Lima, Peru

Saturday, December 11, 2004:

At 8 AM I hailed a cab outside my hostal and asked the driver to take me to the Plaza de Armas, the historic center of colonial Lima. He nodded and grinned. It was a grin that seemed a little bit too excited --- a grinning skull sort of grin identifiable both with insanity and, yes, with death. No sooner did I shut the door than he peeled from the curb and steered full speed like a madman down cluttered alleys and sidestreets before swerving onto the ramp down to the main expressway, the "ditch." Fortunately, when I say "full speed," I mean approximately 45 miles per hour; the little corroded box with wheels he was driving could not possibly move any faster. Apparently possessed of a deep phobia of remaining in the same lane for more than 3 consecutive seconds, my driver swerved back and forth, back and forth, across the yellow lines. For the most part, he wasn´t passing other cars while he was doing this.

We flew up the off-ramp exit from the ditch and mercifully came to an almost-full stop at a red light. I realized that the only thing that kept my driver´s urge for speed at bay was the knowledge that hundreds of nearly-just-as-insane drivers were careening full speed through the intersection we were now facing. No sooner than the light changed, he made up for the pause with a vengeance, pressing the gas to the floor.

As we drove on, I saw several pedestrians standing on the grassy island separating the lines of the highway we were now driving on. They looked as if they were about to make a run for it, taking advantage of a brief gap in the wheeled parade of death that was making its way in their direction. This, I thought curiously, would make for an interesting test. Would drivers permit these people a brief respite for the time it would take them to jog across the road? Would Lima traffic resemble the traffic in Mediterannean countries where drivers, for the most part --- and in spite of their crazed desire for maximum speed --- respected the pedestrian who boldly crossed their path on his purposeful way to the other side? I had learned that in Naples, for instance, all you must do to cross the 5-lane rivers of 80 MPH beeping madness is crouch behind a little old lady as she confidently canes her way through it all.

Fat chance. Were she to try such a thing here in Lima, that sweet little old Italian lady would fly 70 feet through the hot, dusty air before landing on the pavement and being run down by a succession of 17 diesel-spewing trucks, some of which are steering purposefully at her. One of the pedestrians I was watching, a native Limeño, took one apprehensive step into the road and, recoiled by the sound of dozens of angrily blaring horns singing songs of his imminent death, turned tail and dashed madly for cover. He looked terrified. And he lives here, I thought. Take notice.

We stopped at a gas station. I noticed that it is standard for the man at the pump to take the keys of the driver before pumping his gas. At first I assumed this was for the obvious reason of avoiding theft by a driver who takes off without paying. Then it occurred to me that the gas station attendant was probably even more concerned with becoming another victim of Lima´s vehicular carnage. As if to punctuate this thought, my driver spasmically tapped his foot on the pedal, in sync with some unknown, deranged beat in his head.

At a traffic light, we were treated to an impromptu acrobatic display by a pair of street performers. Small lean men in their early twenties, dressed in baggy sweats and t-shirts, they executed a series of multiple backflips and twists across the highway. When the light changed, they bolted out of the road for safety, clearly aware that their ability to impress the drivers at a stop would do little to keep those same drivers from mowing them down at the first sight of a green light.

Finally the highway gave way to a smaller one-way street. A light was clear at the end of it, where a large open space was letting in sun. The temperature was rising, desert dust hanging in the air. We passed old yellow buildings, massive, with huge iron-barred windows. Their paint was peeled and worn by the sun. Then, at the end of the road, we pulled out into Plaza de Armas, an immense square with an open park lying between its four busy streets. The Governor´s Palace and the Cathedral of Lima (built in 1555, rebuilt most recently in 1746 after earthquakes decimated the original and several efforts at reconstruction) dominated on two sides, but the other two sides were ringed by a series of grand colonial-style mansions and municipal buildings, mainly in shades of yellow and orange.

The driver let me out on the park side and I wandered to its center to get a look at the large but rather plain bronze fountain that stood there, built in 1650. I then walked slowly around the square to take a closer look at the buildings. The Cathedral was not yet open for visitors but a wedding was about to commence in one of the adjacent, connected chapels. Troops stood at attention outside the Governor´s Palace. Further down a side street, a tank and an armored personnel carrier stood perched, turrets aimed at a highway that approached the building. There were not many people in the square yet, though it seemed to picking up in pace with each passing moment.

I walked down the pedestrian street, Jiron de la Union, lined by shops and stretching for five blocks. Many stores were still in the process of opening for the day. I found myself a diner and had a light breakfast sandwich and coffee while watching people pass by outside. Several children wandered in, trying to sell me candy, then asking for money when I said I didn´t want anything. Each time, the waitress chased them out, yelling.

After my meal, I continued to the end of Jiron de la Union, which spilled into another immense public square, the Plaza San Martin. Ringed by enormous, soaring colonial buildings, the Plaza looked a picture of central Madrid (though, not having been there (yet), I cannot make any further comparisons). In the center of the park stood a bronze statue of one of Peru´s liberators from the Spanish, General Jose de San Martin, which was built in 1921. However, another more interesting attraction lay in wait for me. For once my Lonely Planet book did me right by pointing it out. One side of the base of the statue of San Martin was decorated with a smaller statue, that of Madre Patria. Apparently, the craftsmen who built her in Spain were directed to place a crown of flames upon her head. However, the Spanish word for "flame" is llama and this caused some serious confusion. A close inspection of Madre Patria shows that upon her head is... a tiny little llama. Bit of a mix up there, no?

I walked back down Jiron de la Union, warding off shoe-shine boys and money changers. When I reached Plaza de Armas once more, I paid my admission fee and entered the Cathedral. It was time for the main event --- time to see Pizarro´s tomb.

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I pause this journal entry for a brief, obligatory educational break.

Its history time, girls and boys, the sort of history meticulously researched over the course of a grueling 5 minutes on the internet and fused with the remnants of what I can remember from 8th grade social studies. So rest assured that the following must be entirely, 100% accurate:

Francisco Pizarro (b. 1475-1478, d. 1541) founded Lima, "City of Kings" on January 6 (the Day of Kings), 1535. Born a poor and illiterate bastard (in every sense), he later strove overcome any insecurities he may have felt by leading a gold-prospecting war party into South America and Peru and ruthlessly slaughtering 1000s of Incas, including their king, Atahuallpa, who he tricked, took captive and then ransomed. Although he received all of the random gold he asked for, Pizarro had Atahuallpa executed nevertheless. The Incan empire fell into disarray soon thereafter as the Spaniards consolidated power. However, Pizarro continued in his own lifetime to face insurrections by the Incas and competitors for power. He was assassinated in Lima on June 26, 1541.

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It turns out that you don´t have to search very far in the Cathedral to find Pizarro´s tomb. His body is lying in an ornate casket that faces the very plain, very ordinary wooden desk at which the ticket vendor sits. Mosaics in light blue and yellow on the wall mark commemorate his "accomplishments." Otherwise, the coffin just lies there front and center and, in my view, somewhat ironically undignified by the ticket vendor´s presence. He wanted gold and now he´s a showpiece attraction to sell $3 tickets.

I spent another half an hour exploring the rest of the Cathedral. As far as immense, overdone churches are concerned, this one is on par with plenty of those you can see in Europe. Want gold? Got that. Want immense statues and paintings of Biblical scenes? Got that. Some of the artworks, such as a twelve piece series of paintings depicting each zodiac sign, have some originality to them. Many displays, however, are reminiscent of a Catholic Disneyland. Which is simpy to say, I´ve seen much more tasteful versions elsewhere.

My cab driver back to Miraflores was as crazy as the first. He was young, very young, possibly less than 20. His youth did not stop him from exhibiting fully mature signs of insanity, however. He was beyond his years in that regard. At first I thought he was talking to me as he drove, then I thought he was talking on a cell phone. Finally, I realized that he was talking to himself. And laughing at whatever it was he was saying. What a funny guy I am! And me too! Such was the conversation as it seemed. He did snap into lucidity just once, to try to convince me to pay him 12 soles instead of the 8 we agreed to. No longer surprised by this sort of behavior, I ignored him, fully prepared to begin laughing and cackling to myself if the circumstances should call for it.

That evening, I walked down to the cliffs overlooking the beach. Heading south for half a mile, I came to the LarcoMar shopping mall, which was built into the cliffside, with views of the ocean and beaches below. The mall is not a closed building. Rather, it is a two-level structure without a central roof, essentially a mall with the ceiling peeled off of the public areas. The shops themselves all have roofs, of course. You enter LarcoMar from the top, descending a flight of stairs to reach the first level and another flight to reach the second. The range of shops is eclectic and interesting, though not all of what they sell is impressive. While you will not find much in the way of designer products here, you will find higher end Peruvian artisanal products. There is a store specializing in llama and alpaca products, others specializing in jewelry, ceramics, and indigenous designs. One area included a temporary art display, admission free. There were plenty of restaurants, including fast food joints (mainly Peruvian, though a KFC and Burger King were present) and more upscale establishments (including a sushi bar). Several restaurants and a coffee shop were built on the side facing the ocean, with balconies looking straight down to the beach. Other typical mall standards were there: A movie theater, a radio shack, clothing stores and ice cream stands. There was even a large video arcade named, of all things, "Coney Island."