Two Things I Love, One Thing I Hate

Helloooooo friends. Things here are busy-- I'm working on a few performance projects and on a reproductive rights workshop series with teenagers. I'm also gearing up for the next month, which is going to be pretty kick-ass: two weeks of backpacking in Arequipa and Puno with Sophie, one week training intensively with Yuyachkani, and one week in Colombia for Rebecca's wedding. What a life I have.

So, short and sweet updates are in order. Here I give you:


One thing I love about life here in Lima: grocery shopping.

Rach and I take turns going to our local market, where the World Cup is usually blasting from several stalls (can't believe I'm rooting for Espana) and where my favorite fruit stand lady gives me free samples of everything, which is probably not good for my digestive system, but it is oh so delicious. If you are in North America right now and feeling pretty smug about your summer fruits, I pity you. Your fruit is weak and limited in scope. Here I can choose between at least nine varieties of banana! Here I can eat grenadilla (grenadine, maybe? I don't even know if it exists up north) or granada (pomegranate) or maracuya (passion fruit)! Oh, it is so succulent!

Then I go to the vegetable stand guy, who fills my enormous canvas bag to the brim with vegetables and charges me a seemingly-arbitrary price that usually is less that $5 USD. From him I buy cilantro and tomatoes and onions and carrots and beets and peppers and squash and, best of all, potatoes:

One thing I hate about life here in Lima: telephone norms.

We don't have an answering machine on our home phone here. So, you know, if someone calls the house and no one picks up, the phone can keep ringing indefinitely. Unfortunately, everyone in Peru seems to interpret "no one's picking up the phone" not as "eh, guess they aren't home," but as "they're just too lazy to come to the phone," and so they hang up and call again. And again. And again.

... Of course, since I am actually just too lazy to come to the phone, and since the call is almost always for one of my roommates who isn't home, and since no one ever seems to want to leave a message but instead just says, "Oh, well, if he's not home, I guess I'll just call his cell phone," this makes me crazy.

Another thing I love about life here in Lima: Camote.

Camote is Malato's roommate and is staying with us while their owner is travelling. He is, if possible, even more unfortunate than Malato: he has a chronic skin disease (possibly cancer) that causes him to bleed, constantly. Yesterday I caught him rolling around on my pajamas, on my bed, bleeding profusely. (My bedroom door will henceforth remain closed.)

But. He is so precious, and I love him.