Pacific Ocean

Unfamiliar

I know the Atlantic Ocean.  The Atlantic Ocean is familiar.  It’s right next door.  I’ve been swimming in it all my life.

I swam in the Atlantic in southern Florida every year when I was a child visiting my grandparents. I swam in the Atlantic in Maine at Acadia National Park, super cold, but I jumped in.  I swam in the Atlantic in Cape Cod, where we saw seals as we were sitting on shore   I’m sure I’ve swum in the Atlantic at the Jersey Shore, but I can’t really remember. I swam in the Atlantic in Puerto Rico.  I was 15 years old and it was a family trip with my parents.   I swam in the Atlantic in Argentina, New Year’s 2000, in a tiny beach town with just one paved road.  I swam in the Atlantic in Portugal from a nearly empty wind swept beach. It was one of the first trips Alfonso and I took together.  I swam in the Atlantic in the Canary Islands just last summer. My daughter played in the sand and my mother and sister in law thought I was nuts because the water was too cold.  I thought it was just right and stayed in for a while, floating with my face to the sun, feeling thankful, feeling awe that this water was the same water that laps the shore of my home.

But of course, I’ve mostly swum in the Atlantic in New York.  Growing up we’d pile in the car and drive to Rockaway or Jones Beach.  When I was older, we’d take the train out to Long Beach, LI for an afternoon, or car pool out to Jacob Riis.  When I lived in Brooklyn, I’d ride my bike to Coney Island and jump in before riding home again.  I love the beach. I love the ocean.  I love the cold, salty water, ducking your head under the wave, trying to swim past the break and then bobbing with the waves.

I know the Atlantic Ocean.

The Pacific is unknown.

I’ve only swum in the Pacific once.  Just south of San Francisco, when I drove across the country, right before we turned back east, we parked the car, stripped down to our underwear and ran screaming into the Pacific Ocean.  There were few people on the beach and they were wearing sweatshirts and jeans with the cuffs rolled up as you do when you’re walking on the beach.  We must’ve looked nuts.

Last Sunday we went to a beach in Lima.  I sat on the beach and watched the Pacific.  It was dark and grey and unrelenting.  There were some people close to the shore, but surfers were the only ones actually in the water.  I tried to go in.  I really did.  It was cold, but I could have done it, but the waves, the giant, angry, scary waves, the undertow so strong that I almost fell down when I was only shin deep, I was too scared.  I don’t know this ocean.

Some photos from the beach day

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Let’s Float Down to Peru

Please dear reader forgive me.  I’ve been completely remiss in posting and updating.  I know loyal reader (all 4 or 5 of you) have been looking forward to these posts and I’ve failed you! haha.  But seriously folks, my goal is to be writing more in the new year.

A big change has happened in our lives.  In mid October we made the move to Lima, Peru.  Alfonso has been working here over the last year, traveling back and forth between Madrid and Lima.  This was a situation that was untenable and so we packed up our house and moved from sunny blue-skied Madrid to cloudy grey Lima.

We are living right on the Malecón in the Miraflores district of Lima.  The Malecón is a 6 mile stretch of park along the cliffs above the Pacific Ocean.  We have an unbelievably breathtaking view of the ocean.  I wake up every morning, pull back the shades, open the window and listen to the pounding waves from down below. A steady stream of runners and bikers, skateboarders and dog walkers parade below my window at all hours of the day.  Black dots bob in the ocean in the distance — Surfers, who are already surfing at 5:30 am and who will still be there when the sun sets at 7 pm.  For the past week, a giant Navy ship has been parked in the ocean and helicopters and Navy jets have been periodically booming by.  (Edit: As I was writing this 12 helicopters in formation flew slowly along the coast). This is the first large scale ship I’ve seen.  Once or twice a week you can see small fishing row boats, they seem to gather nets at low(ish) tide.  But other than that, surfers and giant sea birds are the only traffic this part of the Pacific sees (as far as I can tell and see).

The Malecón is absolutely beautiful. An army of workers in blue uniforms descend in the morning to prune, trim, cut, plant and beautify the park.  At around 2 pm, after lunch, they sit and lie in groups under the trees, resting, chatting eating fruit and drinking Inka Cola before continuing on working.  They are not the only workers lying under trees resting after lunch.

Other usual characters in the park are nannies pushing strollers, skateboarding teenagers on their way to the skatepark, lovers of all ages sitting on park benches, maids in uniform walking dogs, businessmen, workers, private security guards and tourists.

In addition to the dim sound of the waves, the click clack of skateboard wheels against the sidewalk, constant car alarms, and the never ending sound of progress — construction — is the daily soundtrack we hear from the apartment.  Lima is not a quiet city.

Lima is also not a pedestrian friendly city.  The traffic is …. bad.  Many of the cars are …. old.  The air is heavily polluted.  Traffic lights are few and far between.  You take your life in your hands crossing many of the streets.  I’ve found paths to the two nearest supermarkets through trial and error.  Once I was stuck at a traffic circle for what seemed like a ridiculously long amount of time.  I almost cried.  I don’t go that way anymore!  Crossing a dangerous street alone is one thing, doing it with a stroller that you have to push into traffic is something else!  I’m getting pretty good at it.  Rule number 1 – cross when everyone else does!  Rule number 2 – a car horn does not mean that they’re letting you go, rather the opposite.  Rule number 3 -beware the combis (microbuses- google it) with squeaky brakes – there is no assurance that they will actually stop.   Rule number 4 – don’t assume that anyone will stop for the nice mommy pushing the stroller.

Other than learning how to cross a street, Isabel and I have been leading a relatively relaxed life.  There are many playgrounds nearby.  Every monday Isabel goes to a music class in the park.  Carlos, the teacher, has a guitar and a trumpet and lots of patience.  He sings songs that require some kind of participation.  Some songs require you to march in a circle, turn around, stomp your feet, jump up and down, wave your hands, shake your tail (like a dog); all the mothers are quite good at following the directions.  It’s pleasant sitting there in the grass as the toddlers toddle around, dancing, shaking maracas, banging on drums, wandering away, stealing instruments and snacks from the other kids. Tourists walking by almost always stop to watch and take pictures.  Mostly other mothers go to the class, but there are some nannies.  (The Nanny Culture is something I’ll write about in another post). Everyone is friendly and Isabel and I have made some friends with some of the moms and their kids.   After class most of the moms hang out chatting, the kids run around.  On the way home Isabel almost always falls asleep.

It is spring here.  There is a constant refreshing breeze from the ocean in our apartment, which continues to trick me into overdressing!  The streets and the sun are hot.  The sun is deadly, even through the clouds.  I’m tanner than I’ve been in recent memory!

And the clouds – even when it’s sunny, its still cloudy!  I take photos of the sunset almost nightly, but you never get the classic photo of the sun setting into the ocean because the sun always disappears behind the clouds before it gets to the ocean.  Having said that, we have a front row seat every night of the glowing, glorious, giant sun setting from our terrace.

Here are some photos, mostly of the various parks that make up the Malecón of Miraflores.

Till next time,