fog, wi-fi and Inca Kola

This morning we visited our first project in Peru. However, that was not the first thing that happened today. The first thing was I woke at 2am convinced it was actually 8am and time to get up, which of course it was, in England... When it finally got light and I looked out the window it was raining - well, a sort of hard drizzle permanently suspended in the air. So that dispels another myth, that it never rains in Lima...

We set off in the rain, Edwin driving, Carlos from CEPES which is the organisation in charge of the project, myself, Graham, and Marianella from the CIIR office here in Lima. Drove through a bleak industrial landscape north of the city with huge refineries whose sole purpose appeared to be to pollute the already devastated landscape, a sort of dirty grey desert crawling with half-built houses and crude shacks. It seems impossible that people can live in this desparate environment. Maybe it was the effect of the fog which lay over everything like a dirty white blanket, suffocating all the hope out of the place. But these ramshackle homes are built on crumbling hillsides or, quite simply, on desert. No water, no vegetation, nothing, just sand and dirt. How can people live here? Apparently these are places that people just come back to to sleep, then over time - maybe over a whole generation - they maybe get electricity, a bit of permanence, a community. People come to Lima, they have to live somewhere, so they build their homes on this blasted landscape that God forgot, pinned there by poverty and fog for nine months of the year, and searing heat for the other three months.

We started to climb up a range of hills and the fog got so dense you could literally see nothing. I thought I had perhaps passed into another dimension, a sort of purgatory where I believed I was alive but in fact there was no evidence of life, indeed there was a possibility that the entire planet had ceased to exist, or that we had been sucked into some sort of white hole. I had the sensation of ascending then descending, and then suddenly I could see a sign. I believe it said something like "Welcome to Huaral. Mosquitoes, no thank you."

Here, fortunately, there were signs of life. Green stuff growing in fields. People! We drove into the town of Huaral, to a house where we were met by Jaime Torres, the CIIR development worker. Jaime is a young Colombian who gave up a prestigious job in Bogota to come to a rural community to teach farmers to use computers. If that sounds stupid, it´s not. It´s really amazing. There are 13,000 farms in the district and they all rely on water distributed through a complex system of irrigation channels. The water is controlled by the local irrigation council, which needs to know how much water to send where, and when. The irrigation council has to apply to the government to get the water, so it needs to know how much water it needs, and when. The farmers need to know which crops to plant and when, so that they can get the best prices, and be sure they will have enough water for the crops to grow. Just thinking about it makes my brain hurt, but Jaime´s brain not only understands it, he´s devised a database system to collate all the information, and a wireless internet system to make it accessible to the farmers and the irrigation council. I can´t begin here to describe how it works because I fear that this will need a wisdom and understanding beyond my simple powers right now (it being late at night when I am writing this) - which is not to say that the system is not a thing of clarity and perfection. All I can say right now is that Jaime and Carlos and colleagues have expanded the frontiers of technical knowledge, faced problems head on, solved them creatively, and created a beautiful sustainable system that provides a simple, workable solution to a problem faced by an entire district of farms. It´s kind of like one of those enlarged pictures of snowflakes: it´s complex, simple and beautiful, all at one time. I was very impressed.

Then we went to lunch and drank Inca Kola, which for those who don´t know it is yellow, and tastes of bubble gum. According to Jaime it´s addictive, after you have tried it a few times you cannot face a meal without that yellow nectar. He drank several gallons of it.


After lunch we visited one of the internet telecentres where the farmers get to use the computers. It was in a small room in a small village. I saw some small boys sitting beside a roadside stall selling flowers, and suggested to Graham that here was a photo opportunity. Then I thought we should maybe buy some flowers. Of course the boys weren´t selling the flowers, they were just hanging around waiting for some passing gringo to come and take their picture. There hadn´t been a stupid Englishman along for years, suddenly there were two! Some people just can´t believe their luck. So one of the boys went off and got the flower lady, and (since at that moment I had only a 100 dollar note in my pocket) Marianella bought flowers for everybody she could think of, and then some other people as well. They were extremely nice flowers. They grow in the desert, fields and fields of them where some people, their heads in a fog, may see only the white mist of hopelessness. But these flowers are bright, they are yellow and orange and pink and red and yellow.

around the world in 12 hours

In Madrid airport. Everything going swimmingly so far. At the café in the airport I practise my Spanish. Un bocadillo con queso, dos zumo de naranjas y dos té con leche, por favor. The reply? Twelve euros, thank you. Must have English stamped on my forehead. The main cultural difference so far appears to be the preponderance of smallish, rotund, middle aged men eating baguettes stuffed with half a dead cow, or pig. However, at the café there was a bocadillo vegetal on offer. It looked like it had Heinz Sandwich Spread in it. Anyway, it’s kind of dull here in transit land. Only 12 hours to go! If there are no more entries in this blog it will be because I’ve got deep vein thrombosis in my fingers.

Later… Now we’re on the plane. The man behind was putting his case in the overhead locker. It wouldn’t quite fit. His partner suggested he turned it the other way. It worked. He said: Perfecto! As I was passing, I couldn’t help echo him. Perfecto! It’s such a nice word. He looked at me as if I had insulted him. I smiled and patted him on the arm. Now he has to spend the entire journey with a weirdo in the seat in front, and I have to worry about offending the man behind me. Again.

Well, this entry is a work deflection activity. I’ve got the laptop out to finish off editing some articles for Interact. Interact is CIIR’s magazine. If you have no idea what it is, have a look on CIIR’s website, www.ciir.org. You will find that Interact is expertly edited.

The steward has just come past with some Spanish newspapers. This enabled me to say to her, in Spanish, one world and one country, please. (The newspapers are called El Mundo and El Pais.) It’s a nice thought: one world and one country. It’ll never catch on, though.

By the way, we received some advice from our work colleague Liz about travelling with Iberia. First of all, she said don’t bother going to check in at Heathrow at 5.30am (the scheduled time) because Iberia never bother to come to the check in desks before 6.00. We arrived at 5.30 and the desks were in full flow, queues of people already checked in. Next tip: Iberia overbooks so make sure you get on the plane in Madrid, don’t assume you will have a seat! We were at the back of the queue, so some slight anxiety, but again, no problem. Iberia will starve you, she said, so take your own sandwiches. Hot meal within half an hour of take-off… But then the afternoon/evening stretched out, in that timeless intercontinental airplane zone where you’re knackered and bloated and don’t care what time it is, you just want to get to where you’re going… But around evening meal time, we thought, maybe Liz’s advice is coming good! Because we started to get peckish, and no sign of any more food. Suddenly, there was a stampede for the stewards’ section of the plane, and people started coming back down the aisle clutching sandwiches. Graham went and scored us some vegetarian sandwiches: coleslaw and white air bread. You weren’t sure if you were actually eating or chewing on a cloud, but it was better than nothing. Then… a couple of hours later… another meal! This whole episode casts a shadow on all the advice we had from Liz. What was the other thing she said? Oh yes, when you get to Cusco run up and down some stairs, because it helps you acclimatise to the altitude.

So, in the middle of the night – although incredibly it was still light outside the plane! How does that one work? – we finally arrived in Lima. Outside the window, barren brown crumpled hills, then a flatland of brick houses, all apparently unfinished. At least, none of them had roofs; seemingly they were all works in progress. Liz told us it never really rains in Lima. Perhaps that’s why… Lima international airport is incredibly swish. In fact I think the airport was only finished minutes before our arrival, and opened in our honour. Makes Heathrow look like the third world slum that it is…

Met by Edwin, the CIIR driver, who took us out to the car. I was expecting hordes of urchins grabbing at my sleeve but it was all very orderly, although in the car next to us in the car park – with a sticker on the door saying ‘Taxi Good’ – a youth stared expressionlessly at us, before opening his door and pouring a bottle of water over his head. True! Apparently he was styling his hair, set for a big night at the airport car park, perhaps.

Lima is just big and sprawling, feels despite all the neon signs to be cold and grim. Well, maybe jetlag and global disorientation didn’t help. Lots of minibuses and people walking. Minutes until first man spotted urinating against a tree: one. Minutes until first traffic impasse at junction: two. Minutes until first McDonalds, Blockbuster Video and Plastic Surgery Clinic: three. Minutes until first old lady in wheelchair selling sweets at traffic lights: four.

Edwin drove us to the CIIR office cum flat. Our names are on the doors of two of the bedrooms, which will be useful if either of us gets up in the night for a pee and forgets who we are. Dina, the CIIR country representative for Peru, arrived shortly after and ran through our itinerary, which starts at 8.00am tomorrow. Graham wore the glazed expression of a man who can’t work out why his body tells him it’s 2 in the morning and everyone is behaving like it’s 8 at night. Or at least I think he did. I couldn’t really tell because I was asleep under the table. Bring on tomorrow! Or is it today already?

One week to go and Alastair is pretending to work hard... Actually is working hard. Work doesn't stop just because we're going on a trip. There's plenty to finish so we can depart with our minds and consciences clear and open to new experiences: intercontinental jet lag, coca tea, inca cola, altitude sickness, culture shock, language breakdown. Hay pulgas en mis calzones! Someone told me that's Spanish for 'I'm itching to get there...' I'm very grateful for their help with my Spanish lessons. Graham is still trying to work out how to say: 'Hello, I am not American!' His mullet haircut should help. I believe George Bush has declared war on mullets.

So what's this trip all about? Graham and I are members of CIIR's communications team. We're going to visit CIIR projects in Peru and Ecuador, meet people, interview them, take pictures, and use the words and pictures for fabulously interesting stories in future CIIR publications. I'm looking forward to it because the last time I was in Latin America, in 1992, the 500th anniversary of Columbus's so-called discovery of the Americas, the indigenous peoples of Ecuador rose in protest at 500 years of oppression, blocking roads with burning tyres, and leaving me somewhat inconveniently stuck in Riobamba for a week. Let's hope this doesn't happen again, otherwise it will begin to seem personal...

So I'm looking forward to see what this trip brings. Bring it on!