Whoever said I'm not a great improvisor -- and yes, there have been many of those people -- certainly didn't notice that I'm spending the night in Lima.
"Why?" you ask.
"Wrong," I say. Don't ask questions in improvisation. Suggest something and run with it.
"...because your flight was canceled?"
Absolutely, my improv pupil, my...imprupil. Yes, my flight was canceled, aaaaannnd I decided I absolutely could not spend another night in that airport, as gorgeous and as renovated as it is (not renovated in time, though -- if this system had been implemented as planned in 2010, fog wouldn't have been an issue).
So I grabbed a cab, and told the driver to take me to the very first hostel I could find in my Lonely Planet guide. Something should have tipped me off when I tried to call and received no answer, though, since I was dropped off in front of a clearly abandoned building. Piled up newsletters in the front yard. Broken glass on the side windows.
The driver sped off.
Again, time to improvise. This time, improvisation meant aimlessly wandering the streets of Lima with a roller suitcase in hand, giving my best "screw you, I'm from New York, I can outwalk all y'all" scowl to anyone who was labeling me an easy target. I'm not sure that was actually happening, since everyone in Lima has been remarkably friendly, including my driver, Carlos, who taught me valuable lessons about honking and following your dreams. But in improv, you don't always use logic. Sometimes luck plays a hand.
In this case, luck played a huge hand -- in the form of a hot shower at Friend's House, a local backpacker's hostel where they give you a cute keychain with their phone and email addresses and a picture of a llama as a gift, and in the form of my friend Arturo, who was born and raised in Lima. With less than a half hour's notice, Arturo picked me up at the hostel and took me out to dinner at Tanta, one of the many creations of Peru gastronomy behemoth Gaston Acurio.
Over dinner, I asked Arturo about the Peruvian relationship with food. His eyes narrowed. "We take it really seriously," he said between bites of ceviche. "Gaston Acurio is like, Peru's food ambassador. Everyone knows him."
So over papas a la huancaina (boiled yellow potatoes served with a spicy cheese sauce), lomito saltado (a stir-fried steak dish that plays to Lima's Asian influence), and ceviche (you obviously know what ceviche is, come on), we discussed everything from American cuisine (our chicken tastes like it's over processed) to care for automobiles (despite everyone screeching around like it's a stock car race, Peruvians will get genuinely upset if they clip someone else's car).
After a grueling 32 hours in airplanes and airports, not to mention that fact that Patricia is still held up in Quito, Ecaudor, due to this fog situation, not a bad way to start the trip for this master improvisor. Here's hoping that tomorrow, Cusco sticks to the script.
