Which direction is home?

On my flight back to Peru after being back in the U.S. for three weeks, I was chatting with my neighbor and mentioned that I had gone home for a visit. Then in the next sentence I said that now I was "coming home to Peru." After saying that, I stopped to think for a moment. Which direction is home? Is it "coming home," or is it "going home"?

Most everyone who moves away from the place they grew up asks themselves that question at least once, but for expats I think it's more pronounced and more nuanced. I lived in San Francisco for a year and a half, but home was always Minnesota.  When I moved there, I knew that I was going to go traveling so I never had any permanent mooring, never set down any roots. San Francisco is lovely and has great coffee and I love it dearly, but it was always just a place I was passing through, a love affair with an expiration date.

Home?

Peru is different. I came here with the intention of seeing what would happen. What happened is that I fell in love, and now I'm living with my Peruvian boyfriend. I'm about to sign a contract that'll take me through to December, and I'm filing the paperwork for my carné de extranjería, or Peruvian green card. I don't know what will happen after that time, but it's clear that I'm staying long enough to put my feet up. We're planning upgrades to the apartment (not the knock-down-the-walls kind, just some badly needed storage and aesthetic updates). And I'm finally going to do what I've been talking about for two years and buy some damn houseplants.

Home?

These are not things you do when you're planning on taking off again soon. And yet, I don't know if I'm ready to call Peru my home. There is a rightness in the word "home," a sense of fitting in.  A feeling like worn-in slippers. When you can say, I belong to this place and it belongs to me.

Minnesota belongs to me. I claim it when I hear a Bob Dylan song on the radio here and excitedly tell people that he was from my state. I claim it when I snort dismissively at other people's idea of cold. ("You don't know what real cold is! Come to Minnesota.")  Lima does not belong to me. The Spanish language does not belong to me.  But little by little, I'm laying claim to my life here.

As Austin Powers said, "Wherever you go, there you are." Maybe Peru is not my home, but I have a pretty kickass thing going for me here, and that's enough for me.

Churin

Yikes, I'm not good at updating this in a timely manner! In my post about the accident about a week ago, I said I was going to talk about our weekend getaway in Churin.  This is an extremely popular destination for Limeños, especially those who don't have big wallets. It's located in the northeast corner of Lima province, about 7 hours away from the city. The draw is the abundance of natural hot springs in the area, which are said to have healing properties. It's also nice to get away from the noise and pollution of Lima.

There are a number of hot springs, but the most famous are the Huancahuasi baths, an additional hour and a half outside Churin. These were definitely worth the drive! There are two large pools and a few smaller, individual rooms. All the pools have the temperature posted. We stayed in the 30 degree pool for most of the time. We ventured into a 34 degree pool, but I could only stand it for about 5 minutes and when I got out, my legs were bright red! We left very relaxed, but also freezing. While waiting for the taxi, it started raining. Apparently, it's winter in the mountains and we were not prepared with just our t-shirts. We also visited one hot spring in town, but were less impressed. It wasn't as well kept up, and the coolest pool they had was a whopping 36 degrees, which we didn't know before we paid. We spent most of the time trying to cool the water down and dipping our toes in. Well, Jorge did better than me - I was the wimp.

The next day, we took a colectivo to the provincial capital of Oyón, about 45 minutes away. Jorge had seen in his guidebook that there were a number of lakes and forests that were worth a visit. Because this is not the high season, however, there were no tours and we would have to find a driver willing to take us around. Luckily, we shared the taxi with two older ladies who had the same idea, and we rented the car for the day. We went to some beautiful mountain glacial lakes and saw a lot of sheep on the way. All the locals had dogs to herd the sheep, and for some reason all the dogs would run at the car, biting the tires and barking. I was nervous that we would hit one, but fortunately we didn't.

The roads were in terrible condition and we had plenty of tense moments, but when we arrived at the Laguna Surasaca we were greeted with this sight:

We went down to the shore to take pictures and wash our hands. It was so peaceful and truly isolated; I bet fewer than twenty people make it here in a year.

After visiting the laguna, we had one more place to visit: a protected forest of queñuales, a tree native to Peru. After getting lost more than once and asking a number of locals, we were climbing up a narrow dirt mountain road (it seems like that's the only type of road there is around Churin) until we reached a sign saying "Private: Property of Oazuna Mine" and a big dump truck. Two rough-looking men approached the car and told us we had to get a special permit to pass. Confused, we asked them if the woods were further up the road. They said that yes, they were, but the road was owned by the mine and therefore closed to the public. They looked pretty serious and one guy had a gun, so we turned around, disappointed, and went back to Oyón. I don't know for sure, but I have a feeling that mine was up to something fishy. There are a lot of coal mines in the area, but the air of secrecy and the covered truck we saw make me think that there was something else going on.

Back in Churin, we packed and got ready to rejoin civilization in Lima. Lots of people say they enjoy the provincias and escaping the noise and fast pace of Lima, and I get that. However, I realized that I am a city girl through and through: I like hot water on demand, toilets that flush, fresh produce at reasonable prices, and paved roads. That last one is pretty important. Although I enjoyed the trip, I wasn't thrilled, and with what happened on the bus, I can say with some assurance that we'll be thinking about a trip somewhere flat, with paved roads. I can hear the beach calling...

The One Where the Bus Tips Over

In my next post, I'll write about the nice weekend I spent in Churin and the things I saw there, but this post is about what happened on the way back. You're probably friends with me on Facebook, you've probably seen the pictures, but here's the full story of what happened. As my brother said, if you didn't blog it, it didn't happen, so here it is.

Our bus left at 11 from Churin, and from the start it was evident that the driver liked to drive fast. Churin is situated between three mountain ranges, which means that it has all of the winding roads with precipitous drops into steep gorges that you'd expect. It also has no guard rails and isn't paved. Needless to say, Jorge and I were pretty tense. We drove for about an hour through the mountains, slowly descending, until we reached a flat stretch. Our bus tipped over about 20 meters after we had passed the last drop-off.

In this post, I wrote about that awful, impossibly long moment when the bus started to tip. Well, the moment isn't any shorter the second time, and this time the bus did tip over. The moment you realize what's happening goes on for an eternity; the crash happens in no time at all. I remember Andrea Bocelli had come up on the iPod's shuffle, and I had closed my eyes to pretend we weren't actually going down those roads at that speed. I had time to look at Jorge with alarm, and then I was flying through the air. I don't remember landing, but Jorge says he caught my hand in mid-air and helped me land standing up. I just remember a lot of dust, and how comical it was to see Jorge suspended in mid-air. We had both put on our seat belts, but mine must have broken. I think we were the only two people in the entire bus of 50 or so who had used their seat belt.

Someone had opened the emergency hatch in the roof, and I clambered out through that. My shoes had gotten knocked off in the crash, and we were in some kind of corn field. Jorge made sure I was alright and then helped other people get out. Eventually, someone started throwing all the small items out of the bus, and I was reunited with my shoes. Also safe: both pairs of headphones, four tubs of dulce de leche, Jorge's iPhone (although he had to "remind" the guy who was "guarding it for safekeeping" to give it back), and a bottle of beer. Yes, a bottle of beer. Another passenger had an entire crate of wine that survived unscathed!

Some of the passengers were not so lucky. It was an awful scene outside the bus: ladies screaming, a grown man crying, a score of people bleeding from the head or the face. Soon, a Jeep stopped and took the handful of injured people to the nearest town because the ambulance would take a while to arrive. There was no cell service; I can't imagine what it would have been like if this had happened at night.

After everyone calmed down, I started thinking about what our next move was. How were all these people going to get out of here? And why did we forget to pack water today of all days? Just then, about 15 minutes after the accident, another bus pulled up. It actually left Churin at the same time, but the driver had decided not to risk the lives of all the passengers and drive at a safe speed. Luckily, there were some empty seats on the bus and we climbed on. We went on our way, grateful for the quick rescue.

But wait! Five minutes down the road, we heard an ominous scraping sound. The bus stopped and everyone got off to see what the matter was. After waiting around five minutes, Jorge and I still didn't know if it was serious or if it was going to take a while to fix, so we got off and milled around with everyone else. Then, out of nowhere, a big white van drove up. It was empty and had about 15 seats. We decided to go in the van to Sayan, the nearest town. From there, we took a shared taxi to Huacho, 2 hours away on the coast. We met an Australian girl in the taxi, and she accompanied us all the way back to Lima. From Huacho we took another bus to Lima. Of course, Lima is really big, and the terminal wasn't even close to the apartment, so we took the Metropolitano bus to a nearby neighborhood and then finally, a taxi. During the whole trip, it was surreal to think that we had been upside down in a bus, 5 hours away, and no one around us knew. 7 vehicles and 11 hours after leaving Churin, we got home exhausted and immediately jumped into the shower. Then we discovered to our delight that we had two cold cans of beer in the fridge (and of course the miraculously unbroken bottle, but that was pretty warm by then).

The next day, I could barely lift my head from my pillow I was so sore. Apparently, your body reacts to a crash by tensing up all your muscles. I felt like I had gone too hard at the gym, then had a martial arts expert kick my ass. The irony is that Jorge and I went to Churin to relax in the hot springs, and we both left thinking we were going to keep that feeling all the way to Lima.

So, what's the takeaway from an experience like this? Unfortunately, I didn't learn any big life lessons. I don't live every moment like it's my last. Yesterday, I had a long to-do list and I sat around and wasted hours on the internet, and I'll probably do it again. I guess I'll wear my seatbelt more faithfully, for a time at least. I'll avoid winding mountain roads and not-so-reputable local bus companies. I told myself I'd put together a first aid kit to bring with me when I travel; I don't know if I'll get around to it. The only thing that I know for sure is that I really love my boyfriend. For the first few moments after the accident, before I knew he was ok, there was a heaviness in my chest that only lifted when I saw that he was fine. When I play the possibilities in my head of what could have happened, the outcome that gives me a nauseous feeling in my stomach is not that I'm not ok, but that he's not. I know that there is no one I would rather have at my side through this whole experience, and I guess I'm lucky to have realized that.

Voting Day: Peru's Political Circus

Today is election day in Peru, and in Lima that means that all of the almost 9 million residents will drag themselves to their polling place to fulfill their civic duty. Elections in Peru are compulsory, and those who can't or don't vote are slapped with a fine of S/. 74, or around $25. Though the amount of the fine is trivial, waiting in line to pay it at the Banco de la Nacion is punishment enough.

People wait in line at the Banco de la Nacion

What are the people voting for today? A handful of city councilmen who will serve for less than 4 months, when a new election will be held. Many ballots today will be left blank or purposely spoiled with drawings - the only way for Peruvians to express their contempt of the political system here while avoiding a fine. However, if more than two thirds of the votes are left blank or spoiled, the election results will be voided and new elections held – a strong disincentive for many voters, as no one wants to repeat this process.

The election will cost the city around S/.100 million ($40 million) – that's S/. 4.5 million soles per councilman, or over S/. 1 million per councilman per month served. This in a country that has a GINI coefficient of almost 50, making Peru more unequal than Mali, Pakistan, Russia, and Burkina Faso, to name a few.

In addition, the Peruvian transit system is not set up to handle all the extra traffic, which means huge traffic jams, packed buses, and a sea of miserable people who would rather be anywhere else on what for many is their one day off in the week.

To add insult to injury, in order to ensure "fair" elections, Peru has a ley seca, or "dry law," meaning alcoholic drinks cannot be sold to the public from 48 hours prior to election day until noon of the day after. While I understand the intent of the law, I believe that 48 hours is excessive, and I don't understand why people can't buy a beer after voting. Sheesh, at least give them that!

Translation: With the candidates we've got, you need liquid courage to go vote

Peruvian elections are a joke anyway, and this one is no exception. Peru has a long and well-documented history of political scandals, nepotism, corruption, and trying to buy votes with public works (whose contracts often go to companies owned by friends or family of the politicians) and passing out free food to the poor (these donations abruptly cease after elections are over). The Peruvian people have no faith in their politicians or political system, and why should they? In the last presidential election, the daughter of Alberto Fujimori, the ex-president currently serving 25 years in prison for human rights violations, was only narrowly defeated by current president Ollanta Humala. Another ex-president, Alan Garcia was re-elected for a second term despite a disastrous first term marked by extreme inflation (leading to the national currency being replaced twice), soaring poverty, and human rights violations. Every week, a new scandal surfaces. In addition, congressmen earn around S/. 17,000 (over $6k) every month, aside from other income garnished from pet projects or outright corruption. Compare this to the minimum wage of S/.750 ($250).

Is there hope for Peru? I don't know, but as long as the status quo is maintained, I wouldn't hold my breath.

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!