I woke up with A and after taking our time to get up, she made me breakfast including a type of juice she had been talking about for a while. It was very good. We said our goodbyes and I walked home and had second breakfast that the hostel prepared, and took a little nap. I checked in on work and with I, who was being a little coy. I know when women know something is up. She was leaving to go back to the Netherlands. I did some more work, then watched the disastrous Prince Andrew interview. What a complete and utter piece of shit.
After completing my work, A told me she wanted to cook me dinner, so I cleaned up and walked back to her house. It was a lovely dinner, followed by a lovely evening. We then went to sleep.
The next day, we again took some time to get out of bed and A made me brekie before I walked back to the hostel and she went to work. When I arrived, I saw I had a message from I. I asked her about Antarctica and she told me about her trip. I figured it was time to rip off the bandaid. I never like doing this, but I tried being as honest as I could and told her I had met someone and just got kind of swept up in it. She said she understood and that it might be crowded in her house with three people if I wanted to visit the Netherlands. I agreed. We decided to stay friends.
I had a little lunch and then did some work in the courtyard. I ordered a new computer thanks to the insurance money and ordered it to meet me in New Orleans when I planned to be home for Christmas. As I was sitting there, I met Don, a 60-ish retired architect from California more interested in talking about himself than having a conversation. I knew I did not like him. I soon found out why. He was a pretty big loud mouth that took every opportunity to talk about how awful America was, especially under the current “Nazi” administration. It would be one thing if he and I were just talking, but he had a captive audience of impressionable 20-year-olds from around the world. While I agree that America has its problems, they are nothing compared to the ones that have occurred around the world. I had my fill of his vitriol and went to my bed to work.
I then talked to my friend from the States that had wanted to come visit me on my journey. We made plans for him to come to Lima for a few days, then both of us would head to the former Incan capital of Cusco for a week. It was ambitious, but I knew it would be memorable.
I walked back to A’s and we both went to the supermarket as she needed a few things. I hung outside with Dante. On the way back, we got some very viscous tea because her throat was sore from talking all day. In passing, I mentioned that my sunburn from Paracas was itching, so she talked with the lady behind the cart and got some aloe. After we got back to her place, she put some on my back and was too tired to cook. So, we hung out as we waited for pizza and beer. We started to watch Pulp Fiction, but given the very long day, we decided to call it a night.
Even though A snored a little, it was still a restful night. We woke up and A got ready for work. She had a focus group or something that would go into the late afternoon, so we decided to take a night off. We said our goodbyes and I headed back to my hostel.
When I walked through the door, Jhony, the owner of the hostel, gave me a knowing glance and a smile. I sat down at breakfast and there was some fruit there that A showed me how to eat. They were called granadillas and they were a sweeter type of orange passion fruit with a shell that one cracks like an egg. They were utterly amazing. At the table, my old friend Don was sitting with some asshole Germans. I just minded my food until I mentioned my Pisco problems in Chile. For some reason, one of the German guys tried to challenge my story. I just told him that it was what happened.
I was not feeling too good, probably due to the new exotic food I was eating. I did some work until I felt better. I then went out to lunch. On my street, there were a few small restaurants offering their menu del dia. I had a bowl of soup, a slab of fish, and the unique Peruvian aspect of two carbs, rice and potatoes. It was very good and under $3.
As I had been talking to A about putting my work life online, after lunch I walked around Miraflores looking for a bookstore that would have The 4 Hour Workweek in either Spanish or English, but to no avail. Due to the hot and cold of living on the coast, I stopped at Starbucks and got a hot hibiscus tea. Afterward, I headed back to the hostel where I was invited to attend a parilla and Pisco party that the hostel was hosting later that night. As I had a few hours to kill, I watched the Dinsey film Coco at A’s suggestion. I liked it, even though it was sad at parts.
When the movie ended, I headed up to the roof where the Pisco and parilla party were held. There was a small buy-in, which was fine. I sat down and ate, but Don kept talking about how awful America was. I downed my drink and headed back to the bar, manned by a gentleman named Daniel. Daniel was a Venezuelan Ex-Pat, living in Peru. I began talking to him about his home, the political situation there, and the people that just don’t know how good they have it, eyeing Don. We toasted to a free Venezuela.
Afterward, I talked to A saying that even though we wanted to take a night off, I wanted to see her. She agreed and I headed over. Although it was insanely hot in her apartment, we managed to get to bed at a reasonable time.
We woke up on Thanksgiving Day, and I was indeed very thankful. A bought me breakfast while we were walking Dante. Given the neighborhood, there were a few embassies about. Right around the corner from A’s place was the Spanish embassy. Dante had the incredible obsessive compulsion that he no doubt learned being a former street dog, that he needed to relieve himself in the middle of the road, much to the annoyance of drivers. To add another dimension, he only did it in the street in front of the Spanish embassy, always looking at the guard station while he did his business.
A had an office field trip today, so I put her in a cab and sent her on her way; our morning ritual. I walked back to the hostel, had breakfast at the hostel where Don was indoctrinating a new crop of impressionable 20-somethings on the merits of Socialism. I had to translate for Paola, a young lady from Cordoba, Argentina his nonsense. Afterward, I was sleepy, so I took a nap for a bit.
When I woke up, I talked to my family and asked them what they were doing for the holiday. I went to lunch again at the small restaurant I visited before, had a yummy lunch, did some work, and took another little nap.
I woke up, took a shower, got dressed in a coat and tie, and headed over to A’s as she made us a reservation for Thanksgiving dinner. We walked Dante and I started talking about maybe extending my trip to Israel after the holidays. We bought a bottle of wine as the place was BYOB and as we were walking back to her place she asked me if I thought about continuing what we had going after Peru. I took a moment and told her I had not really thought about it. Her energy completely changed when I said that. She seemed a little colder and a little distant after that.
We hopped an Uber to dinner and talked some more on the ride, but less than we did before. We got to the restaurant and were greeted by Brandi, a lady from Texas and her husband that proceeded to serve us a multi-course delicious Thanksgiving meal. Between courses and a few glasses of wine, I told A it felt like the energy between us had changed. She said it didn’t, that we were fine, and then she went right back to how we were. We talked a lot; about my trip, about my friend that was coming to Peru, and about the history of Thanksgiving. I paused and thought about how thankful I was to be an American. After the meal, I went to pay. I was told by Brandi that it had already been taken care of. A bought me my Thanksgiving dinner. I gave her a big kiss on the cab ride back to her place. We went to bed early as she had an early day. It was a great night.
Woke up the next day after that lovely Thanksgiving dinner. A and I did our morning ritual and I headed back home after. I relaxed a little, took a nap, then went for a walk.
I headed back down to the beach but headed in the other direction heading north. There was a monument to surfboards, a dead seal, and a guy that was sleeping on the beach with a rock on his chest. I did not investigate that further.
Where I was able, I walked back up the bluffs and past a skate park. If a kid got enough air and there was a good wind, he would fly off the bluffs into the Pacific. I walked past a few cafes, parks, and even a bunch of paragliders.
I walked back to the hostel, relaxed a bit, talked with a few clients, then headed back to see A. She had some work to do and was a bit emotional. Apparently, the powers that were at her office were bullying her. We walked Dante, got some beer, and had our leftover Thanksgiving dinner.
Things were going well with her, so it popped into my mind to ask if she would like join me in exploring some other parts of Latin America. Her eyes lit up. We chatted a bit more, but she had some work and was tied up. After the work was done, we cleaned up and went to bed.
Since it was the weekend, A had the day off and we decided to spend the day going to a local market. Located in Miraflores, we walked on an overpass to the market. Looking down, I could see on the busy highway, that there was a lane specifically for buses like they were metros. It was pretty ingenious.
As we were walking, A told me about some of the underbellies of Peru, especially when it came to violence. Apparently, it was a common thing here where if a man felt he was jilted by a former lover, he would find her, splash her with gasoline, and set her on fire. Recently, a man did this on a city bus. He was arrested and tried not for killing his former girlfriend, but for maiming a few other people on the bus.
We got to the market and it was like Las Vegas in Santiago, just fresh things everywhere. A got a bunch of her favorites including tunas (cactus fruit,) aguaymanto (gooseberry,) higos (figs,) and my old nemesis, the chirimoya. Although this one was much riper. We then headed down to the cliffs overlooking the ocean to a club where her grandmother was a member.
As we walked, I asked her about her father as she never mentioned him. She said that she had only seen him three times in her life. When I asked where she thought he was, she said probably in Germany. Apparently, she had aunts and uncles there.
We stopped at a place to get some white wine to go with our fruit and when we arrived at the club, were shown a room overlooking the Pacific. We sat there drinking and eating and it was a very nice day.
We headed back to her place but stopped to get some dinner. As we were waiting for our burgers to be made at a hole in the wall, we talked more about our families. We walked over to her place, had our dinner, hung out some more, and then went to sleep.
The next day, A told me she had her mother’s birthday to attend, so I skedaddled back home. Her sore throat was not from talking but from a mild cold that I had caught. I had been a little sick, but she had been taking care of me. I got went back to the hostel, napped, watched the very underwhelming Irishman, then headed back to A’s where I cooked her Spaghetti. It was very good if I say so myself. We went to bed soon after as she had an early day which was nice. However, apparently, her other weird roommate was having incredibly loud sex all night, which I apparently slept right through.
The next day, I headed home and just had a relaxing day at the hostel, catching up on everything I needed to. That night, there was kind of a weird Uruguayan man that came to Peru for a “spiritual experience.” He then whipped out what looked like a pipe with a long tube that then forked into two. He packed the two upper parts with some unknown powder, then crammed them up his nose as he blew on the lower end of the pipe. After which he immediately snorted everything in his nasal cavity. After he consumed the contents, he looked at my obviously surprised face and said, “Don’t worry, it is legal.”
On the other couch, Don the Boomer Socialist dropped some CBD, then went into the kitchen with a young culinary squire and they made guacamole for some reason. It was an incredibly strange night. I said my good nights and went to bed.
The next day, Ted arrived. Now, Ted and I had been friends since kindergarten. While I went to college down in the Big Easy, Ted stayed up North. He went to school in DC, then started working in Pennsylvania. He made a bunch of shrewd investments and really had not needed to work since. We went to Argentina together in 2009, so it seemed fitting for him to come and visit me in Peru almost exactly 10 years later.
I walked to his hotel which was halfway down Avenida Larco. We then walked back down the avenue where there was an open-air mall. We made our way to a restaurant that had a lovely view of the ocean, had a few drinks, and some food while I told him some of what I had seen and experienced so far. I took him to Baranco, showed him around some of the funkier parts, then walked down to the beach. We walked back to Miraflores, and got dinner in a pop-up location by his hotel that had eight different restaurants and bars. I then walked him back to his hotel, dropped him off, then headed over to see A.
I woke up, went and got Ted, then headed downtown for a walking tour. Unfortunately, due to the jetlag, Ted asked if we could skip the tour and get some food. I asked A if there were any good places downtown and she said we should go to the Gran Hotel Bolivar. This place reminded me of the old-time, classic hotels in New York, New Orleans, or Los Angeles. Anyone who was anyone stayed at the Gran Hotel Bolivar and their black and white glossies hung on the walls. We took a seat, and our older waiter came to serve us. I introduced Ted to some more Peruvian fare. It was delicious.
We decided to get out of downtown as there was a protest brewing, so we caught an Uber back to Ted’s hotel. I dropped him off so her could take a nap. It was at this time that my glasses broke! Apparently, the screws I had holding them together were not stainless as they had rusted in half. I took them to three different stores along Avenida Larco until I found one that said they could fix them for $10. I needed them immediately and told the proprietor thusly.
I got my spare glasses, walked back to pick Ted up, had a juice at a juice bar, then headed to a collection of restaurants and bars called Mercado 28 to meet A for dinner. She was a little late as she had work and it was rush hour. We had a great time with drinks and food. I got Peruvian Poke! We all took an Uber back, dropped Ted off, then she and I walked back to her place. She said a lot of sweet things, more than my last four girlfriends combined. We got back to her place, then after talking and cuddling a bit, we went to bed.
The next morning, A and I lazily stayed in bed longer than I had anticipated. She made me breakfast, but I was running late, so I took an Uber back to my house. Halfway there, I realized I had left my sunglasses at A’s place, and I needed them. I was able to get back to A’s before she left for work. I then took another Uber to Ted and we both headed over to San Isidro.
San Isidro was a well-to-do neighborhood not that far from Miraflores. It was where the upper-middle class of Peru lived, including A’s mother, grandmother, aunt, and uncle. The museum was etched into a cliff face overlooking the ocean.
So here is a crash course in late 20th Century Peruvian politics. Peru was again, one of the nations under the wing of Operation Condor. Although, unlike other countries mentioned before, there was an incredibly active armed insurgency located in the jungles and mountains of central and eastern parts of the country. Known as the Sendero Luminoso or Shining Path, this particular brand of communism was inspired by the military exploits of Mao Tsetung. Their goal was to overthrow the government and install a New Democracy, a dictatorship of the proletariat. While founded in 1969 as a spinoff communist group in a crowded front, the militarized insurgency began in 1980. The amount of bloodshed they would inflict on the population centers and countryside of Peru was significant and incredibly violent. Bombings and executions were common. A rare aspect was that 50% of the members were women.
The museum had a lot of interesting information. Some of the things that stood out were that the insurgents insisted on wearing their uniforms as they saw that they were in a war. Unlike other insurgencies, especially the ones in America was involved in the late 20th and early 21st Centuries, this was not common.
Another aspect was the absolute brutal treatment of the native populations by the President and dictator Alberto Fujimori. For example, he forcibly sterilized 200,000 Andean women as a way to keep the insurgent number from growing.
Finally, and this was the part that really stuck out for me, was a simple ice cream cart. All around Peru, vendors would walk the streets with insulated carts on wheels offering frozen treats to children and adults alike. During the course of this terror, many were in the wrong place at the wrong time as either bombs exploded or they were caught in the cross fire. As an homage, other vendors would write the names of their compatriots that died on their carts for they knew that given a simple twist of fate, it could have been them.
After, Ted and I walked along the bluffs back to Miraflores, stopping for lunch at a cliffside restaurant. We then parted ways as Ted needed to get his laundry and I needed to check on my lenses. It turns out they were not ready! I told the guy I really needed them and I would be back in an hour to get them. I hiked home, took a shower, packed, then hiked back to the store, my luggage in tow. Miraculously, my lenses were done, so I got them, paid, and walked to Ted’s. I scooped up Ted and we got an Uber with a Venezuelan driver and headed to the bus station.
We had to wait a little, then we loaded up and found our seats. It was like the really nice bus I took from Santiago. Ted was very impressed. We settled snugly in our seats, numbers 26 and 27 on the upper deck, watching Peru pass us by as we drove through the night and day to Cusco.