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Published: June 15th 2008
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After having read about taxi kidnappings on the internet, I was prompted to make arrangements before my trip for a driver to come pick me up at the airport and drop me off at a reputable hostel. Yet here I was, wandering around the airport at nine o’clock at night, driverless. I asked the information booth where I could make arrangements for a hotel and an official taxi to take me there. At this point, it would make sense to pay more for a nicer hotel rather than wander around at night looking for the hostel which I booked.
They point me up, towards the second floor, “you’ll find some travel agents there to help you.”
I nodded. “Gracias.”
As I walked off the escalator to the second floor, a man in a uniform greeted me.
“Are you looking for hotel?” He said.
“Yes.” I replied.
“Where are you going?”
“Miraflores.”
“I will help you. Come. Follow me” He waved.
The man walked rapidly back down to the first floor keeping several paces ahead of me. I had to quicken my pace just to keep up. When I realized he was leading me outside the airport, I asked him
where he was going.
“It’s okay”, he said, “I work for airport. Come.” He flashed a white badge with some writing on it. He did it too fast, I couldn't read what it said.
I followed, but stopped at the exit. It was dark out. There were no police officers outside.
I stood meters from the doorway and shook my head. “No. I’m not going outside.”
He waved angrily at me and continued walking off into the night.
I turned around and head back into the heart of the airport.
It was a scam. I had come very close to getting lured out of the safety of the airport by a fake employee and getting robbed.
Unexpectedly, I found my driver. He had a piece of cardboard with a name written on it using a pen that had much too thin of a stroke. My name was misspelled.
“Ady Yo?” He said.
Oh well. I guess that’s me. I’m Ady.
…..
In the old man's hand was a bag of candy. His other hand stretched out from his body with his palm facing up. His eyes looked down. There was a kind of tiredness about
Monastario de San Francisco
There were some really cool catacombs underneath. Too bad no photos allowed. him. A small boy huddled beside the old man. Passersby, locals and tourist alike, walk by avoiding eye contact, as if the old man and boy were not there at all.
“Cuanto Cuesta?” I bent down to ask.
He replies, “<…..> centimos.” I had not yet learned my Spanish numbers past the number ten, but the word “centimos” definitely meant "cents". I could not make out the rest. So I handed him a Sol (about thirty cents US). His arm reached into the bag and returned with a handful. I took one out of his hand and said "gracias". I didn’t want any candy anyways.
…..
A car almost hit me today. It jumped the curb and came onto the walkway. I have to be more careful crossing the street.
.....
It was my first Pisco Sour ever. Not bad. The tang of the lemon, the creaminess of the egg, and the strong bite of the Pisco brandy blend together surprisingly well. For lunch, I ordered my first dish of ceviche mixto, a dish of raw fish and seafood mixed in lemon juice, served with a side of large-kernel maize. I savored my meal slowly
Huanca Pullanca
Ancient ruin...ehhh as the guy I met in the hostel yesterday told me of his travels. I’m a fast eater, but I’ve learned to enjoy slowly the food I find while traveling. Who knows, this might be my last Pisco Sour ever.
…..
“Japonaise?”
“No. De China.” I replied.
“Oh you are Chinese.” She exclaimed, her English was quite good. “You know, my last name is Wong.” She continued.
“Oh really?” I reply, a bit surprised. She didn't really looked Chinese.
“Yeah, there are a lot of Chinese-Peruvians in Lima.”
They are the descendants of Chinese laborers, brought over from the “Coolie Trade.” The sheer number or Chifas (Chinese restaurants; the word Chifa derived from the Chinese words for “wine-rice”) are reminders of that past. How strange that my memories of Peru will forever include Chinese fried rice of all things.
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