Cusco: Finding a Home

The bus ride to Cusco was 17 hours, but it wasn't bad at all. I paid for a regular seat on the double decker bus, but ended up getting one of the bed seats for some reason. So I had ample leg room and slept prettymuch the whole time!

Cruising into Cusco was beautiful! I loved Pisco, but going from there to Cusco was the asthetic equivalent of going from Bush to Obama.

Shot from the bus window:


I spent my first few nights at a hostel. A few of my friends from PSF had given me hand-written directions to an apartment they had stayed in a few months earlier. On my third day in Cusco, my plan was to head there and see if I could rent a room. My plan was interrupted when one of the many street vendors got my attention.

It was a kid selling paintings. At first I said no to him, because I had bought a painting the day before. He was persistent though, and soon I was looking at what he had to offer.

I really liked one of the watercolors he had, and I needed gifts. We haggled a bit and settled on a price. I didn't have correct change to pay for the piece, however. I offered to buy the kid lunch to cover the rest. He said this would work.

So we sat down in a restaurant and began to chat (in Spanish!). I helped him with some English homework he was working on. Eventually, I told him I was going to check out the apartment after lunch. I never made it to the apartment.

The kid said his family had a room available at their house. I decided I'd check it out. After all, what's the worst that could happen? getting robbed, raped and murdered?

It's about a ten minute bus ride from the center of town up to the Vargas' house. It's in a neighborhood above the city called Chinchero. The house boasts impressive views of the surrounding mountains, forests and the city.

View from Chincero:


The room looked good, and the family seemed nice enough to not leave me in a ditch, so I decided to rent the room - It was a good deal too!

My back yard:


Living with the Vargas family has been great. It's been almost a month now, and I think my Spanish has improved more from talking with the family than it would have paying $100 a week for Spanish classes.

Mi familia Peruana:


From front/left to back/right: goddaughter Florangela, son Antony, daughter Michelle, father Elias, and mother Berta... and a fatty piece of bread.

Farewell PSF

And my time to leave Pisco arrived. (I wanted to head to Cusco shortly after Machu Picchu opened so I could get up there before the tidal wave of other tourists descended upon it).

Everyone has to give a little goodbye speech at their last morning meeting at PSF. My goal was to make my speech as funny as possible, but really one part stood out...

"PSF is like masturbation rehab," I said. This was followed by a few seconds of dead silence, then luckily a huge laugh. I then said: "and I'm one month clean!" Yeah, I said it, and it was true, too!

I think it was the best goodbye speech ever at PSF. I'm just sayin. Unfortunately though, for the rest of my stay there, I was kind of known as the guy who really needed to beat off. I guess I did imply that I was addicted to masturbation. 7 times a day isn't that much though, right guys?

So just as I was really getting to know everyone and getting used to my surroundings, I hopped on a bus out of Pisco. I miss that place, especially the roof crew. Many a night was spent lounging, drinking, smoking, and making music on the roof of the volunteer house. I'm gonna miss it, almost as much as the people I spent it with.

Shot from the roof:


I'll never forget Pisco Sin Fronteras, and hopefully I'll see some of my Pisco friends again during this journey or another!

PSF: Work

When I last left off, I was sleeping in the hallway, waking up sweaty. Later on I learned that it is widely referred to as the Ballsway.

Anyway, I made it out of the Ballsway and into the main volunteer house. I moved into a top bunk in the Surfer's dorm. I don't think any of us actually surf. Anyway, it smelled pretty horrible; a combination of a broken toilet that still got used for a while after it first broke, and a person who never showers. It was still better than the Ballsway.

The first few volunteer projects I worked on were interesting. My first full day of hard work was at Olga's house. Olga was trapped under a table for days after the earthquake, and she has now saved enough money to buy materials to rebuild her house. PSF provides the labor for people who can provide materials. I spent the first half of the day digging a U shaped trench for Olga's bathroom. The soil was soft, so it was pretty fun actually.

The trench:


That day I also hauled gravel in a wheel-barrow, which was not as fun because the wheel barrow was made for Danny DeVito to use, and if I lifted it higher than my thigh the front edge would hit the ground. I also laid some bricks for one of the walls of the house, and we poured a concrete footer. I never made it back to Olga's house, but she was really nice and glad to have us, so it seemed like a good project.

The Danny DeVito sized wheel barrow on top of a Tom Cruise sized mototaxi:


For the majority of my time I worked on one project, up at Las Dunas, a desert-like community that is a few miles east of Pisco, and higher up, which is why families fled there after the quake when the tsunami hit. (All of the volunteers fled there one day as well, because we were fearing a tsunami from the earthquake in Chile).

Las Dunas were uninhabited before the earthquake. Life on Las Dunas is hot, and there ain't a lot of shade. One thing it does have are some resilient people, most with great attitudes, along with great views of the ocean, sand dunes and mountains.

View from the top of Las Dunas:


A local church group offered to build some of the families new brick houses to live in. Currently, they live in modular homes, which are made of metal and something like plywood. Each lot has a front and a back space. Our job was to move these modular homes onto foundations in the back space (if a foundation existed). If a foundation didn't exist, we would fill in and level the lot and pour one.

To move a modular, we took off the outside walls, which left the frame of the house exposed. The frames had holes that were perfect for sticking bars or brooms or tools or whatever would fit to lift the house. It took about a dozen people to lift a modular, and a few to direct the move.

I'm pretty sure we did some minimal to substantial damage to a few of these homes, but it was what the people wanted to do. The other option was to de-assemble the units, which is as time consuming as a life-size, less exciting erector set. If you don't know what erector set is then you're wack.

So after we moved the modulars, there sat concrete foundations. A nice new brick house needs a solid concrete foundation, right? Sure. But not this foundation. We had to smash this motherfucker up and haul away the pieces. Most of my work at PSF consisted of this. The new foundations for the brick houses will need trenches, which will be dug by PSF volunteers (luckily I was out of there before this stage), which is why we had to get rid of the original foundation.

An already-moved modular and a ready-to-smash foundation:


These foundations ranged in thickness between a few inches and a few feet. At first, we simply wailed away at them with sledge hammers. One Peruvian guy came and helped us on a few of the days. I nicknamed him Iron Mike, and he earned it. This guy would take about 30 sledge hammer swings in a row. The idea of quality over quantity flew out the window when Iron Mike was in the house, and nobody would dare question him. You simply can't question that kind of effort. Normal people are pretty damn tired after 10 sledge hammer swings. At least stoners are. I wonder where Iron Mike is now... probably in a back brace somewhere.

So we smashed away. This worked alright, and we felt pretty manly, but there was another way. We realized we needed to weaken the slab before releasing our fury upon it. So we began to dig around the sides, and hammer pick axes beneath the slab, and pry it up before smashing it. Doing this, we were able to break off much bigger slabs. It became almost like a sport, because everyone filled different roles and we moved fast.

Luckily while I was there nobody got hammered or axed in the dome. Sometimes there were more than a dozen people working on one foundation, because there was nothing else to do, and that is simply too many people when heavy and sharp tools are being swung.

I also taught some English in Pisco. Initially, it was a real challenge. I was in a small classroom with 7 students who were about 11-13 and another volunteer teacher who didn't say a word the whole time. The first few questions I asked of the students were met with blank stares, and I began to sweat.

Eventually though, they warmed up to my goofy gringo ways and started to relax. By the end, everyone was laughing and seemed to genuinely want to learn!

I ended up only teaching English once. A few weeks later, I went back to teach again, but apparently it was a holiday, because the school was closed. I walked around the corner to ask if anyone knew anything about the school being closed. Other than being offered sex by a middle-aged, gold-toothed lady, I found out nothing... The sex was surprisingly good though!

I also went to Ludoteca, which is a child-care center. This was just as tiring as hard labor in the sun! The kids prettymuch went crazy the whole time and wanted to be picked up constantly. There was one husky kid there, and I pretended my knee was hurt every time I made eye contact with him.

PSF continued: Dragonfly

At first, I wasn't going to mention Dragonfly in my blog, but then he tore open his nutsack... and told everyone about it.

Even if his name wasn't Dragonfly, he'd still be a hell of a character. It's worth it to mention that he's probably the most knowledgable volunteer at PSF. He speaks fluent Spanish, and has been working in the community for years.

I think it's also safe to say, though, that he thinks he knows a little bit more than he does. He's also a Give it 110%, balls to the wall (no pun intended) kind of guy.

"Digging this chalk is soul-crushing, spine-shattering labor," he once told us. The guy is a little eccentric to say the least. Did I mention he tore open his nutsack?

I guess I'm kind of obligated to tell the story now. Welp, here goes:

Note: This story is true. The only way it's made up is if Dragonfly made it up...

Dragonfly arrived home late one night (We can only guess what he was doing) to find the door locked. His roomates were asleep inside, and couldn't hear him knocking or throwing rocks at the window.

So, clearly, Dragonfly's only option was to climb the 8-foot brick wall (the top of which was adorned, in true Pisco fashion, with shards of glass). Did he tear open his nutsack on said glass, you ask? Dragonfly would chuckle at such simplicity. After all, what's a nutsack injury without an aerial element?!

So Dragonfly jumped, and he landed on a sharp, up-pointing stick. If you think about it, it was like a one in a million shot. It's almost like D-fly made a half-court, behind the back shot at halftime to win some money, but not really.

Word on the streets of Pisco is that his testicle fell out and he was holding it in his hand, but luckily I wasn't there to corroborate this detail.

Dear Pisco Sin Fronteras,

What can I say really? I love you; I hate you. You are a coin with two sides to be certain... kind of like losing my virginity and conceiving an unwanted child at the same time.

Love,

Charlie

...Here are a few of the contrasting aspects of my time at PSF:

I met some truly kind, intelligent, funny and talented people...

I met a few I'd rather forget; one example quote: "I don't do drugs, but I want to try Ayahuasca. Sting has done it!"

The work was rewarding...

3 bathrooms were shared among 80 people, all at varying levels of mud-butt intensity.

There was usually a nice breeze...

Pisco is as hot, dry and dusty as Sarah Palin's insides.

I got to practice my Spanish with some of the volunteers and people in the community...

Pisco also smells like Sarah Palin's insides (all she eats is fish guts you know).

Despite some of the negative aspects of PSF mentioned above, I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. In fact, it was the fucked up parts of my time there that made it so memorable! Here are a few stories and random facts from my Pisco days...

At PSF, I had the closest thing to a beard I've ever had. I wish I could grow a Baron Davis beard, but it was really more like a Chauncey Billups beard:



...Before basketball one night, my friend Jason from England said something along the lines of: "I've got skills like Magic Jordan." Magic Jordan, now that would be a baller.

...I played scrabble (in English) against two Germans and a Finn. I won.

...One night, I had to get up about 5 times during the night to pee... out my butt. I knew some sort of illness would eventually strike during my travels. Luckily, I took antibiotics and have been pooping relatively solidly ever since!

...It seems that the same handful of songs played over and over again in Pisco. The most catchy of these has to be "Yo no se Mañana" by Luis Enrique. Yo no se Mañana translates to "I don't know tomorrow." I think this is a pretty good lyric. But I do know one thing about tomorrow: I know that tomorrow I'm going to hear the song "Yo no se Mañana."

Listen to it here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwbmXmRhg1s

...For this story, I have to introduce a few characters. Frank is a hilarious long-haired British guy in his early twenties. He's always bitching about something, but in a very witty/funny way. Terry is a fifty-something Canadian go-getter. He brought his own tool belt to PSF.

Anyway, one day we were all working up at Las Dunas (more on Las Dunas later). I was standing with Terry on a concrete foundation, and Frank was standing by a house about 20 feet away...

Terry: "Hey, could you hand me that tool . . . . . . . Nigel."

Nigel! It was classic! I could see the process happening in Terry's head:

"Oh, darn I forgot his name. What's the most stereotypical British name I can think of? ...Nigel!"

And Frank didn't correct him. He just looked at me and said: "Nigel?" and I laughed.

U.P.F. 2010

I know it's been a while since I've blogged, you guys. So before I tell you all about my adventures at Pisco Sin Fronteras, I want to make up for the delay with a very special piece of news...

...I can prettymuch get my hair in a ponytail!!!

What's that you say? This news is even more exciting than you thought it would be?! Why thank you! I haven't felt this free and rebelious since my rat-tail days of the mid 90's.

I know there are some ponytail haters out there, and to you I say this: Bring it on! Everyone knows that once you have a ponytail you automatically get Steven Seagal's martial art skills.

In fact, I wonder who would win in an Ultimate Ponytail Face-Off between Steven Seagal and myself...





He get's a gun?!? No fair!!!

Let's see. What would the events be in an Ultimate Ponytail Face-Off?! Hair Braiding? Pony Riding? Staring Contest? How many cinder blocks can you break at once... with your ponytail!?

Obviously ass-kicking would be one of the events. Steven Seagal has kicked hundreds of thousands of asses, both onscreen and off. I've almost gotten my ass kicked a few times but managed to talk my way out of it... We'll call that one a draw for now.

I know one thing: my ponytail is way thicker and more curly than Steven Seagal's, so if there's an event for that I'll win for sure!

Who else would compete in the first and only annual Ultimate Ponytail Face-Off?



Neil Young?

Antonio Banderas? (Disqualified for hair tie infraction)

David Beckham? (Disqualified for stealing Antonio Banderas's hair tie)

I don't know who this guy is, but he's invited!

I don't think it would be fair to let Jesus compete. The end.

...Stay tuned for more blog posts that are actually relevant to something!

Arrival in Pisco: White Men Can Kind of Jump

The bus ride from Lima to Pisco was about 4 hours, a nice ass warm-up for some of the longer trips I'll be taking along my journey. There was an 8.0 earthquake in Pisco in 2007, which killed over 400 people and destroyed most of the city's buildings. The organization I'm volunteering with, Pisco Sin Fronteras, coordinates volunteers from all over the world in rebuilding projects around the city, such as homes, schools and sanitation facilities. Volunteers also do other work in the community like teaching english and working at day cares.



The bus ride was beautiful; huge sand dunes separated the Pan American highway from the mighty Pacific. The sun was setting gorgeously as the bus pulled into Pisco. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get a photo of this scene, because I'm pretty sure a pair of Peruvians were scheming on stealing my bag. Perhaps I'm just paranoid, but they got on the bus about a half hour outside of Pisco, one sitting next to me and the other behind him.

Immediately after sitting down, the man next to me pointed out that there was water on the floor next to my bag. Initially I thought my water bottle had leaked, which would have been devastating (computer, camera), but I checked and my bottle was sealed tighter than Tom Tancredo's sphincter when he walks the streets of Denver alone at night.

The guy next to me offered to put my bag in the compartment above, and it was at that moment that I realized his buddy behind him had spilled the water on the floor as they boarded the bus, and it was all a plot to steal my luggage... I think. So I clung tight to my backpack for the rest of the ride, and hence, no photo. But here is a photo of the sunset from the next day instead:

I arrived at PSF, and everyone was just finishing dinner. I ate a little bit of chicken stew and chatted with Pete, PSF's volunteer coordinator, who looks like he must have partied with my parents at some point in the past. Since the place was packed with volunteers, I was given a bed in the hallway adjacent to the kitchen, separate from the volunteer house where everyone normally sleeps. I later found out that sleeping here ensures a 6 AM wake up as they begin cooking breakfast.

After dinner, about half the volunteers were planning to watch "The Never-Ending Story" and half were going to play some basketball. As much as I admire Atreu, I think the giant albino flying dog has haunted enough of my dreams for two lifetimes, and I usually stick to stories that have an ending. Plus I prettymuch busted a nut in my pants then and there when they said basketball rather than football (soccer). So prettymuch fresh out of my taxi, I walked with a few dozen other volunteers a couple blocks to the dusty concrete court.

The rims had no nets, and the lines on the court were smaller than they should have been, but the lighting system was actually quite impressive. We split up into 3 teams of 6-7 players each and began playing. Most of the people volunteering here are European, so there was some serious soccer-style defense going on. I'm pretty sure a couple people thought dribbling wasn't allowed. Despite the general lack of anyone knowing what the fuck they were doing, it was still quite fun, especially because everyone here is so darn friendly... one British guy smiled sheepishly after innocently hip-checking me to the ground on a drive.

In the second or third game, I had a break-away. There was one defender under the hoop who luckily decided not to undercut me. Wearing a hat, pants and hiking shoes, I went up for what was generally agreed upon by everyone there as the first dunk in Pisco history. I was pretty happy with my first impression!

I got back to my bed, sweaty as hell. There is no running water after 8 pm in the building I was staying in, and I didn't feel at that point like walking over to the volunteer house to shower. Also, considering my surroundings, it felt fitting to go to bed filthier than a Rodney Dangerfield daydream. I forgot to mention, along with the crack of dawn wake up, the hallway is also frequented by a rat as well as a handful of flies and mosquitos. It's also quite hot and my bed was about as soft as a boner... and I couldn't have been happier.