I put on my favorite perfume today, before I went to work - Anais Anais. It smells of roses, but not like my grandmother's rose scent. This is a decidedly different rose. All the same, after riding through the city and exiting the bus between others, I arrived at work smelling like what I was - an exhausted rose. Make that vehicle exhaust. My Anais Anais is still with me, but so is a little exhaust. Hmm. It's almost impossible to escape the exhaust and exhaustion in this city. One seems to go hand in hand with the other.
I've been spinning, also. I've finished 4 ounces of Gypsy (superwash merino/sari silk/sparkles) and it's looking pretty good! I have about 400 yards of fingering weight, and still have another 4 ounces to go. It's moving pretty fast, and I should be finished plying the last of the latest spindle-full tomorrow. I managed to spill a glug of Coke on one spindle, so the soaking will be a welcome part of the processing and finishing. Sheesh! How clutzy can I be???
(Note to self: Coke is off-limits while using the computer AND while spindling.)
Celeste has sensed a change in attitude towards her since she's almost finished shedding her winter duds. She's now clean and pretty, and was actually invited to take a nap on the bed with O this weekend. It helped her little prima donna attitude bounce back, and when she had to vacate the bed so I could lie down, she made a face at me and retired to her own plushy-but-hairy bed.
I spent Thanksgiving in a funk for a couple of reasons. One - I had to work. Two - nobody celebrates Thankgiving here, so that was kind of bumsville for me. Three - Christmas will most likely be the same for me. Christmas here is so commercial it's ridiculous. You thought it was bad in the US, didn't you? Well, multiply that by 5 and add all your friends and relatives, godchildren, neighbors, and every Tom, Dick, & Harry who gets on the bus begging, and you've got the makings of a depressing holiday. And there's not even the remotest chance of a white Christmas here. Hmmmm....
On Friday, I got on the bus, and a young man followed me on. He gave us God's blessings, and began to talk about how he had just 5 hours earlier been released from prison. In order to prevent him from returning to his criminal ways, everyone on the bus was to pay him for his performance...and he took out a long handled tablespoon, which he pushed up his nose. I guess that trick is too common here in Lima, because he left the bus without much more than 50 centimos. He laid a curse on us all before he left. Luckily we all know Moises, from the previous post, who can break the curse and we'll all come out smelling like roses...exhausted roses, but roses all the same.
Showing posts with label people watching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label people watching. Show all posts
Nov 30, 2009
Oct 22, 2009
The Wild One-Oh-Four
A ride to work on the city bus is always a unique experience, but a ride on the 104 is a whole different ball game. I usually ride the Linea 48, a safe and more comfortable bus...but the 48 stops for 15 seconds and waits for no latecomer. So yesterday, I ended up taking the 104.
The 104 runs older buses; usually old Bluebird school buses that may or may not have the seats nailed down, rattle like mad, and the drivers seem to be convinced that with open windows and tremendous speed, even the oldest heavily-loaded vehicle might be coaxed into sprouting wings. There are times when not only the passengers and seat bottoms are launched from their usual places inside the bus, but the bus may also go airborne at various times of the day.
There are no shock absorbers on these buses and, I think because of that, you can always tell when the 104 is approaching from the racket of the rattling body, doors and windows. Step aboard and let your hair down...it'll be standing on end in just a few moments! Don't forget to get a good grip on something before take-off.
Linea 48 attracts a higher paid clientele, and due to that, it also attracts salespeople and performers of a higher caliber...or at least with higher expectations. The 48 often has traveling musicians who perform and sell their cds on the bus. The salespeople don't limit themselves to selling candies - they have 30 cent pens, sewing kits, and books. The real talent - the guys who push the screwdrivers up their noses - also finds itself on board the Linea 48.
ON the other hand, the 104 gets the candy sellers, the kids who sing through their mom's comb and a Kleenex tissue, the guy who can't play a guitar so he beats out a rhythm on a seat back with a coin or his wedding ring while singing off key, and the woman who rented her neighbor's baby to beg for money. The good thing is that they don't stay long - it's very hard for an off-key singer to be heard over the rattle of the 104 body panels, no matter how hard he pounds on the seat or the door frame. And women carrying rented babies have a hard time staying upright while the bus is airborne. So usually the beggars and the performers jump on, take a quick turn up and down the aisle, and jump back off. Knitting on board is almost impossible because of the bone-jarring, stitch scattering ride, but most people don't notice. They're usually totally occupied with hanging onto the OMG bars in front of them or over head.
This morning, while on my way home after my morning class, a man got on the bus to beg for money. As he started his speech, the driver said, "Hazlo en breve, amigo. No tendres mucho tiempo de hablar." (Make it brief, buddy. You won't have much time to talk.) No sooner did he get those words out of his mouth, when the bus lurched forward and we launched, rattling off down Abancay Avenue. The beggar seemed to be putting a lot of effort into his speech, but nobody could hear a word he said. Once we were airborne, he had no choice but to cut it short and get off at the nearest landing pad...errr...bus stop.
Small blessings in disguise.
The 104 runs older buses; usually old Bluebird school buses that may or may not have the seats nailed down, rattle like mad, and the drivers seem to be convinced that with open windows and tremendous speed, even the oldest heavily-loaded vehicle might be coaxed into sprouting wings. There are times when not only the passengers and seat bottoms are launched from their usual places inside the bus, but the bus may also go airborne at various times of the day.
There are no shock absorbers on these buses and, I think because of that, you can always tell when the 104 is approaching from the racket of the rattling body, doors and windows. Step aboard and let your hair down...it'll be standing on end in just a few moments! Don't forget to get a good grip on something before take-off.
Linea 48 attracts a higher paid clientele, and due to that, it also attracts salespeople and performers of a higher caliber...or at least with higher expectations. The 48 often has traveling musicians who perform and sell their cds on the bus. The salespeople don't limit themselves to selling candies - they have 30 cent pens, sewing kits, and books. The real talent - the guys who push the screwdrivers up their noses - also finds itself on board the Linea 48.
ON the other hand, the 104 gets the candy sellers, the kids who sing through their mom's comb and a Kleenex tissue, the guy who can't play a guitar so he beats out a rhythm on a seat back with a coin or his wedding ring while singing off key, and the woman who rented her neighbor's baby to beg for money. The good thing is that they don't stay long - it's very hard for an off-key singer to be heard over the rattle of the 104 body panels, no matter how hard he pounds on the seat or the door frame. And women carrying rented babies have a hard time staying upright while the bus is airborne. So usually the beggars and the performers jump on, take a quick turn up and down the aisle, and jump back off. Knitting on board is almost impossible because of the bone-jarring, stitch scattering ride, but most people don't notice. They're usually totally occupied with hanging onto the OMG bars in front of them or over head.
This morning, while on my way home after my morning class, a man got on the bus to beg for money. As he started his speech, the driver said, "Hazlo en breve, amigo. No tendres mucho tiempo de hablar." (Make it brief, buddy. You won't have much time to talk.) No sooner did he get those words out of his mouth, when the bus lurched forward and we launched, rattling off down Abancay Avenue. The beggar seemed to be putting a lot of effort into his speech, but nobody could hear a word he said. Once we were airborne, he had no choice but to cut it short and get off at the nearest landing pad...errr...bus stop.
Small blessings in disguise.
Jul 26, 2009
Have a drinky-poo
Everywhere on the west coast of Peru, people use the diminutive when they speak. "Quesito?" (A little cheese?) When I was first learning about this phenomenon, I read that it is used to express endearment or cuteness. An example would be "tengo un perrito" (I have a cute little dog). Okay. I could understand that. But typically, I hear things like this: "Aqui estamos en el mercadito. Gaseosita? Solamente cuesta un solcito. Toma esta bebidita. Y carnecita? Come un poquitito y regresamos en la nochecita, amorcito. Llegamos a la casita en un ratito. Y entonces jugamos con tu perrito. Es presiosito!"
I translate this in the most literal way, because that's mostly the way my mind works, and because it makes me laugh. Then later, I go back and think about what the person really was saying. So at first, the Spanish comes into my mind like this:
Here we are in the cute little market. An itty bitty soda pop? It only costs one cute little sol. Have a little drinky-poo. And a little bit of meat? Eat a little bitty bit and we'll go back at nighty-poo, my cute little lovey dovey. We arrive at the housey-poo in a little minute-winute. And then we'll play with your little doggy-poo. It's so cutie-wootie!
Yeah. Makes me laugh and then makes me gag a little bitito. Too much sugar makes me ill.
I translate this in the most literal way, because that's mostly the way my mind works, and because it makes me laugh. Then later, I go back and think about what the person really was saying. So at first, the Spanish comes into my mind like this:
Here we are in the cute little market. An itty bitty soda pop? It only costs one cute little sol. Have a little drinky-poo. And a little bit of meat? Eat a little bitty bit and we'll go back at nighty-poo, my cute little lovey dovey. We arrive at the housey-poo in a little minute-winute. And then we'll play with your little doggy-poo. It's so cutie-wootie!
Yeah. Makes me laugh and then makes me gag a little bitito. Too much sugar makes me ill.
Apr 27, 2009
I wonder if it's the heat.
Saturday and today presented me with social challenge that I haven't figured out yet.
On Saturday, I walked around the corner of the block on my way to work to find a woman lying on the sidewalk, apparently taking a nap. She was an older lady, I think she might have been in her late 50's. And standing next to her was a policeman. I wondered what was going on, but really, there are many people in this city who simply drop down wherever they happen to be and take a nap. I stepped around her, asked the policeman if she was okay and, getting a curt, "Yes lady. She's fine," I continued on to work. Everyone else stepped over her or around her and didn't worry about her.
Later that day, I went to have lunch in the local Metro supermarket comedor and stepped over this lady again! She was awake this time, lying in a different part of the block, in the middle of a busy sidewalk, stripped naked to the waist and apparently taking in some sun. She smiled and waved to me and I waved back. But I was and still am confused about her. People stepped over and around her and basically ignored her.
This morning while on my way to the bus stop to go home for lunch, I crossed paths with a woman who was completely naked, save for her woven shawl that she wore around her shoulders. She was apparently in no mood to talk and marched resolutely on, bare-footed and bare everywhere else, except, of course, for her shoulders. People and policemen did nothing, said nothing and simpy ignored her.
I wonder what happened to these two women. If I were in the US, the policeman wouldn't have been standing idly by while the first woman caught a nap in the middle of the sidewalk. He might have called for an ambulance or some other kind of asistance, and let her know that there were other places to doze. Later, people might have suspected that both women been assaulted because of their states of undress and called 911, or at the very least offered to help them find some clothing.
Is it the heat? Is it strange that no one else seems to think it's strange to see the isolated naked and half-naked women on the sidewalk in a modern city, regardless of how dangerous or overcrowded it is? Doesn't it bother people to see others like this, especially in dangerous places like this inner city area?
It just frickin freaks ME out. I think need to go talk to my supervisor about what I should be doing in situations like these. Maybe doing nothing like everyone else is the correct thing to be doing, but it sure doesn't feel right to me.
On Saturday, I walked around the corner of the block on my way to work to find a woman lying on the sidewalk, apparently taking a nap. She was an older lady, I think she might have been in her late 50's. And standing next to her was a policeman. I wondered what was going on, but really, there are many people in this city who simply drop down wherever they happen to be and take a nap. I stepped around her, asked the policeman if she was okay and, getting a curt, "Yes lady. She's fine," I continued on to work. Everyone else stepped over her or around her and didn't worry about her.
Later that day, I went to have lunch in the local Metro supermarket comedor and stepped over this lady again! She was awake this time, lying in a different part of the block, in the middle of a busy sidewalk, stripped naked to the waist and apparently taking in some sun. She smiled and waved to me and I waved back. But I was and still am confused about her. People stepped over and around her and basically ignored her.
This morning while on my way to the bus stop to go home for lunch, I crossed paths with a woman who was completely naked, save for her woven shawl that she wore around her shoulders. She was apparently in no mood to talk and marched resolutely on, bare-footed and bare everywhere else, except, of course, for her shoulders. People and policemen did nothing, said nothing and simpy ignored her.
I wonder what happened to these two women. If I were in the US, the policeman wouldn't have been standing idly by while the first woman caught a nap in the middle of the sidewalk. He might have called for an ambulance or some other kind of asistance, and let her know that there were other places to doze. Later, people might have suspected that both women been assaulted because of their states of undress and called 911, or at the very least offered to help them find some clothing.
Is it the heat? Is it strange that no one else seems to think it's strange to see the isolated naked and half-naked women on the sidewalk in a modern city, regardless of how dangerous or overcrowded it is? Doesn't it bother people to see others like this, especially in dangerous places like this inner city area?
It just frickin freaks ME out. I think need to go talk to my supervisor about what I should be doing in situations like these. Maybe doing nothing like everyone else is the correct thing to be doing, but it sure doesn't feel right to me.
Jan 19, 2009
A Walk Down the Block
I just came back from having lunch. Lunch here is always late, just like everything else is. Late is a way of life here in Peru and I had a meeting at work, so lunch was at 3 pm. I left work and went down the block to a new place (for me, anyway) called Pikalo. Nice inside, but hotter inside than outside. I ordered a cheese burger and an Inka cola. I ended up with a piece of hamburger meat and edam cheese on a bed of really good fries, and two salads. TWO salads? Yup. I looked for the hamburger bun, but there wasn't any. I waited for a bit, just in case they had forgotten to put the bun on the plate - gave them time to bring it, but I guess that's the was Pikalo burgers are served...bunless and with 2 salads. Didn't Hardees have this idea a few years ago? Low carb lunch, I guess, except for the mountain of potatoes underneath the meat.
On my way back to work, I took my time. Walking on the sidewalk in downtown Lima is always so interesting. There are always people who work in the stores out on the walk, hawking their wares like carnival criers. And there are the vendadores amulantes: vendors that have no fixed facility. They usually sell food, candies, and pencils, shine shoes, or sell things like watches and orange juice from a push cart that they take home every night.
Now that it's summertime, there are ice cream sellers all over the place. They have a bicycle that is set up with a big cooler on the front and they sell Popsicles and ice cream sandwiches out of them. Remember the musical truck that they sold ice cream from at home in the states? Here, Donofrio (a subsidiary of Nestle) gives it's ice cream sellers a squawker that sounds like a goose with a plugged nose...for me, anyway. It must be like sweet music to the ears of the children, though, because when the ice cream man peddles his bike up the sidewalk and squawks on his...umm...squawker, the kids turn out in dozens to get a Popsicle. Today, there were three yellow Donofrio squawkers on the corner, competing against 4 red Lamorghini ice cream sellers. They don't get squawkers. All they can do is tap a coin against their cooler lid.
Which brings me to another type of cold goody they are now selling on the street - marcianos. Marcianos are long plastic tubes filled with fruit smoothy and frozen. These are always homemade, and sold from a cooler that they strap around their shoulders. They have no squawker, either, so they yell, "MARCIANOS!" and beat a coin on the top of their cooler lids. There are dozens of these vendors walking up and down the sidewalks.
It's not recommended to buy homemade foods from street vendors. That's a wonderful way to get a gut bug, so I generally pass them up. So many vendors are clustered around the block where I work, not only because of the huge amount of students that we have, but also because Abancay Avenue is a major stop for the city buses that bring people to the central market. So, combine all those vendors screaming, squawking, hawking, and beating coins on their cooler tops with the tooting of bus and taxi horns and the constant buzzing of conversation of people passing by, and you've got a cacophony of noise...
...just another day in downtown Lima...
On my way back to work, I took my time. Walking on the sidewalk in downtown Lima is always so interesting. There are always people who work in the stores out on the walk, hawking their wares like carnival criers. And there are the vendadores amulantes: vendors that have no fixed facility. They usually sell food, candies, and pencils, shine shoes, or sell things like watches and orange juice from a push cart that they take home every night.
Now that it's summertime, there are ice cream sellers all over the place. They have a bicycle that is set up with a big cooler on the front and they sell Popsicles and ice cream sandwiches out of them. Remember the musical truck that they sold ice cream from at home in the states? Here, Donofrio (a subsidiary of Nestle) gives it's ice cream sellers a squawker that sounds like a goose with a plugged nose...for me, anyway. It must be like sweet music to the ears of the children, though, because when the ice cream man peddles his bike up the sidewalk and squawks on his...umm...squawker, the kids turn out in dozens to get a Popsicle. Today, there were three yellow Donofrio squawkers on the corner, competing against 4 red Lamorghini ice cream sellers. They don't get squawkers. All they can do is tap a coin against their cooler lid.
Which brings me to another type of cold goody they are now selling on the street - marcianos. Marcianos are long plastic tubes filled with fruit smoothy and frozen. These are always homemade, and sold from a cooler that they strap around their shoulders. They have no squawker, either, so they yell, "MARCIANOS!" and beat a coin on the top of their cooler lids. There are dozens of these vendors walking up and down the sidewalks.
It's not recommended to buy homemade foods from street vendors. That's a wonderful way to get a gut bug, so I generally pass them up. So many vendors are clustered around the block where I work, not only because of the huge amount of students that we have, but also because Abancay Avenue is a major stop for the city buses that bring people to the central market. So, combine all those vendors screaming, squawking, hawking, and beating coins on their cooler tops with the tooting of bus and taxi horns and the constant buzzing of conversation of people passing by, and you've got a cacophony of noise...
...just another day in downtown Lima...
Oct 20, 2008
Not as odd as last time, but...
I should carry my camera with me all the time. On Saturday, a man got on the bus to "work". First, he withdrew a tablespoon from his shirt pocket and inserted the handle into his nose, although not very far. He apologised for not having a second one to insert into the other side to make a balanced appearance. This was not too impressive for the bus passengers, after all, we'd already seen something similar one time before. It must have been obvious to this man, because he announced that he would begin the difficult task of singing with a spoon up his nose. Which he did. The money collection for this man was scant...I can't help but think if he'd just had the second spoon...
Following this a blind man got on the bus and quietly asked for money. Change purses opened up and this one got off the bus about $10 richer.
At the next corner, two women got on. One had a guitar and the other had a pair of spoons, not to push up her nose, fortunately. They did sing a rousing medley of Huayno classics. The crowd went wild and sang along and applauded, and then coughed up additional pocket change for these two.
Below is an example of typical Huayno dance and music:
On Sunday, Celeste and I went walking about 7 am. We passed from the middle class neighborhood of Jesus Maria into the more affluent San Isidro. In front of a posh apartment building, we saw 4 young men, impeccably dressed and obviously completely soused. I noticed two neighborhood security guards (Serenazgo) watching them quietly. They were hailing taxis. Each time a taxi drew near, they would turn their backs to the taxi and drop their finely sewn drawers around their ankles, giving the taxi driver a close-up view of four rich bums. Inevitably the driver would shift gears and continue on, while the 4 drunks cursed and laughed. Finally, after the third episode of this, the Serenazgos waited till the pants were around the ankles again and then moved in. They snagged these four fools and flung them into the back of their pick-up trunk, none too gently. After I went home, I told O about what I'd seen, and asked if the drunks would be taken to jail or what. He said they would most likely be driven home by the Serenazgos if they were able to identify themselves and give an address. If not, they would probably spend their morning riding around, hand-cuffed in the back of the truck with their pants around their ankles, till they sobered up enough to say where they lived.
Other than that, here's what I've been doing:
This is a sock that I've been making for my daughter. So far, there's only one. It's made of superwash merino in the colorway "Squidge" that I got from Black Ethel Cash. I like the look of it and I think that my girl will too. For Christmas!
And more spinning:
This is Bundaflicka Tweed in "Earth".
And finally, the avocado tree outgrew her spot in the apartment and needed a break from the Celeste love, so here is Annie Avocado with her best friend, Celeste, in the hall, where Annie now lives:
Following this a blind man got on the bus and quietly asked for money. Change purses opened up and this one got off the bus about $10 richer.
At the next corner, two women got on. One had a guitar and the other had a pair of spoons, not to push up her nose, fortunately. They did sing a rousing medley of Huayno classics. The crowd went wild and sang along and applauded, and then coughed up additional pocket change for these two.
Below is an example of typical Huayno dance and music:
On Sunday, Celeste and I went walking about 7 am. We passed from the middle class neighborhood of Jesus Maria into the more affluent San Isidro. In front of a posh apartment building, we saw 4 young men, impeccably dressed and obviously completely soused. I noticed two neighborhood security guards (Serenazgo) watching them quietly. They were hailing taxis. Each time a taxi drew near, they would turn their backs to the taxi and drop their finely sewn drawers around their ankles, giving the taxi driver a close-up view of four rich bums. Inevitably the driver would shift gears and continue on, while the 4 drunks cursed and laughed. Finally, after the third episode of this, the Serenazgos waited till the pants were around the ankles again and then moved in. They snagged these four fools and flung them into the back of their pick-up trunk, none too gently. After I went home, I told O about what I'd seen, and asked if the drunks would be taken to jail or what. He said they would most likely be driven home by the Serenazgos if they were able to identify themselves and give an address. If not, they would probably spend their morning riding around, hand-cuffed in the back of the truck with their pants around their ankles, till they sobered up enough to say where they lived.
Other than that, here's what I've been doing:
This is a sock that I've been making for my daughter. So far, there's only one. It's made of superwash merino in the colorway "Squidge" that I got from Black Ethel Cash. I like the look of it and I think that my girl will too. For Christmas!
And more spinning:
This is Bundaflicka Tweed in "Earth".
And finally, the avocado tree outgrew her spot in the apartment and needed a break from the Celeste love, so here is Annie Avocado with her best friend, Celeste, in the hall, where Annie now lives:
Sep 27, 2008
Hair styles among the masses
I love going to work. It gives me an opportunity to observe people. This month, I had to observe a Basic 1 class - the class for adults who are just beginning to learn English. Most of them were teenagers and they take their fashion statements more seriously than their studies.
One young man came to class every day with his longish black hair carefully blow-dried forward to cover his eyes. I'm not sure exactly how he managed to read or navigate through the hallways, because I could never see anything of his face above the upper lip. He was a tall, very thin person who seemed to be wearing his big brother's pants. His nails were quite long and he always wore black. To complete his look, he topped his black outfits with a hooded black sweatshirt, always worn with the hood up, even in class.
A very popular hair style among the young men is a pseudo mohawk. The sides are not shaved, but the long hair on the top of the head is pasted up into a tall ridge with a lot of stiff hair goop. When I see this style, I immediately think "pin-head", but have yet to meet a real pinhead. Most are very nice, only experimenting with styles.
Still another young man wore his hair carefully "tousled" in kind of a swirl around his head. The hair rebelled and escaped the swirl in places, sticking out straight and sometimes hitting the person sitting next to him as he turned his head.
One of my own tall, thin students arrived with his shaggy ringlets pushed up into a curly mushroom on the top of his head, using a girl's plastic circular headband like my daughter used to use when she was a teenager. The curly mushroom settled between two heavier, shorter pinheads.
I thought the girls were fashionistas, but it's really the guys who are into their "look", especially when it comes to hair.
One young man came to class every day with his longish black hair carefully blow-dried forward to cover his eyes. I'm not sure exactly how he managed to read or navigate through the hallways, because I could never see anything of his face above the upper lip. He was a tall, very thin person who seemed to be wearing his big brother's pants. His nails were quite long and he always wore black. To complete his look, he topped his black outfits with a hooded black sweatshirt, always worn with the hood up, even in class.
A very popular hair style among the young men is a pseudo mohawk. The sides are not shaved, but the long hair on the top of the head is pasted up into a tall ridge with a lot of stiff hair goop. When I see this style, I immediately think "pin-head", but have yet to meet a real pinhead. Most are very nice, only experimenting with styles.
Still another young man wore his hair carefully "tousled" in kind of a swirl around his head. The hair rebelled and escaped the swirl in places, sticking out straight and sometimes hitting the person sitting next to him as he turned his head.
One of my own tall, thin students arrived with his shaggy ringlets pushed up into a curly mushroom on the top of his head, using a girl's plastic circular headband like my daughter used to use when she was a teenager. The curly mushroom settled between two heavier, shorter pinheads.
I thought the girls were fashionistas, but it's really the guys who are into their "look", especially when it comes to hair.
Aug 23, 2008
Everyday Oddities
Every once in a while, I write about the things that happen on the city bus that I ride to and from work. The ride home today included a singer, three candy sales people (one of which was under the age of 10 years), and the "low-light" of the ride was a man who shoved two 4 inch screwdrivers up his nose and was ready to go for a sideways insertion via the ears.
The man proudly proclaimed, "I can do this because I am not from here...I am from Arequipa!" Several people wondered out loud if this was a common phenomenon in of Southern Peru.
Everyone was cringing in anticipation. I had to stare at the floor when the first screwdriver started up into the apparently empty brain cavity. I glanced up once to see him passing down the bus aisle with both screwdriver handles on the end of his nose. I kind of wish I'd have had my camera, but I don't know if I could have looked at this guy long enough to take the picture. The woman in the seat next to me gagged softly and whispered a prayer. Several people crossed themselves as he passed by. One man offered to pay him 30 cents to leave and the bus driver invited the man to exit the bus at his earliest convenience. Apparently the offer of 30 cents was too much to pass up, because he very quickly took his leave after collecting the coinage.
I arrived home to find a small white carriage with a white pony waiting patiently outside my apartment building. I think it must have been something for a little girl's birthday, but I'm not sure. I went upstairs to get Celeste so she could "do her business" outside, and when we went out of the building, we stopped to admire the pretty white coach and the beautiful pony standing so patiently...and then the coach door opened and a man stepped out and began to put his clothes on.
Things like this make the hair go up on Celeste's back..and my hair stands on end every once in a while, too.
I guess it takes all kinds...
The man proudly proclaimed, "I can do this because I am not from here...I am from Arequipa!" Several people wondered out loud if this was a common phenomenon in of Southern Peru.
Everyone was cringing in anticipation. I had to stare at the floor when the first screwdriver started up into the apparently empty brain cavity. I glanced up once to see him passing down the bus aisle with both screwdriver handles on the end of his nose. I kind of wish I'd have had my camera, but I don't know if I could have looked at this guy long enough to take the picture. The woman in the seat next to me gagged softly and whispered a prayer. Several people crossed themselves as he passed by. One man offered to pay him 30 cents to leave and the bus driver invited the man to exit the bus at his earliest convenience. Apparently the offer of 30 cents was too much to pass up, because he very quickly took his leave after collecting the coinage.
I arrived home to find a small white carriage with a white pony waiting patiently outside my apartment building. I think it must have been something for a little girl's birthday, but I'm not sure. I went upstairs to get Celeste so she could "do her business" outside, and when we went out of the building, we stopped to admire the pretty white coach and the beautiful pony standing so patiently...and then the coach door opened and a man stepped out and began to put his clothes on.
Things like this make the hair go up on Celeste's back..and my hair stands on end every once in a while, too.
I guess it takes all kinds...
Jul 22, 2008
The City Bus
Now that I'm working downtown, I take a bus to work. It's way too far to walk the distance, so I catch the #48 that takes me down Salaverry Avenue to Jiron Manuel Segura, then to Mexico Avenue, over the Expressway and across to Manco Capac. Eventually, Manco Capac crosses a bridge and becomes Abancay Avenue, which runs through the middle of Lima Central. I work just a half block from Abancay, on Cuzco Street.
To say that downtown Lima is crowded is an understatement. It is a SEA OF HUMANITY at any given moment. When I arrive at the institute, I feel like I have reached a safe haven. Working at this place gives me many opportunities to observe people. When I get on the bus, there are always many personalities that make themselves known. There is always someone in need who is allowed on the bus to do what he or she can to collect money. Today there were three on the bus that I rode home for lunch on: first a man with no arms and only one leg hopped aboard to ask for pocket change. He was clean and well-fed, clothing pressed and neat, but obviously unable to work. So he delivered a 30-second speech explaining that he needed to money to help contribute to his family in gratitude for them taking care of him. Pockets opened up. Change purses opened. Money clinked into his shirt pocket as he walked on what used to be a knee and knelt on the complete leg to make his way down the bus aisle. He was there and gone in 5 minutes, having completely torn out our hearts by not whining or begging.
The next person to jump on the bus was a young man selling candy. A bag of 100 pieces of candy costs about 2.50 soles. They sell each piece for 10 cents or 3 for 50 cents...by the time they sell the bag of candy, they've made their money back 4 times over. Not bad, but after the bus crowd has paid their own bus fare and donated to two or three people that are perceived to be needy, a candy salesman rates pretty low. Sympathy for an able-bodied man who's selling over-priced candy does not abound.
The third person to enter the bus to ask for money was an elderly man who was alo selling candy. He claimed to be 84 years old with no income. I was out of change by the time he arrived. Luckily, other people had recently gotten on the bus and there was a fresh crowd for this elderly man to work. I thought of my own father, who is not 84, but will be one day. It would hurt me to no end if he chose a lifestyle that led him to spend his last years going from one bus to another, selling penny candy to pay for his meals.
Sometimes I think about O's family. They have no home of their own, they have no savings, nothing between them and the street except what they earn for that day. I've talked with O about this many times. He has no savings of any kind, either. I cannot even consider him living like the old man on the bus, or working as a shoe shine man or panhandling on the street till his last day. I wonder why so many in this culture have not even a thought beyond tomorrow, or the next weekend, when they can go to a party. I know it is not just in Peru, but this is where it's been really evident to me. This morning I noticed an elderly lady, fairly well dressed, begging on the sidewalk. She looked about 100 years old, but in good health and again, clean and pressed. I wonder what her story was.
To say that downtown Lima is crowded is an understatement. It is a SEA OF HUMANITY at any given moment. When I arrive at the institute, I feel like I have reached a safe haven. Working at this place gives me many opportunities to observe people. When I get on the bus, there are always many personalities that make themselves known. There is always someone in need who is allowed on the bus to do what he or she can to collect money. Today there were three on the bus that I rode home for lunch on: first a man with no arms and only one leg hopped aboard to ask for pocket change. He was clean and well-fed, clothing pressed and neat, but obviously unable to work. So he delivered a 30-second speech explaining that he needed to money to help contribute to his family in gratitude for them taking care of him. Pockets opened up. Change purses opened. Money clinked into his shirt pocket as he walked on what used to be a knee and knelt on the complete leg to make his way down the bus aisle. He was there and gone in 5 minutes, having completely torn out our hearts by not whining or begging.
The next person to jump on the bus was a young man selling candy. A bag of 100 pieces of candy costs about 2.50 soles. They sell each piece for 10 cents or 3 for 50 cents...by the time they sell the bag of candy, they've made their money back 4 times over. Not bad, but after the bus crowd has paid their own bus fare and donated to two or three people that are perceived to be needy, a candy salesman rates pretty low. Sympathy for an able-bodied man who's selling over-priced candy does not abound.
The third person to enter the bus to ask for money was an elderly man who was alo selling candy. He claimed to be 84 years old with no income. I was out of change by the time he arrived. Luckily, other people had recently gotten on the bus and there was a fresh crowd for this elderly man to work. I thought of my own father, who is not 84, but will be one day. It would hurt me to no end if he chose a lifestyle that led him to spend his last years going from one bus to another, selling penny candy to pay for his meals.
Sometimes I think about O's family. They have no home of their own, they have no savings, nothing between them and the street except what they earn for that day. I've talked with O about this many times. He has no savings of any kind, either. I cannot even consider him living like the old man on the bus, or working as a shoe shine man or panhandling on the street till his last day. I wonder why so many in this culture have not even a thought beyond tomorrow, or the next weekend, when they can go to a party. I know it is not just in Peru, but this is where it's been really evident to me. This morning I noticed an elderly lady, fairly well dressed, begging on the sidewalk. She looked about 100 years old, but in good health and again, clean and pressed. I wonder what her story was.
May 4, 2008
A musical lunch
Today, O and I went to lunch with Mario and Flover. We went to El Rinconcito Ferreñafano (The Little Ferreñafe Corner). The guys each ordered an enormous northern-style causa and I had a plate of piqueos de chancho. They had been playing soccer all morning and were starving, but I'd been home with Celeste, doing laundry and spinning up the last of the silk rovings. We talked about their soccer game and the weekend, it was pleasant conversation and the food was very good...and the live music began.
Two older men came in to sing and play the guitar. Normally older musicians are very good, one playing the guitar in with a very Latin style while the other sings and plays the cajon, a large box that takes the place of a drum. Usually, it makes a nice atmosphere for a meal - romantic Spanish lyrics, a smooth soft voice, a Latin guitar, and gentle, rhythmic beating of the cajon.
Today, however, the guitarist didn't seem to be able to tune his guitar. Each string was out of tune with the others. He did run through the strings several times and apparently just decided "Oh, what the hell" or perhaps tone-deaf. The singer did his best to adjust to the odd key that the guitar was in, but it didn't seem to help, so he sang louder and beat the cajon harder. As the instrument went farther and farther out of tune, the guitarist continued flogging away at it, louder and louder, as if trying to outdo the singer or maybe just play really loud and the people wouldn't notice how extremely bad the guitar sounded. Sad songs were made even sadder by the terrible sound of the guitar.
By the time we left, the vocalist was singing at the top of his lungs and beating the cajon with a vengance, and the guitarist was pounding on the guitar strings, faster and faster and as loud as possible, and completely out of tune. The cajon was completely drowned out. O and his friends were screaming across the table at one another, as were all the other customers in the restaurant but no one seemed to notice that the music was just horrendous.
Maybe that's the answer. When it's really bad, just do it LOUDER and FASTER and nobody will even notice.
Two older men came in to sing and play the guitar. Normally older musicians are very good, one playing the guitar in with a very Latin style while the other sings and plays the cajon, a large box that takes the place of a drum. Usually, it makes a nice atmosphere for a meal - romantic Spanish lyrics, a smooth soft voice, a Latin guitar, and gentle, rhythmic beating of the cajon.
Today, however, the guitarist didn't seem to be able to tune his guitar. Each string was out of tune with the others. He did run through the strings several times and apparently just decided "Oh, what the hell" or perhaps tone-deaf. The singer did his best to adjust to the odd key that the guitar was in, but it didn't seem to help, so he sang louder and beat the cajon harder. As the instrument went farther and farther out of tune, the guitarist continued flogging away at it, louder and louder, as if trying to outdo the singer or maybe just play really loud and the people wouldn't notice how extremely bad the guitar sounded. Sad songs were made even sadder by the terrible sound of the guitar.
By the time we left, the vocalist was singing at the top of his lungs and beating the cajon with a vengance, and the guitarist was pounding on the guitar strings, faster and faster and as loud as possible, and completely out of tune. The cajon was completely drowned out. O and his friends were screaming across the table at one another, as were all the other customers in the restaurant but no one seemed to notice that the music was just horrendous.
Maybe that's the answer. When it's really bad, just do it LOUDER and FASTER and nobody will even notice.
Weekend in the Country
This weekend was kind of a long one. I still don't have batteries for my camera.
We went away for the weekend. It was a holiday weekend, 4 days, and we were gone from Thursday through Saturday. We rented a bungalow at a gated park for military and took Celeste. As usual, O invited his entire world to come stay with us. He loves to have all his friends around him. I prefer quiet weekends, and normally I have them, but not this time.
We went to the military hospital to pick up one friend, Jorge (who apparently loves his new digital camera), then stopped in Rimac to pick up Flover and his family. Flover had called us at 9 am and said, "Hurry! We're ready to go!" We packed our stuff up and got there at 10:30, after stopping at the store to get food for the day and evening, and gassing up the car. Then we waited for Flover and Rosa to bring get their stuff in the car. We waited from 10:30 am till almost 2 pm. Poor Flover, he kept coming out to the car, saying "Just a couple more minutes, just a couple more minutes," but Rosa was apparently packing up the whole house for the 3 days and 2 nights. By noon, O was whuffing down his shirt collar and Celeste was getting tired of being on the leash. Jorge had taken about a dozen photos of us with Celeste, himself, and Flover (running out to the car). By 1:30, O was gnashing his teeth and thinking about cancelling and Celeste was downright obnoxious. Flover had made about 25 trips to the car to tell us to wait just two more minutes. Jorge had filled his memory card with photos and changed out the card in his camera before posing himself and working out the timer thing. Finally, Rosa shoved her 3 squalling scuffling boys out the door and screamed at Flover to drag a 50 pound duffle bag, three garbage bags full of blankets, a soccer ball and a basketball, and 3 backpacks to the car. The three boys jammed themselves into the car, the two older boys picking at each other and squabbling over a 15 cent bag of potato chips and the youngest (6 years old) whined about not being able to pick at the older two. Rosa, short and stout, squashed herself into the seat and Flover squeezed in to take the youngest on his lap.
We were off. Jorge joked and laughed from the rear of the car, snapping photos of open-mouthed kids in mid-squall and open-mouthed Flover as he snored. Rosa sniffed and tutted when Celeste relaxed and released a small green cloud. O calmly rolled down the windows and turned up the radio another 10 decibels.
An hour's drive and we arrived just outside the park to eat lunch at one of several roadside stands that catered to travelers with hot food. Overcooked boiled chicken and rice wasn't the greatest, but it was cooked nevertheless and safe to eat. Well, mostly safe, anyway. Probably.
The park was fenced with chain link and the gate closed, so Celeste was released to play after we parked and unloaded into the bungalow. So began our weekend adventure.
The park is about 10 acres of grass and bungalows, with a small creek that runs through it, a swimming pool, a dining room that is only open once a day and I don't know when that might be, a mini-market, barbeque grills and a picnic area. The bungalow had 3 bedrooms and a huge living room/dining area, a nice-sized bathroom, and a small kitchen area with nothing in it. A generous herd of cockroaches thrown in for free.
Celeste was having a grand time, running free through the park, checking out the barbeque areas for sticks, bones and leftovers thrown on the ground. She found so much garbage to eat that she turned down her dinner of regular dog food. She also thought she had found friends! Three dogs from the surrounding neighborhood also spent their days hunting for leftovers in the park. One was a stout yellow male with a curly tail. Another one was a swaggering black Peruvian hairless female, about Celeste's height and about 10 pounds heavier, who couldn't keep her tongue in her mouth for some odd reason. The third was a smallish nondescript brown female. For a while they got on pretty well, until the yellow male began to try to come into our bungalow to eat Celeste's dogfood. Then the three began to corner Celeste in front of the bungalow and threaten her..."Hand over the dogfood, city girl!" Celeste tolerated it for the first day, but on the second day she'd had enough.
The little brown female hung around us while we were outside having a picnic that evening. Celeste was there, kids handing her food under the table. The brown dog pushed her way under the table and began to snarl at Celeste, who stood her ground. Growls grew louder and kids scattered, then a bundle of bristling hair and flashing teeth exploded under the table. The table overturned as Celeste got her butt whipped by the smaller, more experienced dog. No wounds, just a lot of vicious roaring and wrestling around. After the episode was over, Celeste retired to the bungalow and crawled under the bed to spend the night dreaming about her first fight.
That evening as well, Percy and his family arrived to squeeze into the bungalow, 4 of them sharing tow single beds. Sometime during the night, someone had gotten sick and puked in the sink. Apparently the over cooked chicken wasn't THAT safe. Did you know that they turn off the water at 5 pm there at the park? That makes toilet flushing impossible and we had a dozen people in the house on the second night. It also makes it impossible to clean the sink very well after someone has barfed.
On the third day, we ate a small breakfast of fruit and bread, then went out to walk through the park. The food at the roadside stand hadn't been that great and I had discovered just how many cockroaches there were in the bathroom at 3 am. The floor seemed to move with them...I kept my shoes close at hand after that. Celeste played through the morning, keeping a sharp eye on the three other dogs, who periodically challenged her. She continued to stand her ground, although it obviously stressed her out. Around noon, we all piled into the car again to find a restaurant for lunch. Celeste was content to stay inside the bungalow and sleep - on top of the bed this time. After lunch we loaded our stuff in the car while Celeste barked at us to hurry, apparently ready to go home. It only took Rosa an hour to pack up to go home.
The kids squabbled for about 10 minutes in the car before falling asleep. Jorge's camera battery mercifully was dead. Both Rosa and Flover put their sunglasses on and began to snore. Celeste hung her head out the car window and fell asleep there. We arrived home about 4 pm and Celeste went straight to her crate to sleep through the rest of the afternoon and into this morning.
Let's do this again sometime, shall we?
We went away for the weekend. It was a holiday weekend, 4 days, and we were gone from Thursday through Saturday. We rented a bungalow at a gated park for military and took Celeste. As usual, O invited his entire world to come stay with us. He loves to have all his friends around him. I prefer quiet weekends, and normally I have them, but not this time.
We went to the military hospital to pick up one friend, Jorge (who apparently loves his new digital camera), then stopped in Rimac to pick up Flover and his family. Flover had called us at 9 am and said, "Hurry! We're ready to go!" We packed our stuff up and got there at 10:30, after stopping at the store to get food for the day and evening, and gassing up the car. Then we waited for Flover and Rosa to bring get their stuff in the car. We waited from 10:30 am till almost 2 pm. Poor Flover, he kept coming out to the car, saying "Just a couple more minutes, just a couple more minutes," but Rosa was apparently packing up the whole house for the 3 days and 2 nights. By noon, O was whuffing down his shirt collar and Celeste was getting tired of being on the leash. Jorge had taken about a dozen photos of us with Celeste, himself, and Flover (running out to the car). By 1:30, O was gnashing his teeth and thinking about cancelling and Celeste was downright obnoxious. Flover had made about 25 trips to the car to tell us to wait just two more minutes. Jorge had filled his memory card with photos and changed out the card in his camera before posing himself and working out the timer thing. Finally, Rosa shoved her 3 squalling scuffling boys out the door and screamed at Flover to drag a 50 pound duffle bag, three garbage bags full of blankets, a soccer ball and a basketball, and 3 backpacks to the car. The three boys jammed themselves into the car, the two older boys picking at each other and squabbling over a 15 cent bag of potato chips and the youngest (6 years old) whined about not being able to pick at the older two. Rosa, short and stout, squashed herself into the seat and Flover squeezed in to take the youngest on his lap.
We were off. Jorge joked and laughed from the rear of the car, snapping photos of open-mouthed kids in mid-squall and open-mouthed Flover as he snored. Rosa sniffed and tutted when Celeste relaxed and released a small green cloud. O calmly rolled down the windows and turned up the radio another 10 decibels.
An hour's drive and we arrived just outside the park to eat lunch at one of several roadside stands that catered to travelers with hot food. Overcooked boiled chicken and rice wasn't the greatest, but it was cooked nevertheless and safe to eat. Well, mostly safe, anyway. Probably.
The park was fenced with chain link and the gate closed, so Celeste was released to play after we parked and unloaded into the bungalow. So began our weekend adventure.
The park is about 10 acres of grass and bungalows, with a small creek that runs through it, a swimming pool, a dining room that is only open once a day and I don't know when that might be, a mini-market, barbeque grills and a picnic area. The bungalow had 3 bedrooms and a huge living room/dining area, a nice-sized bathroom, and a small kitchen area with nothing in it. A generous herd of cockroaches thrown in for free.
Celeste was having a grand time, running free through the park, checking out the barbeque areas for sticks, bones and leftovers thrown on the ground. She found so much garbage to eat that she turned down her dinner of regular dog food. She also thought she had found friends! Three dogs from the surrounding neighborhood also spent their days hunting for leftovers in the park. One was a stout yellow male with a curly tail. Another one was a swaggering black Peruvian hairless female, about Celeste's height and about 10 pounds heavier, who couldn't keep her tongue in her mouth for some odd reason. The third was a smallish nondescript brown female. For a while they got on pretty well, until the yellow male began to try to come into our bungalow to eat Celeste's dogfood. Then the three began to corner Celeste in front of the bungalow and threaten her..."Hand over the dogfood, city girl!" Celeste tolerated it for the first day, but on the second day she'd had enough.
The little brown female hung around us while we were outside having a picnic that evening. Celeste was there, kids handing her food under the table. The brown dog pushed her way under the table and began to snarl at Celeste, who stood her ground. Growls grew louder and kids scattered, then a bundle of bristling hair and flashing teeth exploded under the table. The table overturned as Celeste got her butt whipped by the smaller, more experienced dog. No wounds, just a lot of vicious roaring and wrestling around. After the episode was over, Celeste retired to the bungalow and crawled under the bed to spend the night dreaming about her first fight.
That evening as well, Percy and his family arrived to squeeze into the bungalow, 4 of them sharing tow single beds. Sometime during the night, someone had gotten sick and puked in the sink. Apparently the over cooked chicken wasn't THAT safe. Did you know that they turn off the water at 5 pm there at the park? That makes toilet flushing impossible and we had a dozen people in the house on the second night. It also makes it impossible to clean the sink very well after someone has barfed.
On the third day, we ate a small breakfast of fruit and bread, then went out to walk through the park. The food at the roadside stand hadn't been that great and I had discovered just how many cockroaches there were in the bathroom at 3 am. The floor seemed to move with them...I kept my shoes close at hand after that. Celeste played through the morning, keeping a sharp eye on the three other dogs, who periodically challenged her. She continued to stand her ground, although it obviously stressed her out. Around noon, we all piled into the car again to find a restaurant for lunch. Celeste was content to stay inside the bungalow and sleep - on top of the bed this time. After lunch we loaded our stuff in the car while Celeste barked at us to hurry, apparently ready to go home. It only took Rosa an hour to pack up to go home.
The kids squabbled for about 10 minutes in the car before falling asleep. Jorge's camera battery mercifully was dead. Both Rosa and Flover put their sunglasses on and began to snore. Celeste hung her head out the car window and fell asleep there. We arrived home about 4 pm and Celeste went straight to her crate to sleep through the rest of the afternoon and into this morning.
Let's do this again sometime, shall we?
Apr 26, 2008
My Class
Monday is the last class of the month, and then we have a week's time to recuperate. I have been thinking about my students in my 6:30 Survival English class.
Just as the class has evolved, so have the students. Having had 2 months to observe them, I find myself amazed by their personalities and humor. Five students have emerged from the group as motivated, outgoing, determined, and hilarious. All are officers in the Peruvian military. All have endeared themselves to me. I only have one more month with them before I send them off to parts unknown to serve with the United Nations.
Renzo, also known as The Commander, is the only one in the clas that has the distinction of being a Marine...similar to the Special Forces. He is very tall (about 6'3" and way too big for the desks in the classroom), with a deep voice. He tries hard to maintain a stern face and a serious attitude, but just cannot. Underneath the seriousness is a total joker. Renzo is my best student. He reads well and speaks well, but with a thick, thick accent that frustrates him.
Marcos came to the class not speaking more English than "my name is Marcos." He is in the class because it's free and he was offered the opportunity to attend. He is not going to deploy anywhere. Marcos is one of my two most motivated students. He has been studying his 6-year-old daughter's first grade English reader and attends class each day without fail. Marcos now speaks quite well and can have a conversation will difficulty, but only because his vocabulary is smaller than mine.
Mauricio, aka The Doctor, is a frightfully intelligent nerd. One of those people whose mind goes too fast for his mouth, his speaks in a nasal voice and constantly says "uh, uh" while his mouth catches up to his thoughts. His vocabulary is much more expansive than most of the other students', but he is a disaster when speaking. In spite of that, he absolutely LOVES to talk and once he starts, it's almost impossible to shut him up. The Doctor is an ear, nose, and throat specialist.
Eduardo is a helicopter pilot who also spoke almost no English when he started with us last month. He speaks well now, but with an accent so think you can almost cut it with a knife and cannot talk without a smile and the use of his hands. When he is answering questions in class, his looks like he is ready to take off from his seat with arms flapping like a bird.
Magaly is a quiet but determined woman, destined for the Congo. She speaks with a elegantly latin accent, but very clearly and carefully. She is the only one who is able to maintain her composure in class, but laughs out loud during our 15 minute break.
If you were to look in the clasroom at any given time, you would be able to observe Renzo hunched serously at a desk much to small for him, with his knees practically around his ears; Marcos, bent intently over his lesson, wrists braced on the sides of his head with his hands moving above the head like a horse's ears that swivel back and forth with understanding or confusion; The Doctor spouting off nasally, um um um...; Eduardo speaking through a smile, with emphasis on words in odd places in a sentence ("Every DAY she would WALK inTO the officcccce, with A big SMILE on her FACE.") and flapping like an albatross at his desk; Magaly sitting primly, secretly grinning like a hyena behind her hands, pronouncing each word carefully.
I'm glad I have one more month with them.
Just as the class has evolved, so have the students. Having had 2 months to observe them, I find myself amazed by their personalities and humor. Five students have emerged from the group as motivated, outgoing, determined, and hilarious. All are officers in the Peruvian military. All have endeared themselves to me. I only have one more month with them before I send them off to parts unknown to serve with the United Nations.
Renzo, also known as The Commander, is the only one in the clas that has the distinction of being a Marine...similar to the Special Forces. He is very tall (about 6'3" and way too big for the desks in the classroom), with a deep voice. He tries hard to maintain a stern face and a serious attitude, but just cannot. Underneath the seriousness is a total joker. Renzo is my best student. He reads well and speaks well, but with a thick, thick accent that frustrates him.
Marcos came to the class not speaking more English than "my name is Marcos." He is in the class because it's free and he was offered the opportunity to attend. He is not going to deploy anywhere. Marcos is one of my two most motivated students. He has been studying his 6-year-old daughter's first grade English reader and attends class each day without fail. Marcos now speaks quite well and can have a conversation will difficulty, but only because his vocabulary is smaller than mine.
Mauricio, aka The Doctor, is a frightfully intelligent nerd. One of those people whose mind goes too fast for his mouth, his speaks in a nasal voice and constantly says "uh, uh" while his mouth catches up to his thoughts. His vocabulary is much more expansive than most of the other students', but he is a disaster when speaking. In spite of that, he absolutely LOVES to talk and once he starts, it's almost impossible to shut him up. The Doctor is an ear, nose, and throat specialist.
Eduardo is a helicopter pilot who also spoke almost no English when he started with us last month. He speaks well now, but with an accent so think you can almost cut it with a knife and cannot talk without a smile and the use of his hands. When he is answering questions in class, his looks like he is ready to take off from his seat with arms flapping like a bird.
Magaly is a quiet but determined woman, destined for the Congo. She speaks with a elegantly latin accent, but very clearly and carefully. She is the only one who is able to maintain her composure in class, but laughs out loud during our 15 minute break.
If you were to look in the clasroom at any given time, you would be able to observe Renzo hunched serously at a desk much to small for him, with his knees practically around his ears; Marcos, bent intently over his lesson, wrists braced on the sides of his head with his hands moving above the head like a horse's ears that swivel back and forth with understanding or confusion; The Doctor spouting off nasally, um um um...; Eduardo speaking through a smile, with emphasis on words in odd places in a sentence ("Every DAY she would WALK inTO the officcccce, with A big SMILE on her FACE.") and flapping like an albatross at his desk; Magaly sitting primly, secretly grinning like a hyena behind her hands, pronouncing each word carefully.
I'm glad I have one more month with them.
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