Mar 2007

The course of travel changes when you´re by yourself. Gone are many of the antics and in place a greater sense of curiosity for your surroundings. That would hold true in my few days in the underrated and undervisited city of Ayacucho...a place of infamous history, too many churches (33!), and too few laundromats (1, run by some dude in his nineties).

My topic of interest was Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path), a rebel Maoist terrorist organization that was based in Ayacucho and brutalized the region in the 80s and early 90s. How did people function during this era? What was life like? Did it lead to all the crappy Chinese restaurants that exist nowadays here? Can you still sense the past? The answer to the last question was made clear after my first couple days in town. Simply put, you wouldn´t suspect such previous horror given the approachability of the people and the upbeat vibe of the city. It´s like a renaissance of sorts. ¨Mucho tranquilo,¨ many locals would tell me as we sat at a cramped foodstall and they intently watched me eat some nasty fish stew called ¨Leche de Tigre¨ (tiger´s milk). ¨Es muy seguro,¨ they´d add...(ironically as I was writing this paragraph, a fight broke out on the street with two topless guys kicking the crap out of each other...I curse myself for leaving the camera in the hostal).

I was originally very nervous to ask about Sendero Luminoso...it´s like asking about an ex-girlfriend/boyfriend or how someone´s vasectomy went. So I decided to butter up each conversation with something more light-hearted...a simple survey on the preference of Brian with beard or Brian without beard (note: I went for a beard trim in the last town I was in...I clearly told the barber 3 times that I only wanted it shorter and not completely removed...he nodded in total agreement and then promptly shaved it all off in a matter of seconds. IDIOT!!) So yes, the bird´s nest is now gone.

I surveyed 16 people in total and tried to make a representative sample. 8 women and 8 men. Young as 6, old as probably 65. From all walks of life - e.g. shoeshiner, internet lady, hotel receptionist, photocopy dude, pharmacist, waitress, girl selling biscuits on the street, mototaxi driver, nun. And the results were as follows...8 voted I look better without the beard, 4 for the beard, 2 said I´m drop dead sexy either way, and 2 just gave me a ´what the hell, go away you freak´ reaction. Most of the girls preferred no beard, especially the younger ones. The nun liked the facial hair. And the old pedaephilic man said both ways were good. What do you think?

Anyways, back to Sendero Luminoso. A jewelery selling hippie told me how his parents were executed when he was 5. Another just kept remembering how they couldn´t go out at night. ¨If you were out past 6pm, you weren´t coming back.¨ And the owners of the Tiger´s Milk stand remarked on how they couldn´t work because there was no industry. And how they had to send their kids to other towns or countries for safety and to make a living. There was probably more detail in these stories that my spanish just wasn´t good enough to translate. I think in hindsight, that could be a good thing.

Some effects do exist unfortunately. By chance I came across a children´s shelter in a suburb of Ayacucho that was run by a Belgian, his wife, and a host of French volunteers. There were nearly 30 kids here, between 1 and 13 years old - some handicapped, some abandoned, and all from poor, alcoholic, and/or abusive families (as a result of Sendero Luminoso´s reign). I ended up spending the day volunteering at the shelter - playing with the kids, helping prepare the feast, and setting up decorations. It just happened to be the 5 year anniversary of the place and there was a massive fiesta, complete with costumes, dances, a military band, and performances put on by the children. When I didn´t have 3 kids hanging off my legs, shoulders, and neck (they were pretty damn affectionate), I talked extensively with Gil the founder (first pic) to get a deeper understanding of the project. Without going into detail, my instincts tell me the place is rather genuine - the kids were quite healthy, happy, and well-behaved - and the local community was beginning to support it too. It´s called Casa Hogar - Los Gorriones and there´s a donation link on the website if you´re at all interested.

This was the feast being dug up...chicken, beef, sweet potatoes, beans, corn, and other stuff was buried into the ground under hot rocks, dirt, and full sized herbs. It´s a Peruvian thing called Pachamanca...and it was pretty damn good.

Starting my own volunteer work this weekend and I think I´ll be back in mid-April now. Thanks to everyone who has given me an opinion on school in September...keep the comments coming (Boston U and New York U are now options too - don´t ever apply for more than 5 schools, I am retarded!).

Some random photos because I´m 5,000 photos behind on my Flickr site.

Just trying to figure out where to go tomorrow is enough of a challenge. And now I´ve gotta decide which school to attend in September for my Public Health Masters. Honestly, I had no desire to go to the States but I applied anyways since there weren´t many programs in Canada. Very unexpectedly, I´ve now got choices, not always a good thing for indecisive schmucks like me. Well I can´t visit any of the schools and don´t have much time to talk to any profs/alumni/students, etc. Got enough stuff to do here.

Therefore, I could really use your help. I know you don´t know anything about my program but I´m sure some of you have opinions about doing advanced degrees, living/working in the States, and where you could see me enjoying my studies. Please email me or comment here any and all thoughts about which school you think I should attend (totally serious...consider costs, location, postgrad opportunities, etc.). Just curious to what you might have to say. The decision is obviously mine to make. Deadlines are end of the month. Shit.

Cal-Berkeley (Berkeley, CA - just across the bay from San Fran)
Yale (New Haven, CT - need to preorder my pink cardigan in advance)
Michigan (Ann Arbor, MI)
Emory (Atlanta, GA)
Oregon St. (Corvallis, OR)
Minnesota (Minneapolis, MN)
George Washington (Washington, DC)
Simon Fraser (Vancouver, BC)

I haven´t actually got into SFU yet but it´d be funny if I got rejected. Here´s hoping not because I´m very adamant about it. Would love to stay in Canada but would I be an idiot for doing so?

Thanks everyone.

Been spending some rainy days alone just wandering the streets. Makes for some good photo opps and thinking time.

He leads us into a maze of rocks and caves scattered on an open hill overlooking Cusco. His name is Kush, a shaman by trade and a mysterious man overall. He doesn´t dress or look particularly traditional. But as he beats the drum, shakes the rattle, and chants the prayers to begin the ceremony, everything becomes a little surreal. And this is before we even take the San Pedro cactus juice, a drink intended to heal you by putting you in closer touch with nature (i.e. talking to plants and flowers). When in Peru..., right?

A half hour after chugging two glasses of the green crap, the urge not to puke is strong. Kitty and I have practically passed out and Andrew has climbed some massive rock to take the following picture. Have we in reality taken part in some suicide ritual? It certainly crossed my mind given our current conditions.

Soon Kush begins his march through the valley. Crap, we have to move. I can barely feel my legs. Never been this fatigued before. We start losing sight of him and are practically wandering on our own. Um, is it really a good idea to feed us magic cactus potions and leave us unattended to play around on cliff faces and sharp rocks while we´re tripping out and half-sick? Just thought I´d ask.

We catch up to the shaman who is walking in a wooded area along a stream. At least I think it´s him. But all I see is a horse. WTF?

Oh ok, he´s sitting down twiddling a yellow flower and softly laughing demonically to himself. Relieving. I sit down beside him and kinda drift off to sleep, now more exhausted than sick. Eyes closed, I see a ton of white rabbits emerging from a flat background into three dimensional forms. Hrm, this would prolly be a good time to ponder some of my questions. (Note: we were supposed to think of a few goals/questions about ourselves beforehand that we´d like to tackle with the San Pedro). I think hard about my particular ones and await some answers. All I see is a moose. Super. What a rip-off. And the flowers aren´t even talking to me. The shaman starts moving again. I almost spew before getting up to follow him.

Now the chase really begins. He is flying through the valley, perhaps floating. At the top of every mound we catch a brief glimpse of Kush on the edge of some new cliff face. And as quickly as we see him, he disappears around the corner. It´s like the naked Indian in Wayne´s World. We just can´t reach him and start to wonder if he´s actually there or if we´re hallucinating.

We soon figure out we are just moving very very slow. And laughing very very uncontrollably. Andrew discovers a broken magic frying pan. We should ride it to catch up with Kush. Or at least use it to descend the steep hill (see picture - we were convinced this gradient of maybe 5 degrees was the most treacherous cliff ever). We mistake rocks for waterfalls. We take photos of my green booger. We find a horse´s ass sticking out of the bush and label it my inner soul. And we inexplicably find immense humour in the following story: ¨There were these 2 dogs...barking...loudly.¨ Will we ever catch this shaman?

Eventually we draw even at the entrance of a large cave/tunnel where we have to wade through the passing stream in bare feet. The water both numbs and refreshes me. When putting my beautiful yellow socks back on, I am convinced my feet have grown 10 sizes. As I stare in awe at my own flesh, the others laugh their asses off. Bastards.

During the two hour walk back to the city, we once again trail Kush by miles, mostly due to our awe with the surrounding landscape. I´ve never enjoyed a short trek so much. Amongst other marvels, we stroll past a small village and some ancient ruins. All the while, the city´s brown roofs gleam from below and a mountain in the distance proclaims "Viva El Peru, Gloriosa." Many donkeys but few cars pass by.

Cusco is just moments away but we savour the moment a bit longer from above...away from all the tourist haggling that poisons the incredible city and which we have no desire to reimmerse ourselves into just yet. Kush has long given up on us and is probably asleep in his bed by now. We can´t see it but the sun is setting. And we reflect on an unreal day. I can´t say my questions were really answered but there was at least some clarity and tranquility reached by the end. I think the true San Pedro effects might take a few tries to get it right and maybe you need to be away from the hilarity of your friends. Or perhaps I´m just not the kind of guy who needs to talk to flowers right now.

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A few days, a bout of diarrhea, and a visit to Machu Picchu later, I now find myself venturing solo. The Aussies have continued their goals via Argentina and Brazil and I am about to embark on volunteer work in the Central Highlands of Peru. Bittersweet times for sure. Best of luck guys...keep an eye out for loud barking dogs and stay clear of horses.

Random dinner shot...is that roasted guinea pig I accidentally ordered? Tasty!