We eventually found a computer store and bought two computers for the schools, but by then it was about one o'clock, too late to go back to the school supply shop and buy everything the principals planned to buy, because the High Mountain Rescue Unit had planned a ceremony at their headquarters.
The unit's driver was waiting for us in their pickup truck at the market to take us to the headquarters. He is a short, stocky, powerful, good-humored, patient man, and because of his huge head, he got the nickname "Cabezon." The rescue unit's headquarters was in a half-built, outlying neighborhood, a drive of about twenty minutes.
When we got there, the equipment that Ofer had bought with Robert in Lima was spread out on a table - all kinds of high quality gear for climbing, camping, first aid, and communications. The members of the unit were quietly inspecting the equipment.
Meanwhile I looked at some of the pictures on their bulletin board and got a better idea of the kind of work they do. There were photographs of the men on mountainsides in the snow and on rafts in the river. Aside from Colca Canyon, there is another very deep canyon in the area, the Cotahuasi, where people can also get into trouble. The rescue unit has to be prepared to go where people probably shouldn't have been in the first place.
The ceremonies that Ofer and Robert planned were important, though they weren't attended by anyone beside ourselves. They gave our presence an official quality, which partly defused the emotional tension and made it easier for everyone to express and control feelings. The men knew that we were the parents and siblings of a young man we cared intensely about, and we knew that they had exerted themselves beyond what could be expected of them to find him, when they still thought he might be alive, and to locate and recover his body, when we knew he was dead. They did it because Ofer had bonded with them so closely that they adopted his concern, because he made them realize how important it was for us to bring him home for burial, though in their belief system, it probably would not have been so important.
Though the atmosphere among the men of the rescue unit was ordinarily relaxed and informal, for the ceremony they briefly took on military severity, lining up at attention, saluting, and speaking with stiff formality.
Again we emphasized that the equipment had not been purchased with our own money, but with money that we raised from friends and relatives, who had heard the story and identified with it.
Later we ate at a nearby restaurant called Fresno, which you will not find in guidebooks or on websites, a totally local place that served large quantities of ordinary, well cooked food for very low prices (according to our standards). After our late lunch, we went back into Arequipa and gathered up all the loose ends of the day. We met the school principals again, went back to the school supply store (Robert came with us to expedite things), laid out $950 in US dollars for it, and went back to the hotel to rest up after seeing all the school supplies loaded onto the back of the pickup truck.
I enjoyed the intense bustle of the streets around the market. I was getting used to the look of the people: no one seems to be fully European; you are treated to a huge variety of indigenous countenances.
In his emails, Asher expressed enjoyment at being in a world that wasn't yet entirely corrupted by global mega-capitalism. I can see that, but I can also see thousands of people scrambling to make very small amounts of money. Tiny little Daewoo taxis with 800 cc. motors race about the streets of Arequipa and Lima, and the fare for a short ride is about a dollar. So how much could those drivers be earning in a day? There's such great charm in the air here, that it's hard to avoid romanticizing the poverty.
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