“Wait, you have a refrigerator?”

Often when you here the word Developing Country, you get all sorts of ideas in your head, which of course was no different from myself. I was determined to bring only the essentials, I would have no cell phone and strongly considered not bringing my laptop. Well here I am, writing this blog entry…on said laptop. 

Just the other day, I was talking on my cell phone (the one I said I wouldn’t have), washing my clothes in my washing machine, and waiting for water to boil so I could make myself some coffee…in my french press. (I know that everyone must think how rough my life is.) There are almost 300 volunteers in Perú, and although it may not be as big as the United States, it is equally as diverse in its terrains. Anything from desert to jungle, mountains to beaches, and a whole lot of Americans scattered like pimples on a college freshman. All of us are in different episodes of the Twilight Zone, so it is always interesting to chat and find out what is going on in there neck of the woods.

So as I am talking with a fellow volunteer I mention what projects I am working on, what volunteer duties I am trying to avoid, and how much I love my local market. We laugh about how my washing machine has come straight out of 1950, maybe even before that since I fill it with water myself. Yet when I mention that I put my leftovers from lunch in the refrigerator, the conversation stops. “Wait, you have a refrigerator?” was her reply. One would think that a refrigerator would come before a washing machine, but we all have our priorities. Needless to say, it is a clear reminder of how different our experiences here all unfold. People call me from a stump next to their school because that is where they have service, or they have family members that enjoy stories of life without hot water. I may be tanning at the beach or eating at a local restaurant while other struggle to learn Quechua and get ready for rainy season.

Daily Dinámica: call your auntie that lives in New York and your cousin that lives in Montana, and your grandma that lives in Florida, and do a little cross comparison what life is like on each and every corner.

"What did I get myself into?"

Most likely the question I will be asking for the next two years. Arriving in June, each month has been flutter of new and exciting events, many of which end in a state of confusion or an overall feeling of “I have no idea what is going on.” I wish I could say this was a lack of Spanish language that leaves me with so many quarries at the end of a day, but my Peace Corps test says I’m Advanced Mid.  

I guess the best way to explain is through examples:

Town meeting

            While living in Yanacoto, my host mother proposed that we go to a town meeting together, where they were to plan the events that would be going on for the next big town festival. I decided to invite a friend a long, just in case things got strange. When we arrived, there were chairs all set up around a big empty room, people seated, with loud music being blasted from speakers…a good start to a meeting right?

            We sat down, were served food and joined the rest of the people drinking beer, and patiently waited. After a while, I asked when the meeting would start, and my host mother politely said that this was the meeting. I nodded my head in an “of course” fashion and continued to try and cut a potatoe with a plastic fork.

I’m on the news…at least once a week

            Standing out in you community can be a nuisance, but it can also be a great opportunity to become a local celebrity. I was merely taking a tour of the local Municipality when before I knew it reporters were interviewing me in front of the Plaza. Now it has become a regular occurance to see the camera man around town, I give him nod and a hand shake and ask myself how I ended up in the one stop this week that just so happens to be being filmed.

Wait, what’s on Facebook?

            OH teenage girls, how they don’t really change, no matter where you seem to end up in the world. I am not sure the amount of times that I have had someone say, that there is a photo of me on Facebook, or caught a girl snapping a photo of me while pretending to send a text. I have had more than one offer to go to a Quinciñera (Sweet 15), and it was a little odd when I actually attended one…it is not exactly easy to say no to a persistant teen who wants to dance with you.

Not dressed for the weather

            Despite my best efforts to live a simple life in an isolated village during PeaceCorps, I instead wear a tie almost everyday and find myself trying to find excuses to wear my ratty t-shirts and holed up jeans. Unfortunately, I seem to pick the wrong days for either occasion. Whether I am wearing a button up and khakis while lifting 50 kilo bags of rice and pouring oil into various 10 gallon buckets, or waiting on stage to be presented for an important school board meeting in sandals and half my chest tattoo showing…I just can’t get it right.

Daily Dinámica: No reason to get yourself in a fit, just go with the flow and enjoy the ride. Apparently can come out of pants if you use enough soap and scrubbing.

Día de Camaná…I mean Semana de Camaná

It’s Wednesday afternoon, I have a slight “rasaca” or hang over, yet I still find myself sipping down some beer while I am once again in a drinking circle. A drinking circle, made up of teachers that I will be dancing with later this evening, a Mexican dance (ironically taught to me by Peruvians), for “El Día de Camaná” or The Anniversary of Camaná. November 9 is quite a special day here and it is celebrated quite prolifically; there are bands, parades, dances, and a decent amount of partying.

One would think these festivities would mainly fall on the day, but that is just not how things are done here. Starting the first of November, my town started revving up their engines for the weeks to come. Anything from a fat man, donkey, bike, and swimming relay race to cock fighting to street venders were to be found. One day there would be fireworks for the smaller outlying communities and the next would be a competition for the local high school bands.

So here I am with a 10 gallon Sombrero at 4’o clock in the afternoon, recently discovering that I will be dancing between 4-6 hours, thinking how terrible this could turn out to be. So of course, I had the time of my life. I can’t count the amount of time we went through our routine, but it was so much fun to shimmy through town in a Mexican Jarabe de Zapatillo outfit. By the time I was finished my feet could walk no more, but there was still foosball and fair games to play. I even contemplated getting on one of the sketchy carnival rides, and I still slightly regret not doing it. After this foggy week of festivities I am more than behind on my work, but I just remind myself it was a cultural experience and hit snooze one more time before starting back to my Monday morning routine.

Daily Dinámica: Mark your calenders for your town’s anniversary next year and make it something awesome. Who cares if it is the 12^th anniversary or the 697^th, it the fact that everyone gets together and gives a round of applause for making it through another year in a place you call home.

Sleeping on the job, or on the sidewalk.

Everyone has had an awkward or embarrassing moment when you realize that you have nodded off at an inopportune time, jerking awake, finding that slight bit of drool on the side of your chin, or perhaps a gasping snort for air that announces to the room what just happened. Peruvians on the other hand seem to have mastered this art of sleeping in a wide variety of situations and places.

Of course this scenario comes with a variety of extremes, and through extensive research, I have narrowed down day sleepers into two categories:

The Over Worked: You can find these people in meetings, attending to their kiosk, during class, or general groups of people. Having seen how hard my host mothers and a wide variety of Peruvians work, it is more than understandable that they would find any spare moment to sleep. Yet, I am quite surprised by the over worked that are able to wake up and offer you great deals on toilet paper or rice when walking by a busy market.

The Overly Drunk: While most of the Peruvians I have met in my town are quite respectable and work very hard, there are always some exceptions to this rule. A number of times, while casually walking down the street, I’ve narrowly escaped from walking over a gentleman taking a siesta…in the middle of the sidewalk. The first time I was quite shocked, but after I realized (the third time) that no one else was reacting, I assumed this must not be all something to get in a huff about.

I have even begun to try and perfect my own ability to sleep while in longwinded conferences, but no worries, I am quite positive I will be using my bed for any future siestas.

Daily Dinámica:
Social experiments are always a good time, so try and find a friend to help you out with this one. Lay down on a sidewalk and pretend your sleeping and have your comrad record the time it takes for you to get some type of reaction…or for the police to come.

I NEED A SHIRT THAT SAYS: I HEART EMPANADAS

 As a distraction, or a need, I have been shopping around for the perfect empanada (those delicious baked dough things filled with a variety of items). You could call it the Hot Pocket of the Spanish-speaking world. One can find empanadas with chicken, steak, or cheese, with sugar, or without sugar. You can find empanadas with flaky crust, a more bread-like consistancy, or just plain melt in your mouth.

Finding out the wonders of empanadas, I decided to start investigating how diverse and wonderful these delicious one Sol treats could be. So far this is what I have found:

In the market, if you walk half way down, there is a lovely lady – middle aged – with short hair, she has chicken empandas, which are hard to find. I have not tried her other empanadas, but the crust is filling and hardy.

At the corner of the Plaza de Armas, right as you are entering into my street, there is a lady (Rosita) that sells a variety of delicious breads (I recommend her biscotchos) and she also has a cheese empanadas. These mouth-watering empanadas are most likely my favorite, although a bit smaller, have a delightfully flaky crust and sprinkled sugar on top.

On the way to the market about a half a block up from the stoplight, there is a little Panadería (bread store) that has, most likely, the best bread in town (there are french baguettes…). Therefore they also have some of the best empandas, the steak is not bad, but I quite enjoy the cheese.

My study of course is still in progress, so we will see what else I find. There is a delightful man that also sells from a cart (he uses powdered sugar), but I only see him every so often.

Daily Dinámica: If you like a food, try it everywhere you go! Don’t limit yourself to that “one favorite spot” until you have tried them all. I’m definitely not settling until everyone that sells empanadas knows my name. Good luck!

Arroz con Pato

“Vamos a la chacra” says one the seceretaries at my school, which my reply is “por supuesto, dime donde y cuando.” So that Sunday, I grab a mototaxi to her street, ask some random strangers where “la señora Soledad” lives and away we go.

I quickly meet her sister, her daughter, her niece, and having already eaten breaksfast, ate breakfast again. Luckily they were tamales, which I love, but Soledad insisted I did not like them since I could only eat one. Our leaving time was 9am, so by 11am we were up and running to the chacra or fields.

I quickly meet Don Adan—who owns the chacra—his fighting cocks (Camaná’s biggest sport), cuy (guinea pig), and various ducks, chickens, etc. The house is humble, a quaint bachelor’s pad for a 63 year old man. The furnishings are sparce and there is a definitely lack of feminine touch, or cleaniness, about the place. I love it.

We immediately get to work. Soledad selects a fine rag, already dirty and everything, and wipes off the table we will be using. The fire is started, and the water is boiling overtop of the wood fire.  Don Adan enters into the shed we are standing in with his pato or duck and his machete, swiftly places it’s neck on the table and whack, I have seen my first animal slaughtered. The duck was then placed in a pot to bleed out while Don Adan came in with the chicken, animal slaughter number two.

After helping defeather the duck and chicken, cleaning and cutting them up, it was time to go to the fields. Don Adan and I picked corn, followed by lots of dicing of vegetables on blackened tables, aromas of cooking soup and duck. Don Adan and I exchanged dirty jokes and freshly boiled eggs while we waited patiently for the duck to be cook.

All together we enjoyed our chicken soup and mounds of rice with duck, served with homemade wine and Inka cola. To help settle the stomach, we went off to the chacras. The sister and I walked all over, talking about rice fields, types of beans, corn, and onion that were grown. I helped her move the tent that would be used as an overnight outpost to watch over the fields. In the end, it was really just the two of us laughing at the pile of wood and tarp that we were unsuccessful in making into said tent. Feeling sufficiently dirty and still full, a return trip for the last of the rice and wine welcomed the night sky and a good sleep, so for your daily dinámica, ask someone how to make “arroz con pato”.

Call it like you see it

While I am particularly used to being PC and accustomed to using terms that would not offend, it is not really the norm for one to do this in Perú. From a young age most Peruvians are used to having little nicknames that describe exactly what one looks like. So it is not at all offensive, in fact it is considered “cariño” or caring to be called fatty, skinny, whitey, moreno (brown, or “darky” one could say) or chino (based on the fact that you have asiatic features). Even gringo is considered a word of endearment for someone that comes from a foreign country. I am often referred to as “gringo” or “joven” when I am in public.

At first this is a bit uncomfortable and one wonders whether or not this is beyond a culture shock moment. Is this type of behavior more detrimental to a person, or have I just been studying too much psychology? I definitley have tried to take all this with a graing of salt. I am in a different country with a different culture.

I still often think this after months of being in Perú that I can’t quite get the idea of smiling while I look at my neighbor and call him piggy or refer to that girl with the chinese eyes. It definitely begs the question, where do conflicting cultures meet? Am I in the right to think this is bad behavior, or are we overly sensitive and censored as a whole.

Daily Dinámica: Popping the Bubble

Keep and open mind about the world around you, there are often things one takes for granted as truth, when it really comes down to perception.

"It was such a blast, it was from the past."

Breakfast of Champions

Two eggs (over easy), toast (with butter), maybe some home fries, and bacon/sausage was my staple growing up. Almost every weekend this was what my dad would fix us. This is a pretty typical American breakfast, and a tradition that I even kept when I would have friends over after shopping at the Farmer’s Market. In Perú, that is just not the case.

Here is a list of foods that I have received in my time in Perú:

Ø  Quaker (pronounced Kwak-air): a liquidy oatmeal usually with cinnamon and/or sugar. This is usually served with any variety of the next items

Ø  2-3 Eggs

Ø  Bread and avacado (my favorite)

Ø  Fried Chicken and french fries

Ø  Eggs and rice

Ø  Ceviche (a cold fish dish, with a lemon juice sauce, onions and other spices), with a yam

Ø  Eggs with stewed tomatoes and onions

Ø  Hamburger

Ø  Varieties of soup

Ø  Spaghetti

Ø  Sauteed onions and tomatoes with bread

Ø  Escaviche de chancho (pickled pig’s feet, with onions) and a potato

Ø  Hot dogs and eggs…or just hot dogs

Ø  Fried sweet potatoe sandwich

Luckily this is sometimes served with warm juice, made fresh, especially if you buy your family fruit from the market. My favorites are pineapple and strawberry.

Daily Dinámica: “Clean Plate”

Trying to finish your plate can be a real challenge, and all you need is a positive attitude and a determined Peruvian to make it happen. When you can eat no more, you may hear “do you not like it?” or “is there something wrong?” which will give you that extra push to make your stomach swell just a littttle bit larger. Of course this may be more difficult when you are presented with pig’s feet; pickled pig’s feet; cold pickled pigs feet. (Which I was told you cannot cut, you must pick it up and chew off the “meat” for future reference.)

Lessons in Note Taking

Every so often I hate that I cannot understand everything that someone is saying. For example, every time my 13 year old host brother opens his mouth. Or when people are trying to scream into a microphone (why scream, that is why there is a microphone?). On the flip side, it can be gosh darn convenient! Many of the strange situations I have been in, such as meetings, conferences, “charlas”, or other events, speakers will drone on as if they were being payed by the hour. They do not seem to have the slightest “verguenza” or embarrassment that A) no one is listening or B) speaking for the hell of it does not convince people you know what you are talking about.

Finding that sliver lining in each situation, I managed to write this entire blog entry while it appears that I am taking important notes on what is going on in the Parents’ Conference that I am involved with. I can sit calmly and watch the parents’ eyes glass over, while Milton—the psychologist—talks about…well I’m not really sure, I can’t understand him.

Daily Dinámica: “Attentively Unaware”

Materials: Paper and Pencil

Start a tally of the strategically placed nod, “ok” and “de acuerdo” during meetings. Throw in the occasional “lo siento, no entiendo” or “puede repetir” so that they don’t catch on to the fact that you are just faking the conversation. The tallies will look like you are taking notes.

Pizza Hunt

Few and far between are the “Pizza Haters”, but I do believe there are a select few of us in this world who are truly Pizza Lovers. I base this statement on my undying need to find Pizza wherever I go..in the world. For many of my years, I have had Pizza as a weekly staple in my life. I could rant on about why, but that is not the point of this blog.

Searching for good Pizza is though. The qualities of a good Pizza are simple: crust, sauce, cheese and toppings. For me, sauce is the most important, which seems to NOT be appreciated in most countries. Brazil…just give up and get Domino’s otherwise you are eating cheezy bread with mayonaise, ketchup, and mustard (it comes with the pizza). Spain…frozen Pizza was the way to go. There was enough sauce (decent at that), and you could personalize them in any way that you wished—three in a pack at Mercadona in Murcia. So now that I am in Perú I am at a loss. I have been to all the local Pizza places I could find, and nothing really satisfies my craving. It’s just all wrong. Pizza Hut (which is fine dining here in Perú) was the best I’ve had so far; real pepperoni I might add. This does not help me when I am in my sight and Pizza Hut is 12 hours away, and I am one of those not so down with chains kind of people. I could recommend a good place in Trujillo, but that is 15 hours away from me, so my Pizza woes may just continue on for the two years to come unless I find a solution.

I am working on finding a place here in Camaná, my prospects are limited though…there are two places. I am attempting to become a regular at one of these places (more because of their wine), so tha I can try and sway them into making Pizza the way it should be made…they way I like it.

Daily Dinámica: Find a great pizza recipe that you know and love and send it to Richard at rich.k.cochran@gmail.com or richard_k_cochran@yahoo.com or on Facebook. All you need is internet and e-mail!

A Cleansing Experience

As Americans we often take for granted the fact that showers, baths, and hot water are constants, not luxuries. Well, that expectation definitely went out the window when we all arrived in Peru. The first weeks were filled with adventures in bathing, with many stories including buckets, cold (I mean freezing) water, and a wide variety of qualms concerning where and when it was appropriate to wash. After the two months of a quick game of freeze tag with one’s shower, I am truly starting to understand the joy of cold water trickling down, shortening my breath, and waking my spirit. The blood pumping vigorously attempts to heat one’s body; and I now question whether or not a hot shower is the way to go. In fact, many Peruvians love it so much that cold water is preferred, while hot water is considered bad for you.

Daily Dinámica: Create a fantasy story about dealing with strange misunderstanding concerning water, for example.

Once upon a time there was a young girl living a quaint village in a country called Peru. She had a lovely family that took good care of her, and even though her customs were strange, they treated her as one of their own. One day, the young lady came to here training center and told her comrads about a glorious shower she had with warm water spewing from the fosset like a rainbow of skittles in a commercial she once had seen. Oh how joyous she was, but the next day…her expression was much more of confusion and dismay. Her family had brought her to this same fasset where the magical warm water came from and started to explain “Oh lovely girl, no worries! It is fixed! The water is no longer warm! You may take all the cold showers you wish!”

The End