Update...end of July 2007

Hey all! So, I'm just beginning my eighth week of training...phew. How are you doing? Stupendous I hope! All is well down here. I spent the entire week prior to last away from our training center conducting Field Base Training; not really a vacation, but an excellent break form the norm, indeed. Performing community analysis's on a few smaller cities sure beats the classroom! It all went down in the northern providence of Lambayeque with 8 other aspiring youth development volunteers. A twelve hour, overnight bus ride.

We arrived exhausted. After a quick breakfast in the provincial capital (Chiclayo), we piled into a fried-out combi for an hour drive through the vacant desert to a remote city of about 15,000 people (Cayalti). We received a ridiculously warm welcome from the humble citizens...a little too warm...so warm we got burnt! First of all, the city probably hasn't had more than 10 foreign visitors in the past 5 years...not to mention all at the same time! It was a Monday night, and the entire town celebrated our arrival. It was quite flattering. That is, until things got carried away.

At first, we too were mere members of the curious crowd, watching the traditional dance displays and listening to the music. Soon thereafter, we were on the stage ourselves, getting interviewed individually. Then, we were invited on stage and to watch the traditional dances up close. Shortly thereafter, we were drug out in pairs to dance with the Peruvians. There were four people dancing; 2 gringos and 2 Peruvians (one of each sex). Understandably, the crowed found us to be quite comical. Myself and my fellow volunteers held it down with the dance moves. Well we did our best, anyway. Hell, I borrowed a sombrero, spun around on my knees, and even did a cartwheel at one point. More importantly than the comedic value, the cheerful citizens were astonished and pleased in our attempt at cultural assimilation. After the show, there was no embarrassment...no, only lines to take pictures with us and to ask for our autographs.

The following night, we were interviewed on the area cable network; whose name is “The Ocho” (I kid you not). That next day, we were scheduled to meet with some kids at a secondary school in a tiny caserio of a couple hundred people (Guayaquil). However, the teachers have been on strike in this country for the past few weeks, and school had yet to resume its sessions. We still had the opportunity to meet with the kids briefly, though. Since they couldn't go to school, the students were found with their parents...working under the scorching sun in the cotton fields. What's more, they were making no more than $4.00 a day as they handpicked with their families and classmates.

A bit later, we wondered through another small city, Zoǹa, which seemed to be a little more prosperous and historic as they were currently renovating some of ruins located just outside the city's center. In addition, the city is currently boasting it's claim to tourism; talking up its shoddy bridge that crosses a relatively small/shallow river. While in the neighborhood, we figured we'd check it out. The bridge was far short of an engineering marvel, but held a great deal of novelty nonetheless.

Once again, we traveled through the provincial capital of Chiclayo where we were able to enjoy a few of the comforts offered by contemporary living. However, the following day, we headed off to the coastline about a half hour through the stale and polluted desert to a port city of about 1000 persons (Puerto Etēn). It was my first time seeing the ocean since this past April in Arhus, Denmark.

Still, there is something about arriving in a small Latin American beach city that fuels both excitement and relaxation. The rich smell of salty air through the cool breeze ,with the sand massaging your feet, while admiring the vastness of the ocean and unpredictability of a new areas waves is be stilling...A sensation I've been missing since the beaches of Costa Rica and Nicaragua.

After receiving our instructions to complete a community analysis, a couple friends and I decided to analyze an oceanfront cevicheria and a cerveza...after all, mental health is important too, right? Ceviche, for those of you who are unaware, is a typical Peruvian dish made up of various raw fish and octopus. However, it isn't all that similar to sushi. Rather, ceviche is said to be cooked through the process of soaking the fish in lemon and the spicy salsa of ahi. It's super rico!

Unfortunately, this city also suffered from a huge tidal wave about a hundred years ago. Most things have been rebuilt...including the Capilla del Milagro (Chapel of the Miracle) where legend has it that Jesus himself appeared in 1649. However, the old adobe chapel is still standing in shatters, and is immense in comparison to the rolling sand dunes which surround it. A good friend and I took the half hour hike through the beach/desert dunes to check it out...up and down and up and down and up. It was pretty interesting and beautiful in its own right; but not quite as captivating as the sun setting over the pacific on our return to the city.

The city is of Puerto Etēn is also said to be home to Peru's longest pier, and the longest pier I've ever seen. Well, it's not much of a pier anymore. In addition to the rotting planks and vacancies between boards (upwards of 3 feet), the pier is also missing an enormous section right in the middle. Therefore, the two sections still standing are connected via a bridge made up of two one inch diameter metal cables; one for your feet, and one for your hands. Two friends and I decided that we should join the local fishermen and venture out onto their pier.

Merely walking on the remaining portion which still stands is quite the adventure in itself (and quite shady as well). However, crossing the wire brings it to a new level altogether. As the wind gusts, the cable begins to bob, and your stomach feels inert. You're closely focussing on your footing and squeezing the cable until white knuckled. In addition, when you look down, you see the rolling waves crashing over pieces of the former pier stabbing through the water 40 feet bellow. Halfway through the endeavor is when you feel most vulnerable, as the bridge seems increasingly less stable.

Sure enough, we successfully crossed and returned. However, not until after we completed our journey to the far end of the pier at which point there were so many vacant pieces that we were often merely walking across the support beams or taking three foot leaps onto the delapitated rotting planks. Life's a trip!

While out and about, I was also fortunate enough to catch a Grupo Cinco concert. “They're so hot right now”. Really though, they've got some good jams...a really upbeat cumbia; or, “cumbia con sabor” as they say in castellano. There's quite the story here. The censored version simply includes me dancing my ass off with some spicy Peruanas, being the most sober but still getting left behind, baring witness to a huge brawl (the cops beating guys over the head with billy-clubs, bottles shattering, and a stomp peed of people running to safety), and me wondering back through the city by myself after a half hour cab ride at 4:30 AM with my pocket knife as protection. Lessoned learned...just go home with your dancing partner (JUST KIDDING!).

Yeah, that's all I've got for adventures. I officially find out my site placement this Friday. However, I've got a pretty good idea where it is...and it's dharma-rific. More so, I'll be visiting my future site all next week. I'll share the information as it becomes more concrete...such suspense.

Lastly, I'm currently growing my first gnarly beard. I'm not doing too well though. I'm on week two and will have to shave before my site visit. In addition, it looks like I am just growing a goatee surrounded by peach fuzz. Eh, so it goes. Either way, I'm still smiling...and that's all that counts.

Making Noise

The most amazing thing happened today...I was finally able to take a guitar home! It seems like it has been years since I've had such an opportunity. Damn, I've missed the feeling. The first opportunity I had to play a guitar here in Peru was just last week in a music store in the provincial capital of Lambayeque (up in the northern part of the country). I was with a fellow volunteer, a percussionist. Him and I shared the release of our built up musical tensions. More so, the people working at the store didn't seem to mind our disturbances. In fact, a band of high school-aged students walked in and admired our noise. Within moments, we were having a threesome with a guitar, a djembe, and a twelve string mandolin-type thing as we broke out 'Hotel California' in all of its bi-lingual beauty.

This evening, with my new friend in hand, I went up onto my roof. I sat on the ledge and looked out upon the lights that disturb the darkness between the barren mountains. The scene seemed so out of context from the last time I was able to make some noise and bring the funk on some nylon. Ignoring the aching in my wrist and fragile fingertips, I played along to the barking of stray dogs on the faint bass rhythms of reggaeton. I couldn't help but break a smile as I noted that I was finally taking my turn in annoying the neighborhood. Suddenly, everything has changed.

Crunchy Chaufa

Here in Peru, there is a sizable Asian population (most notable in coastal regions). Throughout the years, Asian Cuisine has been incorporated into the Peruvian diet. The best illustrator of this happening are the apparent Asian districts in provincial capitals whose streets are lined with Asian Restaraunts; which are referred to as Chifa's. A very popular dish at these restaraunts is arroz chaufa, which is basically fried rice. Furthermore, it is often the cheapest dish on the menu, and always guaranteed to fill you up. It is this combination that makes this dish undeniably appealing to the Peace Corps volunteer. You can order your chaufa with chicken, beef, vegetables, eggs...or whatever else, I suppose.

Just this past week, I was burning time in the bustling city of Chiclayo waiting for the departure of my overnight bus ride back to Lima. With an hour and a half to spare, I hustled off to find a quick bite to eat with a good friend of mine. As it happens, we stumbled upon a Chifa. Now, we've both encountered more sanitary restaraunts in our days...but a plate of arroz chaufa con pollo for a mere 4 soles seemed like a deal we couldn't pass up!

Now, my good friend decided to go with a soup, as he had been feeling ill (also commonplace for Peace Corps volunteers in limbo). However, I went with the chaufa; for my stomach is made of steal...and now, possibly filled with it.

As I was consuming my rather mediocre batch of chaufa, I bit down on what seemed like a bone. Upon pulling it out of my mouth, and separating the object from the partially chewed rice, I noticed that it was no bone. Rather, it was a very thin, pointy, and flexible piece of metal...pretty dangerous to consume I would say. However, I didn't let a little mishap like that prevent me from filling my belly. If I stopped eating every time something seemed a little out-of-place or uncomfortable, I would wither away. After all, my amigo pulled a fly out of his soup moments after and didn't hessitate to perevear.

Well, upon biting down on a second piece of metal a few scoops later, I decided to throw in the towel. I wanted to fill my belly, but not with sharp metal objects...that would just be dumb. My next objective was to explain the scenerio to the waitress and cashier. I think that practice dialogues in language class should cover such material; it just seems more practical. “Excuse me, but I found these two small metal things in my chaufa. Finding the first one didn't really bother me, but then I found the second one. I don't want to eat anymore of it. No, I don't really want a new plate. Also, I don't think I should have to pay for the food”.

So, what can be learned from all this? It's hard to say really. If I reccomended that one should avoid restaraunts that offer full platters for $1.50, I would be a hipocrite. More so, waving metal detectors over your food before you eat seems impractical. I think a fair resolution would be to say that if you encounter such hazards, stop eating upon the first deadly discovery, get your money back, and go buy a shady hamburger on the street corner for a mere 3 soles. That's what I did, and so far, my body hasn't rejected the hamburger!

Blog? Sure!

Hey all...How do you do? So, I decided to start a blog...I hope communication is easier this way!

Well, I've wrapped up my first month here in Peru. All is well and things are great. I hope this, my first entry, finds you well...wherever YOU may be.

So, what goes down in a month? Well, more than one would think, I suppose. Needless to say, it's been quite the trip already. The two day staging in Philly was wrecking. After flying out of Minneapolis @ 5:00 AM in the morning, I was forced to function full throttle for a couple of days with little fuel. More so, I was overstimulated upon meeting a super gnarly group of folks...and squeezing in our last couple rounds of North American beer (Oh how I miss you already tinted goodness). We caught a bus out of Philly @ 3:30 AM headed for JFK in NY. Entonces, we flew through Miami to Lima, Peru. As imagined, everyone was absolutely shattered. After clearing customs, I walked into what appeared to be a sea of back hair...I'm way to tall for this country (especially the public transportation)...but it's all good, no worries!

Blah blah blah, I have been with my family for just over one month now. They are super chill. I live in a small mountain village about 45 minutes outside of Lima. It's much different than the last mountain village I lived in. This time, I'm in the desert (as apposed to the rain forest in Costa Rica). A couple weeks ago, I took the 2 or 3 mile hike up through the mountains to see our local Incan ruins. We had a Quechuan friend as a guide. In fact, he took us through all of the ceremonial stuff...it was pretty intense, no doubt. The ruins are huge designs in the sand. Similar to the Nazca Lines, but on a smaller scale. Anyway, my casa, I don't have a tin roof. Rather, I live in a cement box...which is just fine. Every morning, I stare at the freezing water coming out of the shower faucet which is partially located outdoors; noting the steam that is my breath...growling....flexing...and doing whatever I can to pump myself up for the pre-rinse. More so, after the lather, covered in goosebumps, I do the Varsity breakdown while rinsing off; anything to retain a little body heat. Thus, my mornings seem eventful after being awake for only two minutes (mostly because I'm stark naked as this is going down...and it's not all that flattering). Despite all this, it turns out that I am lucky...some of my co-volunteers don't have running water, and do bucket showers. Most of the time, I'm up before the roosters that stay in my backyard...lazy bastards. I guess I don't “technically” have running water. We just have a huge tub of water on the roof that feeds the faucets via gravity. Needless to say, I don't dare drink that fucking water..neither does my fam; they're not that hardcore.

Like I said, my family is great. My home stay mom is very friendly and has 1000000000 questions to ask me...all of which I am pleased to answer. More so, we talk about everything from AIDS and Peruvian culture and machismo, to Brittany Spears and bad words (at which time I heard her say 'fuck' about 50 times; it was rad). Also, I have a 9 and 12 year old brother, and a 4 year old niece. They too have a million questions, but seem more interested in my electronics and why the hell I have blue eyes. Another great dimension is my father. He's hilarious, and loves talking shit to me...which I am quick to retaliate. Furthermore, homeboy likes to party. He's got a lot of love for the fam, which is unfortunately rare in many parts of Latin America. It turns out that we have very similar senses of humor. For instance, I was sitting on the floor in my kitchen cutting my fingernails when he says to me “don't cut those! The men in Peru just eat their nails”. I proceeded to tell him that if he wanted, I would put my fingernails in a bowl and he could eat them later. They reacted like it was the funniest thing they have ever heard. Actually, I'm pretty sure they think I'm crazy...who knows, they might be right. They get a kick out of my stories...like prior travels, prior work experiences...the bungee jumping in South Africa is their favorite (and probably the most difficult to explain).

In order to get to my training center, I have to hike about ¾ mile down the mountain to a fairly busy road. There, I catch a combi (minibus...way better than those in South Africa, but hectic in their own right) for about 10 or 15 minutes. Then I walk about another 1/2 mile to the center. I'm in training (but not always at the center) from 8 AM until 5 PM Mon – Sat. (usually done by 2 on Saturdays, though). Actually, on Saturdays I've been attending organic farming/gardening techniques courses at a agricultural university about 45 minutes away. My days are long, and intense....but we tend to keep it mellow. Even when I'm not in training, they've got us working on projects in various communities, or just experiencing the culture. The Spanish improves a little with every conversation (at least that's what I tell myself)...it has to, there isn't much of an option. Actually, like anything else, I have my good days and my bad days. However, I just recently tested into the level that one is required to achieve prior to beginning their actual service, so I've got that going for me. I'll tell ya, life's a trip! Plus, I'm back to eating meats whose origin I am unaware of at times. What's more, I often feel like a celebrity in my hood...living life in an aquarium has its ups and downs.

How are the fiestas? Well, Peruvians like to throw down...they could easily do a fifth year at St. John's! Father's Day was an all day drinking excursion. It was great. Beer, wine, and Pisco, which is similar to guaro...just some nasty-ass home brew that makes you spit fire. The wine here kind of sucks in my opinion (but others really like it); it's really sweet and dulce (you bitches would like it (KIDDING)). However, Chile is nearby and I'm hoping to dabble in their exports once I can afford to.

Two weekends ago, my town had a fiesta to celebrate San Pablo and San Pedro...I'm still not sure why. However, they threw one hell of a ripper! The scariest part is that they celebrate in two ways: #1 by drinking excessively and #2 by playing with fireworks...the kind that would make D-Rod scared. For example, they have this thing called Torro Loco (crazy bull for you non-castillano speaking fools). Anyway, a guy gets underneath this huge papermachette bull that's covered in fireworks. Then, homeboy precedes to run into the crowds as the fireworks launch in whichever direction. The crowds scream, laugh, and run for their lives. Scary? Well, maybe. However, when Torro Loco is on the other side of the stadium, it's funny as hell! So far, I've made it out unscathed. At our fiesta the other weekend, they did Torro Loco 3 times...it only got increasingly reckless. The best part was after, when my home stay dad and I took it to the roof until 4:30AM with a bottle of Pisco and a bag of lemons...life is fucking nuts I'll tell ya!

How's the food? Well, Peru is the land of 1000 potatoes...fucking papas. They are good, but I've never been exposed to the vast selection available. There's no way any gringo can ever distinguish all of them. I just stuff them in my mouth and say rico. Potatoes and rice...and usually some meat. However, the other weekend, my family took me to a pacha manca. It was pretty gnarly. They heat rocks over a bonfire. Meanwhile, they dig another hole for cooking. They put one layer of rocks down, then a layer of meat wrapped in corn husks or banana leafs, then another layer of rocks, then some more meat...they do that about 3 or 4 times. Then they throw in some potatoes...of course. Onces they finished playing jenga with rocks, meat, and papas, they cover it all with dirt and let it sit for an hour or two. While it cooks, you socialize...of course! When it's uncovered, you grub on some super rico beef, chicken, goat, pork, guinea pig, and potatoes...just chew carefully because sometimes little pebbles find their way into your grub. Food is a very key component of the culture. They have a great deal of pride in their cooking...and yes, it's pretty f'n rico.

I haven't really gotten a chance to do too much traveling. Which is pretty chill though because not going to touristy areas also has its upside, I suppose. However, I did make it down to this super chill bohemian city on the coast with some friends...that was pretty cool with its victorian structures and Peruvian hippies. In addition, I'm heading up to the northern coast next week with a small group of volunteers to see what life is all about up there. In case you haven't caught the news, Machu Pichu just made it into the 7 wonders of the world. The people got rowdy...What else is there to do but celebrate? However, I suspect that reservations to get onto the Inca Trail (leading up to Macho Pichu) will book up fast...I'm talking like a year in advance. So, keep that in mind you who think you want to come down for a visit!

Last week, I was sick as hell. Apparently, some virus has been going around Lima. I was left immobile in my bed for two days with cold sweats, a fever, ill stomach, a full body ache, and a helpless feeling. However, some of my courageous fellow volunteers stopped by for a visit to cheer me up. I had Nicaragua flashbacks when my home stay family continually tried to convince me to get an injection...of what, I'm not exactly sure. Either way, I'm much better now...and hoping my antibodies will keep me right for the years to come!

That's about it for now. All is well down here on the South Side. Of course, I'm always tired. It's funny how 'thinking' can wear you out! Y que mas, I don't even fit in my bed (it's a bunk bed...6 feet long). I have no complaints, though. It's hard to complain about much when I'm living in the barrio I do. Even though I'm living off of 8 Nueva Soles per day (about 2 dollars and 75 cents), I am a rich man...and always have been. The next 5 weeks of training will surely wear me out. However, I have no doubt that I will be prepared for my 2 years of service when finished.

When I get a free moment, I go on the roof of my house and catch my breath. We have a pretty good view of the lower half of the mountain. Fwieough...I'm out of breath, and out of here. Stay well amigos.

chau,
Frank