Reflections from Peru

This is not a travel story. It is a personal reflection on how Peru—through conflict, resilience, landscape, and time—shaped my life over four decades. I write as a witness rather than an observer.

I. Between Two Worlds

I was born in Peru to a Peruvian mother and a Dutch father. At the age of five, my family moved to the Netherlands, where I grew up amid flat landscapes, order, and predictability. Structure, planning, and restraint defined daily life. Peru, meanwhile, remained a distant presence—more an origin than a lived reality.

In 1982, after completing my textile engineering studies, I returned to Peru for the first time as a young adult. I had long felt a pull toward the country of my birth, but nothing prepared me for the intensity of that return.

Stepping off the plane felt like entering another world. Colours were sharper, sounds louder, emotions closer to the surface. Peru was in the midst of deep political and social turmoil, and for the first time I encountered poverty not as an abstraction, but as something immediate and personal. The contrast with my European upbringing was stark and unsettling.

What stood out was not hardship alone, but perspective. I became aware of how often stability is assumed as a given in Western societies—how comfort becomes an expectation and inconvenience a source of frustration. In Peru, daily life demanded resilience rather than entitlement. That first return quietly reshaped assumptions I had never consciously questioned.

Despite the difficulties, Peru exerted a steady pull. It was not romantic, nor easy, but it felt honest. The following year, I returned again, drawn less by nostalgia than by the need to understand the country on its own terms.

II. A Country in Fear

By the mid-1980s, Peru entered one of the darkest chapters of its modern history. Political violence, economic collapse, and fear became part of everyday life.

The Maoist guerrilla movement Sendero Luminoso waged a brutal insurgency that would ultimately claim between 50,000 and 70,000 lives. Terrorist attacks were frequent. Armed soldiers guarded street corners, car bombs were an ever-present threat, and the economy unravelled under hyperinflation, food shortages, and mass unemployment.

Electricity cuts were common. People queued for hours to buy basic necessities. After midnight came el toque de queda—the curfew. Streets emptied, and soldiers had the authority to shoot without warning. Fear became ambient, woven into daily existence.

Yet ordinary life continued under extraordinary pressure. People went to work, raised families, shared meals, and laughed when they could. What remained with me most from those years was not only violence, but endurance—the quiet determination to carry on, often with generosity, despite uncertainty.

My work took me across the country, visiting textile factories in different regions. Eventually, circumstances required a return to the Netherlands, but Peru did not release its hold. The memory of those years—of courage lived without display—remained deeply rooted.

III. After the Silence

A turning point came in September 1992 with the capture of Abimael Guzmán, the leader of Sendero Luminoso. In the months that followed, thousands of his followers surrendered or were arrested, and the violence gradually subsided.

By the mid-1990s, Peru began a cautious recovery. In 1996, guided more by intuition than by a defined plan, I purchased farmland in the Sacred Valley of the Incas, between Cusco and Machu Picchu. The decision was less strategic than instinctive—a response to a landscape that invited presence rather than haste.

Exploring the surrounding mountains on horseback revealed a different Peru—one experienced at the pace of the land itself. Distance was measured in time and effort rather than kilometres, and progress depended on patience and attention.

What began as exploration gradually became something more enduring. Horses offered a way of moving through the landscape that encouraged observation rather than speed, presence rather than efficiency. Over time, this approach evolved into journeys that allowed others to experience Peru beyond roads and schedules, shaped by rhythm, terrain, and silence.

The early years were demanding. Tourism in Peru was still developing, but word spread. The journeys were featured by specialised equestrian travel agencies, horse magazines, and guidebooks. Eventually, National Geographic named the Sacred Valley ride among the “Top 10 Horseback Rides in the World.”

IV. Time, Culture, and Belonging

Peru is a country of remarkable diversity. It contains 11 eco-regions and 84 of the world’s 117 life zones, ranging from the high Andes to the Amazon rainforest and arid coastal plains. Traditionally, it is divided into three regions by altitude: the Coast (Costa), the Mountains (Sierra), and the Jungle (Selva).

Lima, founded by the Spanish in 1535, later became the capital of the Republic of Peru after independence in 1821. Today, nearly a third of the country’s population lives in the capital, while two-thirds reside along the coast.

Peruvians take deep pride in their culture—food, Pisco, music, horses, and football. Family and celebration are central to life. When I first arrived, the fluid approach to time was difficult to accept. Over the years, I came to appreciate “Peruvian time” and to question the Western emphasis on constant urgency and efficiency. Life here unfolds differently.

There are, of course, challenges: bureaucracy, corruption, chaotic traffic. These are not uniquely Peruvian, but common to many developing countries. What distinguishes Peruvians, however, is warmth. Formalities dissolve quickly. Greetings often include a hug, and a kiss on the cheek is customary in social settings. These gestures create closeness and trust.

V. Looking Forward

Peru is too vast and complex to define with a single cultural label. The country continues to grapple with its identity, shaped by indigenous, Spanish, African, and many other influences. Discrimination and inequality remain unresolved issues, rooted in history and still present today.

The legacy of the Incas and the Spanish Conquistadores is undeniable, but history alone does not define a nation. Peru today is a living, evolving society. The challenge—and opportunity—lies in fostering unity and inclusion, allowing all Peruvians to thrive regardless of background or appearance.

What matters now is not who we were, but who we are becoming: a diverse, resilient people with a deep attachment to land, culture, and community. That ongoing process—unfinished, imperfect, and human—is what continues to shape Peru, and those who choose to walk alongside it.

— Eduard van Brunschot