I Climbed My Mountain (a la Sound of Music—except not really because I literally did and the Mother Superior was being metaphorical)

From the main highway up to my little ole town of Huantar there is a 200 meter gain in altitude.  In some ways, like at sea level, this is nothing, but in other ways, ways like lung capacity, this little ole altitude gain is a force needed to be reckoned with—and after about a month in site I decided that by golly, I was going to reckon.

Walking down the hill is about 40 minutes of relative ease.  Yes, your knees occasionally ask if so much continuous down is truly necessary, but down in the key word there.  Gravity is working in your favor, and every step downward brings the slightest increase in oxygen saturation.  As it turns out, walking up does the exact opposite.  Your knees are fine, but your thighs are cursing you to kingdom come and your lungs are so busy sucking up the available oxygen to deliver to your cursing thighs that they can’t be bothered to respond.

As a coping mechanism, I divided and named the various segments of my walk as a way to measure my distance.

Part 1: The road

            The road is easy.  It’s incline is reduced so that thirty-year-old cars with treadles tires can drive up without stalling.  You walk along thinking, this ain’t so bad.  You’re right.  It’s not…yet.

Part 2: The swamp

            You leave the road briefly to cut the distance off of a switchback.  You delicately hop, skip, and leap across the less-swampy bits to reach the lightly marked goat trail.  You start to go up and it hits you, you’re climbing up.  But this portion is relatively short and before you know it you’re back on the road—but just to cross it so that you can come to

Part 3: Mordor

            Black stones and rocks mark this barren landscape.  There are few clumps of grass to reduce the chance of your boot slipping and yet you know there is nowhere to go but up.  The ring must be destroyed after all.

Part 4: The part you always forget

            Mordor thankfully is short (don’t Frodo and Sam wish they could have said that [last LOTR reference I promise, maybe]) and soon you’re back to the road only to remember that damn, you forgot about this part. It has the subsections of “False sense of security flat part” and “I think the road is just around this corner, oh wait no its not.”  Once you get through this bit you reach the road for the last time until Huantar proper.  You pause here.  Casually you glance downward, not looking to see if a car is coming up, of course not, you don’t actually want a ride, this is good exercise, this is character-building, this is FUN, but just to stretch your back.  In the back of your mind though you know.  This is your last chance.  You take one more step and there’s only one way up to Huantar—on your own two feet.

Part 5: The long part

            This part is long (shocking).  The first bit is steep and you pass such memorable points as “that place I saw a dead, bloated donkey,” “that place I got stabbed in the armpit with a thistle,” and “that part where I regret my decision to walk up.”  Before long though you reach The Straight and Narrow.  It is a long portion that is straight and narrow (I know that my naming abilities are simply astounding you all).  It’s kind of awful though because there are no curves in the path so that you can wistfully imagine it will be easier just around the corner.

            After the straight and narrow, you come to The Slides.  Steep and rocky, you will inevitably slide down them a little bit.  And in one of the great mysteries of the world, there is always one more segment than you remember.

            Finally you come the top of the portion of The Slides, and it blissfully, mercifully “flat” (in comparison).  Even better, the wall of the cemetery is within site.  Home is so close you can almost taste it.

            You pass the field that reminds you of a painting of Russian peasants working a field, you walk briefly under the shade of tall eucalyptus trees, you pick up a stone to deter a barking dog, you push yourself, huffing and puffing, up the final steps up the last hill, you ignore the women pointing at you and your red, sweating, stinking body, and at long last are walking the paved streets of Huantar. 

I was too busy trying to breathe properly to take pictures of this particular hike, but enjoy some shots from other, less arduous climbs

Besos!

On Christmas Day I hiked out to a tree that dominates the skyline and taunted me for weeks.  Finally I walked out to it and here she is!

Going where no gringa has gone before

Looking out over Huantar

Some of the desert foliage of my region

More desert foliage

Looking out over Huantar

My new tree hiking goal

O. M. G.

I finally got to Season 3 of Scandal.  It’s mind-crack.  I mean this shit is RIDICULOUS.  And yet, I want so much more.  There’s no way it’s going to be able to sustain this level of entertainment.  I’m going to need to start watching in larger and larger binge-marathons, until finally, even 24 solid hours of Scandal won’t be enough.  I’ll need something more.  I’ll need Real Housewives of Somewhere.

Be concerned.  Be warned. This could happen to anyone.  

How to make Pachamanca en Tierra (Christmas Eve at the Health Post)

There is no dish more Peruvian, especially Sierra Perú, than pachamanca en tierra.  Normally eaten in May for Mother’s Day, the health post staff decided to make it for the Christmas Eve celebration.  Here is how it is made:

1)      Build an igloo-like house of stones (my sincerest apologies for not having photos of this part.  I suppose we’ll all just have to wait for May) and burn firewood inside for approximately 5-7 hours, or until the stones are red hot.

2)      Slowly take apart the stone house using anything but your hands.  Eventually it will capsize upon itself, at which point you work to create an approximately one layer thick bottom base of red hot stones.

3)      Pour papas (potatoes) and camotes (sweet potatoes) onto the first layer. Cover the potatoes and camotes with more stones and rocks and proceed to place the paper-wrapped meat (chicken, pig, cuy, or rabbit) atop this layer.

 4)      Layer by layer, stone by stone, put on the humitas (sweet tamales), the habas (lima beans), and the choclo (corn).  Cover the towering mound with tarps, then pasto (grass), and finally dirt.  Cover it thoroughly so that no smoke can be seen escaping.

5)      Wait an hour to an hour and a half.  Run around merrily if under the age of six. 

Slowly begin to deconstruct the mountain of rock-cooked food, eating as you excavate each layer.  I highly recommend the camotes and humitas.  The pig’s not bad either.

There’s a couple other key steps involving seasoning the meat that I was not a witness to and hence cannot explain.  It’s fairly essential though, so if you do plan to use the above instructions to make your own pachamanca, I recommend not doing that and instead looking up an actual recipe.

Besos!

It's Christmas Night in Huantar

Boy, have I done you guys a disservice.  Christmas Eve, by family took me to the plaza for the Christmas celebrations.  I was under the impression that it was just going to be a bunch of townspeople hanging out in the plaza de armas (town sqaure)—hardly a photo-rific opportunity.  So I left my camera back in my room (though I took my waterbottle with me.  It’s my signature accessory after all) and we set off for the plaza.  Lord almighty do I wish I had brought my camera. 

Turns out Christmas Eve in Huantar is all about church.  Peruvian Catholic midnight mass is not that different from Chicagoan Episcopalian midnight mass.  The Gospel is read, songs are sung (including one in Quechua!), and communion is taken.  Par for the course.

But then the Christmas Pageant began.  Two of the high schoolers, a boy and a girl, were dressed up as angels and they walked up the aisle singing a carol.  Thirty some little kids filled the aisle behind them.  There were also two guys with furry face masks, apparently representing the viejos (why old men have forehead beards was not explained to me), as well as a real live baby lamb. For this portion imagine your average pageant—proud parents, indecipherable speeches, forgotten exits and entrances.  Until that is, the negritos made their entrance.

The negritos are the teenage boys in blackface.  That’s right, you heard me.  Perhaps you’ve noticed from this blog that political correctness is not an all-consuming concern with Peruvians.  Never has that been so evident as this night.  Pair by pair, the ten negritos made their way up the aisle, doing a little shoulder shimmy-wobble.  Their whole heads were covered in a balck mask, and they were wearing traditional sotumes.  Once they reached the priest seated at the front of the church, they briefly adored the baby Jesus doll nad then began to violently jog backwards, shaking and shimmying and occasionally throwing themselves into the pew to try to kiss one of the abuelitas.  One abuelita straight up slapped one of the boys. After twenty minutes of this, four girls, dressed in white dresses and draped in white veils, slowly hip shimmied their way up the aisle.  Their return up the aisle was far calmer and restrained.  After this the whole church filed outside to watch a negrito-virgin dance that culminated in AN EPIC SWORD BATTLE BETWEEN THE GUY-ANGEL AND A GUY DRESSED UP AS THE DEVIL.  That’s right, the devil and an angel dueled on Christmas Eve. 

I so desperately wish I could show you pictures.  Maybe next year.  But rest easy knowing that in the end, the angel won, Christmas was saved, and Tiny Tim will one day walk.

Besos!

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND FELIZ NAVIDAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey everyone! It is the Christmas season, one of my absolute most favorite times of the year.  The lights, the music, the snow, the vacation, man I just can't get enough of it.  It’s also the one time of the year that I manage to see the majority of my family and friends in Chicago and Green Bay—even if only for a few days.  This year however, as I am sure you are all aware, I am in Perú, unable to do this.  While I have a whole new set of Christmas activities in store (Secret Santa with the health post staff, Christmas dinner with the Ancash Peace Corps Volunteers, and sleeping in Christmas morning, to hell with cultural norms!) I wanted to give a shout out to everyone this holiday season.

This video was made for my best friend Shaina—we promised to do a monthly video exchange and here is my first contribution, a mere three months late!  Hope you all enjoy!

Merry Christmas From Peru!

Besos!

Thoughts, Moments, and Pictures

I am a deep sleeper.  My college roommate Andrea can attest to this as she once had to wake me up, as I was sleeping through the fire alarm.  But it turns out that there are two things here in Huantar that are sure to wake me up.  One of which I am grateful for, the other not so much.

1) Sudden onset diarrhea.  You wake up, not sure why.  You’re slightly groggy, but like Miss Clavel from Madeline you know that something is not right.  Oh! Oh, you know what it is now.  It’s your large intestine.  It making sounds and movements that can’t mean anything good.  In this moment I felt like a parent with a small infant in the other room.  Yes, you would rather be asleep, yes it’s cold outside of the covers and stumbling through the dark to another room is no picnic.  But not getting up and stumbling to that other room is going to bring a whole another world of consequences that are INFINITELY less appealing.

2)  Fireworks that set off car alarms.  Insult on top of injury.  Who is awake at 4 am? Why are they setting off fireworks?  How are they not drunk enough to set them all off at once, instead of staggering them every half hour? Drink more! Pass out already!

Pictures of my Host Sister's Promotion from Inicial [Kindergarten]

Nicol receiving her Snow White-themed diploma

Nicol as she waltzes with another of her kindergarten graduates.  Kindergarten promotion is like a mini-wedding.

Nicol dancing with her father, Franklin

Nicol dancing with her mother, Melly

Lesslye and Melly

The clown (payaso) leading a conga line

Me about to try cuy (guinea pig) for the first time.  Notice me wearing a white shirt and not a fleece--I'm all gussied up

Nicol and fam with her two graduation cakes

Sometimes I wonder, why am I here?  The staff at the health post is well-trained and there are plenty of them.  There are already seven Community Health Agents in my districts.  Teen pregnancy is relatively low, and a surprising number of people can explain what diabetes is.  But then, sometimes, a little boy will go to the bathroom and come back with his hands outstretched to me, asking if I want some perfume.  I will panic, because what the hell is on his hands.  It will turn out to be soap, but he doesn’t know that it is soap, meant to wash the germs and residue off of his hands.  In that moment I think, well at least one person here is going to benefit from my talks on hand-washing.

The View from My Secret Eucalyptus Grove

One day I walked into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and then realized that there was a chicken in the shower next to me, and that she was as surprised and displeased to see me as I was to see her.

Building the Christmas Nativity at my Health Post

From left to right: Me, Abigail [a nurse tech], Giselle [Lidia's daughter], Hilda, a tech's, daughter [name unknown], Lidia [a nurse tech], Nora [the obstetriz], and Andrea, [the doctor]

The Completed Nativity

I’ve seen it twice now, a cultural difference that I truly don’t understand.  After slaughtering a cuy, one occasionally finds a cuy fetus during the disembowelment.  My reaction to this—sad, yes, but let’s properly dispose of the body, perhaps feed it to a cat or pig.  The Peruvian reaction—let’s give it to the nearest child to hold as if it were still alive.  I walked up to breakfast to see my host sister holding a dead baby cuy in a rag stroking its head and saying how cute it was.  No.  No, it’s a dead rat and you should throw it away now please.

Text to another Volunteer: “Remind me to never leave my site with people from my site if I ever want to get back to my site.”

The five-second rule does not exist in Perú

This one’s for you Dad.  May PDX one day see the light.

Although my town of Huantar has running water (Praise the Lord), the water is not yet potable.  Everyone has to boil their water before using it.  The next improvement would be water treatment, which means that fluoridation of the water is a long ways away.  How then do the young children of Huantar receive fluoridation treatments, considering that the nearest dentist is about an hour away, and that’s assuming perfect traveling conditions (Ha.)?

Observe:

On fluoridation days the entire health post turns out to the elementary school to distribute fluoridation treatments, which consistent of generic teeth molds, disinfected with 96% alcohol, that are stuffed with cotton, upon which the pink gel-like fluoride is smeared on.  The kids hold them in their mouths, which quickly become overcome with drool, until it’s time to take them out, at which point an epic hacking, coughing, and spitting contest begins around the trashcan.

Did you know that it is perfectly acceptable to spit on the floor in Perú? Seriously, spit away, no one will bat an eye.  And that is why the five second rule does not exist in Perú.

With the help of several eight- and nine-year-olds I was able to capture the events of the day.

Besos!