Otro dirección!

Here's a few highlights of Peru so far:

I narrowly escaped an international crisis this morning when I failed to understand what Ursula's daughter wanted for breakfast.

Her brother (dressed as un policia, of course) got some cereal and yogurt and apparently she wanted some too. Simple enough, right? Well, not in my case. It was this liquid-y, drinkable yogurt, so I thought she wanted a glass of it to drink.

No, no she did not.

I poured a cup of yogurt for her which set off screams heard all throughout the house, after which my co-worker came down and had to repair my failed attempts at international diplomacy by giving her a bowl and cereal. I ran away upstairs to google more Spanish phrases besides, "No comprendo! Lo siento!"

The other night I went to Mass alone and took a cab home, which is a little difficult with my inability to verbally communicate. Ursula had written out directions I should give the cab driver, which I did. Halfway through the ride, I thought I saw the park that was right next to her house, but instead of turning right, we continued straight and went in (what I thought was) the exact opposite direction of Ursula's casa.

"Senor, mi casa es otro direction."

"No, no senorita. Lince, si?"

"Uhh, si ... pero, mi casa es otro dirección."

Then he went on to explain that I was an idiot for thinking I knew the way better than he did. Well, not really, but that's what I imagined.

A few more minutes of driving in what I thought was the wrong direction and I began to enter mini panic mode. What if he drops me off at the wrong place and I have to wander the streets of Lima alone and beg for food? Now I'm going to get taken and sent to a commune in the Andes! OK, quick, think of all the self-defense moves you know ... How will I survive on cuy alone?

At which point, we pulled up to Ursula's house.

"Oh, gracias, senor ... lo siento ..."

"De nada, you're just a stupid tourist with no understanding of any of the local culture, language or customs. I forgive you."

Actually, I think it was something about there being lots of traffic and it was night, but that's what I would have said. Thankfully, Peruvians are much more gracious and understanding than I am.

¿Cómo se dice ... ?

Right now I am in beautiful Lima, Peru and feel even more culture shock than when I was in India, if that's possible. Probably because I am not traveling with a group of white people and need to have everything translated for me because I am a stupid American who chose to study useless French in school instead of practical Spanish.

Here's a quick recap so far:

On the plane over, I sat next to some aging Canadian hippies who were headed to Cuzco to get some energy from the Sacred Valley.

I am staying with my coworker Ursula and her family, which is her husband, her 2 kids and their nanny. Also, sometimes Ursula's mother comes over. She no habla anglais, so we get along well just by using hand gestures and smiling.

The second night I was here we had an earthquake drill which means you have to go stand out on a concrete slab across the street next to the car cage. A car cage is an iron cage with spikes all around it that you lock your car in at night. Yes. A car cage.

Today we had chifa (Peruvian Chinese food) for lunch as an office. This basically consisted of me sitting at a big conference table with 14 Peruvians, 4 of whom spoke English, trying to at least act like I knew what was going on. As far as I could tell, they were talking about a popular television show called Yo Sey and a former president who was a functioning alcoholic.

Every time they would all laugh, I would ask my coworker what was said and he would explain it, resulting in me laughing all by myself at some cultural reference I didn't understand, but knew I had to laugh at because he had taken great pains to explain it to me.

After lunch I received an email from one of my coworkers that said, "You are the girl that is in the office now!" I used Google Translate to tell her, "Sí, soy la chica de la oficina!" and then asked her if she is the one who wears glasses. It is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Later that evening, Ursula and I drove to her mother's house to pick up the kids, the nanny and her mom. She drives a tiny Toyota, but luckily Peruvians are very small. So, as we are leaving, Ursula gives Jose Miguel his airplane that my boss, Alejandro, brought him from America. It is at that moment when we realize that I have forgotten the stuffed puppy that he brought for Maria Louisa. I realized this because all we could hear from the back seat is "Mi perrito! Mi perrito! Mi perrrrritoooooo!" for the next 20 minutes while weaving in and out of Lima traffic. Ursuala kept apologizing to me even though I was the one who abandoned the perrito.

Lima traffic might actually be more terrifying than Mumbai traffic because there is more room on the roads resulting in higher speeds and harder breaking.

We stopped at the market to pick up some fruit on the way home. Jose Miguel and I followed Ursula to the fruit stand where I would point to an item and ask him, "Como se llama en anglais?" and he would tell me as best he could. Then he would just point to a piece and say, "Oler!" which Urusula had to tell me meant, "Smell this!" I had my nose to an avocado when an hombre muy guapo walked up and stared at me. Excelente.

India Debriefing

Where do I even begin? I just spent 8 days in the most beautiful, dirty, crowded, poverty-stricken, engaging place I've ever seen and I loved it. I wish I had known more about the country before going in, but even still, there is no way to know India without seeing, touching, tasting, hearing and feeling it.

Before going over, I was expecting to say that India attacks all your senses. Because of what I've heard about the pollution, crowds and traffic, I thought that there was just so much going on that there would be no way for me to process it all. While that is certainly true, I think a better way of putting it would be that India engages all your senses (and emotions, for that matter). There is so much going on that there's no way to experience it all in just a few days. What I saw was just the surface of a country teeming with life (and sorrow, joy, love and hatred). India took a piece of my heart when I first stepped out of the airport in Hyderabad and would not give it back when I boarded the plane in Mumbai.

I pray that I will be able to return soon and spend more time there for work (CNA definitely needs an India office ... obviously the rookie white girl would be the best person to make that happen) or for marriage (I am now convinced that I will marry an Indian man ... more to come on that later).

So, these next few posts will serve as an overflow of what won't make it into my news stories. Hopefully this little bit of information will help you fall in love with this beautiful country that so desperately needs our help.

Sometimes I have to fend off Wife Hunters

Remember how I said I'd never been kissed? Well, that was not 100% true. What I meant to say is that I have never willingly been kissed by someone I found attractive.

Allow me to explain:


In order to further abolish my fears of speaking in front of large groups/ people in general, I signed up for an intro level acting class (ok, so I was really just looking for an easy A while I was working of my thesis).

Anyway, the class basically consisted of students partnering up and performing scenes and then discussing them afterward. Piece of cake, right? No, you are so wrong.

When the time came to choose partners, my professor insisted that we leave it up to chance and had us draw names from a hat. Fine, I thought, now I don't have to go through the uncomfortable experience of trying to choose a scene partner, which usually left me as that lone person who couldn't find one.

Because my school had some sort of strange aversion to the male species there were a million (15) women in my class and no (3) men. Because of this inequality, the professor insisted that the men would always have to partner up with a babe. Ok, still fine, I thought. One dude was studying to join the seminary, one was rather normal and one (oh-sweet-mercy-how-did-I-overlook-him-before??) was the Wife Hunter.

You see, there are some men who have the guts to actually go out and pursue a babe. You know, as in striking up a casual conversation, establishing a friendship and then (gasp) actually asking said babe on a casual date.

The Wife Hunter, however, was a different species entirely. He did all of the above, but with no awareness of whether or not a lady was interested. His one goal, it would seem, was to find a female Catholic to marry so she could bear his offspring as soon as possible. He did not pursue, he hunted.

As fate would have it, when it came my turn to choose a partner, I, of course drew the Wife Hunter. And of course our scene was about a married couple having a dramatic fight.

At first it wasn't so bad.

As the day of our scene drew closer, however, the Wife Hunter was becoming more and more enthusiastic about the scene by doing things like trying to make me pray a chastity prayer for engaged couples (oh, he must be a method actor), insisting that his character enter the scene shirtless because it was "more realistic" that way (ok, grab the audience's attention) and repeatedly asking if out characters should kiss even though the scene didn't call for it (great, he's being inventive with his character). Good, I thought, maybe I can get a good grade an pad my GPA a little.

I was so blind.

So the day of our scene arrives and I am just so happy to have this whole experience over with. I mean, I've really enjoyed our time in rehearsal (especially when you insisted that your character should unzip his pants onstage to tuck his shirt in "because that's what its like in real life") or when you kept asking me if I wanted to eat with you (even though I kept telling you I was not hungry. ever.), but all good things must come to an end. Thankfully.

Our scene begins, and I am very convincing as the wife who hates her husband and is mad at him for a reason he can't understand. He, unfortunately, is also quite convincing as the husband who is trying desperately to win back his wife with lots of longing gazes and soft caresses of my hands.

So, the scene comes to the part where my husband, the Wife Hunter, in a last ditch effort for reconciliation, stands behind me while I'm seated at the kitchen table and consolingly places his hand on my shoulder to which I respond by shrugging off and running out the door to go to work. Or at least that's how we rehearsed it for three weeks.

Instead, as I'm seated at the table trying to read my book, the Wife Hunter comes up behind me and caresses my upper rib cage with one hand and the side of my face with the other.

My immediate reaction is to shoot out of my seat (which causes half my props to fly off the stage-- unfortunately, none of the audience was knocked unconscious) and scream, rather than say, my remaining lines about how he's an idiot or something. Well, at least I was convincing.

After the scene we took our seats in the auditorium and he very slyly turned around and asked me, "Did you like how I kissed you at the end?"

Turns out, that was not his hand caressing the side of my head, it was his face, more specifically, his lips. On my face.

I think at this point in his scheme to find a spouse, his Wife Hunting Senses must have told him that I would fall into his arms and beg him to never part his lips from the side of my face again, so long as we both shall live.

However, I must have thrown a wrench into his plan by frowning and simply replying, "No, I did not."