Falling in Love

3.25.11

It’s a rainy Friday afternoon in Bolivar, which means the streets are rivers of mud, the teachers are on their way to Chiclayo, and many families have left town to head to their homes in the caserios. I’ve been sitting at my desk for about an hour now, writing in my journal and settting some work goals for the next three weeks and I don’t think a single soul has walked past my window. Maybe one: an older women on her way back from the fields with mud up to her ankles and a big plastic bag over her head serving as a raincoat.

This past week I officially “cumplir”ed 7 months here in Bolivar and just about 10 months here in Peru. While it’s a far cry from my 27-month commitment, it’s the longest I’ve ever been out of the country. The longest I’ve ever been away from my house, my twin bed, and the fruit roll-ups I know are in the cupboard under the microwave.

It’s amazing to think I’ve lived here 7 months. I look around my bedroom here in Bolivar, full of photos and books and binders of my work, and am amazed at how much my own it is now. Thinking back to the first night I ever slept here, I remember there was just a matress filled with straw, two wool blankets, and an exceptionally disgusting-smelling pillow that I must attributte to my former sitemate Dave though he refused to admit it was his. Now, my room is home.

I’ve never thought of myself as a hardcore South America buff. Not like so many of my fellow Peace Corps volunteers here in Peru who majored in Latin American studies and adamantly told me that if they hadn’t been placed down here, they would have just stayed at home. I, on the other hand, have always kind of thought I left part of myself in Africa. Always assumed I’d return and in way less time than it’s taken me so far considering it’s been about 7 years since I finished my study abroad in South Africa. Still, I’ve always thought that was really where my heart is. Knew I’d have an amazing experience here in Peru but, deep down, figured it’d be difficult for South America to win over my heart.

Well, somewhere in between many itchy battles with big bugs, one hundred and one meals of rice and potatoes, and those town dances that keep everyone up dancing until four in the morning, I think it just may have happened. I may love Peru and I certainly love Bolivar.

My sitemate Dave left sometime in February and, at first, I was nervous about being alone here in site. Nervous I’d have no one to speak English with or to spend an evening watching episodes of Glee over a box of shitty red wine. In just about a month, though, I’ve realized that his departure has made me challenge myself again in the way I did when I first got here- making myself get out of the house, chatting in the park, and visiting friends in the evenings. And the more I visit, the more I chat, the more I just watch and listen, the more I understand how many people here have become very important to me. How many people I truly think I will know for the rest of my life.

I wrote to a friend recently and told her, I just can’t imagine leaving Bolivar and never seeing these people again. I can’t imagine leaving and never coming back and it’s true. For all of Bolivar’s many quirks and irritations, for its weaknesses and many faults, it is a place that I am coming to love. I think it did take Dave leaving for me to take the time on my own to realize that. It was a sort of epiphany, a realization that came to me all at once, one that I’m proud to be so aware of only 7 months into my service. It is official: I am happy here.

"Por la ventana? No lo creo."

22.2.11

It was just another Tuesday. Well maybe not ANY other Tuesday. I had just started up a Z-pack (thanks Dad) to ward off the oncoming illness I could feel growing in my achey ears and muscles. It was the same illness that was sure to ruin my coming weekend trip to Lima, a break from Peace Corps life and a glittering finale to my wildlly successful (don’t mean to brag but…) summer camp program in Bolivar’s library. Just two days to go and I was in temporary freedom land.

Needless to say I was taking no chances. So yes, today I popped the first two pills of the Z-pack I illegally (illegally?) stowed away in my suitcase when I left DC, took a nap, and powered through one of our last days of classes in the library.

Exhausted but certainly feeling better, I returned from a happily “tranquilo” day in the library, got our certificates and prizes ready for the awards ceremony on Thursday, and headed to the internet where I begged Lauren to help make me some Peace Corps business cards.

Since I hadn’t been feeling so hot the past few days, I had been avoiding lunch with the fam. “No tengo ganas de comer casi,” I told my host mom, Rosa and it wasn’t a lie necessarily. I didn’t feel the need to specificy that I didn’t have “ganas to comer” canned tuna and onions or mushy lentils and a deep fried egg. So, not feeling my best, I was stuck eating Ramen (thank you former sitemate Dave) and wheat toast (thank you Plaza Veia) in my bedroom.

Anyways, Rosa is always skeptical when I say I’m going to eat in my room or cook for myself. For some reason, there is always some disbelief… like maybe I’m lying and am actually starving myself instead of savoring peanut butter sandwhiches and the 100 calorie cheez-it packs that my mom sends me (thanks Mom!) which is, in fact, what I am doing. Either way this afternoon Rosa made sure to invite me up to drink a cup of tea and have some bread for dinner. I was down.

She called around 7:30 and I climbed up our rickety ladder ready for a little family bonding time. She’s been travelling to Chiclayo a lot lately to visit her daughters who are now studying in a university there so we’ve had much less quality time then usual. Add to that that I am actually quite busy in the library, not currently knitting anything (boo), and now sick and napping whenever I can, and now we’re practically strangers. So I subir-ed for a little hostmom-daughter bonding, ate my 2 rolls, drank my semi-warm tea and we chatted away.

Amidst chatter about God knows what…sometimes I’m not sure Rosa is evening listening to me…I spied on our stove a mouse crawling between a pan and a teapot. I, of course, semi-freaked out. Rosa, of course, pretended to be freaked out but obviously wasn’t. She’d put some poison down tomorrow, she said. And we chatted along.

A few minutes later there it was again, this time moseying around up there, in no rush to run and hide when Rosa approached the stove. I was near hysteria of course. (Ah, those hazy days of Rose Hugo and Rocky Walter seem so distant now, don’t they Heath…??) So once our little friend disappeared again, I had a final guzzle of my tea and decided to call it a night…or, more accurately, come down to my cozy little home away from home, where I know I carefully seal all of my food and never leave out rotting vegetables like a certain host mom I know, pop some popcorn, and watch the next episode of “Bethenny Getting Married” (Thank YOU, Dana!), a treat I allow myself every Tuesday night.

“Buenas Noches” were said and down I went, hurried into my room and flipped on the light to see- OH MY GOOOOOOD!! Yes, a mouse...not even a little baby mouse like was chilling in the stove upstairs. This one was pretty hefty…like me after 2 months of PC training in Peru. And no it wasn’t scurrying around on the floor where mice are SUPPOSED to be…where they were in the days of ORKNEY! Oh hell no. This mouse…okay let’s face it, it was a rat…was climbing in the shelves of the very handy “kitchenette”like piece of furniture handed down to me by my former PCVL and horrible romantic comedy buddy, Susan (thanks again Susan!).

When it heard my screaches it plopped its chubby little body down the back side of the shelves, jumped off my little green basket where I so carefully store fresh produce (NOT anymore) and hopped on to the floor never to be seen again…or not until later at least.

Now most of you know me and know that I’m not into animals. I don’t even like dogs…Megan Sanders if you keep posting pictures of dogs on your facebook page I might have to unfriend you. Ruth, one more holiday card with a picture of Penelope and I’m going to change my address…Bottom line, I don’t even think cute animals are cute. So please just imagine the level of tolerance I have for animals who are categorically NOT cute, animals who are actually revolting beasts that hide in the dark corners of your room only to ruin your Peace Corps experience. Exactly.

So I waited outside in a panic and called to Rosa for help. Let’s keep in mind that Rosa has helped me with more than one creature infestation in my six months here in Bolivar. Termites…there was Rosa. Fleas…there was Rosa. Bedbugs… I don’t even think she gets what these are but yes, there was Rosa. And yet again, this tiny, adorable 40-year-old woman who, with a proper “Devil Wears Prada” makeover, could look about my age, went to searching through my room for the rat while I called faulty Spanish directions from out the window.

After a quick once over Rosa decided it was gone. “Salio por la ventana,” she said. “He left through the window,” which I was completely not buying. Upon finally entering, I checked out my shelves and found to my complete and utter disgust that the rat had indeed been feasting on a tomato that I had left on my shelf with plans of passing on to Rosa anyway….If only I had given it to her before lunch as planned!!! There were big bites cut out of the tomato. I nearly barfed.

“You always have to keep your food closed,” my mom said. “Even in bags or boxes, they can eat their way through so you have to be careful.” Mary Ellen MacGeyver is the wisest of women and yet, sure that my neatly cemented room could stand up against any invader (besides those thousands of bugs I’ve been dealing with), I did not heed her warnings. I don’t know how it is possible but Mom is literally almost always right…Not always right, maybe. But at the very least, never wrong, right Mom?!?

Anyways, a half eaten tomato and a chubby rat siting was enough for me to admit aloud that no, I would not be sleeping in my bed tonight. Add to that a quick peek behind my bed which revealed that a little pile of black dots were not dead bugs but was rat droppings. OH the humanity. Rosa thought I was joking. I’ll sleep in the hammock, I thought or else visions of rats will be dancing in my head until Christmas Eve. ICK!!!

Rosa found my complete overeaction curious....Rosa’s favorite response to anything and everything I do: “Es curiosa, la Liz.” But she hadn’t lost faith. “We’ll get rat poison,” she said. “Right now?” I asked. “Vamos!” she said.

In a completely depressed fog of mouse doom, I followed Rosa up the street where we asked what appeared to be a completely random man sitting on the curb for some rat poison. Of course he had some for 1 sol, he said, so we followed him to his house where we found inside a huge store I had never even entered before where he apparently sold sandles, rubber boots, snacks, and, why wouldn’t he, rat poison.

We came back to the house where Rosa carefully mashed up the little pellet of rat poison and mixed it with the rice she had wanted to feed me for dinner. We left a pile of poisonous food on top of her stove and behind her stove and then made plans for my room.

“We’ll put your bed in the middle of the room,” she suggested, “and leave the food near your stove and in the corner of your room.” “Listo,” I said. So together we lifted my bed and placed it smack in the center of my room, leaving behind the Peace Corps issued bug net and bag of tejidos I keep stored underneath.

As soon as we put down the bed there was a rustling and out of the corner of my eye (Oh, how I wish I had gotten a better look just to make sure!) I saw my giant raton…yes, it’s giant now…spring from some shelves and dive through my window out into the wild.

“Salio!” I screamed. “Salio por la ventana!” Are moms just always right about everything? Oh ye of little faith. I was definitely not thinking that chubby little rat was making its way up and through my window but sure enough, there it went. We slammed the window shut and locked it and I breathed a sigh of relief. Not all is lost.

Carefully shaking every item that remained around the now visible pile of rat droppings, we hestitantly decided that the rat had, in fact, left the building. The open window was the culprit and, no doubt, the various food smells wafting from my room as I “approvechared” my newly obtained kitchen stove. Our final plate of poison food we left right outside my window where, if I’m not going completely crazy, I think I saw my little rat friend eating up outside my window while I typed away this entry.

Bottomline, I think it’s gone. Lordy, lordy, I hope it’s gone! That rat siting just about ruined a brand spanking new (to me, at least) episode of Bethenny. Not cool. Either way, the battle continues against the various creatures you run into out in the middle of nowheresville, Peru. If its not bugs in your bed, or chickens outside your door, sure enough, its mousies eating your tomatoes.

And it’s moments like these when I can say proudly, “So this is the Peace Corps.” And I’ll admit that here I have the luxury of watching new episodes of Glee on my laptop or making wheat pesto pasta for dinner. In Chiclayo, we all know, I drink more Starbucks than I ever did in the United States and spend many a’ happy afternoon in an overpriced homegoods store. Regardless, I gotta say that no matter what kind of icing you put on top, this really is the Peace Corps and ya know what? It isn’t always fun. But it surely is always an adventure.

A Peek Back at January

2.2.11

Amazingly enough I am well into the month of February busy with the “vacaciones utiles” or summer school/camp project I started last month in the library and looking ever forward to my visit home for Easter. Yes, it’s official. Almost immediately after our Project Design Training finishes up on April 14^th, I’ll be hopping on a plane and heading, oh you said it!, home.

Still a ways away, my future trip is keeping me motivated to get as much done in the coming months as possible so I can head out feeling most deserving of an Easter vacation abroad. In the meantime, I have new goals set for February, a library full of 30 kids excited about summer school, and a trip to Lima for the Peace Corps 50^th Anniversary Celebration in Lima on the horizon. But before I get to any of that, a quick look back at the month of January.

After saying a sad farewell to my parents and sisters, I entered the New Year with volunteer friends at Huanchaco, a beach right outside of Trujillo. The place was great. We stayed in a cozy hostel that was packed with travelers, volunteers, almost all foreigners and slept in tents in a yard outback. It was a night full of flip cup and card games followed by (obviously because this is Peru) fireworks on the beach.

I had a really good time and wasn’t missing my family quite as horribly as I’d expected but still something didn’t feel right. As soon as I got to Huanchaco even I felt that old anxiety- Heath knows what I’m talking about. That feeling tha tthere’s somewhere else I should be, doing something else entirely, something more. And there was of course.

I said goodbye to my friends and headed to Chiclayo where, after a day of crazy errand running, I hopped on the next bus (okay the only bus) back up to Bolivar with a huge “to do” list building and building in my mind. My community diagnostic presentation was under two weeks away thanks largely to Miryam, the Youth Development Program Specialist, who, due to a mysterious love of our library in Bolivar, had planned a huge staff trip to join me for the event.

So while most of my friends shrugged off their presentations and saved their reports on their laptops, never to be seen again, I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of almost every single one of my bosses. On their way were Marco, our Assistant Country Director, Lucia, our new Program Director of Youth Development, Miryam, our Program Specialist, Sandra, my Regional Coordinator, and Mike, my PCV Leader and former Bolivar volunteer. It would be quite a crew. I only hoped that I’d have at least as many community members present as I would Peace Corps staff. Either way there would be, at the very least, 6 people present (if I included myself) to witness me trip through my Spanish in an attempt to encourage the Bolivar community to participate in my future projects.

For two weeks I typed and typed, checked my grammar and filled in the many black I’d left over my first four months in site. As I finished up my paper, my presentation began falling into place. I would scribble my introduction or conclusion or a quick dinamica idea onto pink post-its when the worlds came to me while I read in my hammock. Once I was off to bed it was much worse. I barely slept those two weeks, all the time thinking of a new poster I should whip together or the plan for the library meeting that would follow the presentation.

Lucha, my favorite and the only, secretary in the municipality, helped me with the paperwork. Solications for the location in the municipal building and an invitation to the community, both written in a Spanish s formal it was almost nonsensical. Depite my nerves, I got the signature and seal of support from our toothless alcalde (mayor) and headed out into the community.

I began with the basic community leaders: regidores of the municipality, Lucha, health post staff, library committee members, and the ladies of PRONAMA, an adult literacy project. Still not sure if I even wanted anyone ot show up for this thing, I was tentative at first. But as my presentation came together and the staff visit was confirmed, I pushed myself, making generic invitations and going door to door.

I realized during this process how much being a Peace Corps volunteer in Bolivar (and maybe anywhere) is like running for mayor, asking for votes day in and day out. They see you coming and know you want something, know they’re nervous about what you’re going to ask of them. But all you want is their “support,” whatever that means, so you smile a big ccheesy smile and “descansar” with them in their living room, try to play down how long the event will be and ask please, please, please that they show up.

I never want to run for mayor- what a terrible existence- but I see that for 2 years that’s exactly what I’m going to do have to do, over and over again. Sell myself, my ideas and plans, form a solid fan-club that’ll work with me and, if all goes as planned, learn that they can work on their own too.

Anyways, it was a stressful two weeks that began 2011 and while I plugged away with my presentation, I tried hard to stick to my many many many New Year’s Resolutions- read more books, do more yoga, read the economist, keep in touch with friends, journal, blog, etc. etc. The list went on and on but I tried and kept working and on Thursday January 13^th, after a quick run-through of my presentation, and a lot of running around town in my black business casual dress (more for publicity than anything else) I was ready.

My visitors arrived in a dirzzle and I was terrified. With only about an hour until go-time we headed to the library to all get on the same page and came back to my house for a relatively awkward lunch. Somehow 2 o’clock just wouldn’t arrive and when, around quarter of, we finally headed over to the municipality it was locked of course…staff comes back at 2 en punto…or a little after. So we strolled around town puzzling over the zoo Universidad Alas Peruanas put in and discussing the ups and downs of a community diagnostic- surveys, focus groups, and all.

Finally at about 2:15 we returned to an open municipal building and got ready to wait. La hora Peruana is no myth, it is the law of the land engrained in daily life throughout Peru and possibly even more in Bolivar where progress, activity, just life in general, is slow, slow, slow. So Michael, the volunteer who actually built the library I work in today, helped ease my nerves as we patiently waited for newcomers until it was finally time.

They tell me the presentation went well though I saw, unmistakeably, more than one person sleep through parts. But we had almost 40 people present, almost a full house, and the posters and snacks were a hit.

When almost half of the listeners joined us in the library I was nervous, had a warped vision of what would happen from there. I gave my 10 or so minute schpeel and handed things over to Julio, our committee president, to do the rest. He essentially thanked the Peace Corps and unbeknownst to me, handed the meeting back over to me.

What happened from there is hard to explain though Miryam may have put it best when she said it was the weirdest meeting she’d ever been too…and she’s Peruvian.

There was a black and forth of thank yous and reasons why the library is such a good thing for the community followed, in the end, by the call for a new committee. They hemmed and hawed, few people (including myself) willing to speak up or take charge. Finally, as if she was sent from the heavens (turns out Miryam made her do it), Lucia stepped up, the sea parted, and progress was being made.

We voted to choose a new committee right then and there and then slowly selected five memebers who each accepted the position. 3 womend, 2 men including the second in command to our mayor. It was a good group, I thought. We voted on their respective positions, took a group pic, and signed the libro de actas. I left really excited and very very relieved.

My various bossess assured me I had done a great job and I sent them back down the hill feeling fantastic- so proud of myself for all my hard work, really optimistic for our new committee, and just completely content to have gotten through that landmark step in the two years of a volunteer.

From there I could only go on to bigger and better things and that night, I did. A bottle of wine and a move and a few extra hours to sleep in the next morning is how I celebrated. And when the afternoon rolled around, I hurried to the internet café and excitedly told my family how well it had gone and emailed thank youts to everyone who had helped out.

Overall, the presentation and all the hullaballoo that came with it, was a good thing and the perfect way to jumpstart the year and my service showing the community here thatn I am a professional with a plan who NEEDS their help. Tonight is our first committee meeting- I do hope I get that help I need. Only time will tell.

"To A Christmas We'll Never Forget..."

1.18.11

Another month has passed, along with a holiday season and a happy new year, and still, as Megan Stewart Sanders pointed out in her beautiful Christmas card, I “have been slacking a lot lately” on the blog scene. (Thanks Megan!) It is true though. Despite a December vow to get blogging and a New Year’s Resolution to do the same, I still have left you all hanging. So it’s time to play some catch up.

I guess I should start with the highly anticipated family visit to Peru. It went swimmingly! And let me tell you, the JW Marriott in Miraflores really is everything they say it is. Essentially it is America. I walked in like a bum off the street, exhausted from an overnight bus trip from Lima feeling dirty and dusty, the usual symptoms of a trip from Bolivar.

“Buenos dias,” I said, greeting the doorman and to my surprise he replied in English directing me to the front desk and then up to our gorgeous room that featured not only an ocean view but also a water filter for the whole building. There was clean tap water for your every need: teeth brushing, ice making in the ice machines, and even clean glasses of water. I was definitely out of my element.

As if I hadn’t seen food myself for months, I hurried up to the Executive Lounge where breakfast was being served. I was a kid in a candy shop. There were bags of earl gray tea, bagels with chive cream cheese, yogurt, granola, BACON, you name it. I enjoyed every bite regretting only that I hadn’t brought a larger purse to smuggle snacks back into my hotel room.

After breakfast I settled into our hotel room, hopped onto the web, and called my parents who were already safely landed in Miami where they awaited the arrival of my sisters, whom they found out later had accidentally booked themselves on 1^st class and were, at that very moment, flying in style to Miami. From there I started approvecharing that high speed internet and began downloading the Christmas spirit: A Charlie Brown Christmas, the Home Alone soundtrack, you name it, while I hung up the various assortment of holiday decorations I had collected over the last few months.

All day long I ran here and there buying stocking stuffers and strings of Christmas lights, wrapping up ponchos and sweaters and Peru 15 paraphenelia for everyone and, finally, enjoying the luxurious shower in our hotel room. By 7pm, I was ready to head out to the airport for the big arrival!

The airport was pretty packed on that Thursday night and I tried to calm my nerves knitting away at the scarf I was allegedly giving Dad for Christmas. When I saw Megs and Laur hurry in my direction, the tears just started a’flowing!!! I think back even know and just want to cry. Almost six months away from my sisters and best friends and here they were right in front of me! It was a completely amazing feeling, matched only by finally being able to sit down and chat away over a coke and a giant bag of sour patch kids.

My parents arrived soon after and again it was just an indescribable feeling to finally have them there with me. To finally be able to show them Peru! After some very excited greetings, a little disbelief, and assurances that I didn’t at all look like I had gained the almost 15 pounds I most certainly had gained, we were off. Ready for a week of adventures, for a Christmas abroad, and for hours and hours of time spent together.

It really was an amazing trip. I have to say that everything, aside for a barfing episode on my part before our flight to Chiclayo, a last minute run in with the airport authorities over the absence of my current passport (though Peace Corps assured me I would need only a photo ID…obviously UNtrue), and a near fainting spell on Meggies’ part, the trip really went without a hitch. We made it through the streets of Lima, onto Chiclayo, and even all the way up to Bolivar with not a scratch and even very few bug bites!

Christmas Eve we spent in the Plaza de Armas in Lima, where the holiday spirit and Catholic roots of the country were clear in every giant nativity scene and light display. We went to a Spanish mass in the main Cathedral and while the words were difficult for even me to understand, the spirit of the night was undeniable. At the end of mass crowds of women hurried to the rear of the church with 2, 3, even 4 baby Jesus’ brought from their nativity scenes at home. When the priest began blessing each and every baby Jesus, my mom couldn’t stop her tears and, while we made fun of her mercilessly afterward, I have to admit it really was an amazing thing to see.

Later that evening, over cups of red wine, we heard the unmistakeable bang of fireworks begin at 12 midnight. From our corner room, we watched the fireworks, set off from individual homes all over Lima it seemed, go on and on for an hour if not more. My mom and I watched together right until the end, long after my dad and sisters had retired to couch and their wine. My mom really was right: it was a memory we’ll have forever, one I’m really grateful for.

The trip itself was one wonderful memory and an unbelievable chance to finally show my family the many places I spend my time here in Peru. I showed them the hostel I stay in Chiclayo, the crowded bus I climb onto every time I want to leave or return to Bolivar, the cozy little room where I write these very blog entry, the giant raw space that is our community library, and the kitchen where I share so many meals of rice and potatoes with my host family.

And of course they got the chance to meet the people- especially the people of Bolivar. My host mother Rosa, whom they’ve heard so much about, the same Rosa who knit the sweater I gave my mom for Christmas. They met my host dad Chito who, thanks to the translating skills of my site mate Dave and me, got plenty across to my parents including the great honor of having visitors from North America in his home. My host sister Pati who immediately fell in love with her Christmas gift, a set of colored pencils, and stole the heart of my Dad who is always a sucker for a young artist. Cynthia, the oldest child of the family, who quietly took it all in and Edwin, the youngest and only boy, who immediately hid himself away to open up his pocket knife and, actually, never really came out again.

There were more people, lots of mud, and tons more crazy stories that I hear my Dad is telling left and right. Yes, there really was a big crate of chickens riding on the bus up to Bolivar with us. No, the chickens were not sitting in my Dad’s lap. Yes, Rosa did really bring up a live chicken that would, later that day, become our lunch. No, we were not forced to witness the chicken killing, nor did my Dad participate. The Vassallo exaggeration co-efficient is a time-honored tradition, so just try to read through the lines. The majority of the unbelievable, this time, actually is true.

Needless to say, all good things come to an end. So while Megs and Dad relaxed upstairs, Mom and Lu and I spent a couple last hours at the pool, trying to fit in every last conversation topic we hadn’t covered in the past week: boys, breakups, work, yoga, even the future arrangement of Meg and Laur’s apartment when I finally descend on NYC in the fall of 2012 (cross your fingers!). And later that day, after one last drink at the hotel and a quick chat at the airport about the books we’re reading and the date of my quickly approaching first visit home, they were off.

It makes me sad even now, almost a month later. It was a complete gift to get to share that week with them, too short definitely but a gift just the same. One that I truly enjoyed every second of, trying hard to appreciate every laugh and every hug and every silly joke we think is oh so funny. And once they had passed security, and I gave them one last wave goodbye, I took a taxi back to the hotel and tried to remind myself how lucky I was.

How selfish for me to feel sad when I should just feel completely grateful and blessed to have a family that just wants to share everything with each other! A family who would spend their Christmas holiday eating french fries and beer (the only two things my Dad really trusted eating) instead of the usual Morton’s steak and wedge salad. A family who didn’t mind receiving the little handmade presents I could afford instead of the mounds of designer clothes and accessories that usually end up underneath our Christmas tree. A family who flew all the way to Peru to spend a week talking and laughing and even sometimes crying with me.

And now with more than 7 months in Peru under my belt and almost 5 months as an offical Peace Corps volunteer, I am happy to have one holiday season under my belt. Excited to make more progress on my projects here in Bolivar. And already counting down to my first visit home for Easter. See you then everyone! Lots of love from Bolivar!

Happy Holidays from Peru!

12.7.10

So I, first of all, must admit that I have dropped the ball. That’s right, my blog has been seriously neglected lately so I’d like to publicly commit to keeping you people posted on my almost every move here in Peru. There’s stuff going on, I swear. And while individual days may not always be thrilling, the experience as a whole is always interesting.

Here I am back in Bolivar listening to the Frank Sinatra Christmas album and wondering if my termite swarm will come out again tonight. Not your usual holiday season, that is for sure but I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the one, the only, Vassallo family for our very first Christmas abroad. That’s right, in a mere 16 days, I will be meeting my parents and sisters in Lima where after immediately enjoying a pizza hut pizza, we will enjoy each other’s company poolside at the Marriot before heading to Bolivar to see my site, visit my little home away from home, and meet the family of five that has taken me under their wing here in Peru. It should be a blast though I’m sure my mom and Megs are already a nervous wreck. (If you have the time, please call either to remind them not too worry so much! Thanks.)

It’ll be an unconventional Christmas but at least we’ll be together. I must admit that while I had a great time enjoying Thanksgiving with a ton of volunteers at the beach, I was definitely wishing I was enjoying mounds of mashed potatoes next to my fatass cousin Dana (I can call her that because she’s not actually fat) preparing for the Top Chef marathon on Bravo. Our own meal, however, thanks to one Kourtney Angle, was delicious.

There were mashed potatoes and salad and sweet potatoes and, only in Peru, pollo a la brasa. While, to my mom’s disbelief, there are turkeys in this country, we, instead, enjoyed rotisserie chicken as our poultry of choice and I must say it was delicious. Apricots bars made by my favorite conoisseur of sweets, kate diaz, made the evening. The next day, I enjoyed spending black Friday on the beach instead of at Montgomery Mall. And while my sunburn set in I chatted away with the fam back in Meg and Laur’s apartment while they enjoyed some old fashioned NYC pizza.

When we recovered from our food hangovers and frantically tried to finish our community diagnostics, we Youth Development volunteers headed out to the absolutely stunning, beatufiul beyond beautiful Ancash. There we met up for our Early In-Service Training, a rite of passage in the life of a PCV and a celebration of three months in site.

We spent a week in Ancash listening to each other’s every success and failure, brainstorming new projects and solutions, and planning for the future of our service and of our communities. It was a wonderful mix of “Oh shit, she’s done way more than I have!” and “Yes, I really do feel at home in site.” It’s so hard not to compare one site to the next, one project to the next or even one volunteer to the next. But if anything Early Ist reminded me just how different we each are. All of our sites, counterparts, and projects are going to be vastly different and so all we can do is be there for each other. I think I had forgotten about the many good friends I have all over Peru. A group movie night snuggled up on a couch in my Halloween pajama pants was a good reminder of that.

And with almost two wonderful weeks of Thanksgiving madness and IST fun behind me, I am back in Bolivar wondering about my next step. Like I wrote in an email earlier today, I am torn about that step. With Christmas quickly approaching, one part of me wants to listen to Christmas carols all day long while I wrap up the various trinkets I’ve collected for my family in the past six months. Another part of me, however, knows that I have tons of work to do. In just another three months we’ll be back together for our PDM training and I want to be ready for it.

So hopefully this month I can do a little of everything: keep writing blog posts, keep channeling the Christmas spirit, and keep moving with my work in Bolivar. In the meantime, I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and are enjoying the crazy wonderfulness that is Christmas at home. Love you all! And Megs, Laur, Mom, and Dad—see you in 10 days! J

XOXO, Gossip Girl

Written on 10.20.10

So I think I just sprung into the 21^st Century- sitting in my room at a plastic table and stool stolen from the library, I realized that my ipod can play videos—not just any videos, but my much adored repeats of, you guessed it, Gossip Girl.

How did I not know that?, you may be wondering. (Well, Mom and Dad, you’re not wondering but everyone else is). Because I’m an asshole and somehow always manage to not know things like that, like how to take a video with my camera or how to post pics to facebook and then tag them.

Regardless, I could hardly contain myself while I strained to watch small but perfectly vivid images of Blake and Leighton traipsing around Manhattan in rompers I would no longer (for the time being) be caught dead in. Yes, it seems the mountains of starch and deep fried eggs have finally caught up with me. But I gotta tell ya, watching S and B bomb around town on that tiny little ipod screen made me a little nostalgic, yes, but mostly comforted that I’m not so far away after all.

So maybe I dodge donkeys and cow manure in the streets while Megs and Laur dodge high profile business men. Maybe I read Mario Vargas Llosa in a hammock made of fishing net while dad reads the same in the backyard between sips of a martini and puffs of a cigar. Either way, no matter how you do it, we’re all just getting through the day the best we can. Trying our best to, as Dad would put it, read more books, drink more wine, and keep in touch.

It’s really funny what little things help ease my various bouts of terrible homesickness, deep frustration, and desperate boredom. A reassuring email from my friend and yours, Kerri Magee, telling me it will get better. A hidden stash of twizzlers from Megs and Laur that has somehow lasted almost a month. An overpriced foursome of snackpacks I found hidden away next to the imported pretzels in Plaza Veia. Somehow these very silly things take me home again and sometimes, even better, remind me how very much I wanted to be here all along. Much more than I ever wanted to catch the most recent season of my favorite 10pm tele-dramas.

Anyway, just a little food for thought for my many (do I have 4 yet?) blog followers. Cuz ya never know what lessons you might learn from a shiny silver ipod.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

Mistake Making

10.28.10

Wow. It’s amazing to me that it’s been an entire month since I last posted a blog entry. I’m sorry to have left you all on such a sour note--that English class nonsense was quite the debaucle. But you’ll be happy to know that things have been moving along nicely since then. No run-ins with the aforementioned creepy English teacher and many more successes than frustrations.

I just celebrated my two-month anniversary here in Bolivar and am happy to have almost five months under my belt here in Peru. Yes, I’m still counting the weeks and months but every day the urge to cross out another day on my calendar fades just a little bit. And if an entire month without a blog entry means anything, it’s that I’ve been busy. Which is true.

The month of October has been filled with art classes with the second grade, typing classes with the second grade teacher, Monopoly with my host sister, and lots of knitting…and then re-knitting with my host mom, Rosa. Also this month I attended one college fair, one dental hygiene fair, two quincinera celebrations, and, somewhere in there, one round of karaoke in Chiclayo.

Things here are good. A little slow at times but definitely steady as I head into my official site visit next week from Youth Development’s Program Specialist and Volunteer Coordinator. I’m looking forward to their visit, eager to share my ideas and, excited for the beginning of a new month and the many possibilities it will bring because basically, while things here are good, I’m realizing that I need a jumpstart.

Peace Corps gives us three months to really get to know our community, to meet our host families, improve our Spanish, and write our Community Diagnostics. Somewhere along the way we are also supposed to have begun some “early win” projects, simple projects that volunteers have used again and again to quickly get involved in the community. I think I’ve done my share of early wins, tutoring in the preschool, teaching in the elementary school, typing away in the library, but I think I know deep down that I could be doing more. I know too that I’ll be happier here when I’m doing more.

It’s harder than I thought it would be to stay motivated. Especially because being motivated doesn’t just mean making sure you are waking up every morning, taking those cold showers, still speaking Spanish, and eating rice for the 12^th meal in a row. I think it’s supposed to mean that you are making sure you’re putting yourself out there again and again, risking something new every single day. And while I can acknowledge that it’s a risk just being here, I think I know deep down that I’m not putting myself out there the way I should be.

The other night Jorge Luis, a neighbor and a member of the Library Committee here, asked if I ever thought I’d end up somewhere like this. And I remembered that actually when I came to visit Bolivar during our week of Field Based Training, I got off the bus and said, “This is it. This is what I want in a site.” I saw so much potential for work, for projects, for continuing something really great that the past volunteers had gotten started. Yes, I did think, even hoped, that I’d end up somewhere like this.

I know a lot more now—more about Bolivar, more about just how hard these two years might be and why. But I still think that this is the site for me. I still think I have great ideas that have the potential to be realized here with the help of great people. I only have to get started.

I think so far my fears of falling short of my goals have kept me from really taking chances. I’m endlessly planning and brainstorming, always looking ahead to a better time to start a youth group or a toothbrushing project, in hopes of somehow creating a perfect two years here in Bolivar. And that idea of perfection is something I just need to let go of. Instead, these two years will be a series of trials and errors that need to begin now.

Being a volunteer here in Bolivar will be about taking risks. It will be all about making mistakes and realizing that with each mistake I am becoming a better volunteer. I will start where the doors are already open, where the obstacles seem small, the goals achievable. And I’ll remind myself that maybe, while I’m learning from my many mistakes in doing the do-able, doors will open to achieving what now seems impossible. I’ll start today.