When does it snow in March in Virginia? The most inopportune time, of course — the day that I’m supposed to leave for Peru. Although the Washington area only got about three inches of snow last week, it was enough to cancel my 6 a.m. departure from Dulles and other early morning flights from the region’s three major airports. The cancellation led to major problems because I was solely responsible for getting myself to Miami where the weather was fine and flights were on time, as the Peru program had purchased tickets from Miami to Lima. While my friends participated in an Alternative Spring Break trip or traveled to Cancun to participate in the responsible and tasteful seasonal celebrations, I spent the first day of break listening to the relaxing hold music on corporate answering machines.
Luckily, there was another University student who was on my same flight and the stress of the change brought us close together, although we had only met once before. Despite the frustrating situation, which caused my fellow traveler to remark that, “I think God is punishing us for something”, everyone I spoke to was helpful and did his or her best to help us out and eventually the situation was resolved. The solution was that we flew into Miami, took a shuttle to Fort Lauderdale and were only allowed one 50-pound bag plus a carry-on for our five months in a foreign country. The University also had to shell out some money to book us a new flight, but it was better than option two: wait to leave until March 7.
After being awake for almost 24 hours, we finally arrived in Lima at 12:30 a.m. where we were met by representatives from our program. We were excited to finally be in Peru but also incredibly exhausted and in desperate need of showers. After greeting us with the customary one-cheek kiss, the directors told us that we would take a van to our host families’ houses and oh, by the way, we needed to be at the university at 7 a.m. the next morning to leave for a five-day, four-night trip to both the Andes and the Amazon. The temperatures in these two regions vary considerably, and we needed to bring hiking shoes and pack a small backpack because space on the bus is limited. We gave each other a look that communicated exactly how we were feeling and then got in the van to go to our new homes for the next five months.
My host parents, Ishmael and Mercedes, are a cute couple in their late sixties who welcomed me with open arms and a dinner of soup and cheese despite the fact that it was 1:30 a.m. Although Spirit Airlines had not served us dinner and I was pretty hungry, I politely declined the food in the hopes that I could unpack, repack for the excursion and get a couple hours of shut eye. When Mercedes asked the third time though, I agreed to have a little something to eat and the eager couple obliged and talked to me for almost 90 minutes. Thankfully, my brain was able to muster enough Spanish to carry on a semi-intelligent, coherent conversation. I finally unpacked and went to bed.
While I only got a few hours of rest, it was worth it in the end. We drove for eight hours to a town in the majestic Andes mountains where we stayed in a 17th century hacienda and saw a farm that used to be one of the largest potato producing locations in Peru. We also saw Inca ruins and artifacts that were centuries old, and we went to the edge of the jungle as well, where we drove a truck onto a sketchy “ferry” supported by large canoes and pieces of plywood to get to a farm that had been devastated by the Shining Path campaign and the owner’s former alcoholism — but is now thriving and producing crops like bananas, oranges, yucca and passion fruit. We swam in a swimming hole on the property with water that was perfectly blue and clear, and talked to the owners about their lives. I saw some of the most majestic mountains with small houses and terraced crops built onto their steep hills and the tropical vegetation was one of the richest hues of green I have ever seen. I also have been pleasantly surprised with my Spanish abilities and even taught a Peruvian local the meaning of the word “ghetto.” So far, it has been a whirlwind adventure and I’m looking forward to seeing where it goes from here.
Rachel’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at r.gottlieb@cavalierdaily.com
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