Trip to Santonte

Last weekend I visited my friend Joel who is currently staying with his family about 10 hours north of Lima, in a tiny farmers' village named Santonte. On Friday night I took a bus to Pacasmayo, which was extremely interesting to begin with: I was seated next to Beehroz, an Iranian scholar who switches back and forth between Boston and Lima, living in each for 6 months before returning to the other. He takes professional photos that he turns into post cards. He is also completing a book called Visual Inquiry of Informal Economy in Peru--he has taken hundres of pictures of street vendors all over the country. As if this wasn't already enough, the man has studied in the US, France and Peru, has taught in California and, to top it off, is a proud radical anarchist and conspiracy theorist. It goes without saying that he made for some great conversation!

I arrived in Pacasmayo the next morning, got on a van packed full with 21 people, some livestock and 2 bags of rice that brought me to the intersection of the Panamerican Highway and San Jose (see photo) where I met up with Joel.

From San Jose we had to take a motortaxi

to another town where I met Joel's first sister, tending her Kiosk, feeding me papaya juice and tallarín (spaghetti).

With some carbs in our stomachs we made for the house of Joel's other sister, who lent us a bike, and then to the family of the sister who owns the kiosk to find a second one. From there we headed out on a 40-minute journey over dirt road, bridges, fields, mud and watering channels, finally arriving in Santonte, where his parents and some other family members live. The "town" consists of two parallel roads, with about 20 houses in total. The houses face the massive plane of rice and onion fields, while enormous sand dunes and rocky mountains loom behind the town:

This orange house belongs to Joel's parents. Behind it you will find an outhouse, a sheep, 14 ducks, 2 guinea pigs, and the occasional baby cat, looking desperately for food.

Joel in his kitchen. The buckets on the back shelf hold fresh water from a near-by well. Let me assure you, it's tasty and does not need to be boiled like the nasty city water in Lima.

This is Joel's father who despite being 75 years old and having knee problems, would rather keep living in this town than move to an area where a food is readily available at supermarkets rather than still alive in the backyard and in need of being planted and harvested. Life has really treated his face well though, I think.

After resting a few minutes after our bike ride, Joel and I headed out into the desert:
The view was absolutely beautiful, the sand steaming hot and the wind "rico." After about a 30 minute treck in the heat, we made it into the forest where a lovely lagoon is hidden in the trees

The water was warm and the little beach, though filled with dry cow-patties, excellent for taking a nap.

To quench our thirst we ate some super delicious guanabana. I know it doesn't look like anything yummy, but believe me that this juicy flavor combination of lychee, pineapple and grape was the most amazing thing.

On our way back we met a group of moo-ing cows.

The next day was also adventure-filled.

Joel's second cousin Lucho met us in the morning carrying a small basket full of little rocks and a rubber sling. I was left in the dark as to what we were going to do and just followed them into the desert, taking pictures of the scenery. On our way we were met by a 9-year old boy with blonde hair, thusly named "gringo." His face lit up immediately as he saw us coming and after running towards us he proudly reached into his pocket and pulled out two dead lizards ("cañanes"). "I already killed two big ones," he declared with a sparkle in his eyes and together with him and another young man that found us, we went further into the dunes to hunt lizards for lunch.

They often hide in these thorny trees whose dead branches on the ground make for some mean cuts on the bottom of your feet--the spikes are so sharp and long that they penetrate your shoe sole and can inflict some serious pain. The lizards hiding in the trees will often leap off the branches in a near-suicidal fashion, trying to avoid the rocks that are being catapulted at them. Once hit, the hunter will collect the animal and hit its head against a branch to make sure that it's dead.

We spent about 2 hours in the midday heat and just walking around to follow the guys on their hunt was exhausting. In the end they caught 12 lizards, which when prepared as a ceviche with potatoes fed 6 people.

I wasn't there to see how the lizard was cooked because one of the neighbors prepared the dish. The meat itself didn't really have much flavor, but it was crunchy because the bones are left inside which allows for an interesting texture. It really just tastes like spicy onions and lemon juice--pretty good. But the whole experience of getting back from the walk and sitting on the side of the road with friends, family and neighbors, sharing stories and later lunch was a really exceptional one. Being the only foreigner this town has seen in a long time was apparently really exciting for the inhabitants and not much unlike a circus freak attraction, people would come by, look at me and timidly ask me a question about life in Germany and the United States. Being the center of attention was a bit exhausting at times and sometimes I just want to blend in or be invisible. The same happened to me when I was the foreign new kid at my high school, which resulted in my assimilating enough not to stick out. When I feel like that, though, I just remember that this is a once-in a life time experience and I will soon enough be invisible in the streets of New York again. There lies a certain comfort in that thought.

Routine Life

Now that I have a digital camera at my disposal--thank you Jack and Dad-- I shall commence my Honor's College journal officially, which is essentially just a more systematic continuation of my existing journal.

The first exercise asks me to elaborate on what my daily life is like. I went through my house and shot some pictures of my immediate surroundings.

I live in a condominium with 5 other international students. We're in a big complex, which houses a bunch of families in 3-4 story apartments. Our landlord just owns one of them and rents out the rooms. This is our view from the front door into the courtyard.

And this is what surrounds us:

We share a full kitchen that is utilized well by all but me (I shall elaborate on that later)

We have a lovely living/dining room

I share a bathroom with my french neighbor.

My room:

For less money than I would spend in the US I live better than I have ever lived before. I live in one of the most "americanized" areas of the city and can enjoy both local life, and if I choose to, envelop myself in completely American things.
I have a TV in my room, which broadcasts American television shows if I really wanted to see them and a closet that is too big for the few clothes that I have with me. I have hot running water, which is a luxury here and a porter who knows me by first name. I'm essentially living the life, right?

But then I look around when I hang out with my local friends who come from humble backgrounds and don't like spending time in Miraflores because it's too "exclusivo." Like I have mentioned before in an earlier post, I am leading a few parallel lives that don't seem to mesh well with each other. Nevertheless I seem to have figured out a pretty stable daily (or at least weekly) routine:

I have classes in the mornings (and occasionally into the afternoons) on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.

Sometimes I will have a cup of java in the morning. Real coffee, which is a substance I have unfortunately found myself liking too much while I was at Hofstra, is a true commodity here. Although Peru produces its own coffee, it exports most of it to other countries and the people here stick to drinking the instantaneous version--be it powdered nescafe or a liquid concentrate to which one adds water. I decided to save up money and invest in a bag of real coffee. I will once in a while treat myself to a cup, in hopes that the bag will last me my entire stay here.

I usually leave my house at around 7:30-8:00am and enjoy my walk; the streets are practically deserted, save for some businessmen and school-kids. I use the word "deserted" here lightly because generally the streets are packed with people, and I suppose in our suburban standards, even at 7:30am, the streets of Miraflores have a good amount of people in them...but I digress. In short, I enjoy not being honked/whistled/stared at on my way to the bus.

All the people that are not in the streets usually seem to have managed to fit into the bus that I need to take to school. Although the stop on which I get onto the bus is pretty early on the route, I often stand butt-to-butt with the "cobrador" (the man/woman who stands at the door, shouts out the bus route, and collects the money) for the first half hour of the bus ride. There is no space to move until the bus has reached the outskirts of San Isidrio, by which time I am usually one out of 3 - 5 people left on the bus.

Depending on the horrendous traffic, and the bus' route that day, it takes me anywhere between 45 minutes to a bit over an hour to get to my University, and with my handy-dandy student ID card, one trip costs me only 1 nuevo sol (~$0.40), in stead of 1.20. I shall never complain again if I have to walk to a class in Hagedorn next year!

Classes at the University are surprisingly similar to those at Hofstra. Professors generally expect more from the students, which usually entails a huge amount of reading, writing and presenting. A stark difference that does exist, is perhaps a reflection of the generally laid-back mentality of this city: the professors are much more out-spoken when it comes to criticism and more sarcastic with their students. I may have selected a particularly unrepresentative group of professors, but all of the ones I do have, are both harsh in their criticisms of students' comments/performances in front of the other students, often making fun of them, and at the same time easy-going and relaxed about the general classroom atmosphere. It is intimidating and confusing to say the least.

Campus is an oasis. Green fields, palm trees, grazing deer (!), fountains and perfectly manicured flowerbeds surround the buildings.

Everybody, of course, is much more friendly and open to newcomers, than in New York, though I find that the prestige of the school has left many of its attendees a bit more aloof than the outside world. In that sense, la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, is very similar to Hofstra. Nevertheless it is always a pleasure to be sitting underneath a neat row of perfect palm trees, while enjoying a delicious and cheap hot lunch.

This brings me to my next and by far favorite subject: food.

Food here is generally extremely cheap and delicious. I know I have mentioned this before as well, but I cannot reiterate enough what joy this country brings to me in terms of culinary delights. The normal eating schedule consists of a light breakfast like a tamale sandwich (sounds odd, but it's yummy), or some bread with jam. Lunch is always an extensive ordeal, usually including an appetizer, a hot plate, and dessert. For dinner peruvians eat very lightly again.

A vegetarian meal at my school costs me S/. 3.60 (~$1.20). Believe it or not, this includes bread, a beverage like chicha morada (made from blue corn)

and a huge plate of rice with some kind of soy meat and veggies.

This picture is a plate of aji de gallina, which is not vegetarian, but ridiculously yummy. It includes potatoes covered in a sauce made with chicken, aji (a spicy red pepper), cheese, cream and other yummy stuff and, of course, rice. Most likely through the huge asian population that came here over the years, rice has found its way into every peruvian dish that I've had here. It's great!

This is exactly the reason why my presence in my kitchen leaves much to be desired. I don't cook well to begin with, but it would really not make sense when there are a cheap restaurants all around the city that offer a "menu económico," where you can choose from a small liste of appetizers and main plates. It's cheap and always delicious, and I don't have to worry about what I would do with the left-overs had I cooked it myself. Going to the grocery store and preparing my own food would most likely cost me more than eating out for lunch. What I do keep in my pantry/fridge are essentials like cereal, water, bread, and fruit.

While I do feel a little more like I am running a household than I do when I live in Vander Poel Hall, my life here is still very simplified for me. We have a housekeeper that cleans all the common areas of the apartment. Only when it comes to laundry are we really left on our own. We do not have a washing/drying machine, nor a sink big enough to wash clothes in. Thirdly, were are not allowed to hang clothes up to dry anywhere outside the apartment, and without any air flow inside, we are left with nothing but bringing the clothes to the laundromat, which is one of the only things that are more expensive here than in the United States. My last load of laundry cost me S/. 44 (~$15). I will be schlepping my laundry to a laundromat a little further away, but hopefully significantly cheaper in the future. Again, Hofstra has spoiled me a bit with relatively cheap washers and dryers only an elevator ride away.

I have touched upon this before as well but I would like to elaborate on street life a little more:

Street vendors, panhandlers and more street vendors are the norm here. On every street corner you will find a little stand packed tightly with cookies, sandwiches, drinks, candy and newspaper.

While one approaches a stand like that, he's most likely honked/quacked at from behind by one of the ice-cream vendors' honking horn, and simultaneously approached by a little girl with an empty cup in her hands and puppy eyes.

Leaving a busterminal or the airport, I am always bombarded by men in dress pants, offering me their taxi-services although I have long learned to depend almost purely on buses. The supermarkets, full of shoppers already, have a sales representative in every aisle, pointing out and sampling the newest product on sale. Restaurant employees with menus in hand stand outside the front door and latch onto pedestrians, walking with them for a few feet, explaining why they should choose this restaurant over any other. Commerce and capitalism is truly the way of the land here and I always have to be very cognizant of the possibility that somebody could take advantage of me.

While I suppose that this system of constantly selling product is one way to keep the economy flowing, I also see problems with it. While I cannot assume cause-and-effect here, it does strike me as interesting that people in general are very reluctant to buying things and trusting each other. Waiting lines often don't exist--who makes it to the front first and loudest will often be helped first. People aren't afraid of bodily contact, as we can clearly see in the buses, and therefore don't mind getting into your way if it means they can get something faster. It is not necessarily a personality trait, in fact, I think it has little to do with the way people act around friends and family. It's just a way of surviving, and as long as everybody is on the same page, there aren't any problems.

I can see that reflected in the traffic here as well. It took me a while to realize that although from the outside it seems like there are no traffic rules, there is a common understanding amongst all the drivers (especially bus drivers) that those who have the most guts to creep forward, and the loudest horn, get to go first. This city never rests, there is constantly a honking horn somewhere, and I have half-jokingly postulated that this is the peruvians' manifestation of their suppressed impatience with their government--honking horns and public impatience could be a reflection of their subconscious desire to move Peru forward. Politicians always say Peru is advancing, but it seems like the politicians and rich are the only ones going anywhere, while the general public just waits and honks.