Finally….

We planned Peru for 2023. 

And then the entire country decided to wage a coup. And Africa was perfect, like PERFECT…..but now were are finally getting our do-over. So expectations are high and low all at the same time.

We leave for the airport at 3:20am. Yes. AM. We considered staying at the airport. But then the Nicole of it all reminded us that we would pay over $250 to sleep for 3 hours….and she was right. We decided against it. And I went to bed at approximately 12:30.  And got up at 2am.  To say work was trying everything to make me appreciate my vacation is an understatement…..I will sleep when I’m dead…that’s what I always say.

The weather was decent, and cold. We saw our breath as we loaded the car with minimal amounts of luggage.  I’m a believer in “take it if you got it”.   I have a workmate that is planning a trip abroad and taking only a carry on.  BETWEEN her and her partner.  And I’m always envious of that-the ability to turtle shell it- take only the essentials- I really am.  However, this girl has needs. And full size bath and hair products, along with candles and incense, 2 changes of clothes a day, art supplies to keep me going for years, and a robust selection of underwear and snacks are in the cards for me. So, we pare down to 2 rollies, 2 backpacks and a checked bag that carries another concealed checked bag are my decision for this particular adventure.  Oh, and enough raid and deet bug spray to kill a NOPE’s worth of spiders. More on that later….

So off we go. Arriving at the airport sees Chris already being Chris.  I see the look in his eyes when we get to the revolving door a little too late, and he Indiana Jones’s our checked bag through the last 12 inches of an opening that any sane person would have waited out. Only to shut down the door, set off alarms and leave me suck in the claustrophobia inducing opening for far too long while he makes the “ooops” face that reminds me of his son. Sigh.  Welcome to the next 14 days.  Then it’s the usual part where we are far too early, and we order breakfrest, judging Gary and Nicole for their beer orders at 5am, only to order one right after them.

We chat about a recent discovery of a story in which Chris admits to getting so frustrated that he threw a perfectly good ham sandwich at someone. This will be a reoccurring theme of the trip- us checking Chris for Ham sandwiches everytime he gets frustrated. Because this is so very out of character for him….picture a bald golden retriever….that is pretty much my husband. So the thought of him lashing out with pork is bringing us all a little joy.

The flight is pretty uneventfull- other then the turbulence that has the pilot asking the flight attendants to take their “jump seats”.  Like WHAT? What does that even mean? Karen hears, “prepare to parachute out of this death trap and leave these losers”….and proceeds to take a fistful of Ativan- causing her to sob outloud watching the new Iron Claw movie because she is both high and really upset about what Zach Effron has done to himself in the name of Hollywood.  Wine is ordered. And then ordered.  And then ordered again.  And by 4pm I am enjoying the flight- thankful that my last meal is pasta and that I’ve lived a good life.

Arriving at night is something I hate— I want to see what I’m dealing with.  And Europe is always a morning arrival.  Not so much the other way- when traveling west you generally arrive at night.  I hate that.  So when we arrive at 10pm I have no bearing on the situation..can’t see the water or get a feel. I’m not sure if I love it here or need to call the internet and complain about my hotel. But I’m just going to go with it…I think I’ve gotten 2 hours sleep in the past 36 hours.  We decide that we will just take the room we are assigned and hope for the best.  The air smells of seafood and spice.  Kind of reminds me of Nepal….The people are helpful and kind. That seems like a good start.

We sleep. We are situated on the 16th floor of this 18 floor building which is perfect, not sure what we are looking at though- an apartment building across the street is all we can see. So when we wake up in the morning, late- after making the pact the night before to sleep in-  and make our coffee, the fog is slowly burning off…and as it does we can see that we are on a cliff, overlooking the pacific and the surfers that have made this a mecca are running to the water down each of the trails that lead to its shores, surf boards under their arms and wet suits hanging at their waists.  It looks hot, and we are all texting by 10am that we need to get this party started.

There is a park here.  A fabled park.  A park that Gary has been dreaming about….a park that has hundreds of stray cats. And Gary has brought treats.  For the cats. But now we need to find some treats for the humans…so off to the grocery store we go.  We secure chicken sandwiches and French fries (the Peruvians love their chicken <3), Wine and chippies- and head to Kennedy Park where we quickly find a spot to sit.  I google “it is legal to drink in public in Peru” and find out the answer is NO- VERY much no, and as I’m telling Chris to make sure he pours INSIDE the backpack (we’re professionals at this…) , I hear the bottle pop and the glug glug of a good pour.  It’s been a long 24 hours and Chris is at ham sandwich level. Laws smlaws. And no silly alcohol laws are going to stop him.  As we get the last of the bottle in the glasses we brought, someone comes by trying to sell us trinkets.  We politely say, “no thank you…” but as he walks away dejected, he heads straight for the po-po that are patrolling the park.  He’s a DNU. A Disgruntled narc unhoused. So mr. officer heads straight for us and with a wink says “Licor?” which we pretend we don’t understand on account of the Spanish….and he walks away.  We enjoy our booze and chicken, and then its Gary’s time to shine…

He opens his backpack and proudly takes out his Friskers Party Mix. And. He. Is. Instantly. Clocked.  Kitties start coming out from garbage cans, under benches, and falling out of trees- it’s puss-damonimum. He shakes the bag and they come running. They are not the mangy cats I had imagined-not stays in the way that we have seen in Greece or Italy…they are VERY well cared for.  All clean and without the usual eye issues and ratty fur. They politely (mostly) take the treats right out of his hand and his eyes get that old man crinkle.  He is saying things like “do you like party mix?” and “do you want to come live in Canada?” before we can even count how many are gathering.   This keeps him busy for at least a half hour, running from bench to bench, naming them.  Saying things that cat people say like “did you see that little tortie over there?” and as much as Chris and I can’t quite understand the phenomenon- Nicole is beaming with pride at her crazy cat lady husband.

He floats the entire way back to the hotel. I’m starting to suspect this is the real reason we came to Peru.

Once home we quickly get changed- we have a beach to beer. So we start the 15 min walk to the shore following the surfers. It’s a LOT of stairs down, and we all take turns panicking about the walk home.  Once we reach the bottom of the cliff that our hotel sits on, we see what all the fuss is about. The beach is all small pebbles, not sandy- and as the waves crash and recede, the sound of the rocks applauding as the water goes out is deafening. Thousands of little stones all moving back towards the sea make the most beautiful noise and create these perfectly round rocks no matter the size.  Hard to walk in, but worth the effort.  We pull out our blankets and have a seat- this time being more obedient- we brought our beers in sippy cups.  The muppets are back at it- beach beer-ed.  We linger for about an hour before working up the energy to head back. 

As we approach the beginning of the stairs, we see a young-ish woman struggling to lift her baby stroller up the first set of 20 or so stairs.  I reach out to help her- to grab the bottom of the stroller…and then Chris says, “no- let me”.  Now do I think he really gave this a lot of thought? No…he was just being nice….but as he reaches the top of the first landing he realizes what he’s committed to. And what ensues is Chris Lama-ing her kid up about a KM worth of stairs while we walk back to the hotel without him.  She is heading the opposite way of us at the fork in the road and he continues on with her….by the time he gets back to us he is exhausted, she is likely nursing a pretty severe ham sandwich burn,  and he has a pretty healthy Mother Theresa complex going…says the kid didn’t even wake up the entire time.

Back at the hotel we decide we all deserve a nice dinner based on Chris’s good deed. So we are off to the beautiful roof top Muppet bar for a nice relaxing meal….except upon arriving we realize that we have just stepped into the Dome (IYKYK) circa 1997.  We commit to a table and then feel obligated to stay- even though its giving Night at the Roxbury vibes with its Pitbull and record scratching DJ- were trying to blend, but that’s pretty difficult when Chris pulls out his Reading glasses to see the menu, Nicole is trying to find out how to use a QR code for a menu by just pressing on it, and Gary is just yelling “WHAT????” every few seconds. . It’s a tapas bar- so I order us 5 dishes and some beers and we scream at each other for a few minutes while we wait for the meal to arrive.  Every now and then there is a break in the music and we find ourselves finishing an awkward sentence really really loudly when it abruptly gets quiet- like “HOMELESS NARC JERK…..” or “AND THAT’S WHY I LOVE KITTIES MORE THEN PEOPLE…”. I’m trying to make it seem like I’m here with my father and aunt and uncle. Used to be easier to pull that off.

We are having our first ceviche- the most traditional of the Peruvian fare. Raw tender white fish cooked in lime with sliced chilis and red onion in something called “tigers milk” which is basically just cilantro, lime, celery and raw fish- blended together.  I made it before we came and I did a really bad job I’m realizing now. But here? ….I have found heaven.  Even now writing this my mouth is watering.  Mountains are for meat, coasts are for fish. So before we take off for the next leg of our journey I will be ordering this every chance I get. 

We leave the frat party and we head to Nicole and Gary’s room- that’s the usual progression.  I hate getting my room cleaned on vacation. I’m always on edge about the cleaners coming in- I’ll have to hide all my crap in the safe and then I’ll just spend the rest of the trip convinced that I’m going to forget everything- panicking like a squirrel hoarding winter nuts everytime I wake up. So it’s always their room. Plus Nicole likes to pack ferry lights and won’t “party” without them. The therapy is too expensive for me to fix this- and I dont have the time. So we always end up there.  Tonight is a particularly nice evening – you know it’s a good night when Chris Keddy leaves his shoes and goes home barefoot. VERY off brand for my “ABIS” (always be in socks) husband. 

We sleep well and are up for breakfest and ready to do our first private tour nice and early the next morning. 

Eve is our tour guide and she is from the downtown area so she is perfect for this, and starts our tour the minute we get in the van.  We find out about the rich  history- the enclosed wooden balconies, the beautiful catholic churches filled with crypts and historical artifacts that double as museums when not in mass.  She stresses that Lima is a foodie’s dream- telling us where to eat dinner and lunch, what to avoid and what not to miss- of particular note is the Pan con chicharrón- a pork belly sandwich with sweet potato, quick onion pickle and hot sauce called salsa criolla on a soft bread bun. So we ask where to get the best one in the city and she is excited to bring us there and order for us. Okay y’all- this is Gooooooood.  I honestly will likely spend the rest of my life trying to make it.  She orders us also a purple corn drink- one of the most drank here in Peru- it’s good and sweet – kind of tastes like flat cola with a slight corn finish. 

We go to monasteries and courtyards, public squares and parks. 

We see no beggars-we are not harassed by vendors. People are friendly and sweet, holding doors and speaking English when we try to speak Spanish.  The architecture is simple and elegant. Lots of wooden structure. 

She points out an area where there are tables for eating outside of a cute restaurant – Tells us this is very controversial- people here don’t like it. They don’t want their sidewalks to have places to eat- they prefer to eat inside and hate that tax money is being used for this. Very strange as the weather here is NEVER rainy. They have ZERO rain. Some drizzle when the fog is thick- but the streets are never wet. So ideal for outdoor eating. 

We comment on how if the Italians lived here there would be more flowers and eye umami- there is little to no decoration outside, and minutes after that conversation we arrive at the Larco Museum and are overwhelmed by the amount of beautiful and strikingly colorful flowers- guess what? Italians built and own this museum. 

It includes artifacts from centuries – but just that- ARTifacts. Pottery and decorations from hundreds of years of rule. Also included is the erotica museum. She stays outside and gives us 5 minutes to walk through- and we assure her this should be enough time for Chris and Gary walk through twice.  I learned some things, and other things I’m trying to unlearn as I write. 

As we leave Eve we ask about a nice spot for dinner and she suggests Alfresco- a highly sought after seafood spot. Ceviche!!! It’s decided this will be tonight’s pick. 

Home from our tour we head to the top floor again for $30 pics sours (yikes) and a quick swim in the rooftop infinity pool. We are blessed by 3 20-something’s who are holding a tictoc photo shoot. I mean they are DOING this. Bags of products for placement, 2748 shots of each pose. Make up touch ups, duck lips and twerks. The staff are going what we like to refer to as “snaky”. Trying to decide when would be a good time to tell them to stop- all looking at each other and saying “no you do it”. They try to- they really do. But there is no stopping these influencers. They are a big deal on line and won’t be silenced. It’s very very entertaining, and when they are done I miss the sears catalog of it all. 

Naps and then off to dinner at Alfesca. Ceviche, seafood paella, shrimp pasta, sea bass and for Gary the fish hater- Lomo saltado: beef tenderloin with tomato, red onion, French fries and rice. It is all CRAZY good. I drink the ceviche liquid. I could eat this for the rest of my life. Better than the last if that’s possible.  We have a beautiful Peruvian red wine- oaky and full bodied – not expected. We get a few nasty looks for drinking red with fish- but you can’t take the girl to Italy, have her fall in love with red, and then expect her to Willynilly change to white. 

We get home for drinks and I am full of raw fish and wine- I need to be de-wormed and put to bed. Stat. 

We meet for our second tour of the trip in the morning- Ranaldo. Today we are supposed to be taking a bike ride through the city. I’m not nervous about this in any way. Nicole seems to be, they just did a biking day in Vietnam and she fell off her bike. So she seems nervous. I go about doing what little sisters do- and talking a HUGE game. What’s there to be nervous about? It’s a bike. And a bike lane? 

So when we see the bikes lined up we assume there will be a bike fitting, a secure helmet check, a 30 min debriefing about bike safety. You know- Canadian style. 

Nope. 

Here’s your bikes gringos. See if you can reach the pedals. And off we go. INTO THE STREET. We do make it to the bike lane eventually which is a two way lane like a street – and each lane is approximately .67 inches wider then my arse and lined with poles on one side to keep you out of the street, and reflective bumps on the other.  And bikes are coming at us HOT.  Ranaldo is OFF like Lance Armstrong. And we have to keep up. Also I’m noticing that if you give me guidelines to stay in- I will immediately go towards one or the other like a lemming. Like, my entire body is determined to go directly towards the poles. Like a moth to the flame. I feel like an elephant on a unicycle- I’m in the Tour de France and I wish I’d ignored the no doping rules.  

In and out of traffic and bike lanes – stopping every now and then to look at each other helplessly. 

If I had to rank my athletic ability in the list of things I’m good at, it would fall very near the end between “ninja star throwing” and “not speaking in awkward situations”.  

It was a lovely area to be in- moving between Miraflores where we are staying and Barranco – the art district. It’s just -these bikes.  We get ice creams and as I’m eating mine I look around and we are all shaking. Not sure if it’s the unusual physical effort or an indication of how scared we are. 

But I look around. 

At us. 

In Peru. On bikes. Terrified. Sunburned already. Full of beer and excitement. Adventuring. Together. And as we walk across their famous “bridge of sighs” we are told to hold our breath the entire way across and our wish will come true.  And I think we all struggle to think of something better than this to wish for.  More adventure? (Not sure my heart could take it). More love? (Not sure my heart can hold more).  I settle on wishing to not be the last one standing. I’d like to go out first- because there is no world in which three muppets will do. And as I look around at the other muppets turning blue (it’s a really long bridge) I think we probably all did the same. Perhaps the muppets will all get discontinued at once – say, on the first flight to mars for tourists.  

Just before we finish the tour Ranaldo asks where we are off to next. The Amazon we say! He is excited for us as he was a guide there for 9 years- saying he had to stop because he got a botfly infestation in his leg from mosquitoes who laid eggs in him and he almost died. 

Pause. 

New fear unlocked. 

B O T F L I E S?

WHY WASNT I WARNED ABOUT THE BOTFLIES????!? 

I go through my mental checklist of things I’m terrified of, adding number 7846- botfly eggs. 

Now I need a sedative. So once we get home it’s up to the muppet emotional support bar for a few beers. Still shaking – we decide that Kennedy park is what we need. Kitties!! So a quick change and off we go, Gary quickly grabbing treats from his stash. The Meowsiah will provide. 

Sunday in Lima is LOVELY! Lots of families out and about- laughing and walking in the park- there are venders selling lama themed keychains and hats.  Tiny little Ballet dancers on a stage waving nervously at parents as they perform. And in the middle of it all, as we make our way through feeding cats (we even get Chris in on the action- shaking a bag and feeding cats out of his hand) we notice a very large crowd gathered around one of the 3 concrete circle sitting areas. 300+ people all watching the center pit of the circle.  A woman with a microphone and speaker in the sitting area is playing Latino music loudly while people meet in the center to dance together. It’s like an old school firehall dance. Mostly older folk- shaking hips and spinning each other. I don’t know if it’s the ceviche or the near death marathon this morning, but it does look inviting. I’d love to quietly go dance down there! Just sneak in and get my groove on! Who would notice us among all those people?  But it seems organized. Is there a fee? Is this a club of dancers? Nicole and Chris are egging Gary and I on (not that it takes much to get these particular two muppets convinced to do something stupid). So I decide that if Chris can quietly ask someone in charge if it’s acceptable for anyone to dance- I might just be up for it. 

He disappears into the crowd and goes to the woman with the boom box and the microphone. And next thing I know he is running back to us…and saying IM SO SORRY… and seems ready to bolt. That’s when this lovely lady taps her microphone three times to make sure it’s loud enough, STOPS THE DANCE and says what I can only imagine is “does anyone speak English because we gots a couple gringos   here that want your attention.”  You could hear a lamas eyelash drop to the floor. All 300 people trying to find someone among them who speaks English. A seeet young woman stands and comes over from the exactly opposite side of the circle  as people CLAP.  “Can I help you?”. Chris has hidden and I’m searching for a ham sandwich. 

“Well we were just wondering if anyone can dance if they want too?” “Oh yes anyone can! Come on down! What type of music do you want??” And they start telling the crowd that the white people want to dance- searching for English music for us while everyone waits mid dance.  Song picked,  Gary and I make our way to the floor- everyone smiling and staring at us, claps and laughs all around. (Except Chris. He’s nursing a pretty severe ham burn). Once we start dancing they realize we can’t dance. At all. Gary likes to do this thing with his hands where he kind of looks like a puppy trying to stand on his back legs and Wendy Williams all at the same time. And me? Ever watch dancing with the stars? Remember the time Chris Christie was in the cast? 

But as we look around we see everyone is giggling WITH us, not AT us. We get help from the people next to us, high fives and claps. Smiles of encouragement. No judgment at all is felt. And we have a BLAST.  As we exit the floor we are met with handshakes and giggles, thumbs ups and winks. One man walks up to us and asks where we are from  what type of dance that was- I stifle the urge to say “drunk Canadian shuffle” and just say- “we can’t dance. That was peer pressure”.   He is very sweet and tells us we did a good job and he hopes we had a nice time- so proud that we seem to be having fun in his country.  

We get stared and smiled at the rest of the way out of the park. Could be all the kitties following Gary, but I think it’s forever going to be known as the day they found out that all the myths are true. White people just can’t dance. 

Back to our hotel for dinner and bed early. We have two jobs- finish the whisky we opened last night because it’s can’t come with us, and talk ourselves out of all the intrusive thoughts we are beginning to have about tomorrow’s adventure. 

The Amazon awaits us. 

And all its spiders and Botflies. Snakes and spiders. Heat and spiders and spiders. 

I have a feeling close to that of the shark diving – but with that one I could have opted out at anytime. On the boat and not sure you want to go in? No problem. Stay dockside   

But this? Once we get off the plane tomorrow morning we are in the AMAZON. The actual Amazon. And I’m picturing myself like a child with all four limbs at the door, someone trying to push me off the aircraft. Grabbing for the flight attendants like I’m being kidnapped. 

What the literal hell are we thinking. 

Perhaps this is the great muppet  reckoning- maybe we dont make it out of this one with all our felt. 

I. Am. Scared. 

But 3:45am will be here quickly. So although I know it won’t happen, we try to settle down for some sleep. 

Tomorrow the adventure continues. Also, if you want to see pictures from the trip- go to ruthannwifetochrisxoxo on instagram for full access 🙂