Cheery Reflections from the Dreary City

If Lima, Peru is good for something, it gives me a moment to reflect and record the events of the past couple weeks. Because there is nothing else to do here. The city is draped in a heavy cloak of fog and the occassional mist. It´s not the sort of fog that added beauty and enigma to Machu Picchu, but the kind of grey oppression that makes you want to sit in a cafe, listening to ´90s mucic by the Smashing Pumpkinds, Nirvana, and Weezer, while sucking down Americanos and apple pie (I can´t get this stuff in Paraguay!).

It being Sunday, I can´t even fulfill my idea of shopping, or at least trying on the latest Peruvian fashions for kicks, because everything is closed. I did discover the ¨Atlantic City¨ of Lima. The doorman looked me up and down from my hairwrap, fanny pack, down to my dirty converse, but welcomed me anyway. I´ll have to rely on my farm to make my first million because Fairy Play slot machines will not. Fummu, Nischaya, Allegra, and Zuzu were only too happy to spend their last remaining hours in South America at the airport, and left me lastnight to search for the key to unlock the hidden charms of Lima. I think the treasure may be this cafe...and the Parque del Amor, covered in colorful tiles and romantic quotes. I´m sure I´m not doing the city justice, but it just doesn´t hold that instantaneous, heart-melting, breath-taking--literally--charm of Cusco and the Sacred Valley.



Two weeks ago Jorge and I went to Puerto de Iguazu, Argentina to meet up with my dad and company, and to explore together that dizzying monstrosity of water on the triple border of Paraguay, Argentina, and Brazil. We then went back to my community, where I put the four of them up in my house, and they discovered the joys and sorrows of barefoot soccer, cow slaughter, bucket baths (or not), and the fiesta de San Juan, where drunken, masked men vie for chances to climb a pole to reach a cardboard box that contains money and wine.



The past week and a half has been spent exploring some of Peru´s many magical nooks and crannies. The ruins here are not just old rocks, but seemingly-living reminders of a lost race: the Inca. It´s refreshing to see the Peruvian people embrace their ancestral heritage, keeping alive traditional dress and ceremonies, instead of hiding and denying them shamefully, as is the practice in Paraguay.



From the market of Pisac, to the salt mines of Salinas, the terraced circles of Moray, and the steep horseback ride to Pumamarca, the Sacred Valley won my heart and my promise to return. My most memorable night was on the full lmoon in the village of Ollantaytambo, when a few of us, led by a new, local friend, jumped over a stream and crossed fields to sneak into the ruins overlooking the town. These still surprizngly-intact ruins include temples and a fortress, and was one of the few places where the Inca won a major battle against the Spanish.



Machu Picchu was, of course, incredible, especially the one-thousand-foot ascent to Wayna Picchu, which looks out through the clouds over the ancient city of Machu Picchu, and then around the mountain to the Temple of the Moon, where priestesses protected a sacred cave. My legs were sore for days afterwards, greatly eased by a yoga class in Cusco--my first class in almost two years!



Now I´m spending my Independence Day alone, but surrounded by other travellers--Brazillians, Spaniards, and English---all on their way somewhere else. After reading about the American Revolution in Howard Zinn´s ¨A People´s History of the United States of America,¨ the 4th of July means much less. Zinn convinces us that the grand majority of the early settlers didn´t care much whether they were oppressed by the English or by the wealthy 5% of the new Americans, which included the founding fathers. Free or not, they were hungry, poor, and maltreated. However, I do miss me some good, American fireworks.