Deep turquoise waters, ancient Andean cultures, breath-taking landscapes, and majestic 400 year old cathedrals make the region and city of Ayacucho one of Peru’s most interesting, yet least visited, tourist attractions.

Unfortunately, this unique region is known more as the birthplace of the terrorist organization Sendero Luminoso or Shining Path, who ruthlessly dominated the area in the 1980s and 90s, than for its astonishing history, culture and scenery.

With that said, today Ayacucho proves to be the perfect destination for tourists in search of a more local experience in the central highlands than might be found in larger sites like Cusco or Arequipa.

Brief History of the Shining Path

Winding up and up from the Pacific coast into the central highlands of Peru, one realizes how Ayacucho, a historically isolated and often forgotten region of Peru, became home to a tragic internal conflict which would eventually claim an estimated 69,000 lives between the years 1980 and 2000 (according to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission established by the Peruvian government).

In 1969, El Partido Comunista del Peru – Sendero Luminoso (Peruvian Communist Party – Shining Path) was founded by its leader Abimael Guzmán, a philosophy teacher at San Cristóbal of Huamanga University in Ayacucho. Guzmán, who became enamored by Maoist ideology, began introducing communism to his students and recruiting them for guerrilla warfare and cultural revolution.

The party, confined primarily to academic circles during the 1970s, began its attacks in 1980 by burning ballot boxes in a village near Ayacucho, attempting to stifle the country’s first attempt at democratic elections since 1964. Sadly, this attack was only the beginning of their reign of terror and a long, tragic period of violence in Peru.

While the government turned a blind eye for over a year, the party began brutal, coordinated attacks and assassinations on political leaders, labor unions, and other peasant organizations. They gathered support from primarily poor, rural areas where many only spoke Quechua, an indigenous language.

When in 1981 the Peruvian government finally declared a state of emergency, it would only complicate the situation for the people of Peru. The decree consequently gave the military unequivocal power to detain anyone under suspicion of terrorism, leading to an overall escalation of violence.

As the conflict grew stronger, local people found themselves trapped between a rock and a hard place, between the Peruvian military and the Shining Path, both sides guilty of intimidation, massacre, kidnapping, rape, and torture. A primary tactic of both groups was the kidnapping of men and boys. For the Shining Path, kidnapping served as a form of recruitment and social control. For the military, the tactic was used as “punishment” for political leaders or anyone else suspected of sympathizing with the Shining Path.

Not unlike most internal conflicts, civilians suffered the worst of the violence. Studies estimate that over 90% of deaths and disappearances were suffered by innocent townspeople who sided neither with the military nor the Shining Path. Out of all the victims, 4 out of every 10 were from the region of Ayacucho, 3 of every 4 were Quechua-speakers, and over half were farmers or shepherds.

In 1992, the Shining Path slowly began to collapse with greater pressure from the military and the capture of Abimael Guzmán, but it would be almost 10 more years before the party truly disintegrated into smaller, less influential groups.

Today, the people of Peru and especially Ayacucho remember these years with deep sadness and pain. They remember the anxiety of a time when no one could sleep peacefully, a time when fear ruled. They remember the government and international community turning a blind eye to their suffering. They remember fleeing to other regions and cities, leaving behind family, lands, and animals. Yet most importantly, they will always remember the thousands of people who were victims of violence, kidnapping, and murder.

Speaking with locals, I found that they want others to be educated about the evils that occurred, yet they no longer want their home to be defined by these experiences.  Locals want their city and region to be remembered for what it offers, for the various pre-Incan cultures who ruled there, for their unique contributions to art and music, for the battle site where Peru won its independence, and for its kind and humble people.

Ayacucho Today

At 9,058 ft. (2,761 m.) above sea level, the Andean city of Ayacucho lies between rolling hills and farmlands. If you decide to brave the long, windy, 10 hour bus ride from Lima, you’ll experience firsthand the natural beauty and geographical isolation of the region.

Like many Peruvian cities, Ayacucho, a town of over 180,000 people, is quickly growing and houses continue to pop up on the surrounding hillsides. The tourist lookout, Mirador de Acuchimay, which was originally constructed at the edge of the city, now stands smack in the middle. As one local pointed out, you now have to turn 360° there to see the city in its entirety.

Inside the City

As you begin to explore the city, the central plaza (plaza de armas) is unavoidable. The colonial architecture, well-maintained gardens, and central statue resemble those of Cusco. But as one local proudly commented, “We should begin saying Cusco resembles Ayacucho, not the opposite,” believing Ayacucho was Peru’s true historical and cultural origin.

Entering the main cathedral dating back to 1672 is worth your time, and for a fee of 10 soles ($3) you can receive a tour of the museum and crypt and climb the bell tower for a wonderful view of the city and plaza. The museum is home to church artifacts as well as a Peruvian painting of the Lord’s Supper with traditional foods like guinea pig on the table. If you’re still interested afterwards in visiting more colonial churches, don’t worry. Sometimes known as the city of churches, Ayacucho has over 30 other cathedrals and chapels.

After exploring the plaza and city center, we took the short walk to “El Museo de la Memoria.” This small museum is dedicated to remembering the victims of violence during the 1980s and 90s and honoring the courage of those who fought for truth and justice. The chilling exhibit was created by ANFASEP, the organization which resisted violence and worked to locate and free missing or detained persons. Inside is a timeline of events, art dedicated to those who were lost, personal testimonies, and artifacts. The stories of everyday people who disappeared, their photos, and the absence they left behind are especially impactful.

From El Museo de la Memoria, it’s only a brief stroll to the Hipolito Unanue Museum where you’ll find artifacts such as art, weapons, and tools from various ancient cultures dating back hundreds or even thousands of years.

Ayacucho would not be complete without an appreciation of its unique art, especially ceramics and detailed wooden boxes called retablos. Art galleries are located throughout the city containing pieces depicting scenes from the Andean countryside, Catholic religion, or the period of violence. If you’re looking for a souvenir, make your way to the artisan market (Mercado de Artesanías) and find local artists selling their own work.

While in the city, be sure to try typical foods like mote (corn and tripe soup), cuy (guinea pig), alpaca steak, and most notably puca picante, a strikingly red, spicy dish made from a beets and peanut sauce. If you’re in the main plaza, grab a handmade ice cream called muyuchi or head to a Belgian-owned restaurant called ViaVia Café which serves a variety of dishes including quinoa and alpaca.

Day Trip Adventures

These light blue, naturally-forming pools outside Ayacucho have become a popular tourist destination ever since they were opened by locals a few years ago. Although a long drive (3.5 hours), the day trip is an opportunity to see the high altitude countryside dotted with wheat fields and wild agave and cactus.

Upon arrival, a short hike takes you up into the hills, and the view from 11,600 ft. above sea level is stunning.  From above, a small stream becomes a waterfall and cuts through high rock walls where it settles into blue-colored pools. In the sunlight, an optical illusion makes the water appear turquoise due the presence of certain minerals. It’s a rare and beautiful site, and tours from the city (in Spanish) only cost around 80 PEN ($25).

While still under excavation, the Wari site provides a fascinating look into the customs and beliefs of one of Peru’s most powerful and widespread pre-Incan empires. Within the complex, you’ll discover ruins of a sacrificial altar, royal houses, burial and religious sites, and water systems.

The Inca were masters at adopting the best in art, science, and culture from each culture they conquered. It was no different with the Wari. Rock walls from late Wari culture are almost identical to Incan construction you’d see in Cusco, and their water systems are clear forerunners to those of their conquerors. As our guide shared with Ayacuchan pride, “Here we’ll see who actually learned from whom.”

In Quinoa, the heart of Ayacucho’s ceramic arts, you’ll see local artists at work and later peruse shops with a variety of handmade products. Just three minutes down the road is La Pampa de Ayaucho (The Plains of Ayacucho), where Peru won its final and decisive battle against the Spanish. An obelisk has been constructed in honor of the soldiers, and the high plain provides a spectacular view of the valley and city below. We found the trip to be worth our time and money, only costing 40 PEN ($12) for transportation and a guide.

Ayacuchan Pride

Throughout our visit, I enjoyed many conversations with locals and tour guides. As they shared their experiences, I felt both the sadness of their experiences as well as their hope and pride in their city and region.

On our last morning I took a walk into the plaza and was met by a familiar site here in Peru — a local parade. As always, the national anthem began the ceremony.  But then I noted a significance difference. In place of the typical whispers and mumbles, I heard a roaring anthem. The lyrics seemed to rise from a place deep within each police officer, soldier, student, parent, and teacher.  Perhaps it was a coincidence or maybe, just maybe, their voices represented a not-forgotten struggle against terror and a new-found freedom and peace.

Regardless, the words rang strong and true:

“Somos libres, séamoslo siempre…”

 (We are free, may we always be so…)

“En su cima los Andes sostengan la bandera o pendón bicolor…”

(On its summit may the Andes sustain the two-color flag…)

“…a su sombra vivamos tranquilos”

(…under its shadow may we live in peace)

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post Ayacucho: Horrific History and Modern Tourism in Peru’s Central Highlands appeared first on Traveling Archive.

Summer school classes were canceled in the secondary school, so I coordinated with the local municipality and the primary school to organize my own classes. I tried for weeks before starting classes to work sustainably by involving a local teacher, but eventually our plans fell through and I was left to work alone.

For most volunteers, the rainy season months of January and February and Vacaciones Útiles classes present unique challenges. With large class sizes, we often end up working alone even though it’s a problematic sign our work is not sustainable. (See my first summer school experience here: Rainy Season and Summer School)

Yet for me, this February may have been my favorite month of service. My class was comprised primarily of a small group of  9-12 year olds. In other words, each class was full of energy, interesting questions, and short attention spans. We focused on leadership, life skills, sports, and art and would hang out before or after the class playing group games. Their favorite is Ninja!

Since I normally work with around 130 students on a weekly basis, I appreciated the opportunity to spend multiple hours every day with the same small group of students. Also, working alone freed me from the constant challenge of coordinating with teachers and gave me the freedom to develop my own classes and workshops. Along with this freedom, I felt more comfortable this year with the students and with my Spanish, and it was obvious their trust in me had also improved.

The classes culminated with a day hike along the Inca trail to a nearby town where we visited Inca ruins. I invited a friend from Tarma who served as our guide along with another friend who is an environmental engineer. More students participated than I expected, and the trip was a wonderful way to celebrate the end of summer classes and the start of the new school year.

The school year has now officially started, and I’m optimistic about my last 7 months here in Huaricolca. Despite high teacher turnover, the schools and I have improved our coordination and work by learning from our successes and failures of last year.

Teachers and I are working to develop small groups of leaders in each grade while continuing to improve weekly life skills classes which are part of the Peruvian curriculum. We also hope to expand our “Professional Hour,” an event we did last year, by inviting different universities and technical institutes to participate and focusing on job orientation before and after the event.

Above all, I’m excited to continue building friendships with students and sharing moments with my host families. Time flies, and I know that too soon this wild ride will be coming to an end.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

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Phase 1: The Decision (Applying and Waiting)

On your laps through the park, you’ve passed by the roller coaster a few times now. You’ve been waiting for this ride for years; last year you were too short to ride.

This year you’re not sure you’ll have the courage, but you feel ready. You hop in line for the long wait, wondering if it will truly live up to the hype.

Each volunteer’s rationale for applying to the Peace Corps is multifaceted — to serve, to travel, to develop oneself personally and professionally, to further one’s education, to learn another language, to meet new people, to adventure, to learn. The list is endless. For some it was a last minute decision and for others it took years of preparations and forethought.

Yet everyone experiences the same wait. While back in the U.S., we completed essays and interviews and, upon acceptance, endured the long process of legal and medical clearance, all while knowing very little what life in the Peace Corps would actually be like.

We stood in line, excited yet anxious as we imagined what each twist, turn, and corkscrew might hold.

Phase 2: The Climb (Pre-Service Training)

You buckle yourself in. Your heartbeat quickens. There’s no turning back. You begin the climb…click…click…click…click. The knot in your stomach grows with each foot of altitude gain.

Preparing for the coming adrenaline rush, you raise your hands and let out a scream. As the clicking stops, so does your heartbeat. You’ve reached the top.

After 3 days of basic preparation, you find yourself on a plane to a foreign country. You most likely speak little to none of the local language(s), haven’t tried the local food, and are unfamiliar with cultural practices. To fill in these gaps, trainees receive three months of Pre-Service Training (PST).

PST is a whirlwind of activities. Long days of language, cultural, and program specific training more closely resemble a busy college schedule than your actual service. Here in Peru, we also began living with our host families from day one, sharing meals and speaking only in Spanish.

You slowly begin learning what your life and job might be like, yet many many aspects remain vague and you don’t find out in what town or region you will be placed until week 5. The anticipation builds and builds and finally culminates in the swearing-in ceremony and your arrival in your community.

While you may have just made it through one of the most intense and nerve-racking parts service, everything is really just beginning. You’re no longer in a large group of volunteers. You’re no longer in the capital city. You have a new host family.

Here comes the drop.

Phase 3: The Drop (First 6 Months)

In free fall, your stomach rises to your throat. Muscles tighten. Adrenaline spikes. For a moment, you’re breathless, simultaneously loving and hating the terror of this adventure.

When you find your breathe, it instinctively escapes as a scream. And before you realize it, the track has leveled, and the ride continues.

Your first months in site are arguably the most challenging. On top of living each day in a foreign language, you must adjust to being away from other volunteers, living with a new host family, eating new foods, adjusting to constant sickness, dealing with hours and hours of unstructured time, and learning new professional and cultural expectations.

You make these adjustments while simultaneously trying to build relationships with local institutions and community members, doing interviews and surveys as part of a community diagnostic. Every day you also attempt to explain your role as a volunteer, the goals of Peace Corps, your program, and sustainable development while starting to match your program goals with local needs.

As a whole, your first months are a whirlwind of becoming comfortable amidst a sea of new experiences and the joys and struggles of integration. You often feel out of control, experiencing the free fall with both excitement and fear.  Yet through trial and error, through fire and flame, you see the value and beauty of integration, the foundation for the rest of your service.

Poco a poco, little by little, you settle in and your community becomes your home.

Phase 4: Acceptance (Year 2)

Accepting you’re at the mercy of this mad machine, you allow your muscles to relax for a moment. You remember once again to breath.

As you hurtle forward, you begin to truly enjoy the ride despite the many unexpected twists and turns. Nearing the end, a rush of dopamine reminds you the whole thing was worth the risk.

The rest of your service is filled with ups and downs, and the process of integration never truly ends. But many aspects of service simply become easier, and those which don’t you learn to accept.

You adjust to the food and hopefully getting sick less often. The language becomes normal, and you find yourself using local slang. You adjust to life with a host family or maybe even live on your own. You learn how to navigate local institutions and apply strategies for getting work done.

As time goes by, you also learn to lower expectations in terms of your work and accept the many limitations which exist. I find the longer I’m in my community, the more complex and interconnected the local problems become and the more I need to admit my limited role and impact in changing them.

I’ve spoken with many fellow volunteers who share similar sentiments. Two years is a short time to work towards long-term and sustainable change. The longer I’m here the more apparent that becomes.

So we do the best work we can and appreciate each moment we share with host families, community members, and friends.  And from what I’ve seen here in Peru, at the end of the day we love our jobs as Peace Corps volunteers, including all its surprises, difficulties, and joys.

Phase 5: What next? (Post Peace Corps)

You screech to a stop. You’re back where you started, yet you know without a doubt something has changed. You feel a bit light-headed and even disoriented as you stand up to walk out the gates.

It seems for a second that you’ve passed through an alternate reality. But as time goes by, you quickly readjust to life on the ground. Reflecting, you’re glad you rode, and you feel if you were to ride again, you could do so with more courage and composure.

I have yet to finish my service, but I’m positive returning to the states will require its own process of readjustment. For a while, parts of our own culture back home will inevitably feel foreign to us.

But even as life quickly becomes normal again, I’ll hope to never forget the lessons I’ve learned, people I’ve met, and experiences I’ve had here in Peru.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post Peace Corps is a Roller Coaster Ride: 27 Months (Part 1) appeared first on Traveling Archive.

Upon realizing the fiesta below won’t be stopping anytime soon, we head inside and shoot off a confetti cannon, a jolting surprise for those who had fallen asleep on the couch. Hugs and well wishes are shared by everyone, followed by a traditional pork dinner and the seasonal sweets panetón and hot chocolate.

Before long, silence fills the room and the food, our stomachs.

Being away from family and friends, comfortable traditions, and favorite foods is always difficult, especially during the holiday season. Despite these challenges, I decided to spend Christmas with my host family again this year, waiting to leave for vacation with some fellow volunteers.

This year I hoped to share a few more of my family’s traditions. We began by setting up our arbolito de navidad and decorating it with a few ornaments. Yet something was lacking, so I began scheming to fill the empty floor below its branches.

From the year prior, I knew that gifts are given primarily to children and rarely among adults. For me, gift giving has always been an important part of Christmas, and I couldn’t resist. Soon, the ground around our little tree was full of boxed surprises for my host family. Not surprisingly, my host siblings were not overjoyed by the tradition of waiting until Christmas to open them!

On Christmas Eve, we were invited by family members to spend the evening with them in Tarma, a larger town 20 minutes from our community. We dozed off watching telenovelas, built a small campfire, and shot off fireworks while waiting for midnight, the arrival of Christmas Day.

As we waited, I thought often of my family and friends back in the U.S. and missed them dearly. I found my mind wandering to my family’s faces, a baked salmon dinner, the recliner next to the fireplace, and gifts being exchanged.

This time around I had lowered my expectations, having recognized that many of my favorite traditions and memories cannot be recreated here, especially without my family. But this fact, like many other aspects of service, I have begun to accept and mentally frame in more positive ways.

Peace Corps requires serious mental flexibility. A constant flow of new experiences awaits our interpretation. I’ve learned that when situations are unchangeable, changing my attitude or perspective is the most powerful tool not only for survival but also to experience joy where it may not have been found.

So I leaned back against the dusty brick wall and decided to be present, allowing myself to be captivated by the colorful explosions which illuminated the dark, sloping hills of a town I have come to love.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post A U.S. Peace Corp Volunteer in Peru: Christmas Round 2 appeared first on Traveling Archive.

I joined Peace Corps knowing very little of what life or work would be like. Unlike some of my volunteer friends, I hadn’t dreamt of Peace Corps since I was little, and it was never part of some 10 year professional plan.

So what drew me to Peace Corps? Simply put, I wanted to live cross-culturally abroad and work in community development.  As expected, integrating into another culture and working hand in hand with local people has been complex, beautiful, challenging, confusing, and rewarding all at the same time.

At the midpoint of my service, I know I’ve grown significantly over the past twelve months in site, and the following reflection is my attempt to communicate a few of these changes as they relate to my process of cultural integration and community work.

Cultural Integration

First off, I have been reflecting on my process of cultural integration in the community. Arriving in site a year ago, I was very concerned about acting or speaking in a way that would be perceived as culturally inappropriate. I also wondered how or if I’d ever know when I was “making a mistake” in a culture of primarily indirect communication. Slowly but surely, I began fine-tuning skills like careful observation and copying social behaviors, yet these helpful strategies were not ultimately the key to cultural discovery and integration.

Instead, I’ve found that the heart of cultural integration is being yourself and humbly opening yourself up to others and their lives. To do so, you must become secure in yourself and familiar with failure.

One day you say the wrong word at the wrong time to everyone’s amusement or horror. The next you sit awkwardly with an elderly person whose accent you truly can’t understand. And sometimes you unknowingly misunderstand people’s actions or intentions and plans fall through.

The process is difficult, and I’ve made a lot of “mistakes.” Yet I’ve learned that they are not really mistakes in the true sense of the word, but only part of the process. I’ve learned to laugh at myself, admit my faults to others, be content with discomfort, and ask curious questions. Many new discoveries have sprouted and relationships grown from the desert ground of awkward situations, cultural misunderstandings, and difficult conversations.

Through it all, living cross-culturally sets you on a path of self-discovery. This journey of cultural integration has been successful in bringing out my best and worst. Being myself in a new cultural context has uncovered many personal weaknesses and insecurities — my impatience, possessiveness, fear of failure or embarrassment, need for concrete results, and tendency to be a people-pleaser.

Despite being frustrating or confusing, I’ve found immense beauty and value in opening myself up to others and allowing their diverse lifestyles and views to impact my own. The journey of personal change is slow, but thankfully it’s lifelong.

So how have I actually changed? It’s difficult to discern the exact way living immersed in Peruvian culture has been shaping me. On one hand, I’m still inside the metaphorical “fish bowl” and am oblivious to many of the ways I’ve instinctively adapted. On the other hand, I catch myself acting or speaking in new ways that surprise me.

I instinctually offer others food or drinks, greet people I don’t know, tell white lies about my plans, and say provecho while others are eating. I’ve now become accustomed to being around livestock, washing my clothes by hand, throwing toilet paper in the trash, treating my water, eating guinea pig, and thinking in Spanish.

In conclusion, looking back on my service, I’m confident that the moments spent with my host families and community members will be far more valuable to me than any work I’ll be able to accomplish. These opportunities for genuine human connection and sharing will always be invaluable for me.

Community Development

I joined Peace Corps largely in part because I wanted to be on the front lines of grass-roots community development, which sounds more glamorous than it is. Turns out, it’s a slow, arduous process of building relationships, making institutional connections, and encouraging and training others to assume a larger role in their community.

Many volunteers, myself included, feel a pull towards accelerating this slow process, looking for projects with visible, concrete results. At the end of the day, we need to admit that on some deep level we all yearn for recognition. We love to put our name on something and say, “I did that.” However, sustainable development is slow, subtle, and often invisible. Good community development is really people development — in Peace Corps language “capacity building.”

Therefore, the main challenge is this: people are complex. As humans, we are not only capable of the best — beauty, art, progress, and connection — but also the worst — violence, hatred, deceit, and indifference. We are habited beings with complex histories and worldviews. We love criticism; we’re prone to denial. We are motivated to help our communities; we are engulfed in our own lives and preoccupations.

Given the intricate nature of persons, a community and its problems must be equally complex if not more so. If the goal is behavior and perspective changes — that people become active agents of change in their own lives and community — change will be neither easy nor straightforward. Every few steps forward is usually accompanied by a few steps backward.

In the small community where I live, finding motivated local counterparts is one of our primary difficulties. All but one teacher commute from larger communities and the majority will only stay for 1-2 years due to the education system. Therefore, because of brevity and location, many teachers are not directly involved or invested in the community where they work. After-school programs or weekend activities are a challenge.

Because of this difficulty, I’ve largely been confined to working in the classroom, supporting the teachers of tutoría, an obligatory, weekly life-skills class. This presents its own challenge of working within a 45 minute time-frame and coordinating with teachers whose priorities often lie in other courses.

For sustainability and liability reasons, I try to never teach alone but instead support and coordinate with the teachers to co-plan and co-teach the sessions. After a year of practice, our co-facilitation skills are improving but it’s a tricky balance that sometimes leads to me or the teacher taking on more of the responsibility.

Despite these challenges, I have much to be thankful for. The community, both families and institutions, has trusted and welcomed me. I coordinate weekly with the local government, health post, and schools, and they are open to working together.

We live by a motto here: poco a poco (little by little). Together, we’re slowly making progress, building relationships and making an impact.

Of course, there are good days and hard days. One day you and a teacher co-facilitate a dynamic class on machismo (sexism), and the next you’re tossed into a classroom to make something up on the spot. You watch a project you’ve been planning for months fall apart, yet in the same week a group of students surprise you with their own creative idea.

A PC staff member recently emailed us with three key concepts to embody in our work: permanence, persistence, and perseverance. I’ve found in Peace Corps, and in life for that matter, that consistency is often what matters most — being faithful in service and love to the place you’re at and the people you’re with.

One day results will come, even if they’re not as expected. After all, it’s through our journey together that we are truly changed. So here’s to another year of the beautiful struggle and the fruit it will bring!

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post Reflections on Cultural Integration and Community Development by a Peace Corps Volunteer in Peru appeared first on Traveling Archive.

My Parents Were Coming to Perú.

We’d been planning the trip for months, and I could already picture the forthcoming collision of worlds and cultures — American and Peruvian, Spanish and English, my U.S. family and my host families.  The images began forming in my mind of stressful taxi rides, trying new foods, learning Spanish phrases, meeting my host families, and translating just about everything.

These images carried with them a rush of emotions, a strange mixture of happiness, excitement, and nervousness. Yet as my parents poked their heads through the customs’ door, all that was left was the joy of being together after a long year apart (and maybe the worry of finding a safe taxi!).

Our plan for the trip was twofold — meet my families and see Cusco. Despite Peru’s beautiful beaches, snow-topped mountains, and deep jungles, my parents’ priority was meeting the most influential people of my Peace Corps experience — my host families. A close second was visiting Cusco, the Sacred Valley, and Machu Picchu.

Our first stop was my host family outside Lima where I lived for 3 months of training. Despite an eye opening taxi ride for my parents (there is little respect for lanes or speed limits in Lima and the traffic is horrific), we arrived at one of my favorite places in Peru.

My family in Lima has continually opened their doors to me since training, and in many ways their house has become a second home for me — an escape from the mountain cold and the stresses of Peace Corps life. As I arrived home once again, this time with my parents, I knew they would experience firsthand the same warmth and hospitality that I received exactly one year ago.

They definitely did. In Peru, welcoming guests into your home is significant, and food is a large part of this welcome. We ate, and ate, and ate. After all, the best way to reciprocate hospitality here is eating all you possibly can, and then some. That’s easy to do so when you’re served a delicious lomo saltado and a variety of different fruits and juices.

Despite the language barrier and translation, it felt as if our families had met before. We talked about our hometowns, languages, traditional foods, families, hobbies, and occupations. It was a blessing for my parents to finally meet them and have the opportunity to thank them in person for the support and love they’ve shown me. It was a perfect start to our trip and introduction to a real Peruvian family and their culture.

Our next stop was Cusco. In my opinion, it lived up to the hype.

After our first night of adjusting to the altitude and checking out the Plaza de Armas (central plaza), we picked up my sister from the airport. She was arriving from her summer job in Quito, Ecuador, and joining us for the rest of the trip. Being together was wonderful, but we did miss my two brothers who weren’t able to make it.

We began by visiting Qoricancha (or Coricancha), one of the most important Incan temples of its time. What were once entirely gold-plated walls have been reduced to only a few stone rooms. Today, a catholic convent and church now stand atop the remaining ruins, creating the stark contrast characteristic of Cusco between old and new, Incan and Spanish.

In fact, the vast majority of the once Incan capital was destroyed by the Spaniards who built immaculate churches with the gold and stone stripped from the Incan temples. Oddly enough, in the case of Qoricancha, it was the catholic monks who preserved what little remained of the temple’s walls.

After our tour of the temple, we wandered the beautiful city streets, perusing the plethora of small shops and restaurants. We finished our day in the small artisan market and Incan-walled neighborhood of San Blas. Here we enjoyed a tasty dinner of lomo saltado, carapulcra, chicharrón, and skewers of alpaca.

Our next stop was Ollantaytambo, a quaint Incan town which has become a popular stepping stone on the way to Machu Picchu. Rather than traveling directly, we joined one of the many sacred valley tours offered throughout Cusco.

As we wound through the fertile farmlands once cultivated by past civilizations, catching occasional glimpses of the snow-topped Andes off in the distance, we experienced a firsthand glimpse of the ingenuity and expansiveness of the Incan Empire. History came alive.

We stopped at Lake Piuray, an Inca’s (king) secondary home in Chinchero, the experimental agricultural terraces of Moray, and the salt mines in Salineras. While I would have wished for more time in each site to explore and hike, the guided tour was an effective and educational way to visit various sites without breaking the bank.

Rather than returning to Cusco with the group, we stayed in Ollantaytambo. This decision allowed us to explore more of the extensive ruins consisting of terraces, storehouses, and a temple. We were thankful to spend the next day there as well rather than rushing straight to Machu Picchu. Ollantaytambo and its Incan water canals, perfectly constructed walls, and quiet, narrow streets became one of our favorite stops of the trip.

From Ollantaytambo we took the overly-priced train to Aguas Calientes (or Pueblo Machu Picchu), the final stop before Machu Picchu itself. While beautifully set in the middle of the hills, the town is dominated by thousands of tourists and therefore hostels, restaurants, and higher prices. We generally preferred Ollantaytambo.

The next morning we were headed to Machu Picchu! After a 3 a.m. wakeup call and a two hour wait for the first buses, we wound our way up switchbacks in the dawn light.

It was worth the lack of sleep. As we emerged from the path for our first view from above Machu Picchu, the sun peaked over the hill, slowly rolling back the shadows over the ancient city. The view was breathtaking.

Our tour led us farther into the jungle vegetation and then through the city itself as we learned about the site’s religious and military importance as well as its surprising discovery in 1911 by American archeologist Hiram Bingham.

Although we were among the first visitors, the site was still full of people due to high tourist season. Despite the crowds, I think Machu Picchu retained its mystery and grandiosity. It’s hard to feel crowded when surrounded by miles and miles of green hills.

We circled back around to the entrance to start the second part of our day — Montaña Machu Picchu hike. While not as well known as Huayna Picchu, the mountain right behind the ruins in many photos, Machu Picchu Mountain is significantly higher and arguably more strenuous.

With almost a thousand feet of elevation gain, almost the entire trail is steps. Yet the view was worth the effort. From the top of the mountain you can see a 360 degree view of the surrounding mountain ranges, including Machu Picchu and parts of the Andes.

Exhausted from an amazing day we made our way back to Ollantaytambo and then back to Cusco where we still had two full days. The recommendations from family and friends were accurate; you could explore Cusco and the Sacred Valley for weeks or months.

The next day we hopped in a minivan to explore the Pisac ruins, only a 40 minute drive from Cusco. We’d highly recommend taking a taxi up to the top of the ruins and then hiking down through the various sites until you reach the small town and its well-known artisan market. The ruins include terraces, a temple, storehouses, lookout towers, and living areas.

For our final day, my parents decided to relax and explore a bit more of the city while my sister and I took an organized tour to Rainbow Mountain, one of Cusco’s newest tourist destinations. One of the few “colored” mountains in the world, La Montaña de 7 Colores (or Vinicunca) was only discovered in the last five years as the effects of climate change melted away layers of snow and ice. These mountains still hold religious significance for the locals, and the spirit (apu in Quechua) and protection of the mountain is revered.

The hike only covers around 7 kilometers yet begins at over 14,000 feet and ends at over 17,000. Oxygen therefore is scarce. The weather is known to be volatile (sometimes the mountain is even covered in snow), but we were blessed with a sunny day. On the hike you experience snow-capped mountains on one side and sandy rolling hills on the other.

As we left Cusco, we were thankful for a week of new experiences, knowledge, foods, and culture. Peru is now considered by historians to be one of the birthplaces of human civilization and therefore home to some of the oldest cultures in the world. In other words, Cusco and the Incan Empire are only one part of Peru’s long history.

Yet there is something fascinating and unique about this empire that once stretched from Quito, Ecuador in the north past Santiago, Chile in the south. We were grateful for a small glimpse into its capital city, Cusco, and the history of its rapid and strategic growth, technological advances, constructions techniques, political structure, and fateful downfall to the Spanish.

For the last leg of our trip, we made our way from the heart of Peruvian tourism to a remote mountain town which has become my home, Huaricolca. My family was there waiting for us with arms wide open and a table set with pachamanca, a labor of love slow-cooked with hot rocks inside the ground.

My grandpa gave the formal words of welcome and gratitude for our visit to their town and home. After sharing pachamanca and more palabras (short speeches), we were invited to help with a custom called Santiago, placing ribbons and other decorations on the bulls and cows.

Despite the rain and a little reservation on the part of my family, we each placed a ribbon and necklace of fruit on the animals. For other families who have more cows, Santiago is a yearly celebration with food, a band, dancing, drinking, and rounding up the animals.

The next day, to our surprise, we were served cuy con maní (guinea pig with peanut sauce) for lunch which was special for my parents and sister to try.

Next, we visited the community’s most important site, Mamahuari or Pintish Machay. About an hour walk from the town center, this cave was once the most important religious site for the first inhabitants of the regions thousands of years ago. There still remains various cave paintings which are evidence of their earliest practices and beliefs and which are now a small tourist attraction. To this day, the community tells stories of years past and celebrates festivals there.

Our trip ended in the way same way it started, with a beautiful sharing of cultures, foods, and languages. I once again felt honored for the opportunity to see my two worlds collide. I know my US family and host family felt the same. Despite such a short stay in Huaricolca, goodbyes were difficult.

Yet sending my family off to the US the next day was even harder. To be honest, this was one of my lowest moments of Peace Corps. I left the bus station in Tarma with a heavy heart, for the end of an amazing vacation and for the coming months away from my family.

Due to work, I couldn’t stay down and out long. A few hours later I had band practice and the next day classes in the primary school. Returning to work is never easy, but this time around work turned out to be not only a good distraction from my thoughts, but also an encouraging reminder of the community I’ve built here.

Rather than only feel lonely, I was able to keep a positive attitude and began to notice the many positive relationships I’ve built here over my first year. I was encouraged by laughing with students, playing cards with my host family, and coordinating again with teachers.

I reminded myself this is what Peace Corps is about — building relationships, cultural exchange, education and capacity building, new experiences, and slow development.

In the end it boils down to sacrificing some opportunities and relationships to invest in one place and people. The job is never easy, but it can be rewarding.

The post My Family Visits Perú: Cusco, Machu Picchu, & the Sacred Valley appeared first on Traveling Archive.

A question has been on my mind. “Am I actually a minority here in Peru?” Clearly I am the only North American in my town of 2,000 and happen to be white, blue eyed, and 6 feet tall (making me the numerical minority). Yet a sociological definition of majority/minority has much more to do with power and opportunities than it does with numbers.

Therefore, the conversation begins with one word: privilege.

I didn’t know I was privileged until only a few years ago; in fact, I didn’t know what that meant.

For most of my life, I never gave a second thought to the fact that I belonged to a group called “white”^[1] or “straight” or “middle-class” or “male” or “able-bodied.” I was just me.

Scholars call this ignorance itself a form of privilege, the “privilege of ignorance.” People with privilege can live relatively unhindered by their race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, economic status, etc. They have the option of ignoring their privilege and the plight of others. People in minority positions never have such a choice, as their identities daily affect their lives.

So I was ignorant that millions of people fear holding the hand of their lover in public, write fake “white” names on job applications, earn less for the same work, are consistently spoken over, hide a central part of their identity, are feared because of their religious beliefs, or catch nasty looks in the grocery line.

I’ll admit; there is a whole spectrum of human experience I haven’t known. Yet I’ve tried to understand and empathize.

I’ve made friends with people living on the streets as we ate ham and cheese. I’ve argued in sociology classes and sat with the dying, hearing their words through a translator. I’ve read books that have made me enraged, enlightened, and depressed and tried to listen to friends who have seen life differently.

As I explored this world, I quickly learned what most of us instinctively know deep down: life is really unfair. Yet what many people never realize is that this unfairness is not a randomized unluckiness, but rather systematized injustice.  Society is a complex game and it’s stacked (or dare I say rigged) to benefit certain groups of people.

What do we call these free benefits (power, influence, and possibilities) that society grants to some and not to others: privilege.^[2] Privilege is never worrying about my skin color, never having my gender used as an insult, never been mistaken for a criminal, always expecting to go to college, always being able to access buildings, or always feeling safe in my neighborhood.

I never knew one word could describe so well the way I and many people I know navigate and experience the world.

Whether we know it, accept it, or want it, we all take part in unjust societies. The question becomes how we will respond to this understanding.

Coming to Peru, I wanted to be aware of my privilege. After all, Central and South America have experienced enough colonialism.^[3] I knew that being in a completely new cultural context would shift and change my privilege dramatically. What I’ve come to realize is that even though I’m the only gringo in town, I’m far from what it means to be a minority.

I’ve heard some volunteers express being a minority for the first time here in Peru. To some degree it’s true. The unwanted attention, odd looks, outright rejection, feelings of not belonging, and fear for one’s safety mirror aspects of the minority experience.

Living as the only gringo in town has undoubtedly given me fresh insights into minority experiences and hopefully a greater capacity for empathy.

That being said, I would say I’m not a minority in my community. Actually, the power, influence, and possibilities I experienced in the U.S. are often reinforced or strengthened here.

I’m still granted unwarranted influence or honor because I’m a white, educated foreigner.  I’m still a male in a machista culture, meaning I’m treated like a professional and my opinions are respected. I’m still a Christian in a culture where everyone believes in God and faith is part of education and business. I still don’t feel pressure to hide my gender or sexual orientation from my community. If I decided to, I can grab my U.S. passport, hop on a plane tomorrow, and be in almost any country in the world.

Part of living and working in another culture is paying close attention to how you act and how you are perceived. In any context, this is a good place to start — attempting to understand one’s place, identity, and privilege. With this awareness, we can begin to understand how we’ve been shaped to think and act to the benefit of some and the hindrance others.

As Peace Corps volunteers, we are a diverse group in and of itself and each person experiences his or her service in a different way. For my black, Asian, or Latino(a) friends here, the idea of being considered a gringo in their town is almost comical. They clearly experience their work and communities very differently than I do.

We talk about the need to be allies for one another, friends who are not only actively trying to understand the experience of minorities but are taking concrete steps to support them and stand against forces of discrimination, oppression, and violence.

Yet for anyone in my position, maintaining the status quo will always be the easy way out because coasting through life means continuing to benefiting from the system.

I admit I’m too comfortable where I am. I make friends easier with people like me. I am scared of asking hard questions. Sometimes being privileged makes life really easy. But I find admitting this is a good first step.

I hope my service can bring out a different side of me, a more compassionate and selfless side. I don’t want to coast. I want learn from becoming part of a new community here in Peru. I hope to work towards re-empowering others for their own benefit, not mine.

In the end, all is easier said than done. Yet I’m certain of one thing: the Peace Corps has already deepened my understanding of my privilege and identity and is continually helping me see more clearly the complexity of the human experience.^[4]

Footnotes

[1] Or in the words of Ta-Nehisi Coates “the people who believe themselves white.” After all, the concept and social significance of race in the U.S. was created by whites as a justification for slavery.

[2] For some incredible concrete examples of privilege and how it plays out in everyday life, check out this video about the concept of the “invisible knapsack” from sociologist Peggy McIntosh: https://youtu.be/DRnoddGTMTY

[3] For an eye-opening read about the political actions of the United States in Central and South America check out: Empire’s Workshop by Greg Grandin. I’ve also heard good things about Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano and personally enjoyed the concise history of Latin America called Born in Blood and Fire by John Charles Chasteen.

[4] If you’re interested about the complexity of privilege and the human experience, I’d suggest reading about cross-sectionality. From my basic understanding, it is a theory about how each person always experiences life in both privileged and not privileged ways and how these complexities affect and interact with one another.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post My Privilege in Peru: A U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer in Huaricolca, Part IV appeared first on Traveling Archive.

A week before Christmas, the school year here ended, along with it some youth volunteers’ hopes of having consistent work for a few months. Thankfully, vacaciones útiles is notorious for keeping both volunteers and students busy.

The near equivalent of summer classes in the U.S., vacaciones útiles are classes normally sponsored by the local school and government which can include sports, art, math, culture, communication, or science. Because of the size of my town and a few complications, I was told there would be no classes this year. Thankfully the directora of the school is very motivated and offered to come two mornings a week without pay.

So when she asked me to teach a class on leadership and public speaking, I of course responded “Sí.” After all, she’s the director and knows best what the students need. But I’m sure my face betrayed my hesitancy. Something about teaching public speaking in your second language to students from a different culture seems almost comical — and of course intimidating.

The results — mixed. I’d love to report that my classes have been a massive success, but that would be far from the truth. Having classes has helped me build trust with parents, relationships with students, and reputability among local organizations, all of which is an essential part of any volunteer’s job. Yet as expected, ten class sessions haven’t produced formidable leaders or public speakers. Even small progress is hard to see.

Classroom management has definitely been my greatest challenge. For both practical and sustainability reasons, we volunteers are not supposed to work alone. Despite my efforts trying to convince the two teachers who live in the community to spend their summer vacation with me and a bunch of teenagers, I found myself alone in the classroom. I’m very thankful for what we learned about classroom management in pre-service training, and I scoured my brain for any and every tactic that could help me. I did my best despite having no real authority, and I definitely learned through the process.

I also had the opportunity to teach English which is what many people of the community had been asking for. As the school year was coming to a close, one of the teachers who lives in Huaricolca showed interest in learning English. I told him I don’t offer personal lessons, but we could create a class for youth in the community, turning the table on his request. With his help, we started sign-ups, advertised with posters and a radio spot, and coordinated with the local municipality to use their auditorium. With 10-15 students, we had a great time playing Simon Says and singing the Beatles while learning basic, basic inglés.

Aside from classes, the rainy season is in full swing here.  Farmers have planted oats. Potato plants are waist high. The hills have turned a dark green. While I still spend a great deal of time helping my host family or walking around town, I have also enjoyed spending my increased free time alone — going for a run or tucked away in my room reading a book or watching a TV show.

You lose a lot of independence as a Peace Corps Volunteer. For many of us who were living independently before the Peace Corps — renting apartments, owning cars, and cooking our own meals — living with host families in small communities is a whole new world and can feel restrictive. Control becomes limited in some aspects. Rice, potatoes, and/or white bread might be breakfast (and dinner). You might have to wait an hour for your taxi to fill up on your way home. Or your 7 year old host brother, who they call loro (parrot) for good reason, might mistake your nap time for play time.

Yet I think independence lost can also be viewed more positively as community gained. In Peru, community, family, and interdependence are central to the culture. Family members share rooms. Young adults live with their parents; grandparents live with their children. In my community, everyone older than you is a tia o tio.  When someone you know knocks on the door, you invite them in for food. People ask — ¿Me acompañas? (Will you accompany me?) — not only because being together is more fun, but also because it seems odd to work or play alone. I’ve seen many abuelos y abuelas get teary eyed as they share about their children and grandchildren who live in Lima, just outside their reach.

While community seems optional in the U.S. and dependence a sign of weakness, in Peru they are a way of life. People bind their lives, hopes, families, and dreams to those of others. I find this interdependence and vulnerability beautiful. To be human is to be vulnerable and dependent on others. Individual autonomy is a lie we buy too easily in North American culture, that somehow we can truly live independently and can define ourselves apart from others.

Of course community has its downsides. Chisme (small-town gossip) is real. Vulnerability is risky. Broken trust is painful. But every day I’m learning from my Peruvian family and friends that community is worth it.

What surprises me, and that for which I’m most grateful, is that little by little I’ve been welcomed into this culture of communality. While the people from La Sierra region are known to be socially more reserved than those from la Costa o Selva , I’ve also seen another side of them — their affection, hospitality, and openness. I’ve danced in a stranger’s wedding, laughed with an abuela trying to learn Quechua, been invited in for soup, and been called gringito by countless grandmas. As the new school year begins on Monday, I’m excited to begin investing more of my time into this community, one that I’m slowly becoming a part of.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post Rainy Season and Summer School: A U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer in Huaricolca, Part 3 appeared first on Traveling Archive.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from my home in Peru!

For many volunteers, the holidays can be the most difficult time of the year. We miss comfy sofas, lazy mornings with coffee and a book, and most of all — family and friends. Personally, despite studying in a different state and two different countries, I’ve been privileged to never miss a Christmas at home with my family. Until this year, I was not aware of the comfort and joy that familiar friends, family, and traditions can bring during the holiday season.

Although muy tarde, I want to share a few Peruvian customs and traditions and my Christmas experience with my host family. My perspective is admittedly narrow, but I hope you learn something new about Peru. [Imagine visiting the U.S. from a foreign country, spending Christmas with one family in one town, and reporting on what you learned. Undoubtedly, many customs and nuances would go unnoticed or overlooked.]

My host grandpa has informed me that Christmas hasn’t always been the same here. When he was a kid, the holiday was hardly celebrated, at least not in the fashion it is now. Surely due to influence from the U.S., commercialization, and advertising, new traditions began to arise. Some of these more recent traditions probably include Christmas trees, Papá Noel, and gift exchanges.

In Peru, two words define the holiday season — panetón y chocolate. Panetón, or fruit cake, is given as gifts, distributed at parties, eaten for breakfast (and/or dinner), and altogether loved to the max, especially alongside a cup of chocolate (hot chocolate). I don’t think I had ever tried fruit cake before coming to Peru, yet I came to enjoy the citrusy bread and its interesting gummy fruits. While the debate rages on among volunteers over whether panetón is the best part of the day or belongs in the garbage, we all agree it cannot be avoided.

Aside from food, one of the older and most important traditions here in Peru is the nativity scene. In every home, business, and organization you will find a nativity set. Many are placed on a platform of real grass, fill up a whole corner of a room, and include upwards of 50 tiny statues of animals or people. Looking closely, you might be surprised to see that the manger is oddly empty. Then you remember — of course — Jesus isn’t born until Christmas! Like a gift in your stocking, you won’t find baby Jesus in the manger until Christmas morning.

Overall, the heart of the celebration is Christmas Eve, or Noche Buena. Most Peruvians stay up until midnight, place baby Jesus in the nativity scene, and enjoy a special dinner as Christmas morning arrives. Then, in classic Peruvian style, the party might continue until the sun comes up.

Despite the advertising and chatter surrounding the season, Christmas doesn’t dominate other holidays as it seems to in the U.S. While Christmas Eve and Christmas Day come and go rather quietly, many local festivals and national holidays last for weeks or even months.

My family’s Christmas was similarly tranquilo. As the day approached, I was filled with certain expectations of traditions and meaningful memories — Christmas like I’ve experienced it in the past. I quickly realized I had to let go of these expectations. With new traditions and without my U.S. family it simply would not be the same — something I had to be okay with.

My family and I spent the holidays in our own relaxed way. We cut off the top of a small pine tree as our arbolito de Navidad and decorated it with ornaments. The fresh evergreen smell gave our kitchen a real Christmas feel. My host sister and I also decorated the ceiling with streamers. We listened to Christmas carols put to both classic tunes and traditional Peruvian music and practiced dances to accompany them.

On Noche Buena, we prepared a tasty pork dinner, and my host dad’s prayer for all our absent family members brought tears to our eyes. Accustomed to going to bed and waking up early, we decided not to stay up until midnight. We shot off our fireworks early and headed to bed.

In this moment, I missed home the most, especially the sharing of gifts around the Christmas tree and our traditional candlelit dinner. Rather than feel sorry for myself, I decided to remind myself the reasons why I’m here — reasons beyond myself.

In the morning we were back to our regular Sunday routine, household chores and soccer in the grass stadium. And just like that, Christmas had past. Or so I thought.

Two weeks later, we had Christmas again. Due to the postal service, a package from my parents in the U.S. had just arrived.

What followed might be my favorite memory so far with my host family.

My siblings and I dressed up, prepared snacks and drinks from the U.S., and made a surprise entrance in front of my parents and grandparents. They loved the gold fish, sunflower seeds, apple cider, and roasted peanuts. As I’ve mentioned before, food holds great significance in Peru, and I was grateful for the reversal of roles and the opportunity to serve them for once.

After they opened the gifts (headlamps and electric candles), the custom of palabras (literally “words”) began. Many parts of Peruvian culture are very formalized, especially documents and speeches. At almost any event, birthday party, or celebration, people have the opportunity (or are forced) to share their palabras. They take a specific form and always include at least a formal greeting, thank you, and closing.

While volunteers joke about hearing over and over again buenos dias followed by a long list of names and courtesies, I find the tradition meaningful, especially among loved ones. The custom formalizes something we regretfully neglect, verbally sharing our love and appreciation for those we care about.

And that’s what we did. With tearful eyes, one by one my host family welcomed me again as part of the family with an appreciation I didn’t deserve. They also thanked my family in the U.S. for the gifts and wished them health and success in the future. In turn, I had the opportunity to express my deep gratitude for their hospitality and care — for 3 meals a day, endless patience with my Spanish, and a willingness to share with me their culture and way of life.

I came to realize that perhaps I already had what I was missing most — what we all hope for from Christmas — to feel like we belong and are loved. Despite different traditions, I found both among my family in Peru.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post Christmas in Peru: A U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer in Huaricolca appeared first on Traveling Archive.

After the swearing-in ceremony, our whole training group promptly said our tough goodbyes, and we were bused off to our respective communities. Packed days of training alongside an incredible group of friends and PC staff instantaneously became relatively free days of pretending to have a clue of what I should be doing and what it means to be a Peace Corps volunteer. In other words, the process of integrating into the community.

Although I’ve experienced a vast shift from structured activities to an open schedule requiring my own self-motivation, this sea of unknown challenges and opportunities is what we volunteers live for. The chance to speak only Spanish — to play too much soccer — to eat whatever is put in front of you — to begin investing in the families and communities with whom we will share the next two years.

These challenges are what motivate us, but also what we struggle with on a daily basis. A tension exists between the excitement of new experiences and the manner in which living continually in a foreign context takes a toll on you. Of course, having only been in this reality a little over a month, I’m just beginning to understand this dynamic. As of now, most challenges seem interesting and even comical.

But as difficulties begin to compound, the goal becomes investing time and love into my community until what now feels foreign becomes familiar — until strangers become friends, suspicion becomes trust, and Huaricolca, one of nine districts in the province of Tarma in Peru, becomes my home.

So how do I share what the last month and half of life in Peru has been like? Adequately sharing about my life here to my family and friends in the U.S. has been difficult. Not because of my life here is spectacular but because explanations and stories lack the depth of real experience. And in my community, I am the only person experiencing daily events from my white, male, middle class American cultural perspective. There’s only one gringo in town — it’s me!

Many things I find beautiful, captivating, hilarious, scary, or disgusting are often seen differently by locals. Not always, we connect on many levels. Yet sometimes I want to nudge the person next to me and say (in English of course), “Did that really just happen?” I want to encapsulate the moment, image, or event and program it into the Adventures in Odyssey “Imagination Station” so that others can relive it with me.

But time doesn’t work that way; we are forever in the present. In my understanding of time, the present is all that exists. The past is frustratingly unchangeable and the future untouchable.

Perhaps this is one reason we are drawn to taking photos, and one reason I want to share some photos from the community here. We click, grasping at a moment trying to capture its fullness, trying not to let it escape.

While I might be the last one to request a picture back home, in Peru I find myself pulling out my cell phone, attempting to hold on to an image or a moment. When I see my elderly neighbor knitting in her field, and I know she’s been there for hours — when the primary school students swarm me at recess because I’ve made a coin “disappear” — when someone at a graduation hands you a sleeping baby — when your host grandpa tells you an ancient story, I want to guard the moment and share it with someone else.

While they can be powerful, I also think photos can detract from the very moment we are trying desperately to preserve or share. A device now stands between you and that which you are experiencing, separating subject and object. Perhaps this is a false dichotomy, as a good photographer has a way of negating this separation and using the device to draw closer to the moment. Yet as someone who is not a photographer, I do feel that something of the moment is lost when viewed through my cell phone screen.

Photos often portray the best of life and leave the reality of pain and struggle behind. Look no farther than social media, where photos are used to either depict beauty and success or sensationalize suffering and pain. I have done the same, even in this blog and this very post. When I wake up at 3 a.m. with diarrhea, my first thought is not to capture the moment forever (although sometimes the PC doctors do need photos!). When another community member asks me if I’m an hermano (brother in Christ/evangelical/missionary) or a Mormon and I wonder if anyone knows why I’m here or what Cuerpo de Paz (Peace Corp) means, I don’t take a selfie to commemorate the moment. In other words, these photos fall short of reality.

It looks like I have managed to philosophize about photos, while saying very little about my time here. Yet trying to live moment by moment in gratitude has been the story of my time here so far.

With many preoccupations, distractions, and challenges, for me success is trying to live in each moment, being grateful, and giving my best for this community and country. Sounds cheesy but it’s the only way. And for me, gratitude is an appreciation of all of life as a gift from God, something to be lived and felt to the fullest, whether joy or struggle.

Stay tuned for Part 2.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

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