Gone South

"You're the first foreigner I can recall ever visiting this town," she remarked.

"Yea, I heard this was the happening place. So what exactly is the deal?"

"Well basically, the festival doesn't end until the last tree falls."

More on that later. Two coworkers from the medical clinic (Cesar and Mabel) had brought me to Ahuac with the promise that it'd be one of the more unique experiences I'd have around here. Thinking we were heading to the town square, I was a bit surprised when we got out of the taxi at an abandoned fork in the road. We walked for a little while when I began to hear the saxophones. A few minutes more and we encountered the following:

"Hope you're ready to drink," laughed Cesar. I wasn't. I was coming off a late intoxicated night and only 3 hours of sleep. My head had been pounding all morning and my stomach was barely holding down lunch. But when the first bottle was passed around to me, I was too timid to refuse. My rationale was that if I was drinking, at least I wouldn't have to dance. Wrong again. These people have perfected the art of simultaneously multi-tasking the two.

Things were made worse by Cesar and the band egging on the girls to dance with me. As I've mentioned countless times in this blog, I dance with the grace of a wobbly barstool. Sadly, the town of Ahuac was going to have to see it live and in-person. Wailus is the name of the traditional dance in the Mantaro Valley. The girls lift their skirts slightly and, with their arms close to the body, sway rhythmically from side to side. In contrast, the boys flutter their arms like wings and tap the ground rapidly with their feet. The combination is supposed to mimic two chickens flirting...seriously. My version looked more like a wounded chicken begging to be put out of its misery. The townfolk even made me don a traditional vest and hat to add to the embarassment. Two thoughts crossed my mind. 1) I really wish there was someone here who knew how to use a camera and take better pictures for me, and 2) I am so glad I'm drinking right now.

The Wailus is kinda like a Peruvian bhangra. And that guy kinda looks like Jas!

From the random spot on the road, the band and supporting troupe paraded its way towards the village with the music and dancing continuing throughout. All the while, this playful old woman kept harassing everyone with ortega...reminiscent of a stinging needle plant. She even rubbed me under my shirt! I felt so violated and again, relieved I was near drunk.

The centre of festivities for the evening turned out to be a patch of dirt surrounded by farmland, a couple houses, and a convenience shop. Crates of beer littered the ground, families gathered to party, and old folk chewed coca leaves by the side. When the band wasn't playing, they kept reminding me that 7 is a good number of girls to have at once. And when I wasn't listening to relationship advice from the band, I (un)fortunately was coerced into dancing and drinking some more. Within an hour I must have been introduced to the whole village.

Noticeable upon arrival were the 5 or 6 holes in the ground, each about a couple feet wide. Cesar and Mabel mentioned something about raising and chopping trees and I remembered hearing something about this in Cusco. It sounded crazy then and it was even crazier experiencing it live. The procession is called Cortamonte. It starts with decorating the trees with balloons and of all things, plastic wash bins. They are then propped into the holes and secured into place.

Next, a clay pot full of candy is hung between two of the trees. Little kids march around in a circle and take turns hitting the pot with a wooden stick, much like a piñata. Eventually it breaks and the kids rush in to grab as many treats as possible. I believe this also signals the official beginning of the main event.

Night is quickly settling in. The band has been playing for over 5 hours now with minimal breaks. I can count about 20 empty beer crates on the ground. People are just rounding into form when the axe makes its first appearance.

The music starts up and it feels like the hundredth time I've heard this tune. Meanwhile everyone grabs a partner or two and starts dancing in a circle around tree no. 1. The first axe wielder steps up and hacks like a madman at the trunk. When he's had enough, he passes the axe on to either a volunteer or a person of his choosing. Grandmas who can barely lift the thing get a go. So do the macho guys trying to show off to the girls. Heck, even I took a few chops to the cheers of the crowd. Only one thing was consistent...you had a bunch of drunk people swinging a severely dangerous weapon in the dark in the close proximity of other drunk people and little children. That being said, I think it's an outstanding tradition. And for a second it felt like I was at Ferg's Farm again with Sascha Yui.

Eventually the tree comes tumbling down. Kids swarm to the crash site and maul each other to grab the balloons, wash tubs, and other ornaments. I wasn't so much worried about the tree falling on me than the kids trampling all over me. While everyone is getting prepared to tackle the next tree, there is one official secretary recording names and contact details into his large notebook. I have never seen anyone take their job so seriously. You see, the person who knocks the tree down has to first chug a beer and is now responsible for helping organize the party next year. Cesar even told me that if I had dealt the final blow, I would have had to send money from overseas and designate a representative to go for me. I thought he was joking but my host family confirmed it had happened to one of their friends who was studying in the US a few years ago. Needless to say, I stayed clear of the axe for the rest of the night.

The treecutting routine repeated itself numerous times for the next couple hours. Even though there were originally only six trees, they kept raising the fallen ones again to keep the fiesta rolling. During the course of the night there were more than a few times when I just stopped dancing, looked around me, and thought this is the South America I've been searching for. It was memorable to say the least...not so much because of the costumes, music, or dancing...but for the realization that sometimes the long road actually takes you to the right place.

The last tree went down around 9:30pm. And although the logic of the girl I had met earlier was right, her prediction was way off. The party kept rocking for many hours more.

The night was going so well. Perched on the rooftop doing our best homeless impersonation, we had the fire roaring, Cat Stevens strumming out the guitar, and homemade alcohol keeping us warm.

And then I had to get a little overzealous with the smores. Bite, crunch, snap. There went the tooth again. Instead of sympathy, I only got ridiculed to no end. Even by myself. At least I started to blend in with the local folk for a while.

In contrast to Bolivia where I was searching frantically for a dentist, I happened to know one here immediately. Enter Dr. Ivan. Of all places, I met this guy at the discotecque last weekend. He had randomly asked me to be his wingman as he tried to pick up some girl who was half asleep. Let's say that based on his charm and tactics at the club, I was a bit hesitant to have him fix my tooth. I didn't have many options however. And after he proclaimed my real tooth could no longer be put back in, he crafted me a new one with the precision of the polished artists in the valley. It looks great...high marks all around for Dr. Ivan. I then suggested he should try his luck with the many toothless chicks in Huancayo.

Huancayo's ugly. There's no way to sugercoat it. The plazas are grim, the architecture lacks creativity, and the streets stink of pollution. Odds are the Inca Empire will be rebuilt before trees and flowers ever bloom here. It is a paradise of cement and dirt, engulfed by juice bars, chifas, cheap clothing markets, and dog poop. The cacophony of honking cars never ceases, a persistence rivaled only by the relentlessness of the local shoeshine mafia.

Don't get me wrong though, that's just the exterior. The people are as friendly as anywhere. You can find everything you need within a few blocks. The food is authentic and the nightlife is pumping. Huancayo is a great place to live but prolly not to bask. Nothing to feel ashamed of but nothing to boast either. It's a typical city and I guess that's my only problem with it. I miss the dudes holding massive lizards, the old ladies taking their llamas out for walks, and the six year olds smoking cigarettes on the corner. But maybe I'm just too used to all the little quirks by now...save some imaginative hotels and interesting special import shops.

Fortunately, the blandness of Huancayo is contrasted with the brilliance of the surrounding Mantaro Valley. Green hills, festival after festival, and every town professing its own claim to fame. With each location only about a half hour bus ride away, I try to explore as many as possible during my free afternoons. Here's some reviews on places I've already visited.

Chupaca
Besides having a superb name, I also work in Chupaca everyday so I am partially biased to this town. However, I didn't think I'd be coming on a Saturday morning until my host family told me they were having a huge animal sale there. Sounded interesting and I was on the next bus over.

You couldn't really tell who was a buyer and who was a seller. And actually, if it weren't for the numerous bulls, cows, sheep, donkeys, and such wandering around, you'd think you were just at some outdoor keg party. Everyone was pretty much standing in circles passing around a bottle of beer and making fun of their wives.

And then I walk past causing the farmers to do double takes. After a bit of arm-twisting, I'm suddenly part of the drinking circle. Soon I have them convinced Bruce Lee is my uncle. But crap, I cannot keep up with these guys and by 11am, I'm hammered. At that point, I honestly tried to buy one of their bulls but it was just too damn expensive (about $750). The picture below depicts my desperate offer to teach them all kung-fu in exchange for the animal. Close, but I went home empty-handed with the exception of some severe beer farts. Rating: A

Cochas

One of the unique arts in the Mantaro Valley is the mate burilado - carved gourds that illustrate traditional stories and Peruvian themes. Sounds retarted but it's actually pretty cool...and very damn impressive. At 9am, grandpa, grandma, and the whole family were etching, engraving, and burning away. Nothing's painted, the colours come from heat. And every fifth house in the small village is doing the exact same thing...hundreds of original pieces...which only made me wonder who buys them all and how the hell can they all afford to make a living through this.

The artists get really attached to their work too. One of the old dudes we met spent an eternity talking about his gourd depicting the story of the Prodigal Son. Holy shit he wouldn't shut up. I think he even tired himself out because he couldn't keep his eyes open during this photo. Rating: B+

Cajas

Awesome views atop Cajas. Once a year, there is a festival which involves a troupe running up the hill, yanking out the cross, affixing it to one guy's back, descending triumphantly into town, marching around the plaza, and then going back up to return the cross to its original spot. All the while an entourage band eggs on the carrier and the rest of the troupe dances and whips him. Sounds pretty cool. Then again, part of me thinks Julio (pictured) totally made all of this up. Rating: B

San Jeronimo

A town renowned for its gold and silver jewelery. This nice old lady taught me how it was done even though I had no interest at all. I just wanted to get some gifts and get the hell out of there. Rating: D-

Hualhuas

Poor alpacas and llamas never stood a chance with the weaving madness that goes on in this town. I blew through here like a hurricane and probably sheared a full alpaca with the amount of hats, scarfs, and tapestries I bought. I had no choice...the wool is as soft as my butt. Rating: B

Laguna Long Name I Can Never Remember

You can take a small rowboat named Titanic across this lake. Just letting you know. Rating: C+

Conception/Ingenio

Ate a lot of fresh trout and pachamanca (bbq and veggies cooked underground). Was too busy eating to take photos or notice what else was going on in town. Therefore...Rating: A

Torre Torre

Sandstone towers just a touch outside the city. Almost slipped off one of the edges. What's new? Rating: B

Just a few weeks left and whereas some days I'm excited to return, others I still feel there's a million things left for me to do here. I spend a lot of time wandering about. My mind seems to wander even more.

As the combi drops me off in front of the medical centre, it kinda dawns on me that I have no idea what I'll actually be doing here for the next month. Oh well, how bad could it be? I then walk inside where everyone simultaneously turns towards me with a look of bewilderment. And I thought I was the confused one. After a very long 5 minutes, a nurse approaches and greets me. Cool, I'm probably going to fill in some paperwork now and get a tour of the facility before starting on some translation or admin work. Nope. I'm instead taken to the storage area and fitted for a white lab coat. And then given a stethescope as well.

Um, they did get the memo I'm not a doctor, right? So just in case I'm scheduled to do some complex surgery, I frantically explain to the nurse that I'm just a volunteer here. She laughs and tells me to go to the office at the far end of the hall.

There I meet Dr. Belu, a young soft-spoken woman who is only too eager to get me started. For the first few patients, I just sit to the side and observe intently, trying my best to pick up as many Spanish medical terms as possible. And then she asks me to check some kid's throat. Pretending I know what I'm doing, I take the tongue depressor, open up the mouth, and just pray I don't choke this boy to death. I tell Dr. Belu that everything looks pretty normal. She takes a peek and says that it's badly inflammed. Nice first impression Brian.

The rest of the day (and week) goes by routinely. Some little girl needing stitches. A bunch of eye and ear irritations. Countless babies with fevers and coughs. Too many throat and stomach pains...what are they eating 'round here (oh yea, guinea pig and street meat). Dislocated elbow. Breastfeeding problems. Urinary infections. Vaginal bleeding. Typhoid. The usual.

As days pass, I try to make myself more useful. When I'm not frantically looking up words in my dictionary, I have become quite adept at calling patients from the waiting room and closing the door behind them. No seriously, I've already gotten to do more than I'm qualified for. I've done a couple consultations on my own (with Dr. Belu supervising and ultimately diagnosing), checked blood pressure, assessed respiration, and I haven't choked anyone with the tongue depressor yet. Yes, my volunteer work has felt more like an apprenticeship. And although it wasn't at all what I was expecting, so far so good. I should be called in to lead that surgery by week 3 or 4.

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I'll write more about Huancayo and what life is like here in a future entry. Quite frankly, I haven't explored too much yet. It's a big city and I'm just trying to figure out where to buy fruit and shoes.

I will say that I'm living in the home of the mother of the organizers of my volunteer work. It's just me, her, her father (91 years old!), and another lady who helps out around the house. Unless you count the 3 dogs, 3 cats, 5 kittens, 10 guinea pigs, 1 duck, and 4 chickens. Yes, the same damn chickens/roosters that wake me up at 5am every morning!

That'd be my only real complaint other than the low doorway to my room that I've smacked my head against 15 times. Everything's good - hot showers, no longer living out of a backpack, and the homecooking is amazing. I never knew there were so many ways to mix corn, beans, and mystery meat. No really, some of these typical Peruvian dishes are delicious. I think we're even going to eat some of the guinea pigs soon. Although everyday I pray we're having chicken for dinner.

8 hours from Ayacucho to Huancayo. No problem. I even take the morning bus and sit at the front to get some good views of this Central Highland area. 2 hours in, weaving up and down the mountain pass, and everything looks even more phenomenal than expected.

And then the dirt road disappears. Huh? All I see is a ton of people standing on the bank of a raging river. Takes a second but then it clicks in...the river IS the road...or at least has washed over/washed away the road for a good 20-25 metre stretch. There are some guys standing on rocks in the water trying to lay down more rocks to bridge the gap. Helps a bit but would take hours to complete a semblance of a thorough path. Two buses sit idle on the other side, its passengers standing around impatiently.

Our bus driver has had enough. He surveys the scene one last time before marching confidently back to the bus and whistling for everyone to follow. Crap, I thought my river crossing days had ended in Chile. As I board, I ask him if it's possible. He looks me square in the eye...and just chuckles as if to say ¨Dude, even if this river carries us of that cliff, it'll be a fucking good time.¨ Earlier in the day, no lie, he remarked to some girl that the coke he was drinking was mixed with whiskey. As the wheels hit the water, I'm left wondering if he was joking or not.

Halfway across. So far so good. People are literally praying on the bus. I'm taking photos out the window and having a whale of a time. Three quarters through. Motor stops. Shit, we're stuck...but only for a couple of seconds. Engine revs and we're moving once more, closer and closer to the other side. When the bus is fully on land again, everyone is whooping it up and lauding our heroic driver. Meanwhile, a collection is passed around to help the locals from the nearby community, for they will spend days putting the road back together.
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And then, no more than 20 minutes later, on a tight muddy corner...

HOLY SHIT! What can I say? Well, to calm my mother down, I should say that I wasn't on the bus at the time. I was outside helping gather rocks to improve the traction. I guess the bus driver was a bit impatient once again. Hubris.

The bus seemed to topple over in slow motion. Screaming ensued both from within and outside the vehicle. I admit I was frozen for a bit. From my vantage point, I couldn´t see the cliff behind and just expected it to go all the way over. As I made my way around, I could see how close it was...maybe a couple metres to the left and it´d be in the river below... along with about 25 dead bodies.

People started crawling from underneath the bus and climbing out from the windows, which were now at the top. Only a few elder folks had to be dragged out. After an exasperating 15 minutes, everyone had escaped the vehicle and miraculously, no one was severely hurt. Just some scrapes, bruises, and a lot of shock.

Because not many people were really keen to do it, I climbed nervously back aboard and helped excavate the bus of all personal belongings. It was kinda cool, felt like pilfering a sunken treasure ship. And then I remembered the bus could still be teetering on the edge, vulnerable to sudden movement, and I got my ass out of there as quickly as possible.

Here´s a couple more photos from different angles. It's hard to describe but our toppled bus basically blocked the entire corner so nothing could get through (i have no idea how they are going to remove it). So we had to wait for a bus going to Ayacucho in order to take it back towards Huancayo. And the people on that bus had to get off and wait for a bus going to Huancayo so it could turn around and go back to Ayacucho. Sorry if that makes no sense. All I know is the 5 hr wait was torture.

I wish I could say that was the end. An hour later, an 18 wheeler was stuck on the road (engine problem) and blocked our way. We waited another hour and a bit trying to help fix the thing. It didn't work. So our driver (a new one at this point) attempted to go around it, cliff on one side and no more than half a foot´s extra width of open space to drive through. No fucking way!! I have NEVER been so freaked out watching something as I was this (we were obviously not on the bus...but all my belongings were!!). I really didn't think it would make it around. You should have seen how tilted it was. On practically two wheels, I could have pushed it over with my pinky. Everyone was holding their breath or crossing their fingers or praying. Oh yea, it was dark and raining by this time. And there was still 5 hours to go.

The rest of the ride, people were flipping eveytime we took a tight corner...and rightfully so. Two or three more times we had to get off the bus because our collective weight would have sent it over (I forgot to mention that the bus was packed...people were crowded in the aisles). And everytime I watched the bus manuever these bends(sometimes with 5 point turns in mud across a stream), I always thought it was going tumbling into the abyss. Quite simply, it was like being on Death Road again, but on a bus instead of a minivan or bike. On many occasions I thought about the buses that had fallen off that mountain and the gravestones that lay beside the road. Tense only begins to describe my status during certain moments.

Somehow in the homestretch I fell asleep. I woke up to paved road, never being so happy to see cement. Those bus drivers are incredible(except the one who flipped the bus). We got in at 3am (12 hours late) and I stayed in a hospital across the road from the terminal that doubled as a hotel (??). How fitting.

Don't worry folks...I will make it home in one piece!!