Stateside for Round Two

On June ^2nd I woke up at 6:30 to take the Graduate Record Exam (GRE). Less than twelve hours later, I was catching a cab to take me to the Jorge Chavez International Airport in Lima with a destination to Washington, D. C. One year earlier I had been waiting in the Guayaquil, Ecuador airport but if you have read that blog, you know that I was victim of some unforeseen problems that I was hoping not to repeat in Lima.

On June 3^rd I touched down in America.

I went home for a total of 8 days although that includes traveling time. I’ve been on vacation in Peru for longer than that. Nevertheless it was a much needed and welcomed trip home to visit everyone. I went to Oxford, Ohio to watch my friend Danielle get married on Miami’s campus to her college sweetheart. Before the wedding I managed to have a beer tower at Skipper’s, get my favorite sandwich at the infamous La Bodega, and get a bagel from Bagel and Deli with the anticipation that I would eat it after the wedding reception (which I did). I spent two days with Maggie, Julie, Colleen, Latta and Pfeffer at Colleen’s lake house where we ate $200 worth of groceries in 24 hours. I saw all of my high school friends. I gained 6 pounds. I went white water tubing with my family down the Shenandoah River. And I spent precious time with all of my grandparents and uncles and aunts. Once again, I am indebted to such amazing parents who made all of that possible for me.

While it’s never easy coming back, this time was more bearable than the last. I only have five months left here and I’m planning on making it home for Pearl Harbor Day. While it’s not Thanksgiving (like my mother would like) it’s still a National holiday and I think December 7^th has a nice ring to it. So comparing 5 months to last year’s 17+ is a piece of cake. My projects are all moving (albeit slowlllllllly) but I have big hopes for the next month or so. And if that doesn’t make me feel better, I’m going on a five-day vacation for Fourth of July to Chachapoyas, Cajamarca. I’m going to go see waterfalls or something.

So that’s really all I’m going to talk about my trip to the States; I think if I start reminiscing too much right now I’ll get super depo (short for depressed) afterwards as I fall asleep to the sound of mosquitoes buzzing and the reggaeton playing a little too loudly next door. I will say though (as I have said before) that I cannot believe how lucky I am to have friends that make me laugh the way my friends do, how it feels like no time has passed when we get together, and how much they all care about me. To all of you (and you know who you are), thank you for being awesome. And my grandparents are the four most amazing people that continue to inspire me to be a better person every day. Thank you for loving me.

What I will talk about however is my bus trip from Lima to Tumbes that started yesterday afternoon at 4 pm and finished today at 12:30pm. You do the math- it’s a lot of time on the bus. I went to the bus terminal the day before leaving to buy my bus ticket- all of the good seats had been sold out. Okay that’s fine- the bus has two levels and I would be stuck on the bottom level with 11 other passengers in this 8ft by 10ft box. However, upon boarding the bus the next afternoon, I knew things were going to get creepy when this one old guy got on with a trash bag.

Turns out the old guy had reserved two seats- one for himself and one for his bed. I later found out that this man (who wore really high-wasted pants) brought a comforter, two pillows and sheets in his trash bag and was going to be making his bus seat resemble his real bed as much as possible. He also carried way too many water bottles and brought on his own personal air-freshener-spray. Before the bus even took off, the guy started liberally spraying his comforter and all around him (including the floor). I had ten seconds to mentally prepare myself for the overwhelming smell of cherries and apples. I could feel brain cells dying. At thirty-minute intervals until he fell asleep, he repeated.

Whatever. I could deal with it. I just shut my eyes and tried to think of a happier place.

On these buses they usually play movies. Usually I’m stuck watching an illegal number of Van-Dan and 70s ninja movies. This one was promising though. The bus lady put on some Katherine Heigl movie that was incredibly predictable (but I’m not complaining) and followed that one up with Johnny Depp’s new Tourist. After watching both of these and eating dinner I was ready to take my Dramamine and hit the hay. But some higher power had other plans.

The baby sitting in front of me threw up. And for some reason neither of her two parents thought it would be a good idea to take the infant into the bathroom during her whole 5-minute ordeal. Unlike the air-freshener, I knew this smell would not fade. And I was right; it permeated through every pore in my clothing and left me gasping. This only got better later when the baby had diarrhea. At this point I was figuring the creepy guy in the back would freak out and start spraying everywhere but s my luck would have it, he had fallen asleep!!! I was stranded and asphyxiating slowly (remember how I said this was a closed 8 by 10 foot compartment).

The time at that point was circling 10pm, which meant the bus lady was going to show us one more movie before going to bed. What movie tickled her fancy? TAKEN with Liam Neeson. This is the movie where Liam’s daughter gets abducted while traveling abroad and is thrown into a prostitution ring, gets hooked up on heroin, and is left for dead. Perfect. I would also like to state that I have seen this movie on bus rides multiple times- I think the bus ladies show it just to eff with me. And it works. There’s no way I can fall asleep at this point as I am scared that I will have nightmares about waking up in the back of someone’s trunk. Seriously, there are A LOT of good movies out there, including Jumanji and Field of Dreams– would it kill someone to load up on non-terror/depressing flicks? The lingering vomit smell and baby’s cries did nothing to calm me down either- I was officially up for the night.

At around 8 the next morning, I am given a brownie and ham sandwich to breakfast on- this is good- last time it was hotdog. The baby has finally calmed down and I have called the bus lady to spray something to alleviate the smell but by this point, I’m used to it. Which is almost worse because that means I smell like it now. I look out my window and wait patiently for the next five hours to pass. They do and I catch a taxi back to site.

I’m not taking that bus again until August.

El Circo

Last month, the circus came to town. They set up shop right in the middle of the town in between my house and the municipality, which is located right next door to the police station. I’ll admit, my expectations were not high despite having a childhood that included going to Barnum and Bailey-esque shows every year (since being a child, I have never heard of a circus coming to Maryland again…) but again, Peru surprised me and this time, really outdid itself.

The circus consisted of eight members. There was an old man, a chain-smoking announcer, a guy that was always wearing this skin tight dress that reveled EVERYTHING, a 16 year old boy with his wife (who had the figure of a nine year old) and his baby, a girl that was semi-flexible and then one girl who was the designated “hula-hooper.” That was it. They all came in one day with all of their things in a car and a banana-truck and that was it. While I thought (disingenuously) they were going to stay for the weekend, they managed to outstay their welcome for 15 days.

Before I even went, I knew things were going to be iffy when the hula-hooping girl asked me two days in a row if I had a bathing suit she could borrow. Or spandex. She had a figure similar to Rosie O’Donnell so I’m not sure why she had me pegged as the bathing suit-wielder of the town (even though at two bikinis, I probably am).

On the third night, I figured the crowd must have been dwindling since the chain-smoking announcer who was riding around in the circus “car” had been informing the town that the night’s show would be the “ultima noche” (last). Everyone in town had been telling me how hilarious it was and how I could not pass up an opportunity like this. I passed on buying the sugar-coated apples since I had no idea where that fruit had come from and I had seen where all of the members had been living and not bathing.

The real reason I went was to see the ducks and dog that apparently were really cute as they walked around in their little costumes. I’m almost positive that ducks can’t learn tricks but I was excited to see them waddle in a tutu or something. I didn’t even get that. What I did get however was the hula- girl demonstrate how she could hula a hoop simultaneously on each arm. Thrilling. I also got to watch the 16 year-old boy and his clingy dress-wearing friend hit each other over the head with sticks and aluminum pans. It’s incredible how many people here love humor that borders on violence.

However, I will credit to the semi-flexible girl. She wore white cowboy boots as she did cool backbends and made it look s if her legs actually detached from her spine. I’m not sure how comfortable I felt though when she started using the trapeze without a safety net or a trampoline. She a. easily could have slipped and b. rocketed herself towards anyone sitting on the makeshift-rafters that were roped together and wobbled a little too much. Thankfully though, she held on and got herself ready for the ultimate event: “ the neck brace hoist.”

Setting the scene here, picture about fifty feet of various types/lengths/widths of rope all tied to together. This rope was then threaded through the top of the tent to the floor where the girl tied the rope around her neck. Five of the other members of the ensemble were yanking on the other end of the rope until the girl rose twenty feet above the floor. Somehow the girl did not manage to hang herself by tying some “special” knot but next thing we all know, she is twenty feet above us and using her legs to literally swing her body in circles around her neck, which is tied to a rope, which is being held up by five men.

After two hours of all of this while my face is stuck in a suspended cloud of cigarette smoke coming from the announcer, the “last night” comes to an end.

Yeah right. Try having twelve more “last nights.” I’m pretty sure people form my town finally managed to kick the circus out because I don’t think anyone was able to sleep that were stuck living remotely nearby as the 20 year-old speakers somehow managed to play music loudly enough to reach every corner of town.

My Golden Birthday

Okay, albeit that I have not written about my 24th birthday that occurred a month and a half ago, my mother INSISTS it needs to be made known how amazing my host family is. Well yes, they are great. Milton, Yeni, Pol and Prixi have given me more than I could have ever asked for in a host family. They are no longer a host family. They are my family. Granted, I get angry sometimes that Prixi eats all of my food the second I put down my fork or how Milton refuses to do any “women’s work” which somehow includes getting a new roll of toilet paper for the bathroom, but I blame those on cultural differences. If there ever was any doubt about how much my host family cares for me, I just have to think back to my most recent birthday.

This is my second birthday in Peru; my 23rd passed just amazingly with tons of dancing, hugs and good food and I really did not think there was any way March 24th could have been redone this year. I really have been quite lucky with my birthdays; my 22nd I spent with my best friends singing “ Footloose” at Bricksteet, my 21st well, I think I was studying for a genetics exam. Okay, maybe my 21st wasn’t the best put I did manage to have a large margarita at Burrito Loco in Oxford, Ohio. Point is, is that I have great friends who always manage to look out for me and ensure that I have a great time.

So I woke up Thursday morning (my birthday) at seven in the morning. I use the term “woke up” loosely here; I had been up the whole night killing the 30 blood-sucking mosquitoes that had entered my beach front hostel room and had feasted on my flesh. The walls of the room looked as if a murder had taken place- there was blood everywhere from where I managed to smack a few mosquitoes to death. Okay so I “woke up” but in reality I was exhausted. Chris had come up from his site in Piura to help me bring in my new year and I think he was greatly regretting his decision.

I managed to make it to my house around 10am. The door was wide open with a ginormous poster with balloons pasted on the front door. It read (and I translate):

“Happy Birthday Lindsey! Your family wishes you a great day. We hope that your day is special and is full of surprises. Love,

And then it listed 39 of my closest family members and friends (including the dogs)."

So that was actually made by my aunt Maritza (the one who organized the kite contest). She’s awesome. After making ourselves at home I realized that Yeni was cooking in fact, my favorite lunch too! Papa a la huancaina with arroz arabe and chicken. My mouth was watering already.

After lunch, Chris and I basically just hung out until I garnered the strength to take Chris on a tour of San Juan. This was at his request and I absolutely did not feel like walking around outside in the heat and sun but whatever. I knew something was up when he asked if he could see the river. The Tumbes river is brown, contaminated and smells.

After our “tour” of the river and coming across a four foot long gigantic black and green spotted lizard (I would say iguana but I don’t think iguanas come in the size of large terriers) we made our way back to the house which had the door and windows all closed. By this point I may have had an idea that something was happening but I had no time to think about it because before I knew it, the door was flung open, confetti thrown in my face, music put on at 100000000 decibels and 30 people were inside screaming with leis and blowing whistles. It was sensory overload.

My living room had been transformed into a discoteque floor- balloons had been hung from the ceiling and streamers were suspended in the air from the ceiling. Someone had donated and hooked up their tv to play music at an incredibly loud volume and the dining room table was overflowing with food made and brought by everyone. Even some of the other volunteers showed up! We immediately started a dance fest, congo lines and were jumping up and down to the fist-pumping beats and there were kids from 2 years old to my old friend Victor who is approaching 75. It was incredible. But the best was yet to start and I soon realized as someone strapped a Mardi Gras-esque mask on my face that the “hora loca” had begun. Hora loca translates as “crazy hour” and is the highlight of most concerts, weddings and birthday parties. This is the time when one is expected to dance for one hour non-stop with confetti and firecrackers being set off. I had silly string covering my body within moments and ingesting that toxic stuff is probably what gave me the migraine later on. But for the moment it was crazy. We feasted on cubes of cheese and hotdog, crackers, cookies, toffees, candies, lollipops and alfajores. I ate everything (minus the hotdog). I also managed to drink a beer or two. I was overwhelmed (once again) with gifts from people that had no reason to give me anything and could have spent their money much more wisely on their family. Even Steven from my yoga class rode his bike to my house to give me a set of earrings and hair clips he had picked out (he’s 10). I was once again, humbled by Peruvian’s generosity.

As people began to trickle out of the house two hours later, I was left in amazement of how much planning had gone into everything and how many people chipped in to help organize everything. I once again, was left speechless at my host family’s level of generosity and how much they have accepted me into their family. As I look at the calendar and realize I have less than six months of service left, I begin to feel the inklings of fear that my time here is now running short and the day does not seem so far off when I will have to leave these amazing people I have grown to love.

Party of the Year

It´s a rite of passage- a girl´s 15^th birthday. I´d warrant that it´s a bigger deal in one´s life than a wedding in Northern Peruvian culture. Have any of you ever seen the MTV show “My Sweet 16”? Yeah, kinds like that, but without the Hummers, belly dancers or chocolate fountains.

But in my town, there was a car, there were 300 people and 5 goats-worth of food. And a fountain- but instead of being able to dip slices of pineapple and strawberries, this one was coming out of the cake.

Prixi turned 15 on April 19^th. I remember when I first got to Tumbes and I remember asking her how old she was (13), her 15^th birthday seemed decades away. In reality, it was only a year and a half but still, it came and it was awesome.

I originally thought the family wasn’t going to do anything for a lack of money- I thought they were just going to have a few of her closest girlfriends form school over for a nice lunch. I was totally cool with that. But then one day back in March my host dad mentioned that he was thinking in something bigger.

“Like how much bigger, Milton? Maybe her teachers would come too”?

“ No, like a fiesta.”

Bingo.

For the next month and a half there were papers strewn around the house with lists of invites, and whispers of gossip around town saying that Milton (my host dad and one of the more economically-successful men in the town) was throwing Prixi a huge party, complete with a concert from my cousin’s band, Yenner Artur. These whispers did turn out to be true and by the time it came to send out invitations, 400 people were expected to attend.

So naturally, my host parent’s had been going crazy the last few weeks getting everything in order. Food had to be catered, chairs had to be rented, appetizers had to be made and dresses had to be bought. One of the main concerns was what to do about Prixi’s large foot size. She is easily a size ten and well, most Peruvians aren’t made that way. I’m a 9 and people gawk at my “club-feet.” So there aren’t a surfeit of extra-large high heels in the market. To my horror, Prixi and Yeni (my host mom) remembered that I had just attended Peace Corps’ 50^th anniversary and wore a beautiful pair of Stuart Weitzman heels that Emily had sent me (she’s the best) and asked me if Prixi could try them on. My blood ran cold as I watched Prixi’s size 10 WIDE-foot wedge itself into my shoes and felt my teeth clench as the leather straps bulged while she took a walk across the kitchen. That night when my mom called, I immediately explained the situation and we decided that my mom and dad would send Prixi her own pair of shoes as a 15^th birthday present. Some of you may be judging me at this point because I didn’t want to lend her my shoes but they are (other than my computer, Kindle and camera) the ONLY nice thing I own here. So naturally, I am protective.

Thanks to Em’s amazing shopping capabilities, a paIr of beautiful silver shoes came in the mail 3 weeks later for Prixi and fit perfectly.

So more about the party…

The day of the party was a blur. I actually woke up with a migraine but managed to get rid of it right a few hours before the party started. I modeled my dress for my host mom and aunt who immediately declared that it was not tight enough around the chest and took to sewing it to “ump” my assets. These Peruvian women work wonders with a needle and thread.

Perhaps the most interesting event of the afternoon was being nominated to pluck Aunt Isa’s eyebrows. Isa has a legitimate uni and has never touched her eyebrows in all of her life. Jenna, if you are reading this, think you at age 10 before going to Diana’s Nails. So there I was, straddling Isa with a pair of tweezers for 45 minutes just trying to make progress. People would walk by and all I could think to myself was “If I was in the States right now, I would be judged.” But here, TOTALLY normal. It was overwhelming at times because her daughter (and my cousin) Yojani kept wanting me to pluck more but I knew a) I’d be there all night if I tried to actually thin her eyebrows and oppose to just getting rid of badly-placed hair and b) her eyelids would look like tomato wedges form swelling. We finally settled on a good look for her and even today, a week later, she told me she liked them. Yeah!

So eventually the big night arrived. I showered, actually put mascara on and waited patiently as Prixi had two hours worth of hair styling done. As the rainy season has come super late we decided the day before that instead of having the party outside as planned on the street in front of my house, we would all fit into the communal center in the center of town. The inside looked as if hot pink had been thrown up everywhere. People waited patiently for Prixi to arrive Cinderella-style in a decorated station wagon (horses not included) and somehow squeeze out of the backseat with her dress that had a metal hoop at the bottom and everything.

From there the ceremony commenced which included a choreographed dance by four family members around Prixi as she twirled and swayed to the music (a little bizarre), my two 5-year old cousins walking up (kind of like ring bearers) with her makeup and shoes that were later put on by her godmother and godfather, lots of dancing and speeches and then finally, a toast. I was starving by the time the food came around that I was embarrassingly picking up plates that hadn’t been eaten and devouring the chicken tamales. Yummmmm.

After the food, everyone started to dance and drink. I had a 1 AM bus to catch to Piura so I had to leave early, but not too early so that I wasn’t able to dance to a few salsa songs, have a few glasses of beer and steal a few handfuls of appetizers (which ironically, are given out at the END of the night). I came back yesterday and Prixi showed me all of the 100 gifts she managed to rake in. Contents: - 12 photo albums, at least 10 picture frames, 13 bottles of body lotion/perfume things and countless massive, singing, light-up teddy bears. I promptly decided that I should celebrate my tenth 15^th birthday next year.

Reality cuy

My brother Pol raises guinea pigs. Guinea pigs or cuyes in Peru are a main source of protein for many people that live up in the mountains but down here on the coast, most people refer to them as rats without tails. Despite eating cuy a few times, I find myself siding with the latter’s point of view. However, a few people eat them around here and being that they multiply quickly and don’t die as easily as chickens, they’re the more sensible choice.

So as I was saying, Pol has been slowly raising the number of cuyes we have in our house from three to thirteen (not counting the ones we’ve given away or eaten). He built them a nice little cage outside in our “yard” using the wood and plastic signs the politicians used to hang up there propaganda during the mayoral elections last November. That way, the cuyes get to look at the face of Carlos Purisaca giving his thumbs up sign while they eat their morning corn stalks.

Since our pet parrot Polly died a looooong time ago and Blanco the dog does not get any attention whatsoever, the cuyes have become my family’s source of entertainment (we don’t own a tv or radio) as well as our source of drama. I find this hilarious and at times, stressful.

For example, we can never have more than one of two males in the same caged area because they always resort to fighting and would eventually kill each other fighting over the females if we didn’t intervene. As a result, we are always trying different combinations of living arrangements between the cuyes. Last month, everything seemed fine until my uncle Juaro brought a cuy up the coast from his town in the department of Ancash. This new girl was a real b**** with a large chuck of hair that had been torn off her nose in one of her previous cage-fights. I like to give names to the cuyes in order to make them seem more “pet-like” but all I could call this one was “Blanca.” The second she stepped paw into her cage with the other eight females it was like watching a wolf chase a herd of sheep. I had never seen something so aggressive! She went berserk biting, clubbing and jumping the poor other innocent little gals in her area. It was painful to watch.

Eventually though, a balance came to the chaos and I have found myself growing accustomed to sitting in the hammock, watching the dynamic of them all. There’s my favorite who I call chocolate-caramel who is mute and can’t chirp like the rest. There’s Francisco who has a ridiculous amount of hair and then there’s Big Girl who is really fat and lazy and I have been assuming incorrectly for the past few months that she is pregnant. They’re all adorable. I especially like watching them in the afternoon retire to their designated corners and sleep or cuddle with each other.

Unfortunately this week Pol discovered all of the cuyes were infested with lice. So naturally, he went to Tumbes and came back with some creepy red-liquid that would apparently get rid of them. Two days ago,Yeni (mom), Pol and I went outside where we spread little droplets of the venom on the cuyes’ backs and stomachs and watched as the liquid turned their hair all pink. It was actually pretty cute to watch the cuyes parade around with pink Mohawks in their hair.

Well it was cute until we found one of the little ones dead yesterday morning. Apparently Pol didn’t listen very well when the doctor said the amount of lice venom that Pol bought was meant for a 650 lb cow and we used it ALL for a total of 13 cuyes that added up to no more than 25 lbs collectively. We essentially poisoned them all and are now waiting with fingers crossed to avoid seeing anymore bite the dust. Time will tell. However, I will try not to dwell on such tragedies.

Instead, I will talk about how two months ago, chocolate-caramel gave birth to three babies. They instantly became my favorite litter. One (who I nicknamed skunk) came out black with white stripes and was nothing more than a furry hairball. His sister came out normal as well. However, the third my brother nicknamed the “mongolito” or “deformed one.” I had been traveling in Cajamarca when they were born and when I came back, my brother informed me that we now had a handicapped cuy as part of our family. I went outside to see what he was talking about when I found a little dark-brown cuy in the bottom of a bucket, covered in a sheet.

“He can’t walk and won’t die.” My host mom said. “ He’s weak and we’ve had to feed him your aunt’s breast milk.”

Yes that’s right. The cuy’s mother wouldn’t feed her crippled offspring so my host mom had taken to asking her sister who had just given birth to donate some of her HUMAN breast milk for the baby cuy, which she fed to the cuy via a medicine dropper. Somehow, the cuy drank it but then my mother decided it no longer was worthy of my aunt Miriam’s breast milk and decided to let it starve to death. I practically choked upon hearing of this cruelty.

“Let me take it to the vet. I’ll see what the doctor says.”

“Ask if you can donate him for some science study” my mom replied.

That sounded worse than letting him die of hunger so Monday morning I took “Simon” (I thought it sounded better than mongolito) to the vet. As I stood on the side of the road, waiting for a car, I felt happy to be holding something so small in my hands and all wrapped up in a washcloth. I named myself as Simon’s caregiver, his guardian angel if you will, that refused to let him be forgotten about. As we waited for the car, I felt like a proud mother, holding her baby and protecting him from the rest of the world. That day, I walked around with Simon all cuddled up in the washcloth and showed him to anybody interested. I’m sure he appreciated the fresh air and attention. When I finally walked into D’Manolo’s vet store, I had no desire to part with him but was afraid of what my family would say if I brought him home again.

“What is that, is it a dog”?

I have no idea how people figured that something no larger than a teabag was a puppy but whatever. I protectively let no child come near him until I unwrapped him for the doctor to see.

“This guy’s fine, he’s just a little mineral-deficient- he’ll be okay in a few weeks” was what Dr. Manolo told me. All he needed was a little extra care and he would definitely be able to get that while living at the vet. I reluctantly made a little bed for Simon, full of newspaper and his washcloth and said goodbye as I walked with my head down to the car that was waiting to take me home.

Two days later I went back to the vet to ask about Simon when the doctor told me he had given him away to an old lady that would take care of him and give him the vitamins he needed. He said Simon was in good hands and I believe him but I still wish he would have given him back to me.

The End of February

I cannot believe I survived the last ten days. I’ve traveled over half of the country in an effort to get to Lima to celebrate Peace Corps’ 50^th anniversary, bus into the northern highlands of Cajamarca to celebrate Carnaval and then wind myself down the mountains and up the coast again to get back home to Tumbes. And then brainstorm, organize, and execute a party for International Women’s Day for around 35 ladies and their children with no money to do it.

I didn’t think I could do it but I did and I had some awesome and hilarious moments along the way.

Day 1-5: Leave site for 21-hour bus ride from Tumbes to Lima. This wouldn’t be so bad except I tried to save money on my trip and take the “economical bus.” Thank God for Dramamine.

I arrived in Lima at 10:30 and had a meeting and lunch at noon with the Chief of Staff of Peace Corps (3^rd in command of the whole worldwide-program), the Director of the Inter –America- Pacific Region, my country director and 10 of the other volunteer representatives from all of the other departments that we volunteer in. I didn’t have time to get over to my hostel so I went straight to the Peace Corps office and showered there and tried to make myself look halfway decent.

After lunch, the volunteer reps and myself traveled downtown to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to listen to the U.S. Ambassador, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Peace Corps Chief of Staff Stacey Rhodes to speak on the success of Peace Corps over the last 50 years. The building where this all took place is called the Torre Tagle Palace which as built in the 1700s as one of the most elaborate homes in South America for the treasurer of the Royal Spanish fleet (got that last piece of info from Wikipedia J ). It was very nice and thank God short because as I got home around 9 pm, I immediately passed out.

The next evening’s activities were much more impressive. About 70 volunteers had been invited or picked to visit the U.S. embassy and then have a reception at the ambassador’s house on the actual Peace Corps anniversary (March 1^st ). I actually blow-dried my hair, put on makeup and wore heels for the first time in Peru. I felt pretty again!!!! I would like to give special props and thanks to my mom for sending me an array of dresses to choose from and awesome shoes, because according to Peruvian standards, I am a giant and I would not have been able to find anything here. So yeah, the volunteers were all bussed form the U.S. embassy into downtown Lima to the ambassador’s house. Including rush hour, it was around an hour-long trip. Of course, my parasite or whatever lives in my GI tract had been acting up THE ENTIRE week (no joke) and 20 minutes into the bus ride I start to get that feeling.

I’m pretty sure everyone knows that feeling.

It’s the feeling you get when you know you need to get to a bathroom STAT but you’re trapped. Unfortunately for me, I was trapped in a bus in high heels in Lima traffic. At first I just thought everything would pass, but nooooooooo. Things just got worse. I started to sweat and eventually I couldn’t bare it any longer- I had to get out. I asked our Peace Corps training “mom” Kathy who was on the bus if she could ask the driver to pull over. Two minutes later she comes back and says:

“ Okay we’re going to pull over but two of the boys have to accompany you because we’re in sort of a seedy area.”

Did I mention we were in La Victoria? The most dangerous barrio in Lima? Well, we were.

It gets better. The first place the bus could find was a tire and rim shop on the side of the road. As I’ve said before, nothing can embarrass me anymore so I hopped out of the bus with two guy friends and scooted into the tire joint in my high heels and cocktail dress.

“Tiene un baño para ella? Es una emergencia”

(And I added), “Problemas femininas” (Yeah I’m that shameless).

The man working at the store was probably too awkward to say no, so I just hurried into the bathroom and held up an old car windshield while I answered nature’s call.

Thankfully though, that was my last “episode.” We soon arrived at the ambassador’s house (gorgeous by the way) and listened to some great speeches, talked with some great Peruvians that have supported Peace Corps along the way and drank good wine. I even got to meet the former president Alejandro Toledo for a minute or two. He’s also in the running for the presidency this year. I was so star-struck while talking to him that after saying who I was, where I worked and what I did, he asked me where I was from and I replied “The United States.” DUH! He was the guy that invited Peace Corps back to Peru in 2002 and even lived with a volunteer when he was a kid- so he obviously knew that I was from the U.S. of A. So now I know I’m not so hot with speaking to famous people.

Me talking to the "big guy."

So after the party, the volunteers headed back to our hostels and then a few of us went out to celebrate afterwards- I had a blast.

I’ll finish this blog with a quick recap of what I did for the few days after being in Lima. After the 50^th, a bunch of us headed up to a department called Cajamarca which is in the northern sierra or mountains, of Peru to celebrate Carnaval. I’m hoping everyone knows what Carnaval is (think Mardi Gras but for South America and bigger), but if not, it’s basically a week long party before the start of Lent with parades, dancing, music and PAINTFIGHTS. The day of the 5^th was “paint day” and was why I went in the first place.

We all woke up super early after buying paint, ponchos, glitter, water guns, and buckets the night before and got ready. Around ten of us from training all stayed in the same hostel overlooking the plaza de armas and we filled close to 250 water balloons and enjoyed ourselves as we threw them at random people from our second-story balcony. It’s a day dedicated to getting as dirty as possible.

After throwing balloons, we finally hit the streets for some action. During the day, groups of people would form groups or “gangs” if you will and parade down the streets, throwing paint and water while singing and dancing. If you happened to run into one of these gangs, you were toast. I specifically remember someone dumping a bucket of white paint in my face so that it took a few washes to get everything off. Within minutes, everyone was soaked and covered in array of colors from the paint. You could either join with these bands of people or move on. All during this, people waged war from houses, balconies, behind fences and out in the open. The best was throwing water balloons into a second-floor window and hearing the inhabitants scream as they got soaked inside.

Eventually a group of us decided to hang around one house where the families inside were out in the street drinking and dancing. It was so much fun. Through all of the buckets of water being thrown and rain coming down (it is rainy season), everyone continued to dance. It was awesome. I only called it quits when one volunteer poured a gallon of cold water down my shirt and then the wind picked up and I decided I better go home before I froze to death. It was epic.

La China

With the 50^th anniversary coming up, the volunteers have been asked to speak with the different local newspapers in Tumbes to put in a little blurb or spread on what is Peace Corps. Last Sunday, one of the local newspapers wrote two full pages on us with excerpts of interviews from a few of the volunteers. However, we thought it would be good to maybe put another notice about ourselves in another newspaper and I found myself asking around if anyone knew where the “Correo” newspaper office was.

“Sure I do” answered my uncle Koke. “The Correo office? It’s right on the corner of so and so- next to “La China.”

Not being familiar with one of these streets, I asked “Well, what’s “La China”?

“Oh, you know, the little blue prostitute house on the corner.”

(Here I paused and processed what he said)

“Come again Koke?”

“You know, the little blue…”

And then he proceeded to draw me a picture.

“Here we go” he said, “here’s the market street, here’s the street you walk up, HERE is La China’s prostibulo (he made sure to pronounce it very slowly so I could understand- PROS- TIIII- BUUU-LO) and the Correo office is next door.”

I tried to keep an even face and pretend that of course, I knew where the local brothel was located. But it was hard. Weren’t those things illegal? I had heard rumors of one existing between the Miami campus and Dayton airport but those rumors probably held as much truth as the government's denial of finding alien bodies in Roswell, New Mexico. So it surprised me to know that I had been walking past a Peruvian “Prostibulo” three times a week. Eventually, unable to keep my curiosity at bay and quite amused at the map my uncle Koke had made me, I asked him,

“Koke, how do YOU know where La China’s brothel is?

“Well, you see Lindsey (long pause), this one time I was eating my lunch outside on the side of the street with my motorcycle and this lady just came up to and asked me how much I was willing to pay. I had no idea it was a whore house- I was just sitting there, eating my lunch”!

Eating lunch my butt. I could now picture the area in my head and there was nothing inviting about that street nevertheless eating one’s lunch there unless you enjoy dining near dead animals and burning garbage.

Keeping those thoughts and judging to myself, I silently nodded my head while Koke finished his map and wished me good luck on my adventure to find the newspaper office. I would like to point out that Koke also has a tattoo on his chest that says “ Te amo Tatiana.” Tatiana was his girlfriend in high school and Koke has been looking for a way to get rid of the evidence since his new girlfriend doesn’t know it exists. She’s never seen him without a wife beater on.

The next day I went out on my quest to find the Correo newspaper office but I’ll I could find was the brothel. I just saw a homeless man coming out of there with his cup and hand and once again, judged. Needless to say, Correo wasn’t where Koke said it was and I've yet to find it to this date.