My life is over.

Hahaha. ok. I mean, the life I had for a little while in Peru. There's always a chance I can start it back up again. Well, not that it died out or anything, because it obviously still lives on in certain abstract and concrete terms, but if I decide to live in the present, then it seems a bit difficult to live in the past and in the southern hemisphere.

Before I left, I went to the rainforest once more. The rainforest and its people and its comforting chaos and disorganized dirty messes were all fabulous to me. The food and the accommodations and transportation were all super basic but they were all filled with heart and soul and sweat and love. Unfortunately, because of the global climate change, the temperature when I arrived was 10 degrees Celsius lower than normal. That is VERY substantially colder than usual. And since no one ever prepared for that kind of cold, there were no cold-weather comforts, which made for long cold nights. But aside from that, it was all good. And I made it back to Lima with mosquito bites and sunkissed cheeks and a few more stories.

I spent the last two days I had in Lima taking care of business, saying goodbyes, and being washed over my sudden waves of sadness. It was all very calm and surreal and necessary. The other day as I was crossing a crosswalk, I remember looking up and thinking, "Lima is ugly but it has flavor." And then I thought "The suburbs are pretty but they don't have flavor."

Yesterday morning I left the country crying and it was good to know that my heart and soul went into everything that I had felt and done and experienced in the last year. I dont know if I'll ever go back. I hope I go back. but nobody knows anything really.

I arrived in the United States in awe by what I saw outside of my tiny airplane window and in a state of semi-disbelief that I actually made it back to the country after a year of some pretty high highs and some really low lows. As I was waiting by the baggage claim area, I heard my dad call my name. I yelled "dad" back and when we saw each other, I ran up to him and we hugged a pretty big, excited, tear-filled hug.

Now I am here at home. And I am happy as clam. I am really happy. I dont know what I'll feel like tomorrow or the next day or in a month or six, but I think I will just have to go with the flow, follow what my heart is telling me, try to keep Spanish in my life and remember all of the incredible life lessons I've learned.

The thing is, the above-stated seems so simple- and in Lima it really was simple- but I can already tell it is gonna be a fight to do those things here.

Bueno. That's all for now.

I dont have anything brilliant or touching or inspirational to say, but I will say that I'm happy that's it's summer and the sun is hot, the grass is green, the air is fresh; and I'm ready for the great wide open.

"(Peruvian) life continues and it seems to be almost over" says happy gringa.

A few clarifications.

I did not like the bullfight. I thought it was ugly and really hard to watch. However, it was really interesting to be there.

When I fill out official documents, I do not mark that I am married. Which means I am not legally married. So, don't worry.

I have 23 short days left in the country, and I feel great about it. It has been a rather long year with complicated problems and lots of headaches and strange feelings and weird, uncomfortable encounters. and lots and lots of life lessons.

But it has also been a very very beautiful year, with new viewpoints, unexpected landscapes, and fresh air (not in Lima, obviously).

The other week I was discussing with my friend Annie that it has been so crazy being here for a variety of factors: 1. it is a whole different world here 2. city life is hard on the soul 3. we are young and have a lot to learn 4. the communication breakdown (on all different levels of human interaction- concrete and abstract) 5. Being rather alone and far away 6. being so obviously white

Learning how to deal with all of the above has been hard, but it has been absolutely, 100% worthwhile.

The nice thing is that I am starting to truly be able to look on the bright side of things- despite the ugly, gray cold weather, despite the loud traffic, despite the overwhelming poverty, despite the cold mistrust... You really can find peace and good vibes inside of this city. But really, you can find it inside of any city, any town, any remote in-the-middle-of-nowhere village. Because really, it's right there, inside of yourself.

Ideological Chameleons woo crowd at local bullfight.

As some of you know, my husband Sam came down from Ecuador where he was studying and interning to do a bit of traveling in the great nation of Peru. I’m not going to tell you all of it, but I would like to tell you a story or two about part of it.

At one point in the trip, Sam and I found ourselves stopped for a night in a little town called Celendin between the cities of Cajamarca and Chachapoyas since we couldn’t catch a bus until the next morning. Thankfully, a nice Peruvian guy informed us that it was the fiesta patronal (the celebration of the patron saint) of one of the neighboring villages… of course we wanted to go! Especially me, since I knew there would be plenty of alcohol, delicious food, music and nonsense for everyone involved to have a grand time. And, if I understood correctly, we would be just in time to see the bullfight (Is that even the right word) that usually happens at these things. Indeed, we were! I have never been very resolute in my desire to see one of these things, but here was my chance. We eventually were let in and got to stand right up close to all of the action. It was great: 5 to 7 toreros (bullfighters) waving pink and red sheets at this one goofy bull and eventually one torero who had the honor of first stabbing it multiple times with several spears and second of sticking it the head with a sword. This one torero almost got split in two by the bull’s horns but fortunately, the only thing that happened was he got the part of his outfit covering his ass torn so that everyone could see one of his very attractive butt cheeks, which was bleeding from the encounter. Of course the humans won (like usual) and Sam and I had the pleasure of seeing the bull die slowly and pathetically approximately 3 meters away from us. After it had died and the torero cut his one ear off to display in triumph to the cheering crowd, everyone held up two fingers demanding of the valiant fighter that he cut off the other. Yay! It was spectacular, spectacular, no words in the vernacular… Also, I asked this little girl of about 8 or 9 years next to me what she thought of the whole ordeal and she said, “bonito” which meant she thought it was a nice show to watch. In fact, she had already seen three others before. The she asked me where I was from and if everyone in the US speaks English.

BUT! Most importantly, I would like to tell you about the half time show that took place in between the two bullfights we saw. It was a presentation by none other than three traveling artisan hippies that we saw outside of the gates. For a little bit of context, this bullfight took place in a tiny rural town in the mountains of Peru for an audience of maybe 200 to 400 people. The hippies came dressed in their un-matching hippie clothes, painted faces and dreaded hair all ready to woo the crowd with their flag-spinning and fire throwing skills. While one boy and one girl spun their fire sticks and strings in death-defying feats, the other girl pranced around the stadium spinning her flags in gravity-defying fashion. Wow. I couldn’t believe that I had the privilege of seeing the same show I saw at one of the intersections in Cajamarca at this stadium in the Middle-Of-Nowhere, Peru. It was a valiant effort, but I think I appreciated the ridiculous bullfighters more than the shitty hippies that seem to have participated in every level of every socio-economic scale in all of South America. From the upper-middle class families they come from to the big cities they wander around homeless in, to the rural towns to the beach sides the temporarily inhabit, to the crosswalks they sell their jewelry on, to the favelas they hang out in on occasion. Livin the life. Oh yeah. Wanna be an international hippie traveler, oh yeah. Dooo dooo dooo, f-you, man that gets me down, oh yeah. I do what I want, oh yeah!

Home, where my thoughts escape me, home...

Hello gente.

Have you ever gone out with someone that always wore too much cologne/perfume that you didn't particularly like but it stuck to all of your clothes and when you got home you thought, "God, I can't get this smell off of me!" Well, that's how I feel right now.

Anyways,

The other day I went out to lunch with three peruvian boys and a german girl. We were all chit chatting away, eating our rice and beans and bread, and someone brought up the topic of one of their foreigner friends. I think this friend was Japanese? maybe from Europe? I don't remember. Anyways, this boy decided that he wanted to come to South America to find himself since he didn't feel like he belonged in his home country. So he went off to go find himself on another continent. Well, the boy failed. And returned to his homeland. But didn't find himself there either. Later, I believe he returned to South America, and again, he was still lost at sea, nowhere to be found, adrift and anchorless. well. Luckily, upon returning home, the boy finally realized that he belonged right where he was, right where he started out in the first place. Imagine that.

I think Jesus wrote a story somewhat along those lines... didn't he? What a guy!

Well, my friend, at the lunch table says, "I just can't relate to that at all. I don't really understand it."

And I said, "Oh, I definitely can."

But listen, it's not what you think.

The thing is, during my four years of high school, I felt like that boy: like I didn't belong, I was unhappy and I had to leave to go find myself somewhere else. Therefore my four years of high school were dedicated to getting good grades to get me the hell out of Oconomowoc. And that's just what I did... and I ended up in... Madison, WI. Well, needless to say, even though I was only an hour away from home in what is essentially a large suburb, I successfully found myself very very lost, existentially speaking. Thankfully, after a year-long, rather confusing journey through academia, I finally got my head back on my shoulders and my smile back on my face and was ready to be a happy person again. It was grand. I was living the life.

Well, when I left for Peru, I sure has hell didn't expect to find myself in another country, but I never expected to be so certain that my identity is so definitively, irrevocably American. In fact, sometimes I find that my Americanness keeps me from being able to connect with a lot of people here- particularly females.

I mean, I too have my (many) prejudices against us Americans. But, at the same time, there is something about how Americans work that I like and I understand and appreciate and I miss it.

BUT, at the same time, there are things about how Peruvians work that I like and I understand and appreciate, and I don't want to let them go.

En fin, I definitely don't feel at home here in this country. Not one bit. But I also don't expect that when I get back, I'm going to feel at home either. I think I might be more comfortable and a little happier, but I'm sure I'll probably be feeling very very strange surrounded by all of that American individualism and materialism. Fortunately, I think that maybe someday, I will be able to find a home, wherever it maybe be; and I think that I might be able to find a way to negotiate and manage these very strange feelings of inbetweenness . I mean, that's what we do in life, isn't it? A continuous reconciliation of seemingly incompatible contradictions and paradoxes...

Capoeira

I haven't been doing very much of anything lately, but I have been doing quite a bit of Capoeira. Usually I go three or four times a week. Usually I don't really say anything about except that it's cool and I like it, which are both true, but it doesn't do justice for how profound of an effect it can really have on a person's life.

When I started about two years ago, I didn't really know anything about it. I just thought, it looks like a good workout and it they play and sing pretty music. So I started training in Madison. And you know what, I didn't really actually like it that much because I felt so awkward. All the movements seemed so strange and difficult and I just felt lost when we played games. But I kept going for some reason. I really don't even know why.

But eventually, after training on and off for about a year I got to a point where I really started understanding it a little better, and everything started to flow a little easier and I was more comfortable with myself and the other people in the group and I found myself wanting to go.

And so what? Wellllll, I think it has to do with a lot of things.

Capoeira teaches you to be comfortable with and learn how to move your body. It teaches you equilibrium, strength, flexibility and patience. It teaches you to work with other people in an almost intimate way and be comfortable with them and with yourself. And you just feel good. Remember what it's like to walk around and genuinely feel good and calm and confident and happy? It's easy to forget but capoeira helps me remember.

But I think more than the physical aspect, it teaches you about life. about people. about interacting with them, knowing yourself, confronting situations and letting things flow. It has so much wisdom in it.

And it is spiritual and religious in a very beautiful, not dogmatic, unthreatening way. And you allow yourself to experience that spiritual part of life when you are playing and singing and watching. The music talks about God, love, heartbreak, loneliness, Brazil, slavery, the game itself... it talks about life.

And it is a family. Wherever you go. Your capoeira group supports you and helps you and you support and help them, wherever they are in the world. And besides that, you can always find capoeiristas all over the world that have a mutual understanding of the same art. And than in itself is a very beautiful thing, to connect on that level of appreciation.

When you watch it from the outside, as in, not being a member of a group, I think it is hard to understand and it seems almost simplistic or stupid or confusing. But I think, like anything, once you really dig deeper into something you begin to understand the richness and complexity and even beauty behind whatever it is.

Which is why I am going to be an anthropologist.

Also, one other thing. The other day, a girl asked me about what the "rules" are here. Well, there aren't really any official rules you have to follow here (i.e. cross at the crosswalk, give all candidates for employment equal opportunities regardless of race, sex, sexual orientation, etc.), but we were talking about what girls should and should not do here in Peru. And I told her, "don't be drunk and slutty and you should be fine." And she responded, "Well, that's what I do in the US. " And I thought, well, that's the thing, we're not in the United States. And consequently, the same rules don't apply; our rulebook reads differently than the Peruvian one, if you haven't noticed. Which led me to think, "Why the hell do United Statesians (Americans) think that the brilliant rules they think up for their own country are going to be applicable in completely different cultural contexts?" And I said to myself, "God, that's stupid. I have no idea."

Relaxa, meu filho.

Hey. I know I've been hating pretty hard on Peru lately. But listen.

I want to tell you all about my absolute, all-time favorite part of Korea ever. I know maybe you've already heard me talk about it. But I want to write about it because it will make more sense.

Actually, I am going to recommend you read what I posted below because it explains it really well. This is from the website: http://wiki.galbijim.com/Jjimjilbang

찜질방 (Jjimjilbang)

Jjimjilbangs are one of the truly great aspects of a unique Korean culture. These are large, gender-segregated public bathhouses complete with hot tubs, showers, Swedish-style saunas and massage tables, similar to what you might find in a Korean sauna or mogyoktang.

However, in other areas of the building or on other floors, after donning your robe, you will enter the unisex areas and will usually find a snack bar, ondol-heated floor for lounging and sleeping on, wide-screen TVs, a PC bang (internet cafe type of thing), a noraebang (karaoke room), and sleeping quarters with either bunk beds or sleeping mats.

[edit]Orientation

• When walking into your run-of-the-mill jjimjilbang, you will encounter the front desk, who, upon payment, will give you a receipt, key, towels, and outfit.

• At this point you will want to walk through the doors or elevator titled 남탕(men's sauna) or 여탕(women's sauna). Depending on the place, either before the entrance or just after it, you'll find shoe lockers. That's what your key is for. Store your shoes and go inside. Some modernized places have keys that only work once, so once you re-open it, you might not be able to lock it again without a trip back to front desk for a new key.

• Once inside, you'll usually have somebody there or at a desk who will take your receipt and give you a locker key. This is where you store all of your clothes and belongings. If you didn't bring a razor, shampoo, or toothbrush with you, this person will have a small, cheap selection for you to choose from. You can also buy a green scrub pad that Koreans like to use to scrape excess dirt and grime off of themselves. Toothpaste and soap are free and can be found in the bathhouse.

• If it wasn't already happening since entering Korea, from this point on, expect to be noticed and watched. Korean bathhouse populations usually raise a collective eyebrow over a foreigner being in their midst and use the opportunity to check out physical features not seen in public.

• Once you are all naked, put your key band around your ankle and venture towards the glass door heading to the bathhouse area. Towels are usually kept on the outside of this door.

• Inside, there will be jacuzzis and hot tubs of various temperatures. Some will have minerals such as jade added for health benefits.

• You will also see rows of stand-up or sit-down showers. Cardinal cultural rule: Shower before getting into the jacuzzis.

• Also interspersed in the bathhouse area, you'll find the hot Swedish-style saunas, heat lamps for lounging under, and sometimes tiny swimming pools and cascading mini-waterfalls that are designed to act as a massage for your back. Somewhere in the mix, you'll also see massage tables manned by a masseuse, with rates ranging from 20-50,000 Won. Sorry, but it'll be someone of your gender.

• Once you are finished with your soak, head out of the bathhouse and you'll find an area with hairdryers, cotton swabs, gel, hairspray, etc...

• From that point on, after putting on a robe or T-shirt and shorts, you are ready to walk out into the rest of the jjimjilbang and explore the unisex area and facilities mentioned earlier

The moral of the story is that these places are made for straight-up, hardcore, I-mean-business RELAXING. I l-o-v-e love those places. They are so healthy and cool and koreans are so respectful even when you are the only naked foreigner in the whole place. It's so crazy! Because everyone is completely naked in the baths. And it's like, whatever. Nobody thinks twice about it. It's as if you were hanging out at a park, conversing, shooting the shit, wasting time, but in this case everybody's sitting around naked in large bath tubs filled with flower-scented cleansing water.

After having been to several of these places, I really started to take relaxing a little more seriously. You may think I'm joking, but I'm not. I never valued relaxing enough before. I always wanted to be doing something productive. even when I was resting I wanted to be doing it productively. BUT, you know what they say, "she needs wide open spaces, yeah yeah, room to make her big mistakes...." Thank you very much, dixie chicks. You unpatriotic, anti-American scumbags. hahaha.

Anyways. Back to Peru.

The thing is, here, I've also been learning how to relax. But in a way that has to do with how to live your life. I think I've said this before, but I can just hang out here. And not be productive. and it's cool. And I like it.

Did I mention I got a tattoo in January? I did. I'm sure you'll all be very pleased with my decision. haha.

Even though some parts of existing here are kind of taking their toll on other parts of my mind, there are some parts of my soul that I am recovering here that I've lost and there are some parts of my soul that are being created that I didnt even know could exist.

Getting to know me and more thoughts about sex

I'm going to start off by telling you about a conversation I have on average of 4 to 7 times per week. It more or less goes like this, with questions almost always asked in the order as written below.

There is a man working behind the counter at the store. Or he may be a fellow classmate. Or a fellow party-goer. He may be a male between the ages of 15 and 70. And this is the conversation:

Man: You're not from here, are you?

Alyse: No.

M: Where are you from?

A: The United States

M: What part?

A: The North, two hours from Chicago

M: Ohhhhh.... I have family in California/New York/Miami

A: Ohhhh..... cool.

M: It gets really cold where your from, doesn't it?

A: Yes, it's horrible.

M: So, do you already have a boyfriend here?

A: Yes.

And that's that. I swear to god I have lost count about how many times I've had this conversation. And I promise you, they ALWAYS ask if I have a boyfriend. Also, some of you may think the attractive black man that I have pictures with on facebook is my boyfriend. That is not true. We're friends, and he's not Peruvian. He's African.

This next part of the post is dedicated to more thoughts and observations I have regarding sex. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, but I think this aspect of social dynamics in Peru is one of the most fascinating but also most disturbing for me as a female, a sociology major and a westerner with a liberal arts education.

Before I left the US to come here to Peru, I had gone out with several different boys, all of whom were quite different from each other. Some were more liberal while others more conservative. Some more machista, others more egalitarian. Some with a college education, others without. However, in all of the cases, all the boys realized that I was an independent, self-sufficient, intelligent human being whose opinion deserved to be listened to or at least considered, if not respected. And this went for issues dealing with sex as well. That is, if I felt uncomfortable with something, they always listened. Nobody ever tried to trick me into thinking something else or forced me to do something I didn't want to- whether it was as small as something like drinking something at a party or making out or as big as something like spending the night together. I always had an equal say.

Here, however, I have found that this is a luxury I have taken for granted. It seems that in many cases, it is not assumed that I am an intelligent, self-sufficent human being whose opinion deserves to be considered or listened to. Sometimes, I will say that, no, I don't want to have another drink or go to a bar and instead of being taken seriously, a boy will try very hard to convince me otherwise. Sometimes I will say that no, I don't want to make out with you, and he will physically try to force me to make out with him. Sometimes I will say that, no I don't want to go to a hotel, I want to go home, and he will try to convince the taxi driver to go to a hotel while I am trying to give directions to my house.

Boys here have dominated the arts of persuasion and manipulation. Sometimes I find myself clearly stating what I do or don't want and then I find a boy trying to tell me that, "no, it's not like that, because blah blah blah." Or sometimes what happens is that they agree with me and tell me I'm right or what I think is just fine. But in the end it's just bullshit to gain my trust and then do something completely different or contradictory to what I said or asked for in the beginning.

You know, I know all this nonsense happens in the United States all the time too, but I have just experienced it so much more here in 8 months and have felt a greater lack of respect here than I have ever felt in my whole life in the US.

It is such a strange thing to experience, especially since sometimes these boys are your friends or they really do care about you. It's just there's another kind of darker side to the dynamic that always seems to show itself in my relationships here. And a lot of times it is really subtle but then you get to a certain point you think, "Why the hell did he not listen to me? And what the hell am I doing here right now?"

Being a gringa... kind of a drag.

Ok, guys. Now, I know I've written about all of the below randomly in other posts before, but I would just like to compile all of my subjective observations into one coherent article so as to make sense of my feelings that are at least, in part, due to social contraints, expectations and pressures that exist here in Perú.

The thing is, some times are really great here, and some are really stupid, just like in the United States. But recently, I've been feeling particularly down about my gringa identity. I know you have to love yourself and be confident and all that jazz, but the fact is, sometimes the man gets you down.

So here is what I'm talking about. Because I'm a gringa (a white American female), these are some things that happen:
- Even when guys (young and old, very old) have the f-ing courtesy not to whistle at me or say some stupid f-ing comment, I can feel their staring eyes undressing me as I walk past because I know exactly what those sick schmucks are thinking. f that. I mean, I already know that men are just the same in the US. but, jesus, I feel it every day when I walk out my door.

- When I go out with Peruvian boys, even the ones that are just my friends, people generally assume the following: The Peruvian is a brichero (peruvian boy that takes advantage of naive American girl to get to the US) and therefore either applauded for his cunningness or looked down upon for his bad intentions. Also, that he may just be using me for the short term goals of money, alcohol or sex (since American girls, as displayed in movies like American Pie, are all loose lushes that have money to waste). The girl (me) is a stupid, naive American that doesnt know the how things work here and little does she know that after this boy uses me for his purposes, will toss me out like the garbage that litters the streets of this country.

- At school, since I am an American, it is assumed that my world views are misinformed, ethno-centric, and based only on American values and America's importance over any other country in the world. That is to say, that Americans don't get and aren't willing to understand the reality of other people and are stupid, selfish, lazy, rich, ignorant schmucks. Have you ever watched MTV? have you ever thought, "God, this shit is so stupid. These people are so stupid. Why am I even watching this?" Well that MTV that you sit and watch is the same MTV that Peruvians sit and watch and at least subconsciously formulate their opinions about American culture with. I hate TV.

- One time I went to a bar with a boy I was seeing where his co-workers were, since he also happens to work there. The fact that he had recently broken up with his girlfriend didn't help the situation, but it sure as f didn't help that I was a gringa with the potential of having the above mentioned characteristics. And, I have never in my life, understood the definition of cold shoulder more than I had there. Almost more than I feel when I am in my stupid social science classes with my stupid social sciences peruvian classmates.

Listen, I know that everyone doesn't think this way about gringas and I don't necessarily fulfill all of the stereotypical expectations that people have of me, and I know there are much greater problems I could be having, since I do in fact have friends here that don't treat me like an uneducated, overly self-interested slut. However, think about when you walk into McDonald's and you see the manager who is a grungy-looking 45 year old female with a grumpy look on her face and yellow teeth. Don't tell me you think she is the most interesting, intelectual, loving person there could be in the world, and don't tell me you are about to interact with her as such. You will probably take some of those stereotypical assumptions you involuntarily make about other people, and those will inevitably color the type behavior you exhibit toward her. Is that not so? Maybe not always, but a lot of the time.

Everything is all fine. Peru is great. the people here are great. My education in great. And I like having problems and stupid shit happen to me so I can learn from it. really. it's just, there's nothing like being an inconspicuous white girl on a campus filled with other white girls that look exactly the same.

I know that one day I must must die, I'm alive.

Ok, well, the title of this post comes from lyrics of a Brazilian singer called Caetano Veloso. The song is called Nine out of Ten. He has a beautiful voice. It makes me want to melt. Look the song up on youtube.

A lot of times when I am here in this country, I think about those lyrics a lot. How alive I am. how finite time seems and how the end of something is always approaching.

Like my stay here in the beautiful city of Lima. Yes, yes, it is. a few short months and I will be back with all of you lovely folks in the U. S. of A. Best country on the frickin planet. hahaha.

Anyways.

Instead of taking the upper level course of Political Sociology, I decided to take "Sports for Girls" and Film class. The former is a gym class for girls. Yes. segregated by gender. That's how we do here. But it's cool. I can look like andidiot without worrying about boys for two hours of my week. I find here that I am more worried about boys here than I ever have before... but in a way that makes me want to wear a headscarf... or a nun outfit. Or dark brown eyes and shiny black hair.

Anyways, in gym class, pretty much all the girls where spandex pants and tight work-out shirts. Except for the Americans who wear short shorts and baggy t-shirts. hahaha.

Today I went to immigrations because I had to change my visa status. I didnt know what I was getting myself into. Here's how it went:

-Get off the bus, find the street I am looking for. Get to the street and find it filled with people trying to get you to come into one of 50 travel agencies within a 1 block radius to look at their flight offers. Fend off stares and comments from Peruvian boys.

- Get to immigrations. Of course there is no sign telling you where anything is. But the security guard knows that I need to go to floor 3, window 11.

- Get to floor three, window 11. And I think to myself, "Is there a line? What are all these people doing sitting in these chairs?" Decide to just walk up to the window when it may have been my turn.

- The guy behind the glass tells me. "You need to go across the street to a public internet place, and type up, in microsoft word, a statement saying that you can take out money from your bank account and it's enough to last you until the end of your stay. Print it out and sign it. Bring it back... oh yeah, and also, go downstairs and make a payment at the bank on the first floor."

- Go outside, look for an internet place for 5 minutes. Type up something official sounding with bad Spanish grammar.

- Wait in line with the 50 other people waiting to make payments.

- Go upstairs again

- The guy tells me..." uhhh, ok. Now, in two weeks, send an email to this address to see if everything was processed."

And that was it. 1 and 1/2 hours later, I am on my merry way.

I was such a crabby patty afterward. But it was all good in the hood. Then I went to the library to read about how Capitalism and liberal economic policies have been destroying indigenous cultures for centuries. The good news is, now that modernization and progress have arrived to the deepest, most unknown corners of the jungle, we will all be fine.

In other news, I started salsa lessons. Yay.

Also, it's friday tomorrow!

Back to school.

I went back to school yesterday.

I wasnt excited. But I wasnt bummed.

I just felt happy I knew what to do and understood most of what everyone said to me.

Today as I was walking up the street back to my house, within a timespan of approximately three minutes, three different guys said the following:

"Ohhhhhh, baby. wheeeere are youuu frahm, baby?"

"You're not from here, are you?"

"Ohhhh, wow."

That is, if you couldn't do the math: 1 boy per minute

It always makes me feel so weeeeeirddddd.

Also, since winter is coming up, and that means it's going to start being gray outside all day.

To this I say two things:

1. "Cloudy with a 100% chance of gray."

2. I think Lima's new official name should be "Bumsville." It is catchy and I think it fits for more than the above-stated information.

Finally, I think I will be taking these classes:

- Sociology of Development (like economic development)

- Political Sociology

- Amazonian Ethnography

I dont think they will be fun, but I think I will be able to draw some conclusions about some complicated feelings I have toward the world.

I´m in the jungle and what the ayahuasca gods told me

So my mom got here and we went to the jungle. First to a city called Iquitos.
We to got to Iquitos and had to find a hotel and somebody to take us on a tour to go see the jungle, so we hopped in a mototaxi. This time, a little different from Brasil, you are pulled by a motorcylce in what is essentially a cart with wheels and plastic covering.
Before I got to the city I knew I would love it. And when we were driving into it, I thought,"I knew I would love this place!"
Its like the poorer version of Florida. Which is fabulous!
So we got there wandered around with a girl we met on the plane who helped us find a cheap place and gave us her phone number just in case, and set off to find a jungle tour company.
After we went to two other places, we found one.
I was a little nervous the whole time, since a lot of guides are untrustworthy and just take your money and dont give you anything or if they do, its a shitty tour without the right equipment or bad food or whatever. But ours was good.
The next day we got to the place at 8am to start the adevnture. We road in a boat for an hour and a half on the Amazon, Marañon, and Ucayali rivers.
We got there!
It was nice!
The tour guide grew up in a village in the jungle and his whole family still lives there!
We saw pink dolphins, monkeys, bugs, sloths, butterflies, and other things!
The food was wonderful!

I tried ayahuasca....
which is, you might wonder, a hallucinogenic vine that is found in the jungle.
I tried it with a shaman who summons the spirits from the jungle and then it helps you reach into the depths of your mind and maybe see the past present or future.
Well I was really excited since I had been waiting a long time for this and I had a lot of questions I wanted to try to think about during the trip. I had been preparing myself for three days and I thought I had put my mind in a good place.
But then, during the trip, I found myself being so grumpy and angry and disappointed because I realized my approach to finding solutions to my most complicated questions was all wrong!
And I thought: "I bet this shaman isnt even real. He s so stupid! I just want to leave. The "ayahuasca gods" are all a sham. And Im sitting here and this is stupid. What was I even waiting for thinking that one little drug-induced spiritual experience was going to give me any answers?!"
But thats the thing. Thats what I had to realize. That I wasnt going to find the answers in one sitting. All you have to do is live and the answers will present themselves as the circumstances and yourself change.
And I also realized some other things.
But the next morning I woke up a grumpy gertrude because I felt so stupid and disappointed!
But it was ok. Since I talked it all out that day with my mom and the tour guide and I swam around in the amazon with some pink dolphins.
I remembered that you just have to open your mind and also remember that your experiences have effects and consequences that you dont even realize. So its stupid to think that my ayahuasca experience was useless. because it wasnt.

We leave tomorrow and I dont want to leave. But I already know Im coming back. Maybe to live....! How many times have you heard me say that? But you just wait!

In other news, I ate lizard today. yesterday I sat by a river in a village and talked to a nice old man. Today we saw these crazy monkeys that climbed all over you and picked at your hair. We also saw a very ferocious jaguar.
Also, I broke up with my boyfriend right after my stepmom left and before my mom came. Surprise! Not. As usual, I realized I didnt love him and he loved me. Which makes me sad. But theres nothing I can do.
"Quem um dia irá dizer que existe razao nas coisas feitas pelo coracao"
"Who, one day, would say that reason exists in the things that are made by the heart?"
Exactly!

Babysitting and breaking rules.

Some of you may be aware that my stepmom came to visit me last week. We had a very nice time. And I will tell you about some things we did. However. I will say that it is rather tiring taking someone completely unfamiliar with the South American way of life around the country and translating everything for them about 85% of the time.

But it was good practice and preparation for when my mother comes to town.

I stayed with Jodi in the nicest living conditions I have seen in 6 months. The beds were comfortable. Toilet seats were provided. Showers were hot. People served us our breakfast and everyone spoke English. We went to a canyon that is bigger and greener than the Grand Canyon and also went to some beaches with ice-cold water. Jodi particularly liked the beaches because people came around selling everything and theoretically, if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t have to leave your beach chair all day- there was fresh seafood, cigarettes, gum, beer, soda, cake, donuts, corn, beach buckets, blow-up beach toys, tamales… everything brought right to your chair with a wave of the hand. Since Jodi had barely talked to anyone (except me) for 6 whole days, on the 6^th day, when we ran into a scared blonde American(a) in the airport, Jodi jumped on the opportunity to talk to this girl, as if she was starved for conversation, like someone who hadn’t eaten in a week. It was as if she had drank 3 shots of espresso and you couldn’t shut her up. You should have seen the smile on her face.

We said our good byes the other day, and even though I was sad to see her go, I was exhausted and ready to be responsible for nothing more than myself and my low expectations.

Have I mentioned that most people here tell me I act like I am 25 and that it seems like I would be at the age to start thinking about family and children? I know!

Now I have a story that is much more funny and exciting.

Right before the bf and I went to pick up Jodi from the airport, there was a soccer game that our team was playing in and we had to go see it. As most people know, it is customary to hang out and have some drinks before the sporting event so as to, de verdad, pre-game. I bought a bottle of rum and some coke so we could all share. I was excited!

So we met up, had our drinks, chit chatted and headed off to the stadium. Now, I knew that you couldn’t drink inside the stadium, but wasn’t really aware that you weren’t supposed to drink at all. In fact, I wanted to sneak the last of the rum into the game like we did (successfully) the time before. So we ran to get in line, and I went by myself to the line where they pat down the girls (like you re going into a bar or police station or something) and when it is my turn to get patted down, the lady looks at the male police office next to her and says “sopla.” And I am a little bit drunk and really confused. So I follow the police officer, take the plastic bag of rum out of my pants (through it to my bf who was immediately following behind me) and get back to the gate where they give me a breathalyzer. A breathalyzer! Like I am at my high school prom. And the guy realizes I understand every word he is saying to me so he explains that you cant drink anything before the game. And I think to myself, “so that’s why koko’s friends bought three packs of gum for everybody before the game.” Shit.

Well everybody else had gotten in and I did some quick thinking and thought, “If you can drink and drive, get pulled over, and pay 15 soles to get out of it, then there has to be a way to get into the game…. But, shit! I don’t have any money because I gave it to koko!” So I just had to rely on my gringa charm and smooth talking. And I started talking and saying that I didn’t know my address or my way back to my house and my friends had my money and they were all inside and I didn’t have their phone number and what’s more, I didn’t even know you couldn’t drink before the game. And Im almost perfectly sober… I can have a perfectly civilized conversation in a different language! And he said:

“Ok, well, I’m gonna help you out but you have to act like you barely know any Spanish. And also, you need to get some better friends that take better care of you. You’re going to get yourself into trouble if you’re not careful.” Haahaahaha! Ignorant + naïve= home free!

So we went back up to the gate and he did all the talking, said I didn’t know almost anything of Spanish and when the other officer’s futile attempts and broken English failed, they all let out an exasperated sigh, and indicated with waving hands that they were going to let me in because there was nothing else I could do, really.

yesssssss!

When they finally let me in, I felt bad because I didn’t have any money to give the nice police officer that had lied to his superiors on my behalf to let me into the soccer game.

So next time you think that government corruption is a bad thing, remember that a little money or feminine charm can go a long way when you cant figure out any other way get what you want.

I had to climb a mountain to get to Cusco and other adventures.

Hello everyone. (I actually published this today, february 22nd, but started it a month ago)
Im not in Cusco anymore (where it has been (very) rainy season) but this is how I got there when I went a few weeks ago:
It was a sunny afternoon in Lima on January 24th when my bus left at 4 30PM from 28 de Julio and Paseo de la Republica, with an ETA of 2:30PM the following day.
Wellll... 20 hours after departure we found ourselves stopped in the small town of Curahuasi with at least 10 other huge tour buses. We were going to wait a couple of hours to see if the water and rocks spilling down the side of the mountain and over the highway was going to calm a little bit so we could cross over to hop on a different bus... at this point it was impossible for vehicles to go any further.
Eventually, it got dark out and when the people from the bus company and Cusco still had not returned our phone calls, we knew we would not be crossing the landslide and also that there would be no bus waiting for us to drive us the final two hours to Cusco. Rather, we would be sleeping in the bus overnight (or staying in a hostel for those that felt like spending money) until the next day, when we would see if God had performed a miracle and fixed the landslide blocking the only highway to Cusco.
It rained even more that night. God didnt take the landslide away. and no one had returned our phone calls.
We all decided to go check the landslide out since other people in other tour bus companies had found a way to cross the day before.
To our dismay, there was no highway left. Rather, there was a large gap about 15 feet wide from our side to the other, with an almost completely vertical mountain on one side and a furious, raging, muddy brown river on the other. Hmmm. what to do....
Well, hike with all of the other bus passengers to a place where cars could actually get to, thats what! You are probably confused. But thats ok. Its just that, since there were so many lanslides, Cars coming from Cusco could only make it to a little town called Limatambo and not all the way to where we were. Unfortunately, Limatambo was a four hour hike away. For me, that wasnt so bad, but for the old women, pregnant ladies, and everyone else with more than a backpack of luggage (pretty much everyone except me), it wasnt such great news.
But it wasnt the worst news, since 50% of the passengers decided to do it. This is what we had to do to get there:
Hike a steep hike an hour up a tiny, unmarked path.
Hike 30 minutes to get to a village.
Ride 20 minutes in the back of a pick up truck
Walk one hour (this time with a donkey carrying our stuff) through a flooded road, up another hill, and across another plane to another village.
Get our stuff off the donkey
Descend down a ridiculously steep cliff, cross a river, and climb up a cliff to the other side (the path was about 6 inches wide)
30 mintues more and get to Limatambo.
Now this was all fine, but in my group of five people that I hiked with there was a lady who was at least 6 months pregnant and two middle aged women. Also, we passed by countless old ladies and men, and ladies with babies and children. It wasnt really just any old trek on a marked path in a state park, either.
I got to Cusco at 1am where my friend and her dad picked me up and put in a safe place with a warm bed and carpeting.

Cusco was fun. Even though I didnt plan to go to Machu Pichu because I am a party pooper, I couldnt have because it was impossible to get to because of the flooding and the landslides.
I ended up taling to a Canadian a week later who more or less said this to me and my boyfriend:
"Yeah, it has been really hard for our volunteer group. We had planned on going to Machu Pichu but now with everything that has happened, we dont know what we re going to do instead. We re really disappointed and kind of disillusioned."
Well, I bet all of the people whose houses have collapsed, whose communities are in shambles, who are now living in tents and who dont have drinking water, food, or any source of income are also pretty disappointed and disillusioned. Not to mention that their own president failed to mention anything about the natural disaster until 5 days into the whole ordeal. Bummer.
Thankfully, he and I can buy ourselves a plane or bus ticket out of the mess. Or, if you were a foreigner at Machu Pichu, get airlifted out in helicopter by U.S. military forces.

10 days later i left for Puno, a city on Lake Titicaca, the highest freshwater lake in the world. On the bus ride there, we came to a stop and all looked out the windows. there were national police and a bunch of large rocks strewn across the highways. I asked the guy next to me what was going on. He said it was the flood victims trying to block the highway in order to demand help from people passing by on the highways.

I got to Puno. It was cold, cloudy and raining hard. I had to go find a hotel for me and my boyfriend to stay in since the place I though I was going to didnt actually exist. We were there for the festival of the Virgen de la Candelaria. It is another huge party dedicated to a representation of the Virgen Mary. But it is a huge deal. The costumes and the dancing are unbelievably elaborate. And it lasts more than a week. And there is ALOT of drinking.
Anyways. I got there and started to look a place to stay. I found one about three hours later. Little did I know that I little bit of cold rain was going to put my in the hospital... after three days of deteriorating health conditions, not having energy to do anything, and a final night of a horrible cough and bad fever, we decided to take me to the hospital. Which I though was unnecessary. But I figured I had insurance so it couldnt hurt.
Koko (the bf) on the walk there gave me the 411: "Listen, hospitals here dont work the same as you might be used to. In order for a doctor to actually pay attention to you and take you seriously, you have to be really sick. So let me do the talking so they actually help us out."
Ok. thats fine. So he did. Sure enough, everyone tried to convince me it was the altitude. I know its not the altitude, you stupid fucks, I thought. Have you seen my face, listened to me talk, or hack up a lung for the last 5 minutes?
Well, after 10 minutes, they finally started paying attention. A doctor even came in!
The curious thing was, not having run any tests, asked my medical history, or if I was taking any other medications, he told me they would start running tests and also start treatment immediately. Super. Getting treatment for something I may or may not have, but hopefully do have.
After the crazy nurse lady who couldnt stick a needle in my arm the right way stabbed my wrist bone (which made me cry and I felt like a stupid gringa whiny little girl even though she fucked it up and said that "these" senoritas have really difficult veins to work with), I was all settled in the emergency waiting room, waiting for the bf to bring all the medications they sent him to the hospital pharmacy to buy. You have to buy all your medicine. They dont just appear with all the right stuff like at home. And sometimes they run out and you have to run to the pharmacy across the street to buy it. Well he brought everything and I finally stopped crying.
Then, a girl was gasping loudly, and very frighteningly for breath was wheeled in to the same room where we could watch everything that was going on over by her bed. They left her there for 5 minutes. She started screaming. Like really loud, high pitched screams. I thought, "where the hell are all the doctors right now? She is screaming her head off." 1 minute later, someone showed up. 15 minutes later all the hubbub was over. 5 minutes later, I asked the boyfriend, "Whats wrong with the girl over there?"
"She just died," he answered.
"Oh," I said. then after a short pause, "What was wrong with her?"
"Some type of brochio-pneumonia type complication." he responded.
"Hmmmm" I said. That was supposedly what my problem was.
Everybody left the dead girl on the bead, all the doctors left, the bf had to go buy more medication, and I was left there laying in my bed and couldnt stop staring at the dead girl was was slowly but surely starting to turn yellow. They came back 10 minutes later, wrapped her up and wheeled her away.
Finally, one of the nurses came back and said, "I think they are going to hospitalize you" as in, keep me in the hospital over night.
"But it's not serious, right?"
"No, but they just think its better that way."
Well, I ended up staying there with the beginning stages of pneumonia for three days. It wasnt horrible, but it sucked. They forgot to put toilet paper and soap in every bathroom in the hospital but conveniently remembered the wash-your-hands-to-prevent-illness signs. Also, the water in Puno doesnt work during the day.
On day 3 and a half, they let me go. But they wouldnt disconnect me from the IV until we had paid. It was like they were holding my hostage to my hydrating device.
We paid and I left.
The party for the virgen had just ended. I had no energy and we had one day of vacation.
The next day we went to some towns on the southern part of the lake. It was beautiful. We didnt get to sneak our way into Bolivia or go to any islands. But maybe in the next life.

Presently, I am in Arequipa with my stepmom. Since she is a real live, western gringa, we have been staying in the nicest hotels I have seen for 6 months. The first place was a pink colonial mansion. I could hardly believe when I got under my covers and it felt like I was sleeping a a cloud. The water pressure was good. The toilet had a toilet seat. There was cable TV. And it was beautiful. And it was gay friendly. surprising, since gays dont exist here.
The second place was an absurdly gorgeous mountain lodge in the Andes next to a river in the middle of nowhere with its own private hot springs. The guy who checked us in also made us our drinks, served us dinner, and called the hotel dog over for Jodi to see when she wanted to.
Jesus. it was all over the top.
right now, I am back in the pink colonial mansion.
Id say its at least a step up from the hospital room in Puno.
Tomorrow we are going to the beach! If all goes well, I plan on getting mildly inebriated while roasting to a golden brown next to the pacific ocean and fending off inappropriate stares from South American boys.

This is the Bahia that Im living in for now.... Arraial D'Ajuda

I've been in Bahia for 5 days now. And it is beautiful. Here's what it's like.

Arrail D'ajuda is a small beach/tourist/fishing town on the coast. It is sunny and unbelievably hot out every day. There are lots of tourists, but not as bad as florianopolis. All of the people that actually live in Arraial know each other.
I've also been doing capoeira every day with my group here. In fact, I've been taking classes with the mestre of Sul da Bahia. And you know what? Everybody here knows what Capoeira is.
Today I bought fabric so I can have someone make me my very own personal pants for capoeira.
I'm staying in a pousada, a family run motel/bead and breakfast type thing. It isn't nice, but I like it. The couple that owns the place have the pousada, which is also their house where two of their daughters and a niece live as well, and also have a restaurant that one of the daughters runs. Two of their daughters got married to foreigners... one moved to california and the other moved to Italy.
Last night after capoeira I didn't want to do anything, so I sat in the living room and watched the butterfly effect dubbed over in Portuguese... that movie is weirddddd.
Yesterday as I was walking around I was watching two guys carying 5 foot-long fish into a store that sells fish (I dont think theres a name in english... maybe). Before that, I sat down behind a church to look out over the ocean and this guy selling hammocks and I started talking. He saw that I had an infected blister on my foot and recommened I get some stuff from the farmacy. Later, he accompanied me to go get it since I wasnt quite sure what he was saying.
There's this one street that, at night, street vendors set up stands and make all different types of alcoholic, tropical drinks and smoothies for 5 reais.... about 3 dollars of fresh fruit and a little too much vodka, which is perfect.
I'm never in a hurry when I walk around here. In fact, I usually walk as slow as possible. Especially since I have this horrible blister on one of my toes.
Thankfully, since I learned in Limahow tiring it can be just to start a conversation with a boy, I have barely talked to any while I'm here.
Also, I met this really cool girl from Holland.

So, it's all good. I'm very happy.
I didn't really like São Paulo that much... its very modern and business-like and very... I dont know, didn't have what I was looking for. It had huge, air-conditioned shopping malls, with over-priced parking garages and movie theatres playing Hollywood movies. In São Paulo, I felt like I was in any big city in any part of the industrialized world.
Even though I can't speak Portuguese like I can speak Spanish, I found out that I can still have a pretty meaningful conversation with someone and find my way around somewhere I've never been.

I miss all of you who are reading this... see you soooooon.

Im in Bahia...!

Hey everyone.
I made it to Bahia late this afternoon. It was a fiasco, all because I was an idiot and forgot my passport. Here's how it went.

Friday at 7 30 am my flight was supposed to leave for Porto Seguro. Well, I left my passport at Mariahs dads and no one could bring me it. So I had to change my flight. In order to do that, it took me about a half an hour of conversing in Portuguese at 6 30 in the morning about what my options were.
The best and only option within my budget and time frame was change my ticket for the following day at 12 40 for approximately $1oo. Fine. whatever. So I did.
I went back to Mariahs dads. An hour and a half away- 2 bus rides and 3 metro stations away.

Saturday. Get to the airport. Wait in line for 2 hours. Get to the baggage check in at last call for my flight to board. The lady tells me my ticket wasnt changed to go all the way to Porto Seguro. Just to Salvador. Okkkkkk.....
So. Now I cant even get on that flight. However, they sent my bags to wherever bags go after the lady throws it on the conveyor belt.
So I go look to change my flight.
The only option is to pay $50 more. For something that is only half my fault- because I couldnt understand the conversation I was having the day before, apparently!- And leave the following day, Sunday at 8pm. I was n-o-t, not happy. god. I was pissed.
But also, could go put myself on the waiting list for a flight a 3pm to Porto Seguro. Fine.

So, I had to go find out if they had gotten back my baggage. Nope. They hadnt. It was sent off to Salvador. Were I would not be going. The people at the airline told me that they had already sent for my bags to go from Salvador to Porto Seguro.
Thankfully. At the last minute, I got on the flight to Porto Seguro, without baggage, but happy taht I wouldnt be waiting until the following night to arrive.

So, I got to Porto Seguro and of course the people dont have my bags. Which I expected. We are in South America. But Im fine. because its beautiful. Im happy, I found the people I was looking for and I have a place to stay. Also, since I had no luggage, I got to take a mototaxi to the ferry that took me across a river. A mototaxi here is a motorcycle that is a taxi. It made my day to ride on one of those.
Maybe my bag will get here tomorrow. I hope.

Anyways. I can kind of understand Portuguese now. Which is good. I like Brazil a lot. Maybe I will live here someday.