From the Peru archives

The high life
You don’t see the typical guide book Peruvian – indigenous, dark-skinned and dressed in brightly coloured woven fabrics – at the gym in downtown Lima. Here, the average exerciser looks distinctly European, a combination of natural attributes and money: relatively tall and fair-skinned with an unnaturally high proportion of blondes.
This is where the wealthy come to keep up appearances. The women wear skimpy outfits, with makeup and push-up bras to complete the look, strutting from machine to machine like Desperate Housewives’ Gabriel.
It’s tranquility compared to the raucous street outside. The floors are shining clean, the air-conditioning filters out the traffic fumes, a wall of TV screens lets you imagine you’re in New York or Los Angeles.
At night, these middle and upper class 20-somethings come out to play. Dressed to kill, they pack bars and clubs in the swish Larcomar beach-side centre until dawn, throwing money on alcohol and drugs, dancing or trying to pick up.

Sullorqui market
To get to the market in Surquillo, a district of Lima, you have to dodge across four lanes of cars and then walk down a dusty street. It rarely rains, so the roads never get a proper clean. Wood workers plane and sand furniture on the footpath in front of their showrooms; stray dogs lounge and scratch outside their adopted homes, hoping to get thrown a morsel from one of the dark cafes.
Gradually the dusty street becomes market proper, the furniture makers change into closely packed stalls selling clothes, shoes, jewellery and bags. Heading inside there are shops selling herbs, fruit and veges, whole chickens with the feet still attached, bootleg DVDs and even a hairdresser. This is where the locals come for their shopping – the prices are more down to earth than in the glittery supermarkets.

Miraflores
The traffic is the first thing you notice in Miraflores. If you arrive by taxi, you’ll breathe a sigh of relief to get out safely, but only for a second. Navigating down and across the streets is a full-time job. The cars and combis never stop tooting, and barely ever stop moving. Kids run up trying to sell lollies, international newspapers, euros.
Tourists sit on the footpath outside Starbucks, sipping lattes and communicating with the wider world via wifi on their laptops, all the while insulated from the chaos outside by glass paneling. Well-off Peruvians swarm through Saga Falabella, a Chilean department store, buying new clothes, a new microwave, a new lounge suite. Across the road, people rustle through three-for-two bins of discount clothes or sell souvenirs from roadside carts.

Chorillos
The security takes a step up in Chorillos, one of Lima’s younger suburbs. This isn’t a pueblo joven, where the residents have only had running water for a couple of years and have given up waiting for the streets to be paved. But nor is it like the busy commercial downtown areas.
We find the dentist down a side street and ring the bell. The hygienist opens the inside door and checks us out before unlocking the cast iron grill to the street. At the pharmacy, a security guard stands over the entrance. Inside, we’re shuffled from counter to counter – first to order and second, through a gap in the Perspex, to pay.
Waiting to cross the road, I lean over to make a comment, but realise the traffic beats me no matter how loudly I shout.

Coda
According to the World Resources Institute, the richest 20% of Peruvians earn 51% of the country’s money. The poorest 20% earn 4.4% of the total. (Compare that with 41% and 6% respectively in Australia).
Here, the super rich live like the super rich in any other part of the world. Their only contact with life outside their bubble comes from the maids and drivers and cleaners who are paid a pittance and allow them to swan around carefree.
A new film Dioses (Gods), directed by Josué Méndez, is an interesting exploration of the huge gap between rich and poor. Look out for it at next year´s film festival, hopefully.

Other posts by Katie