Top of the class

Life doesn't get much better when you have students like I have. The group I've had since I arrived in Arequipa finally finished the English language program here with a class called Fluency. We celebrated their graduation of sorts, and our friendship, by going out to lunch for chicharon. They gave me a present, a wonderful keepsake, picked up the lunch tab and said their goodbyes. I admit to getting a little emotional. Every one of those students became a friend, and I'll miss the hell out of them. Another class, the TEFL group I teach on Saturdays, took me out to lunch for ceviche the week before. Yes, ceviche. It was awesome. We went to a place where I was the only gringo in sight. One of the students, Rossmery, aptly observed that all the locals were "looking at the gringo with the four goddesses." They also bought me a cheesecake and I ate the whole thing in three days. (It's a lighter cheese than the U.S. variety.) My night class, which I managed to hang onto for another month, is younger, livelier, and enjoyable as well. They love movies, they hate my dancing (which I use as punishment when a cell phone goes off), and they're all very bright. A fun bunch. These are friendships for a lifetime.
There's a new ASS. director here and two other new bosses, with some new rules and regulations. I wish them the best. I will remain focused on my teaching, which I love.
The other day I ended up on the hood of some douche bag's car. OK, I'll call him Mr. Douchebag out of respect. I was walking between two cars stuck in a massive traffic jam and Mr. Douchebag felt compelled to close the three-foot gap between his car and the car in front of him. I was the monkey in the middle and I had to leap on the hood of his car so my legs wouldn't get crushed. That really upset Mr. Douchebag, who started screaming and gesturing at me. I gave him the universal symbol of displeasure, and he kept screaming and pretending like he wanted to get out the car.  He never did. He was too fat. Didn't matter because I'm in too good of a mood these days.
One of things I really miss from the USA is hot showers. I've had one or two since I've been here. I'm used to cold showers in the morning, and boy do I hit the day running, but every once in a while a long soaker in hot, hot water would be really nice. Also miss milkshakes, but you can get smoothies pretty much anywhere in Arequipa.
One of downers here is the smell of piss on every wall.  Every wall is a urinal, including the one outside my apartment. That gets old. I come out of my apartment to go buy yogurt and some clown is peeing two feet from my door. The smell is everywhere some days, especially in the sketchier parts of town.
Last Thursday was a little rough. No family Thanksgiving dinner. Really missed everyone on my favorite holiday. First one I've missed in many, many, many years. I missed cooking, and I even missed cleaning up afterward. Next year that tradition will resume.
Got really cloudy and windy today, but the streak is intact. Still hasn't rained since I've been here. Got some nice shots from the International Club, which makes the best pisco sour in town, in my opinion. Sitting by the Rio Chili drinking piscos at a classy restaurant ... great students .... good food ... great weather. I can handle cold showers and piss odor.

A day at the beyatch

There's no faster way to shed pounds than a good case of dysentery. I'm living proof. The pounds are melting off and all I do is sit. I've been on this "diet" for at least three days now, and other than exhaustion and incredible intestinal discomfort, I'm finding the results amazing. Knocked a notch or two off the belt, and even my socks are more comfortable. I began this unintended crash and burn diet with a trip last weekend to Mollendo, a beach town due west of Arequipa. Mollendo is a small town of about 3,000, and it has all the charm of ringworm. Buses for Mollendo leave Arequipa every hour, and it's a cheap trip, so to speak -- about S/.10 one way -- or $3.30 U.S. The bus ride is like taking a rover over  lunar landscape. It's brown, hot, mountainous, desolate and, guess what?, it's boring. I didn't hear a single conversation on the bus for the three-hour ride. The movie on the way over was Cast Away, which I like, so that helped.  (Wilson, Wilson, Wilson!!!!) Oddly, the bus would drop people off along the way in god-forsaken, uninhabited, parched places where I didn't see dwellings of any kind. But some lady wearing way too many traditional clothes and carrying a huge bundle of something or other would get off the bus and trudge off into god knows where. Amazing. I took a cab from Mollendo's bus station (50 centos to use the bathroom) to the beach for S/.5. The driver showed me the hot spots along the way -- a market and town center. The main beach area had umbrellas and chairs set up, which seemed nice. I settled under one and this lady with a small girl comes up to me speaking rapid and clearly unfriendly Spanish. The girl is kicking sand on my backpack while the lady grabs the stem of my umbrella, and, honest to god, rolls her dentures around in her mouth with her tongue while glaring at me. Turns out you have to pay $/.5 for the umbrella, and I guess she was the hired muscle. I wasn't about to argue. I fell asleep for a bit, the earth kept rotating, and I got a fantastic sunburn. I tried to go swimming, and entered the roughest, most dangerous surf that I've ever encountered. Rougher than California, Maine, Canada, anywhere. I was in up to my shins and almost got sucked out to my death by undertow so fierce that I can't describe it. It pulls you off your feet -- and I'm only out to my shins. (Actually, there's a controversial Peruvian film called Undertow, but I digress.) The waves were too high to even approach. Once I turned toward shore to make sure my stuff was still at the S/.5 umbrella, and I got slammed to the sand by a rogue wave. Crazy and dangerous. Of course, I was the only one in water above the ankles. After an exhilarating six minutes in the water, I loafed around the beach for a bit and then started walking toward town. Along the way, I bumped into one of my ESL students, and I got a ride to a restaurant for what turned out to be a fateful encounter. I ordered from the menu and the waitress couldn't understand me. I was pointing to the menu, and apparently, she couldn't understand my finger. I got some kind of sketchy fish ceviche, which was gross at best, and then sat in the town center watching an endless parade of taxis ride in a circle. The beautiful weather in the morning and early afternoon had now turned cloudy and a bit chilly. That went well with the sunburn. On the bus ride back to Arequipa (with one of the Fast and Furious movies), I started to feel a little uneasy. The ceviche. I've been uneasy since, although I visited the farmacia last night and I'm sure they'll set me right. To make matters worse, I forgot my camera, so there's no pictures to capture my enchanted trip to the beach. I'll try to post a picture of tonight's dinner instead. Bon appetit!

El narco

I have a new favorite haunt: the farmacia. You can get anything there except marijuana and a girlfriend. You walk in, play charades, and presto! .... you're cured. My headaches disappeared after one or two pills; so did my cough. My friends' stomach ailments have been cured. One of the teacher's toenails was turning a god-awful purple and the farmacia took care of it. Xanax is sold over the counter. It's like a candy store. OK, you have to trust your own diagnosis and the diagnosis of the farmacia worker, but so far so good. Take that Obama-care.

I still haven't adapted to Peruvian time, which is a minimum of 10 minutes later than scheduled times. For example, class starts at 7 a.m. and things get rolling at  7:10 a.m. at the earliest. Apparently, students, teachers and staff here have adapted to Peruvian time better than I have. Being an anal American, it can drive me un poco loco. My favorite lunch spot, Mishka, opens randomly and closes randomly. Walk there for lunch on a Tuesday and the doors are locked. Open Wednesday with fantastic food, closed again Thursday, and who knows the rest of the week. Still love the place.

There was some kind of bottle fight outside my apartment window last weekend at 4 a.m. Glass shattering, guys screaming, and more glass shattering. Sounded kind of nasty. It had to be loud to wake me up. I scored brownie points in the neighborhood the next day by cleaning up the glass while folk walked up and down the alley where I live. I believe the glass could still be there if I hadn't cleaned it. However, Arequipa is a clean city even though I see people littering all the time. Municipal workers are cleaning the streets every morning, sweeping up cigarette butts, banana peels and the like. By 9 a.m., the city sparkles, except for the piles of trash left on some of the street corners. No worries. Packs of dogs look after the trash piles. 

I had three dogs growl and walk menacingly toward me while I stood outside my apartment last Sunday. So I did what any cowardly gringo would do: I ran back into my apartment. The dogs moved along. I don't have to remind myself to not pet the dogs.

I feel more accepted in my neighborhood all the time. The grumpy lady who owns a little shop nearby actually gave me a yapa (a freebie) -- an extra piece of pan. This is the same lady who charged me S/.1,30 for a candy bar while the guy next to me got the same candy bar for S/.1. That's a true story. I guess it's the gringo tax.

I miss the season changes. It's Spring here, which means it's sunny and warm in the day, a little cool at night. Reminds me of winter in Peru, which is sunny and warm in the day, a little cool at night. I hear it's pretty much the same in the fall, too. Summer (Christmas-time) is supposed to start a rainy season. It hasn't rained once since I've been here, and I've been here 3 and a half months.

Glad this month is over. I resigned as ASS. director last week, choosing to focus on teaching starting in November. Teaching is the main reason I came here. The teaching is going wonderfully, while the ASS. job reminded me of my night managing editor days. Been there, done that. Walked into a metal grate on a window and cut my head, and few days later fell off a sidewalk. Sober both times. I've mentioned that walking here can be a contact sport. Also, I managed to piss off George Thorogood. A buddy from ESPN emailed me for information about George's old sports days in Delaware. I joked (and I was joking, sort of) that George was a slap-hitter who couldn't get around on my fastball. He shot back some funny but pretty sharp stuff about me. I'm not going to get into a pissing match with a .218 lifetime hitter. Just kidding George .... I know it's .228.

Two of my good friends here -- Anna and Vanessa -- are moving on. I'll miss their belching and constant illnesses. Later guys.

San tennista

On a very rare cloudy morning in Arequipa, I'm enjoying a breakfast of pepino, yellow granadilla, green apples, little bananas, drinkable yogurt, super sharp cheese, and my beloved pan de tres puntas. I deserve a treat. It was a  rough weekend of homesickness and other emotional maladies, and I even smoked a cigarette or five -- effectively ending a 14-year drought. But back to the fruit. Granadilla is awesome, and I'm sure many of my devoted readers (ha ha) have tried it. I think it's also called maracuya, and it's supposedly good for urinary tract infections and sporadic coughing. Both are on the way for me, I'm sure. It's very light. You crack it open and eat the mucus-like center, seeds and all. Mucus-like is the only way to describe it. Yet it's absolutely delicious. I think it's also known as a passion fruit, but I know nothing about passion. The pepino, which I've been told means cucumber, doesn't taste like it looks. The outside is cream colored with some purple stripes. It looks kind of like a peach when it's cut in half, but tastes a tiny bit like a cross between cantelope and cucumber. It's also quite good, and good for you as well. Helps with depression, I believe. I'm feeling better already. (I have a picture of some of my breakfast. Properly name the fruits and bread and you get a prize -- another blog from me in a week or so.)
I'm playing tennis this afternoon with a teacher named Rony. I'll see if he'll let me post his picture. The dude can play some tennis. He's younger, 36, USTA certified or something, and about 25 cuts above my level. He's a good sport about our differences in ability. We're playing on clay courts, which is kind of cool. I like the color, and the ball bounces all over the place. Rony's top-spin is ridiculously good, and oh by the way, I suck at tennis. On the bright side, I suck even more at golf.
I've hit a bit of a routine. The little shop owners near my apartment all know me now and are quite friendly, and I have a budding friendship with the lady near the Puente Grau who makes my anticuchos. She's great, and so is her anticuchos. She has a daughter or granddaughter who's 11 that hangs with her sometimes. I call the little girl 'once' (pronounce all the letters for 11 in Spanish) and we high-five when we see each other. I guess with friends like this, there's really no need to get down. It's a good scene here.

Word up

My new job as ass. director requires many hours. Too many hours at the moment. I start at 6:45 a.m. and finish at 9:30 p.m. I don't mind hard work, but this is crazy even by Peruvian standards. In Peru, the work week is 48 hours and everybody seems a little stressed. Throw me on top of the pile. Or under a taxi or combi. I don't give a ceviche. This month is a little extra wild because a couple of teachers bailed on us with a couple of days notice. So I had to pick up classes in addition to my schmoozing and catch-all duties as ass. director. Also, I "taught the teachers" in the TELF program in September, which means I taught three young women from the U.S. all about grammar, and I mean all about grammar. Everything. Todo. Word classes, conditionals, phrases, clauses (dependent and independent, relative and non-relative, adverbial and other kinds I don't care to remember), phrasal verbs, mains verbs, auxiliary verbs, the 12 major tenses, subjunctive, conjunctions, adjuncts. Had enough? We sure did. The ladies (see latest picture) -- all in their twenties -- were awesome, and pretty darn funny. We got though that class -- three hours a day for 18 days -- with lots of humor and cookies. We went out dancing one night. Well, they were dancing. I ran out of gas pretty early, got lost walking home (which is dangerous), and collapsed into bed. Oddly, still woke up before 7 a.m. the next day. Guess the early schedule is in my blood. By the way, my schedule WILL settle down next month or I'll start walking the earth barefoot.
Played a fun game of "telephone" with my class tonight. I told a student some phony information about me: "I'm married, but I have two girlfriends in Peru. Also, the police in the U.S. are after me because I killed a mule." The student I told had to share the information privately with another student, who in turn shared it privately with another student, until everyone in the room had been told. The last student then reported "the final version" of the story: "An American guy who is married twice bought a mule."
I took a hundred-sol bill to the bank today to make change, because nobody in town seems to be able to change anything over a twenty. The teller appeared really annoyed and gave me 2 fifties. Took a while to get that settled. Peru has its quirks, and on rare occasions I feel some anti-Gringo-ism. I just try to roll with it.
One of our teachers was robbed and roughed up by a taxi driver. You can't let your guard down. That's true in all big cities, but the taxi thing is creepy here. I don't take them unless I absolutely have to. The teacher was obviously rattled, but is OK.
I'm back with my favorite class at San Pablo until the end of the month -- there's a picture of them on the right which I posted with my previous blog. Those guys are great. It's like old times. And I'm an old-timer.

The joys of teaching

There's a lot to like about teaching in Peru. For one thing, the students all call us "Teacher", or in my case, Teacher John. It's quite endearing. If the students are late to class -- and these are college students, mind you -- they knock on the door and ask for permission to enter the room. They also ask for permission to go to the bathroom, make a cell phone call outside the class, or leave early to deal with their ridiculously busy schedules (7 classes plus their English class with me.) For the most part, these students work incredibly hard and are very cheerful despite their workload. And when the female students get to know you, they greet with you a kiss on each cheek, like in complex and boring French movies. A lot of Peruvians greet each other that way, but it's girl-girl or boy-girl, never boy-boy. I do sense some homophobia here, and sometimes the topic will come up in class. I can tell some of the students are a little uncomfortable discussing it. I don't push it. I'm essentially a guest here. This is a Catholic country and I'm teaching at a Catholic university. I respect that. What I tell the students is that I don't feel I should be judging the actions or choices of others. We seem to have an agreement on that point.
I've been working quite a few hours, teaching and managing at the school. But it's OK. I like teaching so much because when I'm teaching, I'm not thinking about anything else in the world. I'm focused on getting the students to learn the material, and that's it. No problems, no concerns. The discipline issues are very minimal here. I've only had two or three students who were disruptive, and that's out of about 125 or so students I've taught. And as far as managing goes, my boss has been supportive, and we've got a pretty diverse, interesting and intelligent group of teachers. Our teacher coordinator is top-notch. No complaints on the job front.
Sometimes my inability to speak Spanish fluently can be extremely frustrating. People ask questions and many times all I can say is no comprende. I keep trying to improve at Spanish, but progress is very slow. But I am making some progress, and many times I'm able to bumble along with my Spanglish.
I was buying a cell phone Saturday, and the cheap electronics (hot electronics, if you know what I mean), are in a sketchy part of town. I've been down there before, but I've always been on the lookout for evil-doers. This time, as I scoured the streets for evil-doers, I also noticed a lot of prostitutes ... or ladies I was told were prostitutes. I also was told they turn tricks for 25 soles (about $8 U.S. dollars). Rough-looking bunch. It's kind of sad.
I'm going to buy some shoes today, or at least try to buy a pair. I wore down my other shoes walking so much. I've been told I'll have to go to a mall called Saga to find size 12. Looking to spend S/.90 (this is how to write your soles here -- 90 is about $30 U.S. dollars). Saga, or one of the malls, has a TGI Fridays, I think. Ugh. And I thought I was getting away by coming to Arequipa. I guess there's no escape.

Family, touring, reflection

My son Jack came to visit, and it was the highlight of my stay in Arequipa, and it will continue to be. I can't describe how wonderful it was to have Jack here, and I hope all my kids can make it down. We visited the Santa Catalina Monastery, which dates to the 1500s and is loaded with amazing art and artifacts. It's like a little city, with streets and houses, gardens, crypts and honest-to-goodness real living nuns tucked away in a corner of the monastery. We weren't allowed to see the nuns (about 20 of them live there). We hired a guide, a pretty woman who never changed expression or tone of voice as she told us fun facts in pretty good English: "In the 16th and 17th century... OK ... the girls training for to be nuns .... OK .... couldn't speak for at all from ages of 12 to 16 .... OK."  Sounds like a fun life, huh. The tour group we were in included a German couple, and the German guy kept inappropriately fondling his girlfriend throughout the tour. Weird.
Next, Jack and I went to Colca Canyon, or Canyon de Colca (as I work on my Spanish). Amazing place. We saw condors gliding above the canyon, and a couple of really quaint Andes villages -- Chivay and Maca. Colca is the world's third deepest canyon and is about twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. As you would expect, the views were spectacular. Our Colca tour group, which included a whiney American and his silent wife, went to a hot springs/swimming pool. Jack and I didn't have bathing suits, so we took about a 50-minute hike along the Colca River. For me, it was the highlight of the trip. We saw locals plowing with an ox, three donkeys and a horse hanging out on the trail, and dramatic scenery. We were at about 13,000-14,500 feet, I believe, which made breathing part of the adventure. We made it back to the "hot tub" just in time to catch to our van back to Arequipa.
The rest of the week, Jack provided support for me as I started a new job as assistant director at the language school here. I was really quite busy, teaching, eating alpaca and street food (delicious) and guinea pig (so-so), and assuming my duties at the school. I developed a wonderful bond with a class I had in August, and Jack got to meet the students and chat with them. He also was a guest in a couple of classes, talking about his poker business, his upcoming tour of duty in Afghanistan, and life in the U.S. In my class, we played 20 questions to figure out who this young gringo was -- they finally got it that he was mi hijo.
Jack left Saturday afternoon (Sept. 10), and it was all I could do to not start bawling my eyes out as I saw him off at the airport. I miss all my kids so much -- Alec, Caroline and Jessica -- and Jack's visit really brought that home to me.  I love and miss you guys.