Life in the Slow Lane

The number of digital photos taken on my trip to Peru. I, of course, did not have a digital camera. But someone had the brilliant idea that we would collect everybody's pictures and combine them on to a CD. I do appreciate that, as I couldn't get my flash to work on my film camera, but 3026? I don't even have the time to figure out how to get the computer to open the file, much less look through it. Although, if you want a peak at a few of the pictures I took, which are not on the CD, take a quick trip over to my flickr account. Maybe one of these days I will get some narration on them.

Today three different people mentioned how they met someone over the weekend who knew me. Three different connections, three different occassions. I guess this means I've put down roots.

Coming through the airport in Lima, I became swept up in the closest thing to a mob I have ever been in. Late night, long lines, inches away from the final security check point, and then everyone was redirected past the long line they just stood in, to a desk about 15 feet long. When approximately 200 people swarm around a fifteen foot long desk, yelling, shoving passports in faces, and pushing through the crowd, you begin to look around for any potential trigger that could turn the sparks into an explosion. Airports are already a place of tension: signs that say "Jokes aren't funny", delays, lines, prices of food, miles of corridors to walk between ticketing and departure gate, carry-on-bags that will leave your shoulders mismatched for years to come. Oh, and yes, how could I forget the now standard Plexiglas crates of all forbidden items: combustibles, fire arms, knives, and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of nail files. And so there I stood in the middle of a new...

In the middle of a busy Saturday morning in the shopping district, among all of the sights and sounds and pressing close of people and taxis, I caught a glimpse of what must be the real reason I came to Peru: grenadias . Grenadias are grand ideas: a passion fruit shaped like a grenade (hence the name) full of little juice covered seeds resembling fish eggs. With a description like that, you might wonder why they are grand ideas, but as a kid grenadias were a special treat, more desired than chocolate even. Perhaps it was because we only were able to get them when we were staying in Bogota. Or maybe it was because we were only each allowed one or maybe even only a half. Or maybe it is the combination of sweet and tangy and slippery and crunchy and the fun little bowl the shell makes. But when more than ten years of searching comes to an end in the middle of a busy street, on a crowded sidewalk, there is only one solution: pull out some money and make a purchase. Of course in such a ...

During the very ceremonious opening ceremonies on the first day of our work here, a woman got up on stage to lead the audience in singing. Perhaps I'm spoiled in the quality of music I am privileged to listen to, but quite frankly, it was awful. It was so awful that I found it nearly impossible to sing along and found myself thinking "Even I could sing better than that." Last night was the very ceremonious closing ceremony. We arrived on time, which turned out to be an hour before everyone else arrived. But apparently that was a good choice, because on the program, the translators were scheduled to sing. At least I had half an hour to remember where I put my singing voice. And half an hour to convince myself that if that other lady could sing, so could I. This was important to consider as I had been elected to sing with the microphone, since I actually knew the song we were going to sing. Of course, I didn't know when we were scheduled to sing, nor what our cue...

Normal communication at its best is like swiss cheese: It has holes. The holes are what is not understood or what is lost even before leaving the mouth of the speaker. And, as we all know, translating adds more holes. And if you happen to like cheese and all you get are holes, it can be quite disappointing. So with my translating abilities ("leather" instead of "neck" and "brakes" instead of "braids") I've been giving out a lot of holey cheese. But occasionally I can cover up one of the holes spoken, I can put a little more cheese back into the conversation. Of course, no one realizes the shifting holes but me, but that is probably a good thing: no one wants to eat cheese that moves.

For all you might hear about it just being an issue of mind over matter, let me tell you that it is disappointing to realize that the problem is not that easy to solve in the wee hours of the morning. Of course nothing is easy to solve in the wee hours of the morning when one should be asleep and instead is sicker than she's been in a long time. Barely in country 24 hours, and running out of clean laundry. This whole "packing light" thing seems to be about as effective as "mind over matter".

I will be out of the office from now until sometime when I decide to return. Doesn't that sentence have a nice ring to it? Personally, I think I should be out of the office more frequently, because this is the one and only time when I can leave things I was unable to finish on a neighbor's desk, since surely it cannot wait until I return. We politely forget that it has waited on my desk nearly as long as I will be gone. I would appreciate it if you kindly forget this, too.