Back to class

Today was an eventful day.

First, I had the worst ceviche since I learned the word, and I've really sampled quite a few after three years in Peru! They had tried to make it more refined by adding some dill (I think), but it tasted of YEAST. Not good. Michael and I are hoping it tasted like that because it had been frozen.

Second, I went to the only British school for girls in Lima, to see the celtic choreography my friend had created for the 5- and 6-year-olds. It is quite close to home, but it was a skip and a jump through the income brackets. I DID expect it because I checked the address before leaving the house, and, out of curiosity, the matriculation fee. How about a single, non-refundable fee of 6000 USD plus 350 USD for 10 months of school plus a series of "instalments" for the parents' association etc., etc. There were almost as many nannies as there were mums, and in Peru they are easy to spot because they were all-white caretaker uniforms and usually have a tiny backpack on the arm too, courtesy of spoiled brat. Anyhow, the girls were adorable and absolutely unruly and forgetting to follow the teacher and waving their gymnastic attire the wrong way, disconcerting the whole row, and almost breaking their backs between the trampoline and plinth....like all kids.

Thirdly, I went to my first Peruvian fashion show, at the studio of my Japanese/Peruvian wedding dress designer. There was the expected gay crowd, fashionable ladies from the Brazilian embassy and some mortals, like me. The models were not mortal, nor was the viciously cool female DJ of Asian origins with striking red eyeshadow, a big black perm and a slinky blue dress out of the Spring collection that I had wondered if it would suit me. It would not, I decided after seeing it on her figure...

Also, I've started gambling, so to speak. No, I haven't taken up the habit of an early afternoon stroll to the nearest slot machine hall, where the mid-fifties women and friends go and spin their household allowance. I finally got round to applying for my international drivers' license, which is valid for 2 years, but only accepted for the first 3 months of my stay in Peru. Of course. It is a well-established trick among expats not to carry your passport with you, but only a copy where the stamp is nowhere to be seen and fake a touristy accent, should the police stop you. Anyway, driving makes me feel ever so slightly Peruvian. Or rather, I've found some obscure talent I didn't even know I possessed to show complete disregard for whoever is behind me on the road, zig-zagging in and out between the "combis", bike carts, motorcycles, petrol tank lorries, tractors, and what not. It's a nice feeling to control where you are going and not be sardined into a tiny old van taking the corners at reckless speeds. Also, I still can't believe my first ever car is something as grand as a Mercedes, albeit 27 years old.

Visiting a Peruvian Mirage

Last weekend, we decided to go on a day trip to the Lomas de Lachay, a huge national park about 2 hours North of Lima, by way of the Panamericana. It is a fantastic ecosystem, completely dependent on the fog that rolls in from the Pacific. The humidity condenses at the top of the hills/mountains, and gathers in natural pools at the bottom, irrigating a sea of low bushes, creepers and meadow flowers. On a sunny day, there is a strong scent of rapeseed, probably emanating from the similar-looking plant that sticks out between the lower white and blue flowers. An elderly man told me it looked like

tobacco, but I wouldn't know.

These are screens to collect water for a tank for the park wardens.

As we climbed to the top of the first ridge and made our way along it on a gravel footpath, the hawk-eagles hovered overhead, on the look-out for small rodents, maybe a chincilla...

The Lomas were once a real forest, with lots of sturdy trees to bind the humidity, however, as in many places, massive logging has decimated them, so that now there are but a few scattered over the hillsides. One meandering valley has managed to keep a larger bunch of trees, and the guides of the park like to think of it as "Harry Potteresque". On a day when the sun does its utmost to burn my fair skin, it is a bit difficult to see the likeness, but if you imagine one of the days where the fog is so thick you can hardly see your feet, walking into one of the blackened trunks with scrawny, seemingly leafless branches might be a pretty ghostly experience.

The rocks that protrude among the greenery look like they've been in conctact with a lot more water than can be seen in the park these days, but I've yet to find out why.

EU quote of the month

Countries queuing up to join is a symbol of our success

Jerzy Buzek, New EP president on EU enlargement

I found this quote while skimming various EU parliament pages for something else entirely, and couldn't help but being slightly offended by the simplicity of the statement. Maybe this is due to the opinion I formed during the seemingly endless study of international organisations at university; it's all about inclusion vs exclusion. So maybe a rephrasing would be in order, Mr President?

Countries queuing up to join is a symbol of our successful policy of exclusion

...for example?

Build a fortress and put nice things within it, and people are sure to be queuing up to get inside, whether for wealth (opportunity to trade), safety or employment. This has surely been true since the first wall was built. Fine, I'm all for parliamentaries being positive about the work they are (supposed to be) doing, but a certain degree of organisational self-knowledge would probably serve the tax-payers better.

There is, of course, the second possibility of the President being entirely cynical and actually referring to barring access for certain Europeans as a success.

Nah.

End of summer holidays

Many of the villages on the coast south of Lima resemble the town San Bartolo.

Fishermen and their families built their church and their municipality atop some sort of mount or protruding rock with a 30 m free fall down to rocks, whirlpools and white water. They planted a few resilient pieces of flora which will survive in the unyielding desert of the dust and sand that is the coast of Peru; cactus, sedum, bougainvillea, etc.

Then came tourism, the hostels and apartment hotels digging into the sediment sand wall which makes up the transition from desert to beach. Only a few exceptions are set on the black coastal rock, but whether that is going to help them in an earthquake is anybody’s guess. We’ve rented an apartment with two bunk beds in one bedroom, one en-suite bedroom, another bathroom, a kitchen and a balcony with deckchairs, for two people. With the two hotels pools below us, the green waves breaking on the rocks further down and on-call cold beer, it feels like pure luxury, at the modest price of 115 soles per night.

The mornings start as a blue haze around six o’clock, with the four or five fishing boats still in use heading out for their positions scarce 200 m from the beach in the bay. An hour or so later, the first rays of sunlight manage to reach over the foothills of the Andes in the East. I look for the pelican colony on some guano-covered cliffs in the bay, next to the hotel. The great birds must be out for an early fishing trip much like Michael, but while I’m preparing my breakfast, they silently return to enjoy the morning sun. A black gull sits atop a column, which must not be all that comfortable because every now and then, she stands up on one leg, turns around and then lies down again, or just opens her beak to complain a bit.

A dark silhouette in the waves has me thinking there is a sea lion visiting but it is just an early surfer waiting to catch a wave in his dark wetsuit. And so another day at the beach begins.

Summer in the city

At 18.39 I notice the change - it is that point of the day again, when finally the cool wind picks up to sweep away the scorching heat projected from the noon sun, peaking around 3-ish, making my laptop surrender and switch off in the early afternoon.
Finally, I can enjoy a moment of fresh evening as the curtains fill with the breeze like jubilant slack sails after a long calm.
Summer in Lima is like living in a baking oven, but I don't mind. It is true that if you venture out between 10 am and 4 pm, you will end up like one of those sponges you'd use to wet stamps, your clothes developing an accordingly close relationship with your skin.

However, there are many ways to alleviate the sense of exhausted panic this may cause in a 37°C organism, for instance:

- buying a fan at the affordable price of one sol from one of the wandering sales people on the buses or at the bus stops (I have two)

- seeking out one of the malls or supermarkets, museums or libraries and their reliable AC-induced 18° indoor climate

- visiting one of the many parks, preferably one with eucalyptus trees, which clear up your respiratory system a bit after all the desert dust

- paying entry to Parque de la Reserva, and following its "magical circuit of water", a large constellation of different programmed water creations, some of them catching unsuspecting tourists unawares when they suddenly change direction and force, i.e. bring an extra set of clothes

- giving in to the call of one of the ice cream vendors who just happen to wait on any given corner

- placing large quantities of fresh fruit, like water melon and grapes in the fridge/freezer and indulging at any hour

and, of course, popping off to the closest beach, which may not be as clean as you'd like, but what with the Humboldt current supplying it with 14° water from depths, it definitely is cold enough to wake you up after lunch.

Christmas