Rainbows, ceramic Churches, retablos and prickly pears in Ayacucho and beyond.

We landed in Ayacucho just after a short sun shower, and we were welcomed to the gem of Peru’s central highlands with a beautiful rainbow as we deplaned. Within 15 minutes, we had been transported into another century. Our cab dropped us off at the front gate of Hostal Marquez de Valdelirios, a beautiful Colonial home converted into a hostal (hotels are called all sorts of names here and Hostal usually is a basic hotel with single, double and matrimonial rooms, with or without private bath). We were greeted by our host and taken through a hallway into a beautiful square courtyard of rooms. We chose our matrimonial (sounds so honeymoon like!) room, settled in, and got ready to walk the six blocks to the Plaza des Armas.

 

 I must mention, we were the only guests. You see, Ayacucho is off the beaten tourist track, although it kept us occupied and amazed for four full days.

It is rare to be somewhere that is almost untouched by globalization. Sure there is Internet, and electricity, even hot water most of the time. You can get a pizza (not a good one) and there are bank machines. But the people, outside of the main square, still live very simply. Since they are not used to tourists, and most do not earn their living from tourism, we walked among them as if invisible. Even though we, of course, look very different than they do, they had no particular use for us. On one hand, it made it hard for us to really connect with them, but on the other hand, it allowed us a chance to peek into their lives for a few days and explore this geographically, politically, archeologically and artistically incredible place.

Lets get a few facts out of the way to give you a bit of perspective.

Politically: This city and District of Huamanga were hijacked in the 1980s by Shining Path terrorists who claimed the city as their base and cut it off from Peru and the rest of the world for much of the past 2 decades. This horrible blemish on their history is over now and they have returned to a normal political framework.

Religion: Ayacucho is famous for its 33 Roman Catholic churches, which represent one for each year of Jesus’ life.

History/ Archeological relevance: Archeological sites documenting human settlements more than 15,000 years old have been found in this region. From 500 to 900 CE, the region became occupied by the Huari Culture (Wari), which became known as the first expansionist empire based in the Andes before the Incas.

Architecture: Ayacucho has more of its colonial architecture intact than almost any other city in Peru.

Artistically: The city claims to be the largest producer of Peruvian popular art (artesanía), including the renowned retablos (a beautifully painted wooden box that opens up to a intricate three dimensional scene carved from wood and painted in minute detail), archeological ceramic churches (absolutely amazingly cute), and whimsical red-clay figurines one sees all over Peru, and at this point, all over the world.

I could go on, but I will bore you and you can Google the rest. But really, can you believe all of this? And hardly anyone has been here. And I didn’t even mention that the surrounding countryside is gorgeous. A 12 hour day of touring through it to visit archeological digs, waterfalls, and churches was scenic every single minute. Not one stretch of blandness as we climbed from 10,000 ft to 15,750 ft . Which by the way was the altitude more or less that we reached when climbing to the Annapurna Sanctuary a year ago. Luckily, this time, we were driving! But not without the help of mouthfuls of coca leaves to help us through the pounding in our chests.

I intimated in my last post that arriving in Ayacucho was like entering a beautifully carved retablo. The centre of town is so charming, you have to pinch yourself to be sure you are not in a dream. Every tree is pruned, every pot is filled with flowering plants, everywhere you look there is a beautiful stone church. While the city people are dressed in western clothes, everyone else is dressed in indigenous attire. The women are dressed in wide puffy skirts (usually simply patterned) to just under the knee with tights (or something like tights) underneath. They all wear long sleeved buttoned jackets and wide brimmed leather hats. Heavy boots complete the outfit. Most have a large woven colourful blanket full of goods or a baby wrapped on their back. The men too, wear a wide brimmed leather hat and dark jacket and pants. Their skin is dark and weathered and their smiles are warm but missing a tooth or two.

Life’s pace is slow out of necessity. It is hard to do anything fast at 10,000 feet! And anyway, what is the rush? Our walk back and forth from our hostal to the Plaza des Armas, had us puffing each time. But it did not stop us from exploring the town and the surroundings.

On our first night in town, there happened to be a festival of some sort, and we were able to see and watch costumed dancers in the square, and listen to local music. We spent the next day visiting churches and planning our excursions.

Our first day trip outside of Ayacucho took us to the tiny pueblo of Quinua where most of the ceramic churches and retablos are made by local artisans. We hopped on a combi (local mini bus) and we were let off at the outskirts of town. With the aid of our guidebook we were able to visit several artists’ studios and even peek into their workshops. Surprisingly, we found the town almost deserted, and many of the shops closed. We met another tourist who was on the search for retablos and ceramic churches. He complained that the local artists had no idea how to market themselves and he was very frustrated at the lack of access. We learned later that many artists had relocated to Lima or even Ayacucho where a new artisan market had opened. Progress and modernization is a complex concept. On one hand, it was a very special experience for us to see even the few studios still open, and explore the primitive surroundings. But the writing is on the wall. The possibility of this experience is almost over.

We walked back to the spot where we had been dropped off and took another combi to the Wari archaeological complex. We spent the next two hours walking through one of the oldest urban walled centres in the Americas, dating to around 600 A.D. We were without a guide or anyone to explain anything to us in English (the norm for our trip so far!), so we simply wandered through the site trying to imagine what each area represented.

We were alone among the ruins with only the wild prickly pair cacti and grasshoppers chirping to keep us company. The fruit in all states of ripeness from green to yellow to pink to ruby red filled the archeological complex with sweetness as we huffed and puffed our way through, stopping often to catch our breath and snap a photo or two.

As we exited the complex we stopped at the side of the road where a local farmer was selling fruit. After a few words and a few hand gestures, he graciously pealed prickly pear after prickly pear for us with his bare hands, motioning to us how to grab each end of the pealed fruit so as not to get any of the nasty tiny thorns in our fingers. As we popped the pealed prickly pear after prickly pear into our mouths, we had to admit this was the perfect end to a wonderful day. We hopped onto the next combi, which delivered us back to Ayacucho exhausted and exhilarated!

The next day we had a full 12 hours planned, so we needed our sleep. Our mini bus was to pick us up at 5:30 am for what proved to be another very exciting day in the District of Huamanga.

Spirited away to Lima

Disclaimer: This not my photo but it could have been if I thought of taking one ...

When first researching our trip to South America, we were bombarded with an unrelenting flood of warnings about safety. It was therefore with much trepidation that we approached the Ft Lauderdale airport for our Spirit Airlines flight to Lima. We were warned that the airport in Lima was a hotbed of pickpockets and taxi drivers in cahoots with thieves. I had read horror stories on trip advisor that would make your hair stand on end. We were nervous to say the least.

Ends up — getting our boarding passes in Ft Lauderdale — was our biggest worry!

We had given ourselves plenty of time, but we had not anticipated that every Peruvian returning to Peru, was planning on bringing every kind of overflowing, overweight, and not exactly neatly packed baggage with them.

The back story is that Spirit Airlines has the cheapest airfare from anywhere in the US to Peru. It is a no frills airline — which means everything costs extra. They charge for hand luggage, seats, and even water during the flight. But still, their ticket price is so inexpensive that even with paying for all of those things, the cost is worthwhile. The only problem is they fly small planes and they have weight restrictions. And they mean business.

The scene in front of us was not for believing. One after the other, a ticketed traveler would approach the attendant with an entourage of helpers carrying extra bags, and maybe a grandchild or two flying back with them (I think they shuttle them back and forth simply for the luggage allowance). The attendant would politely tell the customer in English (only some of them spoke Spanish) that their bags were overweight and that even a million dollars would not get more than two bags, 50 lbs each on the plane. Then there would be a flurry of Spanish, waving hands and maybe some tears, but, eventually, the overstuffed suitcases were opened and numerous articles pulled out and haphazardly thrown to local family members prepared for this eventuality.

Dealing with each traveler took at least 20 minutes!

There was also a concerted effort on the part of Spirit Airlines to single out the rest of us gringos in this particular line up — because we had one-way tickets. Spirit Airlines, for no good reason, wants to make you sweat about how you are going to document your passage out of Peru. Actually, they want to scare you into buying an overpriced return ticket, if you can’t prove you have onward travel booked.

We were sweating all right. We knew about this potential issue, but had planned to show them we had enough US cash with us to cover a return ticket. We also had a flight booked within Peru and hoped that would do the trick. Still, they had the right to refuse us boarding passes, so as the line in front of us seemed to be at a stand still, and the time before our flight was slipping away, the temperature under our collars was rising.

When our turn finally came, we were shuttled to a friendly agent who had been spared the experience we had been witnessing for almost an hour. We showed him our domestic tickets and with a smile, he processed us and we were on our way. As we walked through security and on to our plane with our coveted boarding passes, we were quite amazed we had actually on our way to Peru!

The Lima airport greeted us warmly at 10:50 pm. The scene was far from the horror stories we had been expecting. Not crowded, not dangerous, not scary in the least. It took a while for us to find our reserved cab driver, but in short order we were comfortably in our hotel room in San Isidro, a quiet suburb of Lima.

Our first day of touring was a Sunday and we spent a lovely day exploring the Plaza des Armas (central square), visiting churches, experiencing the changing of the guards at the Governor’s Palace (which happens daily at 12:00 noon), the San Francisco of Assisi Monastery and Church (in whose catacombs are buried the bones of 20,000 of Lima’s pre 1800s citizens), visiting the Inquisition Museum and even a walk through Lima’s China Town. Before leaving Central Lima we stopped into an eatery to experience the daily specials with the locals. The food, the ambiance, and the welcome from the local people were amazing. Our server was patient with us and our basic Spanish, pointing to other people’s plates and telling us what they were eating in Spanish to help us choose.

Our second day of touring in Lima was spent at the Archeological Museum Rafael Larco Herrera. This was definitely one of the highlights of our time in Lima. The Museum was founded in 1926, and houses an incredible collection of 3000 years of Peruvian pre-Columbian art, jewelry and tapestries. The building itself and the gorgeous gardens surrounding it, are a sight to see. There is also a wonderful restaurant and gift shop full of high quality Peruvian artifacts. The museum also features the finest gold and silver collection from Ancient Peru and a famous erotic archaeological collection. Nothing as extensive as our visit to the temples of Khajuraho, but nonetheless a unique experience.

We had a very pleasant three-day visit to Lima. Every cab driver we hailed was courteous and delivered us to our destination without argument, or incident. The sights we visited were free, or reasonably priced and very interesting. Our flight into Lima, and out of Lima, to Ayacucho, were on time, with very personable flight attendants. In short — our first three days in Lima were completely hassle-free. No horror stories to report. Just a really lovely experience with really nice people.

But what awaited us in Ayacucho, was dreamlike — like walking into another world. Or maybe a better description would be, that we found ourselves in a life sized, finely carved and beautifully painted Peruvian retabla. I guess you will have to look that up, or wait for the next post!

Buenas noches desde Ayacucho!

As the leaves fall.

The truth is, the Cruise tag line, Fall Foliage, really misses the mark. Being in this region to catch the perfect moment that all the leaves change is almost impossible. Days before we boarded the Emerald Princess, we were being prepared by friends and family, who either live in the region, or had just returned from there, that if we would see the leaves at all, we would likely only see them underfoot.

Luckily, all of these ports of call are so full of rugged natural beauty and historically defining American, Canadian, French and British History, that the fall foliage is just a pretty backdrop if you manage to catch it just right. And in fact, to catch the fall colours, you have to be here in October, which is often a bad time of the year to appreciate the other great stuff this region has to offer — because it is frik’n freezing!! Not to mention the possibility of being on a huge ship in a churning sea as Hurricane Sandy approaches!

But I digress.

Our first port of call was Newport Rhode Island. After doing some research, we focused on three aspects of the town, and the region that were the most impressive.

Firstly, Newport has one of the highest concentrations of colonial homes in all of the United States. Secondly it boasts a breathtaking cliff walk, following the eastern shore for 3.5 miles. The trail combines the natural beauty of the Newport shoreline with the City’s impressive architectural history. A two for one experience! From the trail, you can view several of the restored Colonial homes. The experience was truly awe-inspiring. The juxtaposition of the roaring waves crashing against the ragged shoreline — with the perfect calm of the rolling manicured lawns and enormous mansions seemingly growing out of them — takes your breath away.

I also learned that there is a fairly significant Jewish connection to this port. In 1658 a group of Jews fleeing the inquisition in Spain and Portugal were allowed to settle in Newport. The Newport congregation, now referred to as Congregation Jeshuat Israel, is the second oldest Jewish congregation in the United States, and they still pray in the oldest standing synagogue in the United States, Touro Synagogue.

From Newport we headed for Boston MA. In Boston, every step tells a story. The Freedom Trail, a 2.5-mile, brick-lined route leads you through 16 historically significant sites, where you can explore museums and meeting houses, churches, and burying grounds that shine a light on many of the brave people that helped shape a nation. We took a walking tour with a park ranger that covered only a small part of the trail, including a visit to the home of Paul Revere, which is the oldest building in downtown Boston.

Paul Revere

Samuel Adams

John Hancock

I won’t go into all of the people and places and battles in Boston that have helped shape US history, but next time you order a Samuel Adams beer, go to a tea party or ask someone for his John Hancock, remember it all originated here.

Bar Harbor (or Bah Hahbah), the land without r’s, but with plenty of clam choudah and blueberry pie, is the home of the 41,000-acre Acadia National Park — one of the smallest National Parks in the US but also one of the most heavily visited. And no wonder — the park offers incredible mountain, sea, lake, cliff and coastline vistas, as well as an estimated 125 miles of trails, exclusively for hiking and biking.

Marc's mountain bike and the gorgeous carriage road

My set of wheels!

The bike rental shops called out to Marc and Oli’s Trolley tour called out to me. Marc set out on two wheels to cover a good portion of the forty-five miles of rustic carriage roads, (developed by philanthropist John D. Rockefeller Jr.) that wind around the mountains and valleys of Acadia National Park. I on the other hand sat comfortably in Oli’s Trolley discovering the park and learning about the “summer people”. I was kind of shocked to learn that this quiet town had the reputation as a playground for the rich and famous. In the late 1800's, frequent visitors (the summer people) — such as the Rockefellers, Carnegies, Vanderbilts and Fords built massive “cottages” that they used only during the summer months. Apparently, their justification was that they were sick of staying in hotels! Imagine!

Fall Foliage!

Like Newport Rhode Island, Bar Harbor Maine offers visitors opportunities to experience both awesome nature, and the quiet town’s opulent past. Many of the cottages (so called) have been converted into hotels or bed and breakfasts. And, while the rich and famous are long gone, everyone can enjoy the outrageous stories the friendly locals are more than happy to share!

When our ship set sail from Bar Harbor, we were on our way out of US waters towards the Canadian shores of Saint John, New Brunswick.