Hi there friends,
I had hoped to blog for y'all yesterday, but an unexpected turn of events resulted in a bit of a delay. Before I get to that, let me tell you about the lovely Sunday that I enjoyed until that point.
I began yesterday by going to mass at Cusco's Cathedral. I had never been inside of it before, and it was very beautiful and very European in its architecture. The art inside, though, was much like the art I'd seen in the Palacio Arzobispol, a fusion of Catholic themes and Cusco School techniques. Particularly interesting was the three-dimensional crucifix in which Chris is depicted as an African American. I learned that in Cusco, the city's patron saint is Jesus Christ in the role of "Our Lord of Earthquakes." It is believed that he watches over Cusco when earthquakes threaten the city, and under this title, he is always depicted as dark-skinned.
The mass itself was crowded, but still peaceful. I was initially distressed to realize that the Cathedral doesn't provide a "cheat sheet" with congregational responses in Spanish like they do at La Compania, but it became an opportunity to practice my comprehension. The theme of the readings and the responsorial psalms was "el buen pastor," or "the good shepherd," so luckily I had enough familiarity to follow the main points of the readings and the sermon. I was particularly moved to hear Psalm 23 in Spanish, which became all the more relevant as my day went on. I don't know if it's because I need mass more here or because I'm maturing, but I find that lately, no matter what the readings are at church, I find them to be relevant and applicable. At home, I often grow frustrated because priests frequently don't relate their sermons or homilies to the readings, but here, that hasn't been the case, and I've felt truly at peace during the times that I've sat in church to pray. The only continual difficulty for me is communion, which I'm accustomed to receiving in an organized fashion. Here, it's pretty much a free-for-all, and I never know when and whether I should get up and take communion or not because every person sort of does his or her own thing. As a result, yesterday I didn't do anything because nobody near me made any movement to walk up to the altar. I should be accustomed to this since it was the same way in Spain, but it continues to amuse and confuse me!
After mass, the plaza was again filled with activists parading through the streets. I'm still not quite sure how the celebrations work here because it seems like there's something going on in the plaza pretty much every Sunday, but never quite the same thing. Yesterday, there were groups of people holding signs and marching through the Plaza de Armas, and there was a wall again plastered with documents about the conspiratorial relationships of Alberto Fujimori, the father of presidential candidate Keiko Fujimori.
After church, I was quite famished, and having a craving for some nice, American pancakes. I decided to go to Jack's, an Australian-run place known for having a pretty standard American breakfast menu. Sadly, there was a long line there and no outdoor seating, so I decided to walk around and explore alternative options. My search wasn't super fruitful, so I eventually settled on a place I'd been to before, called Inka Fe, where I enjoyed some really good scrambled eggs and toast and a cup of tea. When I finished my leisurely breakfast, I headed for the Plaza de Regoncijo, where I sat in the sunshine and enjoyed some reading of Wuthering Heights, my latest book choice which is proving thoroughly engaging. I may have mentioned this at some point before, but it's interesting to me that Peruvian people have absolutely NO qualms when it comes to interrupting someone who is clearly reading. People selling things in which I am not at all interested would repeatedly come and stand beside me and say, "Miss? Miss?" until I gave them my attention, only for them to hear me say, "No gracias." Again and again. It's one of the more irritating aspects of downtown Cusco, and one of the reasons that I prefer the Plaza San Blas.
Also during my attempt at relaxing reading, an old man sitting next to me on my bench struck up a conversation which ended up lasting quite a while. He apparently owns a hospedaje (a hostel, basically) in Cusco with thirty rooms, and he was asking me about my stay in Cusco and how long I was here and how I liked it and stuff. Then he started asking me if I like chiccha, a Cusco beverage specialty made from the big purple corn they grow here. I told him I'm not a huge fan (which was accurate), and then he asked if I liked wine and if I liked chicken. Well of COURSE I like wine and chicken. Who doesn't? I think he realized that these questions would almost certainly garner him a "yes," so he then asked me to go out with him for one or the other. I told him that I couldn't because I was meeting my roommate to greet her upon her return from a weekend trip to Urubamba (which was only slightly untrue--Laura really was in Urubamba, but I had no obligation to provide a welcome reception...heh.) I just felt that it probably wouldn't be wise to go out with a random man who looked to be 60-something and who held my hand for an exceedingly long time after shaking it in greeting. I felt this hesitation even more strongly when I reflected on the mockery I received from my Spain study abroad friends when I followed an old Spanish man (at his request) to see an abandoned church in Salamanca. Probably not my smartest maneuver. I also just didn't want to go! I wanted to sit and enjoy Wuthering Heights, and I can't seem to figure out how to communicate that desire to people since sitting with the book open on my lap and looking at it is apparently insufficient. Argh.
Finally, my gentleman friend left, and I relocated to another bench across the plaza to get a bit more shade. This time, I was approached by a young girl (20-something?) who asked me if I spoke English. It turns out that she's here for two months or so from a university in Canada (Mount Royal, I believe) and that she's conducting a study on travel and ecotourism. I agreed to fill out a survey for her, and when she realized that I was a friendly human, she asked if I wouldn't mind also answering the questions on a video camera. I agreed, and am pretty sure that I'm going to be famous someday very soon. Look out, world!
My next stop was at the ChocoMuseo, a chocolate museum overlooking the plaza where I'd been sitting. Laura actually went there a few months ago with her boyfriend Erich, and she'd been telling me how cool it was, so I decided to check it out. Admission was free, always a plus, and almost as soon as I walked in, I was given a complimentary cup of chocolate-infused tea which was very tasty. The museum was also very informative and well-translated into English, so I took turns reading information in Spanish and English depending on how complicated it looked. :-) I learned that the origins of the word "chocolate" are uncertain, and there are at least five possibilities from various Incan and Mayan dialects that could explain it. Word nerd that I am, I found this to be one of the more intriguing chocolate facts. After I finished browsing, I decided to order a cup of hot chocolate, firstly because I assume that a chocolate museum would make a pretty delicious cup of such a thing, and secondly because I wanted to drink it while sitting on their balcony seat overlooking the plaza. While the latter of those desires was met, the hot chocolate was only okay. I had again been expecting the European, melted chocolate bar sort of stuff, but this hot chocolate required that I personally mix hot milk into some melted chocolate, and the idea of hot milk is just not pleasant to me. I did like that they provided cinnamon stick shavings and cloves for me to spice things up. I think I would perhaps like to attend one of their chocolate making workshops later in the summer. A few Duke students were also interested, so we might make a day out of it.
After the ChocoMuseo, I headed to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, which I would say is the most beautiful place I've seen in Peru to date. It was so serene and prayerful, and I loved learning about the founding of the order and the 25 nuns who made up the first Benedictine Order at this particular monasterio. The monastery is still active, but a good portion of it has been established as a museum, and it was so interesting to see the simplicity with which the nuns ate, prayed, and lived. I've always wondered about what it's like to live as a nun, and to actually see the size of their individual quarters and to stand in the places where they walked was surreal and beautiful. There was also a set of paintings attributed to the life of Saint Rose, which I found particularly interesting as Saint Rose is the name of my home church in NJ. To seal the deal making the monastery one of my favorite places I've been, I met the most lovely woman selling bread outside of the monastery's entrance. Her name is Dominga, and she has a motherliness about her that just made my heart swell. She told me that she wants to become better at speaking English, and I told her that perhaps we could practice together. I'm supposed to meet her next Sunday afternoon at the same place, and I'm excited to see her again. She was so full of joy.
After my visit to the monastery, I headed home, where I relaxed and read a bit more. Laura came down shortly from a nap after her busy weekend in Urubamba, and we caught up on what we'd been up to since we'd last seen each other. Then we made dinner, both attempting to use our vegetables before the "week of free meals" begins! After dinner, I decided to do what I'd promised myself and make use of the big jacuzzi sitting off of our kitchen. And that's my segue into my first legitimate near death experience (and hopefully last for a long time!).
So as my house tour pictures may(?) indicate, to get to the jacuzzi tub, you actually walk through the laundry room where the gas heater is and then slide open a clear door to enter the bathtub. Since the door is clear, if you want to get a bath without flashing anyone, you need to close the door to the laundry room, which I did. Laura was in the kitchen on her computer, and I told her I was going to get a bath and then shut the door. The tub was pretty large, and once it had filled up about an inch, I decided to sit in it as it filled and read some more of Wuthering Heights. I was all set--I had a little bag of strawberry gummies that I was pretty excited about eating, and my razor, and face wash, and shampoo and conditioner. All was well. I vaguely remember smelling a bit of gas, but I didn't really think much of it since our house is gas-heated, but then, probably about ten minutes after the water had started flowing, I had the feeling that something wasn't right. I felt much like I'd felt on a few occasions in my adolescent years just before passing out, and so I took the few seconds of consciousness I had left to wrap a towel around myself and get out of the tub. Thank God Laura was still in the kitchen on her computer. I remember saying something to her, like "I don't feel right," or something like that, and then I don't remember anything for the next fifteen minutes.
When I finally came to, Laura was holding me up as I sat at one of our kitchen chairs. She was repeating my name again and again. Once I could see clearly enough to make out where I was, Laura told me what had happened. Apparently, she'd seen me come out of the bathroom door and noted that I didn't look right and helped guide me to the kitchen chair a few feet away. Then I went out of consciousness and apparently made a lot of strange noises that made her think I was going to have a seizure or something. (In retrospect, I think they were noises that I was making as I tried to get oxygen into my lungs.) She didn't want to leave me, but she ran upstairs quickly to get her phone and call Eliza, who lives only a few blocks away. While Laura waited for help, she checked my pulse regularly and helped me to sit reasonably upright. I don't remember any of this, but I do know that Laura is a lifesaver. Literally. Eliza ran over along with her roommate Jenny, and just about when they arrived was when I became able to see and talk a little bit. When I did wake up, I was embarrassed to be sitting in only a towel and looking, I'm sure, less than attractive and probably somewhat blue-faced. I also felt pretty horrible--like getting up and walking was probably not a good idea, and like I was exhausted and nauseated and achy. The girls helped me to the couch, and Eliza brought me some pajamas from my room and Jenny brought down a pillow and some blankets. I really just wanted to go to sleep, but I was sort of scared to do so because of the gas I'd inhaled, and Laura was keeping continuous vigil over me, and I know that falling asleep would have worried her too. Eliza decided that we should probably call a doctor, so she called the clinic that ProWorld uses, and in about 20 minutes, a doctor (Grover) arrived. He was very nice and he asked me about any medications I was taking and put a little sensor on my finger and took my blood pressure. He confirmed our diagnosis that I'd been exposed to carbon monoxide, probably due to several factors including the fact that I'd been enclosed with the gas heater--and hot running water powered by said heater--and also the fact that it had been 9 PM, when the water pressure tends to be less forceful and therefore needful of more gas to power it. The doctor told me that I would probably have a headache and a bit of dizziness for a day or two (which I am indeed experiencing), but said that I was going to be okay, and gave me the go ahead to sleep.
While this may not sound quite as traumatic in blog form, it was truly the closest I've ever been to death. Not only has it reminded me that God is good and that He works in mysterious ways, but also that He has angels working for him here. I thank God that I decided to take a bath on the night that Laura was home and in the next room. If I'd done it the night before, she'd have been in Urubamba, and I'd have been alone in the house. I thank God also for the times I've fainted in my past, not because any of them were remotely enjoyable, but because knowing what it feels like to be about to pass out is what made me realize that I had to get out of the tub, and just in time. I thank God for Eliza and Jenny, and how watchful and caring they were by running to get here and help me so quickly. And I am pretty much forever indebted to Laura, who, though not at all a medical professional, took care of me like her own child, and is pretty much the reason I'm alive right now. I really do not know that I would be alive and breathing right now if not for her. For that and for many other reasons, God is oh so very very good.
I am thankful to be alive and in Peru, and I thank all of you who have been praying for me while I've been here. It's obvious that I need it! No more gas-heated jacuzzis for me!
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