This philosophy has never rung more true in my life than over the last week. I am on vacation from volunteering in Santiago right now, traveling through Peru and Bolivia. Lesson of the week: the more you see the more you realize you haven’t seen.

I have truly developed a new passion for traveling and seeing what the rest of the world has to offer, for better or worse. Originally the trip was going to consist of one destination, the infamous Machu Picchu. But I was going to be so close to the Uyuni Salt Flats, and to not stop would be a travesty. (Of course I wanted to get the oh so coveted pictures of the vast salt desert with the distorted depth perception.)  Then one traveler recommended a couple of beautiful cities on the way to Machu Picchu that are a “must see,” Arequipa and Cusco in Peru. Another traveler recommended a stop in La Paz, the capital of Bolivia, on our way to Uyuni. Of course, there was a multitude of other suggestions but we had to be realistic with our time and money constraints.

Traveling to developing countries doesn’t come without sacrifices to your health, your pocket book and your well-being, but it is most definitely worth it. So far I have had bed bugs in Santiago, elevation sickness in Peru, and food poisoning in Bolivia. That alone sounds like enough to make someone run like Forrest Gump in the opposite direction to the conveniences and pleasantries of home in America. But it’s not. And let’s not forget the pleasure of drying your clothes after they’ve been washed, or a consistently hot shower. Or indoor heating. Or the convenience of putting your dirty toilet paper directly into the toilet. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy these things, but it is still not enough to deter me from wanting more: the joy of helping people less fortunate than yourself, the rush of skiing in the Andes, the accomplishment of climbing Machu Picchu, and a view from the top that is more than enough. But even better, the thought of sharing it all with the person you love brings new meaning to the beauty.

It looks like my time in Chile, Peru and Bolivia is only the beginning of new discoveries. Thanks, Lao Tse for pointing out everything I don’t know.

Lindsey Chapman is currently traveling. When she returns, her next posts will cover things to see and do (and their cost) in Peru and Bolivia.

Imagine this but without the colors. Just lound noise.

Most people enjoy fireworks. Not only are they a great example of light traveling faster than sound but they also symbolize fiestas. However, the fuegos artificiales in Cusco are a little different. Rather than being used to signify the beginning of a party, they are instead used to disrupt sleeping patterns. There are few nights that I have gone to bed without hearing the beginnings of what I am certain is a coup d’état.

For some reason, and I have yet to figure it out, people love exploding them at night. It’s kind of like how telemarketers know when you are eating dinner to make their calls; the firecrackers are held in abeyance until it’s bedtime. Then, just as it is time to close your eyes, the revelry begins.

I have a weird relationship with these firecrackers. Part of me hates them. Who in their right mind feels the need to set them off when it’s time for bed? But part of me feels like I will miss them. It’s kind of like the tone deaf performers who walk into the pollerías and scrub seashells together to make a beat. They are terribly annoying and always expect a tip. But I’ll miss them nonetheless.

My trip in Cusco is rapidly coming to an end and I am beginning to feel a certain nostalgia for all things Peru. I know when I am back at school eating a bagel at Collegetown Bagels and a band is performing, I will wish for nothing more than some obnoxious firecrackers and tone deaf singers.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

1. Preparing the Students

A recurring problem with NGOs, especially those that work with kids, is the “revolving door” of volunteers. That is, many who come to dedicate their time only have the ability to stay for a few weeks or months, which can be emotionally wrenching for the kids they mentor. Children become quickly attached to adults, and it is difficult for them to see those they love yanked from their lives so suddenly and with such frequency.

Thus, it is imperative that kids are notified of your upcoming departure with ample anticipation. In our case, we sat each group of girls down and explained that, while we would miss them dearly, it was time for us to return to the United States. We then said that there would be two new, very nice and fun profes coming to take our place, and gave the girls a chance to ask about their new teachers. At our battered teen women’s home, where the young mothers already have abandonment issues, this talk was especially important.

2. Prepping the New Program Managers

Last month we sent out a handbook to the new Program Managers. This contained information regarding where we work, how to get there, school contact info, and sample lesson plans. In editing the handbook, we aimed at providing enough specifics to give a comprehensive picture of our work, yet tried not to overwhelm them with unnecessary details.

As the new PMs will not only be learning the ropes of a new job, but also getting used to a new city and life in a developing country, it is useful to include in the handbook basic information about the city. Additionally, every year our bosses in the States send the new PMs a book on the history of Peru, in order to provide them with some cultural and political context of the country in which they will be living.

Most importantly, when introducing the new Program Managers to students and all school administrators, they should already be well schooled in the organization’s daily functions. The more confident and prepared they are, the smoother your transition will be.

Kimberly is currently serving as Program Manager for GirlSportWorks, a US-based NGO that seeks to enhance the lives of Peruvian girls through athletics.

The best part of my job with Arariwa is that I get to travel around to different pueblos and interview small-scale entrepreneurs. Most of the time it’s fairly monotonous. I ask the same questions and receive the same answers, más o menos. Every so often, I interview socios who really open up and share their inspiring stories with me.

This past Tuesday, I traveled to Calca where I met Milagros and Hector. For the past seven years, they have been running a children’s school in the town named after Thomas Alva Edison. Milagros and Hector work tirelessly to increase the sustainability and value of the school. Like most colegios in Peru the school charges a fee. Some families cannot afford to pay the 190-sol ($66 dollar) monthly price promptly. To combat this frequent lack of funds, Hector and Milagros take out microloans to pay their teachers.

Hector, a science teacher, does not receive a salary. Milagros, who serves as the director as well as a history teacher, earns 1100 soles a month or about $385 dollars. They have recently started an adult education program. These night classes focus on the value of healthy diets, exercise and the need to oversee their children’s homework. When I was there, the room was full with parents. The school also has the largest library in the area with over 300 books.

When I told them that they were doing great things and were an inspiration to me, Hector scoffed. He told me that Edison invented the light bulb and that they have a long way to go to reach that sort of monumental effect. Anyone that is using Edison as a barometer of success clearly has the right intentions.

Visiting Calca reaffirmed the importance of this trip for me. I am encountering people who, with very little resources, are making a profound difference. Milagros and Hector were an inspiration to me and a testament to the significance of microloans.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

“Are you in a rush? The fifth graders have something they want to ask you.”

Lauren and I were led into one of the classrooms, a dingy space with molding ceilings that doubles as a storage room for onions and potatoes. The fifteen girls were seated in a semi-circle, and facing them sat two chairs for us. One of the girls stood up.

“Would you do the honor of being the madrinas of the graduating fifth grade class?”

“Yeah, of course, thank you,” we accepted. Unfamiliar with the concept of a madrina, in reality we hadn’t the slightest idea of what the title entailed.

The girls cheered.

Lauren teaching English at Pacca school

Our faces must have betrayed the confusion we felt, because the teacher hesitatingly began an explanation.

“The madrinas usually collaborate in a gift. The girls want to have a big party in December.” We asked how much they needed. “Eight hundred soles,” she responded.

My confusion at once turned to indignation. 800 soles, or $280 USD, is a hefty sum for a party by both Peruvian standards and my own. Didn’t they know that as an NGO worker, I hadn’t saved any money this year? Were they not grateful for the many hours I dedicated to teaching them sports and English, free of charge? Was their level of affection for us simply a function of the amount of money we could hand over? I don’t want to end my time at Pacca on a sour note, but I couldn’t help but leave that day with a bad taste in my mouth.

In Cusco, the misconception persists that all foreigners, especially those from the United States, are wealthy. And, based on their interactions with tourists, we are. Gringos wear expensive clothing, overpay for taxis without blinking an eye, and pull money out of our pockets as if the supply were never-ending. So, my girls must assume that $280 for a party would be no big sacrifice for me.

I guess I can’t fault my girls for these misguided perceptions. I just hope that, in the end, the friendships I formed with them have been genuine, that they like me for more than my supposed money, and that they will somehow understand when I say I cannot pay for their party.

Kimberly is currently serving as Program Manager for GirlSportWorks, a US-based NGO that seeks to enhance the lives of Peruvian girls through athletics. For more on misconceptions of foreigners, check out “Living the High Life (and not even knowing it)” by Kent Green.

Menu del Día: Depending on where it is bought, this standard lunch costs anywhere from 3-soles to 4-soles. When you pay 4-soles, you feel like you are getting scammed a little bit. Either there should be enough food to leave you feeling uncomfortably full or it has to be absolutely delicious. Most of the time it’s neither. You get a sopa with a large potato and a few chicken toes and nails; a segundo, which is the main course generally the rest of the chicken and a refreshing chicha morada, a maiz based drink.

La Sopa (chicken feet included)

Combis: No matter where you are in the city, the rides cost 60 centimos. As mentioned in a previous blog post, I am partial to Batman and generally have to wait so I can ride with the Dark Knight.

Taxis: There is a fixed rate in the city. During the day, rides cost 2.50-soles and at night they cost 3.00-soles. Sometimes cab drivers get cheeky and try to charge more. If you are leaving a discoteca they might try to charge 8-soles. A simple response of, “Vivo acá, no me robes” (I live here, don’t rob me) should suffice. The taxi drivers love that.

Chocolate: A Sublime (pronounced soo-blee-may) chocolate bar costs 1-sol exactly. I average about two a day.

Tutoring Lessons: I’ve been fortunate to take lessons with the world’s greatest tutor, Yesenia. They cost 20-soles/hour. She comes to my apartment with a full lesson plan and homework. We talk about everything from politics in Cusco to the imperfect subjunctive. The best thing about these lessons is that they are all in Spanish. Yesenia no habla inglés.

Ceviche: We have a semi-weekly outing to Olas Bravas to get the world’s best ceviche. It costs everyone 18-soles each and we order enough delicious food that leaves us feeling uncomfortably full.

Apartment: My apartment in the professional Magisterio neighborhood costs $90/month. I share the place with two others and we have a full kitchen (although all of our appliances electrically shock us), a living room with a bookshelf, and a bathroom with hot water.

A Cusqueña: Although it might be a stretch to label Cusqueña Cusco’s premier beer, it is certainly found everywhere. At a bar, expect to pay about 10-soles for a 650ml pint. There is a certain rule, which we all ascribe to here, and that is that it is always happy hour. If we do not want beer, we usually order two mojitos for the happy hour special of 20-soles.

I might be a little rusty on Maslow’s hierarchy of necessities but I’m fairly certain that shelter, chocolate, beer, food, tutoring and combi rides fit in there somewhere.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

Young Cusqueñans from the city center, all non-Quechua speakers.

A stark contrast exists between my students who live in the Cusco city center and those who live in the rural Anta region, located 45 minutes by car outside of Cusco. In Anta, all of the girls are fluent in Quechua, the language group spoken primarily by indigenous people of the South American Andes. While classes there are taught strictly in Castellano, Quechua becomes the lingua franca when conversing with friends. However, when I ask my girls who live within the city whether they speak Quechua, I receive a resounding “no” from the group. Most say, though, that their parents or grandparents do speak the language.

To me, it seemed strange that while Quechua is still widely spoken in the rural outskirts of Cusco, its use is rapidly deteriorating within the younger generation of city dwellers. That such a wide gap is evident within a small geographic radius is peculiar.

I started asking around, and community members confirmed my observations that Quechua spoken in cities was on the decline. Some also provided insight as to the causes of this trend, and the results from a quick Google search agreed with their suspicions. The UCLA Language Project Materials site states that “In Cuzco…a large percentage of those less than 35 years old understand [Quechua] but are reluctant to speak it…Quechua native speakers in the big cities consider speaking the language as an admission of undesirably low social background.”

This helps explain why city parents are failing to pass the language onto their children: Quechua speakers are associated with campesinos, or country people, and those who move to the city do not want to associate with this kind of peasant life. Over the past decade Cusco has experienced rapid economic growth fueled by tourism, which may explain why these trends are appearing only with the current generation. Now, the reasons for this language decline are certainly more complex than these, but it is clear is that the stigmatization of the Quechua language is a contributing factor.

These facts beg the following questions: What, if anything, should be done to prevent this loss of language within the city? Because Quechua is still widely spoken in the countryside, is it even a worthwhile cause to prevent its city decline? Is this simply a natural and inevitable consequence of a country’s development, or should programs be started to reduce the stigma of Quechua speakers in an effort to preserve its use? And, if so, who is responsible for implementing and funding these programs? These are conversations that need to be started here in Cusco, yet no one seems to be talking.

Kimberly is currently serving as Program Manager for GirlSportWorks, a US-based NGO that seeks to enhance the lives of Peruvian girls through athletics.

The day began like any other. We planned to meet at 11 a.m. to walk up the mountain. Naturally, people did not begin arriving until two hours later. By 2 p.m., we finally made it to our destination. The Peruvians who had accompanied us immediately began to construct our cooking furnaces. Like any friendly gathering, a competition began based on which team could build the best huatia. There was no real winner as everyone became more fascinated with the endless amounts of Inca Kola, perhaps the soda with the most sugar in the world.

Adam putting the finishing touches on the huatia.

No meal here in Peru is complete without a side of potatoes. Peruvians are absolute magicians when it comes to cooking any sort of papas and the huatia event was no different. After about 45 minutes, we all sat down together to eat our potatoes and trucha. The trout was seasoned perfectly; anything tastes better with a little bit of dirt.

We followed the meal with an event that would make third grade boys in gym class pee themselves with excitement. The game was called mata gente, which translates to “kill people.” Simply put, the game consists of two circles with one team on the outside and the other team forming an inner ring. The teams were divided in the fairest way imaginable, boys vs. girls. Imagine the second circle being only five feet behind the first and having a dodgeball to peg at the opposing team. That is mata gente. I think without much extrapolation, it’s easy to guess which team won. By the end of it, the women were on the sideline nursing their injuries. It was very Lord of the Flies-esque to see how quickly the men degenerated into absolute animals. Like I said, a third grade boy would have drooled at the chance to peg his crush with a dodgeball.

The event ended with the sunset. After taking in one last view of the valley, we packed up our belongings and left. The women hobbled home and we men patted ourselves on the back for our victory. Easily enough, we left our stoves right where they were to be used for the next afternoon huatia event.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

This phenomenon occurred most recently at the supermarket. I was scanning the pasta aisle for whole-wheat spaghetti or something equally mundane, when a blue box caught my eye. A jingle suddenly entered my head, and before I could even hum “I’ve got the blues,” the Kraft package was in the cart. Now, I can’t even remember the last time I’d eaten Kraft Mac and Cheese prior to this year; the electric orange powder has always repulsed me. In the supermarket and surrounded by foreign brands, though, I felt drawn to the familiarity of the item.

Based on experiences I’ve had with other long-term travelers, it doesn’t seem that my case is unique. In February I met up with my college roommate in Chile, who was halfway into a six-month blitz around the continent. I can say with confidence that it had been a number of years since either of us had stepped into a McDonalds establishment back home. However, walking past the big yellow “M” one afternoon, we both felt pulled towards the overpowering smell of grease emanating from its kitchens.

I’ll be the first to lament the fact that American brands, especially products like Kraft and McDonalds, have seeped their way into foreign markets and stamped their presence onto the streets of South America. Nostalgia manifests itself in strange ways, though, and sometimes the consumption of a familiar product, despite the repugnance it would normally induce in you at home, is just the craving you need to satisfy: trans-fat laden, cardiac arrest producing, and oh-so-comforting.

Kimberly is currently serving as Program Manager for GirlSportWorks, a US-based NGO that seeks to enhance the lives of Peruvian girls through athletics. For more on home comforts, check out “Paging Maintenance, We Have a Crisis in Aisle 4″ by Kent Green.

Most of the time public bathrooms charge a nominal fee, something like 20 centimos for men and 30 centimos for women. Some aspects of life are easy to budget; others are a little more difficult. Eating only rice and beans is a viable option to save money; “holding it” is not. At times finding a public bathroom is not worth the Spanish practice. A dear friend of mine who visited left the bathroom holding her breath, exclaiming, “They should have paid me to use it.” Hyperbole aside, sometimes it would be nice to have a diaper.

Standard bathroom

Cusco has certain streets that are respectfully known as “Piss-Alleys.” This is where people go to pee when they do not feel like paying. The city was party central for the eve of Inti Raymi. No one went to work and everyone began partying in the morning, kind of like at Cornell when the weather gets nice. By 8:00 p.m, everyone was a little borracho. The government here in Cusco had installed what should have been enough port-o-potties. Towards the end of the night, everyone had given up on using the port-o-potties and instead urinated on them. Walking home reminded me of being a little kid and balancing to avoid the burning lava. Instead, this lava was urine and it was real.

Lessons learned: Everyone likes potty humor, men have it much easier than woman, stone walls and stone streets are acceptable venues to urinate on and there is a certain ineffable beauty to just peeing on a tree.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.