My last day
in Lima; in a way I am sad, but I am also ready to go back home. My dear
friend Jeanne travels a lot and is perfectly fine being away from home up to a
month even more at times. I am not... After a week away from home, I feel a
strong urge to be back to what is familiar, what I now call home, and where my
people are…
I have come to love even the snow in Iowa City, which I now call my home
One of the scenes one would come across in more affluent parts of Lima, not in working class neighborhood of La Victoria
Curbside make-shift "restaurant" with one table for morning soup in La Victoria
Street Mall "Mercado Particular - La Polvora" in La Victoria: Notice the minimal personal space Latinos and Latinas have sustained over centuries
Animal protein including feet, internal organs, fish, chicken, meats of all kinds are not refrigerated in either Peru or Colombia in these street malls!
Fruit lady at the Mercado Particular is happy to pose to me, I am happy with the joy on her face
Pakistani entrepreneur in the soup shop prefers to turn her back to me, out of cultural concerns I suspect...
Chicken for sale is displayed like this in every store with feet up! Doesn't is show how much in pain they were when they were killed?
In Turkish traditional culture, a woman with white hair belongs on her couch, preferably in the home of one of her female children, if not living close by with at least one of her children
National Museum, which I couldn't enter due to closure...
Abancay Avenue along the east section of Lima running north to south is almost an open air market, at least on the Monday I passed through it.
All buses in Lima are used by on the spot entrepreneurs, who get on and off with items for sale anywhere from candy to cookie, to books, to CDs, you name it...
Basilica de San Pedro where I meditate when the congregation holds a lovely mass, I hope...
Part of Casa de Aliaga, which in fact covers an entire large city block, most of which is now rented to businesses
The view of the square from the restaurant El Mirador de Chabuca
The hill Cerro San Cristobal north of Lima, which is a nest for another poor neighborhood called Rima, that is a danger zone for me, the restaurant manager Francisco tells me...
The delicious arroz con marisco, basically a form of Paella
San Francisco Church in old town
Beautiful ceramic art in the mini-park in downtown Miraflores
Parque El Amor is visited by people from all walks of life and of all ages at any time of the day
Looking at Barranco through the mosaic wall of Parque El Amor
A mosaic prose from Parque El Amor: "Love is like light", who wouldn't agree with this statement?
The love statue through the mosaic wall
My plan for
the day is to go to Museo Nacional on foot, visit the museum, then take a bus
to town center and spend the rest of the day there. The pull to downtown is the
Aliaga House, which is the oldest house in Lima from 1500s. Unfortunately,
neither will materialize but that doesn’t mean I won’t have another fantastic day
of discovery in Lima. When I talk
to the doorman at the apartment building, he tells me the museum is far away
“lejos”, how many kilometers? 3-4. I tell him, I have been walking about 15-20
kilometers a day in Lima for the last 4 days, so I can do it. He smiles and
tells me “Entonces, esta bien.” that’s OK then. My main question is “Is it safe
to walk for me alone through La Victoria?”, which is the neighborhood between
Jesus Maria and the museum; the answer is yes. Then "Esta bien", I take off.
One of the scenes one would come across in more affluent parts of Lima, not in working class neighborhood of La Victoria
Walking
through La Victoria is quite an experience: This is clearly a working class
neighborhood, quite opposite to what I experienced in Pueblo Libre. I pass by auto
mechanic shops, shops that provide goods to the same industry, small shops that
provide everything to working class families; food, clothing, daily needs of
all kinds… Major avenues are lined up by these small businesses and shops.
Behind them are modest residential neighborhoods, the residents of which most
likely work or live off of the shops or both. On a major
avenue, an old woman has put out a table and is serving meat soup to two
customers. I approach her and ask whether she would serve me, too. She shows me
the pot, it is close to empty at least there is no more meat left in the
remaining, half a bowl of soup. She is sorry, she can’t sell me soup, but they
are all happy to allow me to take a picture of them and I do.
I then come
across a mini-neighborhood “mall”, just
like the ones I have been seeing last several days. This one is definitely
in better shape than the one I had come across in Jesus Maria near the Social
Security Hospital. Again, very small shops 20-30 square feet, each erected side
by side along very narrow 3 “hallways”, each 3-4 feet at the most, perhaps
around 50-60 shops in all. The size of hallways in a mall is telling a story
about personal space in a culture. This type of mall structure is unthinkable
in the USA, where we are socialized to have a huge personal space.
I recall my
first visit to the US as an adult to do a fellowship in child abuse pediatrics
at Ohio State University. I was walking in the hospital hallway one day, in my
“lane”, I might have been a bit too close to the center line, no problem in
Turkish culture. I saw the woman, who was also walking in her lane almost
gluing herself to the wall on her side as we were passing each other. I almost
saw the personal space she created around herself with that body gesture. I
have been doing the same ever since!
Meat stores
are an amusement for an American mind: Meats of all kinds including fish and
chicken are all on display on trays with no refrigeration! Chickens dangling down
hooks attached to metal store window, with feet and all. Fish lady has quite a
line, clearly many households in the neighborhood will have fish for dinner
tonight, perhaps home-made ceviche… Later I will see a woman walking with her
shopping cart toward the direction of the mall, I will wonder whether she will
do her daily shopping for lunch or dinner or both as we pass each other with
“Buenas” short for “Buenos dias”.
I see several
shops making soup in huge cauldrons. That is good, something boiling wouldn’t
make me sick. However, I can’t find a store that has ready-to-serve chicken
soup. I find meat soup instead. Two women are running the joint. There is
another customer eating at the same counter. Huge bowl of soup with rice,
potatoes, carrots, some vegetables I cannot recognize and miniscule amount of
meat! That is OK. I load it with chopped parsley and lime juice, it is
delicious…
While I
prepare my bowl to my taste and start eating, I learn that the tall woman is
from Pakistan, the short one and the other customer are Roma people. One major
theme in Peru is that people from all walks of life are visibly surprised,
almost startled when they hear that I am traveling “sola”. Is it my hair or
gender, or both? From what people can see looking at me is that I am an old “abuela”,
grandmother with white hair that belongs to her home, who would go to places
with family members or with a related man.
I try to make
sense of this comparing it to Turkish culture. That brings to mind as I type
these lines that in Turkey, I never traveled alone since I didn’t need to! I
was part of a community and there were always other people even after separating
from my husband to do things together. Perhaps that is the key. Communal
cultural context cannot fathom how an “elderly” woman can travel alone. In the
minds of Peruvian, Colombian and Turkish people is the inability to comprehend
how a woman is left alone to have to travel sola!
No surprise
my Pakistani and Roma friends react to this fact. Is there a bit of pity, even,
in their attempt to understand this? The lovely Pakistani woman, who lets me
take a picture of the joint but doesn’t allow me to take a picture of her
facing the camera asks me whether I pay for my trip on my own. I have to tell
her the truth. I can see in her eyes the sadness that speaks “Wow, there are
women folks who can come to Peru all the way from America, why can’t I do the same?”
Another gated community, in La Victoria, I can see why they may need this, it is the first neighborhood in Lima, I feel a bit uneasy with my surroundings
Is there also a bit of bitterness in her eyes? Most likely toward her culture because she is very sweet toward me? I wish I could have made things different for you my friend, all I can do is to give you my business and a big tip when they don’t have change for the 20-soles bill, I produced: the soup cost only 5 soles! If I happen to come back to Lima, I will definitely go back to them.
Is there also a bit of bitterness in her eyes? Most likely toward her culture because she is very sweet toward me? I wish I could have made things different for you my friend, all I can do is to give you my business and a big tip when they don’t have change for the 20-soles bill, I produced: the soup cost only 5 soles! If I happen to come back to Lima, I will definitely go back to them.
The Museo de
La Nacion is an impressive modern building on the row of multiple Ministry of
Culture buildings. Alas, it is closed on Mondays!!! “Ah Sandra”, my hostess,
who told me all museums are open every day, I want to say instinctively. But, I
pause, “How would I have met my Pakistani friend, the old lady running a
mini-restaurant off of a 4-seat table on a side walk and many other things
without Sandra not checking the facts well?” “Thank you Sandra” is what comes
out of my mouth in a whisper.
Well, I need
a plan B now. After taking a couple of pictures with the hope there will be a
next time to come visit it, and perhaps with a good friend or two along with me
that time, I catch a bus to the city center with hopes that I can visit the
Casa de Aliaga and spend the rest of the day there before calling it the week
in Lima. I have to ask several people until I find the bus stop, since this is
a brand new route for me. The bus goes most of its route on Abancay Avenue,
which turns out to be a street mall type of a place, especially for clothing
for lower middle class people, it looks like… I may be wrong, who knows...
I get off the
bus a bit north of Chinatown and head to the city center. Again beautiful
buildings, and for the first time in five days the sun is out and all the
beautiful architecture has a different spark to them under the sparks of sunshine.
I am grateful. I stop at Basilica de San Pedro to visit it since it was closed several days ago as
I passed by it. Now it is open, and there is a mass. A very old priest is
presiding over the mass in Spanish of course and I sit down along with other people.
Not understanding what he says is even better. I am just
meditating with the calm and peace in the church. In a little bit, the
congregation lines up for communion, I do, too. The last time I had done it, I
was 16 when I was living in Waterford Wisconsin as an exchange student. My host family had taken me to church to see
their mass one time. People take their communion in different ways, some kneel
before the priest, some open their mouths, and a nun opens both hands to accept
it. I model after her and open one hand. I am not sure if this was the right
thing to do, did a startled expression pass through the priest’s face? I hope I
didn’t offend him.
Unfortunately,
my attempt at visiting the Casa de Aliaga is not successful. The house
apparently is open only to tours and/or by calling via appointments. I had
heard about appointments since this is still a house in which the contemporary
heirs of a 17-generational family live in parts of it. The rest they allow for
visitors to visit. It is too complicated and I let it go as well to another
trip to visit what has remained unseen. I decide to
complete the tour around the block since the house takes up a full block… I
come across Plaza…. There is a balcony that serves as part of a restaurant, El
Mirador de Chabuca, from where I could do lovely people’s watching. The waiters
waiting at the door of the staircase are happy to guide me upstairs. In a
minute I am on a very old balcony sitting by the open window allowing both the
sunshine and the breeze in.
I am happy as
can be. There is a middle aged gentleman, whom I will learn soon to be Francisco,
sitting at another table doing some work on a computer. After a while, he moves
to another table. I figure out he is either the owner of this place or manager
of some sort. At some point, he comes closer to my table to tuck the flag just
outside the balcony window in a way that it wouldn’t flap against my window
frame. I tell him I don’t mind “No, problemo”. I will learn later from my
Spanish disks that a better way to say it is “No importa.” He smiles and leaves
it alone.
However, it
is clear that he is interested in a chat. And I have several questions to ask..
When I holler at him and tell him I have a couple of questions if he could help
me with, he is all too ready to help me. First of all, he tells me there is no
need to take a tour of the house, one may simply visit it via paying the
regular entrance fee. He also tells me that this entire block actually was part
of the old house. Thus, in fact, I am having lunch at a section of the old Casa
de Aliaga.
He can’t
believe that I just walked in by spotting the balcony without any
recommendation from anybody. I ask him about the significance of the plaza
before us. He gives me a long long historic account of it, almost none of which
I can understand since he is now using complex clauses of Spanish and multiple
tenses. I am nowhere near understanding everything he says with the speed he
speaks. The hill in
the distance looks very similar to El Morro in Chorrillos. It is called Cerro
San Cristobal because there is another cross on top of it. He verifies that the
neighborhood nestled against it is called Rima, another very poor region. Just
like in Turkey, the ghettos are around big cities not within as they are in the
USA. They have got spectacular vistas but nothing else much.
In the USA,
since public transportation is very poor, the poor has to stay within the city,
hence inner city poor population. In developing countries on the other hand,
public transportation is mainly for the poor, hence wherever the poor goes, the
transportation must go, hence squatting communities surrounding the big cities
like a belt. Francisco tells
me enough that I can understand he also is against the corruption, the big
divide between the rich and the poor. I am curious about climbing up on that
hill as well like the one in Chorrillos. Francisco and the waiter are both
horrified. He gives me a no-non-sense “No senyora, es pelligroso” and tells me
you can’t walk there on foot unless you are with someone from Rima, an insider
is a must to be safe, quite understandable…
I want to go
to Punta de Lima region, the westernmost neighborhood in Lima proper. Francisco
gives me good guidance on how to get there. However, on my way to the bus/taxi station, I
stop at the information center. A lovely woman gives me several maps of the
city. She tells me that it is not safe to walk in Callao district especially
toward the Punta de Lima. Eventually, she talks me out of it, I guess I have to
let go of this one, too. Here is the
question I have to answer now: I pause for a minute and ask myself what I want
to do with the last 5-6 hours to enjoy in this town. The answer is not hard to
dig out: I want to go back to Miraflores Melacone, walk through the park, visit
the Parque de Amor in day light and end up at that lovely cafe and watch the
surfers. The decision is instantaneous. I look around sure enough, buses are
zipping along down toward Miraflores. I hop on one, it takes some conversation with
other fellow passengers to find out what stop I should get off to go to the
beaches. Last stop, downtown Miraflores, easy…
Now I am
content and can enjoy a number of old Spanish mansions scattered here and there
along the route. Downtown Miraflores indeed is a charming place. It is purely a
middle class, upper middle class neighborhood, where a westerner would
absolutely feel at home. I reach the promenade right around El Parque de Amor. It
is such a beloved place by people from all walks of life. In addition
to couples there are many families from all walks of life and at least from all
over Latin America. I go into a deep philosophical debate in my mind around
what love is, how we find love, how we create it, how we sustain it or lose it…
Is love only what is portrayed here by the artist? When one doesn’t have
romantic love in one’s life, can other forms of love sustain us, our need to be
appreciated, to be accepted as we are, to be sought out as good company…
Love indeed
has many forms, I might be approaching to a point to accept that perhaps, love
found in children, in grandchildren, in friends may be welcome to replace
romantic love if that is not to be found… And that wherever there is loving kindness, that is enough to feel connected... I am ready to take a pause at the Café
La Buena Vista, alas it is also closed! No coffee or light dinner looking down
on the Pacific. That is OK, I have my memories from the exceptional visit to
the café from two days prior. I sit down on the grass a few yards away from the
café grounds and meditate with the ebb and flow of the ocean down below. I am thankful
to all Peruvian people I came across during this visit, how helpful they all
have been, how hospitable, how welcoming… The water must have something to do
with it. Wherever I have lived and have gone that was by the water has left
positive and unforgettable impressions on me, that is for sure.
Mozaic wall surrounding the El Amor statue
I walk about a mile through what seems to be an avenue lined up with very high end luxury apartment buildings and businesses. American brands all of a sudden dominating the neighborhood. I see a preserved Spanish building, occupied by KFC out of all American chains! What an oxymoronic situation…Just as I desperately need a restroom, I see a Starbucks, I had never in my life embraced Starbucks with such love! After I use the restroom, I am curious about what kind of Peruvian twist they might have made to Starbucks drinks since American chains combine their own brand with local tastes per my experience with them at least in Turkey. Indeed, at least sandwiches have Peruvian reflections…
Beautiful Colonial building in Miraflores occupied by KFC
I order a chocolate with caramel, I hear is a must-try item in Peru, not bad if one loves chocolate. After asking couple of locals, I locate the correct bus stop for Arequipa Avenue. It is quite an experience. I can now compare the route via Arequipa Avenue, which connects downtown Miraflores to the city center with the route that connects Chorrillos, Barranco, and Miraflores coastal line to the city center. The former I learn by experience is used by those who work in Miraflores and live elsewhere in the distant neighborhoods they can afford. The latter on the other hand is used by both local and non-local vacationers, who want to have fun on Melacone or those distant villages by the beaches. Hence the bus route serving the working class is overcrowded with those who help us vacationers have fun in southern sections of Lima. The latter on the other hand is more laid back and used more by those who can afford having fun like myself! I get in line waiting for the bus. I ask the couple in front of me to make sure it is indeed the right bus I am waiting for, it is.
I walk about a mile through what seems to be an avenue lined up with very high end luxury apartment buildings and businesses. American brands all of a sudden dominating the neighborhood. I see a preserved Spanish building, occupied by KFC out of all American chains! What an oxymoronic situation…Just as I desperately need a restroom, I see a Starbucks, I had never in my life embraced Starbucks with such love! After I use the restroom, I am curious about what kind of Peruvian twist they might have made to Starbucks drinks since American chains combine their own brand with local tastes per my experience with them at least in Turkey. Indeed, at least sandwiches have Peruvian reflections…
Beautiful Colonial building in Miraflores occupied by KFC
I order a chocolate with caramel, I hear is a must-try item in Peru, not bad if one loves chocolate. After asking couple of locals, I locate the correct bus stop for Arequipa Avenue. It is quite an experience. I can now compare the route via Arequipa Avenue, which connects downtown Miraflores to the city center with the route that connects Chorrillos, Barranco, and Miraflores coastal line to the city center. The former I learn by experience is used by those who work in Miraflores and live elsewhere in the distant neighborhoods they can afford. The latter on the other hand is used by both local and non-local vacationers, who want to have fun on Melacone or those distant villages by the beaches. Hence the bus route serving the working class is overcrowded with those who help us vacationers have fun in southern sections of Lima. The latter on the other hand is more laid back and used more by those who can afford having fun like myself! I get in line waiting for the bus. I ask the couple in front of me to make sure it is indeed the right bus I am waiting for, it is.
However, the
most impressive “How can you travel alone?” reaction occurs right there. The
man that looks like in his 40s is the one who asks me whether I am traveling
alone. As he hears my answer, he is about to lose his mind, I can tell. He just
cannot comprehend how in the world some smart and caring people, who must be
“protecting this white haired old woman” can let her go on her own to distant
locations in town, let alone to distant countries… The more he tries to get
himself out of the emotional distress I, rather those, who must have been taking
care of me clearly imposed upon him, the more he digs a hole for himself!
I chuckle and
calm him down with a warm “Esta Bien, no problemo” touching his shoulder over
his coat. He does calm down, but from this point on, he becomes my protector
throughout my 7-8 mile trip: He tells the driver where I will get off, after a
few miles, he reminds me that I should remind the driver when I get close to
Avenida Cuba. Finally, when we indeed arrive at Avenida Cuba, he encourages me
to move fast and asks the driver to stop. When I get off, I make sure to wave
at him and his wife. I wonder how many people he will tell this story in the
days to come. He leaves me
with such warmth; this is developing country “machismo” to a certain extent,
but with no harm in it, in fact with an element of caring and connectedness. In
patriarchal societies like Turkey, like Peru, Colombia, Greece, even Portugal,
I have observed men being more in charge of making sure women are safe, which I
have always found to be sweet and kind in all my encounters.
Another mosaic from the love park "Intersection of flesh and spirit is love"
Another mosaic from the love park "Intersection of flesh and spirit is love"
Is it because I
felt I was mostly and solely in charge of my own safety pretty much all my
life? How sweet it must be for a woman to know that there is a beacon in the
persona of her partner… Just as I
think, my human connections with Peruvians had come to an end with this
encounter little do I know that I will bump into Carson the next day at the
airport at Tanta a Peruvian food chain, where I finally have a delicious meat
empanada and chicken soup, which is very similar to Colombian Ajiaco. Carson is
a young man going to a small village in Northern Peru to surf, which he has
been doing for many years.
He gets
excited about the fact that I was in Miraflores for two days, because I can
give him the wave forecast, which may or may not be similar to what he will
find in Northern Peru. He is a park
ranger for Sonoma county and even in the context of his job, he is against guns
and has found communication to be the most effective tool to solve problems. I
like him. When I declare the origin of my accent, he is beside himself: Carson has an
Anatolian sheppard, was bred by his mother in law, who breeds all kinds of dogs
including Anatolian dogs! Go figure… We are all in this, together, indeed…
 |
| Time to go home... |
