Good Day, Sir

Salutations seem simple enough, a quick wave, a “Hi” and a smile or a handshake have always gotten me politely though life in the United States.  Most places in the States you don’t feel as though you will offend an entire generation if you don't greet each and every person who walks past you. Here, however, I have comforted countless elderly folks as they shake their heads in distaste in a state of pure preoccupation about today’s generation.  Kids just don’t salute like they used to they tell me.   A simple “buenos días”, “buenas tardes”, or “buenas noches” would certainly suffice even if mumbled under his or her breath, eye contact is even optional as many youths stare only at their feet as they pass.  The world is changing, developing, globalizing, and with these changes have we lost formality, courtesy, and respect?

            I do not want to be responsible for perpetuating the foreseeable detrition in social interaction in this digital world.  Even in my quaint, kind town, students do not waste a second before whipping out their cell phones in class to capture my pure bliss as I correctly unroll a latex condom over the tip and to the base of the banana.  The world is changing, but we should certainly maintain certain ancient qualities and pleasantries.  So, you better believe that I do not pass up a single “how do you do”, hand shake, back pat, or kiss on the cheek.  However, this is not to say that I correctly land each and every one of the aforementioned greetings at the correct moment or place. I do try; I do not want to offend.

            While it has been a while since I thumbed Emily Post’s Etiquette, I think I was raised and nurtured into a polite lady who knows a thing or two about manners.  While I might now forgo the use of cutlery, lick my fingers and wipe them on my pants, and partake in the occasional public nose pick, I still maintain many lady-like qualities.  I greet and the townspeople with enthusiasm and kindness, a day with fewer than 49 greetings is hardly a day in town.

            Like I said, salutations seem simple enough, and boy did I used to think so.  I have a firm handshake, a kind-face, and a killer smile; no problem, bring on the introductions.  Perú has allowed me to master my small talk abilities and fostered the development of ease with which I can now ask any number of people about how to correctly squeeze the utter of a cow or if they could now please open the condom.  What Perú has not in any way what so ever helped me with is how to read an oncoming social interaction.  In this, I mean that there are a number of ways in which you can greet someone here in the Sierra, and I cannot for the life of me determine which greeting is most appropriate and how exactly to initiate and execute.  

            First we have the handshake; a tool for greeting used widely and most commonly across the continental United States.  I would say it is a standard go-to when greeting both new and familiar faces, whether it be the cute friend of a friend, the old babysitter you have not seen since you used to pee on the carpet for fun, or your favorite high school teacher.  I believe in the handshake and will never doubt the strength of a solid, firm handshake.  However, I have learned that any number of things can go wrong with a handshake in Chiquián, and every handshake is not what it seems.

One of my favorite variations of the handshake could be classified as the “dirty hand wrist bump.”  While I now appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gesture, it took me many incorrect reactions before I mastered the retort.  The “the dirty hand wrist bump” is used most commonly when someone has recently slaughtered an animal, visited a latrine, planted some seeds, or eaten any variety of food with their fingers.  If you can imagine it, it is a floppy hand, fingers hanging loose, and wrist outstretched.  Baffled I was when I received my first “dirty hand wrist bump.”  My response, now I realize was foul and embarrassing.  I thought I would show this man who I met out in the fields the true presentation of a handshake, so I maneuvered my clean hand into his flopped hand and grabbed a hold with the firmness of a distinguished businessman, shook it twice, and went on my way feeling accomplished.  I felt accomplished until it happened again and again, what a strange phenomenon.  Only a few months later did I learn that the “dirty hand wrist bump” was used to avoid the swap of germs, bacteria, feces, and undoubtedly chicken and guinea pig guts.  So, while I am still unsure of the proper way to receive the “dirty hand wrist bump,” I have been advised to throw it back at ‘em.  Wrist to wrist; quick and easy; the dirty way.

            Handshakes can also go sour when you unfortunately throw out your hand to an interested man or to a talkative drunk when you should have gone with the back pat.  The mistake in the handshake is that in these instances they are not time sensitive.  I have found myself, hands interlaced with a stranger for minutes.  While they talk, you wiggle and pull hoping to free your hand, but now, and only now, will you encounter a firm handshake.  The typical handshake, given by Mayors, teachers, town officials, elderly gentlemen, and men in general is more of a slap in a Patty Cake game, if you will.  At first it seems like a go, a good old-fashioned handshake.  My arm is extended, fingers forward and thumb up, they look to reciprocate; we are half way there.  Then it is over.  The flab of skin between our thumbs and pointer fingers make contact.  I go for the squeeze and the standard two shakes, but before I can grip, his hand is gone.  Seemingly, in their minds the handshake was initiated and completed successfully.  Apparently, the quick touch is shake enough; I will never get used to it. 

Lastly, and least enjoyably, the handshake can be used to be pull you in for the hug, the long embrace, this one really catches you off guard because if we are going for the handshake then we are clearly not on hug-level acquaintanceship yet.

            One: the handshake.  Two: kiss on the cheek.  Kiss or handshake?  Kiss or handshake?  This gets me every time, confounds and embarrasses me much like the distinction between Tú and Usted.  As a general rule of thumb, handshake for the men and kiss on the cheek for the women.  Gets you through.  Then comes the grey area when you start to get to know that man, nothing romantic, more like we have talked about the weather and the town fiesta numerous times.   Now what? Have we reached the kiss phase in our relationship?  As you can guess, these interactions evoke that uncomfortable dance-like jig realized when you walk straight on to an incoming passerby and you both try to go the same direction to avoid collision, and then consequently try to dodge the stranger and head back the other way only to meet there as well.   

You throw the hand, he is half in for the kiss, you meet his momentum with your fingers in his stomach, they then maybe get caught in his jacket, then you decide to concede to the kiss, which now due to the confusion is all thrown off and cheeks never meet.  There is just that dreadful sound of the wet smooch.  There is nothing left to do at this point but to giggle and walk away.  Happens with women as well, this is not gender specific embarrassment.  A nice lady, in her 50s invites me to a Lúcuma at the market.  I do not know her well, but I want to show my gratitude.  For some awkward reason or another I am on the sidewalk and she is below in the road.  I, as per usual, go with the handshake.  She at the same moment goes for the kiss on the cheek.  Both wanted to avoid an awkward situation, and so we changed our tactics in an instant.  I moved in closer for the kiss and she whipped her hand out for the handshake.  I unfortunately moved quicker than she did to correct my error, and therefore, I gave her hand little space for movement.  As I made contact with her cheek, she simultaneously made contact with my lower pelvic area.  I straighten up; she pats the crotchle region twice, and we go on our way.              

            Finally, we come to the stern back pat, the technique preferred by the old, Quechua women in their skirts with their blankets tied to their bags as they haul firewood or alfalfa back home.  I have come to love his form of greeting.  It is beautiful, cultural, and hardly ever ends in rosy cheeks or giggle fits.  Give a nice back slap and an aywayee (bye).

The trifecta, it has been mastered by the man who sells cookies in the park.  We start with the handshake; he pulls me forward for the hug and a severe back pat, and finishes her off with a wet one on the cheek.  I say I need to go, he tells me it has been lovely, I wipe my cheek when I am around the corner, then on the way back I take the long way home to avoid the cheek nibble twice in one day.