Strange Occurrences: 7/10/07
I hiked up to Doña Maria’s Bodega to buy some fruit the other day and we began talking about my short time left in Carata. She tried to convince me to stay, and because this wasn’t the first time someone has pulled this one on me I used my rehearsed line (“I’d really like to stay…”) But the fact is, “I miss my family and need to return to them”. Surely any Peruvian would understand that since family means so much to them. Doña Maria listened contently, until I finished and than casually said, YOUR PARENTS ARE MILLIONAIRES. It wasn’t phrased as a question, nor as to clarify a doubt, but as fact! My parents are millionaires. I stood there on her dirt floor, stunned. How do you answer that? Mustering a thoughtful response, and at the same time, withholding my laughter, I told her the truth. “Actually, they aren’t millionaires.”
Shit. This Town. Wow.
In the same day, just a few hours later, I went with the nurse to visit the public school. We needed to coordinate a few upcoming dates. The second grade teacher “Grober”(pronounced grover-like the Muppet) whom we wanted to talk to, was not in his classroom but his students were. We stood outside his room talking with the 3rd grade teacher “Eder” who was the acting principal in his absence. Attendance is obviously a problem for teachers and the principal. When Grober didn’t return, Eder sent one of the 2nd graders to find him. 10 minutes later the kid came back and explained that Grober was in a saloon-but would be right back. As we waited, I became impatient and entered the 2nd grade classroom. The kids were out of their seats, pushing each other, yelling my name and leaving in big groups for the bathroom. What chaos. I was immediately reminded why I didn’t go into education. And yet as a nurse I always feel like a teacher, especially in the Peace Corps.
Grober never came back, so I asked the student who went out to look for his teacher. “What could he possibly be doing, why hasn’t he returned to class? And the student replied, “Esta tomando”. (He’s drinking). It occurred to me later, that I was the only one surprised. The second graders were used to the idea of being left alone for hours while their teacher spent the morning in a bar.
Shit. This Town. Wow.
The following day, would be extremely busy, with two meetings in the morning, and one in the afternoon. I woke up early, ate breakfast and headed down to Nuevo California, walking. Our camp was planned for that Friday and I was struggling to get everything in order for the four campers I had chosen as participants. One of the assignments we arranged as camp directors was a written letter from each parent to their child. This was to be done secretly so that on the 3rd and last day of camp, the campers would receive a letter of encouragement from their parents. It was an activity that the self esteem committee had planned. Generally speaking, few parents congratulate their kids for their successes. Even fewer parents praise their children in this culture. We decided it would be a meaningful activity for both parents and campers.
Since I agreed to bring four kids from Carata (and neigboring villages) that meant four letters from four different parents. I walked to each of their houses, which are not in close proximity of each other, and having visited two houses the day before I left the other two for this morning. Yesterday’s visits went well, I reviewed the camp details with the parents and completed the letters with the mothers. It was a little difficult to explain the concept, "write a positive letter of reinforcement to your son/daughter". But don’t tell them we’ve written this letter, they will receive it at the end of camp. !?!?!!? I gave the two mom’s examples, What would you like to tell him/her, that you never say? One of the moms was illiterate, so as she spoke the letter, I dictated. The other mom didn’t want to write (so I offered to write for her) fortunately she understood the concept and was quite eloquent in her letter to her daughter, Edith.
When I arrived in Nuevo California, I found the other two mothers working with a committee of other locals. They were behind the soup kitchen digging up an open space. It was obvious that this was a community effort, each family was required to do their part of the labor. Knowing this, I hoped to pull the mothers out for a few minutes to write their letters and let them get back to work.
I called “Diva” and “Zoila” from the crowd and they came over to a bench were I was sitting, one at a time. I reiterated the letter writing activity for their son/daughter. Both gave me the same response, “Don’t you see we’re busy, in the middle of work?”. I told them I understood, but that they knew about this assignment, and if they wanted their kids to attend the camp, this was a requirement. “But Mateo, if we don’t get back to work, their going to deduct us. We’ll be fined.” “You write the letters.” I said, “Listen, this is suppose to come from you, as a parent.” “I’m not asking you for a lot here!”
Yesterday, the first two mothers, sat with me. They thought about the letter, they expressed interest. They imagined their kids receiving the letters, and the smiles on their faces.
These women returned to digging, and I sat on the bench, fuming. I couldn’t believe that these two couldn’t even help me with something so simple like a short letter. It wasn’t even for me, for Christ's sake, it was for their own son/daughter. Maybe they didn’t know how to write either, or maybe they could, but didn’t want to. I thought the threat of being fined for not working was a pretty lame excuse.
I wanted to say, “You’ll be fined, so be it.” “ Do you know how much Peace Corps is paying to invite your kid to this retreat?” “ It’s considered a scholarship, all expenses included, they won’t spend a dime!” “And your telling me you can’t even write your child a note about why you love them, and that you support them!”
Shit. This Town. Wow.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
POESIA
Oct. 1st 2007
Day 738. I ate 14 potatoes today. Never again. I’ve determined that I’m more likely to get explosive diarrhea when I eat at someone elses house in the village and than take a vigorous hike home, scaling steep hills. Waiting 30 minutes to 1 hour is definitely necessary to prevent this reoccurring problem. It’s nice that other families are inviting me to lunch now, but it’s killing my digestive tract. Another origin of the diarrhea could be the exposure to new bacteria in a new cooking environment.
When I came back from Christmas this year, I gave a friend of mine my old hiking boots. Mom and Dad had bought me a new pair. The former weren’t really that old for Peruvian standards.The Timberland’s were probably the best gift Alipio had ever received. Surely an upgrade to his yankees (sandals made out of tires). Alipio just held the boots in his hands, admiring them, and thanking me.
So it’s October now, and up until now, I’ve never seen Alipio wear the boots. Were they so amazing that he didn’t even want to wear them? Or did he give them to one of his 9 sons? Esgar who’s 15 years old, has been spending a lot of time at our house. I asked him yesterday about the boots. Evidently one of his older brothers wore the boots to Otuzco and drank so much, he passed out. And the boots were stolen right off his feet. So who knows where my old boots are nowadays? Hopefully someone is getting good use out of them, even if they were stolen.
What else is new here? Well, after months and months of planning our youth camp came and went. Last weekend we brought all the participants together between the mountains and the coast in a town called Pedregal. 36 adolescents participated, and they loved it. We played a number of problem solving games, decorated journals, made jewelry, baked with solar ovens, invited outside speakers (college students and professionals), performed skits, and even got a good scare from a ghost during a bonfire. The camp themes promoted 1. Education 2. Leadership and 3. Self Esteem. It was a roaring success. The invitees have limited opportunities to participate in such a retreat.
Ode to Carata
I think I’ll live without a refrigerator from now on. And a washing machine, and who needs a dryer anyway. Or an iron? Please. Ironing clothes seems odd. Unnecessary really. Hand washing clothes is a great stress reliever. I haven’t seen a real kitchen stove in years. Heck we’ve been cooking just fine over the fire. How much would an oven cost anyway. Too much. Tissues are a big waste too. It wasn’t until PC that I stopped buying them and began using toilet paper for everything. I usually bathe every 3-4 days, pending water that is, and change my clothes every other day. Baby wipes are the perfect remedy for quick and easy hygiene. What a funny looking word. The bathing boycott however will probably have to be broken if I want to integrate back into American society. And date again. Rice will always be apart of meals from now on, I’m addicted to it. I don’t even taste it anymore. It fills you up though. When I eat any other meal without rice, I don’t feel like I’ve eaten. Maybe I’ll stop washing my hands with cold water since I’m destined to get sick from doing that. I could bring dirt floors back into style. Upon arrival to the USA, How about in my first apartment I tear up what ever floor exists and put down dirt. The longer it’s there the more broken in it becomes-almost like carpet. We used to drop glass and it didn’t even break. I wasn’t until they poured a concrete floor that we really started breaking dishes. And cuyes. No kitchen is complete without 20 feral guinea pigs at your feet. God, I’m gonna miss this place.
And I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to complain about anything in the USA ever again. Because it could NEVER be as bad as it’s been in Peru.
Things I miss: Carpets. The smell of cut grass. Driving. Berry Berry Kix. 90 Watt light bulbs. Public trash cans. Rollerblading. Comfortable bus seats. Cold juices. Bacon. Making breakfast. Poping popcorn. Halloween. Reading the Sunday paper. Taking trains. Arriving on time. Calling old friends. Toilet seats. Walking the Charles River. Smooth roads. Playing catch.
Things I’ll miss from Peru: Cebiche. Huayno/Cumbia/Salsa music. Otra Cosa (Vegetarian Restaurant). The Spanish language. “Inviteme” concept. The idea of time. Papa a la huancaina. Marching bands. Donkeys. Little old men with no teeth. People opening beer bottles with their teeth. Adobe walls. Political signs. Protests. Holidays. Newsweeks. The RPM. The PCMO. The APCD. Enriques burly arms. Yapas. Straw hats. Being tall. And feeling tall. Yellow tin roofs. Dusty, dry country roads. Ticos. Estations. Inca haus. The Mediterranean restaurant. Speaking spanglish. Quinua. Pooping in plastic cups. P6!
“I´m no poet”
Sure it’s been hard. Theres no water, no electricity, no bathrooms, no phone lines. The food has made me sick more than a few times. The government’s corrupt. Most locals have given up. And yet month after month I remind myself-you’ve changed so much. Now it’s time to depart, with whom do I start? My family or friends, I can’t believe it’s the end. This long, strange trip through Peru has redefined even you.
Day 738. I ate 14 potatoes today. Never again. I’ve determined that I’m more likely to get explosive diarrhea when I eat at someone elses house in the village and than take a vigorous hike home, scaling steep hills. Waiting 30 minutes to 1 hour is definitely necessary to prevent this reoccurring problem. It’s nice that other families are inviting me to lunch now, but it’s killing my digestive tract. Another origin of the diarrhea could be the exposure to new bacteria in a new cooking environment.
When I came back from Christmas this year, I gave a friend of mine my old hiking boots. Mom and Dad had bought me a new pair. The former weren’t really that old for Peruvian standards.The Timberland’s were probably the best gift Alipio had ever received. Surely an upgrade to his yankees (sandals made out of tires). Alipio just held the boots in his hands, admiring them, and thanking me.
So it’s October now, and up until now, I’ve never seen Alipio wear the boots. Were they so amazing that he didn’t even want to wear them? Or did he give them to one of his 9 sons? Esgar who’s 15 years old, has been spending a lot of time at our house. I asked him yesterday about the boots. Evidently one of his older brothers wore the boots to Otuzco and drank so much, he passed out. And the boots were stolen right off his feet. So who knows where my old boots are nowadays? Hopefully someone is getting good use out of them, even if they were stolen.
What else is new here? Well, after months and months of planning our youth camp came and went. Last weekend we brought all the participants together between the mountains and the coast in a town called Pedregal. 36 adolescents participated, and they loved it. We played a number of problem solving games, decorated journals, made jewelry, baked with solar ovens, invited outside speakers (college students and professionals), performed skits, and even got a good scare from a ghost during a bonfire. The camp themes promoted 1. Education 2. Leadership and 3. Self Esteem. It was a roaring success. The invitees have limited opportunities to participate in such a retreat.
Ode to Carata
I think I’ll live without a refrigerator from now on. And a washing machine, and who needs a dryer anyway. Or an iron? Please. Ironing clothes seems odd. Unnecessary really. Hand washing clothes is a great stress reliever. I haven’t seen a real kitchen stove in years. Heck we’ve been cooking just fine over the fire. How much would an oven cost anyway. Too much. Tissues are a big waste too. It wasn’t until PC that I stopped buying them and began using toilet paper for everything. I usually bathe every 3-4 days, pending water that is, and change my clothes every other day. Baby wipes are the perfect remedy for quick and easy hygiene. What a funny looking word. The bathing boycott however will probably have to be broken if I want to integrate back into American society. And date again. Rice will always be apart of meals from now on, I’m addicted to it. I don’t even taste it anymore. It fills you up though. When I eat any other meal without rice, I don’t feel like I’ve eaten. Maybe I’ll stop washing my hands with cold water since I’m destined to get sick from doing that. I could bring dirt floors back into style. Upon arrival to the USA, How about in my first apartment I tear up what ever floor exists and put down dirt. The longer it’s there the more broken in it becomes-almost like carpet. We used to drop glass and it didn’t even break. I wasn’t until they poured a concrete floor that we really started breaking dishes. And cuyes. No kitchen is complete without 20 feral guinea pigs at your feet. God, I’m gonna miss this place.
And I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to complain about anything in the USA ever again. Because it could NEVER be as bad as it’s been in Peru.
Things I miss: Carpets. The smell of cut grass. Driving. Berry Berry Kix. 90 Watt light bulbs. Public trash cans. Rollerblading. Comfortable bus seats. Cold juices. Bacon. Making breakfast. Poping popcorn. Halloween. Reading the Sunday paper. Taking trains. Arriving on time. Calling old friends. Toilet seats. Walking the Charles River. Smooth roads. Playing catch.
Things I’ll miss from Peru: Cebiche. Huayno/Cumbia/Salsa music. Otra Cosa (Vegetarian Restaurant). The Spanish language. “Inviteme” concept. The idea of time. Papa a la huancaina. Marching bands. Donkeys. Little old men with no teeth. People opening beer bottles with their teeth. Adobe walls. Political signs. Protests. Holidays. Newsweeks. The RPM. The PCMO. The APCD. Enriques burly arms. Yapas. Straw hats. Being tall. And feeling tall. Yellow tin roofs. Dusty, dry country roads. Ticos. Estations. Inca haus. The Mediterranean restaurant. Speaking spanglish. Quinua. Pooping in plastic cups. P6!
“I´m no poet”
Sure it’s been hard. Theres no water, no electricity, no bathrooms, no phone lines. The food has made me sick more than a few times. The government’s corrupt. Most locals have given up. And yet month after month I remind myself-you’ve changed so much. Now it’s time to depart, with whom do I start? My family or friends, I can’t believe it’s the end. This long, strange trip through Peru has redefined even you.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Machu Picchu
On Aug. 1st my Mom and Knox Turner arrived for a two week visit. Finally, after almost 2 years, I’d have the opportunity to visit Cusco and Peru’s most famous attraction- Machu Picchu. We decided to leave one week for Cusco in the south and the second week for the north- Trujillo and Carata. Mom claimed if she were to make the trip all the way to Perú she couldn’t miss out on seeing Carata.
I met the two at Aeropuerto Internacional-Jorge Chávez and we stayed overnight in a hotel nearby. Only looks were deceiving. From the website, ¨Hotel Victor¨ appeared impressive, clean and comfortable. Fortunately for us the place was locked into a gated cul-de-sac, because the surrounding neighborhood was a real slum. Imagine dirt streets, condemned buildings, broken down cars on every corner, and garbage burning on the side of the road. It made the Bronx seem like Beverly Hills. Just when Perú defined poverty, the slums of Lima redefined it again.
PC has wanted to place more PCV´s in the outskirts of greater metropolitan Lima, but in almost every case of site development they couldn’t even find suitable homes that met safety standards. Straw mat lean to's just don’t cut it. Some say there is more poverty in Lima than any other region of the country.
The following morning we awoke and went back to the airport to fly to Cusco. A 50 minute flight or a 30 hour bus ride. With those kinds of options who wouldn’t fly? There’s word of a new train from Lima to Cusco, but I think it’s just wishful thinking. Cusco was everything I imagined, excellent food, a clean, colonial atmosphere, and more history to absorb than any other Peruvian city I’ve visited. Everything was going as planned until my Mom came down with a paralyzing pain in the back of her head. She said she could feel it moving from behind her ears, wrapping itself around to the front. When the pain didn’t cease, we got worried and rushed to a hospital.
Surprisingly, we were quickly attended and the bilingual staff made us feel more at ease. The Doc seemed to think it was only stress related, and wanted to admit her just to err on the side of caution. What a frightening experience though, especially for Mom to loose even more of her independence in another country, in a different language with a bizarre health care system. She agreed to stay overnight and physical therapy scheduled three visits. An IV was started to relieve residual pain.
The hospital tour wasn’t part of the itinerary but at least Mom was in the city when this happened. We were scheduled to start an expedition with Q´ente Tours (Q´ente= Hummingbird in Quechua) that Sunday, which meant camping in the sacred valley on the way to Machu Picchu. We wouldn’t recommend the hospital, but rather, the Dutch run Niño’s Hotel. http://www.ninoshotel.com/
Sunday morning began early with a hotel pickup by Q´ente. Carlos introduced himself as our young, humble guide for the next four days. We drove out of Cusco heading west to the town of Izcuchaca than to Huarocondo and finally to Socma. Adobe homes whipped by in the van window, farmers attended to their cattle and the bright warm sun rose above the green mountain tops. Our group was small, just five in total, two babes from Wales, Jennifer and Anna, and the three of us. Our staff on the other hand consisted of 5-6 men, various horses, food and equipment.
That first day we hiked slowly, as Carlos stopped to teach us about culture, history, geography, politics (and everything else under the sun really). As we winded up the switchbacks, we came across a beautiful waterfall. An archaeological site was pointed out to the left, former Incan ruins I suppose. Lunch was served picnic style. We ate and rested and hiked another 20 minutes to the unofficial campsite. (The first choice campsite, farther ahead, didn’t have water) The sun set, and as darkness fell upon us, it got cold! We were at 3,400m. Carlos taught us about the southern hemisphere’s solar system. Fascinating.
Breakfast was served and we took off for the second full day of hiking. We left the village of Perolyniyoc and huffed up to Arrayan sweating. Breaks were necessary. I felt like we had reached the highest elevation at that point. From this pass we were confronted by neighboring snow capped mountains. I had read about Mt. Ausangate and had been thinking about a trek through that part of southern Perú. At 6384m it’s the highest Mt. in southern Peru. Carlos pointed it out as the third peak to the left. As we made our decent I thought about how sacred this region was, and allowed the Incan concept of respecting nature to set in.
What a unique experience, to walk the same route that an ancient civilization had inhabited. This was even more meaningful than last weeks trip on Santa Cruz in Ancash. Mom was holding her own, actually I was very proud. Considering she was a recent hospital patient 2 days before and presently scaling 10,000ft mountains with little difficulty. Knox was up for the adventure, as long as he didn’t have to sleep by the tent door.
The third day was easily the hardest-75% of the trek was hiking downhill on very slippery terrain. Fortunately we stopped to see a quarry and a burial tomb along the way. In an effort to descend faster, Mom rode one of the horses for a minute but quickly dismounted, exclaiming, “It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life”.
We passed some aqueducts and spotted the train tracks to Machu Picchu in the distance. Ollantaytambo became visible in the valley below. After lunch by the river, we thanked the staff and took off in a van to the town of Ollantaytambo to catch the train. I took my boots off and slipped on my Reefs. Heaven. Our feet were badly blistered and bruised at that point.
If only we had more time, I would have loved to wander those ancient streets. This unique village was bustling with tourists but maintained an inviting, comforting feeling. It occurred to me that one could easily spend 2-4 weeks in the entire sacred valley region, sightseeing between Cusco and Aguas Calientes before even seeing the trophy site-Machu Picchu.
The train was a welcomed change of transport, since walking the past 2.5 days. We desperately needed to shower. Carlos claimed the hotel in Aguas Calientes was casi 5 estrellas- laughing under his breath as any seasoned Peruvian guide would do. Clearly there are no 5 star hotels south of Texas.
So I just laughed when my mom stood naked in the shower, waiting for water. We called the reception (by shouting down the hall-mind you) and they sent “some guy” who accidentally pulled the knobs right off the shower wall-spraying water everywhere. We changed rooms two more times before actually taking hot showers. This town is known as Hot Waters for heavens sake. 5 stars….Riggggght.
Dinner at a Thai restaurant made up for the substandard hotel and a quick dip in the hot thermal baths encouraged a good night’s sleep. That next morning (Wednesday) we’d leave for Machu Picchu early, before the big crowds.
Wake up! Here’s the moment you’ve been waiting for! MP! The surrounding green mountains were a lush green, even during the dry season. Actually the periphery is better described not as mountainous but as towering tropical peaks. The Urubamba Valley is breathtaking. These peaks protected the fortress from intruders. Although our time was limited, Carlos took the five of us to the most popular sites, explaining in detail the current theories behind this mysterious site. We had the chance to wander- And although I would have liked to climb Huayna Picchu (A tall peak across the ruins) for lack of time, we walked to an Incan bridge. It was time to head back to Aguas Calientes and eat lunch before catching the train. I had head about the “chaskys” (sp?) from other PC volunteers who have been to MP but had forgotten until I saw little boys running the switchbacks down the mountain, chasing our bus, screaming their way down. Dressed in traditional Incan gowns, these little messengers recreate the traditional message relaying system for present day tourists. Impressed, with their “skills to pay the bills” I easily gave them a tip when one boy boarded our bus. It was surely more impressive than the musicians on city buses, or the Maca/anti-parasite/vitamin/teethwhitening salesmen on buses to my site.
I hated to leave Cusco, but it was time to head north to La Libertad and pay Trujillo and Carata a visit. From Cusco we flew to Lima. To pass the time between flights we played a rather enjoyable 2 hour long game of world geography. The flight to Trujillo is short- a mere 50 minutes compared to the 9 hour bus ride. For the first time in Peru’s history TIME MENT MONEY. I love traveling with rich gringos-spend a little extra to save time. What a concept. My Peruvian host family would op for a painful 20 hour ride-above a tractor trailer to save a few bucks. Not the Lindsleys.
That next day we toured the city by means of errands-the bank, post office, laundry, etc. In the afternoon we drove out to Salaverry a port town, to visit some fellow Americans. A US navel ship (USS Comfort) was anchored out at sea and two groups of health personnel had been split between two public schools. One in Salaverry and the other in Trujillo. For a full week the floating hospital provided free health care to the public. We caught them on a Thursday, at the end of their week, but managed to get a tour and learn about the program. The ship had been on tour for a number of months through Central/South America. They saw patients for dental/vision problems, cleft lip/palate surgeries and more. I was very impressed with the organization and leadership by our military. We were guided through the large school with a sergeant whom was happy to have Peace Corps volunteers helping with translation. Unfortunately we didn’t get to physically help, nor translate because they were finishing up for the day. However, I enjoyed just watching the Peruvian Army and the US military join forces to offer health services and build classrooms.
That night we visited my host family-the extended family that is. The neighborhood is called La Rinconada and it’s one of the poorer regions of the city but certainly not the poorest. When I come into town from my site, the family makes room for me to stay. I’ve saved a lot of money that way (instead of on hotels, restaurants) but usually there’s no water, nor toilet seats, average food, hard beds, rats, cockroaches, and lots of screaming babies and/or children. In spite of all that, the chaotic atmosphere is exciting and definitely a different environment than home. For example, one morning I awoke early and found the baby, Fernando sitting on the kitchen floor eating a tub of butter. Grinning, he looked up at me and I thought, there’s a breakfast of champions.
Mom was down with the house though, she meet Gladis, Melva, Jhonny, Jesus, Anel, and Fernando. Knox was a great translator between the group and we told them all about Cusco, the hospital and Machu Picchu. It’s sad to think that they may never have the opportunity to go, due to economic strains and this “World Wonder” is in their own country. Than on the way back to our hotel I lost my wallet. It fell off my lap onto the floor of the taxi as we got out. It was one of those forgettable moments of realization in the middle of the street. MY WALLET! NOOOOO!!! I patted my sides down instinctively for the next hour hoping it would suddenly appear, but it was gone. I called our safety and security director, Enrique Navarro, and he talked me through the process of canceling the cards, and filing a police report the next morning. My wallet contained S/.100 (Nuevos Soles) which is roughly $30.00. Only a PCV would make such a fuss over such a small amount of cash.
So instead of heading up to Carata, we went on another unplanned tour of the police headquarters (La comisaria) to file a complaint. While in line I could hear the officer behind his cardboard thin wall, chicken pecking on a typewriter. And I thought, “Wow, This could take a while…” Finally, I walked into his office and immediately noticed the enormous crucifix of Christ on the wall, and to the left of it, an X-rated poster of a topless gringa. What a dichotomy. The entire country has these sharp differences-opposing one another. Que raro.
Saturday morning we left for Carata, but we only reached the town of Poroto, 25km from the city when the radiator on Johnny’s taxi pooped out. We could either wait on the side of the road and hitchhike up to Carata (3 hours away), or turn back so he could get it fixed and than leave in the morning. Driving at night was not an option. Way too dangerous, especially the way he drove. So we turned back and stayed in La Rinconada another night. Slightly depressed, but getting used to disappointment, we decided to see a movie. Usually that’s a foolproof means of entertainment. Although one time the volume went out and the whole theatre began screaming at the film operator. Lucky, we had no such problem.
The hotel in La Rinconada was laughable. You could designate it- Ghetto Hotel #3. Although it’s known as “THE SWEET LIFE” (La Dulce Vida) to locals. I began to think Knox and Mom were beginning to either give up on Peru, or settle right into the insanity. The speeding taxis, begging children, public urination, missing shower curtains and toilet seats, feral dogs, trash piles, endless waiting, contaminated water (when available), gnarly food, rock hard pillows, and destitute poor were just too much for one vacation. The past 24 hours had been hell, a hell that was the nadir to all previous months of preparation.
At last we arrived in Carata, we had missed yesterdays meeting with health promoters, who wanted to meet my fam. It was irrelevant at that point. We could count all of our limbs and that was more important. I sleep like a dead horse that night. I’d bet that Mom enjoyed Carata, we took her up to the Cruz, and to the reservoir, to see the water project. Knox and her dispersed gifts to the family. They even brought some sand dollars (surprisingly intact) from the ocean, and we told them the story of the doves inside. They had never seen such a thing. It was a gift from our family to yours, Knox explained.
In the end Mom finally saw Carata, and spent two nights in my site. The electricity when out the second night, but we didn’t even care, at least we had each other. The morning they flew out of Lima a 7.5 magnitude earthquake hit southern Peru. At that point they were on their way home to Concord, NH. It sure was an unforgettable trip.
Another popular trek near Machu Picchu is called Choquequirao. Those that have been there are saying it could be bigger than MP. An online source states,
"Choquequirao (Golden Cradle) is considered the Sister City of Machu Picchu, because of several similarities, it hangs 1,500 meters above the Apurimac Canyon, and Machupicchu hangs above the Urubamba canyon. It was a religious and administrative center. It is at the same latitude and it is a large citadel with more of 8 hectares, only one third has been uncovered and every day archeologists are finding new things."
I met the two at Aeropuerto Internacional-Jorge Chávez and we stayed overnight in a hotel nearby. Only looks were deceiving. From the website, ¨Hotel Victor¨ appeared impressive, clean and comfortable. Fortunately for us the place was locked into a gated cul-de-sac, because the surrounding neighborhood was a real slum. Imagine dirt streets, condemned buildings, broken down cars on every corner, and garbage burning on the side of the road. It made the Bronx seem like Beverly Hills. Just when Perú defined poverty, the slums of Lima redefined it again.
PC has wanted to place more PCV´s in the outskirts of greater metropolitan Lima, but in almost every case of site development they couldn’t even find suitable homes that met safety standards. Straw mat lean to's just don’t cut it. Some say there is more poverty in Lima than any other region of the country.
The following morning we awoke and went back to the airport to fly to Cusco. A 50 minute flight or a 30 hour bus ride. With those kinds of options who wouldn’t fly? There’s word of a new train from Lima to Cusco, but I think it’s just wishful thinking. Cusco was everything I imagined, excellent food, a clean, colonial atmosphere, and more history to absorb than any other Peruvian city I’ve visited. Everything was going as planned until my Mom came down with a paralyzing pain in the back of her head. She said she could feel it moving from behind her ears, wrapping itself around to the front. When the pain didn’t cease, we got worried and rushed to a hospital.
Surprisingly, we were quickly attended and the bilingual staff made us feel more at ease. The Doc seemed to think it was only stress related, and wanted to admit her just to err on the side of caution. What a frightening experience though, especially for Mom to loose even more of her independence in another country, in a different language with a bizarre health care system. She agreed to stay overnight and physical therapy scheduled three visits. An IV was started to relieve residual pain.
The hospital tour wasn’t part of the itinerary but at least Mom was in the city when this happened. We were scheduled to start an expedition with Q´ente Tours (Q´ente= Hummingbird in Quechua) that Sunday, which meant camping in the sacred valley on the way to Machu Picchu. We wouldn’t recommend the hospital, but rather, the Dutch run Niño’s Hotel. http://www.ninoshotel.com/
Sunday morning began early with a hotel pickup by Q´ente. Carlos introduced himself as our young, humble guide for the next four days. We drove out of Cusco heading west to the town of Izcuchaca than to Huarocondo and finally to Socma. Adobe homes whipped by in the van window, farmers attended to their cattle and the bright warm sun rose above the green mountain tops. Our group was small, just five in total, two babes from Wales, Jennifer and Anna, and the three of us. Our staff on the other hand consisted of 5-6 men, various horses, food and equipment.
That first day we hiked slowly, as Carlos stopped to teach us about culture, history, geography, politics (and everything else under the sun really). As we winded up the switchbacks, we came across a beautiful waterfall. An archaeological site was pointed out to the left, former Incan ruins I suppose. Lunch was served picnic style. We ate and rested and hiked another 20 minutes to the unofficial campsite. (The first choice campsite, farther ahead, didn’t have water) The sun set, and as darkness fell upon us, it got cold! We were at 3,400m. Carlos taught us about the southern hemisphere’s solar system. Fascinating.
Breakfast was served and we took off for the second full day of hiking. We left the village of Perolyniyoc and huffed up to Arrayan sweating. Breaks were necessary. I felt like we had reached the highest elevation at that point. From this pass we were confronted by neighboring snow capped mountains. I had read about Mt. Ausangate and had been thinking about a trek through that part of southern Perú. At 6384m it’s the highest Mt. in southern Peru. Carlos pointed it out as the third peak to the left. As we made our decent I thought about how sacred this region was, and allowed the Incan concept of respecting nature to set in.
What a unique experience, to walk the same route that an ancient civilization had inhabited. This was even more meaningful than last weeks trip on Santa Cruz in Ancash. Mom was holding her own, actually I was very proud. Considering she was a recent hospital patient 2 days before and presently scaling 10,000ft mountains with little difficulty. Knox was up for the adventure, as long as he didn’t have to sleep by the tent door.
The third day was easily the hardest-75% of the trek was hiking downhill on very slippery terrain. Fortunately we stopped to see a quarry and a burial tomb along the way. In an effort to descend faster, Mom rode one of the horses for a minute but quickly dismounted, exclaiming, “It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life”.
We passed some aqueducts and spotted the train tracks to Machu Picchu in the distance. Ollantaytambo became visible in the valley below. After lunch by the river, we thanked the staff and took off in a van to the town of Ollantaytambo to catch the train. I took my boots off and slipped on my Reefs. Heaven. Our feet were badly blistered and bruised at that point.
If only we had more time, I would have loved to wander those ancient streets. This unique village was bustling with tourists but maintained an inviting, comforting feeling. It occurred to me that one could easily spend 2-4 weeks in the entire sacred valley region, sightseeing between Cusco and Aguas Calientes before even seeing the trophy site-Machu Picchu.
The train was a welcomed change of transport, since walking the past 2.5 days. We desperately needed to shower. Carlos claimed the hotel in Aguas Calientes was casi 5 estrellas- laughing under his breath as any seasoned Peruvian guide would do. Clearly there are no 5 star hotels south of Texas.
So I just laughed when my mom stood naked in the shower, waiting for water. We called the reception (by shouting down the hall-mind you) and they sent “some guy” who accidentally pulled the knobs right off the shower wall-spraying water everywhere. We changed rooms two more times before actually taking hot showers. This town is known as Hot Waters for heavens sake. 5 stars….Riggggght.
Dinner at a Thai restaurant made up for the substandard hotel and a quick dip in the hot thermal baths encouraged a good night’s sleep. That next morning (Wednesday) we’d leave for Machu Picchu early, before the big crowds.
Wake up! Here’s the moment you’ve been waiting for! MP! The surrounding green mountains were a lush green, even during the dry season. Actually the periphery is better described not as mountainous but as towering tropical peaks. The Urubamba Valley is breathtaking. These peaks protected the fortress from intruders. Although our time was limited, Carlos took the five of us to the most popular sites, explaining in detail the current theories behind this mysterious site. We had the chance to wander- And although I would have liked to climb Huayna Picchu (A tall peak across the ruins) for lack of time, we walked to an Incan bridge. It was time to head back to Aguas Calientes and eat lunch before catching the train. I had head about the “chaskys” (sp?) from other PC volunteers who have been to MP but had forgotten until I saw little boys running the switchbacks down the mountain, chasing our bus, screaming their way down. Dressed in traditional Incan gowns, these little messengers recreate the traditional message relaying system for present day tourists. Impressed, with their “skills to pay the bills” I easily gave them a tip when one boy boarded our bus. It was surely more impressive than the musicians on city buses, or the Maca/anti-parasite/vitamin/teethwhitening salesmen on buses to my site.
I hated to leave Cusco, but it was time to head north to La Libertad and pay Trujillo and Carata a visit. From Cusco we flew to Lima. To pass the time between flights we played a rather enjoyable 2 hour long game of world geography. The flight to Trujillo is short- a mere 50 minutes compared to the 9 hour bus ride. For the first time in Peru’s history TIME MENT MONEY. I love traveling with rich gringos-spend a little extra to save time. What a concept. My Peruvian host family would op for a painful 20 hour ride-above a tractor trailer to save a few bucks. Not the Lindsleys.
That next day we toured the city by means of errands-the bank, post office, laundry, etc. In the afternoon we drove out to Salaverry a port town, to visit some fellow Americans. A US navel ship (USS Comfort) was anchored out at sea and two groups of health personnel had been split between two public schools. One in Salaverry and the other in Trujillo. For a full week the floating hospital provided free health care to the public. We caught them on a Thursday, at the end of their week, but managed to get a tour and learn about the program. The ship had been on tour for a number of months through Central/South America. They saw patients for dental/vision problems, cleft lip/palate surgeries and more. I was very impressed with the organization and leadership by our military. We were guided through the large school with a sergeant whom was happy to have Peace Corps volunteers helping with translation. Unfortunately we didn’t get to physically help, nor translate because they were finishing up for the day. However, I enjoyed just watching the Peruvian Army and the US military join forces to offer health services and build classrooms.
That night we visited my host family-the extended family that is. The neighborhood is called La Rinconada and it’s one of the poorer regions of the city but certainly not the poorest. When I come into town from my site, the family makes room for me to stay. I’ve saved a lot of money that way (instead of on hotels, restaurants) but usually there’s no water, nor toilet seats, average food, hard beds, rats, cockroaches, and lots of screaming babies and/or children. In spite of all that, the chaotic atmosphere is exciting and definitely a different environment than home. For example, one morning I awoke early and found the baby, Fernando sitting on the kitchen floor eating a tub of butter. Grinning, he looked up at me and I thought, there’s a breakfast of champions.
Mom was down with the house though, she meet Gladis, Melva, Jhonny, Jesus, Anel, and Fernando. Knox was a great translator between the group and we told them all about Cusco, the hospital and Machu Picchu. It’s sad to think that they may never have the opportunity to go, due to economic strains and this “World Wonder” is in their own country. Than on the way back to our hotel I lost my wallet. It fell off my lap onto the floor of the taxi as we got out. It was one of those forgettable moments of realization in the middle of the street. MY WALLET! NOOOOO!!! I patted my sides down instinctively for the next hour hoping it would suddenly appear, but it was gone. I called our safety and security director, Enrique Navarro, and he talked me through the process of canceling the cards, and filing a police report the next morning. My wallet contained S/.100 (Nuevos Soles) which is roughly $30.00. Only a PCV would make such a fuss over such a small amount of cash.
So instead of heading up to Carata, we went on another unplanned tour of the police headquarters (La comisaria) to file a complaint. While in line I could hear the officer behind his cardboard thin wall, chicken pecking on a typewriter. And I thought, “Wow, This could take a while…” Finally, I walked into his office and immediately noticed the enormous crucifix of Christ on the wall, and to the left of it, an X-rated poster of a topless gringa. What a dichotomy. The entire country has these sharp differences-opposing one another. Que raro.
Saturday morning we left for Carata, but we only reached the town of Poroto, 25km from the city when the radiator on Johnny’s taxi pooped out. We could either wait on the side of the road and hitchhike up to Carata (3 hours away), or turn back so he could get it fixed and than leave in the morning. Driving at night was not an option. Way too dangerous, especially the way he drove. So we turned back and stayed in La Rinconada another night. Slightly depressed, but getting used to disappointment, we decided to see a movie. Usually that’s a foolproof means of entertainment. Although one time the volume went out and the whole theatre began screaming at the film operator. Lucky, we had no such problem.
The hotel in La Rinconada was laughable. You could designate it- Ghetto Hotel #3. Although it’s known as “THE SWEET LIFE” (La Dulce Vida) to locals. I began to think Knox and Mom were beginning to either give up on Peru, or settle right into the insanity. The speeding taxis, begging children, public urination, missing shower curtains and toilet seats, feral dogs, trash piles, endless waiting, contaminated water (when available), gnarly food, rock hard pillows, and destitute poor were just too much for one vacation. The past 24 hours had been hell, a hell that was the nadir to all previous months of preparation.
At last we arrived in Carata, we had missed yesterdays meeting with health promoters, who wanted to meet my fam. It was irrelevant at that point. We could count all of our limbs and that was more important. I sleep like a dead horse that night. I’d bet that Mom enjoyed Carata, we took her up to the Cruz, and to the reservoir, to see the water project. Knox and her dispersed gifts to the family. They even brought some sand dollars (surprisingly intact) from the ocean, and we told them the story of the doves inside. They had never seen such a thing. It was a gift from our family to yours, Knox explained.
In the end Mom finally saw Carata, and spent two nights in my site. The electricity when out the second night, but we didn’t even care, at least we had each other. The morning they flew out of Lima a 7.5 magnitude earthquake hit southern Peru. At that point they were on their way home to Concord, NH. It sure was an unforgettable trip.
Another popular trek near Machu Picchu is called Choquequirao. Those that have been there are saying it could be bigger than MP. An online source states,
"Choquequirao (Golden Cradle) is considered the Sister City of Machu Picchu, because of several similarities, it hangs 1,500 meters above the Apurimac Canyon, and Machupicchu hangs above the Urubamba canyon. It was a religious and administrative center. It is at the same latitude and it is a large citadel with more of 8 hectares, only one third has been uncovered and every day archeologists are finding new things."
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