Salad Days.11

Matarani was like nothing I'd experienced so far, although it was not too dissimilar to other places. So far I had only seen sand and city, there had been no lush greenery save for the jungle surrounding the Panama Canal. Matarani was sand and rock but from the dock there appeared to be no town. I finally managed to shake Alan off and quickly headed ashore on my own. I wanted to see more than the inside of a seedy bar.

As with Valparaiso and everywhere else so far, I had no local knowledge. The uphill walk from the dock to find civilisation didn't look that daunting but it proved to be a little more challenging than I expected.

[I should point out that this account is from 30 years ago and having used Google Earth I can see significant changes in the landscape. Apart from the area having been developed significantly, so too has the road from the dock. It has been lengthened in each direction and now consists of just two or three turns instead of seven or eight]

A road snaked around for the heavy lorries from the dock, making the route an easier gradient for them. In typical fashion I decided the best way to the top was a straight line. To follow the twists and turns of the road would take more than an hour and there were no taxis.

As I would find out some years later, climbing on loose rock or scree wasn't easy. By the time I reached the top I questioned whether I had taken the best route. Looking back at the winding road below, with a slow-moving truck full of ore lumbering labouredly onward and upwards, I was tired and thirsty but still convinced I had saved at least half an hour.

There was still some way to go before the buildings began but at least it was flat. It was as I approached the first single story sandstone dwellings, I noticed holes in the ground. They were partially covered with a sheet of corrugated tin. Curious, I went to investigate. I was almost at the hole when an old man poked his head out giving a toothless grin. Smiling, I waved, and kept walking. More heads popped out from the holes and it dawned on me these holes were dwellings.

As I neared a street of rundown shacks a boy approached me. The lad looked about seven or eight years old and without hesitation he took hold of my hand. He was dressed in just a pair of shorts and had no shoes. I was somewhat confused as the boy led me to a street. 'Had something happened? The boy hadn't uttered a word but was smiling, it couldn't be anything serious'. The shacks were single story with one glass-less window and an open doorway. It was to one of these the boy led me. In the open single room was an old man and a younger woman whom I assumed were the boy's mother and grandfather. The woman was sat sewing with needle and thread.

I didn't understand the greetings. A word I did understand however was 'cerveza'. It quickly became apparent the old man had seen a business opportunity and sent his grandson to watch for any seamen brave (foolhardy?) enough to visit the town. I bought one of the lukewarm beers and sat to drink it. It wasn't really enjoyable and I felt a little uncomfortable as three generations sat staring at me. It was like I was intruding on their privacy but they all had big smiles and nodded whenever my eyes met theirs. Out of sympathy I bought a second beer.

When I finally made hand gestures to say I had to leave (I wanted to find a real bar), the old man seemed to understand and sent the boy with me to show the way. The boy led me to a bar a good fifteen minute walk away which made me feel a little guilty. I gave the boy my loose change, said thank you, and disappeared into the bar. The cold beers were a lot more palatable and I began to relax, impervious to all the curious stares. My thoughts kept drifting back to the old man in the hole and the family trying to eke out a living hijacking seamen on their way into the shanty town.

Three hours later I had spent the money allocated for the run ashore and happily drunk decided it was time to go back for food. Stepping  out of the bar I saw the boy who acted as my guided was there waiting. Had he sat there the whole time I was in the bar? I felt guilty. The boy must have been sat in the sun without a drink or anything to eat whilst I was indulging in excess. I didn't even have any money left to give the boy. As I had done with the boy in Pisco I took off my T-shirt and gave it the lad. He seemed just as pleased as the kid had and followed suit by putting it on immediately. 

As the boy led me back through the narrow streets other kids began to follow. In the end there were five boys and three girls in tow of varying ages. The kids followed back past where the boy lived. I tried to tell them not to follow anymore but either they didn't understand or simply ignored me. Worried they would continue to follow if I took the direct route I decided to walk back along the road. They followed me back right to the ship's gangway. Some of the crew saw me approach like some kind of Pied Piper and asked what was going on. I explained about the boy, and the people living in holes in the ground.

The gathered crew members looked at the kids still standing at the bottom of the gangway. It was dinner time and a suggestion was made. Nobody remembers who thought of the idea initially but it was instantly and unanimously accepted. Five minutes later eight Peruvian kids were sat at tables in the crew mess, totally unaware they almost sparked a mutiny.

The cooks were aware of the extra mouths to feed and refused, saying there wasn't enough and it was more than their jobs were worth. The Chief Steward heard the dispute and sided with the cooks. The seamen said they would go without and the kids could have their meals but the steward stood firm. Eventually the Captain was alerted and came into the messroom. He took one look at the kids and turned to the Chief Steward:

"Feed the children and in future don't be such an ass!"

The Chief Steward's protestations were drowned out by the cheers of the crew and they went to get plates for the kids. Hearty meals were placed in front of them and the seamen watched eager to see their charges enjoy the food. The kids were uncertain and hesitant, puzzling the watching crew. Then the boy I met did the 'sign of the cross' and every kid joined in with a short prayer. How humble we felt at that moment. On the walk back I saw lots of shrines on the twisty mountain road and wondered about how religious the people were to have so many in the most unlikely places. Many years later I found out they were memorials for people who had died on that road.

Prayer over, the kids tucked in with a will and broke the spell. The other crew members saw the boy wearing my T-shirt and went below. Everyone of the kids left with a T-shirt bought in some far off land and an orange and apple each. The kids waved and made the long climb back to their homes. That night in the crew bar the seamen were very subdued. In the morning we went out on deck and saw an odd sight, especially in such a barren landscape. The bottom of the gangway was festooned with flower petals.

Matarani may not have been the most exciting destination but few places left such a lasting impression. #NotEveryoneSucks @NotEvery1Sucks