Perils of Peru

O.K., let's start from the beginning...In 1993, I was living and going to school in Detroit and life in Detroit can well…get kinda depressing: crime, drugs, violence, school, etc.   Now, this is not against Detroit.  I truly like the city (primarily because I don’t live there anymore) and would love to come back to visit (perhaps on a dare), but at this time the city was still lingering in an aura of development stagnation.  So there I was one day watching television and I saw a commercial for NIKE.  In this commercial, you see this couple get off a tour bus in the middle of the rain forest in front of an ancient temple of some sort.  Then in a second, the couple glances over at each other and they decide to run all the way up to the top with great bravado and accomplishment.  "WOW! What a great idea!” I thought (the going to the rainforest part, not the running up and potentially damaging a foreign national treasure and injuring myself, as exercise in general is well…icky…yet, I digress) “ I need a little adventure like that!  I wonder where those people are."  I mean, it based on the location and temple, it had to be in Central or South America, but exactly where I didn’t know.   

Now, being the fine student of anthropology that I was, I was sure that this took place in Peru – based solely on the fact that I had a pen pal in Peru.  Why waste time on actual research?  Just go with the first impression and idea.  After all that is how they tell you pass the SAT test “don’t ponder it, just go with your intuition.”  So I called my parents and convinced them that they should help me (ok, ok.. pay for me) to go there for the upcoming Spring Break.   This way, I could meet my friend and see some of the archaeological wonders of the world – two birds, one stone.   Granted I don't speak Spanish, but language barriers have never stopped me in the past.  Plus, what a better way to pick up some of the language than to immerse oneself in the culture, right?  So they agreed.  In fact, my mother told me to let her handle the arrangements, because she had a contact, and all I had to do was worry about my passport.  "What luck!" I thought “this will be fun!”

So I dug up my passport and realized that it had expired and it would take at least four weeks to process a new one by mail, or I could go to the nearest office and it could be done in one day.  Well, Spring Break was in two weeks and the nearest office is in Chicago, ten hours just driving there and back which I had no time for due to the upcoming exams.  After a couple days arguing with the government, I was allowed to have my travel agent process if for me because it was an "emergency" (yes, yes, a “Spring Break emergency”) and could use Express Mail.  After about two to three tries and a couple of days later, they finally sent me the good passport (all they had to do was type an amendment in it saying it wasn't expired – not terribly complex).  Meanwhile, I received the wrong airline tickets and had to fight with the agent to get the correct ones, which again, thanks to Express Mail I had to do two to three times.  This was not very fun, especially since I was also trying to take my Mid-Term exams at that time.  I finally received my tickets and passport Saturday and I left Sunday evening.

So now I'm off to Peru.  Not much happened during the actual flight; no crashes, turbulence, annoying people or engine failures.  In general, a rather quiet and uneventful flight which was rather unusual for me, but a pleasant change of pace none the less).  I arrived in Lima early Monday morning.  When I got off the plane and I couldn't find the man who is supposed to meet me and take me to the hotel indicating that life was back on track.  So there I stand, a dazed and confused North American in an airport in the land of the Shining Path and I’m positive that from the point of view of the locals they saw a subtitled caption “bewildered, blue eyed capitalist pig – fleece him of everything he’s got” under me.  In less than 30 seconds, a swarm of taxi drivers descend upon me and start pawing at my bags and screaming if I want a ride.  As I fought my way out of the crowd, a woman approaches me and asked me if I needed help (the look of disoriented panic obviously clued her in on my situation).  As it turned out, she worked on commission and was trying to book me on another package.  I explained that I was just looking for my contact to get me to the hotel, but he wasn’t there.  So she helped me exchange some money at the bank in the airport and helped get me a taxi.  Luckily, all my luggage was carry on, so I had it with me and didn't have to look for the baggage claim.  I tipped her (later discovering very generously) and jump in the cab to go to the hotel.

Evidently, there are no traffic laws in Peru.  The average cab driver drives about 100 mph over curbs, dirt roads, through traffic signs and lights, over the elderly, small children and various street animals, laughing and singing merrily all the way because he just doesn't care.  During our little "rocket ride", we begin to “talk” about things to do in Peru and where to go.  As we're chatting away, I'm looking out the window and see that he's taking me through the slums!  Professional slums.  The kind where you expect Sally Struthers to walk out of with a bowl of rice and ask for a donation.  Cardboard housing and half naked children playing in dirty water kind of slums.  My thoughts suddenly change from "This is guy's going a little fast, but I'm having fun" to "This guy's going to steal my money and kick me out of the car (while it's still moving) and take off with my luggage!"  Actually, he was a very nice guy and it was he who informed me that I tipped the woman too much.  Of course, it doesn't stop him from taking a nice tip himself (I making a lot of friends my first few hours in Lima!)

I arrive at the hotel, check in, change and freshen up.  Because it's still early and I don't have a tour arranged for that day, I decide to go out and see Lima on my own.  Now, here's the catch, did I mention that I don't speak any Spanish. Read up above and remember that.   I've only been writing to my friend by use of a Spanish/English dictionary and basing it on my poor knowledge of Italian, if I get lost, I might as well immigrate.  But since you only live once, I go out anyway and I see Lima!  What a fantastic city!  So complex!  So historical! So interesting!  For a third world nation there was no begging (but a lot of vendors), no drugs, very little crime (only pickpockets) and they are rebuilding the city everywhere.  Yet, as mentioned, it is also the land of the Shining Path and various brutal dictatorial regimes and military coups.  Regardless, the whole site takes your breath away and I strongly recommend going there.

About one o'clock in the afternoon rolls around and I returned back to the hotel thinking about meeting my friend I've been writing to.  Here lies a problem.  I never got the chance to write her and tell her that I was coming, "but this will make a nice surprise" I thought.  "At least I'll call first", but again a problem.  I don't have her phone number.  But I do have her address, so all I'll have to do is look up it up in the phone book.    Unbeknownst to me, a Peruvian phone book only has the head of the households last name and first initial and number, no address , thus no way to track the number down.  Disturbed by this little "set back" of having no way of contacting this person by myself, I reluctantly go to the hotel desk for their assistance.  Ironically they couldn't help me for the same reason I couldn't do it.  Instead, they tell me that the address I have is “near” and that I can take a cab there.  I had to think about this for a minute "A person from another country, who doesn't speak the language and has only written you a few times shows up on your doorstep completely unannounced...How rude! even for me. I can’t just do that."

I kept thinking that same thought over and over as I was in the cab going there.  I tried my best (in my broken Spanish) to tell the driver to let me off on the street and I would find the address myself (in case I changed my mind or “chickened out” however you want to look at it).  He didn't understand and obviously my tipping reputation was well known by then.  Not only did he bring me right to the address, he jumped out and opened my door, practically carried me on his shoulders to the door, rang the bell for me, and then took off after I paid him (again too much, but I was little dizzy).  Before I knew what was going on, the door opened and a girl answered.  I was my friend’s cousin Angela and this was her house.  By now I'm so nervous and embarrassed that my heart is beating so fast that I can't exactly remember what happened.  Angela knew me from my letters and my photo to her cousin and (luckily for me) spoke English (thank God).  She informed me that Patricia (my friend) was still working, but that we could go see her.  Oh boy! Now I get to disrupt someone workplace as well, how nice of me.

So Angela practices her English on me as we walk to Patricia's work place.  When we get there Patricia is obviously surprised (after all, some shmuck appears from out of the blue to visit).  As for me, I'm slowly getting over my embarrassment, but my heart was still beating a mile a minute and I felt as though I would pass out.  After that meeting, Angela gave me an informal tour of Lima while waiting for Patricia to get off work.  When she did, we decided to go out for the evening and we go back to my hotel so I can change clothes.  They waited in the lobby while I go up, but I get a chance to see that hotel security is wondering how little me, my first day in Lima, and without speaking the language comes back with two 22 year olds.  Off to a good start, eh?

We go out to a couple bars and have a great time and I don't come back to the hotel until 3 o'clock in the morning, whistling and skipping (from the alcohol).  Unfortunately I had to wake up at 4 o'clock to go to Cuzco, an ancient Inca site, about an hour away by plane.  So it goes without saying that I'm a little tired.

I packed my bags and somehow make it to the airport and to the plane – a “vintage” propeller  plane; something reminiscent of the movie Casablanca - very…”Indiana Jones” like.  “Tres cool” to the average 20 year old adventurer.   Of course, because it was rather retro, it was also rather small and there was no room for my luggage as a carry on and the stewardess told me that I my suitcase has to go underneath in the cargo hold.  "No problem". 

So as I fly over the Andes mountains to Cuzco in the glorified relic of the past, I’m looking out the window and see the most beautiful view ever.  Lush green valleys of jungles with snow covered mountains…amazing; simply breathtaking.   The plane lands on a mountain airstrip in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere and was cared for by an airport that had not seen renovation since 1943.  It was rather…”Spartan” to say the least, but then again, I wasn’t there for the airport.  After exiting the plane, I went to the baggage claim area to get my bag.  The “area” mind you, is a counter where you look over and see if you can spot your bag that has been taken off (ok, thrown off) and set in the airport and a 12 year old boy hands the one you point to and if you’re lucky it’s your bag.   I look.  I wait.  I look.  I wait.  And I wait some more.  Of course it's not there.  Increasingly aggravated and worried, I eventually jump behind the counter and help look for it; it’s still not there.  This is not good.  From inside the airport the boy and I can see the plane getting ready to take off again and take my bag with it!  The boy motions to me to follow which I did thinking that we would talk to an administrator or control tower.  Instead he dashes out the door (with me in tow) and onto the airstrip toward the on-coming plane, waving our arms and screaming escapees from the local insane asylum, stopping the plane from leaving.  Now would be a good time to once again remind you that Peru was under a rather strict militaristic governmental control.  What this means is that such erratic and sudden actions like, for example, the one that the boy and I did were not fully appreciated by the platoon of armed guards who leaped from their stations to chase after us.  Eventually they caught up to us (after we stopped dead in our tracks because of the warning shots that flew over our heads) and the boy explained what we doing.  “You stopped the plane because of your bag?! What do you have in the bag?” The officials who evidently have no sense of humor, are unamused by this, opened up the cargo hatch and told us that we had 2 minutes to find the bag.

After causing a certain level of excitement, I tipped the boy and I left the airport with my precious bag to go to my next point of destination - the hotel in Cuzco.   It is important to point out that the city is rather chilly; about 6000 feat above sea level and so when checking in they serve me a nice hot cup of herbal tea – very nice, very relaxing – nothing like a cup of tea to make you feel good.  Since I have a few hours before my tour I decide to wander around on my own, like in Lima.  Since I was out, I thought it would be easier to change some more money here, than in Lima and changed about $200 American dollars.  After wandering around the city, I went back to the hotel, had some more tea, changed clothes and took a tour of the city and the surrounding area.  It was a great tour and the sites were again fantastic, but about mid way through the tour it became a bit brisk and by the end of the tour it was downright cold!  So we get back to the hotel that evening and I thought that I would take a hot shower to warm up.  Unfortunately, there was no hot water that evening.  In fact, there was a water shortage then, so I didn't take a shower for two days (yeah, I've looked better).  It was so cold that I ended up sleeping in about two layers of clothing.

The next day I awoke about 5:00am to catch a train and then a bus to a famous, ancient Inca city Manchu Pichu.  Before I left though, I had a nice breakfast and a couple cups of that wonderful tea to warm up.  I had a lovely train ride up and I ended up practicing my Italian with a lovely Brazilian lady for the rest of the day.

Manchu Pichu itself is absolutely incredible!  It's a city about 8000 feet above sea level on the side of mountain and completely open (no safety precautions).  "This is great!  I mean this is FANTASTIC!!”  I thought.  It wasn't the same place that I saw in the NIKE commercial – it was better!  I climbed the sides of walls, up flights of ancient stairs, along the edges of cliffs.  I was the human mountain goat!  My heart was beating about a hundred miles an hour and I felt great!  Running around and leaping from rock to rock! Top of the world!  It was like a breath of fresh air and I was a new person.  After touring the ruins we had lunch (guinea pig meat and tea).  In fact, I was feeling so good that by the time I returned to the hotel that night I couldn't sleep.  I felt overwhelmed by the place.   It was all so amazing!  I was just so restless.  So I decided to see the city at night and toured around on my own again.  The night life was even better!  Everyone on the streets talking, shopping, listening to music, enjoying the night air, a sight unfamiliar in Detroit.  And I’m out in the thick of it – drinking and shopping.  I was a wild man! Running around and bought all sorts of souvenirs: llama hair slipper, pullovers, couple more cups of tea to keep me warm, tourist plates and trinkets.  Howling at the moon it was time to hit the bars again!  I didn't sleep much that night, even though I had to get up early the next morning to catch the plane back to Lima.

When I awoke the next morning, I only had time for a cup of tea and then off to the airport.  "Life is good" I thought.  Not a care in the world.  When at the airport, they inform me that I had to check at least one of my bags again.  I figured that since I was going back to Lima I wouldn't have the same trouble as I had at Cuzco's airport-.after all, Lima is the capital city, they must have a sophisticated airport.  Granted, I later discovered that I figured wrong, but I'm skipping ahead.  Meanwhile, I'm waiting for the plane in the airport, I thought about buying some of that herb tea and bring it back with me...that was until I saw the box.  What kind of tea is it?....What does the box say?....”C…O..C…Oh my God!  It was COCOA TEA!  No wonder my heart was beating like a rabbit!  Now I understood why I was so warm!  And especially why I was able to have the energy to do all the climbing and stupidly dangerous things I did at Manchu Pichu.  Hell, I could have walked on snakes and not have cared!  Needless to say, I did not purchase the tea (I could just imagine having customs open my bag in the Miami International Airport “Yes, I’m an American.  What are those rubber gloves for?  Nice doggie”)

                Yet, I digress again.  The plane lands in Lima and I get off, but I can't find the baggage claim area (what a surprise).  But I’m not worried (probably thanks to the morning cup of tea), because again a guy was supposed to meet me at the airport and again take me to the hotel.  Once I find him, he'll show me the baggage claim.  Of course, this man was nowhere to be found.  I wandered all over that airport in search of the man and/or the luggage claim area.  I couldn't find either, and was becoming relatively "miffed."  Not only was the guy not there, but I didn't have a change of clothes and I haven't showered in two days!; not Kosher!  So, I happen to be standing in front of Russia’s "Aeroflot" counter, looking out the window to see if my contact was outside waiting (he wasn't), and I turn around and see a boy with a pulley walking by and my bag is on the pulley.  Of course, I run over and stop him, screaming "My Bag! My Bag! I want my bag!"  Unfortunately, I wasn't saying this in Spanish and this poor boy has no idea of why I'm so excited to see him.  Luckily though, a man from behind the Aeroflot counter sees us and calls us both over.  Because he only spoke Spanish and Russian, I had to explain to him in Russian that I wanted my bag and why for some unknown reason I had the wrong claim ticket (fate).  He translated it into Spanish for the boy and I got my bag back.  Life is good again.  Because I now had a change of clothes I decided to take a cab to the hotel without waiting any longer for my contact.  To this day I still don't know where the luggage claim area is in Lima's airport.

Once I got to the hotel, I called the agency and told them that I couldn't find the contact and that I was already at the hotel.  Later I found out that I had somehow gotten on an earlier flight than I was originally scheduled for (who knew?!)  After taking a much needed shower, I decided to call my friends to go site seeing again; like to the catacombs underneath the cathedral, etc.  Later, at Angela's house, we decide to go out for the night and they invited their 16 year old cousin to come along (these details are important, so stay with me).  Before we can go out though, Patricia realizes that she doesn't have her identification card with her and that we need to go back to her house and get it.  The identification are/were the government’s way of population control - to limit villagers from overpopulating Lima, they needed permission to live in the city.  "Simple enough" I think to myself "what can happen? We’ll go to her house and pick up the card and then go out."

To get to her house they tell me that we'll have to take a bus.  For the novelty of it, we decide to take a bus that looks like the one in "Romancing the Stone."  You know, an old American school bus, ready to fall apart, with all sorts of people and their livestock on it.  It’s cheap, it’s fun, and it’s an adventure.  So we jump on and "we're off!"  The bus rattles and rumbles through the crowded streets and I stand in the back like a dog who jumped in the car for a ride; looking at everything and everyone.   The bus gets to about the center of town and there seems to be a rather large traffic jam there.  I looked at my watch and saw that it was about 5 o'clock "Everyone must be getting off from work.  Nothing to worry about."  Then the bus pulls up on the curb and stops for some unknown reason.  All of the sudden a large man dress in an army outfit, carrying a machine gun kicks open the front bus door open and jumps on.  "Uhh...what's this about? What’s going on?"  I asked Angela.  It seems that the government decided to have a surprise check for identity cards.  The irony!  So as the girls discuss some way to explain why Patricia doesn't have her card, I look in my camera case to get my passport.  Now here’s when fate not only stepped in, but bitch slapped me as well.  I didn’t have my passport with me.  Evidently, I left my passport at the hotel when I was freshening up and forgot to bring it with me....not good.  Well, now I begin to think of how to explain why I didn't have MY identification...hmmm...The Truth!  What a great idea!  Obviously I don't look Peruvian.  Hell, I have blue eyes!  Luckily the hotel is so close I can see it from the bus and once he looks and tries to talk to me he'll discover that I'm some sort of stupid tourist.  I'll flash him a friendly smile, he'll let me get my passport and we'll all laugh about this.  I was wrong.  In fact, I could have never been more wrong in my life.  When he came up to me, saw I didn't have my passport, he grabbed me by the back of the neck and literally threw me off the bus with the girls following before I could say a word.  Our first intention was to make a break for it, blend into the crowd and perhaps get away.  That lasted for about three seconds, for when we looked up we discovered that the entire area was a sea of white police cars and vans, which I had the distinct pleasure of getting a ride in one.  Yes, that's right, the four of us were packed into the back of the police mini-van along with about twenty other people and after about an hour, were taken to the police station.

The police station.  Words alone cannot do justice to the experience of being taken to this station.  First of all it was about 8 o'clock in the evening and very dark.  Secondly, the station looked like a giant cement block, with no lights inside or out surrounded by jungle vegetation.  Thirdly, this particular station was located in a not so "well favored section of town."  Why that's so important is because we were not immediately allowed to go into the station and the street lights were not working.  Instead, everybody (about 75 of us) had to wait outside in three lines, surrounded by guards armed with machine guns, waiting for the doors to open.  When they did eventually let us in, I wished I was outside again.

The best way to describe the inside of the station...imagine the "gulag."  Cement floors, cement walls with no paint or pictures, square cement columns, cement ceiling with sporadic light bulb lighting throughout the place.  We (being everybody) were led down a hallway into a large room, completely empty except for one old, wooden table in the middle of the room with two guards ready to take statements by hand and a dangling light bulb for light over them.  Because the lighting was so bad, I couldn't see the far walls or corners and so it was impossible to see exactly how large the room actually was.  We were the last ones to speak and with Angela as my translator, we explained my situation, while Patricia and the other cousin explained hers.  After listening to us the guard told us that, under the circumstances we could probably go, but we would have to talk to the chief first.  "No problem."  We get in line to talk to the chief, and in fact, we were pushed ahead of everyone.  I'm thinking "Wow, the price of being an American!...the service!...we're all set!"  Once again I thought wrong (after all, why break my running streak).  The chief looked at the statements, then looked at me, a young American male with three Peruvian girls, one of which was only 16.  In retrospect, this probably did not look good.   Well anyway, the chief said something and began to wave his arms around.  I assumed that he was releasing us and started for the door outside.  I actually made it to the doorway, when a guard grabbed my shoulder and motioned for us four and a couple other guys to follow him.  Back down the dark hallways we traveled, until he led us to a beautiful office; with nice carpet, furniture, lighting and even books on the wall!  What a nice change of scenery.  After I follow the girls in, the guard looked at me as though I was probably the stupidest man he had ever seen (and I probably was) and beckons me to come with him and the other men, while the girls were to stay and talk to another man and call their families.  We figured that they were going to separate us and check our stories to make sure I wasn't prostituting them, and once again, I was convinced that once they discovered I didn't speak Spanish we could work the whole situation out.  So off we go to the next room.

The guard led me and my new "comrades in crime" to a door.  I was about five feet away from the door and because of the lighting I couldn't see it too clearly.  What I did see was the key to this door.  It was a huge skeleton key to which I was naively impressed by until I heard him open the door.  After a series of deafening "clicks", he opened a steel door about three inches thick!  As the door screeched open, complete darkness was revealed on the other side accompanied by a collection of whistles and "cat calls."  Standing there, looking at my new companions, I was thinking "WOW! Kinda sucks to be you guys.  I wonder which one of them is going in there?!"  My question was quickly answered as we were all herded into the PERUVIAN MENS HOLDING CELL! 

I now know what hell looks like or at least what hell’s waiting room looks like.  This cement box of a room was about fifty feet high, no windows, no lights, and lower half of one wall appeared to have bars on it separating you from the really dangerous and insane criminals who were in cells about a meter lower.  That is, they could reach up and grab people in our area meaning that no one wanted to go near that wall and we were all pressing each other against the three other walls.  Moreover, if you had to "relieve" yourself you used the corner (and they did by the evidence of the large pile there and the "delightful" odor that wafted through my nostrils).   There were more men in there than at Gandhi’s funeral.  I mean, there was so many men shoved in there, you couldn't sit down (not that you'd really want to).  In fact, sitting down was the least of my concerns then.  Let me explain, being packed in and locked in a dark, foreign prison cell (or any sort of jail cell for that matter) with over a hundred other men is rather…disconcerting (ok – alarming), considering you don't know their sexual preference and what they're in there for.  So, my logic was, that even if some poor, hapless fool even accidentally bumps into me, (especially from behind), I scream like a woman, start throwing punches and hit the fetal position as soon as possible.  After all, I didn't come all the way to Peru to become a love puppet for Lima’s more surely side and learn the Spanish expression for "bend over." 

Then to add insult to injury, I remember that I had all my money I changed in Cuzco the day before on me.  So let me recap: "I forget my passport, but not my money!  Very nice.  I am an idiot!  Perhaps I deserve to be raped and beaten in here!"  This was not good.  Well, I stood there in complete darkness for a couple of hours, trying like mad to blend in as a local; laughing when everyone else did, etc.  Finally a little door inside the larger door opened and "Jason"(but in Spanish, pronounced “Ha son”) was called (so much for my cover of being a local).  Actually though, the name confused them (and myself at first) so much that I was allowed to make my way up from the back of the cell to the door (“excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, is that your foot? sorry, didn’t mean to, pardon me”).   When I finally reach the door, I see Angela’s face on the other side of the portal.  She then proceeds to tell me that I had to talk to another man soon.  “Soon?!  What do you mean “soon” When?!  When is “soon?” Ask them to open the door NOW” I coarsely whispered back.  Then the little door closed and the big door didn’t open.  Nothing.  I stood there solemnly looking at the big door as deafening silence surrounded me.   With a sigh of despair and resolution, I slowly turned around to face “the gang.” Although I couldn’t actually see them, I swear I could feel their eyes staring back at me.  “Alright, I’m Pedro’s bitch now” was all I could think.   Now granted, I probably only stood there a minute or less, but at the moment, it felt as though years of my life were flying by as I pondered what my new life in prison would be, the friends I would make with my love of dance and all, etc.

So, after what seemed to be an eternity, I heard the clicking of the big lock of the steal door.  “I’m getting out!”  my heart leapt.   Oh I was so relieved, in fact, I almost did relieve myself there right next to the door (not that anyone would have noticed).  Finally the door opened and they let me out and again to talk to yet, another officer.  With Angela as my translator we explained to the other officer our predicament.  He took one look at me, and asked me if I spoke or understood Spanish (I would have thought this would have been fairly clear that I didn’t considering that Angela was translating for me, but whatever.)  I explained that I did not, but had every intention of doing so once I make it beyond the doors of the station.  So he let us go.  Now normally I would have just left, but I thought I would be polite and cultured to thank him in his own language and said "Muchos gracias, hasta luego."  Well as soon as he heard that he started screaming at me threatening to put me back in the cell because he thought I was lying about speaking Spanish!

After a little more explaining, we were free to go.  Freedom…ahh…sweet freedom.  You learn a new appreciation for it…and sanitation, I TRULY appreciate sanitation since this experience.  Now most people would think “hey, you were just released from a Peruvian jail.  Perhaps you should just call it a night and spend the rest of the trip resting,” but not me baby!  Young, stupid, full of new found life and not wanting to waste my time there, and probably still coasting from the tropical tea of Cuzco, I convinced them that we should still go out and have a good time (I refuse to let prison dampen my spirits too much).  They agreed.  First, we took a cab to my hotel so I could get my passport.  Then we went to Patricia's house to get hers.  As the cab pulled up, her mother was coming out of the house wondering what had happen to her daughter and was on her way to the police station to find her daughter now that it was 11:30 at night.  After explaining the whole story, we went back to Angela's house to discover that her mother was calling the police to learn what happened to her daughter.  Unfortunately, she was calling the wrong station and was quite upset because the police kept telling her they had no girl there; convincing Angela’s mother to think that her daughter was being raped and beaten by the police.  Their cousin's mother frantically WENT to the wrong station (I assume the same one that Angela’s mother was calling) and was screaming that to see her daughter.  Of course, the police had no idea of what she was ranting about!  Sooo..to summarize up to this point…an American comes to town unannounced without speaking the language, keeps their daughters out late, and has them dragged down to the police station.  Good fun indeed.  We decided not to go out and stayed in and talked instead.

We talked until about 3 in the morning and then decided that I needed to go back to the hotel as I was booked for another tour that day.  Because it was late and I don’t know the ways around Lima, they thought that they would ride with me to the hotel to make sure that the taxi driver didn't rob me and then take the taxi back.  So we go out to the corner and wait for a cab, when low and behold who drives up, but… a POLICE CAR!  *sigh* I can't get away from them.  They stopped and asked us what we're doing out there.  We explained that we were just waiting for a cab to go to my hotel.  Then they opened the back door and tell us to get in.  “Ahh…come on! You’ve upset the nice officers and I’m going BACK to the holding cell now?!!”  I could hardly speak.  Fortunately I was wrong as evidently Patricia asked them to take all of us to the hotel and then drive them back to Angela's!  to which they agreed. 

As we drove to the hotel, we told them the story of our earlier encounter with the police.  They apologized for their fellow officers' behavior and then laughed hysterically as my experience was told to them.  Eventually we made it to the hotel and as I was getting out of the car, I heard someone snapping their fingers and whistling for me at me.  I turned around and the policeman on the passenger’s side holds his hand out and asked for a “tip” (I will go no further but to assume that they must have heard about my reputation from the airport).  So, I tipped them, shook their hands, said "adios" to everyone and skipped into the hotel again whistling and snapping my fingers.  Hotel security just stood there watching the whole thing:  A young, stupid foreigner  comes to town, doesn't speak Spanish, meets a couple of girls, comes back later and later each night, and is now getting the police to drive him around, they don't know what to think.

The next day, I woke up and took a short tour of Lima with a guide.  It was nice to see the real city and eat Peruvian food on the street.  It was during the time that my guide went to get us something to eat when I was standing near the Capital building.  All of the sudden army trucks and water cannons surrounded the building and were facing me.  Not knowing what I had done to spark such a reaction or what to do (except for wetting myself and begging for mercy) I was relieved to discover that I was in the way of the army getting in position preparing for the doctors who were on strike and were going to march on the Capital.  Once my heart rate calmed down I found it all rather interesting. 

That night, the girls and their two girlfriends meet me at the hotel (FOUR girls now!  Security is going out of their mind now and was beginning to ask some questions) to go out dancing at a night club for Peruvians, not tourists.  Unfortunately, I don't dance, but after getting "liquored up" in a drinking contest (which I lost to one of the girls)), I became a dancing fool (strong emphasis on the "fool").  From 8 o'clock in the evening to 5 o'clock the next morning we danced continually.  I didn't even get a chance to sit down.  I slept for two hours and then we went to the beach for a couple of hours because I had to leave latter that day.  It wasn’t Daytona beach mind you and I was tired and my legs felt like rubber, but what a great time! 

While I finished packing, the hotel security offered Angela a job as a guide for them.  It was nice way to end a great trip!  

You remember that temple in the NIKE commercial I mentioned earlier?  I later remembered that it was a Mayan temple in Mexico, not an Inca temple in Peru!  I later went to Mexico, but that is another story all together....