we're not in america anymore...

We just passed the 4-month mark of our life in Peru, and lately I've noticed several things that give me hope that I am adjusting to life here.

I'm getting cheap.
I will regularly cram my body into a combi or walk 25 minutes up hill rather than pay for a taxi ... even though that taxi ride would only cost a dollar or two. Exceptions to this include:
1. If my husband is with me and doesn't want to sweat.
2. If I'm in a hurry. (Gratefully, this seems to happen lot less frequently now than it used to back home.)
3. If I've been shopping and my bags weigh more than 7 pounds or so.

I am also more likely to bargain for a better price these days. So on those occasions when I do take a taxi, if the driver says 4 soles, I'll push for 3.50. (Then later I'll reflect on the fact that I've just haggled for 18 cents.)

I look like a local!
Okay, not really. (I don't have a prayer until I shrink a few inches and dye my hair black.) But I sure felt like a local the other day when I was walking home from the store (bags weighed less than 7 lbs), and a taxi driver stopped me to ask for directions. Allow me to repeat: A taxi driver stopped to ask me for directions!!! Of course I had no idea about the location of where he wanted to go. But man, did I feel good about being asked.

I've stopped carrying my camera around.
I'm not thrilled about this one. I imagine you're not either since it makes for colorless blog posts.

I eat what I want.
For the first couple months here I felt some vague pressure to try "typical food" whenever we went out to eat. But the other day it came to me in a flash: I don't love typical food. There are a few traditional dishes both David and I really like, but in general we've discovered that we're not huge fans of a lot of the Peruvian food. On the upside, we have found several delicious restaurants, and since my epiphany I no longer feel pressure to try "typical" restaurants. How when we go out to eat, we go to the places we love (who cares if it happens to be Moroccan or Italian) and I get to eat good food guilt-free.

I understood Peruvian humor (kind of).
There's a restaurant chain here called "Rico Pollo," which basically means "Yummy Chicken." They serve pollo a la brasa, a rotisserie chicken dish (which happens to be one of the typical Peruvian dishes we really do like). Several weeks ago a new chicken place opened near our house, which I've passed by dozens of times. The other day, though, I laughed when I realized for the first time that the name of the place is a play on words of the popular chain, "Rico Pollo." This new place is called "Pico Rollo." I was delighted when I caught the play on words. Now to find out if "pico rollo" actually means anything...

Along with these adjustments to our new life, there are some (okay, many!) things that I still just don't understand.

For example, when I supposedly have a class of 12 students and every day the class is a different combination of somewhere between 4-7 students, most of whom have arrived 15-25 minutes late.

Or, for example, when my cheap self has hopped on a combi in order to avoid paying $1 for a taxi ride, and the person next to me leans on me most of the ride. I understand this when the bus is crowded. But when there's plenty of space? Really?? Must you lean your body weight on me?! And can't you hold onto the bars like everyone else? Instead you have to crash into me every time the driver brakes?

Or, for example, when I step outside to give our neighborhood watchiman a couple fresh homemade brownies and catch him peeing on the sidewalk.

Most days these things make me laugh. Some days they annoy me. Some days, like yesterday, a series of progressively more confusing and frustrating things occur until finally I can't help but laugh in spite of my annoyance. And I just breathe through my mouth so as not to smell the urine and try not to look at the wet stain on the sidewalk while I tell our watchiman to "enjoy the brownies!"