Funny sentences, Part I

Teaching a second language can produce some funny results. Last week was exam week (my favorite week of the month, since there is no lesson planning required) and I got some pretty funny answers back. Those prepositions are awfully tricky. Here are a few of my favorites:

• Does she say please?
• I'm know a smoking
  
• What are you doing last summer?
• Are you kiss me
• Don't we like ron and soda? (Who or what is ron?)
• I don't forget your advise and I had your portrait in my bed. (That's just creepy.)
• Take it easy and get some (my personal favorite)

Happy Opening Day

Today is baseball's Opening Day, and the Braves are opening the season in the Nationals new stadium. I was hoping I would get to see it since the game is on ESPN, and we do, in fact, get two different ESPN channels. But when I turned to see if it was on, one channel was showing tennis and the other rugby. Rugby? I can understand soccer, but rugby isn't much of a South American sport. I've seen NBA games, so I'm sure I'll see a few baseball games, but apparently not tonight.

However, I am very pleased that today I have seen not one but two analysts (Ken Rosenthal for FOX and Jayson Stark for ESPN) choose the Braves to win the World Series. I know pre-season predictions don't mean anything, and Jayson Stark did say Andruw Jones was the most overrated centerfielder of all time, but I'll take it. (Something like 10 out of 14 analysts on espn.com picked Johan Santana to win the NL Cy Young. Boy, that's going out on a limb there.) And as long as Sports Illustrated doesn't pick them to win, I'll be happy. Bad things happen to those who grace the cover of that magazine. (Although I wouldn't know who SI picked since no one has sent me a copy of the preview issue. Big FAT hint right there.)

And you know what? The Braves will win the World Series. You know why? Because I won't be there to see it.

But can you pick your friend´s nose?

There are a few things that I´ve noticed are socially acceptable in Peru that are not nearly as accepted in the States. Public urination and defication certainly stand out, but I really only see that happening once or twice a week. The one that I see happening every day, however, is the nose pick. This isn´t just a nose scratch that could be mistaken for a nose pick either. I´ve noticed that many Peruvians are quite the gold diggers and will pick their nose at any time and any place. The other day I turned around to face my class after writing something on the board and one of my students had his finger so far up his nose I thought it would surely get stuck. It didn´t seem to matter that I caught him red handed (I´m sure there´s a joke there somewhere, I just can´t put my finger on it...), he had no shame. Then again, it seems to make sense. 97% of public restrooms (and even many private ones) have no toilet paper (or a seat for that matter, I´m a champion squatter now) so where can I expect them to get a tissue?

High Altitude Brownies, take 2

Tonya was kind enough to send me a high altitude brownie recipe from a high altitude cookbook she found in the library. (Why residents of Dacula, GA would be in need of high altitude cooking advice is beyond me, but I'm grateful for it now.) I decided to test it out on Thursday evening before I left for the jungle. Fellow teacher Emma came over to assist (and to watch American Idol, which I never watched at home, but have been sucked into thanks to Emma). The first problem I have with cooking is that it asks for specific measurements of ingredients and a specific oven temperature. I don't have access to measuring devices, so I just have to guess. Our oven is either on or off, there is no temperature adjustment. I turn the gas on and light the oven with a match (which can be a little scary sometimes). I also don't have access to "dutch powder cocoa" and semi-sweet chocolate chips, so I buy huge blocks of chocolate and use the cheese grater. I use the smaller grate for powder and the bigger one for chips. No microwave either, so I have to melt the butter on the stove. Just like the good old days that I wasn't around for. I followed the recipe as closely as I could, and once again, the batter tasted delicious. I was just a little concerned about what it would taste like after it was cooked. The result: They were a bit greasy on the bottom and crispy on top. Emma thought they were delicious, but she's British and I've discovered brownies are a very American thing. I decided next time I should reduce either the amount of butter or eggs to make them less greasy. However, when I returned from the jungle, they tasted amazing. Nice and moist and very rich. Next time I'll just make them 3 days ahead of when I want to actually eat them and they will be perfection.

Welcome to the Jungle

I have returned from the jungle, and no, I did not contract malaria or ebola, or any other tropical diseases. At least, I don't think I did. Before leaving, I hung up all the clothes I was bringing with me on the clothes line and sprayed them down with heavy duty bug spray. It must have worked, because I have very few bites.
Anyway, I flew to the town of Puerto Maldanado on Friday morning. The flight took only about 40 minutes, but the scenery changed drastically. We were flying over snow-capped mountains, then went through a huge cloud (and a lot of turbulence) then the mountains were gone and it was nothing but flat land and green trees. From town, we took a boat 90 minutes down river to the lodge. While on the boat (which was covered), it rained twice. It rains in the rainforest, can you imagine? And it doesn't just kind of rain, it really rains. We got lucky for the rest of the weekend, though, it only rained overnight.
I'm used to traveling cheaply, so I didn't know what to do when I was shown to my very own bungalow with a porch and hammocks and a bathroom with a toilet AND a shower! What? You mean I don't have to go down the hall and share a bathroom with 15 other people? I wasn't sure what to do with such luxury.
First on the weekend agenda was a tour of Monkey Island. I pulled on some knee high rubber boots for the mud. Somehow I managed to color coordinate, and it was probably my favorite travel fashion. (That's not saying much, considering I've sported some doosies.) I kind of wanted to bring them back with me. They would come in very handy for the Cusco rain. When we got to Monkey Island, it seemed to take a while for the monkeys to come out, but come out they did. The guide lured them out with bananas, and when he asked if anyone wanted to feed them, I jumped at the opportunity. I held out the banana, and a monkey snatched it right out of my hand. They got so close to us! We even saw a mother carrying her baby on her back. Unfortunately, it's rather dark under the trees, so my pictures didn't really come out. If you want to see the monkeys, you'll just have to go yourself instead of living vicariously through my blog and photos. (You know who you are...)
After dinner, we went for a nighttime boat ride, searching for caimans, which are like small alligators. We did see a few, but I was more concerned about the bats I was hearing coming from the jungle. On Saturday morning, we got a 5am wake-up call for our 7 hour jungle trek. The hike wasn't all that far in distance, but it took awhile to the mud. (Thank goodness for those cute rubber boots!) On several occasions the mud went up over my ankles and I got stuck. Somehow, I managed to stay upright the whole time, although I did have a few close calls. After a kilometer of mud hiking, we came to a swamp that we needed to row across. It was a 45 minute boat ride in the hot, tropical sun, (kind of like the jungle cruise at Disney World, only so much better) but on the way we saw a sloth, among other creatures, making it's way VERY SLOWLY down a tree. According to Elmer, our guide, sloths only come out of their tree once every 8 days "to make a poop." (His words, not mine.) After rowing, it was more mud hiking until we reached the observation tower, a rickety staircase that went 40 m up in the air to the top of the tree. The jungle engineering made a few people nervous, and a few even chickened out before they got to the top. I am afraid of many things, but heights isn't one of them, so I climbed up like a champ. From the top, you could see out over the Amazon, which was just awesome. Going down was a bit more treacherous than going up, but I made it.
The next leg was a very, very long bridge over a swamp. I use the term "bridge" very loosely. It consisted of two planks of wood somehow suspended over the swamp. We took the bridge to the Lost Lagoon, got into another canoe, and paddled around looking for more jungle creatures. We saw more caimans and a baby anaconda, but the thing that freaked me out the most was when our guide stirred up a bunch of bats. I didn't appreciate that. Back over the bridge, back through the mud, and back to the main swamp, where we had to paddle, but it was much harder this time around. While in the jungle, we were protected from the sun by the trees, on the swamp, there was no such protection. And the jungle is hot. Very hot. I'm pretty sure Dante mentioned it as one of the levels of his Inferno. After it was all over I was muddier and sweatier than I've ever been, but it was so worth it. I returned to my bungalow to shower. It was one time I didn't care that there was no hot water available.

Ready for a weekend in the Amazon

It's Semana Santa (Holy Week), so I have a mini-break from teaching. School is closed today and tomorrow. I'm taking it easy today by trying out the high altitude brownie recipe Tonya sent me (muchas gracias!) and preparing for my weekend trip to the AMAZON. I'm seriously excited. I'm flying Friday morning, out of the cool mountain air and into the hot, steamy jungle. I've been promised lots of monkeys (I would hope so, since I'll be hiking Monkey Island. I can't wait to feed one a banana) and possibly an anaconda (which I'll admire from a safe distance), among lots of other creatures. I'll be back on Sunday to tell you all about it. Happy Easter!

That whole kissing thing

North Americans shake hands when they meet someone new or maybe hug a friend in greeting. South Americans kiss (on the cheek). I had, of course, read about this custom in all my research leading up to my departure, but I guess I thought it was just saved for close friends and family. It's not. They kiss hello, they kiss goodbye, they kiss perfect strangers (like me). The only exception is men greeting men. I've been kissed (on the cheek) by more people since I've been here than I have in my entire life. Actually, it really only took a few weeks to get to that point, I'm just getting around to writing about it now. My right cheek is probably a petri dish of germs. Of course, if you're not used to this custom, it can produce quite a few awkward moments. If you stick your hand out for a shake and the other person moves in for the kiss, what do you do with your hand? The worst, of course, is if both parties go for the same cheek, which creates a very awkward close call. I've gotten the system down now, though. Always offer and kiss the right cheek.

When I worked at the library I used to watch all the teens hug each other constantly. It seemed as if they had to hug each other even after one returned from the bathroom as if they hadn't seen each other in ages. I can't imagine what would happen if one of them studied abroad and brought back this custom. It would be a nightmare for my former co-workers. My fellow gringos and I have picked up on the greeting kiss. (Although we're not as bad as the library teens. We save it for absences longer than a few hours.) It just seems like the thing to do. So don't be surprised if I lay a wet one on you the next time I see you. I'm just being polite.

Funny things happen while teaching a second language

I've done my fair share of complaining about classes I don't like (well, one in particular, and they've rather grown on me), but I don´t think I´ve mentioned how much I love my 5:00 intermediate class. They've been my favorite since day one, and even though new additions have been added, they've only been good ones. Almost all the students are my age or younger, and we really just have a good time. (Even though they seemed a bit bored with my lesson on the Future Perfect tense the other day, they perked right up once it turned into a competition.) One of them even suggested we go out for pizza as a class every week.

The other day we were doing a speaking activity which involved the class creating their own civilizations. (We had just done a reading about lost civilizations in history. Not as interesting as you might think.) Group number 1 created a civilization of nudists on an uncharted communist island. They believed in the spirit of the animal, and there was a shortage of men due to a tradition where the men had to go out and kill a shark or some similar scary creature on a landmark birthday, and many didn't survive. Because of this there were 5 women for every man. Group 2´s civilization was democratic and into clothing, as well as mermaids, but they were also cannibals. I've never heard of democratic cannibals, so I admired their creativity. And, since they were cannibals, the women were eaten when their first born turned 8 years old. The culture survived by kidnapping the excess women from the other island. When group 1 pointed out that their island was lost, group 2 immediately responded with "The mermaids know how to find it." (It sounds a bit misogynistic, I know, but it was still funny.)

Other hilariousness in teaching a second language (all in the same day, by the way):
-I had my basic students plan the perfect date for the weekend to practice future tense. The class consisted of 3 guys and 1 girl. We came up with a few examples of date activities, but when it came time to actually plan their date, the guys sat there and stared, while the one lady started writing immediately. I tried encouragement, but kept getting blank stares until one of the guys finally asked me, "Teacher, what girls like?" (Translation: I haven't the slightest idea how to sweep a lady off her feet. Help! *sigh* Must I teach them everything?)
-I taught another class how to gossip, and how to express surprise. Really? Seriously? You're kidding! I had them practice their new skills with one another and had a classroom chorus of "Seriously? Seriously.", like a Peruvian version of Grey's Anatomy.
-After one student nearly had a door slammed in her face while attempting to enter the classroom (not by me), we went over all the uses of the phrase "In your face!" I really feel like I'm making a difference here.

Where am I supposed to get my extra tall double mocha latte with extra foam????

One of my favorite things about Cusco is the complete and total absence of any Western food chains of any kind. That's right, in a medium-sized city crawling with tourists, there is nary a McDonalds, KFC, Starbucks, Papa John's, Pizza Hut, Dunkin' Donuts, or Burger King to be found. It's fantastic. The only other place on earth I've ever been that is this unconnected from the modern, western world is Manning, Iowa. And while Manning does have Cliff's and it's awesome all-you-can eat salad bar, it's not quite the tourist Mecca that is Cusco. (The Hausbarn is cool, but it's no Machu Picchu.) The last stop for these creature comforts of home is the Lima airport. (Although I haven't seen a single Starbucks since I've been in South America. Good thing I don't drink coffee.) I saw a woman walking down the street last week with a bag from Dunkin' Donuts and I knew she had just flown in from Lima. However, the Dunkin' Donuts at the airport does not have bagels. Believe me, I checked while I was stuck there for 8 hours. I have heard a rumor though, about a bagel place that just re-opened in Gringo's Alley. I'm going to have to verify this rumor within the next week.

Blame it on the Altitude

Cusco is two whole miles above sea level (think of Denver, then double it), and I've found that the altitude is the perfect excuse for all your problems. Hey, it worked for the Colorado Rockies for years. Tired? It must be the altitude. Hungry? Must be the altitude. No appetite? Altitude. Seriously, though, the altitude does affect everyday life. On Friday, I got sicker faster than I ever have before. I was feeling perfectly fine all day, by early afternoon, my throat was a little scratchy, by the time my three o'clock class rolled around, I didn't think I was going to make it. I figured at the rate I was getting worse, I would be dead by the weekend. (I was fine by the weekend, but I did take it easy.) Sore throats are a common symptom of the high altitude, as are nose bleeds, judging by the spots on my pillow.
You know those high altitude cooking instructions on the side of a box mix that you never pay attention to? Yeah, I wish I had those. Cooking is a pain. It takes forEVER for water to boil. I attempted to make brownies a few weeks ago, completely from scratch. (I even had to grate my own chocolate since cocoa powder and chocolate chips don't exist.) The batter was amazing, so I had high hopes for the finished product. I should have just served shots of batter. The brownies were not good. That's something I'm going to have to work on, because 6 months is far too long to go without brownies.

Have I mentioned that I LOVE mail?

We've lived in our little house for a little over a month now, and today I finally got around to making my room a bit cozier. My room is the largest of the three, but also the most institutional looking, with it's tile floors and white walls. It bears a strong resemblance to a hospital room. The tile is oh-so-cold on my toes when I have to wake up at the cold, crack of dawn. (Indoor heating does not exist in South America, unless it's of the solar type.) I bought a small throw rug, complete with llama motif for my floor, and a colorful blanket for my bed to add some color. I finally took down that creepy Jesus poster that was on my wall. In addition, I've been hanging up anything I've received in the mail onto my walls to help cover up all that whiteness. So thank you, Amy, for the pictures (and CDs!), and BethAnne for the note and postcard, and Sajan and Alison for the letters, and mom and dad for the card, and Holli for my second annual Single's Awareness Day card (Another fine job, you should pitch the idea to Hallmark.) They all help. However, there is still a lot of whiteness left, so if you get the urge to help bring back the lost art of letter writing (which is a very worthy cause), throw in a picture or two, or just sent a postcard. I ALWAYS write back. (My roommates are very impressed by my devotion to letter writing.)

For those of you who are wondering, Peru does not observe Daylight Savings Time, so I am now an hour behind you east coasters, and am on even ground with my midwest fans.

What a difference a month makes

Something truly amazing has happened this week: I've actually enjoyed teaching my once dreaded Basico class (Hitler's class). I don't know what's happened. The other day, I actually gave Hitler a high-5 (now there's a sentence I never thought I'd say) because he was doing so well. A month ago, I was banging my head off the wall in frustration. They didn't even understand the meaning of the word "quiet," and when I asked a question, I was met with 10 blank stares. The other day, when I asked "Who lives in a castle?" one of the students responded "Fiona." A month ago I couldn't have imagined laughing with them, but this week, I actually have. A month ago, they would only ask questions in Spanish, and they would get frustrated with me when I wouldn't speak Spanish to them. This past week, I've only had to insist on English a handful of times, and they seem to actually be getting it. Could it be that, in the last month, I've actually taught them something? Now there's a crazy thought...

It´s the most wonderful time of the year...

That´s right, it´s spring training time, and I´m missing it! We get several ESPN channels, but I have no idea if they´ll ever show baseball games. Yesterday, the thought that I might go an entire season without seeing even a single game hit me like an 18-wheeler. It would be the first time in a very, very long time that that happened. (By the way, an excellent care package addition would be Sports Illustrated´s baseball preview edition so I´m not completely out of the loop.) Of course I can keep up to date online, but it´s not quite the same as being there. I´m disappointed I won´t be there for Tom Glavine´s return to Atlanta (he never looked right in a Mets uniform) or Opening Day. I guess I´ll just have to settle for traveling to exotic South American locations. *sigh*

It very nearly was my Last Supper...

Yesterday I took a tour of the main Cathedral in the plaza. The Cathedral is known for a painting of The Last Supper, but with an Andean twist: On a platter in the middle of the table is a guinea pig, ready to be devoured by Jesus himself, along with all the other apostles. (Unfortunately, stupid "no photos" signs were everywhere, along with a few too many security people ready to pounce on offenders) Even if cuy is supposedly good enough for The Son of God and his almost loyal followers, I'm still not eating it again. (By the way, my whole "I may never eat meat again" mantra lasted all of 24 hours. I need my energy, you know.)

When in Rome...

One of the local specialties in Peru (as well as Ecuador, but I didn't get the chance while I was there) is guinea pig, known as cuy around here. They're not pets here, they're food. I'm not exactly the most adventurous eater, but I do like to do as the locals do, and I even enjoyed reindeer in Norway, so I gave it a shot. I went out for a cuy lunch with some girls I met while staying at The Family House my first week here. I was pretty much gung-ho to try it. I figured, it's just meat. I eat other animals. It probably tastes like chicken, right? Then they brought out our guinea pig, whole. When I saw it's little toes spread out, that's when I got freaked out. The whole guinea pig was only for presentation. After we saw and photographed the poor little guy, they carved him up for us. Basically, they just chopped off his head and cut the rest of him into four parts. The legs (and thus the claws) stayed in tact. I had to pick it up by the claw, which really grossed me out. Even though our waiter told us we were supposed to eat it with our fingers (like chicken wings, I suppose) I couldn't do it. I had to use a fork. I can't really say what it tasted like, but it certainly wasn't chicken, and it certainly wasn't good. There wasn't much meat on it, and the meat that was there was a bit greasy. There was something about it that just kind of grossed me out, (Maybe the fact that I was actually eating guinea pig.) but I think it had something to do with the leg. I did, however, eat three whole bites. I couldn't eat anymore after Katie announced that her piece had a sac attached to it's underbelly. Barf.
Afterwards, I knew I was still hungry, but I had zero appetite. I certainly wasn't hungry for meat. It was my first and last time eating cuy, but hey, at least I tried it, right?