They're Not That Tall . . .

Kitchen counters here are generally higher than they are in Canada. Cupboards wander into the stratosphere, requiring stepping stools or, more often, chairs in order to plumb their contents. Joffre can't reach the tap on most bathroom sinks, especially the ones that are embedded in a vanity-type affair. Light switches and elevator buttons are so high that Joffre can't reach them, even straining on tip-toes. Nobody in a wheelchair would stand a chance.

What I don't get is why everything is so high up. I mean, one elevator's buttons were at my shoulder height, meaning they were about five feet off the floor. And, why? Peruvians aren't diminuitive, but they're definitely shorter than Canadians on average. I don't get it.

Throwing Carnivals

Well, it was Carnival proper over the weekend, so on Saturday we went down to the Plaza de Armas and had coffee in one of the second storey balcony restaurants that overlook the square. It was quite the thing to watch - at first there were just hoardes of young people running around in packs dousing each other with water (clear and coloured), shaving foam, confetti, and chalk dust. Then the parade started, and the water-throwers turned their buckets and squirt guns toward the dancers and bands.

You can see a larger selection of the pictures we took here:
Arequipa Carnival

But here are a few to get you started:





Note all the little yellow taxis in this last picture. They are the ticos that we've been cautioned against using.

Don't Drink the Water (It's Not Sweet Enough)

I've been meaning to say something for a little while about chicha morada, a popular Peruvian beverage that is consumed like lemonade or fruit punch. You can order a pitcher of it for the family at almost any restaurant. It is made from dark purple - nearly black - corn, and has a deep currant or blackberry colour. It is syrupy sweet and tastes of corn, bubble gum, and cinnamon. Really. I *want* to like it, but honestly.

And then, of course, there is Inka Kola, a hugely popular soft drink, which is food-colouring-yellow and tastes like cream soda. Or Kola Escocesa ("Scottish Cola"?), which is dark magenta and tastes very much like Inka Kola, only with a strange edge to it. Apparently it is locally produced. Yesterday we were out for lunch and we had the house lemonade, which was heavy on the sugar, light on the lemon. I have to stick to my bottled sparkling water, I think.

Combine all these beverages with favorite foods like deep fried cheese and pork skins, and it's not too surprising that weight loss schemes abound.

The Chachani Shot I've Been Striving For

(click on it to see full-sized image) See how pretty?

I can't wait to share the views from the new place. I know I'm going on and on about it, but I'm constantly fantasizing about having an early morning coffee in the yard, or a cup of tea or cocktail on the roof at dusk, and just soaking in the beautiful mountains and terraced farmland. It's awesome.

Mind you, we have this amazing view of the sparkling city lights of downtown Arequipa from the roof of this house - but the roof here isn't a place you'd want to hang out.

Progress

Wednesday was a big day for us - we interviewed our new nanny and hired her on a trial basis for this week. She is younger than I would have liked, at 19, and less experienced, but the boys love her and she is eager and smart. She speaks a bit of English, probably a little less than I was led to believe, but she is interested in learning and she is also interested in teaching the boys Spanish. She has her first aid training and a diploma in Business Administration from a local college. She is working on her thesis in the mornings and helping me with the kids in the afternoons.

We also went on Wednesday to see a number of other preschools, since I didn't want to go with the first one I saw, necessarily. I'm glad we looked around, because we found one closer to the new house that I greatly preferred, and we hope to enrol Joffre there, starting classes on March 6. He'll go in the mornings, and then I'll have the nanny helping in the afternoons, so I think it will work out very well.

Yesterday we went on the wives' bus again - I'm kind of addicted to it, because it means a free ride to the far-flung markets where all the good cheap produce and things are, and because the ladies who frequent it are all grandmothers who miss their grandkids. Joffre adores them, and they him. Today he asked me if we could go in the Grandma Van and go shopping, because he loves shopping, he tells me.

Keen Communication Skills
Last night, Joffre was trying to tell his dad something in the bathroom. Apparently, when Aaron didn't understand, Joffre said, "you no understand. We go tell Mom, Mom understand." But I didn't, right away, because he kept talking about something that sounded like 'tawrl'. So he said, "remember, that day, we go in the car, with the girls, the ladies, and we walking, that other day, and we go one tawrl, another one tawrl, another one tawrl? That other day? Remember that? With the one two ladies?" This went on for a good 5-10 minutes. And, eventually, I did remember that the day before we had gone in the car with the woman from Aaron's company and the nanny, and we had gone to three schools. And when I got it, he said, "yeah, that what I trying to tell you today in the van with the grandmas, remember that?" Because he had been trying to tell them about visiting the schools, and none of us understood what he was saying. So we worked a bit on his pronunciation of schools, but mostly I was just amazed at how patiently he explained and elaborated until we got what he was talking about.

So, we have made great progress this week, on preschool, nanny, communication, and all kinds of things. Which, considering some of the problems we were having last Friday, and at the beginning of this week, makes me very very happy.

Wallflowers

The water damage is pretty, in a "wow is this going to be costly to fix" sort of way.

Rooftop Views

Thank Heavens for husbands who wake up at the crack of dawn - otherwise, I'd never get to see these amazing views of the mountains at sunrise. Because, you know, I usually sleep in till 6:30.

Killer Bunnies

Popular culture has long juxtaposed the cute, cuddly bunny rabbit and the horror genre to produce an absurd effect - just look at Bunnicula, Donnie Darko the recent Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, and of course the classic Killer Rabbit of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

So I shouldn't be surprised that Joffre is scared of this:

But I don't find it scary - it just reminds me of Harvey.

The Ants Keep Marching In and In

I guess the man with the can and the rag was no match for my children's ability to spread crumbs and smear traces of food on the floor, since most of the house - upstairs and down - once again has ants. Another call to the Ant Man is clearly in order.

We visited a potential preschool for Joffre yesterday. It looks very good, and they speak some English there, and he is extremely keen to go. It sounds as though the company might pay for the preschool, since they're committed to covering all costs of primary education for the children of employees, and here preschool counts as primary education. He will get to wear a school uniform, too . . .

We visited our soon-to-be neighbour yesterday. She's Australian and lives just four or five doors down from our new house. Did I mention how nice the view is from there? We watched a storm come down El Misti and it was just amazing.

Vote For Pedro
So, since we arrived we've been told that there are two taxi options here, but I've only used one. Last week on the wives' bus, all the ladies were going on about how we should really be using Pedro. Pedro used to work for AT (the other company), but according to the ladies he has struck out on his own and now is so busy that he's trying to get another guy working with him. He comes very highly recommended by Aaron's company, and in fact his contact info is on our contact/emergency card. So, when we went to visit our Australian neighbour, she insisted that we should call Pedro. So, we did. The first thing I noticed is that Pedro's taxi has a taxi sticker on in with a phone number, which is not the cell number that I called to get him. Once we were on the road, I commented that the ladies all really liked him and recommended him. He told me that this is largely because he speaks English (which I didn't know) and lived in Toronto for a year. Then he told me the whole story of how he came to be working in his current job. He had worked for AT for five years, but when word got out that he spoke English, the foreigners from Aaron's company only wanted him. The dispatcher at the AT didn't like constantly having to direct a specific driver on certain jobs, so Aaron's company offered to set him up with a cell phone so that the ladies could call him directly. However, AT prohibits its drivers from having cell phones on the job, to prevent moonlighting. So, he left - but he went to another company that doesn't mind his moonlighting. Most of his fares are people from Aaron's company, and they keep him busy enough that he is trying to get another cabby who speaks English in on the gig. The thing is, that I guess the cabbies have to provide their own vehicle, and we are not allowed to go in ticos, which are small, light, easily-scrunched cars. So, until this other guy is able to buy a bigger, sturdier car, he can't get on the Pedro taxi train.

My other big reason for using Pedro is that recently I've felt a little bit tied down by AT, which can take up to 45 minutes to send a taxi our way, and I've found them playing games with the fees. The rate for continous service is 10 soles per hour, and the other day I was out for 40 minutes and got charged 9 soles. Then the driver didn't have change for a ten, so I said I guessed he could just keep it - but Aaron felt strongly that I'd been ripped off, and if I got ripped off, other foreigners would too, and he got me to call the company and complain. So, the dispatcher sent the cabby back with 2 soles, once the dispatcher and I had agreed on 8 soles for 40 minutes. Later that day, we had a different cabby for an hour, and he called in to the dispatcher to confirm the fee. Then he said, "S6.50, por favor." I said, no, that's not the going rate for an hour of service, and gave him 10. Someone's clearly playing games.

Chachani in the Morning

This is what I really do see out the kitchen window on clear mornings:

It looks bigger and more as though it was painted on the sky in real life.

It is beautiful - I love to sit at the table and drink my coffee and gaze at it. Usually while this is happening, I'm also having mashed banana smeared all over me while Joffre says, "help me! Feed me my breakfast! I can't feed myself!" But the view of the mountains takes the edge off.

I Want to Be . . . Consequence Free

This is the shop where we bought our new camera. It is the exact same model as our stolen camera (they sold it to us with all the accessories; I don't think it was the stolen camera). We found it almost as soon as we entered the Siglo XX, a vast warren of shops that sell anything and everything. The price was appropriate and the company will reimburse Aaron for the camera.

So, one week without our camera, and other than that it's as though the whole thing never happened. Now, I don't want to complain about the company covering the loss of the camera, but it's not really their fault. I left it sitting out in plain view, in an unavoidable and unforseen environment where there were lots of strangers coming and going. It's discomfitting to experience a significant loss and then have an outside party come in and undo it. It is a very surreal feeling, somehow.

About the Boys

Okay, I know this is supposed to be about Arequipa, and not Joffre and Alec, but I also know that most of my audience would love to hear about what the kids are doing.

Joffre continues to surprise us with his memory. He can recount events from Christmas or even last summer in great detail. He also can nearly recite some of his favorite storybooks. His comprehension is good, too. Yesterday I said, "you need an attitude adjustment," and he said, "NO! I not having a bumpy day!" ("grumpy") He puts things together well, too. He thinks a lot and seems to make sense of things, in interesting ways (examples coming when I remember what they are - my memory appears to be growing weaker as his strengthens) Seeing that Alec now says Dada and Mumum, Joffre's trying to get him to say Joffre, too.

And then there's Alec, who dances and claps to music, crawls like a pro, plays simple games like peek-a-boo and catch with a soft ball (he even invented one where he would place his sock on the stair, wait till I went for it, then snatch it away and chew on it for an instant before giggling and putting it back on the stair), and today was caught using a cup to scoop up bathwater and attempt to drink it. He knows when he's not supposed to be doing something, and now when I catch him going for an electrical outlet and say, "Alec, NO!", he revs up to the crawling equivalent of a run. Several times he has seemed to repeat a word we've said, and he is now more or less able to walk holding my fingers. He is very vocal, crooning and singing to himself when he's happy, and grumbling and whining when he's not (usually when he can't play with something dangerous, or when we aren't feeding him fast enough).

That Traditional Arequipan Tradition

I've been wanting to visit a restaurant in the southeast of town called Tradicion Arequipena (alas, minus applicable accents because I'm too lazy to figure out how to do them). I've been going on about it a lot. I figured today was the day.

So, we got in the cab, got on the road, and had the following conversation:
Aaron: So, you have the guidebook, right, so we know exactly where it is?
Me: No, it's a really famous restaurant, the cabby knows where it is.
A: But there are lots of traditional Arequipan restaurants around . . .
M: I didn't say, "take us somewhere traditionally Arequipan," I said, "take us to the restaurant called Tradicion Arequipena."
A: I'm just saying, we should have the guide book. I think he's already going the wrong way. LOTS of restaurants advertise traditional Arequipan food.
M: {fumefumefumefume} It's the name of the restaurant!!!!

[time passes and it becomes apparent that the cabby is going the right way]
M: Look, I'm sorry I got so defensive back there, but I really think he does know where he's going, and I didn't realize you wanted the book along with us - I don't usually carry it with me.
A: Well, we had it with us this morning, I just figured it should be in the bag this afternoon.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
A: This place must be pretty close to my office.
. . .
. . .
A: Is that it across the street?
M: (glancing) Yep.
A: Yeah, that's where I went for lunch with my coworkers yesterday.
M: WHAT?!?
A: You can understand why I thought lots of places advertised "traditional Arequipan" food . . .

SPLAT! Happy Carnival . . .

Yesterday the kids and I were driving around with our friends, and we noticed people near a college throwing water balloons at each other. Then we saw that people were dropping water balloons from rooftops and balconies in the city centre, prompting us to roll our windows up. Much to our confusion, we then saw a group of boys walking down the street carrying buckets of water - but not in any particular hurry.

Today, we saw people throwing water balloons and buckets of water on each other all over the place - including out of moving vehicles at other motorists and cyclists - and people spraying each other with silly string or a shaving-foam-like "party snow".

As it turns out, this is all part of Carnival. All over Peru, and Bolivia, and possibly other places, it's traditional to throw stuff on other people during Carnival. It is ridiculously hot and dry and sunny during the days, and I think most people would be happy to get drenched with water, anyway. Apparently it's a holdover from a Galician (northern Spain, directly north of Portugal) tradition of ritualized aggression in which people throw ash, water, flour, dirt, and ants on each other during the beginning of Carnival, called the entroido, and Carnival "cops" run around in grimacing masks, whipping people as a reminder that it is time to cut loose and play. In Laza, Spain, some locals claim that this is a parody of evil tax collectors of bygone days who wore menacing masks to intimidate the locals. Because, you know, whipping them was insufficient.

Wikipedia has a different explanation for the throwing phenomenon. In the Galician region of Allariz, the legend goes that in the Middle Ages, local Jews tried to ruin the procession of the Corpus Christi when it crossed their street/neighbourhood, insulting people and "provoking" the clergy. Apparently, a particularly zealous local man appeared riding a bull and threw sacks of live ants and ashes on the offending Jews. In Laza, people also dress up as bulls and run around in the streets causing general mayhem. The interreligious skirmish has been largely forgotten, apparently, and only the light-hearted pelting people with dirt and live ants remains.

Apparently something similar happens in Portugal. The Portuguese call this the entrudo, and it was brought to Brazil but there it is mostly confined to the throwing of streamers and confetti during parades. I don't remember much being thrown during Carnival in Brazil, and I don't remember getting wet or covered in silly string, but a lot of it is pretty hazy in my memory . . .

Here it's only water and shaving foam, but apparently in some parts of Bolivia it has escalated to water pistols filled with ink and, in some areas where there is gang activity, real pistols filled with bullets. BOLIVIA, not here. Although, if we went to Ayacucho during Samana Santa (Holy Week, just before Easter), and caught the procession of Our Lady of Sorrows (Dolores, which can mean "pains" in addition to "sorrows"), we might encounter some locals intent on inflicting some dolores of their own with slingshots and pebbles.

Ah, hijinks.

Seriously, though, how did a phenomenon so apparently widespread and so (to my North American Protestant sensibilities) out-of-left-field catch us so completely by surprise? There is no mention of it in any guidebooks or tourist literature I've seen, and nobody who has lived here mentioned it to us. I had to ask the cabby about it and then Google such popular search terms as "Peru water balloon carnival".

Fang
Another Peruvian custom that I'm not surprised to have missed before having the cabby (hitherto referred to as The Source of All Popular Culture Knowledge) explain it to me is this: the first person to see a new tooth in a baby's mouth has to buy the baby a present. In Alec's case, he got a couple of sips of my Inca Kola, the better with which to rot that new tooth. In other news, Alec has a new tooth. This makes three. After sprouting the classic two middle bottom teeth first, he decided to buck convention and pop out an upper canine next. The upper left, to be precise.

It looks like a little vampire fang.

Or a puppy fang, since he is decidedly puppyish in behaviour these days, especially since he's crawling expertly now. His favorite destinations are the toilet, the garbage can, any visible wires or cords, and the electrical outlets. Oh, and the stairs. They are building baby gates for us at our new house, and we will have a baby Safe Room (read: Jail), where there will be toys and nothing dangerous.

He will loathe it.

Divergent Points of View

Some of the ladies on the Wives' Bus were lamenting the absence of Olympic coverage. We do get about fifty channels, including international/Spanish versions of CNN, BBC, FOX, etc, but none of them is covering the Olympics. They seemed really scandalized by the fact that none of the channels was doing any regular or extensive Olympic coverage.

Of the Winter Olympics. In Peru. In the summer.

Maybe it's just because I'm not a huge fan of the Olympics, but I find it neither confusing nor upsetting that they aren't featuring largely in the Peruvian networks' lineup.

Today's Moment of White Hot Pride

The guard at the gate said to me, "your son speaks so well, and so clearly! Is he really only three? My nephew who is three is barely talking at all."

Of course, part of it is that he's hearing Joffre speak English, and something in our brains always jumps when we hear a child speaking a foreign language, but after all the speech therapy, it was a wonderful thing to hear.

Hired Help

Just a few random observations:

-Joffre got angry with Nina for cleaning, saying, "my Mom do that!" And followed her around the house making new messes for the first few times she cleaned for us. We've mostly gotten him past that. When I explained that she worked here, that cleaning here is her job, he was silent and pensive for a good 20-30 seconds. He is now very curious about where she lives, how she gets here, why she isn't here all the time to clean up . . . I'm surprised at the depth of culture shock, if that's the expression that fits, a Canadian 3-year-old experiences when confronted with a maid for the first time.

-There are ads on TV for something in the Viagra category where the maid is perpetually embarrassed by walking in on the enthusiastic middle-aged couple - or finding evidence of their amorous activities throughout the house. Only in Latin America, say I.

-I got really spoiled having a dishwasher in Vancouver. There isn't one here, and I am ashamed to say I am hard pressed to get the dishes done on the days when Nina isn't here. I do try, though, to at least remove the slovenly evidence before she arrives on her work days.

-Taxi drivers are telling me I should get a nanny. Actually, now a couple of them are saying, "so, what's the status with the nanny? Hasn't the company lined one up for you yet? There are lots of good girls out there looking for nannying jobs."

Public Ovens

I asked the cabbie this morning about public ovens, since I'd seen another sign that said "We Bake Turkeys". Home stoves are gas powered here, and baking or roasting anything that takes a long time can use a lot of gas. A number of commercial bakeries will bake other things for people, for less money than it would cost to bake it at home.

So, if we want roast turkey - or, you know, a Christmas goose - we know what to do.

Illness

Not, you know, terrible debilitating illness, or anything. But, Joffre's been a bit sick in the tummy, and I've been feeling almost altitude sick (shortness of breath, dizzy, racing heart, nausea) for a couple of days. But the really special moment was when . . .

Joffre woke up from an uncharacteristic nap, and was tired and grumpy and floppy, and pulled one of his choice stunts, which is to lie down on the floor near Alec and allow the baby to pull his hair and grab at his face until he feels sufficiently justified in striking back. It's sibling-baiting in its purest form. This time, though, Alec had just nicely started pulling hair while Joffre lay there like a CPR dummy, when Alec suddenly vomited all over himself and Joffre's hair and face.

I think they're both on a cereal diet for the next couple of days till their tummies are sorted out. I hope mine doesn't get worse.

Twelve More Days

This morning I walked into the kitchen and saw this:

(Photo of Chachani mountain borrowed from this Colca-Arequipa site)

And I began to truly itch with the excitement of knowing that in a mere twelve days, we will be moving into our new house, which also boasts excellent views of El Misti:

(Borrowed from the same source)

Yesterday afternoon, we went back to the house with our contact from the company, the owner, and the real estate agent, and did another walkthrough, looking at things that need fixing/installing, and discussing what needs to be done before we can move in. We agreed that we would move in March first, and I'm very pleased so far with their willingness to accommodate us for various things that we need done in the house. We will also have twenty days after we move in to report anything that is missing. The homeowner has young children and is leaving behind her baby bath, and some larger toys that are in the room that Joffre will have.

I can't wait to get a camera and post some pics of the house. Heck, I can't wait to have company in the house!

Then last night we had dinner at the home of the Canadians I met last week. It was a great meal, and their ten-year-old son played patiently with Joffre, who is now going on and on about "my friend." It will be good to find him some more kids his own age to play with. We do go to the club with relative frequency, but we haven't seen the same kids twice there so far, and so there's been no chance to build a friendship. Apparently preschool starts mid-March, and there are rumours about a bilingual one that takes three-year-olds, so we'll see if we can get him in there. In the meantime, we just have to go to the club as much as possible!

You Say Lemon, I Say . . . Lime?

It is interesting to me that in the English language, we have oranges, clementines, tangerines, tangelos, mandarins . . . all of which are considered to be different citrus fruits, with their own characteristics and flavours. And among oranges, we talk about lots of different varieties. But, we only distinguish between lemons and limes, when in fact there are lots of citrus fruits that fall into the lemon/lime family that can't be so easily pigeonholed. I guess English-speaking countries mostly have access to a few kinds of lemon and lime.

Take, for instance, the limones I bought for juice on Tuesday. They are the size of small limes - but not really tiny limes - they are perfectly round, to the point where I accidentally cut one in half the wrong way, they are yellow, and their flesh is a clear pale green. They taste like limes, but are stronger and more sour than a lot of limes you get in Canada. Mind you, they are juice limones. There were three other kinds of limones at the fruit stand, possibly meant more for cooking purposes? Who knows what they taste like?

The Wives' Bus

On Tuesday, the kids and I went around town in the van that Aaron's company sends twice a week to take spouses (read: wives) shopping or whatever. There were two Australians, one American, one Venezuelan, and one Canadian besides me in the van. Three of them were grandmothers, and the other two had kids who were in their late teens/early twenties, and who had not accompanied their parents here.

It was a really good experience, because Joffre got to hang out with a bunch of enthusiastic grandmothers who miss their grandkids, and who speak English. We also went to meat, fish, and produce markets that are far more interesting (and cheaper) than the two supermarkets we've been frequenting. I bought rather more than I needed, including plump black olives, fresh homemade cheese, manjar (click here for a description of this delicious caramel), a kilogram of juice limones for about 40 Canadian cents, the Peruvian hot bell peppers called rocoto, soft, ripe purple figs, the most beautiful avocadoes I've seen in ages . . . oh, just loads of stuff. I think I might have spent 15 Canadian dollars, total. Joffre was a saint, and actually slept in the van under the watchful eye of the driver while we shopped. Alec, of course, just sat in the carrier and took it all in.

I don't think, however, that we'll go on the van all that often. It's kind of a social outing for the ladies, with whom we don't have much in common. They're nice, but we have to focus on activities that are more for Joffre to play. And I like to be a little more independent in my itineraries, not having to coordinate my shopping with five other women. After all, now that I know about the markets, I can take a taxi there.

Very Strange Milk

It's not enough that the milk here just generally tastes weird to Joffre, who is used to Canadian milk. Here, in a restaurant, if you ask for milk, they will bring you a cup of hot milk, made from evaporated milk and boiling water. Sometimes, they just bring you the evaporated milk and a separate pot of hot water. It tastes reeeeaaally odd to one who is accustomed to cold, fresh(er) milk.

In one restaurant, I ordered coffee after the meal, and got an empty cup, a bowl of sugar, and three little pots: one with espresso, one with hot evaporated milk, and one with hot water. Which, of course, made me wish my Amma was here to enjoy it too . . .

UnCulture Shock

I'm surprised by the presence of familiar things I didn't expect to find. Like a Payless Shoe Source in the Sagafalabella mall. And a Bata. And a food court with Pizza Hut and KFC. How KFC can make a go of it in the land of pollo a la braza is anyone's guess, but there you have it.

All of Joffre's children's programs are here - albeit dubbed in Spanish - and one can watch whatever lousy American programming one can imagine, usually in English with Spanish subtitles. Desperate Housewives, Medium, Scrubs, ER, CSI, you name it. They even have popular sitcoms on in the afternoons. It's hard to feel too culture shocked when That '70s Show is a remote-click away. Heck, they even have CNN and BBC, without even bothering with subtitles.

And, as if to make me feel especially at home, I woke up this morning with about ten itchy mosquito bites on my legs. It was worth it to have spent a few hours lounging in the shade on the lawn yesterday while Joffre played with the sprinkler. Strangely, Alec went to sleep and actually napped on a towel on the lawn for about 45 minutes, and he doesn't have any bites, so maybe I was bitten not while outside, but by a little bloodsucker who crept into the bedroom in the night.

My First Brush With Peruvian Machismo
It's unfair of me, but I sort of never thought Peruvians would have much in the way of Latin machismo. When I think Peru, I think Andean peoples first, Spanish second. Where I might have gotten the notion that the Andeans weren't macho, I can't imagine. At any rate, after the Camera Theft Incident, the company decided nobody who wasn't cleared by them should be coming onto the property. This meant putting the roof repairs on hold. Not surprisingly, the message did not make it to the repairmen, who rang the bell yesterday morning at 7:05. I told them there had been some problems and no more work was to be done here till we had moved. They left. At nine am, the architect turned up, all oily smiles and strong cologne, and condescendingly asked me what I intended to do about the roof, if his men weren't going to repair it. I repeated to him that there had been some problems on the Friday (I didn't say what), and gave him the number of the people from Aaron's company to deal with them. And he went away. However, at one pm he turned up again, this time with his oily smiles barely concealing an accusatory demeanor, and started politely demanding that I explain when exactly I thought his men had stolen my camera (the company had filled him in on the details). He tried to logic and argue his way into proving that it couldn't possibly have been one of his long-standing and trusted employees, asked how I could accuse such a trustworthy and honest company like his own, went so far as to try and blame our beloved Nina, who wasn't even here that day, and generally indicating that the implication of theft on the part of someone in his employ had deeply wounded his honour. I talked over him calmly for a minute or two, explaining that there were more than ten people in the house on Friday and none of them were being allowed back in, and that in any case this was to do with the company and not me. When it became clear that he was too busy pleading his case to listen to me (and, I'm quite sure, he felt so superior as to not need to listen to the likes of me), I excused myself and called our company contact, who assured me that she had told him to only go through the company and not deal with me anymore. I put her on the phone with him, and after a brief conversation, he hung up, told me he was sorry for our loss, shook my hand, and got into his car. The bulky individual who had been standing silently behind him the whole time also shook my hand, and they departed.

Maybe it's a cultural thing, but I just don't trust a smiley, smooth-talking guy who comes to talk to a housewife, at home by herself with two small kids, with a bodyguard/thug retainer.

I'm going to greatly enjoy prefunctorily turning away the carpet-baggers and ne'er-do-wells who will inevitably be ringing our bell at the new house.

A Lovely Weekend

We actually had an excellent weekend, in spite of the whole stolen camera thing. Saturday we looked at three potential houses, and after a bit of agonizing we chose the last one. The second one we saw was practical - in a gated community, large, two storeys with only one staircase, four large bedrooms, a large yard - but kind of generic and (dare I say?) tacky in its ostentatious decoration. The last house we saw was smaller, taller, full of stairs, in worse repair, on a busy street, with a smaller, darker kitchen. BUT. It has a gorgeous view out the back from all of its levels, and just feels right in a way that the other one didn't. It's hard to describe the house, but once we get a camera (!) I will post pictures of it. And those of you who come visit us will certainly have a chance to experience the rooftop patio, complete with brick barbeque and panoramic view of the Chachani and El Misti mountains . . .

We then did a bit of banking - well, we set up a Peruvian bank account - and then we went to a fabulous Arequipan restaurant, where we dined on a shaded patio while Joffre danced to Peruvian music in the courtyard.

Sunday we visited the Plaza de Armas, watched some parades in honour of various presidential hopefuls, ate some typical Peruvian food, visited the claustros of the Compania, and rounded out the day at the Monasterio de Santa Catalina. (Just click on the place names to see photos of these places)

Best of all, the weather both days was clear and sunny, with bright blue skies and great views of the mountains. I felt as though I was finally experiencing the Arequipa I'd read about!

Sunday night we got pollo a la braza, rotisserie chicken which the Peruvians have raised to an art form.

All in all, it was a great weekend. Monday and Tuesday have been good, and interesting, in their own ways, but more on that later. The important thing is that now we are experiencing the fine Arequipan weather we were promised. The only drawback is that the sun is very fierce, and the kids and I are sporting weird little burnt patches where the sunblock missed us.

Heavy Rains + Leaks + Hot Sunny Aftermath

Equals a muggy house that smells, depending on the room you currently inhabit, of must and mildew or, more worryingly, cat pee.

Yes, you read me right. I don't know why, but the whole upper storey of the house has a distinctly cat pee-ish smell.

I Don't Understand
Why they charge more for unpeeled garlic than they do for peeled garlic. Especially because their unpeeled garlic is unspeakably difficult to peel, much harder than your average North American garlic.

Aaron is downstairs patiently trying to explain to Joffre where shadows come from, and why he doesn't need to be afraid of them. There is a shadow, produced by two light bulbs causing a third bulb to cast two shadows, that looks like bunny ears that particularly disturbs him. If and when we get another camera, I'll try to get a picture of it.

The Family's Quarters

As promised earlier, photos of the master bedroom:






I couldn't get a good shot of the jacuzzi alcove.

Unexpected Pleasures

Whenever you move somewhere new, you know there are going to be cool, fun, enjoyable things that you had no idea about before you moved there. Here are a few of them.

-The grass on the lawn is really, really springy. It's like walking on grass that's growing out of four inches of moss.

-Salchipapas. I realize I'm going to lose some or many of you from the word go, but there's this fantastic junk food called "salchipapas." Basically, it's fresh-cut fries topped with thinly sliced fried weiners, and laced with ketchup and mayonnaise. Salchicha is sausage, and papas is potatoes, so: salchipapas.

-The mayonnaise is flavoured with lime juice. It's very yummy.

-We have a hot sandwich maker in the house. I wasn't expecting one, but I think now I will get one for our new house. It's very convenient to slap together some cheese, ham, tomatoes, and bread and have a fast breakfast, lunch, or snack.

-Fresh squeezed orange juice. It's everywhere, it's cheap, it's clean, it's delicious, and it has replaced milk as Joffre's favorite drink, since Peruvian milk is "lucky" (yucky). I bought us a juicer, and you can get cheap bags of juice oranges (naranja de jugo) at the grocery store.

-Produce is unbearably cheap. Beautiful, plump, deep red tomatoes cost roughly 25 cents Cdn a kilogram.

-The water or the soap or the washing machine or some combination of all three has made our clothes brighter, cleaner, and softer than they were in Canada. Also, my hair likes the water.

-Joffre has started saying "Hola", "Buenos Dias", and "Adios".

-A form of endearment similar to "sweetie" or "honey" is "cielo", which means "heaven". I don't know if this is a Peruvian thing or a Spanish thing more generally, but it's lovely.

-Some mornings you can actually see El Misti, the big mountain above Arequipa, from the kitchen window of the guesthouse. (Click here to see it)

Just Plain Unexpected
There's also this phenomenon where things happen in a foreign country that surprise you, take you aback, force you to examine your own preconceptions, or just leave you shaking your head.

-They put sugar in baby food. ALL baby food. Also, they sweeten all packaged fruit juices, even the ones that say "natural" on them. The fresh squeezed stuff is your only sugarfree option.

-Cheese Ice Cream (Queso Helado) is not in fact made from cheese, I'm happy to report, but from condensed milk. We will try it.

-Turkish Baths are everywhere, and I don't know if it's a bona fide public bath, or, you know, something else . . .

-I saw a sign for "Horno Publico", which means Public Oven. In a fairly affluent suburb. But, hey, our guest mansion lacks an oven, so now I know where to go if I want to bake a cake.

-Taking your baby out with bare feet will earn you accusatory glances and exclamations of "pobrecito!", even if it's 22 degrees C out.

-When people want to know how old your baby is, they ask, "how much time does he have?" Which, really, has a rather different implication in English. But the literal translation of "how old are you?" is "how many years do you have?", and they know the baby doesn't have any yet.

There are many more little things about Peru that I will have to share another time, when I don't have scrapping children underfoot.

Why It Rained Indoors

'Nuff said.

Another Word About Photos

You won't be seeing any new ones here for a while. You see, Friday, after all that rain, we had a steady stream of people through the place. The people from Aaron's company, the real estate agent, the homeowner's sister (owner currently vacationing), people to clean up the messes, an architect and his entourage, trying to bandaid the roof problem . . . and throughout it all, I was taking pictures of the damage the rain had done. At some point, I set the camera down. Saturday morning, when we were ready to go house hunting, we looked for the camera and could not find it. Along with Nina, we have searched the house from top to bottom, and have concluded that someone pocketed it while they were here Friday.

We did pick a house, though. It is very nice, and has an awesome view. It isn't as practical as some of the others we saw, but we are suckers for beauty.

I also met another Canadian wife-of-engineer, and her 10 year old son, and we got along quite well. So, hopefully we'll be building a bit of a community now.

I have a million other things to say, but it's Sunday night and I'm too tired. I also have pictures of the water on the roof, but for some reason they won't upload. Another time, I suppose.

A Word About Family Photos

Many of you may wish to see pictures of the kids. And of their parents, although I suspect that's less of a concern. So, since certain members of our family are a wee bit concerned about public access to pictures of the children, I will upload pictures of the kiddies to Flickr and send an email to everyone I can think of with the link. If you don't get one by, say, Monday February 13, email me and remind me to invite you to see the Flickr photos. Once you've been invited, I think you'll be able to see them whenever, and I'll alert you when a new batch go up.

I hope that all made sense.

A Substandard Ark

Summer in Arequipa is roughly December through March, with January and February being the rainiest months. But, hey, it's a semi-arid climate, so how much rain could they really get?

Well, the second night that we were here, we had a pretty heavy rainfall. Rainwater came in through the back kitchen door and left a big puddle under the kitchen table. And then, most nights thereafter, there was some light rain. But last Thursday took the cake. It rained most of the day Thursday, but the rain got really heavy around 5 pm. I felt terrible when the gentleman from Aaron's company came to check out the problem with the water heater. When he opened the door to the roof, a puddle that had been sitting there poured into the room. He got some cardboard to stop it from leaking into the room, and promised he would be back at nine the next morning.

The rain was truly Biblical - it was like a wall of water outside, and a terrible hammering on the roof and skylights. Still, I was a bit taken aback when one of the walls started weeping:


And then there was the ceiling in the walk-in closet, which was saturating the carpet.






We took a picture of the ceiling in the front entrance that evening . . . By the next morning, the damage had spread considerably, and the floor was a small lake in spite of the buckets, garbage cans, pots, and towels we had arrayed under the leak.

These are only a few of the many pictures we took. Throughout the house were leaks and stains, as though the whole ceiling might become saturated and collapse.

Week One: Working Out the Kinks

So, our first four or five days have been focused on getting settled in. Basically, the time here can be summed up into things that have worked surprisingly well, and things that haven't.

Things That Worked:
-The wood-burning barbeque out back. Note the grill which can be raised or lowered with a crank mechanism on the side.
-High speed internet within 24 hours of our arrival. Cell phones, also. We are fully wired, and fully wireless. That's impressive.
-Phone cards. For roughly 13 (Canadian) cents per minute, we can use a phone card to call Canada. Not super cheap, but not bad. And very convenient, which counts for a lot.
-Children's programming in Spanish: Joffre is picking words up already, and it helps distract him for a bit here and there.
-Taxis. Granted, we must wait for up to half an hour for a taxi, since we are supposed to use only Aerotaxi, for security reasons, but they are relatively cheap and the drivers are without exception friendly, helpful, and knowledgable.
-Laundry. A washer and a dryer that work, and if anything work better than the ones we had in Canada.
-Nina, the wondermaid. There's a WHOLE lot to be said in favour of a woman who cheerfully arrives at 8 am every second day to clean and tidy the house and fold and iron the laundry.
-Membership in the local club. Okay, this had a few hiccups, of the developing-world-bureaucracy variety, but we still had membership in the Club Internacional by noon Sunday, and we only got here Friday. This is important because it is the only playground I've seen since arriving here, and it is overrun with children - most of whom speak Spanish, whether they're international or not.

Things That Didn't:
-When we got to the house, they told us they would be back in two hours with a few staples for the house. Three hours later, nobody had turned up yet. This wouldn't be so bad except that a)there was no potable water in the house, b)there was no food in the house, and c)the only phone numbers they had left us were for cell phones, which can't be called from the house phone. So, we went and talked to the security guy at the gate, who called the security company that works with Aaron's employer, who called a couple of other people, and sent a car over to take us to a supermarket. When we got back from the store, there were 100 litres of potable water in the pantry, and some toilet paper, cleaning products, Danish cookies, chocolate bars, and two chocolate teddy bears sitting on the counter. So, they felt pretty lousy about ditching us without food or drink our first night here.
-And then there was this:

See, the floor of the house is always somewhat dirty, even if it's just been cleaned. And I get the sense that most people wear shoes, slippers, or flip-flops around the house, but we don't have any suitable footwear right now, and we go barefoot. So, my feet were dirty, and I didn't want to climb into the jacuzzi tub to wash them (yeah, poor me), so I lifted my foot up to the sink. And I didn't really apply any weight, but I did touch the basin, and it fell out.
-Ants. Thousands and thousands of ants have been on parade march through the living room, kitchen, and entryways, and no amount of cleaning them up has stemmed the tide. However, as we were going out a couple of days ago, a stooped old man carrying an unmarked can and a dirty rag turned up at the gate and said he was here to take care of the ants. He did not require entry into the house. And now the ants are gone. I'm trying not to think too hard about what he might have done.
-Generally, the house feels as though it were slapped together in a hurry, and is now falling apart. So, there are leaks (see the next entry), and there were burned out lights, open light sockets, and many unfinished details that need fixing.
-And until today there was no hot water. See, they use a solar heater, which in Arequipa normally works a treat. However, Arequipa is undergoing some serious cold, cloud, and rain (see the next entry). There's a gas-powered backup tank, but it was tiny and the house is huge, so by the time the small quantity of hot water reached the shower, it was tepid. They put in a new tank today, though, so now we have more hot water. Which, since it's been cold, is a nice thing.

A whole lot has happened in the past two days, but I can't write about it right now. I will try to catch up over the weekend!

NEWS FLASH!

Well, you could knock me over with a feather. Yesterday afternoon a woman called from LAN Chile to inform me that our missing bag had made it safely to Lima and was on a flight to Arequipa. We picked it up at the airport this morning, and Joffre sang his special Nemo Bag song (lyrics: "Nemo, nemo, meemo, meemo BAAAAAAG!") all the way home. This, as you may recall, was a bag with no identifying tags on it, left behind in a business lounge.

I can't believe they found it and got it to us. Way to go, LAN Chile!!

In other news, Alec said "Mum" today. Twice. He hasn't said it since, but it's a start.

First Encounter With the White City

There was no separation of classes on the flight from Lima to Arequipa. When we got to our seats, Joffre said, "Mom! These seats too small!" I told him there was no business class on the flight, and he said, "Well, that okay." How, um, gracious of him . . .

Arequipa is called The White City because most of the colonial era buildings are made of white sillar, a local volcanic rock. In fact, both the city and the surrounding hills and mountains looked pretty beige flying in - and this is the rainy season.

We were met at the airport by more security people, who drove us to our new (temporary) home in Arequipa. Down a cobbled country road, through a security gate, down another long road with high stone walls on either side, through another security gate (both manned with guards), and we were in Las Sauces, a strange little T of two cobbled streets with about 10 enormous houses lining them. There were gentlemen from the company there to meet us, and tour us around the vast domicile. The house has an enormous dining area, several sitting areas, five bedrooms, four bathrooms, and generally more space than three families our size need:








We don't currently have a photo of the master apartment, er, bedroom, but I'll take 3 or 4 (the minimum required to show the whole thing).

Oh, and three fireplaces. The place has three fireplaces.

Thirty-Six Hours in Lima

We arrived around midnight Peruvian time. Down a staircase onto the tarmac, into a waiting bus, and over to the terminal we went. Alec marked the occasion by instantly developing some kind of terrible red speckly rash all over his face - heat rash? Humidity rash? Pollution rash? Something along those lines. Between that, the rattly breathing, and the runny nose, it's amazing anyone thought he was cute at all (but they did!).

We got through immigration without a hitch, and were very grateful for having been fasttracked along with all the other families with small children. Of course, when we got to the baggage carousel, we were met by a LAN agent who told us that 7 of our 10 pieces of luggage were still in LA because they had missed the connection. This was actually a blessing in disguise - it meant considerably less baggage to cart to the hotel for 2 nights, and it meant that the LAN agents would put all of those bags through customs, so we didn't have to worry about them. Miraculously, one of the 3 bags that had made it was the one in which I had packed changes of clothes for the family. We had to wait a long time in the airport for papers regarding the delayed luggage to be filled, and then it was off to the hotel. We checked in at a little after 2:00 AM, Lima time, and crashed hard. This was very easy to do, in our suite with king and double beds, beautifully appointed crib, air conditioning, and a family-sized jacuzzi tub.

Thursday morning, Aaron had to go bright and early to Interpol to be registered as a foreign worker, but we didn't. So, the kids and I slept in until Aaron got back at around 9:30. What ensued was ten hours of nothing much - brunch, hanging out watching Bob the Builder, Dora the Explorer, and every other mainstream preschooler show you can imagine in Spanish, room service lunch . . . Aaron eventually took Joffre out to explore the neighbourhood, while Alec slept and I lay on the floor watching bad American programming for two hours. Hey! I was sick, remember?

At 5:30, Aaron's friend Felix who lives in Lima came by the hotel. We had coffee in the hotel bar, and then packed the two sleeping children into Felix's Land Cruiser. He took us to a beautiful restaurant with a patio overlooking the ocean, and the children miraculously slept - yes, both of them - through the entire meal. Then it was back to the hotel for baths and bed.

Friday morning we got up, eager not to make the same mistake we did in Vancouver, two hours before our ride to the airport was due to arrive. We packed up, and it's a good thing we were more on the ball, since our ride was a half-hour early and we were still trying to rouse Joffre. Lima is three hours later than Vancouver, so suddenly we were expecting the kids to be up and functioning at what felt like 4 or 5 in the morning.

We got to the airport reasonably early for our flight, which was good because we had a lot of hoop-jumping to do, what with being reunited with our delayed baggage, paying for excess baggage (not a simple matter of handing over the cash, evidently), and navigating the maze of security and airport tax queues that stood between us and our gate. Also, we were being shadowed by the security company agent who had driven with us to the airport, which was simultaneously reassuring and disconcerting. Not surprisingly, our flight was delayed and we thus got to have a sandwich and a coffee before bidding Lima farewell.

First Class Kids

Joffre was so sweet on the Alaska Airlines flight to LA, it broke my heart. He did up his own seatbelt, listened to the PA and told me what he heard - and asked about things he missed - and looked out the window and gave me a play-by-play of what was happening on the tarmac. He was very excited to be going on a plane. Actually, when we left the Fairmont and entered the departures lounge, he was blown away, since I think he'd forgotten that we were at the airport! So, once the plane took off, Joffre told me all about how fast the plane was going, and how we were flying up in the sky, above the clouds. He watched the lights of the city disappear as the sun rose, and he even waited patiently till the seatbelt sign was off to visit the potty.

Aaron sat with Joffre for the flight and let Alec and I sleep a bit, which we greatly appreciated. We landed in LA at about 9:30 am, and easily found the international terminal.

Lost and Found and Lost; Or We Should Have Known Better

Aaron and I have, between the two of us, been travelling internationally for decades. We're pretty experienced travellers. Which is why what happened next is especially embarrassing.

After checking in with LAN for our flight to Peru, we noticed that one of the adorable yellow duckie foot booties that Michelle had given Alec had fallen off. I stayed with the kids while Aaron went looking for it, and then he stayed with them while I searched, but it was to no avail. Alec was short a bootie.

We went through the long and arduous security line in Tom Bradley International Terminal, and imagine our joy when the missing bootie appeared in the stroller, neatly tucked behind Joffre's back. We're still not sure how it got there. After clearing security, we proceeded to the Business Class Lounge for a coffee, a bite to eat, and a bit of relaxation. I settled our many carry on items in a secluded corner, but Joffre was drawn by the TV and so we ended up relocating to the TV area instead. After a bit of playing, eating, and watching TV, we heard our flight called for boarding, so we packed up and headed for our gate. There was a huge line at the gate, and we waited there for quite a while. Then we took a shuttle bus out to where the plane was to be boarded. While standing in line, waiting to enter the plane, I glanced over our carry on bags. Not, you know, before leaving the Lounge. Sure enough, one bag was missing: Joffre's treasured Nemo suitcase, a gift from his Grandma Mary, containing his portable DVD player, a brand new Thomas the Tank Engine DVD, a photo album his Amma had made for him, and his new duckie slippers from Michelle. I immediately told the LAN agent, who radioed their desk back at the terminal and asked them to go and look in the lounge. When they closed the flight, however, nothing had been found. Not only were we not counting our bags each time we moved - which is something we've generally been good at, especially when not travelling light, but we hadn't bothered to label half of our carry on bags with address tags. So now we were expecting LAX security and the good people at LAN to come up with an unaddressed bag in the LA airport, and get it to us in Lima.

There are many kinds of travellers, but all of these can be divided into two general categories: efficient travellers and inefficient ones. Efficient travellers always have their papers in order, never struggle under more bags than they can manage, are never late for/miss flights, never have items with them that don't fit easily into the overhead compartment, always pack their belongings in such a way that they aren't damaged in transit, and above all, never lose bags. Man, I miss being an efficient traveller.

At any rate, Business Class on LAN was lovely. Joffre fell asleep shortly after takeoff, and Aaron and Alec quickly followed suit. It was a 7.5 hour flight, and while the family spent much of the time awake and restless, there were few meltdowns and many happy moments. This was doubtless because we had an extra seat for Alec, seats that completely reclined - essentially forming beds - individual TVs with children's programs, movies, and video games, a map showing the flight path of the plane, and enough leg room that both children could play on the floor in front of their parents. As most of you know, I could go on and on about the food, but I'll limit myself to saying it was delightful.

We landed at midnight, not feeling too rough at all!

Jam and Cheese

Okay, just one comment about the food: about two hours before we landed, they served a snack. The flight attendant asked if I wanted cake, fruit, or a sandwich. I asked what kind of sandwich, and she said, "jam and cheese." I said, "okay," thinking it might be a Peruvian thing and I should keep an open mind. Of course, when she brought it, it turned out to be roasted yellow and red peppers, swiss cheese, and ham. It was just her accent.

By the Skin of Our Teeth

We woke up at 5 am. The flight was at 7. We were already in the airport. We thought this meant we had plenty of time. Between repacking and getting two fast-asleep kids out the door (we just put Joffre straight from the bed into the stroller), it was 6:05 when we left the hotel room. We got to the Alaska Airlines First Class check-in, and there was no line. Wonderful, we thought, pushing a luggage cart that greatly ressembled the Grinch's post-epiphany sleigh, up to the counter. "That flight's already closed," said the agent, "but we'll see what we can do." She and another agent danced around our mountain of bags, tagging them, as I frantically filled address labels. We tried to race through to customs and immigration - through which one passes in the Vancouver airport - but we were hampered by our ridiculous quantity of baggage. Between the mountain of bags and the duck-footed baby strapped to Aaron's chest (more on that later), we drew stares and whispers as we went. "That takes talent," commented one fellow traveller, while a kindly old man said to me, "are you moving?" "Yes," I whispered, "to Peru." It seemed such an outrageous statement that I felt like I was lying.

When the immigration official asked where we were going, and we told her, she asked if we were going as missionaries. We said no, but that we were likely to miss our flight if we didn't get through in time.

At 6:29, we loaded our bags onto the luggage belts. As we started to hoist the carseats onto the rack, an agent came up and said, "oh, those go to #4, the belt for special - hey, your carseats aren't tagged!" What ensued was a jumble of accusations and redirections, since the baggage handlers were convinced that it was our fault that our seats hadn't been properly tagged, and seemed to believe that we wanted to gate check them (which would have meant carrying them to the door of the aircraft, and then carrying them through our LA stopover). A baggage handler radioed the Alaska Airlines desk, while I whispered vehemently that we did NOT want the bags gate checked, but wanted to send them down the #4 conveyor belt post haste.

At 6:36, a bored-looking Alaska agent tagged the carseats, looked at us in consternation, and said, "are you flying standby?" "NO!" we proclaimed in unison (in a striking break with convention, Aaron speaking loudly and me whispering). "Oh," she said, derision dripping from every pore, "you just checked in so late they couldn't give you seats."

We got into the fast track security line, and of course were required to place our many and varied carry-on items onto yet another conveyor belt. We also had to get Joffre out of the stroller and fold it up. He took the opportunity to announce, "I need go potty now!" I decided, the nighttime pullup he was in would have to suffice for now. Security, sensing our urgency, insisted I open one of my bags and, for the first and so far only time in my life, I "set off" the metal detector. I firmly believe that the security agents can make it go off if they want a closer look at you, since I had nothing on that should have set it off, and did not set off the ones in LA or Lima, wearing exactly the same things.

At 6:49, we had figured out where our gate was and were running now, stripped of our tower of luggage, for the gate while the PA system played our song: "Alaska Airlines is paging remaining passengers Cannon and Gunson, party of three, for flight 601 to Los Angeles." Breathless and contrite, we collapsed - I wheezing disconcertingly - into our ample, comfy seats, where bottled water was blessedly waiting, and sat back to enjoy the first leg of our journey. It was 7 am and I felt as though I'd already had a full day.

Ready, Set, MOVE!

So, we learned on the morning of Tuesday, January 24 that we would be flying out on Wednesday, February 1. Not only did we receive a mere week's notice of the relocation date, we also had only one hour before movers arrived to assess what needed to go or be stored. The moving manager then announced that a moving team would be arriving the next morning to start packing up "stuff we weren't using, that we wouldn't need for the week."

Of course, when the movers arrived 20 minutes early the next morning, they had had no such instructions and wanted to pack as much as humanly possible. This they essentially did. We spent the next couple of days surrounded by white boxes, until Saturday morning when a completely different moving team showed up to finish the packing and move everything out. Not surprisingly, switching moving crews mid-move lead to a few problems - the movers label each box with their own initials and the contents of the box, along with where it was packed (master bedroom, etc) and where it's headed (Peru, storage). Sounds great for accountability, right? Well, the problems begin when they mislabel what's inside a box, and when the crew manager subs in someone else's intials when entering all this handwritten stuff into the computerized inventory "because Joe hasn't been registered in the system yet." So much for accountability. I had them open one of the boxes that was already in the truck, because it appeared that something was going to storage that should be coming to Peru. The box was mislabelled. Just for fun, we went to a used book store on Granville Saturday morning while the crew were finishing up and played "How Many Books Can You Buy in 10 Minutes?" The answer is somewhere around 40, and they're apparently joining us with the air shipment.

We spent the next four days living in a mostly empty apartment, not even surrounded by white boxes. On Monday, a cleaning team and a carpet washer came in and spiffed the place up so that the property manager wouldn't be too shocked when called in to inspect the apartment on extremely short notice.

Voiceless in Vancouver

I noticed I was getting sick Friday afternoon. Saturday I generally felt a bit better, but very run down. Sunday morning I felt terrible, but I rallied and we hosted a farewell party that afternoon. Sunday night I felt as bad as I had when I woke up, but Monday and Tuesday basically finished me off. Tuesday my throat was extremely sore, a condition which continued through Wednesday and Thursday, and I had no voice at all. I got a bit of packing done, with the tireless assistance of my friend Sandra (to whom I am much indebted), but I wasn't up to packing us out. In the end, Aaron came home from an extremely busy work day and sent the kids and I with Ava to the airport to check into the Airport Fairmont while he finished packing and moving us out.

When we got to the Fairmont, Joffre was asleep. Alec and I went to check in while Ava helped the bellboy get the first installment of our many, many bags from the car. The trouble with relocating to Peru, in terms of packing out, has been that we are hesitant to part with the toys, books, comforters, and innumerable other items that provide a reassuring environment for the kids. So, we were travelling with the maximum allowable luggage in First Class, which was really ridiculous. Joffre woke up as Ava brought him into the building, and when we were reunited in our hotel room, Joffre checked out his new digs and laid out a game plan: "First, I have bath in my new tub. Then, pyjamas. Then some food and a movie. I happy here! I like my new house!" Poor kid, having to be informed that a five star hotel was not in fact his new abode.

Since I was speechless, Ava ordered room service for dinner. Joffre got scrambled eggs and hash browns off the children's menu, and was very excited about getting breakfast at night. Aaron arrived, Ava went home, and we got both kids to sleep. Actually, I got Joffre to sleep just as Aaron was arriving, and then he dealt with a fretful Alec while I shivered feverishly in bed, trying not to swallow, and wondered if the flight crew would deny me entry into the plane, since I was so sick.