Tag Archives: psu

Coming home to so much stuff…

The first thing I noticed after arriving in New York City was the height of the buildings. Driving through the supposed capital of the world, it was hard not to feel impressed. Well developed, the streets are wide enough that traffic can flow through them at a reasonable pace.  The structures–including high rises, sidewalks and roads–aren’t falling apart. And yeah, the lights: the atmosphere was smothered in glowing name brands like Aeropostale, McDonald’s, Gap, just fill in the blank; it was more big business than I’d seen in months.

So I’m home, here in the cultural vacuum of Pennsylvania. Before leaving to study abroad, I’d thought that there was more to the picture, that I wasn’t getting the full story here in middle-class America. Now I’m positive that that’s the case.

I’ve seen parts of Argentina, Ecuador and Peru. This little bit of international experience has made me incredibly cynical. I’m somewhat closer to working through my affliction, the typical university student crisis of what to do with my life, but not very. The world is a heavy place with lots of absurd stuff going on. I wanted to acquire a global perspective while on the road, and well, I suppose got it: Life is a process of struggling to survive, people get by however they can. And I’m fortunate enough to be in a country like the United States, where there’s an incredible amount of opportunity. I know that’s a clich�, but it’s true.

At the same time, this place isn’t the center of the universe. I walked through the Lehigh Valley Mall to do Christmas shopping, and I was amazed at wide variety of products on display. There is so much freaking stuff here. But we generally only see the Batman action figure or JC Penney T-shirt in its final form; we know that the sweatshop workers in developing countries exist and we hear about rampant factory pollution in other parts of the world, yet actually seeing part of that reality upon which our dream of the United States exists is another matter.

A lot of people close their eyes or don’t even think about the places outside of this gigantic fish bowl we live in. I’ve never been that way. And after being back here only a week, having glimpsed what exists outside, I’m already ready to go back out and stare the problems and contradictions in the face.

It doesn’t matter whether I look or not. The world couldn’t care less. Even so, I like not only acknowledging that it’s out there with all of its deformations and imperfections, but also caring about it deeply. I can’t simply be complacent. At least, I haven’t become that jaded yet. And I hope I never do.


Location: East Stroudsburg, PA, United States

Images of Peru

Being Peruvian-American, arriving in Peru for the first time in twelve years was a powerful experience.

When I arrived here during spring break in October, seeing the landscape from the airplane, a fullness entered my chest, the same feeling I�ve experienced upon returning home after weeks at college.

It�s crazy that I felt that sense of homecoming, because Peru has never been my home. All I knew of the country at the time were photos, a long past family vacation, fragments of memories that my parents told me, and whatever else I could piece together from my relatives� experiences in the States. I also had whatever my family had been able to bring to rural Pennsylvania, whether that was food, music or whatever else, but I�d never been able to touch Peru itself.

So to drive by the oil refinery on the outskirts of Lima, seeing people living in abject poverty in shacks among the dirt, was to experience a sobering shock I�d never expected. Peru had before been an amorphous concept, but there I could plainly see a veritable face of the country. And it disgusted me.

Although the barrios of Miraflores and Barranco in Lima are beautiful (among the more developed areas of the city), I also saw other parts of Lima that existed in depressing disrepair: Ramshackle affairs of houses thrown together in a hell of urban sprawl. Life-threatening traffic on every street. Kids selling candy and doing cartwheels at traffic lights to earn money.

Since arriving here in late November, now my third visit to Peru, I�ve had the opportunity to visit Cusco, Lake Titicaca, Puno, Arequipa, Ica and Huacachina, and my perspective has developed substantially.

To be honest, I was shaken by Cusco and the floating islands of Lake Titicaca. The rampant tourism there — seeing suppliant Peruvians practically begging to sell their wares at every possible moment — made me feel embarrassed.

Was this really Peru? I didn�t want to believe it. I saw nothing of the self-sufficiency of Buenos Aires. It seemed Peruvians were a somehow a subservient people that went about perpetually on their knees. I know it�s terrible to think so demeaningly, but the number of citizens with this sort of foreigner-centered mentality far outnumbered those of any other disposition. The people of the floating islands even sang a song and danced about, like circus clowns, for us tourists.

But arriving in the city of Puno, I finally saw a different face of Peru.

Sam and I were just two annoying backpackers taking up too much sidewalk space in the crowded city. People hardly looked at as they went about their daily business. If anything, they cautioned us, “There are thieves around here, be careful.” But that was all. We weren`t the center of attention, and it was wonderful.

It was the same in Arequipa. I saw Peru existing of its own accord. The rest of the world seemed so far away, and I was really here.

Of course, Machu Picchu and the ruins were amazing, but that�s the Peru of the past. And if all foreigners leave Peru knowing only those ruins, some parts of Lima and the touristed areas of Cusco and Lake Titicaca, that constitutes an image of the country that in no way does it justice.


Location: La Avenida del Arco 189, Lima, Peru

Bus-Ride Dreams

Riding the bus through the mountains of Peru today, I saw the Pacific Ocean�s splendor underneath a beautiful setting sun. I couldn�t help but stare. This is a wonderful country to gawk at, and I�m glad I had the chance to pass through the endless sand dunes and sheer cliffs on the country�s shore.


When nighttime falls, the absolute darkness outside the windows still impresses me. No streetlights, no headlights, no signs of civilization. It�s the sense of the land being unspoiled by human development that I like, existing independently and unconsciously of us as if we didn�t even matter.

And when the fairytail-like twinkling of a new city finally comes into view, faraway, it fills me with a sense of anticipation for the experiences that�ll unfold there — the characters I�ll meet, the stories I�ll hear, the things I�ll learn.

This feeling of going to new places is akin to how I feel waking up before the sun rises, the realization that a whole life of unexpected moments exists ahead of me waiting to be discovered.

Being on the move, it�s easy to feel alive. Everything I see is so fresh. The downside is that those same places and people are so fleeting, and I barely have the chance to percieve them before they�re gone.

Currently in the town of Huacachina, another acquaintance on the road for me to glimpse for a short time, and only from the window.


Location: Huacachina, Peru

Discrimination – Getting Called Out in a Crowd

Cusco draws a lot of tourists. Expensive restaurants like Jack�s Cafe serve American-style burgers and hiking stores — due to the big attraction of Machu Picchu — swarm the streets near the central Plaza de las Armas. Many locals pinpoint foreigners to sell goods or ask for money. People actively pursue this so often that it becomes a headache.


A street artist waited for me outside a restaurant for an hour and a half with his portfolio. He managed to sell me a picture I didn�t even particularly like, simply because I felt badly for him.


After that, a shoe-shining man, seeing the leftover food I had in a doggie bag, proceeded to follow me and Sam halfway to our hostel several blocks away. He begged me for the food continuously. If I hadn�t already spent so much money on the painting, I might�ve given it to him.


Little girls on the street will look at me and smile. I�ll smile back. Then they�ll hold out a hand, saying in a sweet voice, “�Propina?“, which of course means that they�re asking for money.


People ask me for money so often that I don�t even know what to do with myself anymore. I just want to shout at them, “I can�t help the entire freaking world! I want to, but do you know how many other people I�ve helped today?”


And it�s ridiculous for me to get upset like this: I�m not the one begging on the street.


It�s in this context that, after visiting a church in the Plaza San Francisco, Sam and I were drawn to a street comedy show. A man had drawn a laughing crowd of 150 people or so and was shouting and acting obscenities. After one of his sketches, he pointed directly at us and shouted, “You! Whitey! Where are you from?“


Sam responded, the United States.


The comedian busted on him for a moment. Then he called me out, asking for my nationality.


I responded, the United States.


Everyone laughed and he joked about me, as if it that fact were impossible.


This was easy to smile at until the comedian grew progressively more incisive with his commentary. I don�t remember what he said exactly. He sarcastically mentioned people from the United States coming to have a good time in his beautiful country. He put on a blond wig of long hair like a woman�s, saying he now looked just like us. Everyone continued laughing.


He then said that us — these people from the United States — should give him money, right there in front of the crowd, or be disgraced. He approached us, holding out the wig in mock, exaggerated suppliance. Everyone watched in anticipation and the tension in the air was thick. Sam didn�t understand quite what was going on, and he was still laughing at the “joke.” Angry, uncomfortable and defeated, I reached into my pocket and gave him two coins. I wasn�t even sure how much they were worth.


“6 soles! Look, how generous! Thank you so much!” he said when he�d returned to the center of the crowd.


Even then he continued heckling us and abruptly Sam caught on and said, “Let�s get out of here.”


This scenario was still burning in my mind when we sat down at a poller�a (restaurant that sells almost exclusively chicken, fries and salad), less than 20 minutes later. Sam and I were eating quickly, having paid before sitting down because we had to catch a bus.


When Sam rose to fill up his salad bowl, a Peruvian man glared at me and said condescendingly, “Make sure he leaves tip. Don�t forget to leave tip.”


I was ready to freaking explode.


I scarfed down a few more forkfuls of food, shaking my head and getting angrier by the second. Sam saw my annoyance but I wasn�t even paying attention to him. Far past ready to leave, I tore 2-sole coin out of my pocket, held it up so the man could see and slammed it on the table-


As we were leaving, I leaned onto the table next to the man. He looked past me at the television screen, ignoring me. I said in Spanish while Sam put on his backpack, “I�m the son of two Peruvians, and he is one of best people I�ve ever met.“


“And I speak very good English!” he said turning his head.


I�m not sure what I�d wanted to accomplish. All I�d wanted was to combat ignorance or discrimination, I think, but what would the confrontation really get me? Nothing in the end. But I was so incredibly pissed at everything that had transpired before then that I wasn�t thinking straight.


“Don�t judge my friends,” is what I said, and I left the restaurant, shaking my head, a mix of emotions I�d never felt before swirling around inside me.


Thankfully, I�ve never experienced much discrimination in my life. If I have, it�s been inconsequential. So to walk around with Sam — tall, white and blond — while in Peru has been an eye-opening experience. People treat me so differently when I wander around alone, lending themselves more warmly to conversation, begging me for money less. Now I�ve been noticing the eyes watching us as we walk, and I stare pointedly back at them, wanting to say, “What is your problem?”


Things have been different since leaving Cusco, but those few days have been branded into my memory.


Location: Arequipa, Peru

Cities and Landscapes

Traveling over the mountains toward Cusco, I thought the landscape existed on a larger scale than anything I�d seen before. I�d post pictures to demonstrate, but the image upload on the blog is currently malfunctioning.

I�d heard references to landscapes before, describing them as nature�s works of art. I finally understand what that means; it seemed like God himself reached down and carved the hills and mountains, splashed some grass to add texture and plopped trees into the scene for good measure. Like a canvas.

Now I�m in Cusco, and the atmosphere of this city couldn�t be more different than the atmosphere of Buenos Aires. Cobblestone streets, colonial buildings, churches. It�s interesting to see the contrast, which I�ll describe in more depth later.

The people are different here, too. I hate to generalize, but there�s something in the affective manner Peruvians speak that makes them seem nicer. I bought a roadside snack, meat speared by a wooden stick. A little girl, hungry, looked at me while we were in the crowd and asked me if she could have some. Small, soft black eyes. I gave her everything I had left. It�s hard to not let that look penetrate you.


Location: Cusco, Peru

Peru

I`m on a bus to Cusco, traveling east through the mountains after spending a night in Ventanilla. I`m using an onboard computer with WIFI with the company Cruz del Sur, the best bus service I�ve ever experienced (excellent, authentic food, arroz con pollo, for dinner, and even a game of Bingo to pass the time)

Soon, I`ll be walking the Camino of the Incas, or a 4 day hiking trail leading to the ruins of Machu Picchu in the heart of the Andes Mountains. This is after experiencing culture shock for the umpteenth time by returning to the country my parents left so many years ago.

The extreme poverty of the habitations around Lima still strikes me: ramshackle affairs of houses thrown together on dunes of dirt, hardly a walk`s away from oil refineries spewing smoke. I`m here with a friend I met at IES, Sam Hodges, and we`ve been discussing how those effects of rampant neoliberalism manifest themselves here like the gnarled flipside of a seemingly pretty coin.

Traveling is interesting in how it affects you, and when I say �you� of course that means me.

I gain a better understanding of the world, which is odd because that understanding amounts to a realization of how absurdly complex it really is, and how it becomes even moreso the more I see.

I`m going to post this entry before we lose Internet access; we`re climbing higher and reception will cut out soon.

I`ll say one last thing: the darkness outside the window is absolute. No streetlights. No buildings. Every once in a while, we see another car, though that`s not often. It`s a bit eerie how, when I look through the glass, there`s absolutely nothing out there.


Location: Andes Mountains, Peru

Last Night in Buenos Aires

I’m in no way ready to leave Argentina.

In some respects, I’ve allowed my life to fall to pieces while studying here. My academics have gone completely down the drain. I’ve reevaluated everything that I’ve ever worked to achieve, and to top it off, those ideas I once had are not just altered but completely broken.

It’s a beautiful thing, because I’ve realized that there’s more to life, so much more than what rural Pennsylvania has to offer.

This might seem especially melodramatic, even naive. But after participating in the occupation of the university, attending student protests and living in a culture that is so distinct from the cold atmosphere of the northeast, I wonder if I’m not steadily losing some part of my humanity back at home.

Tomorrow, I fly to Per�, back to the “homeland,” to see Macchu Pichu and travel aimlessly for a few weeks.

I’ll continue blogging as often as I can until the next semester begins, probably posting an abundance of photos and reflections when I get back to the States that I just don’t have the time to record right now. I like living in the moment as much as I can, and I think ultimately that dedicating time to that should amount to better entries in the long run.

Peace.


Location: Avenida Paraguay, Buenos Aires, Argentina