Psychoanalyzed: Job Interviews in Peru

Recently, I had a job interview to teach English to children at an elementary school here in Lima. The job has a lot of attractive benefits, such as a work visa and health insurance (and probably a livable wage), but the downside is that I would be teaching 30 kids. In every class. For 6-8 hours a day, 5 days a week. That's a lot of children, for a lot of hours of the week.

 

At least there would be muffins

Regardless of what happens with the job, the interview process has been quite an interesting experience. The actual job interview was fairly standard, and thankfully in English. However, for most jobs in Peru, you will also need to be interviewed by a psychologist, and you will feel like you're taking a trip back in time.

Psychoanalysis is still the name of the game down here, and in most interviews you will be asked to draw a picture, answer some questions on a psychometric test, and/or be given the Rorschach ink blot test. I was asked to draw a picture of a woman and write a story about her, then to repeat the process with a man. I have no idea what this is supposed to measure or if there is a right way to take the test. The only thing I know is that everyone, literally every person I asked, told me to draw the floor or the ground. Apparently, if your person isn't standing on something, he or she is unbalanced or has no security or some other nonsense.

 Kandinsky print featuring bacon

Then, my jaw dropped when the psychologist pulled out the Rorschach test. Are we living in 1960? Anyway, I was asked the classic questions: describe what you see, then what part of the ink blot you saw it in. Finally I was asked to choose my favorite and least favorite image and explain why. By the way, the psychologist didn't speak English, so this was as much a test of my Spanish as of my psyche.

Two dancing bears high-fiving in front of a sunset, obviously

I don't even have the slightest idea if I passed or not. While it was an amusing experience, it pains me to think that qualified, well-balanced applicants are routinely eliminated from consideration for good jobs based on a semi-scientific theory that was dreamed up by a 19th century coke addict and which has been pretty roundly discredited in the U.S. I don't know if I passed, but I'm not going to beat myself up if I didn't. I'm pretty sure I'm fine, despite what Herrs Frued and Rorschach might have to say about the matter.

Getting Friendly with the Police on Moving Day

Whew! It's been a busy few weeks down here. I finally found a quieter place to live, and I don't have to share it with anyone! My own bathroom, my own kitchen, my own things. No more coming home and finding 5-day old dirty dishes with a swarm of flies around them... ick. I'm finally settling in and arranging things to my taste little by little. Today the plumber is here to change the ancient electric showerhead and install a new sink, and later today Jorge and I are going to buy a bed frame for my luxurious new mattress. The walls are a cheerful yellow and there's a really big closet. Step by step, it's taking shape.

However, getting to this point wasn't without its problems. The move, like all moves, was exhausting and difficult, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, in this country neither is being stopped by police and forced to pay a bribe.

In Lima, whenever you move, you have to go to the police station and get a moving permit. You have to write out a list of everything you are going to move with, down to the smallest items. Supposedly, this is to prove that your things belong to you and to prevent robbers being able to steal all your stuff and move it in a moving van. However, in reality, few people file this permit because it involves waiting in a long line and paying a not insignificant amount of money. Most people decide instead to risk moving with the permit.

If you are stopped en route and don't have the permit, technically you can be asked to take a trip to the police station and show your receipts for every one of your things to prove ownership. The police don't want to take the trouble, and neither do the people moving. This means bribes.

The driver of the moving van pulled an illegal left-hand turn about 10 blocks from the new place. Big mistake - I turned around just in time to see a patrol car radio his friends, and sure enough, a few blocks later we were stopped. The police asked to see our moving permit, which we didn't have, and then made the customary threats about taking us to the station and going through our things one by one. The cop who came up to the truck seemed particularly interested in the laptops that we had in the front seat, which didn't sit well with me. Then he said maybe we could talk about it and began asking questions about our financial situation to determine how much he could squeeze out of us. During the whole process I played dumb, pretending I didn't understand Spanish. Meanwhile, Jorge kept repeating that we didn't have any cash on us, we were in a difficult financial situation, we had spent our cash on gas for the moving van, etc. I was smart enough to keep my 100-sole bills well hidden. Eventually we paid the guy 30 soles, and the driver paid another 10. That amounts to only about fifteen bucks U.S., but considering that the police did almost no real work to earn that money and get to keep it tax-free, you can see why the corruption is so widespread here.

Peruvian Times: The Cost of Corruption in Peru

Despite this incident, the rest of the process went smoothly and I'm pretty happy with the apartment. If I do move again though, I'll be ready.

Mistura

Limeños will shake their head at Lima's many problems, but they are extremely proud of their food. This is in large part justified, as Peru has a wealth of delicious traditional food for which Peruvian cuisine has garnered international attention in the past five to ten years. However, this pride can be somewhat extreme at times. If you mention a bad dish you had at a restaurant or point out the fact that fried pork and french fries are a tad unhealthy, most Limeños will rush to defend their country's cuisine. When Morrisey canceled his tour because he got very ill from eating at a restaurant in Lima, everybody was up in arms despite the fact that he never said a single word against the food. 

 Alongside food, there were also parades and dancing from the various regions of Peru

Nonetheless, the best Lima has to offer is most certainly its food, and for the past three years Lima has held a week-long festival called Mistura in celebration of Peruvian cuisine. Well-known restaurants from various regions of Peru as well as from Lima are invited. This year, the festival was divided into twelve different “worlds,” such as The North Coast, Seafood, Jungle, and of course, La Taberna (drinks). 

The people came in droves, although that might have been because we went on the last day. The line to get in was enormous, and it took us an hour and a half just to reach the entrance. Once in, there were people everywhere, and finding a table was difficult. Many families camped out at the tables, hoarding chairs and guarding spaces while the other members got in line for food. Some people were reminiscent of dogs guarding their territory: you could almost hear the growls if you eyed their tables.

The line for the entrance 

Since there is an entrance fee of $10, the point is to get there early and spend all day walking around and eating as much as possible. Each dish cost either $3 or $5 depending on the size of the portion, and all of them were delicious. The highlights were a peanut soup from Amaz (Amazonian cuisine) and two traditional Lima dishes, seco de res from Kamcha and ají de gallina from El Rincón Que No Conoces. The first is beef slowly stewed in herbs until tender, and the other is a creamy sauce with shredded chicken. We also had fusion sushi rolls, steamed fish with coconut rice, and clams in tangy lime sauce. Of course, I also really enjoyed the pisco sours. Jorge and I had two each and our friends had three each. 

 Mango passionfruit pisco sours

Aside from the restaurant stands, there was also a large farmer’s market and a chocolate and coffee expo. The market had traditional and natural foods from all the regions of Peru, ranging from the expected offerings to items like coca liquor, dried goldenberries, and passionfruit jam. The chocolate expo was smaller but full of temptations. I somehow managed to fit in two chocolate macaroons on top of all the food I'd already eaten. 

 Clams from the Ceviche world

Overall, the festival was very enjoyable, but it did have some drawbacks. The hoarding and general lack of tables led to a long and tiring day of walking around, and the dishes were a bit expensive considering the portion sizes. In total, Jorge and I each ended up spending around 100 soles, or $40. In terms of local spending power, that’s a sizable chunk of money, and I thought the entrance fee of 25 soles was excessive. The amount of people led to long lines for just about everything, and the line to get in could have been avoided with better organization and more points of entry. However, we went home stuffed to the gills and very satisfied, and I would definitely go back. Next time though, I'll get a table early!

The Serpost Blues

A little while ago, I finally walked out of the post office with my package in hand after a month-long battle with the pointless bureaucracy of the Peruvian postal service (Serpost). It has been an extremely long and frustrating process, and I will detail each visit, conversation, required document, and frustration below. For some background information, I was staying with my aunt in her house at the time the package was sent. The box had my name and my aunt's name clearly written on the front, but the customs form was in my aunt's name. The box contained clothes, some prescription medicine with prescription included, and a used cellphone.

 The final state of the package when I got it: bruised, stamped, and taped to high heaven.

June 24th: The package is sent through the US Postal Service, addressed to me at my aunt's address. The package had both my name and my aunt's name, but the customs form only had my aunt's name.

June 29th: The package arrives in Peru.

July 12th: A notice arrives at my aunt's house informing me that the package has arrived and giving the address and hours of the Serpost location where it is being held.

July 15th: First visit to Serpost. I go with Jorge during a lunch break, naively thinking I won't need to involve my aunt. At the post office, the security guard is only letting in those people who have packages in their name, so Jorge has to wait outside. The lady at the desk tells me that since the customs form is in my aunt's name, I have to get a notarized letter from her, or she has to come in person.

July 18th: My aunt (whose job as a nurse makes it difficult for her to get away during office hours) visits Serpost to collect the package. After waiting for around an hour, she is handed a stack of papers and told that I need to get permissions from two separate government agencies before they can release the package. No mention of this was made to me during my first visit.

July 24th: Jorge and I use our lunch break to visit the first government agency, the Ministry of Communications and Transportation. I'm not sure why, but I need a permission for bringing in the cell phone. The ministry is in a somewhat sketchy area far from work. All we can do today is collect the form because we need my aunt's signature. Then we go to the Ministry of Health to get permission for the medicine and probiotics in the package. Here, we wait for a half hour, and then are given a form to fill out as well as instructions that I must get a prescription from a Peruvian doctor for any medicine or supplements being brought into the country, even though the American prescription was included in the package.

Later that night, I take a picture of my aunt's identity card so I can print out a copy, and get her to sign the forms to bring back to the agencies.

July 25th: Luckily, I have to see a doctor anyway for a separate issue, so I decide to take care of the prescriptions. I explain my situation and show him an old prescription bottle, and he writes the prescriptions. He shakes his head and makes sympathetic noises about my situation. There's nothing like bureaucracy to pull people together.

Jorge uses his lunch hour to drop off the form at the Ministry of Communications and Transportation and is told that processing will take around five business days (it's Thursday, and this weekend is a long weekend because of Fiestas Patrias).

 All the required documents in one place

July 26th: Jorge bring the documents to the Ministry of Health because I don't have time off of work. After a few tense moments, he is told that everything is in order and the papers will be ready in two or three business days.

July 27th: (Saturday) This is the only day my aunt doesn't work, so we have to go to the notary together to get the letter. Because it's the Saturday of Fiestas Patrias weekend, there are very few notaries open and we are very lucky to find one. We are told that it will be ready on Tuesday around noon.

July 31st: Jorge picks up the letter from the notary because he is passing by the neighborhood. Then, because I can't get off work during business hours, he picks up the form at the Ministry of Health. It's the first day after the long weekend, so it's not ready. He (and everyone else waiting there in the same situation) complains, and after a half hour, a basket is brought out with all the approved and stamped forms.

August 1st: On a premonition, Jorge visits Serpost just to check that all our forms are in order. The person looks at everything and says that it's all ok except for one small detail: the notarized letter is addressed to Serpost, when it should be addressed to Sunat (the branch that deals with customs and regulations). This means that we will have to find another day that my overworked aunt can leave work so we can get another notarized letter.

August 5th: Jorge and I visit the Ministry of Communications and Transportation to pick up the form. This is quick, and we take advantage of our free afternoon to go to a well-known pollería nearby for some fantastic rotisserie chicken.

August 7th: My aunt says that she might be able to take time off today to go to a notary. Then she changes her mind and says that she'll come with us to Serpost just to get the damn thing over with.  She and Jorge meet there at noon, while I plan to join them after I get out of work at 1.  They are there without me for two hours, during which the Serpost agent demands to see the original prescriptions, even though we have the signed and stamped documents from the Ministry of Health. When Jorge asks why, the agent insults him and calls him names. Luckily, Jorge happens to have brought the original prescriptions so problems are avoided. Then after everything is approved, we have to wait for another 45 minutes for them to type up some documents. No kidding - 45 minutes to type a document. After that, finally, we are able to collect the package and go. In all, the Serpost visit took 3 hours.

 Finally!

I understand the need for following protocol. I can even understand asking for a permission to bring in an old cell phone. But what I just can't wrap my head around is the absolute disorganization of information and how incredibly unhelpful most of the Serpost employees were. Why did it take three separate visits for someone to tell me all the requirements? Why couldn't they tell me right away how to address the notarized letter, which permissions I needed, the fact that I needed to bring the original prescriptions, etc.? Either the employees are poorly trained and apathetic, or purposely being unhelpful. In either case, I can say that this has been the most frustrating experience I've ever had with any sort of official agency and I hope that in all my time in Peru I never have to set foot in a Serpost office again.

Fiestas Patrias (Independence Day Celebrations)

You think July 4th is a big deal? Think again. Here in Peru, the whole month of July is devoted to patriotism and independence celebrations, with things ramping up toward July 28th, their independence day. Here in Peru, they take patriotism to a whole new level.

 Selling flags at an intersection

The most visible sign is the flags. The roofs of Lima are bedecked with flags, and temporary islands pop up in busy intersections to sell flags and stands. Street vendors move between cars during red lights selling flag pins, flag ribbons, small flags, big flags. Every district tries to out-flag and out-patriot the others, with billboards and posters in festive red and white carrying sanitized patriotic statements with the district mayor's name scrawled below. The flag fever is so complete here that in some districts, you can face a fine for not putting up a flag.

Flag display in the roundabout in Miraflores

There have been events scattered throughout the month, but the main event happens over the long weekend. (Because independence day falls on a Sunday, Monday is a national holiday.) There are showcases of dances from different regions of Peru, music, parades, pop-up bazaars, and TV extravaganzas. The president gives his State of the Union address on July 28th, and police and the military march in a parade. I have to say that it's probably the most impressive marching I've ever seen: legs straight out to ninety degrees, for all three miles of the parade. Everywhere Peruvians can be seen stuffing themselves with picarones, Peru's answer to Tiny Tim mini donuts.

The line for picarones in the Parque de la Amistad

And then there are the parties. Peruvians love any excuse for a party, and there is none better than Fiestas Patrias. Unfortunately, I was on antibiotics all weekend so I was not able to join in the fun, even in a reasonable and restrained manner. This made me a bit grumpy, and I found myself resenting the obnoxiously loud party at the neighbors'. I found myself reminiscing about the very sound-proof insulation in the U.S. as the music kept going until well past 4 AM at full volume.

Of course, that's not to say that all Peruvians go crazy and have wild parties. Plenty of families go to the park, throw some things on the grill, and are in bed by 10 o'clock. Now if only I lived next to those people...

Doctor's Visit

 For the past two weeks or so, my stomach has been really strange: a range of symptoms that come and go at random, becoming really bad and then suddenly clear up as if nothing were wrong. I tried all the normal remedies: over-the-counter meds, mint and ginger tea, and bland food, but my stomach was having none of it. The roller coaster of recovering and feeling bad all over again combined with two weeks of flavorless food has been pretty maddening, so finally I decided it was time to visit the doctor.

Clinics here in Peru are all walk-in and are extremely affordable. Health insurance doesn't enter the picture unless you have to be hospitalized. I went to an affordable but very reputable clinic, the Hospital de la Solidaridad, which despite the name is a clinic and not a hospital. 

The waiting area for the fourth floor clinics at the Hospital de la Solidaridad

Upon entering, I had to first stop at the information desk and tell them which specialty I wanted to see. Then the attendant gave me a slip with 'gastro' written on it and directed me to the caja to pay 9 soles (about $3.50) for the consultation. Then we walked up four flights of narrow stairs to reach the gastroenterology area. We were told to come back in two hours, as the doctor would not be arriving until then. 

When we came back at around 5, the common waiting room on the fourth floor was considerably emptier. The psychology, ophthalmology, and lung clinics are on the same floor, and I assume their doctors were in attendance while we were waiting. 

A tired patient waits for his turn in the now-empty waiting room

Finally, we were called in to the room. The doctor asked the routine questions, felt around my stomach, ordered tests, and prescribed medicine in record time. I was in and out in under five minutes. Jorge came with me for support and in case I didn't know a term, but my Spanish was up to the task. Diagnosis: most likely parasites, go down to the lab, and take these meds in the meantime to feel better.

The next stop was back to the caja on the first floor to pay for the tests. A total of three tests came to 20 soles, or around $8. I went to the lab (a closed-off cubicle right next to the street entrance) to ask about the details and get any supplies. Finally, to the attached pharmacy to pick up the medicine for another 20 soles. All in all, the entire visit cost me a little over $20. Of course, there are 'fancier' clinics that have fewer patients, a fresh coat of paint on the walls, and a less grim overall look, but these cost much more.

I can't say I'd fancy the thought of having to undergo any serious procedure here, but I think the clinic system works really well. This same visit in the US without health insurance would be astronomically expensive and out of the reach of most Americans. The downside is that doctors do not make much money here. In fact, there is a strike happening right now (in the middle of an H1N1 epidemic) to address the fact.

Overall, Peru for the win. Minus the fact that I probably got parasites from eating something down here.

Life in Lima Pt. 1: Life as an Outsider

I'm at a party with Jorge and a group of his friends, all Peruvians. I'm mostly following the conversation, at around 80%, when I work up the courage to throw in a comment. Everyone laughs, and I have no idea why what I just said is funny. I don't know if I'm turning red or even more pale, but I can feel the temperature in my cheeks changing and I stare at my glass. Unfortunately, this is not an isolated occurrence.

Living in a foreign country is hard. Everyone has heard of culture shock, maybe even has a friend living abroad who has recounted his or her moments of misery. However, somehow I thought that since I speak Spanish pretty well I was immune from this phenomenon. I don't know if everyone who goes abroad also secretly thinks this or if I am alone in this.

When I stepped onto the plane six months ago with my one-way ticket to South America, I was nervous, not sure what to expect, but mostly overwhelmed with excitement for the adventures that would follow. I would be seeing great sights, meeting new people, and trying exotic foods, all while improving my Spanish. I went backpacking for over five months, from the tip of Patagonia to the jungles of Ecuador, and it was incredible. That's not to say that I didn't have moments of homesickness, but in every new place was a hostel full of instant friends in the form of like-minded travelers ready to chat over coffee, get blitzed on cheap beer, and drop their half-formed plans in order to travel with you for the next week.

Living in a foreign country is different. Backpackers occupy a sort of hedonistic limbo, traipsing from country to country in the absence of the responsibilities of everyday life. In contrast, when you live somewhere, the excitement of the new and exotic is tempered by the same responsibilities and stresses that exist in the US: searching for an apartment, finding a job, paying bills. And all of this happens in a foreign language. In addition, there may be  annoyances that are completely new. In Lima, this takes the form of horrible traffic, loud and insistent horn-honking, and lack of organized public transportation.

But tedium and traffic are tolerable. The real problems come from the sense of being a perpetual outsider, culturally and linguistically. I speak very good Spanish, but classroom Spanish and real-world Spanish are different. Negotiating a hostel room or navigating the nightmarish Lima transportation system are no problem. Following a conversation between good friends, often in a loud bar, is another thing entirely. Jorge, bless his heart, assures me that when I don't understand something, I can just ask him. But what can I do when there's so much I don't understand? It's frustrating to be unable to participate in conversations. Without the tools to communicate, you become less vibrant a person, unable to contribute.

Even apart from the language, there is an entire realm of cultural knowledge that I'm not in on. Viral videos, that TV commercial from the 90s... these are the fodder for jokes and reminiscing. From politics to stupid reality shows to popular entertainers, there are a ton of cultural references that I did not grow up with, and therefore don't understand. All this is almost enough to make one retreat permanently to the comfort of the expat community, or to simply turn right around and go home.

Now, lest you think that living abroad is always depressing and I am having a terrible time of it here, it's not and I'm not. I'll talk about all the great things going on here in a future post, so please don't feel sorry for me. Ok, maybe just a little.