They have me thoroughly scared. "You will go up 1500 feet in three hours. Take the soroche pill every morning and night, and you can stagger ibuprofen with acetaminophen. When I was in the hospital they told me to stagger the codeine with ibuprofen. You will be working with about 30 local farmers. You'll be the slowest one in the pack."
4.06.2013, Huancayo, Junin, Peru
Today was the first day of work on the potato harvest in Huancayo, high in the Peruvian Andes. We left our hotel at 6am and did not reach the filed until 9am. The mountain roads are infrequently traveled by car or truck. Donkeys, horses, sheep, pigs, and people on foot are common. We saw so much of this on the way up the mountain that my thoughts of realizing how different this sight was subsided. Wheat and many potatoes and are grown here. It makes beautiful patches of color on the mountainsides lining the valley. Yellow flowers that remind me of rapeseed lined the road along with grasses that recall Iowa and astounding outcroppings of lichen-covered rock. The sky here is so bright blue with lofty white clouds- it is so different and refreshing from Lima. If I look up at the sky, I could easily be in Iowa. This has to be some of the most beautiful agricultural land in the world. And I wondered if agriculture would take me places...We worked with 22 local farmers. Since they are used to this type of farm work and the altitude, they can work much more quickly than the five of us from CIP. However, it was uncomfortably shocking to me that we were not going to help harvest. The CIP crew and I labeled potatoes all day, and this felt frustratingly simple next to the labor of the farmers around me. Finally, I got my hands in the dirt bagging potatoes. I immediately felt better about my work, even if I was slower than those around me. One woman was nice enough to say, "you're quick!" Since I was slower than the others, I expect this meant, "you are not as slow as I expected!" I took the compliment.
The farmers cooked lunch to share with us in a special oven, the pachamanca, made by making a hole in the ground. First, a fire is lit and rocks are piled on top. After an hour of heating the rocks, the rocks are removed. Then potatoes, a layer of rock, meat, a layer of rock, and more potatoes are added. All this is covered by another layer of rock, earth, and finally green plants to cook for an hour. The potatoes were served by laying them out on blankets, and enormous portions of meat in tin bowels. There is something about eating meat with my hands, the sight of how my neighbor's portions make up an animal, and the still fresh smell of blood and sheep in the meat that I appreciated. I am going to avoid meat for a while again, but I appreciated that it was impossible to forget this food's origin. As much as I washed and showered, I can still smell it on my hands.
Tonight I am tired and my body is sore, despite the small amount of work I did. How frustrating. What an adventure today was though! Despite how breathtaking it was, my favorite imagination right now is to go for a run in the Iowa countryside, cook and eat a vegetarian meal.
What a juxtaposition of reality, adventure, and imagination.
07.06.2013 Huancayo, Junin Peru
It is very cold here. I am still freezing even though I am sitting in the hotel lobby. There is no heat in the hotel. The last two days on the mountain it rained, which made for a very cold an inefficient time harvesting. I am lucky I was not the one who had to harvest. Last night we went out for calientitos -hot Huancayan drinks- and one member of our crew ended up explaining a bit more about Latino culture to me, especially with respect to the local farmers who were working with us. He said as an agronomist here in Peru, you need to be firm, because to have to be able to keep control of field projects. "Our culture is strong. We don't ask please, do this, when we mean do it! I've noticed this from the language people use. Although I already has some idea from Spanish courses, it is different to experience the use of commands. When answering the phone, it's "Tell me," and when explaining things, it's "look at me," "listen to me," all as a command. The last few days, the disparity between the local farmers and our team from CIP bothered me a great deal. These farmers work bent over all day harvesting potatoes, and when I was not labeling, I could do nothing but stand there to wait. I tried to help one man carry a potato sac into the truck, and I got a barrage of "No no no no no no!" from my supervisor. It was good natured, but he also said, "you don't need to do that!" as a command. As much as I tried to help out with any task I could during this week, it was only acceptable for me to help with the tasks that were not physical. I understand this was due to the altitude, although I sense a cultural component as well. At 5000 meters, Huancayo is one of the highest places in Peru. Often, foreigners do not do well here. As out breath as I often was though, I did not feel sick.
The local farmers impressed and humbled me. In the potato field at the top of the mountains in Huancayo, a favorite song echoed in my mind.
"I could see for miles, and miles, and miles,
And at once I knew I was not magnificent."
The local farmers very long lived- to 70 or 80 years, all are literate, and everyone is well fed. Food security I could tell from the culture around food, working in the fields, and looking at the people. The rest I gathered from speaking to my crew from CIP. The farmers speak a combination of Quechua and Spanish, so it made it difficult for me to talk to them in addition to the cultural that seemed to dictate I should not interact with them too much. I cannot imagine living where it rains so much and is so cold. However, I've worked my days in the Iowa winter as well. Watching them work made me feel horrible though. I know I can't do the work they do, carry as much as they can, or work as long as they can. The whole time I wanted so badly to work alongside them, even if it was for a little while. Even when my body would be proven much weaker and less skilled in the tasks. However, afraid of failing physically and afraid of breaking some cultural barrier, I refrained. I've had a lot to think about.
Today was the first day of work on the potato harvest in Huancayo, high in the Peruvian Andes. We left our hotel at 6am and did not reach the filed until 9am. The mountain roads are infrequently traveled by car or truck. Donkeys, horses, sheep, pigs, and people on foot are common. We saw so much of this on the way up the mountain that my thoughts of realizing how different this sight was subsided. Wheat and many potatoes and are grown here. It makes beautiful patches of color on the mountainsides lining the valley. Yellow flowers that remind me of rapeseed lined the road along with grasses that recall Iowa and astounding outcroppings of lichen-covered rock. The sky here is so bright blue with lofty white clouds- it is so different and refreshing from Lima. If I look up at the sky, I could easily be in Iowa. This has to be some of the most beautiful agricultural land in the world. And I wondered if agriculture would take me places...We worked with 22 local farmers. Since they are used to this type of farm work and the altitude, they can work much more quickly than the five of us from CIP. However, it was uncomfortably shocking to me that we were not going to help harvest. The CIP crew and I labeled potatoes all day, and this felt frustratingly simple next to the labor of the farmers around me. Finally, I got my hands in the dirt bagging potatoes. I immediately felt better about my work, even if I was slower than those around me. One woman was nice enough to say, "you're quick!" Since I was slower than the others, I expect this meant, "you are not as slow as I expected!" I took the compliment.
The farmers cooked lunch to share with us in a special oven, the pachamanca, made by making a hole in the ground. First, a fire is lit and rocks are piled on top. After an hour of heating the rocks, the rocks are removed. Then potatoes, a layer of rock, meat, a layer of rock, and more potatoes are added. All this is covered by another layer of rock, earth, and finally green plants to cook for an hour. The potatoes were served by laying them out on blankets, and enormous portions of meat in tin bowels. There is something about eating meat with my hands, the sight of how my neighbor's portions make up an animal, and the still fresh smell of blood and sheep in the meat that I appreciated. I am going to avoid meat for a while again, but I appreciated that it was impossible to forget this food's origin. As much as I washed and showered, I can still smell it on my hands. 
Tonight I am tired and my body is sore, despite the small amount of work I did. How frustrating. What an adventure today was though! Despite how breathtaking it was, my favorite imagination right now is to go for a run in the Iowa countryside, cook and eat a vegetarian meal.
What a juxtaposition of reality, adventure, and imagination.
07.06.2013 Huancayo, Junin Peru
It is very cold here. I am still freezing even though I am sitting in the hotel lobby. There is no heat in the hotel. The last two days on the mountain it rained, which made for a very cold an inefficient time harvesting. I am lucky I was not the one who had to harvest. Last night we went out for calientitos -hot Huancayan drinks- and one member of our crew ended up explaining a bit more about Latino culture to me, especially with respect to the local farmers who were working with us. He said as an agronomist here in Peru, you need to be firm, because to have to be able to keep control of field projects. "Our culture is strong. We don't ask please, do this, when we mean do it! I've noticed this from the language people use. Although I already has some idea from Spanish courses, it is different to experience the use of commands. When answering the phone, it's "Tell me," and when explaining things, it's "look at me," "listen to me," all as a command. The last few days, the disparity between the local farmers and our team from CIP bothered me a great deal. These farmers work bent over all day harvesting potatoes, and when I was not labeling, I could do nothing but stand there to wait. I tried to help one man carry a potato sac into the truck, and I got a barrage of "No no no no no no!" from my supervisor. It was good natured, but he also said, "you don't need to do that!" as a command. As much as I tried to help out with any task I could during this week, it was only acceptable for me to help with the tasks that were not physical. I understand this was due to the altitude, although I sense a cultural component as well. At 5000 meters, Huancayo is one of the highest places in Peru. Often, foreigners do not do well here. As out breath as I often was though, I did not feel sick.
The local farmers impressed and humbled me. In the potato field at the top of the mountains in Huancayo, a favorite song echoed in my mind.
"I could see for miles, and miles, and miles,
And at once I knew I was not magnificent."
The local farmers very long lived- to 70 or 80 years, all are literate, and everyone is well fed. Food security I could tell from the culture around food, working in the fields, and looking at the people. The rest I gathered from speaking to my crew from CIP. The farmers speak a combination of Quechua and Spanish, so it made it difficult for me to talk to them in addition to the cultural that seemed to dictate I should not interact with them too much. I cannot imagine living where it rains so much and is so cold. However, I've worked my days in the Iowa winter as well. Watching them work made me feel horrible though. I know I can't do the work they do, carry as much as they can, or work as long as they can. The whole time I wanted so badly to work alongside them, even if it was for a little while. Even when my body would be proven much weaker and less skilled in the tasks. However, afraid of failing physically and afraid of breaking some cultural barrier, I refrained. I've had a lot to think about.
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