Peru, Day 23: My First World Cup

The World Cup Final started at 2pm here in Cusco. We planned to get to the Pub around 12:30 in hopes that we'd get seats. We didn't. Standing room only over an hour before it started, and during the next hour it only got more and more packed.

(You can actually see a bit better just how packed it was if you look in the mirror...)

Right away it was obvious that the German's in attendance were determined to make their voices known. Those of us who were cheering for Argentina, or simply had no opinion whatsoever looked around at each other with a sort of hopeless bewilderment. "What have we gotten ourselves into?" It got louder and fuller and louder and fuller, and finally it started.

People ate, drank, cheered, hugged, cried, sighed, ate some more, drank some more, cheered some more, jeered, a couple people fainted, people drank some more, everyone cheered. It was an emotional experience. Especially for those who'd been drinking.

In the end the quiet ones were the one cheering for Argentina. What could we say? Not only had Germany won fair and square, most of us had German friends, and regardless - who says anything against the winning team when the pub is full of drunk, ecstatic, winners?

As we all trickled slowly out into the street it was a bit shocking how quiet everything was. In fact, the only people who cared about the World Cup were either inside celebrating or outside mourning. Mostly the second with Peruvians. The only sounds heard the rest of the evening were excited, and for the most part drunk, Germans... Walking the streets. Crashing the clubs. Renting tourist buses and riding all around Cusco. It was quite the spectacle. My friend Nina got congratulated for hours, by people who cared, people who didn't care, and people who just wanted to talk to the pretty German girl.

All in all it was quite a first World Cup experience. Here's to the next one? Who knows where I'll be for that one!

Peru, Day 22: A Different Night Out

We'd heard that every club in town offered free salsa lessons every night from 9-11. So we checked out the first club that was recommended to us and liked it quite a bit. After a few weeks we decided that we'd try some of the other ones - meet new people, learn new steps, maybe even improve our dancing.

Fail.

Apparently we hit the best club in town on our first try.

Now, I am not a connoisseur of dance clubs and certainly not Salsa clubs, but right from the beginning the club we tried tonight was different. Compare:

Mythology: doors open at 9; lesson starts at 9:01; lessons continue throughout the night including several more basic run-throughs, more complex steps, and even some Bachata - a completely different (and actually easier) type of dance; these lessons are interspersed with social dancing in which the teachers, the regulars, and the newbies all dance with, well, everyone else.

Inka Team: doors opened some time after 9, we got there around 9:30 and there were a few guys dancing something and then several obviously more experienced dancers formed a circle and did some Salsa; "lesson" started at almost 10 and consisted of 4 very basic steps; social dancing followed this in which it was painfully obvious who went there every night and who was just curious because those in the second group just got to sit and watch while all the regulars danced with their friends.

Now, I know it may be intimidating to ask a stranger to dance - but that's what you do at dance clubs! And yes, I spent a good amount of time at the other club dancing with one of the instructors - a professional dancer and teacher - but I still wanna dance with other people! And I get that it's fun to dance with people you know - but if you asked new people to dance there'd be even more people you knew to dance with!

The atmosphere at Mythology is one of fun, acceptance, learning, and well, more fun. The atmosphere at Inka Team was...lame. I'm not sure where all the other differences come. I know the instructors at Mythology have much more personality and teach a much higher level of Salsa. I also know that there are few regulars besides the instructors there which fosters an atmosphere of open friendliness sadly lacking in most of the dance clubs I've been to (including the Swing clubs in the US). And so we won't be going back to Inka Team. Obviously.

There are a few more clubs in town we'll try, but it looks like we really hit the jackpot on our first try!

(What do you think, could I be on my way to being a professional dance club reviewer?)

Peru, Day 21: Missing Pieces (Unedited)

Many reflections today. Reflections on the past week, reflections on the coming week, reflections on some things I (thought I'd) left at home, reflections on the future.

This week has been an exciting on in many ways and in many ways I've accomplished less then in any other week so far this year. Why is there this inverse relationship between getting things DONE and getting things FIGURED OUT?

By saying that it would seem that I've taken grand steps toward understanding everything this last week. Unfortunately, no. But sometimes just living, doing new things, doing stupid things, doing fun things, doing questionable things, doing anything, is the best way to understand the world around me. Many life lessons learned this week, but more accurately, many life lessons half-learned this week. I can only hope that the coming weeks and months continue my education, because such lessons can only be learned with time.
And as always, I feel I've come out with at least as many questions as answers.

Being uncertain of my own thoughts, desires, and opinions is a position I know well. I can't say I'm quite comfortable here, but at least I know I will live to see another day. And another day will reveal a bit more to me of who I am, what the world is, and how I should live my part within it.

Sometimes living is the only way to learn this. And the only way to understand. So many times I get anxious to know more than my share, to understand more than my experience has taught me. At such times, I have to remind myself to be content with what I have been able to experience and comprehend so far. It is frustrating when I look at the future and attempt to fill in the missing puzzle pieces only to realize that I have to take more steps to discover them. But on the other hand, I enjoy searching for the missing pieces. Sometimes they are difficult to find and take many, many days, maybe even months and years. But the excitement when I discover a bit of truth, a bit of understanding, that I've been missing!

So maybe I haven't found many missing pieces this week. Maybe I've only found that they are missing. Then let the search begin. Again.

Peru, Day 13: Peruvian 4th of July

For someone who's spent the last several 4th's of July in the back of one restaurant or another, spending this year's in Peru could in no way be anticlimactic.

I slept in, watched a football match between France and Germany, ate guacamole, talked about love in Spanish class for 2 hours, sang songs about "My grand night" (in my other Spanish class), and concluded the day with around 8 hours in a kitchen.

With a Frenchman and his divergent assistants attempting to cook pizza and pasta in a Peruvian kitchen, what could possibly have gone wrong?!

-- Sophie tripping over and breaking the water pipe in the yard resulting in a complete lack of water in all our bedrooms and a repeatedly flooded kitchen floor.
-- Boiling hot sauce going everywhere due to a careless Nicolas and, well, the second time was the same cause. Since when can you set jars of sauce in boiling water for an hour and NOT expect them to explode? His assurance that "Es bien" were rightly disregarded and Ursula finally just turned the stove off. What they are going to do with 2 gallons of sauce is beyond me.
-- Salty pizza crust, anyone? In reality, it wasn't too salty, in reality it was the best pizza crust I've ever made without a recipe. In further reality, it's the only pizza crust I've ever made without a recipe... It's actually the only pizza crust I've ever made at all. And it was amazing!
-- Now that I've made pasty by hand once, I feel confident saying that it's not worth it. Machines are wonderful.
-- 9 people in a kitchen smaller then most US bedrooms.
-- A lot of Pisco Sour (the native drink). I'm not saying that was a bad thing, it's just, well, I was the only one in the crowd who could really cook sanely after that much Pisco. On a side note, I'm pretty sure it's illegal for professors to drink with their students in the US. Not here! And I'm not really sure if they even have a "legal drinking age" or not. This group included Raúl and Ursula and their daughter Gimena; they live in the compound and take care of each group that goes to stay in the Sacred Valley campus. Of course Nicolas and Hugo, Nina, Sophie, and I. And one of our teachers, Dorian. Every kind of personality, talents, shapes, sizes, nationalities, and languages represented...
-- "Do you have hot water for your shower." "Uh, no. We don't have water at all..."
-- "Beth, you have a beautiful voice, right?? SING!" Uhh. Suuuuure.
-- I don't speak Spanish after 10pm and 4 drinks. Or at least I shouldn't try.
-- French drinking songs. Believe me, there are many, many ways to go wrong on this topic. Some things I just wish I could block out of my memory, tipsy or not.
-- After hours of whispered confidences, the macarena, spinning, star gazing, and "Por queso!" Nine, Sophie, and I were worn out. Gimena was not.
-- 11pm: anyone hungry? The (first) pizza's ready...
-- Laughing unbelievably hard because everything about that night was almost as random and bizarre as a dream.

So that was my 4th of July. At some point we toasted the US/me, which was quite enough for all of us. But I haven't laughed that hard for that long in years. It wasn't just the alcohol either. It was the sheer absurdity of so much of the situation. It was the small mistakes of cross-lingual, cross-cultural cooking. It was a group of people, as varying as you could imagine, thrown into a situation, attempting to make it the best it could be just for the sake of the moment and the memories. And as strange, error-fraught, and comical as the night was, I couldn't have asked for a more memorable and rich evening in my current home with my current family.

Peru, Day 12: Ollantaytambo

More than 2 miles above sea level there is a small town comprised almost entirely of tourist attractions, those who visit them, and those who cater to the visitors. Most of these visitors appear to be something like hippie wanna-bees. South America seems to attract those, and especially this little town of Ollantaytambo. Maybe it's because it's the end of a road. Maybe it's because its beautiful. Maybe it's because you can almost feel the Incan spirit in the air. Whatever the reason, Ollantaytambo seems to be both the end of the world and the meeting place of many worlds.

The main attraction is a set of ruined terraces climbing up a mountain side. It costs 70 soles to get into (approximately $25) and maybe 5 minutes to explore.

On an adjacent mountain there are other ruins, a steep and craggy path, and plenty of wonderful vistas. Take a look!

I'm not sure what this building used to be, but whoever inhabited it had a pretty amazing view. I wonder what Ollantaytambo looked like 500 years ago...

Just the edge of a cliff. :)

Here you can see the Terraces for free.

Then we climbed up higher and found a cave.

Then we climbed even higher and found the top of a mountain, well...almost.

Wishing towers.
Here's to hoping the adventure never ends!

Beautiful end to a beautiful day.

Peru, Day 11: Playing Pool

I am now all-too-well acquainted with older-model pool tables.

The school just happened to have a pool table and about 5 queues and tonight, after sitting and discussing our lack of playing cards, someone mentioned the pool table. So 6 of us went to play - teams of 3. Now, this was a slightly motley crew, to say the least. 3 Spanish professors: Dessirre, Dorian, and Erika; if I had to guess I'd put them in their 30s. Hugo, old enough to be my grandfather? Nicolas, 34. And of course, myself. After going over the "rules" - the French rules that is, we commenced a 3-hour game.

Now, I'm not the best at pool at home. By that I mean I am by far the worst in any game no matter who I am playing. Not so here! I got the first two balls in, somehow, and then I think it was an hour before anyone got any more. When I say I know how old pool tables work, I mean that I know that they DON'T work. The pockets are the same size but their openings are much smaller. It was possible to hit a ball from one end to a point exactly opposite it on the other end without hitting the ball in between - I will never complain about an "uneven" pool table again. And finally, the queues were missing their tips. I think I scratched more in 5 minutes of that game than the rest of my pool-playing career put together (which isn't really saying anything, but you get the idea...).

We played for a while until the other ladies went to bed, and then we played for a while longer. And something amazing happened. We'd all been speaking in Spanish all week because that was the one language that we could all understand at least passably well. But at some point, it was like we stopped speaking any language. The phrase, "your turn," the grunts of frustration, groans of disappointment, yawns of exhaustion, smiles of accomplishment, those have no language. It was just friendly enjoyment and competition in which words are superfluous, a universal language.

Peru, Day 10: Las Salineras

Nothing more beautiful than the sun glinting of the the brilliant salt flats with majestic snow-covered Andean peaks in the background. Unless maybe you add some low-hanging dark grey clouds in the north for some contrast.

That little white line zig-zagging up
the mountain, that's the trail...

...and looking back after 10 minutes
of walking.

First glimpse of the flats.

And now getting closer. (Still not
that impressive...)

I admit, by now I was beginning to
the the view was breath-taking.
(That, and I was out-of-breath
from walking up a mountain...)

Alright, totally worth the climb!

Interestingly, the running water was hot - I felt it on purpose, and the standing water was cold - I might have slipped almost fallen into a salt flat...

Salt formations...salt piles...salt foot prints...salt bags...salt, salt, salt everywhere. I think I must've been salty for days afterwards. But so worth it. I've never seen anything quite so strikingly and distinctly beautiful. Certainly nothing else quite like it in the world. And yes, you can walk on the little paths in between the flats. Few people actually do it, or maybe I just went on a day when no one was feeling adventurous. There's really nothing frightening about it, I'm not sure why every one seems so glued to the path.

I know, it almost looks like the beach. Just as salty, but much more tranquil.