It can't be that bad, I thought as I stared at the giant electrical switch and the wires snaking out of it and slithering their way toward the shower head.  My hostess instructed me to turn on the water - but only the cold water - because the other handle doesn't work.  Next, flip the switch.  "If the temperature needs adjusting," she continued, "simply add more cold water, or less of it.  But don't forget - always turn off the electricity before turning off the water.  Oh, and that large bucket in the corner -  that’s for storing water on those nights when we don't have water, because sometimes that happens.  Got it?"

For months before I arrived in Cusco, my brother-in-law, Fred, would captivate an entire room with tales of the electrically-heated showers in Peru.  "Can you believe the voltage they are sending straight to their showers?  It's amazing they're still heating their water that way.  Copper wires just dangling into your shower!"  I peered at him skeptically knowing that I'd never seen that in the hotels and hostels I had visited.

I awoke with a frigid nose and cold toes.  Strange, I thought.  The heat must not be on in this apartment.  I checked my phone to find the local temperature and discovered it was almost feezing.  A shiver shook my body.  I figured a shower would warm me right up.

Just like she told me, I turned on the cold water.  The shower head sputtered.  I waited for a steady stream to flow before adding the electricity.  I tested the water with my fingers.  It was warm.  I quickly slipped out of my pajamas and persuaded myself to step in.  Ay, caramba!  I quickly realized that the temperature felt warm to my icy fingers, but to the rest of my body this was a sorry excuse for lukewarm.  I hesitated to adjust the temperature too much and frantically scrubbed my frozen body like a jittery coffee addict after 48 oz of liquid energy.

The next day, I knew my fingers would fool me again, so started out with much less cold water to begin with.  Aha! - if I sacrifice water pressure, I can have HOT water.  I was beginning to understand the beauty of a drizzle.  I didn't care about water pressure anymore.

Weeks passed before I realized how long my leg and armpit hair had grown.  Without hot summer days to flaunt my freckled complexion and luminescent legs, I hadn't noticed the hippie I was becoming.  I knew there was something odd about that underarm odor, strangely reminiscent of those stinky Euro gypsies traveling about.

One day I confidently stepped into the shower for yet another drizzle and good scrub at that armpit hair.  But this time, it was too hot!  I reached up to add more cold water and got a ZZZAP through my fingers.  My eyes popped out of my head staring at the rubber grip covering the handle and slowly realized it was only tape.  The shower head sputtered.  A flash of cold water poured down on me.  I jumped out of the way as goose bumps spread across my entire body causing my leg hair to grow yet another millimeter.  I gingerly poked at the handle to adjust the temperature, scared of being shocked again.  The shower head gurgled with a whoosh of hot water this time!  Dios mio! I wanted to get out of this temperamental shower like a bat out of hell.

With urgency like never before, I danced around with that bar of soap and before I knew it, the soap slipped free, catapulting directly into the tub of icy reserve water near my feet.  I dove in after it, only to be greeted with yet another rush of cold water from behind.  Jeeez!  With fervent resolve to finish what I had started, I gritted my teeth, and speed-rinsed.  I groped around the corner to shut off the lever, followed by termination of the chilly flow of water, only to get one final ZZZAP through my fingers.

Yowza!

This drowned rat understood a whole new meaning to culture shock.

Megan Titensor
Cusco Writers Guild