(Pictures on facebook by tomorrow)
I feel like I'm taking too much in. Like sometimes I'm overflowing, getting outside of myself a little bit. I was sitting back today, thinking about being with the kids for the first time, thinking of last night's unbelievably drunken but beautiful events. Me, Carlos, and Nadia listening to my rap mixes, with me wearing a cowboy hat, jeans, and no shirt. Letting it rain, falling back in laughter, drinking Cusquenas. And I missed home.
Because it was too much. I was exhausted today, as we traveled to the beach, and it was cold and cloudy. I missed my beach. I missed not being exhausted, not having anything to care about, living with no pressure, with no weight, with no idea of what the future is to bring.
But I was exhausted today. So the weather didn't help, and last night didn't help, and the work week, waking up at 7 each day, didn't help.
Yet, I think the biggest thing that was exhausted was my spirit, my energy, and my heart. I've been taking a lot in these past weeks, and at some point it gets hard. And it's not hard in the sense, I can't deal with this anymore, get me out, shut down time. It's heavy, it's a weight, because you are doing something so uncomfortable and out of the ordinary.
It was Thursday. Gustavo, this little boy of six years old, came to me at the end of our class, where we played hopscotch with days of the week and played music with tiny tamborines, where they were always smiling because I couldn't stop telling them how great they were, and said to me, "a mi me encantate." I love you.
It broke my heart. This little boy, with problems keeping up in his first grade class, and a life living on a dirt road in one of the poorest towns in Lima, broke my heart. It was only 45 minutes we were together. But it was so fantastic. I loved him, too, and I wish I could do so much more.
I stepped out of the classroom after this, looked out at the school, and finally realized how real this was to me. It was surreal to that point, with me asking how did my life bring me here, how was I here at this time and place? Then a flood hit my body, of emotion, realization, reality, I don't know. I lent against the wall, and I didn't know what to think. It was too much. It was a weight, of something that was so hard. This has been the first time I've gone and done something like this, being in this poor community, being with these children, walking in this decrepid neighborhood where they have nothing. I am here, I am here in a place so hardened, so much more difficult then I could ever have imagined.
And I take it in, but it's not enough. I want to do more, I want to give more, but then, I am exhausted. Drained and broken-hearted, by how hard life can be for these beautiful families and children.
This exists, you know, but it really exists when you're there. And it's hard, and it's exhausting.
I talked to this abuelita for 15 mintues while she sat and waited for her granddaughter to end here 45 session with the teacher. She said she never sits, never rests, because she has to put food on the table. Her daughter is dead from cancer, so she is the mother to two orphans, 13 and 14. Her other daughter works from 5am-9pm, so she is all that her other two grandaughers, 4 and 7, see. She cried, she was in pain, and she has no way out. All she can do is continue, somehow getting her family through school, somehow putting food on the table. I told her she was an angel, that was she was doing is so hard, and I love her for it.
I told her, I'm here, I want you to know, by my presence, that there are people who care, that will fight, that will help others with whatever means they can. I said I will be that in the future, and I meant it.
It was a burden, because this is the beginning of my life. Everyone I meet here is too nice, they here politics, Harvard, and looks, and they want a picture--the next President, they say. And how that is such a stretch, if being President allows me to somehow help these people more than they are now, then so be it. Because I know now, for sure, that's what I want to do with my life. And that is one of the biggest things that has happened to me in my life.
And it's one of the most exhausting. I said all I can give you is a hug, un abrazo, and I took her in my arms and hugged her. And tried to give my love, through a touch, loving great however I can.
I looked out at the school, watching the children run in the durt field, at the center of the schoolyard, playing soccer, and it was all so tangible, and I could not believe that this was it. It was so big, but I can't really think about that, or don't really have the ability to, right now because I'm still here, being present in it.
I'm going back on Monday, to be with Gustavo and Gaston and Ana Lisa another time, then Tuesday, and then I am gone from their lives, onto another school.
My aunt sent me an e-mail today, calling for me to be ready to receive, to take in energy to be ready for new things to happen and new gifts to come, as was read in the Native American medicine cards she draws for me. It was a great feeling to know the forces were true, and working together, and the breeze is blowing toward me, and I'm here, and that I can love great here and being my future, right now.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
What Does Rock Smell Like?
My first three days as a Fundacion worker have passed, with nothing to write home about. Which is kind of weird, because Im technically writing home, about it, right now. I just have to get some things out of my head, for tomorrow.
Im really anxious. Im really scared, more. I dont know what to expect, going into the schools for the first time tomorrow. I sat today, ate dinner with Carlos, Eric, and Maria while we watched Mexico beat Brazil 2-0 in the Copa America. Its fantastic being here in, watching the games live, where it means so much. It was fantastic, us jabbing about soccer, Maria piping in with her comments that we need to calm down, like a mother to us all. Eric, Carlos and I laughed and chided eachother, talked about Peru, talked about Brazilian girls, and time just passed. We talked about the weekend, after a long three days of seminars, meetings, and getting all the knowledge I need to go in and understand what were doing in these schools, I need it. But I also needed these three days, to understand the kind of help the students need and the wall that Peru is facing. To understand how little I can do but how it is a step for so much to be done in teh future.
It is amazing to go to these lectures, read these materials, to have the resources to become aan expert, to study with these experts, on Peruvian education. It is so central to the plight of Peru as a nation, to overcome its circumstances and threive. Much can be said about the rest of the world, and the United States itself, but that is left for a dissertation in the future.
What was important then was the relaxing. Was the time, passing, with no wieght on its shoulders. Moving, floating, nothing more.
But when I left that world, returned to emails, calls with parents, thinkign about tomorrow, I got ancy, I got frustrated, I got worried. It was just a natural feeling of disequilibrium, because Im thinking of something that is tomorrow that will be so far outisde myself, and not really big, but a big step. But Im weighted down on the earth, but trivial matters, by trivial thoughts. I just want to go. I just want to enter the school and experience whatever is there. But Im sick and tired and exhausted and frustrated and pained and off on another planet and everythign right now. But I take a breathe....and I return. Sometimes you just have to believe, however that manifests. THat these things are happening to make you stronger, to make you ready for a task at hand. Not something world changing, but something small, that, done with great love, can spark a revolution in a heart, in a mind, in myself.
The smell of rock is buttsmoke.
Im really anxious. Im really scared, more. I dont know what to expect, going into the schools for the first time tomorrow. I sat today, ate dinner with Carlos, Eric, and Maria while we watched Mexico beat Brazil 2-0 in the Copa America. Its fantastic being here in, watching the games live, where it means so much. It was fantastic, us jabbing about soccer, Maria piping in with her comments that we need to calm down, like a mother to us all. Eric, Carlos and I laughed and chided eachother, talked about Peru, talked about Brazilian girls, and time just passed. We talked about the weekend, after a long three days of seminars, meetings, and getting all the knowledge I need to go in and understand what were doing in these schools, I need it. But I also needed these three days, to understand the kind of help the students need and the wall that Peru is facing. To understand how little I can do but how it is a step for so much to be done in teh future.
It is amazing to go to these lectures, read these materials, to have the resources to become aan expert, to study with these experts, on Peruvian education. It is so central to the plight of Peru as a nation, to overcome its circumstances and threive. Much can be said about the rest of the world, and the United States itself, but that is left for a dissertation in the future.
What was important then was the relaxing. Was the time, passing, with no wieght on its shoulders. Moving, floating, nothing more.
But when I left that world, returned to emails, calls with parents, thinkign about tomorrow, I got ancy, I got frustrated, I got worried. It was just a natural feeling of disequilibrium, because Im thinking of something that is tomorrow that will be so far outisde myself, and not really big, but a big step. But Im weighted down on the earth, but trivial matters, by trivial thoughts. I just want to go. I just want to enter the school and experience whatever is there. But Im sick and tired and exhausted and frustrated and pained and off on another planet and everythign right now. But I take a breathe....and I return. Sometimes you just have to believe, however that manifests. THat these things are happening to make you stronger, to make you ready for a task at hand. Not something world changing, but something small, that, done with great love, can spark a revolution in a heart, in a mind, in myself.
The smell of rock is buttsmoke.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Bawls and Farts
Two notes I forgot, that Bradford reminded me of: There's shreddage here!!! I'm going to shred the nar so freaking hard it's going to make my balls pang with awesomeness.
Second, just to clarify, I connected with a group of peruvians over Balls and Farts. Or bawls and fahts, for those who remember.
We were talking about Guarana in one of these drinks, and I went nuts and discussed Bawls drink, "testiculos," as I called it. Now, their name for me is the "mariposo," the gay, for loving balls in my mouth. Man, some jokes don't know culture barriers. And some elexirs of life will spread across the globe, leading a revolution for alll!!!!! (aka, Guarana and Bawls).
Then, this drunk friend of Sebastian's came into the house as we were leaving, at 2, and the elevator smelled like vomit. Then we smelled him. He smelled like poop.
Because he pooed his pants.
I am not joking.
The cagon (fartman) made a smell I had never ever smelled in the states, and the girls didn't stop laughing at this observation for 10 minutes. We went outside, and he came out, and I asked him all these questions, calling him the cagon, and the girls went wild with laughter.
It was so funny. The two things I know the best, Bawls and Fahts, came bundled together, gift wrapped, onto my lap, for me to go nuts with, to be the funniest man I could be. I did allright.
Second, just to clarify, I connected with a group of peruvians over Balls and Farts. Or bawls and fahts, for those who remember.
We were talking about Guarana in one of these drinks, and I went nuts and discussed Bawls drink, "testiculos," as I called it. Now, their name for me is the "mariposo," the gay, for loving balls in my mouth. Man, some jokes don't know culture barriers. And some elexirs of life will spread across the globe, leading a revolution for alll!!!!! (aka, Guarana and Bawls).
Then, this drunk friend of Sebastian's came into the house as we were leaving, at 2, and the elevator smelled like vomit. Then we smelled him. He smelled like poop.
Because he pooed his pants.
I am not joking.
The cagon (fartman) made a smell I had never ever smelled in the states, and the girls didn't stop laughing at this observation for 10 minutes. We went outside, and he came out, and I asked him all these questions, calling him the cagon, and the girls went wild with laughter.
It was so funny. The two things I know the best, Bawls and Fahts, came bundled together, gift wrapped, onto my lap, for me to go nuts with, to be the funniest man I could be. I did allright.
My First Week
So, first of all, I uploaded some pictures from the ceremony at Pacha Cama and going out to the Mercado yesterday onto facebook. If you can't get on facebook (family, I'm looking at you), then e-mail me at wehowell7@gmail.com and I'll send you my e-mail and password to access it. But don't be that person who gets on and changes my stuff, just don't be that person. G-d knows I've been.
Wow. It's been a week. It doesn't feel that way, I guess. It feels at the same time a month, at the same time a day. Like time is trivial here, it's just about passing from a moment to a moment, because what makes living here different, being in Peru, is that each moment is intensified. Each experience is new and satisfying, even if it's as minimal as calling your first taxi company without being totally confused about what they were saying (last night to go to Sebastian's). And now we have our own personal cab driver, Roberto, who has taken us to Sebby's twice and is so nice and old.
But tomorrow's the next big jump. Into the Fundacion, to working for the first time. I feel like the first week will be introductions, getting the feel, but I'm going in tomorrow at 8:30 to be a part of the a meeting with the execs, Marcela says that's a good sign for me. I don't know, I'm just going to go there and do everything I can.
Before that jump, the weekend is left to discuss. Let's see, I stopped Thursday night at 4, a little tipsy, so let's pick it up from there, no?
Friday morning, woke up, and I felt allright. We went into la Universidad to watch a movie, Days of Santiago (Dias de Santiago). If you want to see a picture of how there are so many struggling, even in Lima, in Peru, and a film that is brilliant and captivating, watch this. It won some awards at flim festivals, and is very exceptional. This young man, Santiago, has come back from the war with Ecuador, he was a soldier, to a life without work, with a disgusting family, and no hope. He tries and tries, to help himself, to help and "rescue" those around him, but he is haunted both by his past and his present. It is a never-ending struggle for so many, in so many different ways, we have a very tiny picture of it.
But we must open our eyes, because it is too easy to keep them closed.
I came back home, took a nap, then organized final dinner for all us, to say goodbye to Marcela, our fearless leader. I guess I fall naturally into the planner, controlling dude, keeping people up on their partying toes. We went to the Mesitas, had a great dinner, then went out to a bar, the Mochilleros (backpackers, I thought of you, Char), and got there and no one was there. You see, we made a mistake. One of the girls in our group wanted to come to dinner but had to leave at 10 that night to go to Huaraz for the weekend. So we had dinner at 7, ate, drank, was merry, said goodbye to Marcela, and it was 9:30. So, to give you a sense for how early we were, we went to a club last night at 2. We got there at 2. THAT was early. And when we got home at 5, that then, was early, too, for different reasons.
There does not exist the word late here. Well, it does, it's tarde, but, I mean, so, just roll with it, come on.
Always a fiesta, si sabes.
So we had the bar to ourselves, I talked to the barkeep (it was a real cool, calm place, like a basement with a stage and nice wooden table, very chill), Eduardo, had some shots of tequilla (okay, these will be the death of me, because shots of tequilla are so big here that I was chilling with one of Sebby's friends, Marcelan, last night, and she had a song, not that complicated, but she loved, "shots de tequilla, bam bam, shots de tequilla"), 5 beers for 5 bucks, yeh bro, and listened to a six foot six Peruvian with a long beard, dreds, and his friend, reggae rap in Spanish. You know, it was real good. They had the ghetto moves down, the hands waving side to side, and were really excited to see some Americans. I gave him a pound, said good job, and he blurted out, "You come back." I said yeh.
Then we ventured on through the night, because now it was 11:30, time to really start the night, or still just early, I don't know. We walked through Barranco, another party area beside Larco Mar, but chiller, more bars then clubs. Everybody was out in the streets, everyone happy.
We walked through a beautiful park, bar hopped, going to the places that offered Nadia and Diana free drinks--pisco sours, what Peruvians love. There weren't many people in these stratified bars, but we found some fun places, made it fun ourselves. We found a secret room in the first one, well not secret, but there were only two people on the dance floor there (the third floor of the bar), dancing. We got there and took it for our own, with them leaving immediately. It was fun. And it had two raised dancing circles, you know, the kind that girls go in and dance in the big clubs. I felt professional, very sexy. You guys feel that. Oh yes, we were jamming. Oh my goodness, let's get this started, let's make this happen. Yes. Jammmminnngg.
Came back home, couldn't sleep that much, but did some e-mails, read the paper, little things. But it was a big deal. Just reading the paper, but in Spanish. Someting more special. It makes you feel like Jon Stewart from Half Baked. Yes, you've done these things before, but have you everyone done it, on weeed? (in Spanish, get it).
Then Nadia, Diana, and Andres came over to have lunch with our aunt and uncle, because we were going out to the Inca Market to do some bartering and buy some nick-nacks at 3, afterward.
The lunch was so unbelievable, there was Rebecca, my aunt, Pedro, this round old men, vivacious as hell, very smart and so funny. He was always joking the two women, Rebecca and Ana Lisa, a family friend, for being, well, woman. Yehhhhh, boyyyyy. Woman. Haha. So funny, them women.
Sufficed to say, he was a man of my taste. Then their daughter, Veronica, came in, bosting a Stones' shirt. She was about 30, so nice, with a huge smile.
Everyone here has just been so nice, I can't fathom it. I am so very lucky. And I think it's happening for a reason, to give me a base to do more than I know here, in these two months.
But we talked and laughed, and strangely, I got to talking about my cancer, because Ana Lisa said she was in remission, and I said me too, and everyone looked shocked. I always feel bad for bringing it up, I don't know. But I said I am fine now, everything is super-bien.
But we moved on, and it was so nice and I felt like I am communicating better and better.
And at the market after, I bought a charango, a small Peruvian guitar, from a small store in the market with the most beautiful hand-made guitars. The Charango is unreal, I've been playing it a lot and I love it. Very similar to guitar, but with different chords. I have a little book, but it doesn't say much. So I play what sounds good. I play what feels right.
Wow. It's been a week. It doesn't feel that way, I guess. It feels at the same time a month, at the same time a day. Like time is trivial here, it's just about passing from a moment to a moment, because what makes living here different, being in Peru, is that each moment is intensified. Each experience is new and satisfying, even if it's as minimal as calling your first taxi company without being totally confused about what they were saying (last night to go to Sebastian's). And now we have our own personal cab driver, Roberto, who has taken us to Sebby's twice and is so nice and old.
But tomorrow's the next big jump. Into the Fundacion, to working for the first time. I feel like the first week will be introductions, getting the feel, but I'm going in tomorrow at 8:30 to be a part of the a meeting with the execs, Marcela says that's a good sign for me. I don't know, I'm just going to go there and do everything I can.
Before that jump, the weekend is left to discuss. Let's see, I stopped Thursday night at 4, a little tipsy, so let's pick it up from there, no?
Friday morning, woke up, and I felt allright. We went into la Universidad to watch a movie, Days of Santiago (Dias de Santiago). If you want to see a picture of how there are so many struggling, even in Lima, in Peru, and a film that is brilliant and captivating, watch this. It won some awards at flim festivals, and is very exceptional. This young man, Santiago, has come back from the war with Ecuador, he was a soldier, to a life without work, with a disgusting family, and no hope. He tries and tries, to help himself, to help and "rescue" those around him, but he is haunted both by his past and his present. It is a never-ending struggle for so many, in so many different ways, we have a very tiny picture of it.
But we must open our eyes, because it is too easy to keep them closed.
I came back home, took a nap, then organized final dinner for all us, to say goodbye to Marcela, our fearless leader. I guess I fall naturally into the planner, controlling dude, keeping people up on their partying toes. We went to the Mesitas, had a great dinner, then went out to a bar, the Mochilleros (backpackers, I thought of you, Char), and got there and no one was there. You see, we made a mistake. One of the girls in our group wanted to come to dinner but had to leave at 10 that night to go to Huaraz for the weekend. So we had dinner at 7, ate, drank, was merry, said goodbye to Marcela, and it was 9:30. So, to give you a sense for how early we were, we went to a club last night at 2. We got there at 2. THAT was early. And when we got home at 5, that then, was early, too, for different reasons.
There does not exist the word late here. Well, it does, it's tarde, but, I mean, so, just roll with it, come on.
Always a fiesta, si sabes.
So we had the bar to ourselves, I talked to the barkeep (it was a real cool, calm place, like a basement with a stage and nice wooden table, very chill), Eduardo, had some shots of tequilla (okay, these will be the death of me, because shots of tequilla are so big here that I was chilling with one of Sebby's friends, Marcelan, last night, and she had a song, not that complicated, but she loved, "shots de tequilla, bam bam, shots de tequilla"), 5 beers for 5 bucks, yeh bro, and listened to a six foot six Peruvian with a long beard, dreds, and his friend, reggae rap in Spanish. You know, it was real good. They had the ghetto moves down, the hands waving side to side, and were really excited to see some Americans. I gave him a pound, said good job, and he blurted out, "You come back." I said yeh.
Then we ventured on through the night, because now it was 11:30, time to really start the night, or still just early, I don't know. We walked through Barranco, another party area beside Larco Mar, but chiller, more bars then clubs. Everybody was out in the streets, everyone happy.
We walked through a beautiful park, bar hopped, going to the places that offered Nadia and Diana free drinks--pisco sours, what Peruvians love. There weren't many people in these stratified bars, but we found some fun places, made it fun ourselves. We found a secret room in the first one, well not secret, but there were only two people on the dance floor there (the third floor of the bar), dancing. We got there and took it for our own, with them leaving immediately. It was fun. And it had two raised dancing circles, you know, the kind that girls go in and dance in the big clubs. I felt professional, very sexy. You guys feel that. Oh yes, we were jamming. Oh my goodness, let's get this started, let's make this happen. Yes. Jammmminnngg.
Came back home, couldn't sleep that much, but did some e-mails, read the paper, little things. But it was a big deal. Just reading the paper, but in Spanish. Someting more special. It makes you feel like Jon Stewart from Half Baked. Yes, you've done these things before, but have you everyone done it, on weeed? (in Spanish, get it).
Then Nadia, Diana, and Andres came over to have lunch with our aunt and uncle, because we were going out to the Inca Market to do some bartering and buy some nick-nacks at 3, afterward.
The lunch was so unbelievable, there was Rebecca, my aunt, Pedro, this round old men, vivacious as hell, very smart and so funny. He was always joking the two women, Rebecca and Ana Lisa, a family friend, for being, well, woman. Yehhhhh, boyyyyy. Woman. Haha. So funny, them women.
Sufficed to say, he was a man of my taste. Then their daughter, Veronica, came in, bosting a Stones' shirt. She was about 30, so nice, with a huge smile.
Everyone here has just been so nice, I can't fathom it. I am so very lucky. And I think it's happening for a reason, to give me a base to do more than I know here, in these two months.
But we talked and laughed, and strangely, I got to talking about my cancer, because Ana Lisa said she was in remission, and I said me too, and everyone looked shocked. I always feel bad for bringing it up, I don't know. But I said I am fine now, everything is super-bien.
But we moved on, and it was so nice and I felt like I am communicating better and better.
And at the market after, I bought a charango, a small Peruvian guitar, from a small store in the market with the most beautiful hand-made guitars. The Charango is unreal, I've been playing it a lot and I love it. Very similar to guitar, but with different chords. I have a little book, but it doesn't say much. So I play what sounds good. I play what feels right.
Bob Dylan
Do you realize that Bob Dylan produced his maybe best, or even most accomplished and most beloved, album when he was only 22 years old. I only know one other person with that ability.
But when he sings, "Girl from the North Country," I think of the mountains, I think of all that is simple and beautiful.
Like tonight. Like going out with Sebastian and his 10 girlfriends, joking about Balwls, "los testiculos," and the boy who farted so disgustingly. It was so fun, I connected in Spanish with so many in Spanish tongiht. It felt so good. It felt like I had made some connections, like I had crossed some bounds, but most importantly, it was fun.
Man, thats what life should be.
But, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
I love you all,
Walt
But when he sings, "Girl from the North Country," I think of the mountains, I think of all that is simple and beautiful.
Like tonight. Like going out with Sebastian and his 10 girlfriends, joking about Balwls, "los testiculos," and the boy who farted so disgustingly. It was so fun, I connected in Spanish with so many in Spanish tongiht. It felt so good. It felt like I had made some connections, like I had crossed some bounds, but most importantly, it was fun.
Man, thats what life should be.
But, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
I love you all,
Walt
Friday, June 22, 2007
My Lucky Day (cont.)
So to reward my loyal followers, a poop joke is coming at the end of this post. I started this post on another computer, had to leave to go out to a club, and now someone is sleeping in the computer room. Pues, if you read on, you'll see a freaking hilarious fart/poop joke, jiggaaass.
But, onto what's most important. Today was a lucky day. The group traveled on a bus with a jovial old man (there seem to be a lot of those in Peru) that was named Berto Gomez (si yo puedo recordar, Juan Amberto Gomez Luis) who was so kind and amiable, I loved it. He was our tour guide of history.
Because today we went to the Pacha Camada--place of the Sun god--where the oldest Inca civilization, archeologically, is located. It was unbelievable. A huge desert gave way to this gem of antiquity, a piece of history that seemed to arise from the ground itself. I took many pictures, enjoyed it so much, but that icing on the cake came as we came down from the proverbial mount. A group of chachmas, those who were here before the spanish conquistidacion, were having a ceremony for the Inti Cajma, or the summer solstice. It happens once a year, and we were there. Get it, lucky.
It was so spiritual, as the eldest member of the tribe lamented prayers, about mother earth, father sun, our brother trees, and all that is needed to preserve oiur love for our "tierra" or land. It felt invorgorating, and what was all the more significant was that we were part of the ceremonia. We drank the cachua, we ate the coca leaves and then sacrifced them to the gods, by pointing the leaves to the sun, in the middle of the circle, alone, kissing them, then casting them into the fire.
And while we did so, we put one prayer in our heart. I prayed to mother earth that she give me the strength to be outside myselft, to have the strength to be there for these children and make their lives better.
As my heart beat so fast after I sacrificed the leaves, I hoped it had had its effect.
After, we ate a delicious meal, went to a musuem of Liman history, then went back to our house to sleep.
After eating dinner, Carlos, Nadia (another member of the Harvard group), a guy named Liam, who was really nice but liked Nadia a little too much (bordering on being freaking weird), and I went out with Santiago's brother, Sebby, who was so very welcoming, kind, fun, and quite frankly, unbelieveable. We went to the casa del Danino (his house), had some beers, meant his cousin and his unbelievably kind friend Lucho, then left for Grananta, a club where a Harvard alum, a friend of Santi, was having a party. It was incredible. We got in for a reduced rate (5 down from 20 dollars), then danced, drank, and talked in Spanish with Sebby's goregous friends. One of them tried so hard to give me her number that she made me bleed with a pen. Oye, locas, ven paca. Give me something.
But all of them were so nice, we had so much fun, and now I'm back in my bed. At 4:15, having to wake up at 8. But it's okay. Activities end tomorrow at 11.
And, as you know, today's my lucky day.
:)
But, onto what's most important. Today was a lucky day. The group traveled on a bus with a jovial old man (there seem to be a lot of those in Peru) that was named Berto Gomez (si yo puedo recordar, Juan Amberto Gomez Luis) who was so kind and amiable, I loved it. He was our tour guide of history.
Because today we went to the Pacha Camada--place of the Sun god--where the oldest Inca civilization, archeologically, is located. It was unbelievable. A huge desert gave way to this gem of antiquity, a piece of history that seemed to arise from the ground itself. I took many pictures, enjoyed it so much, but that icing on the cake came as we came down from the proverbial mount. A group of chachmas, those who were here before the spanish conquistidacion, were having a ceremony for the Inti Cajma, or the summer solstice. It happens once a year, and we were there. Get it, lucky.
It was so spiritual, as the eldest member of the tribe lamented prayers, about mother earth, father sun, our brother trees, and all that is needed to preserve oiur love for our "tierra" or land. It felt invorgorating, and what was all the more significant was that we were part of the ceremonia. We drank the cachua, we ate the coca leaves and then sacrifced them to the gods, by pointing the leaves to the sun, in the middle of the circle, alone, kissing them, then casting them into the fire.
And while we did so, we put one prayer in our heart. I prayed to mother earth that she give me the strength to be outside myselft, to have the strength to be there for these children and make their lives better.
As my heart beat so fast after I sacrificed the leaves, I hoped it had had its effect.
After, we ate a delicious meal, went to a musuem of Liman history, then went back to our house to sleep.
After eating dinner, Carlos, Nadia (another member of the Harvard group), a guy named Liam, who was really nice but liked Nadia a little too much (bordering on being freaking weird), and I went out with Santiago's brother, Sebby, who was so very welcoming, kind, fun, and quite frankly, unbelieveable. We went to the casa del Danino (his house), had some beers, meant his cousin and his unbelievably kind friend Lucho, then left for Grananta, a club where a Harvard alum, a friend of Santi, was having a party. It was incredible. We got in for a reduced rate (5 down from 20 dollars), then danced, drank, and talked in Spanish with Sebby's goregous friends. One of them tried so hard to give me her number that she made me bleed with a pen. Oye, locas, ven paca. Give me something.
But all of them were so nice, we had so much fun, and now I'm back in my bed. At 4:15, having to wake up at 8. But it's okay. Activities end tomorrow at 11.
And, as you know, today's my lucky day.
:)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
My Lucky Day
Before I begin, a friend wants me to let everyone know that Wilco is from Chicago, so everyone should forget that. I think that's what she said. Oh, and my human computer, aka Sufjan Stevens, has valmorphitized into Mic Jagger. It sucks.
With that out of the way, I have to go poop. I'll be right back.
....Ahh.
Who thinks I really just pooped? You'd never know if you weren't here.
But I did, so now you do.
Man, aren't fart and poop jokes just so funny. Like this one:
What's two plus two?
Answer: Fart.
You see, you freaking laughed at that. I know you did.
Oh yeh, Peru. Today was my lucky day. Our group's really, but I'll take credit for it.
With that out of the way, I have to go poop. I'll be right back.
....Ahh.
Who thinks I really just pooped? You'd never know if you weren't here.
But I did, so now you do.
Man, aren't fart and poop jokes just so funny. Like this one:
What's two plus two?
Answer: Fart.
You see, you freaking laughed at that. I know you did.
Oh yeh, Peru. Today was my lucky day. Our group's really, but I'll take credit for it.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Its an Experience
All of it, from the failed attempts to buy a pair of pants at the centro commercial, to making my second mom, Elisa, laugh for the first time (in Spanish), to getting joked for being a gringo who cant speak ¨castellano¨, to getting complemented, by the same person, on my improvement in just one day, its all so fluid. Just a constant ebb and flow of success and failure, stepping outside of myself only to get flung back to the ground.
And then you pick yourself up. Get back on the Chama bus, pay your sol and 20 (like 40 cents, everything is so inexpensive here. in the battle of prices, twin awesome one (me) and twin buttface zero (Char Char Binx, aka my sisteer, Charlottle Howell. Ok, thats enough for the parenthesees).
I guess the bus ride today was just part of it. Carlos and I, after riding the crazy ass bus system in Lima for 2 hours with one of our directors to explain to us what to do, where to go, etc., etc., were ready to do it ourselves. Oh, Carlos is the other student whose living with me--his family is from Mexico, he's fluent, he stuies biology, and he's mad cool.
Jesus titty fín Christ, did I tell you how nuts the bus system is in Lima. They have a cargardor, who pimps out his ride to anybody, because they love to cram this tiny van converted into a bus line with 50 people (=60 soles for them) that usually can fit, let's give them 15. Come on. Seriously, dude. Seriously. Really, really....come on, dude.
F me. Then they have a route, but sometimes they don't take it because the driver feels like going and seeing an amigo in a different district and so you get lost and i freaking got to shrink to the size of a hobbit to fit in, because who knew Peru wasn't made for 6'3 dudes, come on. In all seriousness though, I'm freaking really big for Peru.
I don´t know how , but somehow I followed the bus route on my map, saw we were about to pass our street then, you have to to make them stop, yelled ¨Baja!¨aka I'm going out,and made the bus stop. We got out, took a breathe, and we did it. We freaking did it. Suck it, Lima. I am a master of all that is manly and all that has to do with buses and shit. Oh yeh, it feels good. It feels reallll gooooooodd.
Bueno, the second challenge for the day was meeting my program director. But she was amazing, very nice, and complemented me on my Spanish after slamming me down. We were all together, program directors and studetns, at a mini'suare in a classroom at the Unviersity El Pacifico, where we always meet for lectures or to depart on our introductory excursions. We talked for a half hour, she told me I would be doing a couple things int he office to start, for a week, so I can learn and see how the project goes, then I go, everyday, into the poor areas around Lima, to one school, where I will play with the kids, get to know the families, then lead workshops teaching the parents ways to better their kid's educational opportunities and lives.
Oh my god. That's the first time I have written that out. Wow. I am a little shocked right now. What a weight of responsibility. Just something so minute but I have the ability to really do something, to be someting to someone else. To help them. It is such a tremendous burden that makes me a little scared to face it. More terrified. It is not just about me anymore. Time to grow, real fast, for them, to get strong for the challenge. I guess I'm a little scared, still, but also ready. I think so.
But anyway, that was fantastic, it's exactly where I want to be, and she was so sweet, has a son at UT (hook em' horns) studying to be a rocket scientist (for real) and a daughter, both from an IB school. The daughter is 15, so shut the freak up, Matt. Shut it, no joke allowed, not at all, stop. Seriously, rape Troy day was fun, but, just, stop.
Anyway again, after we talked, she introduced the organization to everyone, then me, said I was great, but she was not sure if I understood everything. Everyone laughed, then I paused for dramatic effect, and said ¨Puedo entender todo¨, I can understnad everything. Another laugh, then I explained my role, very presicely, and after I was done, she said to me in Spanish, you get an A for that.
A similar turnabout came with my host mom, Elisa. The family, the friends, Maria (a cook of epic ability, holy carp, like she should be on top Chef or something nuts like that) and everyone in the house has been so overwhelming kind and welcoming and open. I've loved it. But it started to wear on me, not the people, but the day of Spanish. And while we were talking about calling cab companies, Elisa said Carlos has to call, becasue I sound like a gringo. Of course I know that, but it was a little rough at the time, I do not know. But latyer in the meal, after talking, she said that she was so impressed with how much I have improved in one day, because I spoke well but now I'm speaking better, to put it roughly. It was a little victory, I guess. It felf good, yo no se.
But I realized something today. Things are going to be up and down. Things are not always perfect, and it is a struggle. But it is also an experience. Its a journey, through tests and challenges, from bus to bus, person to person, and I guess what is important is that I am here, I am trying. And the failures and successes inspire in the same. Because one is nothing without the other. And the experience is vapid when one is left out.
To bed, I'm exhausted, but I miss you all, love the posts, love life, love Bawls, love you mom and dad and Char, Clif is gay, and we'll see how this ride unwinds, more to come tomorrow.
PS Santi, talked to your borther, will hang out soon. Brad, Clif, Rage, and all those who are worshippers of Guarana--freaking national drink of Peru is Inca Cola, with the active ingredient of Guarana!!! Oh my freaking freak my butt. I'm home, as the prophecy foretold, for it was told, from the Quatch. Pttth (for Joyce).
And then you pick yourself up. Get back on the Chama bus, pay your sol and 20 (like 40 cents, everything is so inexpensive here. in the battle of prices, twin awesome one (me) and twin buttface zero (Char Char Binx, aka my sisteer, Charlottle Howell. Ok, thats enough for the parenthesees).
I guess the bus ride today was just part of it. Carlos and I, after riding the crazy ass bus system in Lima for 2 hours with one of our directors to explain to us what to do, where to go, etc., etc., were ready to do it ourselves. Oh, Carlos is the other student whose living with me--his family is from Mexico, he's fluent, he stuies biology, and he's mad cool.
Jesus titty fín Christ, did I tell you how nuts the bus system is in Lima. They have a cargardor, who pimps out his ride to anybody, because they love to cram this tiny van converted into a bus line with 50 people (=60 soles for them) that usually can fit, let's give them 15. Come on. Seriously, dude. Seriously. Really, really....come on, dude.
F me. Then they have a route, but sometimes they don't take it because the driver feels like going and seeing an amigo in a different district and so you get lost and i freaking got to shrink to the size of a hobbit to fit in, because who knew Peru wasn't made for 6'3 dudes, come on. In all seriousness though, I'm freaking really big for Peru.
I don´t know how , but somehow I followed the bus route on my map, saw we were about to pass our street then, you have to to make them stop, yelled ¨Baja!¨aka I'm going out,and made the bus stop. We got out, took a breathe, and we did it. We freaking did it. Suck it, Lima. I am a master of all that is manly and all that has to do with buses and shit. Oh yeh, it feels good. It feels reallll gooooooodd.
Bueno, the second challenge for the day was meeting my program director. But she was amazing, very nice, and complemented me on my Spanish after slamming me down. We were all together, program directors and studetns, at a mini'suare in a classroom at the Unviersity El Pacifico, where we always meet for lectures or to depart on our introductory excursions. We talked for a half hour, she told me I would be doing a couple things int he office to start, for a week, so I can learn and see how the project goes, then I go, everyday, into the poor areas around Lima, to one school, where I will play with the kids, get to know the families, then lead workshops teaching the parents ways to better their kid's educational opportunities and lives.
Oh my god. That's the first time I have written that out. Wow. I am a little shocked right now. What a weight of responsibility. Just something so minute but I have the ability to really do something, to be someting to someone else. To help them. It is such a tremendous burden that makes me a little scared to face it. More terrified. It is not just about me anymore. Time to grow, real fast, for them, to get strong for the challenge. I guess I'm a little scared, still, but also ready. I think so.
But anyway, that was fantastic, it's exactly where I want to be, and she was so sweet, has a son at UT (hook em' horns) studying to be a rocket scientist (for real) and a daughter, both from an IB school. The daughter is 15, so shut the freak up, Matt. Shut it, no joke allowed, not at all, stop. Seriously, rape Troy day was fun, but, just, stop.
Anyway again, after we talked, she introduced the organization to everyone, then me, said I was great, but she was not sure if I understood everything. Everyone laughed, then I paused for dramatic effect, and said ¨Puedo entender todo¨, I can understnad everything. Another laugh, then I explained my role, very presicely, and after I was done, she said to me in Spanish, you get an A for that.
A similar turnabout came with my host mom, Elisa. The family, the friends, Maria (a cook of epic ability, holy carp, like she should be on top Chef or something nuts like that) and everyone in the house has been so overwhelming kind and welcoming and open. I've loved it. But it started to wear on me, not the people, but the day of Spanish. And while we were talking about calling cab companies, Elisa said Carlos has to call, becasue I sound like a gringo. Of course I know that, but it was a little rough at the time, I do not know. But latyer in the meal, after talking, she said that she was so impressed with how much I have improved in one day, because I spoke well but now I'm speaking better, to put it roughly. It was a little victory, I guess. It felf good, yo no se.
But I realized something today. Things are going to be up and down. Things are not always perfect, and it is a struggle. But it is also an experience. Its a journey, through tests and challenges, from bus to bus, person to person, and I guess what is important is that I am here, I am trying. And the failures and successes inspire in the same. Because one is nothing without the other. And the experience is vapid when one is left out.
To bed, I'm exhausted, but I miss you all, love the posts, love life, love Bawls, love you mom and dad and Char, Clif is gay, and we'll see how this ride unwinds, more to come tomorrow.
PS Santi, talked to your borther, will hang out soon. Brad, Clif, Rage, and all those who are worshippers of Guarana--freaking national drink of Peru is Inca Cola, with the active ingredient of Guarana!!! Oh my freaking freak my butt. I'm home, as the prophecy foretold, for it was told, from the Quatch. Pttth (for Joyce).
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
The Start of All Things
6/18/07, 9:47 P.M., Lima, Peru.
The end of the first day feels fine. I'm lying in my bed, exhausted from a day of touring Lima, talking in Spanish, meeting my program directors, and all of the other introductory activities that only Harvard could master.
Actually, I wouldn't expect them to master that at all. They would be horrible, really horrible at it. But, somehow, a few emerged from the darkness to lead us, lead us to freedom. Or just sweet introductory meetings on the ins and outs of Lima. Or freedom.
But as I lie here, I'm just feeling so very good. Expect for my allergies, I have passed through what I was most worried about--making my flights, getting to my host family's house, meeting the directors, speaking my first words of Spanish. All that is done. All things done, as Sufjan says, as he is my Itunes. Yeh, so now my computer is a human, as a result. How do you like that, a little inside information into Peru--computers evolve into human beings here. You wouldn't know unless you came.
It's peaceful, but I'm very tired from Bonaroo, the flight, my allergies, and moving in. But I want to put down my memories from the last few days, beginning with Saturday night. Because, as my mom always says, it is most important to stay focused on your transitions, so you don't lose anything.
Memories, or my passport. With this blog, I'll go two for two.
It began Saturday night, as Clif, Bradford, Mariah, and Mariah's dudimus maximus of a friend, and now our friend, Jordan, went to see Sting.
And let me tell you something, Sting Sucks. Holy crap, Sting is like really gay, like imagine gay, then imagine Troy Murrell's hairy butt, then mix that with a Superhero whose superpower is to have sex with dudes. That's how gay Sting is.
Roxanne, you don't have to turn off the ptttttttttttttthhhhh (fart noise). I send an PTHHH PTHHH PTTHH to the PTHHHHHH.
Sting sucks.
But, you know, I love Sting being gay.
Side note: You know how I know I'm gay?
Anyway, it gave us more time to see the Flaming Lips, but we would have had even more time if Mariah didn't pee on her leg. Eww, DISGUSTING!!!
But we got there, stormed the gates, and climbed over piles of strung out hippy nomads to reach row five at which stage? Which Stage! Get IT!!!??
Neither did we. It was a stinky joke that sucked. Almost as much as Sting.
Slam.
And it was the revolution we had been waiting for. We were abducted by aliens of awesomeness and taken to magical rock dreamland, with Wayne Coyne as a sage and god. He came to us in a shining clear orb, that looked like a hamster ball. And when he sang, "Do you realize?," we felt the transformation, to our future of goodness.
As we all looked at each other after, we were exhausted to the point where all Bradford could retardly stammer out, for 10 minutes as we walked back to camp, was a series of "Sting is SOOO Gay" or "Don't PTHHH, Don't PTHHH so close to me."
But other than these mutterings, we had no words.
It was such an amazing experience, just being there together and loving the music and the performance. As we fell asleep, on my last full day in the United States, we felt good. I felt good. As simple as that sounds, it expresses the sensation completely. It is something we all want to find, and when you do, you cherish it and experience it at that moment. It is nothing more, nothing less. But it is so significant.
It is the beginning of all things.
And it prepared Bradford, Clif and I for our Rock Crusade, our journey to Mecca--Wilco, main stage, Bonaroooooooooooo.
We got to the front of the stage, and as Tweedy grabbed his guitar, Nels riffed to begin "You Are My Face," and I stared up at perfection, we had arrived out our Paradise.
It was continued with the perfect harmony of "Walken", then completed as the first rock riff of "Spiders (Kidsmoke),"played, as Clif, Bradford and I stared at each other then sent our bodies immediately into the air, hair shaking, bodies going locos with momentum, continual energy streaming though each one of our faces, each with a distinct look of euphoria.
We left. We drove to Nashville, with Bradford leading us out in style as he booty-shaked, tweek-freaked, and nasty-danced beside our 'Burban, rolling on twenty-twos, listening to Outkast as a kid walked by in a red t-shirt, stumbling and yelling, "I don't know where I am." The irony was delicious--Bob Weir v. Outkast. Outkast 1, Bob Weir naked and throwing up somewhere in the middle of Tennessee (not Bob Weir, but that kid).
And my time in the U.S. ended in Nashville, as I grabbed my computer, ready to turn it off for the trip and finish packing to catch the 8:00 A.M. shuttle to the airport. But then I saw a note on the desktop. It said it loved me, it said to challenge myself, that growth comes through that alone, and it said to love great.
I wish everyone had the mind and heart that could produce such words.
And I was gone, to Lima, inspired. Gone to catch my flight out of Nashville, to Atlanta, to wait for five hours, to go to Peru, to wait for my bags for an hour, to find Danny (one of the directors who met me at the airport), to catch a cab, to meet my new mom, Elisa, and her husband, the kindest sixty-year old man I've ever met, Hernando, to unpack my bag, to lie in my bed, to go to sleep, to wake up for the beginning of the first great adventure of my life.
The end of the first day feels fine. I'm lying in my bed, exhausted from a day of touring Lima, talking in Spanish, meeting my program directors, and all of the other introductory activities that only Harvard could master.
Actually, I wouldn't expect them to master that at all. They would be horrible, really horrible at it. But, somehow, a few emerged from the darkness to lead us, lead us to freedom. Or just sweet introductory meetings on the ins and outs of Lima. Or freedom.
But as I lie here, I'm just feeling so very good. Expect for my allergies, I have passed through what I was most worried about--making my flights, getting to my host family's house, meeting the directors, speaking my first words of Spanish. All that is done. All things done, as Sufjan says, as he is my Itunes. Yeh, so now my computer is a human, as a result. How do you like that, a little inside information into Peru--computers evolve into human beings here. You wouldn't know unless you came.
It's peaceful, but I'm very tired from Bonaroo, the flight, my allergies, and moving in. But I want to put down my memories from the last few days, beginning with Saturday night. Because, as my mom always says, it is most important to stay focused on your transitions, so you don't lose anything.
Memories, or my passport. With this blog, I'll go two for two.
It began Saturday night, as Clif, Bradford, Mariah, and Mariah's dudimus maximus of a friend, and now our friend, Jordan, went to see Sting.
And let me tell you something, Sting Sucks. Holy crap, Sting is like really gay, like imagine gay, then imagine Troy Murrell's hairy butt, then mix that with a Superhero whose superpower is to have sex with dudes. That's how gay Sting is.
Roxanne, you don't have to turn off the ptttttttttttttthhhhh (fart noise). I send an PTHHH PTHHH PTTHH to the PTHHHHHH.
Sting sucks.
But, you know, I love Sting being gay.
Side note: You know how I know I'm gay?
Anyway, it gave us more time to see the Flaming Lips, but we would have had even more time if Mariah didn't pee on her leg. Eww, DISGUSTING!!!
But we got there, stormed the gates, and climbed over piles of strung out hippy nomads to reach row five at which stage? Which Stage! Get IT!!!??
Neither did we. It was a stinky joke that sucked. Almost as much as Sting.
Slam.
And it was the revolution we had been waiting for. We were abducted by aliens of awesomeness and taken to magical rock dreamland, with Wayne Coyne as a sage and god. He came to us in a shining clear orb, that looked like a hamster ball. And when he sang, "Do you realize?," we felt the transformation, to our future of goodness.
As we all looked at each other after, we were exhausted to the point where all Bradford could retardly stammer out, for 10 minutes as we walked back to camp, was a series of "Sting is SOOO Gay" or "Don't PTHHH, Don't PTHHH so close to me."
But other than these mutterings, we had no words.
It was such an amazing experience, just being there together and loving the music and the performance. As we fell asleep, on my last full day in the United States, we felt good. I felt good. As simple as that sounds, it expresses the sensation completely. It is something we all want to find, and when you do, you cherish it and experience it at that moment. It is nothing more, nothing less. But it is so significant.
It is the beginning of all things.
And it prepared Bradford, Clif and I for our Rock Crusade, our journey to Mecca--Wilco, main stage, Bonaroooooooooooo.
We got to the front of the stage, and as Tweedy grabbed his guitar, Nels riffed to begin "You Are My Face," and I stared up at perfection, we had arrived out our Paradise.
It was continued with the perfect harmony of "Walken", then completed as the first rock riff of "Spiders (Kidsmoke),"played, as Clif, Bradford and I stared at each other then sent our bodies immediately into the air, hair shaking, bodies going locos with momentum, continual energy streaming though each one of our faces, each with a distinct look of euphoria.
We left. We drove to Nashville, with Bradford leading us out in style as he booty-shaked, tweek-freaked, and nasty-danced beside our 'Burban, rolling on twenty-twos, listening to Outkast as a kid walked by in a red t-shirt, stumbling and yelling, "I don't know where I am." The irony was delicious--Bob Weir v. Outkast. Outkast 1, Bob Weir naked and throwing up somewhere in the middle of Tennessee (not Bob Weir, but that kid).
And my time in the U.S. ended in Nashville, as I grabbed my computer, ready to turn it off for the trip and finish packing to catch the 8:00 A.M. shuttle to the airport. But then I saw a note on the desktop. It said it loved me, it said to challenge myself, that growth comes through that alone, and it said to love great.
I wish everyone had the mind and heart that could produce such words.
And I was gone, to Lima, inspired. Gone to catch my flight out of Nashville, to Atlanta, to wait for five hours, to go to Peru, to wait for my bags for an hour, to find Danny (one of the directors who met me at the airport), to catch a cab, to meet my new mom, Elisa, and her husband, the kindest sixty-year old man I've ever met, Hernando, to unpack my bag, to lie in my bed, to go to sleep, to wake up for the beginning of the first great adventure of my life.
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