Saturday, January 21, 2006
The final words from Ayacucho
So, this is it. As of 7 AM tomorrow morning, I will be in route to Lima; me and my backpack...we are moving. I will miss watching the cloudy fog rise above the Andes in the morning and entering the prison daily to hear the kids shout, ¨HOLA!¨ from their cells. I have no idea what is in store for me once I leave here, but I am glad to take along my Ayacucho experience (and glad to miss the hoards of children on the streets here prematurely preparing for the Karnaval in February, in which they throw water balloons at any passerby). Furthermore, I had a perfect ending.
On Thursday, I went inside with a new volunteer who will be replacing me. We entered into the women´s yard, only to nearly trip over a group of Willy´s toys spread out on a blanket and to notice a series of stuffed animals hanging on the clothing line, where wet sweaters and mantas normally dry. We asked Mauricia, Willy´s mother what was going on, and she told us that in the night, rats had gotten into Willy´s toys. She showed us where the rats had chewed his few stuffed animals into pieces, and where they had left droppings on his toys. She had already cleaned everything the best she could (you know, without running water) by the time we arrived at 9 AM. This did not seem to phase Willy at all, considering he spent the day romping around with me, as he does on most days. There was a moment when, out of my direct sight, he dumped a bucket of the stored water on his own head. Soaked, he screamed and cried. However, after I held him for a while and we read a little ¨One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish¨(which he absolutely did not understand at all, but liked the pictures and sounds), he calmed down. Only when I left that day did he take to his routine for the last few days, of screaming hysterically when I say goodbye. These tears actually made me want to move into the prison with him, but I abstained (don´t worry). Nick decided to give me a humungous hug following his consumption of a creamy soup, or should I say, his application of a cream soup to his entire face. I hugged him back, let go, let him run on to some other action that terrorists embark upon, and turned to his mother, Anna. I pointed to my chest, where Nick´s face had left a humungous print, and said in Spanish, ¨Only one more day to get these presents from Nick¨. We exchanged a sad look.
I returned to prison with the group on Friday, for the special day out. I happily walked with Marisol from cell to cell, gathering the kids. We grabbed Karina in her little denim skirt, Jorge Luis in his new, clean shirt, and of course, Willy in his Sponge Bob Square Pants embroidered collared shirt. I was entrusted with the infamous Willy rocketship lunchbox, holding juice boxes, which he actually comsumed this time. And, out we went. We went to a nearby park again, but this time, with slides and playground equipment. Nick obviously fell off the metal slide that was too big for him, due to his impatience heading down without an adult volunteer. And, I obviously was there to catch him when he fell, trying my best to dry his tears and welcome back his wide, open mouth smile. I introduced the kids to sidewalk chalk I found in the market, and learned that little kids think that colored chalk could be food. Why not? So, that idea quickly saw it´s end.
When we drove the kids back, every, single child, of the eight we took out, fell asleep in a volunteers´ arms. I held Nick, praying that he would not let a bodily function loose, and missing the echo of Spanish animal vocabulary the children usually spout in response the animals passed on the road. Upon our quiet arrival back the prison, with a sleeping Nick in my arms, I entered the prison for the final time. I smiled at the guards standing at the door, headed up and over the steps between the entry and the facility, greeted the 2 incarcerated males who daily stand at the gate to the men´s side and open the door (as if it is their post), and headed down the corridor beside the male yard, challenging myself to memorize everything in sight. I rounded the corner at the children´s section (Cuna), and recognized Anna standing on the other side of the bars, awaiting Nick´s return. Rustling, he woke up when I handed him over to his mother. Anna asked me when I was returning, and I told her I did not know. She told me that she will miss me, and I smiled, stating the Spanish phrase I had practiced for this very moment, ¨I will miss you¨.
As a group, we continued through the corridor, en route to returning the other children. Since they were mostly all deep in slumber, I didn´t have much of a chance to say goodby to them, which is probably better. They were transferred from the arms of a volunteer, to their mother´s arms, and without much pause, likely their mother´s thin cell beds (which is where the children sleep as well). I spent a few moments walking through the yard, giving a goodbye here and there to the women who have ingrained themselves in my memory. I saw Denise, who repeats her favorite English phrase almost daily, ¨oh my G-d¨. I had a moment with Carmen, when she told me that she liked to see me every day and will miss me. I hugged Victoria and Mercedes, asking them to feel good and wishing them luck, considering I remember when they came into prison on drug charges; it was also my first day inside. And now, I am moving on. Where ever I am in fifteen years, I hope that I will remember Victoria and Mercedes, considering that is about the time when they will be released. I gave out a few more hugs, and started to head for the exit. I turned the corner through the barred door of the women´s yard, and I was shocked to discover a small lump in my throat. I took a few deep breathes...I would not so much as tear. It was unfortunate to leave this community, but I feel great about my time there. I learned children´s songs in Spanish, implemented a reading program for so many minutes daily with the kids, brought in a few educational projects (including Noah´s Ark in Spanish, thanks Aunt Penny), helped with the women´s English classes, and actually engaged Spanish conversations with the women. And, I hope that the replacement volunteer will continue all of the work.
Last night, the volunteers went out to dinner, as a small goodbye for me. Just as we entered the selected restaurant, we heard a voice myself and the other volunteer who regularly has gone inside with me both recognized. It was our favorite guard, the man who tried to practice his English with us (which is really only ¨Hello¨ and ¨See you tomorrow¨) and who gave me a few of the prison stamps (that go on our arms) on a piece of paper for me to keep, with his signature of course. This man´s last name is Lindo, which means pretty, and always gave us a laugh. But, he is a kind man and laughs with us, which most guards did not. He walked with his wife and son, who he introduced us to. We spoke for a few minutes, and he wished me luck in the future. As I let go of his hand, and joined another volunteer in the walk toward the restaurant, the volunteer said to me, ¨You know what the true sign that you live somewhere is?¨ And I asked, ¨what?¨ He replied, ¨You bump into people you know¨. He is right.
For my final day, I went on a long hike up to a Cross on one of the mountains surrounding Ayacucho, to get a view of the city. It was beautiful, and worth the trek up. From there, I could see the street I have lived on, the central plaza I walk through daily, the Quinoa monument in the distance that I visited in my first week, and of course, far away from the city, the prison. On the climb down, I looked through the digital photos I took from above, and thought, ¨okay, now I have got all of it¨.
On Thursday, I went inside with a new volunteer who will be replacing me. We entered into the women´s yard, only to nearly trip over a group of Willy´s toys spread out on a blanket and to notice a series of stuffed animals hanging on the clothing line, where wet sweaters and mantas normally dry. We asked Mauricia, Willy´s mother what was going on, and she told us that in the night, rats had gotten into Willy´s toys. She showed us where the rats had chewed his few stuffed animals into pieces, and where they had left droppings on his toys. She had already cleaned everything the best she could (you know, without running water) by the time we arrived at 9 AM. This did not seem to phase Willy at all, considering he spent the day romping around with me, as he does on most days. There was a moment when, out of my direct sight, he dumped a bucket of the stored water on his own head. Soaked, he screamed and cried. However, after I held him for a while and we read a little ¨One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish¨(which he absolutely did not understand at all, but liked the pictures and sounds), he calmed down. Only when I left that day did he take to his routine for the last few days, of screaming hysterically when I say goodbye. These tears actually made me want to move into the prison with him, but I abstained (don´t worry). Nick decided to give me a humungous hug following his consumption of a creamy soup, or should I say, his application of a cream soup to his entire face. I hugged him back, let go, let him run on to some other action that terrorists embark upon, and turned to his mother, Anna. I pointed to my chest, where Nick´s face had left a humungous print, and said in Spanish, ¨Only one more day to get these presents from Nick¨. We exchanged a sad look.
I returned to prison with the group on Friday, for the special day out. I happily walked with Marisol from cell to cell, gathering the kids. We grabbed Karina in her little denim skirt, Jorge Luis in his new, clean shirt, and of course, Willy in his Sponge Bob Square Pants embroidered collared shirt. I was entrusted with the infamous Willy rocketship lunchbox, holding juice boxes, which he actually comsumed this time. And, out we went. We went to a nearby park again, but this time, with slides and playground equipment. Nick obviously fell off the metal slide that was too big for him, due to his impatience heading down without an adult volunteer. And, I obviously was there to catch him when he fell, trying my best to dry his tears and welcome back his wide, open mouth smile. I introduced the kids to sidewalk chalk I found in the market, and learned that little kids think that colored chalk could be food. Why not? So, that idea quickly saw it´s end.
When we drove the kids back, every, single child, of the eight we took out, fell asleep in a volunteers´ arms. I held Nick, praying that he would not let a bodily function loose, and missing the echo of Spanish animal vocabulary the children usually spout in response the animals passed on the road. Upon our quiet arrival back the prison, with a sleeping Nick in my arms, I entered the prison for the final time. I smiled at the guards standing at the door, headed up and over the steps between the entry and the facility, greeted the 2 incarcerated males who daily stand at the gate to the men´s side and open the door (as if it is their post), and headed down the corridor beside the male yard, challenging myself to memorize everything in sight. I rounded the corner at the children´s section (Cuna), and recognized Anna standing on the other side of the bars, awaiting Nick´s return. Rustling, he woke up when I handed him over to his mother. Anna asked me when I was returning, and I told her I did not know. She told me that she will miss me, and I smiled, stating the Spanish phrase I had practiced for this very moment, ¨I will miss you¨.
As a group, we continued through the corridor, en route to returning the other children. Since they were mostly all deep in slumber, I didn´t have much of a chance to say goodby to them, which is probably better. They were transferred from the arms of a volunteer, to their mother´s arms, and without much pause, likely their mother´s thin cell beds (which is where the children sleep as well). I spent a few moments walking through the yard, giving a goodbye here and there to the women who have ingrained themselves in my memory. I saw Denise, who repeats her favorite English phrase almost daily, ¨oh my G-d¨. I had a moment with Carmen, when she told me that she liked to see me every day and will miss me. I hugged Victoria and Mercedes, asking them to feel good and wishing them luck, considering I remember when they came into prison on drug charges; it was also my first day inside. And now, I am moving on. Where ever I am in fifteen years, I hope that I will remember Victoria and Mercedes, considering that is about the time when they will be released. I gave out a few more hugs, and started to head for the exit. I turned the corner through the barred door of the women´s yard, and I was shocked to discover a small lump in my throat. I took a few deep breathes...I would not so much as tear. It was unfortunate to leave this community, but I feel great about my time there. I learned children´s songs in Spanish, implemented a reading program for so many minutes daily with the kids, brought in a few educational projects (including Noah´s Ark in Spanish, thanks Aunt Penny), helped with the women´s English classes, and actually engaged Spanish conversations with the women. And, I hope that the replacement volunteer will continue all of the work.
Last night, the volunteers went out to dinner, as a small goodbye for me. Just as we entered the selected restaurant, we heard a voice myself and the other volunteer who regularly has gone inside with me both recognized. It was our favorite guard, the man who tried to practice his English with us (which is really only ¨Hello¨ and ¨See you tomorrow¨) and who gave me a few of the prison stamps (that go on our arms) on a piece of paper for me to keep, with his signature of course. This man´s last name is Lindo, which means pretty, and always gave us a laugh. But, he is a kind man and laughs with us, which most guards did not. He walked with his wife and son, who he introduced us to. We spoke for a few minutes, and he wished me luck in the future. As I let go of his hand, and joined another volunteer in the walk toward the restaurant, the volunteer said to me, ¨You know what the true sign that you live somewhere is?¨ And I asked, ¨what?¨ He replied, ¨You bump into people you know¨. He is right.
For my final day, I went on a long hike up to a Cross on one of the mountains surrounding Ayacucho, to get a view of the city. It was beautiful, and worth the trek up. From there, I could see the street I have lived on, the central plaza I walk through daily, the Quinoa monument in the distance that I visited in my first week, and of course, far away from the city, the prison. On the climb down, I looked through the digital photos I took from above, and thought, ¨okay, now I have got all of it¨.
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.
