On the flight to Lima, I watched the full moon beam ethereal lighting on a thick bank of clouds.
Lima wasn’t really part of our original holiday itinerary. We were there for two days before heading to Santiago and then home to Sydney.
With only a day to explore, we hired a hotel car to take us to a few places Stuart had marked on a city map.
Eduardo’s suit was more impressive than his car. He had beautiful old-world manners but not a word of English. As Stuart had not much more than a word of Spanish, it was up to me to manage with my all but forgotten high school lessons with the unforgettably ineffective Sra de Ocampo plus the obligatory 18 units in college, most of which I skipped.
At the edge of the historic centre at Plaza de Armas, Eduardo managed to convey to us that we had to walk to our next stop as the street leading to it is closed to vehicular traffic every Sunday; he would park the car and wait for us.
Knowing my aversion to long walks in the hot sun, Stuart suggested I let Eduardo drive me around while he himself explored the area on foot. I agreed to pick him up in half an hour at the Convento de San Francisco.
What I had failed to understand was that there was nowhere at all in the entire historic centre we could drive to. So with Stuart already off on his walkabout expecting to be picked up in 30 minutes, Eduardo made an executive decision. He parked the car and proceeded to take me to the convent on foot.
Lima proved to be much more interesting than I expected.
Eduardo stood guard as I lingered at a second-hand book market that lined a street for miles.
At a street junction, a procession was getting ready to start.
Eduardo was an excellent guide, explaining the historical significance of the lovely old colonial buildings.
He urged me to enter the more interesting churches- there’s a church every few feet or so.
Inside the Basilica de Ntra Sra de la Merced, Eduardo placed his hand gently on the foot of the huge gold cross. The spot shone from the millions of similar gestures made by supplicants before him who had hung gold medals on the wall as offerings of gratitude for miracles granted. He then made the sign of the cross, solemnly and with such devotion, genuine and unselfconscious.
At the gate of the convent beside the church, two pretty young novices were selling steaming hot tamales. Eduardo bought me one; it had a piquant topping of marinated shredded onions.
When we got to the Convento de San Francisco, Stuart was nowhere to be found.
Unable to get him on the phone, we hung around at the church square for a while then went up and down the nearby streets.
Finally giving him up for lost, I called the hotel and tasked the concierge with finding him. It was another hour or so before we were reunited outside Plaza Bolivar.
As I always say, getting lost is the best way to really see a place. Looking for someone lost is just as good.
Labels: Peru