The Broken Arches: Beauty and Courage Prevail in the Wake of Natural Chaos, The Aftermath of the Peruvian Earthquakes and Tsunami of 2007

It was evening time in the small city of Pisco, on the central Peruvian coast. As hot food arrived to the table of two young workers who had just finished their day, a terrible, being-shattering rumble erupted. Everybody under the roof of the street-side food stand paused and rode the terrorizing wave that ensued. The structures that usually remain stable were thrown into whichever direction they most comfortably fell; walls crumbled, roofs collapsed, and power-lines slumped to the ground. All of the people at this food stand, cooks and clientele alike, were covered in the wood, plastic, and debris of the falling structure under which they had formerly stood and sat. Painful pleas for help and cries for loved ones intensified with each passing moment. Mothers hysterically searching for their children, and friends calling out to their friends; all were intimately connected to and effected by these long seconds of natural chaos.

(Pictures provided by AP and Reuters, respectively.)

The reports coming from Lima (the capital city of Peru) was that the earthquake was measured at 7.9. On the following day it was officially-raised to 8.0. These random numbers and scientific reports were of no real concern to the people who had been directly effected by the huge quake; many lost loved ones, were injured, and/or lost their homes or businesses, in addition to the immense stress related to going through such a terrorizing event. The reality of the situation was that the epicenter of the quake was just outside the town of Chincha, which meant that the people most effected by the rumbles were people residing in weak structures (A.K.A. poor people). Death estimates, after the shocks stopped, were approximately 600.

The decision to venture further came only after the touristy wonder receded and a natural wanting for a place more far-off and desolate came to me. Another "trip" or "tour" it might appear to the outsider, but for me, it would be another necessary journey into the contemplative world of my world.

Rather than having the nameless man as our guide (as did I on the boat to Isla Ballestas), Ramon and Andres would lead the way this time. With pure-hearted Paracans taking up the front, the two Krauts and a Yankee (me) would assume the rear seats. Once again, riding in Ramon's white Toyota wagon, this trip would be a view into the multifaceted realms of Beauty, whose truth is only possible through the acceptance of its every color, texture, and scent. To cut to the chase, I would see things on this trip that would make me question many things about what Beauty, Truth, and Life are all about. Thanks all in part to natural chaos.

I had met Eva and Hermann (not their real names) on the boat to Isla Ballestas earlier in the day. Our ability to visit and converse was inhibited given the noise and roughness of our boat ride. But now, while sharing the back seat of Ramon's taxi, we'd have a new chance at it. Eva and Hermann were in Peru for the typical Peruvian journey: Lima, via Arequipa and the "Southern Route," to Cuzco and Machu Picchu. Ironically, as I thought this to myself, I too had signed up for the same trip! (Although I had a feeling of entitlement given my felt "familiarity" and "experience" with the route and each of its highlighted destinations.) They were the perfect traveling buddies and a fluid-like compliment to the other two Peruvian characters sitting in front of us.

Andres, only briefly alluded to in the first part of this adventure, was a slim-built and long-haired chap with a mischievous look in his eyes. He told me of his prospective over-night private camping "tour" with a visiting Brazilian beauty, who happened to be with another tour agency also traveling to the Paracas Peninsula that afternoon. I could feel his nerves pulsating with electricity and his heart beating the same.

Then there was Ramon: portly, proud, and a very good guy. He reminded me of Antonio (Tony), a dishwasher at my Californian workplace. Equal in stature, weight, and pitch of laugh. I popped into a fantastical visualization of Tony and Ramon going on a "World Tour" together to the ends of the globe seeking out hot women, the best of food, and the greatest of songs. Well...I already knew that my friend Tony was a sort of "Karaoke King" and a connoisseur of Mexican Ballads, but as for Ramon, I wasn't so sure if he could hold his own as the Peruvian equivalent.

We cruised the extensive desert highways of the Peninsula with unrivaled assertiveness; Ramon seemed to know these circularly criss-crossing dirt roads like the bottom of a lunch plate. He chuckled as he watched me in my obvious state of puzzledness and said, "You've got to know these roads to be able to find your way: that's why tourists shouldn't drive out here." I listened to him closely while attempting to catch the entirety of his message (in Spanish) over the screaming engine of the Toyota. He continued by saying, "You can get lost very easily; it happens all the time."

I considered this last statement while staring out into the vast and desolate Mars-like landscape. Something funny came to mind: I saw a broken-down Land cruiser with smoke floating up from its over-worked engine; with unhappy and thirsty gringos pacing about the car. This thought convinced me of my good election to go with the locals; usually the best option in most situations! We were to make three stops during our journey; the first was just a few feet away.

"Playa Something," whose name I personally coined, considered one of the prettiest beaches along the Paracas Peninsula, was nothing short of breath-taking. It was situated on a long stretch of private beach pinched-off from the rest of its down and up-coast neighbors by two hunks of earth at each end of its coastal perimeters. A large hill of equal height stood as the beach's barrier from the rest of the peninsula.

Andres, once reaching the ledge that then dropped down a semi-steep trail to the sand and ocean beyond, told me, "Come on, Patricio...you've gotta run!" And he was off. Gone. Out-of-sight!

I walked forward to see where my friend had disappeared to. As I looked over the ledge I saw the ocean shore, in all of its majesty, open up while the audio matched the divinity of its visual. "Wow!" I exclaimed to myself and to just about anybody within yells reach. The early afternoon's sun-light shone on the rough waves below, casting memorable combinations of dark shadows and brilliant light.

Without giving it a thought, I too dropped down the ledge, shocking the others who still remained up on the ledge's edge. Just to feel the ocean's breeze, in addition to my self-created breeze as I coasted on auto-pilot, was exhilarating; I instantly begged for more! My only inhibition about the whole thing was knowing that it had to end! And once that non-wish settled in my mind, the spirited sprint downhill was over. I coasted to the spot where Andres waited for me. Him and I instantly celebrated upon my arrival with a high-five, the same way that old friends would have. The two of us watched as the other three crew members apprehensively made their way down the trail to the beach's beginning.

Once they arrived, a strange calm swept over us; it was as if the cast-off vibration of the waves formed large psychedelic bubbles that enveloped us and slowed time and motion down a notch or two. I remember looking at Andres (a guy to whom I felt a real camaraderie) and seeing his expression shift to calm and contemplative.

We all split-off into our own comfortable spaces (with Eva and Hermann remaining closest of all as the couple of the crew). In that moment, I felt a strong pull to just look at each sea-shell, piece of sea-plant, and every single grain of sand. As I plotted along the shore with this extra-leisurely buzz, it was as if a string was holding me up from the top of my head. I continued to stroll along as I basked in the beauty of the compelling rocky cliffs and rough sea-scape that jutted away to infinity. A phrase came to my mind: "Paradise Found." And yes, I had found it!
This place was absolutely amazing; I could have stayed for the duration of the day, the week, the month, or my entire lifetime!

We continued to roam around while simply being amused by being present in this wonderful place. Armies of crabs shot back and forth from water to beach mimicking the Americans arrival in Normandy. After one of our playfully-aggressive pseudo-attacks on their space, the crabs would retreat into their respective sand-holes. Numerous attempts to "capture the crab" were made, and one of us was finally successful (or at least finally completely serious about catching one!).

Andres, once again taking the initiative to push the boundaries, was showing all of us what was truly possible. He, and his equally worthy partner-in-crime Ramon, attacked each other back-and-forth in a no-pinchers-barred kind of way! The Krauts and I enjoyed every moment of this "Paracan Death Match" that ended with Andres winning three pinches to one over an obviously distraught Ramon!

And so the hunt was on for these archaic creatures elusive to most; especially to gringos and crudos (Europeans). In the end, after ten minutes of failed attempts (fraught with apprehension, at least from the foreigners), we chose to move-on to the next stop on our journey around the Peninsula.

We rode fast, but apparently not fast enough for all of the other tour agencies who had their vehicles parked with tourists already unloaded and exploring this new spot.

As we pulled up to our unmarked parking space next to the other taxis and vans, Andres nudged me and encouraged me to look at the girl standing alone just outside our taxi. I followed his insistence and immediately saw and felt the presence of beauty. Just after our collective look, the girl knowingly looked back. And, while looking at Andres, smiled shyly. Judging by my friend's equally bashful smile, I could see that he was completely mesmerized by this girl. She was quite beautiful; I would say that she lived up to her billing as the "Brazilian Beauty!"

When the 8.0 earthquake struck Peru back in August 2007, many buildings and homes collapsed; in the cities of Ica, Canete, Pisco, and many others. The subsequent tsunami, which wasn't astronomically huge, also wreaked havoc on various coastal towns, many of them fishing communities.

Another construction that was unfortunately demolished by the quake and tsunami was the natural creation of La Catedral de Paracas. This structure (which was a natural arch that formerly connected the top of a cliff to a sort-of island thirty feet out in the water) for many years had been a selling point for local tourism agencies attracting many tourists and locals alike, was now reduced to the two bases which used to hold up its arch. I had heard about the collapse of La Catedral prior to going on the trip, but it was well worth it to see what was left: the incredible ocean setting, impressive high-setting cliffs, and to imagine what the arch used to look like when the entirety of La Catedral was still intact and present. In spite of this fallen piece of Nature, life as usual continued for the tour agencies with its tour guides leading groups of curious tourists out to observe the breath-taking spectacle of the cliffs and La Catedral; it was now the allure of destruction that drove the herds of tourists to its site.



Another aspect of coastal Peruvian life continued as well: cliff fishermen. As our small group inspected the terrain around the Catedral area, we came upon two wet-suit-wearing locals free-climbing up to our high-perched spot atop the cliff. These two gifted acrobats, after having fished/dived for their sea-anemone catch far below, scaled the sand-stone wall-of-a-cliff (spider man style) in order to return to their motorbike parked high atop lands-end. I was mesmerized by this entire process as the two men briefly exchanged greetings with Andres and Ramon. They then tied their catch to the motorbike and sped away. Later on, they would surely be looking to sell their catch to the tourist restaurants on the boardwalk of Paracas. I immediately asked Ramon, "Those men do this every day?!" He nodded affirmatively as he continued, "They can make good money selling those conchas; maybe two or three soles each ($0.60-$1.00)." I strode on awe-struck and confounded by the magic trick I had just witnessed.

Andres too was amazed in what he observed; however, his object of focus was much more animate in nature. Fabiola, the Brazilian Beauty, was the catalyst for the newly-carved fault lines present within Andres' being! As our group headed back to Ramon's taxi, which was an eighth-of-a-mile away, Andres accelerated his legs so as to catch up to Fabiola, who was at the half-way-point between us and the parking area. Our group collectively laughed as we watched our friend, "the fish," take off toward the alluring bait that leisurely and quite exotically moved up ahead in the distance. It was a case where I, speaking for myself, was aware of the hilarity of the spectacle as an outsider, but also very conscious of just how it feels to be the participant in "the art of the catch!"

Once we reached our taxi, the next and third site on our tour was set: a ride through the enchanting black-sand beaches with a stop at the peninsula for lunch. As for Andres, his tour would include this one as well as other activities that would stretch into the night and next day and would far transcend and out-do any form of inanimate beauty, ever!

We trucked along, only stopping briefly for a few pictures and observances of both the black-sand beaches (onto which we were forbidden to step) and the conchitas (small mussels omnipresent on the beach rocks).

Prior to reaching the bend which gave way to the point of the peninsula, a couple of notable vistas marked our road. First, the huge dump trucks with seaweed piled to their full. Just behind the large trucks, there were numerous men raking and collecting large amounts of seaweed that had been washed up by the high tides of the previous evening(s). As our taxi cruised through their work area, each of the workers blankly stared at us while the strong ocean breeze wildly breathed dry sand over their faces and through the greater landscape of the peninsula. I respectfully nodded in observance of these men who probably earned a fraction in centavos and/or soles (words for Peruvian currency--cents and 1/3 dollar respectively) of what their bosses should be paying them for such back-breaking work.

With snap-shots of these men's toiling faces fully committed to memory, I was quickly "hit" with another barrage of images which promptly transferred the former to the back-burner. At the immediate point of the "bend," we came upon the huge area where the tsunami had struck. The land, still wet and muddy even after the whaling tide had receded, had copious amounts of seaweed still present (although most had been "farmed"), various pieces of wood, plastic, and miscellaneous debris. But, most telling of all, there was a fishing boat broken in-half. It stood out as the perfect metaphor for what had happened to not only this area by the peninsula, but also to what had happened to La Catedral, and to the beach towns of Paracas, Chincha, and, as I was about to see, Pisco.

I felt the warm coastal breeze sailing through my being as Ramon and I cruised our way north from Paracas to the "city" of Pisco. As we drove further and further north, it was incredible to see the extent to which the occurrence of destruction seemed to increase. This became a topic of conversation between Ramon and I for the rest of our excursion, ida y vuelta (round trip).

Ramon told me of his friends who had lost family members during the quake of 2007. Even though Ramon lived in Paracas, he has, like most other people of the region, strong connections with Pisco, Ica, and Chincha (the cities most effected by the earthquake). Although he mentioned a couple of people that he knew personally who had died, he didn't go much further than that. I felt that he could have said much more, but was instead opting not to talk.

The destruction was most evident when we entered the city center of Pisco. Collapsed rooftops, crumbled Andean brick (made of all-natural materials) walls, and empty spaces where homes and businesses used to be. In my observations, I would estimate that about three-out-of-ten buildings were fully destroyed, and that every building had at least major damage. I began to consider the impact of this destruction on the lives of these inhabitants: the price to clean-up, rebuild, reopen, and even if all of this was possible given the large expense for such an endeavor.

Aside from the material expense, there was the human expense. For those that did survive the quake and tsunami, many sustained minor to major injuries; this had to be considered as well. The people of the cities and towns of this region had experienced a major catastrophe whose aftermath, in the form of recovery on all levels, would be most demonstrative of its real impact.

In sharp contrast to the atmosphere of rebuild and recovery on the outskirts of the Plaza de Armas, there was the interior of the Plaza. Four or five banks stood, strongly erected and fully-functioning with new facades accenting the divide between new and old, interior and exterior (of the Plaza de Armas), and rich and poor. This is not to say that banks are essentially bad. But, it is to say that banks make huge amounts of money by taking advantage of consumers and survivors (as in this case) by spiking interest rates, etc. It was a telling example of just how natural and unnatural disasters can "clean the slate" for new business ventures to take root. Those who capitalize are those with the capital (or tax-breaks, contracts, and other forms of privilege). (For a genius analysis of how this works read "The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism" by Naomi Klein, Picador 2006). I do not claim to know the extent to which Pisco's local economy was effected by this economic model of "Shock and Awe," but I do know that the clean-cut presence of these banks stand as a metaphor for the divisions of power and class in Pisco and its immediate region.

Another shocking spectacle present in the main plaza that afternoon came way of the New World's former mode of belief (prior to its current mode, that of economics--i.e. capitalism), the church. Actually it was the Cathedral. When we came up to the La Catedral de San Clemente, or the space which formerly housed the institution, I asked Ramon, "What used to be in this space here?"; I referred to the area which almost equaled a whole side of the four-sided Plaza de Armas. Ramon plainly replied, "That's where the Cathedral used to be." I stood in disbelief as I slowly remembered the one story that was most touching to me when news originally passed of the 2007 Peruvian quake.

I immediately entered into a time and space warp. As my world began to spin in almost a psychedelic-way around me, I could hear Ramon's words, "There were 300 or more people that were in the Cathedral when it collapsed." I registered this information while turning around to look at a couple of locals on a nearby park bench. To the side of them, there were a few teenage kids walking together, as well as a family watching their young daughter play with the idea of walking for the first time. The impact was strong; after a few minutes of observing all of this, I was left with an eerie feeling. I was dumb-founded by not only the incredible perseverance of these people, who seemed to be making the most of it all, but also by the over-arching aspect of it all, which was and is: the fleeting nature of life.

It was humbling to see the way in which the local Paracanos and Pisquenos continued in spite of the shakes, trembles, and changes that resulted from the earthquakes and tsunami of 2007. Be it in the form of people working around the collapsed natural arch of La Catedral, by way of the tour agencies, divers/fishermen, and seaweed gatherers of the peninsula. Or, by way of the people who lost homes, businesses, and loved ones in Pisco after the collapse of the man-made arches of La Catedral de San Clemente in the Plaza de Armas. All of these heroic actions don't surprise me much; these people, along with their ancestors and many others in similar crises the world over, have grown accustomed to picking up the pieces and adapting as best they can with what they have or are given. It's within the actions of regular, everyday people that we find the timeless and unstoppable virtues of living well: hope, acceptance, love, perseverance, and most important of all, the courage to live despite what happens; which I believe is the true meaning of beauty. Oh yes, and let's not forget, their and our need, want, and passion for justice.

As I told all of this to my friend and guide and taxi driver Ramon, I couldn't help but feel like a complete outsider. I asked myself what I could do to help, and in exactly what capacity I could be most useful: I didn't have a lot of money or the political power to make the immediate changes to insure a quick recovery. I wasn't in a situation to employ any of these people other than Ramon and Andres for the day. Within a few moments and thoughts I received a flashing mental message: learn about it, reflect upon it, and write about it!

And so it is, in spite of all of the broken, collapsed, and injured animate and inanimate objects, life continues much the same in all parts of the south-of-central coast of Peru. I hope my tale sheds a bit of light on some of the realities, issues, and experiences that have influenced these people and myself. Oh yeah, and another thing we can do: we can imagine a world in which natural and unnatural disasters don't have such radical impacts on people as they do today. I would argue that a more responsible capitalism, one which provides a more dependable social safety net and economy, and one that protects the environment at the same time, is the way to safe-guard the sharp contrasts in experiences that we see following disasters (A.K.A. Justice!). Cases in point: Hurricane Katrina, Haiti, and any war area. In the end, the collapse of a few arches shouldn't impact the economic and social stability of a country to the extent that it often does; not in Peru, Haiti, Iraq, Thailand, or the United States. Thanks.

Copyright, Patrick Roseblade 2021