South American Salsa: First Taste

The line curves like a sleeping snake, piling row after row of people between red cords. I shift my sagging backpack to the other shoulder, cradling it with my hands to relieve an aching back and shoulders. I’ve been up for 20 hours on 4 hours of sleep. The line slowly seeps through immigration. My turn. A new stamp and signature in my passport. Brightly colored bills and oddly shaped coins replace a few of my greenbacks at the exchange booth. Then the waiting. And waiting. It is 1:30 a.m. Joined by layovers and lost baggage, a new friend and I fill out paperwork and figure out addresses. Will our host families still be waiting, too?


Waving arms. Relief and a kiss on the cheek. Amber and blue lights and night-shrouded buildings blend with the briny, cool breeze and Spanish. And sleep.

Sticky. Yellow sunlight and a soccer game at the park drift through the window. I don’t know my host mother’s name. How do I get her attention without offense? Smiling, curious conversation. Barbara Streisand and salsa on the radio with the windows down and white knuckles on the door handle. Delicious spices and tiny restaurants by busy streets feels like home- the one with tacos and smiles and warm skin.

A prescription paper and lawyer talk gets me through the guarded door at the hospital. A grandma with a broken hip waiting for pain medication and hairbrush. Observing family relationships, trying to stay out of the way but available to help.


A mall on a cliff by the sea. Soft Al-Paca shawl. The price tag reminds me that tuition is expensive. I get strawberry-banana smoothies close to a Starbucks and a lesson on Peruvian economy under the umbrella over the table. Dubbed Jack and Jill and generosity.

Taxi hopping and squished into a corner table, I try Pollo a la Braza. Savoring every last piece, I’m grateful to be distracted from a thousand details that crowd my overflowing brain. I don’t understand what he’s saying, so I nod and smile and put more chicken in my mouth and say thank you.



Latin sophistication gleams from the computer labs, an on-campus Starbucks,
guarded gates, and green trees at La Universidad Peruana de Ciencias Aplicadas.





“Make sure you spit all the water out,” I tell myself as I brush away the remains of my first 24 hours in Lima. Spending time with my travel Companion and Constant, the One who reads my Spanglish thoughts and feelings and lives in Lima. Bed.

 

Guess what? No bunk bed! Not sleeping
on a church pew, van seat, or cement floor!
 And a new mattress! Did I mention that hot
water comes out of the shower head? Definitely
a different kind of adventure :).





The DTS Outreach packing
list I handed out adapted
 to Peru



San Borja night shimmers through my window