A Peruvian Easter and a very special birthday

Easter is another one of those holidays filled with traditions, especially for my mother’s side of the family. Being Catholic, we’d always attend a very solemn and reverent mass, only to return home to race and scramble across the house, searching for hidden plastic eggs filled with coins. Then there was the egg dying, and the egg decorating contest, and of course the decorating which occurred earlier, which consisted of hanging big plastic eggs from the trees. Eggs, eggs, and more eggs. As I explained these traditions to some newfound Peruvian friends, they stared at me in wonder. I had hiked an hour up the mountain to visit them at their house and share pachamanca, a traditional Peruvian dish here in the sierra, to celebrate the beginning of Holy Week. As we reached into the fire pit to pull out sweat potatoes and passed around cheese and baked apples, I was asked to describe how Easter was typically celebrated in the States. When I had finished, one of the family members cackled, gesturing to the fields nearby with waist-high grass, “Can you imagine hiding eggs in there?! We’d never find them!” I had to laugh with them and agree. Easter was sure to be quite different here in Peru, but special nonetheless.

Since I had now finished three months of service, I was allowed to start taking vacation days. For every month I work, I earn two vacation days that I can use and save as I see fit. Peruvian holidays are treated as “freebies,” free vacation days that you don’t have to earn to use. Easter and the days leading up to it are known as Semana Santa (Holy Week) and are considered free vacation days for us volunteers. This was the perfect opportunity to do a bit of traveling, and I had my heart set on going to the district capital of Ayacucho, which was considered the place to celebrate Holy Week in Peru. Even better, my parents from the States had scheduled a visit as well and would be flying to Ayacucho city to meet me. After three months of work in site, two of which being the rainy season, and after five months of not seeing my family, to say that I was looking forward to my first Easter in Peru was an understatement.

I was fortunate that there were lots of Peace Corps volunteers also heading to Ayacucho, and they had been kind enough to buy a bus ticket for me. We got the tickets for a steal, 35 soles each. Normally ticket prices are jacked up enormously for the holiday season and you’re lucky to find tickets as cheap as 60 soles. However, we got what we paid for. We boarded the bus at 8:15 PM and settled in for an overnight trip. I wouldn’t say the seats were exactly uncomfortable, but the roads were so twisty and winding that you were constantly being tossed and battered around. Sleep was impossible. We arrived in Ayacucho at 4:00 AM and, to cap the surrealness of the moment, watched as live llamas were pulled from the underbelly of the bus. Grabbing my stuff, I hailed a cab, went to the hotel I had booked, and crashed for two hours until my parents arrived. 

I hadn’t realized just how much I missed my parents until mom practically burst into the room. Until that point, we had called each other about once a week, so I felt pretty updated on what was going on in their lives and within my family. However, there were always obstacles: rainstorms would cut off cell reception, calls would be dropped without warning, static and strange electronic echoes were heard in the background, etc. Being able to talk with mom and dad, physically hug them, and spend quality time with them face-to-face was such a blessing. They had also had a long night of travel and were equally tired, so we spent our first day in Ayacucho resting and recuperating and just spending time together.

Ayacucho really is a lovely city. Being the capital of the Ayacucho district, it’s a fairly large city but somehow still has a small-town feel. The roads are made with cobblestone, old colonial buildings line an open and tree-laden plaza, women in both traditional skirts, mantas, and top hats walk side by side with teens in tattered jeans and sneakers, and, being located in Peru’s sierra, the city is surrounded by lush green landscape and rolling mountains. City life had definitely increased due to Holy Week and, due to the influx of both national and international tourists, street vendors had a field day. Along the streets you could find men and women pushing carts of fruit, selling a variety of homemade cookies and biscuits, carrying buckets of jello and chincha morada, a sugary drink made from purple corn, baskets of corn and cheese, and, my personal favorite, churning big metal pots to make mayuchi, a type of slushy ice cream with a flavor of burnt caramel. And, being the Holy Week capital of Peru, there was a total of not one, not two, but thirty-three churches in the city, one for each year of Jesus’ life. You could literally find a church on every block.

When mom, dad, and I had mustered up enough energy, we began to explore some of these wonderful features of Ayacucho. We were even surprised by a nighttime procession. In order to reenact the interactions between Mary and Jesus in the moments leading up to the crucifixion, several of the local churches had constructed two beautiful andas, large alter-like palanquins that are carried on people’s shoulders. The andas were covered in candles and flowers and topped with either a figure of Mary or Jesus. It took about 9-12 people to carry each one through the streets and the andas were so tall that, before it arrived, someone had to use a large bamboo pole to lift telephone wires out of its path. The andas were preceded by a marching band and at each corner the band and procession would stop, a choir would sing, and a priest would wave incense and go through steps of the rosary. As we would soon learn, these processions were practically a nightly occurrence.

Thursday we decided we would be tourists for a day. It was actually quite nice for me, especially since I had been having a very un-touristy experience for the past five months. We went to a local travel agency and scheduled a 2:30 tour to three neighboring towns: Huari, Pampa Ayacucho, and Quinoa. In typical Peruvian fashion, things didn’t go quite according to plan. We arrived at the tour office at 2:30 and were rounded up with a bunch of other Spanish-speaking tourists. We were then, in a very disorganized fashion, split into two groups. For some reason, the tour guides couldn’t find our bus. We then spent the next hour going up and down streets, round and around blocks, and loading and unloading onto buses that weren’t actually ours. Mom, thankfully, found the situation hilarious. Dad, on the other hand, was not amused. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. It is times like those that I’m glad I’m the only one that can speak Spanish. Finally we found our bus. It was parked in the plaza, right outside the tour office. “Welcome to Peru,” I said cynically as we all took our seats.

Despite our rough start, the tour was actually quite lovely. During our vacations my family loves to learn something new, and we definitely got to see and learn a lot about Peruvian culture and history during our tour day. In Huari, we got to see ruins of the ancient Huari civilization. We gazed at the remains of the priests’ quarters, royal burial chambers and underground catacombs, stone alters, uncovered pottery and other artifacts, and even a mummy. Machu Picchu it was not, but still quite interesting nonetheless. In Pampa Ayacucho we got to learn about some of Peru’s more modern history and visited a memorial dedicated to the Battle of Ayacucho. The memorial, which consisted of a large, stone obelisk, was dedicated to the Peruvian soldiers who, although greatly outmatched, defeated the Spanish army along the same mountainside. Finally in Quinoa, we got to visit several artisan houses that specialized in pottery making. Since we had started an hour late, it was now quite dark and evening was falling quite fast. We got back into Ayacucho around 7:30-8:00, happy but starving. We found an old colonial mansion that had been converted to a restaurant, sat outside next to a fire, and had wonderful food.

Friday was another relaxing day and we spent it exploring the streets of Ayacucho. We visited several churches and were amazed that, despite being conducted in Spanish, we could understand most of what was going on during the services. Due to our Catholic background, we could recognize the rhythms and intonations of several familiar prayers and hymns. We also found an artisan market. Mom and I went a little crazy. Deprived of a serious mom-and-daughter shopping spree for over five months, we practically skipped from stall to stall, “oohing” and “aahing” at the showcases of weaving, embroidery, macramé, and leatherwork. Returning back to the room with considerably more bags and far fewer soles, we decided to hang out for the rest of the day. I had requested that my parents bring a board game called Settlers of Catan and decided that it was a good time to teach them how to play. We grabbed the game, headed to a nearby café, and played for several hours. Both mom and dad really got into the game, and dad decided he wanted to buy it for themselves when they returned to the States. To finish the night, we had another nice dinner and then went to explore the plaza. All day, local artists and school groups had been working on murals in the street. Using only dyed mulch, chalk powder, and flower petals, each artist created a beautiful and very life-like picture along the cobblestones. Some of these works were of smiling children, mothers with babies, doves, churches, and other religious symbols, Incan images of gods and goddesses, etc. The pictures had a short lifespan, though. Shortly afterwards, there was yet another procession. Police officers led the way carrying candles and others followed carrying a huge, glass coffin with the image of a crucified Christ inside. Symbolizing Christ’s death, the procession marched solemnly around the plaza over the flower murals (mom about cried) until it reached the main cathedral. By that point, mom and dad were ready to turn in for the night. I decided to stay out a little while longer, met up with the other Peace Corps volunteers, and played card games while sharing contraband American candy.

Saturday is the main day of celebration. The morning kicked off with a running of the bulls. We all gathered in an area several blocks away from the main plaza and waited as a truck arrived bearing six fully-grown bulls. Men on horseback also arrived in order to help herd the bulls to the main plaza, where they would run around loose before being rounded back up and carted off. One by one men on horseback would ride up to the truck, tie a long rope to their saddle, and then toss the other end in the truck to be tied to the horns of a bull. Since the crowd was enormous and because I’m rather short (although, believe it or not, I’m considered a bit on the tall side for a woman here in Peru), I could never see when, exactly, the hatch of the truck was lowered and the bull released. But I could feel it. Without warning, the crowd would surge backwards and scream as the horse galloped pass, leading the bull behind it. And then they would run. The ultimate goal was to run with the bull and touch it from behind, but with both the horse and the bull charging at full speed (and since lots of people were quite drunk), this was very hard to do. I was extremely proud of my parents. Despite both having bad legs (my dad had knee surgery and my mom broke her leg a couple of years ago and it still causes her pain), they decided to run just like everyone else. I ended up with the Peace Corps volunteers and we ran several times, gradually following the bulls as they arrived at the main plaza. Along the way, people tossed buckets of water from the windows to douse the runners and they sprinted past. When we arrived in the plaza and once the bulls were taken away, the next activity was making human towers. The goal was to make a human pyramid as tall as possible, which is easier said than done. Again, the plaza was packed, which only added to they mayhem. I only saw people make three-layer towers, with the top being crowned by a skinny, petit girl. Of course, all the drunken men would hoot and holler and try to convince her to take her shirt off. In one tower, a 14-year old boy was the crowning piece and he decided to take the men up on their offer. Stripping off his shirt, he proceeded to shake and grind in Chippendale-like fashion. The men, not amused, proceeded to boo and throw empty and half-filled beer cans at him.

The next adventure was taking mom and dad up to a nearby hilltop for a local fair. We whole hillside was covered with vendors, selling everything from pots and pans to cows and produce. We weren’t there for the shopping, though. My goal was to give them a taste of real, local food. I finally found a woman selling pachamanca and ordered two plates for us to share. I could tell neither mom nor dad was too keen on it, but I give them points for trying. As we ate, we got a wonderful panoramic view of all of Ayacucho to enjoy. Getting back down the hill proved to be quite a challenge, though. We had taken a local bus in order to arrive, but were advised from more experienced Peace Corps volunteers not to take it back due to heavy traffic. Mom and dad both felt up to walking, so we joined the other volunteers and hiked down together. There was safety in numbers. Pickpockets, some volunteers unfortunately discovered, were having a field day with the heavy crowds. We huddled together and fended them off, even confronting one or two, as we descended down the hill and made it back to our hotels for a well-earned rest.

The festivities didn’t stop there. To celebrate the coming resurrection of Christ, fireworks were launched intermittently all night. Mom, dad, and I watched them after dinner and, once they decided to go back to the hotel, I joined the rest of the volunteers in the plaza to stay up all night and continue watching the show. Besides the typical fireworks, the city had also constructed several castillas, which you could call the Rube Goldberg of fireworks. Castillas are huge 1-2 story bamboo frame towers with all sorts of firework gizmos and gadgets hanging on and off them. Once the fuse is lit at the bottom of the tower, the flame travels upward and gradually ignites different parts of the tower: pinwheels, sparklers, Roman candles, fireworks that later explode into banners and ribbons, and the “UFO.” The “UFO” is a small, spherical or flattened piece of the castilla located near the top of the tower that, when lit, flies off like a UFO into the air, only to explode into a dazzling array of sparks and colors. I think out of all of the castillas, only one or two actually flew upward as planned. The rest ended up colliding into rooftops (one actually smashed brilliantly into a stone cross on top of a nearby cathedral) or dive-bombing into the crowds. One even flew into a neighboring castilla, accidentally lighting its fuse. We, unfortunately, were trapped between them and ended up getting showered in sparks from both sides.

The night’s fun ended with the celebration of Christ’s resurrection. A mass was held at 4:00 AM in the main cathedral and, once the service concluded, the air was filled with the ringing of bells. The doors to the cathedral opened, and out came a huge, one-story tall anda. It was terraced like a Mayan temple and covered in white silk and candles. Once it cleared the doorway, the figure of Jesus was raised from the top of the anda pyramid, symbolizing His resurrection. Men on the rooftop of the church began throwing flower petals and more fireworks were lit as the anda was reverently carried around the plaza. I had been surviving mostly on adrenaline and Red Bulls, but by this point I was beat. As dawn came, I went back to the hotel to pass out.

Sunday and Monday proved to be relaxing days for me and my family. Most of the other volunteers and tourists left Sunday night, while mom, dad, and I enjoyed a couple of extra, peaceful days in Ayacucho. We played lots and lots of Settlers of Catan.

To end our trip, we left early Tuesday morning for Lima to enjoy some time in Peru’s capital. Dad chose a wonderful hotel, and boy oh boy did it feel good to be in a big, fluffy bed, with a nice, hot shower, and English TV. The hotel had a spa area, so I even got a massage! But our trip to Lima wasn’t about me; it was about mom. April 3^rd was her birthday, and we were determined to make it special. That night we had a very nice dinner at a restaurant overlooking Huaca Pucllana, an ancient ruin located in Lima’s Miraflores district. The next day we slept in, treated ourselves to a nice breakfast, and headed to the Larco Museum. Well, sort of.

Travel in Peru is always an adventure, and Lima is no exception. Now, the Larco Museum is one of the best-rated museums in Lima, so you’d think taxi drivers would know where it is, right? Nope. This is what happened with the first taxi driver:

“Hello! We’d like to go to the Larco Museum, please.”

“Oh sure. You want to go to Larcomar?” (Note: Larcomar is a beachside shopping area)

“No, we want to go to the Larco Museum.”

“Oh, you want to go to the Gold Museum?”

“No! The LARCO MUSEUM.

“…”

“Do you know it or not?”

“Sure, sure! Now I remember. The Larco Museum. It’ll cost you 9 soles.”

Once we all got into the cab, things didn’t get much better:

“So how about going to the Art Museum?”

“No thanks, we want to go to the Larco Museum.”

“The Gold Museum is also really nice, you know. I could take you there…”

“WE WANT TO GO TO THE LARCO MUSEUM!”

After about a 30-40 min. drive, we pull up to a large metal gate. On the other side of the road is a very nice looking building, which I assumed was the museum.

“Ok we’re here. Museum is on the other side of the street.”

I looked again. I remembered reading that the museum was in an old, colonial mansion, and this building certainly looked the part. So, without further ado, we paid and got out of the cab. Since we needed to cross the street, I figured it would be a good idea to know exactly where the museum entrance was before we faced the heavy traffic. I went up to the gate to where a guard was posted, and very politely asked him directions to the Larco Museum front door.

“I’m sorry, miss, but this is a hospital, not a museum.”

“I know this is a hospital. I’m asking where the front door to the museum is.”

“This is our front door.”

“No, no, the front door to the Larco Museum.”

“This is a hospital.”

“I KNOW this is a hospital. I’m asking where the entrance is to the museum across the street.”

“Well we have another side entrance a block away.”

“I DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR ENTRANCE. I want to know where the entrance is to THAT museum (I point across the street).”

“….miss, this is a hospital.”

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I KNOW THAT! WHERE IS THE ENTRANCE TO THE DAMN MUSEUM THAT IS ACROSS THE STREET FROM YOU??!!!”

Ok, so I kind of lost it a bit. After going through this conversation at least three more times, the guard finally told me that the entrance to the museum was a block down the road. In a huff, I dragged my sniggering parents across the street, marched down to the entrance and up to a guard, and demanded to be let into the museum.

“…miss, this isn’t a museum.”

“…what?”

“This is the UN building. What museum, exactly, are you looking for?”

“The Larco Museum.”

“Aah…now I understand. That hospital across the street? That’s the Larco Hospital. Your cab driver got confused. Happens all the time.”

No, our cab driver had taken us for a ride, in more ways than one. Thankfully, this guard was considerably kind, helped us flag down another cab, and told our driver, who for some unbeknownst reason also didn’t know a thing about the Larco Museum, explicit directions. After another 30-40 minute cab ride, our driver started to look nervous. He started covering the fact that he didn’t know exactly where he was going by pointing out different streets, buildings, and parks. When he pointed out a nearby hospital, my dad, who knows no Spanish but recognized the word “hospital,” screamed, “WE ARE NOT GOING TO A HOSPITAL! WE’RE GOING TO A MUSEUM!! WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK WE NEED TO GO TO A HOSPITAL?!”

When we finally got to the museum, we were laughing to the point of tears. Although our adventure had cost us a lot of time, the museum was worth the wait. The building itself and the surrounding gardens were beautiful, and the treasures inside were even more breathtaking. We saw room after room of pottery, gold headdresses and jewelry, and ancient tools and household items from all across Peru’s ancient civilizations. Even better, the museum was marked with all sorts of signs and descriptions, in English and Spanish, describing Peru’s ancient history and culture. It was one of the best museums I’ve visited in a long, long time. When we finally passed through all the rooms, we went to the museum restaurant to enjoy good food, drinks, and a birthday dessert.

We finished the day by returning to the Huaca Pucllana ruins. When we had visited before, the ruins were closed and only the restaurant was open. This time we were able to get a guided tour and got to explore the remains of the temple and surrounding grounds. Once again, we learned a great deal about ancient Peru. When the tour finished, we went back to the restaurant to cozy up on a couch and share a nice bottle of wine. We had a birthday toast, laughed and reflected on our day’s adventures, and enjoyed just being together on mom’s special day.

Unfortunately, that was my last full day with my family. The next day my vacation ended and I had to return back to site. I had a 12-hour bus ride awaiting me, so I had to leave early in the morning. Saying goodbye to mom and dad was extremely hard. I loved being able to spend so much time with them, especially since we had been apart for so long. Although we did some amazing things together, for me the best part of my vacation was seeing them beginning to experience true Peruvian culture. I loved seeing them try their first pisco sours and pachamanca, fully participate in the festivities of Holy Week and run with the bulls, and learn about the richness of Peru’s history. I loved introducing them to my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, who have been a great source of support for me as well as endless tales that I relate back home during our weekly phone conversations. I loved seeing mom and dad really enjoy their adventurous vacation, pickpockets, crazy cab drivers and all, and understand why being here in Peru is so meaningful for me. This Easter will always be a special one for me, not just because I spent it in Peru, but because I spent it in Peru with my family.