Can not help the inevitable letdown after mountain biking the "Road of Death" outside La Paz. But make the most of my short evening journey to Lima. The aircraft is spacy, uncrowded, the view passing over Lake Titicaca is stunning, and the skies are for the most part clear. I land, and pass right through customs and baggage in record time. Could this be a portent of good things to come? A swarm of smiling greed merchants offer every service imaginable. "Taxi?" I am queried repeatedly. "Si, cuanto cuesta?" They tell me 40 dollars. "Bullshit," I rejoin in my best Spanish bark. I have already been told to pay no more than $18. I walk another 50 feet, get approached again, and now make offers instead of taking them. I get a ride clear across town for $18.
Lima looks just like Los Angeles from the air. Lots of avenues, lots of red tile, flat, spread out, and endless. It is afterall, a city of nearly nine million. When on the ground, the similarities continue. The architecure is much the same -- only cleaner and more modern in Lima, especially in the Miraflores section I am staying in (an area that has many of the embassies and has a reputation for being safe). Most of it is Colonial in style and very attractive. Very stylish and colorful. The air is sweet and thick, unlike La Paz. The coast road, going past a vastly underdeveloped waterfront and beach (just like in Punta Arenas), reminds me specifically of Pacific Coast Highway down in Southern California, but without the hamburger stands and real estate signs. Generally, I spend the rest of Thursday evening just winding down, enjoying the air density, and catching up on writing and admin duties -- which are quite plentiful on a trip of this magnitude.
A quick example: Bank accounts, credit cards, getting cash -- never easy here, accounting, marking and tracking daily expenses (they run away really, really fast) making arrangements for the next hostel stay at the next highlight stop, asking where to go for the best meals and must-see sights, stops at the hostel or hotel travel desk to make future arrangements, getting visas, laundry, e-mails, the blog and pix … it is not all "go out to eat and then play."
Friday starts off well. A quick trip to the nearby Paraguay Consulate, and I learn I can get my visa in an hour upon my return Wednesday from Easter Island. Many of the normal requirements, will be waived. This appears to be a karmic balancing act, for all my difficulties in Santiago with the Brazilian visa pursuit. Then on to lunch, at an Italian (they always have the best road food, if you are not getting local dishes) restaurant in Miraflores called "La Trattoria." Clean, nice, pleasant waiters who speak English, a nice menu, reasonable prices, and curious thick leather straps with snaplinks attached to virtually every chair. I ask about their purpose. The waiter smiles, opens up one of the links, and attaches it to my backpack. A theft defense against "snatch and run artists." He need not say a word. I go on to have one of the best personal pizzas ever eaten, along with a generous Copa de Malbec (one of my favorite red wines).
From there, to the Museo Pedro Osma. Recommended by two men at the restaurant. Largely iconography, by Peruvian painters copying the renaissance style in Europe, at a time when the only art that existed was religious art. Museum is lovely, but small. It has a very nice silver display and gold coin collection, as well. You can breeze through in 45 minutes. The cost is attactive, at approximately three dollars, and the taxi ride over only four dollars. Since it was a quick whirl, I get a ride to Lima El Centro and the "Museo de Arte Lima," a longer taxi ride. This time it is about five dollars. And the museum offers modern art, textiles, and classic art. Entry fee is again, about three dollars. Can breeze through once more in less than an hour, largely due to the fact that the appreciation is all visual, given the lack of English explanations on the signage adjacent to each painting. Once again, while using the bathroom (bano), a pile of papers I have laid out on the counter is stolen. Luckily, they are museum promo pieces and notes, and not items of importance. Still, I have enjoyed the experience.
Wander from there to the adjacent Embarcacion Park. Wonderful place. Very green, very safe, clean, lots of families, and lots of water. Couples paddle away on boats in a small lagoon, and kids everywhere are feeding the geese and other birds with easily purchased comida pesce (fish food). I buy a Coca Cola (whose availability here is ominipresent) and of course, gelato. While wandering, local food vendors don't seem to understand that dinner while eating dessert just doesn't make sense. They get somewhat pushy, in offering me llama, rabbit, pollo (chicken), carne (beef), pesce (fish), and "las pelotas de toro" which of course at home we call "Rocky Mountain Oysters" (bull's balls). The market at the park is so enjoyable, I decide to just tour, sit, and chill. An entire pitcher of sangria followed by a chaser (Pisco Sour) together costs $8. Meanwhile, I get to enjoy the company of neverending vendors, musicians (who at the end of their gig head straight for me to sell their CD's or request a donation, since I am the only Gringo in the entire audience), and occasional wanderers wanting to ... again ... "practice their English." Finish my stay there as twilight descends, with a delicious plate of pig meat (cerdo or chancho) and dried corn (maize).
The evening delivers another of those "road lessons" I wish I'd caught or just absorbed better at least, earlier on. It is not like I haven't taken a taxi before.
And despite all the warnings, and the necessity of clarifying price especially ahead of time. I get a taxi back from the park to my hostel with "Freddy." He learns of my evening plans, and future travel plans. Says he will wait for me while I change, get rid of my backpack, etc. Takes me back to El Centro to a nightclub. Fun entertainment, inexpensive beer, good music, etc. Lots of other options nearby. But Freddy stays -- again. Without invitation. He drinks a few beers. I drink a few. I head home uncharacteristically early, at 11:30 PM, largely because I haven't completely shaken the diarrhea acquired in La Paz yet. Freddy is only too happy to drive me there -- I have previously tipped him well. Perhaps too well. Now he thinks we are a team. To make a long story short, when I get back to my hostel, he wants 100 solas (about $33, by Peruvian standards), and an outrageous amount for whatever it is he thinks he has done. I have already paid for both of my taxi rides with him, to this point, both going to Miraflores and returning to El Centro. "What for?" I ask. "I gave up my evening for you," he explains haltingly, one word at a time, in alternating Spanish and English. "Three rides. I wait. I wait again. I keep you company. I drink beer with you. You need to pay for my time." I laugh. He doesn't understand. I indicate to him, that I did NOT ask him to stay, or wait, that he offered. And he made no representation ahead of time there would be an extra charge for this service. Imagine that, I advised him ... charging me to sit with me and drink beer I am unwittingly paying for?!?! We argue. Slowly. One word at a time. The terms "antes" (before) and "despues" (after) come up frequently. I tell him -- again, slowly and haltingly -- that had he given me a choice ahead of time, whether to have his company and get charged for it, and pay for his beer as well, I would have saved the money and neglected to keep him along. The whole situation is a direct reminder of Carmen's warning back in Copacabana: "Beware a Peruvian Friend" (Only part of her warning trifecta I haven't run into is a Bolivian Policeman, and hopefully I am past that intriguing opportunity). We settle at half the amount. I figure the lesson is worth the limited cost in dollars, and saves me further argument, and keeps me from getting stranded further along in town in a place I am not familiar with should he choose to see things differently and take off in a rush.
Today (Saturday) I basically stay in all day. Admin things to do, writing to catch up on, disappointment certainly with local motivations and methods, catching up on sleep, bags to pack, and travel arrangements to make. My advice is to select a B&B or hostel where they clearly indicate they have bi-lingual staff and travel advisors. It is worth paying more for. Otherwise, getting useful and timely travel advice to points of interest will be difficult, if non-existent.
This evening, wanting to get more out of Lima than had been experienced to date, I asked the staff at yet another hostel (which I will return to on Wednesday, after Easter Island) where an excellent place for dinner might be? They refer me to "La Rosa Nautica," on the Playas or Beach. It is in a beautiful pier location, extended far out into the pounding surf along the waterfront below Miraflores. The architecture is flawless Colonial, but all white -- without the standard color variations and iron balistrades that usually make up the Colonial style. The pier is bathed in moonlight. Most of the hucksters on the way in are a better breed -- older, classy, nicely dressed, conversational, determined but friendly, and yielding to the term "solo mirando" (just looking). I decide to dine well. Ask the waiter for recommendations, specifically pointing out an interest in Peruvian food. He indicates I should have the ceviche as a starter. Now, this is not your garden variety beach ceviche you can get for $2 down in Mexico. This dish is top drawer. It is shaved, not sliced or cubed, so the lime marinade can seep into every pore. And it is not white fish only, but also octupus, scallops, clams, red onion (cebollas), tasty dried maize, and other delicacies I do not recognize. It is perfect! Along with that, two glasses of Malbec, and Chateaubriand as a Second (main course). The latter is your prime cut of beef, thick and juicy and slightly briny, to really bring out the flavor. Now, the last time I had this beef, I had run a quarterback sneak 86 yards for a touchdown and returned a kickoff 90 yards for a touchdown moments later to win a close football game in high school. My Dad thought I deserved something special. Tonight, years later, I felt the same way and remember the platform for emblazing the memory. With ceviche, Chateaubriand, Malbec, bread, coffee, plus lemon and passionfruit helado, it still came to barely over thirty US dollars.
Next: La Isla de Pascua -- Easter Island !
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