|Lima, Peru - the capital of the city|
I asked her why she didn't just go see the crop circles in America. She said those had to be manmade, but the Nazca lines (these complex patterns in the sand), those were different.
She snored so loud. I never met anyone who snored as loud as her. The German lady above her bunk swore, when she heard her snore. She knew then what the night would be like. I thought to myself: Her snoring could wake the dead.
I met an American mother, who was traveling with her two teenage children, a guy and a girl. Their father, her husband, died recently. I felt sad to hear their story. I think they're more lost than me.
In my room, was also a young black girl and Indian guy from Nottingham, England. We talked some. We were even going to get coffee together, but because the guy took too long to get ready, I told her, I'm sorry. I can't wait any longer.
And I really couldn't, because I was getting bored and restless. And boredom is my bane.
I walked two hours to get to the cafe. I did it instead of taking the bus, which cost 30 cents.
Bus culture is different in Lima. When they pack you in, like sardines, seats become valuable. And generally ladies will block an aisle, to take a seat when someone gets off, suffocating the space between those seating and the isle.
They're so aggressive about it. So, after I learned the trick to blocking someone with your body. I had ladies slip through my space, or hold onto the same bar my hand was holding onto. And her hand would touch my hand - making me feel uncomfortable. So, I would release my hand. They would take my space. I would lose it.
Should I give up my space to a lady? Sometimes, I do it. Especially if they look kind. But sometimes, you meet someone that feels entitled to a seat. And entitlement can be a big turnoff.
In Lima, I didn't do much, because I felt all wound up and tight inside. I kept thinking about home and my pets and my mother, and I really hoped everyone at home was ok. There were many people in my hostel, a French mansion at one point.
I really liked the saloon - which is an entertainment room. It was large and looked like a classic ballroom dance floor. In my mind, I wondered if this was the kind of room the Lost Generation met in: Pablo Picasso, James Joyce, Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and so on. I wonder often if there's a Lost Generation of artists meeting today that'll become as landmark as them.
There were people, who came and went. I didn't talk to many of them, because I was burnt out and didn't feel like socializing.
They served bread and coffee for breakfast. I never ate the bread. It was cheap and bad for the health.
The coffee was weak and stale, but the employee who served it smiled and asked how I was every morning. For some reason, that made it taste better.
The food in Lima and Peru, in general, is good here, except for at hostels. I ate fried chicken, which was brined before being deep fried. I had it with their salsa called ahi. And it tasted really good.
The ceviche, fish cooked in lime juice, was better than other countries. They add fried corn to it and pieces of fresh seaweed. The crunchiness and umami flavors of seaweed enhance the dish. It cost $1.50.
Anyways, that's all I really have to say about Lima. I'm coming back to eat more, later. But in Lima, I decided to go to the rainforest. I'm writing to you from a cafe that overlooks the Amazon River.
A lady just watched me stare at the Amazon River, slow and silent and peaceful.
She asked me, "Are you dreaming?"
I said, "Maybe."
"I don't know."
She left the cafe.
I said "Buen viajes." (Safe travels.)
I have to plan out my next adventure and hopefully get more reading done. So far, I finished one book on nutrition, one episode of Sherlock, and one episode of the British version of Skins (which I'm now finished with).
I feel lost. How long until I'm found?