Huaraz
by Scott KloosTo such depths does the vileness of our desires descend that it makes us to long for our own wretched food and to be nauseated by the indescribable blessings of Heaven.
-Juan de la Cruz, Noche Obscura de la Alma
We did not fall because of a moral error; we fell because of an intellectual error: that of taking the phenomenal world as real. Therefore we are morally innocent. It is the Empire in its various disguised polyforms which tells us we have sinned.
-Horselover Fat, Tractates: Cryptica Scriptura via Philip K. Dick
He in darkness closed, viewed all his race, and his soul sickened! He cursed both sons and daughters, for he saw that no flesh nor spirit could keep his iron laws one moment. For he saw that life lived upon death: the ox in the slaughter house moans, the dog at the wintry door. And he wept, and he called it Pity, and his tears flowed down on the winds.
-William Blake, The Book of Urizen
CONFUNDAS TU BANO CON TU CIUDAD?
-Handpainted sign in alley, Huaraz, Peru 3090 m (10,135 ft.)
-Juan de la Cruz, Noche Obscura de la Alma
We did not fall because of a moral error; we fell because of an intellectual error: that of taking the phenomenal world as real. Therefore we are morally innocent. It is the Empire in its various disguised polyforms which tells us we have sinned.
-Horselover Fat, Tractates: Cryptica Scriptura via Philip K. Dick
He in darkness closed, viewed all his race, and his soul sickened! He cursed both sons and daughters, for he saw that no flesh nor spirit could keep his iron laws one moment. For he saw that life lived upon death: the ox in the slaughter house moans, the dog at the wintry door. And he wept, and he called it Pity, and his tears flowed down on the winds.
-William Blake, The Book of Urizen
CONFUNDAS TU BANO CON TU CIUDAD?
-Handpainted sign in alley, Huaraz, Peru 3090 m (10,135 ft.)
Magic words name the snowcovered peaks that surround the city: Carhuac, Vallunaraju, Ocshaplca, Ramrapalca, Rimarina, Churup, Huandoy, Chopicalqui, Hualcan, and of course Huascaran which at 6768 m (22,200 ft.) is the highest peak in the tropics. On a clear day the sight of such immensity is enough to make you cry.
The town itself is quite ugly. The colonial buildings were destroyed in the most tragic earthquake in the history of the Western Hemisphere on May 31, 1970. The 7.8 magnitude quake leveled almost the entire city as well as destroying many of the surrounding villages including Yungay which was buried in an avalanche of mud and rock when a piece of the Huascaran glacier broke free. All the inhabitants of the village except for a few who fled to the highest point in the village where a statue of Christ stands above the cemetery were killed-over 20,000. Locals say that the debris flowed to the feet of Christ and stopped. Even as far away as the coast major damage was reported and some 70,000 in total were killed with 250,000 casualties.
The city of Huaraz has been rebuilt in typical Andean/South American fashion: unfinished brick buildings with tin roofs held in place by rocks and crumbling concrete structures with handpainted billboards covering their fronts. Pieces of rebar stick out like antennae. Plastic pipes not quite long enough to reach over the sidewalk drain the rooftops. They all seem to sadly wait for the next earthquake.
Everywhere piles of sand indicate that there is rebuilding/restructuring going on. Workers bust through the sidewalk or street searching for leaking pipes. Exposed concrete roof overhangs are chiseled open to reveal bamboo frameworks and a mess of tangled wiring in need of repair. Sometimes it is bothersome, but for the most part I like the unfinishedness. The need for perfection and cleanliness is not so important here as in the USA and reveals a lot about the differing psyches between overdeveloped and developing nations.
There is a certain vitality that is evident in the people. Smiling mouths reveal lots of silver and gold. The streets are filled with indigenous folk in traditional dress wearing wildly designed felted hats. The women wear layers of big skirts and sweaters no matter what the temperature and thick really unflattering panty hose or leg warmers. When you see their bare legs they are ususally thin and muscular, but, with all the clothes, they wear they often appear fat. There are also those in western gear and baseball caps. The market stalls are filled with cheap Nike™ and Tommy Hilfiger™ ripoffs.
All around town there are stalls selling every kind of vegetable and fruit imaginable: typical household items, pirated dvds and cds, etc. Women with little babies sit on the sidewalk with avocados, bread, fresh cheese, bananas, mangos, prickly pear fruit (tunas), little sour looking peaches, boiled corn (choclo), and live chickens and guinea pigs in mesh bags for sale.
In the market many dead animals wait to be cooked and eaten. Featherless chickens hang by hooks through their necks that come out through the top of their heads. Their tongues stick straight up and out from slightly open beaks and their stiff dull yellow legs dangle. There are trays of grey-pink splayed out skinned and gutted guinea pigs (cuy), from the knee down cowlegs, intact eyeball skinned pig heads, guts, entrails, organs and all manner of things I cannot name which combine forces to create an overwhelming stench of death.
Hungry dogs-bitches with flapping teats, mangy scared little pups, swaggering macho adolescents-probe for dropped morsels and drink from puddles of water dirty with market refuse. I turn to see a man coming my way with an entire gutted pig slung over his shoulder. Its head and rear flopping and abdomen flapping open with every step. I get out of the way just in time. He wasn't going to stop. He and the pig had too much inertia. Behind him I can see a truckload of stacked pigs waiting to be hauled. Here death is not hidden away but stares you right on the face and threatens to knock you on your ass.
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