This is a long entry, so I’ve divided it into easily digestible experiences for your reading pleasure.

Mmm, endangered-y

Yesterday I woke up at 2:30 am to take a bus to Colca Canyon. I read that it is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. Canyoun believe it?! God, I’m sorry for the puns, but I’ve been spending a lot of time alone, and this is the result. Anyhoo, the best part of the tour was this area where you could see the nearly endangered Andean Condor. There were about ten of them gliding over the massive gap between the mountains; looking like baby pterodactyls searching for carrion. It was an unbelievable sight, and made me wish I had Christine Dong and her fat camera to capture the majesty. I did my best with my dinky point-and-shoot, but they were roughly as fast as airplanes. The other neat part of the tour was seeing another endangered species: the vicuñas. They are kind of like a sleek version of a llama, and have the finest wool in the world. I touched a pelt in a shop (not sure why having a pelt is okay…) and it really is the softest thing that exists. All in all, the tour was really worthwhile and interesting. If only the guide hadn’t been so condorscending…actually he was very kind and knowledgeable, but how else could I fit in “condorscending”?

What a numbskull

This morning I went to a museum that houses JUANITA: THE INCAN ICE PRINCESS. I really recommend seeing this if you ever end up in Arequipa. First of all, the story of Juanita is super ghoulish. The Incans believed that the mountains around them were gods, and those kooky gods always needed appeasing. So the priests selected children from good families to sacrifice, and supposedly the parents were like, “what the hell, sure”. Then these kids and the priests would walk from Cusco to the summit of this 20,000-foot high mountain near Arequipa wearing sandals and a couple thin blankets. I cried real tears and planned to fake breaking my ankle when I climbed the South Sister in Oregon, so this journey seems unfathomable to me. Once they got to the top of the mountain, poor Juanita drank some corn beer that had fermented for two years, and then the priest bashed her head in, all before her thirteenth birthday. Incans buried everyone in the fetal position so they could be reborn into the next life, and this fact makes the mummy look particularly bizarre. She is just chilling (ha!) in this glass refrigerator, with a toothy grimace and long black hair. Her face looks corpse-y, but the insane things are her hand and arm. They were so well preserved that they look like plump, living body parts after 500 years on top of a volcano.

Queasy

I decided to try ceviche today, because everyone says it is so great, and Arequipa is a little closer to the ocean than Cusco. I wasn’t really sure what to order, because there were many different options, and I couldn’t translate them all. There was this one that said seafood plus another word that I didn’t know. It was more expensive than the plain old fish ceviche, so I figured it must be especially delicious. I really should have stuck with the fish. When the food arrived, the only things I could identify were cilantro and A LOT of octopus tentacles. I’m not necessarily opposed to octopus, it’s just that there is only so much a person can eat before the stomach starts to feel like a sea creature. These weirdly sweet, slimy, orange, membranous things accompanied the tentacles . They looked like something that belongs in the human body; like a lymph node or fallopian tube. The situation was a lot like the scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, where the annoying female lead is really hungry and the Indians are like, “monkey brains!”. I am not (very) annoying, however, so I don’t send food back unless it has a human toe in it or something. So I sat there and ate as much as I could, focusing on these white strips that tasted all right, and I figured were the mystery word that I couldn’t translate. Well, I just googled the word, and I’ll let you do the same so that you can experience the same shock that I did: ERIZO.

Going insane

As I said earlier, I am spending a lot of time alone recently. My only interactions with people are in Spanish, and so I have taken to talking to myself and making up puns. In fact, today I quietly recited what I wanted to write in this entry over and over as I walked around. I think this means I should come home, which is pretty good timing. This will be my last entry, so I hope you have enjoyed reading about how much Peru rules. If you miss hearing about my life, just read this sentence every day: Today I watched a bunch of stuff on Netflix instant watch, and then I stared creepily out of my bedroom window at everyone having fun in the summer sun.

Star Wars, fireworks, and Jesus.

Last week was very eventful. I finished up at my project and attended a farewell play/party put on by the kids, and experienced Inti Raymi. Inti Raymi celebrates the sun, and is supposed to be the biggest festival of the whole year. I guess you could say it was a little overwhelming. 10,000 additional people packed into Cusco and lined the streets to see "the Incan" float by in an enormous parade. I say "float" because he literally had sixteen slave dudes carrying him on a golden platform. After the Incan finished with being majestically transported around the plaza, he went up to the ruins at Saqsaywaman and said some stuff in Quechua (Indigenous not-at-all-like-Spanish language), and then the other Incans pretended to sacrifice a llama. I didn't actually see the happenings at Saqsaywaman, because there were too many people to get a seat close enough to the action. I could have bought a ticket for $90 to get a reserved seat, but I am pretty glad I didn't. There are parades almost every day here, and tons of guys dressed up like Incas wandering around, so I guess I was a little jaded when the final event happened. My favorite part of the week was this fireworks show in the main square. I have no idea what they were for, but they played the Star Wars theme and blasted hundreds of fireworks from the top of this huge hill, where a replica of Christ the Redeemer redeems.

I arrived in the city of Arequipa today, which has been a nice change from the grit in Cusco. Many of the buildings are constructed of this beautiful white stone, and the general upkeep of public places seems to be better. I am still kind of planning what to do with myself during this week, but I am hoping it involves seeing condors in a giant canyon and a museum with a frozen Incan mummy (a numby!!!). Mostly, I am just excited to come up with puns using the word "mummy".

2 weekz

First, I have tons of pictures of the kiddos at my project, so I will post some of those so you can go awww. I can’t believe I only have four days left with them. I vividly remember when I first arrived and all I could understand was “lalalala you are really white lalalala”. I have grown very attached to these little doodlebugs, and it’s beyond depressing that I will probably never get to see how they turn out. I do feel better knowing that the project is making a subtle, but significant, difference in their development. They have a little slice of undivided positive attention six days a week, and that has to count for something. Prepare yourself for some sweet names…

 Marcela

 ELVIS

 Gonzalo

 Margoth

Maricielo

Yesterday we went rafting in the Urubamba River. The first thing we saw when we arrived at the camp were two enormous St. Bernards and a maniacal little girl toddling around under the strings of slobber. The entire trip costed fifty bucks, and that sight alone was worth the money. I read that Cusco and all the surrounding towns dump their raw sewage in this river, but I didn’t see or smell any evidence of this grossness. I did flinch a little when a bunch of water splashed in my mouth though. The water was icy cold and brain-hurty, but the scenery and rapids were radical, dude. After a couple hours of freezing and screaming, we were treated to a time in a stone hut with an enclosed fire inside. I imagine pizzas feel the same way as they are being baked, and it was just what the Ansy ordered.

Tarjeta Andina=important, apparently.

I'd like to start with a word of advice for anyone traveling to Peru (or South America in general, I dunno). At the airport you will receive a tiny piece of paper that you write your name and date of birth on, and then they stamp it. Treat this paper with reverence. All I remember about going through customs in Lima is that I was way more sweaty than anyone else in line. Through a random casual convo with someone I live with, I discovered that you are not allowed to leave the country without this incredibly insignificant piece of paper, and that you will be detained at the airport and miss your flight. That paper is long gone. I'm guessing I threw it out at some point, and it has already traveled through the digestive system of one of the garbage scavenger dogs. When I googled "what do I do if I lose my tarjeta andina?" the first thing that came up was, "whatever you do, don't lose your tarjeta andina". While the f-word was slowly being yelled in my head, I figured out that I have to go to the Migration Office and wade through the red tape sea. In the end, I was pleasantly surprised. I don't know if they improved their system (because this must happen every G.D. day) or hellish bureaucracy got diarrhea and stayed home, but all I had to do was fill out a form and pay ten bucks. I suspect I was just really lucky and got a sensible caseworker, because even Lonely Planet warns that this situation is like the DMV on 'roids.

Speaking of hellish bureaucracy, the Peruvian elections went down last weekend. I found it difficult to get a balanced viewpoint on both of the candidates, because as one person told me, "it's like choosing between cancer and AIDS". The guy who ended up winning is a pretty radical militaristic leftist (because that has worked so well in South America) and his opponent was Keiko Fujimori, the daughter of previous president Alberto Fujimori. Some background: Alberto is currently serving 25 years in jail for killings and kidnappings performed by what is actually called his Death Squad. He also did tons of other shady stuff, like taking millions dollars donated to the poor and putting it in his secret Japanese bank account. While his daughter may not be the same person, there is extreme hatred associated with the name Fujimori. I am guessing this is why she didn't win, along with the fact that poorer people tended to go with Ollanta, and everyone is required to vote. Apparently there is a huge fee for skipping your patriotic duties. At any rate, I am glad the elections are over. The Peruvian style of campaigning is basically to annoy the living shit out of everyone until they finally submit to whoever annoyed them the most. I guess it also doesn't hurt to have an Incan warrior endorse you from a giant truck with your face on it

Me voooooy

Well folks, I haven`t been doing anything of note for the past week, because I have been sick as one of the sickly dogs gimping around here. Definitely was something like the good old flu, though my host mom was convinced I had “paràsitos“ and had to be taken out back and shot. No, but she wanted me to go to some clinic and get an “inyecciòn“. Yeah right, lady. Anyhoo, I am much better now and there was an upside to the whole mess. I got to see what froot loops look like in vomit form. Not a tie-dye effect as I had hoped, but black as night! I am gaining so much rich cultural knowledge from the germs around here. While I haven`t been up to much, I`d like to relate a story that I watched unfold from my bedroom window. I`ll set the scene...


I was slumbering fetally in the dead of night. Dogs were barking, horns were honking, tiny old women were still selling this weird hot juice on the street, when suddenly, a shot rang out! I awoke and looked out my window to discover four police officers shooting at a car! Directly beneath me, a rogue driver had foolishly turned into a dead end, and was now being shot at for some reason. Eventually he stopped the car and had to be physically wrestled from the car. This joker was obviously drunk, and would absolutely not stand still and be handcuffed. It was like an epsiode of Cops, with tinier people, cars, and guns. There was even a lady cop! While they were tangling with the guy, he kept yelling “me voooooooy ” meaning, “I´m gooooooing”, but the cops were like, yeah right, dirtbag, and they finally drove away with him. Man, it was really something. So that is the most interesting thing that has happened in awhile, but hopefully I`ll experience something that doesn´t involve guns or barf soon. 


-I also wanted to add a correction to earlier posts about cusco sours. While they are similar to whisky sours, they are actually made with Pisco, a grape brandy that is super popular around these parts. Also, they are more commonly called pisco sours and only occasionally cusco sours. The point is, all those times you imagined me stumbling around dark alleys by myself wearing my glittery club dress, blame it on the pisco, not the whisky. 

Giddyap

After recovering from eating the food-that-shall-not-be-named, I went horseback riding in a particularly beautiful part of Cusco. We went near some Incan ruins called Saqsaywaman, which makes me laugh like Beavis and Butt-head because it sounds like "sexy woman". I hadn't been on a horse since I was six on a nice flat beach, so I really wasn't expecting to dislike the experience as much as I did. I think the main issue was the terrain. The horses were supposed to climb this extremely steep and rocky hill, and they were stumbling the whole time. Now, I'm just not comfortable having my tender little spinal cord jerking around eight feet off the ground. When we got onto a flatter area, I thought I could relax a little, but my horse was such a bastard. I swear he was trying to Christopher Reeve my ass; he could sense that I was a frightened gringa through the saddle. He kept racing ahead of the group, getting in little fights with the other horses, and he spoke Spanish, so my "whoa" pleas went unheeded. I was so relieved to finally get off that skittish death-machine. Honestly, I would rather have ridden rollerblades up that craggy mountainside...at least then I could've just skinned the shit out of the palms of my hands. ANYWAYS, the ruins were really cool, as usual, and there was a spectacular view of the entire city, so the trip was worthwhile in spite of it all.

Today I am volunteering with the kids for the first time in a week, so I am excited to see how they are doing and get my Spanish rolling again. It is amazing how quickly I revert back to using English/basic Spanish when I don't have to actively speak. Not being able to communicate in a competent way is unbelievably frustrating sometimes, though occasionally I get on a roll and can actually say something meaningful. Immersion is truly the only way to learn how to use a language practically, though the classroom is handy for memorization and difficult grammar concepts.

no. more. causa.

Well, it finally happened. I ate some food, felt a little strange, and then proceeded to violently yak again and again. The whole situation could have been much worse, but it has definitely been the low point of my trip. There are two culprits in this heinous crime against my digestive system, but I think I have it figured out. Two days ago I went to nice little restaurant to get lunch, and one of the workers was from Oregon. When my cheeseburger arrived, I cut it in half and noticed that the center was undercooked. Because I am a dumbass, and because I really wanted the Oregonian to like me and not think I was annoying by sending it back, I ate most of the burger. You might be thinking that the burger is obviously what made me sick, but this is really like an episode of Law and Order SVU. The most obvious suspect is never the killer, it´s the feeble old aunt! Anyways, another volunteer and I went to a cooking class that evening. We made causa, which is basically a mashed potato and shredded chicken sandwich. My attempt tasted awful because I put way too much salt in it, so I barely ate any of it. The next morning I felt terrible, but I ate breakfast anyways...there is nothing like intense nausea to rocket you immediately into the present moment. Nothing from the past matters anymore, the future seems like an unattainable dream, and the only thing that absolutely must happen is a good vomit sesh. Afterwards, I felt like an aching noodle, but one of my housemates lent me some movies and I was okay by the next morning. How do I know it was the causa? Two reasons. The other volunteer that ate it also got sick, and before I horfed, the last thought that really got the saliva flowing was of that goddamn potato sandwich. Even writing about that dish is painful for me. And YES I know I just wrote an entire post about barfing. I´ll try to do things that aren´t gross next week.

cuy cuy cuy!

A few days ago the other volunteers and I decided to try cuy, which is guinea pig, for those of you who might not know. Some of the teachers from our Spanish school took us to an authentic cuyeria and told us we would have to pick our cuy out of a pen, much like picking a lobster out at a fancy restaurant. Thankfully they were just good liars, and we actually didn´t have to sentence a particular guinea pig to death. I was really hungry, so I didn´t hesitate when the food arrived. Each plate had a stuffed pepper, a baked potato (of course), and half of a fried cuy. They were cut in half lengthwise, so we each got half a head, one front foot, and one back foot. The meat was pretty much only in the hind leg and was actually pretty tasty. It was very similar to rabbit, but the fried skin had a salty tang that came back to haunt me later. After we picked the bones clean, things got a little out of hand with the cuy feet and our cameras, as evidenced by the pictures above and below. Overall, I feel good about the whole experience. I am glad I tried this cultural dish, though I would not order it again. As I was walking home after the meal, I couldn´t stop thinking about the curled up little feet with the toenails, and the tiny incisors of its half-mouth. Not to mention our childhood pets Blackie and GP... furthermore, the flavor in my mouth stuck around for awhile, and I really thought I might yak. I bought some candy and felt fine after I masked the lingering essence of guinea pig.

On a completely different note, the volunteering experience is going well, but also getting more intense. The more my Spanish improves, the more I pick up on how terribly some of the children are treated. Luckily the program is doing a lot try and improve their lives. For example, the director of the project arranged to have a psychologist come and have a meeting with all the parents in order to discuss healthy ways of raising children. On one of the days I volunteered, I had to help a couple of the kids write anonymous letters to their parents, which would be read out loud at the meeting. One girl´s letter went like this...

Dear Mom and Dad,
I don´t want you to hit me and throw cold water on me. I don´t want you to punish me even though I don´t listen sometimes. I want you to buy me a sea horse. I love you.

I have no idea what the sea horse thing is about, but I looked it up, and that is what she wrote. I felt very strange when I read her letter, because I just had to tell her that her spelling was correct and she did a great job, without acknowledging the content at all. The whole situation is a little disheartening, but I take comfort in the fact that all of these kids are in school and not on the street making tourists feel guilty. Another pleasing thing about the children is that most of them are really happy little maniacs, despite whatever goes on at home. Last week we went to the most run down playground I´ve ever seen, and everyone had a whale of a time running around laughing and avoiding the broken glass. I know it´s clichéd, the whole ´children in poor countries are so spirited and resilient, playing on broken stuff`, but I am actually witnessing it, and it is pretty cool.

MAPI

Machu Picchu is the most beautiful place I have ever been, hands down. We stayed in a humid little town called Aguas Calientes, which is a so so place. Since it is the only town you can stay if you want to catch a bus to the top, everything is more expensive and not as good. I ate alpaca and some greasy potatoes for the equivalent of ten USD, plus a service tax of 10 soles (around 4 USD). The alpaca was pretty tough, but had a delicious cow flavor. As for Machu Picchu, it was entirely worth the expense and hassle. The drive up to the site takes place on these narrow switchbacks, which led to a lot of clenching, but the scenery is insane. Gigantic mountains are on all sides, and they are covered in what looks like a dark green shag carpet. I can´t really describe the ruins...it seems impossible that people were capable of building such precise structures without modern tools. There are two climbs you can do from the ruins. One is called Wayna Picchu, and for some reason it is the most popular. You have to get to the bus station at two in the morning just to get a stamp that allows to you climb it during the heat of the day. If we could have climbed it at 4 and watched the sunrise, I probably would have been more willing. Instead we climbed partway up Machu Picchu, which the guidebook said has a better view and less people. The worker at the bottom of the mountain said it would take an hour to reach the summit, but it turns out that is only true of extremely athletic billy goats. Someone who was descending said it actually takes around two and a half hours. After an hour of uneven steep stair climbing, we gave up and took some sweaty pictures before heading back to Aguas Calientes.

Mother´s Day is a huge deal in Peru. Actually, anything is a huge deal. Someone sets off fireworks every morning outside my window, just to celebrate the arrival of 6 am. Anyhoo, when we got back to Aguas Calientes there was an absurdly loud band playing in the plaza, and hundreds of people milling about. The traditionally dressed mamas were all drinking these giant bottles of beer and dancing to what has to be the Peruvian equivilent to ranchero. Two guys were passing out free shots of whisky with a hint of sour, and all of this occurred in an absolute downpour. To complete this weird scene, I saw three of those Chinese Crested dogs, and they all had owners! Out of all the dogs roaming the streets, people choose bald rats to keep as pets. I´m back in the dust of Cusco, and slowly discovering Machu Picchu mosquito bites on my pasty gringa skin.

One more thing, I taught a kid how to plot points on a graph. Explaining these things in Spanish isn´t very easy for me, so I was unbelievably pleased when he actually got it.

Note the awkwardness when smiling for pictures.

This body was not designed for salsa

Yesterday I went to a salsa lesson with the other volunteers. We went to a really neat bar in the middle of the city, and the salsa results were disastrous. One girl is from the Dominican Republic, so she actually looked cool when she danced, but I was like an octopus wiggling around all over the place. After the lesson we stayed for a show, which was aahhhhsome. A Peruvian band played covers of the Clash, Alanis Morissette, and Shaniah Twain. I really couldn´t have been happier....

Drinking in Cusco is economical in two ways. The drinks are about three bucks, and two drinks really feels like four with the altitude. A couple Cusco sours and I´m good to go. Another bonus with drinking less booze is no hangover today. This is fortunate, because I have a two hour class followed by volunteering. I am really starting to enjoy my project. A new boy joined yesterday and we became buddies, as neither of us really knew what we were doing. We ended up reading a story together, where he would read one page and I would read the other. We were both sounding words out like second graders, except he actually is a second grader. It was beautiful.