There are a few events that make me really, really miss the States. Obviously, holidays are at the top of the list. But surprisingly at a close second are midnight movie premieres. I miss the culture of staying up to the wee hours of the night and going to a packed theatre where everyone is ecstatic about the film. My dad, the movie buff, always took us to midnight showings and it's a cultural thing that I truly miss. So when The Hunger Games recently released and my Facebook feed exploded with, "THE HUNGER GAMMMEEESSSSS!!!!" status updates, I got a case of the homesick blues.
Sometime in February, I saw a advertisement for The Hunger Games and saw that it would be a worldwide release, which meant that for the second time (first being Harry Potter), I wouldn't have to wait several painstaking weeks to see a blockbuster that all my North American friends were raving about. I promptly told Alvaro, "Make no plans for that weekend, we're going."
A new cultural experience I have had since moving into my new place is shopping for furniture. It's an unfurnished apartment, so I have had the luxury of picking out the perfect bed just for me. We found a bed from some furniture market and negotiated with a salesman named Freddy (pronounced in Spanish). We set the delivery for 3pm on the Saturday of our Hunger Games viewing.
Freddy called Saturday morning and said he would be a little later and would be at the apartment at 6pm. We had already purchased movie tickets for 8pm, but I was confident we could make it in time. We were at my apartment at 5:45, no Freddy. 6pm, no Freddy. 6:30, no Freddy. 7pm, no Freddy.
Finally, at 7pm I told Alvaro, we are leaving now. "What?" he asked, "But what if he comes?"
"I don't care," I said, "I'm not missing The Hunger Games to wait for no show Freddy."
So we left. Freddy finally called on our way to the theatre and told us the bed was "just delivered to the market". He offered to deliver it that evening but under no circumstances was I going to sacrifice The Hunger Games for this bed. We rearranged the delivery for the following afternoon. We continued on to the theatre and I was clearly the most excited person in the theatre. It seems that not many Peruvians had read the book. And unfortunately no one came dressed as Katniss nor Capitol residents. I'll just have to wait for Catching Fire for the real fan experience.
The movie was amazing, meeting all my expectations. That night I happily slept on my mattress on the floor, dreaming of my epic performance as tribute.
The Panic
After an emotionally draining two months, everything has finally settled.
In February, after I came back from my extended trip to the States, life in Peru was a whirlwind of emotions. Shortly after arriving home, my American roommate told me that she would be going back to the States much earlier than expected, but by no fault of her own. Unfortunately, the program she came to work for simply wasn't working out and for a multitude of emotional, personal, financial and sanity reasons, she chose to go home. If I were in her situation I would have done the same thing.
But this news installed sheer panic in me. For nearly 10 days I agonized over what to do.
Option #1: Stay in Peru and find a new apartment, struggle to make ends meet, move once again, be lonely, fight transportation and homesickness. But be close to Alvaro.
Option #2: Go back to the States and go to grad school, be close to my parents, be close to my friends, revel in Southern culture, speak English, save a bunch of money and beginning making steps to recreate my life in the States. Oh, and be away from Alvaro.
I cried and cried and fought and thought and cried some more. I had endless Skype conversations with my dad. One of those ended in me being very upset and screaming, "Just tell me what to do!!" To which he calmly replied, "Meghan, as a good father, I can not do that." Hmph, parental logic.
So I made the decision. I would leave Peru. I quit my job but that was the only step I took towards going home. I didn't buy a plane ticket. I didn't talk to my landlady. The only thing I did was blame a "complicated immigration process" on my obvious procrastination.
When I resigned, my boss requested that I come in for one week at the beginning of the school year until my replacement was hired. Ten days later I went back to work. Early Monday morning he said, "Good news! We found your replacement!" but for some reason all I could respond with was:
"I'm having second thoughts."
He told me that my job was already offered to someone else so morally, he had to give it to her. However, there might be another option. "Check back with me at the end of the day," he said.
Word began to spend among the teachers that I was going back to the States. Immediately I received numerous offers to help with finding an apartment. I was overwhelmed by the help and support my school community offered to me and before the end of the first day, I knew I wanted to stay.
On Tuesday, I met with my boss and he offered me another job. By Tuesday afternoon, another teacher had found a place for me to live. All of the pieces fell into place, it was the perfect sign that I needed to stay. On Monday at 11am, it was publicly announced that I would be going back to the States. On Tuesday at 3pm, I made the decision to stay.
As my decision settled, I realized that staying is what I wanted all along. I chose to leave based on rational decisions (finances, convenience, etc.) but didn't give any real thought to my emotions. When I told my dad that I had decided to stay he said, "I had a feeling that you would make the decision." Of course, my dad always knows best. It just took me a little longer to see it.
In February, after I came back from my extended trip to the States, life in Peru was a whirlwind of emotions. Shortly after arriving home, my American roommate told me that she would be going back to the States much earlier than expected, but by no fault of her own. Unfortunately, the program she came to work for simply wasn't working out and for a multitude of emotional, personal, financial and sanity reasons, she chose to go home. If I were in her situation I would have done the same thing.
But this news installed sheer panic in me. For nearly 10 days I agonized over what to do.
Option #1: Stay in Peru and find a new apartment, struggle to make ends meet, move once again, be lonely, fight transportation and homesickness. But be close to Alvaro.
Option #2: Go back to the States and go to grad school, be close to my parents, be close to my friends, revel in Southern culture, speak English, save a bunch of money and beginning making steps to recreate my life in the States. Oh, and be away from Alvaro.
I cried and cried and fought and thought and cried some more. I had endless Skype conversations with my dad. One of those ended in me being very upset and screaming, "Just tell me what to do!!" To which he calmly replied, "Meghan, as a good father, I can not do that." Hmph, parental logic.
So I made the decision. I would leave Peru. I quit my job but that was the only step I took towards going home. I didn't buy a plane ticket. I didn't talk to my landlady. The only thing I did was blame a "complicated immigration process" on my obvious procrastination.
When I resigned, my boss requested that I come in for one week at the beginning of the school year until my replacement was hired. Ten days later I went back to work. Early Monday morning he said, "Good news! We found your replacement!" but for some reason all I could respond with was:
"I'm having second thoughts."
He told me that my job was already offered to someone else so morally, he had to give it to her. However, there might be another option. "Check back with me at the end of the day," he said.
Word began to spend among the teachers that I was going back to the States. Immediately I received numerous offers to help with finding an apartment. I was overwhelmed by the help and support my school community offered to me and before the end of the first day, I knew I wanted to stay.
On Tuesday, I met with my boss and he offered me another job. By Tuesday afternoon, another teacher had found a place for me to live. All of the pieces fell into place, it was the perfect sign that I needed to stay. On Monday at 11am, it was publicly announced that I would be going back to the States. On Tuesday at 3pm, I made the decision to stay.
As my decision settled, I realized that staying is what I wanted all along. I chose to leave based on rational decisions (finances, convenience, etc.) but didn't give any real thought to my emotions. When I told my dad that I had decided to stay he said, "I had a feeling that you would make the decision." Of course, my dad always knows best. It just took me a little longer to see it.
First Day
On Saturday, I called a taxi to take me to one of my English classes. I was waiting in the lobby of my building when two taxis arrived at the same time. Confused, I walked outside and was greeted by the driver of the second car. With this greeting, I assumed he was my driver and walked towards his car, but he quickly pointed me towards the first. I got in the car then he looked at me and said, "Señorita, do you speak Spanish?"
I confidently answered, "Yes, of course."
He then told me that my driver was new to the company and might need assistance with the directions to my location. I assured him that I knew the way and it would be no problem for me to direct him. He thanked me for my help and then we were on our way.
As we drove off, I asked my driver, "Señor, is this your first week?"
"No, señorita, this is my first day. My first service on my first day."
I couldn't believe it, for the first time in Lima history, I knew more than a Peruvian. As he struggled to call the base and enter the correct information, I gave him directions and told him the fee. I settled into the taxi and took a look around me. This is my home. Not only is this my home, but this has been my home. So much so that I am now familiar with customs and systems. In that taxi, I was the expert. Sure, it only lasted for a brief ten minutes but in those ten minutes I lost my expatriate naivety and I was the pro.
I confidently answered, "Yes, of course."
He then told me that my driver was new to the company and might need assistance with the directions to my location. I assured him that I knew the way and it would be no problem for me to direct him. He thanked me for my help and then we were on our way.
As we drove off, I asked my driver, "Señor, is this your first week?"
"No, señorita, this is my first day. My first service on my first day."
I couldn't believe it, for the first time in Lima history, I knew more than a Peruvian. As he struggled to call the base and enter the correct information, I gave him directions and told him the fee. I settled into the taxi and took a look around me. This is my home. Not only is this my home, but this has been my home. So much so that I am now familiar with customs and systems. In that taxi, I was the expert. Sure, it only lasted for a brief ten minutes but in those ten minutes I lost my expatriate naivety and I was the pro.
Sun & Sand
Last weekend, Alvaro, myself and Elizabeth (one of my very dear friends from high school) took a weekend trip to Ica, Peru. Elizabeth had been in Peru for about six weeks traveling to various cities and spending time with me in Lima. For her last weekend in Peru, we traveled south to the land of eternal sun and lots of sand.
On Saturday morning we took a small city tour that took us through the main square and past the ruins of the Ica Cathedral that was nearly destroyed in a 2007 earthquake. From there we went to Cachiche, a small village next to Ica that is famous for its historical witches. Several hundred years ago there was a large concentration of witches in this village and the area is full of mystical legends. These original witches passed down their traditions to descendants who still practice healing practices in the village. One of the most interesting parts of the village is the seven headed palm tree. It is believed that several hundred years ago, one witch put a curse on this tree saying that if the seventh head ever grows, the city of Ica will be destroyed. To prevent this from happening, the seventh head is ceremoniously cut every year.
We also visited a Pisco Bodega where we saw the traditional methods used to prepare Ica's famous pisco. After our tour, we tasted several varieties of pisco that are produced on the property.
But the highlight of the weekend was sandboarding! I have heard from several people that sandboarding is the thing to do in Ica and they all were right. I'm a stranger to any kind of extreme sport, so I admit I was fairly nervous before my first ride down the dune. But after surviving the first descent, I couldn't get enough! Not only was the sandboarding amazing, but the view was beautiful. I have never before stood in the middle of desert with only sand as far as my eyes could see. We were fortunate enough to have a clear night and were leaving the dunes around sunset. It was the perfect day, Point for Peru once again!
American Holidays
The joys of an American holiday season.
I have no shame in saying that I have barely thought about Peru and my home in Lima over the past three weeks. I have been too busy enjoying winter weather, time with my family, familiar streets, the English language and lots of visits with friends.
In the weeks leading up to my trip to the States, I was the most homesick I had ever been. I yearned to come home and in nearly everything I did I remembered, "Just two weeks until the States..."
No amount of homesickness could have prepared me for the feeling of pure joy and gladness I have felt since being home. The first few days, I was emotional wreck. On Christmas Eve, we went to see the Tennessee Titans play the Jacksonville Jaguars and I cried at the first note of the National Anthem. That evening at our Christmas Eve service, I cried while singing the familiar lyrics of Christmas Carols. I cried when hearing country music on the radio and when seeing the cheerful face of my parents dog.
And now, as I enter my last week in the States, I have once again become emotional and feel unprepared for my return to Lima. Yesterday as I sat in the Nashville airport waiting to pick up my mom, I sat listening to some wannabe country music star playing music for the whole lounge. In the moment, as I saw the sign for a beloved Nashville deli and heard "Welcome to Music City" come across the loud speaker, I was overwhelmed by my love for Nashville.
For my whole life, I have wanted to move away. To see the world and to live in a bustling city. Even a mid sized city like Nashville, felt too small for me. But now that I have done those things, I have moved away and lived in a huge city, I am drawn to the quaint, familiar feeling of Nashville. To the feeling of home.
Nashville is my home. My family is my home. Though I currently make my life somewhere else, it doesn't feel like my home. Just like all the travelers who have gone before me, I finally know the sweet joy of being able to simply come home.
I have no shame in saying that I have barely thought about Peru and my home in Lima over the past three weeks. I have been too busy enjoying winter weather, time with my family, familiar streets, the English language and lots of visits with friends.
In the weeks leading up to my trip to the States, I was the most homesick I had ever been. I yearned to come home and in nearly everything I did I remembered, "Just two weeks until the States..."
No amount of homesickness could have prepared me for the feeling of pure joy and gladness I have felt since being home. The first few days, I was emotional wreck. On Christmas Eve, we went to see the Tennessee Titans play the Jacksonville Jaguars and I cried at the first note of the National Anthem. That evening at our Christmas Eve service, I cried while singing the familiar lyrics of Christmas Carols. I cried when hearing country music on the radio and when seeing the cheerful face of my parents dog.
And now, as I enter my last week in the States, I have once again become emotional and feel unprepared for my return to Lima. Yesterday as I sat in the Nashville airport waiting to pick up my mom, I sat listening to some wannabe country music star playing music for the whole lounge. In the moment, as I saw the sign for a beloved Nashville deli and heard "Welcome to Music City" come across the loud speaker, I was overwhelmed by my love for Nashville.
For my whole life, I have wanted to move away. To see the world and to live in a bustling city. Even a mid sized city like Nashville, felt too small for me. But now that I have done those things, I have moved away and lived in a huge city, I am drawn to the quaint, familiar feeling of Nashville. To the feeling of home.
Nashville is my home. My family is my home. Though I currently make my life somewhere else, it doesn't feel like my home. Just like all the travelers who have gone before me, I finally know the sweet joy of being able to simply come home.
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