It’s Sunday evening and the end of another incredible weekend in Peru. I’d never imagined it possible to experience such a variety of cultures and landscapes in one country but Peru has exceeded all my expectations. I feel like I could spend three months here and still not see it all.
Firstly, I should mention my last day at school this week. I woke up at 6am sharp to talk to my mum on Skype about my project. After a considerable amount of stress and confusion we finally managed to get one part finished - with the most difficult part left to go. By this time, it was 6.30 and I couldn’t afford to spend any more time on it, or I’d be late to school.
I arrived at school and went straight to the computer room as usual, to check some more of my project. Then, in first period I had my favourite class, the First Grade. As always, there was great excitement when I entered the room, closely followed by an immense group hug, generous offerings of yet more stickers and another round of compliments. I was given Barbie stickers that day, since I look so much like her, apparently. One of the girls is also insistent that her mum is going to make me a dress and a crown because I’m a princess.
In second period I had French (which I’m beginning to get quite good at, surprisingly). This was followed by Fourth Grade English, with whom I haven’t actually had a full lesson yet - as last week was the celebration of El Día del Niño and this week was El Día Mundial del Folklore. International Folklore Day, as it is in English, was initiated by UNESCO in 1846, when the British archeologist William G. Thorns first used the term ‘folklore’ in an article for the London magazine ‘Atheneum’.
Folklore is the authentic expression of a civilization’s traditions, legends, customs, music, dance, etc., which distinguish one culture from another. The term was created through the combination of the words ‘folk’ (people) and ‘lore’ (knowledge) to refer to the ancestral manifestation of the world’s cultures, which still exist today, passed down the generations.
In Peru, which probably has the most rich folklore of all the Americas, celebration of this day is encouraged, especially in schools. The education system is trying to ensure that, with the influx of Western culture, Peruvians don’t forget their own heritage. In Mater Admirabilis, where I teach, we therefore hosted a performance of traditional Peruvian music and dance from a local troop. Benches and chairs were set out on the playground and the whole school came to watch the traditional performances representing the three aspects of Peru: coast, mountains and jungle.
We were lucky enough that, that very afternoon, the sun decided to come out properly for the first time since I’d been in Lima, and it was warm enough even to take off my jacket and gloves. The performance was fascinating, and more incredible still is the fact that the dances and costumes came from tribes that still exist in Peru today. The thought of sharing a country with such ancient tribes, who speak no modern languages and are completely cut off from the outside world, is unfathomable. At the end of the performance, the audience was invited to get up and join the dance - and before I knew it, I was being dragged up by Eleanor and Alex. Being the only gringas in sight, we attracted the attention of the dancers, who gave us their hats and crowns and showed us how to copy their dance.
That afternoon, the cultural experience continued when my Upper School English class was interrupted for us to pay a visit to the small folklore exhibition that had been set up downstairs. It only took a few minutes to walk around, but it was interesting to see the little collection of crafts and artifacts from traditional areas of Peru.
The rest of the afternoon was spent helping in the Second Grade of Upper School, who were doing a comprehension exercise on English poetry. When you consider that they are only the equivalent of Year 8 and are doing comprehension exercises on William Blake, this is pretty impressive - especially considering the antiquated language used and complex concepts explored by this eighteenth century poet.
After school, I had to rush back to the flat to talk to my mum on Skype again before it got too late in England. Over an hour and a half later, we’d finally finished up, and although I was still a little concerned, I knew this was the best we were going to get. I trust my mum entirely; there’s a reason why I myself am this organised, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t come from my dad’s side, much as I love him.
At any rate, my poor mum had got herself into such a state with it all, trying to get it all in the right order and up to my standards of presentation, that I felt awful. To cheer her up, I decided to introduce her to Rex the house bunny, who was hopping around the living room, playing with a plastic football bigger than he is. When Natsumi came in, it seemed only right to introduce her too, and it was at this point that she spontaneously came out with such spotless American English that I nearly fell off my chair in shock. How could I not have know this, all this time?
By this time it was getting late in England so we soon said our goodbyes. I then had just a few hours to shower and get ready before leaving for the bus station, where I was meeting Amy and catching an eight-hour bus north to Huaraz. Since I had a bit of time to spare and Nicole was bored and lonely, I sat and watched Disney’s Teen Movie with her, which she’d already told me about excitedly a few days before and which she was desperate for me to see.
At 9.30 Rafael, Pily’s nephew, came to pick me up in his taxi again. This time, since it wasn’t a ridiculous time in the morning, we managed to have a nice long chat all the way to the station - about Lima, about politics, about racism - anything we could think of. Apparently, racism is a big issue in Peru - and contrary to what you might think, the lighter the skin, the better, even here. Rafael, who is quite pale by Hispanic standards, told me that he gets to take advantage of this because customers are more likely to choose a taxi driver with lighter skin and to pay him more.
He explained the expression to me: “El que no tiene de Inga tiene de Mandinga”, which basically means that every Peruvian has either some indigenous or African blood. This is because the country has built up a huge mix of races, beginning with the arrival of the Spanish Conquistadors in the sixteenth century and continuing with the influx of African slaves, Chinese labourers and migrants from Japan and Europe. Despite this mix, there is a deep-rooted racism issue here, meaning that people of certain races can only aspire to certain professions. The biggest issue, apparently, is that it’s seen as a joke and is therefore so common, even in the national media, that people don’t fight against it.
Anyway, after this brief Peruvian social education lesson, it was time to catch the bus. Amy was already sitting waiting in the terminal and it wasn’t long before we were on our way. The bus was modern and comfortable, with plenty of legroom, reclining seats and even our own blankets and pillows. Nevertheless, it was a long, restless night, with the draught from the window constantly waking me from my light sleep.
When 6am came around, it felt like I’d hardly slept at all, but there was nothing for it but to power through. Since we were only in Huaraz for two days, we needed to make the most of it. Once we had waited in the queue and collected our bags, we took a taxi to the hostel, which was up a steep cobbled street just five minutes up the road.
The hostel, which was called Alpes Huaraz, was a cute little B&B-type place tucked away in a narrow side street. When we arrived, we pressed the buzzer to be let in and were greeted in English by a cheerful guy who let us check in straight away. We were also able to book both the tours we wanted to do over the two days: Chavín and a horse-riding tour.
Once we’d sorted ourselves out in our room, which was a triple room all to ourselves, sharing a bathroom with one other room (all for S./25 (less than £6)), we went downstairs to grab some much-needed breakfast. We sat down to discover that our breakfast was also included in the ridiculous price, consisting of orange juice, a hot drink of our choice, two flatbread rolls with fresh jam, and a banana. We couldn’t believe our luck.
At 9am we were picked up to go on our tour of Chavín de Huantar. The full-day minibus trip, which involved a six-hour round trip, took us to the ancient ruins via the Callejón de Huayas, the valley between the spectacular Andean mountain ranges, the Cordilla Blanca and Cordilla Negra. We were accompanied by an expert guide (called Juan, of course), who provided us with constant updates about the scenery as we were passing through. Apparently, these mountains are so called due to their contrasting colours, since one is white due to the snow on its peaks, and the other appears dark due to the vegetation that covers it.
We broke up our journey to Chavín with several stops. The first was just at a small isolated cafe on the side of the road, where we had the opportunity to buy a coca tea - a necessity if we were going to cope in the high altitudes to which we were about to ascend. It’s something I’d never really considered before, but altitude sickness, or soroche, can be a huge problem when you ascend above 2,400 metres (8,000 feet), and is caused by the low partial pressure of oxygen. This can create, in some people, symptoms similar to a flu or hangover, such as nausea, fatigue, dizziness, swelling, shallow breathing and a rapid pulse, amongst others. In more serious cases, it can cause cerebral or pulmonary edemas (swelling of the brain or fluid in the lungs).
Fortunately, Amy had come prepared with altitude sickness tablets (for those interested, they’re called ‘Acetazolamida’) and all the local people had plenty of tips for us. The best local cure is anything coca-based, hence the tea stop. We’d also stopped off on the way to buy coca-flavoured boiled sweets, which apart from the interesting aftertaste, weren’t as awful as we’d expected. Coca is yet another plant native to South America and is the raw ingredient used for cocaine - although, obviously, in small doses it doesn’t get you high. The same coca leaf is used in Coca Cola and has medicinal uses such as against headaches, rheumatisms and broken bones and to prevent bleeding, as well as alleviating hunger, thirst and altitude sickness.
Whilst we were drinking our excessively-sweetened coca tea at the little shack-like cafe in the mountains with the rest of the tourist group, we got our first long look at the spectacular scenery. Our next stop gave us another spectacular view of the snow-topped mountains, and the next was at Lago Querococha. The lake, which is at 3,980m above sea level, nestled in the valley amongst the great, rocky mountains, is as still as glass and absolutely stunning. We took our time walking the slope right down to the banks and out to the peer to appreciate the view, ignoring the mountain people who had come to offer tourists a picture with them with lambs in their arms.
Our next and final stop before reaching Chavín de Huantar was at a traditional restaurant, slightly beyond a tiny village. We’d passed several tiny provincial villages on the way, like nothing I’d seen before, with buildings made out of scrap materials, inhabited by people who looked like they’d never experienced real civilization before. Some of them were even wearing the traditional costume of the Peruvian mountain communities: bright red and purple shawls and skirts with peculiar top hats. I couldn’t get over the fact they were walking down the street in these outfits - that they had got ready that morning and thought, “Yes, these colours and this top hat is definitely the look I’m going for.” It’s incredible.
The restaurant was tucked away on its own and consisted of a series of wooden gazebos with wicker rooves, scattered about amongst in a beautiful garden of bright, exotic flowers and stone paths. The surroundings more than made up for the fact that there was little on the menu for me, let alone for poor Amy, who eats neither meat nor fish. In the end, she had to ask for rice and salad, whilst I opted for trout, since this is the local delicacy. Little did I know that, apart from the light batter, it would literally be served as a dead fish: fins, bones, tail and all. I had to get some poor Australian guy from our tour, who happened to be on the table next to us, to take out the bones for me. Luckily, we had already got talking to him and his companion so it wasn’t as random as it might seem. He’d been travelling for four years, and counting, and had some incredible stories to tell.
After lunch, it was time to head to Chavín. We’d already been through several microclimates by this point - from so hot we needed to take our jackets off, to so cold we needed to put on two more. When we got to Chavín, it was cold and windy and pouring with rain. Nevertheless, we went ahead with our walking tour - and it was definitely worth braving the weather.
Chavín de Huantar is a pre-Incan archeological site and UNESCO World Heritage Site dating back to around 1200BC, although occupation of the site has been carbon dated to at least 3000 BC. It stands at an elevation of 3,180m and served as a large ceremonial centre for the Chavín people, for rituals, consulting oracles and entering cults. The site is, for obvious reasons, now in ruins, although a significant part of it still remains. For instance, the enormous flat-topped pyramid is still over 10 metres high and has survived multiple earthquakes that have left the modern-day town in ruins.
Our guide, Juan, was a fountain of knowledge about the place, coming out with facts that, now, I can’t even seem to find on the Internet. I greedily took in all the information at the time, asking nerdy questions and translating for the people who were struggling to follow. The Chavín people, it seems, were as bloody an ancient civilisation as many others like the Aztecs and Egyptians, and just as obsessively religious and misogynistic, to add to the mix.
There is much reference in their art and sculptures to the male and female form, which suggests an acute awareness of sexuality. One such example is the pair of anthropomorphic statues Estela Raimondi, and the sacred Obelisco Tello which is housed beneath one of the stone temples. On the four sides of the obelisk are the carved drawings of two lizards: male and female, who each live on one half of the universe. They were believed to exercise their power on earth through messengers in the form of the jaguar and the eagle.
The gods they worshipped, therefore, took the form of animals, and included condors, snakes, felines and many more. In the centre of the square auditorium there once stood two caiman statues, which were devoutly worshipped. It was around these statues that many rituals were performed - including the routine sacrifice of young women, who were drained of their blood whilst drugged with the juice from the cactus plant, to numb their pain. (Juan added that this could still be purchased on site for S./ 70, should it take our fancy). It’s for this reason that the spot on which the statues once stood is said to maintain a sacred aura to this day. Of course, I had to try it out - but who can say if it really does have a special power or whether it just seems that way because everyone has told you it should?
Nevertheless, I didn’t need a sacred spot to be mystified by the place. The guide went on to describe how all the dimensions of the site inexplicably divide into 7; the auditorium is an exact square of 49m x 49m; it has 7 steps; the temple was 14m high; there are so many examples, it’s difficult to pass it off as coincidence. Eerier still is the existence of a singular rock on the site which has not been found in any other location in the world. This is in addition to the fact that the temples were constructed with enormous boulders that are only found miles away, and are placed together with such exactitude that, even without the use of any mortar, the constructions have remained standing for thousands of years.
We walked around the site, receiving more information at every point. The most fascinating part of it all was the mystery that still surrounds the site to this day, as there is still an ongoing debate as to purpose of some of the elements. Just one example is an enormous stone block with concave circles carved into its surface; some historians claim it was another site of sacrifice, whilst others claim (more accurately, according to Juan), that the hollows were filled with water and used as mirrors to read the stars and therefore formulate calendars.
To end the tour, we descended some steep stone steps to gain access to the tunnels and chambers beneath the temple. It was here that meditation and rituals took place, and where the highest ranking priests lived - although the whole site was inhabited exclusively by the higher classes. The dark stone tunnels were narrow, low and sinister, and pervaded with the sinister traces of the rituals that had gone on there. At the end of the last tunnel we were allowed a glimpse of the Obelisk, which was lit up and protected behind a glass screen.
As we emerged back into the daylight, we were taken to see a stone statue of a god’s head, protruding from the outside wall. Then it was time to make our way back to the minibus to begin the long journey back to the hostel - but not before stopping to take photos of the llamas who were casually wandering the grounds. We also took a sneaky peak at some of the stalls, but there were no llama jumpers to be found.
Our amigo Juan (to whom everyone was an amigo and everything was impresionante) recommended us a restaurant for dinner and it was perfect. After a satisfying dinner we made our way back to the hostel, since it was getting late by this point and it had been a long day. When we arrived at the hostel, all we wanted was a quiet drink before bed, but the guys working there couldn’t believe we wanted hot drinks and not alcohol. Another group of guys tried to get us to go out, but we weren’t convinced the run-down town of Huaraz would make for a wild night out and, at any rate, one of them was just a little bit weird and kept repeating himself, which was slightly suspicious.
We woke up the next day to have the luxury of hot showers, before grabbing breakfast and waiting for our guide to arrive, who was going to take us horse-riding. Typically, it was 10.30 rather than 10 by the time he turned up, and when he did, it wasn’t at all what we’d expected. We were led, without a clue where we were going, to the outskirts of Huaraz and abandoned on a street corner whilst the guy disappeared into some shops down the road.
Ten minutes later he popped up behind us and told us to get into the minibus which was parked in the car wash garage we’d been standing in front of. We obediently obeyed, at a complete loss to what was actually going on. It appeared this was the usual form of public transport here, and we were wedged in amongst all the locals, even a couple of old women in the traditional dress - although somehow we, the two white girls, stood out much more. Before we knew it, we were careering through the mountain roads out of Huaraz, stopping only when the conductor, who was about ten years old, spotted potential passengers on the side of the road.
Half an hour later, the minibus stopped and we followed our guide’s instructions to get off. We were now literally in the middle of nowhere and had no idea what was coming next. Then, we were told to wait on the dirt path on the other side of the road, and two minutes later, two mountain ponies were led over to us by some mountain people. Since I had told the guide I was an experienced rider, he told me to mount up first whilst he helped Amy; I had a feeling this was going to be a quick initiation into riding for her.
Slightly horrified at how things were turning out - being put on a horse with no hat ,and stirrups and reins made from rope and left to fend for ourselves in the Peruvian mountains - I asked anxiously if we weren’t going to be accompanied by a guide. It was at this point that another horse appeared and the guy, who was dressed in suit trousers, smart shoes and a shirt, casually mounted up as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
Before I had time to protest, I was leading the way up the mountain path and leaving civilisation behind. Thankfully, the horses seemed like they were old hands at this so they already knew their route and wouldn’t attempt to stray. I’d expected an exciting ride, galloping through the hills, but under the circumstances I was quite glad to be on a little plod.
The views we encountered on our trail up the Cordillera Negra were spectacular; we could see the snow-topped peaks of Huascarán, at 6,768m heigh, and the entire valley below. The horses were bred to scale steep slopes so we were able to ascend heigh into the mountainside; the views were so stunning that it didn’t matter I wasn’t getting my adrenaline rush. This was a once in a lifetime experience.
Halfway up, we stopped off at a tiny stone shack to buy the local flatbread for lunch, at less than half a sol each. We tied our bags of food to our saddles, along with our water, like proper mountain trekkers. We were just relaxing into the ride when we passed a little house with dogs outside, barking to defend their territory. Suddenly, they were running at us and trying to bite the horses, whose flight instinct kicked in. Before we knew it, we were galloping up the mountainside, heading at full speed for the cliff face.
I couldn’t even look behind me to check if Amy had stayed on, I was so intent on pulling back before we hit the edge. But once we’d outrun the dogs it didn’t take me long to pull my horse back, and the other horses, who were slightly behind, soon followed suit. We’d all survived to tell the tale.
We probably should have been shaken up by the ordeal, but after we’d pulled up our horses we carried on the trail as though nothing had happened. Our guide told us, as we passed more peculiar adobe houses and some fields filled with rectangular blocks of soil, that these houses were constructed from these very same blocks, composed of clay, water and organic material such as straw or dung. It’s incredible to think that these people build their own houses and simply live off the land that surrounds them, even today. Our guide’s parents, who have nine more children besides him, also live at the top of that very same mountain.
When we reached the lookout point, we stopped to have lunch and the guide went to share the food he’d bought with his younger siblings, who were playing on the mountain. We also met his dog, a poor skinny-looking Border Collie, who we couldn’t resist sharing some lunch with.
After lunch, the descent was much easier, and we reached the bottom in much less time than we’d reached the top. There, we were told to await our guide whilst he put the horses away. It was now mid-afternoon and the sun was blazing, not only rendering our two jackets useless but almost making us wish we had shorts on.
We caught the minibus back into town, where we were given some vague directions from the guide but miraculously found our own way back to the hostel. From there, we headed straight back into town, where we stopped off for some delicious fresh mixed fruit smoothies, ridiculously cheap and served in a huge glass.
Then we set off the explore Huaraz, which had a pleasant central square but unfortunately, due to the many earthquakes that have struck the town, the residential areas have been left all but destroyed. We walked all around the town, including the less-visited areas and a huge local market selling fruits and vegetables, clothes and even live chicks. We stood out as uncomfortably foreign and I could feel all eyes on us; even walking through the streets, people were constantly trying to talk to us or just shouting “¡Hola, gringas!” Some of the areas were so poor, and the houses so dilapidated, that it felt like just by walking through them, we were making ourselves easy targets.
We soon made our way back into the centre, by which time we were ready to find somewhere to eat. Of course, there was nowhere with a vegetarian menu to be found, and after asking at the tiny tourist office, we ascertained that our best option was to go to an Italian restaurant. On the way, we happened to glimpse what we’d been searching so hard for: llama jumpers! Mission accomplished.
Whilst we were waiting for our dinner we had the added entertainment of a little Peruvian girl who was absolutely fascinated by us. She was at that age where the best question in the world seems to start with “Why?” and end in a chain of “whys” until every possible answer has been exhausted. It was in this way that we somehow got from telling her what was in our shopping bags to explaining the existence of seasons. It was entertaining but exhausting at the same time, especially when we got onto the questions like, “Why do you talk like that?” Sigh.
The bus back wasn’t until 10pm, so we had an hour or so to kill at the hostel before getting a taxi to the station. The taxi driver was lovely and told us to come back to Huaraz whenever we wanted, as though it was his invitation to give out. The man on the desk at the bus station was equally chatty and lovely, which made for a nice end to the trip.
The negative side, obviously, was the horrendous seven-hour bus journey back - which, again, seemed to go desperately slowly but yet I didn’t seem to get any sleep. We arrived at Lima bus station at just after 5am, and it was nearly 6 by the time we’d queued to collect our bags and negotiated a fare with a taxi driver. The taxi drivers refused to understand the notion of dropping us off at two different addresses, which I was sure would work out cheaper and probably be safer too. We actually drove past the turning into my road before I was able to get the driver to understand the concept. Luckily, both Amy and I did eventually arrive at the correct addresses. By this time we were exhausted, but travelling at night had definitely been the best way to make the most of the weekend.
When I got back to the apartment complex, the guards let me into my block and I tried to let myself in the front door to the flat. I’d already spoken to Pily twice and she knew I would be arriving in the early hours, but they had put the safety lock on the door anyway in the knowledge they would have to get up to let me in. Omar came to the door almost immediately and seemed genuinely pleased to see me rather than annoyed at being woken up at such an obscene time on a Sunday morning. He carried my case upstairs before we both went back to bed.
I easily fell back into a deep sleep, fully clothed on top of my bed, and didn’t wake up until my alarm went off at 11. Then it was time for breakfast and to organize some work for the school that I needed to complete for the next day. Before I knew it, 1.30 arrived and so did half of Omar’s family, much to my surprise. There had been a mention of a family lunch, but I’d assumed it wasn’t going to happen since I hadn’t heard any more about it. Now, when they arrived, I was taken completely by surprise, and after being introduced, had to run upstairs to make myself presentable.
I soon got into conversation with Omar’s father, who was keen to talk to me and get to know me, and couldn’t believe my level of Spanish (although he did have a laugh about my Spanish accent). The rest of the family were similarly lovely, and everyone made me feel incredibly welcome. They kept asking me what I thought about different aspects of Peru and when I was going to return. By the end of the afternoon, almost all of Omar’s side of the family was there - his parents and the families of two of his three brothers.
For the late afternoon lunch, Pily served a vast array of dishes. There was no meat to be seen, only vegetables and fish that she knew I would eat. Not only that, but she’d gone out of her way to make special dishes just for me that were made with less chili than everyone else’s. I felt so grateful for all the effort she’d gone to, I tried to eat as much as I could: ceviche, tiradito (like ceviche but with a creamy orange sauce), chicharrón de pescado (fish lightly fried into a crispy batter), boiled sweet potato and yuca (a white-yellow root vegetable), choclo (Peruvian corn) and cancha (toasted corn). To drink, Omar kept me topped up with Chilcano de Pisco, a Peruvian cocktail made with Pisco, lemon juice, ice, bitters and ginger ale.
I had been so engaged in conversation with everyone all day that I didn’t even think about the time until I noticed it was getting dark. After dessert and coffee, we watched some home videos on the iPad, which Omar had made by putting family photos to music and uploading them to YouTube. Before I knew it, everyone was saying their goodbyes and giving me their heartfelt wishes of good luck for my travels and my journey back home, telling me to come back and visit whenever I wanted.
It had been another amazing weekend, full of variety and new experiences. I can’t believe I only have three days left at school and two days left in Peru. I have to make every moment last.
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