A Slow Walk in Lima, Peru
Lima, Peru, is a bustling city, and even with bumper-to-bumper traffic, it holds a Stoic calm. A perfect city for a slow walk of discovery.
Full of contradictions, Lima is replete with grandiose churches that would be considered cathedrals elsewhere. You can feel the energy as people go about their daily routines. Patrons can read their newspaper as their brogues are enthusiastically buffed by shoe shine experts.
The warm ocean breeze fanning Lima in mid-summer means you only need a light jacket for protection, if at all. Such weather is comfortable and encouraging for the solo traveller who appreciates long walks and city gardens.
The only curiosity for local Peruvians was whether this tourist in their midst was from Brazil or Cuba. The answer was always surprising and initiated friendly conversations.
I was on my way to the National Archaeological Museum, which did not seem that far away from my hotel. I thought it would be a pleasant stroll as the bustle of packed buses on the main street gave way to quiet lanes. A retired military helicopter graced the street corner. What tales it could tell?
The Museum dominates the main square with its mustard yellow walls surrounded by red Geraniums in full bloom, on a canvas of green lawn with an elegant water fountain. The imposing bust of Simon Bolivar, Venezuelan revolutionary and statesman, watched over the square.
Bolivar wrote his famous Jamaica Letter in 1815 while in exile on the island, discussing the possibility of new nations in Latin America after the fall of the Spanish Empire. Did this portend my later discovery?
It was a slow day at the museum. A small group of American Tourists were the only other visitors that morning. The artefacts of the ancient Peruvian Societies at the museum are incredible.
The way the people used metals before the invasion, wove cloth, not to mention their astrological achievements, shows remarkable sophistication. The gold and silver prized by the Spanish represented the sun and the moon in their ancient cosmology. For the Incas, precious metals were important for their ceremonial value, not monetary wealth.
After leaving the museum and enjoying the sun on a park bench for a while, I checked the guidebook to see if there was anything else of interest in the vicinity.
I don’t know how I missed it before. But my trusty Lonely Planet guide indicated that there is a Blue Line painted on the pavement from the anthropology museum leading directly to the Museo Larco, another venerable repository of ancient Peruvian treasures, only a fifteen minute walk away.
I walked back to the front of the museum and searched the pavement for the Blue Line. I wanted to make sure it was not in front of me when I asked the security guard. The blue line appeared in a narrow lane way to the side of the museum. It was very faded and chipped, which should have been my first clue that way ahead might not be straightforward.
Striding purposefully, I followed the line that led me across the street, then a few feet to the end of the curb where it disappeared.
It literally vanished. I retraced my steps. I looked up and down the street. I asked an ice cream vendor standing nearby if he knew about the Blue Line. He didn’t.
All was not lost. I would just ask someone for the Museo Larco. The streets were almost empty; the next person I asked told me it was opposite the hospital, and that the hospital was a tall building so I would see it first. So now I was looking for the hospital.
I passed brightly coloured homes with gated entrances; neatly arranged potted plants, and Madre de Dios, catholic statues in small front yards. After walking for 10 minutes and wanting to make sure I was on track, I went into a little standalone grocery store.
The smell of fresh fruits was inviting. The owner had been in conversation with a customer as she picked through a box of oranges. I asked her if the museum was close by. She redirected me to her customer, who was going through a newspaper as he talked to her. “This man is educated, a teacher. He will know.” She said. He did. I was almost there.
With a big tour bus outside and the ornately carved gates, there was no mistaking the Museum. I felt like a VIP as the security guard pulled back the thick iron gate to let me through.
Museo Larco is special because it represents the life’s work of Peruvian archaeologist Rafael Larco Hoyle, who collected artefacts from more than 5000 years of ancient Peruvian history. With its beautifully displayed artefacts, Museo Larco is a compact museum in the style of a grand hacienda. Surrounded by a winning combination of container and hanging gardens, where both can be enjoyed the museum and the restaurant on the grounds.
There is even a separate Erotic Inca Gallery for what is known locally as Inca Sutra. It is full of small clay models depicting the erotic life of ancient Peruvian societies. Some seemed more clinical than sexual, and I suspect they are conveniently placed separately from the main museum to avoid questions from young school children.
I left the Museum hoping to retrace my steps back to my starting point. I was not even thinking about the Blue Line, only to have it reappear on the path.
The faded line seemed to take a totally different direction from the one I had used. I passed El Ombu, a gnarled 200-year-old tree, one of the oldest in Lima. Then an area with oriental names on the storefronts, and Chinese and Japanese restaurants. Was I in Lima’s Chinatown? The Blue Line disappeared again.
I asked directions back to the National Archaeological Museum, and was once again pointed in the right direction. After a few minutes of walking, I started to feel lost, (now this is the part in the story where myth can meld with reality), but I could have sworn I heard a voice sing, “No woman no cry.” I looked up and glanced at the word “Jamaica” on a restaurant board. I was well past it before I realised its significance.
I literally had to walk backwards to where I thought it came from. The sign said “Jamaica Free Town” I know I was walking in Lima; did I teleport to Jamaica?
As I looked through the spacious wood-framed entrance, I could see in front of me on the opposite wall a picture of Bob Marley sitting on the grass with a football. It was like a magnet, and I was hungry.
A young Afro Peruvian waitress told me I could sit anywhere, and as most of the lunch crowd had left I had my choice and sat under Bob with his football. The ambience was nice, no music but I had the feeling that things really rock here at night.
The waiter, also Afro-Peruvian, saw my incredulous look when I noticed the huge photo of Bob Marley on the far wall. “Is the owner Jamaican?” I asked. No, he just loves Bob Marley, he replied.
I quickly looked at the menu, hoping for Jerk Chicken, Salt fish, anything Jamaican. No luck, it was all Peruvian seafood in keeping with the island themed restaurant. I asked the waiter if there were other Jamaican style restaurants in Lima, and was told this was the only one. I explained that I was visiting from Canada, and had Jamaican roots, and couldn’t wait to tell my friends back home about this place. I ordered the salad and fried trout (Sudado de pescado), which was delicious and declined the very temping desserts.
Before I left the restaurant the waiter offered to take my photo with Bob in the background. The whole experience was surreal. What were the chances of coming across the only Jamaican themed restaurant in Lima while lost? Taking a slow, relaxing walk far from the tourist hot spots may reward you with special insight to a country and culture that is tailored just for you.
This bespoke adventure was just for me as it rewarded my cultural interests and sense of adventure. I created life content by taking the time to slow walk through an amazing city. Sometimes when you are far from home fate conspires to connect you to your roots when you least expect it. As I left the restaurant to continue my journey, I knew I didn’t have to worry – “ Cause every little thing gonna be alright.”
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
Do you have a favourite slow walk? Share in the comments below.
