El Carmen gives me the heartbeat to start

El Carmen kissed and seeped into my skin, thanks in no small part to the friendship and kindness proferred by one Mario Vargas Meinel. The cotton-picking town is so warm and friendly, and Mario made its history sing to me.

It's 300 km south of Lima, the home of Afro-Peruvian culture, and I went there in search of music, made famous by the Ballumbrosio family and an essential learning curve for anyone hungry for history and heart through rhythms. Not many people go there though. Alas, the fiestas for the Virgin del Carmen take place this weekend, when I've to be in Arequipa. They have such hopes for the pueblo - by (eventually) building a cultural centre based around the late Amador Ballumbrosio, they hope to build on the potential of the place to attract musicians and artists. I can see how wonderful this could be.

A photo by Lorry Salcedo Mitrani from an inspiring photography book for children, comparing African culture in communities in Peru and Brazil. Amador plays the violin. 20 years ago or so.

After talking to me throughout the best part of the night, telling me so many histories of the place, his rich and varied life seeing the world, and the characters he's befriended who fell for various parts of Peru and became part of them, Mario and I met again in the morning and walked out to a ruined hacienda, la casa de san regis. He wanted to check his drawings to the real thing.

 

A lady once sat on the terrace, entertaining her friends from la casa de san jose with iced tea, finery, civility and laughter that could chill your bones. Horses were freed from their carriages awhile and awaited being put to service again. Surrounding them in the fields, spines bent irreperably to make such straight columns. We listen, and hear our hearts too.

Mario with a head from the nearby church that was destroyed in an earthquake but still functions.

Lena, the mama from the hospedaje I found, was a delight too. No running water but she let me use their kitchen. Everyone I spoke to was so open and welcoming, pious and partying souls.

Hasta la proxima vez, El Carmen

robadores, jungle hipsters and assorted confusions

First steps after stumbles; missed flights and London Pride nights. Lima looms but a bed beckons first, a few hours in and I have the traveller smell already. The feeling of a right choice makes twists around the edges of the mind as I try to think and not think together. 

I'm without a first photo but I've painted a couple already. Pretty shocked to discover I'm actually writing here, probably best to start while I'm tired and not thinking too much about it. A welcome change from the notebook, brings out different thoughts. So much traffic this morning and the -gloom- . I was warned of this. The grey, waiting to be born pains of Lima for half of the year, colourless skies sap what from the city? I will see. 

And jungle hipsters? Well that's a stretch... Odd hippie New Yorkers who dress like third world dandies and voyage into the Amazon to play guitar to the locals and sip their ancient histories that he seems so desperate for. With feathers in his hat and coral round his neck and a serious, very serious, love for living. My newspaper went unread. 

¡Venga, venga, vamos!