Grounded

Notwithstanding my boredom, I correspond from Lima. Yes, I'm still here. As I approach my two week anniversary, I have just been told that should get comfortable because I may be here awhile. Now, those weren't exactly the rousing words of stimulation I was hoping for.

Now, the first week wasn't so bad. I managed to keep myself pretty busy. The Peer Support Network training/planning session went very well. I am proud to say that I am one of the Committee Coordinators for the rookie program. We set up goals, roles, and a mission statement with a little training and techniques session conducted by a psychologist who works for the embassy.

I also spent a couple of days in the central office helping to redesign the format of how youth develop workers conduct their reports. That too was nice because it gave me a chance to see the Peace Corps office life. (I still prefer the “field work”). I even spent a day at a fellow volunteer who is stationed about 45 minutes away from where I am staying volunteering at an orphanage in her town. I also provided an embarrassing sum of stool samples . Let's just say that if there was a professional league...OK, I'll just stop there.

The specialist I saw the other day provided me with a risible amount of medication; I'm taking four pills a day for two weeks. For the sake of substandard humor everywhere, let's just say that the news was hard to swallow (really, I'm sorry about that one). But seriously, I'll be staying here until I have completed the cycle. Then, we'll take things from there.

To add to discomforts and discontent, I had a rather serious and staggering meeting with the Peace Corps doctor the day following my examination. Early that morning, I went to his office and had been informed that I will need to change sites. Yes, that's it. I really don't have a voice in the matter. The message was quickly relayed to the head of the youth development program who wasted no time in initiating discussion about a new location for me. This was before all the dust even had a chance to settle from the first bomb dropped.

Unfortunately, her ideas did not include keeping me in my current department for fear that my health problem could perpetuate. I was not impressed. I have grown quite attached to area, its colossal mountains, and its resonant culture. However, and again, I really didn't have a voice in the matter. I then went back to the Peace Corps doctor and inquired about possible site changes within the department that he could approve of. Mercifully, he yielded two possibilities; both larger cities. I then went back to my boss and shared the scoop.

She approved. Therefore, I am currently corresponding with former volunteers who served in the areas to see what possibilities exist. It's been a very uncomfortable and a somewhat embarrassing endeavor. Things have yet to really solidify. What about the projects? The people? My home-stay family? Yeah, I know; tragedies and tribulations. I'm stuck in a quandary of where to even begin thinking about thinking of the state of affairs.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to adjust to life in a big city as my health improves resolutely. I've begun to calibrate a new life at sea level. It seems I have forgotten exactly what freeways, food alternatives, and looking both ways before crossing were all about. However, I've never slept better than now, when encompassed in the urban silence.

In further notes of sanguineness, the entire group of health and environment volunteers from an anterior group are currently in Lima undergoing their medical checks. Not only has it been a great opportunity to get to spend some time with a fascinating group of people (Peace Corps Volunteers always have the most formidable table talk), but there are other volunteers who have been in situations comparable to mine. Their empathetic words and ears have been very remedial. Visits to the oceanside have also been a salutary tonic.

Time and again I've heard that no two Peace Corps experiences are alike. These words ring truer now than ever. Now, as I wander around the ritziest parts of the country, they manifest. More so, I've concluded that it is most certainly NOT “beginning to look a lot like Christmas” as the speakers of the equitable shops declare. Nonetheless, I wish you all the happiest of holidays! Stay well!

Reconnect My Friends

Here I am! Back from the beach. The beach I visited is called Huanchaco, and is most renouned for it's straw boats that are used to trot the surf. The area is also known as the location of “Chan Chan” the largest conglomeration of adobe ruins in the world...or something like that. Anyway, not only was it a good break from the imminent and advancing rain season in the sierra, it was absolutely sensational to catch up with all my fellow Peace Corps volunteers with whom I shared so many tedious hours in training months ago. Ah yes, to catch up. To share stories, experiences, mishaps, and a Thanksgiving feast; and of course, maybe swap a little music to mix up the playlists. The burlesque facial hair the men accrued was very impressive. Much more so than the fleecy legs of the women Personally, I was most illustrious for my tales of ailment. However, I was quite flattered by a few volunteers who stated that I “wasn't as sickly skinny” as they expected. Thanks!...I think.

It seemed like a vacation. To relax and breath in the salty air as you sink into the sand; to hear the rippling water and crashing waves; to watch the Pacific engulf the Sun at daylights end under the fiery sky. It was a break from Peace Corps, and just life in general. Ever since living on the beach in South Africa, I've held the meditative facets of the ocean close to heart with nostalgic recollection. It's a universal enjoyment to be shared on any beach; anywhere. Even for homegrown Minnesota boys.

We compared, contrasted, and formally presented our projects. Interesting indeed. We're all part of the same program in the same country, but we have such different experiences! We had a few discussion/training sessions. We visited a nearby orphanage for the day. We also had an opportunity to morn the loss of our friends who have decided it best to return home. They are most certainly missed. But mostly, we just enjoyed each others company. More so, it was nice to put pictures with the places I have heard so much about.

Together again, we were beyond merry. We got a little carried away with the liberation from our sites. In fact, I was almost certain some of my fellow PCV's were actually turning into pirates after an untamed seaside role play. The break was needed, deserved, and well beyond expectations. I even had a chance to eat ceviche (a traditional Peruvian dish of raw fish which is “cooked” with lemon juice and peppers). What's that? You don't think that was a good idea for one baring the name “sickboy”? Well, you're no doctor, but you're right. However, it's just so tasty...and to be fare, prior to consumption I looked at one of the Peace Corps doctors and gave them fair warning. Totally worth it.

On that note, I have another tail to tell related to my discriminatory stomach (an absolute euphemism, or course). Unfortunately, my travel down to the seaside was daunting. Yet another time, I faced a spout of illness and spent about 6 hours in a hospital bed before catching the bus to take me where I was going. I have learned that Peace Corps is about resilience...both mental and physical. Luckily, a loyal friend napped bedside to keep me company as I too came and went with needles in my arm. When the doctor returned with the blood test results, he gave me a draconian gaze and announced that I had Typhoid Fever. With a lack of surprise, I looked at my friend and delared “well, that sounds about right”. Of course, in a fluke of developing-world medicine, it was a misdiagnosis. Because I have had the vaccine, my blood holds the antibodies. There's something for you to consider the next time you find yourself with a ludic diagnosis in the developing world.

Upon my return to my department's capital (Huaraz) I once again visited the doctor. There, I stocked up on antibiotics and painkillers to tide me over until I leave for Lima next week. While there, I will be seeing a specialist to see if they can discover what ails me. Unfortunately, the doctors have informed me that I will be residing there until better. However, and more importantly, I will be attending the training for our new Peer Support Network program. Depending on how indomitably you follow this blog, you may recall that I was voted to be my departments representative for this program. A privilege I am quite proud of. I have rhapsodized about how happy I am to be a part of a program dedicated to helping my fellow volunteers. Without a doubt, I will at least be a reliable source for information on local hospitals and clinics...right?

Little House on the Prairie...The Peruvian Addition

As the title foretells, I often wonder if I've been casted in some new reality T.V. show (are those still popular?) reenacting the antiquated classic “Little House on the Prairie”.  Of course, this time, I'm taking on the role of Michael Landon...things might get a little weird.

I can see it now...A gigantic gringo, cast into the great Peruvian mountains; facing fierce weather, strange diseases, and daily encountering unforeseeable occurrences and plot developments reserved for the best screen writers.  Yes.  We could call it “The Simple Life”.  

No.  That's not a very good idea, is it?  With a name like that, it's bound to warp into some tragic follow up to the floppy Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie display that has plagued our generation; and our living rooms.  But who knows?  Maybe that's just what we need...a confident and capable Peace Corps Volunteer, eyeball to eyeball with actuality.  Rather than making a mockery of another lifestyle, I could be demonstrating how dedication and persistence can pay off.  Is it just me, or do you think this altitude is making me a bit off my rocker?

Well, I guess I'm coming off a bit pretentious with the lead character.  It's just that things have been going pretty well down in the valley.  When the sicknesses subside that is.  

I'm finally starting to feel like my house has become a home.  In the physical sense, I've been diligently working on bringing my room up to standard.  For instance, I received a big boost when a retired Peace Corps volunteer made me the proud heir to a small wooden table; which has revolutionized my life (petty yes, but brilliant nonetheless).  Things seem to be going well with my projects as well.  Everything seems to be coming to order.  I'm quite content.

On top of  all this, and perhaps the true source of my jubilation, I'm currently preparing the backpacks for the the beach.  Yes, I'm headed back down to sea level for Thanksgiving.  Ever so swiftly, I've already wrapped up my first three months in site.  The upcoming week is what we call our “reconnect”.  All of the volunteers that were in my training group will be getting together to present a diagnostic of their site.  I'm looking forward to the opportunity to share my life with the friends I haven't seen since we officially became Peace Corps volunteers back in August.  

And, the best part of it is...I'm going to the beach!  I mean, really, I love my mountains.  You know that.  They're great.  But, the tranquility provided by the feel of moist sand beneath me, the roar of Mother Ocean, and the thought of watching the sun plummet into the Pacific waters in a brilliant sunset topped by the stench of thick salty air sounds spectacular.  Just the break I could use!  Thank you Peace Corps!  But most importantly, let's not forget about the friends!

I'm talking real, face-to-face, English conversations!  Wow!  I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving Holiday.  Be extra thankful this year; I surely will be.  You know, I bet I won't even hear the wailing bellows of a donkey for the entire week.  Hell, even Michael Landon never caught a break like this!

Forging Rivers...

Depending on your age group, you may or may not remember playing Oregon Trail on the green-screens in your elementary school computer lab.  Of course, after shooting more bufalo than you could possibly carry in your wagon, it was inevitable that somebody died of dysentery.  Well, that's the first thing that came to my mind when I heard the diagnosis, anyway.  I could just see the headline flashing...”Frank has died of dysentery”.  October was a trying month.

Dead, no.  But a miserable occurrence, nonetheless.   I don't know; maybe it's just all part of the experience.  Everybody faces obstacles.  Some just involve more resilent bacterias and parasites than others.  In inordinate honesty, I've actually obtained a shameful gratification in knowing that I've persevered the irrepressible illness that has taken the lives of brave wondering wanderers such as David Livingstone, Gautama Buddha, Juana Maria and so many friends in that elementary school computer lab.

Yes, October has been a challenging month.  Before the whole dysentery episode, I was beatified with a few other stomach infections as well.  A hazard of the job, I suppose.  I've been a little red-faced to share my misfortunes with you before now.  However, seeing that it's become such a relentless reality to me, I think you ought to know.  To compound the situation, let's not forget that I lack bathroom facilities.  Unequivocally, I have been humbled.

All that said, things are moving along nicely.  When not bed ridden, I've been moving and shaking in the community.  I've been spending a lot of time at my village's school doing various activities with the kids.  I've been up in the bigger city an hour outside of my valley at the orphanage trying my best to stay busy with an array of ventures up there.  I have managed to establish connections with a group of university students in Canada who are exploring the possibility of coming down to my part of the world annually to initiate development projects.  I made some friends with a group of men who make cheese in my village, and have enjoyed observing the production of the product (a process the FDA would certainly not approve of).  I've also managed to begin conversations with an NGO based out of the US who would like me to assist in two two-week projects for students who would come to visit and implement their skills to make developmental strides in the area.  Additionally, I spent a week in Lima with one of my artisan groups.  Peace Corps organized a very nice meeting to teach basic business strategies combined with an artisan fair to sell their good.  The venue was the American embassy...a very enthralling experience; and we were very successful.  Overall, I have been blessed with numerous positive experiences.

However, upon my return, the guys I work with who make soap out of milk decided that “there's no business in soap”.  Personally, I think that there would be a very large market for cleaning products in my area.  But, what do I know?  Right?  Nonetheless, they've decided that they would rather start a business breeding cuy (guinea pigs) for consumption (a very traditional dish in my area).  From milk soap to guinea pigs...it's a bit of a jump, I know.  But I think we can make it work.  Since I don't know much about raising the tasty little buggers, I've been been reading up.  Hopefully, we succeed in our new market.  I'm thrilled at having an opportunity to learn all this not-so-practical information.  

During my down time, I've been diligently working on assimilation and integration.  Exploring surrounding areas and getting to know the people claiming residence.  I've explored cites up and down the valley.  I've bypassed the cities and marveled in the desolate stares of the spiking mountainous peaks.  I've enjoyed the screams of silence.  I've sat, I've stared, and I've wondered about what I can do to help the area without destroying the cultural dynamic which makes it so overwhelmingly interesting.  

In the Spanish language, there is a word “acostumbré”, which encompasses the English “acclimatize”, “habituate”, “inure”, “accustom”, and “adapt” all into one.  In fact, I am asked daily if I have achieved this level of integration.  My response is a well-rehearsed “yes, little by little”, which I hold to be true.  Now, if only I can persuade my stomach to prevail against the odds.

Falling Into The Andes

Ah yes...as those of you stateside are baring witness to the divine iridescent glow of the enchanting trees changing, carving your pumpkins, watching baseball playoffs and football kickoffs, we too are engaging in our own October behavior.  The agrarian wheat fields have been cultivated, and are being primed for the next batch of produce.  The mountainous fields have turned to golden brown and are being set afire in order to further fertile the land for the next batch.  Teeming opaque smoke fills the air in the daytime; obstructing visibility but providing magnificent reflections during the close-of-day twilight.  In the interim, providing an engaging kaleidoscopic of dazzling purplish-red and orange-yellow movement under the clear midnight skies.  

Now, comes the relentless rain.  It's heavy.  I've been forewarned of its steadfastness.  However, so far it has been ill in comparison to the deluged downpours of the Costa Rican rainforest.  My altruistic parents have sent me a pair of overshoes to cover my hiking boots as I am unable to purchase a pair of rain boots to fit my hulking feet.  I trudge up and down the paths in full rain gear, smirking at the precarious stares of wonder.  “What's this 'gringo loco' doing in this part of the world?”  and “What the hell is he wearing?”.

If that rain wasn't so staunch, I just might stop and explain myself. 

In addition to the inquisitive daily occurrences, I've also begun to encounter other duties.  Peace Corps Peru has decided to launch a “Peer Support Network” in following the example of other programs abroad.  It's goal is to train Peace Corps Volunteers in every department (the equivalent to a state in the U.S.) so that they may act as a resource for other Peace Corps Volunteers who would like assistance in coping with the tribulations of the Peace Corps in Peru.  With pride, I am the volunteer representing my department.  I will be attending a meeting in December down in Lima to begin construction of this program; establishing goals, guidelines, missions, and aims.  It is my privilege to be part of this new program.  Unfortunately, we are all to regularly saying goodbyes and farewells to volunteers who have decided to return to the US to seek other pursuits.  Those are hard times.  In fact, I just parted way with one of my best friends down here.  I wish him (and the other 6 that have left from my training group) the best in his (their) future endeavors.   

Things are moving along...slowly and dithering.  I fill my days with productive efforts; uncertain of potential successes.  Day hikes with friends and family members have provided me with gasping sites and sometimes not so admirant conclusions.  For instance, one Sunday, I spent the entire day rambling upstream to get to a church where legend states a miracle has left the face of Jesus in a rock.  To my lack of bewilderment, I found little more than what appeared to be a rock painted to resemble the son of God in which a church had been constructed 

around.  Without dismay, I proceeded to enjoy the brisk clean mountain air combined with the rippling clamor of the river as I ungrudgingly meandered home.  Happy to be learning as I go, as we all should be.

Well that's...umm, ehhhh...different?

Of course, with this title, I am referring to the awkward state of affairs in which you want to describe an occurrence as “weird”, but the better part of your conscience leads you to define it merely as “different”. Of course, I encounter many such happenings on a regular basis, from foods to customs. The following are just a few that struck me as worth sharing...you know...like: “You've got to hear this...”

First, I would like to comment on my villages fiesta. As expressed in previous entries, I have accrued a great deal of experience in the Peruvian fiesta in the sierra. These five day events are packed full of parades, bands, dances, bull fights, processions, eating, and a sprinkle of individuality. Well, my village had its big fiesta in the middle of September. Being such a small community, we don't exactly have the resources to compete with the larger cities. However, we do have the creativity to make our festival worth repeating. More so, we have our own twist of uniqueness that renders you interpreting the experience as, well, “different”.

The gigantic vats of goat soup (enough to feed the entire community) are something special in themselves. In addition, our bullring is a bit ghetto, as well. However, it is the simulation of the Spanish Conquest that will really make you go “huh?”.

There are a group of six men who are emblematic of the Spaniards that came through this area some 450 years ago. These men suit up in exaggerated wardrobes, mount horses, and ride through the village. Meanwhile, the remaining citizens congregate in mobs to bombard the riders with apples, lemons, candy, tomatoes...(I think I even saw a few rocks in there, in fact). This goes on for about an hour. That's right, people run all over the city throwing things at guys on horses. Meanwhile, the horsemen are firing their own arsenals at the rowdy patrons in exchange. It's quite the spectacle indeed. And, surprisingly, the horses are pretty well behaved throughout.

Of course, I must admit that I participated in the exhibition...but just a little bit, though. Really, it's not that I wanted to experience the liberating feel of rocketing a lemon at a masked guy on a horse. No, rather, I was just trying to integrate into the community. Well...I must admit, there's definitely an enchanting sensation when you smack one good...

Another thing that just might catch you asleep at the wheel is the alternative to the fenced-in pasture. You see, fence posts and barbedwire are expensive commodities; not to mention the weeks it would take to piece them together on the mountainside. To save on such expenditures, people here prefer to tie the front two legs of their animals together; be it goat, donkey, sheep, etc. It's actually pretty functional, as it definitely restricts their movement; ensuring that you'll find all your animals in the morning. However, you've got to feel sorry for the pour guys who look like their struggling so hard to get around...learning how to walk all over again.

Speaking of animals, there is a path right in front of my door that leads to the pastures on the hillside. At any given time, a long line of farm animals can potentially parade by my doorstep. Not that this occurrence is all that strange, but it has taken some time to get used to, nonetheless.

Question: Would it freak you out if you were eating chicken while a hen was sitting on the chair next to you? Yeah, there's just something a little awkward about that in my opinion, as well.

Oh! This is interesting...I've been a little ill this past week; nobody seems quite sure what is ailing me. Notable, herbal and natural remedies are one of this areas most popular exports...that, and gold. Therefore, I've been getting served batches of concoctions and elixers when I feel unwell. Most of the time, I choke them down; figuring that the leafy herbs can't do too much harm (I'm optimistic enough to know that there's a chance...no matter how slight). However, when I was faced with a remedial urine tea, I quickly declined...sorry, but that's just gross. But, I appreciate the effort, nonetheless.

Lastly, I would like to share a few inquiries made by fellow community members: “What are you doing?” (posed by my entire family while I was flossing my teeth); “So, you are with the CIA then?” (that's a pretty common one); And, my favorite, “How many vampires live in your home community?” (my response was a farcical “six”).

Now, all this talk really makes it sound like the village is throwing me off balance. Be that as it may, those who know me best can confirm that I'm flexible, and am inevitably bound to combat the irregularities with my own “freak the people out” tactics (I'm pretty sure I get this from my father). However, because my physical appearance is often enough to allocate a triple-take, I don't have to be too creative. Actually, I'm pretty sure most people here are like bears...they're more afraid of me than I of them. Nonetheless, I've found that bending and breaking gender roles is a pretty good way to turn some heads. For example, I carry my clothes down to the river or stream and do my laundry there, out in the open for all to see. Surely, this rouses the people. As far as I can tell, they're pretty taken back by a male doing laundry. That, or, they're just unsettled about seeing my underwear scattered down the shoreline...for which I can't blame them.

My Contact Info

¡Hola! Many people have inquired about my mailing address. It is as follows...






Sr. Frank Jadwin
Correo Central
Huaraz – Ancash
PERU
Apartado Postal 279

In addition, there are is a certain procedure for mailing things...
Nothing should be larger than a padded envelope (no boxes)
Nothing over a ½ kilo (1.1 pounds)
Send things through the USPS. Don't use courier services (e.g., DHL, FedEx, UPS)
Nothing with a declared value over $100...riiiiiiiight
Also, when filling out the customs form, try not to use words that are the same or similar to words in Spanish (e.g. Chocolate). Sometimes things disappear.
Lastly, make sure to write that it is “un regalo por Frank Jadwin” (a gift for Frank Jadwin). That will help me avoid any unnecessary customs fees.

Thanks a bunch...Now, what would a guy out in the middle of nowhere Perú want? Well, how about a letter? A book? A cd with some good new tunes? Clean underwear? Whatever...
Also, I have a cellphone, and would love to hear from you:
51-043-967-7266
Lastly, you might note the picture. As I do not have any pictures of me with packages received here, I decided to turn back the clock. This picture is from a few years back when I was living in South Africa. As you can see, the package was quite beaten up...and about 3 months late if I remember correctly. Most importantly, however, that hair! Dig it!

GOALLLLLLLL!

As some of you may heard through the grapevine (or whatever woody-stemmed plant it is that delivers you information), I play soccer for my village. Actually, I play “fútbol” on my village's team. Not only is a good way for me to stay fit, it's also a great way for me to integrate into my community (and maybe kick a little butt while I'm at it). Anyway, two weeks ago I had my first “official” game...

Basically, we had a mini-tournament in opposition to three other quaint mountain villages in the surrounding area. The venue was here, in my site. That's right, home field advantage! I was enthusiastic to have the opportunity to showoff some skills to the onlooking patrons (about 100 people were present...that's like 1/3 of the town!). Now, our field isn't necessarily up to “par” per se. However, by its very nature, one must respect it; after all, it gets more use than any other soccer field I know of.

When the grass isn't getting trampled by athletic participants of all ages, the space is occupied by grazing cows, sheep, goats, horses and burros. In fact, they do an incredible job at maintaining the height of the grass. It would be a great way to cut down on government spending back in the US...Put up a fence and buy some sheep...they'll keep that grass in check, and maybe we can free up some money in the education budget!

The downside, though, is that the animals sometimes meander onto the field during game time. So I've learned, that doesn't allocate for a “timeout”. Play on! Additionally, the animals aren't well-mannered. Therefore, they defecate where they please. On the upside, this really restricts the likelihood that somebody will try to slide-tackle you out there...

Now, at the risk of sounding pretentious, I look pretty mean out there in the pasture. With my legs that look like milk (or, so they tell me), I tower over the opponents. I can smell their fear when I challenge them (or, maybe that's just the stinky field). More so, I am a sure bet on any header. However, appearances can be deceiving. I'll tell ya, running at 3400 meters (2.2 miles) above sea level can wear you out quick!

I was very fortunate, then, when I scored a goal within the first 15 minutes of play. That's right! I scored the first goal; and it was very pretty if I don't say so myself. It was great...We were charging down the field, my left striker crossed the ball from the sideline, I stretched out and just barely made contact with the ball; rocketing it into the back of the net. Then came the screams. Everybody went nuts.

We beat that team (our rivals who live just down the valley) 2-1. More importantly, we won the entire tournament. And for our efforts, we received a sheep. That's right, first prize was a sheep. Perfect. Now, some people think that a trophy or a medal would be an appropriate reward for such a triumph. But, really, think about it...that hunk of metal is just going loiter on an unsuspecting shelf for a couple of years. From there, it's going to be placed in a box where it will twiddle its thumbs, waiting patiently for that one courageous person to lead it to its final destination: the garbage. That just seems senseless. A sheep is much more practical, don't ya think?

Needless to say, my awe-inspiring rookie appearance has left the valley talking. I've obtained quite the reputation. Most importantly, however, I think I have fathered two very valuable lessons from this experience:
#1. Community integration and acceptance is an absolute necessity for a successful Peace Corps experience (and most groups for that matter). Participating and sharing the skills unrelated to your “authentic” job assignments and projects can often have greater advantages than anticipated. More so, such occurrences allow the community members to get to know Frank.
#2. Wear shinguards next time!

Bull Sh*t

As I mentioned in the previous entry, I went to a bullfight last Monday. Now, I've been to bullfights in the past; both here in Peru and in Costa Rica as well. It seems to me that they have a pattern: First, they start off slow by just letting some of the bulls run around to kind of warm up the crowed. Then, the farm boys come in and show off some of the skills they've accumulated working in the pasture. After that, maybe, the “professionals” (guys who are dressed pretty but don't really do anything) make a few passes. Usually, this causes the crowed to “boo”. Finally, the drunk guys manage to get their blood alcohol levels up high enough to enter the ring. And that, my friends, is when things can get a little interesting.

With the cerveza, cañaso, or other homemade liquor impairing their judgment, these gentlemen jump down into the circled enclosure with their jackets slung over their shoulders...for they will use them as bait to attract the bull when the time is right (an obvious sign they didn't necessarily plan on entering the ring). Down there, in the arena, the air might seem a little thinner and the searing sun a little warmer. For down there, down in the pit, legends are made...LEGENDS!

OK, so maybe I'm being a little melodramatic....But, if I guy does a good job in the ring, he is certain to receive an aplaus and probably a pat on the back from some town official. More so, that kind of street-cred means a lot to a campesino man.

However, the fact of the matter is that most of the men are not very successful in their missions. Especially in these parts where we're known to have the best cows in Peru (everybody knows us for our milk, cheese, butter...dairy products). What happens most often is they become frightened and flee as the bull approaches...so much for liquid courage. However, on occasion the men stand firm and take the challenge of man vs. beast. Like I said, sometimes the men are victorious and receive a few moments in the limelight. Others, however, aren't so fortunate.

Some guys just can't seem to move their bodies quick enough. Usually, this results in the bull knocking the guy over, picking him up, throwing him, and then stepping on him some. Dangerous? You bet! So much so that it is very common to see friends chasing their intoxicated friends out into the arena just to try to remove them before they can hurt themselves. In fact, fights often start this way.

The best hits to witness (and I say this in the most sadistic sense possible), are those that occur when the guys aren't even paying attention. Yes, that's true. Some men enter the floor of the arena and are so affected by the audience, so overwhelmed by the situation, that they jump the gun; they begin celebrating before they achieve their objective. They dramatically throw their arms into the air and scream, as if to announce “Hey! Look at me! I'm the king of the wor”...BAM!

And that's when they get pummeled. The bulls clobber the men like an outside linebacker firing in on a blitz that the quarterback never saw coming...only a lot bigger, and with horns! It's absolutely incredibly hilarious...the kind of funny that isn't really supposed to be funny, but you laugh anyway because it kind of is...but more so, you're just kind of acknowledging that you're glad it wasn't you...yeah, that kind of funny. And if you're lucky, you just might catch a picture of it. As it happens, I wait patiently with my camera for these purposes specifically.

On that note, it's just like your mother used to say “It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt”. And isn't that the truth! As it turns out, the first night of the bullfights, a man was impaled by a horn and died. To follow up this act, the same thing happened the following night with another gentlemen. These happenings are very sad, and do indeed take away from the excitement and enjoyment of the crazy fiesta nights. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the pictures. May these two soldiers of entertainment rest in peace.

Sleep Tight!

I am very eager to share that I have moved into my very own room! It came just in time too! That whole “sleeping on the floor in a room with the whole family” thing was often wearying. Having a place to retreat to can feel necessary at times. In addition to living solo, I also moved up off the floor and into a pretty legit bed. That's right, moving up in the world!

Last Monday, my family and I hiked up the mountain to the “larger” city on a mission to score me a bed. As it happens, that city was in the process of celebrating Santa Rosa for 10 days, and things were a little loco. Nonetheless, and almost immediately, we found a guy who knew a guy. Great! So, this gentleman took us too the other side of town. There, he led me into a barn type thing where it was quite apparent beds were made. From there on, we discussed what I was in the market for. My response was somewhere along the lines of “the cheapest bed that is big enough to fit me”. A huge consideration of mine at this time was having a foot board. You see, I am too big for that kind of arrangement here.

Anyway...So yeah, I shook the man's hand; we had an agreement. I purchased the bed, and arranged for it to be transported down to my village for less than half of my move-in allowance; which I think is a pretty good deal, even though it's not very nice. Afterall, it's “better to sleep in an uncomfortable bed free, than sleep in a comfortable bed unfree” (thanks Mr. Jack Kerouac). But of course, things don't always go as planned...and we hit a few bumps in the road...

Well, the guy who had the van which was supposed to transport the bed lived on the opposite side of town from the beds current location. Due to the fiestas, he was too busy chaffering people in and out of town from the neighboring villages to move my bed right away. Totally understandable.

Nonetheless, my bed needed to be relocated to his garage. Therefore, my family and I carried a full-size bed across town, in the middle of the afternoon, and during the middle of the town's biggest fiesta of the year. If nothing else, it's a pretty amusing way to attract attention. After bobbing and weaving through the crowded streets, past the shouting vendors and their thrifty customers, we dropped off the bed for safekeeping and future relocation. Meanwhile, the bullfights were about to start. Sooo, we marched back across town and arrived at the stadium just in time for me to be pulled into the center of the ring to dance with the brass bands, orchestra, and devote citizens. Believe me, you can't say “no” in such a situation...nor should you!

And there I was, spinning around the ring and experiencing the unrealness of existence. Sharing the spotlight in a queer and unfamiliar setting. Doing exactly what you're supposed to with life...“Don't think. Just dance along” (again Jack). And YeeeeeeeHaaaaaw! I danced my ass off, and it was great. Then I found a chair and watched the battles (an experience worthy of its own entry indeed).

After the bullfights, we found my mover. He had the bed strapped to the top of his combi, and was holding out until his ride was full...and full it became. In an instant, the combi had 28 people in it (including the driver...and my bed on top; way too many people for a minivan). People were sitting on the laps of lap-sitters. It was hilarious (and probably a little dangerous; especially on those roads!). I myself had a very friendly old campesina woman on my lap. She thought I was guapo.

The time for assembly came after lugging the bed up into the village and into my room. Putting it together seemed simple enough...but of course it wasn't; it's not like I bought it at IKEA or something. Boy, I've really got to get over that whole “expecting things to go as planned” thing soon!

So, my host dad had a few tools lying around that we used. We shaved a couple of boards with a Quechua tool called a “rakua”. Pretty much, it's a combination of a plane and a chisel. Then, we drilled new holes and sawed a few boards...with a hand tools, of course. Hammered the boards in, and we were good to go!

I was pumped! “Finally”, I thought. “I get to sleep in privacy...and in a bed!” Now, I new I was jumping the gun. Afterall, the cement was still sweating, I had plastic over my windows, and my ceiling was made out of potato sack material (the latter two still apply). However, I couldn't resist. Therefore, I began sleeping in my own room.

Just to add to the experience, I woke up that first morning at about 6 or 6:30 AM, just as the sun was creeping over the mountains, to discover a fairly large tarantula on the wall above my head. “GOOD MORNING PEACE CORPS! And so, I did what anybody would do...I took a picture, and then I swatted it with my hiking boot; twice! (He was a resilient little fellow).

The following day, I took the time to put up a mosquito net. Of course, it's not the mosquitoes I am concerned about. Although, it makes reading in bed easier. (I wear a headlamp, and all the bugs have been flying at my face!) I'm just hoping that the spiders choose to crawl up the net rather then into my pants...hoping and praying!

All Clear For Landing

So, I'm here. I've landed; and it has all begun. The village-life adjustments have been interesting. After three months, one would think that I would know better than to expect everything to go flawlessly. And, OH how interesting it's been. However, I am going to take it from the top...

Peru 9 has officially passed training. A combination of 31 (4 were lost along the way) Youth Development and Small Business volunteers were welcomed into the world of Peace Corps by our in-country staff, our host families, and a very green ambassador. In fact, it was his first day on the job. If you ask me, I think that's a pretty legit first day at the office; as far as politics are concerned, anyway.

We went out with a bang. After all, any comfort we found in spending nine hours a day in training with persons of similar cultural backgrounds would soon be lost. Actually, I had no idea how much life would change without that last-line support network. Our goodbyes were long and very formal. Getting a group of Peace Corps Volunteers to dress formally for their Swearing In Ceremony wasn't as difficult as one would think. In fact, one could even say that we were dressed to the nines...(there's a very daft joke in there. Sorry, but I couldn't help it).

In all reality, it was very sad to close that life chapter. Although short-lived, we all became very comfortable with our host families and living situations just outside Lima. It's true, you can find angels anywhere you go. Indeed, tears were shed by some as our bus pulled away; away from our temporary families and turning the page for what lies ahead (Of course there were no tears from me, though...I've accrued too much that “machismo” JUST KIDDING). Nonetheless, we'll be back to visit!

That last week was suffocating with excitement. Goodbye parties and last Huh-Rah's. A bit too much dancing, and maybe a few too many cervezas. Either way, I had a blast eating too many anticuchos (skewed cow hearts) while grooving to Grupo Cinco (the latest Peruvian pop group). Those kind of memories never dematerialize!

And then, before we new it, we all arrived in our department capitals. For me, Huaraz (the capital of Ancash) was nothing more than a further deferment of what was soon to be.

In passing, I was able to reap a few luxuries before heading off to site. For example, that bountiful portion of grilled chicken, a few more conversations with an English-speaking friend, a sense of anonymity, and whatever comforts a small department capital can provide,...but most importantly, that electric shower at the youth hostel! Then, I was off to site...

With my body bearing all the weight it could, from camping equipment and clothes, to training materials and food, I clambered on to the bus. After 3.5 hours on the winding mountain roads I arrived at the “larger” city (pop of about 5000) near my placement reasoning two conclusions. One: my i-pod doesn't work when it hits about 4000 meters (about 2.5 miles) above sea level in an unpressurized cabin, and Two: I have WAY too many things!

Determining it unfeasible to hike an hour down the valley with all of my gear, I was forced to wait-out a transportation opportunity. After about an hour and a half of waiting, and several curbside conversations later, I climbed into a conked out combi and headed for my site. Zooming down the fractured dirt roads, I was dropped off at the town's entrance.


There I was, the tall gringo; nervous, suspicious, unsure, and wary, dragging himself and all his things through the fields and up through town just before sunset. When, finally, I landed! Standing on the doorstep (or where a doorstep would be if adobe houses had doorsteps that is), my family greeted me warmly.

All of the traveling, in combination with the fiestas of the week prior, had left me exhausted. My only wish was to gradually begin the moving in process and get some rest. Well, and so it goes, I stumbled over a few setbacks.

First, my room was not ready. Peace Corps rules say that you need to have your own personal bedroom with a barred window and a door that locks (both a privacy and security interest). I had made this fact well known to my family during my week long visit last month. “OK, deep breath” I told myself. Even though I had been in highest hopes to retreat to privacy, I was quite aware that this was just a minor pothole in the rocky road that is Peace Corps service. And so, I was destined to sleep in the corner, on the floor, in the upper loft of the adobe house, sharing the room with the entire family for a week and a half. In reality, not all that bad. However, the real kicker was yet to come.

I believe my new host family could detect my dejection, as they attempted to lift my spirits by bringing me to the “new” bathroom. They walked me out to our backyard. As we approached a three foot stack of adobe bricks in the corner (they always underestimate my height), my new host mother, with a stately smile, said something similar to “We made you a hole. It's your hole. For you, and nobody else”. “Spectacular” I thought to myself with stinging satire as I looked over her shoulder and into the earthen cavity which I am to slowly fill with excrement. However, in an instant, I was smiling cheek-to-cheek. Something struck me. Their appealing attempts to comfort me had done so in another manner. When I realized that they had given me my own hole...MY VERY OWN HOLE...I was quite flattered. More so, the mere thought of trying to fill a hole almost made me laugh out loud! It's a new normal, no doubt.

Sure enough, those minor setbacks were just that; temporary stressors. “Making the best of any given situation” and “turning one's predicament into a human achievement” have never seemed more pertinent (I've been passing time with Viktor Frankl). The novelty of the hole hasn't quite worn off. In addition, I still find myself going to the bathroom in the pastures next to the cows, sheep, burros, or what have you, when there's too much commotion in the backyard..or just for a change of scenery (and what beautiful scenery it is). More so, I will be moving into my own room very soon! Also, I still shower underneath a water spigot about 2.5 feet off the ground in site of all those who pass by. Even then, I find great joy in freaking out the town...just imagine what they think when they see an enormous gringo, shirt off, jeans rolled up, and a head full of shampoo!

All that said, I'm having a great time. I'm learning a lot, teaching a little, and sharing it all. Every day is an expedition filled with new opportunities and random happenings. In fact, I'm off to bed...just because I'm curious to see what tomorrow brings.

Stay well.

What's Shak'n?

I just wanted to touch base and let everybody know that I'm alive and well...unlike other parts of Peru.

As I am sure many of you have heard, yesterday (August 15, 2007) there was a HUGE earthquake down here in Peru. Actually, there were 4 of them within an hour; all of which were above 7.0 on the Richter scale. The biggest occurred off shore and was measured at 7.9. Pretty scary, eh? You're telling me!

I find it especially scary for a couple of reasons. First, being from Minnesota, I am not really used to earthquakes in general. My first experience was in Costa Rica back in 2005, and I've felt a couple of cute shakes here in Peru since my arrival. However, this time, the ground was shaking for about 2 minutes! Also, Peru has a pretty fierce history with deadly earthquakes. The most notable occurred in 1970, when a massive earthquake, measuring 7.7, killed about 70,000 people in central Peru. About half of the inhabitants of Huaraz died (the capital city of the department I will be living in), and an entire city was buried, killing 18,000 people (near my new site). Therefore, my initial reaction was to wonder if I would even be able to return to my site.

Although there were many casualties and tragedies, everyone I know (and all those affiliated with the Peace Corps) is well. More so, things could be much worse. They are estimating that about 500 have died and about 1500 are injured. Although it is a very sad situation, the death toll is relatively low considering the strength of the tremor.

At the time of the first shake, I was in a combi, stuck in traffic, in downtown Lima with some fellow youth development volunteers. Actually, we were all quite lucky. Our original travel plans fell through, and we were forced to wait about 45 minutes for our transportation. Had this not happened, we would have been on the top floor of our Assistant Country Director's apartment complex (where we were for a few of the aftershocks...and which received a good shaking as plates and artifacts were broken on the floor, and all wall hangings were crooked).

Originally, we suspected that the combi was breaking down. Then, I thought perhaps our diver was having problems with the clutch. However, after looking out the window, I noticed that the other cars were jumping around too. More so, the trees were shaking, the lamp posts were rocking, and people were fleeing buildings. The first earthquake lasted for about two minutes...which seemed like forever.

At a few moments last night, I could hear the rocks rolling around in the hills above my house as I went to sleep. Everything was pretty stirred up. This mornings paper said that there were 4 earthquakes and about 140 aftershocks. However, several aftershocks were felt into the later part of this morning. What's more, the water in the Pacific receded creating a tidal wave that reached up to 500 meters on shore! What a horribly magnificent experience. I hear they felt the tremble all the way into Columbia. It is sad indeed. Entire cities lay flattened and families are mourning perished loved ones...and others are still looking for those misplaced.

Most people are pretty shaken up right now. Just when I thought the Minneapolis bridge incident would be the biggest tragedy of my Peace Corps experience, Peru had to retort. Anyway, I just wanted all of you to know that I am alive and well. Please, be careful and stay mindful of your brothers and sisters suffering on the southern continent.

My First Site Visit

As I return to Lima with thoughts of future service, I would like to share my site visit. First of all, I now have one more year under my belt with this whole “life” thing in general...that means I had my birthday, and am now 25. My quarter century celebration included a morning view of Huascaran (Peru's tallest mountain), as my overnight bus arrived in the departmental capital of Huaraz on my birthday...a priceless gift.

Huaraz is an incredible city...with a range of snow capped mountains colliding with a black range. However, I was very eager to get out to my site...in the third range called the Cordillera Huayhuash, where I am the only Peace Corps volunteer...in my own world. More so, I've been too patient waiting to become acquainted with my future living arrangements.

This part of Peru is only known to those who truly want to wander off the beaten path. It is filled with incredible views of snowcapped mountains, rolling hills, iridescent green valleys, and turquoise glacial lakes.

My new family is very nice and seem very hospitable. Although the food got a little dodgey...as I can explain later (a tale not for the weak stomached), everything went great. I got a good grip on my community. I met my future co-workers. I was recruited (and will be playing) on our local soccer team. I saw a gnarly bull fight. Basically, I got a taste of life as I will live it for the next two years, and loved it.

To get to my site, you pretty much take a bus to the middle of nowhere. Then, you hike out of that city about an hour to get to my little village. It isn't long before you receive an aerial view of my entire village in the valley. It's beautiful!

Upon closer inspection, you would notice that all of the buildings are made out of adobe. Also, there aren't any streets. However, there is one paved sidewalk...which I don't really understand why. Additionally, there is a bright blue rivier that flows right in front of my village filled with trout waiting to be pulled out. The people are ridiculously nice, and seem thrilled to have me living in their city.

My family there is great. The welcomed me by handing over a sombrero and a the poncho most worn in our valley. The scenery is spectacular. There are plenty of work opportunities to keep my busy and to make me feel productive. Also, I am enthused to hike three to five hours a day in one of the world's most amazing mountain ranges! My only concern is the food.

I ate some pretty gross stuff...I'm not really sure where to start. Well, we had a pachamanca my first day (where you cook a bunch of meet underground). We had lamb, beef, goat, and pig. It was good. Well, the head of the pig was sitting out on the kitchen table for the rest of the night. Apparently, it was going to be used to cook up some chicharones for breakfast. The next morning, with the head still there, I ate a little moldy bread with breakfast (not that big of a deal). Later, I had some potatoes that were a little too old as well (still not too big of a deal). All throughout, the pig's head remained on the kitchen table. When was I going to get these chicharones? I grew somewhat accustomed to this extra “head” at the table. However, by the third day, I noticed that worms/magots were starting to grow in certain parts of the head. But still, we didn't eat the head!

As I roled out of bed three days after my arrival, into the brisk morning mountain air, I saw my future host dad separating the pig's jaw with a small axe. Then, he rinsed the bugs off with tap water. That morning, we FINALLY had our chicharones!

Gross? Well, kind of. However, I didn't get sick. Personally, I found trying to chew and swallow my rice while looking at a swarm of maggots throbbing on a three day old pig's head much more disgusting than actually eating it. It's a new normal. More so, I also ate a rotton piece of chicken that had been sitting out to dry for 2 days for lunch that day. Actually, I took two bites, noticed that my future brother and sisters weren't touching theirs, and threw in the towel.

Yes, I have many things I will need to adjust to in the next couple of years. Some things I will have to bend to fit. Others, I will have to learn to stay away far from. Either way, I will find and test my limits. Now, you'll have to excuse me...I'm back in Lima and could REALLY use something to eat!