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:

"Doing" Cultural Anthropology

Here I sit, "doing" anthropology in my plush-ish Lima living room. My roommate is watching blaringly loud cable television.

So Margaret Mead would have a cow if she knew the methodological fates of her beloved research. Now, we email contacts to make new contacts, and to check back with previous interviewees. Even the "lower middle-class" families I've interviewed have, and check, email. Participant observation with middle-class folks involves "hanging out" at grocery stores, churches, and riding in taxis.

This is obviously not to say that traditional cultural anthropology has died out. My peers still conduct research and glean comparable ethnographic perspectives by spending time in hard-to-get-to villages, all around the world. They speak languages we didn't know existed. They eat foreign foods and nod their heads and write stuff down and try not to offend. They do this in the name of broadening human perspectives, documenting diverse lifeways, and creating new paths toward communicating and respecting the seemingly infinite ways of being human.

But urban anthropology is gaining ground as a valid field of inquiry. As increasing numbers of people move from rural areas to urban areas in order to find jobs, anthropologists and other types of social researchers find themselves intrigued by the varied ways in which people adapt to and perceive new stimuli, new rules, forging or forsaking connections with old ways, in their new city homes.

Did I mention that Lima is loud? Disconcerting? Hellish? Heavenly, too? It's a veritable cacophony, not just of sights, but of smells and SOUNDS, stimulation. Will you EVER SHUT UP, Lima? Please? Five in the morning is a damned sacred time. It's quieter then. I'm not agoraphobic, but I'm assuredly not in a position to oversimplify Limeños' lived experiences. I cannot PROCESS these sounds yet.

The last time I lived in Lima, my apartment was situated on a quieter street.

Again my question here is a methodological one. Am I still "doing anthropology" from this chair? How about from this blog? With my bottled water, my land line, my shitty shitty cellphone? With this technology, I could mathematically quantify networks; I could (and do) observe and document gestures and gendered communication (I don't); I could Skype with highland medicinemen about the fate of Lima (hmm. Not for me). I could be harsh toward myself for the piecemeal nature of my work: three months here, three months there, when I can afford it, rather than leaving L.A. altogether for a year like "real" anthropologists do. The problem with coming and going is the delay in readjusting. Auditory culture shock, man. I tell you what.

As it stands, I'm making appointments with people who work in high-rise buildings, who work nine- to ten-hour days (without being paid for overtime, they frequently note), and who have kids to raise. They're busy, so sometimes I meet them for lunch so we can knock out the demographic survey aspect of my study so that when we actually meet in their homes, we can reduce the amount of time they need to take to do the filming and the open-ended interviews.

I wanted to conclude this entry with something powerfully cohesive. As of now, it's a rambling self-attempt to render my doctoral stab at research valid ... gulp.

Anthropologists are an insecure bunch. It's not that we're insecure in ourselves, per se, but that we're insecure in our discipline. It's hard to pronounce, it's hard to define, it's hard to DO. We're awesome at winging stuff. We're people people, yo.