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.

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.”

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.

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.

I. Fundraisers from Abroad

a) The Pub Quiz

The idea of a Pub Quiz, or trivia night, is very popular in the English pubs around Cusco, and when used as a fundraising tool it creates a symbiotic relationship between pub owner and NGO worker. Here’s how it works:

Lauren and I create the quiz. This consists of five categories with ten questions each, with genres including history, current events, and pop culture. We publicize the event by posting flyers in bars and restaurants, and charge five soles ($1.75 USD) for each person to play. Be sure to make a short spiel before the quiz that introduces your organization and outlines its work. Pub owners like the event for the free publicity and the crowds it brings.

Peruvian goods to be auctioned off for donations.

b) Newsletters

Periodically sending out email updates to family and friends regarding the progress of your work abroad is a good way to spread awareness and raise interest in your cause. We do not use the newsletters explicitly as a fundraising tool, but it does sew the seeds to inspire donations later on. In the newsletter we include sections regarding recent happenings of GirlSportWorks, student spotlights, and new additions to the program.

II. Fundraisers from Home

a) The Gala

We will hold a fundraising gala upon our return to the States. Family, friends, and acquaintances will be invited. Here we will hold a silent auction, have a donations box, and provide food and the opportunity to purchase drinks. Speeches about our work, a slideshow, and Peruvian music will set the tone. To fund the event we will contact local restaurants and establishments and ask for food donations or items that we can auction off.

b) The City Fair Booth

Every fall the City of Berkeley holds an event called the Solano stroll, a massive street fair with parades, food stands, and various booths. For one hundred dollars we entered to have a GirlSportWorks booth. We expect that the donations we receive will make this fee a worthwhile investment. At the booth we will offer a variety of Peruvian goods for suggested donations, and will display a picture album and information pamphlet.

Hopefully these can inspire other fundraising ideas, and please feel free to help me out with suggestions!

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 fundraising, check out “How to Fundraise With No Funds” by Andrea Vogler and “Need Some Cash? Top 10 Ways to Fundraise” by Laurie Norton.

Wanchaq Pool

Twelve girls from Casa Mantay attend the excursion. All are teenagers and have babies who are the result of rape, and in many cases family members were the aggressors. The girls come pregnant to Mantay to escape the violence and stigma that would accompany staying in their communities, and here they learn to cook, clean, and care for their babies. At 18 they must leave the safe-home to live independently.

The girls enter the pool’s dressing room and begin changing into borrowed swimsuits. Eli shoves the bundle she’s been carrying into my hands and it starts wiggling. It’s her baby. None of the girls know how to swim, and I’m the only supervisor. “Don’t go into the deep pool!” I shout in a futile attempt at control as the girls scuttle out. I change into my own suit and walk gingerly across the slippery floor, baby in hand. Every one of the girls is in the deep pool.

Discipline is always difficult, but this case is especially tricky. Authoritative figures derive their legitimacy from knowledge and experience, but it’s not clear that I possess these here. Sure, I’m their sports profe, but the girls will be encumbered with life’s burdens sooner than I, facing reality as single mothers and fully supporting themselves without ever having finished high school. I, in contrast, know no such pressures. A recent college graduate, I have the luxury to live abroad without any real income or commitments, and enjoy the support of a stable family at home.

While teenagers often need boundaries and discipline, I can’t ignore the fact that these are not your average 16-year-olds. As their supervisor, how do I effectively enforce rules while simultaneously acknowledging their imminent autonomy? They’re caught in a strange limbo between adolescence and adulthood, and it’s often hard to gauge the teacher/peer balance I should strike. Mostly I just wing it.

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

Here I am teaching a team-building game at Matará school

“Maybe we mistakenly think we want ‘happiness’, which we tend to picture in very vague, soft-focus terms, when what we really crave is the harder-edged intensity of experience.”

I read this in a New York Times article two days before leaving the States for my yearlong stint in Cusco. Nine months into my time here, I’d like to think that it still embodies my approach towards life in Peru.

The NGO I’m working for is called GirlSportWorks, and its mission is to expose young Peruvian girls to the benefits of athletics: increased confidence and self-esteem, leadership, and cooperation among teammates. In a country where machismo is still prevalent and just one or two sports are deemed acceptable for girls to play, many young peruanas never have the opportunity to be part of a team. In contrast, society encourages their male counterparts to engage in athletics from a young age. My co-program manager and I are sports instructors in five institutions around Cusco, including one vocational rural girls’ school and a safe-home for sexually abused teen mothers. We augment the program in two schools with English teaching, and in my spare time I volunteer for Kiva.

Teaching class, volunteering, and exploring Cusco is never routine. During my nine months in Peru, I’ve sprained my ankle during a botched jump while teaching baseball, faced and warded off a three-dog attack while hiking alone, rescued a near-drowning student at a local pool without lifeguards, and am currently taking anti-parasitic drugs for a critter that’s been living inside me for who-knows-how-long. Yet despite—or even because of—these frequent unpredictabilities, I’m more content here than I was living a comfortable but routine life in LA.

For me, life in Cusco has a lot to do with constantly facing the novel. The intensity of new experiences here is what makes me happy, and it’s that same craving for intensity that draws so many like myself to live and work in a foreign country. In this blog, I hope that I can share some of these experiences with you. Bienvenidos.