¡Provecho!

Hey y'all.

So what I realized is that I'm long overdue for a blog entry devoted to entirely to...food!  (Well, to be honest, I'm long overdue for any type of blog entry.)  As my Princeton cohort and I have discovered, perhaps the most difficult part of cultural immersion, especially when you're living with a host family and eat the majority of your meals with them, is adjusting your diet.  I've learned through the process of developing a Peruvian stomach that "oh-yeah-no-problem-I-eat-anything" is a different concept when you're living in a different country for an extended period of time.

I'm going to give you a little tour of my savory adventures thus far.  First, an average day...

Desayuno is relatively simple and usually consists of Quaker [watered-down oatmeal that you drink more than eat], a type of jugo [My host mom makes it fresh.  It can be anything from apple to mango to papaya to orange to a mix.  The main source of difference is that the Peruvians like their juice warm!], and pan (bread) with butter, jam, or manjarblanco (caramel spread).  One thing I can't complain about is that cake, when there are leftovers, is sometimes also acceptable for breakfast.  This is especially nice the day after your birthday.

Almuerzo can be an elaborate affair.  It's not uncommon for the entire family to regresar a casa for a few hours to eat lunch together.  This happens in my host family.  Typically, lunch consists of two courses, a sopa and a segundo. The sopa, or soup, usually contains vegetables, possibly meat, and possibly noodles, rice, or quinoa (Andean grain).  The segunda is quite often some variation of rice, meat (fried or boiled), and potatoes.  Pasta, or tallerin, sometimes substitutes for rice.  What can be frustrating is that usually the person who cooks serves everyone straight from the pot on the stove.  This means you don't really get to determine your own portion size.  Which means you often find yourself bastante lleno after lunch.  Again, it's traditional to drink warm juice along with lunch.  Sometimes, my family has a little postre, or dessert, after lunch.  It's common to have gelatina (Jell-O) or mazamorra, a thick gel/pudding thing made out of fruit.

Cena is less formal, but still a family occasion, at least in my host family.  Typically, we have something that's quick and easy to cook, i.e. French fries (home-made), rice, and fried chicken.  What's interesting: never have we had lunch leftovers for dinner.  Back at home in the States, my family would eat the same thing for two, three, or sometimes four meals.  But in Peru, it appears that people tend to shy away from refrigerating and reheating.  After dinner, the family sticks around to have algo caliente, meaning tea or coffee.  Or perhaps hot chocolate.

Just before we start eating, and right before we get up from the table, we follow Peruvian tradition by saying "provecho!" or some variation of the expression, such as "buen provecho" or "provecho con todos."  It's similar to bon apetit in French and means something along the lines of "may this food keep you in good health and good spirits."  Usually, one person will be the first to say it, and the rest of the table politely repeats in response.  Whenever I forget to say it, my three-year-old host sister makes sure to remind me until I do.

In addition to my typical daily meals, I've gotten to sample some delicious postres at various locations in Urubamba, Cusco, and Arequipa.  For those of you foodies, I'm going to include some pictures of my faves.  Enjoy!

Chocolate balls with a bit of liquor inside

flaky layered pastry with manjarblanca inside

cachitos

these are called empanadas de something...they taste like shortbread

pastel helado

mmmmm

P.S. The Princeton Bridge Year Website recently published our first Group Update from the Field!  I suggest you check it out!  Updates from Peru  You can also go back to the Updates archives to check out what the PBY students have been doing in Ghana, India, and Serbia.

That's it for now.

Un Dia en la Vida

Hey y'all.

Before I start, I would like to point out, for those of you doubters, that I have indeed updated my previous post with photos!  Surprise!  I implore you to check them out.


So I had quite an interesting adventure this past weekend.  As I've probably explained before, the main component of our service here in Peru involves designing and implementing development projects in two local communities, Media Luna and Chicon.  Though we have been working on various diagnostics over the past few weeks, through which we've been getting to know the campesinos, we realized that we were far from understanding what day-to-day life is like for Media Lunans and Chiconians.  Therefore, Stephanie organized a "Day in the Life," in which we would each be paired with a person in one of these communities.  Our task was not just to observe and jot down everything in our notebooks, but to actively participate in all aspects of this person's daily tasks.  Though we barely scratched the surface--we only spent 24 hours in the campo after all--I still feel like I learned so much.

Street view

When I first arrived at my host family's house, it was only about seven in the evening.  It was already pitch dark, and they'd already eaten dinner and put the kids to bed.  My host mom, Goya, and host dad, Carlos, were poring over an interesting-looking milling machine in their tienda, or store, which is part of their house.  As Goya explained to me, they use this machine to grind corn into flour, which is the first step in making chicha, the famous corn beer of the Peruvian countryside.  Unfortunately, the corn hadn't had time to dry before they'd run it through the machine, and it kept getting stuck.  After nearly an hour, they managed to grind all of the remaining corn.  There was still work to be done that night though.  Goya carried a sack of flour out to a patio-type-area, where an enormous cauldron was being heated over a fire.  She poured the flour into the already boiling water, and stirred.  We chatted a little, and she told me how she wished she had a cocina mejorada (cleaner-burning stove from ProPeru) for her chicha as well, because the smoke gives her a lot of chest pain.  The next morning, I learned just how elaborate chica-making is.  It involves boiling and re-boiling, straining and re-straining.  And a lot of water.  Here are some pictures.

One of Goya's chicha pots

We used this gourd to scoop the liquid into the bucket, then into the sieve below.

The nest-looking part is made of something called paja.  Goya created it in the basket.

Speaking of water...unfortunately, there have been some major piping problems in Chicon, and the community is currently without running water.  This means that the families have to make frequent trips to the stream to collect water for daily activities.  As Goya said many times during our time together, "nos falta mucho sin agua"...we struggle a lot without water.

On Saturday morning, I literally woke up to the sound of the rooster crowing.  Carrying a pile of feed, I accompanied Carlos to the chacra, where we fed the bulls.  I hadn't realized before how time consuming animal maintenance can be, especially if the field isn't right next to the house. Later that day, I returned to the chacra with Goya to feed the pigs.  (The leftover corn pulp that results from the repeated siftings of the chicha makes a convenient pig slop.  I liked how nothing was wasted.) And in the afternoon, we returned once more to take the bulls out to graze.

The feed.  The bull.

The bulk of the rest of my time in Chicon was spent in the kitchen.  In the morning, Goya and I worked on preparing lunch.  We made fried fish, rice, lentils, and potatoes, which reminded me fondly of Indian cuisine.  Just like chica-making, cooking is can be quite difficult without running water.  It was hard to wash our hands properly, and we had to keep going back to the stream to get more water.  In terms of the actual cooking, Goya smiled politely when she noticed my shortcomings.  It's not that easy to dice potatoes in mid-air, sans cutting board.  Goya did it expertly, of course.  Anyway, after a morning of constant activity, we finally sat down to enjoy our lunch, along with her two sons, Carlitos and Josue.  It was absolutely delicious.  But when we were done, there was more work to do.

My meal of spaghetti, cuy, rocoto, and potato

I was lucky enough to come to Chicon on the day of Goya's grandmother's birthday.  In the campo, 'birthday' is synonymous with 'feast.'  All day, Goya's mom and aunts had been cooking up a storm, and after lunch we went to her grandmother's house to join in.  Several cuyes (guinea pigs) were roasting over the fire.  One woman was dousing stuffed rocotos (peppers filled with peas and carrots) in batter and frying them on the stove.  Another peeled potatoes, while another tended to the spaghetti.  I chopped onions, or tried.  After a long time, the feast was ready, and I had the pleasure of sitting down with the whole family for a traditional campesino birthday meal.  It was wonderful.  When I had finished most of my food, I took out my water bottle to wash it down.  At once, everyone in the room called out in alarm.  "You can't drink cold water after you eat!" they cried.  "Please, drink some matecito (hot tea) instead!"  I sheepishly downed my water anyway.   I found out later that their philosophy comes from the fact that digestion is slow at high altitudes.  Apparently, drinking cold water slows it further.  Whether it's true or not, I have no idea, but I was just fine after drinking my water.

With my Chiconian family, and our abuelita

I learned a lot about rural life during my stay in Chicon, but most importantly, I got an idea of just how hard the people work.  I remember during a tour in Cusco, the tour guide pointed out that many of the Inca figures have oversized hands and feet, and this is to symbolize the fact that they work so hard.  This is an Andean concept that definitely still exists.  There's no doubt about it: these people work hard.  And though Goya said she was cansada (tired) many times during the day, she always said it with a smile on her face.

My First Camping Trip

Hey y'all.

Whoops, it's been a while since I've blogged.  My apologies to those of you who just can't get enough of this.  Anyway, I have quite an interesting story to tell, so perhaps that will make up for my recent lack of activity.  Though, as much as I hate to say it, I will once again have to post photo-less because I forgot to charge my camera before I left for the weekend!  Stupid.  I won't make any promises, in case they turn up empty again, but I will try really hard to mooch some lovely photos from my lovely friends.

So anyway, this past weekend, a ProWorld crew of 17 (the Princeton group, some volunteers, and most of the staff) loaded up the gear and got up bright and early on Saturday morning to tackle Pitusiray, a mountain near Calca.  Legend has it that around this time each year, and only this time, it is possible to discern the shape of a puma from the shadow the mountain casts on the ground.  In addition, the top of the mountain is a beautiful spot to camp, complete with a peaceful laguna for swimming.  In hopes of realizing these attractions, our party gathered at the Urubamba terminal bright and early on Saturday morning, many of us (me included) quaking slightly at the thought of the five to six hour hike ahead.

As a pretty inexperienced hiker, I had little idea of what to expect.  But I was surprised that though the hike was certainly very difficult, it was actually humanly possible.  After seven exhausting uphill hours, we finally caught sight of what wasn't just a mirage.  The laguna was absolutely gorgeous.  A few of my brave constituents even stripped down for a quick swim!  Eventually, we settled down, set up camp, and assigned ourselves to tents.  We enjoyed a freshly-cooked meal of pasta and rocoto sauce as we watched the sunset from an altitude of 4200 meters.  I can honestly say that I've never been that high in my entire life.

Bringin' back the socks and sandals

It got dark quickly, as it usually does in Peru, and we settled into our respective tents.  I was sharing with the three other Princeton chicas.  Slowly, as we drifted into a pseudo-sleep, the pitter-patter on top of the tent strengthened.  We didn't think much of it, considering our tent was protected by a rain layer.  Little by little, however, the side of the tent where I was sleeping got wetter and wetter, and I felt the occasional droplet of water on my head.  Still, I thought nothing of it, and continued trying to sleep.  Not too long after, my "sleep" was cut short as I realized I was surrounded by fabric.  As I cried out in confusion, a wave of shock swept over the four of us as we discovered that our tent had collapsed!  But that's not all: when Eleanor, our resident hiking expert, opened the tent flap to try to repair the damage, she called out "it's snowing!"  And sure enough, there were a few centimeters of snow covering everything in sight.  Snow?!   We had thought we'd planned for everything.

The laguna

Before long, most of the group had woken up, and we (after determining our tent beyond repair) quickly redistributed to the other tents, grateful for the body heat generated by even more cramped conditions.  To be honest, it was a long miserable night of never-ending snowfall, teasingly strong wind, and a threatening thunderclap and lightening combo.  But the view(s) in the morning made everything worth it.  As we made our way down the mountain, we could see snow-capped moutains above and the pueblo of Calca down below.  And two and a half somewhat painful hours later, we were back on the ground again.

Though my first camping night ever wasn't exactly fine and dandy, I would do it again.  If you looked at the pictures, you probably know why.

Chao.

Photo credits: Alexandra Junn