So I feel that I may need to qualify the tardiness of this last post (not that what I’m about to say qualifies any delay, let alone one of two weeks or so).  I found myself horribly sick upon returning to the cold (mmm, gotta love extended time in airports!), and then returned to school where I was faced with catching up with friends and then plunging back into this strange thing called school work.  And so I find myself sheepishly typing this post, hoping no one judges me too harshly.  All stuttering excuses aside, though, I bring you the final lacasa2 blog post on my time in Lima, Peru working with La Casa de Panchita.

Hmmm…Now where did I last leave you, my devoted readers?  Ah, yes!  Now I remember!  (Ok, so I just read what I wrote in the last couple of posts.  Same difference.)  I left you with Thursday’s ambivalent cooking experience, which left my confidence completely shaken and my taste buds yearning for more.  Not to mention the fantastic conversations we had with our fellow cooks and classmates about the State of the Union.  I told you about our Friday excursion (and my sore backside), and, as you know, Saturday was the day of Amelia’s departure.  Bringing us to el domingo final – the final Sunday.  That is where I will begin.

This last Sunday was both exciting and sad.  Exciting because it was the same group of girls from the first Sunday, so I already knew a lot of them and had a foundation of familiarity to begin the day (rather than an overwhelming, over-my-head, I-can’t-speak-this-language kind of foundation).  Also, I was to lead a workshop about winter in the northeast of the U.S., talking about snow and cold and the like.  Nerve wracking, yes, but still exciting that I would be in charge instead of simply piggybacking on Beto’s or anyone else’s lead.  Sad because it was the last time I would see any of these girls.  Very sad. 

But I quickly found myself being lifted out of any sort of premature nostalgic depression thanks to the warm greeting line bestowing kiss upon kiss on my right cheek (my left cheek got a little depressed and nostalgic since it wasn’t receiving that kind of love and attention, but it made it through ok).  We didn’t have quite the disaster with name tags as the first Sunday, but it still wasn’t pretty.  New girls had come and needed to have name tags too, some of the paper dolls had suffered the loss of a drawn-on face from handling and time (and having a faceless name tag was certainly not acceptable to the girls), strings needed to be tied around girls’ necks for the name tag to hang down, and on and on.  We then moseyed inside to one of the rooms in LCP, where we took the girls a few at a time to use the bathroom and wash their hands (a much more massive undertaking than I could ever explain or you understand) and then split up talkative, trouble-making friends between the tables so we wouldn’t have any issues.

And in walked Felipe!  For all of you who just said to yourself, “Who the heck is Felipe?” well, that’s a good question.  Felipe is the boyfriend of Merita (she is from Finland but working with LCP in Peru; I’m still not sure how LCP has this connection to Finland, but it’s pretty cool) and a biologist.  It was time to learn about science, animals, and plants!  Felipe started off talking about science and biology, explaining what scientists do (he went with the “playing with big kid toys” angle, which elicited a lot of excited looks from the girls as he showed off his telescope).  He then pulled out a big bag of seeds, which he divided between the tables and set the girls to work removing the actual seeds from their pods and shells.  The girls eagerly went to task, but only after he informed them that these were in fact the very seeds they would be planting later on that morning!  Quite the squeals, let me tell you. 

With the seeds now collected by Felipe, sitting in a pot of hot water to prep them for planting (I didn’t understand the biology behind the lessons, I’m just telling you what happened), we lined the girls up to head to the park for a little bird watching.  Felipe took some time before we went to explain the telescope and how it worked, and also to tell them the necessity of being quiet and largely still in order not to scare off the birds.  Then it was all we could do to keep the girls from sprinting through the streets recklessly.  We arrived in the park, Felipe set up his telescope on the ground, further explained how to use it, and then told the girls to find him a specimen to examine.  The pointing and shouting that ensued was only topped by the fact that it would have been far worse had the girls not been warned to be quiet.  Felipe quickly shushed them, and began to focus his telescope.  We were again forced into action to subdue the pushing and shoving as the girls lined up behind the telescope.  It was particularly exciting with a large bird of prey roaming overhead and settling in a palm tree in the park.  To make a long story short, the girls were ecstatic over the telescope and we had to make sure that all the girls got to look through it before letting them have a second turn.

We then moved on to a quick game before heading back to do some planting.  It was a simple game (so I thought!) involving just a large sheet of poster paper and the ground.  We split up into small groups, each group with a volunteer as a leader.  The object of the game was for everyone (around 5 people or so, if a 20 year old and an 8 year old each count as the same whole person) to stand on the piece of paper without spilling over onto the sidewalk.  The first round was easy – only five people on 2 foot by 3 foot or so piece of paper.  Piece of cake!  But then we folded it in half, and we had to really scrunch together.  And then we folded it in half again, so, we all had to stand on one foot and cling to one another in a giant group hug.  And then, somehow, the paper was folded in half AGAIN!  And thus our hand was forced – I had to take someone on my back.  And so little Gabriela clambered up, and I hugged everybody close, and we did it!  Other groups were pretty impressive as well, though I was so focused on our attempts to succeed that I wasn’t paying much attention to the others.

Having returned to LCP, we moved onto what the girls had looked forward to all morning: planting!  As I, Rocío, Analí, and Carmela mixed soil and compost together and put it in little black plastic bags to give to each girl, Felipe passed out the seeds.  The girls then went through the messy procedure of placing their seeds in their bag, spilling dirt all over the floor and tables.  Eventually everyone had their seeds in place (though Felipe would later on add an already sprouting plant to each girl’s bag so that they would be guaranteed a successful plant).

Lunch arrived (thankfully for my grumbling stomach), with at least one blue-shirted volunteer at each table with five girls.  I don’t remember quite what happened, but I do know that I was laughed at a number of times, yet I had no real way of defending myself because I didn’t have the language skills necessary to fend off any verbal assaults (plus I wasn’t exactly sure what was being said about me).  In the end it became a period of time for me to think about how I would be standing in front of a bunch of girls talking about winter.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  My workshop was not the next planned activity.  As some of you may have discovered already on Facebook, or remember from Amelia’s post, I was due to sing in front of everyone at the conclusion of lunch… 

How was I roped into singing in front of 30 or so pre-teen girls?  Another good question, faithful readers!  You are already aware of my bad habit of ending up with horrible trade offs centered on my gambling with limones.  Well, while Amelia and I were making calendars the week before for the new girls who were to come (so that they would also have a way to keep track of when they were to come to LCP), I stupidly (emphasis on stupid) told Beto that he should decorate a calendar.  He replied (smartly), sure, but only if you sing this Sunday.  And I (again, STUPIDLY) said, sure, why not, let’s see you draw, Beto.  And so he did.  And thus I was left standing there wondering what I had just done to myself.

So I was stewing over that frightening prospect when I heard the clatter of dishes being collected and Beto begin to talk about a special performance.  Oh boy.  My time had come.  I had been practicing for the last couple of days leading up to my performance, with a song in mind that the girls would sort of relate to (a singer the girls might have heard of) but one that I could actually sing (meaning English lyrics).  What song would that be?  Why, none other than “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias, of course!  What was my inspiration for this song?  Why, none other than the lovely Johana, of course!  And so, having asked who had heard of Enrique (almost half had) and dedicating it to the one and only Johana, I began to sing.  Made more so by the fact that I reached the climactic part of the song, where Enrique goes into belting mode, and was hit by the wall of testosterone that did not allow me to sing that high.  And so I choked on my own attempt at going higher, had to catch a deep breath, remark on how high it was beyond my vocal range, and then continue with the end of the song (at which point I was on one knee with a hand over my heart).  Girls clapped along during the chorus, always exchanging smiles and giggles, Johana stood awkwardly listening to me, Catherine pulled out the digital camera to forever record the event, and Beto and company were just plain laughing at me.  Wild applause followed (though certainly not because of my silky smooth voice or prowess as a singer).  I’ll stop pontificating now and let those of you with access to Facebook listen for yourselves, and the rest of you with Internet access look up the lyrics yourself, but it is safe to say it was quite absurd. 

Then I had to go straight into my workshop on winter.  My workshop was a success, I suppose.  I began asking what Peruvian winters were like, then what the girls thought winters in the northeast were like.  Answers varied, and often weren’t quite what I was looking for to help advance my lecture in the right direction.  I talked about cold temperatures, snowfall and snowflakes, fun snow activities such as sledding and skiing and snow angels, and also less fun activities such as shoveling and cleaning off cars and dealing with slippery roads and fallen trees.  I didn’t take a very good teacher mentality in, and insisted on talking about everything I had planned to.  And so I faced a lot of chattiness and disinterest, and even had one girl, Iriana, just straight up offer me candy in the middle of me talking.  Sigh.  But then I arrived at the pictures, which I had taken from Facebook of me sledding, skiing, making snow angels, etc.  The girls loved it, since they recognized me in a lot of them and could finally visualize what snow was like.  Their favorite picture was one of me and my sister, Kari, just after we had gotten into a little bit of a fight that resulted in each of us having snow down our shirts with grotesque grimaces of cold pain etched on our faces.  The last planned part of the workshop was inspired by Amelia, who had made some paper snowflakes for this same group of girls two Sundays before.  So I gave the girls the opportunity to make their own, cutting little designs and patterns into folded triangles of white computer paper.  They seemed to like it, though it certainly left the room a winter wonderland, with little bits and pieces of white paper littering the floor.

I didn’t leave quite enough time for snowflake making, though, because we had a movie date to go to.  Near LCP there is a cultural center that shows movies every so often.  They are free and open to the public.  LCP had procured a reservation for the girls, and so we walked the block or so to the center.  And what movie popped up on the screen, might you ask?  None other than the Pixar classic, WALL-E!  The girls loved it for the most part (naturally the 8-12 year old ADD kicked in every once in a while and dictated that the girls must start whispering or fidgeting in their seats), although when the DVD hit a big glitch and started skipping cries began to arise in protest (though not just from our girls, but everyone watching the movie). When the movie came to its happy conclusion, it was the end of the day, and the girls almost immediately climbed back on the bus to return home.

It was a fun day, but a little anticlimactic for me.  With so many planned activities, from Felipe’s extended scientific adventure to the hours spent watching a determined, animated (in more ways than one) robot, there wasn’t a lot of time to talk and connect with the girls.  It just didn’t quite measure up to the first couple of Sundays, when everything was so interactive.  But I couldn’t complain.

However, my final Sunday was not yet over.  Apparently there was quite the evening planned for us volunteers and workers at LCP.  As our team (Beto, Carmela, Carlos, Ceci, Johana, myself, and Catherine) snacked on chips and shared a bottle of Pepsi, I was able to pick out bits and pieces of conversation that revolved around karaoke.  Gulp.  And sure enough, we soon headed to another room and waited for a brief minute until Beto sure enough entered with a handful of karaoke DVDs.  Having already sang a cappella, I was totally ready for karaoke (how could it be worse?), and showed it (in my not-so-humble opinion) by singing the Ricky Martin classic “Livin’ La Vida Loca” and then accompanying on such masterpieces as Cristina Aquilera’s “Genie in a Bottle” and Marc Anthony’s “I Need to Know,” among others.  The Spanish portion of karaoke night was a little shakier for me, as I just didn’t know the songs (and I simply cannot speak Spanish at that quick a pace).  But I caught on, as did Catherine, and it was a blast.  A good end to my Sundays at LCP.

Monday was my last day within the house at LCP.  I spent the morning performing my usual activities of doing what I was told, mainly entering fichas into the computer.  There wasn’t a whole lot for me to do beyond that after lunch.  So I was given the afternoon to put my Spanish grammatical expertise to the test on the LCP blog.  Everyone who volunteers at LCP is given the opportunity to post a little something on the LCP blog about their time and experience there.  And so I was asked to write a little blurb.  In Spanish.  Gulp.  It took me all afternoon, but I got it done and sent it to Johana for her to put on the blog.  (For those of you who read Spanish or feel like putting your Spanish-English dictionary to severe use, you can go to www.gruporedes.org and make your way to the blog from there.)

That was the end of that – or so I thought.  It turns out that Johana posted it, then passed it along to Blanca, who then passed it along to literally every single person in LCP.  Somehow Jeanine, who we rented the apartment from, read my post and complimented me on it.  By the end of the morning, my inbox was full of emails from a number of people commenting on my words.  Things get around quickly in Lima, apparently.

But I didn’t find this out until later on Tuesday, because as on every Tuesday, I went to el campo to fill out fichas for some of the new girls with just Beto this time (apparently Johana was too good for us).  I was excited for this day, because I should know these girls by now, and so I would be greeted in my own right instead of as the random awkward white guy standing off to the side with no apparent knowledge of the Spanish language (not that much changed after a couple of Sundays – I just became that volunteer with no mastery of the Spanish language, but at least who had a purpose).  So Beto and I arrived at Señora Susana’s house, already sweating profusely in the hot sun.  Beto and I had some solid bonding time as we waited for Señora Susana to get ready. 

When we at last ventured out again into the bright heat, I was in for a big and extremely pleasant surprise.  The first house we went to was that of Stefany.  On the way there Beto had handed his clipboard and the fichas to me, and there was no negotiating my way out of this one.  So I was a little nervous since I would be in charge of filling out the fichas, which meant asking the questions and being able to understand and mark down the answers on the sheet.  Señora Susana knocked, announced our presence, and almost immediately the door busted open, followed by Stefany crashing through it and straight into my waistline in a big hug with the now-immortal cry of “Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!”  Needless to say, with that kind of a welcome, I was no longer so nervous (though I probably should have been, considering the amount of help Beto was required to give me in order to complete the ficha).

And not only was I popular, but I was more popular than Beto!  It was an unprecedented moment.  Beto, as he had told me himself, was famous in San Juan de Miraflores.  Yet after four different girls remembered my name, and not Beto’s, I was starting to feel the fame.  In a stunning turn of events, I was the one getting the first greeting in the form of a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.  For once, Beto took a backseat to me!  (Ok, so not really, since I would not fill out another ficha thanks to my incompetence – particularly contrasted with Beto’s unmatched skills.)  But at least I can say that I was king (if only for an oh-so-brief moment) on my last day in el campo.

Next on the agenda was meeting Johana in Miraflores to go to Blanca’s house to collect a few things from Blanca.  I got a letter from LCP acknowledging my volunteer work, a lovely mug with the Nazca lines (massive animal designs drawn in the desert sand by a pre-Incan civilization), and a big bowl of ice cream (the flavor was lucuma, a fruit that is almost chocolaty in taste – hard to describe, though) to top it off.  Then I said my absolutely final goodbyes (I had said a number of them the day before to everyone else besides Johana and Beto).  It was a sad micro ride back to the apartment.

The rest, as they say, is history.  (I don’t know how that applies either.)  I spent the next couple of hours frantically packing, trying to cram everything I had accumulated over my Peruvian stay into an already full-to-the-brim suitcase (and in the process leaving behind a couple items of clothing).  (Then it turned out that I had hours more to kill since we didn’t have to leave for the airport until 9:00 pm, and it was like 5:30.  Plus I didn’t really want to read since that was the only thing I had to entertain me during the trip home, so it was a long few hours.)  I bought one last bottle of Inca Kola in the airport as Catherine and I waited to board (for nostalgia’s sake, though why I wanted to drink liquefied, radioactive sugar at 1:00 in the morning is beyond me).  Then finally, with hands and face pressed against the small port window of the airplane, I watched the sprawling lights of Lima, Peru slip away from underneath us and disappear behind the clouds.  The end had come.

I’m not going to spend much time in self-reflection (I feel I have tortured you enough over the past month plus, not to mention this is a lengthy post already), but I want to wrap up with a few words pondering my time working at La Casa de Panchita.  You are all aware (or should be) that this was an unbelievable, life-changing, perspective-altering, but hopefully not once-in-a-lifetime experience.  From the dedicated workers at LCP to the incredible women and girls I worked with and visited on Sundays, Tuesdays, and other days, I can’t imagine a more meaningful, fulfilling, and satisfying month.  It was nice to get off campus and outside the theoretical confines of classroom academics, and actually make a difference and put myself to work in a manner that will affect a number of people in a positive way, no matter how small.  I can only hope that I will not so callously return to the college bubble now that I have returned to school, and continue to channel Johana, Beto, Mario, and the other employees of La Casa de Panchita; look up to María, Rosa, Mayra, and the other women I learned and cooked with; and embrace the carefree, fun-filled innocence of Andrea and Blanca, Jazmín, Sadith, and the rest of the girls crying, “Niiiiiiiiiiiick! Por favor!”  And I can only hope you have felt – and will continue to feel – some of the same feelings I have felt and expressed – and will continue to feel and express as well – throughout this month on the blog.

And that concludes our joint venture through January in Lima, Peru.  It has been a pleasure and joy to recount my experience for you all. Thank you all for reading (or pretending to).  Until my next great adventure, amigos!

-Nick
 

To my dismay, I find myself now huddling over my keyboard, trying to stay warm by the glow of the computer screen, surrounded by snow and cold. I have returned to the Northeast. Ugh. But though my time in Peru and at La Casa de Panchita has come to a close, there still remain a number of untold events from my final days. I am hoping that my efforts to recount them will at least provide the illusion of the equatorial sun and Peruvian warmth (with none of the damaging effects that still linger in the form of grotesque tan lines). I will begin with the much anticipated non-LCP post, mainly because my overwhelming nostalgia for all the people at LCP dictates that I end on a LCP note. And here we go.

Ok, well, not quite. I first want to put out a warning. Our non-LCP activities? Boring, frankly. Few and far between. Which is surprising. I mean, staying in a foreign country invites the opportunity for all sorts of voyages, forays, explorations, adventures. I had envisioned a life of LCP by day, bars and clubs by night, trips to the beach, quick visits to other places of interest in Peru on our days off. Not so much. Certainly we did voyage, foray, explore, venture, but just not to the extent I imagined. Disappointing? No. Absolutely not. Sure, I wish I could have seen Machu Picchu or trekked through the snowy peaks of the Andes (though neither of those were possible for us due to time constraints). But do I wish I had seen more of the Peruvian night scene? Gotten a more thorough tan that didn’t look like birthmark splotches, or as if I were constantly wearing a white T-shirt, or even one that might not disappear by 10:00 tomorrow morning in the gray blandness of the Vermont winter? Again, no. Not at all. We made some half-hearted efforts at exploring the dancing and drinking life of Miraflores and Barranco (sections of Lima), but in the end we were just too exhausted from our days to do so. And speaking for myself, I quickly came to the realization that I would be fine if I did nothing else besides work at LCP for the month. I discovered (it’s not much of a discovery, as a forewarning) that I was here to work at and for LCP, and so that was what I was going to do. I no longer cared about seeing the rest of Peru, or meeting some random Peruvian at a bar. Reading what I’ve written, I’m not sure that I’m being clear, but I guess the fact of the matter is that I actually liked my days off a lot less than my work days. Which, in the end, is perfect, since what I came to Lima to do was to work at and for LCP.

And HERE we go. Really. Scout’s honor. Some of these events we may have mentioned in passing in other posts, so we apologize in advance for any sort of repetition. Or redundancy for that matter. Also, there are no promises of chronological order. Randomness is likely probable.

Remember Javier, everyone? The unbelievably knowledgeable man who led us through the streets of Lima recounting nearly every building’s history and function, then took us through the Museum of History and Anthropology of Peru? Well, needless to say he inspired us to aspire to be like him. We felt, well, kind of stupid and certainly ignorant as Javier rattled off all these facts and would ask us questions that only prompted us to raise our eyebrows in bewilderment. (This feeling would be reinforced constantly throughout our three weeks, most notably by our struggle with the language and also with how well-versed Peruvians are with the U.S. and its history and current events. We came away with the resolution to learn more about the rest of the world, and even about the U.S. Pop the college bubble, Nick! Do it! Do it now!.) And so we set about changing our ignorance from actuality to appearance, meaning we would no longer be ignorant but we wouldn’t be able to express our newfound knowledge very successfully. We visited the National Museum on Friday (somehow getting in free!), going through the photo exhibit on Shining Path (a Communist guerilla group) and the long, violent struggle that began in the countryside in 1980 before moving into cities, leaving 70,000 dead by the time it wound down around 2000. An extremely powerful exhibit. We also looked at a small exhibit on the founder of the Socialist Party in Peru, José Carlos Mariátegui, who felt that a socialist revolution in Peru must come naturally, not through applying some European formula. I have decided I would like to read his book entitled, “Seven Interpretative Essays on Peruvian Reality” – ideally in Spanish, but likely in English.

The next day, we had the pleasure of two Colby compatriots visiting us in Lima. They were staying in a fishing village an hour or two from Lima, doing their part in studying marine life populations (including dolphins and penguins) off the coast of Peru. We headed out to the museum with all things gold. Or at least there were a lot of brightly glittering objects. Now that was one cool museum. The top floor was one huge collection of intricately, expensively decorated weaponry from swords and armor to firearms and holsters. Then downstairs was another massive collection of golden chalices, hair picks, adornments, even fancy clothing. Mummies were also present (behind glass and not walking like in the Brendan Frazier films, but no less frightening or grotesque). Club and arrow heads were abundant – quite disturbing to consider the damage they inflicted (though why looking at a sword or a gun from the top floor did not elicit a similar shudder of revulsion is beyond me).

We also visited a couple of churches (iglesias in Spanish) in Lima Centro. The first was La Iglesia de la Merced (Church of Mercy). As we were leaving, a service started, and we watched as Peruvians would walk in, touch the cross, then cross themselves before leaving. When they left, they would turn and face the speaking priest and kneel down, kiss their hand, and cross themselves once more. Religion is a serious business. Not much else to say about it, other than mention the large nativity scene that involved cascading water, multiple levels, every color and hue of Christmas lights, and more. Pretty remarkable. 

Nativity/Christmas décor was quite common, actually. Throughout the city – whether on top of tall buildings (of which there are not many in Lima), in the center of roundabouts, or in house windows – there were larger-than-life-size, light-up angels, Santas, reindeers, gifts, and other figures (even snow-related ones, which I didn’t understand). Very strange to see outside the cold and snow of winter (particularly the snow-related ones!).

The second church we visited was that of San Francisco. There we went on a brief tour of the church and the related (and interconnected) buildings, all in Spanish (our tour guide spoke unbelievably slowly, which I thank her eternally for – Thank you, tour guide). Also a remarkable building.

Lima Centro is worth a brief mention as well. We visited here a couple of times, once with Javier and once on our own. The Plaza de Armas is the main plaza of the whole city, and where you can find a whole bunch of tourists floating around snapping pictures and boosting our self-confidence with horribly botched Spanish (kudos for trying, though – really). There is a grand changing of the guard every day at noon, the fountain at the center is grand as well, riot police are everywhere, and the last time we were there a big stage was in the midst of being set up for some sort of celebration. A happening place.

As far as the rest of Lima goes (we’re building up here to our great day trip to Canta, so brace yourself), we of course explored Miraflores and Barranco. Miraflores is home to a couple of great parks, many restaurants, the coast, the Inca Market, and more. We ate there many nights, tasting delicious Peruvian fare from ceviche to lomo saltado, ají de gallina to tacu tacu, tequeñas to papas a la huancaina. Let me tell you, I am not excited to return to Colby dining hall meals after sampling Peruvian cooking. (Not that tells you much about Peruvian food, actually. It’s awesome. Just great. I need to take a moment now to wipe the drool off the keyboard, just from thinking about it. Just imagine what level your salivary glands achieve when you’re actually presented with a dish in front of you! Which makes their flimsy napkins a problem. We swear that they take a normal paper napkin, folded four layers thick, and cut it into quarters so it remains the same size, but only one-ply. Really silly. But I digress.) The coast is absolutely gorgeous, as you walk along towering cliffs overlooking the Pacific sea, glowing red in the setting sun, palm trees swaying in the coastal breeze. Only made better by the Parque del Amor (Park of Love), which is centered around a larger-than-life statue of an intertwined couple (that inspires every single couple there to do the same). The Inca Market is a terrifying experience. It is a rather commercial marketplace where they sell “authentic,” “hand-made” goods – hats, shawls, ponchos, jewelry, decorated gourds, mittens, you name it. There are a plethora of shops, and each one contains a persistent, unrelenting seller telling you to come on in. If you indeed to enter a shop, they take it upon themselves to find out what you are looking for and then pull out every single color and style option before telling you that you want a handbag or a scarf for your girlfriend (even if she doesn’t exist – I even had one woman blatantly flirt with me, telling me how pretty my name was, how tall and strong I was, and that was the point at which I left). But the best part of Miraflores is its parks. Very nice, great places to sit and read a good book, but best of all unbelievable food vendors. Fantastic sandwiches made before your eyes, filled with hot turkey or beef, grilled onions, tomatoes, with mayo or mustard. Picarones by the plateful (little rings of fried dough, also made before your eyes). Churros by the handful (also fried dough, but little rods coated in cinnamon sugar and filled with caramel). Mmmmmmmmmmm.

Barranco is the night life of Lima. Instead of shop owners trying to get you to buy their goods, though, you have streets lined with bars and clubs, each with their own personal front man walking around telling you their bar or club is the best. And as blatant foreigners, we would often have two or three different guys trailing us halfway up the street, each switching between Spanish and English, offering free drinks, assuring us that while other places were 21, you only had to be 16 years old for this club! Not much more to recount about Barranco, other than 1) it’s crazy, 2) Pisco sours are quite tasty, and 3) I personally was not comfortable dancing among capable dancers, and required the accompaniment of Peruvians I knew in order to do so (I know, lame, but it’s scary being utterly uncoordinated and incompetent among a competent and coordinated country!).

And now last, but far, far, FAR from least, is our trip to the town of Canta on the last Friday of our stay in Peru. Canta is a lovely little place set in the sierra, the mountains of Peru, and a couple hours north of Lima. We had made the effort to get to Canta the Friday before, only to fail miserably due to insufficient research. The bus station is more like a little hole in the wall along a major street, so we drove around for 2 hours in a taxi before finding it and agreeing it was too late to go. This Friday, we made sure nothing would go awry, calling the same taxi driver we had the last attempt (he had given us his number since he already knew how to get there). We arrived at this dinky little place at 6:30 in the morning for a 7:00 bus, bought our roundtrip tickets, and climbed aboard the van to begin what would be a journey full of literal twists and turns. Luckily I was born with the superhuman ability of being impervious to carsickness no matter what, so I was able to spend the first part of the trip finishing my book. Then I started paying attention to the driving. Gulp. The roads were just plain dirt roads along cliff faces (a drop off to one side, a sheer wall of rock to the other), full of switchback turns, remnants of miniature landslides, cattle, herds of goats, construction work and workers, large trucks and buses,…you get the picture. And brakes were only for appearance’s sake. For corners, our driver would simply honk, as if to say, “We’re coming, and we’re not stopping, so watch out, people!” Yet we arrived in one piece. Phew.

And if we had thought we stuck out like sore thumbs before in Lima, I don’t think there is any sort of metaphoric imagery that can relay just how out of place we were in Canta. It was laughable. So with eyes following our every step, we briskly made our way out of the condensed houses and buildings of the center of Canta and towards the countryside. And oh, dear lord, what a sweet, sweet thing the countryside is. Upon stepping off the bus we took a huge breath, the first one in three weeks that was exhaust fume-free! It turns out green things exist as well in Peru, and not just in tiny frontyard plots! (Plants, I believe they are called, though I can’t be sure.)  But we soon had to pause as we already were feeling the effects of the sun (now unhindered by any layer of smog, its rays had become even more deadly), and lather on the sun block. I’m not sure what it was that brought him out – maybe it was the shiny glare off our still snowy white skin, or maybe it was the wafting smell of sunscreen that attracted him – but within seconds of pausing in the street, we immediately were set upon by a man who offered us the opportunity to see Canta and the surrounding hills and valleys by horseback. We conferred, and decided to go for it. (Me with my racing heart in my throat, having never ridden a horse before. Ahhhh!) And so we found us three all mounted on the saddled Claudio, Chicho, and Principe, slowly sauntering down the road with Marcos alternately walking or jogging (depending on the speed of our horses) behind us making sure the horses didn’t go sprinting off or take some wrong turn (or in my case, urging Principe to go a little faster – I’m sorry! It’s scary!). Winding through the streets of Canta, up dusty and rocky little trails, dismounting a couple of times to give the horses (and at least my legs and body) a little breather, we got spectacular views of the mountains and waterfalls and rivers and houses and people and everything else in and around Canta. (And now I can say I’ve ridden a horse! Plus, for the next three days afterwards - with every time I sat down or took a step – my body was sure to remind me of my horse riding escapade. Furthermore, apparently when you ride a horse, your shorts get hiked up a little higher than if you are simply standing on the ground. Thus, my sunscreen application was woefully inadequate, and so the stark contrast in color, temperature, and pain between my upper and lower thighs also served as a reminder of my time upon a horse.)

After a lunch of bread, cheese, and various snack foods in the main plaza/park (shared with our trusty canine companions), we decided to search for higher ground and a better view. So we set off on one of the many man/donkey/goat-made trails winding up the side of a hill, following a man and the three donkeys he herded in front of him. He and his donkeys quickly outpaced us, though, and we were forced to find our own trails up. We had a number of obstacles to overcome, including a giant (cess)pool of water, piles of manure, large rocks, trails leading up near vertical cliff faces, and sharp cacti spines. We finally reached a road that provided a good highpoint (though by this time clouds and fog had rolled in to obscure almost everything from photography or a clear view). We retreated to a grassy knoll to read our books for a bit before returning to the town to catch the van back to Lima. There we learned just how much our canine companion thought of us (or our food) when she leapt, snarling at another dog who dared to try to join us and sent it away with a mighty yelp (and presumably its tail between its legs, though this occurred out of our sight). Our descent was uneventful, since we had already overcome the obstacles and knew which ways to go (though at one point we reached a place where it was rather difficult, nigh impossible to return the way we had come, and luckily a man who had been watching us – with a faint smile and an apparent trace of amusement – pointed us farther down to a different exit. Thank you, man-cutting-alfalfa-on-the-hillside. Since yes, he, among others, were taking vicious-looking hand-held scythes to a large patch of alfalfa and raking quite the harvest from it.) We stopped into a shop to purchase a drink for the road, and walked outside to find our van sitting right there waiting for us! So on we hopped, and returned to Lima the way we came – in one piece. (Though not without some humorous sleeping moments for the other van riders, highlighted by me clanking my head against the window in a particularly volatile sleep-induced head roll)

And thus summarizes the extent of our non-LCP activities whilst we remained in Peru. Although looking back on this 3000+ word rant, I guess “summarizes” is not the most appropriate verb choice here… My final post (insert pouting, sobbing face here, I hope, though a rejoicing face with arms lifted is quite possible as well since you won’t have to sift through such lengthy readings any more) shall follow shortly (somewhat) to “summarize” my last few days within the walls of LCP. Until then, faithful (?) readers!

(I apologize, but I will not be able to post any related pictures, since I have now returned to Vermont, where my internet connection is reduced to using the old-fashioned postal service and thus simply laughs at me when I try any photo-related actions. Another reason to try to advance past the Stone Age, padres…)

It’s been three weeks of life at home in Vermont, shoveling out the cars, bundling up against the cold, and trekking around the northeast with my parents and sister to see family and friends for the holidays. So it seems a little hard to believe that tomorrow I’m going to be on a plane out of Burlington bound for Lima, Peru (well, actually, Atlanta, where I’ll spend eight hours in the airport waiting for another plane that should bring me to Peru, but I’m trying to ignore that).  By midnight tomorrow, ideally I’ll be stepping off into a world of eighty degree weather, sunshine (during the day at least), and Spanish for a month-long hiatus from winter.

For those of you who aren’t exactly sure what in the world I’m going to be doing in Peru, I’ll take a moment to explain. Colby College takes the month of January to allow its students to focus on a single task, a nice reprieve from the collision of commitments during regular, four class semesters.  We can elect to take a class on campus, do an internship, or an independent study. I’ve opted to take the opportunity to travel the world, spending the month in Greece last year and this year skipping down to the capital of Peru. 

Contrary to your thoughts at this point, I’m not simply going to be sitting on a Peruvian beach defying the power of the sun’s UV rays. I’ll actually be working at a non-profit organization called La Casa de Panchita. For those of you who want to read more about La Casa de Panchita (beyond my brief and oversimplified explanation), the website is http://www.gruporedes.org/. La Casa de Panchita works mainly (but certainly not exclusively) with women domestic workers, with the goal of defending equal rights and preventing their abuse and exploitation. By providing these women, their children, and others with a place to go to access computers, books, undergo mock interviews, learn English, and simply have fun, La Casa de Panchita “promotes the strengthening of the domestic workers' self-esteem, the realization of their rights and the fulfillment of their responsibilities. It promotes their empowerment and fuels their independence to help them make good decisions in all aspects of their life.” (I tried and tried to find a way to succinctly summarize everything they do in my own words, but in the end I found it best to take a direct quote from their website to avoid my own dissatisfaction with the incompleteness of my explanation. In other words, visit the website, especially since there is an English version for those of you who can’t unlock the secret of the Spanish language.)

So, with basically twelve hours to go before my flight leaves from Burlington now, I have successfully squandered away any time I might have spent packing or performing any other productive activity related to my travel plans, all under the guise of testing the functionality of our blog. The blog should be updated regularly over the next three and a half weeks, so be sure to check it out frequently. Maybe not too frequently, but more like every so often. It’ll be a busy month after all. Well, having rambled for a while now, I guess all that is left to say is, make the most of winter, and ¡Feliz año!

-Nick

And for the record, the picture of The Rock is absolutely intentional. But somehow I foresee a more fitting picture taking his place once we arrive…