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.