Running out is okay

In the U.S., people like to buy in bulk. It's economically logical: if buying slightly bigger version of a product today is going to be cheaper in the long run than buying two of the smaller versions, Americans will commonly bite the bullet and pay that little bit of extra cash today to get the long-term savings. Places like Costco exist, and are generally packed to the gills with shoppers. 

The concept of a Costco, and the sheer volume of things people will buy at one time there, would literally blow the minds of small-town Peruvians. Here, buying in bulk is a nonexistent practice, and families instead tend to buy things in the smallest quantity possible. For example: rather than buying a box of tea bags, people will buy five individual tea bags (yes, stores sell tea by the individual bag). Rather than buying a box of soap bars, people will buy only one bar at a time. Shoppers will choose to buy the mini-size version of nail-polish remover (below), rather than the cheaper-by-the-ounce bigger bottle.

This is one cultural norm I still struggle to internalize. I grew up in a household where there are always at least two cartons of milk in the fridge, a Costco-pack of toilet paper stashed in the bathroom cupboards, and more extra batteries in the laundry room drawer than we will likely go through in two years. Before coming to Peru, I didn't question the logic of all these extras, since it seemed very practical to always have one more of an item on hand for when the one in use ran out. The fact that things are consistently on the verge of running out in my Peruvian house continues to stress me out: when cooking lunch, I eye the five remaining matches in the matchbox, and the nagging worry starts in the back of my mind that when I go to make tea for dinner there will be no matches left. Even highly necessary items, like toilet paper or gas for the stove, have on multiple occasions turned out to be gone at moments of need.

However, I seem to be the only one bothered by these chronic shortages. When my host mom discovers that there is no more of whatever product, she simply says, "¡ay, falta ___!" (___ is missing!) and runs down to the corner store to buy some more. This is normal behavior here - I am the strange one for wanting to make sure I always have enough of something. I think this difference in standard house-stocking procedure exists for a few reasons. Peruvians buy based on need - particularly people living on more limited economic resources - and are only going to spend today on what they need today. Planning for the future and putting away savings are also less common practices here, not something that is culturally ingrained that everyone should do. Running out of something is perfectly okay; that just tells you it's time to go buy another round! And even though it might give me a stress ulcer, I can at the same time understand that logic too.

El Papa

a.k.a. the Pope, not to be confused with la papa (potato), or el papá (dad).

My host mom is an avid Catholic, so I was first alerted that white smoke had gone up from the Vatican by her excited shriek exhorting my host grandparents to turn on their TV so they could hear the new pope's first blessing. I proceeded to open up nytimes.com and learn that the church's next leader was Jesuit (Hoya Saxa!) and Argentine - a first on both counts. While this was of course interesting and news-worthy, I didn't really think much of it until I was out running errands later this afternoon.

Along the four-block walk between my house and the municipality, I heard multiple conversations that all included something along the lines of, "¿Escuchaste? ¡El Papa habla castellano!" (Did you hear? The new Pope speaks Spanish!) In a country where 81% of the population is Catholic, the first-ever Pope from their corner of the world is a big deal. That their number-one religious figurehead now speaks their own language is cause for excitement, for feeling like they're sharing in something special. Multiply this over the rest of the countries in Latin America (almost all of which are similarly high-majority Catholic), and you get the same big deal on a continental scale. It's a positive moment for the region, and even the cajabambinos are celebrating.

The Great Peruvian Mango Secret

In summer months (January and February), Peru is the land of never-ending mangos. At the height of the season, fruit vendors have so many piles of mangos that they sell them for less than 50 U.S. cents per kilo, and by the end of February people are practically giving them away all along the coast. And these mangos are not limited to our American one-color-one-size definition of a mango. Here there is everything from small yellow mangos the size of ovalish apricots, to ginormous green ones the size of my head.

Needless to say I have utterly enjoyed partaking in the fruits of Peruvian mango season. However, if you are familiar with eating mangos, you are likely aware that their extreme deliciousness is always accompanied by their extreme messiness. Even when I am eating one of these juicy treats in the comfort of my own kitchen, using a knife, fork, and plate, nine times out of ten the mango wins the battle and I end up with yellow juice spots on various articles of clothing. Let's not even talk about the far-from-cleanly state of my fingers and face.

In light of my total inability to neatly consume a mango, you can imagine the eyes-wide awe I experienced the first time I saw a Peruvian casually munching a coconut-sized mango while walking down the road: there were no drips of yellow juice in sight! This lady's hands were spotless, and yet there she was, visibly enjoying her fruit. The mystery of the Peruvian mango technique remained elusive to me for many weeks that followed, and I had pretty much resigned myself to continuing my life as an ungraceful mango eater, destined to wallow in that sweet messiness for the rest of my days.

But then, while out on a hike near Cajamarca, one of my fellow volunteers pulled a sizable red mango out of her pack and began to eat it. When she saw me staring jealously at her impeccable technique, Amanda agreed to impart her wisdom on me. It was thus I learned the Great Peruvian Mango Secret, which I will now share with you privileged blog readers:

How to eat a mango, Peruvian style:

1. Study the mango's exterior to spot any worm-holes. If worm-hole is found, abort mission.
2. If the fruit is worm-free, proceed to roll the mango around in your hands, applying pressure to make it juicier. Do not squeeze too hard, or you will experience the unpleasant (and very messy) occurrence of mango innards exploding out of a random hole onto you and/or the ground. Rookie mistake.
3. Once you feel the target is sufficiently juicy, bite a small hole in the mango skin on a convenient side of the mango. Spit out the skin piece.
4. Suck out a lot of delicious mango juice through the newly created hole. You may need to re-squeeze the mango to produce more juice.
5. Once the majority of the free-flowing juice has been extracted, peel back the skin, section by section, and munch away on the rest of the fruit left inside.

Voila! A delicious and tidy mango experience.

Chris demonstrating proper mango technique

Cajalympics

Cajalympics is an annual, time-honored tradition among the volunteers in Cajamarca. Every year teams are formed, alliances made, and countries selected in preparation for the main event. A date is chosen, and volunteers converge from north and south alike to compete for glory in our own version of olympic games - although the games played at Cajalympics are not exactly olympic sports in the traditional sense :)

As with the real Olympics, however, the manner in which a team presents itself is of utmost importance. Thus the first (and only photographable) event of Cajalympics is the costume contest - each team must come dressed in the style of their chosen country. Brad and I spent the weeks leading up to this weekend in an ongoing quest to improve our Scotland outfits, and our efforts won us second place in the costume contest. Not a bad start to what turned out to be an extremely fun and silly day of Cajalympics antics.

Brad and I looking Scottish

Katy and José as Japan - costume competition winners

Chris and Nick as Terrorists - they felt it politically incorrect to assign that label to any certain country

Manuel and Amanda as Oceania (obviously, Cajalympics has very loose rules for the definition of "country")

Diamond and Jackie as Greece

Jess and Faith as Jamaica

Kate and Jennifer as Sweden (the Swedish chef muppet and Lisbeth Salander)

And Zach forming third-party alliances as an obscure and unpronounceable region of Latvia

Music to my ears

I just returned to site after a week spent in Cajamarca for another Peace Corps training - this one was on how to teach the youth entrepreneurship course that all economic development volunteers do, and on project planning skills. It was fun to host all the 19ers up here in the mountains and reunite with the whole gang again.

While most of the training was pretty run-of-the-mill, one day we got to go visit the town of Namora, another volunteer's site near Cajamarca. Namora is known throughout the region as the home of expert guitar makers. We poked our heads into one of the master carpenter's workshops to see what all the hype was about, and learned about the intricate wood-working that goes into a quality guitar.

Nico checks out a guitar in progress

Incredibly complex wooden inlay for the design

Heidi, Steve and I getting a lift out to the carpenter's in the back of a moto-truck

Wrapping it up

Vacaciones útiles (summer classes) are over and done with, and today all of Peru's schoolchildren headed back to their normal classes. I've really enjoyed our camp-style classes the past seven weeks - the perfect combination of fun and work, and a project that let Jess and me (and the kids) keep occupied at a time when not much else is going on in site. Since ceremony is important in Peru, last week was filled with closing activities...

We printed, signed, and handed out end-of-camp certificates to high-schoolers and youngsters alike:

We took the high-schoolers on a paseo (field trip/hike) to the Cochecorral waterfalls near Cajabamba:

The falls from afar

Walking along in the fog

View of Cajabamba down below

And, of course, we worked like mad to get the world map finished:

The touch-up crew hard at work on the last day

Adding a little personal touch - all our handprints

Final add-ons: compass, Peru flag, Peace Corps logo, country outlines, and grand title

At the end of a busy week, we said our goodbyes to the niños, and Jess and I were left to admire the beauty of our summer "baby" - a completed world map mural. So many hours of work later, it was a good feeling :)

Straight talkin'

Don't know who this guy is or where he's serving, but laughed out loud at this video today: sometimes you just end up talking to a chicken. Whether you're whisper-yelling at the neighbor's rooster to pipe down at 4:00 a.m., saying, "hello friend" to the chicken eyeing you as you walk past its home turf, or just having a conversation with the family hen because it's the only other living creature in the yard as you're waiting for people to show up and the meeting to start, etc. etc...