I have a 90 day tourist visa. I’m allowed to be in the country for 90 days and after that, I am to be charged each day that I over stay my visa. The original plan was to arrive in Peru, get my immigration papers moving and have my residency visa before the 90 day period was up, no problema. It’s no secret that the original plan didn’t work. It’s day 88 and my papers finally went to immigrations this morning. Nothing like waiting to the last minute. Thanks for nothing, my dear employer.
Luckily for me, once all the paperwork arrives at immigrations, the clock stops on my tourist visa. I’m allowed to stay in the country until my papers are processed and I receive the final word regarding my residency status. So here I am, in bureaucratic limbo, waiting and waiting. I’m told that I should receive my visa in about four weeks. Which realistically means about six weeks. Though yesterday I was told, “It really just depends on how busy they are. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.” The real answer: no one knows, welcome to Peru!
On the bright side, this is the final stretch. I need to complete a few more obstacles: take visa pictures, register at INTERPOL, give my fingerprints to the Peruvian government, and then it’s just waiting for my long awaited carne de extranjeria to finally come home to me. And once it arrives- Pisco Sours to celebrate!
Off roading
These are two words that are typically not part of my everyday vocabulary. I am a self-proclaimed, shameless city girl. I would rather spend my day exploring a big city than hiking through the mountains. Not that I don’t think mountains are beautiful and to be appreciated, but I would rather not appreciate them covered in bugs and sweat and cooking food on an open fire. Interestingly enough, I used to struggle with my general lack of interest in all thingsoutdoorsy. I had this nagging feeling that I wasn’t cool enough. Part of my felt like a hypocrite when I pushed for recycling and renewable resources, but would rather spend my day in a museum than on a hike. Sometimes it felt like I didn’t fit into the right kind of Christian because I wasn’t dying to be immersed in God’s great outdoors. But lately I realized that I do love the outdoors. I love beaches of every size, shape and kind and on a beach is where I feel the magnitude of God’s creation. How very logical since I grew up surrounded by beaches, not surrounded by mountains, so naturally I am more inclined to find my peace along the shore.
Surprisingly, this came as great comfort, finally I felt as though I wasn’t outright neglecting the power of creation. But I never was, because I find the most beauty in visual arts: paintings, sculptures, drawings and architecture. All this explains my natural pull to live in the midst of a city. As it turns out, I was never neglecting the power of creation, but rather appreciating it through the work of man. Ok, enough theological aesthetics for one day.
Off roading. I simply don’t do off roading. But I’m in Lima and a friend of a friend of a friend invited Alvaro and I to a beach about thirty minutes south of Lima and I couldn’t turn down such offer. He recommended that if we have a vehicle with four wheel drive, we should bring it, “we’re going off roading” he said.
We met our friends at a small beach town and then followed them fifteen minutes further south on Peru’s biggest highway, the Panamericana Sur. Our caravan made a quick exit from the highway and we found ourselves in a small, Peruvian town. The cars turned right, then left, then right again and in a matter of minutes we found ourselves on an unpaved, bumpy road. Without warning, the only thing we could see in front of us was a cloud of dust kicked up from the SUV before us. The car jumped and bumped and swerved and we blindly followed the trails of cars until we found ourselves at the entrance of the beach. A moment later, all the cars began driving along the sand and Alvaro and I looked at each other with mutual confusion. We tried to follow the other cars, however, our mid-sized SUV stopped just a few feet into the sand. The other cars in our group were outfitted with monster tires that found no match with the sand below. Thankfully, these monster wheels came back for us, deflated the tires and then coached Alvaro on how to get his car out of the sand trap.
On the move again, we drove along the shore, our tires were a mere fifteen feet from the water’s edge. We drove for a solid five minutes until our caravan found its resting spot, clear out of view from every other group at the beach.
Our experienced off roaders dug a hole in the sand, filled it with charcoal and placed a round grill on top- our makeshift grill. We ate crispy chicken, hamburgers and an assortment of Peruvian mystery meats that I am not bold enough to try. Some of the group braved the cold waters but my feet turned to ice immediately after touching the frigid waves, so I chose to stay dry. We spent the afternoon grilling, eating and drinking then played a competitive match of volleyball during sunset.
Peruvian beaches aren’t the Floridian paradise I’m used to. The sand is dark, the sky is gray and most disappointingly, the water is exceptionally cold. Though it wasn’t sunny Palm Beach, this beach was beautiful because it seemed most natural. The area around us was full of mountains and cliffs and the shore was full of birds, undisturbed by human presence. For the first time, I was on a beach and as far as my eyes could see, there was not a single other human being. It felt like I had discovered an unexplored part of Peru, it was just me, the birds, the mountains and the Pacific Ocean.
Getting back to civilization was equally as adventurous. It was getting dark and our new friends kept saying, “Oh yes, we will leave soon.” I have learned that “soon” in Peruvian, doesn’t mean a thing. We waited and waited and as the minutes passed Alvaro became more anxious of finding our way back to the highway. Finally, we found our window of opportunity and decided to take it. We drove along the beach, with only our headlights to guide us and nearly ran into a group of huts along the way. He began to make a u-turn that was scarily close to the water and my typically calm, collected boyfriend was a pile of nerves. I guided us around the huts and finally we found the unpaved road. The road was mostly a straight shot, despite a few forks and detours, and luckily, we made it back to town. After one dead end, I had the feeling that we needed to go right. So we did. We drove towards a large collection of lights, which seemed to be the best option and within minutes discovered we were parallel to the highway. Hooray! We successfully made it off the beach, down a dark paved road, through a small town with few lights and even fewer signs and back to the highway with little delay. Thank you dad for my natural sense of orientation.
We made it back to Lima, both thankful to have survived our first official off roading adventure. We both agreed that it was fun but most likely not something we want to do again. In true city mice fashion, our first stop once in Lima was directly to the car wash.
The Cheek Kiss
Thankfully, before I arrived in Lima, I had been properly warned about the traditional greeting and departing gesture: the cheek kiss. Though this warning was appreciated, I don’t think it could have prepared me for the onslaught of kissing that occurs and every social gathering in Lima.
At first it was just with Alvaro’s family, a simple cheek kiss to say hello and then again to say goodbye. Easy enough. It gets tricky, however, when a large group of people arrive at the same time and need to greet another large group of people. When Alvaro’s three aunts, cousin and grandfather arrive at his parent’s house they must greet Alvaro, his parents, his sister and me. Custom says that they must greet each of us with a traditional cheek kiss, which means there are almost thirty kisses. Unlike the United States, you can’t simply walk into the room and project a simple, “Hhheeeyyy!!!!” to everyone present.
The greater challenge? What if everyone is already sitting at the table when you come in? Well, then you must walk around the table individually kissing each person. If you are to leave early, you must do the same.Forget trying to sneak away unnoticed- it’s impossible in Peru. It’s also helpful to plan your exit about fifteen minutes before you actually have to leave because it will take that long to properly kiss everyone.
I find some benefits to this. For starters, I like that it is well known in Peru that you will only give one kiss. When I was in Germany, I was greeted by students from all over the globe, some of which came from cheek kissing countries. It was also a little game to try to discover if this person was going to go in for one or two cheek kisses. More than once I deftly dodged an almost very awkward meet-in-the-middle kiss from misjudging their customs. Secondly, it takes away the awkward how-well-do-I-know-this-person moment. You know the feeling. When you get ready to leave do you shake hands? Simply say goodbye? Go in for an awkward, maybe unexpected hug? In Peru, you kiss everyone, no questions asked.
The weirdest thing for me to adjust to is that you even cheek kiss complete strangers. A few times, Alvaro and I have been out and run into someone he knows. With Peruvian introductions a cheek kiss is just as common as a “nice to meet you”. I think that most American’s appreciate the 12-18 inches that a handshake separates them from this new stranger. In Peru, you’re up close and personal from Day One.
I’ve yet to figure out how this works in more delicate situations. What happens if you run into an ex? What about that girl from class that you always clash with? What if you are meeting because you’re in the middle of an argument? And how do you say goodbye after a breakup? For me, a cheek kiss is intimate, but maybe for Peruvians it is not.
And finally, the best part of this whole cheek kiss thing: usually the responsibility falls on the guy. So 50% of the time, I don’t have to worry, I just wait for them to make the move and it’s smooth sailing from there.
Pinkberry in Peru
What a glorious day. Last week, while driving through the most chaotic round about in Lima, Óvalo Guiterrez, I noticed the familiar looking logo of Pinkberry affixed to a remodeled store front. Could it be true? Is Pinkberry really coming to Lima? I let out a small shrill of excitement and then in my best very excited Spanish, I tried to explain to Alvaro’s mom why I was so excited. Either my Spanish isn’t good enough or she doesn’t share my love for frozen yogurt, but somehow we weren’t clicking.
I must admit, I have actually never had Pinkberry before (that is until yesterday). I’ve heard of it and know its reputation for being absolutely delicious but unfortunately have never lived in a city with a store. Nashville recently opened its first Pinkberry but unfortunately, I was already in Lima. There is delicious ice cream here, ice cream made of fresh Peruvian fruits that are absolutely heavenly, but I always, always prefer frozen yogurt. Now that Pinkberry has arrived, I am able to get my fix.
Óvalo Guiterrez is the reason I don’t drive in Peru. The picture here makes the area look like a peaceful, Peruvian paradise. Don’t be deceived. Instead of the calm scenario you see below, it’s a disorganized sea of pedestrians and kamikaze taxi drivers. Every time I’m driven through the round about, I unknowingly hold my breath and send up a little prayer to make it through the chaos. Though there are pedestrian crosswalks at each cross street, we take tunnels underneath the round about if we need to walk from one side to another. Cars speed through the round about, without any regard for lanes or right of ways, and no pedestrian is safe from their hurried exit.
This round about is a a prime location for any number of leisurely activities, housing a park, movie theatre, mall, Starbucks, church, grocery store and a number of restaurants. Despite this appeal, I only go there out of necessity, the chaos of Peruvian driving isn’t worth the convenience of one stop shopping, that is, until now. PInkberry is going to help me conquer my fears of the dreaded Óvalo Guiterrez.
I must admit, I have actually never had Pinkberry before (that is until yesterday). I’ve heard of it and know its reputation for being absolutely delicious but unfortunately have never lived in a city with a store. Nashville recently opened its first Pinkberry but unfortunately, I was already in Lima. There is delicious ice cream here, ice cream made of fresh Peruvian fruits that are absolutely heavenly, but I always, always prefer frozen yogurt. Now that Pinkberry has arrived, I am able to get my fix.
Óvalo Guiterrez is the reason I don’t drive in Peru. The picture here makes the area look like a peaceful, Peruvian paradise. Don’t be deceived. Instead of the calm scenario you see below, it’s a disorganized sea of pedestrians and kamikaze taxi drivers. Every time I’m driven through the round about, I unknowingly hold my breath and send up a little prayer to make it through the chaos. Though there are pedestrian crosswalks at each cross street, we take tunnels underneath the round about if we need to walk from one side to another. Cars speed through the round about, without any regard for lanes or right of ways, and no pedestrian is safe from their hurried exit.
This round about is a a prime location for any number of leisurely activities, housing a park, movie theatre, mall, Starbucks, church, grocery store and a number of restaurants. Despite this appeal, I only go there out of necessity, the chaos of Peruvian driving isn’t worth the convenience of one stop shopping, that is, until now. PInkberry is going to help me conquer my fears of the dreaded Óvalo Guiterrez.
The Lighthouse
One day I’ll write a book about my taxi adventures in Lima.
Tonight once I got into the taxi, the driver asked me to confirm the address. I told him the building was on “Malecón Cisneros”. He began driving and after a few minutes we were driving along “Malecón Reserva”. He asked me, “Señorita, what is the address?” To which I replied, “No, Señor, it is on Malecón Cisneros.” I thought this would be an easy solution, that is until he asked me how to get there.
Since Lima is mainly comprised of a confusing collection of one-way streets, I am still trying to find my orientation within the city. I usually know where I am and in what direction I need to travel, but I struggle with knowing what streets to take. Often times, the most direct route is impossible to take because you will run into at least one one-way street along the way. Instead, you must take a convoluted path of several one-way streets until you reach your destination. I now realize that I have inherited my parents’ need for annoyingly precise and direct traffic routes from any Point A to Point B. Yes, mom and dad, I publicly admitted that.
Though I couldn’t explain how to get there, I did remember that the building was near the lighthouse. Surely he would know how to get there. I began to tell him that the building was near the-oh no-in this exact moment I realized that in all my years of Spanish education, I never, ever learned the word for lighthouse.
“Señor, it is near the, oh no, I don’t know the word in Spanish. But it is a small white and black building with a light on-uh- with a light.”
He didn’t understand.
Thinking that he might understand if I said it again, I repeated my description, “the building is black and white with a light...” This wasn’t helpful.
“Señor, when boats are in the ocean at night, it helps them to see the beach...”
His only response was laughter and a sincere apology that he still didn’t understand what I meant.
I frantically called Alvaro- no answer. I then called his sister and right after she said “hello” my phone cut out. It was only natural that I ran out of phone credit at that exact moment. She called me back and I quickly told her I needed to know the word for lighthouse:
“Saro,” she told me, meanwhile I was thinking, “I have definitely never heard that word before.” She repeated the word and finally spelled it for me “s-a-r-o”.
“Señor, Señor! It’s near the saro! It’s near the saro!” I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror and instead of being met with understanding, I found more confusion. “The saro! The saro! The saro! The saro!” I repeated over and over again.
Finally he replied, “Señorita, near the faro?”
“No!” I said, “The SARO!!! S-A-R-O!”
“Señorita, the word is faro, not saro. Faro with an F.”
“With an F, not an S?”
“Yes, Señorita, with an F.”
By this point, we were driving by the faro and he pointed to the small black and white building repeating, “faro, faro, faro”.
Without a doubt, that evening at dinner he told his wife about the American girl who spent ten minutes trying to say the word faro.
Tonight once I got into the taxi, the driver asked me to confirm the address. I told him the building was on “Malecón Cisneros”. He began driving and after a few minutes we were driving along “Malecón Reserva”. He asked me, “Señorita, what is the address?” To which I replied, “No, Señor, it is on Malecón Cisneros.” I thought this would be an easy solution, that is until he asked me how to get there.
Since Lima is mainly comprised of a confusing collection of one-way streets, I am still trying to find my orientation within the city. I usually know where I am and in what direction I need to travel, but I struggle with knowing what streets to take. Often times, the most direct route is impossible to take because you will run into at least one one-way street along the way. Instead, you must take a convoluted path of several one-way streets until you reach your destination. I now realize that I have inherited my parents’ need for annoyingly precise and direct traffic routes from any Point A to Point B. Yes, mom and dad, I publicly admitted that.
Though I couldn’t explain how to get there, I did remember that the building was near the lighthouse. Surely he would know how to get there. I began to tell him that the building was near the-oh no-in this exact moment I realized that in all my years of Spanish education, I never, ever learned the word for lighthouse.
“Señor, it is near the, oh no, I don’t know the word in Spanish. But it is a small white and black building with a light on-uh- with a light.”
He didn’t understand.
Thinking that he might understand if I said it again, I repeated my description, “the building is black and white with a light...” This wasn’t helpful.
“Señor, when boats are in the ocean at night, it helps them to see the beach...”
His only response was laughter and a sincere apology that he still didn’t understand what I meant.
I frantically called Alvaro- no answer. I then called his sister and right after she said “hello” my phone cut out. It was only natural that I ran out of phone credit at that exact moment. She called me back and I quickly told her I needed to know the word for lighthouse:
“Saro,” she told me, meanwhile I was thinking, “I have definitely never heard that word before.” She repeated the word and finally spelled it for me “s-a-r-o”.
“Señor, Señor! It’s near the saro! It’s near the saro!” I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror and instead of being met with understanding, I found more confusion. “The saro! The saro! The saro! The saro!” I repeated over and over again.
Finally he replied, “Señorita, near the faro?”
“No!” I said, “The SARO!!! S-A-R-O!”
“Señorita, the word is faro, not saro. Faro with an F.”
“With an F, not an S?”
“Yes, Señorita, with an F.”
By this point, we were driving by the faro and he pointed to the small black and white building repeating, “faro, faro, faro”.
Without a doubt, that evening at dinner he told his wife about the American girl who spent ten minutes trying to say the word faro.
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