It's 6:00 a.m. I just landed, and I should be exhausted. In an effort to obtain the cheapest airfare possible, it took me 26 hours and layovers in Los Angeles and Mexico City to get to Lima. But here I am!
First things first. While airborne, and asleep, I crossed the equator for the first time in my life. This may not be a big deal for most, but for the geography-minded, this is exciting.
I also note that Mexico City was the capital of Spain's Viceroyalty of New Spain and Lima was the capital of the Viceroyalty of Peru. While it only took me hours to hop from one city to the other, a Spaniard would have taken months to do so centuries ago.
Map of American colonies, circa 1763
Riding in an armored Mercedes?
I have a hotel room booked in the Miraflores neighborhood, a mere 12 km from the airport. My trusty Lonely Planet tells me that the taxi drivers immediately outside the airport have a tendency to be dishonest. I must, the guidebook commands, obtain a taxi from one of the kiosks inside the airport.
Fortunately, my hotel has free airport pick-up. Unfortunately, the hotel never confirmed that it will be sending someone to pick me up. I reluctantly walk up to a kiosk to get a taxi. The nice people behind the desk want $60 USD for the 12 km ride. Tired, cranky, and resigned to being royally ripped off, I hand over my credit card.
I walk out to my waiting car. It's a black armored E200 Kompressor. Overkill much? As I am about to throw my backpack in the trunk, I see a guy running up holding a sign with my name on it. He's from my hotel. Saved! I promptly jog back to the kiosk, get my refund, and throw my backpack in the trunk of his black LPG-powered Kia Optima. Much better, and cheaper.
The traffic in Lima is not unlike that found in other developing countries. Lanes and signals are merely suggestions. Vehicles are separated by inches, not feet. Intersections here are manned by police officers in pedestals sponsored by the fluorescent yellow Inca Kola. Minibuses and cheap motorcycles jockey for position with cars. The uncontrolled smell of exhaust both suffocate and nauseate.
The cars are about 85% Japanese, mostly of 1970s and 80s vintage. Ten percent of the cars are Korean. The remainder are of miscellaneous makes-- American, Russian, VWs, Peugeots, and a few Chinese Geelys.
Sleeping in a triple
I get dropped off at my hotel, the Antigua. I ask the driver if he can give me a tour of the city in the afternoon, after I take a long nap. He says sure, and gives me his cell phone number.
I check in. The single I reserved is unavailable, so I am given a triple for the same price. It is a huge top floor unit. I am happy.
The toilet, by the way, flushed counterclockwise.
I highly recommend the Antigua
Haitian potato
As soon as I lie down to nap for a few hours, I realize that I am not tired at all. I walk to Haiti. It's a swanky cafe/eatery. Its constituents at 9:00 a.m. consist of well-to-do widows dining alone and 65 year old country clubby businessmen (usually in parties of four). I order a simple open faced omelet with onion, sausage, and potato and a cup of coffee. The coffee comes in a tiny cup (by North American standards) and is scalding and strong. What made the meal fantastic was the potato in the omelet. The little pieces were creamy and melted in my mouth. And the flavor was familiar enough so that I knew it was in the potato family, but it was so rich. This was definitely not the Idaho spud that is ubiquitous at home.
The tour
This is either a vicuna or guanaco. For the life of me, I cannot tell these camelids apart.
Pachacamac, Peru, versus
Gaochang, Xinjiang, China
On the way to the ruins, we cruise along the Pacific Ocean. I see a poor guy in a habit leaping 20 meters off a jagged cliff into the water for tips. Before I can tell my guide that I want no part of this sad and insane act, the guy jumped for me. And just as quickly as he jumped, he got out of the water, climbed the 20 meters, and ran over to me for a tip. I obliged and asked him how many times a day, on average, he jumps. He answered precisely-- seven.
During the drive, I capture and process as much information about Peru as possible. A lot of cars in Lima have been converted to run on LPG because they're cheaper to run and they pollute less. 60 to 70% of the gas stations sell LPG. Reading the billboards, I notice the heavy influence of the descendants of Japanese immigrants. Ajinomoto (of MSG fame) of Peru is a large food conglomerate. Mitsui Toyota is a sizeable car dealership. Keiko Fujimori, Alberto's daughter, is a leading presidential candidate. She, by the way, is mum about whether she would pardon her dad if she wins the election.
I ask my guide whether he thinks Sendero Luminoso, the Peruvian Shining Path terrorist group, at its peak, was scarier than Al Qaeda is today. Even though he remembers car bombs going off in Lima (I had mistakenly thought Sendero was relegated to the rural areas), he is more scared of Al Qaeda because it is international in scope and seems uncontrollable.
The second half of the tour was of Lima proper. I walked around the Plaza de Armas, where a couple of grand churches and the presidential palace are situated. There were a lot of machine gun toting guards and shield carrying riot police milling about.
Presidential palace
Dinner and no drink
I cap off the day by dining at Chifa Miraflores as I am obsessed with eating at Chinese restaurants in foreign lands. The Peruvian waitress was surly and apathetic. The Chinese owner, who stood behind the cash register the entire time I was there, was surlier and even more apathetic. I had the shrimp fried rice, which was decent, and washed it down with a bottle of Inca Kola. I was extremely dehydrated from being out all day so I skipped the pisco sour, Peru's national alcoholic beverage. That will have to wait.
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