We're taking a very brief break from the travel blogging and posting a short story Perry has been working on for a while. Hope you enjoy it!
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6 entries from December 2009
December 18, 2009
December 17, 2009
South American Odyssey: What in the world are we doing here?
It’s time to go into what we’re actually doing here in the Andes at this time and why we’re spending two months here.
But first, let’s talk about the rainy season, OK?
We planned this trip around the cruise ship’s departure from San Diego on the last day of October. They most likely chose that date because the beginning of November marks the end of the Eastern Pacific Hurricane Season. Avoiding those Mexican hurricanes seemed like a good idea to us. It also seemed to work out well in other ways, like avoiding the big tourist season when people from the northern hemisphere take advantage of Summer Vacations to travel. And like allowing us to skip from Northern Summer to Southern Summer and avoid taking a lot of heavy clothes along. We knew it would be brisk at night in the Andes at 9,000 feet no matter what time of the year we visited, but light jackets and sweaters would take care of that.
But we hadn’t really accounted for the rain. When we got here it was raining. And then it rained every day, sometimes all day long, through the night and all the next day. And then it rained some more. There have been times when it rained buckets and the cobblestone streets became torrents. Kind of pretty torrents, but torrents nonetheless. Walter, our host’s driver seemed to see nothing out of the ordinary about this. For him, it didn’t even merit wearing a hat. When asked, his replies were along the lines of, "Well, it’s the rainy season."
We’d packed a Lonely Planet guide to Perú for current information, and I looked under the Weather section. After we got here, of course. It says Perú has two main seasons – wet and dry. The wettest months are December through March. We will be here from mid-November through January. Local people tell me the area is yellow and brown for about half the year, but now we can watch it growing greener by the day. It began to dawn on us why this was not the prime tourist season.
Oh well. It’s a good thing we brought Zont. Several years ago, we were in the Russian Far East near Vladivostok and were lucky we’d thrown in a couple of umbrellas. That area is at the latitude of Portland, fairly green and well-forested, and we used them a lot. We also learned the Russian word for umbrella is zont. There are no articles (like "the") in the Russian language, so we’d ask each other, "Do you have. zont?" before leaving the apartment. We carried zont everywhere, and usually needed it. And here in the Peruvian highlands we always carry zont in the backpack. So it is what it is, and we’ll just take the good with the, uh, rain.
As for what we’re doing here, Carolyn’s very old (in his mid 80s, in fact) friend, Dr. Aquiles Lanao Flores is an economist. When he heard we were retired, he suggested we come to Ayacucho as volunteers to help with Finca Perú. Aquiles -- fondly known as Wircocha (a Quechua term) has a very active mind and is always looking for symbiotic connections. If we showed up, he'd find a way to keep us busy.
The Wikipedia entry for Finca International (one of the more successful charitable organizations around) lists Aquiles as founder John Hatch's Peruvian partner. Aquiles was the Peruvian Director of the Peace Corps Liaison office for cooperative programs for eight years, among many other roles through the years. He and his wife, La Morenita, were founders of Finca Perú.
Actually, it was mostly her doing, and he gives her full credit. Together, they attended a micro-credit conference in Guatemala City many years ago. La Morenita was supposed to do the usual 'spouse thing' and spend her time on local tours, shopping, etc. But Aquiles couldn't get her out of the conference, where she took prodigious notes. On the plane home, she turned to Aquiles and said "Let's start a bank!" Aquiles said, "But we don't have any money to start a bank." She said, "Don't worry, I'll get it!"
La Morenita's desire was to help the women of the Ayacucho region who had been so severely affected by the violence of the 70s and 80s between the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) guerilla movement and the Peruvian military. Thousands of families were devastated, and women were left without husbands, fathers, sons -- often with little in the way of resources to care for themselves and their remaining children. The need was nearly incomprehensible.
La Morenita contacted the US Ambassador's wife, whom she had helped with other projects, and the two of them put together a grant proposal. It was so successful that within a few years, it was generating all it's own income and required no further outside funding. Today, Finca Perú has expanded far beyond Ayacucho and has 7,000 socios (associates), almost exclusively women. The primary mission of Finca Perú is to form community banks made up of mostly women and provide training of all kinds to increase their professional and life skills, self sufficiency, and self esteem. Finca Peru now inhabits a lovely building on one of Ayacucho's primary streets. The building is dedicated to La Morenita, who passed away five years ago. It is a bevy of activity, with women of all classes coming and going continually -- meeting for their weekly bank accountings, attending training sessions. Children of all ages accompany their mothers, and there is a colorful childcare space in the garden where they can play while bank meetings are being held.
These women include small farmers, sellers of vegetables in the market, owners of restaurants and fine pastry shops, and producers folk art products, to mention just a few. Finca Perú has provided them with the tools to benefit, and participate in, from the country's rapidly expanding economy. The organization is run by a highly qualified and dedicated staff, and also has regional programs in Lima and Huancayo. Aquiles' daughter, Iris, is the executive director; but Wiracocha is clearly the much loved father figure. When he shows up at the offices, he is immediately surrounded by adoring staff and socios.
In early December they celebrated a beautiful misa for La Morenita, and held a feria to showcase the work of the socios. Lots of fine crafts, good food, and a bike race were part of the festivities. Most of the family arrived for the misa and they are a remarkable family indeed, highly-motivated, well-educated (granddaughter Viviana is a Harvard Grad), and very interesting to be around.
When he found out about my background designing solar homes and other projects, Aquiles put me to the task of helping with some building projects of his own. I had brought along a metric scale that I'd used in Mexico, and thought that if the occasion arose, I'd just buy whatever else I needed on-site. But when I went to find some triangles, templates, and other gear at the various little shops along the Plaza by the University, they looked at me in disbelief. The expressions on their faces said, "Where do you think you are, fella, in some Third-World country? We don't use that stuff here. We use computers these days."
Each little CAD shop along the Plaza politely suggested that maybe the next shop two doors down might have what I needed. I finally found a sort of Starter Kit with a couple of triangles in it, and later I found a template with a few circles and squares on it, along with a couple of mineras (mechanical pencils – called lapiceros in Mexico), and a decent eraser. At a ferreteria, I found a good tape measure (called a 'wincha' here) and a wide paintbrush to use for sweeping away the eraser crumbs. Then I bought a piece of white cardboard, masking-taped it to a table for a drawing surface, and I was ready for business. Which was a very good thing, because Aquiles had lots of ideas to keep me busy.
Among these were: Designing a green room for his visits to a place he has in the countryside at Acos Vinchos. Coming up with an idea for a wheel chair ramp for Finca Perú – not an easy thing to do where the slopes are so steep. Designing a new building for Finca's Wari Project directed by Derek Visser, a long-term volunteer from Holland. Designing a small solar home in the local style. Designing a housing community for 100 families. Aquiles is an endless font of ideas to make things better here. I started drawing soon after we got here and have stayed busy ever since.
As for what Carolyn is up to, I'll turn the keyboard over to her and let her tell you, herself:
My job here is to work with Finca Perú Exports, a project begun in 2006, mostly using volunteer effort, to help Fina Perú socios who are artisans to increase their self-sufficiency through selling their artisan products. Previous volunteers managed to put up a very attractive web site and to make some significant initial sales; but as their volunteer terms ended and they went back to Oregon or Wisconsin or Holland, or wherever else they came from, sales dwindled to almost nothing. My job is to look at what was done, what the situation is now, and what should happen with Finca Perú Exports in the future -- a sort of analysis and then strategic plan, if that is appropriate.
I had worked with artisan development here back in the 60s as a Peace Corps Volunteer, so I already have a great love for and some knowledge of the people and the products. I've been stunned to see, however, how much folk art has grown in both production and sales. When I was here before, there were no shops visible; one had to go find artisans working in remote areas or communities, and there was real fear that Peruvian folk art -- which, of course, was first created for practical use, in both religious and daily life -- would be lost as the market was flooded with inexpensive commercial alternatives. Now, there are folk art shops on every block, with a wide variety of items small and large for the tourist market; and the finer weavers, potters, tinsmiths, stone carvers, etc., are recognized internationally as true artists and command fine prices for their collectable work.
So, my remaining time here will be filled with surveying, meeting with groups of socios to identify their abilities, desires, and training needs; learning about the rigors of exporting; exploring possibilities for internal as well as external markets; and hopefully building a base of information that Finca Perú can use to more effectively help its artisan socios in the future.
Next: Street Life in Ayacucho
December 09, 2009
Thanksgiving Day in Ayacucho -- and more!
Dia de Gracias, Dia de Pavo, whatever you want to call it, it's still Thanksgiving Day to a Gringo – that end-of-season harvest festival we celebrate every year in North America. This year we'll spend it south of the Equator in the mountains of Perú during their early Summer, but since it's also their rainy season and temperatures are actually chilly, it feels a bit like Fall here.
Carolyn spent most of Wednesday baking two zapallo pies (their version of pumpkin), and one of her famous apple pies. Over nobody's objection, I might add. The aroma filled the immediate area, and anticipation was high. Today, she's very busy stuffing and baking the turkey our guests managed to score for the occasion. She has a very willing helper in Betsi, our host's Quechua cook, who's eager to learn several new and exotic (for the Andes, anyway) recipes. I had a few things planned to do but Juan, one of our host's sons-in-law, asked if I wanted to go up to Rumichaca with him and some other guys. Since I had absolutely no idea where Rumichaca was or what this all entailed, my answer, of course, was, "Sure!"
We left at 9:00 a.m. and the driver clipped along very rapidly down the few blocks that brought us to the Main Plaza of Ayacucho. We took a left up the steep and narrow streets that lead to the highway where he put his foot to the metal, dodging people, cows, trucks, etc. In a country where people are used to living in close quarters, barely missing someone with a car is not seen as unusual.
We reached the curvy highway that leads out of the city, and up out of the dry desert bowl of Ayacucho into the adjacent higher areas of the Andes. The road climbed. And climbed. And climbed, for the next 35 minutes. There were five of us in a newish Toyota crew cab pickup truck that swayed around each corner. I was glad it was a new vehicle with new tires and the road was a decent and wide two-lane highway, but a bit less speed would have made it more enjoyable, from the Gringo perspective. The driver and the other three passengers talked non-stop about crops, planting, and harvesting, all in Spanish while I tried, with only modest success, to keep up, and ignore the breakneck speed. Every so often, we'd pass the inevitable roadside memorial to those who hadn't made it around a given corner, but the message appeared to be lost on everyone but me. I could feel my arm muscles building as I clung tightly to the handle by my head. At least I was getting a decent upper-body workout just from trying to hang on to whatever was handy.
Finally, we crossed a pass and the road began a gradual decline into a valley of small farms, planted fields, and grass-covered hillsides. Along the road were flocks of sheep, a few pigs, some cattle and horses grazing the shoulders, tended by small boys, women and old men. Each little farm was marked off by ancient walls of large stones borrowed from the stony mountains which towered over us and demarcated the visible world. Stone walls crawled up the slopes as fields stretched up onto the flanks of the mountains on each side of the roadway. More fields were cut out of the hillsides higher up – anywhere there was sufficient soil.
It had been drizzling since early morning and the rainfall increased as the road ascended again, and we went onward into the higher Andes. Ayacucho is about 9,000 feet above sea level, dry, and surrounded by fringing mountains. We had passed into a very different zone. The rainfall increased with altitude while grass supplanted cactus, agave, and other dry land plants. Along the road and in valley areas, there were stands of trees. Eucalyptus trees, to be exact. We had also seen them on an earlier trip to Quinua, and I wondered how this Australian tree got here. It's a question I'd have to get back to at a later time.
After about an hour and a half, we arrived in Rumichaca (meaning 'stone bridge,' in Quechua), a small settlement with no stores or other apparent businesses, and we turned onto an unpaved and stony road leading farther up the steep side of a mountain to a small group of stone houses overlooking the valley below where one of our passengers lived. One of the reasons Juan had mentioned this trip was that he knew I had designed solar homes, and he wanted to show me some Trombe Wall projects in the area. The truck stopped and we got out to climb to a house with a Trombe Wall 'box' attached to it. We discussed the merits of this simple technology in a land where most homes were made of stone or adobe, so getting the necessary mass wasn't the issue. But in order for a Trombe Wall to work well, it requires the house be well insulated, which can be a big problem in poorer parts of the world. And then there's the problem of attention to details to get the best results. It usually requires more than just attaching a 'unit' to a wall. Still, it was probably producing some heat for the residents inside, and was far better than nothing. Some early solar experiments in the US weren't much better, and a friend of mine once referred to that era as "the flapping plastic period of architecture."
At the base of the old mud-plastered adobe wall, there was a band of left-over snow from a few days earlier. Late November, south of the Equator is equivalent to late April in the northern hemisphere, but at this altitude – even this close to the Equator (12 degrees South latitude) – they still get snow at this time of the year.
As I turned to look out over the greening valley and little settlement below, with small rivulets of waterfalls tumbling from the surrounding cloud-crusted peaks – the whole thing looking somewhat like an Andean Switzerland – Juan said we were standing at 4,800 meters (15,748 feet) above sea level. The settlement was perched on the side of a mountain and it must have been another 1,000 feet up to the tops of the peaks around us. Earlier in Ayacucho, when we got into the car, someone had mentioned the oxygen bottle we were carrying – just in case. Although I lived at the mile-high elevation of Albuquerque for 50 years, I've lived at sea level for the past 5 1/2 years, so I was glad we had it. We got back in the truck and went down to the settlement nestled in the valley below with the swift rain-fed river running beside it.
At the village, Juan said I could go with the other to guys who were heading to a different village, or I could stay with him and Carlos while they conducted a training workshop here in Rumichaca. I figured I'd stay to see what they were here for – some sort of workshop, as I understood it – since no matter what happened it was going to be some sort of adventure to me. As the truck – with its overly exuberant driver – disappeared onward into the Andes, I breathed a sigh of relief to be simply walking again, with little drama attached. I figured Juan had some kind of return plan in mind.
We walked through the settlement and greeted various villagers along the way, dressed in traditional Quechua clothing. Except for the Quechua people and the metal roofing on a few of the buildings, we could have been on a set for a movie featuring Middle-Age Europe. The weathered thatch roofs overhanging the old adobe and stone walls lining the rocky roadway made the place exceptionally picturesque – as long as you didn't have to scratch a living out of the stony ground. In the cold rain.
We found most of the villagers in a small field by the river harvesting big leaves of delicious-looking acelga (chard). After a few words of welcome, we walked onward through the settlement and waited by a corral. Not many things happen out in the campo on some kind of tight schedule. In hard-scrabble farm country, the crops and animals come first. We waited while they finished the harvest, then the villagers gradually gathered and the workshop convened under a porch overhang, as the person with the key to the school was gone for the day. The overhang accommodated at least most of the people and the rest didn't seem to mind the drizzle. It was just a part of life, and a blessing that meant it was time to plant crops again. I even stood in the rain for a while to take a few pictures, and I was glad I'd worn my wide-brimmed Tilley Hat and slicker. Watching these people in the rain, I realized why they wore those characteristic little felt hats here in the Andes. Also because the sun is fierce up here (so I hear) in the winter dry season, and protection is a good thing. There was only one adult not wearing one of those little hats – a man wearing a kind of traditional knitted chuyo. They were short and solidly-built and, at 6' 2," I stood head and shoulders over most of them. After the initial shock of seeing the tall Gringo appear in their midst, they were careful not to stare, although I really didn't mind. But they are a circumspect people, careful not to offend.
Juan and Carlos grabbed a rock and a few old nails and hung their workshop banner on the wall. Then Carlos engaged the people in a process of figuring out what their community needed, and how they were going to get it done. He's a very outgoing and likable guy, and after overcoming their initial reserve, they were all working together to plan their future. Along the way, he brought the need for decent nutrition into the discussion – especially for the young children and the elders. They were a beautiful group of people, sitting there at the workshop with their children, dogs, and a young sheep, leading a seamless, ancient life for whom the Spanish Conquest (only five hundred years ago) might represent a relatively recent development. While there's a tendency among outsiders to view their life as "primitive," there was lots of intelligent participation, and ideas filled the papers taped to the banner. It was good to watch this process unfolding so well for these ancient people, given their recent past.
Perú has a long history of terrible bloodshed. Several centuries of mistreatment of the native Quechua-speaking population led to a bloody Maoist revolt in the 1970s under the Sendero Luminoso (the Shining Path). It was met with equal brutality by the Peruvian military, and the resulting terrible civil war left around 50,000 dead or disappeared. Today, the country seems to want to leave that painful era behind, and there appear to be efforts to rectify many long-standing inequities while developing effective ways to fight the endemic poverty. As a result, 'help wanted' signs are common now in Ayacucho, and people generally appear clean, decently-fed, and decently-dressed. And other than a few feeble old people sitting on street corners, with a old plastic bowl to catch a few coins, there are very few beggars. While private cars are rare, there's good transportation and people aren't living in the streets. Overall, the people are hard-working – as I suspect they've always been in this harsh mountainous country – and appear to be reasonably happy. These days, the country seems peaceful and, to an outsider, there appears to be room for hope.
As a result, the villagers of Rumichaca seemed to be very willing to engage in the worship process, and try to craft a plan for the future. To me, at least, it seemed they felt it would result in positive change, and was much more than an empty exercise.
Juan and Carlos work for Atinchik, a Peruvian "Alternative Development Services" organization. They are part of a consulting staff that works to coordinate the efforts of various NGOs (Non-Governmental Organizations), and government agencies with the needs of the local communities. I was very impressed with their on-the-ground workshop approach, their willingness to get to the people in need (no matter how uncomfortable it may be), and their skill at delivering the service. It helped, of course, that they were educated, well spoken, and fluent in the Spanish language, and also understood sufficient Quechua to be effective. It looked like a more effective approach to rural development than the wasteful 'mega-schemes' of the past.
After the workshop, the truck failed to materialize and we walked back to the road where we stood, along with two village men, and waited. In the rain. The rain drizzled gently onto us as we stood near the road since there wasn't enough room to escape it under the overhanging roof of the old stone house beside us. It was early afternoon. There had been no food offered in Rumichaca and I hadn't seen any places to eat on our way up, so I figured lunch was probably not on the agenda. There was nothing to do but wait. And maybe think about that magnificent feast waiting for us back in Ayacucho. Juan mentioned it a few times, as he stood shivering in the light-weight, and now wet, jacket he was wearing. It was time to think of other things, of llamas, perhaps.
It occurred to me that I hadn't seen any llamas in the area, so I asked Juan about it. He said it was summer, and they had moved up to higher ground (!), and anyway, since it was now the wet season, the people are planting and they run the llamas off because they eat the young plants. I guess the Quechua people long ago – maybe about a thousand years ago – stopped thinking the llamas were cute.
After a while, the rain still drumming onto my Tilley hat and streaming down my shoulders, I asked Juan if we were waiting for the truck to come back. He said no, we were waiting for a vehicle, like a truck or car, with room enough to take us back to Ayacucho. Or maybe a 'combi' would come along. Combis are usually tinny 15 passenger vans that commonly service villages in the back areas of most of Latin America. But if no Combi came along, we were essentially hitch-hiking back to Ayacucho – probably seventy kilometers away. "Ah well", I thought to myself, "the mountains surrounding us are quite beautiful. I'm lucky to be here. Life is good".
A few well-loaded trucks rumbled by, with no room for us. After a while we heard a beeping horn as a combi announced its arrival. We clambered in and Juan suggested I sit in the 'jump seat' by the door because there was no room for my long Gringo legs where he was sitting in the back, and all the other seats were taken. Off we went down the highway with 13 people in the 15 passenger van. At each small settlement, the driver beeped his horn and picked up a few more folks along the way.
Soon we were flagged over by three men standing by the road with three large chanchos (hogs) that were lying on their sides and were, well, "hog-tied" by the ankles and ready for market. The wiriest guy dragged one of the chanchos over to the van, tied an old rope through his legs and handed the loose end of the rope to another guy who had crawled onto the roof. With one guy hauling, the other pushing, and the hog screaming, they got one onto the roof and nestled into the roof rack. The guy on top tied the hog down while the other guy got another one ready to lift. After all three screaming hogs were on the roof, two of the guys got inside the van and the other one stayed on top. It was only drizzling a little and we had only another thirty or so miles to go.
We pulled into a small town, with a few stores and a school, and the van stopped. We opened the side door to allow 6 school boys, about 8 years old and in uniform, to board, along with 2 teachers. I had figured out a while back why there were a couple of empty 5 gallon buckets in the van. Those were extra seats. But by now, several folks were sitting two to a seat. It's lucky the boys weren't tall yet because they had to stand wherever we could jam one in. The driver put a "cumbia" CD into the player, which seemed appropriate as we bounced on down the road with a lively musical accompaniment, carrying about 25 people, with three hogs and a guy on the roof.
At one point along the curvy road, a newish-looking pickup truck pulled beside us and stayed there while a lady in the passenger seat took our picture. While the ride wasn't the most luxurious, and I was contorted like a sort of Gringo pretzel, at least the driver was going a bit slower now. At one point I wondered where the van would stop, and whether we'd have to walk a few miles to the Plaza, but decided not to worry about it as most things here tend to sort themselves out.
We stopped at a place where the road widened on the outskirts of town, and we all spilled out as the driver collected 4 soles each (about US $1.40) from all the passengers. I don't know what he charged the hogs for their 'Sky Box' vista ride all the way to Ayacucho, but it probably cost them an arm and a leg.
Juan turned to the road and flagged down the first taxi he saw headed our way. Within minutes we were back – cold, wet and hungry, and ready for that fabulous Thanksgiving Dinner Carolyn and Betsi had spent the day preparing.
Footnote:
There were thirteen of us to enjoy a large Thanksgiving Dinner set in the home of our Peruvian friend, Aquiles. They were mostly members of his large family, with a couple of Gringo expats and a Dutch friend thrown in. There was a large bird in the center, prepared in a new “brine-bath” method that made the white meat more juicy and delicious than usual. I’m sure Carolyn will use that method again. Accompanying the bird were potatoes, gravy, dressing, broccoli, freshly-cut fruit salad and sweet potatoes (camotes, which they sell already baked at the mercado) and four bottles of decent Ocucaje wine, a Peruvian brand from the Ica area . This was followed by the two pumpkin pies and an apple pie with whipped cream topping. By the end of the evening, all the food had evaporated from the plates, and I thought Juan was ready to eat the plate.
December 03, 2009
South American Odyssey: Leg 2 - Lima to Ayacucho, Peru
The MS Veendam arrived in Callao, the port city for Lima, and probably the most important port on the west coast of South America. Over breakfast on the boat, we watched a huge car-carrying ship, docked beside us, as they rolled off enough cars to populate a small town. After that ship pulled out, an identical ship took its place and began the same process. Meanwhile, other ships were unloading at berths all along the dock, and there were about twenty to thirty more anchored outside the harbor waiting their turn. Their dark hulls were outlined in the mist, or garua, that characterizes this section of the coast where the cold Humbolt Current flows up along the coast from Antarctica and meets warm water sweeping down from Central America. The upwelling of nutrients makes this one of the richest fisheries in the world.
The MS Veendam was scheduled to be docked two days in Callao, so we took the opportunity to do a bit of sight-seeing. We'd return to the ship for one last night aboard before heading off on our own. We used that day to go to the Plaza de Armas, the main plaza in Lima, this sprawling city of more than 8 million people. The city, founded by Pizarro in 1535, can be a challenge if you're not prepared for the sheer mass of people. Lima had gone from being the gateway to the Andes in Pizarro's day, to a forgotten backwater for several centuries. Then in the 1920s, it grew from 173,000 to it's present massive size. I remembered being here in 2000 and spending a very pleasant evening walking through the beautiful Miraflores district, one of the richer, more established sections of town. But today, we'd only be able to experience the main plaza and the fine older buildings lining the streets that radiate out from there. But first, lunch was in order.
Peruvians are well known for their soups, and for such dishes as palta rellena (avocado filled with a sauce of chicken and vegetables), lomo saltado (sauteed beef with vegetables and potatoes) and a variety of Chinese-influenced dishes such as arroz chaufa.
We stopped at a sidewalk cafe with a good view of the Plaza de Armas and I ordered the pollo saltado, while Carolyn had the ají de gallina. After lunch, we crossed the Plaza, surrounded by ancient buildings, and caught the Turibus for a spin around the extended downtown area. Then we walkeda few blocks from the Plaza to view the large buildings that give Lima some of the serious, business-minded aura of Chicago – especially, the tall stone Bolsa de Valores de Lima (or, Lima Stock Exchange) with its imposing bronze doors. The day went quickly, and soon it was time to return to the ship for one last night aboard. We'd be back in Lima at a later time and do more exploring then.
On our last morning we enjoyed breakfast and a light lunch on the ship, then we gathered all the stuff we'd stashed in various drawers and closets, jammed it all into our rolling bags and backpacks, and headed for the gangway. As we rolled down the dock looking for a cab, I glanced over my shoulder for a last look at the Veendam towering over us. We'd had some very good times aboard and there were memories enough to last quite a while.
Things like passing through a large pod of whales off the Baja coast as they made their way to winter feeding grounds in the Sea of Cortez. We'd miss watching them this year on the Sea, but there were other adventures to be had. During a nature walk through the rain forest of Costa Rica we saw so many streams of leaf-cutter ants marching along waving little fronds of green that it looked as if there must be some kind of jungle holiday underway. Between looking up at various colorful birds and bromeliads in the tall trees, we'd glance down to step carefully over the next trail of hard-working ants. And about twenty miles off the northern coast of Perú we passed through about a hundred small wooden sailing boats out fishing for, I guess, the abundant sardines that feed on the upwelling cold currents here. From a distance, the boats looked frail, and maybe a bit out of their element that far offshore. But a good look at one just off our beam – complete with a smiling and waving sailor (and I'd left my camera in the room!) – showed their stout construction and able hulls.
Overall, the MS Veendam was good to us and gave us many experiences we probably wouldn't have gotten any other way.
But now the time had come to say goodbye to all that – the floor shows, the cabin guys who made up the bed several times daily, the interesting people we met over dinner, and of course, the endless and delicious food. While we might catch a show or two somewhere on our trip, and there would be lots of good food to be had along the way, we'd soon be renting a small apartment in the Andes and we'd be making our own beds for a while. Ah well, change is good.
After we left the ship, we headed to the airport. We checked in to the airport Ramada, one of the most charmless and expensive hotels I've ever stayed in. But it was the only hotel right there at the airport, surrounded by desolate parking lots. In fact, there wasn't another hotel in sight, and since we needed to be at the gate by 4:00 a.m. to catch the 6:00 a.m. Star Perú flight to Ayacucho (there's only one flight per day), we decided to just bite the bullet this time and spend the money. We enjoyed some good pisco sours in the bar and met a tall rangy and loquacious guy from Minnesota who travels here often to trek the mountains, while his wife enjoys some quiet time at home.
Four a.m. came awfully early. We trundled our bags over to the airport main door, made our way to the domestic flight area and bought a couple of Starbucks coffees (yes, even here!) and a slice of coffee cake to share. Next, we got into the very long, but fast-moving, line to pay our airport departure tax – 12 soles, or about 4 bucks. I guess the authorities don't trust the airlines to fork it over.
From Lima, the plane climbed steeply over the dry desert landscape far below. Soon, we were cruising over dry mountains. Then the plane dipped slightly and we landed. In 40 minutes, we had gone from sea level to over 9,000 feet in elevation. We gathered our bags off the turnstile – which seemed a bit superfluous for such a small airport served by aircraft of modest size – and headed for the street where there would be a car for us. Soon, all the other passengers had been duly hugged by waiting relatives, bundled into waiting cars, and were gone. We stood there and waited.
Heavy clouds lingered overhead and scattered rain puddles confirmed the arrival of the wet season. The plane loaded its returning passengers and taxied to the runway. As the plane soared into the air, the airport personnel locked the doors and headed for home or a second job. We stood there and waited. We finally figured out that nobody was headed to the airport to get us, so we flagged a passing taxi and headed to Aquiles' house. No big deal, we're used to taking care of ourselves and enjoy exploring on our own. Aquiles was mortified that he had forgotten us and wrote to his daughter Iris that he must be getting Alzheimers.
We quickly settled into our little $100/month apartment, and went to the Mercado to buy some extra pillows and towels, a hot plate and soup pan, and a few glasses, plates, and other utensils. Although it could sure use a coat of paint and some new curtains to replace the sun-deteriorated existing ones, for now, it's about as 'homey' as it's likely to get.
There's a bathroom we share with the apartment next door, but there's nobody in that room now and, although the bathroom is uncharming and a little smelly (well, very smelly), we have it to ourselves. The shower features an "on-demand" type water heating system which I had seen in Mexico but had never used. There are a couple of wires that carry the 220 volt current (everything here is 220 v.) to the shower head itself. There's a sensor, I guess, that detects water flow through the head and turns on the heating element when you turn on the water. We can tell when it's on because it also dims the overhead bathroom light, and that's a handy thing because it doesn't provide much hot water if there's more than a bare dribble coming out of the shower head. You need to know when the element is heating the water and leave it there long enough to make whatever difference it's going to make in the temperature of the water dribbling out. I haven't gotten brave enough yet to reach up and try to adjust it in any way. I think I'll just leave it alone, which seems like a good plan when you're standing under a 220 volt shower head. Ah well, life is good.
We wish there were a separate table to eat on, and we end up eating dinner (when we don't go out for dinner) while sitting on the beds. But the beds (yes, two singles) are comfortable and the mattresses are firm, so we sleep well each night and awake with the dawn.
The apartment is quite basic and semi-clean, and each bed is equipped with a 'Peruvian heating system' – an extra blanket. We know there are people living here who would think it a step up, and very good place to live, so we're not inclined to complain. But if we were going to be here for a very long time, we'd probably look for something about twice as nice. Maybe something in the $200/month range.
So far, we haven't had to make breakfast or lunch in the apartment because Wiracocha (Aquiles' apodo, or nickname) expects us to join him each morning at 7:00 a.m., and then again at 12:00 noon. While he never spends much time alone, what with three employees, Walter, Betsi, and Edgar, and various family members who make their way up from Lima on a regular basis, he doesn't like to eat alone. Betsi plies us with excellent fare, so we're happy to oblige.
After settling in, it was time to explore the town a bit more. Ayacucho has a timeless, endless quality, as if the world has mostly forgotten about this corner of the Andes. There are a few tourist facilities around, but other than a couple of Gringo businessmen on the plane, I haven't seen a white face in the whole town. Guidebooks describe Ayacucho as being as charming and interesting as Cuzco, but without all the tourists, since there's no "World Class Destination" like Machu Picchu just outside of town. It's only a 40-minute flight from Lima, but the long and tortuous, and maybe a little dangerous, road helps Ayacucho maintain its isolation, and even, a kind of purity.
Just being here brings up ridiculous time-warp analogies. For Carolyn, who was here as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the 1960s, it was a kind of homecoming. For me, it was all new. I've been to a few countries and each has its own surprising culture. Each people makes its own cultural decisions, and that manifests itself in interesting ways.
Buses and taxis are common on the streets of Ayacucho (which was not the case when Carolyn lived here, and it makes her a little sad to see) so there's little reason for most people to own a car. But they also have these crazy little three-wheeled Moto Taxis based on a small two-cycle engine, like you see in pictures of Asian cities. I had a real desire to take one of them for a ride, but our hosts said those guys are crazy and I shouldn't go anywhere in one of them. Maybe I'll sneak a ride someday when nobody's looking.
At various strategic corners you'll encounter what you could call 'Peruvian Phone Booths' – girls in brightly colored Movistar or Claro vests clacking three cell phones together in one hand, like castanets. They're part of the charming din of street life here.
And speaking of din, there are the horns. To most folks of Northern European heritage, a car horn, is there for occasional use when absolutely necessary. But in Ayacucho, a horn is intended for constant use. Why else would you have one if not to use it? And in a town with maybe half a dozen stop lights and no (that's right, no!) stop signs, a horn is used to announce your arrival at blind corners. And in a city with very narrow sidewalks lined with tall stone buildings, almost every corner is a blind corner. Taxis use the horn to attract the attention of potential fares. The horn is also used to relieve frustration. So when there's a traffic blockage up ahead somewhere, the horn is used to express displeasure, although it will probably have no effect on the problem. I don't yet know what the long-distance buses do when they encounter the road blocked by one of the frequent rockslides. Sit there and horn the horn, I guess.
The mercados, of course, are very colorful and have a broad variety of delicious-looking fruits and vegetables. There are potatoes (maybe 100 varieties, since Perú is where potatoes were first cultivated), corn (red and yellow), broccoli, carrots, onions, tomatoes, pineapples, mangos, apples, avocados, small bananas, many spices. In short, there's just about everything in the local mercado that you would find at Safeway. The real difference is that this food is all fresh and ripe and grown locally – not picked green and shipped long distances, or artificially ripened in a large warehouse someplace. The people here look very healthy and trim. That's what good food and the steep streets of Ayacucho will do for you.
As for what we're actually doing here for two months, that will be a good subject for another blog.
See more pictures from Lima to Ayacucho in the album by that name.