Expat Living Archives - Page 2 of 2

Horror Hair

August 26, 2008
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I made the mistake of going to the peluquería (the hair salon) today. A good friend and co-worker of mine said she knew just the place. We had to take a combi outside of Huancayo central just to find her. It usually costs 3 soles ($1) to get your hair cut my friend tells me, but this lady charges 5 soles for her work. She had to be good.

We waited a half hour for her to arrive. I took my seat and explained what I wanted in broken Spanish – keep it long in the front, trim the back, fix the bangs, which I had been painstakingly cutting by myself the last three weeks. She starts trimming the back and all seems good. I find it weird that she only sprays my hair with water because I’m used to the soak pre-cut, but I brush it off. What should I be expecting for 5 soles anyway? Then, in one fell swoop, she performs an act so wholly disgusting, rendering me speechless – she cuts almost 3 inches off the front of my hair. My hair was already so short, I was trying to grow it out, and now… I have a mushroom cut and I look like a boy.

For some reason, my friend says nothing as the peluquera cuts more of my hair off, as she shaves the back of my neck with shaving cream and a blade old-school style, as she cuts another inch off my already short bangs. The left side of my hair is now noticeably longer than the right side of my hair, my bangs aren’t straight but I can’t trim it any shorter because they’re already abnormally high on my forehead, and I have stubble on the back of my neck. Above all this, I get charged 10 soles when she usually charges 5 and I don’t understand why. I cannot believe I let this happen to me. This…is…un…fixable.

Search Him

August 14, 2008
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So, I’m going for a walk with my friend, Kevin, through the streets of Huancayo. There are always a lot of people out and about in the evenings in the centre of the city. On a whim, I ask if we can cross over the walkway that spans the busy highway. It’d be fun to see the cars whizzing by from above, I think. We’re walking up the stairs when we run into two young guys chilling in the stairwell. They start talking to Kevin in Spanish and I can’t understand completely what they’re saying. I think at first they’re just saying “Hi” until I notice that they aren’t smiling and that Kevin has given them 1 sol. We’re being robbed.

As far as I understood, Kevin was trying to negotiate. “Search him,” the taller guy said. So far, they’ve left me alone. I’m frozen, watching all of this in amazement and fear. The shorter guy leans in to pat Kevin’s pockets (or maybe to reach inside), but Kevin pushes the guy away. I imagine he’s saying something like, “Calm down. I’ll give you more money.” He takes out his wallet and gives them 2 more soles. They aren’t satisfied. “Search him,” the taller guy insists. I’m thinking of how much money I had in my pockets and in my shoes; if they only knew.

I’m really scared and a million thoughts run through my head. Give them my money. Help Kevin. Escape. Yell. There are so many people walking along the pathway just below us. I feel horrible because this was all my idea. I feel horrible as I start to instinctively inch my way towards the staircase to escape. The taller guy notices me move and puts him arm around me, blocking me. I have never felt so afraid in my life.

The taller guy lets me go for a moment to help his friend out and I run down the stairs, turning back once or twice to see Kevin getting hit in the face, double teamed. A few seconds later, Kevin is beside me. He was hoping for and waiting for me to escape. Apparently he’s a scrapper, has been in many fights before, but was being passive because he was afraid of what they might do to me. On the way home, he spits out blood more than a couple times. I’m saying “sorry” over and over again. He’s just happy that I’m safe. So am I. Peru can be a dangerous place. It was a lesson I needed to learn because I tend to see the world as one big happy place; I tend to be very gullible, trusting. Next time, they might not be amateurs. I’ve gotta be street smart and even then, you just never know.

Update 2/15/11: After traveling through Peru and living in Huancayo for an extended period of time, I’ve learned to become more street smart and I feel incredibly safe living here. In fact, Peru is one of the safest places to live in South America — It’s why I’m back here!

Culture Shock

August 1, 2008
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A good friend e-mailed and asked: ” What has been the biggest culture shock that you have experienced so far?” and I had to think about that one…

Plaza Constitución — The grand ark in the main plaza of Huancayo.

I have to admit that I first tried to address “culture shock” in terms of trauma and anxiety – and I’ve had my share of struggles! – but really, the biggest “shock” in moving here has been very positive. I would say I’ve been most pleasantly surprised by the wealth of culture and history here. Being in the Central Andes gives me access to the Inca civilization at its core (e.g., one of the main streets through the city was once part of the Inca trail), but I also love the diversity here from Peru’s rich history before and after the Incas and from the country’s geography – the Andes seem to be like a mixing pot as the sierra is flanked by the coast to the west of Peru and the Amazon rainforest to the east. Many of the people here in Huancayo, for example, consider themselves mestizo (of mixed descent). Not to mention all the people who look like gringos (foreigners) to me, but are actually Peruvians descended from the Spanish, and all the Chinese and Japanese looking-people who have also lived here for generations. In fact, Rik, the director of my NGO, is in the Amazon right now visiting a rural community whose members all have blonde hair because their ancestors came from Germany centuries ago!

I’m ashamed to say that if I had done more research on Peru and South America, this culture shock would probably have been much less potent. At the same time, because I’m jumping with a near-blank slate, I’ve noticed that my eyes are open a lot wider, my attitude is fresher, and I’ve been able to connect more with so many people who are excited to teach me about their country (the Huancainos are so friendly!)

The Plaza Constitución is only a couple blocks away from the apartment and I love sitting there, in the centre of the city, seeing people come and go, imagining their stories. And I think of how lucky I am to be here and how my own story is unfolding.