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Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Lady troubles.

Today, November 9th, is the official Day of Urubamba. The central plaza was taken over by children who marched around the square, school by school, over the long and hot midday hours. The side streets were filled by benches and women selling food and chicha (a fermented corn alcohol) from tinny pots. Yasmine and I were determined to get through a cup each but opted for the variety fermented with strawberries, hoping it would cut the almost starchy taste. We sat down on a bench and had a chat with one of the many adorable senior men I have met in Peru. He opened the conversation by asking me for the time, but 3 beers and some conversation later, admitted it was just a ploy to open up the conversation. Aww.

Unfortunately, the amiable grandfather demographic was soon dwarfed by the drunken and middle-aged. We quite literally got swarmed by men, offering us more beer and letting the odd hand fall on a thigh or knee, or move to brush hair away from our eyes. One of them, not the most but also not the least aggressive, was someone we work with frequently. Typical women, Yasmine and I both tend to get angrier in defence of each other than in defence of ourselves, but eventually we agreed we had to ditch.

Later we discussed where we had gone wrong, and agreed that in the future we would have to be more assertive. For me its hard, especially as a foreigner, to be mean to people, and the line between returning a polite hello and seeming open to advances sometimes doesn't exist. I love random conversations, I love being outside, and I hate the idea that we can only stop for a drink if Dave is with us. I'm sure that in Canada my gender mediates my behaviour in all sorts of ways, but here I have to continuosly and consciously remind myself of my status as a seƱorita, and a foreign (and therefore easy) one at that.

In some ways it makes my job easier, like when we do surveys our gender may encourage women to feel more comfortable inviting us into their homes. Mostly, though, its a hassle, and one that my Canadian upbringing and education hasn't really equipped me to deal with.... a fact I'm grateful for, when I stop to consider.

3 comments:

  1. Nice post. I can totally relate. Sometimes it's difficult being a gringo. Sometimes it feels like we don't get a fair shot to participate as normal members of society and after a while it can take its toll.

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  2. I wouldnt agree less, it gets hard even to have a normal conversation and a normal time with men.. And specially we dont want to be rude and I think that just doesnt work in our favor all the time!

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  3. I know I've talked about you meeting up with Chantal and her dad, but now I'm convinced more than ever that you guys should meet - the nice old man you mentioned in the first paragraph IS Chantal's dad haha! The only difference is that he would be offering you pisco sour instead of beer

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