June 17, 2007- A long awaited visit from home

Since it has been a while since anyone has come to visit me from home, I like to pretend that other people’s visitors are my own. This worked out incredibly well when I met Kristen´s parents this weekend, since they are my biggest/only blog fans outside of my own dad. Conveniently, I didn’t have to share much personal information with them because they practically know me from reading up on me on the web. As predicted from all of the stories Kristen has told me about them, I loved them. At the start of our visit, they were just returning from what they labeled ¨a trip of a lifetime¨ across Peru, some of the highlights being the Amazon jungle, Lake Titicaca, and Arequipa (land of the greatest chocolate in the world, apparently). They seemed so energized and excited to share what a wonderful time they had, that I found myself absorbing their enthusiasm and letting go of some negative thoughts about Peru that sometimes surface for me and other Peace Corps Volunteers (see last 100 entries). I am really sad that my adopted parents will be leaving Peru soon, but I suppose all good things do come to an end. This entry is for Mrs. Judy Cummings, who politely accosted me for not posting often enough. My only excuse is that while living a slow and steady existence in the countryside, it´s easy to forget how in demand you are in the states. What a superstar I am.

Back to my changing view of Peru, it is so easy to get caught up in life´s small annoyances down here that I often forget what an idyllic setting I am in. Out of all Peace Corps placements, I wouldn’t feel presumptuous suggesting that Peru is among the most beautiful. I feel fortunate to be somewhere that is a desirable travel destination for my loved ones, somewhere that they feel safe visiting and excited about exploring. I really need to hold onto this reality when I feel myself starving for meat, running out of patience with my work, and missing home. To be honest, going back to the states scares me sometimes because I feel that in many ways, Peruvians have a more unobstructed view of happiness and what is important in life. Even when we are starving in my house because we are low on cash, or we can´t go outside because the rains are too heavy, or we (I) get cranky from coming to the conclusion for the 1500th time that there is little with which to entertain myself at my site, my family continues smiling because at least we are together. That is all that matters, is it not? We are together, we are healthy, and we have everything we really need (which ends up being close to nothing). I really do love this life and can imagine living it forever in many senses. My host parents remain one of the cutest couples I have ever encountered and sometimes when I am bored, I envision building a mud house on their land, having babies that I strap onto my back with Peruvian-printed tapestries, and cooking on a woodstove (something that is a little less realistic than my other two mentioned goals, surprisingly). Wood stoves are the WORST. Every day I try to start a fire and fail, and every day my host mom comes along and blows on what I have failed to begin and with one breath starts the master of all fires. Then she walks away chuckling. What an incredible vital capacity she has! Seriously, check out the lungs on that one! Most exciting about the possibility of staying here is growing my hair long again (did I mention I cut over a foot of my hair off because a knot the size of Texas was taking over my coiffure?) and learning to tend to it without a shower and keep it in two long silky braids like Peruvian woman. Just that seems like a good enough reason to stay.

It also might be worthwhile to stay in Peru considering the newly acquired habits I have learned to embrace, none of which would fly in the states. Some cultural nuances here are actually awesome, like not having to wait to eat until everyone at your table has their food. When food is placed in front of you, you are to begin eating right away. This means that I usually finish my meal before any of my family starts eating, since I am still the house celebrity and get served first. Also, no conversation topic is controversial or inappropriate here. If I want to ask my host aunt about the new roll of fat that has developed around her midsection, she will gladly (without a trace of embarrassment) giggle and tell me that she has been going a little overboard with her bread and whole milk consumption. In the same conversation, I could ask her her age and weight, neither of which she would conceal. A cultural difference that I have not adopted for obvious reasons is just laying my seatbelt across my lap as opposed to actually buckling it. Imagine getting pulled over in the states and trying to explain that one. ¨Are you serious, officer, when you say that this seatbelt just resting on my lap won´t protect me in an accident? What an interesting theory you have. Wait, are you giving me a ticket for something I never even considered a risk?¨ I also think about how Peruvians greet almost everyone they pass with an eager good morning, good afternoon, or good night. I wonder if I were to continue that trend in the states, how many people would respond to me (versus how many people might think I have a mild but friendly case of Tourette´s). Personal space is very different here as well. Do you think it would be acceptable for me to sit on top of two other people in a train or taxi in the states? There´s some food for thought.

June 23 marks a year in Peru for my group, and I feel that we are just now solidifying our jobs here (after one full year…crazy, huh?). My boss was just in town from Lima doing site development for the next group of youth development volunteers who just arrived on June 8th. She called me for what she proposed as a birthday lunch, but it actually ended up being another job proposal for me (something that seems heaven-sent). She mentioned that I have the smallest site out of all of the volunteers, and that she thought I might eventually get bored and feel unproductive. I have been having these exact sentiments for a while, but was waiting to see if any of my remaining strategies could whip up some meaningful work for me. My site is just really limited though, and Kitty (my boss) offered me the option of having a dual site (living in my site and working there for 3 days a week, and working in the city at a home for disadvantaged youth for the rest of the week). I will be working with a psychologist at the home which is right up my alley, so this all seems very promising to me. Next week I will visit the hogar for the first time, when I should get a better feel for my new work duties. It is just interesting what the universe sends you, right when you feel you need it most.

My host mom, who is a very traditional campesina always adorned in her Cajamarcan straw tophat and colorful layered skirts, had to take a trip alone to Lima (a very modern city) last week to deliver some paperwork. The mere thought of her traveling alone after 15 years of no travel gave me heart palpitations to the point that I thought of accompanying her. She left on Sunday and was supposed to come back on Tuesday, but Friday night at dinner we were ineffectively trying to figure out where the heck she was. My host dad was freaking out for a couple of reasons: she hadn’t called any of us even though she had a list of all of our numbers, our house was falling apart without her (our cows seemed sad and sick, and we hadn’t eaten a decent meal since her departure), and the family members she stayed with outside of Lima informed us that she had left for home days ago. We were all so worried about her, and had no way to reach her. Sunday morning, five days late, she nonchalantly walks in our front door with no explanation of where the hell she had been, only explaining that she had lost our phone numbers (not surprising for a woman who forgets to salt the rice EVERYDAY after having cooked it for 60 years). I don´t think she was doing anything scandalous, but my friend Reannon and I spent a good deal of time envisioning her ditching her campo gear for a week, buying herself some nice outfits and living like a metropolitan woman for a bit of time while she was away. Maybe she even put some makeup on and went to an upscale salon to treat her chapped and arthritic hands. None of this could ever transpire with how little money she has, but I like to imagine her being taken care of with how hard she works to take care of us. I wish she would accept this treatment from me. I swear her eyes were laughing when she returned. What was she doing in Lima for so long?

May 31, 2007- Dad knows best?

I recently received a massive package from my father, who I sometimes fear because of his sense of humor. While his jokes rank up there among my favorites, they can at times be borderline frightening. For the Christmas of my 20th year, I received from a family friend a set of stuffed teddy bears dressed in different holiday-themed sweaters. My dad, instead of allowing me to give them to a more age-appropriate recipient, insisted on keeping them. Occasionally, he asks me if I want them sent to wherever I am currently residing, which he gets a kick out of. For him, it is the joke that keeps on joking. ¨Lindsay, are you sure that you don´t want me to mail you at least 2 of the 5 teddy bears? They are awfully cute, after all.¨ So back to my initial point, I was sure that one of those pesky bears would find its way into the package he sent me, but maybe I successfully concealed them with all of the shit I stored at his apartment before coming down here, because my package was bearless. While lacking teddy bears, it did have some other interesting contents. My dad has a proclivity for sending me a mixture of things I love with random things he finds around his house. Items that fell into the second mentioned category this time around included a lone can of sardines, 2 expired pudding packs, some old black flip flops, and some miniature marmalades, all of which made me smile. Perhaps that can of sardines made you cringe? You maybe thought, ¨Ewww…sardines???¨ This, my friends, is where our true story begins…

All I think about is meat. If you want to play a fun game with yourself, try to guess what is running through my mind at any point during any given day. If you guess my family, friends, or work, you are wrong. If you guess meat, BINGO, you hit that nail right on its head. It´s fun. If you always guess meat, you will always be right, which sort of means you are a mind reader and that we are telepathically connected. Spellbinding, isn´t it? Speaking of meat and my lust and love for it, let us focus in for a second on the fact that I am served meat or another form of protein on average once a month, which has me a bit at my wit’s end. Don´t get too close, I´m not afraid of eating your flesh. Seriously. Here is a tidbit to illustrate how unbearable it has become. One of my closest friends Hana recently visited my region from her site west of mine, closer to the coast. She shared stories with me and Kristen about the wide range of insect visitors her room gets, including tarantulas and sizable scorpions. Instead of freaking out as the old Lindsay would, I sat there thinking, hmmm…tarantulas are large enough to qualify as animals. Maybe I could roast them over a fire and enjoy them over some pasta. Or, Im sorry, I forgot for a second where I was. I would actually enjoy them over rice. Silly me! Am I actually on Survivor? Will I win the cash if I start roasting tarantulas, because if so, that would be sweet!

Well, tonight after a dinner of hot water and dry flour (yes, they eat plain flour down here…don’t knock it until you´ve tried it. Just kidding, I won´t make you try it, as it tastes just like you would expect it to. What you must remember while eating it is that you can´t take too big of a bite or it will immediately suck all water out of your body, leaving you choking and gasping for air. Sweet treat, thanks for teaching me how to properly ingest it), I came to my room in a protein-seeking frenzy, ready to eat my wool blanket, which is as close to an animal as I could find. But wait! Did my dad NOT send me a pack of sardines? In a euphoric fit, I threw my entire packages contents (including Tastykakes, candy bars, and other such delectable goodies) aside to finally reach that flat shiny receptacle known as a sardine can. Reaching my fishy destination was more satisfying than Christmas, and in all of my excitement, I tore off the peel-off lid like I was opening my most awaited Christmas gift, which in case you were confused, is not a set of knit-sweater wearing teddy bears. What I forgot in opening the sardines is that their can was full to the brim of sardine-smelling fluid, not to mention sardines, all of which went flying all over the gosh darned place I call my room. Just when I thought my room couldn’t smell any worse from urinating at the base of my bed in a salad bowl, this calamity unfolds before me. Now, I’m sitting here trying to figure out if it is my room that smells, or just my hands from scooping sardines off my floor and shoveling them into my salivating mouth. All disasters aside, dad, you are a genius. Keep the protein coming, in whatever form you please.