By Danielle L. Krautmann

We all finished! My running club from left to right: Ricardo, Gladys, Charlie, Gaby, Jorge, Pak Peng, and me.

I can’t take my medal off. It’s bronze colored with a plain navy blue ribbon to hold it on my neck. It’s the cheapest, worst quality completion medal I’ve ever received from a race, and I love it. This one says Lima 42K, 2010 on it…my first marathon. After the race I took a nap and woke up with the ribbon strangling me. I adjusted it rather than taking it off. I wonder how long I can get away with wearing this around the house.

Although I’ve done plenty of half marathons over the past five years, I was hesitant to commit to training for a full marathon. For me, running is something I do to keep fit and clear my head. If it’s a nice day, or I have excess energy, I like to go for a run. If I’m on a run and feel tired, I prefer to turn around and go home. If I’m feeling good, I’ll go further. When I need to “train” for a race, running quickly looses its appeal. Something about adding discipline to the sport makes it feel like more of a job than a pastime.

My first month here I joined a running group through Charlie’s work to meet people and make friends with similar interests. The friend-making mission was soon accomplished, but I kept showing up as the runs increased in length. I enjoyed the camaraderie of suffering through the last couple miles of a long run with friends. So really, my initial training for the marathon was an accident that happened secondary to my efforts to make friends. Although the thought had crossed my mind, it was not until about six weeks ago that I realized I was logging between 60 and 70 miles a week. So I signed up for the Lima 42K.

Me and Charlie. Although he looks like a total idiot with that mustache (grown just for the race), he was my biggest supporter.

I’ve enjoyed running for about six years now. My prior race experience includes nine half marathons, and volunteering as a pacer in three ultra marathons (100 mile races…I didn’t do the races, just helped out). Through all of this, I have learned that there comes a point during which your body tells you not to go any further. Your joints hurt, your muscles hurt, your head hurts, body parts you never knew existed hurt! You feel like you’re running as fast as you can, but know you’re only jogging at best. From here, things can go one of two ways. You can acknowledge the pain and listen to your body, stop and stretch, or walk for a ways. OR, you can remind yourself that its in you to go further and keep running despite the pain. The little engine that could powered itself through positive thinking and I’m here to tell you, it really works!

For me, it was when I reached 28 kilometers and realized I still had 14 to go that I started to feel the pain. I knew completing the race would be more of a mental feat than physical. At that point, I began to fill my head with the most positive thoughts I could come up with to distract myself. Charlie suggested that if I got to that point, I find someone to talk to to keep myself distracted. Unfortunately, speaking Spanish still takes a lot of effort and energy so this didn’t seem like the best option. Instead, I noticed a Peruvian runner with a particularly cute butt going the same pace as me. I strategically paced myself behind him for 2 km until he slowed down and I passed him.

At 32 km, I saw my friend Vanesa and her dog Inca and was reminded of what great friends I’ve made here. At 34 km, our friend Brodie rode up on his bike and chatted with me for several minutes and told me how well my rock star husband was doing (he finished in 3 hours 33 minutes). At 38 km, I passed Charlie’s boss/fellow member of my running group, Jorge, and it occured to me that I was ahead of everyone in our running group except for Charlie.

I'm sprinting across the finish line!

Jorge seemed to think he was going to beat me in the race and thus made a bet with me that if I beat him, he would bring back a People magazine and US Weekly from every trip he takes to the States. The idea of settling down with a cocktail and trashy mag in English every month or so made me run faster. At 40 km I noticed many of the “runners” walking around me. They had hit their walls. I tried to calculate how much time I would lose if I walked rather than ran to the finish, but got distracted by someone with an enormous camera taking a picture of me. In hopes of becoming famous like my friend Gladys and getting in Cosas magazine, I flashed them a huge smile and decided if I had run this far, it would be a shame to slow down.

Just as the finish line came into sight in the distance, I saw my husband running towards me, already wearing his completion medal. “Yeah!” he exclaimed. “You did it! Four hours 35 minutes! You beat everyone from running group! And you look strong!” While I was still running towards the finish, he had a friend from work take a picture of us. He began to ask me questions about our friends. “When did you pass Jorge? How far behind you is Ricardo?” Even in my exhaustion, I adored his excitement for me. I had to remind him that I needed to cross the finish line.

“Charlie, we can talk later, please let me finish,” I huffed out. Then I looked up. There is was! The finish line! My body didn’t hurt anymore and I began sprinting. In the final stretch, I passed two people and completed my first marathon with a smile on my face.

The Wheels of the Combi Go Round and Round

By Danielle L. Krautmann

A Lima bus with a cobrador hanging out

Currently Lima, Peru has no public transportation.  This restricts Limenians to use either taxis, buses, cars, or “combies”.  Charlie and I don’t plan to get a car while we’re here because it’s easy enough for us to get from one place to another.  Plus, with the plan to stay for two or three years, it hardly seems worth it.

Every person you meet has either had a bad experience with a taxi or knows someone else who has. A Peruvian friend of mine took a taxi to get from one fairly safe neighborhood to another.  When he noticed the taxi wasn’t going in the right direction, he said something to the driver.  Sooner than he could stop them, three men approached the taxi, and the next thing he remembers is waking up in a bad part of town on the side of the road.  His money and cell phone had been stolen.  A guy Charlie works with got robbed at knife point in a taxi.  One time Charlie and I were taking a taxi and the driver fell asleep…while driving.

In most of my experiences, except for the frequent opportunist or pervert, the drivers are more or less harmless.  They either charge exorbitant rates to tourists and gringos who don’t know any better, or hit on me the whole time.  They like to ask me questions about myself, where am I from, how do I like Peru, where do I live, would I like to get coffee with them?  They tell me I’m beautiful or sexy (duh), and once, the driver drove along with an obvious erection.  Gladys says not to be friendly, smile, or even talk to the driver.  Wear your sunglasses and a frown.  Every time you get into a taxi, you take a risk.

The payment system is different than in the States.  Since taxis don’t have meters, you negotiate a price with the driver. Before entering the car, tell him where you’re going, all the while scoping out the cab to assess its safety.  If it’s a station wagon, check the back for people or weapons.  If you are a gringo, the driver will give you a price far higher than what you should pay.  “Dies soles,” he might say after contemplating for a few seconds.

Gladys and I with our serious riding-the-bus faces

At this point, you have three options. 1. Take his first offer and pay “el pricio gringo.”  If you’re strapped for time, this is your best option.  2.  Decline his offer and wait for the next taxi who is inevitably waiting nearby.  I often do this before negotiating to show the approaching taxi that I will not accept a ridiculous quote.  3. Negotiate the price.  I’m getting quite good at this.  I will say something like “normalmente yo pago tres o cuatro soles.”  Then he either accepts, drives off because he’s offended, or negotiates further until we come to middle ground.

Suggestions for a safe taxi ride in Lima include:

1. Speak as little as possible to the driver.  In my experience, conversations about myself often lead to the driver either trying to get more money from me, trying to convince me to go somewhere else, or asking me on a date.  I have heard predators will use conversation to distract tourists who want to practice their Spanish.  Meanwhile they might change routes.

2. When you do speak, use as much Spanish as possible to show the driver that you know what he’s saying…even if you don’t.

3. Know where you’re going and if possible, tell the driver what route you would like to take.

4. If you are alone, sit directly behind the driver.

5. Know where the lock to the door is.  Some taxis have auto locks and lock you in when you enter.  Just make sure you can undo the lock if need be.

A quiet day on the bus with very few passengers

In research for this article, I took my first “combi”.  These are mini-vans that go hurling through the streets at top speeds sparing no pedestrians.  They are infamous for hitting people and getting in accidents.  Initially I was not in favor of how close I was squished in between two men, one of whom insisted on making kissing noises towards me for the duration of my ride.  The last of the three combies I took was lacking a floor.  It had wooden boards nailed down along the cross rails between the tires.   I rode along with my feet suspended, fearing for my life as I watched the wheel turn round and round underneath me.  Although not my preferred option, they are the fastest and cheapest way to get around town.

Personally, I prefer taking buses whenever possible.  They are cheaper than taxis, somewhat safer, and far more entertaining.  The equivalent of 40 cents can get you close to anywhere you need to go in the city.  As I mentioned previously, there is no public transportation.  The buses are all private competing companies with no schedules, websites or monthly passes.  “Cobradors” stand on the first step of the bus calling route and street names rapidly like auctioneers.  “Javiar Prado, Prado, Prado, Todo Javier Prado, La Molina,  Molina.”  As the buses quickly approach, you have very little time to contemplate which one you want to take since they rarely come to a complete stop.

Three or four buses approach at the same time, trying their hardest to cut each other off in order to be the first to pull up.  I scan them quickly as they approach, hoping to view one with an open seat.  If there aren’t any, no worries, the cobradors stuff passengers in as tightly as they fit making each journey its own olfactory experience.  You may be lucky enough to be pushed up against the chest of an older woman with musky perfume that stays on you for hours afterward.  On an even luckier day, you have less than an inch of space between you and a sweaty construction worker on his way home from work.  Just make sure you push your way to the front of the bus several blocks before you plan to disembark since, like I said before, they rarely come to a complete stop.  Be ready to jump. As you ride along, you can watch as the standing people get thrown back and forth as the bus forces its way through traffic making brief stops when it gets cut off by other busses.  If you end up standing, your best bet is to keep your knees bent, feet wide apart, with a low center of gravity.  Focus and be prepared for a quick stop-and-go at any time.

While the bus sits in traffic, vendors approach the windows selling cold beverages, snacks and newspapers.  During peak traffic, you can buy sunglasses, wallets, lighters, large maps of Peru or South America, necklaces, pens, and various other trinkets all for sale at the convenience of your bus seat.  There’s a guy I sometimes see weaving his way through traffic selling beautiful handmade pirate ship replicas.  When there are few enough passengers, vendors board the bus and ride from one to three blocks.

First they stand at the front of the bus so everyone can see them.  They sell their pitch, “Hello, my name is Miguel.  I am selling these Pilot pens for a great price.  In a store you can buy them for no less than three soles.  Because you are such beautiful people, I will sell them to you for one soles per pen.”  Miguel proceeds to work his way from the front to the back asking each person individually if they would like to buy a pen.

If you’re lucky, Miguel might be a starving musician who boards the bus to play a song on his guitar, then walks through asking for donations. Despite his filthy attire, pathetic attempt at a performance, and drunken, stumbling gait, people donate!

If you plan to take a bus, hold your purse close to you, try to get a seat, and cross your fingers as accidents are not uncommon.

A Visit to the Zoo and Some Cultural Observations

By  Danielle L. Krautmann

Per suggestion of one of my lovely readers, last week I visited Parque de las Leyendas, a zoo in Lima.  A quick bus ride from my house and cheap admission, the trip was definitely worth it. But not because of the animals.

I can’t say Parque de las Leyendas would be the first or even 8th place (I have a list) I would take a guest of mine when they visit Lima.  Having been lucky enough to visit many zoos in my lifetime, I’m a bit of a critic.  Baltimore and Denver are my favorites so far.  At Leyendas you can find a surprising variety of animals.  Although I get the feeling that, like many things here in Lima, there wasn’t much of a plan when when they built it.  My guess is they constructed the zoo, put in some cages, and got whatever animals they could to fill them.

There were four lions, each in separate cages.  They were thin, possibly malnourished, and sleeping very soundly in separate, seemingly small cement cages with water bowls the size of Brandy’s.  I know lions usually sleep during the day (I’ve been to a lot of zoos), but there was something different about these lions.  The Bengal tiger was a different case.  Also thin, and in a small cage, he was quite active.  I found him quickly stalking back and forth groaning, as if pleading to the crowds to feed it or offer themselves as food.

When a little boy held up his small stuffed tiger towards the cage, the real one stared at it intently and let out a long, frustrated groan.  I heard this boy’s father tell him, “He’s hungry, he wants to eat you.”  My dad would have said the same thing.  For large animals, there were also water buffalo, zebras, and sea lions (also in very small tanks).  The animals that had the largest areas to roam (complete with grass) were the grizzly bears.  That’s right, Grizzly Bears in Lima!  They were struggling to remain in the shade of their one  and only small tree, moving closer to the trunk every 10 minutes or so to savor what little shade they had as the sun rose higher throughout the morning.

While Parque de las Leyendas is not the best place to go see animals behaving as they would in their natural environments, I found it a perfect place to observe Peruvian parents and their children in their natural environments.  It never ceases to amaze me how much you can observe about a culture when you are not completely familiar with the language.

When I think back to my fairly recent trips to the Denver and Seattle zoos, I cringe as I recall the behavior of certain families.  I remember kids whining to their parents to buy them toys or ice cream, screaming “he hit me”, throwing tantrums, or fighting with their brothers and sisters.  I may have behaved similarly when I was a kid, and my sister, Heather was definitely a brat.  I also remember several incidents of parents asking me to move (or some of the less polite ones pushing me out of the way) so their precious angels could see the animals.  Rarely did I hear “wait your turn,” or “let’s let the lady take a look, and then you can”.

In my three hours at Parque de las Leyendas, I did not witness a single tantrum.  Children did not ask their parents for ice cream or toys, even though there were ice cream carts and toy shops on every corner.  No whining, no bickering, no running off from their parents.  No brats!  Oh, and no parents looking like they wanted to pull their hair out either.  Wow, it sure made the trip a lot more enjoyable.  At one point I witnessed a father, not pushing me out of the way so his kids could see, but pushing his kids out of the way so he could take a look at the sea lion, which was in a tank smaller than my grandmother’s swimming pool.

In general, the children who are raised here in Peru are better behaved than the children I have encountered in the United States.  This carries across the economic classes and I’m not quite sure why it is.  After asking around among my friends and a couple complete strangers, I’ve narrowed it down to two theories.  Personally, I think it could be a combination of the two.

1.  They use stricter parenting techniques.  A parent would never be taken into custody for spanking their child here in Peru.  They’ve got bigger fish to fry.  Many upper class families have nannies that essentially raise the children.  In those cases the children are subjected to the disciplinary styles of the nanny.

Having yet to observe children misbehaving here, I have yet to find out what happens when they do, so cannot give you much information to support this theory.  Although I recently read an article in Concord Monitor Online that made me think about different types of parenting styles.  It was about a mother in Concord, NH who kept her child out of school because they were reading a book she did not approve of.  The book addressed the topic of homelessness and it mentioned that one of the children lost a parent.

The mother argues “How am I supposed to address such sad topics with my kindergardener?”  This would never happen here in Peru.  It would be impossible for even the wealthiest of families to keep the existence of poverty a secret.  I live in one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in Lima, but can see signs of it every day.  I can’t imagine that this sheltering style of parenting would fly far down here.  Without being a parent, I would imagine that the best way to address the topic with her child would be for her to talk about it, but what do I know?

Another thing I see from time to time in the States are parents who are afraid of their children and what they might do.  Examples of this would be a mother of one of my friends growing up.  She made sure that every second of a weekend I spent there was structured with snack breaks, craft times, outdoor play, and bed times after which if she heard talking, we were separated.  God forbid we were allowed to come up with our own play ideas, or talk after bedtime…who knows what we could have come up with.

Another example might be the mom who accompanies her 7-year-old son into the dentist office for a cleaning.   She speaks to him the whole time to keep him calm, translating everything the dentist says into baby voice so her not-so-little precious can understand.  What would happen if she sent him in alone?  Perhaps it was the terrorism in the 80′s and 90′s that made the mothers tougher, or made them want to raise their kids to be tougher.  Whatever it is, I have not seen this same “fear” of children or need to treat them like glass vases.  Children are expected to behave and are not constantly tended to here in Peru.

2.  In the United States, we live a lifestyle of being able to get what you want when you want it.  If children want to watch TV or play video games, usually they have easy access to a TV with cable…if not in their house, than at a friend’s house.  Although we complain about cutbacks to education funding, a comparatively good education is far more accessible to children in the United States than here in Peru.  If families don’t have food/homes/money/etc., we have soup kitchens, food stamps, homeless shelters, and welfare.  If people can’t afford healthcare, we have Medicaid and social security.

Fifty-four percent of Peruvians live in poverty. If you think you know someone who is living in poverty in the United States, they have it 5 times better than someone living in poverty here in Peru.  I thought I knew poor through patients I’ve worked with in the United States, but I had no idea.  So, although we may not feel like it, especially with the economic whatever-they’re-calling-it-these-days, we live in a culture of excesses, of things we don’t need.  Perhaps this brings on a sense of entitlement to some of our children.

Admission to the zoo was the equivalent of $3.  Many families brought their own lunches which is perfectly legal.  The low price allowed for many less well-off families to bring their children too.  Perhaps the children knew that their parents couldn’t afford the extra toys or ice cream, thus keeping them from whining.  When I was growing up, I never asked my parents for a pet pony because I knew it was completely unrealistic.  Perhaps it’s just unrealistic for these children to think their parents would buy them a stuffed animal.

Making friends in Lima

Like my Aunt Vicki, I love making lists.  To-do lists are my favorite, but I also enjoy making step-by step instructional lists, lists of places I want to travel, lists of potential blog topics, of men I’ve dated, of men my friends have dated, of men I’m currently dating (short list).  You get the idea.

One time in college, I decided to make a list of all my friends.  I added to it for weeks and it began to fill multiple pages of my Kinesiology notebook.  Not that I’ve ever been super popular.  I was a 90-pound, flat-chested, underdog in high school.  It’s just that I’m not that picky.  Most likely, if we spent time together at some point in our lives and I remembered it, you were on the list.  I included my current sister-in-law, Chelsea.  Though at the time we had only met twice, Charlie and I were not dating, and she was not yet married to Ted.  The two times we met, I really liked her and thought we would probably be good friends at some point.

Gladys, Me, and Gaby (left to right) at one of our beach days

This week, I decided to make a list of all my friends in Peru.  It took me less than five minutes.  I included the members of my running group, the owners of the dogs Brandy plays with in the park, Carlos the driver (who I professed my love to in Spanish my first day here), my maid Gloria, co-workers of Charlie who I’ve met or had dinner with, Becca from Colorado who is studying here (we hung out once and we talk on Skype, that counts), my cousin’s friend Hernan who we met up with one night for dinner, Brandy, Brandy’s best dog friend Inca, and Charlie. Then there are a few select people I’ve spent a little more time with…

Gaby: Mi Salvadora

Knowing how important it is for me to have friends, Charlie tends to seek them out for me.  He’s really good at this.  My first week here in Peru, Charlie decided that I would get along well with Gaby from his work and invited us both to lunch.  Sure enough, we hit it off!  Since then, Gaby has been my savior here in Peru.  The first weekend Charlie was away, she picked me up and took me all around Lima to buy things I needed for the apartment.  I knew we would get along because we both liked gossiping, shopping, Pisco Sours, and working out.  We started having girls nights, going to Pisco Sour tastings, beach trips, etc.  She’s in my running group that meets for long runs on the weekends.  At least one day a week, she meets me at my apartment at 5:30AM, and we jog down to the ocean front to run stairs for 30 minutes.

Gaby studied translation in school and while I am determined to soon speak only in Spanish, it’s really nice to have someone I can gossip with in English.  She helps me with my Spanish, and I teach her slang words that she hasn’t heard of in English, such as “prego”  (for pregnant), “huffy puffy” (to describe being angry), and “douchbag” (to describe a guy we don’t like).

Gladys: My famous friend

One day when we were at the beach, we noticed that Gladys was in the background of a photo in Cosas, which is like the Peruvian version of People magazine.  We joke that this makes her my first famous friend!  She is also in my running group.  Although her English is good, we speak solely in Spanish (we are in Peru, you know).  Fortunately, she speaks slowly and clearly so I can understand.  When Gladys, Gaby and I hang out, we discuss very important topics such as celebrities, male anatomy, articles in periodicals like Cosmopolitan and Cosas, and the word I learned from Gladys “Chaka Chaka.”

Noelle:  My American Friend

Charlie, me, Ricardo, Gladys, and Noelle

I met Noelle in my first Spanish school.  We bonded over the fact that we didn’t like the teaching style there.  The next semester we switched to a better school and began studying together after class.  Noelle’s from Washington, but is a world traveler.  In recent years she has lived in southeast Asia where she taught English and has spent the past few months traveling in South America in hopes of settling somewhere down here for at least a year.

One thing I appreciate about Noelle is her willingness to talk to anyone.  She has gotten herself in trouble a couple times, misjudging the seemingly kind intentions of men who want to “help her learn Spanish” over coffee.  If someone tells her a section of town is not safe, she tries even harder to go there.  Most of the time she just ends up with good stories about the people she meets in her daily adventures.  Unfortunately, in the next week or so, Noelle will be heading off to Columbia to pursue a potential job opportunity.

Vanessa:  My Friend From the Park

Vanessa is from Mendoza, Argentina and is married to Felipe from Santiago, Chile.  We met in the park where Brandy and her dog, Inca, hit it off right away.  We had no choice but to become friends.  Vanessa, like me, has moved to Peru on account of her husband’s job, has plenty of free time during the day, and loves to talk!  We meet in the park, walk our dogs together, and recently started doing errands together during the day.  We’ve had a couple double dates with our husbands, who also get along quite well.

Ricardo, Gaby, Gladys and I at a restaurant about to eat Ceviche

Although now I understand most of what she says, when I met Vanessa, I could only follow about a third of our conversation.  We speak to each other in Spanish and she speaks quickly in her Argentine accent.  I remember coming in from the park one day, trying to tell Charlie about my new friend.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: “Either she’s married, or is going to get married in either April or November.”

Charlie: “Interesting.  How long has she lived in Peru?”

Me: “Either she arrived a year ago as of April or November, or she’s been here a year and it will be 2 in April or November.”

Charlie: “Hmm.  So what else did you talk about?  Are you going to meet again?”

Me:  “Yes, we exchanged phone numbers!  Either we’re going to meet in the park at 5, or she’s going to call me at 5, or I’m supposed to call her at 5.  Either tomorrow, or next Wednesday.  I didn’t follow that part, but I really like her, I think we have a lot in common.”

Some guy named Ralph Waldo Emerson said at some point “A man’s growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends.”  I wonder how long his list was.

-Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 02 April 2010