My friends seem to think I am safe and sound in Peru and really enjoying myself. Perish the thought.
On the day I arrived, on March 10, Peru had just had its first case of Corona virus, so I did think I was safe and sound, touring gorgeous Lima museums in the equally gorgeous Lima heat. I then flew to Cusco, enjoying the a birds eye view from the plane, thinking of the mouthwatering sites I would see there. I toosk buses to nearby sites like Pisac and Urubamba where tourists were still visiting local markets and anthropological sites. However, simultaneously the Peruvian government was beginning to face the pickle they were in; fhe prospect of a European-style Corona attack without the medical wherewithal to cope.
As a foreign tourist, I found myself under the accusing gaze of locals, being blamed for bringing the virus in (which we did). The ones really getting it in the neck were the Spaniards, since people recalled the first round of epidemics they were suspectod bringingto Latin America,, circa 1519, the Cocolitzli, which wiped out the Aztecs in Mexico. It didn't help me either that I'd flown in via Madrid.
Anyway, the upshot is, the President came on the telly last night and announced drsatic measures: a two week lock-down for everyone except key workers, so I'm quarantined in a lovely posada in the quaint village of Yucay, near Urubamba.
It's within spitting distance from Ollantaytambo, from whence the train to Machu Pichu goes. I haven't even been to MP yet and I obviously won't be going anytime soon. When I say lock-in, there is literally a huge old padlock on the gate which is giving me cabin fever. even on day one. Anyway, you get fined if you go out so I wouldn't try, apart from the irresponsability of it.
The good news is that the garden is big and beautiful, and from my balcony I have a lovely view of the near yet so far Sacred Valley. It will be a big test of delving deep into imaginative resources to keep busy. Luckily, the very nice owner has lent me a computer and my as yet little used Christmas present of a tablet with Netflix will finally get a good outing. Or Peruvian TV which, like ours I suppose, is all Corona.
Even if I wasn't locked in I can't get home because by now all Latin American borders are completely closed for the near future. And no flights in or out of Peru. Oh, and idid I mention its bloody cold when the sun isn't out.
I expect everyone has a good Corona story, but not everyone can be spat on from Machu Pichu, the navel of the world. (no, that's Cusco). At east I have a spectacular view of the Andes, which I long to hike through.
WEEK 2
As you can see from the photos, I am in a lovely place, surrounded by beautiful scenery (does it make confinement worse?. We are four women of different ages here, I'll introduce them later. Slowly we are learning to appreciate each other. A skill I'm developing as well as learning Whatsapp and how to atke fotos. The food is excellent, by the way. There is restaurant here but it is now closed. So we eat all home-grown, home-made stuff the owner cooks, lots of choclo, quinoa, lentils, pototoes of course, causa, cocido, trout. No alcohol to speak of, except for pisco and maracuja. This will be an unexpected break.
My natural character has always been to think I'm invincible. But two days in, I start to think what happens if I already have the virus. Worse, what happens if I infect these other women. I was on a packed plane from Madrid, with loads of nuns from Italy. I could have caught it on the flight,. I've milling around with tourists. Last night, after I'd been to Ollantaytambo train station to buy a ticket to MP, I had a drink with two American dudes. Panic! What happens if I have the virus? Little access to medical care. How do I even get to Cusco, an hour away? That night I think I have it. I'm boiling hot, my throat is sore and I have difficulty breathing . Next morning I remember I am 3,000 metres up in the Andes, no wonder I can't breathe. Nonetheless, I start looking into the repatriation flight I'm hearing about. Friends at home phone to say there are stranded Brits all over Peru lobbying the Foreign Office to get them out. How to get in touch with them? I have no luck with the Embassy which is shut.
Meanwhile, I calm down. I discover I had caused one woman here the same panic attack the day I appeared. Hence slightly aggressive attitude. We talk it over. I take to gardening to keep my mind off the misery of being confined on my hols, and other worries. Gardening is good exercise, soothing and contemplative. I begin clearing a small maize patch. When I ask where to throw the maize stalks, I'm told there is a back door. What? Now they tell me? I open the back door to throw the debris out and find the most amazing view.
My spirits soar. I spend an hour soaking it in.
The next day when I go maize stalk tipping, I find this stupendous bull eating my previous day's load. He is magnificent, I have found a new view and a new friend. I have to keep working as he waits for me every time I come out. Thoughts of repatriation start to fade.
WEEK 3
It turns out there is much more work to be done. It's not a huge garden but there are lots of fruit trees. So far I've picked figs, oranges, quinces, lemons (juice I made with a tiny wooden Inca instrument). The other time-consuming work is answering emails, Whatsapps, phone calls. Corona has forced even recalcitrant wrinklies into the age of technology. Every friend I've ever made is now it seems in touch with me from confinement in some part of the world. They are mostly surprised to hear where I am: some commiserate, others congratulate. So, what with writing this Postcard for Latinolife as well, I'm so busy. What happened to boredom? Forgive my sometimes flippant tone, I know the huge emotional, psychological and economic suffering the effects of the virus are causing people. But the number of inventively funny jokes and videos it has spawned has kept me in stitches, and is certainly an outlet for stress. Also the myriad acts of solidarity and kindness posted online have been heartwarming. Is it possible a better world could come out of this, or will it lead to more totalitarian systems? It's up to us.
Here in the Sacred Valley it's uncanny how quiet it is. Such deep silence. It's more like I imagined it before I came. Not full of tourists, with big coaches thundering down narrow roads, rowdy youngsters wanting a good time on their hols. Local people say the Valley is thankful for this rest, that it needs this time to recover, to heal, after the turmoil of the past 15-year tourist boom. My landlady who was born here 78 years ago, says the Valley historically rejects what is not harmonious. It even discourages certain people, it makes them feel uncomfortable, while others are welcomed and straight away feel at home (hope I'm in one of the latter) She talks about the Valley as if it is human. I can feel a certain magic when from my balcony I look out over those majestic peaks, and the fertility of the micro-climate. in the Valley. Especially at sunrise: something I'm never up in time to see at home.
Last night we did an Andean autumn equinox ceremony, led by Mayelli, the woman who criticized me when I first came. I found it fascinating, a mixture of New Age and Ancient Inca. We sat round a circle of petals with artefacts and hearth in the centre. The first part is opening the sacred space, inviting in Pachamama and Papa Inti, together with ancestors, spirits and animals. Then follows the ceremony itself, lighting palo santo wood, giving offerings, and singing and drumming. It's when those present can talk about their feelings, hopes and fears, and connecting to the natural world. Then comes the closure and thanking all the guests, real and mythical, for participating. During the central part, Mayelli and I were able to bond, each explaining behaviour, apologizing for insensitivity, and lack of empathy. It was very moving. So, apart from the comforting spiritual nature of the whole ceremony, something productive also came out of it. I went to bed matching the beat of the drum to my heartbeat. I did feel more relaxed.
The next day the matter of the repatriation plane came up again. According to articles in UK newspapers, Whatsapped by friends, our foreign minister is in talks with the Peruvian government, which by now has closed all commericl airports. but wiil let planes land at army base near Lima. He was finally responding to lobbying from worried familiesa and a 33 Degrees petition signed by thousands of supporters. It turns out there are 500 Brits 'stranded' here. I now hate that word, so disrespectful. Anyway, I thought I'd better get on the list, just in case. But how? With Lima embassy not answering, a friend put me in touch with the person on the Guardian who is witing Peru articl. She said she would send my details to the Foreign Office. Also the person who had started the petition turned out to be a friend of someone on my street's newly formed Corona mutual help Whatsapp group. (I am following it religiously. fascinated by wonderful solidarity from people I hadn't even met though I've tlived there for 40 years.) So, through these two contacts I found my way onto the FCO list. I still wonder, however, if the plane will materialise, how I will get to Lima since I am an hour by car from Cusco which is two hours by plane from the capital, and do I really want to get on it since I'm probably safer physically where I am,? However, the homing instinct in our DNA is strong and if I let this chance pass, I may not get home for months.
What will happen next....? Find out in Part 2
