The Ruins (Pachacamac — a history lesson)

So my guidebook said that Pachacamac (some 30 minutes outside of Lima), is a lesser known (but well-worth seeing) archeological site in the same league as Machu Picchu and Chán Chán. We drove right by the entrance on our way back from Casa Blanca, so a group of us decided to stop and see.

If I had been blindfolded and flown to the site, I would have guessed I was in Egypt. Despite being in view of the coastline, the ruins sit in a sea of sand. The only vegetation is in the yards of the rich folk who live nearby.

Really, all that's left is a pile of bricks, but it has a really rich history, starting back to the 1st and 2nd century.

It was a pilgrimage site for the Huari people, where they worshipped Pachacamac, their creator of the world. In the 15th century, the city was captured by the Incas, who (of course) added other buildings, including the Accllahuasi, the Palace of the Chosen Women — where they prepared the most intelligent, beautiful and accomplished virgins from the highest class to be sacrificed. They brought them up the hill to the Temple of the Sun, where they killed them on a patio overlooking the sunset on the Pacific Ocean. It's a tragic story, but the view really is incredible. I could see why they would want to worship it.

The site was excavated and over 200 mummies were found — mummies which are now in some museum in Germany. According to our guide, it's not that uncommon: Archeologists from foreign countries come to Peru, promising to leave the found riches with the Peruvian people, but in the end, they don't. She said the problem is largely monetary. As Peru doesn't have the money to excavate the site, they have to rely on outsiders.

It was a beautiful site, and totally wet my appetite for more pre-Columbian ruins!

If you want more information, you can find it at:

http://pachacamac.perucultural.org.pe/ (for my bilingual friends)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pachacamac

The Self-sustaining Farm (Casa Blanca)

This past weekend, we went to a self-sustaining farm that was wicked awesome cool, and I have to tell you about it.

The farm is owned by two retired PhDs who are so ridiculously in love, it radiates around the whole place. They both have a passion for agriculture and decided to buy the farm 25 years ago to live the rest of their days in complete and utter bliss. (author´s note: embellishment added)

How they created a self-sustaining life (meaning they haven´t bought a cannister of gas in 15 years) is really quite incredible. There is no above-ground water source nearby to water the zillion varieties of crops, so they tapped a sub-terrainian source and pump the water up into a lifted pool that serves as a reserve. When the crops need watering, the reserve is uncorked, and gravity sends the water to canals alongside the crops. There are unconnected curved plastic tubes that are sticking out of the canals. As they are, no water comes out of them because there´s an air pocket in the arch. But when they are ready to water the individual rows, they submerge the tube in the canal water, pushing out the air bubble, and then bring the tube out of the water again, causing a sucking-like action, bringing the water through the tube and down the row of crops.

The farm also operates on gas-powered electricity which is made on the grounds from a bio-digestion tank fueled by -- wait for it -- guinea pig waste. They have a huge barn full of guinea pigs (cuyes) that they use for not only food but also waste to make the gas, biol and compost. The entire farm operates on the gas created, including their stove and lights. The biol and compost are then used to fertilize the plants that they eat every day.

Seriously... not a bad way to spend your retirement: hopelessly in love and surrounded by furry creatures and yummy organic veggies.

The Birthday: Part Two (The Love!)

For a funny talking gringa, I have to tell you my first birthday here was bien chévere (that's Peruvian slang for "freakin' amazing"). After the charla in the morning, we came back to the health center to a mini-party in one of the classrooms — complete with a cake, sweet potato and banana chips, Inca Kola, Pepsi and gifts. It was a total surprise, and it threw me a little. Forgive the non-creative wordage here, but I felt so loved!. Which is strange, if you think about it. I've been here a month. Six weeks ago, none of these people were in my life, and now they are a cherished part of my experience here.

What's even more is that our tech trainers, Javier and Jorge, were the instigators and planners of the whole affair. Our teachers. I'm one of 47, and they took the time (in the middle of the day) to celebrate my birthday with me. I was, like, wow ...

When we got back to the training center, there was more singing, and another volunteer even brought me flowers (Thank you, D!). In my language class, my instructor handed me a gift-wrapped box of —wait for it — KRAFT Mac and Cheese. The GOOD stuff!

There's more if you can believe it.

That night, I came home to be with my host family. Some of the volunteers came over to watch the presidential debate, and my host mom and sister pulled out one of the most beautiful cakes I've ever seen (FRUIT was on top of it. FRUIT). My stomach was screaming, No! Not more cake! But my eyes were shouting, FRUIT on CHOCOLATE CAKE. Dude, that's awesome! Before lighting the candle, my host father stopped everything and told me how glad he was I am with them and how it feels like I'm another daughter in the family. [cue: "aww!"] I blew out my candle, made my wish. And had a little moment.

It was awesome.

I won't lie to you. I had a brief period (before the cake, after the Mac & Cheese), where I had to duck into my room and allow the reality of not being with my family and friends hit me like a freight train. It hurt. My whole body ached to be with them. But later, when I shook off the tears and was standing among the crowd in my very Peruvian living room, something clicked.

I don't know why it took so long to sink in — the whole day, really, had been leading up to it — but it was at that point that it hit me: This is my life now.

These people, crowded around me eating possibly the most delicious cake ever, are my friends, my local support system, my Peruvian family. They're it. From here on out. And no matter how many more birthdays I have, this one — non-monunmental #23 — will be one that I'm always going to remember. And as much as I miss everyone back home already, I am lucky (and so excited) to have these people in my life.

The Birthday: Part 1 (The Charla)

My first birthday away from home started with a halt. I overslept and woke up to the sound of a fellow volunteer knocking on my front door — 5 minutes after I was supposed to meet her.

I jumped up, let her in, apologized profusely, threw on some clothes and walked briskly with her to the bus stop to meet the rest of our health training group. I was excited. Not because it was my birthday. But because it was our first charla in a primary school.

Our topic: handwashing. Not exactly a show-stopping topic, but we'd worked out what we thought was a pretty good 30-minute lesson plan, and I was a little nervous our 5th and 6th grade classes would be bored. [Spoiler alert: They weren't. It was awesome.]

We started off with a giant drawing of a hand and held it up for the class to see. Does this hand look clean or dirty? We asked the students. Clean! They shouted back. And from a distance, it looked like it totally was. But when two volunteers came up to take a closer look, they discovered that, in fact, there were tiny yellow dots drawn inside the hand. They're are germs! they called back to their fellow students.

What are these germs? We asked them. What do they do? Where do we find them?

Then we had them go around the room and touch everything they could see. The floor, the walls, the desks, their chairs — everything — until their hands were good and dirty. After, we put a drop of oil on their hands, and they put their hand print on a white sheet of paper. With the help of the oil, the dirt transferred from their hands to the paper. And alongside each handprint, we wrote the student's name.

When we brought them all outside to wash their hands, we went over again how important it was to rub every inch of your hands, fingers, nails and wrists — and to use lots of water and soap. To make sure they spent enough time getting to all those tough-to-remember places, we asked them to sing Happy Birthday to me in both English and Spanish. I have to stop and tell you: it was adorable.

Some of the students were really excited that we were from the US. Speak to me in English, they kept asking me. Sing me a song in English. They crowded all around me asking their questions. How do you say 'I love you'? What does 'this is my supper' mean?

When we got back to the room, we sat in a circle and played hot potato with a ball of wadded up sheets of paper. On each sheet was a question, and when we stopped singing (you guessed it) Happy Birthday, the student with the papa caliente had to answer the question.

Of course, they knew all the answers. They've had hand-washing educational sessions before. But even still, it's not a strictly practiced part of the culture. Even if the students were diligent enough to remember to wash their hands after playing with stray animals (which freely roamed around the school grounds), there wasn't soap in the bathrooms for them to use. And that was a little disheartening. The teachers, however, were incredibly supportive and seemed equally as excited to have us in their classrooms. They were even kind enough to let us leave the handprinted sheets of paper hanging up in the classroom.

As far as a first charla went, I was really excited when I left. The students were sad to see us leave and wrote us little notes thanking us for coming. It was just washing hands. Something they'd heard dozens of times before. But to be honest, it was the first time I'd been thankful to be so unavoidably gringa. Because you know that some of them probably went home and told their parents about these three American girls with funny accents who came to their classroom and talked about washing their hands ...

The Things I Miss (and don´t miss) Month 1

I know it´s a little early, but as it´s been a month (which is really 3 months in Peace Corps Training-time), I thought I´d share what I miss so far. Some are pretty predictable. Others might surprise you.

Keep in mind: family, friends and beloved pets are a given.

Things I miss (1 month down, 26 to go):

• HOT SHOWERS
• Sandwiches
• Wifi
• Seedless Fruit
• Carpeting in homes
• All forms of affection (hugs, kisses, handholding, etc.)
• Diet Dr. Pepper
• Target
• Bookstores
• Cheese
• Toasters
• Drinking fountains
• Frozen pizza
• Random text messaging throughout the day
• The Daily Show
• Crossword Puzzles
• Sunday comics
• Relatively clean public restrooms
• Wearing flip-flops

Things I don´t:

• Campaign ads
• Lame American media
• Hummers
• The desire to own a Wii
• Tipping
• Having to drive everywhere
• Being constantly connected to the internet
• Hectic daily routines
• Wal-mart

The Horse Race (San Pedro de Casta)

On our first day off, some friends of mine and I decided to go to a small mountain village called San Pedro. We heard that from there we could hike 3 km to some ruins, but, unfortunately, after a 3-hour combi ride, we got to the village only to realize that there was a horse race going on, and if we hiked up to the ruins, we would be trampled. So ... we stayed put. It turned out to be not that great of a sacrifice. The town was beautiful, and at 10,000 feet above sea level, it was literally breathtaking. The road there, however, was a little frightening. Most of the journey consisted of a forever winding road surrounded by a high rock wall or a deep cliff.

The city itself is pretty closed off. They don´t have a lot of water and use public latrines that were terribly dirty. There was no obvious formal garbage collection site, and so a lot of people just threw trash down the side of the hill, stretching into the valley. The garbage falls into the farmers small patches of farm land and is also eaten by all the grazing animals, including chickens. I couldn´t help but notice the lack of sanitation, as well, ranging from the street vendors to the small children walking past the running water without a second look after using the latrine. It´s crazy what training is doing to me. All I could do was formulate various ways to combat these health pitfalls, instead of enjoying the beautiful view. The town is, however, a recipient of a program going on right now called Agua para Todos (Water for Everyone), which is trying to get water infrastructure to Peru´s rural population. So positive progression might not be so far away in their future.

I´d really like to go back. If nothing else, it was a tranquil break from the constant motion of training in Lima.

The Crazy Bull (El Toro Loco)

There have been few times thus far in Peru where I have feared for my physical well being, but I have to tell you last weekend was one of those times.

It was a pretty mellow Saturday to start, training at the university and then a relaxing trip to Plaza Vea to buy Mac & Cheese to make for my family (which they loved, by the way). After coming back from Lima, some friends of mine decided to head to a neighborhood anniversary party in a little barrio called 3 de Octubre where some other volunteers are staying.

The party was beautiful. Dancers came out in ornate costumes and bands played, while everyone stood around, drank, laughed, watched. I couldn´t remember the last time I had had that much fun. That is, until, the toro loco.

It was a giant cardboard bull that rested on the shoulders of a local. When everyone was gathered, they lit the fuses of the fireworks (that´s right ... fireworks) and the toro loco ran around and through the crowd as sparks rained down on random passers-by. Twice, a giant flaming ball of something shot like a dart into the crowd. The smoke made it hard to see. People were screaming.

It was chaos.

There were some brave few who stayed inside the gated soccer field. But others (me) fled to the street for safety and watched from afar.

When things calmed down, everyone ate and laughed and danced. The fun resumed. And soon, I was out of breath with aching cheeks from smiling too much.

I wish I had photos to share with you. I´ll try and gather some from one of the dozens of other volunteers there.

I mean, a giant, fireworks-spouting, cardboard bull. How cool is that?

The Sick Day

So ... it happened. I got sick. I knew it was inevitable, and by George it was.

It all started Saturday with some seemingly innocent pizza at a mall in Lima. I felt fine --or at least I THOUGHT I felt fine. Until suddenly--BAM. A night full of horrible groaning, disgusting scenes of which I will spare you, and prayers for God either to kill me or heal me.

I spent all day Monday in bed -- mostly in tears -- holding my stomach and trying to sleep. Suni, our rock star Peace Corps doctor, diagnosed me with a bacterial infection and prescribed me some anitbiotics and Dramamine. And ta-da! Two days later I can eat again! ¡Qué milagro!

I share this because it´s a tiny little victory for me. A small mark of honor etched into my memory, proving to myself I was here. I came stomach to face with my first bacterial microbe and won! I´m really in the Peace Corps! Granted, it wasn´t an ameoba or anything, but I still have two years left. *crosses fingers* Here´s hoping!

... kidding.