Otro espécimen interesante de la fauna limeña es la de los dateros. Si bien son pertenecientes a la misma familia de los cobradores, estos no han evolucionado a la par con la estirpe anteriormente mencionada. En vez de transportarse a grandes velocidades han tenido que desenvolverse en un sitio fijo, amén de sus características innatas.

Si el espacio natural de los cobradores es sobre una combi y estar en constante movimiento, los dateros han desarrollado un apego hacia un rincón sobre el pavimento. Son criaturas sedentarias que prefieren cobijarse bajo un poste de luz y arroparse en chalecos raídos y estar pendientes del reloj digital puesto que no han demostrado habilidad para leer la hora en aparatos análogos.

Una de sus características más resaltantes es su fuerte voz aguardentosa que les permite comunicarse con choferes y cobradores desde considerable distancia y a través del impenetrable muro de cláxones y gritos en los paraderos. El dominio de su esquina se mide a la fuerza con la que chillen por lo que no es raro que se esfuercen de marcar su territorio así.

Pero competir contra los decibeles de la calle no es el único obstáculo que tienen que hacer frente para su subsistencia. Los dateros poseen envidiables reflejos felinos que les hace posible driblear con envidiosa precisión los autos y micros en plena hora punta y en plena luz verde del semáforo.

Con seguridad se acercan a la unidad con su tablón y su reloj para comunicarles el tiempo de la carrera en la cual los choferes compiten en su afán de dominar las rutas de Lima y El Callao. Los dateros conscientes de su posición privilegiada de comodín realiza su trabajo sin favoritismo y ni bien termina con uno se mueven con amague y flexibilidad entre carrocerías hasta el siguiente bus.

Sólo sencillo

El ethos del datero es el comunicar el tiempo de carrera, esa es su máxima satisfacción y que la realizan con desapasionada convicción. Pero dentro de la cadena alimenticia limeña, este espécimen tiene que sobrevivir y para ello cobra por lo que sus genes le permiten hacer.

En un perfecto ejemplo de coherencia, exactitud y balance de la fauna capitalina el cobrador recolecta el pasaje -su tarea primordial y raison d’être- exigiéndole al pasajero siempre pagarle con sencillo (con monedas de denominación pequeña) de modo que cuando lleguen a la esquina  el cobrador les pague con 10 céntimos por su información.

Para recolectar su premio el datero exhibe el poder de sus piernas al correr y hacerse de sus centavos con prisa de modo que el pesado caucho de las llantas de las unidades no la arruinen al pasar encima. De esa manera, esta faena del datero es comparable a la del perro que corre detrás de un auto a toda velocidad. No se descarta así que pertenezcan a una misma rama evolutiva.

Debido a la mercantilista naturaleza de su labor el datero se ha convertido en un ejemplar territorial y en exceso individualista. No es de extrañar que reciban con hostilidad o se nieguen a compartir un mismo paradero aún cuando no brinden su servicio a las mismas unidades.

Son pocos los dateros que son oficialmente registrados. A estos se les reconoce por sus coloridas camisetas con el logotipo de la empresa/clan a la que pertenecen. Ellas les proporcionan marcadores con los que cronometran a sus buses. Son los especímenes más orgullosos entre sus pares, aunque igual carentes de pedigrí.

“We always had this sense of inferiority, of not being important. We always thought that we couldn’t do what the others could.” – Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva (President of Brazil)

President “Lula” not only made a statement that spoke for the people of Brazil (South America’s largest country) after it was announced that Rio de Janeiro would be host to the 2016 Summer Olympic Games; He had also touched upon a sentiment that many Peruvians share.

Taking a look at my Peruvian sister-in-law’s Facebook profile I glanced at the one and only sentence in her Interests section: “Salir del País,” which translates into English as “Leave the country.”

It is a phrase you often see and hear from many Peruvians who feel that their country has little future or success to offer them. The general (albeit misinformed) consensus is that pastures are greener abroad in North America, Europe and Asia.

Lula’s quote brought me back to the thought of Peru’s long standing conflict with Chile stemming from the 19th century War of the Pacific.

The conflict continues today over Pisco (a brandy), wine, desserts, the potato, music, retail chains, energy sources, raw materials and maritime borders.

It is safe for me to argue that: A.) Pisco and the Potato originated in Peru; and B.) Chilean wine is poisonous per the warnings on humurous Peruvian T-shirts.

Needless to say I did not heed the T-shirt’s warning and learned the truth about Chilean wine the hard way.

Sadly it seems that only Peruvians and a few privileged foreigners are aware of Peru’s rich culture, history, gastronomy, eco systems, landscapes, products and resources….Phew! Did I omit anything?!

Unfortunately, Chileans have the one up when it comes to marketing and that is why they can sell their pet rocks in the form of wine, produce and tourism to the international market.

Argentina has its gauchos, glaciers, tango, Evita and Buenos Aires.

Brazil has its supermodels in thongs, festive samba music, the world’s largest carnaval party, and sexy beaches.

Chile has its success thanks to Pinochet and the marketing of Peruvian products falsely labeled as Chilean.

Peru has Llamas, Machu Picchu and the Incas….sure there’s a whole lot more to Peru, but It’s like the Vegas saying – “What happens in Peru, stays in Peru.”

One day Peruvians, like my sister-in-law, will realize that not only is the grass greener right where they are standing, but it is infinitely more diverse, beautiful and richer than any other nation on earth.

As living Criolla legend Eva Ayllon sang:

“Es la tierra del Inca / que el sol ilumina/ porque Dios lo manda / que ese Dios a la gloria / le cambió de nombre / y le puso ¡Perú!”

Finding factual errors in Wikipedia is, of course, easier than machine-gunning a cask full of cod, and I’ve done it here before. I can’t stand reading Wikipedia’s pages on beer, since I constantly think: “No, that’s wrong … no, that’s not quite right … no, that’s a misinterpretation …”. What particularly gets me shouting at the computer screen is statements that two seconds’ critical thought would show can’t possibly be true: like the assertion in the opening words in Wikipedia’s main article on beer that “Beer is the world’s oldest … alcoholic beverage”, a claim that is repeated in the “alcoholic beverage” article.

The “beer” article justifies this claim by citing in a footnote the book by the German-American author John Arnold with the lengthy title Origin and History of Beer and Brewing: From Prehistoric Times to the Beginning of Brewing Science and Technology, written in 1911. Arnold wrote one of my favourite beer quotations, about the study of the history of beer, “the people’s beverage”, being the study of the history of the people. My copy of the reprint of his book by the guys at Beerbooks.com is a long way from where I’m writing this, so I can’t currently check exactly what he said. But if Arnold did say beer is the world’s oldest alcoholic drink, he was writing (excuse the Britishism) bollocks.

Think. Beer is not a simple drink to make. To get the sugars that the yeast will turn into alcohol, the starches in grain must be converted by enzymic reactions to sugar. If this is done by malting, that is, soaking grains and then letting them begin to grow, the malting process must be controlled and growth halted before the sprouting grains consume all the sugars they are making from their starch. Human intervention and control is effectively essential. Beer – alcohol derived from grains – does not happen in the wild, because the conditions to make beer do not occur in the wild.

However, alcohol is most certainly produced in the wild using other sources of natural sugar: this is what yeast, opportunistic scavengers of sources of energy, evolved to do. Ripe fruit can, and will, ferment spontaneously as yeast arrive to grab the sugar in the fruit and flood the surroundings with alcohol to keep their rivals away. The story of elephants getting drunk on over-ripe and fermenting fruit may be a jungle myth. But if you walk through an untended apple orchard in the autumn, after the apples have fallen from the trees and been lying on the ground, the scent of cider will envelop you, as yeasts attack the rotting fruit. Right now, I’m in a Middle Eastern city where thousands of date palms line every road, and in the evening the strong smell of vinegar is on the warm air: this is because dates that have fallen to the ground have fermented, and then gone on to the next stage, where alcohol is converted by specialist bacteria into acetic acid.

We can thus trump Arnold’s claim about the antiquity of beer with a quotation from a book called Fermented food beverages in nutrition, by Gastineau, Darby and Turner, written in 1979, that “Fruit wines were probably discovered as soon as man tried to collect and store sweet fruits and berries.” Fermentation of the juice that runs free from grapes simply piled on top of each other is the basis of the Hungarian wine Tokay Eszencia. Ripe dates soaked in water were used to make a sweet drink in Arabia, and if left for even a day the sugary date water would ferment to make a drink called fadikh, which an Arabian traveller called Yūsuf ibn Ya’qūb Ibn al Mujāwir found still being made in the 13th century.

I’d suggest humanity, which has been gathering and eating fruit since before it was humanity, and making baskets and preparing gourds and baskets to store things in for, at the least, tens of thousands of years, discovered fruit wine a very long time before it found out how to make beer. The kit needed to make fermented fruit drinks is very simple, and certainly within the capabilities of palaeolithic (that is, pre-agriculture) people. To make jackfruit wine in India, “earthen pots, wooden vessels, bamboo baskets and sieves, stone slabs and flat stones are the only equipment used in traditional procedures” (Handbook of indigenous fermented foods by Keith Steinkraus). Substitute gourds for earthenware pots, and Bob’s your jackfruit.

'This watery hunny is making me *hic* feel funny'

Fruit is not the only source of natural sugar that will turn into alcohol without any help from anything except wild yeasts. Honey will ferment naturally, under the right conditions, particularly when diluted. Don and Patricia Brothwell, who wrote Food in Antiquity in 1969, said rather censoriously: “It is sobering to consider that the neglected jar of fruit juice or pulp, or the half-empty honey-pot left out in the rain, set man along the road to alcoholism and the illicit still.” (Lighten up, guys – it didn’t happen to Winnie-the-Pooh …)

Palm sap contains 12 to 15 per cent sucrose, is very easily tapped by cutting off the palm flower and putting a container such as a gourd underneath the resultant stump, and will ferment in 24 hours to give an alcohol content of around five per cent or more. This is the drink known as palm wine or toddy, and it is consumed wherever palm trees grow, from South America through Africa and the Indian sub-continent to Indonesia. Again, the technology for making palm wine was available to palaeolithic peoples. Similar sorts of drink are pulque, from Mexico, made from sugary cactus juice, and spruce beer, made from the sap of spruce trees.

Milk – horse’s milk, camel milk, yak milk, even cow’s and sheep milk – will also ferment under the right conditions, resulting in drinks such as koumiss and shabat in Central Asia and khoormog in Mongolia. However, these drinks (which don’t get much above around two per cent alcohol) must have had to wait until after the domestication of animals to be discovered, and thus are going to be younger than beer, since it is generally agreed that agriculture came before animal husbandry. I tried some koumiss at a party a couple of weeks ago, which one of the IT guys at the place where I am working had brought back from Kyrgyzstan (they’re like that, IT guys), where it is sold in plastic bottles in supermarkets, apparently. The mare’s koumiss was white and fizzy, the camel’s brown as chocolate milk shake, if I remember correctly (I’d had several beers by the time it was revealed that there was koumiss in the fridge, and I wasn’t taking notes), and both were tart and sour: an interesting experience, but one I won’t be catching the next flight to Kyrgyzstan to repeat.

There is also a method of making alcohol from starchy foods without malting, available to every human being, and which is the basis of drinks such as chicha in the Andes regions of South America. Human saliva contains amylases that will hydrolyse starch into sugar, something we evolved early in our history to help us eat starchy foods. You can test this yourself by chewing some bread, or a cracker: do it long enough, and as the starch is broken down, you can taste what is in your mouth getting sweeter. Traditionally, chicha is made by grinding dried maize kernels, then slightly moistening the flour and making it into balls which are popped into the mouth and thoroughly mixed with saliva, using the tongue. The ball of salivated maize flour, called muko, is then flattened against the roof of the mouth, popped out, and left in the sun to dry. According to Keith Steinkraus, “Muko production is generally carried out as a social event by groups of older women, sometimes with the help of young girls, who all sit in a circle.”

The wonder of enzymes means that when you’re ready to make chicha, the muko can be added to more ground corn mixed with water, and the saliva amylases will now work on the new starches. Heat this mixture for 20 minutes to give the enzymes the maximum chance to convert starches to sugars, strain it, boil it to kill any unwanted bugs, let it cool and then either let wild yeasts in the air ferment it, or add a source of yeast: berries will do, since these will almost certainly have yeasts on their skins. Eventually the vessel you use to ferment the chicha in will build up its own colony of yeasts that will do the job every time. Similar drinks can be made from other sources of starch, such as cassava, and even (in Mozambique) yucca plants. (Don’t try that one at home …)

One important point about chicha: I’ve never seen the possibility discussed that something like it was one of the roads that led to barley beer brewing in the ancient Middle East, but it seems to me entirely plausible that before they discovered malting, Neolithic brewers in the “Fertile Crescent” first made beer by utilising the power of saliva amylase, chewing barley flour to make barley muko. Mothers would have chewed starchy food to give to their babies as they weaned them, food which would have become sweet and more palateable to the baby as the enzymes in the mother’s saliva worked on the barley starches. Doubtless the busy mothers would have prepared some pre-chewed food in advance, which they would have dried to store, and then soaked before giving it to their young child. Yeasts falling on soaking sweet muko would have fermented the sugars quickly in the Middle Eastern heat, and beer is born …

But if beer was born that way, then it came when humanity already knew about alcohol. Beer isn’t the oldest alcoholic drink in the world, not even the second or third oldest. Instead, I’d suggest*, in order of age, the first fermented drinks were fruit-based, followed by honey-based drinks – mead and its variants – next fermented sweet tree-sap drinks such as palm wine, and only fourth, beer.

*Although I’d probably be wrong, it appears, about the order of the first two – see the comment below from Dr Garth Cambray of the Makana Meadery.

¡Qué duda cabe que el Perú es un país lleno de soñadores!. Tenemos una historia llena de héroes, santos, batallas, tradiciones, supersticiones, iglesias, fútbol  y básicamente mucha esperanza que nace de la certeza de que de alguna forma las cosas serían diferentes hoy si hubiéramos tenido más suerte ayer. El Otro de la historia no se nos ofrece precisamente como nuestro favorito, sino por el contrario, como un vil opresor al que hay que hacer desaparecer.

A los peruanos nos gusta pensar que somos creativos, que podemos tejer un mundo donde finalmente somos más y mejores que los otros. Allí entra a tallar el famoso “ingenio criollo” que no es más que la técnica vital que aspira lograr hacer mucho con poco, porque de antemano sabemos que nuestras condiciones normales son precarias, que lo que nos toca no es suficiente.

Y sí, es una característica de lo criollo la pretensión de “sacarle la vuelta” a la Ley, al Otro. Tener calle, aprovechar los descuidos ajenos, finalmente es la muestra externa de un deseo de compensar el calvario de la falta que está presente de antemano ante la perspectiva de una un bien hacer que se significa como castrante.

Entonces tenemos una cultura ambivalente, hablando de forma general. Vivimos la fantasía de lo que debería ser por un lado, quejándonos de todo lo que no marcha, pero contribuimos sin descanso a que eso que aparentemente nos hace rabiar hasta la desesperación se mantenga tan sólido como siempre. Decimos una cosa y hacemos lo contrario. Sólo hace falta notar la equivalencia entre “creatividad” e “informalidad”. Digamos que “se sufre porque se goza”.

6:57 p.m. del 10 de octubre y el cabezazo casi invisible del charapa Rengifo materializaba la fantasía de los peruanos: se saciaba esa necedad de esperar que lo mágico acuda en nuestro rescate. Finalmente algo había ocurrido y nuestro eterno proletariado futbolístico se desvaneció de repente para pasar a ser durante un sólo minuto, el bálsamo social que todos necesitábamos, una luz que nos decía que sí se puede, de verdad. Pero ocurre fatídicamente que poco sabemos hacer cuando las cosas son de verdad.

La posterior derrota, con gol en fuera de juego, ha reforzado como pocas cosas el fantasma histórico de la eterna pérdida y ese impulso cínico criollo a gozar a más no poder de lo que el Otro nos “roba”. Excusa suficiente para regodearse en el “casi” futbolero que alimenta los diarios deportivos en sus momentos de mayor gloria y que puede caracterizar una suerte de síntoma nacional.

La balanza se decanta, no sin razón siempre para el mismo lado. Milagro de octubre de San Palermo que desató nuevamente el goce nacional.

A few days before I moved to Austin my savings were stolen. Moving to plan B, I accepted my friend, Tarzen’s offer to stay at his house until whenever! He truly is one of a kind! The down side: the house was in the worst condition, ready to be demolished!

The first days I ignored this fact because my gratitude was on the surface. As days went by I started to feel a dual emotion; overjoyed when in the front or back yard, depressed when in the kitchen.

Until I fell down. hard. and twice!!

And it was like the Pandora box opened! I began having memories of my childhood when I lived with my grandmother, in a poor house, in the valley. I was between 1-4 years old…the happiest time!

I began remembering:

…how me and my cousins lined up at every meal waiting to be fed, by age!

…when my grandma ‘mamachia’ dressed all in white, ready to make the best chicha and ponchecrema! (rice cream and eggnog) btw her rice cream adult recipe’s were recycled glass bottles buried in the ground for 2 weeks before consumption!! about 10% alcohol.

remembering:

…how much time I spent playing outside the house, chasing lizards and chickens, climbing trees and little hills, eating fruits from our own backyard, playing, playing, playing.

…remembering seeing my crafty grandma making ovens out of big cans and wire or fixing the ceiling. planting. cooking. fixing and creating, fixing and creating.

remembering that

…my family adores me, like if i were a golden child.

When I turned 5,  my mom, my sister and I moved to another state far from the family but pursuing a better life..It happened, several times, but my life was very oppressed.

Equals pain. but then…

…risks. sacrifices. choices and consequences. consciousness…

Brings  freedom, real happiness and love.

…Several months ago I asked  God/Universe/Cosmos for financial support and abundance of time to connect with and through my/all of our ART…now expansion, revelation, connections and inspiration continue to happen at the healing-house. See? everything has a purpose!

like honoring the precious memories of my childhood.

Now I am deeply grateful.

Tarzen invested wisely on the land where the healing-house resides, and he is full of wonderful ideas for the new healing-house.

Je reprends ici, avec l’accord de son auteur – Johnnyfrenchman -, le texte  qu’il a  publié sur le blog de Dalyna. Il me semble, en effet, avoir toute sa place en cette niche de combat tout juste émergente.

“

Selon le bon sens qui préside aux actions humaines, tout ce qui n’est pas interdit est permis. Pourtant, c’est un fait, rien n’empêche de goûter à l’interdit, et ce,  malgré la dissuasion fondée notamment sur la peine éventuelle encourue au cas où l’on se ferait prendre la chicha dans le bec, le voile sur la tête ou bien encore, bientôt, le body dans le solarium…

En France, démocratie la plus hautement revendiquée par ceux qui la maltraitent au plus haut point (qui aime bien, châtie bien), en France donc, la mode est à l’interdiction. Nos députés n’ont que ça à foutre, envisager des lois pour interdire :

- Le téléchargement de musiques et de films,

- Le voile et la burqa,

- Le tabac et la chicha,

- La cagoule dans les manif’…

On ne tardera sans doute pas à envisager d’interdire l’usage de bouteille de gaz dans le cadre des revendications salariales et autres négociations dans le cadre des licenciements qui demeurent, eux, largement permis puisque non encore interdits.

Et c’est en vertu du principe de précaution que l’on agit en termes d’interdit, principe « selon lequel l’absence de certitudes, compte tenu des connaissances scientifiques et techniques du moment, ne doit pas retarder l’adoption de mesures effectives et proportionnées visant à prévenir un risque de dommages graves et irréversibles à l’environnement, à un coût économiquement acceptable. »

Un seul cas suffit dès lors : un patient meurt en ayant absorbé un médicament, le médicament est interdit pour prévenir le risque d’un autre décès ; et peu importe qu’il s’agisse d’un mauvais usage de la part du patient. S’il y a risque, il y a interdit.

Et l’interdit a très vite valeur de cas général. La règle ne souffrira pas d’exception en vertu du principe de tolérance zéro, inséparable du premier.

Ces deux principes, de précaution et de tolérance zéro, sont des principes mortifères. Ils sont la négation de toute action. Démonstration : de jeunes enfants jouent dans une cour d’école. L’un d’eux grimpe dans un arbre situé au centre de la cour à l’aide de l’échelle laissée là par l’agent d’entretien et, malheureusement, tombe lourdement au sol. Dans un premier temps, l’agent responsable est viré et l’échelle retirée, son usage interdit dans la cour tout comme le fait de grimper dans l’arbre, sous peine d’une expulsion de l’école. Quelques temps après, un des élèves de l’école, se fait fort auprès de ses camarades, de rééditer l’exploit de grimper dans l’arbre sans l’aide d’aucune échelle (on  ne saura trop réaffirmer ici l’importance de braver les interdits dans la construction identitaire des enfants et adolescents). Ce qu’il parvient à faire avant que de s’écraser à son tour lourdement sur le sol. Plutôt que d’essayer de prévenir une autre tentative d’escalade par des mesures préventives éducatives, les responsables décident cette fois-ci d’abattre l’arbre qui représente un tel risque (deux enfants blessés suffisent à justifier des mesures plus drastiques au moindre coût : pas de prévention éducative donc, ce qui prendrait du temps, mobiliserait les enseignants, coûterait sans doute plus cher que l’abattage de l’arbre d’une efficience radicale.)

Pourtant, peu de temps après l’abattage de l’arbre, les enfants, sans plus de possibilité d’escalade, trouvent à jouer et se blesser autrement. En courant sur l’emplacement vide laissé par l’arbre abattu et la terre meuble qui s’y trouve, un élève se foule la cheville. En roulant par terre, ils s’écorchent les genoux sur les cailloux de la cour. La sanction est immédiate : nettoyage de la cour et remplacement du bitume et des cailloux par une surface amortissante (telle qu’on en trouve d’ailleurs de plus en plus dans les squares parisiens… ces mêmes squares où ont été plantés des arbustes, dont le nom m’échappent, mais dont les feuilles séchées sont un poison pour l’homme).

Je m’abstiens de vous raconter la suite de l’histoire, simplement je vous livre les étapes des interdictions  suivantes :

- Interdiction de jouer, courir dans la cour

- Interdiction d’aller dans la cour et suppression de ladite cour

- Interdiction de sortir de la salle de classe

- Interdiction d’aller à l’école et suppression de l’école !

En poursuivant, de manière absurde ce raisonnement, on en arrive assez rapidement à la conclusion que pour prévenir le risque de mort, il vaut mieux mourir avant de naître. On ne devrait tolérer aucune naissance plutôt que de vouloir interdire la mort.

L’imprudence tue !

Johnnyfrenchman - 30 juillet 2009

“

C’est aussi bien dit que si je l’avais dit moi-même…

A bon entendeur !

BaRT & Johnnyfrenchman

Quien se moviliza en Lima se ha visto obligado a subirse a una combi, aún en contra de su propia voluntad. Si bien el transporte público limeño es por demás insufrible y razón principal por el aumento en los índices de neurosis tanto en peatones como choferes, la experiencia de viajar en una combi es un capítulo aparte, diferenciado al de un taxi o un bus, ¿la razón? Ese elemento diferenciador: el cobrador.

El cobrador es una criatura sin pedigrí. No tiene entrenamiento previo alguno, su tarea la ha aprendido a base de práctica in situ. Es un ser huérfano de atractivo y carece de empatía. En la superficie un cobrador perecería dentro de la jungla urbana, pero no. Él está, de hecho, en una posición ventajosa en la cadena alimenticia limeña.

Pisando fuerte

El día de un cobrador empieza al rayar el alba. Cuando todos aún duermen él ya está despierto y todavía enfundado en su ropa de dormir se monta en su combi. Ya está listo para trabajar. No es necesario un peine, un cepillo de dientes, la ducha quita tiempo, hay gente en la calle y él ya quiere empezar a cobrar.

El hábitat natural del cobrador es la calle, inmensa, plomiza y húmeda. Las avenidas lo emocionan y le hinchan el pecho de orgullo y smog. Es por ello que es una especie en exceso territorial. Quien osa invadir su ruta y recoger pasajeros en sus paraderos merece su rabia la cual esputa con precisión sobre los parabrisas.

Debido a su carácter territorial optan por marcar los límites de sus rutas con la ayuda de la radio cumbia a estentóreos decibeles lo que los ayuda a anunciar su llegada desde lo lejos. Una vez que su presencia ha sido anunciada berrean onomatopéyicamente “todo Benavides, Ejército, La Marina”, y lo hacen fachendosos, retozando sobre el pavimento, enamorando al transeúnte ofreciéndole un sitio al fondo.

Si su voz y la música vernacular no fueran suficientes utilizan variopintos y coloridos carteles en verde fosforescente con las avenidas que pertenecen a su clan. Los muestran en todo momento, repitiéndolos con ininteligible rapidez. Ametrallando “Angamos-Parque Mora-sube-sube-pisa-vamos” hacen ver que su combi es la más solicitada, la más espaciosa, la soberana del paradero.

En caso se encontrara con un pirata -una unidad no registrada- el cobrador es quien tiene la obligación de enfrentarlo. Se le aproxima sigiloso. Tan impasible como indignado. Sin rebuznar. Sin salivar con profusión. Se le acerca al intruso por la espalda y en apenas centímetros de distancia le susurra palabras que aún no figuran en ningún diccionario, pero las cuales se les atribuye un gran efecto disuasivo y peligroso.

Con la cabeza en alto y afuera

Dentro de la combi el cobrador domina la escena. Impone su aliento y pese a que el claustrofóbico espacio limita sus movimientos él igual se desplaza con fluidez entre paquetes y traseros. Con la ayuda de las monedas que tintinan al ritmo de su mantra “pasajes, pasajes al fondo, a ver joven/señorita” se abre paso y recolecta su recompensa de caza.

Un cobrador alpha no está satisfecho si no ha llenado su combi y ha recaudado todo el sencillo de sus pasajeros. No importa si son diez o veinte céntimos, lo que está en juego es su orgullo por lo que no dudará en expulsar al alguien si no respeta sus condiciones. El carné universitario provoca una reacción hostil en éstos tipos por lo que es usual verlos fruncir el ceño y mostrar sus incisivos amarillentos cuando se le enseña uno y se les dice “pago medio”.

Esté sentado o arrodillado, una característica remarcada de ésta especie es que siempre tiene su cabeza afuera de la ventana. Con el cabello enmarañado por la mugre y el viento un cobrador traga el tufo de la ciudad y exhala el suyo con la misma fuerza. Como los perros que gozan con sacar su hocico al pasearse en auto, los cobradores lo disfrutan por igual.

Un gran aliado de los cobradores son los dateros cuyo trabajo consiste en, última instancia, ayudar al cobrador a azuzar la marcha y seguir su cacería por pasajeros en una carrera indiscriminada con el objetivo de llenar sus bolsillos. La cacería del cobrador es a toda velocidad y no se detiene para pedir disculpas o recoger ancianos o escolares.

El cobrador es una especie con un sitio asegurado en la fauna callejera de Lima. Está muy lejos todavía la extinción de ésta raza suburbana.

“Chi-Cha”
11″ x 14″
acrylic on canvas
2009

Related Post: “Ralph’s Chi-Cha Recipe”

End of the summer. No more of Ralph’s chi-cha till spring. But no worries… just make it yourself!

Ralph’s Chi-cha:

1. Boil 3/4- 1 gallon of water.
2. Throw in the rinds from a pineapple.
3. Stir in 2-4 cups sugar.
4. Turn the heat off, and pour into your container.
5. Put it in a warm place.
6. Every few days, open the top to let the fermenting concoction have a “breath”.
7. Let sit ONE MONTH.
8. Strain out any weird shit that has grown on the top and drink (at your own risk!)!

Related Post: “Chi-Cha” painting

]]> http://yaggos.wordpress.com/2009/09/29/mana-es-una-chichera-video-y-letra/ Tue, 29 Sep 2009 02:43:13 +0000 yaggo11 http://yaggos.wordpress.com/2009/09/29/mana-es-una-chichera-video-y-letra/

Es Una Chichera

Hay una mujer hermosa,
la más primorosa
de ojitos negros,
de bata blanca.

Es, es una chichera,
que le pone al vaso
le pone hielo
y también canela.

No, no se sabe dónde,
de dónde ha salido,
yo he oído que
en un ministerio.

Se mueve con cadencia,
con la inocencia
de una princesa
que está loca.

¡Ay! Qué bonitos ojos
¡Ay! Qué bonita bata
¡Ay! Yo voy al chichero
Y me reviento en deseo…

Es una chichera,
finge ser doctora.
Es una chichera,
parece doctora.

Ven, déjame comprarte,
una de vaso grande bajo la luna
hielito un poco.

Es, es una chichera,
que le pone al vaso
le pone hielo
y también canela.

¡Ay! Qué bonitos ojos
¡Ay! Qué bonita bata
¡Ay! Yo voy al chichero
Y me reviento en deseo…

Es una chichera,
finge ser doctora.
Es una chichera,
parece doctora.

¡Ay! Qué bonitos ojos
¡Ay! Qué bonita bata
¡Ay! Yo voy al chichero
y me reviento en deseo

parece doctora.
Es una chichera,
parece doctora.

¡¡Ah!!

Parece doctora.
Es una chichera,
finge ser doctora…

Another major part of Chile’s Fiestas Patrias—Independence Day celebrations—are the “fondas.” Also called “ramadas” because they are often made with branches (ramas) these temporary fairs are set up in parks all over the country for about 10 days of food, games, drinking, dancing, crafts of all sorts, and general good times to be had. Some of the bigger (and/or more rural) ones have rodeos and most will have cueca contests.  There are the municipal versions as well as some of the more popular ones such as the now-famous “Yein Fonda” (which in Chilean sounds just like the actress) and the Guachaca version full of cueca chora.

Fondas kick off the weekend before the September 18^th holiday and close up the Sunday following, although they sometimes reappear as “18 Chico” the following weekend.

Girl in traditional flowered "huasa" dress buys a treat from the organ grinder

They are very family oriented by day, although by no means cheap. Entrance fees can vary widely from a luca or so ($1000 pesos, about $1 USD) to $10,000 pesos for some of the more upscale versions with more bands. And once inside, prices of everything are considerably higher than anywhere else in town.

Price doesn’t seem to matter much though. Families save up to go (reminds me of going to the State Fair as a kid). Organ grinders crank away and the kids line up to buy their pinwheels, slinkies, glow-lights, and other souvenir treats.

Magicians and other entertainers draw crowds

The food is one of the biggest attractions.

This menu for an informal sit-down restaurant offers all the favorites: pork, cazuela, salads, soft drinks, choripan (grilled sausage on a roll), empanadas (savory baked beef or fried cheese pastries), anticuchos (skewered meats), beer, chicha (a partially fermented and very sweet almost-wine), french fries, mote con huesillo (a wheat and peach drink/dessert), terremoto (rustic wine with pineapple sherbet), wine, coffee, or tea.

Pork ribs on the grill, empanadas in the oven

Fried cheese empanadas

Snack food that can be eaten out of hand while strolling through the fonda is perhaps the best of all.

A fan of choripan (note the anticuchos on the grill behind him)

Cueca in Providencia-Fonda at the Parque Inés de Suarez

As night falls and the level of alcohol consumed rises, the families tend to clear out and leave room for the revelers who come for the shows, dancing, and more booze. Amazing quantities of chicha, beer, and wine  are consumed. In fact, this is Chile’s biggest drinking holiday, much akin to New Year’s Eve in the US.

It seems that 2009 is the year of the Cueca Chora (also called Cueca Brava). Young people who were long reticent to twirl their handkerchiefs and stomp their feet have taken new pride in the national dance.

White handkerchiefs fill the air when Las Niñas take the stage

For more on September 18 Fiestas Patrias activities, see “El Dieciocho“.

Pretty much every day, our top 666 songs of alltime countdown gets one step closer to #1. We missed Saturday, spending the day helping yet another New Yorker become an ex-New Yorker and there was no internet service where they were. And why spend a hour on the  Blackberry when we could do it in five minutes the following day?

So, Saturday’s song was #312:

Chicha Libre – Sonido Amazonico

The greatest one-chord jam of alltime, a melody that will someday be as well-known as, say, Fur Elise or Satisfaction. Although the band is American, Chicha Libre have almost singlehandedly resurrected chicha, the intoxicating Peruvian hybrid of Colombian cumbia, American surf music and psychedelia that was wildly popular in the Amazon oil boom towns of the late 60s and early 70s. The original by Los Mirlos (available on the amazing Roots of Chicha compilation) is a lot of fun but it’s this version, the title track to Chicha Libre’s 2008 debut cd, which is the best, keyboardist Josh Camp’s vintage Hohner Electrovox adding a hypnotic swirl.

And today’s is #311:

Elvis Costello – No Dancing

Here the preeminent musical psychopathologist of our time dissects what being a killjoy is all about over wickedly catchy, slightly doo-wop inflected janglerock. From My Aim Is True, 1977. The link above is the album version; here’s a fascinating live video with the Attractions from what looks like the following year.

Feliz cumpleaños Chile! Today Chile rings in another Independence day, kicking off the year of its Bicentennial birthday in a big way.  Colloquially referred to as “Dieciocho”, meaning 18, the day actually celebrates Chile’s official rupture from Spain on September 18, 1810.

Actually, the party started yesterday. Or maybe even on September 1 for a lot of people. El 18 is a normally a 4-5 day long event where fondas, make shift “inns” serving up food, a lot of alcohol, and music invade parks, town squares, and are organized as private parties. They all take the same theme and vary it in a thousand ways (the funniest one being however, the “Yein (pronounced like Jane) Fonda” every year in downtown Santiago with rock music). In small towns, fondas are rustic, with eucalyptus branches and straw serving as makeshift roof and sawdust covering the floors. The idea? To party on–for five days straight.

During the afternoon, families head for the fondas to pig out on a staggering amount of traditional food. Try asados, a mixed grill from steak which is the cornerstone of any 18 celebration; choripan, longaniza, a spicy sausage, stuffed in a grilled bun most certainly slathered with a garlicky tomato salsa called chancho en piedra; anticuchos, meat shish kebabs; empanadas; even French fries (this is an unofficial national passion); and in the sit down places, pernil, boiled pork shoulder and blood sausage with potatoes. This heavy, gut bomb food is obviously to deter the effects of the alcohol, primarily drunken in the form of chicha, a rustic grape cider. Chicha is, in a word, d-a-n-g-e-r-o-u-s. It is sweet, tastes like juice, goes down easy, but uh oh, has alcohol in it! By the third round, careful getting up. No doubt, chicha explains why every 18 we would always find numerous fonda goers passed out in Parque Forestal in front of our apartment building.

In the evening, the fondas continue, now revving up for the music, a lot of it live. Cueca, Chile’s national dance, is making a total comeback and is never more popular than during Independence day. Men garb themselves in an elegant black suit with a short jacket worn by  huasos, cowboys, a short poncho called a manta, spurs, chaps,and a flat-brimmed felt or straw hat. As they step and skip, they try to seduce a flirty maiden waiving a white handkerchief dressed in flowery, flowing dress called a chinita. The dance is basically of courtship. Besides cueca, people get down to cumbia, and in some fondas, Chilean rock bands kick it up.

During the day, rodeos abound with cowboys; kids play traditional games like trompo, fly kites,  and do a rope pull. Many people choose to celebrate 18 with friends or family and skip the fondas, or leave it for the party that night. In any case, the keystone of any 18 celebration is the asado, barbecue. This should not be confused with any gas grill equivalent. No, no, no. The only acceptable form of fuel is mesquite wood, the men must light the grill, and the fare is strictly meat—and lots of it. Huge slabs of marbled steak cooked whole, spicy longaniza sausage, racks of marinated pork spareribs, daggers of chicken, pepper, and onion, and the illustrious baked meat empanadas to get it all started. This is all chased by jugs of chicha, wine, beer. Unless you are headed to a vegetarian event, just accept that salads and vegetables are usually sidelined this week.  Dieciocho barbecues are full-day drinking and eating affairs (not for those with small stomachs or low alcohol tolerance) that start at lunch and extend into the evening with a break for a siesta.  

Funny, when I think of a comparison with North American celebrations, Thanksgiving springs to mind. It is a time of national unity. Everyone partakes regardless of their background and prepares the same traditional foods. It is fairly labor intensive to produce (better to be invited) and definitely is all about stuffing yourself (and partying). Although Thanksgiving may not turn into a 4-5 day extravaganza, there certainly are leftovers for that many days.

Well, I won’t be partying it up tonight, I am making traditional empanadas. Partially for a photo shoot for the upcomingSouth American cookbook (out in the US in 2010) and because my adorable Chilean husband, Francisco, asked me to make them. What can I say? It’s love–for him and Chile. 

FELIZ DIECIOCHO A TODOS!

Here is a link to another wacky beer from the Dogfish.

Consultando con derivadas personas, son muuuchas (a veces exageradamente muchas) las cosas que nos guardamos, por miedo a que nos crean locos o idiotas, que es lo que generalmente pasa.  Así, que para que de una vez por todas desembuchemos esas cosas ( que a veces nos dan vualta en la cabeza por días, meses, años o la vida entera), vamos a ir tocando diversos temas, con los que más de alguno va a sentirse identificado. Vale decir, que ustedes por su puesto pueden dar su punto de vista y recomendar temas para que sean tratados a futuro, que para eso esta hecho el blog.  el tema a tratar, para que entirndan más o menos la dinámica, va a ser subido dentro de la primera emana de cada mes,en este mes de septiembre, como no,el tema va a ser “Las fortunas y desfortunas de una semana de patria,chicha y empanadas“.

La semana de fiestas patrias, es una de las más adoradas por los chilenos, ya que no sólo a la matoría nos dan vcaciones(una semana que no sirve ni para respirar), si no que también porque es la excusa para comer como cerdos, bailar como si de año nuevo se tratase, y porque no nombrarlo, para emborracharte con chicha hasta decir ¡Viva Chile mierda!, Aunque he de confesar que no soy lo que se diría una patriotra acérrima, esta semana me gusta no sólo por todo lo nombrado anteriormente, sino porque tb pasan muchas cosas divertidas y anécdotas que difícilmente contarías…los invito chicos a confesar las anécdotas de ” los dias de fonda”

Sam Calagione, has a great first name. I’m a little partial. He also will try just about anything when it comes to beer, and has a specific affinity toward old or ancient recipes (i.e. Midas Touch, Chateau Jiahu, etc.). He is up to his old tricks again with a fermented Peruvian corn drink. Story here from the New York Times.

While I like most Dogfish Head beers, I’m getting a little jaded over the whole “extreme beer” thing the company expounds. I have Calagione’s book, “Extreme Brewing,” and it’s decent. Though after reading through the recipes it seems the way you make most styles of beer “extreme” is by adding lots of sugar to boost the alcohol. The other way is to use something strange in the brewing process, like chewed up purple corn in the NYT story. I have to say I applaud the guy’s seemingly never-ending search for something new and exciting with brewing, but this one didn’t do it for me. This one just showed what “extreme beer” is, a marketing tool. And a very successful at that. Obviously, as the term gets used in the Times story.

The first thing that I was opposed to was that the chicha they were producing is still made in South America by natives. I wouldn’t call that extreme. I would call that repackaging a tradition from another part of the world and selling it to Americans. Second, the reporter let some South Americans try the finished product, and they said it didn’t taste like chicha at all, more like beer.

That part kind of stuck with me. I’m a fan of Midas Touch, Dogfish’s brew that was devised from liquids found in old drinking vessels in King Midas’ tomb in Turkey. Part of the attraction to the beverage in the first place is curiosity. “Hey, I wonder what people used to drink thousands of years ago?” But the fact that the Dogfish chicha did not seem to be in line with real chicha makes one wonder. What if the Midas Touch actually tastes nothing like the “ancient Turkish recipe using the original ingredients from the 2700 year old drinking vessels?” What if I’m just the target of good marketing?

There’s another side to this story, too. Why should I care? I like the beer. It tastes good. So what if it doesn’t taste just like some shitty old drink from B.C. times?

I guess what it boils down to, pun intended, is that Dogfish Head wouldn’t be as popular as they are now if they were making a bad product. Craft beer consumers are certainly more picky than consumers of mass-produced lager, and they would stop buying it if it weren’t good. That’s not to say we are immune to good sales techniques, that always helps, but it is to say we can’t be fooled if the product doesn’t back it up.

Jika mau mengakui, sudah satu dasawarsa terakhir blantika musik Indonesia mengalami kemajuan cukup pesat dan mampu bicara bukan saja ditingkat regional tetapi juga di tingkat Internasional.  Lihatlah betapa Anggun C Sasmi berduet dengan Julio Iglesias, dan banyak lagi seniman kita berdiri sejajar dengan musisi tingkat dunia.

Tetapi dibalik itu, secara jujur pula harus diakui hanya sedikit -kalau tak boleh dikatakan kosong sama sekali- lagu anak-anak terdengar.  Akibatnya anak-anak kita terpaksa harus menyanyikan lagu yang secara normatif bukan konsumsi mereka.

Barangkali diantara anda merasa perlu untuk mendapatkan referensi lagu anak-anak, berikut ini sedikit yang bisa kami sajikan untuk anda download;

1. Anak Kuat
2. Balonku
3. Bunda Piara
4. Bermain
5. Burung Kutilang
6. Chicha, Kau Mau Kemana
7. Chicha, Helly
8. Disini Senang, Disana Senang
9. Empat Sehat Lima Sempurna
10. Kasih Ibu
11. Kereta Apiku
12. Naik Delman
13. Naik Kepuncak Gunung
14. Pelangi-pelangi
15. Semut-semut Kecil
16. Siapa Dapat Berbaris
17. Topi Saya Bundar
18. Tukang Bakso
19. Joan Tanamal, Mandi Pagi
20. Yuk Makan Bersama

How chicha is made

A local Cuscanian, Ernesto, explains how the fermented corn drink, Chicha is made, as guide Guillermo Seminario and the owner of a Chicha rest stop in the Sacred Valley look on.

Chicha is a traditional Andean corn beer that is shared during communal gatherings and festivals, and fosters a sense community. Chicha is most commonly made in small batches in the family kitchen.

Chicha is made from dried corn kernals, which have been soaked and allowed to ferment. They are then mashed and slow cooked in large a ceramic pot over a wood fire. The fermented kernals are sprouted,  water is added, then sugar and spices to taste, and the strained liquid is stored for two to four days which allows further fermentation.. Ummm!
Watch out though, it’s never done my stomach right, and it’s known to wreak havoc with locals’ digestion as well.
Want to learn how to make your own Chicha? Click here.

nabanggit sa huling akda na galing si donna sa adbans bretdey selebreysyon ni ryan-jenny nung nakaraang huwebes ng gabi. inumaga na ng uwi – alas-syete ng umaga! – bakit hindi di ba?!

kinabukasan din non – biyernes ng gabi – debut naman ng pinsang bading ang pinuntahan ng buong pamilya. debut dahil sa meron pa siyang kung anu-anong shit *peace , kevs! inumpisahan sa walking down the stairs with a twist, ending with a dance number na bonggang-bongga ; 18 wishes ng mga guy friends and close cousins na kabilang si pogingjello ;18 traditional gifts ; 18 revelations na kasali ang donna ; mini- acoustic-concert na sya din ang bida ; binalak na mag-dance number pa na sya ulit dapat ang reyna subalit inabot ng hiya dahil sa sobrang ganda nya ng gabing yon – banggandang make up na sinamahan ng pilikmata ng camel at mala-jewel mische na wig samahan pa ng tutu (mala-pang-ballet dancer na skirt) stockings na black, chucks at tshirt na pink (si donna man yun.. whuahahaha. *peace ulit , kevs! ) – tradisyunal na pagkanta ng birthday song at piktyur teyking *smile! sa bentang-bentang piktyur wol na xempre ay gawa din ni pogingjello ; wag na banggitin pa ang sosyal na pagkain.. *yum!yum!

dahil sa kalokohang party ng pinsan kong mas maganda lang si donna ng bahagya ay napayosi ng bonggang-bongga ang daddy*babet nyang isang taon na daw nag-quit. whuahahahahaha!! habang si mama*pen naman ay tuwang-tuwa. tila ba nag-uumapaw sa kaligayahan ang puso nya sa hirap ng kaloobang dinaranas ng kanyang asawa at ng dalawang kuya ni kevs dahil sa sabi nga ay one time big time na kalokohan nitong diosang si kevs. whuahahaha!!

walang inumang naganap sa okasyong ito kaya naman ilan sa magpipinsan ay nagkayayaang mag-after party sa sto. niño kasama ang hindi nakadalong si tam (tropa ni laurajane) at carlos (tropa din ni laurajane na laging litaw ang bamputi at bangkinis na puwet). in short, inumaga na naman si donna, ngayon, kasama pa si pogingjello. hay.

pero ayos na ayos un para kay pogingjello dahil sa meron syang nakuhang raket para neksyir. tagaytay. sya plus two. two days daw. kasal ni pinsang joan ni kevs. ayos. antabayanan ang akda ni donna bandang buwan ng mayo sa susunod na taon.. TAGAYTAY.

himas kay pogingjello!