Peruvian Pursuits

My Scholarship entry - Understanding a Culture through Food

rominlima — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 11:50:00 GMT

Providence Days Relieved to have arrived, limbs and dignity intact, after a midnight taxi drive through the back streets of Bogota; streets solely decorated by the battered looking working ladies, bleached graffiti, windswept newspaper pages and busy trolley-pushing beggars. Two short flips later over true aquamarine, I’ve touched down on an airstrip the length of some people’s driveways. The burnt out carcass of a small plane welcoming me to Providence Island is an unnerving touch. A 10 minute walk along a paved causeway, sidestepping salmon-blue crabs, I’ve found my own private sandpit. About 300m of silky sand strewn with dried algae, palm leaves and carpets of orange fruit. On the beach, in the water, on the paths, it looks like a tropical salad. Although the fish nibble and peck at the water-logged delicacies, the grisly iguanas seem indifferent and no humans fill plastic shopping bags. Where I come from, hoards would be shoveling the fruit into bags to be sold, frozen and smoothied-that’s progress! Perhaps they are gut-wrenchingly poisonous? But later Francisca assures they are yummy wild mangoes. I loathe mangoes though my mind was plotting a new export business, irritated that these relatively disadvantaged islanders were missing out on a ‘goldmine’–ripe for the plucking! Nine days alone on a lazy, mango-littered island in the Caribbean may sound like a dream come true but after about 6 hours I was sitting frustrated in a steamy Internet café changing my Facebook status to “Bored of my own personality.” Days of dreaming, fish gazing, wandering the trails and deciphering the sing-song language pass by in a sweaty, salty blissful haze. Life drifts. I walk slower, smile at nothing in particular. The locals begin to nod as I wander by. I try a few hand-sized mangoes, juicy perfect. More for me as I read another page, dry off after counting sea stars. I never want to leave a place where free fruit goes unpicked, waiting. Just eat the wild mango, and chill.

Destination desert island

rominlima — Sun, 8 May 2011 23:53:00 GMT

I've done some daft things via the Internet late at night with a glass of red wine in hand like buy fake Swatch watches from some eastern European country, a pair of black boots that seemed like a good deal til I added the postage, import duties and personal driver to the bill. Lets hope this dream trip to Providencia, an island no one's heard of, is a little more lucky and not the disappointing result of a ridiculous Internet search fuelled by the fermented grape.nnnnWill continue updates from the other side of turquoise.

My Travel Writing Scholarship 2011 entry - My Big Adventure

rominlima — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 01:46:00 GMT

Perhaps it’s not the best idea to read a book which opens with the line “This wasn’t a country you would visit unless you had to,”* when you start off on your first deepest, darkest Peruvian adventure. Let’s be clear about this – for me any journey in Peru, however near or far, is a feat for me. Just taking the nerve-jangling ‘kombi’ shortens my predicted life span by a couple of hours. Yes, it’s not about the destination, it’s the journey stuff but never more so than in Peru; figuring out where to start, where you’ll end up and what you should hold onto. My first foray into how-to-get-around-and-see-stuff started in a steaming, oil-drenched, dirt backyard of sorts. A bus station only in the loosest sense of the word. People queuing with resigned babies, bulging bags, a birthday cake sweating in the sun. Don’t they sell cakes wherever we're going?
Fresh-eyed and anticipating adventure, I politely inquired “So where do we buy a ticket?” No pre-purchase required, just waiting. A lot of scorched waiting. I tried to figure out the system; busses kept rolling in, stirring up more dust, avoiding hitting potential passengers and stray dogs. They hesitated, people streamed on and busses roared off again. The overall mood was of bubbling holiday excitement.

Two hours later we had our grubby seats. The fare was minimal but completing a rudimentary control form in case of a crash didn’t exactly calm me. Visions of mangled limbs being matched to ID numbers illustrated the repeated warning that the Pan American Norte is one of the most lethal roads in Peru.
Safe arrival in coastal town confirmed; next travel sequence initiated. As a non-Spanish speaker I felt like an out-of-my-depth observer, trailing my friends, keeping my tendencies to book a luxury bus tour at bay. Wandering depressing backstreets, trying to track down a ‘collectivo’ - this was alarmingly like one of those ‘tourist abducted, organs carved out, wakes up bandaged in seedy motel’ movie opening sequences. In real life, pretty efficient, informal method of getting folk from A to B, at warp speed. Advice – go with someone who knows the plot and hang back while the negotiations are underway.

Arrival at oldest South American civilisation confirmed; time for more recognizable transport - a horse ride accessorized with brightly woven saddle blanket. Now I was in my element, this I can handle in any language. The brief riverbank ride was extended after much debate between my young horse-leading chap and an official-looking guy. Seems blondes can’t possibly trek through the desert on foot, so we rode the whole way, braved the rickety, make-shift bridge, tipped my negotiator and arrived like celebrities. We had conquered the wind-swept sands of Caral in style, journeying over hill and valley to wander around what had been unearthed. My mouth dusty, red-eyed from hay-fever, but marvelling, triumphant. Glad I had to.
* “The Lost City” by Henry Shukman

My Photo scholarship 2010 entry

rominlima — Sat, 16 Oct 2010 15:26:00 GMT

My true passion for travel photography was “Made in Taiwan” while teaching there but I've always had a camera in-hand. Life has steered me, often per fortuitous chance, to some of the most amazing landscapes from Africa to Asia, Europe to Latin America – but I’d like to plot my own course more purposefully, camera at the ready. That's why this opportunity is so serendipitous. My job allows me to explore diverse cultures inside and outside a classroom and documenting my personal journey through photographic glimpses and words has become my vocation. But it would be symbiosis if my career WAS travel photography! With the desire, the ideas and the ‘eye’, I try to focus on fleeting portraits others may overlook as insignificant and then record that moment to share. I like opening and captivating the viewers’ eyes, showing an image they never expected to see - urging them to explore more themselves. That'd be my reward. And ideally being able to give back to local communities through these photographic stories would be my ultimate goal – combining my creative desire to share with a vital, long-term social benefit. Now in Peru, I’ve the chance to explore - from jungle to highlands and it’s a melting pot of extravagant beauty, shocking surprises and ancient memories. There’s much more to discover than the obvious vistas seen in every guide book. This scholarship would change my life. Accompanying an experienced, esteemed professional would give me the tools, and the ‘golden’ ticket, to capture the perfect angles and shadows with precise grace every time - an art which needs a patient, generous mentor to develop.Throwing the door open to a world where I know I belong – I just need your map to find it!