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

“Don’t go to Gamarra.  It’s not safe.”

Ever since Noelle, my American friend from Spanish class, suggested we go there, I was told not to by just about everyone I encountered…Limenians included.  But the fact of the matter is, if I only did what people told me was safe, I would be staying within a 10-block radius of my house.  Boooorrrring.

Frog Juice Photo Credit: Jorge Gobbi

I get tired of people telling me to be careful as if I am naïve and don’t know what I’m getting myself into.  I have traveled plenty on my own, had good experiences, and bad “unsafe” ones.  Despite everything I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t want to miss out on life because I’m afraid.  You can be in Boulder, CO, one of the safest places in the world, and get chased by a mountain lion (stupid lion).  Careful is good, sitting alone on my balcony in San Isidro with the rest of the white people in Peru is boring.  Plus, Noelle had been to Gamarra already and said it was a really cool place to go shopping.

So, I donned my “going to an unsafe section of town” outfit (pants with snap pockets, dirty t-shirt, and dark colored bandanna which makes me look like a bad-ass pirate) and off we went.  As the bus worked its way through the surrounding neighborhoods of the market, I better understood the warnings of my friends (and husband).  If you remember how much I stand out in my safe little San Isidro and Miraflores, picture this about 10 times greater.  Gamara is not a place that tourists visit.  The surrounding neighborhoods are quite poor.  There are plenty of unemployed people living there who will do anything it takes to get by.

But the market was awesome!  Fenced in to prevent cars from entering were shops upon shops (really, they were practically on top of each other) of clothing…with the best prices I’ve seen in the world!  Some of the clothing is “name brand” but I’m pretty sure they’re knock-offs.  You can get jeans custom made for the equivalent of $13, just choose your style and which denim you want and return to pick them up in two days.

The most interesting part of the market is what I will call the “voodoo homeopathic market.”  It’s a large tented area with aisles of booths containing natural remedies for all sorts of ailments.  Several booths had fish tanks stuffed with live frogs or toads.  They were swimming and jumping all over each other.  What could these be for?  We asked a man who was making a soup with frogs, onions, and rice.  “Para los ojos y los musculos,” he told us with a grin while pointing to his eyes, then flexing his muscles.

I’ve learned through further internet research that some Andean cultures believe consuming frogs can cure asthma, bronchitis, sluggishness, and low sex drive.  Yes, this frog juice is sometimes known as “Peruvian Viagra,” (as if the men around here need any more boosting of their sex drives).  Anyway, one man with the frogs offered a free sample to Noelle and I, and I’m kicking myself for not trying it.  I hate passing up opportunities to try new things, but the smell of the dead snakes was just too overpowering!  I feared that if I drank frog juice while smelling snake guts, I would puke.

Yes, you it read correctly: dead snakes.   They were sliced down the middle, de-boned, with a layer of blubber still on them (I’m guessing that’s where the smell came from).  A topical cream is made from this blubber which is said to help with pain from arthritis, broken bones, sore muscles, and back pain.  Something like IcyHot.  A few other booths had baskets of large live snails.  We asked a woman who was hunched over a basin of water rinsing off her snails.  ”Para una gripe,” she told us.  For a cold. Apparently the slime is used to soothe the throat. Although decongestants like DayQuil and NyQuil are hard to come by, this wouldnot be my first choice for a back-up.

There was somewhat of a celebrity who had a booth in this section of the market.  He displayed several newspaper articles praising him for his work as a healer.  Although there weren’t any snails, he had many different types of dried dead animals for purchase.  I considered buying Charlie a seagull head to bring him good luck, but decided to hold off and save it for my next trip home.  Maybe Grams would like one.  She loves birds.

-Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 23 March 2010

Since I’ve starting blogging, many of you have shared with me things you’ve learned about Peru online; some of you have even bought books about Peru!  I hope this is because you are trying to plan a trip to come and visit Charlie and I. If not, let’s use your researching skills and have a fun little contest.

let's keep it a friendly competition

The Challenge:

Come up with something for me to do for an afternoon in Lima.

I’ve been bopping all around the city exploring and am always open to new suggestions.  The world is my oyster and you guys can help me explore it!  If you come up with an appropriate idea, please post it in the comment section of my blog for all readers to see.

I’ll choose the best (and most feasible) three ideas to do.  I’ll take pictures and notes and tell you all about it in a future blog post. The three contest winners who come up with the best ideas will receive a postcard from Peru (I know it’s not much, but it’s really expensive to mail things to the States).

Here are a couple things to keep in mind.

I have a guide book which has many of the museums, churches, tourist activities, etc.,  and am looking for something off the beaten path.  Although, if you think you’ve found something that I might not have heard of or considered, suggest away!

• Let’s keep it under 100 Soles or $30…don’t want to go broke from this!

• Make it specific…if you suggest a cooking class, find the class and tell me where and when to go.  I know there are a bunch of cooking schools in Lima, but would like specifics.  So rather than suggesting “take a cooking class,” try “Thursday, 7 PM, at Pepe’s Cocina, there is a class on making Tamales.”

• I’m not looking for a big commitment such as a job, or a class that meets more than once.  Just an afternoon, or full day activity.

• Let’s try to keep it fairly safe too…something I can do on my own or with a girlfriend.  I live in San Isidro, Lima, and my Spanish school is in Miraflores, Lima.  While I’m perfectly willing to venture from here, Lima is large and some areas can be very sketchy, so let’s be careful.

• Charlie, I’m not attending finishing or etiquette school.  Sorry.  Please do not suggest that again.

Hints….

*Here are two ex-pat websites that have information about Lima.  They also have forums where you can ask questions of other ex-pats who live in Lima.

Expat Peru

South American Explorers- Lima

*There is also a Facebook page for Peru ex-pats.

*There are plenty of websites relating to tourism in Peru…I’ll let you find those on your own.

Google Translate can help you translate webpages from Spanish to English so don’t let language be a barrier.

Buenos Suerte!

-Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 19 March 2010

In the summer of 2005 I hiked Mt. Washington with my uncle Flip and lifelong friend Pat as part of my goal to summit all 48 of New Hampshire’s 4,000 footers.  At an elevation of 6,288 feet above sea level, Mt. Washington is the highest in the White Mountains and home of the world’s most severe and rapidly changing weather.  To this day it still holds the highest recorded wind reading: 231 mph at the weather observatory in 1934.

The hike was challenging and the weather was less than desirable.  It was foggy and wet with a light rain and sleet at times.  When we reached the summit, it even snowed…in July!  Cold and wet, we went into the lodge/observatory to warm up and eat our sandwiches.  I noticed women and men in clean dry clothes and “adventure” hats ordering french fries and hamburgers from the cafeteria.  They had taken the train to the summit.  “Jerks,” I muttered to myself.  I couldn’t help but feel disappointed having reached the summit without a grandiose view from the highest of all of my peaks.

Hoping to silently wallow in my disappointment, I hiked ahead of Pat and Flip as we began our decent.  After several minutes, I noticed that the precipitation had stopped, although there was still heavy cloud cover and plenty of fog.  I continued to hike, thinking about how I wished I had picked another day, or maybe left earlier in the morning, or not had such expectations for a view.  This peak is only out of the clouds an average of 65 days a year. What made me think I was worthy?  The faster I walked, the more quickly the negative thoughts left me and my focus fell to the rhythm of my step. The moist air blowing chaotically all around me…breathing it in and out as I hiked.

Then for a second, a spot in the clouds cleared away for a precious glimpse of blue sky.  But with another gust of wind, it was gone and I was back in the thick fog.  I kept hiking, all the while anticipating these moments of clarity and feeling charged by them.  Each whisp of air toyed with my vulnerable emotions.  Woosh! A second of blue sky…encouragement!  Clarity!  Swish.  Back in the fog.  Disappointment.  Regret.  Woosh! A view of a small peak in the distance!  I was here for a reason!  Swish.  Back in the fog.  How many miles did I have left to hike?

As I continued down the North Ridge, the windows of clear views became more frequent.  I stopped to catch my breath and looked around.  I saw Pat and Flip (the two most positive people in the world) a ways back having a friendly conversation as they descended.  I turned and looked down into the open space below me, The Great Gulf of Wilderness, noticing it was clear of fog.  I took a deep breath in and as I exhaled a gust of wind came up from this valley and blew all of the clouds behind me.  I could see everything clearly!  Mountains, valleys, ridges and blue sky!  A brief moment in time I will never forget.

When I arrived in Peru, I had very little grasp of the Spanish language.  I relied on Charlie for every important task that required a conversation.  I could pick out words in conversations, and accomplish simple tasks such as trips to the grocery store.  It was exhausting and discouraging and at this moment I still have bad days or exhausting days where I feel like I am completely in a fog.  But over the past month, I’ve started to notice moments of clarity…A successful conversation with a friend in the park.  She tells me about her wedding and I understand her!  A glimpse!  Then she tells me about her husband’s work and while I pretend to understand, she’s speaking too fast and the words blur together.  Whoosh.  She lost me.  I’m back in the clouds.  Swish!  My girlfriends come over for cocktails and girl talk, the whole night almost completely in Spanish!  I can talk about “Chaka Chaka” in Spanish!  Who knew?  Clarity!  Swoosh.  I try to ask a question about a Peruvian celebrity to a woman in the grocery isle and she can’t understand me.  I try again, but it’s her turn to pay and she walks away quickly.  Puff.  I’m alone in the fog.

I attend Spanish class five days a week for two hours a day.  I study for at least two hours a day and practice with my friends.  I speak Spanish to Brandy and watch Spanish TV.  I use my Spanish cookbook and look up words I don’t know.  I ask questions (even when I know the answers) just to practice the language.  Like hiking on Mt. Washington, I keep moving forward, allowing myself to get charged and encouraged by the moments of clarity.  I can’t help but look forward to the day when I am fluent in Spanish…when I feel like I’m completely out of the clouds.

-Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 15 March 2010

1) The Plaza de Armas in Arequipa.  Arequipa is also known as “the white city” because many of its buildings are made from a white volcanic rock called sillar.  The city rests in the Andes around 7,800 feet above sea level and is the second most populated city in the country (around 904,900 residents)

2) Our wonderful hosts; Alberto (who works with Charlie) and Rosa.  Along with letting us stay in their house, they showed us around our first day in Arequipa and Rosa prepared breakfast for us every morning!

3)  Yummy Arequipena cheese in the market.

4)  The city is filled with colonial-era Spanish style churches made from sillar.

4)  We visited El Monasterio Santa Catalena.  A photographer’s dream, it is enormous and often described as a city within a city.  Founded in 1580, it originally only accepted nuns who came from rich families who could pay a significant dowry.  Although it was traditional for rich, upper class Spanish families to send their second child to serve God in chaste poverty, in this case the nuns each had between one and four slaves and had frequent parties inviting musicians from town.  They lived it up in the style to which they were accustomed.  After 1871, the Pope got word of this and sent a strict nun to whip things into shape.  She fired the slaves (although some stayed on and became nuns), and sent the dowries back to their families.  From this point on, the nuns were not allowed to venture outside the walls of the monastery.  Currently around 30 nuns still live in a newer section where they have no interaction with society outside of the monastery.  To their credit, it didn’t seem all that bad there.  There were lots of beautiful courtyards and the nun’s chambers were spacious and comfortable.  Each nun had their own “cell”  with a bed, a praying area, and its own kitchen.

5)  The place is filled with beautiful courtyards and brightly colored flowers.

6)  Praying in one of the nuns cells.

7)  Charlie cooking in one of the nun’s kitchens.  To his credit, I begged him to pose for this picture.  He would not have done it voluntarily.

We were in Arequipa during Carnival time.  As far as I can tell, they celebrate Carnival in Arequipa by throwing water balloons and spraying each other with foam.  We got nailed by several water balloons and I was not happy about this.

9) Here we are in another one of the brightly colored courtyards we found throughout the city

10) We took a four-hour bus ride from Arequipa to our hotel in Colca Canyon.  It made several stops along the way.  A lot of the ladies selling their crafts had baby alpacas with them….a well planned strategy; I was much more likely to buy a sweater from a lady who had a cute baby animal I could pet.

11) A great view of Mt. Misti from our bus ride.

12) Another great view of the mountains with some alpacas grazing in the field.

13) View from the road above of the beautiful Colca Lodge and Spa where we stayed in Colca Valley.  Complete with thermal springs, and an incredibly friendly catering staff, this was a wonderful place to stay.

14)  View from our cabin.

15)  A bbq style lunch was prepared for us each day with three different types of meats of our choice, served to us at riverside.

16)  We went horseback riding in the canyon on one of our days there.  Twice as deep as the grand canyon, Colca Canyon is said to be the largest and tallest canyon in the world.

17) A local woman from one of the nearby villages farming with her mule.

18)  The happy couple and their horses.

19) Another view of the canyon.

20) Part of the Colca Valley.  This does a nice job of showing the terraced gardens they use here.

21)  The happy couple at the condor overlook.  The condors fly very close to the walls of the canyon so it’s a very popular spot for tourists to come and look.  We didn’t get any great pics of the condors, but did see a lot of nice views of the canyon!

-Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann,  11 March, 2010

Culture shock refers to feelings of anxiety, depression, or confusion that often go along with adjusting to life in a foreign country.  The process of adjustment can be broken down into three stages:  The Honeymoon Stage, The Negotiation or Frustration Stage, and the Understanding or Acclimation Stage.

The Honeymoon stage generally occurs when you first arrive in your new country with vigor to experience a new culture.  “Symptoms” include an eagerness to learn the language, a love of the food, pace of life, habits, architecture, etc., and an excitement to experience as much as possible of the new country.  Why can’t honeymoons last forever?

The frustration stage can be expected to set in within weeks of your arrival as the initial enthusiasm begins to wear off.  During this stage, you begin to resent characteristics about the culture that you originally found appealing.  You may also feel homesick or become frustrated with the process of learning the language.  Mood swings and feelings of depression are not uncommon.  You may realize that you’re actually very lonely when your husband is away at the mine in Cajarmarca and wrongly resent him for it.  Some people have been known to have difficulty keeping their regular blog.

During the frustration stage, you might be so preoccupied with your feelings of sadness and loneliness that you get lost on your way to meet your friend, and then forget your apartment keys in the taxi you took to help you find the spot.  You might even sprint four blocks after the taxi, pushing people out of the way, crying and screaming in English “STOP!  MY KEYS!  MY HUSBAND IS IN CAJAMARCA!  I DON’T HAVE A SPARE!” only to have the taxi continue to drive away leaving you looking like a crazy person, crying hysterically on the sidewalk blubbering “I hate Peru!”

DiversityAbroad.com assures readers that the frustration stage occurs to millions of people and offers suggestions for coping.  It recommends that you try not to blame your host county (or husband) for your frustrations and to remember that adjusting to a new environment takes time.  The best way to handle it is to try your best to stay positive and focused on all of the new people, food, and experiences you’re having.  It also suggests keeping a journal…hmmm….or blog?

Fortunately, eventually most people who study, work, or travel abroad reach the Acclimation Stage.  This is when you begin to feel more comfortable functioning in your host country.  You build up a network of friends and have a better understanding of the language.  You feel relaxed in your environment and are able to compare both the good and bad of your native country with the good and bad of your host country.

Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann on 4 March, 2010

I have receive more than 30 messages via email and Facebook over the past two weeks asking me what happened to my blog.   I’m sorry I haven’t written much lately.  I’ve been in a slump.   I intend to resume more regular entries and look forward to telling about my Spanish classes and our recent vacation in Arequipa and Colca Canyon.  Stay tuned!

-Danielle

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!

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

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

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….

An American in Peru

"Hey Blondie" photo credit: by Ivan Mlinaric

If I wrote “Peruvian men are a bunch of scum-buckets,”  that would be stereotyping.  So I will phrase it this way:  I have encountered a lot of Peruvian men who are complete, disrespectful slime-balls.  I briefly touched this topic in the previous blog, and I would like to delve a little deeper.  I hope to do this without offending any Peruvian men who may not be slime-balls or scum-buckets.  I also don’t want to sound negative as the majority of my actual interactions with Peruvians have been good.  I just feel the need to point this out because it’s not something I’ve experienced much of in the States.

I live in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Lima and do not venture far from my apartment on my own for reasons of safety.  Even so, on a typical walk of less than one mile to the grocery store, I get honked at approximately 30 times.  I hear the word “rubia,” directed at me at least 10 times, the word “bonita” at least five times, and the word “puta” at least two times.  While in the States, I feel sexy when I catch a guy checking me out from across the bar; here they are far less discrete.  They stare and smile creepily, slow their cars down and drive alongside me, yell things, sometimes reach their arms out of bus or car windows towards me.  Sometimes they make smoochy kissy noises.  Gross.  My favorite, so far, was a guy on a motorcycle who swerved to get my attention and when he had it, pointed to his crotch and smiled at me.  I wanted to give him a sarcastic thumbs up, but held back and kept walking with my head facing forward.

That’s what you do.  Ignore them and just keep walking.  Sunglasses help, but still it’s harder than it sounds to keep a straight face and steady pace without reacting.  I want to punch them in the face.  The guys are small here and I think I could take some of them.  I want to walk up to them and scream “I’m not a sex object, I’m an occupational therapist!  I have a masters degree!” but I don’t think that would help.  I keep walking and hope that their negligent driving skills get them in a well-deserved accident.

This doesn’t just happen to me because I’m blonde, although I’m sure it doesn’t help. I see it happening to Peruvian women too.  And it’s not because I’m wearing sexy outfits.  Despite the warm weather, I’ve taken to wearing sweat pants and baggy tee shirts for my runs, rather than the more comfortable shorts and sweat-wicking tank.  It makes no difference.  Looking to your local police for help is not necessarily your best bet either.  They are slightly more polite about it, but stare you up and down as much as the next guy.  I even have one police “friend” who I see almost every day now.  He says hi to me, then sometimes follows me on his bike for at least one to two blocks until I switch directions and make it clear I know he’s there.

Cristina, a friend of mine from Argentina and reader of this blog, suggested that I take these as compliments rather than get offended.  In some cases, I can accept being called “beautiful blonde.”   They’re just stating a truth, right?  Charlie tells me it’s cultural but I have such a hard time accepting this.  He says that when he lived in Argentina, he experienced women yelling flirtatious things at him.  For some reason, I feel like a woman yelling “guapo” towards an 18-year-old Charlie didn’t bother him that much.  I could be wrong…he has a point though.  This is a feature of Peru that I’m going to have to put up with.  I don’t understand it, and don’t like it, but if I don’t get over it pretty darn soon, Brandy will quickly tire of my vent sessions that occur after every one of her walks.

Jerks.

Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 20 Jan 2010

Terraced gardens in Peru

An American in Peru

Being a housewife here in Peru is easy when you have a maid who comes once a week.  This is a social norm among the upper and middle class.  She cleans the house, does the laundry, irons, can run errands with me (or on her own), and as I was told by another Peruvian woman “when you husband is working and you are preparing his dinner, she can make the rice.”

Gloria came for the first time Thursday (my second day in Peru).  Charlie thought it best that she start immediately so that I would have someone to practice my Spanish with and so I’m not alone when he’s working at the mine.  Hesitant about having help I didn’t feel I needed and nervous about having a stranger in my house, I called Charlie at the mine 10 minutes before Gloria arrived and told him to cancel her.  He refused and tried to convince me it would be good for me.  What a butthead.

Gloria is a middle-aged, friendly Peruvian woman who speaks Spanish slowly and clearly and loves Brandy.  When I showed her how my dog can speak Spanish by telling Brandy to sit, Gloria was overjoyed.  In preparation for Gloria, Charlie had attempted to buy cleaning supplies, but he bought fabric softener instead of laundry detergent and dishwasher liquid instead of floor cleaner (we don’t have a dishwasher)…oops!  So Gloria and I walked to the store and bought the supplies she needed.  She unpacked most of my belongings, washed an ironed all of our laundry, and cleaned the apartment thoroughly.  For 50 Soles (around $17), she came at 8AM and left around 7PM!  I’m thinking about asking her to come twice a week.

Another thing that makes it fun to be a housewife in Peru is incredible food. There are fresh produce stands on almost every city block and a market in walking distance from the apartment with lots of fruit, veggie, meat, and fish stands.  Peruvians are great gardeners, known for their terraced gardens at high altitudes, and their potatoes, which originated here.  Worldwide there are 5,000 varieties of potatoes, 3,000 of which are grown in this country (I’m pretty sure those numbers include hybrids).  Your standard Lima grocery store has approximately 20 different types…all different colors, sizes, shapes.  Some are to be used for soup, some for frying, some for mashing, some for dessert, etc.  Living here is already forcing me to become a better cook as there are far less prepared foods.  If a recipe calls for red kidney beans, in the states, I just buy them canned.  Here, you can only buy beans dried in a bag, adding far more planning to a meal as they need to be soaked in water overnight to soften.

I’ve been experimenting with cooking all sorts of new things and am really enjoying it (despite several failures where things did not turn out as planned).  My best dish so far was something I tried in a restaurant, then replicated at home.  I’m not sure what it’s called here, but begins with puréed potatoes spiced with yellow ahi (a spicy pepper used frequently to season food here), followed by a layer of fresh avocados, then a layer of tuna fish, finished with another layer of the potato purée.  The meal is presented in two or three small piles, so you can see all of the layers, and garnished with thin sliced olives.  Yum.

My addiction to one of the only prepared foods, tamales, has grown so strong that I require one a day and have begun to devour them for breakfast.  I’m also a mango addict.  You can buy two or three of them for less than a dollar and eating one here can only be described as an experience.  I have never tasted a better combination of sweet an juicy.

Unfortunately, if I spent every day cooking and eating, I would soon become gordita (Gloria told me that).  I’m slowly getting back into my running routine by running around the golf course, two blocks from the apartment.  The golf course is fenced-in, so you can run around the outside, not haveing to cross any streets.  You have to go at the right time when traffic is not bad to avoid drinking diesel.  For Charlie, it’s 5:30 in the morning before rush hour.  For me, it’s between 10 and 11 (after rush hour, before lunch time).

After a week here, I’m finding it still takes an hour-and-a-half of preparation for me to leave the apartment.  First, I have to figure out where I’m going and commit my route to memory.  For safety sake, getting lost is not an option.  Next, I try to imagine any possible question I might need to ask in Spanish.  I have theoretical conversations with Brandy to prepare.  “Brandy, estoy buscando el supermercado Vivanda.  Sabes donde esta?” I translate grocery lists to Spanish so I can ask people in the store where items are. I review commonly used phrases and stretch in preparation for the acrobatics of acting-out words I don’t know (like power strip).  Then it’s time to figure out what to wear that will best help me fit in (an impossible task).  I mentally prepare to keep my head straight and continue walking briskly when men drive by and honk, slow down, sometimes drive alongside me, and say things like “rubia bonita”  (beautiful blonde) or the more crude “rubia puta”  (blonde slut).  Finally, I procrastinate for at least 10 more minutes, take a deep breath, grab my keys and sunglasses and leave quickly before the anxiety reaches its peak and I chicken-out.  ”Don’t worry,” I tell myself, “this will get easier.”

Posted by Danielle L. Krautmann, 18 January 2010

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