It doesn’t matter than it’s after midnight. It would appear that the entire community of Cerro Azul enjoys a good party. Oh, good defined as salsa blasting from loud speakers, vendors selling homemade hemp bracelets and party whistles, and all lights on in the town square, complete with its stage, church, central gazebo, and park. People laugh and call out to friends, wander through the booths holding hands, or gather by the live band.
The aroma of meat sizzling mixes with the briny ocean breeze as the six of us weave between plastic tables and jolly townspeople. Settling in one of the squished open-air food areas, Ana Belen orders anticuchos (grilled cow heart on a kabob) and picarones (rings of deep fried dough dipped in syrup) for everyone. I try to keep up with the excited Spanish conversation bouncing around our table full of women, but it’s been more than 24 hours since I heard or spoke English. My limping brain catches only bits and pieces- enough to look like I understand and respond to direct questions. A bottle of bright yellow Inka Cola appears in the center of our table and the bubble-gum pop is quickly distributed in tiny disposable cups. The band begins its next song.
I momentarily stop trying to understand Spanish over hundreds of voices and thrumming rhythm and reflect on the last couple days. We left Lima yesterday (five hours later than originally planned), and drove to a beach house on Playa Los Lobos, named for the sea lions that used to live here before the people moved in. Tucked far away from developed hotels and malls, Los Lobos still feels relaxed and uncrowded. Maybe it was being away from the city, my computer, and busyness, or perhaps it was the spacious, window-filled, blue and white beach house with no hot water, but something inside feels deeply relaxed.
I always feel noticed, observed when I’m outside here. My light skin, hair, eyes, and height (yep, I’m tall here) make it difficult to blend in and practically scream, “Please take advantage of my ignorance.” I always feel on guard, alert. Earlier tonight, I went up to the second story balcony and finally felt anonymous in the darkness, free to listen to ebb and flow of the sea and watch the moon play across the clouds without anyone staring. Just me and God sharing a companionable silence.
My eyes meet a stranger’s observation, and I quickly tune back into our table as the anticuchos and picarones arrive. I’m a little scared of the anticuchos until the first mouth watering bite.
After wiping our fingers, we jabber our way through the booths and music. Ana Belen asks the guy at the drinks stand to mix me up some Pisco Sour, the national alcoholic beverage of Peru. It burns all the way down, leaving an aftertaste of lemon. I like it- the shot glass is enough for now, though.
After a walk on the malecon (beachside sidewalk), we crawl back in the car- two in front, four in back- and begin the 2 hour drive home.
This weekend, I connected in a way I haven’t yet. Museums and historical sites are important, but the real culture of a country is here- in the streets, eating the local food, speaking the language. Real isn’t always easy to deal with- it bugs me to get up at 8 a.m. and not leave until 1 p.m. and live in constant flex. Or to not know the polite way to say “I don’t like papaya juice- please don’t bless me with it every morning.” It’s in “real” that I learn, though. To laugh at myself. Remember that I can sleep in dirty sheets and take cold water showers and force down food I don’t like with a big, grateful smile. Learn to let not knowing or being in control be okay.
I got a taste of both sides of real Peruvian culture this weekend- the hard, learning part and the salsa dance, anticuchos, laughter part. I love it. I hate it. It’s good for me. This is why I am here. Beautiful.
P.S. On Sunday, we went a couple hours outside Lima to a party at Ana Belen’s friend’s house. Great food and a pretty agricultural valley. I even got told I dance like a latina!
The aroma of meat sizzling mixes with the briny ocean breeze as the six of us weave between plastic tables and jolly townspeople. Settling in one of the squished open-air food areas, Ana Belen orders anticuchos (grilled cow heart on a kabob) and picarones (rings of deep fried dough dipped in syrup) for everyone. I try to keep up with the excited Spanish conversation bouncing around our table full of women, but it’s been more than 24 hours since I heard or spoke English. My limping brain catches only bits and pieces- enough to look like I understand and respond to direct questions. A bottle of bright yellow Inka Cola appears in the center of our table and the bubble-gum pop is quickly distributed in tiny disposable cups. The band begins its next song.
I momentarily stop trying to understand Spanish over hundreds of voices and thrumming rhythm and reflect on the last couple days. We left Lima yesterday (five hours later than originally planned), and drove to a beach house on Playa Los Lobos, named for the sea lions that used to live here before the people moved in. Tucked far away from developed hotels and malls, Los Lobos still feels relaxed and uncrowded. Maybe it was being away from the city, my computer, and busyness, or perhaps it was the spacious, window-filled, blue and white beach house with no hot water, but something inside feels deeply relaxed.
I always feel noticed, observed when I’m outside here. My light skin, hair, eyes, and height (yep, I’m tall here) make it difficult to blend in and practically scream, “Please take advantage of my ignorance.” I always feel on guard, alert. Earlier tonight, I went up to the second story balcony and finally felt anonymous in the darkness, free to listen to ebb and flow of the sea and watch the moon play across the clouds without anyone staring. Just me and God sharing a companionable silence.
My eyes meet a stranger’s observation, and I quickly tune back into our table as the anticuchos and picarones arrive. I’m a little scared of the anticuchos until the first mouth watering bite.
After wiping our fingers, we jabber our way through the booths and music. Ana Belen asks the guy at the drinks stand to mix me up some Pisco Sour, the national alcoholic beverage of Peru. It burns all the way down, leaving an aftertaste of lemon. I like it- the shot glass is enough for now, though.
After a walk on the malecon (beachside sidewalk), we crawl back in the car- two in front, four in back- and begin the 2 hour drive home.
This weekend, I connected in a way I haven’t yet. Museums and historical sites are important, but the real culture of a country is here- in the streets, eating the local food, speaking the language. Real isn’t always easy to deal with- it bugs me to get up at 8 a.m. and not leave until 1 p.m. and live in constant flex. Or to not know the polite way to say “I don’t like papaya juice- please don’t bless me with it every morning.” It’s in “real” that I learn, though. To laugh at myself. Remember that I can sleep in dirty sheets and take cold water showers and force down food I don’t like with a big, grateful smile. Learn to let not knowing or being in control be okay.
I got a taste of both sides of real Peruvian culture this weekend- the hard, learning part and the salsa dance, anticuchos, laughter part. I love it. I hate it. It’s good for me. This is why I am here. Beautiful.
P.S. On Sunday, we went a couple hours outside Lima to a party at Ana Belen’s friend’s house. Great food and a pretty agricultural valley. I even got told I dance like a latina!
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| Seagulls play in late afternoon sea |
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| Ariana, me and Ana Belen (my host family) get out of Lima for awhile. Ariana and Ana Belen love the sea! |
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| Ariana and friend Marisol spent hours frolicking in the waves. I spent hours lying on the beach with a book. |
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| On Sunday, we headed north of Lima to the agricultural valley of Huaral. It was nice to see green! |
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| Ana Belen's friend raises guinea pigs or "cuy" for food. Yep, they're not pets here! I hear their meat is highly nutritious and low in fat content. We'll see if I get up the guts to try it. |
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| Like most Latin American parties I've been to, dancing and salsa music is a must. I love it! Go girls! |
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| If I'm going to talk about real Peru, I can't leave out the reality of Peruvians who aren't as fortunate as my host family. There are no beach houses in their lives. |
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| Had to add this one! Take a deep breath and listen to the waves :)! |
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| Oh, I don't think I mentioned the pet baby rabbit that runs around the house making a mess all day. Nazca is so cute! She's not allowed in my room however. . . except this once ;). |
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