Acknowledgments

My experiences in Lima and Peru will no doubt stay with me always – the people I have encountered, the places I have seen and even the daily routines which have become part of my life. Before I made my decision to come to South America I spent an agonizing week or so weighing up my options and sounding these out to a few very patient listeners. I feel that this experience would not have been possible without the help, support and advice of family and friends both before my departure and throughout the duration of my stay. This includes all of those who have followed the blunders, mishaps and discoveries documented in Letters From Lima.

I would like to thank all readers – from the casual photo-skimmers to the regulars following the updates over their morning coffee. I want to extend thanks to the members of family who helped talk through my options with me before I left and gave me support and advice when I finally came to my decision. The going-away cards I received were touching, and decorated my room in Lima for my entire stay. Receiving post whilst I was in Peru also made a huge difference, so thank you for the parcels and letters which lifted my spirits after a long slog at the office.

Feliz Navidad to one and all! This is Letters From Lima, signing off.

Homeward Bound

Tags

aviation, copa airlines, overcast skies, transportation

Almost home!

I am currently in the wonderful world of Schiphol Airport, waiting for my third and final flight and looking forward to being back on British soil.

My last day at the office finished with a lunch down by the seafront where, instead of the usual sunny conditions expected at this time of year, we had views of overcast skies – although I guess this is appropriate preparation for the winter weather that will greet me when I touch down in England.

I am feeling absolutely knackered, having had only a couple of hours sleep as a result of my flight times. Luckily these flights have been largely uneventful and I’ve experienced good service from both Copa Airlines and KLM. Things began well with a very cheery man at the check-in desk in Lima, who commented on my birthday and thought it was ‘very cool’ when I told him that my sister’s birthday fell on December 26^th. This is my standard response when I receive any comments about my birthday, as well as pointing out my seasonally-appropriate name. However, I’ve realised this doesn’t go down so well in Peru, where the holly tree is an unknown and instead I am told that my name is religious ‘Holly – yes, like holy.’ Still, I suppose I shouldn’t knock this pious elevation!

Passport control in Lima involved a long queue as expected, being the holiday season. However, after waiting patiently in line I was told by the woman at the control desk that I didn’t have the correct immigration card and would have to go to another desk. After a second wait I was informed that as I didn’t have said piece of paper I would have to pay a fine. I was rather confused, having still not been told what the piece of paper was, or when I was supposed to have received it. After a slightly anxious few minutes of thinking that my last Peruvian Soles would have to be spent on this mystery paper, I managed to find an official-looking slip tucked away in the back of my passport. This was apparently what was needed and I was waved through without any further fuss or fine. Hurrah!

I boarded the plane around 2pm and once we were in the air bid Lima a fond farewell with the first of my ‘free’ tipples of the journey – ah, the benefits of the long-haul flight. This flight to Panama went smoothly and after a brief wander and quick sample of rum at Panama City airport, I was back in the air and Amsterdam-bound. On an aeroplane there are only a few things to occupy the mind: the films, the drink and the meals, and I can give a firm thumbs up to all three on my last flight. The vegetarian meals were surprisingly tasty and, as I’d pre-ordered them, came out well before the rest of the passengers’.

Spending the run-up to Christmas outside of the UK has been new to me, and although I am all for new experiences, I am very much looking forward to some English festive traditions. Schiphol is decked out with trees, fairylights and staff dressed up as Father Christmas and – my favourite, a Christmas tree. Although exhausted, I think catching any sleep is impossible, so with a little more time to kill before my third and final flight I shall be relaxing in the airport and thinking festive thoughts…

Bio Feria

Tags

chocolate producers, food, organic fruit and vegetables, transportation

I always like to be clued up as to the goings-on around Miraflores, though working long days and not speaking Spanish I know that lots of things simply pass me by. Twitter has been useful for updates on markets and festivals happening in Parque Kennedy – there was a flower festival a little while ago, and a craft market happening at the moment – though I am also aware that there is so much that I have missed. Last month I was told about an artisan/local producer market which runs every week which sounded just my kind of thing: organic fruit and vegetables, wholefoods and vegetarian fare, specialist coffee, wine and chocolate producers, fresh olive oils, honey and natural skincare products… Apparently, each Saturday the stalls line a side street next to Parque Reducto which is, rather embarrassingly, located right next to my flat. I think my missing it has been justified though, as the park is also on the way to the office rather than the city centre, malecon or Parque Kennedy areas, so is a route I steer clear of at the weekends. I visited the Bio Feria market a few weeks ago and the place was heaving, though luckily I made a discovery of my own the week before last.

Before travelling to Mancora I wanted to be sure I’d find the Oltursa bus depot OK, so headed in the direction of San Isidro, up Av. Reducto which runs straight past my flat and is one of the main traffic thoroughfares in Lima. On the way I noticed what looked like the same market and, when I called in, found the same producers, growers and sellers as in Parque Reducto.

The market only runs every Sunday, meaning my last opportunity to pick up Peruvian goodies fell on the day I returned from Mancora. On Sunday then, after my overnight bus’s midday arrival I caught the Metro home, dumped my bag and headed out to catch the market before it closed. Although not in the heart of the district, the Bio Feria is full of middle class Mirafloreans clutching their re-usable cloth bags (a rarity in a country where even the most minute of supermarket purchases results in eager plastic bag packing by staff), wandering the stalls and chatting with stallholders. Although I couldn’t follow conversations I imagined they were extolling the virtues of GM-free produce, reduced food air miles and lowered carbon footprints. Amongst these customers, of course, are those Mums who I see each morning doing the school run in SUVs, and in Wong with their shopping swimming in a sea of plastic bags. In addition to this well-groomed Peruvian set I also spied tourists who, to my irritation had obviously been more clued up than I was, despite my six months residence here! Oh well, I just told myself they were on overpriced guided tours arranged by the concierge service in their five-star hotel.

I had managed to make a quick lunch at the flat before heading to the market, though I almost needn’t have bothered with the amount of samples on offer. I did one round of the stalls, picking up croutons dipped in olive tapenade, fresh bread dripping golden olive oil and feigning interest in a bottle of chocolate Pisco for a quick hit of creamy goodness. On my second round I made a purchase, though not without first trying quinoa granola, a spoonful of honey and several flavours of goats yoghurt – the mixture of sweet strawberry and earthy farmyard musk was definitely an interesting one. I was unsure how much longer I could eek this out for, so whipped my oversized sunglasses and pashmina out of my bag, donned my disguise and begun round three. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Farmers Market in my home town, and especially the Christmas version, which falls this coming weekend. As at the Bio Feria, this is always a tough balance of attempting to ferret away the free samples, whilst maintaining a plausible interest in the items on offer. To redress the balance on the Sunday in Lima I made a couple more purchases of specialist products, feeling justified in my spending as these would surely be far nicer and ‘greener’ than those I could pick up at the supermarkets.

Come Friday, I think I will have managed to keep my packing to a minimum, having bought very little since during my time here and with plans to leave some tired clothes and shoes behind. I did return from the market on Sunday with a couple of buys, though I admit my stomach felt somewhat fuller than my handbag.

Park Life

Tags

deadheading flowers, nature, outdoors, plants

I have now returned from Mancora and have been installed in front of the computer at the office, as usual, for the past couple of days. My concerns about getting bored on the week-long holiday in the single road town came to nothing, I grew accustomed to the sedentary days and wished I had longer to spend in the sun. As with my previous trips, it again seems odd that the weather differs so much within the microcosm of the city, than in Mancora. Although not cold during the day, the heavy cloud delivers that same damp humidity and sense of static time – 8am looks and feels almost identical to 6 – from which I had escaped on my trip north.

The blue vistas and expansive horizons have been replaced by ashen skies and the confines of frosted glass around my desk. I thank Miraflores then, that the area never fails to live up to its name – look at the flowers – and that at least on my lunchbreak I can enjoy the parks which dot the area. The immaculate flowerbeds, green spaces and communal parks which flank almost every roadside, line pedestrianised areas and bisect neighbourhoods throughout Miraflores were one of the most striking and pleasant surprises I discovered when I first arrived. I soon saw the reason behind their faultless appearance: the huge army of staff employed in taking care of these areas. As such, it’s rare to see a green space without a figure planting or deadheading flowers, watering the lawns, mowing grass or emptying bins.

The weather seems to have had little effect on the plantlife during my time here and throughout winter these areas continued to bloom, providing at least a little brightness on the drabbest of days. My working week lunch spot is a park directly opposite the office where, as a result of my daily picnicking, I’ve been able to observe the cyclic activities of the area. Every day without fail I spy my friend across the lawn, wearing a traditional colourful knitted jumper and ankle-length black skirt, sitting with her male companion, surrounded by several huge plastic bags. These posed a mystery until I realised she was selling lunches and, although we’ve never spoken, I’ll sometimes give her a wave and she will silently reply. Amongst other fellow picnickers is a regular who, each day, goes to the same tree at the edge of the park to retrieve a rolled up piece of cardboard to sit at his same spot on the other side.

In a city park in the UK, attempts to lunch would probably be interrupted by hoards of hassley pigeons which resemble winged rats. In Miraflores though, even the most common bird life is more attractive. Pale grey feathered and bright blue-eyed pigeons peck away uninterested at an acceptable distance, and spotting a humming bird is always a bonus.

The main interruption, in fact, is the park staff themselves who, once a week, arrive at my usual spot in a gang brandishing noisy electric lawnmowers and strimmers. The level of upkeep is obviously hugely appreciated, though sometimes it does seem that these jobs are created just to boost employment figures. When I was at lunch today I counted nine grass mowers, as well as the two men who always accompany the group wielding grass shields should – heaven forbid – any grass cuttings escape the neat confines of the lawns and stray into forbidden pavement territory. I am all for keeping things looking nice and clean, though do pity some of these workers who, it seems, have not yet earnt their mowing stripes and are relegated to more mundane tasks. However, the job of these two workers was trumped by another who I saw not emptying the bins – which is the task and profession of a higher-ranking official – but cleaning them. Although I am always reluctant to head back to the office after my lunchbreak, I did not envy this particular individual the thankless task of daily bin cleaning.

A Merry Mancora Christmas

Tags

christmas, holidays, home

Summer officially begins here in January, which means that the past six weeks or so have seen sporadic sunny, warm days. The supermarkets and shops have been gearing up for Christmas for even longer. I spied my first Panettone on the shelf of a Metro at the end of September, and by November things were in full swing: costume-d staff, festive food, decorations, trees and inflatable figures graced shop entranceways and shoppers wandered aisles to a soundtrack of novelty tunes. Even in the massive central market my usual DVD stall had been replaced by a shop selling nativity scenes and baby Jesus figures! Reading about Christmassy happenings in the UK has seemed equally strange on these warmer days in Peru, and having been in Mancora this past week has served to distance me even further from the event. I have been waking up to hazy sunshine shining through my window, before opening my advent calendar and heading to the beach – very strange!

Christmas in Lima is clearly a massive event, though in Mancora this isn’t the case. Paula, the young Mum of the family I’m staying with, confirmed this. She is Chilean and moved to Mancora two years ago to be with Victor, a Peruvian. When I asked her about Christmas she told me that in Chile it was a big family event which she looked forward to every year, though here things were different – the small Christmas tree in the corner of the living room (complete with musical lights, which seem to be de rigeur in Peru) is the first Victor has ever had, she told me.

The previous day and a half were overcast here, though today Mancora was bathed in sunshine and calmer winds. This simply added to the peculiarity of the sight I spied on the way back from the beach. A group of children, surrounded by parents and what I took to be teachers, were lined up in the street clutching instruments and dressed in band uniform. Behind this group more children in Christmas costume were milling around, being herded into a crocodile by the adults on either side of the group. It seemed a Christmas parade was just about to begin, complete with all the characters one would expect – there were a couple of Josephs and Marys (cradling dolls swaddled in blankets) Wise Men with boxes wrapped in shiny foil, donkeys and various other animals, stripy-socked elves, Father Christmasses, a snowman and a Christmas tree. There were also two girls who I assumed were the parade’s royalty: one wearing a fetching blue number who curtsied when I asked for a photo, and another in a billowing white dress, held aloft on a Carnival Queen style throne. The kids looked cute and all obliged when I asked for photos, encouraged by parents. I was reminded of the September Carnival in my home town, in which groups of children (and adults) walk dressed up, through the town.

There were a variety of ages involved in the Mancora parade and, just as the Carnival at home features cute groups of young ones there are also the obligatory tweenaged majorettes. These girls are gaudily made up and wear leotards which flash a questionable amount of flesh-toned hosiery-ed leg. Similarly, the Mancora parade featured four girls who had clearly not wanted to showcase the nativity stable chic of the younger ones and instead opted for thigh-skimming festive outfits. I imagined that these girls had given the excuse of this being the a more practical clothing option than a heavy Christmas tree onesie – and in the heat of Mancora I guess this could hardly be denied.

Punta Sal

Tags

coconut water, mancora, peruvian travel, transportation

Punta Sal is billed as Mancora’s smaller, quieter and prettier beach area. I’d read about the few pricier hotels and restaurants, as well as the rental properties which attract families and wealthier holidaymakers to the area. I was expecting a cute, touristy and upscale seaside spot, palm trees swaying in the wind and coconut-water sellers weaving between sunbathers – I still haven’t bought this from one of the Mancora sellers, though must do before I leave! I visited Punta Sal today, as I felt it was time for a change of scenery from the single road and beach at Mancora, though what I found was a little different than I’d expected. I guess Peru is just not known as a beach destination, so even this northern area will hardly rival the sun, sea and sand of my South East Asian travels, which I cannot help but compare my holidays here to. Since Mancora has hardly lived up to its reputation as a crazy party town (though to be fair high season doesn’t begin ‘officially’ until another week or so) I probably shouldn’t have created such a fixed image of Punta Sal in my mind, based on what I’d read.

I asked a couple of people around the local bus stop in Mancora if it was possible to catch a minibus or van to Punta Sal, but everyone pointed me in the direction of the collectivos across the street. These taxis wait until full and take passengers to nearby destinations. So, I jumped in the back and paid s./5 for the twenty five minute journey further up the coast – being sure that my Peruvian travel buddies were also paying the same amount. Punta Sal is definitely quieter than Mancora. A single street was dotted with houses which looked either empty or in a state of construction. A small shop and café as well as a couple of empty ‘menu’ restaurants (those offering simple, cheap, set menus) stood at the top of this road, whilst an even smaller shop and empty restaurant stood at the bottom and, on the beach, another restaurant. The beach itself is a lot larger than that at Mancora, with a few groups of sunbathers dotting the wide expanse of sand. I was right about the palm trees, which certainly were swaying in the breeze when I arrived. This is perhaps not an image which I should have wished for though, as the swaying got increasingly dramatic the afternoon brought ever-stronger winds, plastering a thick layer of sand all over my sticky sun tan lotioned self.

The past few days in Mancora have involved nothing more than wandering to the beach in the morning and wandering home in the afternoon – the basic ingredients of any relaxing beach holiday. To vary things I was planning on perhaps spending a night in Punta Sal, having been attracted by the sound of the area. However, after my visit I am glad I didn’t make the decision to pack my things up here. Mancora is a vibrant mecca in comparison with Punta Sal which is more than just a sleepy backwater – it’s comatose. The beach itself was nice but not so much different than that at Mancora, and the empty buildings and unfriendly staff in the restaurant and shops mean that I don’t rate the area as highly as others have done. I hear things are pretty chilly in the UK though, so I made the most of the beautifully fine sand, clear blue skies and took the time to do simply nothing! I have included the beach images with my apologies to those huddled under blankets and clutching hot water bottles.

An Incontinent Holiday or Incompetent Spelling?

Tags

advertising

Mancora beach has several spots offering watersports, though this place seems keen to offer something a little different…

Homestay, Minus Home Comforts

Tags

cars, outdoors, transportation

I’d chosen the homestay option as it was slightly cheaper than a hostel and meant I’d have my own room. I was also interested by the idea of staying with this woman and her young son, to whom I had said I’d speak English. The Wasi Center was a little walk from the main drag and when I arrived there was no sign of the woman I’d emailed and instead I was greeted by her husband, son and two tiny, jumpy dogs. There are dogs everywhere in Peru, whether clothed and leashed or hanging in mangey gangs on street corners. I have become accustomed to this, though it’s also meant that I appreciate it even more when I’m somewhere which is dog-free. As such I was not a fan of the homestay’s twosome. The husband quickly locked them in a back room and, although he seemed to have been expecting me, he made no attempt to explain the whereabouts of his wife.

I do not want to sound like a whinger, though this week is my holiday from work and will form some of the last memories of my time here. I can’t afford to splurge, but neither do I want to be uncomfortable for the week. The homestay would have been fine if I was backpacking, or even just staying a couple of nights, but I just wasn’t sure I’d cut it for the seven I had ahead of me. No running water meant washing with a bucket and jug, and tricky washing up and food prep. The kitchen itself had no worksurface space and, apart from the table here the only other outside space was the yard. I did try though! After an afternoon on the windiest of beaches I returned to wash the thick coat of sand from my skin. Unfortunately washing just didn’t seem to be a practicable option here, and I was still sandy the next morning.

I had told the husband I’d look for something else (apologising profusely and feigning a dog phobia in my awful Spanish) and before heading back that evening had a trek round to find an alternative. The party hostels on the main drag have ‘posh’ dorms, swimming pools and green spaces, attracting the western backpackers in their Ray Bans and aviators, mussed beach hair and wallets of dollars. This is not just an assumption – I bumped into my aviator-ed American friend from the bus who responded, when I asked about the cost of his hostel, that he had no idea…

I wandered further back from the malecon, across a dusty expanse and up asmall pathway, where I found a cluster of options, with rooms situated around small, open spaces. I also discovered Blu Hostel, another option I’d been in email contact with and who had promised me a room, if I wanted it.  I won’t bore readers with the details of my efforts at trying to gain entry here, which involved being directed to a building site to look for an Alex, switching around of phone sim cards and batteries with another construction worker, failed calls to Lima and returning to my original informer to be told I could try an Eduardo.

After the dejection I had felt on Saturday, I am pleased to inform that Sunday saw the most perfect of starts. After a trickily prepared breakfast at the homestay I bid the husband farewell (the wife never materialised…) and the dogs good riddance and headed back to the Blu Hostel area. I am writing this in an airy, open living room with comfy seats, accompanied by Camillo, the owner’s son, watching cartoons on a flat screen TV with cable. I’d met Camillo on Saturday, when I’d called in at the house, asking about a room. He had had told me that his mum was surfing though he thought there was a room available, and to go and find her at one of the surf shops in town. Finding Victor’s Surf School was another challenge and Paula was in the sea when I arrived, so I’d decided to call it a day and returned to the homestay. The following morning, however, I caught her early having left the homestay after breakfast – in fact, she was still asleep! – and she indeed have a room available. Everything improved from there: the room was a dorm, which she promised I’d have to myself, the bathroom was clean and had a shower, the house is lovely with a spacious kitchen and little outside yard with a hammock. Paula herself couldn’t have been friendlier, taking my market-bought bags of food from me as soon as I arrived and putting them in the fridge, telling me to use the chest of drawers and make myself at home. So, a little pricier perhaps, but most importantly, far more homely than the homestay.

Accident and Arrival

I arrived in Mancora on Saturday a mere four hours late, which is pretty typical by Peruvian standards. Our lateness was not explained by the female ‘attendant’ on the bus (my repeated requests for maté and English film subtitles were rarely attended to) and instead I asked an American guy a couple of seats down, who I’d seen speaking Spanish with the woman. There had been a crash on the road last night, which had held us up significantly. I had noticed that we’d stopped quite a few times during the night, but had assumed that this was to get petrol or as a result of the official ‘checkpoints’ along the way. Also, I had taken a helpful sleeping aid, prescribed by my flatmate, so was drifting in and out of my slumbers throughout the journey.

In fact, considering the seats didn’t recline the 180˚ promised and were far from bed-like, I didn’t sleep too badly. I was feeling a little disgruntled in the morning, having shelled out for the ‘VIP’ service which I hadn’t really thought was provided. To make myself feel better I had a wander to the pleb section upstairs, which was the perfect antidote to my discontent. It resembled a nicer than average bus, but was a far cry from the conditions downstairs: without headphone sockets the film blared out, watched by rows of passengers, cramped next to each other in seats which had little leg room and looked fit only for the petite Peruvian stature. I was glad I’d booked VIP (now free from disparaging quotation marks) for the homeward journey.

On arrival, my attention turned toward accommodation. I’d been emailing a woman I’d discovered through the Couchsurfing site, about staying with her and her family in a ‘homestay’ type affair, so thought that once I’d arrived in Mancora, I could dump my bag and head to the beach. Things proved not to be so simple…

On The Road

Tags

aviation, cars, comfort options, fizzy drinks, oltursa, transportation

I am writing this whilst en route to Mancora – my third and final week’s holiday in Peru before my return to the UK. The weather in Lima has been mixed so I was determined to seek some sun and a bit of warmth before England’s chilly winter. As such, I’m on a 17 hour overnight bus journey, heading north to the coastal town of Mancora. Guidebooks and websites have promised me sandy beaches and year-round sun, so I have high hopes!

My expectations were also set particularly high for the bus trip, which set me back almost £100 (gulp!). There were several options for transport to Mancora: an evening flight to Piura, which was then a further three hours by road away, or the overnight bus (with a variety of comfort options). The flight seemed the most hassley and although the hour and a half flight time was attractive, the additional costs of taxis, buses and an extra night of accommodation had me leaning toward  the road option. Not being a good sleeper at the best of times I admit I chose the more comfortable bus service, though in fairness there was not a huge difference in price.

I’d already taken the higher-end Cruz Del Sur, so thought I’d shake things up a bit and opt for Oltursa (which was also marginally cheaper). I arrived at the Oltursa terminal a couple of hours ago and after a bit of a queue only had a few minutes to pass before the bus departed. Had I known that I was entitled entry to the VIP lounge, I would have arrived earlier. Admittedly this was hardly A-list-worthy VIP style, but the area had comfy seats and free tea, coffee and fizzy drinks. So, I’d missed the opportunity to sneakily pocket the freebies, but was pleased to be able to board and get the journey underway.

The VIP seating area is located at the bottom of the bus and with only 11 other seats feels pretty spacious. When booking I was also able to choose a seat in a single aisle, so no possibility of an annoying travelling companion for almost 20 hours! A blanket and pillow were waiting on the seat for me airport-style, and, as we set off, an attendant came around handing out headphones. I knew that the films would be shown in Spanish but with English subtitles, so went to plug my phones in, all ready to watch the thought-provoking and highbrow arthouse favourite We Bought a Zoo.  However, in the side of the seat where the socket should be I was greeted with bare hole in the plastic. Oh joy. I am currently waiting for the attendant to return after I alerted her, but since I have been waiting about half an hour I don’t think the situation will improve. Because I always seem to find myself in these situations I came well prepared, and pre-loaded DVDs and TV box sets on my laptop before I left the flat. As such I will not die of boredom whilst on the road and you can expect further updates in due course.

The Internet is touch and go, though I am still pretty amazed that I can access the Web from a bus, not least one which is currently travelling through the slum area of a South American city.