LAUREN BROSTOWITZ writes: After almost a full 24 hour span of connecting flights, bad movies, decent airport food and poor sleep I'm finally home. The journey back wasn't difficult, aside from the unfortunate difficulty I had with my awesome, newly bought Peruvian bag when the strap broke. I managed to somehow fix it and still bring Jeff's cajón, a little box drum, back safely. For only 55 soles I was able to add another instrument to his already abundant collection. Before we all left the airport Elio's nephew, Daniel, who helped me out without a lot of my translations, came and hung out while Sara, Lauren and I all enjoyed our last hours in Peru. He brought me an awesome hat with my name spelled in grafitti. Sara got one too for paying for dinner . . . a couple of times . . . (Thanks Sara!). Now I just have to unpack my things, which is a task I am dreading.
As I lie in my bed, of which I longed to sleep in after only two days on our rock-hard mattresses in Lima, Peru, I am left with the vibrant memories of a country I only began to understand. I lie in bed retracing my days with an urgency that absorbs my contorted reflections that already seem so far away. I'm trying to hold on to it all. The passing imagery of multi-colored houses that scattered the mountain landscapes and the contorted faces of those who attempted to comprehend my Spanglish are flashing in my head. Mixed with the drastic change of scenery, my brain seems to be trying to readjust to the rapid movement. The sudden switch in environment that makes me say, "Wow. I miss Peru."
So as I remember the people I met, like Renzo from IPAD, Instituto Peruano de Artes y Diseño, the school we were studying at, and his love for Salvador Dali and Frida Kahlo, I hope to see them again someday. To the lovely girls at the IPAD banquet who fought through the language barrier, I wish you three well. To Daniel Leturia, thanks so much for doing my translations and for showing me Peru through the eyes of which I saw threw as well, I hope to see you in Chicago in July. And to the random people whose faces are still quite vivid, I hope your smiles do not diminish. And until I can visit again, I will forever remember the night I stood atop the solarium and watched your beautiful sunset fall across rows of buildings in the distance. I'll remember how I stayed until it was dark, until it was quite and the company of friends gave life to the night. I'll always remember Peru.
