Huancayo’s population is at approx. 387,700. I’m unclear which suburbs that includes, though I assume the one I’ve just moved into is included (surely they wouldn’t exclude me, would they?) The elevation is 3244 meters, and though I feel quite acclimated by now (I don’t have a constant pounding headache), I can still feel it when I run to catch my combi (mini-bus). I decided to return to the Casa de la Abuela, the hostel that I stayed at when I was here 5 years ago. I met a number of travelers just in my first day who reminded me of the traveling me of five years ago. Memories of my travels here before, and even who I was, came flooding back at an alarming rate. It’s taken a few days since leaving the hostel to get back to the “me of today” (as if that’s some concrete character). It has been a nice, if somewhat nostalgic, journey.
The Abuela (grandmother) has since passed away (she had Alzheimer’s and was not doing very well when I was here before). The owner, Lucho, is still running the place as well as the cultural center, Incas del Peru, and a number of other ambitious projects. I only spoke with Lucho briefly before he left for a tour in the jungle. I will meet up with him later in the month, however. The only other employee who is still here is one of the women who works at the hostel, Gloria. She didn’t remember me at first, but politely lied, I think, later and said that she did. She’s still a very shy, guarded woman, but she has been quite friendly and helpful. Her sister, Nilda, also works at the hostel and is much more outgoing. Neither Gloria nor Nilda speak much English, but they’ve been very patient with my Spanish and even correct my mistakes. Gloria told me how to go about finding a “habitacion,” or room, to rent and went over the standard prices. It was nice to have Gloria and Nilda to consult as I looked around for places. I actually only ended up spending 3 full days looking for a place, but it seemed like so much longer. I would get the paper each day and look in the classifieds. Then I would call all of the possibilities. Sometimes there were no phone numbers, so I would traipse around town looking for the address. Luckily, my Spanish tutor in Lima went over “how to rent an apartment,” so I had practiced the conversations already. Sadly, when the time came, I forgot to say “lo tomo!” or “I’ll take it!” as we had enthusiastically practiced several times. I met some interesting people in these pursuits and was reminded of one of the reasons I love this place. I hate the cliché of a “welcoming place,” but this town really does exude gracious hospitality. Though some people are concerned with what I can bring them as a foreigner, most are just generally helpful to someone who doesn’t know her way around. I’ve since witnessed it many times in town and on the buses as people help both me and others who seem not-as-clueless-but-lost-all-the-same. By the way, if you would like a new piercing or tattoo, I can get you a sweet discount from Max, one of my first potential neighbors.
I wasn’t having much luck, though, finding a place that was furnished and was beginning to think that maybe I would spend my entire time at the hostel. I did not want to stay in a dorm room however, as they were not set up very well for long term stays. I spoke to the office manager at the hostel about discounts, and though she could provide a decent discount, it still was well above what I wanted to pay. I was re-adjusting my budget and just about to commit to paying a lot more (like over $500) than planned when I decided to follow up on one more ad. When I made the call I asked the lady in the phone shop for help as to which number to phone (it is cheapest- and easiest for me- to call from a Locoturio, a shop with about 2-4 phones). After I spoke with the landlady, the phone lady asked me questions about looking for an apartment. She unfortunately didn’t know of any furnished places available, but said that this place was in a very good part of town. She thought it was a little too pricey since there was no kitchen, but agreed I should go look at it anyway. As I left to catch a taxi, she yelled out after me, “don’t let the taxi charge you more than 3 soles!” (People seem very concerned that taxis will rip me off. Naturally, I am as well, and so I ask someone I know or on the street every time before I take one about how much it should cost. I’ve yet to have a taxi try to rip me off. ) I arrived at the building and was shown two rooms. One was right at the entrance to the building, and though clean and adequate, had just enough room for the bed. The bathroom was reminiscent of those on the boats; there was definitely more room, but it was an “all-in-one,” though without a curtain to keep your toilet, and more importantly toilet paper, dry. The second room seemed huge for me and my backpack. There was a separate bathroom, a large bed with a comfortable mattress (by Peruvian standards anyway), a small couch, a wardrobe, a table with two chairs and a corner window that lets in a lot of light. The rent was $20 more than the small room, but at $100 a month including all utilities, I decided, Lo tomo! I put down a 50 soles deposit (approx. $16) and moved in the next day.
So now, here I am in El Tambo, the suburbs of Huancayo. My room is downstairs from a lawyer’s office. The lawyer and his family live above the office. There are several other rooms in the building, but I’ve yet to meet any of my neighbors. I hear them coming and going, and so one of these days I might just sit on the bench outside until I meet someone. The wife of the lawyer seems to be the manager and was quite helpful as I moved in. Though I have not seen her since, she offered that I may ring her bell or call anytime if I need help. Since my research can lead to some intense one-on-one time with others, it’s kind of nice to be left alone at home but still know that I am safe and have support if I need it. There’s an interesting coincidence as well- their son lives in Canton, Georgia (which for you non-Georgians is super close to mis padres y hermano in Marietta). Betty, their office assistant and cleaner, is quite excited by my presence, I think. She has mentioned several times that she has artisan friends and would like to introduce me to them. I actually haven’t even had a chance to take her up on her offer but will soon. So, things are working out fine with my place to live. I don’t have a kitchen, but I have a hot water kettle. I might write a cook book when I leave with 101 different hot water meals. I have even, after a very cold trial and error period, figured out how to get hot water in the shower (without the help of my kettle). Hallelujah!
I must say, during the apartment hunt, I was getting quite anxious about getting started with my research. I was wondering how I would be received, would I find people to work with me and answer my questions? Would people even be interested in the types of questions I have, ones that are not really concerned with whether or not they will make a living off their crafts, but something so superfluous as “what does it mean?” Really, do any of you ask what your career means? And here I want to go into some strange place with my remedial language skills and ask them some semi-philosophical questions that will probably in no way benefit them? I was definitely second-guessing myself. But there’s an organization back home that promised me money if I ask these questions. And if I give up, they won’t pay me back for this. So mere financial stress pushed me forward…that and I really do love a carved gourd. So once I settled into my place, I first went off to Cochas Grande, one of the two villages that are renown for their gourd carvers (the other is Cochas Chico, about ten houses down the road from Cochas Grande). I had two copies of a photo I had taken of Delia Poma, a famous Peruvian carver whom I had met five years previously. I knocked on her door and hoped for the best, both in my abilities to communicate and her reception of me. It was even better than I had hoped. My Spanish was fine. It was in no way perfect, but I could communicate without problems. And her reception? Well, I don’t think she remembers me, though she was vague as to be polite I think. She was, however, so pleased to receive the picture. She was pregnant in the photo and her 14 year old daughter, Consuela, asked if it was with her. She quickly did the math and was disappointed, though excited for her younger brother. Delia met me with a couple gourds in hand. She had been working, she said, and showed me what she was up to. I did not once get the feeling that she wanted to sell me something (a difficulty I have run into with other artisans, and rightfully so). She asked me so many questions about myself. She asked me what I have been doing since the five years since I last saw her. She asked about my studies. She was concerned, as many people are, about the fact that as a single woman I do not live with my parents. But then she and her daughter expressed both awe and admiration when I told them that I support myself. “A waitress?,” they asked. “Wow.” This will be something interesting for me to talk to them about more. I don’t think women get the opportunity to work in anything other than what their family does. I can go on longer about Delia Poma and her daughter, but I have a feeling this is only the beginning. I went and saw her in town today at her booth in a permanent handicraft market. She asked that I come back next week so we can make plans to spend more time together. She was pleased that I have two months here as she said she is very busy this month, but will have more time in November.
That was Thursday of last week. On Friday, I went to Hualhuas, a village known for its weavers. As I wandered around the second place I visited, I started talking to one of the younger women working there. She had several questions for me and started to ask more and more questions about my project. Her name is Gabriella and she is 28 years old. She agreed to help with my project and invited me to come back any time. Despite our many obvious differences, I think that we both felt in talking that we can really relate to each other. We went outside her family’s shop and her boyfriend, Celso, arrived. Though he knows how to weave, he makes his living as a P.E. teacher. Gabriella is working on opening up a new guest house in her town that focuses more on the experience of living in Hualhuas, rather than just visiting. She and Celso spoke excitedly about their plans for quite awhile. Then they invited me to return on Sunday for Celso’s soccer games. He is captain of a team sponsored by the weaving studio. So on Sunday I spent the day at the soccer field in Hualhuas, meeting Gaby and Celso’s family and friends and cheering on their team. Just so you know, if you do not play very well, as Celso’s team did not in the first game, the spectators will rush both the goalie and the captain, grab their feet and hands and lift you from the ground. Then the old man in the group will take off his belt and smack you on the butt three times. Oh, and perhaps someone can pass this on to Mr. Albright: the Peruvians enjoy eating guinea pig at their soccer matches. I opted for the pork.
There are so many “important” details I feel I am leaving out since I last wrote, but this has gone on long enough. I continue to hop on buses and hope they’re heading in the direction I would like to go. I have had some not-so-fun battles with my stomach, due probably to a poor choice in drinking a free juice at lunch one day. I visited a monastery with an odd selection of stuffed birds and animals- always amusing (sadly you could not take photos, otherwise this blog would have just consisted of those photos). On Friday night, I rocked out first to a band that featured a pan flautist and second to a great cover band that included songs from R.E.M., AHA, Dire Straits, The BeeGees, and Jon BonJovi. And today, to the amusement of just about everyone in my neighborhood, I armed myself with a rock against all of the stray dogs and undertook an absolutely unheard of activity – I went for a run.
Some photos from the last couple of weeks:
1. Delia Poma (Photo from 2003)
2. Alejandro Osores Cipriano, another gourd carver from Cochas Grande
3. Scene from Cochas Grande
4. My new 4 year old friend in Cochas. She sat next to me on the bus ride back to Huancayo and chatted nonsense the entire time, to the amusement of myself and the other passengers.
5. Esperanza Cordova Costado, a weaver in Hualhuas
6. Covento de Ocopa, Monastery in Santa Rosa, north of Huancayo
7. A sign still remains from my time ¨working¨at Casa de la Abuela
8. A street scene from the balcony of the Casa
9. Torres Torres, interesting geological formations northeast of town
1 comment:
So fun to hear your inner thoughts as you set out on your research adventure. Always good to ask the questions and second guess yourself, but you never know much simply showing an interest in someone's culture and traditions in a genuine way can be appreciated.
So keep up the great work!
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