ambuvendores

Sort of in conjunction with my last post, I would like to highlight an unavoidable phenomenon in Lima: people wanting to sell you stuff. Everywhere!
Those studying micro-economics would have a ball here because of an almost absurd amount of people with small businesses or simply a backpack filled with candy that they sell on the buss. Today I took some time to jot down all the kinds of products sold by street vendors I've seen in my time here. The abridged version of this list only includes vendors who have no carts or trollies in which they display their merchandise.

Most commonly you will see people of all ages stepping on the bus, first introducing themselves with a very sad story about how fate has left them with many children, a sick mother, or jobless because of the government's vicious hand striking down on their previous place of employment. Afterwards they reach into their bags and produce some "turrones arequipeños" (candy bars), "caramelos de cafe" (coffee flavored toffees), or "chicles de varios sabores" (chewing gum of various flavors) for 50 or 10 centimos each. They will pass by each seat to ask for some support.

Similar types of vendors on the bus will offer peanuts and raisins, slices of homemade strawberry pie, churros, ice cream, sodas and water, newspapers or even highlighter pens. Some step on, dressed up as clowns and perform jokes and magic tricks, others carry their guitars, cajones, and/or flutes and will perform a few songs for the--most of the time annoyed-looking--passengers.

In places like Gamarra, individuals will stand on the side of the road holding cellphones and screaming "llamadas por un sol!" offering phone calls. If you walk around that place in sneakers, there is a high chance that a somebody will come by with a little sponge and polish to start cleaning one of your shoes. He will continue to do so even if you tell him no. If you don't pay him 50 centimos, you will walk around looking like a loser having one clean and one dirty shoe.

While walking around, I've come across andean women selling their hand-knit socks and scarves on the side of the road, old men selling knives, watches, sunglasses, table china, and home-made sandwiches out of a little hand cooler. On almost every block you will find a young man carrying a little shoe polish contraption, offering their shoe shine services to newspaper-reading businessmen.

When I am at home I hear the obnoxious haaaaaaaaaaaooooooonk quack sound coming from the bread man's tooting horn in the morning, and the high pitched pentatonic scale from the plastic pan flute of the "tio" with the knife sharpener that he rolls down the street in the afternoons. About once a week, a man will knock on our door asking if he can clean my housemates' car for them. He usually charges 3 soles and does a fine job.

And sometimes, when I'm lucky, I come across some really nifty business schemes:
Somebody may sit on the side of the road with a scale in front of her, charging you money to weigh yourself. My favorite find to this day, however, has to be this middle aged man I discovered standing on the corner of a busy intersection in Pueblo Libre, holding a body-sized mirror. As people walked by it, he would offer them a longer look at their reflection for fifty centimos. Now here's a man who understands the human mind!

Socialism Communism Terrorism. Rats tomorrow

I am taking a course entitled "Pensamiento social peruano" (Peruvian Social Thought) and although I'm certainly failing at understanding everything the professor is trying to teach me, I am still getting a glimpse of social theories pertaining to Peru during the last century. In conjunction with the course, I am reading a novel entitled Mañana, las Ratas (1984) "Tomorrow, the rats" by Jose B. Adolph: in the year 2034 the planet no longer knows countries and world politicians have been replaced with company executives. Lima finds itself in disturbing unrest as social classes have split into those living in the gated communities like las Casuarinas and the other 20 million people who live like rats in the run down slums of Lima. Heavy drugs, extra marital sex and manslaughter are all legal, socially accepted and even expected of people like Tony Tréveris, who is the CEO of EPESA, an incredibly powerful company that produces and sells marijuana cigarettes, exstacy, cocaine etc.

It is left up to Tony and the other CEOs and members of the Regional Directory, which acts as the local government for all of southwest America, to devise a plan to suppress the so called "Cat-ox" (católico ortodox) who have somehow come to power in the dilapidated slums, gaining control over the angry people. Outbursts of riots and violence emerge in Miraflores, Lince, and the Center of Lima at an even higher rate than usually and the hourly hologram news-updates and riot warnings reach the disturbed upper class families, nestled in their ultra-secure homes behind feet of cement walls. The rich families only hear about which streets to avoid and hear the distant explosions but are completely clueless when it comes to understanding the demands of the "rats," as it has become impossible for the upper class to even think of the others as human beings.

Tony and his new co-worker Linda, who recently arrived from Mobile, Alabama quickly hit it off both in bed, and in the downtrodden streets of Lima as the Supreme Directory from the United States eventually declares that it sides with the Cat-ox in stead of the Regional Directory of Southwest America. The Cat-ox demand a reconstruction of the regional universities (upper class students are sent abroad), total access to all modes of communication, to be allowed to practice their religion and spread their doctrines freely; carry weapons, and practice missionary works in Lima and abroad; access to the financial activities of the big companies and the regulation of harmful drugs. The Regional Directory has until now only reacted to the Cat-ox with napalm and bombs, trying to quiet them down by force while perpetuating the capitalist credo. The Supreme Directory (or as we see later, a set of computers) has decided it best to switch gears and allow the demands of the Cat-ox and thus diminishing the Regional Directory's power.

As the plot unfolds the reader finds glimpses of past events that lead up to this political state, for instance the fictional revolution of the street vendors in the 1990s, which gained so much momentum that the government had to use atomic weapons to quiet them down.

The anticlimactic end delivers the reader a saddened and torn Tony who decides to escape the catastrophic showdown in Lima to save his life, and head to Mobile with Linda, shortly followed by his wife and children. (The author states that romantic love is hard to come by in those day, so when Tony finds that he's in love with Linda, he tells his wife who is happy that her husband has actually found true love ...)

The story comes to a close when the author reveals that the separation between social classes has reached its ultimate climax: the highest leaders of the Supreme Directory have populated a satellite in space (equipped with golf course and swimming pools) and have even found that Pluto can support human life. Tony will be in charge of mobilizing the most "important" people to live on the planetoid while the Cat-ox are gaining back control over the political sphere. Meanwhile the rest of the "inferior" humans populating planet earth will be governed by nothing less than a set of super computers who calculate human behavior and, based on statistical analysis, decide on the most rational political decisions. Strangely reminiscent of Space Odyssey:2001, the Supreme Directors are merely figure heads who in reality haven't made any decisions in years and computers are assuming the most important roles on the planet.

While it lacks some refining in the plot and narrative, this dystopian novel actually seems pretty representative of some social thought current in Peru in the 80s and 90s. The post WWII years marked the revival of social theory and critical thought in Peru. With the rise of the social sciences and especially sociology, the 50s, 60s and 70s gave way to many essays, articles, and eventually books that attempted to first diagnose Peru's current social problems, and later prescribe a solution to those problems that would lead the country into social and economical development. As with, I imagine, many other developing countries, the natural question arose: are we going to take the North American route and become a capitalist society, or should we try what some of our fellow Latin American nations have attempted, communism?

From a purely economic point of view, capitalism focuses on international trade, exports and privatization, and while it has proven to work for many countries in the past, it requires much more time than its red friend. Communism would allow for much faster economic development as the products come from and stay within the nation and more focus can be placed on raising the socio-economic statuses of the lower class.

As this country is ruled by an elite upper class that has vested much interest in all things America, the decision to stick with Capitalism came as no surprise. Nor were the subsequent terrorist uprisings too uncalled for. Yes, they turned much more violent than was expected, but I would imagine that some reluctance to accept this type of system imposed onto this vast country by such a small minority, was to be anticipated.

It also comes to no surprise that a book like Mañana, las ratas was written in the midst of social uproar and fear as terrorists infiltrated into Lima, leaving behind not only many dead people, but also a big uncertainty when it came to the future of the country.

What José Adolph depicted in his novel, was an image of a world in which there is no middle class and where Capitalism has transgressed its roll as an economic/social system, and permeated the political realm.

In light of a foreign petroleum company that can, without legal consequences, disregard orders by U.S. government organizations in the Gulf of Mexico; and when we could be facing the possibility of CocaCola Co. becoming president of the United States in 2016, Adolph really demonstrated some pretty sharp foresight.

But putting current politics in the United States aside, he also showed that during his time, there was a threat to the still newly emerging middle class in Lima. Adolph is essentially predicting that those few professionals and intellectuals who through hard work managed to pull themselves up by their bootstraps would eventually fall back into the dark masses of lower class society.

The extreme segregation and divorce between rich and poor that he predicted is also merely a projection of the current regional segregation of the city. Not unlike places like Long Island, you can see extreme poverty and wealth in close proximity to each other. And although they might live relatively close, the upper classes do a pretty good job at never having to confront lower class society. They can go from their home to Larco Mar (ritzy shopping mall), to the spa, the University and back in their nice car, without ever having to come face to face with "normal" life here.

And while this is certainly a dangerous trend, I an also understand the thought process behind parents who are bringing their children up in Lima. If I had kids, I would only want the best for them. A certain level of security is necessary and Lima really can be a scary place for some who aren't used to it. But there is obviously a limit that is being breeched, at least according to Adolph.

While I'm pretty confident with understanding his general social message, I'm still trying to tackle the author's obsession with the Catholic church. Peru, of course is very catholic and I've sort of gotten in trouble already professing that I do not ascribe to any organized religion. But I don't quite understand why he thinks that capitalism necessarily takes over religious dogma, and why the two would be standing face to face at one point. Perhaps a Peruvian might have some insight to that...

On a slightly different note:

In general, I would consider Peru to be very "book-unfriendly." Finding this novel in particular almost drove me into desperation. Bookstores have a very limited selection; specialty bookstores carried very few works by this author; and the National Library lets you only look at the book--you are not allowed to take it with you nor take photocopies of the book, so I was very close to going back and taking a photograph of each page. I rand around Lima and spent a day in the center, going to this place called "Amazonas," which is the craziest used book market I've ever come across:

These little book cubbies just stretch on forever and you can find anything from cookbooks to school books, to obscure language dictionaries. I even found a 1940s copy of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, but of course this book (by a limenian author!) was nowhere to be found.

Furthermore, if you actually do find your desired reading material in a real store, be prepared to dig deep into your wallet because books do not come cheap here, unless, of course, you are willing to go to Amazonas. It turned out that my professor's neighbor had this book lying in his library so all my agony was for nothing in the end, but at least I got some sociological insight.

Peru's literacy rate is roughly 90% (check out the UN's Human Development indexes, it's wicked cool to see how countries compare: http://hdr.undp.org/en/) and for those who can read, buying books is probably not a very common occurrence. Even at the University, all of our readings come from photocopies. Each building has a team of "photocopy experts" standing in a tiny room in the basement, surrounded by machines, photocopying all day long. Students come either with books from the library that need to be photocopied, or ask for a copy of the readings their professor had left for them earlier. For 10 cents ($0.03) a page, this can get "costly," but not nearly as costly as actually having to buy the books.

And the library is an interesting place too: Not only does the University have a very small selection (3 floors), but until this year, students weren't allowed into the stacks. They had to find the dewey decimal code of the book, hope that it was the right one, then send a "professional book finder" off to get the book for them. This year marks the great revolution and students are permitted to find their own books and browse through the stacks. But still, you can only take out up to three books at a time, and only have them for a three day period until you get bombarded with really angry emails, threatening to charge you a lot of money! To make a long story short, books really are a commodity here.

Viaje a Chile y Arequipa

To avoid paying for a student visa or being charged a dollar for each day that we would stay past our 90 day tourist visa, my friend Conny and I decided to travel to Chile together and return to Peru with a new tourist visa that would sustain us in the country legally for another few months to come. We took a 20-hour bus ride to Tacna, which is the southernmost city within Peru. From there we arranged for a colectivo taxi to drive us, along with a group of Irish students, about an hour and a half across the border and into Arica, the northern most town in Chile. There we had lunch (which, when compared to peruvian cuisine, was absolutetly atrocious) and headed right back to Tacna via colectivo that same day. From there we found a bus that would take us into Arequipa within 10 hours, where we exhausted and happy about the new 180-days visa (!) stamps in our passports, collapsed into our beds at a lovely hostel downtown Arequipa.

(The streets of downtown Arequipa---this time my own photos! )

El volcan Misti (snow capped) from Arequipa

What distinguishes this trip to "the white city" from my last visit there, is not only that I had a camera this time, but that Conny and I went to hike in the Colca Canyon, which is in fact deeper (and in my humble opinion prettier) than the Grand Canyon. Though, surprise surprise, the Colca Canyon carries not nearly as much international reverence or popularity as its little brother in the United States:

Conny and I decided to do a two-day treck. This guided tour would take us down the canyon, across the river, up half of the other side, across that side of the mountain and through a few towns, and back down again to an oasis-all in about seven hours. The entire next day was dedicated to climbing back up the side of the canyon for about four hours and later on enjoying the thermal baths and delicious lunch buffet in the town of Civay.

About to embark on our journey

Crossing the river a first time

This is the oasis and trail leading back up the mountain. For the hike up that hill I happily chose to sit on mule back in stead of walking myself.

Early morning hours in the oasis

A fluff y Alpaca (not to be confused with Llamas, Vicuñas or even Guanacos)

The trip served as an excellent and much-needed vacation from school after our midterms. While the tours through the canyon is a very popular tourist attraction, the terrain and customs of the people inhabiting it still seemed fairly untouched and well preserved. Our tour guide, Angelito, told us that up until the 1990's, the people of the Colca region still did not have currency and traded food items, live stock and hand-made goods amongst each other until tourists started stirring up the economy with money.

another new house...

For the third (and hopefully last) time I have moved to a new location, this time in the beautiful Barranco. It is considered the most "artsy" and bohemian part of Lima and attracts many young people who primarily come here to enjoy the rich night life. My house has an excellent view and a roof from which you can see a good portion of the city.

I live with an absolutely wonderful group of people who inspire me and keep me balanced while I'm embarking on the home stretch of school work, which has the potential to drive me absolutely insane. On the downside to this new heaven of a house, my commute has been augmented to being about 1 hour and 30 minutes from the previous 45 minutes to an hour.

Life here has slowed down a little, and the busy streets of Miraflores and the party atmosphere of my old neighborhood have receded into my memory while I listen to the ocean's waves in stead of car alarms and the permeating reggaeton beat streaming out of the night clubs.

Partido de fútbol / Soccer game

On Wednesday, Victor and I went to a soccer game. El Club Universitario de Deportes (LA U) played Sao Paolo, Brazil.
It was awesome:











Interesting Highlights:

-Before the game started, young men were throwing plastic bags into the audience. They were filled with little square yellow-pages cut outs that would be used as confetti later
-The stadium did not have a working clock and the whole place was rather decrepit, but the mood was rich and inviting!
-When people were standing up too long in the bleachers, angry shouts would come from behind "Sientense!" (sit down) and if action wasn't taken promptly enough, offending standers would get hit in the back of the head with a ball of tightly crumbled confetti paper.
-The final score was 0:0, leaving behind a despondent crowd. The game started with a lot of energy and just wore out towards the end.

¡¿Música?!

Peru is not a country of rich musical diversity, at least when it comes to the popular stuff. Thus, listening to the radio (i.e. being forced to listen to what is being played on the radio, as a result of sitting in a public place) really doesn’t do much for me. From what I heard from Peruvian friends, popular music has evolved slightly in recent years, buy it’s really hard to believe that it has changed much in its essence; what has changed, is the demographic distribution of its listeners.
The most popular music here is, of course, “Latin Pop,” (which is a term I just made up to have an umbrella term for later classifications) and if you’re thinking Shakira and Nelly Furtado, you’re really not far off. The Latin American equivalent for MTV is called HTV, which is an Argentinean channel, airing video clips that more often than not include a group of machismo men wearing sunglasses, and a few near-naked women dancing, walking around with their hair blowing in the wind, or sitting on the singer’s lap like a Chihuahua. Most of the music that is played there falls into the category of soft rock, salsa or Reggaeton.
Here are examples of each:

Reggaeton:



Something poppy with a salsa-esque rhythm:



and Salsa
(my personal favorite, and probably most popular):



Even more prevalent in Lima’s culture, especially for those who don’t own a TV, is the Cumbia, which historically speaking is “peasant music.” Before the year 2000, there supposedly was a great divide between the music of the lower and of the upper classes. The lower class (and those living outside of the city), I was told by a Peruvian friend, listened to what is called Chicha. It’s apparently the predecessor of the Cumbia, which has migrated form the jungle and landed in the city. Now both rich and boor, peasants and businessmen listen to the same music, but for vastly different reasons: the rich mainly see it as peppy entertainment and a trend, while those who grew up with Chicha, view Cumbia as a part of their culture and family history. This is what Cumbia sounds like:



One example should be enough for you to get a very good idea what it is, because it all pretty much sounds the same. Don't judge me because I enjoy this song. The video that accompanies it is actually a very accurate portrayal of what a Cumbia concert is like. A few weeks ago my friend Joel, his brother, and niece took me to a live Cumbia concert to see his nephew who was supposed to sing in one of the "orquestas".
We arrived at the outside concert venue at around 11pm and the massive field was already filled with drunk people, dancing around boxes of beer to the repetitive cumbia beat. We waited through three bands: Jenny, Los Internacional Privados, and Papillon. There was no significance differece between the three and we were there until 4 am, listening to essentially the same song over and over, just with different singers and lyrics.
The band set up is unlike anything I had ever seen before: A group of between 5 - 7 men is standing in front of the stage, each with their own microphone, and each wearing the same outfit (usually slacks with a crazy print/colored button up shirt). While one of them is singing, the rest of them are all dancing in unison. Behind them is the 8-person band, to which nobody really pays close attention. To each side of the singers, are two nearly naked girls in nothing but a belt, bikini top, and stripper boots:

From time to time a camera man will focus in on their breasts or butt, displaying her body parts on the big screens on either side of the stage. The role of women in the music industry is pretty clear.
Nevertheless, the experience was incredible, especially since we didn't have to pay the 20 soles to get into the concert, because one of the band's dancers (still mostly clothed) had handed us free entrance tickets while we were waiting outside.
I was the only gringa in the whole place, and was given a free CD with about 100 mp3s on it to share with my gringo friends. Don't worry, I won't make you go through that.
One thing that really called my attention was a small group of about seven openly homosexual men dancing at the back of the venue. They seemed very happy to be jiving with each other and at first I was sort of jealous at how much fun they seemed to be having. Once I noticed the people around them, I quickly became very disturbed. There were a lot of dirty looks, a lot of name calling, pointing and laughing, even from the people I was with, which made me really uncomfortable. It's difficult to observe this part of peruvian (and most latin-american) culture without trying to impose my somewhat liberal, north-american point of view on them. Homophobia is very much prevalent and the norm here and it hurts.

Getting back on the topic of music, Peru also has many roots in African culture, and one of its most vibrant manifestations is Afro-Peruvian music, and the cajón:


The cajón--a percussion box that often has snare strings inside it--is nowadays played all around the world (Spain for instance) but is extremely common in most of Latin America, especially in Cuba, Brazil, Argentina, and of course, Peru. I've seen kids on the bus, playing the cajón for money quite proficiently, and attended several concerts at the Spanish Cultural Center here in Lima, that dedicated the whole month of April to the cajón. There were daily concerts, workshops and documentaries, all of which were well-attended and lovely.

I've also been to several larger concerts thanks to both my friend Victor, who is very much involved in all things culture, and my good friend Adele, who is here on a Fulbright Grant, exploring the Barranco music scene with a focus on the role (or lack thereof) that women have in the popular music scene here. Her job, essentially, is to attend shows, and interview musicians during their rehearsals. For me it's perfect because there's always something to do with her and I get exposed to some lesser-known bands and quality music.
Without jumping to too many conclusions, of course, I think I can unequivocally state that a woman's role in an ensemble is not nearly as important as that man's counterpart, as females usually are sexy dancers, or background singers. Those few all-female groups, like "Las amigas de nadie" (The [girl]friends of nobody) for example, then have to try really hard to make a name for themselves, usually ending in a product that's less about the music, and more about the rebellious alternative image, and an almost desperate attempt to spread their name through social websites like facebook, myspace and twitter.



Interesting also is the lingering desire of peruvian musicians to copy music they hear coming from the United States. A lot of bands that I've heard playing at "Rock in el Parque" for instance sounded exactly like the Beach Boys, Kiss, and Guns and Roses...just in Spanish. The irony, of course, is that the social/cultural context that surrounded these American Bands isn't the same here; Rock'n'Roll doesn't really have the same meaning here. Regardless, the music is essentially identical.
Even the music that Victor presented to me under the pretext of it being "different" because it fuses north-american, and south-american styles, is really mostly just repetitive grunge rock with spanish lyrics and perhaps a cajón to add that peruvian flair. I really wish there was more emphasis on originality, truly peruvian ingenuity and more autochthonous elements. It seems that when it comes to music and fashion, Peruvians look too much towards the United States for a role model.

STOP IT! It's time to brace yourself, embrace yourself and stop disgracing yourself with mere imitation!

I guess that's what I get for being in Lima.

Trip to Santonte

Last weekend I visited my friend Joel who is currently staying with his family about 10 hours north of Lima, in a tiny farmers' village named Santonte. On Friday night I took a bus to Pacasmayo, which was extremely interesting to begin with: I was seated next to Beehroz, an Iranian scholar who switches back and forth between Boston and Lima, living in each for 6 months before returning to the other. He takes professional photos that he turns into post cards. He is also completing a book called Visual Inquiry of Informal Economy in Peru--he has taken hundres of pictures of street vendors all over the country. As if this wasn't already enough, the man has studied in the US, France and Peru, has taught in California and, to top it off, is a proud radical anarchist and conspiracy theorist. It goes without saying that he made for some great conversation!

I arrived in Pacasmayo the next morning, got on a van packed full with 21 people, some livestock and 2 bags of rice that brought me to the intersection of the Panamerican Highway and San Jose (see photo) where I met up with Joel.

From San Jose we had to take a motortaxi

to another town where I met Joel's first sister, tending her Kiosk, feeding me papaya juice and tallarín (spaghetti).

With some carbs in our stomachs we made for the house of Joel's other sister, who lent us a bike, and then to the family of the sister who owns the kiosk to find a second one. From there we headed out on a 40-minute journey over dirt road, bridges, fields, mud and watering channels, finally arriving in Santonte, where his parents and some other family members live. The "town" consists of two parallel roads, with about 20 houses in total. The houses face the massive plane of rice and onion fields, while enormous sand dunes and rocky mountains loom behind the town:

This orange house belongs to Joel's parents. Behind it you will find an outhouse, a sheep, 14 ducks, 2 guinea pigs, and the occasional baby cat, looking desperately for food.

Joel in his kitchen. The buckets on the back shelf hold fresh water from a near-by well. Let me assure you, it's tasty and does not need to be boiled like the nasty city water in Lima.

This is Joel's father who despite being 75 years old and having knee problems, would rather keep living in this town than move to an area where a food is readily available at supermarkets rather than still alive in the backyard and in need of being planted and harvested. Life has really treated his face well though, I think.

After resting a few minutes after our bike ride, Joel and I headed out into the desert:
The view was absolutely beautiful, the sand steaming hot and the wind "rico." After about a 30 minute treck in the heat, we made it into the forest where a lovely lagoon is hidden in the trees

The water was warm and the little beach, though filled with dry cow-patties, excellent for taking a nap.

To quench our thirst we ate some super delicious guanabana. I know it doesn't look like anything yummy, but believe me that this juicy flavor combination of lychee, pineapple and grape was the most amazing thing.

On our way back we met a group of moo-ing cows.

The next day was also adventure-filled.

Joel's second cousin Lucho met us in the morning carrying a small basket full of little rocks and a rubber sling. I was left in the dark as to what we were going to do and just followed them into the desert, taking pictures of the scenery. On our way we were met by a 9-year old boy with blonde hair, thusly named "gringo." His face lit up immediately as he saw us coming and after running towards us he proudly reached into his pocket and pulled out two dead lizards ("cañanes"). "I already killed two big ones," he declared with a sparkle in his eyes and together with him and another young man that found us, we went further into the dunes to hunt lizards for lunch.

They often hide in these thorny trees whose dead branches on the ground make for some mean cuts on the bottom of your feet--the spikes are so sharp and long that they penetrate your shoe sole and can inflict some serious pain. The lizards hiding in the trees will often leap off the branches in a near-suicidal fashion, trying to avoid the rocks that are being catapulted at them. Once hit, the hunter will collect the animal and hit its head against a branch to make sure that it's dead.

We spent about 2 hours in the midday heat and just walking around to follow the guys on their hunt was exhausting. In the end they caught 12 lizards, which when prepared as a ceviche with potatoes fed 6 people.

I wasn't there to see how the lizard was cooked because one of the neighbors prepared the dish. The meat itself didn't really have much flavor, but it was crunchy because the bones are left inside which allows for an interesting texture. It really just tastes like spicy onions and lemon juice--pretty good. But the whole experience of getting back from the walk and sitting on the side of the road with friends, family and neighbors, sharing stories and later lunch was a really exceptional one. Being the only foreigner this town has seen in a long time was apparently really exciting for the inhabitants and not much unlike a circus freak attraction, people would come by, look at me and timidly ask me a question about life in Germany and the United States. Being the center of attention was a bit exhausting at times and sometimes I just want to blend in or be invisible. The same happened to me when I was the foreign new kid at my high school, which resulted in my assimilating enough not to stick out. When I feel like that, though, I just remember that this is a once-in a life time experience and I will soon enough be invisible in the streets of New York again. There lies a certain comfort in that thought.

Routine Life

Now that I have a digital camera at my disposal--thank you Jack and Dad-- I shall commence my Honor's College journal officially, which is essentially just a more systematic continuation of my existing journal.

The first exercise asks me to elaborate on what my daily life is like. I went through my house and shot some pictures of my immediate surroundings.

I live in a condominium with 5 other international students. We're in a big complex, which houses a bunch of families in 3-4 story apartments. Our landlord just owns one of them and rents out the rooms. This is our view from the front door into the courtyard.

And this is what surrounds us:

We share a full kitchen that is utilized well by all but me (I shall elaborate on that later)

We have a lovely living/dining room

I share a bathroom with my french neighbor.

My room:

For less money than I would spend in the US I live better than I have ever lived before. I live in one of the most "americanized" areas of the city and can enjoy both local life, and if I choose to, envelop myself in completely American things.
I have a TV in my room, which broadcasts American television shows if I really wanted to see them and a closet that is too big for the few clothes that I have with me. I have hot running water, which is a luxury here and a porter who knows me by first name. I'm essentially living the life, right?

But then I look around when I hang out with my local friends who come from humble backgrounds and don't like spending time in Miraflores because it's too "exclusivo." Like I have mentioned before in an earlier post, I am leading a few parallel lives that don't seem to mesh well with each other. Nevertheless I seem to have figured out a pretty stable daily (or at least weekly) routine:

I have classes in the mornings (and occasionally into the afternoons) on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.

Sometimes I will have a cup of java in the morning. Real coffee, which is a substance I have unfortunately found myself liking too much while I was at Hofstra, is a true commodity here. Although Peru produces its own coffee, it exports most of it to other countries and the people here stick to drinking the instantaneous version--be it powdered nescafe or a liquid concentrate to which one adds water. I decided to save up money and invest in a bag of real coffee. I will once in a while treat myself to a cup, in hopes that the bag will last me my entire stay here.

I usually leave my house at around 7:30-8:00am and enjoy my walk; the streets are practically deserted, save for some businessmen and school-kids. I use the word "deserted" here lightly because generally the streets are packed with people, and I suppose in our suburban standards, even at 7:30am, the streets of Miraflores have a good amount of people in them...but I digress. In short, I enjoy not being honked/whistled/stared at on my way to the bus.

All the people that are not in the streets usually seem to have managed to fit into the bus that I need to take to school. Although the stop on which I get onto the bus is pretty early on the route, I often stand butt-to-butt with the "cobrador" (the man/woman who stands at the door, shouts out the bus route, and collects the money) for the first half hour of the bus ride. There is no space to move until the bus has reached the outskirts of San Isidrio, by which time I am usually one out of 3 - 5 people left on the bus.

Depending on the horrendous traffic, and the bus' route that day, it takes me anywhere between 45 minutes to a bit over an hour to get to my University, and with my handy-dandy student ID card, one trip costs me only 1 nuevo sol (~$0.40), in stead of 1.20. I shall never complain again if I have to walk to a class in Hagedorn next year!

Classes at the University are surprisingly similar to those at Hofstra. Professors generally expect more from the students, which usually entails a huge amount of reading, writing and presenting. A stark difference that does exist, is perhaps a reflection of the generally laid-back mentality of this city: the professors are much more out-spoken when it comes to criticism and more sarcastic with their students. I may have selected a particularly unrepresentative group of professors, but all of the ones I do have, are both harsh in their criticisms of students' comments/performances in front of the other students, often making fun of them, and at the same time easy-going and relaxed about the general classroom atmosphere. It is intimidating and confusing to say the least.

Campus is an oasis. Green fields, palm trees, grazing deer (!), fountains and perfectly manicured flowerbeds surround the buildings.

Everybody, of course, is much more friendly and open to newcomers, than in New York, though I find that the prestige of the school has left many of its attendees a bit more aloof than the outside world. In that sense, la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, is very similar to Hofstra. Nevertheless it is always a pleasure to be sitting underneath a neat row of perfect palm trees, while enjoying a delicious and cheap hot lunch.

This brings me to my next and by far favorite subject: food.

Food here is generally extremely cheap and delicious. I know I have mentioned this before as well, but I cannot reiterate enough what joy this country brings to me in terms of culinary delights. The normal eating schedule consists of a light breakfast like a tamale sandwich (sounds odd, but it's yummy), or some bread with jam. Lunch is always an extensive ordeal, usually including an appetizer, a hot plate, and dessert. For dinner peruvians eat very lightly again.

A vegetarian meal at my school costs me S/. 3.60 (~$1.20). Believe it or not, this includes bread, a beverage like chicha morada (made from blue corn)

and a huge plate of rice with some kind of soy meat and veggies.

This picture is a plate of aji de gallina, which is not vegetarian, but ridiculously yummy. It includes potatoes covered in a sauce made with chicken, aji (a spicy red pepper), cheese, cream and other yummy stuff and, of course, rice. Most likely through the huge asian population that came here over the years, rice has found its way into every peruvian dish that I've had here. It's great!

This is exactly the reason why my presence in my kitchen leaves much to be desired. I don't cook well to begin with, but it would really not make sense when there are a cheap restaurants all around the city that offer a "menu económico," where you can choose from a small liste of appetizers and main plates. It's cheap and always delicious, and I don't have to worry about what I would do with the left-overs had I cooked it myself. Going to the grocery store and preparing my own food would most likely cost me more than eating out for lunch. What I do keep in my pantry/fridge are essentials like cereal, water, bread, and fruit.

While I do feel a little more like I am running a household than I do when I live in Vander Poel Hall, my life here is still very simplified for me. We have a housekeeper that cleans all the common areas of the apartment. Only when it comes to laundry are we really left on our own. We do not have a washing/drying machine, nor a sink big enough to wash clothes in. Thirdly, were are not allowed to hang clothes up to dry anywhere outside the apartment, and without any air flow inside, we are left with nothing but bringing the clothes to the laundromat, which is one of the only things that are more expensive here than in the United States. My last load of laundry cost me S/. 44 (~$15). I will be schlepping my laundry to a laundromat a little further away, but hopefully significantly cheaper in the future. Again, Hofstra has spoiled me a bit with relatively cheap washers and dryers only an elevator ride away.

I have touched upon this before as well but I would like to elaborate on street life a little more:

Street vendors, panhandlers and more street vendors are the norm here. On every street corner you will find a little stand packed tightly with cookies, sandwiches, drinks, candy and newspaper.

While one approaches a stand like that, he's most likely honked/quacked at from behind by one of the ice-cream vendors' honking horn, and simultaneously approached by a little girl with an empty cup in her hands and puppy eyes.

Leaving a busterminal or the airport, I am always bombarded by men in dress pants, offering me their taxi-services although I have long learned to depend almost purely on buses. The supermarkets, full of shoppers already, have a sales representative in every aisle, pointing out and sampling the newest product on sale. Restaurant employees with menus in hand stand outside the front door and latch onto pedestrians, walking with them for a few feet, explaining why they should choose this restaurant over any other. Commerce and capitalism is truly the way of the land here and I always have to be very cognizant of the possibility that somebody could take advantage of me.

While I suppose that this system of constantly selling product is one way to keep the economy flowing, I also see problems with it. While I cannot assume cause-and-effect here, it does strike me as interesting that people in general are very reluctant to buying things and trusting each other. Waiting lines often don't exist--who makes it to the front first and loudest will often be helped first. People aren't afraid of bodily contact, as we can clearly see in the buses, and therefore don't mind getting into your way if it means they can get something faster. It is not necessarily a personality trait, in fact, I think it has little to do with the way people act around friends and family. It's just a way of surviving, and as long as everybody is on the same page, there aren't any problems.

I can see that reflected in the traffic here as well. It took me a while to realize that although from the outside it seems like there are no traffic rules, there is a common understanding amongst all the drivers (especially bus drivers) that those who have the most guts to creep forward, and the loudest horn, get to go first. This city never rests, there is constantly a honking horn somewhere, and I have half-jokingly postulated that this is the peruvians' manifestation of their suppressed impatience with their government--honking horns and public impatience could be a reflection of their subconscious desire to move Peru forward. Politicians always say Peru is advancing, but it seems like the politicians and rich are the only ones going anywhere, while the general public just waits and honks.