More blather from the deep South

Two days ago, I found the beach. It wasn't all that hard, really. Just look at a map, figure out which street you're on, and head in the direction that says "Pacific Ocean -> thatta' way."





















I was elated to find myself near the water again. For several reasons, number one of which being that it was the only breath of fresh air I'd swallowed since arriving in Lima. The air pollution here is pretty bad. I was writing to my friend, Akoua, yesterday and I touched on this issue a little bit so it's still fresh in my mind. Right now the majority of cars (and there are a lot of them) run on diesel and are pretty poorly maintained (something about a lack of standards). So when you breathe in, you're breathing in all those toxins. Which my body personally responds to by congesting my sinuses and swelling the lymph nodes in my neck. (They say this allergic reaction to Lima will pass in time.)

In any case, in the 1980s oil companies discovered that the Peruvian rain forest has some pretty major deposits of natural gas. So they began giving the old Indian tribes the boot, in exchange for a few shiny, pretty items (it's called "taking advantage") and started harvesting Peru's natural resources. Which Peru exports, instead of using to their domestic advantage.

Basically, instead of using their own resources to provide their own people with cleaner energy sources, which in turn promotes the health and well-being of its citizens, the Peruvian government insists on making the wealthiest 10% even wealthier.

I'm a big fan of the little guy, so if a little bit of frustration creeps into my story, now you know why. (If you're interested in more accurate reporting, please see Kelly Hearn's work through the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting.)

Now where was I? Ah, yes, breathing in toxins on the harmonious streets of my adopted city, Lima. And hanging out by the ocean, which is where, by the way, perfectly reasonable people such as myself hurtle themselves bodily off of cliffs:





















I can't wait to do that! One of Anthony's coworkers (and, incidentally, one of my former colleagues from my heady days as an agent for the State Department) lives with his family directly across the street from the paragliders' launching station. One of these days, he and his two-year-old can wave as I take one small leap for...mankind?

Needless to say, I walked around for five straight hours that day and I have something to tell you: Lima is HUGE! I barely touched a few square miles of the city in one tiny neighborhood, and there are miles and miles to go...

I also did the Spanish-speaking world a favor and signed myself up for some language classes. I've mangled so much of the language since I arrived, and so few people understand me, that it now appears to be necessary to spend some of Anthony's hard-earned dough on a few lessons. Starting August 4th, yours truly will be spending five days a week in intensive Spanish.

The good news is that the instructor they sent out to test my ability told me a) that she never usually laughs so much during interviews (meanwhile, Ryan is telling her that she completely forgot what her masters degree is), and b) that I am actually at a pre-intermediate level in Spanish. Since my last Spanish class was taken in 1997, I am pretty impressed that I remember anything beyond, "Hola, como estas?"

I also checked out the South American Explorers' Clubhouse in Miraflores. The poor, socially awkward young man they left in charge of the Clubhouse was scary enough to motivate me to never return. I wish him all the best (abrazos a ud., Alex! Nada pero amor, mi amigo...), but he made me so incredibly uncomfortable that I don't care what kind of discounts SAE offers its members in Peru. I'm willing to pay full-price at those US$3/night hostels.

Other adventures included my attempt to find Jeff's cousin's coffee shop, without knowing an exact street address or the name of the cafe. There were several (very painful) conversations in Spanish, before the lovely peruanos put me out of my misery and spoke to me in English. One young gentleman was even nice enough to walk me down the street and point out the location of the newest cafe on the block. It turns out that he was dead right, but it was slightly after 3PM at the time - part of the two-hour afternoon time slot in which the coffee shop es cerrado (closed). Boo.

By the time that adventure was over, I realized it had been about eight hours since I last ate or drank so I began the hour-long trek (I got a little lost!) home.

So, for your viewing pleasure, here are a few pictures...

The view from where I sit

For the time being, we're established in temporary housing in the San Isidro neighborhood of Lima. If you look on a map, this neighborhood is nestled between Miraflores, the swank neighborhood where all the eateries you've heard about are located, and Barranco.

We don't know how long we'll be here, but we hope it's only for a few days. After spending the last month in the states driving up and down the east coast, we're happy to just settle into a single place, without the need for moving again. It would also be nice to just pad over to the back door in the morning to let my dog do her thing in the backyard, without worrying what the neighbors might be thinking about my moose pajamas.

The temporary digs are, of course, pretty fabulous. Our apartment takes up an entire floor of this building:

We have a doorman who, when he's not sleeping at the front desk, jumps up every time he sees us and begins a sprint to the front door so he can hold it open for us. It must be a well-paying job. Although I've been told that Peru's biggest problem is it's poverty; so any job is a good job here.

I should probably clarify a little something that I posted in my first impressions. After eating out for lunch yesterday (mmm, cebiche!), I noticed that no one in the restaurant was smoking. Since lunch is the main meal of the day for Peruvians (coffee and bread are mainstays for breakfast; a small appetizer-sized plate of food is typical for dinner), perhaps they don't smoke that much when eating lunch? I will have to continue to experiment with that theory. Nonetheless, I was extremely gratified NOT to have to breathe in smoke while I was inhaling Anthony's cebiche.

It was also interesting to discover that only a few small blocks from our apartment is...a Starbucks! That's right, your and my favorite American coffee corporation is planning it's takeover of Lima. Oddly enough, the main coffee drink here is actually Nescafé; most Peruvian coffee is simply exported.

Other weird things include (or so I've been told) the local Pizza Hut being a sit-down, table-service restaurant with white tablecloths. Try to figure out how that one happened...

Made it!

Three weeks of traveling up and down the east coast, one pack-out, and one fourteen-hour layover in Miami later, and we're in Lima!

We're also both sick (sore throats, boo!), and just barely cognizant enough of the fact that we just moved to a foreign country.

First impressions:

1) Peru is, like most other places I've visited, very dark at 4AM. But the timing worked to our advantage, as apparently we "flew" through immigration and customs. What took us under an hour (stamping our passports, verifying that we weren't smuggling drugs in our pets' bladders, and picking up our luggage) normally takes multiple hours - like four.

2) Our temporary accomodations (some Master Seargent is currently enjoying our digs, as he waits for his own house to be ready) are GINORMOUS. Living overseas may become very addictive, what with our four-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bathroom apartment as a shining example of State Dept. accomodations.

3) Peruvians like to smoke. A LOT. (Even while they're eating.) This is going to take some getting used to.

4) Peruvian men like to stare. I've been told that it's a machismo thing. Good thing I'm taller than all of them.

5) Peruvians can't drive. We received a bulletin from the embassy, stating something to the effect of, "Peruvians don't follow any traffic laws." They blow through red lights, take right-hand turns from the far left lane, drive the wrong way into oncoming traffic, and often have cars that don't meet standards. This means that accidents involving head-on collisions at night are common, because many cars don't have working headlights. Note to self: don't drive if at all possible.

6) Mel, this one is for you: the supermarket in my neighborhood is called Wong's. Yeah, baby! Oh, and this is where you can get your very own BIMBO bread. I kid you not. (See image below.)