Going with the Flow

So here I am in Cuzco, and I am loving it. I also loved getting there.

The fun really started not long after I got to Los Angeles. When my turn came to check into the flight to Lima, I was told that the flight had been canceled due to maintenance issues and that those of us who were scheduled for that flight would get a hotel and meal vouchers. We were promptly shuttled there, where I settled in for the night. I made an acquaintance over dinner. She asked in heavily accented English if she could share my table. We talked about where we were giong. She and I were on the same flight to Lima; from there she was headed back home to Arequipa. The part that confused me was when she said she is a traveling waitress for a living. I have never heard of such a thing before, unless I misunderstood and she has a side job that allows her to travel around.

The next morning, after I was sure I had lost some important possessions, I resignedly checked into the airport and prepared to fly out to Lima–it was finally ago. California was a good transition for me from the English-speaking world to the Spanish-speaking one. In my case, flying with LatAm meant that a lot of other passengers spoke Spanish. I know this will sound completely cliche, but the moment of takeoff from LA was precisely one of many related scenarios that had dominated my imagination for so many years. Consequently I was so excited that I wanted to laugh and scream it to the world–of course I didn’t, but I don’t remember the last time I felt closer to acting out like that. No turning back now! The only thing that sucked was that we had to stay in Airplane Mode the whole time, so I couldn’t track where we were going. I also don’t remember having fancier meal accommodations on a plane. For lunch, the stewardesses laid tablecloths on our folding trays and gave us pasta with bread, fruit, and dessert if we wanted it; for dinner it was the tablecloth again, complete with a sandwich and some fruity dessert.

Landing in Lima was the first of many instances I have had and I’m sure I will yet have in which I realized that I am in fact in Peru, out of the United States. When I first stepped out into the airport, really the only unique thing about it–and it wasn’t that unique compared to where I had been–was that the majority of people spoke Spanish (I much prefer Cuzco Spanish to Lima Spanish; I had to ask for clarification in the Lima airport so many times). One thing that made my day is that the customs officials spoke to me in Spanish–I never wanted to enter a Spanish-speaking country speaking English. The whole process was quick and straightforward. The unmistakeable sound of stamps was music to my ears, another definite confirmation of all I had wanted for so long. I was officially in! Again, I successfully masked my state of ecstasy with composure. I am a grown man, I promise.

Right after they stamped me in, I asked them, “What if I want to stay longer than ninety days?” By their responses, it seemed to me that I had come across as trying to change my mind. I’m still not quite sure what I have to do if I decide to stay a week longer; the overstaying fine isn’t much at all, but I don’t want to do that.

Next followed the unnecessarily complicated process of finding a place to sleep for the night and checking my luggage in. All I needed was assistance to the place to check my luggage through customs–this was all fine–as well as to check my luggage in for the early-morning flight to Cuzco and to check myself into a hotel. The assistance that I got kept trying to put me in a wheelchair, and at one point I started to comply just to get the hastle over with. I immediately realized how pathetic I felt in a wheelchair and how ridiculous the whole proposal was, hastle or not, so I proposed putting my things in the wheelchair. The guy helping me said he would be back–he needed to figure out how he could help me if I didn’t want the wheelchair. An hour later, I finally got the help I needed, and I found a place to hang out in the airport until the wee hours of the morning.

Exhilarated, I elected to explore the airport. This proved a bit tricky, only because of the language barrier. I am confident in Spanish, but I’m just not used to nothing but Spanish yet, so telling people what help I did and did not need was a bit frustrating. Linguistically, I’m getting my feet under me in that sense; now I’ve just got to figure out how to go about it in a culture like this.

Eventually, low on energy and batteries, the time came to board the flight to Cuzco. An hour after I boarded, we were off. I finally got a little description of what was around us when, as we were preparing to land, the pilot said, “Those on the left side of the aircraft, you can appreciate the snowcapped mountains in the distance.” It wasn’t much at all, but it was something.

In Cuzco, I had the smoothest exit from a plane that I had had all trip. I collected my luggage and met Astrid, one of the members of the host family, and the guy that Proyecto Perú requested to help me. He drove us around Cuzco, to the places where I would go, and then to the house. Upon first stepping outside of the airport, I was struck by how quiet it was. Cuzco has a population of over a hundred thousand; in such cities in the United States, it would be much noisier. While there was the sound of traffic and people walking around, it was much quieter than in the United States. People drive slower here, too, and not as chaotically as I’ve heard. Maybe that’s more a thing in other cities.

I also noticed the smell of a certain kind of gasoline. In urban America I might smell several kinds; here I have smelled one or two kinds.

I also noticed the sun. It struck me as bright and warm for 6:00 in the morning. Cuzco is cold, and if I had thought more ahead of myself in Lima, I would have found a bathroom and replaced my shorts with pants (the host family said they couldn’t believe I was in shorts and a short-sleeve T-shirt). So far, with advice from Astrid, I have been able to survive the cold quite well. During the afternoons, it almost feels like summer or late spring–hot enough to make one think that the temperature won’t plunge in the evenings like it does.

At home, Antony showed me around Astrid’s home–he had probably been shown around himself. Then Astrid made me breakfast, which this morning consisted of bread and a kind of matte. One thing I love about Astrid is that she is always seeking to find the balance between doing things for me and either showing me how to do them or letting me do them. So far, it has been easy to tell when she’s comfortable to let me do something in or around her house.

After that I unpacked and rested. I was exhausted. For lunch I met the first of three other classmates from SUU to join me, Hannah Roberts. We had beef and rice with carrots and some really hard objects I imagine were bones or something. The meat was good, but it was cooked differently, or at least it tasted differently than I was used to. It was a bit more rubbery, too–not a lot at all, but just enough to notice.

After lunch Hannah; Astrid; Astrid’s son, Cadel; and Astrid’s mother, also named Astrid, and I sat on the porch and talked. One by one everyone left either to take a rest or do something else. I love this family and the place we live. Astrid and her family live in a main building, and the four of us live in separate little rooms. I like to leave my door open to the world, which works out because there is a group of flies that hang around, but for some reason they like to keep to themselves. It’s crazy how quiet it is here. There are noises, but the traffic is absent, probably because we’re in an apartment-style setup set apart from the street.

Today was our first day of Spanish lessons and teaching, with orientation in between. I was so excited to walk to school and then to work. And the city did not disappoint. In the patio that serves as a walkway for everyone whose houses are in it, there is the narrowest street I have ever seen in my life–it’s probably a little wider than my two feet together. No wonder it’s only for pedestrians and cyclists. I’m going to have to get used to the idea of a street being more than just a place where automobiles go up and down. Throughout the course of the day, Antony I’m glad there is more than just work and school; Proyecto Perú has activities every Thursday evening. This Thursday they are making this cocktail called pisco sour. I think I’ll pass. My professor is awesome. She and I both enjoy literature, and she and I figured out how I can improve my comprehension, which has always kind of lacked.

After lunch, Antony and I went to the after-school program. Much of the time I tried to be a part of what was going on around me, but Antony, still unsure of what I can and cannot do, was quite in charge, and I was on the periphery. Because it was my first day, I didn’t have a lesson plan because I didn’t know what to plan for; hence I had an impromptu lesson on the English words for animals. It was decent, but because it wasn’t thought out more I lost a lot of attention toward the end. On the way home, Antony asked what I thought about this afternoon. I did my best to tell him what I thought. I also told him that I appreciated him but that I needed a little more space. I told him, too, that I wanted him to tell me if I was coming across as rude or anything like that. Antony was awesome. He said, “You just tell me what you do and don’t need. You don’t offend me. It’s all good.”

I called this post “Going with the Flow” because that was largely what I did. I am in a place that is rather different than anything I have known, and I want to take it all in and learn about it and appreciate it as much as I can and try to put it above my own way of doing things. That doesn’t mean I will rely completely on others all the time; it just means that, for now, I have tried to put aside some things that make sense to me and figure out what makes sense to others–and it’s paying off so far.

Since I am publishing this a while after the fact and a lot has happened, there’s already a lot more to write about, and I hope to have some pictures. For now, I have one that I will dearly cherish that represents one of the things I love about teaching and why I am more seriously considering deviating to doing something pedagogical with children. For now, here you have them, my first days in Peru. Thanks for reading, and I will catch you shortly.