City life

Piura – “the first city,” so-named because this is where the famous ¿infamous? Francisco Pizarro or his followers first settled in Peru. It’s in the far north, close to Ecuador, in the “department” (like a state or province) of Piura. The city is at Latitude 5 degrees south, Longitude, about 82 degrees West, and fewer than 100 feet above sea level but the ocean is about an hour’s drive to the west. The Rio Piura takes a lot longer and goes quite far south before finding the surf. There are somewhere between 350,000-600,000 inhabitants of the city, depending on who is talking. Like most South American cities, it has a central plaza, Plaza de Armas (in México, it would be the zócalo, in Spain, the Plaza mayor.) On one side is the cathedral, opposite that is the post office and tourist office, on the other two sides are several businesses. Hotel Los Portales, the best in town, takes up most of one side.

We attended a charity function at Hotel Los Portales the second week we were here, having bought tickets from Ceci’s sister Elizabeth. It was outdoors in the evening, with chairs set up in a courtyard around the swimming pool and a portable low stage in the center that actually covered part of the pool. Leroy was one of the few men there, and since we were the only apparent foreigners (before the social service volunteers from Spain arrived), both singers tried to make sure we were having a good time (but succeeded in embarrassing us instead). Nonetheless, there was some good singing, with lots of audience participation from everyone but us (didn’t know the songs), and some very fine dancing of local traditional dances. (fotos later, having trouble w/ that)

The Plaza is full of tall and short trees, pleasant grassy areas, purple and red bougainvillia flowers, benches occupied by young and old, kids playing, boys willing to shine your shoes, a few folks selling balloons, drinks and snacks in a laid-back manner. I love going there, even if it’s just on the way to somewhere else. It feels like a relaxing island in a sea of honking cars.

Crossing the street to this sanctuary is just like crossing any other street in Perú – take care, take your turn, step out smartly, and don’t expect anyone to stop for you. In Spain they used to call it “toreando,” in that you twist and turn, practically brushing against the side of the cars as they go by as though they were toros (bulls) in the bullring. They will honk. Constantly. Honking means, “Here I come,” or “Here I am,” or “Move over,” or “Do you want a taxi?” or “Are you sure you don’t want a taxi?” or “Hi!” or “Look out,” or possibly, “I haven’t honked in the last 2 minutes so I’d better make sure the horn still works.” We’re not in Oregon anymore.