Pittsburgh and Peru: Dynamic Duo?

The Lost City and The Steel City make the ranks of National Geographic´s ¨Best Places.¨

The normal sequencing of this blog is being interrupted to bring you a special announcement.  National Geographic Traveler just released its ¨Best Places to Visit in 2012¨ and I am quite pleased to say that both Pittsburgh, PA and Peru have made the list.  The criteria used to create such a list is unclear--especially since small cities are given the same consideration as entire countries--but I for one have always been an advocate for the natural charm and social character of both destinations.

Peru offers countless manmade and natural wonders--it houses not only the awe-inspiring architecture of the Incas, but also the deepest canyons and one of the largest bird varieties  in the world; Pittsburgh´s city skyline via Mt. Washington offers stunning views of the city´s three rivers, bridges, and the steel edifices that forever revolutionized city architecture. Peru draws visitors seeking to learn about the history and culture of fallen empires; Pittsburgh attracts those who want to celebrate America´s football empire, as well as film directors looking to give their characters a new home. 

Perhaps the comparison is far-fetched for the average reader, but for me, the two places are inevitably tangled. They´re my two favorite places in the world, however big or small they may seem.

Read the full National Geographic article here.

Food for Thought

A few weeks ago, Peruvian President Ollanta Humala made the push for Unesco to add Peruvian cuisine to the World Heritage List.  The request comes as no surprise to Peruvians and tourists alike, who must put on their eating pants every time they leave the house: food is not only cheap, but hearty staples like rice, potatoes, and steak come in heaping portions.  Even more than that, each forkful you bite into here comes with the knowledge that you´re sharing in an evolution of taste, a gastronomy influenced by Andean, Spanish, Asian, and African products and flavors.  Here´s just an appetizer platter-sized summary of the Peruvian food revolution:

1.)     The potato

Spanish conquistadors supplied cattle and pigs, but potatoes claim Peru as their true homeland. The potato was first cultivated between 8,000 and 5,000 B.C., its adaptable nature making it one of the first successful crops to survive the stubborn Andean terrain.  The native Andean tribes carved giant terraces into the mountainsides to cultivate their food and developed irrigation systems to prevent erosion.

Flash forward to any Peruvian menú restaurant in 2011, where the spud serves as the accompaniment of choice to Peruvian plates like pollo a la brasa (rotisserie-style chicken) and lomo saltado (stir fry), or stands alone as an appetizer in the form of papa a la huancaína (boiled potato in a special sauce made of cheese, milk, and ají amarillo) or causa (mashed potato and chicken/tuna casserole).  Peru— the true innovator of the meat-and-potato diet.

2.)    The ají pepper
Used as a spread for sandwiches and a dipping sauce for French fries, ají sauce is the ketchup of Peruvian cuisine. This piquant little pepper is also used to make one of Peru´s staple dishes, ají de gallina, chicken served with rice and vegetables in a creamy yellow ají sauce.  The existence of the ají pepper in South America is thought to date back to at least 2,500 B.C., and is most popularly represented in the artwork of the Moche culture.

3.)    Ceviche
Ceviche´s origin is thought to reach back to the Inca Empire, during which time fermented corn and fruit (mainly tumbo) juices were used to make the dish.  The Spaniards offered up their limes and onions, while the Japanese immigrants brought ginger and their mastery fish preparation. Today, ceviche is Peru´s national dish and is popularly prepared with raw fish and fresh citrus juices.

4.)    Chifa
Wander through the streets of downtown Lima and you´ll eventually stumble across the red arch of el Barrio Chino, Chinatown.  Yet the influence of Chinese cooking cannot be contained within these few streets.  Chifa restaurants are almost as ubiquitous as combis in Peru, especially in Lima, where they can be found on almost every other block.  The term chifa itself is a uniquely Peruvian word used to describe the fusion between the countries´ two cuisines, largely caused by the need to adapt traditional Chinese dishes to include readily available Peruvian ingredients. 

5.)    Cuy
Disclaimer: If you grew up in a world where guinea pigs were pampered, fluffy pets named Domino or Buckwheat, this past post may not be for you.

Here in Peru, the cuy (guinea pig) is much more than a pet.  Domesticated as early as 5,000 B.C., guinea pigs were once considered a sacred animal by indigenous peoples.  They were believed to have healing powers and so were rubbed onto the body of diseased tribal members until they made a cooing noise to indicate the area of infection/sickness.  At that point, the cuy would be split open for the healer to examine the internal organs of the rodent and diagnose the disease.

Cuy entree at Jesus´ Last Supper, as depicted by Marcos Zapata

But what´s probably more difficult for English-speakers to swallow is the consumption of their domesticated pets at Peruvian dinner tables.  High in protein and low in fat and cholesterol, quick to reproduce and able to thrive in a wide range of environments, cuy holds a significant place in Peruvian diet, particularly for highlanders.  Even worse to picture—when cuy makes its way to the table, it comes bearing paws and all. 

For more on Peruvian food:
Glossary of Peruvian Cuisine
Pisco Trail

The Real World Lima Soundtrack: Now on Sale!

It´s everywhere. Each day on your walk to work, you pass Steven Tyler´s larger-than-life lips.  Your fine dining experience comes with a side of old-school Bon Jovi tunes, before he shaved his shaggy ´do and went country.  In the hippest bars and clubs, you tap your feet alongside twenty-something-year-old Peruvians to A-Ha and Pat Benetar.  You might have thought your teasing comb and cut-offs had reached their final resting place in a New Jersey junkyard years ago, but you thought wrong.  The ´80s epidemic has merely migrated south—to the Miraflores and Barranco districts of Lima, Peru. 

For the past three months, I have been conducting a hard-nosed investigation of this musical phenomenon.  The shocking truth? Foreign musical acts were once heavily taxed in Peru, triggering reluctance from big name ´80s, ´90s, and early millennium bands to make concert stops in Lima. Any Peruvian hoping to catch a whiff of aerosol hairspray had to travel outside the country to Argentina, Brazil, or (brace yourself) Chile, that skinny—but feisty—pisco-making rival to the south.  An entire generation of English-speaking, rock-music-loving Peruvians were robbed of genuine encounters with their favorite ´80s acts.  So they did the only thing they could do: they passed the unforgettable melodies onto the next generation, and they waited.

Flash forward to 2007.  The tax was lifted, opening the floodgate for ´80s musical icons to plant their leather boots on Peruvian terrain for the first time and revive (or maybe just perpetuate) the electric guitar fever.  Grumble as you may, you know you can´t resist bopping your head to at least one song on this playlist.  Go ahead and try:

1. queen & david bowie - under pressure (1981)
2. soft cell – tainted love (1981)
3. the smiths - there is a light that never goes out (1986)
4. depeche mode - personal jesus (1989)
5. the cure – just like heaven (1987)
6. depeche mode - just can't get enough (1982)
7. A-Ha – take on me (1985)
8. michael jackson – billie jean (1982)
9. michael jackson – beat it (1982)
10. dire straits - money for nothing (1984)
11. bon jovi – living on a prayer (1986)
12. guns n' roses - sweet child o' mine (1987)
13. aerosmith – janie´s got a gun (1989)
14. simple minds – don´t you forget about me (1985)
15. ac/dc – you shook me all night long  (1980)
16. INXS – need you tonight (1987)
17. the smiths - bigmouth strikes again (1985)
18. george michael – faith (1987)
19. new order – bizarre love triangle (1986)
20. dead or alive – you spin me round (like a record) (1984)
21. beastie boys – (you gotta) fight for your right (to party!) (1987)

Complete playlist available here.  Music brought to you by Daniel Noriega Reto, ´80s enthusiast.

Transportation in Lima Part 2: Killer Combi

The Peruvian combi--such an unassuming, quiet creature when it´s resting...

Let´s take a moment to consider the Peruvian combi.  Its stout, mini-van physique that proudly wears the names of all the streets and districts on its route.  Its torn-up pleather seats jammed-packed with Peruvians on their way to and from the office.  Its melody of horn honking, accompanied by the jingling of change as the cobrador comes ´round to collect travel fares.  The unfailing enthusiasm of the cobrador as he peers out the window or steps onto the sidewalk to chant the mantra of his route in a well-practiced monotone: ¨Arequipa, Arequipa, Arequipa!¨ he says, or ¨Todo Benavides, todo Benavides.  Vamos, vamos, vamos.¨   The reprise of his chanting as he ushers old passengers off the bus (¨Baja! Baja! Pie derecho!¨) and welcomes new passengers aboard.

The combi system is a push-and-shove of a transportation system that´s distinctly Peruvian, a well-oiled machine that´s barely detectable to the common traveler.  It starts at the ground level, with the two-man team of the bus driver and cobrador.  The bus driver darts in and out of traffic to shuttle passengers to their desired destinations in the fastest possible time, while the cobrador keeps track of the schedule, the number of passengers, and the number of tickets. It´s the ultimate drag race to the next stop—one combi always riding the exhaust pipe of another, looking for the next opportunity to pass, passengers and passersby breathing in the fumes.  All this hustle is to make money not for the city, but for privately-owned umbrella companies.  Some are legal, some are not.

They call them combis asesinas (killer combis), because in the rat race to the nearest paradero, they´ve been known to hit innocent pedestrians.  Here in Peru, it´s safer to be inside the combi than outside.  With fares averaging one sol (about $0.40), occasional vendors selling everything from office supplies to jewelry, and salsa on the radio, they just might be the more enjoyable option, too.  Great marketing strategy.

Transportation in Lima Part 1: Taxi Muggings

Last Thursday, my friends and I packed ourselves into a taxi outside of my apartment building and headed toward our usual Thursday night spot, Help! Retro Bar in the Bohemian district of Barranco. The air was fresh, the windows were down, and we were belting out the choruses to top 40 staples— Ke$ha´s ¨Tik-Tok¨ and Joey Montana´s ¨La Melodia.¨ (Listen below for a better understanding of how catchy songs decrease mental alertness and good-decision making.) The next logical progression should have been to sing along to one more party jam from the Black Eyed Peas, arrive safely to our destination, and find our names on ¨The List.¨
 

But that´s not what happened.

Like in any well-constructed plot line, there was some foreshadowing as to what was about to happen, but in the moment we were too negligent to notice.  The first sign was that our taxi driver drove us a different route than we normally travel, one that lead us down a back alleyway in Barranco, which predictably like all alleyways, was dark and deserted.  The second sign was that the end of the alleyway was gated and we had to wait for someone on the other end to open it.  The third was that a man in a hooded sweatshirt riding a bicycle stopped to speak with the driver for a few minutes.  In those moments, he must have realized how completely oblivious (naïve?) we all were—a cab full of girls riding with the windows down.  He must have noticed the open window.  And he must have noticed the purse sitting unattended on my lap, ripe for the snatching.


I remember that he circled around the cab one time before pulling up to the window next to where my friend and I were sitting. With one swift motion, he reached down inside, grabbed my purse, and pulled it the whole way out the window, leaving almost no time to react.  Yet somehow in the moment, my usually sluggish reflexes became cat-like. I yanked the purse from his grasp and pulled it back inside the window just in time for the gate to open ahead of us. Crisis averted.

Bohemian Barranco by night.

When I relayed the story to one of my coworkers, she said a similar thing happened to her brother once.  He had hailed a taxi to her apartment in the upscale neighborhood of Miraflores, but had ended up in a shady section of the city called La Victoria. By the time he and his travel companion finally realized they weren´t in the right place, the taxi driver had already parked in an alleyway, where two men were waiting and ready to get in and mug them.  He´d been in contact with them the whole time. Pretty profitable business model.

The point here is that, in my mind, I always thought I was safer riding in a taxi than walking or taking a bus.  I have ridden in 99 taxis here in Lima with no problems, but it´s always that exception to the rule that gets you. Maybe next time I´ll learn my lesson and take the gas-guzzling mini-van nicknamed the ¨combi asesina¨ (killer combi).  But more on that option later…

Ode to the Agrarian

¨How is it possible to feel nostalgia for a world I never knew?¨  ---Ernesto Che Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries

I spent my Saturday in the company of cows, llamas, and alpacas. The visit didn´t involve travel to Cusco or the northern highlands, but rather a one-hour combi ride to La Molina, an affluent and somewhat suburban-feeling district of Lima that happens to be home to the Universidad Nacional Agraria La Molina (National Agrarian University—La Molina).  The trip was made possible by our good friend Enrique, who studied at the university and wanted to share it with us.

While some of us marveled at seeing farm animals up close and personal for the first time, others felt not as if they were experiencing something new and exotic, but old and familiar.  I belonged to the latter group.  Corn stalks and cows grazing are the typical scenery of a Sunday drive to my grandparents´ house, who used to operate a dairy farm in the quiet countryside of west central Pennsylvania.

Right at home, abroad--Universidad Nacional Agraria

Even though the instances of farm living are becoming rarer and rarer in my hometown, the agrarian tradition of our ancestors is still apparent in many rituals: county fairs, pumpkin carvings, hay rides through corn stalks, senior photos posed in front of props like tractors and wicker chairs. I´ve never milked a cow myself, but as I petted cow MRN 1067, I reflected on how my grandpa used to milk them every day, on how my mom used to say we skim-milk drinkers didn´t know what real milk tasted like, on how she said it was a special treat to ride along with my grandpa on Christmas mornings to make deliveries.  I thought about how my grandpa´s thick fingers and strong, wrinkled hands are the markers of years of dedication to hard physical labor.  Some jobs can be left in an office; others become a way of life.

¨I wouldn´t give you a nickel to travel,¨ my grandpa might say, dismissing my entire move to Peru with one decisive head shake. Likewise he´d probably make the city of Lima pay him before he would move into the thick cloud of smog and cacophonous soundtrack of car horns.

I´ve spent three years trying to piece together the connection I feel to Peru—why I´m fascinated by the lush green terraces and massive stone structures of an empire to which I share no common genealogy, culture, language, or history.  I´ve fumbled for logical explanations, reached for words I did not have.  Why would I spend six months halfway across the world at the expense of separating myself from everything and everyone I knew? 

I´m still not quite sure I can pinpoint the reason, but it seems to me it has something to do with a connection to seed and soil.  With the potato that stubbornly budges its way from the Andean earth against all odds, and the quiet resilience of a farmer, whose stubbornness brings even bigger surprises, defies even greater odds.

September is the New February

It´s September, but it feels like February. I don´t mean that just in terms of the winter weather here south of the Equator—the overcast skies, the lingering cold that settles into the tip of my nose—but in terms of the way the weather makes me feel. I can identify these feelings in the faces of passersby, all bundled up in their winter jackets and wearing fashionable boots: they´re tired of eating soups and drinking teas to keep warm, tired of putting an extra blanket on the bed at night, tired of spending their days in the office and their nights inside. I´m tired, too.

But wait—that´s not the way I usually feel in September, That´s the way I usually feel in February.

View from the office window: February in September.

At home, September means fall. Fall has always been my favorite season. Just one year ago, I wrote about the crispness and colors of autumn in Western Pennsylvania for a memoir class at Chatham.  I wrote about the smell of bonfire smoke after a football game, the tart taste of apple cider on a chilly night, the way the first frost covers the lawn like a delicate spider web. It´s the time of year when friends and family are talking about the first homework assignments and the first tailgates of football season.  Even though I know these things are really happening, in my mind Pittsburgh is just how I left it: tourists ambling down Grandview Avenue with half-melted ice cream cones, workers peering out their office windows, restless with the summer heat.

The stagnation of time is a curious component to living abroad.  I know time is passing where I am, but I can´t imagine it passing back home. For those I´ve left behind, the only time they can imagine passing for me is the time it will take me to come home. They´ve never seen me in this context, crossing the crowded streets of Miraflores or ordering coffee in Spanish. I won´t be the same way they left me at the airport.

It´s September, but it´s February. It´s winter, and I´m a long way from home.