Sometimes when I'm here, I feel like I understand things.
And then, someone explains something to me again, a little slower, a little more simply, and I realize, "ohhhh. I really didn't understand it at all the first time." Which clearly means that there is an unbelievable amount of things that I am missing all the time.
And then, the other day, we were watching a video in my class where the dialogue was in French and the subtitles in English, and the narrator was saying some really brilliant, profound things about the caste system and the social relationships in India in comparison to Western society. And I asked my friends, who understand some English, if they understood what the guy was saying. And they said, "ohhh, more or less." And I thought to myself, "If that was their response, there is no way they really understood the implications of everything that had been said."
And then, in that moment, I really felt what it meant to be lost in translation.
It's like, the words here, yes, I can understand them. But fitting them into a social, historical, political, pop culture, geographic context and pairing all of that with a certain intonation and facial expressions and taking into account the perspectives of the people involved in a conversation is a whole different story.
And, from there, one might begin to understand why I have so much trouble relating my experiences to all of you in spoken words when I talk to some of you on Skype. Pretty much all of you who are reading this have no conception of the foundations that my reality is based on right now, and concepts that we understand as they exist in the United States just do not exist in the same way here. And this reality and its foundations and nuances are, just like in the United States, unbelievably complex.
And I am overwhelmed by them. Never in my life has the confusion and complexities and lack of words and ocean of thoughts swirling around in my mind left my brain feeling so full. Sometimes it feels like, physically, there is no space left in my head to carry out the task of understanding things and all I can do is ruffle my hair over and over and massage my temples and squeeze my eyes shut so I don't have to take in any more of my surroundings. It is the weirdest feeling I have ever felt in my whole life. It is such a physical feeling that results from such an abstract process.
But anyways... by now, if you have gotten this far, you are thinking... "But what is she talking about?! What is the problem?"
And I would like to give you some concrete examples... but I'm afraid all I have are more abstractions and ambiguities and social constructions.
For. example.
In America. "We" or rather, it, is all about: technology and new things and latest vesions and fashionable antything and computers and fast and straighforward and and now or never and fast and on-the-go and multi-tasking and not waiting and squeeky clean and lemony fresh and genetically engineered, pretty, shiny produce and more than anything... progress.
Oh, how we love progress.
(In Peru. sometimes it is a joke to think what petty, trivial, meaningless concerns all of the above are! There is no room to think about such insignificant, superficial nonsense)
And even more than all of that, I suppose... individualism. Individualism! with a capital I and an exclamation mark and the whole-hearted support of everybody in the whole country (it seems). And to go right along with that, Independence. It's like salt and pepper, peanut butter and jelly, Ken and Barbie, those two ideas: Individualism and Independence. Think about it:
Beyonce sings about the independent women, and we have Independence day, and the clothing advertisements tell you to express yourself, and conformity is looked at with a disaproving scoul, and Oprah talks with people who made their own way in America, and everybody has their own, personalized everything.
These two concepts are so engrained, so valorized, so prized, and so expected (at least my brain) that I can't think of a time when I stopped to think.... "Oh. Maybe this whole 'individualism/be independent' thing isn't so great after all." In fact, I spent the last three years thinking about what the hell I was going to do to get out of my parents' house(s), stop depending on anyone, do whatever I want, consult with no one, and deal with the consequences of my excesively individual, independent actions all alone. And, thats just what I did.
And now, here I am.
And I realize:
"Here, you just can't be independent sometimes." Not even if you wanted to. In some places. You can't support yourself no matter how hard you try or how many hours you work. And you can't walk alone at night. And you can't trust anybody. And you have to have people who you can go to, because you don't have authorities you can trust (believe me) or a bank account to take money out of or free potable drinking water wherever you go.
And I realize:
It's ok to depend on people. to have a family you have to make difficult sacrifices for. to be able to support someone else and have someone support you.
And:
It's really not that important assert your individuality and distinguish yourself from everyone else. In fact, it is incredible to think how ridiculously selfish and absorbed and narrow-minded it can be to be so worried about something like that so much.
I guess, what I'm trying to say is that Americans overall willingness to sacrifice for the collective wellbeing of society as a whole is shockingly absent (at least from my south-of-the-equator perspective). I'm not talking about individual people- because yeah, there's people that go and volunteer and do great, selfless things with their lives. But, America's impact here is immense, and few Americans would know it. America doesn't ask, but demands that other countries makes space for its culture, and politics, and stores, and fashions, and ways of life. But how much space does it make for others when they ask the same in return? And when does America take into account the rupture and confusion and conflict that inevitably results from its abrupt, harsh imposition into another region's people, context and history? And where are the means to deal with that?
I'm just saying. In America, the impact of one's actions on other people just doesn't resonate as strongly as it doesn here and the true profundity of how interconnected we all, as humans, living on one, very tiny planet are just doesn't hit home a lot.
Yes. All of the above are generalizations. But what else am I supposed to do? Of course there are exceptions. But how much of an impact are those exceptions making on the collective conscious of the most powerful country in the world? It seems like very little. America worries about America while everybody else. everybody else. worries about America too.
Sometimes I feel like, if I could tell America something, if I could tell it to confront the reality that it is helping create inside and outside of its borders, within the hearts of its citizens and without consulting the rest of the world, I would say that
"It seems to me, that you don't want to talk about it. It seems to me, that you just turn your pretty head and walk away."
Friday, October 23, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
I can't dance, I can't talk, the only thing about me is the way that I walk.
Last night I went to see a play called La Chunga by Peruvian writer, Mario Vargas Llosa. Have you heard of him? You haven't?! And now you're probably going to tell me you don't know who Michael Jackson is either!... ok ok. Just kidding. Of course you haven't heard of him, Vargas Llosa, that is.
Anyways, there was a lesbian in the play. In fact, she was the main caracter! And her performance was, really, very rivetting. Among some of the highlights were drinking, nudity, seuxal content, trading money for sexual favors, violence, machismo, bad language, and lots of cigarettes.
And the/a moral of the story? I'm not quite sure, but for me, it had something to do with liberarting yourself from the oppresive, machista society that is holding you down and abusing you and making you a dependent, stupid, worthless barbie. Oooooof. Sounds like pretty heavy stuff. But it was really fun to go and see.
In fact! Before hand, this is what we did:
We went to a grocery store that could have been any grocery store in America with Haloween decorations and employees with little food samples that you eat with toothpicks and bought three beers. Then we left and walked to the Bibloteca Nacional (where the play was) and we walked and drank our cans of beer. In public, on the sidewalk, on the overpass, and then sitting outside of the entrance to the venue on the sidewalk.
And afterwards this is what we did:
We went to a grocery store, bought a large bottle of beer to share and then walked across the street to get on a bus to go to the center of Lima. And we drank our beer on the sidewalk and on the bus. And that was that. And it was good. Just like God says!
Then, we walked up this street to this bar. I like this street very very much because there is a LARGE grafitti painting of Jesus/Che. It is Jesus and Che Guevarra all at the same time! It is brilliant and it is fabulous and colorful. I hear that those two rascals were.... Socialists! No! Not Jesus. Jesus was a....let's see... capitalist, fair and square.
Anyways, I would really like to take a picture someday, but I'm a little scared. Oh well.
In this bar. We bought a whole bottle of Pisco. think... like... the size of a bottle of Smirnoff and equally as potent. And we were like, "Oh yeah, we'll just drink some of it now and save the rest for some other time." Bahhhh hahahaha. That was wishful thinking.
Anyways, we sat down at the bar, and there was this REALLY wasted dude sitting on the barstool right next to me. And we were at the bar in the first place because all the tables were taken. Well, this dude kept trying to talk to be and interrupt our conversation. And I was with only one other person, a male, and this drunk as a skunk huevon, STILL, kept trying to interrupt, all mumbly and stumbly and ridiculous. Let me just say. If one girl is with one boy, it is absolutely NOT in the "Do's" section of etiquette rulebook that you are allowed to hit on the girl. Well, one of the guys working there was kind enough to move us to another table in the back of the place. And there, we began to drink this bottle of Pisco. And you know what? The concept of a chaser, Like, take a shot, chase it with soda, does not exist here. You just have to grin and bear it here, in the most literal sense of the expression. Imginense, drinking an entire bottle of rum with no chaser. Well, I know a few people who are good at that. But not me. Well, I am now.
Anways, I looked around and thought to myself, "Where are all the ladies?"
This bar was filled with men. Like, groups of guys, colleaques, friends, whatever, and, in like the whole place, there were about 10 women. The ratio was like 100 to 1. It was weird. I didn't understand. But it was a cool place. And at the very end, we were talking to these two business men, about something that I really could not understand at all, and all I could think about was, "I need to eat something right. now."
We finally stumbled out of the bar around 3 am, I think, and got in a taxi, and found a place to eat.
And, while my compatriot was in the bathroom for the better portion of the hour that we were there, I was sitting in this booth, by myself, happily eating my chicken and fried rice, watching this big screen TV that had VH1 on, listening to Phil Collins sing "I can't dance" and the Velvet Underground sing "Rock and Roll" and watching everybody around me with their expressions on their faces thinking "What is this drunk gringa doing here, sitting by herself, while that dude with the long hair is puking in the bathroom?" It was really weird and kind of enjoyable. And, anyways, if my Karma clock is working properly, it's my turn to take care of drunk people that outdo themselves, after an entire year in Madison of everybody else taking care of me. But, after all was said and done last night, one thing is for sure:
I like American music!
Anyways, there was a lesbian in the play. In fact, she was the main caracter! And her performance was, really, very rivetting. Among some of the highlights were drinking, nudity, seuxal content, trading money for sexual favors, violence, machismo, bad language, and lots of cigarettes.
And the/a moral of the story? I'm not quite sure, but for me, it had something to do with liberarting yourself from the oppresive, machista society that is holding you down and abusing you and making you a dependent, stupid, worthless barbie. Oooooof. Sounds like pretty heavy stuff. But it was really fun to go and see.
In fact! Before hand, this is what we did:
We went to a grocery store that could have been any grocery store in America with Haloween decorations and employees with little food samples that you eat with toothpicks and bought three beers. Then we left and walked to the Bibloteca Nacional (where the play was) and we walked and drank our cans of beer. In public, on the sidewalk, on the overpass, and then sitting outside of the entrance to the venue on the sidewalk.
And afterwards this is what we did:
We went to a grocery store, bought a large bottle of beer to share and then walked across the street to get on a bus to go to the center of Lima. And we drank our beer on the sidewalk and on the bus. And that was that. And it was good. Just like God says!
Then, we walked up this street to this bar. I like this street very very much because there is a LARGE grafitti painting of Jesus/Che. It is Jesus and Che Guevarra all at the same time! It is brilliant and it is fabulous and colorful. I hear that those two rascals were.... Socialists! No! Not Jesus. Jesus was a....let's see... capitalist, fair and square.
Anyways, I would really like to take a picture someday, but I'm a little scared. Oh well.
In this bar. We bought a whole bottle of Pisco. think... like... the size of a bottle of Smirnoff and equally as potent. And we were like, "Oh yeah, we'll just drink some of it now and save the rest for some other time." Bahhhh hahahaha. That was wishful thinking.
Anyways, we sat down at the bar, and there was this REALLY wasted dude sitting on the barstool right next to me. And we were at the bar in the first place because all the tables were taken. Well, this dude kept trying to talk to be and interrupt our conversation. And I was with only one other person, a male, and this drunk as a skunk huevon, STILL, kept trying to interrupt, all mumbly and stumbly and ridiculous. Let me just say. If one girl is with one boy, it is absolutely NOT in the "Do's" section of etiquette rulebook that you are allowed to hit on the girl. Well, one of the guys working there was kind enough to move us to another table in the back of the place. And there, we began to drink this bottle of Pisco. And you know what? The concept of a chaser, Like, take a shot, chase it with soda, does not exist here. You just have to grin and bear it here, in the most literal sense of the expression. Imginense, drinking an entire bottle of rum with no chaser. Well, I know a few people who are good at that. But not me. Well, I am now.
Anways, I looked around and thought to myself, "Where are all the ladies?"
This bar was filled with men. Like, groups of guys, colleaques, friends, whatever, and, in like the whole place, there were about 10 women. The ratio was like 100 to 1. It was weird. I didn't understand. But it was a cool place. And at the very end, we were talking to these two business men, about something that I really could not understand at all, and all I could think about was, "I need to eat something right. now."
We finally stumbled out of the bar around 3 am, I think, and got in a taxi, and found a place to eat.
And, while my compatriot was in the bathroom for the better portion of the hour that we were there, I was sitting in this booth, by myself, happily eating my chicken and fried rice, watching this big screen TV that had VH1 on, listening to Phil Collins sing "I can't dance" and the Velvet Underground sing "Rock and Roll" and watching everybody around me with their expressions on their faces thinking "What is this drunk gringa doing here, sitting by herself, while that dude with the long hair is puking in the bathroom?" It was really weird and kind of enjoyable. And, anyways, if my Karma clock is working properly, it's my turn to take care of drunk people that outdo themselves, after an entire year in Madison of everybody else taking care of me. But, after all was said and done last night, one thing is for sure:
I like American music!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Family... and where, did you sleep, last night.
So, whenever I get emails from people, they always ask,
"SO... how's the family?!"
And I usually say something like...
"Oh, yeah, they're fine, you know. They are really helpful and such and have taught me a lot. blah blah blah..."
Obviously, that doesn't really mean anything to anybody, so now I'll clarify and also, give you the social context here, because "family" here is WAY different. Especially once you start understanding what is going on in this ridiculous country.
First, in comparison to America, the land of the free, nobody here gets divorced! Of course there are some people with divorced parents. But let's be honest. The number of divorces that I have experienced or am aware of just amongst my immediate family members is three times as many divorces as I have heard of in two months here. My host parents have been happily married for, I don't know, at least 15 years.
Everybody is Catholic! Of course there are some people that aren't catholics, but let's just say that in all of my time here, outside of La Catolica I have only met one Peruvian who said he was an "evangelist"... I think that equates to some type of Protestantism. My host family is Catholic. And in this case, that means they go to mass every Sunday, the parents and one daughter are part of this discussion group/faith/bible study community. In fact, they just got back from a retreat that lasted the weekend. Also, they have pictures of Jesus and various saints and Mary scattered around the house. Now, don't worry. It's not all about Jesus here all the time. If I dont bring up religion or church or anything, it's perfectly fine not to talk about. And it's perfectly fine that I don't go to mass, although I did once. And it was perfectly fine that I did. They are very nice.
Once upon a time, the dad of my family worked for an American mining company in a place called Ilo, to the South of Lima. There, the family lived and worked and went to school and did EVERYTHING (it seems) with other Americans. Their kids went to school with Americans and learned American history and they celebrated American holidays and lived in this isolated community on top of a hill where the mining company imported American everything- products, houses, teachers, values. The way Nancy (the mom) described it, it was like they were living in a fairy tale. And I believe it! This country, let me tell you, is NOT, America.
This part of their history is really important, because very very few Peruvians understand and have lived American culture, probably in it's most idealized form, like my family has. And that helps them understand "us" a lot better.
But also, it says A LOT, about their socioeconomic status... which is apparently, and quite obviously, FAR above the vast vast vast majority of the Peruvian population. If you work(ed) for a mining company and have professional American contacts, and both parents have a degree, and all the kids can speak English and can go to college, and you live in a quiet, residential, safe, neighborhood, you are doing SO good. As far as I'm concerned, I have it REALLY made, right now.
Now, if you know me, you probably know that I'm not really trying to climb to the upper ranks of any social or financial or racial hierarchy, so, while I'm here with this family, I'm enjoying it. But it is also a source of conflict for me, since, every day, I sit on the combi for an hour and watch "the rest" of Lima barely barely barely making it by and I talk with people about the realities of their existences and think about all that type of nonsense.
And also, if you know me, I am generally skeptical about "American values" and mining companies and corporations and Catholicism, so that is also interesting. But, while I'm here, I'm learning a lot from them and they treat us all very very well. In conclusion, the family is good, great, and it is probably what most students want, but I don't really think it's what I want.
Finally, did I mention this? Everybody lives with their parents. Even 30-year-olds. That's just how it is. Now, plug your ears, cover your eyes, or close your browser window if you don't want to read the next part (that deals with sex.... eeeek!), but this is SO interesting!
For us American college students, we live alone, or with our friends, or with our significant other... NOT with our parents (as a general rule). Asimismo, we don't have to worry about our parents if we decide to sleep with someone. That is NOT the case here. So... what do you do then? Obviously, people still have sex, right?.... right?! Right. Well after a few weeks of hypothesizing and inquiries, we Americans finally figured it out. You. a) Go to a hotel (specifically for having sex and decorated as such)... this is your most normal and frequented option, or b) You go back to their house with and meet their parents the next morning or c) You go back to their house and leave that night or d) You back to their house during lunch while everyone is working... or e) you just decide to be overly affectionate in public places (which is just how it is here, everywhere, all the time... in parks, on sidewalks, on the bus, at school... people reminding you of heternormativity EVERYWHERE).
And my final anecdote. I got back from Huaraz at 5:00am and I didn't want to take a taxi home. So I took a combi. On the bus, I sat myself directly behind a couple, who ended up making out, faces and tongues approximately 3 feet in front of mine, for a solid 10 minutes straight until one of them got off. It was a rivetting performance.
"SO... how's the family?!"
And I usually say something like...
"Oh, yeah, they're fine, you know. They are really helpful and such and have taught me a lot. blah blah blah..."
Obviously, that doesn't really mean anything to anybody, so now I'll clarify and also, give you the social context here, because "family" here is WAY different. Especially once you start understanding what is going on in this ridiculous country.
First, in comparison to America, the land of the free, nobody here gets divorced! Of course there are some people with divorced parents. But let's be honest. The number of divorces that I have experienced or am aware of just amongst my immediate family members is three times as many divorces as I have heard of in two months here. My host parents have been happily married for, I don't know, at least 15 years.
Everybody is Catholic! Of course there are some people that aren't catholics, but let's just say that in all of my time here, outside of La Catolica I have only met one Peruvian who said he was an "evangelist"... I think that equates to some type of Protestantism. My host family is Catholic. And in this case, that means they go to mass every Sunday, the parents and one daughter are part of this discussion group/faith/bible study community. In fact, they just got back from a retreat that lasted the weekend. Also, they have pictures of Jesus and various saints and Mary scattered around the house. Now, don't worry. It's not all about Jesus here all the time. If I dont bring up religion or church or anything, it's perfectly fine not to talk about. And it's perfectly fine that I don't go to mass, although I did once. And it was perfectly fine that I did. They are very nice.
Once upon a time, the dad of my family worked for an American mining company in a place called Ilo, to the South of Lima. There, the family lived and worked and went to school and did EVERYTHING (it seems) with other Americans. Their kids went to school with Americans and learned American history and they celebrated American holidays and lived in this isolated community on top of a hill where the mining company imported American everything- products, houses, teachers, values. The way Nancy (the mom) described it, it was like they were living in a fairy tale. And I believe it! This country, let me tell you, is NOT, America.
This part of their history is really important, because very very few Peruvians understand and have lived American culture, probably in it's most idealized form, like my family has. And that helps them understand "us" a lot better.
But also, it says A LOT, about their socioeconomic status... which is apparently, and quite obviously, FAR above the vast vast vast majority of the Peruvian population. If you work(ed) for a mining company and have professional American contacts, and both parents have a degree, and all the kids can speak English and can go to college, and you live in a quiet, residential, safe, neighborhood, you are doing SO good. As far as I'm concerned, I have it REALLY made, right now.
Now, if you know me, you probably know that I'm not really trying to climb to the upper ranks of any social or financial or racial hierarchy, so, while I'm here with this family, I'm enjoying it. But it is also a source of conflict for me, since, every day, I sit on the combi for an hour and watch "the rest" of Lima barely barely barely making it by and I talk with people about the realities of their existences and think about all that type of nonsense.
And also, if you know me, I am generally skeptical about "American values" and mining companies and corporations and Catholicism, so that is also interesting. But, while I'm here, I'm learning a lot from them and they treat us all very very well. In conclusion, the family is good, great, and it is probably what most students want, but I don't really think it's what I want.
Finally, did I mention this? Everybody lives with their parents. Even 30-year-olds. That's just how it is. Now, plug your ears, cover your eyes, or close your browser window if you don't want to read the next part (that deals with sex.... eeeek!), but this is SO interesting!
For us American college students, we live alone, or with our friends, or with our significant other... NOT with our parents (as a general rule). Asimismo, we don't have to worry about our parents if we decide to sleep with someone. That is NOT the case here. So... what do you do then? Obviously, people still have sex, right?.... right?! Right. Well after a few weeks of hypothesizing and inquiries, we Americans finally figured it out. You. a) Go to a hotel (specifically for having sex and decorated as such)... this is your most normal and frequented option, or b) You go back to their house with and meet their parents the next morning or c) You go back to their house and leave that night or d) You back to their house during lunch while everyone is working... or e) you just decide to be overly affectionate in public places (which is just how it is here, everywhere, all the time... in parks, on sidewalks, on the bus, at school... people reminding you of heternormativity EVERYWHERE).
And my final anecdote. I got back from Huaraz at 5:00am and I didn't want to take a taxi home. So I took a combi. On the bus, I sat myself directly behind a couple, who ended up making out, faces and tongues approximately 3 feet in front of mine, for a solid 10 minutes straight until one of them got off. It was a rivetting performance.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Everything, everything. in it´s right. place. in it's right. place.
So. Now I´ll explain everything (a little) better.
We went to this town in the moutains, right? Very close to where I went about a month earlier. In fact, that´s where we went first. And then on to Carhuaz...
Remember when I told you about the parade in downtown Lima celebrating the armed forces and the catholic church? Well, this festival was celebrating the very same saint.... except there were no armed forces involved this time... rather, and as a very fabulous replacement were the danzantes (dancers, or groups of dancers) that came from pueblos all around Carhuaz to celebrate the sensacional, miraculous, incredible Virgen who has bestowed limitless generocity and compassion on all the people of these communities over the last year. And when I say danzantes, I'm refering to groups of indigenous people, or people of indigenous descent, who wear traditional outfits, dancing traditional dances, that, at least to the foreigner, seem only very slightly related to anything dealing with the Catholic church. For example, there where the Atahualpas, Shacshas, Cuzqueñitas. and another type of dance that I can´t spell... and it reminded me very much of the Native American music and rituals that they teach you about in grade school and high school. Hopefully, but probably not, someday I´ll post some pictures.
Also, there was a lot of Chicha, a fermented drink, involved as well. Not as strong as Chuchuwasi (fermented drink from the Selva) but strong enough to put a goofy smile on my face and facilitate half-understood conversations with drunk old men.
Aside from that, we drank some rum, ate some cuy, did some other stuff, and got enough information about the Virgen, and then me and my compatriots, headed out for new lands and new adventures.
Me and one other boy, Pavel, went to Yungay, another small pueblo, so I could see Llanganuco, the Laguna that everybody knows about and plans on seeing. Well, we went, and I realized that I had already seen it the first time I had been in that part of the country, but didn't realize it. Regardless, it was still equally as amazing and breathtaking and tranquil and I loved it all the same. That night we satyed in a hostel. And the owner was an old lady, a grandma at least, with some very wise words, and some very good stories that she had aquired in her many years interacting with Peruvians and foreigners alike. And she told me...
"Ten cuidado.... los peruanos son muy amorosos pero muy celosos." Or something like...
"Be careful... Peruvian boys are very loving, but very jealous."
And those words, my friends, are some of the tried and truest words I can attest to in all of my time here. What an unfortunate combination of attributes! Maybe.
From there, I went back to Huaraz, where Pavel and I parted ways. I decided to go to some hot springs to waste time and bathe myself in some clean, hot, brown, natural water for two hours until the entirety of both of my hands were pruny like raisins. Thankfully, I had talked with one Peruvian enough for him to solicit my email address (and phone number of course) to which I gave the former and to which I will hopefully not respond. Also thankfully when I left, there was another Peruvian boy there who had come to the hot springs alone and was leaving alone, who had no plans (like me), and who hadn't eaten dinner. So, I went back with him and we meandered around and ate dinner at his friends house and had a very frank conversation about some very indepth things, and all the while, I felt very much at ease (which is usually not the case) and we had a good time. We went to this one bar for a short while where we watched these two ladies get into an intense fight. It was really weird. and funny. Like Jerry Springer. but real lilfe, and seriously right next to our table. Then my bus was about to leave for Lima, so I had to go. And before we parted ways, he solicited my email (and phone number of course) to which I give him the former and latter, and maybe someday, maybe in December, I'll go back and visit him, and see how life in the mountains is... and maybe, I will never see him again.
We went to this town in the moutains, right? Very close to where I went about a month earlier. In fact, that´s where we went first. And then on to Carhuaz...
Remember when I told you about the parade in downtown Lima celebrating the armed forces and the catholic church? Well, this festival was celebrating the very same saint.... except there were no armed forces involved this time... rather, and as a very fabulous replacement were the danzantes (dancers, or groups of dancers) that came from pueblos all around Carhuaz to celebrate the sensacional, miraculous, incredible Virgen who has bestowed limitless generocity and compassion on all the people of these communities over the last year. And when I say danzantes, I'm refering to groups of indigenous people, or people of indigenous descent, who wear traditional outfits, dancing traditional dances, that, at least to the foreigner, seem only very slightly related to anything dealing with the Catholic church. For example, there where the Atahualpas, Shacshas, Cuzqueñitas. and another type of dance that I can´t spell... and it reminded me very much of the Native American music and rituals that they teach you about in grade school and high school. Hopefully, but probably not, someday I´ll post some pictures.
Also, there was a lot of Chicha, a fermented drink, involved as well. Not as strong as Chuchuwasi (fermented drink from the Selva) but strong enough to put a goofy smile on my face and facilitate half-understood conversations with drunk old men.
Aside from that, we drank some rum, ate some cuy, did some other stuff, and got enough information about the Virgen, and then me and my compatriots, headed out for new lands and new adventures.
Me and one other boy, Pavel, went to Yungay, another small pueblo, so I could see Llanganuco, the Laguna that everybody knows about and plans on seeing. Well, we went, and I realized that I had already seen it the first time I had been in that part of the country, but didn't realize it. Regardless, it was still equally as amazing and breathtaking and tranquil and I loved it all the same. That night we satyed in a hostel. And the owner was an old lady, a grandma at least, with some very wise words, and some very good stories that she had aquired in her many years interacting with Peruvians and foreigners alike. And she told me...
"Ten cuidado.... los peruanos son muy amorosos pero muy celosos." Or something like...
"Be careful... Peruvian boys are very loving, but very jealous."
And those words, my friends, are some of the tried and truest words I can attest to in all of my time here. What an unfortunate combination of attributes! Maybe.
From there, I went back to Huaraz, where Pavel and I parted ways. I decided to go to some hot springs to waste time and bathe myself in some clean, hot, brown, natural water for two hours until the entirety of both of my hands were pruny like raisins. Thankfully, I had talked with one Peruvian enough for him to solicit my email address (and phone number of course) to which I gave the former and to which I will hopefully not respond. Also thankfully when I left, there was another Peruvian boy there who had come to the hot springs alone and was leaving alone, who had no plans (like me), and who hadn't eaten dinner. So, I went back with him and we meandered around and ate dinner at his friends house and had a very frank conversation about some very indepth things, and all the while, I felt very much at ease (which is usually not the case) and we had a good time. We went to this one bar for a short while where we watched these two ladies get into an intense fight. It was really weird. and funny. Like Jerry Springer. but real lilfe, and seriously right next to our table. Then my bus was about to leave for Lima, so I had to go. And before we parted ways, he solicited my email (and phone number of course) to which I give him the former and latter, and maybe someday, maybe in December, I'll go back and visit him, and see how life in the mountains is... and maybe, I will never see him again.
Friday, October 2, 2009
I´m not in Lima... I'm in Carhuaz
Hey. I haven't talked to anyone in at least three days, but rest assured, I'm doing splendidly. I am in this town in the mountains and we are celebrating la Virgen de las Mercedes... and this party is sick as hell. Seriously. I'll tell you more about it later, but it feels like everybody showed up. In fact, I'm pretty sure everybody did show up.
Ok. Well, Keep it real.
Ok. Well, Keep it real.
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