Communication Breakdown

As promised, my two near death experiences.  And I’m not even going to make you read through a bunch of crap before.  I’m all about above the fold writing.

1) Josecito, Edith (both staff members), Yenny and I are delivering Christmas packages to adopted families.  When we come outside from one of the houses, Jose is eating a popsicle (flavored ice in a plastic bag).  I jokingly ask him where he got it and tell him that I want one.  He tells me I can’t have it because I’m an American and it will make me sick (because of the water).  I counter him and say that I’m actually Peruvian (this always gets a laugh because I’m not just pale, I’m vampire pale).  The conversation ends, so end of story, right? Wrong. About 20 minutes later, Jose pulls the car over and goes to a tienda.  He returns with four popsicles.  Oh shit, are those supposed to be for us? Because I didn’t actually want one.  Not at all actually.  I was just kidding.  I don’t have a death wish. I brush my teeth with bottled water for God’s sake; there’s no way I’m going to eat a popsicle.  I told Yenny that this is one of those do or die moments.  And we chose both.  So we ate the popsicles, and they were both refreshing and delicious (mango…mmmm).  We didn't want to be rude.  We haven’t experienced any side effects yet, minus writhing in stomach pain all night (which could or could not be related – hard to tell.  We eat a lot of weird stuff here).  I googled parasite and all other sorts of ailments at 4:00 am, found nothing, and then went back to bed and woke up fine.

2)  Another driver, Percy, and I have a long history.  We’ve known each other for 6 years now and last summer he let me drive on some deserted roads (well, deserted if you don’t count horses and cows and pigs wandering the streets).   Every time I get in the car with him, we go through the same routine: I ask if I can drive and he smiles and politely says “hell no.”  Well Percy picked Yenny and I up from the hospice yesterday and we did our bit.  As we were driving away, I asked if I could drive.  We got about 30 yards, and he stops the car and says, do you really want to drive?  And I say hell yeah, I mean maybe, actually no, but sure, I mean whatever, I’m scared.  He says, “tienes breveté?” Which I thought means, “do you have courage?” (breveté=bravery, maybe? That’s the connection my mind made) And I responded with an emphatic, “Si!” So he tells me that he needs someone to drive the van (one of those 12 seater ones) back to parish.  Shit.  What have I gotten myself into?  Another staff worker, Cristian, accompanies Yenny and I in the van.  I ask Cristian if he knows how to drive, and he says yes, but he doesn’t have his brevete on him and if he got pulled over, he would get in trouble with the police.  And that’s when I realized brevete means license and I don’t have mine with me either.  At this point, I’m in the driver’s seat, the car is in drive, and there’s really no turning back.

 That smile says, "I'm scared out of mind."

I have a new respect for the parish drivers.  The “roads” in the pueblo consist of sand and rocks, which makes for a bumpy ride.  Poor Yenny was sitting in the very back of the van, and the bumps were so huge that she was hitting her head on the roof of the van.  When you visit any foreign country, you always say, “THIS city has the worst drivers.  I mean, really, the worst ever.”  And so, I too, will say that about Piura.  Our only complication was when we got into the city and I had to make a left hand turn.  It’s not a left turn in the U.S. where you would naturally think, wait for a break in traffic and then turn, no.  This was turn-whenever-you-think-you-are-bigger-than-whatever-is-coming.  Well considering I’m in a 12 person van and majority of the other vehicles on the road are mototaxis, this was sooner than I thought.  I’m just sitting in the intersection where I evidently had ample opportunity to turn, all the while, cars are honking at me from behind because I’m clogging up the intersection.  Horns blaring, Cristian yelling, me panicking, Yenny praying - it was an intense moment.  But we obviously lived to tell the tale.

I’ve been cheating this angel of death for almost 3 years now – who knows how much longer I can last?

The smoke on the right hand side of this photo taken in Ireland, clearly shows an angel holding a pitchfork. Not yet, sir.  Not yet.

So basically, I’ve got myself into two situations that could have been easily avoided if I either a) speak better Spanish or b) Peruvians could detect my sarcasm.

And now for some pictures…

 The nativity scene at the parish.  Whenever we play truth or dare with the altar boys and my family - the dare always involves the animals in some way.

 Dafne making her primito smile for the camera.

 My lovely family

 A game of "don't let the balloon touch the ground" that lasted more than half an hour.

 An impromptu ice cream trip at 10:00 in the morning with the altar boys.

 An exhausting game of pato, pato, pollo (for one second last July I couldn't remember the word for goose, so there children are going to be playing "duck, duck, chicken" for the rest of their adolescence)

 I fell in love with these boys.  They called each other "primo" and when I asked if they were cousins, they said no. duh, of course not.

 Love his popped collar.

 Some of the boys before our trip to the movies.

 DDR

 Yay for arcade games!

And now I must go because i have to get ready for El Año Nuevo...

 Bargaining for firecrackers. It was a 16 person effort.

 They burn muñecos like these for New Year's.  Kind of like Fallas I guess.  I'll keep you posted.

So stay tuned for El Año Nuevo – Peruvian style.  We'll be spending New Year’s Eve at Mass… what better way to celebrate?

Bienvenidas

I wrote this during our night at the Lima airport…

The Lima airport kind of reminds me of a mall food court complete with McDonalds and Papa John’s (oh ooosa, I wish I knew how to quit you) and groups of rowdy teenagers, amorous lovers, and elderly groups of onlookers.  Two white backpackers sip Cusqueña and play cards.  A man naps on his backpack.  A Peruvian mother searches frantically through her suitcase for something to calm her screaming child.   A young woman taps away on her laptop that she probably shouldn’t be displaying in a Lima airport when she’s not yet through security.  Oh wait, that young woman is me.

And so is our waiting game.  Yenny and I arrived at 11:30 pm to Lima and our flight doesn’t leave for Piura until 6:30 am.  For these seven hours, Jorge Chavez International Airport is our home (Side note about the airport: Jorge Chavez died in a plane crash.  Will Rogers died in a plane crash.  OKC + Lima = soul mates because who in their right mind would name an airport after someone who died in a plane crash?!)  Besides people watching and reading Eat Pray Love (I’m now in the Pray part, but I much preferred the Eat), there’s not a whole lot to do.  So alone with my thoughts I reflect on my previous experiences in Peru, specifically this very airport.

I remember last summer waiting in the Lima airport and spending well over $75 on souvenirs because evidently I couldn’t find time to buy any presents over the course of nine weeks.  Overpriced Shot glasses and t-shirts it is! I remember blowing up air mattresses to attempt to sleep in the airport while Mr. Reel and Father Ross watched our luggage.  I remember sitting huddled in a corner shaking because I was so sick on our way to Cusco last summer.  I remember calling our tour guide on the pay phone with the CK group when I was 19 because I was the only one who spoke Spanish and opening with “Hola” only to be completely lost after that.  I remember hearing flight announcements every 15 minutes and the sounds of construction as they remodeled the airport (they did a fantastic job).  I remember sampling some kind of liquor in the duty free shop in high school and thinking I was a complete badass.  I remember snacking on chifles and Inca Kola as we sat waiting to go home, worried that our flight was overbooked.  I remember pushing the red/green light to have your baggage checked and getting the red light three years in a row.

And from now on I’ll remember Yenny’s and my breakfast of champions at the Lima airport at 3:30 am:

 Jenny ordered first and the lady gave her two forks.  Imagine her surprise when I ordered my own.  Yeah, we don't mess around.

But all of the waiting and not sleeping was well worth it because our arrival was an absolute joyous occasion...

 Roses :)

 Yenny's always lookin awfully cute while I'm attacking people.

How do we manage to look so cute after a sleepless night?  That shrug says, "beats me." :)

 Dafne - youngest of my family. Beyond precious.

 Yenny and Leidy

So when I say that I live at a church in Piura, I don't actually mean we sleep on pews.  Because that would be both weird and uncomfortable.  We actually stay in a complex connected to the church with real live beds, bathrooms, and a kitchen. See for yourself in this virtual tour...

Our "sitting area." Check out that computer - always the faithful blogger

 Is Yenny trying to seduce me?  I'm not sure, but it's working. With even the slightest movement our bunk beds shake uncontrollably (I can make your bed rock...) and threaten to come crashing down on us

 Our bathroom.  I enjoy obvious captions.

 Dining room

 Other rooms and patio

Computer room.  Those are pictures of the parish staff listing their age and name, and interestingly if they're single or married.  Good to know.

 The actual church (where we don't sleep).

 View of Piura from the bell tower.  Very scenic.

Stay tuned for the next post where I'll describe two near death experiences that have already occurred during our first two days (Boo and Dad - don't worry, it wasn't that bad.  I'm exaggerating.  For all other readers - yes, it was that bad. You're gonna want to read this, comment, follow my blog, and tell your friends).

Heading South for the Winter

10:30 AM

On A Monday

Oklahoma City, OK

            I’m furiously getting ready – showering/packing/mentally preparing and Boozin Susan shouts at me from the dining room, “Lori, come in here for a sec.”

L:  “Mom, I’m kind of busy.  What do you need?”

B:  “Just come here.”

I walk into the dining room to find my mother staring at a globe, brow furrowed, looking awfully perplexed.  Said globe, mind you, still denotes Eastern Europe as the USSR.

B: “Now… Where exactly are you going?”

After this we get into a long discussion about South American geography, where “that big statue of Jesus” is located, where the drug cartels hang out and where I’ll be in relation to them.

So where exactly am I going?

My friend, Jenny (Yenny) and I are setting out on a three-week adventure of epic proportions to Peru, Argentina, and Colombia.  In Peru, we’ll stay in Piura at Santísimo Sacramento parish again for a week, then head to Buenos Aires and stay in a hostel for week (like the legit backpackers that we are), and finally in Colombia we are going to stay with some friends of Yenny’s.

It’s kind of a last minute trip (well last minute in terms of actual itinerary planning, purchasing of plane tickets, hostel reservations, etc., but I’ve been dead set on taking this trip over since the day I got back from Peru in July).  After looking over my last blog entries, I realize I kind of (really, always, incessantly) complain… a lot.  So as part of my New Year’s Resolution, I've decided to focus more on the positive.  I haven’t even arrived to my final destination and I’ve already been given two situations in which to practice my newfound perspective:

1) I’m making a last minute trip to Wal-Mart the morning before I leave.  No matter how meticulously I pack and consult packing lists and play the packing game with Boo (where she asks random items that I need and I confirm that they are in my suitcase.  I swear by this method. I will not go anywhere without first playing the packing game), I always end up frantically running to Wal-Mart for something that I’ve forgotten.  It’s about 9:00 am, I’m feeling good about life, excited, optimistic, good song on the radio, and then I spill my coffee all over the interior of my car.  And it wasn’t like huge swerve, slamming on the brakes coffee spill, it was just set the cup down sideways and it leaked all over the cup holders.  What a way to start the day.  Instead of cursing my clumsiness under my breath, I think for a second, this isn’t just any coffee.  This is Curt’s special brewed, hazelnut deliciousness that makes me salivate in the morning when I drift back into consciousness after a restful night’s sleep in my very comfortable bed.  This aroma stimulates nothing but happiness in me.  I could pay a couple of dollars for an air freshener for a scent not even half this good.  So there you go, spilt coffee = instant (and free) air freshener for my car, so I didn’t even bother to clean it up.

2) NO PERSONAL TV SCREENS ON THE FLIGHT TO LIMA.  To be honest, I was livid.  I’m not proud of the fact that a seeming trivial detail of my trip could rock me to the core, but I have an obsession with personal screens on flights.  In all of my travels (ha, like I’m some really cool, savvy traveler), I’ve only experienced this phenomenon once.  I texted Ryan to relay my horror.  He, too, was equally appalled and instructed me to demand a partial refund.  Now I’m not going to go that far, but you bet your ass I’m going to write a very forceful letter.  Later in the flight, as I’m reading Eat Pray Love (that girl’s got nothin me), listening to all of my favorite guilty pleasure Glee music on my iPod (that George so graciously put on there for me), comfortably nestled between Yenny and Cool Asian With Hipster Glasses, all the while glancing up to catch glimpses of the breathtaking beauty that is Zac Efron in Charlie St. Cloud, I realize… this is all the entertainment I need.

More to come later. But for now a few pictures...

Getting beers in the Houston airport because Jenny is recently 21 and because we can.

Where my screen should have been...

Our arrival in Piura.  A preview of what's to come.  I'm hugging Victor so fiercely that it's possible I may very well be strangling him.