Lima, Al Final

I´m back in Lima where, over 10 weeks ago, my journey began. It doesn´t seem nearly as large, dangerous, and chaotic as it did back then, which just goes to show that perception is everything. I am dodging six lanes of traffic, hurdling street vendors, and flagging down microbuses like a pro. Bring on Nairobi!

With just one day here until my late night flight takes off (hopefully not on Latin time) tonight, I visited a few places I didn´t have time to see the first time around. Highly recommended is the Museo Rafael Larco Herrera. Most famous for its collection of pre-Incan erotic ceramic art, it has even more fascinating pieces in its textile and metallurgic collections. Its star textile piece is a Paracas (burial shroud) weaving that sets a world-record at 398 threads per linear inch. There are also exquisite gold headdresses, nosepieces, breastplates, and other bodily adornments on display. Perhaps most intriguing, however, is the museum storeroom, where visitors can wander through ceiling-height glass cases that house over 20,000 pieces of museum-quality ceramic art. Most other visitors didn´t seem to visit this part of the museum, so I had it almost to myself, giving it a real ¨From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler¨ feel--or, for the younger generation, something comparable might be Ben Stiller´s ¨Night at the Museum¨.

Set aside some extra time for lunch before or after your visit at the museum´s cafe. With gorgeous, immaculately-attired waiters; delicious nouveau-Peruvian food; and the best service I´ve had on my entire trip, it was a great place to splurge on a nice meal before heading home! The housemade iced tea is excellent.

And if you have some last-minute gift shopping to do, the Mercado de los Indios in Miraflores is a good one-stop-shop with handicrafts from all over Peru. Prices and quality vary, so shop carefully--and keep an eye out for beautiful, high-quality Peruvian cotton items. Ladies back home, get ready for Christmas in August!

Monasterio de Santa Catalina, Arequipa, Peru

I spent much of the day wandering around the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, which has a great website with photos:

http://www.santacatalina.org.pe/mapa_i.htm

Like the convent in Potosi, the nuns here led a cloistered life until the Vatican reforms of the 20th century. For 391 years, they were completely cut off from the outside world. Unlike the convent in Potosi, however, this monastery is a place that I could actually be convinced to live in for the rest of my life.

Declared a UNESCO world heritage site, it is considered one of the most important cultural sites in South America. A walled compound set on five acres, the Monasteriois a city-within-a-city that is so large that it has its own streets. Constructed primarily of the white sillar rock characteristic of this area, it is painted in striking hues of brick red and sky blue. In addition to beautiful murals in the courtyards, the convent also houses an extensive collection of religious paintings, mostly from the famous cuzqueño school. Unlike most groupings of religious art that I have seen, this one has informative signage that makes for an interesting gallery experience. Even the living quarters are lovely--the kitchens have tall ceilings with skylights, and artfully constructed adobe bread ovens; I took a number of pictures because the latest crazy project I´d like to tackle is to build one back home. Rick, will this go well with tea plants and bee hives? Does fresh earthern-oven bread every week sound good?

Not only are there thousands of photo opportunities in the picturesque surroundings, but the monastery has an unqualifiable energy to it...I admit that this sounds a bit New Age, but it is the kind of place that makes you believe in miracles. One of the nuns who lived there in the 17th century, Sor Ana de los Angeles, is famous for innumerable miraculous healings, as well as 68 predictions that were corroborated as having come true. After spending time in her living quarters, I don´t doubt it. Over 300 years after her death, her room still has a downright magical feel to it. After today´s visit, I have decided that if yogis can levitate, and if one´s mind can control one´s physical state, I don´t see why nuns can´t perform healings. I am a believer!

Arequipa, Peru

I can safely say that Arequipa is among the most beautiful, atmospheric cities in Latin America. With a mild climate, stunning colonial architecture, exciting artisinal craft shopping, innovative restaurants, and a sunny, palm-lined plaza that offers world class people watching, if you´re coming to Peru, I definitely wouldn´t miss a visit to its second-largest city.

I am staying in a beautiful hostal called Los Andes B&B, just one block off the main plaza. One of the nicest rooms I have been in on my entire trip, it has enough space to hold a yoga class in, with hardwood floors and a private bathroom! All this for a little over 10 USD, including breakfast.

I have also found a number of lovely places to eat: Fez, with cheap and excellent Middle Eastern food; Las Empanaditas, with delicious spinach, egg, and cheese empanadas; Los Turkos, with authentic Turkish hummus and fresh Arequipan olives; Zig Zag Creperie with over 100 sweet and savory melt-in-your-mouth crepes; and Cusco Coffee, with Amazon-grown beans. It´s hard to miss here as long as you don´t eat on the main plaza--the views are phenomenal but the food is second-rate.

The people here are very warm...I have spent a lot of time conversing with shopkeepers and talking to waitstaff, all of whom seem genuinely interested in talking with travelers. Do not miss a visit to the store on the 2nd or 3rd block of Calle Jerusalen that sells handmade, one-of-a-kind alpaca items. The very nice owners have the most beautiful ponchos and hats that I have seen on my trip, and at a lower price than the upmarket stores that sell machine-made items. Ask about their sister store on Calle San Francisco (it´s harder to find, but it´s walking distance and they can give you directions).

Arequipa even has one of the nicest internet spots I have been to, with your own enclosed glass cabin, and Skype access. What does this city not have? When can I move here and start a yoga school?

Cerro de la Mina, Potosi, Bolivia

Potosi this time of year is a freezing cold city at over 4,000 meters above sea level. Winds whip through the narrow colonial streets, and the thick stone walls of the centuries-old buildings act as reverse insulation, making it often colder inside of them than out. In this climate, your hands are cold for days on end, and it´s too frigid to brave the lukewarm hostel showers--at least you don´t really sweat at this altitude.

As is generally the case with cities located in such inhospitable climates, there is a reason why so many people decided to settle here. Once sparsely populated by indigenous Bolivians, when the Spanish discovered the existence of a silver in the surrounding hills during the 16th century, Potosi quickly became home to over 200,000 inhabitants attracted by the promise of wealth in the surrounding silver mines. How convenient for the Spaniards that the indigenous population provided a ready legion of slaves. Once many of the native people had died in the grueling work of the mines, additional slaves were imported from Africa as reinforcements. In all, between 6 and 8 million people died in the silver mines during the colonial era.

Shockingly, working conditions in the mines have changed relatively little since then, and the miners themselves have frequently been the subject of government oppression. Several times in the 20th century, their efforts at labor organization were met with violent rebuttals in which hundreds of miners were killed. One of the more infamous massacres occured in 1967, just before Che Guevara´s attempted revolution in Bolivia. Although today the miners are not openly persecuted, their working conditions are still sub-human and the Bolivian government, which is heavily dependent on the sale of precious metals extracted from the mines, does little to regulate the situation.

I had an opportunity to take a tour down into the working mines themselves which, while not a pleasant experience, is one that I would highly recommend if you ever find yourself within a few hours by bus from Potosi. Koala Tours is the best (and safest) operator in town; it costs 20 bolivianos (3 USD) more than the competition, but you go in smaller groups and are given a better safety helmet and headlamp which, believe me, you will be grateful for when you are hundreds of meters below the earth with nothing but rock above your head, listening to the faint sounds of hammers coming from the remote tunnels snaking out in every direction, and trying not to think about the fatal cave-in that occurred the week before.

My group made it down to the fourth level, although we lost one member who had a justifiable panic attack on the third and had to be taken back above ground. At first the mines are freezing cold but the lower down you go, the hotter it gets--and the less oxygen you have. Temperatures on the lower levels are well over 100 degrees, and at times you are choking on dust while crawling on your stomach through passageways that are less than one meter high. There are tubes throughout many of the tunnels that bring in oxygen from above ground, and their hissing sound as they release small quantities of fresh air becomes very comforting. Although I wore a bandana over my nose and mouth, once I got down to the lower levels there was so little oxygen that I had to remove it and just make peace with breathing in silica dust and other noxious chemicals. On more than one occasion, my yogic breathing came in handy: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale--and whatever you do, don´t panic.

Whereas I was exposed to these conditions for a mere two hours, there are people for whom this is a daily reality--at least until they die somewhere between the ages of 40 and 50, which is the life expectancy of the miners who aren´t killed by dynamite explosions or cave-ins and who instead perish from silicosis or exposure to other toxic chemicals. Legally, there are 8-hour workdays in the mines. Effectively, however, because the workers sell the raw minerals directly to companies that refine and export them, many of them ¨choose¨ to work much longer hours in the hopes of making more money. And while the minimum legal employment age in the mines is 18, children often start much younger, particularly if they are orphans with no other means of supporting themselves. One man I met started at the age of 14, but we were told that on the lower levels of the mines that non-miners never reach there are children working who are even younger.

One of the most memorable things I saw down there was four men pushing a two-ton cart full of rock. They had to first stoop down and sweep the dust off the wooden tracks so that the cart could pass. Two of the men then pushed the cart from behind. The other two in front used ropes and leaned their entire body weight into it, grunting and sweating to slowly pull the cart forward. This is not the kind of thing that you can bring yourself to take a picture of; it´s not human work.

Seeing daylight again was a definite relief, as was taking the helmet off and wiping the sweat and dust off of my face. In the colonial era, slaves went into the mines in 4 month shifts, sleeping below ground and not seeing daylight during the entire shift; they worked 12 hour days until they died. In our supposely modern times, conditions are not much different, except that the miners live above ground and some manage to eek out a decent living--one claimed to make approximately $2000 USD per month, which is a comparatively excellent salary here.

I was down there for two hours, and although I am very glad I did it, I would not voluntarily do it again. It makes you think twice about buying silver--although were worldwide silver prices to fall, it wouldn´t be the large companies that would feel the brunt of it, but rather the miners themselves, who would be paid less for their load.


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Potosi, Bolivia

Potosi is more of a modern city than I expected it to be, with over 150,000 inhabitants. On a Saturday night, there are hundreds of young people out on the streets looking for something to do, and the streets are teaming with tailors´shops and lawyers´offices. But scratch the facade of this somewhat inviting exterior, and a tragic past quickly rises to the surface.

The silver mines at Cerro de la Mina are the most blatant example of human exploitation in Bolivia. But I also visited two other places that give a broader context to the tragedies of the colonial era--Casa de la Moneda (the National Mint), and the Convento de Santa Teresa (the convent of Carmelite nuns).

The Casa de la Moneda is one of the four places where the Spanish Empire minted its reales, or silver coins. The facilities were run on slave labor--both indigenous and African--and countless thousands died in the rough conditions of working with molten metal and heavy machinery. Still on display is the equipment where workers lost fingers and entire hands in the process of stamping out the coins that made the Spanish Empire the most powerful of its era.

The Convento de Santa Teresa is tragic in a less immediately obvious way. During the colonial era and, in fact, until the Vatican reforms of the mid-20th century, this Carmelite convent was a cloistered home to daughters of elite Spaniards. Commonly a ¨privilege¨ reserved for the second daughter of the family, at the age of fifteen these girls were obligated into service of the Lord at the convent--and were never allowed to leave its walls or to have contact with another human being again (other than their fellow nuns)--the meaning of the term ¨cloistered¨. Their families paid a minimum of 100,000 USD to the convent, often in the form of priceless works of art; the more money they paid, the nicer their daughter´s quarters would be. The girls were allowed family visits through elaborate systems of screens, so they were never even able to see their parents faces. All of these nuns came from incredibly wealthy Spanish families, many of whom had made their fortunates on the blood of the miners in Potosi, and who saw their daughter´s service as bestowing honor and spiritual blessings upon the family.

Potosi was not a cheery place to be--and the frigid weather certainly didn´t help matters. But unlike anywhere else I´ve been, it demonstrates the tragedies of the colonial era--and puts perspective on the drastic inequalities still present in modern times. And I highly recommend a visit if you are coming to Bolivia.


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Purmamarca, Argentina

From the moment the bus pulled into the village of Purmamarca, I knew I was going to like it despite the immediately obvious tourist presence. It is located in the stunning Quebrada de Humahuaca, a region in the Argentine northwest that is known for its colorful mountains. A pastel version of each of the primary colors is represented in the beautiful Cerro de Siete Colores (Hill of the Seven Colors), which towers over the village of Purmamarca. The narrow streets are lined with shops displaying local crafts, and the pleasant, shady local plaza is full of vendors and young hippie kids playing music and juggling. Especially in Argentina, there is a large culture of young travelers, many of whom finance their adventures by selling jewelery or playing music.I stayed in a dorm room at the Hosteria Bebo Vilte, which is a perfectly acceptable place (criteria: hot shower, beds not too concave, warm enough that I don´t see my breath in bed at night) except for the fact that the owners genuinely seem to hate their guests and you have to slink around hiding from them so as not to be snapped at for simply being there. Bizarre.

Also staying in the dorm was a really cool Argentine named Matias, who lives in Buenos Aires but is on a life-changing spiritual quest to Machupicchu and back. He and I clicked almost instantly; he´s one of those people that I felt as if I had known forever after the first fifteen minutes. After night fell, we made a precarious climb up a nearly sheer mountainside made of crumbling rocks and cacti (not the easiest climb to say the least) so that he could take photographs of the village from above. With the long exposures of nighttime photography, he quickly ran out of battery power in his camera. In one of those beautiful moments of synchronicity, we discovered that my camera takes the same kind of rare battery, and he was able to continue with the project. He took some stunning photos which I will post when he sends them to me, including one of the best photos that´s ever been taken with me in it--a long exposure of the two of us dimly lit by the distant city lights, with the mountains rising up in the background and the sky punctuated by brilliant stars.

The next day I awoke to an incredible sandstorm. The wind was so strong that at times I couldn´t see more than a few feet in front of me on the street, and the power went out in the entire village. I wandered off the dusty streets and into the home of a local artisan named Gonzalo Rafael Alvarez, who specializes in carving wood slabs into stamps and then making prints with them. He lives in his house with his daughter and partner, surrounded by his artwork and his broad collection of books. We had a fascinating conversation in which he pulled down a number of the books from their shelves to illustrate different points--everything from the iconography of traditional Argentinian graphic art to the art collection of the Museo del Prado in Spain. Perhaps the wind howling outside contributed heavily to the otherworldy atmosphere, but it was one of those pivotal conversations in life that has the power to forever alter one´s perception--in this case, my perception of art itself. Not only did I end up buying several prints, but I also purchased several of the original stamps he had carved. It would not surprise me to see his work in a museum someday and, aside from my ATM card, these carvings are now my most closely guarded possessions.

Around sunset the heaviest of the winds had abated, and Matias and I got a bottle of Argentine red wine and climbed up to a vista point at the edge of town to watch the sunset and see what the night sky would be like with no lights coming from the village. There is only one other time in my life that I have seen a sky more bliss-inducing than the one over Purmamarca last night, and that was when I stayed in a mud hut on the cliffs over the Indian Ocean in South Africa. There is something about the sky above the Southern Hemisphere that is absolutely magical to me. I think that maybe because I only recognize two of the constellations (as opposed to the Northern Hemisphere, where most of them are at least familiar), my brain is blown wide open by the sheer immensity of it all. After lying on our backs staring upwards for a good long time, we walked down to enjoy a delicious dinner in the plaza.

Despite its many charms, one thing that Purmamarca lacks is an outdoor patio where you can enjoy a coffee or a glass of wine al fresco. Another thing it lacks is an ice cream store. And there´s not one bookstore in town, either. If I ever have to flee the States, I am heading straight to Purmamarca to open a sidewalk cafe that makes its own ice cream and sells books.

How to Make a Proper Mate

I knew there was a reason I stopped over in Salta for a night on the way from Cafayate to Purmamarca. While eating a delicious meal of humitas (like a tamal, but with only cheese and mashed corn wrapped in the corn husk) on a bench in the main plaza, I decided to ask an Argentine couple seated nearby where a good place to buy a mate would be. Instead of answering my question (they were from out of town and didn´t know the answer), the man proceeded to give me an incredibly useful lecture on how to select a proper mate (recipient for preparing the tea), bombilla (straw to drink it through), and the yerba mate (plant from which the tea is made) itself.

First of all, mate is pronounced ¨mah-tay¨, and refers not to the drink but to its container. Mates can be made of glass, metal, wood, or gourds. In the opinion of my teacher on the subject, those made of palo santo (wood) or calabaza (gourd) are the best types because they don´t interfere with the taste of the yerba mate. To prevent ruining the flavor, you should have a specific mate for preparing the drink bitter (as is), and a separate mate for the times when you want to add sugar.

Whatever type of mate you choose, it is important that it have a fluted shape at the top. This is because when you pour the yerba mate in, you then cover the mate with your hand, tilt it slightly, and shake. The dustiest bits of the yerba mate mix rise to the top, and catch on the lip of the fluted top, thus preventing them from settling to the bottom where they might be sipped up into your straw. You also want your mate to be thick-walled, so that when you pour the hot water in doesn´t burn your hand to hold it.

The bombilla is the biggest investment. The finest are made of silver (and can cost well over 100 US Dollars), but my teacher felt that alpaca (which will set you back around 30 US Dollars) is just as good. Either way, you want to choose a thick straw, so that you don´t burn your lips with it. He also advised finding a bombilla with a round bulb in the middle--when the hot water passes through it, the air in it serves to cool it down.

As for the yerba mate, he advised me to always choose a mix that has larger slivers of the plant itself in it. When you get a mix that is all dust, it is harder to keep some of it from passing through the bombilla and into your mouth.

Once you have all the right accessories, you´re ready to make your beverage. You pour the yerba mate into your mate according to how much flavor you want, and then add water until it´s just below the lip of the fluted top. You then carefully put your bombilla in so as not to disturb the yerba mate, and resist the temptation to mix the beverage with your bombilla, which would make some of the dust fall to the bottom and come up through the bombilla and into your mouth.

All over Argentina, you see people carrying thermoses of hot water around with them, which they periodically pour into their mate to refresh their beverage. If you stop to talk to someone who is drinking yerba mate, they are very likely to offer you a sip. It took me awhile to get used to so casually sharing straws with a complete stranger, but it´s an integral form of social bonding here.