Navigating the system

My friend Johanna helped me take the micro today. You know when your kids show you how to use the apps on your cell phone and program the DVR? Well Johanna is Erika's age, and I felt kind of awkward in a motherly sort of way when she was explaining the nuances of the smallest of the Peruvian buses. I'm thankful for a surrogate daughter to show me the ropes - she's also told me how to watch The Office and Parenthood online which I have yet to do but that's like operating a DVD player so I'll need more instruction on that.

I met this sweet girl on facebook through an expat page, and we have watched several U.S. soccer matches at The Corner Sports Bar and Grill together, eating chicken wings and talking about life in Peru versus life in the U.S.  She is in culinary school here, not only learning how to be a chef but how to do it with metric measurements. She's a brave one! She joined me at pilates this morning, and while I am getting familiar with the women in my class (and have Kiko's prima in class as well), it was nice to have the company of my own friend. After class we walked to a small cafe for a light breakfast and conversation in English, and then we took the micro.

Just like in any Peruvian bus, the cobradors (driver's assistants who perform many functions from collecting money to yelling at people on the sidewalk to practically scooping up passengers) in these little vans pack the passengers in like sardines. Yes, an obvious cliche but that's the way it is! There are street names painted on the sides of the bus, so if you know where you are going you would know which one to take. But Johanna said it's better to ask them rather than just rely on the names on the sides of the bus to always be correct, so you yell at the micro as it's driving by. Chances are the guy has already yelled at you to see if you want to take the micro, so a relationship has already been established when you are ready to ask your question. But you'd better make it quick, because the micro doesn't stop for very long; once you hop aboard you don't have time to sit down in the tiny thing before it lurches away from the curb. The cobrador keeps his hand on the sliding door, which he opens approximately every 20 seconds so a passenger can get on or off. You look around inside and see that you don't want to touch anything, but with all the lurching you really must find something to hold on to. When the micro is packed like a sardine, I think people might hold on to each other! While you are riding, you tell the cobrador where you want to get off, and then you pay him. It's usually un sol, or about 35 cents. He gives you a little ticket so you can prove you've paid, which made me laugh because he obviously knows you just paid him! 

Peuvians use the ticket system a lot. When we drive to the Larcomar mall, we get a ticket for parking. There's a booth where you pay your ticket, but it's not at the parking lot exit, it's in between the mall and the parking lot. That person gives you a receipt, and a copy of your ticket, which you will then give to the parking lot attendant as you drive out.

When you go to a bakery, you eye the bread you think you want, then you tell the cashier and pay for your bread, then you take your receipt back to the person behind the counter who takes your receipt, asks you which bread you want, and then gives it to you, along with your receipt that he has torn a little bit to show that you received your bread. If you want to buy cosmetics at the grocery store, a simple Revlon mascara for example, you have to get a ticket for the item you want even though it's just hanging there right in front of you, pay for it at the cash register, and take your receipt back to the cosmetics aisle to make the exchange. If you have a cart full of groceries, you can ask an employee to retrieve your cosmetics purchase for you.

There are always lots of copies, and you are always asked whether you want  a regular receipt (boleta) or the kind you turn in with your expense report at work (factura).  At the end of the day, your purse and pockets are full of small white and yellow cash register receipts, various tickets, and blue and pink invoices. It all seems like such a drawn out process, but it works for Peruvians. Today I have my micro ticket to prove it.

 

A challenge and a choice

I'm writing this at the time I'm usually at my pilates class. I got up at my usual time, got myself ready, took the dogs out, and waited. My taxi didn't come to pick me up today, and Kiko is working. I guess I could have walked to a main street like Roca y Bologna or Tomas Marsano to hail a cab, which would have taken a little while because most taxis are full during rush hour. I'm kind of frustrated because this is the second time it has happened, but I really like my taxi driver and will give him the benefit of the doubt that something unavoidable came up. It's challenging to have to rely on others to get me where I want and need to go. I'll try again tomorrow.


Last night Kiko and I were trying to figure out my transportation needs for next week.  I think I will be teaching nine classes, in two different locations, and only have back-to-back classes once, so that's 16 one-way trips. Add to that six trips to the Academia Natacion Johnny Bello where my pilates classes are held, and financially it's barely worth it because my earnings will be paying for my transportation. Plus now I'm nervous that my taxi might not come, and I won't get to work on time. Kiko will drive me whenever he can, so that will help. My other option would be to take a bus, combi, or micro, but my comfort zone is honestly not there yet. I suppose I can count myself fortunate to have this problem. Although I feel very limited without my own car (and even if I had it, I don't think I'd actually want to drive in the craziness here), I do have a few transportation options, and I do have the money to ride in taxis. Most Peruvians don't have a choice in their mode of transport because they simply cannot afford anything other than public transportation.


Most of the people I know in the U.S. are not faced with the disparity of social class and income on a constant basis like we are here in Peru. I walk out my door and encounter service workers like maids, nannies, gardeners, security guards, personal drivers, street vendors, maintenance men, street sweepers, trash collectors, dog walkers, and car washers. I see them, and talk to them, in my own neighborhood, everyday, all day long. In the U.S. we see our gardener and trash collector once a week, and how often do we talk to them? I don't live in a wealthy neighborhood, yet my neighbors and I enjoy their services. I'm sure when their work day is done that they don't have the choice of taking a taxi or waiting for a spouse to pick them up. They'll walk, and they'll take public transportation, often having to stand because the bus is so packed. After a lengthy journey they will probably arrive at a neighborhood that is not as nice as mine, and in their small dwelling they'll take a cold shower because they don't have hot water, and wash their clothes by hand because they don't have a washing machine. Then I'll see them busy at their jobs on my street tomorrow when I go out to catch my taxi for pilates class.


I have some choices, and today I choose to be grateful.