El Alto Mercado: Observations

We got off the red line teleférico in El Alto. We’d been told stories by our host mothers about how extranjeros that ventured to the markets of El Alto had been stabbed, pickpocketed, backpack-sliced, etc. Typical privilege-speech, even if the tales were true. It’s a discourse I hear frequently in the United States, heard frequently in Lima, and was told in San José. I remember a limeñan joking that we’d survived a day trip into Callao, perhaps the least well-off district of Lima. We joke about surviving, while people of Callao thank God they survived another day. Anyway, back to the El Alto market.

So many vendors, so many stands and tents. One would sell mechanical bits and nubs, and across the row would be jackets and shoes made from tire. Bootlegged movies would blare next to a blanket covered in hammers, nails, and more mechanical bits. Food was everywhere. We ate the grits variant of quinoa (my favorite), covered in hot milk and cheese. While sitting and eating in the stand, a man came up to us, asking where we were from. “Estados Unidos! Gringos!” Delighted. He loves making friends and being helpful. He spoke to us in English; we spoke back in Spanish. He complemented my Spanish. He’s a flutist, and has recorded some 40 albums. He played for a movie called something like Amazonas, which was nominated for an Oscar. He left to ask passersby for a pen or pencil so that he could give us his contact information. We parted, friend made. The pure orange juice was fresh and pulpy. Puppies were being sold from a bag in the middle of the path. We continued walking, ambling along with the flow of people. Through hardware, through carpentry, through food of all sorts, past people of all ages. “America is doing it wrong,” said my gringa friend, enamored with the view and the bustle. She was disappointed that we were unable to confirm the rumors of a penguin being sold there. We walked a grand loop, after a time becoming bleary-eyed to the continuing scene. You needed local knowledge to shop effectively. We finished our loop at the teleférico, and I noted the contrast as always. How much do appearances matter though? From dusty city to shiny cable car line. Is that an important observance, or just a predisposition? I’ve never liked dusty cities, but I generalize. The teleférico isn’t one way movement.