[May 14, 2006] Warmness folded down upon Lima, Peru two months later, bringing May and the new election for a president, fluttering along Miraflores Park. It brought, also, a sense of strain to the city, and unsuppressed excitement. Every morning there were international news on this election; dozens of protesters proclaiming their concerns on the television, on the streets, on the radio, and many with their own specific willingness to bear their souls. Layers and layers of folks proclaiming this and that for their candidates throughout every village and town in Peru, they had a tremendous undaunted selection of candidates for president, but ended up now with two: one being a robber they proclaimed, the other a killer also proclaimed by the good citizens of Peru: and both worthy of such reputations I heard [the Killer being in a pre-trial status]. The peasantry loved the killer and the business folk loved the robber: so history shall record. Each candidate offering as much as possible, or believable, to everyone: young ladies, family, acquaintances, college boys from Lima to Huancayo, the old, peasants, rich: everyone. And, naturally, the city caught the contagious air of entre [reception]" Everyone paid little attention to the pickpockets, and perhaps their chances were increased with this entire inefficient carnival crowd. South America was now in the news; President Alejandro Toledo, made his presentation in Vienna, and told Hugo Chavez (President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela) where to go, and a few words for President Evo Morales: a friendly crowd indeed. Everyone got on the bandwagon throwing dirt here and there during the early stages of this election. Alan Garcia's wife (Alan Garcia being once President of Peru) was now smiling on TV, it seemed to be a task a month earlier, but her husband was going into the second round now; and Ollanta Humala's wife was telling Hugo Chavez to shut up, you're not doing our campaign any good: something like that. And I walked quietly down to El Parquetito and had my lunch during all of this. Walking along the park in the afternoons by the Monkey Man, and his aging monkey, and Victor the Photographer, who has been taking pictures in that very park for some forty-years. Now being Mid-May, it was getting [is getting] colder each day, and the sun comes out slowly, and usually at first with a definitely cold mist, got to wear those knee-length sheep-lined socks, being from the Midwest, it does not look too fashionable, but I give it my approval. I wear my soft hat, discreet dark brown, another gray. The Monkey Man always enthusiastically involved with Ms monkey, and on the weekends the painters put their paintings on the road by the park (as they had done today), Chusty today did a free painting for me, playfulness, is what he painted, in a playful manner, and gave me one of those inevitable hand-shakes. His hands cold as the devil, people freeze easily here in Lima, I think. Many folk here fight bronchitis/pneumonia this time of year, the mist gets into their lungs, Lima being next to the ocean; darned weather. On another note, I must say, I love Lima, and Huancayo, but the beggars drive me crazy in Lima (Miraflores), they are characters here though, they borrow or loan babies, and walk around with their hands out for coins, casually"you know, just as though I were waiting for them to take my extra money: such a burden to carry on my own"many have no blood in the face, and if I give them a coin, they ask for a second coin, the next day, and the next and the next day...thus, I've learned the Peruvian philosophy: give them a hand, and they will take your arm (something like that: but of course not everyone). These beggars walk briskly around the park here, lots of effort and exercise in their line of work, if only they could direct it into working in a more reliable, respectable job. It kind of goes like this, I say: "Get a job," I tell them, after giving them a few coins. "Nowhere is job," they tell me. "Well, then what's the use?" and I walk away. They stand staring at me, then at each other; they have a team I think, they go to sit over by the Haiti Restaurant, and joke and laugh, and then they put on the sad face, and almost cry, and if you could give out awards for acting, they'd be first in my line. I learned I can't hide in this society of dark hair, dark eyes, bronze skinned people: I'm as white as a ghost, my eyes as blue as the sea, with a tint of green. I have to hide when the Taxi man stops to pick up my wife and me to drive us home: it is only 7-soles to our house, but once they see me, it is 20-soles; the gringo gets to them: they think 7-soles are pennies for me, how uncouth can you be, but I suppose America gives off that aroma. After they see me, after a moment, they open the door. I don't blame them, get it while you can, it is how most live here, not forecasting, but rather, surviving a day at a time. And most are good hardworking folks, but you got this young healthy crowd of beggars that figure if I ask 100-people, 10-will give me a sol or two, and if I ask 1000-I'll make more money than working, so why work. The odds end up in their favor, I'm sure they are hoping the planes do not stop landing at the airport with new tourists. They like to talk, the Peruvians, I suppose I do in a way also, but apologetically, I must say, I usually do my thinking while reading, or writing, I mean, when I'm sitting down drinking coffee, I don't ponder so much or talk; or in a cab have ongoing conversations of my life's story (they often ask: 'Where you from?' they ask my wife, because they can't speak English, and they know I'm not Spanish, or Peruvian, and I answer in Spanish, and they give me a double look). They do in a way, politely encourage this, thus, I can hear now and then grunts for me to talk, but my wife has that magic lantern and talks for me. Slowly, I walk down and around the Park in Miraflores, watch the lit cigarettes smoke flow in the air, blow with the wind as I breathe into the air. "Let's go to the movies," my little lovely wife says, "no, let's go to Ripley and buy...no let's go to see Juan down at the Favorite Caf..." we usually end up at one of those locations. She is sleeping now, it is 11:13 PM, and we had an enthusiastic day, I must say. |
