By Danielle L. Krautmann

Celebrating Easter with a traditional Panetton

The other day I was taking a taxi back from work.  I negotiated the fare to be eight soles, a fair price to go from San Borja to my apartment in San Isidro.  I told the taxi driver to please not take the street Javier Prado explaining “la trafica es mierda ahora,” and asked him to take a different route.  He ignored my request and landed us in stand still traffic on Javier Prado.  He told me if I wanted to continue, I would need to pay 12 soles.  Assessing the situation to be non-threatening, I explained to him that he had two options.  I could get out of the taxi and pay him nothing, or he could take me to my apartment for the price we agreed upon.  I said I had told him not to take Javier Prado and he took it anyway, that was his problem, not mine.  He mumbled a couple swears and agreed to take me for eight soles.  I won an argument in Spanish!  Yes!

Something has changed over the past two months.  I first became aware of it when I started having difficulty coming up with blog topics.  At first, everything felt so new and different that I had a long list of topics I wanted to cover.  Then, I was so frustrated with the differences that I didn’t want to write about them.  Lately, it’s getting harder and harder to see the differences between Peru and the United States because it feels like day to day life.

Some friends over for Charlie's surprise 30th birthday party

I am currently in the process of getting my Peruvian Foreign Residency card or Carnet de Extranjeria.  Don’t be confused, this is not citizenship, it’s basically permission to stay for an extended period of time without a visa.  It’s about as Peruvian as I can get.  While I contemplate what this means for me, I can’t help but recall a conversation I had with Charlie in February when my frustrations hit the roof.  Charlie told me that I lived here now and needed to get used to the cultural differences.  At the time, it was the meanest thing he could have possibly said to me.  How dare he tell me that I live here?  I thought we were just staying temporarily until it was over!

So what’s the difference between being a resident and just staying here?  It wasn’t until my recent visit back to the States that I really felt, for better or for worse, that my home is here in Peru.  When I got together with friends or family, most people’s first question was, “How’s Peru?”  You would think that I would be a pro at answering such a generic question, but it continued to dumbfound me.  I felt like I was being asked “how is your life?” and had no idea where to start my answer.  While three months ago, I would have delved into the differences between the two countries, my answer tended to be something along the lines of “Peru’s good, how’s New Hampshire?”

I have noticed that as Peru has begun to feel more like home, situations that originally sent me running back to the apartment in fits of rage or tears are now nothing more than little annoyances.  For example, paying the monthly bills is a tedious process.  Checks don’t exist here and you can’t pay with credit card so you need to go to the bank associated with the company (for example Telefonica is our cable/internet provider and they use Scotiabank) and deposit money into their account.   Since everyone does this, the lines are usually long and since people feel the need to start every interaction with a polite conversation (taking much longer than I believe they should), the lines move slowly.  The first time I went to pay bills, I quit half way through, storming home after waiting in line for a hour and a half.  Now, I plan the bill-paying process will take at least an afternoon.  I usually spread it out over two days and go to the bank when it’s least busy.

Presenting Charlie with cake at his surprise 30th b-day party

I still get annoyed with los hombres, but have had a revelation.  About a month ago, I walked by two men, dressed professionally in business suits in a nice area of the city.  They were having a seemingly serious conversation about investments (I was eavesdropping).  As I walked by them, one of the men momentarily excused himself, made an obnoxious smooching noise towards me, then apologized to his business partner and continued the conversation.  It was almost as if he was obligated to do it.  Like if I walked by and one of them neglected to comment, the conversation could not continue or one might lose respect for the other.  Now, I get this machoism is a cultural thing and I need to try to accept it.  While it used to cause me to have violent dreams about beating a Peruvian man until he bleeds (seriously), now I just roll my eyes or turn up my Ipod.

I can speak enough Spanish to get by in most situations.  I do not consider myself fluent because I still can’t follow jokes told in Spanish, sarcasm, or quick conversation among groups, but I’m getting there.  I can get around the city by bus and know how much I should be paying for taxis so I’m taken advantage of less.  I’ve got friends in Peru who I missed on my trip back to the states.  I found work tutoring English to children and between that and Spanish classes have managed to keep my days quite full (although I still miss my job as an occupational therapist terribly).  I got sick of telling people that I moved here for my husband’s job, so I’ve begun to tell people I’m either a writer or a teacher (depending on the day and what I’ve done more of).  Although I don’t have the official card to prove it, I will soon and I think it’s safe to say that I’m not just staying here anymore.  I live here.  I’m a resident of Peru.

Related posts:

1. Arrival in Peru
2. Kissing in Peru
3. Transportation in Lima

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.

Related posts:

1. Transportation in Lima
2. Grizzly Bears in Lima
3. A Day in Lima Contest

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.

Related posts:

1. Feeling at home in Peru, Finally
2. Lima 42 K
3. A Day in Lima Contest

An American in Peru

Charlie swimming with the sea lions

Between junior and senior year of college, I studied abroad in the rainforest of northeastern Australia.  I spent four weeks living in an open-air cabin in the middle of the forest learning about and aiding local reforestation efforts…the experience of a lifetime.  Afterwards, I spent six weeks traveling in parts of Australia, New Zealand and Fiji, my first stop being Sydney.  Accompanied by five other students from my program, I spent my first night in the city participating in a pub crawl.  The $35 fee covered a ride on the party bus (complete with disco ball), a drink or shot at seven different pubs, and a t-shirt!  It sounded ideal to a 21-year-old who had been living a sober existence in the middle of the rainforest for the past month.  Although I recall very little from this night, I am told that after the 5th stop, my friends found me sitting next to a tree alone outside one of our stops, crying.  Apparently I drunkenly blubbered about how sad I was to be out of the forest.  “The city, it’s so loud!” I slurred, “You can’t see any stars!  The trees are growing out of the cement, not the earth!  There are more buildings than animals!  The ground is so hard!”

In recent years, for reasons such as this, I have written off drinking shots under any circumstances.  Although lately I’ve found myself feeling those same sentiments.  Along with many firsts (first time not working, first time living in a Spanish-speaking country, first marriage, etc.), this is my first time living in a city.  I have always enjoyed going to cities to visit friends, tour museums, and experience a different culture, but living in one is different.  I’m lucky to live across the street from a park the size of a city block.  I frequently find myself getting as close as I can to the middle of it, closing my eyes and blocking out the sounds of the cars.  I try to pretend I’m in the middle of the woods.  Every other day I walk down to Lima’s beautiful coastline, sit in the well kept parks and imagine there is not a road behind me.

Danielle at Club del Bosque

Fortunately, this past weekend, Charlie and I had two excellent opportunities to escape the city.  I had been researching day trips and told my friend Gaby what I had found  She suggested that instead, we go to a club about an hour outside the city.  Her father is a member and with a signed letter of approval and our passports, we could spend the day.  Club del Bosque turned out to be like a mountain resort.  Everything was green!  We arrived in the afternoon and started by taking a nap on the grass under a big shady tree.  We had a late lunch, swam in the pool, then went on a short hike to a beautiful overlook. This being our first close-up look, we were surprised to see the mountains right outside of Lima so dry and barren of vegetation…especially as we were enjoying them from a beautifully green resort.  The resort is in a riparian zone, fed by Rimac River which runs all the way to Lima.  It felt like we were in a desert oasis.  The trip was a wonderful escape.  Thanks Gaby!

On Sunday, I arranged for us to take a four-hour boat tour around the Islas Palominos off the coast of Lima.  Charlie and I have been wanting to check out activities we can take our visitors to do (eh-hem) and this turned out to be an excellent choice!  The boat toured San Lorenzo Island, the second biggest island in the country, currently a Navy zone.  Next we passed Fronton Island, also known as “prison island”, which housed the most dangerous criminals and terrorists in the country until is was bombed in 1986.  We also viewed Cavinzas Island, a popular hang out for sea birds, who produce the treasured guano.  Guano is bird excrement, used in making fertilizer and gunpowder.  This is a highly sought after commodity imported by countries including France, Germany, and the United States.  This particular island is protected heavily from fishing and other disturbances and mined every eight years for its “goods”.

When I was making arrangements for the tour, I read that swimming with sea lions was a possibility, but had no idea what I was getting into.  As the boat approached Palominos Island, the guide told us it was a natural residence and refuge for more than 8,000 sea lions!  As we got closer, the smell of guano became overpowering.  Then we began to hear them…barking, roaring and screeching were thousands of sea lions covering the small island.  The guide explained that the noises they make are their way of defending their territory, then gave us life jackets and told us to jump in.

Although Charlie was, of course, one of the first ones in the water, I was hesitant.  Male South American sea lions weigh up to 770 pounds and their territorial noises felt uninviting.  Initially, I used the excuse of taking pictures to avoid joining them, but Charlie talked me into it and as usual, I’m glad.  I jumped into the freezing water to join my husband and the lions.  The guide said that if we didn’t want them to touch us, we should move our legs around.  Charlie stayed still in the water and one of them swam up against him.  I’ve never kicked harder in my life but they were still swimming within five feet of me.  Yikes!  Due to much stricter rules, you would NEVER be able to do this in the States!

Related posts:

1. Arrival in Peru
2. A Day in Lima Contest
3. Lima 42 K

An American in Peru

What time is it?

Every greeting starts with a buenos dias (good morning), buenas tardes (good afternoon or evening), or buenas noches (good night).  This is fine and dandy, but sometimes adds to my anxiety of beginning a conversation, entering a store, or asking for directions.  In addition to figuring out how to say what I want to say, I need to quickly determine what time it is.  Who pays attention to that anyway?  Usually I wait for the other person to greet me and copy them, or just say buenas and mumble the rest.

They pay for things differently

This is not one of my favorite things about Peru.  Usually the purchase of a simple item goes something like this; first you need to tell a sales clerk what you want, they print a receipt which you take to a different counter to pay.  Once you’ve paid, you get a second receipt to return to the first clerk so they can finally give you the item.  That’s how I bought my vacuum cleaner.  Buying a $15 alarm clock at an electronics store was even more complicated.  I told the clerk at the clock counter which one I wanted.  He printed the receipt and sent me to the pay counter where I waited in line and paid.  Then I needed to go to a third counter to retrieve the clock, but when I got there, the clock hadn’t made it from the original counter (which was less than 15 feet away), so I waited for the clerks to figure out the problem.  By the time I was holding the alarm clock in my hands, I could have made one from scratch!  Oy.

How much does this cost?

Unless you purchase an item at a store, or a restaurant with prices on the menu, the cost of most things is debatable.  When I ask how much an item costs, I usually get a ridiculously high number quoted to me (commonly known as the “gringo price”).  From here, I need to barter.  I laugh at the vendor and tell them I’m not an idiot and give them a more reasonable number.  We argue back and forth until we finally arrive at a compromise (which is probably still far more than I should be paying).  I have been given lines about how the exchange rate between Dollars and Nuevo Soles varies depending on what time of day it is or what district of Lima you’re in (not true).  Sometimes the vendor will pull out a calculator and begin quickly performing nonsense calculations, conversions, “discounts” and “taxes” as a part of their argument.

The tactics Charlie has given me to combat this include telling the vendor you will just go to the other guy across the street who is offering a better price, or showing him the money you’re willing to pay and telling him to take it or leave it.  The most common thing Charlie and I barter for is the price of a taxi ride.  The whole process feels uncomfortable and annoying, but is perhaps beneficial to my marriage.  I do believe that the constant bartering Charlie and I need to do throughout the day has drastically reduced the amount of energy either of us are willing to exert into daily bickering with each other.  Since we’ve been down here, I’ve heard nothing about how many pies a month I need to make to be a good wife (a common topic of debate from the past).

PDA

Where I buy my veggies

Back in the day, Charlie and I used to argue about our opinions on public displays of affection.  When we were at parties I didn’t like how he would either treat me like one of the guys, or ignore me.  I would say to him “Charlie, how are people going to know that we love each other?”  His reply was, “Why do other people need to know we love each other?”  Fine.  He had a point.  PDA is far more common here.  Every time I look around the park in front of my apartment, I notice at least one bench occupied with a couple kissing. If you get a good show, sometimes they’re making out…or even groping!  And not just teenagers, you see this across the ages.  It’s hard not to stare.    Charlie feels it’s insincere. He tells me that the men I see making out on park benches and whispering into their girlfriend’s ear probably have a wife at home or another girlfriend living in a different part of the city.  If you think about that way, it’s a little less endearing.  But for the most part, I think it’s nice to see people expressing their love for one another.  It’s better than fighting.

Kissing

Speaking of PDA, in Peru (and I think a lot of Latin America) everybody kisses everyone all the time!!!  When you are introduced to someone or meet up with a friend; most familiar greetings and partings are followed by a kiss on the cheek.  I kiss Gaby, I kiss this girl I keep seeing in the park (we talk while our dogs play together), I kiss Charlie’s boss, and I kiss Carlos, our driver.  It’s great!  Again, Charlie and I differ in our opinions of this. Charlie feels like the affection is not always genuine.  He points out that as a social obligation, you are forced to show affection to people you don’t know or don’t like.  Maybe it’s the “rubia puta” in me, but I love kissing everyone!  Oh well, different  strokes, different folks.

Dressing

If I keep walking around in workout clothes and flip flops, I’ll never fit in.  In the business district of San Isidro, Lima, where I live, people dress quite nicely.  Maybe this is a city thing as much as a Lima thing, nonetheless I feel the need to adapt.  Since my hair color, skin color and accent don’t help me, I figured if I start dressing the part, it might make me look more Peruvian.  So I went to a clothing boutique near my house and told the sales clerks I was looking for some nice pants.  By nice, I was thinking anything other than workout pants or baggy jeans.

They chose several pairs for me to try on.  The first two pairs I couldn’t get up over my thighs. By the third pair, basic black, slim hip huggers, the three sales clerks were determined.  As we faced the mirror, one stood behind me and gave instructions to hold my breath while the other two tugged the pants over my butt. Then each pulled in towards the middle until the button met the button hole to seal the deal.  Sucking in my gut as far as I could, they were able to pull the zipper up.  They all stepped back triumphantly and watched and waited for my opinion as I reluctantly studied the new look in the mirror.

Presenting it as a question, I suggested that maybe, just maybe the pants were one size too small.  The girls looked at me like I was crazy and told me to look at the fit of their pants, which, sure enough, fit just as tight if not tighter than mine. “Okay,” I thought to myself “when in Rome…” While I was talking myself into the purchase and trying to figure out how I would get the pants off, a sales clerk brought out a pair of four-inch stilettos.  Standing in them with ankles wobbling (I’ve never been very sturdy on my feet), she explained that this would make the pants the perfect height.  I purchased the pants and two nights later went shopping with Gaby to buy two pairs of stilettos: one three-inch, one four-inch.  I’ve been practicing wearing them, but keep a pair of flip flops in my purse when I go out in case I need to do any significant walking.  I must admit, the outfit is flattering.  No wonder everyone I greet wants to kiss me!

Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 02 Feb 2010

Related posts:

1. Arrival in Peru
2. Feeling at home in Peru, Finally
3. It’s the little things

An American in Peru

Where I buy fruit

It’s amazing how much a single interaction, or the successful completion of a task can make my day and contribute to my happiness here.  Conversely, a failed task or misunderstanding can be devastating.  Who knew I was so sensitive?

Here’s an example. This weekend, Charlie bought me a cell phone (I had been using a temporary one lent to me by his company), but it’s a pay as you go, so I needed to go to my favorite grocery store, Wong, to add minutes. This involved reciting a nine-digit number to the cashier in Spanish three times.  She showed me the number printed on a receipt, it looked right and I walked home feeling proud of myself for doing this without Charlie’s help…all in Spanish!  Boy, I was feeling good…like maybe, just maybe I can make it here on my own.  I don’t have to wait for Charlie to come home from the mine before I take care of business.  I am an independent, Spanish-speaking traveler who will be just fine here.

I called Charlie to brag about my accomplishment and after a couple minutes lost the call and heard a message that said I needed to add minutes to my phone.  What?  After further investigation of my receipt I realized the number I recited was one digit away from the correct one.  I added $17 to some lucky person’s phone rather than mine.  How kind of me.  This deflating discovery made me feel like curling up on the couch and watching a familiar DVD in English, eating ice cream and calling home.  I thought to myself how will I ever make it here if I can’t even add minutes to my phone? Fortunately, my schedule did not allow time for a pity party, I had a girl’s night out planned with Gaby.  This morning, I humbly returned to Wong with my phone number written on a piece of paper.  Although they were not capable of correcting the problem, I was able to add minutes to my phone.

This afternoon I went to Idiomas Catolicas to buy the books for my Spanish class which starts next week.  I paid, and while I was waiting for the secretary to bring me my books, was approached by a well-dressed, bubbly twenty-something year old woman named Rita.  She asked (in Spanish) where I was from and if I spoke English.  When I answered her she became overjoyed. I was afraid she would burst into bright bubbles of excitement right in front of me!  Within 10 seconds, she had practically dragged me, by my hand, into an empty classroom.  She quickly introduced herself, asked my name, and gave me the formal greeting of a kiss on the cheek.

Rita explained to me (in Spanish) that she was taking English classes at the school but would like private lessons to help her perfect her pronunciation and compliment her classes.  We exchanged phone numbers and established that the best times for me would be Mon-Wed in the afternoon.  She asked how much I charged per hour.  This was all happening so fast, I could barely follow the conversation.  I was fumbling around with my Spanish trying to figure out how to tell her I would need to talk with my husband first.  Being an inexperienced teacher, I had no idea what I should charge.

I considered telling her that if she would be my friend, I would charge her nothing.  She seemed nice and I can always use more friends…I’ll buy them if I have to.  But the eagerness and anticipation in her face made me feel like I should quit thinking to myself and throw out a number: $15 dollars an hour.  Without flinching, she said it was perfect and she would call me this weekend.  She kissed me again and apologized, I think for being so rushed, then briskly walked off to class backwards, smiling and waving to me the whole way.  This entire interaction took less than 3 minutes and I was left alone standing dumbfounded in the empty classroom.  Do I have a job?

Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 28 Jan 2010

Related posts:

1. Arrival in Peru
2. Feeling at home in Peru, Finally
3. Lima 42 K

An American in Peru

It’s hard to believe I’ve been here 20 days already.  I feel like I’m only beginning to adjust to life in Peru.  I’ve had a lot of comments and email responses to my blog and wanted to answer some commonly asked questions…

On Married Life…

Married life rocks.  I’m really enjoying it.  I can’t quite put my finger on what is different from being in a long term relationship, maybe it’s just the mentality.  Nevertheless, Charlie is a great husband.  He has put a lot of effort into making things comfortable for me down here.  The little things, like getting me a phone, coming home for his lunch breaks (when he’s working in Lima), inviting me to join his work’s running club, and buying everything we could possibly need for this apartment really add up.

On Friends…

Charlie knows that one of the most important things to me is having a social life.  Last week, he introduced me to one of his co-workers, Gaby, who has become my first friend here in Peru.  We get along very well.  She is Peruvian, but studied English translation in college and has spent time in the States.  When we are together we go back and forth between the two languages so that I can practice Spanish, but get my point across as well.  When Charlie was working at the mine, she took me out for an afternoon of shopping and another night to see a movie with her and her mom.  Gaby is one of those people who can figure out how to do just about anything, being a great resource for me here in Lima.  In fact, when I’m ready to start doing some work teaching English, she has some excellent resources to help me get started.

On the apartment…

One great thing about our apartment is that it came furnished with everything we could possibly need to start our life here right down to a citrus juicer and a sandwich griller.  We live in a perfect two bedroom, three bathroom, park-front apartment that reeks of modern deco.  The dining room and living room tables and shelves are made of glass and everything in the apartment that is not glass is either black, white, silver or blood red…kind of like a scene from American Psycho and definitely not our first choice in design.

Fortunately, a trip to Mercado Indios supplied us with everything we needed to brighten the place up for less than $75.  Mercado Indios, located in Miraflores Lima contains ridiculous amounts of colorful blankets, alpaca wool sweaters, and various other hand and machine made crafts.  One needs to be a very good negotiator to go shopping there because nothing has a set price.  The blonde hair alone gets me a gringo price wherever I go, and the poor Spanish finalizes the deal.  I went with Charlie to the market determined not to get taken advantage of and used my stubbornness to my advantage.  I bought table cloths to cover the glass, cozy blankets to warm up the couch, and bright colored fruits and flowers made from basket material to put on the glass shelves.  I am happy to say things are beginning to feel like home.

On learning Spanish….

I feel like it’s pretty hard not to learn Spanish living in Peru.  I haven’t encountered a lot of people who speak English in my daily travels and find need to use the language for most daily interactions.  Gloria (our maid) is a great Spanish teacher without even trying.  She is patient and when I don’t understand something and thinks of another way to say it.  She speaks slowly and clearly and lets me follower her around and talk to her while she cleans.  Gaby is an excellent teacher as well.  When we are speaking in Spanish, she gets the gist of what I’m trying to tell her, and helps me formulate my sentences correctly.

Beginning on February 2nd, I will be taking Spanish classes at Idomas Catolica, a language school less than a mile from my house.  The classes are five days a week, for two hours a day.  Although I learn a lot in my daily interactions, a class format will help me get the technicalities of the language down a little better.  At this point, I’m able to get by with what I know, but every conversation continues to be a struggle.  I find myself acting out words I don’t know, like “energy” or “power strip”, making conversations exhausting.  When I return to the States, I’ll be very good at charades.  I see the anticipation in other people’s faces when they are waiting for me to construct my sentence.  I want to speak more than I am able to right now and it drives me nuts!  Soon enough….

Related posts:

1. A Little Help from My Friends
2. Arrival in Peru
3. A Day in Lima Contest

An American in Peru

Six months ago, I was living in Seattle with roommates, working as an occupational therapist for a home health company.  Now, I am a housewife in Lima, Peru.

I am delighted to finally be living with my husband who has been working as a geotechnical engineer at a mine here for the past year. We were married in October, but he has continued to work his schedule of three weeks in Peru to 10 days in the States since). When Charlie’s company offered to move us to Lima, we were thrilled as we both love international travel and getting to know other places and people.

On the other hand, I enjoy being an occupational therapist and I’m good at it. My Spanish is not strong enough for me to work as an OT in Lima, and while there are other things I can and will do, part of my self identity comes from my work, so I’m feeling a little lost.  Also, being financially dependent on Charlie is a concept that I am having a very difficult time getting used to.  As if all of this isn’t change enough, I have a different name here too. Peruvians struggle with calling me Danielle as it’s only used as a male’s name; Daniella is much easier for them.

Despite the changes, I am determined to make this a great experience. My goal is to quickly become fluent in Spanish and take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way.  We are living in a beautiful, brand new apartment in San Isidro. Assuming I stay in this area of Lima, I can be fairly secure using basic travel safety guidelines (always know where you are, always know who’s behind/around you, don’t get too wasted, etc.). This is important as Charlie will continue to spend some time (no more than a week at a time) at the mine in Cajamarca, during which I will be on my own. The main thing to be concerned about are pick pockets, scammers, and muggers. I just happen to be a main target for these crimes because I look like a tourist.

I am a blonde, twenty-never-mind year old who took French in high school and American sign language in college. Although the color of my hair may not seem important, please consider the population make up of Lima: 40% Mestizos (Mixed Amerindian with Spanish or Asians), 38% Amerindians (Aymara and Quechua), 11% white, 5% Asians, and 4% Afro-Peruvians. With the average José Schmoe you see walking down the street having dark skin and black hair, I stick out like a sore thumb. My favorite answer to the suggestion of friends and family members to dye my hair is what I told my friends in Colorado: “That would be like going to Africa and painting my skin black.”  The fitting-in factor does not help when I have Charlie with me.  Although he’s got fairly dark hair and speaks far better Spanish than I, he’s 6 feet, 3 inches tall. Average male height in Peru: 5’5”.

The third member of our family, Brandy, is the most obvious American of all. She’s a Chesapeake Bay Retriever and although I don’t have a statistic, I would guess about four times the size of most Peruvian dogs. Getting her through customs was a nightmare and I hope not representative of how things are done in this country. Brandy and I came into Peru on the same flight arriving at 11:30 pm one week ago today. Charlie had flown in several days earlier for work and thankfully was able to complete most of the paperwork needed for Brandy earlier in the day. Even so, we did not leave the airport with her until around 6:30 the next morning.

The process involved going back and forth between four different buildings to get a series of authorizations and signatures.  I am guessing that it is not very common for people to bring dogs into this country because most of the times we arrived at a building and told the clerk we needed a signature to claim our dog, they were unsure of what they were supposed to do, or where we needed to go next.  After waking from their nap, the clerk at each building would make several phone calls, disappear for a while, come back (sometimes with another person), make photocopies of our paperwork, and send us somewhere else.  One man in the customs building fell asleep in front of us while entering our information into the computer.  I suppose you can’t blame them, as it was the middle of the night and some had very inviting beds or cots in their office.  In the end, Brandy made it safe and sound and was very eager to get out of her crate and drink some water.  I, on the other hand, was exhausted and traumatized.

Later that same day, Charlie had to return to the mine for 3 days, leaving Brandy and I to our own devices. Being sleep deprived and scared to being here alone, I decided that I would not leave the apartment until Charlie returned on Friday. I felt bad for myself, not knowing Spanish and having no friends, job, or purpose, and cried about it for about an hour. Then I got bored, started making to do lists, and experimented with the phone Charlie left me.  I tried to learn the different Spanish words for “settings,”  “tools,”  and most importantly “messages.”  I texted “te amo” to Charlie, and frustrated with not getting an immediate reply, texted it again.  About 10 minutes later I received a call from “privado” and stared at the phone while it rang, trying to build up the guts to answer in Spanish. “Hola?” I said meekly.  Hoping to God, it was Charlie calling from a different “private” number.

The man’s voice on the other end of the phone was speaking quickly in Spanish and I could not understand one word of it, but got from his intonations that he was asking me multiple questions.  I sputtered  out an “um, no entiendo,” and was about to hang up, when I heard, “Daniella?”  I answered, “Um, Si…” and was relieved to hear “Soy Carlos!”  The driver from Charlie’s work who had dropped us off earlier that morning!  My relief was immediately replaced with humiliation when I realized from his laughter and the small bits of language that I could understand, that I had texted “te amo” to Carlos, not Charlie. Oops.

I turned the phone off immediately left the apartment for to walk off my embarrassment.

Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 15 January 2010

Related posts:

1. Feeling at home in Peru, Finally
2. Life getting easier…
3. Kissing in Peru