Máncora

Located 800km north of Lima in the province of Piura, the quaint beach town of Máncora offers a quiet escape from the flurry that is Peru’s capital. The grueling twenty hour trek in omnibus along the precipitous Peruvian coastline is about all the human body can handle but the destination is well worth the journey. Once in Máncora, one notices that the population is a fusion of local fisherman and surf instructors with a host of North American and European backpackers who have decided to stay, making it possible to enjoy an authentic Peruvian experience without missing the comforts of home.

During our stay in Mancora, a friend and I lodged at the hospedaje Sol y Mar for the affordable price of 20 soles a night. The budget hotel, complete with restaurant and pool, was situated no more than 50m from the beach and within walking distance of all the modest nightlife that the town has to offer. Though the absence of centers of culture or commerce may be perceived by some as a shortcoming, the nothingness of Máncora allows the tourist to focus on the true purpose of vacation: indulgence. Our activities included little more than reading (in my case it was Lady Chatterly’s Lover and The Sorrows of Young Werther), sampling freshly caught seafood, sunbathing, and enjoying the occasional cocktail (especially when ingredients included local fruits).

If affordability and leisure are not enough, the intimacy of Máncora offers the potential tourist an additional incentive to visit. Due to the small size of the town, it was impossible to walk more than a block without spotting a familiar face: most of the people we saw taking surf lessons in the afternoon were the same folks we had eaten breakfast alongside in the morning. Once the sun went down in the evenings and the restaurants closed for the day, everyone congregated in the few bars that lined the main strip. On the makeshift dance floor we at once ran into the receptionist from the hotel, our waitresses from lunch and dinner and a few local artisans we had seen early in the day.

Karma or Coincidence

Saturday, I lunched with a friend at a “restaurant” called Embarcadero 41. The atmosphere was similar to that of a mess hall, only the meal was serenaded by strident salsa music from overhead speakers. The plates had hardly been cleared at 3:00 when the entire room was converted into a dance party. Bottles of barena, a light Peruvian beer, flowed like water and tables were cleared to make room for the revelry. Remaining chairs served as pedestals for the female patrons (who outnumbered the males 3 to 1) and I found myself entrapped in a swarm of raucous peruanas. By 9:00, the party began to wane and we departed for la calle de las pizzas (or Pizza Street) in order to prolong the festivities. Our last stop was at Mama Batatas, a very Americanized bar in Larcomar where after one more drink, I decided to call it a night. Sunday was spent more tranquilly at a friend’s family barbeque.

On Monday morning, I was invited to accompany the sister of my host mother to volunteer with the Peruvian Red Cross. Our first stop was at a school for the mentally handicapped that hosts around thirty children, aged 5 to 15. The disabilities included autism and Downs Syndrome, although a few of the children were there because of severe physical disabilities. The capacities of the children were also wide ranging, from the students who were absolutely unable to communicate to those who introduced themselves with great charisma. After spending a couple hours with the students matching colored blocks and coloring pictures, we visited a house for cancer patients who come from poor provinces and have nowhere to stay. It was disheartening to see people who have very serious illness and so few resources and I look forward to working with both organizations next month.

Puro Peruano

Napoleon’s invasion of Spain in 1808 and the resultant debility of the colonial superpower led to a series of liberation movements throughout South America. In 1824, after centuries of imposition and exploitation, José San Martín and Simón Bólivar led Peru to its long awaited independence. Bólivar’s former residence, now in the Pueblo Libre district of Lima, has been converted into the Museum of Anthropology, Archeology and History which I had the opportunity to visit on Tuesday. To the history aficionado, the comprehensive galleries demonstrate the indigenous life of the Chavín, Mochica, and Huari tribes that existed long before the reign of the Inca; to the cynic, the museum is an elaborate display of pre-Columbian jars. The highlight of the museum is (expectedly) the exhibit on the Inca which reveals the incredible accomplishments of a civilization that lasted less than a century and had no written language and no knowledge of the wheel… Re-invent that!
Most Peruvians would argue that the only thing richer than their cultural heritage is their cuisine. Wednesday’s culinary expedition began with a seafood sampler consisting of tilapia, shrimp, clams, octopus, and yucca root accompanied by a pitcher of chicha morada, a traditional juice made from blue corn and spiced with cinnamon. Following lunch, a walk through the parks lining the coast of Miraflores led us to a viewpoint that looks over Lima, where we enjoyed maracuya sours, an acerbic jungle fruit mixed with Peruvian pisco. The evening was spent in the bohemian barrio of Barranco watching the sunset over a cold Cuzqueña beer adjacent the Puente de Suspiros (The Bridge of Sighs) before retiring for the day. Thursday saw no mercy from the gastronomic indulgence as I was treated to multiple platters of the much revered ceviche, a “raw” fish cooked in lime juice and onion served with slices of glazed sweet potato. It should go without saying that the better part of Friday morning was spent in the gym… only to treat myself to ground beef empanadas in the afternoon.

Pisco Part II

This week’s adventure to Pisco proved that the town is gradually recovering. More movement in the streets suggested the return of confidence to the inhabitants; more open markets and restaurants signified less of a dependence on canned tuna and dried fruit for me and my companeros. Though a few of the buildings left standing precariously after the earthquake have been torn down, a majority of the structures simply bear the spray-painted word “demoler” (instructions precipitating their demolition). Desperate foragers trail construction equipment closely, scouring for iron which they can sell to a scrap yard at the price of US $0.05 a pound. Families continue to concentrate in the designated shelters, deliberating on whether to bide their time with reconstruction efforts or begin a new life elsewhere; it was heartwarming to be greeted by name upon returning to the three camps visited last week. Although our contributions are minimal (and often self-gratifying) we are assured by UNICEF that the ability for children—many who have lost immediate relatives—to act like children is essential during these distressing times.

(Hector helps his father salvage scrap rebar)

(Children pose for a picture at the albergue ¨Nueva Alameda¨)

In addition to the continual “morale building” activities, our delegation had the opportunity to construct a prefabricated house which had been generously donated by the Chilean government. As I was unable to provide any professional expertise, I was asked to stand behind the unsecured walls and ensure that they did not fall. (No really, show your support.) After a few hours of hard work and camaraderie, we were able to erect the modest residence which the three older, disenfranchised women can now call home.

(Hold right there...)

(This is the house that Morgan built)

Amid the collaboration efforts with the community of Pisco, we were able to find time for diversion. During our “culinary exploration” our group encountered “pollo a la brasa” (rotisserie chicken) and “mancha pancho” (a delicious dry stew meaning “shirt-stainer” and clever pun on the ancient ruin) at an affordable price. The evenings were spent sharing a bottle of Pisco, a locale brandy and the country´s official liqour, and discussing differences in life states and life in Peru. The fellowship not only brought us closer together but kept us warm during the windy Ica nights. There is a ship leaving for Pisco this Wednesday (a 12 hour journey) but I may bypass a third consecutive trip to enjoy some of the city. As usual, plans are TBD.

(These boys were asked to keep a straight face but the one in the middle couldn´t hold it)

(In addition to an ¨S¨, the children were also asked to form a dining room table and a Christmas tree)

Picking up the Pieces

On the evening of August 15th, a massive 7.9 earthquake ravaged the southern coast of Peru. This weekend, I had the opportunity to visit the town of Pisco (four hours south of Lima) with a co-ed delegation from the Scouts del Peru. The community, once a quaint getaway and gateway to two notable nature reserves, had been transformed into a virtual ghost town. Buildings surrounding the Plaza de Armas were all but demolished (including a cathedral where over 140 perished during mass) and nearly all of the Pisco’s remaining inhabitants had moved to “albergues” or refugee shelters. Although the scouts, most of who study architecture in Chimote, spent part of their time investigating the flaws in construction that had led to the collapse of many of the town’s structures, the primary concern of the mission was to provide emotional support to the community’s youth. Children were not asked to “be still”, “keep their hands to themselves”, or “repeat after me”, but encouraged to participate in various songs and activities which provided an outlet for energy and a much needed distraction. Peruvian versions of childhood classics like the hokey pokey and musical chairs transformed the countless dispossessed families living on the town’s municipal athletic field into a unified rapture. Sugar cane, taken from a house that had been razed completely during the disaster, was used to construct kites which, containing messages like “Viva Pisco,” soared high in the sky. The weekend would not have been complete, of course, without a few games of the ever-present futbol, in which children of eight and ten were much more capable of leading the team to victory than the 23-year-old gringo who tried anyway. Overall, the experience was as rewarding to the contributing scouts as to the communities affected. Our spending three days eating exclusively tuna and crackers and not showering pale in comparison to the sacrifices made by the people of the south who have suffered so much as a result of this tragedy.