Shaken and stirred

On Thursday I experienced my first earthquake here in Lima, although emost Limeñans, hardened since August, just qualifies it as "temblor" and not "terremoto". I was just washing the dishes in the kitchen and Michael frying fish, around twenty to nine in the evening. As always there was a lot of noise on the street, and I thought "oh, another one of those darn heavy trucks" or something to that effect, as the building started moving. During my first months in Peru last year, I woke up quite often and thought there was an earthquake, only to be assured by a grumpy Michael that it was just an airplane or a truck passing by. So, I was slowly desensitised to the shakings of the building...of course, living in a house built in the last century situated opposite a heavy goods railtrack in Germany for two years also played its part.
However, this time the initial up and down rattling did not subside. Instead it developed into a strange sideways movement, as if a giant was standing outside holding onto the building with both hands and shaking it to see what would happen. Then I realised what was happening, and at the same time Michael pulled my arm to get me out onto the balcony. By that time the earthquake had already stopped, and we soon went back inside. I went and packed my computer, passport and important papers in a backpack, but nothing more happened. According to Instituto Geofísico del Perú (IGP), the earthquake originated 69 km northeast of Pisco, and reached 5.8 on the Richter scale. It is not thought to be another aftershock from the earthquake in August. People in Pisco, naturally wary, evacuated their buildings, but noone was hurt this time.
Since I came back, I've noticed that for example in la Punta, one of the places in Lima which would be most exposed to a tsunami, signs and notes have been posted on the beaches, in the shops and in restaurants informing about earthquakes and tsunamis, what to do in the event, etc. I'm thinking Lima was very lucky in August, because my guess is that a huge part of the population which has migrated to the capital during the last two decades would be at a loss as to how to act during and in the aftermath of a big earthquake with a potential tsunami, and as recently as this year there was very little public information about it, apart from the seemingly compulsory sign to indicate the load-bearing beam/wall of a shop/restaurant. It is a shame that it would take the utter destruction of Pisco to stir awareness in the capital.

Democracy by a stretch of the imagination

Thank heavens for that, then. In the referendum in Venezuela on Sunday, the constitutional reform project granting Chavez the right, among others, to be reelected indefinitely was rejected. With 88% of the votes counted, 50.7% of the voters said no, and 48.9% said yes.

However, with an abstention of 44.9%, there is a lot to be said about the results.

Image borrowed from Caretas

Hi-tech installation

This is what it looks like when a telephone line for an apartment is installed in San Miguel, Lima. Surprisingly similar to that in Scotland, i.e. cables as far as the eye can see. The best part was when the other guy, who is not visible in the pictures, was standing on the street throwing the new cable over the others at random like a pair of shoes tied together, trying to organise it. No matter, as long as it works, I'm overjoyed!

Update

Unfortunately I am still not inspired enough to write a nice account of any recent event, so here's a brief summary:

Brazil won the South American Rugby Cup, Peru came a proud second, but now it's up to the fairer sex to prove their worth, women's games will be in January. Considering my visa tribulations (and lack of fitness) I'll sit that one out, but I'm sooo looking forward to the beach tournament in January!

Sudamericana 2007

Thanks to some French friends, we've discovered a really nice weekend hideout at Punta Negra, half an hour South of Lima. We went for a day two weeks ago, and hopefully we'll have time to spend a weekend in the nice beach houses once summer has really kicked in. Apparently it's a surfer's paradise...

Punta Negra

Other highlights:
Thanks to a rugby acquaintance with inside connections, I managed what we had been unable to do for a year; get Telefonica to install a phone line in our apartment. Allegedly, this week the internet guy is coming round, then it's no more internet café for this Swede, yay! Also I'll finally be available on Skype/MSN, keeping all fingers and toes crossed!!

In the eye of the beholder

Yesterday I watched a TV program about marketing, the art of seducing a potential buyer.
Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I'm very easily influenced by advertising. Just like the expert in the program said, I take it all in; packaging texture, material, colour scheme. I quite often read the information on products: sugar content on breakfast products, country of origin for fish, vegetables and fruit. I like to look for environmental labels on washing powder, and compare the magical agents on shampoo (generally the same, if listed). I try to buy organic juice and filmjölk (fermented milk). And I'd like to be able to say that these considerations always control my purchases. Of course, they don't. Even when I very consciously compare prices and painstakingly calculate the actual price per litre/kg, I have to admit to sometimes buying the more expensive brand, because of vague and probably mistaken notions of "superior" or "genuine" quality.
Which is why I wasn't terribly surprised at one of the experiments in the program. Five persons, all employed in shops themselves, were sent into one supermarket to find
1) a cheap breakfast cereal
2) organic coffee
4) a "luxury" bar of chocolate
5) a carton of sweet fruit juice

I'm guessing they were instructed not to dwell in the shelf, and as a result they almost invariably presented the same five brands (previously predicted by the marketing expert) from their shopping trolleys...the cheap cereal had a simplistic packaging with no pictures, just large, bright letters. The "organic" coffee was packaged in a brown folded paper bag with a green label, but lacked any formal indication of organic content. The chocolate bar was wrapped in burgundy paper with a picture of a strawberry and subtle golden text.

The next experiment was almost hilarious. A person was placed with one of those familiar sampling stands in a shopping centre, and offered bypassers to try two different brands of soft drinks. The bottles stood on each side of him, both with black paper cylinders covering the real labels. The labels on his right side were decorated with white triangles whereas the ones on his left had white circles.
People who tried the drinks generally found that the one with circles was sweeter and tasted nicer, and the one with triangles was more bitter or sour; it was usually perceived as a diet version. Of course, the bottles held exactly the same drink (one which I don't particularly like, but it's a fairly common domestic brand).
This hints at the complex psychological processes going on all the time, with consumers trying to be intelligent and conscious buyers. Even when faced with identical products, we try to distinguish them, and appreciate being told, be it with golden print or "natural" wrapping, that this product is something else. When sampling wine, we like to know that the cabernet sauvignon or the merlot has a distinctive bouquet of manure and wood fires, even though we're not sure how that flavour got into our very expensive wine or why this is necessarily a good thing.

A new company is born...

I am still not quite sure of having come up with the ultimate name, but based on the poll and some positive feed-back from friends and family, I'm going to give "EARLY BIRD TRANSLATIONS" a go!

Heads of state

Former Head of government in Sweden, Göran Persson, is attracting some attention in the country for acting against his ideology, or rather, to completely shed the image of a proud working man's son, which may or may not have been more appropriate for his role as party leader of the Social democrats, for that of an entrepreneur in the private sector. He is now travelling the country as a rent-a-speaker à 100,000 SEK per speech, excluding attendance at the usually subsequent dinner (à 5,000 SEK per hour extra, allegedly). Riding high on his social network and personal fame, he is truly making the most of post-party life. Certain editorial comments suggest it was all to be expected from someone who has had a first-degree contact with power. And looking at other countries, we might consider us lucky.
In Peru, no one would probably bat an eyelid at the dealings of the Swedish ex-prime minister. However, they have finally had some good news: the decision to send Fujimori home has finally been taken in Chile. And no, we are not talking about Japan, where he long enjoyed a very enviable favour with the powers that be, the man is going back to Lima, where he will face at least 7 different charges for involvment in massacres.
Yesterday on Travel and living, I also spotted someone who, in some people's view, was one of the meakest presidents Peru has ever had; Alejandro Toledo. The man who came to power thanks to the fall of Fujimori and himself playing on his Andean origins, was guiding an American around Machu Pichu. I was thoroughly disgusted as he, as an ex-president, took the liberty of climbing under the string barrier protecting I think it's a sun-dial from the eroding touch of every tourist ever to set his foot there, taking the American with him.
Presidential prerogatives - if it's not one thing, it's the other.

Hieronymus Day in Lund

Of course, there was a fatigue-induced crack in the rails, and my train to Lund was delayed by half an hour, so I missed the first speaker at the afternoon of "non-academic lectures" organised by SFÖ, the Swedish Association of Professional Translators. Although I paid my membership fees as early as July, I've yet to receive any proof of my membership, however, the Secretary for the south region assures me that the Board approved my membership last Sunday (!) and so it should be arriving by post any day now. In a way, it's comforting to know that they do not accept just anyone, which is why you have to provide two references for each language combination that you'd like to be displayed next to your name in their online translator database. On the other hand, for the next four years or so, I'll still be an Associated member. Only then can I apply to be a Member and have a posh stamp made with my name on it.
Anyway, back to the Hieronymus Day in Lund - Hieronymus is the patron saint of all translators, and is most famous for translating the bible from Greek and Hebrew into Latin. The main speaker in Lund showed us two paintings of Hieronymus - one where he is clearly agonizing about something (a translator such as myself can only too well imagine all the linguistic difficulties at hand), and one which is more "representative" with iconic symbols of wisdom etc. also included in the picture.
Unfortunately, the first thought that struck me after I'd sat down for the second speaker, was not a new one: "translators really make for awful public speakers!". I realised this the first time when I was listening to presentations at Heriot-Watt university by the local ITI branch in Edinburgh, and I absolutely include myself in the group of people who cannot deliver an impromptu speech to save their lives, sometimes hardly even string a coherent spoken sentence together. But there is a very plain and simple solution to this problem: preparation. Therefore I always feel slightly insulted when a speaker gets up and mumbles, repeats him/herself lots and generally doesn't have a plan, although he/she has had plenty of notice.
The keynote speaker was an Americanised Swede who gave a very inspiring speech on the subject "Translating - a job or a way of life?". After that we shuffled out into the foyer, where crisps, peanuts, wine and juice was served, and we were encouraged to "network". I spoke to two girls with German connections, and one of the speakers, who represented the "young, newly established freelance translators". I wanted to ask him about pricing and dodgy terms and conditions, and came out of the ensuing chat with one firm conviction: the main thing is to learn to appraise your skills, your worth and then your price. And to be confident.
I guess that should be my motto for the first year of my company; "don't sell your self too cheaply".

Indian summer

After nearly two months in Ängelholm, I am finally sitting in the garden on a reclining chair, my favourite toy (Toshiba) on my lap. The afternoon sun is doing it's best from a clear blue sky with feathery airline tracks. Hopefully the last figs in the greenhouse will ripen this week, after some weeks of cold and rain. The ajíes/chilis dont mind either weather, it seems.
After spending last week in Hamburg, saying goodbye to my favourite expats-to-be, and in Bremen, watching probably the only two rugby games I will get to see what with Sweden's lack of interest in the Rugby WC...unfortunately, athletism is rated higher here, with the indirect effect this may or may not have on the number of anorectic cases in the sports elite...hmm

As I have gathered from the surprised questions of friends and family, people are expecting that I move to France this autumn, T'is not so. Michael is still in Lima, struggling with zooplankton algoritms and whatnot. I applied to go through the lengthy procedure of examination for translators aspiring to work in-house for the EU, and the first exams will probably take place in October. My environmental conscience and (existing, although deeply buried) sense of economy will not allow me to commute Peru-Sweden, which is why I'll stay for another 45 days or so in Sweden. The advantage of this, is that I'll have the chance to take care of my newly established company - I got my VAT number on Monday. Oh the joys of accounts and declarations!

7.9 on the Richter scale

Last night, another earthquake hit Peru, especially Lima and Ica, so it seems I picked a good time to go home. The district where Michael was working was evacuated because of the risk of tsunamis, but apart from a few old buildings collapsing and the footpath receiving a slightly crinkled look, there were no major incidents in that area, Michael said. He and a Moroccan colleague managed to get on one of the buses back to San Miguel, and then went to cool their nerves with a couple of beers and pizza. In our flat, there were no casualties - not even the wine glasses (breaking them is still my prerogative)! Nevertheless, I think I would not have appreciated the floor swinging merrily below me and the cars bobbing up and down outside to a loud choir of assorted dogs - the first and most serious quake lasted for 70 seconds at 7.9 magnitude - that is a long time to decide whether you should just hold on to the front door frame and say your prayers or try to clamber down the 5 sets of wobbly stairs.

On a more serious note, Ica was badly hit, including one of the hospitals, and because of the breakdown (or lack in the first place) of communications up into the highlands, the figures of dead and injured are still vague. Ica is where tourists travel to see the Nasca lines, normally.
The president gave a speech to the nation, of which the more cynically inclined concluded that the only reason for it was that he had been right at the centre of the earthquake.
Apparently the earthquake, as has happened on several earlier occasions, was proceeded by an unusual change of weather - sunny and agreeable instead of the seasonally typical damp, overcast chill.

Freedom of alliance and Noah's ark

I'm sorry for not having finished my story about Huaraz - I seem to have written lots about a very small part of the trip and nothing about guinea pigs, llamas or glaciers so far. I am now back in Sweden, and naturally the utter translation drought that haunted me for the last month has vanished - I am up to my eyeballs in dental implants, great!
Half the time here you expect small animals to float by, since mostly it's raining cats and dogs. Still, I'm enjoying the wet smell of forest, the lush green surroundings and, of course, a properly insulated house and a lack of fungi in the wardrobe. And rain means more mushrooms in the forest for me to pick, but more about that another time.
My suitcase is gone!! I'm confident it was lost at Heathrow, and when I saw this article on BBC, I could'nt help but wonder if I was unintentionally causing major disturbances to holiday makers: Heathrow hit by luggage backlog
But it does, after all, say a package; not a yellow hard-shelled suitcase found to contain exotic fruits and yellow chili sauce, so I'm still hoping. It's looking more and more as if I will have to go back to CPH myself to talk to the people, as there is no way getting through to the baggage handlers, and I'm starting to get fed up with the friendly automatic messages in a mix of Danish and Irish on the telephone.

This evening I briefly escaped from work to watch a Swedish journalist investigating the arms trade, more specifically corruption in relation to the sale/lease of Gripen, the fighter planes made by SAAB and BAE to the Czech Republic. Depressing, but not surprising. Apparently the Austrian agent hired as a "consultant" with the task to bribe Czech politicians into voting for the proposal to buy was to earn over half a billion British £...David Leigh, who writes about the same subject for the Guardian (read the most recent article) said that this matter should cause public outrage in Sweden. I think I have to say that sadly it is not the case; most people are used to the dodgy dealings that accompany one of our largest export goods...like shipping lots of pop stars to Africa to promote Sweden and hopefully sell a dozen or so of planes...

The program followed up with another issue, namely Sweden's basic law and how it states that Sweden should not sell weapons to countries that risk entering or causing a conflict. As usual Sweden is one up on the EU, where the only guidelines consist of a code of conduct for arms trade, nothing as solid as a bound, blue book with lots of paragraphs.
How nice it would be if our legislation were to be heeded, and our "freedom of alliance" respected (Sweden is about as neutral as the Swiss navy is vast). In reality, we have exported at least 6.5 billions worth of weapons, munition and explosives to the countries involved in Iraq, an invasion which both the late Foreign Minister and the former Head of the government classed as "contrary to humanitarian law". The politicians did not wish to comment, so the reporters spoke to the export council who said that Sweden is involved in the arms trading system to such an extent that we cannot get out. Smiling arms traders from the industry (UK and US) happily confirmed that Sweden is a great friend because we never say no (we just name the price, I suppose). Hmmm, that is why the Germans liked us too.
The program faded out with images from Kuwait as the first bombs dropped across the border, four years ago. I felt as sick as the first time I saw those images.

Low humidity

Once the bus had found it way through the narrow streets of the city and finally come to a halt at the back of the Z bus station, we stepped out in the crisp mountain air at half past five in the morning. Even while still coming down the steps, we were greeted by enthusiastic calls about "information" with a sort of Peruvian-English twang. I collected our backpack which had landed behind and mostly under the big bags and boxes of unidentified goods thanks to the "smooth" turns of the trip. Before Michael had returned from the gents', I was approached by a friendly young man in the otherwise deserted waiting hall. He wanted to escort us to a cheap hostal, and we decided to give it a go. A short walk took us to the hostal located inside a green glass door and up some steep stairs, where a big lady showed us two different rooms, both with three beds. The first one had a fantastic view of...a 1 by 1 m venting shaft or something similar, and a dubious shower. The second one had a view of lots of electrical cables, but also the surrounding snow-clad mountin tops and the street outside. We opted for the latter. Then our escort did his worst at selling guided daytrips, and we bought the lot: the lagoon, the chavin ruins and the glacier.
After that, we ventured outside to find...breakfast! Just around the corner, a sandwich shop looked quite inviting, and there we sat down to enjoy fresh juice and sandwiches - nothing like a chorizo (the Peruvian style) sandwich and pineapple juice with honey to get you going again! The middle-aged shopkeeper and her daughter bustled in the miniscule kitchen behind the counter. Outside, the sun slowly rising and entering the vally, the little old ladies of Huaraz, or maybe rather from the villages, spread their colourful fabrics and knit-wear on the pavement. The weather felt such a nice change from our usual coastal, humid and cold desert. In Huaraz it was a dry cold but with promises of hot sunshine later in the day. Then there was the thing with the altitude. I had started noticing it on the bus. According to the advice of Michael's French colleagues, I had taken an aspirin and drunk a certain US soft drink containing caffeine. I didn't feel sick, and fortunately that didn't change for the whole stay. But every so often I felt like I had forgotten to breathe and found myself gasping for air. It was only uncomfortable the first night, when I was really tired and got it into my head that maybe I would stop breathing in my sleep and not wake up. It kept me awake for some time, and a slight cold didn't make it better. Still, there is nothing to put you to sleep like pure exhaustion and lots of fresh air!
Anyway, after breakfast we had a well-deserved hot shower each and contemplated going to sleep. But the guided trip we had signed up for was to start 90 minutes later, so I said no. Instead we packed mosquito repellant, camera, aspirin, toilet paper, sun screen, water and sweaters and waited for pick-up.
The tour bus was small but, to me at least, ultramodern. We picked up some other visitors around the city, and every time the bus stopped, locals tried to sell water and snacks to us, especially the coca sweets that were supposed to make you feel better about the altitude (or rather, the swift changes in altitude as you go up one hill and suddenly realise that you are 1000 m higher than where you had breakfast).
As we left the city behind us and headed out on the sometimes tarmac, sometimes gravel road, Michael fought to keep our eyelids from having their way. The landscape was lush with eucalyptus trees (courtesy of the Spanish), different types of giant grass, corn fields and orchards. Along the way I kept getting excited about seeing a pig or a donkey tied to a pole, eating away at the undergrowth next to the road.

High altitude

A long weekend and the world lay at our feet: travel out on Wednesday night, return sometime on Sunday. Means of transport: bus, the most cost-efficient, even if you don’t pick the downright dirt cheap options. Unfortunately at the same time the most accident-prone way of travelling, at least in Peru, but we accepted the gamble.
We had planned to go to Tarma in the highlands, where Michael’s cousin’s mother-in-law has a restaurant, and the cousin and husband dispose of a bedroom for staying over. Everything was organised, the necessary phone calls had been made, etc. Come Wednesday afternoon, however, we realised that there might be some literal obstacles to our journeys; the miners on strike had blocked the carretera (road), and as a result it was unlikely that anyone would get through. Having been unable to confirm with our bus company, Michael suggested we go to Huaraz instead, and so in the early evening we rushed off to another bus station to acquire the tickets from Z Bus, home again to pack and avoid a large-scale cockroach invasion in our absence, i.e. dispose of all food not contained in the fridge in one way or another, with 20 minutes to spare.
A quick stop at the pharmacy downstairs to buy aspirin for the altitude, a taxi ride to our original journey provider to be reimbursed, and then another taxi to the station of departure meaning that in the end we were half an hour early.
The station at 9 pm was teeming with travellers taking advantage of the long weekend. Most of the trips last at least 8 hours, some between 14 and 18, so usually you leave in the evening to arrive early the next day. The actual waiting area was crammed with people all watching the only TV screen available intently – one of the football games in the American Cup was shown. In the other hall where the ticket desks of three or four different companies were located, people with less spherical passion loitered, bought snacks from the kiosk, made a last-minute visit to the sanitary facilities and tried to make sense of the departure calls over the loudspeakers. On the floor next to one desk sat three women with an unmistakable pastoral air about them: long hair in braids, plain cardigans and god only knows how many skirts, making them look like Mumin trolls from the waist down. Seated on their plastic bags filled to the brim, they calmly performed what seemed the trips accounts using a calculator.

Suddenly a 30-something man stormed into the station and deposited something I’d never seen before next to me and Michael. I soon realised that it was the travelling container for hens: fabric bags that looked like document folders with the back facing upward and one peeking/breathing hole at each end. They looked pretty comfortable as such things go, yet one of the hens (or chickens) was very upset and kept stirring inside its bag.
The bus was (of course) delayed because access was blocked by other buses parked closer to the exit gate, but it is the kind of thing I take for granted rather than get annoyed now. I got a ticket for our big backpack which was put away in the storage, and we took up our seats. Soon after, we started our escape from Lima. However, there was one last stop in San Martin de Porres, where a police officer checked our documents and even searched some people (Michael was one of them) briefly for, presumably, weapons. Then the plexi-glass door to the drivers’ seats closed, and we set out northbound on the Panamericana, leaving the bright skyline of Lima behind. Following the steep desert coastline, at times, the road went round a narrow bend and far down below you could see the white foam on the dark waves as they broke over the sand.
The trip, taking place during the dark hours as it did, held little excitement. A film was screened, and then replaced by (too loud) Andean music in the speakers, which gave my dreams a weird note as I drifted in and out of sleep.
Around three hours into the journey, the bus came to a halt in the gravel. On the other side of the road were some low buildings, one of them a kiosk selling chirimoya, oranges, crackers and other necessities. As soon as we realised this was the 5-minute toilet break, we rushed outside. With men relieving themselves as and where they were standing, I joined some ladies behind a low brick wall, our backs to the 3 m tall grass that lined the road now. Then we hurried back into the bus and our blankets.
Sometime later, Michael nudged me and pointed outside. The sky, unlike over Lima, was clear and the full moon shone in all its glory. The landscape being made up of dusty desert hills with only sparse shrubbery and all the more gorges and creaks, the moonlight lent it a ghostlike or alien character. Then we started to climb, and there was more vegetation, but because of the dark it was difficult to make out much. The speed at which we were moving and the lenient use of breaks as well as the distinct complaints from an abused gearbox every so often meant that sleep was definitely the preferred option, unless you were a fan of seeing the bends in the road race up to meet you.
Much later, I woke up and discovered that the purple and pink light of Thursday’s dawn was reflected by snow on the top of the mountains surrounding Huaraz.

Social reality vs tourism

Unfortunately it seems that Tarma is out of the question because of a miners' strike in the highlands which includes blocking the main road on which the buses to Tarma and the jungle normally drive. So it's back to the drawing board for our trip. Maybe Ayacucho and colonial-style buildings?
At the same time, I just received an e-mail from one of the rugby girls saying she couldn't come to practice because her brother had not returned from the city Tingo Maria by car when he should have come on Monday, and the whole family is verry worried.
I'm starting to think Cruz del Sur looks like a nice bus company - they claim to monitor their fleet by satellite and offer internet on the bus (assuming anyone would risk taking their laptop on the bus).

Bruised and battered, but happy

The most positive thing about not having any work, is that I'm able to attend rugby practice regularly, and on Sunday, FINALLY, we had a game against the Newton girls. Final score 25-5, even though we had instances of running around like headless chickens on our side of the pitch...as a result, Sergio our Argentinian coach has promised to try to get Agraria university to give us another hour of floodlights on Thursdays so that he can coach the girls alone. Hopefully more than the average of 1 1/2 girl will turn up!
Yesterday Michael and I bought bus tickets to Tarma, up in the highlands. Thursday and Friday are public holidays here, so we will leave at 10 pm tomorrow night and arrive at 4.30 am(!). I'm a little nervous about the ascent; the highest point of the journey is around 4.8 km over the sea, and reaching it in mere 3 hours has certain impacts on your sensory system, balance and stomach...everyone has his/her own trick, just as with sea sickness. After the peak, we descend to a village close to Tarma, where Michael's cousin's mother-in-law owns a restaurant, and where we will have a room waiting for us. We will then use Tarma as "base camp" for going to La Merced, which is in the jungle, and San Pedro, which is famous for textile crafts. Packing will be tricky too; this winter is colder than ever in Peru, so we need to bring a lot of sweaters and a blanket for the bus and stay in Tarma, but swimwear, mosquito repellant, sun block and hats for going to the jungle! I can't wait!

It never rains but it drizzles

The endearing winter weather of Lima has taken on a new aspect: driving drizzle. I quite enjoy it, because it means the dust stays put on the ground.

Yesterday it was one month since Michael's mother died, which meant we went to the mass at the church in Magdalena to hear her name being read. Then all the aunts and accompanying family (16 people) came to our flat for tea and sandwiches. I impressed the tías with homemade bread.

Today Michael had invited his dad for lunch at Manolo's, our favourite cevichería, as it's his dad's birthday on the 18th. We tried a, for me, new dish: parihuela. It consists of all sorts of seafood and fish in a tomato and chili soup. Delicious, and it looked very nice with a big crab on top!
Michael's dad enjoyed himself so much he hinted several times that this would be a nice thing to do more often...

OUCH!

On Sunday, we (Alumni women's team) were supposed to play against Newton College. Unfortunately after the men started one hour late and because the pitch lacked lights, we had to postpone the game, probably until the 24th and then play two consecutive games instead. With my muscles still complaining about going back to practice on Thursday, I was quite happy.
Michael, who had come along to see me play, was a bit disappointed, but took some nice pictures anyway.

Rugby Newton

On Monday I ventured to an athletics stadium in central Lima, where the rugby people from different clubs are practising running and skipping and other things that will improve their overall performance. I discovered more places which could hurt.

Yesterday Sergio decided to get serious with the "normal" practice, so after warming up we first did exercises running with the ball and then spent half an hour practising tackling. I am now more blue and red than pink. Ouch! Today is definitely resting day.

But Sir, my grammar is APPALLING!

Yesterday I went to the ICPNA, the US/Peruvian cultural institute, to evaluate my Spanish level and sign up for a month's intensive course. The outcome was not as expected. In fact the examining teacher told me to go home and invest in a radio and some books, because they didn't offer the level that I needed. I tried to convince him that under pressure (for example, in a "combi" van, trying to negotiate destination and directions) I am barely intelligible, but he refused to listen. Quite happy, I went and spent some of the course fee on books, and ran into a severely understimulated bookshop clerk my own age. He managed to go give me a summary of Peru's best contemporary poets as well as the general poetry genres in about 15 minutes! It was really funny and interesting, he even managed to include Henning Mankell in the conversation (the books of whom were on the opposite shelf). We also established that we both like W.H. Auden. Then I bought some poetry books, and to his utter disbelief, a Spanish translation of Terry Pratchett. Well? I wasn't going to kill all my learning appetite by starting at the deep end with Señor Cervantes, now was I?!

There are some new photos on Picasa:

Learning how to make Crema Volteada

VIP visit!

One year older, none the wiser?

So I survived my 27th birthday, and my computer was returned in one piece. And I have received an invitation to an engagement party in Syria!

Birthday 2007

My computer was sabotaged by a cockroach!!!

When we were at school, there was this tabloid pseudo-scientific magazine called "En dingding värld" ("It's a wacky world" or something equally silly. It contained stories like "Aliens ate my grandma" and other pieces of credible news. The thing that happened to me today sounds like, but is sadly not, taken from this work of reference of the odd...
I was heating some empanadas in the oven, and quietly pondering the translation for "All rights reserved" when a cockroach came crawling across the table. While I reached for a suitable shoe, she had the ingenious idea to climb atop my computer, where I could not turn here into a has-been insect. I tried to coerce her into leaving it, but instead she wedged herself between my computer and the screen, and who wants a squashed hexapede there?!
I then employed the tried-and-tested method of "leaving her be" until she came to her senses. Which is when the far too curious creature clambered down over the side of my computer and entered it through the flap intended for some external card, as easily as had the flap been an upside-down catflap for cockroaches!!!!
I almost fainted on the spot, then expected to see blue lightning exterminate the intruder. Sadly, no. In fact, when I stricken with panic called Michael to lament my situation, I swear I saw the mouse port turn 180 degrees, as if to say "haha I'm inside now, and you'll never get me alive - in fact if I go, I'm taking your computer with me!" In my mind scenarios developed where the cucaracha managed to short-circuit the hard disk by melting on it and all data was irretrievably lost.
Cursing myself for not getting the "insurance for dummies" that the PC shop tried to haggle me into buying (with the argument that you could get beer cleaned off the computer for free - as if! I only ever pour cappuccino or red wine over keyboards that are not mine), I had my empanadas to gather strength. Then I left a plate with crumbs conveniently next to the computer and weighed down the flap with a pen, for the beast to exit by herself in search of food. Not so.
For true slapstick character, while all this was happening, a guy was attacking the concrete tiles in the pavement opposite our flat with a hammer drill in, say, 15 s intervals followed by 8 second breaks - enough to drive anyone insane, pest invasion or no.
In despair, I trotted to the internet cafe to locate the authorized repair shop in Peru. 30 minutes of bus journey and 10 blocks walk in the afternoon sun later, I left my baby Toshiba in the hopefully competent hands of the technicians. Unfortunately it's not going to be done until Monday afternoon at the earliest, which means back to basics for this translator - i.e. printouts and red ink marker for my proofreading assignment.
I still can't believe it, but it does make a funny story - as long as my computer comes back in one piece, less one cucaracha. I will now have to design some sort of cockroach protection, like adhesive tape, maybe?
I wonder if I could patent it and sell it to Toshiba? Or just write a long, detailed complaint about how they have not considered insects when adjusting the spring force of the card flap...


To console myself about my short-term separation from my favourite toy, I bought tickets to Pirates of the Caribbean III - yes!!! Only 50 minutes to go.

Absurdities in the news

Tony Blair to head the World Bank???????????
A quiet department before retiring or what?
Fortunately Bush has other plans (that makes a change, then).

Life and death

Lately I've not wanted to write anything, because Michael's dear mother passed away last Monday. I would like to write about the atmosphere at the wake, how amazing it is to see the family, neighbours and friends all turn up and sit together for the better part of 24 hours, about how different the funeral is here...but it's too intimate.

Back in Lima

I step outside at the top of our stairs in the evening, and it is as if I were breathing in the sea...I love living next door to the Pacific.

Kurz und gut

On Saturday morning at an ungodly hour, Michael and I arrived in Bremen where we were picked up by ex-flatmate Sara. Having showered and slept, we were almost human again and so had a great breakfast on the sun-drenched terrace in our favourite WG. Later I went on an improvised bbq at the Unisee, followed by a nice party in the house.
Yesterday, brunch at Casablanca with some colleagues and in the evening karaoke with rugby people in Paddy's. This morning I went to visit work, chat with my boss, get updated on pension matters etc. I had a short terminology check and an introduction to a new translation software, Across. Now that I'm once again cured from office nostalgia, I'm enjoying the heavy drizzle on lush green surroundings, before we return to dry, dusty Lima....

Visit to Skåne Zoo

Skånes djurpark april 2007

Things you never become too old for:

• Patting the moose on the nose
• Looking and looking for mysterious animals
• Trying to cuddle with the insanely cute wild piglets without getting bitten by the big punk-styled boar
• Wanting to jump down and cuddle with teddy bear size XXXL
• Cuddling with the lambs. In fact, when you're older, you even manage to pick them up (and then quickly drop them again because the ewe uttered a sound you didn't even know they could make)

The curse of learning

Have people of all times been struggling so hard to keep their growing knowledge and skills from seeping out of their brain, or is it a new phenomenon? Maybe it works very much like the mechanism of spending money - the more money you earn, the more money you spend, and the more money you wish you had, so you could spend it...
Haven't researchers shown that through regular exercise, you can make the neurons in your brain proliferate, thereby increasing the efficiency of it - although then you have to start worrying about your brain coping with all the self-created dead ends and mysterious connections maybe, like using Linux instead of Windows? (My brother would probably protest).
My flatmate in Bremen told me of a regular café customer who said that since his retirement, he would spend at least one hour each day solving complex maths problems, in order to keep his mind alert. But I can hardly manage them now, and I dread to think what it's going to be like in 40 years time... anyway, he was a maths teacher.
All this because today I have been using Oxford's online dictionary (please excuse the product placement), and it generally stresses me that everyday they post a new interesting/baffling word, which makes me think I could study English til the end of my days, and not be finished. Never mind Arabic!

Conclusion: the www is a double-edged sword.

Going to see the elks!

Jippii
On Saturday Michael is coming, and next week we're going to a park to see the elks!!

Elk in Skånes Djurpark

Burning the candle at both ends

Oh dear...
All according to Murphy's law, my first week in Sweden coincides with a huge influx of translations to due with fixtures (my least favourite) and a large proofreading job in Danish about submersible pumps. But I have managed to do some other things too, like

• go jogging along the beach barefoot with Oskar (who thought the sea looked to good to resist and went for a "swim" too)
• book an appointment with the dentist (7.10 am - the nurse will have to place the dental equivalent of high-rise scaffolding in my mouth to keep it open, I think)
• go to an information seminar on "starting your business" held at the local tax office, which might already deter some people from going, but the room was packed! After lots of intimidating information about registering, paying VAT, keeping your books in order and a coffee break, my head was buzzing. But on leaving, I met a girl that I went to school which was a very pleasant surprise.

So, anyone know a cheap and trustworthy accountant versed in the Swedish tax system?

The most pleasant thing about starting a company in Sweden, is that you can do all your paperwork online, very efficiently...(none of the filing a dozen applications with different authorities all over the city, like in some Germanic neighbouring countries I might mention) - of course that also means less excuses for being late with anything!

THE WAY HOME

I know a way that leads home.
It is hard to go that way.
Every traveller there grows poor
and small and ugly and grey.

I know a way that leads home.
That way is bare, pure-blown.
It is like leaning one's warm cheek
against unmerciful stone.

But he who has felt that stone
on his cheek's frozen blood,
will perceive how gentle its hardness is,
how faithful and firm and good.

And he will thank the stone
and the hardness love will he,
and praise the only battle
that was worth his victory.

Karin Boye
Translated by David McDuff

HAPPY EASTER!

Today we went to the supermarket and stocked up on food, only to discover that the shops will not be closed down for the whole weekend as I thought...
Yesterday on the news they showed interviews with people who are opposed to the newly proposed ban on shops being opened on Sundays - some people would lose an essential 250€ per month in income if the supermarkets were to close on Sundays.
Meanwhile, certain supermarkets would happily pay the 40,000€ fine PER SUNDAY to stay open. Someone should evaluate the long-term effects if that money were instead to be used for the benefit of the employees...
The presidential campaign proceeds...yesterday The leading socialist (Royal) called the leading conservative (Sarkozy) a liar. The evening 5 minutes of satire (les Guignols) mused that serious debate takes place elsewhere; the stuff on TV is as ready-made and original as takeaway pizza.
My heroine in the campaign, at least as far as genuine agenda go:

http://www.arlette-laguiller.org

Crêpes evening with friends

Crêpes chez Anne et martin

Fish photos from Océanopolis

Océanopolis

How to enjoy mussels

Johanna's mussels

1. Rinse mussels well and remove seaweed/barnacles/crabs.
2. Chop garlic and red onion. Pour olive oil into a wok/deep frying pan/pot.
3. Fry onion and garlic until nice and golden.
4. Add salt and black pepper and French herbs to taste. Stir.
5. Pour clean mussels into pot, add generous amount of dry, white wine. Stir and cover.
6. Leave to simmer for 5 minutes.
7. Chop parsley, or take out frozen parsley of freezer.
8. Add parsley to pot, and...., yes - stir! Wait approx. 5 minutes.
9. Serve with fresh, white bread (although not the strange sweet stuff they sell in Lima) and the rest of the white wine.
10. Bon appetit!

Sightseeing in Brest

Brest

Taking a closer look at the Atlantic

Walking along the West coast of Bretagne on 11 March

When in Rome...

This morning I got up just after 6, put on LOTS of clothes and went out into the freezing cold. My nose hurt and my face protested. Above me was a navy blue sky and a huge waning moon crescent. I walked up the road, which was pretty empty, apart from the early buses. A right turn into a side street, walking between blossoming cherry trees, past the park where the children's play park was still dark and cold and the trees bare.
Then a waft of warm smell entered my nostrils, and there in the distance: a Mecca for an early bird - the milky white window of a bakery, completely covered with condensation from the heat inside. I entered, and defrosted slightly in the warm, welcoming light. To the right, the baker deftly handled his baking trays and things. To the left, a mouth-watering display of bread and "viennoiseries"; pastries and the like.
With a baguette under one arm and a paper bag containing two "pains au chocolat" in my pocket, I headed home to enjoy my French breakfast..

Climatic shock

One week ago, I arrived in Charles de Gaulle, finding that, in fact, my suitcase had not been forwarded to my final destination with Lufthansa as claimed by the woman from Taca checking me in in Lima, but had stayed behind in Frankfurt. If I'd only checked the luggage ticket, that particular detail might have been resolved, but oh well...I smile thinking of me waiting for my next flight in a lounge in Frankfurt for four hours while my suitcase did its rounds on the conveyor belt below, hehe.
I really did not mind having rather less luggage to cart around on the train, that is for sure. And Sophie's friends Anne and Martin were lovely, providing me with survival towel, toothbrush and t-shirt until my suitcase arrived two days later, just after Michael.
Anne also lent me a coat, which is quite nice given the cold, windy weather here - on my first night, a storm was rattling the shutters in the flat. Since then, at least we have had sunshine. But I think that actually Michael is handling the climate change better than me. My body just screams "NO, I had this for 20 years already, take me back to the pacific!!!"
We are now staying in a flat in the Cité U, i.e. on campus in Brest. The flat is huge and has a TV, but no oven, unfortunately.
On Friday we enjoyed a nice lunch organised by the IRD CTE (comité d'entreprise) in a restaurant on the beach St Anne, just below the Technopôle where IRD and IFREMER are located.
On Saturday we just walked around central Brest, taking pictures of the harbour and the huge Brest bay ("rade").
On Sunday morning, we walked down to the Halles de St Louis, the covered market, which was not all I had hoped. But at least they had fish, oysters, abalones and the large crabs that are loved here:

Araignée de mer

In the end, we bought cheaper fruit from the Arab market stands outside, and then permitted ourselves some sausages from the Savoie sausage stand inside - the nice gentleman would have let us try all of them, I think. We setlled for one sausage with pork meat and mushrooms and one with duck, although I quite liked the one that had blueberries.
In the afternoon, Michael's accoustics teacher in Brest picked us up and took us to her village, St Renan. It is even further out on the Bretagne peninsula, where white traditional houses crowd between the grassy hills on the cliffs above the sea and the coast is littered with islands, isles and, as a natural consequence, lighthouses and buoys.
We had a coffee in Anne's lovely wooden\stone house, then went for a walk on the beach while the tide was out. There we discovered the kelplike seaweed typical for this coast scattered in the sand. It looked like bones, deflated rubber toys for dogs, and whips...
Michael and I and Anne's youngest were not so keen on a long trip, so we took lots of pictures and then returned to the house, had a delicious aperitif, then went on to "Murphy's", where we enjoyed the compulsory crêpes and cidre (alas, the mussel season has yet to begin). Very full, tired and content, we were returned to our humble abode, where we promptly fell asleep.

Barbara

Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-la
Et tu marchais souriante
Epanouie ravie ruisselante
Sous la pluie
Rappelle-toi BarbaraI
l pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest
Et je t'ai croisee rue de Siam
Tu souriais
Et moi je souriais de meme
Rappelle-toi Barbara
Toi que je ne connaissais pas
Toi qui ne me connaissais pas
Rappelle-toi
Rappelle-toi quand meme ce jour-la
N'oublie pasUn homme sous un porche s'abritait
Et il a crie ton nom
Barbara
Et tu as couru vers lui sous la pluie
Ruisselante ravie epanouie
Et tu t'es jetee dans ses bras
Rappelle-toi cela Barbara
Et ne m'en veux pas si je te tutoie
Je dis tu a tous ceux que j'aime
Meme si je ne les ai vus qu'une seule fois
Je dis tu a tous ceux qui s'aiment
Meme si je ne les connais pas
Rappelle-toi Barbara
N'oublie pas
Cette pluie sage et heureuse
Sur ton visage heureux
Sur cette ville heureuse
Cette pluie sur la mer
Sur l'arsenal
Sur le bateau d'Ouessant
Oh Barbara
Quelle connerie la guerre
Qu'es-tu devenue maintenant
Sous cette pluie de fer
De feu d'acier de sang
Et celui qui te serrait dans ses bras
Amoureusement
Est-il mort disparu ou bien encore vivant
Oh Barbara
Il pleut sans cesse sur Brest
Comme il pleuvait avant
Mais ce n'est plus pareil et tout est abime
C'est une pluie de deuil terrible et desolee
Ce n'est meme plus l'orage
De fer d'acier de sang
Tout simplement des nuages
Qui crevent comme des chiens
Des chiens qui disparaissent
Au fil de l'eau sur Brest
Et vont pourrir au loin
Au loin tres loin de Brest
Dont il ne reste rien.

Jacques Prévert

Birthday party in our flat

Due to the late homecoming on Saturday morning, we did not quite manage to uphold our virtuous intentions; in other words, we got up slightly late, and only arrived in La Ventanilla around 8.30 (very late in fishmarket terms), to find that the tuna was already sold out. However, we found another nice big fish, of which we bought another huge chunk. After a quick stroll around, we went home again, to tidy the flat, wake up and go to buy the rest of the food.
Amazingly we almost finished in time for Michael to go and pick up his mother. There had been a lot of discussion on how we would get her up the five sets of stairs because she is quite weak. In the end, she managed to climb them almost completely on her own while Michael was getting a chair to carry her on. I guess the only thing needed was the right motivation!
Very out of character, the rest of the family almost fell over the doorstep at once, and ON TIME! All the aunts settled in our living room after having inspected the flat and the balcony. Fortunately they had brought some drinks, because that was the one thing we still had to do... they passed plastic cups around and I made some canchitas...corn prepared like popcorn but a type which doesn't explode to the same extent. Soon the conversation was in full motion, while the male minority tried to light the bbq. Once that was done, aunt Rita took over organising the grill, while I tried to keep in the background, finishing off the salads and things. It was a slightly overwhelming experience with about 8 aunts storming the kitchen demanding all sorts of utensils that we lack. I was introduced to Michael's god mother, a woman with a very probing stare! Her only comment was "muy joven" (very young)...although she came around later and turned out a sympathetic lady.
In the end everyone was happy - Michael and his friend Toño went and bought drinks and ice, we managed to set up a buffet table and the fish turned out very nicely. Sophie and Arnaud (the BOSS!) turned up and were duly exposed to the family. I made some cocktails with pisco and a jungle fruit, and the old beer carousel started, with various uncles and cousins taking turns to go buy more...
Around 23, Michael's mum decided to call it a night, and most of the others left too. Only Franco and Angie and uncle Veto stayed for some more pisco and conversation. I started nodding off, and snuck off to bed around 1. Michael followed suit rather later and could not remember when they left the day after...all in all; it was a great success, it seems!

Conchi's Birthday Party

Conchi's birthday party

Anticuchos and Mariachis

Last friday, it was Michael's sister Angie's birthday, so we headed over to hid dad's house, where the four children including some grandchildren still live. We arrived just in time to be served some anticuchos and potatoes just off the bbq - cow/ox heart in chili/soy sauce marinade grilled on small skewers.

Picture courtesy of http://images.rpp.com.pe/portada/

Then the Mariachis arrived. They had been hired for the birthday girl by her husband, who was on military assignment in Argentina. I regretted not having brought my camera, because they were fantastic in green, yellow and black, I suppose slightly improved cowboy "uniforms", playing trumpets, a pregnant-looking guitar and a smaller string instrument. They stayed for about 45 minutes, emploring everyone to have a turn on the dancefloor with Angie, singing everything from romantic oldfashioned salsas to a speeded up version of Juanes' La Camisa Negra. Then they marched off again, and our ears let out sighs of relief - the accoustics of the living room with low concrete ceiling was not quite suited for two loud trumpets! The rest of the evening was spent making merry and conversing with lots of interesting people, drinking beer and dancing salsa. It is common custom here to drink the fridge dry, then collect all the bottles and head off to the closest corner shop to get new beer. This is repeated for as long as anyone has beer and/or can stand up. However, since we had planned to get up early, we left around 2 am, accompanied by Cesar, one of Angie's cousins. He's a chef, and now we have decided to cook dinner together some time after we get back from France, mmmm!

Bildt working towards legitimacy?

Today I have a cold, and my thoughts are thus even less coordinated than usual.

I've realised that I never wrote about our second visit to Barranco, one of my favourite districts, on Friday. I even took pictures, so I will have to get back to that.

Now that I've discovered Din Gata, I am slowly but surely becoming reintegrated into Sweden, at least virtually. Yesterday I was quoted in the broadcast as "an e-mail from Peru". I got annoyed because a caller (f) made strippers out as the most ignorant, stupid creatures on this earth, so I wrote a message saying that some strippers might be financing their quantum physics studies that way.

Today, thanks to the same radio channel, my attention was drawn to the blogs of Sweden's foreign minister, Carl Bildt: Alla Dessa Dagar & Bildt Comments.
Regardless of the ideology he represents, Carl Bildt seems to be plotting his very own particular course, and having a blog only makes him more sympathetic to me. I will endeavour to have a look from time to time.
A complete contrast to these two cool, composed and diplomatic sites, I stumbled over a Norwegian blog which is nothing but irreverent: Til helvete med moderasjon. Translated the title reads "to hell with moderation". When I first spotted it, there was a Norwegian quote:

"I'd bet the entire oil money fund that I'll never be minister of finance. (self-fulfilling bet)".

Finally, the word of the day from Oxford is:

pisco
• noun [mass noun] a white brandy made in Peru from muscat grapes.
— origin named after a port in Peru.

So there you have it.


Please note that all orders for said beverage must be disregarded on the account of weight and customs restrictions.

Sun, sun, sun and beach rugby

Cooked crayfish would be jealous of the colour of my skin this morning! I just cannot get used to the fierceness of the Peruvian sun, and behaved rather stupidly. Yesterday, we had rugby practice in the beach "el Faro" (which lacks all evidence of there ever having been a lighthouse) in Chorillos, a district in the South of Lima. The beach is beautiful and stretches out seemingly endlessly towards the South, whereas in the North it's sealed off by some rocky formations much like the "Cathedral" in Paracas. If you look into the distance, the air at the lower part of the beach is misty blue with water drops from the breaking waves. There were no surfers at this beach, though, possibly because of the strong outward currents.
Starting around 10.30 am, we warmed up by running along the beach passing the ball up and down. Of course, running in a slope caused my unfit right leg to overstretch and hurt. Then we did lots of exercises in the sand and water, and rounded off with a game. After that we went swimming, and sat in the sand enjoying the day. Some people stayed and Michael arrived a bit later. I put on sun block, while the Peruvians used and offered me coconut oil. But obviously I did not put enough cream on, and not in all the required places, and now I look like the main meal of a Swedish crayfish party...oh dear. When we went home, the only item of clothing I could bear wearing was a very blue summer dress, so when we walked to Michael's mum, I was the gringa with traffic light complexion in a fluorescent blue dress - wonder why some people stared, hmm?!

Beach rugby - finally!!

Thanks to a rather quiet outing on Friday night, with only a few small glasses of Chilcano (pisco, ginger ale and sugar) and a few turns on the dance floor of the Pueblo Libre Queirolo, my brain was only half asleep when I got on the 'micro' with my two lifesaver empanadas in a firm grip. 45 minutes later, I got off at Universidad de Lima, where Angela was waiting together with Ivan, another rugby player and the designated driver, Abel (Angela's younger brother).

Every time I get into a real car now, I feel like I'm in a limousine...it's pure luxury not having to crowd up in a mini bus which has had extra seats added to it. Seat belts, too, are expendable extras.

We dashed down the ring road to pick up Sandra, and then got onto the Panamericana, with loud music almost lifting the car roof, and the wind in our hair, and a nice sense of expectation in the air. An hour later we arrived in Asia without any drama (well, we got pulled over by the police, but they just checked the driver's licence).

Asia is a very curious place: bordering the dusty Panamericana with its occasional pub or cevicheria, Asia is walled on all sides and has huge lit billboards. You enter on a sand road, then drive through the actual entrance decorated with flowers, and it's like a different world, all made up of high-tech kiosks for McDonald's, Dunking Donuts, Häagen-Dazs, Deli France and more, and of course the most expensive supermarket in Peru; Wong with an exclusive range just for Asia, including readymade sushi. Of course it's all very pleasant, but at the same time really artificial.

The beach rugby pitch and artificial grass football pitch were located down at the far end of the commercial area. We arrived at 9.30 when the first game was scheduled to begin, but of course, half of the teams had yet to arrive. We claimed some spectator seats under the roof, greatful for some shade in the scorching morning sun. I was wondering how we, the girls, would be able to play at all at 16.00...In the meantime I tried to learn some last-minute strategical moves from the guys.

It was a really nice day - the audience (including the teams not currently playing) counted some 2oo people, I think, and the atmosphere was good. No beer, though, and definitely no shots! Instead ceviche was served on disposable styrofoam plates. However, given the heat I opted for the safer bacteria contained in a youghurt.

Around half past four we started warming up, and I was so nervous I wanted to run away and hide. The actual game against Newton flew by - a result of adrenaline rush and the fact that we were only granted 10 play time in the end (whether that had anything to do with the subsequent bikini show, I could not say!). I did have time to do some scrums as well as a perfect tackle, during which some opponent decided to beat me in the back with her fist! Fortunately for her, I never noticed... Ach well, we did't play dirty, and we still won 2-0, so there! The Alumni boys sadly lost the final, but they were playing in rapidly descending darkness, after about 9 hours in the scorching sun, so who can blame them for being a bit slow? We'll see what happens on the 24th when Alumni is hosting a tournament. "Unfortunately" I have to help Michael organise his mum's birthday bbq in our flat that day, but hopefully I'll be able to play against the Chilean women's team who is coming here for a game of 15!! Tell you more later...

Beach Rugby

Latecomer parcels and First Class icon jungle

Hallelujah!
Today Michael and I went for our dreaded third visit to the Serpost lair in St Martin, armed with copies, copies and more copies of anything and everything but optimism. We walked up to the lady who is in charge of processing "rectifications of recipients" and proudly presented the savage murder of a small forest that was our application. She took one look at the date on the parcel receipt slips out of the corner of her eye between shouting down the phone to presumed customers and across the hall to colleagues, and exclaimed "too late". My heart sank, but of course I had shoved it down already so as not to be disappointed. The lady then told us that now the matter was out of her hands, and we would have to go to the customs in San Miguel, i.e. back most of the way that we came, and try to smoothe-talk the jefe there. But first we might take the time to check whether my parcels are actually still in storage....
Said and done. We checked, and there they were. The woman in that part of the hall took another look at the date and explained that it was too late...and that the only possibility would be for Michael to ask to have the contents evaluated as commercial goods, potentially pay taxes, all according to the customs officers personal evaluation, and maybe the shoes would be confiscated...
In the meantime, while we were waiting on uncomfortable chairs, we had observed that most of the staff was new, this probably due to the change of government that took place in Peru in the autumn, sorry; spring. In particular our "friend" "así es la ley" was nowhere to be seen. At his desk sat a much more amiable guy who looked like his life did not just consist of making other people's existence a living hell...he even looked as if he was being helpful with other customers!
Michael decided to give it a go. He told the secretary the lamentable story, while I was sitting in her direct field of view doing my best to look devastated and lost. She gave in and said we should talk to the boss. He listened to the story, looked at my blue eyes and said he would attend to the matter personally. We almost began hoping again.
A new customs officer opened the first box again, whereupon selected tampons, sanitary towels (there was empty space to be filled, and those things cost a small fortune, you know!), makeup and shoes became visible. He took one look and more or less asked us what all the fuzz had been about the last time. He signed some papers, Michael signed, I paid 80 soles (instead of the >500 soles I had expected to pay) and we found ourselves walking out the front door, fighting down an urge to run like the wind and never look back.

***

This afternoon I received the login and password for my second distance learning course, and am already stressed. It seems that while I was away, First Class software has invaded my country, subjecting my fellow citizens to slavery under fluffy icons and windows lacking all help texts, instructions or menus. Apparently it is all explained in the introduction letter (the one that got lost in the mail)...I vaguely remember taking one look at the First Class interface in my first week of Term 1 at Heriot-Watt, discarded it as cumbersome and mysterious, spent the time required to find out how to forward mail to my hotmail account, and never used the software again. Alas, it has come back to haunt me.

***

Yesterday I booked my tickets for going to Brest. After much trotting up and down streets in San Isidro (where all the major airlines have their offices), which was quite a shock to me - it appears the Peruvian equivalent of those artificial-looking American suburbs you see in films, and all the street names are named after fruit trees - I decided to fly with Lufthansa. They not only had the most pleasant office staff and least queue time, they also provided the cheapest ticket at the earliest date - in your face, BA/Iberia (45 minutes of wait in a stuffy, loud office, then I left)! Admittedly I have to stop in Caracas and Frankfurt, and my luggage will probably get lost somewhere in between Taca International Airlines and Lufthansa, but never mind. It also seems as if maybe Michael would be on the same plane, if the people booking his ticket will ever make their mind up. Bonus!

Student with complications

Pisco Sour Day did not turn out quite as intended - we went to the wrong part of Surco, the old town centre with the compulsory park, church and picturesque bars. This was apparently not where the real municipal festivities took place. We still managed to try some pisco cocktails, and listened to live spanish rock music from when Michael was a teenager (decades ago, hehe).

This week my fish ecology course started, and it's great! So far I've learned a little bit about fish history, and that Sweden has approx. 12 types of shark and 10 types of rays. I've also picked the fish that I will make a fact sheet about -
Tångsnärtan.
It's such a nice feeling to read nice, well written texts about something interesting just for me!
The registration form for my other course got lost in the mail (in Sweden!), but it's all getting sorted out thanks to scanners and pdf forms. I admire anyone who studies a full degree at distance - at least Swedish universities still do not quite understand the concept. For example, to access the electronic journals in Gothenburg University I need a library card. The library card must be requested by me in person in the library...! Oh well.

PISCO SOUR DAY

On Saturday the 3rd of February, Peru celebrates Pisco Sour Day, so I feel it is strictly necessary to include the recipe here:

• 3 parts Peruvian pisco
• 1 1/2 parts lime juice
• 1-2 table spoons of sugar (or sugar syrup jarabe de goma)
• egg white from 1 egg
• ice

The picture was shamelessly borrowed from Living in Peru.com

Giving blood

Apart from the weather, January is turning out to be a bad month...a definite translation drought will mean less 'plata' in March, when I will supposedly be back in the home hemisphere.

Also, Michael's mother is not doing very well, and has ended up in hospital again, unfortunately. Yesterday I went with Michael's cousin's husband and a childhood friend to give blood, so that the blood bank in the hospital would authorize giving more blood to his mum.

Just our luck, the blood bank computer system was down for the first hour, and almost nothing happened, apart from a 'pre-donation interview' with a uniformed nurse, and a blood sample was taken from us. The director of the blood bank faffed around the office in a long floral dress complaining about people not sitting down (the seats were old hospital beds, and only comfortable for...oh no I lie, they were not!). After having waited for 3 hours in the tiny blood bank waiting room and reached a state of acute starvation on the account of having had no breakfast, we were told to drink something. We were then ushered into the donation room, told to wash our arms with liquid soap, and then to lie down on the beds. Apparently my veins are impossible to find, and so the doctor in training made a complete mess of my right arm, which is rather blue today. A more experienced person thankfully tried my left arm, and I managed to donate the 250 ml required. The funniest thing was when I stepped out into the waiting room again with cotton taped to BOTH of my arms - the mostly male donators-to-be were suitably impressed with the fearsome gringa, especially as the guy who left before us fainted and had to be picked up by a relative!!

As a reward for the drama, after checking on Michael's mum we went to have ceviche at Manolo's, and I drank the better part of a litre of chicha - juice made from pineapple and black corn.

Legal tourist

Yesterday Michael and I spent just under two hours in DIGEMIN - Dirección General de Migraciones y Naturalización: the office for migration and naturalisation, i.e. where you go to have your expiring visa renewed.
The building was a maze of queues, information desks, very important people, surprisingly friendly security staff, offices, waiting rooms, a bank office for paying fees and a section for taking passport photos. I had enough after about ten minutes when we had to stand in the scorching sun in the inner court to queue for the bank people to relieve me of 20 USD and 27 soles. But then i remembered my nice new wooden 2-sol fan, and was instantly much more at ease, and could laugh at the chaos that always ensues when people are queueing at a distance from the counter and other people arrive and try to sneak up to the counter, whereupon there is a lot of shouting.
I have to say that it was a much nicer experience than acquiring my residence permit in Germany, where you are certainly made to feel as if you should apologize for wanting to come and pay taxes to a retirement fund you're not even entitled to.....the Peruvian official even smiled as she gave me my passport back!
In the end, it turned out that if I hadn't renewed my visa, I would have had to pay 1USD per day until I choose to board the plane for France in March, i.e. about 30 USD. I almost regretted my endeavours to stay legal.

I'm starting to get better at predicting the summer weather based on the morning outlook:

Cold and foggy: it's going to be hot, damp and sunny
Nice cool breeze and sunshine: it's going to be even hotter and sunnier
Overcast: expect hot and overcast
Overcast with distressingly dark clouds: clammy with possibility of two raindrops in the late afternoon

A reason as good as any?

After reading El Commercio, I now know the reason for Monday's transport strike: the unions of transport workers, drivers etc. were asking for the reassessment of the applicable traffic fines and a general amnesty for the suspension, confiscation or termination of driver's licences (all three the result of severe traffic offences), something that upset a lot of people. In certain areas of Lima, strikers even set things on fire and threw stones at strike-breaking vehicles.
A summary of the Letters to the Editor, the newspaper comments, and Michael's background information; Lima's public transport ten years ago was much more organised with proper bus stops, fixed fares (which are still advertised in most buses, but hardly ever adhered to, to the disadvantage of bus operators, it has to be said - it's the old race to the bottom ruling there), fixed routes and more orderly conduct - now people sometimes have to leap from the pavement to the bus step or the other way while the bus hardly stops, stopping buses take up two to three lanes holding up traffic, and are constantly involved in accidents with other buses, taxis, cars and pedestrians.
The whole strike was by some considered symptomatic of the lack of respect for public order; this is apparently a result of poor politics, poor policing, inadequate legislation and inefficiency in enforcing existing regulations.

Money, money, money

YES! Today I received my first freelance pay statement! Well, the money is still not in my account due to interbank transfers (the banks are both in Bremen) which must indeed be very complicated in this day and age...but nonetheless I feel rich - today anyway.
Also a big plus today: people working in public transport, i.e. all those men and women driving around in rusty, dubious mini buses, are on STRIKE! YES!!! That has meant that the noise level on my street has been comparable to that of Sunday afternoon, and on a Monday morning that is quite agreeable.
Other great news: the first ají plant had a flower this morning, and some of the tomato plants have tiny green tomatoes. We are looking forward to harvest time already. But first we must eat the mountains of fruit and veg that we managed to take home from Minka yesterday. It's a cooperative running a food and commodities market including a huge fish section, but since we arrived just after 15.00, we didn't feel like trying the lukewarm afternoon leftovers...Next time! Instead we bought everything else, I think.

Islas Ballestas - Pisco part II

For the second time that day, we arrived and were ushered out on a sandy crossroad before I had even realized that the bus had stopped. It hurried on accompanied by the ticket guy’s monotonous shouting.
It was like in a film, you get off the bus, dust blowing in your face and you stand there looking at your destination, in this case: Chaco beach, Paracas. One of the first things I noticed was the discreet King’s Hall, which looked more like a very humble abode (see photo). In front of us colourful, small houses lined the road down to the beach and further through the village and to some hotels on the left. Walking down to the beach, we passed an open tent advertising the boat tours to the Islas Ballestas, and several people approached us to try and sell tickets. The road ended in a small circle just by the pier, with souvenir shops on the right and the beach walk with restaurants on the left. The afternoon sun left the side of the peninsula opposite shaded, but nicely warmed the sand in Chaco. We took up some space down by the waterline and tried to be polite to everyone advertising their ceviche, fried fish etc. The water was nice and warm, like the Skälderviken bay at the beginning of August after a generous summer. It was only later that Michael told me about the small spiked rays that you, or rather, the soles of your feet might encounter if you move too quickly through the seaweed. Back on the beach we secured expertly chilled cristal beer and glasses from a gentleman in an orange t-shirt.
After sunset, we withdrew to one of the restaurants for crispy fried chita with rice –mmm! Afterwards we admired the pelicans, while one of the locals fed them with little fish and then asked for a tip. A bus took us back to town, and after having had a quick look at the main square with obligatory church and children playing on the grass until midnight we went home to our nice hotel room, leaving a substantial heap of sand in the shower.
The next morning, breakfast was served at the ungodly hour of 6.40, but I had some lovely scrambled eggs with ham (don’t blame me, the choice was American or Continental breakfast – at least I had fresh pineapple juice). The bus picked us and most of the other guests up and brought us out to Chaco again, while offering a dubious guided tour (hi my name is Juan and I’ll be your guide today) of the streets of Pisco, picking up more people as we went on.
In Chaco, we were seated in a large speedboat, with life vests and everything. Thanks to the early hour, the sea was calm, and the boats moved swiftly. On the way I spotted something really unusual floating and diving in the low waves: an otter. They were nearly extinct, but seem to be returning to Peru now. It felt like a good sign for the day.
First stop with the boats was El Candelabro, a strange symbol in the ground on the tip of the peninsula. No one knows who made it or why, but it has been speculated that it was used as a landmark by seafarers.
After another 20 minutes we approached the islands, and they were really amazing. Unfortunately the light was most unfavourable for someone as inept with a camera as myself. But I can guarantee that it was a sight: on the stony beaches, sea lions were competing for space. On the rocky slopes of the islands, the anemones and sea stars in the waterline were succeeded by Humboldt penguins and Inca Terns, then black and guanay cormorants and Peruvian Boobies and pelicans. The more rare Red-legged cormorant (Chuitas) seemed to prefer to stay in couples a bit on their own. The curious vaults and caves of the islands only added to the spectacular views. The guide was ok, and sure enough knew all the names of the animals, but when he started explaining the larger systemic features of Peru's coastal water, the Humboldt current, El Niño and zooplankton, even I spotted some knowledge gaps. Nevertheless, he did well at explaining about the guano collection and other curiosa, while we admired the black “cormorant carpet” covering one otherwise white island. Our last stop at the islands was a big beach filled with sea lions, with some impressive big males raising their voices every so often. At the back, vultures were feasting on either an unfortunate sea lion cub or placenta from a newborn. Apparently, during the high season of sea lion births, condors are known to travel from the highlands to the islands to eat the placenta.
It was strange leaving the islands with all the images in our minds, and facing just water again, but a group of pelicans accompanied us for a while.
Back in Chaco we were given a 45 minute break, which Michael and I took advantage of to buy postcards, beer and lovely, just made papa rellena - filled potato mash.
A bus then took us further into Paracas, stopping at the national park museum, where the guide had another stab at destroying my faith in his biological expertise. Moving through the desert, we finally arrived at El Catedral, a cave/rock formation by the beach. to see the cave, we had to descend a narrow sand path onto the gorgeous, vast beach. Walking along and getting our feet soaked by occasional waves, I admired all the crabs getting washed up, and the lizards running over the hot stones near the steep rock wall. Michael showed me some stones with fossil shapes in them. The cave was huge, damp and chilled – a nice change from the scorching heat in the desert. I was wishing for my snorkel and mask. On the way out again, I managed to spot a red araña de mar – a type of crab – scuttling over the seaweed and sand.
Having climed back up to the top, we moved to the designated “panoramic spot” of the cathedral, and obligingly took lots of photos of the beautiful scenery; the cathedral, the yellow desert sand, the blue waves, and in the distance, more beaches and islands that reminded of Scotland, raking into the sky.
With our stomachs grumbling, we arrived in Langunillas, the secluded fisherman’s hamlet with 5 restaurants and a lovely beach with calm waters. The guide told us to be weary of the sea urchins, but assured a nervous Swiss that there would be no medusas (jellyfish). He was proven wrong the instant we set foot on the beach, where a big, brown jellyfish with a bell pattern like Arabic henna adornments was frying in the sand. Fortunately that was the only one, and the water was soooo nice. After my first contact with the spiky sea urchin bottom, I kept my toes where I could see them.
Lunch was had in restaurant "El Che". We had tiradito de pejerrey: small sardine-like boneless fish filets in lime juice with ají amarillo and cilantro, served with camote. Delicious.
Afterwards, Michael went for another swim at a different beach, and I took some pictures of rocks that hinted at very interesting diving sites.
At three o'clock sharp, the bus left, bringing us back to our hotel for around 4 pm. The evening before, we had decided that we'd like to stay the next night at "El Amigo" just by the beach in Chaco, so we paid the bill at San Isidro and returned to Chaco, passing by the market in Pisco to by some necessities (small yellow mangoes and bananas). After checking in, we spent the afternoon and the better part of the next day at the beach, before getting on the bus just after 6 pm Friday. It was definitely a very agreeable way to spend the days between Christmas and New Year, especially knowing that at home wind and rain were doing their worst - we even managed to avoid a freak rain incident in Lima.
The plan is to come back and maybe camp directly in Paracas, with nothing but the blue ocean and white-yellow beach, crabs and birds for company. We'll see, there is so much else to explore too!