I apologize for not posting. There are so many anecdotes I want to share, I just have not had the time. Please do not worry, though...todo bien. I am the happiest I think I have ever been, and am certainly relishing being the only gringa in town. It is a really nice feeling to walk down the street and be greeted by everyone I pass. Projects and events just sort of create themselves for me. Recently I have been busy going to several primary/secondary school graduations, painting a world map, swimming in our hot water pool, and planning activities for school vacation (which begins next week). I will certainly miss everyone dearly on Christmas eve, though I must admit it is sort of a relief to be removed from the hectic hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Wishing everyone a feliz navidad and prosperous new year.

I went to the Jungle for a Week with the Graduating High School Class

A few photos from the jungle

Got my dancin shoes on

Every day I am told the rain will stop for a while, and every day it begins anew. My last 2 line entry was rather negative toward the rain. I did not mean it to be. I really like it. The valley where I live, although always beautiful, every day more resembles a bit of Paradise. I did not think it was possible for the landscape to become more green, more lush. It is. It has begun to yield terrific quantities of delicious mangos, bananas, avocados, and papayas. I am psyched.

One quick anecdote before I take off. I have begun teaching ballet classes to the 6 and 7 year old girls in town. Last week we held our first formal class in an empty room in the escuela. The girls all met at my house first, where they waited while I gathered up my music and water bottle. Unfortunately, I forgot to gather up a belt for my loose pants. About 10 minutes into class, (I think we had just finished with plies), I yanked my pants up higher on my waist and continued demonstrating the next combination of steps. To my amusement, every girl in the class (about 11 little girls) yanked up their pants as well. I chuckled to myself and continued on with the combination. Ten minutes later, as I was demonstrating another movement, I was impelled to push my glasses up on my nose. Every single girl pretended to adjust a pair of imaginary glasses. This was just weird. Turns out my host mom had had a talk with them about being attentive and following my every move during class so that they could learn to be beautiful ballerinas. Must have sunk in.

While I realize teaching ballet is not going to save my community from its poverty or develop the girls into prima-ballerinas, it has thus far been a beautiful experience. One of the focuses of Peace Corps is cross-cultural exchange, and ballet for me is what I have to offer. As dance is such an integral part of cultures across the globe, I think it is appropriate.

After our class got out that first day, the girls began to whisper amongst themselves. When I asked what was up, they timidly approached me and said ¨senorita patty, do you know how to dance huayno? We would like to teach you a Peruvian dance next time.¨ I really liked that.

(Huayno is a local folkloric dance)

Rainy Season Has Arrived Full Force

It has been raining for four days straight, day and night. The road is pure mud. I can´t run. I can´t do anything. Bah

Hepatitis

Outside the health post

October. For me, October been defined by nippy weather, a lingering economic crisis, political heat, or a Brady-free Patriots. Rather, October in La Grama has been consumed by vaccines, vaccines, vaccines. Throughout the month the Peruvian government is holding a national vaccination campaign for the third dosage of Hepatitis B. Thinking it might be a great way to get to know more La Gramian youth, I lent my services to the health post staff and accompanied them on visits to the local schools. On my first day assisting the operation, I arrived at the Health Post promptly at 8:00 am, ready to start my day. There, I sat and sat and waited and waited. I’m not sure if I have mentioned the hora peruana in previous posts or not but it is pretty much the most frustrating thing I have encountered here to date (I have yet to witness a meeting or event that began on time—anecdotes to come). Around 10:30 am we were finally ready to head over to the school. We entered the first grade classroom where my brother, a fifth grader was seated chatting with some of his younger friends. Children were running around the schoolyard, others were playing games in their classrooms, where the teacher was nowhere to be found, and still others were straining to fit their heads through the bars on the windows, endeavoring to get a good view of the vaccination process. We set up post at one of the desks where the nurse promptly handed me a syringe and urged me to get going with the injections. I blubbered and faltered something lame along the lines of, “but, but, I’m not trained to vaccinate. I can’t do it. My boss won’t let me. I have shaky hands. What if they contract Hepatits B.” She responded with “of course, you can. It’s easy.” We went back and forth for a bit until finally I convinced her to let me do the paperwork and leave her with the inoculating—though I’m not quite sure this was a brilliant alternative. The teachers gave me their class rosters to copy onto a chart that the State provides to track age, gender, and how many doses received. The rosters, however, didn’t correspond exactly with those who actually received an immunization. Some students hid out in the bathrooms, others claimed to have already received their third dose, and others said their parents forbid them to be vaccinated. We had no way to verify who had in truth already received their third dose and moreover did not check off the names on the roster as we went along. Also, I’m not sure I understand the system the doctora had for deciding who she let get away with not getting the shot and who would be forced to get it. In the second grade classroom the three of us actually chased a little boy around the room, held him down, and tried to wrench off his shirt—though, he managed to escape and thus was not vaccinated.

When we finished up at the school, we returned to the health post to go over the paperwork where the nurse produced stacks of papers from previous campaigns for the first and second doses. The mission was to match the names from the day’s vaccinations with those from the previous campaigns and mark off the students who had received all three doses. This was no easy task. For one thing, the mountain of papers on the desk was, well, mountainous. It was all handwritten and in no particular order. What’s more, the names in the papers were not organized by age or class, but instead were grouped randomly, making the search pretty close to impossible. To make matters even worse, children in Peru have, at a minimum, four names—two first, two last—and they do not always use all four. Many names did not match up exactly, making me doubtful whether Jose Luis Vargas Velasquez and Jose Velasquez were the same person. What a headache.

The following day I showed up for the second round of vaccinations, this time in the high school. Waiting a mere hour and a half in the posta before taking off, I managed to keep myself reasonably entertained. For one thing, I had thought to bring a book with me, and for another, the staff had posted an enormous sign for me to contemplate, that read: “list of people that are putting at risk their own health and that of the community by not being vaccinated.” A list of ten names followed. I am not exactly sure how they arrived at these names, as I am fairly certain their were more than ten people who escaped inoculation, but I was amused by the sign nevertheless (can you imagine what would happen if that was posted in the U.S.?)

In the colegio, things went a bit smoother. We were a team of four and split into twos to make the venture go faster. Rather than copy class rosters, I had each student write their own name on the chart after receiving their shot. In this way, we knew definitively which students in the class were actually vaccinated. It didn’t make the following match up paperwork any easier, but at least we weren’t recording the names of those who didn’t receive their 3^rd dosage.

Friday of that week the posta organized a pregon—basically a noise-making march through town—to raise awareness of the hepatitis b campaign. The doctor and nurse made a handful of posters with slogans that read, “Indifference kills, hepatitis b does too;” “Vaccinate yourself already;” and “If you love yourself, vaccinate yourself.” They distributed the signs to the elementary school kids (who arrived an hour after the pregon was scheduled to begin) and invited the high school band to play (who arrived about 20 minutes after the elementary school kids). We paraded around town for an hour to the beat of huayno music—nobody came out to watch except the preschoolers—and then we all disbursed. We didn’t chant anything or even provide the kids with a bit of information about what they were marching for. I would say it was a very successful information-sharing crusade.

Of late, the vaccinations have started to taper off. Yesterday I accompanied the doctor around town knocking on doors to inquire whether anyone under 19 years of age lived in the household. Whenever we encountered a child in the street, the doctor would shout at him, “hey niño, come here and get a shot.” A very effective way to get kids immunized. We vaccinated a total of three people and were out most of the morning.

The Chacra at sunset. Pretty, no?

Chopping Alfalfa in the chacra for the guinea pigs

Old man in the market with an interesting face

Our river

I learned to milk a cow!

This is the farmers market that we go to every Saturday. I have now seen 4 Peruvian rainbows.

An Official volunteer, officially at site, at last

I find it much more difficult to journal when I am content. Manic moments and low momements lend much more inspiration to my writing. I hate to post a list of the activities I have been up to over the past week, but as I have fallen out of the habit of blogging and people are curious about my goings on (at least I hope they are), I am afraid this is what it must come to. Please pardon this post..I will try to do better.

I have settled in to a nice little life here in La Grama. The food is amazing and it looks like I will be plumping up right smart quick. While the days are tranquilo and slower paced, I rarely find myself unoccupied. Already I have taught ballet classes; met with the mayor; met the teachers in the kindergarten/elementary school/high school, learned how to make yogurt, cheese and a number of other delicious recipes; contracted a guitar teacher; gone hiking; been ill; bought my own pair of llanques---- (Small tangent: Llanques are sandles made out of tires that all the campesinos wear. they last forever. There is a saying in Peru that someone is more Peruvian than the potato. Pretty soon, I hope to be more Peruana than the papa. All that is lacking is a campesino hat, the fact that I am about two feet taller than everyone else here, the fact that my skin is several shades lighter than everyone elses, and the fact that I will probably always speak Spanish with a terrible gringo accent. Details, just Details I say); -----bought an osino to cut alfalfa in the chacra; found two people to teach me ceramics; tutored the treasurere at the Municipality in English; and just been totally happy.

This past weekend James and Jon, other local Peru 11 volunteers visited my site to accompany my family and I on a 7 hour hike along the river. What started out as a lovely, flat-terrain stroll fast turned into something totally different. The river proved to be a fastidious guide--at times it overtook the embankment, forcing us to leap from stone to stone. Later on in the journey leaping was no longer an option. This meant we had to trek up the embankment and bushwhack through thorny brush. At one point we even had to climb a partially fallen tree to reach higher ground. Whats more, on two occasions we had to fjord the river. This required that I remove my shoes and cautiously make my way to the other side. I think I may have broken my toe on the final crossing, because the current made it very difficult to see which of the slippery rocks I was stepping on and I jammed my foot several times into the stony riverbed. To say the least, there were many dead ends, many thorns in my side (literally), much huffing and puffing, and many soaked clothes, only to emerge at our glorious destination: the piedra caballera (or the lady rock).

In essence, the piedra caballera is a big rock on the the shore of the river. Besides being large, there is nothing extraordinary about the rock. It does not even resemble the shape of a lady. Nevertheless we enjoyed a lovely picnic lunch of lentil burgers and watermelon while the wind whipped sand at our faces and lent texture to our food. I took a siesta on a flat rock in the river, which was a terrible mistake, being that the Peruvian sun is fierce.

The return hike home was not quite so adventurous as the trek to the Piedra Caballera. It was a bit tamer, a bit less strenuous. Because I was very dehydrated and my skin was starting to crisp up, however, the hike was not so enjoyable or leisurely.

When we arrived back in La Grama, we were thorougly exhausted and covered in sweat, sand, and thorns. I broke out in a fever just for the sake of making the day a bit more exciting. Here is where my story gets a bit more interesting. My host mom is a strong believer in natural cures and wanted to break the fever. She came into my room with a bowl of water and vinegar and rubbed it all over my arms and legs. Then she individually wrapped up all my apendages like a mummy so that I couldnt move. She said she would wait 15 minutes and repeat this sequence 3 more times. If the fever didnt break after the third round, she would have to consort to graver measures: rubbing my 9-year-old brothers urine all over my body. I had the option of skipping straight to the pee, but I opted not to start out with the hard stuff. Fortunately for me, my fever had been reduced to my host moms satisfaction by the third round of the mummy routine and I evaded the tinkle treatment. What a day!

photos are from the hike.

Last Day as an Aspirante

Tomorrow around 3 in the afternoon I will swear in and become an official Peace Corps volunteer. A dream a long time in the making will finally be actualized. While I´m admittedly terrified to ship off to site and begin a new life unlike I´ve ever experienced, I am also ECSTATIC. Training has taken me as far as it will; now it is time to become more independent, more self sufficient, more brave than i have ever had to be. I´m ready. There will most certainly be bumps along the road and moments when I question what I´m doing here, but if all fails, I have to admit that I´m pretty stinkin proud to have given it a shot. In just three months I have adjusted to a simpler, more austere way of life. I have immersed myself in a new culture. I have achieved a quasi-advanced level of Spanish. I have learned to depend on myself. I have made new and lasting friendships with both gringos and Peruvians alike. Most importantly, I have been really happy (But I don´t mean to brag). I know this is where I am supposed to be right now at this point in my life.

Tonight is my last night with my host family in Yanacoto. It is bittersweet. I am eager to move on despite the beautiful times I shared with Jesusa and Alfredo. I will miss them dearly but take comfort in knowing that my next family is equally amazing and that I will always be welcomed back. Thanks for all the mail, emails and encouraging words. I appreciate your support.

The Grass is Actually Greener on My Side

How do I love my site? Let me count the ways.
1. It is in a valley: This means hot but not scorching weather all year long.

2. It is very green. Everything is pristine. We have a beautiful river and all around are fruit trees abounding with mango, papaya, platano, etc.

3. Life is very simple and slow paced. This suits me. During the three days of visiting La Grama everything was tranquilo. Every night at sunset (a sunset like I´ve never seen before) I went to the chacra (or field) to chop alfalfa for our guinea pigs. On my second day, I enjoyed a picnic lunch with my host family under a mango tree before skipping stones at the river. After, I painted some of those river stones with my host brother. We had no appointments, no schedule. It was wonderful.

4. The food. As mentioned in number 2, the valley is teeming with fresh fruits and vegetables. We also have a lot of cows which makes for great dairy products. My family has 3 of its own cows (yes, I did try my hand at milking them. I´d say I´m still a novice but poco a poco). My host mom makes and sells homemade yogurt, cheese, ice cream, and cakes. What´s more, the last volunteer who was at my site three years ago trained my host mom in vegetarian cooking. She knows how to make hummus, lentil burgers, salads, and pretty much anything you can imagine. I think I will be eating better than I did in the States. As you can imagine, this makes me pretty miserable. Ha!

5. My family!! I will be living with a host mom, Naty, and her 9 year old son, Diego. They are very sweet, educated, and generous. When I arrived they greeted me with hand-picked flowers from their garden and a huge hug. I cannot even begin to describe how attentive, generous and
caring they were to me during site visit. Naty gave me a new pair of slippers so I would be comfortable in the house, Diego gave me some of his glow in the dark pokemon toys so I wouldn´t be afraid of the dark, they went out their way to cook foods I would like, etc. Also, Diego is a little entrepreneur. He makes and sells jewelry and was able to buy his own cell phone with the money he earned. I was the lucky recipient of a beautiful bracelet and two pairs of earrings. I think we will be very happy together.

I cannot believe there is just one week of training to go. Next Friday I will swear in and become an official volunteer. The following day I will move to site. Everything is moving very fast, and while it can be overwhelming, I am very excited for what´s to come. My life will slow down drastically when I get to site, so hopefully I can be better about blogging.

dun dun dun

I have been absolutely terrible about posting. I have much to catch everyone up on but big news takes precedence. Today I found out my site for the next two years.....La Grama, Cajamarca!!! The town is situated in a valley (which makes for warm weather during the day) and boasts a population of 1500 people. The last volunteer, who left three years ago and who is often referred to as ¨Patty Peace Corps¨--no joke--, started up organic farming projects, yoga, etc and so as you can imagine I am more than thrilled. There is a
farmers market every weekend, and oh yeah my host mom knows how to make veggie burgers!! This might mean that I can get through my two years consuming more than just potatoes and guinea pig. I am ecstatic. Still not sure what the bathroom and electricity situation will be like but I will be leaving Sunday for a week long visit to meet my future host family and community partners.

More news to come (photo is from my hiking trip to markahuasi with zach. we got up to watch the sunrise)

Sorry I haven't updated in a while.  New post in the works...  Here are some pictures to enjoy in the meantime!

A Down Moment

I´m lonely today. It´s really hard to make new friends when you´re being pulled in a million different directions by host families, training, other aspirantes, and connections back home. . . I guess I´m still trying to find that right balance. Also, some killer insects ate my ankle and now it is swollen, purple, and ugly. I´m sure in ten minutes my mood will turn but for now it´s good to vent.

Missing everyone back home like crazy :)

Patty

Lima the Horrible: Some Grievances

Sebastian Salazar once described his native city as “Lima the Horrible.” Herman Melville cited Lima as the “saddest city on earth.” I’m afraid I also detest Lima. The past three Saturdays I have traveled to Peru’s capital, and returned home exhausted, cold, and miserable.

Despite its elegant Spanish colonial architecture, its rich history, culture, and sophistication, I cannot bring myself to conjure up warm feelings for the metropolis. Among the graceful churches, balconies, and palaces one may find Kentucky Fried Chicken, Dunkin Donuts, Pizza Hut, McDonalds and any number of gastronomic “treasures” that we both cherish and abhor in the United States. When walking around the city, I constantly feel like I’m going to be robbed—if not by the pickpockets that skulk around the Plaza de Armas, then by the temptation of a 14 soles cup of coffee at Starbucks where many of the other aspirantes have taken distinct pleasure in purchasing some java goodness. Additionally, Lima is currently experiencing winter, which translates to chilly, foggy, and gray days. When one arrives in Lima, they immediately become enshrouded in a misty dullness that is so far from cheery that it’s no wonder nobody smiles. To top off all this misery, one is faced with the daunting task of returning home, where there are two main options: taxi or combi. The taxi offers a quicker, more comfortable option. However, one must find a driver willing to drive to Chaclacayo, negotiate the price of the journey, and make sure the car has proper markings before getting into the vehicle. While this might not seem so bad, it is not easy. I have heard horror stories of taxi drivers robbing their passengers or driving to remote locations where others have held up the passengers. What’s more, the simple crime of being a gringo makes the negotiation process exponentially more difficult. The first time a group of us attempted it, we were told the trip to Chaclacayo would cost 80 soles (it should be between 25 and 35). Thus, I am not too fond of the taxi option. To take the combi, one has only to climb on and pay 2.5 soles...yes, it seems easy, but please read on. The trip takes just under two hours to get to Chaclacayo, possibly standing the whole way. The combis are jammed so tight with people that the risk of being robbed is just as great, only it will most likely be less overt—think artful dodger: better than having a gun rammed into your temple, but either way you lose your cell phone, wallet and ipod. One becomes intimately acquainted with the body odors and curves of those pressed up against them, and as the vehicle comes to a screeching halt to squeeze more passengers on, it becomes necessary multitask like one has never multitasked before: suck in your stomach to make two more inches of space for people, protect your backpack under your right armpit, clench the railing with your left hand (this can take a great deal of strength, particularly if you are toward the front of the combi, because everyone else is launched into you and in most instances the rails are remarkably greasy), remain alert/keep your eyes darting in every direction, and pray that those who are breathing down your neck and grasping the same railings are not passing on some funky disease. Finally, taking the combi does not ensure that you will reach your destination. On my first trip home from Lima, the driver lost his license half way through the journey and everyone had to get off the vehicle and find another combi home. I loathe making the trip to Lima.

I´ve been in Peru for over a month

Life in Peru as a PCT (that’s Peace Corps lingo for Peace Corps Trainee) has had its charms. There is a redundancy and steadiness to my days; yet new twists are constantly being thrown into the mix. To explain, my schedule last week was pretty regular: wake up at 6:20, take a bucket bath (ever since I came down with a cold, my host mom has been heating water on the stove for me and has had it waiting for me when I get up), eat breakfast, take a crazy combi ride to the training center or another aspirante’s house for language class, end training around five, return home, have dinner/possibly use the internet, go to bed between 9:30 and 10:00. Somehow the regularity of it all still manages to yield to all kinds of adventures and life lessons.

Last Monday started off with a bang. The cobrador (the guy who collects the money on the combi) ripped me off. The trip from Yanacoto to the training center costs 50 cents. On this particular day, I only had 1 sol. These guys have tried to pull fast ones on me before so I asked 50 cents? He nodded, I handed over my money and then he said 70 cents and gave me 30 cents back. I politely said “Senor, I take the combi every day and I know it costs 50 cents.” He shook his head and moved on. So I mustered up some more courage and called after him “Senor, you owe me 20 more cents. I want my change back.” Still nothing. (For those of you who know me well, you probably realize how big a deal this is. I hate conflict, and I hate confronting people…but I especially hate being the victim of injustice) At this point, the woman sitting in front of me decided to get involved and shouted “Give the senorita back her money.” His wickedness ignored the woman. She lost it and went off on a rant about how he is bringing shame to Peru by ripping off the gringa, etc, etc. With my weak language skills, I tried to forcefully throw my two cents in every time the woman took a breath. All I could utter here and there was “thief,” “robber,” “I want my money back.” I didn’t get my money back, but I was proud of myself for putting up a good fight and standing up for myself…and you can bet that I have had exact change every time I’ve taken the combi since.

On Wednesday, I made my first trip to the mountains for a day trip. In true Peace Corps fashion, I wasn’t given any information about what I should do upon arrival. I think they like withholding stuff from us. 5 of us were driven to a quaint town called Callahuanca and left to our own devices for the day. We did some exploring and did a small community analysis, but to be quite frank, we really just enjoyed the warm sun and the beautiful view. This town is known for its trout farm, avocado, and chirimoya (a fruit that varies in size, is green on the outside, and white inside with large black seeds). You can bet I bought a kilo of chirimoyas and my share of avocados.

The following day I had my first youth group session with three other aspirantes. We are working at a retreat center for nuns where physically disabled children go to live while recuperating from corrective surgery. As with everything else I’ve done this far, things ran anything but smoothly or according to plan. It turns out that these kids have non-negotiable physical therapy every Thursday at the exact same time we are scheduled to have our sessions. Just as with all the other setbacks, our only option has been to roll with the punches, be accommodating and flexible. On this particular Thursday, the kids were able to participate for an hour. We decorated nametags together, had them interview each other, then present their friends to the rest of the group. Our main focus of the group is going to be self-esteem building/development of healthy lifestyles but the first day was meant mainly to start getting to know the kids while getting a feel for their abilities. I have never met a more outgoing and polite group. I am very excited to continue our sessions there.

Settling In

I have now been in Peru for two weeks. While I have managed (so far) to evade the dreaded gastrointestinal plagues, I did manage to contract a nasty cold. There has been much to adjust to and I’m sure the stress of it combined with an icy shower each morning and lack of sleep all contributed to my current condition. I shall persevere nevertheless.

In my last post I mentioned the dogs that howl all night long and the roosters who crow before daybreak. I adjusted to these small annoyances rather easily (in fact my host mom talked to the neighbors to tell them that her “daughter” couldn’t sleep because the rooster was always “singing”, and they told her not to worry, that they would be slitting its throat in short time! Ahh). It seems, however, that each night something new gets thrown into the mix. Friday night there was a drunken man singing and making merry outside our house into the wee hours. Saturday night there was a bash in the local blasting music until 3 am. Then in the morning there was an hour-long speech for Father’s day over the town’s loudspeaker and, yep, more music. What’s more, there is a house being built next door and the workers and their families are hanging outside our door from dusk til dawn. Ay Dios Mio.

Things aren’t all bad though. Saturday night I wandered around Chosica, a local urban center, with some other aspirantes. It was fun to act like a total gringa, speaking English all night, taking lots of photos, and eating pizza for dinner instead of more rice. I bought a charcoal pencil and eraser so I can start sketching again. Also, I am now the proud owner of a fire engine red guitar that my friend Salvador picked out at a music store in Lima called “Patty’s.” A few others bought guitars as well so we can all jam together. This time I’m really going to commit myself to mastering the art. Tonight I played until my fingers were raw. I’m really out of practice.

I experienced my first Peruvian mass on Sunday. It was a truly enjoyable experience. We sang to the accompaniment of an acoustic guitar rather than an organ and it was all very tranquilo. Unfortunately, the new friend that I made eclipsed the spiritual experience. A petite 8-year old girl named Lily sat next to me where she aped my every move. If I crossed my legs, she’d do the same. If I sang out of the hymnal, she’d point to the upcoming words for me with her other arm around my waist. If I stood up, she’d stand on her chair so she could be closer in height to me. We made a play date to do hair and play with dolls the following day….or so I thought. While I was in training Monday, Lily found out where I live and knocked on the door two times and asked some of the other aspirantes where she could find me. Turns out, she thought I would buy her and her friends dolls. I saw her with her parents that night and she gave me a big hug and broke off a piece of her twinkie for me. Could a sweet, charismatic 8-year-old girl possibly be trying to con me into buying her toys? I’m not quite sure, but she hasn’t knocked on my door since my host mother told her sternly that I had no intention of buying her a muneca. This afternoon I had another interaction with the youth from my town. 3 little girls came and sat next to me when I was reading. Like most of the other children I’ve met here, they shocked me with how gregarious they all were. This time, however, I was a bit more guarded. When they asked me to give them my bracelet and turtle earrings, I responded with an emphatic “No!”, and explained that as a Peace Corps volunteer, I did not have the means to provide them with jewelry…just in case they were under the impression that this gringa is a gringa who will fall for their charm and play Santa Claus. (Though they were all so cute and had I stuck around any longer, they might have had me…ahh there is much to get used to here. Poco a poco)

Poco a Poco

Yes I’m alive; yes I have survived my first week with the Peace Corps...

The only word I can think of to describe my experience thus far is surreal. This past week has been so intense that it is difficult to discern what exactly I should be writing about. How could I possibly recount an experience that has (so far) been incredible on so many levels? I might list my activities over the last seven days, detail what I have learned, describe my array of emotions, or I could illustrate the new people that have come into my life and inspired me…yet nothing I write could possibly convey with any kind of accuracy just how extraordinary and absurd this week has been. And so, to those few who may be reading this blog, I beg that you pardon my lame attempt at informing you of what’s going on in my life until I have time to process and reflect a bit more.

Let me begin by saying that everything about this experience so far has felt “right”…like this is what I am meant to be doing. I have met 39 wonderful aspirantes (what they call Peace Corps trainees) who all have similar credos as myself. This is a group whose members come from diverse backgrounds across the United States; all have had unique life experiences; there is a mix of ages and gender…yet everyone has expressed a passion for grassroots development, giving of themselves, saving the world, making a difference, learning a new language, culture, and way of living, and having one grand adventure…namely, these are people that “give a damn,” people that I have been longing to meet.

During the next three months of training, I will be residing with a host family on a hillside pueblo called Yanacoto. Living conditions are modest, but by no means uncomfortable. While I feel at home here, there are several minor things to adjust to. Things that we take for granted in the United States, like tiles, carpets, toilets that have a toilet seat and flush, paved roads, cars, etc. are all considered luxuries. I am one of the fortunate ones in that I have a toilet seat; but the floors are made of cement, the roof of corrugated tin, and we don’t always have running water. Scruffy looking dogs, both stray and domestic, roam the streets and howl at all hours of the night. Some are kept on the roofs of houses. If they don’t wake me up, I can surely count on the detestable cockadoodledoo of the roosters to replace my alarm clock. And if all else, fails, there is always the ice cold shower to jolt me awake…sans water pressure so the process, as if not already excruciating enough, takes double the amount of time to complete. After my shower, I sit down with my host mom and 21-year-old brother for breakfast. A typical “desayuno” consists of a roll with jam, soupy oatmeal drank from a mug, and half an avocado. Que rico!

There is a common expression here that I love: “Poco a Poco.” It means little by little. Every time I get frustrated because my Spanish isn’t coming along fast enough, or I’m feeling overwhelmed by the tasks that lie ahead, my host mom gives me a half smile and wisely reassures me, “poco a poca.” It is difficult to have patience when one’s ability to communicate is stunted. Most of our dinners consist of me pointing to things and saying “Como se llama?” Or “Como se dice…?” If that doesn’t work we resort to charades and sound effects. It is a rather comical experience, although at the end of a long day of training, I am so exhausted that the thought of going home to participate in this bout is very daunting. While I have tested into the level required of me to begin service at the end of August, I feel very incompetent and lacking in my language skills. It is hard to have faith that I will be able to achieve any kind of fluency in just three months, but then again it is only my first week here. Growth takes time. Poco a Poco.

Like Sands through the Hour Glass..

Man, people sure are nice when they discover you're leaving for two years.  I think it is some kind of evil subconscious thing on the part of the "leavee" that makes the leaving part that much more difficult for the "leaver."  These past couple of weeks have been spent surrounded by good friends and my loving family. Last weekend in Boston was wonderful.  Friday night, Andrew and I had dinner in the north end with an amazing bottle of chianti, delicious food, and of course the obligatory cannoli from Modern Pastry.  Saturday evening was a bit rowdier-- filled with karaoke, scorpion bowls, mystery meat teriyaki, etc.  It was a celebration for the books.

Now, as the time to bid adieux looms closer, the mood in my house is a bit more somber.  I've been scrambling around doing last minute errands (one of which included seeing the new Indiana Jones movie...totally ridiculous but entertaining nevertheless), and trying to keep my mind from dwelling on worst case scenarios.  Somehow packing has not managed to get itself onto the to-do list just yet but alas, there's still a day remaining.  I don't know what I would do without my mom keeping me on track with the rest of the stuff.

By the way, I was really proud of my dad tonight.  We went out for sushi for some father-daughter mushy bonding time and my dad had an open mind and helped me indulge in all the wild and crazy maki rolls I could eat.  

send off partay

Yesterday my parents threw me a barbecue and it was amazing. We had an incredible turnout (over 100 people) and everybody seemed to have a great ti

me. I felt so honored that everyone went out of their way to help me celebrate the occasion. The weather was awesome, the food and drink even better, and saying goodbye/getting last minute pieces of advice from some of my closest friends was the best. Special high points were:

-the cake--marble with raspberry filling yeahhhh

-my godmother showing up in a winter wool coat and a scarf wrapped around her head complaining about how cold the 72 degree day was and how she should have worn her fur

-my reunion with Lauren--bffs since the womb but separated for many many months

-smores

-all my home friends, school friends, and friends that I mooched from Andrew (but am truly fond of and would like to consider my own)

-Magic Hat

-My dad giving a strip of the lawn a buzz cut so that we could play bocce and my mom's reaction to it.

Thank you everyone for your presence and well wishes.

anticipación

As my date of departure fast approaches, I find myself getting cold feet.

I have spent many restless nights fitful with anxiety and apprehension. When I climb into bed, my mind begins to race with anticipation and I am growing quite accustomed to the tangle of bed linens I awake to find myself trapped in each morning.  

Neither my excitement, nor my aspirations have diminished. My yen for adventure, service, and travel remains vibrant. Rather, cognizance of the approaching unknown is toying with my sanity. I am about to bid farewell to a world that is comfortable and friendly. The moment I step off the plane in Lima I will be bombarded by unfamiliars...and I am terrified---I mean excited!  

I feel my ties to home constrict whenever I try to imagine what these next two years will hold. I'm afraid to let go. I am discovering new reserves of patience and fondness for those around me, and while this time ought to be blissful, untroubled, and buoyant, I find myself concurrently burdened with solemnity. Both the organic and the inert stir my emotions as never before. One of my objectives for this trip is to divest myself of materialistic habits, and yet I suddenly look at my car, my books, and my favorite rocking chair with a sense of longing.

I hope Peru will enrich my soul and bestow me with good, lasting friendships. I look forward to the experiences to come and do not wish to demean the excitement I feel by expressing my trepidations. I realize there will be dark days and happy days and I am ready to embrace both with enthusiasm. Bring on the unfamiliar, I say!

Hopefully, Good Bye will be the hardest part.

Haven't arrived yet but already made it to Machu Picchu

Just a quick entry to write about my recent activities. Ok so the title is a bit deceptive. Last Sunday night I met up with my friend Leigh and went to dinner with her Peruvian friend, Cynthia, and Cynthia's boyfriend. We dined at a Peruvian restaurant (called Machu Picchu, thus the title of this blog entry) and Cynthia answered many of my questions. After this experience, I am really looking forward to Peruvian cuisine. As my vegetarianism kept me from venturing beyond seafood, I sort of "chickened out" (pardon my pun) on the meat dishes and ordered rice and beans (tacu-tacu). Cynthia let me try some of her ceviche, which had a strong lime flavor--i love limes-- and we all shared fried yuca. I can't wait to try ceviche again although am a bit leary about eating raw fish just anywhere. The best part of the meal was the pitcher of chicha morada. This is a juice made from boiled purple maize and chunks of pineapple. It was delicious. I learned that Peruvians are very proud of their corn and potatoes. Apparently there are over 2,000 potato variations in Peru. Another fun potato fact is that the cultivated potato is of Peruvian origen---around the Lake Titicaca area.

peru here I come

I began my Peace Corps application in August of 2006 and did not submit it until April 2007. Although Peace Corps is something I've entertained in the back of my mind since high school, the thought of actually following through with the idea terrified me. I dragged my feet filling out the application during my senior year of college, doing a bit here, a bit there, but never doing enough to submit it. In my own defense, senior year can be a troubling time. For many, it is the first time one is faced with making his/her own decisions. My path was laid out nicely for me up until college...even the decision to go to Providence College was not entirely my own (not that I would have changed anything, Dad). All of a sudden there is no clear next step. One can do anything he/she wants and this is scary. What's more, my senior year was chock full of other pressing worries, like making sure I had enough credits to graduate, boy troubles, planning commencement, etc. I did not want to have anything to do with the abyss that was looming as of May 21, 2007.
Well I finally got my act together and submitted my application around April. My interview was then scheduled for May 21, 2007--the day after graduation, the day I moved out of college, and the day the abyss became reality. I found the interview to be disheartening. My recruiter told me that I would not do a whole lot during my first year of service and that I should take that as an opportunity to catch up on my reading. Don't get me wrong, I love to read but the idea of living in poverty for 2 years if it was all in vain did not sound appealing. She also told me nominations for Latin America (the region I had my heart set on) were super competitive, particularly for those who are not already fluent in Spanish. I minored in the language but am in no way fluent. After expressing my apprehensions, she told me to sit on the idea for a while and to get back to her. After two weeks, I sent her an email saying I'm still in and might as well go through with the rest of the process to see where I end up. She responded saying she had nominated me for Latin America to do youth development and to depart in June, 2008. Perfect!
I thought the hard part was over but then came the medical packet...which was sent back to me about 5 times. Because I'm a not-so-responsible vegetarian, I am anemic and the Office of Medical Services would not accept my medical packet until I got my iron up. It's a very fortunate thing that my nomination wasn't until June because that gave me a year to get all that nonsense completed.
So now, almost 2 years after beginning my Peace Corps application, I have finally received an official invitation to serve... And to serve in Peru (which is a dream come true because I have always had a fascination with that country, for some bizarre reason, and now fate seems to be kicking in, the stars are aligning, I have realized my destiny etc etc but that is another story for another day)
I will be leaving June 4, 2008 for a new adventure and I am scared out of my mind --in a good way. Until next time,
Patty

By the way, this entire post was an effort to procrastinate writing my Peace Corps aspiration statement. Pretty lame on my part but I hate self-evaluation assignments.

test run

I'm trying this out for the first time...whohooo i'm officially a blogger.