERYONE outside throws paint and water at one another in any way they want (from a bucket, balloon, rag, water gun, etc). Some people choose a more intrusive approach by taking clumps of paint, running up to you and essentially molesting you by rubbing it in every crevice of your body. No matter who you are, or how big your crowd is, you are defenseless. I think I was outside for two minutes before I was cornered by two clans of rowdy Peruvians who attacked immediately when they saw how pristinely untouched I was. My friends and I split our time between hiding on a roof to take people out sniper-style, and running through the streets with our measly collection of water balloons, trying to blend in. Most everyone participated: storeowners, police officers, the elderly (my main target since I was too much of a wimp to hit someone who might retaliate). All weekend, stores and restaurants were closed and people were marching through the streets with their ¨weapons¨ and gathering in the plaza for drinking and drum circles. After the first day, paint is always banned, but water and powder (a lethal combo) are allowed. It occurs to me now, almost a week after being attacked, that not everyone used washable paint. How much longer will I be blue, especially if I can only shower once a week?

Speaking of being blue, I have a bad cold right now that is making my eyes water incessantly like I am a big cry baby or something. It feels weird to cry over nothing, so I have succeeded in making myself sad so I at least have a reason to cry. Below are the reasons I have decided to be sad:

1. Tissues don´t exist in these parts. RAW NOSES make me blue.
2. I just finished a good book that made me laugh lots (Erika Lopez´s ¨Flaming Iguanas¨). I have no more English books here to read. WAHHHHHH!!!
3. I ate all of the caramel Hershey kisses my mom brought me in one sitting. I was standing actually, and they gave me nothing but a royal tummy ache.
4. I can´t remember if 28 days in February is regular or signifies that it´s a leap year, which probably means I am getting dumber.
5. I am all out of reasons to be sad, but boy were the above four depressing enough!