On the flight to Lima, I watched the full moon beam ethereal lighting on a thick bank of clouds.
Lima wasn’t really part of our original holiday itinerary. We were there for two days before heading to Santiago and then home to Sydney.
With only a day to explore, we hired a hotel car to take us to a few places Stuart had marked on a city map.
Eduardo’s suit was more impressive than his car. He had beautiful old-world manners but not a word of English. As Stuart had not much more than a word of Spanish, it was up to me to manage with my all but forgotten high school lessons with the unforgettably ineffective Sra de Ocampo plus the obligatory 18 units in college, most of which I skipped.
At the edge of the historic centre at Plaza de Armas, Eduardo managed to convey to us that we had to walk to our next stop as the street leading to it is closed to vehicular traffic every Sunday; he would park the car and wait for us.
Knowing my aversion to long walks in the hot sun, Stuart suggested I let Eduardo drive me around while he himself explored the area on foot. I agreed to pick him up in half an hour at the Convento de San Francisco.
What I had failed to understand was that there was nowhere at all in the entire historic centre we could drive to. So with Stuart already off on his walkabout expecting to be picked up in 30 minutes, Eduardo made an executive decision. He parked the car and proceeded to take me to the convent on foot.
Lima proved to be much more interesting than I expected.
Eduardo stood guard as I lingered at a second-hand book market that lined a street for miles.
At a street junction, a procession was getting ready to start.
Eduardo was an excellent guide, explaining the historical significance of the lovely old colonial buildings.
He urged me to enter the more interesting churches- there’s a church every few feet or so.
Inside the Basilica de Ntra Sra de la Merced, Eduardo placed his hand gently on the foot of the huge gold cross. The spot shone from the millions of similar gestures made by supplicants before him who had hung gold medals on the wall as offerings of gratitude for miracles granted. He then made the sign of the cross, solemnly and with such devotion, genuine and unselfconscious.
At the gate of the convent beside the church, two pretty young novices were selling steaming hot tamales. Eduardo bought me one; it had a piquant topping of marinated shredded onions.
When we got to the Convento de San Francisco, Stuart was nowhere to be found.
Unable to get him on the phone, we hung around at the church square for a while then went up and down the nearby streets.
Finally giving him up for lost, I called the hotel and tasked the concierge with finding him. It was another hour or so before we were reunited outside Plaza Bolivar.
As I always say, getting lost is the best way to really see a place. Looking for someone lost is just as good.
Labels: Peru
In the heart of the Amazon rainforest is a world famous opera house.
The Teatro Amazonas was built in the 19th century in Manaüs, once known as the “Paris of the Tropics”, a city carved out of dense jungle by the rubber barons wealthy beyond belief in an age when, it is said, “no extravagance was spared, no matter how absurd.”
The opening scene of Ken Howard’s documentary film “Pavarotti” shows a home video of the late great tenor on holiday in Brazil, arriving by boat to visit this very opera house. Disappointed to find it closed, he lets it be known that he is Luciano Pavarotti, whereupon the theatre is opened and he sings onstage in murky darkness. I wondered why the video was so poorly lit.
I now realise that it’s because no flash photography can be allowed inside the exquisite 123 year-old theatre with its frescoed ceilings, Carrara marble columns, parquet floors like La Scala’s, Murano glass chandeliers, and a Tiffany stage curtain.
Apart from countless other extravagances, the building is more notable for clever engineering designed to work around the hot and humid climate of the Amazon rainforest.
The building was oriented to face east from which cool trade winds stream in from the Atlantic Ocean. The carriageway was paved with specially made rubber cobblestones designed to muffle the traffic noise from horses and carriages. This allowed the doors and windows of the theatre to be left open, letting the cool winds in during performances. In the stalls, further cooling was provided by floor vents located under the theatre seats.
The Tiffany stage curtain needed the addition of an elaborate dome to enable it to rise without being rolled or folded.
Labels: Teatro Amazonas
It’s the day before Christmas, and we’re on a riverboat in Santarém near the mouth of the Amazon River exploring its complex system of waterways. I watch in fascination as the slow moving Tapajós River entwines fingers of deep blue clearwater through the opaque brown water of the Amazon.
It looks like oil spill...or a Monet painting...or maybe a Monet painting of an oil spill!
We are told that this is the mini version of the “meeting of the waters”. The major convergence occurs in Manaüs, 900 miles inland from the Atlantic Ocean, where the inky black Rio Negro and the muddy brown Solimöes marry and give birth to the mighty Amazon.
This striking natural phenomenon is an awesome thing to watch. Two streams of water, very different in colour, temperature, and speed, flow alongside each other for several miles without mixing together. There is turbulence at points where they begin to converge.
It doesn’t take much imagination to see parallels to the human condition and the societal upheavals occurring today in far too many hotspots in the world.
On the riverboat, we meander through small tributaries and creeks, passing ramshackle fishing communities, watching out for animals in the wild but finding only an iguana slithering along the waterline and a sloth perched atop a tree.
We pass alongside other boats much like ours and gamely wave to the people on board who like us are imagining themselves as explorers braving the piranha-infested waters of the Amazon.
We choose a quiet spot to stop and try our hand at line fishing. I’m first to bag a catch and I parade around my tiny baby piranha to whoops of delight from everyone before throwing the greedy little monster back in the water.
I must confess though that I had a bit of help from the crew.
Labels: Manaüs, Santarém
