Your Norte Americana amiga visits South America for the first time. Her plane landed in Lima from Miami at 05:30 this morning; you go to greet her. Your Mormon taxista is chipper, eager, talkative. You feign ignorance, pretend to text your invisible novios Peruanos. She appears from the baggage claim from the middle of a gaggle of foreigners. You are groggy, she is too.
Bueno. Looking for a place to eat an early breakfast in San Isidro is an exercise in Buddhist patience. If you are really hungry, you will look upward, as you rarely otherwise might, recalling your ancestral primate origins, in search of maracuya (Passifora edulis).
Bueno. Looking for a place to eat an early breakfast in San Isidro is an exercise in Buddhist patience. If you are really hungry, you will look upward, as you rarely otherwise might, recalling your ancestral primate origins, in search of maracuya (Passifora edulis).
MaracuyaThe modern city of Lima was built upon maybe 100 distinct pre-Inca archaeological sites, but like everything else, none are open for breakfast. Only ghosts and drunks are up at this hour, or búhos, como yo. If you are lucky enough to encounter a living, cognizant someone who is awake (always a night watchman), and you ask for directions to a nearby open restaurant, the night watchman will merely laugh. He will point you to the Radisson. Or if he is feeling feisty, toward his house in Surco Viejo. He’ll smirk.
Your friends's impressions of the city are favorable as she asks where the sun is, and, in the same sentence, if there are stray dogs. No sun. Yes to the dogs, but not in San Isidro or Miraflores. She’s been all through Asia, but she avidly fears dogs. Rabid dogs usually run toward their prey. They are vectors and their job is to spread the virus. Thus they are predictably violent. These street dogs aren’t usually rabid, but they have not had their shots.
Lima is on her best behavior for your friend. It’s like your friend is a visiting aunt with money, and Lima is her poor niece with mommy issues. Negotiations are possible. No cars have tried to run you over yet (for there are no cars) and only two taxistas have whistled at you in as many minutes. Lima’s grey rendition of sunlight begins to appear, and un cafecita opens its doors, as if magically, for you, your friend, and rich businessmen holding El Comercio. It is 07:00 a punto, you drink fresh jugo de lucuma (Pouteria lucuma) sin azucar, and it is as if you could love this city, this octopus of sprawl, again.
Your friends's impressions of the city are favorable as she asks where the sun is, and, in the same sentence, if there are stray dogs. No sun. Yes to the dogs, but not in San Isidro or Miraflores. She’s been all through Asia, but she avidly fears dogs. Rabid dogs usually run toward their prey. They are vectors and their job is to spread the virus. Thus they are predictably violent. These street dogs aren’t usually rabid, but they have not had their shots.
Lima is on her best behavior for your friend. It’s like your friend is a visiting aunt with money, and Lima is her poor niece with mommy issues. Negotiations are possible. No cars have tried to run you over yet (for there are no cars) and only two taxistas have whistled at you in as many minutes. Lima’s grey rendition of sunlight begins to appear, and un cafecita opens its doors, as if magically, for you, your friend, and rich businessmen holding El Comercio. It is 07:00 a punto, you drink fresh jugo de lucuma (Pouteria lucuma) sin azucar, and it is as if you could love this city, this octopus of sprawl, again.
Lucuma
I love your writing... So glad to glimpse your fantastic prose once more!
ReplyDeleteAw. Thanks. I like to write after I read.
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