A Change of Seasons
Lima, Peru
Perhaps there is no greater metaphor for life in South America—and its stark contrast to the rest of the world—than the opposite of its seasons compared to most other countries.
This morning, while sitting in the dusty backseat of an Uber during peak Lima traffic on my way to Spanish class at the university, I felt the crisp, cold, moist air sweep over me and sink into my bones. It had never occurred to me to grab a jacket in April.
As we sat motionless for what seemed like endless time amidst a tangled cluster of cars, it felt like being caught in a rugby scrum. I noticed the sky was gray and damp, and weary-looking people were already wearing coats and vests. I, on the other hand, was dressed in one of the same tired old T-shirts I had worn all summer during the dry South American heat. In Peru, summer runs from December through May. There are not four seasons—only six months of hot, dry weather and six months of damp winter.
As I sat in the car, I reflected on my experiences over the past year, living for three months in Cusco and four months in Barranco, the artistic, bohemian neighborhood of Lima. It was quite disorienting for my system to feel the cold, wet weather setting in while friends around the world were kicking off their summer activities and travels.
There must be a circadian rhythm deeply ingrained in my DNA from having lived most of my life in a completely different seasonal pattern. Although my great-great-grandparents came from Norway, it would be unimaginable for me to endure months of sub-zero temperatures and near-total darkness without even a glimpse of the sun.
Winter in Peru is the closest I’ve ever come to that kind of experience, especially with the seasonal garúa, a winter fog that blankets the Lima coastline for weeks at a time. There is a prolonged absence of sunlight.
I remember my time living in Cusco, where many of the old buildings are made of concrete, often appearing unfinished, with no insulation and open or missing windows. There were nights I slept shivering beneath seven blankets, my feet still freezing inside a pair of alpaca socks.
This morning it struck me that winter will soon arrive—sometime in late May. While my friends in America are welcoming summer with Memorial Day weekend, it will be time in Peru to unpack the alpaca sweaters and long johns.
This contrast paints a vivid metaphor for two vastly different worlds—differences too numerous to count, in customs, daily life, perspectives, language, and soon, the weather.
The growth and transformation in oneself comes from continually shedding old, conditioned ways of seeing, thinking, being, and encountering the world and other people.
This is the true adventure—and the journey.
Field Notes
“It takes an intrepid spirit to leave the comfortable and familiar and travel into the unknown, but as any seasoned world traveler knows, the moments of hassle and discomfort are worth it. You will return from this outer sojourn and inner journey as a better and more worldly person. You will become infinitely more cosmopolitan because you will connect not just to the people you might meet in places like Istanbul or Delhi, but to all people everywhere as you venture into shared inner domain. This inner journey may take you temporarily out of the comfort zone of your familiar home, but it will eventually deliver you to your true home in the center of yourself.”
-Andrew Holocek
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Zen and Ink Journals represents hundreds of hours of writing over the past decade, sometimes from a train in remote China or a coffee shop in Kyoto, a hammock in Costa Rica or a simple cabin on a mountaintop in Boquete, Panama , Ciudad Colón or Cusco, Peru.
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How are your Spanish classes going?
Thanks for sharing Kirk! And do your best to start warm!