Going The Distance

We leave Bernardo and Mani, I cry hard… and so we hit the road. We drive via Sonia’s cevicheria to get a shot of the ceviche (heaven only knows how we managed to spend 3 hours at a cevicheria on Saturday and not take one single frame of ceviche…) then on to Chincha, 3 hours down the coast. On the road again!

What follows is an account of one of our most fascinating interviews so far. This project is about celebration and not judgement, so I’m going to detail the encounter entirely objectively and you can make of it, learn from it, take from it what you will.

There is a well-known figure here in Peru called Ricardo Badani. He is well-known because he has 6 wives.

Unlike the Mormon Fundamentalists in Utah with similar numbers of wives, the Badani family has no children. It is just the 7 of them, living together in a big house about an hour outside Lima.

There is one name which has always fascinated me about Peru: Fujimori. How can such a Japanese name be such a big part of a country’s recent history? From thousands of miles away, culturally and politically entirely ignorant, I found it hilarious, bizarre, and totally un-South American.

Alberto Fujimori, son of Japanese immigrants to Peru, was elected president of the country in 1990. His ten years were a tenure of both good and bad and he is now in prison. I need to spend some time on Wiki before I can fill you in on the juicy details, but all you need to know is that he is a big old cheese in Peru.

And so it ended in ignominy, anger and shame. Fujimori is now serving 25 years in a Peruvian prison, and the country moves on. But perhaps its future is once again Fujimori – this time in the form of his eldest daughter (and first lady, somewhat unexpectedly), Keiko.

Somehow, we manage to get an interview with Keiko and her husband of 5 years, Mark. We knew from the get go that we wanted to interview them (having, in our usual simplistic way, reduced Peru to ceviche, pisco and Fujimori), the difficulty was how to get hold of them. From our various contacts here in Lima, we sent out various appeals: one friend plays poker with Mark but only has his facebook details; Antonio Meier, mayor of San Isidro and wife of Gladys Zender who we interviewed, said that he would try to reach her through connections in Congress; a cousin of mine had a friend who worked in Congress who would also try, and finally, El Peruano said that they would help us to get hold of them. 4 leads, but still 2 weeks to yield fruit… Mark, a high powered management consultant, spends his working week in Arizona, and was only due back on the evening of Sunday night. He emailed me (the poker connection came good) to apologise profusely (and to offer to film themselves answering the questions) and say that he spends a chunk of his time away from the family home. Mike and I agreed a date, and decided to wait an extra 5 days in Lima in order to meet the couple in their family home.

Mark comes out to greet us. Instead of the corporate tough guy that I was expecting, he is more mild-mannered and kind from the outset. He laughs with us at the bike, and we head into the house for the interview. There are sounds from upstairs of little people (their littlest daughter is 5 months old), and soon Keiko appears from the kitchen. I like her immediately. She has a warm, smiling face, prettier than the photos I’d found of her on the web. She’s relaxed and open, and the 4 of us are laughing and chatting in no time. We choose to film them on a sofa, below a large painting done by Keiko. It’s very good, and she explains that for a charity event, she was partnered with a reknowned Peruvian artist to paint a picture which was then to be auctioned. She said modestly that she’s not particularly good at art, but that working with the painter (whose name I have currently forgotten, apologies…) was inspiring. It came to the auction and she wanted to buy the painting, she repeatedly raised her paddle, but eventually was outbid by a large bank. She was gutted. Three days later, the painting is presented to her father at the presidential palace, and she has had it ever since.

I explain that we are not here to grill her about her father or her political agenda, this is simply a celebration of love and we want to hear their love story. Given that she is planning to run for president of Peru in 2011, we promise that she can have right to edit any TV content we produce. Even at the end, she laughs and says that she is very happy to authorise us to use the interview. Mark’s spoken Spanish is still not entirely second nature, so we agree happily to do the interview with Mark speaking English and Keiko in Spanish.

Their love story is enchanting, like the stuff of Hollywood movies – a kind of real life Princess Diaries. When Keiko’s parents separated, Keiko became the youngest first lady in the world, aged 19 (?). Any notion of a normal dating life had gone out the window when her father was elected, and now she really didn’t stand a chance. She was known in Peru everywhere she went, and by her own admission, when boys showed interest, she was never sure if they were dating her or “Keiko Fujimori”, the persona.

Flashforward three years, and Keiko decides to go to the States to do an MBA. Columbia University was her first choice because it has a strong financial reputation and is located, of course, in New York. She and her sister head to New York for a couple of weeks to see the place. She is being shown round the university, and has just left one of the campus buildings, when a boy walking past the steps below her catches her eye. Handsome and with a captivating aura, she looks at him and the two make eye contact. Something sparks. For both of them.

Mark comes over to say hello and offers to show Keiko and her sister round, he then asks where they will be that evening. Keiko explains that they have plans to go to a local bar, and Mark exclaims, what a coincidence, I’m going to be there too (that old chestnut). He turns up at the bar that evening, Keiko and he talk all night, and at the end of the evening, he asks for her phone number.

Well, giving out your phone number when you’re the president’s daughter is not encouraged. And to strangers, it is strictly forbidden. Keiko’s sister is horrified and tells her that she can’t do it – such that Mark thinks that the sister really doesn’t like him. But Keiko has a good feeling about this guy and knows he’s going to call, so breaks all protocol and gives him her number. And indeed he does call, the very next day.

Keiko is a great cook, so before he even calls, she decides to cook a dinner in her apartment that evening (not least so that when Mark calls, which she knows he will, she can say casually that she’s cooking dinner for friends and why doesn’t he join?). Mark does indeed call, the invitation is made and he joins a group of them for dinner in the flat. Keiko says that Mark fits so naturally into the dynamic of the dinner, everyone really liked him (except her sister who remained extremely wary of him) and Keiko was entirely smitten. As was Mark himself.

The two of them start seeing each other regularly. Mark asks Keiko to change her flight, and she duly does, and the two of them are falling completely in love. All the while, Mark has no idea who Keiko is.

One evening, he is round at the flat, and he picks up a Peruvian magazine to flick through it. Keiko sister says urgently to her in Spanish “he shouldn’t be reading that magazine, it has a photo in it”. Mark doesn’t speak any Spanish, but he does understand “no” and “photo” so his ears prick up and he immediately looks to Keiko – “can I read it?” he asks uncomprehendingly. She says yes, of course, trying to dispel the tension and his anxiety.

He flicks through it, until his eyes fall on a picture of Alberto Fujimori, with the heading “President of Peru”. He looks to Keiko and says “this man has your surname…” at which point, the truth comes out, Keiko’s father is the president of Peru.

Suddenly, the rug is pulled from beneath Mark’s world. This wonderful, headstrong, fun girl he had fallen in love with had a whole history that he knew nothing about. He felt lied to, totally betrayed, and said, sadly and sternly, “I have to leave now”. He walked across the apartment to the door and was turning the handle to leave when Keiko ran across the room and begged him to stay. She said to him, “the girl you have met and got to know over the last few weeks, that girl is me. I think you love her, and I know I’m falling in love with you. Please please don’t go.”

At this point in the interview, Keiko is crying. They are taking it in turns to recount the story, and the effect for us is deeply moving and entirely gripping. Mike is crying too, of course, and Mark has welled up. Later, they will tell us that this is the first time that they have ever recounted this story to the press, and Keiko will say that she never cries, not even when her father was sentenced to 25 years in jail.

Back to the story, and Mark stayed. He, a regular – if very bright – boy from an Italian-American family in New Jersey, had indeed fallen in love with Keiko for who she was, and she had a chance to get to know him, and to fall in love with him, knowing that.

Well, then Keiko’s background had to come to the foreground. She had to return to Peru a week or so later. Mark accompanied her, but remained far from the glaring eye of the Peruvian press on that first trip. They had a chance to go to Machu Picchu, and for Mark to see a little of the country. He liked it very much – which was a big deal for Keiko, because she knew eventually, Peru would have to be a part of any future they could share together.

Keiko attended Columbia Business School, and she and Mark had two blissful years of relationship away from Peru’s curious eyes and her status there. They were just regular Joes, living life in New York.

Keiko’s father, meanwhile, had decided to return from his exile in Japan to face the legislative consequences in Peru. Keiko had to testify at his trial. Mark has got a very good job with a top consultancy firm, and the future of the pair looks good in the States. Keiko’s father calls her to him and suggests to her that she should consider running for office in Peru. This is a big big decision for the pair as it would mean them leaving the States and returning to Peru, leaving a life of relative anonymity for a life in the public eye. Keiko says she has to discuss it with Mark. Despite how difficult the decision was, Mark was in no doubt. (Mark’s mother was less sold on the idea – “you have a great education here [in the US], a great future and all you need here! Why would you return to Peru?!” she asked Keiko, before storming out of the house]. He could see that Keiko had a vital role to play in Peru, and the country needed her. He said that his own individual needs paled in comparison to those of 27 million people. And so Keiko returned.

She ran for Congress in 2006 and got the highest number of votes of any candidate. Mark took a 6 week sabbatical from his company and campaigned with her. The two of them are now gearing up for her 2011 presidential bid. Mark continues to work in consultancy. It’s easy to see that he is fiendishly bright and good at what he does. The hard part is that his work requires him to be away from his family during the week (he says that he tries to return to Lima as often as he can – once a week or once a fortnight). Keiko works really hard herself – the little girls have a long nap in the afternoon so that she can see them when she gets home later in the evening. Little Chiara, 2 years old and totally adorable, is over the moon to have her daddy home and doesn’t like to be away from him, only really smiling when she is in his arms. It’s hard, they say, but they are making it work.

Mark said it took him a while to get used to the press attention. There was one moment where he arrived at the end of Keiko’s bridal shower. The car pulled up and he opened the door, to be blinded by a wall of flash bulbs and questions. A gentle soul, he found it fiendishly intimidating and, disorientated, he walked into a wall. They hounded him with questions, and, speaking little or no Spanish, he said – and I paraphrase slightly, I apologise – “I think Keiko is the most wonderful woman in the world”. The hearts of a nation melted.

When we ask people what they think of Mark, the response is universal – gringo, but he seems like a genuinely good and nice human being. Which he does indeed seem to be – the boy from New Jersey whose mother makes delicious Italian meals (which she has now taught Keiko) and wants her son to be happy. He’s polite and kind, and so supportive and proud of his wife that it’s palpable.

When we ask people what they think of Keiko, the response is mostly positive, with some strong negative feelings (’twas ever thus with politics). People think she is a great person, a lot of people love her and think that hope rests with her. Some tangle her name with that of her father and inevitably, she is tarnished by that – though still, for some, that has extremely positive associations – the man who rid the country of Shining Path, needless violence and narco hell, and put it on the map.

A totally fascinating interview – both for the story of individuals, but the bigger role of the country.

We went out last night. Big time. Fabulous new friends, Ximena and Alejandro, took us out for the second Saturday in a row – this time to Barranco, an utterly gorgeous district of Lima. If you’re in the city, make sure you do not miss it. It’s the bohemian part of the city, small alleyways, old buildings, great restaurants and fabulous bars. Just opened is Pica, a trendy trendy bar which greatly appealed to the long dormant advertising twats in us. Loved it. Nightlife kicks off late here – the bar started to get going around 10.30pm. We were meeting the couple – and the wonderful Andrea Rubini, the relationship psychologist who we met earlier in our time here and who is old friends with Ximena, and her husband, Rafa. We then went dancing, much leaping about, then bed at 3.30am.

As a result, we’re hungover. Very hungover. Bernardo and Mani, who we have come to see as our own parents and adore entirely, kindly offer to take us out for lunch to wash away the pain… So we head to a delicious and fabulous restaurant called La Botega de la Trattoria, a warm, big, friendly place serving absolutely delicious Italian food. We laugh, we chat, we have a great lunch with Bernardo and Mani. It’s like family away from family, they really have come to be like the warmth and support of family that we miss so much on the road. We then head back to the flat and curl up in front of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It’s like being home.

There is no doubt that the longer we have spent in Lima, the more we have grown to love it. When visitors first enter it, it feels big, unwieldy, dirty… but there are jewels hidden behind its facade. Don’t dismiss it, it’s worth giving it a bit of love, it will give it back.

(Mike here for the first time in a few thousand kms..) Here in Lima, we have found ourselves at Moto Performance.

– a brand new, all singing, all-dancing motorbike hotspot. It’s here that I have found out that I have been using the wrong word for Motorbike for the last 10,000km. “Motobici” means nothing. It means “Motorbicycle” which is embarrassing, given how many times I have used the word every day, and in national newspapers and TV interviews. Many people we met before arriving warned us before arriving – “Get out of Lima as soon as possible, it’s a dump”. Did we listen to them? Or did we stay in there for longer than any other city in the Americas?

We have stayed here for a pit-stop. And not a Silverstone style pit stop. A spectacularly slow and contorted exercise for various reasons. Firstly, the tires. The Ural tires are an unsual 19 inches.  Instead of shipping out a set of Duros from Seattle in advance (the sensible, but expensive solution), we spent a few days asking around town for the place to go. Finally, after a few garages, we ended up at Direlli tires (who sell Pirelli funnily enough).

These guys know their stuff, found me some 19” road tires, and gave me a T-shirt to boot. “Se necesita jockey para estos 100 caballos de fuerza” (“you need a jockey for these 100 horses of power”) Which I will wear with pride (despite the Ural only having a perfectly capable 40, it’s not a race-bike after all) .  After an afternoon at a Taller Mecanico in the La Molina (the kind of place the pizza-delivery boys get their work done) – we changed the spark plugs, cleaned the carbs, and the air filter, and the oil (including the 80/90 transmission oil at the back – though he over filled it and spent a happy half hour sucking it out with a short tube, spitting it out into the street and wretching like a cat with a fur-ball). We left him spluttering, on a spluttering bike and came back immediately to have him attach the gas hose to the carburettor. Not an authorised Ural dealer…

Back on the main drag of mechanics in Surco, on Av. Republica de Panama, we met Ricardo, a lofty fella of German (and British) descent, at his shop Moto Performance. He not only took us under his wing linguistically (with the clarification of the word Motobici) , but had a chat with boys in the workshop who agreed to work on our bike free of charge. Amazing. We (they!) changed all the tires, balanced the carbs, and cleaned the bike so well you can now cook an egg on the valve-cover and eat your dinner off it. Which may be necessary when we break down in the Atacama.

We also bumped into a Venezuelan called Carlos, who drove south to Ushuaia in winter with his girlfriend, and came back without her, again proof that long motorcycle journeys make or break relationships. After chatting to him for a while, we decided to change our route. He reliably informed us (having driven both routes) that the Central route (Bolivia and Northern Argentina) is better than the Western route.  Northern Chile, despite being an impressively beautiful expanse of the planet, is still a desert. A bit like northern Peru, but with even less in it. Bolivia is an entirely separate culture, and Northern Argentinian vineyards have more to offer the alcoholic traveller than the Atacama. So, like that, the next 7,000km have changed…

And we met with a retired Canadian military engineer, Wallace, who has been driving South from Edmonton in Canada – covering nearly 30,000km so far (with a few more detours than us). He got as far as Ica, a few hours south of here, and parked his bike in a hotel car-park overnight. The next morning, he found that it had been dragged, in gear, around 9 feet across the carpark. The transmission, the gears, the sidecar alignment etc, are all shot, and he has begun the lengthy process of taking the hotel to court over the damage of his bike. He (seemed!) delighted to get his hands dirty on a working Ural, and he accurately balanced the carbs, and checked the timing, and the sidecar alignment. He has also very kindly, supplied me with a new oil filter.

I also thought it may be time to pick up a bike jacket too. Not only are we heading into the cold, but Ricardo was shocked that I hadn’t been wearing any protection so far, and pointed me in the direction of a jacket that didn’t look like I was planning to drive a Kawasaki Ninja for the rest of the journey.

It takes a while to find the real gems in Lima, they aren’t immediately obvious and the city gets a fair amount of stick from tourists for being one to avoid.

But there are gems, and we found one of them in the form of a reknowned cevicheria in the area of the city called Chorillos, which is south of the “posh” district of Miraflores, and on the sea. It has a beautiful boulevard (malecon) along the top of the cliff overlooking the seafront, which is lined with benches facing back along the shore to the main part of the city.

Tucked back from the main road, one road in, is arguably Lima’s most famous cevicherica, called “Sonia”. There are now hundreds of cevicherias in the area, but Sonia can boast to being the very first. She put the permit in to the mayor 29 years ago (when the site was still overlooking the sea) who granted her permission to establish Sonia’s – but behind a closed door. And this is the way that it remains today, unobtrusive on a small side street, just off Chorillo’s main drag. Everyone knows of the place, when we  stopped to ask people on the street for directions (our usual way of getting around), everyone pointed her out with ease.

Sonia and Frederico (”Freddy”) have been married for 49 years. When they met, she was 15 and he was 20. He was a fisherman, who had come from inland to make a living from the sea; she made ceviche with her mother. Somehow Freddy wooed her, managed to convince the mother that it was ok, and Sonia was 15 when she married him, and 16 when her first son, Freddy, arrived on the scene. She then had a daughter called Sonia (how confusing it must have been in their house with two Freddys and two Sonias!) then three more children followed. Freddy, the father, fished every day, Sonia would prepare the ceviche. After a while, she decided she wanted to set up her own place (Freddy was against it – which is another reason that it has a closed door – puerta cerrada). And it is now the place. The walls are lined with fishing nets hand made by Freddy, there is a gallery of photos proudly proving that all of Peru’s last 5 presidents have eaten there, as well as world famous chef Anthony Bourdain who travelled round the world sniffing out the best of the best, and Sonia ranked as one of them.

When we got to Peru, we knew that we wanted to include ceviche. It’s basically Peru’s national dish – certainly the plate that they are most famous for. Fresh fish is cut into cubes, then marinaded in lime juice, red onions with a bit of chili. The lime juice has the effect of “cooking” the fish with its acid. It’s very simple and absolutely delicious.

Sonia didn’t want any of her children to follow their father into the fishing trade. Freddy shows us his calloused hands and talks about how hard the job was. Now 3 of their children, headed by the first son Freddy (who we talked to to get the interview and who was utterly charming), work for the restaurant. And the two others run another cevicheria down the road. Competition?! I ask. Freddy says no, they cater to a different crowd: they are more stars and celebs, we are more politicians and businessmen. Sorted, then.

While we eat, a collection of old men start to gather around the piano. It turns out that the piano player himself is the brother of Compay Segundo, from The Bueno Vista Social Club. A man with a neat comb over and suit is playing the guitar, and one of Sonia’s sons is on the cajon (a box which they sit on and beat to create a drum effect). It’s totally captivating. Mike cries, in fact. Music fills the place, small children dance. It’s Peruvian and it’s wonderful.

Ah, the bike, the bike. Our trusted third member of the team. Time to give it a bit of love, so we spend the day with the awesome guys of Moto Performance Peru. All the details of which are going to be supplied by my wonderful husband who was tightening, and twisting, and covered in grease…

“Meeting the national press” sounds so glam, but really we’re the ones hounding them to print something about us – and not them clamouring to hear our story. We have two interviews lined up with purveyors of the Peruvian written word: one with El Peruano, a national newspaper; one with Caras, Peru’s answer to Britain’s Tatler, a glossy society magazine.

What would they want with you two? I hear you ask. Well, the editor is a distant cousin, so she basically was pressganged into it by my wonderful “cousin” hosts. We drove up a hill in the Surco area of Lima, where we are staying, and had a photoshoot over the city.