Entre Muerte y Resurreción no Existen los Pecados

Lima never sleeps; the only time life in the city ever really slows is for major Catholic holidays.  The most important of these is Semana Santa (Easter Week).  Students at la Católica don’t have class on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday (yes, as cruel it sounds, Saturday class is kind of a thing here); as such, Semana Santa is one of the most popular times of the year to take a short vacation.  Most limeños with money escape the city for a weekend in the provinces.  According to El Comercio during this year's Semana Santa two million Peruvian tourists generated 630 million soles in revenue.  The beaches in the region of Piuda were the most popular destination; as far as religious tourism goes, Ayacucho took the prize with 20,000 visitors.  The majority of the IFSA students traveled to Iquitos to see “la selva”, but I traveled to Ayacucho with three friends to witness Peru’s premier religious festival: http://elcomercio.pe/actualidad/1558734/noticia-turismo-interno-semana-santa-genero-630-millones.

I departed Lima on Wednesday under a dark cloud; as I was printing my bus ticket, I learned via facebook that a close friend from the ADK had unexpectedly passed away: http://hosting-24618.tributes.com/show/Mark-Sterling-Atchinson-95481091.  Truly a shock, my thoughts are with his family and friends back in the states.  For me, Mark’s death is a poignant reminder of how short life is; now is the time to seize the day.  It also provides strange evidence of the growing capacity of social networking sites.  For good or ill, Facebook is now the easiest way to seek connection across continents and time zones.

The overnight bus ride to Ayacucho was about a nine and a half hour affair; there were buses departing Lima for Huamanga almost every 15 minutes.  Semana Santa in Ayacucho starts on Friday the week before Easter and last for ten days; although, the majority of the tourists arrive on Holy Thursday of Easter Weekend.  All the buses arrived at the terminal at roughly the same time; they were loaded with luggage without an immediately apparent system of organization.  It was a cluster f***, but we only left about an hour late.  Pretty good for Peru.  I tried to sleep, but the winding, Andean road and our driver’s aggressive passing foiled my best attempts.  At 6 o’clock the attendants decided it was time to wake up; they collected our pink blankets (the color scheme of the bus line was Pepto Bismol) while blasting popular Latin music.

We met Rita, la dueña of our informal hostel, at the bus station and took a taxi to her house.  Once there, we met her father (an aging art historian) who offered to take us on a tour of the city.  We broke our fast at a juice bar; we each paid 2 soles for a blender full of fruit and vegetable juice.  On our way to la Plaza de las Armas we witnessed the tension between mestizos and indigenas; a living reminder of Peru's post colonial heritage.  Our host showed us Ayacucho’s principal churches; Huamanga is Peru´s holiest city, home to 33 churches, it seems as if there is “an iglesia en cada esquina”.  We also visited the University of San Cristóbal de Huamanga, the birthplace of “el Sendero Luminoso,” Peru’s terrorism movement of the eighties and nineties.  Thursday night we joined the throngs of religious pilgrims for “la visita a las sieta iglesias”, a walk of the seven principal churches of Huamanga.  On our way home we took in “la Danza de las Tijeras” a brilliant manifestation of the mestizo cultural:

Devan, Miles, Adrienne, and our guide en la Plaza de las Armas

Friday morning we attended the first half of “Sermón de las siete palabras”; once I learned that there were individual sermons for each of the 7 things that Jesus said on the cross my hunger got the better of me.  But hey, I made it to the fourth sermon.  Afterward, the ATM in the plaza ate my American debit card; naturally, the bank wasn’t open and there was absolutely nothing that I could do.  I utilized my gringa charm to befriend a security guard, who promised to help me the following morning, when the bank was open.  I was frustrated, but after realizing there was nothing I could do I resolved to enjoy the rest of the day.  We had lunch on top of Cerro Acuchimay and took in spectacular views of the city.  On the way home we wandered past a monastery and stopped to listen to unearthly chanting.  Throughout the day talented artists covered the streets with beautiful artwork, but that night at 8 the “Procesión del Señor del Santo Sepulcro y la Virgen Dolorosa” turned the drawings to colored smears.  All and all, the parade was terrifying experience; the plaza was filled with people holding candles, an effigy of Jesus in a coffin was floating above the masses, and the continence of la Virgen Dolorosa was downright frightening.  But it was an experience.

Devan, Adrienne, and I at Cerro Acuchimay

Señor del Santo Sepulcro

La Virgen Dolorosa

Street Art

I woke up early on Saturday to get to the bank, but by the time I arrived the line had run the length of the Plaza and doubled back on itself.  Sometimes it plays to be blonde and foreign; my security guard from the previous day got me in with the right people, and after clumsily explaining my situation I was told to wait.  Still not sure how I accomplished it, a run away debit card is a hard thing to navigate in any language, but after being finger printed and waiting about 15 minutes I got my card back.  Just in time to take in “La Pascua Torres”; Peru’s version of the running of the bulls is mostly build up, but it is still a spectacle.  Riders clothed in traditional colonial attire circle the plaza while two bulls are paraded around on leashes; the bloodthirsty crowd, wearing almost exclusively red t-shirts, surges and retreats in response to the path of the charging bulls.  After the crowd has been satisfied the bulls are killed, and everyone stays in the plaza to dance, eat free street food, and drink really bad Peruvian beer. Eager to escape the throngs the four of us walked up to Barrio Santa Ana, the artesian district, to visit weavers in their shops.

Protest about Bull Fighting

Human pyramid

Riders during la Pascua Torres

Adrienne and I in Barrio Santa Ana

The Crowd

On Saturday night, the true festivities start; from a balcony in the plaza we watched the first firework show of the evening.  Down in the Plaza, we made friends with a group of ayacucheños who all attend various universities in Lima, including La Cato.  I stayed up all night with our new friends watching the various firework displays and awaiting the sunrise “Procesión de la Imagen de Cristo Resucitado”.  The 6 o’clock parade did not disappoint; a mass of drunken men marched an enormous wooden pyramid covered in white fabric and candles around the Plaza.  The pyramid listed dangerously, and the crowd stopped at every corner to chant and garner speed for the next pass.  Fireworks were launched every time the pyramid reached a corner.  Flowers rained from the Cathedral roof.  The sunrise and a night without sleep created an atmosphere of hyper reality.

Fireworks all night long

The final procession...

Unreal

We spent all day Sunday in bed recuperating.  That night it started to rain, and when our roof started to leak I knew it was ready to head back to Lima.  The bus station in Ayacucho (capacity 74) was packed with people.  Even though our bus left an hour and half late Adrienne and I almost missed it because of some confusion with out electronic tickets.  We arrived in Lima at 8:45; I took a taxi directly to la Católica and waltzed into class, like a true Peruvian, about 45 minutes late for my 9 o'clock class.

Devan, Adrienne, and I in front of the Cathedral

Semana Santa is Ayacucho was a ride, both exhausting and thrilling.  I am glad I lived it once, but I am not sure if I ever need to experience it again.