Jewamongyou

One of the highlights of my Peru vacation was my visit to the Larco Museum in Lima. It is a private museum and houses the largest collection of pre-columbian art in the world. It’s unusual in that visitors have access not only to the regular exhibits but also to the storage area, home to over 40,000 artifacts. While photography is allowed, flash photography is not – and much of the museum is kept quite dark.  This makes it difficult to get good photos, especially through the security glass and when the objects are higher up near the ceiling.
I’ve always been a fan of Moche (also “Mochica”) art. The Moches appear to have practiced just about every abomination known to mankind. Human sacrifice, slavery, torture and probably an assortment of sexual perversions. Here’s an explanation of Moche human sacrifice found at the museum:

But, in my opinion, the skill and imagination evident in much of their art rivals that of any other civilization. Here are a few samples of the hundreds of photos that I took.

Some of them look like they have some Egyptian influence, some look Polynesian and yet others seem to depict negroes (except for the large ears). One or two seem to show something like dinosaurs. The erotic collection is especially unusual; various animals are shown copulating and many of the humans are clearly corpses. Some would say it’s the stuff of nightmares. I got the impression that some of the ideas were inspired through drugs.
When we think of Peru, the Incas come to mind. But they were only the latest of a long series of civilizations that inhabited that area. From the far north, through the mountains and deserts of the south ruins, mummies and petroglyphs are found. Not far from where I stayed, in Mira Flores, is a very large complex of ruins called Huaca Pucllana.

While quite impressive considering its antiquity, Huaca Pucllana pales in comparison to such attractions as Machu Picchu or the Nasca Lines. I would say it’s comparable to the Great Zimbabwe (feel free to correct me if I’m wrong) in Africa but it’s much older. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if comparable ruins of the same age had been found in sub-Saharan Africa. Would an entire country be named after it? Would “Huaca Pucllana” be as famous as Stonehenge or the Great Pyramid of Giza?
What astounded me the most in Peru was the Inca stonework in Machu Picchu and Cusco. How much work went into this? It’s hard to say.



That’s it for now folks!

I’ve  been toiling obsessively over the photos I took in Peru. They number in the thousands and some of them are destined to grace the pages of this blog. Also, I’m still fighting the cold I got over there. Those are my excuses for not posting in a while. But don’t worry. There will be new posts soon enough.
I won’t be making it to this year’s American Renaissance conference. It’s all because of money. More precisely, not enough of it. Perhaps if I’d known about the upcoming conference, I wouldn’t have made such ambitious plans for my vacation.

Before leaving for Peru I’d read numerous reports of highway bandits, kidnappings, robbers and camera-snatchers. I was concerned enough to have devised a special strap for my camera, to insure my valuables and even get pants with special hard-to-pick pockets.
In the end, most of the time I was there I felt no more threatened than in Portland. There were a couple of exceptions: Some parts of Iquitos made me uneasy and I definitely passed through some ultra-seedy parts of Lima to and from the airport. Also, while near Machu Picchu, an older couple told me that their daughter had gone missing. They were on the same tour as I was and they asked if I’d seen their daughter during the past few hours. I hadn’t and I never did find out how that ended. A combination of apathy and dishonesty means you cannot assume appointments will be kept in Peru. You shouldn’t trust anyone until/unless you get to know him.
But there were several instances where shopkeepers could easily have shortchanged me – and they didn’t. There were times when I dropped/forgot items and they were duly returned to me. People walk around with cameras all the time, natives and tourists alike, and I didn’t see anybody lurking in the shadows to snatch them. Passersby are eager to help strangers in distress and I’m convinced that 9 times out of 10, those who purchase those pathetic packets of gum from street vendors do so not because they want the gum, but because they want to help the vendor and allow him to keep his pride at the same time. This was certainly the case with me. The gum is awful, but I couldn’t turn down those pleading eyes – and one Sole is about 40 cents. It’s so easy for an American tourist to make a poor Peruvian’s day that much brighter.
I hope to stay in touch with the new friends I made over there, some of them Peruvians and others fellow travelers. Even the briefest encounters can be meaningful – like the British girl I met at the Lima hostel. I had just arrived, not one minute earlier, and she burst into the room clearly distraught. She proclaimed that a 16 year-old girl had been stabbed to death by a black man right near where she lived. She had to catch a bus in a few minutes, but during that short time we had a lively conversation about the sad state of affairs in Britain and the Western world as a whole. I gave her the link to this blog.
Then there was the playwright and his wife, who sat next to me in the airplane back to Lima from Tacna. He reminded me of a long-lost uncle. They didn’t know where they were going to sleep that night in Lima, so they ended up staying at the same hostel I was at. We stayed up late, with some other travelers, talking and singing. The following morning, they let me have some of their delicious (and famous) Arequipa cheese. It was very good.
The young lady from Tacna who sat next to me in the Sacred Valley tour bus. Her English was good enough to explain what was being said by the guide, who spoke only Spanish and Quechua. I was going to tour the south of the country anyway, so I chose to start in Tacna and visit her at the same time. She was kind enough to visit Chile with me and show me around. She also got me to eat some of the local cuisine that I otherwise would never have tried. We concluded with shots of Pisco. Perhaps I’ll write about Pisco some other time. I did buy a duty-free bottle of it to take home. So if you suddenly notice rampant spelling errors etc. you’ll know why.
I’m at the airport awaiting my flight home and my battery is running low. So that’s it for now.

As I sit in my hotel room in Mollendo, I think back to my nights in the Amazon jungle. One of the highlights of my Peru trip, that I had been looking forward to, was to listen to the sounds of the jungle. Though we didn’t see much in the way of wildlife, the denizens of the jungle make themselves abundantly heard at night. It was like an ongoing orchestra: Insects, frogs, monkeys, birds and various mammals all pitched in. It’s quite soothing, especially since I didn’t have to worry about one of them coming to eat me.
But now I’m in a city, albeit not a very large one. The sounds coming through the window are not soothing. I estimate that roughly 90% of them are car-related. In the third world, people use their horns liberally. They use it for legitimate purposes, but also to express anger, to draw attention to themselves, to vent frustration or for no apparent reason at all. Signs in major Peruvian cities instruct drivers to keep quiet. This helps a little. Not enough in my opinion. I remember, while living in Israel, that it was said “Israeli drivers use their horns instead of their breaks.” I think this is probably true of all Mideastern countries and even most of the world. Immature drivers use their horns as a crutch to make up for their lack of courtesy and caution. The resulting noise pollution takes a heavy toll on the quality of life.
The automobile was invented by white men. It had come at a time when Western civilization had reached an advanced state of maturity (not that it was flawless). Western civilization was ready for the automobile; it was an age-appropriate toy. But I don’t think the other segments of mankind were ready for it when it was thrust upon them. For them, it’s not an age-appropriate toy. Bad things happen when people are given tools they are not culturally ready for.
Bad things almost happened to me yesterday while taking a private (AKA “illegal”) taxi from Arequipa to Mollendo. It was a  harrowing experience. The driver drove at twice or thrice the speed limit, repeatedly passed in no-passing zones, was distracted by performing other tasks such as eating and habitually drove on the wrong side of the road to ease the curves on the mountain passes. I’m lucky to be alive and drivers like that have no business operating a motor vehicle.
Obviously nobody is going to take the automobile away from third-world societies. However, it would be a step in the right direction if governments were more aggressive in educating people about common decency and safety. I’m hopeful that, as the death-toll mounts, things will start to get safer. I’d like to think that third-world drivers will grow up some day and have more respect for those around them.

I come from Portland, Oregon. So one of my goals, in arranging this vacation, was to escape the clouds, rain and cold that hang over Portland more often than not. In choosing Peru as my destination, I was interested not only in adventure but also in a break from our miserable winter back home.
But fate had other plans. While my friends in Oregon are telling me that they’ve had clear skies, I have not been so lucky. When I arrived in Lima, the entire coastal area was shrouded in a thick fog they call the “garua'”. According to the internet, the garua’ is only supposed to hang over Lima during certain months of the year; it’s not supposed to be there in February/March. Alas, this is only of only three or four times when the internet was wrong. The garua’ was there during my entire stay in Lima (both times).
I knew it was the rainy season in the high country of Peru. But, upon my arrival in Cusco, all hell broke lose. Normally it rains for a while and then clears up. But this time the rains were so heavy and persistent that news reports were telling of overflowing rivers, collapsed houses and several fatalities. I had brought record rains to Cusco and Machu Picchu. The river that flows past Aquas Calientes, near Machu Picchu, had overflowed. I saw the river myself (I think it’s the Urubamba River) in this state. It was frightening. The rains continued unabated nearly the entire time I was there and some time after.
My next destination was Iquitos. It’s the rainy season there too, and locals had told me that it usually rains for two or three days and then lets up. Not so when I was there; it rained on me every single day – and not just a drizzle either. It came down in buckets and torrents, even as we were paddling down the Nanay River. It threatened to fill our canoe and capsize us. Our guide explained to us that, due to the heavy rains, our chances of seeing wildlife were diminished. So were our chances of catching anything while fishing. The rain finally abated on the day I left.
Among the driest places on Earth is the Atacama Desert in northern Chile and southern Peru. The city of Tacna lies slightly north of it and the entire surrounding area is a desolate wasteland where little grows. Nevertheless, the clouds followed me even there. This time they brought only a drizzle.
I took the bus to Arequipa, which is in the high country. I wanted to get a good view of the famous vulcano that lies nearby: El Misti. It was clear in the morning but I couldn’t get a good view of it due to the buildings and cables that hung overhead. I’d booked an afternoon bus tour of the city, which, they assured me, would include a nice view of El Misti. Shortly after we started the tour, the clouds rolled in. When we got to the best viewing spot for El Misti, the tour guide explained that we could not see it due to the clouds.
By this time my cold had gotten worse and I realized it would be foolish for me to go ahead with my plans to take the bus to Puno; I had enough trouble breathing as it is and Puno is even higher than Cusco. Also, I’d had enough of the cold. I wanted a warm, sunny, place.
The lady at the hostel told me that Mollendo is just such a place. Highland Peruvians flock there for their getaways and it’s supposed to have nice, sunny, beaches. Early the next morning I was off to Mollendo.
When I got there, it was overcast. When I asked the hotel lady if the clouds usually clear up by mid day, she responded, “It’s always sunny here. I don’t know why it’s cloudy today; I don’t know what happened.”
I’m considering selling my services as a rainmaker to certain Middle Eastern nations. After all, I’ve accumulated quite a resume’.

After my jungle adventure, my feet were in agony from the numerous mosquito bites that populated them. I sought relief in various ways and finally decided to get some anti-itch cream. Apparently you can’t get simple, over the counter, medications at grocery stores, convenience stores or mom-and-pop places in Peru. Instead, you must visit a pharmacy (botica). I found one in Iquitos and had to wait to speak with the attendant. I was told that they don’t have anti-itch cream. The only anti-itch medication available was in pill form. This struck me as odd, but I was suffering so I took the slip they gave me and headed for the other line. There, I got 3 or 4 tablets and instructions on how to take them. I have no idea if the tablets helped or if the mosquito bites simply wore off on their own. My feet are fine now.
Back in Lima I got a cold. I wanted something for my scratchy throat. In the U.S., I could visit various grocery stores or convenience stores and buy any number of throat lozenges. Here I had to look around for a pharmacy. It was around 8:30 in the morning and the first one I found was closed. The second one was open and there were two attendants. One was busy with some sort of paperwork and the other was busy helping another customer. I waited for my turn – and waited and waited. I don’t know what the woman in front of me needed but the attendant kept asking her for information, mostly numbers. This went on for a while and I was ignored. Finally, I’d had enough and walked out. On the main street I found another pharmacy that was open. An attendant was available for me and I told her I just needed something for my throat. She suggested a large bottle of syrup, which was expensive and probably overkill; all I had was a cold. I told her I’m not in the hospital, I’m not bed-ridden and I don’t need any sort of major medication. I just needed something to soothe my throat. She asked me for how many days and I guessed that 3 would be enough. She then produced several pills and told me to swallow one every 8 hours. I guess you can’t get throat lozenges in Peru.
My guess is that the high profile of cocaine here, and the proclivity to use recreational drugs that comes with it, has lead to an attitude of extreme caution, with the public, when it comes to all drugs. Also, at some point there may have been a problem with foreigners walking into drug stores to buy pain-killers or other medications that are highly regulated in the U.S. This might have led the U.S. to pressure Peru into being more strict about such things. Just a guess.
 

Blog raju was right in guessing I was in Iquitos, Peru. Actually I just left Iquitos and now I’m in Lima. While in Iquitos, I got to spend some days in the Amazon jungle. It was rough going and an adventure to remember. Also, because of me, many mosquitoes did not have to go hungry. Those mosquitoes refuse to use condoms – so it’s our duty to feed their children!
The water was too high to see much wildlife, but I did enjoy listening to it while laying in my hammock at night. It’s like an orchestra: Frogs, birds, insects, monkeys and God knows what else.
The owner of the hostel where I stayed befriended me and told me many stories. He’s a very interesting fellow and an American. Many Americans (expats) leave the U.S. for destinations such as Peru because the U.S. has strayed too far from its original values. In Iquitos, as long as you’re willing to stand up for yourself, you can do pretty much what you wish. The government isn’t nearly as heavy-handed as it is in the U.S. There, you can purchase a parcel of jungle for very little money and then live on it without anybody pestering you. You can easily live off the fruit trees, fish and wildlife. Medicinal plants grow everywhere. I was able to sample many of them, and wild fruits, straight from the trees.
Ayahuasca compounds dot the jungle. Young whites from all over the world gather there to gain enlightenment from the shamans and the Ayahuasca. They maintain a strict diet and perform various meditations to this end. I met some of them and get the impression that they are refugees from a culture that no longer provides answers for them. I’ve heard that some of them end up with damaged minds. Not all the shamans are competent or sincere. They can charge large sums of money for this service.
The jungle tour I took was on the cheap. The guide didn’t charge as much as he should have. As a result, we (myself, the guide and a young Swiss fellow) ended up paddling for miles in a primitive canoe. When the rain came down in torrents, we paddling furiously while scooping the water out in an effort to get back to the village. We also got our canoe stuck among the trees while trying to take a shortcut. Things got hairy for a while. Except for a couple of spots, we couldn’t see the shore; trees and bushes were growing out of the water and, as far as we could tell, the shore could be miles away in either direction. The boat we took to the village initially was leaky and had torn plastic for cover. It rained on us then too. On the last day, we hiked through difficult terrain for over 15 kilometers. It was brutal and very muddy. We had to cross numerous creeks on rotted, slippery, logs. We did see monkeys, some interesting frogs (including a small one traditionally used for poisoned arrows) and a poor sloth that was destined to be cooked a few hours later. Protection for endangered species is weak at best. People do as they please.
I was invited to a birthday party at the village. I got to dance with the granny whose birthday it was. I think she’s a better dancer than I am. As I was chatting with the man who’d invited me, and realizing how drunk he was, a man laying on a hammock casually leaned over and vomited on the floor. Nobody gave it any notice – maybe because the floors were simply uneven planks with plenty of space for the vomit to seep through onto the ground below. In any case, I excused myself and made my way to my own hammock.
When the Swiss man asked me what time it was, I told him it didn’t matter around here. I suggested that somebody invent a Peruvian clock that features a man on a hammock who leans over and vomits each hour on the hour.