Monday, January 25, 2016

Peru 2014 Day 12: July 4- We Return to Walk and Eat at the Shore

Peru 2014 Index

I woke up a little drained but recovered and was able to handle a normal breakfast.

This day’s Market trip started before Anabelle arose and included stopping to register at the new medical care place Abuelita was assigned, and to pick up the photos from the disposable cameras.

Once Anabelle came around, we continued her education of early twentieth century books and radio shows via Looney Tunes.

Rosa learned the quality of the disposable cameras was about what one would expect for items that appeared to be sitting in the display case of a small Peruvian side street shop for years.  The “twenty-seven” count rolls of film yielded us anywhere from twenty, down to seven developable pictures.

She also learned that bureaucracy is a universal constant, as the medical registration place was in walking distance from her mother’s home, but the actual doctor’s office she would have to go to was East Jabib out by the airport.

With me recovered, we all donned our matching Three Caballeros shirts and made our way back to La Punta by a nicely empty, and again even more nicely clown free, bus.

Not wanting to miss the tastiness window on what was probably our last shot, we headed straight back to El Mirador.
They ordered the Calamari and Tequeños again.  I had Chavella over rice. 
I believe Chavella is Spanish for “Boring grilled fish for those whose stomach has recently been undergoing a nightmarish implosion.”  It was yummy though.

The other new dish we tried was a sampler of three types of Causa.
It was basically one type of Causa, which wasn’t quite as good as Rosa’s or Abuelita’s, with three different garnishes or infusions that made for some interesting flavor combinations.

I’d like to take a moment to recognize El Mirador with the “Best Bathroom in Peru” award. It was fully stocked, fully functional, and fully clean every time.  If it wasn’t for the possibility of clowns, I would have been tempted to take a bus there to go from wherever we happened to be.

We inquired, and learned from the waitress the arrangement of the boats that stretched to the horizon that we could see from the rooftop eatery.  The club yachts were anchored closest to shore. Behind them was the line of cargo ships waiting to come in to the port.  Not every city is New York (obviously) and though it is the largest port in that section of the continent, the Callao capacity was far below the number of ships that enter each day.  Much further out were the fishing ships, which probably explains why those smallest of vessels were lost in the storm.

Happily fed yet again, we crossed over to Rosa’s old beach.  Shells and barnacles were all the way up to the top of the smooth rocked shore from the previous day’s storm raised tide.

  I needed to wade next to Anabelle again, due to an inherent fear of water that moves and the giant monsters that dwell within it.  Once more, I was ignoring the fact that I probably would have killed myself running to her aid well after my wife scampered down the hill to help her.

Up near Rosa, two little girls were acting exactly like kids on any beach here.  They were building a castle.  There was one difference; theirs was not made out of sand, but out of stones with shells as decorations on the top. 
Because of Anabelle’s water shoes, they assumed she was going swimming into the winter waters.  Anabelle corrected them and got to spend some more time chatting with the natives.

The kids didn’t have to make streams however, because the way the rocks lay on the beach, the waves created them on their own, and also made cool clacking noise as the water rattled the stones together.

I had my newly washed pants on, and made sure they were rolled up out of harm’s way. Even wading near Anabelle on, for me, highly unstable ground I kept them mostly dry.

I would have been successful keeping them that way, except my wife is a comedian.

I had been thinking that she hadn’t taken any photos of Anabelle and I in the surf, when she asked, “Turn around so I can take a picture of you two…now hold still.” 

“How sweet,” I thought, “we still think alike.”

What she really meant was, “Turn around; I just saw the swell of an enormous wave coming in.”

Ha Ha, honey, you’re a freakin’ riot

The wave not only soaked us but also pelted out our legs with rocks.  I wondered aloud how it was possible to swim there without getting a concussion.  It turns out that the rocks are too big out deeper to be kicked around by the currents.

We sat atop the beach for a while, dripping dry and looking at the little living barnacle thingies
that were peeking in and out of their homes on the rocks.

On the way home, we passed the fort. In the past, its function was primarily defending the coast from seaborne invasion.  Judging by the signs, its use changed to being the Tsunami Evacuation site, which I guess is the same thing. 
Rosa had told us about a park she wanted us to see featuring all sorts of statues and cannons.  The little plaques honoring other countries with sister cities and such were still there, but the rest had entered into some sort of monument witness protection program.

The portion of the ocean we could see near the fort had terrifyingly high waves.  How high?  Well, we saw three kids exiting the water and running across the street in front of a speeding Peruvian cab without looking, and that was probably far safer than where they were swimming.

As we walked, I realized that it had been cloudy every day that it was cool and completely clear whenever it was warm. No wonder New Jersey weather confuses Rosa and her family.

I also looked closer at the buildings and their bright, multi-colored, paint jobs.  At first, I thought it was a sign of aged and unkempt developments. However, I noticed that several of them were both newly painted, or in the process of being painted as we walked by.  Unlike many cities and towns here, the diversity of colors and styles was embraced rather than frowned upon - or in severe snooty US cases, prosecuted against.

The dogs that lived out in the streets merited a second look as well. They all appeared remarkably healthy and well groomed.  It seemed that they did live out doors on their own, but someone was clearly taking care of and feeding them.  It wasn’t a matter of them being neglected, but a total lack of inside space for them to be kept in.

Rosa stopped at a pharmacy next to "La Pizza." The menu header looked like a standard Italian restaurant design and proudly proclaimed, “pizza” and “pasta.” This was odd, as the items listed on the menu were all standard Peruvian fare. There was no pizza and no pasta, but there was cuy (guinea pig).

Anabelle provided commentary on this in a puppet show using “Clammy” the shell she brought from the beach. 

‘Cause she’s fun like that.

We have a collection that started with one single item.  A red outfitted chef salt shaker that Anabelle named Guillermo.  When we discovered there was a whole set of different colored ones, she continued the naming streak:  Telesforo, Carlos, Ramon, and Oscar.  On the way home, in the window of a restaurant, we spotted a dark blue one we hadn’t seen before.  Anabelle immediately named him Titicaca, and started regaling us with tales of his family, and his fate as the family’s least favorite son.  I do believe she scared many a native.

The pressure was right for a much needed shower conga once we got home.

Afterwards, Anabelle and I both started compiling notes for our trip chronology.  My daughter informed me that hers was only for personal use and not available for posting. Well, poop, I thought I could get a couple weeks off.

Once clean, we made a quick run to Tottus. Anabelle was tired, but any possible behavior issues were cut off with threats of taking her to Happyland.


A more in-depth check proved the US metric failure. Inca Kola and other sodas were only available in two and a quarter, and three liter bottles.

Rosa had another reminiscing meal with her special soup. Anabelle horded the left over Tequeños, while I finally had my authentic Peruvian Tamale.  Sadly, the authentic Peruvian Tamale wasn’t as good as the inauthentic ones we get at home.

Because at home, they un-authentically put a heck of a lot more meat in them.

After dinner, Anabelle and I continued with our usual Peruvian recreational activities.  We reached level 75 in Jetpack Joyride unlocking the robotic puppy, a simultaneously pointless, yet ridiculously cute achievement.

All the Looney Tunes viewing led to Anabelle asking about Tiny Toons.   Because she’s my daughter, she created a grid showing which cast member in Tiny Toons members corresponded to the classic characters.  Sometimes the bucket that is my head takes a while to dump stuff, but shouting “FURBALL!” into her face when I randomly remembered the cat’s name out of the blue may have scarred her for life.

My tummy finally reached a level of stability that allowed a glass of wine.  This greatly enhanced my nightly Illuminatus reading.  They really are everywhere; there was a Masonic temple next door!

I awoke in the middle of a typical (for me) robotic invasion dream to what sounded like someone throwing a bucket of water into the living room.  A search yielded absolutely nothing.  Perhaps it was an attack against the robots.

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Peru 2014 Index

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