Road Trip to the Andes July 2011 - Part 1

I know a road trip entails lots of driving, and you get to see things you wouldn't see if you were on a plane, and we did see many wonderful and interesting things, but still. It was A LOT of driving. 


We packed up the van, and dropped off the dogs at 7:30am on Wednesday. They stayed with a friend of Kiko's who lives in a house with a yard and a park out front. We felt really good about leaving them in such good care. After picking up our traveling companions, primo Rudy, his enamorada and my pilates instructor Maritere, and our sobrino Mariano, we headed out of the city in the morning traffic. ABBA seemed like a good choice to start the road trip with, and we were all in happy anticipation of our four day adventure. 


Our first (unscheduled) stop was at Lomas de Lachay, a national reserve in the desert foothills north of Lima. Kiko saw the bright green foothills and wanted to show me the beautiful and unusual landscape. You would never know anything like this could exist in the middle of the desert - it is a unique microclimate with verdant flora, a variety of birds and small animals. (Note: When Kiko took Allie here in September '10, they saw a puma!) We hiked up the trail a little bit, saw a large bird of prey and a strange flying insect, and took some pictures.
































Our next stop was in the province of Barranca, where we delivered our nephew and said "hola" to primo Alex and family who would be joining us the following day in Caraz. The only other stops after Barranca were for bathroom breaks because we had brought our lunch and lots of snacks in the car. There was so much to see! Patches of vegetables drying in the sun - purple and red peppers, and orange corn. Black cactus growing out of the rocks. Mamachas (Andean matriarchs) wearing pretty straw hats with multicolored fake flowers on them and layers of multicolored skirts. Sheep grazing on the plains with the jagged peaks of the snow-covered mountains in the background. The thing about driving in the Andes is that the road goes up and down, and up and down, and up...a lot. Mostly up. I had to focus on breathing because I have a tendency to unwittingly hold my breath and the altitude was pretty thin. 

We arrived at our headquarters around 4:30 with the headaches we got while driving on the windy road through the mountains. After a restful nap, we enjoyed the delicious dinner prepared by Rudy and Maritere, then went into the little town of Caraz to check out the pre-holiday celebration. Thursday, July 28, would be Peru's independence day (like our fourth of July) as well as the inauguration of the new president, and there was a band in the plaza de armas in the center of town playing Andean huayno music while little children sang on the stage. Back at our bungalow, we fell asleep to the distant sounds of the provincial party.


Thursday we had breakfast in the little cafe where we were staying. Un desayuno Americano    consists of jugo, which is often papaya juice, cafe, fresh pan with butter and jam, and huevos. With snacks and CDs, we began our day trip to the pre-Colombian ruins of Chavin de Huantar. After a stop in the town of Huaraz to drink coffee, buy chuyos (the Peruvian hats that cover your ears) and take a picture with some crazy, costumed llamas, we drove three hours over the worst roads I've ever been on. Kiko and our poor van did their best with the longest stretch of the biggest potholes on the windiest road you can imagine! And there were no "services" so the bathroom was a big rock on the side of the road. Even singing "Disco Hits from the 70's" wasn't helping very much! It was so annoying, because just when we thought we'd have a short respite from the teeth-jarring, body-slamming potholes, there would be another one right in front of us! 

But we finally made it to the ruins, which the Chavin culture began building around 1300 BC. It was very cool to see the archeology students from Stanford University working with their little brushes and sifting boxes. We hired a guy to give us a tour, and spent the next hour and a half learning about the site of the ancient spiritual pilgrimage where people from all over South America came to seek answers from the shamanes. Apparently this place invented the "rave"! They put on quite a show with a complicated natural lighting and sound system, and underground channels which they used to divert the river to create blow holes adding to the special effects. These things, along with the hallucinogenic drugs ayahuasca and san pedro, provided an intense mystical experience. The Chavin people also built underground galleries with ventilation and natural light where the shamanes would eat lavish meals and take their drugs, preparing themselves for their ceremonies. Although I felt claustrophobic in the narrow tunnels, it felt incredible to be in a place built such a long time ago. 

After our tour, Rudy became the driver and we quickly started the painful drive back. It was impossible to sleep, all we could do was close our eyes which helped them from jumping out of their sockets. We ate soup in Huaraz, and put our weary bodies to bed as soon as we got back to our bungalow in Caraz. My back hurt, and I was so tired from the long, uncomfortable drive and the high-altitude walking tour that I don't remember any nightmares of being stuck in underground tunnels with crazed, glassy-eyed shamanes! 

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.

But on the flip side

I'm sorry for whining, it's really not that bad. In fact, it's not actually bad at all. At the three month mark I finally have some semblance of a routine. Well, probably as much of a routine as you can have in a country where everything is "fluid" (in Kiko's words).

I just finished my third week of pilates! Three times a week, at 9am for an hour. I really like it - it's definitely challenging but I like the variety of workouts and I love my teacher. Maritere is Kiko's cousin's girlfriend, who I met at a wedding where she was really nice and friendly toward me, and super fun. She's in incredible shape (and has an incredible shape, sheesh!), and she's an excellent teacher. Kiko's cousin Flori also goes at the same time, and both of these lovely women will help me out in English when I obviously don't understand the instructions. I've already seen some improvement in my body and energy level, which you know is important when you are starting an exercise program and you're sore and need motivation to get out of bed!

I leave for my class at 8am, getting to the sports center around 8:15. This gives me forty-five minutes of quiet time with my book and my journal. I started this routine by accident. Kiko dropped me off early one day, and I walked over to the park, sat on a bench, and my new tradition was born. My best friend Jennie and I have just resumed our Christian book study, which is something we used to do that I have really missed. We read and make notes, which is what I do in the park (lately I've moved indoors at the sports center because of the mist) and then once a week or so we skype to discuss everything. I'm so happy for this!

This was my first full week teaching English for business executives at Nextel. One session with a high-intermediate student twice a week, and another class of three brand new English speakers three times a week.  The students were all really great, quickly learning the phrase "just kidding" when I told them they would have 10 pages of homework, all grammar! The company I work for provides the books, CDs, and additional materials I need. Early morning and after work hours make things interesting, and I may get more students in the future. But working seven and a half hours this week was a good start, and I really enjoyed teaching again.

Kiko's sobrina just finished her first international coaching class, the same one that Kiko took. As a class requirement, they needed to practice their new skills, so I gladly volunteered myself to Cinzia. At our first coaching session several weeks ago, Cinzia helped me with a goal setting exercise, and the following week, I met several of my objectives (exercise, work and book study). Our third session included lunch and shopping at my favorite discount store, so the extra benefits of being coached by my niece are getting to know her, enjoying her company and speaking English!

My days can be full if I choose them to be. The dogs go to the park or for a walk around the neighborhood three times a day. About once a week Kiko and I have lunch at my sister-in-law Marcela's house. I appreciate the invitation of hospitality, and always enjoy the large afternoon meal. Once in a while I'll meet one of my friends (Nara or Jackie) for lunch or coffee, I walk to the grocery store or Ovalo Miraflores, take a taxi to the big mall called Larcomar. I have lots of time for my "Daniel" Bible Study; catching up with friends and family on facebook, email and skype; reading; and watching Law & Order and CSI reruns. I am hopeful of meeting some new friends, and getting to know more of Kiko's family. Of course Kiko and I have fun together when we can, sharing nice dinners and movie dates, and always looking forward to a new adventure.

And now I've survived Lima on my own. Kiko had a business trip this week, leaving Monday night and not returning until late this evening (Friday). As you can imagine, I was a bit nervous about being alone here. But I have arranged all my transportation for pilates and work - our security guard referred me to a neighbor who is a taxi driver, and he has become my personal driver! I just give him my schedule and he picks me up in front of my apartment, then I take a random taxi back home. He's more expensive than flagging a taxi down from the street, but less pricey than other taxi services that you schedule in advance, and the convenience along with having the same driver is definitely worth it. I bought all my food and cooked a large pot of soup (which I ate all week long, even sharing some with the security guards!). I made it everywhere I had to go on time, I got a deal on a cute sweater for 18 soles (about $6.50), and I'm fighting off a cold (which apparently is common when the weather changes).

Seeing the flipside reminds me that no matter how much I miss my life in Corona, I have alot to be grateful for here in Peru. And my next step is finding a way to share my gratefulness with others - there's such a huge need here, and it's time for me to add this to my routine. 

I'm still not used to it

Well I've been in Peru for three months now. How long does it take to acclimate to living in a foreign (and developing) country? I expected to be adjusted by now; I've been in Peru for a three month stretch before, so I thought I'd be fully integrated into my new environment. But the other three months were only temporary. I had my plane ticket, and knew I was just visiting and would be going home. This time it's been different, knowing that I'm actually living here, even if it's not permanent. It's permanent for now.

My stomach isn't used to it. The food I eat is good, fresh, and generally healthy. I don't eat very much either, I think doing pilates has made me less hungry. But sometimes the food lets my American stomach know that its still foreign food, with annoying results. And as it's nothing I can pinpoint, I keep on eating what I like and take my chances.

My hair isn't used to it. The humidity hovers around 50%, so we have a dehumidifier in the apartment (the tray in this machine needs to be emptied of water twice a day - I don't understand). After blowdrying and straight ironing my hair, I step outside and poof! In my past life I wouldn't have cared about poofy hair as much, but I can't wear my Penn State baseball cap to work. Besides the humidity, now that it's winter it's been misting in the mornings and evenings. Not enough to use an umbrella, but enough that everything is wet, including the baseball cap.

My mind isn't used to it. Lima is so loud! It starts at daybreak with all the birds, and I love birds, but I don't remember them actually waking me up back home. Then as soon as I'm drifting back to sleep, I hear the street sweeper in front of our apartment, actually sweeping the street with a broom. Who knew a woman sweeping a street could be so loud? I'm sorry that I'm a bit bothered by her because she's just doing her job. After she moves on down the street, the vehicles start, slowly at first and with increasing frequency, until finally it's just a steady stream of motors, horns, and screeching tires. Two hours of this, right below my bedroom window, is not my favorite. 

Sometimes my mind gets tired of listening to Spanish. I'm speaking and understanding more every day, but sometimes when I'm focusing on a conversation between other people my mind gets tired and starts drifting. And everything that's written is in Spanish. Newspapers and magazines, food labels, any sign or billboard on the street or a building. Definitely not like the US where so much is in both English and Spanish.

My patience isn't used to it, but I'm trying. Shower water here is very inconsistent, and you just have to live with it. Either too hot or very cold, with a small window of warm. But I know that there are a lot of people who don't have any hot water at all. I miss my car, and the independence it allows me. I'm not brave enough to take a combi, which is a small van that gets crammed with people because it's really cheap, or even a normal size bus because I don't really understand the system. While taxis aren't that expensive (especially compared to the US), it's still something to be considered, especially now that I go to pilates and work, which is four taxi rides, costing more than I make. I'm fortunate that Kiko will often take me places or pick me up, or make arrangements with a family member to help me out. A high percentage of Peru's population must take public transportation because that's all they can afford.

I guess my heart isn't used to it either. Honestly, I miss my house, my family, my friends and my church. I'm glad to be here with my husband, and very happy that he has so many business opportunities. I'm glad that my dogs are here, too. I truly want to take advantage of all the opportunities that I have while living in Peru. I hope I get used to it soon. 

 

How Do You Say "Jacked" in Spanish?

I was just telling my friend Jackie that I've never not felt safe in Peru. Whether on the street, in a taxi, in a crowded swap meet, or in the park at midnight, I've always felt pretty secure in my surroundings. There are things that you do to protect yourself, like hold onto your purse when you're walking and don't look around like you're a tourist, and lock your door and put your purse on the floor when you're in a car. Basically you just act like you know what you're doing and try not to be obvious.


We walked to the new mall about half a mile away, Jackie with a shoulder bag and me with a small, handmade, artisan bag slung across my shoulder and underneath my sweatshirt. We first went into Tottus, the Peruvian Walmart, and then walked into the department store, Saga Falabella. We were happy about our first work experience earlier in the afternoon, and were looking for some new clothes to wear to our new jobs next week. We looked through piles of sweaters, holding them up for inspection regarding style and color, laughing and of course, speaking English. We ended up searching for clothes on the entire first floor, and with arms full, finally went into a dressing room to try things on. Only leaving our dressing rooms to stand in front of them for a quick "how does this look?", our bags really never left our sight. Which made for a huge and unwelcome surprise when I opened my little bag to see if I had enough money for the sweater I liked and found my wallet to be missing. My Blackberry and apartment keys were in there, but my wallet was gone. Jackie said that maybe I left it at home, but I knew I had it, and I knew I had snapped the bag shut. When could my wallet have been stolen? How? I was incredulous! I wanted to report it stolen, and Jackie said that we weren't going to let the theft completely ruin our day. She was going to buy a few things, including my sweater, and I would pay her her back. 


At the cash register, I was just about to ask for a manager to report my stolen wallet, when Jackie opened her bag to get out her wallet. When I discovered my wallet stolen, it didn't occur to us to check her purse, because hers has a zipper. But as soon as she said "my wallet is gone!", my heart sank. I told her to check all her pockets, which she did, and it was true. Both of us had been the victims of a pickpocket. A very good, professional pickpocket, who could unzip her bag and steal her scarf and the wallet underneath, and unsnap my little bag, stealing my wallet and leaving my phone. 


The managers and loss prevention staff were very courteous and helpful. They took us to their offices, took our reports, and helped Jackie contact her credit card companies. I was fortunate that I only had about $19. and an expired driver's license in my wallet. They told us they were looking at surveillance video, and would call us if they found anything. I thanked them for their offer of some money for a taxi, and we walked back to my place, in the dark, just after being pickpocketed yet feeling safe enough to walk, all the while asking each other how we could let ourselves become crime victims. The only thing we could come up with was that we felt safe in the store, which was just like a Macy's, and must have called attention to ourselves and let our guard down just enough to attract the thief.


I've had my wallet stolen in the U.S., and my purse, and even our car, but this incident feels different because we were targeted specifically for our looks and our language. I guess I've just joined the ranks of the countless foreigners around the world who have been taken advantage of for being foreign.

Peru Loves a Parade

We've all seen the "granddaddy of them all", the Pasadena Rose Parade on New Years Day. For many people, especially if you live in So Cal, this is the parade standard to which we've become accustomed. We also have our holiday parades, some large like the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in NYC and some small, like our hometown Fourth of July parades where kids ride their decorated bikes and pull festive wagons with costumed pets. Some are wild, like Mardi Gras, and others are more subdued, Memorial Day parades for instance. Whatever the parade, there are certain elements often included, such as floats, marching bands and equestrian units. Now that I've seen a few Peruvian parades, my own view of a typical parade has changed.  

For example, the first week we were here, Kiko and I were having lunch at a cafe in Miraflores. This cafe had no door, it was open to the bustling sidewalk and busy street. We starting hearing music, it was faint at first and kept getting louder and louder until it was actually right in front of the cafe. There were people walking in front of a large, slow-moving bus which was blaring the music. They were dressed in orange t-shirts with a large "K" on the front of them, the symbol of a presidential candidate named Keiko. As they threw orange visors and little notepads to business people, workers, and shoppers walking along the sidewalk, we realized that we were watching a campaign parade. This was a main street heading into rush hour, and the parade was slowing down the traffic, but people just went on with their business as if large orange buses blasting music were an everyday occurrence.

A few week's ago Kiko and I were walking the dogs at a large park near our apartment. We saw a group of about 10 children and 15 adults, and when we got closer to them, we heard their singing and chanting. They were young students with their teachers and a few parents making a parade for a cause. The children were wearing large posterboard signs hung with yarn around their necks, and the signs said things like "Support the arts for children". They also carried balloons, and shook plastic tambourines, but it was the middle of the day so there weren't many people out to see them. It looked like they were having a good time though.

Last week I was home by myself at around 7:30pm when I heard what sounded like trumpets coming from outside. It got progressively louder, so I looked out my window and saw a group of about 100 people walking very slowly down the middle of the street. Some folks carried signs and some carried flags of various countries (I saw the U.S., Argentina, Canada, Brazil). There were musicians playing a very melancholy tune, a few kids running around and some youth with their cell phones. The focus of the parade was on the statue of the Virgin Mary being carried by four men. They were walking in the middle of the pack, until the group came to a halt at the intersection of my street and the cross street. Then the statue carriers moved to the front of the parade. At this time I noticed a motorcycle police officer stopping traffic and making vehicles turn around, which was causing problems as this time of the evening is still hora punta (rush hour). In fact, as soon as the police officer wasn't looking, a taxi went through the intersection, narrowly missing a few participants, but that got the ball rolling and more cars went through, so the officer gave up and started directing traffic instead of stopping it. Someone with a bullhorn was giving a speech, then it sounded like the entire group was saying a prayer. Finally the men holding the statue started walking, and the rest of the group followed along behind, all very slowly. The parade blocked the entire street, and the cars behind them were now out of luck. There was honking from the cars trying to get through, and the melancholy song started up again. I'm not sure who was supposed to be reading the signs they were carrying because it was dark, and everyone passing by was probably just concerned with getting home.

When I was here a few years ago we were driving through a mining town and came upon a parade. Well, it was actually a protest, which is a type of parade anyway. The hundreds of workers from the mining company carried banners about their rights, and the police helped direct the vehicles trying to pass on the only road through town. During that trip I also experienced a cow parade, which really wasn't a parade at all, as the life-size plaster cows were stationed outdoors throughout Lima for a few months. It was more of an art festival, where different Peruvian artists painted a cow for display before ultimately being auctioned off for charity. I really enjoyed seeing this "parade" in the parks around the city, and found out that it's an international, ongoing event (check it out at http://www.cowparade.com/).

Maybe this summer you'll make plans to watch or participate in a parade. Here in Peru, you never know where, when, or what kind of parade will appear!