We're Back and Day 281

Teri and I were traveling in Cajamarca and Chachapoyas the last week and had a great time. I forgot to post a day before I left so here are two days, with Day 277 a separate post, to make up for my lapse.

Day 281 Cool Birds
Saturday 16 May 2009

Gina and Ivan surprise us by coming over 45-minutes earlier than our arranged lunch-date time of 1:00. Teri runs upstairs to shower when she hears them greet Yobani at the gate and I chat a bit and pay Ivan the 300 soles he loaned us. As soon as Teri comes down we thank them again for all their effort on our behalf, chat awhile about restaurants, and Ivan comes up with Restaurante el Chilalo which is a restaurant/park north of Piura. Chilalo is the common name for a Pale-legged Hornero (Furnarius leucopus), a beautiful and ubiquitous cinammon-colored bird with a song less musical and more cacophonous; there are often some walking on our front lawn and one will sometimes be very near our open front door when it calls—an ear-splitting high-frequency screech that makes me want to cover my ears.

As we ride to the restaurant Teri regales Gina and Ivan with the full story of our mind-changing day and how we ended up broke in Ayabaca. I notice the taxi driver chuckling quietly to himself each time Teri relates a thrwarted-attempt at our travel destination; at one point the ride is taking so long I think he is going out of his way so he can hear the end of the story.

At the restaurant there are caged animals on the entrywalk to the dining area, a canopy-covered and dirt-floored space with a stage at one end and enough four-person tables to seat 250 people—it’s huge. The music, as usual, is near pain threshold so we hike to the far end away from the stage and speakers and we still have to shout to be heard across the table. I ask Teri to ask Gina and Ivan why they think there is always loud music in public places in Piura and their answers emphasize the cultural divide. Gina seems genuinely puzzled and asks if it’s not that way at home. Ivan laughs and says his throat is always sore the day after a night out and it’s not from drinking or smoking, it’s from yelling.

The food is good, the beer is cold, and we have plenty of each; I speak lots of pidgin-Spanish trying to stay in the table talk. Afterward we choose icecreams from a cooler and walk around the place. There are three horses in a pen in the sun looking hot and one of them has both front legs in a large water trough and it appears to be purposely stamping one of its hooves to splash water on itself—cool. We walk by a couple of caged parrots and after our experience at Casa Relax in Cartegena, Teri and I both talk to them; I say, “oh-oh, oh-oh” and “hello” and one of the birds says, “allo-allo,” as it cocks its head and eyes me as if to say—what, you think I don’t know that one?”