I guess I'll start by saying that this experience has been nothing like I'd expected it to be. I don't want to go so far as to say that I knew exactly what I was getting myself into, because that defeats the purpose of even feeling a thrill of doing something so drastically outside the routines of my daily life, but I've certainly faced more "culture shock" than I'd anticipated. I've studied in Mexico before, but I quickly realized that my experience there was very "Americanized" and didn't take nearly as much adjusting as it did, and continues to take here.
As the plane touched down back in early August, all I could muster as I glanced over to Brianna in the seat beside me was "I guess there's no turning back now." From there, we took a taxi with the mother of one of our roommates across town on what I would consider the taxi ride of a lifetime. Traffic laws here are virtually non-existent: speeding signs and stop signs mean nothing, yellow lights mean "floor it even if it looks red seconds later," dotted white lines to divide the same-lane traffic means "see if you can squeeze down the middle between two cars," and falling asleep to numerous off-key car horns has become a disconcerting lullaby I barely notice anymore. As I sat wide eyed and sleep deprived in the back seat of a taxi with gas fumes permeating my nose, I took note of another baffling sight. These small white vans I later came to recognize as "combis" looked like something of a chase scene from a high action film. The driver would swerve and dodge through traffic as a man in back opened and closed the sliding door while passengers would scurry on and off as they pleased. I had to laugh at the sight only because it was so far from anything I would ever see in the United States.
Since combis are the cheapest and most practical forms of transportation, I quickly learned that there if there does not appear to be any seats available, it is more than acceptable to cram into the isles and duck your head, holding on to whatever may be available. I can recall one particular ride we took with our friend Jaqui where I had to squeeze my legs into a tiny space where a woman was already sitting, and a business man with a large briefcase had just stepped on to take the standing space in front of me. As the van lurched forward, I was so unprepared that I flew into the woman's lap and made the older man in a suit lose his balance. Not thinking, I blurted out "Sorry!" only to feel more embarrassment rush to my already rosy cheeks when I realized English will get me no where in this situation. I finally regained my composure and offered to hold the man's briefcase in my lap so he could get a better grip to hold on. Now, we take these kamikaze mini-buses all over, and it costs less than $1 to get all the way across town.
Going to school here has probably been one of the most challenging adjustments we've faced here all-together. Conveniently enough, our university is about a ten minute walk from home, so needless to say we're rolling out of bed with only minutes to spare for our 8am language class two day a week. To enter the university, we have these plastic identification cards they gave us that get checked daily by the numerous security guards barricading every entrance to the school. When we first arrived, we had temporary cards that no one seemed to recognize since apparently it takes over two weeks to issue the typical cards to foreign exchange students. It caused more grief than I could have imagined; each morning we would attempt to flash our white id's (they are now maroon) and expect to pass with ease but without fail, we would be stopped and interrogated as to who we were and what we were doing there. Eventually, a few of them began to recognize us and as we walked up to the entrance, the would turn and shout to each other "intercambios!" so as to make sure no one would be confused that the two tallest white girls meant no harm and just wanted to make it to class in time.
Speaking of arriving on time, I can't kid anyone into thinking that there really is such a thing. For our first few days of school, we would fast-walk down the familiar dirt path towards school, only to find that we were always the first to arrive, and not by just a few seconds either. Not even the teacher arrives until at least ten past the hour, so we quickly learned the custom and followed suit. The "Peruvian hour" basically constitutes that if you happen to be running late, don't rush to try to make it on time. Students mosey into the room anywhere from ten minutes, to half an hour late. I'd heard of this concept in Hispanic culture in the sense that if a party is said to start at 9pm, you don't typically arrive until 11pm, but I surely thought this couldn't the be the same rule for a class to start.
The classroom atmosphere alone is enough to send an American student reeling into culture shock. While we've been taught to quietly sit and listen as a teacher gives a lecture, it's not uncommon to see classmates turning desks to chat, standing up in the middle of an important explanation to step out of the room, or even making phone calls in the middle of class. I've been here for almost three months, and I'm pretty sure this is something I will never get used to. I've come to understand it, however I just can't bring myself to engage in the same behaviors.
A few of our classes themselves have proven to be relatively useless in our language acquisition here. We were assigned to take two language classes, one that supposedly focused on writing skills, and another on debate topics. Since we are taking these courses right along with the Peruvian students, the writing course has proven to be a continuous lecture to 16 and 17 year olds about to write a proper essay with an introduction, conclusion, and the body paragraphs. This is something I was taught to do and have been putting into practice since my early days of high school, if not before. Sure, we pick up a few pointers here and there as to how to grammatically format a sentence if we're a little off base, but for the most part, the lectures week in and week out provide a great opportunity to better my doodling skills.
The debate class is by far our most loathed of the four courses we're enrolled in not so much for the actual content, but for the way in which the class is conducted. Our professor has a less than satisfactory class rapport, and it's evident why. The small man with an unshaven beard and disheveled hair hands out the daily reading and sits at his desk while he reads verbatim from the page that just so happens to be sitting right in front of us. From there, we break into groups and formulate a two page argument based on the reading. Regardless if the topic of the day could produce a stimulating conversation with the potential to learn from our peers, we are forced to redact a calculated response following the strict essay writing format we were provided at the beginning of the semester. Another fine way to catch up on my love for doodling, list making and day dreaming.
The final two special topics courses are of a bit more interest to us as they are meant more for our Spanish concentrations, not merely language acquisition. On Wednesday evenings, we take a course called "Women and Society in the World" led by an eccentric woman with an impossible accent. After our very first class, we figured we would be doomed if we were expected to understand even a word she was saying within the three hours. Luckily, we've somewhat adjusted to her difficult accent and idiosyncrasies and she's grown to be our favorite professor. For the first part of the semester, we covered the difference between gender roles and identity, stereotypes of women, and some common misconceptions and issues in the LGBT community. Brianna and I found it fascinating to hear about the reactions of our classmates, especially because many times it appeared that they had never heard of some of the issues covered. Many times we felt that while we may already feel some-what educated on the topics covered, it was a whole new experience to learn about them through a Peruvian perspective. Since our mid-term week at the beginning of October, we've began a new topic regarding women in politics and the work force. Finally, on Friday nights we have a literature course with a reserved, yet kind-hearted woman as a professor. We've read a few works from Mexico and translated from English, none of which have particularly struck me. Nevertheless, we've learned quite a bit about analyzing literature, and it has intrigued me to research more Latin American works.
I've been learning far more just living here in Peru than I know I ever will at school, and I've been sticking to this philosophy for the duration of my time here. I've spent a lot of time reflecting on how far I've come in order to be able to be here at this point in my studies, and I am grateful for the experience. I do find myself feeling more and more fluent, despite the temptations to speak in English while in the apartment. Apart from the total immersion into speaking Spanish on a daily basis, I've grown so much a person. I was just telling Katie, my best friend who is studying in Taiwan for the next six weeks, that she would be shocked at how many bad habits I've relinquished. I can no longer stand messes, whether it be in my room, the kitchen, or the common area. My love for leisurely reading has been renewed thanks to the small amounts of homework and large amounts of free time, and procrastinating on anything gives me serious anxiety.
Above all else, I am grateful for how much closer to my friends and family this experience has brought me. I have never felt a sense of homesick like I have here, and in a way, it's comforting. I cherish the moments my brother's name pops up on my skype list and we share silly conversations about finding food on a college budget, and his newest interest: learning Chinese. The endless inbox messages, instant messaging conversations, and video chats with my amazing friends always leaves me in fits of laughter and an optimistic excitement for our next reunion. I also appreciate that while there may be thousands of miles between them and I, they still all seem to have an indescribable way of making me feel like there's really no distance at all. The unexpected cards from my grandma and my aunt when the arrive at the apartment by snail mail less than two weeks after their post mark date never cease to put a smile on my face. Lastly, my parents have been more supportive and encouraging with our weekly emails, text messages, and skype dates than I could have ever asked of them, it leaves me in awe that I'm blessed with such a wonderful family.
It's now a Friday night, 85 days past my arrival to this beauteous country, and 55 days from returning to Rochester. After making one of my favorite meals of stuffed red peppers for a satisfyind dinner, I'm perfectly content sitting in the apartment I've come to call home while listening to acoustic tracks of Jason Mraz. I'll continue with my Peru rants and raves in another post soon, so stay tuned!
