Huacachina

 {For more photos, click here}

4 hours south of Lima, as the Atacamac desert starts to push inland, the city of Ica lies in a valley made productive by the Ica river that flows from the Andes and bunches up against the sand dunes. Last weekend, a summit of South American and Arabian leaders inspired the government to decree Monday and Tuesday be holidays in Lima (apparently to quiet the city as the limos shuttled back and forth). We took the opportunity to visit a small oasis literally 5 minutes away from Ica, behind the first big sand dune.



To get there, we took Cruz del Sur, a plush bus line with double-decker touring coaches. It's comfortable, they serve sandwiches and play movies. Of course this can lead to some surreal moments, as when my attention flickered between the shantytown through which we passed and Adam Sandler's "Jack and Jill". Apparently the overnight routes offer fully reclining sleeper chairs and a lounge so that when you arrive in the morning you are rested and ready to go.

Huacachina is a small gathering of funky hotels and eateries. The place draws young backpacker tourists who drink and dance all night, but by staying at the Hotel Suisse at the far end of the oasis, we were able to avoid that noise. There are plenty of tourists but also plenty of Peruanos and, on the weekends, day visitors from Ica come up to join in the activities. You can paddle/peddle around the slightly stinky lagoon, but most people come to horse around in the sand. Right behind what was our room, a giant sand dune looms straight up 12 stories or so.

We rented sandboards that are basically rudimentary snowboards. This was my first time trying to talk with someone whose primary tongue is Quechua; I think my Spanish was better than this little old woman with a slight odor and dull gaze, sitting on a blanket renting sandboards. I am thrilled to be learning Spanish, but it is clear that a very large chunk of Peru will remain foreign to me, as foreign as it is to the Peruvians living along the coast.

It is very hard to walk up the steep face of a sand dune. We pooped out fast, and hadn't really gotten much of a ride. We headed over to where a guy wearing a "Future Millionaire" t-shirt was gathering people for dunebuggy rides. The 10-passenger vehicle roared out of the oasis and out towards where the dunes are all you can see. The sensation of sliding was enough to elicit yells from us passengers, but nothing compared to when we would pop over the crest of a dune and drive almost vertically straight down. Other times, the driver would zoom straight up the face and just as the buggy was running out of steam, turn us around to zip back down. Carter hooted and hollered and then, when we had stopped at the top of a giant dune, he did not hesitate to lie on a sandboard and hurtle down the slope. There were adults who opted against the sandboarding, and at one point some other riders felt compelled to come over and ask after the age of this little fearless kid. The dune buggies were so fun, we did it again the next day, Sunday. That evening we enjoyed a dinner on the lagoon, though being around young tourists and the Peruvians who sell to them can be by turns fun or weird.

On that Sunday morning, we hiked up the humongous dune behind our room, this time traversing sideways and walking the crest line which was much easier going. From the top, we got some good views, including the poor neighborhood down on the other side. Carter and I swam in the pool while Jen ran laps around the oasis, we lunched, we dunebuggied, and then we rented a peddle boat. As we peddled towards a large stand of 10ft reeds that turned out to actually be two large rafts, the wind suddenly parted them like Moses and gave us the opportunity to get a close up of some of the cool birds hiding in there, particularly a Black Crowned Heron not 4ft away. At dinner there was a bit of tension as the restaurant's Visa machine was not functioning and my last s/100 bill ($40) was so raggedy that they refused to accept it (as had other vendors). Finally, the waiter walked a block over to stand guard as I used a street ATM, something that is generally a bad idea.

Monday, we returned home.

La Casa

This post is really just for people who really want to see our house in detail. It's a nice place and the photos make it look good. Up close, it's a little worn and we keep finding things that don't quite work right, and the downstairs is kind of dark. But all in all, it has good karma, is very functional, and has some great spaces. Considering what many people here call home, this house could be a lot worse and we would still be doing better than half the city.

	View from the back wall, the small unheated pool, the long covered patio, and bedroom windows upstairs. The embassy made us put in the stupid safety fence. The birds like this area.
	This will be a nice place to be when the weather warms up in a month or two. There is a banquet-sized table at the other end of the patio, so dining al fresco will be great.
Below are three shots from our sidewalk. In (1) you can see the kiosk for the watchman, in (2) you see the big dusty hill around which we go to get into central Lima. (3) is towards the north. The street is never this devoid of traffic though.
	There is a small courtyard for parking between the 10ft wall and the house. There's 3 garage doors in the wall, but we just have the one car.
	Left is the entry, below the (1) living room, and (2) dining room. In the living room you can see the ugly bars that the embassy forced upon us...hopefully those will be covered with curtains soon. And, yes, we intend to get a light fixture. The living room and the dining area are one room the length of the house, with a fireplace in the middle and big french doors out to the patio.
	The kitchen. Mariza will sit at the little table and eat while the rest of us eat in the dining room. This feels weird, and is something I would like to change so I don't have to feel quite so much the don of the hacienda, but attempting to change things plays out in unexpected ways when one is new to a culture. Not pictured is Mariza's small room and bath outside around the corner.
	By the way, here is a meal Mariza prepared. Lomo Saltado is a Peruvian sauté of beef and fried potatoes (basically french fries). Variations are many, but chicken is common, or noodles instead of the fries. Here she has served it with pea soup and rice and a salad. The salad features the unfailingly amazing avocado here, and the little yellow jungle fruit called aguaymanto (Cape Gooseberry). They taste like raspberry and kumquat, with the texture of a cherry tomato...and, indeed, they are relatives of the tomato.
	The den, with a little loft up on the second floor (not really visible).
	The landing upstairs, where I work (though it appears in this photo I am checking Facebook). Out the window to the left is the parking courtyard and the perimeter wall over which I see the street and the hills beyond. As I type, I have a visitor, the Vermillion Flycatcher (like a sparrow, but bright red). Usually it's the bright yellow version, the Social Flycatcher.
	Master BR
	Master Bath
	Carter's Room He likes the bars shut because then "even if a guy has a grappling hook, he can't get in". Note the Tintin painting is a scene from Temple of the Sun and the boat is called Pachacamac...and the story takes place in Peru. I painted this for Carter long before we knew we were coming here.
	Carter's Bath
	Guest Bath
	Guest Room It will be cozier by the time you get here.

Streets of Lima

Last week was a long one, marked for me by my first week of spanish class 4hrs per day. It's a great program, but getting to the other side of town by 9am is an endeavor unto itself. I am spending a lot of time on the roads of Lima, and there's a lot to see on the road.

My class is small, with a German kid, a Brazilian woman and a Texan guy. It is satisfying to finally discover some of the spanish grammar that has been swirling about me. Learning a small rule doesn't seem so small when it means I can suddenly comprehend something. Of course, on Wednesday, when the señora came running out of her house to yell at me because I had blocked her driveway for 4 hours, my spanish was clearly still so weak that she yelled at me in english. To be fair, it was totally bone-headed and I should have known better. People fit their cars into incredibly small spaces and, in this example, my gringo eyes just didn't even register that it was possible to put a car in her spot. When you get a ticket here, they put 3 giant stickers on your windows, so in addition to being fined you have to stand there in public humiliation for 5 minutes laboriously peeling the stickers off. Kind of an awesome penalty, actually...

 All over Lima, you find traffic police, most of them women who look remarkably alike. With their tight stretch riding pants, big black boots and sidearm, they perfectly fulfill someone’s kinky fetish. Not mine. When the intersection in front of us is unmoving for 10 minutes, we do dream of their arrival as they motorcycle around from traffic hot spot to hot spot. Police here are, in general, viewed through the lens of race and class. It's a potent combination, having power but being disrespected...so I choose to obey my local policia Limeño.

 Intersections have street-performers busquing for coins in 60sec intervals. Jugglers with pins or flame, break dancers, acrobats, musicians...all there. Last week, Jen and I saw a juggling clown pinned by a drunk seriously conversing with him. When a clown's expression translates as "Someone get this drunk out of my face!", it makes for a funny tableau. Completely unfunny are the apparently unattended children smaller than Carter who lean on car windows piteously. Or the Quechua-speaking grandmother, in her garb strait from the village, "selling" chiclets and pity. Younger mothers will beg with children strapped to their backs in a shawl, though when the child is 18mos it is old enough to hold the cup and press it toward you, some of their first words being those of begging. I need to start a deep, philosophy blog before I can truly explore the question as to why I have given coins to jugglers but never to beggars. It's only in true in the car, too, so who knows?

 One interesting thing in a poor country is that the streets are rife with the micro-economy. Wouldn't you like to have a woman on a 3-wheeled box-bike come along to sell you still-warm bread rolls? Or simply put some scrap on the sidewalk, and in a couple hours it is gone? Or park at the supermarket and have the guys pulling rolling barrels of water around wash your car by the time you get out?