¡Estoy aqui, finalmente! March 6, 2009

How weird is it that a person can wake up at home and go to bed on the other side of the equator? Granted, that techonology has been around for a century or so, but still it gets me.

The last minute packing went better than expected, although I forgot my camera cord so unfortunately these posts will be picture-less for a while. I will have to compensate with descriptive imagery and colorful language.

The plane ride was remarkably turbulent, which is great if you enjoy watching people on the verge of a nervous breakdown, summoning the stewardesses with the misguided hope that perhaps they can do something about it.  I wasn´t scared until the Peruvian guy next to me became way too interested in my customs form and began asking me about the address I would be at. Then the postal code, who would be there, etc. He was apparently going to be close by and thought we could share a cab. No way, Jose…I´ve seen Taken. I know how it works! He was probably just being nice, but I´m not taking a chance on a gold-studded latino with bad breath.

I got off the plane and the airport was teeming with people, more people than I´d ever seen at an airport and fewer tourists than I would have thought. Outside is loud and chaotic, mostly because of the constant beepbeeping car horns. Hmmmmm, I take my first whiff of Peruvian air and try to decipher the smell. Burning plastic and cigarettes, I decide, maybe with a touch of cologne somewhere, too. Oddly not as bad as it sounds, but decidedly different.

I decide to pay for the ¨green taxi¨-the official ones that are supposedly safer. Now is not the time to be cheap, I tell myself, and definitely worth that extra $3. The ride is only about $10 anyway, not bad, and the guy is really nice. Initially taken aback when I initiated conversation, he quickly warmed up and started telling me the difference between Peruvian girls and the more liberal foreign girls. European/American girls dance dirtier and will likely kiss you at the end of the night to let you know they had a good time, he says. If they kiss you hard they want to have more good times that night. I laugh, knowing that he´s actually quite perceptive. Peruvian girls are different, you have to work really hard and maybe you´ll get a kiss.  I tell him some of us Americanas are like that too, but I don´t think he buys it. I think to myself, when in Rome… and decide that I, too, will give no kisses out cheaply.

We get to the house (Oh crap, am I supposed to tip? I give him 5 soles anyway.) and from here things only get better. The house is beautiful, with lots of people all just chilling, some drinking beers in the back , others watching Scarface and smoking porros on the couch. I immediately notice bags of weed, the schwag South America is known for, rolling papers, and cigarettes on the table. A familiar scence, I think. A big blond guy, Alexander, passes me the sack to rollear one if I´d like, and I cordially accept, glad to count this among the skills I´ve acquired in college (along with beer pong, beer bongs, etc). One cute little espanola, Itziar from Spain, asks me if I smoke blunts like the gangsters (¨gongsteerrs,¨she says, with the cutest little accent I´ve ever heard), and Alexander says he´s going to buy some cigars so I can roll one for them tonight. I´ll see what I can do, I say, but no promises. Its not like I´m very experienced!

Oh, they asked me if I did anything besides smoking and my initial reaction is yes, clearly I do much more with my life than just that, until I realize that its cocaina that they´re referring to. No, I tell them, and they unequivocally express relief because it becomes una vida feisima, a very ugly life, and I agree whole-heartedly. They ask how much it costs in the US, and after racking my brain a while I say about $50 a gram or so (is that right??). They tell me its a baratisimo here, $2 a gram! Wow. I really have to get over this frugal German mindset to never pass up a good deal, because that is, in fact, a ridiculously low price. Talk about externalities, though. The real cost is not in the price itself, but in the risk you take doing it and the cost to your body. No gracias, no para mi.

I slept on the couch because the room I´ll be in is currently occupied and slept like a log. This morning we had a good little breakfast and Lilly took me into campus to see where I´ll be in school this semester. It’s absolutely lovely, with pretty gardens and teeming fountains, weirdly cubical architecture and colorful buildings. The weather is 75, absolutely gorgeous, and I´m already thinking how much I like it here. She went on to work (she works on campus) so I´ve been wandering and enjoying myself all day.

They´ve got this super-dank cafeteria where you can get a huge lunch for $3, max–a fresh salad with avocados and other weird vegetables I´d never seen before, a tasty chicken thigh, rice, more veggies, and fruit doused in yogurt.

I got a Coke, too, and it was surprisingly delicious. Is it just my imagination or does this taste different to me? Sure enough, its made with real sugar, azucar instead of high fructose corn syrup that we´re used to getting. ¿What is this? Aren´t we Americans supposed to be getting the higher quality stuff or do they know we´re a bunch of fat asses that will drink up whatever they give us anyway? Perhaps its just easier to source sugar down here. I don´t know, but we Americans have been getting ripped off, because this is much better. I´m going to enjoy this real sugar Coke as long as I can.  I´m going to enjoy the deliciously cheap food, too, and the warm weather while it lasts.

Well I´m off to go enjoy myself. I can´t be spending all day in the computer lab, fun as it might seem.