Hi folks,

I’m acclimatising very quickly to life in Lima, scenes that shocked or amazed me a week or two ago are now just a part of everyday life. So, I thought I better note down a few observations before it’s too late.

We'll start with music. Wonderfully, the Peruvians are a musical bunch. It seems no matter where I walk there's a soundtrack to accompany my activities, usually piping from a second storey window over a back alley. There are three distinct geographical and cultural regions here in Peru - the coastal, the mountains and the jungle - and they all have their own distinct styles and dances that come under the banner of 'traditional Peruvian music'. Judgments aside as to which region has the better taste, from what I've heard, every darn song is hip-shake inducing and vocal cord stretching. When wandering the back streets it's a lucky dip as to what one will hear. You get one of three options: It will either be traditional music, the divisive reggaeton or, much to my surprise, anything from the 1980s - especially AC/DC.

Here it's common for folks to come into restaurants to try and sell you something - cigarettes, sweets, etc. The other night I was tucking into a hearty Lomo Saltado when a busker came in. You haven't had the authentic Peruvian experience until you've heard 'Chiquitita' played on the pan pipes with electric backing. I think he earned his keep that night.

Perhaps I should have done my research before I arrived, but I have since discovered that Peru is a gastronomic wonderland, the unsung heroes of the food world. Each time I eat, which is quite frequently, I’m amazed by the rich and varied flavours that greet me. The Peruvians are justifiably proud of their food, and they love introducing a foreigner to their cuisine. I’ve delighted in Lomo Saltado, Ceviche, Tequeno, Ali de Gallina, cuy (guinea pig), just to name a few. Due to my total lack of Spanish, eating out becomes a case of point and nod and hope for the best. I have certainly come to appreciate the often overlooked 'menu with pictures' - the foreigner’s friend. Picture-less menus are much more common here, so I have had good luck and bad when ordering. On my second night in Lima, I found myself at a seaside restaurant. The place was busy. That was a good sign. I took a seat. As the waitress came over, I studied the menu and nodded stupidly. I panicked. I looked around for help - blank faces. Blank faces who were all enjoying very similar dishes. I pointed and nodded at a meal on the table next to me. It looked like pasta with beef skewers on top. That will do me, I thought. Some time later my food arrived, steaming hot. Upon inspection, what looked like pasta from a distance was obviously not. It looked quite like octopus. It was chewy. The flavour of the sauce complemented the rich meat. The beef skewers looked a bit different but they were delicious. The octopus was interesting, at first very nice, but after a while it all got a bit too much. I kept going, thinking about the fishermen on the beach who had probably toiled the previous day for my dinner. The couple at the next table got up to leave. As they walked past, the woman put her hand on my arm, the way only a mother can, and said something to me in Spanish, empathy in her eyes. I nodded stupidly, wondering what she might have said. They left. I kept nibbling away, then decided I couldn’t eat any more, maybe there was a quarter left. Not bad I thought, that was a lot of octopus.

Now, thanks to the marvels of modern technology, this story continues. I decided to take a picture of my food and send it to a Peruvian friend. I felt quite proud of my menu choice. Their response was, "If I tell you what it is you might throw up.". "Try me", I replied. Well, it turns out the skewers were beef heart, and the 'octopus' was tripe. Talk about being thrown in the deep end. Thankfully the food stayed down! I have since come to appreciate this meal, known locally as 'anticuchos y choncholi'. I tried my luck at the same restaurant a week later, this time pointing to something on the menu. As luck would have it, the same dish appeared in front of me 10 minutes later! Some would call it fate. It’s a good thing I was hungry.

Interestingly, Coca-Cola is not the most popular soft drink. Instead the Peruvians have something called Inca Kola. It's exactly like the old fashioned, ‘Yellow Creaming Soda' you occasionally find in Australia. Twenty something years ago, half of Inca Kola was bought out by Coca-Cola, for the sum of $200 million.

The economic disparity here is, for me, quite amazing. For some it may be confronting or even saddening. I find myself in an interesting position whereby I can spend a day with the poorest, then the next day be in the company of the wealthy. Recently I was with my friend, the boatbuilder’s grandson. Three generations live in a small brick abode and my friend works as a security guard to help support his family. I’m not sure what constitutes poor, but asking for money to take your mother out for dinner is perhaps a sign. My friend and I were sitting by the beach, beer in hand, watching the boats. I asked him if he had a good life. He smiled, a sort of sad smile.

“I wish life was easier. I would like to escape this place, move far away.”

I’ve thought at length about the foundations for human satisfaction and happiness. His comments throw a spanner in the works.

Some days ago I found myself on horseback, riding through the vineyard of a 15th century former monastery and winery, with my friend, the diplomat. Gonzalo is on the board at the Peruvian Yacht Club and has been unrelenting in his generosity and kindness to me and my journey. If kindness and involvement in this project were to be measured by the number of emails volleyed back and forth, Gonzalo would get a gold medal. For the past six months he has been promptly replying to every one of my emails. From customs, to accommodation, antifouling, and permission to leave the county, every minor detail that involves my time in Peru, Gonzalo has the answer. Keep in mind that while doing all this he has been steering a cosmetics multi-national through the pandemic, and fulfilling his Consul duties. His altruistic and generous approach to life and business in Peru is admirable from every angle. What an exemplary man.

I am very happy in Peru. Life is sweet. I have made friends, I know my way around and I’m learning to dance salsa; a much more cultured approach to a night out than one would find in Australia. Sometimes a day goes by without talking to anyone, others are filled with activities, I appreciate them both. For now I do not want for anything, save for my Maiwar, of course. Our time will come when we are once again united.

Observations from my Latin home