Con Mimi en Paracas

“Era hermoso Paracas; tenía desierto, de oasis, de balneario; arena, palmeras, flores, veredas y caminos por donde chicas que yo no me atrevía a mirar, pocas ya, las últimas, las más atrasadas, se iban perezosas a dormir esa siesta de quien ya se acostumbró al hotel de lujo.  Tímidos y curiosos, mi padre y yo entramos al comedor.”

-Alfredo Bryce Echenique “Con Jimmy en Paracas” Cuentos Completos

“Water, water, water....There is no shortage of water in the desert but exactly the right amount , a perfect ratio of water to rock, water to sand, insuring that wide free open, generous spacing among plants and animals, homes and towns and cities, which makes the arid West so different from any other part of the nation. There is no lack of water here unless you try to establish a city where no city should be.”

-Edward Abbey Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness

Spending time with my grandmother is an experience.  This past weekends adventure to Paracas, Huachachina, and Nasca (three destinations in the province of Ica) was no exception.  We left our hotel at approximately balls o’clock Friday morning (4:30 am) and traveled south along the Pan-American Highway, which according to the Guinness Book of World Records happens to be the world’s longest motorable road.

Our journey began in Paracas.  Now a major international tourist destination, Paracas was once the weekend retreat of the limeño elite.  In one of my classes we read a short story by Alfredo Bryce Echenique entitled, “Con Jimmy en Paracas”; the story unfolds in Hotel Paracas, a luxury resort, and deals with class and race relations.  Naturally, I was curious about the Hotel Paracas, and mentioned to our guide that I would like to see the place (yes we had a guide, when you travel with grandma you travel in style, at least relatively speaking).  I was picturing a quick stop by the front gate, but Oscar had something else in mind.  He told me that they would never let him into the hotel, but that if I pretended that I wanted to book a bungalow we could probably get a private tour.  I knew that this would give Oscar the unprecedented opportunity to see inside the world of the one percent, and I wanted to give my acting skills in Spanish a try. 

Well, the three of us walked into that resort like we owned the place.  Never mind that I was wearing a pair of jeans that were starting to rip in the crotch (Well, what do you expect?  I only brought two pairs of pants with me) and a Bowdoin sweatshirt that had seen better days; we were going to see the Hotel Paracas.  The sad truth is that sometimes being white can be a valuable means of gaining access to the exclusive.  Sometimes it means that you are dressed for the occasion, even if its formal and your clothes are not; sometimes it means that you are beautiful, even if you might feel differently; and sometimes it means that you are wealthy, even if you are just a broke college student who works in a dining hall to make ends meet.

I marched right up the front desk and explained that my friends and I from Católica (shameless name dropping) were thinking about booking a room in a resort to relax after finals, and I wanted to see the rooms before we made a final decision.  The staff didn’t even pause, and an impeccably dressed young man materialized to show us the grounds.  The interior of the bungalow was ultramodern and simple-a harmonious mix of calming colors and bamboo facades; the gardens were impeccably manicured; and the infinity pool was an aquamarine oasis-you could even pay to rent a private sitting room nearby, imagine that.  And no luxury hotel would be complete without the obligatory collection of artifacts from  a local indigenous population.  So it didn't really surprise me to find a small collection of authentic Nasca ceramics displayed in glass cases by the gift shop.

 Just a taste of paradise...

Back in the car, Oscar and I burst into nervous laughter.  But I couldn’t help but feeling a little bit sick.  In this enclave in the desert, the difference between the haves and the have nots came sharply into focus.

Later, we wandered through the Paracas National Reserve-Peru’s oldest marine reserve.  Of the park’s 335,000 ha about 60% are comprised of marine waters, but the reserve includes a tropical desert and preserves various archaeological sites, as well.  In other words (excuse my French) it’s really fucking cool!  On the edge of the park there is a small, but informative and well organized, interpretation center that provides information about the area's geology and biology.  The museum has a strong focus on environmental consevation.  In 1998, Peru was identified by Conservation International as one of 17 megadiverse countries in the world, and Peru will be one of the top 3 countries affected by climate change.  In other words, my adopted home has pretty high stakes in the important problem facing society today. 

 Before the earthquake of 2007 this was an arch and the symbol of the reserve

 Blustery and beautiful

 The cliffs of Paracas 

Just horsing around

On our way to our hotel we stopped in Ica to tour a vineyard and sample Pisco.  That night we stayed in Huachachina, a small village geared at tourism, located around a desert oasis with reputed medical properties outside of the city of Ica.  All I can say, is move over Cusqueños, you have a lot to learn from los bricheros huachineros.  The men in this town were truly shameless; I mean, who hits on a girl traveling with her grandmother, seriously.

 Pisco on pisco on pisco 

 A small sample of local liquors...

Desert oasis 

The next morning we returned to Paracas for a boat tour of las Islas Ballestas, also known as the mini-Galapagos Islands of Peru.  Thanks to the nutrient rich water of the Humboldt Current, las Islas Ballestas are home to a plentitude of wildlife: namely birds (including Peruvian boobies, penguins, and tendrils) as well as seals and sea lions.  The tour lasts about 2 hours and includes, in addition to wildlife sitings, a view of the a geoglyph and the guano operations on the island.

Candelabra?  Navigation Device?  Cactus?

 Didn't get a picture of the porpoises but I got a picture of people taking a picture of the porpoises

 Alfred Hitchcock anyone?

 Small scale fishing using traditional techniques is allowed in the reserve

 Rocks and bird shit

That afternoon we took an exhilarating dune buggy ride into the desert.  Mimi made more noise than everyone else in the buggy combined.  For those interested, there was the option to sand board (basically desert snow boarding).  The group was pretty international; France, America, the Netherlands, Ecuador, and Peru were among the country represented.  In most cases, Spanish was the only common language.

 The desert

 Two lonely adventurers 

 Wind sculpted sand scape

 Lista?  Sí!

 Sunset behind our dune buggy

Lawrence of Arabia?

Better then sledding-its not cold!

We spent our final day in Nasca.  In the morning we flew over the Nasca lines in a miniscule four passenger plane; probably one of the most incredible things I have seen in my entire life.  And the fact that the gentleman from Ireland seated next to me spent the second half of the flight discreetly vomiting into a plastic bag only served to enhance the experience.  That afternoon we visited the ancient Cantalloc aqueducts before heading back to Lima.  

 Flight cast and crew; representing: US, Peru, Portugal, and Ireland

View from the bottom of the well

Infinity

The Cantalloc aqueduct

On our way back north, the bright sun of Nasca softly faded to the omnipresent grey of the legendary cielo limeño.  Lima was even drearier and more depressing than when I had left three days before; winter has officially started and there is absolutely no escaping the famous grizzle (grey, drizzle-a word that Adrienne and I coined on the combi one morning).  But like the memory of a summer past or a quote from Casablanca, "we'll always have Paracas".  

Encontrar Nuestro Ritmo

The IFSA gang headed a couple of hours south of Lima to the province of Chincha for a relaxing “fin de semana” before the madness of final exams.   We stayed in the sleepy district of El Carmen, an area known for its Afro Peruvian population.  Due to an earthquake in 2007 that devastated the area, the town wasn’t really much to speak of.  But our hotel on the outskirts of the “pueblita” had a pool and served up really tasty traditional food; probably the best “papa a la huancaína” that I’ve eaten yet and the “carapulcra y sopa seca” was truly worth writing home about.

Plaza Central

 Fun in the streets

Acá la gente come gatos...

Its always a little weird to transition from my life in Lima to the tourist experience in the provinces; for me, its like a little bought of cultural shock every time.  These days, I feel more like a local than anything else, but every time I leave the city I am reminded once again of the fact that I am and always will be a “gringa”.  When you travel, in any country, your interactions with locals are part of a business transaction; as such, it’s hard to relate with people as equals.  The rules of professional conduct, and certainly the important role that financial transactions play, makes genuine and intimate interactions almost impossible.  For me it was a little strange to be part of an American enclave staying in a walled and gated hotel on the edge of El Carmen.  Regardless, it was a really fun trip; a good chance to breath clean air and see the sun. Things I ordinarily take for granted, but that have become more and more of an uncommon occurrence during the recent weeks.

IFSA love

 Relaxation

A beautiful butterfly

We rolled out of Lima in our private bus on Friday during midday.  While traversing the narrow streets of Chorrillos we celebrated the birth of IFSA student Sharene.  As you can see the chocolate cake was radically tasty.  That night we ate a delicious dinner and watched the Peru and Ecuador soccer game (Peru won again!).  Two of my friends were lucky enough to be in the National Stadium for the game-I was super jealous! 

On Saturday, I got up early to get some homework done before the day.  We had a brief informational “charla” about Afro Peruvian history: http://centroafroperuano.blogspot.com/.  Peru has a large African population that can trace its origins to the birth of the Spanish colony.  The first Africans in Peru were slaves that worked in agriculture or skilled labor.   However, the take away point from our conversation was that throughout their long history in Peru the African population has contributed to Peruvian heritage in a myriad of ways.  We learned about famous important Afro Peruvian historical figures such as: San Martín de los Porres and Maria Elena Moyana as well as the contributions of Afro Peruvians to Peruvian cuisine and culture.  Two instruments, the cajón and the cajita, invented by Afro Peruvians are considered part of the Peruvian “patrimonio nacional” (national culture heritage).

The cajón and the cajita in action.

After a delicious lunch, we headed to the Centro Cultural Afroperuano to learn how to play cajón and dance zapateo.  In Peru, the heart of the Spanish colony in the Americas, the use and production of instruments was forbidden among enslaved populations because music and dance are a pervasive way of transmitting culture.  To fill this gap, skilled Afro Peruvian carpenters invented the cajón when they discovered the percussive potential of furniture; it is now used in Spain in traditional flamenco music.  Another typical instrument is the cajita, which is literally an alms box turned drum.  Our teacher was Hector of the group Kimbafa: http://www.kimbafa.com/.

Zapateo 

 Group shot.

 Cajón Circle.

 Learning Afro Peruvian tap dance: zapateo.

We returned to our hotel to learn festejo.  Our teacher was…intense; she split us into two groups: guys and girls.  She set us up in a “u” so that everyone could see, but when I couldn’t stop laughing she made sure that I was front and center.  Sharene, the only able bodied African American in our group, picked up the dance with little effort.  Thrilled with her new student's progress our instructor asked Sharene to demonstrate and referred to her new student as “mi sangre”.  Learning some new moves was fun, but watching the IFSA guys kill it on the dance floor was even better.  One of the guys, the tallest and skinniest of the bunch, was having some trouble connecting with his hips; upon seeing this, our dance instructor marched right over to help him feel the music.  After moving his hands to a more intimate location on her hips she preceded to give him the lesson of a lifetime; the only thing that he could do, while blushing, was remark, “Claro, siempre es major con una chica.”

Festejo

Group shot.

Las chicas-trying to feel sexy and not laugh.

 The lesson of a life time...

 Hips don't lie

White boys can feel the music too

We closed the evening with a campfire and stories.  Our guide told us a slew of traditional Afro Peruvian fables in which animism played a prominent role.  He was truly a talented storyteller, and I found myself lost in the world of his tales.  We then translated American ghost stories into Spanish with varying degrees of success.      

Sunday morning before heading home to Lima we visited Huaca la Centinela in Chincha Baja.  Huaca la Centinela was the principal settlement of the Chicha culture between 900 and 1450 AD; although conquered by the Inca in 1450, the Chichas retained some of their autonomy.  For this reason, Inca and Chicha constructions exist in harmony in this site. 

 Just some gals and a Huaca

 Earthquake evidence...

Inca constructions.

The day was as grey as the belly of the donkey, and I must admit that I wasn’t overly thrilled at the idea of seeing yet another archaeological site.  However, it was a nice chance to see the area, and a really interesting example of a poorly cared for archaeological site.  There is clearly a huge diversity in funding and effort spent in maintaining Peru´s cultural heritage; unfortunately, Huaca la Centinela is located in a zone that doesn’t receive many tourists.  As such, it is poorly maintained; after the earthquake of 2007 it resembles little more than a slowly eroding pile of clay capped in a tall wooden cross.  But that’s not say that Huaca la Centinela is not without charm; virtually vacant of tourists and subject to the slow erosion of time this site is truly a city of ghosts.    

View from the top

 Besitos...

Politically correct?