Peru part 1

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July 9
Wow. Wow wow wow. I've only been in Peru for about six hours but it is a different world. Seriously, right now I am lying in bed with a pair of long underwear and pants on, a nightshirt and a sweater and wool socks and I'm still cold. We are in winter here. When we arrived, we were led in ritual opening ceremonies. We had to each take three coca leaves and smell them, and make three wishes for our time in Peru. Then we had to drink this ghastly liqueur that I swear was 90 proof. I did plenty of choking; it was really embarrassing. Then we went to the houses with our families. My mom's name is Martina and she has three kids, two girls and a boy. We had dinner which was the best soup and amazing herbal tea. There is also a tiny tiny baby kitty here whom we have christened Pablito after Pablo Picaso, for no apparent reason. He is an orphan according to Martina. It is twenty after seven, pitch black outside, and I'm exhausted so I'll write more tomorrow.

July 10
Wow what a day. I'm writing this under my covers because it is still so cold; it's been snowing in the mountains all day. Tomorrow and Thursday there is supposed to be a strike here so no one can leave Juli or the surrounding area for two days, if not more. Today we spent herding animals, trying to make yarn from wool, and cooking potatoes over an open fire in the afternoon. I have also been learning the art of using a latrine (my most effective method is to go in, and tap my foot on the floor in tiny little circles until I find the hole, then do the same on the other side, so the whole business takes like three times as long as it should). The knowledge that the Aymara people have for caring for animals is amazing; there is a sick bull here and Martina has been caring for him all day. We have been playing with her children, Gladys and Roxana, and I am yet again struck by the knowledge and maturity they possess for being so young. The biggest problem I am having is communication; the accent is so different here and most of the people speak Spanish as a second language, so their speech is not always very clear. Sometimes I feel so frustrated that I can't communicate and that I can't be understood. Everything feels so different and surreal to me here, I feel as though we are on a little island and nothing in the world can touch us, there is just earth and sky and wind and hot herbal tea. I'm not sure if I like that feeling, but I am deeply moved by it and by the lives that Martina and her family lead. They take and use only what they need; it seems they don't leave in poverty so much as in simplicity and of necessity. Our room, for exapple, has two beds, a water basin, a woven reed tapestry thingie on the wall, and a pan flute hanging on a peg by the door. And that's it. We sit on the floor or the bed to eeat and kneel outside to brush our teeth. Actually, when we asked where to do this, I think they thought we were absolutely absurd. The sun sets at six thirty, and after that everyone sleeps, only to wake up at five the next day and begin it again. I am floored by the absence of life here, and at the same time, its presence. I don't know if this makes sense to anyone or not. For the first time, I really miss home and yet I don't want to be anywhere else but here right now. I have such feelings of contradiction right now, don't I? More later.

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Comments

[Teresa]

language barriers
That is how I felt when I did my inservice hours at Andersen Open School, with my hispanic students. It was frustrating not to be able to communicate with them and vice versa since I don't know that much Spanish...and children tend to mumble a lot when they speak. So I know what you mean!!