Come Together, Right Now

"Please kids, keep your feet and hands away from the police dogs.  Do not try to touch them."  Thus began the student assembly on the sun blasted concrete soccer field at school this morning.  The canine police team arrived exactly 30 minutes after they were supposed to, and marched onto the patio in synchronized lockstep with their dogs at their sides, necks straining against shiny chrome choke-collars.  As a prelude to the comparatively innocent "Pet Parade" scheduled for later in the day, these officers arrived to strut their stuff with their four legged partners.  The dogs, a Golden Retriever, a Rottweiler, a Doberman, and a German Shepard, were focused on each of their handlers in such a way that I knew they must either get great rewards for good behavior, or get the stuffing beat out of them for doing wrong.

There is a pompous and exaggerated style of marching here practiced by virtually anyone involved in a public function.  The straight legged-deadfaced-stare ahead- arm swinging can be seen in parades, civic functions, and on this day, across the concrete soccer field at school.  The dogs all sat up on their hind legs and "saluted" the kids surrounding them, they rolled over, they "stayed."  Betty, a teacher from Australia tapped me on the arm and said, "Smell that?  I think they've poured gasoline on something and their going to light it up."  "Plucky Australian," I thought to myself, " no one is pulling the wool over her eyes," and as if on cue, a uniformed assistant carried out two pairs of wrought iron rings covered in cloth saturated with gas.  As the assistant held a match to the rings they were immediately engulfed in flames sending dense plumes of black smoke into the crystal clear air.  A student grabbed Betty's sleeve and asked if she thought it was strange to do an activity causing so much pollution on the day after Earth Day.  "I reckon it is strange," she replied.

Astonishingly, three of the dogs jumped through the flaming obstacles without hesitation.  The fourth however, the German Shepard, would have nothing to do with it and steered away from the flames at the last minute each time his handler brought him near.  Smart dog, I thought.  After the show three students came up to me and commented on how sad they felt for the dogs.  I did too, but knowing the hellish existence that so many dogs experience here, I was glad that these four were at least being fed and cared for.

What exactly is it with school assemblies anyway?

In my seven years of classroom teaching I have seen some doozies.  Back in the states my all time favorite was the Karate teacher who arrived with his clan carrying a flashing boom-box.  Predictably, as he pressed play and cranked the volume up to 10 in the cafeteria, I heard the first staccato power-guitar chords of "The Eye of the Tiger" as blank faced kids went through the punching and grunting and kicking motions of their routine.  Ironically, the Sensei even looked a bit like Will Ferrel.  After the mullet inspiring 80's rock fest, his students went on to demonstrate how to disarm foes coming at you with you handguns, utilizing yellow and red rubber replicas.  What, I wondered, must the kindergartners be thinking?

Another assembly to remember was the visit from Rocco, the crime dog.  Rocco, a German Shepard,  was on the large side of his breed.  The two officers working with him needed a volunteer to put one of those "bite my arm" protection sleeves on, and defy them.  I was the lucky guy who got to play that role.  From across the playground the officers yelled for me to come over to them to which I replied "Make me!"  Enter Rocco.  He ran across that field at me like he was on a mission from God, and perhaps he was because he launched, superman style, from 10 feet away from me and locked onto my arm with the pinpoint accuracy of a surgical strike.  Yeah, Rocco could probably make me do anything he wanted.  Once he was done with me it was time for Rocco to find drugs.  That's right, the officers arrived at our rural elementary school with an ammo-box filled with pot and cocaine.  Really.  They planted both substances on the fourth grade teacher and let Rocco do his thing.  Again I wondered, what must the kindergartners be thinking?

While I have never seen a dog jump through a flaming hoop at a United States school assembly, it is a fair assumption that these events have a propensity for weirdness wherever they are staged.  Is it because the audience is captive?  Maybe it's the ultimate example of getting what you pay for.

Lose-Lose Proposition

No member of my family could rightly be accused of being a neat-nick.  Each of us leaves an assortment of clothing, sporting equipment, toys, books and electronic equipment lying in situ every day.  I think this had everything to do with us not noticing the absence of a few small and expensive items over the last few weeks.

During a mad series of trips and visits, Krista flew to Lima for a conference and some interviews only to turn around 12 hours after her return for an arduous trek with brother Matt and daughter Isabel.  It wasn't until a week later that she noticed her digital recorder with hours of interviews still in it was missing.  We also appeared to be missing a USB camera card reader.  We assumed that the recorder had perhaps been lost in transit from Lima, but Krista then remembered having it in her hands in our house before leaving for the trek.  None of us wanted to suspect either of our house keepers or Flor, our 10 year old neighbor, but we realized it might be any of them.  Then I went to get an iPod to listen to while I jumped rope and I couldn't find it.  Then Isabel noticed her wallet had been emptied.  We were being picked clean.

It always feels like you've been punched in the stomach when a situation that seemed safe and secure takes a turn for the worse.  Being somewhere between pragmatic and meat-headed, I called both our empleadas and asked them point blank if they had taken anything from the house that wasn't theirs.  I also found Flor on the street and subjected her to the same line of questioning.  No shocker here, they each categorically denied any wrong doing.  I guess I would make a pretty pathetic detective.  There is a cultural acceptance of NOT accepting responsibility around here.  I am told that even if I were to find the stolen items in a person's room, they would continue to categorically deny that they had anything to do with it.  To make matters worse, we consider each of the suspects to be our friend and stood to undermine our relationships with all of them.

In a typically Peruvian turn of irony, we were called by Rosalia just 24 hours after accusing her of stealing our belongings to ask if we might become the Padrinos of her high school graduation.  Not knowing how to handle such conflicting circumstances I turned to our friend Jean Jacques for advice.  He advised that I not get confused and go to the graduation party and have a good time -- the two situations had nothing to do with each other.  So that evening we were treated to roast lamb and potatoes carried from Rosalia's home community, ParuParu, by her mom and dad.  Her mom, Catarina only speaks Quechua, so she sat quietly while we spoke with Alejandro, Rosalia's dad.  The food was simple but exceedingly fresh and delicious.  With full bellies we boarded a cab to the function hall.  The techno-cumbia music blared out of oversized speakers hung from the ceiling as we entered the room, and it never really stopped the entire time we were there.  You see, this graduation was much more "disco" than "pomp and circumstance."

The next day I went over to our friend Juan's house to give him a pair of bike shorts and pick up some gear that we had left with him.  His girlfriend is another one of the accused and we greeted each other stiffly.  As I was headed for the front door after the gear swap Juan asked where I was going -- it was lunch time.  I explained that I had already eaten and was going to head home.  "No you're not" he said, and I sat down for my second lunch of the day.  Both our empleadas complained about their inability to function under the extreme duress of being interrogated by us.  So for now anyway, we have kicked everybody out.   We have no help with the kids or the cooking, but on the bright side we haven't lost anymore stuff.

There is a stolen goods market called Baratillo every Saturday and I plan to go in search of the recorder in a few days.  I don't imagine digital recorders are big sellers, so I am hoping it still might be there when I arrive.  You never know what you are going to find in the Baratillo...

And in the mean time, we have lost our stuff, alienated our friends, and lost our help with the kids and cooking.  We certainly had a good run leading up to this unfortunate series of events.

Limping Towards the Finish Line (by Lawrs)

My dear blogophiles,

I'm finding it difficult to write as much now that I am working full time.  More than a few of you have lamented the slowing pace of new entries, but such is life.  Since I am spending most of my time working now, I thought it might be fun and interesting to shoot photos of my typical school day.  All of us getting ready, and me heading off to my job.  The varied means of transport, the after school activities, the unexpected guests. The days are certainly full.  

I have been trying to do at least a bit of yoga every morning when I wake up at 6:00.  Three or four sun salutes gets the energy flowing and puts me in a good mood.  And believe me, I need to be in a good mood to get into our shower.  It's not much more than a trickle and now that we are embarking on winter down here in the southern hemisphere, the concrete bathroom is more "meat locker" than it is cozy.

Isabel usually cooks her own breakfast, an egg and toast.  She's gotten pretty adept at lighting the gas stove with a match and is finding her way around the kitchen quite well. 

Sophia gets a lot of help from her sister, but is also able to do a lot independently herself.  She often curls up on the couch for a bit until she is fully awake and ready to greet the day. 

The hallway from our apartment to the outside world is dark and narrow, and opens onto this:

the "sidewalk" which is light and narrow.  One of the neighborhood dogs is always waiting to greet me with his icy stare.

Around here, the common wisdom is that a "good dog" is one who barks, chases and bites.  Happily, this is not a "good dog." Turning the corner at the end of the block, I head toward the ruins of Saqsaywaman, bathed in the early morning sunlight.

I share a cab with four other teachers every morning.  It's about a 20 minute drive down the valley to school.  We usually sing some schoolyard song with lyrics changed to something morbid, like dying in a head-on-collision.

This intersection will give you an idea of the inspiration behind such song-craft. 

 

The school is tucked behind this giant metal gate.  We usually go through the door by 7:30 every morning.

My classroom, without students, and with.  My sixth graders are GREAT!  They have a lot of energy which I always prefer to teenage angst and apathy.  One ambitious prankster removed every single nut from each of the desks in the second week of school resulting in a lot of rickety junior-executives.  After she was ratted out, she spent two recesses reassembling the furniture.  

The ride back to the city is usually in a converted minivan on the "Batman Line."  These rides are super cheap and therefore packed to the gills with passengers. 

 

Fazilli, me and Jessica snagged the coveted back seat on this trip, and this was our view.  It costs about 20 ¢ for a ride that would cost $3 in a cab.  

After school on Tuesdays and Thursdays we are running all about ferrying the girls to lessons.  On this day Sophia went to her ballet lesson with Miss Katia while Isabel was at violin.  Both the girls' teachers are amazing.  Katia has this aura of warmth about her that you can almost see and can definitely feel. 

The weekend has officially begun, but I am too tired to do anything about it.  I guess really I am too tired to do anything about it most nights, but staying in hurts a bit more when I know I won't have to get up early the next day to get to school.  We did manage to go out for dinner and Krista and I toasted each other over a pair of pisco-sours.

This week I showed the class the film Wall-E as an activity to get them thinking about heroes and heroines.  I think they got the connection based on their comments post viewing, but what I loved the most was how they laughed and teared up at the story.  In my opinion it's one of the most beautiful love stories every portrayed on film, and these kids really got it.  Watching them watch the movie, these sometimes cynical pre-teens were kids again, thrilled to let themselves be sucked in by the story.  And I was sucked in too.  The universal truth that Wall-E and Eve discover in their time together is that we all share the same "directive," to be connected with each other.  I thought about those little robot hands intertwining their metal digits as I sat with Krista, Isabel and Sophia on this Friday night, sharing stories about our week and enjoying each others' company.  Togetherness is our directive too. 

Procasti-Nation

As we waited outside the airport on March 18th for the arrival of Krista's Mom and Dad, we contemplated how we would get them and us back to the house.  The day before, a protest had been announced and the city was effectively shut down.  We were told that taking a cab anywhere near the protesters would likely result in a rain of stones falling on us and our vehicle because the protesters demanded total solidarity.  WELCOME TO CUSCO MOM AND DAD!

I did a little reconnaissance on my bicycle earlier in the morning and found that there were in fact taxis running, they were just taking routes that gave a wide berth between them and the protesters.  We arrived at the airport after a very long detour and found heaps of taxis there waiting to haul the planeload of tourists to their destinations.  We had considered taking two taxis when one of the drivers suggested I hire a van.  That's when I met Nilo.

At first glance it was obvious that Nilo was a special guy.  Portly, wearing a sweatsuit and with a playful  sparkle in his eyes, I caught him paling around with the other drivers when I went to ask him about taking us to our house.  I told him where we were going and he said "No hay paso," that road's not open.  "But..." He suggested we try to approach our road from the other side and drive the wrong way down the one-way street for a spell.  "But," he told me, "If the police find us," and then he took his index finger and slowly drew it across his neck.  I promised him I would play the role of dumb tourist and take complete responsibility for the grievous infraction should we be noticed.  In the end Nilo was as cool as a cucumber and we arrived without a hitch.  As Nilo wished Marian and Lyle a great stay in Peru he handed me his card.  I knew we'd be seeing Nilo again.

Mom and Dad arrived with scads of goodies from the USA, but one of their most important items was not for us.  My Dad and Rhonda had promised our friend and  Guide Extraordinaire, Jaun Pedro, an iPod touch for the amazing experience he provided them.  Juan, in typical fashion, invited Sophia to help him open his gift.  This was the first time Marian and Lyle met Juan, and as the week progressed they too would get to know him well.

Our first excursion was a trip down to Ollantaytambo where the weather was warmer, the altitude lower, and the ruins as amazing as ever.  We took a local bus there with my bicycle lashed to the roof for 10 soles a person.  We stayed at an amazing hotel with a location as unlikely as it was convenient.  Right on the train platform to Aguas Calientes is El Alberge, a refined yet funky building overlooking the Villcabamba river and the mountains beyond.  There was a lovely courtyard filled with flowering plants and even a wood-burning sauna tucked away in a corner.  We ate our meals at the hotel's excellent restaurant and our first night happened to be Grandpa Lyle's birthday.  The kitchen made him this beautiful "cake" out of mangoes, pears and plums.

Before dinner,  I managed to sneak out for a great bike ride climbing the opposite side of the river.  On the way back down my passage was blocked for 15 minutes by a team of donkeys carting freshly harvested wheat down to the valley from fields above.

On day-two we arranged for Juan Pedro and Nilo to meet us in Ollanta and spend the day with us.  While Marian and Lyle and Krista toured the ruins with Juan, the girls and Nilo and I loaded the luggage and bike into the van.  In Urubamba we visited a ceramics studio where this little guy was living, sharing his ample cage with a big rabbit.

After lunch we drove up to the amazing ruins of Moray, concentric circular terraces dug into a depression in the land.   With Juan playing Andean songs on his Qena (Andean flute) we walked along the rim of the abyss as the neon-green landscape exploded all around us, bathed in the light of the equatorial sun. 

The sun soon gave way to an isolated but powerful storm.  The contrast between the two was amazing.  Driving directly through it I watched two bolts of lightning strike hills right next to us.  Nilo didn't skip a beat.  He was a really great, affable, and most importantly, cautious driver.  I sat up front with him the whole day.  He told me about a couple of great treks to do including one to the hotsprings of Lares where he claimed with a crooked smile and raised eyebrow that on certain, moonless nights, all the women from the countryside sneak into the pools to wash themselves --completely naked. 

Once back in Cusco it was cold!  But thanks to this gift from my brother David I was well prepared.  That's pure alpaca baby!

The next day,  Krista and I had to go to work, and Isabel did her first stint as a bilingual tour guide.  She and Marian and Lyle headed off to Lago Titicaca and the floating islands of Puno for a three day adventure.  They took a bus to Puno, spent a day boating around the islands and then rode the exceedingly fancy train back to Cusco.  By all accounts, Puno is a very, very, very high place.  Grandma went as far as to say she wouldn't recommend a visit to Puno to "old" people.  They got back just in time to welcome their son Matt, who arrived the next morning.   

Matt is a big cyclist and I couldn't wait to get him out on the amazing trails of Cusco.  We rented a bike from my friend Dougie and got right to it.  We had great weather and did my usual route -- climb up around 1300 feet to 12,800 feet, and then bomb back down to San Blas.  Matt claims he is no downhiller, but he flew down the mountain with greatest of ease.

Me too.

 Mom and Dad left on Sunday afternoon, and got back to Kansas City without a hitch.  I can only imagine how happy Oliver, super poodle, was to see them.  I wonder if he smelled us on their clothing.

Monday was a really important day for Cusco, the benediction of Señor de los Temblores (the Lord of the Earthquakes).  According to the legend, during an enormous earthquake in Cusco the statue now known as Señor de los Temblores was rushed out of the crumbling church, and as the light of day illuminated his face, the quake abruptly halted.  The plaza was absolutely choked with believers and onlookers alike as the holiday was commemorated, and the church was surrounded by hundreds of police officers.  The girls and I left before the benediction, but Matt stayed until the end and reported a serious lack of respect for personal space at the height of the celebration.

 

As I write this Krista, Matt and Isabel are on a four day trek through the mountains to the north of Cusco with Juan Pedro.  If all went according to plan they crossed a 15,000 foot pass yesterday!  Sophia and I have been having a good time together, but she has had her teary moments.  She ate dinner the first night with, I kid you not, a pair of Isabel's dirty jeans wrapped around her head to get her scent.  I jokingly refer to her as our little barbarian, but truth be told, she is very much in touch with her animal-self.  Below she can be seen in self-imposed exile after some sort of tiff. 

It's hard to believe that it's April already.  It looks like we are going to have a pretty routine month with no more visits or travel planned for the time being.  I think it will do everyone good to have a bit of routine back in our lives after three months of wonderful guests and adventures.  It feels like July is a lifetime away from now, but as we find our stride in our Peruvian life, the time seems to find its stride too.  I am making an effort every morning to burn the mountain view from our bedroom into my memory, and every bike ride I am trying to remember the way my body felt flying through the air or bumping down some ledgy track.  Because I know that someday, sooner than I think, we will be heading home.