Out of the Woods

I left Lima Sunday (it's Saturday). I'm feeling raw and a bit sad, confused when I wake up as to where I am and who I'm with. I miss certain people pretty badly right now.

I'm in Mexico now for a conference. I had an 18-hour layover in El Lay, after a 7-hour one in El Salv. After this, I'll fly to Arizona to get my car, then drive home to L.A. sometime in the first week of April.

Sometime in early April, I'll start the LaLaLand part of the blog. You know the title is "LaLaLima LaLaLand" because it sounds cool, but LaLaLand is one of Los Angeles' many nicknames. I want to keep the blog thematic, but I'm not sure yet how I'll narrow the content. I don't want to publish a journal, so I need a topic.

There are 900 gazillion L.A.-related blogs, so I'm not sure where to go ... but I will go. I can't shut up :)

Of Two Hearts

This city is so confusing. I am so confused. There is a thin line between love and hate. That is a cliché, but it isn't and you know it. The ideas you hate most, you sometimes begin to love, if you let them in. I used to hate certain foods, and when I let them into my life, I began to love them. The same is true with music sometimes (I once detested all Country music, out of pride or something, and now I love some representations of the genre).

I can attest that the opposite is true. The people you love the most, you can too easily hate ... but that's not the point of this post.

The truth is, I used to hate Lima. I used to hate L.A. I used to be naive. But I let them both in. And now I have two hearts.

Everyone in L.A. and Arizona keeps saying, "I miss you." I can't say the same, and I'm sorry. THE REASON IS THE INTERNET. My friends Stateside are online all the time, like me, and I'm not ashamed of the fact. I get to see them virtually all the time, in real time. And that is COOL. Networking is part of my job (corresponding with students and professors) and, believe it or not, I am constantly working (actually reading and writing anthropological theory and method and grants and announcements and syllabi) in another window. As such, when I need a break, I click open another window and say "hi."

But here in Peru, people aren't online so much. I know, because I ask them. It's one of the questions I ask my friends and the people who participate in my study (who graciously estimate for me exactly how much time they spend online). We must MAKE TIME for one another, face time. Now granted, everyone has Facebook (though Hi5 is way more popular), but they're not on it, like anywhere near as much as we are. The teenagers are.

But I digress. The point is, I WILL miss my friends here, and I have a lot. That is my way: I am social, and I must be, for I need people (which, according to a rather famous song, makes me one of the luckiest people in the world), and I make deep friendships easily. They help me, and I help them a bit, I hope. I assume that if I am not helping them, they would leave.

I can't come back too soon. Maybe in August I can. Maybe I can bring a friend, because I won't be toooooooo busy. But it would be nice to have a vacation somewhere I haven't been, too. Or to see my friends on Hawaii.

Sometimes I think it seems like my work IS a vacation, but it isn't. It's more like I get settled here and then I have to leave again, and it sucks, because I DO get attached to people, and places have power, and buildings and plants and all. Then I get used to the water, and then I can start to eat lettuce (though strawberries are another story - ask my friend C!).

I leave Monday morning, really early, after a "despedida," which is a going-away party. I am sad to leave certain specific people, though one is visiting L.A. soon enough, and that will be FUN ... I can guarantee him ... we are free birds and we like to dance and eat and laugh together ... and no one is allowed to care (at least on my end).

Nonetheless, I miss my kitchen and my sewing machine and I'm thinking about moving and I want to sit in my office with the beautiful view at UCLA and all that. I just got new knives and a new magazine subscription and a new stock pot for soup and chili.

But I'm not homesick. That's because, I think, it's my first time living here without being married or in a relationship. It is AWESOME not to have ties when you're doing this. To have ties is too hard, too distracting, at least for me.

There was an article in the more liberal Limeño paper yesterday. It warned that in 5 WEALTHY districts there wouldn't be water for 13 hours today. I live in one of these districts.

http://www.larepublica.pe/sociedad/17/03/2010/atencion-este-jueves-habra-corte-de-agua-en-cinco-distritos-de-lima

I was stressed - I hadn't showered and these little sugar ants are really into my dirty dish (not dishes) lately. I needed water. And then I thought, "What the HELL? The city knows ahead of time that there won't be water for HOW LONG?"

And I mean no offense, but Lima is poor, ok? There are five classes here, A-E, and Class E is so poor it hurts even hearts of steel. So I can see half a day without water in the "cones;" I'm sure it's common.

But how can a modern city - the fastest growing city on this continent - possibly advertise such a warning?

I have three AWESOME assistants from the Catholic University here in town. They are bright as hell, and, more importantly, motivated. One said that this is normal, though not in this season (the rainy season in the highlands, where Lima's water derives), and that Classes A-B have cisterns for just such occasion. He rolled his eyes and said that if he turned on the shower and nothing came out, he'd just go turn on the alternate water source.

I don't think I have a cistern on my roof; I've never seen a way to turn it on. So I'm pissed. In I guess an arrogant way - god forbid I can't bathe for one day. People here can't freaking eat. But this city needs to get her shit together if she wants two hearts (modernity and history?).

Some photos of my recent trip to Ancash, out of context:

Homesick? Me? Nope.

I am in Home 7 tonight: Huaraz, Ancash, Peru. I type this from the hostel that belongs to two sisters ... friends of mine ... with whom I pass a lot of time in Lima. They are great girls. They are Huaracinas. Most Huaracinos are great people. They are soft-spoken, they have a great sense of humor (quick to laugh, witty), and they work hard. They speak Quechua and love animals.

I will post photos soon, but just know: I'm happy and healthy and safe, and I can see the stars of the Southern Hemisphere, which always makes me glow.

If I had one wish for you tonight, it would be that you could have a place like this in another country - a place that you knew pretty well, where you have friends, where you can see the tallest mountain in Peru, or another amazing natural feature ... where you can feel at home in another world.

Cross-cultural Constructs of Two Big Deals - and Writing them Down

When I assign critical thinking papers, or interpretive papers, my students tend to start with concepts that are too vast. They want to solve the mysteries of the universe in five to ten pages.

In my upcoming Intro to Cultural Anthropology class that I get to teach at UCLA this summer, I will hand out this fun, funny list of writing rules. Several authors each provide 10 rules that they have learned and earned from their own experiences and mentors. I don't think it applies to fiction only.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/feb/20/ten-rules-for-writing-fiction-part-one

The recently deceased William Saffire  provided rules too:

http://www.chem.gla.ac.uk/research/groups/protein/pert/safire.rules.html

and my masters degree mentor Christine Eber has a penchant for Orwellian writing rules:

http://www.writingclasses.com/InformationPages/index.php/PageID/300

I admit that my writing has many flaws. Maybe in this post I will attack too much at once. But then again, a primary suggestion is to write, and I can't stop, especially after my morning Peruvian coffee, which is currently making me twitch, and this freaking car alarm next door won't shut off, and I realize I can't live here after all, or if I do, it must be on a quieter street, lest I lose what's left of my mind. Which leads me to segue into what the actual topic of the post IS ... cross-cultural constructs of the aesthetics of interior spaces (initial thoughts, for that is the topic of my current research) and cross-cultural constructs of etiquette.

Today I will go on an interview with a favorite family, one I already know. The dad is a relatively high-ranking government official in the tourism industry (as I recall); the mom is a wedding planner. When my Peruvian brother Lalo first introduced us, the mom middle-management at a credit card company, which I believe is Chilean. I have been to the family's house. It's cute but small, and it's in the neighborhood of Ate.

Ate, by the way, is on the far east side of Lima and features many archaeological sites within its municipality.

http://www.muniate.gob.pe/zonas.htm

Anyway, I doubt these people will cancel. I've been chasing them like a bloodhound for nearly two years, reminding them, complimenting them. I have help. My Peruvian brother is on my side, helping me out, reminding them. They're tired of me.

In their defense, they are busy. Everyone here is busy. I get it. I am busy. The people I want to know are busy. I don't like lazy people. I like go-getters, always have. This is one of the points of my research - busyness.

In my defense, they are interested in and informed about my study, especially the dad. I went to his father's funeral (at least the one-month anniversary of his dad's funeral). He likes me, and I him, and let's just get this DONE.

So again, I doubt they will cancel. Which is good, because my assistants have set aside time to help me, and I have a chocolate cake for them, and I can't deal with these damned cancellations anymore. Which segues into the other topic: cross-cultural constructs of etiquette.

Is it a Peruvian/ Limeño construct of etiquette, or is it a construct of time? If this family cancels, it will be the third cancellation (one social, two professional) that I experience this week. I find this implicit policy to be quite disrespectful of my time. I have only 18 days left in this country and I need to interview a lot more families.

At least with the interviews, I know that I am asking a big favor - 2 hours of their precious time. But don't cancel. Don't make the appointment if you don't want to do it.

Then again, this is a cultural thing. They don't trust that I won't use their information (the interiors of their living space, their names, their data about income, their kids' names) for bad purposes. I get it! It's an occupational hazard that no one teaches fledgling anthropologists how to do. You learn, or you don't. Sink or swim, baby. But in Lima, I'm barely afloat. I maintain my dignity and I might have to come back.

I'm not trying to bitch. The goal here is to try to understand the origins of these ways of treating people who want something from you (?), foreigners (?), time in general (?). Some don't even call to cancel.

What is this about? I'm not even going to get into the social cancellations - they have an origin of their own - but the professionalism. We don't do that in L.A. We don't do that in the U.S. and I'm not saying we're "better" - I'm too much of a cultural relativist to go there. I'd be a huge hypocrite. I'm too much of a martyr to be a hypocrite. But maybe I'm naive. My friends who are, say, salespeople or who've been called upon for their services (especially my gringo friends, come to think of it) are equally disrespected - their clients are late or don't show up at all. It's not a city thing. It's a Peruvian thing. Is it a Latin thing?

Ideas? Feedback?

So I kept it small. I don't want to go into interiors now. My coffee is preventing my yoga and I have to get ready for my lunch so I can be on time. I'll just hold plank and breathe first.