Time for a change: The china is more powerful than the luca

I find I carry lots of change in Peru. It is not uncommon for me to have 20 coins in my pocket. Soles (S/.) is the currency of Peru. Soles come in bills and coin. Bills are denominated in S/.10, S/.20, S/.50, S/.100, and S/.200. Coins include S/.1, in slang called a luca (sounds like LUka), S/.2 and S/.5 as well as cents or centimos: 1, 5, 10, 20, and 50, known on the street as a china (pronounced as chEEna).

Most daily purchases, food, transportation, etc. cost less (much less) than S./10. As a result having lots of change in my pocket is not uncommon and in many respects, necessary.

The necessity comes from merchants not having enough change to effect a transaction. As an example, think about the breakfast merchant . She offers breakfast for S/.2. As each customer pays for their meal they will hand her change. If each one had a bill, with the minimum being S/.10, she would need to carry kilos of change to accommodate all of the customers.

The other evening I was waiting to get arroz con leche and mazamorra from a street merchant I call Mazamorra Wendy. Arroz con leche is rice pudding: warm, sweet, and creamy. Mazamorra is similar to a jelly made from purple corn, cinnamon, sugar, plumbs, and other delectables: served warm, tart, as a side or topping. Together the sweet and creaminess of the arroz con leche and the tart of the mazamorra make a wonderful, hearty dessert on a cold evening. I will write more about Wendy in a future vignette.

A patron purchased S/.2 of arroz con leche from Wendy and then presented her with a S/.50 bill. This created an issue. Wendy sells portions from S/.1 to S/.6 with the average sale being S/.1 to S/.2. Being presented the S/.50 bill was like watching an accident on the interstate. Everything immediately came to a halt. People in line became onlookers to the wreck: the need for change. Everyone knew this was going to be awhile, tossing their heads in disbelief. Almost out loud you could hear the thoughts, "a S/.50? What is he thinking? Is he crazy?"

Wendy was now having to find change. First she looked at those in line as if secretly hoping one of us could break the S/.50 bill. Instinctively those in front of her started shaking their heads, some after touching the outside of their pockets and others quizzingly peering upwards. You could imagine the thought bubbles above their heads saying "do I have change for a S/.50" before they looked forward and moved their chin from side to side acknowledging they did not. Wendy, with a line of patrons at her street cart, was off to find the balance that represented 24 times the purchase. She went from one bodega to the other, finally to emerge with the change needed.

Everyone carries change. Using bills for small purchases is considered a nuisance and a disruption to the normal flow. Change is the oil of transactions in Lima. Change is also power. Having change empowers the purchaser to get what they want at a price they want.

As you have read I ride the combis. The fare for the combi is some amorphous calculation of distance between stops. Each combi, privately owned, has its own fare structure. They are all similar, however, the job of the cobrador is to extract the maximum fare the market will bear. Not having the exact amount of change that you want to pay puts you at the mercy of what the cobrador wants to charge. I have been known as saying "la china tienes mas poder que la luca." Roughly translated from my poor Spanish, the 50 cent piece has more power than the 1 sol coin.

Two routes I take daily on the combi are not well defined fare areas: one slightly beyond a zone and the other just within two zones. My first combi everyday is a route that the cobradors will 9 times out 10 accept 50 centimos without asking for more. But if I hand them S/.1 I will be, in many cases, begging for my change. The second route I take is technically S/.1 but I have found if I have 70 centimos and announce where I am going that all will accept this. Though if I hand them S/.1 I will never get change.

I always make sure I have change, small change, because la china tienes mas poder que la luca. Change becomes a bargaining chip. Not only on the combis, but the taxis and the mercados (markets) too.

Change is a safety issue as well. It is important to understand the economies of scale. Consider that all bills in Lima are considered large bills, it is important to not be on the streets flashing a lot of money. If you were in New York City on the street you wouldn't be obvious with your large bills. The same holds true in Lima, a city like New York, with over 8 million people. Change purses or pouches will be carried by men and women in Lima: keeping their bills out of site.

With 2 chinas in hand, 20 coins in my pocket, and my bills in the other pocket, I feel empowered by my change. That is a nice way to start the day and go off to work, where I am going now. Enjoy your day. It is time, for a change.

Public transportation in Peru: the dance of the cobrador

Public transportation in Peru, like people, comes in many forms. Taxis, buses and combis are the common forms of public transportation. While you may be familiar with taxis and buses, the combis, or micros, are vans or minibuses that travel various routes throughout the city: making it possible to virtually get anywhere from anywhere in Lima.

The size of a combi varies. They range from older vans, traditionally designed to carry nine passengers, to minibuses with 20 to 30 seats. The older vans have been converted inside to include seating for up to fifteen passengers.  The conversion adds padding behind the the front seats for three to sit backwards and in the rear of the van is a bench seat for three passengers. Two passengers can sit up front next to the driver. The rest of the van has three rows of seating. On the left side are seats for two passengers, an isle in the center and a single seat on the ride side: except for where the side door opens. This area is reserved for the cobrador or conductor.

The cobrador has many functions. The cobrador collects the fares, directs traffic and tells the driver when to stop and go. Sometimes he will instruct passengers to move seats to fit more into the combi and he assists people getting on and off as the combi is in a constant state of motion.

In the small combis the cobrador will be seen hanging out if the window of the sliding door. While traveling with the speed of traffic, the cobrador will be yelling the route of the combi to attract riders: not unlike a barker at the circus. However, this barker is doing so at 50 kilometers an hour.

The combi, traveling along its route, stops, or slows, along the way to pick up and drop off passengers. While there are some paraderos,  bus stops, most stops are where a potential passenger happens to be standing and raising their hands. With his hands and head hanging out of the window, the cobrador will let other vehicles in traffic know that the combi is changing lanes in front of them to either drop off or pick up a passenger. It is not uncommon to see a cobrador actually reach out and place his hand on another vehicle to make them aware that the combi is coming into their lane.


The cobrador is the one in control of where the combi stops and when it proceeds. When one wants to get off the combi they will announce next street corner, "esquina," traffic light, "semáforo," or gas station, "grifo." The driver rarely stops at the corner, stop light, etc. unless the cobrador announces it to the driver to stop or baja. When the cobrador sees a potential passenger he will tell the driver baja. As passengers get on and off you will hear, almost as if singing, "sube, baja" (get on, get off) as indications for the passengers and driver of the combi stopping or going again. 

During these stops you can watch the dance of the cobrador. It is like a ballet as the van begins to stop with the cobrador swinging the door open, placing a foot on ground and doing a pirouette, as so not to fall from a vehicle in motion. As a final passenger on the stop gets their last foot into the van, the cobrador will  tell the driver to advance. Reversing his spin he will get back on the combi as it is speeding off. Then sliding the door shut and out the window again with his heads and arms: repeating the chorus of the route only to turn around and ask for your fare.


I love the combis and travel several per day. They are cheap and they are always an experience. You can travel for as little 40 centimos (15 cents US) to one to two soles (35 to 70 cents US) depending on distance you will travel.

On a typical day I will take two combis to my fiancé's apartment and two combi's back. When I umpire I travel to the ball fields in a combi. When I go to work or an appointment for teaching I will ride the combi. However, I must caution you, combis are not for everyone.

Combis will almost always be dirty, usually crowded, and sometimes scary. The combrador's job is to get as many fares as possible. Having standing room only crowds on a combi is not uncommon. When it is crowded you will hear him say "avance avance" which means move to the rear of the combi. Move to the rear really means pack it in. The combi may be packed to an unsafe number of people, making traveling at a high speed worrisome.


One part of the experience is always trying not to "avance" to the back of the combi if your stop is near. Getting to the door through the standing crowd can be difficult. If you have ever seen the original Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, it is similar to the scene when the children and parents first enter the factory: entering the small room with no door at the other end and trying to get back out the original door they all went through. 


The video below is from my travels one day last week to a teaching appointment. The daylight trip was the ride out and the nighttime scenes are on the way home. It is about a six minute video without music. As you watch it listen to the constant chatter of the cobrador and cobradora. You will see the dance in some scenes and get a sense of the size of the vehicles used in public transport. Watch the video and take the ride with me, Señor Mark: Expatriate in Peru.

Breakfast Anyone?

Monday through Saturday from 6:00 AM to 11:00 AM in Surquillo, Lima, Peru, at the corner of Avenues Inca and Angamos, is a street breakfast merchant: two employees, mother and daughter, that reside about one half block from the corner on Inca. Each day they wheel a vending cart that consists of two gas burners for cooking, pots, pans, cups, spices, coffee, eggs, onions, cheese, potatoes (sweet and regular), oatmeal, vegetable oil, water, and bread. The bread is fresh, and often hot out of the oven, French bread rolls from the bakery across the street.  

During their hours of operation they prepare from the cart breakfast for local residents and business personnel. In front of the cart is a bench and from behind the cart the mother cooks fresh eggs and potatoes. A pot of coffee and oatmeal sit waiting for customers. Bread is bought daily. The menu is limited: fresh and the quality is consistent. Any day one can get a fried egg and French bread sandwich with coffee for S/. 2.00 (two Soles): S/. 1.50 for the sandwich and S/. 0.50 for the coffee. 

The daughter will deliver or pick up. Delivery is of food. Pick up is for cups. All cups are ceramic: a heavy mug. If one had delivery or picked up their meal and took it to their work, the daughter would stop to pick up the mug. One nice feature of the ceramic mug, coupled with the food being fresh and cooked by the mother, is that the customers feel more like they are having a home cooked meal, instead of a fast food take out.

  

The bench in front of the cart becomes a seating area for those to eat their meals. You will see the same people gathering for breakfast or coffee at the same time. The street breakfast merchant creates a social satisfaction as well as supplying low cost meals.

Having developed the customer base, the merchant can purchase supplies daily with confidence and not be concerned with excess: keeping everything fresh. The food that is offered allows for a quick production time. Customers still get their meals quickly and receive a higher quality because it is cooked to order. They come daily because of consistency, both quality of food and hours, delivery, and the camaraderie that are offered by the merchant's stand.


The camaraderie became apparent to me one day when she did not bring the cart out. I found I missed not only my coffee but the morning conversation. The next day her daughter was alone to open the cart. Instead of delivery, this day the daughter had on the familiar apron of her mother and was cooking alone. I asked her where they were the previous day and why she was cooking instead of her mother. She explained that her mother was very sick and that while she was not accustomed to cooking she had to open so no other merchants poached their spot.


That day I realized that cart was more of a coffee stop and part my community: similar to a Facebook friend you take for granted until you realize they are not in your friends anymore. So I went to the mercado (market) and bought some flowers. That day I delivered them to the mother at the home on Inca and told her to get well soon because she was missed.

The mother is well, the cart is there and I am getting my coffee daily. I also get a sandwich when I don't have time at home for breakfast. Recently, in addition to the fried egg or sweet potato sandwich, she started offering fried fish. I found I love the fish: again only S/. 1.50 for the sandwich.


One morning, recently, she asked me what I wanted and excitedly said she had the fish I liked. I was in the mood for an egg sandwich, but didn't want to disappoint her. So I said let me have a fresh fried egg and the fish on the French bread roll. It was delicious. I have named the sandwich, but not to offend anyone let's just say I call it the name of a famous Peruvian cartoon: pezweon. For more information on that I have included a video here below.





I will be telling you about the other street food experiences I've had here in Peru. I have found that I am lover of street food: cheap, fresh, and always an experience. For today you had breakfast. Stay tuned for lunch. 

I hear the whistle:run for your knives.

Once a week I will hear in Miraflores, Lima, Peru, a familiar whistle. This is a distinctive whistle: one that is known to all as the whistle of the knife sharpener. The knife sharpener is a one person business. Production, sales, marketing, and customer service are all provided by the same individual: walking through the streets with a device designed to spin a stone for knife sharpening.

 

The device consists of a metal frame with one large wheel that is attached to a pedal. It is engineered so the sharpener may walk with the frame in his hands as the large wheel rolls it through the streets. There is a sharpening stone that is in the shape of a circle. When put into use, a leather belt is used to transfer the power of the large wheel to the smaller round sharpening stone. Using his foot, the knife sharpener pedals the large wheel, with which the belt spins the sharpening stone: at the same time he sharpens the customer’s knife.

Weekly the knife sharpener will walk through the streets. Each day of the week consists of the same route for that day: Monday one route every Monday and Tuesday another route every Tuesday, etc. As the knife sharpener walks through the street the familiar whistle is blown over and over again. Residents on the route are made aware that the knife sharpener is available by hearing the whistle. The consistency of the route and the sound of the whistle are the marketing and sales for the business. I can personally attest to this as I had my knives sharpened because one week I heard the whistle. It was so distinctive that I went outside to see what it was. After learning that it was the sharpener, the next week when I heard the whistle, I ran outside with three knives (sharp points down) to be sharpened. The cost for the service was three Soles[1] per knife.

The knives are sharpened quickly, expertly, to the point of shaving the hairs off your arm: something that I have never been able to do on my own. What appears to be a simple skill with simple equipment is really a wonderful example of personal service, convenience, craft, and art form. Imagine standing one foot with a knife in your hand, peddling the other foot like a bicycle, with two spinning wheels going round and round, and you are sharpening the knife to a fine edge. That is an art form. 

I hear the whistle. I’m off to the kitchen drawers to check the knives. Come back soon. Next time I will tell you about the breakfast street merchant and the sandwich I invented. Chau.

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[1] Sol or Soles is the currency of Peru. As of September 13, 2010  the exchange rate is S/. 2.79 per $1.00.

Señor Mark?

Let me introduce myself. My name is John Mark Wallach. I have used my middle name, Mark, my whole life: or as long as I can remember. When asked why I use my middle name my response has been I am John Mark, a son of Mary: just like the prophet Mark. If it was good enough for him, it is good enough for me.

Living in South Florida since 1985 I was married for 21 years, have 3 children, all grown, and a grandchild. In early 2007, I was divorced and shortly after my business was failing. I was in the mortgage business. I held on to the business about 2 years too long. Finally ending it in 2009. Alone, broke, and without opportunity, unemployment was over 12%, I decided to return to university online.

I made another decision at the same time. I realized that one can be rich anywhere they want to be. One can be poor anywhere they want to be. They just can't be middle class anywhere they want to be, because they are holding on to too much "stuff." I definitely wasn't rich, but if I was willing to give up my "things," I could be poor: where I was happy.

So I did. In December of 2009 I gave it all up and embarked on an adventure and moved to Lima, Peru. Arriving with all I could put in 2 suitcases, I began a new life in South America with minimal Spanish and a renewed optimism.

I learned quickly that for most Peruvians the name Wallach was difficult to pronounce and possibly even write. The local supermarket chain has a rewards card for discounts. I signed up for the card and subsequently noticed that when I would use it at the register the name that would show up was Señor Mark. Apparently the person processing the card had difficulty understanding the name and chose to put my name Mark in the computer as opposed to Wallach.

When I would come home to my apartment the watchman would struggle with my name. Each time I would enter the building he would say hola Señor Walsh, or Wayak, or some other pronunciation. In Spanish, the double LL and the CH create a problem for pronouncing the name Wallach: having different rules than in English.

Ultimately, he began calling me Señor Mark. Others in the building began to hear the doorman. Within a short period of time, many were calling me  Señor Mark. I have even found that those I meet in public would call me Señor Mark. The sense I get is a real genuine desire to be respectful coupled with the inability to pronounce the name. Instead of being rude, they decide to call me Señor Mark.

So Señor Mark it is. As Señor Mark, an expatriate in Peru, I will be sharing stories of the people I meet and the experiences I encounter. The taxi driver, the combi cobrador, the street food merchants, all present amazing stories of people and the lives they lead. I will share them with you in this blog.

As you follow my adventure I ask that you understand things are different in Peru than in North America. Open your mind to the vignettes presented understanding different is not better nor worse. It is just different.

The differences are amazing because I have found they demonstrate our similarities in life, walking an alternative path. Walk this path with me: Señor Mark an expatriate in Peru.