First Ruin to Last Night in Barranco

Cabs are fun!

As they both peeled off the beds the next morning, and agreement was made. First, buy sunscreen, then fix of toss sandals, and then utilize this day to find and explore Incan ruins. Only one of those happened. We decided to go to the Pachacamac Ruins south of Lima. Mark headed downstairs, found Chris, and ignorantly said, "We are going to Punch-a-ma-cock." He knew what we were really trying to do and scribbled some brief directions and the bus number we should take. We got on the street and stared in bewilderment as taxis and buses flew by honking at us. Chris warned the next town is a bit chaotic because we get off in the middle of traffic to watch cars go in a giant circle honking and yelling at us, trying to get us to pay for a ride. He said to tell the driver, "Pachacamac Ruins," and if they agree then take it, if not then don´t. We stood at our street for about five minutes then took a cab. If anybody knows Mark, he sucks at busing.

The cab driver seemed very reluctant to take us there, but we headed out to a place that Anna and Mark never experienced, except in the movies, like District 9. The road we were on was surrounded with less than average looking Peru homes and a mountain to the right with a fifty foot Jesus statue. As that passes, the road became an actual freeway; the rubble and shanties appeared. We were experiencing hardcore culture shock at 55mph, from a distance. Our driver pulled off and got stuck in stopped traffic on a bumpy dirt road next to the largest dump we´ve ever seen. Puddles were splashing from our tires, formed from little creeks trickling from this wall of corrugated roofing tied to cyclone fencing for miles. That was nasty Lima dump water and it has it´s own kind of odor that would hurt to describe.

Model of the site

Long walk to the excavations

Temple del Sol

By the time we got dumped off ourselves, at Pachacamac, the redneck had double from the sun coming through the backseat window. Standing in the deserted desert parking lot was daunting to say the least. We paid for our tickets and began the long dry walk around one of the largest and oldest village ruins in Peru. All sand duns surrounding the tips of temples long forgotten and recently graffitied. There is a gravel road in the shape of a giant capital letter "Q" about a mile or two round. In the middle of the Q is most of the city structures which are massive in size and still being unearthed. There are random smaller, much older, and more dilapidated ruins one the outside of the Q that aren´t worth the effort of science right now.

View of the Pacific from the top

Ancient stone work

Walkway on the top of Temple del Sol

Since 2010, excavation has been focused on "Temple del Sol" which is up a steep dirt road on the leg of the Q. We started there and were instantly awestruck with the amount of work that has been done to build this, and the amount to find it. The view from the top of the temple is unique as well. One side is the Pacific, which they had lookouts constantly looking for travelers due to the fact that the city was a major, if not THE major, junction of trade for South America at the time. On the other side of the temple was a view of the city ruins and desert. Right behind the last of the temples is a huge brick wall built to keep the poverty stricken third world housing from piling up on these temples. Literally. Behind that is the Andes mountain range. During it´s heyday, Temple del Sol was the most prominent structure around, and you can´t help but imagine teleporting to that era just to view the hustle and bustle of one of the oldest civilizations in the world.

Excavation behind the old grave sites

View of the shanty town neighborhoods

Remnants of a what was a huge long wall

Hard at work excavating Pachacamac

Progression of the excavation

Lose the Shirt!

While we walked and read the signs of historical info, we were under constant watch from security guards, standing and sitting all over the ruins. They were fully armed with shotguns and bulletproof vests. At one point, Marks forehead and neck couldn´t take the dry desert sun anymore. Off went the shirt, and on went the turban style hat. We forgot sunscreen. About three minutes later, whistles were blowing, and a guard was yelling in Spanish and making gestures to not lose the shirt. Jerk! The temples were built by people who never found the shirt. Oh well, that was our sign to get out of the sun.

With our options limited to busing, or hitch hiking in the District 9 desert slums, we chose busing. The bus we got was about the size of a yellow short bus, shaped like a large van from the 80´s. There was a little guy how stood at the door and opened it one hundred feet before every stop, screaming at people to get on and pay. We nicknamed him the Bus Hustler. Anna had to do the talking because Mark was getting to the point of perma-fry, just wanting aloe and water. We showed him the little list of directions Chris wrote, and we think he said, pay me and I´ll find you for your stop. Just then a man sitting got up and gave Anna his seat. Peruvians are very polite when it comes to that. We were on that bus for over an hours not knowing where we were going, trusting the Hustler, and people gave up their seats on a packed little bus for the elderly and pregnant ladies over and over. The little Bus Hustler guy came up to Anna and signalled to hold the backpack closer, the miles of slums would love to get their hands on the contents of that bag. The bus was so packed, Mark stood the whole time, shoulder to shoulder, with a ceiling of five foot eleven. He loved every look the locals gave him when the boarded the bus, and proceeded to keep on staring. They must have thought that Diablo Rojo came crawling out of Pachacamac and decided to ooze sweat all over the first bus he found.



After the aggressive weaving in and out, literally within inches of stop and go traffic, Mark had had enough and needed off. We were through the slums, and taxis were everywhere. We took a cab to another Rustica restuarante, this one at the bottom of the stairs that go to our hostel. We ordered two Pisco Sours and watched the most glorious sunset of our trip.

After the lovely sunset din din, Mark and Anna headed to the hostel in Barranco for one last night in some serious slathering with the cheap aloe vera lotion we got suckered into buying. AAHHH... the forehead! We sat in the patio and mingled with the fellow hostel folk and found out there were two girls from the Bay Area staying there too. As well as Irish, Canadian, French, British, and who knows what the others were. Really nice people. The group told jokes, Mark´s were the hit of the courtyard, and got their drink on until the Canadian boy went off to bed. The rest of the guest slowly did the same and Mark checked his half of a watch he bought for six soles, seeing it was only midnight. He asked who wanted to go out for drinks and the girl from Fremont, named Laura, said "F-Yeah!! Let me get ready." She bolted off to her room, so Mark lathered a fresh aloe layer and chugged a cerveza. Laura was standing by the front door as we ascended the staircase, holding it open as we pasted and Mark smuggily looked at her in the eye saying, "Muchos Gracias." Before she could reply with "Denada," Mark was laying on the sidewalk. He should have watched for the step instead of looking ninety degrees to the right. Cat-like reflexes kept the ankle from popping out or the drunk and wobbly legs to the brunt of the left foot going completely sideways against the ground.

Laura took us to downtown Barranco where we headed to a place called the "Beir Garten" where the pushiest doorman forced us in. Instantly we wanted out as we entered the incredibly stuffy, smoke filled room, with hoards of locals standing still in what appeared to be a 90´s discotek club. The music was too loud, even to think, so we stood there. Mark instantly felt trickles of pore-sauce all over his body. After sticking out like soar gringo thumbs, a sting of employees goaded us to a table where we ordered a round of beers. Still too loud to talk and too stuffy to stop sweating, we agreed to leave after cervezas. Right then the tables behind Anna all lit up cigarettes at once. About ten or more. It got nastier than we thought it could have. Laura told us of a place way more chill she went to with the Canadians, so we departed.

The name of the next place has been forgotten but it was right up out alley. It was a restaurant that played lived music at night and there is no smoking. It was packed there as well, pretty much all of Barranco is awake at night, with the park full and the streets flowing and the bars full way past midnight. Warm nights do that to people. They sat us in the way back table that was specific to gringo tourists and the band began to play. This was our first encounter of live music and crowd reaction in Peru. Everytime a song began people were up doing their Salsa moves and grooves. The second the song ended they were back at their seats, staing at the stage awating their queue to twist their cute little feets to the beats.

After several rounds of beers and songs, staring at a giant white guy who looked really awkward (at first) at dancing, a more than big boned singer came on stage. She had a wonderful voice, even thought the microphone looked like a fork compared to her head. Laura and Anna agreed they were hungry and decided to order, which is when we felt the force of the words from the old man, "No Tiempo." Laura got a personal pizza, Mark another pitcher, and Anna wanted artichoke hearts. She found something that seemed to say this, on the last page of the menu. It read "Anticuchos de Corazon," which we knew corazon meant heart, and anticuchos must mean artichoke.

Right then the signer pulled a firey old lady from the crowd, and her family of local Peruvians, and that bulky white guy with his comb-over and push-broom mustache. She sang a corazon felt version of Feliz Cumpliaños for her birthday. After that song ended, the band went into another soulful samba, which got the front five tables dancing with the birthday girl. The white guy grabbed her hips, and someone his, and so on until a conga line was chugging through the restaurant heading straight for our table. The b-day girl in the lead was clapping and calling all to join and her gaze caught Mark´s. She signalled our table to become the conductors. Mark forced Laura to get in line, then he in front, the shoved the unwilling Anna to lead the whole, no joke, train in an unadulterated oval of awesomeness. The band was even suprised that the servers and bartender were following queen Anna´s once in a live-time (© Dream Theater) Peruvian conga line.

Anna pulled her imaginary train horn signally her finally stop in front of her imaginary train station at the stage and we turned to watch the b-day girls party colapse on the dance floor like a train wreck of giddy drunk Peruvians. The dance floor then became a huge circle dance off. B-day girl would go in the middle then point people out for their thirty seconds in the ring and that´s around the time Mark and the only other white guy who sucked, buy still tried their hardest at dancing, got it on. After three rounds of who could move their feet fast and more awkwardly under two hundred and twenty pounds and not fall, the real disco moves were being flown. Anna, Laura, and b-day girl were doing their thing with the crowds, and the sweatfest between "Gigante Rojo" and "Grande Gringo" reached heights of plasmatic proportions. At one point mustache was shoveling from b-day girl´s backside and tossing imaginary loads of imaginary debris into the air for Mark to catch in his shirt, and then pour back into white guy´s shirt. Epic!!

The song ended and the white guy and Mark hugged in agreement that they suck. Everyone returned to their seats. As we got to our seats, the pizza and pitcher were there with no artichoke hearts in sight. Instead, Anna accidentally ordered bull heart diced up and skewered. Anticuchos means chich-kabob She tried to complain, but no tiempo was still in full force. Drunk and hungry Anna ate her first animal heart. And it was delicious!!

We said our goodbyes to the birthday girl, who told us where she was staying in Cusco so we could do another dance off later in the week. The three of us stumbled back to our hostel, parted ways to our rooms and went to bed. Wow, what a night!