Cheated
Time for another Throwback Thursday post. I’m going to try to be more regular about these in the future. This time we are headed back to South America, to Lima, Peru.
January 2014
For our final day in Lima we visited the ruins in Miraflores, constructed by the Limas not the Incas. The bricks were stacked on top of each other in what archaeologists call “bookshelf style” and composed of a mixture of mud, sand, crushed shells, and water. The vertically stacked bricks have increased flexibility and endure the impact of earthquakes more effectively than those stacked horizontally. For years the ruins had lain buried below a mound of dirt ideal for bikers and motocross enthusiasts. Big surprise when it was discovered the dirt pile was concealing a pyramid.
The ruins are less than half the diameter of what it once was. There was a small area where a few native crops grew and even a farm where guinea pigs and alpaca were kept on display for tourists.
From the ruins we took a cab to the Barranco District at the agreed upon price of 20 soles, about nine USD. Our driver was friendly and even offered to show us a beautiful view of the city from the statue of Jesus. He pointed out different beaches and told us how the best ones were forty-five minutes south of the city where the sky was clear and the water blue. He spoke of the war between Chile and Peru and ruin that had remained afterwards.
We drove through a broken part of town, up a small winding road to reach a spectacular outlook over the city and I wondered at our luck at meeting such a friendly driver.
Once we were back in the city the driver turned to Diego and told him we owed him $60 each. The driver informed us that he had been giving us a tour and tours were more expensive. I was furious for having given the man a kind thought. After multiple attempts to tell him we didn’t have money, I moved to open the door and get out. We could have gotten away. It was broad daylight and we were in a nice part of town. But Diego wavered and shoved about a hundred dollars at the driver.
Lunch was very quiet that day; all of us felt cheated and anxious.
After eating we split up. I had met a girl at the hostel from Vermont and she offered to show me around Barranco.
Hidden between the buildings a pathway wound its way to the beach. Levels of grass and vibrant flower boxes accented the lane. On one level people sold trinkets and souvenirs; we paused briefly to glance at some jewelry then continued over to a tiny veranda overlooking the ocean. I watched the people below and the wave the crept towards the shore.
Several miles stood between us and the hostel, but we elected to walk off our desserts from the lunch. We passed broken windows and graffiti walls, with the occasional unscathed building, a diamond in the rough.
Before we knew it, we had reached a park near the hostel where paragliders soared over the cliffs and wove their way along the coast. A group of young men set up slack lines and took the sport to a whole different level. Rather than just walk along the taught rope these guys would sit on the line and then begin to bounce. Once they get some momentum, they would fling themselves into the air: back flip, twist, spin, land on their feet and balance for a moment before allowing their bodies to fall back towards the ground.
Nearby, another group of young adults stood in a circle, some played the drums while others plucked at instruments made of hollow gourds, a long stick, and a piece of string. In the center of the circle two people did a series of flips, roundhouse kicks, punches, and jump kicks that brought them within centimeters of each other but never once made contact.
The entire time I was in Lima it was overcast. I had been told it never rains and when it does it is no more than a drizzle. On my final day I was caught in a “rainstorm” aka a drop hit me about every ten to twenty seconds. It wasn’t even enough rain to cover all the dry spots on the ground. It might have been lacking in rain, but the one thing Lima had in spades was humidity. I honestly felt that my summer in Korea had helped prepare my body for the 80 to 100 percent humidity of Lima.
The next day we got on the 22-hour bus to Cusco. We had paid $20 extra for VIP seats and all of us agreed it was a fantastic decision. We were in the front of the second level with extra leg room, reclining seats, foot rests, and our very own TVs.
Once we cleared the city we drove along the coast. To the left of the bus one would believe they were in the middle of a dry and desolate desert; but to the right the turquoise waves lapped at the shores of pebbled beaches.
At some point I dosed off and awoke to an oasis town. The buildings were scarred and abused, crumbling and worn, with graffiti covering every surface. Children ran about without shoes. A pregnant woman crossed the boulevard just as the light turned green, prompting several taxis to honk angrily as they sped towards her. A few people stood in a huge cemetery with crypts, and large pillars of grave boxes. The town slowly dissolved, only to be replaced by orchards extending off to the horizon. In the distance a sliver of the sea glimmered with the setting sun.
We traveled through the night. Once I awoke trembling with cold, the windows frosted over with ice and no conception of where we were. The next time I opened my eyes to pouring rain, flooded roads and huge mudslides. I thought I might still be dreaming when I woke looking out over the edge of a cliff. Far below I could see the winding road carving its way upwards; a slight miscalculation and we would plummet thousands of feet to our deaths.
We made to Cusco utterly exhausted and with food poisoning from something we had eaten on the bus. Personally, I think they had left the breakfast sandwiches out too long.
