About that Retreat...

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This entry was originally going to be entitled, “Why I Hate Youth.” Those of you who have never been a leader on a youth retreat may be wondering about this newfound resentment. Let me explain:


I finished teaching a 3-hour class on Friday night around 9, and I was completely exhausted. The retreat had already started, so I grabbed some stuff and headed out around 11 to the retreat center in Chupaca. (Yes, it sounds exactly like the Star Wars character.) When I got there (remember, still really tired), Stephanie informed me that we were the only two adults staying in the girls’ dormitory. Worse, we found out that someone—specifically, one of the screaming horde of teenage girls running through the halls—had taken the key to the front door.



The key allows the door to be dead-bolted, effectively locking everyone in for the night. The only reason someone would want the key is if they wanted to sneak out. (In a move of brilliant planning, the windows are too small even for the smallest teenagers to crawl out of.) We were told we had two options: find the key or stay up all night to keep them from escaping.

Two searches proved entirely unfruitful. A key is a ridiculously small thing to find, especially if you’d really rather not be looking for it. Stephanie tried pulling out her bitchy teacher voice, but to no avail. The kids were far better at looking innocent than we were at figuring out which ones weren’t. It probably would have been funny if we hadn’t been delirious with sleep.

Finally we came to terms with the fact that we were not going to find the key, and that were not going to stay up all night looking for it. Next best thing?



Stephanie and I pulled every heavy object in the room in front of the door. Fire hazard? Yes. At that point, we weren’t particularly upset with the idea of every person in that building dying a horrible, lingering death. Actually, everything we put in front of the door could be moved pretty easily, but it couldn’t be moved without making a lot of noise. When the girls saw us blockading the door, they suddenly became righteously indignant. “Don’t you trust us? Why would you do something like that?”

Yeah, and why are you wearing a jacket and high heels, twerp?

The plan was originally to sleep with the door open so we would hear if they tried to move the furniture. This plan did not take into account, however, the fact that the hallways were entirely tile and highly acoustic. We could have heard a whisper, if there had been any of those. What we heard instead was high-pitched shrieking that seemed to occur for no particular reason. Seriously, there would be a knock, a shriek (read: piercing, piercing shriek), and then a slamming door. Over, and over, and over. Apparently, this game is quite entertaining to the 15 year-old female. We gave up and closed the door pretty early on, but teenage screaming has a way of breaking all sound barriers. Again, it probably would have been funny if we’d been wearing earplugs and hadn’t been delirious with sleep.

Finally Stephanie and I decided to pull “The Adult.” Stephanie stuck her head out of the door (the hallway was dark so they couldn’t see us) and yelled something about everyone going to bed. The reaction was priceless: a full twenty seconds of screaming, at least one O Dios mio!, several slamming doors, and then hushed laughing. The quiet didn’t even last a full minute.

Repeat this scenario 6 times (no, not an exaggeration), until we finally passed out.

Needless to say, we weren’t in the best mood the next day. And to top everything off, there was no water. Halfway through the day I had the brilliant idea of buying a bottle of water to wash my face, only to discover they only had carbonated water. Eh, still water, right? Note: if you ever decide to wash your face with carbonated water, prepare yourself for a strong burning sensation and a deep flush for several minutes afterward.

The topic of the weekend was relationships, and we were trying to get everyone to talk about family relationships. It actually went okay all day, but it wasn’t until the end of the day that I decided I couldn’t wholly detest them.

It was the last small-group session, and the kids were supposed to talk about the topic (families) and then come together and present something (a skit or song or whatever) to the whole group. It was the end of the day and everyone was exhausted. Stephanie told the story of Ruth and started asking questions to get people talking, but it didn’t work. Finally one girl suggested that the group re-tell the Ruth story as a skit for their presentation.

From that moment on, Stephanie and I hardly said a word. The kids adopted the story to make 2 chapters into a complicated, 35-minute dramatic presentation. Here’s the summary, as best as I can remember it:



Naomi and Elimelech lived together in Huancayo. They had two sons, Mahlon and Chilion. One day, while Mahlon and Chilion were surfing (remember, Huancayo is in the mountains), their father died. They rushed to his side, administered useless CPR, and all three characters had a highly dramatic moment weeping for their deceased husband/father. Finally Naomi regained composure and told her sons they were moving to Lima to get a fresh start.

So they go to Lima. Mahlon and Chilion enter the university, where they meet Ruth and Orpah. The first time they practiced the courting scene, Mahlon and Chilion staggered around with fake beer bottles, chanting, “Amiga! Nos casamos, eh?” When we suggested an alternate character choice, they became mentally challenged, lisping and muttering, “Tú eres mujer. ¿Tú me casas?” When we ixnayed that one too, they put on their smoothest personas, sauntered up to the girls, and said—in the most nonchalant tone possible—“Señorita, una preguntita, ¿quieres casarte conmigo?”


Of course, the girls agreed and all four walked happily offstage. Tragically, Mahlon and Chilion suffered a car accident on the way home from the discoteca one day. Ruth and Orpah rushed to the scene, but even a full 3 minutes of CPR proved sadly unfruitful.

The women met with their mother-in-law to tell her the bad news and the three had a highly dramatic mourning scene. Unfortunately, Mahlon and Chilion thought that their death—as exciting as it was—was a very poor plot choice. Thus during the following scene, they kept coming back as ghosts/zombies to haunt their widows/mother. Usually they would simply wander around and try to distract the women, but in one particularly graphic character choice, Chilion actually pulled out and ate Naomi’s heart. Apparently zombies do that.

After the mourning, Naomi told her daughters-in-law that they should go back to their families. “You’re young, you still have a chance in life.” Orpah left with a “Bueno, ciao,” but Ruth, of course, clung to Naomi with the famous where-you-go-I-will-go lines. Oh yeah, we’re talking drama. Latin daytime soap-opera drama, complete with fake tears and over-the-top facial expressions.

So Naomi and Ruth went back to Huancayo, where Ruth one day sauntered past a well-dressed man sitting on a park bench reading a magazine. She casually dropped her handkerchief in front of him—a detail which the audience adored. Boaz, of course, picked up her handkerchief and then proposed.

Which brings us to the wedding. Oh yes, there was a wedding. Mahlon had learned to play the first line of the wedding march on the synthesizer, so at this point in the skit Ruth walked down the aisle with an orange veil (don’t ask) to sound of a full organ. Unfortunately, Mahlon was so happy with himself for learning the first line of the wedding march that he kept playing it. By the third time, we realized that he wasn’t going to stop playing it until someone unplugged the synthesizer which, thankfully, Naomi did by the sixth time.

And yes, there was a full wedding ceremony. This was actually the favorite of the audience, because after all, what is a wedding without a kiss? They chanted beso! beso! beso! until the priest finally threw the orange veil over their heads to make it look like they kissed. The crowd went wild.

The moral of the story was that families don’t have to be related by blood to live together like families, and that maybe teenagers aren’t wholly detestable after all.

The Apartment

Apparently, our supervisor had some problems placing the last Duke intern in a suitable location. Really, the problem was just that Duke sent her down her by herself and being here alone would really suck. But the mixup proved to be to Stephanie’s and my benefit, as everyone seems to be super-concerned about making sure we are comfortable.

Thus: the apartment. It’s pretty big, actually, especially for what we were expecting to have. It has a concrete floor that is always cold and turns your socks red, white walls, and a single window out over the street.


Our favorite part of the apartment is the little Cocina, where we have (so far) learned to make broccoli-pasta and tea. We’re working our way up to torilla, but we think we might save that for a Sunday when there’s nothing else to do. Huancayo is struggling with a water shortage, so all water is turned off city-wide at 5 pm. Thus all evening cooking/cleaning is done with water from the water buckets you see pictured.

Which also means, all showering must be done before 5 pm. This is usually not a problem, unless the hot-water is feeling finicky, which it is several times a week. After a week, we have finally managed to come to a truce with Shower: if we follow the following steps in order, Shower will usually decide to give us at least a measure of warmish water. If you don’t follow these steps, you might end up bathing with water that actually causes your heart to stop. No kidding: in my first cold shower I actually had trouble breathing.


The Steps:
1) Turn water on.
2) Turn water-heater on.
3) Wait.
4) If you’re lucky, you’ll soon being to hear a whirring sound that signifies that the water-heater is doing something.
a. If you’re unlucky, consider using more deodorant that day.
5) At this point, bathe as quickly as possible.
a. If you hear the water-heater stop, deftly step out of the stream of water and wait.
b. If it starts again, continue to bathe rapidly.
c. If it doesn’t, hold your breath and try to bathe allowing as little water to touch your body as possible.
6) Sometimes Shower will respond to a change in water pressure. For example, turning the water pressure down may lead to warmer water.
a. HOWEVER, be advised that touching either the shower knob or head will lead to mild electric shock. This is (hopefully) not dangerous, but does leave a painfully tingly sensation in the fingers or whatever appendage happened to touch aforementioned objects.
7) Turn off the shower, put on as much fleece as you own, and curl up under the covers until you can feel your fingers again.

Which brings us to the final part: the Beds. Originally, Cesar gave us the cot-type beds with thin mattresses that some people use for camping. They are actually quite comfortable at first, but after about two nights one becomes painfully aware that there is a bar right across the small of one’s back. However, as the beds were only used for watching Arrested Development and sleeping, we didn’t care much. Besides, if you fold up your fleece pants across the bar, you almost can’t feel it.

Much to our surprise, our duena knocked on our door a few days ago and asked if we wanted a bed. “Um, ok.” Isn’t Peru great? People just come up to your door and offer you things like beds! (And one time a random cardboard box with styrofoam peanuts still inside.)

Apparently, they had been feeling somewhat guilty about giving us camping cots, and had been actively looking for other beds since our arrival. So we brought in the new, bar-less bed, put the extra mattress on top of Stephanie’s bed (she’s like 4 feet off the ground now), and slept about 10 hours that night.

From Peru

It’s not as cold as I thought it would be. Through various friends and websites, I had the idea that it was always in the 40s: sunny and cold. Well, it’s definitely sunny. High-altitude, skin-scorching sunny, but it gets stiflingly hot in the afternoon. We went down to the market the Sunday we got there, where local indigenous women were selling scarves and ponchos knit from alpaca. The sun was shining so brightly I had to squint to see them, and just looking at all the cold-weather stuff made me sweat more. It does get cold at night and in the morning (especially walking across our concrete floor and climbing into a cold shower in the morning), but you could easily wear short sleeves during the day.

We were supposed to spend a day in Lima, meeting with the bishop and some other people, but our broken plane pushed us a day back. So we got into Lima around midnight and left for Huancayo the next day at 1. Duke has a relationship with a wonderful travel agent couple named Raúl and Gladys, and they took care of our transportation and housing. I’m so used to flying into places and then looking for a taxi and a hostel while traveling that I’d forgotten how much of a difference it made to have someone pick you up!

The trip wasn’t that bad (we took the expensive bus with reclining seats and a meal service), it was just long. 7.5 hours long. Huancayo is only about 140 miles from Lima, but it’s 140 miles across the Andes. We crawled along, winding up and up and up until the window were all fogged and it felt like there was a weight on my chest.



Everyone talks about the altitude here, and I understand why. When we were crossing part of the Andes on the way here, I remember waking up and having the odd sensation that my blood wasn’t flowing quite right. It wasn’t exactly painful, and it wasn’t exactly nauseous. It just felt like things inside me were tightening and straining to push blood through my heart. At this point, the window had been completely fogged for awhile, and I ran my hand against it. I caught a glimpse of the sun setting behind a snow covered peak (across from us, not above us), but the window fogged again almost as quickly as I had cleared it. I kept wiping my hand across the condensation until I lost feeling in my fingers and decided to go back to sleep.



When we arrived, our supervisor and his family met us at the bus station. His name is Cesar Llanco, and he and his wife Karina have two teenagers: Diego and Andrés. Everyone was a little bit shy at first: Cesar kept asking us what we wanted to do and we had to remind him that we are clueless about everything Peruvian right now. They laughed and took us to a chicken place.

I didn’t know before, but apparently charcoal-roasted chicken is pretty famous is this area. They serve it with salad (which, tragically, we can’t eat), French fries, and about 5 different kinds of sauce. It’s ridiculously good. I don’t know how they manage to get it quite that tender, but it just falls off the bone and has a wonderfully unique taste. And it gets better, because the whole meal costs about 6 soles at the expensive places, 3 at the cheaper ones. That’s a difference between $2 and $1.

We’re living in an apartment about a 30 minute walk from the town center. It’s owned by the mother of one of the girls we work with, and it has concrete floors, a small kitchen, a bathroom with sometimes-hot-water, a bedroom, and internet. Yep, we’ve got internet in our apartment. So much for roughing it. Our duena knocks on our door about once every two days to offer us pots, chairs, or to ask if we need anything.



There’s a little market right outside our apartment where people bring all sorts of produce and stuff to sell. The street gets busy about 6:30 in the morning, and doesn’t stop until 10 at night. Some women set up stands of fruit presses, where you can pick a piece of fruit and get her to press it into juice for you right there. Other women make about ten kinds of sauce (they have far more salsas here than we do back home), and sell small bags of it to the nearby restaurants.



Stephanie and I are very visible here, and are still getting used to it. Very few people are rude, but it’s obvious that everyone notices us. I have to admit, though, I understand where they’re coming from. The other day Steph and I saw a student with blond hair standing on the side of the road, and we stopped and stared. “Where on earth is he from?”

Our life has begun to fall into a bit of a routine. Get up, shower, walk to Cedepas (the organization that houses the seminary we work for), prepare lesson plans, eat lunch, get coffee at a place that has wireless internet, do last minute preparations for class, teach, eat dinner, go home, watch Arrested Development. (Yes, I brought the DVDs with me, and it is the best decision I ever made.) It’s not a bad life.

We’ve found several favorite restaurants, including a vegetarian one that makes everything with soy. Our favorite, though, is this incredible little place called Antojitos. It’s all once building, but a different part is open for lunch and dinner, so it’s like a completely different restaurant. For lunch, you walk into a courtyard-type place with vines everywhere and picturesque little tables. Then you eat a menú that includes an appetizer, soup, entrée, and juice for 5 soles. (For those of you keeping track, that’s a little less than $2.) For dinner, you walk into a low-lit place that looks a little like a hunting lodge, listen to Peruvian live music, eat oven-baked pizza, and drink sangria made with papaya and mango. A bit more than 5 soles, but definitely worth it.