Caminata That Almost Killed Me

Friday night.  How do I even begin to describe it?  It wasn’t awe-inspiring.  Nothing awesome or bad or scary happened.  Nothing exciting took place.  All I can say is, it rained.

The night that 120 youth and I walk 25 kilometers on the side of the road is the very same night that it rains.  Of course it would work out like that.  Whyyyy was I walking on the side of the road with 120 kids, you ask?  Honestly, I don’t really know why.  Every year the Catholic Youth Organization holds a weekend festival honoring the Virgin Mary.  And every year the people that live outside of Paita walk from their towns to the city.  For us, that meant 25 kilometers, which is about 15 miles.  Doesn’t sound too horrible, does it?  Well, it was.  Let me paint you a picture.

We set out in the Municipality bus around 11:15pm (we were supposed to leave at 10:00).  The bus dropped us off on the main highway to meet up with the kids from all the surrounding districts.  We waited there for the rest to arrive.  At 12:30, the last of the groups still hadn’t arrived, and we were growing short on time and patience.  We decided to head out at 12:45pm.  So, in the complete and utter darkness, we started walking.  Was it cold?  Absolutely.  Did I bring a jacket?  Of course not.  I only had my hoodie and jeans to keep me warm (I should have listened to my host mom when she told me to bring a blanket and some gloves).  But, it didn’t seem like it would be too bad.  We were energetic, we were awake, and we were ready to go!

We hit our first kilometer- cheers!  I thought to myself, this isn’t so bad, I can do this.  Only 24 kilometers to go.  We made it to the hour mark.  Still not terrible, but not as much fun as I thought it would be.  We made it to Colan, about 2 hours and 6 or so kilometers in.  Finally, we decided to take a short break.  We rested on the side of the road for about 15 minutes, then struggled to our feet to continue.  I kept hoping for a car to pass that could take me back to El Arenal and my bed.  Plenty of cars passed, but none of them that would deliver me to my dream.  And then in started raining.  It NEVER rains in Piura.  Surely this is a sign from God that we should call someone for a ride.  Nobody else seemed to agree with me.  Then, after what seems like days since we started walking, we hit 4:30 in the morning.  Everyone keeps telling me, “Just a little bit more.  We’re almost there.  We’re so close!”  Liars.  Every.single.one.of.them.  We were NOT almost there.  It was NOT just around the corner.  We make it to a factory that I know is still a good 3-4 kilometers outside of town, and I think I’m going to lose my mind.  I’m tired, I’m hungry, I have to pee, and my entire body aches.  We take a break at the factory, and I immediately fall asleep in the dirt and rocks on the side of the road.  When I’m jostled awake 7 minutes later, I don’t think I can get up.  I don’t want to keep going.  I want to be a baby and quit and wait until morning when someone can take me home.  But my kids won’t let me quit.  So I begrudgingly get up and start walking again.  Then I’m hit with a burst of energy, and I start running.  I drag my friend Edson along and we run for a couple minutes.  We’re far ahead of the rest of the group, and it feels good.  We’d been the very last ones all night, so the change of scenery is welcome.  We keep walking and what we think is a decent pace, and all of the sudden we hear people talking.  What!  They’re right behind us.  How did this happen?   I could have sworn we were practically flying.  Guess not.  Guess we were slower than we thought.  Eventually, we find ourselves at the back of the crowd, yet again.  Deliriously, we trek on.  5:45- the sun is starting to peek over the horizon, and I see the “WELCOME TO PAITA” sign up in the distance.  Hallelujah!  Praise God that we are almost there.  Another 15 minutes and we reach our destination.  6:03am is the exact minute that I collapsed to the ground in exhaustion and elation.  A magical truck with little fairy elves  flew up and showered us with coffee and sandwiches for breakfast.  One of the fairies gave me a blanket made of unicorn hair and covered me with it.  I fell asleep on a bed of purple grass.

I was jolted awake much too soon.  The stadium, our ultimate destination, was finally open.  We walked across the street, used the restroom, brushed our teeth, and tried to feel as human as possible.  We sat in the stands and waited for the big event to take place.  We were greeted by two nuns and a guitar.  Ok, it didn’t seem likely, but there was still a chance that this could be cool.  But it wasn’t.  The nuns couldn’t even sing.  And they didn’t know how to play the guitar.  I can’t even describe my disappointment.  Now, I’m not knocking on Jesus music- I know and love a lot of great songs about Jesus.  And that is what I was expecting- something upbeat, fun, joyful, something to wake me up and get me ready for the day.  But that’s not what I got.  I got two nuns, strumming wrong chords on a guitar, singing off-pitch and depressing songs.  I walked all night for this?  At least the morning was salvaged by some delicious quaker and another sandwich. 

After about an hour and a half of the singing nuns, my kids were pretty fed up.  We were all tired, hungry, smelly, and irritable.  We decided to check out early and head to the church to pay our respects, and then scoot ourselves on home.  So we walked, another hour, to the church.  We sat, we prayed, we paid our respects.  Then we went to the park across the street to wait for our Municipality’s bus to come pick us up.  10:00am.  We wait for 30 minutes, certain that the bus will be there any time.  11:00am rolls around- still no bus.  11:30- nothing.  Noon- still nothing.  I wander around to the store and buy some stuff to waste time.  12:30- nope.  1:00pm- what the hell! Still.no.bus.  The kids are getting irritated, and I’ve been irritated since about 2:00am last night.  Fiiiiinally, around 1:30, the bus shows up!!  We’re all elated!  We run to the bus and jump in!  We’re ready to go- except for the fact that the bus seats about 20, and we are 35.  Oh well, we’ll deal.  Now all we need to do is reverse out of this space and move forward.  But the bus won’t reverse.  Are you kidding me?  We waited 3 ½ hours for the bus and now we can’t even get out of our parking spot?!  The boys had to get out and push the bus from the front in order for us to be able to switch gears and move forward.  Now, we’re in the middle of the Plaza the whole time this is happening, so we are creating quite the spectacle.  Everyone is watching, and my kids are mortified.  I, of course, can’t keep from laughing.  Finally, we’re out of the space, the boys are crammed back in the bus, and we’re ready to go. 

We roll around the corner and are on our way- or so we thought.  We turn onto a narrow street with the intention of turning right on the next street.  Except the next street is one-way, and it’s not going the way we want.  No big- we’ll just turn left.  Nope.  The bus can’t make the turn.  So the only choice we have left is to reverse down the street and go another way.  But there are cars and mototaxis behind us and we can’t move.  In fact, there were 8 blocks worth of cars and trucks and motorcycles and mototaxis behind us, and none of them are happy.  I felt like I was in New York during rush hour.  People are yelling, drivers are getting out of their cars, everyone is honking.  It was quite the sight to see.  Finally, after about 20 minutes of yelling and apologizing and some slick maneuvering, we have successfully reversed and are back on the road.  So, we’re truckin’ along, trying to find the road that takes us out of town.  But we can’t find it.  The one we want to use is blocked off for the Procession, and the other one is under construction.  We are trapped.  We try about 10 different routes, along the way colliding with a mototaxi and damaging its tire along with our bus.  We have been going in circles for about 30 minutes now.  Finally, we come  back around to the Plaza and the road we want is now open!  Thank goodness!  We’re on our way!

For about 7 minutes, until we stop at the market to “quickly pick up some pop to drink.”  Nothing in Peru happens quickly.  After another 30 minutes of sitting in the sun on an un-moving bus, sweating our butts off, we’re finally on our way.  And another 30 minutes later, we make it to El Arenal.  I have never been so happy to see my little town in the entire time I’ve lived here.  The bus drops me off just below my house, and I don’t think I can climb the little hill to make it to my door.  But I do make it.  And then I shower, eat a quick lunch, and lay down for a quick power nap.

Then, 18 hours later, I woke up.

Although I’m grateful for the experience and I made some lasting memories, I will never EVER participate in the Caminata again as long as I live.  Especially if it rains.

“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly 
find out how far one can go.” 

                         --Unknown

Ya Se Fueron?

This is a little late and out of order, but I wanted to give my own account of my family’s trip to Peru.  If you read my Dad’s rather lengthy account of the trip, you got all the details on what we did and when.  This will be less of an itinerary and more of a personal account of their too-little time here.

My flight from Piura landed in Lima at 10:00pm, about 15 minutes later than planned.  My family’s flight was due to arrive at 10:22pm.  I was hoping to grab a Subway sandwich (which I hadn’t had in over a year) with my friend Brielle, but I pulled my backpack off the belt at exactly 10:22 so I rushed over to arrivals.  Brielle and I said a hasty goodbye (she was heading back to the States for vacation), and I marked my spot outside the ropes at the customs entrance.  I kept glancing at the arrivals screen, making sure that their flight had indeed landed.  It had.  “Only a few minutes until I will be reunited with my family!  Just a few more minutes.  Surely they’ll be arriving shortly.  Aaaaanytime now.  10:45pm- they’ll be walking around that corner so soon.  Oooook, where are they?  Did their flight actually land?  Do I have the right flight number?  Oh no, what if something happened?  I’ll ask the security guard.  Ok, he said it landed and the passengers are going through customs- phew!  Okay, that means they’ll be here in just a couple minutes.  11:00pm- what the hell! I don’t remember customs taking us this long when we first landed over a year ago.  11:15pm- okay, seriously, WHERE ARE THEY?!  Did they stop to get something to eat inside? Are there even restaurants?  What is going on?  11:30pm- alright, it’s been an hour, I know they’ll be here soon.  OH! Someone is rounding the corner- is that them?  Dang it, not them.  Okay, at least people are starting to filter through, that means they must be on their way.”

The whole time I’m having this internal conversation, I’m hopping from foot to foot, biting my nails, glancing around, watching everyone.  As I glance behind me I see a big sign with GOERING written on it- our PFL representative.  I introduce myself and we make small talk, all the while I’m still bouncing around, not taking my eyes off that entrance.  Our driver shows up and I hear him tell our representative that it looks like I’m on crack because of the anxious way I’m behaving.  I snap around and quickly tell him that I speak Spanish and that I’m waiting to see my family, whom I haven’t seen in over a year.  He immediately laughs and apologizes.  My eyes are still glued to the corner.  Finally, FINALLY I see Joel’s Newton Railers shirt round that corner and I’m off.  I hardly see the numerous people I checked, and I completely disregard the ropes.  Nothing is coming between me and my family.  In a matter of seconds I am practically tackling Joel in what I can only describe as one of the biggest hugs ever.  The security guard tells us we need to move along, but I’m not having it.  I WILL give each of them a hug before we go anywhere.  I make my way through Scott, Mom, and Dad, all the while crying and laughing.  Finally I’ve hugged everyone to satisfaction and we can make our way out of the roped-off section.  We find our PFL representative and head to the car. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life.  I can’t even describe the feelings that were racing through me- excitement, elation, happiness, relief, joy, all rolled into one.  I had been looking forward to this moment for weeks, months even.  And finally, I was reunited with the four people I love most in this world.  To put it simply, I was on Cloud Nine.  It had been over a year since I’d seen any of them, yet it was like no time had passed.  We immediately fell into the old routine- Dad making bad jokes; Scott, Joel, and I making fun of each other; and Mom rolling her eyes and laughing at all of it.  It was perfect.  At that point, we could have holed up in a hotel in Lima for the remainder of the trip and I would have been just as happy.

Aside from the awe-inspiring Machu Picchu and all the fun moments we had during the rest of our tour of Peru, my absolute favorite part was sharing Piura with my family.  They were able to see Piura city, eat at my favorite restaurants, stay in our hostel, and walk the same streets that I walk.  The day that we spent in my site was the most memorable day of the entire trip for me.  They saw my schools, met the teachers I work with, met some of my students, saw my health post and municipality, met my socios, walked around town, and spent time with my host family.  The four of them even got to experience my cement slab!  Watching them laugh at something Edson said (even though they didn’t understand him); seeing their reactions to my schools; introducing them to my host family; drinking 7UP with them everywhere we went; walking around town with them; showing them my favorite hangouts; these are all moments that I will never forget, as long as I live.  I’m so happy and blessed that I was able to share my Peruvian life with my family.

Saying goodbye was, obviously, the worst part of their trip.  When the cleaning lady at the hostel asked me, “Ya se fueron?” (Have they left?), I burst into tears on the stairs.  I holed myself up in my room and didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the night.  I needed time to get used to a life without them around 24/7.  It was a hard adjustment, harder than I had expected, but eventually I got back in the swing of things and became comfortable once again with my Peruvian lifestyle.  Now I’m looking forward to being reunited again in a mere 51 days!!

My family with some of the teachers I work with.

 My two families.

 

Different angle.

On a tour of a nearby town.

My two brothers and my sister.

"If you ever start feeling like you have the goofiest, craziest, most dysfunctional family in the world, all you have to do is go to a state fair. Because five minutes at the fair, you'll be going, 'you know, we're alright. We are dang near royalty.'"
                        -- Jeff Foxworthy

No Te Vaaaaayas

Roberto: “Miss Kelsey, cuando te vas?”  (Miss Kelsey, when do you leave?)
Me:  “No me voy.  Estoy aca, mirando la celebracion pues.”  (I’m not going. I’m here, watching the celebrations, duh.)
Roberto: “Noooo, cuando te vas? A los Estados Unidos?”  (Noooo, when do you leave? Back to the USA?)
Me:  “Ohhh, el otro ano que viene. En Julio o agosto.”  (Ohhh, next year.  In July or August.)
Roberto:  “Noooo, no te vaaaayas. Te voy a extrañar muchisimo.”  (Noooo, don’t leave.  I am going to miss you soooo much.)
Me:  “Awwww, te voy a extranar tambien, Roberto!”  (Awww, I’m going to miss you, too, Roberto!)
Roberto:  “Miss Kelsey, te quiero.”  (Miss Kelsey, I love you.)
Me:  “Roberto Jesus, mi vida, te quiero tambien!”  (Roberto Jesus, darling, I love you, too!)

Roberto is a 7-year-old bundle of joy, energy, and love.  He is a trouble-maker in school and is always getting in time-out.  He is loud, silly, rambunctious, and funny.  And I love him.  He is, by far, my favorite person in site, and possibly even in all of Peru.  Every time he sees me, without fail, no matter where we are, he runs to me, jumps in my arms, and gives me a giant hug.  He is so full of affection, and always tells me how much he loves me and how much he will miss me when I leave.  I don’t live with Roberto, but he calls me his sister, and I call him my brother.  I love that little boy.  He brings joy to my life every time I see his goofy smile.

I have that conversation at least twice a week, where somebody asks me when I’m leaving and then begs me to stay.  Usually I just giggle and say something like, “Oh, I have to go back. My family and friends are in the States, and I have to get a job. I’ll come back and visit.”  But that time, with Roberto, I almost started crying.  I realized that I’m not ready to leave Peru.  I’m not ready to say goodbye to my host family, my socios, my friends, my Roberto. 

There were times when I couldn’t fathom making it two whole years in this tiny little site of mine.  When I dreamt of taking hot showers, having fast internet, drinking real beer, eating anything but rice.  And I still sometimes dream of those things, but not as often, and they don’t mean as much to me as they used to.  Now I can’t fathom leaving this place in a year.  Leaving behind my Pepto-Bismol pink room, not waking up to the sound of cats fighting on my roof, not having hours upon hours with nothing to do but just be.  The past year seemed too long, and the upcoming year doesn’t seem long enough.  There is still so much I need to do, places I want to see, things I need to say, people I want to hang out with, classes I need to teach, books I want to read.  In the words of Willy Wonka, “So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it.”

Sitting there, watching the Fiestas Patrias celebrations with Roberto on my lap, I realized that I really do love my life here and I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to it.  I have a year left.  It sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t.  July 2013 is looming in the distance; I can’t wait to be home, back in the comfort of the United States, speaking English and surrounding myself with friends and family.  But I’m not looking forward to the day when I have to say goodbye to my life here, and everything that it means to me.  I don’t know if I’m prepared to deal with the mixed emotions that leaving this place brings.  I do know one thing for sure, and that is that I am ready for the next year to take its sweet, precious time.  Bobby D’s bbq ranch and pulled pork sandwiches can wait- I’ve got work to do, relationships to build, books to read, and tons of trashy Peruvian television to watch.  Here’s to a long and fulfilling next year.

“Travel deep inside yourself without the baggage of conditioning. Be an explorer, have patience, and eventually your true nature will surface. You will return from your journey with fresh skin and you will approach each day with a wonderful sense of wonder and bliss.”

                        -- Marco R. Capristo