Peruvian Bri

I left home 4 months ago, and yet a lifetime has passed. It's been a lifetime since that middle of the night ride to my friends' home in Lima. A lifetime since I walked along the Pacific Ocean and learned the word faro, lighthouse. It has been a life time since I tried my first taqueño and tried my first slice of Andean cheese. A lifetime has passed since I was in Huamanga, Hualla, and Sacsamarca. Surely a lifetime has passed since I was last in Lima. Field school feels like a year ago, spending time with my Limeño friends feels like two. Flying from Lima to Cusco for my very first time with giant furry hairy moths fluttering my stomach (definitely stronger and worse than butterflies), eons ago. A lifetime. And I can say a lifetime, because I'm not that person anymore. As my family and my friends' phones say back home: I'm Peruvian Bri now. My contact actually appears as "Peruvian Bri." And trust me, she's kind of a badass. 

Work has been a whirlwind of mind boggling stress and at times it's even felt a bit like chaos. I've been writing a lot for work, which has had its challenges but I'm starting to come around to it all. In turn I haven't much felt like writing in my free time. In no way does that mean nothing has happened. Everyday my life is exciting and fun and happy and scary and sad and lonely and busy and never what I expect it to be. 

Today I went to the market in Urubamba. Myself and three friends showed up to a closed gate and completely empty marketplace. Immediately we began to think but why, but how? Someone threw out a simple and pleasant idea, and I quickly followed by saying- "I don't mean to be my negative pessimistic self but I bet it's because of bugs like roaches or something and to fumigate the place all the food and everything had to be taken out." Sure enough as we walked the surrounding streets where all the vendors were temporarily set up outside, one girl asked why they weren't inside, the answer "they're fumigating." I'm a genius, also known as I've been in Peru for four months now. 

I bought a million grocery items and came home to unpack, clean, and with plans to head out a bit later to head back to Urubamba for a food festival. 

Here's the thing: it's Homecoming at Ohio University this weekend, or as we like to call it hOUmecoming. Two of my best friends are there and enjoying the festivities, walking the oh so sacred bricks that taught us more than we will ever be able to thank them for. And it sucks being so far away, missing out on a cultural practice that I love so much in a place I love so much. 

So after my market trip I was just kind of bummed, turned grumpy. I sat in my windowsill reading my book, when thunder clapped as a storm was soon to take over our little valley. The food festival we had planned on attending was outdoors and soon was no longer a plan. I quickly took out some of my fresh ingredients to get started on my dinner; I had barely eaten anything all day. 

I haven't been feeling great lately, not that I'm sick, just that my stomach is achy after I eat, basically anything. But with all my new produce and ingredients I was re inspired to test out some more of my favorite recipes, Peruvian edition. Today's recipe: the beloved and nearly famous Griesinger nut burgers. 

With some compromised ingredients the mixture was looking quite good. Oil in the pan, turn on the gas, light the match, like the burner, put the pan on the burner, form the patty, place the patty in the pan, viola: the flame goes out, or as I like to put it, dies slowly. I fidget with my propane tank as this isn't the first time this has happened, think I probably solved the problem, relight. Flame dies slowly. Fidgets with the propane tank more: loud sound, gas release, liquid dribble, smell, smell, smell, dizzy, smell. Shit. Now I've done it. 

Runs. Opens windows. Cracks open door. Texts dad. 

"I think I broke something." 

"Big loud noise." 

"Liquid dripping." 

"Opened all the windows but what do I do."

Dads really are heroes. Let's never forget that little detail of life. Mine never lets me forget, he is always there for me. Always. 

After a life melt down and thinking I solved the issue oh I don't know- three or four times let's say, cooking my burgers in the toaster oven instead, waving a towel around like a maniac, crying, texting my mom about my long term life dreams and goals, eating my burger, and accepting my burners were out of commission, I heard the most awful noise. Buzzing. Loud obnoxious buzzing. I look up from my final bite and realize I've let in an entire zoo of insects, large, large insects with it dark outside, all my windows wide open and all of my lights on. What have I done. Can't a girl just get some peace? 

While trying not to vomit, I squished and smashed as many as I could. I sprayed bug spray and tried to resist the urge to not just burn the place down when a moth the size of Kansas landed directly on my bed right near my pillow. It was mocking me I swear. Then my Peruvian survival training skills went to work yet again. I turned off all the attracting lights, (so all the lights,) and lit a candle right next to an open window. While in after thought I did wonder what about that little maneuver didn't just attract more bugs to come inside, at the time it seemed ingenious, and it also worked. Bye bye little bichos (Spanish for bugs, what a great word, I mean, come on, right?). 

I then proceeded to dangerously fiddle with the propane tank yet again. I refused to be defeated. 

Pop. Click. Yep. I did it. 

Four months in Peru trains you for exactly the moment where your perseverance is the difference between thirst and a hot cup of cozy tea. 

I fixed it. I got rid of the bugs. I made nut burgers for dinner. I'm a total bad ass. 

I mean if we literally took one experience I had last week killing a giant furry meaty juicy spider with a broom, that alone would've made me a bad ass. But add everything else I've accomplished in the last four months and I'm just not the same at all. While it still freaks me out and definitely grosses me out, killing bugs is a survival tactic, simply something that must be done in order to avoid potentially dangerous bites and harmful effects. 

I broke and proceeded to fix the hookup of my propane tank. I didn't pass out from the minor gas leak and I most importantly didn't blow myself or my apartment up in the process of testing out if the connection was working. 

Four months later and I'm less scared about speaking Spanish and most definitely better at it, although I have a VERY long way to go, especially in terms of confidence. 

I've never been away from my country this long, and definitely not my family. I've overcome the worst homesickness of my entire life. Probably the most difficult thing I've done. 

I've been to Paraguay and back. I've hiked to the same lake twice. I've woven a headband and a bracelet, I've baked and cooked and gotten violently ill from my newly realized severe avocado allergy. I've taken videos and photos and written articles and done interviews. I've shopped and cleaned and done yoga and read and watched movies and downloaded Netflix. But in doing all of that I've changed. 

Lifetimes have passed since I've been here. Everything and nothing has changed. It was winter and suddenly its starting to feel much more like summer.  Halloween is just around the corner and yet I'm still here. And I'm not going anywhere. 

Peru has me. The other day things were going in such a solid groove I really thought I was 100% happy to be here, happy not to be anywhere else in the world at this point in my life. 100% convinced of my decision to be here, to have moved my life here. 100% that in the long run this was who I wanted to be, the type of person who moves abroad. I so far as thought of other countries I'd love to live in also, no not just visit, but live in. And then I thought, well yeah it'd be nice but it'd be just as hard as it is being away while I'm here, and I thought- yeah but you're doing it and it's worth it and you rock. 

Two days later and home feels so far away. So. Far. Away. 2,354 miles away. 

Texting a friend the other day, I had to turn down a proposal for a meet up planned for over a year from now, because the answer to the question "will you be home?" was a no... that stings. A year from now- no I won't be home. But what even is home. Maybe I'm home right now.

Funny how when I was living in Athens "home" was Novi and now living in Ollanta, "home" is both Novi and Athens, and maybe even just the U.S. in general. 

Four months later and I'm stronger and braver and prouder than ever before, and four months ago I didn't really think that was possible. I thought I was at my max. I wasn't, and I'm probably not yet. If I stay just until my contract is up I still have 15 months to go. If I round out my contract for a full two years as I'm thinking I might, I still have 20 months to go. I'm just at the tip of the iceberg of self discovery and growth and strength and skills to be gained here in Peru. Let alone the adventures to be had here. 

Four months and yet a lifetime. Four months ago I was petrified about what lay ahead, and while, yeah, everyday life here is tough, things just aren't quite as "easy" I get it, I get how it works, how it's going to work, how I'll get by, what I need to do to keep myself looking on the bright side, what I need to plan to have little happy moments to look forward to, all the how to's. Four months and I've learned so much and transformed so much, and can see the path forward to continue on the journey of learning and growing and developing and getting stronger and braver and having adventures. For now, and a while longer, I'm Peruvian Bri.

Four months has really felt like a lifetime. 15-20 months to go. And I know they're going to fly by, something I hate and love to think about. Plans are slowly forming for family and friends and trips and visits. October, December, February, May, August, September, and December, all have plans already in the works. 

It's been a rollercoaster that's for sure.