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."