We are currently in Trujillo, about 500k north of Lima.The epicentre has been reported to be in the Ica region, including Pisco, around 300k south of Lima. Wednesday evening, at about 7pm local time, a shock meassuring 7.9 was detected, this was felt in Lima causing considerable panic in the city, enough for people to evacuate buidings and go out on to the streets. People here in Trujillo have reported feeling a tremor at that time, including our host at the hostel, who might have experienced some pre-activity the day before, saying he was faint and a little nauseas for a brief time. I felt nothing at all I´m glad to say.
The situation now, after about 24 hours, is that 437 are confirmed dead including 200 who were worshiping at mass and died under the collaped church. 70-80% of both Pisco and Ica´s buildings are destroyed, it is a very poor area and poor quality buildings, power, water etc is all down. It is reported that health workers broke their strike to go to the affected areas to help with the relief effort.Earlier today we were told that 120 buses were stranded in the area and all flights were cancelled, that was quickly lifted, but the fate of the buses and the people who want to get out is unknown at the moment.
As to us, it feels strange and a little unsettling, that we were heading right down in to this region, planning to arrive in Pisco next week and then on to Ica. So now we will have to revise our plans, we are considering a bus to Huaraz in the mountains for some treking and then on to Lima via Caral (les recommendation). We might then fly to Cusco, which can be done for 40 quidish, rather than 24 hours on a bus for not much less. There doesn´t appear to be much inbetween, or if there is, the posh buses don´t stop there, so local buses would take decades to cover small distances.Watch this space.
a travelogue in the time of the information superhighway
1994
My story starts in drizzly, dreary, grey England. I worked as a nurse in a specialist cancer hospital in Manchester. One day, I suddenly entered her world, there she was. At once beautiful, but decaying visibly. Eyes that melt you, fumbled for reasons. High on morphine, she slumped on the chair. Her legs, previously long and graceful, were now fat and full of fluid. She was loosing her hair, something that upset her most. We all witnessed her struggling with the remains of her dignity and modesty, but she carried on fighting. Her mother applied facial cream like a corner man at ringside, her father just looked lost. She was a twenty seven year old woman, right before us, dying in her prime. She seemed to hold up a mirror to the thoughts sailing across my mind, a metaphor for what we've all become and what will become of us. So much potential, so much waste. It is at moments like this that we can take the looking glass to our own fragile existence, and ask questions of it. Cancer had infiltrated her womb, the very giver of life. I became aware of a feeling that her death had released something else, a thirst for living itself. She haunted me. Four months later, I set out on an adventure to view the world that she would no longer see.
Posted by don quixote
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