Road Rage

I have never willingly put myself through such constant physical discomfort as I have by braving the cars, vans, and buses in Peru. I think by now you all understand that I am much, much taller than my Peruvian counterparts. My legs are literally twice as long as some of the women I know here. It’s silly that I even try to fit into Peruvian-sized spaces, but when the alternative is staying in Huaca Rajada indefinitely, you better believe I’ll squeeze myself into the first thing with wheels that’s headed west.

 Terminal Epsel, Chiclayo: organized chaos.

Taxis are ubiquitous in all Peruvian cities. In Chiclayo, both mototaxis and ticos are popular and cheap ways to get around. A mototaxi is a similar to a rickshaw but with a small motorcycle for power, usually steered by a 15-year-old boy. As with all things wheeled here, there are varying degrees of luxury and age. Roads are rough and bikes and cars take a beating. Shocks are pretty much non-existent and we ride low to the ground, which can make for a bone-jarring ride on the best of days. Especially when you’re loaded down with gallons of water, boxes of wine and stacks of books to take back to site.

Ticos are mini-taxis most often seen in northern coastal cities. They’re like a miniature version of a Mini Cooper but a whole lot jankier. I would say they comfortably seat about half a person, but we routinely squeeze four gringo-sized people in there. Anything to save a few centimos (that we then go spend on overpriced and underwhelming pizza). I have ridden with six full-sized adults before, plus the driver. It’s like the circus – how many clowns (Peace Corps volunteers) can we fit in one tiny car?

Looking frightened on one of my first Lima combi rides.

Combis are beat up minivans that run circuitous routes around the cities or shuttle people between the capital city (Chiclayo, for example) and a campo town. Rides can cost anywhere from 50 centimos to 4 soles (one good thing about public transport: it is cheap). The best seat in the front passenger seat but then you have an up close and personal view of the many, many times you almost die in a head-on collision. A combi can comfortably seat eight people but they routinely squeeze up to 15 adults, a slew of nursing babies, and bulging bags of produce and/or livestock. I once rode for two hours with a pig strapped to the roof. That pig seemed to enjoy his trip about as much as I did (side note for all you non-farm dwellers, pigs are extremely loud. Like louder than you’d ever imagine.).

How many Peruvians does it take to change a tire?

Coosters are what I’ve spent a large percentage of my time on these last two years. A cooster is a larger version of a combi, sort of like a public school bus in the States, but much older, more beat up, and all-around horrible. The average trip from Huaca Rajada to Chiclayo takes about an hour-and-a-half, but this can vary depending on a number of factors: road conditions, the driver, passenger weight and cargo, number of stops, flat tires, etc. The best ride I ever had took just under an hour and the worst was upwards of three hours. There’s an art to riding coosters that I’ve finally perfected.

Fun with Peruvians on moving vehicles.

Not even visiting siblings are immune to the joy(e)s of public transportation.

As a tall lady, I initially sought out the aisle seats so as to provide myself with a little extra leg room. This is correct in theory, but as the cars inevitably fill up and all manner of Peruvians squeeze themselves into the aisles, your extra leg room is quickly overtaken by muffin tops, squealing babies, and unsteady drunks. There is no such thing as personal space on a crowded trip. I’ve become intimately acquainted with more strangers than I’d like to recall. No, the best seat is a window seat in the first or second row. The back seats take the brunt of the potholes and it’s nearly impossible to disembark from the back row (picture the gangly gringa literally climbing over seats knocking unsuspecting grandmothers upside the head with giant bottles of water). I wish the pictures I had did better justice to my stories, but the best/worst rides are far too crowded to even think about getting out a camera and snapping a pic. Just trust me when I say it’s a painfully hilarious experience.

Please note the difference between the length of my leg and the back of the seat.

Long-distance buses range from the awful to the luxurious. I once took a 14-hour trip to Lima on a directo bus (i.e. economic) with Papy’s head on my shoulder and my seat unable to recline. That was pretty bad. But on the whole, overnight buses are pretty comfy, especially after two years of practice.  I just bought my LAST BUS TICKET EVER and went for the nicest of the nice – a 180 degree reclining leather seat. I’m giddy.

My typical Peace Corps experience: waiting for a car to anywhere.

I started out this blog post intending to convey how much I hate public transportation, but writing and remembering some of my favorite stories, well, it all seems kind of funny and endearing now. I’m sure this also has something to do with the fact that I have only about two trips left. Hindsight is a funny thing. 

Weekly Wisdom #2

I spend most of my time valiantly trying to integrate and understand Peruvian people and culture. I speak in another language, live with a foreign family and voluntarily ride Peruvian public transportation. It’s exhausting. So sometimes it’s a relief (and fun) to relax in my gringa-ness and revel in the fact that people don’t expect me to speak the language. So, in the spirit of embracing differences and making the most out of my stupidity, I’ve compiled a new type of list.

Things you can do when you’re white (in Peru):
· Bring champagne and orange juice into a fast food pollo a la brasa restaurant to make your own mimosas. Drink loudly and obnoxiously, then argue with the waiter when he tries to charge a corkage fee (seriously, a corkage fee in a fast food restaurant?). Successfully refuse to pay the full charge (less than $5) on the grounds that you in fact opened your bottles of champagne.
· Agree to pay S./13 for a taxi. Hand the drive S./10 while your friend grabs the two rolls of toilet paper that are inexplicably in the center console. Pretend not to understand when he asks you for the extra S./3 (roughly $1), despite the 10 minute conversation you had in Spanish less than 5 minutes earlier. Get out.
· Fill up your water bottle from a water cooler in a pharmacy from which you purchased nothing.
· Pay S./1 for two people to home from Lima on a combi (cost should be about S./8 for two people). Feign sleep for much of the ride to avoid the cobrador, then actually fall asleep. Wake up, yell to get off, hand your one sol and don’t look back.

I realize after typing this that I look incredibly cheap. It’s true we do a lot of bargaining and haggling over prices, but I pay the correct price 95% of the time. The combi drivers can be incredibly obnoxious and often try to charge a gringo price, so it feels vindictive to pull one over on them every once in a while. Also, please remember that we are living on less than $3 a day right now. Every centimo counts. And the above all happened in one day, making it seem especially funny and clever.

This past week was pretty uneventful. July 28 is Peru’s independence day so we didn’t have classes Monday or Tuesday. The celebrations were subdued this year because of swine flu. Peru is very concerned about the swine flu. Schools have been closed since July 15 and won’t re-open until the second week of August. I don’t believe there have been a dramatic increase in cases, it’s just that they don’t have enough medicine so an outbreak could be devastating. Anyway, I spent a lot of time with my host family. We watched many movies and spent hours playing cards. I taught them Go Fish and for the past week, my host dad has said, “Jessica, ir al pescar,” every time I’ve seen him. Apparently they really liked the game.

I am leaving this afternoon to head to my site for the next week. I will be living in a tiny town (population: 1000) outside of Chiclayo, the regional capital of Lambayeque (north of Lima, on the coast). I’m really excited to see my town, meet my new host family and counterparts and start this whole Peace Corps thing. It’s sure to be an awkward and funny week. Can’t wait to share some great stories when I return!

Miss you all!