Sidewalk Culture Shock: an eclectic compilation of quotidian observations

Peruvians don't have much regard for breakfast. My host parents buy fresh rolls from the bakery every morning and we have them cold with butter and jam. This isn't quite substantial enough for me so lately I have been cooking myself some hard boiled eggs and having one or two cold with a little bit of salt to gain a little protein boost until lunch. The first time my host mom saw me do this she was horrified and absolutely disgusted--cold, slimy eggs for breakfast?! To this day whenever she sees me eating one she just shakes her head. For breakfast, however, my host mother pours herself a cup of coffee or tea, adds copious amounts of milk and sugar, and tops it all off with a generous portion of cornflakes which she proceeds to eat with a spoon.

Oftentimes Peruvians will illustrate an idea or concept they are trying to explain with various objects in the immediate area--a pen, a coffee cup, a napkin. I realize people do this in the States too but it is noticeably commonplace here.

You can't flush the paper; there are trash cans instead.

It never ever rains in Lima. This translates into a steady, quotidian accumulation of fine dust over every conceivable surface. As a result, Limeñans take meticulous care of their cars: my host dad wipes down every inch of the car first thing in the morning. Additionally at night there are droves of workers all over the city who haul truckloads of ocean water in at night to care for the parks all over the city, and thus occasionally the morning air is laden with a salty maritime odor.

We boil all of the water we drink.

The Spanish equivalent to the expression "sleep on it" (with regards to a situation or problem that you should think over before any concrete decisions or actions) is "let me consult my pillow."

The corn here is different; it tastes more starchy and the kernels are the size of your thumbnail. It is also sold fried as a prepackaged snack called Inka Corn which is pretty much the best nosh ever invented.

Each grocery chain has its own nylon uniform, sporting its own particular color scheme of, for example, bright yellow and green, that all of the cashiers and workers wear. This isn't just a t-shirt or smock, it's an all-inclusive suit, scrunchy and hairnet included, that nods to the early nineties and would surely provoke a terrible rebellion amongst the American youth who tend to keep the lines moving at Stop and Shop.

The typical Peruvian beverage is an electric yellow soda called Inca Kola that tastes of bubble gum to the untrained tongue. Apparently it is made from a plant called hierba luisa, known for its stomach-soothing properties, and I have indeed found it to be a trusty companion in my endless fight against stomach problems.

I can buy minutes for my prepaid cellphone at the grocery store: I tell the cashier my number and how much money I would like to put towards minutes, and five minutes later I have more airtime. I have no idea how it works but it's awesome.

The Peruvian educational system does not include textbooks. My understanding is that this is a relic of a bygone era when textbooks were too expensive, since most of them had to be imported and college students really don't have much money. Instead they make photocopies: there are probably a dozen photocopy centers all over campus, where professors leave required readings in a class folder and you have to go find the readings and get a copy for yourself. You must believe me, however, when I warn you that this system sounds deceivingly straightforward. First, you need to figure out which center it is exactly that houses your particular homework. Then you need to find it. Then you need to elbow your way to the front of a heaving throng of students, all chaotically competing for the attention of the photocopy personnel as forming lines is not a popular pastime. Once somebody finally decides to speak to you, you need to ask--in Spanish--for the list of classes, on which you must find the folder number that corresponds for your particular class. Then you need to fight to the front of the pack again and ask for the folder number, in which you must find the required readings and ask for them to be copied. Depending on the exact size of the multitude this could take anywhere from 30 seconds to 20 minutes. And then of course when you finally have your photocopies, you are so exhausted from obtaining them that you can't bear to wade your way through the Spanish to actually complete the assignment. Post script: this past Friday I arrived at the photocopying center for my Spanish grammar class only to stand in front of the site dumbfounded at the apparent complete and utter disappearance of the building. Quite convinced of my own insanity, I wandered around the general area in a daze for a quarter of an hour before giving up and deciding to go home. To my joy I was vindicated from suspect early-onset Alzheimer's by a companion's concurrence that it indeed had vanished overnight and been repositioned elsewhere. THIS is the kind of disorganized mayhem that forms the principal center of my personal experience of culture shock.

Peruvians really aren't in to texting, and their predilection for phone conversations places me at a severe disadvantage as I can't seem to understand anything that anyone says to me in Spanish over the airwaves.

The university is an enclosed campus with beautiful gardens that are accompanied by a plethora of half-sized deer with absolutely no fear of humans and no common sense. Sometimes when I am attempting to each lunch on the lawn, one of them will come right up to me and try to nibble things off of the tray on my lap, with an attitude of "Maybe if I am extremely quiet she won't notice anything is missing until I have successfully absconded." Except, my deer friend, you have forgotten a crucial factor in this equation, being that I am more accustomed to eating you rather than you eating off my plate.

I have discovered the secret of Peruvian time. I know why Peruvians are always late, and why they cannot be expected to be on time. It is the sidewalks. The incredibly smooth, slippery, glossy, traction-less sidewalks completely thwart any attempt to accelerate beyond a moderate stroll, and anyone who attempts to do so only gains a countenance of flushed frustration and a pair of flailing appendages.