A toast to Perú

In one hour, I will be loading my backpack into a taxi, driving along Avenida Arequipa to La Marina and then to the airport to start a month of travels through South America. I've been reflecting a lot on Lima in the past week as my time here (for now) comes to an end.

As a final goodbye, I thought I would write a toast to Lima.

Here's to a city of 9 million people struggling to develop, a sprawling, active home to countless neighborhoods and people. Here's to the incessant honking in the streets, the jumps of adrenaline from near crashes, and the confidence of knowing where I am going. Here's to the strong presence of the indigenous culture, the traditionally dressed women I pass on the street. Here's to Peruvian pride, the signs that proclaim "somos Perú" (we are Perú), and the perpetually terrible Peruvian soccer team.

Here's to late nights at the discotech and evenings passed sitting on the roof. Here's to not being able to communicate, to working on my Peruvian accent, and to finally making it through a conversation without asking "what?". Here's to opening myself up to new people, to being able to identify changes in myself and to being proud of who I've become. Here's to traveling both near and far, viewing the most wonderful sights, and feeding a love to know. Here's to getting everyone through a trek, to meeting someone who does not know what McDonalds is, and to shopping in a traditional market.

Here's to getting cheated, to bargaining for Peruvian prices. Here's to completing errands, to visiting the pharmacy, to getting my glasses fixed.

Here's to sharing cultures, sharing food, sharing time, sharing love. Here's to feeling that pain in my stomach and pressure in my throat that reminds me of my sadness leaving. Here's to the wonderful workings of the brain that allow me to hold my memories of Perú in hand. Here's to old friends and to new adventures. Here's to life.

Reflections on a Storm - an exercise in literary writing

We saw the clouds approaching, felt the sky darken. I rocked left, right, left, right as the sky seemed to fall around me, carrying the lullaby of rain patter over miles of flat ground and river. Although dry behind a screen netting, I felt a phantom wash of cool brush through my hair, relaxing outward and downward through my whole body until I could no longer feel the taut strings of the hammock below me or the cloth of my clothing resting on my body. In the flatness of the river and the ground beside it, the space surround me felt empty, home to nothing but air. The thunder cracked directly in me, the warmth of the large crashes sheltering me from the piercing hook of lightning that broke the peace but brought an edge to the night. I was floating through the current, meandering left and right not on a hammock, but on a draft far above the plane of the earth. I rode slowly around and above, circling the dark mass of clouds below me, sliding down raindrops and wandering through particles in the clouds until I was the storm, spreading myself slowly and tranquilly over miles and miles, every breath sending clouds farther over the lightly soiled earth and mighty river.

This was the Amazon Rainforest.

The Mighty Amazon

After spending a few days in the city of Iquitos, we headed to the jungle proper. For four days, we camped on the side of the river, spending our nights fending off mosquitos and sleeping with a machete at our sides. We learned to identify the sound of a jaguar, the largest predator that is a threat to humans, and the sounds of smaller threats - snakes and tarantulas included. I am adept at carving an Amazonian canoe, and know the technique for catching a piraña bare-handed.

Ok, not exactly. I didn't actually use a machete (although our guide did all the time), jaguars are more scared of humans than humans of them, and we actually spent the four days at the wonderfully simple and comfortable Chullachaqui lodge, run by a family friend of one of the girls in the group.  But I can say that I was stung by a wide variety of jungle insects, swam with dolphins in the Amazon River, learned some jungle folk songs, was mildly successful at using an Amazonian canoe (which is really just like a log with a paddle), went fishing for pirañas, held an Amazonian Rainbow Boa that we found in the jungle, and was gifted a legitimate Amazonian hammock.

This is our lovely lodge:

We went on walks through the jungle both during the day and at night to find flora and fauna, including snakes, bugs, and a mountain of birds.

Boots are a must for these treks, although you should be sure to shake out your boot before you put it on. You never know what kind of lovely insects are hiding in there.

One morning, we woke up before the sun and paddled to a wide expanse of the Amazon to see the sunrise. It was absolutely gorgeous - I must have taken over 100 pictures of this one location.

This young boy of five years was as comfortable in a canoe as an American kid is on a computer. He navigated across a lake with 5 passengers, including parking and helping everyone to disembark on the opposite side.

I spent a lot of time just relaxing in a hammock in the lodge thinking about all of the wonders that I had seen during the day.

We went home tired and dirty, perhaps without the ability to use a machete or carve a canoe from a tree, but with a pile of new experiences and memories in our bags.

City in the Jungle

Iquitos, a city located on the Amazon River in the northeast of Perú, is generally considered the world's largest city that can't be reached by wheeled vehicle. Instead access points are through boat, and more recently, flight. The city was first settled by Jesuit Missionaries in the mid 1700s. It was developed heavily in the 1800s by the Peruvian government as a method of "Peruvianization" of the jungle, which at that time was populated almost exclusively by indigenous tribes with no loyalty to a Peruvian state. The Peruvian border with Brazil was not determined until 1851, 30 years after independence, and even then the borders were rather fluid. To lay a firm claim to Iquitos, the government built schools, a naval base and a trading post there. In the early 1900s, caucho, rubber, was discovered, and the city became the site of a rubber boom, attracting much growth of infrastructure and a hoard of young immigrant men looking to make a fortune in rubber. Many of these men stayed in Iquitos after the rubber boom and married indigenous women. The city now is a grand mix of indigenous peoples and ethnically mixed peoples. In the jungle outside of the city, indigenous village life and practices continue, with a mix of modern practices thrown in.

Although surrounded by the creeping jungle and solid amazon, this city is always moving. Motor-taxis fly down the streets, swerving only to avoid one of the many motorcyclists that drive with such maneuvers that they just seem to appear next to you. The very few cars there were transported in by either bus or airplane and are generally used as either taxis or to transport materials around the city.

During the high water season, the water rises about four feet, making the houses in Belén, a district of Iquitos, appear to be floating on the water. All of the houses are built with two stories, so that when the water rises, the family can move themselves and their belongings to the second floor. (You can see one of the bottom floors pictured below.) At that time, all of the transportation through the district is by canoe only.

We visited during the low-water season, so instead of a mountain of canoes floating towards us, we saw the full Belén market, stretching all the way to the river and bustling, like the rest of Iquitos, with movement of mototaxis, motorcycles, dogs. People weave their way through the market, pushing to the front to ask for a pound of banana, or gossiping with their neighbor about the latest relationship updates.

This bustling market sells every sort of Amazonian animal: palatable, appealing, legal - or not so - you can find it in Belén. The size of fish ranged from my smaller than my palm to half my height, sold in heads, fins, quarter body, body, and chunk. Big beetle larvae are friend and speared through a stick (which I did actually try. It was disgusting). Turtles are splayed open, their shells filled with a stringy insides and coagulating blood. And although we didn't see any, the market also sells highly endangered jungle monkeys, a very rich ingredient in traditional foods of the region.

The shops on the side, facing away from the main market, were the most interesting. Here you can find all manner of goods - single used nails, un-matching hinges, hammocks of wild colors and designs, plastic flashlights, used machetes, pirated movies and music, stacks of batteries, plastic containers and buckets, toiletries in small packs, doorknobs, bags for transport, varying lengths and widths of rope - all piled in old, stained wooden boxes covered in dirt and grime.

The city of Iquitos opens up to the Amazon itself. Transport up and down the Amazon and to the Amazonian villages is through large canoe or motorized boat.

After spending a few days exploring Iquitos, we rode one such motorized boat (or taxi as the locals call it) to a lodge in the Amazon itself (see the next post for descriptions of those fun adventures).

Travel Plans

In one week I'm heading on a backpacking tour of one month through the south of Perú and Bolivia I am traveling with two friends through La Paz, and one friend from La Paz to Lima. The plan is still very fluid, but some dates are firm.

We're starting in Cusco on December 6th, the day after I finish exams. We will spend two days in Cusco, two in the Sacred Valley, and one at Machu Picchu. From there, we are planning to cross the border to Bolivia by passing through Lake Titicaca and the floating islands. On the Bolivian side of the lake, we hope to visit Copacabana and the Isla del Sol. As an American, I have to have a yellow fever vaccine to travel to Bolivia, which I received here in Perú, and I also have to pay a fee around $100 to cross into the country. This is a method of reciprocity, because all Bolivianos who apply for a visa to the US must pay as well. Once we cross the border, we head to La Paz, the capital, and to the nearby Yungas coca region. We're looking at doing a trek in the mountains/glaciers, although we're not sure if we can, seeing as it will be the rainy season. We then plan to visit the Salares de Uyuni (salt plains), an amazing site (see photo below) and the colored lagoons. From there, we'll hit the Potosí mines, a still living mine that was incredibly important for the history of Perú and Bolivia.

Because we can't effectively travel during Christmas, we've elected to spend those few days in Sucre, an older, colonial style city with a mountain of churches. On December 28th, we travel to Arequipa to visit and do a trek in the Cotahuasi Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. After a trek of 4 days and 3 nights, we travel back to Lima. At midnight between January 4th and 5th I get on a flight to Houston, and from there to Minneapolis. I arrive in Minneapolis at 10:36am, January 5th after five months in South America. 

Up next, packing list!

Sketches of the market

On Wednesday and Thursday mornings, I pass through a traditional market in Santa Anita, Lima. The following are some quick sketches of people and things I see.

- Lady walking the market with a pile of upside-down, forest green large plastic containers resting on her head like an absurd, excessively large hat. Also carrying two of the containers in each hand.

- Man who is saying the same exact thing every time I pass by in his very slow, tired, but well-projected voice: "Papel higénico, toallas, un sol. Papel higénico, toallas, un sol."

- Older, thin woman with wrinkled skin, dressed in traditional dress with long, multi-layered skirt and knitted bowler hat. Kneeling on the ground behind small cloth covered with maybe 5 pots/pitchers of clay to sell. Not sure if they are hand-made or machine made.

- Younger man playing a children's sing-along about the alphabet on a small, grey TV. Surrounded by a crowd of children watching eagerly as the song teaches them about the sounds of the vowels. Two older ladies from a stall on the other side of the path yelling at the young man to turn off the damn music. I'm sure they get quite bored of listening to children's music all day.

- Cobbler's shop, which was just wide enough to fit a man and a sewing machine on a table (maybe two feet?) and just deep enough, around three feet, to fit a floor to ceiling shelving set covered in worn, well-used shoes. All in all, maybe 6ft squared of a shop.

- Man always situated at the start of the market selling individual black trash bags.

- Lines of dead chickens resting on tables ready to be cut up for meat. The feet are all lined up across the front of the table like the spines of library books on the shelves. Except this time, instead of reading the lines of a book, you can read the lines of wrinkles covering the chicken feet.

- Fish stands have a very poignant dead fish smell. You can tell from at least three stands away when I fish stand is coming. Dead half fish are littered on the table, the stand owners ready to cut off a quarter piece and a half of that.

- Stand covers of mostly primary colors. Lots of blues and yellows. A few red sides/tops stuck in every once in a while. Gives the whole market a colored, very artificial hue.

- Sauce stands - maybe 10 bowls of different sauces in varying shades of red, green and yellow. Also bottles of sauces like soy. Still not sure how buying the sauces works - do they put it in a container? Or maybe in a bag, which is a pretty common practice in Peru.

Huaraz

The Cordillera Blanca: a range of the Andes filling the southern half Perú. A pattern, of high, continuous peaks that soon breaks as it opens into a long, deep gorge of a valley that dwarfs the mountains that contain it. A treasure box, filled with secret lagoons the color of gem stones and tall patches of mountain grass with sparkles of red and pink. A place of real power, for the sense of true appreciation of beauty and nature it provokes. A challenge, to battle altitude, cold, and fatigue for those few moments that are so startlingly wonderful that their mere memory makes your chest hurt with the overflow of love, joy, and beauty. The site of a journey, of four days and three nights, that awoke a spirit of appreciation and wonder, and peace.

The Santa Cruz Trek, starting in Vaqueria and finishing in the small mountain farming village of Cashapampa, has as its highest pass Punta Union, at 4750m. Myself, three roommates, a traveller from England, and one from Norway began our trek with a 5 hour van-ride that started in the city of Huaraz.

We soon progressed to skinny mountain roads that are maybe better labeled as "paths", still traveling by van. Radio service cut in and out and we wound around the mountains, leaving us many times with only static for background music. The buzz of the static was often drowned out by our chatter - excited for an adventure and making the acquaintance of fellow groups members, we started the journey with what would become a staple of our group: good fellowship.

The hike of the first day was short, although eventful. We began by passing through some mountain villages. The people of this area live in basically the same manner as they have lived for hundreds of years, farming for subsistence and surviving with only the basic necessities. The houses are startlingly simple structures. Very small, they have stone walls of one or two floors. Clothes swing in the wind as they hang to dry. A few of the houses had large stone ovens in back. While I can go to a restaurant and pay a hefty amount for a fire-roasted pizza, the people of this region still use their stoves for function, not luxury.

The people still wear largely traditional clothing, especially the women, who still dress in multiple layered long skirts, long sleeves covered by a knitted poncho, and a large bowler hat. The younger generations mix in modern pieces, but their clothing is still dominated by the traditional outfit.

The kids of these villages put us to shame - while we were struggling to adjust to the altitude, fighting to pull oxygen from the mountain air, one boy told us that he walks the same path we just completed twice every day in order to travel to and from school.

We went on the trek in the latter half of October, anxiously close to the start of the rainy season. The weather certainly teased us: two hours into our first day we received an afternoon shower followed by a spitting rain. It prompted a real fear that all four days of our trek would become a drudge through rain and mud. But soon the rain slowed enough to become unnoticeable and stayed away for the rest of the trek. We arrived at our first day camp muddy and wet, but in good spirits for having completed our first day.



Our nights were cold, but not unbearable with hat, gloves, coat, pants, and a double layered sleeping bag. We became very skilled at shaking frost off the tents in the morning.

The second day was the day for Punta Union, the highest point of our trek. This day was the most challenging one: fighting rising cold, fatigue, and thin air, we wound through a valley and started an ascent of five hours to reach the top of the pass. We rounded rocks and streams, wedging our way up the path as it became increasingly more slippery, until we reached the natural rock steps that led up to the point. Although for some members of the group the climb required much more time than for others, we all completed the pass, reaching the famed Punta Union sign in the late afternoon.

From there, we began a long descent down the point and into a large valley that lasted for the last two days of our trip.




After the fight to finish the pass, these days of our trip were just fun - great company, physical exercise, and the beautiful nature that surrounded us.

On the third day we reached a wide valley. For the first time all of us could walk side by side, sharing the experience together. It felt as though our group, marching forward together, could conquer anything. Our song of choice as we passed through the valley was the Beatles "Here Comes the Sun" although we only knew the words to the chorus. We formed a line as we crossed the valley, which made me feel like the Monkees, coming down the street. 

The indigenous people of the region have a practice of leaving small piles of stones as a tribute to Mother Earth. Throughout our path, but especially at the most beautiful and secluded parts, we would come across these stacks of rocks (the small rock stack pictured below on the left side of the picture). Of varying shapes and sizes, the planned, organized piles were very poignant in contrast to the rugged, messy rocks that littered the path. The Santa Cruz, an absolutely break taking trek, is the first stone in my tribute pile for Mother Earth. Although just one stone, it holds the challenge, the beauty, the people, and the spirit of the Cordillera Blanca.