You're My Blue Sky, You're My Sunny Day

“Lord you know you make me high when you turn your love my way.”

This song has been in my head for five weeks.  I read Greggory Allman's book (stellar read, I loved his writing style) and he talked about this song.  (It's actually called "Blue Sky" and was written by Dickey Betts - who also sang it.  The two don't speak now but whatever.)

I was reading his book when I was in Puno.  He was quite the dude.  Lots of drugs, music, sex, marriages, death, Cher...

I don't know why, but a lot of what he said resonated with me (I mean, most of it.  I've never done heroin or Cher).  Maybe it is the fact that he is from the South?  I love me some South.

OR, maybe it’s just because he is a human being.

While I was in Puno and since I’ve been in this country, I’ve been really lucky to meet all kinds of people:  staff in other NGOs, farmers, moms, dads, kids, taxi drivers, maids, other ex-pats.  And you wanna know what the NUMBER ONE thing that I am learning about living here is?  One clue: it isn’t about toilets flushing the opposite direction or how to say “How much does this cost?” in Spanish or how to get a taxi or what fruits are the best or how to fix my hair with this humidity.  

It’s this (and bear with me because I’m not articulate enough to say it like Goethe):  

Humans are the same everywhere.

 

Sound the alarms.  Jessica has had an epiphany.

Yeah yeah yeah.  We’ve all heard it before and YOU have said it before. We post quotes on Facebook about it and we spout it from our presidential stumps and our parents tell us all about it at the dinner table and you learn about it Sunday School (some).  You hear it all the time a thousand ways.  I know I have. Mother Theresa and Oprah and Mister Rogers and Lady Gaga.  And it isn’t that I’ve never believed it.  I’m sure I did.  And do.

HOWEVER, being here has shown it to me in a different way than I expected.  You might think that meeting a woman or farmer in the countryside who is very poor and struggling and now has new-found empowerment because of Heifer would show me the power of humanity.  And it definitely has shown me a lot.  But I think it is something else, at least right now, that is teaching me. 

You see, I cannot understand what most people are saying to me when they talk.  I can’t understand the bus driver or my supervisor or the woman trying to tell me about her struggles before Heifer gave her help.  Because of the language barrier, I have to rely on a whole new set of nonverbal clues.  Intonation, tone of voice, body language, context, eyes rolling, eyebrows, what other people in the room are doing with their bodies and hands.  And it helps me understand what is really going on even when I don’t understand the words.  I am seeing so much more than I ever have.

If you haven’t stopped reading out of boredom at my "epiphany", here is why this is important:  You may have already guessed or know, but I am one generation away from the equivalent of Mayberry. (I'm including the link for the non-Americans reading this blog.  Could the Russians please reveal themselves?)  I'm from a tiny town best known for it's greasy spoon restaurant called the Mammoth Orange.  It has one 4-way stop, no red light and a population of just over one thousand.  "Humanity" was our next door neighbor, the preacher, the truck stop, the hair salon, the full service gas station where men drank coffee/told lies in the mornings, the ballpark, Tar Camp Park and Jr. High "Redfield Lion" basketball games.  This was my world and my normal and the lens through which I saw the world.  And even though I've been to college in a far away state, gotten married a couple of times, have a kid, lived in a few places and work for an international organization - this is still where my understanding of life took root.  And, not that there is anything wrong with a small town perspective, but for me it has taken moving to another hemisphere and to a developing country to realize just how alike all humans are.  That Harper Lee was on to something when she said through Atticus that "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view - until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."

Well holy hell.  I might not be walking around in Peruvian skin, but I am paying attention to the world around me now.  And it's different y'all.  It's bigger than me and it doesn't revolve around me.  Imagine that.  Mom was right.

You name it.  Women, just like me, go to lunch every day and talk about men and their kids.  Groups of women huddle together in corners at parties and talk shit about other women.  Kids on the playground are embarrassed when there is something different about them.  Couples fight before the server comes to their table and they quickly straighten up to order as if nothing is wrong.  The janitor is frustrated because no one seems to think it is important to pick up the paper towel off the floor when they missed the trash can.  Moms pull their daughters back by the hand when they are about to walk into traffic.  Men hold their chests high in the taxi when they tell you about how they are sending their kids to college in the United States when he has no formal education. This kind of stuff is everywhere.   So much, man.  I am seeing so much for the first time.  I am regretful too and kind of ashamed that it has taken me so long.

Well now I'm paying attention.  It's amazing what you can learn and see when you keep your mouth shut.

 

So what does this have to do with Gregg Allman and "Blue Sky"?  Nothing really.  Except that when I was on my way out of Puno and passing Lake Titicaca, I was listening to this song on my iPod.  I was sitting next to a Peruvian woman who looked very tired.  A female tourist sitting in front of us was trying to take pictures out the window of the van and the cold wind was blowing in our faces and I was kinda pissed at her for being so inconsiderate.  It was like 25 degrees outside.  So I lightly elbowed the Peruvian woman next to me and nodded towards the tourist and made a look like "she sucks."  The Peruvian woman just rolled her eyes, nodded her head, and sighed.  We smiled at each other.  I gave her one end of my iPod ear buds and we jammed to the Allman Brothers for 45 minutes on our way from Puno to Juliaca.  

And we were like best friends in the corner talking shit about another woman.  

Humans are the same everywhere. 

This is on the edge of Lake Titicaca.   Not a great shot, sorry.  But I urge you friends, plug in your computer headphones and click here to hear this great song. Imagine yourself in this picture with a cold wind in your face and you're there. 

Heifer Field Trip - Part deux. Now on the Heifer Blog

Thanks for coming back for more!


Part II of my Heifer field trip to Puno is now posted on the Heifer blog. 

Again, go take a look! It has more pictures and some great video of a Pass on the Gift ceremony.

Heifer's work is totally amazing and the whole world needs to know it.

Comment!  Share on Facebook!  Tweet it!  Donate! Whatever!  Just tell someone!

My first field trip - now on the Heifer Blog!

Hey everybody!

Remember an earlier post where I mentioned that I visited a Heifer Project in Puno?  Well, Heifer International has used my story on their blog!  I hate to send you to another link, but I have to, so here it is.

It's called "Pigs, Potatoes and Progress in Puno, Peru"

Please go check it out!  Comment!  Share with your friends!

Heifer is doing some great work, y'all.  I am proud to be a part of it.

Again, here is the link.

Go take a look!!!

Now!!!

Waking up

Lima has an interesting version of cold.  We don't have a heater in our house.  It feels like the temperature is just under comfortable.  Like when you take a nap.  You seemed fine walking around, but then you realize when you lie down on the couch that you need a blanket.  Your hands and feet seem to freeze even though it is probably about 64 degrees.  And even when you cover up, your nose and eyebrows and earlobes still kinda wish they had something over them too.  It's humid cold. Southerners know this.  It's different.  It seeps into everything.  Clothes, bed sheets, your hair, towels, the wood floors, my makeup brush.  But unlike Arkansas, here you cannot shut the doors and windows and crank on some heating mechanism to dry the air's moisture.  I can feel the light glaze of wetness on Bryan and Davis when they come in from outside. The only thing that consistently warms you to a level of comfort that allows sleep is the closeness and touch of another warm body.

If the alarm on my cell phone doesn't get to me first, I am almost always woken up by pigeons outside my window.  Those birds are so noisy.  Whatever purring "coo" they make is so familiar to me now.  I'll probably always recognize it and be reminded of my days in Lima.  Along with the pigeons, I also know the routines of my neighbors. Our home is one of three houses linked together in a strip blocked off from the street.  A, B, and C.  We are B and thus, probably know A and C better than they know each other.  A has the damn car alarm and usually leaves for work when I am getting up each morning.  I hear his car being remotely unlocked from his front door and then his footsteps as he goes to get in.  He is very nice.  He speaks English and is always kind when we see each other.  There are several maids rotating out of C and two children coming and going from school.  I think they have a dog too.  But their routine is less consistent.  All the walls in our homes are made of concrete; we have very little access to the indoor lives of our neighbors, yet the windows are a thin glass.  Privacy is different and a different respect for each other is required.  Any open window or garden terrace is access to their lives.  If anything happens or is said outside, it's shared between the three of us. 

Inside of B we still haven't established a dinner routine.  Maybe that is just something that won't ever happen for our family.  I was raised in a family where you eat dinner when Dad comes home.  Now it is me that comes home from work and I just ate three hours ago.  Recreating a new version of family is hard.  What does ours look like?  What do we do for fun?  How do we talk to each other?  How do we argue? What do we laugh at?  What are the rules?  What stays the same about us as individuals and what do we change so that we become something new?

The answers are universal.  And I think that as we answer them, we'll develop new questions for other phases and different situations. I guess this is life.  I think I'm living it for the first time.  I know this is good and probably healthy for my soul.  But I feel very alone in this realization.  I'm waking up to a new world each day on every possible level.  Everything feels different.  There is no one to blame or give credit to the situation but me.  And at the same time, I know that I'm not in control.  Why has it taken 30 years?  Or is this what happens as you grow older?  It seems that I need new coping strategies, new ways of behaving, new methods of discovery.  

Or maybe I'm just superimposing a bunch of philosophical thoughts onto myself because I'm in a "milestone" year of my life and my subconscious is telling me that this is what you do.

I am unsure of myself.  I am unsure of my capabilities, my strengths, my weaknesses, my judgement, my tendencies.  Are they each what got me here, or what holds me back?  I am questioning everything that has always felt normal.  I'm not sure why I'm doing this.  I feel like I'm walking a balance beam, arms held out wide, wildly wobbling across the beam. I have to figure out just how I can remain steady and walk it straight without such a constant wobble.  

In the intro to this blog I say "the name of the game?  Change.  Lots of it." Those words have never been more true.  Now I must tap into that strength that everyone believes I have.  I knew going into this that change was inevitable and that I needed it and thought I was ready. I knew that I needed to revitalize my soul and that it would require vast amounts of physical, emotional and mental adjustment on my part - with nowhere or no one to turn to but within. I knew it needed to be public so that I am not just accountable to myself.  Except that, I am learning, being accountable to myself is probably the most rewarding of all.

The journey continues.

  

All these places have their moments...

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted.  The last three weeks have been a whirlwind for good, bad and sad reasons.  Ideally, I would create three posts for three weeks – all full of witty creativity and insights – but I can’t really do that this time.  I am going to just type and get it out there.  Because that is what my soul just needs to do.

August 12-16 I was traveling with Heifer.  I visited a region called Puno.  We were in the city of Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca.  I was there with a co-worker and the purpose of our visit was multifaceted:  Attend a Pass on the Gift Ceremony, meet with local project holders and project partners, and for me to begin my research on the impact of Heifer Peru’s work with women.  Immediately following my trip, I created a blog post about my experience at the Pass on the Gift ceremony.  Because the trip was almost entirely Heifer related, I am waiting on permission from Heifer International to share more of my experiences there.  It may be posted on the Heifer blog if I’m lucky and I will share it with you all that way.   I can say though, that it was a great trip.  It allowed me to see Heifer’s active work for the first time in Peru.   (For those of you who aren’t completely familiar with my work here and where I am, Heifer’s main office in Peru is located in Lima.  The actual “field work” where we provide training and deliver animals and other inputs is located in the more remote, rural regions of the country.  So I work in an office, but will often visit the field to see, evaluate and monitor projects.) 

I gave a presentation – in butchered Spanish – to a group of campesinas.  I shared my experiences in Nepal and compared the two countries and the challenges that women face in each – there are many similarities.  The women seemed to soak it up and appreciate it.  And I very much appreciated what felt like my first small success/accomplishment with my work here.  It was good for all of us. 

The trip to Puno was a very good chance for me to connect more closely with Heifer’s work here in a personal way.  And I needed it.  I posted earlier about the stages of culture shock and how I’ve been feeling.  Seeing the face of poverty up close provides one with a good swift kick in the gut.  When an old man walks up to you with tears in his eyes and says “Don’t forget us”….. you never will.

Once I returned from Puno I was more fired up about being here.  I returned on Thursday and went to work for half a day on Friday.  The weekend was great.  My boys and I (thanks to Bryan’s exploring) found the San Isidro market.  It is between our house and the ocean and just a short walk away.  What a great find!  HERE we can buy fresh fruits and veggies, bread, paper goods, cereal, flowers….lots of stuff that is way overpriced at the nearest grocery store.  Good to know.

So then back to work on Monday.  All is good.

Then I get an email from my mom on Tuesday telling me that she “hasn’t heard anything about Frances but I’ll let you know if there are any changes.”  What?  This is totally news to me.  I knew Frances was in the hospital recovering from surgery, but what is this about?  Why the need for an update?  So, of course the panic sets in.

Frances Hardin Byrd is the mother of my Dad’s best friend, Paul Byrd.  If you know me and my family you’ve heard me refer to the Byrds all my life.  Paul and his wife Jane were there when I was born and Jane boasts that she was the first to see me.  Paul and Jane have five kids.   They named their firstborn son Thomas Edward after my Dad.   

*Here is where I need an editor.  I have no idea how to explain in words the meaning and importance of the Byrd family in my life.  After the sentence “Paul and Jane have five kids” I could go on for years.* 

I’m digressing….

So Frances Byrd is special – to say the least.  As far as I have ever known, she is my grandmother.  I’ve spent every Christmas Eve, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and a thousand other southern nights at her home with her and her husband, former Justice Conley F. Byrd.  They lived at 2711 Byrd Road in Redfield, Arkansas.  My hometown.   It wasn’t until I was in my late teens that I learned that I wasn’t actually a “real” cousin – whatever that means.  They Byrd family was and is my family.

Back to Tuesday, the email from mom, and my panic:  Apparently, Frances’ body had just had enough.  A few weeks ago she fell and broke her hip and was hospitalized.  One of her sisters had passed away on the day of Frances’ surgery.  During her recovery after the surgery in the hospital, her kidneys and lungs just started shutting down.  She suffered from emphysema and diabetes but was a damn tough woman and you would have never known, usually, that she was even sick.  But, the last year has been harder on her body and her mind.  But in the back of my mind, and perhaps all of her grandchildren, she was invincible.  All she had to do was get over this one more road bump and she’d be back in her chair by the window.

But not this time.  Frances passed away on August 22 in the early morning hours.  She was 85.  Her children had had some warning and she was surrounded by love until the very end.

My mom sent me a text saying “Frances has passed” at 8:36am on Wednesday morning. 

This is where I take a break from typing to regain my composure and dry the tears that seem to constantly be on the surface these days…..

By noon on the same day – thanks to my wonderful, resourceful husband and through the speed and graciousness of the Heifer headquarters F&A staff - Davis and I had tickets to Arkansas on bereavement leave.  We departed Lima at 12:15am on Thursday morning.  My mom picked us up at the airport and we drove straight to Redfield to 2711 Byrd Road – where I stayed for almost three solid days. 

Frances also had 3 other children, 17 grandchildren and 15 great-grandchildren.  Her obituary is here.  Something to notice when you read it (and if you don’t read it then I’ll point it out for you) – is that my parents were listed as honorary children and my sister, Bryan and I were listed as honorary grandchildren.  I had the honor of speaking at her funeral alongside some of her other grandchildren and children.

Deep breaths.

You see, I could write a novel about those three days in her home and all the memories I have with her and her family.  Actually, novels HAVE been written about Frances’ family, her sisters and brother and her own parent’s legacy.  I could write about all the stories that were told, the raw emotion her husband expressed as he grieved the loss of his wife of 63 years, the laughter that was shared when reflecting on some of her pranks, the many reflections on how it was such the typical “grandma’s house” like how her candy basket stayed full and no one ever saw her fill it, the dozens and dozens of people that walked through the doors to offer condolences, and the angst  that we all felt as we realized that when we left for our own homes at the end of the weekend, that the place would never ever be the same again.  That this was the last time we would see it just that way.  With her nick-knacks everywhere, her letters and papers she stacked everywhere, the thousands of pictures she kept in albums full of her family and friends, the books, the smell…so much.  It is impossible to describe.  She was one of the greatest women that I’ve ever known.  She was “green” before green was cool.  She was a writer, a teacher, a farmer, a lawyer when her husband was sick, a campaign manager, a newspaper editor, a chemist, a champion free-throw shooter, a fierce competitor, mean checker play – a mother, wife, sister, friend and more.  What she was best at (and this is according to me – one blaring theme of the weekend is that everyone had a different reason for Frances being special) was making every single person that knew her feel like they were special to her for their own special reason.  That you and her had a special bond like no other.  That you were #1 in her eyes no matter what. 

Ms. Frances.  I believe that in a person’s life they can count, usually on just one hand, the number of people in their lives that will love them no matter what.  Like hard core love, through thick and thin.  When you make mistakes, they don’t care.   For me, Frances was one of those people. 

When I spoke at the funeral, I read a letter to her that I wrote a few days after she died.  It was buried with her in her coffin, along with a plastic Easter egg with one Peruvian Sole (coin) inside of it.  She hid the same plastic eggs every year.  Each with a dime inside.  Davis put a bag of turnip seeds in her coffin from him and his Papaw.  She loved my Dad’s turnip greens.  I also spoke on behalf of my father at the funeral.  He is currently in Alaska and couldn’t make it home.  His absence was very weird.  Everyone kept expecting him to be in the back room somewhere drinking coffee and telling stories.  At first, he didn’t have anything he wanted to share at the funeral, but he changed his mind at the last minute and sent it to me.  Here is what I said on his behalf:

“Now that I can think better, I DO have something you can say for me about Frances.  From Tom Tom, from Alaska:  Frances had the house and home where I could go and visit.  Where I could jump off this fast spinning world we live in and just REST.  A place where I could go and listen to her describe the people I would have loved to have met.  People like Alf Hardin, Walter Wolfe, Slick Caw’ze, Orvel Clark and XL Carter.  I could listen to her describe the farms that washed away and the people that made things keep going.  The timing in her speech, that only she had, that went with the stories she told was like a gift, like her.”

It was one of the most moving and intimate services I’ve ever attended.  No one gave a sermon to save souls – it was just a few people who told their favorite Frances story or special memory of her.  It was beautiful.  So many people were there.  She would have loved it.  Family and friends – that was what was most important to Frances.  And afterwards, everyone went to her home and ate.  Just like always.  Just like she would have wanted.

2711 Byrd Road.  This is what home looks like to me.

SO.  I am now back in Peru. Getting a dose of my family and friends in Arkansas was a surreal experience.  It was a great feeling to be in Redfield albeit for a crappy reason.  Bittersweet.  Everyone kept saying that – that they wished I wasn’t there but they were glad I was there.  I felt like I was in some movie, like Fried Green Tomatoes or Steel Magnolias.  It felt like a dream.  And now I’m back and I still feel like I’m in a dream.  I got back to my house in Lima in the wee hours of Wednesday morning and was completely exhausted all day.  Today, Thursday, is a national holiday in Peru and we are home again.  I’m still dazed, still kinda confused, and still wondering just how my world works without Ms. Frances being at the end of 2711 Byrd Road when I get back home next summer.  I’ve ventured out once in the last 24 hours – to the grocery store.  Turns out, life kept moving over the last week while mine seemed to stand still. 

Ms. Frances hated it when I travelled.  I’d be so happy to tell her where I was going next and always surprised when she frowned and said “But WHY?”  She did not want me to move to Peru!

So, Ms. Frances, I’m sorry that I wasn’t home when you passed.  I’m sorry that I chose to travel far away from home and that it worried you.  And now you’re gone.  You’re up there with my Papaw and my other grandparents.  And while it is extremely hard for me to understand and trust, I know that I’m going to be just fine in this country and on this adventure.  And not because you’re looking down on me from there.  But because of what you equipped me with when you were here. Thank you. 

Things: Part III

This is the third and final installment of a 3-part series:

1.  Things I Miss

2.  Things that are better (so far) than in the USA

3.  Things that are different, or that I have yet to understand

Let's see how these evolve over the next year.

PART III

Things that are different, or that I have yet to understand - so far.

Car Alarms

I don't get this.  Everyone who has a car seems to have a totally obnoxious alarm on it.  When they lock and leave their car - BEEP BEEP!  When they unlock their car - BEEP BEEP!  When you walk by a car and don't do anything - BEEP BEEP!  And the volume is turned up as high as it will go apparently.  And it doesn't seem to take much to make an alarm go off.  I hear them all the time while working and at home.  Car alarms are everywhere.

AND

Many of them also BEEP like a semi when they are in reverse.  You would think that a 50,000 lb semi was making its way through.  Nope, just this:

And of course, with a big city comes a lot of car horns.  I feel immune to it already, but dang.  Lots of car noises in general.

Toilets

Turns out, toilets are pretty much the same BUT you are not supposed to flush the toilet paper down the toilet!  Ever!  Ahhhhh!  You throw it in the garbage can.  Do you know how hard it is not to do this when you've been doing it your whole life?  And when I forget I'm like "Dang!" and I apologize out loud while sitting there.  No one hears me. 

The guest bathroom in our house.   Nothing but trouble.

The metric system

You don't know how American you really are until someone asks you your height in meters.   I had to do this for INTERPOL processes and a nice young man from the law firm handling my immigration papers was helping me.  When he asked me my height, I said 5 feet, 2 inches.  He looked at me and said, "In meters".  My face must've drawn an obvious blank and he just died laughing.  And not like, "ha ha, that's funny" but more of a "HAHAHA, you Americans!  You don't use the metric system like the rest of the world.  HAHAHAHA."  When I think about it, America doesn't really have a good excuse for not using the metric system.  We were just hard headed.  So I get to suffer for that now.  

But one good thing about making this switch is that when I am riding in a car and feeling car sick (which happens all the time) and a sign says that my destination is 45 kilometers away, I assure my self that it is less than 45 miles so it isn't as bad.  Don't judge my logic.

Fahrenheit and Celsius
They use Celsius here. And I don't have any observations to make about this because frankly, I have not even begun to try to understand the difference.  I do know that zero in Celsius is freezing and that's it.  I just nod politely when someone tells me the temperature in Celsius and try to mimic their expression of either exasperation or relief.  

Mealtime   
Lunch is the biggest meal of the day and they start eating around 1:00 or later.  In some of the public schools on the outskirts of Lima and elsewhere, the children come home for a long lunch break so they can dine with their families or each other, and then they go back to school.  In the office where I work, to have a lunch break lasting over an hour is not uncommon.  And the lunches can be 3-5 courses.  
So in theory, dinner should be much later and much lighter.  

LUNCH:  Ceviche - and it is freaking delicious.  This is just the appetizer.

The main course for lunch - This is roasted goat with beans and rice.  I forgot to take pictures of dessert and the soup.

This meal thing is an adjustment for me and my family.  We still haven't found a groove.  At Davis' school, he actually eats lunch around noon and then by dinner time (6:00 or so) he is ready to eat.  When I get home at 6:30, I'm not hungry because I ate a 4-course meal from 1:30-3:00.  And Bryan, who may go the whole day without eating (because he is kind of a weirdo) is totally ready to cook a  giant meal and eat at 8:00.  And I'm still not that hungry by then.  So we're all on wacky schedules and they're not lining up yet.

Open markets
Like, with guts and stuff hanging everywhere.  I love this.  There are markets everywhere in Lima.  Textile markets, Inca markets, food markets, all kinds...  You can go to a market and stop at the different booths or stands and find anything.  Near my office is the Magdalena market and I can buy groceries, cleaning supplies, fresh veggies, some clothes, office supplies, dishes, some furniture and the prices are lower than in the supermarkets or retail chains.  

You know you want some.

No air conditioning and no heaters
Our house, my office, restaurants...none of them have central heating and air.  No biggie, really.   Not having central heat/air in our house is surprisingly not a big deal.  If you keep the windows closed, it's really okay.  You just have to layer on the blankets and have warm PJs.  Currently, during the day it is about 63 degrees in Lima and with the high humidity, it actually feels really cold outside.  It kinda creeps up on you.  I know that as I type this my friends in Arkansas are miserably hot - you have my sympathies.  I'm sure that in the summer, I will be cursing the Peruvian air because I am hot-natured and hate to be hot and like as much artificial coolant as I can get.  But right now, I'm okay.  I like "cold" weather.  

This is a not so great shot from the roof of our house.  This is looking west towards the ocean.  You can smell it from mi casa!!

Which actually leads me to another difference worth noting...
It's winter here!  This whole flip in  seasons is just so bizarre.  It's August and I'm cold.  And Christmastime is hot! Weird!
 
And really, there are thousands of other differences between Peru and the USA and even more that I don't understand.  But humanity is the same:  love, hate, stupidity, joy, grief, work, home, family, friends...It's all here people.  It's all everywhere.  And as far as the differences go, it simply means that I have a lot to learn,  a lot to experience and a lot of ways to grow. 

Just because...

One of the things that I loved in the USA were sweet potatoes.  And Peru has more varieties of potatoes than any other country in the world and the sweet potatoes here are awesome!!!  Here they are called "camote".  I took one picture before the last bites.  DELICIOUS.

Got to Get You into My Life

I am struggling right now.  I know this is to be expected.  I have read and understand about all the stages of relocating to a different country.  Unfortunately, the excitement has waned and I didn't prepare myself for the harsh reality of ‘culture shock’ and anxiety I have felt over the past several days.

So, I've done more research and I've confirmed what many of my friends who've done this before said to me before I left.  I trusted ole Google, which led me to About.com which led me to a very revealing article.  Very scientific methodology, right?

Symptoms of Culture Shock

•     a feeling of sadness and loneliness,
•     an over-concern about your health,
•     headaches, pains, and allergies
•     insomnia or sleeping too much (both, actually)
•     feelings of anger, depression, vulnerability
•     idealizing your own culture
•     trying too hard to adapt by becoming obsessed with the new culture
•     the smallest problems seem overwhelming
•     feeling shy or insecure
•     become obsessed with cleanliness
•     overwhelming sense of homesickness
•     feeling lost or confused
•     questioning your decision to move to this place

The Culture Shock Model

Step 1: The Honeymoon Stage

Like any new experience, there's a feeling of euphoria when you first arrive to a new country and you're in awe of the differences you see and experience. You feel excited, stimulated, enriched. During this stage, you still feel close to everything familiar back home.

Step 2: The Distress Stage

Everything you're experiencing no longer feels new; in fact, it's starting to feel like a thick wall that's preventing you from experiencing things. You feel confused, alone and realize that the familiar support systems are not easily accessible.

Step 3: Re-integration Stage

During this stage, you start refusing to accept the differences you encounter. You're angry, frustrated and even feel hostile to those around you. You start to idealize life "back home" and compare your current culture to what is familiar. You dislike the culture, the language, the food. You reject it as inferior. You may even develop some prejudices towards the new culture. Don't worry. This is absolutely normal. You're adjusting. This is actually a pretty common reaction to anything new. Any adjustment can cause you to look back in awe and wonder why you made the decision to change.

Step 4: Autonomy Stage

This is the first stage in acceptance. I like to think of it as the emergence stage when you start to rise above the clouds and finally begin to feel like yourself again. You start to accept the differences and feel like you can begin to live with them. You feel more confident and better able to cope with any problems that may arise. You no longer feel isolated and instead you're able to look at the world around you and appreciate where you are.

Step 5: Independence Stage

You are yourself again! You embrace the new culture and see everything in a new, yet realistic light. You feel comfortable, confident, able to make decisions based on your own preferences. You no longer feel alone and isolated. You appreciate both the differences and similarities of your new culture. You start to feel at home.

Let's just say I'm kinda – nope, solidly - in Stage 3.

More from the article...

"Sounds like fun, huh? Now you may have one of the above symptoms or a combination of a few; it's very individual and unpredictable. I know I tend to be much more emotional than I usually am, crying over simple things that normally I wouldn't even look at twice. Seeing people hugging or someone being kind to me would make me burst into tears. I didn't feel sad. Just sentimental. I suppose that should be added to my list. I also found that I clung to the familiar. E-mail and being in touch with people back home gave me a great source of comfort until I realized that I needed to remove myself from the old and embrace the new..."

 

Bottom line:  If I don't embrace this place, then this won't work and I will look back on this opportunity with regret because I couldn't let go of my comfort zone.   If I want to make this year work, I have to embrace the differences in culture, language, attitudes and cherish the gift I’ve been given.  That's why I'm here.   While I’ll always be "an American in Peru", I will accept the blessing of being a Peruvian while I can.