By any traveller's standards Machala is just another town on the way to, or from the Peruvian border, yet it had its charm thanks to the thriving street market with its exotic fruits and colourful people just outside my hotel plus the nearby island of Jambeli.
During my exploration of Marchala's harbour area called Puerto Bolivar, among the massive cargo ships I encountered a small passenger boat at a pier which was accumulating day and night trippers plus three young adventurers from Argentina. It was heading for the nearby island of Jambeli. The Argentineans had recently arrived in Ecuador after making an ardorous journey by land across the Andes from central Argentina and were looking for a good beach to camp on. Within an hour we were gliding through a narrow waterway whose muddy banks were lined with mangrove trees and occupied by graceful egrets. A clump of wooden houses on stilts next to two wooden dugouts and a rickety pier announced our arrival at the village of Jambeli. A short pathway led to the other side of the island where we found a pristine, sandy beach which seemed light years away from the maddening crowd of Marchala. An extensive boardwalk was lined with shops, eating establishments and colourful artisans from various South American countries who were selling their wares. I returned that evening to the mainland where I enjoyed fresh fish at a seaside restaurant which was a favourite among the seamen.
Galapagos was one kind of reality for me and one of chasing penguins, boat rides with beautiful vistas, competitive volleyball matches on the waterfront, expensive Internet connections, and the foreign element in the form of socialization and dining.
The other kind of reality that the Marchala area offered was one of teaming markets - where fresh tropical fruit seemed to grow on the streets and children hustled plastic bags. It was a place where "Chifa's" (Chinese/Ecuadorian restaurants) made the Lonely Planet list of great restaurants, and cargo ships and sandy retreats crossed paths.
Each of these two places presented reality with a different frame of mind. This contrast reminded me that this is why I travel the way I do - to experience life exactly as it is without the false stimuli of commercialism such as in TV and movies - no filters, no illusions.
On to Peru....
I arrived in the colonial town of Truillo after an all night bus ride from Machala. From there I caught local transport to the seaside village of Huanchaco a few kilometres away where I planned to make my home for a few days while I explored the surrounding area. On the way to Huanchaco we passed rocky mountains with climbing sand dunes which looked like cascading brown glaciers.
That morning Wilma, an elderly lady with a lovely home two blocks from the sea with rooms for rent, found me wandering along the seaside street burdened with my backpack. Her offer of a room for 10 soles per night (US$3.50) was irresistible. Before heading for Truillo to enjoy the finals of the national folk dance competition of the 'Marinara', I watched the local fishermen manoeuvre their 'cabalieros' (traditional reed boats) around the sea swells.
A general admission ticket that afternoon bought me passage to what struck me as a cross between a US political convention and a bull fight with a bit of dancing thrown in for sport. The Marinera dance is a significant folk dance performed similarly all over South America. Girls ('marinera') used to come to the shore to dance for sailors ('marines') when their ships came in.
At the competition there were blow horns, noisemakers, and a brass band. Numbered placards representing dancers were waived by the crowd when a favourite entered the floor. The noisemakers, which at first seemed like they belonged at a New Year's Eve celebration, occasionally sounded like Spanish castanets. For five hours I watched couples of all ages, starting at 8 years of age, perform their spirited dance. Barefoot female dancers with long braids and layered Spanish skirts with the attitude of a Carmen gave shy come-hither glances to their male partner. Many of the males in the 30 year age group in their Panama hats with handkerchiefs waiving were so talented and sure-footed that I felt like I was watching Jose Greco, Jr. in his prime. The dancers reflected the dominant faces of Peru in black, white, mestizo and Asian. To say the crowd went wild when the last three finalists in each category came out to do their final performance would be putting it mildly. Surely the excitement expressed by them was greater than when a soccer match against a chief rival is won, if that is possible. The dancing continued well into the night long after I went to bed.
Each morning in Huanchaco I was awakened by the honk of a bicycle horn from a boy pedalling his cart labeled 'panderia' (bakery). The faint lapping of the waves on the seaside awakened me further. Soon thereafter came the sounds of water returning to the house pipes as water pressure was restored from the night before.
One of the main attractions in this area is the crumbling imperial city of the Chimu (pre-Inca from 1000 ñ 1400AD), the largest adobe city in the world (28 kilometres). It was known to be such a dangerous place for a single woman to wander around that I arranged for a police escort. Tito, who spoke only Spanish and turned out to be a great tour guide, said his services were 'gratis'. I negotiated hard for his tip after he requested US$10. I think my Spanish improved considerably that day.
Returning to Lima....
I am back at my Lima Servas Host Fernando's home once again after a six week hiatus. The backyard pool is filled with water now that summer is here and seems to always be filled with laughing children. Staying periodically at Fernando's house is like passing through Grand Central Station. Since my last visit the number of people in the household has changed from seven (including his parents, brother, sister-in-law, two 'girls' and a dog) to eleven, plus some of the live-ins had been replaced. His seven-year-old daughter Jimena and her new "ninera" (the last one had to go back to her parent's farm to help out) are living at the house now that she's out of school. His ten-year-old nephew is here with his "ninera" much of the time because its a "fun place to play". The family's live-in housekeeper had been replaced because the last one left to get married. Fernando says it is always easy to get more girls because his cousin in Piura, a town close to Peru's northern border, has an employment agency and there is always much demand for such jobs there, especially among the indigenous people. I told him that I am going to have to visit regularly to keep up with his household changes!
E-mail communication while I was on the road in Ecuador enabled Fernando and myself to work out our schedules so that we could go trekking together in the Central Andes near Lima last weekend.
One hour after leaving Lima and its nearby beaches, his red Volkswagen took us through the valley which is the lush breadbasket of the city in a place where a churning mountain river keeps the earth fertile in order to provide more than ¼ of the country's population well supplied with fresh food products. Sturdy stone walls carve up the land. Acres of 'cana' (same family as sugar cane) supply the local people with the material needed to weave the walls and roofs of their houses. We climbed the foothills of the Andes rapidly for the next hour to an altitude of 2800 metres where our trek was to begin at the village of Canta. The steamy, tropical weather was quickly replaced with cool mountain air. With the increase in altitude brown hills turned green. We forged streams that had taken over washed out roads. Water falls seemed to sprout out of mountainsides.
Canta is an adobe and brick town with the ruins of a 100-year-old bull fighting ring dominating the main street. From here we trekked on dirt roads, horse and donkey paths, and steep foot paths for six hours. The sound of a river gushing through a long, narrow valley was always within earshot. Brooks cascaded over moss-covered rocks. Peaks reaching to 4200 metres came and went from view as wispy clouds wove through the mountains occasionally revealing villages. Eucalyptus trees dotted the boundaries of rich farming plots; their strong, sweet smell crossed our path periodically. Delicate sounds of birds permeated the air along with the occasional clomp of approaching horses. Horses are the main form of transportation in this area due to the incline and state of the roads, especially during the rainy season. Men on horseback had the look of a western cowboy, their Panama hats affixed to their heads. Indigenous people we passed along the way were a great source of information helping us find our way when in doubt.
Another valley, another hill, another incredible vista. Passing through two other villages we eventually reached the picturesque village of Huacus at the highest altitude we were to hike that day, 3200 metres. Fernando pointed out federal and colonial architecture and combination thereof in the villages. New brick buildings generally stood unfinished. Contented wide-eyed babies were strapped to the backs of village women. My camera-toting presence inadvertently interrupted a town meeting that was taking place in one village square.
Before we left the mountains we enjoyed 'trucha' (the local trout) at a village restaurant. The warm tropical air hit us shortly thereafter as we headed back towards Lima.
One day in the Andes with a local person like Fernando who appreciates the dynamism of his own culture had incomparable value.
The last leg...
If there is one word which could best describe the difference I felt between the two countries of Peru and Ecuador it is "stability". The instability of Ecuador, politically and financially, was always in the air during my travels there. This was especially apparent in the evening silence of the squares in the colonial part of Quito which are in serious need of restoration and in the omnipresence of armed guards and military. In contrast I felt Peru's stability reflected in the lovely restorations of main squares such as in Truillo, Cuzco, Arequipa, and Lima and the comfort that people felt in relaxing in these squares during the day and evening hours despite the potential danger of robbery of tourists. This stability comes with a price tag, however. Prices of such things as restaurant food and public transportation are at least double those of Ecuador.
I am now entering the last leg of my trip as I head for Bolivia. In a couple of hours I will fly to Peru's eastern border and then proceed into Bolivia by bus. It is carnival time and I hope to experience this excitement somewhere in Bolivia.
Ciao!
Reprinted from Merrilee's South American Travel Odyssey available at http://www.iatravel.com/tipssamerica.htm
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