Elmo's Diner Memories

Any given Friday night in Durham you’ll find my family sitting in a booth at Elmo’s Diner. It’s been our most frequented eatery since high school. The manager and the better half of the staff know us by faces and order: Dad gets his Mexican omelet, grits and biscuit without butter or a cheeseburger without mayo, Mom gets her blueberry pancakes or an omelet with sausage and cheese, grits, and a biscuit (this time with butter), Mike gets his cheeseburger and fries, and me, well I get chicken and dumplings with skin-on mashed potatoes, a fruit cup, and a biscuit. I’ll admit, occasionally I’ll go for the cheeseburger or the blueberry pancakes, but nine times out of ten, it’s the chicken and dumplings.

Today my host mom went to Chiclayo with my host brother and left me in charge of cooking breakfast and lunch for my host dad, my other host brother, the teacher, the guy who helps around the house, and the guy who helps my host dad with the farm. I woke up at 6 and started peeling potatoes, a skill that I’ve got down pat after 2 years spent in the potato capital of the world; so much so that I can probably peel a potato blindfolded. It’s the darn yucca that I have problems with. It has this papery skin that you have to cut/lift off the tuber and then once free of paper you have to slice this hard as a rock thing in half. Well seeing as I was still half asleep, today I nearly sliced my finger in half. After a faint-y feeling (I saw a lot of blood) I decided to yell up the road to the host family that breakfast would be late…I needed to go to the health post and possibly get some stitches.

Of course, the doctor was not there, nor was my socio, the nurse, and the only person who was working had no clue how deep was too deep of a cut and needed stitches. So we cleaned it up, put gauze on it with some tape and I went back to the house to peel more yucca, this time I managed not to add any blood to the breakfast.

So after an interesting breakfast, and with a throbbing finger, I decided to take a break and clean my room. While folding my clothes I noticed that there was blood on my shirt from the finger-slicing incident and decided to change into my Elmo’s Diner shirt. It got me thinking about chicken and dumplings so I decided to take a look in the fridge to figure out my game plan for lunch. There was some celery, carrots, tomatoes, milk, half a cantaloupe, and spicy peppers. Celery, carrots, and milk! I was half way to chicken and dumplings. I went to the store and bought a kilo of chicken, a quarter kilo of flour and some baking powder and got to work.

I had everything for the chicken and dumplings but now I needed the skin-on mashed potatoes. Skin-on, now that would never fly in a Peruvian house—the skin, after all, would stick to the side of your intestine and KILL you of course! So I peel some more potatoes (yeah I eat a lot of potatoes) and got to making milk-less mashed potatoes (my host dad doesn’t like milk).

Chicken and Dumplings: Check

Skin-Off Mashed Potatoes: Check

I was missing the fruit cup and a biscuit. The biscuit was just not going to happen; I only make break with my neighbors in the night, but a fruit cup, that I could pull together. I sliced up the cantaloupe and threw in some apple. So my Elmo’s Diner lunch was almost complete. Well for me it was complete, but I had to bring it up to Peruvian standards: lunch isn’t a lunch if there isn’t rice. So I made Peruvian rice (aka with oil and garlic mixed in…eww) and waited on everyone to get back from the farm so we could eat.

My host dad walked in the door, washed his hands and face and did his usual inspection of the pots to see what is for lunch. This is a daily occurrence, not just when I cook. He lifted the lid on the soup and said “Jenny, you forgot to mix the semola with cold water before you added it to the soup, that’s why it’s all clumpy.” I then remembered that a dumpling is something that most Peruvians had probably never seen or heard of. I explained that it was a gringa soup and that it’s like a boiled bread in chicken soup. Don Jose stared at me for a good 30 seconds and repeated what I had said, but in the form of a question (“¿sopa gringita con panes?”). I nodded and told him he’d like it if he’d try it. He then proceeded to move on to the pot of mashed potatoes, me gave me a grave look and asked if there was milk in them. I assured him there was not, that I used chicken broth to make it thinner, I was given the “okay if you say so” nod as he looked in the rice. He grabbed a pinch and tasted it, and was pleased to find that I made it with oil and garlic, he’d have at least one thing that he was used too to eat today.

I served the plates and watched as the whole gang inspected their plates, pushing the dumplings around in their bowls of soup, starring up at the others to see who is going to be the brave one and try it first. My host brother mustered up the courage to take the first bite, paused to think a second, then said “hey, this is good,” and the rest of the table began to eat.

It may have been a Thursday afternoon, but that’s close enough to a Friday evening for Chicken and Dumplings, Skin-off mashed potatoes, and a fruit cup for me. 

Really. You’re Going to Steal Compost???

It was just like any other day after a trip to Chiclayo. I get back to site and my brain is still in a swirl of e-mails I need to answer for my next trip to civilization, paperwork to be done, project work to be started, and all around lack of ability to effectively communicate in Spanish because the past day and a half was spent thinking and talking in English. I was tired but I knew that my garden had been a whole 2 days without water and was probably very thirsty so I worked up the energy to go and water my plants.

It was just like any other day. I drug the hose from the health post to the back lot, and then I went to my secret hiding spot for the extra 10 yards of hose I bought and grabbed it; then connected it to the other hose. I set it down in the plot in the back right corner of my garden, its where I always start—what can I say, I fall into habits easily, and then walked back to the front of the health post to turn the water on. In my walk back towards the garden the health post owl family did their usual low sweep to scare the begeezes out of me and I walked back to the back right corner. I put water in the 4 rows of broccoli and then turned to water my compost….and… and it was GONE!

I stood there for a good minute processing what I saw while water was pouring onto the ground and splashing mud up all over my jeans. Where my 3 by 3 by 2 foot pile of decomposed weeds, fruit peels, dead plants, dry foliage, egg shells, and guinea pig crap was gone…gone, as in nowhere to be found. The ground had been recently shoveled; I could see where the edge of the blade had run into a rock I had put to support the stick in the middle of my compost. It was also completely dry, so the compost had been gone for at least a whole day. The dried grass clump that had been covering my compost had been moved to the side. My stick was placed a few feet to the right of where it should have been…it should have been in the middle of 25 kilograms of almost ready to use compost. But it was just leaning up beside my fence staring at me just as confused as I was. I’m about 95% sure I let out a whimper as I stared into the empty plot that used to have my compost in it.

The water was still pouring out of the hose and my pants were now completely covered in mud and water spray. I managed to compose myself enough to turn around and to place the hose in the next plot with the black eyed peas…then I let out a few curse words in English and kicked the stick. I stood there just staring for another few minutes trying to think of a plausible explanation of where it had gone. Surely someone at the health post had thought it was just trash (we burn piles of waste organic material here, and I had a huge pile of it in the back. I can see how it would easily confuse someone). No, no one from the health post even bothers to come into my garden, if they came inside they knew I’d make them help me.

 Maybe it was Beto, the guy who cleans the health post. I yelled over the back wall and asked him if he’d seen my compost, he replied “what is compost?” Guess not.

Okay, I needed another train of thought. Who knew about my compost? All the guys at ADRA (the farming NGO that works in my site) knew about it, but they have around 100, 50 kilogram bags full of worm poop which is about 100 times better than my compost. So they didn’t steal it right? I yelled over the fence to Don Alejo, the guy who works the tractor, to ask him. Nope, he said he hadn’t seen it.

Guessing that Beto, the nicest guy I know in town, and Don Alejo the most honest guy I know in town (he once admitted to having pooped in my garden when he was drunk…so he wouldn’t lie about compost) weren’t lying to me I was back at square one.

 I went to turn off the water and then walked into the health post. I asked the new doctor (she had only been there 2 days) if she knew anything. She didn’t even know I had a garden…how you miss a huge wall of white plastic bags in the back of the health post I’m not sure, but I hope she pays more attention when giving medical exams. Carlos said he knew nothing, but was talking to me in his “I know more than I want you to know” voice that I hate and have come to not trust. I asked his BFF Walter if he knew anything and he gave me his “what the heck do I know” face. So I had a hunch, but with no real supporting evidence I was still left with no leads in my case of missing compost.

I then proceeded to forget about putting water on the rest of my garden and resorted in to all around pouty face mode. I know that sounds childish, but we shall call it the straw that broke the camel’s back. The past few months the 40 mothers who had been helping me garden began dropping like flies. At this point I was lucky if 2 mothers showed up a month to help me. Waking up at 5:30am every day to water and de-weed before the sun gets up and has the chance to burn me had gotten very old. Not to mention there is a stupid white spider that apparently likes making its nests inside my green tomatoes, killing them of course, that CANNOT be killed! So I was already in a bad mood. THEN I find my compost missing. The compost that was supposed to give me some HUGE basil plants to make some killer pizza sauce to make the amazing pizzas I make with don Elmer, and that was supposed to go towards planting Talla trees at the high school with the boys I took to Camp VALOR.  This camel was pissed and needed chocolate to make all her worries go away.

So after channeling my inner 8 year old and telling my hose mom in a “oh my God the world is out to get me” tone of voice the case of the missing compost she was of no help making me feel better, replying that the mayor probably had something to do with it. Yes the man is out to get me, but does he even know what compost is?

Fully frustrated and completely pissed off I retreated to my room and ate a whole (huge) bar of Hersey’s chocolate that Casie had brought me when she visited. I even resorted to my EMERGENCY ONLY Mountain Dew can (yeah I found a can at Plaza Vea and brought it back to site for such emergencies) and then ate some vanilla cookies with peanut butter. It was an all out pig-out on comfort food situation. I then went to bed (it was 9pm by the time I made it back to my house) and hoped it was all a dream.

At 5:30am my alarm went off. I put on my green Carhartt pants and my working shirt then headed back to my garden. Pulled the hose from the health post to the garden then went to my secret spot to find my extra hose and connected it to the other hose. I placed it in the broccoli plot in the back right corner and went to turn on the water. I watered everything, except for the compost…that wasn’t there…and then started pulling up weeds and piling them where the compost used to be.

You can steal my compost--whoever you are. You can pull up my carrots and break my squash (which someone had done before…probably the same person). You can do whatever you must to piss me off but I will start over again. You can’t keep me from working. So bring it. One day I’ll catch you red handed and then you’re in trouble.

Vacations Keep us Sane

I don’t know what any Peace Corps volunteer would do without the occasional visit from home. We need the much needed payload of good chocolate, spices, hair ties, and other amazing things from home just to keep our mental health in stable condition. Not to mention the much needed reminder of all things American and a good dose of State side culture.

For instance, my college friend Casie came to spread all good things American (chocolate and culture) for a weeklong trip to my site and then Chachapoyas. I found out a many good thing about life back home: the “that’s what she said” has been replaced with “that’s what he said,” the awkward turtle isn’t that funny, and that the world is still falling apart faster than it should be (thanks to reading a Time and Newsweek). I was also lucky enough to restock my chocolate supply and to get a few sawmill gravy sauce packets (yeah think what you might, but I’m going to have an awesome biscuit and gravy breakfast soon!). Now before you think I was only happy to see the food I must inform that I practically tackled Casie in the Lima airport while holding my homemade sign that read “MEXICAN.” That inside joke got me called a racist about 4 times and got a handful of dirty looks…come on people it’s a joke.

The vacation started off with a day in Lima, doing the only thing there really is to do in Lima during the day: go to the market and eat Peruvian food. We lucked out (in my opinion) and were able to watch a few of the world cup games while we ate (what the heck Brazil, really? You’re gonna throw punches in the Wolrd Cup?) at a menu. Then a most astonishing thing happened (well by Peace Corps standards) I got on an AIRPLANE to get back to Chiclayo. For those of you who know firsthand how much I hate flying you can imagine what Casie had to deal with. I used to be okay with flying, when I was a naive little girl who thought that planes should fly, I mean if Snoopy can do it, then anyone can, right? Now that I’ve had enough physics classes under my belt to know that a plane in the air is NOTHING natural and requires an unbelievable amount of power to stay in the air and to not send me plummeting to a fiery death that will probably end at the bottom of the sea, I’m not so okay with the idea.

After arriving firmly on the ground in Chiclayo with a few white knuckles (and having resisted the urge to kiss the ground) I gave Caise the grand tour of Chiclayo-which isn’t much more than Lima. We went to our favorite morning sandwich place and then to the market to try a few fruits that they don’t have State side. We then went around our arm to get to our elbow, aka through Oyotun to get to Nanchoc. This trip I usually avoid because it involves taking a cruddier (than my town’s) combi and then an hour long Mototaxi ride. I think the new gringa in town was happy enough to be seeing my site and having the new experience of riding in a Mototaxi that she ignored how badly her butt hurt upon arrival. We were only able to stay for the night to make our bus to Chachapoyas, but I had the chance to show her most of my projects, the library, the garden, and the family I bake with, we made a cake to celebrate my best friend in site’s birthday and Casie’s arrival.

The next day Casie got to experience the bright and early (well before bright and early) wake up time of 3:30am to make the 4:00am bus to Chiclayo. She got the full (quite literally) experience of the ride—we filled every seat plus all the aisle room in the bus and gave Casie an eyelevel view of a drunk guy from my site’s zipper…so lucky! Once safely in Chiclayo we met up with my Peace Corps friend Ryan (who lives in Piura) and his 2 friends who were visiting from home, Scott and Stephan, to get on the bus to Chachapoyas.

How to describe Chachapoyas? It is one of my new favorite places in Peru. The air is so clean it is unbelievable, and the views literally take your breath away (although part of that may be partly due to the altitude). We signed up to do a 4 day trek through and around Chachapoyas. The first day took us to el Pueble de los Muertos, the town of the dead, where there are mountain side (like in the mountain) grave sites built into the cliffs. It was very impressive that the people of the time were able to carry such heavy material up half a mountain and build these circle gravesites. WE also got to see a few “tiki men” that were places in front of a burial site of a…I think the guide said it was a king. Okay, so they weren’t real tiki men, but you take a look at them and give me a better word to describe them.

After having spent most of the better half of the day walking down the mountain to the pueblo de los muertos and then back up it again we traveled in a car to the Valle of Belen.  The Valley is now my favorite place in all of Peru. It is a wide green valley with one of calmest winding rivers I’ve ever seen. It’s not home to much, we only counted 5 houses and we lost count of how many horses and cows, but when you wake up in the morning you are submersed in a cloud until about 7am, then the sun peaks over one of the ridges and gives a spectacular show. Of course Ryan and I were the only ones who were up to see the sunrise (we’re used to waking up at 5 due to crowing roosters) so we killed time building card houses (mine was way better) and playing UNO. After breakfast we started our walk to the next stop, a house where we would stay the night before the horseback riding day.

Oh the horse riding day. The worst day of the trip for my poor butt’s sake. I am by no means the type of person who is meant to be on a horse for a long period of time. But I’m just going to fast forward through the stories of all the times I almost died and get to the “YAY WE MADE IT TO THE TOP” celebration scene. A good…oh 8 hours after starting the day out on a horse, and a good few near death experiences to be had by all, we made it to the top of the mountains. We had a great view of the valley on the other side and could even see Kuelap from the top. We then rallied and headed down the mountain. Which I can personally say KILLED my knee, but it was a good walk down. Casie and I found along the way some blackberry bushes and a Sauco bush (a Peruvian blueberry like fruit) that provided some snack food for the journey down hill.

Once we arrived in the town at the bottom of the hill we all fought to get in line for our much needed cold shower before dinner. While the others showered Ryan and I took off in search of a phone so we could reserve seats on a bus back to Chiclayo for the following day. We were successful; we only had to wait for about an hour in line for the only telephone of the village!

The next day we started early. WE had to get two big sites in in one day so that we could all make it back to Chiclayo in time to get Casie back to the United States and Ryan and his friends in a plane to Cusco…the pressure was on. We arrived in Kuelap Fortress and were pleasantly surprised when we realized we were the only ones there! I have never been ANYWHERE in this country that’s even remotely touristy without encountering 100 other gringos with cameras destroying my pictures. Lucky us! The fortress is huge and divided into 3 levels; where the general Joe-Shmo lives, the religious sector, and the military barracks. All the houses are built as cylinders to hold up during the occasional earthquake and have a cone shaped roof with a built in water filter. The view from the watch tower on the third (military) level was unbelievable. And what my mother would have found even more unbelievable was the booby trap that had been set up to keep out intruders: A narrow walkway on the side of the cliff (where if one were to fall it would be a good 100 yards before you hit the next rock and another 500 yards before you found the next one, and so on down a mile high mountain) had been artificially constructed wider. Not bad your thinking? Well this walkway had been constructed with the sole purpose of getting people to walk on it then fall to their deaths…AND all this without a barrier to keep the stupid gringo tourist from falling off the mountain. The only warning was a piece of yellow caution tape that had been tied between 2 sticks….yes mom, its true.

We stayed at Kuelap until around 10 and then got back in the car to head to the Gotca Waterfall, the third highest waterfall in the world. We ate lunch then started walking all the way down a mountain…which to me seemed rather counterintuitive to be walking DOWNHILL to the worlds third HIGEST waterfall…but that just tells you how high up we were to start with! The majority of the group (that would be everyone but Jeff and Ryan) didn’t make it to the actual waterfall due to our legs killing us and the time crunch we were on to make it back to Chachapoyas for the 7:30 bus to Chiclayo. Needless to say Ryan and Jeff pulled out a Superman like endurance and made it to the base of the waterfall and back in roughly the same amount of time the rest of us just made it back…go figure.

We celebrated with trembling knees that we had survived a boot camp’s worth of mountain climbing on our vacation and made it back to Chachapoyas to put on clean clothes and get on the bus. Other than a snoring passage that we all wished to kill, we made it back unscathed. Once in Chiclayo Casie and I got back on a plane to get her to Lima and Ryan and the boys stayed in Chiclayo to make up the sleep they missed on the bus due to said snoring guy. It was a sad departure with Casie at the airport, but then again, I will see her in 3 more months! And in comparison with the 2 years that had gone by, that’s nothing.

Side Note: The internet stopped letting me post photos, sorry people, I'll try again later