I've just finished week ten of my stay in this awesome country: Peru. Today in Ayacucho is the first day I've seen the sky this heavy, and mediodía this cold. I could hear the rain pounding on the tin roof three floors up, and on the street outside all last night. Heavy rain is a comforting sound, especially to a Midwest kid. When my host mother opened the door this morning to sweep the patch of cement of our doorstop, metal clanging loudly at 6am, that cool, fresh smell of after rain swept through the room and I smiled in my early morning daze.
The rain came so hard last night that the wetness on the streets has stayed, settling the dust. I've never seen the streets wet here, usually the dry heat sucks the dampness right back up.
I only am here in Ayacucho one more week and I feel a tug at the corner of my heart when my mom, brother and I snuggle in bed watching our nightly soap, or when my students hug me and yell "gut mornink teach-ar!" Or when my favorite street pup lets me pet it on my way home. I could stay so much longer, I think.
And yet, as the spoiled American that I am, I know, not so deep down, that all I really want is a hot shower and a beer. A good beer, something hoppy. Like a two-hearted. Or better yet, zombie dust. And the shower, dear Jesus, do I need to extrapolate? Nothing against my little laundry tub bathing experiences twice a week. Oh yes, and I'd like to see my family too.