Es el Compartir.

Somewhat recuperated from the altitude sickness- mostly due to the coca tea, I tell myself - I find myself with a new problem, one I´ve come across before. My face is a shade of red reminiscent of the Kool Aid man (fun fact,Kool-Aid Man debuted in 1975 under the name of 'Pitcher Man'.) . The air is thin up here in the summer, and out on the lake this morning the spf15 just wasnt enough. Despite this obstacle, i continue to blog, retroactively.

My first full day in south america, i saw the remains of perhaps the most cold blooded perpetrator of genocide in history, observed my first south-american style political riot/rally,was conned into buying a random cabron a couple big beers, was offered a threesome, and went home with a bartenders brother.

From the beginning, I got up - late - to breakfast and head into the center of town. still tired, as i didnt sleep much before the long trip, spending my last night in america with some friends - and some forties...(an aside, i felt something like Arlo Guthrie in Alices Restaurant, when he has to go into the draft office. he says something like "i got good an drunk the night before, so i was sure to be looking and feelin my very best the next mornin..") .. So I went down to dirty central lima to check out the cathedral, where i understood nothing from the "english speaking" guide (the spanish tour didnt leave for an hour...) but was interested to learn that they had mistaken Francisco Pizarros remains for some other random dude up until about 1985 or so, and the convent of San Francisco, where they have this really frightening crypt with thousands of bones all lined up in artistic fashion. morbid.

On my way home, thinking of a run, I began talking to a tattoo artist in the street, who called himself Christian. We ended up grabbing a couple of beers and a Pisco Sour, which is the national drink, a liquor that they mix with sour mix, egg whites, and lemon. turns out, he had no money, and after explaining to the waiter that this dude was trying to rip me off and telling "christian" that he was a lyer and a cheat, i reluctantly paid the 8 bucks for his three drinks and bid adeiu. whatever. it was an interesting experience.

Returning home, I napped until around 1130 pm, and returned the the same bar as the night before, planning on a drink and some more sleep. Next thing I know, Im hangin out with the first americans i met, Mack and (oh I forget her name...) from San Diego, who quit their jobs to travel for 3 months in SA. The peruvian girls next to me took a liking, and despite my intention to mind my own business with my book, forced their numbers on me once we had had some relatively suggestive conversation in spanish. One seemed skanky, the other wasn´t so much, but she could have been less trashy. I wont call, but interesting nonetheless.
The couple sitting next to me when I arrived vanished for roughly 30 minutes into the bathroom area while I was having some tapas. I wondered if they felt cramped, until my new bartender friend Neto explained to me later that the Tasca Bar had a special upstairs room for horny patrons. uh-huh.
I came back when the bar closed to go party with Neto and Mery, the busty bartender from the previous night (yes, the size of the girls breasts are certainly incidental to the story. but i thought they deserved mention, and it might make this ridiculously long entry somewhat more interesting for my male colleagues, and hopefully not paint me as a shovanist gringo asshole in front of any female who may come across this-train´s blog) , and ended up going to her apartment with her brother, Etner(sp?), who was visiting from Amazonas, a two day car ride away. An incredible apartment, as she is the live-in caretaker for what must be a wealthy businessman from California, a guy named Bill. I taught some English (mery has begun studying ´La Británica´) and went to bed. late... I was actually very touched, as I asked if lots of dudes from the bar find their way to party at this amazing apartment. Mery replied that she thought I was good person, and as a bartender her powers of perception might be pretty keen. I was the first gringo there apart from the owner, and that to teach some english and do some hangin out.

Next day, I sat on the balcony - a sweet view over Miraflores - and tought the alphabet and numbers through 30, and I think I actually helped. Used a lot of what I´d learned in spanish linguistics. I never thought i´d enjoy teaching English, but it was actually fun and satisfying..

My main activity for the day was a run along the cliffs above the beach, and then along the beach, checking out the surfers (and the surfers´ girls... my.) Thus began the redding of my face. That night, I had beers with Neto and Etner in another classy burb of Lima called Barrancas. Again, more profound than you´d expect from just-mets, but thats the way I like it, and thats the way its been happening lately. No wasted time. These two come from some humble country beginnings, and really show a spirit that I don´t come across too often in the U.S. - genuine appreciation for what one has, especially family, friends (la amistad), and the country itself, la tierra. We shared a couple of pitchers of not-so-good but typical Peruvian beer, Cuzqueño, from Cuzco, and Neto clinked glasses just about every sip, talking about how destiny had led the three of us to that bar. I mentioned that after a couple of beers I also tend to turn into a philosopher, and a a friend. From there, Neto remarked "No es la cerveza, es el compartir.", meaning that it wasnt the cerveza that made the difference, it was sharing it. He said in his town, a group sits around a table and shares only one glass, refilling from a pitcher as it is collectively drained. true sharing. Neto wanted to practice his english on me - it was decent, he is in school to be in tourism, his french is excellent. He would be in the united states at this very moment, but the U.S. consulate refused to give him a Visa, despite his already having organized the trip, for language study, to the west coast. But he wasn´t bothered; supposes it wasn´t written - it wasn´t in the plan for him. And he wouldn´t have had those beers with us.. Either way, I sure am lucky to have an American Passport... Walked back along the cliff to Miraflores, a nap, and more comradery.

Next day, thursday the 12th, I checked out and wrote my first traveler´s blog. I wonder if anyone read it. I will, someday. So don´t feel bad if you didn´t.

Next, travel to Puno, and the onset of altitude sickness. I have stopped seeing the spots, and this morning was well enough to take a boat out onto the Lake to visit the Islas de los Urus, a group of floating Islands that the Urus people have been building for a few hundred years, initially to get away from the Incas and other warring tribes. Pretty incredible, they make the islands, most around 40-50 meters across, out of reeds, and add more reeds on top every couple of months to stay above water. Each island lasts about 8 years, then they build a new one, always anchored with eucolyptus trunks. Everything is made out of the reeds, the island, the houses, clothing - they even eat it. you peel it like a banana, and it tastes kind of like lettuce, but wetter. One thing I found incredible - they have solar panels on the islands! for light, as candles are not especially safe given that the entire island is made of ultra-flammable reeds (or at least, they are flammable when it is not the wet season. Now they are spongy wet.) I passed the time with a couple of nice Irish girls, Avril and Rene(?).

Returning to land, I visited a mirador, something like the statue of christ in Rio, only not as spectacular, a view i shared with a couple of mangy dogs and a handful of Maní, something like cpeanuts. then I took a cab for a dollar the few kilometers to the naval museum (by taxi, in this case, I mean a man peddling a bicicle with a covered seat in the front). The museum was worth the trip, an iron-hulled boat which was shipped to titicaca from england in the 1880s. 550 tons of ship parts via boat around tierra del fuego, to Chile or peru, and then by burro up the 15,000 feet of elevation and hundreds of kilometers to the lake. then they put it all together. I have this crazy vision of burros loaded with huge pieces of iron, and comical boat pieces like the captain´s wheel and portholes and anchors...

Yet another nap, a cheap dinner (all meals are cheap) and to internét. this lengthy blog may or may not set precedent. i hope not.

songs heard covered in jazz form over dinner - "if you really want to hurt me.. if you really want to make me cry", Phil Collins´ "Hold On", "Like a Virgin", "Patience", "With orWithout You"...