The city that took so much time for us deserved a second look. After days' worth of canceled flights to its chalk-colored garua, or fog, Lima had a lot of explaining to do. Luckily for us, there was hardly a cloud in the sky for our final two days in Peru.Nearly every tourist we met said the exact same thing: get into Lima, look around, and get the hell out. On the drive from the airport, it's easy to see why. Rebar sticks out of half-built apartment buildings like porcupine quills, cars honk with an aggressive impatience that puts Manhattan to shame. But as our car entered the middle-class neighborhood of Miraflores, the air warmed; the edges softened. And while Patricia wound down in the city she had very complicated feelings toward; I was able to meet up with another friend from New York who happens to be from Peru.
Sergio, now an acting student at the Atlantic, where I work, is a shaggy-haired, flipflop-wearing dude who belongs in California more than I do. He carried a bottle of pisco into our hotel room, and asked if I wanted to go see Lima's beaches. I accepted, not knowing that we would kill the bottle in a matter of hours.
We visited Larcomar, Peru's own version of the California outdoor mall. Arcades, shoe stores, and restaurants abounded -- it even has a Tony Roma's. After a quick lap and a quick smooch with some of Sergio's friends (he's basically the mayor of Lima, based on the number of friends we ran into), we walked down to a park, lined with light-filled silhouettes that populate Lima's zoos. We sat in the middle of the hummingbird just west of this frog.
After awhile of discussing acting, Peruvian politics, and meeting more of Sergio's friends, we departed for Barranco, the hipster haven of Lima. The look was completed by bars that looked like train cars and teenagers that looked like professors, thick rimmed glasses and all. We paused on El Puente de los Suspiros ("The Bridge of Sighs," to romantic Peruvian ears) to take in the positively perfect atmosphere -- Limenos walking about, chatting, drinking -- before heading to get some food.
It being my last night in Peru, I was determined to eat something weird, and Sergio knew just what to get me. Anticuchos are a classic Andean street food, consisting of the cuts of meat Americans often aren't privileged -- or brave enough -- to see. We started with skewered chunks of beef heart, packed full of flavor, and purportedly nutrients. The heart was served on a bed of chicken stomach, beef intestine, and bits of a chicken's...um, lady parts. Sergio and the waiter used different, more graphic words, but the taste was colorful enough. We drained the last of our pisco, and I staggered to my hotel.
Despite a late start and a bit of a headache, Patricia and I were able to spend almost the entire day walking around Miraflores, exploring department stores, chocolatiers, and the tragically cool cafes that line the main drag, Parque Kennedy. Most luckily of all, we found a local bar that was playing El Clasico: Barcelona vs. Real Madrid. We found the last seats before the street got busy, as school got out and word spread of Cristiano Ronaldo's sweet golazo early in the game.
After one last meal of pollo y papas, or chicken and potatoes, we were on our way to Chavez International Airport. After a week of exploring Cuzco, city of the ancients, we had spent two days getting back up to speed in the hustle and bustle of modern Lima. I'm back in New York now, feeling much like Hernando Pizarro during a mid-year trip back to Spain. I might be in the center of the universe, but my mind is filled with thoughts of "the bellybutton of the world." I've been dreaming of temples inhabited by ancient gods, of streets paved with gold.
