Love and Marriage in Peru

Another issue concerning dinero was the matter of the 3 free Continental airline tickets that were donated and the two that were payed for by Gary and Alex - how to divide that cost? Since $800 bucks was stolen from David back in Mexico, he asked the group to give him the gift of not having to pay his share of the paid tickets (which everyone had previously agreed to share). They cut him a break and let him keep his dough, a gift of about $106.

After a delicate meal of pancakes we all went to the front of the hotel where Jay and Jim loaded up. A young French woman walking by stopped to admire the bikes... or Jay... so we stole her photographic eye for a few minutes to take a few last shots of the Riding to the Moon separation.

Adios, mis amigos. See you at the bottom of the world

Though we felt sorry that we couldn't go on as a group of five we all knew that smaller groups would facilitate much easier travels. Perhaps the split was even a relief. But the sadness was inescapable as Jim and Jason revved their motors and rode off down the block, arms waving goodbye. They disappeared around the corner; the remaining three bikers stood there a moment in silence then resolutely turned around and got down to business.

Licketty-split Gary, Alex and David headed off in a taxi, David to find a place to back up the overburdened NEC hard drive (my how little a gig can hold these days), and the other two to finish up some research and send and receive the group E-mail at the SAEC (short for South American Explorers Club)

Normally, the SAEC is closed on the weekends, but understanding how important our e-mail communications are (or feeling pity for our e-mail addiction), Chris and Jeff, who live in the clubhouse, opened up for us and powered up the computers. Though by the end of the afternoon, it looked like we'd worn out our welcome, we do greatly appreciate the opportunity to get and send our e-mail. Thanks, guys.

Somewhere nearby, David saw a computer training center and stopped there thinking they may have a ZIP drive. No luck, but they suggested trying the largest computer store in Peru. Getting clear directions was a different matter. It reminded David of the time in Turkey when he was looking for a kilim rug shop. He asked directions from an elderly local man who asked if he had a cigarette. David thought the old man wanted a little payment in return for his services but it wasn't that at all. The old man wanted him to walk down that road to the north while smoking half a cigarette... turn right until the cigarette is finished and then turn left to the rug shop.

It seemed that even the computer teachers, trained in hierarchical and critical thinking, reverted to this ancient method of navigation. Too bad David doesn't smoke or he probably would have made it to the shop without a hitch. As it was, what should have been a 15 minute taxi ride became two consecutive 45 minute minivan rides which were packed like oysters with the unbathed masses.

Some of it rubbed off on him which made discussing the possibility of data transfer that much more difficult when he finally did arrive at Enrique Lulli Computer Center.

They had JAZZ and ZIP drives and practically anything else he could ask for. After learning about our trip and perhaps becoming a bit envious he ripped open his last and only ZIP drive and handed it to him with three diskettes and off he was on a three hour journey into Data Transfer Land.

Everyone met back at the hostal where David called San Francisco to talk to Yolanda. Only the machine answered. He went to wash the two-inch thick city grime off in the cold shower only to be interrupted by Gary shouting, "David, Yolanda's on the phone." Buck-nekkid he asked for her to call back in ten minutes.

During that ten minutes he and Alex got an invitation to a Peruvian wedding party from a pair of fair Peruanas that promised to be a total bash. Maybe Lima wasn't such a bad place after all.

The conversation with Yolanda went okay but already he could tell that all was not well back on the home front. Two months away from home and David began to worry that his relationship of 6 years was suffering. For David the adventure that Riding to the Moon offered couldn't compare to the one that he had in San Francisco, and he began to wonder whether or not a ticket home should be his next purchase.

Later that night Alex and David met their escorts to the Peruvian wedding party where they took a taxi to the newlyweds home. This tiny apartment, walls painted marine green, cracked linoleum tiles, and smoke-filled air was not exactly what they had imagined from the description they were given earlier.

30 semi-drunk Peruanos and 5 Peruanas hooped, hollered, cheered and cajoled their lost friends into a happy marriage. One glass was repeatedly passed from man to man full of beer. It would have been rude to be there and not take part in this ritual passing of the bodily fluids. Scary thought, eh? Alex and David unfortunately appeared to be of more interest to the friends and family than the newlyweds, a sign that perhaps their welcome would soon end.

The young female escorts seemed to think it was a good time to leave so they spread their congratulations all over the room and went calmly out the front door onto the street where they caught the first taxi to the nearest safe dance club in the Miraflores district.

Macarena played at least twice. You cannot get away from that tune down here without submerging your head in the bathtub. Taxis, buses, stores, homes, shepherds and cattledrivers all have some stereo or boombox or even, we're not kidding, a roof mounted P.A. system with a huge speaker to crank out this tune. It is maddening.

David was complemented on his salsa dancing. He even made a right-handed turn (complements of Yolanda's persistance with his left feet) and didn't fall once.

Alex and David split the bar alone only to arrive at the hostal with all the metal gates locked tight. After a short while the guard was convinced we were not guerrillas from the Japanesse Embassy and he cautiously let us in and went back to his cot for some continued zzzzz's. David and Alex were soon in a similar state.

Deciding to enjoy a little solitude for a change, Gary stayed in all night. He sat up on the roof of the hostal toasting with an Israeli fellow and a couple of blonde and beautiful Danes. Cuba Libre! Speaking in perfect English, even Gary, the group got into quite a few heavy topics. For Daniel, the Israeli, the peace situation in the Middle East was of imminent concern. Having done his obligatory time in the Israeli army (and now doing his obligatory travels), and despite being more or less a pacifist, he strongly defended the right to SHOOT BACK when shot upon, and assured his fellow travelers that peace would NEVER come to the region. It was all too easy to walk down the wrong street and get a knife in your back, no questions asked, nobody cares.

The hostage crisis right here in Lima was also a topic of conversation. We were all a bit surprised how little it seemed to affect life in the city from our point of view. General security didn't seem particularly heightened. None of us had been more closely regarded by the police or military than usual, less in fact. Right near us, a major international crisis was undergoing, and if it wasn't for the 24 hour television coverage, we wouldn't have known. The idea that a city and a people could be so accustomed to armed insurrection cast an eerie pall over our midnight cocktails.

Eventually fatigue and rum got the best of all of us, and the conversation gave way to snores and dreams.

Candle fires and incense dreams

Miles - 0

We finally rolled out around 11:00 am, saying goodbye to our Danish friends (the Israeli couldn't be found...we hope he didn't walk down the wrong street!) and made plans to hook up in Cusco a few days later. Without too much trouble, we were soon weaving our way to the highway south. The thing that stood out most on our exit route was a very, very pregnant young indigenous woman hobbling slowly across the street. The odd thing was that she was wearing a huge, brand new, purple Levi Strauss & Co. t-shirt that went practically down to her knees. What was her story?

Our plan for the day was a bit ambitious and getting out of Lima so late affected it. We wanted to make it all the way to Nazca to view the famous eponymous lines, to see them either from the exalted height of a private plane or from the mundane height of our back seats.

The Panamerican Highway south was well paved and the altitude practically at sea level. Considering the conditions, we were pretty confident it would be an easy ride. The desert was gorgeous and pastel colored sandy mountains filled our view for miles.

But as we neared Pisco, where we were planning to return for the night after Nazca so as to take the nearby road across the Andes, the mid-afternoon hour and our own laziness got the best of us, and we decided to stop for the day. Nazca would have to wait for another trip, although reports that a recent earthquake had caused serious damage may take the lines off anyone's must-see list.

We drove right up to the Plaza de Armas in the center of town (of course), parked the bikes next to the main church and walked across the street to a nice little chow spot for some soup and chicken. A young boy begged to watch our bikes for a few coins. He was the most handsome boy with a face well beyond his age. His temperament, too, surpassed his years. Did he ever have a childhood?

His dark skin stood in great contrast to most of the people in the town. In fact, the table next to us, packed with a few well-to-do drunkards, teased him for his color. If we weren't out-numbered we would have crunched them for what they were saying to that boy. But we only expressed our disapproval in scowls and quelled our anger by saying to ourselves that it was just the alcohol talking. Bigotry is alive and well in Peru. Fortunately this was our first face to face encounter with such lack of education and compassion.

At this point we are going to link you to a piece one of us has written (guess who) in Spanish and its rough translation into English.