Voiceless in Lima with the Charlie Chaplin Rats

16 Oct 2010

Voiceless in Lima with the Charlie Chaplin Rats

I didn’t have the sense that I had slept at all when the alarm went off around 4:30 in the morning. I pried my tired body out of bed, threw on the clothes I had left out a few hours before. I was still stuffing the last few items in my bag when the front desk called up to see where I was as the other early morning travelers in my group were ready to go. Helen was sleeping comfortably in bed, not leaving until the 11am flight, and I was very jealous. I lugged my two backpacks down to the lobby as fast as I could. As I said good morning to everyone and goodbye to Erik, I realized that I literally had no voice. Total laryngitis had set in.

Half a dozen of us all piled into the tour bus one last time and headed to the airport. It was a quiet thirty-minute ride as most of us were exhausted, hung-over, recovering from a stomach bug, or a combination of the above. The check-in process for Peruvian Air was quick and painless and before long we were making our way through security. It was refreshing to move through an airport that wasn’t as uptight and dramatic as the American airports in the aftermath of George Bush’s amazing little idea called Homeland Security. These Peruvian security guards didn’t make a big deal if you still had 200ml of water in your Nalgene bottle. If it had been in the US, they would have made you dump the water out, as drinking is apparently forbidden in line, and then go all the way through the scanner again.

Jonas was nice enough to buy me some herbal tea with his last soles as we waiting to board our one-hour flight to Lima. I was trying to speak as little as I could at this point to avoid straining my voice any further. The flight was barely even half full when we finally got on the plane. I had visions of how the 11am flight would probably also be full of empty seats too and wished I was still sleeping in the hotel room. Before I had very long to contemplate this thought, my breakfast arrived. Breakfast was a mixed fruit ensemble served with a sandwich containing a slice of ham and a slice of roast pork…a Jewish person’s worst nightmare, but luckily for me, Atheism poses no food restrictions. Although a strange combination, it went down all right followed by more tea. Somehow I had decided that hot beverages were my solution to laryngitis. It wasn’t working yet.

It wasn’t long before we were touching down in Lima. I was the only one who would be spending time in the city, as the others were connecting on to their flights home. Jaya, having a short connection time, rushed off as fast as she could once her bags came off the beltway. Brian had already boarded a flight to Ecuador to continue with another week of traveling there. Lynn was headed back to California. Jonas, always a calm soul, wasn’t at all worried about getting to his flight back to Costa Rica even if it was leaving in 40 minutes. I was sad to say goodbye to him as he had been a great travel buddy all week! I was also jealous that he would be back home in Costa Rica in a few hours where as I wouldn’t get back to my own bed until the next morning.

When Jonas and I had left Lima for Cusco, now almost a week ago, the driver of the Love Taxi had asked for my return flight information. He promised he would be waiting there for me when I returned. As I walked out of the airport, sure enough, right in the front, I saw him standing there with a sign bearing my name, again misspelled, but nonetheless he was there! He had a big smile across his face when he saw me and he quickly ushered me out to his heart-adorned taxi. He was eager to chat with me and hear all about my time in Peru. This conversation his hindered by a few things: my poor Spanish, his broken-English, and finally my laryngitis. I barely squeaked out the name of the hotel where I was headed. I was going the Marriott downtown. Helen had booked a room there for the following two nights and we all planned to meet there later that morning. She told me that if I was able to get in, she didn’t mind me hanging out in her room either.

The forty-minute cab ride to the hotel was filled with conversation, even despite the aforementioned speech obstacles. My cab driver was very concerned about my voice. He wanted to take me to the nearest pharmacy to get medicine. I told him not to worry, that I was myself, “un médico” so I knew how to care for myself and would get medicine later. He was very excited when he learned I was a doctor and said he had a story to tell me about an interesting medical study. So in Spanish he launched into this long story about the Charlie Chaplin rats. From what I could understand, the Charlie Chaplin rats were fed different diets, some lots of cheese and fats, and other a normal healthy diet. As one would expect, some became fat and others were thin. I was getting the feeling that this might be a joke with a punch line more than a serious story. He re-told the story to me at least three times, hoping that it would finally make sense. Earlier, I had told him that my brother, Gordon, was fluent in Spanish from living in the Dominican Republic. He finally said, “Katy!! Call your hermano!” Yes, he wanted me to call Gordon in the US so that he could translate this wondrous and amazing story. I passed on that one.

The Love Taxi driver pointed out different sites and neighborhoods along the way as we drove through Lima. Eventually we came to the part of the road that hugs along the Pacific Coast. He stopped and pulled the car over in a ditch on the side of the road and insisted that I get out and see the views of the ocean. As we got closer to the downtown, he once again pulled the car over into a park so I could see the views of Lima along the coast. He offered to give me a tour of the city later on, but I told him I needed sleep more than anything else.

As we neared the Marriott hotel, he asked me when I would be returning to the airport that night as he could return to give me a ride. I told him that I might have up to five friends with me and wondered if this would be a problem for fitting everyone in. He inquired as to whether they were fat or thin people. I said they were all small like me. He laughed and said in Spanish, “Not like me! Like Papa Noel!!” And then he laughed with a chuckle just as jolly as Santa’s. In fact we both had a good laugh at that joke, even I got the punch line this time.

He said our “adios” at the entrance of the Marriott. It was almost strange to walk into such a fancy hotel after sleeping in tents and basic hotels for the last week. It felt grand and extravagant. Luckily the staff all spoke English and I approached the first available front desk worker. I explained to her that there was a room under my friend Helen’s name but I was arriving before her and would like to check in. She typed away on her computer for awhile and eventually responded that she did not see any mention of my name on the reservation and that before she would let me in the room, I would have to have Helen call or email her first. All of a sudden the wonderful fantasy of lying down to take a nap was slipping out of my grasp.

I walked away from the desk and went outside for a moment. I realized there was no way I was going to be able to contact Helen as she was probably boarding the airplane that moment, and even if she wasn’t, what were the chances she would have her phone turned on anyway? I, however, was not ready to claim defeat. I went back inside to that same woman and explained the situation, that Helen was on the airplane right now. I told her that I really didn’t feel well, the evidence apparent in my awful sounding voice, and that I would be happy to give her a credit card to hold the room until Helen arrived. I am not sure if she finally took pity on my pathetic sounding voice, or if “credit card” was the magic word. Moments later, she was handing me the keys to the room and I was overjoyed. The room couldn’t have been more comfortable or lovely, and for the next two and a half hours, I took a glorious nap in Helen’s room.

I awoke later to the sound of knocking on the hotel room door. Standing outside were Helen, Dylan, Jill and Richard, fresh off the plane. It was already about 2pm and we were all starving. After dropping their bags, we left in search of lunch. Right across from the Marriott, is not only the shoreline, but a big multi-level shopping promenade and tons of restaurants. Disappointingly, many of the restaurants were American chains like TGI Fridays and Chilis. Places I would never even eat at when home, much less dine at while in a foreign country. We decided to go to a restaurant called Mangos, which had huge decks overlooking the ocean. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch there while reminiscing a bit more about our week in Peru. I tried a ceviche, which is the national dish of Peru, and thoroughly enjoyed it. However for the cost of my one fancy meal in Lima, I could have bought a dozen orders of chicharrón back in Cusco.

After our late lunch, we meandered around the shopping area a bit. It was very modern and looked just like any outdoor shopping mall that one might see in the US or Europe. The waterfront area of Lima reminded me a lot of the waterfront area of Rio de Janeiro. For Peru being a developing country, it had a very modern and seemingly wealthy capital city. We stopped in at a coffee shop there that would have fit in just as well in Seattle as it did in Lima. There was even free wifi and we all checked our emails and Facebook, realizing we had been pretty cut off from these modern habits for the whole week. I sent a message to Jonas who was already safely back in Costa Rica!

We met up with Tom, the Australian guy in our group, after we finished our coffee. We figured we should take a little stroll around Lima before to see it a bit before it was time to fly back home that night. Dylan consulted his travel guide and found a good area to go, not far away that would have an art market and flea market occurring. I made a pit stop along the way at a pharmacy to pick up some anesthetic throat lozenges as well as some numbing mouth ointment for the four of five canker sores I was now nursing. Yes, my immune system had completely disintegrated.

The art and flea market was situated in the middle of a flower park which was swarming with stray cats. We perused through many of the same souvenirs we had seen throughout our trip, along with some Peruvian antiques, and eventually found a whole area of paintings. This too, reminded me very much of a similar market I had visited in the Ipanema neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro. We haggled down with one of the vendors and got some nice little paintings for less than $10.

Our attention was drawn to a crowd of people in the park standing in a circle with load Latin music emanating from the center. As we approached, we saw that the people were standing and sitting around a small circular amphitheater. On the floor for of this amphitheater were dozens of mostly elderly or middle-aged couples dancing salsa, meringue or whatever the music dictated. When the song changed, the couples would switch out, making room for other dancers, or just swapping partners. They couldn’t have looked more content and happy to be out there dancing on this balmy Saturday night. I could have stood there for hours watching them dance as their happiness was infectious. It was so wonderful to see people out of their homes, being active on a dance floor, meeting their neighbors instead of sitting inside, alone, on a couch watching TV as we Americans tend to do on most nights.

All of a sudden, we realized that it was time to start heading to the airport. Richard and Jill grabbed a cab off the street as Richard had the first flight back to the US. Dylan and I would go back to the hotel and meet up with Mr Love Taxi himself to get our ride to the airport as we were both on the same flight back to Texas. When we walked up to the hotel, there he was, waiting with a smile on his face again. Dylan and Helen laughed at finally seeing this heart-decorated taxi and the jolly man who drives it. Dylan and I said goodbye to Helen and Tom, both of whom were staying the night in Lima. I was sad to say goodbye to Helen, as she had been such a wonderful roommate and now a friend.

On the way to the airport, Dylan and I were entertained by the broadcast of a Catholic mass, followed by same Christian rock song played on repeat a dozen times. Towards the end of the ride, the cab driver asked Dylan if he spoke any Spanish. When Dylan said he spoke a little, he launched into the story of the Charlie Chaplin rats again! I laughed while Dylan was subjected to the story I had told him about. Even with both of us trying to wrap our minds and our crappy Spanish around this story, we still couldn’t really understand it. As we said approached the Lima airport, the cab driver once again told me to call my brother for translation. Finally, as we said goodbye, he asked for my email and my brothers email so that he could send us the story that way. He gave me his business card, and finally I learned his name, Manuel Angel Rojas Farfán. His business card was decorated with a pictures of Jesus Christ herding some lamb and it said, “Jehova es mi pastor” in large bolded font. It even had a few Bible excerpts on the back of the card. His card promised, “Dios-Patria-Trabajo-Seguridad-Puntualidad-Garantia” and apparently he was also an “Agente Pastoral de los Centros Penitenciarios del Peru.” Manual was quite the jack of all trades.

Manuel parked the taxi and walked us to the door of the airport, pointing to the Continental desks for us. We shook hands goodbye, and be promised he would be in touch via email to my brother. As I was flying with my dad’s frequent flier miles, I was offered entrance to the VIP airport lounge when I checked my bags. I asked the man if he would allow my friend in as well, and he happily obliged. Dylan and I got halfway through security when we realized we had to pay a Peruvian airport departure fee that was much higher than we had thought. We scrounged out every last bit of Peruvian and American currency we could find to gather enough money to cover both of us. The woman at behind the glass seemed amused as she watched us digging through our bags, but eventually we did come up with all the money we needed.

It was a nice way to end our trip by pampering ourselves in the VIP lounge. We sipped on fresh squeezed orange juice, pastries, small sandwiches and fresh fruit while lounging in leather chairs or checking our email. We even took a few minutes to lie down on the resting room where they have reclining leather chairs and blankets to nap. I was really enjoying myself there and didn’t feel ready to board the plane when a woman walked into the room and said that the flight to Houston was boarding. It was finally time to head back to reality. We had experienced all realms of Peru from country to city to luxury and enjoyed them all.