Sitting in a whickered chair with holes in it, I nervously bounced my knees up and down, widening the holes as I wiggled. I could almost feel the acne breaking out all over my face from the amount of stress that I was feeling. The moment had not even come yet, the situation had still yet to arise, yet I was terrified.
Before coming to Peru, my mother had gotten in contact with a man named Pedro who used to live in Peru, but now permanently resides in Omaha, Nebraska. Pedro graciously helped plan my parents Peru vacation and asked that when we went to visit Arequipa that we get in contact with his mother to have dinner. When first hearing the news from my mom that we would be having dinner with Pedro’s mother I thought nothing of it. Several days before arriving in Peru my mom reminded me about the dinner and commented on how my translating skills would be put to the test. Wait…what? Translating? Who? At that moment I realized that Pedro’s mom indeed did not speak English. My heart dropped to my butt as my mother called to me from the other line, “Mallory? Are you still there? Did I lose you?” Yes mom, I’m still here. No worries, just having a mini (or mega) panic attack that is causing my body to freeze up and my nerves to stop functioning as my body has become numb.
Pure excitement and joy used to be the only feelings that resulted from fantasizing about my time in Arequipa. The old colonial buildings and big beautiful churches made my heart sing. But now after hearing that the entire success of the dinner date with Pedro’s mother depended on my translating capabilities, needless to say my feelings towards Arequipa had changed. Embarrassing as this is, the thought of faking sick (yes, I am still 13 years old) the night of the dinner did cross my mind. As you can tell I have very little confidence in my Spanish ability. Regardless of how many times natives tell me I can speak very well, apparently my brain does not receive the information adequately and I immediately trash it. Regardless, this dinner was going to happen whether I liked it or not.
My parents and I sat in the courtyard of our hotel waiting for Pedro’s mother, Carmela. We were unsure of exactly what she looked like, but we assumed that it would not be too difficult to realize it was her. Sure enough Carmela arrived and we could tell right away it was her as her face lit up when she saw us. We embraced each other with warm hugs as if we had known each other for years. Her smile was like pure sunshine and her face lit up with pure joy. Her presence alone calmed my nerves as the trembling quickly ceased.
Walking to dinner we casually chatted and talked about typical topics you talk about when first meeting someone. I was feeling perfectly comfortable and quite impressed with my own Spanish when talking one-on-one with Carmela. Once we got seated at the restaurant was when the chaos begun. English burst out of the mouths of both my parents as did Spanish out of the mouth of Carmela and the waiter. My brain whirled round and round in a furious frenzy as I tried to catch each word of the ongoing conversations. It was like although they were speaking in different languages having no idea what the other one was saying, they just continued on talking as if the other had responded to their question! Once the talking calmed down and they realized that ongoing blabbering was all that was happening, they turned to me in anxious anticipation. I took a deep breath, let it out, and began my marathon of translating a casual dinner conversation. At times (aka constantly) I would forget which language to use and I would turn to my parents and talk to them in Spanish and then turn to Carmela and speak to her in English. My brain spun and spun as I worked to capture concepts rather than every detail. As the evening continued, translating slowly became more and more natural. My body relaxed and it felt like I could finally breath…that is, until the rocoto aftermath came. A rocoto is more of a torcher devise than it is a pepper. I had ordered the famous Arequipian dish of rocoto relleno which is a pepper stuffed with a meat, cheese and sauce mixture. At one point in the evening I turned to my mom and told her this was the greatest food in Peru I had tasted. I was in heaven with this incredible dish that had a mixture of flavors that make anyone fall in love. Little did I know (since no one had the decency to tell me!!) I was not supposed to actually eat the pepper. Like I had said, it is not just a food, it is a torcher devise. I had taken multiple bites of the pepper and felt the heat but it was not overly bothersome. I got to the end of the pepper and took another bite, big mistake. My face, body, and whole state of being flamed on fire. I started fanning myself frantically, begging the waiter to get me water as quickly as possible. The actual thought that I was dying did cross my mind. I was in a pain that was different than anything I have ever experienced. Am I being dramatic? Yes. Am I being serious? Absolutely. I can honestly say that after the burning sensation, I lost all memory of what the actual dish tasted like. All I can remember is feeling like a farmer had decided to brand me IN MY MOUTH. Needless to say, this was a night that will forever remain in my memory, unlike the once delicious tasting rocoto relleno.
Before coming to Peru, my mother had gotten in contact with a man named Pedro who used to live in Peru, but now permanently resides in Omaha, Nebraska. Pedro graciously helped plan my parents Peru vacation and asked that when we went to visit Arequipa that we get in contact with his mother to have dinner. When first hearing the news from my mom that we would be having dinner with Pedro’s mother I thought nothing of it. Several days before arriving in Peru my mom reminded me about the dinner and commented on how my translating skills would be put to the test. Wait…what? Translating? Who? At that moment I realized that Pedro’s mom indeed did not speak English. My heart dropped to my butt as my mother called to me from the other line, “Mallory? Are you still there? Did I lose you?” Yes mom, I’m still here. No worries, just having a mini (or mega) panic attack that is causing my body to freeze up and my nerves to stop functioning as my body has become numb.
Pure excitement and joy used to be the only feelings that resulted from fantasizing about my time in Arequipa. The old colonial buildings and big beautiful churches made my heart sing. But now after hearing that the entire success of the dinner date with Pedro’s mother depended on my translating capabilities, needless to say my feelings towards Arequipa had changed. Embarrassing as this is, the thought of faking sick (yes, I am still 13 years old) the night of the dinner did cross my mind. As you can tell I have very little confidence in my Spanish ability. Regardless of how many times natives tell me I can speak very well, apparently my brain does not receive the information adequately and I immediately trash it. Regardless, this dinner was going to happen whether I liked it or not.
My parents and I sat in the courtyard of our hotel waiting for Pedro’s mother, Carmela. We were unsure of exactly what she looked like, but we assumed that it would not be too difficult to realize it was her. Sure enough Carmela arrived and we could tell right away it was her as her face lit up when she saw us. We embraced each other with warm hugs as if we had known each other for years. Her smile was like pure sunshine and her face lit up with pure joy. Her presence alone calmed my nerves as the trembling quickly ceased.
Walking to dinner we casually chatted and talked about typical topics you talk about when first meeting someone. I was feeling perfectly comfortable and quite impressed with my own Spanish when talking one-on-one with Carmela. Once we got seated at the restaurant was when the chaos begun. English burst out of the mouths of both my parents as did Spanish out of the mouth of Carmela and the waiter. My brain whirled round and round in a furious frenzy as I tried to catch each word of the ongoing conversations. It was like although they were speaking in different languages having no idea what the other one was saying, they just continued on talking as if the other had responded to their question! Once the talking calmed down and they realized that ongoing blabbering was all that was happening, they turned to me in anxious anticipation. I took a deep breath, let it out, and began my marathon of translating a casual dinner conversation. At times (aka constantly) I would forget which language to use and I would turn to my parents and talk to them in Spanish and then turn to Carmela and speak to her in English. My brain spun and spun as I worked to capture concepts rather than every detail. As the evening continued, translating slowly became more and more natural. My body relaxed and it felt like I could finally breath…that is, until the rocoto aftermath came. A rocoto is more of a torcher devise than it is a pepper. I had ordered the famous Arequipian dish of rocoto relleno which is a pepper stuffed with a meat, cheese and sauce mixture. At one point in the evening I turned to my mom and told her this was the greatest food in Peru I had tasted. I was in heaven with this incredible dish that had a mixture of flavors that make anyone fall in love. Little did I know (since no one had the decency to tell me!!) I was not supposed to actually eat the pepper. Like I had said, it is not just a food, it is a torcher devise. I had taken multiple bites of the pepper and felt the heat but it was not overly bothersome. I got to the end of the pepper and took another bite, big mistake. My face, body, and whole state of being flamed on fire. I started fanning myself frantically, begging the waiter to get me water as quickly as possible. The actual thought that I was dying did cross my mind. I was in a pain that was different than anything I have ever experienced. Am I being dramatic? Yes. Am I being serious? Absolutely. I can honestly say that after the burning sensation, I lost all memory of what the actual dish tasted like. All I can remember is feeling like a farmer had decided to brand me IN MY MOUTH. Needless to say, this was a night that will forever remain in my memory, unlike the once delicious tasting rocoto relleno.