Another warm day in Arequipa! We sleep and laze about in bed and finally get up and ready because we are STARVING. We have a healthy and balanced breakfast of crepes at ZigZag. I have palta y tomate and they bring it with the green oregano spice that is sprinkled on every dish here. Wade gets mango y limon y azzucar. I don't really know the names of those fruits, yet, but I can tell you that his crepe was a lot tastier than mine. On account of the oregano spice. And the sugar.
This morning we split up. I go to the monastary, and he stays at ZigZag researching our upcoming trek and drinking beer.
Monastaria de Santa Catalina
The Monastaria de Santa Catalina used to be a huge, popular nunnery that rich families would send their precious daughters to. These rich daughters were accustomed to a life of friends and parties and servants, and inside the nunnery, none of this changed. Eventually some religious head person got wind of the non-Catholic activities, the parties and escorts and money, and she sent all the rich girls back to their parents. The servants and poor girls stayed on as nuns. Sadly, the nun population has dwindled to about thirty. The monastary, however, is enourmous, covering over one square city block. Recently, the Peruvian government has forced the Monastaria to open for tourists. The remaining nuns live and do their God business from one of the corner cloisters.
The place really is huge. I try to keep left, a trick I use at big art museums to ensure I visit every room, but even this trick fails me here. I must constantly tell myself, left, LEFT LEFT!!!. It's like a maze. The colors are brilliant. All the walls inside rooms are white, but in courtyards and streets they are painted vibrant adobe red and blue and yellow. The colors help me navigate. Slightly.
Among the things I notice:
In one room, there are a series of nun portraits hung on the wall, in which every subject has her eyes closed.
The infirmary has hundreds of different sized and shaped bottles filled with various colored liquids. They all wear mysterious handwritten labels. Perhaps not so mysterious to those who know Spanish.
One room is devoted wholly to production of Eucharist wafers.
In one cupboard I opened in a random kitchen area (if there is no sign or rope, I must touch), and there, laying on a shelf, was a graying animal skin.
One small nook showcases an interesting seat contraption that resembles a toilet throne carved of wood, but instead of a bowl filled with water, there is a spinning plate. I don't understand, either.
From the cafeteria patio, I can see our room in Casa Reyna! And my towel hanging in the window! Hi room!
I check the visitors' book. A giant group of Polish people have just signed before me. There has been only one other USAer today. Surprisingly, we are few and far between here in Peru. That's why Americans are worth points, and the Dutch aren't. They are plentiful.
later
After the monastary, we have more crepes. Then we go to the grocery store for more carbs, these for our trek.
We try to hang out in one of the city parks, but turns out they are only opened on weekends and holidays. All other times they are locked. What the fuck? So we end up eating cookies and "Cola Re-al" (not as good as Inca Cola) on a strip of grass in the middle of the intersection and reading Bill Bryson aloud. This reminds me of the story of my parents going camping this one time. They arrive at their destination late in the night, so they find a patch of grass on which to set up their sleeping bags, and when they awake in the morning, they see they have camped out in the middle of a parking lot.
In the evening, we buy tickets to Canon de Colca for the next morning. We repack all our stuff to put some in storage. Sadly, I sit on my beloved huge bug-eye sunglasses. The break is minimal; they will have to do for now. For dinner we go to a touristy place on the Plaza, and I have "Avacado Stuffed for the Gardener." The alternative was "Avacado Stuffed for the Queen," but that contained chicken.
Arequipa is the most beautiful place on the planet. We have the most charming room on the third floor of a hostel overlooking the city and a famous (and beautiful) convent. The highest peak in Peru, El Misti, is also visible from our patio. We are two blocks from the central plaza. Popsicle stands are numerous. We may never leave.
Peruvian Scavenger Hunt
one point each:
every time we see a Peruvian littering
seeing kids fighting in the street
for every llama, alpaca, and vicuna spotted
every time someone guesses we are NOT from the USA
every person who assumes we are dating or married
for every container of manjar purchased
every Fujimori 2006 sighting
every obvious and unmistakable Israeli sighting
ten points each:
every traveler we meet NOT from Israel, South America, or Holland
every collectivo travelled in with more than twenty passengers
for every Peruvian who admits to prefering Don Isaac over Inka Cola
for every Peruvian peeing in public
fifty points:
for seeing the rarest of the camelid family, the guanaco
one hundred points:
seeing a framed poster of Christina Aguilera
seeing someone we know
Arequipa
We find a room in really, the cutest hostel I have ever seen. We are on the third floor, in a tiny room, and the ceiling slants down, giving us a little nook for the table and chair we have draped our belongings over. Our door opens onto a little patio with a porch swing and some benches, and a quite breathtaking view of this city. Arequipa is nestled among the hills of the Andes. Houses and buildings stretch into the corners and cracks in between hills. We can see straight down into the convent garden next door. We can see the church steeples of the Plaza cathedral. We can see the great snow-capped mountains in the distance. There are barely any clouds, and the sun is shining.
I nap while Wade showers, and then we switch. There is gloriously hot water here. Note that I am now two for one, in terms of showers, which is quite impressive, given my history at home.
We walk around the city and do the following:
Plaza de Armaz. Charming, colonial, green, full of people, everything lacking in Los Angeles
Two young women approach us and give us a survey about nutritional granola bars. They are doing a marketing thesis and plan to produce and sell a line of bars.
Visit several baby alpaca stores. These go on forever. I did not know baby alpaca was such a commodity.
Electric appliance store. I am amazed and impressed by the super cheap prices, until Wade points out that the objects are on payment plans, and the prices I saw were just the monthly premium.
An over-the-counter pharmacy
At an arcade, we see a claw-stuffed-animal game sponsored by ADVIL and ROBOTUSSIN.
Various churches
In the afternoon, we return to our Casa Reyna and read Bill Bryson. We are lazy and take some naps. After a few hours, I get up, motivated only by the prospect of going to a real cinema and seeing a real movie, in English. Sadly, all three cinemas we checked out were closed or had been converted to churches and were conducting wedding ceremonies. As far as we could tell. There was crepe paper and dancing. Instead, we went to mass at the Jesuit church and the main cathedral.
We have dinner at this Hare Krishna vegie place called Govinda. It is a bit creepy inside, what with the tall ceilings and religiousy music. We have quinoa something-or-other and squash something and some wierd purpley drink which I find out later is chicha morada, one of the most popular drinks here. On our way out, we are bugged by a little boy trying to sell us candles. He whines. I do not fall for whining children selling things.
We go internet, and I learn that Wade cannot spell. Afterwards, we find a fourth-floor restaurant overlooking the Plaza and drink. I get a Cuba Libre (rum and coke) and he gets the locally brewed Arequipena. We hear a Peruvian band playing in the street. Finishing our drinks, we step down onto the Plaza, watching a street performer. He has two dogs dressed as people. I hate dogs, and dogs dressed in clothing is always funny to me. He also has a "robotic" bride and groom who dance the tango. It was clear that there was a person in the groom's legs bent over into the bride's legs -- you could see his waist connecting them -- but the ringmaster was so funny that he drew a large crowd. Even Santa Clause, who had been selling candy in the street, came to watch. Street Man made fun of Wade and I, for being American, and warned us not to steal his Peruvian robot technology. Question of the day: What is your favorite Peruvian food, other than manjar? Adina: pineapple wafers Wade: orange popsicle of indeterminate flavor. Perhaps caramel, perhaps coconut, maybe guava. Pulse, resting, in Arequipa, elevation seventy six hundred feet: Adina: 96 Wade: 84
Pulse, after climbing four flights of stairs: Adina: 168 Wade: 108
Wake up early. Go back to sleep. Wake up again. Go back to sleep. Wake up again. This has got to stop.
Internet, I AM A SANDBOARDER!!! Huacachina is a small lagoon surrounded by ginormous sand dunes, the kind of sand dunes that show up in Webshots. Our LOUD hostel rents us some sandboards, and up we climb. Up we climb. Up we climb. Up we climb.
And then we whooooosh down the dunas. Sandboarding is awesome. When you are standing, strapped into the board, you just feel cool. Alternative-hip cool. And then when you can stay standing while your board drags your body down the hill, you feel even cooler. Despite the fact that I collect several cups of sand in my shoes, socks, and pants, the experience is AWESOME.
Pulse after climbing dunas: Adina: 132 Wade: 120
After two runs (really, there was no way I could claw my way up those heights again), we leave the hostel. I repack my bag. In the trash go my tennis shoes. They were really old Pumas, and they did me well. I brought them on this trip because I knew I could toss them along the way without regret. Sadly, the medicine tupperware got the axe as well. It was just too bulky and heavy. I don't know what I was thinking when I packed my three point one ounces of medicine in a two pound plastic box. Sorry Abbey, I'll make it up to you.
We take a taxi to Ica and catch a combi to Nazca just as it is leaving. The luck gods, they are with us again. Although this combi contains less than twenty-one people, it is still a nueva experience because we get to ride up front with the driver. And with our packs. It is a bit squishy. Wade is nearly sitting on the stick shift.
Nazca
We intend to get out of the combi to climb up the mirador and try to see the Nazca lines. Oops, we miss it. The combi just keeps on driving, and it's not like we have asked to be let off at a well-marked spot. We also can't do much, like request to turn around and find our spot, since there are at least fifteen other people in the vehicle. We content ourselves with our view from the window, which is not much. We can sort of make out that there may be rocks pushed around on the pampa floor, but by no means can we distinguish shapes.
In Nazca, we walk back and forth between bus companies comparing prices and departure times. We would like to bus out of here to Arequipa overnight. The buses in this country are all privatized, so there are always many options. You have to shop around. We walk back and forth for half an hour, with our packs, past the same restaurants. And each time, the same Peruvians call out to us to patronize their shop. Cheap! Americans! Ten Soles! For you, eight Soles! Lady! Each time, we are not interested. We eventually settle on Ormeno business class, which promises reclining seats and a bathroom. The bus leaves at ten pm, which gives us enough time to eat, internet, and return to the mirador.
In one of the bus stations, we speak to two travelers who have just flown over the Nazca lines. They are incredibly airsick, and I am SO glad that we opted not to spend money on a plane ride. It is here that we also meet our first American friend, a Californian, no less.
The convenience store we choose is decidedly not near the yelling Peruvians. An old lady and a fat man attempt to serve us, but they apparently don't know Spanish. We ask for very simple things, a single Don Isaac and a single Inka Cola (they are both yellow soft-drinks), and we are given very different items, like plantains and cookies.
We sit on a divider in the middle of the road. This is our favorite spot to rest, in between cars and far from proprietors. On the sidewalk next to us, a man is shimmying up an electric pole with a rope harness he tied himself. He is putting up a wire all by himself. While watching him, I taste my first plantain. It tastes just like a banana. I am a teensy bit disappointed by this, since it is so much larger and pinker than a banana. It is rather phalic, in fact, and we make appropriately crude comments and poses about the fruit. Of course we also take pictures.
the great taste-off
Inka Cola is a bright yellow, bubble-gum flavored soft drink. It is the Bebida Nacional of Peru. It is more popular than Coca Cola in this country. It is at once both disgusting and delicious. It has many, many knock-offs.
One knock-off that we keep seeing on the southern coast is called Don Isaac. We think this is hilarious, because who names a soda after a person? And who the hell is Don Isaac? Not exactly a Peruvian name. Not so much a Spanish name, either. Don Isaac is half the price of Inka Cola, and exactly the same highlighter hue. We purchase a bottle of each.
We open the bottles and toast. We count down from three, and take a sip of one. Then we take a sip of the other. Then we go back to the first. And to the second. We intertwine arms and sip, as if we are holding champaign glasses at our wedding. Or shot glasses at a skanky bar. We pose the bottles together and take pictures. THEY TASTE IDENTICAL.
Thus we spend our afternoon, drinking yellow soda and eating pan con manjar,. The manjar has become our chief condiment, nay, our cheif entree. I know it is only sugar and milk, but boy, is it good. And boy, is it plentiful here.
how to spot an Israeli
MEN:
have longer hair than usual
wearing a headband
sunglasses pushed up over head like headband
small shirt than normal, often a sports jersey type, also often sleeveless
short shorts
man purse
WOMEN:
really long hair
with an Israeli man
Nazca lines
We hitch to the mirador. We don't actually stand there on the side of the street holding out a thumb or a forefinger. We are walking on the street in Nazca, and a man next to a vehicle asks if we are going to the lines, and we say yes. We agree on a price of four Soles, and he shows us to his car, where five other gentleman are already sitting. We get it, squished in the back. I am obviously the on-the-lap-so-everyone-can-fit girl, and obviously I am not sitting on a strange Peruvian man's lap, I sit on Wade's lap. Only once we are out of the city and on the PanAmerican Highway in wilderness does it occur to the two of us that we have basically hitched a ride, and that we would NEVER do something like this back in the States. We would NEVER get in a car with strangers, we would NEVER not put on our seatbelts, we would NEVER enter a minivan with more than seventeen people on it, etc. But it just makes sense here. Perhaps because there was an exchange of money, perhaps because the car already had several passengers, perhaps because we are traveling and having ADVENTURES, who knows.
Once at the mirador, we marvel at our surroundings. We are in the middle of a desert, with reddish mountains to one side, flatland on the other, and a narrow strip of highway in the middle going on and on and on. This highway is the PanAmerican, a road that stretches from the very bottom of Chile all the way to the top of Columbia, into Central America, and perhaps even across the border into one of our interstates. It is a long, long stretch of highway, and a road trip destination for the incredibly dedicated. Here, it is only two lanes -- one in each direction -- paltry, compaired to the 405 or 101 that stretch across California. And after our car drives on, empty. We cross it slowly, then run the other way, then stand in the middle and laugh.
We climb the mirador, which is a small hilly mound maybe three stories high. From the top, we can sort of make out some lines that stretch into the distance, and we can tell that way in the distance the lines twist around a make a shape, but that's about it.
While one the mirador, we meet some Japanese boys. Turns out they are on our bus tonight! There is also a small TV crew at the base of the mirador, and the boys tell us that the girl they are filming is a famous TV star. We saw a celebrity! In Peru!
We get back to the city by riding with one of the Japanese guys. All the internet places report that the net is down in Nazca. We have and early pizza (con palta, how wierd) at Julio's resturaunt. When we are done, the internet is back, and we do that for a bit. We have our first taste of the excellent SUBLIME chocolate bar, and go wait at the bus station.
the awful bus ride
THE BUS RIDE IS AWFUL.
After the first hour, I need to go pee. I walk to the back of the bus, but cannot open the door. I return to my seat, thinking I can wait a bit until the person comes out. Half and hour later, after no one has emerged, I make Wade come with me to pry open the door. It is definitely locked. We go back to our seats. Another half hour passes, and the pee urge is so strong that I can't go to sleep. We walk to the front of the bus to ask the busdriver about the locked bathroom. He claims it is open. We argue. He says the bathroom stop is in five minutes. We return to our seats. I have to go so bad, but what can I do?
FIFTY MINUTES LATER, we finally pull over to the side of the road, in some shanty town in the middle of nowhere, next to a small shack. I RUN behind the shack and pee. It is delicious. When I get back onto the bus, the driver shows us that the bathroom door is open. I think he is a lier, I think he unlocked it just then. No matter, I was finally able to fall asleep.
We twist and turn and flop all over each other, trying to find a mutually comfortable positionfor the night. I drift in and out of sleep. Hours later, I awake and realize I am a bit nauseas. I take another Drammanine, but I cannot sit in our seat, in the middle of the bus, in the darkness, for very much longer. I walk up to the front of the bus, where fresh air is wafting in from the driver's compartment. I stand in the aisle, where I can look through his window at the road ahead. I don't normally get carsick, but we have been driving on a twisty highway at high speeds in the dark for hours. Up at the front, actually seeing the road ahead, my stomach is quieted. I watch our driver (the same driver for the whole twelve hour trip) swerve around steep ocean cliffs. I notice his speedometer, which indicates that he is driving TWICE THE SPEED LIMIT. Eventually the drugs kick in, and I fall asleep on the double seats in the second row.
In the morning, when the bus stops, I find Wade again, and we discuss how aweful this bus ride was. For me, it was more the length and the twistyness and the location of our seats. He cannot stop talking about how I had to wait to go to the bathroom for TWO HOURS. He says it like that, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WERE WAITING TO GO THE BATHROOM FOR TWO HOURS. Days later, when we are in Arequipa and even again in Puno, he mentions is again, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU HAD TO WAIT TWO HOURS. Like it was the craziest thing that ever happened. I suppose if a boy had to pee so bad, he would just stick it out the window and go.
We agree that on our next overnight bus, we will treat ourselves to Royal Class, where the seats recline fully and there are two bathrooms. Question of the Day: Name one quality of Peruvians you like, and one quality you don't. (Not truly a question, but it begs an answer, so there.) Wade: He likes that Peruvians have no shame, and he doesn't like that they all have gaps in their teeth. Adina: I like that they love talking to tourists, and I don't like all the litter.
(My first response was that I loved all the pineapple products in this country, but it was pointed out to me that that is not a quality of Peruvians.)
This morning I woke up at five. I gazed at Christina for a few seconds, then went back to sleep.
Then I woke up at six. I woke up Wade so I would have some company. He made me go back to sleep.
Then I woke up at eight. I woke up Wade again (what´s the point of having a travelling companion if they can´t be there for you in your neediest moments?). Then I went to the bathroom and then back to sleep.
I woke up a final time at ten o´clock.
Pisco - Paracas
Pisco is a small town. We only spent about ten minutes in Pisco proper, walking through Plaza de Armas and through the market. Wade bought a charming monkey wallet. We found a combi bound for Paracas and hopped on board. Every several hundred feet, the combi would stop and a woman would hand over a straw lunch box through the window to the driver-helper-boy (DHB) with some money. The combi held about fifteen people and twenty-five lunches. As we neared Paracas, the combi would stop every few blocks, and the DHB would hop out with a few lunches and drop them at the security gate of buildings. It was a lunch delivery system!! Peru is awesome!
We are headed to the National Reservation of Paracas, which according to the Good Book, contains wild animals and guano (bird shit!! it´s an export!!). We have a quick lunch of bread and cheese and piña Nutri Grain, then walk through the boardwalk and into a neighborhood in the direction we presume to be the Park. A uniformed policeman informs us that it is too far, but we decide he is in cahoots with the taxi driver to his left, and so ignore him.
We walk and walk and walk, through a neighborhood that leads to beautiful beachfront homes. Do Peruvians have money like this? We imagine they may be condos or timeshares, and discuss the possibility of sitting in their lawns to rest. We continue.
where the sidewalk ends
Eventually, the beach homes give way to sandy desert. We walk and walk and walk on a sidewalk next to the water, talking about LIFE and LOVE and HOLY SHIT WHERE WILL I BE IN FIVE YEARS. We walk and walk and walk, and find ourselves parallel to the Park entrance, only far, far away through the sand. We decide not to pay, and instead to take our sidewalk to the park. Only, it ends. The sidewalk ends. All of a sudden. In the middle of the sand, the sidewalk simply stops.
We eat another lunch of apples and manjar, apricots, and peanut butter M&Ms. A short discussion later, we are in agreement that we don´t actually have to REACH the Park. We had a great time walking and catching up, we saw some awesome Peruvian desert, and honestly, our efforts were enough to claim that we went there. So, internet, today we went to Paracas National Reserve. It was awesome.
On our way back to Pisco, we catch a combi with twenty-one people inside.
the end of the day
What a long day. We pack up and catch a bus to Ica, just as it is pulling out of the station. We have us some mean luck, we do. The bus is moving as we walk aboard, and I have to grab ahold of seats as I pass. We walk to the back and dump our packs on some empty seats, taking our own seats across the aisle. Sadly enough people board the bus along the way that we are forced to sit with our packs. Wade is sitting pinned against the seat back with his pack on his lap. I am half sitting / half crouched on my seat with my pack in front of me. My right leg just barely fits in between Wade´s leg and my pack, and my left leg is all bent and pointed skyward, in the manner of gyno stirrups. I try to jam it down, but my pack is too big and in the way. Thus I remain, for twenty minutes. I begin to feel like I have to pee. Not an ideal position.
When the bus pulls into Ica, we flag down a tico-taxi to Huacachina. At this point, pee situation is quite urgent. Tico-taxi drops us off at Hostel de Avida, a COOL, LOUD, RESORTY HOSTEL. SEE HOW LOUD IT IS? I HAVE TO SHOUT.
There is a central, multi-layered plaza with rooms surrounding and overlooking it, and the whole thing feels very open and fresh. There is also a swimming pool. I consider going swimming, but think better of it, as you shouldn´t jump in a dark pool whose cleanliness you didn´t check in the light of day. Wade conks out on the bed, and I write postcards home in faux Spanish.
We take dinner in the hostel, dinner of (surprise!) cheese sandwhich. I must admit here that Thai cheese sandwhiches beat Peru cheese sandwhiches. SO FAR.
This being a COOL, LOUD RESORT, we liquor it up! The national drink of Peru is called a Pisco Sour, and every single food establishment advertises their Pisco Sours with large fonts and loud colors. This COOL, LOUD RESORT is no exception, so we order two and sit on a swingy chair on the pool patio. Pisco Sour is made from Pisco, a locally produced grape brandy, bitters, egg, and sweet & sour. It is OK. We watch our fellow travelors drink and dance, and then go to bed.
What did we learn today?
Wade: It will take him several days to get used to civilization. Adina: Peru has many, many more pineapple products than USA.
Lonely Planet, my bible, said it was popular with Israelis
It was called the Witches' House
The Witches' House was everything and more. A tudor style mansion in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. A crude picture of a witch drawn on the front gate. Lots of 'Raelis. Lots of beds. Internet. DVDs. Cheap.
In the morning I found Wade in the living room. YAY, WADE!!! (Hi, Wade!) He had just met two nice Israeli girls, Donna and Yael, who were also beginning their trip in Peru. Turns out Donna worked last summer as a Mishlachat at Hess Kramer! There are only four Jews!! After Wade repacked my pack, the four of us set off to central Lima. I had a successful go at the Aeromexico office, changing my tickets to stay an extra week.
Lime is a huge city, with traffic, poverty, loud noises, and trash. We spent all day walking around with our packs gazing about as if on drugs. A summery of our peulot:
We witness the changing of the guard at the Palace of the Plaze de Armas. Much like Buckingham Palace in London, only the crowd gathered to watch was mostly locals.
See a ginormous and beautiful Cathedral
Banco Museum of Money, which has on display Peru´s past currency. Sigh.... USA has the most boring paper bills. When will we get colors? When will we get differently-sized bills? When will we get a kick-ass hero pictured, like Tupac Amaru, the cowboy-hat-wearing native who started an Inca revolution against the Spanish?
Patronize a panderia and buy cheese and unknown conitas de manjar. Manjar turns out to be caramel, and is now our favorite word. MANJAR, HOW I LOVE THEE.
A protest (for education?) is going on, and one of the major streets is blocked off from traffic. We sit in the center divider, eating bread and cheese. A gang of kids comes to keep us company. We give them bread. They are cute until they start spitting on my back. As they leave they start play-fighting in the blocked-off street.
Museo Monastary de San Francisco. I must quote the bible here: The underground catacombs are are the site of an estimated 70,000 burials and the faint-hearted may find the bone-filled crypts unnerving - if only for the conservationalist's bizarre decision to rearrange the skulls and femurs into striking rings of concentric circles. FABULOUS.
Adina and Wade gain instant celebrity status as a school on a feild trip (all wearing matching brown track suits with pictures of Madonna and child on back) cross their paths. They all go fucking nuts waving and shouting HI HI HI and asking our name, mobbing the street corner we stand on, giving high-fives, etc.
Stamp Museum of Peru and Post Office. You know how much I like stamps. Adina learns the word sello and Estates Unidos.
Metro super market. Who doesn´t love a good, foreign market? It is here we first see frankfurters in a jar, and buy our first container of manjar.
Pass a building with naked tiger-mermaid doorknobs
Walk a bazillion miles (ten blocks) to bus station, where we are told they don´t have busses to Pisco for the rest of the day. Luckily, before Adina loses her shit, we find out that a different company down the block has a bus. We buy tickets and the bus leaves five minutes later.
On the four-hour bus ride to Pisco, we are shown two disturbing yet bizzarly captivating movies, one a martial arts movie dubbed in Spanish with English subtitles, and two that featured a baby with four eyes (two in each pupil) floating in a jar of formaldehyde. Sadly, we left the bus before we could figure out what happened.
In Pisco, we stay at the wonderful Hostel Belin. Most definitely the best part of the hostel was the large, framed poster of Christina Aguilera above our headboard. God Bless Hostel Belin.
FINALLY IN PERU!!!! At the airport, while in line for customs, the bloke in front of my turned around and started talking to me about travelling in Peru. His name was Kim, and he was from Australia, tooling around South America for who-knows-how-long. (I don´t know how long because he didn´t know how long.) I guess I am as white as they come, and therefor clearly a tourist, "safe" for another gringo to talk to. We ended up sharing a cab to the hostel in Miraflores, but not before we were followed around the entire parking lot and back up to the second floor of the airport by Juan, a guide slash taxi driver slash tour tout slash most annoying person ever. I was trying to find the Aeromexico Airlines office, in order to switch my plane ticket, and Kim said that he would come with me. Kim made the STUPID ERROR of talking to said annoyance Juan instead of saying NO really loudly and then ignoring him while striding forward at a brisk pace. Juan kept trying to lead us around and give us advice, but I am really wary of foreign people approaching me trying to help. I have found that ninety three percent of the time they just want to take you to their buddy´s restuarant or their sister´s cloth store. I like figuring things out for myself, taking a long time to think about how to procede, so that I don´t get ripped off.
Aeromexico office was closed, and that is when Kim made SECOND STUPID ERROR by letting Juan take us in his "taxi" to our hostel. We were going to the neighborhood of Miraflores, to a hostel near a plaza called Plaza Bolognesi. We agreed upon a price to Miraflores with Juan. Halfway there he asks for the address, and I tell him it is norte de Plaza Bolognesi. He takes us to a Plaza Bolognesi and asks to have the address. Hostel doesn´t exist. I show Juan the map, and he gets all huffy and mad at me because my hostel is on the Plaza in MIRAFLORES, while he has taken us to the Plaze in CENTRAL LIMA. CLEARLY IT IS ALL MY FAULT.
Juan demands twice the price plus airport tax to take us to Miraflores, despite the price we had agreed on at the airport. Kim the useless turd does nothing. I get really mad at Juan but my Spanish sucks at this point and he is the one at the wheel, so I am rather at his mercy. Juan drives us to the correct hostel and helps unload our bags. We pay his exorbitant fee. And then Juan has the balls to stand there with a faux worried expression, head shaking, hands outstretched, asking, TEEP? NO TEEP?
On the plane, it occurs to me that this is my first time below the equator! I feel as though maybe I have missed out my entire life by never venturing south. I am super excited about this new experience, but begin to wonder... Will I be able to tell? Will I feel it in my body? Will my center of gravity feel differently? Will I be as tall?
Most importantly, will my carabeener compass work???
(This was by far my dumbest moment.)
manzana con sprite
Joy of all joys, I just ordered my first drink in Spanish!!!
"Manzna con Sprite," I say to the flight attendant.
He looks at me funny and repeats, "Manzana con Sprite?"
I nod. He asks if I want ice, but that I totally miss, only nod when he motions to the ice box. Then he asks me to tell him how much manzana to pour, I realize because he is looking at me with eyebrows raised as the juice slooooowly fills the cup. I motion him to stop, he adds the Sprite, and hands over my drink as I proudly declare, "Gracias!"
Internet, yo habla Espanol!
global soda
Those Mexicans sure know a deal when they see one. After watching four seasons of American Idol, the Aeroporte Internacional de Ciudad de Mexico has, from the looks of it, also become sponsored by Coca Cola.
Not only do they have a Coke cafe, Coke napkins, and Coke posters, but there is also a MUSEUM in the international departure lounge solely dedicated to showcasing the evolution of the ubiquitous Coke bottle.
the yum that is Inka Cola
Sadly, you can only find this neon-yellow, bubble gum-flavored, carbonated beverage in Peru.
You can see the bottle and read about it (in Spanish) here.
