And I just wanted to vent about it. Feel bad for me, readers, and say prayers for a speedy recovery. My mom was sick last night too, and we haven't figured out the cause. In Cusco, there are so many potential causes of sickness...argh.
On another unfortunate note, my parents are off to the US tomorrow in the early morning. It will be sad to see them go, but I'm glad that they'll be returning to a place where sickness is less of a constant fear! It was such an absolute joy having them here. I'm very blessed to have parents who love me enough to come visit me in a place that would probably never have otherwise made their list of top destinations, AND where they have no knowledge of the language! I think they've come to appreciate the joys of Peru, and they have definitely been a taste of home that I'd been longing for.
More, and hopefully happier, updates soon!
xoxo
Sarah
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Father Knows Best...
So as my faithful readers know, my parents are here in Cusco until Friday. They arrived this past Thursday, and still, halfway through their trip, do not have the one suitcase that they checked, which managed to get delayed in Bogota, Colombia. Being the wonderful people they are, they have handled this challenge masterfully and positively. But there's more to the story...
When I picked them up from the airport on Thursday, we spoke briefly with a man from TACA Airlines, who informed us that the bag would be delivered to my parents' hotel upon its arrival. However, my parents accidentally gave the man the wrong hotel address. When I spoke with him, I corrected the name of the hotel, which was only partially mistaken. My parents told the man they were staying at the Hotel Rumi Punku, when I had actually booked them at Waka Punku, which happens to be on the same street. Having corrected the error, we expected the bag to arrive within a maximum of 48 hours. We were hopeful for 24. And yet the bag did not come. And the number we'd been given to inquire after the bag went repeatedly unanswered. Poo.
After making it to Sunday night without successful retrieval of the bag, I decided that it would be wise to actually inquire at the airport in person on Monday morning, which arrived today. When I expressed my belief that this was the best course of action, my dad kept saying, "I don't think you need to go to the trouble of actually going to the airport. Why don't you call, or check the other hotel we wrote down by accident?" Yet I was adamant. Why would the airline have dropped off the bag to the other hotel when I'd corrected the name? And did I really trust myself to get to the bottom of things over the phone...in Spanish? Not really. So this morning, before the start of the workday, I hopped into a cab and asked to go to the airport.
It was an uneventful ride until the cab pulled up to the curb by the TACA Airlines site. At this point, I swung open (widely) the door of the cab. As I did so, an old, red pickup truck came driving by rather speedily and scraped its side on the outside of the taxi cab door. I was mortified. And the truck driver was NOT pleased. The cab driver wasn't all too happy either. I slowly stepped out of the car and surveyed the damage, along with the truck and cab drivers. Then the two drivers began to (loudly) argue over who was at fault. Obviously, both attributed lots of blame to me, as I had opened the door on the "wrong" side of the vehicle. Despite the fact that I was indeed guilty of this act, I attempted to reply(in my less-than-perfect Spanish) that I didn't consider myself totally at fault. The truck had been driving too fast and too close to the median, and when I looked at the cab driver's position on the road, he too had been driving far from the curb and close to the median. As I began to contemplate in my head how things were going to pan out, the voices of the cab driver and the truck driver grew louder and more irritable. The cab driver suggested that we all head to a nearby mechanic to assess the cost of the damage, and the truck driver kept retorting that he "didn't have time for that." I began to get the feeling that I was going to get stuck paying the brunt of the cost for something for which I wasn't entirely to blame.
As the drivers argued, a few airport officials walked over to see what had happened, and then a few more. As the number of Peruvian men in official gear began to seriously overpower me, I could feel tears welling up. I tried to speak rationally, and, after looking in my wallet, offered the truck driver the seventy soles I had on me to cover some of the damage costs. He snidely replied that this amount was not nearly enough, and that the repair of the scratch would cost more like 200 or 300 soles. As I looked into his irritated face and at all of the officially-garbed people surrounding me, I couldn't help it. The tears started flowing. It wasn't the money. Even 300 soles would have been only 100 dollars, which wouldn't do much of anything in the way of car repair in the US. No, what made me cry was the anger and the ruckus and the guilt all rolled up into one. Once the tears started, I couldn't quite stop them, and then one of the airport officials looked at me and realized that I was in distress. Apparently, this worked to my advantage, as lots of the men (grumpy truck driver excluded) began to feel sorry for the poor, ignorant "gringita" whom they had caused to cry. One of them said to the truck driver, "Just let her give you the seventy soles and be finished with it. She didn't do anything wrong on purpose" (which I didn't). He also very sweetly reached into his pocket and pulled out some tissues for me to wipe my eyes. And so they let me pay my 70 soles ($25) and be on my way.
Now let's consider: if I hadn't gone to the airport, these shenanigans would not have occurred. But I had to go to the airport, to get the bag, right? WRONG. Turns out that after crying my lil' eyes out AND waiting for a bunch of people to check into their TACA flights, the bag had been delivered (two days ago, I might add) to the wrong hotel--the one less than a block from where my parents were staying! So 77 soles, 50 centimos, and a gallon or so of tears later, I headed back to my apartment, and then to work. My parents will be delighted to receive their suitcase this evening, and I will never again get out on the "wrong" side of the taxi.
While I waited in line at the TACA counter and tried to wipe away the mascara running down my face, I thought about how lucky I am to be here in Peru, and alive, and enjoying a visit from my parents. No lost piece of luggage, and not even a scratched truck, can take that joy away from me. God is good!
P.S. For those of you who are judging me harshly for having emerged from the taxi on the wrong side, please take note of the following:
1. I occasionally lack the common sense possessed by the average human being.
2. I grew up in the suburbs, in Haddon Heights, a magical land free of taxis and, for the most part, angry people yelling.
3. I don't always listen to my roommate Laura, who is a veritable genius.
4. I got out on the side of the cab on which I was sitting. It was a matter of logical efficiency and convenience.
5. My PERUVIAN friend Lalo says that the safest place to sit in a taxi if you fear your impending death is directly behind the driver. Which is where I was sitting.
6. The driver should probably have told me, ignorant "gringita" that I am, that my chosen side was not the appropriate on which to disembark.
Please consider these fine excuses before making split judgments, dear friends. And thank you all for your continued prayers and love from afar. You are all beautiful! Oh. And Dad was right. Figures.
When I picked them up from the airport on Thursday, we spoke briefly with a man from TACA Airlines, who informed us that the bag would be delivered to my parents' hotel upon its arrival. However, my parents accidentally gave the man the wrong hotel address. When I spoke with him, I corrected the name of the hotel, which was only partially mistaken. My parents told the man they were staying at the Hotel Rumi Punku, when I had actually booked them at Waka Punku, which happens to be on the same street. Having corrected the error, we expected the bag to arrive within a maximum of 48 hours. We were hopeful for 24. And yet the bag did not come. And the number we'd been given to inquire after the bag went repeatedly unanswered. Poo.
After making it to Sunday night without successful retrieval of the bag, I decided that it would be wise to actually inquire at the airport in person on Monday morning, which arrived today. When I expressed my belief that this was the best course of action, my dad kept saying, "I don't think you need to go to the trouble of actually going to the airport. Why don't you call, or check the other hotel we wrote down by accident?" Yet I was adamant. Why would the airline have dropped off the bag to the other hotel when I'd corrected the name? And did I really trust myself to get to the bottom of things over the phone...in Spanish? Not really. So this morning, before the start of the workday, I hopped into a cab and asked to go to the airport.
It was an uneventful ride until the cab pulled up to the curb by the TACA Airlines site. At this point, I swung open (widely) the door of the cab. As I did so, an old, red pickup truck came driving by rather speedily and scraped its side on the outside of the taxi cab door. I was mortified. And the truck driver was NOT pleased. The cab driver wasn't all too happy either. I slowly stepped out of the car and surveyed the damage, along with the truck and cab drivers. Then the two drivers began to (loudly) argue over who was at fault. Obviously, both attributed lots of blame to me, as I had opened the door on the "wrong" side of the vehicle. Despite the fact that I was indeed guilty of this act, I attempted to reply(in my less-than-perfect Spanish) that I didn't consider myself totally at fault. The truck had been driving too fast and too close to the median, and when I looked at the cab driver's position on the road, he too had been driving far from the curb and close to the median. As I began to contemplate in my head how things were going to pan out, the voices of the cab driver and the truck driver grew louder and more irritable. The cab driver suggested that we all head to a nearby mechanic to assess the cost of the damage, and the truck driver kept retorting that he "didn't have time for that." I began to get the feeling that I was going to get stuck paying the brunt of the cost for something for which I wasn't entirely to blame.
As the drivers argued, a few airport officials walked over to see what had happened, and then a few more. As the number of Peruvian men in official gear began to seriously overpower me, I could feel tears welling up. I tried to speak rationally, and, after looking in my wallet, offered the truck driver the seventy soles I had on me to cover some of the damage costs. He snidely replied that this amount was not nearly enough, and that the repair of the scratch would cost more like 200 or 300 soles. As I looked into his irritated face and at all of the officially-garbed people surrounding me, I couldn't help it. The tears started flowing. It wasn't the money. Even 300 soles would have been only 100 dollars, which wouldn't do much of anything in the way of car repair in the US. No, what made me cry was the anger and the ruckus and the guilt all rolled up into one. Once the tears started, I couldn't quite stop them, and then one of the airport officials looked at me and realized that I was in distress. Apparently, this worked to my advantage, as lots of the men (grumpy truck driver excluded) began to feel sorry for the poor, ignorant "gringita" whom they had caused to cry. One of them said to the truck driver, "Just let her give you the seventy soles and be finished with it. She didn't do anything wrong on purpose" (which I didn't). He also very sweetly reached into his pocket and pulled out some tissues for me to wipe my eyes. And so they let me pay my 70 soles ($25) and be on my way.
Now let's consider: if I hadn't gone to the airport, these shenanigans would not have occurred. But I had to go to the airport, to get the bag, right? WRONG. Turns out that after crying my lil' eyes out AND waiting for a bunch of people to check into their TACA flights, the bag had been delivered (two days ago, I might add) to the wrong hotel--the one less than a block from where my parents were staying! So 77 soles, 50 centimos, and a gallon or so of tears later, I headed back to my apartment, and then to work. My parents will be delighted to receive their suitcase this evening, and I will never again get out on the "wrong" side of the taxi.
While I waited in line at the TACA counter and tried to wipe away the mascara running down my face, I thought about how lucky I am to be here in Peru, and alive, and enjoying a visit from my parents. No lost piece of luggage, and not even a scratched truck, can take that joy away from me. God is good!
P.S. For those of you who are judging me harshly for having emerged from the taxi on the wrong side, please take note of the following:
1. I occasionally lack the common sense possessed by the average human being.
2. I grew up in the suburbs, in Haddon Heights, a magical land free of taxis and, for the most part, angry people yelling.
3. I don't always listen to my roommate Laura, who is a veritable genius.
4. I got out on the side of the cab on which I was sitting. It was a matter of logical efficiency and convenience.
5. My PERUVIAN friend Lalo says that the safest place to sit in a taxi if you fear your impending death is directly behind the driver. Which is where I was sitting.
6. The driver should probably have told me, ignorant "gringita" that I am, that my chosen side was not the appropriate on which to disembark.
Please consider these fine excuses before making split judgments, dear friends. And thank you all for your continued prayers and love from afar. You are all beautiful! Oh. And Dad was right. Figures.
Machu Picchu, I've Finally Met You!
...and you're BEAUTIFUL! What an incredible, incredible place! I am so glad to have been able to share the experience with my parents. Some of the funny moments and highlights...
1. Friday night, we went to bed early-ish because we knew we would be getting picked up at 6:30 AM from our hotel. I stayed at my parents' bed and breakfast, since there was an extra bed and I didn't want to have to take a cab super early in the morning. It's a good thing that I did this because my phone rang at 3:11 AM, and it was our travel agent, Jose. Jose informed me that he had switched us to the 4 AM departure so that we'd be on an earlier train, and that we would be picked up from our hotel in 45 minutes. Welcome to Peru, folks. 45 minutes notice before a 4 AM departure! Although really, the last minute notice was a good thing. It allowed us to sleep soundly without worrying about a super early wake up, and also provided us with more time at Machu Picchu. Still, a rather unexpected start to the day!
2. We were driven in a car to the town of Ollantaytambo, where we got onto a train headed for Aguas Calientes. When we got to our seats, we realized that we were breaking up a pair of Brazilian lovers, who had been booked in seats separated by an aisle. Kind and romantic Paul Whitman decided to sacrifice his seat, and instead of sitting with Madre and me, sat beside a girl from South Korea. They emerged from the train ride as BFFs, and I only exaggerate slightly. :-)
3. Since Jose decided to change our trains relatively late in the game, it turned out that our tour guide hadn't received the memo, and hadn't yet purchased our tickets to enter Machu Picchu. This required some savvy Spanish-speaking on my part to explain the situation, along with about 45 minutes of sitting outside of a rather random restaurant waiting for the "Chaski Tours" gentleman. This was not a big deal, though, and we soon were on the bus up to the entrance to Machu Picchu!
4. With some time to spare before the start of our 11 AM tour, the padres and I walked around beautiful Machu Picchu for a while on our own. We saw some llamas, marveled over the beautiful "lost city," and got fairly winded walking up lots of steps! At 11, we met up with our tour guide, Carlos, and the rest of our tour mates, all English speakers. Among them were Charlotte, a Catholic missionary serving in Lima, and her mom, both originally from Alabama. It was so cool to come across a Catholic missionary (something of a rarity, in my experience) at Machu Picchu of all places! Charlotte was really nice, and I enjoyed talking to her about her work in Peru. Carlos was a decent tour guide, though he was a little harsh sometimes. I think he might have gotten an ego boost from the silver "Chaski Tours" flag he was carrying, so he kept asking us questions and then answering himself with this tone that clearly implied, "Y'all are too stupid to remember this, but I just told it to you mere minutes ago." Besides his 'tude, Carlos was pretty cool, and shared some interesting information about Machu Picchu and its origins. Upon reflection, I think I would have preferred a tour in Spanish, just because I think the guides are able to speak more informatively and comprehensively in their first language, but it probably would have been tough to translate everything to Paul and Eileen. :-)
5. After our tour was complete, we decided to hike to the Incan Bridge, and then to the Sun Gate (Inti Punku), the gate through which hikers of the Inca Trail enter Machu Picchu. I'm very glad that we did this, partially to be way cooler than my brothers, who did no such hiking, and also because the Sun Gate had a GORGEOUS view of the mountains. That said, we were pretty super exhausted despite the shortness of the hike. Welcome to 9,000 feet above sea level! My parents have been doing some strenuous work since their arrival, but they haven't complained, and for that I give them lots of credit!
6. When we got back down to Aguas Calientes, we had some time to spare, so we had a tasty dinner at a restaurant close to the train station. While we were eating, an elderly man walked by wearing none other than the same crazy sweater that my dad bought at one of the artisan markets. Obviously, the two bonded over their mutual handsomeness in said sweater. Photos to come!
7. Our train back to Ollantaytambo was comfortable, and the padres slept while I read the magazines that my mom had brought along for me from the US (Popular Science, Oprah, Self, Eating Well...I was in my element!). Then we had to take Bus Lucy back to Cusco. We were expecting the worst from Bus Lucy, as Andrew made quite a fuss about his hatred for "her," but the bus turned out to be a tour bus, and quite comfortable. After nearly two hours, however, we understood Andrew's feelings. Bus Lucy took nearly double the time it had taken us to go between Cusco and Ollantaytambo in the morning. We were quite exhausted upon our arrival in Cusco, but pleased to have enjoyed such a beautiful wonder of the world!
On Sunday, we went to church at La Compania, where we celebrated Corpus Christi, and then met up with Laura. The four of us walked to San Pedro market, and we showed my parents where we sometimes go to buy produce and bread and things. The walk there was kind of ridiculous, as my dad stopped at pretty much every street vendor that we passed and made me ask them about how much a pair of socks cost, or a cookie, or one of 5,234 other things!
The four of us then took a little van ride to the town of Chinchero, about 30 minutes from Cusco. There, we visited a big craft market, where I bought some awesome gifts and a scarf that I am becoming more and more convinced should belong to me rather than any of my friends...heh. My mom bought a much-needed hat with beautiful Peruvian embroidery all over it, and a number of other items. Watching my mom shop at the market is pretty hysterical. She's just so nice that she can't pass by someone trying to sell her something. She listens to every person's spiel about their 100% (not) alpaca scarves and beautifully carved gourds and such. She also speaks to them in English as if they understand, which is HYSTERICAL because they look at her with these expressions that clearly say, "Lady, WHAT are you saying?" My mother is a delight!
I also did the unthinkable in Chinchero: I ate MARKET FOOD. Basically, this means that a woman was cooking trout and potatoes in a big ol' pot and serving it on dishes that had been repeatedly used and "washed" (dunked in a pot full of not-entirely-clear water), and I ATE it. Laura and I shared a plate of fish, and my dad had his own plate. My mom tried some soup with a variety of strange items in it. They are brave souls, all of them. For the four of us to eat, it only cost 15 soles ($5), so it was definitely the least expensive of our culinary adventures, and while I am not feeling ill 24 hours later, I don't know how soon I'll be repeating this risky activity! :-)
I also took my padres to El Molino, where my dad was on a hunt for a pair of quality sneakers. It turns out that his feet, along with the rest of him, are much bigger than the standard Peruvian man, so no luck on that end. I did buy the movie "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas," as well as Season Numero Dos of "30 Rock." My kind mother also outfitted me with a shower rod and curtain, which was all too kind. Today, for the first time, I showered without causing our toilet paper to get water spots all over it. What UP!
My parents and I had dinner at a restaurant called Andean Food (clever, right?) that turned out to be quite yummy. We made friends with the cook's son, an 8-year-old boy named Girardo, and it turned out to be his birthday! He was a sweetheart. It was also Happy Hour from 6 to 9 PM, so my dad enjoyed some white wine and my mother and I got ourselves pisco sours. A delightful end to a delightful day!
1. Friday night, we went to bed early-ish because we knew we would be getting picked up at 6:30 AM from our hotel. I stayed at my parents' bed and breakfast, since there was an extra bed and I didn't want to have to take a cab super early in the morning. It's a good thing that I did this because my phone rang at 3:11 AM, and it was our travel agent, Jose. Jose informed me that he had switched us to the 4 AM departure so that we'd be on an earlier train, and that we would be picked up from our hotel in 45 minutes. Welcome to Peru, folks. 45 minutes notice before a 4 AM departure! Although really, the last minute notice was a good thing. It allowed us to sleep soundly without worrying about a super early wake up, and also provided us with more time at Machu Picchu. Still, a rather unexpected start to the day!
2. We were driven in a car to the town of Ollantaytambo, where we got onto a train headed for Aguas Calientes. When we got to our seats, we realized that we were breaking up a pair of Brazilian lovers, who had been booked in seats separated by an aisle. Kind and romantic Paul Whitman decided to sacrifice his seat, and instead of sitting with Madre and me, sat beside a girl from South Korea. They emerged from the train ride as BFFs, and I only exaggerate slightly. :-)
3. Since Jose decided to change our trains relatively late in the game, it turned out that our tour guide hadn't received the memo, and hadn't yet purchased our tickets to enter Machu Picchu. This required some savvy Spanish-speaking on my part to explain the situation, along with about 45 minutes of sitting outside of a rather random restaurant waiting for the "Chaski Tours" gentleman. This was not a big deal, though, and we soon were on the bus up to the entrance to Machu Picchu!
4. With some time to spare before the start of our 11 AM tour, the padres and I walked around beautiful Machu Picchu for a while on our own. We saw some llamas, marveled over the beautiful "lost city," and got fairly winded walking up lots of steps! At 11, we met up with our tour guide, Carlos, and the rest of our tour mates, all English speakers. Among them were Charlotte, a Catholic missionary serving in Lima, and her mom, both originally from Alabama. It was so cool to come across a Catholic missionary (something of a rarity, in my experience) at Machu Picchu of all places! Charlotte was really nice, and I enjoyed talking to her about her work in Peru. Carlos was a decent tour guide, though he was a little harsh sometimes. I think he might have gotten an ego boost from the silver "Chaski Tours" flag he was carrying, so he kept asking us questions and then answering himself with this tone that clearly implied, "Y'all are too stupid to remember this, but I just told it to you mere minutes ago." Besides his 'tude, Carlos was pretty cool, and shared some interesting information about Machu Picchu and its origins. Upon reflection, I think I would have preferred a tour in Spanish, just because I think the guides are able to speak more informatively and comprehensively in their first language, but it probably would have been tough to translate everything to Paul and Eileen. :-)
5. After our tour was complete, we decided to hike to the Incan Bridge, and then to the Sun Gate (Inti Punku), the gate through which hikers of the Inca Trail enter Machu Picchu. I'm very glad that we did this, partially to be way cooler than my brothers, who did no such hiking, and also because the Sun Gate had a GORGEOUS view of the mountains. That said, we were pretty super exhausted despite the shortness of the hike. Welcome to 9,000 feet above sea level! My parents have been doing some strenuous work since their arrival, but they haven't complained, and for that I give them lots of credit!
6. When we got back down to Aguas Calientes, we had some time to spare, so we had a tasty dinner at a restaurant close to the train station. While we were eating, an elderly man walked by wearing none other than the same crazy sweater that my dad bought at one of the artisan markets. Obviously, the two bonded over their mutual handsomeness in said sweater. Photos to come!
7. Our train back to Ollantaytambo was comfortable, and the padres slept while I read the magazines that my mom had brought along for me from the US (Popular Science, Oprah, Self, Eating Well...I was in my element!). Then we had to take Bus Lucy back to Cusco. We were expecting the worst from Bus Lucy, as Andrew made quite a fuss about his hatred for "her," but the bus turned out to be a tour bus, and quite comfortable. After nearly two hours, however, we understood Andrew's feelings. Bus Lucy took nearly double the time it had taken us to go between Cusco and Ollantaytambo in the morning. We were quite exhausted upon our arrival in Cusco, but pleased to have enjoyed such a beautiful wonder of the world!
On Sunday, we went to church at La Compania, where we celebrated Corpus Christi, and then met up with Laura. The four of us walked to San Pedro market, and we showed my parents where we sometimes go to buy produce and bread and things. The walk there was kind of ridiculous, as my dad stopped at pretty much every street vendor that we passed and made me ask them about how much a pair of socks cost, or a cookie, or one of 5,234 other things!
The four of us then took a little van ride to the town of Chinchero, about 30 minutes from Cusco. There, we visited a big craft market, where I bought some awesome gifts and a scarf that I am becoming more and more convinced should belong to me rather than any of my friends...heh. My mom bought a much-needed hat with beautiful Peruvian embroidery all over it, and a number of other items. Watching my mom shop at the market is pretty hysterical. She's just so nice that she can't pass by someone trying to sell her something. She listens to every person's spiel about their 100% (not) alpaca scarves and beautifully carved gourds and such. She also speaks to them in English as if they understand, which is HYSTERICAL because they look at her with these expressions that clearly say, "Lady, WHAT are you saying?" My mother is a delight!
I also did the unthinkable in Chinchero: I ate MARKET FOOD. Basically, this means that a woman was cooking trout and potatoes in a big ol' pot and serving it on dishes that had been repeatedly used and "washed" (dunked in a pot full of not-entirely-clear water), and I ATE it. Laura and I shared a plate of fish, and my dad had his own plate. My mom tried some soup with a variety of strange items in it. They are brave souls, all of them. For the four of us to eat, it only cost 15 soles ($5), so it was definitely the least expensive of our culinary adventures, and while I am not feeling ill 24 hours later, I don't know how soon I'll be repeating this risky activity! :-)
I also took my padres to El Molino, where my dad was on a hunt for a pair of quality sneakers. It turns out that his feet, along with the rest of him, are much bigger than the standard Peruvian man, so no luck on that end. I did buy the movie "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas," as well as Season Numero Dos of "30 Rock." My kind mother also outfitted me with a shower rod and curtain, which was all too kind. Today, for the first time, I showered without causing our toilet paper to get water spots all over it. What UP!
My parents and I had dinner at a restaurant called Andean Food (clever, right?) that turned out to be quite yummy. We made friends with the cook's son, an 8-year-old boy named Girardo, and it turned out to be his birthday! He was a sweetheart. It was also Happy Hour from 6 to 9 PM, so my dad enjoyed some white wine and my mother and I got ourselves pisco sours. A delightful end to a delightful day!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
They have arrived!
Paul and Eileen are in the HOUSE. That's all I have time to say right now. I'm tired and headed to bed.
Actually, though, one quick story. We went to the grocery store earlier tonight to buy some provisions for tomorrow. Tomorrow is Inti Raymi, the Incan Festival of the Sun, and we're going to go and watch the festivities take place, and I've been told that it's good to pack food and drink because it can be rather a long and crowded day. So we went to the grocery store, and my dad sees this bread that he wants to buy. So he looks at the bread lady, and then, without speaking, points to the bread he wants and then holds up three fingers to indicate that he wants three of them. The woman is clearly amused not only by his attempts at speaking solely through hand gestures, but also because he has totally jumped in front of the line of people waiting for their bread without realizing it! I got into the line and when it was my turn, the woman was still laughing at Dad's attempt at bread-buying. It was awesomely funny.
More soon, folks! :-)
Actually, though, one quick story. We went to the grocery store earlier tonight to buy some provisions for tomorrow. Tomorrow is Inti Raymi, the Incan Festival of the Sun, and we're going to go and watch the festivities take place, and I've been told that it's good to pack food and drink because it can be rather a long and crowded day. So we went to the grocery store, and my dad sees this bread that he wants to buy. So he looks at the bread lady, and then, without speaking, points to the bread he wants and then holds up three fingers to indicate that he wants three of them. The woman is clearly amused not only by his attempts at speaking solely through hand gestures, but also because he has totally jumped in front of the line of people waiting for their bread without realizing it! I got into the line and when it was my turn, the woman was still laughing at Dad's attempt at bread-buying. It was awesomely funny.
More soon, folks! :-)
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
A Lifestyle of Prayer
My parents are arriving tomorrow! I can't wait to see them, and be with them for eight days straight! What an absolute blessing!
Last night, I was feeling slightly under the weather, and was obviously particularly concerned because starting tomorrow, I need to be ON! I'm beginning to conclude that stomach "weirdness" is basically a constant while in Peru, but I definitely don't like it, and I definitely spend too much time worrying about being sick. This morning, I still felt tired and not quite right, so I took the morning to rest and try to sleep off whatever might be wrong with me. Around 11:30, I got myself up and decided to get to the office and get some things done. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair, and when I came back to my room to make my bed, I felt moved to first kneel before and pray. This wonderful, inner call to prayer isn't something that I typically experience, but I would like it to become as commonplace as eating and sleeping.
This past Sunday, I spent some time in San Blas, where I read a chapter of Henri Nouwen's Compassion. The chapter was called "Prayer," and Nouwen, in his oh-so-eloquent prose, explained that our current society doesn't view prayer as anywhere near as effective as action. Nouwen criticizes this societal view, and posits that sincere prayer is actually an act of the deepest kind of solidarity. When we pray deeply and sincerely, we make ourselves vulnerable to the sufferings of others, and experience them as our own. I would imagine that many of us who pray may not have had the experience of bearing the burdens of others as if they were truly "our own," but I think that Nouwen is referencing a sort of solidarity that only comes from prayer that is consistent and habitual. Often, my prayers are shallow and self-centered, and only at very occasionally points in my life have my prayers been frequent and consistent.
Nouwen also says that developing a habit of prayer is really difficult for us today because our society is so drawn to distraction--to magazines, music, television, conversations with friends. While none of these things are bad in and of themselves, there is something--and something important--to be said for moments of stillness. In my experience, these moments don't often appear before us, unless we happen to make a habit of standing alone on mountaintops or laying out and looking up at the stars. We must prioritize and seek out these moments, and use them to be in intimate communion with Christ. I'm no expert at this, obviously, but I absolutely want to be. I need to be.
Being alone in a foreign place reminds me not only of life's variety and beauty, but also of my great need for a Savior to be with me and share in my fears, my worries, my pains, my discoveries, my joys, and my questions. And so I will fall more readily on my knees in these coming weeks, and realize that, whether I feel the urge or whether there are lots of things I'd prefer to do, prayer is not so much an option as a necessity, and a gift from God to bring us closer to Him.
My favorite Bible verse is Exodus 14:14. "The Lord will fight for you. You need only to be still." And yet the moments of true "stillness" in my life are few and far between. Please pray for me, friends and family, that I might be more diligent in finding and cultivating these moments of stillness so that prayer becomes a constant refuge and a daily source of peace. I will pray the same for you.
"To pray is to enter into a deep inner solidarity with all human beings so that in and through us they can be touched by the healing power of God's Spirit. When, as disciples of Christ, we are able to bear the burdens of our brothers and sisters of Christ, we are able to bear the burdens of our brothers and sisters, to be marked with their wounds, and even be broken by their sins, our prayer becomes their prayer, our cry for mercy becomes their cry." -Henri Nouwen, Compassion
"Prayer, as a discipline that strengthens and deepens discipleship, is the effort to remove everything that might prevent the Spirit of God, given to us by Jesus Christ, from speaking freely to us and in us. The discipline of prayer is the discipline by which we liberate the Spirit of God from our entanglement in our impatient impulses. It is the way by which we allow God's spirit to move freely." -Henri Nouwen, Compassion
In that last quote, I like to think that "moving freely" is an understatement...that through prayer, we allow God to DANCE within us...to manifest His will so fully that it doesn't just sit or walk within us, but dances a joyful dance as we go about spreading His love and seeking His face in our friends and our enemies.
Last night, I was feeling slightly under the weather, and was obviously particularly concerned because starting tomorrow, I need to be ON! I'm beginning to conclude that stomach "weirdness" is basically a constant while in Peru, but I definitely don't like it, and I definitely spend too much time worrying about being sick. This morning, I still felt tired and not quite right, so I took the morning to rest and try to sleep off whatever might be wrong with me. Around 11:30, I got myself up and decided to get to the office and get some things done. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair, and when I came back to my room to make my bed, I felt moved to first kneel before and pray. This wonderful, inner call to prayer isn't something that I typically experience, but I would like it to become as commonplace as eating and sleeping.
This past Sunday, I spent some time in San Blas, where I read a chapter of Henri Nouwen's Compassion. The chapter was called "Prayer," and Nouwen, in his oh-so-eloquent prose, explained that our current society doesn't view prayer as anywhere near as effective as action. Nouwen criticizes this societal view, and posits that sincere prayer is actually an act of the deepest kind of solidarity. When we pray deeply and sincerely, we make ourselves vulnerable to the sufferings of others, and experience them as our own. I would imagine that many of us who pray may not have had the experience of bearing the burdens of others as if they were truly "our own," but I think that Nouwen is referencing a sort of solidarity that only comes from prayer that is consistent and habitual. Often, my prayers are shallow and self-centered, and only at very occasionally points in my life have my prayers been frequent and consistent.
Nouwen also says that developing a habit of prayer is really difficult for us today because our society is so drawn to distraction--to magazines, music, television, conversations with friends. While none of these things are bad in and of themselves, there is something--and something important--to be said for moments of stillness. In my experience, these moments don't often appear before us, unless we happen to make a habit of standing alone on mountaintops or laying out and looking up at the stars. We must prioritize and seek out these moments, and use them to be in intimate communion with Christ. I'm no expert at this, obviously, but I absolutely want to be. I need to be.
Being alone in a foreign place reminds me not only of life's variety and beauty, but also of my great need for a Savior to be with me and share in my fears, my worries, my pains, my discoveries, my joys, and my questions. And so I will fall more readily on my knees in these coming weeks, and realize that, whether I feel the urge or whether there are lots of things I'd prefer to do, prayer is not so much an option as a necessity, and a gift from God to bring us closer to Him.
My favorite Bible verse is Exodus 14:14. "The Lord will fight for you. You need only to be still." And yet the moments of true "stillness" in my life are few and far between. Please pray for me, friends and family, that I might be more diligent in finding and cultivating these moments of stillness so that prayer becomes a constant refuge and a daily source of peace. I will pray the same for you.
"To pray is to enter into a deep inner solidarity with all human beings so that in and through us they can be touched by the healing power of God's Spirit. When, as disciples of Christ, we are able to bear the burdens of our brothers and sisters of Christ, we are able to bear the burdens of our brothers and sisters, to be marked with their wounds, and even be broken by their sins, our prayer becomes their prayer, our cry for mercy becomes their cry." -Henri Nouwen, Compassion
"Prayer, as a discipline that strengthens and deepens discipleship, is the effort to remove everything that might prevent the Spirit of God, given to us by Jesus Christ, from speaking freely to us and in us. The discipline of prayer is the discipline by which we liberate the Spirit of God from our entanglement in our impatient impulses. It is the way by which we allow God's spirit to move freely." -Henri Nouwen, Compassion
In that last quote, I like to think that "moving freely" is an understatement...that through prayer, we allow God to DANCE within us...to manifest His will so fully that it doesn't just sit or walk within us, but dances a joyful dance as we go about spreading His love and seeking His face in our friends and our enemies.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
¿Con Que Pagaremos?
I've been listening a lot to the song below, performed by Fernando Ortega. It's been quite moving, and I've included an English translation (compliments of yours truly...lo siento!) for the English speakers, aka most of you!
¿Con Que Pagaremos?
Con Que Pagaremos amor tan inmeso,
Que diste Tu vida por el pecador?
En cambio recibes la ofrenda humilde,
La ofrenda humilde, Senor Jesucristo,
De mi corazon.
Y cuando la noche extiende su manto
Mis ojos en llanto en ti fijare
Alzando mis ojos vere las estrellas
Yo se que tras ellas, Cual Padre amoroso
Tu velas por mi
No puedo pagarte con oro ni plata,
El gran sacrificio que hiciste por mi
No tengo que darte por tanto amarme;
Recibe este canto, mezclado con llanto,
Y mi corazon.
How Can We Pay?
How can we pay for such immense love
That You gave Your life for the sinner?
In exchange, all I can give you is the humble offer,
The humble offer, Dear Jesus,
Of my heart.
And when the night extends its darkness
I will fix my eyes on You,
Lifting my eyes to see the stars,
I know that before them all,
You care for me
I can't repay with gold or silver
The great sacrifice that You made for me.
I need not give you worldly riches for such love.
So receive this song, with my weeping
And my heart.
¿Con Que Pagaremos?
Con Que Pagaremos amor tan inmeso,
Que diste Tu vida por el pecador?
En cambio recibes la ofrenda humilde,
La ofrenda humilde, Senor Jesucristo,
De mi corazon.
Y cuando la noche extiende su manto
Mis ojos en llanto en ti fijare
Alzando mis ojos vere las estrellas
Yo se que tras ellas, Cual Padre amoroso
Tu velas por mi
No puedo pagarte con oro ni plata,
El gran sacrificio que hiciste por mi
No tengo que darte por tanto amarme;
Recibe este canto, mezclado con llanto,
Y mi corazon.
How Can We Pay?
How can we pay for such immense love
That You gave Your life for the sinner?
In exchange, all I can give you is the humble offer,
The humble offer, Dear Jesus,
Of my heart.
And when the night extends its darkness
I will fix my eyes on You,
Lifting my eyes to see the stars,
I know that before them all,
You care for me
I can't repay with gold or silver
The great sacrifice that You made for me.
I need not give you worldly riches for such love.
So receive this song, with my weeping
And my heart.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
El Dia de los Padres!
Greetings, dear readers!
Today is a special day, so before I share some of the latest adventures, I need to express a bit of gratitude. Padre, I am oh so ridiculously blessed to be your daughter, and even though you only get one day a year that’s officially designated as “Father’s Day,” a dad like you warrants 365 celebrations at the very least! I love you! Hopefully, my siblings have showered you with affection in my absence. :-) Happy Father’s Day as well to all of the other dads who might be reading this post. Relax and enjoy a Sunday of golf and beer and napping!
And now, a few updates for y’all! Firstly, Paul and Eileen Whitman will be here in Cusco in t-minus CINCO DIAS! That’s super soon, and I can’t wait to see them! Today, I had a little date with Jose, of All-Ways Travel, where I booked the three of us on a one-day tour of Machu Picchu. I am so excited to finally see the "Lost City"—the reason that so many people come to Cusco! I also checked out the parental lodgings, at Waka Punku bed and breakfast, and I am quite pleased with the hospitality so far provided by the staff. There will likely be a bit of a communication gap, but I think that all parties will be content to speak in the language of smiles and hugs and laughter! In addition to our Machu Picchu trip, I’m excited to take my parents to the Inka Museum, which I have yet to visit, and also to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, both to see the inside of the monastery and also to meet my dear Dominga! There will be lots to see and do (and eat!), and it will be a wonderful eight days. Please, to those of you who pray, send some requests up to the Big Guy for a week of safe travels, good health, and family bonding!
Also, an issue of morality. When booking a day trip to Machu Picchu, students who have a valid ISIC card (International Student Identification Card) receive a $20 discount on the total price. To be eligible for an ISIC card, you have to have a currently valid student ID, a passport photo, and a copy of your passport itself. I, though no longer a “student” in the official sense of the word, happen to have a University of Pennsylvania ID card that does not expire until 2012. I am wondering if this is perhaps the result of an error by the card people, who may have mistakenly thought me to be an undergraduate student rather than a one-year master’s student. Whatever the case may be, I have a “valid” ID card, and I am planning on using it to get myself an ISIC card and a $20 discount at Machu Picchu. Is this an immoral act on my part? I am probably going to do it regardless of feedback, but it someone has a really stellar argument that could guilt me into admission of my no-longer-student status, I would welcome the attempt!
Yesterday and today, I spent the morning and early afternoon working in the community of Ocorurro. Ocorurro is located quite close to Pinancay, the community where I have worked in the past. The task undertaken by the Missouri bunch, the ProWorld summer interns, and myself was the construction of a preschool, to be attended by about 15 students between the ages of three and five. While it would have been fun to immediately start laying bricks, we first had to create a firm and level foundation for the school. This process involved using picks to loosen the earth, shoveling and transferring the dirt to a pile to be made into “barro” (mud for brick building), and later digging a trench around the border of the foundation in which to lay cement. As per usual, the community members were impressively able-bodied with the picks and shovels, and we were pathetically weak due to the combined effects of the altitude and our overall lack of disposition toward manual labor. The work was tiring and sweaty, but we had fun. The knowledge of what we were doing and how it would benefit the community made the work seem less bothersome. We also had a pretty good game of “Name That Tune” going yesterday, which made the work go by more quickly. Though I was sad not to be with dear Analie, I did meet several other sweethearts, including a little girl of four named Maili and a three-year-old boy named Carlos, who stole my heart with his sweater vest and his smile!
Here he is!
And here are a few of our intrepid workers!
Friday was particularly enjoyable because I had the opportunity to work not only with the Mizzou crowd, but also with some really lovely intern and study abroad students who are here in Cusco for the next month or two. I met Javier, a pre-med student from Notre Dame, who quickly charmed me with his smile and super-friendly demeanor. Then there’s Madison, another healthcare-oriented intern, who just delights me with her positivity. Natalie goes to Vassar, and is a basketball player—so devoted that she lifts weights every night here in Peru as per her team workout schedule! Ellen is from Texas, and has an amusingly sarcastic sense of humor, and Brennan is just the sweetest thing, and goes to JMU. I haven’t yet had the joy of a conversation with Udani, but in passing greetings, she’s always smiling and sweet. I am also fairly obsessed with Meredith, another Notre Damer who shares my love for words of affirmation. We really have a wonderful group here, and in addition to enjoying their wonderful optimism, it’s also been rather humbling to see the incredibly adventuresome spirits that they each possess. I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t quite so brave at age 20 or 21...Cusco wasn’t exactly as high as Madrid on my list of desirable travel destinations. (Better late than never, though! Here I am, and what a great experience it has been!)
Another exciting development in my life has been my use of the combi as a means of transportation. Combis are the main form of public transport here in Cusco. A combi can range in size from that of a 12-passenger-sized van to a full-fledged bus. Each combi runs independently of the others, and each follows its own unique route through the city of Cusco. For 60 centimos (about 20 American cents), you can board any combi and go pretty much anywhere in the city. The catch is that you have to know the routes that each combi takes, and you also have to smush yourself into what is often a very tightly packed vehicle and announce to the driver when you want to get off. I avoided riding a combi for a little more than a month, which is pretty impressive in a sense, but also pretty foolish as it’s quite economical. My two main objectives were my lack of knowledge of the combi routes and my overarching fear of getting into a clearly claustrophobia-prone vehicle going who knows where. I often watched combis zoom up to their stops, at which point the designated “yeller” (as I call him) would slide open the door, yell out something like, “Avenida Cultura, Rapido Express, Sube, Sube Sube, Sube!”, wait about five seconds for any eager passengers, and then shut the door and tell the driver to zoom off to the next stop. The whole process was frightening to witness, and I had only the slightest desire to take part. However, last week, I joined Eliza and two internship students on a combi ride to their internship site (a school in one of Cusco’s poorest districts), and it was not only not scary, but also kind of fun. I’ve come to realize that combis are a very authentic and standard part of Peruvian life, and to not experience them is to be only a tourist and not a traveler. I have therefore decided to make more regular use of combis, and to diligently study the routes. One of the combi services is called “Batman,” and I am particularly eager to find out where that will take me! I shall attempt to take a photo of a combi so that y’all can better understand the experience!
Another recent highlight has been my visits to El Molino, which is basically a big, partially outdoor shopping center for just about anything you might want to buy. There are soccer balls, chocolate, towels, sheets, clothes, kitchen supplies, electronics, movies, music, shoes…all for rather low prices and all in one convenient location…rather a rarity in Cusco when all the florists are together on one street, all the hardware stores are on another, etc. etc. (This aspect of Cusco baffles me still.) My primary motive in visiting El Molino has been to buy the SUPER cheap movies, which cost, on average, between 75 cents and $1.50 per DVD. What a steal! Today, for 13 soles (about $5), I bought Season One of “30 Rock,” “City of God,” “Revolutionary Road,” “Mar Adentro,” and “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part One.” Ridiculous! I’m planning on growing my quality movie collection by way of occasional trips to El Molino. Another super important El Molino purchase was that of a supplemental bath towel. Having only one bath towel means that I can’t shower when said towel is at the lavanderia (laundromat). Today, that problem was happily solved by the purchase of a beautiful, bright green toalla de bano. Awesome.
I also wanted to share an experience that I enjoyed a few days ago at La Pagina en la Puerta, a library where some of our interns are placed. The library is located in San Miguel de San Sebastian, a very poor area located just outside of Cusco city. It is founded and run by an American named Amy, who has lived in Cusco for several years. The reason for the library’s placement in San Miguel is to promote a love of reading among children who might not receive much academic encouragement in their home lives. Normally, two ProWorld interns visit the library three days a week from 4:30 PM until 7 PM. On the day that I went to visit, the two interns were both sick, so it was just the teacher, a bunch of kids, and me. I ended up spending some time reading individually with a few different kids. One sweet little girl kept picking books with “extras”—like flaps to open and pop-up pictures and things. She was fun. Then a sweet little boy sat with me and read to me from “Caperucita Roja” (Little Red Riding Hood!). After reading with a few other children, I went down to the game room, where a little girl decided to challenge me to a puzzle competition. She pulled out two puzzles, gave one to me, and then proceeded to slam hers onto the desk upside down. She looked at me and I did the same, and then it was ON. We battled to the finish, and I scarcely beat her on Round One. She then took me down on Round Two, and in Round Three made the mistake of giving herself a much harder puzzle than she gave me, and I emerged victorious. (I’m not a bully who doesn’t let kids win, but I think she would have picked up on it since my puzzle was clearly so much easier than hers…losing would only have looked suspicious!). It was a really lovely afternoon, and so great to see kids who were so sincerely excited about reading! While I’ve pretty much obtained all of the information I need on the library for the purposes of website updates and such, I would still like to return a few times to again read to the kids and play with them. I’m so glad that such a place exists here in Cusco. Although it’s small and although there’s much room for growth, it’s a really beautiful start, and I know that it will continue to garner support from reading advocates in Peru and abroad. Want to learn more about La Pagina en La Puerta? Here's a link...http://lapaginaenlapuerta.org/
The final announcement of the day is.....another visitor will be gracing Cusco with her presence…my cousin, Maura Pawlowski! I am very excited to know that I’ll have some company for part of July, and I’m hoping that Maura and her friend might join me for a frolic to Lake Titikaca. It would be fun to have some company!
That’s all for now, folks! I’m off to watch an episode or two of my newly-purchased season of “30 Rock”! Tomorrow, it’s off to church and then a lunch date with Helmut and then some relaxing in a sunny plaza somewhere and reading a great book! And of course, contemplating the awesomeness of Paul Andrew Whitman on Father’s Day!
Hasta pronto!
Today is a special day, so before I share some of the latest adventures, I need to express a bit of gratitude. Padre, I am oh so ridiculously blessed to be your daughter, and even though you only get one day a year that’s officially designated as “Father’s Day,” a dad like you warrants 365 celebrations at the very least! I love you! Hopefully, my siblings have showered you with affection in my absence. :-) Happy Father’s Day as well to all of the other dads who might be reading this post. Relax and enjoy a Sunday of golf and beer and napping!
And now, a few updates for y’all! Firstly, Paul and Eileen Whitman will be here in Cusco in t-minus CINCO DIAS! That’s super soon, and I can’t wait to see them! Today, I had a little date with Jose, of All-Ways Travel, where I booked the three of us on a one-day tour of Machu Picchu. I am so excited to finally see the "Lost City"—the reason that so many people come to Cusco! I also checked out the parental lodgings, at Waka Punku bed and breakfast, and I am quite pleased with the hospitality so far provided by the staff. There will likely be a bit of a communication gap, but I think that all parties will be content to speak in the language of smiles and hugs and laughter! In addition to our Machu Picchu trip, I’m excited to take my parents to the Inka Museum, which I have yet to visit, and also to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, both to see the inside of the monastery and also to meet my dear Dominga! There will be lots to see and do (and eat!), and it will be a wonderful eight days. Please, to those of you who pray, send some requests up to the Big Guy for a week of safe travels, good health, and family bonding!
Also, an issue of morality. When booking a day trip to Machu Picchu, students who have a valid ISIC card (International Student Identification Card) receive a $20 discount on the total price. To be eligible for an ISIC card, you have to have a currently valid student ID, a passport photo, and a copy of your passport itself. I, though no longer a “student” in the official sense of the word, happen to have a University of Pennsylvania ID card that does not expire until 2012. I am wondering if this is perhaps the result of an error by the card people, who may have mistakenly thought me to be an undergraduate student rather than a one-year master’s student. Whatever the case may be, I have a “valid” ID card, and I am planning on using it to get myself an ISIC card and a $20 discount at Machu Picchu. Is this an immoral act on my part? I am probably going to do it regardless of feedback, but it someone has a really stellar argument that could guilt me into admission of my no-longer-student status, I would welcome the attempt!
Yesterday and today, I spent the morning and early afternoon working in the community of Ocorurro. Ocorurro is located quite close to Pinancay, the community where I have worked in the past. The task undertaken by the Missouri bunch, the ProWorld summer interns, and myself was the construction of a preschool, to be attended by about 15 students between the ages of three and five. While it would have been fun to immediately start laying bricks, we first had to create a firm and level foundation for the school. This process involved using picks to loosen the earth, shoveling and transferring the dirt to a pile to be made into “barro” (mud for brick building), and later digging a trench around the border of the foundation in which to lay cement. As per usual, the community members were impressively able-bodied with the picks and shovels, and we were pathetically weak due to the combined effects of the altitude and our overall lack of disposition toward manual labor. The work was tiring and sweaty, but we had fun. The knowledge of what we were doing and how it would benefit the community made the work seem less bothersome. We also had a pretty good game of “Name That Tune” going yesterday, which made the work go by more quickly. Though I was sad not to be with dear Analie, I did meet several other sweethearts, including a little girl of four named Maili and a three-year-old boy named Carlos, who stole my heart with his sweater vest and his smile!
Here he is!
And here are a few of our intrepid workers!
Friday was particularly enjoyable because I had the opportunity to work not only with the Mizzou crowd, but also with some really lovely intern and study abroad students who are here in Cusco for the next month or two. I met Javier, a pre-med student from Notre Dame, who quickly charmed me with his smile and super-friendly demeanor. Then there’s Madison, another healthcare-oriented intern, who just delights me with her positivity. Natalie goes to Vassar, and is a basketball player—so devoted that she lifts weights every night here in Peru as per her team workout schedule! Ellen is from Texas, and has an amusingly sarcastic sense of humor, and Brennan is just the sweetest thing, and goes to JMU. I haven’t yet had the joy of a conversation with Udani, but in passing greetings, she’s always smiling and sweet. I am also fairly obsessed with Meredith, another Notre Damer who shares my love for words of affirmation. We really have a wonderful group here, and in addition to enjoying their wonderful optimism, it’s also been rather humbling to see the incredibly adventuresome spirits that they each possess. I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t quite so brave at age 20 or 21...Cusco wasn’t exactly as high as Madrid on my list of desirable travel destinations. (Better late than never, though! Here I am, and what a great experience it has been!)
Another exciting development in my life has been my use of the combi as a means of transportation. Combis are the main form of public transport here in Cusco. A combi can range in size from that of a 12-passenger-sized van to a full-fledged bus. Each combi runs independently of the others, and each follows its own unique route through the city of Cusco. For 60 centimos (about 20 American cents), you can board any combi and go pretty much anywhere in the city. The catch is that you have to know the routes that each combi takes, and you also have to smush yourself into what is often a very tightly packed vehicle and announce to the driver when you want to get off. I avoided riding a combi for a little more than a month, which is pretty impressive in a sense, but also pretty foolish as it’s quite economical. My two main objectives were my lack of knowledge of the combi routes and my overarching fear of getting into a clearly claustrophobia-prone vehicle going who knows where. I often watched combis zoom up to their stops, at which point the designated “yeller” (as I call him) would slide open the door, yell out something like, “Avenida Cultura, Rapido Express, Sube, Sube Sube, Sube!”, wait about five seconds for any eager passengers, and then shut the door and tell the driver to zoom off to the next stop. The whole process was frightening to witness, and I had only the slightest desire to take part. However, last week, I joined Eliza and two internship students on a combi ride to their internship site (a school in one of Cusco’s poorest districts), and it was not only not scary, but also kind of fun. I’ve come to realize that combis are a very authentic and standard part of Peruvian life, and to not experience them is to be only a tourist and not a traveler. I have therefore decided to make more regular use of combis, and to diligently study the routes. One of the combi services is called “Batman,” and I am particularly eager to find out where that will take me! I shall attempt to take a photo of a combi so that y’all can better understand the experience!
Another recent highlight has been my visits to El Molino, which is basically a big, partially outdoor shopping center for just about anything you might want to buy. There are soccer balls, chocolate, towels, sheets, clothes, kitchen supplies, electronics, movies, music, shoes…all for rather low prices and all in one convenient location…rather a rarity in Cusco when all the florists are together on one street, all the hardware stores are on another, etc. etc. (This aspect of Cusco baffles me still.) My primary motive in visiting El Molino has been to buy the SUPER cheap movies, which cost, on average, between 75 cents and $1.50 per DVD. What a steal! Today, for 13 soles (about $5), I bought Season One of “30 Rock,” “City of God,” “Revolutionary Road,” “Mar Adentro,” and “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part One.” Ridiculous! I’m planning on growing my quality movie collection by way of occasional trips to El Molino. Another super important El Molino purchase was that of a supplemental bath towel. Having only one bath towel means that I can’t shower when said towel is at the lavanderia (laundromat). Today, that problem was happily solved by the purchase of a beautiful, bright green toalla de bano. Awesome.
I also wanted to share an experience that I enjoyed a few days ago at La Pagina en la Puerta, a library where some of our interns are placed. The library is located in San Miguel de San Sebastian, a very poor area located just outside of Cusco city. It is founded and run by an American named Amy, who has lived in Cusco for several years. The reason for the library’s placement in San Miguel is to promote a love of reading among children who might not receive much academic encouragement in their home lives. Normally, two ProWorld interns visit the library three days a week from 4:30 PM until 7 PM. On the day that I went to visit, the two interns were both sick, so it was just the teacher, a bunch of kids, and me. I ended up spending some time reading individually with a few different kids. One sweet little girl kept picking books with “extras”—like flaps to open and pop-up pictures and things. She was fun. Then a sweet little boy sat with me and read to me from “Caperucita Roja” (Little Red Riding Hood!). After reading with a few other children, I went down to the game room, where a little girl decided to challenge me to a puzzle competition. She pulled out two puzzles, gave one to me, and then proceeded to slam hers onto the desk upside down. She looked at me and I did the same, and then it was ON. We battled to the finish, and I scarcely beat her on Round One. She then took me down on Round Two, and in Round Three made the mistake of giving herself a much harder puzzle than she gave me, and I emerged victorious. (I’m not a bully who doesn’t let kids win, but I think she would have picked up on it since my puzzle was clearly so much easier than hers…losing would only have looked suspicious!). It was a really lovely afternoon, and so great to see kids who were so sincerely excited about reading! While I’ve pretty much obtained all of the information I need on the library for the purposes of website updates and such, I would still like to return a few times to again read to the kids and play with them. I’m so glad that such a place exists here in Cusco. Although it’s small and although there’s much room for growth, it’s a really beautiful start, and I know that it will continue to garner support from reading advocates in Peru and abroad. Want to learn more about La Pagina en La Puerta? Here's a link...http://lapaginaenlapuerta.org/
The final announcement of the day is.....another visitor will be gracing Cusco with her presence…my cousin, Maura Pawlowski! I am very excited to know that I’ll have some company for part of July, and I’m hoping that Maura and her friend might join me for a frolic to Lake Titikaca. It would be fun to have some company!
That’s all for now, folks! I’m off to watch an episode or two of my newly-purchased season of “30 Rock”! Tomorrow, it’s off to church and then a lunch date with Helmut and then some relaxing in a sunny plaza somewhere and reading a great book! And of course, contemplating the awesomeness of Paul Andrew Whitman on Father’s Day!
Hasta pronto!
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