This isn’t going to be a long blog, nor a particularly funny one (I mean I know none of them are funny, but this time I’m not trying to be). When I started it I was on a plane, on the fourth and final leg of my voyage back to Europe and to Italy, where I’ve now started meeting different people, using a different language, and having different experiences. And honestly if this semester goes even half as well as the last one did, I can only consider it a success.
Because frankly, last semester could’ve been terrible. It’s like what I’m doing now but a thousand times more intense. This sojourn to Italy – practically our neighbours – seems nothing compared to the days I spent back in August travelling 10,000 kilometres to a country where I knew nobody, to study subjects I’ve never studied before, in a language which when I tried to speak it could only at best be called español, and at worst espantoso. It was a recipe for disaster. There were endless ways if could have gone wrong.
And it didn’t.
And I have a lot of people to thank for that.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of things I’m going to miss about Peru. The obvious things. The warmth, for one. The beautifully dressed ladies with their llamas and alpacas on the streets of Cuzco and Arequipa. Standing on the path to the Sun Gate at Machu Picchu, having been there for five hours already, watching as the sunlight finally burned off the shroud of mist and transformed the ancient city from mysterious to downright stunning – that really stuck.
And other things, too, that are less obvious. The public transport, for example (what can I say, there’s just something about having your scapulae pressed up against the ceiling of a minibus). The university, which as well as being the source of most of my stress for the past six months was admittedly pretty great. Altitude sickness (ok that one’s a joke. Altitude sickness can jump off a cliff.) Lomo saltado, sopaseca, causa – and also Starbucks, Pizza Raul, Bembos, and KFC. Long-distance bus journeys. The word “chevere”.
But mostly the people.
People whom I would meet for lunch every Tuesday to discuss Joey Barton’s latest misdemeanours. People with whom I would dress up as Disney characters and sing Natasha Bedingfield, Natalie Imbruglia and Five Seconds of Summer on the streets, to the annoyance of most of Barranco. People with whom I would eat specifically helado (and who had never seen a snail before) and people with whom I would eat pretty much anything (but who can only eat so much turkey).
People to debate with about cheese, bananas, popcorn and the important things in life. People to debate with about what positions our sons will play for Arsenal. People to debate with about the finer points of Harry Potter, and people to debate with over whether it’s more important to go and get lunch, or to matriculate.
People who don their white (or black) knock-off Real Madrid kits (35 sol), yell “FA-VE-LA!” and go chase a football around for an hour. People who don their Peru shirts (be they Cueva, Guerrero, or just 18), tie “Si se puede!” bandanas to their heads, and yell “VAAAMOS PERUAAANOS!” all night, regardless of the score. People who don whatever clothes they fancy, head to the nearest pub, and yell… I dunno, they were mostly just incomprehensible exclamations of joy, with every Peru goal.
People who tell me I speak German like a robot as we trek to lost cities. People who hold rooftop parties in Miraflores. People who take dramatically-posed sandboarding photos. People who organise brilliant picnics, and don’t mind that I always bring tuna pasta. People who I’d always bump into in the most unexpected places. People who are worse at being Australian than I am, but a lot better at being French. People with whom to sit in a classroom and be bad at Spanish, and (a big shout out to the) people who helped us get better at it. All those people who gave me succour/victuals at 4,000 metres at Marcahuasi (you could have just left me to die, I would have understood). People with whom to climb to 4,600 metres on the way to Machu Picchu. A whole load of other people besides.
And, of course, people who keep eight dogs, two cats and two foreigners in their house.
(And their dogs.)
(And their cats.)
Alex's Inappropriate Adventures 