Lima, the Capital of Peru

I groan at my 6th day in a row of a pre-5am wakeup calls. I have to catch a flight to Lima, captial of Peru. I really wanted to stay in Cuzco because it’s such a cool city and my new friends are hanging out there for a few days, but I couldn’t change my flight in time. Plus, considering the pace at which I am travelling, time is not a commodity. Everyone I meet who asks my itinerary tells me I’m crazy. I get called crazy a lot in life; I’m just not used to it from complete strangers. I am not sure how to take it. I just want to make the most of a great opportunity.

As I deplane, I am well aware that this is my first real journey into the unknown alone, without the comfort of other tourists or a planned excursion. I cab it to the happening part of Lima and find a hostel where I hire a bed in a dorm, my first ever, and am lead to a room with 4 sets of bunk beds. With some effort, I manage to shove my backpack on the top of one and take a deep breath. A sleepy Irish guy mumbles hello from a bunk below. Mental note: get a padlock to secure my valuables. Despite my fatigue and aloneness, I am surprised with how okay with it I am. It feels like just another business trip, albiet much more chaotic. Still, it’s not as much fun when there is no one to share the experiences with.

I wander around and get lost in my own head quite easily. I miss my new friends from the tour, ironically enough. It’s been hit or miss meeting other travellers that I connect with out here, mostly because I am never in any place long enough. When I do, we trade tips and stories like kids used to trade baseball cards. The people I meet flit in and out of my itinerary like sugar plum fairies. Sometimes I am genuinely sad to say good bye and my “See you on Facebook” farewell is so final. 

To my surfer friends: yes, there was surfing!

I am still exhausted from the Inca Trail and I contemplate a nap but I’m not sure that I’ll be able to on my bunk bed. Plus, I need to do some errands, namely buy some new shoes because the Inca trail killed mine. I walk into a store and see some cute urban running shoes. The 2 men do not speak English but try to help. Through elaborate charades and pointing, they bring me a pair to try on. The cute shoes do not fit. I realize that my feet are too big here and have to settle on a men’s pair. I try out my new phrase in Spanish: ‘I have very big feet.’ They do not understand and I am depressed at my obviously shoddy Spanish accent. I try again and their eyes light up and they nod and laugh heartily. My men’s shoes are not making any fashion statements, but they are comfortable, which I suppose is what really matters.

I realize quickly that Lima is just another big city. There are Scotiabanks everywhere and I see my first Starbucks in South America (and I resist). There is also a Chili’s amongst other chain restaurants. It’s still got a beat up feeling, but it’s definitely more developed then other parts of South America. Admittedly I was in the nice area, though.

The waterfront

I find a charming little cafe and enjoy a salad chok full of avacado, a treat that is plentiful here since they grow locally. I read my book in the cafe for a long time. It’s a Marget Atwood one. I got it at a hostel book exchange because it didn’t seem right not to choose a Canadian author. It’s proven to be a good choice.

I eventually stumble into the coast which is beautiful. It’s yuppie central; restaurants and bars and upscale shopping decorate the coast. I find a patch of grass and lay down to read my book, the waves and the hum of the city in the background. One hour later I rustle awake, my book over my face. I feel like I could sleep for a month but force myself to keep moving.

I keep to myself in Lima. I wander a lot, read a lot, and eat lots of avocados at the coffee shop. Normally I like to try new things and places, but I find that in Lima I am sticking to the tried and true. I realize that living like a nomad, I crave some routine and normalacy. As a result, the familiar faces and menus in the coffee shop mean more to me then ever. I confess that I do indulge in a 2 hour pedicure for the equivalent of $7.

I see things that will forever be locked in my memory. I walk by a bus stop and a man is sitting there waiting for a bus, iPod in hand, singing his heart out. His voice is so off key; it clashes with my ears like red and pink, but I grin at his exuberance and shamelessness. I sit on a bench with a small dish of ice cream and a man joins me, whiskers sprouting from his chin like a cat. He tries his poor English on me and I indulge him, but grow tired of the questions and his bad attempts at charm and mutter something and get up and leave. Here in Lima I find that I want to be alone.

Without John around I have stepped up. I’m trying my hand at Spanish and scraping by. I am negotiating my own prices and navigating my way around. Eventually I acknowledge to myself that I am feeling a little isolated so I find an Internet cafe. If I am honest with myself, I know I miss my loved ones and my travel companion, John. But I know I can do this and I am loving the experience. I would 10x rather be here right now wandering the streets of Lima alone then be back at home. For a time, anyway.