El Silencio’s Fishermen

I am sat on the balcony of the flat that we have rented which looks out onto the Pacific Ocean. It is that time of evening when the bright, red sun sinks into the sea, falling behind the Islas de Pachacamac in the distance. I look out to sea. It looks calm, but I know it isn’t and I can make out two fisherman, little dots on the horizon, bobbing up and down in their little boat.

At weekends Limeños flock to the beach to escape the intense heat of the city during the summer months. El Silencio, 40km south of Lima, is one of the more popular resorts on the coast, a town founded by a group of fishermen who saw an opportunity to provide for the middle-class residents of Lima who started to spend their holidays by the sea in the 1950s. Fishing remains a major part of the local economy and, before the many day-trippers arrive, Humberto, one of the village’s fisherman, has already been out to sea to do his morning’s work.

Humberto goes out to sea at 5am every morning with his friend and colleague, Edwin. Without a motor in their boat, the two men row on the Pacific Ocean, where they inspect the large nets that they have left out overnight, hoping that they have had a successful catch. Humberto has been a fisherman since he was ten years old and Edwin, the younger of the two, started when he was fifteen. Both know nothing else. The pair spend three hours at sea every morning, sometimes staying close to the bay of El Silencio but at other times heading out towards the Islas de Pachacamac, the uninhabited islands which some say have the shape of a resting dolphin, one a half hour’s rowing away in the distance.

Humberto has no hard feelings towards me despite not buying any fish from him

They go where the fish are. Good fisherman, Humberto will tell me later, are those who go most often where the fish are. Lenguado (sole) is the prized catch, though they will likely catch a lot of conchitas, scallop shells that are often served with parmesan cheese in seafood restaurants in Peru. Chita, gilt-head bream, can often be found near the big waves yet catching it has its obvious dangers. The waves around these parts are notorious - neighbouring Punta Hermosa is a mecca for surfers- and unfortunately drownings are regular occurrences.

Four hours later, Humberto and Edwin head into town, going from restaurant to restaurant on foot to sell the morning’s catch to chefs who want the very freshest produce to serve to the public. As I enjoy a lazy morning in the flat, I hear Humberto before I see him. He offers to sell me some fish, yet I politely decline. I am all too aware of my limitations in the kitchen and have no idea how to gut a fish. I go down for a chat, though, and spend some time with the pair, promising to catch up with them again the following day.

Las Islas de Pachacamac

They are in a good mood as they have caught a few sole, the fish used most often to make cebiche, Peru’s national dish and an ambassador for the country’s exotic flavours. Sole is expensive and Humberto tells me that it sells for 40-50 soles (the Peruvian currency) per kilo, around £10-12. One sole can weigh about 4 kilos, which is a very significant amount of money in a place where the minimum wage is 870 soles per month (£202).

Humberto and Edwin will head out at 6pm for a further three hours fishing. Though fishing at night without lights is perilous, it can also allow you to get a good catch. Before going out, though, the men smoke a deserved cigarette on the promenade, chatting with the street vendor who spends all day in the baking sun selling refreshments, snacks and single cigarettes. After admiring the sunset, I get ready to go out as Claudia and I are due to go to neighbouring Punta Hermosa to have dinner at the excellent La Casa de Gloria. As we eat that evening, I raise a glass to Humberto, Edwin and Peru’s other fishermen. Without them, this delicious seafood that I am eating would not be possible.

Lima, February 2019