I'd Like to be Very Important Someday

I believe the title says it all, would you agree?  Well, perhaps not all of it.  I was hoping to catch you up before I jumped ahead to the next best thing, but I imagine that a belated blog is the opportunity cost of a busy life.  I'd rather it be this way, however, than the other way around.


I'll pick up where I left off (as best I can).  Shortly after the dog party, Erik came to visit me (for those of you that don't know Erik, well, who am I kidding, I'm fairly certain that everyone knows Erik) for a few days before my trip to Contamana (google it, nothing will come up for you either) and before his graduation from Wesleyan University where he majored in Mathematics and Computer Science, with Honors in Mathematics because of his beautifully written, albeit esoteric and unintelligible, thesis.  We ate well, laughed a lot, and enjoyed acting our lives out in front of the backdrop of Lima, Peru.  He has since graduated from college. 


This entry will feel a lot like the end of a movie where there is a frozen snapshot of a main or minor character and a one-liner about his/her life after the end of the movie.  Enjoy the joining of genres, as I'm sure it won't be an isolated incident.

At 4:05 A.M. on Tuesday 11, 2010, my trip to Contamana began.  Bleary-eyed and grumpy, I arrived at the Lima airport to fly to Pucallpa.  We arrived in Pucallpa at 6:00 A.M. and waited another two hours for the prop plane to prepare for its departure to Contamana.  Piled into the six-seater (pilot included), my two colleagues and I held hands and hoped for the best.  Thirty minutes later, we arrived in Contamana--a town so far removed that the roads were dirt, the transportation was mototaxi, the roofs were thatched and the only foreigner they had ever seen was I.  We slept the rest of the day.

The next morning, we made our way in mototaxi (pictured above) to the Pedagogical Institute.  There were 60 English students and one professor who taught three sections.  As far as I can tell, he taught himself English with the movies, books, and magazines available to him, and within his context, his progress was indeed commendable.  There was, as there is everywhere, room for improvement, so he and I worked for the rest of the afternoon on various teaching techniques.


On Thursday, I taught two model classes.  After all this time working at the Ministry, I had forgotten how much I love being in the classroom.  After the first hour-and-a-half class, I said "Ya, terminamos (Alright, we're done)," and the students sat there motionless, waiting.  After the second hour-and-a-half class, I once again said "Ya, terminamos," and the students rushed me asking me this question and that question.  In the afternoon, I once again worked one-on-one with the professor.

On Friday, I continued to work with the professor, and much to my shagrin, I began to grow weary of being in Contamana.  The artisans followed us from place to place, pleading that we buy at least one, two, three, a million things.  The Internet connection was so slow that my inbox wouldn't load, and I had lost my phone and long since abandoned all hope of being reunited with it.  The professor and I did some really excellent work, I set foot in the famous Amazon rainforest (see pictures below), and the people were lovely, but I was ready to be back on the grid.  Finally on Saturday we began our trip back to Lima.  It consisted of a great deal of hurrying to wait, a prop plane, and a real plane.  In conclusion, it ended just as ridiculously as it had begun: at 1:30 in the morning on Sunday, May 16, 2010. 

(notice the SIZE of that SPIDER!)

(we almost kissed...)

(holding hands with a MONKEY!)

(a WONDERFUL picture, wouldn't you agree?)

That very same Sunday morning at 9:05, Megan came to visit me (for those of you that don't know Megan, well, who am I kidding, I'm fairly certain that everyone knows Megan) for a few days to accompany me on my trip to Huaraz (google it, it was beautiful) after her competition at the PanAms in Quito, Ecuador where she competed in kumite and fell just short of the podium.  We, too, ate well, laughed a lot, and enjoyed acting our lives out in front of the backdrop of Lima, and Huaraz, Peru. She has since returned to Denver.

The trip to Huaraz started that Tuesday morning and consisted of an 8-hour bus ride, three-and-a-half days of classroom observation and workshops led by Sandra Anderson (an English specialist from the Fulbright office) and me, and a number of logistical nightmares that were worked out in due time. 

The photo above and the following one are snapshots of me giving a model class in Huaraz.  In that same room, there were English I students and English VII students.  As you can imagine, it was quite difficult to balance a class with beginning and advanced students.  Fortunately, everybody played along.  This trip, I was getting over a cold and wrestling with PINK EYE (which I'm still getting over).  This workshop was, therefore, a personal growth opportunity for me.  For as long as I can remember, I have carefully painted my face when giving a presentation of leading a group of people.  I was thoroughly convinced that long, luscious eyelashes were the source of my power.  I was delighted, therefore, that the model class went well, despite the somewhat obvious lack of mascara.  Perhaps my power comes from within.

This trip, like the previous one to Contamana, ended like it had begun: a bus ride that got back into Lima at 5:00 A.M. on Saturday, May 22.  Megan and I took a nap, and started the day once again at 10:00 A.M.  We went to the catacombs (which I had visited with Erik, but which were just as eerie the second time around), the Cathedral (pictured below and made almost entirely of WOOD), where our guide was aptly named Jesus, a delicious lunch, a walk on the beach, an even better dinner, and a rushed trip to the milonga where I dance tango on Saturday nights.  Her plane left Sunday morning at 5:00 A.M., so we took a cat nap and proceeded to hop into a taxi and say a tearful goodbye to each other.

I slept from 7:00 A.M. on and off throughout the day, and am finally back to my normal schedule and enjoying the tranquility of a daily routine.  I must admit, however that without visitors I find myself thinking, "where have my friends gone?" 


Talking about the tranquility of my daily life, I thought it appropriate to picture my house (finally).  It's lovely, isn't it?  My room is the one in the upper right hand corner (I have a little balcony!)  Soon I will take pictures of all of my living quarters, and give you a proper introduction.


Lance Armstrong would be proud, for it has been a true "Tour de Force."


Let's get back to this entry's title, and my most recent life dream: "I'd like to be very important some day."  Yesterday morning I had a meeting at the American embassy and it was my first time on American soil abroad.  It was quite a process entering the building, and after taking my cell phone, my iPod, my hand sanitizer, my lip balm, my USB, my inhaler, my lip gloss, an assortment of American quarters that "seemed suspicious", and my jacket (everything EXCEPT my KUBOTAN i.e., the only real weapon I had with me) they gave me the "you may enter the Embassy" green light.  Walking through the halls of the building that Peruvians somewhat disdainfully refer to as "the bunker," I felt pretty darn powerful.  I was behind yards and yards of bulletproof walls, magnetized windows, and was sure that my every move was being monitored.  I wish I could say that I always determine my self-worth from within...  But I felt important walking down those halls: exceptional, exclusive, enigmatic.


Mind you, that's not the only time I've felt important, but the surroundings (though I hate to admit it) certainly added to the exclusivity of it all as there were scores of Peruvians eagerly awaiting admission as I walked right in.  To be sure, I feel important working with the professors at the Pedagogical Institutes, I feel important helping my colleagues with their English.  It's not my self-worth that I'm wrestling with, but rather the best way to create a life that is important and meaningful.  Is it behind closed doors in a carefully guarded building?  Is is in the most rural parts of a foreign country working one-on-one?  Is it in the basement of the National Museum?  I suppose that's the real question: in front of what backdrop do I want my life to take place?  And, like most soul-searching, philosophical, life-journey questions are eternal and have yet to be answered even hundreds of years after Hamlet first uttered the words "To be, or not to be," my own question will end in a similar fashion, with a ?

Finding My Way/Out of Context

There are a number of people in the world (probably you, if you're reading this) that know me through and through.  Many have seen me grow up and know all about my awkward stage, my sad stage, my ________stage, my _________stage (the blank lines refer to observable stages in my life that I didn't even know I had!)... I take great solace in the fact that there are people in my life that, even if I start to forget who I am, can steer me in the right directions.  They know me at my core, have traced at least part of my trajectory, and can act as my compass when I am lost. 


While I mean lost geographically, figuratively, spiritually etc., I'd like to recall two more literal events.  I went to college in Ohio, and one day early in my college career, I was driving back from the airport, and found myself misplaced on any number of rural roads.  Since I hadn't lived there more than a year, my sensory perception of rural America was not up to par, and each two-lane road looked the same as the next.  As such, I had turned prematurely.  My dear father called just at the right time (to talk about something else, I'm sure) and I cheered, "Oh, Dad!  I'm lost, can you help me figure out how to get back to school?" Patiently, he followed my progress from Google Maps, and sure enough, I found my way back to school.  Just two days ago, I received another phone call at just the right moment.  I was to be at a dog's birthday party at 2:30.  It was within walking distance, so I copied down the directions and set a course for the park.  After an hour of walking around in circles? squares? triangles? the absolute wrong direction? my mother called me (to talk about something else, I'm sure) and I cheered, "Oh, Mom!  I'm lost, can you help me figure out how to get to the park on the corner of ____________ and ___________?"  Patiently, she found me and directed me from thousands of miles away.  I arrived at the party late, but fashionably so.  While these two examples are literal geographical confusions, I can remember many times in my life when I've lost track of who I am, who I want to be, where I came from or where I'm going, and it is always a great relief and a great joy to have many people in my life that can set me straight. 


During my semester in China in 2007, I came to the terrifying realization that I was the only one in my current circle of friends that was in China and I would have to define my own self in China, and carry that experience back to the States with me all on my own.  I did the best I could.  Now, since I find myself in Lima for a more extended period of time, this same theme and worry reveals itself in a slightly different way.  I have a number of friends here (still countable on 1 hand, unfortunately) from the States and from Peru, and as we learn more about each other, I realize just how much they don't know about me.  To them, I am a searching, frustrated person just now getting her sea feet and adjusting her telescope to see what the future holds.  They don't know that I love the theatre, love to sing, enjoy casual conversions and witty word-play.  They are surprised that I've done karate since a very young age, and don't grasp just how much my perspective changed after China.  But they do know that I love to dance, that I love education, and that enjoy long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners (because doesn't everybody?!).  In a place where the people that know me best are far away and I alone am left with the job of defining myself, have I let a few things slide?  I feel inherently out of context here because the people that put me in context are located on another page of another book on another shelf in another library far, far away. 


Neither am I lost, however.  In many ways, it's freeing to have the ultimate fresh start.  I am who I show myself to be, and I've got to be me because not even the best actors can play charades for ten months.  So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know who I am and I am who I am, just without you.  I miss you.


Enough, however, of this aimless philosophizing.  Speaking of out of context, however, I attended this dog's birthday party as if I weren't allergic to dogs, and rolled around with the dogs, held the dogs and (eek) let the dogs lick my face like I'd done it all my life.  But in the interest of developing relationships (not just with dogs), I threw caution (well, good hives-free health) to the wind.

The picture above is the setting.  You may recognize two of the women from the picture of me in Arequipa, for they were traveling companions.  The boy standing in the center of the picture is the son of the woman on the far left, and he is just lovely.  The woman sitting on my right is the dog owner, and hostess.  The dog pictured, however, is not the birthday dog, but rather, the dog of the boy in the center.

Another shot of the party.

Because I was out of context, and throwing caution to the wind, I wrestled with the dog, and couldn't be happier about it.  What other cautions (don't worry Dad, within reason...) should I throw to the wind to enjoy my life more fully?

The party was in a beautiful park (the pictures don't really do it justice) in one of the most wealthy neighborhoods in Lima.  It was lovely.  In retrospect, I'd get lost and wander aimlessly throughout this neighborhood any day of the week!