tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82235190398992629622024-03-13T20:13:51.878-07:00Robyn in Perurobyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.comBlogger146125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-48452756722803417782011-02-03T15:30:00.000-08:002011-02-03T15:43:00.618-08:00Final BlogHey y'all.<br /><br />So ... I got home on Thanksgiving Day, and I'm sorry to admit that I've neglected wrapping up my story. Perhaps it was because I wasn't quite ready to see it close. Or maybe it was sheer exhaustion -- who knows. But I owe some closure at the very least to those who have checked back in with me and followed my adventure in Peru.<br /><br />Below is the last e-mail I sent after I'd been home for a few weeks. It was the first time that I allowed myself to pause and reflect on what had just happened.<br /><br />I'm now a full month into my first semester at Tulane University's School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine, where I'm studying for my masters degree in health education and communication. Every day I'm finding my experience in Peru more applicable to my courses, and I'm starting to realize how much my service in PC has shaped me as an adult and chilled me out as a person. New Orleans is an entirely different challenge. But many would say it's not too far from the Peruvian truth, and I look forward to finding that out.<br /><br />Anyway, thank you for following me when you have. Please feel free to look me up if you're ever in the Big Easy.<br /><br /><em>Cuídate mucho</em>. Take Care.<br />-Robyn<br /><br /><br />12/20/11<br /><br /><blockquote>I'm sitting at my parents' dining room table. There's two feet of<br />accumulated snow outside the window, and the windchill is supposed to be -14<br />today. I couldn't feel further from the hot, dusty, Peruvian town I once<br />called home.<br /><br />I've had a month to adjust back to the U.S. I arrived Thanksgiving Day,<br />where I went straight from the airport to a house full of relatives and<br />delicious food. It was my first real Thanksgiving in three years, and I ate<br />my weight in my uncle's venison jerky and mashed potatoes with white gravy.<br /><br />The whole thing was surreal. It was like I had pressed pause on the remote,<br />left to go out for an errand, and pressed play again. Little had changed,<br />like I had never left. And yet, a lot is different. People got married, had<br />babies, a new president was elected and sworn-in. The country is not the<br />same as when I left it two years ago.<br /><br />Even so, as far as culture shock goes, I think I have gotten off easy. No<br />panic attacks in the grocery store over which cereal to choose. No long<br />nights curled up in my bed, weeping. Mostly it has been quiet reflection, a<br />gratefulness that I had the opportunity, and a sadness that it is now behind<br />me.<br /><br />Some culture shock has not escaped me, however:<br /><br /><ul><li> Tap water is amazing. Did you know how awesome it is to have 1. running water ALL DAY and 2. water that is already clean?! You don't have to do anything with it. You don't have to sit and wait for it to boil, and then subsequently cool. You don't have to put it in a plastic bottle and have it sit on your roof for six hours under a hot sun. You don't have to filter it or add chlorine. It's READY MADE. How COOL is that?</li><li>Our politicians are absolutely crazy. I have no idea what is going on with our government, and I'm wondering if anyone really does. There's so much fighting and rhetoric and loudly voiced opinions with questionable foundation on both sides. And oh, hey -- Sarah Palin has a TV show now? When did that happen??</li><li>And what's with everyone always being on their phones? It's a wonder ERs aren't full of people who have run into walls, fallen into manholes or gotten into wrecks because they wouldn't look up from that little touchscreen.<br /></li><li>Also, how did animal hats, pantsless outfits and these "snuggies" become trendy?<br /></li></ul> I suppose I could also go on a diatribe about the small shocks of watching<br />America at its height of consumerism. I won't though. We know how fortunate<br />we are ... And while I imagine it is always good to have a wake-up call, I<br />won't preach. We are a nation of wanters, takers and buyers. But we also<br />give. And although Christmas is a time of greed, I saw a lot of compassion<br />and giving this year, despite hard economic times. And that's something.<br /><br />In a few days I will be on a plane to New Orleans, where my low-key<br />transition period will come to a screeching halt, and I'll start my next<br />adventure at Tulane University's School of Public Health. There, I will get<br />my masters in Health Education and Communication -- a good way to combine my<br />journalism and Peace Corps experiences. My life is already packed into two<br />medium-sized suitcases and a single carry-on. I'm ready to go.<br /><br />When we were closing our service, a friend asked me this question: What<br />would I do if I were to wake up on the plane from Miami to Lima to discover<br />that the past two years had been only a dream?<br /><br />My initial thought was panic.<br /><br />It had been two years, two months and 12 days since I left the U.S. to live<br />in Peru. During that time my feelings flew across the board. I hated Peace<br />Corps, loved it, lamented it, relished it.<br /><br />The past six months were some of the greatest of my life. I met some<br />incredible people, saw amazing things, and I had never felt more at home in<br />my work. I left Peru with a red, splotchy face and a lot of tears. It was<br />intense and at times overwhelming, and while I'm grateful to have done it, I<br />don't know if I'd really want to rewind and do it all a second time. At<br />least not yet anyway.<br /><br />Thank you to all who sent me care packages and notes of encouragement. They<br />kept me smiling when I needed to and reminded me of what great people were<br />waiting for me back home. Please keep in touch, and if you're ever in New<br />Orleans, please let me know.<br /><br />Un fuerte abrazo.<br /><br />Cuídense mucho (take care),<br /><br />-Robyn</blockquote>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-6069932827554520212010-09-19T19:42:00.000-07:002010-09-19T19:49:24.953-07:00Sorry ...... to be THAT person, but with 2 months left to finish everything up, I've been a little too busy to write. ... Sorry.<br /><br />Feel free to check out <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2504691&id=15900925&l=920ec4e6d2">these pictures</a> I posted on Facebook.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hasta pronto</span> ...robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-86329042659642843702010-08-23T20:19:00.001-07:002010-08-23T20:32:37.859-07:00The HarvestA milestone, everyone. Our garden now has enough real-live plants to actual make food from it. We made the ceviche with the cilantro we picked. And the spinach salad I made for myself was perhaps the most delicious thing I have ever made ... maybe because I spent two months growing it ...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/THM7wlIObbI/AAAAAAAAAho/GbiqoxDkSts/s1600/P1040867.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/THM7wlIObbI/AAAAAAAAAho/GbiqoxDkSts/s200/P1040867.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508812474990620082" border="0" /></a><br />Ceviche, the traditional dish of my region, is made with raw fish chopped up and bathed in lime juice and salt, with onions and cilantro.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/THM7wO4NzdI/AAAAAAAAAhg/eULoIQy3Fw4/s1600/Photo+38.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/THM7wO4NzdI/AAAAAAAAAhg/eULoIQy3Fw4/s200/Photo+38.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508812469017890258" border="0" /></a><br />I washed and cut up the Spinach, then added carrots and tomatoes, with a splash of lime and salt and pepper <span style="font-style: italic;">al gusto</span>.<br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-21963042159370830472010-08-20T05:31:00.000-07:002010-08-20T05:36:41.509-07:00Several awesome thingsExciting Thing (ET) 1: I have a cat now. She loves me. And my life is so much better because she's in it. I don't even care (yet) that she has fleas.<br /><br />ET 2: We're doing sessions with men now, and we're getting a lot done. Last night we gave a talk to a sports club in a nearby village, this afternoon we gave a session with the banana exportation workers, and tomorrow night I'm giving one to a mototaxi committee. My MRA (wooden Male Reproductive Apparatus) is coming in handy! (Best five soles I've ever spent.)<br /><br />ET 3: The carrots in my garden are almost ready to eat!<br /><br />ET 4: Engineer for the latrines project is coming tomorrow to start the whole They're-Really-Going-To-Get-Latrines thing.<br /><br />ET 5: My teens are in the midst of doing their community activities. I got to go shopping for beads today for the Message Jewelry their going to make, Saturday we are rehearsing the movie that they are going to be filming very soon, and next week we are walking out to a very rural school to give a Sex Talk.<br /><br />ET 6: The new health post doctor just approved a space for us to use specifically as a center for health promotion. Which is kind of a big deal because the last doctor (recently promoted to the head of the entire Dept. of Health in Tumbes) wouldn't let us use any spaces because he needed them as unnecessary closets and for future "residents" who would eventually come to live there. Por fin! A doctor who sees the benefit of having health promotion put before people hanging their laundry on the second floor of the health post!<br /><br />... That last one might have been a little bitter.<br /><br />:-) At any rate. Lots of exciting things are happening. I'll post more photos when I can!robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-89400023701283856742010-08-17T20:21:00.000-07:002010-08-17T20:48:59.197-07:00QuinceñeraLast night, my host sister, Keysi, turned 15.<br /><br />Turning 15 is a big deal in Latin American culture. It signifies the entering into womanhood and is usually accompanied by 15 <span style="font-style: italic;">damas</span>, 15 cakes and a really big party.<br /><br />True to her style though, Keysi decided not to make a huge deal of it. Opting instead to invite family and only a few close friends, with the family computer serving as the DJ. She had three simple cakes -- just enough to feed those present. Her best friend, Patricia, stepped in as her godmother. And she put on a fluffy pink dress just long enough to pose for pictures before changing right back into her jeans and tank top.<br /><br />I stood mostly in the wings, watching my little host sister flash her cheesy popstar grin and tilt her head slightly to the right for the camera the way she always does. I couldn't believe that just two years before, she'd been this tiny middle schooler in my youth group. Now here she was, wearing lipstick and dancing with her father to the quinceñera waltz.<br /><br />So grown up.<br /><br />I stood next to my host mom, Norma, as she gave the traditional toast. And I took the camera from my host brother Samir so he could take his turn to dance with his big sister. I posed for pictures with Keysi behind the cake, and nearly teared up when I saw her coming down the stairs in her beautiful pink dress.<br /><br />Sparkling. Vibrant. Confident and poised.<br /><br />Up until that moment, every birthday, wedding, baptism I celebrated here in Peru reminded me of all the ones I was missing back home. But as I stood watching Keysi ... my Keysi ... I realized that this might be the last birthday I ever celebrate with her.<br /><br />And suddenly, I felt ashamed. How could I have ever considered coming here ... sharing my life with these people, and letting them share theirs with me ... a sacrifice?robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-83169807766073382352010-08-17T19:39:00.000-07:002010-08-17T20:19:33.815-07:00The Evil EyeFor the past few days, I have been rather ... well ... cranky. Easily angered. Bitter. Basically a terrible human being. And all the things that normally make me feel better – venting, exercise, chocolate – weren't working. This, of course, made me even more frustrated ... and more cranky ... and a worse person. It didn't take long for people to notice, and I was soon offered a possible cause for my situation.<br /><br />The Evil Eye.<br /><br />Now before I go on. I have to say that I do not believe in The Evil Eye. I believe in science and fact checking and Western medicine. But there are a lot of things that seem crazy but I have faith in anyway, so when someone suggested that El Mal Ojo was afoot, I tried to keep an open mind.<br /><br />For those unaware, The Evil Eye works something like this. A person or animal shoots a glare at another person or animal, causing them to feel crappy, fall ill or die.<br /><br />In fact, just last week, a 42-year-old man died suddenly in his home. A few days before, an owl (yes, an owl) had flown into his abdomen, wounding him. He went to the hospital, was given a once over and sent home with some antibiotics. His daughter claims that he was perfectly fine, and then *poof!* he keels over without so much as a word. Most people in my town attribute his death to The Evil Eye given to him by the owl. They accept this as fact; any other explanation would be preposterous. And it makes sense, when you think about it. There aren't many things that would make an apparently healthy 42-year-old man keel over on the spot.<br /><br />Anyway, I approached the topic with my host mom, Norma. I had a hunch that if, indeed, I was the receiver of The Evil Eye, it was probably given to me by the cat we kind of, sort of abducted to solve our growing rat problem a couple days prior. The one we borrowed against his will and tied to a post in our back yard.<br /><br />My host mom nodded thoughtfully and suggested a "cleansing ritual" that she would do with her children when they were really young and colicky. She would pass a newspaper over their bodies, breathing a prayer as she did it, and then burn the newspaper. The newspaper would absorb the bad energy, and the ashes, she said, would reveal its source. She told me that the ritual typically is only done on Tuesdays and Fridays. As this was a Wednesday, she wasn't sure if it would work, but she said she'd give it a try.<br /><br />We went to my room, where she passed the newspaper over me. The paper tickled the soles of my feet, and I started giggling. I checked my host mom's expression to see if my laughing fit had made the entire act void, but she didn't seem to mind.<br /><br />It didn't take long – a minute, max. And then we went outside to burn the paper. We stood there silently watching the newsprint turn to ash, when suddenly –<br /><br />"Robyn," she asked. "Do you see the rat?"<br /><br />I had been looking for the shape of a cat, but lo and behold, there it was. The ashes made the unmistakable form of a rat. Stringy tail and all.<br /><br />Of course!<br /><br />For the past few months, the rats have been trying to take over my room. A few days before, I caught one stealing a whole wheat bun from my shelf. We had a good long stare before I clapped my hands and waved my arms to scare it off.<br /><br />As the realization dawned on me that that rodent had perhaps given me The Evil Eye, I was furious. How DARE that little jerk curse me when he was trying to steal MY wheat bun?<br /><br />Before I could say anything, Norma guided me back to my room and splashed holy water against all of my walls and doors.<br /><br />Maybe it was because of the ritual. Maybe it was just the placebo effect, or the nurturing of my host mom. But soon the feelings subsided. The wind came and picked up the ashes, and I felt better. For the first time in days I felt light and happy.<br /><br />Coincidentally, the cat got loose shortly after, and I brought over another from my former host family's house. Her name is Chilimasa, and she's cuddly and playful. She pushes her face against the mosquito net when I'm about to go to sleep and hangs upside down from the rungs of my chairs while I'm working.<br /><br />Oh, and she loves to eat rats.robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-16010775268630627372010-08-01T20:15:00.000-07:002010-08-01T20:35:21.325-07:00Delicious Veggie-filled Recipes I Make with my Host Family<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Veggie Pizza</span></span><br />My host family, counterparts and friends in site all love this recipe.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ingredients:</span><br /><ul><li>3 cups flour</li><li>1 cup hot water</li><li>1 tsp salt</li><li>1 tsp oil</li><li>Tomatoes</li><li>Green Peppers</li><li>Onions</li><li>Spinach (... and really any other vegetable you'd like to throw on there)<br /></li><li>Cheese</li><li>Pepper </li><li>Oregano</li></ul><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To Prepare: </span><br />Several hours before you even start to get hungry, mix the flour and salt in a bowl (I also like to throw in some oregano) and gradually add the hot water. When you have more or less a good dough, punch a hole in the center, and add the oil. Work the dough well so it is good and soft, and leave it sit for a few hours. Then separate the dough into three balls, and roll it out (with a rolling pin, wine bottle, or work it out with your fingers) so that it is even and more or less the shape of the pan you will use. Pre-bake the crust for a little while until it is no longer raw.<br /><br />Chop the tomatoes and lay them out to cover the crust. Then add all the other chopped vegetables and top it off with cheese. Add salt, pepper and oregano to your liking.<br /><br />And then bake until the cheese is melted. If you're using a bubble oven, expect every pizza to take ~45 minutes to bake.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Veggie Burgers </span><br />I just recently tried these with my host family, and they really liked them -- especially with BBQ sauce.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ingredients: </span><br /><ul><li>Lentils (soaked, cooked, mashed and completely drained of liquid)</li><li>Carrots (shredded)</li><li>Onions (diced) </li><li>Green peppers (diced) </li><li>Egg (beaten)</li><li>Bread crumbs</li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;">To Prepare: </span><br />Mix the veggies in with the mashed-up lentils. Add the bread crumbs and egg whites. With your hands, scoop up the picture and make little patties.<br /><br />Fry the patties in a little bit of oil, and then place them on a plate covered with a layer or two of paper towels to soak up the excess grease. Add some salt and pepper, and stick it in a bun. The whole process should take you under an hour, and it's a great activity for kids.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Note: Once in the pan, the egg should help hold the patty together. But if the mixture is too liquidy (because of the lentils or veggies), they will break apart in the pan. Try adding more bread crumbs or a little flour.</span><br /><br />For extra delicious veggie burgers, add some cheese and stick some spinach and tomatoes in the bun. My host sister tried it with some BBQ sauce and mayo and loved it.robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-53319565986446017052010-07-26T17:12:00.000-07:002010-07-27T08:53:28.325-07:00ChachapoyasChachapoyas is a small city in the high jungle of Northern Peru. To get there, you take a questionable bus on a neglected road through the frigid Andes. During the rainy season, the route is impassable, and bandits lurk sometimes among the bends to catch an unsuspecting bus full of tourists. To reach Chachapoyas, one must be willing to take some risks.<br /><br />But man, oh man, is it worth the risk.<br /><br />We arrive in the city of Chachapoyas at an ungodly hour. Tired, freezing, underslept, and a little disoriented, we find our way to our hotel with just enough time to drop off our bags and splash some bitterly cold water on our faces, before we head to the Plaza Mayor to find tours to the ruins of Kuelap and Gocta Falls. Despite our lack of sleep, we are excited to get moving. We only have two days here, and we want to make it count.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kuelap </span></span><br /><br />The mountains surrounding Chachapoyas are bare, but green. Clouds linger just above the peaks, casting shadows onto the grasses and over the adobe homes. The Kuelap ruins are two hours away, along a bumpy dirt road through switchbacks and hamlets.<br /><br />I remember when I first got to Peru, I had this sense of wonder and awe at this country's beauty. But my two years of living here have left me desensitized, and I stare at the beautiful scenery with only mild enthusiasm.<br /><br />We arrive to the entrance and hike the two kilometers to get to the 4th-century fortress. Our guide is a local, born in the hills outside the ruins. Outside the tall, stone wall, a lady with us wearing high-heeled boots complains to him about the pace of the group.<br /><br />"You must go at the pace of everybody!" she castigates him.<br /><br />"I'll go at a pace that is normal," he replies slightly flustered and calls for us all to pay attention.<br /><br />Not much is known about Kuelap. It takes 2 minutes to realize everything he is explaining is speculation. Archeologists only recently have started investigating, and so they can only conjecture.<br /><br />That rounded upside-down cone-shaped building? It could have been for food storage, our guide explains. Or as a prison ... But then they found remains of young girls, who could have been human sacrifices, which would mean it's a sacred temple ... And oh, and by the way, it kind of also acts as a sun-dial.<br /><br />I don't mind. I tune out midway through the tour and make up my own stories. I imagine little kids running around, chasing animals. What kind of animals would they have had up here? I wonder.<br /><br />Our guide mentions that the fortress was never overtaken by force, but the Incas did succeed in conquering it. How, then? we ask. Did they surrender?<br /><br />No, the guide explains. When the people inside refused to give into them, the Incas waited and watched. They realized that their food and water source was outside the fortress' walls and must be brought in. So they surrounded the building and prevented anyone from entering with supplies.<br /><br />They starved them into submission.<br /><br />I picture this ... families huddled together in their circular homes. Children tugging at their mothers' skirts for a scrap of food. Men hanging their heads in defeat as they gave into the Incas to save their lives ...<br /><br />We stop for a moment on the edge, and our guide points out into the hills.<br /><br />"That red house down there," he says. "I was born there." That is the home of his grandparents, he explains. He now lives next door.<br /><br />We sit there for a while, looking out into the hills. You can see the small squiggly line of the road we came in on. Green mountains stretched out like a sleeping giant. Llamas graze below, most likely brought there for the tourists. But we are the only group inside the fortress.<br /><br />I have heard that Kuelap is the next Machu Picchu. And I'm sure it could be. The ruins themselves are expansive, spreading out over 60,000 square meters. The view surrounding them is beautiful and vast. Perhaps with more excavation, more knowledge of what has been here, more tourists will come. And it will become bustling and commercial like its Cuzco counterpart.<br /><br />For now though, it's quiet. The empty spaces and crumbled walls sit in near silence. Their stories yet to be told. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gocta Falls</span></span><br /><br />It is a two-hour drive on newly paved roads to a bustling little town near Gocta Falls. We step out of the van and see the cascading water off in the distance. Smiling faces direct us to a large, one-room building where we can buy our tickets and meet our guide.<br /><br />Inside, a group of people all wearing matching vests are listening to someone who is pointing at a Powerpoint presentation projected onto the wall. I'm herded into a line for tickets and can only catch a word or two, but they appear to be in some sort of training session regarding customer service. Off to the side, a woman wearing the same vest stands near a rack of scarves and stitched bags and T-shirts that say "Gocta." The prices are clearly labeled, and I'm impressed with the professionalism demonstrated by all the smiling, vested people.<br /><br />Our guide is from this village. He has a kind face and seems excited to lead us on a hike that he does daily.<br /><br />The start of the hike is flat and easy with only mild inclines and plenty of hard stones. I ask our guide how long he has been working with tourists, and he mentions that he started when a German man came and "discovered" the falls in 2002.<br /><br />I am floored. After only 8 years, this small Andean village two hours outside of the nearest city, has built such an operation.<br /><br />The trail dips, and we head down into the valley, cross a bridge, and hike back up the mountain again. I'm beginning to tire. I brought tennis shoes and wore layers, but I don't have any water.<br /><br />We turn the corner and are immediately hushed by a crowd waiting there. They are all staring up into a tree and taking photos.<br /><br />"A monkey," our guide tells us. "What luck!"<br /><br />They call it a night monkey, and it's sleeping in a branch meters from the trail. Someone lends me binoculars, but I can't seem to find it in the magnified lens. I decide to look with my own eyes and watch it for awhile. A branch hides much of its body, but you can make out its tail.<br /><br />We're herded once again back up the trail, and we arrive at a small thatched building where I can buy water. I can't imagine how they get supplies there. Donkeys, I suppose.<br /><br />We sit for a moment, catching our breath, and then decide it would be better to rest near the water and so decide keep going. They told us it would be roughly an hour and a half to get to the base of the falls. We must be about halfway there.<br /><br />The trail is steep and narrow. Like the road to Kuelap, it twists and turns on the way down the mountain. And then, as we round yet another bend, we see it. Gocta.<br /><br />We saw it, of course, before when we were in the village. But that was from a distance. We take pictures but don't linger. Our energy is renewed, and we rush now to reach its base.<br /><br />The falls disappear again behind a cover of trees as we head further down the trail. I can hear it though. The sound of water tumbling from over 700 meters high echoes through my ears ... until ... finally ... we're there. At the base of the 3rd tallest waterfall in the world.*<br /><br />And that feeling ... that awe that I thought had dissolved after 2 years ... is back in full force. I stand unable to move. It is so beautiful. By the time the water hits the ground, it is only mist. And I stand there, feeling it settle onto every inch of me.<br /><br />We run down to the pool of water at the base and dare each other to drink from it. The water is so clear. I scoop my hands in and bring it up to my mouth. It's ice-cold against my lips and tastes pure. I know I will probably get sick in the morning, but I don't care. I didn't want to miss my opportunity to drink from one of the worlds most impressive marvels.<br /><br />A few of us decide that we want to try and make our way directly beneath the falls. Our guide advises us not to.<br /><br />"The falls produce a lot of wind," he says. "It's too powerful. Too dangerous."<br /><br />We decide to try anyway, recognizing an opportunity for later regret if we don't. I borrow a poncho and hand over my Gocta bag (purchased from the smiling, vested lady). The rocks are big and slippery, so we take our time. With every step, the mist gets thicker; the wind from the force of the water, stronger. Twenty meters from the base, we are already soaked.<br /><br />We get maybe 5 or 7 meters from directly beneath the falls before we have to stop. The force is too strong. We stand there for a moment, and let the mist fall over us.<br /><br />When we finally get back to the others, we are laughing and smiling and sopping wet. The poncho did nothing to keep me dry, and I know it will probably be an uncomfortable hike back up.<br /><br />I am so dumb with awe and excitement that I don't even care. I feel young and free and adventurous and like I can do anything.<br /><br />We sit for awhile and listen to our guide tell us the myth of the falls. The reason why it was kept hidden for so long from outsiders. I don't catch every word. The roar of the falls makes it difficult to hear. But he starts the story telling of a farmer who lived near the falls. He would disappear from time to time without telling his wife where he was going. One day while she was washing clothes, the wife found gold and jewels in his pants pocket. She became confused and slightly suspicious, and so the next time he left, she went after him. She followed him to the base of the waterfalls.<br /><br />There, she saw him talking to a beautiful mermaid. When he saw her standing there, the mermaid grabbed him and pulled him under the water ... never to be seen again ...<br /><br />We start our trek back up the mountain. It's a difficult hike, and everyone goes at their own pace. Soon, I find myself in the middle. Alone with my thoughts and footsteps. I stop every 20 meters or so to hold my side and breathe. It's a steep incline, and I have to convince myself a time or two that I can actually make it back up.<br /><br />When I pause to breathe, I stare back at the falls or, when I can't see them, I listen to them. And despite my aching lungs and tired legs, I am smiling a wide, dopey grin. I can't believe I am here. I can't believe I'm seeing this beautiful place.<br /><br />Three-fourths of the way back to the village, I catch my second wind. I'm running. Leaping over rocks and slowing down only to maneuver the steepest of parts.<br /><br />Maybe it's runners high; I don't know. But I feel amazing.<br /><br />My second wind carries me into the village right behind my two long-legged friends who are leading the group. It's 4 p.m., but we haven't eaten since breakfast. We eat lunch greedily and then get back in the van to return to Chachapoyas.<br /><br />As we drive along through the hills on the way back to the city, I sit and smile. The falls are out of view, and the sound of them is gone, but I close my eyes to make sure I can still see them in my memory. I don't want to forget this. I can't forget this.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7cFjWcx_I/AAAAAAAAAhI/7HazcmB6WrE/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7cFjWcx_I/AAAAAAAAAhI/7HazcmB6WrE/s200/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498574183012812786" border="0" /></a>The Plaza Mayor of Chachapoyas.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7cFcsWoPI/AAAAAAAAAhA/4vdjwGRjIHs/s1600/2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7cFcsWoPI/AAAAAAAAAhA/4vdjwGRjIHs/s200/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498574181225636082" border="0" /></a>The 7 of us outside of Kuelap: Megan, Olga, Me, Glenn, Marian, Omar and Jessica.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7cE24gDYI/AAAAAAAAAg4/1jhqDVhEHsM/s1600/3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7cE24gDYI/AAAAAAAAAg4/1jhqDVhEHsM/s200/3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498574171076038018" border="0" /></a>The ruins of Kuelap. The roofed house was reconstructed by a Canadian archeologist in the 80s.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7fRJVvH9I/AAAAAAAAAhY/mu1xuYDicsM/s1600/4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7fRJVvH9I/AAAAAAAAAhY/mu1xuYDicsM/s200/4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498577680723812306" border="0" /></a>The rounded homes. Many of them had deep holes in their centers where, our guide informs us, they either kept potatoes or buried their dead.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7fQnVOQOI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/ehcMctelnm0/s1600/5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE7fQnVOQOI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/ehcMctelnm0/s200/5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498577671594852578" border="0" /></a>The view from Kuelap.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-lWrUJLI/AAAAAAAAAgg/KPeLw--6hbI/s1600/6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-lWrUJLI/AAAAAAAAAgg/KPeLw--6hbI/s200/6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498401006529291442" border="0" /></a>We "sacrificed" Jessica in front of the upside-down cone-shaped silo/prison/temple.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-k-HxNnI/AAAAAAAAAgY/3vQrLCntNYY/s1600/7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-k-HxNnI/AAAAAAAAAgY/3vQrLCntNYY/s200/7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498400999937750642" border="0" /></a>The bend where we first saw Gocta Falls fairly close-up.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-kaWBUPI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/sobQcWd9tMA/s1600/8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-kaWBUPI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/sobQcWd9tMA/s200/8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498400990333849842" border="0" /></a>I drank this water. It was amazing. And I didn't get sick.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-jyDYJxI/AAAAAAAAAgI/98K9OP-9uc4/s1600/9.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-jyDYJxI/AAAAAAAAAgI/98K9OP-9uc4/s200/9.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498400979518236434" border="0" /></a>Glenn, Olga and I trying to get beneath the falls against better judgment and the warnings of our guide.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-jXD0AMI/AAAAAAAAAgA/vQ_L38aBJ4o/s1600/10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4-jXD0AMI/AAAAAAAAAgA/vQ_L38aBJ4o/s200/10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498400972272304322" border="0" /></a>We got soaked. But it was worth it. Totally worth it.<br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >* This is what the people of Gocta claim, but <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gocta_Cataracts">according to Wikipedia</a>, that is up for debate. </span>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-64005805452984521772010-07-26T16:27:00.001-07:002010-07-26T16:52:55.566-07:00Organic Vegetable GardenWe started talking about planting a veggie garden over a year ago. Began prepping the soil about 3 months ago. And finally planted about a month and a half ago. Now, going to our little <span style="font-style: italic;">biohuerto</span> is the best part of my day.<br /><br />Not that the experience has been a cakewalk. Few things in Peace Corps are as easy as you think they'll be. But my counterpart, Karen, and I are learning a lot. At first, the onion and ají peppers didn't sprout, and then a fungus attacked some of our cucumber plants. The ground is as hard as cement and soaks up water faster than a sponge. But despite some of our little hurdles, we're having a lot of fun. And this Saturday, we're going to debut the garden to families participating in our Healthy Homes project.<br /><br />But first, I'm going to debut it here for y'all to see.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dDwTWTaI/AAAAAAAAAf4/E2tKrxHrmts/s1600/Seedlings.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dDwTWTaI/AAAAAAAAAf4/E2tKrxHrmts/s200/Seedlings.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498364145408822690" border="0" /></a>These are some seedlings I have in my backyard. The green bowl is ají peppers; the checkered bag, onion; and the small red plastic bag, green peppers. But right now, they all look exactly the same.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dDXuN2cI/AAAAAAAAAfw/aLGygY3blYM/s1600/Spinach.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dDXuN2cI/AAAAAAAAAfw/aLGygY3blYM/s200/Spinach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498364138810628546" border="0" /></a>Spinach -- I can hardly wait to make a delicious salad out of these beautiful leafy greens.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dCyg3O-I/AAAAAAAAAfo/qRBII_nTSfQ/s1600/Cucumber.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dCyg3O-I/AAAAAAAAAfo/qRBII_nTSfQ/s200/Cucumber.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498364128822508514" border="0" /></a>The cucumber we might have planted a little too close together. These plants are monstrous, and I'm seriously concerned there's an ant sting operation about to take them out ...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dCjLGo8I/AAAAAAAAAfg/IOXv9MwydSQ/s1600/Carrot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dCjLGo8I/AAAAAAAAAfg/IOXv9MwydSQ/s200/Carrot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498364124704711618" border="0" /></a>These are carrots. I think we gave them way more space than they needed, but we weren't sure. Although now I'm fairly certain that the ground isn't loose enough for them, and they will turn out to be short, fat little things. But oh well! We'll see how yummy they are.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dCB96tTI/AAAAAAAAAfY/vQXge-ixHGs/s1600/BroccoliandCilantro.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TE4dCB96tTI/AAAAAAAAAfY/vQXge-ixHGs/s200/BroccoliandCilantro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498364115791033650" border="0" /></a>Broccoli and cilantro. We'll probably have two harvests of cilantro before we get any broccoli.<br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-59894395071021697272010-07-19T11:25:00.000-07:002010-07-19T11:35:51.343-07:00New Edition of 'Pasa la Voz'The latest edition of Peace Corps-Peru's Volunteer magazine <span style="font-style: italic;">Pasa la Voz</span> is hot off the pdf. If anyone is interested in an electronic copy, just let me know.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TESaUhl5MiI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/UEYq3DnBDbo/s1600/PLVJuly2010-jpg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 154px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TESaUhl5MiI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/UEYq3DnBDbo/s200/PLVJuly2010-jpg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495687122704216610" border="0" /></a>Cover<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TESaUL-z8EI/AAAAAAAAAfI/ro7AeYUFEUw/s1600/PLVJuly2010-jpg2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TESaUL-z8EI/AAAAAAAAAfI/ro7AeYUFEUw/s200/PLVJuly2010-jpg2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495687116903149634" border="0" /></a>Table of contents<br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-40172362220548357822010-07-18T12:06:00.000-07:002010-07-18T12:57:50.250-07:00Hygiene Session with Moms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENboczb5LI/AAAAAAAAAfA/i9jEF5ZscjU/s1600/P1040675.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENboczb5LI/AAAAAAAAAfA/i9jEF5ZscjU/s200/P1040675.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495336720806962354" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbnstK6NI/AAAAAAAAAe4/XlqClM4TU8c/s1600/P1040630.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbnstK6NI/AAAAAAAAAe4/XlqClM4TU8c/s200/P1040630.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495336707895781586" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbnIInvlI/AAAAAAAAAew/tP1zNGB-_ZE/s1600/P1040634.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbnIInvlI/AAAAAAAAAew/tP1zNGB-_ZE/s200/P1040634.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495336698078805586" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbmoycvyI/AAAAAAAAAeo/_VHQDOVUi1o/s1600/P1040653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbmoycvyI/AAAAAAAAAeo/_VHQDOVUi1o/s200/P1040653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495336689664311074" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbl-49iMI/AAAAAAAAAeg/lQcJScuZO9E/s1600/P1040666.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TENbl-49iMI/AAAAAAAAAeg/lQcJScuZO9E/s200/P1040666.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495336678417336514" border="0" /></a>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-40790082872228733282010-07-16T17:26:00.001-07:002010-07-16T19:15:07.197-07:00Just in case you were wondering how to make a model latrine out of cardboardStep 1. Grab a giant cardboard box (from a fridge or, say, washing machine), some poles and your host dad.<br /><br />Step 2. Attach poles to the cardboard box by using a giant sewing needle and some plastic-y black string.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEIAVGhEPI/AAAAAAAAAeI/T3zWw_kZj6k/s1600/P1040618.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEIAVGhEPI/AAAAAAAAAeI/T3zWw_kZj6k/s200/P1040618.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494681822126215410" border="0" /></a>Step 3: Saw open the box to make the door.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEH_4ToqHI/AAAAAAAAAeA/JJIvoEMj0qc/s1600/P1040615.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEH_4ToqHI/AAAAAAAAAeA/JJIvoEMj0qc/s200/P1040615.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494681814396610674" border="0" /></a>Step 4: Put smaller poles perpendicular to the long, sewed-in poles to support the roof. Then sew in the roof.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEH_Fq0cGI/AAAAAAAAAd4/ngcUhJrXzio/s1600/P1040621.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEH_Fq0cGI/AAAAAAAAAd4/ngcUhJrXzio/s200/P1040621.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494681800803643490" border="0" /></a>Step 5: Grab a bunch of neighbor kids and see how many can fit inside at once. Then take a picture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEC8pCmgkI/AAAAAAAAAdo/6v94iSNItbU/s1600/P1040665.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TEEC8pCmgkI/AAAAAAAAAdo/6v94iSNItbU/s200/P1040665.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494676261200888386" border="0" /></a>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-55765904323187254572010-07-11T18:13:00.000-07:002010-07-11T18:26:03.750-07:00This time for AfricaThis has quite possibly been one of the most fun months I've had in Peace Corps. Why? you ask. <br /><br />Wait -- seriously? You have to ask?<br /><br />THE WORLD CUP!! <br /><br />One full month of The Beautiful Game. Painted bodies draped in flags. Constant buzzing on the television. People crowded around store fronts and small kiosks. Waka Waka. Wavin' Flag. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAL. So much excitement crammed into ~30 short days. <br /><br />Not to mention the plethora of opportunities for an educational experience. Language. Culture. Geography --- I'll even admit I wasn't 100 percent certain of the exact location of Slovenia. <br /><br />Perfect chance to whip out the ol' world map and dig around on Wikipedia. <br /><br />Peru hasn't participated in the World Cup in decades. But that didn't stop my already sleepy little town to go into a coma for the past few weeks, just so that everyone could watch the games. Everywhere you went, a game was on, and people were shouting, groaning and clapping along with the TV crowds. <br /><br />I started the Cup rooting, obviously, for the great nation of the United States of America -- with the condition that if *sigh* we were to be booted, I would cheer on the African team that went the furthest. <br /><br />Not since college, when MU played KU (go Tigers!) and I taught my elderly grandmother the cheer MIZ-ZOU, have I been so enraptured by a single sport. Every time the US played, my heart jumped into my throat, my nails were chewed to bits, and I gave in to pure joy when my countrymen kicked that ball into the net and incredible disappointment every time they didn't. <br /><br />I was with my host family in their living room when the US played Algeria. My host brothers and host father glued to the screen, me hopping up and down depending on the location of the ball on the field. When the US finally took the game and advanced to the next round, I leaped 2 feet in the air and shouted so loud, everyone surrounding the kiosk outside started laughing. <br /><br />Even though the US didn't advance much further than that, their participation and my enthusiasm sparked a lot of questions from my Peruvian friends. Do you really have black people in your country? They asked me. How come that guy has a Spanish last name? Watching the US play was a great opportunity to talk about the diversity in our homeland. "Yes, there are Latinos who live there," I'd tell them. "Asians, too." In a country that is fairly homogeneous like Peru, the idea of such an array of people coming from all over was finally tangible by watching the players take the field. <br /><br />Which was cool. Because that diversity and mix of cultures is exactly what I've grown to appreciate and miss most about the US. And the thing I'm most ready to talk about when I am asked that ubiquitous question, "What is America like?" <br /><br />For the final game, I sat around a table with 8 other volunteers, in a room full of Peruvians. Some of us rooted for Spain. Others for Holland. Every body was cheering and gasping with every shot taken. Along with the rest of the world. And at that point, it didn't really matter where you came from. Or who you rooted for. 'Cause we were all watching together. <br /><br />So often, I feel like The Other. An outsider ... And as comfortable as I get in site, I've never once felt like I belonged here ... Maybe that's my fault. For placing too many definitions and specifications on where Home should be. <br /><br />But this World Cup made me feel like a part of something. ... Something big. And unifying. <br /><br />And yeah, sure, it's just a game. But the World Cup is an opportunity to flip traditional power on its head. Where a tiny country like Uruguay could make it to 4th place. And China never even made the cut. <br /><br />In the end, it didn't even really matter who took it all. Because we would have watched anyway. And for a few short weeks, we all hummed "Wavin' Flag." All around the world. Together. <br /><br />And that's something.robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-52769986630281739502010-06-25T11:47:00.000-07:002010-06-26T19:43:06.892-07:00Camp VALORPhotos from our boys leadership camp in Chulucanas, Piura. Because I'm a girl, I wasn't a counselor this time. But I ref'd field games with my friend Susan and played the female love interest in our dinner theatre telenovela Cuerpo de Pasión. A lot of fun and way less stress, but I didn't go away with any warm fuzzies this time.<br /><br />Not to say the boys didn't have fun. The two I brought with me had a great time. But I don't know if they left motivated to change their community. Maybe I'll need to wait a little while in order to see the impact it had on them.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa274zh5cI/AAAAAAAAAdA/bbLvBrvDW00/s1600/IMGP5001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa274zh5cI/AAAAAAAAAdA/bbLvBrvDW00/s200/IMGP5001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487274335974581698" border="0" /></a>Jhonatan and Renson, the two boys I took from my community.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa297qh-kI/AAAAAAAAAdg/s-XZDGTkCH4/s1600/P1010342.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa297qh-kI/AAAAAAAAAdg/s-XZDGTkCH4/s200/P1010342.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487274371101882946" border="0" /></a>Relay races during field games.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa29CDz0CI/AAAAAAAAAdY/0a-pDNpM4d8/s1600/P1010338.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa29CDz0CI/AAAAAAAAAdY/0a-pDNpM4d8/s200/P1010338.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487274355638652962" border="0" /></a>Kick-boxing for morning exercises.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa28cPVq6I/AAAAAAAAAdI/kiGQ6HiEKZw/s1600/P1010329.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa28cPVq6I/AAAAAAAAAdI/kiGQ6HiEKZw/s200/P1010329.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487274345486461858" border="0" /></a>To build team spirit at the beginning, the boys had to de-ice-ify a t-shirt and put it on their camp counselor, Douglas.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa282NLsNI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/quLUXoYC3cs/s1600/P1010334.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCa282NLsNI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/quLUXoYC3cs/s200/P1010334.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487274352456741074" border="0" /></a>Doug was pretty excited.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7UYNAiFI/AAAAAAAAAc4/2qeLxpBG7ok/s1600/IMG_0117.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7UYNAiFI/AAAAAAAAAc4/2qeLxpBG7ok/s200/IMG_0117.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486786573557074002" border="0" /></a>Me in my "ref" uniform. I found Susan's and my jersey at the border market for $3. I think they are technically from a team in Europe. The whistles are from our med kits. Thanks, Peace Corps!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7T32_s2I/AAAAAAAAAcw/ITXMIa9tbh4/s1600/IMG_0102.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7T32_s2I/AAAAAAAAAcw/ITXMIa9tbh4/s200/IMG_0102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486786564874810210" border="0" /></a>The boys playing water balloon volleyball. That handsome devil on the left is Jhonatan, one of my teen health promoters.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7TlV5kUI/AAAAAAAAAco/00bfIN2jgLM/s1600/DSCN4542.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7TlV5kUI/AAAAAAAAAco/00bfIN2jgLM/s200/DSCN4542.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486786559904158018" border="0" /></a>The volunteers who participated. We always do a "loco" photo after the legit shot.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7TEMZMPI/AAAAAAAAAcg/DsuMDlUFmCc/s1600/DSCN4526.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7TEMZMPI/AAAAAAAAAcg/DsuMDlUFmCc/s200/DSCN4526.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486786551005917426" border="0" /></a>At the end of the camp, we had a talent show, and (in the spirit of the World Cup) we girls performed to "Wavin' Flag" ... the David Bisbal version. We had a hard time keeping up with the Spanish lyrics at some points, but we had fun.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7ShQIwHI/AAAAAAAAAcY/psNl4DNnye4/s1600/DSCN4514.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TCT7ShQIwHI/AAAAAAAAAcY/psNl4DNnye4/s200/DSCN4514.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486786541626376306" border="0" /></a>All of the boys, counselors and the ladies.<br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-26509543133662317312010-06-01T18:06:00.000-07:002010-06-01T19:29:45.348-07:00Bonding with my host mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAXAkorfdEI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/e-NN9906K-k/s1600/Rat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 167px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAXAkorfdEI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/e-NN9906K-k/s200/Rat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477996257393734722" border="0" /></a><br />The smell wasn't unbearable at first. More like a mild annoyance. But despite cleaning all my dishes, washing my clothes, looking under my bed, even peeking under the mattress -- I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. And it was getting worse.<br /><br />Deep down I think I knew. We'd heard the scurrying for a few days, and then one night I saw them: two small, gray furballs running along the walls just below the tin roof.<br /><br />Most people don't like mice. I'm pretty indifferent, as long as they don't eat my food or fall on me while I'm sleeping. But my host mom ... it's kind of her thing. Like how some people can deal with spiders and ants but can't stand cockroaches. Norma can put up with a lot of things, but not mice.<br /><br />The next day, she went into Tumbes and bought rat poison, placing a dish on the floor of my room near the scene of the First Appearance.<br /><br />So, I guess that's kind of how I suspected the now rancid smell in my room was probably a decomposing rodent. Since I couldn't find it, I figured it was lodged in one of the many cracks or crevices of my walls. And I braced myself for an uncomfortable few days.<br /><br />Norma took one step into my room and walked right back out, holding her nose. She returned with a small flash light and started the search. When she spotted him, Norma shrieked and ran to get the broom and dust pan.<br /><br />I suppose since I was an accomplice to the rat poison, it would make sense that the mouse would choose his final revenge by dying in one of my shoes. I'd just hoped that he'd die before he got to carry out his evil plan.<br /><br />I doused the spot with bleach water and threw out my shoes while Norma carried his tiny gray body away to toss behind the municipality. When she came back, we looked at each other -- pale, wide-eyed -- and we both just started laughing.<br /><br />Nothing like a little pest control to provide some family bonding.robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-37556151272980899522010-06-01T06:34:00.000-07:002010-06-01T11:25:39.891-07:00What I Have Been Up to Lately<div style="text-align: left; font-weight: bold;">Training teen health promoters in HIV prevention and attending their replicas in the high schools.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVI_UiepUI/AAAAAAAAAcI/t9KZkdexX_Y/s1600/IMGP3484.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVI_UiepUI/AAAAAAAAAcI/t9KZkdexX_Y/s200/IMGP3484.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477864774448358722" border="0" /></a>We have 37 teen promoters in 3 communities this year.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVI-yZCUtI/AAAAAAAAAcA/PM-_u-6pSxI/s1600/IMGP4226.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVI-yZCUtI/AAAAAAAAAcA/PM-_u-6pSxI/s200/IMGP4226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477864765281948370" border="0" /></a>Teens are focusing on the ABC method, A being Abstinence, B is Be faithful<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUox67cJQI/AAAAAAAAAbA/XOWWqlLb0SM/s1600/IMGP4364.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUox67cJQI/AAAAAAAAAbA/XOWWqlLb0SM/s200/IMGP4364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477829359863342338" border="0" /></a>... and C is Condoms.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUoxWrv_-I/AAAAAAAAAa4/y2M07bFWf4o/s1600/IMGP4449.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUoxWrv_-I/AAAAAAAAAa4/y2M07bFWf4o/s200/IMGP4449.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477829350133858274" border="0" /></a>They also learned a little more about the common sexually transmitted infections.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVI-fQOazI/AAAAAAAAAb4/coNFuUcGv6o/s1600/IMGP4232.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVI-fQOazI/AAAAAAAAAb4/coNFuUcGv6o/s200/IMGP4232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477864760144718642" border="0" /></a>Sessions this year are entirely game- and activity-based. It's all hands-on and participatory. HIV Jeopardy is a favorite among the teens.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Making peanut butter from scratch ... sort of.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVAVegRfqI/AAAAAAAAAbg/IlOhigr66MI/s1600/IMGP4290.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVAVegRfqI/AAAAAAAAAbg/IlOhigr66MI/s200/IMGP4290.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477855259475934882" border="0" /></a>I brought peanuts back from the jungle, and we crushed them up with a rock.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVAU-sDkkI/AAAAAAAAAbY/SYzsQaA6hdI/s1600/IMGP4295.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVAU-sDkkI/AAAAAAAAAbY/SYzsQaA6hdI/s200/IMGP4295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477855250935419458" border="0" /></a>My host brother, Samir, had a hard time getting the hang of it. It turned out exactly how you would expect crushed peanuts to turn out, but my host mom didn't want to add oil, so we just sprinkled it on top of jelly and toast.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pumping up with our aerobics group. </span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVAUS6KS9I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/Y6P73RKyVTU/s1600/IMGP4321.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAVAUS6KS9I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/Y6P73RKyVTU/s200/IMGP4321.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477855239183420370" border="0" /></a>We do a hike every month out into the countryside.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUoyQVuZMI/AAAAAAAAAbI/O_NrIH2JRho/s1600/IMGP4331.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUoyQVuZMI/AAAAAAAAAbI/O_NrIH2JRho/s200/IMGP4331.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477829365610734786" border="0" /></a>Our group resting in a town about an hour away by foot.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Working with other Global Fund committee members to present about tuberculosis and HIV in communities. </span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUoxPVKg9I/AAAAAAAAAaw/sEyxpt-1BAQ/s1600/IMGP4494.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUoxPVKg9I/AAAAAAAAAaw/sEyxpt-1BAQ/s200/IMGP4494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477829348160078802" border="0" /></a>A group of college students came to present a skit about tuberculosis. People loved it.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUowJd3cHI/AAAAAAAAAao/LeGVMLmvj7s/s1600/IMGP4543.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUowJd3cHI/AAAAAAAAAao/LeGVMLmvj7s/s200/IMGP4543.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477829329406095474" border="0" /></a><br />We handed out 150 invitations and sent announcements over the loud speakers, but only 25 people came. What can you do? We had to tell ourselves that it was 25 more people who knew more about TB and HIV than before!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Educating parents on HIV and STI prevention through <span style="font-style: italic;">Escuelas de Padres</span></span>.<br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi_kkKDUI/AAAAAAAAAag/bzlxpzA-l0k/s1600/IMGP4567.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi_kkKDUI/AAAAAAAAAag/bzlxpzA-l0k/s200/IMGP4567.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477822997308509506" border="0" /></a><br />Both the <span style="font-style: italic;">obstetrizes</span> from the district came to help out with the session and try to appeal to the usually apprehensive male crowd.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi-5LO9OI/AAAAAAAAAaY/rvKO2n7mbIU/s1600/IMGP4588.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi-5LO9OI/AAAAAAAAAaY/rvKO2n7mbIU/s200/IMGP4588.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477822985661248738" border="0" /></a><br />The parents were really uncomfortable, but lightened up a little when we start to debunk myths about size of genitalia and its relation to potency, masturbatory tendencies and bestiality.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi-qxjydI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/emNRi0zLPoM/s1600/IMGP4603.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi-qxjydI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/emNRi0zLPoM/s200/IMGP4603.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477822981795465682" border="0" /></a>... and of course when we whipped out the banana.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Celebrating Women's Health Day (28th of May)</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi-ACHICI/AAAAAAAAAaI/YwHBLIwaAbM/s1600/IMGP4616.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi-ACHICI/AAAAAAAAAaI/YwHBLIwaAbM/s200/IMGP4616.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477822970322165794" border="0" /></a>The psychologist working at our health post gave a presentation on domestic violence.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi9oS6wxI/AAAAAAAAAaA/65SwhcU850Y/s1600/IMGP4620.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUi9oS6wxI/AAAAAAAAAaA/65SwhcU850Y/s200/IMGP4620.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477822963950207762" border="0" /></a>More than 50 women came -- double the amount we were expecting. We suspect it had something to do with a promised raffling off of goodies.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Attending the weddings of former teen health promoters.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSfXKVLeI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/l9Q5FiPjB7M/s1600/IMGP4644.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSfXKVLeI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/l9Q5FiPjB7M/s200/IMGP4644.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477804851768667618" border="0" /></a>Actually, just one former teen health promoter. She dropped out senior year to get married, which made me a little sad. But I take solace in the hope that she has, in fact, found her dream man and the life she wants to lead. Even if it's not what I would have chosen.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSfClR-XI/AAAAAAAAAZw/M99Et3sTfVo/s1600/IMGP4680.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSfClR-XI/AAAAAAAAAZw/M99Et3sTfVo/s200/IMGP4680.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477804846244559218" border="0" /></a>Sarah was my plus one and some of the other teen promoters were there.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Playing in the dirt. </span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSejOX2kI/AAAAAAAAAZo/CU3kPk8yjyY/s1600/IMGP4694.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSejOX2kI/AAAAAAAAAZo/CU3kPk8yjyY/s200/IMGP4694.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477804837826976322" border="0" /></a>As part of our latrines project, we're also building some veggie gardens in the community for families with kids (or anyone who has interest).<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSeCo-QeI/AAAAAAAAAZg/vhHZYjC-Etk/s1600/IMGP4699.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSeCo-QeI/AAAAAAAAAZg/vhHZYjC-Etk/s200/IMGP4699.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477804829080175074" border="0" /></a>All the participating families came out to help build the first one and hear a session from the NGO Cáritas' environmental engineer.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSdr7BjhI/AAAAAAAAAZY/dO71zLteczY/s1600/IMGP4703.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/TAUSdr7BjhI/AAAAAAAAAZY/dO71zLteczY/s200/IMGP4703.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477804822981873170" border="0" /></a>Not a bad month.<br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-81286463408898536292010-05-06T23:37:00.000-07:002010-05-06T23:44:43.617-07:00MuralAs part of our HIV-prevention program, we had an art contest for youth in our town. Ten to 17 year olds could submit their drawings about HIV prevention to be painted as a mural. My host sister, Keysi, won. And we, along with the help of some Peru 14ers visiting my town for some in-service training, finally finished it.<br /><br />Enjoy:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S-O2GsJra7I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/TgAo2wcg0nQ/s1600/IMGP4312.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S-O2GsJra7I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/TgAo2wcg0nQ/s200/IMGP4312.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468414598605138866" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Note: The mural says "The man of tomorrow is he who protects himself today." And the girl in the middle is shouting "Protect yourself from HIV with the rule of: A-Abstinence B-Be faithful and C-Use Condoms." </span><br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-66999657426363489282010-05-06T22:49:00.001-07:002010-05-06T23:37:26.185-07:00The Perfect StormFor the sake of transparency, I should say that though I have written some of my more dramatic sickness stories (chucake, anyone?), I try to keep ... that part of my life ... out of the spotlight and buried deep in my private memory. I mean, no one wants to hear the gory details, and I'm not all that excited about reliving them. This past week, however, I had what some in the PC world call "The Perfect Storm." And it was one of those moments where I had to shake my head and laugh because, come on, this stuff only happens in the Peace Corps.<br /><br />While I was in Lima for a root canal, I got sick with giardia and dengue. The combination of tooth trouble, parasite and tropical virus made it pretty impossible for me to eat or hold anything down, resulting in three full days in a hostel bed, slipping in and out of consciousness.<br /><br />The root canal, believe it or not, went fine. Despite my spending the weeks prior mildly freaking out about it, it was relatively painless, and left me with just a sore jaw and 5 more dental appointments to fit a crown.<br /><br />The day after, however, I started feeling woozy -- losing steam really quickly and nearly passing out while out running. I shrugged it off as low blood sugar, downed some water, ate a huge lunch, and thought it was done.<br /><br />Then the stomach cramps started -- a telltale sign of giardia, a parasite infamous for burrowing itself in the stomach lining and causing horribly uncomfortable and sometimes embarrassing GI symptoms. It's actually pretty common among volunteers and most likely the result of my jungle adventure a few weeks ago.*<br /><br />It probably wouldn't have been so terrible had I not had dengue fever running rampant through my blood stream, too. They call it the "bone crushing disease" because, well, it makes you feel like your bones are being crushed. It's a flu-like virus transmitted from person to person through mosquitoes and fairly common in Tumbes. I thought I had escaped the season, but alas. I ached along my spine and pelvis, had a fever, and fought to fend off the practically unbearable nausea.<br /><br />Needless to say it was perhaps the most persistently miserable I have been (physically) in my Peace Corps service. But thankfully, like most things, it passed, and I am back to my sprightly self.<br /><br />Truthfully, the whole thing could have been way worse. While dengue usually lasts 7 days, I got away with having it only 3 or 4. I was in Lima already for the root canal and so had access to the Peace Corps doctors and labs. And, coincidentally, my boyfriend was in town, and held my hand when there was nothing else I could do.<br /><br />The experience made me realize a few things. 1.) It's never too late in your PC service to get sick as a dog (no matter how "over it" you think you are) 2.) I have awesome people in my life who are willing to take care of me and 3.) It's incredible what the human mind and body are capable of bouncing back from.<br /><br />So don't worry, Mom. I'm fine now. Absolutely no permanent damage, and I wasn't even close to dying.<br /><br />Just a lifetime ahead of testing positive for dengue fever, and yet another Peace Corps story.<br /><br />*<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >worth it. </span>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-9090557889073520282010-04-21T16:46:00.000-07:002010-04-21T16:48:16.922-07:00Avery´s Shout-outHey y´all,<br /><br />My nephew Avery has recently gotten his very own e-mail account and has been e-mailing throughout the week. He asked me to mention him on my blog, so this is his shout-out.<br /><br />Love you, buddy! Please keep writing and sending my pictures.<br /><br /><3<br />Aunt Robynrobyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-46995036076567838662010-04-21T16:10:00.000-07:002010-04-21T16:46:39.221-07:00Trip to the Amazon | Part Two<strong>DAY FIVE</strong><br /><br />We're finally here! It's 9:30 p.m., and my eyelids refuse to stay open. It's been a long day.<br /><br />We arrived at the reserve mid-morning and headed out in groups of 2 + one guide each canoe. It rained, and we spent most of the day pruney, wet and (in my case) cold. Within just a few hours, though, we saw blue and yellow macaws, spider monkeys and a sloth.<br /><br />The sloth was spotted by Sarah and Jenny first, and they asked the guide if they could get closer to take a look. He paddled toward the tree, whipped out his machete, and chopped down the branch where the sloth had been sleeping.<br /><br />Sid (yep, we named him) fell into the river, and Sarah and Jen had to pull him up by his arms. The guide said he was a young sloth, maybe equivalent to a teenager. He was small and wet with huge claws. Poor guy. We passed him around from person to person before taking him with us to the hut where we would stop for lunch.<br /><br />It wasn't exactly immediately, but it didn't take long for us to see the enormous quantities of bugs crawling out from the sloth's fur. Without hand sanitizer or soap, we set the sloth on a pole and dug into our meal.<br /><br />The guides made a makeshift bathroom for us ladies and on our way back, we saw an electric eel sliding through the water.<br /><br />It rained a little more in the afternoon, and by the time we arrived to our base camp, we were soaked.<br /><br />Where we're staying is an elevated cabin with beds and a wood-burning kitchen. There are even bathrooms. I feel a little spoiled.<br /><br />We dried off and helped make dinner by peeling plantains and yuca, and cleaning fish.<br /><br />I tried fishing for piranhas and came out with a catfish. Sarah literally took a stab at spear fishing and nabbed one on the second try. While we waited for dinner, we took the canoes out, and Jenny taught be how to paddle. The guides said they had never seen tourists take the canoes out and try to race in them before. To them, it was hilarious.<br /><br />Klever, our main guide, has been serving us mint tea, and I love it. He grows the mint behind his house. He says it's for prevention of ailments, as we foreigners tend to get sick a lot. It seems to be working. We haven't had many problems.<br /><br />After dinner we went on a night canoe ride, looking for crocodiles and snakes. Sarah made a very good point that searching for dangerous animals in the dark is a poor decision. But the stars were out, and the frogs were singing again.<br /><br />The guides wore headlamps while we lay back in the boat. Every once in a while, they would point out a bird or a particular frog. We saw a crocodile eye or two, but no snakes. So far the ride has been my favorite part of the trip. I have never seen so many stars all at once. It's like how I imagine a black marble countertop would look after cooking with flour ... spotted with millions of white specks, almost too close together to seem real.<br /><br />There are two other groups here, totaling 14 Peace Corps volunteers sleeping at this camp. We're told to get up at 4 a.m. to wake up in time to see the dolphins.<br /><br />I don't know if i'll be able to sleep. The forest is so loud.<br /><br /><br /><strong>DAY SIX<br /></strong><br />Klever let us sleep in until 5, but were able to make it into the canoes in time to see the river dolphins. It's crazy. The river inside the reserve is only a few meters across, yet it's deep enough to be home to such a huge creature.<br /><br />The trees here are incredible. Because soil depends on decomposing organic matter to become fertile, and the forest is two dense to allow this type of decomposition, trees can't rely on deeply-seeded roots to keep them standing. Instead, their roots are long and wide, just barely (if at all) below the surface.<br /><br />Some trees hover, their trunks high above the ground while their roots sprout like legs beneath them.<br /><br />We headed back to camp around 10 a.m. The guides went out to fish for us, and we ate fried piranhas for breakfast. I thought that could be a good band name.<br /><br />Because of the rain, the current was strong. The guides paddled hard and didn't stop until 3 p.m. For lunch, we pulled over to a dry patch of land and chopped cabbage and tomatoes on one of our wooden paddles. We ate rice and boiled eggs under a tarp while it continued to pour.<br /><br />We made it back to the entrance of the reserve cold, wet and smelly. My tennis shoes squeaked under my toes. Mud covered my jeans, and the yellow poncho Ryan lent me had a tear in the back.<br /><br />I had never been so happy to see a shower. We cleaned up and sprawled on our hostel beds. Jenny and Tania sang along to Ryan's iPod while I washed my clothes in the sink.<br /><br />Klever said there's no boat that leaves tonight. We'll have to wait to leave for Iquitos until tomorrow.<br /><br /><br /><strong>DAY SEVEN<br /></strong><br />The power went out in the middle of the night, and we slept without a fan. Our room is smelly and hot, but we woke energized.<br /><br />Jenny, Sam, Sarah and I went to Klever's in the morning. Apparently, there's no boat leaving for Iquitos today either. If we wait until tomorrow we would barely make our flight back to Lima. We spent the morning walking around with him, looking for a way to get to the city.<br /><br />The other two groups were in the same position, and so we decided to combine our efforts in our search for transportation.<br /><br />We spent the morning frantic and slightly stressed out. Samantha, in her ever-present wisdom, turned to me and said in that calming voice she has, "Every great story has a conflict."<br /><br />A guy came by to say that he could take us to a town 6 to 8 hours downriver for double the price of the regular boat. And from there we could take a car to Iquitos.<br /><br />By noon we were at the docks waiting. There was a medium-sized roofed boat floating there. It was rotting, and there was only a hole cut out in the floor for a bathroom. We asked if we could hang our hammocks. They laughed. We didn't know why.<br /><br />Another boat -- an open-air canoe pulled up alongside the shore in front of the larger boat. A small motor sat in back, and there were no benches to sit on.<br /><br /><em>That</em> was our boat.<br /><br />It looked like it couldn't hold more than 10 people, and we were 14 + our backpacks and the three guys in charge of the motor and searching for logs.<br /><br />Before we boarded, they loaded two large barrels of gasoline on each end.<br /><br />We motored off, waving back to a town watching us leave.<br /><br />We spent the hours reading, laughing, singing, video logging, snacking and watching the stars. Dark clouds rolled in, and we huddled under the tarp to keep warm. We were all soaked from the spray coming off the side of the boat. Every part of our body was sore from being cramped and stagnant. Hardly any of us slept through the night.<br /><br /><br /><strong>DAY EIGHT<br /></strong><br />The next morning, we arrived early to the town of Nauta, where we could take a bus to Iquitos.<br /><br />They tried to charge us 10 soles, when the ticket really cost 8. Sarah reamed them out and threatened to go to the police station to place charges.<br /><br />We got to the hotel and took turns showering. Despite washing my clothes in the sink at our hostel in Lagunas, everything smelled terrible. The front desk told us we could wash our things at a lavandería around the corner. We dumped all of our smelliest things in a market bag and lugged it the three blocks to the laundry mat.<br /><br />Our guide book said there was an American restaurant just a few blocks from our hotel. We sat down among Texas memorabilia and pictures of content customers from all around the world. We ordered chili cheese fries and onion rings and barbecue chicken sandwiches, and thought we might die of happiness.<br /><br />The rest of the day, we wandered through an artisan market, and I bought a rain stick. The sun was shining. It was the first day of our trip that it hadn't rained.<br /><br />We went down to the docks to see where the Amazon river rushes past Iquitos and ate grubs grilled over fire wood. They tasted a bit like sausage, and a little pieces of the grub head got stuck in my teeth.<br /><br />Apparently, the guys from the bus who had overcharged us tracked down some of the other volunteers traveling with and <em>gave us back the money</em>. This city is just full of surprises.<br /><br />I can't believe tomorrow will be our last day here.<br /><br /><br /><strong>DAY NINE<br /></strong><br />We woke early. Apparently, no longer used to the idea of sleeping through the night. Showered and clean, we hopped in mototaxis to see the market of Belén.<br /><br />I needed flip-flops, sunglasses and brazil nuts, but I kept getting distracted by the crocodile tails, pig heads and turtle legs. It looked like every other market in Peru, yet every stall made me stop and stare.<br /><br />"What's this?" I asked. And they'd let me taste it.<br /><br />Most of the fruit was sour. Bitter. One called <em>aguaje</em> tasted like mashed potatoes.<br /><br />There's a sector in Belén that is covered in water half of the year. All the houses are built on stilts, and people canoe to school instead of walking. We shuffled hesitantly into a small canoe -- so sick of boats already -- and paddled through the "streets" and in between houses.<br /><br />Where do they put their trash? I asked the policemen accompanying us. Where do they go to the bathroom? Where do they get their water? They shrugged and pointed to the murky brown beneath our boat.<br /><br />Even the health post, a massive building of light blue concrete, stood among the mild waves. Sheets of plastic or burlap hung from posts to make small outhouses. Wooden planks were side walks.<br /><br />Kids swam alongside us as we slid through the water. I cringed at the fecal matter that must be covering their skin and splashing into their mouths, but I smiled at them as they smiled up at me, arching their backs to swim like dolphins.<br /><br />When we reached land again, we wandered back through the stalls, stopping to point at some strip of bark or candle in the shape of a skull.<br /><br />"What's this?" I asked. And they'd tell me.<br /><br />I bought some essence of love from a vendor who told me it would work in a day.<br /><br />"One day is all you need," he told me, sliding his essence of business back into his pants pocket.<br /><br />Women told us about the indigenous god Apu and his children. They showed us bracelets beaded with red and black seeds, meant to keep away the evil eye. Fans made from straw. Powders. Masks. Paintings.<br /><br />I didn't want to leave. It was the coolest thing I'd seen so far.<br /><br />This afternoon, our last afternoon, we went to a zoo called Quistococha. There we saw animals that hid in the trees around the camp where we had slept. Animals we had glided passed without seeing. Toucans. Otters. Anacondas.<br /><br />When we walked by the puma cage, I stopped and nearly gasped. There it was. The king of the jungle. The animal that tribes used to worship and fear. Man's greatest predator in the Amazon. There it was, pacing in a room, 3 meters long and 3 meters wide. No trees to climb. No grass on its floor. Just a giant litter box and some small scraps of meat.<br /><br />I've been to dozens of zoos in my life, but I'd never before felt so much sadness for the animals. After seeing their natural habitat, the incredibly beautiful, lush world they are from – the cages seemed so cruel.<br /><br />But not all the animals were as unsettling as the puma. The tapir, for example, was by far the most friendly. Way larger than I had anticipated -- about the size of a small donkey -- it walked over to where we stood and nuzzled its long nose against the gate. He seemed fascinated with us, and I dubbed him "Señor Tapir."<br /><br />Leaf cutter ants marched under our feet, tiny black dots beneath large green circles. Macaws and green parrots perched on trees along the path, nibbling on pieces of bread. An old man sat on a bench with a small anaconda and called for us to hold the snake and perhaps, after, a tip.<br /><br />The sun set as we stepped in one of the many wooden buses that jet around Iquitos. All around us, motorcycles and mototaxis zipped passed, weaving in and out of traffic. There were hardly any cars. A consequence of being a city only accessed by air or water.<br /><br />A guy jumped up and stole my new sunglasses right off my head as we drove passed the market of Belén. It made me want to cry a little. The people from here have been among the kindest and most generous I've met in Peru. They deserve better than to have jerks like that in their city.<br /><br />But whatever, I shrugged. They're just sunglasses.<br /><br />Our last meal was at The Yellow Rose of Texas. We went around the table and recorded our favorite memories of the trip as a final video log.<br /><br />I liked Sam's answer best. Hers was the bus ride to Chiclayo. Before any of this started.<br /><br />"There were a million happy moments on this trip," she said. "But ... dreaming about what it would be like to see the Amazon for the first time and ... knowing that in that next week we were going to have all these amazing adventures. ... Just the anticipation of being with everyone and having those memories ... was my favorite part."<br /><br />We took the long way back to the hostel and stopped to watch three guys perform hysterics in front of a crowd. One of them had been on our bus to the zoo that afternoon, selling candies.<br /><br />The street lights shined against the heavy stone buildings built during the rubber boom. The river. That huge river that had been our captor and guide for the past week, disappeared into the darkness. And we wandered searching for music but not really caring where we ended up.<br /><br />Tonight we're going to sleep in our comfy hotel room. With our air conditioning and clean sheets. And we're going to dream of the muddy water, the insects, the singing frogs, the damp bark, the humid air, the rain.<br /><br />Tomorrow we're going back to our life on the coast. Back to our sites. Back to the dusty highways and endless meetings. But tonight ... Tonight, we sleep with the Amazon.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-NIlRu6JI/AAAAAAAAAZI/kWbvcuX8rGM/s1600/DSCN3061.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462740051608660114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-NIlRu6JI/AAAAAAAAAZI/kWbvcuX8rGM/s200/DSCN3061.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a></p>Me "eating" a piranha<br /><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-NIZwv9cI/AAAAAAAAAZA/jVW1905UYzs/s1600/DSCN3087.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462740048517526978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-NIZwv9cI/AAAAAAAAAZA/jVW1905UYzs/s200/DSCN3087.JPG" border="0" /></a> On the canoe, with our guide, César<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-MdpqNj_I/AAAAAAAAAYo/8h5am0E4Z0Y/s1600/IMG_4371.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462739314050699250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-MdpqNj_I/AAAAAAAAAYo/8h5am0E4Z0Y/s200/IMG_4371.JPG" border="0" /></a> Blue and yellow macaws<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-MefJ4HxI/AAAAAAAAAY4/yyaWzdBGyaI/s1600/DSCN3149.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462739328410590994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-MefJ4HxI/AAAAAAAAAY4/yyaWzdBGyaI/s200/DSCN3149.JPG" border="0" /></a> Boat ride to Nauta<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-MeKnaMkI/AAAAAAAAAYw/J5GJNX_znrI/s1600/IMG_0169.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462739322897314370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-MeKnaMkI/AAAAAAAAAYw/J5GJNX_znrI/s200/IMG_0169.JPG" border="0" /></a>Touching an anaconda<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-KgH3RjEI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/kJGEKlmklb4/s1600/IMG_6002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462737157495032898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-KgH3RjEI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/kJGEKlmklb4/s200/IMG_6002.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Children swimming in the "streets" of Belén<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-Kfs-ELZI/AAAAAAAAAYI/i0kA9turfkM/s1600/IMG_6037.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462737150275759506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-Kfs-ELZI/AAAAAAAAAYI/i0kA9turfkM/s200/IMG_6037.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div>Market of Belén</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-KgqiZ8pI/AAAAAAAAAYY/KayWH5TITKI/s1600/IMG_5970.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462737166802743954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8-KgqiZ8pI/AAAAAAAAAYY/KayWH5TITKI/s200/IMG_5970.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Wooden buses of Iquitos<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-73671756874312910822010-04-15T09:04:00.000-07:002010-04-15T09:37:24.965-07:00Trip to the Amazon | Part One<span style="font-weight: bold;">DAY ONE</span><br /><br />I've barely slept in days. Not because I'm freaking out excited about leaving for the jungle today, but because I've been trying to get everything work-wise set in motion before I drop off the planet for 10 days. Where we are going there is no cell phone reception. No text messaging. No e-mail. Nothing to keep me in contact with my site or work life.<br /><br />It will just be the six of us and the Amazon.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DAY TWO</span><br /><br />On the bus ride from Chiclayo to Tarrapoto they gave us barf bags. I wasn't sure whether to be frightened or not. It had been raining hard, and landslides were a definitely possibility.<br /><br />We lucked out. In 18 hours we went from desert coast through the mountains and into the high jungle. Again, I hardly slept through the night. Sarah and I froze as we went through the highest passes, making it impossible to fall asleep. That and the movie they showed before lights out was I AM LEGEND, which terrifies the gajeebas out of me. I clung to Jenny's sleeve the whole ride.<br /><br />But now we're here in Tarrapota, safe, in one piece, and barf bags unused (though the reason they gave them out super obvious). We got to the hotel and heard that another Peace Corps group left the day before we did and got caught in the aftermath of a landslide. They were stuck on the bus for 28 hours.<br /><br />We were exhausted but decided to go to a waterfall that is apparently quite the tourist attraction. Someone (*coughRyanandJennycough*) decided it was a good idea to jump from a landing a few meters above the pool at its base. The water was FREEZING. But I jumped! Even though I was terrified. I want to start this trip off right.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DAY THREE</span><br /><br />To get to a place called the Blue Lagoon, we had to cross a river. The whole ride takes two hours, even though it's really only about 30 minutes away. The reason is because there's no bridge. Cars and buses form a queue to get on a ferry that takes them across before they can continue on the road. Only three vehicles are allowed at a time with its passengers.<br /><br />The "ferry" is nothing more than three large canoes tied together with boards on top and three motors propelling them. Three men man the motors, pushing forward as much as they can before the current can pull them back.<br /><br />We saw a long cable stretching across the water.<br /><br />"What's that?" We asked our driver.<br /><br />"The ferry used to be connected to that line, but it flipped over and sank." He said. "There was too much weight."<br /><br />"When was this?" We ask ... expecting anything but the answer we were given.<br /><br />"Last week."<br /><br />Our eyes darted the van full of beefed up soldiers in line in front of us.<br /><br />As we crossed, we saw a line jut from the cable and into the water mid-stream, the weight from the sunken load pulling on the cord making it bow.<br /><br />Thankfully, we made it across safely and to the lagoon, where we swam and ate boiled plantains with peanuts and cheese.<br /><br />On our way back, we didn't have to wait as long.<br /><br />Back at the hotel, we showered in ice-cold water. I tugged on long sleeves, and we headed to a restaurant to try local food like <span style="font-style: italic;">paiche</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">juanes</span>.<br /><br />We're beginning to feel like we don't speak Spanish anymore. All the words are different, and we can barely understand the menu. When in doubt, we assume it's the name of a fish.<br /><br />We ordered a sampler platter and some juanes – a corn/rice mash-up cooked inside a banana leaf with chicken or pork. I've had it before in Lima. But this one was terrible. The sampler, on the hand, was amazing. Venison, ham, and something that tasted a lot like bacon. I'm beginning to feel very Peruvian. I barely noticed the lack of vegetables.<br /><br />There was some confusion after we got back about whether there would be a boat the next day. I guess we'll have to see.<br /><br />We've decided to make a video log of our adventure.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DAY FOUR</span><br /><br />We left this morning at 4 a.m. The owner of the hostel where we were staying woke us up at 3:30 and asked why we weren't ready to go yet. She sounds like she's singing when she talks, and it works like a lullaby. I'm so tired.<br /><br />We took a car to a town where we could catch a boat to the reserve. The daughter of our guide met us at the docks and fed us breakfast before grabbing our hammocks to hang up in the boat.<br /><br />It's Easter Sunday, and the regular boat wasn't going downriver. Instead we were shuffled into a smaller one with the 120 other travelers leaving today.<br /><br />We walked onto the boat and nearly were decapitated by hammocks. At least 40 hammocks were hanging in a room about 40ft x 20ft. Everywhere, people were tucked inside their hammocks and sitting along the walls. Luggage piled up below the series of sunken cloths, and we had to duck, crawl, and backbend to get into ours in the center of the space.<br /><br />Jenny had the great idea of going head to toe so that we could fit. Anytime we had to go to the bathroom, we had to do the dance again. Ducking, sliding, shimmying our way to the back ledge.<br /><br />There was a kitchen though. And they fed us rice and fried potatoes with a small piece of chicken. Our guide's wife traveled with us, and she made us jelly sandwiches.<br /><br />We slept or read most of the day, stopping hourly to make a video log. Kids were climbing beneath us asking us questions. I don't think they've ever seen a gringo before. Or at least not so many. They liked playing hide and seek, despite not being able to move from our positions in the hammocks.<br /><br />We discovered around hour 5 (of 10) that we could leave the main cabin and venture up to the roof of the boat to get some air. I nearly slipped trying to climb up and had to get help from some men who were laughing at me.<br /><br />Tania hung her feet off the edge for a while, but a guy told her to stop.<br /><br />"There are things in there that will bite your feet right off," he said.<br /><br />She laughed. He didn't.<br /><br />"No ... really."<br /><br />It was a beautiful view of the river. We came close to the shore, and I could hear the frogs singing inside the forest.<br /><br />We landed in a town called Lagunas that's near the reserve where we'll be canoeing and camping. Our guide met us at the docks and took us to a hotel where we're sleeping 3 to a double room. It doesn't matter much though because we leave early tomorrow for the reserve where we'll present our guides with a list we've made.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TO DO:</span><br /><ul><li>Hold a sloth</li><li>Swing from a vine</li><li>Eat a piranha </li><li>See a monkey</li><li>" river dolphins</li><li>" a tucan</li><li>" an anaconda</li></ul><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9LDnYj6I/AAAAAAAAAWw/RgQR3qVtqQ8/s1600/DSCN2876.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9LDnYj6I/AAAAAAAAAWw/RgQR3qVtqQ8/s200/DSCN2876.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460400333368364962" border="0" /></a>Waiting for the bus to leave Chiclayo.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c-goHZgvI/AAAAAAAAAXY/41Y-Q8n0R-k/s1600/IMGP3632.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c-goHZgvI/AAAAAAAAAXY/41Y-Q8n0R-k/s200/IMGP3632.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460401803455202034" border="0" /></a>Waterfall near Tarrapoto<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9LvWhaWI/AAAAAAAAAW4/kTJ0YxMi2Dc/s1600/IMG_5549.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9LvWhaWI/AAAAAAAAAW4/kTJ0YxMi2Dc/s200/IMG_5549.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460400345108801890" border="0" /></a>Waiting for the ferry<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9L1EE2mI/AAAAAAAAAXA/X58N1fX20p0/s1600/IMG_5584.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9L1EE2mI/AAAAAAAAAXA/X58N1fX20p0/s200/IMG_5584.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460400346642045538" border="0" /></a>Boiled sweet plantain with peanuts<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9MhAw4kI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/WkIAXFGiwsk/s1600/IMGP3774.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9MhAw4kI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/WkIAXFGiwsk/s200/IMGP3774.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460400358439313986" border="0" /></a>Squished together in hammocks.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9MUmch5I/AAAAAAAAAXI/CQvLyJMnYK8/s1600/IMG_5667.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S8c9MUmch5I/AAAAAAAAAXI/CQvLyJMnYK8/s200/IMG_5667.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460400355107702674" border="0" /></a>Hanging out on top of the boat<br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-90098102457521059002010-03-29T10:01:00.000-07:002010-03-30T11:05:20.520-07:00World Water Day -- 22 de MarzoTo celebrate World Water Day (March 22), I went to some elementary school classes to talk about the importance of conserving our water and purifying it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2jJFG2bI/AAAAAAAAAU4/2Kr0ZnEeXmY/s1600/IMGP3249.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454482076059752882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2jJFG2bI/AAAAAAAAAU4/2Kr0ZnEeXmY/s200/IMGP3249.JPG" border="0" /></a> At first, we did a bunch of activities in the classroom. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2jycCkEI/AAAAAAAAAVI/vKBqJvw5mqg/s1600/IMGP3261.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454482087161794626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2jycCkEI/AAAAAAAAAVI/vKBqJvw5mqg/s200/IMGP3261.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And kids broke up into groups to play games about water trivia.<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7SGmVCXI/AAAAAAAAAWA/Z-umSVdFNWE/s1600/IMGP3285.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454487280894151026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7SGmVCXI/AAAAAAAAAWA/Z-umSVdFNWE/s200/IMGP3285.JPG" border="0" /></a> Board game about water with the 5th graders. </div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7RkQ2rrI/AAAAAAAAAV4/bkUzBiXere8/s1600/IMGP3275.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454487271677275826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7RkQ2rrI/AAAAAAAAAV4/bkUzBiXere8/s200/IMGP3275.JPG" border="0" /></a> Can you believe how attentive they were ?<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7RUaThqI/AAAAAAAAAVw/L07Ppx1W0uk/s1600/IMGP3273.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454487267421947554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7RUaThqI/AAAAAAAAAVw/L07Ppx1W0uk/s200/IMGP3273.JPG" border="0" /></a> Seriously. They were super interested in water.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7QwW_EoI/AAAAAAAAAVo/1R48PYSyeH4/s1600/IMGP3268.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454487257744347778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7QwW_EoI/AAAAAAAAAVo/1R48PYSyeH4/s200/IMGP3268.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The 2nd, 3rd and 4th graders saying hi!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7QV8jKFI/AAAAAAAAAVg/XbqK9RiiJp8/s1600/IMGP3265.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454487250654144594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I7QV8jKFI/AAAAAAAAAVg/XbqK9RiiJp8/s200/IMGP3265.JPG" border="0" /></a>After the classroom activities, we went outside to play with water balloons. The youngest kids liked hiding beneath the sheet. Not sure why. <br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2lDn6JMI/AAAAAAAAAVY/Pa-emIIyXfU/s1600/IMGP3264.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454482108954846402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2lDn6JMI/AAAAAAAAAVY/Pa-emIIyXfU/s200/IMGP3264.JPG" border="0" /></a> 2nd, 3rd and 4th graders tossing up the balloons. </div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2knK9NoI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/M1hv6osJleI/s1600/IMGP3262.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454482101317219970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S7I2knK9NoI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/M1hv6osJleI/s200/IMGP3262.JPG" border="0" /></a>All in all. Super successful day.<br />Future reference: water balloons = best idea ever (thanks, Ryan!)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div><br /></div></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-50164108301009004702010-03-29T09:58:00.000-07:002010-03-29T10:01:09.893-07:00A Huge First Step<p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">About a month ago a woman came to my door. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"></span><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">I'd seen her before once, last year, when I was completing my community diagnostic. I met over 100 women, but I remembered her right away. She was what my dad might call a spitfire. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"></span><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Not in the negative sense. She just had a lot of spirit and fight in her, which it was evident despite only spending 10 minutes in her living room. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"></span><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">And here she was, wondering if I might be able to help her find transportation for a reforestation project. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">It turns out that I have no clue where to find trees to plant ... or any big truck to transport them for that matter. But I remembered that she had been very vocal about her frustration with the lack of sewage or latrines in her neighborhood.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">"How's that going?" I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">And then the floodgates opened. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">The truth is I had been thinking about starting an additional project. My other projects, now in their second year, have found a kind of stability, and I was keeping an eye out for something more to do in my service. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Latrines had crossed my mind in the days previous. But I only had 8 months left. Subtract an entire month for a combined chunk of Peruvian holidays, and it was really more like 7 -- maybe 6 1/2. I didn't have time to do a latrine project. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">But it's like God mocked my preoccupations and handed me one anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">It's possible that I know even less about how to plan and execute a latrine project than I do about reforestation. Nonetheless, I sat down with the woman, a really sweet <i>señora</i> named Dylsia, and the health promoter for that sector, and together we stumbled around to find our first step. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">"We have to do a survey," I said, sounding very confident we did, in fact, need to do that. "We have to be prepared with charts and data to show that the latrines are a real necessity."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Together with Anita (the health promoter) and Dylsia, we agreed that I shouldn't be physically present when the questions are asked due to my incredible foreign-ness that sometimes makes people nervous. So I wrote it up, gave them the copies, and the two of them hammered it out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">And let me tell you, there's a real necessity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Of the 44 families in the neighborhood, only two have restrooms that can be considered sanitary*. Additionally, nearly 95 percent drink untreated water, and fewer than half even have a place to wash their hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Cases of parasites and malnourishment are way higher than in the district capital (only 2km away). Work is temporary and scarce. And the average family (~4 people) live on $35 a week. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">The sector is scheduled for sewage soon, but no one knows when "soon" will come, and if the families could even afford to put in bathrooms when it arrives. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">So, we met with an NGO called Cáritas, a Catholic organization that works with latrine projects all over Peru, to see if we could count on their support, which they said we could. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Now the ball was in play, and all we had to do was call our first neighborhood meeting. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Thirty people came, including the district governor (a jovial authority figure who also happens to be my neighbor), and I found myself stammering like an idiot in my nervous Spanish while everyone got rained on outside the local store. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">I'll be honest. The meeting didn't start great. No one wanted to speak or really participate. But thanks to some rousing words by the governor, we were able to form a committee!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">Which I know doesn't sound like a lot. The planning, implementation, monitoring and evaluation are all in front of us. But it's a huge first step. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">And despite being soaked to the bone, tired and hoarse, I left that meeting on cloud nine. Because it's happening! It's no longer just an idea or something we talk about. Even if we are denied funding from the first door we knock at, we have a team now. Fighting together. And playing to win. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Helvetica">*<em><span style="font-size:78%;">Meaning that the human waste is deposited in a prepared hole or septic tank rather than left in the open air.</span></em> </span></p>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-77058544917554007822010-03-16T12:40:00.000-07:002010-03-16T12:54:16.034-07:00Flat Avery out on the town<div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_gjd74r2I/AAAAAAAAAUw/0BzCHfQ-y4I/s1600-h/IMGP3238.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449320974077439842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_gjd74r2I/AAAAAAAAAUw/0BzCHfQ-y4I/s320/IMGP3238.JPG" border="0" /></a> Flat Avery climbing trees. </div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_ghxFq0YI/AAAAAAAAAUo/LVGXxAXQrxQ/s1600-h/IMGP3234.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449320944859009410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_ghxFq0YI/AAAAAAAAAUo/LVGXxAXQrxQ/s320/IMGP3234.JPG" border="0" /></a> Flat Avery watching the chickens.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_ggauKopI/AAAAAAAAAUg/5l8ybFT_dOc/s1600-h/IMGP3231.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449320921674982034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_ggauKopI/AAAAAAAAAUg/5l8ybFT_dOc/s320/IMGP3231.JPG" border="0" /></a> Flat Avery with my host brother, Samir, in our town´s main plaza.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_gfvj9pOI/AAAAAAAAAUY/55XY1yo7jjM/s1600-h/IMGP3225.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449320910089463010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_gfvj9pOI/AAAAAAAAAUY/55XY1yo7jjM/s320/IMGP3225.JPG" border="0" /></a> Flat Avery enjoying the grass in front of our Catholic church.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_gfALyZwI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/UZ1ODWb2Tg4/s1600-h/IMGP3222.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449320897371596546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5_gfALyZwI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/UZ1ODWb2Tg4/s320/IMGP3222.JPG" border="0" /></a>Flat Avery reading the message on a local piece of art. Roughly translated: <em>Pampas is by divine voice, this delight without equal, where natural beauty never ends nor the light that illuminates it.</em> <br /><div></div></div></div><br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223519039899262962.post-65020195587009327192010-03-10T20:24:00.000-08:002010-03-10T20:59:31.416-08:00Aerobics ClassesIn honor of Women's History Month, my counterparts and I have started an aerobics class for the women in our community. Last Saturday was our very first class, and I'm happy to report, I made a total fool of myself.<br /><br />My friend Jessica and I shimmied and scuttled to the rhythm of Enrique Iglesias and Hannah Montana during an hour-long session of unabashed cardio. Roughly 10 women, from 14 to 49, came, and they all left laughing.<br /><br />Which was great to see.<br /><br />Most women in my community, my age and older, devote themselves to their home. They spend all day cleaning and cooking and watching their kids. Aside from the occasional gossip session with a neighbor or girlfriend, they lack any real opportunity to hang out and just be women.<br /><br />On Saturday, I leaned in close and said in a low voice to the women that since no men were present, we were going to work on a problem area we all struggle with. They all busted out in dry heaves at the site of me bending forward with my arms out and then squeezing my glutes and clenching my fists as I stood back up.<br /><br />They then started cracking what I assumed to be dirty jokes to each other while making fun of my pirated Buns-of-Steel moves.<br /><br />And it was really cool to see. Men in our village have their sports clubs and cock fights and drinking circles. But the women are truly lacking a community. And during the class, they weren't thinking about their kids or their homes or what they were going to make for dinner. They were laughing and finding fellowship with other women.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /><br />They said they really enjoyed the class, and several have already swung by my place to make sure there would be another. Believe it or not, I've even caught some of them doing wall push-ups in their living rooms.<br /><br />I hope they stick with it. Whether they lose weight or not, they're finding a community. And I think that's worth way more than a couple kilos.<br /><br />... Though that would be nice, too.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5h38yeWHxI/AAAAAAAAAUI/017--zrEU9Y/s1600-h/IMG_1054.JPG.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5h38yeWHxI/AAAAAAAAAUI/017--zrEU9Y/s320/IMG_1054.JPG.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447235635529522962" border="0" /></a>While shuffling, shoes were optional.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5h38b8xlaI/AAAAAAAAAUA/FCGHrDKvf_Q/s1600-h/IMG_1055.JPG.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BWB1ur7SXHY/S5h38b8xlaI/AAAAAAAAAUA/FCGHrDKvf_Q/s320/IMG_1055.JPG.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447235629483136418" border="0" /></a>Not, in fact, the Buns of Steel move.<br /></div>robyninperuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13362747477635382616noreply@blogger.com0