stranded at the airport...

There have been times when I have flown standby that I have missed a flight and had to wait a few hours for the next one. There was even a time I was stranded in Atlanta on my way to Nashville, and my friend Aimee drove four hours to pick me up. I guess it's inevitable that I would eventually be stranded overnight. I just wasn't expecting it to be this time.

My flight was scheduled to depart from Lima at 1:20am. Knowing that a few hours at the airport would be devoted to the toilet, I arrived a bit (or rather, 4 hours) ahead of time. In Lima, standby works a bit differently and after waiting an hour on line, I was handed a piece of paper and told to come back an hour before the flight to check for available seats. The paper explained that flying standby out of Lima was tough due to weight limits on the airplane and that it is not uncommon to be stranded for weeks in Peru. Not too comforting since there was only one flight a day out of Lima.

After waiting three hours, the Delta employee stepped forward and called three names. None of which were my own. For some reason, I always have this faith inside of me that I am going to get onto the flight, so when my name wasn't mentioned, I had to make sure that I heard correctly. And I did.

I decided to spend the night at the airport, since taking a cab alone after midnight in Peru can be somewhat scary (there´s no way to disguise my blonde hair and backpack signaling that I´m a tourist). And honestly, I didn't know if I would be able to make it to a hostel without having to stop to use the bathroom on the way (at this point, my trips were fairly frequent).

Surprisingly there were a decent amount of backpackers lying out on the floor of the airport, so I rested my head on my backpack and gripping my bag tightly, I made myself at home. I learned that a backpack makes a comfy pillow and the airport floor never quite warms up to the temperature of a human body. I think I managed to sleep about three hours, before being woke up by crowds of people all around me. And now here I am, at the airport awaiting my next chance at getting on a flight at 1:20am. Wish me luck...

The "Peru Flu"

The remainder of my time in Peru was spent visiting the touristy center of Miraflores, venturing to the beach and exploring the actual city of Lima. Miraflores is a big tourist area, with an assortment of shops and restaurants overlooking the beach. There are tons of things to do, from video arcades to movie theaters and a bowling alley. Nearby is parapente, or paragliding, as termed in the United States. Dan and I decided against parapente due to the expensive price and the fact that it didn´t seem as exhilerating and scary as we had imagined it to be. The beaches of Miraflores consisted of a small area of rocks, crowded with Peruvians. Not a huge fan of sand, I preferred the rocky beaches, despite the slight uncomfort of lying down on a bed of rocks.

The actual city of Lima contains many historial landmarks and churches, and tons of people. Unless you have a love of churches and political buildings, one day was the perfect amount of time to spend in the city center.

During our time in Peru, Dan and I attempted to try every authentic Peruvian dish possible. Here were some of my favorites:

-

Ceviche (raw fish marinated in a lemon seasoning, served with onions and sweet potatoes)

Anticuchos (beef marinated in Peruvian spices and grilled)

Chaufa con pollo (Peruvian rice with chicken)

Raspadillas (crushed ice with delicious fruit flavoring, sold at the beach)

Pisco sour (cocktail made from pisco, sour mix, egg white and sugar)

Churros (cinammon, sugar pastry filled with deliciousness)


However, as a result of Dan and my dauntless eating habits, my last day in Peru was spent on the toilet. Or rather, alternating turns on the toilet with Dan. Apparently, traveler's diarrhea, or TD, is the most common illness affecting travelers, commonly accompanied by abdominal cramps, nausea and bloating.

While doing a bit of research on TD, I came across the following which made me laugh...

"There are a number of colloquialisms for travelers' diarrhea contracted in various localities, such as "Montezuma's revenge," "turistas," or "Aztec two step" for travelers' diarrhea contracted in Mexico, "Pharaoh's Revenge," "mummy's tummy," in Eygpt. "Delhi belly" in India, "kabulitis" in Afghanistan. In Canada it is termed "Beaver fever." A recent local term in Thailand is "Thai-dal wave." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Traveler's_diarrhea). I guess what I have can be called the "Peru flu."

Dan and I made sure not to drink any water unless it was bottled, but forgot to avoid crushed ice and raw fish. We were unprepared for the extent in which Peruvian food would disagree with our stomachs. Hopefully it goes away soon...

only in peru...

Children as young as four can be spotted selling candy on the streets.

Taxi cabs honk their horns for absolutely no reason.

Buses have men hanging off the side, convincing passerbys to hop on.

There are no bathrooms in the back of the buses that people sit on for 6 hours at a time.

Taxi drivers continue conversing with you at normal speed, even after you inform them that you don´t speak Spanish.

Street vendors hop on the bus in attempt to sell things during stops.

- Taxi cabs get lost, drop you off in the middle of nowhere and charge you extra for the time spent lost.

Dogs roam the streets and follow you into restaurants.

The one English word everyone knows how to say is "Obama."

You can get electrocuted by the shower head in the hostel bathroom.

You can play soccer in the street as cars zigzag around you.

I can be told I look like britney spears and Dan, Arnold Schwartzenager.

sand surfing

Dan and I chose to go sand surfing during the afternoon/evening session to avoid being out in the blaring sunlight. Apparently, there is a constant overlooming cloud in the town of Lima, but once you go twenty minutes outside the city, the clouds clear and the sun can be seen. I discovered this on the bus ride to Ica and it was reinforced once we arrived in the desert oasis of Ica. Our hostel was surrounded by endless mountains of sand, or dunes, as I guess they are more properly called.





At 4:30pm, Dan and I boarded a "dune buggy" to depart for our sand surfing adventure. A dune buggy is similar to an SUV, with the doors replaced by metal bars and seatbelts that go over your head, locking you firmly in place as if you are on an amusement park ride. Since Dan and I can never fully understand the directions given to us since they are spoken in Spanish, we boarded the dune buggy with what we thought were the necessities: a camera, water and sneakers. Looking around we noticed that everyone was wearing sunglasses. About to embark into a desert of sand, sunglasses might have been a good idea...




Without warning, our driver accelerated full speed into the dunes. From here forward the experience is difficult to describe. Imagine being in an SUV without doors, driving full speed through endless mounds of sand, with nothing else in sight. I gripped the bar in front of me with all my might as the driver accelerated down slopes approaching 90 degrees, swirving in circles over bumps that made me thank the lord for my seatbelt.

Once we were what seemed like miles away from civilization, the buggy stopped and the sand surfing began. Or rather, the sand sliding began, since once the height of the mounds of sand were seen, everyone chose to glide down on their stomachs on the board, rather than their feet. Gripping onto the straps intended for feet, tucking my elbows in, spreading my legs and lifting my feet off the ground, I took off down the hill...

To my surprise, no sand got in my eyes as I glided smoothly down to the bottom, speeding up rapidly as I approached the bottom. The slopes got a bit steeper as time went on and I'm not going to lie, I dragged my feet a tad bit on the last hill of the day, so that I would avoid wiping out.

Some engine trouble on the way back left us stranded in the sandy oasis while we waited for a new buggy to come and pick us up. At the end, covered in sand, we made our way back to civilization, exhausted from a great day.

Feliz Ano Nuevo!

During our first day at our hostel in Peru, Dan and I spent some time speaking with Louis, the owner of the hostel, who was one of the few people we met who spoke English very well. Louis recommended that we give sandsurfing a try and told us about Ica, a small town 6 hours south of Lima, popular for its sand dunes. New Years Eve Dan and I boarded a bus that appeared to be going to Ica. Nothing is guaranteed when you don't know the language! The bus was a bit smaller than a typical American coach bus would have been, and lacked bathrooms and air conditioning, and the ride was an experience in itself.

The entire ride my eyes were glued to the window as we passed towns that reminded me that I was in a third world country. Towns in ruins that appeared as if they had been abandoned years ago, were bustling with children running around and small shops and places to eat. It seemed surreal, as if I were a fly on the wall looking into a world that I could have only seen on television.

Luckily, a mere 6 hours later, we arrived in Ica to once again be attacked by taxi drivers. One taxi cab driver caught our attention as he tried to convince us to go to a different hostel than the one we had already made a reservation at. After trying to explain ourselves in Spanish and bargaining down the price, he took us to our hostel where we were once again greeted by a man who knew absolutely no English. I guess I should have anticipated this coming to a South American country for the first time, but I guess most of my travels before now were to much more touristy places.



Exhausted from the long bus ride, we explored the city a bit, and New Years Eve was spent watching the celebration on television and spying out our window at the Peruvians celebrating in the streets. At midnight, fireworks, firecrackers and sirens could be heard as the local Peruvians lit pre-made piles of material on fire and children ran around waving sparklers in the air.

Peruvians, from an outsider's perspective...

Most of the Peruvians Dan and I have encountered during our time in Peru have been friendly and helpful. From the random Peruvians on the street that helped us bargain with cab drivers, to the waiters and hostel workers that were patient with our lack of Spanish. Most Peruvians become excited when we tell them we are from Estados Unidos (as they properly call the US). A sudden smile seems to overcome them as they exclaim the one word they know, "Obama." "Si, Obama," we would reply back. Sometimes Peruvians would approach us out of nowhere, just to ask where we were from, and then proceed to offer us directions and tips. One man even grabbed my hand and kissed it. The young children attempting to sell us candy giggle at our terrible accents, the shop owners smile as I attempt to bargain the price down with the few words I know. Thank goodness I know the numbers...



However, there have been some Peruvians that have tried to take advantage of us and our lack of Spanish knowledge. My height, pale skin and dirty blonde hair, along with Dan's Red Sox hat, and the semi-permanent confused expression on our faces, screams tourist. In a city filled with dark haired, dark skinned people, its tough not to notice Dan and I marching through the streets with our backpacks. At the sight of us cabs would line up offering us insanely overpriced fares. Luckily, Dan and I always managed to find a local Peruvian to ask about the appropriate price before trying to get a cab. If they would not lower the price, we would refuse the offer and within seconds a new cab would pull up.

During our time spent in Ica, we were taken advantage of for the first time. Before heading to the bus station Dan and I decided to stop for lunch. Being the frugal travelers that we are, and knowing how large the portions were from the night before, we decided to split a meal. The waiter came over and when we asked to see a menu he replied "Que quieres?" meaning "What do you want?" We knew we wanted rice, beans and beef, so I replied "Arroz con bistek y beans" (now I remember that beans are called frijoles, but at the moment it slipped my mind). We knew the dish was 19 soles or about $7, from spotting in on the menu the night before. The waiter mumbled something and a little while later returned with our order. After finishing he told us that our total was 36 soles. Knowing he was wrong, Dan and I grabbed a menu from the nearest table and pointed at the price of the meal we got. He shook his head and explained that they replaced the beans with mashed potatoes that were 14 extra soles. Oddly enough, we hadn't noticed. Unfortunately, it's difficult to argue when you are unfamiliar with a language, so we just continuously repeated "no" until we realized he wasn't budging. We paid the money and informed him that he was a "mal hombre" or "bad man" on the way out. I'm sure we stuck it to him...