Before we get started, I'd like to point out that the Metro supermarket does, in fact, stock Alpaca jerky.
Yesterday, August 29, was a day I had been looking forward to for the better part of a month. As we are all well aware, Sunday marked the 101st running of the Lima Half Marathon. This race is actually the second oldest long distance footrace in the Americas after the Boston Marathon. And I was foolhardy enough to sign myself up and then try to run the thing without specific training. Granted, I have been running twice a week since I rolled into town, but I never focused on preparing for a 13.1 mile race. I usually run on the Malecon, a path along the sea cliffs of Lima. Since there are no mile or kilometer markers I never really know how far I've run, but I figure it's safe to assume that I log about 10 miles each time I go out (well, 3 miles might be more accurate, but tomato tomahto right?). While my lack of training might be considered lazy, I was mostly curious to see how well I could run the longest distance ever attempted by myself without proper preparation. When I showed up to the Plaza de Armas yesterday at 7am, I began to wonder whether some training might have been a good idea. The plaza was swarming with runners all in the yellow race shirt (we were told to wear the shirt otherwise we would be disqualified and put in an Iron Maiden. Hmm, maybe it was just disqualified, but I'm pretty sure about the Iron Maiden punishment too.) and engaged in a wide variety of race warm-ups. Some people were jogging, some were stretching, and some were receiving a blessing from the Priest in the cathedral bordering the Plaza de Armas. Don't say the Peruvians take running lightly.
I wandered around before the race began, mostly sightseeing or people watching. I never did any specific warm-ups for my normal runs so I didn't want to mess with success. At 7:50am the race organizers called us to the starting line to take our positions. I have not run a race in a few years, and I was shocked by the amount of technology people had strapped onto their bodies. I saw belts with tiny water bottles full of mystical elixirs, arms with iPods, chests with heart rate monitors, and wrists with pace setters. I'm sure there are benefits to using these tools, but it all seemed very excessive to me. After all, we were tasked with a very simple activity: run until you get to the end. I brought my watch to get an idea of how fast I was running but stopped checking it after a few kilometers because I stopped caring. I mostly just ran at what felt like my usual pace. Too fast and I might not make it to the end, too slow and I might suffer the ridicule of thousands of smug Limans. That left me with the seemingly smartest option of running just right.
We started out winding through some of the streets surrounding the Plaza de Armas. Even at my comfortable pace I ended up weaving ahead of many runners, and it wasn't until the 1st km that I found myself a uncluttered space to chip away at the next 20 kms. Throughout the race there were groups of people providing their support. I saw folks dressed in super hero costumes with signs saying we were the real heroes. I was greeted by chants of "Si se puede!" (Yes you can!) from clusters of local school children. The most impressive demonstration of support was outside a fire station in central Lima. They firefighters had opened their garage door and had the sirens blaring on the fire engines. On the opposite side of the street stood roughly 120 firefighters, in full uniform, lined up two-deep honoring us. I was taken aback by the gesture. It was quite a sight, but it also seemed sort of misplaced since firefighters are a hell of a lot more honorable than a bunch of sweaty joggers. Nice of them to get up early and see us off, though.
The race also provided a pleasant tour of central Lima, San Isidro, and Miraflores. I saw some familiar areas and some that were new to me. I would have enjoyed the sights of these districts a lot more if there weren't an impending mayoral election. The city has become blanketed in billboards, fliers, flags, and signs promoting the various candidates. And there are a lot of candidates. These ubiquitous advertisements are made worse by the fact that most of the candidates' pictures are terrible. I know that the United States is overly image conscious, but I don't think many of these candidates understand the negative impact a scary picture can have. Hmmm, should I go with picture where I look red and bloated, have the flash reflected in my glasses, and don't smile but instead look disgruntled? Maybe the one where I don't look at the camera and hold my arms out in a patronizing gesture that suggests spreading the wealth to my serfs? No, no, I know which one I should use. Let's go with the double thumbs up where I have a huge smile that shows that my jaw is crooked. Conservatively, 60% of the candidates' pictures are frightening/off-putting. Another 30% are mildly unsettling. The last 10% actually seem like the candidate put some thought into how best to present their image to a skeptical public (corruption is a big problem down here). Of course, what do I have blocking many of the unique sights along the run? Ugly campaign posters. Fortunately, this focused my attention on the pot-hole filled road and probably helped me avoid a twisted ankle or achy breaky heart.
The first 15 km were perfectly enjoyable. Along the way, I saw a clever innovation which I am sure is used in other races, but it was the first time for me. Runners wearing a "Pacer" shirt were interspersed with the mob and had a large balloon attached to their waist with a time on it. Therefore, you could huddle around the 1:50 Pacer and know that you would finish the race in 1 hour and 50 minutes (and you would know that the Pacer would provide you protection from larger predators in exchange for cleaning their gills and eyeballs.). Or, you could challenge yourself to run faster by exceeding the pace of the Pacers. I found these Pacers to be an informative and interactive addition to the race, and I was particularly happy when I passed the 1:45 Pacer. My modest goal was to beat a 8:00 mile pace, and I knew that if I was ahead of 1:45 I would be okay. Unfortunately, the general merriment enjoyed thus far began to wane around the 16 km mark. I was started to feel tired and began to wonder why I subjected myself to this in the first place. Each km until the finish was spent concentrating on reaching the next km marker. I tried to keep my pace consistent, but it was hard to tell because I just wanted the race to be over. Once I crossed the 20 km marker I turned on the afterburners for the final 1000 m. In the past I have usually been able to see the finish line a decent ways out, and therefore I am able to time my kick. The organizers had other plans. They had us finish the last 750 m or so in the Lima Water Park. This is a park dominated by elaborate and colorful fountains, fountains which due to their massive size obscured any view of the finish. So I wound through the park praying for the finish line to appear soon, and once I saw it I sprinted the last 150 m to cheers of adoration and awe (read: cheers for other people's family members). 141:34...nothing too flashy, but better than I hoped for. That gave me a 7:45 mile pace which was good enough to place 361/2674. Beating my goal felt good, but not as good as the babes that came to congratulate me on my achievement. By "babes that came to congratulate me," I mean the relief in my legs not to have to run any more. I would like to run a marathon some day (perhaps the Boston marathon for historical relevance), but given how I felt after only 13.1 miles, I imagine 26.2 is much worse. So I applaud you marathon runners out there for grinding it out twice as long as me and probably quite a bit faster. However, I think I deserve some credit for suffering through 13.1 miles of creepy mayoral candidates. After the race, I had a very relaxing and boozy seafood lunch at La Mar with Ashley and then took it easy for the rest of Sunday and all of Monday. Trust me, it takes some serious recovery time to get those faces out of your head.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Caution: Not About Lima
I love reading. I wake up in the morning with time to spare so I can knock back a few pages, and I have been reading more since my work hours aren’t as…numerous…as in the US. Unfortunately, I only brought two books with me, and though they are dense and lengthy, they only carried me through the end of July. I initially regretted my lack of foresight in buying a Kindle or a Nook when I saw the selection of loaners on the Casona bookshelf. Most were (big surprise) French books. The only English books were obscure science fiction works and saucy romance novels. I could always buy books here, but the selection isn’t the best and the prices are surprisingly high. So, I asked Jessica if I could borrow “Breaking Dawn,” the fourth installment in the Twilight series. It was a quick read, and certainly not a terrible book, but unfortunately it only lasted me a week and a half. Luck seemed to be favoring me when I examined the bookshelf again and found “World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War.” I thought it was a comedy or satire, but the book is more of a socio-political commentary. After finishing “World War Z,” I began to realize that it shared striking similarities to “Breaking Down.” However, these differences would best be explored and discussed in essay format as these books appear ostensibly unlike. This rest of this post has nothing to do with Lima, so I completely understand if you choose to pass on it. If you do decide to finish reading I would love to hear your feedback about my self-imposed prompt, thesis, diction, syntax, or anything really. Unfortunately neither book is in my possession so I won’t be able to make citations or quotes, and I hope you forgive such omissions.
Prompt: Compare and contrast the use of the supernatural as a tool to explore human nature in Stephenie (I know, the spelling kills me too) Meyer’s “Breaking Dawn” and Max Brooks’ “World War Z.”
Though debate around the existence of vampires, werewolves, and zombies has not been firmly resolved, many authors treat these subjects as examples of the supernatural in their literature. The author’s purpose for such inclusion may be to create shock value, perform a historical examination, or simply use an unconventional theme. With each of these uses of the supernatural, it is the supernatural element which forms the primary focus of the piece. Alternatively, some authors insert supernatural creatures to achieve a better understanding of what makes us human. Both Stephenie Meyer and Max Brooks, in “Breaking Dawn” and “World War Z” respectively, rely heavily on supernatural creatures in their works. However, while Brooks uses a zombie uprising as a catalyst to explore the behavior of humans in extreme circumstances, Meyer conducts deep character examinations of vampires and werewolves to highlight the essence of being human.
“World War Z” is a fictional piece recounting the lead up, duration, and aftermath of an almost global zombie uprising and world war. This apocalyptic event is conveyed to the reader through interviews with many participants in the way from various countries across the globe. Though zombies are central to the plot of “World War Z” they are never a central character. While there are multiple interviews with each individual, a zombie is never interviewed. The reader never hears a zombie speak or gains insight into the zombie thought process. Zombies are included not for specific qualities they have, but for the situation their uprising creates. Faced with extreme versions of problems we see today (resource scarcity, mass population migration, rapidly changing economic activity), the humans in Brooks’ book respond with greed, hate, stubbornness, and intolerance. However, Brooks give us hope by also recounting instances of great generosity, openness, courage, and flexibility. Though we see one character make millions knowingly selling a useless vaccine against the zombie plague, we also learn about a general who gives his own life to blow up a key zombie entrance point. For each instance of human weakness Brooks also shows incredible moments of strength. The reader need not imagine zombie wars to remember moments in our history when humans exhibited such qualities, and thus this book becomes less of a hypothetical scenario and more of a historical reflection.
Meyer uses supernatural creatures much more intimately in “Breaking Dawn,” actually making vampires and werewolves (technically shapeshifters) primary characters in the story. Not only are vampires and werewolves intimately involved in relationships with humans, Meyer also details the transformation of a human into a vampire and the ensuing personality changes. While the vampires and werewolves provide unique plot elements to “Breaking Dawn,” it is deep character examination of the supernatural beings that gives the reader a greater understanding of human nature. Through Edward’s insatiable desire to please Bella, Carlisle’s extreme compassion, Jacob’s fierce loyalty, or Rosalie’s tumultuous ficklneness, we see exaggerated versions of the qualities which make humans unique. It is precisely this exaggeration which brings greater understanding of what it means to be human because we recognize the overwrought caricatures of ourselves. As Bella transforms from human to vampire we can see her motherly instincts and devotion multiply exponentially. However, we also see that she retains the innate qualities she had as a human. Thus, Meyer uses vampires and werewolves almost as extreme versions of humans to highlight in great detail our fundamental nature.
Though Brooks and Meyer use supernatural creatures in different ways to achieve their examinations of human nature, neither book relies on the supernatural as a fundamental plot element. Zombies are arguably less necessary to establish the apocalypse scenario than vampires and werewolves are to form Meyer’s love story. However, any of these creatures could be replaced with different supernatural beings and achieve the same ultimate goal. It is not important that Edward is a vampire, it is important that he exhibits a hyper-strong version of the love and devotion of which humans are capable. It is not necessary that zombies overran the eastern United States, it is necessary that the American resistance shows its legendary courage at the Battle of New Hope. This interchangeability of supernatural creatures (Edward could have been an alien, the zombie uprising could have been replaced by swamp creatures) reflects the fact that these authors are experts in humans only. Perhaps someday a zombie author will explore zombie nature, but until then deep character examinations will always reflect the human condition.
Prompt: Compare and contrast the use of the supernatural as a tool to explore human nature in Stephenie (I know, the spelling kills me too) Meyer’s “Breaking Dawn” and Max Brooks’ “World War Z.”
Though debate around the existence of vampires, werewolves, and zombies has not been firmly resolved, many authors treat these subjects as examples of the supernatural in their literature. The author’s purpose for such inclusion may be to create shock value, perform a historical examination, or simply use an unconventional theme. With each of these uses of the supernatural, it is the supernatural element which forms the primary focus of the piece. Alternatively, some authors insert supernatural creatures to achieve a better understanding of what makes us human. Both Stephenie Meyer and Max Brooks, in “Breaking Dawn” and “World War Z” respectively, rely heavily on supernatural creatures in their works. However, while Brooks uses a zombie uprising as a catalyst to explore the behavior of humans in extreme circumstances, Meyer conducts deep character examinations of vampires and werewolves to highlight the essence of being human.
“World War Z” is a fictional piece recounting the lead up, duration, and aftermath of an almost global zombie uprising and world war. This apocalyptic event is conveyed to the reader through interviews with many participants in the way from various countries across the globe. Though zombies are central to the plot of “World War Z” they are never a central character. While there are multiple interviews with each individual, a zombie is never interviewed. The reader never hears a zombie speak or gains insight into the zombie thought process. Zombies are included not for specific qualities they have, but for the situation their uprising creates. Faced with extreme versions of problems we see today (resource scarcity, mass population migration, rapidly changing economic activity), the humans in Brooks’ book respond with greed, hate, stubbornness, and intolerance. However, Brooks give us hope by also recounting instances of great generosity, openness, courage, and flexibility. Though we see one character make millions knowingly selling a useless vaccine against the zombie plague, we also learn about a general who gives his own life to blow up a key zombie entrance point. For each instance of human weakness Brooks also shows incredible moments of strength. The reader need not imagine zombie wars to remember moments in our history when humans exhibited such qualities, and thus this book becomes less of a hypothetical scenario and more of a historical reflection.
Meyer uses supernatural creatures much more intimately in “Breaking Dawn,” actually making vampires and werewolves (technically shapeshifters) primary characters in the story. Not only are vampires and werewolves intimately involved in relationships with humans, Meyer also details the transformation of a human into a vampire and the ensuing personality changes. While the vampires and werewolves provide unique plot elements to “Breaking Dawn,” it is deep character examination of the supernatural beings that gives the reader a greater understanding of human nature. Through Edward’s insatiable desire to please Bella, Carlisle’s extreme compassion, Jacob’s fierce loyalty, or Rosalie’s tumultuous ficklneness, we see exaggerated versions of the qualities which make humans unique. It is precisely this exaggeration which brings greater understanding of what it means to be human because we recognize the overwrought caricatures of ourselves. As Bella transforms from human to vampire we can see her motherly instincts and devotion multiply exponentially. However, we also see that she retains the innate qualities she had as a human. Thus, Meyer uses vampires and werewolves almost as extreme versions of humans to highlight in great detail our fundamental nature.
Though Brooks and Meyer use supernatural creatures in different ways to achieve their examinations of human nature, neither book relies on the supernatural as a fundamental plot element. Zombies are arguably less necessary to establish the apocalypse scenario than vampires and werewolves are to form Meyer’s love story. However, any of these creatures could be replaced with different supernatural beings and achieve the same ultimate goal. It is not important that Edward is a vampire, it is important that he exhibits a hyper-strong version of the love and devotion of which humans are capable. It is not necessary that zombies overran the eastern United States, it is necessary that the American resistance shows its legendary courage at the Battle of New Hope. This interchangeability of supernatural creatures (Edward could have been an alien, the zombie uprising could have been replaced by swamp creatures) reflects the fact that these authors are experts in humans only. Perhaps someday a zombie author will explore zombie nature, but until then deep character examinations will always reflect the human condition.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Stop Eyeing My Empanada, Sir
We're going to skip a full recap of the dinner at Panchita last weekend, both because I don't consider myself a particularly engaging food writer and because it's time to move on to bigger and better (and fresher in the memory) things. However, I will tell you that Panchita is Gaston Acurio's (Peruvian rockstar chef) upscale take on the Peruvian culinary tradition of anticuchos. Anticuchos are skewered, grilled beef hearts served with several dipping sauces, corn, and potatoes. I consider this dish to be Peru's spin on steak and potatoes, except anticuchos could be considered superior for their endless pun-tastic opportunities to tell your dining companions to "eat their hearts out." In addition to this signature dish Panchita has many other grilled meats and criolla (traditional Peruvian food) dishes. The portions are huge, the tables and place settings are equally oversized, and the interior is loud, warm, and bustling. It suggests what Claim Jumper might be if it was fancier and served Peruvian food (still with the California Gold Rush theme, of course). The anticuchos were tender (I have noticed that toughness can be a problem with beef hearts) and well seasoned, and all the other dishes (we ordered a variety of Peruvian classics) delivered on their promises as well. I tried papas rellenas for the first time (mashed potatoes filled with seasoned beef and some diced veggies, then formed into a football shape and deep fried), and you better believe I'll be coming back for more of that. Anyhow, if you happen to find yourself in Lima and you want a big, brash meal with a variety of Peruvian specialties, head on over to Panchita. Tell 'em Andrew sent you for a free appetizer of dense buttery rolls and crusty flatbreads (no, it's not complimentary).
I have been posting less frequently over the past two weeks - and I hope to rectify that situation during the rest of August - but work has been more involved recently. Last week was spent preparing for the Saturday field trip with the Callao schools. Ramon Castilla did not attend and will have their field trip delayed two weeks so they have a chance to stabilize their normal Buena Voz workshops. I think we all remember the embarrassment from last weekend! And it's really not the time or place to point fingers, but needless to say it was all Melissa's fault. During the week, Victor (VO) and I made sure all the schools were prepared for the field trip, arranged the transportation and tours, further prepared for the fundraising event in October, and managed normal Buena Voz operations. Fast forward to Saturday, and you'd find me rolling out of bed at 6am (!) to arrive at the GEA office by 7am (!!). I showed up a few minutes before 7 (!!!), and at 7:05 Celeste, the photographer for Buena Voz promotional materials and the fundraiser, arrived as well. We were expecting Victor and one youth coordinator, Kathy (who had volunteered to help out with the field trip), to appear at 7 as well, but I figured they might be a little late because it can be hard to find a taxi in Villa Maria del Triunfo that will go all the way to Barranco (tell me about it, right! Who hasn't had to deal with those clowns?). I didn't expect them to be 40 minutes late, but I still felt comfortable that we would make it to the Augustin de Hipona school before the 8:30 departure time. I didn't factor in the time needed for the taxi driver to orient himself after getting lost on Callao. I also didn't factor in the delay caused by the taxi driver being pulling over for speeding. Oh, and that llama heritage parade? Yeah I didn't plan for that either (the parade may not have actually happened, but you can appreciate some creative license in establishing that we were late, late, late!). Fortunately, the Hipona Buena Voz students and teachers were ready to rock (read: go on a field trip), so we able to depart the school by 8:45. Because each charter bus held 45 rabid Callao fans and because the Hipona, Heroinas Toledo, and Jose Olaya schools had less than that total, we had to orchestrate some bus sharing. Olaya and Hipona had about 30 attendees, and Toledo had about 20. The logical solution would be to split Toledo's 20 amongst the Olaya and Hipona buses. A key theme of the field trip was getting to know the Buena Voz students from other schools, so this mixing was perfect for a healthy interchange. A logical and appropriate resolution to our "3 bus, 4 school" dilemma. The general coordinator from the Toledo school wasn't so thrilled about our elegantly designed solution, and Victor and I had to deal with her griping throughout the field trip. Other than the taxi snafu and one grumbly coordinator, the field trip was a success. We visited the Real Felipe military castle and museum (kids sure do love castles!), the "La Punta" beach in Callao (kids sure do love castles!), and the Callao Plaza de Armas (kids sure do love plazas!).
I wish I had more to tell you about the history and significance of these sights, but if there ain't natural gas-filled intertubes being filled by guinea pig manure, it's hard for me to get engaged. Instead of paying attention to the tours, I mostly just talked to the Buena Voz students and ate. Not out of hunger, mind you. For instance, while at the Real Felipe castle I purchased a chicken empanada to tide me over. While I am eating my empanada, a fellow pops out of a van and delivers more empanadas and baked goods to the museum cafe. While walking back to his van he asks me if I am eating a chicken empanada. Despite my suspicion of foul play, I confirmed that my empanada was, in fact, filled with chicken. He then walked to his van, came back to me, and handed me a beef empanada and told me "I got this round, slim." I was shocked! A free empanada for the gringo! I couldn't refuse, so I ate more than I planned. Later, at the beach, the teachers distributed the snacks to the students. They also distributed snacks to the Buena Voz volunteers (me, Victor, Celeste, and Kathy), and for you math buffs out there, you know that means I ate 4 snacks (4 schools = 4 snacks). I definitely was not hurting for food on the trip. The students all had a good time, and by the end of the excursion even our grumpy coordinator had a smile on her face. And fortunately, we were able to catch the tail end of the llama heritage parade.
Now it's time for some general housekeeping. My good friend Stacy Ishigaki pointed out to me that I have not posted any photos over the past several weeks. Between having to work 6 days a week and increasing my fervent search for a decent wig, I didn't find much time to go anywhere/do anything worth capturing in photo form. However, I do want to be responsive to friend/reader requests, particularly to those from Ms. Ishigaki. If there is anyone who is making a real and positive difference in the world, it's Stacy, so I felt obliged to honor her request for more photos. You can now find new photos in the Flickr account. Enjoy!
I have been posting less frequently over the past two weeks - and I hope to rectify that situation during the rest of August - but work has been more involved recently. Last week was spent preparing for the Saturday field trip with the Callao schools. Ramon Castilla did not attend and will have their field trip delayed two weeks so they have a chance to stabilize their normal Buena Voz workshops. I think we all remember the embarrassment from last weekend! And it's really not the time or place to point fingers, but needless to say it was all Melissa's fault. During the week, Victor (VO) and I made sure all the schools were prepared for the field trip, arranged the transportation and tours, further prepared for the fundraising event in October, and managed normal Buena Voz operations. Fast forward to Saturday, and you'd find me rolling out of bed at 6am (!) to arrive at the GEA office by 7am (!!). I showed up a few minutes before 7 (!!!), and at 7:05 Celeste, the photographer for Buena Voz promotional materials and the fundraiser, arrived as well. We were expecting Victor and one youth coordinator, Kathy (who had volunteered to help out with the field trip), to appear at 7 as well, but I figured they might be a little late because it can be hard to find a taxi in Villa Maria del Triunfo that will go all the way to Barranco (tell me about it, right! Who hasn't had to deal with those clowns?). I didn't expect them to be 40 minutes late, but I still felt comfortable that we would make it to the Augustin de Hipona school before the 8:30 departure time. I didn't factor in the time needed for the taxi driver to orient himself after getting lost on Callao. I also didn't factor in the delay caused by the taxi driver being pulling over for speeding. Oh, and that llama heritage parade? Yeah I didn't plan for that either (the parade may not have actually happened, but you can appreciate some creative license in establishing that we were late, late, late!). Fortunately, the Hipona Buena Voz students and teachers were ready to rock (read: go on a field trip), so we able to depart the school by 8:45. Because each charter bus held 45 rabid Callao fans and because the Hipona, Heroinas Toledo, and Jose Olaya schools had less than that total, we had to orchestrate some bus sharing. Olaya and Hipona had about 30 attendees, and Toledo had about 20. The logical solution would be to split Toledo's 20 amongst the Olaya and Hipona buses. A key theme of the field trip was getting to know the Buena Voz students from other schools, so this mixing was perfect for a healthy interchange. A logical and appropriate resolution to our "3 bus, 4 school" dilemma. The general coordinator from the Toledo school wasn't so thrilled about our elegantly designed solution, and Victor and I had to deal with her griping throughout the field trip. Other than the taxi snafu and one grumbly coordinator, the field trip was a success. We visited the Real Felipe military castle and museum (kids sure do love castles!), the "La Punta" beach in Callao (kids sure do love castles!), and the Callao Plaza de Armas (kids sure do love plazas!).
I wish I had more to tell you about the history and significance of these sights, but if there ain't natural gas-filled intertubes being filled by guinea pig manure, it's hard for me to get engaged. Instead of paying attention to the tours, I mostly just talked to the Buena Voz students and ate. Not out of hunger, mind you. For instance, while at the Real Felipe castle I purchased a chicken empanada to tide me over. While I am eating my empanada, a fellow pops out of a van and delivers more empanadas and baked goods to the museum cafe. While walking back to his van he asks me if I am eating a chicken empanada. Despite my suspicion of foul play, I confirmed that my empanada was, in fact, filled with chicken. He then walked to his van, came back to me, and handed me a beef empanada and told me "I got this round, slim." I was shocked! A free empanada for the gringo! I couldn't refuse, so I ate more than I planned. Later, at the beach, the teachers distributed the snacks to the students. They also distributed snacks to the Buena Voz volunteers (me, Victor, Celeste, and Kathy), and for you math buffs out there, you know that means I ate 4 snacks (4 schools = 4 snacks). I definitely was not hurting for food on the trip. The students all had a good time, and by the end of the excursion even our grumpy coordinator had a smile on her face. And fortunately, we were able to catch the tail end of the llama heritage parade.
Now it's time for some general housekeeping. My good friend Stacy Ishigaki pointed out to me that I have not posted any photos over the past several weeks. Between having to work 6 days a week and increasing my fervent search for a decent wig, I didn't find much time to go anywhere/do anything worth capturing in photo form. However, I do want to be responsive to friend/reader requests, particularly to those from Ms. Ishigaki. If there is anyone who is making a real and positive difference in the world, it's Stacy, so I felt obliged to honor her request for more photos. You can now find new photos in the Flickr account. Enjoy!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
A-OK: AKA SNAFU
I already discussed my appreciation for a clever, Wheel of Fortune-esque, "before-and-after" phrase, but I recently came to notice that I also delight in an original acronym. Let's be clear about acronyms (and really, who wouldn't want to be clear when it comes to acronyms?), I am not a fan of unnecessary or excessive acronyms peppered into conversation like pepper on a steak au poivre. Rather, I enjoy the innovative and practical acronyms which make our speech efficient and/or more practical. Hence the title of today's blog entry. A-OK is an acronym with disputed origins and meanings, but most acronymologists agree on it's status as an acronym. AKA has a much more certain meaning, "also known as." Lastly, we have the originally military acronym which is now found in widespread use, SNAFU. This acronym has a slightly stronger meaning, "situation normal: all f****d up." Since this is a family blog I had to clean up the meaning a bit, but feel free to tell the kids that it stands for "funned," and the asterisks are "fun stars." The above title is not only jarring to look at and interpret, it also happens to be an apt description of my Saturday. I'm just kidding, things weren't that bad. I just had a really hard time finding acronyms that read like a sentence. Still, let's do a weekend debrief.
I met Victor Ortiz (Buena Voz alumnus, current employee at GEA, and Buena Voz's middle reliever-esque team member. Let's call him VO today.) and Victor Luhan (Buena Voz general coordinator and 7-year participant, principal at Juan Valer School, and Buena Voz's chatty catcher. He will be VL.) at the GEA office bright and early Saturday morning at 8:30 am. We had hired out the taxi services of Pedro because we had many stops to make in Callao, and it's much safer to have a car wait for you than try to find a taxi on the streets up there. Once they arrived, we gathered some materials from the office and then took the coastal expressway up to Callao. Our first stop was the Ramon Castilla School. We had to make an appearance there because this was the first Buena Voz workshop for them and it's always helpful to have some seasoned vets on hand. And if you don't have 3 seasoned vets, send 1 seasoned vet, one hungry up-and-comer, and 1 white guy who acts like a space cadet and seems to always end up in the most disreputable wig shops. Another reason we made a visit to Ramon Castilla was to greet the corporate sponsor of the school and show him the program in action. So we arrived at Ramon Castilla at 9:15 for a 9:30 program start. 9:30 rolls around and we only see 5 students, no teachers, and 1 roof dog. This was not the turnout we had hoped for (although you didn't hear anyone complaining about the roof dog). By 10:00 we had our 3 teachers but still only 5 students, and unfortunately, the corporate representative had arrived. Rather than a robust leadership and environmental workshop with 40 young minds excited to learn, we were able to show him a robust leadership and environmental workshop with 5 young minds excited to learn. The content was not a problem, but numbers are important and 5 looks a lot less impressive than 40. Well, nuts. Not a great first impression for our sponsor. I don't want to point fingers or play the blame game with this situation, but it was everyone's fault except mine. Especially Melissa's. The first workshop is typically a bit shaky while everyone learns the system, and it wouldn't have been the best demonstration for a sponsor but that's when he wanted to come. I should have reinforced the importance of attendance to the teachers, but what's done is done so I'll just be more attentive to these issues next time. I doubt this is the last mistake I'll make, but I've noticed that this sort of firsthand learning is really what I need to learn the system down here. And as the saying goes, "Even Thor dropped his hammer on his way to defeating Mothra."
We left Ramon Castilla once the workshop was about half done to drop off some Buena Voz shirts and backpacks at the Augustin Hipona School. After that we picked up the Callao youth coordinators at the Jose Olaya School and departed for the coordinator workshop in Villa Maria del Triunfo. I'll skip over some of the mundane activities and get right to the good stuff. Once we dropped the kids off at the coordinator workshop we went to VO's house (he lives in Villa Maria) to pick up some sandwiches his sister made for the youth coordinators. We put the sandwiches in the car, and then VO asked me if I wanted to see his pigs. Um, does Jean Luc Picard like his Earl Grey hot? You're darn right he does! So he takes me over to the pig houses down the street from his house. I know pigs are supposed to be very clean animals but these suckers sure generated some kind of stink. Any negative feelings related to the smell were wiped away once I saw his pregnant sow named "Gringa." Hmmm, thanks VO. She was HUGE. We're talking about 200 kilos big. She was literally the size of a black bear cub, but unlike the black bear (this may or may not be true), she was very friendly and social. I wanted to give her a pet, but VO advised against it. After seeing the size of her mouth and the vigor with which she ate her pig dinner, I agreed with his advice. Still, I had a great time with Gringa and the other pigs, and seeing a pig in person gives you a much better appreciation for how massive these animals can get. When I got back to the Casona at 8:00 pm I was beat, both from the busy activities of the day and the excitement of meeting a doghouse-sized pregnant pig. Nothing a nice little dinner at Gaston Acurio's "Panchita" couldn't cure, but I'll save that for next time.
I met Victor Ortiz (Buena Voz alumnus, current employee at GEA, and Buena Voz's middle reliever-esque team member. Let's call him VO today.) and Victor Luhan (Buena Voz general coordinator and 7-year participant, principal at Juan Valer School, and Buena Voz's chatty catcher. He will be VL.) at the GEA office bright and early Saturday morning at 8:30 am. We had hired out the taxi services of Pedro because we had many stops to make in Callao, and it's much safer to have a car wait for you than try to find a taxi on the streets up there. Once they arrived, we gathered some materials from the office and then took the coastal expressway up to Callao. Our first stop was the Ramon Castilla School. We had to make an appearance there because this was the first Buena Voz workshop for them and it's always helpful to have some seasoned vets on hand. And if you don't have 3 seasoned vets, send 1 seasoned vet, one hungry up-and-comer, and 1 white guy who acts like a space cadet and seems to always end up in the most disreputable wig shops. Another reason we made a visit to Ramon Castilla was to greet the corporate sponsor of the school and show him the program in action. So we arrived at Ramon Castilla at 9:15 for a 9:30 program start. 9:30 rolls around and we only see 5 students, no teachers, and 1 roof dog. This was not the turnout we had hoped for (although you didn't hear anyone complaining about the roof dog). By 10:00 we had our 3 teachers but still only 5 students, and unfortunately, the corporate representative had arrived. Rather than a robust leadership and environmental workshop with 40 young minds excited to learn, we were able to show him a robust leadership and environmental workshop with 5 young minds excited to learn. The content was not a problem, but numbers are important and 5 looks a lot less impressive than 40. Well, nuts. Not a great first impression for our sponsor. I don't want to point fingers or play the blame game with this situation, but it was everyone's fault except mine. Especially Melissa's. The first workshop is typically a bit shaky while everyone learns the system, and it wouldn't have been the best demonstration for a sponsor but that's when he wanted to come. I should have reinforced the importance of attendance to the teachers, but what's done is done so I'll just be more attentive to these issues next time. I doubt this is the last mistake I'll make, but I've noticed that this sort of firsthand learning is really what I need to learn the system down here. And as the saying goes, "Even Thor dropped his hammer on his way to defeating Mothra."
We left Ramon Castilla once the workshop was about half done to drop off some Buena Voz shirts and backpacks at the Augustin Hipona School. After that we picked up the Callao youth coordinators at the Jose Olaya School and departed for the coordinator workshop in Villa Maria del Triunfo. I'll skip over some of the mundane activities and get right to the good stuff. Once we dropped the kids off at the coordinator workshop we went to VO's house (he lives in Villa Maria) to pick up some sandwiches his sister made for the youth coordinators. We put the sandwiches in the car, and then VO asked me if I wanted to see his pigs. Um, does Jean Luc Picard like his Earl Grey hot? You're darn right he does! So he takes me over to the pig houses down the street from his house. I know pigs are supposed to be very clean animals but these suckers sure generated some kind of stink. Any negative feelings related to the smell were wiped away once I saw his pregnant sow named "Gringa." Hmmm, thanks VO. She was HUGE. We're talking about 200 kilos big. She was literally the size of a black bear cub, but unlike the black bear (this may or may not be true), she was very friendly and social. I wanted to give her a pet, but VO advised against it. After seeing the size of her mouth and the vigor with which she ate her pig dinner, I agreed with his advice. Still, I had a great time with Gringa and the other pigs, and seeing a pig in person gives you a much better appreciation for how massive these animals can get. When I got back to the Casona at 8:00 pm I was beat, both from the busy activities of the day and the excitement of meeting a doghouse-sized pregnant pig. Nothing a nice little dinner at Gaston Acurio's "Panchita" couldn't cure, but I'll save that for next time.
Friday, August 13, 2010
The Other Iglesias Brother
After the usual Thursday night check-in with the teachers of Buena Voz, I arrived in Barranco at the GEA office to drop off materials and extra cash. It was about 8:30pm, and despite the lateness of my Peruvian lunch, my hunger was on my case worse than Miles Silverberg was on Murphy Brown after she accidentally kidnapped Socks from the Clintons. It was time to take action. Outside of GEA, on the walk back to the Casona, there is a tiny restaurant. I call it a restaurant for lack of a better word, but it's only about the 1/3 of the size of a two car garage. It also happens to be located in the front of a townhouse where the garage should be. Do the residents rent out their garage to this business? Are there even residents in the rest of the building? Where did that jogger find a chestnut wig of such impressive craftsmanship? Unfortunately, I can't give you the answers to these questions, but I can give more details about the restaurant (tiny restaurants like these are everywhere in Lima). There is a very small patio where 1/3 of the driveway would be, and the owner puts out 2 or 3 round tables during business hours. Again, I say "tables" because I can't an appropriate word, but each of these tables could hold a can of cola, a California Pizza Kitchen Wild Mushroom personal pizza, and 2, maybe 3, packets of Sweet n' Low. Once inside, you encounter a minuscule kitchen on the right side (griddle, blender, sink, Sham Wow, and not much else) and a sliver of a counter on the left side for eating while standing. Normally I wouldn't be enticed by a restaurant such as this because typically the menu is a ubiquitous hodge podge of sandwiches, hamburgers, and fruit juices (sort of like smoothies without ice). It's cheap and great drunk food, but nothing that really calls to you. However, this night was different for two reasons. You already know about my aforementioned hunger (since everyone remembers that Murhpy Brown moment, right?), but the menu at this joint was slightly different. They made their fruit juices with milk! It's a small distinction, but I often really want that extra body in my smoothie. For the UCLA alums out there, smoothies with milk bring back strong memories of Puzzles at 1:30am with half of the football team waiting for smoothies and cheese fries. Anyhow, I ordered a strawberry juice (remember, it's a smoothie), and was duly impressed when the owner blended the berries and milk and then STRAINED the seeds. It's that attention to detail that will promise a future of 2/3 garage and even full garage restaurants. I was about to grab my juice and start walking back to the Casona when the fellow poured it into a glass pitcher. I had forgotten to specify "para llevar" (to go), so I drank it at one of the patio tables. 2 minutes (to midnight, but to be clear, it was 8:45pm) later I left for the Casona. My frugo de fresa was fresh, frothy, and fantastic (I kind of had to) so I didn't waste any time putting it away.
Once I arrived home and dropped off my backpack, I noticed that my internal Miles Silverberg was once again getting on my case. There wasn't much food in the kitchen so I walked across the street to a small convenience store. These establishments are also everywhere here in Lima. They are universally poorly lit and have a counter from which the owner takes your order and grabs the products you need from the floor to ceiling shelves behind the counter. Despite their small size they have an impressive selection of drinks, convenience foods, ingredients, produce, dairy and egg products, household products, and sweets. The one across from the Casona also has a clear glass case on the counter with a few desserts and sandwiches prepared in the presumably microscopic kitchen. My sights were set on the shredded chicken sandwiches with mayo and lettuce on "pan frances." The sandwich itself isn't particularly noteworthy (although it is cheap at the low, low price of $0.90) but they also prepare a bright yellow hot sauce condiment from the aji amarillo peppers which you can add as you see fit. The sauce has a simple name (aji), but don't let the name lure you into a false sense of flavor security. Once you dress the sandwich with the desired amount of aji, your tastebuds will really sing. The owner commented about how much I like the aji and how his wife would kill him if he ever divulged the recipe. While I was eating my sandwich another customer rolled in and starts working on a sandwich of his own. Then HE commented on the aji. This shop obviously has a trick or two up its sleeve of products. I was about to leave when I discovered another of the store's tricks. The owner and I were talking about my trip to Peru, where I'm from, why my head is so darn clean, etc. when he told me his name was Antonio Iglesias. I told him he should go to the States and tell people he is the brother of Julio Iglesias, to whom he bears a passing resemblance (Julio Iglesias has a younger brother, Carlos. Julio's father, Julio Sr., didn't stop with two, however. He had another son and daughter when Julio Jr. was 61 and 63, respectively, and when Julio Sr. was 89 and deceased, respectively. I tell you what, I certainly didn't expect to learn THAT about Julio Iglesias!). How does he react to my comment? He breaks into a traditional Peruvian song (the best way to describe it would be Spanish opera) to the delight of me and the other patrons. I really love when random and unexpected occurrences unfold, and what fits that description better than a Julio Iglesias lookalike preparing chicken sandwiches and then serenading me with criolla (traditional Peruvian) music? I only wanted one sandwich, but I had to stick around to hear more classics delivered by this guy with a surprisingly decent voice. Maybe Julio Sr. was busier than we all thought...
Once I arrived home and dropped off my backpack, I noticed that my internal Miles Silverberg was once again getting on my case. There wasn't much food in the kitchen so I walked across the street to a small convenience store. These establishments are also everywhere here in Lima. They are universally poorly lit and have a counter from which the owner takes your order and grabs the products you need from the floor to ceiling shelves behind the counter. Despite their small size they have an impressive selection of drinks, convenience foods, ingredients, produce, dairy and egg products, household products, and sweets. The one across from the Casona also has a clear glass case on the counter with a few desserts and sandwiches prepared in the presumably microscopic kitchen. My sights were set on the shredded chicken sandwiches with mayo and lettuce on "pan frances." The sandwich itself isn't particularly noteworthy (although it is cheap at the low, low price of $0.90) but they also prepare a bright yellow hot sauce condiment from the aji amarillo peppers which you can add as you see fit. The sauce has a simple name (aji), but don't let the name lure you into a false sense of flavor security. Once you dress the sandwich with the desired amount of aji, your tastebuds will really sing. The owner commented about how much I like the aji and how his wife would kill him if he ever divulged the recipe. While I was eating my sandwich another customer rolled in and starts working on a sandwich of his own. Then HE commented on the aji. This shop obviously has a trick or two up its sleeve of products. I was about to leave when I discovered another of the store's tricks. The owner and I were talking about my trip to Peru, where I'm from, why my head is so darn clean, etc. when he told me his name was Antonio Iglesias. I told him he should go to the States and tell people he is the brother of Julio Iglesias, to whom he bears a passing resemblance (Julio Iglesias has a younger brother, Carlos. Julio's father, Julio Sr., didn't stop with two, however. He had another son and daughter when Julio Jr. was 61 and 63, respectively, and when Julio Sr. was 89 and deceased, respectively. I tell you what, I certainly didn't expect to learn THAT about Julio Iglesias!). How does he react to my comment? He breaks into a traditional Peruvian song (the best way to describe it would be Spanish opera) to the delight of me and the other patrons. I really love when random and unexpected occurrences unfold, and what fits that description better than a Julio Iglesias lookalike preparing chicken sandwiches and then serenading me with criolla (traditional Peruvian) music? I only wanted one sandwich, but I had to stick around to hear more classics delivered by this guy with a surprisingly decent voice. Maybe Julio Sr. was busier than we all thought...
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Do You Enjoy Luxury? Los Angeles Peluqueria, Part Deux
Who doesn't enjoy luxury? Whether it be the luxury of owning a Peruvian Hairless dog, the luxury of eating an extra skewer of beef hearts, or the luxury of driving the finest motorcar in the world, I believe everyone can appreciate the finer things in life. I read an article today which detailed the findings of an elite team of luxury scientists (they may have just been normal scientists, the article wasn't entirely clear on that point.) studying the effects that various purchases have on lasting happiness. Using a double-blind technique and the Schweitzer-McCall Luxury Matrix (they might have just asked a bunch of people. Again, the article was very vague about the details.), these luxury experts determined that spending on experiences contributes much more positively to enduring happiness than spending on more permanent luxury items. For instance, a luxurious trip, meal, or concert can have greater emotional returns than a Ethan Allen mauve couch, an Irish Setter sweater, or a Jaguar convertible. I decided to put this theory to the test tonight at my monthly haircut session. And let me tell you, after the luxuriousness of all I experienced, I might have to make my haircuts a bi-monthly occurrence.
Let me start with some background from my day. Today was the first day that I was running the Buena Voz show. Was it harder? More stressful? Unluxurious? It was actually none of those things. I realized that being the bossman afforded me a much better view of all the tasks associated with Buena Voz. Once difficulty with working with Melissa (through no fault of hers), is that our communication is not what I am accustomed to in the US due to the language barrier. Therefore, I struggled to understand everything that was going on with the program and the ways I could be most useful. Sometimes I wasn't even clear why I was doing what I was doing. In one day I suddenly felt much more comfortable because I was forced to be involved in every aspect of the program. This was definitely a good start to the day and to the month of Melissa's absence. Of course, wouldn't it be ironic if everything unravels tomorrow? Well at least I would prove Melissa's value to Susana that way. See? She is irreplaceable! The day only got better when Susana and I went to lunch at one of her favorite beach restaurants. We drove down the coast for ten minutes and parked by this startlingly turquoise blue cove. Set against the steep, desolate cliffs, it was really a striking spot. Plus, the sun was finally out and the waves were especially frisky, so it felt quite summery. We ate at La Mesa de La Herradura, a sort of tapas/ceviche hybrid. We had three different bites of ceviche all served on scallop shells, a couple different varieties of cause, a lomo saltado with shrimp and steak (surf and turf is most definitely luxurious), and a few other seafood dishes I am hard pressed to remember. It was a tasty lunch, and the seaside setting really made it special. Unfortunately in Lima, there seems to be few restrictions about building near the water. The benefit is that you can eat and drink in some breathtaking locales. The downside is these locales could be enjoyed by many more individuals (including animals) if they were just left undeveloped. Sigh.
After a taste of luxury (not a great pun, but I'll give the pun alert) during lunch, I knew that I was hooked and needed more in my day. After work I made my way to my favorite salon named after Los Angeles (remember there are two. Therefore having a favorite is meaningful!). This time, however, a 28 year-old (lady doesn't sound quite right, but girl sounds too young. Female? Too impersonal. Chick? Not respectful enough. Brawd? Not sure about the spelling. Not guy? Winner, winner, chicken dinner!) not guy was free to cut my hair instead of the bad-age-guessing guy from last time. I'm not going to say he burned a bridge by believing I was 39, but he certainly did conflagrate a wooden river crossing. She took great care to ensure equitable hair length (since I ask for as simple a haircut as could possibly be asked for), and her neck and mustache grooming was clearly the product of years of study and practical application. I was about to stand up and leave once she dusted me off, but then she offered to wash my hair. I really enjoyed myself during the haircut, but I wasn't quite ready to drop some extra bills for the mane and tail routine. Let's face it, there isn't a whole lot to wash on my dome. I was about to refuse when said it was included. Now THAT is a luxury I couldn't refuse: getting your hair washed when there really isn't any hair there to wash. Isn't that so indulgently purposeless? Don't confuse that with porpoiseless, since we all know that a good level of luxury necessitates the possession of porpoises. Now get this, she washed my hair three, count 'em, three times. I have absolutely no idea what she was working on up there, but you didn't hear me complaining. As I write this I am still savoring the opulent luxuriousness and luxurious opulence of my haircut and triple wash, and I can personally vouch for the scientists results. They could have saved themselves a lot of trouble and expense if they just came to Peru for a nice haircut. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess.
Let me start with some background from my day. Today was the first day that I was running the Buena Voz show. Was it harder? More stressful? Unluxurious? It was actually none of those things. I realized that being the bossman afforded me a much better view of all the tasks associated with Buena Voz. Once difficulty with working with Melissa (through no fault of hers), is that our communication is not what I am accustomed to in the US due to the language barrier. Therefore, I struggled to understand everything that was going on with the program and the ways I could be most useful. Sometimes I wasn't even clear why I was doing what I was doing. In one day I suddenly felt much more comfortable because I was forced to be involved in every aspect of the program. This was definitely a good start to the day and to the month of Melissa's absence. Of course, wouldn't it be ironic if everything unravels tomorrow? Well at least I would prove Melissa's value to Susana that way. See? She is irreplaceable! The day only got better when Susana and I went to lunch at one of her favorite beach restaurants. We drove down the coast for ten minutes and parked by this startlingly turquoise blue cove. Set against the steep, desolate cliffs, it was really a striking spot. Plus, the sun was finally out and the waves were especially frisky, so it felt quite summery. We ate at La Mesa de La Herradura, a sort of tapas/ceviche hybrid. We had three different bites of ceviche all served on scallop shells, a couple different varieties of cause, a lomo saltado with shrimp and steak (surf and turf is most definitely luxurious), and a few other seafood dishes I am hard pressed to remember. It was a tasty lunch, and the seaside setting really made it special. Unfortunately in Lima, there seems to be few restrictions about building near the water. The benefit is that you can eat and drink in some breathtaking locales. The downside is these locales could be enjoyed by many more individuals (including animals) if they were just left undeveloped. Sigh.
After a taste of luxury (not a great pun, but I'll give the pun alert) during lunch, I knew that I was hooked and needed more in my day. After work I made my way to my favorite salon named after Los Angeles (remember there are two. Therefore having a favorite is meaningful!). This time, however, a 28 year-old (lady doesn't sound quite right, but girl sounds too young. Female? Too impersonal. Chick? Not respectful enough. Brawd? Not sure about the spelling. Not guy? Winner, winner, chicken dinner!) not guy was free to cut my hair instead of the bad-age-guessing guy from last time. I'm not going to say he burned a bridge by believing I was 39, but he certainly did conflagrate a wooden river crossing. She took great care to ensure equitable hair length (since I ask for as simple a haircut as could possibly be asked for), and her neck and mustache grooming was clearly the product of years of study and practical application. I was about to stand up and leave once she dusted me off, but then she offered to wash my hair. I really enjoyed myself during the haircut, but I wasn't quite ready to drop some extra bills for the mane and tail routine. Let's face it, there isn't a whole lot to wash on my dome. I was about to refuse when said it was included. Now THAT is a luxury I couldn't refuse: getting your hair washed when there really isn't any hair there to wash. Isn't that so indulgently purposeless? Don't confuse that with porpoiseless, since we all know that a good level of luxury necessitates the possession of porpoises. Now get this, she washed my hair three, count 'em, three times. I have absolutely no idea what she was working on up there, but you didn't hear me complaining. As I write this I am still savoring the opulent luxuriousness and luxurious opulence of my haircut and triple wash, and I can personally vouch for the scientists results. They could have saved themselves a lot of trouble and expense if they just came to Peru for a nice haircut. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The Big Payoff
Thursday night, similar to most Thursday nights, was Help night (the Barranco club, to refresh your memory). I was fully recovered from my cold and decided to head out with the Casona gang and some of their Belgian and Peruvian friends, and boy am I glad I did! After waiting outside for a little while (normally we can waltz right in, Richard Grieco style), we walked in just as the last band was starting their set. I was expecting some sort of modern rock group with a nice brass section (the most common type of band I've seen since coming here) or maybe a hard rock or reggae act. Well I was way off, because we were treated to a band covering The Who exclusively.
Yes way.
And what a treat it was, for me at least. Now the demographic at Help tends toward the younger folks, so I was surprised to see a Peruvian, Spanish speaking band covering a British, British speaking band which enjoyed it's greatest popularity in the 1960s and 1970s. Sure, you'll see the local bands toss in a single Green Day track or maybe one from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but 40 minutes of Roger Daltrey and company? And they even had a keyboardist jamming the organ parts (that wording is absolutely awful). I was able to get my Who fix, and my CSI: Miami and New York fix (The Who theme songs). Fortunately, things only got better from there. At about 3am I decided to call it an early night, and Kike, Jessica, Bruno, and I all headed for the taxi line outside Help (quick sidetrack: during the day on Saturdays, Help transforms into Mr. Fish. No, not the fictional supervillian or internet electronics supplier, a daytime cevicheria/bar. It is notorious because people consume copious amounts of raw fish with excessive quantities of alcohol. Now I like a nice seafood dinner and cold one as much as the next guy, but Mr. Fish seems to have the recipe for a messy afternoon.). Before we passed the final gate to enter the street I saw a fellow move towards me and say something while holding a bag of chips. I noticed that he was standing near a cart of candy, chips, sodas, second-rate wigs, and gum, so I instinctively told him "not this time, Jack" while giving him a strong "cut it out" gesture. He apparently wasn't deterred and spoke to me one more time. This time I realized he wasn't selling anything, wasn't speaking Spanish, and actually commented "nice mustache!" I suddenly was overcome with pride and gratitude for his appreciation of my soup strainer. While I like my "horseshoe" mustache, it has certainly involved sacrifices and trade-offs. For instance, try finding a girl who is attracted a mustache variety you'll find on the biker for the Village People or half of major league baseball players in 1982. All my friends (the non-female ones) have shown overwhelming support for the style, but I felt tremendously gratified to receive international recognition. He then told me he was from Melbourne, Australia, and they have an annual mustache-themed fundraiser during the month of November. Except they call it "Movember" (here in the US there are also many mustache-growing fundraisers in Movember and/or Mustache March, so I was familiar with the practice.). This tradition originated in Australia, so I was blown away to receive commendation from a true pro. I sometimes feel mustache inadequacy because of the blond hue, but I now know that I made the right decision to shun any potential female attention for the enduring glory of a horseshoe mustache. Did I have a slight hangover at work the next day? You got that right. Was I still walking on air? Brother, you better believe it.
Yes way.
And what a treat it was, for me at least. Now the demographic at Help tends toward the younger folks, so I was surprised to see a Peruvian, Spanish speaking band covering a British, British speaking band which enjoyed it's greatest popularity in the 1960s and 1970s. Sure, you'll see the local bands toss in a single Green Day track or maybe one from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but 40 minutes of Roger Daltrey and company? And they even had a keyboardist jamming the organ parts (that wording is absolutely awful). I was able to get my Who fix, and my CSI: Miami and New York fix (The Who theme songs). Fortunately, things only got better from there. At about 3am I decided to call it an early night, and Kike, Jessica, Bruno, and I all headed for the taxi line outside Help (quick sidetrack: during the day on Saturdays, Help transforms into Mr. Fish. No, not the fictional supervillian or internet electronics supplier, a daytime cevicheria/bar. It is notorious because people consume copious amounts of raw fish with excessive quantities of alcohol. Now I like a nice seafood dinner and cold one as much as the next guy, but Mr. Fish seems to have the recipe for a messy afternoon.). Before we passed the final gate to enter the street I saw a fellow move towards me and say something while holding a bag of chips. I noticed that he was standing near a cart of candy, chips, sodas, second-rate wigs, and gum, so I instinctively told him "not this time, Jack" while giving him a strong "cut it out" gesture. He apparently wasn't deterred and spoke to me one more time. This time I realized he wasn't selling anything, wasn't speaking Spanish, and actually commented "nice mustache!" I suddenly was overcome with pride and gratitude for his appreciation of my soup strainer. While I like my "horseshoe" mustache, it has certainly involved sacrifices and trade-offs. For instance, try finding a girl who is attracted a mustache variety you'll find on the biker for the Village People or half of major league baseball players in 1982. All my friends (the non-female ones) have shown overwhelming support for the style, but I felt tremendously gratified to receive international recognition. He then told me he was from Melbourne, Australia, and they have an annual mustache-themed fundraiser during the month of November. Except they call it "Movember" (here in the US there are also many mustache-growing fundraisers in Movember and/or Mustache March, so I was familiar with the practice.). This tradition originated in Australia, so I was blown away to receive commendation from a true pro. I sometimes feel mustache inadequacy because of the blond hue, but I now know that I made the right decision to shun any potential female attention for the enduring glory of a horseshoe mustache. Did I have a slight hangover at work the next day? You got that right. Was I still walking on air? Brother, you better believe it.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
"His eyes seem so glazed, as he flies on the wings of a dream"
For the uninitiated or non-Iron Maiden fans out there (yeah right, as if there are any!) the title of today's entry can be found in one of Maiden's many pseudo-historical rock ballads, "The Flight of Icarus." But before we get down to business we should probably brush up on our Greek mythology. I don't mean to suggest that you are anything less than an expert in Greek mythology, but I needed to reread the story of Icarus and I'd like to make sure we are all on the same page.
Anonymous Reader - This is a blog about your crackpot idea to go to Peru, right?
Andrew - Yes, I'll get to the point eventually. And, c'mon, what's the rush? It's not like you have somewhere to be right?
Anonymous Reader - Well, I was thinking about checking out that new Tom Cruise/Cameron Diaz flick...
Andrew - Me too! Except here it is called "Encuentro Explosivo." I guess the pun-tastic title of "Knight and Day" doesn't translate too well, but really, is "Explosive Encounter" the best they could come up with? Just stick around a little bit longer, I hear the movie wasn't that good.
Anonymous Reader - Oh, hmm. Well I sorta need to....wash my goldfish?
Whatever! We don't need that "Negative Nataly" attitude bringing us down (it is surprisingly hard to find a Spanish name that starts with "n"). As I was saying, Icarus was the son of Daedalus, a master Athenian craftsman. The tyrannical (wouldn't it be fun if that referred to the quality of being like a Tyrannosaurus? Maybe I'm the only one who would find that delightful.) King Minos exiled and imprisoned Daedalus and Icarus on the island of Crete. To help Icarus escape, Daedalus whipped up a set of wings made from wax and feathers. He warned his son not to fly too close to the sun because the melting wax would compromise the structural integrity of the wings. Were I Icarus, I would be thinking "Thanks for the present, dad. I'm blown away that you were able to fashion flight worthy wings out of only wax and feathers. Where did you even find enough wax and feathers? Due to the fact that they are untested and not made from aircraft-grade aluminum - and the fact that you are a master craftsman who knows his stuff and I'm just a punk kid who watches too much "Teenage Mutant Gladiator Turtles" - I will heed your advice and not fly too close to the sun." Of course, we all know what adventurous little Icarus did. He was enthralled by the sun and flew too close to it. The wings melted and Icarus fell into the sea. And what does he get for that brash behavior? They name the Icarian Sea after him.
The reason I bring this up is because next week I will become a sort of Icarus. Melissa will be leaving for four weeks to manage Fronteras Huaraz, the international art festival she has been planning. Up until this point, we have shared duties in coordinating the Buena Voz program. I have been been mostly just supporting her (as I have harped on many a time, actually working in Spanish is easier said than done. Well, Spanish involves speaking, so maybe it's easier done than said? I do love a good word play!), but her absence will necessitate me taking the reigns for a month. Susana has played the role of Daedalus and fashioned Melissa and I a lovely set of wax/feather wings, and now it is time for me to fly. I will be using these wings to direct the spending of the budget (and hopefully snag a few good deals to improve the financial position of Buena Voz), coordinate workshops and a 200-person field trip, and support the teachers and youth coordinators in the program. I will also be increasing outreach to potential corporate sponsors and planning a fundraising event. And you better believe I will not be flying too close to the proverbial sun. Melissa has organized everything for her absence so it shouldn't be too hard, but I still plan to exercise caution since I'll be in charge of a $55K budget and 8 schools. I know, what are they thinking letting me handle all this? I think I'll be fine until Melissa gets back. It's not the nature of the activities that I find daunting, but rather operating within a foreign system. Will I be getting the best deal on catering for the event? Does the cement company sponsor mind if I allocate the cost of the t-shirts to their donations? Do I need to acquire a roof dog for the fundraiser? It should be an excellent learning experience, but I really hope to not have the ocean here named after me when Melissa gets back.
Now I would like to completely shift gears and talk about a product which I find intriguing, Nestle Milo. Milo is packaged in a green coffee-like can and has a picture of an active person doing active things on the outside. The tag line says that inside you will find "the taste of energy." After having licked a tiny bit of battery acid when I was younger (sorry Mom and Dad), I sincerely hoped that Milo did not have the taste of energy I was imagining. Fortunately, it's a chunky, chocolate powder similar to Nestle Quik. However, unlike Quik, this powder is extremely crunchy because the primary ingredient is barley malt. It is meant to be mixed with hot or cold milk and served as a nutritious breakfast. I am not sure how nutritious it actually is, but the can boasts of the nutritive properties of the additive "Actigen-E." Well I'm sold. I first discovered Milo at the Casona breakfasts, but I didn't try it because I am not a huge fan of drinking my breakfast. One day I was speaking with Reece, one half of my favorite Australian-Kiwi couple, and he told me that Milo is insanely popular in Australia. Then Jemma, the other half of this couple, told me about how she would sneak into her school's kitchen to eat spoonfuls of the stuff straight. I knew I had to try it. So I bought a modest portion of Milo and brought it to work with me, armed with a spoon from a kitchen. I scooped a healthy portion and and took a bite. It starts very crunchy and light before it dissolves into a tasty chocolate mush. The chocolate flavor is superior to Quik in my estimation (plus you have the power of Actigen-E on your side), but it was the crunch that won me over. In fact, I am crunching my way through some Milo right now. I don't think it has the taste of energy (more like the taste of chocolate), but then again I am not working on Madison avenue. Next time you see Milo in your comings and goings, I suggest you give it a shot, perhaps on an ice cream cone. Or as the Milo website suggests, have your muesli with Milo. What a tongue twister, Nestle!
Anonymous Reader - This is a blog about your crackpot idea to go to Peru, right?
Andrew - Yes, I'll get to the point eventually. And, c'mon, what's the rush? It's not like you have somewhere to be right?
Anonymous Reader - Well, I was thinking about checking out that new Tom Cruise/Cameron Diaz flick...
Andrew - Me too! Except here it is called "Encuentro Explosivo." I guess the pun-tastic title of "Knight and Day" doesn't translate too well, but really, is "Explosive Encounter" the best they could come up with? Just stick around a little bit longer, I hear the movie wasn't that good.
Anonymous Reader - Oh, hmm. Well I sorta need to....wash my goldfish?
Whatever! We don't need that "Negative Nataly" attitude bringing us down (it is surprisingly hard to find a Spanish name that starts with "n"). As I was saying, Icarus was the son of Daedalus, a master Athenian craftsman. The tyrannical (wouldn't it be fun if that referred to the quality of being like a Tyrannosaurus? Maybe I'm the only one who would find that delightful.) King Minos exiled and imprisoned Daedalus and Icarus on the island of Crete. To help Icarus escape, Daedalus whipped up a set of wings made from wax and feathers. He warned his son not to fly too close to the sun because the melting wax would compromise the structural integrity of the wings. Were I Icarus, I would be thinking "Thanks for the present, dad. I'm blown away that you were able to fashion flight worthy wings out of only wax and feathers. Where did you even find enough wax and feathers? Due to the fact that they are untested and not made from aircraft-grade aluminum - and the fact that you are a master craftsman who knows his stuff and I'm just a punk kid who watches too much "Teenage Mutant Gladiator Turtles" - I will heed your advice and not fly too close to the sun." Of course, we all know what adventurous little Icarus did. He was enthralled by the sun and flew too close to it. The wings melted and Icarus fell into the sea. And what does he get for that brash behavior? They name the Icarian Sea after him.
The reason I bring this up is because next week I will become a sort of Icarus. Melissa will be leaving for four weeks to manage Fronteras Huaraz, the international art festival she has been planning. Up until this point, we have shared duties in coordinating the Buena Voz program. I have been been mostly just supporting her (as I have harped on many a time, actually working in Spanish is easier said than done. Well, Spanish involves speaking, so maybe it's easier done than said? I do love a good word play!), but her absence will necessitate me taking the reigns for a month. Susana has played the role of Daedalus and fashioned Melissa and I a lovely set of wax/feather wings, and now it is time for me to fly. I will be using these wings to direct the spending of the budget (and hopefully snag a few good deals to improve the financial position of Buena Voz), coordinate workshops and a 200-person field trip, and support the teachers and youth coordinators in the program. I will also be increasing outreach to potential corporate sponsors and planning a fundraising event. And you better believe I will not be flying too close to the proverbial sun. Melissa has organized everything for her absence so it shouldn't be too hard, but I still plan to exercise caution since I'll be in charge of a $55K budget and 8 schools. I know, what are they thinking letting me handle all this? I think I'll be fine until Melissa gets back. It's not the nature of the activities that I find daunting, but rather operating within a foreign system. Will I be getting the best deal on catering for the event? Does the cement company sponsor mind if I allocate the cost of the t-shirts to their donations? Do I need to acquire a roof dog for the fundraiser? It should be an excellent learning experience, but I really hope to not have the ocean here named after me when Melissa gets back.
Now I would like to completely shift gears and talk about a product which I find intriguing, Nestle Milo. Milo is packaged in a green coffee-like can and has a picture of an active person doing active things on the outside. The tag line says that inside you will find "the taste of energy." After having licked a tiny bit of battery acid when I was younger (sorry Mom and Dad), I sincerely hoped that Milo did not have the taste of energy I was imagining. Fortunately, it's a chunky, chocolate powder similar to Nestle Quik. However, unlike Quik, this powder is extremely crunchy because the primary ingredient is barley malt. It is meant to be mixed with hot or cold milk and served as a nutritious breakfast. I am not sure how nutritious it actually is, but the can boasts of the nutritive properties of the additive "Actigen-E." Well I'm sold. I first discovered Milo at the Casona breakfasts, but I didn't try it because I am not a huge fan of drinking my breakfast. One day I was speaking with Reece, one half of my favorite Australian-Kiwi couple, and he told me that Milo is insanely popular in Australia. Then Jemma, the other half of this couple, told me about how she would sneak into her school's kitchen to eat spoonfuls of the stuff straight. I knew I had to try it. So I bought a modest portion of Milo and brought it to work with me, armed with a spoon from a kitchen. I scooped a healthy portion and and took a bite. It starts very crunchy and light before it dissolves into a tasty chocolate mush. The chocolate flavor is superior to Quik in my estimation (plus you have the power of Actigen-E on your side), but it was the crunch that won me over. In fact, I am crunching my way through some Milo right now. I don't think it has the taste of energy (more like the taste of chocolate), but then again I am not working on Madison avenue. Next time you see Milo in your comings and goings, I suggest you give it a shot, perhaps on an ice cream cone. Or as the Milo website suggests, have your muesli with Milo. What a tongue twister, Nestle!
Monday, August 2, 2010
"I Wish They All Could Be..."
By virtue of the fact that I live permanently in a residence where the majority of the guests stay only temporarily, I meet a lot of people for the first time. There are both positive and negative aspects of this arrangement. I have a lot of interesting discussions and see many different perspectives. I am able to share the information I have gathered about Lima and the surrounding areas. I make friends, albeit short term friends (I'm having lunch with the Aussie-Kiwi couple Reece and Jemma. They were the folks who got mugged after encountering a corrupt taxi driver, but they bounced back strong and have returned to Lima after visiting some areas to the south.) If I don't like someone (like the guy who closes and locks the door to the shared bathroom when he showers. The showers have doors, you putz, do you really need that much privacy?! You are monopolizing two showers, two stalls, and two sinks while I freeze my bunions off out here. Gah!) they are usually out of my hair in a day or two. While I enjoy these benefits, I should also point out a less enjoyable activity that comes with the territory. I have almost identical conversations over and over again when I first encounter people, and end up answering a lot of the same questions: What's your name? Where are you from? What are you doing here? Six months in a hostel?! Do you expect to get girls with that mustache or just frighten children? Do you know the name of a good wig man? However, one question that gets me thinking more than all the others is "What do you miss in the United States?"
In the beginning of this wacky little sojourn I didn't feel like I missed very much. The constant surprises and new experiences probably kept my mind so busy that I didn't stop to consider what I missed. I started to notice the things I missed during the past week. I had a hearty cold, and since I was not working Wednesday through Friday because of the independence day, I had plenty of time to rest and recuperate in the Casona. This also gave me plenty of time to reflect on life in the US and think about what I was missing. First and foremost, I miss my family and friends. Though I have made friends here, they can not substitute the support structure I have in the US. For instance, when I read a really good Star Trek/hockey joke here I have no one to share the mirth with. Or, when I am sick I have no one to hold the hanky while I blow my nose. Flippancy aside, I do miss you guys and I appreciate the contact we have maintained. Now, I would like to talk about some of the less obvious things I miss about home:
Good ol' American sizes. This encompasses a variety of types of sizes that I miss. I have purchased one t-shirt, two polo shirts, one sweatshirt, one pair of sweatpants, and one short-sleeve button-down mothers-lock-up-your-daughters shirt, and none of them seem to fit me properly. The pants are too short and the shirts and sweatshirt are all too small. And I'm not talking stylishly small. I wanted to buy some hiking shoes in the North Face outlet here but the sizes only go up to 11. I'm a 13! I don't consider myself particularly tall or long of foot, but Peru is not the place to outfit yourself if you are 1.91m tall. Other sizes cause me consternation as well. The food portions here are smaller than what you'll see in the US, but this is not a problem for me. I really shouldn't be eating sandwiches which weigh over a pound, all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ where I can easily pack away a laserjet printer-sized quantity of beef, or burritos which are sometimes mistaken for newborns (don't worry everyone! I am eager to start gorging again upon my return!). However, there are specific portions I do miss. Why can't I get my coffee in a big boy cup? I want more than five ounces at a time, and if that is greedy or unhealthy, it's still a freedom I enjoy in America. And beer! The bottles are either 330ml (less than a 12 ounce can in the US) or 660ml (almost double a can in the US). Where's my 355 ml spec can/bottle?! I don't want a liter of cola, but I also don't want a half liter of cola. Perhaps you have a bottle in the back that strikes a sensible balance between those two sizes? No? Bully! Maybe this is a sign that I should not drink these beverages, but darnit, I like 'em! Just in different portion sizes, please.
Good ol' American hardware. I'm talking about the hardware fixtures you find around the house. This may seem like a frivolous thing to miss, but when you live your whole life turning on the lights with an up-down motion, it's hard to adjust to these crazy sideways switches.
Yes you heard me correctly, sideways switches.
And unfortunately for me, it doesn't stop there. The power outlets don't accept the two/three flat-pronged plugs (well, some do, but let's just ignore that little fact for argument's sake) which make our country so great. Rather, the stubborn outlets here only accept ROUND two-pronged plugs. Are we in the stone age?! The showers here have either one or two handles which help to regulate the hot water-cold water ratio (but hey, I wouldn't know! I'm stuck outside while Francois [I don't know his name, and I don't think he was French, but let's just go with it] enjoys not only a shower to himself, but an entire bathroom to himself! Gah!), but the handles on the sinks in kitchens or bathrooms only allow one to dispense cold water. I can accept the fact that my hands are cold after washing them, but let's think of the hygiene, people. I truly miss American household hardware.
Cheese. While there is plentiful Edam, Gouda, and Queso Fresco, the variety and quality of cheese here is sadly lacking. It's possible to encounter a few imported cheeses from Europe, but they are prohibitively expensive (even in the US, these would be considered very pricey). I miss cheese shops with their stacks of cheese in all shapes, sizes, colors, and smells. We are really lucky in the US to have access to all the local and imported cheese that we do. I know what some of you are thinking. Our cheese pales in comparison to what you can find in Europe. That may be true (although there are a lot more artisan cheesemakers in the US now, and the American cheesescape is gaining ground quickly), but come to Peru and you'll appreciate what we do have. I would murder for some Boschetto al Tartufo or a decent goat cheese right about now. If you're curious to try more cheeses, I suggest Andrew's Cheese Shop on Montana near 7th in Santa Monica (yes, that is the real name). Andrew is a real good guy and makes the cheese-buying process interactive and unintimidating. Or you could try the Silver Lake Cheese Store and get some Intelligentsia coffee after, just make sure you wear your skinny jeans and ride your fixed-gear bike there. If you want to delve into the wonderful world of cheese, a cheese shop is a great place to start. Don't be afraid to sample without committing to buy!
There is truly one thing I miss above everything else, but sometimes pictures do a better job of telling the story:
Once again, the Master Gym comes through bigtime when Andrew needs a little taste of the States.
In the beginning of this wacky little sojourn I didn't feel like I missed very much. The constant surprises and new experiences probably kept my mind so busy that I didn't stop to consider what I missed. I started to notice the things I missed during the past week. I had a hearty cold, and since I was not working Wednesday through Friday because of the independence day, I had plenty of time to rest and recuperate in the Casona. This also gave me plenty of time to reflect on life in the US and think about what I was missing. First and foremost, I miss my family and friends. Though I have made friends here, they can not substitute the support structure I have in the US. For instance, when I read a really good Star Trek/hockey joke here I have no one to share the mirth with. Or, when I am sick I have no one to hold the hanky while I blow my nose. Flippancy aside, I do miss you guys and I appreciate the contact we have maintained. Now, I would like to talk about some of the less obvious things I miss about home:
Good ol' American sizes. This encompasses a variety of types of sizes that I miss. I have purchased one t-shirt, two polo shirts, one sweatshirt, one pair of sweatpants, and one short-sleeve button-down mothers-lock-up-your-daughters shirt, and none of them seem to fit me properly. The pants are too short and the shirts and sweatshirt are all too small. And I'm not talking stylishly small. I wanted to buy some hiking shoes in the North Face outlet here but the sizes only go up to 11. I'm a 13! I don't consider myself particularly tall or long of foot, but Peru is not the place to outfit yourself if you are 1.91m tall. Other sizes cause me consternation as well. The food portions here are smaller than what you'll see in the US, but this is not a problem for me. I really shouldn't be eating sandwiches which weigh over a pound, all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ where I can easily pack away a laserjet printer-sized quantity of beef, or burritos which are sometimes mistaken for newborns (don't worry everyone! I am eager to start gorging again upon my return!). However, there are specific portions I do miss. Why can't I get my coffee in a big boy cup? I want more than five ounces at a time, and if that is greedy or unhealthy, it's still a freedom I enjoy in America. And beer! The bottles are either 330ml (less than a 12 ounce can in the US) or 660ml (almost double a can in the US). Where's my 355 ml spec can/bottle?! I don't want a liter of cola, but I also don't want a half liter of cola. Perhaps you have a bottle in the back that strikes a sensible balance between those two sizes? No? Bully! Maybe this is a sign that I should not drink these beverages, but darnit, I like 'em! Just in different portion sizes, please.
Good ol' American hardware. I'm talking about the hardware fixtures you find around the house. This may seem like a frivolous thing to miss, but when you live your whole life turning on the lights with an up-down motion, it's hard to adjust to these crazy sideways switches.
Yes you heard me correctly, sideways switches.
And unfortunately for me, it doesn't stop there. The power outlets don't accept the two/three flat-pronged plugs (well, some do, but let's just ignore that little fact for argument's sake) which make our country so great. Rather, the stubborn outlets here only accept ROUND two-pronged plugs. Are we in the stone age?! The showers here have either one or two handles which help to regulate the hot water-cold water ratio (but hey, I wouldn't know! I'm stuck outside while Francois [I don't know his name, and I don't think he was French, but let's just go with it] enjoys not only a shower to himself, but an entire bathroom to himself! Gah!), but the handles on the sinks in kitchens or bathrooms only allow one to dispense cold water. I can accept the fact that my hands are cold after washing them, but let's think of the hygiene, people. I truly miss American household hardware.
Cheese. While there is plentiful Edam, Gouda, and Queso Fresco, the variety and quality of cheese here is sadly lacking. It's possible to encounter a few imported cheeses from Europe, but they are prohibitively expensive (even in the US, these would be considered very pricey). I miss cheese shops with their stacks of cheese in all shapes, sizes, colors, and smells. We are really lucky in the US to have access to all the local and imported cheese that we do. I know what some of you are thinking. Our cheese pales in comparison to what you can find in Europe. That may be true (although there are a lot more artisan cheesemakers in the US now, and the American cheesescape is gaining ground quickly), but come to Peru and you'll appreciate what we do have. I would murder for some Boschetto al Tartufo or a decent goat cheese right about now. If you're curious to try more cheeses, I suggest Andrew's Cheese Shop on Montana near 7th in Santa Monica (yes, that is the real name). Andrew is a real good guy and makes the cheese-buying process interactive and unintimidating. Or you could try the Silver Lake Cheese Store and get some Intelligentsia coffee after, just make sure you wear your skinny jeans and ride your fixed-gear bike there. If you want to delve into the wonderful world of cheese, a cheese shop is a great place to start. Don't be afraid to sample without committing to buy!
There is truly one thing I miss above everything else, but sometimes pictures do a better job of telling the story:
Once again, the Master Gym comes through bigtime when Andrew needs a little taste of the States.
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