ohgeezlouise

My Spanish isn't terrible.  If I try hard enough, I can very slowly carry on a conversation, but mostly I just use phrases like "where is..." "I want to buy..." "I need..." "how much?" etc.  It's actually probably better than I think it is, but I'm not very confident in using it.  Between that and my need to properly conjugate the verb in the right tense with all the pronouns in the right places, I end up overthinking it and being too slow for most people who by this time resort to their English and I end up not getting as much practice as I should.

So on my way over here, I had a four hour stopover in Mexico City.  Having been up the night before my 7 am flight, I slept as soon as I got on the plane and missed the part about the customs/immigrations forms the flight attendants had passed out.  I only had a stopover, so I didn't think it was gonna be a big deal, but apparently it is.  When I got off the plane, it was apparent that I couldn't just walk over to my connecting flight and had to go through the whole thing.  This is about the time I'm regretting choosing the cheapest flight possible, wishing I'd had a stopover in Texas or Miami instead.

I fill out the forms as best as I could, leaving things blank because I didn't know what to put since it was just a stopover.  When I got to the immigration officer, he asked me a few questions in Spanish and I replied back in English.  He obviously understood me and could tell my Spanish wasn't that great.  At that point, he started speaking faster and louder.  I got really nervous, only catching every fifth word or so, asking him to speak more slowly, which he refused to do.  The shitty part was that when I got back in line and afterwards, I heard him speaking English to everyone else.  (I was in the "foreigners" line).  I was like wtf?  I wasn't being difficult or anything that had warranted him lashing out at me.

When I got to customs, they asked me if I had anything to declare, and I said I had some oatmeal bars in my backpack.  It was mostly okay, but one of the women there said something to me and I didn't know any of the words.  She rolled her eyes and repeated herself louder and louder.  Sure enough though, when the person behind me walked through, I heard her speaking English to them.

And then when I went through security, one of the guards stopped me asking to see my wallet.  He spoke to me in English, opened up my wallet, my passport, went through my money.  He was asking me questions like "Is this all the money you have?  Are you sure?  How old are you?  Are you sure?  Are you traveling alone?  Why?"  He made me really nervous the way he was questioning me, considering the fact that everyone else was just breezing through.  I started to wonder if I needed to offer him a bribe.  He let me go though, but I was still kind of shook up by it.

There's more about that leg of the trip, but it's just more people yelling at me in Spanish.  It all seemed like such an unnecessary hassle.  I think they thought I was one of those Americanized Mexicans coming through, not speaking the language and expecting everyone to cater to me.  Or something.  And why wouldn't I be Mexican, looking the way I do with my Spanish last name?  That's really the only conclusion I can come to.  It's not like I wasn't trying to speak Spanish either.  I think that really only made it worse, hearing me butcher up my "native" tongue when it should've been my first language.

Anyway, by the time I landed in Peru, I was prepared to go through the same thing.  Except for everyone just sorta waved me through and I was off the plane and at baggage claim within twenty minutes.  In fact, the immigration officer who stamped my passport was falling asleep.  He was sitting on a lower platform and from my point of view, it looked like he had his eyelids lowered to read my forms/passport.  But then his head started nodding and I realized he was dozing off.  He jolted himself awake, stamped my passport, scribbled something into it, and then let me go.  Didn't say a single word to me.

The problem though, is that I didn't realize until weeks later that the immigration officer had only allowed me to stay in the country for 30 days.  I need 61.  I can stay here for up to 90 days without a visa, but the immigration officer is the one who determines the length of the visit.  It's no problem to get an extension, just show an outbound ticket and pay the fee at the immigrations office.  Of course, if I had been thinking straight, I could've gotten this done when I first entered the country without any extra fees, but after coming through Mexico's customs and immigrations, I was relieved and happy not to be hassled.

So this morning I wake up extra early to make my way to the Immigrations Office across town.  It wasn't too bad this time around.  Everyone here was more helpful, but I started getting nervous when more than one person was telling me it wasn't possible to get an extension.  I'd read that it was fine in my guidebooks and the government travel website.  I was like, I'm leaving for sure.  I've got to be on the other side of the world a week later.  By the time I got to someone who knew what they were talking about, apparently I don't need another stamp or extension.  Everyday I stay over the days on my stamp, I pay $1.  I said to the lady, "Really?  You're sure?  I can do that at the airport when I leave?  You're not gonna fine me or deport me early?"

I guess that's good news.

It just sucks that I've been worrying about it and then having to go there and all the unnecessary crap that came with it.  I keep thinking I should've said something when I first got in the country.  It would've saved me so much time and money.  I blame Mexico, really.  It's only fair.

Hey Guys,

I made it onto the farm, but I don^t think I^m going to stay the whole two months here. In fact, I´m going to leave by the end of the week. It´s beautiful and all, just there´s more to it than meets the eye. I¨m thinking of heading back to Lima and staying at a hostel the rest of the time and then exploring the city on my own. I might go crazy if I stay too long here. (I¨m having trouble with this keyboard as far as apostrophes and all go).

Some of you already know this, but for those of you who don´t, I´ll share, embarrassing as it is. Anyway, I have trouble pooing in toilets that aren´t my own. When I´m staying somewhere unfamiliar, depending on how long the stay, I either don´t poo at all, or I will but only a tiny bit and still not feel satisfied that I´ve pooed enough. Before, when I was telling people about this farm, I would (facetiously) say that it´s a hippie farm where they do yoga all day, do organic farming, vegetarians, compost their own crap. But they really do compost their own crap. The toilet is a white bucket with a toilet seat on it. You sit down, do your business, and when you´re done, there´s another bucket of dirt next to you, and you take a big scoopful of it and pour it on top of your business. This is how you "flush" the toilet. Later on, someboday takes it and empties it into the composting pile. Think of it as a kitty litterbox.

This is fine really, and I have no problem with the idea. I just have problems making myself actually use the thing. Every time I go, I don´t think I´m letting go fully and spend the whole day feeling like I have to use the bathroom still, but not a whole lot of anything does come out on either end.

Anyway, the other volunteers here on the farm are amazing. They´re all like, world travelers backpacking across countries and picking up a million languages on the way. I´m jealous and feel like such a naive baby when it comes to what they´re talking about. All their stories begin with something like "Oh, when I was in India..." or "This reminds me of when I was living in London." I wish I could go into more detail about it. I´m having a good time with them and maybe might tag along with what comes next. Except I probably brought too much stuff with me to backpack for real anywhere at a moment´s notice.
 
 

Sorry to my lj friends who´re reading this from their friends page.  The monitor is sorta blurry, and I´m having trouble reading stuff, and my cut tags aren´t working.

Anyway, I´ll probably be back in Lima the next time you hear from me. Once I get off the farm, I´ll let you know the real story.