Lima and My First Arcabusazo

Lima is not just a stepping stone on the long voyage to Machu Picchu.  For the second time now I have had a ball here, but it has only been possible with the help of two wonderful families.  Knowing people in Lima is immeasurably helpful and you get acquainted with the city in the way in which they interact with it.  However, tourists without Limeñan connections should still factor in at least one full day for getting to know Lima’s historical center. 

Tía Emi and Tío Pedro are family of my great friend Andrew and they agreed to have me in their home again.  The first two days were quite sedentary, but this was the perfect context for learning Spanish and getting to know the typical Peruvian dishes.  I will not give you a full rundown of Peruvian cuisine but I will single out a couple highlights besides ceviche.  Salsa a la huancaína is my favorite flavor so far.  The salsa is very rich and includes yellow ají chili peppers, milk, queso tierno (young), ground peanuts, and huacatay leaf.  It is typically eaten on a cold salad of boiled potatoes, lettuce, and egg quarters.  Despite convention, Tía Emi and Tío Pedro allowed me to put it on various other dishes because it delighted me so much.  The Andean equivalent of the shish kebob is anticucho.  The beef, chicken, and/or vegetables are skewered and then grilled.  My favorite is anticucho de corazon: the surprisingly light beef heart.  For desert we have picarones in honey.  They are the Peruvian equivalent of doughnuts and beignet.  Doughnut in shape, beignet in taste.

One day Tío Pedro and I ambled about four miles together around the Centro Histórico of Lima.  We had a blast visiting the many plazas.  In the Plaza de Armas (the main square) we entered La Basílica Catedral de Lima.  I have repeatedly found that cathedral ceilings "me emocionan / me drogan" (they emotionize and drug me). Equally astounding as the ceiling was the cellar.  Below the floor are catacombs that link to some of the other churches nearby.  Never have I seen so many skulls and femurs.  Also in the Catedral we found Pizarro's remains.  I was not previously apprised of the fact that he was assassinated, but the plaque on the wall told me and the sword gashes in his cranium and vertebrae convinced me.  Near to the Plaza de Armas is the Parque de la Muralla (Park of the Wall).  There lie the vestiges of the old colonial wall that the Spanish built to keep out those naughty trade pirates.  The wall now serves as a lovely strolling place for young couples.

The next day I was booked to go on a bus tour of the city leaving from the Marriot hotel.  The bus never appeared.  There is only one Marriot and I was in the appointed place before, during, and after the agreed upon meeting hour.  Many calls from a payphone ensued. The long and the short of it is that I had extremely good fortune.  That fumble opened up the morning for me to amble about Miraflores, the posh part of town, just as the sun made its first appearance in days.  The view from Miraflores of the Pacific is visually and sensually striking.  You are on the edge of a 200 meter precipice profiting from the high-angle view while the Pacific blast rushes up at you.

The elusive bus came back around in the afternoon and I hopped aboard.  We started with the Huaca Pucllana ruins of the original Limeñan people.  These are completely different from Incan architecture.  These structures were of vertical adobe bricks.  It is o.k. to build with adobe in Lima because rain is scarce.  We then proceeded to the Museo del Banco Central which offered a great understanding of the coastal indigenous peoples of Peru.  The Nazca clothing of feathers interested me most.  Wouldn’t you like a tunic of iridescent plumage?

Our tour bus was split into Spanish and English groups and I went with the Spanish one for the challenge.  I would say I caught 87% of what our guide Rosana told us.  Our group stop in the Plaza de Armas only allowed ten minutes for walking the square.  It is therefore very fortunate that I pushed to enter the Cathedral the day before.  That meant that I could pause and absorb the square’s atmosphere during those few minutes of freedom.  The adjacent Palacio del Gobierno is very extravagant and very armed.  A policeman accosted me when I put my camera lens through the bars.  “Keep camera out and we no have problems,” he declared.

Last on the tour was the Convento de San Francisco.  Besides its beautiful cloister, glazed tiles, and musty catacombs, the Convento features many colonial paintings and murals.  It was there that I saw my first “arcabusazo.”  The arcabusazo, or arquebus, is one of the earliest muzzle-loaded firearms.  Truthfully, I did not see the actual weapon but rather a painting of an "ángel arcabusazo" wearing Spanish garb and holding the inaccurate blunderbuss.

The same elusive bus left me at the same singular Marriot to do a systematic selection of cab and cab-driver for the long ride home to San Miguel.  With my Mother’s anecdote about cab selection in mind and a somewhat level head, I made it home.  Luis the cab driver laughed when I thanked him for the ride and not robbing me.

Now I am staying in my friend Fierro’s house with his mother and brother.  Again, I only know Fierro thanks to Andrew!  Fierro is the youngest of four siblings.  Yesterday we had a family feast composed of his mother, all four siblings, two spouses (spice?), and one child.  As such, another warm family takes an eager gringo in off the street.

The SIT Indigenous Peoples and Globalization program (and health liability etc.) begins tomorrow in the Cuzco airport at 11:00 AM.  Assuming all goes well with the joys of taxis, airports, and documentation, I will land in Cuzco tomorrow at 10:10 AM.  To my peace of mind, however, LAN Airlines proved itself a smooth operation last year when I made a series of flights within Peru.  The plan is to proceed from the airport down to the Urubamba (the Sacred Valley) for a couple days for program orientation and my second venture to Machu Picchu!  The accelerating anticipation tastes like Christmas Eve.

First Stop: Nine Days in Costa Rica

To capture this trip in its entirety, I will go back in my diary and transcribe it from the beginning.  For starters let me thank my dearest Mother for helping me with everything from host-family gifts to anti-malarial medications and the almost impenetrable paperwork needed to study abroad.  Ma, you have made this pilgrimage possible, smooth, and enjoyable.

On August 12^th my whole family packed me off well before sunrise on a plane to El Salvador.  There I caught my connection to San Jose, Costa Rica where our family-friend Javier Yglesias was waiting to pick me up.  Javier lives on a farm (la finca) in a small town named Turrucares thirty minutes outside of San Jose.  The surrounding green mountains and the view all the way down to the Pacific allow space for clear thought in Turrucares.

Javier took me and his five-year-old Mateo to a private wildlife park during my first few days.  The park is situated between coffee and strawberry plantations on the shoulder of the Poas volcano.  We marveled at the spectacular collection of rainforest fauna: huge hummingbirds, vibrant macaws, butterflies, snakes, monkeys, ocelots, and jaguar.  Equally impressive were the three waterfalls (cataratas) ranging from 85 to 130 feet.  With that experience and my own jungle to explore on Javier’s property, I did not feel the need for the typical Costa Rican canopy tour.

The next three days were very different.  I went to live in the center of San Jose with Javier’s brother Joaquin and Joaquin’s wife Valeza.  Joaquin took me to the Metropolitan Cathedral, the National Museum to get a taste of pre-Colombian history, and the National Theater for a concert of Latin American renaissance music.  Absent from that description is the extreme poverty that exists in San Jose.  As in many other urban centers, San Jose has some rough territory.  Two of the most classic Costa Rican slang phrases I picked up there are “mae” and “pura vida.”  “Mae” is used at any point in a sentence to mean “dude” or “man.”  “Pura vida” is a flexible phrase used as a general greeting as well as a show of thanks, agreement, or enjoyment.

Soon I was acquainted with “plátanos maduros.”  These plantains are matured to sweetness and sliced down the middle to form a boat for the deposition of good things such as sugar, butter, milk, and cheese.  After a couple minutes in the oven to melt the goodness, you throw on natilla: a sweet cream typical of Costa Rican cooking.  The plátano maduro by Javier’s mother Doña Orietta definitely stole my heart.

“Back at the ranch,” Javier and I took a ride on horseback through his expansive property.  The mud, insects, and constant downpour (aguacero) made the ride through the rainforest all the more real.  We also did a little round-up action of young horses and he took me up to a bluff from which we could see the Pacific through the mist.  By that time we were more than ready for an Imperial, a popular beer of CR.

My last days were spent enjoying Javier’s family as much as possible.  I met his brother Juan’s children and Doña Orietta made us a feast of real Italian pizza and lemon pie.  My last morning there broke beautifully when we woke up to make the airport run.  Doña Orietta figured that a plátano maduro would be the right thing to fortify me against the winding lines and proud officialdom of the airport.  Thus, I was sent off by the loving family.  Pura vida Costa Rica!