Photos, Phinally

Things have certainly improved over the last week or so, but nothing will ever be quite the same. Yesterday, as I walked out of the community center to retrieve the afternoon snack the children are given after homework, my heart nearly stopped. It was the same scene all over again. There was 50 people crowded around the pedestrian crossing, and a bus from the line I ride on everyday parked in the driveway leading to the center. Oh no, I thought, not again. It was too similar a scene to believe that it could be anything else but another accident. But, it was simply a gathering of loved ones paying respects to the young girl and the location in which she was killed.

I feel like I cannot escape death here. Everyday I go running, I smell the stench of rotting carcases of dogs. There is almost always a new dead dog somewhere along the sandy path that hugs the closely knitted fields of corn, potatoes, onions, and other essentials here. There are always new bags full of trash strewn everywhere. Not a single day will pass without me seeing someone throw trash on the ground without a thought, even in the presence of others, and even on community owned property. No one seems to care.

Fortunately, there are people in this world who do care. I visited the office of an organization I would like to work with, roughly translated as the association which specializes in sustainable development. The modest office was located in what looked to be a house. Unbelievably enough, it´s on the same line I take everyday, so it wasn´t too troublesome to find, thanks to a very friendly taxi driver who even went up to the door with me to make sure I was at the right place. I spoke to two people who work in the office-a woman named Christiam, and a man named Jose. Jose spoke most of the time, just explaining the projects, what AEDES does, and where they are located. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that they are working in three areas. Their first place, which they have been working with for 14 years, is the most soundly impacted. They have organic agriculture, product exportation, young student projects and education, and other biodiversity and natural resource conversation. So amazing! They have now started in two other areas, in Puno and Condesuyos (large provinces in Southern Peru) as well as the original in La Union in South Western Peru. They are replicating their projects. It is actually working. And it is not solely lead by extranjeros, either.

The trouble, for me, lies in my commitment to INTIWAWA, and pull I feel towards getting at least a feel for this project. I told them I could at least commit to a week (they had said 6 weeks is a very short time, which is all I have left). It is twelve hours by bus to Cotahuasi, in La Union. I believe I have to take two buses, the second of which, for 5 hours, is nothing but turbulent travel. But, if I stay for a week, by the end of the week, I hope I will have forgotten how horrible the bus ride was, and be alright to get back on! Now that my stomach is feeling better, a bus ride doesn´t seem so impossible.

To be a bit more specific, after going to the hospital for a third time (the second of which was only to sit in the waiting area and learn that I was there on the wrong day), the doctor looked at my results, and told me they were all negative. But, he said, he was sure that this is a parasite, as it is common to have negative results even with parasites present. He told me what medicine to get (anti-protozoal) and I was on my way. $10 US later, I had my meds...and the symptoms went away within a few doses. I have to say that I am not completely recovered, though I believe that must be what causes all of my problems. I learned parasites can come not only from water, but from street food as well. Oops. I like the street food. It´s simple, inexpensive, and I feel better buying it than I do walking into some overpriced restaurant while there are street vendors out front barely able to scrape out a living.

Sunday and Monday were filled with excitement and swooning over the children. Sunday was the third birthday of the annexation and association of San Isidro from a larger entity. We arrived around 9 with a box full of 120 ham cheese lettuce and mustard sandwiches we had made for the children. We roamed around, as nothing was happening, hung out with some of boys we work with who are always roudy and causing trouble. They were sitting around like a bunch of old men. We joined them, and we all just made fun of each other.

I kept being reminded by the one volunteer that according to the people, last year was way better, there were more people, and it was more organized. I wanted to be satisified with whatever I was about to experience. 18 year old boys get really annoying sometimes. We saw two poorly played soccer games and 5 traditional dances performed by our very own ninos. I felt like a proud parent, welling up with tears, so see how adorable and innocent they looked doing their dances in brighly colored glistening costumes which were surely hot, uncomfortable, and ill-fitted. They all have a story to them, which is generally about daily Peruvian life, mostly flirting, drinking, and being merry. I was so proud of them. I am reminded how diverse the mind is. Some of these children find it impossible to do, but they can dance. They can remember the moves, who to link arms with, where to go. I have to say that I think I might be better at homework than dancing!

Monday, after spending several miserable hours in the post office waiting for my package my Mom sent, I headed over to a really beautiful gallery in the Spanish colonial tradition white stone building with high domed ceilings, with a central stone square to host events and a small, really neat museum mostly featuring massive machines to make molded metal plates with letters on them, ultimately to print newspapers. Normally, with a little imagination, I can understand Spanish on paper better than spoken. This time, I could hardly understand a word. It was mostly technicaly language. I relied on the pictures, the actually machines, and the progression of products created by these machiens on display. So the point of me being there was not to see the museum, but to help set up for what was essentially an opening of the display of the mothers´of San Isidro´s knitting and crochet work. Scarves, children´s clothes, women´s sweaters, hats. Really extensive handi-work, I thought. Most everything did not fit me, as one can imagine. We started hanging signs, photos, and the actual work around 9. The event did not start until 5pm. Myself and a Peruvian volunteer who is new went out for lunch in the center. After some confusion, we ended up at a Chinese food restaurant which looked just like the ones at home. I tried Arequipenan soda, which tasted like cherry soda. Estiv was very proud of the Arequipenan-ness of it. This is a common sentiment here. The regions pride is really intense. He even told me how ridiculous he thought it was that Lima is the capital of Peru, and not Arequipa. Wow. We talked about sustainable development among other things over two somewhat standard Chinese dishes that were more expensive than the faster-food Chinese restaurants that are everywhere, where the food is still cooked fresh, and you can actually watch them make it. I think we were paying for the fish tank and the nice white table clothes. I suppose we call that atmosphere! It was really a nice change from tamales and empanadas that I eat almost every day because it only costs between 30 and 60 cents to fill my belly. This was a whopping $3! Wow!

Once we returned, the chairs had already been set up (our assigned job, oops). We had to rearrange them anyway to make more room for the dancers. After some waiting, rearranging and putzing around, over 50 children, and more than 10 mothers with their youngest children came by bus with some of our volunteers. Someone was to have arranged a combi solely for INTIWAWA, but that didn´t work out. This was a publically available bus. There are only about 25 seats on these busses! I never imagined that many people could fit on one bus. They told me how squished they were, but they arrived smiling and excited to be in the city and surrounded by people excited to see them perform. We saw three of the traditional dances they had performed on Sunday in the same outfits. It was really great to see them so up close. We passed out strawberry Pisco drinks to the adults, and soda to the kids. There were mini appetizers, and then everyone dispersed to see the exhibition. Everyone was pleased, the kids chased and pushed each other around, and everyone seemed to have a great time. We finally cleaned up and closed the doors around 7-30. It was a long day. I will try my best to post some pictures I took on someone else´s camera. My camera is kaput now. It eats batteries in only 20 minutes.

Last but not least, last night, I went to the massive convent of Santa Catalina. It is a small village encased in high stone walls. It´s beautiful kept, with huge red geraniums everywhere. It´s one of the few plants that grows in this intense sun. I went with a room mate of mine, Carolin, from Germany. We had fun poking our heads into the dark rooms lit only by a single candle, an oil lantern or a fire in the stone stoves used for cooking. We saw the quarters of the nuns and their servants. Most of the grounds are open to the public, and are simply something like a museum now. The furniture is beautiful, old, and often ornate. This particular convent was deemed excessively corrupt at some point. There were several bishops or popes who had come to reinvent the wheel, allowing only 1 servant per nun. The ceilings were high, the beds uncomfortable, but the place was spacious. My favorite part was an aquifer which poured water into huge ceramic urns laid on their sids, split in half, placed to collect water for washing clothes. My second favorite thing was the water purification system. They had a huge ceramic or stone bowl more than an inch thick, filled with water, and a bowl underneath to collect the water that dripped down. No moving parts, no chemicals, only pure genius! Just like an underground aqufier, the water takes so long to drip through the thick, semi pourous material, that by the end, it is fit to drink.

I learned a great deal about Santa Catalina herself, a devoted nun, of course. These women lived very intensely devout lives, mostly restricted from the outside world except to exchange some goods through either slatted windows or one tiny little entrance where a market could be set up. We spent two hours going through all the little rooms. Many of the women entered into the convent at my age or younger, never to see their families or friends again. Some did see theirs only after people sought refuge there from the devastation of earthquakes. Really fascinating stuff. But what I am more interested, I think, is seeing some more indigenous Ruins. The Spanish really had it good, invading Peru. Perhaps I will see more.

I have written and deleted several first words here tonight. It´s clear that I don´t write often, and when I do, it´s because I am moved to. Both Friday and today have brought unspeakable tragedies to two families in two villages Intiwawa works with. On Friday, a little boy of just eight years old was playing on a slide in San Juan. The slide had been unattached from its original structure to be moved to another play area. Although unstable, the children played on it anyway. This little boy fell off the slide and hit his head on a rock, and the slide fell on top of him. The doctor´s told the community that they would have had just one hour to operate in order to save the boy had they been able to reach him in time. They are four hours from Arequipa, the nearest emergency care that may have been adequate. It tears me up inside to think of the what if´s.

Today, during tarea, in broad daylight, a fifteen year old girl was struck and killed in the road right in front of the community center. Hundreds of people walk back and forth across this main street, one that contains speed bumps to slow the many busses, taxis and construction vehicles that pass through every day. With the confusion of the event, my initial reaction was ¨I can´t do anything.¨ I thought someone had hit a car with their bike. When I heard what really happen, my instinct was to run to the scene. I knew she would be horribly injured, but I was prepared to help. I braced myself for what I thought would be the worst case scenario. Blood and broken bones. I can handle almost any injury, I tell myself. I am confident of this. There were fifty people lined up along the busy road, staring in disbelief. She had already been covered by a small green tarp, concealing only her torso. I thought she was a grown woman, and thought of her children. One of the volunteers, only his second day of helping, had gone to see what had happened. I came shortly after, tearing down the drive way, and he met me in the street. It was too late. I wanted desperately to make sure she was dead. I didn´t want to leave it to chance, but there was no way I would be allowed near the girl. I asked, and he told me he was sure there was no pulse, no breathing. She was gone.

No words can describe the despair this village must feel. The anger, the resentment towards the driver. The driver was driving one of the many construction trucks that normally carry bricks and sand. He was drunk. For more than two hours, this young girl lay in the street as the sun began to set. There was still an air of disbelief. A very sweet girl the same age, whom we work, was sobbing on an elder´s shoulder. The smallest children still played, clueless. A policeman stood near the young girl, guarding her body, waiting for an ambulance I suppose. She was later covered further only by poster sized advertisements from what looked like an ice cream brand. This isn´t the first time this has happened here. There are no side walks, only a V shaped gutter to walk along the busy truck ridden road. She was killed just feet from the cross walk. Little children of just 2 and 3 years old run through this street on their own. One of our young ones, probably about 7 or 8, had been struck once before, but made it out unharmed, this was referred to by Leonel, the president, as he said a few words about the danger of the road, and then a prayer like I have never heard before.

I must admit that the terror I felt subsided only a little by signing the cross and saying a short prayer. Perhaps I have gotten swept up in the incessant signings of the cross here in Peru, in which people sign at every hospital, church and cemetary very publicly. Or maybe this is what happens to people when death lies directly in front of you.

Well, my god...where to start? I am back from Coporaque (that should be obvious, I have no access to the internet or time to search it out while there). I feel like the trip to Coporaque, the two days with the children, and the trip back are trials of survival for me. Both tests of patience and of sound stomach. Miraculously, I enjoyed myself for most of the time, going only with the president of our organization, Leonel, to draw and paint two murals of Coporaque on sheets of fabric. I find myself a complete mess after painting, usually, and this was no exception...times about 24 children. We had a local woman prepare meals for both Saturday and Sunday lunch...two big plates of food, plus an AMAZING cake called torta helado. Helado is normally ice cream, but this was gelatin mixed with cream, in three layers, with real cake in the center. They pour it into a mold, let one layer set, and then the other two, at some point tossing in the pound cake. The cake is a freak of nature, but it is good, I have to admit, despite its brightly colored layers that almost make it look like a cake the Barbie factory would make.

The children worked well together, were relatively attentive, ate most of their food and didn´t fight hardly at all. There is now paint everywhere, and will probably remain for all eternity. Because we had only four paint brushes, and about 50 Q Tips, some of the children took to finger painting (including myself) because we had such a vast expanse to cover in the short two days. Home life at the part house part guest rooms where we stay was really nice. I was so excited to see Antonella and Zamilla, their two little girls, the second and third youngest of four. They are so affectionate, so sweet, and love everything I do. Zamilla (Read-Chamilla) is quite a fire cracker. She had a hard time remembering please, and orders me and others around to tie her shoes or pick her up and play with her (she´s four or five). The first morning, over breakfast, I asked her where her puppy was, since I normally see it poking around, hanging out with the chickens in their pen. Zamilla told me, with a dead serious face, that Ouicho, the dog, had eaten a chicken, and they had had to kill it. I was speechless...I looked at her, as she was surely serious, and said feebly, ¨How sad.¨ I didn´t want to have a conversation about it, mostly because I faced this inner conflict of, my god, that is really harsh, but when it comes to your livelihood, a pet is less important, right? But he was so cute...Toward the end of breakfast, I´d managed to stop thinking about it...the family had sat down to join us over bread (literally, the only thing we ate for breakfast both days, wow), and in enters cute fuzzy filthy little Ouicho. ¨Zamilla!!!¨ I yelled! Her parents looked immediately at her, and her mouth fell open. Busted. I told them the story, and they were not surprised. She is their bad child, they have admitted before. They don´t know why she´s like this, her mother says. The older two never were like this...perhaps it is middle child syndrome, I think to myself. Little Shit. Mierdita? I wonder if that is acceptable to call a child in Spanish? I don´t think I will risk it!!

I had the pleasant opportunity to return to the hospital yesterday after first stopping in at another gastroenterology clinic across the street...only to find out that despite their hours of attention from 6am to 7pm, they dont have any appointments until 6pm. Every week day. Often I stumble over myself in conversations here because I am overcoming disbelief, and not sure if there´s been a communicative error, or it really is that ridiculous. It really was. Where are the doctor´s all day, then? At the hospital, of course. So, I go over there, shuffle through the waiting elderly and mothers with babies...wait in this line, then another, then another...back to the first...no appointment, not in the system, have to pay first...upstairs, downstairs, left, right, through this hall...you get the idea. As I am standing at the window waiting for this woman to sort through whatever mess is on her computer, she hands me an appointment. Afternoon. There are no options? I ask her. Options for what?, she baffles. Options for appointments you nut ball! I can´t in the afternoon, I have work. Surely there is something else. Waiting waiting waiting...ah yes, afternoon afternoon...hmm...no tomorrow in the morning! No, Wednesday. Okay, fine. I escape before the mob sets in of impatient Peruvians who are all very pissed off at each other, presuming their issue is more important than the person in front of them, or the other twenty people...and barge in at my window more than once with their papers. Sometimes they are rejected, sometimes their persistence is heeded. I think in the US if someone did that, they would be injured instantly. I wonder if they have unemployment here...imagine that line, if the hospital is this bad.

Some good news...the parents of the children in the school we serve breakfast at called a meeting to be held yesterday. Chris, the American, attended. We hadn´t a clue what the meeting was about, other than breakfast. We were very worried, but confident that if they don´t want breakfast they way we do it, they don´t have to have it at all. We all have short fuses these days, knowing the impending doom of lack of manpower is coming in just one week. So, Chris reports back that the mothers love what we´re doing, hated the way it was just a few weeks ago (due to one particular German girl who has a very short temper, apparently, and little room for criticism), and one to help. They all agree that it´s crazy to have people from other countries do everything for them. I agree too. The trouble with this organization is the seeming lack of effort to create sustainable, long lasting programs for change...Feeding kids every morning back they don´t have good nutritious meals at home is just nuts with out education for the parents or the children...I am learning, thankfully, more about what I want to see and don´t want to see in the development of impoverished areas. Dependency is of course the last thing I want to see, but it can happen so quickly. So, beginning next week, we will go with them on Monday´s to the market to buy everything in ridiculous bulk so it will last longer, be cheaper, and will not have to be trekked to San Isidro by bus every friggen day by us. This is the best organizational news I have seen yet.

The second piece of news, unrelated to Peru for the most part, is that I was accepted into Clark University!!!! I found out last night, and called home right away. Better yet, they have offered at 40% discount for my tuition. I have never been offered anything like this before. I would be stupid not to take it. Nevertheless, I am sick with worry about the lifestyle I have chosen for myself for the next two years. I decided I am going to try to make it as hospitable as I can, despite it being Massachusetts. I will try to find a living situation that truly suits my needs...study hard, and really invest myself in this community I will be a part of. The disappointment of all of this now is that I won´t be travelling to Belize in November, as I had anticipated, assuming the worst from Clark. I will try my best to integrate the organization I found into my studies...Organic farming, international development, renewable energy...self suffiency and growth. Everything I can think if that I am looking for in my life. I have a lot to do.

La Hospital

Well, since I returned from the beach, everything went back to normal. We have tarea in the afternoon, and we are very short on volunteers, so we are all helping each other out with all of the projects. There are five core people who volunteer with the projects every day, plus the two psychologists, and occasionally the president...we had a meeting yesterday, and we realized how clear it was that we are walking a very fine line between complete coverage and insanity. For scale...the biggest of our projects is the health project, most of which involves taking 50 odd kids to the dentist for a check up, and any further treatment that is needed. All of the children need at least two appointments but most of which need 4 or more. Some of the kids appointments are so long (three hours or more), that only one child can to go the dentist at a time. That involves four hours on the bus (to collect child, take to dentist, return child, return home). So far, Sabina has been doing all of it. Occasionally, now, three of us will fill in for her, because we need to make sure she doesn´t lose her mind, and as well, can work on her bachelor´s thesis, and plan for other projects she is involved in. I admire her involvement, but at this point, do not envy it so much.

As for me, I will deliver breakfast for two schools, each with sixteen kids, twice a week...and go to the dentist about twice a week (it´s a full seven or eight hour day!) as well as homework help every day. It still leaves me time for Capoeira, some running in the mornings, some sleeping in, and time to go to the center to shop for food or whatever. I am currently in pursuit of finding this enviornmental organization that runs both in Arequipa and another region in Southern Peru...I have a map, but it´s not helping. The addresses are very confusing, even for homes, as they don´t have street names most of the time, they are only by district and building name and number. I am sure I will get the jist of all this nonsense by the time I leave, but until then, I am running around like a lunatic, not knowing which way is which.

So, after the beach, I decided I would go get tested for parasites because my stomach problems have not subsided entirely, which worries me a bit. I walked to the hospital in my district (which is a nice one) and couldn´t believe how many people where milling around in there. It was as crowded as a DMV on a Saturday morning. I didn´t see anything graphic that I can remember...so I presume the emergencies enter somewhere else. The hospital is set up a bit differently, and it feels more like a massive doctor´s office with lots of walk in appointments. Apparently you can get appointments, but for some reason, the man helping me assumed I wanted one right that very second. I ran around different offices for an hour or more, clueless as to what the hell was going on. All I could do is trust that he knew what he was doing. Part of the reason I didn´t want an appointment at that very moment was because I didn´t have any money. After the stolen wallet, I was living off 100 dollars, thinking that would be adequate until I got my cards in the mail (It lasted two weeks, I think). I was on my way to the bank when I thought, yes, appointment, how civil and orderly this could be. Well, it was, sort of. I did see a doctor (who, according to my helper,speaks very good English.) Wow, not so. So, we spoke in Spanglish, or mostly him speaking English, me speaking Spanish. He ordered tests, and told me near the city center, there is a laboratory I need to go to. Super. They don´t have a lab at the hospital, or can´t send off samples to the lab...I have to go. Three times. Today is my last day, and tomorrow I will get the last of the results. The women who work there are very nice, prompt, and patient. Compared to so many of the places I have been, the one woman who worked there really made me question...What the hell is she doing here? Her aura just seems so incredibly confident and smart...more so than the creepy gastroenterologist, or all of other crazy people of whom have no sense of professionalism.

So, I decided to go to Coporaque again this weekend. We will leave at 3 30 am for the 3 and a half hour bus ride to Chivay, plus the combi ride to Coporaque which is a bumpy, isolated, one track road through the beautifully vibrant farms. Fun word- chacra, which is farm. I am both excited and nervous to travel to Coporaque, as there are no stops or bathroom breaks included, at at 3 30 it´s really cold on the bus. It will be really great to see the family again that we stay with when we travel (a make shift hostel-traditional home). Everything is so close to everything (because mostly, there is nothing) that it makes learning your way around very easy. It´s always much easier to settle in if you´ve already been there once. The children will feel more comfortable, and they will better understand my level of Spanish compared to a stranger. I know I have so much more to learn, it seems an insurmountable task with out an exsessive amount of energy and time spent soley on studying. When I go back, if I get accepted into Clark University, I think I will continue my studies in Spanish. I am working on very little it feels like. Why are there so many conjugations? The good thing about Spanish is that most of the words are some kind of cognate with English...and that there is a set structure for changing Spanish into English, or vice versa.

Well, I am off on the long walk to the lab, and then I will try to find someone who knows where the hell this environmental organization is. I will go to the dentist today instead of tarea. I am not bored with this, because it is still a challenge to get everything organized. Right kid, right bus, right time, right dentist office...yowsers.

Oh yes, and yesterday, as I was walking home, I thought I´d take a peek down into the little stream where sometimes there are cows tied up, peeing pooping sleeping and eating in the same 25 square foot spot, only to see some kind of hide. I thought, wow, another dead dog. Super, that can´t be good being right in the water like that. Then, I looked harder, and realized, my god, that is a huge dog. No, no. It was a cow hide. A cow must have died right at the watering hole type spot, and no one thought to drag him away from the water to decompose, as cows are very heavy as it is, I suppose a dead one would be impossible to budge. They are maltempered, even in death. How stubborn.

La Playa-The Beach

Things have improved significantly since The Day from Hell (it´s only up hill from here!). Two days ago, my room mate from Germany and I travelled to the beach, a taxi drive to the terminal, three and a half hours by bus, then a motorcycle-taxi-box ride to the beach, and we arrive as the sun is setting. It was so beautiful, but we were panicked because we had no idea what this beach would be like, and knowing how difficult it would be to set up my tent and get a fire going in pitch black, without a flashlight. We were told we could walk from where the bus dropped us off (we were the ONLY two people left on the bus at this stop, the end of the line, I presume), and with the rapidly setting sun, we booked it, but realized how far it really was, and eventually, with some luck, a taxi came by and picked us up. With so many possibilities to go wrong in this two day trip, nothing, besides some serious sunburn, did. Another girl was supposed to join us, but she had planned to go on another trip the next day, and ended up having to leave at 3am on the bus, so she didn´t come. Just Sabine and I, the roaring ocean, and thankfully, A LOT of lights (it looked just like any beach front, with the sidewalk, the pool, public restrooms (for which you have to pay) and the bright lights. There was also a caravan of people with their own tents, music, dancing, etc which we steered clear of. You never know what you´ll find in these places. We stuck to ourselves, chatted the evening a way (in English, thank god) and went to bed around 1 or 2. I hadn´t been in a tent since Maine, so it was a nice change of pace.

I woke before the sun came up, stumbled to the sea side to pee, and then back to bed for a few more hours...to be woken by some incredibly loud bang RIGHT next to the tent, which turned out to be a trash can they place out in the morning. Was it really necessary, I don´t know. I think the guy wanted to scare the shit out of some people early in the morning. Maybe that is how he gets his days started...in place of coffee. Much cheaper. We decided later in the morning to search for breakfast...which was more difficult than anticipated. The restaurants were just opening at 9am...and thought we were crazy to ask for breakfast. They serve only fish. Duh. So, we went to one of the semi open restaurants, asked for coffee. Nope. No coffee, okay, tea? Yeah, sure. Tea. Bread? No. Wait, yes. Butter? Cheese? Jam? Yes, no, yes, no, yes no. We ended up with two coffees, already prepared with milk and sugar. More sugar than you can possibly imagine. I can´t be sure there was even coffee in it. Then, two buns with cheese. At least we got something. We had been subsisting on bread, cheese and fruit, but mostly fruit, for all of yesterday , and we knew we could use something different, because that was all we had back at the tent. Oh well. We left with semi-full bellies.

After 9 am, we knew we wouldn´t survive with out one of the many umbrellas some vendor set up, of which hardly any was being used, so we rented one. They set it up right next to the tent. such service! We kept switching between the sun and shade, because the temperatures are so extreme, that ´staying in one or the other for too long can be terrible (freezing or scalding). Once the sun was unbearable enough, we went to the water. It was ridiculously cold. I felt like a little kid again, not wanting to get in for swim practice because it was just too cold. Once you get close enough to the water, the wind is so strong, you don´t even need to go in anymore to cool off. The sand is black, and the waves bring in teeny carcases of crabs, trash, and really black water. The pull of the water is so strong, I would be a basket case if I had to lifeguard something like that. You can barely stand up if the waves are above your knees.

The bus ride was beautiful, because we got to see a long stretch of Peru´s desert, which is one the West half is, for the most part. It is really quite bizarre, because for hours you see only desert, and than, once we get really close to the ocean, it becomes so green. There is a decent river, tons of agriculture (which is always so cool to see because the means of harvesting are so basic), grassy wetland areas, but this area isn´t safe from fires either. We saw one on the way, with firefighters, covered in soot, fought to put out the brush fire. I suspect it was from a cigarette, or burning trash, because it was right next to the road.

We saw beautiful flowers enveloping houses, acres of red peppers growing, potato plants with their innocent little white flowers, grazing fields for cows, and there is always a farmer never too far from his cows. They dont have fences, and instead tie their cows to corkscrew type things in the ground (similar to what people have for dogs in their yards). The cows can only graze in a small circumfrence, and therefore are moved every day, or half day. It´s a very controlled grazing technique, which can preserve land a lot better, otherwise they graze a little bit everywhere, rather than a lot in only one tiny space. One the way home, we realized how hard it must be for these farmers. The sun is so brutal here. They work every day, it seems, and harvest by hand...many of the farms are quite old, and look very fragile. There are as many women as men out in the fields.

The town neighboring the little beach we went to is highly agricultural, with nothing more than a school, homes, some little stores, kiosks selling candy and other random things, bicycles, and many cows being walked in the streets. They hate being led through the streets-no one likes to be the spectacle. Surrounding all of this are the many fields.

At the beach we also got to see some men in speedos, or their underwear, hard to tell, fishing with big nets. We´re not sure what they were catching, though there was an abundance of crabs running all round. What I liked best was how exciting it was for the kids. The trailed behind the men wherever they went, like seagulls flocking behind lobster boats in Maine.

It was a pretty relaxing trip to the beach, although the return trip took longer than arriving. We waited at several stops for far more time than we needed, and as we pull away, still more people are chasing after the bus to get on, and of course, the driver stops for everyone. They try to get as many people on the bus as possible, as it is more profitable, I am sure. By the end, the bus was full, the sun was setting, and I was ready to get home. I don´t know how people spend so much time on busses without even giving it a thought. I get so uncomfortable so quickly.

Now that we´re back at home, we have our Peruvian visitor, and she is really lovely. Sabine, Chris, the other American, and I went out with her to a few bars. We nearly got trapped in one after deciding not to stay, but to use the bathroom first before heading out, when about 50 police filed in without letting anyone out. This was a discotec, with tons of foreigners from all over the world. It seemed like a fun place. They wanted to see our ID´s, which of course I don´t bring with me, nor do I have a copy, and my Peruvian friend (we don´t know her name! ahh!) didn´t have hers either. They initially told us we couldn´t leave, but she talked to them, and I did, telling them we only came for the bathroom, and we didn´t drink anything. They let us go. There were police everywhere in the street. She suspected it was for drugs...but in my experience, it´s because there is underage drinkers (which is 18 and over here). I guess I will have to wait to see it in the papers, if I am lucky. Who knows how long we may have had to wait. Yikes.

What is so cool about this girl is that she is so independent. She´s on holiday, she lives in Lima, and decided to come to Arequipa to do some of the touristy stuff. She´s at the huge convent now (she missed the bus to go rafting because she slept late), and before that she went trekking in Colca Canyon, one of the deepest in the world, which has massive condors. All by herself, all without regard to needing a companion to go around with...Her profession is basically teaching pedagogy to teachers in Peru. She studied education, works for a textbook printer, and works with teachers about how to use the text books and how to teach children properly. Many of the teachers here in Peru are really below par. They lowered the standards so they could get more teachers, but the standards were already quite low. It really depends upon the salary, of course, as to what level of competency a teacher has.

Anyway, once I get more money (still don´t have my debit card) I am going to visit the convent, which is considered a citadel...and is one of the few buildings in the world that is permitted to wave the Vatican flag, which is kind of cool. There are still nuns cloistered there...about 2 dozen...as well as shops, restaurants and religious stuff all intermingled in this very very very old structure. I can´t wait. It´s right in the city, too.

After last night, I am convinced it would be a good idea to go to Lima. Maybe I could stay with our new friend when I go. Both Sabina and friend agree that there are way more cultural activities to attend and participate in...Lima is considered the London of South America. It´s really noisy, filthy, and a big ugly, but the content is really what matters. Music, art, museums, dance, educational facilities, historical sights...all in large quantities. We´ve got that stuff here, but just not as diverse. Apparently you can hear every language on the street. There is always someone you can talk to in your native language.

Next up on my agenda is to go to the Doctor. I am having some stomach problems that aren´t going away, and antibiotics didn´t do the trick either, making it impossible to travel without a bathroom nearby. That should be difficult, confusing, and probably will take a long time...but maybe by the end I will have some tests, and a conclusion. Hooray.

I will also be serving breakfast to the children twice a week in San Isidro, which means I get to go there twice in one day (four hours on the bus!). I may also help with going to the dentist...and on Tuesday´s and Thursday´s, I will go to Capoeira in the evenings. I really like it, but it´s really hard. This last practice, I just couldn´t muster the energy to finish the whole class. I had to leave early anyway for our weekly meeting. After a while, unless we are learning something new (of course, that depends on the group, not just me!), it gets really repetitive. They teach very rapidly, and if you don´t get it, they teach it to you again...but the demonstrations are often difficult to follow because they are so fluid and fast. The good news is, I am challenging myself, and there´s nothing wrong with that.

The Day from Hell

I am not sure where to start. The last few days have been discombobulated due to some extenuating circumstances. In short...my wallet was stolen. For those of you who don´t know what happened...here is a brief glance into the beginning of the worst day yet so far in Peru.

First, after realizing a few days before how unaware I really was while I was purchasing a cell phone, totally in Spanish, I have to force myself to go back to the store to clear things up. It was stupid of me not to ask if the guy spoke English, and so I went ahead in Spanish. It was clear that I didn´t speak Spanish fluently, but he never asked what language I spoke. Odd. Anyway, I buy the phone, mostly for the purposes of calling home at a reasonably low rate. This so-called promotion I was receiving turned out to be the most ridiculous calling plan I have ever heard of. I misunderstood one simple thing-the numbers I choose as my most frequently called, including one international, 5 Claro to Claro (the company) and 1 other cell phone company, must be programmed in advance, and then I must wait 24 hours for it to come in to effect, for the promotional rates to take place. I only learn this after speaking to the to the same salesmen again for another hour in the store. I have grown resentful of that store, and that man. I only learned there was a problem because it is a pay as you go phone...I put 100 soles, or about 32 dollars...which is A LOT of money in Peru...and after speaking with my parents for 20 minutes, it cut me off...creditless, powerless and furious. That turns out to be over a dollar a minute to call home...when it was only supposed to be less than 25 cents. So, long story short, I try to remedy this, again, in Spanish, and all I get is an I am sorry, I told you so...etc. I leave, pissed.

Then, I go about my business doing other things in the center...it´s hot and sunny as usual, and on my home, I buy an ice cream. I am headed home, which always takes a bit of brain power, as I often lose track of where exactly I am and how to get home...I cross the street onto the sidewalk, and feel something wet on my face. Ugh, a pigeon peed on me? Gross, and I take a napkin, step to the side of the crowd to wipe my face in disgust. I look up, and a woman walking in the opposite direction points at me and shouts ¨tu billaterra!¨ I look down at my tiny purse...and my wallet is gone. I am stunned. After a second to balance myself, I ask who, and she tells me someone in black pants. I look quickly around for someone scurrying away, but I just see people milling around aimlessly. A traffice police officer sees the commotion between us, and asks the woman who, she points, and he runs after him, her, or nothing. After a block, in the most populated center of the city, La Plaza de Armas, the tourist capital, my wallet has disappeared. I am hysterical, and police swarm me. I tell them what happened in Spanish admist my hysteria. I have never felt so ashamed and powerless in my life. It was less losing the money, the hassle to cancel cards, find a western union, than it was my embarrassment. It is difficult to explain, but I am sure anyone who has been a victim of pickpocketing knows what I mean...it just so repulsive and disrespectful. I have never been treated so poorly before...by a complete stranger. I realize shortly after the incident that a bird had not peed on me, someone had spit on my face. I had read in the Lonely Planet guide book about how common it is for pickpocketing to occur, and that someone usually spits to distract you. I never imagined it meant they spit ON you...it´s bad enough when someone spits right in front of you on the ground.

It has been a few days since all of this commotion, and as always, my mother managed to pull off the impossible by dealing with all of the bureacracy with the banks and the money. I could not believe how difficult it was to function with out money in such a time of need. There was no possibility of calling anyone, let alone internationally. I learned that day that the embassy is in Lima...and that no one has phones that can call Lima. Not even the police. I can´t imagine the police in the US not being able to use a phone to call Washington DC in some kind of emergency. The thought just boggles my mind. What they do have is a radio...which I presume can contact Lima that way. No one thought to offer that. Luckily when I finally made it home (long story short, the police escorted me to a VISA office, which was useless, and gave me an international number to call in Baltimore to cancel my credit card, and then home) I was able to use my room mates calling card to call my mother. The connection was atrocious. What a shitty day.

It is finally evening, and I think everything will sort itself out soon, but my nerves are shot. A few of us are sitting around the kitchen table chatting after dinner, and low and behold...the house starts shaking. I am terrified. What could this possibly be, I ask myself? I am dumbstruck. It is my first earth quake. We stand up, confused as what to do, and head towards outside. I can only remember something about standing in the doorway...but I think to myself, this isn´t going to work, there are too many people. Someone says, should we go outside? And we push each other to the front door...we are on the second floor. We only make it outside on the landing before it stops. There is a family with a few teenage girls starting up at us. They are freaked too.

I don´t know how strong it was, but there is a semi.active volcano off in the distance. The risk is very real, as Arequipa has been destroyed in the past by a volcano. Now people are nervous whenever small ones strike. The ambience after this tremor is difficult to describe...similar to conversations had after crying at a funeral. You have managed to pull yourself together, but are still shaken up and knowing that this wave of reality will hit again unexpectedly.

I hesitated to write anything in here about the tremor to save my mother and grandmother from further worry, but it was too strong of an experience to keep it in. After this day from hell, I realize how easily my rhythm of life can be thrown off, and how little control we have over the events in our days, despite a full sense of control.

I am doing better now, and have decided that I am not happy here in Arequipa, and need to make some changes. I hate the city, although I need it to have some control over my diet and my social life...I need to find a project I am passionate about. Time is ticking by so quickly. Nearly all of the volunteers here at present are leaving in the next week or so...which leaves the organization is dire straits...but I am afraid to take on the responsibilities in which I despise. One of my main problems is that I hate travelling on the crowded, horribly hot, dusty buses for one hour each way, every day, to help the children with homework in San Isidro for 2 hours. It just seems insane to me. While the children are doing their homework, others play loudly and distract me and the children...and still others go into a separate room with the psychologists to talk about their familial situations...and domestic abuse. It is pretty powerful stuff, as a nice chunk of the students have admitted to being abused in their home. To see that these families have more than one child, and that all of their children admit to the abuse breaks my heart. Often it is due to alcoholism. I can see how dangerous low incomes, tight budgets and alcohol and mix so dangerously. There are children in the program that hug tighter than you would expect, and still others are very uncomfortable with being touched at all. I don´t know all of the children´s names, or their stories, so for now, it is difficult to tell which ones are abused, and associate their behavior with this abuse.

It is difficult to see how stuck some of these children are. Their parents have very little money, and send them to the neighborhood schools. How could a child possibly grow up to further their education, or even more away from this village, with low budget schools, miserably unqualified teachers, and inadeuqate supplies. It is a rarity, I am sure. Don´t get me wrong, I feel passionately about getting these children the help they need for a successful life...but I just don´t know what it is I can do, or anyone really, besides kidnap them and give them all my money and put them in a really good school. And the reality is that no one can do that.