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...