TRAGICALLY HIP IN PERU

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This blog is for my two friends, Sarah and Eli who have just been engaged.
To love, laughter and happily ever after. Cheers!

TRAGICALLY HIP IN PERU

THE REED ISLANDS of

PUNO

Puno is located near Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world, home to the floating reed islands, and from where legend claims the founders of the Inca Empire emerged.

Lake Titicaca covers 3,305 square miles of the southern highlands of Peru, on the border between Peru and Bolivia. It is the largest lake in South America.

Bolivia and Peru have had arguments about whom it belongs to and have said we will get the “Titi” and you will get the “Caca” and finally they have agreed to split it somewhere in the middle, we will each get “Ti-Ca”, “Ti-Ca”, to make “Titicaca”.

The people of Puno live on over 40 floating reed islands on Lake Titicaca that they have made themselves out of the reed that the lake produces. They are here because centuries ago the Uro people struck out for the middle of the lake to escape the warring Inca and Colla tribes on the shore.

They build a foundation of mud and stick reeds into it vertically; the islands are maintained by continually adding fresh totora reeds laid horizontally to the top, even as they rot away from the bottom.

They are also able to move their islands by moving the sticks that are in the foundation, they do this because the water level rises and if they don't move once in a while, their islands could be destroyed.

They live in reed huts, travel in reed boats (made by the Chimu culture in the North, which depicts a similar type of boat made centuries ago), and sell handicrafts woven from reeds.

Puno is very touristy but interesting to see how some people live; they live off tourism and the reeds, as well as embroidered textile souvenirs and models of reed boats are displayed on the island grounds.

The largest island supports many huts, including a small museum with a collection of stuffed birds and animals. Today around 300 Aymara native residents continue to live in this floating community.

In addition to the floating islands, there is also an enormous distracting and intrusive white hotel that overlooks the lake and the islands.

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On the way to Puno, I found myself in a bus full of Israelis. While we were waiting for a bus they found out that my mum is from Bombay and they started to sing a song that I grew up with called "Itchi-ka-dana" which is a very old song, sung by an Indian actress called Nalgis.

The Israelis started to sing this and I couldn't believe it, afterwards they told me that most Israelis know that song because it's on a commercial by this guy who impersonates Indians.

I haven't played the djembe in a while, but one of the Israeli guys had picked one up in La Paz for very cheap. We sat down to play and realized that we both knew two parts of the same song (the Cocoa song). So he played the intro (which I had forgotten) and I taught him the rest and we played in the terminal, hitting the drum very loudly and attracted all these little kids who sat around us as we played.

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THE WHITE CITY of

ARIQUIPA

Such contrasts between the two neighbouring countries of Peru and Bolivia.

The children do not live on the streets here, but instead play on them, in their vibrant pink bonnets and black patent shoes, blowing bubbles or pushing themselves on toy cars made for little people down the tiled pavements... yes, they have pavements here too!

Women carry their babes so delicately here compared to Bolivia. In Bolivia, they are swung carelessly over their shoulders in tied-up knack-sacks weaved from their colourful tapestries. Their babies poke their round heads to show their puffy, red, dirt-stained cheeks and their tiny black eyes blink at you. They look like perfect little lumps of cuteness.

Here, in Peru the mothers wrap their babies up in pale green fluffy quilts as green a mint candies and hold them properly and carefully in their arms.
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You are never alone in Ariquipa, every few minutes a Peruvian stranger will walk up to you with boxes and blankets filled with watercolour and charcoal paintings that they have made themselves. Each so unique and beautiful that really shows off their beautiful country. The pictures show this city that I will try to describe, with side streets lines with trees, flowers, cobbled pavements, long winding steps and high white stone walls.

Neatly dressed men will stick a menu in your face when you walk past a restaurant.
These restaurants are lines side by side so you are contently pushing people off you just to walk somewhere.

Un-masked men with shoe shining equipment and children with candy for sale also walk up to you, including the occasional relentless beggar.

Friendly artisans try to sell you some hand-made jewellery and hit on you at the same time. They say that Paris and possibly Buenos Aires, Argentina are the well-known "romantic cities", but I think whoever nick-named them, has never been to Ariquipa.

Without exaggeration, I have been hit on too many times to count. The manner, in which it was done though, was not at all sleazy or uncomfortable. I am comparing this to Sydney, Australia of course. Where guys in basketball caps and shiny cars will whoo-hoo you as they drive off, or stand in front of you in the streets or a club, refusing to let you pass.

Peru has a different breed of men, men who have been taught by their mothers to respect and treat women like so. These men will walk up to you so politely and start a conversation with you very naturally. They will walk you to wherever you need to go, and, only afterwards will they ask you to have lunch or a drink with them for later that day.

You can innocently walk passed a cafe and they will say excuse me senorita and ask you if you would like to join them, and, when you politely say no thank you, they will say, ok, well have a nice day and hopefully if we run into each other again, you will accept my invitation next time. You actually walk away with a smile on your face and not feel at all insulted like you would in Sydney.


PLAZA De ARMAS

Grey sand-stone cathedrals with Peruvian flags, grand Colonial arches and watch towers surround the main Plaza De Armas.

In the centre, lies a bronze fountain leaking milky water with pigeons sitting around its brim. It is a clean and well-kept city. Men work hard to keep the plaza inviting, by cutting hedges and watering the grass.

The plaza is filled with white horses and buggies, families, children chasing pigeons and eating ice blocks staining their lips bright red and couples of all ages cuddling on benches.

Sitting up here overlooking the plaza, I have treated myself to a big gringo breakfast of fried eggs, toast, juice and coffee for 6 Soles. Fresh orange juice is served in wine glasses and butter is rolled up in neat little marble-sized balls on clean plates.

I can hear gongs of bells from the many Cathedrals surrounding the Plaza and there is a three-man-band standing beside me with flutes, drums and guitars dressed in ponchos and long plated hair who try to sell me their CD for 20 Soles as they have finished up.

Looking over the balcony I am on, I can see people riding on motorcycles with no helmets and pushy little yellow taxi cabs swarming around in the streets, they look similar to Mini Minor cars but I am told they are Japanese cars. They are useful because they can squeeze into any one spot and often cause traffic accidents or escape by a hair.

I can see the streets now as the yellow ants clear the roads are made from bricks and stone of black-charcoal. Old chrome lamp posts stand on every corner against white sandy stone walls; proud grand arches with bronze doors fit for Spanish Kings are in every doorway. Intricate details from the Spanish is splotted everywhere, the lampposts, the benches and the doors and gates give iron curls like new flower stems.

Cafes, bookshops and artisans selling jewellery are hidden in side streets, near Avenida San Francisco. Under cream colour umbrellas and potted plants and trees with pink flowers springing from them and neatly colour chalked menus with wooden frames, cactus plants in terracotta pots and Inca-style wall hangings are outside the cafes.

The plaza is like a labyrinth and there are many things to see and do on the walk around it, like visit artisan markets.

The artists here make and sell silver as well as threaded macramé jewellery, beautiful belts, bags and wallets made from black material with insanely bright colour metallic threads with designs of fish, owls and Condor birds. They have matching colours of blues and purples, reds and pinks and browns and gold’s. It’s a really hard ask not to get distracted and walk into these markets and pick up something shiny. I stayed in Ariquipa longer than I was supposed to for this reason alone.

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During the night, there are fireworks over the city, lively bars and Irish pubs with laughter and music spilling out onto the streets and I can hear it all from the rooftop.

I went to bed buzzing and stayed awake as usual listening to music, tonight it was an Irish-Rock band that an Irish fella let me hear, Thin Lizzy, the song, "Emerald". I sat outside my room and took out an El Che cigarette and thought about my friends and family and realized that they are all on opposite ends of the Earth right now and how different we all were a year ago, today.

Some of them are working in an impressive event management job in London, one has met a beautiful Israeli girl and moved to NYC, some partying with millionaires in NYC, or sleeping with Spanish Beauties in Barcelona. One is working as a guide on the Trans-Siberian rail line, while others are teaching English and dating Taiwanese boys in Japan. In Australia two are volunteering for RSPCA, or getting engaged to a Bob Marley look-a-like Israeli in some desert in Israel, while another is paragliding off mountains in Chile, or working in Honduras while I am sitting here on the roof overlooking and enjoying Ariquipa, trying to decide what to do or where to go to next.

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On my second day, I wandered around to find bookstores that sold English written novels and was hoping to find someone that could teach me how to play the guitar.
I finally found an English bookstore and picked up the classic, Moby Dick.
I walked down some unfamiliar streets and found a school for languages and music.
I knocked on the gate and waited and waited and finally shouted Hola, hola! And a little man whistled back. I was confused, was he making fun of me for the way I yelled Hola?
He peeped his head and spoke so quickly to me in Spanish, I blinked back and made some noise with my mouth and he said, ok, so it's English then, is it?

I asked him if he could teach me the guitar for the next two days and he got very excited and said, he is a composer and he would love to teach me his own songs.
He then ran back inside to fetch his tape recorder and the next hour, was the longest in my life.

His songs were written in Spanish, Portuguese, Italian and very bad English.
Each one was worse than the one before it. Not only were the lyrics, lame, repetitive and non-sensical to the English language, and I can imagine to the other three languages he used. But his voice sounded like a tortured cat! I wanted to put this cat out of its misery and was about to ask him to please stop when he started shamelessly bawling his eyes out… and how he cried! Like a little baby wanting his mummy.

He apologized and explained what this song meant to him, I said its ok and how nice it was to see what a song can do to someone and that hopefully, one day I would be able to show such feelings from song of my own. He was very flattered with this response and asked me like a little kid, if I'd like to learn any of his. I wanted to say, fuck no, but instead, no thank you came out. I said that I have a song in mind that I have wanted to learn for a very long time, because it means a lot to me, like your song does to you. He asked me for the name, I said, “More than Words” or “House of the rising sun” and he said ok and stopped the tape.

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That night, I found a Malaysian girl named Pei and two Vancouver guys in my dorm.
Pei full of crazy travel stories about pirates, getting kidnapped, robbed and escaping in Bolivia, going to Thailand for six months at a yoga retreat. She cooks and makes tea in the room and she’s so resourceful, it makes me feel like such a spender!

Pei had a guitar that she didn’t know how to play, and the two Vancouver guys that were in our room- one knew how to tune a guitar and the other knew off by heart the cords for my song, "House of the rising sun".

So, I thought this is a sign for me to buy a guitar the next morning and I did, its black and light and pretty and I named her too, I don’t know why or how I came up with this name, but I called her Baby Girl.

Afterwards I picked up a guitar magazine which had some English songs in it, I didn’t look at what songs it had, and I opened the magazine to a random page, and... On the page that I had opened it had the cords for "More than words" and "House of the rising sun".

Then, I went into a shop to buy a sticker of Peru to put on my new guitar and while I was there this Peruvian fellow asked me how I like Ariquipa, I said its beautiful and he said (so cheesy) ah just like you. Now, I told you already that the guys here are very "straight forward" this is not even half of it…

He then asked me about the guitar and I said I’m trying to learn it now, he said he'll teach me a song in the Plaza, so I said ok.. We sat down in the plaza and you know what song he started to play?? “More than words”. So we sat there for a while singing and playing and he taught me the first two cords and some basics for this song.

Then he asked me if he could be my boyfriend, I said ok I think that’s enough and left him there…

Two great Philosophies for lonely travel (by Lonely Planet).


Find where humour hides, Laugh at the absurdity of culture. Laugh at futility. Laugh at error. Laugh at misadventure. Laugh in the face of bad luck, chaos, misfortune and hostility.
"Life can be a comedy or a tragedy - it just depends how you look at it."
-W. Allen

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Drink yourself into oblivion...hit rock bottom, and then open your eyes. People are adaptable. We secretly like and need to go through cycles of pain to then fully appreciate the intensity of the good times. Sometimes you need to wallow in misery. Do it until you are purged and then move on. Move up.
"Happiness is more than momentary bliss."
-Aristotle

CHECK OUT MY UPDATED PHOTOS AT....

http://au.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/debsi_photos/my_photos

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Photos

View of the city Ariquipa
many many tiny cars to push through tiny spaces

Look Closely
there are many things in this pic.. my guitar, my book opened to peru, my flag of peru and where I am. I like it.

Ariquipa Side Streets
This is where the crazy crying guitar teacher lives