Arriving where I started

"We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time."

This passage from T.S. Eliot's "Little Gidding" has long resonated with me as a precise description of the full-circle impact of travel. In exploring new places, I always learn a great deal about the world, and about other people and cultures. However, I also gain insights about myself and my own cultural lenses, particularly upon coming home.

Stage one of my return from Peru was definitely a honeymoon period; America is a land of treasures! Hot showers (and tap water!), carpeted floors, and highly efficient business systems, to name a few, made life here feel like a constant treat. Those of us lucky enough to grow up in the midst of such amenities often vastly under-appreciate the privileges these seemingly simple things bestow upon us, if we recognize them as privileges at all. I am grateful that my time in Peru helped me to notice and value the everyday magic that developed country infrastructure creates, and I continue to revel in the luxuries even ten months later.

While coming home to these creature comforts was luxurious, American culture soon started to feel like a suit that didn't quite fit. Thus began the phase of reverse culture shock, when it began to sink in that as a newly full-time U.S. resident, I needed to adapt back into American life, just as I initially adapted to life in Peru. The cultural tensions I've struggled with most surround the U.S.' comparative deprioritization of human relationships: days tend to be driven by an overzealous sense of urgency that emphasizes timeliness over full conversations; smartphone screens too often substitute for personal interaction, even when sitting at the same table; and many of our cities cater to neighbors zooming past in cars rather than greeting each other on a walk. Aside from the friends and host family I left in Peru, the thing I miss most about Cajabamba is the slower pace of life, and the genuine attention paid to building relationships within the small-town community.

Don't get me wrong: I am so happy to be home, and to have spent the past year reconnecting with my beloved family, friends, and hometown. But looking back on the ten months since my return from Peru, I can say that re-entry into American life remains an ongoing process of observing, reflecting, and compromising. Navigating the internal and external tensions between my Peruvian and U.S. experiences has been at times confusing, illuminating, or both, yet I have appreciated every step. I believe the dialogue has made me more grounded in who I want to be as a human being, regardless of my geographic location.

Nasca

My final stop in South America, besides the Lima airport, was Nasca (back in Peru). Located in the middle of the desert about seven hours south of Lima, Nasca is home to the Nasca lines: mysterious and mind-bogglingly large-scale geoglyphs etched into the desert by the ancient Nasca culture. They can only truly be appreciated from the air (which is part of what makes them inexplicable, since the Nasca obviously didn't have airplanes), so I signed up for an airplane tour.

While the most famous and recognizable geoglyphs are the animal pictures (monkey, hummingbird, etc.), the whole desert around Nasca is covered with more simple designs of geometric forms and lines:

But of course the real excitement was spotting the more complex forms...

A map the airplane provided showing the geoglyphs we'd see

The whale

The monkey

The hummingbird

Bolivia's southwest

A big chunk of my time in Bolivia was spent in the southwest, a Patagonia-esque treasure in its rugged, vast, and largely untouched quality. Salt flats, red rocks, geysers, volcanos, deserts, multi-colored lakes and mountains, flamingos, ostriches, vicuñas, llamas - the list goes on!

Landscapes similar to those of the American southwest just outside the town of Tupiza (near where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were finally killed)

Rock formations formed by water and wind erosion

Vicuñas! (in the llama family but much smaller, native to the Andes)

This was a typical scene on the jeep tour - fording semi-frozen rivers through deep ice

Laguna Celeste (sky blue lake) with a volcanic peak in the background

This area was called the Desert of Dalí, because the mountain's mixed color palette resembled that of the Spanish painter

Laguna Verde (green lake) alongside Licancabur volcano. I saw this same peak from the Chilean side back in 2009.

Bubbling lava and geysers at 5,000m (16,400 ft) above sea level

Laguna Colorada (pink lake), with its native flamingos

Pretending to hold up the "rock tree" with tour group friends

Hanging out literally 2m away from beautiful flamingos

Watching the sunrise in the middle of the Uyuni salt flat

The whole floor of the salt flat has these hexagons, formed by the tiny bubbles that rise when the salt crystals form

One of many fun pictures from the salt flat - it's all about perspective :)

Last stop: the train cemetery in Uyuni

La Paz

La Paz was a warm and welcoming place, despite its chilly temperatures (it's the world's highest capital, and winter at 12,000 feet is no beach vacation). The city is quite interesting in its own right, but it also fascinated me in its stark contrast to Lima. Peru's capital is totally disconnected from the rest of the country, both economically and culturally. In Bolivia, which recently added "Plurinational State" to its official name, the rural indigenous cultures are celebrated not as historical heritage, but as an essential living component of Bolivia today. Half the people on the streets of La Paz were wearing traditional (not western) clothes, and the few wealthy skyscrapers were not the center of focus. The city's red-brick buildings spill down over the ridges to coat the entire valley, with the snowy peak of Illimani looming large above the rooftops.

Looking out over the city towards Illimani

San Francisco church and plaza

Evo's name and face are frequent sights, always accompanied by both the Bolivian flag (left) and the indigenous wiphala flag (right)

Plaza Murillo, on the Spanish side of the city, is home to the cathedral, the legislative and presidential palaces, and many many pigeons

Tucumanas and salteñas are the Bolivian version of empanadas, and are sold at street side carts on every corner

Also on many corners are La Paz's shoe shiners, who typically wear ski masks to cover their faces. As the feet are the most shameful part of the body for the Aymara, those who work as shoe shiners don't want to be recognized as such.

Rows of stalls in one of the central markets, set up in a multi-level building reminiscent of a parking garage or library stacks

In addition to regular markets, La Paz's witch's market offers amusing home remedies and unique items like llama fetuses (used in traditional rites to bless newly constructed buildings)

Anything unusual in this photo? Traffic-herding youth dressed as zebras are part of a new government program for disadvantaged youth - still don't really understand the connection there, but those zebras were everywhere!

Sopa de maní (peanut soup) is a traditional La Paz dish

I also got to visit Tiwanaku, a set of pre-Incan ruins outside La Paz

Leaving La Paz on a set of looong bus rides, I decided to break up the journey by stopping in Sucre, a beautiful city of white colonial buildings and cobblestone streets. Tranquil and temperate, Sucre made me wish I could stay longer!

My other in-transit stop was Potosí, known for the wealth extracted from nearby Cerro Rico's (Rich Mountain) silver mines

Lake Titicaca

Heading south from Lima for my post-Peace Corps Bolivian adventure, the first stop was Lake Titicaca. At 3800 meters (12,500 ft) of elevation, Lake Titicaca is the world's 18th-largest lake by surface area and largest among high-altitude lakes. Since it's the biggest lake I've ever navigated, I was in awe of its sheer scope, and the points where its water stretched all the way to the horizon, as an ocean would. The lake is a remnant of Lago Ballivian, an ancient inland sea, and sits on the border of Peru and Bolivia. 

Naturally, I started on the Peruvian side, staying in the city of Puno and boating out to explore the 75+ floating islands made of totora reeds. Each island's evolving engineering was fascinating to learn about, and it was interesting to see how the current inhabitants try to keep the historic reed- and fish-based culture alive.

Also near Puno were the ruins of Sillustani, with numerous tower-style tombs like this one perched high above a smaller lake:

Puno sits in the altiplano region of Peru - a high-altitude but generally flat area, most known for being quite windswept and producing lots of potatoes. I decided to have a typical altiplano meal: alpaca steak and papas.

Each region, and even town, in Peru has a different kind of typical bread. Puno's appeared to be this yummy cheese-bread, which I of course sampled.

After Puno, it was time to cross the border to Copacabana, the lakeside town on the Bolivian side of Titicaca. While the floating islands were nice, the lake's highlight for me was definitely the Isla del Sol (island of the sun) on the Bolivian side. I spent a day hiking the island north to south, and was treated to lots of its namesake sol and beautiful sweeping views of the surrounding water and mountains.

Alpaca friend :)

Good eats

Lima is home to two of the world's 50 best restaurants: Central (#15), and Astrid y Gastón (#18). Naturally, these places are quite expensive, but compared to a top-50 restaurant in the States or Europe they are in fact dirt-cheap. Some friends and I decided we needed to take advantage of these culinary opportunities, and that some fine dining would be an excellent way to celebrate finishing two years of Peace Corps - best. decision. ever.

First: dinner at Central. Steve and I enjoyed a delicious three-course meal, whose highlights were a hot ceviche appetizer and a goat cheese-chocolate mousse-crystallized carrot sugar dessert. The restaurant itself was incredibly normal in appearance, with a fairly small dining room, but it was cool to see into the open kitchen and watch head chef Virgilio Martínez in action.

Steve excited about ceviche caliente

The crazy dessert, which was for some reason served with dry ice alongside

Second: the 29-course tasting menu "experience" at Astrid y Gastón. This was one of the most incredible things I have done in Peru, or possibly in all my travels, and something I will likely never repeat (because it would cost beaucoup de $$ anywhere else). Head chef Gastón Acurio is right in describing this production not as a meal, but as an experience: the setting of a beautiful restored colonial mansion, the impeccable service of a full-on army of waitstaff and their never-ending flatware, the artistic presentation of each and every dish, and the food itself where literally every bite was a fancy and creative piece of perfection. It was awe-inspiring, and it was delicious. Below is a sampling of some favorite dishes…

"Roots and herbs" - paper-thin crackers made with herbs and served in an actual tree branch

"Huatia" - a traditional Andean way of cooking potatoes and meat is to bury the food and fire underground. A&G recreated this by cooking these potatoes in an adobe brick, then served with various sauces including alpaca peanut, wild mushroom, and multiple different cheese-herb ones

"Trout, chirimoya, duck" - pretty self-explanatory name, but a surprising and amazing combination of flavors

"Coins" - various flavors of chocolate coins, dusted with sparkling gold; the best one was a milk chocolate-quinua one

Dinner crew: Emily, Lindsay, Chris, me

But as good as top-50 restaurants are, regular old Peruvian food is pretty darn tasty too. Consequently my last meal in Peru was one of the classic favorites I'll miss the most: ceviche and chicharrones (fried fish/shellfish).