Peru stretches out, huge in scale, next to Ecuador’s tightly packed geography. At the border, the arbitrary political border, the Andes swing to the east, easing their persistent crush on the coast. The coast stretches and flexes here, like a lazy cat, spreading itself out over the landscape in the Pacific coastal haze that is ever-present here. “Garua” the locals call it.
Crossing the border at Huaquillas was a nightmare. Our newfound friend Freddy took us off guard, “helping” us in the right direction for a tip. He did pretty good on me since I had nothing smaller than a $5 bill. We spent $10 a piece for a stupid cab ride we did not want. It’s so hot here I can barely think. Humidity and heat and Tumbenos are all fighting to make me feel constrained.
Despite the bureaucratic nightmare that is crossing the border at Huaquillas, Tumbes, about 20 minutes from the border, is a nice town. It’s kind of grimy and sweaty, gritty and the people are a little more aggressive than they are in the mountains but still friendly. The men are much more “friendly” -- sst sst te amo senorita . . .
We found ourselves in the Plaza de Armas at 8:30 p.m. on a Sunday listening to a concert – big band kind of music with congos. The band was playing in an amphitheater that dominated the far end of this large rectangular park. Earlier in the day we got to see the amphitheater up close. It is an amazing three dimensional sculpture that depicts the clash of the Inca and the conquistadors. At the very top of the huge semi-circular structure was a large sun godhead watching over the violent scene below. Tumbes is the place where Pizarro first landed in Peru. Here, he found the Inca in turmoil – engaged in a bitter civil war – a battle between two brothers who both wanted to claim power of the empire. The prominence of the sun in the amphitheater is a testament to the syncretization of Incan and Spanish culture – the blending of civilizations.
There were people everywhere that Sunday, circling the plaza in a kind of promenade, sitting on benches and enjoying the coolness of evening and the music. We found out that every Sunday there’s a concert in the park. It’s summer here. Kids are out of school. People are hanging out, trying to find relief from the heat.
Later – Frank Sinatra is blaring on the stereo outside the hostal window. This is definitely better than Bon Jovi or Phil Collins, which they favor in Ecuador. I talked to some Mormons in the park while Jacob talked to some kid in a Misfits T-shirt and his much shorter friend. They talked about guns and animals and drugs and other strange things. My friends in the park wanted to know how much money I saved to travel and how long it took me to save it. They wanted to know if there were lots of jobs in America, is life easy there? It’s so hard to explain to people that my choices do not reflect the mainstream of American culture. That saving 1000 dollars was only possible for me because I shop at thrift stores, have no car and buy as little as possible. I mean even my ability to have those choices illustrates a level of privilege that does not exist here. I work a 10 dollar an hour job for nine months and save 1000 dollars to travel. It’s so much to them.
Boiling brains in witches broth of Humboldt current – a stew of heat and water.
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