And What Exactly Are You Doing in Lima, Megan?

Before I left New York, my friend Emily asked me what my day-to-day life would be like here in Lima. And I, jittery off of too many cups of coffee and the looming prospect of expatriation, had to answer that I just didn't know.

Two months in, I'm still figuring it out, bit by bit. The truth is that I am learning (slowly, painfully) to be more proactive. All the folks at Yuyachkani are amazing, but if I had thought that they would have a 9-5 work plan waiting for me when I landed at Jorge Chavez International, then, well, I was wrong. I'm currently working on a project proposal to send their way; more on that some other time.

Meanwhile, Rach and I are working on a piece to present next week at a performance exposition run by our roommates. The topic of the evening: "Cuestion de Fe" (Question of Faith). Our piece will involve some movement, the Nicene Creed, a bit of Hebrew, and George Michael (on accordion, of course). I will post about that next week; I am too jittery about it right now.

I've been looking for volunteer opportunities, which has been getting easier as I've gotten better at talking on the phone in Spanish. (It's harder than you'd think. I didn't realize how much I rely upon non-verbal communication- in both English and Spanish, really- until I picked up my movistar and tried to have real conversation on it.) The other challenge there has been trying to find a way to volunteer responsibly. I'm not really interested in contributing more to the non-profit industrial complex, especially on a global scale. (The non-profit industrial complex, hereafter called the NPIC, is the system in which social justice work becomes dependent on the State and private donors. This was articulated by INCITE! in 2004 at their conference "The Revolution Will Not Be Funded," and you can read more about it here.) Subject of future post: the NPIC in Lima.

Bla bla bla. Point is, I've been trying to find volunteer work on my own, without turning to the volunteer-placement organizations that show up at Idealist.org volunteer fairs (and charge you hundreds of dollars for the pleasure) (does that money go to the organizations that you're supporting, NPIC? No? Hmm. Well, then, where does it go?). And that's been slow going. But for now, I've met with two groups that I'll work with on weekends-- one, a community-based organization in Ventanilla, run by and for teenagers; and another, a weekly workshop at a home/school for kids who are HIV positive. Both groups are cool, ask for solidarity from their volunteers, and are looking for people to do arts/theatre workshops. (Subject of future post.)

During the week, I go to Spanish classes every day from 9 AM - 1 PM. That's a very good thing. I still make mistakes all the time, but I'm also getting better (poco a poco). My class is small, my teacher is a lot of fun, and I like my classmates. The only bummer is when I run into the occasional Ugly American. You know the archetype (Ipod earbuds firmly implanted; loudly jabbering in English and/or appallingly-accented Spanish, but usually English; spewing complaints about the traffic, the weather, the food, the people...), but meeting these turistas in the flesh is somewhat horrifying. No matter. I stick with the ladies in my class, who are all a lot of fun, and I choose not to speak to the Ugly Americans (and their brethren: the Ugly Europeans), or, if I must spend time in their presence, I stick to Spanish. That has the effect of shutting them up nicely, because it's painfully obvious that they've spent weeks or months here without learning a word of it.

Other Things I Do in Lima: Read. Go to museums. Exercise (though not as frequently as I had intended to do in my retirement) (eh, maybe next week). Cook Quinotto, a risotto made with quinua that is really delicious. Go shopping for exciting fruits. Eat. See shows and/or performance art. Drink with my roommates. Plan the upcoming trip to Machu Picchu with Rachel and my best friends from high school, Emily and Lauren. Study Spanish. Try to focus on living in the moment. Write the occasional blog post.

So there you have it, folks. That's more or less what I'm up to right now.

And in conclusion: if you give me your address, I will send you a postcard. If you don't want to leave it as a comment, shoot me an e-mail at megankhanley(at)gmail.com. Expect to hear from me in 3-5 weeks.

Semana Santa en Ayacucho

Easter has always been a big deal in my family, full of masses and celebrations and late nights. Nonetheless, nothing in my Catholic upbringing quite prepared me for Semana Santa, Ayacucho style.

Ayacucho is nine to thirteen hours east of Lima, depending on which bus company you choose to take. Rachel, her parents, and I learned this the hard way, on a cold, rickety, bathroom-less bus that crept up and over the Andes over the course of a very long night. We had arrived for the Grand Finale of Holy Week: the Saturday Night Vigil on the night before Easter. In the States, this is generally a solemn (but celebratory) night. In Ayacucho, it's a bigger party than Mardi Gras.

There were parades, often converging on the central square from several directions. See the photo above; please also note the small explosion in the background-- someone setting off some fireworks. We danced to these awesome brass bands, ate some delicious pork sandwiches on the street (on a Saturday in Lent-- offending both the Catholic and Jewish traditions in one fell swoop), admired rugs and other beautiful crafts, and went to the Vigil mass at 8 PM. And then, as soon as Mass ended, the party began.

This brass band played valiantly for hours to a crowd that grew more and more rowdy and drunk as we got closer to dawn. Rachel and I made a few friends with our sweet moves, and they decided to teach us how to perform acrobatics. "Toss the Gringa" may not be a long-standing tradition in Ayacucho- the celebration attracts mostly Peruvians- but everyone seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. Don't worry, Dad, my neck is still intact.

I was ready to sleep by 2 AM, but Rachel convinced me to stay in it for the long haul. So, we danced until three in the morning or so, pausing for snacks and coffee and lukewarm beers and fireworks displays. I had read that they would set off fireworks at midnight, but that doesn't quite do the displays justice: groups from all over the city had built about twenty enormous "castles" or towers of fireworks that they set off periodically throughout the night. Here's the last one, which they set off around 5 AM:



Rachel and I took a brief nap in front of the cathedral around 4 AM but were awoken by one of these fireworks displays. By then, the square was full of thousands of people, waiting expectantly in front of the cathedral. Finally, as the sky was just starting to brighten, a huge stream of confetti flew into the air, the Cathedral bells started tolling, and the Church doors were flung open to reveal perhaps a hundred men carrying an enormous float with an image of Jesus on top.


Here's a video the emergence of the float. It was pretty amazing, and the video doesn't really do it justice. But try to imagine that you're sleep deprived and a little drunk and surrounded by thousands of sleep deprived, drunk people who have been waiting for this moment for hours and hours.

This was Rachel's reaction to this deeply moving moment. Then everyone fell into a procession behind the float, and the band kept playing, and people cheered, and the sun came up, and Rachel and I walked back to our hotel to get some sleep. (Rachel's parents slept through the all-night party and were probably the better for it.) On our way back, I took a picture of this beautiful woman. I'd been trying not to take lots of pictures of the women in their lovely hats and skirts, because I didn't want to be one of those tourists, but I couldn't help taking just one picture.






















After crashing for five or six hours, we got up and went on a drive with an awesome taxi driver named Nino. He took us out of the city and into the countryside; we got a tour of the Wari ruins from a really smart 12-year-old boy who is going to be an amazing archaeologist one day; we ate some tunas fresh from the cactus; and we learned about the Battle of Ayacucho from an amazing little boy who played a surprisingly convincing Peruvian general. Here's a picture of the hill where the Peruvians beat the Spanish in 1825 (and yet still had to pay taxes to the Spanish for decades to convince them to leave the country...) Yes, that's a rainbow. We'll just ignore a long and ugly history of colonialism for a moment so we can admire the scenery, yes?

Yesterday we took a much more comfortable bus ride through the Andes, admiring the little herds of llamas and alpacas and trying to ignore the Spanish-dubbed version of Iron Man.

That gives you an idea of this amazing weekend; I'll post more pictures on facebook sometime this week. There are lots of other things I'd like to discuss here, but I think this post is long enough.

COMING SOON: the post I promised on Yuyachkani's Open Lab a few weeks ago; some thoughts on tensions related to tourism, gender, and whiteness; my new Spanish class; More Reasons to Love my Roommates; What Ever Happened to Maletó and What Does This Have to Do with Gender Trouble?; Megan's artistic journey in Lima; and, What Exactly Are You Doing in Lima, Megan?

Love to all. Happy Easter, and Happy Pesach, too (I'm late on both counts, as per usual).

This One Goes Out to All the Catholics Out There

I know that some of you dutifully spent Sunday Mass tearing your tiny little strips of palm leaves into even tinier strips and making a series of identical crosses. To you I say: Your palm-leaf creations are WEAK. Check it:


Yes, folks, it's Semana Santa in Peru, which means that the museums are free, the churches are open to the public, and las Gringas Altas shift into high Religious Touristry mode. I bought my own palm leaf art work from a nice lady outside the local church, which features a gold Barroque altar, and she let me take a picture of her work.

On Friday, Rachel's parents arrive, and we all hop in a bus and take an overnight ride to Ayacucho, where they have the biggest Semana Santa celebration in the country. It promises to be both claustrophic and exciting. The Saturday Night Vigil is supposed to be an all-night party, complete with fireworks at midnight. Take heed, all ye North American churches: if you blow things up, they will come.

Happy Birthday, Erin and Dad!

In honor of Erin's birthday on Monday, I asked my roommates to teach me how to sing "Happy Birthday" like a true limeño. This is the result. Please note that I couldn't join in the singing because I was laughing too hard (you can hear Rachel giggling, too. She was filming the whole thing), and that no one knew how to pronounce Erin's name. Irish names are confusing here. I've taken to introducing myself as "May-gon. Como 'Mega.' Sí, porque soy una chica muy alta. May-gon...sí, como Megan Fox. Exactamente. Mucho gusto."



Left to right: Diana, Erik, Megan, Rosa, y Juanmanuel. They are so great.

Happy birthday, E! Happy birthday, Dad!

Three Quick Updates

1. Cuy is juicy. It does not, for the record, taste like chicken. More like duck, I think. However, there is not much meat to be had, and the presentation is fairly appetite-killing. Google image "cuy" if you're curious, or just imagine a creature disarmingly reminiscent of a rat lying dead on a plate, crisped eyes and claws still intact. (If that last sentence grossed you out, please don't run a google search. Just take my word for it: Cuy is much tastier than it looks.)

2. I'm taking a workshop with Yuyachkani this week. It has been really great and is deserving of several posts. That will come. I will only mention that yesterday I saw a traditional Peruvian Resurrection dance that featured a mostly-naked Jesus playing the spoons (well, a similiar instrument, to be fair) and wearing a single rainbow-print glove. Who knew that Peru was so queer friendly?

3. It looks like Maleto is going to stay with us indefinitely.

More soon!

I just ate Cuy.

Cuy is deep-fried guinea pig.

...

The only thing missing from my life...

... is iced coffee.

Is it possible that I'm just looking in the wrong places? Is this related to a national aversion to iced beverages? (Most people here go for water, juice, and soda at room temperature. Rachel tells me that I need to stop being such an imperialist and adapt my drinking habits, but I really love me my cold beverages.) I must remind myself that British people don't really go for iced coffee either, and I survived just fine in London.

Now at the two week mark, I'm starting to get my life in order. I'm doing a workshop with Yuyachkani next week, and my Spanish class started last week. It's through the Language Institute at the Catholic University, where Rachel is studying, and right now I'm taking a class on Peruvian culture. Since it's only four weeks long, it's basically Peruvian culture for dummies, but it's a lot of fun. And my class is pretty diverse-- we're from Bulgaria, Brazil, China, Germany, and the US, which is great, because we can't cheat and speak to each other in our first languages. Another great thing is that we are going to learn how to make cebiche (raw seafood marinated in lime juice). Om nom nom. My mother will be surprised to hear how much I like cebiche-- I shunned fish for years, which was a stupid thing for a Seattle kid to do, but what's done is done-- but seriously, folks. The cebiche here is unbelievable.

Life in Pueblo Libre is lovely. Rachel and I have moved off of the roof and into our new room, which is blue and orange and bright. I really love my roommates here-- they're all artists of various kinds and are a lot of fun. They run a space called elgalpon.espacio where they mount and host all sorts of performance and installations and classes. Good stuff. This week I've been taking a course on Performance in Latin America, taught by Augusto Del Valle, a philosopher and art critic. Some of it goes over my head-- my Spanish is getting better every day, but I wish I could understand everything now-- but the course is interesting, and it's good to study performance from a Latin American perspective. In the US (with SITI and with other friends), I had been discussing the postmodern performance that stemmed from the work done by Judson Dance Theater in the 60's. It's good to learn about flash points outside of my North American framework-- the Biennials in Cuba in the late 80's and 90's, the show in Medellin in 1981. Del Valle has also talked a little bit about how the specific political contexts affected performance in each country (i.e. how did performance in Argentina under the military dictatorship differ from performance in Peru?), but either he didn't choose to discuss these ideas in depth, or I missed something major. Anyway, I'll learn more, I promise, and then I will try to organize my thoughts to say something other than, "Wow; performance is interesting." But that will be a job for another day.

Oh, you want to see another picture of Maletó, do you?






I thought so.

Combis and Other Obstacles

Happy March! While many of you have been battling blizzards in New York, this is how my roommates and I spend our mornings here:

It’s hard to believe that I’ve only been here a week. It’s been something of a roller coaster. I spent a few days feeling like a child every time I tried to speak Spanish, which was pretty hard. It didn’t help that this city is intimidating when it comes to public transportation (more on that momentarily), especially when one is only semi-lingual. Back in New York, my friend Karina warned me to brace myself for some culture shock, but I was still caught off guard by it. Perhaps that was arrogant of me; oops.

BUT. During my course with SITI Company last month, Stephen reminded us again and again to throw ourselves directly at the obstacle rather than try to go around it. So, that’s what I’m trying to make myself do with this particular obstacle: I’m starting Spanish classes tomorrow, I’m trying to talk as much as possible, and I’m becoming a master at using the Combis to get around this huge city.

Combis! They are an anarchist’s ideal form of public transportation, and I love them. Combis are little busses or sometimes vans that speed up and down most of the major roads in Lima. One person drives, while another stands at the bus door and yells out the name of the street where they’re going: “JAVIER PRADO JAVIPRADO JAVIPRADO!”. (The combis also have street names painted on them, but sometimes those are inaccurate.) You wait until someone drives by yelling the name of the street you want, and then you ask them if they’re going to pass your cross street, and then you hop on. Sometime during the ride, the Yeller comes around and collects your fare (usually about 30 cents in US money), and then, when the bus is approaching your street, you yell out “Baja baja baja!” (“Getting off getting off getting off!”), and there you are. It’s brilliant and way more fun than the MTA. The only problem is that I’m usually too tall to stand up straight, and I’ve bumped my head and stepped on people and generally made a stupid turista of myself several times. Ah well. I’ve only had one week of practice.

To conclude: First week in a new country = (unsurprisingly) hard. Combis = fantastic. Maletó, the Peruvian Perro = still wonderful. Here are some pictures! You can click on them to see the full-sized image.

Maletó. I mean, really. How can you not love this creature?

A blurry picture of the casita (little house) on the roof where I've been sleeping. It's really pretty nice, except for that green light bulb. But Rachel and I move into a new room this week, and I'm ready to unpack.

The view from the roof at sunset. Not bad, eh?

More to come soon...