The Perú Diaries, Numero Ocho y último.
Day 8
8:25am
20080201
I know this about myself: I am a silver lining kind of girl. So let me say something. Incessant diarrhea, experienced in a farflung corner of South America, has at least afforded me the opportunity/necessity to wipe my ass with the very newspaper I work for. Literally. I had no choice! The irony is not lost on me, though perhaps some dignity may have been.
As my Unka Dolemite noted, my wink is no longer pink (because it's covered in ink).
I happen to be sitting in the Cusco airport, awaiting my flight back to Lima and moderately bored, so I figured I should mention it. ;) I've noted, because I have become painfully aware of these things, that Perú indeed has a very different bathroom culture than ours. I read this in a travel book on the country and it didn't really stick until now. There is typically no toilet paper in public stalls. If there's any at all, it's at a communal dispenser near the bathroom sinks and one is not supposed to flush it anyway. There are tiny trashcans everywhere for that. It's rather... shall we say... hmm... unconducive to Anglo-American tourism. Given that it's we residents of the finicky-stomached Plastic Wrap World who keep the foreign vacation business alive in South America. And none of us white people particularly likes toilet-centered travel. And yet I've been forced to wonder... Will this amazing and one-of-a-kind sightseeing opportunity include el baño? every time I go anywhere. Blah.
11:34pm
Here I am back in 'my' (ha!) room at Werner and Rosa Maria's (or the 'Pink Maria' as her English Language tapes told her. Hehehehe.) house. We (and by 'we' I mean mi madre y padre, because I really haven't paid for shit at this point) took them to a charming post-modernish bistro in Miraflores called Rodrigo for dinner.
Dinner is not a very popular or large meal here; it is vastly overshadowed by almuerzo, the all-important lunch. Regardless, it was quite nice to have a leisurely last meal and enjoy their company. And I like the old-school gourmanderie of Lima a helluva lot - as the food capital of South America (arguably) and the home of a Cordon Bleu and many other culinary schools churning out rockstar chefs by the dozen, there's plenty to compete with. Lima is a very, very cosmopolitan city. And a very poor one. And fucked up. And beautiful. And crumbling. And teeming. And vivid. But I digress.
The few dinners I've had in Lima have all included impeccable service, plenty of amuse-bouches from the house, inventive palate-cleansing sorbets and gorgeous presentations. This is surely only partly due to the fact that Werner and Rosa Maria have exquisite taste in virtually everything, and have led me to almost every meal I've eaten here.
They have not, however, included any native English speakers on staff, it would seem: among the amusing things on the menu tonight were Whole Life Sauce, tiny peg hands, Thousand Sheets and the rice of the duck. Seriously, I can't make this shit up. I guess South America has its own mysterious Engrish?? Awesome.
I am heavy-hearted to say that this will be my last night here in Antipodea. Our plane leaves mañana at midnight. I have high hopes for tomorrow, mostly involving los catacumbas and a tour of the city, but we'll see. I'm somewhat homesick, slightly travel-weary (due largely to the no less than 6 changes of sleeping venue, multitudinous variations in altitude and utilization of more modes of travel than I could ever fucking count). I'm ready to get back to a familiar bed, a familiar house, a sadly-growing-unfamiliar-with-time-boyfriend, a girlfriend I was used to talking to for hours a day, and the rest of my pangfully estranged peeps. I mean... after 9 days trekking all over Perú, does the fact that I know I'm going to want to go home, take a hot shower, masturbate ferociously, pack a bowl and crawl into bed with Flickr make me an utter dork? Well. So. Duh. Have we met?
My bag and everything in it, including this journal, smell like coca leaves. I'm beginning to forget what it feels like to drive, to have air-conditioning, to make out, to be in public without mentally translating every intended word into pidgin Spanish, to have complete autonomy over where I go and what I do, and to not have constant fucking stomach crap going on. Goddamnit, I want tap water. I want weed. I want to get laid. I want my own pillow. I want my computer. I want to stop looking at all my possessions in terms of how heavy they will be to carry on my back. I want to stop being a fat rich gringa and go back to just being anonymous, and restless.
Not that I'm complaining. Not for a second. This has been one of the most incredible weeks of my life. Beyond just the mind-boggling number of amazing and novel and occasionally somehow life-altering experiences in South America... I have really enjoyed (for the most part) bonding with my parents.
There have certainly been a wealth of moments when I felt like a child, or a tour guide, or the sole member of the group with much of any grace (and that, people, is a sad state of affairs!), or an ungrateful smartass, or a neutralized and impotent variable... I'm truly glad that the three of us could spend this time together. It would have been much different if The Ex or my brother or the Piñata had joined, and most definitely if I had come here alone. All of which were The Plan at one point. I like how this one turned out.
And I'm really proud of both of them; they were being all adventurous and shit, which is so not their deal. I mean, to me, this is a big part of what life's all about. But them, not so much. They're pretty thoroughly midwestern to the core. It has been many many years since they've taken a holiday that was entirely unrelated to work.
Despite being easily able to afford it, my parents both seem programmed to feel slightly guilty and self-indulgent about the idea of vacationing. I'm glad I could provide the excuse! My father has never even left North America (well, Hawaii counts, but even that was for Uncle Sam). I think they have both begun to understand why the most precious and lusted-after and rare and worthy-of-pursuit commodity in my own life is... time. Time and an excellent way to spend it. Because, you know what? Time is the only truly non-renewable resource. It slips through the fingers, and then it's gone. Forever. So don't we owe it to ourselves to wring out every last drop of beauty that time has got to give while it's still in our hands??
It's been awesome. Really. And I'm ready to go home. Hopefully we'll squeeze in one last tour tomorrow. Or maybe I'll sleep all day (yeah, right). No matter what we do, I will return home not having seen or done everything I would have very much loved to do - O, Arequipa! O, Manu Reserve! Lake Titicaca! Colca Cañon! My lovelies! We have a fucking date in the indeterminate future! - but knowing, nonetheless, that Perú has given me just what I wanted out of her.
And that... all of that, all of this, I shall always cherish, as a folded-up snapshot in the back pocket of my brain. Thanks for the memories, Perú. Buenos noches. I'll miss you.
***********************
8:25am
20080201
I know this about myself: I am a silver lining kind of girl. So let me say something. Incessant diarrhea, experienced in a farflung corner of South America, has at least afforded me the opportunity/necessity to wipe my ass with the very newspaper I work for. Literally. I had no choice! The irony is not lost on me, though perhaps some dignity may have been.
As my Unka Dolemite noted, my wink is no longer pink (because it's covered in ink).
I happen to be sitting in the Cusco airport, awaiting my flight back to Lima and moderately bored, so I figured I should mention it. ;) I've noted, because I have become painfully aware of these things, that Perú indeed has a very different bathroom culture than ours. I read this in a travel book on the country and it didn't really stick until now. There is typically no toilet paper in public stalls. If there's any at all, it's at a communal dispenser near the bathroom sinks and one is not supposed to flush it anyway. There are tiny trashcans everywhere for that. It's rather... shall we say... hmm... unconducive to Anglo-American tourism. Given that it's we residents of the finicky-stomached Plastic Wrap World who keep the foreign vacation business alive in South America. And none of us white people particularly likes toilet-centered travel. And yet I've been forced to wonder... Will this amazing and one-of-a-kind sightseeing opportunity include el baño? every time I go anywhere. Blah.
11:34pm
Here I am back in 'my' (ha!) room at Werner and Rosa Maria's (or the 'Pink Maria' as her English Language tapes told her. Hehehehe.) house. We (and by 'we' I mean mi madre y padre, because I really haven't paid for shit at this point) took them to a charming post-modernish bistro in Miraflores called Rodrigo for dinner.
Dinner is not a very popular or large meal here; it is vastly overshadowed by almuerzo, the all-important lunch. Regardless, it was quite nice to have a leisurely last meal and enjoy their company. And I like the old-school gourmanderie of Lima a helluva lot - as the food capital of South America (arguably) and the home of a Cordon Bleu and many other culinary schools churning out rockstar chefs by the dozen, there's plenty to compete with. Lima is a very, very cosmopolitan city. And a very poor one. And fucked up. And beautiful. And crumbling. And teeming. And vivid. But I digress.
The few dinners I've had in Lima have all included impeccable service, plenty of amuse-bouches from the house, inventive palate-cleansing sorbets and gorgeous presentations. This is surely only partly due to the fact that Werner and Rosa Maria have exquisite taste in virtually everything, and have led me to almost every meal I've eaten here.
They have not, however, included any native English speakers on staff, it would seem: among the amusing things on the menu tonight were Whole Life Sauce, tiny peg hands, Thousand Sheets and the rice of the duck. Seriously, I can't make this shit up. I guess South America has its own mysterious Engrish?? Awesome.
I am heavy-hearted to say that this will be my last night here in Antipodea. Our plane leaves mañana at midnight. I have high hopes for tomorrow, mostly involving los catacumbas and a tour of the city, but we'll see. I'm somewhat homesick, slightly travel-weary (due largely to the no less than 6 changes of sleeping venue, multitudinous variations in altitude and utilization of more modes of travel than I could ever fucking count). I'm ready to get back to a familiar bed, a familiar house, a sadly-growing-unfamiliar-with-time-boyfriend, a girlfriend I was used to talking to for hours a day, and the rest of my pangfully estranged peeps. I mean... after 9 days trekking all over Perú, does the fact that I know I'm going to want to go home, take a hot shower, masturbate ferociously, pack a bowl and crawl into bed with Flickr make me an utter dork? Well. So. Duh. Have we met?
My bag and everything in it, including this journal, smell like coca leaves. I'm beginning to forget what it feels like to drive, to have air-conditioning, to make out, to be in public without mentally translating every intended word into pidgin Spanish, to have complete autonomy over where I go and what I do, and to not have constant fucking stomach crap going on. Goddamnit, I want tap water. I want weed. I want to get laid. I want my own pillow. I want my computer. I want to stop looking at all my possessions in terms of how heavy they will be to carry on my back. I want to stop being a fat rich gringa and go back to just being anonymous, and restless.
Not that I'm complaining. Not for a second. This has been one of the most incredible weeks of my life. Beyond just the mind-boggling number of amazing and novel and occasionally somehow life-altering experiences in South America... I have really enjoyed (for the most part) bonding with my parents.
There have certainly been a wealth of moments when I felt like a child, or a tour guide, or the sole member of the group with much of any grace (and that, people, is a sad state of affairs!), or an ungrateful smartass, or a neutralized and impotent variable... I'm truly glad that the three of us could spend this time together. It would have been much different if The Ex or my brother or the Piñata had joined, and most definitely if I had come here alone. All of which were The Plan at one point. I like how this one turned out.
And I'm really proud of both of them; they were being all adventurous and shit, which is so not their deal. I mean, to me, this is a big part of what life's all about. But them, not so much. They're pretty thoroughly midwestern to the core. It has been many many years since they've taken a holiday that was entirely unrelated to work.
Despite being easily able to afford it, my parents both seem programmed to feel slightly guilty and self-indulgent about the idea of vacationing. I'm glad I could provide the excuse! My father has never even left North America (well, Hawaii counts, but even that was for Uncle Sam). I think they have both begun to understand why the most precious and lusted-after and rare and worthy-of-pursuit commodity in my own life is... time. Time and an excellent way to spend it. Because, you know what? Time is the only truly non-renewable resource. It slips through the fingers, and then it's gone. Forever. So don't we owe it to ourselves to wring out every last drop of beauty that time has got to give while it's still in our hands??
It's been awesome. Really. And I'm ready to go home. Hopefully we'll squeeze in one last tour tomorrow. Or maybe I'll sleep all day (yeah, right). No matter what we do, I will return home not having seen or done everything I would have very much loved to do - O, Arequipa! O, Manu Reserve! Lake Titicaca! Colca Cañon! My lovelies! We have a fucking date in the indeterminate future! - but knowing, nonetheless, that Perú has given me just what I wanted out of her.
And that... all of that, all of this, I shall always cherish, as a folded-up snapshot in the back pocket of my brain. Thanks for the memories, Perú. Buenos noches. I'll miss you.
***********************