Half Time

Wow, how time flies! I've already whizzed past the two-month mark in Peru, and I'm sure the next two months will be just as much of a blur. My friend commented yesterday that although it seems like we just arrived in some ways, in others it seems like we've been here forever. I still feel like a stranger to this city-- a day never goes by that I don't discover a new street or a new rule-- but on the other hand I become accustomed to traffic, gotten a handle on how university works, and accumulated a group of close friends.

I've been in Lima since I last wrote, with the exception of a class field trip to an archaeological site and bay reserve about three hours at side of Lima. It was there that, unfortunately, I broke my camera. Until I get a new one, the pictures that you see in my blog will probably "borrowed" from my friends. The last two weeks have been filled with midterm preparation, and they represent the only week of real school work that I have done here. That said, I think I have learned a lot both in and out of the classroom.

Now that I'm done with my midterms, I don't have class for the rest of the week. Predictably, I'm not going miss the opportunity to travel! So, at 12:30 I'll be headed to Iquitos, a city that rests on the Amazon river in the northern jungle of Peru. Stay posted!

Pisco: Sour and Sweet

On August 15, my third day in Peru, and earthquake shook the country. The earthquake, which measured 7.9 on the Richter scale, thoroughly devastated the southern cities of Ica and Pisco; it left people 595 dead, 1,800 wounded, and 76,000 houses totally destroyed. Although Peru and foreign countries immediately sprang into action with relief efforts, the southern regions of Pisco, Ica, and Chinca remain in a state of emergency.

Two weekends ago, I traveled with about 120 other limanian students to Pisco with an organization called Techo Para Mi Pais (Techo). Techo is a non-profit organization that builds houses for impoverished people or victims of a natural disaster. Since the earthquake, over 500 young volunteers (18-30 years) have traveled to Pisco and the surrounding areas to restore some hope in people who have lost literally everything. Almost two weeks have passed since I went, but I am still churning my experience over in my head, trying to make sense of my feelings and impressions. I will certainly never forget my weekend in Pisco.

The 120 volunteers were split into three groups that targeted three small rural towns in the outskirts of Pisco. Most of the early relief efforts focused on the urban center of Pisco, so even two months after the earthquake many of these small towns had received very little aid. Our group of about 45 people was assigned to Las Palmares, a 33-family town 40 minutes outside of Pisco. When we arrived, the reality of the tragedy sunk in. Against the bleak desert background, there was only rubble of adobe bricks and half-fallen walls. In the entire town, not a single house was inhabitable. Given that Las Palmeras was a poor town before the earthquake, you can imagine its desperation after the disaster.

When we arrived, the residents of Las Palmares were living in make-shift reed houses and sleeping in tents that foreign countries had provided. In most cases, two families shared one tent, which was a squeeze of space as well as a complete loss of privacy. The town's only toilet had been destroyed, so there were no septic facilities whatsoever. The residents, who so graciously cooked us dinner, cooked over an open fire outside of their reed houses. Most astoundingly, the town did not even have access to clean water until over two months after the disaster; on October 14th, firefighters from Spain inaugurated a public fountain that would finally provide a source of filtered water.

The weekend was a test of physical and emotional strength. In the face of extremely limited resources, townspeople and volunteers overcome obstacles to accomplish results that I thought were absolutely impossible. It was a weekend of pushing and pulling, of hurting and healing.All weekend I struggled with exhaustion but was rejuvenated by the gratification of our progress.

Techo aimed to build 25 houses in Las Palmares that weekend, which required constructing one house per day per group of 5 volunteers. If building one house per day doesn't sound challenging enough, consider that the lack of electricity-- our only tools were pick-axes, shovels, nails, hammers, and hand saws. All of the houses were prefabricated, and arrived in parts on a truck. For over 6 hours, we unloaded the panels for all 25 houses. The floor panels (which were the heaviest) required the teeth-gritting strength of 14 people to lift. My arms have never been so tired in my life, and by the end of the truckload, I feared that my muscles would give out, and that the floor would fall and crush my feet.

It was nearly 7 pm by the time we finished unloading the truck, which crunched our schedule to building three houses manually in just over two days. To make up for lost time, we worked every night until 10 or 12 at night and returned to the work site by 8 the next morning. We worked relentlessly to clear and level the ground, set the floors, and connect the wall panels. Then, we hammered the ceiling beams and climbed onto the roof to attach the metal shingles. By the second day, my group built 1 1/2 houses, and at 11 pm the third night we finished all three houses.

Our work in Pisco highlighted a commitment to progress, even under hopeless circumstances. Residents and volunteers refused to fail, searching for creative solutions. The construction of our first house is an example of our unrelenting force to push forward. It was dark by the time we were ready to set down the floor, and the light from the distant streetlights did not reach the area. At first, the family lit the sight by candle, but the wind quickly blew out the flame. Imagine building a house by candlelight! Later, the house owner climbed a ladder up to the nearest streetlight, spliced the electric cable, and ran a series of electric wires to a bulb that lit our work site. Now that we could see where to put the floor, the next challenge was getting it there. The wide, pre-fabricated floor panels didn't fit through the front entrance, so we had to take a much longer detour around rocky back road. As a dozen of us grunted to lift the heavy panel, someone would yell "Branch! Go right!" and later "Go left! There's a cow in the road!" Unbelievable.

By the end of the last day, we were physically and emotionally exhausted. We woke up at 6 am and returned to camp at 2 am, only to repeat the same routing the next day; out of the entire 84 hours that we were in Pisco, we slept only 18. We were filthy-- the desert sand crusted up every corner, and the only "facilities" were six port-o-potties shared by the entire group. We were cut, bruised, bug-bitten, sun-burned, and sick. My friend Oliver cut himself with the metal roof panels and had to get 8 stitches in his leg. Some were sick to their stomach, and others had a fever.

But we did it! In three exhuasting yet memorable days, we completed all 25 of the proposed houses in Las Palmares. Our the entire group gave 80 families a home, contributing to an accumulated total of 441 Techo houses since the earthquake. Each time we constructed a house, we also reconstructed the family's sense of hope, restoring their pride and setting the foundation for a new life. For me, this weekend was proof that human compassion knows no borders; the unrelenting drive to progress, and the gratification of a beaming smile, are understood in every language.

The bitter side of ice cream

Everyone warned me that I would see some difficult things in Peru. When I cam here, I knew that I would see the type of poverty that, from the confines of my first-world, white-middle-class bubble, has been ashamedly easy to ignore.

In the nicer areas of Lima, suffering lurks in the shadows. Last week, I was walking to my friend's house to cook dinner with a bottle of wine in hand, as I passed a child who was picking through the trash two houses down. Although the symptoms of poverty are heard throughout the city, they remain a whisper in the sections of the city that I frequent.

In contrast, poverty screams in Huancayo-- and any attempts to muffle it are useless. Huancayo is an isolated and polluted Andean city that is suffering from ever-exploitation of its mineral resources. There are simply very few ways to make money. On top of that, the clash between the traditional Andean way of life and the capitalist urban lifestyle leaves many people without the appropriate skills to put food on the table. Poverty affects the young and the old the most; in the town square, we were approached by at least five children (between 4 and 6 years old) and one woman in her 60s who spoke only quechua but effectively transmitted the message that she and her children had nothing.

I feel so helpless. At about 10 pm on Sunday, Oliver and stopped at a small cafe and to order ice cream. My cone had two scrumptious scoops: vanilla chocolate chip and chocolate. After I handed cashier 1.50 soles (about $US 0.40) I turned to see two chestnut eyes looking up at me. The eyes belonged to a young girl, whose black hair was ragged and disheveled. Her clothes were worn and ripped in parts, and the two long streaks through the dirt on her face made it apparent that she had been crying. I guess she was about five years old, and she was all alone. As she looked up at me, she held out a couple of sticks of gum, which she offered for sale. As I handed her 1 sol-- less than I paid for my ice cream-- I felt awful. How many brothers does she have that are doing the same thing? Will she get enough money tonight to eat something? When I hand her the money, I feel that I am doing nothing-- what happens when she gets hungry again?

I finish my ice cream, completely useless. The sugar has lost its flavor; now it tastes like gluttony and injustice.

Huancayo, why not go?

After spending two weekends in Lima, I was itching to travel again. So, I boarded a bus to Huancayo, an Andean city seven hours northeast of Lima. Once again, I went with my friend and travel parter, Oliver.

When we chose to go to Huancayo, we intended to spend at least one day in the snowy mountains of the Cordillera Hauytapallana. Unfortunately, we didn't get to do any hiking because the (unorganized and sketchy) travel agency canceled our hike last-minute.

People say that missed opportunities can open the window to new ones, and our trip to Huancayo is an example. Determined not to let a sunny day go to waste, we rented mountain bikes and geared up with helmets from the 80's and bikes that only appeared to shift gears. Before mid-day, we were pedaling out of the high-traffic city of Huancayo and climbing toward the rural town of Cochas Chico.

In Cochas Chico, we met a 75-year-old artist named Leoncino Veli. He has been making masterpieces out of gourds for his entire life, and he has since passed the tradition down to his children and his grandchildren. The artesanos start with an ordinary dried gourd and begin to carve intricate designs with a fine chisel. Once they have finished the carvings, they run a smoldering wooden stick over the surface to create a variety of colors. Most of the gourds are split into smaller frames, which have drawing that tell stories. Some tell bible tales, others detail the process a potato harvest, and another recounts a love story. According to Leoncio, the intricate gourds take over a month to make, and they sell for between $US 50-90.

Oliver and I spent about an hour talking with Leocino and his family-- sharing stories, food, and laughs. Meeting this family and admiring their craft was a main the highlight of our trip.

Indigenous Modernity?

In honor of Human Rights Week, the graphic design students organized a collection of pieces to display in the central courtyard of the university. Even though I still consider myself an outsider to contemporary Peruvian culture, the exhibit's theme was very clear to me; each piece addressed the simultaneous existence of traditional indigenous elements and modern urban society.

One of my favorite pieces was a poster-sized image of a laptop that lay on top of a brightly-colored patterned textile that is typical in Andean areas. The laptop's window was open to "Google," but all of the words were written in quechua. Another image, at first glance, looked like a traditional drawing from the ancient Moche culture that inhabited northern Peru between 100 and 800 AC. However, instead of a scene of ceremonial offerings for an ancient divinity, this drawing depicted a combi, or a small bus that serves as the main mode of transportation in Lima's busy metropolis.

Most of what I have read about Peru's social structure highlights the clash between indigenous and modern cultures-- inferring that the two cultures are constantly struggling to dominate the other. In contrast, the exhibit that my classmates constructed offered a refreshing view that explored the coexistence of cultures to form a new, unique indigenous-modern culture.

Let the Sun Shine!

Looking back on what I have written so far, I have written very little about the city where I actually spend most of my time.

My first impressions of Lima were that it is a gloomy, industrial, and chaotic city. To some extent, these impressions have proved truthful, but in the past three weeks I have come to appreciate Lima as a genuine city with unique characteristics. Nothing is sugar-coated here--what you see is what you get. So, in a way, the grafiitied walls, dirty streets, horn-honking, and girl-whistling is so honest that it is, in a sense, comforting.

Lima's gloomy appearance is due primarily to its climate. To start, Lima is almost always cloudy. When the hot equatorial sun rays beam down on the cold water current that runs from Chile to Lima, excessive evaporation occurs. This evaporation mist turns into low clouds that get stuck between the coast and the Andes and hover over Lima in a permanent, gloomy layer of gray. This is something that is generally accepted here, and it has become such the "norm" that I often forget to tell people at home about it. However, when the sun does come out, it is blissful. Yesterday the sun came out for the second time since I've been here, and it was amazing!

It is also instantly apparent that Lima is dirty-- there seems to be a layer of (sometimes smelly) filth covering all buildings and streets. This, again, is caused by the climactic restrictions. While it often mists in Lima, it hardly ever rains, which means that Lima lacks the "natural rinse" mechanism that most other cities have.

While my opinions that Lima is gloomy have not changed since I've gotten here, many of my other first impressions have. When I first got here, I thought that there were absolutely no rules or regulations for driving. On top of that, it seemed that the Public Transportation systems were system-less. Now, however, I am beginning to learn that there is a relatively uniform and efficient method behind their perceived madness. That said, I think I would have to spend about five more years in Lima before I dare to drive here!

Hooray for Huaraz

Just hours after returning from our exciting yet exhausting trip to eastern Peru, it was time to start classes at the La Universidad Catolica. I auditioned several classes and finally arrived at my final four classes. The UVA in Peru program requires that I take Peruvian Social Reality in English, but the remaining three classes are Universidad Catolica classes that are taught in Spanish. My Catolica classes include: Andean Arqueology, Introduction to the Ecologocal Problems of Peru, and Ecotourism. So far, these courses seem to be a good vehicle for learning for about Peru (and, of course, it's environment).

The start of school brought life back to a more normal pace-- but not for long! Last Thursday and Friday were national holidays, so once again I packed my backpack and headed for the bus station. This time, the destination was Huaraz, which is a small city north of Lima. Huaraz is a hub for outdoor adventure because it rests at the foot of the Cordillera Blanca, the snow-capped White Mountains of the Andes. You'll find Huascaran (Peru's tallest mountain) and Siula Grande (from Touching the Void) in this mountain range. Of course, I couldn't wait to go! I was lucky to meet Oliver, a Canadian exchange student, who also wanted to go, so we set off on Wednesday night.

When you add Meghan to mountains, the trip is guaranteed to be great, but this trip exceeded my expectations. The city of Hauraz is charming and offers a welcome relief from the cold, cloudy, exhaust-emitting atmosphere in Lima. The air was fresh, and the sun came out every day (in contrast to Lima, where I have seen the sun for only 2 hours total) and it was so warm that I could wear sandals!

Huaraz is a high-altitude city at 3000 m, so Oliver and I spent our first day walking around and acclimatizing. We found a modest but cute hostal for about $3.80 US dollars a night. We did take a short walk up the to a mirador, or lookout point, where we could see the entire city from above. On our second day, we hiked to el Lago Churup, which is a lake that lies at the base of some snow-capped mountains. The views were breathtaking, but my favorite part about this hike was the walk through the nearby town of Pitec. At 8 am, we passed a traditionally dressed Andean woman who was washing clothes by hand in a stream in front of her house. When we returned at 2 pm, she was still kneeling by the stream, but this time she was rinsing food for dinner. It was clear to me as we walked by for a second time that, even though we were just feet from each other, this woman and I were worlds apart.

Our third day in Huaraz featured one of the most spectacular hikes that I have ever been on. It took three hours on a bumpy road to arrive at the trial head of El Lago 69, but it was well worth it when we got to the lake. The pictures don't do justice to how phenomenal it was to see snowy mountains and the sapphire lake in the same frame.

We spent the first 4 hours of Sunday at Cafe Andino, a trendy yet touristy cafe with a balcony that looks out to the mountains. Between cups of coffee, Oliver and I read the newspaper, solved sodokus, and chatted the morning away. By the time we got motivated to leave our relaxation station (my hands were jittery from so much coffee) it was early afternoon. We headed north to visit the hot springs in the nearby town of Chancos, but to our disappointment the springs were framed by dirty cement pools rather than natural water holes, so we decided to skip the swimming. Nevertheless, we took a nice stroll by the river that made our afternoon excursion worthwhile.

I could have stayed in Huaraz for months, and I hope to return someday. But, like all good things, the weekend came to an end and we headed back to Lima for some academic action. More to come!