Two Nights in Lima and Peru´s Your Oyster

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Cally and I arrived in Lima at 9:30 at night, welcomed by a swarm of Peruvian men in cheap suits carrying signs and placards with names like Betty Roberts and Sr. Juan Ramirez on them. None of the signs had our names. No one was waiting for us. But, we had to wait for someone - quite happily though, might I add. We had to wait for our friend to arrive, and I contemplated scribbling her name, Malaika, on a white piece of paper and waiting at the arrivals gate. She was flying from Brisbane to Santiago and finally Lima. Luckily I didn’t assign myself to waiting for her at the gate, because her flight was delayed by a couple of hours.

Eventually Malaika arrived, and we haggled our way into a moderately priced taxi headed for our hostel. The night air was humid, but had a chill about it. Our taxi driver spoke to us in limited in English, and we returned the favour with confirmatory or negatory monosyllables.

Our hostel was nice enough. The staff spoke English, and the premises were clean. There was free wifi. We shared a room with another boy named, Mikkel, who was asleep when we arrived. We quietly got ready for bed and hit the proverbial hay.

The next day ended up being our only day in Lima because we planned to catch the bus to Huancayo the following day. This seemed to fortify our efforts in seeing the seaside Peruvian capital, in its entirety, despite some pretty bad reports from friends who had previously visited the city. And so after an early rise, we went off, mostly on foot and bus, to explore.

Our hostel was in Barranco, which was neighbour to the suburb of Miraflores - a coastal area of Lima that surprisingly had a lot of money and development. Multimillion-dollar apartment blocks overlooked the sea. Locals jogged along the beachfront and sipped coffees in Starbucks. An immense JW Marriott with dual glittering towers beckoned to tourists far and wide. It really was not what I was expecting.
Nonetheless, there still was poverty. Scattered amongst the newer buildings of Miraflores stood old dilapidated structures, with rusted gates and peeling paint. And the further you got out of Miraflores, the more evident this was. Malaika, Cally and I ended up in the centre of Lima, which was probably some of the oldest parts of the town. It was quaint enough, with it’s pastel colours, wrought iron balconies and giant hardwood doors. The people were pleasant, and at no time did I feel in danger or threatened, as some would have you believe.

We ate some really good food, and drank nice beer. It was good.

That night we spent a bit of time at the hostel bar, meeting some other travellers over drinks and pool. There were more Australians there, as there always is. One Brissy boy had some tips for Bolivia, although I can’t remember any of them. He had wild hair and an almost too-happy grin.

Later, after midnight, they all left for a nightclub, but the three of us went to bed. Lima had left us worn out, but content. The next day promised 7 hours on a bus that climbed from sea level to over 3,000 metres. I was eager to get on with it.

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Comments

[Angela Nunn]

looks awesome
hey guys been thinking about you heaps, looks cool so far!! Love the blog, keep us updated!! xxxx