I traveled into the Sacred Valley to visit Will “KB” Janecek, a Minnesotan that has been running a hostel and giving mountain bike tours in Peru for seven years.  So, as exploring new ruins and culture with a mountain bike was my stated goal for the trip, KB seemed like the man to see.  I arrived in the evening and found him hunched over his laptop in the lobby of his hostel, “I’m on a skype call, I’ll be right with you.”  On the walls, photos of various pro riders that have visited the area are prominently displayed as well as the 2006 NYT travel section piece on Ollantaytambo that mentions KB and his hostel. “Damn it, five years too late!” I thought.  Sitting down in his comfortable sofa, after the obligatory introductions, we planned a ride for the following day.

As we wound back and forth on rough switchbacks up the Camino Willoq, bottoming out the dated Toyota wagon, KB was chattering non-stop; “Peru is raw… I mean sure it’s developing, changing faster than ever before, but at the same time, new ruins are being discovered every day, so you can still have the same experience, or better, as your grandfather had here 80 years ago because ruins have been exposed that previous generations have never seen. For example, these ruins here, they are being excavated and cleaned slowly by the local population, and the government tried to charge for entry to them, for two years they charged a fee to enter here, but now they are free — that is good news for us as mountain bikers.”

As I watched the last rays of sun illuminate crumbling grain storage structures while riding on top of the Inca agricultural terraces of Pumamarca, I pondered this contradiction.  Here, the constant discovery of ruins contrasts with the simultaneous abandonment of certain sites and Inca roads.  Inca roads and ruins reveal themselves, but are then often forgotten, drifting into cultural memory.  We stopped along our decent into the lush Urubamba valley and KB pointed to an overgrown trail and told me he needs to change his story. “At first I had to say that this was a newly discovered Inca trail that only we were riding, now look at it, it’s abandoned, we haven’t ridden it recently and neither has anyone else.” My imagination ran wild in the endless riding.

Philip Dixon is an English literature teacher in Ecuador and a devoted mountain biker. For more information on him, check out his blog.

However, despite my childlike wonder at the forgotten conveniences of the developed world, nostalgia for Peru has already started to sink in.

As I think back on the year and my memories begin to sweeten and solidify into easily rehashed anecdotes, I have a few pieces of advice for fellow travelers and expats-to-be. As Baz Luhrmann says in the graduation speech Wear Sunscreen, “Advice is a form of nostalgia,” and indeed, these suggestions all stem from my sweetest memories abroad.

#1. See the tourist attractions, but realize that these will not be your most culturally enriching experiences. Though you may gain interesting knowledge from a tour guide at historical ruins, you will learn ten times more from the lady in braids and a top hat who sells eggs on the street. Talk to all the locals you can.

#2. Eat with abandon. You will get sick and there’s no avoiding it, so sample every street food that tempts you and drink the fresh-squeezed market juices. If you have plans to take an overnight bus, either disregard this rule or make sure you’re armed with plenty of Immodium.

#3. Travel alone for a period of time. It is empowering to make and carry out your own plans, and it will open the doors to meet interesting people from the world over. Allow for flexibility in your itinerary. You may just want to change your plans and travel with your new friends.

#4. Within reason, do the things that scare you. That terrifying bus ride down the narrow road with a reckless driver will make for a good story later on.

#5. Most importantly, don’t forget the lessons you have learned. In Cusco, I was constantly reminded of my privilege. I had a house with 24-hour electricity and hot water, and a daily change of clean clothes. Many people didn’t. Here at home, it’s easy to forget that most people in the world live on much less than we do. Remember this.

My year in Peru only served to fuel my wanderlust, so I have no doubt that I’ll be abroad again to live and explore. Until then, ¡Adios!

Kimberly just recently finished a volunteer stint as Program Manager for GirlSportWorks, a US-based NGO in Cusco that seeks to enhance the lives of Peruvian girls through athletics.

I will see some of my closest friends in the world, I will be able to take classes that are stressful but relatively inconsequential, it will be summertime, Ithaca will still have its gorges, my shower won’t shock me, I will be able to pet dogs again, and most importantly, I won’t go into cardiac arrest walking up a hill.

As much as I am looking forward to heading home, there are many things I will miss about Peru. A lot of people have asked me if I am ready to come home and part of me is for the reasons listed above. But part of me, the part that needs to be abroad, is grieving the departure. It’s been three months but it’s felt like three days. I’ve learned a lot (see last blog post) but there is still so much left to do. It will be hard to go back to a life with academic responsibilities.

One thing I won't miss: Cuy

I just wished my grandfather a happy 85^th birthday. He asked me how my summer has been which I replied honestly, that it has been best summer of my life. My only complaint is that my summer specifically, and my life more generally, is going incredibly fast. His response: “Jonah, I just turned 85. How fast do you think it’s gone for me?” That put things into perspective. Although I am saying goodbye to Peru now, I know I will come back.

As they say here, “Así es la vida” (such is life). And my life is best when things stay fresh and important. Living in South America has reaffirmed the value of going abroad. I have learned a lot and am eager to once again challenge myself academically. I knew I would have to leave and I’m excited to start my senior year. With that, I can leave Peru. I have eaten my last lomo saltado, taken my last salsa class, and rode in my last combi. It’s been an experience I’ll never forget and always reminisce about fondly. Hasta luego Peru.

Jonah Brill just recently wrapped up a stint volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

The first is the Well-Planned Life. Those who favor it think that young people should determine a clear life purpose early on, and then make life decisions based on these goals to follow a pre-determined life trajectory. The other way can be called the Summoned Self. Here, “Life isn’t a project to be completed, it is an unknowable landscape to be explored.” In this view young people aren’t yet capable of knowing their life purpose. Circumstances such as economic and family obligations should dictate life choices, and a sense of purpose will only emerge over time as knowledge and experience are gained.

To which of these camps I fall into, it’s hard to tell. I haven’t quite figured out a life plan or goal, but I have discovered a few elements necessary for me to be happy in my future work. Helping people in some form or another, doing socially impactful work, and intellectual stimulation are a few. These don’t constitute a Well-Planned life purpose in and of themselves, but I see them as a start.

These goals may seem grand, but reality soon sets in. In just four days I return home, in search of work and with little savings. The job market remains tight and the economy slumped. After cultivating my independence for the past five years I will regress to move back under my parents’ roof and into my childhood bedroom. To avoid this becoming my permanent reality, economic necessity may dictate that I forfeit my work goals and take on a more menial job: one that will send me on a quicker path to financial independence.

Many socially minded young people face this same dilemma: How does one reconcile the desire to do socially impactful work with the economic necessity of securing a livable income?

The Summoned Self creeps in and asks: can I be sure that the goals I deem worthy now will produce happiness in the future? At 23 years old, maybe I’m not capable of knowing. Perhaps sacrificing my idealism for economic security is the right and inevitable thing to do, so I shouldn’t worry so much about values in choosing a job.

Maybe next year, I can take on an unpaid internship that allows me to perform interesting and significant work, and a second job that will pay the bills. Then the paths of the Well-Planned Life and the Summoned Self wouldn’t seem so mutually exclusive.

I don’t know whether I’ll figure out my life purpose in six months or twenty years, but for now I’ll just hope that meaning will emerge somewhere down the line, and pray that I won’t be living with my parents for the rest of my life.

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 musings on life post-experience, check out “Homecoming” by Lizzie LaCroix.

Parked tranquility: a typical Tico taxi in Cusco

During evening rush hour, the experience of traffic in Cusco harkens back to my days of commutes in Los Angeles: tempers flare, the cacophony of ear-piercing car horns pollutes everyone’s sanity, and drivers use dubious maneuvers to inch their ways forward or around the gridlock. As distraction from this claustrophobic chaos is clearly in everyone’s best interest, my cab drivers in Cusco will often solicit me for small talk to pass the time.

It is rare to see a female driver in Cusco, even in a private car, so inevitably my taxi drivers are always male. Should he fall between the ages of eighteen and forty, the predictability of the conversation’s progression is remarkable, and usually plays out in the following way:

The obligatory opening line acknowledges the cold weather overtaking Cusco, to which the respondent agrees that this time of year is, indeed, very cold. After a few more weather-related exclamations, he will usually ask where I’m from. Once a response is procured, the next logical small-talk questions are about, of course, my marital status and whether or not I have children. Talk about getting straight to the point.

If I don’t feel like enshrouding myself in a complex web of lies, there will certainly be further questioning regarding whether I have a Peruvian boyfriend, do I want one, and eventually, “Can I have your number?” The fact that I’m 23 and not thinking about marriage or children often causes confusion.

More recently, I’ve learned to play the good politician and completely ignore the marital inquiry, launching instead into an unrelated topic of my own choosing. I like to pick their brains about their homes and how they came to be taxistas. Some come from cities or towns hours outside of Cusco, but have moved to the city in search of work. Others are students, barely eighteen, who are using their taxi gig to support themselves through college.

Yesterday, I asked my driver if driving around Cusco at this hour didn’t give him anxiety. At this he laughed out loud and grinned widely, then stepped onto the accelerator and swerved briefly into a lane of oncoming traffic. Leaning on his horn to shove his way back into the original line-up, he nearly swiped off the mirror of another taxi, all to gain a position five cars ahead of our previous spot. Classic Cusco.

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 transportation in Latin America, check out “Day in the Life: Morning Commute“; “An Adventurous Routine“; “Where to Get Off the Bus?“; “Good Travel Karma“; “Traffic Circle from Hell!” and “All-Female Transport in Mexico.”

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.