The World Through Frank's Eyes... Wondering While Wandering

Working Hardly

2008-09-16T14:04:00.000-07:00

Things have finally settled down since the climbs, the traveling, and the visit from my friend. Well, actually, things have finally picked up! Yes, I've been VERY busy these past couple of weeks with a variety of projects...quite the variety, indeed.

Towards the end of August, I had the idiosyncratic pleasure of helping the local hospital with a breast feeding promotion campaign. Indeed, this was something far beyond my conventional realm of knowledge...and a little outside my comfort zone, as well. Seeing a crowd of young children marching through the hospital with signs exclaiming the importance of their mother's breast milk was most definitely a unique experience. A personal highlight of the exploit was when I noticed a crowd of women giddily congested near the sitting area. One of my counterparts in the hospital also seemed very enthused as she waved me over so that I could partake in the commotion. Being that I stand at least a foot taller than most people in my community, I had an eagle eye view at the pother. Upon approaching the mob, I immediately saw what all the fuss was about. A young woman was breast feeding her twins...at the same time. Yes, I suppose that that is an impressive feat. Nonetheless, my retreat was swift; as it suddenly became all the more obvious just how out of my element I had become.

I also agreed to assist in doing some tourism development with the local tourism union in a very small community (of about 30 families) about an hour out of my site. This small community rests high up on the mountainside, and is the start-off point for a nine day trek that winds around the mountain of Alpamayo (declared the most beautiful mountain in the world). The community had decided that they wanted to construct a building for tourists to use as lodging. Not only could this make life a little easier for passing trekkers, it could also bring some money into the community. So, I spent some time up in the community with a few other people doing land surveys and preparing for the construction. Of course, because I am a rather large gringo, the townspeople thought that I was the engineer. They couldn't have been more mistaken. In fact, it was my first time using this type of equipment. Nonetheless, I did end up impressing them with my Quechua speaking abilities...or, maybe I just confused them further.

I had also been very excited to finish a garden project I have been working on in a local school. However, when I showed up, I encountered a rather large problem. It turns out that the adobe wall separating the school grounds from the neighbors had collapsed, which resulted in two fairly large trees being cast upon the area we had prepared to plant our vegetable garden. Luckily, the parents had expressed great interest in the project, and a fairly large number of them showed up to assist in the planting that day. Since our agenda had abruptly changed, the parents quickly ran home and returned with machetes to cut up the trees. So, rather than finish the project, we spent the day hacking at trees with machetes. How's that for unexpected events?

Working with the obstetrician and the local psychologist, I also have formed a youth group which is compiled of local students who have social disorders. Unlike the aforementioned breastfeeding campaign, this is a little more in my realm of experience. This type of support group is very new to this area, and I am very much looking forward to our meetings in the next few months.

I also assisted with the planning, preparations, and execution of a fundraising activity for the local school for children with special needs. The school will soon be celebrating it's anniversary; and, like any such even in Peru, a party is absolutely mandatory. Therefore, we made fried deserts (picarones) and sold them around town. Perhaps it was due to intimidation, but I sold the most. The event was such a success that we did it again a few days later.

In addition, I've been working a great deal on a "Healthy Schools" campaign. You see, September is the month for children here in Peru. I found out while doing some work in the hospital that the two big schools in the area were going to be receiving special treatment from a few hospital workers throughout the month. Mildly outraged, I decided to organize a series of events for students in a school about 45 minutes outside of town. These students are far more disadvantaged, and have a much greater need for such activities. Therefore, I have been orchestrating a variety of events with numerous counterparts in that school. We've covered themes such as self-esteem, nutrition, recycling, and sexual responsibility. Thus far, things have been going great; and I'm happy to report that this program is far superior to that being conducted in the other schools.

In my free time, of which there is little these days, I have been preparing for the next Peer Support Network meeting in our Lima office. As you may recall, I have been a coordinator for this group since its establishment in late 2007. Our goal is to act as a pilar of support for fellow volunteers who may be undergoing difficulties in their sites. In fact, I have even made a manual which is to act as a resource for volunteers and other Peer Support Network representatives. It has taken quite a bit of work, but is basically a compilation of information regarding how to deal with the typical problems that Peace Corps Volunteers encounter; such as depression, loneliness, and even sexual harrasment and assault. I am very enthusiastic about this group, as I believe that looking out for the well-being of fellow volunteers is a vital component in providing a positive experience for both the volunteer and their community.

So, yeah, as you can see, things have been pretty busy. For that, I am grateful. I'm also really grateful for the delicious homegrown coffee that some fellow volunteers living nearby bring me. Although, falling asleep on the job wouldn't really pose a big problem in this line of work. Afterall, my neighbors' roosters seem to be inclined to cock-a-doodle-do all day long...so I might as well join them.

Good Days

2008-09-02T16:24:00.000-07:00

I woke up in a bit of a funk today. I guess that just happens when you live by yourself so far away from loved ones. There was nothing particular to blame, nor nothing specific to chastise. Rather, it was one of those rainy days you have even when the sun is shining. A desolate day in the doldrums.

As i-tunes shuffled through the songs, I took my time completing the morning routine; trying to find the melody that would carry me out of the trough. To my benefit, I had nothing scheduled early today, and didn't wake to the blaring beeps of the alarm clock. No, today I slept until the roosters crowed (which definitely doesn't count as "sleeping in".

Without resolution, I finally hit-the-streets; entering the commotion that is the conglomeration of rurality kissing modernity. Rick-shaw moto-taxis honking as they pass a women leading her burro through town. The yells of the street vendors fused to the passing blurbs of electronic cumbia music. Gurgles, crows, and doodle-dos from the poultry heard through the cloud of exhaust from the dump truck's diesel engine. Just like any other morning.

First on my agenda was to make my way down to one of the larger public schools to meet with the director in regards to starting a vegetable garden. We spent a few hours last week together in meetings; discussing the details. Today was to be the day that we finalized our plans. Without a great deal of shock, I discovered that she was out of the office today. Thus, postponing the project and also perpetuating my current state of mind.

I then zigged and zagged through the labyrinth and arrived at another school where I am scheduled to wrap up a decent sized vegetable garden in two days. I was greeted with embraces and screams of all the students out at recess. More so, a handful of young boys were stretching their heads through the gates' entrance to watch the working men in the street repair to water tube which was destroyed a few weeks prior, and crippling the completion of this particular project.

To smooth things over, I was surprised to find that we are still on schedule to complete the project this week. To add to the excitement, there was a very strong interest by many of the parents to volunteer their time to finish the garden. Already in smiles, I cheerfully wandered on down to the hospital to meet with a few other community partners to chat about yet another project.

I've been planning a series of participatory health-related lectures in a rural school about a 45 minute hike out of town. Coordinating so many dates with a variety of people has proven to be extremely difficult, and today was the day to finalize all the dates and hope for confirmations.

As I entered the hospital, I encountered the usual display of people in the waiting room. There's the crying baby, the agog elderly woman, and incongruous eyes of perplexed persons staring at the gringo in bewilderment. I entered the office of Social Services to discover all five women there and in elation with my arrival. Our meeting was brisk, and all available dates were quickly confirmed. Then, I made my way to the nutritionist to discover that she was just as unchallenging.

Then, I made my way to the psychologist to find that she too was available at the solicited times and dates. Things were going smoothly, and all these positive encounters had long ago changed the tone of my day. In fact, I had already begun to reflect on just how rapidly my day had switched gears.

Finally, I was on my way to meet with the fourth person who had previously agreed to participate in giving lectures to the high school students this month. On the walk, I received a phone call from an old friend I met while volunteering in Costa Rica a few years back. He currently resides in Singapore and was in Columbia visiting is in-laws. His only business was to call and say hi as we once again found ourselves on the same continent...and it was spectacularly unexpected.

As far as project planning goes, things had been going much more smoothly than expected. And, at this point, a speed bump was expected. As I coasted into the municipality, I was well received, and continue to the office of my destination. Once again, things went according to plan! With a sense of accomplishment, I began to make my way home.

As I meandered home, feeling like the jewel in the crown, I was stopped by a man pushing his three-wheeled rickshaw cart up hill. He introduced himself to me, and we spoke briefly. As I began my departure, he expressed his wishes that I have fortune with my projects. More so, he said that I have one more friend (a rough translation). They were very kind words and really gave me something to think about.

Now, as I sit around slowly typing a ramble, and as the sun fades and darkens the glass on my windows, I contemplate on how I will get out of bed tomorrow. I suppose that it is completely acceptable to start off a morning with woes and lacking ambition. However, you never know how the day will change its course. Things may evolve, and you may find shelter under unexpected successes. Or, perhaps things will go down hill. The point I'm trying to get at is that it is unfair to make predictions the first time your feet hit the floor in the morning. Take a breath, and wait. That smile from a stranger may make all the difference. Don't be afraid to be the person that donates that day-modifying salutation and surrender to happiness.

Seeing My Friends

2008-08-20T16:09:00.000-07:00

August was a very eventful month. After an extremely short recovery from the climbs at the end of July, I headed down to Lima for my one-year med-checks. You see, at about the one-year marker in Peace Corps, volunteers are required to have a physical checkup as well as a visit to the dentist. And, well, that's what I did. One year in service! One more to go!

So, along with the rest of the volunteers from my training group, we all met in Lima for a week of medical appointments, meetings, trainings, and presentations. It had been nearly nine months since I've seen most of these folks, and it was a great pleasure to play catchup.

Thinking back, one year ago, we were all still in training, we had so many questions, and were filled with curiosities. Now, at the one-year marker, we were approaching veteran status...and some of us were looking awfully grizzled.

So, together again, we celebrated. We sat through the meetings, the presentations, and we all had our check-ups. It was really nice to see so many familiar faces again. More so, it was a pleasure to hear about how everybody else is doing in their own respective parts of the country.

Even though we are all serving in Peace Corps in the same country, our experiences differ immensely. Our living arrangements and environments vary greatly, we steer different projects, and we cope with distinct successes and failures. Nonetheless, we've all made it to the one-year marker in our service. And, unfortunately, the next time (and most likely the last time) we will all be together again sharing experiences won't be until the end of May of 2009 when we have our Close of Service Conferences.

I stuck around Lima a day later than the rest of my group so that I could meet up with a friend who had come to visit all the way from Germany. Will is a good friend of mine who I met in college. We've shared some great adventures in the past; and this was another to add to the list. About a month before I left for the Peace Corps, I flew to Germany to visit with him for a couple weeks and travel around a bit. Now, it was my turn to play the ex-patriot host for an old friend.

I was thrilled not only to hangout and catchup with a good friend, but also to share my life down here with somebody from back home. Often times, home feels farther away than the map conveys. It's like I have a past life floating around somewhere out there, lingering. However, the visit from Will kind of brought the two lives together. His vist brought my past to present; as well as a sense of being home.

His only objective while in Peru was to see what I'm up to down here. So, that's what we did. I quickly showed him around Lima a bit before we caught the overnight bus to my department's capital. Since the city rests at just under two miles above sea level, we reserved a couple of days to let him acclimate. Then, we were up and moving. We went out to the pre-Incan ruins of Chavin, crawling through caverns and watching the llamas. We spent a few days in my site where he got a taste of my life, my projects, and what it's like to be a Peace Corps Volunteer in Peru's sierra. It was quite amusing to see my friend so engaged in the oddities to which I have become so accustom. Of course, one of his ambitions was to eat some cuy (guinea pig), which, fortunately for him, is a traditional dish in these parts.

We successfully accomplished this undertaking in a way that few visitors to Peru could. After a couple days of hiking and camping in the high altitudes just bellow the glaciers, we hiked to the house of a fellow volunteer in the area where his Quechua speaking host-mother cooked up a cuy she had raised herself over a eucalyptus wood fire. Honestly, it doesn't get much more traditional...or delicious than that.

In the end, I have no doubt that my buddy enjoyed himself. However, I'm quite sure that I rhapsodize about his visit more than he does. That visit meant a great deal to me. It was very refreshing to get be in contact with somebody from my past. In fact, I'm quite certain that anybody would appreciate a cordial visit from an old friend; no matter their current whereabouts, happenings, or living conditions. That said, I strongly urge you to send that email, or make that phone call you've been procrastinating on. Whoever may be on the receiving end will surely appreciate it. It's only too late when you no longer have the chance to do it.

Ups and Downs...part two "Chopicalqui"

2008-08-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

As aurora brought us to wake, we quickly ate breakfast and packed up camp. Although the last two days were fairly difficult, they would surely seem feeble in comparison to what was lying ahead of us.

On our feet, we moved on down to the next valley and began our accent. The day was clear and we were all in good spirits as we manuvered through the dwarf forests and into the pampa. With an exceptionally high hunger for our next objective, we quickly found ourselves at the moraine.

Climbing up and around the boulders of landslides past, I was marveled at the view of our next "port of call". To add to the excitement, we spent the day witnessing numerous avalanches (most definitely in the double digits) on neighboring mountains, as well as on the one we were soon to ascend. Nonetheless, we pressed on. We skipped base camp, deciding it best to just push on, and arrived at the moraine camp with dusk in the early evening.

There we spent our evening, wedged between enormous boulders and tremendous rock wall. It was a rather relaxed evening for the following day we would only have to ascend about 600 meters to camp on the glacier. We watched the sunset reflect off the opposing glaciers and continuously admired the peak we were hoping to meet in two days time.

As we dined in the brisk air under the shadows of our headlamps, we were blessed with the most remarkable exhibition of stars that I have ever laid eyes upon. On a clear night, at about 16,500 ft, there was a bowl of stars which seemed so close that they were just out of arms reach. Words cannot describe the countless glints of light on the blackest pallete. However, soon enough we were forced into our tents under the iniquity of the first snowfall I've encountered in Perú.

Morning's light brought us promise and a slow pace through the moraine and onto the glacier. As soon as the sun broke through the tops of the eastern mountains, we were once again blessed with the fervor of the tropical sun. Seemingly well rehearsed, we once again drew our ice axes and strapped into our crampons when we arrived at the base of the glacier.

Thus, we ascended in a fairly uneventful manner. The novelty of jumping over crevices, passing couloirs, and staring into infinite ravines had somewhat worn off. Now, more than ever, I was focussed on the end result. I yearned for that feeling of standing on top of a mountain. Although the views were nothing short of spectacular (to describe them as marvelous would be a goss understatement), I necessitated that sense of accomplishment of which I had been robbed on the previous mountain.

And just like that, we pushed on until we climbed the final wall which brought us to a the flat area where we would set up camp...on the glacier at about 18,700 feet above sea level. And there I sat, sitting on the rain cover of my backpack, using my bag itself as a backrest, until my butt was well beyond frozen. Under the screaming silence of our thoughts, the following day's summit attempt lingered heavy in the thin mountain air.

That evening, two of our five team members were bold enough to admit that the would not be carrying on in the summit attempt the following day; that brought us down to three. However, that also meant that we would be going up in one solo team as opposed to the two we had been moving in prior. Therefore, if one of the remaining three couldn't continue, we would all have to return.

That night we did our best to relax our overwrought minds and bodies as we dined and enjoyed the sunset from on top of the glacier at 18,700 ft. As the sun left, it took with it what little warmth was left in the air, and we quickly filed into our tents to get whatever little sleep possible.

Throughout the night, I regularly woke up short of breath, cold, and anxious. Nonetheless, the 12:30 AM wake up time arrived rather quickly. Under the light of the stars, moon, and our headlamps, the three of us geared up and forced food into our uneasy stomachs. Already out of breath from what little work it took to strap into our crampons, we bid farewell to our two friends and started toward the summit.

Immediately after leaving camp, we found ourselves trudging up a very steep and lengthy incline. It was a prompt reminder of just how hard this summit attempt would be. We pushed on silently, focusing on our steps, our breathing, and doing our best to be aware of our present condition.

As we hit the first ridge, our climb turned into more of a hike up a gradual slope. However, at that altitude, every step takes a great deal of energy. We had been moving for a couple of hours, and we were still under the night sky. Off in the distance, the lights of our department capital came into site and served as a reminder that most of the world was softly in bed, warm, relaxed, and comfortable.

We tramped on through the dark, noticing only the shadows of crevices and gaping holes in the glacier. When climbing in The Tropics, the sun softens the snow severely. Although we were unable to enjoy the views through the darkness, it was the safer option. More so, I was growing too exhausted to pay heed to the panarama.

Hours passed and the sky finally began to shake the encumbering darkness. We were able to switch off our headlamps just as we approached the famed 120 meter (nearly 400 ft) wall that contemptibly rests at an outstanding 19,685 ft above sea level. The misery I was dealing with a few hundred feet lower was now gone. This last gigantic barrier became the focal point. Filled with dynamism, we conquered the wall in two 60 meter sections.

I was first to arrive at the top of the wall, and rolled over with exhaustion. A few seconds passed before I finally raised my head and saw it. In the not-too-far distance stood the summit. It's cone shape was majestically soaring above the background. The end was in site.

After a couple minutes of catching our breath, we ardently maneuvered towards the obstacle. Upon reaching the base, we cut around the right side. Hugging the wall firmly, standing on a mere six inch ledge, I did my best to ignore the plummeting drop bellow. Finally, with one more step, and a large stretched, my axe connected with the ice in the final narrow shoot. After a mere 30 more feet, I found myself there, on top of it all. In great elation, we admired our view from on top of the world at 20,850 ft above sea level (6,354 meters).

So, what do you do when you reach a summit of that magnitude? Well, first you have a group hug. Then, you take a few pictures. After that, if you're anything like me, you take a seat, enjoy the view, and eat the cheese sandwich you've been toting to the top.

Sitting up there, we were all in great spirits as we seemed to have already forgotten the burden we bared to arrive. With an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, I admittedly felt very emotional. Nonetheless, our stay on the summit was short-lived as we had to make our way down before we found ourselves in foul weather or before the snow became dangerously soft.

Of course, navigating back down the mountain was a lot easier than the ascent. Not having to battle gravity, we kept a good pace and rapidly repelled down walls which were once so painful to go up. In spite of all that, we managed to find ourselves in a whiteout at about 18,000 ft for a little over an hour. It became so severe that I couldn't see my partner in front of me, nor the one behind. Again, we were robbed of the view on that stretch of the mountain. In addition, we had an episode while repelling down one of the walls which certainly caused a bit of a stir. In spite of all that, we safely converged with our other two friends waiting back at the glacier camp under blue skies.

As we descended together, we were attacked by a rockslide off a nearby mountain. Myself and a friend both had to literally dive out of the way, and one fairly large rock came very close to taking my head off. Regretfully, I had already removed my helmet...that was a very poor decision, kids. Other than that, the descent was fairly uneventful.

We arrived for one more night in moraine camp, and hiked out of the valley the next morning; holding our heads high as we passed a group just leaving base camp and on their way to their own summit attempt and wishing them well. Afterall, we knew exactly what they were getting into. And that's the funny thing about climbing mountains..."To the sober person adventurous conduct often seems insanity"(~Georg Simmel)

Ups and Downs...part one

2008-07-31T10:38:00.000-07:00

So, I'm back and I'm safe from the endeavor that was climbing two mountains in a weeks time. And, of course, I have a lot to say about the experience. It was tough...really tough. The sites were absolutely breathtaking...or, perhaps that was the altitude.

Our trip started off with an early departure from our departments capital. Several hours later, we arrived at the entrance to the park. From there, we went about another hour in car until we were at a point where our feet finally had to do the work.

That first day, we hiked to the other end of the valley and up onto base camp for mountain number one. We arrived at base camp late that afternoon with the elation of going for our first summit that next morning. It was a brilliantly sunny day and we took careful notes of the snow covered peaks surrounding us. However, there was one peak in particular that we had our eyes on.

Unfortunately, I fell a bit ill and began to question whether or not I would be able to push on. That night was long. Not only did we have three men crammed into a two person tent, but my stomach prevented me from getting more than an hour of sleep. More so, the notion of not being able to soldier on through the following days climb weighed heavy on my mind.

Near one-o-clock AM, one of my tent mates left the tent to alleviate himself. About a half hour after his return, I began to hear a rustling outside of our tent. Most definitely, the thought of a robbery in such a remote area seemed very improbable. That led to only one other possibility. Many Peruvian campesinos allow their cattle to graze the lower sections of the mountainsides. However, as we discovered, some of these cows can be quite menacing.

As I prodded my recently returned tentmate, I gave shouts of "waaka! waaka!" (the word for cow in Quechua). My good friend and I climbed out of our sleeping bags and into the frosty starry night, wearing nothing but our long johns and our headlamps. In so doing, we discovered that a cow had managed to get his cuddy lips on a plastic bag which contained items I had set aside that I would not be needing on our summit attempt; which was now only a couple hours away.

Quickly, we gathered my disbanded items, which consisted of my one change of underwear, an extra pair of pants, some food rations, and an extra t-shirt. We gathered it all under the moonlit night (or so we thought), and climbed back into our tent for about another hour or so of rest until we departed for our first summit.

At three in the morning we all rolled out of bed, had a quick Quaker breakfast and began our hike up through the moraine and towards the glacier. I was still very concerned about my physical well-being, and had informed my comrades that I would make a decision as to whether or not I would go for the summit when we reached the glacier. However, for the time being, I was going to push myself until quitting was the only option. Afterall, I had put a great deal of effort into making sure that I would be ready for these mountains, and I wasn't going to give up so easily.

The sun slowly began to shed it's light as we hit the first ridge line. As we shut off our headlamps, the panoramic views of being at about 15,000 ft besieged us. Along with the welcomed warmth of the sun, we too saw the breadth of what was yet to come.

Climbing around and over the scattered boulders of landslides past, we eventually arrived at the base of the glacier. Mounting this glacier appeared to be no easy task. As we geared up, took out our ice axes, and stepped into our crampons, we prepared to climb the ice wall which would put us onto the snow.

Our guide went first. He set the route and placed an anchor at the top. He was a quiet man, a few years younger than myself. He had already told us of tales of past experiences, including encountering an avalanche one exceptional climb. Whether his aim was to instill fear or a greater sense of caution, he succeeded.

Anyway, once he secured the anchor, I followed. At this moment, I suddenly realized exactly what I had gotten myself into, and felt the hastening of adrenaline that accompanies it. As I buried my axe into the ice, and kicked my crampons into its resistant surface, I krept up the wall; making sure that I always had three points of contact secure. Finally, the rope tightened and my friend began his first encounter with the glacier.

A few minutes past when the third man mounted the wall, and it became obvious that the number two was struggling. Now, evermore aware of the difficulties, I was sure to dig deeper into the ice with every movement. Eventually his distrusting steps failed him, and he fell off the wall.

Suddenly, I felt the pinch of the added weight in my harness. I laid my body into the wall and put trust in my prior placements hoping that they would hold. After a few words of encouragement, my calves began to bounce under the added wait. I then got rather short. I regret my use of explicits. However, he soon regained his positioning and we all successfully made it onto the glacier with nothing more than the small reminder that this is far from the leisurely outdoor activity you see on the cover of an REI catalog.

Eventually, we all made it onto the glacier and began our zigzag hike towards the summit. This was my first experience on top of a glacier, and I found it to be quite fascinating. From a distance, the glacier looks like a large mound of snow blanketi

ng the uppermost portions of the mountains. However, one fails to see the intricate maze of crevices which plummet to infinity, as well as the amazing ice murals which spring up sporadically.

Proceeding upward, we lept over several crevices and often took a break to catch our breath...only to loose it again while taking in our surroundings. We wound around enormous bulges of ice protruding from the mountain, mystified by how they are formed. We also took note of how there were no footprints. Unbeknown to us, we were the first team to go for the summit on this particular mountain this year.

So, on we trudged; up and through the untouched snow. As we neared the summit, with only about 150 to 200 meters to go, we came stumbled upon a declivity of soft snow. On the other side, we could see the route which would lead us to the summit. This slope extended for about 70 meters, the snow was soft, and it stood between us and our destination.

As we began to maneuver across the incline, the angle became increasingly apparent; along with the obvious level of danger. The snow was deep. Even with crampons, every step was knee level. Worst of all, my ice axe was rendered ineffective in such a soft surface. More so, I apprehensively watched the loose snow fall from my feet. I watched it slide down the slope and into a patiently waiting crevasse about 100 meters bellow. My heartbeat was rapid, my breaths were deep, and I did my best to stay focused.

So there we were, inching through the knee-deep snow, roped together, and completely exposed on an open face of the mountain. I was the first man behind our guide, and have never felt so defenseless as I timorously crept across the slope. After reaching the halfway point, every man in the team was on the slope. The unmissable danger was prevalent to all. The snow was unstable, and it became apparent that if one man fell, we would all go with him. More so, the conditions were quite prone to avalanche.

As we stood there, exposed and at the mercy of the mountain, we decided that it simply wasn't worth the risk. Therefore, we began the difficult backtrack across the impossible escarpment. The unworkable footing was maddening. With every step, my feet slid and my heart raced. At this moment, in all sincerity, I didn't think that I was going to make it off the mountain alive. However, and quite obvious as you read this, that was not the result. We all made it safely back to the other side of the dangerous declivity, and began our defeated march back down the mountain.

The descent was much quicker than the ascent, and we all felt very humbled. Within a couple of hours, we were repelling down the ice wall and back to the moraine. A few hours later, we arrived back at base camp. In our exhaustion, we discovered the remnants of my favorite t-shirt which we failed to find the night before. Without a doubt, the cow that found it chewed on it excessively before deciding that it wasn't a worthy meal. As sad as I was to lose such a fine article of clothing (my possessions here in the Peace Corps are quite limited), it was nice to have something to joke about and to lighten the mood.

Rather than spending another night amongst the delinquent cattle, we decided to hike back down to the valley and towards a camp closer to the start-off point for our next endeavor. Surely, our next climb would be more difficult (by at least 2000 ft). However, even with our trounced feelings of failure, we would eat and sleep well; knowing that we did our best. Sure, we failed; but we were safe. The time arrived to start thinking about part two of the journey. That first mountain was the "warm-up". Tomorrow, we would start off on a climb that could take us 20,846 ft into the air if we could meet the challenge. Nonetheless, and perhaps to no suprise, I slept quite well.

Stay tuned for the sequel.

We're All In Training

2008-07-21T09:55:00.000-07:00

As I prepare for the big climbs which are rapidly approaching, I am in high hopes that my training regiment has been sufficient. From the early morning "prison workouts" to the evening jogs at high altitude, I sincerely hope that I will have what it takes to push on to the summits. The training has been fairly enjoyable as I am blessed with magnificent views looking down at my site from afar.

I've found, however, that I'm not the only one in training.

I recently hosted a group of Peace Corps soon-to-be Volunteers in my site. Just as I w

as in training one year ago, this latest batch of do-gooders is currently undergoing their fairly monotonous three months of training in Lima. However, for one week, they were allowed to break free from the arduous grips of the Training Center in order to have their Field Base Training. Half of this group recently spent a week in and around my site gaining insight into the life of an actual Peace Corps Volunteer.

In fact, it was a pleasure to host this gang. Not only was I able able to share the knowledge which I have accumulated throughout my service, I was also benignly reminded of just how far I have come myself. Indeed, I found their questions and concerns indistinguishable from the ones I held during my time in training. However, now I am the person providing the consoling remarks; reminding them, that Peace Corps is indeed far much more than the life they know in the Training Center.

Just as I have been rigorously training to climb mountains, these new recruits are trying their hardest to prepare themselves for a successful service. I hope that their training pays off as well.

I also hosted a group of high school students who were on a sort of social learning Sumer vacation type of trip. To be honost, I was not too impressed. Unfortunately, it seems as though this group was not truly resolved in cultural exchange nor social service. Truth be told, they were an embarassment to myself and a poor representation to the United States in general. Their lack of respect for the culture and an understanding for impoverished living inhibited them from obtaining a positive experience. Perhaps they need a little more training.

Beyond the time I have been passing in preparation for the climbs, I have also made some huge leaps in lifestyle changes. I am proud to announce that I have introduced an electronic shower head into my life. That gushing glacial water most definitely will wake me up, but it is far from comforting. From now on (as long as I have electricity at that particular time) I will be showering with a much more sultry experience.

I have also constructed a "water evaporation cooler". This fairly simple device involves the combination of two clay pots, sand, water, and a wet towel. Now, I can buy broccoli at the Sunday market and it easily lasts five days. Sure, it's no refrigerator. However, extending the life of produce has definitely been a welcomed addition to my life here.

As far as projects go, I have continued working on the vocational classes with local high school students. Thus far, I am quite satisfied with the results. Also, I have completed my first large-scale vegetable garden. This particular project was conducted at a local school for kindergarten students that is known for catering to some of the poorest children in town. Needless to say, many of these students are also fairly malnourished. However, with the help of a representative from the local Ministry of Education, a nutritionist, and the director of the school, we organized the parents to put in a few days of work at the school; transforming a once worried portion of the school's property into a first-rate vegetable garden. To top it all off, the nutritionist and myself conducted a couple of nutrition seminars with the parents to help educate them on the importance of incorporating vegetables into their diets, and how to properly prepare them.

I know it may seem petty, and prehaps a bit ridiculous to imagine that a person wouldn't understand the importance of vegetables. However, these are educational elements which we have been fortunate enough to have been surrounded with our whole lives. Perhaps, the next generation here in my site will also retain this information. In the meantime, such negligible items will have to be carefully elucidated.

Is this a job or a lifestyle?

2008-07-14T07:47:00.000-07:00

This is a question that has been hitting me pretty hard as of late. I mean sure, technically, this is a job. Obviously, the pay isn't so great, nor do I have set hours. However, I do have objectives, I have my bosses, and a pretty inclusive healthcare package. More so, it's work; my days can be just as long and stressful as the next persons - if not more so.

The boundaries of my office are drawn up by my health that day, the weather, and how far I'm willing to go. Do I have the patience? Is that person or group going to show up? All of which are considerably unpredictable factors.

More so, if this is a job, then it seems to fit very well into my lifestyle. Thus, I suppose that the title "The toughest job you'll ever love" fits perfectly. Nice job Peace Corps advertising team.

On other notes, things are moving along quite well these days. My visit to the US about three months ago feels like a momentary blip in my memory. As great as it was, it kind of threw me out of my standard practices. And, now that I've recovered, I've been pretty busy distracting myself with work related causes.

I have been spending a lot of my time helping out at a local school for children with disabilities. I will refrain on commenting on any personal predispositions in regards to how a developing nation handles children suffering from such complications. However, I have found that my time spent there has provided me with some of the most rewarding experiences of my service thus far. To be honost, I haven't achieved any great successes in regards to execut

ing outstanding projects there. I fear that an entire culture needs to adjust before one could opulently solicit the appropriate changes. However, I am always received with ardent hugs from the young children and grateful smiles from the administrative staff. These factors alone are more than enough to keep me coming back. In fact, I believe that I get just as much (if not more) from my encounters with these children than what I provide for them.

The only actual "project" that has materialized in that particular school is a small vegetable garden. My hopes are that within a few months, the children will be sent home with vegetables. Now, if only I can convince their parents to introduce them to the dinner table...

I have also been working diligently on giving vocational courses to all high school seniors in and around my site. This project seems to be going well. Unfortunately, the school system in the area fails to expose their students to a life after graduation. I'm hoping to implant a few considerations in the minds of these students.

I have also been preparing for the arrival of Perú's newest volunteers who will be coming up to visit me later this month as sort of a "in field practicum". They are currently in Lima undergoing their training (as I was one year ago), and this will give them an opportunity to see what life is like outside the training center. In addition, there is a group of high school students from various parts of the US who will be joining me in my site for a week as a sort of "service learning" experience.

On a personal level, I have committed to climbing two mountains at the end of this month. Therefore, I have been doing a great deal of training in order to prepare. One of the climbs will be well over 20,000 ft, and should prove to be quite difficult. On the upside, training means that I have visited many of the summits on the lower mountains surrounding my community. Have you ever gone for a jog at 10,000 ft?

I also

took a couple of personal days and went down to a small beach town where I (and several other Peace Corps Volunteers) helped a fellow volunteer who had organized a marathon in his site. Let's be honost, I really just wanted to mee

t up with some friends that I haven't seen in awhile, and spend some time on the beach, more than anything. Plus, I had some close friends who were running their first marathons, and I wanted to cheer them on. However, the marathon itself was a great success; and it looks like it will turn into an annual event.

All that said, life's been good. I really have been finding it hard to distinguish between what is work-related and what is personal-time as of late. That's the beauty of the situation I have going here. The stresses I encounter are just as likely to stem from daily living as from my projects. Just as well, I guess I don't really get to "go home" at the end of the workday. However, my job seems to be pretty accommodating to my lifestyle, and I guess I'm happiest when the two are combined. When I walk out the door in the morning I am uncertain of expectations; but I do expect to try my best as a Peace Corps Volunteer. In the end, I suppose the title of job or lifestyle doesn't really matter. What matters most is just making the most out of this life. After all, no matter what your thoughts are on afterlife, the one you are living is most definitely guaranteed.

Back and Busy

2008-06-12T14:55:00.000-07:00

Since my arrival back in Perú, I've been very busy. Luckily, my projects seemed to have maintained steam, and I was able to jump right back into the swing of things.

Shortly after my return, I spent just under a week in Lima at a Project Design and Management workshop hosted by the Peace Corps.

For these particular meetings, Peace Corps Volunteers were able to bring a member from their communities. These selected participants were motivated persons with whom the volunteer wished to coordinate a future project. The objective was then to further develop this project in order to have a great chance of success when they returned to their sites.

I chose to bring a worker from the local municipality with whom I've had past success. He felt very privileged to be part of the workshop, and thus our results had a favorable outcome. Our project (which has yet to be implemented) was to design a mentor/intern program for local youth interested in pursuing a career in tourism. It seems like a plausible project; so, we'll see what the future brings.

Before I begin to further develop the previously state

d tourism project, I working on vocational courses to all high school seniors in the local public schools. We have effectively begun in two of the four schools, and have solicited money for the remaining two. The goal is to have implemented the five session course to approximately 400 students by the end of July. That's pretty much the biggest thing I have planned for the next couple of months.

Of course, a volunteer is always working on side-projects; and I've got some interesting ones popping up. I have begun to work with local tourism agencies and business. A union has been formed and people seem to be willing to put forth some effort in regards to improving the local tourism economy. To this same group, I've begun to teach English classes. It's been a nice change up to work with adults. More so, I was able to tag along on a day trip to one of the local tourist destinations free-of-charge. Now, how could you pass that up?

I've also been spending some time at a local school for handicapped children once or twice a week. This is just something to do in my down time. They're a great group of kids and the professors appreciate the help.

I gecko has managed to enter my room. I've decided to let him stay. My place isn't all that big, but I'm pretty sure there is room for the two of us. Now, if only Walter (that's his name) can keep the bug population down!

Perú recently celebrated that "Día de la papa". Yes, that's right...a whole day to express potato appreciation. Perú is home to over 3000 types of potatoes. And, if you think I have some sort of agenda to try them all, well, you're mad. I think I've already eaten more potatoes while I've been in Perú than I have in my entire previous life. All that said, the displays of potato variety were actually pretty consuming (sorry about that).

My Trip To America...The North One

2008-05-09T18:31:00.000-07:00

So here I am, right back atchya from Perú. My trip to the US was great! But, very quick; VERY QUICK!

As most of you know, I returned home to act as a groomsmen in the Kalluas-Ashcroft espousal. The ceremony, dinners, and reception where absolutely spectacular. This was my first actual "participation" in a wedding ceremony ever, and it was a privilege to travel the distance to participate in the union of two very good friends. To elaborate, the groom and I have attended school together since...well, since kindergarten when you first attend school. More so, we were freshmen roomates in college, and I was a "foster roomate" our sophomore year when the two started dating (my actual roomate at the time had a severe snoring affliction and I took up living with friends during the night).

Yes, in all of the photos, I am quite distinguishable as the person who returned from the Peace Corps to partake in the wedding. But, hey, what's a wedding without having "that guy" as part of the ceremony, right? One day, when they procreate, their child will point to me in the pictures and ask "Who is that guy?", and they will say "Well, that's crazy uncle Frank!". And, believe me, one day I will make a great "crazy uncle Frank".

The night of my return, Minnesota received a nice little snowfall; which is rare at the end of April. In fact, I think I might have been the only person in the whole state who was happy to see it! For me, it was quite nostalgic; the only snow I ever see is on the tops of the mountains about 2000 meters (6560 ft) above me.

In addition to celebrating the lifelong union of two very good friends, I also celebrated my personal reunion with friends, family, and a former life. Sounding cliché, I know, I find it hard to put words to my sentiments of that time. I've had innumerable moments down here in which I've longed to speak with, embrace, or pass time with my loved ones. Most people fail to appreciate how much they depend on their social networks in challenging times. The Peace Corps can be absolutely congested with such moments. But you learn to persevere independently; which can make one weary. I believe that my personal relationships and experiences are beyond enviable; and this is not something I take for granted. Finally, I was able to see, speak with, and hug the hell out of the people with whom I've have spent nearly a year without. Please, at my request, be sure to inform the ones you love, that you do in fact love them; there is never an inappropriate time for this. Even (and especially) when you're living on the top of the world, you should come down and express your gratitude to those who helped you get there.

On much lighter notes, my trip to The States served as a reminder of the oddities to which I have become accustomed. For example, while in The States, I went to the market (I believe you still refer to those as "grocery stores"), and I happened to notice that those working not only wore gloves and kept the food in refrigeration devices, but that there were also no flies hovering over everything. I noticed that eggs were white, and they did not have goopy-feathery-slime attached to them. I noticed that roads were smoothly paved with asphalt and that public transportation was comfortable (in comparison, anyway). I noticed that everywhere I went people had a clean and functional bathroom (with complimentary toilet paper). However, the most brilliant thing that I saw all-together was something that I think people in The States take for granted...I saw success, happiness, and diversity.

That last point really rings true for me. Daily, I watch and hear as people talk about me and my physical characteristics. In all honesty, I can't blame them. For, I am a completely different color, with strange hair and eyes, I stand about a foot taller than most, and yet I can speak their language and am partaking in the same daily routines. However, I was helping a great friend of mine return his U-Haul truck when we stumbled upon a store full of customers of Asian, Middle Eastern, European, Latin, and African decent. They were all there, for similar purposes, and not a single one of them commented to one another about how strange the others looked. It's such diversity that makes the beauty of the World. To encounter such diversity is why people set forth on travels in the first place. But, here it lies directly in front of us, and often unappreciated. Before my most recent experiences, this was something that I failed to find so significant. However, now, more than ever, I see the beauty that is the distinguishing characteristics of our backgrounds. America (as it is supposed to be), is the land of the free, diverse, and of opportunity. We must never let the negative aspects of globalization and the media persuade us otherwise. To live in such close proximity with incomprehension of our differences is beyond ignorance, it's mere foolishness. Let's learn from our neighbors. Afterall, we're all in this together.

Healthy Gringos...Road Trip!

2008-04-21T10:33:00.000-07:00

Greetings, greetings, greetings...and just think, in a few days, I will be giving salutations to some of you in person. However, to relieve myself of some redundant explanations, I'll give you a quick update of what I've been doing around these parts in that last few weeks.

Myself, in collaboration with the other volunteers in my department, have been traveling all over the department conducting a theatrical performance in each of our sites. And, in between, we even made a stop at some ancient ruins of the per-Inca society

of Chavin de Huantar. Now, I wouldn't go so far as to say we're ready for Hollywood, but as far as performances in a foreign language go, I would say we did pretty well! So well in fact, that we were treated like celebrities...autographs, pictures, and the whole works.

Our little burlesque had a very serious message, but of course, we kept it comical. In addition to sharing an important message, this endeavor proved to be an excellent opportunity to visit one another's sites and get to know the people, projects, and area in general. More so, I found it to be a great bonding experience for all of us. I still maintain the belief that you can't really know somebody until you have traveled with them. And, well, I guess I've gotten to know a few people a little better. Let's just say, that we did more than our fair share of waiting for busses.

The message we were sharing with the people from our communities was gender equality. Generally speaking, this subject is rather closeted in this area. So much so, in fact, that most of the people in our communities strictly follow stereotypical gender roles. Men, for example, are the breadwinners. They feel obligated to do the "manly" things like work the fields and bring home the bacon, so to speak. Meanwhile, the women do the cleaning, the child rearing, and often feel restrained in pursuits of their dreams. In some cases, the matter is so deeply rooted that women haven't even been given the opportunity to learn Spanish and only communicate in Quechua. In my opinion, this is a tremendous setback in the overall development and well-being of a country and its people. Therefore, we set off with the mission to educate via satire how men can easily help out around the house, and how females are just as capable as men in both physical and intellectual capacities.

I won't go into the details of our production, but I will let you know that I played the role of "Huascar", the profound and wise mountain (named after Huascaran, the highest mountain in the area, and the World's highest tropical mountain). More so, I will apprise that there was a bit of cross-dressing and role reversal conducted by other members of the team.

Overall, everything went swimmingly. Most interesting to me were the faces of middle aged men in the audience when we reinforced the fact that they too can cook, clean, and assist with the children; some didn't seem to enthused about that little newsflash. Nonetheless, the youth definitely got the message.

Oh Peace Corps! You never cease to send me down previously unexplored personal paths! I've determined that development work is best conducted when oneself steps outside-of-the-box in order to help others step out of theirs.

Bouncing Around the Room

2008-03-31T09:51:00.000-07:00

Here and there and up and down I go...well, I went anyway. The past month has recurrently kept me out of site. Some of it was at my discretion, some at the Peace Corps, and a little at Peru in general. Anyway you cut it, I spent about half the month out of site. Although the time away from projects can damper progress, I enjoyed having the wandering shoes laced up.

I spent another week in the departments capital (Huaraz) wrapping up the second (and last) session of Quechua classes. Unfortunately, I'm nowhere close to having a solid grasp on the language. It's pretty tricky.

When was the last time you tried to learn an indigenous language through a second language? Nonetheless, I'm making progress...little by little. In fact, I even overheard one of the old ladies in the market telling her friend how good my Quechua was the other day. If only she knew that besides the "hello, how are you?" and the "how much for a kilo of tomatoes?" I know not much more than infinitive words and a few well-rehearsed phrases. I suppose that's the true measure of intelligence anyway; fool everybody into thinking that you know what you're doing. But, I'll get there...poco a poco.

I also went down to Lima again for the Peer Support Network

meeting. That too was a positive experience. We met again for brief training and to see just how the rookie program is holding up. It seems like all the representatives are doing a good job. Whats more, I will continue to be the committee coordinator through the next six months, sharing the responsibility with another volunteer. As you may predict, I'm very hopeful that this program will fulfill its goal of helping other Peace Corps Volunteers deal with issues they face throughout their service. Afterall, a happy volunteer is one who will stay in the country and cultivate their communities and projects. We have already seen seven volunteers from my training group alone return to the US for one reason or another; I would hate to lose another.

On another note, I also spent a few days (the Easter Holiday) at a beach with a few friends. It was a very relaxing little vacation. Peace Corps gave us a few days of free vacation in which we could leave our sites. I figured I ought to check out a new part of the country. There, I did nothing. It was great!

Here in site, things have been very mellow, as well. The big recycli

ng campaign has wrapped up, and school has resumed session. The project seems to have maintained its sustainability and is holding up well. I hope it stays this way! More so, before we concluded the project, I help get the local Mountain Rescue Brigade to come in and teach a few classes on first-aid, CPR, and rescue techniques. Like most things, I think that some kids got more out of it than others. But, it was worth a shot.

Now, I'm busy planning a whole new project! I'm hoping to enter schools in the local area and conduct vocational courses with the seniors in high school. Of course, I'm looking at a few roadblocks with this. However, the local municipality has already approved the funding for all photocopies; that was a big one. With that out of the way, my biggest issue will be the coordinating of the actual classes.

One of the reasons that the coordination will be an issue is that I will be taking a trip BACK TO THE U-S-of-A! Yes, that's right! I'll be back in the Minneapolis area in the end of April through the first week of May. I will be attending the wedding of two good friends. I'm very happy for them. Family, friends, dancing, food! Yeah, I'm pumped! And, let's not forget about the warm showers!

First Project Success!

2008-02-19T10:29:00.000-08:00

Indeed, I wasted very little time in getting to work. Yes, first I am supposed to perform a formal diagnostic of my new site (which I'll get to); but I have to make up for lost time, right? I see it this way: They knew I was coming, my language skills are sufficient to be effective, and I had to chase the opportunities knocking at my door. Honestly, I've been very lucky to encounter so many motivated people so quickly; I didn't want to miss an open window while pursuing procedural paperwork.

The municipality wanted to start a campaign to empower local youth while they are on their summer vacation from school. Originally, they wanted me to be the supervisor of the program. However, that is far from sustainability. They have since hired a man with whom I have been working to organize a gang of do-gooders.

We have 120 enthusiastic local adolescents teamed up on a citywide recycling campaign. It's been absolutely phenomenal! We gave them a week-long seminar on the project plan, recycling basics, and even threw in a couple guest speakers. From there, we planned a parade around the entire town carrying banners and stopping in each barrio where the group members performed skits (which they wrote themselves). We even had a band marching with us helping pull the community members out of their houses. To top it off, we talked the municipality into buying us all matching shirts. It was absolutely sensational, and a great "kickoff" day for the cleanup campaign. And, of course, everyone decided it best to have the huge gringo guy front and center leading the way...I suppose that also works as an attention getter.

Currently, the members of the group have been split into subgroups and are going door-to-door and teaching the community how to sepperate their refuse (organic, inorganic non-recyclable, and recyclable. The project itself has proven to be successful as the local recycling plant reports increases in volume. It's great to know that these folks are having a positive impact regarding environmental progress and community mindset. However, I'm especially proud of the way the youth have dedicated their time and efforts for the sake of community improvement. Some of these kids have demonstrated remarkable leadership skills and have really kept me motivated throughout the process. More so, this project has been an excellent opportunity for me to put my foot in the proverbial door and hit the ground running in my new site.

On other notes, life has been great. My new site continues to provide me with a profusion of positive experiences. In addition, the celebrations of Carnival have wrapped up and I managed to make it through relatively dry for the most part. However, there was one day when I would have been better off walking around in full rain gear.

About a week ago I was running some errands in the department capital, which looked more like a water world war zone. After lunch, as I was getting ready to head back to site for a meeting with the mayor, I was bombarded by a gang of bucket carrying hooligans. This was after a morning of successfully avoiding water balloons and balcony offenses. I ostentatiously thought I would actually be returning to site in time for the meeting in dry wardrobe. However, if recollection serves correctly, I was doused with three buckets of water in succession as I retreated to a local café to seek refuge. From there, I avoided one more bucket as I frantically rolled up the taxi window.

Soaking wet, I jumped in a combi (mini-bus) to take me back to site. I caught the last available spot and was seated in the back row center. I thought the worst was over as the rusted roof and walls of the vehicle shielded us from roadside attacks. Nevertheless, as we made a stop along the way, the back door of the combi had been pulled open and an assailant unexpectedly (and very successfully) launched about five gallons into the rear section of the combi as the driver peeled away. At this point, I looked like I had taken a shower with all of my clothes on.

When I arrived at my site, I witnessed similar chaos. The majority of the moto taxis (motorized rickshaw-type things) had fellows riding sidecar with full buckets as well. To avoid the pandemonium, I walked about six blocks out of the way to my living quarters. There, I changed and headed back down to the municipality for my meeting with the mayor. Of course, the municipality is located right on the Plaza de Armas whose central location and water fountains made it a red zone for the battles. Suddenly, my ambitious adolescent do-gooders turned on me. As I sprinted to the building, I could hear the pubescent voices announcing my presence. I picked up the pace and made it just in time for the meeting looking surprisingly presentable.

However, to my dismay, the mayor wasn't even there and the meeting had been postponed to the following day. After all, this is Perú, and things sometimes workout that way. Therefore, I waited on the balcony watching the bedlam in safety. Once the dust settled, I moseyed on home reflecting on how an ordinary morning can bring unexpected afternoon episodes. Just another day at the office, I suppose.

¨Say Hello and Wave Goodbye¨

2008-02-02T14:08:00.000-08:00

After an extended session of wandering throughout the month of January, I have officially landed in my new site. It's great. Really, it's like a dream site for a Peace Corps Youth Development Volunteer. I'm living at a much lower altitude and thus enjoy a much milder climate (and still maintaining the mountain views). Some spectacular family members sent me a travel clock with a thermometer for Christmas. Therefore, I can tell you that it hits about 80 degrees in the day and bottoms out at about 65 at night. It's paradise; like living on the beach, but surrounded by mountains (and I have incredible views from my bedroom window). Yes, I even have palm trees and banana plants; a valley paradise, indeed. In fact, the city is nicknamed “dulzura”, which translates to “sweetness”...and I really dig that. My opportunities seem endless, which has me riding a motivational wave. Living in a city of just over 22,000 has also restored a mild sense of anonymity. More so, I have espoused such luxuries as having both a shower and an operating toilet. Yes, things are first-rate, superb.

However, waving goodbye to my old site issued one of the most awkward and cumbersome experiences of my life. It's not that one thing in particular bestowed the perturbation. Rather, it was the conglomeration of repeatedly explaining that I would be on my way, combined with the trounced sense of failure and embarrassment that hit me ungentlemanly. Not to mention that my room had been flooded due to the winter rains. There goes the family, friends, projects, and life I had become accustomed too. The situation proved to be thorny through and through. Living without certainty in one's future is no doubt part of a vagabond code, which I had never felt so exposed to. It was brilliantly catastrophic, humbling, and somewhat peaceful.

Be that what it may, in the paragon that is hindsite, I truly feel like it was for the best (cliché, I know). For certain, I will miss many aspects of that community. In addition, I have a lot of work to do here in order to start anew. Nonetheless, I will NOT be missing the spouts of precarious illness, nor the morning walks through the pastures to find a good place to defecate. It's all gone. It's all behind me; for better or worse...but, I think “for better” pays heed.

I moved in to my new site at a very peculiar time. Perú, along with much of the Christian world is currently celebrating Carnival. Things get especially foreign to me for the duration of the celebration here. Somewhere along the line, water-fights became a ritualistic part of the observance of this holiday. Therefore, at any given time, one is subject to being hit with a water balloon or a brisk bucket shower from a balcony above. Keep your eyes open and be wary of all underpasses. A battle starts suddenly, and with little warning. Some days are a little hair-raising, but I've been pretty careful; doing my best to arrive at meetings in dry apparel. This will continue for the nest two weeks! “You can't beat fun”...but I'm glad to see that they're trying!

However, there are upsides. The community has circumscribed parades, marches, and dances surrounding our plaza. It's been a great opportunity to get out and meet the people. More so, the brilliant colors, loud music, traditional dancing, and smiles have made me feel very welcome in my new community. Good things are going to happen here...I can feel it!

On another note, I also spent a week of last month in the department capital with six other volunteers taking Quechua classes (the native language of the Inca...actually, pre-Inca). Yeah, that's not something that is going to come easy. Especially, when I gaze at my notebook and see a wrecking combination of English, Spanish, and Quechua gawking at me. I even wrote my first song in Quechua and performed it on guitar! It's a dying language, and will serve no purpose beyond my immediate future. Nonetheless, I've always wanted to learn a third language. Perhaps I should have been a little more meticulous with my aspirations!

Happy Holidays!

2008-01-01T11:26:00.000-08:00

Still corresponding from Lima, and wishing you the happiest holidays! Little by little my life appears to be getting back to order. That shows promise for the new year...2008 is going to be great!

So, my communication efforts with the former volunteers paid off. The preliminary prognosis forecasts me moving back to the same department I was in before, but now to the northern section. I'll be finally heading out of Lima this upcoming week! The city I will be moving to is famed and well-recognized for it's easy access to beautiful day retreats; mountain lagoons, hot springs, and awe-inspiring views. It's located right where two mountain ranges come within spitting distance of one another. Whereas before, I was in the third mountain range in the southern section of the department. The new site is about 1000 meters lower in elevation (but still at about a mile and a half above sea level). More so, I will have easy access to many commodities, including fresh fruits and vegetables which burgeon in the area. Also...I will have access to the best commodity of them all...the bathroom! That's right, no more fields and holes! Yup, back to the first-class “classy” life.

My primary project there has me working with the hospital...which seems like the perfect counterpart for “sickboy”, eh? In addition, the size of the city (pop. about 22,000) should make it a little easier to pick up secondary projects. It will most definitely be a change of pace, no doubt.

On another note, I'm sure some of you are curious about what the holidays are like here in Peru. Well, like most places, it has it's fair share of traditions and customs. First, Christmas is celebrated on the 24th. On the outset, people shoot off fireworks from dusk till midnight. Christmas Day is reserved for tranquil family time. However, it is the New Year's praxis which are most intriguing.

It is pretty much mandate to have some piece of yellow clothing in your wardrobe as the calendar turns. The most recognized article (for women especially) is having yellow underwear. Of course, the underwear is died yellow...no, you cannot just wear your dingy briefs which you've kept in that drawer since Y2K. More so, they are supposed to be gifted to you. The color of yellow is supposed to have some relevance to luck in the new year.

Another common practice is eating 12 grapes under the table exactly at midnight; one grape for each DONG of the clock. Again, it has something to do with good fortune in the new year. Or, if risking
asphyxiation on bite-sized fruit isn't your bag, you can always race around the block with a suitcase. This is just to ensure that you will travel in the upcoming year.

Lastly, many people in Peru (especially those in the rural areas) make a doll out of straw and dress it up in there clothes. Then, they set fire to the figure. This practice is symbolic of ridding yourself of the year prior and starting out fresh. However, my biggest concern is people burning their cloths just to participate in tradition. This is a practice in my site, but I just don't think that they can afford to burn both a pair of pants and a shirt. Really, I guess you'd better thank your grandma for that shirt she gave you for Christmas...I hope you liked it, because now you'll be wearing it ALL the time!

OK, so I'm sure a few of you are also a little curious in regards to the diagnosis to my ailment. Well, the conclusion was pretty much that I had been too sick too often with various infections, parasites, and don't forget that whole Dysentery thing. The culprit could quite possibly been a number of things such as the water, food, people's general lack of hygiene, or aliens. It's hard to say, really. The heart of the matter being that my insides got pretty ripped up and I became a little over-sensitive. But now I feel good, and damn glad!

I'm ready to get back to a site. I am not looking forward to the goodbyes I will have to say; goodbyes to people, places, and projects. However, I have grown weary of being the vicarious volunteer and having to constantly be on the “listener only” side of conversations regarding accomplishments.

Nonetheless, the one month I lived in Lima has been a ride, no doubt. Really, that's not something that most people incorporate into their Peace Corps experience. In retrospect, it wasn't all bad. I had a rare opportunity to cross paths with a large amount of volunteers as they passed through, I got to meet some of their friends/family/fiancés visiting (even once getting treated to a good glass of whiskey and a Cuban cigar as we watched a sunset), and I got a chance to really get to know another part of this incredible country. More so, I think some of them really enjoyed having a Lima tour guide! However, if I had to change one thing (other than not doing it at all in the first place), I would have disposed of my original optimism when I left site, and packed more than two outfits. These clothes are beat. Is the grunge look coming back yet? Well, at least I was smart enough to pack extra underwear. Otherwise, I would be picking through the bins in the streets trying to find an alluring pair of yellow boxer shorts! I hope you have a Happy New Year and that you revel in the possibilities that lie ahead!

Grounded

2007-12-15T11:13:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-29T11:59:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-16T17:22:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-11-05T12:36:00.000-08:00

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

2007-10-25T16:35:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-10-03T14:52:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-28T14:23:00.000-07:00

¡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!

2007-09-23T06:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-06T09:35:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-09-05T21:23:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-08-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-14T17:42:00.000-07:00

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!

Where am I going?

2007-08-04T18:55:00.000-07:00

Well, today everybody received their site assignments. It was quit an interesting day; watching my fellow Peace Corps trainees receive their destiny's. They distribute the information via a folder which contains a few pictures, a description, and your general objectives/projects. Therefore, all of what I state bellow is information I have received in writing or by word of mouth. Also, today was mustache day...so that added to the excitement of the day! As some of you may already know, I had a pretty good idea where my place was going to be in advance. More so, what I thought would happen did...and my dreams came true. So, where am I going? Where will I call home? In which part of this world will I be bringing the funk for the next two years?

I am going to a tiny city of about 500 people (about 180 families) tucked DEEP in the mountains in the department of Ancash. I have one of the most remote sites in all of Peru, and in most of Peace Corps South America (or so I'm told). More so, it is also one of the most beautiful sites (apparently).

This quaint little village is nestled in the Andes mountains, in the extent referred to as the Cordillera Huayhuash. This portion of the Andes hold the mightiest peaks and most breathtaking mountain scenery as 22 peaks pass the 6000 meter mark. The Cordillera range is the highest mountain range in the world outside of the Himalayas. More so, the snow covered saw-toothed horizon is complimented by green carpeted valleys and remote turquoise lakes.

The capital city in this department is Huaraz, which is a 7 or 8 hour bus ride out of Lima. From there, I travel another 4 or 5 hours in micro bus to a city of about 5000 people at 3400 meters. From there, my site is nothing more than a one hour walk away. Like I said, I'm WAY OUT there.

In addition to all these gnarly facts, the community also does partially communicate in Quechua (the native langue of the Inca). However, it is a mostly Spanish speaking site. Nonetheless, I have already begun my classes in Quechua (Imaynalataq Kachkanki?).

Anyway, while there, I am going to be working on several different projects...in addition to my personal projects of knitting my own hammock and carving my own backgammon board ( and pulling mountain trout out of the river). I will be working on maintaining a library (which was set up by a former volunteer (a super gnarly dude)) and promoting literacy through them as well as through the local school. In addition, I will be initiating garbage control projects and guinea pig rearing projects (the two are unrelated...don't be smart). Also, I will be working with various community clubs, organizations, and small businesses. Lastly, I will taking that hour long trek to the bigger city to work in an orphanage a couple times a week where I will be taking the kids out on hiking trips and other activities related to self-esteem or health...or whatever basic life info they seem to need help with. All this being said, Peace Corps volunteers often change plans (very often). Therefore, some of the planned projects could fall through while others are erected. Flexibility and patience are the words to live by. In the meantime, I'll just chill out and try my best!

I leave this Sunday for my site visit. I will be spending 2 days in the capital city and then 4 days in my future home. Apparently, the minor details of my living arrangements are still being worked out, as I don't have a floor in my room and will not have a bathroom to use (nor a latrine...yes, pooping in a field; the world is my bathroom). On the upside, it will be the most beautiful bathroom I've ever had...there's ALWAYS and upside!

Update...end of July 2007

2007-07-31T18:24:00.001-07:00

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

2007-07-26T18:18:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-23T16:01:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-07-14T17:27:00.000-07:00

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