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December 09, 2004

Bacon-Mushroom Cheeseburgers in Peruvian Paradise

Lima, Peru

Thurday, December 9, 2004:

[Warning: This post was written with dangerously low blood sugar levels]

After 25.5 hours in continuous transit by bus and car, during which time youīve been hustled and conned, lied to and cheated, nearly barfed upon and loudly snored behind, and subjected to a slew of random movies and questionable Japanese schlock programming, all of it without food, youīll find that you may get a little bit, oh, I donīt know how to put it, surlyyyy.

As we gathered around the luggage hold of the bus to claim our bags, assorted taxi drivers swooped in on us for the kill. I assumed they would sieze upon our evident unfamiliarity with Lima and quote us rates that were far in excess of the regular city cab rates. The difference all comes to down to small change, when you think about it, but I wasnīt really thinking about it. I just assumed that they were trying to screw us and, I think it is relatively safe to say that I was correct.

"Taxi?"

"No!"

"Seņor, taxi..."

"No!"

"Seņorita, necessita un taxi..." [this one addressed to Laura]

"No!" [me, uninvitedly stepping in the role of Seņorita]

And so it went. By the time we had retrieved our luggage and moved off to the side to check a map and get our bearings, many of the drivers had snagged customers and gone their way. A few still noticed us, however. Our bags in hand, ready to approach them on our own terms without a flury of distracting activity about us, I was much happier now. We spoke with a man who quoted us 10 Soles (about $3) to take us into the sea-side suburban district of Miraflores with a stop along the way at an ATM. I thought it was a little bit steep, from what I had read, but wasnīt feeling quite petty enough to argue over the sum of less than a dollar. Having been scammed the day before, however, I can tell you that the experience will tend to make you dwell on nickels and dimes for a while as you seek to defend yourself against further tricks as a matter of principle. In any event, paranoia is not a quality that seems to be punished here.

Our plan was to hit the ATM and then go to the offices of Peruvian domestic airline TANS so that Laura could sort out a flight to Cuzco for the next day, if possible. Iīve always wanted to visit Lima (donīt know why, just always have) and planned to stick around for a bit to explore the place before heading to Cuzco myself. After the tickets were sorted, before we did anything else (e.g., find a place to stay), we would get ourselves some food. ("Food. Food. Food," I thought, "I want food." I was getting a bit delirious with hunger at this point.)

Our driver took us several blocks from the bus station to an ATM machine. Since our bags were in the trunk, we decided that one of us would get some money for now and spot the other one temporarily. As the less attractive kidnapping victim, I waited in the car while Laura went to the bank. The taxi driver turned around in his seat.

"Seņor, 15 Soles [something, something about traffic and waiting at the bank]"

Here we go again. Having sold us on 10 Soles (a price we asked him to repeat several times before we got in the car), our driver had decided that he would now deliver a story as to why the price would or should be 15 Soles.

"10 Soles," I said, exasperated. "You told us 10 Soles," I said in Spanish.

Again, I only understood half of his reply. The Peruvian accented Spanish was proving more difficult for me to grasp than the largely clear and slowly-spoken Spanish the Ecuadorians speak. Still, I grasped that what he was telling me was that there was a lot of traffic in the direction we were going in and that he would take a faster, quicker road for 15 Soles. How bloody stupid. As if he would sit in the heavy traffic willingly if we decided to give him only 10 Soles.

"You said 10," I told him. "With respect, I donīt want to talk to you anymore if we are going to talk more about the price. We can get out here."

He turned around silently. He didnīt look angry or upset in the slightest, rather like somebody who has made a casual suggestion to a friend, why donīt we go for Chinese food for lunch? for example, and been met with a response along the lines of: no, I couldnīt possibly have Chinese today, I really feel like having Mexican --- but you can get Chinese food for yourself if you want. He had tried to finagle some extra money and he had been rebuffed, simple as that. Oh well, such was life. If 1 in 5 turistas agree to that sort of price hike, over the long run it turns into real money. (Several hours later, as I brushed up on the profile of Peru in my Lonely Planet book, I would see that there is no formal licensing of taxis, bars and many other services in Lima. Taxis donīt have meters, haggling is the norm and, what is more, it is apparent that the negotiations do not necessarily stop once you have already agreed upon your destination and price --- a very strange concept to anybody who has had the offer/acceptance formula of contract formation drilled into their head.)

Laura returned to the car with valid Soles in hand and we drove down the main expressway linking central Lima with Miraflores. The highway is often called "the ditch," because it runs through a man-made ravine below the surrounding buildings and streets. We passed miles of industrial plants and office buildings (some interesting and some absolutely hideous works of modern architecture that make you wonder what groups of drunks dreamed them up and, further, what groups of drunk, insane, hallucinating druggies actually approved their construction). Finally, after about 5 miles, we exited the expressway and found ourselves in a busy but visually more attractive part of the city.

The driver stopped on a corner and motioned outside. The TANS office. We went in. Laura took a ticket --- number 20. Just then, they called a number. Number 6. My stomache lurched in agony. Hungry... so hungry...

While Laura waited in line, I went outside to find myself an ATM and survey our selection of restaurants in the immediate vicinity. I noticed that this area of Lima (Miraflores) had quite a number of glitzy, fancy-looking casinos in it. In fact, the street I had wandered onto seemed to be one casino after another after another, with a bank here and an expensive-looking restaurant there. I found a place to withdraw Soles and wandered back toward TANS. On the way I noticed a Burger King, a McDonaldīs and a KFC, all within a few meters of each other. I wonīt lie: my taste buds burst into a song of greasy, delighted nostalgia. I dreamed of washing a Whopper down with a Filet of Fish and some of the Colonelīs Spicy Buffalo Chicken Strips. But then I realized that my little cholesterol-laden fantasy assumed that I could order off of the same standard American menus in Peru. The menus for these chains are adapted country-by-country around the globe, of course. Iīve seen lamb kofta burgers at the McDonalds in Turkey and heard of various chick-pea, spinach and other vegetarian concoctions you can purchase at the establishments based in India. It should go without saying that teams of international marketers have spent countless hours coming up with new, McRidiculous names for these things. ("You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?... They call it a Royale with cheese.") This all got me wondering what the modified menu in Peru would be like. McCrispy McLlama? The Quarter Guinea Pig Pounder? Perhaps fast food could wait until some other day.

Once Laura had purchased her ticket, we made our way to a nearby place called Solari. In a semi-open, modern glass building complete with an enclosed miniature garden and waterfall, and staffed by immaculate waiters in white dinner jackets, it looked quite a bit more sophisticated then I did with my cow-licked hair, rumpled T-shirt and 60-liter backpack. Nevertheless, we were made to feel quite welcome by the hostess and settled comfortably into our Edenesque surroundings with menus in hand. The menu felt thick in my hands, like a bar of solid gold.

Notice how I seem to be going on quite a lot about food lately? Think Iīm being a bit unfair to readers by subjecting them to the self-indulgent ruminations and ramblings triggered by my tired and irrate pangs of hunger? Think I should just skip over the food bit and get on with something about Lima and Peru? Tough. Tough, tough, tough.

I read every page of the menu. I considered about 10 different things. I struggled. There was steak, there was seafood. There were dishes from around the world. After much deliberation, Laura and I picked the same thing: the burger with fries. In fact, when it came, it turned out to be a cheeseburger with bacon, smothered in a mushroom/gravy sauce, with lettuce, onion and tomato. It was served with ketchup, mustard, mayonaisse and a spicy Peruvian Criollo sauce that looks like a blend of mustard and mayonaisse with herbs in it. This wasnīt just a great burger because I was starving, this was a great burger on any level. Best ever? Donīt know but its close. Top 5, for sure. (For those of you who are wondering who on earth bothers rating cheeseburgers and thinking that I am spending an inordinate amount of time comparing this burger experience to other burger experiences, I have no patience for you. You Just Donīt Get It. Shoo. Go away. Read another blog, perhaps one entitled: My Vegetarian Adventures in Wussy Land.*)

I will describe the events following our lunch at Solari, though the rest of day could not live up to the cheeseburger. We walked for several blocks into a residential area in Miraflores and stopped at a hostal called The Witches House, run by a group of mostly Israeli backpackers. The Witches House is located in an old Tudor-style house that seems very out of place in Miraflores. The place is enormous and the ceilings rise to at least 20 feet. A clean room with 3 beds (there are separate shared bathrooms) costs a total of 36 Soles per night (less than $12). We showered, changed and wandered out to see what we could of the city. It was only 5:00 or so.

We walked toward the beachfront, which was only several minutes away from the Witches House. We did not actually go to a beach, however. Instead, we went to the cliffside parks that look out over the cityīs beaches. The vast majority of Lima and Miraflores is flat (while the destitute pueblos jovenes sprawl out into the surrounding dusty hills), but as you head west to the water, the city runs up to a cliff wall that drops sharply, at least 100 feet down a dust and dirt ledge, just before the Pacific. There is a major highway that runs along the coast before the beach and there are a few restaurants and shops along the waterfront. There isnīt much else because there isnīt enough room for it.

We spent the rest of the early evening exploring Miraflores on foot. There appeared to be a bustling cafe scene, plenty of people sipping espresso and eating cake on outdoor terraces. We walked along the sides of the Parque Central and Parque Kennedy. At 8:30 PM, plenty of shops were still open and throngs of people were out shopping and going to dinner. Artists were setting up displays of their paintings in the park. Old Spanish-style colonial buildings stood side by side with smaller 2 and 3-story modern buildings. I was beginning to form impressions of Lima, but they were vague and ambiguous. If I had to break the city down into parts --- not that you can break a city down in this way, of course, but if you had to --- where would I begin? I came up with the following:

Lima =

.01% Miami, USA
.03% Naples, Italy
.5% Madrid, Spain (based on pictures only --- have never been there)
99.46% ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????? (what a stupid exercise)

We had dinner at one of the nicer restaurants near the casinos I had spotted earlier in the day. I had a Peruvian-style soup with beef and pasta in it, followed by a steak in cream sauce with an asparagus risotto. It was good, but not as good as the hamburger.

We ate on an outside terrace with a view of passing pedestrians and gamblers filing in and out of the casino (there werenīt that many, but maybe it was just early). At several times beggars ranging from old senile men to middle-aged women to young children approached our table. We gave a biscuit from our breadbasket to a boy of 5 or 6 and he wandered off chewing on it before we could manage to give him the rest of the bread we werenīt planning to eat.

There were even more people on the streets when we wandered back to The Witches House sometime after 10. We took a shortcut down a side street filled with open-fronted pizzerias and Italian restaurants. The places were all but packed and the street was filled with people. It could have been New York or Boston or Rome or Naples or Paris or any major city. Judging from the two meals I had had, I would not expect the quality to be far off either.

Lights were out by 11. I fell asleep content with the knowledge that I was in an actual bed and would not have to listen to any snoring other than my own.

* Yeah, sorry there LH, no hard feelings...

Posted by Joshua on December 9, 2004 10:25 PM
Category: Peru
Comments

Dear Josh,
why the needless vegetarian bashing? may a small latino child puke on you...

Posted by: Linda on December 22, 2004 11:30 AM
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