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?