Of Lima, Cajóns and Peruvian Mandolins

After climbing and descending Yanapaccha, I treated myself to two days of doing nothing in Huarez. Basically I was killing time before my flight, and spending it in a place that wasn't Lima. Fortunately there were some cool people to hang out with at the hostel, including an Aussie couple and a French dude.

Amongst some of the exciting adventure we shared: a trip to the market downtown to buy pirated DVD's. Most of these sold for the equivalent of thirty cents. The titles were in Spanish, but for American films, English was still the default language. They had a bunch of the latest films on disk, including Inception, but the Aussie guy told me that he had bought it and the quality was awful. He said that the older films were a safer bet because the guys doing the pirating usually just burned them off of an original disc, rather than setting a camera up in the theater.

Empowered by this knowledge, I purchased Casino Royale and Inglorious Basterds. We had ourselves a movie night at the hostel over some pisco. I found that pineapple juice makes a pretty good mixer. For about thirty seconds, Casino Royal went into German for some reason, but otherwise the quality was excellent.

I didn't actually plan to do nothing during the rest of my time in Huarez. I thought I'd do an easy hike out to Laguna Chirrup, a pond that was nearby. However, when I woke up too late on the second day to get transport, I resigned myself to indolence.

I booked my 15 sole ticket back to Lima with the Cial bus company. That night, A big group of us hostel foreigners decided to get dinner at El Horno, a pizzeria owned by a French guy. For the king's ransom of 18 soles, I indulged in a delicious wood-fired pizza. The owner came up to our table and struck up a conversation with his countrymen. Looking around the restaurant, it was probably safe to assume that there was nobody there who was actually born in Peru.

I don't think this is cute, but you might.

I had to put my cash down early and leave or else I would miss the bus. I had some regret that I hadn't done more in Huarez but I was looking forward to home--real home, back in Connecticut, which was only three days away. Boredom and a warm shower.

As the bus started rolling, I fell asleep. This was good because I could be rested up when we hit Lima and not have to use a hostel.

At five in the morning I woke up. The bus had rolled off to the side of the highway. An attendant explained that our ride had broken down. We would have to wait for other Cial busses to come and pick us up when they had empty seats. The wait meant nothing to me, in fact I embraced it because it meant that I had more time to sleep. Outside, I could see the hateful gray coastal fog hanging over colorless desert and knew we couldn't be too far from the city.

It's that goddamn fog again!

Over the next few hours, the bus emptied out as passengers got on board other busses. I was going to be last because my backpack was buried underneath everyone else's luggage. I didn't let it bother me and went to sleep instead. Finally, myself and five Israeli tourists left and got onboard a comfortable semi-cama with reclining seats. It was about another hour into Lima and then an hour going through Lima. Fortunately, I slept for most of the experience.

I got a cab from the bus station back to Plaza San Martin, back to where the whole crazy trip had started. There was an expensive hostel nearby, so I walked in and asked if they could check my bag. Walking around the city fully loaded with that bastard on my back was going to kill me. I opted for the light napsack, and set about my last Peruvian adventure.

A protest in Plaza San Martin

I had plane tickets home already, but hadn't thought about getting from Newark Airport to dear old Ledyard. I popped into an internet cafe to see if they had any Fung Wa Busses from Chinatown to Foxwoods, finally broke down and bought an Amtrack ticket to Mystic. Planning my journey across Connecticut while I was still on the other side of the equator did feel a bit surreal.

With that taken care of, I had one last goal for Peru, which was to buy a cajón. These nifty instruments are basically big wooden boxes with a sound hole in the back. In order to play, you sit down on top of it and hit the front panel. The cool thing about them is how their sound changes depending on where you hit them. In the middle, they make a dull boom but the top edge makes a sharp, ratatata snare sound. The cajóns with tightened cords inside do this much better than the ones that don't.

I had seen cajóns in every music store in all the major cities I'd been to and thought it would be cool to bring one home. I just learned from Wikipedia that the cajón is considered to have its origins from African slaves living in Peru. Consequently, I feel reassured that my purchase has even more meaning than I thought before.

I got lunch at a Chifa and then headed over to Plaza de Mayo. This place definitely comes recommended for all you travelers who think you might have a crack at Lima. A ring of dark blue buildings goes around a traffic circle and almost entirely consist of music shops. I went inside them all, ogling the amazing selection and occasionally fooled around with the instruments.

Along with cajóns, the most popular instruments were nylon string guitars and charangoes. The later is difficult to describe and difficult to play. It has ten strings grouped into pairs, and the set in the middle are one octave apart from each other. It resembles a ukulele somewhat. Also, you've probably heard it if you've ever listened to Simon and Garfunkle's rendition of the Peruvian El Condor Pasa. (Max, Ben and I have heard various renditions of this song almost as much we heard the reggaeton everywhere.)

Nearer to my area of specialty, many shops also kept mandolins, though I wouldn't have recognized them  because they looked exactly like the charangoes. The mandolins in Peru come with ten strings instead of the eight that I'm used to. Instead of grouping these strings into four pairs, the bottom two sets of strings are triplets. I don't really know why, but they are. Also, the instrument itself is much larger and has a bigger fretboard. Apparently most Peruvian mandolins use different tuning, but the one I took off the wall had its strings arranged in the same way that my mandolin at home does, EADG.

I began playing a couple chords and then tried out a couple of Irish reels.  Soon enough, the people in the shop started clapping their hands, dancing and spinning around with enthusiasm.

Nah, just lying there. I didn't actually sound that good, partly because I wasn't used to the oversized frets and also because I'm not that good. I declined the shopkeeper's offer that I buy it, but it had been a fun time anyway.

Plaza de Mayo

Instead I bought one of the smaller cajóns with cords. I had been planning on spending at least a hundred soles, but this one cost twenty. Call me a cheap bastard if you will, but I wouldn't have bought it if I hadn't thought it sounded great. Also, I was afraid that if I tried to bring something too big as carry-on that airport security would confiscate it. As it happened, when I brought it through the checkpoint at George Bush International Airport in Houston, the guy by the X-ray machine was sure that he was looking at a birdhouse full of weed.