This past weekend El Fotógrafo, El Híjo and I fled Lima for a weekend in the country. I use "fled" literally: we were suffering physically and emotionally from the effects of Lima's damp, grey winter, which lasts from April through November. (The above photo by blogger "
El Tonto de la Colina" illustrates how oppressively foggy the Lima winter can be.)
People who've lived here know how awful the season is:
- The sun disappears almost completely. The sky is the same dead grey color, from 8 in the morning to 6 at night.
- A strange weather condition called garua invades the city. Garua is a damp, cold mist that hangs in the air like a cobweb and turns the sidewalks into slippery deathtraps.
- It never truly rains, however, so the dirt and soot don't wash away. Buildings, plants, cars, street signs – everything is covered in layers of dust (polvo) made moist by the garua.
- Humidity levels climb during winter, intensifying the cold. As the months wear on, the chill creeps deep into the marrow of your bones, until you feel like an old carrot left in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator.
Sounds lovely, doesn't it?
I am not the only person who hates Lima's winter. Plenty of people get worked up about it – residents, visitors, and especially writers. (Some do like it, I should add.)
The latest edition of the literary magazine
Etiqueta Negra (Black Label) features a two-page essay on Lima's grey sky paired with a sister article on the brilliant blue skies of Guatemala City. What a contrast between the two cities (although they do share similar histories of urban violence and civil warfare).
The American writer
Herman Melville (1819-1891) was horrorstruck by the city's climate. He called Lima "the saddest city on earth," a quote that gets recycled frequently in articles and guidebooks.
The contemporary Peruvian writer
Mario Vargas Llosa also hates Lima in the winter. He calls it "Lima, la horrible," after a book of essays by that name by Peruvian poet and playwright
Sebastián Salazar Bondy. (Thanks to Ricardo for pointing out that connection between Vargas Llosa and Salazar Bondy).
According to my friend
Ariel Segal, a Venezuelan reporter and scholar living in Lima, Vargas Llosa's distaste for the city's weather and grime is tied in with his disgust with Lima's rigid class system, which fosters antagonism between rich and poor. You can see those frictions at work in
Conversation in the Cathedral (1969), a novel set in Lima.
Paradoxically, the ugliness of Lima's winter climate seems to inspire writers to write more. (See El Tonto de la Colina's "
defense of la garua," posted in July 2007).
For instance, when I mentioned to Ariel last week that I was thinking of blogging about
la garua, he blasted off a lengthy email to me, all on the subject of Lima's weather. It's full of puns and musical references to "clouds" and "rain." Rather than botch things up by paraphrasing, I'll end this post by quoting Ariel's free-associations in full:
Dear Barbara:
"You must not blame me if I do talk to the clouds."
-- Henry David Thoreau
I don't know why Lima's sky is so cloudy and grey for half a year or more – there must be meteorological explanations. It would be interesting to find out why.
Like all cities in the world, Lima has some very charming and beautiful places; however, for many months it is quite gloomy because of the cloudy grey sky, with occasional weak showers that the Limeños call "rain" ("What a big rain we had yesterday!" people will say).
Some people call that sky panza de burro (donkey's belly) because of its light-grey color.
I would like to share with the readers of An American in Lima my own production of "The Lima Blues" and invite everyone to get to know the city's version of The Blues Brothers -- "The Garua Guys," autistic/artistic inhabitants of a city where sunlight is luxury (maybe that is why Peru's currency is called the sol, so people can mention that word every day of the year?). People who find it hard to imagine themselves in heaven ("I'm in Heaven") because they can hardly see the sky through the clouds.
For example, if you want to want to dance like Gene Kelly in Lima, you better get a stick, instead of an umbrella. Instead of "Singin' in the Rain," you can "Cantas bajo la Garua"; however, you won't be soaked at the end of your performance. You'll just be slightly damp.
While in Lima you certainly can sing "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" and dream of building a "Stairway to Heaven" so you can "Walk in the Clouds," most likely, like Bryan Addams, you'll discover that "I'm finding it's hard to believe/ We're in heaven."
That's Lima for you.
If you want to read more by Ariel Segal in Spanish, click
here. He writes a regular column for the newspaper
Peru21.
Ariel also is the author of
Jews of the Amazon: Self-Exile in Earthly Paradise (JPS, 1999), a fascinating nonfiction account of his encounters with descendents of Jewish rubber barons who sired children in the Amazon in the early 1900s. Ariel describes his fieldwork as a doctoral candidate in the jungle city of Iquitos, where Jewish traditions mingle with Catholic beliefs and native Amazonian practices. I confess that I am partial to this book because I helped edit an early draft of it, but I'm not its only fan: it got
excellent reviews from
Publisher's Weekly and the
Miami Herald, among other review publications.
One of the surprises in the book is Ariel's discovery that because he's Jewish, some of the indigenous women view him as a sex symbol. The turn-of-the-century businessmen who established profitable rubber businesses in the Amazon also sired children with the local women; when the Jewish men returned to their homes in Morocco, they left behind children named Saul and David, as well as a collective memory of the Jewish male as successful and virile.
Ariel wasn't aware of that such a perception had been fostered among certain women of Iquitos; some of the funniest moments in
Jews of the Amazon take place when self-deprecating Ariel (who describes himself as a Venezuelan Woody Allen) is interrupted in his nighttime studies by knocks on the door from attractive young women who are aroused by the news that a Jewish "doctor" is in their midst.
Can Ariel maintain his scholar's objectivity when the beautiful locals are eagerly studying
him?
Buy the book and find out.
18 responses so far ↓
1 jessica // Sep 3, 2008 at 8:33 am
I am a Limeña that currently lives in philadelphia. I grew up in La Molina, although it always get sunny at noon, but my parent’s office was in Lince, so after school I had to take the bus to be with them, and I definetely remembered those gray damp days. I’ve never noticed the sad weather of my city until I moved to the states. My friend, from college here, one day was complaining about a gray winter day here, and it was not raining but it was just a wet gray day-like Lima’s. I told her that I loved those days because it reminded me of all my memories growing up there, and that I usually craved “un cafe con pan y mantequilla” for dinner. I’ve just realized that those depressing looking days bring good memories to me. Years later, I got engaged with my now NY born and raised husband, and we decided to marry in Lima. I decided to be august 7, because I wanted on my wedding day to be a gray winter day, and it definitely was a gray ugly day, and I was so happy for it! things like these are not noticed until you get out of Lima and see that there is actually a sun during those months.
2 Barb // Sep 3, 2008 at 12:37 pm
Jessica — Wow, what a Limena you are, setting your wedding date so you could say your vows under grey Lima skies! Only someone born and bred in Lima could understand that, right?
When we lived in Flordia, El Fotografo was always saying he missed grey days like those he grew up with. He also says the flat grey light is perfect for taking black and white photographs because there aren’t any shadows.
Mmmm. “un cafe con pan y mantequilla.” That combination does go with a Lima winter day.
I’ve also become partial to panettone down here, something I’ve wanted to blog about in another post. I’ll have to do that soon, or wait until closer to Xmas.
3 Ricardo // Sep 4, 2008 at 4:39 pm
I couldn’t agree more with Jessica!
We limenians feel comfortable with our grey winter sky. It’s foreigners who feel uneasy and over-concerned with it.
4 Peruanista // Sep 5, 2008 at 7:55 am
You know, when I think of Lima’s winter I remember peaceful and romantic days and I get nostalgic and hungry. My best memories of Lima are related to my long walks by its Centro Historico, admiring its beautiful but abandoned architecture, and enjoying good times with a loved one while eating the best food at the mercados. Forgive me, I find the humid, silly, damp, gray sky of Lima to be a fascinating aspect of that city. I love it.
And look, I’m not a Limeño, but Andino. Still, I totally agree with Jessica, as a matter of fact she described what I was thinking as I read your wonderful post on Lima’s particular weather.
Even though one can find the same sky in most of the Peruvian coast -it’s not a Lima exclusive thing actually- but in Lima the cloudy neblina gets a special character -it might be the pollution or the Costa Verde micro weather? Who knows.
However, the lack of sun in Lima explains the abundant color in the capital’s architecture: people there need to see some color! Even plants look prettier and happier in such humid environment. Now, if you grew up in sunny regions, you might not understand Lima. You might hate it. The same way I used to hate the hot, humid, sunny summers here in DC. But now I can’t get enough of it -as long as I have A/C indoors.
Every place has its charm, even Peru’s coast with its special winter weather. Barbara, seek out for the beauty of the peaceful and relaxing Peruvian dessert, with its soft sandy hills and rocky beaches. Look for the magic of the tiny and rich valleys where people in pueblitos enjoy la brisa in the mornings as they walk to buy el pan, while radios play the best boleros, pasillos and valses.
Don’t expect to see a Caribbean blue sunny sky in Lima ever, that’s not part of the Peruvian capital attractiveness. You may find that in Iquitos. In Lima, people look forward to summer to see the sun again. During winter, Limeños always find a way to enjoy its different weather, although some of them are bitter about it –mostly because they live dreaming permanently of having a piece of Miami in Lima — they even planted tropical palm trees all over Javier Prado avenue. How funny.
5 Barb // Sep 6, 2008 at 10:01 am
“You know, when I think of Lima’s winter I remember peaceful and romantic days and I get nostalgic and hungry” — Spoken like a true Peruvian, Peruanista! (Especially the “hungry” part.)
Your post is a lovely reflection on embracing the soul of a place. (I think Vargas Llosa should read my readers’ comments, no?)
Yes, I will try to adapt to and even love my new hometown during its long winter season. It’s a tough order, however; I lived 15 years in sunny Florida and before that in the American North East, where you have ever-changing seasons, not 6 months of grey.
I adore the skies in the Andes. Such vivid blues, a sense of vastness. I’ll be there in a week: can’t wait.
6 El tonto de la colina // Sep 14, 2008 at 11:39 pm
Thanks for your reference to my blog. This post I wrote so long ago that I didn’t review the comments, so I must apologize for the delay to answer. I have read your blog, and I found it very interesting. I will put a link in my own blog. You have right to say that we act differently in winter. I can give you another example: If you take a walk in winter, specially in the morning, you will always see little carts outside the public buildings offering “emoliente” which is a blend of peruvian herbs, like a tea. Ask your peruvian friends and you will find that is a peruvian tradition, just like ceviche and mazamorra. I think you have material for a new post there.
7 Barb // Sep 22, 2008 at 11:57 am
Thanks, El tonto, for the recommendation about the emoliente. I’ll ask about it. I confess, I’m curious: the word “emoliente” makes me think of something you rub on yourself, like Vicks Vap-o-Rub, but obviously, if it’s a tea, you drink it, right?
I wonder what kind of herbs it’s made of?….
8 Cecilia Jakubowycz // Oct 18, 2008 at 7:19 pm
Oh my God!!! I think I’m moving back to Lima!!!Believe it or not I miss the winters so much. I was born in Lima and lived thare until I turn 25.I also love the Miami weather but a little winter will help.
Great Blog!!!!
9 Barb // Oct 19, 2008 at 12:57 pm
Cecilia, you must be true Limeno if you miss the winters. I think that is the litmus test of a Peruvian’s patriotism.
(Note Jessica’s comment above about planning her Peru wedding to coincide w/winter so she could be married under a grey sky!)
I hope you’ll be happy back here in Lima. Congratulations on moving back. What prompted the move?
10 Cecilia Jakubowycz // Oct 21, 2008 at 7:21 pm
Oh no, I’m not moving back. I did not mean that, it was more like thinking outloud. I wish I can move but my husband(Gringo) said “no way” and my kids(12 and 5) said the same. They love to go on vacation there but not to stay. If you got a chance during summer try to go to a beach called Las Lagunas de San Pedro it is paradise like 40 minutes from Lima, looks like Greece
11 Jorge // Nov 4, 2008 at 12:26 am
I lived in Surco and went to school in La Molina; that was more than 20 years ago. I remember it was foggy in the morning and then sunny in the afternoon almost everyday. Now it’s cloudy the whole day even in La Molina. The center has been always that cloudy in winter, though.
In Surco the sky at night was so clear I could see shooting stars almost every night.
Now Lima’s sky is like any other big city’s. Too many cars and too much pollution. You can’t see the stars any more. But I think global warming must have something to do with it as well.
The food and the drinks there are so good though, they make me forget completely about the weather…
And about the emoliente El Tonto de la Colina mentioned, if you try it and like it, go to Wong, Plaza Vea or any super market, you’ll find packs with all the ingredients inside, ready to boil. Just add honey and lemon.
12 Barb // Nov 4, 2008 at 8:19 am
Jorge — I’m very interested in your comments about La Molina’s climate changing since you were in school. Twenty years really isn’t so much time. I wonder, too, if the changes are due to global warming or pollution/over-development.
I remember visiting La Molina in 1995. It was like going to the country (a dusty country, granted). El Fotografo’s aunt and uncle live there, and I remember thinking as we drove through the quiet neighborhoods, ‘Wow, they sure live out in the middle of nowhere.’
When we visited again in 2007, I barely recognized La Molina. It looks like another crowded neighborhood — so many businesses, so many cars. The traffic is horrendous and very dangerous. Friends of ours lost their teenage daughter in an accident caused by a drunk driver last New Year’s.
Now EF’s aunt and uncle are selling their house and moving from La Molina. It’s no longer a refuge for them.
I’ll look for the emoliente at Wong.
13 Pico // May 3, 2009 at 9:44 pm
I never thought about it, but my favorite winter moments in Lima were spent looking out to the ocean (or at least as far as I could see) over the Malecon around the Club Terrazas.
I spent countless hours practicing how I would tell a girl how I felt about her, and a few more crying after being rejected. I would always bring my guitar along (which would explain the salt water rusted bolts) and hum the ballads or valses in vogue at the time.
Lima la horrible is the only way to begin to describe her, but it is my Lima. Ugly, yeah, but I love her.
Salud
14 Barb // May 6, 2009 at 9:57 am
“Salt water rusted bolts. ”
Love your description.
I’m always taken with the poems written in permanent marker on the wall along the Malecon. They are invariably love poems — romantic and heartfelt. I was interviewed in March by a documentary filmmaker who wanted to see a typical part of Lima, so I took him to the Malecon, and he shot a little bit of the wall. Then we went about a half a mile away to the place where people jump and commit suicide.
15 malena // Jul 23, 2009 at 6:20 pm
I live in Miraflores, at the Malecón, and I collect liters of water with my dehumidifyers every day. Still, the leather items like bags and shoes grow green mold and become a big pain, specially if you are allergic. That mix of dust and garúa so romantically described above causes asthma patients to flee towards the mountains. The clothes you hang up to dry (very few limeños have dryers) never do. You go to bed under frozen sheets. When I open my window in the mornings, fog literally invades my bedroom.
BUT I love living here. Lima has the best food in the world, the nicest warmhearted people and the best summers ever. There´s nothing like a good ceviche and a cold beer beside theocean!
16 Juan Arellano // Aug 3, 2009 at 12:27 am
You should read Luis Loayza’s “El Sol de Lima”, it’s not fiction lit. but it will help you to understand limeños, ja. You can find something about this book here: http://www.elperuano.com.pe/identidades/56/ensayo.asp
And.. did u like emoliente? I like it with “Sávila”.
Saludos.
17 Margaret // Sep 27, 2009 at 11:27 am
Wow…I never realized that Lima was so gray in the winter… Here in Santiago (Chile) the winters are also gray and dreary, but with rain… and the Chileans love it… their comments are very similar to those left by all the nostalgic Peruvians who have commented here. It took me a long time to come to appreciate those gray days here, but I finally get it now… although I’d gladly trade them for a New York snowstorm any day! (guess it’s all a matter of what we grow up with!)
18 Nano // Oct 1, 2009 at 1:09 pm
“We limenians feel comfortable with our grey winter sky. It’s foreigners who feel uneasy and over-concerned with it.”
ditto!