The Travelers
Arequipa, December-January, March 8-9
The month+ that we spent at the hostel in Arequipa served as an introduction to the world of South American travelers. Gringo gypsies, traveling in couples or small packs along a well-worn path known as "The Gringo Trail." It is here that you can engage in odd philosophical discussions and info-gathering sessions that generally start with "so where else have you traveled in Peru?" The vast majority are only spending a couple weeks or maybe a couple months in Peru, as a one-country trip or part of a larger jaunt around the continent (or around the world).
Cabbies and Colonial Relics
Lima, March 9-16, 27-29, May 11-13
The best discussions we´ve had in Lima are with cabbies. Steve has been keeping tabs on the general sentiment regarding President Garcia (generally bad, too much corruption) and the upcoming Presidential Election of 2011 (mixed, but leaning liberal). Other cabbies offer a minimal (and gratis) tourist service, pointing a building out here and there as we drive. Ironically, they all point out the Palace of Justice. One particularly fascinating and talkative guy told us about the travails of dealing with the medical establishment and his schyzophrenic daughter; about the architectural styles of Limeño buildings; about the ceviche restaurant that was excellent for locals but not for tourists. "I eat there, no problem. You eat there, 4 days on the toilet."From a journal entry, March 10:
I had just read an article discussing San Francisco during the Gold Rush--it´s baudines
s, it´s love of opera and opera houses--and then, after a 16-hour bus ride and major lack of sleep, we arrive here, at the Hotel España in Lima. A modern hostel of eclectic taste in an old building resplendent with colonial feel...high ceilings, semi-labrynthine, chock-full of European-inspired artwork, very tall double wooden doors with wooden windows you can open separatedly (no glass), chandeliers full of CFLs. Upstairs on the roof terrace, 4 tortoises, a parrot and a mackaw join the scenerey and the overall feeling of a little chaos.Add to that the Argentinian Ballet and Dance Folklorica group that has taken up the majority of rooms on our floor, and you might understand how I feel somewhat like I´ve been sent back in time to gold rush San Fran. Now after an afternoon nap we wake to the lively voices and some music from the danza troupe, futbol on the radio.
From a journal entry, May 16:
I already wrote a bit about Hotel España, a place we´ve stayed 3 times. It´s comfortable now, our favored room in "the dungeon," near two bathrooms and internet, the sound of sewer running beneath the floor...The place where time of day is a mystery: as long as the light down our narrow hallway is off, it could be mid-day, bright and sunny but you´d never know it for how dark this room is. The area where sounds bounce off the high ceilings and you know everyone´s business (if you can understand their language). Ventilation is also up high, with glass-less windows above every door. Sounds easily rise, carry, float to other rooms. So it was that during our last visit we knew very well there was someone with intestinal problems from the explosions in the bathroom early in the morn.
The Crafts Community
Huancayo, March 16-27
Textiles, ceramics, carved gourds, metal work are important elements woven into the fabric of Peru´s complex history. They were part of everyday life but gained particular elegance, complexity and import for religious ceremonies. Some people still work in these trades, though now more for the tourism industry than anything else. In Huancayo we met Lucho, an adventurer and businessman with a passion for saving these traditional art forms through tourism (mentioned in previous post).We also met Leoncio, in his home in a village called Cochas Chico. When you go to visit an artisan in the Mantaro Valley, more often than not you are being invited into their home. You pass through the dirt courtyard, dodging chickens and followed by the timid but curious gaze of youngsters, to the looms with bags of textiles, or shelves of gourds. Even store fronts are just that--a "front" for doing business, with the living quarters out back. But like many other gourd-carvers, Leoncio doesn´t have a store front. To truly see his wares, you follow the address on his business card to the threshold of his home.
It´s a family business, and we had met Leoncio´s somewhat awkward daughter at a craft fair in Huancayo. We were particularly interested in a gourd she had telling the story, frame-by-frame, of a marriage in Cochas. Most other gourds depict scenes from daily life, one melding into the next. This style of illustrating a series of events was something new.
We walked into a gem of an experience. I haven´t mentioned this yet, but since Arequipa I´ve noticed that Peruvian men giggle (generally younger men and teenagers). You might get this a little with boys and very young teenagers in the States, but it lasts a lot longer and seems more widespread here. Well, Leoncio never lost his giggle, and sense of humor is his way of life. All in all, we spent almost 2 hours with him, looking at various gourds with different stories, his elderly body barely able to handle his exuberance. He would crack himself up over the stories he created, lose his balance, lose his place in the sequence and start making stuff up. It was fabulous. And though we don´t have a child, he gifted us with a baby rattle on our way out, for when the time comes.
P.S. Just last night I was reading in A Traveler´s Guide to El Dorado and the Inca Empire (written in the 1970´s) about artesanía in Peru and under gourd-carving, our very Leoncio is the one artisan mentioned.
The Extranjeros
Huaraz, March 30 - April 6
We decided to go to Huaraz because it was supposed to have particularly "colorful" Semana Santa processions. They were fine, but not as interesting as we had hoped. What we did find interesting was the relatively large expat community that has developed here. They´re an interesting lot, with histories you´d love to dig into. Those we met were all men who had come to climb the imposing peaks of the Cordillera Blanca and found themselves hooked not only to the peaks but to Peru (or Peruvian women), and settled.
We spent a lot of time lost in conversation with Jim, an American from Illinois/Seattle, who runs an eclectic international film series in the lounge of a Dutch-run restaurant/bar. We (mostly he and Steve) brouched all manner of subjects starting with religion, and we celebrated the eve of Semana Santa with a viewing of Monty Python´s The Life of Brian. Jim is a genuinely curious and creative spirit, constantly exploring himself and his environs for new discoveries. I found myself envious of his energy and ability to take the gift of time to work through intellectual and creative endeavours.
Joe, one of the sweetest English-speaking eccentrics in Peru, owned the hostel where we stayed with his wife and 2 girls. He had a sense of humor so dry...well, I don´t know, but he was great fun to chat with. Always a smirk waiting in the wings. Needless to say, he and Steve got on swimmingly. And he seems to make a pasttime of betting on political elections.
We also spent a good deal of time at Café Andino, run by a Minnesotan and his wife. They serve excellent coffee in a cozy environment with a surprisingly high-quality library of books. Ironically (without knowing what currently lives in our garage), he told Steve that a perfect business opportunity would be to open a used book store in Huaraz. ;)
"Adventure"
Buses
"An adventure is never an adventure when it´s happening. Challenging experiences need time to ferment, and an adventure is simply physical and emotional discomfort recollected in tranquillity." (from Hold the Enlightenment, by Tim Cahill)Our bus ride to Casma would fall into this category. Not sure that I´m sufficiently tranquilized to recollect this one. I´ll just say that it has something to do with the lack of ability (or desire) of some Peruvian bus drivers to safely navigate a fully loaded bus over a half-constructed one-way road, with 2-way traffic, on the side of a mountain, with a drop who knows how far down,...in the dark. The only ride (dar I say "thus far"?) when I seriously began considering the odds.
The Stories That Make History
Casma, April 6-10
We pulled into Casma with all body parts intact (and me silently fuming about the driver), and crashed at a hostel with rooms that dropped to 89 degrees at night and power that occasionally went out for 30 minutes or so. We found 2 restaurants with decent, cheap food and a population that appeared less-than-excited to have foreigners walking around.But the next day we met a fabulous guide who led us through wind-swept sands of pulverized granite, over shards of ancient ceramics (no joke) to the ruins of Chanquillo, a fortress and solar observatory occupied in the 4th century B.C. Over lunch, we asked how he came to be a guide:
Thirteen years earlier he had been a moto taxi driver when one day a woman from the states came by, asking all the cabbies questions they couldn´t answer. He approached and she showed him a photo of the fortress. A native of Casma, he knew where it was and accompanied her there. The next day, from another photo he guided her to other ruins. The photos drew her a map, composing a story as she progressed. She was retracing the steps her son had travelled through Peru before he died mysteriously in Quito, Ecuador. This box of his photos was all she had.
A Blister in the Sun
Huanchaco, April 10-19
Huanchaco, ancient port of the city of Trujillo and current mellow beach town, was our place to "chill." To sit on the beach staring at the ocean, finding my equilibrium, watching surfers and fishermen on totora reed boats, enjoying the company of two zany New Zealanders we originally met in Arequipa. And, as a side-effect, getting fried. Steve too. It´s something we silly gringos tend to do when we meet the beach near the equator. Especially when fooled by the cool breezes of the Humbolt current. That distinctive magenta hue is what separates the extranjeros from t
he locals.
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