La Casona De La Abuelita

Question - where in Chiclayo can you get a generous slice of delicious German chocolate cake and a mug (yes, I said a mug) of good strong coffee with free refills for 3 soles ($1.08) and at the same time help to teach a trade to kids and keep them off the streets? The answer is La Casona De La Abuelita…a recently opened restaurant located in the Boulevard shopping mall patio.

Bill Lipman and his wife Beatrice (not in the photo) are the driving forces behind the restaurant and a bakery located in Pimentel that produces the restaurant’s products. We’ve known them for several years and though we’ve not visited their bakery (the ovens fire up at 5:00am…I don’t do 5:00am) we know that Bill has been unwavering in his mission to help the poor by teaching a trade. And not only a trade, but by working at the bakery the kids also learn about business and responsibility. Bill doesn’t do free handouts. I suspect he is a kind but stern taskmaster and these kids work for anything they get.

Proceeds from restaurant sales are used to support the bakery operation. There is a lot more information available on Face book.

https://www.facebook.com/casona.delaabuelita?fref=ts

Here’s a suggestion…if you plan on eating at one of the restaurants in the Real Plaza mall; KFC, Pardos, Rustica, Pizza Hut, McDonalds or the recently opened Chili’s, save some room for coffee and dessert. Starbucks is close to these restaurants. Don’t go there. La Casona De La Abuelita is just two blocks away and the pastry and coffee are ten…no, make that twenty times better than Starbucks. We guarantee you’ll enjoy it, and you’ll be doing some kids, your taste buds and wallet a favor. Bon Appètit!

Visiting Cuculi

Cuculi is a village of 2000 people that straddles the highway about 15 miles west of Chongoyape. There is nothing visible about it from the highway that would cause you to want to stop and check it out, unless like us just never having been there before is reason enough to investigate.

This house sits by itself at the end of the main entrance road to the town. There is nothing grand or elaborate about it; not like the colonial haciendas of old, but there is a certain majesty about it that suggests a central role in days gone by, and sure enough we learned later that the home was the original home of the original resident in Cuculi.

Señor Meneses is the owner and occupant of the house now, and it was he who spent nearly an hour telling us of the house and town’s history. As I’ve written in many other posts, one of my favorite experiences in these small villages is to watch the people transition from shyly peeking out of their house windows trying to figure out who we are and why we’re there, to tentatively stepping outdoors, and finally to greeting us warmly like old friends after the first smile and “good afternoon” from us.

Senor Meneses told us that besides being proud of their heritage the town has two visible sources of pride. One is this ancient tractor that sits alongside the highway in the town park. We’ve seen quite a few of these relics in agricultural towns throughout the Lambayeque Region. A reader has informed us that they are Fowler Ploughing engines. We did a little checking and found that these engines were made in England during the late 1800s through the early 1900s, and many were sent to countries throughout the world including nearly all of South America. The engine in Cuculi was one of a pair that last plowed a field in 1942. When asked if the village would consider selling the tractor Señor Meneses replied, “that would be like selling our history and dishonoring our ancestors…no, we would not sell that tractor.” We received nearly that identical answer when we asked the same question in Tablazos several months ago. We asked the question theorizing that the proceeds from the sale of a tractor could possibly be used for the betterment of the community.

The other source of pride is the town bell located in front of the village hall. Neither Señor Meneses nor anyone else could give us a detailed history of the bell, other than to say that it is very old, and that it is said to be made partially of gold. There are letters near the top of the bell but we couldn’t read anything other than ‘1717’. Is it possible this bell is nearly 300 years old? The town folks think it is. They say the bell in the past was used to announce community meetings, but now its rung daily only at 5:00am just to “sort of get the folks up and moving about.”

Cuculi has a church, a couple of schools, and a community building for the use of retired people, though it’s locked and appears not to have been used in some time. School was in session and we tried to walk past as invisibly as possible, but as usual we were noticed, and as usual pandemonium erupted. I’m sure we’ve caused headaches for more than one teacher during our village excursions.

Cuculi is a peaceful, friendly community. Walking the quiet dirt streets; stopping every few minutes to chat with the inhabitants and enjoying the clean air induces a feeling of tranquility. Even the pre-school kids will stop their play to say hello…especially if they see that you have a camera. 

The Saint Rose of Lima Holiday

Saint Rose...Isabel Flores y de Oliva was born in Lima on April 20 1586. She felt a spiritual calling early and devoted most of her short life to helping the poor and sick. After her death in 1617 there were reports of on-going miracles associated with her activities. She was canonized in 1671. Every year on August 30^th every community in Peru from the coastal desert to the jungle will have some sort of celebration in honor of Saint Rose. All public and many private businesses will be closed, and there will be pageantry and parades. 

The Karl Weiss Alumni Association chose this day to hold their annual parade. Even though the parade lasted over two hours, there were considerably less participants and spectators this year. One reason is that groups that normally would have participated were involved in other activities celebrating the holiday. Traditionally the Karl Weiss parade is held on a Sunday. Why the association officers chose to deviate this year is unknown.

One of the main competitors for spectator attention was the police department. Saint Rose is the patron saint of Peru’s National Police Department and every year police departments across Peru hold impressive ceremonies. This formation extended for nearly three blocks on Balta Avenue South. It included most of Chiclayo’s national police force; military units representing the Army, Navy, Marines and Air force plus nurses from the police hospital. Also taking part in the parade was the K-9 and mounted police.

The downside to being able to watch the police pageantry is that there are very few police patrolling the streets, which probably explains why two fine, upstanding citizens, one on foot and the accomplice in a moto-taxi attempted to relieve Maribel of her purse as she was walking home from the Weiss parade on a usually 'safe' street . She screamed as loud as she could (her throat is still sore today) and fortunately a man driving a mini-van pulled up next to her, opened the passenger door and shouted, “Get in!” She did and they drove away leaving the thieves empty handed, at least for the moment. My thanks to this man for not being afraid to do the right thing.

There was a time a few years ago when better than 50% of Peru’s population lived in poverty; there was no work available and the philosophy “steal or starve” may have been a necessity for some. No more. Conditions have improved considerably but crime hasn’t lessened. Ironically, the vultures stalking the streets today are doing it because in this improved economy many Chiclayanos have a few more coins in their purse or wallet. And it’s easier than working. I wonder if the spirit of Saint Rose would consider working a few ‘miracles’ on these scavengers?

An Evening with Traditional Clothing

Chiclayo’s cultural center sponsors a wide range of exhibitions throughout the year including crafts, art, customs, and last night a presentation of traditional clothing worn all across Peru. The clothing was modeled in combination with traditional dances from each represented town/region, and there were many of them during the two-hour event. All of the presenters were from the Chiclayo area and did multiple presentations, which means they were not only well acquainted with dances from the various regions, but were also adept at quick costume changes.

This couple began the evening by dancing the Tondero in clothing worn throughout the northern coastal regions.

The clothing this couple is wearing representing the village of Inca Wasi (which in Quechua means ‘house of the Inca’) is worn not only at festivities but also for everyday use.

Despite assurances from Maribel that this guy is wearing traditional clothing from Callejon de Huaylas in the Ancash Region, I had a tough time believing it. I’m thinking 1930s Zoot suiter in the USA or some Bohemian enclave today. Anyway, they’re dancing an up-tempo version of the Huayno.

One of my favorite dances to watch is the Festejo (slave dance) here performed by these people representing the village of Zaña in the Lambayeque Region. Zaña has a large Afro-Peruvian population dating back to the days of slave importation in the early 1500s.

My favorite of the evening was this couple representing the village of Jauja in the Junin Region. They danced a slower version of the Huayno…their movements so graceful, deliberate and sophisticated that the entire audience was held spellbound.

The evening would not have been complete without purely traditional Inca clothing worn here by dancers representing Huancavelica.

The performance finished with a curtain call that was greeted by a standing ovation and a rush of photographers.

Admission to cultural center events is usually free and last night the audience was served finger sandwiches while seated during the performance. What a wonderful way to spend a Wednesday evening in Chiclayo!  

The Pieces Come Together

In a previous post I mentioned that I’d written a first draft of a memoir. And that I had put it on the shelf…there to remain until either I felt the inspiration to begin a rewrite or until someone in the future would someday stumble across and dispose of it. It’s been some time now and I’m still not inclined to start a rewrite, but it has bothered me off and on that my memoir had no title. A book with no title is just not right, even if it’s only a first draft. And it’s untidy. I am a habitual list maker and all my lists have titles…you know…like ‘grocery list’, ‘things to do list’, ‘tasks for today list’, and so on. I usually don’t capitalize the titles and sometimes I feel guilty about that. Anyway, without a title how do you know what the written words are about? A title is what ‘hooks’ potential readers. Yes, I know my memoir will not be read but that’s not the point. The point is that it’s sitting there on a shelf incomplete without a title!

A couple of months ago I was talking with Maribel’s son Brian about my early college days when I remembered a writing assignment we were given in a literature appreciation class. We were told to write a brief story about an early childhood memory, and to write it as if the child was telling the story. Before I left that classroom an image came to me that I knew would be my subject.

As a young boy I didn’t like Sunday afternoons. Sunday afternoons meant two things…chicken for dinner and visiting grandparents. You could smell the aroma of cooked chicken everywhere on the streets, and see families all dressed up in their Sunday clothes getting into the family car to visit relatives. I liked the chicken part, but visiting grandparents was a pain because it stopped our gang from getting together and playing games like ‘kick the can.’ Whoever wasn’t visiting grandparents had to sit around waiting for the other guys to get back home. A whole afternoon was wasted! This is what I chose to write about, and did it in the form a short poem. I wondered if there was any chance of getting a copy of the poem. I knew it had been published in the university's annual literary magazine, but I had forgotten all but a few lines, so I sent an email to the university library; gave them my name, the title and approximate year (1975) and within two hours received a scanned copy of my poem. Immediately after reading it I knew that my memoir had a title........

Chicken Sunday Afternoons

Chicken Sunday afternoons always happen when

            the dumb sun is up about there↑

an’ the trees an’ houses an’ cement are bright all over

an’ they ain’t doin’ nothin

an’ the dirt in the gutter ain’t doin nothin but eatin fried chicken smell

an’ it don’t wanna be touched.

Baldy’s house ain’t doin nothin either cause Baldy ain’t home

(what’s the big deal about visiting gramma and grampa on Sunday?).

Ed’s parents got company an’ he has to sit there so he can’t come out.

Pinky is home but don’t feel like doin nothin (who cares about him anyway?)

an’ the whole world (which is this block)

Don’t feel like doin nothin.

I wish the dumb sun would

            go down↓

Cause then Baldy would come home

An’ Ed could come out

An’ we can play kick the can.

I don’t like Chicken Sunday afternoons

cause it’s kinda sad when the whole world (which is this block)

is bright and empty an’ don’t feel like doin nothin.

Night time is better cause ….HEY!... BALDY!... ED!... YOU GUYS

WANNA PLAY KICK THE CAN?

-------------------

I was surprised at the reception the poem received. The professor liked it and shared it with other teachers and soon I was being congratulated for providing a description and giving a name to what apparently many people had experienced as a kid. “Yeah…chicken Sunday afternoons…that’s what they were” was a comment I heard often. As mentioned the poem was published in the university's annual literary magazine and I was asked to do a reading for a literary group.

Okay, so my memoir had a title, and I typed it onto the cover. It looks like this:

Chicken Sunday Afternoons

A memoir

By Tom Filipowicz

Do you see the problem? There’s a big white space between the words ‘memoir’ and ‘By’. There is no graphic. What kind of a book has no graphic on the cover? Maybe even more so than the title, the graphic is what ‘hooks’ potential readers. Walk through any book store and you’ll see all kinds of cool, grab-your-attention graphics. Mine has a big white space and I couldn’t come up with one single good idea to fill it.

In Chiclayo during the course of the year many institutions such as the Cultural Center, City Hall, banks, hotels and outdoor artisan events sponsor arts and grafts exhibits. At several of these exhibitions I saw paintings on display by an artist named Rubên Saavedra Corbeñas. I don’t know anything about art…I either like something or I don’t and have a difficult time explaining why. I liked what I saw in Rubèn’s work and a question occurred to me. Could he provide the graphic I’m missing…more specifically, could he paint Chicken Sunday Afternoons? Having gotten his phone number from the Chiclayo Cultural Center curator we phoned Rubèn who agreed to meet us for lunch the next day.

During lunch I described to Rubèn an image in my mind of a small boy sitting on the curb in front of his house on a bright Sunday afternoon, patiently waiting for his friends to return. I showed him a photo of the street and my house. Rubèn, who is in his early 20’s asked many questions. What was the boy thinking and feeling, what were his social and economic conditions, what was his life like as he grew and how did he view himself in later life? I responded that the boy was born into a poor family; that he had a tough road to travel and would not have anything given to him along the way, but ultimately carved out a good life for himself; a story not uncommon for many people born in poor conditions in that time period between the end of the Great Depression and the start of World War II. 

Some weeks later Rubèn phoned and invited us to his studio in Tumàn to view what he had done with the painting thus far. I was struck by the divergent subject matter and interpretation of the more than 30 paintings on his studio walls.

And then one recent day my painting was ready. To anyone not familiar with the imagery in the painting it probably would not be worth a second glance. To me it speaks volumes of my early years. It is Chicken Sunday Afternoon, but it’s also my mother sending me to Lindners grocery store with 25 cents to buy sandwich meat. It’s the street where horse drawn wagons delivered milk and ice for our ice box; where we rode our bikes and played games. It’s the street where the dreaded polio quarantine signs would appear on the front doors of houses in the summer, and the house where Eugene; one of our gang died of the disease in 1948. The boy on the curb is me but he’s also Eddie K. and Eddie T., Baldy, Eugene, Pinky, Ray, Danny and others. It’s all the things that each of us took from that neighborhood and from each other as we left our youthful innocence behind us and went our separate ways.

Adding the boy as an old man to the painting was not my idea but I love the concept and now understand why Rubèn asked those probing questions. The boy didn’t often think about his future but did occasionally wonder what life would be like when he grew up. The old man knows what lies down that road and wishes he could cross that street and prepare the boy for both the triumphs and tragedies he’ll face, but of course he can’t do that.

The memoir has a title, and it has a graphic. And I have a painting mounted on the office wall above this computer that, when I pause to look at it, fills me with memories and makes me feel good.

Peruvian Pride

According to reports on television and in the newspapers we are in the grasp of La Niña…we being most of costal Peru. We’ve had no rain in Chiclayo but over the past few months each day has begun cloudy and cool; not at all our usual weather. During mid-day the sun breaks through but the wind has a slight chill to it. In the late afternoon the clouds roll in again from the south. The clouds are dark and ugly. In Wisconsin they would be a sure indicator or an impending storm. Here their only purpose seems to be to obscure our usually red/orange sunset. Palm trees and colorful exotic plants just don’t look the same in this icky weather. The official opening school date for public schools in the north of Peru has been pushed back to next Monday in because many kids are ill from the effects of the unusual weather. The only plus for me is that I’m able to wear my old motorcycle jacket that I rode with for many years and miles in the mid-west. It is one of the few possessions I couldn’t make myself part with. I’m not looking forward to the heat of November through February but neither am I enjoying this visit from La Niña.

The Peruvian girl’s volleyball team recently won fourth place in the FIVB under 18 tournament in Thailand. Natalia Mâlaga is the team’s coach and could probably be elected president of Peru right now. Peruvians have a lot of interest and pride in their sport teams. In fact they display pride in most activities that have a local or national cultural focus. Every Sunday morning in every town in Peru there is a ceremonial parade honoring one or several institutions in the context of the nation. You can see love of country in their eyes and posture as they sing the national anthem, as opposed to the United States where the national anthem often becomes an individual spectacle performed by someone attempting to screech as many notes as possible into a single musical bar.

One of my values is loyalty to and love of my country and I appreciate the often fervent pride I see expressed by Peruvians toward Peru, which started me wondering why Peruvians would be proud of their country. After all, it’s a third world country with over 30% of the population living in poverty and in many ways is primitive by western standards. The more I thought about it the more curious I became and decided there was no better way  to satisfy my curiosity then by simply asking friends, family and acquaintances why they are proud to be Peruvian. The overwhelming initial response was, “Because I was born here.” When asked to be more specific the answers generally fell into three categories, with history being the most often mentioned.

Peruvians are intensely proud of their Inca history. Many of the older folks spoke sadly of the Spanish conquest that imposed by force the acceptance of a different language, religion and customs. A younger woman teacher wiped away tears up as she lamented that young people no longer know about Peru’s heroes who fought for independence and in the Pacific War…equating their names with streets instead of deeds. I found that comment to be a bit puzzling because in many of the schools we’ve visited, walls and shelves are decorated with paintings and craft work with a patriotic theme, including such personages as Miguel Grau and Francisco Bolognesi. Many people spoke with pride that pockets of pre-Spanish Peru still exist in the highlands, where clothing, customs and even the Quechua language have been preserved. There was a time when teaching or even speaking Quechua was prohibited.

Geography was the next most common answer. I was several times asked rhetorically, “Where else can you find costal desert, forested highlands, snow-capped mountains and jungle?”  A fair question and it dovetails with the rich diversity of plants, animals and birds which was the third most common answer to my question. With most of the people I spoke with the conversation stopped there, but with several younger university educated people I pushed a bit farther, pointing out that what I had heard so far was either ancient history or a gift of nature….was there nothing of the present that Peruvians are proud of? This question resulted in a potpourri of answers ranging from Peruvian writers led by Mario Vargas Llosa to Peruvian cooking to the potato (and Pisco Sour) originating in Peru, the Peruvian Paso horse and Peruvian music and the Marinara dance.

No one mentioned the modernization that is taking place in the cities or the increasing number of young people completing high school and college. Perhaps those concepts are not meaningful to them now, but I suspect they will be recognized as another source of pride in the future.

A Cursory Look at Health Care Costs and Services

Health care costs in the United States are a common topic of conversation among expatriates here in Peru. Many of us in our group are getting up there in age and visiting clinics more frequently. And most of us know of Americans who come to Peru when confronted with major surgery or treatment for a serious illness or disease. In every case the story is the same…the cost of transport, hotels and restaurants added to the cost of medical treatment is still significantly below the cost of medical care alone in the United States.

Not too long ago out of curiosity I contacted a well-known major insurance company and asked for information for a middle of the road health insurance policy for Maribel. The quote was $375 per month with a deductable of $3,000. The agent added that the monthly premium could be reduced if we would consider a larger deductable such as 6, 8 or $10,000. Have we really reached a point where we can casually talk about a $10,000 deductable without going into shock? According to the latest census the median income in the United States is $50,054. A $10,000 deductable is 20% of that income, and for the so-called lower middle class blue-collar worker with an income of $30,000 or less it’s at least 33%. Who can afford that cost; beside a monthly premium of $300 or so?

Let’s leave the realm of generalities and look at some medical services and expenses that I recently incurred in the United States and Peru.

A week prior to a visit to the United States I pulled an upper back muscle while doing weight lifting exercises. The occasional stabs of pain were uncomfortable but bearable until the strain healed itself – so I thought. Two weeks later I awoke in a Wisconsin hotel room literally unable to move even a finger without triggering excruciating waves of pain. Twice in my life I’ve experienced pain that I rated a 10 – appendicitis resulting in an emergency operation, and nerve pain from shingles. This pain equaled them. It took an hour just to get dressed and into the car of a friend, who drove us to a hospital emergency room. There I was given a muscle relaxant injection and a 5mg diazepam pill. The doctor also wanted upper body X-rays to rule out causes other than a muscle strain. Verbal and written instructions called for diazepam to be taken three times daily as needed and for 800mg of ibuprofen three times daily for pain. Costs amounted to:

Emergency room services…$409

X-rays………………………….162

Diazepam -10 pills…………….12

Total………………………….$583

The pain gradually disappeared over the next two days but resurfaced three weeks later in Chiclayo.  Maribel phoned a doctor friend who recommended a clinic and orthopedic doctor. In Chiclayo, in private medical clinics, you pay in advance for an appointment. To see this particular doctor, who is both an orthopedic surgeon and traumatologist the consultation fee is $36; about three times the fee of a general practitioner. The doctor concluded I have a severely contracted muscle and prescribed Arcoxia (etoricoxib) and Tensodox (cyclobenzaprine) for seven days. He was critical of the doctor in the United States for prescribing ibuprofen. He also said therapy was necessary to “teach the muscle to relax” and recommended a therapist, whom we phoned and visited the next day. After an examination and some discussion the therapist said I would need at least five sessions consisting of fifteen minutes of muscle manipulation (I call it muscle mangling) and twenty minutes of electrotherapy. The cost for each session is $7. I’m through four sessions and am vastly improved, though even as I type this I can feel that muscle pinching me, as if to say, “go ahead…make one wrong move and I’ll contract again like you wouldn’t believe.” Anyway, the cost of treatment in Peru has been:

Consultation.........$36

Arcoxia..................22

Tensodox...............14

Therapy ($7x5).......35

Total....................$107

I am not suggesting that costs can be compared because the services are different, but I think conclusions can be drawn. I know that in the United States you're not going to find an orthopedic surgeon/tramatologist who will consult for $36, nor a physical therapist for $14 per hour. The only remaining question is the quality of health care and I'm sure those Americans and others coming to Peru for treatment would join me in saying that health care here seems to be comparable to that in the United States.