Peru is a country of extremes. A region that can’t seem to make up its mind, it is marked by a stark diversity that is both geographical and societal.
Thirteen high-school students including junior Kylie Wood-Soll and myself were lucky enough to go to Peru with Walking Tree Travel for two weeks this past summer.
We spent much of our trip in transition; we were always packing up, constantly driving to the next startling city or breathtaking ruin. The main highways in Peru are surrounded by fields and villages, yet massive, glacial mountains loom just past the familiar farming scenes.
The land is temperamental. A mountain gives way to a gully that yields to a crashing river in which sturdy-looking women wash tiny socks and leggings.
Peru’s shining star, and one of the seven natural wonders of the world, is the famous Machu Picchu. The Incans found it a holy site, the perfect location in which to place their temple and experience holy rest. What they saw in the mountain was its extremes.
Standing on the highest tier of the ruins of their Mecca, I felt as if I was on an island overlooking a vast ocean. The mountain drops directly down while higher peaks loom visible miles away. The Incans found the geographical extremes holy, a concept that is prominent throughout Peruvian society today.
These extremes are also seen socioeconomically. By far the most memorable and life-changing part of my journey was the home-stay in Ollantaytambo. For five nights, my friend Michelle and I ate, talked and slept with a Peruvian working-class family. Our family was relatively young and wealthy by Ollantaytamban standards. We even got the luxury of doorknobs.
My host-mom, Natalia, went to work every day as a receptionist at a fancy hotel for Westerners. My host-dad was in the government, but we could never quite understand what exactly he did.
As anyone is the Albany language department can attest, Spanish 3 gives you plenty of vocabulary for camping and very little for intra-governmental politics.
In any case, my parents were both gone from the house most of the day, leaving my little host-brother Ernesto in the care of Natalia’s teenage goddaughter, Flor. Flor and I shared a quiet friendship; she didn’t speak a word of English and there was too much nuance and slang in her diction for my textbook vocabulary to be of any use. We mostly watched telenovelas together and just about died laughing and mimicking the characters’ dramatic encounters. Some things are funny in any language.
Flor’s world is much more limited than my own, or even than those with whom she shares a house. She no longer goes to school, instead caring for Ernesto almost full time. When I asked about her amigos, she stared at me. Unless something significant changes in Flor’s life, she could easily never leave Ollantaytambo. Her work life will not be glamorous like Natalia’s in the hotel.
It’s not difficult to imagine Flor bearing the difficulties of a lifetime spent working and working hard just to get by. Even within their own household, the accepted extremes of the poor girl working for her wealthy relations are a shock to outside eyes.
Another extreme is in people’s views of Westerners. As our service project, my group built a garden for the local elementary school. We spent hours and hours every day chopping grass, painting walls, and mostly just moving dirt from place to place. The teachers were very gracious, thanking us multiple times for our labor. Any villagers we told about our project had a similar idea once they knew we were voluntarios.
On the flip side, there is the more stereotypical view of Americans as the stupid gringos. This stereotype is not without reason. One time, a friend and I were sitting in the main square of Ollantaytambo eating Kinder, which is actually just the best form of chocolate in Latin America. We heard a commotion, and looked over to see an American tourist climbing onto the roof of a traditional bike-taxi for a picture, while the taxi’s owner and a small gathering of locals looked on aghast.
Americans seem to have a sense of entitlement. However, global citizenship is a privilege that must be earned through hard work and respect to local customs. It is no wonder that Peruvians can’t make up their mind about us, when we can’t seem to get our act together ourselves. The best I could do was to look away, smile, and hope that this poor example of my country would not be the single American story of some Peruvian child.
In truth, the effects of Westerners abroad are as varied as the Peruvian landscape. While there were people like my group honestly attempting to improve the lives of locals, there were also those who hindered their daily lives with their trivial vacations. Going to Peru was by far the best choice I’ve made, and the land of extremes has made a permanent mark on the landscape of my own life. Any student with an opportunity to take such a trip should absolutely do so.
