30 hours after my initial departure from my house in Cusco, I am back home, sitting in wifi internet, with my dearly-missed laptop and a cup of coca tea. How I have coca tea in the States, please don't ask. After a stop in Lima for 13 hours, then panicking through the security and customs at Lima Airport because I was actually late for my departure time, a brief layover in Houston, where I realized that the States, a land of gringos, is so boring compared to Peru, I arrive in San Francisco. At one point of my trek home, I turned to Katie, my fellow intern, while at the Houston Airport bathroom, and said "Katie, you realize that this sink (complete with hot water and slight pressure) is better than the shower we've had for a month and a half." Despite my amazement of water pressure in sinks here, I truly do miss Cusco. Walking out of my Cusco house mid-day with the beaming sun and the stray dogs roaming the streets aimlessly. The sight of the fountain in Plaza de Armas with Peruvian children bundled up in adorable hats with earflaps, selling packets of gum. And then at the sight of the newest People Magazine on stands and overhearing the CNN reporting about the autopsy of Michael Jackson at the domestic terminal in Houston Airport, I suddenly had the greatest urge to return to Avenida del Cultura and buy an alfajor (a shortbread cookie sandwich with caramel and powdered sugar; yes, it is delicious).
Before my return to the States, my last weekend, I did go to Urubamba for the first time with Matt and Alena. On a Saturday at noon, the central plaza in Urubamba is completely empty with barely a moto riding through. What a change from the crazy, hustle and bustle streets of Cusco that I can barely get cross without getting run over. Having never been there before, we aimlessly wandered around town and north of the plaza, including breaking into another volunteer office, thinking it was Casa ProPeru. We should have stayed. But, by late afternoon, everything was in order with us finally finding a decent hostel, and having eaten lunch. At one point, probably my favorite point of the night, we three sang the lyrics of Wonderwall by Oasis (having heard it in a discoteca the night before) while walking down the lonely streets of Urubamba, looking for a good dinner spot. The next morning, we woke up way too early in order to go to the Sunday Pisac Market to buy some last minute souvenirs. Oh, how I love the Pisac Market; I could never help stroking the alpaca scarves or picking up the knick-knack sized Incan crosses, but bargaining with those ladies is ruthless.
Several times in the last two days of being home, I think back and can't believe that only three days ago, or only four days ago, I was in Lima, Cusco, and Urubamba. Being back in my house with my room intact as when I left it a month and a half ago, there's an odd reflection that being in Peru, taking a combi to work, and walking around Machu Picchu just seems like an unreal episode of a summer.
But the remnants of my month and a half still remain after two days of home, probably called some form of culture shock. I still flinch at the sight of oncoming cars, even though there's a traffic light indicating me to go. I now flush my toilet paper into a toilet with a sense of guilt as if I was doing something wrong. Right as I enter the shower, I still hold that slight hope that the water would be decently warm, even though I have turned the hot water knob to the furthest extent. I have learned that the most educational way of watching Friends is with Spanish subtitles. Oddly, I think I'm experiencing more reverse culture shock in the States than when I first arrived in Cusco.
Location: San Francisco, CA, USA
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