Holy crap, Peruvians know how to party. March 16, 2009

This weekend might have been the craziest one I’ve had in the last, like, 4 years of college, and that is saying something.

The girls in the house (Itziar, Edurne, Liliana [the Spanish ones] and Joanie [the smokin hot Peruvian chick] decided we’d go to the beach this weekend, and we drove at least an hour away crammed 4-deep in the back of Enrique’s truck (Liliana’s boyfriend came with, too).  Of course we didn’t make it there until Saturday night, and when we finally found an only-moderately sketchy little “resort” we settled in and started getting ready for the night.

Everyone else went to dinner and Joanie and I stayed back together. I didn’t quite understand that we were going to a club (as usual, I’m not sure if I wasn’t paying attention, they didn’t tell me, or I just didn’t understand), so I was kind of bummed to be wearing a decent-at-best black skirt and a noticeably-less black tank top, especially when Joanie busts out her ridiculously hot little club outfit and all-out hair and makeup. I can barely look at that girl, seriously, because I feel like my eyes will give me away.

The club was straight up hoppin, just hordes of people everywhere, and the neighborhood around it makes Broad Ripple look like child’s play. We haggled for tickets outside and went in to this huge club, actually more like an outdoor patio, with a sick dj mixing up techno beats. From there it only got better. Many beers and whiskey shots better.  I started dancing crazy, like usual, and pretty soon Joanie and I were dancing together. It was so great I barely even noticed the creepers gathering around. Eventually a fairly cute photographer started taking lots of pictures of us, for some magazine Joanie knew and apparently liked, so that was fun. I was a little shocked that he couldn’t find better materials amongst the sea of absolutely beautiful girls. But, Joanie is show-stoppingly gorgeous and I don’t mind being the sidekick.  

The bathrooms were jam-packed, mostly with girls going into the stall 3 at a time, and we all know what that means. Then there was a lady selling toilet paper for some amount of money I wasn’t willing to pay, so I just did the bounce-and-dry with girls sniffing loudly in the stall next to me.

We danced and danced and danced some more. The sun came out and we kept dancing. Soon it was just full on morning and still we danced. Enrique and Liliana left when it started getting light, and Joanie assured us she had enough money to get us back to where we were staying, a good 30 minutes away. It was really weird being there in the morning; it was like everyone there was collectively experiencing the morning-after together. Now you can see everything in the light of day, makeup and hair not what they once were, and you just keep going. We finally decided to leave at like 9:30, and the musica was still going strong. We went over to the photographers place I guess, but I fell asleep on the couch immediately.

It was finally time to leave and we got on a combi, a jam-packed bus that really deserves an entire entry to itself. They are quite an experience, and this one was no different. After what seemed like forever we got off and what do you know, Joanie doesn’t have as much money as she thought.  No one else has anything either. The whole bus is stopped, waiting for us to pay, and Joanie is yelling at them. Thank God she’s from here because without her we probably would’ve been sold into sex slavery to pay our bus fares.  She gives them the last three American dollars in her purse and that seems good enough. We’re still soo far away though, and there are like mountains of sand/non-arable land around us. Jesus Cristo, we’re in the desert now? Where the hell are we and how the hell are we going to get back?

Alas, I saved the day with a forgotten 30 soles in my bra. Not enough to get us home, but it would have to do. There are these weird little 3-wheel bikes that go around tooting their horn and selling “cold” drinks and newspapers. We flagged down one of those scooter bikes, this one with a motor at least, and he was happy to take our 30 soles in exchange for a ride. Freakin hell, I thought cramming into Enrique’s truck was bad, but now we had to squeeze four into a 2-ft back seat. Obviously over its weight capacity, we drove in the little motor bike, going no more than 20 miles an hour, hungover as hell, in the hot sun for what seemed like hours. Probably half an hour, realistically, but we finallly made it back.

I’m so glad I went out, and I must say I’m quite proud of my first all-night marathon. IU parties don’t hold a candle to this kind of partying. Not even tailgating. There’s a big difference between drinking beer, cooking hot dogs and playing frisbee, then straight up dancing  for hours and hours on end.  And I know there will be many more of these nights to come.

In other news, a few things have come to my attention that I should probably get looked at. I randomly got a rash on the inside of my arm a day or two after I got here and  it has not gone away yet. Secondly and most importantly, the gums in the back of my mouth have been hurting alot, and my wisdom teeth are definitely impacted (or something bad).  I first noticed this after I got my tonsils, spending a lot of time looking at the back of my mouth, but I was not trying to have another surgery anytime soon. They didn’t hurt at that point, but now they do. A lot, to the point that it actually hurts to smile.

Surgery would be much much less expensive here, that’s for sure. I still have a $900 bill for the tonsillectomy I have to pay. But getting my wisdom teeth out in Peru sounds a bit scary. I’m going to the dentist today so we’ll see what he says. Fucking hell, I know I’m not going to understand anything he says to me though, and that’s the part I’m scared of. It’s not so much that I don’t trust the Peruvian system. I just don’t want to go under anasthesia not understanding anything that’s going on. My cousin got hers out, but apparently her mouth was really small (as is mine), and so they randomly had to cut into her jaw to open it wide enough to get the impacted teeth out. Her poor little face swelled up like a balloon for weeks and left bruises after. I would have no idea what was happening if that happened here, I wouldn’t understand that. But maybe I would, I’d just have to learn the word jaw first.

I’m starting school today/tomorrow. I should probably get on that. The classes I really want to take start tomorrow, but I should have some other back up ones. I’m going to go to one tonight, 5-8, Economic Problems of Latin America. If all goes accorrding to plan, I’ll have three 4-credit classes: Yoga, Peruvian Social Reality (a beginning level sociology class that counts as 400-level Spanish credit for me), and Economic History. Only Tuesday thru Thursday, that way I have some time to travel on the weekends and what have you. I’m really not trying to be in school right now- there’s so much to see outside of Lima- but alas, this is my last semester in college. It’s really cool to be spending it in Peru, too. How much more I will learn here, about the world, about life, about myself.

I’m really going to have to work hard in these classes. I shutter to think how much I will be able to understand in a classroom setting, without Powerpoint presentations and online reference materials. I’m going to have to start studying hard, working on my vocab, etc. I’ll start that tomorrow, I think.

Manana manana…

Getting settled March 13, 2009

Getting settled.

Today was orientation, and let me assure you, it’s exactly the same here as it is in the US: a bunch of crap that you either know or don’t need to know, and an akward bunch of people trying to make friendly conversation. The former I don’t mind so much, especially in Spanish because it’s all too easy to tune out, but the latter.. oyy. I don’t mind big groups, even/especially if I’m the odd one out, because people notice you. When everyone is the odd one out, though, things get weird. They’re all trying too hard to make friends, and worse, with people as foreign and as odd-ball as themselves. Needless to say I hung back from all that and stayed just long enough to get myself a free Coke. There were a few hot guys in the crowd—the first I’ve seen yet—but I figured they’re either assholes or American, probably both.

I really thought that I was only a few months away from fluency (the optimism/arrogance I’m known for), but I fear that was a bit ambitious. I understand so little of what is said to me. It’s terrible, especially because it seems to happen most often when I’m asking for directions, when I’m talking to various officials about what I’m supposed to do, etc. Basically, all the times you really need to understand. Conversations with taxi drivers, nice shopkeepers, and my roommates (mostly) go just fine. Sometimes I even hear that my Spanish is good, and I feel better about myself, if only for a moment, knowing full well they’re only being nice. It’s like telling an ugly that she’s beautiful: she knows deep down its not true, but its nice to hear it anyway. Being fluent is like being pretty: you’ll never know what a gift it is unless you have to work for it.

A lifetime of learning has taught me to forgo the note cards, stretch my brain around “the big picture” and let it do what it does best: process and sort the information you’ve already absorbed. In other words, I’m trying to switch gears mentally and work at the macro-level aka feel better about not doing the somber work of study and memorization. I’m just letting it come to me. Plus, learning comes down to two things: exposure and observation.

Things I’m noticing about Lima:

-How absurdly people drive in Lima. They have traffic signs and stop lights, but apparently they’re more like suggestions. It seems like it would be a blast to drive in (provided you have fast reflexes and adequate insurance) because, as far as I can tell, traffic violations don’t exist and you can drive as fast as you possibly want. It is worth noting that I was literally a second or two away from being yesterday.

-How humid it is here. The air is palpably wet, and my hair is constantly frizzy. Seriously, if I would’ve known, I’d have brought an entirely different set of hair products. My skin feels great though, and there’s definitely no need for moisturizer or lotion!

-How many girls wear thongs, with pants perfectly positioned an inch or two below to expose it. It’s the thong wave of 2000 all over again; Sisqo’s “That thong thong thong thong…” must have made it down here and let lose the masses of women. It’s really not a cute look though, especially because 80% really shouldn’t be wearing them.

-How few men here I find attractive. Like, literally none. They just yell things like ‘’ay, blancita!”’ and give you the Creeper stare. But, there are quite a few really beautiful women that have everything you’d expect and hope from a South American woman. They color the streets with enough beauty to counter all the sweaty creepos.

-How much we take our safety for granted. Here people are constantly on guard against all sorts of unimaginable things. Lily was telling me about how many robberies occur in the light of day with lots of people around, and I realized how different it is. In the US, I think a good majority of people-men, especially-would try to do something. But here it’s different. She says it’s just easier to just let them go with the money and nobody gets hurt.

Ah, we going out for dinner. To be continued.

The day after. March 7, 2009

Well, yesterday was a good day but certainly a long one at that.  I took a cab back to our place from campus, and the guy flat out told me that he couldn’t understand anything  I was saying and to be clear, he can understand foreigners but apparently not me. Okay, so I won’t initiate conversation then! And, he makes me pay 3 soles more than Lilly told me to ever pay, but I asked three other cabis and they gave me the same price. They’re like the dogs: they smell fear. At least weakness. Lilly’s academic advisor told me that  I absolutely  have to take the safe taxis that wait  inside the university because otherwise I might get killed. She later told me he’s just very dramatic, but I’ll be damned if he wasn’t being dead serious. So, anyway, I paid more than I should’ve but still less than I otherwise would’ve.

I got back to the apartment and soon found myself locked out, despite having the key. That made me feel really good about myself, let me tell you. I freaking turned that thing every single way, practically kicked the door down,  even called on the gods for assistance. Then, I’m sitting outside the house with a backpack and a freakin sign on my back that says “lost gringo”, trying not too call attention to myself. Might as well go walk around, I think, and I find my way to the corner gas station where I buy a beer and a ring pop (good choice I know, especially considering it cost more than the beer!) to occupy myself. Ewwwww, the plastic “ring” around the pop tastes horrible, like this weird metallic chemical taste. Screw the ring pop, why didn’t I just get two beers? Finally a guy pushing a stroller, singing a song about open your heart something or rather, seemed afe enough to ask for help. He turned the key around 5 times in the same direction, kicked it in, and whalaaa, I got in. Gracias, senor.

Apparently I left the courtyard door open in the midst of it all, and I got a stern warning about it when the girls came back. This is Lima, they say. Now I know. The other house rule that I find myself constantly breaking is not flushing the toilet paper. It’s too much for the plumbing system. In theory, I’m totally okay with that very minor inconvenience, but in practice, that’s something I’ve spent my whole life doing without a second thought and will most certainly take some time to undo. Í’m just hoping I correct the problem before I’m responsible for ruining our plumbing.

We went to the supermarket and, let me tell you, that was a whole new experience. The produce section-my personal fav–was full of random goodies I’d never seen or heard of before. Guanabana (?) and a bunch of other names I can’t remember right now, but fruits of every color and size. It was very exciting, indeed, and I now have 4 or 5 culinary experiences ahead of me.

Last night we all went out, and it was really fun despite my exhaustion. I wanted so badly to stay in and sleep (we didn’t leave til 1:30), but I would not allow myself to putter out on the first social outing. The bar we went to played only American music, the Creed type shit that I can’t stand there much less here, and the walls were covered in American movie and album fliers. How ironic. The place is packed wall to wall, with no air conditioning and 9 out of 10 people smoking. My eyes burned sooo badly I felt like I’d just used formaldyhide eye drops, and everyone was just sweating profusely. What a hot scene, let me tell you. They started playing the Beatles, and then the ‘boots with the fur’ song and I impressed everyone with my prolific knowledge of American lyrics. Haha. We ended up coming home around 4, and I was glad that I’d gone.

In the three days now that I’ve been here, I’ve begun to get a healthy fear/respect for what I’ve undertaken. I am not indulging in regrets or anything of that sort, though I can not help but think about how long 5 months is and all the things/people I will be missing. I have to actively replace any such thoughts with positive, enthusiastic ones about the adventures ahead, the fluency, the frienships.

But, speaking Spanish with your gringo friends and/or in a classroom is very different than being somewhere where you understand maybe 60% of whats being said to you and you’re just praying the other 40% wasn’t important. It’s a very different feeling to know that you stand out, that people are looking at you, and no matter how you dress or speak they will continue to do so.

I brought my cell phone as a clock/alarm, but it’s really become more of an artificact of days gone by, a reminder of who and what I can’t be doing. I keep looking at it waiting for a new text message or a missed call, and that’s got to stop. Today or tomorrow I will go buy a new cell phone and a sim card  so I can start anew cellularly speaking, collect new numbers and receive new text messages.

Anyway, these entries are getting a bit long I think. Sorry to bore you with the little things, but here I am with internet connection just recapping it all for my own sake. Tomorrow I’m going surfing I think, and considering I have trouble hopping on a damn lake tub sometimes, this should be interesting. But would I decline the offer? Absolutely not.

¡Estoy aqui, finalmente! March 6, 2009

How weird is it that a person can wake up at home and go to bed on the other side of the equator? Granted, that techonology has been around for a century or so, but still it gets me.

The last minute packing went better than expected, although I forgot my camera cord so unfortunately these posts will be picture-less for a while. I will have to compensate with descriptive imagery and colorful language.

The plane ride was remarkably turbulent, which is great if you enjoy watching people on the verge of a nervous breakdown, summoning the stewardesses with the misguided hope that perhaps they can do something about it.  I wasn´t scared until the Peruvian guy next to me became way too interested in my customs form and began asking me about the address I would be at. Then the postal code, who would be there, etc. He was apparently going to be close by and thought we could share a cab. No way, Jose…I´ve seen Taken. I know how it works! He was probably just being nice, but I´m not taking a chance on a gold-studded latino with bad breath.

I got off the plane and the airport was teeming with people, more people than I´d ever seen at an airport and fewer tourists than I would have thought. Outside is loud and chaotic, mostly because of the constant beepbeeping car horns. Hmmmmm, I take my first whiff of Peruvian air and try to decipher the smell. Burning plastic and cigarettes, I decide, maybe with a touch of cologne somewhere, too. Oddly not as bad as it sounds, but decidedly different.

I decide to pay for the ¨green taxi¨-the official ones that are supposedly safer. Now is not the time to be cheap, I tell myself, and definitely worth that extra $3. The ride is only about $10 anyway, not bad, and the guy is really nice. Initially taken aback when I initiated conversation, he quickly warmed up and started telling me the difference between Peruvian girls and the more liberal foreign girls. European/American girls dance dirtier and will likely kiss you at the end of the night to let you know they had a good time, he says. If they kiss you hard they want to have more good times that night. I laugh, knowing that he´s actually quite perceptive. Peruvian girls are different, you have to work really hard and maybe you´ll get a kiss.  I tell him some of us Americanas are like that too, but I don´t think he buys it. I think to myself, when in Rome… and decide that I, too, will give no kisses out cheaply.

We get to the house (Oh crap, am I supposed to tip? I give him 5 soles anyway.) and from here things only get better. The house is beautiful, with lots of people all just chilling, some drinking beers in the back , others watching Scarface and smoking porros on the couch. I immediately notice bags of weed, the schwag South America is known for, rolling papers, and cigarettes on the table. A familiar scence, I think. A big blond guy, Alexander, passes me the sack to rollear one if I´d like, and I cordially accept, glad to count this among the skills I´ve acquired in college (along with beer pong, beer bongs, etc). One cute little espanola, Itziar from Spain, asks me if I smoke blunts like the gangsters (¨gongsteerrs,¨she says, with the cutest little accent I´ve ever heard), and Alexander says he´s going to buy some cigars so I can roll one for them tonight. I´ll see what I can do, I say, but no promises. Its not like I´m very experienced!

Oh, they asked me if I did anything besides smoking and my initial reaction is yes, clearly I do much more with my life than just that, until I realize that its cocaina that they´re referring to. No, I tell them, and they unequivocally express relief because it becomes una vida feisima, a very ugly life, and I agree whole-heartedly. They ask how much it costs in the US, and after racking my brain a while I say about $50 a gram or so (is that right??). They tell me its a baratisimo here, $2 a gram! Wow. I really have to get over this frugal German mindset to never pass up a good deal, because that is, in fact, a ridiculously low price. Talk about externalities, though. The real cost is not in the price itself, but in the risk you take doing it and the cost to your body. No gracias, no para mi.

I slept on the couch because the room I´ll be in is currently occupied and slept like a log. This morning we had a good little breakfast and Lilly took me into campus to see where I´ll be in school this semester. It’s absolutely lovely, with pretty gardens and teeming fountains, weirdly cubical architecture and colorful buildings. The weather is 75, absolutely gorgeous, and I´m already thinking how much I like it here. She went on to work (she works on campus) so I´ve been wandering and enjoying myself all day.

They´ve got this super-dank cafeteria where you can get a huge lunch for $3, max–a fresh salad with avocados and other weird vegetables I´d never seen before, a tasty chicken thigh, rice, more veggies, and fruit doused in yogurt.

I got a Coke, too, and it was surprisingly delicious. Is it just my imagination or does this taste different to me? Sure enough, its made with real sugar, azucar instead of high fructose corn syrup that we´re used to getting. ¿What is this? Aren´t we Americans supposed to be getting the higher quality stuff or do they know we´re a bunch of fat asses that will drink up whatever they give us anyway? Perhaps its just easier to source sugar down here. I don´t know, but we Americans have been getting ripped off, because this is much better. I´m going to enjoy this real sugar Coke as long as I can.  I´m going to enjoy the deliciously cheap food, too, and the warm weather while it lasts.

Well I´m off to go enjoy myself. I can´t be spending all day in the computer lab, fun as it might seem.

Right on track. March 4, 2009

I’m a day away now and things are definitely looking up.  I have a place to stay, [just enough] money in the bank, passport, boarding pass, and now I’ve even got my sister’s camera. (I found my camera, took it apart and fixed it with my tech savvy skills, and then lost the freakin battery..typical)

The best news, of course, is that I won’t be completely wanderlust in Peru, bouncing from hostel to hostel with 5 months worth of crap. I made a profile on couchsurfing.com and found a chica named Liliana, who lives with 3 other girls pretty close to the university and is looking for a roommate. Score! $270/month, everything included. Wifi, cable, etc but I”m not sure about hot water (We can only hope.) All these other people responded, too, extending their friendship, their couch, whatever it is they could offer.  Lima already seems like a smaller place, or maybe just friendlier.

I wish I had more time to spend with my friends before I go, though. It just came on me so fast. I feel really bad that I didn’t spend more time with my family before I left, especially my sis, but I guess there’s nothing I can do now. Write lots of letters, I suppose. 

Last night I got spoiled and taken out to the Melting Pot, a really nice fondue restaurant that I used to work at in high school. It looks completely different now though-remodelled, new menu, management, etc–go figure, and I had to stop myself from being that old-school ”things aren’t how they used to be” person. It was realllly good though, and somehow I managed to avoid the after-date indigestion that so often happens in a place like that.

Well, I better be off to my duties: call the credit card company to let them know where I’ll be, order a new camera battery,  stash away the crap that I don’t want to leave for my mom.

I’m supposed to have packed up my room before I go because they’re trying to sell the house, but I couldn’t handle that. A) Too much work but B)  packing years of memories and momentos into boxes is infinitely more intense than packing clothes into suitcases.  Plus, I can’t really handle the thought of coming “home” to a place that’s as foreign as the place I just came from, but worse without the novelty and comfort of knowing that you do, in fact, have a home somewhere. 

One day at a time. For now, I’m just working on packing for the next 6 months.

3 days and 3000 things left to do. March 2, 2009

Three days before I go, and I’m definitely no more prepared.

I don’t have a host family, and for some reason I have not contacted anyone “”official” about the situation because: a) I inherently distrust beaurocratic/insitutional authorities and their ability to get anything done; b) there’s something sickly exciting about not knowing where or with whom I will live for six weeks; c) I’ve been busy/lazy, depending on your perspective.

We had a huge going-away/birthday party for my old roomie Tyler and it was everything I could’ve hoped for. Giant cooler of very potent and surprisingly delicious Jungle Juice, Bud light keg, beer pong, loud thumping dance music, candy-filled pinata, and a huge turn-out of people–friends, acquaintences, friends of friends. I was trying very hard to be a good hostess and handle my liquor, and I’d say I did a good job (although not immune to the day-after “wait, we did not makeout!” debates). A good time was had by all.

It was great seeing the people I’ve known and the friends I’ve accumulated in the last few years. In the bustle of it all I think I got a way with saying fewer goodbyes than I probably should have, but at least I got the hello and welcome part down pat.

I much prefer greetings. Who doesn’t? Goodbyes are a solumn endeavor, a sad moment of mutual recognition: this is it, at least for a while. You promise to stay in touch, to see each other, and maybe you will.

I tried not to overthink it, but blogging has a way of bringing out the emo in all of us. That was, in fact, my final hurrah in Bloomington, though, and I know it. Next year I’ll come back down to party, but it won’t be at my house, and a majority of my friends will have graduated. Such is a life, I suppose. We’re moving onto bigger and better things, or so they say.

Well I’m off to finish my last work-related project so I can get on with the real nitty-gritty of packing, etc. I have to pack for 5 months, but I’ll probably bouncing from place to place the first month so I can’t bring a fat suitcase. But a backpack?

Decisions. Decsions.

Two weeks and counting February 19, 2009

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” -Helen Keller

I appreciate the live free or die hard approach (thank you, Bruce Willis), though its admittedly not always so mutually exclusive. One might even say the two are bound by more of a causal relationship: If you live free, you will probably die hard.

That said, I have no intention of dying in Peru or on any other voyage. But, indeed, a voyage is not in fact a voyage unless you’re willing to go all out– balls to the wall, wind in the face, eating rodents with locals, sleeping on dirt floors, walking miles up mountain-tops, drinking the water, and probably getting sick afterward. I can only hope my journey will be so epic and worth retelling. If my personality and my history are any indicators of the future, I am sure they will be.

Indeed, we create our own stories, and herein I will create mine as honestly and as humorously as possible. If I know anything about life it’s that its only half the experience and the rest is in its interpretation.

I’ve got two weeks before I go, so I suppose I’ll start with the pre-trip hustle n’ bustle invariably inevitable for people like me.

First order of business: Find someplace to live.

Nothing like going without an apartment/host family in mind to get the trip started right.  Oddly, I’m being more serious than sarcastic..

So here it is, the story of my travels.
Aqui esta la cuenta de mis viajes.