Tierra de Tortugas

South American Odyssey: The $100 apartment

…and other costs

I mentioned in an earlier blog that we were staying in a small, very modest, and semi-clean apartment that costs us only 250 soles (about US$100) per month. I guess we wanted to get the full Peace Corps Volunteer experience, although we're not in the Peace Corps. I also said that next time we'd probably opt for something more luxurious – maybe something in the US$200/month range.   Well, our landlady, Doña Socorro is very sweet and has two very friendly, if somewhat neurotic schnauzers. Plus, the apartment is away from the street and looks out onto a nice little courtyard. We thought, why not just convert this place into a US$200/month pad?  

    It all began while reading in bed, idly glancing at the ugly, dirty, blue and white paint job, and wondering how much it would cost us to repaint it. And if we even wanted to get started on such a ridiculous project for an apartment, would it be worth it since we'd only be here for a couple of months? But first, the place really needed a decent table and chair. We'd passed a few shops that sold simple, decent-looking furniture, and one day we decided to stop and ask about prices. We found a good-looking table with a fake-marble melamine top, and a sturdy matching chair priced at 200 soles (about US$70) for the two. We decided to go for it, since it would make the apartment so much more usable. And when we left, it would be our gift to the universe, or at least the next tenant.

     We liked the table and chair and we had exactly 200 soles with us, but we needed to get it back to the apartment. We asked the shop owner about delivery, and he told us we just needed to flag down a taxi and tie it to the roof. That's how things are delivered in Ayacucho. A taxi would only cost us 5 soles. But we didn't have 5 more soles with us. The owner was unwilling to let us out of his sight to go find more money, so he quickly lowered the price to 195 soles and flagged down the next taxi. Off we went with our new furniture, through the back streets of town to our door, where Carolyn and I maneuvered them through the twisting alley that leads back to our place. 

    We decided to buy a couple more pillows to augment the two older ones in the apartment, a couple more towels, and a brighter, warm-white light bulb for the overhead fixture to replace the former dim, harsh, bluish-light bulb (which, of course, made the ugly paint job more apparent). We also bought a hot plate and a pan to cook in, a cutting board, a couple of bowls, some plates and silverware, and two plastic storage boxes, so we could enjoy some of that delicious fresh food we'd seen in the mercado. Now, with a place to cook, a table for the computer and a few other things, life was getting much better.  

    We still needed someplace to put our things in the bathroom. There had been an old chair by the toilet, but we grabbed it for the room because there was no place to sit except on the beds. Another chair appeared in the bathroom, and we grabbed it too, so we'd each have a place to sit beside the little 'kitchenette' table that came with the room. By now we figured Doña Socorro's son would probably stop putting chairs in the bathroom, since they kept disappearing and we were only paying 100 bucks a month. So we bought a little plastic three-shelf unit that held our stuff a lot better than a chair, and we were happy.

    Well, mostly. The place still badly needed painting. But it was such a ridiculous idea. Were we really going to paint the place? We'd be gone soon enough. What difference would it make if we just left well enough alone, anyway?

      OK, we figured we should at least ask how much paint costs around here. Just a couple of blocks from the Plaza there's a street full of shops selling paint. We guess-timated about four gallons of paint would do the job, and we found out it costs 10 soles (around US$3) per gallon. We looked at each other, took a breath, and made the leap. Various tools (brushes, rollers, etc.) added another 50 soles to the tab. Before it's done, we'd buy two more gallons of paint, including a bucket of nice-looking Lucuma trim paint (a reddish-brown named for a Peruvian tree) for a total cost of 522 soles (US$186.43).

    The lighting in the apartment was somewhat 'severe' when we arrived, but we hung a paper Chinese shade that we bought in Lima over the new warm-white bulb, and things looked much better. We decided not to mess with anything else in the 220 volt (!) system after Carolyn absently plugged in her 110 volt hair curler one day and watched it proceed to melt. Luckily, a 220 volt replacement was cheap – costing about US$6. 

    So we got a much nicer apartment to stay in and, when we averaged it out over a two and a half month period, it means our Ayacucho digs only cost us US$174.57 per month. So that means that over a 2 1/2 month period, we saved a total of US$63.57! Well, you know, it kind of depends on how you look at it. The whole experience gave us another chance to see how daily life works for the people who live here. We also got a chance to burn off what most people might consider a bit of excess energy. And the end result makes the apartment a whole lot more livable. The final touch was a doormat reading Hogar Dulce Hogar (Home Sweet Home) to replace the tattered old one with a fish on it. We'll certainly are enjoying our last two weeks in Ayacucho living in a bright, clean, and well-furnished apartment, and we can feel proud of what we leave behind.   

    While we're on the subject of costs, and because we're near the mid-point of our six-month trip, a review of our daily costs in South America might interest some readers. Also, it may be handy to think of our trip as consisting of three distinct segments, with different costs attached to each. We began with 16 days on a cruise ship out of San Diego, a leisurely and somewhat luxurious way to go south. Then we rented a cheap apartment for two months in Ayacucho, an indigenous and inexpensive city in the Andes. Our next segment, through Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay, will entail considerably more travel, more hotel rooms, more dinners out, and the higher costs associated with that lifestyle.  

    First it must be said that we chose to take an extended trip to South America for several reasons other than the fact that it's a really interesting place, and we had a connection here that would allow us more of an 'insiders look' than most people might get. An important consideration was that the US dollar, which has been losing ground against various world currencies, has been generally holding its own in South America, where the local monetary gnomes work to keep their currencies competitive in order to maintain their US markets. A quick look at European prices made countries like Peru, Chile, and Argentina look very attractive. 

    The high costs of travel to a distant country were another important reason we decided to turn it into a six-month trip. Plus, retirement meant we had no jobs or other reasons to return quickly, and expensively. It's the older people, and the wonderfully footloose young who can take such long trips. In our case, it was time to really make the most of the benefits of retirement. And we'd be able to average-out our long-distance travel costs (like airfare) over the whole six-month period. While we were in our destination countries, we'd travel like the locals do – mostly by inexpensive and comfortable long-distance buses. 

    If you want to save money in foreign lands, living like the locals is the obvious way to do it. And it's usually a lot more interesting. But there can be big differences in costs between living in small Andean cities, and trying to make it in world-class cities like Lima. Spending most of our time in the highlands, besides being more interesting than big-city life, did much to help our budget.

    We won't include the cost of the cruise ship that got us here, because that can depend a lot on how much you want to drink and carouse, and plenty of other factors. Not that we're opposed to carousing, but you can go online, pick out a cruise, and figure that part out for yourself. We'll begin with our expenses since leaving the ship in Lima. 

    So, how much has our land travel, and living in the Andes, cost us so far?

    We started our time in Peru by staying at a way-too-expensive Ramada Hotel at the airport and then flying to Ayacucho. Those were a couple of expensive moves that we wouldn't repeat next time. Even with that included, our total costs in-country for the past two months have averaged out to be US$62 per day -- that's for both of us, or $31/each. That works out to about US$2000 per month – even including a week in a very nice hotel in the Miraflores area when we went to Lima for the holidays. During that time we ate all our meals out, including a delicious but extravagant US$100 dinner on New Year's Eve. The costs for our Lima stay averaged US$150 per day. 

    Meanwhile, back in Ayacucho, where we go out for dinner with drinks and a decent glass of wine at very good places anytime we choose, but also enjoy simple dinners in the apartment, our costs have amounted to a modest US$51 per day, or US$1581 per month. That amount includes all of the money we've spent here, even including the painting and repair work on the apartment, plus a bit of new furniture we'll leave behind.  While we carefully record everything we spend we believe in living a rich and full life. Luckily, we don't tend to gravitate toward frivolous, expensive gadgets and the like, but we also don't worry about spending a bit of money if it makes sense. It's nice to hear the little shop ladies say, "Gracias, Papi." when I buy something from them.  

    So, in effect, we've found out something important on this trip that we think will be applicable to future travels in other places. Two people can live a very good life here in the Peruvian highlands, volunteer to help out at one of the many worthy programs operating here (Finca, the orphanage, various schools), learn a bit of Spanish along the way, and enjoy some travel time to see other parts of the country, all for about US$1500 to US$2000 per month. For anyone willing to enjoy living like the locals (and even likely at a bit higher level), this is a lesson that is probably applicable to many other countries. And that seems like a good deal to us.

    A footnote: I got an intestinal parasite of some kind (the locals say, 'Don't worry. It happens to all of us.'), and went to a local Clí nica recommended by our friends here. For 35 soles (US$12.50) the Doctor gave me a checkup and wrote out the lab work required. The Lab cost me 32 soles (US$11.43), and the results came back with a positive for intestinal parasites. The Doctor reviewed the Lab results and gave me a prescription for a two-day treatment of Secnidasol 1g., which cost 62 soles (US$22.15). Total medical costs during our time in Ayacucho: US$46.08.   

See more pictures of the apartment project in the Photo Album, S. American Odyssey: The $100 Apartment

South American Odyssey: Eating well in Peru

Let's talk about food. It's one of the main ways that we get to know and appreciate a different culture. It's an important topic.

    In Ayacucho, you can be as 'native,' or as 'continental' as you want. This is a very old University town (the Universidad de Huamanga dates from 1677) and there are some sophisticated folks here with discriminating palates. We had some of the best gnocchi and pasta primavera we've had anywhere at Via Via, a gourmet restaurant on a second floor overlooking the Plaza. We sat on the veranda and enjoyed pisco sours as we watched the world of Ayacucho go by just below and savored our dinner. During another visit to Via Via,   I considered being more adventurous in the beverage department and scanned the drink menu. There were some interesting choices with Quechua names. In the end, it was a toss-up between the Uchuraccay, the Achikyay, or the Zoetekezattekes – which, according to the menu, seemed to contain a bit of every liquor behind the bar. I ordered the Achikyay because it was the easiest to pronounce, and enjoyed yet another delicious pisco-based drink while we waited expectantly for another excellent dinner. 

    There are also some very good restaurants ringing the courtyard of the Centro Cultural de San Cristobal, along one of the broad pedestrian-only streets near the Plaza; a couple of these places  do some outstanding vegetarian pizza and other pasta dishes. And they serve good house wines by the glass. We've eaten there several times, and enjoyed watching a local dance group practicing for a performance in the broad courtyard. The slogan at one of these courtyard restaurants reads, "Café Hecho Arte" (Coffee Made Art), and they serve a rich and hearty cup of brew, along with a good selection of pies and other sweets for that mid-morning treat. Tanta's is another good place for morning coffee. It's in a quiet courtyard and a good place to enjoy your morning paper. And there's Escafe, where the apple turnovers and chocolate cake are excellent. The name of course, is a play on Nescafe and references an old joke from the advent of instant coffee: "Nescafe no es café."

    

    Not surprisingly, in a country where potatoes were first discovered and domesticated, most menus feature potatoes in some form or other. I don't know what it is about the papas fritas they serve here with many meals, but there's a definite taste difference. They're substantive and very delicious,  unlike the McSpuds that have come to be accepted as food in the US simply because they're easy to pack and ship and come in a consistent size. A plate of small blue boiled potatoes is commonly offered as a side dish when visiting a Peruvian home. You pick one up, peel it with your fingers, and dip it into a sauce. It's quite good. 

     We asked Betsi, our host's Quechua-speaking cook, what the Quechua word is for potato, but she tells us they call them papas because there's not a Quechua word just for "potatoes." She further explains that there's a different Quechua word for each different type of potato. According to Lonely Planet, there are more than 4,000 types of potatoes native to Perú – but who's counting? And anyway, that's a lot of Quechua words to learn. We'll stick with "papas." We remember having read somewhere that Eskimos have a different word for each type of snow, but no word just for "snow." I guess if you're surrounded by something all the time – whether it's snow or potatoes – you really need to differentiate.

    'Chifa' restaurants are big throughout Perú, and here in the highlands as well. A sign reading Chifa by a restaurant door means: Chinese Food. And it's very good. There's the usual fare you'd find at many Chinese restaurants, but there's also a Peruvian flare to the food, with such things as arroz chaufa – fried rice with local spices – on the menu. We've stopped several times to eat at Chete's Chifa place just off the Plaza.   Chete is an engaging guy of Chinese heritage. He explained that his name comes from being the seventh child in the family, and 'siete' just somehow morfed into Chete. We order "Pollo con Verduras" and get a pile of food that's almost more than you can eat.

    A common item on almost any menu throughout Peru is coca tea. The Incas, and many other tribes before them, going back at least 5,000 years, cultivated the coca plant and chewed the leaves for their anesthetic quality. It's a medicinal plant that's been used in the Andes for centuries for relief from toothaches, exhaustion, and to relieve pain during surgeries. Historically, one of its main uses was by hacienda owners who passed out a daily ration for each worker to chew so they'd keep working instead of thinking about the hunger gnawing at their bodies. According to some reports, it's a practice still in use today.

     We were traveling in La Paz, Bolivia, a decade ago during the height of the Drug War, and I saw a little Bolivian lady in traditional clothing sitting on a downtown sidewalk by a large basket filled with coca leaves for sale. And any supermarket in the country sold boxes of coca tea bags. The same is true here in Perú, and probably in any Andean country. A box of coca tea looks like any Lipton Tea box, but it says "Mate de Coca" on the front. You steep it for 2-3 minutes and enjoy a refreshing lift, just like most tea provides. The box touts its digestive qualities and as an aid in altitude sickness. It tastes like any green tea, and goes well with cookies as a midmorning snack. 

    We take a walk to get some things and run into a loquacious fellow on a bridge over the Rio Seco, a dry wash near our place. There's a water bottle half-full of clear liquid sitting on the concrete bridge railing beside him. In one hand he has a small plastic shot glass, also full of clear liquid, and the other hand is full of coca leaves. He offers me some, but I laugh and decline. I ask him if that's a bottle of 'flor de caña' (a cheap rum sold locally by the gallon – or barrel, for big fiestas), available at many hole-in-the-wall caña shops where you bring you own bottle to fill.   He laughs and says, "¡Sí!" as he chews a cocoa leaf and downs another shot. We talk a bit while he has himself a good time. He's a part-time bartender on cruise ships in the Med, and he's back in Ayacucho to enjoy himself on the cheap. It's a beautiful day on the bridge with a good view looking out over the rooftops of the city, and it's a fine place to enjoy the fruits of one's labor. 

    We run into several more people who are very curious about us, and who engage us in conversation on our way through the mercado. Gringos are refreshingly rare here, especially if you're more than a few blocks from the Plaza. We're constantly getting into conversations in our ramblings through the mercados and shops lining the back streets. They often ask (in Spanish, of course), "Where are you from?" And when we answer "Mexico." the eyebrows raise. But we explain that we're actually U.S. retirees living south of the border, and they understand why we answer them in Spanish. It's a good avenue in to the community. We mention that we're doing volunteer work for Finca Peru and a surprising number of these small entrepreneurs turn out to be clients of Finca Peru. It's good to see the program has such a broad reach.

     There are numerous good little restaurants that serve a wide variety of local foods. Just pick a table and pull up a chair. You can start off with a platter of anticuchos (marinated roasted beef heart slices) for an appetizer with a nice bottle of Ocucaje or Tabernero dry red wine from the Ica area. Follow up with a main dish of cau cau (diced chicken and potatoes in an ají sauce with rice), mondongo (cow's stomach), an alpaca steak, escabeche de pollo (chicken with vegetables in a garlic-vinegar sauce),  or Peru's world-famous lomo saltado (sliced marinated tenderloin). Or if you want something stuffed, try the "causa rellena," (stuffed mashed potatoes) "palta rellena" (stuffed avocado), or rocoto rellena (stuffed hot peppers). Then again, you might go for the cuy platter with choclos (corn on the cob) and papas fritas. Finish up with a leche asada (custard), or a Suspiro Limeño (a "Lima Sigh," a rich and complex desert served in a wine glass) for a fine end to a wonderful evening in the Andes. 

    OK, this is a good time to talk about "cuy." They're an important part of Andean culture. They're easily kept and easily grown, and don't require lots of space for the protein delivered. Cuy is, well, guinea pig.

    In Perú, guinea pigs are raised as food, not as pets. Sure, there might be a few cute ones running on endless wheels in some well-to-do kid's room in Lima, but in the highlands few animals are considered pets. Each serves a purpose. When life is tough, sentimentality is a luxury. And cuy is a common item on many restaurant menus. 

    On an earlier trip to Arequipa, in southern Perú, we frequented a very good restaurant not far from our hotel. During one visit, the waiter invited me to see a grassy spot behind the restaurant where the cuys were kept in little wire-fenced areas. He invited me to pick out the cuy I'd like for dinner. It was a specialty of the house. I didn't have the nerve to try it, so I smiled nervously, and declined his offer. 

    When Carolyn was in Ayacucho in the Peace Corps during the early sixties, she successfully evaded trying cuy – until it came time to leave the country, and a family of artisans she'd worked with invited her to dinner as a "thank you" for her help. As they placed "dinner" in front of her, she knew the jig was up. There lay a fried cuy, little teeth, and feet, and all. It was an expensive gesture for a poor family. She graciously 'enjoyed' her dinner, and the occasion left a lasting impression on her.

     But this time, we had a big problem. Aquiles, our host, is proud of all things Huamanga (the district where Ayacucho is located), and has his own small cuy operation that he started in order to help empower some of the people living in nearby Quinua. There was no way we were not going to eat some cuy on this trip. We had discussed it well beforehand, and I'd resigned myself to it – although it was an experience I'd happily do without. There was still a flicker of hope I'd somehow be able to avoid it, but that was not to be.

     Soon after our arrival (far too soon, actually) we were treated to lunch at one of Aquiles' favorite restaurants. The menu had already been decided – by Aquiles. We sat at the table and waited somewhat nervously. And suddenly there it was, steaming hot and draped across the plate – a cuy, cleaned, skinned, and deep-fried. Little teeth and feet and all. I mustered as much gusto as I could fake under the circumstances, and tore into the little devil. 

    Analytically speaking, cuy does not taste like chicken. It's a little darker and a bit more oily, like duck, squirrel, or rabbit. I caught myself wondering, OK, what's the big deal, anyway? We eat all kinds of other animals, don't we? Alright, we don't eat too many rodents, I'll grant you that. But it's not like you're eating a rat or something. Cuys eat alfalfa, just like cows – and we sure eat lots of cows. And while I'm not really looking forward to dining on cuy again soon, I have to admit it didn't taste too bad. It tastes kind of like cat.

South American Odyssey: Street Life in Ayacucho

The bus sways around a broad curve as we carve our way back into the high Andes, and I awake to a grey dawn outside my window. I check my watch; it's quarter to six and the sun is still well below the rim of the mountains. I wipe the condensation from the window and look out onto a small adobe-and-stone settlement nestled into a green valley far below. Furrowed green fields climb the hillsides. I remembered waking up sometime in the middle of the night and looking out onto a snowy moon-lit landscape. That was when we crossed the highest pass, at 4,850 meters (15,912 feet), and started to descend. We crossed many high passes in the night, but that was the highest – high enough to be snow-covered even in the summer. And now, as the sun climbs higher and finally crests a distant ridge, the daily life of the Andes unfolds. The bus slows for small herds of cattle, pigs and sheep being driven to pasture as we pass through ancient villages. And then the bus climbs upward again and over a series of switchbacks to crest the next ridge, giving us spectacular views for the last two hours into Ayacucho. The young Peruvian guy in the seat across the aisle from me rolls over and settles back into sleep without looking out the window. He's seen it before.

     I feel rested as I watch the Andes go by; the night has gone well. I think we've finally figured out this 'Bus-Cama' thing. The trick is to buy a ticket on the Cruzero class, the most expensive class at 90 soles each (about US$32), and get seats on the bottom level where there's more leg room. It's still not like sleeping in your bed at home, but it's not bad. We take the last bus out of Lima, the 10:15, so we'll see some high country when the sun rises, and we arrive in Ayacucho at 8:00 a.m. on a quiet Sunday morning. At the station, we grab a taxi to stash our bags at the apartment, and then walk toward the Plaza to find some breakfast in the sheltered courtyard at the Hotel Santa Rosa. It feels good to be back in the mountains at 9,000 feet where the sun actually shines, and away from the strange, grey, wet-yet-dry, sea-level climate of Lima. We had a very good time in Lima, enjoying all of the pleasures that one of the major cities of South America can offer, but it was time to leave.

There are so many interesting and surprising things about Ayacucho and the surrounding small towns of the highlands, it’s hard to know where to begin. This is a bustling indigenous city, a Quechua city with a thin Spanish overlay. There's an ancient quality to most things here -- not too surprising for a part of the world where 2,500-year-old (and more!) ruins are common. It's simply an accepted part of daily life that your ancestors were here, probably living in this same valley, several thousand years ago. Each morning, your children step through a doorway that's hundreds of years old and walk down a cobblestone street to school, passing tienditas and fruit stands along the way. Each school has its own colorful uniform; and it's easy to tell, if you live here, where each bright-eyed and well-dressed youngster is headed each morning -- the boys annoying the girls, just as anywhere else in the world. This is a place of deep traditions, and here, the 21st century appears as only a light gauze draped awkwardly over the broad shoulders of ancient history.

    But some things are changing. While it's common to see older women wearing the traditional full skirt, colorful shawl, and little felt hat seen in countless tourist photos, most of the young girls are in stretch jeans. And there's the occasional professional woman or man wearing business attire. It's a colorful mix, with lots of photo-worthy moments to be found while out walking these ancient stone streets. These are narrow streets – they started as ox cart and donkey streets – and most of them are one-way, so a taxi ride across town can be very circuitous. The winding streets of the artisan-filled Santa Ana neighborhood, a good hike uphill from the Plaza, resemble the camera-ready warrens of an Italian hill town.

  
 

    And there's not much need to worry about "air-brushing" the gringos out of an otherwise perfect photo. Unlike Cuzco and a few other tourist magnets, they're a rarity here. In fact, most avert their eyes when confronted by another gringo, so it won't ruin the private moments of their trip to this remote city.

    The Quechua are sturdy mountain people, a proud, and generally handsome race. After two months of walking these streets, I begin to think the ratio of pretty young women here just has to exceed some kind of quota established for the rest of the world. Their sparkling voices and bright, beautiful smiles enlighten each day.      

    The way to get to know a place deeply is to spend some real, extended, time there, to participate in the daily, quotidian, life of the people who live there every day. It’s the little things, like finding a guy in the mercado who can restitch a belt that has come undone, and watching as he does the job on a small hand-cranked leather-stitching machine. A glance at the adjacent stalls reveals several more cobblers bent over similar machines. There’s not an electric machine to be seen. I also buy two shoelaces from the batch of laces hanging behind him. Total cost for the repair and the laces: 4 soles (about US$1.42).

The mercados here offer a vast assortment of foods and services. The colorful stalls are filled with piles of delicious fruits and vegetables, attended by women wearing traditional clothing and discussing the day. In fact, the mercado seems as much a daily social event, as an important part of local commerce. And there's a tremendous willingness to meet whatever needs you may have. Need some zapallo (a kind of green-skinned pumpkin) for a 'pumpkin' pie, but don't really want to buy the entire, very large, zapallo? They'll gladly cut off the piece you want. How about some camotes (sweet potatoes) for dinner? Since many people in Ayacucho don't have ovens, they're sold already-roasted at the mercado. 

    The vegetable vendors are grouped in one sprawling area; the cobblers are all together; there's a row or two of ferreteria stalls, packed with every conceivable tool for farming in the Andes (a sturdy 'saca-papas', for harvesting potatoes, is 6 soles); there are several aisles of butchers with numerous and varied animal parts hanging from hooks or draped over counters. Comparing that with the wide selection of fresh, ripe, and delicious-looking fruits and vegetables on display here, you might want to go vegetarian for a while. If so, you can save a bundle and get your travel budget back on track. For about 5 soles (around 2 bucks) you can fill a big bag with enough very fresh fruits and vegetables to last for several meals for two people.

     We get money at an ATM under a broad portal that rings the Plaza. It gives me two language choices: Inglés or Castellano. They don’t call it Spanish in Peru and they pride themselves on their language, although here, in Ayacucho, it's often mingled with Quechua. Besides Peruvian soles, the ATM will also give me US dollars, if I want, although I don't know why. It's usually easier and cheaper to use the local currency wherever you travel. There are also several places on the Plaza that will exchange your Euros, or sell you a couple to show the kids back home.

    There are differences in language here from many other Latin American countries. We stopped to get a sandwich at a place that offered "Tortas," but what they had were tall, well-frosted cakes. In Mexico, a torta is a sandwich, but here a torta is a cake. A sandwich is a "sandwich" (plural : "sandwich's"). Here, a street is called a "jirón," not a "calle." They don't call money 'dinero' in Peru. It's called 'plata,' or silver, an increasingly quaint term today, as our paper-money world moves more toward e-money and even farther from actual silver coinage. They address you as "Caballero," or 'Gentleman,' which doesn't exactly fit my style, but it's nice to hear, anyway. And I have not yet heard anyone in Peru say "Adios." They use the Italian, "Ciao" instead. I speculate that maybe it's because of their proximity to Argentina with its large Italian community. Or the fact that Lima has always been very 'euro-centric,' and has it's own Italian community. And then again, maybe Ciao resembles a familiar Quechua word or linguistic form. But Miguel, Juan and Rocio's teenaged son, tells us simply, "Adios is what old people say." 

When you order coffee here, they bring you a cup of hot water, and a crystal carafe of rich liquid "esencia de café" so you can flavor it to taste. The battery in your watch has gone dead, or maybe the band is broken? Get it fixed at a tiny sidewalk stand with about every battery and 'watch gadget' anyone would need. Got the hungries? There are sidewalk stands selling little speckled "huevos de cordoniz," or quail eggs, hand-peeled while you wait. They're delicious and kids usually have one or two packed in their lunch bags. And there's a lady by the Plaza who makes delicious pork sandwiches to order – out of a wheel barrow. 

    Curious about your weight? There are five women with scales lined up neatly along the old stone steps of one of the many churches here. They'll give you the answer for a few centavos. Want to buy a video to watch at home? They're 2 for 5 soles (less than a buck apiece), and the quality – which they'll demonstrate before you buy – is quite good. One hot seller is Michael Jackson's This Is It. There are also copies of Avatar available – that's one they're still advertising in the newspapers! These guys don't waste any time! And now they're having post-season specials: 3 videos for 5 soles. That's about US60 cents each! Also in stores this Christmas: packages of "Bar B Ara" dolls. Hmm.

    The garbage truck comes by every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and it moves rather slowly; but that's because while a guy throws the bags up into the truck, there's a guy up there who opens them and sorts the trash into various large reusable bags for recycling. Not the same as Precycling, but close. As the truck passes our door, there's already a mountain of sorted bags in the back.

     In some Mexican cities, they announce the arrival of the morning garbage truck with a guy who runs ahead ringing a bell. That's certainly pleasant enough. But here in Ayacucho, the garbage truck that serves the Plaza area plays a snippet of Bach. I don't remember which piece it is (I'm not enough of a classical music aficionado to know that), and it's such a short little ditty that it must be annoying to the driver and crew by the end of the day – like that endless "Popeye the Sailor Man" loop that ice cream trucks run. But at least it's something classical.

    Speaking of annoying ice cream trucks, there are none here. Instead, there are bright yellow, hand-pushed (and quiet) D'Onófrio ice cream carts everywhere. There's also a D'Onófrio freezer console in any tienda of almost any size. It's a now a Nestle subsidiary that has blanketed the country in grand monopoly fashion. But it originated with the Italian D'Onófrio family, who set the standard for quality ice cream in Perú. Carolyn tells of standing in line waiting for the D'Onófrio shipments to arrive on Tuesdays and Thursdays when the Fawcett Airlines DC-9s came to Ayacucho from Lima, carrying passengers and products. It was a sad day when the flight was cancelled due to bad weather. The ice cream is still good – especially the all-chocolate "Buen Humor" bar. In almost any town or city in Perú, there's no reason you should ever find yourself D'Onófrio-deprived.

    I went out to take care of a few tareas (tasks) today. We had left the hot plate cord touching the hot plate which got too, well, hot. It melted through the plastic coating and shorted out the cord, and a small bang announced that we now had two pieces of the cord lying there. I threw both pieces into the mochila (backpack) and headed off to run my errands. First I stopped at one of the many copy shops and got two copies of something I've been working on, for ten centavos each (about 3.5 cents). I stepped through the adjacent doorway leading into the mercado, and stopped at the first ferreteria stall I saw.   The man unscrewed and removed both existing ends of the cord, unwound a meter and a half of new wire and replaced the ends onto the new cord for 2 soles (about 70 cents). I had considered buying enough cord for one sol, and doing the job myself, but he needed that other sol more than I did. I busied myself, while he worked, taking pictures around the mercado, which crowds up against the back of an old stone church.

    On the way back to our apartment, I stopped to pick up a shirt of mine that Carolyn had dropped off at one of the many sastrerias (tailor shops) nearby. After a recent laundering I'd noticed a small frayed area in the rim of the collar. Otherwise, it was a very good cotton REI shirt showing little wear. The tailor at the sastreria reversed the collar and charged me 2 soles. It was like getting an almost-new, good quality, shirt for 70 cents. Not a bad morning, eh? So I bought a copy of the main Lima newspaper, El Comercio, and headed back to the apartment.

    We decide to go out for almuerzo (lunch) at La Estrellita, one of the many small restaurants just a few blocks away near the mercado, and we order the 'menu.' It consists of a large bowl of delicious vegetable soup (Peruvians are world-famous for their soups), a large plate of ají de gallina (roast chicken with rice and a vegetable), and a drink. It's actually more than I can eat, and lunch sets us back 4 soles (US$1.43) each. We share a table with a Peruvian man who tells us we made a good choice. They only use "natural" products at La Estrellita, not like those other places that use mixes and other things that can "damage your stomach." We don't ask for clarification, but take his word for it. And the food tastes good to us.

    I leave a decent tip, which is usually greeted by surprise. It's not a common custom here. When I tip a cab driver, he's usually stunned for a moment, not knowing what to do with the extra money in his hand. But he usually quickly figures out that if the gringo wants to give away money, he can put it to good use.

After traveling and living for many years in Latin America, I'm used to the 'Tall Gringo Double-Takes,' and I don't mind it a bit. In fact, I enjoy being in places where a tall Gringo is an unusual site. That tells me I might be well off the tourist trail. While I was heading toward the sastreria, an entire girl's school walked by, and each of them wanted to practice her English – which mostly just consisted of "Hello," accompanied by nervous giggles. I smiled and said, "Hello," and "How are you?" back as each one filed by on the narrow sidewalk. Everywhere I go here, people look up in surprise when I suddenly appear, and then avert their eyes so as not to be rude. But when I smile and say, "Buenos días." I get the most beautiful, if surprised, smiles in return. It's a very polite society, where people say "Con permiso." before leaving a room. 

    I often wear my new racey-looking Tilley hat because it gives very good sun and rain protection, and I've often heard a heavily-accented "Indiana Jones!" yelled my way – a common occurrence in boisterous Mexico. But not here. These people tend to be circumspect, and I imagine they'd consider that kind of behavior to be rude, although I always think it's kind of funny. And it's better than wearing the old-style, floppy, Tilley hat – well known for giving you that 'old codger' look. I don't need that just yet.

     The other day, on our way back from the artesania market housed in the old stone penitentiary, we ran into a young, very hippy-looking guy from Israel. He was making enough to live on by selling bracelets he'd made. Ah, wonderful youth! He said he'd traveled quite a bit and was thinking of staying in Ayacucho because it was so tranquil and a very cheap place to live. 

    I'd have to agree with him about Ayacucho, but I'd also have to add "intriguing," and "quietly beautiful" to his description.

See additional photos in the Photo Album titled "S. American Odyssey: Street Life in Ayacucho."

South American Odyssey: Overnight to Lima

Coastal Peru is a grey and bitter land. The Humboldt Current, carrying cold Antarctic water, sweeps northward along the coast here as it brings nutrients from the depths and creates one of the world's great fisheries. But it also has a profound and startling effect upon the land, depriving it of rain and leaving it rocky and devoid of plant life – it's one of the most formidable deserts in the world. This area would be our next destination.
 

From Ayacucho we took the overnight 'Bus Cama' (Bed Bus) to Lima to spend Christmas there with the extended Lanao Flores family. We would have preferred to take a daytime bus and enjoy the scenery, but everyone told us the only safe buses were the Cruz del Sur line because they're speed controlled. The others go too fast and have frequent accidents (we've seen the stories in the local paper). And Cruz del Sur, unfortunately, only travels at night. It may even be a strategy of theirs to avoid all the other crazies on the road. 

    The bus left at 10 pm  and wound its way down from 9,000 feet to sea level, arriving in Lima at 7 am. At 100 soles apiece (about US$35), it's an inexpensive way to travel since the air fare would set you back US$130. Plus, you can sleep aboard and save a hotel room. That is, as long as you're not a tall gringo. In Peru, I'm a tall gringo. While I'm not considered exceptionally tall by US standards, at 6'2" I stand a head above most people here – and even head and shoulders above quite a few. Plus, I have size 12 feet. Getting all that stuffed into a Peruvian-sized reclining seat proved to be a challenge.

    We had read about wonderful Bus Camas with fully reclining beds in private cabins. But found out that those are not offered on the Ayacucho route. We'd just have to make do as best we could. 

    The problem became acute when the fellow in the seat in front of me reclined his all the way back and I was sandwiched there for the duration. I sat up for a while watching a bad movie about some fire department in Georgia, USA – dubbed into Spanish. But the DVD kept sticking, and the driver finally just ejected it. Then I read for a while to get myself really good and tired. Ultimately, I drifted off to sleep. For a while anyway. Then I was awake and checking my watch. Surely, dawn was almost upon us. But it was only 1:30 am. Outside my window, the landscape was moonless and black. We passed a brightly-lighted toll booth, and then plunged back into darkness. I caught a few more winks, then awoke to check my watch. It was 3 am. I consoled myself by remembering we're saving almost US$200 by taking the bus. And what, really, is the difference between sitting up all day, and sitting up all night? Besides having something outside the window to look at?

    After a long and restless night, the sun dawned over a barren landscape as we headed north on the Pan-Americana that runs along the coast on the final leg into Lima. Outside the window, grey hills folded into massive sand dunes without a speck of green to be seen anywhere. There are deserts and then there are these stretches of northern Chile and coastal Peru, where rainfall has never been recorded in human history. I grew up in the desert southwestern US. I'm used to dry dusty plains, cactus, thorny bushes and endless burnt vistas with dry desert mountains hovering in the far distance, charged with mystery. 

    I'm familiar with hot deserts. There are also cold deserts, like the Gobi. But this is a strange, cool, desert just below the Equator. It never gets hot and it never approaches freezing. A temperature chart of Lima shows a yearly range of about 55 degreesF for a low, to around 80 degrees for a high. That's only a 25 degree yearly difference. The yearly precipitation chart shows almost no measurable rainfall. 

    To find myself in a landscape with absolutely nothing growing at all, not even lichen, is a real revelation. There's nothing outside my window but earthquake-shattered rock mingled with grey sand from the ocean. The often-overused term "moonscape" is entirely appropriate here. I try to figure a way to get a picture of the dry emptiness outside my window, but fail. How do you picture 'nothing?'

     And what makes the scene even more incongruous is the heavy wet fog, called 'garua' which hangs over the Lima area, and gives everything an even greyer cast. A bit north of here, where the Peruvian coastline turns easterly toward Central America, the cold Humboldt Current merges into warm tropical waters flowing south along the coast of Ecuador. This collision of temperature differential produces the garua which blankets Lima much of the year, and protects it from temperature extremes. But, while it's a wet fog, it doesn't seem to do much for the landscape here. What green areas there are in the city – parks and plazas, and private homes in the wealthy Miraflores and San Isidro areas, mostly – are fed by irrigation waters from the three rivers which carry seasonal waters down from the Andes to the sea. A walk along the tree-lined streets of these neighbors can be a very pleasant way to spend the day. With just a little extra water, the land blooms in profusion. Plants seem to love the humid air and filtered sunshine. And just outside the city, there are broad fields where various crops are grown to feed the city. Trees and bushes often ring the fields. And then there's nothing. Only strangely barren ground, grey and lifeless, a cadaverous and disturbing color. 

But our friends, Juan and Rocio, are waiting at the bus station for our arrival, and they take us off to Atinchik, their verdant oasis nestled into the foot of a tall barren hill – a small mountain, really. Beyond the beautiful tall trees which grace their grounds is a vista of similar, small, mist-covered mountains by the Pacific Ocean. The grounds at Atinchik are lush with almost every kind of tropical plant imaginable. The crowns of tall jacaranda and ceibo trees, and a few towering fan palms, shelter banana groves, papaya trees and mossy brick walkways lined with fragrant flowering bushes. The jacarandas produce a daily rain of blue flowers that carpets the ground below. The trees are filled with the sounds of various exotic birds and squabbling parrots, while the call of mourning doves fills the background. It's a perfect setting for the many workshops and retreats conducted by Atinchik (a Quechua word meaning "Working Together"). We mention that this would also be a perfect place for painting, writing and poetry workshops, but sense that Juan and Rocio have their hands full as it is.

     Juan proudly shows us the extensive garden that produces virtually all of the vegetables used in their large and well-organized commercial kitchen. There are long rows of chard, onions, tomatoes, parsley, and cabbage nestled among the trees and waiting to be picked by discerning hands. Dill, thyme, rosemary and lavender occupy various niches in gardens and along walkways. Raspberries, grapes, and nasturtiums line a hidden path. Juan is particularly proud of the lush rows of fragrant lavender he started from seeds. 

    An organization called Candela is there when we arrive, and we are included in the delicious lunches and dinners they enjoy. The group, run by Rocio's sister Lupe and husband Gastón, harvests and markets sustainable crops like castañas (Brazil nuts) from the selva (the jungle). For dinner, Juan prepares delicate raviolis filled with chopped castañas along with chard harvested fresh from the garden. The flavor was memorable and we mention it to them later as a high point of our trip. 

     There was also a "pachamanca" for Candela's final lunch. It's a Peruvian pit roast where a fire is started in a deep pit to heat the ground and rocks, and then layers of pork and chicken are placed in the ground along with potatoes, vegetables and fruit. The whole thing is covered with wet burlap, banana leaves, and hot rocks, and left to cook for several hours. As with all the food at Atinchik, it also was delicious.

    After the staff from Candela leaves, one of the first orders of business is getting everything ready for Christmas Dinner for the entire family. Everyone remembered Carolyn's wonderful zapallo (pumpkin) pies from Thanksgiving,    and she's enlisted for a repeat performance. By dinner time, there are plates of every imaginable side dish to accompany a large roast turkey. The family eats well and they play 'naipes' (a Spanish card game) late into the night with Grandpa Aquiles, and most decide to spend the night in one of the many available rooms. They're good, interesting, and accomplished people to be around, and I even forgot to take pictures of the feast.

After the family departs, Juan and Rocio take us, along with their sons, Mario and Juan Manuel, to see Barrio Chino, Lima's extensive and colorful Chinatown. Juan scans the various stalls for interesting spices as we stroll through the sprawling main market past racks of chickens and ducks, young goats (cabritos), and cuts of beef, hanging in rows. We end our visit with a large lunch at one of the many 'chifas' (Chinese restaurants) in the area.   

    We spend our days at Atinchik living in a charming room overlooking the grounds. Juan and Rocio, the ultimate hosts, won't let us pay for our room or board, so we spend our days doing design work to try to earn our keep. There's been a period of uncharacteristic rainfall for the past couple of weeks (along with a lot of discussion, locally, about climate change) and a problem has developed with water leaking into a few of the rooms. I spend my time working out a way to gracefully extend the existing roofline to provide better protection, and give the building a unified design. I also work out some ideas for a home site they have on the adjacent property. It's perched on the side of a hill and has the potential for some dramatic vistas. Carolyn worked on ideas for better furniture arrangements, lighting, and decor to optimize the rooms. And both of us indulged ourselves with reading.

In the evenings, Juan and Rocio concoct simple and delicious dinners from the gardens. It's fascinating to watch them in the kitchen, as it seems to be their natural habitat. A pile of fresh onions is quickly chopped and placed into a large skillet on their sturdy commercial range. Vainitas (green beans) are stirred into the simmering onions, and pecans are added for a delicious side dish to accompany braised slabs of turkey left over from Christmas dinner.

    On our last night at Atinchik, Juan and Rocio take us in to the simple nearby town of Pachacamác for dinner and we're treated to a very nice surprise. There, just off a tiny plaza is "Las Chimeneas Bistro." We step through the door and into a world of art-covered walls, soft music, and white tablecloths with wine glasses awaiting our arrival. It's as if we'd just stepped into a fine Bay Area restaurant, but with a Peruvian twist.  I order the raviolis al ají de gallina and Carolyn has the alcachofa gratinada. Both of them are excellent. I order a glass of good Mendoza dry red wine, and follow up with the crepes suzettes for a fine finish to a wonderful evening. Juan, as usual, insists on paying for dinner.

    But it's time to leave. We're starting to feel a bit like free-loaders – a new term we try to explain to our too-wonderful hosts. We realize again what a rare gift it is to have friends in distant lands. And at this rate, we are saving more money than we'd ever imagined. That would soon change as we head into Lima for several days on our own. Still, it's time we left wonderful Atinchik.

     We book a room at the San Antonio Abad Hotel in a quiet neighborhood in Miraflores. The rooms are nicely old-fashioned, and quiet. There's a bright breakfast area looking into a pleasant courtyard. It's a reasonable walking distance to the commercial area along Avenida José Larco, and not far from the dramatic cliffs and parks overlooking the Pacific. There are also several good small restaurants on quiet neighborhood streets within a block or two of the hotel.

    We decide to stay in Lima until after New Years as we could accomplish little in Ayacucho until then. We plan to see what museums are still open during the holidays, but that turns out to be a bust since the main art museums are undergoing extensive renovation work. They're putting a lot of money into the Lima Art Museum and plan to re-open in March of 2010 with a major photo exhibition by Mario Testino, the world-famous, and Peruvian-born, fashion photographer. He's considered the 'heir' of Richard Avedon and Irving Penn, so it should be a show well worth seeing. But, alas, we'll be long gone by then. 

We spend a lot of time wandering through the Parque de los Museos and admiring the fine buildings from the outside. Then we head toward downtown and walk through the broad and beautiful, and newly renovated, Plaza San Martín, surrounded by tall, cream-colored classical buildings. 

    On a nearby street corner we catch a "collectivo" to the San Isidro neighborhood where we walk along tree-lined streets through quiet neighborhoods as we wander slowly back to the Miraflores area. While many older mansions and embassies still line the streets of Miraflores, this is an area of dynamic change and urbanization.   Especially around the Parque Central. It's hard to find a block near the Parque, or along the cliffs overlooking the nearby Pacific Ocean, without a tall condo project or two under construction. And you could also spend a long time staying at a gorgeous boutique hotel in the area without running out of excellent small restaurants to enjoy. In fact, very fine dining appears to be one of the main, and very enjoyable, cultural events among the well-to-do in Lima. 

     Overall, it was a long day and we covered a lot of ground walking (between 5 and 10 miles). That's always the best way to experience any important city, of which the world has quite a few. It gave us a much broader picture of the most beautiful areas of this city of more than 8 million people. We returned to the hotel exhausted and, well, hungry. It was New Years Eve, so we cleaned ourselves up a bit and walked half a block, to Trattoria Don Vito, to enjoy a delicious (and expensive) dinner and toast the beginning of another excellent new year. 

     We plan to return to Ayacucho on the second of January. How will we do it? Folded onto the Bus Cama, of course. Hey, it will save us almost US$200!