Chiquian is about as remote a place as you get in Peru. Here the Andes have
narrowed themselves into a vertiginous spine, towering above the desert
coast and the Pacific. Two great ranges of knife-edge peaks, all around
20,000ft, dominate the skyline: the Cordillera Blanca and the Cordillera
Huayhuash. Between them lies a high, dusty brown plain, and below the rim of
this plain, perched on a little ledge high above a rushing river and looking
out towards the Huayhuash, sits the small and unspoilt town of Chiquian.
Only a dirt road links Chiquian to the main road down to the Pacific, and
Lima. During the past few days of August every year, big old buses packed
with Peruvians from all over the country trundle down the winding track into
town for the week of the Fiesta of Santa Rosa: Chiquian’s patron saint. From
across the river, too, come pickup trucks, mules and donkey carts laden with
peasants from the mountains, and the chickens, sheep and guinea-pigs they
sell for feasts.
And in comes beer, pisco (a strong, colourless spirit made from corn) and
every kind of jerry-can filled with chicha, a home-fermented beer with the
taste and consistency of fizzy, vinegary gruel. When it comes to alcohol the
South-American-Indian peasantry of the Andes have only two modes, sober or
drunk, and for a week most of Chiquian and its visitors will be drunk.
I tried to stay sober as, from the window of my friendly but basic little
hotel, the Hostal San Miguel, I watched the festival procession passing by.
Local dignitaries dressed as Spanish conquistadores come rearing down the
narrow streets on highly strung and terrified horses. The townspeople,
meanwhile, take the part of the indigenous Incas whom the Spanish conquered.
They crowd the streets and throw crackers (the gunpowder kind) and small,
hard-boiled sweets at the mounted procession, which throws sweets back at
them, beating the townspeople back. Behind marches a preposterous brass band
– all Sousaphones, trumpets and drums – boom-boom-booming its tuneless way
through the town. Then everyone retires to eat guinea-pigs and drink more
chicha, the proceedings punctuated by the sudden whoosh of terrifying
rockets. Wielded as hand-grenades, these rockets are sold in bunches in the
market square: bottle-sized tubes of cardboard, the fuse one end of which
the holder lights, then points wherever he chooses, holding on until the
rocket launches itself from his hand.
Fiesta-goers were now marching, many holding these rockets, in the direction
of a crude little stadium surrounded by rickety stands. Here was to be
staged the second big attraction: Chiquian’s annual bullfight. No fan of
bullfighting, I thought this something one ought to experience: a far-flung
and most unlikely piece of cultural baggage from the old Spanish Empire.
In the yellow rays of a late Andean afternoon – the hour before cold blue
shadows creep across the landscape – the stadium was packed. The sagging,
swaying stands looked dangerous but I climbed the back of one and found
space on top.
I had gathered that killing the bull was not the norm in Peru. This arises not
from squeamishness but from the fact that in a poor country they cannot
often spare a good bull. The family beside me on the stand confirmed that
today there would be no kill. In the event they were almost proved wrong.
A blast of trumpets and a roll of drums heralded the start. Into the ring
wandered a moth-eaten and rather confused-looking bull. The crowd cheered.
Behind it, cartwheeling, came two clowns. The crowd screamed. Then on
sauntered a pantomime black man – a Peruvian blacked up, Sambo-style, in a
frizzy black wig, and dressed in striped dungarees. The crowd roared. Where
was the matador?
Finally, in minced an enormous Widow Twankey: with false breasts, ludicrous
red lips and rouged cheeks this was proof (the hilarity of the crowd showed
it) that men pretending to be women are just as funny to a Peruvian mob as
to an English one. The bull surveyed this cast with an expression of
confused horror. This was a bullfight, Captain, but not as we know it.
The bull essayed an exploratory lunge at the drag queen. With pantomime
squeals she scampered out of its path and made an exaggerated pretence of
trying to hide behind a stand. The Sambo figure then somersaulted right over
the bull’s back, to a huge roar of approval from the stands. Infuriated –
not least by the rockets that bystanders were now directing in all
directions – the bull made a sally in the direction of Twankey, who had
minced back into the middle of the ring. With (I must admit) considerable
skill, she waited until the last moment, then launched herself between its
horns and over its neck, landing back on the ground where she lay, waving
shyly to the audience and pretending not to notice the bull making another
approach. This time she threw herself between his legs – again escaping
injury though, to the audience’s delight, one of her false breasts became
detached.
And so it would have gone on. But everything was interrupted by a great shout
of horror from one section of the stands. The bullfight was stopped at once
– but we were not at first clear what had happened. I saw people running to
crowd around the place whence the shouting had come. A few minutes later a
primitive pick-up-truck-cum-ambulance drove that way too. I was just able to
spot what looked like a body being carried into the vehicle, which lurched
off at speed over the rough ground. And, after a short pause, the fight was
resumed.
But I had had enough. Over a beer and a roast guinea-pig early that evening I
was able to establish from fellow diners what had happened. Someone had
misfired a rocket, straight into the stand. It had hit a woman full in the
mouth and taken off the side of her face. She had (it was believed)
survived, and been taken to the nearest hospital in Huar-az, a couple of
hours away.
As I trod the darkened streets back to my hotel that night I spotted a poster
for an upcoming bullfight in another town, scheduled for the Saint’s Day of
St Francis. Unusually, two bulls’ deaths were promised: “ En Honor de San
Francisco” was the boast. I had now seen enough to know that among Peruvians
this would have carried no trace of irony.
Need to know
Getting there: Trailfinders (0845 0585858, www.trailfinders.com)
flies from Heathrow to Lima via Madrid, with Iberia, from £699 return until
November 14.
Bullfighting: The season varies across Peru, but in Lima it is
October-November (www.enjoyperu.com).
Chiquian The Museo Taurino (bullfighting museum) in Lima is open 9am-4pm
Monday-Saturday.
Getting about: Hertz (www.hertz.co.uk)
has a week’s fully inclusive car hire in Peru from £115.
Peru operators: Journey Latin America (020-8747 8315, www.journeylatinamerica.co.uk),
Cox & Kings (020-7873 5000, www.coxandkings.co.uk).
Further information: Prom Peru (020-7235 1917, www.peru.info),
FCO (0845 850 2829, www.fco.gov.uk),
Latin America Travel Association (020-8715 2913, www.lata.org).
Reading: Peru (Lonely Planet, £13.99), Inca Kola: A Traveller’s Tale of
Peru by Matthew Parris (Phoenix, £7.99).
EARTHQUAKE NEWS
Major tourist areas in Peru were left largely unscathed by the earthquake that
hit the coast of the country on Wednesday, killing at least 330 people. The
epicentre was 90 miles (150km) southeast of Lima in the province of Ica,
where many houses collapsed. At 7.9 on the Richter scale, it was the biggest
earthquake to hit the country in decades.
However, the tourist board said that the earthquake did no damage to
infrastructure. “Flights to the airport at Lima and roads are unaffected,” a
spokesman for the UK office of PromPeru, the official tourist board, said.
Chiquian is about 150 miles northwest of Lima, well away from the main
damage.
The Foreign and Commonwealth Office has not altered its travel advice for the
country, saying there were no reports of British casualties. About 61,000
Britons visited Peru last year. There has been a steady growth in UK tourism
in the past decade – the London office of PromPeru opened in May, indicating
the importance of the British market.
Latest figues put Peru behind Brazil in terms of visitors from Britain
(169,000) but ahead of Chile, which had 53,000. Most people visit to see
Machu Picchu, recently voted one of the “new seven wonders of the world”. Tom
Chesshyre
The article isn´t very animal friendly, and it doesn´t go with the (in theory) animal-loving english people, but Peru is a nice country, even thow these awful things happen. I´ve been to peru and haven´t seen any mistreatment to animals, ( but they happen). But Peru has also nice people who love animals and keep them well, and even thow there is bullfight, a lot of peruvians are against it, I have a few friends there and they are all againts bullfighting, so that´s good to know.
But it´s good for the authorities to know that there are some people who won´t visit Peru because of it´s awful animal practises, and other countries too. Hope they think about this.
adam, Manlleu, Catalunya (Iberian peninsula)
Roast Guinea-pig, bullfighting and a woman's face being extremely disfigured. Thanks for the article but this animal-loving vegetarian has no plans to go to Peru. On a brighter note it is the home of St. Martin De Porres. He is the patron saint of social justice who loved God's animal kingdom. He refused to eat meat.
Brien Comerford, Glenview, United States