Peru: Spanish Intensive and Cultural Immersion

I awoke at 5:35, and lay in bed contemplating if this was indeed the correct day to begin my descent to Machu Picchu.  It was raining, and the mountain roads around Cuzco are notrious for landslides and crippling delays of what I have heard are up to 15 hours.  Alas, eventually  I gathered enough strength to fling the covers off me, and felt the biting chill of an Andean summer morning.

It was not so much raining anymore as I stepped outside, merely threatening mist and clouds that assured me, if they wanted to, could ruin my day.  I ran into Hermando shaving in a basin in the courtyard, and he wished me ¨Bueno suerte¨on my travels as I slipped out the door.

Upon arriving at the bus stop, I was immediately hassled by indepdent mini-van drivers to ride with them, and avoid going to the official bus stand for tickets, which were cheaper, but the trip an hour longer.  After a bit of investigation, I opted, despite my intuition, to take the faster mini-bus towards Machu Picchu.  I now partially regret that decision, as our driver continues to stand outside attempting to lure more people in to fill the remaining two seats, we may not leave until he does.  I was initially impressed with my driver´s neat sweater and well-coifed hairdo, though I should have gazed at his healthy paunch to realize that he was probably angling for his best fare and a guinea-pig dinner.

My initial buyers remorse evaporated once we hit the road.  All of Peru was passing by my window, really for the first time.  We traveled up the mountains and into the mist, along narrow mountain roads that had a steep drop off on one side.  I looked at my driver and realized, ¨A man wearing sweatpants is in control of my life right now.¨Visibility was low in the clouds, and it began to rain.  We passed a truck whose trailer had flipped, exposing its cargo of Coca-Cola, Fanta, and the infamous Inca Cola, a nuclear yellow, banana-flavored soda that is even too sweet for me.  Entire rivers spilled from the crests of mountains into the road, and our driver shifted into first gear before entering each torrential stream.  We made it safely, though I have seen hiking trails in better condition than some parts of the road today.

I am now in the small village of Santa Teresa, a six hour hike to the town nearest Machu Picchu.  Tomorrow is the hike, the day after is the tour of the ruins.  Ciao.

At Fairplay´s most recent Clase de Cocinar, which is essentially a giant dinner party in which the students help prepare the food, I met a fellow traveler who was planning on doing the exact same itinerary into Machu Picchu as I was.  And so it is, I have postponed my Friday classes until Monday, and early tomorrow morning I venture out on the search for a cheaper way into the once thriving city of the Incas.

Every traveler that wants to visit Machu Picchu must go through the city Aguas Calientes, a town only directly traveled to by train.  To avoid the ticket price,  about $40 each way, (the train to MP is monopolized by a British company) seven of us are traveling by bus to Santa Teresa, and hiking for six hours to Aguas Calientes, visiting the ruins the next day.

This scheme of mine to join up with these folks started last night at Clase de Cocinar, where Sam told me of her plans for Friday.  Intrigued, and suggesting I meet her other accomplices, I accompanied her to a kareoke bar after dinner, and met the other five people in the hiking party.  Through poorly rendered versions of Michael Jackson, Simon & Garfunkel, The Beatles, and certain Latin American tunes that I did not recognize, we realized it was a good fit, and thus our cohort has formed.

 Tomorrow morning the adventure begins, I should arrive back to my homestay sometime during dinner on Sunday, where I have been assured a hot plate of food will be waiting for me.  Ciao. 

Sunday marked Hermando´s birthday, who turned 61.  He was joined by his wife, three daughters, four grandchildren, Dutch-Belgian son-in-law, and two foreigners.  All of whom live in the same compound, and happily supported him on his big day.

In Peru, the birthday cake is served for breakfast, and in this case also some of the most delicious hot chocolate that I have ever tasted.  Around a dozen people sat around the dining room table for the sweet meal, but since most people in attendance had to go to work, the celebratory meal only lasted around fifteen minutes.  The big meal was to come for lunch.

At one o´clock, the same party crowd re-assembled, but this time for a proper feast.  Hermando´s wife had cooked what I believe was an entire pig in the communal oven on the street, and everyone in attendance received a sizeable hunk that took up a majority of the plate.  As well as the swine, potato, corn and roasted Cuy sat waiting to be eaten.  Cuy  is Spanish for guinea pig, and is considered a delicacy in Peru.  It is only brought out for the most special of occasions.

At first glance the guinea pig looked like a potato, but on flipping the ¨potato¨ upside down it revealed what appeared to be claws, what was most certainly a rib cage, and  a few internal organs that were black in color and incredibly un-appetizing. 

The Peruvians dug right in.  Peeling off the skin and digging deep with their hands.  Cuy had been described to me as ¨a lot of bones, and very little meat,¨which is exactly what it was. 

My first step was to peel the skin off the beast, which required me to cradle the rib cage and still-intact organs in my palm, and violently tear the leathery skin from the remaining part of the animal.  This was perhaps the most unsettling part, having bare guinea pig bones graze my hand, and being ever-so-careful to stay as far away from the exposed organ as I could.  Once the skin was off, it was possible to see what I was searching for: tiny strings of meat that lay just under the skin.

The meat is actually very tasty.  It resembles chicken in color and texture, but is chewier, and from an uglier animal.  The process of  getting through tough skin and internal organs was really the most disturbing and difficult part of the whole endeavor.  The Peruvians at the table devoured the entire thing, skin and all, but left the bones.

While those who were on their lunch break returned to work, those of us with nothing else to do sat in the kitchen through the rain, and drank too sweet Peruvian wine amid conversation.  For his birthday, I gave Hermando a Rite in the Rain notebook, which with a pencil you can actually write in the rain.  I thought it might come in handy when he surveys his fields during the wet season, which it shall be for at least a few more months.  More to come, Ciao!

Volleyball is Peru´s second favorite sport, second only to futbol as the most popular.  And so it was that today, teachers and students got together for a friendly game of volleyball at the local college. 

All the teachers were incredibly skilled, and it was in fact the foreigners that missed the most.  It was not teachers vs. students, though that would have been interesting, but a a compelling intermixture of the two. 

As the morning wore on and some participants left to eat lunch with their families, some of the teachers´kids took to the court and then dominated the entire game.  None of us realized until after the games that the younger kids were on volleyball teams at their schools (though by the speed and grace of their serves, we should have known!) 

We played around seven games that lasted for three hours.  My newly shaved face is burnt bright red from the Andean sun.  Perhaps it´s easier to get a sunburn at 11,000 feet.

Alas, off to dinner, I always manage to squeak in these entries conspicuously close to the time the food is being served.  That´s all for now, videos, pictures coming soon!  Ciao!

¨What is there in Rome for me to see that others have not seen before me? What is there for me to touch that others have not touched? What is there for me to feel, to learn, to hear, to know, that shall thrill me before it pass to others? What can I discover?–Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. One charm of travel dies here.¨ – Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad, 1869

Why do we travel?  Is it a completely self-satisfying endeavor?  Is it purely to say that we have been, seen places, or do we truly wish to experience a taste of the local culture?  

Some think travel will change their lives, open doors of perception in their own minds that will better them as a person.  True, traveling can open your eyes to new, different way of living and challenge perceived realities.  However,  John Steinbeck was quick to point out that such lavish dreams of life changing experiences are in fact, just dreams; what people truly want is a vacation from themselves.  An excerpt from The Sea of Cortez:

¨This little expedition became tremendously important to us; we felt a little as though we were dying.  Strangers came to the pier and stared at us and small boys dropped on our deck like monkeys.  Those quiet men who stand always stand on piers and ask where we were going, and when we said, ¨To the Gulf of California,¨their eyes melted with longing, they wanted to go so badly.  They were like the men and women who stand about airports and railway stations, they want to go away, and most of all they want to go away from themselves.  For they do not know that they would carry their globes of boredom with them wherever they go.¨

The majority of tourists in Cuzco desire a Peruvian version of life back home.  Most stick around the Plaza de Armas, where they are treated somewhere in between pieces of meat and large bags of money.  Window shopping is by far the favorite past-time of the traditional tourist in the Plaza.  Some of course travel to see the sights, but do we visit these places just to say we have?

Research done at the Grand Canyon concluded that visitors, on average, spend less than 15 minutes outside of their cars when visiting the park.  They snap a photo, and continue on their way. 

I´m not quite sure where my fiery opinion  has come from, in fact I´m transcribing this from something I wrote by hand last night, but I do think it is important as a tourist, or a traveler, to critique your intentions for any trip you undertake.  Anyways… back to last nights notes…

I have a different perspective than the average tourist in Cuzco by living with a family that is completely set-apart from the tourist center.  I visited the Plaza de Armas today (yesterday), and while it is incredibly beautiful, the mentality from the locals is completely different from the small neighborhood in which I live.  It is impossible to walk through the city center without being haggled for something, and while a simple ¨No, gracias,¨ will usually do, it is not an authentic experience as to the charm, charisma, humor, and hospitality of the Peruvians.

To all those who wander through foreign countries unsatisfied, feigning enthusiasm for architecure, and perpetually window shopping:  Turn your vacation into an experience.  The third or second world is not here to serve you an omelete breakfast, it is here to serve you peace of mind by breaking through your cultural norms and experiencing a taste of the different; not an artificial version of the same.

An intensive week of classes.    This weekend looks to be full as well, with a teacher and student game of volleyball at the local college tomorrow, and the grandpa of the house´s birthday on Sunday.   More to come, including a video tour of the digs.  Ciao.

I´m not quite so sure anecdotas is actually a word… but you get the point…  (anecdotes).

 Last night eight of my fellow students and I sat around the dining room table and helped prepare chiles stuffed with beef, carrots, potatoes, fried with maza harina.  Delicious.  It was really  nice to cook and eat and talk with fellow travelers, and made some friends that currently attend the school.  The teachers were there as well, all single mothers, and for four hours we cooked, laughed, and talked in both english and spanish.  A very good time.

 For the anecdotes… My utmost appreciation to the people of Peru, who have been nothing but gracious in all my interactions.  In fact, there have been a few times I could have easily overpaid (thinking my internet cost eighty cents instead of forty) but the Peruvians never let me do it.  When realizing I didn´t know the price, they fished in their pocket for the correct change.  Such things didn´t happen in India. 

My lonely planet had me worried about crime, declaring Peru the least safe country in South America, and Cusco the most dangerous city in Peru.  I have had virtually no problems, have taken taxis at night, and have not once felt unsafe.  Everyone I have encountered is friendly, and has a sense of humor that always lightens the mood.

The family I´m staying with has accomodated me beautifully, putting me in their best 3rd floor room with views of the entire city (video and pictures to come in the next few days).  My tw0 teachers at fairplay are excellent at what they do, and have a genuine concern for me learning the language. 

For the first day or two in Peru, I would give my name as Juan, but not put enough emphasis on the J.  My host family thought my name was ¨one¨ for at least three meals.  I now overly-emphasize the once elusive J.

 Anywho… I´m nearly late for dinner, luckily this internet cafe is just down the street from my accomodation.  I am most certainly the only gringo in here.  Ciao.

AT 9:30 my Spanish teacher came to my house to show me how to take the bus to the school.   Extremely crowded, and still clad ïn ¨Feliz Navidad¨ decorations, the trip took about twenty minutes, and cost about a quarter.  A taxi, in comparison, would have taken about ten minutes and cost just over one dollar. 

Once at the school I met some of my fellow students, and the rest of the teachers, who were all very jovial and happy, almost too happy, to engage in conversation with a new student.  For two hours I practiced Spanish, one-on-one with my instructor.  Fairplay has an established curriculum complete with books, and I flew through some of the basics that I already knew. 

After the two hour lesson I took the bus back to my family´s house, where almuerzo (lunch) was waiting for me.  Soup, chicken, rice and vegetables.  Almost on cue, once I was finished eating my second teacher, Carmen, arrived and it was time for my next lesson. 

My first lesson was classroom based, and my second two hour lesson was almost exclusively on the street, in the supermercado, and in various tiendas around San Sebastian Church, near my homestay.  Carmen and I spoke for two hours as we walked through alleys and into markets, and she corrected my grammar and vocabulary when I went astray in the conversation.  The method is working.   I´ve picked up new words, grammar, and vocabulary even after the first day. 

This evening the school is hosting a cooking class with all the students, I think there are around ten of us.  The intention is that we learn how to cook Peruvian food and then gobble it up.  Sounds good.  I´m told it lasts a while, five hours or so, but I have to keep my word and have drinks with the grandfather of the house upon my return.  I wonder what he drinks…

Pictures and a video tour of my accomodations coming soon.  Ciao!

There are over 6800 languages spoken in the world.  Mandarin is the most widespread, with 800 million speakers.  Spanish is number two, with 360 million, and English is third with 350 million speakers.  It has been beneficial for me on this trip to be able to speak at least some of the language, a sharp contrast to my travels in Asia.  It is rewarding and exciting in being able to communicate with all those you meet, and makes a trip more authentic and increases the potential for learning.  Language is an important tool period, but very important when traveling abroad.  But I digress!   Back to the meat of the trip. 

The homestay and Spanish school have been arranged.  Both are through the nonprofit organization Fairplay, which empowers single mothers by training them to be Spanish teachers and giving them the opportunity to host wary travelers like me.  There is an established curriculum (2 hours per day in the classroom, 2 hours per day at markets etc.  practicing with the local Cuzconians..?)  Anyways, it´s a good fit and I´m excited. 

I move in this afternoon, school begins tomorrow.  To learn more about Fairplay, visit their website at http://www.fairplay-peru.org

A quick note on the spelling of Cusco: The city council has delegated Qosqo, as the official spelling per the local Quechua language.  However, my Lonely Planet guidebook uses Cuzco, and in English Cusco or Cuzco is correct,  both the ¨s¨and the ¨z¨ forms are accepted in English.