AccLimatisation

DISCLAIMER: In this blog I am writing about times long past, and a lot has happened since the events of this blog post. One of those things is that I went to Machu Picchu and took so many photos that it filled up the memory on my phone permanently. And an unfortunate consequence of this is that I can’t take any new photos that might be relevant to this blog post. I know it’s possible to have a blog without photos, but the blog guidelines sent to me by the Global Opportunities Centre clearly stipulate that my blogs must be full of photos (it’s somewhere just below the bit about NO MENTION OF DRUGS WHATSOEVER). And following the fallout over my opening blog post I thought it would be a good idea to pacify them. So in order to combat this problem and ensure I do actually post this blog (which I wrote about a week ago) I’ve taken the photos from my Machu Picchu album that I consider to best illustrate what I’m talking about, and shoehorned them into the post as subtly as I can. Enjoy.

I imagine such posts as these are a lot easier to write when they’re actually happening, but I’ve been here for seven weeks and am very much settled in, so bear with me as I cast my mind back to the golden days of yestermonth when I arrived, fresh-faced and naïve, at the Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Chavez, Callao, Lima.

In this picture of Cuzco you can see the sky… which is where planes go.

In fact bear with me as I cast my mind back further than that – to the plane journey itself. I should have been able to tell immediately that I would have no problems settling in in Lima, because the lady in the seat next to me was very keen to talk to me. Of course I’ve spent a great deal of my life traversing Britain by train and am used to such situations, but while I consider my ignoring-people-on-public-transport skills well-honed it’s far easier to feign interest in the rolling countryside of England and Wales than in the endless, ever-darkening desert of clouds visible on your average evening plane journey, and so approximately an hour from our destination my resolve was finally worn down by her well-meaning persistence.

Here is a sheep such as you might see from the window of a British train, but probably not this close.

Her name was Mirtha and she couldn’t have been more helpful. First of all she spoke English which meant I was spared having to dust off my Spanish skills just yet (one of the key reasons I’d been unwilling to initiate a conversation in the first place). She told me all I needed to know and more – how much a phone or sim card cost, how much I should be paying for internet per month, how the public transport system in Lima functions (possibly the only area she didn’t quite do justice, but I don’t think anyone really knows how the public transport system in Lima functions – more on that some other time).

Picture of Incan public transport system

She gave me a detailed explanation of the geography of Lima, and after I told her I would be living in Pueblo Libre district she told me which taxi companies I could trust and how much I should expect to pay them. Not that it mattered, because after we’d touched down and she’d steered me through security and customs, she decided that actually I was welcome to share her taxi and went out of her way to drop me off at my front door.

Interesting cultural fact: the Incas also had front doors, but this picture suggests they weren’t very good.

Anyone going on a year abroad – sure you’ll hear horror stories, but most people are actually lovely.

There I met Mariella, my landlady; Maarit, a student from Finland who was the other occupant of the house at the time; both the cats; and three or four of the eight dogs (I forget the precise number, all I remember is suddenly becoming aware that there were a lot of dogs.)

Me negotiating with a dog over how much of my food we should each have, a process I go through every time I use the kitchen.

I remember very little about arriving at the house on account of my brain being mush from blitzing through four countries in barely three days due to my connecting flights, but I can now tell you that Mariella has a very beautiful home. I’d arranged to live there prior to turning up as her house was recommended by the university, and so I’d seen the pictures of my room and the bathroom, but part of me was still worried it had all been a massive con and I would be living under a corrugated iron roof in a slum somewhere. Of course that wasn’t the case, and I’m now very happy living there. As I say, I remember little of my arrival there, though the following exchange does stick out:

Mariella: ¿Tu eres vegetariano?

Me: ¡Si, hablo también italiano!

This is exactly the sort of picturesque lake I imagine myself walking into every time I make a linguistic faux pas.

Aaaah. Start like you mean to go on, as they say. Deciding that this filled my daily quota of socially awkward Spanish-related moments I immediately went to bed. I don’t recall having any particular problems with jetlag, but then anyone who knows me knows I am very, very, possibly too good at sleeping. I went to sleep at midnight and woke up around seven – possibly due to the time zone, possibly due to the sound of a billion cars travelling so loudly down the road outside that if I closed my eyes I could imagine they were actually in my room. That’s taken some getting used to. Nonetheless, I was excited to explore my new city.

Let’s go explorers!

I like travelling and spent five months travelling around South-East Asia, so while I’m not immune to culture shock it’s more a playful jab in the ribs than the full-on, no-holds-barred, knuckleduster-wearing uppercut to the jaw it once was. This in mind, what I would say about waking up and stepping out of the house on my first day in Lima was that it was distinctly underwhelming. Perhaps the comparison is unfair but I’d arrived there from a family holiday in Italy, and Pueblo Libre isn’t quite Rome (though it does have some impressive Incan ruins). However I’ve explored a bit since then and it’s actually a very good-looking place. The architecture is like someone stacked a load of very colourful cargo containers on a ship and then sailed it through a typhoon, which is as far as my ability to describe architecture goes. It’s this kind of situation where it would be really helpful to have a photo to illustrate what I’m trying to say.

One of the most amazing things about Incan architecture is how little it has in common with that of modern day Lima.

To be honest though, one of the biggest differences I’ve noticed between travelling through a country and living in it is that life’s not all about the attractions anymore. The proximity of the nearest grocery store is more important than that of the nearest Eiffel Tower, and I’ve since come to greatly appreciate the abundance of grocery stores the Avenida Mariano Cornejo has to offer. It also has some nice parks dotted about the place, and having been here for the best part of two months I can say I’m happy living in Pueblo Libre.

Machu Picchu’s great and everything, but it doesn’t sell Pringles.

To summarise my settling in experience, it’s been surprisingly unsurprising. Everyone here has been just as helpful as I could hope for, my accommodation is comfortable and homely, and my district is a very pleasant place to live. If anyone is entertaining thoughts of moving to Lima, I recommend it! I’m going to wrap it up there, I have an exam I should be studying for-

Me not doing work

-so I will come back next [insert arbitrary time period here] with my ‘settling into the university’ blog. At this rate I’ll probably be in Italy before I’ve posted my fifth blog, so I’ll try and make it a bit more frequent. And if I do manage to get my camera working I’ll upload some photos in my upcoming posts that will give you all a better idea of where I’m living and what I’m doing. Thanks for perusing!