Lima... an afternoon at the park

 Who remembers the scene at the end of “Notting Hill”  where Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant are sitting on a bench in a gated park surrounded by an idyllic tableau of playing children and strolling adults? 

Well the “Parc d’amour” on the bluffs in downtown Miraflores is hardly a private park, but the ambiance was there in spades. 

My afternoon stroll meandered towards the pacific sunset on a warm Monday afternoon.  Traffic was light enough not to be obnoxious, the breeze came off the water bringing clean salty air and the Para-gliders were doing a brisk trade with their sails billowing and giddy passengers whooping and squealing.  I sat mesmerized at the efficiency of their operation… self-directed airport traffic control at its’ best. 

I was 80% certain that floating about above the city would be my last days experience, but the line up was easily an hour long and after wandering the Indian Markets the better part of the day my feet were on fire and I didn’t have that much standing left in me (honestly!).  So I contented myself watching the varied human units be harnessed to the front of burley macho-type men and then literally get run off the cliff.  A snap of fabric and down they would briefly and gently sail, to the point when the updraft would catch their eyebrow shaped, parachute lite, string controlled kites.   Around they would float for the allotted 10 minutes, and then in they would swoop for gentle touchdowns guided by birdlike downward motions made by pilots with whipcord-like muscled arms. 

This small cordoned off area was “owned” by these daredevils.

As I waited for the pink of sunset the Hollywood perfect park setting unfolded all around me.  Palm tree dotted lawn laid between the winding bluff sidewalk and the busy street provided ample space for everyday life on display.  Kids playing tag.  Yoga masters contorting and showing the kind of strength and balance I can only envy.  Ropes strung between tree trunks with future tight-walkers practicing their craft.  The irrepressible little yorkie trying desperately to keep up with an Italian Greyhound type speed demon playing retrieve the Frisbee.  Parents pushing strollers, young lovers snuggling, teenage girls trying to get the perfect group fun photo.  A touching scene with an elderly woman in a wheel chair, an ice cream treat tenderly provided. A lone man doing a whole lot of push-ups.  Joggers.  Skateboarding teenage boys.  Mom, Dad and 2 little units bike riding across the lawn.  All kinds of purebred canines being paraded around… including one bulldog wearing a hot pink Andean themed hat. 

What a lovely night.

Finished it off with dinner at what seems to be “The” patio place to eat. 

Before I knew it the time had come to head back to the hostal to pack up the goodies I acquired during my “pass the time” dawdle through the markets.  

Hours worth of dawdle.  A noon checkout at my favourite little hostal allowed me a leisurely morning, but left me with 9 hours to fill before my scheduled cab ride to the airport.  Leaving my luggage at the front desk, and with no particular items on a shopping list I headed off spend the afternoon bartering and bantering.  Colourful typical handicrafts were on sale next to schmaltzy souvenirs and knitted wear of all qualities.  The venders are hawkish, always inviting and cajoling tourists to engage enough to wheedle them out of their dollars.   I spent every bit of cash I had and called it quits only then.

 

And that is it.  Another trip over.  Re-entry culture shock here I come.

Tarapoto... enjoying a perfect evening

I am sitting in a lovely restaurant, enjoying a light evening breeze and listening to Hey Jude being played on an Andean Pipe mixed tape… it is a perfect night. 

And it follows a spectacular afternoon.  No great adventure, but time spent with a friend looking at homes and property in the small town of Lamas just outside of Tarapoto.  There is raw land for sale for the equivalent of $120.00 per hectare.   Homes for sale on a couple of hectares for about $80,000.  Which do you think I am more interested in? 

One home I saw would have been perfect… and thus a perfect example of the kind of dwelling to copy.  Tropical mosquito screen walls, beautiful wood beams, incredible bathroom… Bet I can do that too but with way less money.  A jungle retreat for when I get tired of the Chachapoyan rains.  Four wheel drive necessary. 

I am a nutbar, obviously.

We drove back towards town stopping to pick up local farmers leaving their fields for the day and carrying heavy bags of bounty.  There were a couple of women in colourful hot pink and orange native dress carrying loads down their backs slung traditionally from their heads, thus leaving their hands free.  Into the back of the pickup they all went until there was no more room, and every now and then someone would bang the top of the cab to indicate it was drop off time.

After our last guest had hopped down we made a beeline for coffee at a café run by a local collective and it was delicious.  Bought as much coffee as I think my suitcase can accommodate.  As my suitcase is already bulging at the seams it is becoming obvious that I will be buying a larger bag in Lima… I love to shop at the Indian Market there!  Shawls, belts, sweaters, baskets, trinkets and jewellery.   If the god of air travel are kind I should have a whole day to devote to this passion.  J

I think I would have done well as a travelling gypsy.   Wherever I park my butt becomes  home.  So I wonder, why move on?  Why return?  On a tip from a fellow traveller I read a book called The Alchemist about a traveller setting out to seek a fortune, the lessons learned, and following the path that life and situation dictate.  Not a great description, not a big book, but it stressed the importance of moving forward not back. 

So why do I return?  Ask me again when I am back in Courtenay and I will probably then ask why do I want to leave…  I have been roaming since I was a teenager, and 35 years later I still don’t seem able to settle down. 

… back in my hammock after a lovely salad of palm hearts and avocado, washed down with a lovely tropical juice called Cocana.  Mmm, Mmmm Good.

I have done my online check in for my flight tomorrow afternoon which will leave me the better part of the day to occupy myself.  Maybe a boulder-hop up river? 

Oh ick, there is something crawling up my leg… 

Now it is a squished something.

There is some REALLY BAD karaoke going on at the bar across the street.  Last night the music was loud and played late into the night, not to mention Mr. Action Film watching TV at a stupid volume until the wee hours.  Oh the joys.

But how I wish I could gather you all up and bring you here… everyone should have the opportunity to sit or swing in this idyllic setting (karaoke excepted).  The air is perfect, warm enough to appreciate the gentle cool breeze that drifts by.  Gently rocking back and forth I look up and see the intricacies of the woven grass roof, down to my favourite deep red terracotta tile floor and out to the tropical gardens backlit by the warm-white glow coming from the occupied rooms.  That I could pack this up and bring it home to my backyard. 

I am going to just sit here and rock back and forth for a while… giving the mosquitoes their quota of blood while I do.  After all it is the jungle.  Tonight I intend to enjoy it enough for everyone.

Tarapoto... Sweater unexpectedly required

 I may just have to wear a sweater to bed tonight.

But I digress…

Ash Wednesday is celebrated in town with a Mass, followed by the procession around town of a glass coffin with a figure of martyred Jesus on display within.  Accompanied by music it makes its rounds atop the shoulders of the chosen faithful, and is followed by a group of worshipers as it winds up and down the streets before returning to the Cathedral.  Harkens back to a New Orleans funeral procession.

I was moseying around the Hostal in the afternoon when Eduardos’ cousin dropped bye to pick up Eduardo and survey the land he has for sale.  An invitation for a half hour of entertainment was issued, which I accepted, and into his truck I did hop.  Hello and introductions to the other occupants of the truck and we were off on what turned out to be 3 hours of wandering.  Land, developments, Eduardos’ house (yay!) and the hillside holdings of the founder of the Santa Theresa neighbourhood.  We were invited in to view the construction of her new home… a lovely big affair built around a massive inner courtyard. 

I of course had arranged to meet Lallie and Cliff for dinner at 6 pm, so the 30 minutes turning into 3 hours had me searching for a way to politely ask to be returned to town.  This is tricky, because there is an etiquette to these situations and it does not entail pressuring a host even if a deadline has been missed.  

Luckily someone else mentioned it and I made it back with 5 minutes to spare.

Yesterday I put some eggs on to boil for breakfast and went back to my room my while they cooked.  When I returned to get them they were gone, and just as I discovered this Eduardo came running in with fresh eggs and profuse apologies.  He was soooo concerned I would be angry that he had eaten my breakfast.  He ran all the way to the market and back, which was sweet and silly at the same time. 

The square was busy… a combination of Valentines day, friendship day and a nod to the One Billion and rising to end violence against women.  Music, kids sports, dancing… until the power went out across the city and put an end to the celebrating. 

Sent clothes out to the laundry early.  (then hoped the power would come back on so I would get it back before leaving).  Packed some things to store with Carlos and Janet until next year.  Started my goodbyes.

Donna sat down to make me a lovely knitted hat as a goodbye present.  She is a very talented knitter and I watched as she drew a design on paper and whipped out her knitting needles and wool.  We chatted while she clicked away.  I excused myself to finish packing and have dinner. 

There were a couple of young ratty looking Gringos blocking traffic as they juggled in the street for change… like squeegee kids in Toronto.  Dirty hair and clothes… such a lovely representation of our kind, no?  A small, mean minded voice in my head was hoping someone would plough them down.  Just call your family for money to get back home and get a real job. 

Upon my return to the Hostal Donna had an almost completed hat in her hands.

I admit to being overtired and found myself impatient while waiting as she finished.  Not as in “hurry up already” but more of a “give your head a shake” admonishment to myself.  Both Sandra and Jose popped in and out of the Hostal and young folk mingled around with questions.  It was almost 10 pm when I wore my lovely hat home after many goodbyes.  I think Sandra and I said goodbye about 10 times throughout the day!  I will miss them.

This morning I was up before my alarm rang and it took less than 10 minutes to be packed and ready.  Janet and I grabbed a cab to drop my bag at the terminal, then we met Eduardo and Maribelle for breakfast… Carlos gallantly offered to stay behind and tend to the guests. 

A meander back to the main square, goodbye to Carlos et al. and I am Tarapoto bound. 

Just like that my time in Chachapoyas is done. 

All squeezed into the people moving sardine unit heads out of town, passing by my land and giving me a last mental image to store.  Seeing it from farther away really puts the slopes in perspective and will be helpful with the next planning stage.

Down, down, down to the river.  It didn’t take me too long to realise that the wonderful cup of coffee I had at breakfast had worked it diuretic magic and I became uncomfortably aware that I had to pee. 

Perfect.

A quiet plea in mangled spanish had the driver making an unplanned stop for me to nip into the market in Pedro Ruiz for relief.  

As usual our switchback ascent into the high Sierra Alto Maya mountain range started just outside Pedro Ruiz.  As did the barfing in the back.  I actually had some queezies going on myself, so it was a Gravol day.  Reserving a seat next to an opened window proved helpful until short sleeved Mr Wonderful next to me asked me to close it because he was cold.  I mean REALLY??  I am a gringa and yet even I know it gets cold high in the mountains… which is why I wore a SWEATER! 

Whatever.   We played open window / closed window for a couple of hours. 

Lunch stop (for those that were eating… ie. not me) was at a high pass, pretty mountain outlook.  But man was it chilly.  As I sat waiting I made the acquaintance of a young woman from Ontario and the 20 minutes passed pleasantly.

Not long after we started out long, long descent downward.  It takes hours of switchbacks and braking.  It is at this point that our driver turned nutzoid… maintaining a speed at double the limit and passing on curves.  Blew through the armed security checkpoints too.  Entreaties were made to higher powers.

It got worse when we got to straight, flat roads.  What a maniac.  Seems he figures that leaning on the horn should make oncoming traffic yield as if by magic. 

Made it though, thankfully.  The sun peaked through the overcast sky just as we got to the finish line.  Short ride to the hostal, meander to the market for water, tasty meal and I am soon to bed.  Friday night music blasts, but I have no doubt I will sleep.  I am exhausted. 

And cold.  There is no swelter for me tonight as some uncommon weather pattern has taken hold and there is a decided nip in the air.  They don’t put blankets on the beds in the tropics… and so, as mentioned, I may just have to wear a sweater to bed tonight.

Tomorrow… Lamas and the worlds’ best coffee!

A trail not taken

6 days and counting… that is all the time between me and Vancouver.  Hard to believe.

The sun has been kind for five days now, and I have been able to wander, enjoy and basically soak up all the reasons I love this place.

There has been music in the main square the past couple of days, and today kids are parading through the streets behind school banners, waiving balloons, playing drums,  blowing whistles and playing with water.  Very colourful. 

Life has been full of meal invites and laughter. 

New friends Lally and Cliff (from the States) and I have been getting acquainted, and ventured out on a rather ill-fated self tour a coulple of days ago.  I had wanted to re-walk the trail from a neighbouring town high above chachapoyas, and when I mentioned it Lallie and Cliff enthusiastically agreed to join me.

Linda.  Tour Guide.  Something missing other than knowledge? 

We took a cab on the curvy, dusty, 20 km. dirt road up to Levanto, and spent a few moments wandering around their pretty main square.  The loony lady that I found caretaking the gardens on my past visit was not in evidence and the gardens had a neglected look to them.  Beautiful blooming flowers in an overgrown setting.

On to the trail.  My instructions had been to ask any local and they would show us the trailhead, and once there just follow it.   I remembered last time that it was easy to follow, with no intersections of note to confuse things.  What I didn’t remember was a set of freshly constructed stairs leading up, up, up.  At the top left or right?  Left said the gentleman tending his garden.  Up the road to the next intersection, where a group of men were playing music and drinking cane juice.  Offers of liquid refreshment politely refused and we were directed up a nearby set of stairs, these looking old and well worn.  Again with the up, up, up… I remarked repeatedly that this was not at all what I remembered.  (OK, so I whined).

But the directions had been clear and we soldiered on, avoiding mud where necessary and stopping to catch our breaths and drink water.  Levanto itself is several hundred metres higher than Chachapoyas, and very soon we were looking way down on Levantos’ main square.  It did not compute for me, because I remember walking DOWN from the town.  HMMM.

We came to a part of the trail where a choice had to be made, left and up or right and down.  HMMM.  Along comes older gentleman who, when asked, pointed down for the trail to Chachapoyas.  Didn’t feel right because we were on the wrong side of the mountain, but we deferred to his knowledge. 

Wrong.

We ended up following what became a mud hole ridden cow path, and several rights later ended back at the road that had taken us into Levanto.  A 30 minute walk would have had us right back where we started. 

None of us being in the mood to retrace our steps up the muck ridden cow path, nor wanting to trek back to the start point, we settled down for a rest at the side of the road and waited for a passing car / taxi that could take us on the 20km road back to Chachapoyas… the thought of walking back was simply too much to contemplate. 

Every few minutes a motorcycle would whiz by, drivers looking at us curiously.  A pickup went past on it’s way into Levanto, which we hailed down and asked if they were going to be heading back… no they were continuing on to a remote town past Levanto.   A large truck stopped, but finally I understood their explanation that they were not going directly and could not take us.  Finally a taxi came barrelling bye, and we stood in the middle of the road to stop it.  The driver didn’t want to go to Chachapoyas because this late in the day he would not get a return fare. 

“How much?”  I asked.  Hesitation.  “How much?” I asked again.  The driver names a ridiculous sum.   “Complete?”  I ask… “Nada Mas?”.  He agrees and we gladly pay the highway robbery price.  Back in town we profusely thank the driver for his willingness to bring us down… Our Hero.  (price tag notwithstanding)

Back in town I told Carlos we got lost and he then informed me that the trail we took was a totally different one that I had previously, up, up, up was correct… the right hand turn is what apparently got us.  So much for asking a local.

I finally got over to my land to take a good look at my fence.  Manuel did a good job, and the land is now cleared and planted.  It is good to know it will be cared for.

The hot afternoon sunshine is calling me out… so that’s it for now.  Shout out to a Stacey… a friend that is having a hard time right now.  Hang in there!

This and that...

So I have been laying low and writing for the past few days.  The sun has been shining here and there, but we are in the thick of the rainy season now and there is daily rain as well.

We gringos are such an oddity in Chachapoyas.  To get here you must be determined and be willing to put up with a whole lot of inconvenience.  The most willing to put up with this seem to be the young, bohemian backpacker type.  This is greatly evident at Jose and Donnas new hostal which is teeming with grand travelers of the super low budget type.  Not that being part of that dynamic is a bad thing, but heavens they need some regular clothes and less scruffy appearances. 

Usually wearing a wildly diverging variety of clothing picked up from markets all over their travels, it leaves me wondering what they have done with the Jeans and t-shirts they no doubt started out with.  Multicoloured woven tunics, bolero pants, hiking boots, scarves… no wonder people stare at us.  My cargo pants, shirts and fuzzies blend in a bit more… but only marginally. 

And the things they talk about having done are escapades that maybe I would have attempted when I was young and naïve, but hearing a young blonde female thing talk about travelling the Darian Gap by herself?  Muling drugs for travel money like I heard a young gentleman promote?  Not likely.

Even as I type this at a local café’ there is a gringo at the next table drinking vodka with his coffee at 10 am while he skypes his mother about his lawyer keeping him out of jail and all the dangers he faces.  I bet his mom just loves those phone calls. 

My hostal hosts many more travelling Peruvians.  I can get my fill of backpackers by visiting Donna.

I must relate an incident at lunch the other day.  I was sitting waiting for my meal, making notes and observations, letting my mind wander and imagination roam.  I was interrupted when a group of Peruvian businessmen sat down at the table next to me.  This was a noteworthy sight because men in suits are in a minority here even more than Gringos. 

There they sat, middle aged and portly wearing identical looking black suits, starched white shirts and ties, cufflinks and gold watches their choice of bling.  This appearance was reinforced as they all took out their reading glasses to peruse the menu, and after placing their orders they proceeded to conduct their conversation sitting in mirror like postures.  Seated forward, hands folded neatly on the table in front of them they held discussions formally without pointing or gesturing at all.  Lunch was consumed, wallets out for payment, handshakes and goodbye.  Words coming to mind?  Sombre.  Stodgy.  Stuffy.  Humourless. 

But that comes from my laughter loving gringa self.  Sure was different from my everyday observations here. 

I keep thinking I’ll wander over to the land now that Manuel has it cleared, but am reluctant to fight my way through the mud.  Up and down the stairs is good enough for now. 

Found myself in the doctors office a couple of days ago and was given another glimpse into the medical minefield here.  I have been bothered for the past few weeks by persistent pain in my right calf.  When instead of easing it seemed to be spreading up into my thigh I thought it time to make sure I had not acquired a blood clot or anything nasty like that.

At 8pm I showed up for my appointment, was pointed upstairs to a set of chairs in a hallway outside a door with a small brass plaque affixed to the front.  A few minutes later up the stairs came the doctor, casually dressed and looking well fed.  He entered his office and a few moments later, hair combed and white coated he ushered me in. 

In true Chachapoyan manner and formal speaking respect Janet explained my situation.  There were pointed questions asked and up on the (less than hygienic) table I planted myself for his examination.  After testing for tenderness and looking for whatever telltale signs might have indicated a problem, he seemed far more interested in my slightly swollen ankles than anything else.  Took my blood pressure with a snazzy little wristlet type unit, asked me about ringing ears, flashing lights and headaches. 

How do you explain that ringing ears have been present for 10 years without sounding looney?   When asked about other pain how do you explain about 14 years worth of it without him wondering what the big deal is over calf pain? 

So no, no, no and no.  Because I really want an answer.  Diabetes? No.  High cholesterol? No.  His diagnosis?  He says my blood pressure is high and needs meds immediately.  “Could it be the altitude”?  No.   “What about the calf”?  No sign of trouble.   Forty Soles please. 

He writes out a prescription and I show him my meds list for interactions.  It is reassuring that he recognizes them and has some idea what they are for, secondary uses notwithstanding.  Off to the pharmacy where I buy the anti-inflammatories but opt out of the blood pressure meds until I research them.  Another thank you to Janet, and I am computer bound.

Thank you internet because everything he prescribed me interacts negatively with what I am already taking.  And the blood pressure thing?  Well the consensus is that it takes approximately 11.4 days for every 1000 meters above sea level to fully acclimatize, and I am at 2500 meters.  One of the hallmarks of altitude sickness?  High blood pressure. 

So I am still wandering around with a sore leg, none the wiser unfortunately. 

Back to writing…

Sunday morning catch-up

On this pleasant Sunday morning the power is once again off in town, and the scuttlebutt has it that it will be late afternoon before we see it again.  This means a morning without coffee, sigh. 

The generators have been brought out in order to have the flag raising ceremony as usual, so music is blaring and microphones are working.  Extra loud this morning too it seems.

I wandered over to my property yesterday and took a couple of pictures of the new fence and by default Manuels’ family working on the almost cleared land.  They are fast workers to be sure.

My fence:  and the view beyond...

The sun has favoured us here for the past several days, and I have been meandering around simply enjoying being here.  No huge long hikes, just the couple of kms between here and the property, with a couple of trips up and down the mass of stairs up the road thrown in for exercise. 

Janet invited me along on a visit with the owner of a local eatery to discuss adding breakfast or dinner options to their tours.  Not a bad idea when most tours start long before the restaurants open.  I have been asking around about the myriad sights to see that are not on the main tourist hit list, with the thought of putting together an “extended” Chachapoyas tour for those who want to go that bit further.  Just an idea.

My vocabulary of “understood” Spanish is noticeably improving, but I am still sputtering and stuttering when I try and speak.  Frustrating.

Another round at the market, and there is but half a pigs head left on the counter…  There will definitely have to be some market tutoring when it comes to things like cheese, chicken and beef.  A) not my strong suit to start with and B) there are just too many choices and vocabulary specifics involved.  The cheese I bought a few days ago is very salty goat cheese, better for cooking, so I passed it along.  One day when Janet is headed that way I will tag along and play silly gringa again.  I did manage to find the small store that sells fresh unsweetened yogurt… the stuff you buy in the supermarkets here is sickenly sweet.

Spent an evening helping Jose and Donna put beds together in the new hostal.  I was irritated when one of the young tourists looked into the room and asked me in English “why are YOU helping them?”  to which I replied “Well, why shouldn’t I?  This is what people do… help each other”.  Young snot.  Wanted to cuff him up the ear and tell him to join in. 

Next day I took my boots to the curb to give them a good knock together to shake some of the caked dry mud off the bottoms, bent over, started banging them together and promptly put my back out.  Ouch.  Two days of baby steps, bed rest and Tylenol 3.  Managed to shuffle slowly around the square but stairs and treks were a non-starter.

On one such shuffle it dawned on me that there is a serious baby boom happening here in town.  Strollers and strapped-on kids everywhere.  I managed to get my hands on a wee newborn to coo over for a few moments while anxious papa looked on.  At baby stage they just think I am another adoring fan.

Add a couple of years and I become something akin to a circus clown… craning necks and wide eyes.  It is really kind of an odd power to have.  Their first glances become stares, then comes the double and triple takes.  It is at this point I usually wink or make a face, which must reassure them because they usually smile and the peek a boo game begins.  Sometimes to the ire of their mothers… like when they are walking up a sidewalk in front of me and said small unit keeps slowing progress by turning around to engage with me.  Fun most of the time.

The bank card I have been using since I got here will still  not work in the banks’ machine.   I had this problem last year at this bank.  Stupid.  Was working, now it doesn’t.  I know it is not the card because it is working at a different institution, which charges double the fees for half the cash.  GRRR. 

The hostal is full right now, albeit with Peruvian families that are here caring for relatives who have had surgery.  I got the lowdown on the Peruvian medical system, and it is not so rosy.  Apparently here there are doctors and hospitals, but they carry no supplies whatsoever?  If you need help someone needs to go to the pharmacy and buy… bandages, needles, medicine, sutures… everything.  What if there is no one to get supplies?  Apparently it is the patients problem? 

There are two people here who have had surgery, and their families and the doctor are all staying here.  Surgeons must come from Chiclayo… 10 hours away.  First you go there for a consult, then when there are enough patients the surgeon comes here, does the surgery, stays for a couple of days to make sure you survive, and then goes home. 

Better not get sick, huh?...  And better always have emergency money hanging around.

Still, this town is booming and a lot of expats are wanting to call it home.  I spent a pleasant couple of hours with an American woman who is trying to decide between Chachapoyas and another town in Equador.  Lots of talk about politics, the environment and gun control.  Not the kind of conversation I am able to have with the locals here yet.

After a breakfast of apples and yoghurt, with an energy bar in to quell some queasies, I think I will take advantage of the nice weather and tackle another round of stairs to get some exercise.  Today I am feeling a bit on the bored side, so will see if I can find something to do…