19th August: A Varied Weekend

The rest of the week flew by. On Wednesday, after school, Eleanor and I took a taxi into the centre of Lima. We’d intended to take the bus, but after being advised against it by some concerned staff in the school office, decided to take a taxi, as suggested by one man who seemed convinced that we were embarking on some sort of life-threatening expedition. After ascertaining that we were, in fact, fully capable of going into town in the middle of the afternoon, he printed us off a map and walked with us to the end of the road to see us into a taxi. He’d even taken Eleanor’s number and phoned twice to check on us before we’d even arrived.

Fortunately we did arrive perfectly safely, but only to find that the cathedral was  already closing to visitors. Since we had a few things to do in the city anyway, it wasn’t too much of a problem and we decided to come back to see the cathedral another day. Our shopping trip was relaxing and, thankfully, uneventful, since neither of us had anything robbed. I managed to buy a phone and, finally, the appropriate materials for school. The only slightly awkward moment occurred whilst I was waiting for Eleanor to pay in the supermarket. I’m beginning to notice that huge, slow-moving queues are quite normal here, so I’d decided to wait slightly outside. I was casually standing eating my dried fruit when one of the security guards ambushed me and started a conversation. Before I knew  what was happening, he was introducing me to his friend and arranging a double date. By the time Eleanor finally appeared, I was running out of excuses and just had to grab her and say “Run!”

On Thursday, we were celebrating El día del niño (Children’s Day) at school, which is apparently quite a widely-spread festival in countries where there doesn’t always have to be a very well thought-out and justified reason for celebration. Although it was officially on the Sunday of that week, celebrations were held in school on the Thursday so the children could enjoy it with their friends. This was fine with me; I happened to be assisting in the Third Grade during the period that had been designated for parties for the Lower School. As a consequence, I spent the whole of fourth period drinking Inca Cola and eating chocolate cake with an excited bunch of eight-year-olds - and it was good cake, too.

The rest of the day also went well. By now I was even getting to grips with the French class, even if my conversations with the teacher are a bit comical; I can understand exactly what he’s saying, but when I reply it just automatically comes out in Spanish. It’s incredibly frustrating because even though my written work is good, when I seem to be completely incapable of responding in the correct language, I must seem like a complete cretin. On the plus side, I woke up yesterday morning suddenly able to recite all the numbers in French, and with a peculiarly extended vocabulary. I tend to learn quite a lot when I’m not actually conscious; a couple of months ago, for instance, I dreamt an entire documentary on the history of Scotland.

Anyway, on Thursday evening, I helped Nicole with her English homework (we did some exercises and then wrote a fantastic story about a girl and a piano), before going back, yet again, to my travel plans, which are still not confirmed. Then it was time for an early night in preparation for the next day.

The following morning, when my alarm went off at 5am, there was very little that would have dragged me out of my bed into the cold other than the thought of being in the warmth very, very soon. At 6.30am, Joe, Amy and I were taking a bus to Ica for the weekend, where the temperature was a balmy 28 degrees.

My concerned Peruvian parents had already booked me a taxi with Pily’s nephew (who happens to be a taxi driver) the night before, and when he arrived, Omar walked me to the gate and saw me into the taxi. I’d tried to tell him he didn’t have to get up, and I felt awful when he even insisted on carrying my travel case down the ten flights of stairs (since the lift was still broken). He even asked Pily’s nephew to walk into the bus station with me to exchange my receipt for tickets, but when we arrived and I saw that Joe and Amy were already there, I assured him I would be fine.

The bus journey exceeded all my expectations, especially since I’d only paid 19 sol (£5) for my outbound ticket. The bus was modern and comfortable, with TVs scattered about playing Pitch Perfect followed by Thor. Not only that, but you have to check your baggage in at a separate desk like at the airport, so there’s no worry about getting your bag nicked. 

We arrived in Ica at around 11.30 and, having retrieved my luggage, left the station in search of a taxi. We were barely out of the terminal building when we were approached by a guy offering us one. I’d realised on the bus that I had no idea of the actual address of the hostel we were staying at, which was in the neighbouring town, Huacachina, so had  texted my mum, who always seems to be getting me out of these kinds of scrapes, even from the other side of the world. She’d not only sent me the full address, but a few handy travel tips. Consequently, when the taxi driver asked me which Casa de Arena I meant, uno or dos, I could tell him with absolute authority that I knew full well there was only one. I was also able to successfully barter down the next taxi driver, who was asking for S/.10 when the journey was only worth five.

Slightly perturbed by the fact we had nearly been involved in a scam within ten minutes of arriving at our destination, when we got to the hostel we were more than a little suspicious of the guy on the front desk. When I told him I had been quoted S/40 (£10) for the room, he said we could have it for S/.25 (£6) which just seemed too good to be true. He showed us up to our room, which was a private triple with its own bathroom, and we couldn’t believe our luck; there had to be a catch.

Not wanting to waste valuable sun-bathing time worrying about money, we were back down at the pool in a flash. We spent the rest of the afternoon soaking up some much-needed sun before it was time to go for the main event of the weekend: sand boarding and sand buggies in the desert.

I should probably take this opportunity to explain a little about Ica and Huacachina. Ica is the capital of the Ica Region and is situated along the Ica River, along the desert coast of southern Peru. It’s also home to the famous Pisco liqueur that the Peruvians love so much. Huacachina is a small town built around a small natural desert oasis, which incidentally appears on the back of the S/.50 note. It’s a tiny little tourist town in the middle of the desert: beautiful and surreal.

At 4.30 we were picked up by some giant sand buggies with room to seat some ten people, and headed off in a big fleet into the desert. At first, it was quite a relaxing ride, but as soon as the driver realised we were getting complacent, it turned into some sort of sand buggy roller-coaster - the only difference from an actual roller-coaster being that, if we turned over in that thing, we probably would actually die. To make matters worse, my seatbelt had clearly been designed for someone who eats about ten more Big Macs a day than I do, so I was literally being flung two feet in the air every time we careered down a near-vertical drop.

The sand boarding itself, in comparison, was relatively tame, although it did seem equally terrifying in the beginning. We were simply abandoned in the desert, left with the immensely unhelpful advise of “Lie down on the board and hold onto the straps. Do not stand up, you will break your bones. Keep your legs together.” He said this whilst doing a physical demonstration with his legs wide open.

Needless to say, when we all lined up at the top of a very high, very steep dune, I was more than a little apprehensive. After a couple of others had managed to descend to the bottom without incurring any fatal injuries, I decided to test it out - and it was incredible. After that, we quickly got into it, and it wasn’t long before our driver came to pick us up and take us to some more slopes.

At each new location we had the opportunity to see yet another spectacular view and take some incredible photos; this was a welcome relief after the battering I was taking during the physical activities. By the end of it, I’d scraped away the skin on nearly all my fingers, ripped both knees on the seat in front of me in the buggy, and banged my head extremely hard on the metal bar behind. Sitting at the back had not been the best choice.

That evening, we went out to a barbecue that was being run by one of the hostels down the road, which turned out to be a complete rip-off, by Peruvian standards at least. After eating as much as we could from the buffet to get our money’s worth and trying our best to get through the disgusting free drinks, we decided to cut our losses and look for somewhere else. It just so happened that a few doors from our hostel was a promising-looking establishment simply named ‘Pub’, with a Happy Hour selling two cocktails for S/.15 (less than £4). it seemed the perfect opportunity to try out the exciting variant on the Pisco Sour, the Maracuya Sour (made with passionfruit).

The next morning we were up at the ungodly hour of 5.45 ready to go on our trip to the Islas Ballestas. Typically, the event was apparently running on Peruvian time, which meant that we were the only ones ready at the arranged time of 6.30. In our efforts to catch a sneaky bit of breakfast, not only did I have to down a pint of orange juice but we missed the transfer - luckily they came around again, but we ended up with the last seats and a less than impressed driver. Joe and I were put in the front seats next to him, and even our cheerful and well-meant attempts at banter weren’t going to cheer him up.

Arriving at the town of Paracas (near the Pisco Province) and emerging into cold coastal air was a bit of a shock, especially at 8 o’clock in the morning, but we were soon on the boat on the way to the islands, which we hoped would make it all worthwhile. Our boat, which was a large speedboat under the name of Pingüino III, was totally open to the elements, but the advantage of this was that we got a completely unobstructed view of the surroundings.

As we were speeding towards the island, the guide informed us that we were about to see over half a million birds, which seemed slightly optimistic. However, as we got closer, I saw that we were approaching one of the most enormous flocks of birds I’d ever seen, diving down to the water like rockets to catch their prey. I realised that maybe we shouldn’t have scoffed at the guide after all. When I spotted several seals swimming close to the boat, I felt like the tour couldn’t get any better.

Then, when passing the Paracas Peninsula, we were able to see El Candelabro (‘The Candlestick’), a large-scale geoglyph, in the hillside. A geoglyph is a large design on the landscape formed by rocks or other durable elements, and Peru is home to the most remarkable geoglyphs in the world, the Nazca Lines. Despite ongoing speculation, their origin and significance remain a mystery to experts. El Candelabro gets its name from its form, which bares a striking resemblance to a candlestick. It’s almost impossible to describe, but amazing to see. 

When we reached the islands themselves, the first thing we were confronted with was the sight of thousands more birds nesting on the cliff face. Throughout the trip, we saw thousands more; most were guano birds like pelicans, cormorants, Inca terns, gulls, patillos and some birds that are called, I kid you not, Peruvian boobies. The highlight was seeing several groups of tiny Peruvian penguins, as well as the many pods of seals and sea lions fishing, playing and sleeping on the rocks. 

I could have stayed watching the wildlife for hours, had it not been for the cold and  the insistence of all the boat drivers to get as close as possible to the unsuspecting sleeping seals, which sparked the niggling doubt that maybe this ‘nature reserve’ wasn’t quite as kind to the wildlife as they might have us believe. Fortunately, the animals didn’t appear to bothered by it all, and I didn’t want to let it spoil the otherwise amazing experience.

When we got back the the shore, we were told we had twenty minutes to look around before heading back to Huacachina (which, of course, meant forty minutes in Peruvian time). We passed the time looking at the seaside stalls in search of a woolly llama jumper like Joe’s, which we have strangely become slightly obsessed with finding. When we arrived at the meeting point and no one was there, we bought cake from one of the street sellers (who, by the way, patrol the streets carrying a whole cake on a tray), as well as a slightly peculiar banana milkshake clearly made from Peruvian condensed milk.

Eventually we decided to head back to the minibus, thinking that maybe we had missed something and we had to meet there instead. When we got there it was almost full; we’d obviously missed the memo because we’d definitely been at the designated meeting point five minutes early. Anyway, it appeared that there was no room for Amy or me on the bus, so we were instructed to stand back and wait. When Joe looked around, we’d completely disappeared from sight as we’d been escorted to another bus, and we could see him through the window, looking around, completely bemused.

Getting back to the heat of Huacachina was absolute bliss, even though it wasn’t as warm as the day before. We sat by the pool until lunchtime, when we walked around the corner into town to eat in a restaurant next to the oasis. After eating lunch, having a quick explore of the souvenir shops and making a hasty escape from some dodgy-looking guys, Amy and I walked around the oasis, which was stunning. Then we had fresh passionfruit juice overlooking the water and chatted to the cafe owner.

By this time, it was late afternoon and I decided I’d better go to the Internet cafe to contact my mum, who’d been texting me all weekend with increasingly frantic messages as my replies weren’t getting through. At least I’m better than Joe, whose only update to his mum since his arrival in Peru has been an email containing a copy of this blog. Then, after another relaxing hour or so by the pool, I watched the sun set beneath the dunes and sat out on the terrace until the chill of the evening set in. 

We were ready to go out before it even got to 7 o’clock, so we decided to go for a drink by the oasis before dinner. It was like pre-drinks with a Peruvian twist, drinking vodka and Inca Cola amongst the dunes of Huacachina. It was all very nice and civilised, if you discount the guy who asked to take a photo of us with his drunken granddad, and the dodgy guy who came cycling up to us for a chat. Joe informed us afterwards that he was trying to peddle cocaine; if Joe hadn’t told us, Amy and I would have been none the wiser. I still wonder why he came up to us, of all people; we don’t exactly look like your usual suspects.

For dinner, we found a bustling Peruvian restaurant on the other side of the oasis, where I, for some unknown reason, opted for a salad. This is really an epic error when you consider that a) I was in the middle of the Peruvian desert, where tap water actually comes out brown until you let it run for a bit, and b) I’d been drinking vodka and Inca Cola, two drinks that, even consumed alone, aren’t advisable to put into your body, so combined with a near-empty stomach, could prove disastrous.

Needless to say, the rest of the night passed in pretty much a blur. We had a hilarious conversation with our tiny waiter, who had his sights on both Amy and me until I pretended (almost too convincingly, I think) that I was a lesbian and pointed to my Gay Pride band. I was actually quite concerned at how ready he was to believe I was a lesbian.  I had decided it was a necessary measure of protection after he attacked me with a hug, then saying he’d have to stop, or he’d “have an orgasm”.

When we got back to the hostel and sat outside by the bar, we made some slightly more normal Peruvian friends. Our hostel happened to have its own club, which appeared to be the only form of entertainment in the little desert town. So, there was nothing for it but to head up there with our new Peruvian friends - and then buy whole bottles of tequila and pisco, of course. The walk home was the shortest I’ve ever had, literally down one set of steps and up another. 

The next day, I woke up from an amazingly deep sleep at just after 10, dreading the onset of an epic hangover worsened by a possibly anemia-based, possibly intolerance-based, hangover. When I got up to discover that I wasn’t showing any of the usual symptoms, I couldn’t believe it (not that I was feeling absolutely my brightest, healthiest self). Thinking that the cool water would be the ultimate cure, Joe and I dived into the pool before tucking into breakfast with Amy.

A few hours later, after a spot of sunbathing, I realised that one of my bracelets was missing and went to the office to enquire about it. I was mid-question when I felt myself blacking out and had to lie down. Before I knew it, I was being proffered a bottle of water by another guest and an unidentified plant to sniff by the hostel owner.

An hour later, Amy returned from town and we decided to take a taxi back to Ica, in the hope that finding something substantial to eat would make us feel better. When we got there, however, all we could find were chicken restaurants and we started to lose hope. Catching sight of a tiny shack-like restaurant selling Chinese food was like a heavenly sign, as I really could have eaten anything by that point, and I knew Chinese places were quite good at vegetarian food. In hindsight, it really was a dingy little shack, but we got a two-course meal of soup and sweet and sour rice for S/.8 (£2) each, which actually tasted pretty good (or maybe I was just craving carbohydrates by this point).

The bus back was pretty horrific, as by this stage I just wanted my bed, but we made it back to Lima in one piece at any rate. From there, I took a taxi back to the apartment. Pily and Omar were out and I was stuck in typical Lima traffic, so I received a worried phone call to make sure I was on my way. Pily had phoned a couple of times during the weekend too, just to check I was ok.

When I got back to the flat, I sat and ate with Nicole, who was bursting to tell me about El día del niño. She showed me her present and couldn’t contain her excitement when she told me about all she’d done that day. Apparently, the custom is to go out for a family lunch and then to go to the shops so the children can choose their present. Nicole had been given little packets of biscuits and mini chocolates too, two of which she gave to me as they had Despicable Me on the cover. I think she thinks I really love this film now, as she gave me a Despicable Me sticker, too.

When Omar and Pily came home, we met downstairs to chat about our weekends over picarones, the Peruvian answer to donuts. They originated in the colonial period, to replace the Spanish buñelos, which were too expensive to make. A new dessert was therefore formed out of squash and sweet potatoes, pressed into a ring shape and covered in chancaca, a sweet sauce made of raw unrefined sugar crystallized with honey. So, we all sat around the table and shared the picarones whilst exchanging our stories. It had been such an incredible weekend, and now it was strange and comforting to be back in the care of my Peruvian family.

13th August: School Life and Teaching in the Shanty Town

I have just finished my second day at school and I’m exhausted. Nevertheless, despite the challenging combination of late nights, early mornings and long days, I’m really beginning to settle into the routine of things here already.
On my first day at the school I woke up at 6.20 and had a rushed breakfast, practically downing my coffee in one to get out the door for 7.05. We would usually leave a bit later, apparently, but the lift is still broken, meaning we have to allow time to descend the ten storeys to get out the building.
At 7.10 our transport was already standing outside ready - a rickety old privately-run school minibus called a movilidad, which parents pay for to pick up their kids and take them to school every morning. It’s similar to the coach service we had at the Girls’ High, only a lot less Health & Safety conscious, a lot tinier and a lot more likely to break down at any given moment. I was at least twice the size of most of the other passengers, and it felt a bit like those scenes in Elf when, since he is actually human, he is monstrously out of proportion with the rest of the elves. When I first got on the bus, I was put into a little corner where my knees were practically in my face, before Nicole gently pointed out to the conductor that I didn’t really fit.
Fifteen minutes later, after collecting two more tiny students, we arrived at school. I clambered out of the minibus (banging my head, of course) and kissed Natsumi and Nicole goodbye, before finding Ursula, the Director of English, talking to a group of girls outside the main building. She gave me a warm welcome and showed me into her office, which was in a small section of a little room comprising lots of little offices, annexed off by temporary plywood dividers with flimsy doors.
The school is an English college for girls called Mater Admirabilis and is located in a converted house very unlike the other buildings in Lima. It’s more reminiscent of an old English country manor house than a school, and is only small considering its capacity of some 600-odd students. This isn’t much, however, when you take into account the fact that  the age range is from six to sixteen, meaning that there is a maximum of twenty-five students per class. I get the impression that this is one of the better schools, since they have a strict uniform and all seem well-mannered and well brought-up; despite this, they have no assembly hall and only basic resources such as old-fashioned chalkboards. Unlike a lot of schools in Peru, it’s not officially a Catholic school; however, it’s definitely fairly biased. For instance, they only learn about Catholicism in Religion and some classes even have to say Grace before taking their snacks at break.
After a brief introduction from Ursula, and after meeting another VolunTeach volunteer, Eleanor, who will be teaching at the school at the same time as me, it was time for formación or, as we know it, assembly, in the school courtyard. Since it was the first day of the new term, there was a long assembly featuring a march and salute by seven of the eldest students (including Natsumi), who wore the Peruvian national colours on a broach, and carried the Peruvian flag. This was followed by a brief introductory speech by one of the teachers; the national anthem (sung without accompaniment); a sermon; the Lord’s Prayer; Hail Mary and a hymn (also without accompaniment). Eventually it was time for us to be introduced to the school, so we each gave a short speech each using the microphone, before the assembly was brought to a close by the exit of the girls with the flag. 
By this time I was freezing and was grateful to get back to Ursula’s office, although it wasn’t much better there either. Then, to help us decide where we would most like to teach, Eleanor and I accompanied Ursula to an upper school English class, before helping in a third grade class with another teacher. The classrooms were absolutely freezing; all the windows are open, too, as though the Peruvians are not bothered by this in the slightest.
After fourth period we met up with Ursula again to organise our timetables. We both decided that we’d like a mixture of ages, which Ursula was happy to accommodate. She was also keen to get us involved in other areas of study at the school, from which we ourselves could learn; I signed up to Humanities (which is just one subject here, encompassing History and Geography) and French, just to give it a try.
At 1pm Shadia arrived to check everything was ok and confirm our timetables. I hadn’t had any problem getting the leave off school that I had wanted, and would finish at the end of August to go travelling on 2nd September. To make up the time lost, I’d offered to stay until 3.30pm every day instead of 1, which I was more than happy to do since they’d been so accommodating to me.
After that it was time for lunch (which we volunteers get for free), before heading to my next class, which was meant to be Humanities. Unfortunately something had gone wrong with my timetable and I was left without anything to do, so I went outside and sat with the teachers who were still having their lunch. I got chatting to the school psychologist, who isn’t much older than me and, although she was born here, had moved to Spain when she was a child and had only just returned.
This is quite common here, I think; people emigrated due to the terrorism in the late 20th century and are now returning to make the most of the growing economy. A similar thing happened to Omar and Pily, who both moved to Japan with their families before they were married and moved back after the terrorism ended. 
Anyway, I chatted to the psychologist for a while, who was really nice and suggested getting together for drinks or to do some sight-seeing. Afterwards I managed to sneak into a humanities class for half an hour until the final bell at 3.35. Natsumi took so long coming out I began to think I’d got the arrangements wrong, but at last I spotted her coming down the steps from the main house, beaming at me and full of apologies.
To get back the the flat, we had to walk to the next street and wait on the next corner for the bus. Ten minutes later, frozen through from standing still, the tiny bus came careering round the corner, packed so full of people that they were bursting out the doors. It was even more chaotic than the маршрутка buses in Russia, and I spent the entire journey (less than ten minutes long, due to the manic speed of the driver) thinking I was going to fall over spectacularly onto some poor unsuspecting passenger’s lap.
When I got back, I decided to take a shower to give my hair time to dry before bed (since I can’t blow-dry it now I have no straighteners to tame it). Unfortunately, we don’t have enough gas left to heat the water and the lift is still broken, so that we can’t even order any more. So, my only choice that night was to bathe like a Victorian, by boiling water and putting it in a tub. I then stood in said tub (which was about the size of one of those travel suitcases) and used another pan to pour the water over myself. The strangest thing is, that was the warmest shower I’d had since I arrived.
I spent the rest of the evening going through my plans for the rest of my time in Peru, which are much more complicated than you might think. Omar was amazing and spent ages helping me out with research and even making phone calls to get reservations for me at the best price. By the end of it, I had booked my trip to Ica for this weekend, my flights to and from Cusco from 2nd to 10th September and my hostel for Cusco. However, I still wasn’t any closer to booking any tours, since I had pages of information but no idea what to choose.
Today, I started off the day with a bang (literally) when I dropped my GHDs from the top shelf onto the hard tile floor. Luckily they didn’t shatter into a million pieces, but one of the plates has stopped working which is almost as devastating. When I got to school, I immediately emailed my poor mother, whose first news from me in days mostly consisted of me lamenting my dying hair straighteners.
My first class of the day today was with the third grade, who were adorable. They were learning about how to say directions, but mostly just wanted to ask me hundreds of questions and find out every possible detail about my life, my family and my likes and dislikes. I even got invited to a party for El día de niño (Children’s Day, which I think we should definitely consider introducing into the UK). 
After the first break, when I was ambushed by little girls on all sides and force-fed their snacks, it was time for my first French lesson. I met the teacher outside the class, who started talking French to me before ascertaining that I didn’t actually speak it. It turned out, he didn’t speak Spanish very well or even English, which is going to be a challenge. Nevertheless, he said I was welcome in the class and I was keen to give it a go. 
The rest of the girls in the class, who happen to be Natsumi’s group, were more than welcoming and helped me out by lending me all the things I needed (I didn’t even have a pen). Surprisingly, it wasn’t nearly as hard to pick up as I’d expected, and I found that I could understand almost everything from what I’d learnt from Spanish and what I remembered from Year 9. The problem was speaking it and writing it myself, especially since everyone else seemed to have at least a basic knowledge of the language. Thankfully, a large part of the lesson was spent on grammar - nominal declinations, to be precise, whose rules were simple to pick up. Everyone cheered me on when I went to write one of my answers on the board.
After the next break, I went to help out in first grade - and if I’d thought third grade was cute, these were something else. They were tiny, and absolutely amazed by me. Their questions were endless; I felt bad for the teacher, who was trying to get their attention, because all lesson, all they wanted to do was ask me questions and give me hugs. Apparently, I somehow look like Barbie, Shakira and Lucy from Despicable Me all at the same time, which I consider quite a feat. One girl was so convinced I looked like Shakira that she got quite cross when I wouldn’t break into song mid-lesson. One told me I was like someone in a film, another told me I was more beautiful than all the stars in the sky, and another kept telling me she loved me. I could get used to this.
1pm came around all too quickly, and soon I could see Shadia hovering by the door to come and collect me. When I tried to leave, all the girls started following me, hugging me and begging me not to go. I assured them I’d be back the next day, but I’m not sure they understood and I’m only allowed to talk to them in Spanish.
The reason I finished early was because I was going with Shadia, Eleanor, Amy and the Peruvian guy who sometimes helps out, whose name I can’t remember, to Pamplona to teach some more English. Pamplona is a shanty town in a new district called San Juan de Miraflores, on the outskirts of Lima. When the shanty town was first built into the hills bordering the city, people constructed their houses using reed mats and any other materials they could find, living without running water, heating or electricity. Now, many have reinforced their houses with plywood or brick, but living conditions are still extremely poor and many children don’t even have the opportunity to go to school.
It’s for this reason that we are volunteering there, to give some of these children the opportunity to learn something, and to offer them something fun and something to aim for.  We have to give the classes at the police station, as this is the only place that’s safe for us. To get up the hill to the station, we had to take two little tuc-tuc taxis, since Shadia’s car couldn’t get over the speed bumps properly with all of us in it.
Today, we had two different age groups, about twenty students in total (less than the usual amount, since it was the first week of term) and we were teaching them about Britain. We started by singing London Bridge and teaching it to them, then showed them the pictures and souvenirs we’d brought from the UK, explaining to them about London and our royalty (which they were fascinated by, especially the girls). We then gave them each a blank copy of a map of the British Isles, which they had to colour in, separating the countries. Finally, we had a competition to see who could make the best Union Jack. We finished each class by giving out a prize to the winner and then taking a group photo, before giving them each a sandwich and a drink and saying our goodbyes.
Most of the students seemed really interested and engaged with what we were teaching them, and were keen to participate and learn, even though they spoke very little English. There was one girl who seemed disinterested throughout and refused to do any of the activities, but on the other hand there were students who were really excited about all the tasks. One little girl, who had skin so dry from the cold that she had scabs all over her hands and arms, was amazed by everything and smiled all the way through.
Shadia dropped us all back after we’d finished, and we agreed to discuss my tours more tomorrow. After a pleasant family dinner and chat, I’m now ready for bed after a  very tiring but incredibly rewarding day.

11th August: Induction into Life in Peru

Friday was an important day, since it was my induction day into the VolunTeach Peru programme. Shadia arrived punctually at five minutes before 10am and drove me to pick up the other participants: Amy, Joe, Alicja and Elise.

By the time we’d got through the chaotic traffic across the city and we’d all squeezed into the car to drive to Miraflores (Alicja on Elise’s lap), it was around 11.30. Shadia gave us a short tour of the area, but the other participants and I were mainly interested in getting to know one another and finding out each others’ plans. I had the impression we were going to get on well (despite the fact that Joe was exceptionally posh and had committed the grave error of wearing loafers); unfortunately, Alicja and Elise were leaving for Arequipa and Iquitos the following day, leaving just the three of us.

To get to central Lima, we ordered a taxi and split into two groups, giving Elise and  me chance to talk through our travel plans. We’d already been in touch before arriving in Peru and want to organize a trip to Cusco and Machu Picchu together.

From where the taxi dropped us off, we met up with the rest of the group and walked into the centre, passing through the Plaza San Martin, which is named after General Jose de San Martin, who declared Peru’s independence on 28th July 1821. The square was inaugurated in 1921 to honour the first centenary of Peruvian independence. The Republican buildings surrounding the square are in the French style that was popular in Lima during the time of their construction. Like every other city in the world, it seems, it features a large statue of a man on a horse (although this one is considerably more impressive than the one we have in Wolverhampton).

After we’d taken the obligatory photos (camera cords tied around our wrists, as advised), we walked down the main street, which, typically, is called Gran Vía. We were stared at, leered at and called out at throughout the fairly short walk down this busy pedestrian street, standing out instantly as gringos. This is a Latin American term for foreigners, most commonly those from an English-speaking country, and we’re assured it is in no way offensive. Its etymology is unclear; some say it is a reference to griego (Greek), as in “It’s all Greek to me”; others claim it relates the English words ‘green’ and ‘go’. If this is the case, it could either have come from Brazil, referring to the foreigners taking all the green from the Amazon and leaving with the profits, or from Mexico, referring to the US military who invaded and the Mexicans telling them, “Green go home”. Either way, it’s lost its negative connotations over time, apparently, and is now just the general term used to identify us all.

It’s true that we can be spotted a mile off; my skin and hair make me look like I come from a different planet from all the dark-skinned, black-haired Peruvians - so really, the calls of “Hey, baby!” and “Relax, baby!” (in English) shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise. What I actually find more alarming is the persistent stares wherever you go; it gives you the feeling of being some kind of circus animal.

Apart from the obvious interest we were causing, we also noticed another Peruvian obsession during our short walk to lunch: llamas. They are literally everywhere - model llamas, cuddly llamas, llamas on clothes, llamas on key rings. I had no idea llamas were so important here, but apparently they have been widely used as a meat and pack animal by Andean cultures since pre-Hispanic times.

For lunch, we went to a traditional local restaurant just off the main square, the Plaza Mayor. Just as in Spain, lunch is the main meal of the day here, so we had a typical Menu del día (Meal of the Day). For me, this consisted of a mixed salad with boiled vegetables and lashings of dressing, followed by lightly-breaded fish with rice and more vegetables, and for dessert, a very sweet pancake with an unidentified filling. In the centre of the table were two bowls of fried banana, which, surprisingly, tastes exactly like ordinary crisps. To drink, we had, bizarrely, sweetened camomile tea served in a glass.

After lunch we walked to the Basílica y Convento de San Francisco (Church and Convent of San Francisco), which is one of the most important religious buildings in Lima. It was consecrated in 1673 and completed in 1774 and is typical of the Spanish Baroque style in Colonial America. Unfortunately, it is currently undergoing restoration in some places, but it can still be visited and many parts are in good condition. 

Once inside with a tour guide, you can see how huge the church and convent is. A visit to these parts on their own is interesting, with its allegedly world-renowned library of more than 25,000 books, the intricately decorated cupolas and an impressive collection of artwork. However, we were completely unprepared for what followed: a trip to the ancient catacombs beneath the church. It is believed that these contained secret passageways  connecting the church to the Cathedral and the Tribunal of the Holy Inquisition. One thing that is certain is the existence of an ossuary holding the bones of some 25,000 bodies, lined up in wooden crates along the narrow hallways and in several large, circular holes  where the skulls and bones arranged in circular patterns. The catacombs were first discovered in 1943 and served as a burial-place until 1808, when a city cemetery was opened outside Lima. This was certainly not what I’d signed up for and I have literally never felt so disturbed in my entire life.

Emerging from the catacombs alive, if not entirely well, we took a taxi to the car park where Shadia had left her car - all six of us, piled one on top of each other, in the little taxi. The most amusing part of all was that the taxi driver told Joe off for not having his seatbelt on, as though he considered safety an absolute priority.

Thankfully, when we burst out of the taxi ten minutes later, Shadia had ordered another one and we were to split up again to get to the VolunTeach training. I went with Alicja and Elise and we arrived first. Lucy, who is older than Shadia, who is only 26, is the other main partner of VolunTeach Peru and was already there waiting for us.

A few hours later we all had a much clearer idea about what we would be doing and the best places to go. There were so many amazing places to visit, I was dying to get it all organised, but I have to wait until Monday when I have discussed getting extra leave with my placement school.

The journey back with Shadia, Lucy and Joe was a nightmare, right in the middle of rush hour. We seemed to spend most of our time sitting in endless queues of traffic, or if not, swerving out the way of impatient drivers switching lanes at break-neck speed. We took so long that Pily phoned to find out what on earth had happened to me.

When Shadia dropped me off outside the apartment complex, the guards wouldn’t believe me that I lived there and I had to be escorted right to the apartment, which was slightly embarrassing. When I entered, I found the table already laid and that the family had been waiting for my return to sit down to dinner, despite the fact it was nearly 9pm.

After dinner, I sat down with Omar, who showed me pictures and videos of Machu Picchu and Manu National Park, where you can do tours of the Amazon Rainforest. I was absolutely amazed; it is stunning. I spent the majority of the next morning looking at the wide array of different tours you can do, and am so spoilt for choice I’m more confused than ever. I’ve decided that it’s probably best to wait until I get permission from the school before I go any further.

Pily made yet another impressive lunch that day; homemade cream of vegetable soup and an Andean dish called locro, which is made from a base of cucurbita (a pumpkin-like vegetable cultivated in the Andes and Mesoamerica), with choclo corn, lima beans, potato and queso fresco. That afternoon, Natsumi and I took a microbus to the university,  Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, which was holding an open day for prospective students. It was quite interesting to hear the talks on the different courses they have on offer, and I even got to do a bit of etching with paints.

In the evening, Omar and Pily took me to a local club with live salsa music. Omar had been planning to take me there since discovering my love for salsa a few days before. In fact, music has been an amazing bonding topic for us, and it all began when I came downstairs excitedly hearing Calle 13, one of my favourite bands, playing. This got us chatting about reggaeton (although the singer of Calle 13 classes his music as urban rather than reggaeton) and later salsa and all kinds of Latin American music, my love for which I owe to my dad, who has brought me up listening to it.

The live band that night was incredible and the dance floor was full of people of all ages, from my age to fifty, who all seemed to know how to dance perfectly. Somehow I didn’t feel uncomfortable being the only gringa in the whole place, as usual, and soon Omar was getting me up to dance; apparently I’m a natural dancer because I feel the rhythm so well. I took some convincing accepting this amazing compliment from a native Peruvian. For the majority of the rest of the night we danced as a three, because Omar and Pily didn’t want to leave me out, no matter how much I said I didn’t mind. They are still being incredibly generous, and insisted on paying my entry ticket and buying me two cocktails (one of which was called Machu Picchu, which seemed apt).

Now we know each other better, we are able to have really interesting conversations - and the great thing is, they seem to genuinely get my jokes. I always consider this a good sign that you’ve reached a decent level in a language, because your sense of humour is one of the most difficult aspects to portray if you’re not speaking your native tongue. So, after many hours of talking and dancing, we left the club at about 3am, another perfect end to another special evening in Lima.

Late this morning I woke up with that ominous and undeniable sick feeling that I seem to keep getting these days. Luckily, it wasn’t as bad as the week before and I was able to get myself back on track with an iron tablet, a glass of water and another hour’s sleep. It’s getting slightly worrying now, as it’s occurring more and more often; I’ve been trying to connect the dots and although it’s not a hangover, and although it doesn’t happen every time I go out, this does seem to be a connecting factor. This is leading me to think that even if I do have anaemia, this is just exacerbating a more serious problem. What if I have some kind of alcohol intolerance? Unthinkable.

Anyway, I managed to recuperate in time for the arrival of Rosi’s mum and little brother and sister - which is a good job because one minute I was calmly putting on my make-up, the next I was being chased around the house by a cuddly minion. Little Alexander seemed to find this game endlessly hilarious, especially when it was his turn to be chased, and I definitely got my exercise for the day. Luckily he eventually got tired out too and tucked us both up in a blanket on the sofa.

That afternoon, all nine of us squeezed into the seven-seater four-by-four to drive to a local Chinese restaurant (with two small toddlers in the mix, chaos ensued). Even the Chinese restaurants here have a unique Peruvian touch, which makes all the dishes twice as interesting. We had to wait to get a table in the huge marble-decorated two-storey restaurant, but it was worth it. Pily and Omar did most of the ordering, which worked out well as they ordered plenty of food for us all to share. To start, we had wantan frito con salsa de tamarindo (wonton pastry with tamarind sauce) followed by sopa de wantan (wonton soup) - both of which I had without the usual chicken. Then, since the others were having a meat-based main course, I had one all to myself: verduras saltadas con yuyo, champiñones y hongos chinos (salted vegetables with Chinese mushrooms) served with white rice.

After lunch, we squeezed back into the car and drove to the centre of Lima, where everyone was keen to tell me about the various buildings and sights. After walking around Plaza Mayor, we went to the Parque de la Muralla (Park of the Wall), on the banks of the River Rimac. As you would expect from the name, the park is home to the remains of the old city walls, which were unearthed accidentally when a developer began excavations there in the 1980s. 

The walls were originally constructed between 1684 and 1687 to protect the city from pirates, and according to Pily the bricks are held together with the inside of the eggs of the codorniz (which I’ve since found out is quail. They do seem quite obsessed with this bird here; Natsumi used to have one as a pet, and everywhere you look there are street sellers selling their eggs, which are boiled for you on the spot). Anyway, unfortunately, the walls were torn down during the expansion of the city under the presidency of José Balta in 1872, which is why only the foundations remain. Even so, you can still see a good deal of the original structure and observe how they once tried to add modern bricks to the old stone.

We then said our goodbyes to Rosi’s family, as it was time for them to drive back to their city, an hour away. Then the five of us walked back across the square, which was now beautifully lit up for the evening, to another park called Parque Rimac. This park, like the rest of the city, was bustling with people, so much so that, whilst Omar looked after Nicole, Pily linked arms with Natsumi and me, worried she would lose us. There were street sellers as far as the eye could see, selling all kinds of popular Peruvian snacks. 

Apparently, in Colonial times, every street was home to a different kind of street seller, which is why they all have names like Calle de la Pescadería (Fishmongers’ Street), since all the fishmongers would do their business in that one street. Nowadays, vendors of speciality foods spread throughout the length of this park to sell their goods.

There was a typical Peruvian dessert that Omar said I would love and had to try, so he took us all to a little stall making the three similar types - mazamorra morada and two different types of arroz con leche. Mazamorra morada is like a hot, liquid jelly made from Peru’s purple corn, containing fresh and dried fruits. Arroz con leche is Peru’s own version of rice pudding, made from rice, sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk. There was also a cinnamon-flavoured variety. To help me decide, Omar ordered the three different desserts for himself and his two daughters (since Pily didn’t want anything), and they each fed me a mouthful. In the end he ordered me a mixture, since they were all so good, it was impossible to decide.

When we came to pay, the stall didn’t have any change, so I gave 20 sol (about £5) to make up the difference, which I was more than happy to do, since I haven’t paid for anything yet. Omar said he would pay me back, which I told him was completely unnecessary, and when we were back in the car half-an-hour later, he put the money into my hand, not taking ‘no’ for an answer and saying that I might need it later. I just can’t believe how generous and kind they are; they really are treating me as part of the family. On the way home, Nicole snuggled up to me and rested her head on my shoulder, and fell asleep with my arm around her.

Tomorrow is my first day at school, and I only hope that they will make me feel even half as welcome as my Peruvian family has. I’m really excited to meet all the kids and share my experiences with them, and to start my routine here in Lima.

8th August: Becoming Part of the Family

This morning, I woke up once again at the ungodly hour of 8.30 and decided to get up and wash my hair to get it out of the way - a task I was dreading after my last experience. As before, the water was barely warm, and after waiting a few minutes for it to heat up, to no avail, I dived in, telling myself out loud that it was all character-building. I get the impression I am going to have a very well-formed character after this Year Abroad.

It was ten o’clock before breakfast was ready today, by which time I was starving. I hope they don’t think I’m crazy for the obscene amounts of cereal I’m capable of consuming in the morning. Anyway, this morning, as a nice surprise, Pily had made fresh strawberry smoothies, which were delicious. I could get used to this (my English mum has never made me smoothies. However, my English mum does provide me with hot water and central heating; you win some, you lose some).

I’m gradually getting used to the cultural differences here: not flushing the toilet roll,  the fact that lemons actually look like tiny little limes, the absence of Coca Cola in favour of the local Inca Cola, popping to the bodega instead of the chino or corner shop. I’m even adjusting to calling juice jugo instead of zumo (which got me some strange looks), saying acá and allá instead of aquí and allí, calling a coche a carro and using the ustedes instead of the vosotros form to address people in plural.

I stayed in this morning, since the fear of death has been instilled in me of leaving the house alone. Aside from the fact that I’m in danger of getting robbed at any given moment spent outside the house, the public transport system seems like a challenge in itself. The website LimaEasy describes it as a ‘chaotic system’ of privately owned and operated buses, micros (small buses) and combis (small vans) and warns tourists not to expect new, well-maintained vehicles, nice bus stops or even a bus terminal, not to mention ‘the luxury of a printed itinerary, timetable or a ticket booth’. By all accounts, taking public transport is just another way of taking your life into your hands. Even taking a taxi seems a bit risky; LimaEasy’s advice is as follows:

• ‘While it's easy to hail a taxi literally everywhere in town, you should be cautious which cab you choose.
• Only use official and registered taxis.
• Negotiate a fare before getting in and only pay the agreed amount once you reach your destination.
• Use your common sense and don't get into the taxi if you somehow feel uncomfortable.
• Don't accept drinks or food offered to you by the driver and make sure he doesn't use his cell phone informing others where you are heading to.
• Bags should be placed on the ground, not next to you on the seat (that does not only apply in taxis, but all vehicles!). Unfortunately it's not uncommon that thieves wander around vehicles stuck in traffic jams or waiting at a red light and look out for passengers having their handbag, backpack, camera or other valuables in sight. They then smash the window and crab your bag before you can even react. A common place for this kind of robbery is the main route to the airport. So please always have your stuff either looked in the trunk or smaller things next to your feet!’

Consequently, in the interests of self-preservation, I’ve decided not to venture out the apartment alone until at least after tomorrow, when I have my tour of downtown Lima and Miraflores with VolunTeach Peru. In the meantime, at least I have time to do some research on the less life-threatening leisure activities available in the area, and do some work on my Year Abroad Project.

I also helped prepare the lunch, which today consisted of rice and a Peruvian salad called solterito, one of the speciality dishes of Arequipa, a city in the south of the country. We followed the traditional recipe of giant lima beans, large kernel choclo corn, diced tomatoes, red onion and queso fresco, a fresh, creamy, soft and mild cheese commonly used in the Iberian Peninsula. I’m beginning to understand why Peru is so renowned for its cuisine, having received the World’s Leading Culinary Destination in the 2012 World Travel  Awards. Two of Peru’s restaurants were named amongst the World’s 50 Best Restaurants this year, and the Mistura food festival in September, which has existed since 2008, has become so popular that it’s had to move locations down to the beach, where there is more space. People come from all over the world to sample Peruvian cuisine here, and you can queue for an hour just to buy one dish. 

This afternoon, whilst Natsumi was seeing her boyfriend, Pily, Nicole, Rosi and I drove to the open-air shopping complex in San Miguel. Since Pily had to return something, she suggested we go downstairs whilst we were waiting so I could look for some warmer clothes. This was all very well in theory - had Nicole not misinterpreted the instruction and assumed her mother meant us to go anywhere downstairs in the mall, and not just in this one shop.

Thinking it was probably a misunderstanding on my part, I went along with it and we searched all the shops we could find. Unfortunately, most of them were expensive brands like Levi’s and Esprit, which for what I needed seemed a bit extravagant. Eventually we decided to go back to the first shop, where ironically, there was the best selection. The girls did their best to be helpful, bless them, as though I were some kind of alien who had no idea what to do. Nicole even went up to some poor guy, who looked more like a security guard than a shopping assistant, to ask what size I would be. She began to explain “She’s from...” and then trailed off, at which I had to fill in sheepishly, “England.” Beginning to look amused now, the man looked me up and down and said, “small” (no surprises there), which sent Nicole running excitedly away from the scene for anything warm in that size.

Thankfully, after all that hassle, we did actually manage to find something - a really warm and soft jacket from Aéropostale, the last one in my size. We were queuing at the slowest till of all time when it suddenly dawned on Nicole what her mother had meant by ‘go downstairs’, at which point it was time to form a serious plan of action to find her again, since none of us was carrying a phone.

I could just imagine the announcement: “If anyone has lost two children and an English girl, please report to the sales desk”. I suggested we go back upstairs to where we’d last seen Pily, as this seemed the most obvious meeting place. However, when we got there, there was no sign of her and the security guard and duty said he’d already seen her leave. The girls suggested we go on a search of the mall, but this screamed ‘terrible idea’ so I suggested we stay there and wait for her to come to us.

Sure enough, ten minutes later she appeared - and to my surprise, she was completely calm. She wasn’t angry, upset; she didn’t seem worried at all. After hearing our story, she marched up to the security guard and demanded to know why he had told us she had left, but all she said to me was that this was how the children would learn. She told me about a time when Natsumi was little and had got lost in the streets of Argentina - every mother’s worst nightmare - but how, after that, Natsumi had always made sure to have a clear idea of the address of the hotel.

All reunited and in one piece, we walked to the small fairground just outside the mall, which had small rides and arcade games. It’s open all year round, and as such Pily had a little electronic card, which she went to top up. Nicole asked me which ride I wanted to go on; I looked doubtfully up at Pily and said, somewhat bemused, that I didn’t think the rides were meant for me - but Nicole was having none of it. Before I knew what was happening, I was being strapped into a giant caterpillar, about twice the age of all the other passengers. I have to say, even though it was a little bizarre at first, it was quite fun going back to my childhood, playing arcade games and fooling around on the bumper cars. I don’t know how long we stayed there, but we had to top the card up several times. 

Eventually, we decided it was time to go for food, so, since we were having a kids’ day out, we all went for pizza. By this time, Nicole and I had done a fair bit of sister bonding; at times it had been a little like the Chinese Inquisition, but it was nice she was interested. After insisting that I name only one best friend, she was left completely perplexed by the name Louise, which in Spanish, sounds like a guy’s name. Other than that, she’d asked me if I had a boyfriend (we decided that boys were stupid) and what my favourite of practically every possible category is - animal, colour, food...

When we got back to the apartment, I continued doing my ‘big sister’ bit and snuggled up with Nicole and Rosi on the sofa bed in the upstairs annex to watch Juego de Gemelos (The Parent Trap), which happens to be one of my favourite films from my childhood. Since our chat over dinner we had also discovered our mutual love for Despicable Me (Mi Villano Favorito in the South American version), and as such I had been bestowed with the honour of the custody of her cuddly minion, Chisito, who sat with us to watch the film.

7th August: Experiencing the Culture

The next day, I woke up refreshed and well-rested at 8.30, having gone to bed at 10pm the night before. So far, it’s been surprisingly easy to adjust to the seven-hour time difference - maybe due to the fact that this year I have become fully accustomed to dealing with sleep deprivation.

Just like the day before, Pily prepared an elaborate breakfast spread for the whole family, this time including Omar, who hadn’t yet gone to work. I took the opportunity to present them with the Earl Grey tea, Thorntons chocolates and informational book on Wombourne (with pictures) that I had brought as a ‘thank you’. Unfortunately, the London bears will have to wait, since I hadn’t anticipated that Rosi would be here and don’t want to give the other two presents and leave her empty-handed.

After breakfast, Omar dropped Natsumi, Nicole, Rosi and I at the Parque de las Leyendas, Lima’s huge zoo, which is just down the road from us, in our district San Miguel. It turns out, we are a two-car family because we have another big car, too (I couldn’t tell you what it is; it’s beige). The park consists of a zoo, dividing the animals up into the coastal, mountainous and jungle areas that constitute Peru, as well as an international zone. It also has a botanical garden, a small museum and a model mine. Not only that, but it contains several of the huacas, archeological remnants of the ancient and highly advanced cultures which used to inhabit Peru, 250 of which are still scattered throughout the city. 

We spent all morning and part of the afternoon in the zoo and saw practically all the animals, apart from those living in the selva (jungle), which is currently undergoing reconstruction. The animals appear well cared-for, but you do have to feel sorry for some of them, who are cooped up alone in little enclosures, with nothing to do but pace around, sleep and be stared at all day. One poor lioness was stuck in the company of one lion; all she wanted to do was sleep, but he had other ideas. He didn’t seem to take any notice when she told him she had a headache, so she boxed him around the ears instead; I think she has the right idea.

Not long after we finished looking around, Pily picked us up outside the entrance. She dropped us off back at the apartment, where Abuelita was preparing lunch - tortillas (omelette) of quinua, with lentils and rice, and a tomato and carrot salad sprinkled with lemon. After lunch, I sat at the dining room table to work on the finishing touches of my Year Abroad Project, which I will have to email to my Mum to put with the rest of my project and send off to Exeter. This took me the most part of the afternoon, which I felt a little guilty about, since I knew Natsumi was bored, but I needed to get it done before things start to get busy here.

As soon as I finished I went to join her in her room, where she was watching an American channel showing CSI with Spanish subtitles. When Omar returned from work a while later, he suggested we go out somewhere, an offer I happily accepted; Natsumi was tired and wanted to stay home. Consequently, Pily, Omar and I took the trip just the three of us.

First we drove to the nearby district of Miraflores, which is on the seafront and is Lima’s most popular tourist area, with hotels, restaurants, shops, bars and clubs. The coastal properties are predominantly modern apartment blocks, pleasantly decorated with balconies overlooking the Costa verde (Green Coast). Further inland, modern properties are interspersed with attractive traditional houses. The beach is accessible down a flight of steps, at the top of which is a series of carefully maintained parks with lawns, paths, shrubberies and palm trees, which must be beautiful in the summer. Each section has a different name, such as Kennedy and El Parque del Amor (The Park of Love).

Whilst we took a short coastal walk, Omar explained some of Peru’s history to me - which I really needed, considering the fact that, up until a few weeks ago, I only knew Machu Picchu as a pile of rocks in the mountains. He told me that the immense illuminated cross we could see across the bay was a monument constructed from the rubble of the explosions caused by the terrorist attacks that ripped Lima apart twenty years ago and forced people to abandon their homes. It is estimated that there were around 70,000 deaths in Peru due to these guerrilla attacks.

After our walk along the seafront, we headed back to the car and made our way to the district of Barranca, which is less well-known amongst tourists but comes to life at night  when the many restaurants, bars and clubs open. Nevertheless, it is the location of the famous Bajado de los baños (the closest translation to which I think would be the Swimmers’ Descent), a picturesque footpath leading to the beach, which is packed throughout the summer months. It is also home to the wooden footbridge known as the Puente de los suspiros (Bridge of Sighs) which is apparently named after the sighs of  the many lovers who accept marriage proposals here. 

At the end of the nineteenth century the district suffered the effects of the fire and looting brought by the Chilean invasion, and again from the effects of a violent earthquake in 1940. It has since recovered and is now home to many writers and artists, and host of many Peruvian folk concerts, in particular Afro Peruvian and Criollo. 

By the time we had walked over the bridge, down the steps, and down the decent to the cliff edge and back, it was after 9pm and we were ready for something to eat. We drove around for over half an hour trying to find somewhere; very kindly, Pily and Omar wanted to take me to a Peruvian seafood restaurant, since they knew I’d like this. Unfortunately, here, seafood is considered a lunchtime food, and consequently, most of the places we tried weren’t open during the evening. Eventually we found a place that was open, which they told me I would love.

They weren’t wrong; the inside was large and beautifully decorated in a light and contemporary style, and the menu was so huge, I didn’t know where to begin. It was a real novelty to have the choice of the entire menu, and when I eventually narrowed down my selection, I asked for an explanation of one of them to help me decide. I was looking at a meal called ceviche, which consists of raw fish (in this case, tuna steak, in chunks), marinated in citrus juices and accompanied by onions, peppers, lettuce, choclo corn and sweet potato. It is traditionally very spicy, containing chili pepper, but Omar requested that mine be milder than usual.

To drink, we had pisco sours, a cocktail made from distilled white wine (pisco), lemon juice, icing sugar and egg white. Omar told me that the drink first came about when an Englishman came to Peru and requested something English to drink - and this is what they came up with. Definitely not very English, but it tasted very nice.

After a dessert made from a fruit-flavoured chocolate-covered sponge cake, we paid the bill (I say ‘we’, but they very generously treated me despite my protests; they want me to be their guest, they insist) and headed back to the apartment. It had been an unexpected but very pleasant evening.

7th August: Arrival in Peru

I literally have no idea where the past week went. After a whirlwind of visits, dinners and nights out, as well as yet another surprise illness on Saturday, I spent the whole of Sunday manically running around getting the things done I should have been working on for the rest of the week. As if things weren’t stressful enough, my grandpa was rushed into hospital on Sunday morning after having had two serious heart attacks. Such a close repetition of history seems almost like the Fates are playing some kind of twisted joke.

Then, somehow, yesterday morning I found myself on a series of planes, trains and automobiles on my way to Peru. The journey went surprisingly smoothly. Both my parents dropped me off at Wolverhampton train station and saw me onto the next train to Birmingham; my Mum was emotional but I felt strangely numb to it all, almost as though I weren’t going to the other side of the world at all. Another two trains later and I arrived at Gatwick, where I checked my 22.7kg case in, safely under the 23kg limit, and walked straight through security through to Duty Free. After buying a bag full of English souvenirs for my Peruvian family and a bag full of snacks for myself, it was time to board the flight for Madrid.

If I’d have known my connecting flight was via Madrid, I’m not sure I’d have gone back to the UK only to return to the same airport a week later - but unfortunately it just worked out that way. Madrid also happens to have one of the poorest selections of Gate-side shops and restaurants I’ve ever seen, and I was limited to the choice of just one self-service cafe, which was less than ideal. It was quite strange, sitting on my little table for two all alone and amusing myself with my book whilst I ate my dinner.

I passed the next hour at the at the Gate watching TV programmes that are currently saved on my Mac Air (I am a definite product of my time these days, as I realised on my previous flight as I whipped out my Macbook, iPod and Kindle). Unfortunately, what I hadn’t thought of was the fact that people are liable to peek over your shoulder at what you’re watching - which makes Сверхъестественное (Supernatural) and Juego de tronos (Game of Thrones) slightly inappropriate viewing material (especially as the episode I was watching happened to include a ten-minute-long brothel scene). I was caught in that awkward decision of which would look worse - not paying any attention to it and hoping it would pass quickly, or skipping it surreptitiously and hoping nobody would notice. Maybe I was just over-thinking the whole thing, but it was a bit uncomfortable, I admit.

I’d turned my laptop off in good time for boarding, which was meant to begin at 11pm, only to hear the announcement that the flight was delayed by twenty minutes. This didn’t stop a huge queue of people forming, quite unnecessarily, all around the waiting lounge, despite the fact we all had allocated seats. In a stroke of idiocy, the airport administration had considered it a good idea to locate three enormous South America flights at consecutive gates, all of which were boarding at the same time - which inevitably resulted in a chaotic mass of confused passengers scattered around the hall. 

Thankfully I managed to find a couple more people with common sense who reassured me that there really was no need to begin standing in a queue forty minutes before boarding time, so I waited with them until the last available minute. As I reached the front of the queue I was struck by the unmistakable smell of alcohol, which I quickly connected to the dazed-looking man tapping his foot distractedly at the side of the ticket checking desk. I hoped this wasn’t the cause of the delay: technical issues can be forgiven; human incompetence, however, is another matter entirely. 

The plane did eventually get off the ground, however, and it actually arrived twenty minutes before the scheduled time. The journey hadn’t even seemed unbearably long, despite lasting over eleven hours, as I’d managed to sleep through most of it (ear plugs and eye mask are definitely the way forward). This was lucky because we hadn’t even got those little TVs you usually get in the back of the chairs during long-haul flights - just a few coming down from the ceiling, all playing the same thing. If you ask me, a personal TV, as well as more than one toilet per fifty people, I might add, should be prerequisites on a flight that long. This was more than a little disappointing in comparison with my Thai Air flight this time last year.

Getting through customs was far easier than expected, even after having to fill out migration forms without any advice for the first time in my life. I even had to borrow a flight attendant’s pen, which felt a little sad. Then, since I’d arrived early and my transfer wasn’t arriving until 6am, I sat down to read for half an hour. At the designated time I went to stand in an embarrassingly conspicuous place, with my glasses on so there would be no chance of missing the sign. The excitement of having someone collect me with a sign with my name on it was overshadowed slightly by the fact that I was sapped of energy and had no idea what said person looked like or from which angle he would be coming.

Nevertheless, at 6.15 I spotted a stout little man waddling timidly towards me with a sign stating clearly ‘Georgina Cane VolunTech Peru’ - well, close enough, anyway. I was then escorted to a dilapidated green car with a ‘Taxi’ sign on the top. My large case was put, strangely, on the front seat, and the small one in the boot, and I hopped into the back seat indicated by the driver. Imagine my alarm when he then locked me into said banger and strolled off towards the airport without a word.

Knowing that an ex-boyfriend of mine had once been in a similar situation and had woken up two days later, in a brothel in the middle of Gambia, naked, drugged up and without any of his money or possessions, I was a little concerned. The driver had left the placard on the dashboard, which I now grabbed to take a closer look at. In hindsight, it was a really rubbish sign; why had I trusted this guy? I should have given him the twenty-one questions.

I’d barely had time to process all this, let alone get into a panic, before the driver reappeared and got in the car. There were no clues as to the reason for his disappearance, so I decided to ask if he knew the address - which he did, to the letter. We had just got onto the main road when he had a phone call; it was Shadia from VolunTeach Peru, for me. I was saved.

Half an hour later, after a chaotic journey of traffic jams, dodging other vehicles and 

darting in between lanes, we pulled over outside a large apartment building. Having literally no idea of what to expect, finding that the complex was one of the more modern ones in the area was a relief. Throughout the journey I’d been expecting us to stop at any minute, at any of the run-down little houses or towering apartment blocks we sped past.

After the driver had confirmed that this was the right address, he dropped me off at the entrance, where my Peruvian mum, Pily, came to meet me and walk me to the apartment. I call her this not because I am brutally and obviously rejecting my English family, but because that is really what VolunTeach Peru refers to them as; actually I have a Peruvian mum, dad and two sisters. We also have an extremely cute white house bunny called Rex, as I discovered, with a double take, as he hopped out of one of the downstairs bedrooms.

The apartment is more modern and spacious than you might expect - and, from the journey here I’m guessing that we’re some of the luckier ones. It’s located on the tenth floor in the first block of an enormous apartment complex, whose gated entrance is accessible by a slip road off the dual carriageway. The entrance comprises two electric garage-type doors for cars to enter and exit the underground car park, as well as a pedestrian gate monitored by two guards. To enter our block on foot, you have to go past these guards and through a small asphalt courtyard containing a small jungle gym and a (now empty) stone paddling pool for kids.

A set of double glass doors (which also requires a key) open into a marble-look entrance hall, which in turn, leads you onto a lift. The front door of our apartment leads onto a living-dining area, at the front of which is a set of double glass doors opening onto a small balcony with panoramic views of the area. A few years ago, I’m told, it was possible to see the whole sea front, rather than just the small part that remains in view today - the rest is now obscured by the persistent construction works going on throughout the area, yet more immense apartment blocks whose peaks now dominate the skyline.

Off the dining area is a small kitchen with a modern fridge-freezer and all the usual appliances. At the other end of the room, just past the small leather sofa, is a set of wooden stairs and a narrow corridor leading onto a bathroom, double bedroom with en suite, and the two girls’ bedrooms. Up the stairs is a living/games area and office, which also serve as a terrace in summer and for the winter are covered with a translucent roof (which does little to keep the warmth in). On the other side is the mother’s dressing room (with roof), a utility room roofed by transparent plastic tiling and my room and en suite, which, thankfully, have an ordinary roof. 

The apartment is modern and far from the impoverished stereotype you might have heard of. The only thing really lacking is central heating - quite an issue in the middle of winter. Although it’s not unbearably cold here (at the moment it’s ranging from 15 to 18 degrees), the wind coming off the sea is biting and the lack of any form of heating really takes it toll. Add to that the fact that they have recently switched over to gas canisters in this block and are having to rely on this to heat the water, turning it on only when necessary, and you get a real impression of the cold here.

The Peruvians are admirably stoic about all of this, their solution simply being to put more clothes on. I’m sure if I lived here I would forego some of the other luxuries like flat-screen TVs, stereo systems and iPads, and install some sort of heating system. Maybe, like many people in Spain, they are just used to enduring the cold now and heating the house just isn’t a consideration.

At any rate, the first thing I needed to do, after a long, pleasant conversation with Pily, was have a shower, even if it was on the cooler side of lukewarm. By the time I’d done this and organized some of my things, the girls were beginning to wake up. First I met Nicole, who is ten years old and still has all the sweetness and innocence that comes with that age. She introduced herself politely and gave me a kiss on the cheek; incidentally, it’s one kiss here, not two, which caught me a little off-guard. Since this week is the last week of the school holidays here, their cousin Rosi, who is eleven, has also come to stay. She belongs to a family on the dad’s side, who lives in the same block, just two floors below.

Next I met their abuelita (granny), who has also come to stay for a few days from her village in the jungle (yes, the jungle), where it is also still warm - in fact, it is warm there all year round and the winter is just the rainy season. Consequently, she’s struggling as much as I am with the cold here, so at least that gives us something to relate to one another, even if, at times, we seem to find it rather difficult to grasp what one another are saying.

Finally I met Natsumi, who is possibly the most beautiful sixteen-year-old I have ever seen. She not only looks about twenty-two, with a figure most people that age can only dream of and a bone structure to die for, but she has big brown eyes and black, silky hair down to her waist. Luckily, because she is so lovely, smily and friendly, it’s really impossible to hate her.

The father, Omar, didn’t return from work until later that day. He works with fish, apparently, but he is not, as I automatically assumed, a fisherman. He deals with the packaging and transportation, which to me suggests he’s quite a lot higher up than the guys who go out in the boats. Pily works in the same line, both on flexible time, but she does the accounting side of things.

When it was time for breakfast, the table was laid with tablecloth, placemats, cutlery and a vast array of foods. Pily and I had already had a chat about my eating habits; I’d explained that I’d love to try all the Peruvian foods I could (as long as they didn’t contain meat), but she was also interested to know what I usually eat so she could make me feel at home. As such, she’d laid out a huge bowl of Cornflakes-type cereal (a staple food, it seems, in any country) and a big mug of coffee. The milk here, however, is unlike any milk I’ve ever known (I was already suspicious when the ‘milk’ on the plane was presented to me in a paper sachet, in powder form). From what I’ve seen, it is either whole milk in a UHT carton (which we can get at home) or some kind of condensed milk of a suspicious beige colour which comes in tin cans. Apparently this kind is best for coffee, but with cereal, according to Natsumi, you’re best adding yoghurt. She’s right - it works.

I spent the morning unpacking and getting in contact with various people to inform them that I was still alive. Then, for lunch we had a delicious tuna pasta made by Pily, before Natsumi, Pily and I took a trip to the university, where Natsumi has to send an application. Everything seems to happen at a younger age here; they leave school at sixteen or seventeen, and although the official coming of age for boys is eighteen, it’s not regarded as an important birthday; instead, the important milestone is fifteen for girls, which is the age at which they come out in society as a woman.

I was somewhat surprised when I discovered the family not only has a car, but a brand new four-by-four. Upon exiting by the electric gate, we nosed our way into the chaotic traffic and along the dual carriageway, stopping every few hundred yards to wait in traffic. To add to the chaos on the road, you have little three-wheeled taxis (blue ones which take you to specific drop-off points, and red ones which will take you to your door) as well as some brilliant tests of your hazard perception skills such as random stray dogs, and I even saw a guy on a skateboard being pulled along by a bus.

When we got to the university surprisingly in-tact, Pily had to show her DNI (identity card, like they have in Europe) to gain access to the campus. The university is modern and well-kept, and surprisingly green considering its inner city location. Nevertheless it did come as a bit of a surprise when I spotted deer casually grazing on the lawn. They are so tame that they come right up to you and even, apparently, try and steal your lunch.

Whilst we waited for our turn to come up in the queue to see an admissions officer, Natsumi took me to get crepes at one of the cafeterias. They are made on the spot with a selection of sauces - Natsumi ordered me one similar to the dulce de leche topping they have in Spain, and it was amazing.

Later that afternoon, when Omar returned from work, the four of us took a trip to Callao, the neighbouring district where the airport is located. Amazingly, it is always sunnier here than in our district, although, without traffic, it is only a ten-minute drive away. The city is so full of smog that even a small distance away from the centre seems to make a difference to the climate. Apparently, it hardly ever rains here, but the sky is always grey.

We stopped off at one of the big shopping centres, which is brand new and still awaiting the opening of some shops. There is development everywhere here, as Lima is finally beginning to thrive after suffering for so many years from the effects of the persistent terrorist attacks under the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path), Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Amaru or MRTA (Túpac  Armaru Revolutionary Movement) and the government itself, from 1980-2000.

After we’d gone to renew Pily’s DNI (since the office is, bizarrely, in the shopping centre) we went for traditional Peruvian coffee at one of the cafes. As if my pale skin and blonde hair didn’t make my Englishness conspicuous enough, I caused scandal at not taking sugar with my coffee and proved my lack of street smart by not keeping a hand on my bag at all times. Apparently it’s better not to carry a bag at all, when you’re on your own, if you can help it. Omar also asked me if my rings were valuable and, even when I assured him they weren’t, advised me to take them off, as thieves might assume they were and hurt me trying to grab them.

When we got back to the apartment, we heated up some food and then Natsumi and I snuggled up under a blanket on her bed to watch one of her Peruvian soaps, which happens to be one of the most popular in Peru and is now being shown in other countries in South America. It’s called Al fondo hay sitio (There’s Room in the Back) and it’s about the complicated relationships between the rich upper class and their employees here in Lima, so even though it’s not the best programme I’ve ever seen, it’s an interesting look at how society works here.

And so ended my first full day in Lima; I had been welcomed into the family as more than a guest and I felt happy that I would fit in well.