Familiarity and Foreignness

It's been a while. My first week was a whirlwind--the novelty was exhilarating, and it wasn't until later that I realized that I'd been pushing away stress the whole time. In some ways, it's been a constant struggle, trying to appreciate the new things and the wonderful people and all the help I'm being given/how well I'm being taken care of, while fighting that internal urge to be independent and already know how to get around and do my own thing and make my own decisions over here. It's one of those unavoidable challenges. Some days I absolutely detest having to rely on people, not knowing simple things like where I can make an international call, or where to get a towel in my house, or what time dinner will be; I get frustrated, feeling like I'm frozen and helpless, and after a week of having my hand held for everything, I just want to break out and manage on my own.

And then, reality check.

I'm in a foreign country, in a huge city, where my accent and manner of dress immediately give away that I'm not Peruvian and that, relatively speaking, I have money. Previously, taking a taxi meant calling a number and waiting in front of Phelps Gate to be taken to Union Station in a relatively clean, safe-driving, metered vehicle. Fast-forward to now, and taking a taxi means standing on the curb with my arm out, poking my head in the window and bargaining before getting in, and mentally preparing myself for the most skilled yet terrifying driving I have ever experienced. The city is gray and gritty, full of motorists and exhaust fumes, better appreciated for the generosity and openness of its people than for the outward appearance of its streets. There are nice places, to be sure, beautiful parks and beach-front cliffs and quaint fountains, but just as easily you come across dilapidated buildings and trash-lined avenues and scruffy vagrants with dirty rags wandering intersections trying to scrimp together change by "cleaning" your windshield.

I come home to a nice, well-educated family who serve me delicious meals and teach me something new every single conversation, who have provided me with a spacious room, hot showers, and answers to all of my questions. My first week, I was driven to and from the hospital--located in notoriously unsafe Lima Central--almost every day by my mentor or host dad. Last Thursday, my host mom rode the bus with me to the gym just so I could see where it was, and on Friday accompanied me to meet my friend Oscar in the next town over so that we could get a taxi to the airport. I'm so well taken care of that I feel terrible at the slightest inkling of frustration, knowing that I should appreciate everything so much and be so thankful that I have support from all sides in this new experience.

I don't have a solution to this internal struggle of mine. I don't know if there is a solution; perhaps there are only short-term fixes.

Yesterday I returned from Cusco, and Machu Picchu, a four-day trip that I took with two Yalies, Ash & Oscar, with only a backpack, an overly-detailed itinerary, and the sense that it would be an adventure like no other. I was not disappointed. I had the time of my life, and not only because I was at el ombligo del mundo (Cusco), checking out Inca ruins and shopping for llama sweaters. It was exactly what I needed--an exercise in figuring things out: where to eat, what hostel to stay in, where to get tickets to this or that, how to get a good exchange rate, how to use the map to get to place X, Y, or Z. It was the perfect mix of familiarity and foreignness--I got to navigate all this, sure, but with wonderful, hilarious, resourceful, adaptable companions. We could've gotten depressingly lost (in fact, I'm pretty sure we did, on more than one occasion), but that wouldn't stop us from making the most of it and having an incredible time. We climbed a mountain in the rain, feliz de la vida, for goodness' sake!

It is from this high (literally---Cusco is at >10,000 ft above sea level) that I have returned today, accompanied by homesickness and a touch of cabin fever. I'm in love with traveling, but alone I cannot do it. I've discovered that the people make the trip, most definitely, and I hope I'll be lucky enough to repeat this weekend's wonderfulness before the summer's end.

In the meantime, I'm off to bed before I collapse from exhaustion, left over from a weekend of early mornings and non-stop days. Even though I can't call home right now (it's 1:30 AM in Florida) I'll settle for the familiarity of shower and sleep. It's the little things, huh.