Birthed into the Night

The other night I had my most uncomfortable and wonderful combi ride yet.

Necessary background information: "combi" is the name given to any of the vehicles that make up the informal transportation system here and in most parts of Latin America. Combi's range in size from just larger than a minivan to fullsize buses. Once you learn the routes combis will take you absolutely anywhere you want (or maybe don't want) to go and will do it at breakneck speeds. They should probably carry a surgeon general's warning because riding almost certainly hazardous to the health.
The most enduring combi fact: they are always packed.

So, the other night i am walking along Calle Villaba toward la Puenta Grau, on my way home from Monday movie night in the centro. I hear a combi coming up behind me so i stick out my hand and flag it down.

It turns out to be the smallest type and it is completely full. The cobrador slides open the side door and i stare up at the wall of bodies and think "no way in hell i'm fitting in there!" Naïve American. Somehow I force my way on, along with two or three others.

Combis operate according to the laws of diffusion. They are closed systems with limited space and thus any empty space is filled. In accordance with this principle i find myself positioned so that my knees are slightly bent and my butt is protruding into the space right in front of some poor gent's face. I would only have to bend my knees a little bit more and let go of the hand rail in order to sit comfortably on his lap. Saddly, this would probably be frowned upon.

Even in my semi-squat i am too tall and have to crane my neck down to the point where my nose is in the hair of the young woman in front of me. "mmmm nice conditioner lady!"

Out of the corner of my eye i can just glimps the cobble stones passing bellow the door.
We're starting to turn, the bus must be about to cross the bridge. We're stopped on the incline-- this might not be good. The clutch grinds, the driver barely has time to touch the gas before the poor, overburdened combi stalls and the engine cuts out. The lights flicker out. Back on, he's trying again. Grind, cough, engine dies, lights off.

My legs are getting sore, with all this weight i doubt this van will ever start. Maybe i should ask to get off and walk... No one else seems disturbed in the least though.

We wait while they try a few more times, finalmente he really guns it and we get rolling. The curb is visible now, high and yellow. We must be on the bridge. Somewhere far bellow our feet, the floor, the bridge, Rio Chile rushes through the ravine. The road changes to pavement, i feel us round the traffic circle. We're gathering speed. I must be getting close now but i can't see the intersections. How many have we barreled though? Two, three? "Baje la esquina" someone else calls out.

Somehow a small woman makes her way out from the bowels of the van, I decide to follow her out. I swear, if this experience had a soundtrack my exit would be accompanied by a loud "POP!" I feel like the baby beaver we once saw pop out from underneath his mother at the zoo. Or maybe this is what it feels like to come out at birth. A sudden transition from warm, pressing darkness to immense open space, able to breath and use one's limbs for the first time.

I strike out int the night breathing in the cool air and luxuriating in all the emptiness around me. That was fantastic, i'm so glad i'm here.

Concierto

Saturday we got the opportunity to go see Los Fabulosos Cadillacs in concert. I had not heard them before but they are immensely popular here. They are an Argentinian rock group that plays a really good fusion of funk, rock, and latin american style. This was their first ever apperance in Arequipa and people had been talking about the show for weeks. As you can imagine the crowd atmosphere was great. We didn't know one song from the next but still danced and jumped up and down along with everyone else.

The concert wrapped up a hugely eventful weekend. Celebrations for Grace's 21st started Thursday at dance class and spilled out into the centro on Thursday night/ Friday morning. Friday night there was a bonfire at the Arequipa director's house complete with cake, ponche con aniz, anticucho, and our friends from classes. Per usual we followed up our time there with a little stop through downtown.

The weekend did also include some school work. Worked my way through "Balbas del Diablo" by Julio Cortázar and "Antes del Fin" by Ernesto Sabato for lit and Steve Stern's "Peru's indian Peoples and the Challenges of Spanish Conquest" for history. (This paragraph was purely in case you were getting the feeling we don't do much work ;) ).

Chau

Punch Buggy Just Doesn't Quite Translate

There are certain things that you notice when you've been living in a new place for a while. The mountains that dominate the skyline, the sing-song speech patterns, or the difficulty of finding pants that fit small-waisted beefy-thighed american. If you're me you also notice the cars that are popular.

Amidst the streams of little tico taxis and combi vans duking it out for a the quickest way through traffic, you'll also notice a lot of Toyota Hi-Luxs, Nissans, and sedans. Maybe the odd FJ Cruiser or Hummer will barrel through once in a while. What i've particularly noticed in the last few days are old model VW Beatles.

Punch Buggy Red,

Punch Buggy Blue,

Punch Buggy Cream,

Punch Buggy There shouldn't be the many colors on a single car.

The situation is even funnier because I have never seen a new VW Bug down here. If anyone has a great explanation for the Peruvian fascination with the bug let me hear it!

The Morning Wait

I never took the school bus as a kid, i was a walker. Here in Arequipa, for the first time in my life, i go to the corner outside my house to wait for the bus. Van, actually. It is contracted by ACI (the language school) to pick up those of us from the group who live on this side of town.

In the mornings, after throwing back a few cups of café and and with half an egg sandwhich still in my hand i step out to the corner. I take up my customary position leaning against the wall and bask in the sunlight. The sun, which is always strong and always shining here, has been up for an hour and a half or so and is well above the yellow and red store front across the street.

Each morning certain comings and goings proceed in a routine established long before i arrived. The police foot patrol comes onto the street a block away and walks past. "Buenos dias." Today there are two. A guy dressed in punk with long hair and ripped up jeans passes but the earbuds seem to block me out of his world. School kids pass, the boys in their dark pants, the girls in skirts. They are all sport green sweatervests trimmed in red and complimented with a red clip on tie. They all stare or giggle.

I´ve forgotten my pill. I run back in to find my ticket to solid poop and when i return a dog has taken my spot. He is medium sized and his white (or is it grey) fur is matted into an impenitrable mess. As i approach he looks up sullenly. "Alright, fine, i´ll leave," his dull eyes seem to say. He lifts his leg "my corner" and trots off.

HONK A HONK HONK, HONK HONK! I can hear Rosita coming three blocks away. Sure enough, here she is screeching up in her yellow van, cropped pink hair bouncing over the speed bumps.

Here we go.

Flying Kites

Mí familia peruana

Hello all I want to intoduce my family, the Cáceres. Jose Antonio and Claudia are the parents. Jose, 35, and Claudia, 31, have been married for about 5 years. Their two children are Santiago and Marina. Santiago is three years old and an absolute wild child. Marina, his little sister, is one and a half. She is precious but quite prone to being knocked over by her brother. I´m enjoying living in their house and have jumped right in as part of the family.

Una grande actualizacion

WARNING!! CUIDADO!!

The following update was written while on the bus with hours to kill after not having computer access for several days. Consequently it is really long. Some of you will be interested in reading the whole thing, others… not so much. So here is a breakdown.

1. Weather leaving Lima

2. Pachacamac arechaeological site

3. Beach house

4. Paracas—hotel, boat, penguins, sea lions.

5. I should have been a pirate

6. Unexpected landscape

7. Discovering Peruvian booze and being an organic dork

8. – 10. Lawrence of Arabia

11. – 13. Adrenaline tempts Davidson students to come and live as bums in the desert.

13. I CAN FLY

14. More posh living

15. Lonely Inca land and crashing waves

16. Walking through Mars

17. In transit

18. Llegamos

Heading out of Lima on Thursday morning the cloud cover gave our surroundings a dull grey. Augusto tells us that this is typical of the winter season along the coast. The Humboldt current brings cold water up from Antartica and combines with the height of the Andes to the east to cause a rainless but constant cloud cover.

Along our drive we stop at a archaeological site named Pachacamac . This area was a ceremonial ground used over the centuries by the Inca’s and various pre-Incan tribes. Dominating the landscape was el Templo del Sol. The temple was large enough that for a long time it was mistaken for a hill. It was in fact, a building used for religious ceremonies and we could see the chambers where obliging maidens were offered up to appease the gods.

Leaving Pachacamac and continuing south on the PanAmerican highway we made our way toward our destination of Paracas. To interrupt the drive we detoured to Augusto’s beach house in Playa Escondida. “Escondida” means hidden and is appropriate for the houses nestled along the cliffs of the secluded bay. After arriving Augusto went about getting lunch ready. We had the recorder was rolling as he gave us a great lesson in making Ceviche and we hope that by publishing it on YouTube we can get him a cooking show. Later we went to dabble our feet in the surf and explore the wave battered rocks.

We stayed the night in a splendid new hotel in Paracas. The quiet fishing town happens to be mid-level tourist meca because the Ballestas Islands lie just a few kilometers off shore. Situated in the frigid waters of the Humboldt the islands are home to giant colonies of birds, penguins, and sea lions. From the deck of our outboard touring boat, el Penguino II, we could see and take pictures of all the wildlife. Just the sheer numbers of birds was astounding. Looking at hills on the islands you could hardly tell that the black surfaces were really thousands of tightly packed Peruvian boobies. According to our guide it is possible to find as many as 12 in one square meter.

The boat ride lasted a total of two hours and I believe that I stood up the whole time. I have always loved being on open water. Growing up we would occasionally got to the lake and use a friend’s boat or go on sailing trips with scouts. Each time I remember the feeling of exhilaration that comes with the wind blowing into my face and the boat rocking under my feet. This trip was no different, I smiled the whole way.

So this great seafaring adventure was Friday morning after which we turned east and began driving into the desert. When one thinks of Peru the colors that come to mind are verdant greens of the Andes and Amazon. In the coastal region, however, shades of grey and khaki are dominant. Travelling inland the rock and sand of the desert make for a landscape unlike any I had ever experienced. Whoops I almost forgot to mention La Caravedo, the pisco winery we stopped in at for a tour and lunch.

Pisco is a source of Peruvian pride and a quite wonderful drink. Like wine it is made from fermenting grapes, however, the process is taken a step further and the wine is distilled into a clear spirit. In some cases it can also be made in a sweeter variety with a pink hue called Vino Dulce (“sweet wine”). It’s a pretty sure deal that wherever you go in Peru pisco or a pisco sour won’t be far away. I have a special affinity for the pisco made by La Caravedo though because it is the only organic pisco in the world. It was fantastic to tour the vineyard and see all of the traditional methods that are being employed to fertilize and keep pests away.

Moving on from La Caravedo we continued to our final destination, Hucachino, an oasis in the middle of this desert. Call up whatever images you associate with a oasis in the Sahara and this will be a fairly accurate portrait of our environs.

In the middle was a lagoon just large enough to accommodate a few paddleboat rental outfits. Streets and buildings expanded out from the lagoon in a ring for about two blocks before yielding to the giant dunes rising to meet the sky. Walking past the pool of our hotel, El Hucachinero, brought you immediately to the slope of a towering dune. The grade of the slope could not have been less than 65 or 70 meaning direct ascent was really only possible on all fours. A more measured approach would be to use the rough paths packed down by the boots of sand boarders to weave your way up the slope. I am seldom measured when it comes to exploring.

Thus, after 15 minutes of sinking hands and feet into the sand one after the other, Haley and I reached the ridge. Short of breath and with aching calves we surveyed what we had just accomplished. More than a thousand feet below us lay our hotel, its pool glinting in the sun. For every foot in between there were marks in the otherwise spotless sand, tributes to our apish climb. We spent the rest of the afternoon trekking along the ridges of the dunes fancying ourselves explorers in an expansive sand world. Later on others from the group made the trek and we enjoyed taking in the sunset together.

For dinner we visited Bolepo, an Israeli owned Peruvian-Asian fusion restaurant. Don’t get too excited, though, we mostly got pizzas and Cosquena beer. The atmosphere was great and things only got better when Caroline arrived to rejoin us after her trip to Bogotá.

In the morning on Saturday nos pudimos de huevos and loaded into two dunebuggies to experience the dunes at a bit higher speed. The thrills were great, like an unending rollercoaster. We rocketed up inclines in ways that defied physics and plunged over and down as if taking flight. Twice the drivers stopped so that we could try our hands at sandboarding.

The sport is the desert’s answer to snowboarding. Like their counterparts on snow, or skate boarders in the city, sandboarders take a somewhat exaggerated sense of their own coolness and channel it through a board that is strapped to their feet. The result is that they can hurtle down the steep slopes of the dunes sending up plumes of sand while carving back and forth. Predictably I was raring to try and, once strapped into a board, actually did pretty well. Fortunately though, before my own sense of cool could get too overblown I tried to turn sharply and went barreling head over heels. Oh well, I’m sure sand does some good for the teeth.

Back at the hotel there was time for a quick dip in the frigid pool, then a shower to regain feeling and wash off the chlorine, and finally lunch all together before checking out and loading the bus. Leaving Hucachino we headed further south toward Naska.

As we drove the desert changed from the whirling dunes of Lawrence of Arabia to a flat rocky expanse that might have greeted Buzz Aldrin. It was in this region of pampa (a flat, dry, expanse) that the Naskas etched great animals, lines, and geometric shapes. The lines are no more than 60 centimeters deep and are barely recognizable from the ground. When viewed from above, however, they stretch out across the desert. xThanks to the ever responsive tourist industry we got to fly over the lines the next day. I went up in a four seater Cessna along with Felix and Linda. We took off from an airport used almost exclusively by the ten or so companies cater to Naska tourists. It was only a matter of minutes before our pilot was banking the plane left and then right offering us views of the figures bellow. Vast scribbles in a giant’s sketch book.

With all fliers safely back on land we returned to our hotel, El Majoro. El Majoro was yet another example of Augusto’s knack at finding incredible and storied lodgings. In the 19^th and 20^th centuries the hotel was an hacienda typical of the landed elite. With agrarian reform in 1968 most of the arable land was redistributed but the family was able to keep the main estate. Sometime recently the current owners bought and converted the stately residence to a hotel. Guests are lodged in the servants quarters (surely nicer now than they were then) and can relax in the plush sitting rooms of the main house or stroll through the manicured grounds. While there I did stop to smell the roses but was more excited to play ultimate Frisbee on the lawn next to them.

Monday after our fly over of the Naska lines we left the hotel and started the last stage of our journey that took us south along the Pacific coast. Other than a brief stop along the way to buy and taste olives (did you know Peru is a large exporter of olives?) from a grove along the road we kept driving until we reached our hotel Puerto Inca. Lonely and isolated Puerto Inca sits on a bay in the middle of nowhere, home only to Incan ruins, the hotel, and harsh crags and cliffs. The night was fantastic though with dinner, jokes, and talk of our arrival in Arequipa. Going to bed I had just enough to time to appreciate the roar of the surf and crash of wave against rock before diving into unconsciousness.

This morning we woke early and gathered for a trek through the rocks and out to the end of the point that stuck out into the Pacific. Following faint paths up and down the hillsides I was struck by the thought of who walked this ground before me. Here I was, just a tourist passing through an almost Martian world. For years though, others lived here. In the ruins we passed they slept, dried fish, and perhaps stored grain. Their marks all around, I came to feel that their spirits were still there and would remain there long after I finished passing through.

Since then we have been driving toward Arequipa. For a few hours we hugged the Pacific, ascending to the edges of cliffs and then plunging back down to sea level, all the while with the turquoise surf breaking to our right. Lunch time found us in a valley called Canamá, incredible for its green fields sandwiched between the desert and the sea. After lunch we turned west and have been climbing ever since. A few hours ago we crested a hill and suddenly the great snowcapped peaks of Arequipa’s three volcanoes were on the horizon. Climbing over the past hours my excitement has increased along with the pressure in my ears. Suddenly I can feel my body responding to the altitude by begging for more water. I’ve killed almost 2.5 liters. For the first time since getting to Peru I am licking my lips, subconsciously aware of the dry air sucking out the moisture. We have been travelling for over a week to make our way here. For many months before that we have been applying, planning, anticipating. It is great to know that when I finally send out this post it will be in a hotel in Arequipa. Tomorrow I meet my host family. We’re here. Let’s go.