I lay on my bed, thankful for this
siesta. My door opens to the roof, where
the sun shines and the wind blows clothes on the drying lines and pulls at the
sheet metal roof of the building next door.
A loudspeaker in the distance blasts a man’s voice, chanting and singing
no discernable language. If I didn’t
know better it could be prayer time in the Middle East. A parade marches by and it sounds like
Native Americans, drumming and chanting.
The Natives still live here! The
Spanish came and gave and took, but the vibrant cultures of the Andean people
resonate powerfully everywhere. By the
way, the Chinese live here too. Chinese
food here is called “Chifa.”
Across the street from the front door of my
building are several Juguerias, where you can get juice of any variety, as well
as food… you can get a hotdog sandwich if you’d like. From one of these cafeterias, called
“Jugueria Chompa ‘Jack,’” I watched a big Quechua woman scoop soup and morsels
from 5 gallon buckets. She was
constantly surrounded by Camposinos… countryfolk, from the hills. They’ve got gold teeth and bright dresses of
infinite color and variety. They are
beautiful women, old and young, and strong dark men from ancient stock.
Eating with these women is a treat. They laugh at the gringo but they love me
because I love them. They call me
“Caballero” and “Papa.” They are a piece
of home – perhaps my grandmother from another continent. They know that food can cure more than
hunger. They help me find what I need. Today was soup with tender morsels of
beef. I cracked the bones with my teeth
and took the marrow as salve. I opted
out of the cuy – guinea pig. The women pass
raw meat to and fro. I sit on a small wooden chair on the sidewalk and take my bowl of soup. Treats. When you are hungry all food becomes easier to fathom.
I eat here with them after I leave work. Work is preschool in the hills of Monterrey,
a minibus ride from town. An American
boy and a Belgian boy, 5. Two 4 year old
Peruvians, girl and boy, and a couple 7 year olds. Also, an 8 year old with Downs syndrome. The owner of the preschool charges his family
less than the other children’s families.
I speak three languages at school – English
for the American, French for the Belgique, and Spanish for everyone else. Spanish is a huge problem because it is so
unnatural for me. The textbooks cut it
into hard syllables but when I listen to suave speakers it glides like water –
like Portuguese. And the American and
Belgian boys speak in Spanish. If you
want to ostracize someone it’s easy – just speak in a language to them that
noone understands. And this is not fun.
So I go Silent-Jim through the school day,
listening the children speak and interjecting only when necessary and
possible. And Cole, the American, helps
me translate here and there. Ruth, the
Peruana I work with, is lovely to be so nice to me. She does almost all the talking and teaches
everyone, including me, Spanish.
Our school is located a kilometer from hot
springs… every Thursday we walk to them and spend the day swimming in hot water
and having a picnic. I double here as a
swim instructor. Mateo, the little
Peruvian 4 year old, is terrified of going under and holds my neck for dear
life the entire time we’re at the pool.
There is a population of well-to-do expats
here. The American student’s family
invited me to their house for a barbecue.
They run a brewing company and are expedition and climbing experts. Because of them I have a bicycle and friends.
Huaraz, Ancash, Peru could be a small New
York City in the 1970s, surrounded by snow-capped world class mountain ranges. Couples kiss and love is in the air. Laws are discretionary, and the biggest law
seems to be self-preservation (so long as you respect society). Social respect is a curious animal here. People pee in the streets. I saw a guy piss in another guy’s car two
nights ago. I’m assuming he wasn’t
pissing in his own car.
Small business are the rule. Yesterday I ordered a pair of cowboy
boots. The leathersmith, proprietor of
the Zapateria, traced my feet and took the order. The boots on display are among trophies. The leather and stitching is of the finest
quality. They will take 2 weeks and will
cost about $150.
What do I miss? I miss all of my friends and family. I miss breakfast at the kitchen table with my
parents. Sitting around watching a movie
with my brothers. Hanging out with
Helen, who is somewhere in the Jungle right now, studying agriculture with the
natives (as far as I know). I can’t help
but chuckle thinking of what kind of situation she’s in right now… that girl is
someone special. YOU are someone
special.
I’ve gotta go pick my bicycle up and
transfer this information to the internet.
My new humble abode is a concrete room on top of a 3 story
building. I can’t stand up straight in
here. I’ve chipped a tooth on the
doorway. No internet.
I bought an electric oven-top for 6
dollars. Imagine an electric burner on
your stove that is portable and plugs into the wall. It heats up red hot, a furious little
hairdryer on your table. It’s made in
China! The first time I plugged it in my
room filled with smoke and plastic fumes.
My toilet has no seat. That’s typical. Also, my agua caliente, hot water for
showers, is agua not so caliente. But
that’s ok. I stay pretty clean and can
take the temperature, or lack of it.
No sickness, save the sickness of the heart
here and there, which is temporary and passing.
It’s amazing the conversations you’ll have with someone just because
they speak your language.
I got drunk the other night at a “medicine
shop” that sells hot syrup in a glass mug for 40 cents a mug. I almost bought a motorcycle but thought
twice. Speaking of drinking, I’ve been
drinking the water and eating food in places that smell like feces. The feces is unavoidable. No diarrhea, no illness.
To my family and friends, you know who you
are, I miss you! This is wonderful place
full of rich culture and good people.
They can’t substitute your love.
Take care of yourself! Kiss
someone you love and give them a big hug.
Hasta Luego.