Saturday, October 24, 2009

Wednesday. Hanzo.


There is a lot of good food in Peru. Not even just good food- good flavor. They make OUR food better than we do. Sauces aren't like ketchup or tobasco. They don't just add sweetness or heat: they add a whole additional level of taste. Aji is my new favorite thing. Made of yellow peppers and mustard. It's sweet and spicy and once you put it on food, you're not eating rice with Aji. You're eating a completely different foodstuff.

But Wednesday knocked everything out of the park. Paulo, our hermanito/ translator/ tour guide extraordinaire took us to dinner at a Japanese restaurant where his older brother is the lead bartender.

Hanzo is, arguably, the best sushi restaurant in Peru. And we've *definitely* heard it argued. There's another sushi place, Edo, which also has its fans. Regardless, Hanzo is generally ranked #1 or #2 on every list I've seen. Trip Advisor ranks it the #4 overall restaurant in the country.

We sat down and were not given menus. We were given wine. That we weren't allowed to pick.

 It was the story of the entire night- the server came to the table and said "is anyone allergic to anything?". We weren't. And from that point forward, Juan Carlo picked EVERYTHING we ate. As soon as one item was done, another one appeared. Our plates were cleared from the table twice and replaced with new, fresh settings.

This was the most incredible dining experience of my entire life.

Peruanos don't mess around when it comes to their food. The flavor, the freshness, the presentation- if you aren't at a little divey chicken and fries joint (and they're like Starbucks' in Seattle here), then you can almost guarantee that whatever you order will be the best of its kind that you've ever seen or tasted- until you remember the one you had a few days ago somewhere else. Which was also the best.

As far as presentation goes, the Mariscos Al Fuego was the highlight of the whole night. Lots of restaurants woo their diners by setting things on fire. There's a bit of a pyromaniac in every restaurant patron- we all love to see blowtorches on the desert tray. It means something exciting and different. The shells had calamari, fish, shrimp and a cream sauce and ... best of all ... surrounded a central pile of salt that burned well into our first serving.



I think we must have burned through 7 or 8 different courses. By the time the chaufa fusion dish reached the table, topped with 2 giant crawfish, I was incredibly full. When Lisa reached out, shook her crawfish's hand and said hello, even if I'd not been full, I was done.

Looking briefly at the menu, I know that this is not a place we'd have gone by our own choosing. We were invited. Then we were paid for. Entirely. Translated into dollars, I estimate that we were approaching $300 or $400. At any rate, that's what it would've cost at home...  and with good reason. But I don't know. We never received the bill.

Instead, we just sat with Paulo and his brother, who later joined us at the table and we had a great time.


The night was so fun, so delicious, such a nice break in the middle of a stressful week. But it was just a meal. One dinner. Not even close to explaining how amazing it has been to be with Paulo all week. Except for the time he almost got us killed... but that's coming in a later post.

We've been paying for his cabs and his meals at the regular diners we've patronized, and with pleasure... but even that won't come close to expressing the gratitude the 3 of us have felt for his presence these last couple weeks.

 (FYI- the photos in this post are borrowed from a food critic's article because it *is* a fine dining establishment, so to bring out your cameras and take photos of all of the food isn't necessarily smiled upon. However, this is a very accurate representation. One or two of our own photos coming soon!)

Wednesday-Friday. Reflections on Work.

Work-wise, there's very little to report between the arrival of the wheelchairs on Tuesday and the subsequent 3 days of building. Being able to go along on the pre-evaluations was a new and eye-opening experience. Having no medical background myself, I had the opportunity not only to visit our potential wheelchair recipients, but also to sit back and watch Lisa and Staci and Irina do what *they* knew how to do.

The girls took time to explain things that they were noticing and what those things meant to the recipient up to this point, and moving forward in regard to their ability to use a wheelchair. There was one girl- 14 with Cerebral Palsy- whose whole body was tense and arched backward in what I've learned to be termed "extensor posturing". Think of a really good stretch, arch your back and drop your head to extend your neck. Pushing your shoulders back to feel a stretch in your ribs and chest and neck muscles.

Then imagine being like that all the time.

Lisa knew the right places to hold her on the back, the neck, and under the knees to cradle her and relax all of those muscles. The girl just melted down into a sitting position. It was amazing.

There is a whole additional level to the work done by FWM- things we can do to be of additional help. Things that, even if we aren't around to do them, will improve the lives of many just by bearing in mind that the facts exist and are true.

I am glad to be learning- but by Tuesday, I was also ready for the chairs to arrive. Then I would get to do what *I* was good at. Make my contribution by teaching and building and troubleshooting...

By day 2 or 3 of assembly, though, I was ready to shoot more than trouble.

Let. Me. Tell. You.

(Below left, that's me in the hat-- not many pictures during assembly. I was on the computer a lot, writing to the home office and sending photos.)













Won't go into the specifics of the manufacturing issues that we encountered. Publicly over the internet is *not* the wisest place to post those initial disappointments or to recount that mild chaos.

Suffice it to say that - by the way, everyone - I am staying here in Peru until November 1st.

My trip has been extended and additional week in order to be available to the staff as they FINALLY get the project underway, now that all of the urgent issues have been resolved and addressed.

The Operation Blessing/ Camino de Vida team has been... beyond extraordinary. Beyond patient. Surpassing any humanly possible demonstration of graciousness and diligence and humor to make this work for everyone. Wheelchairs are just one aspect of the work done by the Logistics staff of Operation Blessing and that all of these people have many other jobs that they are doing in addition to giving us so much of their time.


  
We're on the right track, thanks to the support of everyone here in Peru as well as the FWM staff at home. I've changed my Cuzco itinerary and will be taking my vacation days at the end of next week so, for now, I am still in Lima and having a spectacular time. New parts arrived for the wheelchairs. They are built. They are great. There are design elements that can be improved before we more forward to mass distribution, but there is also no reason for our team to feel less than confident and proud of what is being given away these next few weeks.

Tired. Excited. Anxious. Thankful.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Tuesday: 10-13-09: WHEELCHAIRS!!

Yes, friends. We have wheelchairs.

The day started with a god-awful early trip to the customs warehouse where storage takes place after the chairs clear through customs and are removed from the port.

There is a steel door behind Cesar and Teresa from whence there shall eventually emerge a security guard (very Emerald City) with an all-important fax. And a machine gun. But only one will be the ticket to our admission. Guess which one?

You're wrong.

Fax arrives!

Onward!

It doesn't take too long to load 30 of our 80 chairs into the Camino de Vida van and someone's sedan. The biggest issue is finding room for the people afterward. The new wheelchairs come in their own boxes- no loose parts- so that's a huge help!

We spent a small bit of time posing with boxes because, of course, that will help us get work done. I won't take pictures of my food- but I will pose with a cardboard box. It's just one more of my many little quirks.

Actually, that's why they sent me. No one would look as good with these boxes as I do... that's my job at FWM. Go down to the warehouse and find as many ways as you can to build forts.

Below Left: Staci and I realize our full potential-- posing with boxes and doing a damn fine job of it.
Below Right: Cesar is much more comfortable than the rest of us with the idea of being crushed to death by humanitarian aid.


Below: One of the few policia around the sight without a machine gun. He stopped, presumably, to smile for the photograph about which I was gesturing wildly from the big church bus. If I choose to be honest with myself, then it's more likely that he stopped to attempt to recall whether or not HE drank the water.



Below: Lisa, Staci, Me and the place where Noe's view out the back window should be.



The rest of the day was owned by wheelchair assembly and a barrage of manufacturing issues (98% of which have been resolved, and 2% of which we expected to encounter during the course of a clinical study, anyhow...). Welding issues resulted in the guys from Camino de Vida drilling their own holes through steel in order to piece a frame together (a one of a kind situation, thus far, and we are bringing the chair home with us- not distributing it).

 

Remember my arsenal disguised as a gear bag? That's more or less empty now- presents all around for CdV and an empty suitcase for me to fill with black market goods from Bolivia to bring home on the cheap... (joke. we actually considered going to this weirdly illegal-but-no-one-really-cares mall; unfortunately don't have the time amidst all of our other wacky plans).






So there you go- this was last Tuesday so it's been exactly a week since any of this actually happened. A quick update for those who haven't heard: I'm going to be staying an additional week to finish sussing out some of the issues we've worked through in the last 7 days. We've made incredible progress, but there's much left to do, I haven't had much time to sit down and write at the end of each day, unless it's for work. I'm giddy like a schoolgirl to backtrack (yet again) and tell you about the rest of the week and the weekend so we can get to the good stuff: distributions starting this Monday!

Thanks for the continued words of encouragement and well wishes.

And for everyone subscribing to the blog- you guys are awesome!

(Josh- way to comment on every lonely post. Now if only you'd get back to your own blog, yeah? Just a suggestion, seeing as your comments are more prolific than my page-long posts.)

Thanks all!

Love!

Andy

Friday, October 16, 2009

Nothing Happened On Monday 10-12-09

We woke up early and evaluated all day. Not especially eventful.

I didn't take photos during our evaluations since we are not giving wheelchairs to these people yet, and they may not qualify at all. Irina takes photos for their files, but who wants 5 cameras snapping photos of you when your ill or injured? 10 strangers tromp into your home, ask you questions about the things that hurt and then go all paparazzi on you without giving you a wheelchair at the end?

At this point, when it's mostly PT shoptalk, I'm just absorbing and along for the ride. I'm learning a lot, but nothing that I feel quite qualified to try to restate here in public.

Did get some great photos up in the hills of Comas, though:








Weekend: A Medley

Friday was my first full day in the country after a full work day at FWM, a late night out, and 12 hours of transit. I spent 10 hours on a church bus, barreling through homicidal traffic and evaluating patients throughout the gang-infested municipality of Comas. We survive. Even enjoy ourselves. Everyone is kind and welcoming and we're left with a lot to think about that evening and over the weekend.

To say that I was excited to sleep in the next morning would be a gross understatement.

At 7:30 AM (still 5:30 AM to my poor, broken body and consciousness) there is a heavy pounding on my door. I assume it's Lisa and Staci so, of course, having only really known them for about 2 days, I decide to be a cheerful and gracious representative of my nonprofit organization. Though I don't get out of of bed, lift my head from the pillow, or open my eyes-- I do them the great honor of answering without profanity.

"YEAH?"

In response I receive another series of loud thuds.

"YES????"

This goes on for a while.

Eventually I get out of bed, trudge to the door and open it to see the poor kid from the front desk holding a breakfast tray. He's been kicking the door.

I feel like a total bastard.

So I thank him, apologize-- and then apologize a little more. He turns around and walks away without acknowledging this pitiful need for sanction, leaving me somewhat emotionally empty at 5:30 in the morning. It's cold because the whole building is made of cement. I'm still a bit confused, standing in the hall holding a breakfast tray that I can't see because I haven't put my contacts in. Day 2.

Breakfast consists of coffee (which is amazing here, by the way), juice that I can't drink but opt to pour down the sink to be polite, and 2 dinner rolls with strawberry jam. Let the carb marathon begin. At least it's vegetarian.



The first shower never really ends here because once you've turned on the water hose hanging from the wall (not literally), it never actually turns off again (literally). It drips into infinity; 85% of the time it's hot water, so that's good. Much better than what others had prepared me to expect. The hot water becomes cold water once it's collected into condensation onto the walls, ceiling, metal fixtures, and mirrors and pooled down onto the floor. A good plan, one quickly learns, is to use your towel to dry and then immediately drop it on the floor to mop up the precipitation before you've cultivated your own breeding ground for West Nile and the mildew smell just builds itself a little country cottage in the fibers of your clothes...

So. Long before we learned that cab drivers are inclined to spray some kind of random ether in their back seats to knock passengers out, rob them, and dump them on the beach- we decided that Saturday would be a perfect, gorgeous day to catch a cab down to Miraflores and spend the day outside and walking around.

We start at Starbucks, where the internet is free and drink prices have reached the numbers we all know are imminent: a soy latte was S./9,50 (US $4-something... but still, pulling out a 10 to pay for coffee takes some getting used to). It's the first time in days that internet has been available so I spend a good hour or two on the remote email connection for Free Wheelchair Mission, composing a detailed email about Friday's experiences. Finally, I hit send and find out that my remote connection has timed out. Message lost. It's almost 2 PM at this point. Forget it. I'm hungry.


We walk a few doors down to Cafe Cafe. I've lasted almost 24 hours without fresh veggies and throw in the towel (I know that I said this wouldn't be a food blog, but Staci keeps taking food pictures with the "Culinary" setting on her camera. And honestly? Food is a bloody EVENT here. It's all that people do! So you get food pictures. Sorry).

We all have vegetables. I've been eating veggies for a week and haven't been sick at all. In fact, I feel better now than during my prep period of trying to eat meat to get ready... and everything is SO fresh here. They don't have the means to chock it full of preservatives so there's an obscene amount of flavor in everything. Food will not be the same coming home. I'm trying to mentally prepare.

We hang out, laugh- meals are a 2 hour ordeal here; the servers don't bring your check until you ask for it. People take their time. Sit and savor and enjoy their food and the company. It's easy to observe and fall into step with this easy going lifestyle. Weekends feel like weekends here, people move a bit more slowly (unless they're driving, at which point the attempts to create explosions are ceaseless). Outside there seems to be more color, more music, and an overall easier pace.


It's early evening by the time we leave the cafe and head out into the main square to scope things out a bit before walking the mile or so to the coast. The walk is cool and the closer you get to the water, the cleaner the air gets- breathing becomes a different process and you realize how much substance has accumulated in your lungs in the city. It's intense.

Once we're by the water, it's like being in a totally different place. The street that we take down to the coast stops right at the Parque de los Enamorados (Lover's Park) on the cliffs of Chorrillos overlooking the Pacific.

The park is enclosed within a labyrinth of waist-high tiled mosaic walls bearing romantic quotes. In the center, raised up on a platform from a pool of water is "El Beso" by Victor Delfin, a statue of two lovers embracing in an epic kind of kiss. It is said that couples compete for the honor of "longest kiss" under this statue.



The sculpture celebrates the lovers who gather to catch the sunset on the waters of the Pacific Ocean. During the few moments we trolled around, there were 2 weddings being photographed and by sunset all of the families and dog walkers had been replaced by couples- young and old- with no reservations about being openly affectionate with one another.



We stay until just before sundown, but catch a cab back to our hostel to arrive before dark. There is a big soccer game today (Peru v. Argentina) and we have followed it throughout the afternoon. It's getting intense in the car ride home and our driver (the best we've had the whole trip- even at this point) explains to us how things have been progressing.



We're invested enough at this point to pile on Lisa's bed and watch the rest of the game when we arrive back at the hostel. The game has been given 2 minutes of overtime. In right at 91 minutes, Peru scores to tie. You can hear cheers from the WHOLE hostel- above, below.... it's hilarious. Then their defense gets sloppy, Argentina scores and the game ends. Sunday is full of cranky Peruvians.

I'm learning to love television here. They play their reruns in order. So tomorrow's rerun of FRIENDS Season 3 will be the episode that follows whatever played today. It's nice! And watching English movies with Spanish subtitles is educational. 

We finish watching the game, half of Star Wars Episode 1, and a show about the food around Egypt.

Our hostel is bloody freezing and the moisture from the shower in the morning has crept into all of the linens. It smells like mildew (though the girls' rooms smells like mothballs, a problem with which I am not burdened-- and I say all of this now only because we were moved to another hotel today. So its funny in retrospect. The used Q-tip stuck to Lisa's headboard is hilarious to me...) and whenever someone slams the door, all of the windows shudder. Every window in the building has giant X's marked on them in packing tape. Our guess is that this is to prevent them from shattering when this occurs.

THIS is my foreign country adventure and I have no regrets, dammit!



Sunday is mellow. We go to church and wear headsets for the English translation. The volume wreaks havoc on my eardrums and when I try to turn the volume down, I accidentally change the station instead. So the first third of the service is Spanish sports and random music (their local stations still play U2, Queen, and Sheryl Crow). Everyone is very kind and it's definitely a different experience from what I am used to expecting from a church service. It's big and crazy-high-energy with a giant choir and lots of hand raising. Definitely an experience to remember. Everyone was very kind.

Paulo is "assigned" to us for the afternoon and he decides to take us somewhere interesting: Miraflores! We delicately break the news that we've ventured this-a-way on our own and so there's no real alternative plan. We head down to a pier-side shopping center, eat at Chili's and walk the mile or so to the Inka Market.

I'm not used to wearing closed toed shoes (or shoes at all, really...) and we have to stop at a botica on the way to buy a fist full of band aids to wrap around my toes which are NOT faring well in confinement.

The Inka Market is pretty great- like an indoor swapmeet of flutes and alpaca scarves and fertility figurines doing unspeakable things. I did not photograph these things and did not purchase anything this time around. Lisa and Staci have a few more people on their gift lists, but I have to travel to Cuzco again before I head home and don't feel like carting things around the country. It's fun to see, though and the people are a blast to watch.


Kids are absurdly adorable here. Cherub faces and no shame. They just stare at you in wonder.

Well... they stare at ME in wonder because I'm a pale blond and 5 inches taller than 80% of the population. Adults stare, too. It's somehow not as cute.

We have an early morning Monday, so we call it a pretty early day so that I have time to head back and re-write the long and detailed email that was deleted at Starbucks on Saturday. Workin'. No place for that on this blog.

This is a party blog, ya'll.

Clearly.

Oh- I did laundry on Sunday. By plugging my shower with an ashtray.



This experiment does not work, by the way... due to an inability to DRY the clothes. The room is too cold for it to happen naturally. We paid for a lavanderia today.

But I felt empowered for a while on Sunday. Fully prepared to face the week ahead.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Rapido recap: Friday 10-09-09


I know, I know, I know. Late. But don't rush me! I promise to make it up to you with this quick series of posts: that include photos! Bravisimo!

Friday. 10-9-09

Cesar picks us up and we head Camino de Vida's office. The wheelchairs that we were supposed to be assembling arrived to port late and are further delayed because, as it turns out, Thursday was a national holiday. We won't have the wheelchairs until Tuesday so we'll be tagging along with Irina, the Physical Therapist hired for the study, to do home to home evaluations of potential wheelchair recipients. Then, we'll return to the office, regroup, and come up with a game plan for the rest of the week.

It's early. There's been (as yet) no internet, no plan, no coffee... oh, and it's rush hour.

Let me tell you just a very little bit about traffic in Lima: a figurative crash course on driving in any number of developing countries:

About 2% of the cars on the road are privately owned 'family' vehicles as we understand the term. Taxi drivers own their cars, but that doesn't count for our purposes. There are tons of taxis- an army of battered and beaten Hondas and Nissans with glowing signs. Rust buckets that have never been smogged- EVER. A few companies have standard fleet cars in uniform green or yellow however, much like those cabs that can provide you a receipt for your fare, it's a luxury that will double the cost of transit. So you cross your fingers and hope for the best. The windows need to roll up and the doors need to lock. IF you have those things, you're doing pretty well.


I've not yet made up my mind about seat belts. While American common sense (oxymoron?) tells me to wear one for my safety, I'm also concerned that- when the car inevitably smashes into a bus and goes rolling through lanes of freeway traffic- wearing a seat belt will trap me in the fiery wreckage.

Well, it'd go rolling through lanes of traffic if there were lanes.

Which there aren't.

There are no lanes, and therefore, no signaling to *change* lanes. Because they don't exist. Instead, car horns are used as a means of communication: "I'm behind you" "I'm going to pass you" "Don't change lanes, I'm here in your blind spot with 3 American tourists closing their eyes and holding hands -- all but singing Kumbaya, really-- in the back seat". It is not uncommon to find yourself in a small sedan with a big rig so close, you couldn't open the passenger door to escape should the need arise and a dozen commuter busses cutting one another off while coming up right behind you from an on ramp.

Driving is a big, country-wide game of Chicken and it's not just the drivers and passengers who get to play; the pedestrians join right in!

I'll return to Friday morning for the perfect example: we were merging into an impromptu intersection of semi-trucks, cabs, and public busses packed to capacity with passengers (they slow down near the side of the road, open their doors, and interested parties will run and jump into the moving vehicle, assisted by the passenger nearest the door, who holds his hand out as the van slows, to pull the merry travelers aboard). There was honking, a mass of near side-swiping, cutting off, swerving and then... in a brief moment of cleared traffic:

Jaywalkers. In the middle of the whole thing. Carrying an blanket wrapped infant.

While stopped in bumper to bumper though, somehow, no less reckless traffic, street vendors snake their way between the cars selling fresh fruit and candy and tapping on windows. Yesterday there was a kid juggling right up to the windows of vans and cars, asking for money.

In the interest of time, I'll move ahead.

We arrive, unscathed, to the Camino de Vida offices where we meet the rest of the staff- some of whom I have been emailing for 2 years. This is not the first time I've had this experience: meeting people face to face only after years of developing a connection via email. You know that somewhere, in their own way, these other people are pouring themselves into the work for which you and the people you know care so much... but you have no idea who the "selves" are. Then, suddenly, you do. They're in the same room with you and it's like you always knew them.

Some people thrill seek. Adrenaline junkies who live to almost die. This is my thing, I think... and I'm not sure what to call it, but I don't think it's a feeling that I'll ever tire of.

Irina, Paulo, Lisa, Staci and I jump back into the van and head into city. On the way we acquire Sylvia, a social worker for this particular district of Lima who knows the cases that we will be seeing and has filed the recommendations for wheelchairs.

As I describe our experience going house to house and screening recipients, I'm going to utilize the blog to talk about the experiences. Not so much about the results. While our last visit of the day wasn't fruitful in terms of our study or our mission, the hour that we spent with the family was the take-away expereince of the day. Those are the things I plan to share. But, to start:

First house: locked up. The family was gone for the day, the neighbors informed us. Back on the bus.

Second house: Upon entering, each of us was greeted with a "gracias" and a handshake. The potential recipient had been bedridden for 2 years after being hit by a car. She broke her hip but medical care was too expensive. Ultimately she wouldn't have been able to sit in a wheelchair without intense pain, but we didn't get that far. This old woman- clearly proud- shouted her adult son and our therapists out of her room. I was in the front, examining her existing wheelchair, when the general vibe of "let's go- NOW" carried the lot of us right out the door. The son apologized profusely and we assured him that it was fine. I left feeling worse for him than I did for his righteous mother. The woman knew what she wanted and didn't want. You have to respect that. Helpless she was not.

For our next visits, we park a few blocks away. The streets are closed for a market. We push through browsing shoppers, mototaxis, vendors and stray dogs- at a jog the whole way. I am aware, for the first time, that we attract a hell of a lot of attention.

Booths of fresh produce are torturous- though my angst is minimal compared to the morbid fascination I have with the booths of fresh chicken: plucked and hanging in rows, raw, swarming with flies. At some booths, the heads have been cut off entirely, leaving only a body and feet. At other booths, the head remains with the eyes removed, and an evident slit at the throat.



Third house: 7 year-old Claudia has severe Cerebral Palsy. While the left side of her body is limp and hardly functions, her right side is spastic and uncontrolled. She arches backward using the muscles on the right side of her abdomen, bending into a C shape. Her right leg seems to be a separate entity; it drifts up and back toward her head of its own accord. She is incredibly elastic on this side of her body. Claudia's mother walks around greeting everyone with a handshake and a kiss on the cheek. She picks her daughter up and tours the room, holding her wrist to help her wave to everyone. This girl is precious, with a big sleepy smile and eyes that wander around the room until she locks onto a face- then that grin. 

The visit didn't last especially long; Claudia wasn't able to sit and wouldn't have been helped by a wheelchair. If anything, being restrained may have hurt her. The hypertense spasms and lack of control in her little body made it virtually impossible for her to stay in a seated position. We were there for about 45 minutes and by the end, with all of the attention and exercise, she was already trying to roll to the side and fall asleep.

Fourth house: further running through the market to reach this destination a couple blocks away. Ofila is 60 and lives with her daughter. She has gone blind from diabetes and has sores on her legs. With assistance she can manage only about 3 small steps. We are told that she falls and injures herself almost once a month. But she's chatty and sweet, has a decent range of motion available to her with minimal pain in moving and reaching and it seems that we've finally found someone that may truly benefit from our help. Irina holds her hand and explains that she must squeeze as hard as she can: "Fuerte! Fuerte! Fuerte! Mas fuerte!"

Ofeila complies, but is suppressing a giggle fit. She won't ever be able to push herself around, due to her lack of vision, with enough strength she will be able to help propel the chair- a great help to whoever is pushing her.

At the end of the assessment, Ofila's daughter brings out a tray of Inka Kola- I've been waiting for this. I am prepared for what I've been told is one of the most disgustingly sweet beverages on the planet. Saccharine sweet and a yellow color that makes Mountain Dew seem bland. The billboards are everywhere. The grocery store sells 2-packs of 3 Litre bottles and, apparently, it's repulsive.

Okay.

This stuff is delicious.

Very very sweet. No mistake there. And I certainly wouldn't want to drink it at every meal like so many of the locals do- but it's good!! It smells like bubble gum and tastes like Red Bull Kola... but without keeping you up for hours. I will absolutely stand by my defense of this beverage. Viva la Inka Kola!

The last visit is to a house further up in the hills. Junelly is 18 years old and was hit by a car when she was 12. She and her family continue to feel the effects of this injury. When we arrive, it is clear that Jinelly will not benefit from one of our wheelchairs. She is already in a chair to begin with- and it is better suited to her than ours would be. But the family starts showing us photo albums and serves Coke and tells us about her accident and the therapies they've invested in to try to help their daughter. She is the only child.

Her mother is very proud of her and seems to have an endless supply of photo albums, documenting her injury-free childhood, her hospital stay, therapies afterward-- Junelly is giving a thumbs-up in almost every. single. picture. It's her thing.

Her father-- I don't know that words can describe how utterly crazy this man is about his little girl. Sylvia, the social worker, explains to us that he makes and invents everything for her. He goes to work all day and then comes home to work on projects to make her life easier. The table top that fits snugly on top of her current wheelchair- devices and contraptions that are just off the wall.

My favorite was the dress he built for her Quince Anos (Latin celebration of Sweet 15)- a large hoop skirt to allow room for a rolling walker. Junelly had her full procession for the church service, stood by her cake, danced with her relatives. They have nothing but they give EVERYTHING for her.


Junelly tells us that she wants to get married. She really really likes my hair. We take pictures.

Irina heads back to the office while we grab lunch with Paulo. My first full day in Peru includes lunch in a mall food court. Chinese food (which actually DOES have a place here. There are very prevalent Chinese influences in Peruvian cuisine. A history lesson for another day).

We return to Camino de Vida. Formulate a plan for the upcoming week and discuss the pertinent needs for the next couple of days until we all meet again.

("How do you say politely in Spanish 'my room smells like mothballs' ?")

Watched Star Wars Ep. 1 in English with Spanish subtitles. I may not be able to manage my way around the Ecuadorian consulate, Vanessa, but I *will* be able to quote pivotal pieces of pop culture. (*No one puts baby in the corner*)

We may have had dinner. I don't really remember. I think I passed out.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Post-dating, 10.08.09

Effusive apologies for the delay. Nouns along the lines of: 'flexibility', 'patience', and 'humor' don't broach the surface of what's required to survive a day in this place without caffeine. It's surreal and occasionally shocking, but even the most unsavory of sights and sensations are reduced to nothing when compared to the hospitality and warmth of the people. To explain further would be to jump immediately into the activities of today (which, by the time I post this on Saturday will be *yesterday*- Friday) so, instead, let's start back on Thursday at the airport:

My flight was scheduled to leave at 2 AM. Kate and I arrived to LAX a few minutes after midnight to find the entire terminal more or less deserted. Well, the entire terminal EXCEPT the line to check in at Copa. So we waited; mused about people sleeping on the terminal floor; noted the sound tracking ("The Impossible Dream" as interpreted by Muzak).

I'd checked in online, so this wait was for the sake of baggage: 1 average sized, not-too-heavy rolling suitcase of clothing and 1 industrial strength gear bag made for professional racers, weighing 112 lbs and carrying a spool of 750+ yards of cord, power tool kit, air compressor, 4 packages of zip ties, heat knife, DVD player, and box of about 50 seat belts... and turned out to only be 12 pounds over the weight limit.


Guess how much 12 pounds is worth to Copa?

US$100.

But all is well, I check in and power right through security just as boarding beings at 1:30AM.

Flight proceeds as follows:

1:30 AM - Boarding the plane. It's amazing how everyone on this flight is my age. It would seem our layover hub is a nexus for those traveling to Chile, Ecuador, Argentina and other places of great and inexpensive adventure in the South American continent. The entire cabin has that very distinctive Hollister smell. I am remotely amused by a young man on the other side of the aisle who flags down a flight attendant to say "sir, this was under one of the seats". He hands the woman an airtight plastic bag on what appears to be a red leash.

It's his flotation device.

Dear god, don't let this man be responsible for the nearest emergency exit.

2:00 AM - Taxi and take off

2:10 AM - Drugs

7:00 AM - "Breakfast" (I think that's what it was...) during which I did get to watch the movie "UP" in Spanish. This meal is followed by rapid clean up and a near immediate landing at 8:30 or so. Which is now 10:30 because we are in Panama City.

8:30/ 10:30 AM - Landing in Panama.

The Panama City airport is a giant duty-free emporium that seems to service airlines, too. However, air travel does not seem to be the main purpose of this mall. What remains burned in my mind, though, is the kiosk exclusively dedicated to hot dogs and hot dog related paraphernalia. Head down and eyes averted, I rush to my gate, find coffee, and strike up a conversation with the only other English speaker on the flight: an Australian named Dave. Business (petrol) dictated my new friend's 2 month residence in Peru, to whence he was returning after a brief trip to Panama before finally heading home to Brisbane. The plane boards and we do not sit next to one another, but this man will save my life by directing me through the Lima airport in 5 hours.

9:00/ 11:00 AM - Boarding. I discover that my pre-selected aisle seat has been commandeered by the old Peruvian woman who SHOULD be sitting in seat 6B. That's B as in 'between A and C". She is pretending to sleep. She continues to pretend to sleep until I have resigned and settled into the center seat. Then she wakes as though from a dream - a happy dream of passive aggressive triumph and the not-so-subtle manipulation of tourists. I still attempt to get my seat back- the 6C on my ticket is in English, however, and she does not understand. Is totally aloof. I suspect she may be part llama.

9:30/11:30 AM Drugs

1:00/ 3:00 PM - Landing in Lima, Peru. Aussie Dave is kind enough direct me to the 'queue' where I'll need to get my passport okay'ed. At the baggage carousel, he assists in the wrangling my anvil filled luggage, and continues to be superb by explaining what documents to give to the waiting customs officials who are yelling at everyone that approaches them. If you already have your documents in hand and can make their lives easier, it turns out they don't yell at you. My guide takes a separate line through customs and I do not see him again.

Wherever you are: Thanks, Dave.

Happiest ending: I am green-lit through customs, no one questions the bags I am toting (the contents of which might have allowed me to take the entire country hostage), and I suddenly understand how sneaky, fake-sleeping, seat-stealing Peruvian lady must have felt: I am a subversive, victorious GODDESS!!

This miracle is all my doing, I have decided. My dormant survival wiles have finally kicked in.

Out front, I am waved down by Lisa and Staci, the DPTs from Azusa Pacific University who will be my companions during this medical study. They are with Paulo, of Camino de Vida, who helps us with our bags and gets us to the bus.

We arrive to our hostel, where Lisa and Staci have the double room next to my single. The rooms are nice, comfortable, and simple. We unpack, unwind. I watch The Little Rascals in Spanish. We go to dinner with Cesar, another CdV staff member, and call it an early night. Heading back to the hostel, I decide to email my friends and loved ones to let them know I've arrived safely. This hostel, according to its website, has a business center and is laptop accessible.

The business center is set up on a coffee table. It's the most brilliant thing I've ever seen.



The internet filters through this CAT5 modem cable, which is dropped from the phoneline outside, strung through an open door and plugged into this ancient CPU. So old that, instead of writing emails, you're suddenly overcome with the desire to play Oregon Trail and have recess. (We've since been told that this method of wiring means it's being stolen from neighbors.)

The laptop accessibility? Why, simply unplug the cable from the CPU and hook up your own machine of course! Laptops run on modem power, don't they? So-- this is why I didn't write when I arrived.

Let's make Friday a separate post, shall we?

I'm the only laptop-holder of the 3 of us, so this is all quite rushed. Not the literary genius I'd hoped to be able to offer you... I'm going to post up about Friday and then mass the computer off to Lisa and Staci so they can check in with their own people.

TBC...