Those Chilean Maricones

Brazil eeked a victory from Chile much to the Peruvians delight, and Costa Rica and Paraguay knocked about scoreless for an entire match. There weren´t many shots on goal, but we shot plenty of looks at the good looking Peruvians around us and at the foul-mouthed, underaged Chile detractors.

Turns out Peru and Chile have some issues with each other. I guess this shouldn´t come as a surprise, as sharing a border often causes friction (Kashmir). In the Brazil vs Chile match, the locals were heavily in favor of the Brazillianos, not altruistically, but more from the commonality of a shared enemy.

We arrived at the stadium at the end of a kilometer long line. After pondering whether we should find the tail or search for a shorter line, we approached a police officer and asked for advice. One problem with my Spanish skills is that I understand just enough to believe that I understand everything. So after listening to the cop I ´understood´ that the line was the line and that we were to join it. Fortunately we found this answer unacceptable and decided to walk through a gate which had no line. And to our surprise the man at the gate waved us through. I have no idea what that long line was, but those people in it probably didn´t enter the arena for hours.

The stadium was filled with groups of color-matched fans according to country. The Brazillians wore green and gold, but it seems as though every other latin country´s colors are some combination of white, red and sometimes blue. That makes it hard to tell the Peruvians from the Chileans from the Columbians. And that´s why they chant. Chants are often followed by counter chants, usually less positive in their hopes. A chant might be something like, ohhh ohhh eeyyy eeyyy, goooo, Chile. Then a counter chant would be something like, everyone from Chile is a bastard son of a whore (except it rhymes in Spanish). One kid, no more than twelve years old had a particular knack for the obscenely turned phrase. He would respond to any peep from the Chilean block with a ´quiece maricones!´ (shut up, whores) which inevitably drew smiles from the Peruvians of all ages sitting around us.

A couple noteworthy things happened at the game. First, the half time show. That´s a story in itself, but a quick summary would describe the unpracticed, uncoordinated dance of: many carnival style clowns, a gold robot resembling C3P0, but with the proportions of Captain Caveman, people in cowboy outfits, and a bunch of women dressed up like cheerleaders but with no skills. They began to make their way around the stadium´s running track (just inside of the moat), when they were blocked by ten or so riot police. The crowd started to get mad, but the face off between the underfed C3P0 and the ridiculously overclad SWAT captain was too funny to sustain the crowd´s ire.

The wave was in full force at this event. The wave would encircle the field several times before finally petering out in the expensive seats. During one rotation, a boy selling bags of popcorn saw his cargo upended by the enthusiastic wavers in the first row. A shallow box full of plastic wrapped popcorn was pushed into the air, over the retaining gate, and into the moat. I couldn´t tell from where I was, but I´m sure the boy was crying. One of the riot police thoughtfully directed a ball-retriever (the dudes that fetch the ball when the players kick it out of bounds) to fetch the popcorn. They have a special device that resembles a pool cleaning net to fish soccer balls out of the moat. I assume the moat is some sort of riot control device. So the retriever starts scooping popcorn bags out of the moat and dropping them back over the fence to a small crowd of excited children. Now the question must be asked... did the joy of many make more than amends for the sadness of one?

Suzy and Anne have adopted the custom of a daily crush. Usually it´s a local, like the one for the hunky, curly-locked, blue-rim-spectacled futbol fan sitting next to us, but sometimes it´s a foreign traveller like the German Ethan Hawke at the table next to us at lunch today. I´m going to start encouraging them to photograph these unwary game in order to build a ´los capitans log´ to harken back to.

The bus from Arequipa to Puno was stocked with omens. First there was the question as to where the bathroom was. Then there were the indigineous people on board. One look at them and we all got nervous. They were wearing layers upon layers of alpaca product and then covered in blankets. How cold was this ride going to be? We knew we were climbing and we knew that we were to arrive in Puno at 4am, but surely there was a heater on the bus and a warm place to kick it in waiting for our next bus.

At some point, mid-journey, I woke up and Suzy and Anne pointed out the ice which had formed on the INSIDE of the bus windows. Suzy described the front windshield as a piece of smashed glass. While Suze and Anne battled insomnia, I snuggled up to a large, warm, and only slightly stinky indigenous woman who had a losing percentage of teeth but made up for it in a smile that could melt rainbows.