August 2: Arequipa
Tuesday, August 14th, 2007Leaving Tacna
I woke up early, showered, and had breakfast. Unlike the Americans who had stayed at the hotel chosen by PeruTESOL, I didn’t have to flip a switch and wait half an hour for the hot water to be ready. I was grateful Kitty had arranged for us to stay at Gran Hotel Tacna instead.
I went to Serpost, the name for the Peruvian postal service, to mail some postcards. When I got there, I was told they didn’t have stamps; they could only print postage from a machine. Since I knew some of my friends collect stamps, I decided to wait until I got to Arequipa.
I walked around to take a few pictures of the pretty sights of downtown Tacna, as well as the not-so-pretty signs like the Chinese restaurant “Salon de Fu Qing.” Then I caught a taxi with Marcela and Jodi to the Tacna airport. (Kitty decided to stay until the end of the PeruTESOL conference; she would be flying into Puno from Lima via Arequipa early the next morning).
Security was relatively heavy at the airport given the size. Someone later said that Tacna is a duty-free zone, so the extra security is related to the transport of goods into the country. We got through it, though, and onto our flight operated by Aero Condor. I have to admit I was a little nervous flying on an airline that doesn’t have planes flying into the U.S., as that could be a sign they don’t meet U.S. safety standards. However, we took off and landed safely so I guess I would fly them again.
Arrival in Arequipa
Unlike Tacna that morning, Arequipa was sunny and warm when we arrived. Even the airport seemed lovely, surrounded by beautiful snow-capped mountains and volcanoes. Patricia from BNC Arequipa met us with a car to take us on our half-hour ride into the city. It turned out our first two stops—the BNC and Hostal (Inn) La Casa de Melgar—were right across the street from each other. Patricia, Jodi, and Marcela went to the BNC while I checked into the hotel.
A clerk from the hotel led me down a tiled walkway to a small courtyard. My room had a locking glass door in front of a set of double wooden ones. The doors were surrounded by a white stone border and were set into a stone wall painted a bright blue similar to periwinkle but brighter and deeper. Inside, the room felt like a cave or a museum made of wood, brick, sillar and wrought-iron but with a high ceiling, a skylight, and a modern bathroom. I’d never stayed anyplace like it, and excitedly took several pictures before I went across the street.
The BNC buildings were also mostly made of sillar. The exception was the new building, a 4-story tower of curved steel and deep red walls. I have to say it is also the only language school I’ve ever visited that had its own little art gallery.
After touring the BNC, the four of us walked down the hill past the San Francisco church to the Convento, a convent that has also be described as a small city. It wasn’t cheap (30 soles to enter), but it was worth it. It was one beautiful turn after another of terra cotta red, periwinkle blue, and sillar white walls occasionally covered with frescos and Cuzco-style paintings. Even the iron bars on the windows were pretty. I kept wishing my Uncle Dan (www.digitalrailroad.net/dano) could be there. He’s a master of photography, especially when it comes to shadows and colors and light. He could have gotten some incredible shots of the convent. I am lucky I got the shots I did, though. My camera batteries gave out halfway through our walk around the convent. Marcela had extra batteries for the new camera she had bought at the duty-free electronics market in Tacna, so she was able to lend me some until I could get back to my room and get my extras.
Lunchtime in Arequipa
By the time we finished walking around the convent, it was time for Marcela and Jodi to go to the airport to catch their flight to Puno. I had chosen to stay overnight and go to Puno early the next morning. I found out the next day that their flight had been cancelled and they had spent 6 hours in a small taxi getting to Puno. I felt sorry for them and lucky I had the afternoon and evening in Arequipa that I did.
It was about 2 p.m., a good time to take a lunch break in Peru. Marcela and Patricia had recommended two Ariquipeno dishes: chupe de camarones (shrimp soup) and rocota relleno (stuffed chili pepper). The latter sounded more tempting, but Marcela assured me I could get rocota relleno anywhere in Peru. chupe de camarones was truly special to Arequipa.
They had left me at an Italian restaurant where I could get the soup. However, when I looked at the menu, I didn’t see anything Peruvian. I got up and looked at the menu of the restaurant next door, El Meson del Virrey. I saw rocota relleno on it, and decided to go upstairs. The restaurant was a lovely one of dark wooden tables and deep red and cream-colored fabrics and walls. It felt like it could be the home of a Spanish viscount.
Although it still seemed too warm a day for soup, I gave in to the recommendation to try something truly of Arequipa. The chupe de camerones, while slightly expensive (29 soles), did not disappoint. It was a bowl of slightly creamy, basil-sprinkled broth with a tower of whole shrimp on top of fresh cheese, rice, lima beans, and huge kernels of yellow corn. I only ate the shrimp tails and put the heads on a separate plate. I was relieved to hear later that this is the way Peruvians normally eat shrimp; I hadn’t wasted anything.
Juanita
After lunch, I walked back to my hotel and consulted my guidebook. I found out that there was a museum in Arequipa which was also the new home for “Juanita”, the Inca princess who was sacrificed and buried near a volcano near Arequipa and preserved in the ice at the top of the mountain for thousands of years. I asked the woman at the front desk how much a taxi would cost there, but instead she kindly got a map and pointed out how easy it would be to walk there.
I walked down the hill to Plaza De Las Armas, which had arched walkways and cathedrals that looked like the main plaza in Mexico City. That’s the Spanish influence, I guess. I kept walking on the street La Merced to the Centro de Cultura of the Catholic University. I paid the 15 soles and checked my camera the entrance. I was then led into a room with several other people where we were shown a video in English with Italian subtitles about the death and discovery of Juanita. She was a member of the royal family who had been sacrificed to the mountain gods in order to protect the Incas from the effects of earthquakes and El Nino.
The Incas believed that in death, Juanita would gain immortality. I couldn’t help thinking that the fact that all these people were paying 15 plus soles to see her and understand her gave her a kind of second, enduring life after death. Not the kind of ideal immortality in which one truly lives forever, but the kind in which one’s legacy lives on long after death.
After the video ended, an English-speaking tour guide who was a “volunteer” but whom we were encouraged to tip led half of us out of the theater and into other rooms where she quickly showed us the artifacts that had been found at the top of the mountain. I was especially amazed by the royal robes, which only looked a few decades old. Apparently the ice had preserved these too.
Then we saw Juanita. She was being kept in a dark room with low lighting in a glass case set at -20 C. Her legs were curled under her because for the Incas, the fetal position represents the return to life. Her arms and one elbow were visible and looked almost natural despite the frost on them. The tour guide pointed out that one eye socket of Juanita’s was lower than the other’s. That marked the side of the head where someone had dealt her the fatal blow with a rock. I found that extremely disturbing for reasons the other people on the tour probably hadn’t. My mother’s best friend of 25 years, LaWana Clary, had been found murdered in her home in April. Cause of death: Blunt force trauma to the head. Had her head been misshapen in a similar way? Had there been a higher, sacrificial purpose to her death? Would she ever achieve the kind of immortality that Juanita had?
Thankfully, the tour ended before I could spend too much more time contemplating these sobering questions. I got my camera and walked back to Plaza de las Armas. I stopped in a café for queso helado (iced cheese). It sounds disgusting, but it was actually sweet and a little icy. A teacher at PeruTESOL from Arequipa had recommended it. After dessert, I got my shoes shined for 2 soles, and wandered down a passage where I found an Irish pub. I had a happy-hour pisco with Sprite for only 4 soles.
I walked back up the hill towards the hostal. I saw other great bars and restaurants, including a Turkish restaurant with doner kebab and another restaurant with authentic Turkish dishes such as Imam Bayildi (translation: the priest fainted [because the dish was so good]). I didn’t have room in my stomach for more food and drink, though. Instead I stopped at a convenience store and bought Gatorade, crackers, and a giant bottle of water—provisions for my battle with altitude sickness in Puno the next day. I retreated back into my cave-room to try to get some sleep.
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