el ateneo

El Ateneo is the name of the largest bookstore in South America. There are three locations in Buenos Aires. This one is on Santa Fe street in a renovated theater.

las madres de plaza de mayo

Today is the 30th anniversary of the first protest march by mothers of the Desaparecidos. During the Dirty War, over 30,000 people disappeared. In 1977, mothers of the Desaparecidos gathered around the Plaza de Mayo, in front of the presidential palace, demanding to know what happened to their sons and daughters.

Over the decades, the mothers have garnered recognition internationally for their cause as well as political leverage nationally. Many of them are now in their 70s, 80s, and 90s.

During today's celebration, the mothers sat on a stage, wearing their uniform of a white head-kerchief, clapped along to music bands, and waved Venezuelan flags.

Valerie tells me that the current leader of the mothers has aligned the group with the left-leaning government. And because Argentina has allied itself with Venezuela, that was the reason for the Venezuelan flags.

The mothers might finally get concessions from the government and the government might get street creds by their association with the mothers. Call it a win-win deal. But I was disturbed.

Of course the movement has always been a political one. It stemmed from a reaction to twisted ideological policies and its main aim is to affect policy. Yet fundamentally—mothers searching for answers, asking to know what happened to their children, hoping to bury what parts remain before they themselves are interred—this has nothing to do with politics.

The event felt like a pep rally or a rock festival. I definitely expected the observance to be much more somber. But then, I've always been a party-pooper.

city proper

The last time I was in Buenos Aires was five years ago, soon after 9/11 and the Argentine economic crash. Not much as changed. The city is just as grand and beautiful and vital as ever.

After a quick tea upon touch down and a weekend in the Pampas, today was the first day Carlos and I spent in the city proper.

I loved rambling, through wide boulevards and 100 million plazas, matching the physical spaces I re-encounter to the images of my memory. I didn't quite know where I was going, but I could feel what the right direction was. I imagined that an elephant preparing to die might feel this way—except I am not an elephant nor am I prepared to die.

long shadows

Perhaps it is because we live in cities and tall buildings block our view and noisy traffic distract our attention. The fact is that the sun casts long shadows. Did you know?

let's go fly a kite...

Arrecifes is a small town 2.5 hours north of Buenos Aires in the Pampas. Colo, Valerie's boyfriend, invited us to spend the weekend on his family's farm.

There's a lot to do in the campo. Let's see... we slept in, ate breakfast (which took some hours and when we finished, we headed into town for lunch), flew a kite, laid around, chopped wood, breathed in fresh air, petted days-old bunnies, and cooked meat.









A note about chopping wood: when I was a guest at the campo five years ago, I chopped wood and almost blinded myself when a thin branch ricocheted, flew at my face, broke my glasses, and cut my eye. Now, the woodshed is forbidden territory to me. The folk at the campo still talk about it and remember me well because of it. Back to the story...

It was Francisco's birthday (he is Valerie's friend from high school) and we celebrated with an asado and apple pie. Asado is like a BBQ—Argentine style. First, you start a fire. Then, you take the charcoal and set it aside. You place a grill atop the charcoal and delicious meats atop the grill. The meat here is so good that I have vowed to never eat (red) meat outside of Argentina.

dulce de leche

Finally, I've figured it out: the difference between dulce de leche and manjar. Both terms refer to a caramelized milk product, usually sandwiched between two cookies or spread on bread; dulce de leche is the preferred label by Argentines and manjar by Peruvians.

Dulce de leche, after soup and watermelon, is probably my favorite food in the world. It tastes like caramelized sweet condensed milk. In my opinion, dulce de leche is far superior to manjar, which is sweeter and not as dense nor aromatic.

(We finished the tub in four days.)

submarino

One of the best things about Buenos Aires is its café culture. Every day, around 6 p.m., Argentines take tea (or coffee). It's a leftover British tradition.

Valerie treated us to tea time. The two semi-round things in front are bolas, kind of like empanadas except shaped like balls. That drink you see is called a submarino (submarine) where chocolate bars are drowned in hot milk. Not pictured is a phenomenon consisting of a layer of thin fudgy brownie, a layer of dulce de leche, and topped with a layer of fudgy chocolate.

nontoxic poison

Just before we landed in Argentina, the flight crew informed us that the cabin will be sprayed with a nontoxic insecticide.

Call me a fuddy-duddy, a stickler for language, but I would like to know how any poison can be nontoxic. Perhaps they meant that the deleterious chemical won't kill humans, only insects. But that still made the insecticide toxic.

touch

My mind wanders, sometimes. Most times. Yesterday, I thought about touch and how it is the only sense we have.

Smell, taste, sight, and hearing are all passive forms of touch. The receptors in our nose are touched by gas molecules, the buds on our tongues are touched by chemicals, the nerves in our eyes are touched by sunlight, and the hairs in our ears are touched by waving air.

And then there is touch, the kind that we shun and crave, the kind that lets us reach out and hurt or heal.

ithaka

I feel I am at a crossroads, and I know I have company. I offer you "Ithaka" by Cavafy and I offer my friend Sang infinite thanks for sending him my way.

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities to
gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

neon pink and pale mauve

It is fall here in Lima. That was why when I looked up and saw a tree in bloom, I was surprised. Trees in autumn don't bloom. Leaves turn red and orange and yellow and fall.

Intensely pink petals littered the night sky instead of stars. Lights from the casino marquee cast a neon glow on the flowers. I was arrested, for a moment, by the glowing, pulsating petals floating in the yellow and mauve smog, then reached for my camera and clicked.

work for it

Last night Carlos and I had dinner and drinks with a friend and his mom who is visiting Peru. The conversation turned to the prolific displays of public affection throughout Lima, which often involve fervent spit-swapping. Carlos asked Jesse and Jesse's mom, Susan, if they have noticed the ardent, histrionic lovers. This is how I remember part of our conversation:

Susan: Yes...

Jesse: In Minnesota you're lucky if you get to touch a finger to someone's elbow in public. That's why we go to the movies.

Susan: Yes, in Minnesota, we have to work for it.

If you don't get it, oh well, you had to be there.

pool party

Socios volunteers and their extended family of friends and colleagues playing Marco Polo at a pool at a swank hotel in San Isidro, a nice part of Lima where I know of at least two Starbucks (and where there is valet parking at one of them).

bacteria, brisas, and bye-byes

Mimi came back from Cusco on Friday morning and fell sick. It could be the change in altitude, catching up with her, or contaminated food or water, catching up with her. In any case, she spent the day curled in a fetal position in bed when she wasn't running to the bathroom.

By evening, after a remedy of soup, medicine, and rest, she felt better if weak. We had plans to celebrate her last night in Lima by going to a peña called Brisas de Titicaca and now we had to go without her.

A peña is a dance show with live music. Customers sit at tables arranged around a dance floor. When the professional dancers stop, amateur aficionados take over and party till they drop.

The dancers were decked out in incredible costumes, polyester and sequins in an array of neon colors that glittered more brightly than the dancers' sparkly smiles. And smile they did, for four whole hours, the length of the show. They smiled, brightly and convincingly, even during the most difficult dances. The most impressive, in my opinion, was the scissor dance.

Men holding prop scissors danced, jumped, and contorted. Think break-dancing with elements of yoga and the kossack dance. They did flips, stood on their head, and jumped on one foot while the other was wrapped somewhere around their bodies. When they finished, they were still smiling. Amazing.

We left at 3 a.m., and early exit since the dance floor was open until 5 a.m., but Carlos had to wake up at 6:30 a.m. to go to work.

Saturday, we had big plans for Mimi. We were going to take her to visit Carlos's work, present her to the volunteers, show her the farmer's market, and eat a giant alfajor cake before her flight home at 10:55 p.m.

But when I arrived in the morning to pick her up, she was already packing. It turned out that her flight left Lima at 5:30 p.m. (10:55 p.m. was her second leg from Bogotá to New York). We hustled. In the end, Mimi only had time to visit Carlos's work, which was enough. We hurried home, hurriedly ate lunch, and hurried to the airport. And we said good-bye.

the flavor north

We noticed some differences in the cuisine when we went north.

In Chiclayo and Trujillo, the ceviche is simple–salt, lime, aji, onions–which produces a clean, pure taste. The texture, flavor, and freshness of the fish stand out. In Lima, the ceviche is more spiced; in addition to the above, cooks add a combination of garlic, ginger, celery, and cilantro.

Though, northerners sometimes make a creamy sauce from aji, eggs, and oil and pour it over the ceviche. It has a creamy, tangy flavor which should appeal to mayonnaise fans. (I'm not a mayonnaise fan.)

What surprised us most was the causa. Causa is a mashed potato dish that comes with chicken, fish, or vegetables. We were accustomed to causa Limeña, a somewhat sculpted affair: mashed potatoes in the shape of a rectangle, circle, ball, triangle, fish with filling in the middle. I've even seen it served like sushi rolls.

Causa Norteña is an entirely different matter. Underneath heaping portions of onions and aji is an entire fish (bones, head, and all). And under the fish is mashed potatoes, which is savory though somewhat soupy, unlike the grainy and tart Limeña version.









One final note, I found the best mandarins in Trujillo: seedless, easy to peel, fragrant, sweet, tangy, juicy. When I went back to find the fruit stand to buy more, the lady disappeared and I thought that perhaps it was a dream. But I looked down and saw the peels I still held in my hands, waking me, mocking me. Would it have been better to have tasted and lost than to never have tasted at all?

drive me crazy

So the light changed and the little green man indicated that it was my turn to go. A woman in a car tried to make a right turn and honked her horn at me. To add insult to injury, she motioned with her index and middle fingers (like the V for victory sign) to her eyes, gesturing that I should watch where I was going. The light was green! I was walking straight!! She was turning!!! In a car!!!! I thought I was going to explode!!!!!

honey honey bee

At a honey stand in a market in Trujillo. I thought bees only liked flowers.

chiclayo & trujillo

In planning Mimi's itinerary, we decided to travel up Peru's coast to Chiclayo and Trujillo to visit pre-Inca ruins in preparation for the Inca sites in Cusco and Machu Picchu. Happily Carlos had four days off of work for Holy Week.

We took a bus for the 12-hour ride to Chiclayo. The bus we took was no Greyhound. We enjoyed first-class service with large comfortable, reclining chairs and a pretty attendant who hosted a bingo game. It wasn't perfect because, frankly, I thought playing bingo on a bus was weird, the food was terrible, and the beverages were unimaginative–sweet soda, sweet coffee, and sweet tea. However, most importantly, the bus was on time and we arrived safely.

I admit, I was very excited to go on this trip. I love love LOVE! pre-Inca art, particularly art by the Moche. And Chiclayo and Trujillo are abound with their remnants. So, as soon as we stepped off the bus, we headed to Lambayeque, a town 10 km north of Chiclayo, to visit the Museo de Tumbes Reales.

The Museo de Tumbes Reales displays treasures recovered from the royal tombs of two kings from the Moche culture. It is one of the most impressive museums I have visited, not just for its treasures but also for its design, display, and descriptions. The museum itself is built in the form of a pyramid. Replicas of tombs, skeletons and all, are placed inside the museum in locations that correspond to their actual locations in the real royal tomb. There is also a room with life-sized characters from the royal court–king, guards, warriors, wives, children, servants, and dog. Residents from the Chiclayo area were carefully chosen to serve as models and artisans created all the costumes and props using local cotton, wood, and metals.

After two hours, we headed to Túcume, a town 20 km north of Lambayeque. We checked into our hotel, Los Horcones, which is located in the backyard of the Túcume ruins. Los Horcones is a beautiful space. The owner is an architect and designed the rooms himself. We played on the hammocks, strolled the grounds, picked guava (looks like a gigantic green bean with sweet white pulp), and gazed at the Milky Way at night.

















Los Horcones left an impression on me in other ways too. The next morning, I wore shorts to breakfast. Vicious mosquitoes attacked me and in less than 15 minutes I counted 30 bites. It turned out that I was allergic to their venom. The following day all the bites swelled into quarter and half-dollar sized bumps. Now the itchiness and swelling have subsided, but I am left with what look like jumbo hickeys on my legs.

After breakfast, we visited the Túcume ruins, which are a complex of 26 pyramids. The pyramids come in two sizes: big and bigger. This picture shows the Huaca Larga (long pyramid) on the right, another pyramid in the distance, and the Lambayeque Valley (and of course Mimi). Huaca Larga measures 700 meters (2,300 feet) and is the longest adobe structure found to date.

Because the pyramids are constructed from adobe, they looked like mountains that have melted. The Lambayeque culture built Túcume after they mysteriously fled and abandoned another city. Túcume was a sacred ceremonial, burial, and healing site. There is evidence that the Chimú, who conquered the Lambayeque, and Inca, who conquered the Chimú, used Túcume too. However, when the Spaniards arrived, they renamed the complex "Purgatorio" and claimed that it was the gateway to purgatory.

We fled purgatory shortly before noon, ate lunch, and made our way back to Chiclayo to take a bus to Trujillo. The three hour ride down the dessert coast littered with garbage, sand, villages, and ruins was uneventful; we slept through most of it. When we arrived in Trujillo, it was already dark. We ate at a cafe recommended by our guidebook. The food was absolutely awful. Mimi ordered a chicken sandwich and they presented her with a grilled chicken platter. I am sure that if we had sampled the sand on the highway to Trujillo, it would have had more flavor than the chicken, and better texture.

Our hostel was in Huanchaco, a beach town 15 km north of Trujillo. The hostel was guarded by the fattest dog I have ever seen. Yes, she is hairy. But underneath all that hair is fat. Mimi slept in a regular room and Carlos and I rented a tent and reposed in a small camping area. Next time, we plan to bring our own tent and camp on the beach, just a hop and a skip away.

Like Chiclayo, Trujillo is rich with pre-Inca ruins and we were poor on time. After an unsatisfactory breakfast at the hostel, I felt like I had woken up on the wrong side of the sleeping bag and was irritable. (We were the only customers and waited 25 minutes for three cooks to prepare scrambled eggs, coffee, and untoasted bread.)

However, once we arrived in Chan Chan, my exasperation evaporated like humidity in dessert. Chan Chan is an expansive complex of palaces built by the Chimú. (Think of the Chimú as the middle child: Moche, Chimú, Inca.)

Each palace had ceremonial spaces, living quarters, and commerce areas. The Chimú did not have doors or stairs. Instead, they had open portals and ramps. Rooms in the palace connected to each other through a labryinth-like system of long hallways. The layout of the Tschudi Palace, the most well-preserved and restored palace, reminded me a lot of the Forbidden City in Bei Jing. The Tschudi Palace, with 11 major rooms is not even the largest of the palaces. The smallest palace in Chan Chan has eight rooms and the largest has about 30 rooms. So, just imagine a city of Forbidden Cities.

After the death of a Chimú king, his palace was converted into a mausoleum. The mummified body of the king along with human and animal sacrifices, food, ceramics, gold, and other necessities for the afterlife were sealed in the palace, and the succeeding king built, lived, and governed in a new palace.

Chan Chan is so big that it would take a day to visit all the ruined palaces. We had to press on. A taxi dropped us off at the Plaza de Armas in Trujillo. There is a big fountain with a skinny naked man statue on top. Our guidebook suggested that his face resembled Simón Bolívar, the great South American liberator; I thought the man carried the expression of someone who had to pee badly. After a visit to the church and drinks at the fancy Libertador Hotel, we ate ceviche at the nearby Plaza de Recreo.

It had started to drizzle when we arrived at Huaca de la Luna, a Moche ruin 10 km south of Trujillo. Huaca de la Luna contains beautifully painted murals. The Moche worshiped the moon and considered the sun a secondary diety. Because the Moche lived close to the sea and the moon controlled the tides, the moon was important in their lives. Living in the dessert heat, they did not consider a hot sun exactly a boon. For this reason, the Huaca de la Luna was used for religious ceremonies while the nearby Huaca del Sol was an administrative space.
We went back to Trujillo and happened upon an Easter Parade, of sorts. It was Good Friday and the locals were bearing an idol of the dead Jesus through the streets of Trujillo. It was creepy and fascinating.

We followed the crowd for two blocks then ducked into Café El Museo for delicious hot chocolate. The classy and cozy cafe had a wooden bar, antique cash register, leather benches.






Above it is a toy museum, Museo de los Jugetes, with playthings that span time and distance from Western toy cars, teddy bears, and train sets to pre-Inca dolls.

Mimi was tired and went back to the hostel in Huanchaco. I was still hungry so Carlos and I went to a pizza joint recommended by a friend. We ordered pizza with salty anchovies and drank sangria while we waited for our food. Then, we returned to the hostel too. That night, like the night before, we fell asleep to the roar of the ocean.

Bright and early next morning, we exited our hostel, crossed the street, and hit the beach. The water was frigid and the waves were rough and tall–perfect for surfing. We didn't have time for surfing (there were more old things to see) but Carlos managed to get out to sea by signing up for a 10 minute ride on a reed boat. The boats are called Caballitos de Tortora; tortora is the name of the tall reed that grows in the valley.

The locals are trying to promote tourism in Huachaco. Fisherman head out to sea before dawn to catch fish. In the late morning, they mend their boats on the beach and offer rides to tourists to supplement their income. At s/ 5 per ride, it's a pretty good earning; but with so many competing ride-givers, the fishermen don't end up making much. (So they say!)

Our last day in Trujillo and there was one last, must-see museum I wanted to visit: Museo Cassinelli. Located in the basement of a gas station, it contains the largest collection of ceramics in northern Peru. The priceless ceramics were stacked on wooden shelves, protected from inquiring fingers and greedy thieves by wire netting.

Our guide explained the different styles of ceramics: Moche ceramics were sculpted or painted. They came in human, animal, and vegetable shapes, and some depicted diseases like leprosy, cleft lip, amputation, and conjoined twins. Nasca (southern culture contemporary with the Moche in the north) ceramics were painted in many different colors. Etc.

There was a collection of erotic pieces too. Our guide made a point to emphasize that the erotic ceramics were not intended as pornography. They were fertility symbols. (Imagine a Moche man waiting for the arrival of his monthly subscription of ceramics wrapped in brown paper. Well, that didn't happen.)

The erotic collection depicted heterosexual, homosexual, and animal sex, along with plenty of attention-grabbing phalli (apparently, brides drank from those on their wedding night). Sexually transmitted diseases were also represented; there was a vessel showing a man with a rash on his bum and a woman holding her nose to the smelly infection. I asked our guide how homosexual sex is a symbol of fertility when men can't conceive. He explained that conception wasn't important; the sex act was the point.

The end. My desire to behold pre-Inca art had been satisfied. Thoroughly. With the images from the Cassinelli collection vividly imprinted in my memory, like the sharp scent of sweet mandarins, I am happy as a goat.

(oh, right, and I hope my traveling companions had a good time too.)

natural gas taxi

I just returned from a four-day trip to northern Peru and I have many things to report. But, first things first...

Last night, I rode in a station wagon style taxi with a gas tank stored in the trunk. Carlos had told me, just earlier the same day, that because the price of oil is so expensive in Peru, taxi drivers use natural gas to fuel their cars. I was intrigued and voluntarily made conversation with a stranger.

The taxi driver explained that a tank of natural gas can fuel a car for about 200 km (124 miles) and cost about s/ 22 ($7); to go the same distance by using regular oil, it would cost about s/ 60 ($19). That makes oil almost three times more expensive than natural gas.

Our driver drives about 300 km each day, seven days a week. Over the course of a year, he saves about s/ 20,805 ($6,605) by using natural gas. Apparently, natural gas is also cleaner for the environment.

When I think of natural gas, my mind immediately jumps to gas stoves. Our driver explained that it wasn't the case. The natural gas used for cars is very different from the gas used for cooking. There is a pipeline connecting the source of the gas to the gas station. At the station, a special machine is used to deliver pressurized gas into the car.

I don't know how safe it is having pressurized gas in a moving vehicle, especially in Lima where the traffic is relentless and the driving is aggressive and unpredictable, but having mini explosions in your engine (which is how oil-fueled cars work) seems equally dangerous to imagine.

Two things struck me when I spoke to the driver. One is how hard he works. He drives 16 hours each day, seven days a week. On and off, driving a taxi has been his career for 34 years. Though he rarely gets to spend time with this family, which includes a wife and three sons (three tigers he calls them for their ravenous appetite), he works hard in order to support them. (He jokes that each night he returns home, it's like being in a stickup. He holds up his hands as his wife frisks him for his earnings. And if the money doesn't leave him, then his woman will.)

The second thing is that developing affordable, renewable alternative fuels makes sense economically and environmentally. The Incas worshipped the sun–the ultimate renewable and free fuel. Therefore, as I am scribbling this post, I am puzzled at the notion of an energy crisis. It seems to me this is more a crisis of will. The sun is still shining and is not going away for another few billion years.

easter on the plaza

Our bus from Trujillo pulled into the Lima station at 7 a.m. We were exhausted from the 8-hour ride. Even so, time was precious. Mimi, Carlos's mom, is visiting Peru. We wanted to show her all the important sites and decided on the Plaza de Armas.

(Lima, contrary to its reputation, has many hidden and exposed gems. It is worth visiting Lima for a few days if only to have room in your tummy to try all the fantastic food and first-rate restaurants.)

We took a bus from Miraflores to Central Lima and walked to the Plaza de Armas. Central Lima is dirty, crowded, and noisy. The major throughway, Abancay, is filled with black exhaust from taxis, jitneys, and buses. Rude, ear-piercing honks penetrate the airspace. Oblivious tourists and plodding pedestrians clog the sidewalks. Lights seem to take forever to change.

The stroll to the Plaza de Armas took us past majestic edifices that recalled Lima's past stature as the capital of South America. (Well, sort of. Lima was the center of colonial Spain's South American export ventures, mostly in pillaged gold and other cultural artifacts.) Underneath the grime and past the emaciated beggars, I imagined that Lima's past splendor could be today's reality. Oh well.

Once we reached the Plaza, the din from Abancay died and the air was filled with the soothing murmur of lovers, click of cameras, and woosh of car tires. The Cathedral of Lima was closed, on Easter Sunday of all days, but the small adjacent chapel was open for services.

We admired the intricately carved balconies and exquisite facades of the church and presidential palace. Though, according to the Lonely Planet guidebook, not one original building remains in the Plaza de Armas from its initial founding due to successive earthquakes.

It was already 3 p.m. before we stopped to eat lunch. We started with pisco sours and causa limeña (mashed potatoes layered with crab meat and avocado in this case, but can be filled with chicken, vegetables, fish, or shrimp). I ordered ravioli, Mimi tried lomito with anticucho sauce (filet cut with beef heart sauce), Bello got a pork thing, and Carlos chose the classic lomo saltado (filet cubes sautéed with onions and tomatoes and served with rice and french fries).


By the time we returned to the Plaza, a crowd had gathered in front of the presidential palace. Inside the gates, a navy band played traditional Peruvian ditties. Eventually, they came out of the gates, marched across the Plaza, lined up in front of the Cathedral, and played for another half hour while uniformed men with rifles joined them and did fancy things with their feet and rifles.

We went home after that.

pachacamac

Mimi, Carlos's mom, is visiting Peru. Today, we toured Pachacamac, an important ruin just south of Lima.

Pachacamac was like the oracle at Delphi. Important figures from different cultures over the centuries came to Pachacamac to make offerings, seek advice, and consult the future. It was one of most sacred religious site for pre-Inca as well as Inca kings.


When Pizarro captured and ransomed Atahualpa, the king of the Incas, gold pieces from Pachacamac were melted and delivered to the Spaniards stationed in Cajamarca. Upon receiving the gold, which filled many rooms, the Spaniards killed Atahualpa. (On a side note, the Spanish king was furious at Pizarro for ordering the death of Atahualpa. Charles V believed that only a king had the authority to execute another king.)

When Pizarro learned where the gold had come from, he immediately rode for Pachacamac. He arrived three weeks later and made his way to the main temple. Pizarro found the oracle (a carved totem pole) in a small room and was decidedly unimpressed, calling the room moldy and the stick ugly.

hairless dog

This is a Peruvian hairless dog. It is hairless except for a tuft on the head and tail. The breed is officially recognized by major kennel clubs.

At Pachacamac, at least two viringos, as they are sometimes called, resided at the ruins. This one followed us on our tour. Generally, she didn't like to standstill for photos but craved getting petted. I touched one while I was in Cusco and was turned off because that doggy felt oily. Perhaps it is the hot dessert air, but this dog didn't feel yucky.

care package

Mimi, Carlos's mom, arrived today. With her is a care package from my dad. I had requested instant noodles (the next best thing to homemade noodle soup) and a peanut cocktail (a Shanghai specialty made from peanuts fried and mixed with seaweed).

I expected some packages of my favorite brands of instant noodles and a small jar of peanuts. Instead, my dad had packed a case full of instant noodles (he loves the stuff too) and a gigantic jar of peanuts that I don't think I will be able to finish by myself in my lifetime. He also included a small container of white pepper. I am somewhat overwhelmed and very amused. It is just like my dad to send me a year's worth of supplies when I have only a bit over a month left in Lima.