From a deep sleep I
reach out to shut off the ringing alarm clock, and prepare to roll over and
return to the depths and dreams of much needed rejuvenation. Then a word filtered into my thoughts…
DIGIMIN. Instantly awake, I quickly
dress and off to breakfast and much needed coffee.
DIGIMIN is the
Peruvian government passport, visa and immigration office. Today is the day I formally ask the
government to give me permission to sign contracts in Peru.
Having done some
research online through the Peru Expat forum I was ready with the completed
application form, photocopies of my passport and immigration admittance form,
and extra passport photos. I had read
that if you download the forms in advance I would skip at least one line, and
therefore had done so.
I gulp down 3 cups
of coffee, some yogurt and walnuts.
Breakfast complete. Slap on
sunscreen. Grab backpack and insert
water, sunscreen, sunhat, snack, sunglasses and of course the file folder with
documents tucked safely inside. Slip
moneybelt under and handbag/pouch on.
Ready.
A half hours cab ride
and I am deposited in front of a large concrete building teeming with people
scurrying in and about. A short wait in
line to present my passport at the outside security stop. Inside a passing harried official looked at
my papers and in rapid fire Spanish gave me directions. Blank.
I got nothing. So a request to
repeat slowly is issued, and kindly granted.
OK… first down to the bank to pay the fee. Straight, left, right. A.N.D there is the bank line up.
Good thing I have
basically dedicated the day to getting this done, I am thinking…
A good while later I
am directed to a window, where I display my form and pretty much hope the
teller knows what is next. A lot of
people must apply for permission because an
immediate request for 16 soles is made.
Paid. But what about the second
tariff I read I had to pay”, in my
halting, basterdized Spanish I inquire?
He gestures upwards, says third floor, and then come back with
paper. OK. I locate and try to get to the stairs, but am
directed to a large area of chairs and signalled to wait.
I settle in to wait a
while. Unnecessary because in
no time at all up the awaiting folk and I get up to form a line for inspection by a serious looking
woman dressed in government blue. Yes,
No, Yes, Yes, Yes… and I got a nod too.
Third floor I ask? Looking
bothered she waives me upstairs without answering. Getting up the stairs and very away from her,
I pull out the Internet notes, and sure enough they say third floor. Up I go again.
The third floor
offers 2 choices, one of which seems to be the passport application area. Long lines.
Hmm. Choice number two is
through a doorway guarded by not only an official blue lady, but a security
guard as well. I am given a glance and
signalled to sit down to join a growing group of people waiting in
chairs. Sit. Wait.
Watch many people arrive and be waived through to the next area. Am I even in the right line, I wonder? What harm can it do if I actually get up and
ask for her attention long enough to tell me?
Ponder and practice words in Spanish… and up I go. I get as far as “excuse me” as she consents
to look at my form and she immediately waives me on through and tells me “line
six”.
To my delight, line
six is a dedicated line just for Form 004, permiso para firmir contractos. Exactly.
And the line is short. As I wait
I notice the people who are in front of me have the same form, but at the
bottom there is a fingerprint impression.
I look about and am relieved to see a small ink pad on the counter. Phew, maybe I won’t have to start the process
all over. Less than 10 minutes later it
is my turn, and without me having to say a word (thankfully) I am asked to mark
my fingerprint, sign here and told to go over to a back wall to wait. Just as I got settled, I heard my name called
(Leenda Geebso) and return to line six dude… and am promptly handed back my
passport with some kind of official stamp next to my immigration entry stamp. Said dude informed me we are done and points
to the exit door. Confused I ask about
the second tariff I was told I had to pay (bastard Spanish again), but am told
it was “No necesitar”
Bueno.
Follow the exit signs
into the bright sunshine. I look at my
watch and to my astonishment the entire endeavour took about an hour. And here I had booked myself 4 days in Lima for the process,
which is what I was told could happen.
Now what to do with an almost entire extra day?
Off to the Historical
District it is. Hail a taxi, bargain a fare, and off we zoom into the traffic madness. I am still nervous hailing cabs, what with
all the warnings about taxi abductions and robberies, but millions of people do
it daily and although I am a prime gringa target, chances are I will be
safe. Actually ignoring the niggle is
surprising difficult.
Very nice driver
agrees to a drop off at the San Francisco Cathederal, making a recommendation
for a local bar/restaurant around the corner.
Locals love he declares.
This is a return
visit for me, as the city tour I took a few years ago had included a harried
visit. Thought I’d get more out of a
smaller group, so here goes. First up a
much needed pee break, bathrooms basic, not toilet paper provided.
The Cathedral itself
was closed last visit, but this time it is open. I enter slowly and quietly, something I
always do out of respect for the faithful inside attending services or simply praying
at one of the myriad of shrines to Saints, stretching all the way along the
walls down both sides of the cathedral.
And I am glad I do because there is a woman weeping as she prays at the shrine to Saint Jude just inside the doorway. There is also a mass being performed at the front sanctuary area for a faithful few kneeling in the first few pews.
The cathedral holds all of the usual abundance of historical religious regalia, representations and murals. I do notice the lovely adobe domed ceiling, white with terracotta coloured architectural accents. Pretty.
And I am glad I do because there is a woman weeping as she prays at the shrine to Saint Jude just inside the doorway. There is also a mass being performed at the front sanctuary area for a faithful few kneeling in the first few pews.
The cathedral holds all of the usual abundance of historical religious regalia, representations and murals. I do notice the lovely adobe domed ceiling, white with terracotta coloured architectural accents. Pretty.
Time to head to the monestary for a tour and I am told there is an English tour guide. Am set aside to wait. Off goes one Spanish group. Off goes another Spanish group. Another Gringo is set aside to wait. Ten minutes later it is decided that our small group would proceed. Short talk about the San Franciscan order that established the monastery in the 1500s. Up a wide staircase, we pause and the guide gives details of an intricate wood dome, earthquake damage and restorations. Lots of damage and restoration stories to come.
I have discussed this
monastery in detail in a previous post,
but there was plenty to scribble notes about.
In the Choir room
located above the back of the cathederal I am taken with the original pipe
organ and fascinated with the explanation of it’s use. One person in the back working the pedals and
another in front playing. Still works
apparently but is not used now. There are two kinds
of wood used in the seats, carvings of saints, floor and the woodwork in this area, chocolate wood from the Philippines and cedar imported from both Nicaragua and Panama. No expenses spared when building apparently.
The staircases are mostly solid stone, worn deep from hundreds of years of use. In some areas the stairs are wood, with huge timber lintels, and some have white marble to slip on. (or I did)
The library is remarkable. 2500 books holding unimaginable historic detail. Beautiful hand worked bookshelves floor to ceiling, my guess is 30 feet high. A balcony with staircase access has been built all the way around the inside of the room in order to walk around and easily access the books from the upper shelves. Skylights run the length of the room to let in reading light. Oil lights and candles were strictly forbidden lest a chance accident destroy such bounty. The lower shelves hold books dated from the 15th, 16th and 17th century, upstairs are found those from the 18th, 19th and 20th century. My hands itch to get to those books just to touch and read the history.
Most rooms hold
artwork and portraits painted by the European and Peruvian masters. There are preserved traces of the original friezes
that adorned the walls pre-earthquake damage.
Itallian hand painted tiles adorn the walls and floors surrounding the
inner courtyard garden, painted predominantly in the Blue and Yellow of the
Fransiscan Order. I love hand painted
tiles
and these are excellent examples of the craft.
Walking about there
are occasional metal grates in the floor through which I can see the skeletal
remains of church benefactors and their families. Such an honour was reserved for only the most
important, of course. I see that there
are coins dropped in, a la fountain good luck wishes worldwide. Seeing them I hope that the wishes asked for
were important enough to justify desecration such a site.
I glance to the side
at one point and see two people painstakingly doing restoration to a frieze in an
alcove. Mostly camouflaged by heavy
white gauze, the bright light shining inside offered a tantalizing glimpse of
masters at work.
We turn and head down
an outside corridor painted the deep terracotta red I love, and there are pots
filled with geraniums. Lovely.
This leads into two
rooms, the Jesus room (really cool Reuben school portrait whose eyes follow
me), and the Dining Room with its portraits of the 12 tribes (or sons of Jacob)
and a huge depiction of the last supper which was painted in pieces and reassembled in
Peru. English guide lady scurries our group (which
has grown substantially by now) through too quickly for me, so I am annoyed.
On to the Vestment
Room, lined with deep hand carved and detailed drawers used to, well, hold the
vestments. There is a musty smell that
immediately bothers me.
On to the
Catacombs. 25,000 people buried below the
church, and it still feels grizzly to me.
I try to concentrate on the shapes of the ceiling and arches… an old
world design from roman times, incorporated the design of the
catacombs beneath the Cathedral and Monastery as an anti-seismic means to shore them up during an earthquake. But I keep finding myself imagining what it
must have been like, bringing body after body through the low and winding
walkway, past all the already placed decomposing lime covered bodies. Not anything I want to be doing.
Happy to be back into
the relatively fresh monastery air, I ask for and receive permission to wander
back into a couple of rooms to read some info plaques there was no time for
previously. Reminder… no touching and no
photos. OK. I wander a bit, enjoy a leisurely inspection
here and there, notice my tummy rumble and decide to head off to the cabby recommended bar for a
meal.
Beans and rice,
nothing fancy, but the price was right.
Just outside there
were 3 police on guard with their machine guns.
Picture? I ask. A nodded ok and snap!
Lots of police about,
including groups of riot police… all fully armed. Wander around in the hot, hot, equatorial
sun, nipping in here and there for shade.
Feeling more comfortable in the downtown crowd, it is off on a search for a map of the city
and a forgotten camera cord. Lonely planet
has it all wrong (not the first time I might add), but eventually I have success,
given the amount of shoe rubber I burn through.
Time for this
chickadee to head back to Miraflores and the nap that is now screaming my
name.
Napped hard and long…
and next up on my list is to get my flight booked to Tarapoto for
Saturday. Star Peru, Peruvian
Airlines, TACA, LAN… some availability,
but Star Peru, (my usual air choice) is having problems with their
website. They have offices nearby so I decide I will head there in the morning and check them out first.
By this point I am
starved so head out to find a something to eat… Cooked veggie salad works for
me.
A quick stop at the
casino to lose my usual twenty dollars, and I am ready for sleep.
Not a bad day at all.
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