It was noon before I actually got out and about in Lima today, having rather leisurely gotten up, cleaned up, packed for today´s departure, eaten a light breakfast at a corner cafe, and spent a couple of hours on the Internet (this blog doesn´t write itself!). Centro Lima is a UNESCO World Heritage Site recognized primarily for its architectural significance. (A traveler could do worse than to consult UNESCO´s website to see if there are any designated sites--which may be natural, historic, or cultural in nature--near their route or destination: http://whc.unesco.org/.)
My goal for this day was to see a bit of the city´s historic side. Carlos--you must know him by now as the physician and Peru native who sat beside me on the way to Lima--suggested that I watch the ceremonial changing of the guard at the Palacio de Gobierno, an ornate building that is similar in function to our White House.
The ceremony is well worth attending. Mounted riders, a military band, marching riflemen, and colorful uniforms all added up to a memorable 45 minutes on the Plaza Mayor. After the ceremony is completed behind the fenced Palacio, the entire contingent exits the grounds and parades completely around the four sides of the plaza. Interestingly, squadrons of vultures circled above, some of them lighting upon, the two towers of La Catedral on another side of the plaza. Hopefully there was nothing significant associated their presence.
Made had told me last night that she wanted to bring a present by the hotel after she completed her English examination this afternoon. That was fine, in fact it would give me more time to explore centro Lima, but I would have to change my flight listing with Lan Peru.
Lan Peru does not have a downtown Lima office, so I had to call them. I went into one of the ubiquitous call centers and asked for help. I didn´t (and don´t) have a clue regarding how to make a phone call. The man running the business spoke no English, but he soon had me dialing the local number for the airline, and they had a touch-tone option to access an English-speaking agent. Voila! My flight for today was changed, and another was added that I would need next week when I´ll fly from Lima to Quito, Ecuador.
That chore accomplished, I decided to go to another site that Carlos had recommended, Museo Banco Central Reserva de Peru. I found it easily enough, but I found it closed on Saturdays at 1 p.m. (exactly as my Lonely Planet guidebook said).
What could be worse than reading about someone else´s meal? Well, either strap it on or hit the ESC button because here we go...
L´Eau Vive is a restaurant in Lima that I had read about more than once. It is located in an old mansion at Ucayali 370 and is operated by nuns of Donum Dei (Gift of God), a French-founded order now affiliated with the Carmelites. Donum Dei now operates around two dozen L´Eau Vive restaurants in Europe, Africa, Asia, South America, and Oceania.
You need only step into this oasis, just a block or two from Plaza Mayor, to totally escape the hubbub outside its doors. If you prefer to dine to the sounds of Michael Jackson´s Thriller blasting out of tinny speakers, there are plenty of other Lima restaurants to meet your needs. At L´Eau Vive, though, New Age-y music plays softly in the background.
Subtle colors, hushed conversation, ancient tiled floors and ancient wooden pillars, a skylight above the main dining room, and an exotic mix of European and South American and African ´waitresses´all contribute to an unforgettable atmosphere for a late lunch.
I have not said that L´Eau Vive is on the rota of cheap eats in Lima. If that´s a problem, I say scrimp a few other days and go for it. Which I did. Close your eyes and enjoy these with me:
Salade dávocat (avocado salad) Thin slices of perfect, butter-soft avocado served over a bit of lettuce and garnished with deep red tomato slices. A (dare I say?) divine sauce amply drizzled over the salad completed the masterpiece. If it takes only two verified miracles to be eligible for sainthood, the creator of the sauce on my salad is halfway home.
Tournedos au beurre...Bercy et coeur dártichaut (fillet of beef, shallots, lemon, butter, with rice) This main course was both artfully presented and delicious. Small diamond-shaped pieces of cooked artichoke adorned the plate along with bright red slices of tomato and the requisite rice. The beef, cooked perfectly, was a bit tough by American steak standards. But tasty? Oh, yeah! The butter-based sauce, while very good, didn´t merit canonization consideration for its orginator.
I could have passed on dessert, bit didn´t seem right. I chose the Creme carmel, something we might know better as flan. This chilled, jiggling concoction was a perfect blend of a little sugary graininess, a sauce with just a hint of butter and salt, and a tender creamy centerpiece--altogether, a delight to be savored and remembered. Il Papa, get your investigators ready: there may be a second miracle on the holy grounds of L´Eau Vive right here in Lima.
OK, so I´ve exceeded my budget on this meal. But, for less than $20 USD, I´ve added an experience that easily falls within the five best restaurant that I´ve been to in South America. And don´t forget: all profits go to assist the sisters´ work with the poor of Lima.
I have read that the nuns of Donum Dei join to sing ´Ave Maria´at closing time of their evening seating. The next time that I´m in Lima, I´ll go to L´Eau Vive for a great meal and an unusual post-dinner performance.
I left that singular restaurant and walked a few blocks to that grand edifice, the Monasterio de San Francisco, which was completed in 1687. A pamphlet describes the ¨...monumental set of buildings of San Francisco (as the) jewel of viceregal architecture of Peru.´ On its own merits, this complex was a UNESCO World Heritage Site prior to its inclusion in the broader ´Historic Centre of Lima´ designation.
I joined an English-language tour of the site that commenced within minutes of my entering it. Our leader was game, but her English was only a little better than my Spanish. Nevertheless, our small group saw everything that is open to the public, including:
A library containing 25,000 volumes
A large, Moorish-style dome of carved cedar
The choir which is carved cedar throughout. There are individual spaces--room for 100 or more friars--each space a unique architectural treasure.
The main cloister with its wide covered walkways surrounding the four sides of the outdoor garden. Seemingly every square inch is lined with fine Sevillan glazed tiles, dated 1620, depicting the life of Saint Francis and other events important to the order.
The catacombs with the bones of tens of thousands of the dead. Many are artfully displayed--a circle laid out in skulls, a rose of femurs, vaults of random bones piled 15-feet or more deep.
I was to meet Made at the hotel, just across the street from Monasterio de San Francisco, at 5:30. I was packed and ready to go, so I just kept an eye on the place while continuing to soak up the atmosphere along the adjacent streets. She arrived on time with her daughter, Angela Pamela, and some gifts for me in tow. The two ladies presented me with a hammock to use on my river trip, a box of some fine toffees, and a hand-made woven picture from the highlands that were Made´s home before she moved to Lima.
Angela is nine years old and a beauty already. Clearly, she and her mother share a close bond. She would try a little English on me; I would try a little Spanish on her. When I asked if they´d like to get something to eat or drink, I was met with an enthusiastic response from the youngster. The three of us were soon threading our way through the busy streets to Plaza Mayor and a fast food restaurant specializing in...hamburgers. I had to be on my way to the airport by around 6:30 so we had little time for dawdling. After finishing our sandwiches, we bought ice cream to eat on our walk back to Hotel Espana. I reclaimed my baggage and Made hailed a taxi. She and Angela accompanied me to the airport, no doubt saving me money on my fare which was less than 1/2 what I paid to ride in the other direction on the night I arrived.
I got a seat assignment from Lan Peru for the flight to Tarapoto, then went up a level to pay the 17-soles (less than $6 USD) fee imposed on domestic flights. With that included, my ZED ticket cost less than $35. I said goodbye and thanks to my two Peruvian friends, passed through security, and down to the gate. The flight left on time at 8:20 p.m. As usual, Lan Peru´s equipment and service was of a higher order than what we have accepted in our country.
The flight was uneventful. I reclaimed my bag inside the Tarapoto airport, stepped right outside and engaged a driver to take me to Hotel la Mansion, a place I had stayed for two nights last year, by mototaxi (a 3-wheeled vehicle powered by a small engine that is akin to a motorized rickshaw).
After settling in my room, I went downstairs to the lobby for a beer, then got to bed in my tidy, warm room, seeking a bit of relief from the wall-mounted fan.
I got up early and, of course, went down to Tarapoto´s Plaza de Armas (GPS coordinates 06 29.246S / 76 21.590W) and into an Internet site to catch up a bit on my mail and blog. It was a Sunday morning and churchgoers crowded the plaza. A military band marched around the square in their fine regalia. I had a nice breakfast inside Real Grill (Moyobamba 131), which is actually completely open to the outside with a fine view of the plaza. A pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice, enough for two water glass-portions, cost about $1. Enjoy!
I had engaged a mototaxi driver at Hotel la Mansion to take me to some nearby waterfalls and then on to Yurimaguas. It turns out that the driver, Segundo, drove me around cento Tarapoto when I was here last year. When I made my intentions clear to him, he decided that the drive to Yurimaguas was too ambitious for a mototaxi. I agreed, but would have gone had he chosen to do it that way. How could you turn down a nearly 100-mile ride over a difficult road on the edge of the jungle in a motorized rickshaw?
Arriving at the bottom line for this trip was difficult. Again and again I asked exactly how much the trip would cost. I didn´t get a response with actual figures for quite awhile. The negotiation was eventually joined in the hotel lobby by the taxi driver Segundo had called to take a gringo--me--to Yurimaguas.
Finally, I heard a figure for the trip. After thoughtful head-scratching, the two drivers thought that 120 soles ($40 USD) would be the figure. I would have to look to see what I paid last year, but I´m sure it wasn´t 120 soles. I countered with 80 soles, and finally settled on 100 soles (about $33 USD).
A really savvy traveler might shrink from this price like it was a ripe carp. On the other hand, there would be no waiting: last year I waited an hour or two while my driver searched out more riders, then charged me extra when I successfully encouraged him to leave sometime before the summer solstice. And we would be making a stop at some waterfalls on the road to Yurimaguas. Try to make economic sense of charging $33 USD for a trip of nearly 100 miles and 3-1/2 hours time. Gasoline out here is cheaper than in Lima, but it still costs over $3 per gallon.
I could see almost immediately after we started that the highway (autopista) was in much better shape than it was a year ago. Last year the route represented an almost incredible mix of huge rocks to be avoided, slides, single lanes of traffic, and every foot of the most difficult terrain was unpaved. Now I´d say that 85% of the road is paved. Some might feel that travel on it is dicey, especially in light of Peruvians´ penchant for relying more on divine intervention than common sense when overtaking traffic, but I´d not hesitate to drive it myself in a 4WD vehicle. Bear in mind, though, that there are actually mototaxis that make the trip, along with mammoth buses and tractor-trailer combinations. Interesting.
We stopped about an hour out of Tarapoto at the Cataratas de Ahuashiyacu. I paid the 2 soles each for my driver and I to enter the park, and we began our walk to look at the falls. The trail is through dense vegetation with a stream rushing alongside. Steep stone steps that allowed travel in one direction only had to be negotiated. These were wet, probably were always wet, and at least some care should be employed by the over-60 set.
The trail is no more than a half-mile, leading to a pool at the bottom of a several hundred-foot falls. There were plenty of people of all ages there, but it wasn´t overly crowded. A few kids were swimming in the natural pool, daring each other to swim out where they´d be under the pounding falls. Others took the trail where you could walk behind the falls under a protective rock outcrop.
I took some photos, enjoyed the scene, and seemingly was ready to start back down before my driver. Then on we went...
When we got close to the little town of Pongo (GPS coordinates 06 19.925S / 76 17.295W), I asked my driver if we could stop at a little roadside restaurant. When I was stuck for six hours in the town last year due to road construction, I had struck up a conversation with the Cuarto Angel Tang Ushinahua, the owner of Ristorante Don Chino Tang, and I wanted to stop and say ´hola!´. My driver acquiesced despite the fact that it would mean time lost for him.
I spotted Cuarto almost immediately when I walked into his bustling business. His was not an appearance you´d easily forget--squat, round-faced, jolly, a bit of Oriental ancestry showed in his features. I think that he recognized me right away. In any case, I introduced myself and my driver and we were invited to sit down. Soon, three pitchers of refresco--a regional fruity drink served chilled--were set down on the table. Of course, as is traditional, the refresco was compliments of the host.
I took out my MP3 player and showed Cuarto a picture I taken last year of him and his teen-age daughter, Dolly. I asked about her, thinking she was to go to New York this year, but she was in Chiclayo, Peru, in school I think. I met his wife, another daughter, and a niece, taking and showing pictures as we sat there.
Sooner than I would have liked, and in deference to my driver, we got back in the taxi for the final stretch into Yurimaguas. We stopped outside of town where I settled up, and I transferred from the auto to a mototaxi for the last couple of miles to my hotel.
Hotel El Naranjo (Calle Arica 318) is a nice, clean hotel where a room with private bath runs 40 soles ($13 USD) per night. I had stayed there last year and had no qualms about repeating the experience. In addition, there is a small, entirely unused as far as I could determine, pool and, more importantly, a nice dining room open to the street below and serving breakfast and lunch.
Morning scene outside Hotel el Naranjo
While checking-in, I asked if anyone had inquired about me or left a message. In both cases, no. While here in Yurimaguas I wanted to see three people I met last year--four if you count Cesar, the tout, who would likely be unavoidable. The three were:
Anthony Zaraleta Maiceno, a student at the university here in Yurimaguas, with whom I have had frequent email communication throughout the past year.
Mariela Paredes Rios who, like Anthony, is a university student here. I met her in Pongo where she was on weekend holiday and I was caught in a lengthy road closure. We´ve exchanged a few emails since meeting.
Susan Holowecky who is a 40-ish American I met on a plane between Tarapoto and Lima last year. She works out of Yurimaguas as, it seemed to me, part missionary, part social worker. Some of her constituency includes indigenous people living in the jungle in locations accessible only by small boat or canoe.
I attempted to phone the young students at numbers they had provided, but could not reach them. And so I took a mototaxi to Hogar Materno, the facility Susan runs on the outskirts of Yurimaguas near the airport and a hospital.
I did not want to get out of the mototaxi until I determined if Susan was at the facility. The woman who appeared in the doorway of Hogar Materno seemed to indicate that Susan was indeed there. I got out of the vehicle, paid the driver, and waited at the door. Curious children inside the facility crowded around the door for a look at the tall man outside.
A woman soon appeared who was not Susan, did not speak English, but seemed to work here. Susan was in Lima, she told me, and she would be back tomorrow. Then she insisted that I come in and be seated. I had not counted on this, and was a bit uncomfortable with it. Man, I hadn´t seen anything yet.
Alone on a low wooden chair inside a facility for impoverished pregnant women, surrounded by close to a dozen children under the age of 9, I was able to make the most of this unique situation. I got my camera out and asked if I could take their pictures. When I could immediately show them the resulting images on the camera display, the race was on as, one after the other, they vied aggressively to be next to be photographed.
The kids all seemed to be great friends. Rather than being exclusive, they would gesture for others to join them, the whole group with their arms around each other. The very second the camera shutter clicked, they rushed me to see their pictures.
After five or ten minutes, a Peruvian woman who was clearly in charge of the operation in Susan´s absence entered the front reception area where I was seated. Jolando did not speak any English, but we were able to converse. She reiterated what I already knew: Susan, herself only a slight acquaintance, would not be back in Yurimaguas until tomorrow, probably late in the day.
Jolando invited me into the living quarters of Hogar Materno. There were small rooms where children slept, four or six to a room, dormitory-style on mosquito-netted beds.
We passed a woman sitting on the ground nursing a tiny, vacant-eyed child of indeterminant age. Judged solely by its size, it could almost have been an infant. Something about its gaunt appearance, the slack skin on its tiny arms, seemed to suggest that she might have been a year or more in age. The child was enferma (sick), Jolanda told me, and likely would not live.
I don´t think I was being shown anything simply for its shock value, but I was shaken. I was shown rooms for las mujeres embarazada (pregnant women). We entered one of the dark, close rooms in which a woman was quietly seated next to a bed. Jolando drew back the mosquito netting to show me the child. She was small, perhaps two years old, and clearly ill. She seemed to writhe slowly and quietly on the bed. I asked if she would recover, but she had a neurological disorder (cerebral palsy?) and would not improve.
A little girl, Lucy, more reticent than the others, tagged along with us as walked through the facility. Jolando beckoned Lucy to come closer and pulled up her shirt. Her midsection was extensively bandaged where she had been operated on recently in Lima.
By this time I was photographing everything in sight, and so I asked if I could take Lucy´s picture. She did not mind pulling up her shirt again for a photo. She was a favorite of mine, and of the other kids I think. And she was one of the lucky ones who would get better.
There was an outdoor area, covered but open on all sides, where a large (8-10 gallon?) open pot sat on a grill over a wood fire. Another staff person, perhaps the person who initially greeted me at the door, was tending the fire and the pot. Jesusa was an indigenous girl of about 20 who spoke her native tongue, not Spanish, but was gracious to me as I basically made myself at home in the outdoor cooking area. The pot over the fire was filled with a white liquid that seemed to be on the verge of boiling. I was told that it was leche (milk). I have no idea where it came from, whether it may have started as a dried milk product, but it was being carefully tended by Jesusa who stirred the liquid occasionally.
I had been at Hogar Materno at least an hour, I think, when Jolando and I started walking back towards the front. She asked me to stop and take a seat in the indoor kitchen. Then she asked if I would have a cup of the leche. I decided that it would likely be safe since it had been brought to a high temperature, and to refuse it was almost unthinkable.
So, sitting in a seat more appropriate for a first grader, I tasted the beverage. Actually, it was pretty good, sweetened I suppose in order to get some calories into these kids. I was also offered some bread (pan) and peanut butter, a combination I´m not sure the kids would receive. Some local produce, bananas (plantanas) or yucca was being cooked for tonight´s dinner.
I finally left, somewhat unnerved by the experience, after saying goodbye to Jolando and Jesusa and some of the kids. I had not committed to remaining in Yurimaguas an extra day in order to see Susan, but I knew that I would.
I took a mototaxi back to my hotel. You can go virtually anywhere in the city for a fare of $.50 USD. I checked at the hotel to see if Anthony or Mariela had been here looking for me. They hadn´t, so I walked to the Plaza de Armas (GPS coordinates 05 53.703S / 76 06.270W) where a guy can eat, drink, get on the Internet, make a call, and even gamble. Except for gambling, I did all of the above before going back to my hotel, taking a shower, and going to bed.
THIS NARRATIVE CONTINUES ON A SEPARATE ENTRY,
SOUTH AMERICA 2008--Days 5 - 6 (Yurimaguas, Peru, and Rio Huallaga)
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October, 2007