Lima used to be the layover. Just one night plus a half of an afternoon before living more remotely.
However, this same remote year, the major city eventually turned into the destination for my upcoming birthday and the same departure point for heading back to the US before I was quite ready to head back.
I was relaxed, still partially anxious. The days prior were good, some brilliant, some just not particularly eventful but the day meant for celebration was one of those epic fails I will need to revisit on a future posting date.
For the moment, I was curious to see what I could do in Lima before leaving in a couple of weeks. Apparently, a lot. I had seen a lot elsewhere in Bolivia and other parts of Peru while volunteering, so I was looking forward to what I could do right before leaving South America the first time.
Although I had spent the last couple of weeks hanging out in Lima, I thought a structured tour-guided outing might prove useful. I sometimes like to mix those in with unplanned exploring, site visits, dancing and hanging out so I can get a layered perspective. I saw the designated tour buses leaving from the main square, seemingly daily. I booked a tour for an upcoming day.
Yet, Lima this time was seemingly just meant to be an offshoot of my own design, some of which included hanging out with my unexpected friend Daniel on my last few days, getting to see our friend in the midst of her hospital recovery, Carnival and a bad adventure in Surco (#revisit birthday).
Since I ran into Daniel (who I had met volunteering in Pisco), he distracted me considerably during that official planned tour. I tried to focus but realized I was fortunate to already have had all the tours and trips I had throughout my travels and I was rather more fortunate to have met so many people like him.
I realized we were just too excited about catching up and accidentally leaning in whispering too long between tour explanations. I heard some details before eventually realizing I was just fine with being distracted. From time to time, Iife reminds us to give up control. There is enough time to follow agendas and many many second opportunities.
Since I had coincidentally ran into him at the picturesque word-of-mouth hostel just days ago, his company reminded me of my foundational goals living abroad: lending a hand to community organizations, immersing myself with lovely language and culture and being open to whatever each day may bring.
The setting meant so much more with both local residents and other travelers like him.
Restaurants, grocery stores, the main square, Carnival events (surprisingly the hospital), and everyday apparent history: Lima the first time around was uniquely just what we made it and what it made for us.
I am more than okay with ideal consistent weather and good reasons for being distractedđ
I knew Elijah was going to be intriguing when he appeared around the airplane aisle, before he and his mom sat next to me. He took the middle seat. He had questions. He had answers. He had observations and some immediate bonding was about to commence. Primarily, he broke the non-existent ice by talking about our individual TVs located on the back of the seats in front of us.
He asked his mom and me if I was going to Peru. I said yes. He wanted to know why and how about all kinds of things in addition to what he would be able to watch and play on the screen before him. He wondered if the plane had taken off yet and if not, when would that be. His mom was trying to reel him in, but she was smiling at the same time, seeing that I was answering him honestly and at the same time engaging him in a playful way. I answered his why-destination-Peru-question and when I told him some of the first names of some friends I was going to see, he said the names werenât real. (In retrospect, was he telling me that I didnât have friends? Iâm laughing more now, thinking about it.) I let him know that I was then going to tell my friends that their names werenât real.
He and his mom were speaking only in English as we took this flight from New York to Lima, Peru. I had connected here from Washington DC (where I live now). It turns out his mom had moved from Peru to the States when she was 5 and this was her first time back. Elijah is 5 now. As his mom and I were chatting, I told her I would actually be heading to the city of Pisco the following day and this would just be a leisure trip following the volunteer one there, years ago. Her mom lived in the US as well and it was her grandmother who still lived in Peru. Her mom had traveled in advance of them and they would visit a nice small city in which her grandmother also had a second home. I was excited for them.
Elijah did not want to sleep. He played some coloring game on the TV for a while and I do promise you that while I also watch and read what is serious and thought-provoking, I had decided that I needed to watch Teen Titans Go and also half let it watch me. This is so I could keep my mind relaxed and positive. With all the intellectually stimulating material that I read and watch, I too like to have this healthy well-rounded entertainment diet of light-hearted sitcoms and cartoons in my life. At this point, my little buddy had begun watching what I admittedly didnât realize then was Masha and the Bear. He had some commentary on Teen Titans Go so I asked what was that on his screen. He said I knew. He laughed so I told him it was Goldilocks. We both fell asleep hard. His mom told me she didnât. She thought because it was her first time traveling alone with him. She was preoccupied, being an attentive, concerned mother. Yet, it cracked me up, in all her consistent part chatting, part pleading, part explaining to him, she would periodically say Dude, because this or Dude because that and so it strikes me that I may or may not be ready to be a mom though I would enjoy being one. Thus, we were coming to the end of our chilled exchange. Elijahâs final question to his mom: Was I her cousin? She and I smiled at each other in wonder. My maybe conclusion: He had accepted me so early on in his familial space that I must be family.
Getting through Peruvian customs in Lima didnât seem to take as long as before, which is what I expected. The appearance is that things are always progressing. In some ways thatâs true but not in every aspect as I would soon come to see in Pisco. I waited at baggage claim for my pink backpackerâs bag. I surveyed the surroundings, figuring I would go to the money exchange first. I wanted to get enough in local currency but not too much, just enough to reduce lone visits to the ATM. The older I get and more experience I gain, the more I work on making my efforts as seamless as possible. In fact, I had requested a taxi pickup from the airport to my hotel in Miraflores, to save on price-negotiating time. I was now one of those people, for the moment, whose driver had a handwritten sign with my name on it. It was just $22 to add it to my online itinerary. I walked up to the gentleman holding my name and another driver with a different sign for a different traveler smiled saying âAhh. Cassandra. Cassandraâ (for some unknown reason). I smiled and followed my driver (Luis) out.
Primarily, Luis was more matter of fact then friendly. He became more engaging as he asked if I had already prepared a return trip from downtown Lima to the International Airport. When he realized I wasnât staying in Lima and also needed a ride early in the morning to the bus terminal (destination Pisco) he offered service for that as well. I think thatâs a pretty standard experience I have found when Iâm riding from the airport to my lodging area abroad and across states. I usually accept their card or contact information and say I will call on them for a return trip to the airport or somewhere else. This is not a promise and not without first gauging my instincts. Occasionally, if the person is overly flirtatious, I keep my distance. The same stands for any other seemingly unprofessional behavior. My advice is to take a card or contact info when it is offered but do not feel obligated to use their services. You can always negotiate better fares and services by working within the recommendations from your lodgingâs staff or other fellow travelers.
I did actually find Luis to be ideal for the next day because of the original connection to him through the online booking service. I also liked that I already would have an early morning ride secured. He and I had conjectured that about 6:20 a.m. would be a good pick up time to head over from the hotel to the bus station. He did not show up the next morning. For all those times that a plan has not quite come together, I had already decided to give him just a few minutes before conferring with the lady adjacent to the small hotel desk. There were plenty of taxis outside yelling out presumed destinations to people. Still, whenever I have limited time and Iâm not traveling with a companion, I like to go with something as official as the concierge in a hotel or hostel abroad because the price they secure will be reasonable and standard, and you most likely donât have to guess whether the transportation company is official or not.
In this recent case of staying in Lima’s safely recommended neighborhood of Miraflores, I will additionally recommend the Ibis Lima Larco Miraflores hotel. My room was immaculate, and the location was convenient for food and shopping needs. Depending on weather preferences, however, one should note that Lima, Peru is extremely hot right now. The US is opposite of South America. South America’s February is in the summer and I would soon find out that while Pisco was going to be a scorcher too (as my friends there had been preparing me), there would at least be some helpful breezes and it would cool off in the evenings (typical of desert nights). Rain in Pisco is rare. When we were there, it would come so lightly and quickly that you would be left questioning if it ever really happened. The more northern and mountainous areas of Peru are different. When I reached Cusco, Machu Picchu especially, and later Bolivia, it was cold with the rainy season and I naturally developed an incessant cough, from only gradually adjusting my wardrobe to the elements. Adding a side note here that I will get into later when recalling my volunteer time in northern Peru and Bolivia: Plan for wardrobe changes along the way. Almost hacking up a lung while clubbing in Cuscoâs Plaza de las Armas is not cute (though the Chilean and Argentinian guys there on holiday never seemed to mind).
Returning to my recent internal country travel, I did end up making it to the bus station in plenty of time. (I would hear from the Luis much later via WhatsApp.) Reaching the terminal, I was greeted with the familiarity of the Soyuz bus company. It is a good bus company and I took its main service on many an occasion. From what I could tell with all the activity around me, it still appears to be reliable and efficient, but I can more so recently speak to its PeruBĂșs VIP element. The cleanliness and punctuality was enough for me to decide the name was well earned. The smoothest ride was on my way from Lima to Pisco. There were just a few of us. More people joined at various stops along the way though there are just 4 main bus terminal city stops on this route. Two guys got on at a lesser traveled stop. They immediately sat in front of me and reclined their seats. I told myself, âitâs okay, you still got some spaceâ although I was apparently too presumptuously enjoying the previous amount. I thought about moving to one of the still considerably large number of empty seats, but I think they were assigned (in theory) and I know from experience that you never know what discomfort and awkwardness you may be pre-sitting next to. I had made the right decision. The bus filled up quickly. The lady who sat next to me was with two other people that sat across the aisle. I only saw one other foreigner (yep, thatâs in addition to me) get on the bus and unlike me, she was blond. She moved towards the rear.
I kept my curtain pushed open, watching developed Peru trail by, watching nature-made Peru flow by, saw undeveloped areas portioned in. I got a real reminder about what I missed about this part of the country. The area was getting closer and closer to the former earthquake-affected area where I had volunteered 9 years ago. My heart was wrenched, dazzled, filled with an affection and peace. I was returning to a different home now.
I fell deep asleep for a while. Part of the bus trip from Lima back to Pisco had evaporated into my sleep. It was dreamless for all I knew. The surrealness of being back was dream enough. I was now returning as I had been meaning to do so, for so long now. I was returning to a time that seemed lucid in the way that we had organized ourselves and diligently made things happen. How intriguing that we had all come together from various countries to physically help one country and worked so hard and played so well together, even with the mistakes and rough patches. The experience was special with its random traditions and systems that were so well put together. Now, I had arrived. I was in Pisco before I knew it and also right on time. 4 hours later. Once again at Cruce Pisco. Pisco Crossroads. Welcome to Terminal Terrastre!
At this point, I knew I would need a car, a carro, a coche, a taxi to get to the main plaza, where I would be staying in a hostel (un hospedaje). I had chosen among several hostels available and wow – how different would it be to be in Pisco and not directing drivers to take me back to the shared volunteer house on Avenida America. It made me a little sad in a way that didnât make complete sense, but I guess it completely does. Itâs the nostalgia that hits you squarely when you are physically transported back to a specific space. The energy that molded me from here and the energy that I expended here, now in the space that I occupied. Fully immersed in memories (some I realized now that I had even forgot to remember), I was simultaneously hit with former emotions. Not every day as a volunteer was easy while the whole of it was wonderful. It was not meant for us to be there forever. The countryâs work was meant to live on with the people of the country and so it has. Life is bittersweet.
This continues Part 2 of my first two days in Peru.
Parting from the quite intriguing
response of the Peruvian customs agent, I headed towards the taxi area that
said legitimate (as my 2010 travel search results had suggested). The recommendation meant to look out for the
registered ones and not to venture out in any unofficial looking cars. The
directness of the sign threw me a little. Still it proved true and the other
drivers could be avoided by their unmarked cars. This recommendation became invaluable
to me in Cusco as well and when I later returned to Lima.
Despite internet connectivity issues and a dying computer,
my first hours were a success. I was squared away in my hotel and the obstacles
were not changing my plans.
The next day brought back normal possibilities. The sun
echoed that. I was easily able to get to the now open store and arm myself with
backup devices like a phone from a local company. I now had the added option of
texting internationally. (I had assumed I would be on my charged computer with
a working hotspot, so I didnât feel the need for an international package on my
phone plan at the time.) Ultimately, I wouldnât need much. Between the
volunteer house and the multipurpose gas station across the street, I was set to
connect with everyone.
My friend and I had both stayed overnight in the highly
recommended Miraflores district. She was in a nearby hostel. We connected on
Skype once I was up and running and planned to meet and taxi over to the bus terminal.
There was nothing daunting about the bus from Lima to Pisco, as local travelers
came to have our back. They called attention to our stop to make certain we
didn’t lose our way. We were okay but welcomed the confirmation. It was equal
to the way some DC metro riders will look out for visitors whose unfamiliarity
with the train system and their surroundings is apparent on their uneasy faces.
Four hours done. We got off the bus onto a dirt road with
some street vendors and colectivos (shared taxis). It was dusk now. Colectivos
were extremely apparent in and around Pisco due to their standard car size. The
other rides that we came to pay for locally would be in the beetle sized tuk
tuks. Our driver packed our bags into the back. It was noted on the
organization’s website that drivers would instantly know if we said the house
with the blue doors, the volunteer house, or some similar description. I told
my new friend I was glad she was there with me (I would have been uncertain
alone) and she stated that she was similarly glad for my company and that I
could explain our objectives to the driver and others in Spanish. We relaxed
into the vehicle. He smiled knowingly. We smiled and off we were, just a bit
away from our new home.
At last, we were in front of the blue doors. Our car
pulled up about the same time that several other US volunteers arrived. That was
actually a rarity. Many volunteers were from Europe and the organization
welcomed volunteers on any day. There was a good deal of people from the States
during my stay, but never were we a majority. Australia, New Zealand, Mexico,
Costa Rica, Brazil, Canada and Peru were present in addition to the influences
from France, England, Scotland and Ireland. The diversity preceded and followed
me until the organization was disbanded. Volunteering abroad had become even
more interesting. I hadnât realized we would bring together so much diversity.
I was still taking in the scene after just arriving. I
stood just a few feet in the door. My heavy suitcase was nothing to the volunteer
coordinator that lifted it onto one shoulder and ran upstairs. He returned
immediately as there was no vacancy. Someone even playfully tickled his stomach
as he walked upstairs. His response was just a chuckle, a mild protest and no
danger whatsoever in dropping it. My friend and I would temporarily stay at a
neighboring hostel that was closely affiliated with our group.
Before I retired for the night, one of my future best
friends walked over to me. We talked briefly. I was still visually reconciling the
volunteer video, that Iâd seen a few months earlier, with what was now a
leisure Friday. This was a time for volunteer socializing and regrouping, and I
loved the duality of it! There was still one more half day of volunteering on
Saturdays, but Friday has its place. iPods playing, laughing, talking, various
games and a fire burning the chilly desert night air away.
I was intrigued to be joining the others soon but knew I
needed some rest mentally and physically. My travel companion and I left for
the neighboring hostel. We were able to move into the main house the next day
and I realized that perspectives can change quickly. Ours related to space. We
compared notes. She was now in one of the multiple occupant rooms and I was in
a four-bunk bed one with just 3 other people. Just 3?! I very much appreciated
this space following the limited room we were in the night before. She seemed settled
as well.
My 4-person room included the close friend I had chatted
with the night before. Various roommates stayed there and traveled on. My good
friend left. (We would meet up later). Then, it was my turn to leave for a new
journey. I sometimes forget about being wonderfully thrown off. Routines are necessary
to a point but sharing this here is a reminder that I should likewise take on
the disruptions. My renewal passport arrived just this past Tuesday and Iâve
got some work to do.
