Ein erneutes Moin aus der Fremde, diesmal: Peru. Der Schreiberling befindet sich derzeit in diesem sonderbaren und aufregenden Land um seiner Masterarbeit in tropischer Ecologie auf die noch wackligen Beine zu verhelfen. Dem geneigten Leser sei vergnügliche Lektüre versprochen, auch wenn der Text auf Englisch verfasst wurde und sich der Autor als zu faul erweist selbigen zu übersetzen.So, what happened since I landed on Chavez International Airport in Lima four days ago? Well, first of all I have to advertise the hospitalityclub(.org) or short HC as members call it. The club offers free accommodation for the more than 75.000 members in more than 190 countries all around the globe. Due to this club my integration into the Peruvian society took less than an evening.
My host - Oscar Ramirez - is a prototype of hospitality. He lives with his surrogate-mother Martha in Lince/Lima where he studies system engineering, while his parents are running a farm in Pucallpa a small village behind the Andes in the rainforest. One of the first things he asked after arriving at his place at around 1 o'clock in the night was if I'd like to join him on a short walk to Miraflores, the party-quarter of Lima. Due to the first effect of the jetlag, being quite awake (at least in my case), I happily joined him to the Pizza-street. This street is quite unique in the world. The street stretches over around a hundred meters on which the pizzerias are coiled up like pearls on a string. After we decided for one of them he asked me what I'd like to eat and because I thought it would be quite a bit boring to have pizza as my first dish in Peru. I told him I wouldn't know and that he shall just order whatever he thinks would please me. Well, he ordered cow-heart pieces on spits with corn and potatoes. At that time I didn't know what it was but considered it as liver and simply enjoyed the really tasty meat. You won’t believe how mellow it is.
A few days later a group of German girls that I met downtown enlightened me. But I would always eat it again. Actually the food in general is absolutely delicious, although this opinion might have very well developed because of Martha and her unmatched cooking skills. While eating we talked about our studies and what I would do in Peru. When he heard that I would work in a marine environment he spontaneously asked me if I’d like to see the Pacific. And after we ate up we walked a couple of blocks and *bam* there he was the seemingly endless Pacific ocean. What a sight. And although it was dark and dizzy I could feel the sheer might and undisputed dominion of the ocean. The waves were rolling in as long and fancy stolas made of white flukati occasionally jeweled with sparkling diamonds. The air, fresh and loaded with salt, unhamperedly infiltrated my lungs while widening my chest and creating the
feeling of absolute freedom. We kept breathing and walking along the coast. At some places, in an actually relatively rich quarter, people were sitting or lying in front of garages making me questioning Oscar about it. He told me that they would actually work by guarding the cars inside. On our way home I even found these guys sitting on chairs next to parking cars of questionable quality, thickly dressed in down jackets and bonnets only leaving a small slit for their eyes, their
only weapon against potential thieves. I do consider this phenomenon as the perfect picture for the Peruvian situation in terms of poverty as well as security. It became a rather quiet walk home.
The next day the other side of my jetlag tied me up on my bed. I slept almost the entire day and the following night, something around 18 hours all together. To those of you reading this and still waiting for their flight into the adventure: Be prepared, it’s nasty!
Slept off through and through I had an exciting Saturday in downtown Lima. But before I could venture the inner city I had to get my second bag from the airport. The bag included all the equipment for the scientific part of my visit to Peru. You can imagine how nervous I was if everything was still inside. I do consider Americans being paranoid enough to take my sea-water pH-buffer for a chemical bomb. But arrived at the airport, controlling the contents of the bag my faith into the common sense of the American customs was strengthened again. Although they had deeply questioned that faith when there had been no way for me to get around their harsh entry conditions while landing for a stopover in Atlanta. Whatever I told them and that I would only be on transit couldn’t stop them from taking my fingerprints and a digital photo of my face. I mean they even rebuilt their transit halls into digital controlling gates. If there are no transit halls, one necessarily needs to enter their country and thereby puts this surveillance in line with international law or the other way around represents a gap in the same. I call that paranoid and illegal spying on other countries citizen. But I shall stop annoying you with these frustrations from my side and rather
continue with my stories of downtown Lima.
After I stored the bag at Oscars place and a quick lunch, I placed my self on a seat in a “collectivo” heading downtown. Already these rides in these small omnibuses are small but intense adventures. Just getting into them while they barely stop for it is quite an excitement and might cause your head hitting the next passenger when the driver starts off to the next stop. Riding from one undesignated station to the other flying merchants enter the bus to sell you anything from sweets, to key holders, pens and condoms. Some of them tell their entire life story and fate and why you should buy their stuff just in case you should actually be in no need of their goods, before they start selling it. I saw
guys with deep cuts along their arms and children playing self-made instruments while singing so delicately athwart that it would normally give reason for kicking them out. Fortunately or not I left the bus a little too early. I found myself at the outer rim of downtown Lima instead of the center as it was planned initially. Without a detailed map and only random Spanish skills I headed towards the main square “Plaza de Armas” using hands and feet when asking for the correct way. At some point I met a bunch of Spanish speaking German girls working as volunteers for a social project in the ghettos of Lima. From that moment on the rest of the way was a walkover although they challenged my nerves when one of them unconditionally needed to buy a pair of trousers. Well, it’s valid that even in the remotest areas of the world men aren’t safe from female cravings. I guess if we want them, we have to cope with it. When she finally got what she wanted we left to visit the catacombs of the monastery of San Franzisco (Iglesia de San Franzisco). On our way the same girl almost started buying even more things from a street merchant who offered her pictures of beaming Peruvian children in ponchos. If there would have been a shoe shop along our way, I shall have
forgotten my happy childhood. Fortunately for her there were no shoes behind the windows we passed, while approaching the monks. Arrived at the entrance I was lucky to pay half the fee by presenting my semester-ticket to the cashier. But before we entered the catacombs we had to find our guide that had already left with our group, even before we had arrived. Funny, isn’t it? We found him explaining the beauty of an organ with 25.000 tubes that where not visible. We followed him into the gallery where we could admire 25.000 handmade Spanish tiles and the history of San Franzisco on paintings just to end up being amazed by 25.000 books from the 16th to 18th century… Well alright, only the number of books is correct. But there were plenty of tiles along the walls and I don’t want to imagine how boring it must have been to paint them all by hand.
Anyway, after the tiles we finally pierced our way to the catacombs and 25.000 skulls and bones. Well ok, you got me again. It had been 28.000… sorry. But to be serious, who’s actually counting all these corpses? On the other that poor bastard had a rather easy job, because of even sicker bastards, the monks. These franziscan nihilists have sorted every single bone in accurate order with
high precision in angles and circles. There were boxes only for rips and others only for skulls, some holding spines and the next fingertips, but never mixed. I really don’t want to know what they’ve been up to or what they’ve been laughing about: “Hey brother Gadfahel, look on his spine! It looks as if someone had been riding him. Hm… he never told me when he came to confess.”
Could also be that they were not allowed to talk at all, while sorting. But one shall think of the poor bereaved. What should such a lonely surviving dependant do when he wants to visit the grave in order to speak a silent prayer and this nihilistic priest asks him: Well my devout sheep, what do you prefer to pray to: ham, shoulder or neck? OH, shoulder is on special bargain today. --- Must have been rough times these days in South America.
Next Sunday has been a rather silent and quiet working day. I prepared myself for the upcoming presentation of my thesis project on Tuesday. On Monday I met another member of the HC, Fernando alias felias. He’s a journalist and musician, living directly in the fun-quarter Miraflores, where all the bars and discos are located. Fernando is a very talkative guy recounting numerous
stories of his travels from all around the world. We went out for a couple of beers and finished up with a mojito in a Cuban bar before we went for a night’s rest at his place.
By now I gave a successful presentation and the plans for the fieldwork in Paracas are made. We’ll leave tomorrow at nine in the morning and thus my next mail to you will probably originate from there. Until then I wish you all: days like I had.
Hasta luego
Liko
