Our dogs have been in Peru for one week now. It took several tries to get them here, and it almost didn't even happen at all. One thing you must learn when dealing with Latin American countries is that you will never have all the information you need in order to get something done, and the information you do have may or may not be correct. We researched numerous websites to find out what vaccines, documents and accessories the dogs would need in order to travel to Peru. We checked travel websites, the Peruvian consulate website, the USDA website, pages about customs, importing & exporting, vaccinations, quarantine, crate sizes, you name it and we checked it. Yet when the dogs arrived at LAX, tranquilized, in their crates and ready to go, their handlers (cousin Jorge and roommate Will) were told that the paperwork was incomplete and the office they needed to visit was closed.
So the dogs went home and slept for two days, and we were grateful that Jorge was able to track down the various paperwork needed from several offices in LA. Ready to try again, Allie, Jessie and Jorge felt certain that everything that could go wrong already did, so on Saturday morning they confidently arrived at Lan Cargo the mandated five hours before their nonstop, eight hour flight. Perhaps Allie and Jessie should have taken the slowest coffee shop in the world and the closed freeway with no detour as a sign of things to come.
Once at the airport, there were just a few little things, like finding out that the vet forgot to sign the most important form, but after some phone calls and faxes, all was ready and the dogs were loaded onto the dock to wait for their flight. It was at this time that money needed to exchange hands between the US and South America, and it was at this time that things got complicated. The dock worker told Allie that the price for two dog tickets to Lima was $1,000. Yes, that's right, ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. This was slightly more than the $565. estimate given to Kiko when he made the reservation, and of course the person who booked the flight was not available for consultation.
The next several hours were right out of a Seinfeld episode. I was alone in the apartment when Allie Google chatted me to let me know something was wrong, then Jorge called me, then I messaged Kiko, who was in an all-day class and should not have been disturbed, then he called me, then I messaged Allie to have Jorge call Kiko, which he did, then Kiko called me so we could decide whether to spend twice as much money for dog tickets, then more messages and phone calls, then a message from Allie saying they had a handle on things "hopefully" and then silence. The silence turned out to be a good thing, because it was discovered that the dock worker who asked for the $1000. fee was looking at prices from the wrong book, and the original quote was more or less correct. The fact that the fee was solely payable in cash seemed to point in two directions - that the dock worker should stick to loading and unloading and stop trying to deal with the complexities of billing, or that the dock worker was smarter than he appeared and knew exactly what he was doing and looked forward to celebrating an extra $435. in his pocket with a turn-around trip to Vegas.
Am I really that cynical? Did the dogs need the extra 2 - 3 days of dog food we were supposed to send with them "just in case"? Did I wish I had a few of the dogs' sedatives for myself? The answers to these questions will be found in Part 2.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Vote or pay up!
Last Sunday I experienced my first foreign presidential election. Like in the states, for months leading up to the big day you'll see flyers, posters and billboards of the candidates plastered around the city. I saw a few faces with black mustaches and devil horns that I don't think were on the original pictures. The best campaign sign I saw was from a candidate whose slogan was "No one can break my hand because it's already broken", I guess meaning that he couldn't be strong-armed by special interests. You know he was telling the truth because his picture showed the metal hook he has in place of his missing hand! I would have voted for him if I was registered.
All Peruvian citizens over the age of 18 are automatically registered to vote. Voting is compulsory until you are 70 years old, and if you do not vote you will pay a fine. There's a large voter turnout in Peru! Wherever you go, you actually hear people talking about the candidates. Kiko says that since people have to vote, they feel they might as well be informed. Election day is on a Sunday so most people won't have to miss any work. There aren't as many polling places as in the states, so you must travel a greater distance to your voting location, and with everyone on the road either going to vote or coming back from voting, the traffic is crazy! As part of my Peruvian adventure, Kiko wanted me to join him in this most patriotic of actions - by bike. For an hour we rode the many miles to Ricardo Palma University, dodging cars, taxis, motorcycles, buses and pedestrians as we pedaled toward our destination. I was happy to arrive at the university without being hit by a bus, but then we had to maneuver our way around the carnival of ice cream carts, cotton candy vendors and little kids. Once inside the iron gates, we locked up our bikes and got directions to the classroom where Kiko's polling place was located. We got directions from a soldier with an AK47! There were only a few soldiers, and they weren't even needed. The throngs of voters and their children (and the occasional out-of-place American) were very calm and orderly.
We found Kiko's classroom, there was no line so he walked right in and showed them his ID card. The Peruvian ID card is like a driver's license/social security card/passport, and Peruvians always keep this card with them as soon as they turn 18. This National Identity Document is very important, it affirms that you are a citizen, and it is used to conduct all types of business. Once Kiko proved his identity, he was allowed to vote, and was rewarded with the blue middle finger. When you vote, you place your index finger on an ink pad to make your fingerprint on the roster next to your name. Then, instead of giving you a sticker that says "I voted" like we get in America, you place your middle finger into a bottle of blue ink. Sometimes the polling worker gets excited and dips your finger into the ink for you, way down into the bottle so that your fingernail is a solid blue until it grows out. Regardless, your blue middle finger tells the world that you performed your duty. Everyone knows who voted and the few that didn't might face consequences in addition to the monetary fine. For example, if you want a loan and the bank sees your clean middle finger you probably won't get it. Even after your fingernail has grown out, your voting record is easily accessible. They do give you a sticker when you vote, but it's placed on your Identity Document instead of your shirt, so there is a permanent record of your good citizenship in case you forget.
Kiko came out of the classroom and we were done. It was a very smooth process, which surprised me because of all the havoc going on outside the iron gates. And most everyone in the entire country was doing the same thing between the hours of 8 and 4. We stopped at Starbucks to wait for traffic to die down (there's one on every corner, just like home!) and as we made our way back we saw the campaign signs already being removed. However, the dry law was still in place until Monday at noon. Before an election in Peru, there is no alcohol sold in stores or restaurants from Friday until Monday. This must be why there were minimal soldiers at the polling venue - no wild, drunken voters to deal with!
A country with nearly 100% voter turnout, campaign signs are removed immediately after the election, and nobody protests four days of sobriety. Take note, America!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
The Adventure Begins - March 21, 2011
Welcome and bienvenidos!
The purpose of this blog is to inform the reader about life in Peru from the perspective of an American expat. Most readers will be family and friends in the US, many in southern California, and I want to provide as accurate a portrayal of my experiences here as my perspective allows. While I am a low maintenance kind of gal, I'm also a planner, and both of these characteristics will color my view of life in a developing country. I am very fortunate to have as my guide a true Peruvian with American sensibilities, and obviously we wouldn't be in Peru if it wasn't for my husband Kiko. So let the adventure begin!
Here in Peru we live in a big city. I've never lived in a big city, it's a bit different from the suburb of Corona. There are more apartments in Lima than there are houses, and we live on the third and top floor of an eight unit apartment building in Miraflores, one of the 43 districts which make up the capital city of Lima. Although we live in a residential neighborhood, with one park behind us and another around the corner, it's full of a myriad of sounds. There are many birds in the trees and on the flat apartment roofs: cooing mourning doves, chirping song birds, and squawking jungle- green parrots. Our apartment faces the street, and below my bedroom window there are speeding cars, taxis, motorcycles and trucks of ALL sizes. They have loud motors, mufflers, horns and radios. Car alarms are constantly going off. There are sirens in the distance. The distinctive whistles of the ice cream man, the knife sharpener, the fruit seller, and the junk buyer. It's the cacophony of the city, and something I need to get used to.
The apartment we live in belongs to Kiko's family. It used to be my beautiful mother-in-law's, then my sister-in-law lived here, and now we are fortunate to live in it. It's just a tad bigger than the one bedroom place Kiko and I lived in our first three years of marriage. Two bedrooms, one bath, unless you count the bathroom on the service patio, which we don't count because we don't use it. That bathroom is for our empleada - our maid.
Yes, we employ a maid. I'm not working yet, and it's only me and Kiko here. Nevertheless we have Gregoria two days a week. Even in a small apartment, it is customary to engage some "help". I could have used this "help" when my daughters were young and I was working full time! Don't get me wrong, I am truly grateful to have the luxury of a maid, although a maid is not seen as a luxury here. Gregoria cooks delicious meals, cleans the apartment, and does the laundry. These household chores encompass different things in Peru. Food is generally purchased and cooked as needed, and favored ingredients are fresh as opposed to canned, frozen or (especially) processed. Gregoria makes our meals from scratch, including fruit juice, soup, sauces, and salsas. When I shop with her, I learn to choose my freshly baked french rolls and ripe tropical fruit. Packages are much smaller that we are used to in the states, there is no Costco here, so we grocery shop more often. We also buy a lot of bottled water.
Many homes do not have clothes dryers, as is our case. Out on the service patio, Gregoria washes our clothes, hangs them to dry, and irons them all, including jeans, t-shirts and even underwear. I certainly don't iron unless absolutely necessary, and my clothes are so casual, but it's really nice to wear an ironed t-shirt and sleep on freshly ironed sheets. We don't have a dishwasher or disposal, which is also common in dwellings here. We have a tiny trash bag in a wire holder with a plastic lid on the kitchen counter next to the sink for fruit and vegetable peelings and any food scraps from our plates.
There's something else we don't have that I took for granted in Corona...plumbing. Well, actually just large pipes. Apparently the pipes here are small, too small to accommodate (here it comes!) toilet paper. Small trash cans are essential in home bathrooms and in every stall of any bathroom anywhere you go. After living in Peru for nearly three weeks, I've now learned the art of toilet paper origami!
The purpose of this blog is to inform the reader about life in Peru from the perspective of an American expat. Most readers will be family and friends in the US, many in southern California, and I want to provide as accurate a portrayal of my experiences here as my perspective allows. While I am a low maintenance kind of gal, I'm also a planner, and both of these characteristics will color my view of life in a developing country. I am very fortunate to have as my guide a true Peruvian with American sensibilities, and obviously we wouldn't be in Peru if it wasn't for my husband Kiko. So let the adventure begin!
Here in Peru we live in a big city. I've never lived in a big city, it's a bit different from the suburb of Corona. There are more apartments in Lima than there are houses, and we live on the third and top floor of an eight unit apartment building in Miraflores, one of the 43 districts which make up the capital city of Lima. Although we live in a residential neighborhood, with one park behind us and another around the corner, it's full of a myriad of sounds. There are many birds in the trees and on the flat apartment roofs: cooing mourning doves, chirping song birds, and squawking jungle- green parrots. Our apartment faces the street, and below my bedroom window there are speeding cars, taxis, motorcycles and trucks of ALL sizes. They have loud motors, mufflers, horns and radios. Car alarms are constantly going off. There are sirens in the distance. The distinctive whistles of the ice cream man, the knife sharpener, the fruit seller, and the junk buyer. It's the cacophony of the city, and something I need to get used to.
The apartment we live in belongs to Kiko's family. It used to be my beautiful mother-in-law's, then my sister-in-law lived here, and now we are fortunate to live in it. It's just a tad bigger than the one bedroom place Kiko and I lived in our first three years of marriage. Two bedrooms, one bath, unless you count the bathroom on the service patio, which we don't count because we don't use it. That bathroom is for our empleada - our maid.
Yes, we employ a maid. I'm not working yet, and it's only me and Kiko here. Nevertheless we have Gregoria two days a week. Even in a small apartment, it is customary to engage some "help". I could have used this "help" when my daughters were young and I was working full time! Don't get me wrong, I am truly grateful to have the luxury of a maid, although a maid is not seen as a luxury here. Gregoria cooks delicious meals, cleans the apartment, and does the laundry. These household chores encompass different things in Peru. Food is generally purchased and cooked as needed, and favored ingredients are fresh as opposed to canned, frozen or (especially) processed. Gregoria makes our meals from scratch, including fruit juice, soup, sauces, and salsas. When I shop with her, I learn to choose my freshly baked french rolls and ripe tropical fruit. Packages are much smaller that we are used to in the states, there is no Costco here, so we grocery shop more often. We also buy a lot of bottled water.
Many homes do not have clothes dryers, as is our case. Out on the service patio, Gregoria washes our clothes, hangs them to dry, and irons them all, including jeans, t-shirts and even underwear. I certainly don't iron unless absolutely necessary, and my clothes are so casual, but it's really nice to wear an ironed t-shirt and sleep on freshly ironed sheets. We don't have a dishwasher or disposal, which is also common in dwellings here. We have a tiny trash bag in a wire holder with a plastic lid on the kitchen counter next to the sink for fruit and vegetable peelings and any food scraps from our plates.
There's something else we don't have that I took for granted in Corona...plumbing. Well, actually just large pipes. Apparently the pipes here are small, too small to accommodate (here it comes!) toilet paper. Small trash cans are essential in home bathrooms and in every stall of any bathroom anywhere you go. After living in Peru for nearly three weeks, I've now learned the art of toilet paper origami!