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.