I had to start the process of getting Rusty his exit papers for child by going to the national agriculture office (SENASA) near the airport. I know most people don’t show what South America really looks like restraining their pictures to manicured shots of monuments sunsets and wildlife but… this is me for good or ill.
The road to the airport is undergoing construction, dusty change is in the air but the people just keep doing what they do as traffic threads its way noisily through diversions.
This is where locals shop and where other locals try to make some money or extra money in a second informal job. Next time you feel oppressed think about these guys spending the day making pennies.
I’ve seen small kids, barely more than toddlers selling candies to passing cars. Mothers have their kids along as they sell fruit or cookies on the sidewalk. It depresses me and I don’t mean to sound preachy but traveling here helps to keep me grateful even on the days when the road feels like crap.
I am fascinated by the words used in Peru that I haven’t seen in other countries. Around here they call gas stations as “grifos” and the shame of it is I can’t find out why. Maybe it’s a brand made that has become universal like Kleenex but if you want to ask if there’s a gas station ahead grifo is the word to use.
And then you drive past a banal gas station -a grifo- and there’s a snow covered volcano in the background.
Peru has so much to offer the world, cuisine, countryside, and history. And I think if their leaders got this country in gear the people would blossom. As it is daily life is a struggle and Peru reminds me that the story in the US is always that you can have hope. Failure can lead to success sometimes and everyone can hope. In Peru you are what you are and it ain’t much for most people. It’s so stark here I can’t escape the struggle.
When I come across a Peruvian who will open up, who is content I am reminded of what could be and I have enjoyed some conversations especially with people whose businesses we have frequented more than once. The national minimum wage that is the normal rate of pay for the lower classes is 35 soles a day: US $9:50 Money can’t buy happiness they say but it can buy peace of mind. Thank god for our pensions.
The funny thing is everyone has a phone and they use them to isolate themselves on their phones. We think of phones as our expensive electronics aboard GANNET2 where we watch television on iPads and use our phones for navigation and communication. Peruvians live on their phones.
We had to make copies of our new documents, driver license and registration and our pet papers and border forms and these guys took care of us for 42 soles ($11). Not cheerful, not chatty but efficient and capable. Most travelers make laminated copies of their drivers license to avoid presenting their original at checkpoints. We would never do such a thing you understand but if we did this would be the kind of place where we could get color laminated copies of our licenses.
We spent 68 soles on lunch which is Layne’s only trip daily outside the campground. She props her leg up and we shared a plate of fish.
Rusty and I go walking and Layne rests her leg. That’s our day.
And just like that without counting the Uber rides we spent three times the minimum wage. How they do it with children, even with family support can’t be easy. My opening page on my phone is a picture of GANNET2 in Alamos in northern Mexico. I can go there anytime.
There is an irony in all this as we can’t get to see Cusco and the famous part of Peru and most bitterly for me I don’t get to see Lake Titicaca that I have been wanting to see for sixty years since I read about Thor Heyerdahl. That part will just have to wait a few months until we drive north for home next year. It’ll be there meanwhile I’ve seen the parts no one talks about.
