An Educational Coastal Adventure

My eyes scanned the barren horizon as the taxi flew down the smoothest highway my coccyx has had the pleasure of experiencing thus far in Peru.  Brown hills cracked with dehydration produced little more than scraggy renegade clumpings of bushes.  Mentally I sighed with relief that Tumbes was my temporary destination and not my residential address.  But then the brown gave way to a shockingly deep green, the kind of green that dreams are made of, and made even brighter by the marked contrast to the surrounding desert.  Once the mirage theory was disproved, the lush green sea turned out to be a rice field.  So this is where I get most of my meals from.  Rice paddies turned into banana plantations and then back again as the car sped through the bizarre eutopia.  ‘Maybe Tumbes isn’t so bad afterall’ I thought as I handed over 32 US cents for 12 delectibly sweet bananas.  Then again, Tumbes had the highest incidence of Dengue Fever, confirmed AIDS cases, and violent theft in all of the 9 departments where Peace Corps Peru operates. I shuddered involuntarily and hugged my backpack a little closer to my chest, thanking my lucky stars I lived in a small mountain town where ‘No pasa nada.’ 

 

I made the long journey to Tumbes to attend a capacitation in AIDS prevention.  Two radio interviews, two high school presentations, and countless informal educational sessions with health workers later, I boarded a bus for the even longer journey back.  (Last night when I was dropped off at the nicest bus station in town I was greeted with closed doors; the bus station was mysteriously closed, without explanation.  As I had already purchased my ticket I proceeded to throw a temper tantrum in the busy street. The taxi driver politely waited as I stomped my feet and beat my fists against the trash laden pavement.  He then informed me that if we hurried we could make it to the other bus station across town.  We jumped back into the taxi and he gunned the 1987 engine to life. In my nervous excitement I shouted, “Follow that car!” although we were clearly not following anyone anywhere.  Made it to the next bus station, and I sprinted through the doors only to be met with curious stares.  It was 8pm.  The next bus left at 10:15pm. Turns out the original bus company had shut down temporarily because of a death in the family- the owner’s son.) 

 

Tumbes 1 point, Julie 0.

 

Highlights from the trip:

 

-Wandering wide eyed through the mega super market in Chiclayo (a large modern city on the coast)  After 20 minutes of sensory overload, I fully recovered my wits and was able to shop like a normal person.  Felt comforted when I saw a woman from the campo (country side) in her traditional dress looking as out of place as I felt.  Passed her in the shampoo aisle and gave a friendly smile.  “Doña Juliana!”  She exclaimed and gave me the awkward campo handshake shoulder pat combination I’ve grown to love and loathe. (Depending on the giver) Too shocked to say anything, I stood dumbfounded, mouth agape.  Here I was approximately 10 hours by perilous bus ride away from my site, Lajas.  And here was a woman that I had worked with in a smaller community located a two hour hike away from Lajas!  Despite all the improbabilities, here we stood in the same crowded shampoo aisle.  She was visiting her family, I was dominating AIDS, she was leaving next week, I was shipping out that very night, take care, take care, goodbye.  

 

-Playing tourist in the mangroves.  Taking a guided boat to ‘Island of the Birds,’ which can be heard and smelled before seen.  We (six volunteers in total) rounded the corner slowly in our small motor boat and were confronted with a replica of Hitchcock’s vision.  Thousands of birds diving swooping feeding attacking pooping and ca-cawing all over the small mangrove island.  Only one of us was victim to random acts of bird defecation-and it wasn’t me!  

 

Julie 1       Isla de las Aves 0

 

The tour guide explained that the branches of this mangrove island were spaced closer together and more horizontal creating a perfect learning environment for baby birds.  Thus the avian population had increased exponentially until reaching the marvel we saw that afternoon.  I had no idea birds smelled so bad.  I suppose I shall enjoy my pictures a bit more than the actual experience because of the olfactory factor.

 

-Realizing yet again how small Peru was when I finally made it to a functioning bus station and saw my host cousin and a nurse from Chota that I had met in Piura for the hand washing camp.  

 

It’s a mundo pequeño after allllllll

 

Thanks for reading!

Harvest

    Six year olds are indubitably adorable, unless they’re dragging behind you, wasting all their precious resources of strength on whining. “C’mon Cielo, let’s go!  We’re going to miss the beans!”  I had planned on leaving at 7am to help my grandparents harvest beans on their farm, located a 45 minute (STEEP) hike away but my heart had jumped ahead of my brain and agreed to take my small host sister along for the adventure. 

 

Luckily my family members were still hard at work when we arrived.  The men were beating a tall pile of bean plants with impossibly long wooden poles while the women sat off to the side sifting through the beans.  At first glance the scene appeared devoid of logic.  Wasn’t it easier to just pick the pods off the stalk?  Turns out, yes, it is easier to pick pods when the plant is ripe for picking.  But then, once it dries, it’s more convenient to cut down the plant, stalk and all, pile it up and beat it down.  Apparently. 

 

Since I’m a strange foreigner I often get to transcend gender boundaries; and maybe also because I’m a tom boy and the male members of my host family value my size over the social implications of my genitalia. For various reasons, I got to wield the larger than life bean pole and work out all my aggressions for the next few hours. Four blisters later I had an unforgiving back and a calm conscience, and a gnarly collection of beans.  The purpose of pole wielding in this exercise is to cause the beans to pop out of their pods and fall through the tangle of dried plant stalks to the tarp underneath.  The stalks are then given to the cows for food and the beans taken to the sifting machines (the women).  Watching them sift through the “arvejas” I fell more deeply in love with simplicity.

 

Each bean pile contained a heap of unwanted material: dirt, dust, bugs, leaves, tiny sticks, etc. To separate the good from the bad the women shoveled a nondescript load into a bowl, lifted the bowl shoulder height and allowed the whole mess to fall.  The wind carried the evil non-bean material away to a terrible fate, attacking pale innocent passers-by and permitting the beans to fall back to the tarp. Noting the intelligence of the operation I blushed with shame that it took me so long to understand what was going on.  

 

At the end of the day I felt slightly enlightened and seriously exhausted. 

 

Mission accomplished.

Hecho

Why stand on the sidelines watching others live your dream? Are you too shy or think you’re not “cool” enough to get in on the action? Or do you simply lack the self-confidence and motivation? Well, maybe it’s time to stand up and get MADE! 

 

MTV Interviewer: So why do you think you are an appropriate contestant for MADE?

Julie: All my life I’ve dreamed of being a Peruvian folkloric dancer and now that I’m living in Peru the dream is more attainable.  I found a dance group called Sendas Peru that practices in the town next to my village and I think I have a legitimate shot at making it.

MTV: Peruvian folkloric dancer?

Julie: Yes, that’s what I said.

What I{ve Become

A sweaty substitute teacher. 

 

My worst fears were confirmed Tuesday and I skipped happily back to my house after a full morning of teaching at the primary school.  Not only had I successfully made it through 4 hours of health and English but I had also beaten all the 8 year old boys of Quarto A in sprints across the basketball court….in my chacos  (sandals) .  Booyakashaaa.  I love gym class.

 

Upon entry to my house I did a casual mirror drive by, and discovered to my horror, that I had ENORMOUS sweat stains.  We{re talking must apply for own zip code sweat stains. 

I thought back to every teacher I{ve ever had with sweaty underarm afflictions and shivered to think I would now be joining the ranks.  

 

The good news is, I will be challenging all of Fifth grade in sprints next Tuesday.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” responded James to the slightly intoxicated fellow wedding guest.  ”Just a friend.”

“Hmmm.  Well then, tell her I’d like to marry her.”

I returned from the bathroom (take a left at the pig, step over the chickens and good luck finding the broken light switch) to find James smiling ear to ear.  

I was in a fellow volunteer’s site, attending the wedding of his host aunt.  It was somewhere between late at night and early in the morning and the fried guinea pig was not mixing well with the cheap champagne.  Luckily the traditional dance, huayno, helped with digestion as hopping up and down encourages gravity to push food substances through a frustrated intestinal track.  As the closest female volunteer I was the happy ‘heterosexual cover-up’ for my friend.  ”Now they’ll never know I’m gay!”  

I have to say, after a full night of stares and dances and drinking circles, it was a success.  The good people of Conchan will be talking for weeks to come of James’s blue eyed wife/lover/girlfriend/escort/mother/sister/daughter.  

 

My favorite part?

For breakfast they served us tamales, guinea pig liver and lung, potatoes, rice, and cake. 

God bless Peru.

Slacklining in Peru

As another beautiful Sunday afternoon tapped me on the shoulder, I decided to finally set up my slackline on my host grandparents’ property.  Those who are unfamiliar with this ‘hippie sport’ may want to watch this video.  

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YR4pH_V85Pw

 

With webbing and carabiners in hand I hiked up to their property.  Trees are somewhat scarce in my village but luckily there are two that are on somewhat flat ground with a view of the river.  

 

Too bad I don’t know much about setting up a slackline…

 

I fiddled with knots for the better part of an hour before stepping onto my looser than loose slackline.  In the middle it bowed to the ground.  Hitching the anchors higher up on the two trees created a sort of death slide that, while fun for me and the 13 year old neighbor boy whose curiosity steered him towards the flailing gringa, was not exactly what I had in mind.

 

The setting sun cast a soft orange glow on us happily sliding back and forth on my purple webbing.  While not a text book success, it was a lot of fun.  I vow to keep practicing my knots and eventually I will get it right!

 

Thanks for reading. 

 

Sorry for any concern I may have caused with the last post.  I promise I don’t faint for fun.

I think my vision’s going…

Once upon a time I was invincible. I biked around Boulder like there was no tomorrow, surviving off of “rabbit food” (snacks based on carrot derivatives) and 5 hours of sleep.  I worked a few jobs, lived in a garage, and managed to find time to pee my pants from laughing at least once a week. 

 

Things have changed.  Is this age sneaking up on me?

 

I spent the past week in Piura on the coast, being capacitated in all things latrines, wood stoves, vegetable gardens and early stimulation techniques.  (Go ahead and smirk about the last one, I did all week).  Arrived back in my site at 6am this morning after a busy night of twisting and turning and flailing on a bumpy bus ride.  Did my best to ignore the constant shuffle of livestock on the other side of my bedroom window until 11am.  Biked to Chota for a birthday part of another volunteer.  On the way, my 25 year old body started to fail.

 

My town is indeed located at a lower altitude than Chota (2,190 compared to 2,600 meters) but not enough to really make a physiological difference, or so I thought.  About half way to Chota I see an elderly woman and her granddaughter in the hazy distance.  Getting closer I realized they lived in La Sinra, one of communities I work in.  Stopped to do the formal hellos like a good Peace Corps volunteer. 

The elderly woman was informing me of the alarming market prices in Chota when the world started to get even hazier. Black dots crept into the corners of my vision and her voice muted mysteriously mid sentence.  I tried to smile but wasn’t sure if my lips were following command.  Her furrowed brow took on a new look of concern.  ”Gringita? Estas bien?”

Having had some very mild bouts of fainting spells earlier in my life (none of them alcohol related thank you very much) I figured I should be proactive.  So I continued to make inane conversation, likely not making any sense as I still could not hear her, nor my own voice. Until my knees went weak.

There I was laying in the middle of the road, splayed next to my bike while the Sinra pair looked at me aghast.  I assured them that it was just a low blood pressure problem while clenching my fists and willing my blood to circulate back to my brain.  

In a rare merciful act of the higher powers, not a single car drove by, giving me ample time to recover and remount my bike. 

All’s well that ends well!  Made it to Chota in one piece and have sworn to respect altitude more.  

More birthday cake to be consumed. Gotta go, thanks for reading!

New Digs

“That´s not safe,” he shakes his head as my bedroom ´wall´reverberates upon kicking it.  “I could break down this wall and attack you whenever I want to”.

 

Oh my.

 

I guess my security adviser had a point. He had come to visit with my boss lady and was making a house visit to see if everything was up to par. Which it wasn´t…

After his visit I sat my host mom down and explained the situation.

“The curtain doesn´t provide enough privacy?”  She asked me with tearful eyes, worried I was going to move families.

I thought of my tendency to dance in my underwear and I thought of how Yoga, to the untrained eye, looks like unnecessary torture.

“No” I replied, shaking my head, “the curtain isn´t enough”.

Thus we set out to build the Great Wall of Julie.  We hired a carpenter and bought the wood. And then waited.  Well I waited.  In my room.  For six hours for the carpinter to come.

We went to his house to see what had happened.  I was hoping for a family illness, for a case of food poisoning…for anything but what we found.

“The bottle grabbed him” replied his wife, embarrassed and ashamed of her husband´s drinking habits.

Hmph.

Luckily our drunken carpinter redeemed himself the next day, knocking on my door at the beautiful hour of 630am to assure me he was coming. 

That´s wonderful, I said.  But I won´t be here.  I have to work.

So my host dad had to stay home to make sure the carpinter finished the job.  Which he did, and beautifully at that.

I am now the proud owner of four walls. 

Ahhh it feels good.  Next stop, painting them!

Thanks for reading!

ABC…

It’s as easy as 1,2, 3…

 

I spent Fiestas Patrias in my own department.  Lame?  Hardly! We filmed a sweet music video among other things… (I swear I’ll stop elipsing one day…) We tried to youtube it but it was outlawed because we didn’t pay royalties.  So here is a blog link to the video.  Enjoy!

 

 http://robyninperu.blogspot.com/2009/07/another-music-video.html

I speak for the trees!

A single fire extinguisher was brandished and as a small stream of water attempted to put out the growing fire I felt my heart drop and choked out, I am the Lorax! I speak for the trees!

It was somewhere around 2 in the morning and Celendin´s town party was hopping, literally as that is the most popular way to dance Huayno, to hop around in various uncontrollable rhythms and steps. Until almost falling and then regaining posture and stability enough to shove your shoulder into your dance partner.

In short, I really like this dance.

But I stopped hopping as soon as I saw the tree was on fire. The three story wooden firework structure had grand finaled with rings of fireworks shooting off of the tower and into the crowd.

Dangerous?

Like you wouldn´t even believe!

Especially when there is a tree very close by with dry branches.

Some cheered when the tree caught on fire, others gasped and encouraged onlookers to join the rescue with their urine.

I attempted to help but projectility has never been my forte.

So I watched helplessly as the firefighters held one lonely fire extinguisher against the flames.

After 20 minutes the tree had nothing left to burn and the fire went out of its own accord.

Goodbye Truffala Tree.

On a completely separate note, thanks for all teh birthday wishes! It has now been 25 years since I walked out of my mother´s womb.