It has been 684 days since I moved to Peru. One year, ten months, and sixteen days.
Wow. Simply, wow.
Those days have been filled with more learning and growing, laughing and crying, adventure and change that I ever dreamed possible. Peru is a country, a culture, and a people I have come to love. There have been moments of sadness, of missing family and friends and the familiar. Moments of longing, both for what was and the day when things will feel known. Of laughter as I make mistakes and struggle for words in my new language. Of joy as I see God working. Of beauty. Grief. Learning. And growth.
When I first arrived, everything felt new. From the food to the endless summer weather to changing money on the street to the markets to riding on the back of a truck to Yanesha communities. I ran on information overload for months.
But so many of those things feel normal now. The food is amazing, and I often choose Peruvian dishes over “American” ones. I love the eternal summer and sunshine. I know the money changer by name. The market is a recipe book just waiting to be opened. I can balance on the back of the truck as we bump along the dirt roads with little effort. I no longer question why there are no toilet seats in the bathroom. Going to multiple stores to cross everything off the grocery list is just another day. Cold showers are something I can’t live without. And I now take it as a complement when someone asks me if I’m from Germany (it’s the blond hair!).
Each of those things are strange to say. But they are my normal. And I wouldn’t trade my new normal for anything.
But even after two years here, there are still some things I don’t understand. Things that still catch me off guard. Things that remind me this is my host culture, no matter how comfortable I am becoming. Things that keep me on my toes. When I notice them, it is almost like an automatic cringe reflex. Or sometimes a laugh. Or an “I’m not sure how I feel about this” thought. But no matter how many times it happens, for some reason, it catches me off guard. They are things that I still just don’t understand about Peru.
One. I first noticed this when I was at language school. Every meal there were at least 9 of us sitting around the table, sometimes more like 15. But there was one thing that all the Peruvians did the same - they didn’t eat the center of the roll. They would slice it open, dig out the inside, place it on their plate, and move on. Never eating it. And when I asked why, no one had a great answer. It’s just customary.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love me a good crust, but you have to admit there is something indescribably delicious about that middle part of a roll; the smell of a freshly baked roll being sliced that makes your mouth water. I love the center. It might be my favorite part. It is delectable. And watching them set it on their plate and never touch it is something I will never understand. It’s just too good to waste.
Two. Tablecloths, placemats, and clear plastic covers. On the same table. Non-matching. Now the plastic cover I can understand. It is practical and easy to clean. The use of both a tablecloth and placemats on the other hand, that don’t match, I’m not so sure about. Personally, I am a fan of neutrals with one accent color. Very exciting, I know. But Peruvians love bold patterns and color. So, a floral tablecloth with stripped placemats, both with different color schemes, is on point in terms of taste here. Now, you might be able to get away with taking the tablecloth off and just using placemats. But never get the crazy idea of taking those placemats away. Oh, no. I have sat down to eat and heard someone say, “There’s no placemats”, which were then promptly added to the table. It’s a custom and a part of the culture that I will simply never understand.
Three. The drinks. When we go to a restaurant in the States, the first thing a waiter does is take our drink order. Those drinks are then brought to the table and the food ordered. Not so here. We often eat at what is called a menú (pronounced with your best Spanish accent, emphasis on that ‘u’), a restaurant with a set menu (hear the difference?) for that day. It will include an appetizer, which is normally soup, the main dish, and the drink they have prepared for that day. So, when the waiter comes to take your order, you choose what appetizer you want and what dish. The soup arrives at the table. Then the main dish. Then, about halfway through your plate of food, your drink. Maybe it’s just me, liking to have something to drink when I sit down, maybe it’s cultural on my part, but it is still something that frustrates me, that waiting on my drink to arrive. Especially in the jungle when it’s 90 plus degrees. It happens often and I catch myself thinking, “Should I ask for the drinks? Are they ever going to bring them?”, growing impatient. But I’m getting better at recognizing my own cultural preferences and wait. But, still, I don’t think it’s something I will ever grow accustomed to.
Four. The plastic bags. Let me explain how a I can go to the market and arrive home with at least fifteen plastic bags for one- or two-days’ worth of groceries. Everything is bought per kilo. Therefore, everything must be weighed. And the easiest way to weigh a kilo of tomatoes? Put them in a plastic bag. The mangos in another bag. Apples in another. Tomatoes in another. Onions in another. Green beans in another. Strawberries in another. Carrots in another. You get the idea. Then all of that goes into a larger plastic bag to carry it all home. The chicken is put in one bag, tied and put in another bag to carry home. And then add on the fact that you have to go to multiple stores to get what you need, who, you guessed it, give you more bags. We have a stock pile to last us a year at this point.
And honestly, I would be okay with this, except that recycling doesn’t exist here. All these plastic bags end up at the dump or in the river or on the ground. Drivers have no shame in dropping bags and wrappers out the window. I have driven through remote places, with no buildings or towns or homes for miles, and the ground is littered with plastic bags and other garbage. It makes me so sad to see this. Peru is a beautiful country. Between the coast, the mountains, and the jungle, it has it all; the most breathtaking landscapes I have ever seen. And I want it to stay that way. For this country to become even more of a tourist destination and for others to experience the beauty of this place. But as the ocean and the rivers and the land become increasingly polluted, I don’t foresee it ending well at this point. This excessive use of plastic and lack of care for the environment unfortunately, is something I still don’t understand about Peru.
Five. Peruvians ability to sleep anywhere. Anytime. No matter the noise. No matter the curves. No matter the number of potholes. Sitting or standing. You name the place and they can fall asleep. It is quite impressive! And I have no idea how they do it. We can be in the trucks, heading to the Yanesha, driving down honestly the most poorly maintained dirt road I have ever been on, bouncing along, swerving to miss holes (not potholes, holes), windows down, dripping sweat, dust coming in coating everything, and they are asleep. Or in Arequipa, on a combi (city bus), seated or standing, drivers yelling out routes, bumper to bumper traffic, horns galore, people getting on and off, and they have their eyes closed, head bowed, asleep. Yet they wake up when it’s their stop. Or wake up and join right in on the conversation in the truck, not having missed a beat. It is a sight to see. An ability to admire. And, something I will never understand.