Tours by Megan: Or, How to Make your Friends Violently Ill in Just One Week!

These are my best friends from high school, Emily and Lauren:

Three weeks ago, they stumbled off of a terrible American Airlines flight and into the waiting arms of Rachel, for I was still in transit, somewhere between Portland and Dallas and Miami and Lima. I got home around 5 AM, climbed into my bed, and woke up four hours later to find the ladies standing in my courtyard, trying to decide whether it was a good idea or a bad idea to go exploring on their own.

And explore we did. In 10 days, we wandered around Pueblo Libre, Barranco, and El Centro; we saw Yuyachkani's new show and attended a video performance/party at elgalpon; we traveled to Nasca, Cuzco, and Machu Picchu by bus, train, plane, and several combis; and we ate cuy, camote chips, and cebiche (plus the occasional Esnickers). We also missed out on a lot of REM cycles. Lauren and I stayed up all night and spent a few hours waiting at a gas station, drinking chocolate milk, to catch our 4 AM bus to Nasca:

Then two days later we stumbled out of bed around 3:30 AM to hop a plane to Cuzco, where we stayed at the incredible Hospedaje Caith, part of Centro Yanapanakusun, a non-profit that works to support domestic workers' rights. Here's a non-profit that's doing something right: all proceeds from the hostal support their programs, which include a home for young women doing domestic work in Cuzco; a radical radio program run by the young women; outreach in and around Cuzco; workshops with domestic workers and employers; and other really cool organizing. If any of you, dear readers, find yourself planning a trip to Machu Picchu in the next few years, I highly recommend staying there.

Anyway, we spent two days exploring Cuzco, then we slept in until about 6 before taking the bus/train to Aguas Calientes, the somewhat sad tourist city at the base of Machu Picchu. It was overwhelming: Europeans and North Americans everywhere, Yale "study abroad" counselors trying to befriend us (trying to steal our artifacts, more like it), restaurant hosts and hostesses fighting for our patronage. Yeesh. But it turns out that Machu Picchu was worth it. I suppose this is why it's a wonder of the world:

The next day Rach and I got up at 3 AM to climb Machu Picchu in darkness and to get entrance stamps so we could go up Wayna Picchu. Clemente, a security guard at Machu Picchu who does this hike every morning (the bus costs $7 each way, which is a lot of money for a twenty-minute ride), offered to walk us up. It's a good thing he did: we were hiking by moonlight up hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of steps, and I'm not sure I could have done it if I hadn't been worried about making him late for work. He also regaled us with stories of weeping tourists who had lost their entrance passes, a story that we saw reenacted around 5:15 AM by a rather unfortunate British girl. Finally, a bit after 7 AM, we watched the sun rise over Machu Picchu. This was spectacular, even though we were sitting right in front of an Italian tour group whose guide was going on and on about the heroics of Hiram Bingham.

Also on this day, the Domestic Workers Bill of Rights was passed in the NY State Senate!!!

Finally, all those nights of sleeplessness plus a bad sunburn and a pussing toe took their toll: Emily and Lauren ended up sick in bed for our last day in Cuzco. Whoops. Sorry, guys!

Pobrecitas. Plus, they missed out on Corpus Cristi in Cuzco, in which they parade 15 saints around the central square, each saint accompanied by his or her own brass band and dancers:

On Corpus Cristi, it's also traditional to eat Chiri Uchu, or a cold plate of chicken, cuy, cornbread, seaweed, fish eggs, and corn. Yummm. Emily didn't seem to regret missing out on this one, though, and we brought Lauren a plate to eat in bed.

Then it was back to Lima via a long-delayed one-hour flight, made tolerable only by Lauren's sister's pub quizzes, and then the ladies flew back to the States. Now I'm in week two of Normal Life after a whole month of travelling. This is an interesting adjustment, but luckily the World Cup is around to keep me from being too productive. My roommates are divided: one for Argentina, one for Germany, a few indifferent. Personally, I'm going for the vuvuzelas.

So that was the trip. Lauren and Em, thanks for coming! Love you, ladies!

Semana Santa en Ayacucho

Easter has always been a big deal in my family, full of masses and celebrations and late nights. Nonetheless, nothing in my Catholic upbringing quite prepared me for Semana Santa, Ayacucho style.

Ayacucho is nine to thirteen hours east of Lima, depending on which bus company you choose to take. Rachel, her parents, and I learned this the hard way, on a cold, rickety, bathroom-less bus that crept up and over the Andes over the course of a very long night. We had arrived for the Grand Finale of Holy Week: the Saturday Night Vigil on the night before Easter. In the States, this is generally a solemn (but celebratory) night. In Ayacucho, it's a bigger party than Mardi Gras.

There were parades, often converging on the central square from several directions. See the photo above; please also note the small explosion in the background-- someone setting off some fireworks. We danced to these awesome brass bands, ate some delicious pork sandwiches on the street (on a Saturday in Lent-- offending both the Catholic and Jewish traditions in one fell swoop), admired rugs and other beautiful crafts, and went to the Vigil mass at 8 PM. And then, as soon as Mass ended, the party began.

This brass band played valiantly for hours to a crowd that grew more and more rowdy and drunk as we got closer to dawn. Rachel and I made a few friends with our sweet moves, and they decided to teach us how to perform acrobatics. "Toss the Gringa" may not be a long-standing tradition in Ayacucho- the celebration attracts mostly Peruvians- but everyone seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. Don't worry, Dad, my neck is still intact.

I was ready to sleep by 2 AM, but Rachel convinced me to stay in it for the long haul. So, we danced until three in the morning or so, pausing for snacks and coffee and lukewarm beers and fireworks displays. I had read that they would set off fireworks at midnight, but that doesn't quite do the displays justice: groups from all over the city had built about twenty enormous "castles" or towers of fireworks that they set off periodically throughout the night. Here's the last one, which they set off around 5 AM:



Rachel and I took a brief nap in front of the cathedral around 4 AM but were awoken by one of these fireworks displays. By then, the square was full of thousands of people, waiting expectantly in front of the cathedral. Finally, as the sky was just starting to brighten, a huge stream of confetti flew into the air, the Cathedral bells started tolling, and the Church doors were flung open to reveal perhaps a hundred men carrying an enormous float with an image of Jesus on top.


Here's a video the emergence of the float. It was pretty amazing, and the video doesn't really do it justice. But try to imagine that you're sleep deprived and a little drunk and surrounded by thousands of sleep deprived, drunk people who have been waiting for this moment for hours and hours.

This was Rachel's reaction to this deeply moving moment. Then everyone fell into a procession behind the float, and the band kept playing, and people cheered, and the sun came up, and Rachel and I walked back to our hotel to get some sleep. (Rachel's parents slept through the all-night party and were probably the better for it.) On our way back, I took a picture of this beautiful woman. I'd been trying not to take lots of pictures of the women in their lovely hats and skirts, because I didn't want to be one of those tourists, but I couldn't help taking just one picture.






















After crashing for five or six hours, we got up and went on a drive with an awesome taxi driver named Nino. He took us out of the city and into the countryside; we got a tour of the Wari ruins from a really smart 12-year-old boy who is going to be an amazing archaeologist one day; we ate some tunas fresh from the cactus; and we learned about the Battle of Ayacucho from an amazing little boy who played a surprisingly convincing Peruvian general. Here's a picture of the hill where the Peruvians beat the Spanish in 1825 (and yet still had to pay taxes to the Spanish for decades to convince them to leave the country...) Yes, that's a rainbow. We'll just ignore a long and ugly history of colonialism for a moment so we can admire the scenery, yes?

Yesterday we took a much more comfortable bus ride through the Andes, admiring the little herds of llamas and alpacas and trying to ignore the Spanish-dubbed version of Iron Man.

That gives you an idea of this amazing weekend; I'll post more pictures on facebook sometime this week. There are lots of other things I'd like to discuss here, but I think this post is long enough.

COMING SOON: the post I promised on Yuyachkani's Open Lab a few weeks ago; some thoughts on tensions related to tourism, gender, and whiteness; my new Spanish class; More Reasons to Love my Roommates; What Ever Happened to Maletó and What Does This Have to Do with Gender Trouble?; Megan's artistic journey in Lima; and, What Exactly Are You Doing in Lima, Megan?

Love to all. Happy Easter, and Happy Pesach, too (I'm late on both counts, as per usual).

This One Goes Out to All the Catholics Out There

I know that some of you dutifully spent Sunday Mass tearing your tiny little strips of palm leaves into even tinier strips and making a series of identical crosses. To you I say: Your palm-leaf creations are WEAK. Check it:


Yes, folks, it's Semana Santa in Peru, which means that the museums are free, the churches are open to the public, and las Gringas Altas shift into high Religious Touristry mode. I bought my own palm leaf art work from a nice lady outside the local church, which features a gold Barroque altar, and she let me take a picture of her work.

On Friday, Rachel's parents arrive, and we all hop in a bus and take an overnight ride to Ayacucho, where they have the biggest Semana Santa celebration in the country. It promises to be both claustrophic and exciting. The Saturday Night Vigil is supposed to be an all-night party, complete with fireworks at midnight. Take heed, all ye North American churches: if you blow things up, they will come.