It's just another "ombelic"

It's like I just woke up from hibernation and realised that maybe I have something to say, and certainly lots of time to say it, so I should get back to the rambling and scribbling.. after all London is just another 'ombelic', another navel of the world. (A note is due here: as every Italian knows, when you take any Italian word and take out the last letter, you get its English translation). London may not be an "ombelic" in the sense Cusco is: there was definitely no Sun god (or Sun, at all) picking this place to build his city.. but apparently millions of common mortals have chosen it to build their city and, all in all, the result is a pretty decent capital of the world (NYC disputes are not accepted here).

I'm not sure if I should continue this blog in my Peru style, but my gut feeling tells me that if I compare how exciting filling out excel spreadsheets is compared to hiking up to communities in the Sacred Valley, the stories from my London life may not quite compare to the Peruvian ones. I will tell the interesting and funny and outrageous things I see here, but I will probably end up talking about other things.. but this first post will have to be about Her, London.

We London dwellers know that London is a person with a distinct personality who act on its own accord. I personally think - but this is debated - that she is a woman, because she is temperamental and a bitch (apologies for this chauvinist idea). And, like many other people, I have a love-hate relationship with her.

I say 'London dwellers' because I don't know what makes you qualify as a proper 'Londoner'. When do you pass the test and get that piece of soul that you can put safely in that place that has been empty for a while or for ever and say this is my city? Is it when you get a job here, or when you buy a house, or spend X years here or marry a Londoner (good luck with that, they seem an endangered species - or at least they don't interact much with the likes of me, the immigrants).

Believe it or not, there are two distinct and parallel realities in London, that never meet and inexplicably ignore each other's existence: British London and International London. Ask any foreigner and they'll tell you everyone in London is foreign. Ask any Brit and they may have seen some Eastern European cleaners in their office but that's about the extent of the mixing and mingling. Of course the Brits have their facts right because 60% of London is "white - British".. unsurprisingly most of my friends are "white - other (specify)". And here I always wander what the hell I should specify. Italian is not an ethnicity, surely. But then the Scots think they're a foreign country, so us Italians can be a separate white - other ethnicity.

Lost in Translation

This is most probably going to be the last entry to this blog, so I figured I should end with one of themany crazy stories I have...
Yesterday me, Erlinda (the de facto manager of Hearts Cafe and coordinator of our nutrition projects in the communities), and my friend Tuti (who is from Arequipa and was in Ollanta taking care of Luis' hostel) woke up before dawn to take off at 5am to go from Huarán, in the valley, up to Canchacancha at 4200m. We were supposed to meet a group of med students, who were one hour late and then all had to rush to the bathroom--great start for a 9km hike up 1000m!
Getting to Canchacancha was quite the ordeal: the horses that were supposed to carry the medicines didn't come (we later found out the owner had gotten druk and eventually showed up at 7), while waiting for a different horse Erlinda, Tuti and I started walking ahead of the van and when they reached us they didn't pick us up...so we walked all the way to Canchacancha thinking the med students were ahead of us, only to realise they had gotten stuck at one point where the road was blocked by trunks, and made it up to Canchacancha an hour and a half after us (with the token person with altitude sickness)--after Choquequirao this hike was a joke. ;)
The students then set up all their equipment to start visiting people, ony to realise that the people from the community speak only Quechua, the doctors spoke only English, and NO ONE spoke both English and Quechua...so for every patient there was a translator to Spanish, a translator to English, and a doctor. I bet the diagnosis were perfectly accurate...but to me it was actually surprising that people are as healthy as they are, given how hard their lives are.
In the end I'm taking about 10 people to a free clinic run by an American-Peruvian NGO here in the Valley.

This morning Sonia stressed me out one too many times, when it took me only 2 hours to make my point that I think it's only fair that if the women in Sacaca are doing lots of work to take care of tourist groups, they should be making some money from it. I eventually convinced her (with Erlinda's help), but when I made it to the internet cafe and realised I haven't gotten the interview I was hoping for in London, I decided I would be going back anyway. I bought my flight and I will be leaving Cusco on Friday, and reaching Torino or London (I still have to buy my last flight from Madrid) on Sunday. I will now stop dwelling on whether it was the right decision, as I bought the flight and there's no changing my mind. It's going to be a long trip, with a 12 hour lay-over in Mexico City--the temptation might be too great and I might just go for a tour...

Thank you to everyone who's ever read my blog, and thank you to everyone who listened to my endless phone and email monologues about my experiences here. And thank you to everyone I met here, who created my Peruvian story. I probably wouldn't change any of it.

Cuidense.

Going home soon...

I'm going back home soon--whateve home means, it is my family, my friends, all the things I've missed.
I may have found someone who will take over my job, which would be great to keep the projects going. I will talk to her tomorrow and then fix my flight back, through D.C., to London, and Torino. It's not an easy decision, but I need to set a date so I stop this schizofrenia of wanting to leave this minute and wanting to stay here years. I am very attached to this country I still don't understand (do you ever fully unerstand a place?) but that I love in spite of the (three) people who really disappointed me. I hope that when I look back on this experience I will be able to separate between how much I despise Maricarmen, and how beautiful the place is, and how much Sonia drives me crazy, and how much I admire and respect so many people I've met, and how much Luis hurt me, and how much I enjoy working with the communities, and how much I have learned from all of it.

Experience

"Experience is what you get when you don't get what you want"
...is it too cynical to find that this quote perfectly applies to my Peruvian experience? My time here till now has been interesting and in every way different from what I would have visualised (had I visualised anything) when sitting at home in Italy in January. During the last 8 months I of course changed and learned and grew, I lost a camera, a cell phone and a lot of money, I lost my mind, my heart and my mp3 player--but it would be cliché to say that "I'm a different person" or that "this experience changed my life".
I'm uninspired to write, and I'm sure I'm uninspiring if you're looking for motivation to move to a developing country...I keep whining about no internet, cold shower, crazy bosses, bad food, dangerous roads and machistas, and I fail to mention the starry nights, the Inca ruins, the beautiful mountains, the cute-and-dirty children. Did I ever tell you how much I love working with communities, did I ever mention that there is this little town called Sacaca at 3900 m, which is beautiful and where I love to go and work with the people. Have I not told you they make amazing weavings and they drive me crazy with all their internal politics and fights? Have I told you how much I hate going to communities and distributing donations, I feel so uncomfortable being thanked (as if I were sacrificing myself to bring them clothes and coloured pencils), it is so awkward being in the position of having and donating to those who do not have. It's much better to work with people who try to manipulate me to get money and support.

Here are my mom's pictures from my parents' and Lorenzo's visit...
http://picasaweb.google.it/laura.palmucci

Besos

The things I miss

It's surprising the things you miss when you're away for a while.
Not in any particular order:
wireless internet, agnolotti al pesto, a functioning kitchen, indoor plumbing, not risking my life on the stone steps and wooden stairs going to my room, hot showers/a bathtub, Stefano (Lorenzo and my parents, but they are visiting now), skiing, owning a laptp, shopping--being able to find original puma shoes/nice shirts, mindless fashion magazines, Waterloo bridge, Kitty, horseback riding, dressing up, Anya, Faby, all my friends, good food, sleeping in, my grandmother, summer in the Northern hemisphere aka andare in bicicletta al Valentino a luglio, non-sketchy nightclubs, swimming pools, toilet paper in public bathrooms, wealth (as in being surrounded by it, as opposed to being surrounded by poverty).

This happens to me sometimes, and it has happened in every place I've lived--to miss people/places/things. I don't mean to sound whiney and I hope I don't. I love Ollantaytambo and I miss you a lot.

Favourite quotes (London here I come)

The last couple weeks have been "interesting", and I think London misses me as much as I miss her (yes Anya, her!).
I think I'm just going to report my two absolute favourite quotes from the last couple weeks, but they probably make the top ten of my life.

1) I was at my boss Sonia's house a few weeks ago, and we were discussing "these people" (aka Peruvians, with a strong high-class British derogatory inflection). Sonia was going off on the 347th rant about how (add strong high-class British derogatory accent here) "la palabra de un hombre de Peru" (=the word of a Peruvian man) is worthless, everybody is out to rip her off because she is a gringa/woman/old, etc. etc. So I dared say "I think if you're going to do social work you need to have some faith in people", to which she answered: "If we have such different philosophies we cannot work together. Let me know if you still want to work with me." WOW. Just Kidding.

2) I was dating a Peruvian guy who seemed completely nice and normal and I was so amazed that a mentally sane person would cross my way. After about a week I was getting to like him quite a bit and enjoying the whole dating thing, until Saturday night we are in a club in Cusco with a group of friends and he informs me that he really really likes me, but monogamy is just not for him. He's gotten used to the fun life and will never be satisfied with only one woman! (But he feels just terrible about it). HILARIOUS. He couldn't understand why I kept laughing.

As much as I have been and may keep meeting polygamous men in London, I am bound to have better luck with bosses--I don't think Maricarmen/Sonia levels of originality would be tolerated in London.

The relaxed Latin lifestyle

You've heard about the relaxed Latin lifestyle, right? No one stressed out, everything is always late, and people have lots of fun...well, in my Latin life my cell phone starts ringing at 7 am (probably it would start ringing earlier if I turned it on any earlier) with people stressing me out asking me to organize things, to find people, to buy stuff, to plan events, to solve problems, to coordinate groups, etc, etc, etc. I work on average 12 to 14 hours a day, theoretically 6 days a week. Today, Friday, is my day off. Let me tell you about it.

Last night I had to move all my stuff out of my hostel room and pack it into suitcases because they needed the room for tourists, so I slept in one of the staff's beds. So this morning I woke up at 6:30 am, having slept in my clothes and having gone to bed around midnight (having beed drinking beer with friends on the roof, with the most amazing view of the stars and the mountains). While I was brushing my teeth I got 2 missed calls (time 6:50 am). I am out of credit in my phone, which allowed me to not return the calls. I went to the plaza to meet the taxi driver in front of the restaurant and they informed me I needed to go to the internet cafe to print out the vegetarian menu for tonight. I ran to the internet, realised I've lost my USB, rewrote the menu, printed it, dropped it off at the cafe and got in the tazi to Sacaca, a community in the highlands about 1h30 from Ollanta. We got to Sacaca and picked up 3 children: Adriana, a girl who has been walking on crutches for 5 month because Pachamama (the mother Earth) dragged her down in anger--probaby her family didn't sacrifice enough to the Earth, Jose, a 6 year old boy with a congenital disease and also a problem with his palate and mouth so he doesnt speak, and Gerardo, a 16 year old who looks 10 with a horrible skin condition. We drove another hour and a half t the doctor in Cusco, taking also another woman, Jose Antonio's mother, who wanted to visit her child who is staying in a clinic for children with brain damage in Cusco. The doctor was really nice, but Sonia had told me he'd see the kids for free and instead he charged a lot of money for the visits and exams (we got discounts but it didnt really help). The kids all have serious problems, some treatable, some not, all way more expensive than their families can afford.

Then we went to the clinic where Jose Antonio is staying and if I thought nothing in Peru shocked me I have changed my mind. The clinic is wonderful, the children are very wel taken care of and it's virtually free...but the amount of suffering is more than I could handle. It must be really incredibly hard to work as a doctor, nurse, medical technician or any other job that is in so much constant contact with so much suffering.

I've since been running around Cusco doing errands and I decided I deserved a nice lunch at one of the very few good restaurants in town so I sat and breathed for half an hour and ate fish.

Now I need to go pick up the blood tests, ask the doctor if he can not charge us for at least one of the children, go back to Ollanta and probably work in the cafe tonight. I think if more staff were hired in the cafe I wouldn't tire myself to death, I wouldn't constantly get guilt trips about not being able to be in multiple places at once, and I'd actually be able to work on the projects....

Love.