I'm wandering toward the back of our group of 4 in utter disgust of where we were, wondering why the writers who reviewed Belen thought it would be funny to send tourists there. Good joke, guys. You got us! There we were, with our cameras and backpacks in true tourist fashion standing completely off guard and out of place. I look down to see a small, naked child squatted at my feet peeing in the soggy garbage and muck. It wasn't even worth concerning myself about getting urine on my shoes. They had already been through much worse. I did not find relief in this.
Completely absorbed in my thoughts about how awful this place smelled, I was unaware of what was happening around me. In one single instant I feel a strong squeeze and pull on my wrist. I panicked, releasing my grasp of my little red pouch that had my digital camera and cash in it. The bag has a loop that was wrapped around my wrist, but didn't add much more security. The man yanked the pouch right from the loop - straight out of my hand - and ran.
It all happened in seconds, but somewhere in there I screamed which grabbed the attention of all the locals in the market. Three more guys ran after the thief, and in my ignorant innocence I thought they were running after him to tackle him and get my camera back. But in reality, they were not trying to rescue a damsel in distress but were in fact running because they too had just robbed someone.
I frantically yelled to my friends walking ahead what had happened. There was only one boy in our group, and he just so happens to be the team captain and record holding track star at his university. He tosses us his bag and takes off after the man who had stolen my camera. We follow behind by directions from locals who are out watching the whole debacle from their wobbly decks. "He went that way, Senorita!" "Down the stairs! To the left!" The whole town was involved, even friends of the perpetrator who posed as concerned witnesses and attempted to steer us in the wrong direction.
Finally after sliding down slimy stone staircases and crossing swamps of trash on wooden planks we find our friend. He is surrounded by street kids who are all excited from the chaos and talking at once. It was clear that they knew who we were looking for and where he was but out of loyalty, or possibly fear, were not going to rat him out. One kid explained to us that the thief is a very bad, dangerous man with a knife and we should go to the cops rather than searching for him ourselves throughout the floating neighborhood.
So that's exactly what we did.
In the police station there was a man sitting on the floor against the wall holding a bloody cloth to his eye yelling something at the officer that I couldn't understand and I would be surprised if the officer could either. My fluent Spanish-speaking friend explained what had happened to the man behind the desk, and he took us upstairs to flip through photo albums jammed packed with pictures of grim, morose men who had been arrested for whatever reason in the past to see if we could identify him. Unfortunately none of us had gotten a very good look at him, and we were too unsure to choose a criminal from a photo. The cops went down to the street and grabbed a kid who claimed he knew what the man looked like. He said that none of the men in the photos were the one.
We sat in the incredibly hot police station for what seemed like hours on end telling our testimonies and stating a report. I described the camera, the clothes he was wearing, and any other helpful information which was not much. I had to repeat myself a few times because at this point one of the two officers had turned on his favorite iTunes playlist on full blast and it was difficult for us to hear each other. I knew I was never going to get my things back, yet I felt it was for some reason necessary to go through the motions of it all.
After the papers were signed and one of the officers had thoroughly hit on my friend, we started to leave. We asked if it was true that Belen was a hotspot for tourists, and the cops replied that yes, yes it is, but only with police escorts at all times. Something the guidebooks failed to mention. It was getting dark by now, so the officer walked us to the edge of the market to get a cab. The locals watched as we left with our tails between our legs and one camera and 150 soles less than we came with.
I think getting stolen from is one of the worst, most helpless feelings. Even though I was incredibly freaked out by the whole experience and deeply hurt that a stranger wanted to take advantage of me like that, I was and am still am immensely grateful that my track star friend never caught up with the thief. Also that my little red pouch had been with me through the years and was worn weak enough to break easily from my wrist. Who knows what could have happened. I just lost a camera and some cash which can be easily replaced, but things could have gotten a lot worse very quickly. So I guess in a twisted, roundabout way, I was very lucky that afternoon in Belen.
Too bad that luck didn't last me during my time in the Amazon jungle. But that story is an entry in itself.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Despite the odds, I'm still alive.
Ok, let me preface this by saying that I am in no way complaining or looking for pity points. If anything we should all laugh because the story I am about to share is pretty ridiculous. I promised no excessively long posts, so I'm going to break this up a little.
I say goodbye to my host family, and lug my thousand pound suitcase to the bus that is waiting outside. The whole gang is headed on our longest excursion yet: Lima for 8 days, Iquitos and the Amazon jungle for 7. I had my water purification tablets and Lunabars (just in case I got lost in the jungle for a few days), a huge first aid kit, poison in the disguise of insect repellent, Malaria pills, and a wardrobe of sun protective clothing that would never be fashionably acceptable in any other part of the world except the Amazon. I was prepared.
So we get to Lima and I'm not impressed. Its just like any other big American city. It was nice at first to finally see all those American brands that we had missed so much. There was an organic grocery store, movie theaters, casinos, trash cans, all things that none of us had seen in quite some time. But in general, I just wasn't feeling the vibe of the city. However, as anyone from a landlocked state like Oklahoma will tell you, when there is a beach - no matter how ugly, rocky, and simply unattractive it is - you go. And you like it.
In our true American manner though, we didn't have to settle for the dirty Lima beach. No, we hopped on our bright red Mercedes tour bus and drove down the coast a few hours to a huge, beautiful private beach house that sat only a few steps down a stone staircase from the water. Jackpot. We claimed beds, threw on our suits, and ran barefoot down to the sand. There was no one on the beach but us. We splashed around and dove under waves until the sun went down. There was one point right before sunset when I stopped to look around me and appreciate where I was. I was with good friends in a beautiful place. I felt truly happy.
Unfortunately, I took too much of a good thing and made it into a horrible, unbearably painful sunburn. The whole next day we spent lounging on beach towels, running back and forth to the ocean to refresh ourselves. I, as an avid shade lover, am ashamed to say that I failed to factor in the fact that the sun's rays are quite a bit stronger here into my sunscreen regimen. I didn't realize I was baking myself until it was too late. I was extra crispy.
Back in the hostel in Lima, every motion that I made had to have purpose or it wasn't even worth it. My gals and I lied on our beds moaning and groaning and constantly comparing much pain we were in. Aloe was useless, and melted instantly against our lobster red skin. We slept on top of our blankets because the pressure of even the lightest sheet was too much. We couldn't sit down, we couldn't stand up, we could barely wear clothes at all. We were in bad shape, and the upcoming plane ride to Iquitos sounded like torture. Little did I know what was in store.
Iquitos is a hot, sticky town that sits right on the river and can only be accessed by boat or plane. Everyone drives motorcycles, and the bustle of the streets is loud and constant. I limped my way from the small Iquitos airport to our next hostel where we found air conditioning. We cranked up the cold air on high blast in hopes of relief from our burning skin, and I decided that is what Heaven must feel like. We were off to a good start in Iquitos. It felt good to be out of Lima.
In all of the guidebooks (so Ive been told. I have yet to open mine.) a community named Belen in Iquitos is a must-see. It is described as beautiful waterfront property, and houses that rest on stilts in the river. We were told of the market of Belen, a place where you could find local vendors selling fresh fruits from the jungle and every trinket you may need for your trip. We had a free day and decided to go check it out.
Lies.
Belen is the slums. By beautiful waterfront property, they meant shacks made from floatwood that were falling into the heavily polluted, murky river. In the market, we were literally ankle deep in soggy, rotting garbage. And the smell. I can't even describe the smell. I didn't like it there at all. They didn't like us there either, and within 5 minutes the incident happened.
...to be continued.
I say goodbye to my host family, and lug my thousand pound suitcase to the bus that is waiting outside. The whole gang is headed on our longest excursion yet: Lima for 8 days, Iquitos and the Amazon jungle for 7. I had my water purification tablets and Lunabars (just in case I got lost in the jungle for a few days), a huge first aid kit, poison in the disguise of insect repellent, Malaria pills, and a wardrobe of sun protective clothing that would never be fashionably acceptable in any other part of the world except the Amazon. I was prepared.
So we get to Lima and I'm not impressed. Its just like any other big American city. It was nice at first to finally see all those American brands that we had missed so much. There was an organic grocery store, movie theaters, casinos, trash cans, all things that none of us had seen in quite some time. But in general, I just wasn't feeling the vibe of the city. However, as anyone from a landlocked state like Oklahoma will tell you, when there is a beach - no matter how ugly, rocky, and simply unattractive it is - you go. And you like it.
In our true American manner though, we didn't have to settle for the dirty Lima beach. No, we hopped on our bright red Mercedes tour bus and drove down the coast a few hours to a huge, beautiful private beach house that sat only a few steps down a stone staircase from the water. Jackpot. We claimed beds, threw on our suits, and ran barefoot down to the sand. There was no one on the beach but us. We splashed around and dove under waves until the sun went down. There was one point right before sunset when I stopped to look around me and appreciate where I was. I was with good friends in a beautiful place. I felt truly happy.
Unfortunately, I took too much of a good thing and made it into a horrible, unbearably painful sunburn. The whole next day we spent lounging on beach towels, running back and forth to the ocean to refresh ourselves. I, as an avid shade lover, am ashamed to say that I failed to factor in the fact that the sun's rays are quite a bit stronger here into my sunscreen regimen. I didn't realize I was baking myself until it was too late. I was extra crispy.
Back in the hostel in Lima, every motion that I made had to have purpose or it wasn't even worth it. My gals and I lied on our beds moaning and groaning and constantly comparing much pain we were in. Aloe was useless, and melted instantly against our lobster red skin. We slept on top of our blankets because the pressure of even the lightest sheet was too much. We couldn't sit down, we couldn't stand up, we could barely wear clothes at all. We were in bad shape, and the upcoming plane ride to Iquitos sounded like torture. Little did I know what was in store.
Iquitos is a hot, sticky town that sits right on the river and can only be accessed by boat or plane. Everyone drives motorcycles, and the bustle of the streets is loud and constant. I limped my way from the small Iquitos airport to our next hostel where we found air conditioning. We cranked up the cold air on high blast in hopes of relief from our burning skin, and I decided that is what Heaven must feel like. We were off to a good start in Iquitos. It felt good to be out of Lima.
In all of the guidebooks (so Ive been told. I have yet to open mine.) a community named Belen in Iquitos is a must-see. It is described as beautiful waterfront property, and houses that rest on stilts in the river. We were told of the market of Belen, a place where you could find local vendors selling fresh fruits from the jungle and every trinket you may need for your trip. We had a free day and decided to go check it out.
Lies.
Belen is the slums. By beautiful waterfront property, they meant shacks made from floatwood that were falling into the heavily polluted, murky river. In the market, we were literally ankle deep in soggy, rotting garbage. And the smell. I can't even describe the smell. I didn't like it there at all. They didn't like us there either, and within 5 minutes the incident happened.
...to be continued.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
As is above, so below.
From salsa lessons to herding sheep and shaving alpacas, I've been playing and living the life. Of course I am technically doing the school thing here, so I'm learning a lot too. My Spanish skills are still laughable, and being able to say more than "How are you?" and "See you tomorrow" in Quechua by the time this is over is seemingly close to impossible. But instead I'm learning things here in Perú that I thought I had already known.
I've always been fascinated by the way thoughts, ideas, and lives interconnect. This is a concept that has been staring me in the face since I've stepped off the plane in Lima. For example, there are two people here in my program that go to the same college back home, yet they had never met eachother until arriving in Perú. It seems to me that the chances of meeting someone on a tiny New England campus after 3 years of attending are a little higher than a small study abroad program in Cusco, Perú. But even further, these two people are friends and classmates with one of my boyfriend's roommates in Rome, Italy. Really, what are the chances? I met a Peruvian man on the bus yesterday who has a brother who lives in Tulsa, OK. I was skeptical until he told me that he really misses Ron's hamburgers and wishes there was a restaurant like that here in Cusco.
Its things like this that remind me that no matter how much I wish I was at times, I'm not some independent individual living a separate life from the people around me. Instead, I am part of a giant web that connects in places around the corner and literally across the world. I can't help but believe that this network goes beyond friendships and relationships and extends through our actions. I learned in 7th grade science class that every force creates a cause and effect. Of course at this time, I grasped that concept more simply such as if i push a needle through this balloon, it will pop. But as I experience more, I am able to realize that every thing that I do affects you and every thing that you do affects me. No matter where I am.
Because in reality, people aren't all that different. Here I am in the Southern hemisphere very far from home and everything that I've known before, but I'm able to live my life here as I would there more or less. This was the case even when I was literally in the middle of nowhere, Perú living with an indigenous farming family for a week. I was stressed. What could I possbily have in common with this family of alpaca farmers? Not the same language, not the same lifestyle, and definitely not the same sleeping habits. But there were more similarities than I had expected. The children graciously thanked their mother for all of her work after meals, the oldest daughter was in a fight with her boyfriend until he brought over a bouquet of freshly picked yellow flowers from the mountainside (which the mother quickly transformed into a sweet, fragrant tea), the parents stressed over money, and the dog wasn't allowed in the kitchen during meal times. All of these things were familiar to me although I had expected to live a completely foreign life. But most important to me, we laughed the same. The grandmother would make jokes about how old and forgetful her husband was getting and we would laugh together. Despite the ever present language barrier and my lack of farm skills, we lived with human similaries that defy all borders.
I wear a brighly beaded hair wrap that reaches to my belly button. On the bottom dangles a bronze charm of a starfish, a symbol that helps me to remember what I am learning. An interconnectness exists between all things far and near, living or inert. Just as there are stars as far our means extend to the sky, there are stars as low as our reach can take us to the bottom of the ocean. As is above, so below.
I've always been fascinated by the way thoughts, ideas, and lives interconnect. This is a concept that has been staring me in the face since I've stepped off the plane in Lima. For example, there are two people here in my program that go to the same college back home, yet they had never met eachother until arriving in Perú. It seems to me that the chances of meeting someone on a tiny New England campus after 3 years of attending are a little higher than a small study abroad program in Cusco, Perú. But even further, these two people are friends and classmates with one of my boyfriend's roommates in Rome, Italy. Really, what are the chances? I met a Peruvian man on the bus yesterday who has a brother who lives in Tulsa, OK. I was skeptical until he told me that he really misses Ron's hamburgers and wishes there was a restaurant like that here in Cusco.
Its things like this that remind me that no matter how much I wish I was at times, I'm not some independent individual living a separate life from the people around me. Instead, I am part of a giant web that connects in places around the corner and literally across the world. I can't help but believe that this network goes beyond friendships and relationships and extends through our actions. I learned in 7th grade science class that every force creates a cause and effect. Of course at this time, I grasped that concept more simply such as if i push a needle through this balloon, it will pop. But as I experience more, I am able to realize that every thing that I do affects you and every thing that you do affects me. No matter where I am.
Because in reality, people aren't all that different. Here I am in the Southern hemisphere very far from home and everything that I've known before, but I'm able to live my life here as I would there more or less. This was the case even when I was literally in the middle of nowhere, Perú living with an indigenous farming family for a week. I was stressed. What could I possbily have in common with this family of alpaca farmers? Not the same language, not the same lifestyle, and definitely not the same sleeping habits. But there were more similarities than I had expected. The children graciously thanked their mother for all of her work after meals, the oldest daughter was in a fight with her boyfriend until he brought over a bouquet of freshly picked yellow flowers from the mountainside (which the mother quickly transformed into a sweet, fragrant tea), the parents stressed over money, and the dog wasn't allowed in the kitchen during meal times. All of these things were familiar to me although I had expected to live a completely foreign life. But most important to me, we laughed the same. The grandmother would make jokes about how old and forgetful her husband was getting and we would laugh together. Despite the ever present language barrier and my lack of farm skills, we lived with human similaries that defy all borders.
I wear a brighly beaded hair wrap that reaches to my belly button. On the bottom dangles a bronze charm of a starfish, a symbol that helps me to remember what I am learning. An interconnectness exists between all things far and near, living or inert. Just as there are stars as far our means extend to the sky, there are stars as low as our reach can take us to the bottom of the ocean. As is above, so below.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Vida es bueno.
In the lottery of host families, I hit the jackpot. They are young, beautiful, and so in love. My host mom just turned 30 and is 5 months pregnant. When she was working, she was a teacher for a modern kindergaten where she used a hands-on, active teaching style with her little ones. She is perfect for me because I speak just like her 4 year olds and she is used to desiphering jibberish. My host dad is an adorable little round faced man who loves soccer. He is an engineer, and designs machinery to use in the andean mines. They have been married three years and are anxiously awaiting their first child who they just found out last week is a girl. Lucky.
They like talking to me and ask me a lot of questions about Oklahoma. They love the fact that we have indigenous people there like they do here. They are always very nice and patient and just sarcastic enough to keep things interesting. They know when to give me my space though, which apparently is rare among Peruvian host families. A few of my friends are struggling to find time to themselves with their over-eager or over-demanding families. I haven´t had one single problem with mine.
I´m starting to get to know Cusco a little better and I love it. It was wonderful and much needed to see some familiar faces on Skype last night, but I´m not homesick yet. I am so happy here.
I have class now, but I have much more to say so check back for an update later!
They like talking to me and ask me a lot of questions about Oklahoma. They love the fact that we have indigenous people there like they do here. They are always very nice and patient and just sarcastic enough to keep things interesting. They know when to give me my space though, which apparently is rare among Peruvian host families. A few of my friends are struggling to find time to themselves with their over-eager or over-demanding families. I haven´t had one single problem with mine.
I´m starting to get to know Cusco a little better and I love it. It was wonderful and much needed to see some familiar faces on Skype last night, but I´m not homesick yet. I am so happy here.
I have class now, but I have much more to say so check back for an update later!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Last night I slept on a island in lake Titicaca
but the best part was (other than the monsterous South American spider waiting for me on my pillow) that the island was made of reeds and floated. For some reason, people post-Inca times preferred to construct these floating islands and live on the lake instead of solid land. Its hard to blame them. Lake Titicaca is beautiful and plays a huge part in connecting with ancestors past, and is often called the Lake of Spirits. I was really looking forward to having a dream with messages from the other side but to no avail. I wrote everything down I could remember just in case there was some hidden messages that just aren´t clear yet, but I have my doubts.
Before we slept, the family that was hosting us on the island and my group exchanged songs from our countries. I got the goosebumps when they sang in their native language about importance and their appreciation of the lake on which they lived. We relpied with a Britney Spears song. I was ashamed.
I have to go to school now. That seems weird considering I haven´t been to a class in about 2 months. I´m actually looking forward to the hours of Spanish that are in store for the afternoon. I have so much I want to say to people but I don´t know the words. That seems to be a common theme here in Peru. There are no words to describe.
Before we slept, the family that was hosting us on the island and my group exchanged songs from our countries. I got the goosebumps when they sang in their native language about importance and their appreciation of the lake on which they lived. We relpied with a Britney Spears song. I was ashamed.
I have to go to school now. That seems weird considering I haven´t been to a class in about 2 months. I´m actually looking forward to the hours of Spanish that are in store for the afternoon. I have so much I want to say to people but I don´t know the words. That seems to be a common theme here in Peru. There are no words to describe.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Machupinchme
Machupicchu is the most incredible place Ive ever seen. The ruins were cool, but the hour and a half trainride through the jungle to the mountain was more impressive. After a Spanish tour through the ruins we took a hike to the Ican Sungate. It was absolutely breathtaking. I mean this literally, I was gasping for air like a fish out of water in the attempt to climb ancient stone steps laid by Incans in a time that I can´t imagine existing. When we finally reached the top it was more than worth it. Words cant describe, so I wont try. Ive seen some beautiful views in my life, but this tops all. Andes mountains as far as you can see until they disappeared into the clouds, untouched waterfalls pouring into a river below, and a flawless stone structure to rest on and take it all in.
I took part in a ceremony of gratitude for Mother Earth by saying a quick prayer and a swig of wine after pouring a drop into the earth. I have no doubt that my prayer was heard because if its true that Heaven is a place located in the clouds, I was knocking right next door.
I took part in a ceremony of gratitude for Mother Earth by saying a quick prayer and a swig of wine after pouring a drop into the earth. I have no doubt that my prayer was heard because if its true that Heaven is a place located in the clouds, I was knocking right next door.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I found internet access outside next to the cactus.
Peru gets cooler the more I get to know her (Obviously Peru is female). I woke up early this morning to the sound of my poor roommate throwing up. By the sounds I heard I thought she was running a bath. I sat outside with a cup of coffee and watched the fog lift from the mountaintops while jotting a few goals down in my journal.
Goal #1: Make a 4.0
Goal #2: Leave this place not feeling like a tourist.
ect.
(I tried to upload some pictures here but the connection just wouldn't allow it)
Yesterday we had an assignment to make a dish out of an assigned food. My group of 3 got the pepper. We walked down the stone road to the plaza and attempted to find the market on our own to no avail. Finally we asked an older woman wearing a tan top hat who was selling peanuts from the sidewalk where the market was. She pointed, and we bought a bag of red peanuts.
6 chili peppers, 7 carrots, 2 onions, 3 eggs, two handfuls of peas, a bag of flour=4 soles. $1.30
When we got back our director was a little disappointed that we let the women in the market take advantage of us like that. We should have gotten a much better deal on those eggs.
Our dish was a disaster of course, but that is beside the point.
It is interesting to see the differences of standards between Peru and the US as far as sanitation goes. The market was absolutely beautiful with carts full of brightly colored fruit whose names I could not pronounce, and piles of potatoes as tall as the stalky women who sell them. But the meat. The meat for sale is literally half of an animal hanging from a hook and covered in flies in which the men chop off the requested amount and toss into a plastic bag. It looks like its been there for days. My friends and I couldn't stop staring at the blood drip to the floor as a man sawed at a piece of beef to sell. We gagged and moved on to the veggies.
But the chicken for dinner tonight was delicious.
Goal #1: Make a 4.0
Goal #2: Leave this place not feeling like a tourist.
ect.
(I tried to upload some pictures here but the connection just wouldn't allow it)
Yesterday we had an assignment to make a dish out of an assigned food. My group of 3 got the pepper. We walked down the stone road to the plaza and attempted to find the market on our own to no avail. Finally we asked an older woman wearing a tan top hat who was selling peanuts from the sidewalk where the market was. She pointed, and we bought a bag of red peanuts.
6 chili peppers, 7 carrots, 2 onions, 3 eggs, two handfuls of peas, a bag of flour=4 soles. $1.30
When we got back our director was a little disappointed that we let the women in the market take advantage of us like that. We should have gotten a much better deal on those eggs.
Our dish was a disaster of course, but that is beside the point.
It is interesting to see the differences of standards between Peru and the US as far as sanitation goes. The market was absolutely beautiful with carts full of brightly colored fruit whose names I could not pronounce, and piles of potatoes as tall as the stalky women who sell them. But the meat. The meat for sale is literally half of an animal hanging from a hook and covered in flies in which the men chop off the requested amount and toss into a plastic bag. It looks like its been there for days. My friends and I couldn't stop staring at the blood drip to the floor as a man sawed at a piece of beef to sell. We gagged and moved on to the veggies.
But the chicken for dinner tonight was delicious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)