Maegan and Eli arrived safely (Maegan´s bag, however, did not) and we have been humming along to the beat of Lima for the last few days.
For a city of 8 million people, it is incredibly laid-back and strikingly clean; off the main roads, there are quiet brick lanes lined with food stalls, fruit vendors, and shoe stores. Lots, and lots, of shoe stores. So South American.
Our hotel is located in the city center, near the Plaza de Mayo, the Cathedral de San Fransisco, and the Presidential Palace. Hotel España is on the corner of two lanes, perched above a small cafe. Green vines spill out over the walls, and brush the sidewalk, framing two enormous wooden doors. After passing into the foyer, you are greeted with dozens of master copies of famous paintings- Dali, Botocelli, Rembrandt, Da Vinci, Sisley, all in elaborate gold-gilded frames. Plaster replicas of Michaelangelo´s most famous statues stand on Romanesque pedestals, while light and vines drip down from the solarium above. Crown molding and fríezes line the halls, and the entire rabbit warren of five floors is lit with fantasic lead-glass chandeliers. The floors are connected by a series of mahagony spiral staircases and terraces, which look out across the city and the cathedral. It is truly a destination in itself. Throw in four tortises, a cat, dog, scarlet macaw, and Amazon parrot, and you have Hotel España. Where we take siesta, swill rum and play cards.
Today we hiked out in the desert across the ruins of Pachacamac. Nothing but sand lies west of the small town, and it is being moved away to reveal an ancient city of sand blocks and rock that was built by the Huari people in 200 CE. Much of it has been damaged by El Niño events, but it is still remarkable. Also remarkable: How none of us were sunburn. It was crazy hot and high noon.
Tomorrow we take off for Casma, or somewhere like it. Ceviche, pisco and ocean. Sounds good, right?
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
South America, My Heart
We came to Lima after four connexions, and almost no sleep. Another 36-hour day, to which I am now accostomed. Dreamy and displaced, we stepped out onto the street, hailed a cab, climbed in, and took it in. Looking strangely clean and spare, we headed through the industrial district to the Plaza de Armas. Blocks upon blocks of brightly painted houses, with banners, laundry flying and trees exploding in flowers seemed to thumb its nose at San Fransisco.
Passing through the historical Plaza de Armas was incredible. The Colonial architecture is crumbling and fantastical, painted wild colours that are in direct contrast to the orderly fleurs and prowed terraces. We were dropped off at the bus depot, and boarded a packed bus for Pucusana, a small seaside town south of Lima.
After a crazy debacle of missing our stop, and hitchiking back, we arrived as El Mirador. It is an old, family-owned hotel on top of a wide dirt hill, overlooking Pucusana. We arrived at night, and fell into our bed after the most amazing grilled chicken I´ve ever tasted. Walking back up the steep stairs to the hotel, the city was nothing but a pool of lights scattered against the hills, with the Pacific Ocean a deep, velvety darkness beyond.
We woke at 4 am with Reggaeton, and I felt I had arrived.
We are the only ones at the Mirador right now, besides the boisterous family that lives there. There are several balconies with umbrellas and hammocks, and is so high up that it catches the wind off the ocean. The view from our terrace is incredible; almost 360 degrees, overlooking big, bizzarely featureless sand hills, the wharf and bay, full of colourful fishing boats, and the ocean. The houses look like something from Tatooine- many are made of sand brick, and set into the surrounding hills, making them look otherworldly. It is perfect for a mid-day rum and mango juice.
Tonight we tried the ceviche. Out of this world. Ceviche is esentially raw seafood, soaked in lime juice and chiles. It was raw fish, clams, sea snails, calamari, crab, shrimp, lobster and scallops. I´ve actually never had calamari before tonight (scared off by the dry- fried calamari rings I had as a child at school) and it proved to be my favourite. It was so bloody tasty, I decided that I will definetly be eating the cuy (guinea pig). I don´t want to miss out on something else that is so delectable.
We walked all around, checking out a beach reached through a tunnel in the dirt, and hiked up the barren hills above the ocean cliffs, swilling on rum and coke, only to be rewarded with a vast cormorant, pelican and Inca Tern rookery. Score!
Tomorrow we are heading back to Lima, in preparation for Eli´s arrival. Then up to Huaraz...
Passing through the historical Plaza de Armas was incredible. The Colonial architecture is crumbling and fantastical, painted wild colours that are in direct contrast to the orderly fleurs and prowed terraces. We were dropped off at the bus depot, and boarded a packed bus for Pucusana, a small seaside town south of Lima.
After a crazy debacle of missing our stop, and hitchiking back, we arrived as El Mirador. It is an old, family-owned hotel on top of a wide dirt hill, overlooking Pucusana. We arrived at night, and fell into our bed after the most amazing grilled chicken I´ve ever tasted. Walking back up the steep stairs to the hotel, the city was nothing but a pool of lights scattered against the hills, with the Pacific Ocean a deep, velvety darkness beyond.
We woke at 4 am with Reggaeton, and I felt I had arrived.
We are the only ones at the Mirador right now, besides the boisterous family that lives there. There are several balconies with umbrellas and hammocks, and is so high up that it catches the wind off the ocean. The view from our terrace is incredible; almost 360 degrees, overlooking big, bizzarely featureless sand hills, the wharf and bay, full of colourful fishing boats, and the ocean. The houses look like something from Tatooine- many are made of sand brick, and set into the surrounding hills, making them look otherworldly. It is perfect for a mid-day rum and mango juice.
Tonight we tried the ceviche. Out of this world. Ceviche is esentially raw seafood, soaked in lime juice and chiles. It was raw fish, clams, sea snails, calamari, crab, shrimp, lobster and scallops. I´ve actually never had calamari before tonight (scared off by the dry- fried calamari rings I had as a child at school) and it proved to be my favourite. It was so bloody tasty, I decided that I will definetly be eating the cuy (guinea pig). I don´t want to miss out on something else that is so delectable.
We walked all around, checking out a beach reached through a tunnel in the dirt, and hiked up the barren hills above the ocean cliffs, swilling on rum and coke, only to be rewarded with a vast cormorant, pelican and Inca Tern rookery. Score!
Tomorrow we are heading back to Lima, in preparation for Eli´s arrival. Then up to Huaraz...
A special place...
Elliot´s Gran, Bev is what I´ve heard about Grans: the smothering love, the sweetness, the pushing of food and good stories. Her home is cool and quiet, and though it is handsome from the street, you would never know the magic garden she hides out back, in traditional Dutch style. Full of roses, jasmine, lilacs, and flowers, it also has oranges, limes, lemons, grapes, peaches, cherries, apples, persimmons and blackberries. Being the winter, the garden is asleep, but we pruned and tended it in the chilly sunshine, with Bev teaching us about the various perils of fruit trees. I picked limes, tangerines and grapefruit, crushing their leaves with my hands and inhaling the acrid ordor. Rufous, violet-crowned, and ruby-throated hummingbirds, tanagers, crows and bluejays swooped and grappled with overripe persimmons. I would love to see the garden in summer...
The downside to the visit was the elaborate meals! I know, what a thing to complain about. But I am the one that is in shorts for the next month...Bev had the best recipes for cookies and porridge (seriously), and a mean Gin and tonic (Elliot will make one for you when you get back, promise). We spent most of our time at the table, chatting, sipping coffee, and being coerced into eating.
We also took a drive through the country, through miles and miles of pear, and apple orchards, vineyards and farm fields, to a place called Locke, an old Chinese town that was founded during the completion of the railroad. It was wild, and rickety, looking as much like a set from Peter Pan as possible. Sideways, hand-painted façades advertised "LeeWong Grocery" and "Star Theater" but held old bookstores, vintage art galleries, and piles of dusty antiques. Laundry was strung across the narrow boardwalk, and rapid-fire Mandarin conversations and laughter bellowed through holes in the walls.
It was such an amazing respite, and so wonderful to meet the Matron of the McRae family. Elliot promised to visit again soon, and we left with a bundle of fresh citrus, sandwiches and cookies, which took us almost 3 days to eat...
The downside to the visit was the elaborate meals! I know, what a thing to complain about. But I am the one that is in shorts for the next month...Bev had the best recipes for cookies and porridge (seriously), and a mean Gin and tonic (Elliot will make one for you when you get back, promise). We spent most of our time at the table, chatting, sipping coffee, and being coerced into eating.
We also took a drive through the country, through miles and miles of pear, and apple orchards, vineyards and farm fields, to a place called Locke, an old Chinese town that was founded during the completion of the railroad. It was wild, and rickety, looking as much like a set from Peter Pan as possible. Sideways, hand-painted façades advertised "LeeWong Grocery" and "Star Theater" but held old bookstores, vintage art galleries, and piles of dusty antiques. Laundry was strung across the narrow boardwalk, and rapid-fire Mandarin conversations and laughter bellowed through holes in the walls.
It was such an amazing respite, and so wonderful to meet the Matron of the McRae family. Elliot promised to visit again soon, and we left with a bundle of fresh citrus, sandwiches and cookies, which took us almost 3 days to eat...
Little Boxes
Flying into San Fransisco was a relief, but only the beginning of our journey. Thoughouly chilled out on no sleep, we drifted from tube, to train to bus in a daze, quietly observing. San Fransisco is a trip. I kept singing ¨Little Boxes¨ by Melvina Reynolds, from Weeds. The hillsides are, quite literally, little boxes stuffed, stacked and cramped onto the hillside, and it reminded me of Caracas, Venezuela....As a side note, I hate that show; I think it is trite, asinine and racist. It was an uglky town, a conglomerate of consumer'driven city planning, with almost every road the same as the next: full of fast food dolled up to look swish, parking lots, and billboards overwhelming landmarks. Looking out of the train window at the flat-topped houses, the horizon was dim with smog that caught in my lungs and made my throat stick.
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,1
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there's doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
We randomly rode a bus, asked around, and ended up in the right place after all: Elliot´s grandmother Bev´s house in Sacramento. We walked along perfect, tree lined streets, still giddy from finally putting our feet on the ground, while the sun winked through grey skies above, our dramatic hand gestures casting oblique stage shadows on the pavement.
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,1
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there's doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
We randomly rode a bus, asked around, and ended up in the right place after all: Elliot´s grandmother Bev´s house in Sacramento. We walked along perfect, tree lined streets, still giddy from finally putting our feet on the ground, while the sun winked through grey skies above, our dramatic hand gestures casting oblique stage shadows on the pavement.
Monday, December 21, 2009
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