July Through September

We Went to Santa Eulalia Again

Julio and Maureen invited us for a weekend up the Rimac River canyon to the little hamlet of Santa Eulalia. This time, they had the use of a friends vacation house up there and we merrily joined them and their parents while Julito and Carter ran amok. Set among the pretty gardens was an outdoor pizza oven, so Julio and his father and brother cleaned it up and we had a nighttime pizza bake out under the sky. My Spanish is still limping along, but I was pleased to speak well enough to converse with everyone there and not force them all to English.

Jen Went to Belize

The annual conference for Peace Corps Director of Operations was in Belize City. Of course, a government conference in Belize City is not the same thing as a mai-tai laden sojourn at a beach resort, so Jen made sure to go a day early to spend at least one day at a little 10-room hotel out on a little key (island). Everybody was laid back, when she did not have cash on hand for a boatman, for instance, the hotel said no problem, we'll pay him later. Jen was picked up by a boat in front of her hotel and went out to snorkel the barrier reef. She even snorkeled with rays and nurse sharks.

Jen Went to Panama

And then, because she is being promoted to be a Country Director, she went to their conference in Panama. Jen reports that Panama is beautiful, interesting because Peace Corps volunteers seem to live with true indigenous populations, unlike many other Latin American Peace Corps countries. She got her picture taken with the President of Panama, but also a lady with a tattoo covering half her face.

We Went to Mistura

Salchipapas (hotdogs and frenchfries
cooked together)

Peruvians are rightfully proud of the international attention their cuisine is garnering. Because of that, the annual food fair in Lima, Mistura, has become one of the city's signature events. Jennifer and I joined several people from Jen's office, parking along the chilly strand of beach under the palisades. The fair is an opportunity to try all sorts of new things, though we all gravitated to the things we knew: anticuchos de corazon (beef heart kebabs), cebiche, roast pork. While we have lived in Perú we have witnessed the gradual arrival of craft brewing, so there was even a big beer tent where we were served a nice porter. Sandro got on the big screen as part of a beer tasting and our table won a free round a beer by being rowdy. Later, I did sample some unusual fare. I tried a coffee made in the jungle by first feeding the coffee fruit to little raccoonish animals called coati, then collecting the beans from their poop. "$50 per cup in New York City," the vendor kept saying. This is the Peruvian

Mazamorra Morada (purple corn and
fruit compote with custard)

version of a famous Indonesian coffee method, but I am not sure whether it will catch on here. I also tried tocosh, a milky fermented potato concoction that is super rich in natural penicillin and tastes fine, but you have to get past a smell worse than a sick donkey's stall. I drank a warming cup of cinnamon sacha inchi milk, made from the sacha inchi seed, a superfood with amazing amounts of Omega-3 fatty acids, whatever that means. There were tiny, rare chilis, there were all manner of pisco concoctions, and any number of varieties of Peruvian dry goods. Jen lost her blackberry at some point, but even that had a silver lining since it means she has been able to upgrade, the government now supports iPhones.

I Paid a Bribe

We are generally shielded from the street bribes every motorist faces and I was shocked when I asked my friend Julio how often he gets stopped for a shakedown. It's a lot, particularly on certain stretches of road. But it can happen in other contexts, too. I was caught off guard this week. The well-known agrarian university, where I take Spanish classes, celebrated a big anniversary with a huge procession that closed off half the campus. This forced me to drive to a back gate to get out, but the security lady there would not let me out until I "bought her a soda". It's was a small thing; in days past, I would have considered it an amusing idiosyncrasy of the culture, but no longer, seeing how even this small indignity injures the Peruvian pride of Julio and others like him. That being said, there was something comical about me being trapped in a university by a parade and the security lady rolling her eyes, dangling he key that will unlock the gate and, in effect, saying "Look, do I have to spell it out for you, gringo? You should BUY ME A SODA!"

Jennifer and Emma at the
Lima Cricket Club.

The Terminator made an appearance
at a costume party for one of my
teammates before going on our
Amazon raft race.

Carter and Julito on the trampoline at the Lima Cricket Club

The Dominican Republic

 

 

Playa Bonita, Las Terrenas

People & Place
Going from a South American capital city to a Caribbean one involves a shift. Like Lima, Santo Domingo has blocky colonial buildings and pre-victorian homes with graceful balconies, but the differences are significant. The colonial buildings are made of blocks of coral and fossilized sediment such that you can find shells in the walls. The balconies in Lima are wood, carved in a Moorish-influenced Spanish style, while Santo Domingo has balconies of wrought-iron much like the French Quarter in New Orleans. No surprise when you consider their neighbor, Haiti, and that the Spanish and French influences literally split the island. In Santo Domingo's colonial zone you can see that Spanish-slave-French influences have been mixing for 500 years. Indigenous influence is missing here in the DR, having been immediately exterminated whereas in Perú natives were "merely" subjugated. So Peruvian indigenous culture has persisted, particularly in the Andes and the jungles, along with black Peruvian culture (slaves) and Peruvian creole (coastal mulatto)…it's just not quite as fully blended as it is in the DR, the only officially mulatto country in the world. It's not taboo to talk about skin color in the DR; glancing at the 6 siblings we are visiting reveals a spectrum running from very fair to caramel to dark black.

Our first day, Yudi and Francisco suggested getting a guide to tour the Zona Colonial, something new to them. The old town sits behind walls with canons pointing out towards the sea and deep river. It holds the New World's first permanent fort, chapel, stone house, hospital, etc. It is easy to picture the conquistadores (and their wives) walking the cobbled streets, recreating Spain as best they could, carving a foothold in the coral and palms. A large part of this work was done by slaves brought over by Columbus on his 2nd voyage, the natives being too weak or sick with old world viruses. Santo Domingo is the funnel through which much of the New World's problematic history came. Indeed, it was way-station for Pizarro (Perú), Cortez (Mexico), Ponce de Leon (Puerto Rico, Florida). If you know the ride Pirates of the Caribbean, then you have a good picture of Santo Domingo. Indeed, the pirate Sir Frances Drake famously pillaged here. The tour was great and we sat afterwards having supper at outside tables on the main colonial plaza, Yudi singing along exuberantly with the strolling musicians that approached us. Driving home, we wound through streets made even narrower by the domino tables and groups of people sitting in the street outside the corner markets.

Food & Drink
Japan has it's tea ceremony, Ethiopia has it's coffee ceremony…the Dominican equivalent is much less formal: Presidente beer served in little plastic cups. Whenever possible, we stop and refresh ourselves with a few bottles and, if the bottle is well-frosted, everyone will murmur 'bien fria" (nice n' cold). We wrap the bottle in a paper napkin and keep each other's beer cold by refilling every 5 minutes or so. In Constanza, our family's hometown in the highlands, there is actually a guy who sells his own craft beer by the plaza, with funky art on the wall. But the Presidente ritual seems unshakeable.

seafood mamajuana

I am a fan of rum: good, cheap and plentiful in the DR. So I was pleased to enter a shop specializing in Mamajuana, the Dominican tincture of dark rum, wine and honey. Bottles are filled with a variety of barks and leaves, anise and cinnamon among them, and then topped off with the liquid. A well-seasoned bottle can be enjoyed fully, then refilled with rum and 24hrs later enjoyed again. There's a variation known to be particularly good for the libido: mamajuana with mariscos (seafood) instead of bark. I tried a shot taken from a bottle full of tentacles and wrinkled mollusks. It was surprisingly pleasing.

Like eskimos who have 30 words for snow, Dominicans have uncountable phrases describing the various ways you can eat beans and rice. Their stews are rich with meats and yams and yucca, and plantains come in many forms (my favorites being "tostones", where slices are fried fresh like chips, and "mofongo", a mash with onion and bacon). Chicken abounds, but we also enjoyed a platter of steak, grilled pork chops with chimichurri, and fine blood sausage. At the beach, we got fresh fish that we BBQ'd with lime. Fresh coconut water is sold on the roads, expertly opened with a few good whacks of the machete. If you pull up at certain roadside stands, men will come up offering you sizzling samples of chicharrón balanced on the end of their over-sized machetes. If you are convinced, they will throw a skillet over the wood fire and hack off portions from the roasted pig, heating the cracklings and serving them to you with yucca. Different areas seem to specialize in different things; on our way to the beach, we stopped and sampled cheese hanging in balls from the rafters; on the way down from the mountains, we stopped and sampled Dominican arepas (cooked corn meal…unlike the Central American version or Mexican polenta, it was very smooth, sweet or salty versions, cooked into giant loaves the size of your bed pillow).

Music
Within minutes of arrival in the DR, one seems to be surrounded by bachata music (the endemic Dominican "country" music) and, very possibly, dancing. The whole world of Latin music is popular, but bachata seems to be born into their blood with danceable rhythm, rolling and tinkling guitar work, and romantic lyrics of love and betrayal. Our friends and family there will take any opportunity to dance, switching partners happily, even leading us gringos through the basics (uno-dos-tres-pause).

Basi sings mariachi

One night, we joined the other adults at a place that hosts a mariachi sing-along with a live band. The family's dad, Kino, still lives up in the mountain village of Las Auyamas, and is famous for his love of Mexican mariachi. The kids all have strong memories growing up, Sundays with Kino drinking and blasting the mariachi until morning. So at the sing-along, Yudi and her brother, Basi, get up and sing and dance, calling Kino and holding up their cel phones so it can be heard back in Las Auyamas. On a side note, mariachi is not just in the DR…Jen has come across people in Perú with a deep affection for mariachi and by the end of the evening I found myself wondering how I could grow up surrounded by it in Los Angeles and not have paid it any notice.

Santo Domingo
We stayed with Yudi and Francisco, me sweltering in the heat, waiting for late afternoon when going outside starts to make sense. It did not take long for Carter to be running around with the other kids, no doubt aided by his Spanish. He got along particularly well with Basi's son, Marcos, one year older than him. Carter liked the cannons at the Zona Colonial and the next day when we went to a kid's museum, situated in a 500-year old mansion, with displays about energy, dinosaurs, recycling, the human body, Dominican culture and local history. A frozen yogurt afterwards at an American-style chain was much appreciated by all. Another night we went to a new family park featuring all sorts of stuff, even a couple endangered Dominican iguanas. Santo Domingo, like Lima, seems to be working towards more and better public spaces. We passed an area along the ocean cliffs of the malecon packed with people doing a giant outdoor zumba class or using public exercise equipment.

Las Terrenas
Our departure for the beach was delayed when it turned out that the grocery we were at apparently has a fraud rating so bad that the Visa rep on the phone had never seen so low. Even with me verifying my identity on the phone, the rep informed me that any further attempt at that store would result in the cancellation of my card. Finally, loaded with groceries and luggage, we caravanned out of the capital, cutting north on the new toll-road that cuts what used to be a 4hr trip in half. Our route cut through palm-oil plantations and a verdant set of hills before dropping us into an area of long, flat rice paddies with flocks of white egrets and cows. We stopped to wait for another carload coming from the west and for gas, which meant we could refresh with beer and, since the music was good, a quick dance in the parking lot. A cheer heralded the arrival of the rest of the clan and we drove up over the hills to our beach town. The house we rented was a hot, 15-minute walk from the beach…but with a pool and a view out over the palms and ocean, it was great. The pool was almost permanently occupied, except during a couple outings to the beach. The beach is postcard perfect. A narrow strip of sand, with shady palms leaning over, and water so clear you can count your toes. We spent 3 days like that, with the stereo blasting bachata nonstop. Carter pointed out that the coconut was a new experience for him, and he counted other firsts: a chameleon changing colors in front of his eyes, a shooting star, huge bats, piggy-backing on a motorcycle in true DR style (3 people at once), a midnight lightning storm, and touching a bug with two bioluminescent spot glowing in the dark like bright green alien eyes.

Las Auyamas
We loaded up and cut west across the island, making for the highlands where the family originated. After some starts and stops, we left the main highway and proceeded to climb up the winding hillside. 15 years ago, when I first made this trip, the road was still a death-trap of gravel ruts and drop-offs. Now paved, the road allows beautiful vistas and the environment changes from lowland jungle palms and creepers to grassy hills and aromatic pines. Las Auyamas sits in a wooded green bowl, walking distance to the town of Constanza. Homes are mostly modest cinderblock boxes, though on the low end there are still shacks of corrugated tin held down by stones and on the high end there are now vacation cottages not too far away. When Jen lived here in her 20s it was decidedly more rural, the family home still had a dirt floor and an outhouse. Over the years, things have changed, but not all that much. The house is tiled, there's an indoor bathroom and, while we were just there, crews were actually installing street lights and grading the dirt roads to be paved. Still, the grading equipment would occasionally have to shoo a cow off the road. Sipping coffee one morning at the little house some of us visitors had rented, Jen and I watched a man taking his horse and hand plow to his fields (hint: put the blade of your hand plow into an old tire…this makes it much easier for the horse to drag it along until you get to your field).

Carter went feral, running of with Marcos and another cousin, Alex. The sword fights seemed to go on for days and they were up in the trees for hours at a time. It's the first time Jen and I have experienced Carter not wanting to be with us; he even rode in Marcos' car whenever possible. I'm sure we'll resent it eventually, but at that moment it was nice to have a little freedom. Las Auyamas is so small, really just a couple of crossing dirt roads, and everybody knows everybody…perfect for young boys. I swear, once I simply wondered out loud about Carter's whereabouts and the next thing I know, word of mouth has spread and the boy comes rolling up on the back of someone's motorcycle.

We spent a day running errands around Constanza, preparing for a big mariachi/taco party at the house. We still found time to go up to the valley viewpoint, or stop for some beers. In the end, the "big" party was all the same family members, the mariachi karaoke we'd planned never materialized, and tacos weren't served until midnight. But the ladies were dolled-up and the bachata was infectious and we danced late into the night. Actually, Jen and I went to bed at 3am, but several people stayed up dancing. I am not exaggerating: the party only ended at 10am when the power went out and killed the music. When I wandered back to the family house late morning, I was served a breakfast of tomato slice on bread by one of the ladies still wearing her outfit from the party.



We departed Las Auyamas by way of a longer, scenic route that rode atop the spine of high hills, heading north. Views were wonderful, though Jennifer was feeling the effects of the party and not thrilled to be on a winding road. I noticed several blonde mulatto families, even some redheads, and Yudi told me that the area was so long isolated that it was known to harbor some very old genetic rarities. We dropped down into the vacation town of Jarabacoa ("Always Springtime!"), where several rivers come together. At a riverside hotel down a back road, we sat and had fresh fruit smoothies and lunch to the sound of rushing water, while Carter and Marcos took their sword fight to the bridge or out on the rocks. 

The next (and last) day back in Santo Domingo, we found we had little time (or energy) to do very much before our scheduled flight. Yudi went out and while standing in line at the market, decided to call around for massage appointments for her and Jen. Nothing was available, but a freelance massage therapist overheard her, carrying her cremes and oils no less. Next thing you know, they show up in the apartment and Yudi and Jen are getting great massages and exfoliating sugar scrubs for $15 each. That, and Darlene's fabulous stew at Basi's house, sent us on our way back to Lima, relaxed, and with full stomachs.

4th of July

July: Scene Change

The main change of scene is that July is Winter Break for Carter and the transition from 2nd to 3rd grade. Not only is he pleased with this, Jen and I are relieved to have a month of school vacation in which he takes a bus to morning camp, traffic is light and we get an extra hour sleep. The "llovizna" is back...the low mist that blankets Lima for much of the winter here. This is also the time of year when turnover happens at the embassy, a whole contingent picks up and moves on to new assignments. This means less to Jen and I than for others; still, friends of Carter's are going, people I play soccer with, etc.

Meanwhile, our 4th of July also reflected two very different scenes. The first happened the night before the 4th; we attended an open-air celebration at the ambassador's residence, a manor house in the middle of the city. It's was a formal affair, so after navigating the pitted back streets and traffic that I have become familiar with, we parked and went through security, with the metal detector seeming like a magic portal from the clamor outside to the manicured lawns and tea lights inside. This annual event is pretty much obligatory, we all arrive early enough to be there when all the various Peruvian VIPs show up, and the bar does not open until they arrive. For all that, it's very pleasant…a deluxe spread of sushi, servers circling with good beer and wine, and a Peruvian swing/jazz band doing really great renditions of the classics my grandmother used to dance to.

For the 4th itself, Jennifer and I headed out for a rare chance to see the kids at the Hogar on a weekday. These last 2 weeks have seen a couple of large groups of American teens visiting, learning, helping out where they can. We brought some apple pies, and the Hogar kids gathered outside on the patio for little lesson on the 4th of July and to wish us all a happy day. It was a fun day, though not without some sobering points. I was trying to fix some of the disintegrating bikes out back while Bruno, a 10yr old burn victim, had his physical therapy which means the therapist stretches his hand to keep the affected skin from healing up too tightly and crippling him. For Bruno it seems to mean he screams for 5 minutes straight, exiting afterwards for all the world trying to pretend he was tough. More profoundly sad are the test results that show Julia's leukemia is back with a vengeance, so much so that people seem to assume the worst. A pre-teen girl, as nice as can be, she seems to assume the worst too. At the playground, with all the kids, she sat alone on top of a play structure with peeling paint when I asked her what she was doing. "Just taking the sun," she said and, sure enough, there was a final lick of sunlight that she had found there. What could I do but join her up there for a bit, too stupid to say anything? Then some of the kids wanted to steer our car while on my lap, and Lisbeth peed her pants and Kiara threw a sulk-tantrum with Jennifer and we took them all back to the home.

But forget about that! What about the World Cup?!

I hear from folks back in the States that the World Cup is getting more attention than ever before. That's good, because Carter and I have caught World Cup fever. Perú did not qualify to go, but even so the streets are empty during games and TVs in supermarkets are like man-traps, snaring groups of men, transfixing them. Without their own team, most Peruvians have a detailed set of priorities to determine who they root for. For example, they want the Cup to stay in South America EXCEPT not in Chile (The Saltpetre War 1880). Not so much Ecuador (small wars and border disputes). And they tend to root for underdogs…so the U.S. got a lot of support, and when Costa Rica upset Chile…well, the cheer might have been heard in Brazil. For the record, this is the first time Carter has really felt the emotions of being a sports spectator. For better or worse, he's a fan now! A couple of other spouses like me, JoJo the Paraguayan and Aquiles the Ecuadorian, have been watching.


The pickup soccer games continue to be fun, though for a while there during the Cup no one was showing up hardly at all. I've improved somewhat, even scoring a couple of "real" goals (in which I actually did something, rather than just being in the right place at the right time to tap a ball into the goal). Of course, my age and sedentary proclivities mean my joints complain for 24hrs after every game. Worse, during one game a tendon in my knee actually made an audible POP and I have a distinct memory of the expression of horror on the opposing player's face when he heard the sound and I buckled to the ground. But I soldier on!

I've been taking Spanish classes almost every weekday for 3 months now, and it's finally starting to show. I am able to have more comfortable conversations with people now, and it's almost to the point where my Spanish is as good as JoJo's English and certainly better than Aquiles. I've been going to classes at the Agrarian University, right near our home, at a language center tucked among trees, rutted roads, and forestry classrooms. [trivia: just prior to winning the Presidency of Perú, Alberto Fujimori ran the Agraria. He's now in jail, convicted of crimes during the Shining Path years] Anyway, Rosario, my teacher, is very patient and the people at the language center are very nice, even gathering for my birthday to share cake and Inca Kola. Now, being Winter Vacation, Rosario is tutoring Carter 2hrs per day at home. We leave in a week for the Dominican Republic; I'm looking forward to being able to converse with the many in that family who speak no English. I've spent many evenings there drinking rum with the guys there, all in good fellowship, but not saying much.