I sit in a stuffy cubicle at an Internet bar off the Panamerican Highway in northern Peru, typing here and hopeful that the thus-far lackluster Internet connection will hold long enough so that I needn’t retype everything that is to follow.  It’s the last day in Peru; indeed, the last hours are near.  By dawn of the next morning, I’ll be gone and into the Andean highlands of Ecuador, so I thought now would make a good moment of reflection, even if I’m still a bit near to the subject.  I wonder too if my opinions would change if I’d spent my time in what seems to be the more popular and tourist-friendly southern portion of the country.

It’s shocking, at least in the north, how little of the ruins here are publicized.  Thankfully they exist at all, though excavations on most of the sites I visited (Sipan, Chan Chan, and the Huacas de Moche) have only taken place in the past three decades a so, a bit surprising to me.  It offers a sense that more remains to be found under the desert sands but also makes some of the present-day tourism a bit lacking.  Facilities are poorly developed in many places, though it is infinitely easier to spend a few minutes puzzling over an exhibit explanation in Spanish and divining meaning than it is with Chinese.  Never curse out languages that use your own alphabet, it’s a godsend.  

Chan Chan and the Moche Huacas both boast some of the finer detailed work, a lot of it relating to animals, such as the carvings representing the sea at Chan Chan, one of the largest sites before the Spanish ransacked it.  The adobe pyramids of the Moche, outside of Trujillo, must have been impressive in their heydey.  Today, there are some of the colorful paintings that have been rediscovered and preserved, a lof it depicting some of the elements of religion.  The more gruesome aspects featured include the selection of sacrifices: warriors pitted against one another, the winners gaining reprieve and the losers being offered up.  The decapitated head are later shown in the hands of priests or deities.  An interesting bit of detail and a bit fun to imagine a city of up to 20,000 spread on the sands below the two pyramids.  The Spanish, ever the delicate explorers, washed away 1/3 of one of the pyramids by diverting the river in their mindless quest for gold.  Bravo!

For all the stories of crime and danger in Peruvian cities, I haven’t encountered any real issues, save for overcharging taxi drivers and barbers, a situation hardly unique to Peru.  Sadly, my efforts to blend in here meet with about the same success as in Asia.  Safe to say that I do better in Canada though!  Trujillo and even more, Chiclayo, presented bustling and active city cores, almost universally organized around a Plaza de Armas and the major cathedral, where people loll around below the shading trees of the park.  The city planner in me nearly cries out in protest of the narrow sidewalks and copious vehicle lanes.  Why not narrow driving lanes?  Plant more street trees?  Do you realize how perfect your compact core and narrow widths would  be for a dedicated bicycling network?  Fortunately the locals are saved from any such harangues by my inability to communicate it.  Instead we are all treated to the unique symphony of horn sounds that have developed out of the vacuum of traffic obedience.  It is simpler to announce one’s presence than to adhere to suggest guidelines.  

I wish I could say I had more interactions with the locals.  For better or worse, I was largely ignored by people.  This is good when it means no beggars or peddlars giving you the hard sell, less so when hoping to talk to people and get a feel for the spirit of the culture.  I was assured by a friend that if I were a cute girl I would have had many more chances to communicate with locals.  Alas that option is closed to me, and I’ll press forward to Ecuador hoping that I find more opportunities there to exercise my linguistic muscles.  It also represents the last night bus of the journey, a relief to have behind me.  They aren’t as fun as all the movies make them look.