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.