Gap Year

On August 24th, 2011, I began my gap year in Ollantaytambo, Peru. And it wasn’t a smooth start by any means. I cried on the flight to Miami, panicked on the flight to Lima, and wept all the way to Cusco, where I was promptly greeted with an untimely case of altitude sickness. After depositing my breakfast in a trashcan somewhere outside of Urubamba, I arrived miserable in Ollantaytambo. I was thousands of miles from home, totally unprepared and completely uncertain of what I was about to experience.
There were days I thought about driving to the airport and just going home. There were days I dreamt of peanut butter and cable TV. But more than anything, there were days I thought about never leaving Peru. I can’t say I will miss the mystery meat, the cold showers, or the garbage man who rings his bell at 4:30 on Wednesday mornings, but I can say I will miss just about everything else: watching the sun coming up over the mountains, helping people who truly need it, speaking Spanish, learning about life and business and the way the world works – I will miss it all.
I came to Peru to do something different, to see something new. I wanted to get away from basketball and homework and find a life outside what was confortable and familiar. And I did. I met people from all over the world, I discovered new passions and interests, and I learned things I never dreamed I would learn.
After eight incredible months, I am saying goodbye. I am leaving with fewer bottles of sunscreen, more bug bites, and more memories than I can possibly fit into a blog or a photo album. In a way, I feel like I am graduating from high school all over again. I have been given my tools, my lessons, and my interests, and now it is time, once again, to find a new path to walk, a new life to live. I suppose the fundamental difference this time is that I do not feel as though I am being pushed out of the nest. This time, I am jumping off the edge with enthusiasm, hunger, and the knowledge that I am ready for whatever life throws my way. It is not easy to walk away from the things I love, but it is time to put what I have learned to use and move towards a new and exciting future.
I hope you all have enjoyed reading my profound thoughts and captivating tales. It has been a pleasure recounting them all to you.

Best,
Katie

Turns out, all this time I’ve been working in the wrong departments. Health and education are great, but sustainable tourism is really where it’s at. The director of our tourism program has been out of town for two weeks, so I’ve been helping out with a few of the tours; the cooking classes, to be more specific. I finally know what it feels like to have your dream job. My role in the class is the translator. I watch the class and translate the directions and information given by the instructor to the tourists. They cook for an hour and a half, preparing the traditional Peruvian dish, rocoto relleno, or stuffed peppers. They make about ten peppers in total which means the translator – me – also gets to eat this delicious food. To summarize, I get to watch other people cook, learn how to prepare a tasty Peruvian meal, and then eat a free lunch. I can’t believe I haven’t been doing this the whole time.
Awamaki’s health coordinator has decided to split off and form her own NGO, Sacred Valley Health. She will be continuing all of Awamaki’s current health initiatives, as well as starting her own clinic, staffed with both American and Peruvian doctors. In preparation for this spilt, we have been setting up a new office. This means painting, heavy lifting, and stocking shelves. Yesterday and today were painting days. Being the tallest of the painting crew, I was put in charge of painting the ceilings. I have a newfound respect for Michelangelo because my neck is absolutely killing me. I don’t know how he did it. Granted, he probably wasn’t standing on chairs, tables, and toilet bowls when he painted his masterpiece, but I’d still be willing to bet it hurt. Neck pain aside, painting might be my new favorite activity. Art was never my subject in school due to a total absence of talent, but it turns out painting walls and ceilings is pretty hard to mess up. Though I left the office with the most stunning coat of “Smoky White” Peru has ever seen, my friends seemed more interested in the paint covering my face and hair. It took a twenty minute shower and half a bottle of shampoo to get it all off.
Sadly, no amount of paint or free food will make this week pass any faster. My family is coming to visit me this Saturday, and I cannot focus on anything else. I feel like a little kid on Christmas Eve; nothing can distract me from the anticipated fun I am about to have. Don’t expect a blog next week. I will be far too busy eating alpaca steaks and spending all my parents’ money.

Best,
Katie

With everything I have learned this year, I sort of assumed I would return home a worldly, sophisticated woman. However, due to recent events, it looks like I’ll have to put that dream on hold for a little while.
If you asked any of my former teammates what my trademark move was, eight out of ten would say the face-plant. As of yesterday, ten out of ten residents of San Isidro (my neighborhood) would have to agree. I had never found myself. According to my watch, I was twenty-four seconds into my run when I suddenly found myself sprawled facedown in the middle of the road. There were no rocks, holes, or bolts of lightning striking down in my path. In fact, I was running on the smoothest strip of the street. Though I rolled out of it with the athleticism and grace of a ninja, my neighbors could not help but notice how incredibly hilarious my mishap was. I have been greeted with laughter every time I leave my house.
I could have recovered from my fall and still gone on to fulfill my dream of being a mature, classy woman if it weren’t for the fateful events of this morning. The van to one of my home visits usually takes so long to fill, that it is actually faster to run there than it is to wait for the bus. So, this morning I woke up, put on my running clothes, and headed out. Though I did manage not to fall this time, I was somehow able to experience something worse than public humiliation. Alex, my patient, loves to watch the trains pass outside. Since he cannot sit up on his own, I usually hold him on my lap while we wait for the morning shuttle to Machu Picchu to pass. While we were waiting, I began to notice how sweaty my legs were from my run. A few minutes later, I couldn’t help but realize how horrible I smelled. It took me a minute to process what was really going on, but the second I stood up, it was clear. Alex had peed on me. His mother had forgotten to replace his diaper after changing out a dirty one, and consequently left me with no layer of protection. Needless to say, today’s visit was cut a little short.
So, if you need me, I’ll be hiding under a rock for the next four or five weeks.
Best,
Katie

The volunteers here in Ollantaytambo have begun playing a hysterical game called Baby or Vegetable. The game is quite simple: determine whether the local women are carrying produce or people in their cloth bundles. Many of the women we see in the market live not in Ollanta but in the rural communities surrounding the valley. The easiest way for these women to transport their goods to the market is in a sack on their back. Essentially, they wrap their load in a tablecloth, sling it over their shoulder, and walk down to town. For months, we all assumed the women were carrying various crops to be sold in the market. It was not until one of the bundles began crying that we realized they were also carrying their children. Though it seems like it should be easy to discern between person and potato, it has proven quite difficult, making the game extremely amusing.
This past Friday we encountered an unexpected change. As we were serving our weekly breakfast at the health clinic, we saw a woman enter with a box instead of a bundle. Normally, this indicates that the women is selling cups of Jell-O or items that need to sit upright. Once again, our jaws dropped as she opened her cardboard box and pulled out, not a gelatin treat, but a six-month-old baby. It was on that historic day that the game Baby or Jell-O was brought into this world, changing all of our lives for good.
Aside from that startling news, there is not much else to report. I have been reading up a storm, going through about a book a week. I recently finished The Blue Sweater, an account of Jaqueline Novogratz’s incredible experiences as an economist and accountant in various NGOs and Non-Profits all over the world. Most of her story takes place in Africa, but she also works with many charitable organizations in the U.S and eventually goes on to start her own organization in New York City. Her story taught me a lot about what it takes to make a difference.
Though Novogratz worked in Africa for over three years, she realized she was not making a significant enough difference. So, she went back to the U.S to get her MBA. Novogratz emphasizes over and over again how important it is to know what you’re doing. Volunteers like me are important and definitely have their place in service work, but the true difference makers are those who bring something to the table. For Novogratz, it was business skills and accounting knowledge. She used her degree and experience to help poor women receive loans and build self-sustaining businesses. Now more than ever I understand the value of a college degree, of knowledge, of a skill. If I want to truly help people, I need to have the means to do so. And what are the means? Not money or funding. Skill – something to offer. It’s similar to when people send their old coats and sweaters to countries recovering from natural disasters. Although the donors are under the impression that their clothes will make a difference in the survivors’ lives, the truth is that most people don’t need clothes as much as they need food, a place to live, or medical treatment. In short, I learned that good intentions are not enough. If we want to truly help, we need to 1, know what is really needed and 2, have the skills and tools necessary to fill those needs.
Before I close, I would like to wish a happy anniversary to my grandparents. Not only do they give the best presents and make the most delicious French toast, but they also give my brothers and I unlimited love and support in all we do. Here’s to another great year, Grandma and Grandpa!

Best,
Katie

I always assumed that the drivers most likely to be responsible for my death were members of my immediate family. Unfortunately, I have an addition to make to that list: my boss.
This week was Awamaki Health’s monthly mobile health clinic. What this project entails is visiting three rural communities in the mountains surrounding Ollantaytambo and providing basic health services. As I am not what most people would call “qualified” to provide basic health services, I was put in charge of the check-in and pharmaceutical duties. I handed out regiments of Tylenol, pre-natal vitamins, and antiparasitics. We even had Flintstone Vitamins for the kids. During the check-ins, I learned that many of our patients had been coughing up blood or experiencing chest pains for upwards of three months without receiving any kind of health care. Since the nearest clinic is a seven-hour hike from the town, it is understandable that so many had neglected to even seek medical attention –understandable, but not acceptable. We will be visiting these communities every month to insure that these kinds of things do not continue to occur.
Unfortunately, helping these people means driving the treacherous road to their towns. In the dry season, the road is picturesque: a dusty brown path that weaves through scenic mountains and fields of alpacas. In the rainy season, I may have to apply a few other choice words to describe this drive. The holes, boulders, and underwater sections were one thing. The snow, hail, and wind brought on a whole other issue. Of course, being in Peru, our truck’s heat and air conditioning system was completely broken. To keep the road somewhat visible, we had to wipe the windshield with a paper towel about every thirty to thirty-five seconds. But even that couldn’t save our suspension. After the first hour, we hit an enormous pothole and declared it DOA. While I had a great time pushing and pulling our car through the wet, muddy, freezing roads, I can’t speak for our driver/boss. I have never someone so happy to be home before in my life.
I always joke about the hammock-like shape of my mattress here in Peru, but after having slept on the floor of a classroom with no heat, water, or electricity, the valley in my bed is looking pretty spectacular…as is a neck massage.
Being the youngster at Awamaki has its challenges. I rarely understand the references to TV shows and fads my coworkers grew up with, I have no funny bar stories to add into the discussion, and I am not allowed to use the phrase “back in the day”. But, like all things, there are some major advantages balancing it all out. For one, I am learning how to cook. We carried bags of vegetables, spices, and stoves with us on the mobile health trip (despite my insisting that I could survive on bread and peanut butter for two days. Apparently I am going to outgrow that ability one day. I personally doubt that, but we’ll see.) While the “qualified” people were busy attending to patients, I was put in charge of making lunch. No recipes, no instructions – just a bag of food and a pat on the back. It was pouring rain of course, so I had to prepare my masterpiece in the back of the truck. It may not sound impressive, but until you prepare a delicious avocado salad and creamy soup while squatting in a truck-bed, I will be reserving lifetime bragging rights. Not my biggest accomplishment so far, but definitely the most unexpected.
Nothing too exciting coming up. Just another incredible week in the Sacred Valley.

Best,
Katie