Jorge and I had a lovely, relaxing weekend at the beach and taking in some Afro-Peruvian music, but on Monday it was nose to the grindstone as the school year gets off the ground.
As
of last Friday, my contract officially started with the school. This
week has been a whirlwind of theory, planning, logistics, revising
curricula, finding lost documents, and meeting my colleagues. The kids
come the first week of March, so we have another week and a half to
prepare everything.
So far, it's been quite
overwhelming. I'm teaching 3rd and 4th grade English, and I found out
that I will also be the 3rd grade science teacher. That was a shock, but
now I couldn't be more excited. I can't wait to do all those fun
experiments with the kids! And this is their first year of science, so
it will be exciting to see their enthusiasm and watch how they develop
into little scientists. We're going to learn how to measure and
estimate, watch how plants grow, and learn about the solar system.
However,
I'm still terribly nervous about managing thirty 8-year-olds at once.
On top of that, there are two "special cases" in the 3rd grade, and they
are BOTH in my section! One child has a learning disability and will
have a tutor, and the other has Asperger's and is prone to being
disruptive in the class. Next week, we will have some meetings about
these special cases and hopefully they can give me advice on how to
handle them.
jueves, 20 de febrero de 2014
jueves, 13 de febrero de 2014
English Tea Party
A colleague of mine in San Francisco told me that his father lived in Germany for 20 years, but never learned German and only met other British expats. So when I arrived in Peru, I resolved not to be that person who only speaks English and hangs out with fellow Americans. But while I certainly improved my Spanish, I spent a lot of last year feeling out of place and lonely. About two weeks ago, I finally joined Internations after resisting for a long time. It was the best decision I've made in a while, because I have already met some great people.
One of those people is the wife of the Deputy Ambassador of England, and today Jorge and I were invited to their house for English tea time. The house is beautiful, and has a pool! But the highlights were definitely the Sri Lankan snacks and delicious cakes she made, as well as her beautiful baby. He's definitely a smiler!
It was a really nice afternoon, and despite some language barriers, Jorge felt really comfortable with the whole group. It's been such a relief to have an English outlet, and also to have people who understand the expat experience! I'm all for the authentic experience and hanging out with Peruvians, but I didn't realize how much I missed English.
One of those people is the wife of the Deputy Ambassador of England, and today Jorge and I were invited to their house for English tea time. The house is beautiful, and has a pool! But the highlights were definitely the Sri Lankan snacks and delicious cakes she made, as well as her beautiful baby. He's definitely a smiler!
It was a really nice afternoon, and despite some language barriers, Jorge felt really comfortable with the whole group. It's been such a relief to have an English outlet, and also to have people who understand the expat experience! I'm all for the authentic experience and hanging out with Peruvians, but I didn't realize how much I missed English.
sábado, 8 de febrero de 2014
Summertime in Lima
The months of January, February, and March are summer down here in Peru, and it's quite a welcome break from all that grey that hangs around the rest of the year (and from the extreme cold of the frozen north, which is where I was less than a month ago!). Lima is the only coastal capital in South America, and Limeños love going to the beach.
Jorge and I went last weekend for a bit, but getting there can be tricky. There's a reason the picture above is not full of people: look closely at the ground. It's full of rocks! There are sandy beaches in Lima, but the traffic to get there is awful and parking is impossible. That's manageable however; what I can't manage are the huge crowds. So we settled for our rocky bit of shore and had fun listening to the sound of the tide turning over the rocks.
Another thing that screams summer here in Peru are the ice cream vendors. They ride on little carts (and they breeze through busy roundabouts and intersections as if they had nine lives) and have a distinctive whistle that they use. Of course there were tons of them on the beach, but they are everywhere in the city and pass by the apartment at least once a day.
One thing I find charming about Peru is that many vendors will pass by, offering different services, and they each have their own distinctive whistle. Aside from the ice cream vendors, there is a guy who sharpens knives. He walks along, rolling his equipment with him and blowing his whistle, and when someone stops him to have their knives sharpened, he puts down the stand and connects the belt (it's like very rough sandpaper) and pumps the foot pedal to turn the wheel. It's an incredibly cheap and convenient service, and someday I will remember to take a video, or at least a photo.
Next week I start training for the elementary school, and I won't be able to take in the summer like I have been. But next weekend, Jorge and I are going to the beach in Paracas, four hours south of Lima, to celebrate Valentine's Day (and the anniversary of when and where we first met). I can't believe it's been a year already, but I can't wait.
Jorge and I went last weekend for a bit, but getting there can be tricky. There's a reason the picture above is not full of people: look closely at the ground. It's full of rocks! There are sandy beaches in Lima, but the traffic to get there is awful and parking is impossible. That's manageable however; what I can't manage are the huge crowds. So we settled for our rocky bit of shore and had fun listening to the sound of the tide turning over the rocks.
Another thing that screams summer here in Peru are the ice cream vendors. They ride on little carts (and they breeze through busy roundabouts and intersections as if they had nine lives) and have a distinctive whistle that they use. Of course there were tons of them on the beach, but they are everywhere in the city and pass by the apartment at least once a day.
One thing I find charming about Peru is that many vendors will pass by, offering different services, and they each have their own distinctive whistle. Aside from the ice cream vendors, there is a guy who sharpens knives. He walks along, rolling his equipment with him and blowing his whistle, and when someone stops him to have their knives sharpened, he puts down the stand and connects the belt (it's like very rough sandpaper) and pumps the foot pedal to turn the wheel. It's an incredibly cheap and convenient service, and someday I will remember to take a video, or at least a photo.
Next week I start training for the elementary school, and I won't be able to take in the summer like I have been. But next weekend, Jorge and I are going to the beach in Paracas, four hours south of Lima, to celebrate Valentine's Day (and the anniversary of when and where we first met). I can't believe it's been a year already, but I can't wait.
miércoles, 5 de febrero de 2014
Adventures in Peruvian Cooking
This week has been a very happy week for me, culinarily speaking. I found coconut milk and made a Thai red curry with ingredients smuggled from the US, I stumbled on a store that has natural goat's milk products and makes a delicious goat cheese, and discovered that craft beer has arrived in Peru after all, in the form of the Barranco Beer Company. On Sunday Jorge and I checked out the brewery for their Super Bowl party. Unfortunately, ESPN in South America switched all the commercials to local commercials! But that's what the internet is for, I guess. The beer was alright, not spectacular but a welcome change from the same old Pilsen and Cusqueña. The highlight, however, was the chili dogs. I convinced Jorge to try one, and he was hooked. I don't have a picture because we scarfed them down so fast!
So today, I decided to surprise him by whipping up some chili. Now, this would be a challenge for me under ordinary circumstances since I've never made chili before, but it's even more so here because it's no easy feat finding all the necessary ingredients in Peru. That means improvising! For one, there's no chili powder down here. I had most of the individual spices to make a batch of my own, but I was missing powdered garlic and cayenne pepper. Powdered garlic was easy to find at the supermarket (but the price, like the price of so many things here, made me cringe) and I bought a packet of what I thought was cayenne pepper. I have no idea what it is that I bought, but it has more of a smoky flavor and definitely no heat. Luckily, I had on hand a hot chili and so I sliced that up and dumped it in the pot with the rest of the ingredients. Problem solved. The corn down here is different, larger and not sweet, so I skipped that and added zucchini instead. Canned goods are pricey, so I skipped the black beans and just went with beef. Add some diced tomatoes, garlic and onion and voila! Dash of Italian herbs and we'll see what happens.
Cooking American food, or any type of food that's not traditional Peruvian, can get expensive fast due to imported and specialty products. Ordinarily, I cook Peruvian-oriented dishes using what's fresh (and I make a mean estofado de pollo), but sometimes you just need a flavor break and a little piece of home. This week has been rather expensive, but I think it's worth it. I hope Jorge likes the chili!
Update: He liked it so much I don't know if we'll have much left for tomorrow!
They're just as serious about quantity as quality
So today, I decided to surprise him by whipping up some chili. Now, this would be a challenge for me under ordinary circumstances since I've never made chili before, but it's even more so here because it's no easy feat finding all the necessary ingredients in Peru. That means improvising! For one, there's no chili powder down here. I had most of the individual spices to make a batch of my own, but I was missing powdered garlic and cayenne pepper. Powdered garlic was easy to find at the supermarket (but the price, like the price of so many things here, made me cringe) and I bought a packet of what I thought was cayenne pepper. I have no idea what it is that I bought, but it has more of a smoky flavor and definitely no heat. Luckily, I had on hand a hot chili and so I sliced that up and dumped it in the pot with the rest of the ingredients. Problem solved. The corn down here is different, larger and not sweet, so I skipped that and added zucchini instead. Canned goods are pricey, so I skipped the black beans and just went with beef. Add some diced tomatoes, garlic and onion and voila! Dash of Italian herbs and we'll see what happens.
The finished product. Yummy!
Cooking American food, or any type of food that's not traditional Peruvian, can get expensive fast due to imported and specialty products. Ordinarily, I cook Peruvian-oriented dishes using what's fresh (and I make a mean estofado de pollo), but sometimes you just need a flavor break and a little piece of home. This week has been rather expensive, but I think it's worth it. I hope Jorge likes the chili!
Update: He liked it so much I don't know if we'll have much left for tomorrow!
martes, 4 de febrero de 2014
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.
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.
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.
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.
domingo, 15 de diciembre de 2013
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...
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...
viernes, 6 de diciembre de 2013
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.
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.
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