Condor

A 60 trip. 38 hours on buses. One night in a $5 hostal. All to see this guy:



The Andean Condor. If you are around 5' tall, stretch out your arms. The distance between your finder tips is the about the size of one of this guy's wings. They're big, kinda ugly, and seem to defy physics when they fly.

I got to watch them by myself for a couple hours, before the tour buses started arriving. I took public transportation and therefore left the closest town, about two hours away from where this condor lives, at 4 am. It was amazing.

The ride back to town, however, was memorable for other reasons. There were 48 seats...and at least 80 people. I wedged myself under the vent in the roof so I could stand up staight. The kid next to me puked a couple times.

Paleas de Gallo

I went to a cock fight. That's what "Paleas de Gallo" means in Spanish. I was a bit uncertain about going. Here are some thoughts from before and after.

The Cons for Attending
-It's violence and death for the sake of entertainment. That's a biggie.

The Pros for Attending
-There was an invitation. That meant a lot and I wanted to honor the inclusion.
-It's part of this culture and I want to experience this culture.
-For anyone who has ever spent time around roosters, you know they are pretentious, aggressive, and stupid. If there's one animal that I can stand to watch fight and die, it's roosters. Dolphins are a close second.

What I Expected
Seediness. A dark, smoky back room with a naked light bulb hovering over a makeshift ring. Men of uncertain character leering at each other while betting on demonic birds hell-bent on killing each others. Cock fights of both the avian and human variety.

What I Saw
Women breast feeding infants in the front row of a large, well built arena. The venue had a high ceiling, tons of fluorescent lights, and a concession stand. Men tenderly carried their birds from a spacious waiting area to the well groomed ring with a chain-link fence and separate doors for each contestant. There was a judge. The roosters' owners gave them a great deal of attention. They cleaned their beaks, smoothed their feathers, and spoke calmly to them. When the actually fight began, most of the time nothing happened for a minute or so. The birds were more interested in finding food in the sand than attacking each other. When the mayhem started, there were spurts of activity that often ended in the chickens sitting and panting. Eventually, a chicken would stop moving and the judge called the match. The loosing chicken became dinner.

Technology

Luddite - A person who is averse to addapting to technology.

I am a bit of a luddite. I approach technology with reservation, especially technology that claims to make it easier to stay connected with others. For example, I don't really like Facebook. It creates a false sense of intimacy and I don't think it brings any real value to relationships. (Yes, I recognize the hypocrisy of sharing this sentiment via a blog.) Skype, however, is kinda nice. I'm a fan. Last night, while in Peru, I talked to my brother in Kosovo and then my parents in the States and it didn't cost any of us a cent.

In other news, there were two earthquakes yesterday. The first one was big enough for me to jump up from my chair in anticipation of needing to run into the street. The second, a 6.6, made the walls sway for a few seconds. I'm thankful for the technology in this new building that makes it structurally sound.

Kids

These two young gentlemen are Luis, who I call, "monito," and his older brother Diego. Luis is one of the funniest kids I've ever known. We wrestle with each other, he'll cling to my legs or I'll throw him in the air. He loves to be read to and gently leans against whoever might be reading. Those are the few times when he's not moving and instigating.




Carlito. He may be the front runner for the kids I want to sneak back into the States. Remarkable aware and intuitive for a boy of 10 years old, he is quick to help and always has a smile. While it may look like he's just playing in a pile of dirt, he's actually preparing food for all of his friends. He uses old plastic bottles, stick, leaves, broken pieces of tile, anything he can find for free. I don't think it was a coincidence that he created this game the same day his family didn’t have enough money to buy breakfast.

Gratitude

Within the past 18 months of my fairly nomadic life, I've learned a few things. One of the most potent revelations is that the world is much smaller than I once thought, and so am I.

There is something, however, that has become grander, more impressive. There is something, someone, that continues to grow ever more amazing: my mom. During the times when I've needed someone, homesick in Rwanda or juggling grad school applications in Peru, she is without fail the first person I think of and the person I trust the most. She works the hardest to know about my life and believes the strongest in my potential. There is unshakable certainty in her love.

Yes, I've learned a great deal. I've learned, or at least have come to a better understanding, of how incredibly blessed I am to have my mother.

More Language Shortcomings

1.) I am learning a very particular sort of Spanish. Because I'm dealing with kids, most of the phrases I've learned are something like, "Why are you shouting?" or, "Please let go of my leg," or, "Stop dragging your sister across the floor." Although not the most versatile expressions, they will equip me well when I adopt a few of these little buggers.

2.) I'm pretty sure I ate some deep fried chitlins the other day. The women in the kitchen were enjoying a bowl of these crispy, ambiguous treats and Señora Maria offered some to me. I asked what they were but couldn't understand her explanation. Partly to live up to my own standard of trying new things and partly to defy the women’s expectation that I wouldn't eat them, I threw a few in my mouth and chewed for a long, long time.

3.) Last week, a mother was dealing with her irate 2-3 year old son during lunch. While she tried for a good while to change his mood, she eventually gave up and he remained agitated. He kept hitting her. As a three year old, he wasn't doing any harm, but the situation was still very distressing. Not so much because of the child's anger but by the mother's indifference to it. She never told him to stop, never blocked his hands. She just sat there and took the punches. At one point, when she had her head bowed, her son swung at her and she flinched. She couldn't have been afraid of him or of potential harm. I think she recoiled out of habit. She recoiled because that's what she knows to do, what she’s accustomed to, that’s how other men in her life treat her.

As I stood and watched this scene unfold, different desires tore through me. I wanted to wedge myself between the mother and child, hold his arms at his side, look him squarely in the eyes, and say, "Nunca. Nunca. Nunca." Never. Never. Never. However, I didn't want to appear to be the know-it-all American who tries to impose his values on others, although domestic violence is unacceptable in any culture. So I made eye contact with the boy whenever I could and shook my head. It didn't help. There have been very few times when I have every felt as inept as in that situation.

Shake It...Eventually

African dance came to the comedor. Chincha, the neighboring city, is the center of Afro-Peruvian culture. Tonight, I partook in my first class.

There was one instructor and a two member band, both playing percussion - a set of bongo drums and a wooden box. While the musicians set the rhythm, the instructor demonstrated the moves and then went to each student to ensure they knew the steps. He spent a lot of time with me.

This class confirmed two things. First of all, I'm a sweater. Not the wool kind you wear on chilly days but the kind of person that sweats easily and prolifically. Not knowing what was to come, I started the class in khaki shorts and a nice t-shirt. 30 minutes in, I was dripping with sweat and I ducked into my room to change clothes. At the end of the class, just 30 minutes later, I had to hang my second set of shorts and t-shirt up to dry.

The second confirmed fact was that my dancing capabilities have been hindered due to my wonderful and fairly middle American upbringing. For the first 25 years of my life, I learned that under no circumstances am I to ever shake my hips. Sure, I felt allowed to dance, as long as that dancing was in a strict side to side motion, my full body remaining in a vertical line. Therefore, when I try to move my hips in a Latin motion today, they are a bit hesitant, they don't quite comply, as if they're asking, "Is this really a good idea?"