I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends.
- William Shakespeare -
Lima continued...
We tend to get a lot from the people we meet, cafes we sit in and the atmosphere of the coastal cities and towns. Many people spend a lot of time, invest a lot of money and put a lot of effort into inland travel. Typically it makes me ashamed, feeling inadequate as a traveller. "What? You didn't go to Bolivia?", "What? You didn't do the Blue Mountains in Jamaica?", "Around the world in 6 years? Why in such a hurry?" and "Oh, you MUST visit (insert the name of any major cultural, historical and natural spectacle here)!
Aliisa started to feel like a wine cellar. Without the fine wines. Cool moist cushions. Bilges full of condensation. We escaped the heat of the tropics, but not the humidity. The foggy picture is due to the camera lens refusing to clear.
As Aliisa's bow is pointing to the last ocean of her circumnavigation, as we're running out of funds, as the sails are thinning beyond repair, the outboard barely running, dinghy leaking, decks rusting and stops numbering over 200 since Cairns, I'm honestly getting a little exhausted. I'd love to live like this forever, but it's just not possible without "unsupervised income" or a pretty big kitty, not to mention a 10 000-dollar refit for Aliisa or preferably a bigger boat with more living comforts. Some people do it forever, for a fraction of the cost. But they don't suffer from anxiety and worry. Perhaps they are rarely planning to have a family. Typically they are pensioners. There are not many of them.
Doing laundry was easy for us, but not for the lady at the service desk. She listed by hand every item individually. "...nickers-white, tea towel-red flowers, tea towel-blue stripes, shirt-red, with small pattern on chest, pillow case- blue with white fluffy clouds..." and so on.
I have come to feel that I'm only just above the threshold of having the courage to set out, but nowhere near those who keep going with no fear. I look at the young kids taking big waves on their boogie boards and a little older ones riding the bigger waves. I'm in awe. I would never have the guts to go into that surf. Yet, I've gone into the turf (I'm just using that word 'cause it rhymes) that some others don't dare to go. Why is it, that we so often use other people to define ourselves? I suppose, who else could we use? Best to define ourselves against our own strengths and weaknesses.
Back in the Cairns Cruising Yacht Squadron, during the 6 years leading to my departure, I got a lot unsolicited advice starting with the words: "What you WANT to do, is...". It's a common mind-set, you know, that others should do what you do, they should think like you think, their priorities be the same than yours. I fall into it too. It's a subtle but an important difference to say: "What I have done...", "What seems to be working for me..." or "We really liked ....", instead of "What you want to do is..." or "You must go to...".
Lima Centro - the historic city is beautiful and best done on foot, as the traffic can be congested and slow.
I can not explain why this is sometimes such an issue to me. Maybe being bullied as a kid, growing up as some sort of an "under-dog" has left me overly sensitive of what other's say and how they might judge me, or take (in my mind) a superior attitude toward me. This is an insecurity on my behalf. The insecurity also invites others' advice. Honestly, I'm often asking for it too. That's what insecure people do. They ask for advice and then switch on to defensive. People usually give their unsolicited advice with genuine good intentions and personal excitement and conviction about their own views and experience. That's good. Yet, I have promised to do my very best not to ever tell anyone what they "should" or "should not" do. As if I would know better. I don't. I honestly don't know what YOU should do. I'm only just managing my own "must do's".
Traditional Peruvian buildings are made of a cane skeleton covered in mud. Multi-storey buildings with this method still stand tall and beautiful and if well kept and painted, may well represent the most beautiful building on the block.
Back to Lima. Sorry about the above. There just has to be a little piece of something weird and totally un-related to anything in every page. Where were we again? Vomiting from too much oysters and Pisco? Let's go back to that. It's more fun. We spent our day of arrival chilling out in the boat, catching some Z's and being excited about the Yacht Club's wifi. (Yeah, I know it would have been better to chill out in Chile, so let's say we were just perusing our surroundings.) Our leaking Zodiac stayed on deck, as did the twice-sunken barely running 4hp outboard motor. The club had a 24-hour water-taxi service, usually alongside within minutes of the VHF call. Next day we had a soft landing to Lima, nudging against the solid timber jetty surrounding the little restaurant of Yacht Club Peruano.
Check-in on board Aliisa. Check-out was easier, but altogether our visit left almost 80 sheets of stamped and signed forms, including copies of my emails with the coast-guard and photocopies of the note book acting as Aliisa's "radio log". All now sitting in some filing cabinet in Callao.
La Punta is perhaps the most expensive area of the "greater Lima". It is a popular weekend spot for locals, offering a rough pebble beach, a little bit of surf to play with and a pleasant waterfront neighbourhood with small restaurants, smiling pensioners walking with their poodles and a few corner shops and bakeries serving the community of people who no doubt are part of the cream of Peru's society. La Punta's buildings were nice but not ostentatious, often stylishly renovated old buildings, often just simply clean and tidy. The quiet suburb had style, without being upper-class, it was quiet and safe without being exclusive. All kinds of people walked its street and they all seemed to be in a good mood. The atmosphere was relaxed and friendly, attributes that we could later attach to other parts of Lima too, but without the chaos and pollution of the more built-up parts of the gigantic city, or the security problems and poverty-related sadness of some other suburbs, including many parts of the neighbouring Callao.
How can we afford enough Corona beers and Gin-Tonic to go with these?!
We started safely. Too many warnings and a general consensus of Lima being "a bit dodgy", made us weary at first. Another cruising yacht with tonnes of experience from central and south America had graciously given the name and address of their friends and even written an introductory email to them, despite us being only "SSB-friends". (We had spoken to them many times on the SSB radio, but never met them) I took their contact as a serious opportunity to meet the real Peru, to have that ever-important connection with someone native. To have a peek into the inside, rather than just walk around with one hand on your wallet and the other on the button of the digital camera, hoping that not too many people would notice that "there goes another tourist". I bravely pushed the door-bell button belonging to people that I had never met and had no previous knowledge of.
Squashed in a 9-seater with 16 others was the way to travel. Cheap, fun and fast.
They weren't home but one man came to their balcony and promised to call them. A minute later I received a call from a slightly suspicios sounding Ani, the wife. I felt embarrassed and tried to think of a reason why I should call someone I don't know, only because I've spoken on the SSB radio with someone else who I also don't really know but who knows the person whos door-bell I've been ringing. Weird, but sometimes forming a friendship requires that first gentle push, the courage to introduce yourself, daring to be honest and tell who you are and express your desire to make acquaintance. You see, as adults, we forget the natural ways of behaving. The "norms" of our society "normalises" us and teaches us to be suspicious of others. As adults we rarely do what 4-year-olds do almost every day in playgrounds all around the world: walk up to some other kid they've never seen before and say "Can I be your friend?". Perhaps "losing the innocence" means losing a lot more than that.
A top-ranking visit to Aliisa, by the commander of Peruvian navy. More importantly, a visit by a friend.
I'm 43-year-old and my new acquaintance was perhaps 20 years older, but the "can-I-be-your-friend?" worked, again. Ani had read the email from our cruising friends and that had lowered the bar. It put us in a tribe of "good people", dissipated suspicion and confirmed some level of trustworthiness. The fact that Ani and her husband had a strong affinity and association with both the ocean and travelling was a bonus.
Should I be looking very serious and military? Should the boys be looking very serious? Nobody could really make up their mind after I walked in and sat down.
Let's put the philosophy of human tribal behaviour aside for a moment and say a few words about the Peruvian people. Ani invited us for a visit the next day. In a few days we got to meet her husband Edi, a retired navy officer of the highest possible rank, the Admiral himself. We also met their friends Jorge and Marisa and later their daughter Ana Gabriela, Ani's mother (What a rock'n'roll granma she was! I want to grow old just like her!) and many others. At first I was a bit baffled. Despite being a genuine born-again Aussie, I only have Finnish blood in my veins. (The arteries carry the oxygen from whatever country I happen to be in, which makes my blood a bit international on the incoming flow...but let's not get into that. It's the outgoing flow from the tissues - the veins - that count here.) You see, Finns are very reserved and despite me being a bit more outgoing than the "sterotype Finn", I'm not used to people showing such warmth for "strangers".
Cruising along in Lima Centro with our friends. Ani, Marisa, Jorge, Annina, me and a guy trying to sell Peruvian art.
We were just about adopted to the family. Their daugher Ana Gabriela was about the same age than Annina and like my wife, she was a real ray of Sunshine. Edi had a heart bigger and warmer than all the medals combined in his Navy uniform, being the kind of human leader that anyone would follow with respect only. Ani just radiated motherly love. Jorge, a Peruvian come long-time Miami-living semi-retired boy with some grey hair turned out to be another "tribal member", another soul out in the world that talks the same language than me. Despite us having walked a very different path in life, there was a similar "boyish" curiosity and perhaps an idealistic - even naive - world view in both of us. (I'm referring to the child-like sense of wonder that is most prominent in 4-year-olds). There were others too, like the suspected future girlfriend of Jorge, the lovely Marisa, but this is not an Oscar-speech and I'm not going to start having a massive group-wank about how wonderful everyone was. (But they were.)
Most people climb up high hills to get a good view back down. Some do it to be closer to someone up there. San Cristobal Hill, Lima.
After making all these new friends, we felt more relaxed. We had more courage to face the rest of Lima and more confidence in the good hearts of other Peruvians too. Our instincts did not let us down. We started jumping into the local buses, riding them trhough the city into the areas of interest. The first one was "Minka", a totally incredible area of everything possible. The fruit and vege market there was the biggest I've ever seen and every possible product was to be found, somewhere. For the "western" style shopping, you know, the kind that has everything under one roof and you can pay all in one counter, we headed for Plaza Saint Miguel. The Wong supermarket there had a lot of European, Asian and American products, most importantly our kind of cheese, tinned yummies, pate and other specialty items. The "Shopping Mall" setup felt more familiar and had such bastions of pleasure as McDonalds, Burger King, Home Center and Radio Shack. The last one just for dribbling on the super-cool gadgets we don't need.
In the historic central Lima, police was out in force to form a barrier between the change of guards and the flock of tourists trying desperately to take pictures of it. I was told not to stand on the park bench for better view, and in case the restrictions were met with resistance, the boys were ready for an all-out tourist-riot!
As we got used to the bus service, we ventured further. Transport was cheap, as quick as a taxi and we always had tons of people to help us if we happened to look confused in the bus or holding an old Lonely Planet at the bus stop. We found Miraflores, the Lima Centro with its museums and historic buildings and eventually bussed ourselves to the Bohemian Barranco for a dinner over the ocean. Everywhere we went, day or night, the people were cheerful and helpful. The dodgy folk, the pick-pockets and not-so-nice people must have noticed that I was always aware of our surroundings, always glimpsing behind my shoulders, always having my backpack on the bellyside and my hands deep in my pockets. A bit of common sense, a lot of smiles and the ability to say "no" and walk away from anyone touching you in the streets - that's all you need to travel 99% of the world.
Dead people. Dead animals. Live city. (San Fransisco Catacombs, Minka markets)
At the end, Lima ended up blowing us away. Everywhere we went was good. Ending back to the starting point, at the Yacht Club Peruano. Our hand-held radio was fixed and we got gas in the bottle, thanks to Jaime at the club. We soon became friendly with the head Chef Frano. His food was amazing, but it didn't end there. Frano was going to take us to a number of different places, but it ended up being mostly talk. Plans always changed. At end it boiled down to the real thing. You see, Frano, though he certainly wanted us to see more of Peru than just La Punta and Lima, really was just a friend. Instead of him taking us to a traditional dance show full of tourists (which we wanted to see), we ended up in Frano's home, meeting his sister, his mother, looking through the pictures of his family, checking out his sister's new car, having chinese food with his mom and partying 'til morning in Frano's favourite Heavy Metal Bar somewhere under the ground level of Lima. Fantastic. The acquaintance again was not an attempt to showcase Lima, but a genuine adoption into the local life.
Our tour-guide in the ruins was surprised when I misunderstood her question: "Would you like me take picture you?". Oh, yeah, I'd love one for the record.
Despite not particularly liking oysters, karaoke or heavy metal music, we managed to do them all in one weekend with our friends. I loved every moment of it. Took me three days to recover from that weekend, which brings us back to the vomiting. You don't get such intense reactions from looking at old ruins and piles of rocks. Sure, I know that Annina particularly wanted to see Machu Picchu. That was out of bounds due to heavy rains, flooding and landslides in the area. There would have been lots of other significant places to see, lots of ruins and cultural sites, but we never made it. We did try. The quotes from travel agents were running in the hundreds of dollars for just a day trip and we didn't want to go wondering alone in a rental car with no language skills, coming back with a thousand pictures of piles of rock. We wanted an english-speaking guide, someone who could bring the rocks alive and paint them with vivid colours of history.
Heavy Metal Rocks! After enough beer, even I could tolerate it. Not a place for a quiet conversation.
But what are friends for? Frano, the chef, finally took us to the closest rock-pile: Pachacamac, just south of Lima. We had our guided tour and learned about the Inkas. We learned about rituals, how young girls would be fed hallucinogenic herbs so they wouldn't feel anything when they were beaten up and their virginity sacrificed infront of a crowd. (This old tradition is still alive in many Australian cities, though the party-drugs are now commercially manufactured.)
Old and restored (top photo). Archeologists are balancing between keeping the original, making the old look the best they can and sometimes just building a replica (bottom pic). It's incredible how many people devote their lives sweeping sand with a paint brush, only to reveal someone's old house, instead of painting the new one.
After over 3 weeks in Lima, I had no regrets about not seeing the interior. We did the city well and we now knew we both wanted to come back. We had formed real friendships and gotten into the real contemporary life of Peruvians, loving it very much. Even though the authorities were very friendly too, I was happy to have that agent as a "buffer" between me and them. For the money we paid, things were made quite easy and I did not have to fill in any forms at all, nor visit their offices in Callao. The rules were ridiculously strict, though. After finishing our clearing-out at 1500, the man in the uniform firmly advised us to be out by midnight. We were still putting the last stores in and hoping to be able to leave the next morning, well rested and all. I finally squeezed out an unofficial permission to cheat. "Report your departure on VHF tonight, then leave in the morning without reporting".
Public buses in Lima traffic. They drive like they own the road, which is fun for the passengers but no joy for the private cars sharing the congested lanes.
I left Annina to prepare early-voyage meals and took the club water-taxi ashore for one last time. I wanted to take two big fat Cuban cigars to Jorge. I knew he liked a nice cigar and the box of twenty - now almost empty - that we bought from Santiago de Cuba had become a gift-pack for smokers. (Despite taking a few puffs from some of the cigars and even smoking one of them completely, I had not developed any desire to take up smoking again. 3 1/2 years on, looks like I've kicked the 20-year habit for good.) The visit didn't quite go by the plan. Jorge and Marisa grabbed me by the sleeve and informed us about our new plan for the evening. "Edi and Ani are already in the city and we will join them for dinner in 2 hours. Go and get Annina, we're having a last night together!
So we did, in the trendy up-market shopping mall of Larcomar. After three weeks of the finest Peruvian dishes, we celebrated with a massive load of charcoal barbecued chicken with chips and salad. The finale raised some serious thoughts in me. About friendship, about belonging to a community and knowing that your friends are a bit closer and more tangible than those online, in Skype or Facebook. I longed for that. To be able to call a friend and say "Meet me there at 7pm, I'm calling such and such to join us, let's have dinner together!"
Jorge with his snack plate. Edi and Ana Gabriela in the back. A home away from home, a house filled with love. Thank you!
I shed a quiet tear when saying good-byes and turning my face west, to the 8000-nautical-mile-wide-Pacific Ocean. Somewhere there would be a magical area called Polynesia, starting from Easter Island. Somewhere on the other side of this big puddle might be a tribe called "Aussies", perhaps a community, a circle of friends and a place to feel at home, again. A place where I might be able to offer the Peruvian style welcome to both friends and would-be friends. A place where "Mi casa, tu casa", my home is your home. A place where friends can be hugged and their hands shaken. For real.
There are ancient ruins everywhere, even in the central Lima. Here the archeological site of Pachacamac unravels the past while the people in the slum next door try to unravel their future.
Spraying is worse for your health than it is for the roaches. There are better ways...
Is this enough Boric Acid? (The white powder on the galley bench) We abandonded the galley for 4 days and let the bastards run amock in in the boat. Well powdered roaches licked their feet and disappeared. The number one weapon for cockroaches onboard, available for a few bucks in your local pharmacy.
Minka had everything and most of it in large quantities.
