Flojera

For the past few weeks, I have been plagued with an intense flojera for writing in this blog, and I feel a little (but not too) guilty about it, because I have done some pretty cool things like gone sandboarding and to Machu Picchu, learned to dance festejo and seen pretty nighttime fountains (note change of header photo) and not written about them, which means that I probably forgot a lot of the little interesting things I thought or did at the time. Anyways, it doesn’t matter too much, I guess, because I have been rather busy getting over swine flu (informally diagnosed by myself, for more information see previous posts) and struggling with conflicting emotions of a foreigner in a foreign land. Furthermore, my host mom managed to borrow a guitar for me, which means that much of my free time goes into sitting on my bed trying to learn bar chords and create an acoustic version of Umbrella, rather than sitting on my bed and writing unnecessary comments about my menstrual cycle on this blog.

Anyways, the news now is that sadly, and happily, I only have a little over a week left in this wonderful country, which has been unceasingly filled with surprises. I guess I am a little homesick, because when I woke up this morning and saw the glowing Limeñan sun desperately trying to shine through a thick gray blanket of smog and clouds (like it has done nearly every day for the past month), I could not help but lie for half an hour awake in my warm alpaca blankets and think about sunny Ann Arbor and meals that are not fried and have no potatoes in them. I have also officially crossed some type of threshold, as the past weekend in Cusco I bought most of my souvenir/presents for friends and family, an activity which I had been saving for the end of my trip.

Even as I daydream about going home however, I’m really sad to leave this country, especially when I go to work. It feels like I’ve been here for a long time, because things are familiar and I am no longer eager and uncomfortable all the time, but it also feels like I have just gotten here, as the days I have left with the kids in each place slowly shrinks from 2 to 1 to none. I’m so happy that I’ve gotten this opportunity to meet all these beautiful children, who are just overflowing with love to give, but my heart aches a little every time I think about how after one week, I will most likely never see them again. And it aches even more, with guilt and some regret, when I think about how in a few months, they will most likely have retreated into the realm of the almost forgotten as I salsa dance the nights away in Cuba, because I’m unfortunately very good at almost forgetting people. And who would ever want to almost forget these beautiful, brave, happy faces?

Paro

Today was supposed to be a strike. I expected protests. Blocked-off streets. Rock throwing. Perhaps I would be pushed and shoved, perhaps my purse would be forcibly taken from me. I even mentally prepared a speech for the taxista about how he shouldn’t overcharge me because I volunteer at a hospital and had promised a sick girl there that I would be there today in spite of the strike. A real PARO.

Unfortunately, the strike has been a little underwhelming.I got to work on time, without too much hassle. This morning when the taxista gave the price, I was so shocked by how reasonable it was (10 soles, about $3.50 for a 30 minute trip) that I didn’t even bargain. I’m sure I could’ve gotten it for 8, but I got to listen to Michael Jackson on the way there, so I guess its alright.

Of course, the morning was not completely anticlimactic and without event. One of the big streets was blocked off by metal barriers so that only one car could enter at a time, and there were lots of soldiers with real live guns standing around and looking scary. We also waited 15 minutes for our micro but it never came, so we resorted to a taxi. However, by the time we came back from work, the soldiers were gone, the micros had reappeared, and everything seemed perfectly normal.

On another note, tonight I will buy two sets of earrings at the Parque Kennedy night market. One of them will be peacock feather. Sorry SS (my friend who has peacock feather earrings)–they are everywhere here and I just can’t stop myself.

PS – Just was reminded of something that happened today that was rather funny. We were having lunch with our host family and we started talking about my Chinese name all of a sudden, which is Jin Ge, which apparently sounds like the word CHINGAR in Spanish, which in Colombia means TO FUCK. And my host dad, this 60-ish man with liver spots and a potbelly, who is also extremely intelligent (I know this because he is a doctor and has lots of books in his house on everything from philosophy to great literature to human body stuff), all of a sudden says “Do you know the origin of the word FUCK?” in his accented English. So apparently its from medieval times when marriages had to be approved by the king, and it is an acronym for FORNICATION UNDER CONSENT of KING. I nearly choked on my empanada. Look at the new things we learn every day.

Bus Rides

view from the bus arequipa-lima

First of all, I would like to say thank you to the bus workers, who are on strike today (which means that there are no micros or buses running anywhere), without whom I would not be sitting on my bed recovering from my 3-day marathon in Arequipa, but rather taking some type of public transport home after a day of work in San Juan de Dios.

Anyways, there will be more about Arequipa later, but I would like to take this moment to say that I am officially a user of Peruvian public transport. I have now ridden in every single type of motorized vehicle one can possibly ride on to get from one place to another in this country. Of course, I have ridden in private cars of work supervisors, homestay parents, and whatnot. However, I have also bargained for taxis, smelled people’s armpits in big omnibuses or smaller micros, and squeezed myself into meatloaf shaped minivans called combis. The first time I rode a combi alone, I thought I was going to die–the driver was having a nice little race with another combi going in the same direction during rush hour (which is nearly every hour in Lima)–it was so cramped I sat with my chin on my knees, and I tried fruitlessly to position myself in a way which would result in the least damage if the little vehicle suddenly fell apart while flying over a speed bump and threw me from it. Of course, there were no seat belts. Anyhow, the point is that I am still alive, and although I often fear for my life while taking advantage of Limeñan public transport, I am no longer scared to just walk outside and flag down a combi/micro/bus/taxi.

This past weekend, I’ve added two other motor-vehicles to my Peruvian transport repertoire–a mototaxi, and a double decker sleeper bus. The picture above was taken on the 15 hour bus ride home to Lima after 2.5 long days in Arequipa/Chivay/Colca Valley. Yes, 15 hours. I did not know that 15 hour bus rides existed, but they do–special double decker buses with reclinable seats, blankets, meals, bad American movies, and BINGO. The rides weren’t that bad–on the way to Arequipa, I tried to sleep through most of it (it was overnight, thank goodness), and when I woke up in the morning, we were about two hours behind schedule, because it was almost 8:30, which was when we were supposed to arrive in Arequipa, and I could see the ocean from the windows, which wasn’t good because Arequipa is pretty inland. However, despite being unhappy about the delay, I completely floored by the stuff outside my window. Overnight, we had left behind the streetlights, the run down towns in the the very-developing outskirts of Lima, and all other signs of civilization. To my right, there was the ocean, and to my left, desert and mountains. It was truly astonishing–beautiful yet absolutely terrifying in a hypnotic, benign way.  The only signs of life were occasional graves on the side of the road made of wooden crosses and rough stones, clearly picked and lain by hand. Then we left the ocean and were surrounded on all sides by sand, rocks, and mountains made of sand and rocks. I had never really seen a desert before (unless you count Pachacamac, but there was a village next to it, and it wasn’t nearly as vast), and I was terribly impressed, and I kept on thinking about how if I were out there by myself, I would certainly die, for there was not a trace of water, sustenance, or shelter anywhere. After what seemed like hours of driving through pure desert, we passed some shabby little pueblos, mostly half-constructed concrete buildings with iron bars of yet-to be pisos sticking out of the roofs, and little rectangular prisms that looked like four random pieces of rectangular material leaning against each other, with another piece on top for the roof. It was all so dry, I could see the dust hanging out in the air, inside the houses, outside of them, and my throat felt scratchy in a peaceful kind of way.

The next bus ride I took was a three hour one from Arequipa to Chivay, a town in the Colca Valley, a home base for tourists going to see the Colca Canyons, which are twice as deep as the Grand Canyons. This was the worst bus ride of my life, for many reasons. First, this was right after our 15 hour (extended to about 17 hours) bus ride, because we realized when we got there that if we wanted to see the canyons, we had to leave inmediatamente–anyways the point is that this meant about 20 hours straight on a bus, most of which was through winding mountain roads. Second, it was HOT in Arequipa when we got there around midday–the sun was beating down and we were all walking around in tshirts. When we got on the bus in Arequipa, it was like an oven, we opened all the windows–but halfway through the ride it became freezing outside, because apparently that’s what happens in desert/mountain areas when the sun starts to go down. Third, the road was not paved, so it was bumpy, and incredibly dusty. So from our open windows came tons of dust and freezing cold air, as we bounced around on what seemed like lots of rocks and through what seemed like hundreds of hairpin turns. Lastly, we were climbing, and I hadn’t started my altitude medication early enough, because I was a very unprepared traveler, so by the time we got to Chivay I was freezing, coughing, and extremely nauseated. Then we hopped into little mototaxis that took us to our hostel, Hostal de David, owned by David, a very sweet little man, who turns out is related to just about everybody in the town (our taxi driver, a restaurant owner, etc)– it was a very small town, and although the sign said “Agua Caliente” there was no hot water for me the next morning, unless by “hot” they meant “not freezing but still pretty cold.”

The next ride was to the canyons. We got up early early to leave at 6 so that we could catch the condors flying out at the Cruz del Condor, and it was literally freezing, my proof being that we saw some small mountain streams which were frozen. By the time we returned, however, around midday, these same streams (okay they were more like dribbles) had been dried up completely by the scorching sun, and we had shed all our layers of jackets, hats and scarves. Stupid desert/mountain climates–even more temperamental than a woman on her period. But I am getting off track. The important thing about this bus ride was how astoundingly beautiful the mountains we were driving through were. Because it was early, there was a film of rising mist in parts of the valley, and the chilly morning air covered everything with a layer of elegancy, and it was really just so beautiful I could not handle it. Though there were obvious signs of human life–alpacas grazing, terraced mountainsides, paths and dirt roads, cows standing in the middle of the road–everything seemed so still and untouched that once again I was struck with that very peaceful feeling that if I were dropped off in the middle of the mountain alone I would certainly die. I have seen beautiful mountains in China, beautiful mountains in America, but never before had I felt so far from human constructions.

The last bus ride I have to talk about is the bus ride back to Lima, which is notable because I felt like I was coming home, though I’ve lived in Lima for less than 2 weeks. I guess anywhere where I’m not living out of a suitcase or backpack can feel like home pretty quickly.

Suerte

“Suerte que mis pechos sean pequeños, y no los confundas con montañas” – Shakira

My first day of work was exhilarating–much smoother than I expected it to be. The coordinator of the Hospital de Niños (where I was working), Marta, was so extremely sweet and very helpful that I felt perfectly comfortable. After a general tour of the hospital, I was assigned to work in Medicina D, more specifically with a girl named Lady (like much of the rest of the world, Peruvians have taken a liking to semi-English names) who I think has some type of sclerosis–she is 15 but itsy bitsy, so thin I’m scared to accidently snap her bones when I touch her, and wheelchair bound. Her head was wrapped in bandages, and according to Marta she is just recently losing control of her hands. Also, according to Marta, she doesn’t really have a family. But despite all this she is extremely bright, remarkably intelligent for her age, upbringing, and physical condition. She’s also sassy, really something else–since she can’t really move at all she’s gotten accustomed to asking people to do things for her, and orders around the nurses and Aprendo Contigo workers like she’s their boss. People endearingly refer to her as “la jefe del hospital.” I really probably should not have been so happy after my first day of work, because I saw so many beautiful little children with pipes and tubes sticking out of their bodies, which is quite a sad thing, but I think Lady made it easy. I returned home light, starving but bouncing on the soles of my feet.

After my second day, however, I feel much heavier. Today I went to a different location, to the Hogar Clinica de San Juan de Dios, a live-in hospital that treats many children who were born with some kind of physical disability or deformity. I work two days at San Juan, three days at Hospital de Niños, and half a day at Posadita. San Juan de Dios is very different from the Hospital de Niños because there is a special space for Aprendo Contigo–the organization has a very large portion of the clinic all for itself, with three classrooms, where the children come to have class from their hospital beds. The Hospital de Niños is much larger, and cannot have a classroom setting for that reason and also because the children have a multitude of different problems, not just physical disability, some of which are infectious. Maybe San Juan de Dios seemed sadder because it was darker, or maybe the classroom setting made the state of unhealth feel more permanent. After all, the hospital is literally a home–some of the kids have grown up in this hospital, some of them learned everything they know with Aprendo Contigo in the makeshift hospital school. The oldest boy, in particular, makes me feel very heavy. He is 16, a little shy but strong, he doesn’t use a wheelchair like many of the others but prefers crutches–he has lived for 4 years in San Juan de Dios, one of his legs is about a foot shorter than the other and basically useless (I think he has a Cuban sort of splint in it right now to make it grow)–and to top it off, he is currently only at a 5th grade level, or worse, because he cannot multiply. It really seems like nothing he has been given in life has gone right, or will go right. Even if he miraculously got two working legs, what chances does he have in a country like Peru with barely an elementary level education? Will he be like that ex-student who visited the other day who is now living on the streets, most likely stealing to get by? Seeing all this in such a tangible way really makes me feel kind of bratty for being born with a working body, for having parents that care for me, for my education, for having the luxury to aspire and daring to dream.

Heavy. Yesterday I was naive enough to forget that every adorable smiling little face has a very sad story behind it, and most likely is facing an even sadder story in its future.

Pachacamac

Ancient Incan Ruins just outside of Lima. Very grand and vast–completely desert. I had never seen anything like it before, in every direction only blue and yellow, and the air was filled with something heavy, and I was swooning for its grandiosity. I tried to capture that sensation of WOW in photos, but I’m afraid I have not done it justice. The photo below is from the top of the Templo del Sol, where you can see a little bit of modernity (comparatively speaking) in the shadows of antiquity.

Villa El Salvador

Villa El Salvador is a district in the outskirts of Lima, not too far from the center but very different. It is a super-organized, super-planned city (unlike much of the rest of Lima), it is a socialist/communist oasis in the middle of a very market-oriented country, and it is much poorer than other parts of Lima, like the place I am living, Miraflores–a prime example of the socioeconomic disparities in Peru. But it is also much better off than some of its neighbors, because of, according to residents, the strong ideology of community, and strong central planning. Really, to me, it seemed like a place full of promise, with bustling business–perhaps more “developed” than my abuelita’s pueblo in China. The biggest problem seems to be the dry climate–most of the land is very dry, almost beach-like, so that the whole place is dusty, and agriculture is difficult. But really, it cannot be written off simply as a place brimming with poverty, or as a place that is truly developing and getting richer. Just as the difference between Lima Lima and Villa El Salvador is drastic and extremely tangible, the difference between the bustling mercado of Villa El Salvador–including the industrial zone, where some very high-end furniture is produced and sold–and the outskirts, where houses are half-built and look abandoned (though they are apparently not) is also very drastic. This picture above is of the graveyard of Villa El Salvador, overlooking the city itself. Near the graveyard, many families from the selva or sierra (which are areas that are economically much worse off) have moved in and set up camp in very floppy shacks made out of a cheap, thin material made from bamboo, because no one will tell them to leave in the graveyard. The picture below is of “El Pintor”, the man families go to to paint the graves of their loved ones, painting a new grave.

el pintor

Getting Places

beach

Of course, my experience in Peru would not be complete without diarrhea. But no more needs to be said of this.

Today was my first day of work, a short day in hours, but not lacking in memorable events. This morning, I headed out with my mamá peruana Alicia to the street to get a micro, which is a type of public transportation–medium sized buses brightly decorated with stripes of color and names of major streets or districts they go. Of course, like maps of Lima, the route of a micro cannot be found anywhere but inside a limeño’s head. This can be a little frustrating for the extranjero, but it seems to be an integral part of Limeñan culture; things are disorganized, a little hectic, and very cozy–but people are helpful and kind. Anyways, I was glad to have Alicia with me, even though I felt like I could get a micro myself. The day before, her 28 year-old son Ricardo had told me that there was a purple micro that went directly to the Hospital de Niños, where I was going to work, and I had this brilliant idea that I would just hop out on the street, flag down the purple one, ask them if they went to Hospital de Niños, and hop on. It was going to be a piece of cake and I was going to be super-independent and able. Anyways, Alicia and I waited for about 10 minutes at the stop and no purple bus passed, luckily her neighbor came out and we asked her if she knew the route, and the neighbor said that she had never seen a purple bus pass by here, that it didn’t go by this street but another one, that the only one that passed by here was a “chiquitito,” a combi–large van like transport–with blue stripes. Right then, a blue striped combi drove by, and we waved our arms, but it didn’t stop, because it was filled to the brim. We went to another street to catch the purple bus, and finally, after being told that it was red and white, then green, then purple again, then hopping onto and off a red and brown one that only went near the hospital but not directly to it, I got on the purple bus, standing and packed literally like sardines.

Intro–PERÚ

Dog in random Limeñan street

Bueno, como la última vez que escribí estuve demasiada cansada, ahorita voy a hacer un poquito de Introduction to this blog.

Well, basically I am writing a blog because my memory is terrible, and I am doing cool things that I want to remember. Also synthesis is always good or whatever, and as I have decided after a grueling internal battle not to suppress the exhibitionist inside me, I’m putting it online.

So. the cool things I will be doing/am already doing are frolicking in PERU, or Lima, to be more exact. I’m here for a couple of months doing a pasantía, or internship with Aprendo Contigo, an organization of hospital classrooms which works to bring normality into the lives of long-term hospitalized children. Yes, I know, how altruistic of me. Of course, I am also living practically for free for this time, minus travel to places like Macchu Picchu of course, pero de verdad es una oportunidad bueníssima para mí.

The real real reason I am in Peru is para mejorar mi castellano, para que cuando vaya a Cuba el próximo semestre, no voy a ser completamente horrible. Basically, in two months I’m going to Cuba to study at la Universidad de la Habana until diciembre, and as Cuban Spanish is notoriously difficult to understand, I wanted practice. Ya. But really, now that I’m in Perú I love it, my roommate Emily, how wise she is, was right, I am falling in love with the country, the food, the people, todos.

My flight to Lima was pretty okay, except for the fact that it was awful, because I had to do seat request because the airline oversold, and I almost didn’t have a seat on the plane to Lima, and because it was the second day of the worst period of my life, and there were literally buckets of blood gushing from my vagina, so that by the end of the day despite changing tampons and pantiliners as frequently as possible on an international flight my panties and jeans had big embarrassing splotches of crimson, and because I arrived in Lima at like midnight, and went to bed at 2:30 and had to wake up at seven the next day and then walk all over Lima until like 8 at night and BUENO–la cosa es que estuve y todavía estoy MUY cansada.

So, that was Day 0 in a nutshell, and now onto day 1 in a nutshell. Mi familia peruana es bueníssima, Alicia, mi mamá peruana, is the sweetest thing in the world, and peruvians love kissing, and honestly, being a somewhat naturally over- affectionate (or perhaps affection-starved) person, I kind of like this custom. So we met at la Universidad de Pacifico at 9, with Charo, Patricia, y Alejandra, the coordinator people. In the morning we had a basic, general orientation about stuff, and then a little dance show of traditional coastal, sierra, y selva danzas, and then lunch, my first real peruvian meal, que fue riquíssima. We had causa con pollo, pollo arroz y verduras, un postre de arroz con leche y algo morada, y a peruvian drink call chicha morada, which is made of purple corn. Then, we went on a mini city tour del centro de Lima, in the historic, old center with all the pretty colonial buildings and whatnot. We saw the plaza mayor, churches, catacombas (many bones, very sinister and creepy), and etc. The highlight of the day were las escobas de San Martín–a peruvian Saint of brooms. Outside the church in which his relics (including a skull) lay, there was a small booth selling various little religious items and among them were these tiny brooms the size of my index finger, little charms to protect the bearer. And when I saw them I was taken a little off guard, and I started feeling like I should feel sentimental or sad, because those were the same little brooms that my grandfather once made through some weird internet thing when he lived in the United States. And I remember thinking at the time, why in the world was he making tiny little brooms, who would ever want them, but there they were, in front of my eyes, ten years later. And then I started thinking about how I would write in my blog that I went to Peru chasing after some nebulous future, and unexpectedly discovered a piece of my past, but now I realize that that sounds kind of cheesy and personal-statement-y. Anyways, it was a distinct moment, the most distinct  moment of the day. My grandfather has been dead for a while now, by the way.

As for other things of the day, bueno, I ran into a dressed dog in the middle of the street, very randomly, and took a picture that I like of some kids feeding pigeons (palomas) in San Francisco’s Church/square thing, where there are thousands of pigeons because San Francisco was the protector of animals.

After the city tour, we got dropped off at Larcomar, and then Charo walked us back to our casas, which were pretty close, but since the road was new and we were exhausted, seemed like a really long time. Then I ate a palta, or avocado, with un pancito (little bread) for dinner, and went to bed.

Day 2: Lima (will put up day 1 and day 0 later, when am more awake)

6.16.09

My father’s birthday, y qué estupida estaba yo, he was on Skype, I called, and was so tired that I completely forgot what day it was. My mother had to send me an email to remind me. Bad Gracie.

Today we had 4 conferencias (lectures) and one lunch en el barrio chino—in una Chifa—I ordered a menú (8.5 soles~$3) of pollo enrollado, which is pollo stuffed with lechuga, chaufa (fried rice), and sopa de wantan (wonton soup). No era tanta riquíssima, pero estaba bien. De verdad, todo el tiempo I forget that I have only been here for two days. How hospitable this country is! Mi mamá peruana me da un besito cada día y cada noche, and also whenever she feels like it. Que sweet-íssima!  Cleary, I am also already forgetting my English, que es una lástima because my Spanish is pretty crappy. So, here I am, with una mezcla de crappy inglés y crappy español.

The first lecture was in English, and was extremely interesting.  Se trató de <<la situación política actual en el Perú>> and it was given by a profesora se llama Cynthia Sanborn, who teaches at la Universidad del Pacifico, adonde estuvimos, and also worked with Prof Steve Levitsky in Harvard. Please remind me to take a class of his when I return next January. I don’t have la energía to synthesize everything right now en una manera interesante—como no tengo la energía de quedarme en inglés o español—but I would like to make a short bullet-style list of things I learned, because they were truly were muy interesantes, y no quiero forget them, as I have established that I have a horrible memory.  Bueno, una lista: the discrepancies and paradoxes of Perú—Perú is one of the fastest growing and richest countries of Latin America, but is also one of the most unequal places in the world. About 50% of peruanos viven en la pobreza, and education in Perú is malíssima, the second to last in Latinoamerica—better only than Haiti. There is un montón de discrimination in many directions—discrimination de race, de gender, y de origins. Especialmente, la cosa de la “indigena” is very touchy, and among Peruvians the term “indio” is derogatory, associated automatically with poverty, poor education, y de todas maneras cosas uncivilized. También the term “indígena” es algo muy complicada – que es verdaderamente una indígena? This is something that is not well defined, but more and more needs to be, because of policies that pertain to indigenous people. It seems like one of the most important factors is language—if someone grows up in a Quechua-speaking household, they will most likely be considered indigenous. Pero, in surveys of self-identity, there is a great range—6-42% self-identify as indigenous, and this discrepancy is due to the discrimination. As the majority of peruanos son mestizos, and the majority of indigenas are también mestizos, because they are not pure descendants of the Incas or anything, it is easy for successful indios, who speak castellano and live in a city, to self identify as mestizo rather than indigenous, something that seems to be very common across the world (that is, to shed embarrassing rural or poor origins in a new life to maintain a good image). Also, I found this part fascinating because it is the intersection of las sciencias sociales y las sciencias naturales—race and ethnicity are both cultural and genetic, and por eso, muy complicados, especially when thinking about policies and legal crap. Que más? I learned a little more about Fujimori, and his daughter, who is the current frontrunner (though not by much at all) of the upcoming elections with 25% of the vote. The current president, Alan García, has very very  low approval ratings, and was only voted in with  24% of the vote, because he was considered the “lesser of two evils.” In general, Peruvians seems very jaded and pessimistic about la situación política. García has a policy that really plays to the wealthy—his approval ratings in the rich are something like 75% while they are ~30% in the rest of the population. The current situation in the Amazon is a good example of why. Also, voting in Peru, like in many países latinoamericanos, is obligatory, which I actually think is brilliant. Cynthia Sanborn, though she gave a lot of very interesting and valuable information, seemed very strictly North-American, estadounidense, en sus pensamientos politicos. Like many Americans, she perhaps overemphasizes the importance of democracy and human rights. !Ojo!—la palabra overemphasize—of course I think democracy and human rights are extremely importantes, but sometimes some people overdo it.

After this lecture, we had a little presentation de DEMUS—Estudios para la Defensa y los Derechos de la Mujer—de María Isabel Cedano, which for me was really pretty stupid, but whatever. Feminist movements are always a little distasteful—maybe I am being muy machista, but really I didn’t understand why we were learning about sexual abuse in our second day in Peru. From María we also got some funny little souvenirs—two boxes of incendiarios (matches) with pictures of sex offenders and words saying “Watch out this guy is a sex offender” on them, which were really a little funny.

Después, fuimos a la ILD—el Instituto Libertad y Democracia—where we learned about the economic ideas of Dr. Hernando de Soto, who has been called the most important economist in the third world, from a man named Victor Endo, who looked part Japanese. This was a very interesting talk también, it dealt with systems extralegales, and mucha gente pobre que vive afuera de una campana de vidrio—a bell jar, or tal vez major, a glass jar. Hernando de Soto’s idea is that capitalism works very well for countries like the United States but not so well for many other countries because the United States grew from a foundation which emphasized strongly property rights, and cosas legales, de papeles, and came with a legal system that includes everyone. The problem with many developing countries is that many people live outside of the world of paper, of de jure, that too many people live off of things that are de facto. This land is mine because I am here! No, I don’t have any proof or paperwork, but I gave the guy who owned it before me the money, I’ve been living here for years, and all my neighbors recognize this as mine. But the problem with this is, of course, that in the “first” world, the world of negocios, people don’t exist, solo existe the paperwork that legitimizes them. When I am pulled over by the police, I am not me, I am my driver’s license, my registration, etc. When I enter an airport, I am not me, I am my pasaporte. When I enter a shopping mall, I am not me, I am my credit card. So, land that I am living on also is not land if I don’t have a piece of paper that says so. This seems like a big part of the problem in la selva de Peru hoy en día, but surprisingly, and ironically, ILD are not working with this problem, because they only start a project when the government asks for their help, and the last thing García wants is property rights for las personas que viven en la selva, ?no?

Then, we ate at a chifa, pide pallidas de chino, tocamos unas fotos chistosas, y fuimos al Banco Central de Perú, where we had a presentation on inflation in Perú which was so esoteric and boring that 3 out of 6 of us fell asleep,  and the minute we left the building, even the coordinators of the program were talking about how “dura” the lecture was. Then we visited a small museum which was also un poco aburrido, and went home. The van dropped us off in el parque central de Miraflores, and I walked home. It was already 8-something, and very dark, but I walked halfway with a guy who lives close to me, and the rest by myself. I was a little scared, and very glad to make it home safely, especially because everyone has been scaring me about how peligrosa Lima is, how never to go anywhere alone at night, especially since I’m a girl (a really weak one at that, with no chance of successful self-defense). I stopped in a pharmacy and bought shampoo and conditioner, and then went home, where I had a wonderful dinner of soufflé de asparagus, swordfish—pez de espada, dragonfruit, and that Peruvian drink with the purple corn. Bueno, ahora estoy muy cansada y voy a acostarme.