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.
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