Mom...the following two paragraphs are for you. In it I am going to describe our work, how we are doing, and what we have been up to. Then I am going to move on to a story. You may want to stop reading there. Just know that I am safe, nothing happened, and that all my experiences are just creating interesting stories for me to tell my grandchildren when I am old.
So our work...things are going well. In addition to befriending the staff of the Grand Hotel St. Ig, we also spent our days meeting with both coffee cooperatives and coffee farmers in the region. For me, meeting the people behind, and learning about the processes involved in the production of coffee has been a tremendously educational and fulfilling experience. Such an opportunity gives significantly more meaning to the ultimate product, which is the large coffee I order daily from Cafe Strada in Berkeley. But seriously, everyone we have met thus far has been extremely welcoming and has provided us with a significant amount of information regarding their use (whether productive or not) of electricity in their lives. As I mentioned earlier, during this part of the research we are looking at ways electricity may be used in the production of coffee here in northern Peru.
The team is doing great. We just came off of a nice relaxing weekend. Luke and I went to th coastal town of Chiclayo, while Niels stayed in Jaen. While the weekend was meant to be productive (Luke and I with our remittance work and Niels with his survey), we all ended up just relaxing and preparing for another long week of traveling the backroads of Peru talking to coffee farmers and trying not to scare people with my extremely unkempt beard.
Alright...so a story. In our work we have essentially identified a few "profiles" of villages that we would like to visit. These profiles are defined by the availability of electricity and the relative intra-village cooperation that is happening among farmers within their respective villages. While some villages are easy to access (like my favorite, Yandiluza), others are, well, not quite off a Peruvian expressway. Enter Cesara. Lying four hours away from our comfy digs in St. Ig lies the sprawling metropolis of Cesara, population about 1,000...chickens.
The team woke up to the sound of rain, and snoring, before dawn Thursday morning. By six we were on the road and on the way to Cesara to visit what we believed to be the electrified and highly cooperative village of Cesara. We packed into Antonio´s truck and headed into the mountains not knowing what to expect.
The first couple hours, while bumpy, were easy. Then came the road. One lane wide and creeping along the side of a Peruvian mountain, rested the rain slickened road we were to take to our destination. Only as we continued along the road were we able to truly see what we had in front of us, as the dense fog and rain limited the extent of our visability. Slowly, but surely, from the fog appeared steep cliffs and the reminants of previous landslides. These, and the absolute look of terror on my face were all there really was to keep us entertained (that and the thought of what the hell I was going to tell my parents if something happened). Now, as an intermission in the story let me just say that the view from this road was unreal. Just the pictures alone were worth the scare.
Back to the road. As we approached the village the dirt turned to clay, which may as well had been ice judging from the way the Toyota fish-tailed up the mountainside. Now, as the most paranoid member of the team, it was at this point I was ready to walk. But Antonio assured us we would be fine, and sure enough we made it to the village.
That was up...now down. Needless to say, I wasn´t quite holding it together very well for the trip down. I, greedily, convinced the others, and ultimately Antonio, that maybe it would be best if Luke, Niels, and I stood in the back of the truck, you know, to add weight to the bed. For me, it was also a way to get out of that death trap and into a position where at least I would have a chance to jump for safety if, in fact, the truck did start to head off the mountain into the abyss below. Now, I realize the physics supporting my escape plan aren´t exactly in my favor; however, it did give me at least some feeling of control. So there we were, getting soaked by the pouring rain, all in a crouched position waiting to jump from the bed of the truck in case of disaster. Antonio must have thought were were idiots.
But we made it! Sort of. While nothing happened on the mountainside, we didn´t quite make it back to Jaen in one piece. The Toyota, bless her soul, conked out about 28 kilometers from Jaen. This was not at all what we wanted while in the middle of our tenth hour on the road that day. So there we were, on the side of a Peruvian road, bags in hand and looking for a ride into town. Finally a shared taxi came along, into which the four of us piled, joining the five people already squeezed into the car. From there we cruised towards town while listening to spanish remakes of popular American love songs. "Love Hurts" and "Lady in Red" have never truly been appreciated until they have been enjoyed with eight other people packed into a Toyota Corolla Wagon.
Whew.
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