The Time I Thought I Was Going to be Killed by Alpacas

I woke up at 5 this morning because my host brothers and papito said we’d be leaving at 6 to hike out and cut champa, a combustible grass we burn in the stove.  I should’ve known better.  I was ready at 6:05, but we ended up leaving at 7:30. 

               

The day has been an exercise in showing me what a wimp I am compared to my Peruvian family.  They scooted right up this big hill (which would be a mountain in Appalachia) and I was sweating and sucking wind.  The altitude is still a problem for me sometimes.    It’s like starting at the top of a mountain and then hiking up another mountain.  My host brother Eber went slowly with me as I puffed along.  I was still able to appreciate how beautiful it was.  It had snowed the night before and everything was shiny and white.  

I had never been that far back in the campo before and the mountains just get bigger and more dramatic as you go.  We saw peregrine falcons and Andean Fox tracks.  Eber tried to hunt partridges with his slingshot, but didn’t have any luck.  

I feel really lucky to have all that as my backyard. 

After going over and around a few more mountains, I eventually staggered up to the place where my host dad and Carlos were already cutting champa.  I asked if I could help, and my host dad said I wouldn’t be able to do it.  Naturally, this got me all flustered.  I’ve always thought of myself as somewhat tough.  I’ve worked on a farm, lead backpacking trips, I can do anything I want.  It turns out that I suck at cutting champa.  You have to go at the ground with a hoe and cut bricks of grass and dirt out of it.  

I was tired from the hike and my blocks came out all crooked.  I was quickly relieved and went exploring instead.  My family is incredible.  They hiked out way faster than me, spent the whole day doing difficult physical labor, then hiked back.  I’m an overcooked spaghetti noodle compared to them. 

                I wandered around for a while and decided to leave on my own after lunch since I wasn’t helping with the champa and it was too cold to stand around.  It was neat to have lunch with just some of the guys from my family.  They seemed to like having me around, even though I am a noodle, and we had some good chats. 

                I set off with Merle and Negro, two of their dogs, after lunch.  I like hiking in the pampa because you can see where you’ve been and where you’re going.  Hiking in the woods is comforting, but the trees make it myopic.  It was neat to turn around and think, “Wow, I was all the way over there an hour ago!”  It started out as a really nice hike.  The sun came out and I could amble along with my thoughts.  I saw more falcons and several herds of vicunas. 


This photo is looking back to where we came from.  You can see the lake in the way distance.  

Vicuñas!

                The first anxiety inducing things were what I’ll call “partridge landmines.”  They have a survival strategy a lot like grouse, which you’ve probably encountered in forests in the U.S.  They lie still in their shelter and, if you get too close, explode up in a flurry of feathers and racket.  Getting too close is usually within two feet.  Their strategy is very effective on me.  I put up three of them while I was walking and it scared the bejeezus out of me every time.  There are tall clumps of grass called ichu all over the campo which are preferred hiding places for partridges.  A partridge would start up from an ichu clump, scaring me, and then I’d walk carefully eyeing all the ichu clumps as potential moments of terror.  As soon as I’d relax and start looking at the sky or for vicunas, I’d put another partridge up and start all over again. 

                Then the titular time happened.  My family wanted to send the dogs with me so I’d have company and somebody to watch out for me.  They ended up making it a much more stressful experience.  We were climbing a hill and a large herd of alpacas appeared to our left.  Negro immediately was interested and went to chase them.  Now, I can’t completely blame him because alpacas are really funny when they run.  He took off toward the herd, but the alpacas weren’t having it.  They had a bunch of babies and weren’t about to turn tail.  Six of the biggest adults in the group gathered together and started to charge Negro.  The dog, realizing he’d made a mistake, started running toward me.  Soon, a half dozen pissed alpacas were thundering down the hill in my direction.  And these aren’t any cheesy American petting zoo alpacas.  These are furry Peruvian brontosauruses that have a foot and several hundred pounds on me.  I scrambled around for rocks and started yelling and waving my arms, but the alpacas weren’t impressed.  I briefly considered running, then decided they’d catch me.  They were more interested in Negro than me, but I was in the line of fire.  I decided that I’d wait until the last moment and then jump out of the way.  When they were 10 ft away or so, the dog that was guarding the alpacas (alpaca-dog?) slammed in to Negro from the side.  This distracted the alpacas and for a moment poor Negro was fighting another dog and nearly trampled by camelids.  Merle, who I always thought would defend me in times of danger, was nowhere to be seen.  I started to briskly walk away, menacing the alpaca-dog and alpacas with rocks.  The whole troop followed us for a disturbing amount of time, but finally decided that we were defeated. 

                We walked the last hour home along a dirt road and Negro proceeded to get into a fight with every other dog we saw (at least a dozen).  He’s not invited on my next hike. 

And that was the time I thought I was going to be killed by alpacas. 

Turn And Face The Strange

Volunteers have conversations about the bad habits we’re going to bring back to the states: expecting to get plastered at baptisms and elementary school graduations, snot rocketing all over town, throwing rocks at dogs, fear of lettuce, never showing up on time, expecting multiple carbohydrates on each plate, and a multitude of others. 

The Peace Corps has changed me a lot.  Nothing has shaken the core of my being, but some parts have been brought to the surface or calmed down.

I’m an unrepentant carnivore.  I had a bacon cheeseburger before and after Huayhuash and it was goddamn delicious.  I told my little brother about it and he didn’t believe me.  Anyone who knew me before this would be shocked at the strange animal parts I eat with gusto.  I’m looking forward to some beef heart on a stick in Huancayo this weekend.

I also care a lot less about what other people think of me and am much less self-conscious.  Being a daily object of curiosity and scrutiny will do that to you.  I also try to downplay my looks at site to minimize attention and have gotten used to being dumpy.  I feel extravagant when I put on tight jeans and eyeliner to go out with gringos.  

I’ve slowed down.  The Peace Corps has taught me a lot about moderation and doing the best I can with what I’ve got.  Failure is a constant companion.  It’s not a big deal if I can’t get out for a run one day or an event didn’t go as I planned.  My U.S. self-standards don’t apply here.

My big question now is what will stick with me?  Will I go back home in a year and a half and go back to who I was (with all the goods and bads of that)?  Will I want to be vegetarian again?  Will my self-consciousness come roaring back?  And there’s still so much time for things to change.  

Thankfully, I have a lot of say in who I want to be.  I think the PC will generally make me more awesome.  You guys can judge for yourselves next November. 

The Limits of Service

One of the challenges I’ve found as a Peace Corps Volunteer is balancing requests with reality.  I get asked to fund graduations, install new toilets, and pay for new greenhouses.  It’s difficult to say no, even when the requests are way out of my league.  Many an NGO has rolled in, dropped some money or technology, and rolled out again.  There’s the perception that, as a gringa, I have a lot of money to throw around.  It’s hard to explain that I’m just a human resource and find the sweet spot between soliciting community funds and paying for things myself.  Luckily, a lot of the things I do are cheap. 

                Then there are other times when folks ask me for things and I just don’t feel like it.  Today, I was approached by a nurse from our health post who is working on her master’s.  Her professor gave her an article to read in English.  She approached me and asked me to translate it for her.  The nurse handed me a many paged document titled, “A Treatise on Collective Unconsciousness” or something equally obtuse.  I skimmed the first few paragraphs and immediately glazed over at the liberal sprinkling of five-dollar words.  Translating the document would have taken me several hours that I’m sure I wouldn’t have enjoyed.  So I said that I wasn’t confident that I could do a good translation of that vocabulary.  It’s a half-truth, but I mostly didn’t want to do it.

                I felt guilty after saying no.  I’m supposed to be here to serve and do what my community asks me to do.  But I also have to be careful how I spread out my time and resources.  There are volunteers who have been sucked into only teaching English in schools or spending all their money on projects.  I don’t want to be known as the girl that translates documents.  It sucks because I want to help, but there’s a certain amount of selfishness that has to enter into the equation.  I just came back from an extended vacation and don’t have a lot of projects at the moment, so it makes me feel like a super-jerk to say no.  We’ll see if the guilt holds as I’m here more.  

Getting Back

Hey all!  It's been a long month of travel and it's finally time to be getting back to site.  I have some pretty epic pictures of the Huayhuash trek on Facebook.  There's not much to tell about it other than it was incredible and there is cow shit at 16,500 ft.  


It's a little daunting to go back to Carhuamayo after so much time moving around and being with my gringo friends.  I have to face the frustrations of community development work and the solita life.  


Though there are good things on the horizon.  I have two possible grants coming down the line that will hopefully get a lot of activity going.  I'm excited to go back to the schools and hang out with the kids again.  I hope I'll be able to funnel some of my happiness and contentment about travel into good work.  A ver!