Leaving Lima: Espero que hablo bastante espanol...

Plaza des Armas - Lima, Peru













I arrived in Lima a little over a week ago, Tuesday night, 23 Sept...somewhere around 11 pm. Some vignettes, if you will, from my travels so far...

I was reminded of the joys of solo travel before I even left the Atlanta airport. I swear, you sit alone for two minutes in a public transport area and some sort of magnet activates that attracts only the locos. I'm sure the lady who chose to sit next to me and start talking is not certifiably crazy, but I have no doubt she's strategically passed off to newcomers in the conversation circle at the cocktail party. I learned that she loves Italian people. They are so stylish. The Venezuelans really have beautiful hair (they know how to dye it- they don't use bleach- obviously that dries out the hair too much). Her chauffeur in Lima, Alphonso, has a big mouth and likes to talk about how they know Bill Clinton and Sarah Palin. But Alphonso also spreads rumors about her son's fiancee. But Celia doesn't mind that, Alphonso has been her driver for just so long, you understand. I would share more details, but I honestly was distracted by the odd shape of her freshly botoxed lips and couldn't really focus on her rambling. That, and I was obsessed over the fact that the airport provides wheelchairs that are basically luggage carts with a seat (she arrived in this- she can walk, but she had a bad, you wouldn't even believe it, fall years and years ago). How is that comfortable? And more importantly, how do you do wheelies in them? Why couldn't they just go with the standard wheelchair?

The flight was pretty uneventful. The overhead radio did come on about halfway through the flight and played a series of 1990's Top 40 (outside the US) dance tunes at a level just audible enough to make it impossible to drown out the obnoxious beat with my own headphones (though a few songs did provide some semi-pleasurable moments of Garmisch disco flashbacks, followed quickly by a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and a throbbing headache).

I spent the first night in a concrete cell of a room, illuminated by one naked florescent bulb that didn't quite reach the bathroom. But perhaps it was best not to see the bathroom as I could feel the mold coming from the shower. The coffee was lovely in the morning though, and the owners were very kind. They told me the easiest way to get a phone card. I followed their instructions to a "t" and within an hour I was in a taxi to a new guest house.

Walter runs Alojomiento D'Osma. Walter also happens to be my new best friend in Peru. He's probably about 70 years old, and he pats me on the back every day. He also makes sure I have enough change every day for the bus. He squeezes me fresh orange juice every morning (he does this for the other guests, as well, but I know he puts extra effort into my glass). He congratulates me for going on a 20-minute run. And he checks up at least once daily on my progress in Spanish class.

I am happy to report that I have only almost-been-hit-by-a-car twice since I have arrived. That has to be a record for any foreigner spending ten days in Lima. Sadly, both times I reacted with fear. I can't wait for the next time. I'm going to hit my hand on the hood of the car, look the driver in the eye with contempt and raise my arms up like "what?!? I'm walking here."

I take the combis, or public mini-buses daily. It's fun to hop on and then spend the rest of the trip wondering if you're going in the right direction. I ask questions, but I really don't think they're speaking Spanish. If it is, they've managed to slur every word together. And I don't really think they're responding to my questions. Admittedly, my Spanish is not very good. I did ask someone once before I got on a bus. It was the guy on the corner who counts the buses as they go past (and sometimes the buses give the guy some money). I waited for 30 minutes with him and was able to learn all about his method. Well, by "learn" I mean try to figure out what he meant. I thought I understood the words, but when I looked at his clipboard with numbers and times, I was completely lost. That is some complicated math. Thank god for folklore's lack of numbers.

Speaking of folklore, this following bit will probably only be interesting to my fellow folkies... Walter's son, Francisco, also works at the guest house and helps me practice my Spanish. He asked me about what I study (which tends to get a similar reaction in Peru as it does in the States, they're either completely amused or dumbfounded). I somehow managed to find the words in Spanish to explain a folkloric approach, and then proceeded to argue why it's a better approach for studying people than journalism and the popular media (sorry commie study friends, but you know it's true). Francisco agrees completely. Or at least that's what I decided to understand.

I went with Francisco and his friends to a Peruvian cuisine festival- the first ever in Lima- last weekend. I learned lots of stuff. Normal Peruvians really do love Inca Cola (which looks like urine and tastes like liquid cotton candy with sno-cone syrup). I also learned that potatoes are really in this year. Tubers are trendy, you heard it here first. I was reminded of the beauty of the Pisco Sour. And, most importantly, I learned that anticuchos (cow heart) are actually quite delicious. Chicken heart, however, is just plain wrong.

Cow hearts in front, notice they're almost gone.

Grodey chicken hearts in back. Notice there's plenty.











Me with Francisco (center) and his friends José and Gonzalo at the food festival in Lima.











I went last Friday to the National Museum. I saw a sign at the airport for the 3rd International Conference on Tourism and Handicrafts. I decided to look it up and saw that is was going on at the National Museum. It seemed to be a closed event, however. It was put on by the UN's World Tourism Organization, and it seems the US (shocking) is not a part of this organization. But then my Spanish teacher told me on Friday morning about a feria (market, of sorts) that had handicrafts from all over Peru that was going on at the museum. I went to check it out, picked up several brochures, chatted it up with some weavers and a gourd carver and scored a free poster of the Mantaro Valley (I learned later, at the oh-so-educational cuisine festival, that posters seem to be popular giveaways. I now also have a poster of Huancavalica). As I sat on the steps trying to figure out where I should go for lunch, I watched the conference attendees pass me by, flaunting their credentials around their necks. So I decided to ask one of them about it, but it turns out that I asked a museum employee about the conference. She really didn't know much about it, so she led me to another wing of the museum, ushered me past the guards and started talking to the organizers. Soon, I was flashing my U of O id and sitting in front of a camera, smiling for my own credentials. They handed me a program and led me to another table to get my headset and portable translation device. It was all I could do not to lean over after the presentations and ask questions into the personal microphone at my seat. I really did want to hear myself translated into Spanish (the translator had such an official UN-y sounding voice). Maybe I'll find another conference to crash on my way back through Lima. The sandwiches and coffee at the end were fantastic too. I probably should have included that on the comment card they asked me to fill out.

Tomorrow, I'll take a 6 1/2 hour bus to Huancayo. I've signed up for the pollo for lunch. If I win bingo, I'll get my return journey free. Luckily I have my letters and numbers down. Maybe though I'll ask Walter to quiz me, just in case. Luckily Sam Bond's has given me plenty of practice on staying focused on the card (Lesley and Beth- you'll have to pass along my thanks to your bestest pals Scott and Tom). Well, I am excited to leave behind this pollution and more than a bit anxious about actually getting started on my research. Hopefully my next installment in this blog will NOT be two things: 1. as long and boring as this nonsense, and 2. a disaster story about trying to interview craftswomen in a language I marginally speak...

I'm posting pictures on my Flickr site:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/74646886@N00/sets/72157607574848660/
You might have to have an account and be my "friend" there. I'm not too selective, so just sign up and ask (though a bribe or two will surely insure your acceptance here).

Supposedly you can bring Flickr pics into this blog thing, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet. Maybe someone can send me an easier explanation than the "help" button gives here.

A couple more photos, from my visit to the Inquisition Museum (such an educational trip):