Workaway the Day by Alyssa Maunders
I realize now, several posts in, that I haven’t properly explained the way I am able to do this trip the way I am. I joined a website several months back called Workaway.
It’s a place for travelers and hosts to contact each other about work exchange opportunities. El Fundo Jihuay, the small farm I worked on for 2 weeks in July, was set up through workaway. I believe I paid about $25 to join and now I have access to thousands of work 
exchange options. Currently, I am spending the month working for a new business in Arequipa where they make chocolate and have a cafe. Here is a picture with Jenn from Ireland, she lives with me as a Workaway also.
I help with various things from melting chocolate and pouring it into molds to cleaning and packaging. I also make coffee drinks some days in the cafe. In exchange for the hours I spend eating- I mean making chocolate, I receive three meals a day and a nice room in the house of the shop owners. I highly recommend the website and I plan to use it a few more times during my trip. It’s a great way to save money and have a different travel experience than would be had if I were staying in hostels every night.
The White City
Arequipa, the white city. Thus named for its volcanic stone that was used to construct most of the buildings near the city center. The most famous volcano of the city, El Misti, is visible just a few km from the city to the north. A bit ghostly in photographs, but it’s there. There are many tour groups that head there everyday for biking and hiking and even on the sunniest day on the plaza the top of El Misti is snow capped, even if only slightly.
South American Market
I had my first market experience of South America the other day. It’s an open air market that is mentioned in many of the tour books just a few blocks off the main square. I went there with my host because she wanted to buy some flowers. I did have some expectations upon entering. Visions of fruit stands and pastries of every variety falling down fluffy, carby hills filled my head and I couldn’t wait to see what the market had in store. The fruit section didn’t disappoint. Identical stands of multi-colored fruits lined the fruit aisle and it was beautiful. I finally bought a mango after asking several vendors the price.
As an obvious outsider, despite my continuous attempts to look like I know where I am, one needs to shop around. The price of the mango varies depending on the mood that the vendor has towards you. I find it a strange thing to see so many people selling the exact same thing, displayed in exactly the same way. You have to wonder how the competitive aspect comes in to play. Most of the items are priced the same, not for tourists but definitely for locals, and I just don’t understand how anyone profits when each stand is a copy of the one before it.
That thought was put quickly out of mind when I saw the meat section. I wanted to run the opposite direction but when I tuned in the aisle I met a stray dog coming towards me. The dog was friendly enough, definitely adapted to human presence and gift giving, but the whole thing was gross regardless. I silently wondered if the lady that does the cooking for the house I’m living in buys our meat here and then I realized it made no difference cause I eat the free food regardless. I told myself to just not think about how the meat was protected under some Un-refrigerated glass with strange colors on its meaty surface, flies dancing above.
Mango Puppies
Perhaps I didn’t see enough of the market to make a real observation but seeing what I did and the general state of the crowded aisles made me disinclined I return. Unfortunately, I never did see the “puppy section” that I was told existed, but the number of dogs I did see made me think that the puppies had their own section because these dogs are born, live and die in the market. On my way out I touched a dried llama fetus for good luck, said to have curative properties, and didn’t look back. All this drama aside, it turned out to be the best mango I’ve ever eaten.
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Alyssa Maunders
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dinner are huge portions of steamy white rice and vegetables, many grown on the farm. The company is a mishmash of volunteers from around the world, the US , France, Italy, England yet we all have something in common in the way that we have found ourselves here, in a post dinner trance, hot tea in hand playing a card game called 
got out and walked in the direction I knew the beach would be. But, after about a half a mile of scrambling over boulders while dodging a questionable smelling stream of black goo all with my big backpack on, it occurred to me that this might be wrong. I feel like an idiot now that I even walked that far knowing somewhere, in the back of mind, that there should be a dirt road or something. There was no way the volunteers were making this walk multiple times a week. Turns out, no one was making this walk, ever. I was nowhere. I confess, when I realized I was truly far from my real destination,there were tears, but only a few panicked ones that barely left my eyes. 
I made it back to the road just as the sun dropped behind some misty, green slopes near the pavement and I stuck out my thumb. It was nearly night and I was not at jihuay. In fact, I had not even begun the 30 minute walk to the farm yet. I had only had a very real detour. I was picked up by a nice couple who looked at me with a mixture of concern and fear as they asked where I was going and where I was from. I could barely answer there questions I was so relieved to be in a car for a moment. They dropped me at the Santa Rosa stop about 3 hundred yards up the road. I could have walked. I was so close and yet had gotten so very much off track. So close and yet, still at the top of a hill at night with the fact that my destination was down somewhere at the bottom. So I took out my light and walked. My feet were killing me and it was chilly. At this point I had already thanked my friend who gave me the bright orange, down coat I had been wearing that evening a dozen times. But it was still cold, probably from the thin veil of sweat that had appeared all over my body when I had to hustle back to the road and hitchhike, for the first time mind you. 
leveled off at the bottom and rounded a bend to find a large wooden gate off to the right. I had made it. “Fundo Jihuay” was written on the white plaster wall so I reached up and pulled the rope for the bell. I was quickly greeted by 2 huge ride guan ridgeback dogs and a smaller, silver mastiff puppy. These dogs would eventually be my friends but right now I was a stranger in the dark. At that point though, nothing could scare me, I was so numb with relief at arriving.
middle but that does not deter tourists from paying 10 
It was at this hostel called Corola del Sur that I met Jason who just completed his first year of travel. He saved for 5 years so that he could travel the world for 3 and here I am itching to call my parents after 72 hours. His story was inspiring to me that he could spend so much time alone. I pride myself on being able to converse with strangers and it can be easy to make friends in the environment of a hostel. People come and go and it’s easy to begin a conversation: hey, you traveling alone? No? Oh how many people? Where you from? Where you going? And it usually takes off from there. However, it is just as easy to find yourself very alone yet surrounded by people. It’s difficult if these people have already decided on their friend groups for the day. You must establish yourself quickly in this setting and I refuse to be alone all the time. If I want company I will find it.
