Tuesday, January 17, 2006
So much to say
Well, it has been a while...don´t worry. I did not fall off the face of the earth, or get lost in the markets of Ayacucho, or hid in a Peruvian ice cream truck, or anything of the sort. I am here, again, at the computer, trying to organize my last few days into this blog entry. Here I go...it´s going to be a long one...
Myself, and the handful of other volunteers entered prison on Friday to take the kids out. When we arrived, Willy lay wrapped in a towel on his mother´s lap, over a bucket of soapy water in the center of her cell (and he was squealing each time she dumped a little more on his little curls). Jorge Luis slowly waddled (or should I say, sauntered) over to my legs, suddenly clutching onto my knees so tightly that I was unable to move. Christian, wearing his matted brown courdoroy jacket and sporting a new black eye (the he recieved from a kicking Nick the day before), smiled and yelled to us from the stairs he descended from his mother´s cell (overlooking the yard), ¨HOLA SEÑORITAS!¨. Solange, the resident brat, hid behind her mother´s legs, and yelled some obscenities at us that the incarcerated men had taught her (and I may not know much, but I know those words). Nick, the resident terrorist (yes, yes, he is cute, but he loves to get violent with the other kids, much to their chagrin), opened his mouth as wide as it would open, ran to me, and screamed his signature comment, ¨WOW WOW WOW WOW!¨. Merly, Luis, and Carina, the babies, were passed into the arms of other volunteers, again, sporting the absolute nicest clothing I had ever seen on them, and they proceeded to drool on, pee on, and remove the articles as quickly as possible. It was official...we were ready for a morning on the town.
Just before we left, Marisol realized that we were short one child. Joseline. Where was Josee? Two days before, she was just starting to move her one-year old legs, and get her balance up against the walls of the women´s yard, and her mother´s voice echoed as she called her to return. The day before, her and her mother, Yolanda, sat with me as I read a book about animals, and Josee was getting out sounds close enough to the real words that I could tell that any day now, she would start talking. And today, Josee and Yolanda were not in their regular corner of the women´s yard. We asked a few of the other women, and the response was easy...they were freed. Yolanda was in for 5 months on drug charges, had her trial the day before, and was declared innocent. That is it. They are gone. And, Josee will not have her first words in prison. I am exstatic, and I keep looking for them on the street, thinking that I will run into them...I´ll let you know.
So, without Josee, off we went. Our destination: a nearby park. We brought balls to push around, animal crackers for snack, and my handy list of children´s songs in Spanish. We rolled in the grass. We played tag. We all WOW WOW WOW WOW-ed when stray dogs ran by. And, of course, we sang and danced. Willy sipped the juiceboxes from the reappearing rocketship lunchbox. With that, we headed back. We were short volunteers for this outing, so into the van, I plopped Christian, Willy, and Nick, with one on each side, and the other in front of me, and back we went. When we returned to the prison, one of the kids piped up from his seat, ¨Casa!¨ (Home!), and the volunteers all somberly nodded, to acknowledge that yes, this is home for these kids.
After we returned the kids to their mothers, we got back to the house, and I had some lunch and a shower, I greeted Pancho, the tour guide from the llama trek, and Saul (pronounced SAAA-OOOOOL), a driver from my program who does seperately contracted driving engagements and speaks not a word of English. I threw my backpack in the back of Saul´s black SUV, and the three of us set out for the Southern coast of Peru. As soon as we started out, Saul asked me if I wanted to listen to music, and looking through his selection of cassette tapes, he selected a fabulous mix that blasted Elvis, Chubby Checker, The Eagles, and a much greater assortment of favorite oldies. As we headed over the mountains surrounding Ayacucho, he let me know that he picked this particular cassette just for me. How sweet.
In our seven hour drive, we headed through hosts of tall trees, over plush moutains, into the bare Andes, into snow and rain, around thinly paved curves at high elevation, passing a selection of indigenous men, women, and children hearding cattle and sheep along the road, into land with small hills and hot sun, straight onto the Pan-American highway, surrounded by desert. We went from the polluted city air to which I have become acustomed, to the crisp, cold air at elevation, down to the dry, hot desert air. And, don´t worry, not only did we stop a few times for me to take a picture and marvel at the variation in the land, but Chubby Checker accompanied us THE ENTIRE WAY. It was funny. I am still laughing...okay, actually, I stopped laughing a long time ago (perhaps it was hour 5...maybe 6...oye vey).
We slept in Lunahuana that night, and the next morning, awaited three other women who volunteered on my program and had been traveling in Peru independently for a few weeks. While I waited for them, I sat in the sun, wrote in my journal, and enjoyed the quiet of this small beach town. When we were an assembeled group, we headed to the nearvy river for white water rafting. I had not really been on rapids before, considering the other time I went ¨rafting¨ was on the Jordan River, and in case you have not been there, I assure you that the Jordan River moves a little slower than your nearby faucet. In Lunahuana, I was headed for class 3 rapids. And, we had a blast. I learned the words for forward, back, left, right, and stop in Spanish, and got completely soaked. The only strange moment of rafting was when another gringa (not Peruvian...likely American) women fell into the rapids, got hit in the face by her boyfriend´s leap into the water to save her, and then proceeded to bleed profusely from the mouth and nose. It was lovely. Don´t worry...the four of us still enjoyed the rapids, and sloughed off the nausea from the abundance of blood.
We continued on to have our Saturday night dinner of ceviche (like sushi, without the rice and with a ton of lemon and lime juices to give it a wonderful taste) (a Peruvian treat) on the oceanside boardwalk of Paracas, sipping Pisco (Peruvian brandy, produced in another beach town twenty minutes from Paracas). I immmediately noticed that aside from the Peruvian tourists from Lima, the people of the coast and Paracas were different than any other Peruvians I had seen. There were no indigenous men or women, and I saw for the first time, Peruvians of African descent. I now have proof that every city in this country has a totally different population makeup.
We hit the water in the morning, in a motor boat tour of the islands of Paracas. These islands are world famous, as they are home of thousands and thousands of sea lions, seals, penguins, and birds. We boated past, learning to recognize the beefy belly of a pregnant sea lion, the light gray border of the Peruvian penguins, and the texture of Peruvian bird droppings (oh, wait, that was just me, as a passing bird let loose on my arm...I honestly did laugh that one off).
Onward...we headed to Ica, home of the majority of Peruvian wineries and Huacacina, the only natural oasis in South America and home of enormous sand dunes with a bustling sand boarding industry (think snow boarding, on the sand). Additionally, another totally different looking group of modern Peruvians, wearing bright clothing with English slogans, eager to speak to me in their broken English. We visited two wineries, serving lots of red wines that tasted much like cough syrup and vodkas that basically were rubbing alcohol through dried bamboo sticks (with slits for pouring out of barrels). The tastes built up an adventurous edge...and we headed to the oasis, ready to brave the sand dunes. Riding on, up, and over, as if on a rollercoaster, we zoomed around the dunes in a buggy...faster and faster. Our buggy driver, Jesus (HEY-SUUUS), just kept asking us if we wanted faster, over more bumps, blahblah...and we had no idea what he was saying, and nodded in enjoyment. And, kept going, faster, bumpier, the likes. We took a brief brake to slide down the dunes sides on the sand boards, which for me, was a bit more like slidding down on my butt. But, it was great. Absolutely beautiful. Sand everywhere I looked, and in every orphous of my body.
We slept in Nazca Sunday night, and awoke in the morning to head to the local airport. We were not flying away, in fact, but we were flying over the world famous Nazca lines. I have finally found an airport that is smaller than the Lansing airport...considering it was in Nazca that I got into a plane that sits a pilot and 3 others. Yup...a four person plane. But, it was perfect for this short, 30 minute flight. We took off and flew over all 13 formations in the desert sands of Nazca, said to have appeared out of no where. No one knows where they come from, and everyone has a theory; some say that aliens created these lines, some say the Nazca indigenous peoples, some say scientists, some say drug enduced villagers...it´s hard to tell. No one knows the truth, but they are amazing to see. Monkey, spaceship, spider, hand, trapezoids, and more...all naturally carved into the land, and have been there for hundreds of years. It was amazing.
The Nazca lines were the final part of the trip, and after saying goodbye to two of the women at the Nazca bus station (to continue their own travels), and dropping the other women off an hour down the road at the Ica airport (and enjoying a meal in the airport restaurant/disco, visiting the airport zoo, and siting by the airport pool...classic Peru), Saul and I headed back to Ayacucho. Pancho stayed in Ica to visit family, and that made for a fabulous 5 hour ride with broken Spanish and you guessed it...more Chubby Checker...all the way back on the Pan-American highway, mountains, snow, rain, greenery, and alas, Ayacucho.
I got back last night, and when I stepped into the house, the new group of 4 volunteers who arrived on the weekend mixed with the leftover 3 volunteers greeted me. It was so nice to arrive back, and have so much to catch up about the weekend, the other volunteers who have now become my friends, and my missed day of work. I told them about the bloody rafter, the penguins waddling, the Jesus named sand dune cruiser, and of course, Chubby Checker. They told me about how one volunteer gave a special needs orphan from the boys orphanage the confidence to try karate, how Willy and Christian walked around asking where Señorita Marci was, and of course, how the new volunteers feel about their arrival in Ayacucho. It was the perfect conclusion to a fantastic weekend. And, reminded me that in this last week in Ayacucho, there is much to soak up. This, the city that among the assembled crowd last night, I called home.
Myself, and the handful of other volunteers entered prison on Friday to take the kids out. When we arrived, Willy lay wrapped in a towel on his mother´s lap, over a bucket of soapy water in the center of her cell (and he was squealing each time she dumped a little more on his little curls). Jorge Luis slowly waddled (or should I say, sauntered) over to my legs, suddenly clutching onto my knees so tightly that I was unable to move. Christian, wearing his matted brown courdoroy jacket and sporting a new black eye (the he recieved from a kicking Nick the day before), smiled and yelled to us from the stairs he descended from his mother´s cell (overlooking the yard), ¨HOLA SEÑORITAS!¨. Solange, the resident brat, hid behind her mother´s legs, and yelled some obscenities at us that the incarcerated men had taught her (and I may not know much, but I know those words). Nick, the resident terrorist (yes, yes, he is cute, but he loves to get violent with the other kids, much to their chagrin), opened his mouth as wide as it would open, ran to me, and screamed his signature comment, ¨WOW WOW WOW WOW!¨. Merly, Luis, and Carina, the babies, were passed into the arms of other volunteers, again, sporting the absolute nicest clothing I had ever seen on them, and they proceeded to drool on, pee on, and remove the articles as quickly as possible. It was official...we were ready for a morning on the town.
Just before we left, Marisol realized that we were short one child. Joseline. Where was Josee? Two days before, she was just starting to move her one-year old legs, and get her balance up against the walls of the women´s yard, and her mother´s voice echoed as she called her to return. The day before, her and her mother, Yolanda, sat with me as I read a book about animals, and Josee was getting out sounds close enough to the real words that I could tell that any day now, she would start talking. And today, Josee and Yolanda were not in their regular corner of the women´s yard. We asked a few of the other women, and the response was easy...they were freed. Yolanda was in for 5 months on drug charges, had her trial the day before, and was declared innocent. That is it. They are gone. And, Josee will not have her first words in prison. I am exstatic, and I keep looking for them on the street, thinking that I will run into them...I´ll let you know.
So, without Josee, off we went. Our destination: a nearby park. We brought balls to push around, animal crackers for snack, and my handy list of children´s songs in Spanish. We rolled in the grass. We played tag. We all WOW WOW WOW WOW-ed when stray dogs ran by. And, of course, we sang and danced. Willy sipped the juiceboxes from the reappearing rocketship lunchbox. With that, we headed back. We were short volunteers for this outing, so into the van, I plopped Christian, Willy, and Nick, with one on each side, and the other in front of me, and back we went. When we returned to the prison, one of the kids piped up from his seat, ¨Casa!¨ (Home!), and the volunteers all somberly nodded, to acknowledge that yes, this is home for these kids.
After we returned the kids to their mothers, we got back to the house, and I had some lunch and a shower, I greeted Pancho, the tour guide from the llama trek, and Saul (pronounced SAAA-OOOOOL), a driver from my program who does seperately contracted driving engagements and speaks not a word of English. I threw my backpack in the back of Saul´s black SUV, and the three of us set out for the Southern coast of Peru. As soon as we started out, Saul asked me if I wanted to listen to music, and looking through his selection of cassette tapes, he selected a fabulous mix that blasted Elvis, Chubby Checker, The Eagles, and a much greater assortment of favorite oldies. As we headed over the mountains surrounding Ayacucho, he let me know that he picked this particular cassette just for me. How sweet.
In our seven hour drive, we headed through hosts of tall trees, over plush moutains, into the bare Andes, into snow and rain, around thinly paved curves at high elevation, passing a selection of indigenous men, women, and children hearding cattle and sheep along the road, into land with small hills and hot sun, straight onto the Pan-American highway, surrounded by desert. We went from the polluted city air to which I have become acustomed, to the crisp, cold air at elevation, down to the dry, hot desert air. And, don´t worry, not only did we stop a few times for me to take a picture and marvel at the variation in the land, but Chubby Checker accompanied us THE ENTIRE WAY. It was funny. I am still laughing...okay, actually, I stopped laughing a long time ago (perhaps it was hour 5...maybe 6...oye vey).
We slept in Lunahuana that night, and the next morning, awaited three other women who volunteered on my program and had been traveling in Peru independently for a few weeks. While I waited for them, I sat in the sun, wrote in my journal, and enjoyed the quiet of this small beach town. When we were an assembeled group, we headed to the nearvy river for white water rafting. I had not really been on rapids before, considering the other time I went ¨rafting¨ was on the Jordan River, and in case you have not been there, I assure you that the Jordan River moves a little slower than your nearby faucet. In Lunahuana, I was headed for class 3 rapids. And, we had a blast. I learned the words for forward, back, left, right, and stop in Spanish, and got completely soaked. The only strange moment of rafting was when another gringa (not Peruvian...likely American) women fell into the rapids, got hit in the face by her boyfriend´s leap into the water to save her, and then proceeded to bleed profusely from the mouth and nose. It was lovely. Don´t worry...the four of us still enjoyed the rapids, and sloughed off the nausea from the abundance of blood.
We continued on to have our Saturday night dinner of ceviche (like sushi, without the rice and with a ton of lemon and lime juices to give it a wonderful taste) (a Peruvian treat) on the oceanside boardwalk of Paracas, sipping Pisco (Peruvian brandy, produced in another beach town twenty minutes from Paracas). I immmediately noticed that aside from the Peruvian tourists from Lima, the people of the coast and Paracas were different than any other Peruvians I had seen. There were no indigenous men or women, and I saw for the first time, Peruvians of African descent. I now have proof that every city in this country has a totally different population makeup.
We hit the water in the morning, in a motor boat tour of the islands of Paracas. These islands are world famous, as they are home of thousands and thousands of sea lions, seals, penguins, and birds. We boated past, learning to recognize the beefy belly of a pregnant sea lion, the light gray border of the Peruvian penguins, and the texture of Peruvian bird droppings (oh, wait, that was just me, as a passing bird let loose on my arm...I honestly did laugh that one off).
Onward...we headed to Ica, home of the majority of Peruvian wineries and Huacacina, the only natural oasis in South America and home of enormous sand dunes with a bustling sand boarding industry (think snow boarding, on the sand). Additionally, another totally different looking group of modern Peruvians, wearing bright clothing with English slogans, eager to speak to me in their broken English. We visited two wineries, serving lots of red wines that tasted much like cough syrup and vodkas that basically were rubbing alcohol through dried bamboo sticks (with slits for pouring out of barrels). The tastes built up an adventurous edge...and we headed to the oasis, ready to brave the sand dunes. Riding on, up, and over, as if on a rollercoaster, we zoomed around the dunes in a buggy...faster and faster. Our buggy driver, Jesus (HEY-SUUUS), just kept asking us if we wanted faster, over more bumps, blahblah...and we had no idea what he was saying, and nodded in enjoyment. And, kept going, faster, bumpier, the likes. We took a brief brake to slide down the dunes sides on the sand boards, which for me, was a bit more like slidding down on my butt. But, it was great. Absolutely beautiful. Sand everywhere I looked, and in every orphous of my body.
We slept in Nazca Sunday night, and awoke in the morning to head to the local airport. We were not flying away, in fact, but we were flying over the world famous Nazca lines. I have finally found an airport that is smaller than the Lansing airport...considering it was in Nazca that I got into a plane that sits a pilot and 3 others. Yup...a four person plane. But, it was perfect for this short, 30 minute flight. We took off and flew over all 13 formations in the desert sands of Nazca, said to have appeared out of no where. No one knows where they come from, and everyone has a theory; some say that aliens created these lines, some say the Nazca indigenous peoples, some say scientists, some say drug enduced villagers...it´s hard to tell. No one knows the truth, but they are amazing to see. Monkey, spaceship, spider, hand, trapezoids, and more...all naturally carved into the land, and have been there for hundreds of years. It was amazing.
The Nazca lines were the final part of the trip, and after saying goodbye to two of the women at the Nazca bus station (to continue their own travels), and dropping the other women off an hour down the road at the Ica airport (and enjoying a meal in the airport restaurant/disco, visiting the airport zoo, and siting by the airport pool...classic Peru), Saul and I headed back to Ayacucho. Pancho stayed in Ica to visit family, and that made for a fabulous 5 hour ride with broken Spanish and you guessed it...more Chubby Checker...all the way back on the Pan-American highway, mountains, snow, rain, greenery, and alas, Ayacucho.
I got back last night, and when I stepped into the house, the new group of 4 volunteers who arrived on the weekend mixed with the leftover 3 volunteers greeted me. It was so nice to arrive back, and have so much to catch up about the weekend, the other volunteers who have now become my friends, and my missed day of work. I told them about the bloody rafter, the penguins waddling, the Jesus named sand dune cruiser, and of course, Chubby Checker. They told me about how one volunteer gave a special needs orphan from the boys orphanage the confidence to try karate, how Willy and Christian walked around asking where Señorita Marci was, and of course, how the new volunteers feel about their arrival in Ayacucho. It was the perfect conclusion to a fantastic weekend. And, reminded me that in this last week in Ayacucho, there is much to soak up. This, the city that among the assembled crowd last night, I called home.
# posted by Marci Soifer @ 11:08 AM 
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