The first weeks
Nazca, Peru
Nobody’s gotten sick…yet. Everyone is pooping normally, breathing normally, skin and joints intact, sleeping well. Aside from a dentist visit in Lima for a chipped tooth (with a cavity and cleaning add-on), there are no medical events to report. Thank goodness.
I overpaid for four churros and Josh was so mad at me. But within the hour he apologized for overreacting and I apologized for the travel faux pas. In the end we were out only $12, which is perhaps a small price to pay for the relational rupture and repair practice that keeps us connected.
On the overnight bus from Nazca (an unimpressive desert town) to Arequipa (the “white city”), the only others on the road are truck drivers. Likely they are driven by men and dads who resemble my own dad - short, strong, in jeans, working hard. Many of these drivers hauling goods across Peru probably also have daughters who miss them when they are working for days away from home. We’re the same.
So much honking. And yelling. And dust. And oranges.
“I’m not having fun,” is what I leaned over and said in bed on night 4 of our trip. Even though I was proud to find two rooms for three nights for only $107, the simple, just-opened-five-days-ago hostel lacked some basic amenities. I wish I was the kind of person who found that quaint and earthy, but I want a clean towel and a place to put my toothbrush.
Get to the airport. Walk off the plane into customs, further into the lobby where the taxi stands and airport buses solicit every arrival. Do we book one of these? Is a local taxi cheaper? We don’t want to overpay, but it’s also 11pm and we’re eager to get to our hotel. Or is it a hostel? I’m not sure what to expect; I know not to fully trust the website images. There was a woman with shoulder-length strawberry blond hair who spoke English standing next to us in the taxi line. She said a local recommended this taxi company to her. Looked fine to us, so we stood in line to book a ride. Staff took our information and when she repeated our party’s name (“Josh”) as with an unsure expression and something like a trailed off, “yah-shu,” we all laughed.
Where should we eat? What’s the exchange rate? The boys are playing video games. Is there Uber in Lima? What time is breakfast?
Teachers are heroes in the most literal sense. They save children and parents from one another, removing the additional strain of another relationship layer: instructor and pupil. Parent, tour guide, travel agent, school teacher.
Peruvian groundcherry: aguyamento. Delicious!
