Travel

Peru (2019)

Ayacucho and the Wari

From Lima we went by plane to the Andes to the small town of Ayacucho. Most tourists fly to Lima and from there directly to Cusco. This standard route is ridiculed by the locals as “ruta de los gringos”, the route of the foreigners. Whereby the word “gringo” in Peru should be used with caution. But more about this later. So we did not want to go directly to Cusco and that had two good reasons. The first reason was that we simply didn’t want to take the “ruta de los gringos” but wanted to make stops to experience the “real” Peru. The other reason was a very pragmatic one. While Lima is almost at sea level, Cusco is at a height of more than 3400m. For many tourists the altitude sickness is pre-programmed there. Although one cannot protect oneself one hundred percent from altitude sickness, it is advisable to take it easy. Then to Ayacucho. It was already visible in the plane that this was not the usual route for tourists to take. We were the only foreigners and since Peruvians are on average smaller than Europeans, they gave us the seats at the emergency exit with extra legroom.

Ayacucho itself is a very small and manageable city in the middle of the Andes. With a look at the map we decided to walk the 30min from the airport to the hostel. Retrospectively, this was probably not the best idea, as the way led us once across the slums including dead rats at the roadside, wild dogs that tore a chicken to pieces, and confused locals that watched us from their houses. This was definitely not Lima anymore. Luckily the hostel I picked before was in the heart of Ayacucho right at the Plaza de Armas and the closer we got to our destination the prettier it got. Peru lives from tourism. Places like Cusco or Puno are overrun by tourists. Ayacucho on the other hand is simply left-out or flown over at the ruta de los gringos. Thereby, the city tries hard to attract tourists. There are hotels, souvenir shops, travel agencies for organized tours, archeological sites nearby, … only one thing is missing: the tourists. As it was a pity to see how these people try to attract tourists, I am in the end almost a little glad that Ayacucho is not overrun as the other places, as it is no secret that tourism also has its dark sides. Thus, it was not a surprise that most of the times, we were the only foreigners. There was exactly one exception, the Via Via. The Via Via is the biggest (and most expensive) hotel in Ayacucho. But it has an excellent restaurant that is probably not very affordable for the local people, but it is the only place in Ayacucho where one also sees some other foreigners. There we have also directly done the first culinary bucket list points for Peru: alpaca meat and coca tea. Alpaca meat tastes like a mixture of beef and pork and was nothing special in itself, but the Coca tea became one of our favourite drinks, and at the same time it helped us to get used to the altitude.

One of our first exploration tours through Ayacucho led us to the Museo de la Memoria. Towards the end of the twentieth century, a radical organization called Sendero Luminoso, which translated means “shining path”, spread fear and terror in Peru. This organization found its origin in Ayacucho, which was also its main core area. The Museo de la Memoria tries to reappraise this time. It is a very small but nevertheless very touching museum. By this way, the focus was mainly on the really shocking individual fates, as for example the relatives donated the last objects of murdered survivors to the museum. Additionally, there are some information boards, but only in Spanish language, about the stories. The whole thing is incredibly shocking. For example, the mother of a deceased person donated a rope as last remnant. She had received it as last souvenir of her son who was beaten to death while he was tied up with this rope. Another harrowing story was that written by a woman whose father was burned alive before her eyes. All she had left of him and what was now on display was a burnt piece of cloth from the shirt her father was wearing. This museum is surely not an easy fare but nevertheless I would recommend all those who travel to Ayacucho to visit it, as it is a central part of the history not only of the region but also of the country.

One reason why Ayacucho hopes to attract tourists is that it was the capital of the Wari and the central archeological excavation cities of this people are located in the proximity of Ayacucho. Of course the Wari excavation site was also one of our destinations. So it happened that we squeezed ourselves into a collective taxi, a so-called colectivo, which let us out at our destination before it drove on to the next city. The Wari excavation site was certainly one of the most interesting places we saw in Peru. There was a small museum and afterwards we could walk through the landscape and explore the remnants of this civilization, while in the background a breathtaking Andean panorama stretched out. And yet, once again we were the only foreigners far and wide. This probably made us the main attraction for some locals. Two encounters especially stayed in my mind. Beside some local families who allowed themselves a little excursion, there were several people, mainly women, in colourful traditional clothes, who harvested prickly pears on the area. When two of them passed us, one of them leaned over to the other and murmured: “Esos son gringos muy guapos”. In English that means something like, “These are pretty foreigners.” Usually, the word “gringo” carries a certain racism. Not for nothing the classic tourist route is the “ruta de los gringos”. But now the lady had said this in such a positive context that it neutralized this negatively connoted term. She also seemed to mean it in a really positive way. Surely she was not aware that we (or at least I) were proficient in the Spanish language and would understand what she was saying. This situation leaves me with a small smile to this day.

The other noteworthy encounter followed shortly afterwards. We had already walked a good distance since the area was huge, and the blazing Andean sun started to bother us a little. Fortunately, we found a small covered picnic spot and rested there for a short time. Then a guard came to us. Admittedly, it must be pretty boring to be a guard there, because there were really not many people here and certainly no “gringos”. He asked us for our tickets, but it was clear that this was only an excuse to start a conversation. The security guard introduced himself as Gregory, which seemed to be a noticeably unusual name for a Peruvian. Shortly afterwards he already sat with us, told us about the excavation site and tried in vain to teach us a few words Quechua. I can visibly imagine how he probably came home that evening to his family and proudly told us that he talked to foreigners today. After our visit with the Wari we slowly realized that we still had the biggest challenge of the day ahead of us.

The colectivo had let us out at the entrance, because there was no official stop. The area was in the middle of nowhere in the heart of the Andes. As picturesque as it may sound, we now realized that we had no idea how to get back to Ayacucho. Opposite to the entrance at the other side of the street, some street vendors were in provisional stalls that sold chilled drinks, sweets and the prickly pears that were harvested earlier. We went across the street to buy something to drink from an older man. As if he could read our minds, he asked us where we had to go today. “Ayacucho”, I answered and asked if there was a colectivo stop nearby. He made it clear to us that we should sit down at the back of his stand and that he would take care of it. And so we sat there and waited. Nothing happened for a long time. At first there were no colectivos driving down the street and when one did show up, it was already completely full. In the meantime it started to drizzle a little bit and it was already late afternoon. Slowly we became impatient. On the other side of the street a small group of Peruvians had gathered, which was probably also on Colectivo hunt. The group suddenly rushed towards a truck with an open loading area, whose driver had stopped to stock up on prickly pears. The old salesman gave us a sign that we should join them. I quickly shouted a “gracias” in the direction of the old man and stormed off. Kevin followed me slightly confused. In the front the Peruvians jumped already on the loading area. “Ayacucho?”, I shouted to the driver. He nodded and pointed to the back, which was the sign for me to jump onto the loading area as well. I heard another “Ne, oder?” from Kevin behind me before he realized the hopeless situation and climbed onto the loading area as well. Just then a colectivo pulled up and stopped with the intention of giving us a lift. For a short moment I saw a glimmer of hope in Kevin’s eyes. Then the driver of our truck stepped on the gas pedal and we drove through the Andes much too fast. I don’t know how often he shouted “I hate you” both on the truck and afterwards, but in retrospect this trip was one of our biggest adventures in Peru and Kevin likes to tell about it as well.
[Remark from Kevin: “I like to tell” – I was scared to death at that time! Not only did I imagine at every (cut) curve how the truck would crash into oncoming traffic and we would all die, I also imagined the headline in Germany “Two Germans killed in traffic accident in Peru”, as you often read similar news].

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