I've always been a little irritated when people begin stories with something like, "Well, I really can't explain it." That's always seemed like a cheap cop-out to me--people make up for their limitations as story-tellers or writers with lines like that. But damn it, I just can't chronicle what's happened in the last two and a half weeks. So yes, I really can't explain it all. In lieu of a chronology, I'm going to tell one story.
Last week, I met three Europeans (two Czechs, one German) and we became good friends over a bottle (or two or three) of wine. We decided to do a trek together--Salkantay. It's one of the alternative trails to Macchu Picchu. But that's not the story.
On the third day of our trek, we camped outside a little town called Santa Teresa. I was craving a cup of good coffee, so I went into town to look for "café molido." After a long search, I met a woman who said her friend had a restaurant with real coffee, and she offered to take me there. And indeed, I saw real coffee beans! But they were white... that was strange. Basically, they hadn't been toasted yet. So I would have to wait a while, but that was fine with me. I generally have lots of time here in Peru.
I sat down at a table to wait, but curiosity got the best of me and I walked back into the kitchen. It was lit by a large fire in the middle, and guinea pigs scattered at the sound of my footsteps. La señora walked in and we started to chat. I asked if I could help toast the beans, and she said, "¡Claro que si!" So she filled a big ceramic bowl with the fresh coffee, set it on the huge stove, and I set to stirring them with a giant wooden spoon. While I stirred (and sweated) she ran around the kitchen, preparing for... something. Occasionally, a guinea pig or a small child would bump into my legs.
Twenty minutes later, the beans were toasted and el señor got out the hand-cranked coffee grinder. We took turns grinding the still-warm beans, and after a while, I sat down and drank the best cup of coffee I've ever had. (El señor and la señora chatted in Quechua while I sat. This happens a lot--it´s a way to gossip about gringos with no chance of them understanding) La señora continued her frantic cooking, and after I finished my coffee, I asked what was going on. "Well,"she replied, "there are 30 people coming over for dinner in one hour. I've got a lot to do." I offered to help--could I cut something up for her? And the answer was ¡si! Soon, I was stirring a giant vat of boiling chocolate.
An hour later, I was splattered with chocolate, burned (she squeezed a tomato all over my burned left hand), and dehydrated--my misery was clear. So I was sent out to the dining room to eat something. Now, picture this. I haven't showered in almost a week. I've been working in a broiling kitchen for an hour. And I open the door to the dining room, Michael Jackson's "Thriller" blaring, and the 30 people who are here for dinner are a group of high school girls from a neighboring town on the way to Macchu Picchu. Things made a little more sense later when someone explained that these girls were from a town devoid of tourists, but at that moment, I had no idea what was going on: I couldn't tell if the gasps all around the room where inspired by my blue eyes or my sad appearance. So I slowly made my way through the giggling hordes, cowboy hat placed firmly upon my head, sat down at a table, and tried to avoid the stares. Meanwhile, four-year-old Ana (daughter of la señora and el señor) was crawling up my back and pulling on my ears.
Later that evening, I was pressured into a group photo with the class, but I drew the line at individual photos with the girls. That just seemed... weird. After they had all left, I sat down with the family and ate a real dinner, and we talked about my life in the United States and theirs in Peru while watching a Jean-Claude Van Damme action flick.
But that wasn't the end of it--those damn girls were on the same train I was the next day, and stayed in the hotel next to mine in Aguas Calientes. I even ran into them at Macchu Picchu, where they continued to ask for photos. Flattering? No, not really. Just kind of astonishing.
As I think about it now, that evening seems almost unbelievable. But it happened and I couldn't have asked for a better night here. That's Peru--forget the happening clubs of Lima and the guided treks to Macchu Picchu. These little towns make this country.
And here are those other stories from the southern hemisphere: I've been searched by Peruvian soldiers wearing cast-off US DHS uniforms. I've eaten mumu (kind of like a spinach mash) with a dozen Peruvian women in a market. I've hired a Peruvian police officer to drive me for two hours in his official truck. (It broke down twice.) I've been within striking distance of a deadly snake. I've trekked to Macchu Picchu with complete strangers. (They are now great friends.) I've heard more Quechua than Spanish some days. I've been the eighth person in a moto-taxi designed for three. I've been counted by the Peruvian national census. I've salsa danced in Cusco's hottest local club. (Those lessons finally payed off!)
So that's what it's like here. A constant adventure, with almost no rhyme or reason. And I love it. I'll be in Cusco until Friday, then I'm headed to Lake Titicaca and Bolivia. Damn it, how has a while month gone by since I was in Lima, searching for my backpack? I love what I'm doing.
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Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Good bye to the paved gringo trail
I've just arrived in Tingo Maria, Peru--the official start of Peru's jungle territory. And damn, it feels like jungle. But I´ll get to that in a minute. The last week has made for some good stories.
I traveled north from Lima to Huaraz about a week ago via night bus. I quickly found a hostel, where I befriended two Israeli travelers just minutes after arriving. One hour later, the three of us were headed towards, a significant pre-Inca ruin on the east side of the Cordillera. We had missed the comfortable and direct tourist bus, so we talked our way onto the much slower local bus, amongst the squawking chickens and other smelly animals. (Gringos are technically forbidden, but good Spanish makes almost anything possible.) Three hours later, we arrived and toured around the site with a nice French couple. Chavin was the center of major pre-Inca culture sometime around 1000 B.C., and much of it has yet to be uncovered, but what we saw was impressive. Much of the complex is a series of interconnected subterranean rooms--it was fun imagining what had happened in them 3000 years ago. After a bit, we returned to Huaraz via a 15,000 foot pass. I had gone from sea level to above the summit of Mount Rainier in less than 12 hours.
I loved my time in Huaraz. I stayed at a hostel popular with Israelis (no one told me I'd need to speak Hebrew to travel here) and made a couple friends--while we've parted ways for now, we're all headed more or less the same direction, so we might meet up again. I spent lot of time just walking around the town enjoying its sounds and sights. While Huaraz is a major tourist town, it's also the commercial center of the Cordillera, so people are alway coming and going, many wearing traditional clothing.
While in Huaraz, I went on a hike with a guy who worked in the hostel. Leo is from Huaraz and splits his time between the local university, the hostel, and a job with a trekking agency. He had a day off and wanted to go hiking, so I joined him. We took a taxi for about 45 minutes, then climbed for about two hours up to a beautiful alpine lake. Of course, there was no taxi waiting for us at the trailhead, so we had to take a different trail until we found a combi-bus to take us back. This trail wound its way through several tiny towns of Quechua-speaking natives. Time seemed irrelevant as we walked between steep, rocky fields of potatoes and corn. The whole time, Leo and I talked about whatever came to mind--at one point, he told me that I had asked him questions no other gringo ever had. That surprised me, because I was just asking simple things about his life and his view of the Cordillera's tourists.
I would have liked to do a longer trek in Huaraz, but the weather didn't cooperate, so I pushed on two days go. After a long 14 hour trip by bus, foot, taxi, microbus, and private car over the most terrifying road I've seen, I arrived in Huanuco, a nice town at the bottom of a enormous valley. (During the last leg of my journey, the driver played religious music and the woman next to me kept crossing herself. I didn´t mind a bit.) Even though the Atlantic was (and is) still thousands of miles distant, the river that bisects Huanuco eventually joins the Amazon--a powerful thought as one stands next to a little brown stream. I visited Kotosh (the oldest discovered ruins in South America, just outside Huanuco) and was married in an ancient ceremony to some lucky Peruvian woman. I hope she doesn´t expect me to look for her when I get back to Huanuco. After that, I walked into the hills for a couple of hours and marvelled at the sparse beauty of the Peruvian highlands. After that, I hitched back into town with a big family in a very little car.
That evening, I went to a local bar where I watched the Peru-Paraguay World Cup qualifier game with a rowdy crowd of Peruvians. What is it about me, soccer, and drunk people? Many interesting and oft-incomprehensible conversations later, I went to bed early so I could catch an early colectivo to the jungle.
And here I am in Tingo Maria. By chance, this week is the 69th anniversary of the town's founding, so there's plenty to do. An American-style carnival had been set up on the Plaza de Armas, and a party-like atmosphere envelops the whole place. It's fun.
The area around Tingo is the world's largest coca producing region, and although some of it is sold legitimately in leaf form, much is trafficked out of Peru and brewed into cocaine. I mention this because while I was looking for a hotel, I walked right into the middle of a military parade--ostensibly to honor the town's anniversary, but also a show of force by the Peruvian government. The message was, "We've got rocket launchers. Do you still want to grow coca?" And the answer will always be yes, because legitimate crops (potatoes, corn, coffee, fruit) simply can't pay the bills. I found an interesting article about the economics of coca in Tingo Maria that's a good read. (But don´t worry, mom and dad, this place is still safe.)
Aside from ruminating about the economic and environmental problems of the jungle, I've done a bit of hiking. Tomorrow I think I'll rent a canoe and go out onto the river for a bit, assuming there isn't another torrential downpour like last night. (I'm worried the road to Tingo Maria might wash out, leaving me stranded.)
Soon, I'll be on my way to Huancayo en route to Cuzco. This trip isn't going to be long enough.
I traveled north from Lima to Huaraz about a week ago via night bus. I quickly found a hostel, where I befriended two Israeli travelers just minutes after arriving. One hour later, the three of us were headed towards, a significant pre-Inca ruin on the east side of the Cordillera. We had missed the comfortable and direct tourist bus, so we talked our way onto the much slower local bus, amongst the squawking chickens and other smelly animals. (Gringos are technically forbidden, but good Spanish makes almost anything possible.) Three hours later, we arrived and toured around the site with a nice French couple. Chavin was the center of major pre-Inca culture sometime around 1000 B.C., and much of it has yet to be uncovered, but what we saw was impressive. Much of the complex is a series of interconnected subterranean rooms--it was fun imagining what had happened in them 3000 years ago. After a bit, we returned to Huaraz via a 15,000 foot pass. I had gone from sea level to above the summit of Mount Rainier in less than 12 hours.
I loved my time in Huaraz. I stayed at a hostel popular with Israelis (no one told me I'd need to speak Hebrew to travel here) and made a couple friends--while we've parted ways for now, we're all headed more or less the same direction, so we might meet up again. I spent lot of time just walking around the town enjoying its sounds and sights. While Huaraz is a major tourist town, it's also the commercial center of the Cordillera, so people are alway coming and going, many wearing traditional clothing.
While in Huaraz, I went on a hike with a guy who worked in the hostel. Leo is from Huaraz and splits his time between the local university, the hostel, and a job with a trekking agency. He had a day off and wanted to go hiking, so I joined him. We took a taxi for about 45 minutes, then climbed for about two hours up to a beautiful alpine lake. Of course, there was no taxi waiting for us at the trailhead, so we had to take a different trail until we found a combi-bus to take us back. This trail wound its way through several tiny towns of Quechua-speaking natives. Time seemed irrelevant as we walked between steep, rocky fields of potatoes and corn. The whole time, Leo and I talked about whatever came to mind--at one point, he told me that I had asked him questions no other gringo ever had. That surprised me, because I was just asking simple things about his life and his view of the Cordillera's tourists.
I would have liked to do a longer trek in Huaraz, but the weather didn't cooperate, so I pushed on two days go. After a long 14 hour trip by bus, foot, taxi, microbus, and private car over the most terrifying road I've seen, I arrived in Huanuco, a nice town at the bottom of a enormous valley. (During the last leg of my journey, the driver played religious music and the woman next to me kept crossing herself. I didn´t mind a bit.) Even though the Atlantic was (and is) still thousands of miles distant, the river that bisects Huanuco eventually joins the Amazon--a powerful thought as one stands next to a little brown stream. I visited Kotosh (the oldest discovered ruins in South America, just outside Huanuco) and was married in an ancient ceremony to some lucky Peruvian woman. I hope she doesn´t expect me to look for her when I get back to Huanuco. After that, I walked into the hills for a couple of hours and marvelled at the sparse beauty of the Peruvian highlands. After that, I hitched back into town with a big family in a very little car.
That evening, I went to a local bar where I watched the Peru-Paraguay World Cup qualifier game with a rowdy crowd of Peruvians. What is it about me, soccer, and drunk people? Many interesting and oft-incomprehensible conversations later, I went to bed early so I could catch an early colectivo to the jungle.
And here I am in Tingo Maria. By chance, this week is the 69th anniversary of the town's founding, so there's plenty to do. An American-style carnival had been set up on the Plaza de Armas, and a party-like atmosphere envelops the whole place. It's fun.
The area around Tingo is the world's largest coca producing region, and although some of it is sold legitimately in leaf form, much is trafficked out of Peru and brewed into cocaine. I mention this because while I was looking for a hotel, I walked right into the middle of a military parade--ostensibly to honor the town's anniversary, but also a show of force by the Peruvian government. The message was, "We've got rocket launchers. Do you still want to grow coca?" And the answer will always be yes, because legitimate crops (potatoes, corn, coffee, fruit) simply can't pay the bills. I found an interesting article about the economics of coca in Tingo Maria that's a good read. (But don´t worry, mom and dad, this place is still safe.)
Aside from ruminating about the economic and environmental problems of the jungle, I've done a bit of hiking. Tomorrow I think I'll rent a canoe and go out onto the river for a bit, assuming there isn't another torrential downpour like last night. (I'm worried the road to Tingo Maria might wash out, leaving me stranded.)
Soon, I'll be on my way to Huancayo en route to Cuzco. This trip isn't going to be long enough.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
I arrive in Lima, sans backpack
Today is my fourth day in Lima--one more to go, then I´m headed up to Huaráz and the Cordillera. So where to start? How about the facts.
When I arrived in Los Angeles to catch my connecting flight to Lima (via Santiago Chile) on Tuesay afternoon, my backpack was nowhere to be found-- well, it could be found in San Francisco. So I continued with just the lid of my pack. In Santiago, I learned that my three hour layover had turned into a 23 hour layover. I managed to get on an earlier flight and spent only six hours in Santiago. Finally, I arrived in Lima 26 hours after I had left San Francisco. That was a long time in airports and in planes.
So the next step was to rendevouz with the people I had arranged to stay with--to make a long story short, my uncle (hi Chris!) recently hired a woman from Lima, and I'm staying with her family right now. So I called the house: no answer. Oh well, I thought, I´d just show up and present myself. Taxi!
No one's home. I talk with the people in the little store across the way--they hadn't seen the family in a while. The neighborhood security guards weren´t sure when Lili or Donald (mother and son) would be back. So I sat in the store across the way for an hour and a half before leaving a note and finding another taxi to downtown, where I would find a bed for the night.
So picture this: I am missing my backpack, have nowhere to stay, and it is getting dark in a unfamiliar and dangerous city. But in the end, everything ended well--I found a safe (if smoky and grimy) room, ate, and slept for fourteen hours. The next day, I made my way to the South American Explorers Clubhouse where I read about Lima and tried to track down my bag. (No luck.) I left a couple of messages with the people I was going to stay with, but was never sure I had the right phone number because the answering machine just gave a number, but not a name to me. I was quite worried because I had arranged to have my bag delivered to this family in Lima, and if I couldn't find them, I was going to be in big trouble.
So I went to the house again Thursday evening, and this time, they were home! (I dislike exclamation marks, but really, this sentence deserves one.) I was welcomed like family, and I've been treated like another son/brother ever since. I slept for fourteen hours again--all the stress had made me tired. Unfortunately, my bad hadn't been delivered (American Airlines had told me it had been) so my emotions where rather mixed: I was safe and warm (I´ve never enjoyed the basics like I have this week), but my backpack, with everything for the next three months, was still missing. To boot, I had been lied to about its status--something was fishy and a little sinister.
The next morning, I called American Airlines in the US--they insisted it had been delivered and wanted to file a second claim. I just wanted my bag, so I called their office in the Lima airport. They had it, they said, but I still wasn't convinced. So I went to the airport, where I found my backpack, still intact! (Once again, this sentence totally deserves special punctuation.)
So, you ask, what else have I done since arriving other than wander around lost, sit on doorsteps, and hassle American Airlines? Well, I've seen a lot of beautiful buildings. I´ve taken a lot of fast, cramped microbuses all over the city. I've surprise the locals by speaking Spanish. (They´re used to monolingual Americans.) I've gotten to know the people I;m staying with, both of whom I now consider friends. I've talked with lots of Peruvians. I've visited the world´s largest installation of fountains, complete with lasers and classical music. (It's straight out of Fantasia. Google "Lima Fountains" and you´ll see what I mean.) I went (along with thousands of Peruvians) to see "El Senor de Milagros" (a sculpture of Christ on the cross, so called because praying in front of it has lead to several miracles) on its annual trip around the block. Basically, I've gotten way the hell out of my comfort zone and had a damn good time.
Every once and a while, I get chills and a big smile creeps onto my face--that's me realizing what I'm doing here: exactly what I want to do. Every day is new and uncertain, but uncertainty is hardly a bad thing. It just makes for more opportunities.
I'm out of Lima tomorrow evening on a night bus to Huarzáz, where I'll do some trekking and then head down through the Andes, eventually reaching Cuzco. I think I'll be in the old Inca capital in about three weeks, but I'll probably write before then.
Hasta proximo.
When I arrived in Los Angeles to catch my connecting flight to Lima (via Santiago Chile) on Tuesay afternoon, my backpack was nowhere to be found-- well, it could be found in San Francisco. So I continued with just the lid of my pack. In Santiago, I learned that my three hour layover had turned into a 23 hour layover. I managed to get on an earlier flight and spent only six hours in Santiago. Finally, I arrived in Lima 26 hours after I had left San Francisco. That was a long time in airports and in planes.
So the next step was to rendevouz with the people I had arranged to stay with--to make a long story short, my uncle (hi Chris!) recently hired a woman from Lima, and I'm staying with her family right now. So I called the house: no answer. Oh well, I thought, I´d just show up and present myself. Taxi!
No one's home. I talk with the people in the little store across the way--they hadn't seen the family in a while. The neighborhood security guards weren´t sure when Lili or Donald (mother and son) would be back. So I sat in the store across the way for an hour and a half before leaving a note and finding another taxi to downtown, where I would find a bed for the night.
So picture this: I am missing my backpack, have nowhere to stay, and it is getting dark in a unfamiliar and dangerous city. But in the end, everything ended well--I found a safe (if smoky and grimy) room, ate, and slept for fourteen hours. The next day, I made my way to the South American Explorers Clubhouse where I read about Lima and tried to track down my bag. (No luck.) I left a couple of messages with the people I was going to stay with, but was never sure I had the right phone number because the answering machine just gave a number, but not a name to me. I was quite worried because I had arranged to have my bag delivered to this family in Lima, and if I couldn't find them, I was going to be in big trouble.
So I went to the house again Thursday evening, and this time, they were home! (I dislike exclamation marks, but really, this sentence deserves one.) I was welcomed like family, and I've been treated like another son/brother ever since. I slept for fourteen hours again--all the stress had made me tired. Unfortunately, my bad hadn't been delivered (American Airlines had told me it had been) so my emotions where rather mixed: I was safe and warm (I´ve never enjoyed the basics like I have this week), but my backpack, with everything for the next three months, was still missing. To boot, I had been lied to about its status--something was fishy and a little sinister.
The next morning, I called American Airlines in the US--they insisted it had been delivered and wanted to file a second claim. I just wanted my bag, so I called their office in the Lima airport. They had it, they said, but I still wasn't convinced. So I went to the airport, where I found my backpack, still intact! (Once again, this sentence totally deserves special punctuation.)
So, you ask, what else have I done since arriving other than wander around lost, sit on doorsteps, and hassle American Airlines? Well, I've seen a lot of beautiful buildings. I´ve taken a lot of fast, cramped microbuses all over the city. I've surprise the locals by speaking Spanish. (They´re used to monolingual Americans.) I've gotten to know the people I;m staying with, both of whom I now consider friends. I've talked with lots of Peruvians. I've visited the world´s largest installation of fountains, complete with lasers and classical music. (It's straight out of Fantasia. Google "Lima Fountains" and you´ll see what I mean.) I went (along with thousands of Peruvians) to see "El Senor de Milagros" (a sculpture of Christ on the cross, so called because praying in front of it has lead to several miracles) on its annual trip around the block. Basically, I've gotten way the hell out of my comfort zone and had a damn good time.
Every once and a while, I get chills and a big smile creeps onto my face--that's me realizing what I'm doing here: exactly what I want to do. Every day is new and uncertain, but uncertainty is hardly a bad thing. It just makes for more opportunities.
I'm out of Lima tomorrow evening on a night bus to Huarzáz, where I'll do some trekking and then head down through the Andes, eventually reaching Cuzco. I think I'll be in the old Inca capital in about three weeks, but I'll probably write before then.
Hasta proximo.
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