Latin American cities in general are patterned after traditional Spanish layouts, anchored by a primary central plaza linked to a series of smaller outlying plazas, all of which form the hub of residential and commercial life. The layout is about community and efficiency. It is not uncommon to see one’s waiter from a small restaurant scurry to the nearest mercado or shop next door in search of the very greens just ordered. This communal efficiency plays out in surprising ways.
Since Lima is the international arrival point for travelers to Peru, the government has made a concerted effort over the last decade to spit polish the city some. Many sectors have been improved and revitalized, creating a fresher look for the 8 million who dwell there.
The government still has much to do, however, in the area of traffic control. In Lima, traffic lights are more decorative than functional, and mere negotiation down streets requires a skill that few of us possess. Not only do Latin Americans use the metric system, they use it in driving, giving undue credence to millimeters as sufficient distance between vehicles to allow for passage.
In the U.S., we complain about rush hour gridlock; in Lima gridlock is an all-day exercise in crawling, squeezing, and outmaneuvering. The ultimate weapon is, of course, the horn, an aspect of driving whose logic escapes those of us trained that horns are emergency tools, not requirements for movement. To add to the clamor, small buses (which are really vans) noisily travel the streets with two paid staff: the driver with one hand on the horn and the “caller,” poised with either head or entire body out the window or door, continuously yelling out destinations and stops.
If the goal of the caller is to be loud, the goal of the passengers is to pack themselves in the vans like injection foam in a crate. On the edges of the city, the added trick is also to pack in your chickens, small portions of your crop, and about four children each. In Lima we saw fewer chickens.
In spite of the cacophony of noise and the maze of vehicles, accompanied by carts and bicycles vying for street space, traffic functions with a rather unusual form of communal efficiency. It is as if some mastermind hovers above the city, turning the squares on the Rubik’s Cube such that all vehicles get to where they want to go.
