POESIA

Oct. 1st 2007
Day 738. I ate 14 potatoes today. Never again. I’ve determined that I’m more likely to get explosive diarrhea when I eat at someone elses house in the village and than take a vigorous hike home, scaling steep hills. Waiting 30 minutes to 1 hour is definitely necessary to prevent this reoccurring problem. It’s nice that other families are inviting me to lunch now, but it’s killing my digestive tract. Another origin of the diarrhea could be the exposure to new bacteria in a new cooking environment.

When I came back from Christmas this year, I gave a friend of mine my old hiking boots. Mom and Dad had bought me a new pair. The former weren’t really that old for Peruvian standards.The Timberland’s were probably the best gift Alipio had ever received. Surely an upgrade to his yankees (sandals made out of tires). Alipio just held the boots in his hands, admiring them, and thanking me.

So it’s October now, and up until now, I’ve never seen Alipio wear the boots. Were they so amazing that he didn’t even want to wear them? Or did he give them to one of his 9 sons? Esgar who’s 15 years old, has been spending a lot of time at our house. I asked him yesterday about the boots. Evidently one of his older brothers wore the boots to Otuzco and drank so much, he passed out. And the boots were stolen right off his feet. So who knows where my old boots are nowadays? Hopefully someone is getting good use out of them, even if they were stolen.

What else is new here? Well, after months and months of planning our youth camp came and went. Last weekend we brought all the participants together between the mountains and the coast in a town called Pedregal. 36 adolescents participated, and they loved it. We played a number of problem solving games, decorated journals, made jewelry, baked with solar ovens, invited outside speakers (college students and professionals), performed skits, and even got a good scare from a ghost during a bonfire. The camp themes promoted 1. Education 2. Leadership and 3. Self Esteem. It was a roaring success. The invitees have limited opportunities to participate in such a retreat.



Ode to Carata
I think I’ll live without a refrigerator from now on. And a washing machine, and who needs a dryer anyway. Or an iron? Please. Ironing clothes seems odd. Unnecessary really. Hand washing clothes is a great stress reliever. I haven’t seen a real kitchen stove in years. Heck we’ve been cooking just fine over the fire. How much would an oven cost anyway. Too much. Tissues are a big waste too. It wasn’t until PC that I stopped buying them and began using toilet paper for everything. I usually bathe every 3-4 days, pending water that is, and change my clothes every other day. Baby wipes are the perfect remedy for quick and easy hygiene. What a funny looking word. The bathing boycott however will probably have to be broken if I want to integrate back into American society. And date again. Rice will always be apart of meals from now on, I’m addicted to it. I don’t even taste it anymore. It fills you up though. When I eat any other meal without rice, I don’t feel like I’ve eaten. Maybe I’ll stop washing my hands with cold water since I’m destined to get sick from doing that. I could bring dirt floors back into style. Upon arrival to the USA, How about in my first apartment I tear up what ever floor exists and put down dirt. The longer it’s there the more broken in it becomes-almost like carpet. We used to drop glass and it didn’t even break. I wasn’t until they poured a concrete floor that we really started breaking dishes. And cuyes. No kitchen is complete without 20 feral guinea pigs at your feet. God, I’m gonna miss this place.

And I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to complain about anything in the USA ever again. Because it could NEVER be as bad as it’s been in Peru.

Things I miss: Carpets. The smell of cut grass. Driving. Berry Berry Kix. 90 Watt light bulbs. Public trash cans. Rollerblading. Comfortable bus seats. Cold juices. Bacon. Making breakfast. Poping popcorn. Halloween. Reading the Sunday paper. Taking trains. Arriving on time. Calling old friends. Toilet seats. Walking the Charles River. Smooth roads. Playing catch.

Things I’ll miss from Peru: Cebiche. Huayno/Cumbia/Salsa music. Otra Cosa (Vegetarian Restaurant). The Spanish language. “Inviteme” concept. The idea of time. Papa a la huancaina. Marching bands. Donkeys. Little old men with no teeth. People opening beer bottles with their teeth. Adobe walls. Political signs. Protests. Holidays. Newsweeks. The RPM. The PCMO. The APCD. Enriques burly arms. Yapas. Straw hats. Being tall. And feeling tall. Yellow tin roofs. Dusty, dry country roads. Ticos. Estations. Inca haus. The Mediterranean restaurant. Speaking spanglish. Quinua. Pooping in plastic cups. P6!

“I´m no poet”
Sure it’s been hard. Theres no water, no electricity, no bathrooms, no phone lines. The food has made me sick more than a few times. The government’s corrupt. Most locals have given up. And yet month after month I remind myself-you’ve changed so much. Now it’s time to depart, with whom do I start? My family or friends, I can’t believe it’s the end. This long, strange trip through Peru has redefined even you.