Fishing with Explosives by Alyssa Maunders
It has been a few weeks since I have written anything. Not for lack of action but for lack of reliable internet. I am now long gone from my temporary home in Arequipa and have arrived to Cuzco with my good friend Leigh. She met me about 2 weeks ago in Arequipa where we proceeded to celebrate for 3 days by drinking and eating and laughing and sharing South American stories we had while traveling separately.
Painted Vans
Once we decided to leave Arequipa, we hopped in a painted van of vagabonds and drove north, making stops along the way for food and to check out the waves. We travelled three days up the coast camping and exploring the beach with a very eclectic group that included four yanks, two Australians and a girl from New Zealand. Not to mention boxes and bags food, two surfboards and all of our backpacking bags. It was a well played game of Tetris to load that van.
We didn’t receive as many looks as I would have thought driving down roads and through busy areas. Local Mamitas rarely looked twice as the overloaded van passed through their streets. We did get a lot of waves and shouts from kids walking home from school though, to which we all rolled down the windows and shouted our hellos.
Evening Deux
On our second evening with the crew we pulled over to look at some waves when we noticed a thin, curling line of smoke coming up from behind a hand made stone wall down the coast a bit. We drove to check it out and discovered that an old fisherman named Victor lived there. He had lived there for 20 years, fishing in solitude just him and his compañero who lived in a tent about 300 yards up the coast. Victor appeared from his little stone shack, at the sound of the van, and when told we were looking for a place to camp, declared that we should be his guests for the evening. He had just finished making a batch of chicha morada, a warm tea-like drink made from local purple corn, sugar, pineapple and cinnamon. It is a flavor I have grown to love during my months in Peru. The fire warming Victor’s chicha morada drink must have been the source of that smoke.
We made dinner together that evening while Victor thought of every accommodation and clever trick to help us. He showed me how to move the log in the fire so that the water would heat faster. He made sure we had full cups of chicha as he told us about his work and life there on the rocky beach where he had lived for 20 years. He showed us where we should lay our tarp so that the wind wouldn’t hit us much and he built a bonfire a few meters from the van for us. We played guitar by the fire and Victor sang too, periodically throwing down Peruvian poetry and melodies seamlessly in with our blues chords. We fell asleep by the hot coals of the fire, warmed by Victors generous source of Peruvian blankets.
Explosive Fish
The next morning Victor woke early and dressed in his sweater vest and two pair of dress pants and slipped on his handmade sandals woven from spare fishing net. He explained that he wanted to show us how he fished. We watched intently as he brought out plastic bags of gunpowder and tested their strength by throwing some down on the sand and lighting it. He took out a handmade contraption of small metal bars wrapped around a central, larger piece of metal. It looked like an robo-octopus. He told us that he used to be in the army and knew about explosives and that no one else fished like this. I imagined Victor in his sweater vest scooping chunks of exploded sea life from the water and selling it in the market.
Once he was finished preparing his homemade bomb, our group filled him up the coast a ways where he set the octopus to face the water. He took out a spool of thick fishing line and attached it to the metal device. He then told us to stand far away as he lit the explosive and ran out way. Within a few seconds , the 10 pound hunk of metal was shot into the air and out over the waves at least 100 meters with such power we all jumped backwards. The metal bomb was trailing the fishing line and pulling it fast. Victor fed the line calmly and assured us that we would have a fish in no time.
Twenty min later, after leaving the line which had a number of large fishing hooks attached to it in the water to attract the prize, Victor came around the corner. He had pulled the line down the coast to insure that the hooks were submerged. He was carrying a huge fish and then told us we must stay for lunch. An hour later, Victor had killed, cleaned, battered and fried the best fish I have ever eaten. He made a pot of rice and cut up a few limes, managing to cook enough delicious food in no time for all 8 of us without accepting any help.
Hellos and Goodbyes
When we finally managed to say our goodbyes and re-pack the van, our morning had turned into an afternoon like so many Peruvian gatherings do. Time can be so elastic and here it passes relatively slow, something I truly enjoy. We all gave Victor a hug and piled into the car. He waved to us and wished us good luck as his eyes filled with a few tears. He had made 7 new friends and we were all sad to say goodbye. He is a kind, generous and sweet man and he shared many stories with us and opened his home to us. Saying goodbye to the friends you meet while traveling is so bittersweet, but the thought that there are more interactions like this one with Victor to be had makes it all worth it.
Alyssa Maunders
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