I literally have no idea where the past week went. After a whirlwind of visits, dinners and nights out, as well as yet another surprise illness on Saturday, I spent the whole of Sunday manically running around getting the things done I should have been working on for the rest of the week. As if things weren’t stressful enough, my grandpa was rushed into hospital on Sunday morning after having had two serious heart attacks. Such a close repetition of history seems almost like the Fates are playing some kind of twisted joke.
Then, somehow, yesterday morning I found myself on a series of planes, trains and automobiles on my way to Peru. The journey went surprisingly smoothly. Both my parents dropped me off at Wolverhampton train station and saw me onto the next train to Birmingham; my Mum was emotional but I felt strangely numb to it all, almost as though I weren’t going to the other side of the world at all. Another two trains later and I arrived at Gatwick, where I checked my 22.7kg case in, safely under the 23kg limit, and walked straight through security through to Duty Free. After buying a bag full of English souvenirs for my Peruvian family and a bag full of snacks for myself, it was time to board the flight for Madrid.
If I’d have known my connecting flight was via Madrid, I’m not sure I’d have gone back to the UK only to return to the same airport a week later - but unfortunately it just worked out that way. Madrid also happens to have one of the poorest selections of Gate-side shops and restaurants I’ve ever seen, and I was limited to the choice of just one self-service cafe, which was less than ideal. It was quite strange, sitting on my little table for two all alone and amusing myself with my book whilst I ate my dinner.
I passed the next hour at the at the Gate watching TV programmes that are currently saved on my Mac Air (I am a definite product of my time these days, as I realised on my previous flight as I whipped out my Macbook, iPod and Kindle). Unfortunately, what I hadn’t thought of was the fact that people are liable to peek over your shoulder at what you’re watching - which makes Сверхъестественное (Supernatural) and Juego de tronos (Game of Thrones) slightly inappropriate viewing material (especially as the episode I was watching happened to include a ten-minute-long brothel scene). I was caught in that awkward decision of which would look worse - not paying any attention to it and hoping it would pass quickly, or skipping it surreptitiously and hoping nobody would notice. Maybe I was just over-thinking the whole thing, but it was a bit uncomfortable, I admit.
I’d turned my laptop off in good time for boarding, which was meant to begin at 11pm, only to hear the announcement that the flight was delayed by twenty minutes. This didn’t stop a huge queue of people forming, quite unnecessarily, all around the waiting lounge, despite the fact we all had allocated seats. In a stroke of idiocy, the airport administration had considered it a good idea to locate three enormous South America flights at consecutive gates, all of which were boarding at the same time - which inevitably resulted in a chaotic mass of confused passengers scattered around the hall.
Thankfully I managed to find a couple more people with common sense who reassured me that there really was no need to begin standing in a queue forty minutes before boarding time, so I waited with them until the last available minute. As I reached the front of the queue I was struck by the unmistakable smell of alcohol, which I quickly connected to the dazed-looking man tapping his foot distractedly at the side of the ticket checking desk. I hoped this wasn’t the cause of the delay: technical issues can be forgiven; human incompetence, however, is another matter entirely.
The plane did eventually get off the ground, however, and it actually arrived twenty minutes before the scheduled time. The journey hadn’t even seemed unbearably long, despite lasting over eleven hours, as I’d managed to sleep through most of it (ear plugs and eye mask are definitely the way forward). This was lucky because we hadn’t even got those little TVs you usually get in the back of the chairs during long-haul flights - just a few coming down from the ceiling, all playing the same thing. If you ask me, a personal TV, as well as more than one toilet per fifty people, I might add, should be prerequisites on a flight that long. This was more than a little disappointing in comparison with my Thai Air flight this time last year.
Getting through customs was far easier than expected, even after having to fill out migration forms without any advice for the first time in my life. I even had to borrow a flight attendant’s pen, which felt a little sad. Then, since I’d arrived early and my transfer wasn’t arriving until 6am, I sat down to read for half an hour. At the designated time I went to stand in an embarrassingly conspicuous place, with my glasses on so there would be no chance of missing the sign. The excitement of having someone collect me with a sign with my name on it was overshadowed slightly by the fact that I was sapped of energy and had no idea what said person looked like or from which angle he would be coming.
Nevertheless, at 6.15 I spotted a stout little man waddling timidly towards me with a sign stating clearly ‘Georgina Cane VolunTech Peru’ - well, close enough, anyway. I was then escorted to a dilapidated green car with a ‘Taxi’ sign on the top. My large case was put, strangely, on the front seat, and the small one in the boot, and I hopped into the back seat indicated by the driver. Imagine my alarm when he then locked me into said banger and strolled off towards the airport without a word.
Knowing that an ex-boyfriend of mine had once been in a similar situation and had woken up two days later, in a brothel in the middle of Gambia, naked, drugged up and without any of his money or possessions, I was a little concerned. The driver had left the placard on the dashboard, which I now grabbed to take a closer look at. In hindsight, it was a really rubbish sign; why had I trusted this guy? I should have given him the twenty-one questions.
I’d barely had time to process all this, let alone get into a panic, before the driver reappeared and got in the car. There were no clues as to the reason for his disappearance, so I decided to ask if he knew the address - which he did, to the letter. We had just got onto the main road when he had a phone call; it was Shadia from VolunTeach Peru, for me. I was saved.
Half an hour later, after a chaotic journey of traffic jams, dodging other vehicles and
darting in between lanes, we pulled over outside a large apartment building. Having literally no idea of what to expect, finding that the complex was one of the more modern ones in the area was a relief. Throughout the journey I’d been expecting us to stop at any minute, at any of the run-down little houses or towering apartment blocks we sped past.
After the driver had confirmed that this was the right address, he dropped me off at the entrance, where my Peruvian mum, Pily, came to meet me and walk me to the apartment. I call her this not because I am brutally and obviously rejecting my English family, but because that is really what VolunTeach Peru refers to them as; actually I have a Peruvian mum, dad and two sisters. We also have an extremely cute white house bunny called Rex, as I discovered, with a double take, as he hopped out of one of the downstairs bedrooms.
The apartment is more modern and spacious than you might expect - and, from the journey here I’m guessing that we’re some of the luckier ones. It’s located on the tenth floor in the first block of an enormous apartment complex, whose gated entrance is accessible by a slip road off the dual carriageway. The entrance comprises two electric garage-type doors for cars to enter and exit the underground car park, as well as a pedestrian gate monitored by two guards. To enter our block on foot, you have to go past these guards and through a small asphalt courtyard containing a small jungle gym and a (now empty) stone paddling pool for kids.
A set of double glass doors (which also requires a key) open into a marble-look entrance hall, which in turn, leads you onto a lift. The front door of our apartment leads onto a living-dining area, at the front of which is a set of double glass doors opening onto a small balcony with panoramic views of the area. A few years ago, I’m told, it was possible to see the whole sea front, rather than just the small part that remains in view today - the rest is now obscured by the persistent construction works going on throughout the area, yet more immense apartment blocks whose peaks now dominate the skyline.
Off the dining area is a small kitchen with a modern fridge-freezer and all the usual appliances. At the other end of the room, just past the small leather sofa, is a set of wooden stairs and a narrow corridor leading onto a bathroom, double bedroom with en suite, and the two girls’ bedrooms. Up the stairs is a living/games area and office, which also serve as a terrace in summer and for the winter are covered with a translucent roof (which does little to keep the warmth in). On the other side is the mother’s dressing room (with roof), a utility room roofed by transparent plastic tiling and my room and en suite, which, thankfully, have an ordinary roof.
The apartment is modern and far from the impoverished stereotype you might have heard of. The only thing really lacking is central heating - quite an issue in the middle of winter. Although it’s not unbearably cold here (at the moment it’s ranging from 15 to 18 degrees), the wind coming off the sea is biting and the lack of any form of heating really takes it toll. Add to that the fact that they have recently switched over to gas canisters in this block and are having to rely on this to heat the water, turning it on only when necessary, and you get a real impression of the cold here.
The Peruvians are admirably stoic about all of this, their solution simply being to put more clothes on. I’m sure if I lived here I would forego some of the other luxuries like flat-screen TVs, stereo systems and iPads, and install some sort of heating system. Maybe, like many people in Spain, they are just used to enduring the cold now and heating the house just isn’t a consideration.
At any rate, the first thing I needed to do, after a long, pleasant conversation with Pily, was have a shower, even if it was on the cooler side of lukewarm. By the time I’d done this and organized some of my things, the girls were beginning to wake up. First I met Nicole, who is ten years old and still has all the sweetness and innocence that comes with that age. She introduced herself politely and gave me a kiss on the cheek; incidentally, it’s one kiss here, not two, which caught me a little off-guard. Since this week is the last week of the school holidays here, their cousin Rosi, who is eleven, has also come to stay. She belongs to a family on the dad’s side, who lives in the same block, just two floors below.
Next I met their abuelita (granny), who has also come to stay for a few days from her village in the jungle (yes, the jungle), where it is also still warm - in fact, it is warm there all year round and the winter is just the rainy season. Consequently, she’s struggling as much as I am with the cold here, so at least that gives us something to relate to one another, even if, at times, we seem to find it rather difficult to grasp what one another are saying.
Finally I met Natsumi, who is possibly the most beautiful sixteen-year-old I have ever seen. She not only looks about twenty-two, with a figure most people that age can only dream of and a bone structure to die for, but she has big brown eyes and black, silky hair down to her waist. Luckily, because she is so lovely, smily and friendly, it’s really impossible to hate her.
The father, Omar, didn’t return from work until later that day. He works with fish, apparently, but he is not, as I automatically assumed, a fisherman. He deals with the packaging and transportation, which to me suggests he’s quite a lot higher up than the guys who go out in the boats. Pily works in the same line, both on flexible time, but she does the accounting side of things.
When it was time for breakfast, the table was laid with tablecloth, placemats, cutlery and a vast array of foods. Pily and I had already had a chat about my eating habits; I’d explained that I’d love to try all the Peruvian foods I could (as long as they didn’t contain meat), but she was also interested to know what I usually eat so she could make me feel at home. As such, she’d laid out a huge bowl of Cornflakes-type cereal (a staple food, it seems, in any country) and a big mug of coffee. The milk here, however, is unlike any milk I’ve ever known (I was already suspicious when the ‘milk’ on the plane was presented to me in a paper sachet, in powder form). From what I’ve seen, it is either whole milk in a UHT carton (which we can get at home) or some kind of condensed milk of a suspicious beige colour which comes in tin cans. Apparently this kind is best for coffee, but with cereal, according to Natsumi, you’re best adding yoghurt. She’s right - it works.
I spent the morning unpacking and getting in contact with various people to inform them that I was still alive. Then, for lunch we had a delicious tuna pasta made by Pily, before Natsumi, Pily and I took a trip to the university, where Natsumi has to send an application. Everything seems to happen at a younger age here; they leave school at sixteen or seventeen, and although the official coming of age for boys is eighteen, it’s not regarded as an important birthday; instead, the important milestone is fifteen for girls, which is the age at which they come out in society as a woman.
I was somewhat surprised when I discovered the family not only has a car, but a brand new four-by-four. Upon exiting by the electric gate, we nosed our way into the chaotic traffic and along the dual carriageway, stopping every few hundred yards to wait in traffic. To add to the chaos on the road, you have little three-wheeled taxis (blue ones which take you to specific drop-off points, and red ones which will take you to your door) as well as some brilliant tests of your hazard perception skills such as random stray dogs, and I even saw a guy on a skateboard being pulled along by a bus.
When we got to the university surprisingly in-tact, Pily had to show her DNI (identity card, like they have in Europe) to gain access to the campus. The university is modern and well-kept, and surprisingly green considering its inner city location. Nevertheless it did come as a bit of a surprise when I spotted deer casually grazing on the lawn. They are so tame that they come right up to you and even, apparently, try and steal your lunch.
Whilst we waited for our turn to come up in the queue to see an admissions officer, Natsumi took me to get crepes at one of the cafeterias. They are made on the spot with a selection of sauces - Natsumi ordered me one similar to the dulce de leche topping they have in Spain, and it was amazing.
Later that afternoon, when Omar returned from work, the four of us took a trip to Callao, the neighbouring district where the airport is located. Amazingly, it is always sunnier here than in our district, although, without traffic, it is only a ten-minute drive away. The city is so full of smog that even a small distance away from the centre seems to make a difference to the climate. Apparently, it hardly ever rains here, but the sky is always grey.
We stopped off at one of the big shopping centres, which is brand new and still awaiting the opening of some shops. There is development everywhere here, as Lima is finally beginning to thrive after suffering for so many years from the effects of the persistent terrorist attacks under the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path), Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Amaru or MRTA (Túpac Armaru Revolutionary Movement) and the government itself, from 1980-2000.
After we’d gone to renew Pily’s DNI (since the office is, bizarrely, in the shopping centre) we went for traditional Peruvian coffee at one of the cafes. As if my pale skin and blonde hair didn’t make my Englishness conspicuous enough, I caused scandal at not taking sugar with my coffee and proved my lack of street smart by not keeping a hand on my bag at all times. Apparently it’s better not to carry a bag at all, when you’re on your own, if you can help it. Omar also asked me if my rings were valuable and, even when I assured him they weren’t, advised me to take them off, as thieves might assume they were and hurt me trying to grab them.
When we got back to the apartment, we heated up some food and then Natsumi and I snuggled up under a blanket on her bed to watch one of her Peruvian soaps, which happens to be one of the most popular in Peru and is now being shown in other countries in South America. It’s called Al fondo hay sitio (There’s Room in the Back) and it’s about the complicated relationships between the rich upper class and their employees here in Lima, so even though it’s not the best programme I’ve ever seen, it’s an interesting look at how society works here.
And so ended my first full day in Lima; I had been welcomed into the family as more than a guest and I felt happy that I would fit in well.
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