Getting There is Half the Fun

In retrospect, we had no idea what we were getting into when Keagan, a recent newcomer and fellow gringo at the Guadalupe Spanish School, and I made plans to journey to the Andean town of Cajamarca for "Carnival". Given its nation-wide reputation for intense merrymaking and debauchery during Carnival, all formal bus-lines offering services out of Guadalupe were booked far in advance. We had to take matters into our own hands.

Now, there´s tourism...and then there´s standing on the side of the Pan-American highway pondering between the enormous, flatbed semi loaded down with the metal rods, bundles of seemingly man-made brooms, and a pretty tough looking band of young men in the midst of an operation to create make-shift sidewalls for the vehicle out of logs and plywood...or the slightly more apealing, seemingly more roadworthy, over-sized truck with a steady steam of people, goods and animals piling in the back.
For Option Number One see http://i154.photobucket.com/albums/s248/nikkiewest/DSCF0292.jpg
For Option Number Two (exterior) see
http://i154.photobucket.com/albums/s248/nikkiewest/th_DSCF0306.jpg

and Loading Up (interior) see
http://i154.photobucket.com/albums/s248/nikkiewest/DSCF0293.jpg
After choosing the later and elbowing in with the rest of ´em, a quick head count yielded a total of about 55 persons, several gargantuan bags of fruit, firewood, a couple bags of live chickens and...oh wait, what´s that sound? yup, there´s a pig in here somewhere. Making best use of every inch, countless bulk packages of toilet paper were tied precariously on top of the cab with twine...one of which we lost midway up the mountain pass, causing quite a stir, and a brief stop-over so someone could fetch it from the middle of the road.

Within an hour, nearly everyone had collapsed into a messy, half-sleeping entanglement on the hay covered bed of the truck. With the nearest shoulder a possible pillow, the degree of intimacy between utter strangers, set against a backdrop of drastic Andean skyscapes, was truly striking. As for Keagan and I, we were content to try our luck at riding the top rails to take in the views of the surrounding landscape and truck-bed beneath us...until we were stopped at a police checkpoint and forced to climb down. Henceforth, I rode the remainder of the 6 hour journey perched atop of a bundle of firewood that a man in a Hooters hat graciously offered, with two bags of swinging chickens directly in my face.

As we neared Cajamarca, we began to get a feel for what was in store...every vehicle passing from the opposite direction was absolutely covered with splatters of bright paint and children of all ages lined the streets of every village armed with water balloons and buckets. I learned quickly that either gringas make the best targets, or I´m graced with a magnetism for water balloons. Defying logic, I was blessed by literally 90% of the water that was hurled over the walls of our truck. By the time we reach Cajamarca I was grinning madly, dripping water all over the nice man in the Hooters hat.

Sweatin´ to the Oldies...

In effort to find some alternative outlet for getting out of the house, perhaps making some friends, and procrastinating my nightly homework, I´ve just become "Radical Gym´s" newest, and maybe first, gringa member. What an honor. Judging by the commotion I stirred up upon signing up, I think I´m going to be quite the hot number there...and perhaps the best piece of advertising they could have hoped for! The gym looks something like what Arnold Schwarzenegger's first basement set-up could have looked like. Although, I´m not sure if Arnold is as excited about fluorescent green wallpaint as it seems Peruvians are. Its a crude, cave-like space about the size of a large bedroom, full of old machines from the 70s. There´s even an adjacent "aerobics studio" that was full of women dancing to The Hansons and, afterwards, using measuring tape around their waists to check the progress. I´m thinking this is going to be pretty awesome.

Radical Gym-Session 1

I´ve just come from my first work out session at Guadalupe´s "Radical Gym" after which I´ve decided that I really must hire me my very own contingent of Latin men to watch me while I workout all the time!! It really does something positive for your stamina. Whereas I generally tend to be quite a quitter when it comes to the gym...I now find myself barreling forward at rapid speeds, very conscious of my form and posture! It also helps that, this morning I dug my ipod from its dormant place in my bag. So, to the tune of MIA and La Tigre, I was able to ride that stationary bike all over Portland's east side...down to Hanna and Wolfs old house (where I danced a number or two in their old basement), along Alberta (paying homage to the CCC and La Bonita), to 28th and Burnside (with a stopoff at the Hungry Tiger) and up and down NE 14th at high speeds (I love NE 14th). My contingent of onlookers were quite intrigued by the post-workout Yoga, and I was compelled to lead the lot in a brief, invigorating, and certainly ridiculous, session of poses. I was outside of myself looking onto the situation, bursting with laughter, the entire time. I promised the instructor that tomorrow, I´d be present for the 5pm aerobics class...

I Have a Crush on the Governor of Guadalupe

Whoever coined the phrase that New York is the town that doesn´t sleep has clearly never been to Guadalupe, Peru (Pop 30,000). I landed here on Jan 31st for a 5 week intensive Spanish program. Since that faithful day, Í´ve spent uncountable nights awake in my bed listening to all night wedding parties, pondering the cross-cultural connotations of "neighborly conduct". Additionally, as part of an interesting form of a neighborhood watch program, a team of men spend each night roving the streets blowing ear piercing whistles with all their might.

I´m staying and studying with a wonderfully warm and generous family. The photo was taken of the street, directly outside the front door. Its a informal type of program that entails two hours of classes each day, coupled with being a part of the ongoing lives of this enormous, three-generation household. I´ve concluded that there is somewhere in the ballpark of 15 people that live here at least part of the time. Among these is Jose, my teacher and the grandfather of the household, who has been Mayor of Guadalupe twice but was ousted both times after accusations of being a communist. Jose´s son, Rafael, is currently the Governor of the district and is quite a looker. Unfortunately, he is also married so my chances of becoming involved in the politics of Peru in this intimate fashion are hopeless. Living in this high society households ensures we have water (albeit cold) everyday, whereas the rest of the city receives this utility for only one hour each morning.

The town itself is certainly off the tourist cicuit and consists of narrow shop-lined streets situated around a main plaza that seems to be the most happening place for couples, romance, and the few with cars to cruise the strip blasting Madonna´s "Like a Virgin" at top volumes. It also is the place to go for Guadalupe´s specialty combination, turkey sandwiches and coffee, which the family insists is the best in Peru, something people travel great distances to savor. Twice now, I´ve seen a man on a bicycle transporting live turkeys to the cafes...a giant, two-wheeled mass of feathers riding across the plaza.

Canta

After curing my scabies, I set off with two Norwegians and one of their Peruvian girlfriend´s into the foothills of the Andes. Being many days (weeks?) past I´m not going to try and accurately recount the beauty there-in other than summarize...being amongst the nubby foothills of the Andes was truly breathtaking (whereas the bus ride there was more of a white-knuckle horror). There was a lot of hiking, some rather uninspiring horseback riding, extremely inexpensive tamale eating, and a lot of card playing. We spent some time wondering around the village, called Canta, that looked like what happens when a place is featured for one year and one year only in the "Lonely Planets Guide to Peru"...a near ghost-town dominated by crumbling, vacant guest-houses boasting, or perhaps haunted by, tales of a flourishing tourist past. It was vastly interesting if not a little depressing. Remaining locals traditionally farmed alfalfa in magnificent tiers up the sides of the mountains and were regularly seen sporting many varieties of the flamboyant, over-sized hats commonly seen in any photo shoot of South America. We managed to find the world most unplayable pool table in Canta´s only "sports bar", which was a decrepit, fluorescent green, one-room wonder with an exposed urinal on one wall and tables full of gambling townies (all men) on the other.

It was a glorious jaunt...tantalizing the senses for the Andes in full effect. The conditions for photos were pretty smug given the rainy season´s constant haze...but check out this amazing roofing job on the building show here!

Welcome to Lima...You Have Scabies

Scabies is a microscopic little pet that accompanies you everywhere in your skin, clothes and bedding. When it moves about on your skin, scouring you for its next meal, it causes an allergic reaction that results in rashy, insect-bite type bumps. I counted nearly 60 of these lovely little suckers before giving up the count due to the utter futility of the endeavour. The exciting part is that part of its life cycle includes burrowing into fleshy surfaces to lay its eggs. Wow, I was supporting another life form inside me. How grand, the closest to pregnant I´ve ever been! That is, of course, until I was able to, quite cheaply, buy the over the counter remedy that turned my skin into a toxic wasteland no longer able to sustain these pesty little bastards.

In all fairness to my own personal hygiene, I should add that I wasn´t actually diagnosed with scabies. After scrutinous online research revealed an exact symptomatic match, I self diagnosed...perhaps, however, it was the worse case of bedbugs known to man or some other scabies-mimicking allergic reaction. In any case, it made my stay in Lima itchier and longer than anticipated.

If You´ve Got it, or Think You Do, Flaunt It

Ok...Peruvian women are significantly more beautiful than Peruvian men, and they aren´t afraid to show it. Remind me to never travel in Latin America with a potential love interest. Here´s me in my really awesome, dirty cargo pants, tourist sandals and money belt, fresh off two-days in flight, sweating like a hog, walking astride these complete knock-out women dressed in whatever they can get away with. And, oh man, is it a culture of coupley romance and intense eye shopping. Finding a mate and openly staking your claim seems to be the preoccupation of most. And no matter who or how old you are, expect your back-side to get a serious once over as you pass. Its not especially crude...just the way of things.

Lima

For reasons I may outline in the next entry, my stay in Lima extended the typical airline layover or two day in-and-out of most travelers...In many ways, Lima seems to mirror the course of "development" in urban centers all over the world. The developed, rich areas are marked by intense westernization...McDonald's, KFC, Papa Johns Pizza, Chillies and several local varieties mimicking the "fast food" concept..so clean you could eat off the floor. These corporate giants move in with more foreign capital than local businesses will see in 20 lifetimes. Oh, but this globalism concept "is leveling the playing field" we say...(please note the sarcasm). While outside these oasis´ neighborhoods are endless sprawls of half-finished construction and semi-permanent housing.

As a tourist, its difficult to get of the beaten path, and judging by the youth hostel culture of drunken experience and travel flings, it seems to not be the goal of many. Ironically though, the stories of "encounters with locals", exotic illness, and uncomfortable bus rides flow grandiosely and competitively between travelers while inside the walls of hostel comfort. Its a culture I have a hard time wrapping my mind around.

I managed to find a Norwegian girl who´s studying for a year in Buenos Aires...together we explored the city, taking a tour to the top of a mountain to view it from high, the National Museum and piles of bones under the Cathedral to see its past, and walks in the city to enrich our understanding of its present. Still it was difficult to leave the prosperous streets of western Lima. One afternoon, upon unknowing crossing in to a neighborhood that seemed to finally resemble something of greater cultural intrigue...streets full of the everyday impoverished bystanders of modern development about their everyday livelihoods, sellers of every type clogging corners, animals astray etc...we were approached by a Police man who advised us to turn around and head back to the Plaza De Mayor (Main Square...where all the tourist destinations are). It was mid-day and the street was packed with people...I can´t believe there was any danger eminent. Tourism is one of Peru´s greatest industries...and poverty just doesn´t sell postcards.

Premise

With great sadness, I left Portland, OR more than a month ago to embark on another significant out-of-the-country exploit. The calling to head out again, this time to South America, was about the only thing strong enough to tear me away from the community of family-like friends, daily bicycle riding, promise of spring gardening, and all-around unsurpassable quality-of-life in Portland. Before leaving I cleansed myself of most everything I own, which wasn´t much, save what could fit on an airplane home to Michigan and a small amount of things in my old basement. In the event of ol´3637 NE 14th going back in the hands of the evil landlord, I´m praying that someone will be nice enough to fetch my trumpet, the only thing in the lot I would be heartbroken to lose, from an untimely dumpster demise.

I spent several weeks touring our grand USA, reconnecting with old friends and family, before missing my flight out of San Francisco International Airport on January 20th, 2007. Note to anyone who has never missed a flight...or anyone who is riddled by stress on the way to the airport...It doesn´t matter if you incorrectly have been telling yourself and others for months that your flight is at 10pm when its really at Noon, they just put you on another one. During these weeks of wondering in limbo across American soils, however, I was asked incessantly about my plans, goals and of course (from parents) "How I was going to use this towards my *future*". Most quires received, in response, a dumb-faced stare...or something I made up on the spot...or, towards the end, a more rehearsed version of the latter. I knew I wanted to focus on learning Spanish while living and working on organic farms. The contents of my bag included two pairs of underware, Spanish books, a headlamp, camera, ipod, two pairs of pants, 4 tank tops, two tee-shirts, one skirt, sandals and tennis shoes, toiletries, a water filter and iodine tablets, vitamins and the lonely planet travel guide to South America...ok, and a few other odds and ends like tape, pens, and ziplock bags that I won´t bore you with. Oh...and my one-way ticket to Lima, Peru.

15 days in-country has done little to solidify the vagueness...but has already succeeded to provide scores of cultural confrontations, language learning, new friends and memories...