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.

Buy, buy, buy

And no, I'm not talking about the N SYNC song.

Lima always seems to be in a state of buying and selling. Large supermarkets and department stores are still rather rare in the city itself (In fact, somebody told me that until 10 years ago, Lima didn't have supermarkets of any type. Although I haven't fact-checked this tidbit, I wouldn't be surprised if it is true). Outside of Lima, and even in some of the poorer areas of the city itself, supermarkets and large stores are non-existent. People rely instead on markets, small stores, and a mountain of street vendors.

In ode to this, I though I would provide a list of things people try to sell me on the streets:
1. Guinea pig (alive)
2. Guinea pig (dead)
3. Plastic brooms with plastic dustpan
4. Ceviche
5. Fried sweet potato
6. Newspapers, magazines, periodicals
7. Pamphlets about cooking
8. Toffee, candy, chocolate
9. Fans, hats
10. Marriage
11. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, pendants
12. Yucca, banana, coconut
13. Taxi or mototaxi service
14. Ice cream
15. Bread, baguettes, rolls
15. Cell phone cover, chips, ornaments
16. Empanada
17. ...etc.

Jambelí, Ecuador

From the border, we made our way to Machala, the first large city across the border in Ecuador. On the bus ride there, an Ecuadorian man sat next to me. This prompted some fear at first. Here I was, a young, obviously foreign girl, sitting without a seat partner (we were an odd number of people), an object for robbery or sexual conversation. But, this man turned out to be very nice. He told me a little bit about his life and gave me some safety hints for Machala. There was only one moment of discomfort when he started to ask me if I was single: although the man had to be at least 50 years old, as a single, foreign female, I still represent an opportunity for him to marry and have access to more money and opportunity. I steered the conversation away from the topic, and he didn't return to ask me again.

A note that I would love to investigate more: there are a mountain of bananas in this region of Ecuador. On the sides of the roads are dense banana fields for miles and miles. In Machala, I spotted signs for Dole and Del Monte, and I have no doubts that more US companies are involved in the trade. I would love to know their role, policies, and impact on the lives and farmers, the land, and the economy in the region. A basic search on the internet pointed me to some history, current activism, and the banana growers union.

Once in Machala, we rode a city bus to the port, and then rode a boat to the island of Jambelí. A large, barely populated island off the coast of Machala, Jambelí represents a popular day beach trip for Ecuadorians, but an almost unknown spot for foreign tourists.

People on this island are very poor - they run hostels, restaurants and small stores, but their houses have whole families stuffed into small rooms with barely more than the essentials. Although there was a small charge to enter the island that supposedly went to upkeep of the beach, the sand was full of trash and the water dirty (not that we didn't have a great time anyway). 

Apart from the beach, the other main industry on the island is shrimp farming. We asked a local man to drive us around the island in boat a little bit, and he brought us to a shrimp farm tucked away in the mangroves of the island. I don't think that this shrimp farm had ever had Ecuadorian visitors, let alone foreign ones. Happily, one of the workers, whom we nicknamed Bubba Gump, showed us around the farm. 

The farm was extremely isolated - only 9 people lived and worked there, and although they made occasional trips to the populated part of the island, most of their lives centered around this one farm. The whole shrimping process was fascinating. Bubba Gump told us about their world markets, of which one of the fastest growing is China, where they buy small, young shrimp. He also chronicled their competition with laboratory shrimp, which can be grown faster, cheaper, and with less labor. Although this particular shrimp farm was still making money harvesting shrimp outside of a laboratory, I worry that in 10 years this farm won't exist, pushed out by competition from less natural ways of production.

Apart from the shrimp farm, most of our time in Jambelí was spent relaxing on the beach.

After a day and a half of calm and relaxation, we made our way back to Machala in boat, took a public bus the plaza de armas, walked to the bus station and bought a ticket to Piura, a ride of about 6 hours. It was a gamble - from Piura, we would still need to purchase a ticket to Lima, but there are no buses that run directly from Machala to Lima. We arrived in Piura at what seemed to be a deserted, rather dangerous bus station. After a moment of real discomfort, we were informed us that the bus stations to buy a ticket to Lima were about 10 minutes away by taxi. We arrived at the second station, and bought the 5 of the last 6 tickets for a bus to Lima. Phew! We made it back safely, although quite dirty and a sunburned, at about five o'clock in the morning after 25 or so hours of travel.

Cheated

From Máncora, we made our way to Tumbes, the last city before the Perú-Ecuador border. I didn't know it at the time, but apparently this border crossing has a reputation for being dangerous. According to some sources, many people get robbed or attacked on this crossing. Whoops. Moreover, you are highly recommended not to cross the border in a colectivo, or van, which just so happens to be exactly what we did. Don't tell my mother.

Although we did make it across safely, one of the few sour notes of the trip is that our colectivo driver cheated us. We didn't know that in order to cross many South American borders, there are two stops: at the first your old visa is collected and you receive an exit stamp, and at the second you are issued a new visa and receive an entrance stamp. Our colectivo driver (over)charged us to bring us "across the border." He did, I suppose, bring us across the border, but only through one border stop, not two. We were about to hop on a bus to Machala, the first big city in Ecuador, when the bus attendant stopped us and informed us about the surprise second border stop. Our colectivo driver, who I'm sure knew full well that we had to go through two immigration stops, had already driven away with our money. We had to get on another bus to reach the second border crossing, about 20 minutes down a dusty, unpopulated route.

I understand that even as a student without a job, I have more money than our driver. Every sol that I drop costs me only $0.37. In my room in Lima I have an expensive backpacker's backpack and hiking boots, a Mac laptop, and a digital camera, which together is almost certainly worth more than some people in the border region make in a year. For that, I feel very privileged. But the privilege does not excuse the feelings of stupidity, ignorance, and disrespect that come with being cheated. Such a transaction brings frustration that I didn't have right information. It bring a feeling of unintelligence, because I couldn't tell that the driver was cheating us. Most importantly, it brings a sense of sadness that I can't trust people to be honest - I always have to be on my game, always aware that people are going to overcharge or disinform me for my money. It's an uncomfortable and unwelcome feeling. Unfortunately, it's a common one that I have felt here in Perú.

Máncora, Perú

Well, it's official. I now have another stamp in my passport, this time from Ecuador. It's good thing. I was running out of days on my Peruvian visa. Now that I have left and re-entered the country, I have another 90 days, which will last me through the first week of January.

Our trip started in Máncora, Perú, a touristy beach town on the northern coast of the country. To arrive, we took a 20 hour bus ride along the Pan-American highway. This highway is a challenge for the imagination. Stretching for approximately 29,800 miles, this highway runs from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to Ushuaia, Argentina and is interrupted only by 54 miles of rainforest between Central and South America. (Is anyone else sensing a new project coming? I can already see the book title - Traveling the Pan-American: one woman's journey from Alaska to Antarctica.)

Here's the thing about Perú: You forget that a huge part of the country is just desert, especially along the coast. This bus ride reminded me of this fact, with force. Mounds of lightly colored rocks and sand were the most common scenery from the bus, although an occasional elevation change would bring either small peaks or dust fields depending if we rose or fell. Ironically, the last movie we watched on the bus ride was Rango, an animated film chronicling one desert town's struggle for water.

We disembarked into the sunny, fresh air of the beach - and immediately were surrounded by mototaxi drivers hawking a ride to any one of the many hostels in the area. The mototaxi drivers receive a small commission from the hostels for every guest that they bring. When we, as five clearly non-Peruvian females, stepped out of the bus, they swarmed like hawks. Pretty soon we were in a circle of mototaxi drivers, all offering the exact same offer: 1 sol to any of the hostels in town that offer a commission. After trying to politely tell them to back off, to no avail, we ended up shaking them by just leaving the site and starting to walk around the town. I prefer this, really. It was an opportunity to see a little bit of the town and get a feel for it. We ended up finding a clean, comfortable hostel for S/. 15 each night/person, which works out to about $5 a night, without any commission.

Right now is still the winter season in Perú, so there aren't that many people traveling. It was wonderful for us. While the town was populated, it wasn't overly crowded. And we could enjoy our time in Máncora and the sun, just sitting on the beach. Because of some sort of climate/geography effect that I still don't understand very well, Lima is covered in clouds for the winter season. Days with sun are extremely rare: for the first month I didn't see the sun at all. The beautiful, warm rays of Máncora's beaches were all we needed for a day of relaxation.


We found a wonderful breakfast place a few blocks down from our hostel. The only option, called desayuno, is eggs with two rolls, your choice of coffee or tea, and a naturally made fruit juice. Delicious, simple and cheap. Our second morning, we wanted to return to the same breakfast joint, but it was full (it seems the locals like to eat there too). We did find another shop that offered the same meal, but sadly, the food wasn't as good.

On our second night in Máncora was the Perú-Paraguay world cup qualifying soccer game. Perú has a perpetually terrible soccer team. The country hasn't been in the world cup since 1982! Still, Peruvians are proud of their soccer team, and this year, the country has the best soccer team they've had in 20 years (so I've been told). During the game, everyone was glued to a television. All of the bars and restaurants were full of people just watching. Store workers would just leave their stores to go watch a neighbor's television. The best part was when Perú scored, which happened twice. The entire town would rise up in yells and whistles, people banging on tables, free shots being passed around. It was a sight to see the entire town engaged in the same activity at the same time.

After Máncora, we headed to Ecuador to cross the border. See the upcoming next part of this blog post for that trip report.

I'm not late, I'm on Peruvian Time.

Some of our good family friends from Maine, the Tinkles, were late for everything. It was such a common event that we gave their time of arrival a specific name: "Tinkle Time." They would come late to dinners, to meetings, and even to events at their own house.

I thought I was done with Tinkle Time once we moved to Minnesota, but instead I have found that here in Perú, time is a even more of a suggestion than for the Tinkles. Professors begin class 15 minutes after the scheduled time. Even better, the professors don't even enter the room until 10 minutes after class began. Students are free to enter the classroom until 20 or even 30 minutes after class began.

I had a fieldwork trip for my ecotourism course for which our professor made a point to remind us to be punctual. A few seconds, the professor clarified that "punctual" meant at the latest 15 minutes late. On the day of the field trip, the professor didn't even show up until 10 minutes after the designated time.

The sense of time here is just a microcosm of the attitude that pervades Peruvian life. Things are more relaxed - you are hard pressed to find people walking quickly down the streets, even in the business district of San Isidro. Although Lima is 8 million people, approximately the size of New York City, people don't rush to appointments or plan activities back-to-back. Students pass hours just sitting with friends on campus. Businesspeople walk slowly down the street to meetings. The only place you really feel the sense of rush is driving - with the insane level of traffic on the streets, drivers are impatient to go.

This slow sense of time also creeps into a larger attitude about life. I don't think I've lived in Perú long enough to categorize that attitude of Peruvians, but I can tell you what I have noticed about the USA. The American viewpoint stresses achievement, doing, accomplishing. You should be involved in activities and pushing ahead in your work. We value the sense of satisfaction when you accomplish something, when you finish, or when you meet a goal. At Madison, I myself take courses, work one or two jobs, belong to multiple organizations, and live an active social life. I feel much more accomplished, comfortable and satisfied when I have things to do, places to go, and people to see.

The relaxed pace of life in Lima has been a great learning experience for me - how do you slow down your life, and when you do, what are the things that you really value? In the United States, I work to have everything that I want - relationships, studies, involvement in the community, satisfaction and accomplishment, art. In Lima, with the slower life pace, I have to choose which of these I really want. Rather than cramming everything that I want into a day, I am forced to elect which values I want to focus on most.

Living in Perú has made me realize that I don't like the Peruvian concept of time very much. I crave the sense of purpose and accomplishment that I had in the States. I like to do and go. I enjoy the sense of being busy. But living here has been a great experiment for me in the art of slowing down. I've even started to pick up the sense of time here in Perú. Here it is, 2:01 on a Monday afternoon, and I've got a 2:00 course. But it's ok. I'm not late, I'm on Peruvian Time.

If you want to be a badger, then come along with me...

…all the way to Lima, Perú. As I’m sure you know, yesterday was the Wisconsin-Nebraska football game. Us Badgers here in Lima weren’t about to miss out on one of the biggest games of the season, so we headed to The Corner, an American style sports Bar that plays international sports games. We ended up taking over about half the bar with our red shirts and Wisconsin chants. We celebrated “first and ten Wisconsin”, counted push-ups, and even jumped around in between the third and fourth quarters. I'm not quite sure what the bartenders thought of us, but since we were paying, they just let us be. Our touchdown celebrations we quite rowdy, as you can see below.

We met some fellow Wisconsinites at the bar, including one fellow with a Brewers shirt, a couple from Madison, and an older woman who googled “sports bar Lima” and showed up at The Corner. By the beginning of the second half, we were all buds, cheering and groaning together as we watched the game. There were also some Nebraska fans there, who took a good-natured ribbing from us throughout the game. We tried to get them to pay our bill at the end of the night, to no avail. This Nebraska fan (in black) ended the night in (fake) tears.

This game is my new favorite game day memory. I’m still amazed by the ability of the Badger spirit to bring together a group of people in comraderie a continent away from the game.

We finished out the night with a rousing rendition of “If You Want to Be a Badger”, because we know that even here in Lima, everyone wants to be a Badger. 

For today, a cute video. Enjoy!

The blog post for today is a video that we were shown on registration day. It's about the city Peru, Nebraska. If you have 15 minutes, check it out. It's super cute.

La Selva Central

Three weekends ago, some friends and I took a trip to San Ramón and La Merced, Chanchamayo, Perú.

It's about an 8 hour drive from Lima in bus, not because the area is actually 8 hours away, but because you have to climb mountains for about five of those hours. Also, there is only one road that leads out from Lima in this direction, and although it is supposedly wide enough for one vehicle to go in one direction and another vehicle in another, it sure doesn't feel like that. With only one road, all sorts of vehicles - busses, cars, motor-taxis, trucks, semis - use the same road. And with only one lane in each direction, the only way to go faster is to pass the cars in your lane by driving in the other, opposite direction lane until you pass them, and then transfer back to your original lane. Now this might seem fairly normal, but in a two-story full size bus, on a road originally created for human and animal traffic, with Peruvian drivers....phew.

I was totally egging on our driver. From my perch in the front of the second story, I was telling the driver to take all of the dangerous and probably ill-advised passes, sliding in between open-sided semi trucks filled with fruit, dodging other full-size busses, pushing the bus so that the wheels hadn't yet fallen off the cliff, but just barely. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a NASCAR driver. I've outgrown that ambition (although I could rock the suit better than Danica Patrick), but I still dig the danger and speed aspects.

We arrived in La Merced at five in the morning after a hasty and startling wake-up call that we had one minute to be off the bus before it started driving farther into the jungle. Woah! Here we were, seven foreign females, in some small town in the middle of Perú, before dawn. We grabbed a taxi and headed up to our hotel in San Ramón, about 20 minutes away. The hotel was absolutely amazing - a little jungle paradise with a pool. Our rooms are pictured below in the view from the pathway.

The district of Chanchamayo is located at the beginning of what is called the Selva Central. Basically, it is the last city area before you start getting deep into the Amazon. Because of this, we got to experience a great mix of rural Perú and the jungle. 

We spent a lot of time walking through the town of San Ramón. In addition to 15 city blocks, the town also has a large central plaza, which is the site of any town gatherings. Some folks that we met on the first day told us that there was a carnival going on in the plaza that night. What luck! Just like that, we got to go to a carnival in small town Perú. There was traditional music, dancing and food, as well as a game area for a form of air hockey, and an old ferris wheel. My friend Kendra and I braved the rusty base of the ferris wheel for the chance to say we rode a carnival ride in the jungle of Perú. 

Unfortunately, we didn't take any pictures of the carnival, but pictures of San Ramón and La Merced are below.

We took two tours while in San Ramón, one of tourist spots in the district, and one for trekking and hiking. While the first tour was a wonderful opportunity to see more of the district (we probably covered 150km of the region), the second tour was much more satisfying. We were five girls plus a guide on a path through jungle mountains. Amazing. 

The area is known for its waterfalls, or cataratas as they are known in the region (cascadas in other areas). Two rivers run from the top of the mountains all the way down to ground level, many districts away. As such, the area is filled with beautiful waterfalls, many of which we climbed through and swam in. Two waterfalls are pictured below.

As part of the trek we climbed through the river, up, around and through waterfalls.

In addition to climbing and hiking, we took a few moment to admire the vistas we encountered. Wow.