"So This Is It. It's In the Middle of Nowhere."
Dear Constant Readers,
This last week I spent a few days at my soon-to-be new home for the next two years. In many ways, I got exactly what I wanted. When I was told a couple of weeks ago what my town was like, I was very happy and relieved. It is in northern Peru, in the region of Piura, namely. It is a small hamlet in the Andes Mountains, which is to say it’s high up, but low enough to still be moderately warm and green. In fact, it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. It is a quiet, sleepy village of surely less than 500 souls.
But arriving there was a shock. The trip up there in a Combi (a little van that inspires no confidence) over the small, one-landed dirt road up the side of the mountains took around two or three hours, and that was plenty of time to ask myself around ten times just what in God’s name do I think I am doing here. Up in the isolation of Rinconada, my town, I am blessed with a few amenities: running water, electricity, and there’s a rumor of cell phone service, but since I don’t yet have a cell phone I can’t ascertain that. There is no internet, but an hour’s walk uphill to the next town where the nearest volunteer, Patrick (who is quoted in the title of this entry) lives this apparently can be had in the school.
My home has the coziness of being in a big den. It’s dark and musty, but I think will be comfortable. But shock of being in such a humble home, knowing I’ll be living in it for two years, has not yet worn off. I’m not being picky about the conditions there, but I would be lying if I said it won’t take getting used to. The latrine is merely a squat toilet surrounded by some plastic sheet walls and a curtain. It isn’t as bad as I thought such a toilet would be, especially when you really just gotta go. But I did have to chase a chicken out of it the second day there. The shower has a similar design. The water just flows over some flat rocks, so I bought some sandals to where specifically there. But I am getting used to the art of taking a cold, hasty shower.
I decided to alleviate some of my shock by drinking a Dr. Pepper that I discovered in a supermarket in the capital city Piura while sitting on my second-story bamboo porch and take in the beautiful Swiss-like scenery while reading my book I brought.
My family seems to be quiet nice, although quiet around me still. I have two younger brothers and a single host mother. The two brothers, 13 and 14 years old, both have been interested in speaking with me, although the youngest one stares at me while I eat, and I don’t know how to react to that. The older of the two brothers told me he just knows the history of Peru, so I decided to give him a brief history of World War Two, one of my favorite historical time periods.
The cat only likes me if I have food in my hand, otherwise I can’t get within an eight-foot radius of him.
The locals I’ve met have mostly been kind, although a few have been shy, which is understandable given the fact I am a man, seen as both an outsider and an authority figure, and the first American to live in the town (however, apparently there was a local girl who got married to an American some time ago).
The first night I was introduced to the community by my counterpart, the person who, hopefully, will be working with me throughout the course of my two years. I told them who I was and where I was from, and taught them how to say my name which has consistently been harder than hell for almost every Spanish-speaker I’ve run into. I also had plenty of time to feel like I have just about as much business being a technical advisor to these people as I do being a technical advisor aboard a space station. We’ve gone through the training surely enough, but I still felt very small in front of every one.
After the introduction, everyone joined in a drinking circle, a Peruvian tradition of passing a bottle and a cup from person to person. The alcohol, I think it was called cañoso or cañete or something, was mixed with milk and something else to make it sweet, and I decided I probably drank my Dr. Pepper a few hours too early.
The school director sees me basically as a much needed English and computer class teacher. I knew I would be asked to teach English. I’ve even kind of looking forward to it. But the second request took me by surprise. To the best of my knowledge the town only has one computer, anyway.
The slow place of life will take some time to get used to, but, by that very nature, time is all I’ll have. I felt guilty by just sitting on my porch and reading, but when I would get up and walk around and be stared at, I saw that most of the folk were doing something similar. When I’m not working or spending time in the community to integrate myself, I’ll need to think of something to occupy myself. Reading and writing are definites.
I knew this would be a challenge, and I will take it on, but I was surprised how much I’ve adjusted to where I’m living now, and how I felt two and a months ago I feel again after having visited site. I’m sure it will wear off as well as I fall into my notch there. I felt sad, however, at all the friendships I’ve begun to make over these past few months, and I know that now we will be spread all over the place. I take comfort in the fact that most of us are in the same boat, but it does take some reckoning.
Like many things in life, it is a mixed bag of surprises. I’m curious to see how it will turn out.
Hope all is well.
Tristan
This last week I spent a few days at my soon-to-be new home for the next two years. In many ways, I got exactly what I wanted. When I was told a couple of weeks ago what my town was like, I was very happy and relieved. It is in northern Peru, in the region of Piura, namely. It is a small hamlet in the Andes Mountains, which is to say it’s high up, but low enough to still be moderately warm and green. In fact, it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. It is a quiet, sleepy village of surely less than 500 souls.
But arriving there was a shock. The trip up there in a Combi (a little van that inspires no confidence) over the small, one-landed dirt road up the side of the mountains took around two or three hours, and that was plenty of time to ask myself around ten times just what in God’s name do I think I am doing here. Up in the isolation of Rinconada, my town, I am blessed with a few amenities: running water, electricity, and there’s a rumor of cell phone service, but since I don’t yet have a cell phone I can’t ascertain that. There is no internet, but an hour’s walk uphill to the next town where the nearest volunteer, Patrick (who is quoted in the title of this entry) lives this apparently can be had in the school.
My home has the coziness of being in a big den. It’s dark and musty, but I think will be comfortable. But shock of being in such a humble home, knowing I’ll be living in it for two years, has not yet worn off. I’m not being picky about the conditions there, but I would be lying if I said it won’t take getting used to. The latrine is merely a squat toilet surrounded by some plastic sheet walls and a curtain. It isn’t as bad as I thought such a toilet would be, especially when you really just gotta go. But I did have to chase a chicken out of it the second day there. The shower has a similar design. The water just flows over some flat rocks, so I bought some sandals to where specifically there. But I am getting used to the art of taking a cold, hasty shower.
I decided to alleviate some of my shock by drinking a Dr. Pepper that I discovered in a supermarket in the capital city Piura while sitting on my second-story bamboo porch and take in the beautiful Swiss-like scenery while reading my book I brought.
My family seems to be quiet nice, although quiet around me still. I have two younger brothers and a single host mother. The two brothers, 13 and 14 years old, both have been interested in speaking with me, although the youngest one stares at me while I eat, and I don’t know how to react to that. The older of the two brothers told me he just knows the history of Peru, so I decided to give him a brief history of World War Two, one of my favorite historical time periods.
The cat only likes me if I have food in my hand, otherwise I can’t get within an eight-foot radius of him.
The locals I’ve met have mostly been kind, although a few have been shy, which is understandable given the fact I am a man, seen as both an outsider and an authority figure, and the first American to live in the town (however, apparently there was a local girl who got married to an American some time ago).
The first night I was introduced to the community by my counterpart, the person who, hopefully, will be working with me throughout the course of my two years. I told them who I was and where I was from, and taught them how to say my name which has consistently been harder than hell for almost every Spanish-speaker I’ve run into. I also had plenty of time to feel like I have just about as much business being a technical advisor to these people as I do being a technical advisor aboard a space station. We’ve gone through the training surely enough, but I still felt very small in front of every one.
After the introduction, everyone joined in a drinking circle, a Peruvian tradition of passing a bottle and a cup from person to person. The alcohol, I think it was called cañoso or cañete or something, was mixed with milk and something else to make it sweet, and I decided I probably drank my Dr. Pepper a few hours too early.
The school director sees me basically as a much needed English and computer class teacher. I knew I would be asked to teach English. I’ve even kind of looking forward to it. But the second request took me by surprise. To the best of my knowledge the town only has one computer, anyway.
The slow place of life will take some time to get used to, but, by that very nature, time is all I’ll have. I felt guilty by just sitting on my porch and reading, but when I would get up and walk around and be stared at, I saw that most of the folk were doing something similar. When I’m not working or spending time in the community to integrate myself, I’ll need to think of something to occupy myself. Reading and writing are definites.
I knew this would be a challenge, and I will take it on, but I was surprised how much I’ve adjusted to where I’m living now, and how I felt two and a months ago I feel again after having visited site. I’m sure it will wear off as well as I fall into my notch there. I felt sad, however, at all the friendships I’ve begun to make over these past few months, and I know that now we will be spread all over the place. I take comfort in the fact that most of us are in the same boat, but it does take some reckoning.
Like many things in life, it is a mixed bag of surprises. I’m curious to see how it will turn out.
Hope all is well.
Tristan
posted by Tristan | 9:27 AM
2 Comments:
Great to read that you're in a place that you can be comfortable in. Seems tranquil and beautiful.
Reading about the bathroom and shower makes me feel spoiled and unappreciative of what we have. I admire that you're strong enough to not complain at all.
You are wise Tristas. Wise.
I think you'll do a great job teaching.
What is the elevation you're at? If you walk up the mountain for an hour to use the internet you're going to be in stellar shape when you go anywhere at a lower elevation.
Great post.
Best of luck.
Hi Tristan,
This is Patrick's dad.
I am enjoying your blog ( as well as many others in your class)-keep up the great work and hang in there, it will grow on you.
Enjoy Piura!
Aloha,
Garrett
Post a Comment
<< Home