This Evening

It started out with our regional meeting.  We're in Huancayo and all the volunteers from Junin, Pasco, and Yauyos get together.  We all sat down to talk drinking mediocre wine or worse beer.  The meeting lasted several hours and there were some tears this time.  It's incredible that we can feel so lonely and alienated at site and come to the meetings to find a group of people who understand completely and have had every feeling that I've had at one time or another.


We weren't done until late and finally headed out at 9 or so.  It turns out that it's Huancayo's anniversary, and we stumbled into a big crowd with a different band every 10 yards or so in the central plaza.  It was too late and rushed for a sit-down meal, so I had grilled beef heart on a stick with a potato on the end from a street vendor for dinner.  We watched real fireworks that were shot off way too close to the ground, occasionally ducking a smoldering bit of plastic or ash.  


Newly, proteined-up, it was time to hit the discoteca.  I danced cumbia and reggaeton with a few men my size and others who came up to my nose or chin.


"Hi Hector, my name is Beyonce.  Yes, I know I'm sweaty.  I am married, thanks for asking. My husband is a lumberjack and he lives in provencia with  me."  


Now it's 2:24 in the morning.  I promise I'm not drunk-blogging.  Any alcohol in my system was danced out several hours ago.  I was just thinking that if you asked me a year ago what my life in Peace Corps would be like, I would've gotten a few things right, but the picture would have lacked most of its depth and ridiculousness.