AccLIMAting

The first posting is inevitably trite – the obligatory airport rendezvous and proverbial “first day of school”; with any luck the second will be more entertaining. On Friday night I was taken to a “Foclor” (Folklore) show called Las Brisas de Titicaca where my hosts and I witnessed various traditional dances originating from the Puno province near Lake Titicaca; after a few glasses of beer, my traditional pastime, I was on the dance floor two-stepping to a Native American marachanga flute. Saturday began with a much revered slice of turon and a salver of ceviche, followed by a tour of downtown Lima, including the Presidential Palace and the archetypal historic cathedral, and ended with a drive high above to city to a view point where it is possible to see how over nine million inhabitants have constructed their quarters in a space meant for far fewer.

Sunday’s lunch featured the sanctimonious pisco sour, a surprisingly delectable blend of brandy, egg, and lime, and countless conversation, the last three hours of which were lost in translation. Monday’s tour included the “Real Felipe” a fort constructed by the Spanish to defend their colony from competing European powers, which was ironically used later by the Peruvians to gain their independence; in the afternoon the in-laws and I went to Larcomar, a first world shopping center built into the side of a cliff. Originally I was to embark Wednesday on a ship headed for the south to partake in a relief effort but a change of plans has postponed the date to Thursday at the earliest. Brilliant or disastrous, this adventure is certain to provide fodder for a good blog.

Initial Impressions

Upon my arrival at the Jorge Chavez International Airport late Wednesday night, I was greeted by my hosts, the charming parents of a former colleague at the Embassy. The drive from northern Lima to the southern district of Chorillos was uneventful save the myriad lights (Lima has over 9 million inhabitants) and the proximity of most edifices to the Pacific Ocean. Thursday morning witnessed the birthday celebration of “Charito”, a life-long friend from the local parish, in which I was surrounded by a generation twice removed from my own discussing, in a colloquial Castilian, growing old, gaining weight, and, of course, where everyone was the day of the earthquake. The afternoon was spent in the kitchen with my senora, Abelinda Portugal, and the domestic servant, Rosa, clearly of indigenous origin, peeling oranges and conversing over nominal affairs.
My initial impressions of Lima are that it is cold (in the climatic sense) and intimidating. The temperature hovers around 60 degrees Fahrenheit and is cooler in the evenings. Though the home where I am staying is very modern and looks out onto the beach, the neighbor still contains many unfinished structures and, shall we say, humble settlements. Any attempts to acclimate are generally demurred by friendly warnings: “be careful not to be robbed by taxi drivers” and “make sure to always lock the doors” which do little to provide comfort. I feel that despite my desire to take full advantage of this situation, it is more important to preserve my safety than to “prove my virility”, as was said by a wise friend.