Football, memory maker and lucky policemen
Trip Start
Oct 10, 2006
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18
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Trip End
Oct 10, 2007
San Bartolo,
Peru
Thursday, January 4, 2007
We have some tasty Chinese food for a change and a few beers to see Simon off, he leaves for Cuzco the next morning and we go South down the coast to San Bartolo. We have had some very memorable times with the blonde bombshell from Sydney - great waves, mountain adventures, epic drinking sessions. He has a unique mix of huge enthusiasm and crippling indecision, it makes for great comedy when travelling! We know we are going to miss the young lad.
San Bartolo framed
PHOTO_ID_R=san_bartolo.jpg]
We arrive in San Bartolo the next day to be greeted by an Italian fella called Serge, he introduces himself as the owner of 40 rooms in a prime location overlooking the main beach and break in San Bartolo. He asks us if we would like to look at a selection of rooms and whisks us down the stairs with his non stop chatter. Serge is an obvious salesman and he uses an interesting approach I have come across a few times in my job. He instantly tries to become your best friend and give the impresion that he is solely in business to bring his clients pleasure. Everything else is unimportant....
As he shows us round he is constantly using phrases like "I sell memories, not rooms" and "I dont need money, I only want to build your dreams". When he notices we are surfers he is keen to make us understand he loves surfing too "I only surf at night, by moonlight, you wont see me out during the day"...he is either really bad or he doesnt surf at all. With the stories and details about his life he puts across an image of a international womaniser and entrepenuer, he is obviously trying to impress us but somehow it doesnt quite stick. I actually quite like the fella and I know I can negotiate well with him to get us a good deal, after all money isnt important to him! In each room he point out things that mark what he calls his "unique style as a creative Italian", things like little portholes, wooden fishes on sticks and paintings of boats....in fact, his unique style is just very nautical. He shows us into a room with a balcony overlooking the break and bared natural stone giving it a feeling of a coastal cave. The room is very different to anything else we have seen on our travels and seems perfect for our purposes - a base to chill, surf and explore before our girlfriends arrive in a weeks time.
I remind Serge that money is not important to him and that we will more than likely be staying at his place for a few weeks when I suggest a price at half of what he asks for. After a lot of smilling, back slapping, rolling of the eyes and typically Italian expressive hand gestures he agrees to a price a good level below half way. Me and jb are happy with the deal and confident we can renegotiate when the girls arrive and we need two rooms.
That night we explore the main street of the town, competition between restuarants is fierce, they fight so hard for business they have young lads running down the road after cars and shoving menus in through the windows! We spend the next few days surfing at San Bartolo, a right hander in the land of lefts. Its great to be going on my forehand again and you can see how much you have improved by practising on your harder backhand. We consider night surfing by the light of the moon, but never get round to it...probably a good thing as its damn cold and there are lots of big urchin covered rocks to hit if you are not careful. We discover a great little place to have a post surf breakfast in town, they serve up huge fruit salads with great fresh produce on display. The range of fruits they offer is incredible, a fair few I have never seen or heard of before, such as the deliciously sticky Chirimoya (not sure what it is called in English). After tasting this fruit in my first fruit salad, I am keen to find out what it is. I wander along the shop wall trying to guess, then give up and ask...it is pointed out to me and I pick up the biggest one I see, as I do the soft skin gives way and my thumb goes deep into the heavy fruit. I dont have any choice but to buy it now and becuase I have picked the biggest one, I am surprised by the cost, its not cheap by Peruvian standards. I never got to eat the damn thing as jb put it in the fridge where it wasnt happy and it went nasty before the end of the day.
Chirimoya - complete with thumbprint
damn tasty soup!
One morning surf without jb I was standing halfway down the groin where we paddled out from doing my warmup stretches for my shoulders. A big seagull perched on the lampost above me relaxed its bowels and dropped a big shower of crap all over my board. I laughed and figured it was a lucky blessing, after cleaning my board on the first duckdive, it turned out to be my best surf since arriving....from now on I search out lucky birdshit wherever possible.
It had been a long time since me and jb had watched football, nearly 4 months since Champions League action on the TV in Costa Rica. We were lucky enough to have a regional 5 a-side footy contest beginning in San Bartolo that week. On the opening night we got some beers and our seats in the basic viewing area around the hard concrete pitch. After a week warm up act in the form of three dancing girls sponsored by some cheesy crisp product, the footy begins. The first game is youngsters and me and jb choose our teams to support, no surprise he has gone for the guys in red and me the boys in blue. After so long without shouting and gesturing at Goodison Park or getting lively with the lads in the pub, it was great to cheer and shout my team in a Spanglish fashion! I was a lot more animated than most of the locals. More games followed, with the age and standard gradually getting higher. Me and jb noted that each team seemed to have a token fat lad to get stuck in and rough the other teams players up a bit, on a concrete pitch this often could be painful! I realise that the 3 older ladies sat in front of us, directly on the side of the pitch and in the line of fire, would appreciate a bit of shelter from the ball and the fatlads crunching tackles. I offer to swop seats and they are very grateful, we get a better view and are closer to the action but our big bottled beers are often in danger and need to be swept up to safety.
I chat to a local guy next to me about the difference between football in Peru and England, the mian one beign lack of funding and good coaching. Most kids learn their skills on the street and never get a chance to really develop to a competitive level. Football is huge here though. A local drunkard and character who has befriended us two gringos and adopted us as his nephews makes an appearance and dishes out his usual gifts of mustacheod kisses and fetid breath, making sure everyone sees he is the uncle of two gringos.
footy
top heavy moto taxi
Me and jb decide that the policemen in San Bartolo have the best jobs in the world. They patrol the walkway above the beach all day, taking in the sun and the sight of the bikini clad girls on the beach. Then after ensuring that the crowds of Peruvian holiday makers are behaving themselves, they all settle down in the restuarant at the far end of the beach have some food, a beer and a snooze! There must be about 6-8 police patroling this small area, inside which there seems to be zero crime of any sort! This dosent stop them all from carrying guns of course, just in case someone splashes too hard or kicks some sand onto anothers towel...
I worry that this granting of firepower but with complete lack of action could lead to trigger happy, frustrated cops. My suspicion is confirmed one morning on my way back from a surf, I spot two young cyclists being shouted at by 4 policeman stood above the mini roundabout at the end of the beach access road. I slow my usual brisk walk down to observe and understand whats happening... It doesnt take me long to figure out that these 4 gun totting fellas have been in that spot most of the morning guarding the wet paint on the newly bright orange painted roundabout wall complete with big direction arrows on the tarmac. This is obviously a very important task compared to there usual routine and they are taking it very seriously. They have set up a line of stones to discourage drivers from entering, however there failed to protect from cyclists. It seems that whilst the four of them were distracted by some other police matter.... (perhaps a rogue seagull, unsightly seaweed buildup or a sand castle built without planning permission or abiding to proper building regulations).... the pair of cyclists have cruised in between the stones and left some criminally clearcut tread marks on the direction arrows! Both parties are getting wound up by the situation and as I recognise it is only a matter of time before it flares up and holsters are emptied, I quicken my pace again and head for home. I sleep well at night in San Bartolo knowing that our safety is in good hands!
Before leaving to explore Lima for a few days I am looking round for a suitable room to stay with Eva when she arrives. Our good man Serge is obviously very keen to secure my business and is turning on the charm, squeezing my shoulder, complimenting my approach to life and business and pointing out even more nautically related objects than usual! However, other than the room that I have let jb have, he doesnt have any rooms that I see as suitable. There is only one room that I havent yet seen and as with all the others, Serge is certain that I will fall in love with it and the "memories" it could create for me. I dont expect it to be suitable, but just to please our friend Serge before looking elsewhere I agree to have a look. There is a problem though, the room is currently occupied by a German family who dont leave until the day after me. Serge is unwilling to ask the father if I can look around, as, in his words "he is a typical German man and I dont want to upset him". I ask a few more questions and it seems Serge thinks this guy is very uptight, curt and easily angered...I guess he is not alone in seeing these traits as typically German. However, after making friends with some great Germans in Costa Rica, I am going to give this guy the benefit of the doubt and put it down to Serges Italian flair getting up his nose...
I walk up to the apartment and knock on the door, as if he has been waiting for me, the door instantly swings open and I am greated by a stocky blond fella with glasses and very tidy hair. After looking me up and down, he simply says "yes?" in a tone that is very obviously saying - what the hell are you disturbing me and my family for you scruffy surf scumbag??!! In my best polite English, trying desperately not to laugh, I explain the situation and ask if I can look around. His face shows he is obviously insulted by me in some way and he explains that they are about to go out, so no, its not possible. I am bothered by what this guys problem is and decide to push harder and see how commited he really is to this unfriendly, attitiude. I explain that I really only need 20 seconds and will be out of his incredibly tidy hair very quickly. Just as he is about to slam the door in my face I hear his wifes voice from another room, he stiffens, thinks for a second with his eyes narrowing on me in obvious hatred and then grumbles something inaudible as he widens the entrance and steps aside. I hurry inside and instantly know its not for me, its dark and a bit dingy, but I decide to extend the guys torture for a while longer. I walk onto the terrace where his smiling wife and beautiful two chldren are reading, I say hello and the wife greets me with questions about what I am doing in Peru. She has obviously heard everything as she tells me that they have really enjoyed the room and its a great place to stay. The kids and wife seem very friendly and happy to talk, no doubt any excuse to escape the guy with some bug up his arse is eagerly grabbed. After a few minutes I excuse myself, say thankyou and head back towards the door. Super tidy hair has not moved an inch, his face has gone a crimson red and his eyes are literally firing a thousand daggers a second, right at yours truly. I give him the biggest beaming smile I can muster, say thanks, and becuase I cant resist it...I hold out my hand to be shook. He looks at me as if someone has just served him some roadkill in a swanky restuarant, has a brief bodily spasm and says with barely constrained anger "just leave". As I walk out, feelin those daggers in my back, I make a mental note to ensure that our door is locked that night when we sleep.....
I return to Serge and when he asks me what I think, I reply "you are right Serge, he is a wanker!", Serge laughs hard, as he was asking about the room. I tell Serge the reasons why its not suitable, the main one being I expect there to be a triple homocide in there that evening! He is gutted, but when I later tell him about the more expensive room I have arranged in a hotel just round from his place he understands...after all, its memories and dreams that matter, not money.
