Un Caso de Identidad Equivocada

Por tres o cuatro semanas ahora he querido escríbir una historia en español. Ahora, pienso que tengo una historia perfecta para esto. Esta es una historia que mi profesor de baile me contó. Aunque la historia es triste, tambien es un poco chistosa.

Hace diez semanas, empecé a tomar lecciónes de baile. Durante este periodo de tiempo mi profesor y yo nos hemos vuelto buenos amigos. Entonces, la semana pasada cuando me pareció que él estaba un poco triste, yo supe que algo estaba mal. Generalmente, él está muy feliz y muy locuaz pero ese día él estuvo muy silencioso.

Cuando yo le pregunté que le pasaba, me dijo que no podría hablar sobre esto. Entonces, yo supe en ese momento que algo grave había pasado. Despues de la clase, me dijo que en este momento a sus perros, dos perros, los habían hecho dormir. Yo sabía sobre un perro que él había tenido por 12 años y que estuvo muy enfermo y necesitó hacerlo dormir y entendí porque el perro estuvo sufriendo mucho pero ¿por qué el otro perro?

Parece que el otro perro, una perrita, que tiene sólo 5 años, estaba un poco agresiva con las personas y otros perros. Y el dueño de la casa donde Edu, su padre, y su hermano viven les digo a ellos que necesitan hacer algo con este perrita y ella no podría vivir con ellos más. Porque él no tiene mucho tiempo y la perrita estuvo agresiva todos pensaron que fue mejor para ella hacerla dormir tambien. Entonces, durante mi clase de baile a los dos perros los habían hecho dormir y despues de clase, mi profesor, su hermano, y su profesor (un amigo), iban a enterrar los perros. Entonces, pude entender la razón porque él estuvo triste y silencioso.

Esta semana cuando Edu llegó para mi clase de baile él estuvo normal otra vez. Cuando nosotros estuvimos casi listos para la clase, él me dijo que el viernes pasado algo muy chistoso había pasado con sus perros. ¡¿Chistoso!? ¿Qué? Despues, el empezó a contar la historia sobre el entierro de los perros. Me dijo que él fue al consultorio del veterinario despues de clase, él recogió a dos perros, y despues ellos fueron afuera de la cuidad para enterrar los perros. Estoy segura que fue un experiencia muy triste para todos.

El siguiente día su hermano le dijo que él pensó que él vió a su perro. Pero, no es posible porque el perro esta muerto y debajo de la tierra. "¡No! No es nuestro perro. Tú eres loco." Pero su hermano estuvo seguro, entonces los dos fueron al lugar otra vez donde ellos enterraron los perros y ellos cavaron donde enterraron a los perros y "¡No, no es nuestro perro!" Fue un perro diferente pero casi exactamente igual. Entonces despues, ellos tuvieron que volver a enterrar el perro incorrecto. Pienso que no fue muy divertido porque él me dijo que el perro estuvo oliendo muy mal y el perro estuvo muy rigido, porque él había estado afuera en el sol caliente todo el día. ¡Qué feo!

Entonces, él y su hermano regresaron al consultorio del veterinario otra vez para buscar el perro correcto. ¡Y sí, el perro estuvo allí! Entonces, ellos regresaron con el perro correcto al lugar
donde los otros perros estaban, y ellos enterraron el perro correcto. Entonces, ahora hay tres perros enterrados en tumbas sin nombres en un lugar desconocido para mi.

Despues de todo, esta historia es un poco chistosa. No puedo imaginar comó es posible que alguien pudo enterrar el perro incorrecto pero pasa. Ojalá que no vaya a pasar con ninguno de ustedes.

Well, this is my first attempt at writing a story in Spanish. I'm sure that most you have no clue what I just typed, although I'm sure you at least caught a few numbers and other familiar looking words in there somewhere. But for all of you who have been wondering what in the heck I've been doing the last 10 weeks...Well, here's proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks. (Okay, I couldn't resist on the dog thing...sorry!) And yes, I did write this myself, although like any good writer, I asked my teacher to review it for me and impressively, there were only a few mistakes. Yahoo!

So, now for all of you who would like to know what happened...here's the story translated into a familiar language...


A Case of Mistaken Identity

For three or four weeks now, I have wanted to write a story in Spanish. Now, I think I have a story that is perfect for that. It is a story that my dance teach told me. Although the story is a little sad, it is also a little funny.

Ten weeks ago, I started taking dance lessons. During this period of time my teacher and I have become good friends. So, last week when he looked a little sad I knew that something bad had happened. Generally, he is very happy and very talkative but that day he was very quiet.

When I asked him about what had happened he told me that he couldn't talk about it. So, I knew in that moment that something absolutely terrible had happened. After the class, he told me that his dogs, two dogs, were being put to sleep. I knew about a dog he had had for 12 years who was very sick and needed to be put to sleep and I understood why because the dog was suffering. But why the other dog?

It seems that the other dog, a girl dog, (who is only 5 years old) was a little agressive towards people and other dogs. And the owner of the house where Edu, his father, and his brother live told them that they needed to do something with the dog and that it couldn't live there with them anymore. Because he didn't have much time and the dog was agressive everyone thought it best to put her to sleep as well. So, during my dance class both dogs were being put to sleep and after the class, my teacher, his brother, and his teacher (a friend), were going to bury the dogs. So, I could understand the reason why he would be sad and quiet.

This week, when Edu arrived for my dance class, he was is old self again. When we were almost ready to begin, he told me that last Friday, something funny had happened. Funny?!? What??? Then he began to tell me the story of the burial. He told me that after the class he went to the vet's office, picked up the dogs, and they all went outside the city to bury the dogs. I'm sure it was a very said experience for everyone.

The following day, his brother told him that he thought he saw their dog. But, that's not possible because the dog is dead and is under the ground. "No! No, this isn't our dog. You are crazy." But his brother was sure so the two of them went back to the place where they had buried the dogs and they dug up the dog and "No! This isn't our dog!" It was different dog but it looked exactly like their dog. So then, they had to bury the wrong dog again. I'm sure it wasn't very fun as he told me that the dog was really stinky and was very stiff because it had been out in the hot sun all day long. How gross!

So, he and his brother went back to the vet's office to look for the right dog. And yes! The right dog was there. So, they went back to the place where the other dogs were and buried the correct dog. So now there are three dogs buried in unmarked graves in a location unknown to me.

After everything, this story is a little funny. I can't imagine how anyone could bury the wrong dog but it happened. Hopefully this won't ever happen with any of you.

The Story of Guizi Martínez

I don’t actually know the entire story of Guizi myself but the part that I do know I want to share with you. I have a pretty good imagination and can only imagine the things that this little guy has endured during his life. Being a street dog can’t be as glorious as it sounds. Although living life with no rules, getting to get to eat junk food (including chocolate), having no curfew, and being able to pee wherever you want, whenever you want, does sound a little enticing. It’s that other side of the coin that’s not so hot…the cold nights without a soft bed or blanket to help keep you warm, living in constant fear that the person walking towards you might hit or kick you, the fact that there isn’t always a meal on the next corner, and that just crossing the street can be a life-ending experience, those are the things that break my heart for these pups living on the streets in Arequipa and everywhere else in the world.

At first glance, Guizi looks like he’s a puppy, probably 2 years old or so. Even when I was able to first pet him two weeks ago, I still thought he was a young dog. He’s probably a lab mix, mainly black with a few white spots here and there on his chest and paws. When we first met, I was walking to school and he was curled up in a little ball next to a wall. I could tell something was wrong with his leg by the way he was laying but I wasn’t really sure what was wrong until I stopped to put some dog treats on the ground near him. He stumbled getting up and I could tell that his leg was probably broken and there were definitely at least two very large open wounds. A lot of times I only see dogs once or twice but this was not to be with the little black dog.

After school that day, I did as I always do; I grabbed my backpack, hooked up my iPod, and headed out the door for my apartment. As I got closer to the spot where I had seen the little black dog earlier that morning I began scanning the street and the sidewalks. And what do you know?!? There he was! He was on the opposite side of the street in the shade as it was 1:00 in the afternoon and although the nights are cool here (cold for me), during the day it gets hot when you’re not in the shade. So I crossed the street and gave the little black dog the rest of the treats I had on my person. Lala, the little dog who lives in the house beneath my apartment wasn’t too happy about the status of available treats (completely empty handed) and I tried my best to explain to her in Spanish that there was a little black dog on the streets who needed them more than she. I couldn’t tell if either she didn’t understand me or didn’t really care about the little black dog who didn’t have a home.

The next morning I headed out with a new supply of dog treats and hopes that the little black dog would be in the streets again. As I rounded the corner, I found myself once again scanning the street for the little black dog. As I got closer and I didn’t see him my heart sunk a little as I thought maybe something had happened to him and he would never be waiting again for me on the sidewalk. But then, I saw something…was it a plastic bag, it was so small, no, was it? Yes! It is! It’s the little black dog. Yahoo! As I crossed the street he raised his head but this time he didn’t get up, he just looked at me. So, I put half of the treats I had on the sidewalk next to him and quietly left wishing that I had more but knowing that I might see him later and I wanted to make sure that I had some for him for later. That afternoon he wasn’t there and as my heart was once again sinking I was thinking, “Why didn’t I give him all the cookies?” I said a prayer for him asking God to keep him safe.

For weeks I would see the little black dog in the mornings and afternoons, off and on, more on than off and every time I didn’t see him I would pray that he was safe and was just off in some other part of the city as by now we pretty much had a routine. He knew that every day during the week in the mornings and in the afternoons, there was a little blonde-headed girl who didn’t look like anyone else, who would come and give him treats. I can’t even explain how happy I was the day he saw me before I saw him and he started running towards me even with his hurt leg, tail wagging and all. “He knows me! He likes me!” I thought.

By now, you might be wondering how the little black dog got his name. About two weeks after we first met, the first time he stood up and started wagging his tail when he saw me on the street, I knew this little guy was special and he needed a name. So, I started thinking about it, “Do I name him after the military base that’s located on the street where I found him? What is the name of the base anyway? What about the name of the street? Hum…Rodriquez…Oh! I don’t like Rodriquez…reminds me of ARod…I don’t like him. Hum…How about Guizi? It’s short for Rodriguez. I think it’ll work…Guizi it is!” So now you know how my brain works, and of course I gave you the short version. In reality, it was a much longer conversation that I had with myself.

By now, the wounds on Guizi’s left hind leg had healed but he still couldn’t walk on it. It was about that same time I started asking my teacher for help with Spanish words I would need to know to be able to communicate with the veterinarian. At that point, I could have a good conversation with him about a lot of things but I definitely didn’t want the vet to think that I wanted to put the little dog to sleep instead of neutering him. I’m sure Guizi is going to think that stinks but it’s much better than never waking up again! As the weeks passed and I continued to see my little friend, Guizi, on the street I started to devise plans and talk to people.

I’m not in the States anymore where there are groups who can help people find homes for animals. And apparently here, a street dog is the last thing anyone wants. All I heard is that it’s impossible, that I should give up, or even better “Tú eres loca, chica!” There is apparently one group here who helps animals but I don’t think they want any more dogs or cats because their contact information was missing from their website and they didn’t have their number published in the phonebook. With the help of Renato, we asked several vets if they knew of anyone who could care for a little dog, if only for a few months as I was bound and determined that Guizi would not be living on the streets for much longer, even if I had to fly him back home with me. And no, no one knew of anyone who could except for maybe one girl and the guy said that he thought she might have room for one more dog but that he wasn’t certain.

Things really started heating up on Friday (Halloween, of all days) when Renato and I went down to talk to the vet about getting some help for Guizi and the guy said that if we could find him and stay with him then he’d come in his van and pick us up. Great! Guizi wasn’t there that morning and I wasn’t sure he would be there that afternoon but it was worth a shot. So we took off down the street in search of Guizi and what do you know, the little guy was there just like most days and he got up to say “Hello!” And I thought, “Oh! He’s here! Oh! He’s here! Oh! Holy heck, he’s here! Oh…Holy heck! Now what am I going to do? I don’t have a place for a little dog. My host parents are going to kill me if I bring a dog off the streets into their home. It’s a blessing and a curse all at the same time.” I went into a little store and bought a package of hotdogs and then Renato went to call the vet and left me with Guizi and my thoughts.

We got Guizi into the van without any problems. He’s such a chill dog. “What in the heck am I going to do? Oh well! Something will happen,” I told myself. So after a trip to the vet, then to the x-ray place, then back to the vet, which is when Henry (the dad) got involved, we all were ready to go to the house. Did I just say all of us? Yep! Every one of us, including Guizi, went to the house. Once we got there we put him in the back garden hoping that it would take a little while for the boss the house, Juana, to figure out that he was there. I’m pretty sure there’s not a lot that gets by her, she’s pretty sharp.

Renato and I left for another vet’s office in search of temporary housing and at this point I was thinking I was going to have to put Guizi back on the street for the night. While on the bus across town, I prayed that God would send a home for Guizi and that He would send it now, we couldn’t wait, we needed a home tonight. I knew at best that I had maybe a week against unbelievable odds to find this little guy a home. While we were gone, God and Guizi were both working on Juana because she allowed the little guy to stay in the garden for the night. In the morning, she commented on how calm and well-mannered he was. :o)

The next day, Guizi received his first bath in his entire life I’m quite sure. I ended up soaked but not because of Guizi, Renato was enjoying dumping as much water on me as Guizi. Unfortunately he ended up clean and I ended up exactly the opposite. How is that possible? After the bath, we had an 80th birthday lunch to attend for Henry’s dad. It was an incredible lunch and I enjoyed meeting Henry’s parents…very sweet people. After lunch, we left for the house to retrieve Guizi once again and return to the vet. By this time the vet had agreed to keep him for a week. God had given us some time. While we were at the vet, Henry showed up with his parents saying that they wanted to look at Guizi. Seriously!?! Could it be?!? And…They like him! They want him! Holy heck! An answered prayer! Yahoo!!!

So we all left the vet’s office and headed to Guizi’s new home. I was still in shock and I was also praying that Guizi hadn’t been putting on a show this whole time and was really a Cujo dog instead. I could see it clear as day. Guizi hanging around the house, acting innocent and hurt, then all of the sudden he goes into a tirade and attacks someone. After all, you never know what to expect from a dog who’s lived his life in the streets. At a minimum, generally they’re food aggressive, which Guizi is not. He’s just this really relaxed, chilled out dog, who is incredibly sweet. It’s absolutely amazing.

The vet said that he thinks Guizi is probably seven years old. That’s a long time living on the streets. But no more for Guizi! Now he’s got a house of his own, (literally, he’s got his own dog house), proper dog food, and his very own collar. It’s been a long life for this little guy but the tide has finally turned and things are going his way. I saw him yesterday when we took him for one final x-ray. The vet says it will have to heal on its own because of the location of the fracture. Here they say, “poco a poco”, which means little by little. It’s a phrase I know very well as my teacher says it to me all the time. :o)

While we were at the vet’s office, the vet asked for the name of the little black dog. I replied, “Guizi” and Henry said, “Guizi Martínez, after his momma.” So, there it is, Guizi Martínez. Martin isn’t a very Peruvian sounding name but Martínez is; it is also the name of the street where I live, which I think is a little more than a bit ironic.

And so the people I have to thank for helping Guizi find a home? Henry, for driving us around in the crazy traffic to and from the vet, the x-ray place, and everywhere in between and for also thinking that his parents could use a new family member. A special thanks to Juana, for allowing Guizi to stay his first night in a home. The vet for stepping up and saying they would provide a temporary house for him (which I am so thankful we didn’t need). Special thanks to Henry’s parents for opening their hearts and home to keep a little dog off the streets. And a very special thanks to Renato for all his help and translating skills, his help, like the help of one final person was incredibly generous. And finally, I thank God for finding Guizi a home. I didn’t know how it was going to happen but I had faith that He was in control. He brought me into this little dog’s life all the way from Oklahoma. I truly believe that. Some people are put on this earth to help other humans and I know that God put me here to help our four-legged friends. I am so thankful that He heard my prayers and answered them and that He did it with great speed.

So, that’s the story of Guizi. I forgot to tell you it has a fairytale ending. Yahoo!

An Answer to the Trivia Question & Much More...

Well, I've been scouring the streets of Arequipa for the answer to the trivia question from, oh! almost a month ago and this morning I finally got lucky. This one is a tad bit different than I originally described because this one doesn't have pedals...it has a motor. (We're sophistacted now boys and girls!) At first I thought I had hit a goldmine. I thought what I saw was a traveling restaurant but alas! It's a door-to-door pot & pan salesperson. Not as interesting as I first thought but fun all the same.

Since I've been here I haven't gotten too terribly sick. At first I had a sore throat, then a sinus infection, and then, well, you don't really want to know about that one. But now I'm happy to report that I'm doing fine and back to my usual self.

Here, anytime you look the least bit puny everyone says..."es gripe", which to me sounds a little comical but in actuality is just the flu. But people say it ALL the time around here. And their cure for "me duele la garganta" - Spanish for "my throat hurts"? Pisco...which is basically a type of whiskey. It's probably best if you think during the days of prohibition when moonshine was cool. I've never actually tasted moonshine but if it's anything like Pisco I don't care to try it. That stuff makes tequila taste like it's for babies. And where does the best, the smoothest Pisco come from you might ask? Not the store! No! Someone's house...I told you it reminded me of moonshine.

I have now tried Pisco, along with a few other things I don't know if I should mention. Oh, what the heck! My Grandma Hetty always used to say "While in Rome, do as the Romans do." Well, I'm not exactly in Rome but I think the saying holds true for here as well although it's a little different. "A donde fueras, haz lo que vieras." Which means, wherever you are, do whatever you see.

In keeping with that theory, I've tried some of the local cuisine which includes the following: anticucho, cuy, and queso helado. Now, on the surface, none of these things sound really creepy but that's because they're in Spanish. Once you translate them, things change and you now have: a cow's heart, a cute little guinea pig fried and on a platter, and cheese ice cream. I can say I am now a huge fan of one of these three things and I'm sure you can probably guess which one it is...the ice cream. It's to die for. And no, it isn't really made with cheese. It's just the name. It's pretty close to our homemade vanilla ice cream but much richer. Probably a cross between that and gelato and anyone who's been to Italy knows about gelato. Wowzers! The other two items that made it onto my plate (or kabob, I should say), I can probably do without eating again.

I am very happy to report that the very frightened guinea pig that was in the kitchen of one of the oldest restaurants in Arequipa was
still alive after my meal. Although his prospects for a long and happy life seemed rather bleak. There were also some baby ducks in the kitchen in a box that I'm sure will be on a platter some day soon. Ugh! It's not right to see your food before hand, that is unless it's a lobster and I suppose they're just not cute enough for me to feel bad about eating.

In addition to trying some of the local cuisine, I've also gotten about town and gone to several historical sites. One of which was The Santa Catalina Convent, which is apparently a part of the Opus Dei sect. I have proof on my camera and it's a good thing because no one here believed me when I was talking about it. Maybe it was because a couple of weeks ago my Spanish was so bad no one could understand what I was saying but I know what I saw and there is no way I'm joining that church. It was absolutely beautiful though with brightly painted walls and streets that look like they belong in Venice. The convent is over 400 years old and is still a working convent. I decided that the nuns there all had to be very short and very fat because all the doorways were very small and there had to be at least 20 different kitchens in the place. Pretty impressive for a nunnery.

I've also been to Sabandía and Yumina which are some small towns outside of Arequipa where there's a lot of agricuture. After taking a 30 minute bus ride which costed about $0.15, we walked to Molina which is a historic location where they grind corn. We then hiked to Yumina, about a 45 minute walk up and around a rather large hill where we ran across a very friendly little goat, some natural pools, which were very frigid, and a chalk tunnel which we walked through with no flashlights. It was all great fun though, including the bus ride home when I almost bowled over about a dozen people because I wasn't hanging on when the bus took off.

I have also taken a trip to Mundo Alpaca where we got a tour of the facility. I got to make friends with some really cute little alpacas. I was surprised to learn that there are about five different species. One reminded me of an ewok on Star Wars and another got really friendly when he tried to first eat my scarf, then my leg. He was really cute though with long, brown, dreadlock type hair, so I didn't mind so much.

In my spare time I've also taken multiple dance classes and two cooking classes since I've been here. I'm still a terrible dancer but I really have fun with my new moves. So far, I'm not an expert in Salsa, Merengue, or Reggaeton but I sure do like the dances! I've also been doing my far share to tear it up in the kitchen. The first week we learned how to make ceviche, a potato dish, and a purple desert, and this week we made tamales, a dish with a lot of chile peppers, and my favorite, queso helado. That's right! Now I can make my own...so watch out Emeril! I might just start up my own version of a Latin cooking show, Peruvian style of course. I've been trying to figure out what to do next with my life...I think I'm going to need to practice some more. :o)

So, what's next for me? For now, I'm working on making friends with a little puppy who lives on the street. He was hit by a car several weeks ago and slowly but surely we're making friends. I named him Rodrequiz because that's the name of the street where I met him but I call him Guizi for short. He's really sweet. If I could get the upload to work I'd upload a picture of him but apparently I've maxed out for the day, something like that. Anyway, I have Guizi, four more weeks of Spanish class and a trip to Machu Pichu and Lake Titicaca planned for the coming month. Oh! I almost forgot Halloween is tomorrow and here, it's a huge deal so we're all dressing up and hitting the town. I hope all of you have a spooky Halloween as well!

An Adventure at El Cañón del Colca

Two weeks ago I left my cozy little apartment at 4:30 in the morning to venture out into the wilderness for three days with a group of unknown friends. My guide came in a taxi to pick me up and just to make sure everything was okay, my host father, Henry, got up as well. I thought this a little strange and unnecessary because after all, who in their right mind would come for me so early in the morning other than my guide or someone else from the agency? When I returned, I found out why it’s important to double check.

We left in a standard tourist bus after picking up the remaining trekkers. There were 17 people in the bus in total…four guides and 13 gringos. Gringo, a word I’m sure originated in Mexico, is used here frequently. However, it’s not just used to describe Americans. It’s used to describe anyone with light colored skin. So, regardless of whether you’re American, German, Australian, or English, we’re all gringos. They commonly use another word to describe Americans which I’m not so fond of, Yankee. People from the South can definitely relate to not wanting to be called a Yankee but here, I’m a Yankee.

We arrived at La Cruz del Condor around 9:00 in the morning after what seemed like a dreadfully long bus ride along dusty roads with multiple traffic jams which consisted of cows, sheep, and donkeys in the road. What also made the trip a little more miserable was a certain German girl who at one point was car sick and then once she found a friend also spoke German, became a chatterbox. Not what you want at 5:00 in the morning. However, we all survived to make it to this incredible lookout point where we were able to witness the gigantic Andean Condors soar through the air before taking off to the Colca River below to hunt for food. They are amazing creatures, some with wingspans up to 12 feet. I read somewhere where they are unable to start flying on their own. It is necessary for them to basically fall off a cliff to start flying. They are amazing birds though and I was very fortunate to see several on both my first and last day of my trip.

Colca Canyon is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon and was created by the Colca River. It is nestled in the Andean Mountains and incredibly, the river is the beginning of the Amazon. The river supposedly got its name from the many holes in the cliffs of the canyon where the Indians in Inca and pre-Inca times used to store food and also used these “holes” as tombs for important people. The crazy thing is, is that after being there I’m not sure who would want to carry food, let alone a dead person, up and down those cliffs and something tells me the trail system is a little better today than it was back then.

Anyway, back to the real story…after a nice lunch in Cabanaconde, where I just so happened to forget my very nice, very new, North Face jacket, we, an Australian named Duncan, a German named Thea, our guide, Jhon (and yes, that’s really how he spelled it), and I headed out for the rim of the canyon. From Cabanaconde it was a five hour hike down mostly steep trails to the canyon floor where we stayed the night at Llanuar Lodge. Where, during dinner a loco kitty continued to hop up into my lap until I finally relinquished the fight and allowed it to sleep on my lap for the remained of the evening. We, Duncan, Thea, and I shared an amazing room complete with handmade bamboo and rock walls, gravel flooring, and pillows made of straw, and of course, no electricity. It was a neat place though and boasted of the canyon’s only thermal pools which we all enjoyed before dinner.

The next morning we started our five hour hike across several mountains around 9:00, after a breakfast of pineapple pancakes, served with, but of course, strawberry jelly. Before leaving home I filled my camelbak, which holds 2.5 liters of water and had an extra 2 liters in two other water bottles. Although it gets very cool here at night, especially in the bottom of the canyon, it gets pretty hot during the day and just as we arrived at Paraiso del Palmas, I sucked the last drop of water from my camelbak. This place was comparable to Llanuar Lodge but had several cold, and I mean COLD, water pools. It was afternoon when we arrived and the sun was still out for a few hours so we decided to take advantage of the sunshine and hung around the pool until lunch was ready. Later that night, after dinner, I looked up into the sky to be greeted by what seemed to be a million and a half stars. I could even clearly see the milky way. It was amazing. There aren’t many places in the world where you can see stars without dealing with light pollution. It really does make a huge difference.

That evening, I began to ask Jhon what time we needed to get up in the morning as an English couple had told us that they were leaving at 5 o’clock in the morning and another group was leaving at 4 o’clock. He was acting a little odd so I thought the better question was to ask when we’d be eating breakfast in the morning. When he replied 9:00, I automatically let out a “Yahoo!” thinking that I could sleep in until 8:55. You can only imagine my surprise when, before 5:00 in the morning, I heard a tapping at the door and a voice saying “Katherine, Thea, Duncan…”. I tried to ignore him for a bit but it wasn’t any use, so I put my torch (headlamp) on my head and began to crawl out of my warm bed. Ugh. Why on earth would anyone get up at 5:00 in the morning to do anything? And, did he expect us to hike up the mountain in the dark? So, the joke was on us, breakfast, although it really was at 9:00 in the morning was at the top of the canyon.

Once we were up and about to leave I searched my bag for my last apple bar, as I was sure I had one left. Hiking up a mountain for three hours without any food in my stomach didn’t sound appealing and with the change in altitude from the bottom of the canyon to the top, it really is important to have some source of energy. After several minutes of searching I finally gave up and Thea offered me one of her crackers and Duncan gave me half of a cookie he was eating. I felt like I was living during the Great Depression and getting food rations.

The hike wasn’t too bad, a 1,100 meter ascent in three hours. There were parts that were difficult because of loose gravel and other parts had large, oddly shaped “stepping” stones cut into the side of the mountain. It took three hours to make it to the top, with multiple stops during which I would blow my nose (as I had developed a sinus infection) and take time to look around me as it was much to dangerous to pay attention to anything other than where your next step would be on the trail.

The last exciting part of the hike took place just mere meters from the top when I looked up to see a man and three burros headed my way. It was too late to go to the left (the mountain side) so I moved over as far as I could to the right to allow them room to pass. The man, burro #1, and burro #2 passed without incident but burro #3 apparently had it in for me because I noticed as he walked he continued to get closer and closer to the edge, where I just so happened to be standing. As he passed, I sucked in my stomach but it was no use as there wasn’t enough room for both of us. Of course, burro #3 being on the inside didn’t have need for concern when we collided. It was I who almost saw my life flash before my eyes when my little feet slipped off the trail and down the side of the mountain. Had it not of been for a rather large boulder within arms reach I wouldn’t be sitting here in my apartment sharing this story with you. How ironic it would have been to be just steps from the top and then die. Thankfully, that day, that wasn’t the story of my life.

Another interesting item that the English couple shared with us is that their guide took them to one of the local Peruvian family’s houses where they donned traditional Peruvian clothing and where given pick axes and some other type of tool used to level the ground. When they began, I thought, “Oh! That’s neat; they got to take a picture. Just like at one of those old-time picture places at Six Flags…cool.” But oh no! They actually worked the fields for several hours. By the time they were finished with their story, tears were streaming down my face I was laughing so hard. Just thinking about it now makes me laugh uncontrollably. So, after we ate breakfast, when our guide told us that we were heading to the fields you can only imagine my horror and that I was thinking, “I actually paid for this?”

Duncan, Thea, and I decided that lots of things are lost in translation, especially when my Spanish is better than our guide’s English. We walked for a while through town but then came upon a tourist bus, which we boarded and eventually arrived in a small town near Chivay, to enjoy some more thermal pools. I am pretty sure these pools were much hotter than the others we had enjoyed at Llanuar, which after hiking 20 km should have sounded pretty good but there was one big difference. That day, it was around noon when we got there and the sun was beating down…not the time of day you want to be hanging out in a “hot tub”.

During lunch, we got to witness the power of numbers when we walked out of a restaurant in search of a more economical meal and the owner ran after us and said we could have soup, salad, chicken or alpaca, French fries, and a drink for 12 soles, which equates to about $4.00 American. So, we all went back into the restaurant and were happy that we’d saved $2.00 a piece. On the way back, we napped, exchanged email addresses, and laughed at the two guys from Ireland and Poland, as apparently they had become great friends since meeting each other a few days earlier. I couldn’t resist snapping a picture; they were just too cute together.

So, all in all, my trip was amazing. It did take me two days of walking back and forth from school to feel normal again. (For two days it seemed that just being able to go up and down the stairs at my house without assistance was a major accomplishment.) I did decide that it was critical for me to have my hiking boots for my next excursion so I’ve asked a friend from back home to send them to me. Hopefully they will be here sometime this week.

And, as for my very nice, very new, North Face jacket, it was waiting for me at the restaurant. They were holding it for me. How incredible is that? Oh, and the part about Henry getting up to check to make sure the guy who came to pick me up was legit? Well, it turns out (I discovered upon my return to the house) that a guy came to the house at 3:00 in the morning asking for me. He didn’t have a car or a taxi and my house mother’s sister who answered the door thought it very strange and told the guy to go away. I still don’t have a clue who that guy was because later that evening we all got together to have a drink and I asked the guide if he came to the house earlier in the morning and he said absolutely not. Here, we call that muy extraño.

A Little Trivia

Well, I know that I promised you all that I would write about my Colca Canyon experience this weekend and since I've noticed that there are actually a few of you who are logging onto the site I thought I should at least put something out here since I didn't get around to the trip report as I had an entire host of things to do this weekend. See below for details...

Friday night I spent the evening with Renato, my host brother, telling him about the wonders of American music...in spanish of course. I brought along my laptop so I have lots of completely amazing hit songs which I shared with him. I explain why Dave Matthews Band is probably one of the most incredible bands of all time, why The Hooters were popular in the 80's, and introduced him to lesser known artists such as Griffin House and legends such as Elvis and Frank Sinatra. Needless to say, his computer was working overtime the rest of the night downloading music from the internet. I will also have to say that he shared some interesting Peruvian music with me...some of which I really liked.

Saturday morning I got up early so I could take my 30 minute walk to school. So as not to disappoint the street pups, I packed several treats and was busy along the way handing them out to wayward strays. After my four hours of class, during which I learned the past tense...yahoo!!! Yes, in two weeks time I am now in my American equivalent of my third semester of spanish classes. Amazing! As usual, when I returned, I needed to take my afternoon nap. I've finally decided that it's not only my brain working really hard that's making me tired, it's also because I'm sitting outside in the sun for four hours each day. We're under an umbrella but the material isn't very thick so a lot of light is filtering through. I could really give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money...it only took me two weeks to notice.

So after my re-energizing nap I got up to take a semi-warm shower (by this time it was past the 3 o'clock cut off for agua caliente) and got ready to go out. I had a wonderful dinner with my host family and when I didn't hear back from my Scottish friend, Craig, another student at the school, Renato said he'd go out with me so I wouldn't have to go by myself. My friends, Anna and Ines, were apparently near death on their Misti hike, one of the three mountains that surrounds Arequipa at a mere 19,000 feet. (I decided after developing a sinus infection last weekend at Colca that it was probably best that I not go until I had that under control. Boy am I glad I played it smart.) So, Renato and I left the house for an evening of dancing. My dance teacher, Edwardo, said I needed to practice and where else better to practice that at the discoteques? I enjoyed an evening of very bad karaoke singing, live music, and DJ played American and Latin America music collections all in the same club. I had fun trying out my new salsa and merengue moves though. Like they say, practice makes perfect.

Today, because of all my practice last night I didn't crawl out of bed until 11:00. This is proof I'm sure of my desire to only be the very best at everything I do. So after eating breakfast at 11:00, then lunch at 1:00, it was time to start studying. I took at break at 5:00 to head out with Ines to meet Anna at Cusco Coffee near the Plaza. Anna is leaving tomorrow for Puno, Peru, then on to La Paz, Bolivia, then back to Cusco, Peru where we all three hope to meet up to hike Machu Pichu in mid-October. Upon returning, I began my studies where I left off and just now decided to take a break to share with you some more of my incredibly interesting life. :o)

So, now you can understand why I haven't had any time to write about my Colca Canyon adventure. But...the title to this blog is "A Little Trivia" and no, I haven't written anything concerning trivia have I? Nope...but here goes. I've seen this twice since I've been here. The first time I didn't have my camera and the second time (this weekend) I had it but I felt a little bad about taking the picture. The next time I see this I promise I'll take a picture and post it because it's the answer after all! So, here goes....

Question: What has two wheels, a set of pedals, a platform, a rack for stacking things, lots of pots and pans, and a hardworking Peruvian?

Living an Ordinary Life in Arequipa

Today is my 35th birthday. I will spend most of my day either at school or studying which at this point in my life makes me completely happy. I’m still worn out from my weekend excursion to Colca Canyon and have decided that I’m either really getting old or I’m much more out of shape than I thought.

I woke up early this morning and opened some birthday cards from some friends that I had taken with me from home. What lovely surprises…thank you all for the smiles. I then decided that since it was my birthday that I should go back to sleep. That worked for a little while but now I am ancy again and ready to do something but not something that includes leaving my warm bed.

I was going to write about my Colca Canyon experience first but I think I’ll save the really exciting stories for later in the week…perhaps this weekend. Although weekend excursions to canyons and mountains are exciting there is plenty here in daily life that amuses me. So, I thought I’d share that with you; a little glimpse of my kooky life in Peru. These are just a few of the things I’ve experienced in the short week and half that I have been here…

· I walk to school every morning. It’s a good 30 minute walk so I’m figuring it’s almost two miles. (I’m not trying to set any land speed records, okay.) But on the way to school I pass several interesting things. Dogs on the roofs of houses looking down into the street to see what or who they can harass. I pass by my favorite sign every morning about half way into my walk; hot dogs. It makes me laugh every time. Just before I get to school, I have to cross the street where there is a manual traffic signal i.e. a little policeman in a little house. At night he has a glow stick similar to the ones they use at the airport at night to help the pilot know where to park the plane.

· You all know I’m a big fan of animals. So it shouldn’t surprise you that within my first week I went to the supermarket (don’t think Wal-Mart here, it’s not that glamorous) and bought some dog treats. There are more dogs running the street here than I could count in a lifetime. In the mornings generally you can find them foraging for food. You might think that the sight of puppies running the streets would break your heart on a daily basis but sometimes it makes me smile. (Like I said, it’s a kooky little world I live in.) There are times when I’ll pass a “family” of dogs because that’s how they act. They hang out together and it’s clear to me that they watch out for each other. Frequently I’ll pass a group of four or five dogs who look like they’ve never even dreamed of a bath and all but one, the lookout dog, will be taking a nap. I can only imagine the loyalty in the group. Hey guys…looks like there’s trouble up ahead, we better get outta here.

· Every day I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with my host family. You would think that mealtimes would be peaceful times where one could relax. And sometimes I do. But most of the time my brain is in overdrive trying to keep up with and stay involved in the conversation. It’s always a glorious moment when I say something that was intended to be funny and everyone laughs. I’m just always praying it’s because I said what I was trying to say. The meals are delicious though. Lunch is definitely the biggest meal here and is always three courses. The first course is generally soup. Before arriving here I’d only had one type of soup in my life and pretty much would veto anything other than homemade potato soup. Not anymore. I eat whatever it is they put in front of me. I’ve been told that people in the larger cities don’t fix cuy (guinea pig) or gato (cat). Yep…that’s right, those cute little fuzzy pets of yours are dinnertime chow for an entire country. The second course is generally some type of meat and rice. They also fix a lot of vegetables, which I’ve never been really good at eating. The third course is generally some kind of fruit dish. My favorite…fresh pineapple, sautéed in butter, sugar, and fresh orange juice. You talk about yummy.

(This is my school.)

· I think the only reason I’m able to eat all the fruit and veggies here is because they are so fresh. I have never had fruit so juicy in my life. I don’t know that I’ll be able to eat it anymore when I return home. Serena said the same thing when we were in Miami, that she couldn’t eat it when I offered her some grapes. At the time I didn’t understand but now I totally get it. There is a difference. And it’s huge. One of my favorite fruits is something that grows on a tree, looks similar to an orange but has a shell like an egg. You have to crack it to eat it. It looks totally disgusting. It reminds me of something out of Alien verses Predators…slimy clear liquid with nasty green colored seeds. You shouldn’t have an edible picture in your head at this point, because it doesn’t look edible but it is out of this world delicious. You just don’t want to chew, just swallow. It’s very dulce…Spanish for sweet.

· Going to the bathroom is always a fun adventure around here. It’s not that you can’t find one but generally when you do come across one there is never any toilet paper. So, I’ve gotten used to carrying around my own. And the tricky part is if you do have some then you have to remember to put it in the trash can afterwards. I have to really think about it to remember…no multitasking for me in the bathroom any more! The shower is another thing I’m figuring out. At home, I’d always take a shower in the morning while some people take showers in the evening right before going to bed. Here, I quickly learned that if I want a hot shower I have to take one between 2 and 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The water is solar heated which basically means it sits in a black tank on top of the house which warms the water when the sun beats down during the day. I am fortunate to have an electric heater shower head but it’s no match for the cold water in the morning or at night. You can only imagine how crazy my hair is every day from 8:00 am until mid-afternoon. I’m glad I brought plenty of ponytail holders.

· Another interesting thing I’ve noticed is that they ration napkins here. They have the corner on the market for the world smallest napkins. They are the same size as ours but only one sheet. So where ours is like an 18x18 inch square of paper folded multiple times theirs is just one little sheet. So if you’re going to spill anything on your lap you better be good at strategically placing food.

(This is my apartment.)

· The transportation around town is quite interesting as well. Most of the buses here resemble VW vans and are commonly packed with 50 people. It’s quite a sight and an experience. I haven’t taken the bus that many times because I’m not really sure where they all go just yet. They all have signs on the front but by the time I have figured out which one I should be on it’s already passed me. You’d think that the guy hired to yell at people to get on the bus and who tells everyone where it’s going would help but my Spanish isn’t that good just yet. So generally I either walk to the Plaza de Armas (the city center) or I take a taxi. The problem with taxis for me is that I look like a foreigner…blonde hair (at least half of it…that irresponsible hair thing I’ve got going on) and blue eyes make me a target for every freakazoid out there. Anywhere I’m going a taxi should cost 3 soles which translates to $1.00 American…pretty cheap transportation when you figure it takes me about 40 minutes to walk from my apartment to the Plaza…about 2.75 miles, one-way. But commonly this is how the conversation goes…”A la Avenida San Martín…cuesta es?” And I commonly here “cinco soles” or worse “siete soles” to which I reply “es muy caro, no gracias” and then go look for another taxi. Yesterday was the first day that the first taxi driver I asked replied “tres soles” – Yahoo! No walking for me! I think it might have something to do with my Spanish getting better, I’m not sure. Maybe I just got lucky and got an honest driver.

(This is my teacher, Elivra.)

· I’m also working on my whole “being assertive thing”. Regardless of whether it’s standing in a line or walking down the sidewalk if you don’t take charge you’re not going to get anywhere. So, I’m learning basically how not to be as polite as I used to be. I am also learning how to disregard constant horn beeping telling me that I need to hurry up as I cross the street. This place would be a nightmare for a third grader…they’d never get across the street.

So that’s pretty much what I’m up to these days…passing out treats to the pups who live on the streets, studying Spanish about 6-7 hours a day, and mixing in some fun with my new friends. I was originally thinking about staying here 3 weeks then traveling for a few weeks but I really like my Spanish teacher, Elvira, and things are going well and I’m enjoying being able to speak the language. It’s amazing at this pace what a difference a day can make…so I don’t know. I suppose I’ll leave it up to chance at this point and see which way the wind blows. Isn’t that what Mary Poppins does?

(These are my friends, Ines (Germany) and Anna (Poland).

Author's note: I was unable to publish this blog until the following day due to the fact that all of South America was without internet service. My birthday has and will continue to be celebrated on September 24th.

Bienvenido a Perú

My first day in Peru started early Friday at 6:15 when my plane touched down in Lima. Antonio, my driver, was very gracious and pointed out interesting sights along the way to La Posada del Parque, the hotel where I stayed while in Lima. It’s a relatively quite place and the only reason I say relatively is that I am sure that I will hear the incessant beeping of car horns all night long. I don’t think the drivers honk at anything in particular. I think they either like the sound of their horn (some are quite entertaining, on the first toot anyway) or perhaps they just get bored and it gives them something to do in the traffic while they’re waiting.

Speaking of traffic, I had heard and read that it is some of the worst in the world. And I will have to say that I agree. I have only seen driving like this one other time in my life. It was when I was in Barcelona and I remember thinking back then that anyone who got in a car had a death wish. I am happy to report that I have not been involved in any automobile accidents as of yet nor have I witnessed any. I did, however see numerous near misses and close calls. There are two things that are perplexing me at this moment about things I saw while being strategically driven through the city. The first is how many people can actually fit in a minibus? These small buses look like a sardine cannery attendant packed them. They are similar to VW vans and apparently have a capacity of 50. The second question is what in the world are these people who walk down the middle of the road thinking? In America, it is common to see window washers or people with flowers weaving in and out of traffic near an intersection. I’m okay with this and although I think it’s dangerous it makes more sense than what I’ve seen so far. I’ve seen old women, young men, and children, all walking the white lines in the middle of the road peddling whatever it is they think will sell. This wouldn’t be too much of a stretch from what you see in America if not for a few things. 1) There are three lanes of traffic but cars are five lanes thick and 2) In between the cars is where the motorcycles zip by which also happens to be the street peddlers’ lanes. I really don’t understand how there aren’t more accidents and deaths. Fortunately, I haven’t witnessed anyone driving on the sidewalk as I did when I was in Puerto Rico; always proof that things can get worse.

While in Lima, I walked around the city, one thing the guide book says you really shouldn’t do. However, my new Peruvian friend, Eulo, from the hotel wanted to practice his English so he went along with me. We first headed to the Museo de la Archeological and then on to the Plaza Mejor and the Cathedral. I also had a local dish, ceviche which was very yummy. In the evening, I had dinner with a new friend from England, Rachel. It was her last night in Lima and she gave me several pointers on things to see in Peru. She’s a very sweet girl and I’m looking forward to traveling to England and visiting my new friend. On Saturday afternoon I ventured out on my own and visited the Museo de la San Francisco y Catacombes. The San Francisco Monastery was one of the most important churches in Lima in the 17th century which also served as the local cemetery. During the 17th and 18th centuries there were over 200 monks that lived at the convent. Today, there are a total of 35. Although the church was absolutely unforgettable it was easily surpasses by the catacombs which served as the burial grounds for over 75,000 people for over two centuries. I think it would be a little creepy to go to church on Sunday knowing that there were dead people right under the pews but apparently that was life back then.

Now, I am sitting in my apartment in Arequipa which is in Southern Peru. I’ve met a whole host of interesting people on my trip. Serena, from Milan, who loves to salsa dance. Katharina, originally from Germany, who now lives in Paris. Brenda, who lives in North Carolina but was born in Peru. Rachel, who is a vet who lives in England and my newest friend, Ines, who is from Hamburg, Germany. She is staying with the same host family as I am. She’s a great girl and took me out today to the supermarket so I could pick up some things and showed me around some of Arequipa…mainly the beautiful Plaza de Armas.

My host family, the Paz-Cornejo’s are amazing. They speak slowly and use exaggerated hand gestures so most of the time I am able, even with my limited ability, to keep up with the conversation. As I said before, I am actually in a small apartment above the main house, which is a little bigger than my cabin at the lake. There are two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a full kitchen. I think at some point I will probably have a roommate which will be fine with me. Ines has a room in the main house. Although I haven’t met everyone, apparently the grandmother, and a sister with her children also live here. It kind of reminds me of a small apartment complex.

Last night while I was sleeping I awoke to what sounded like gunshots and lots of them. I lay there in bed thinking “Boy am I in the wrong place. It’s not safe to go out at all at night.” I asked Henry, the father, in the morning, in completely broken Spanish what the noise was last night. He said that it was the church setting off fireworks in a celebration. I can’t tell you how relieved I was. It is much calmer here than in Lima. Not near as many people and much less traffic, although no one here knows how to drive either.

I start school tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. Ines says it will take us 30 minutes to walk there. I’m looking forward to it. She says that she’s only been in school a week and had never taken Spanish before and she speaks so much better than me. She has been in country for three weeks now though and in a few weeks she’ll start volunteering at a local orphanage. We’ve already talked about taking a few trips together, although at this point I’m sad to report that I might not be able to make it to Bolivia…political unrest. Apparently the Presidents of both Bolivia and Venezuela have kicked out the U.S. Ambassadors. We’ll see though…the most dangerous road in the world is in Bolivia and I was really looking forward to riding a bike on it. So maybe things will calm down before too long.

Of course, being a quick learner, there are some things I’ve already figured out…
1) When you ride in the taxi always make sure to keep your bags in the center of the car as someone walking down the street will take them from you if they are near the door when you are stopped.
2) Traffic signals and signs mean absolutely nothing…to anyone.
3) No one will speak to you (or heckle you) if you have a male escort and the exact opposite is true…no escort, you better get ready!
4) Don’t even think about trying to pass off an old or torn bill…American or Sol. No one will take them…period.
5) Unless you want to constantly be at the end of the line you better get ready to be pushy. It’s time to learn to be assertive.

I’ve already had great fun and am looking forward to school this week. I already know my mind is going to be worn out. Translating the dinner conversations has been fun yet exhausting. I’m ready for this to get a little easier. But number one…it’s been great fun!