Layover in Lima

After the 14 hour ride from Piura, we found ourselves waking up to two excruciatingly sore backs, unstoppable yawns, and a foggy sky with no intention of lifting in sight. Lima hasn’t seen sun in weeks, maybe months, according to locals and the frequent Peace Corps visitors. After being disappointed by the lack of available seats on the continuing bus to Cusco we were hoping to catch that night, we opted to stay a night in Lima at the party hostel, Loki.

Our adventures have brought us terrible luck thus far after losing some precious goods to the charms of thieves; so we find ourselves in a capital city with the underworld of the market awaiting our heavy wallets. After a long taxi ride and a couple compliments from the driver on my ever-improving Spanish skills, we arrived at Polvos Azules, the blackest of black markets – so black, there are several venders armed with original boxes, stamped with brand names, wrapped in cellophane, ready for you purchase with a smile, until you return home to open the box and find, to your surprise, a rock instead of that $300 camera you thought you purchased. We came prepared, however, and left with some much-needed goodies bought at cheap prices; Michael’s Peruvian futball jacket was the buy of the day. We purchased our bus tickets for the following day and headed off on a long walk back towards Miraflores district in lieu of our lack of change for a taxi.

Craving a delicious meal, one that would break the mold of Santa Isabel’s limited options, we decided to head off to Larcomar, a shopping district built on a cliff overlooking the Ocean. Although the view was quite unimpressive due to the looming gray smog over the landscape, the meal was refreshing and overloading! Food has become my weakness in this trip. I fear I may really gain some weight on this year in world if I don’t start controlling my ravenous appetite for anything tasty! However, I digress on this guilt and give in because, hey, it is my year in the world, and if eating adventurously is something that adds to the experience, so be it. Michael got so excited at the word of an Irish Pub in the area of the hostel; the possibility of an ice-cold, tall Guinness was ringing in his mind as we headed off on the search for Murphy’s Irish Pub, advertised to the Western travelers. Yet to our dismay, the pub was closed and now we find ourselves tucked away at the bar in a popular backpacker’s hostel, soaked with travelers from numerous countries – all most likely dubbed the “hippies” of their culture: sporting sandals with socks, shaggy, unwashed hair, and a jacket that has traversed the whole of South America without seeing the inside of a washing machine.

We are soon off to Cusco, but first we must endure another excruciating 18-hour bus ride to reach our destination.