My, what a city. A lot of hustle & bustle, a lot of narrow, cobblestone streets, a lot of old (I said old) buildings, and the feel of strength in the air. Walked the streets for hours and hours, stopped at every plaza we happened across. Sat and talked with people (what an amazing sort), and munched on bakery goods from the Panderia. Had snacks from street vendors and ice cream from the Helado cart. Felt right at home. There's wonder here -- maybe we were Peruvian in our first life?
Went to the Central Market and saw one of everything. Bought a few of them. The language is starting to flow out of us, without thinking it thru in English first. Of course, it also draws smiles and laughs, but we blunder ahead anyway, knowing in a few minutes or so the connection will be made and it will be a good one. Is early-sixties too old to find things out about yourselves? That you love foreign people and desire to know more about their lives? We spend more time talking pleasantries and the weather and family and children and schooling than we do about the subject right in front of us. And it's liberating. We've promised each other to come back here someday, to spend more time and explore this wonderful city. It's high (11,000'), we're high -- what can I say?
Dinner again overlooking the Plaza (good tour, right?), with the city all a-glow and people strolling their evening stroll. Lovers lingering in the shadows, children chasing balloons. Old men play checkers, old women beat them. Smiles with teeth missing, hearts on most sleeves. The community comes to the street in a way we don't, and maybe that's what we find so rewarding. Santiago y Elena
