{"id":1137,"date":"2011-06-27T23:11:28","date_gmt":"2011-06-27T23:11:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/?p=1137"},"modified":"2014-05-27T01:31:08","modified_gmt":"2014-05-27T01:31:08","slug":"the-lima-chapters","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/peru\/the-lima-chapters\/","title":{"rendered":"The Lima Chapters"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"map\">\n<h1 class=\"map\">&#8230;<a href=\"http:\/\/maps.google.com\/maps\/ms?msa=0&amp;msid=218151755033626230929.0004a5ff616eb96d850b3&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;t=h&amp;ll=-13.368243,-74.179687&amp;spn=6.41003,24.169922&amp;z=5&amp;source=embed\" target=\"_blank\">Travel stories from Lima, Peru<\/a>&#8230;<\/h1>\n<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"google-map\" src=\"http:\/\/maps.google.com\/maps\/ms?msa=0&amp;msid=218151755033626230929.0004a5ff616eb96d850b3&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;t=h&amp;ll=-13.368243,-74.179687&amp;spn=6.41003,24.169922&amp;z=5&amp;output=embed\" width=\"300\" height=\"150\"><\/iframe><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>CHAPTER 1 &#8211; Limatimes Solidarity<\/h2>\n<p><span class=\"dropcap\">F<\/span>ranco\u2019s eyes hid behind his glasses, the bent light reflecting back at me through a thick lens. His curly black hair shivered when he shook a nod in the affirmative.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, it is illegal.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The long wrinkled tube of meat looked like Italian chorizo. Franco had a contact who had a contact who knew a guy who hunted dolphins from now and then. On this particular day in the House of No Ends, Franco showed up in the evening with the baguette-shaped dolphin meat under his arm.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo it\u2019s illegal because dolphins are precious, yea?\u201d I suggested.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure sure, but huevon, I only eat dolphin maybe twice a year,\u201d he said, \u201cso I don\u2019t think that\u2019s exactly dynamiting their population. It\u2019d be sustainable if people only ate it once a year, I\u2019m telling you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The meat was almost black, and it was tough. It had that agonizing fishy smell to it, but after chopped and drowned in white vinegar and put on a saltine cracker with parsley, tomato, and avocado, it tasted exotic. Man, it\u2019d be good with a nice and warm French baguette, I thought. The real difference between bread here and bread in France is that here, putting the bread in a plastic bag improves the quality.<\/p>\n<p>I looked around the place. Everyone shared bites of the rare meat. The House of No Ends now had a few French, a Venezuelan, and the Catalans and us. Another Catalan artisan had showed up with his Ecuadoran sweetheart. Felix became known as Catalan Dos. I would go with him and Catalan to the center of Surco and watch them sell their jewelry. They\u2019d make on average about 4 dollars each time they went out to parchear.<\/p>\n<p>One night brought party to the house. A couchsurfing party. The kind of party that could get crazy. Pisco was flowing like rivers around the place. Camilo cried out in jest, \u201cHow would Mario handle this, how would he handle it!?\u201d Dozens of bodies stood around, swaying in their own ways. Everyone moves differently. That\u2019s why I can\u2019t dance. My movement is not deemed pretty. In fact it might be considered offensive to some.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1143\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 311px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/the-house-of-no-ends.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1143 size-full\" title=\"The House of No Ends in Lima. \" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/the-house-of-no-ends.jpg\" alt=\"The House of No Ends in Lima. \" width=\"301\" height=\"401\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/the-house-of-no-ends.jpg 301w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/the-house-of-no-ends-225x300.jpg 225w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 301px) 100vw, 301px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">The House of No Ends in Lima.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Smoke from this plant or that choked the air, the steamy top giving the party its ambiance. I spent much of the night talking with a journalist. She had a perky personality and dark endless eyes that peered out from behind square wire-rim glasses. Her milky-white hands cupped around her glass of wine. Her knuckles looked cold. I watched her delicate fingers wring her wrist as she was telling me something about accountability or ethics in broadcasting or something that I couldn\u2019t quite follow. I felt my ears perk as I snapped out of a trance. She was staring at me blankly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you ok?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure sure I\u2019m fine I\u2019m just\u2026 I\u2026 I guess I really just don\u2019t care at the moment.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHuh?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCome outside,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>I kissed her in an alley around the corner. Foreheads rested together and she said she couldn\u2019t. \u201cEres lindo y todo pero no.\u201d Almost as abruptly as I\u2019d cut off her conversation, she was gone from the party. I never saw her again. I bet it\u2019s because she saw how I dance.<\/p>\n<p>The next morning came with headaches, the afternoon swooped in and it was then night again. Again and again the days came and left without so much as a whisper hello. Nights were marked with hookah and Mario or movies when Camilo and Franco would come back from work. \u201cYou lazy bums, we work for a living! But right on, huevones, right on.\u201d One night Camilo and I appeased our nature to enter into heated debate. He is an economist and can argue with numbers, and I\u2019m more or less a social theorist that can argue with hazy facts. It was a great until-4-am discussion.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_697\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 556px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/drawings\/sketching-in-peru\/attachment\/travel-drawing-lima-center\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-697 size-full\" title=\"Travel Drawing of the Center of Lima\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/travel-drawing-lima-center.jpg\" alt=\"Travel Drawing of the Center of Lima\" width=\"546\" height=\"367\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/travel-drawing-lima-center.jpg 546w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/travel-drawing-lima-center-300x201.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 546px) 100vw, 546px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">In the Center of Lima, I created this travel drawing of the old carved wooden colonial balconies and porches.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The living in the House of No Ends went on unhindered by unnecessary obligations or pointless landlines. Catalan Dos made avocado-milk-sugar drinks every morning. A killer anti-headache concoction. A Slovakian couple showed up to collect their things they\u2019d left at the house months before. When they were gone they had gifted me a jacket, some socks, and long johns. I\u2019d been thinking of buying more cold-weather clothing. So it goes.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>CHAPTER 2 \u2013 To Sell or Not to Sell<\/h2>\n<p>Election Day arrived.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re goddamn right I\u2019m in favor of a coup d\u2019etat,\u201d said Camilo when the news of Ollanta\u2019s win came in.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI made the mistake of talking to my mom,\u201d Franco said. \u201cShe\u2019s pissed and turned into a racist, yelling \u2018why do those goddamn Indians have to vote!?\u2019\u201d Super Mario Bros became Franco\u2019s escape from the overwhelming pain of being on the losing candidate\u2019s team.<\/p>\n<p>Camilo got high and lay on the bed, a dead stare into the television set. With an indifferent tone but as sure as shadows he commented that, \u201cBowser wastes his military budget on plumbing and turtles.\u201d He cocked his head to the side. \u201cEveryone in Mario world is with Bowser\u2026 Mario wins and becomes a dictator and makes all the turtles wear Mario masks. At least Bowser left them their freedom of expression. So much for democracy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The days of the Election went by slowly, the stress evident in the blank stares of our hosts when someone would have the audacity to mention it. But their energy and optimism about their guests did not fade. Always new faces showed up at the door. \u201cHow long have you guys been here?\u201d they would ask when they\u2019d see us making semi-sexist jokes with Franco and Camilo or yelling obscenities at movies or praising Skyline. In a few weeks it was almost like a micro-click that we\u2019d created, between Catalan and me and our hosts. It was our shared love for Mario, and our shared joke about Skyline, etc. Limatimes solidarity motherfucker!<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou should sell your drawings,\u201d Catalan suggested. He was standing next to his purple display of earrings and necklaces in the street. Catalan Dos had laid out rings and bracelets on a green cloth as well. People passed by like walking cold shoulders.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThink people would buy those drawings?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n<p>Catalan has a rough manner of voice when he spoke, bringing deep sounds from his gut and meshing them with the dulled ssss sound so common among the Spanish. \u201cSeguro que si. Of course yes,\u201d he said. \u201cAll you have to do is talk with the people, sell your drawings.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I took to drawing quick sketches like a maniac. A sturdy glass pane served as my sketch surface. The pencils were gifts from Christmastime or ones I bought way back in Guatemala. Some things that appeared on the white sheets of paper were vulgar. A giant close-up of spread legs as a Coca Cola ad, a naked woman pinching a used condom, a big-breasted ugly scissor-hands woman at a bar where one man is insisting to his friend that she\u2019s not worth it. Some drawings were more innocent. A cat reading a book on how to be a cat but written by a dog. A man looking down a road, a single sign that read \u201cwrong way\u201d. A pencil with hands and legs writing the word \u201ccrap\u201d with his graphite bum. I\u2019m gonna have to censor myself&#8230;.<\/p>\n<p>I decided one night to go with the Catalans to sell. They set up their places, laying out the jewelry on red or green felt. I set out my drawings on a black cloth and weighted them down with tree seeds Catalan Dos lent me. People passed by and now the cold shoulders were my burden as well. I noticed that if I sat to draw while I waited more people would stop. Nobody was buying the drawings. I scribbled \u201cSolo 3 soles\u201d on a piece of paper for the passersby to see.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1144\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 484px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/artesanos-en-lima.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1144 size-full\" title=\"Artesanos en Lima, selling on the street.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/artesanos-en-lima.jpg\" alt=\"Artesanos en Lima, selling on the street.\" width=\"474\" height=\"356\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/artesanos-en-lima.jpg 474w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/artesanos-en-lima-300x225.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 474px) 100vw, 474px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Artesanos en Lima, selling on the street.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou have to talk with the people,\u201d Catalan advised.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m nervous, I dunno if that\u2019s my thing.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou have to learn how to manipulate the people, keep them around, get your shit in their hands.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Of course Catalan was right. I handed drawings to people when they\u2019d start looking at them and sure enough they started to buy. I let Catalan do the talking. I made 10 sols during the night, not a bad catch.<\/p>\n<p>After a quick free meal from a chef who wanted to feed us, since he\u2019d traveled himself, we began the walk back to the house.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow did you like it? Are you going to come parchear with us tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I ended up returning with the Catalans a few nights more and for the next few days I supplemented my budget with a free meal thanks to some quick drawings. But alas the salesman life is not for me. The artists in the street are indeed salesmen. But salesmen aren\u2019t selling a product as much as they\u2019re selling themselves. I hate it. \u2026What I like is that people are interested enough to spend money on my work, but the catch is thus, I wont sell.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>CHAPTER 3 &#8211; Ayahuasca<\/h2>\n<p>\u201cNapoleon, Hitler, Kim Jung-Il, Mussolini\u2026 it seems dangerous to have little guys in power. There should be a height limit.\u201d Camilo drew in a breath of the thick shisha smoke and spoke as it slowly left his mouth, diluting his voice. We were all sitting around the hookah once more. Family Guy was on the television but there was no sound. We passed a beer back and forth. Catalan Dos and his Ecuadorian mistress had left and now it was Camilo, Franco, young Andres from Venezuela, Catalan and I.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAhhhhhhh, that feels good man. Yes.\u201d The short airy effects of narguile had reached my head. I spent a moment flying in the sky.<\/p>\n<p>Franco was smiling. \u201cIt\u2019s hitting bien, huevon.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Camilo reached out for the clear yellow-stained tube, \u201cPasamela. Pass it here, huevon.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cConcha su madre!\u201d replied Franco amicably enough. The slang in the house is a local blend of the times. \u2018Huevon\u2019 means man or asshole depending on your intention, and \u2018concha tu madre\u2019 means fuck your mom or your mom\u2019s vag, depending on your grammar. The words crossed lips with such frequency that I began assimilating the jargon.<\/p>\n<p>Nights ended with Camilo and Franco falling asleep first, everyone scrunched together on the beds, and me dragging myself upstairs to pass out on my mat. I woke up late every morning but one. I had a mission to accomplish.<\/p>\n<p>I hopped the metropolitan transit system and rode it the hour or so into Lima center.<\/p>\n<p>The busiest of streets are swarmed by buses, the helpers yelling \u201csuba suba suba!\u201d to anyone not already aboard, even if you are so obviously not looking for a bus. I hoped my face looked comfortable but hard. I let my feet give me strut as I made my way down Tacna avenue, taller than most everyone. Most streets are named after some other place in the country. I suppose that makes it truly central.<\/p>\n<p>Tall blocks of concrete buildings like giants loomed overhead, and gray skies doused the sun, hidden behind a glowing gold patch of haze. A long part of the sidewalk took me on a marble way under the overhanging buildings past open-air shops selling everything. 220, 218, and then finally arriving at 216 Tacna avenue, the address Camilo had given me of his contact. Mama Theo we can call her.<\/p>\n<p>I peered into the shop. Shining figurines of Jesus and the saints glistened at the entryway and from high shelves I let my eyes fall to the back where behind a long glass counter sat two women. A backdrop of more shelving displaying teal candles and thin boxes of incense sticks grew dark behind the women. The smell was an indoor smell, and it got thicker as I made my way to the counter.<\/p>\n<p>One woman was younger and obese. Her plump face squeezed her eyes hidden. This must be Theo. Camilo had told me that she was big. He\u2019d also told me that all the shamans buy from her.<\/p>\n<p>The other, older woman watched me approach, like a hawk eyeing its prey. She was old. I could almost hear the aging in her body.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHello. I\u2019ve come on an errand for a friend of mine. Do you sell Ayahuasca?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The older woman smiled, her crooked teeth seemed to smile too. \u201cYou want the high huh?\u201d She laughed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow much is it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mama Theo spoke up: \u201c50 sols,\u201d she stated plainly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy friend Camilo said that it should cost 40.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAh Camilo we know Camilo.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI came on his behalf.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s 50 sols.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDale, ok then. I\u2019ll by two dosages.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The wooden stool creaked as Theo stood and walked to the end of the counter. There was a bottle tied to a string, hanging idly. She brought the bottle over. A thick red-brown liquid splashed around inside. She unscrewed the top. It smelled like fermented wrath.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo you just drink this and that\u2019s it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The old woman chuckled now. \u201cHeat it a little before you take it, and then goodnight, friend. Drink your dosage and that\u2019s it, heavenly dreams for 6 hours.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDreams?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSomething like that. Living dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Theo poured two small cups of the stuff into a Sprite bottle. It didn\u2019t look like Sprite. A milky yellow froth fizzed to the surface after the lady had finished the transfer. The color was like a matte copper, not unlike the hue of bricks in dying light.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEnjoy gringo!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Ayahuasca comes from a jungle vine here in Peru. It\u2019s not unlike San Pedro in that it is a hallucinogenic, natural plant. Only, San Pedro contains mescaline (like peyote), while ayahuasca contains large quantities of DMT. Several of the Amazonian tribes have used ayahuasca for millennia in ritual ceremonies or as a medicine. They say that the state that ayahuasca induces prepares you for a curing. In their tradition, the ceremonies are conducted by a shaman. Today, being a shaman is profitable work here. Foreigners pay hundreds of dollars for special retreats where ayahuasca sessions are held with shamans. There have also been plenty of cases of shamans raping their customers. In the jungle the minimum you can buy ayahuasca for is 150 sols. I didn\u2019t want a shaman and I didn\u2019t want to pay that much. I wanted to be in a safe, comfortable place with good people. The 50 sols didn\u2019t appear out of nowhere. Remember Sierra\u2019s 300? Spend on crazy stuff she\u2019d said.<\/p>\n<p>Camilo would be leaving for a voyage in Brazil on Saturday. It was Thursday evening when I returned to the House of No Ends. Andres and Catalan examined the smelly drink. I placed it in the freezer. When Camilo showed up later I learned that he was leaving Friday, and that we couldn\u2019t wait, we had to drink the ayahuasca that night.<\/p>\n<p>It was not fear that I felt. It was tension in my muscles. It was something that choked my mind, since I couldn\u2019t possibly have expectations. Before San Pedro I had never taken any hallucinogen that had any real effects. A little pot here and there, maybe one too many brownies once, perhaps drinking too much from time to time, but never anything that altered my reality like San Pedro. I\u2019ve never been cautious in the traditional sense, but something like that.<\/p>\n<p>Franco showed up later and by that time we were all laid out on the floor watching a horrible movie called The Mechanic. 8 o\u2019clock, then 9 and 10 o\u2019clock came and went. Camilo was passed out.<\/p>\n<p>I kicked Camilo\u2019s feet, \u201coye come on man aren\u2019t we gonna take the drink?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He squinted bloodshot eyes, \u201cno.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAw come on I don\u2019t want to take it alone.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He moaned out angrily, \u201cyou can\u2019t always get what you want gringo.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We wouldn\u2019t drink the ayahuasca after all. I suppose I\u2019d have to drink it alone the next day.<\/p>\n<p>The next day I woke late and spent most of it cooking and cleaning around the house. Andres and Catalan had gone to a different part of the city to sell jewelry, and I was alone. I watched \u201cCapote\u201d and then took the DVD cover upstairs to draw it. That\u2019s when Camilo showed up. He stormed in the house. \u201cGringo! Where are you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m upstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He stomped up the metal spiral staircase, ducking to avoid where the ceiling hangs too low. His short curly black hair looked disheveled. He had mischief in his eyes and stood eagerly in front of me in his mustard yellow knit sweater. \u201cI think I have come up with the most irresponsible idea imaginable.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d I asked only half-interested.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe plane leaves today at 11 at night. My parents are coming to pick me up from here at 8. It\u2019s three o\u2019clock now. We should take the ayahuasca. By the time my parents show up we\u2019ll be coming down off the effects. It\u2019s very possibly the most irresponsible thing I will have ever done in my life.\u201d<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1145\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"width: 230px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/ayahuasca.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1145 size-full\" title=\"Ayahuasca\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/ayahuasca.jpg\" alt=\"Ayahuasca\" width=\"220\" height=\"284\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ayahuasca. <a href=\"http:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Drug\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>It was decided. We rushed down to the fridge and divided the drink between us. The wrath smell was diluted by the chill of the fridge, but it was still potent enough to make us gag. Camilo put a disc into the DVD player.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFamily Guy? Are you serious?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe last time I took ayahuasca I was watching Family Guy and I knew the effects had started because Peter walked clear off the television screen.\u201d Camilo had the plan set and ready. \u201cAnd besides the effects don\u2019t kick in for a half hour, just enough time for me to watch a new episode and for you to watch one you\u2019ve probably already seen.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I had no idea what to expect. We plugged our noses and drank. It was in. Ingesting means no going back. We sat to watch Season 10 Episode 5.<\/p>\n<p>\u2026<\/p>\n<p>Tired\u2026<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShit Camilo I\u2019m really tired.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u2026<\/p>\n<p>Time passed, barely paying attention to Family Guy\u2026<\/p>\n<p>Ugh.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHeavy eyes..\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The lights seemed to get brighter.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCamilo.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I watched Camilo in his seat. All of a sudden the arm he was resting his chin on fell, and his head sank. His reflexes caught him and he turned toward me. His movements looked painful. A smile stretched across his face. \u201cHahaha. Shhh, haa.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>My muscles went limp.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCamilo, damn, my body has decided to not work or what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s it man, this is it,\u201d said Camilo as he forced himself to stand, the episode coming to an end.<\/p>\n<p>A few minutes more and like that, oblivion had found a way to express itself. Ayahuasca. Like dying wind, time suddenly grew quite. We wobbled into the kitchen area. Camilo pointed at the rack holding all the spices and pots and pans. \u201cWow, it\u2019s awesome.\u201d He held his hand up to his forehead. \u201cThe division is beginning, my mind is separating, vvvvoooooaammm.\u201d He gestured outward with his open palm. We both seemed to have trouble keeping our balance as we stood admiring the kitchen.<\/p>\n<p>Everything moved, just like in San Pedro. The floors took to looking like snakes, the walls vertical oceans. But the surfaces were multi-dimensional, with hallucinations on top of others, like looking into the waters of an azul pool and seeing fish swimming at different depths, a window into another world, as it were.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCamilo, this is similar to San Pedro, but my mind, man. It\u2019s much more about my mind. Yikes friend, this stuff is powerful.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We roamed upstairs and somehow Camilo ended up lying in his room and I on the oriental rug in the unfinished room where I\u2019d been sleeping. When Camilo had showed up with his idea, we\u2019d taped a black sheet of plastic over the window to blot out the light. I curled up on the rug and let the ayahuasca take me over.<\/p>\n<p>Everything was fast and slow at once. The reality seemed to turn or expand and shrink again. I couldn\u2019t tell whether my eyes were opened or closed, and in either case the things I perceived were bizarre creations of my mind messing with the normally inanimate things in the world of the waking eye. I saw beauty where normally there is none. My senses were heightened to an extreme. I was seeing into a place where normally you cannot. I could hear the air being, I could feel the rug as though it were my own skin. Everything had an odor, so many odors that I couldn\u2019t rightly describe them! My tongue worked miracles in my mouth. It slid over the contours of my teeth, felt my gums and the inside of my lips.<\/p>\n<p>I picked myself up and carefully navigated the spiral staircase back to the kitchen. I\u2019d left an oily pan with pieces of potatoes still sitting on the hot plate. I placed one of the little cubes of potato slowly, deliberately and almost (dare I say it??) lovingly to my lips, letting them feel the potato as I opened my mouth. The cold taste was stunning and beautiful. If only I had some foie gras\u2026<\/p>\n<p>\u2026<\/p>\n<p>\u2026Time must have been passing, but I was not participating\u2026<\/p>\n<p>Dizzy but aware, but not aware and somewhere lonely and away, worlds away, but wait this is here, this is the same world. This is everything I know and knew and ever will know. I could see the future and talk with the past, and the present went on and on, beyond a single moment. Life was rolled up into a legible, breathable entity.<\/p>\n<p>My breathing was heavy, my heart rate increased rapidly, and I rocked back and forth humming a solid note, banging my chest to create bursts of sound. The sound put me into a trance and my rocking was denting the air waves wading in front of me. Was I seeing reality? Was reality showing me something or was I stealing a peek at its better half? I became the dominant force of my existence for the first time, and the philosophies that came to me in that trance were something epic. It seems almost trivial to say any more, for words are fallible.<\/p>\n<p>I stood and walked to the wall, where with my face close enough to kiss it, I spoke to it. The wall did not talk back. My hearing was savagely sharp, and I could almost describe the contours of the mortar between the bricks just from the echo of my voice.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cChael!\u201d Camilo murmured from his room. I walked to his doorway. He was wrapped in a blue sleeping bag. My faculty of speech had almost failed me. \u201cCamilo why\u2026 Camilo. Why do, why is the light on? I talked to the wall.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI heard,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n<p>He got up and went into the bathroom. I heard the shower and the toilet and the sink. Some throwing up. Ayahuasca causes that, which is one reason the tribes believe that it\u2019s a cleansing agent. That I didn&#8217;t throw up that night might not be a good thing.<\/p>\n<p>I remember thinking \u201cHow the hell can he do that?\u201d referring to his ability to use the bathroom tripped out as we were.<\/p>\n<p>In retrospect, I think hours must have passed with us on our respective trips. Camilo emerged from the bathroom. \u201cLet\u2019s listen to music.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSomehow that idea is the best idea I\u2019ve ever heard.\u201d I had some kind of bizarre love for the idea, the idea to listen to music\u2026 my god it\u2019s beautiful.<\/p>\n<p>Downstairs Camilo somehow had the ability to set the music.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is shaman music. From shaman. From the jungle. Usually it\u2019s that they use to chant when they\u2019re doing their purges or whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The music was dancing before my eyes. Sweet tones and tough drumheads banged out and sanitized the air. Darkness engulfed me and then suddenly the light shone out brilliant from small sources, like the red button on the DVD player, or the blue glow around the CD. Camilo set up the hookah and began sucking in air through the tube to get it going.<\/p>\n<p>Dici, the cat, sat against my leg. My fingers pulled through her fur. I spun my own hair around my other hand and thought how incredible it was to have hair so long for this journey, so to speak. But with the cat it was more incredible. My touching the cat let me into her head, there to form some kind of wild instinctual connection between us. I felt her steady breathing and sensed her fear and hesitation. I\u2019d petted her plenty of times before, but this time she succumbed to my touch and stretched out, apparently in ecstasy. That cat felt more cat than any cat had felt before.<\/p>\n<p>The music changed to an old North American Indian chief conducting a rain dance, the soft chanting not unlike my bizarre trance earlier upstairs. The hookah was going strong. Camilo blew huge billows of smoke into the air. Within the smoke, faces manifested and looked at me peculiarly before they dissipated into the clean air. I took the tube and sucked in, acutely aware of the bubbling sound emanating from the base. I blew the smoke into my hand. The smoke changed from blue to green to purple and all the colors of the spectrum. I hung my head and breathed with the hookah for a time, letting the smoke wrap around my hand like silken clothing. Everything had a life, everything had importance. The life around me was strong, intentional, bonding and breaking but always moving. Incredible.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI wouldn\u2019t want to do this with a shaman,\u201d said Camilo. \u201cI don\u2019t need a shaman. Some random guy you don\u2019t know trying to get into your pants.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019d like to do it that way either.\u201d I struggled to get those words out. Camilo was uniquely intelligent, and the trip affects everyone differently. For me it killed my linguistic capacity.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYour trip is your trip, you know?\u201d He sucked in some smoke and blew it out. I saw a man surfing waves in the cloud. \u201cMy trip is this, this is what it\u2019s supposed to be for me. I think with a shaman you go on his trip. Or he busts your balls this way or that.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHave you ever taken ayahuasca with others?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo this is my first time, And I\u2019m glad we\u2019re doing it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There are no words to describe the appreciation I had for Camilo. I learned that taking ayahuasca with another person means that you will have that animal connection with them as well. I felt I had a unique and optimized insight into Camilo\u2019s person, his being.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou have to be careful with whoever you take it with. Like if a girl has been raped by her father or something, and has deep problems hidden away in their subconscious, they\u2019ll go crazy. It will destroy them completely.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell how did you know I wouldn\u2019t flip out?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re Buena onda. I can tell about people,\u201d Camilo responded.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHave you ever taken other drugs?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI never take anything that can damage my brain. Cocaine, meth, opiates, too much pot. I have a good brain. I\u2019m very confident about my intellect. I don\u2019t want to hurt my mind.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I blew a few smoke rings that transformed into blue stars twinkling into nothingness. I liked to let Camilo talk. He was sharp, his intellect like a fine-tuned harp. Hell, his bedside reading was Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy for Adult Asperger Syndrome.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey, yo, what if you take this with someone bad&#8230; I mean evil to the core. What a crazy trip that would be,\u201d I suggested.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah yea, muy malo, like someone absolutely horrible. Hitler, or Mao!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, no, maybe someone worse, I mean totally evil to the core&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Camilo had a big smile and rocked forward, \u201cyou crazy man, Hitler isn\u2019t bad enough for you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe discriminated, he didn\u2019t just kill everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The music shifted again, this time to a slow electrical beat, fuzzy sounds and burly blops of base trickled into the air.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOye Camilo would you ever drop this ayahuasca with your parents?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAbsolutely and definitively no. No never.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI think I would. My parents are open.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMine are conservative. They know I take drugs from time to time, but never man, never in my life.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf I called my parents tomorrow and told them to fly here to take ayahuasca with me they would.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you serious?\u201d Camilo didn\u2019t believe me. \u201cThey\u2019d come here to take drugs?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, they\u2019d come here to see me. But if I speak from\u2026 you know like, from my heart, about it, they surely would try it.\u201d I stared into Camilo\u2019s unbelieving eyes. \u201cThis is amazing. You and I haven\u2019t talked about anything particularly different tonight, but somehow we know better. If it\u2019s possible to know my own blood better, how could I not want that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Camilo and I were stretched out on a mattress smoking hookah and hallucinating madly. Everything was so easy to understand, everything was so clear and uncorrupted. I didn\u2019t have any questions, only answers. To what? To what\u2026 I\u2019m not sure\u2026 because words are fallible, once more. The effects were disappearing slowly but surely, and I felt a profound sadness. My senses began to return to me and my speech faculty improved. The last hour or so was an incredible sigh of gratitude for whatever, for this, for that, for it all, the whole mad thing.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan you believe it Chael?\u201d Asked Camilo. \u201cThose tribes have been using ayahuasca for thousands of years. Before Machu Pichu, man. Before papas rellenas. Before the Spanish, before the Incas even! It\u2019s been used, and here we are, seeing that world somehow, right?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>A knock came at the door. Camilo shot up and turned on the lights. The lights were painful to bear, my dilated pupils already on overload. It was his parents. They came in and I introduced myself. I could see instantly where Camilo got his smarts. His father was Portuguese but spoke fluent Spanish and English. His gray hair was parted on the side, and his yellow vest was of the same color as Camilo\u2019s sweater. His mother was tall and had a strong face. I perceived a keen resolve about her. I realized that the ayahuasca effects were allowing me to see these people with that incredible appreciative eye. These were Camilo\u2019s parents. They had to be, because it was too perfect for it not to be thus.<\/p>\n<p>Camilo packed his things into a plastic bag and shoved them into the recently cat-piss-soiled backpack. I shook hands with his parents and hugged Camilo with a laugh forming at the corner of my mouth. We were still tripping balls and he was about to board a plane. And with that, they were gone, and I was alone with my mind.<\/p>\n<p>That night Franco showed up first and we went out for some Chinese food. \u201cI don\u2019t care how much it costs I just want to eat a lot of food, I haven\u2019t eaten since 10 this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou drank it with Camilo?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBien, huevon. That\u2019s awesome. It really makes me happy. You know, I was thinking, darn it, I\u2019ll drink it with him if he can\u2019t find anyone else to, but I\u2019m really glad you and Camilo did it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I tried to explain my experience to Catalan, Andres, and Franco but it was too difficult, even the next morning, after the night of screaming headache pain, when my Spanish had returned to me. It was and is so difficult to express. What can I say? The ayahuasca trip is a language in itself, and language, my friends, is hard to put into words.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1146\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 509px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/camilo-and-franco-in-lima.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1146 size-full\" title=\"Camilo and Franco in Lima\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/camilo-and-franco-in-lima.jpg\" alt=\"Camilo and Franco in Lima\" width=\"499\" height=\"329\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/camilo-and-franco-in-lima.jpg 499w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/camilo-and-franco-in-lima-300x197.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 499px) 100vw, 499px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Camilo and Franco in Lima.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>CHAPTER 4 \u2013 A Girl<\/h2>\n<p>Catalan and I had decided to team up to travel together for a bit. Andres was heading our way so he would also come with us. It was Saturday and we would leave on Monday. Franco had insisted, and we happily collaborated on one last hurrah.<\/p>\n<p>Franco cut up some more pieces of Dolphin meat and soaked it in the white vinegar, serving it to the guys on saltines. I hastily prepared some potatoes. We were in a hurry, the party would not wait for us.<\/p>\n<p>We were also drinking pisco from a big label-less moonshine bottle. Before long Catalan\u2019s eyes stopped focusing so well, and Andres would lose his train of thought. My head wobbled. I thought the ayahuasca trip the day before would kill me this day, but I had to celebrate one last time with the boys before we left the House of No Ends behind.<\/p>\n<p>When we were all four of us pleasantly inebriated, we hailed a taxi outside and piled in. Catalan brought a water bottle filled with pisco so as not to pay drinks at the club. City scenes and street lights flew past us, the world a bit more shaky than normal.<\/p>\n<p>I was still flabbergasted by my experience of the previous day, and I still hadn\u2019t quite organized my thoughts and opinions about the journey. The taxi pulled up at the main square in Miraflores. We all staggered up to a single doorway. The doorman gave us little couchsurfing stickers to put on our shirts to get in for free. A couchsurfing gathering, as it turned out, but we ended up not hanging with the other CS there.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAlright let\u2019s us find some ladies!\u201d shouted Catalan as he took a chug from the bottle he\u2019d snuck in.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThank god the music isn\u2019t that shitty club music you have to listen to in movies,\u201d I suggested. It was electronic music, but slow.<\/p>\n<p>We drank and let random girls take photos with us. My sense of time left me. I was standing with Andres bobbing back and forth like an unsure foreigner in a nightclub\u2026 \u2026 yes, well, I was standing with Andres when a pair of lonely girls in the middle of the dance area caught my eye.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOye Andres, look at those two. We should go ask them to dance,\u201d I shouted over the music. \u201cCome on follow me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We walked over to the pair. I lightly placed my hand behind one of the girl\u2019s elbows and she turned and looked at me. She was beautiful. Not only am I not usually the guy to have the gusto to walk up to lady strays, but I\u2019m also not the guy to walk up to stunning lady strays, or much less the guy who gets to dance with them. But alas, those aspects of my identity were on leave or something.<\/p>\n<p>We skipped introductions and began to dance. We talked too, shoutingly. As the music dug deeper into our veins and our willingness to think about our moves became less, we got close, and our ears were almost touching. I let my hands fall on the curves of her hips, pulling her closer. From time to time I swung her out and spun her around. When she\u2019d move back to me, I saw that her eyes were soulful, her smile lovely.<\/p>\n<p>The night was stolen away. Franco and Catalan were pursuing dance partners not far from us. Hours passed. Andres disappeared, and the girls were discussing leaving.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019re going to go,\u201d said the girl.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd what if I came with you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell we\u2019re going to go back, to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I tried to make my intention very clear. She suggested I could accompany them, but I didn\u2019t think I\u2019d have a chance. I was also thinking about Franco and Catalan and I didn\u2019t want to get left behind. And like that, the girls were gone.<\/p>\n<p>Andres showed up and we left, piled back into another taxi and drove back to the House of No Ends. Apparently Andres had met an older woman who invited him into her car outside. So it goes.<\/p>\n<p>Franco was disheartened, \u201cReally I think we\u2019re a bunch of suckers. No one really won tonight did they?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat son of a bitch whore said I smelled bad,\u201d said Catalan about something.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOye, guys,\u201d Franco was addressing Andres and I, \u201cthose girls you were dancing with were rey buenas, really good looking.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We drunkenly scampered into the house. I passed out quickly.<\/p>\n<p>Sunday morning. One more night in the House of No Ends. I woke to a strange feeling. I felt like warm butter. I found myself thinking about the previous night, about the girl with no name, about all the things I wished I\u2019d thought to talk with her about. I wanted to tell her about my trip, about my drawings. I wanted to ask what she does, I wanted to ask her if she knows ayahuasca. I closed my eyes and could see the girl\u2019s face clearly in my mind. She was on my mind.<\/p>\n<p>I moaned and turned over a few times. I wanted to redo that night. I wanted to lean in close and whisper solemnly in the girl\u2019s ear, let me know you, I want to know you, but I want to know you elsewhere\u2026 why couldn\u2019t I have met you walking on the street, or in a park, or helping you pick up your dropped books in a caf\u00e9, I don&#8217;t care if it&#8217;s cliche&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Downstairs the others were awake.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat happened with the girl last night man?\u201d asked Franco.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThose chicks were good catches, fellas,\u201d Catalan chimed in.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe girl I was with suggested I could accompany her but I thought it was pretty clear nothing would happen. I was pretty clear about what I was looking for,\u201d I said, hesistating. I didn&#8217;t seem to agree with what I&#8217;d just said. Was I really just looking to get laid? Was that it?<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou blew it,\u201d said Franco. \u201cShe was asking for you to violate her.\u201d Yes, we speak rather violently in the House of No Ends.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat? But I made it pretty clear man, and in my country most don\u2019t play those games.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou in Peru man,\u201d reassured Franco. \u201cYou had a chance and ya blew it.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, it\u2019s probably better. I woke up this morning thinking about her. I can see her face still man. Hell I think I got a crush. Last time this happened was long ago in Mexico, and I keep traveling, left that possibility in the past.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you serious?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I thought about it for a moment. \u201cYea, too bad I didn\u2019t get any of her information.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s her name?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t remember. The girl.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Andres gargled some water and spat it into the sink. \u201cHey, my girl\u2019s name, I just remembered it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYour 40 year olds name or the gal you were dancing with?\u201d Franco jostled.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe gal I was dancing with. Liz. That\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOye look her up on facebook man!\u201d Catalan yelled.<\/p>\n<p>He sat at the laptop and opened the website. After a short search sure enough he found his girl.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLook in her friends,\u201d I said, \u201cwait. This can be dangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy dangerous man you have to do it,\u201d urged Franco.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI want to travel. This kind of stuff happens all the time. Aint no such thing as a soul mate, there are soul mates, and you just have to choose one, but you meet em all the time. I want to travel but if I let myself follow crushes, let em grow into something, it\u2019ll stop me dead cold in my tracks.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cScrew you,\u201d said Franco, \u201cyou gotta do it. Who&#8217;s talking about soul mates anyway? You gotta mesage her man! Don&#8217;t let love pass you by!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>We laughed, \u201coye it aint love.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey guys I found her!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We scrambled over to the computer screen. Profile picture. \u201cYea that\u2019s her,\u201d I confirmed with a strange eagerness. \u201cMayra. That\u2019s right, her name\u2019s Mayra. Let me send her a message.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I wrote a message: <em>Hey remember me? I\u2019m that half-drunk guy you danced with all night last night. I hope it\u2019s ok that my friend Andres found your friend, and that he searched for you on my behalf. I had a good time talking with you. To tell you the truth dancing and going out to clubs really isn\u2019t my thing. I woke up this morning and felt like I wanted to get to know you better. Maybe we can meet each other again. Go for a walk or eat something. Let me know what you think. And I\u2019m sorry that I didn\u2019t accompany you home, that was my error<\/em>&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>The next morning Catalan, Andres and I would get on the road for Ica, the desert city. Andres would stay one more day to use Catalan\u2019s weed contact to stock up before continuing his travels. I didn\u2019t know what I was doing sending that message. \u201cCatalan,\u201d I\u2019d said, \u201cthis could really fuck things up.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Just go for it man, don&#8217;t worry so much.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>CHAPTER 5 \u2013 Travel Buddies<\/h2>\n<p>Catalan and I woke later than planned, but the door was open and we were out of it. It was a difficult parting. Franco left for work after an honestman\u2019s handshake farewell. After so long in the House of No Ends, I had a sick feeling as I left, as though I wasn&#8217;t yet supposed to. But Catalan and I took to the pavement, hopped in a bus with uncomfortable luggage, and finally arriving at a tollbooth at the southern limits of Lima.<\/p>\n<p>The hitching felt slow, but after only an hour and a half we got a ride with Jimmy in his delivery truck. Another Jimmy.<\/p>\n<p>The sun slowly began to surface from the sea of haze in the sky. Little by little the heat pressed down. Jimmy let us out 3 hours later at the crossroads to Pisco. Pisco, home of Pisco, the Peruvian liquor. We would not go there. Our destination was Ica, the dune city.<\/p>\n<p>Division of my brain hemispheres was obvious. I like to travel with others, but I\u2019ve traveled so many days alone that I\u2019m like an old man stuck in his ways\u2026 but everyone is stuck in the ways that work for them. Frustrations that clouded my mind I had to suffer silently and then they\u2019d subside. Stupid things. Techniques of hitchhiking, techniques of traveling and getting food, what to talk about and what not to talk about with drivers, the tone of voices we use, who we let help us and who we ignore.<\/p>\n<p>Alone at the crossroads I joked around with Catalan. \u201cOye, you think the girl, Mayra, you think she\u2019ll respond to my message?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOjala que si, but yea man for sure she will. It was a decent message, you didn\u2019t come off like some guy just trying to get a piece of ass.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell I hope not.\u201d I don&#8217;t even know what I&#8217;m doing.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you going to go all the way the back to Lima?\u201d he asked with a sort of drop in his voice, seemingly unbelieving.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI think so.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re in love.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCome on man, don\u2019t belittle me like that, it\u2019s a crush if anything.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOne dance, and in a club, what\u2019s more!\u201d he reminded me.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYea, I wish it hadn\u2019t been a club, but I can\u2019t help that anyhow. I need a change man.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI want to travel, don\u2019t get me wrong, but all the time it\u2019s the same general thing over and over. Every kindness is a surprise to me, but after all, the things that happen traveling are very similar it seems to me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRight,\u201d offered Catalan.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI never have real problems, real anxieties\u2026 dude, my life is almost perfect in that sense!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat do you wanna change it for? I mean, what are you talking about really?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI think I&#8217;m talking about drama. I think. I don\u2019t know after all what\u2019ll come of it. What\u2019ll come of anything? But man, what a thing a crush is\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re obsessed,\u201d he proclaimed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBah,\u201d I denied.<\/p>\n<p>We laughed and hit each other and then a couple of Australians pulled over in a plume of dust and we hopped in. A half hour on and we were in Ica.<\/p>\n<p>Sands swirled in tiny sand devils over the streets. We hauled our packs to our shoulders and thanked our benefactors. First we ate a cheap meal, then I looked at the internet. No message. Catalan jostled me about it but I didn\u2019t mind.<\/p>\n<p>In Ica we stayed two nights in the off-white 3rd story room of our host, Ricardo. Ricardo wasn\u2019t around most of the time. I lay on the mattress staring at the varnished sugarcane pane ceiling, a single struggling light bulb lonely in its place. Travelers who had stayed here had all written messages, hundreds of them, all over the walls. I drew a self-portrait caricature. The eyes I drew looked somewhat forelorn. Ugh.<\/p>\n<p>We visited Huacachina, a \u201cdesert oasis\u201d. It smelled foul, the oasis being the breeding ground of phony tourism, walkways built up all around it and ridiculously priced restaurants offering what they can\u2019t deliver. We met some other traveling artesanos, a Colombian and a girl from England, and set up Catalan\u2019s jewelry next to them. Later on, Andres showed up, having left the day after we had from Franco and Camilo\u2019s. It was a warm reunion for being only a day apart.<\/p>\n<p>I wandered alone into the immense dunes of the surrounds. Dune buggies roared passed me and left their tracks in the sand. I scaled several large dunes and took in the distant horizon\u2019s drastic relief, white sand on black shadows; a collage of delicate curves in the desert expanse. Beautiful.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1147\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 514px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/peru-huacachina-dunes.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1147 size-full\" title=\"The desert dunes at Peru's Huacachina oasis.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/peru-huacachina-dunes.jpg\" alt=\"The desert dunes at Peru's Huacachina oasis.\" width=\"504\" height=\"312\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/peru-huacachina-dunes.jpg 504w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/peru-huacachina-dunes-300x185.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 504px) 100vw, 504px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">The desert dunes at Peru&#8217;s Huacachina oasis.<\/p><\/div>\n<div id=\"attachment_683\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 324px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/drawings\/sketching-in-peru\/attachment\/huacachina-desert-oasis\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-683 size-full\" title=\"Huacachina Desert Oasis\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/huacachina-desert-oasis.jpg\" alt=\"Huacachina Desert Oasis\" width=\"314\" height=\"474\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/huacachina-desert-oasis.jpg 314w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/huacachina-desert-oasis-198x300.jpg 198w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 314px) 100vw, 314px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">A travel sketch of Huacachina, a Desert Oasis in Ica, on the coast of Peru.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>We all left the next day. The previous night they got high and I stared at that light bulb. Of all the sockets in the world, you\u2019re there, aren\u2019t you? Catalan talked about his obsession of buying a van back in Spain (or, with his precision, Catalonia). Andres talked about his friends in Venezuela and how we had to visit him when we arrived that far north once more. I talked about the girl from the club.<\/p>\n<p>But now it was the road again. Hitching in 3\u2019s is near impossible, so this time Catalan would leave after Andres and I. We walked to a stoplight an hour out of the city, but no one would lift us. Finally we jokingly signaled a police car, who graciously took us to the edge of the city. Sometimes cops are good, sometimes shitty, isn\u2019t that right, everyone? We thought it was funny that we\u2019d been in the cop car with a big bag of pot.<\/p>\n<p>They used their policial powers to flag down rigs, but eventually it was a pick-up truck that took us\u2026 3 minutes away. A few more hours of walking and waiting, a ride here and a ride there, when finally we got hauled away in a big rig, ironically just after different cops told us to take a bus.<\/p>\n<p>The long road went on, paved like the swift swipe of a sword straight into the unknown. The desert is a sleepy place. Sometimes, the silence is too much to bear and it must be broken. We talked on and off with our trucker friend. He let us out a couple hours down the long desert road at a place called the Nazca Lines.<\/p>\n<p>We walked around a cabin at the base of a lookout hill, hoping that we wouldn\u2019t have to pay. We&#8217;d opted for the hill, since the lookout tower that was built there cost 2 soles to climb. The Nazca lines are thousands of years old giant designs in the earth. They\u2019re best viewed from a plane. A few planes buzzed around in the air. They looked so small. At the top of the hill we could see lines that continued into the great distances around, but we could not make out designs.<\/p>\n<p>An hour more and we were gone, walking out via a dirt road we\u2019d seen from the hill. A motorbike security guard yelled cruelly from the side of the road and we went over to him. He read us the riot act about how we\u2019d disobeyed signs prohibiting entry to the plain, that he had called the cops. I brushed him off and we walked away. We were able to flag down a rig before any cop showed up.<\/p>\n<p>At the city of Nazca we found Catalan already there, his parcha set out, the metal articles of jewelry glimmering in the blue sky sun. Finally blue skies.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey guys! I\u2019ve been here waiting for three hours!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYea, well we hung at the lines for a while,\u201d responded Andres.<\/p>\n<p>Nazca was filled with backpackers, pretty girls, and not a mototaxi in sight. When the sun had almost reached the horizon, we packed up the parchas and my drawings which I\u2019d laid out to sell, just in case, and hit the road. We filled our bottles with water. \u201cWe drink that water from the tap but it can hurt you,\u201d some Nazcans had said. We\u2019ve all been travelling and drinking the tap water for long enough to be able to handle it.<\/p>\n<p>I dug into Sierra\u2019s 300 and purchased a 2 dollar fifth of Pisco for the night. Well, it wasn&#8217;t pisco as much as it was alcohol. We wanted desert. We wanted desert camping.<\/p>\n<p>It was already dark when the hike began. We made our way for an hour and a half back down the road we\u2019d come from. Darkness hugged us all around. \u201cCatalan, get your machete out.\u201d I held my umbrella at my waist, and became aware of my knife. Andres was disturbed. \u201cWe shouldn\u2019t walk here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I knew we shouldn\u2019t. I never break my rules, but since we were three semi-big guys, I felt fine about the walk through \u201cthe bad part of town.\u201d We passed sparkly prostitutes bending their fingers at these three passersby. A trucker we\u2019d asked to take us a bit further out took an iron rod and bashed the windows of the truck we\u2019d thought was. I wanted to run at him but Catalan and Andres didn\u2019t want to get involved. They probably saved me from a broken cranium.<\/p>\n<p>Finally a little bushwhacking after we\u2019d walked another hour out brought us to a sandy spot cradled in a set of rocky hills that looked sharp under the full moon.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPerfect,\u201d Catalan cried.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe could be a bit further out,\u201d Andres said with a smirk.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWould have had to leave a lot earlier,\u201d I\u2019d said.<\/p>\n<p>Well, the spot was made. Tents set up. Fire made with some dry prickly wood. Everything in the desert has a spike or thorn or something else to offend your skin. I reached a calm and comfortable drunk with the pisco and the guys smoked a bowl. We cooked some vegetables on Catalan\u2019s alcohol cup of a stove and on the fire Andres had built. We talked about the differences between boys scouts of America and those of Venezuela. I talked about the outdoor program at Oregon. I had to brag\u2026 \u201cWe had to learn to tie 20 knots behind our backs just to be allowed to go on the trip in which we had to pass a further exam that had us get a \u2018victim\u2019 2 miles out of the bush over vertical cliffs and hazardous landscape with eggs tied in his socks. Break \u2018em and you fail.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>In the morning a grumpy old hag of a woman decided to yell at us that we shouldn\u2019t have been sleeping on her property. This was the first time I\u2019d ever been so poorly received, even with the explanation of we tried to find where to ask permission, but we couldn\u2019t, and we didn\u2019t want to sleep alongside the road.<\/p>\n<p>We walked back to the gas station we\u2019d passed in the night and took free showers and washed our dirty clothes. The gas stations along Peru\u2019s coast are all rightly stocked with such services. The sun was intense and seemed to beam at us with a vengeance. \u201cDamn it\u2019s hot,\u201d Catalan said, sweat spraying from his lips. Luck had it then, that a trucker gifted us a 2 liter bottle of mineral water and offered to take us back to Nazca. The day began perfectly.<\/p>\n<p>And the day went perfectly. It was a day of more selling, more successful 2 sol meals where normally they cost 5, and a day of artesanos. We met many other artesanos in the street. There\u2019s a comfortable solidarity between them. One artesan does not walk past another without greeting them. It\u2019s easy to tell who is of the ilk, because they are either hauling their merchandise around, juggling some sort of trinket, or are dressed in loose colorful clothes with rips and tears.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWow, Chael, your technique works wonders man.\u201d Catalan was referring to the \u2018go to a restaurant and ask for the most food they can give you for 2 sols\u2019 technique. It doesn\u2019t work in pairs so we took turns guarding the parchas while the others searched out restaurants to eat at. I myself ate one memorable meal of potatoes and chunks of pork over steaming white rice, papas a la huancaina on the side. We also took turns running to the internet from now and again, I always checking to see if I&#8217;d received a response from the girl.<\/p>\n<p>The Colombian and English girl from the oasis at Ica showed up and set up their parcha next to ours. I disappeared into the tourism office, where they lent me a computer freely to write, and when I returned to the parcha, Catalan told me I\u2019d sold 10 soles worth of drawings. It was an older Belgian woman who purchased what I considered to be my three best drawings on display.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1148\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 508px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-peru.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1148 size-full\" title=\"The dusty city of Nazca, Peru.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-peru.jpg\" alt=\"The dusty city of Nazca, Peru.\" width=\"498\" height=\"332\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-peru.jpg 498w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-peru-300x200.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 498px) 100vw, 498px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">The dusty city of Nazca, Peru. <a href=\"http:\/\/raingod.com\/angus\/Gallery\/Photos\/SouthAmerica\/Peru\/Nazca.html\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Another group of artesanos passed by and there were greetings all around. Argentinians. Everyone either seems to play an instrument or juggle. I realized I play an instrument and juggle. Hmm.<\/p>\n<p>As night approached, a girl who Catalan had sold a piece to offered to host the three of us in her house, just like that. But it was not a house we wanted, it was the desert.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, I can take you to a great spot,\u201d she said, smiling at me in particular.<\/p>\n<p>Andres, Catalan, our two artesan friends and I packed up shop and followed the girl across the shiny tiles of the main plaza. The Argentinians were lounged on some benches.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHey we\u2019re going to camp in the dry riverbed, you guys want to come?\u201d Catalan shouted.<\/p>\n<p>So our group became 9 backpackers with our Peruvian hostess. We crossed the city in the dark and descended into a wide arroyo filled with smooth river rocks and sand. On the far side of the stretch, along a bank of rock, we pitched our tents and lit a bonfire. The Argentinians took out their intruments. The serene sounds of djembe and mandolin filled the air. The Argentinian girl had a melodica, a hand-held set of piano keys played by blowing air into a tube. Andres then serenated the group with his classical guitar playing.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1149\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 507px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/travelers-in-peru.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1149 size-full\" title=\"Our group of travelers around the fire in Nazca, Peru.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/travelers-in-peru.jpg\" alt=\"Our group of travelers around the fire in Nazca, Peru.\" width=\"497\" height=\"373\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/travelers-in-peru.jpg 497w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/travelers-in-peru-300x225.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 497px) 100vw, 497px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">Our group of travelers around the fire in Nazca, Peru.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Our hostess was named Rosario, and she was paying me an awful lot of attention. I took to the bottle of pisco with a furry. By the time I was drunk the moon had broken through the clouds and coated the whole place in light. \u201cI just want to say..\u201d I muttered, \u201cthat it\u2019s a pleasure to be with all you guys.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I offered to walk Rosario back to her place. 15 blocks, past sketchy looking characters at the underpasses, the night owls stalking the loose plastic bags floating in the cool night air. At Rosario\u2019s door we decided I\u2019d come inside.<\/p>\n<p>An hour later I was clenching my knife as I retraced my steps back to the riverbed, unsure of the dark figures leering at me from their shadows. I&#8217;d stayed at Rosario&#8217;s for a spell, and fulfilled the lustful desire, if it was indeed what I was looking for. I didn&#8217;t feel satisfied, I felt wretched. I couldn&#8217;t get my mind off of Lima.<\/p>\n<p>The next morning I packed my gear. \u201cCatalan, I\u2019m going back to Lima.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe girl?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf there exists a thread of hope, it\u2019s a fool\u2019s hope. Yea, I think I am going back to Lima a fool.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat about your French friend?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Quentin was one of my first couchsurfing buddies, and we\u2019d crossed paths several times in Europe. He was going to be in Arequipa, only 12 hours from Nazca. I wanted to see my friend, but the pull was greater to the north. I had thought he was going to continue to travel and we would intersect, but he had changed his plans and would take a flight from Arequipa to Bogota. It was a girl he was after.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI also want to do what I\u2019d been planning anyway. I\u2019m going back to La Oroya and then to Huancayo and Huancavelica,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell right on man, I had a good time traveling with you. Send me your website alright? I wanna see what bullshit you wrote about me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTake care man.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I adiosed Andres and the Colombian and Englishgirl. My mind was empty as I walked back across the city, alone on the road once more. I wasn\u2019t quite sure what I was doing. It has been a week and that girl hasn\u2019t responded to your message you idiot.. My logic tried to convince me, but I would have none of it. I was Lima-bound again.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>CHAPTER 6 \u2013 Return to the House of No Ends<\/h2>\n<p>I walked for a couple hours back to the gas station outside of town. There, I had the quick luck of meeting Hernan and Alan. I threw my pack into the delivery truck and squeezed into the cab between them. They were vulgar and whistled at every piece of ass that looked somewhat feminine. I felt rejuvinated.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere are you going gringo?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLima,\u201d I responded.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo are we.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>And so I had the ritual explanations and small talk that I always share with my curious rides, and the road opened up before, the horizon a beckoning beacon of what\u2019s more. The sleepy desert, the Nazca lines, where they insisted they pay for me to climb the lookout that Andres and I had skipped. Alas, there were some drawings in the pampas below.<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_1150\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"width: 511px\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-lines.jpg\" rel=\"lightbox[1137]\"><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"wp-image-1150 size-full\" title=\"The Nazca Lines.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-lines.jpg\" alt=\"The Nazca Lines.\" width=\"501\" height=\"375\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-lines.jpg 501w, https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/wp-content\/uploads\/nazca-lines-300x224.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 501px) 100vw, 501px\" \/><\/a><p class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Nazca Lines. <a href=\"http:\/\/www.tripadvisor.com.pe\/ShowUserReviews-g304044-d311724-r22838677-Nasca_Lines-Nazca_Ica_Region.html\" target=\"_blank\">Source<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>And onward, hours and hours more. When the sleep tickled the corners of our eyes we blasted music and Hernan insisted that I translate sounds like \u201cLosing my Relgion,\u201d \u201cBoys Don\u2019t Cry,\u201d and \u201cYellow.\u201d Our trio sang out, almost yelling over the swift passing air at the open windows. Alan pounding on the dash like a crazy drummer and Hernan dancing the robot as he steered the wheel.<\/p>\n<p>And in 7 hours I was among a bustling night market scene at the Atacongo bridge in Lima. An hour walk and I was back at Franco\u2019s and Camilo&#8217;s, back at the House of No Ends. The feeling was righteous: I had not been ready to leave Lima the first time. There was still no response from the girl, but I didn\u2019t mind. Franco and I greeted warmly, him glad that I was back and I glad to be back.<\/p>\n<p>That night we went to his friend\u2019s place and ate dolphin, chicken, and olives. I sipped on a real pisco, Franco having heard my stories of the latest travels, assuring me that 4 sol pisco is dangerous.<\/p>\n<p>Among his friends we discussed my bizarre situation of waiting for a response from a girl I\u2019d met only once in a club. The conclusion was that no one thought she\u2019d yet seen the message. \u201cJust message her friend or sister, you said you\u2019d met them right?\u201d Asked Bruno. \u201cYea,\u201d I\u2019d said. And that was that. I\u2019d try once more. The door was not open, nor was it shut\u2026 it was just lurking halfway open, and that wouldn\u2019t do. I needed it shut in my face in order to continue my journey.<\/p>\n<p>That night took us to a club with 70s Peruvian rock music, but I was beat from the day. The beautiful girls all around us didn\u2019t cause me to blink an eye. Franco and I ended up back at his place sprawled out, one last Family Guy episode showing for us both.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;I want to treat you to a real ceviche in my home neighborhood,&#8221; Franco had said. &#8220;Take the number 10 bus. It&#8217;s purple. Get off at Galeria Brazil and call me.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>And so it was. I woke and he had already gone. I took the bus across town and met him in the square of his hometown neighborhood. The square reminded me of Mexico City. These massive cities are cities of cities, really. They&#8217;re metropolises.<\/p>\n<p>Franco introduced me to some friends. Many of his friends are married with children and are badgering him about when he&#8217;s to get married. &#8220;What about this French girl you&#8217;re going to see?&#8221; they would ask. Franco would leave the very next day for France, a 4 month journey to see about an interest. But he&#8217;d insisted that marriage was not his deal. The pressure he was under from everyone appeared difficult to bear. It&#8217;ll come my way in my thirities I suppose&#8230; here it comes in your twenties.<\/p>\n<p>The ceviche was a bombshell of glorious taste exploding all over those god-given tastebuds on the tongue. I felt like I was eating something I should only eat once, the taste so discriminate. The fish had been soaked in lemon juice to cook it up with onion, chocolo soft and crunchy, and chicharron. The spicy aji sauce added the tinge and scooping a bit of the lemon juice into the bite added the tang. We drank chicha morada, the purple refresco made from the same color corn. We also ate leche de tigre, another mariscos treat, and also fried fish eggs. Can you believe it? Fried fish eggs&#8230; ughghghgmmm.<\/p>\n<p>That last night we spent sharing tales with his friends in a yuppy neighborhood, but everyone there was buena onda, particularly the father of one friend who talked to me about Chicago.<\/p>\n<p>And the next morning Franco had packed all his things.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;What do I do if there&#8217;s an electrical fire?&#8221; I asked.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t throw water on it. That won&#8217;t happen.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Anything can happen man!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>And for the second time I said goodbye to my new friend, and he was gone.<\/p>\n<p>And I was alone in the House of No Ends. After all that, I was alone with my mind again. What am I doing&#8230; All I knew was that I wanted a date with that girl. It&#8217;s as if, just to see. Like, I just want to make sure of something.<\/p>\n<p>For the next few days I sat around the house. I skyped home, and I watched movies. I laughed loudly watching Bruno with the commentary switched on. I started thinking philosophically as I washed clothes in the bucket upstairs. I understand how dirt works, I thought. I watched Spun. What drugs get you high by seeing them, or hearing them?<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2>CHAPTER 7 \u2013 Whether She&#8217;s Now or Never<\/h2>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I was back in the House of No Ends, with nothing to do but wait. I took Franco&#8217;s suggestion to heart, and changed my CS &#8216;couch status&#8217; to allow travelers to contact me. Franco&#8217;s buddy Andres became my buddy. He would show up for several nights at the house and we&#8217;d smoke hookah and sip on pisco. I played backgammon with him and his enamorada, his girlfriend. Otherwise I just laid around and ate food.<\/p>\n<p>When are we ever living in the present, in the here and now? Ayahuasca helped me in that regard, but there are other ways. Videogames or tv, or movies, allow you to be in the present, but I can&#8217;t quite say that I ever felt like I was living in the present when I was high on those media. However, sitting around with nothing to do is an awful way to live presently. I sat and stared at the blank walls. Alone with my mind. And when hypotheticals of the future or lamentations over the past bore me, my mind rested, and I was left by myself in the now. But it was never for long, because I was still thinking about facebook. I was thinking about that message.<\/p>\n<p>And then one day at the ritual checking of my inbox, there were two new words posted on my wall, in common facebook jargon. &#8220;Como est\u00e1s?&#8221; wrote the girl.<\/p>\n<p>The following day I was rubbing my hands together, shoving them into my pockets, walking around in circles and then rubbing my hands again. I stood in front of a gleaming red and yellow sign, the global insignia if ever there were one.. <em>McDonald&#8217;s<\/em> it read. It was 3 pm in Miraflores. I think I was nervous. Nervous. A wreck, they say. Then, I caught sight of her coming toward me. The girl. Mayra. And she&#8217;s beautiful.<\/p>\n<p>The night rolled out in front of us. To solitary parks where we sat on benches, to art gallery where we cocked our heads at bizarre photographs, to cafe where I dropped dollars but I didn&#8217;t care. Teaching each other our persons or learning our ways we drifted out over the city, two people in a big city, there to wander without a care, to steep in presence, in now, in right now, until I&#8217;d be alone again waiting for the next day, the next chance to see her there in front of me.<\/p>\n<p>And when the next day comes, my words other-worldly to me as they sneak whispering from my lips, gliding across the quiet space between us to her ears, like divulging a secret&#8230; I&#8217;m only here because of you. Purposeful were the movements then as we enveloped one another, and slowly brought our lips to bare. That adamant embrace. That melting. That kiss.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&#8230;Travel stories from Lima, Peru&#8230; &nbsp; CHAPTER 1 &#8211; Limatimes Solidarity Franco\u2019s eyes hid behind his glasses, the bent light reflecting back at me through a thick lens. His curly black hair shivered when he shook a nod in the affirmative. \u201cYes, it is illegal.\u201d The long wrinkled tube of &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/www.velabas.com\/travel-stories\/peru\/the-lima-chapters\/\" class=\"more-link\">Continue reading <span class=\"screen-reader-text\">The Lima Chapters<\/span> <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1143,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0},"categories":[31],"tags":[99,97,92,100,95,48,2,4],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v20.10 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>The Lima Chapters - Travel Stories from Peru&#039;s Capital<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This is a chaptered travel story from Lima Peru. 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