The Hotel, Antigua Mirafores, has a kind of old colonial hacienda look to it, perhaps more accurately I might say, estancia, as its probably not big enough to be considered a hacienda. Old it is, but it is in good shape and looks like it's had a recent facelift. At the check-in desk I experience some more of the familiar communications problems that comes with trying to converse in Spanglish. The receptionist, who Anglicised herself to Tanya, seems to be saying that I am entitled to a complimentary aperitif upon arrival. After waiting for a short period, during which no such free drink materialises, I return to the front desk and query this. The woman at the desk (Tanya has disappeared out the back somewhere), explains to me that the complementary item refers to the fact that I have been given a larger room (larger than what I couldn't be sure?). Not certain how one confuses an aperitif with room space?
When I arrived in Lima the first time round, the Costa del Sol at Jorge Chávez didn't hesitate to offer me a complimentary Pisco sour. Nonetheless I decide to head for the bar anyway and encounter a warm welcome from the young Limanese bartender, this guy whose nombre was Juan José ('JJ' he proffers for guest convenience) turns out to be one super-laid back young dude. After conversing with to him for a short while I form a sneaking suspicion that possibly he is a struggling actor making ends meet behind the bar, such are is the exaggerated nature of his theatrical flourishes. Later on when I get accustomed to him, I think the hyper-talking JJ is just sort of high.
As I sip my obligatory Pisco sour JJ (or Jota-Jota) is only too happy to tell me all about his hopes and aspirations to leave the provincial confines of Peru and escape to the US where the opportunities to succeed are plentiful (or so he believes). The more we talk (I have nothing better to do: arriving in the mid afternoon after a long flight and taxi ride and feeling too tired to go downtown), the more aware I am that the effusive JJ is something of a devotee of ganja weed. This becomes quite apparent when he starts asking questions about my homeland and the conversation somehow gets round to the weed-friendly town of Nimbin - the marijuana capital of New South Wales, something that interests him greatly. I let JJ play around with my iPad for a bit. "What are you interested in JJ?", I randomly ask the question which of course when posed to my youthful interlocutor is a superfluous one. "I like weed", is his instant, matter-of-fact and singular reply accompanied by a dense smile forming on his face. Next moment JJ is googling weed on the Net.
Later on other guests gravitate toward the bar. Most of the guests staying at the Hotel Antigua appear to be Gringos, as the Latin Americans say. I get talking to a cashed-up elderly Florida retiree and his daughter (granddaughter?) who closely resembles a young Shane Gould. The Floridians are followed slightly later by Judy and Stephen, a friendly couple of vegetarians from New Jersey but now self-exiled to Las Vegas. I get on quite well with Judy and Stephen, and I find each of these Yanks amiable enough company, but I am struck by the strident tone of anti-Obamaism freely expressed by them! I guess that I shouldn't be too surprised given the widespread economic misfortunes plaguing America in recent times but they are not holding back on their condemnation of the Democrat President.
I finish a second Pisco sour by now, and then quite suddenly as I get ready to go out for a meal with Jude and Steve, the full potency of the Pisco hits me! I'm not sure what JJ put in it, whatever it is, I'm sure its a double, it packs a real wallop, no question about it! My head feels very fuzzy indeed, and I spend several minutes in the bar washroom splashing water on my face before I am anywhere near up to going downtown with the Vegans to eat. One of the tour guides warns me, the next day about the pitfalls of over-imbibing on Pisco (too late!!!).
Despite still feeling rather 'Piscolated' I stumble off to the "eat street" strip at Avenida Diagonal for a pizza meal with the Americans. Now, I'm not normally the quickest person at choosing from the menu but compared to these two I am positively express! The Nevadans appear to be on a very tightly-budgeted holiday and give the menu careful scrutiny. After ordering, I sit back, bemused, observing Judy and Stephen as they mull at great length over the menu, discuss the various permutations of mixing and matching different items, fire umpteen questions at the exceedingly patient waitress - the cost of various pizzas with or without certain variables, what combination of ingredients they can substitute for the carne ones that they don't eat, and how much of the substitute vegetable items they are allowed!
Finally they make a decision, and as we wait for the pizzas, I get another chapter of the Obama "No we won't!" refrain from the Lost Vegans. Stephen, who up to that point I think the more reserved of the two, lets fly with a very impassioned denunciation of Obama as "illegitimate", dredging up, much to my incredulity, the old conspiratorial theory "chestnut" that Barack is in fact (sic) foreign-born! Now, aside from the self-promoting Donald Trump and a hard core of Tea Party hacks, I didn't think anyone in America was still peddling that hoary old tale ... talk about Crank Yankers! But I guess, we are talking about America, so nothing really surprises. I certainly get a sense of the Right wing Republican backlash against Obama following the GFC from the sample of Americans I meet in Lima.
I get a sense that there's something kinda New Agey naturopathy (?) about Judy and Stephen, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Stephen with his free-flowing and greying locks certainly looks the part of the ageing hippy. Interestingly, Judy tells me she's a pop/rock music journalist which I find a tad incongruous, can't imagine her in Almost Famous! Based entirely on a non-scientific hunch, I make an assumption that she is some sort of a self-medicator.
After the meal we wander across the Diagonal to the Parque Kennedy Night Markets, Mercado de Pulgas (the local flea markets) to look for bargains. These are pretty thin on the ground however as Miraflores is a quite upmarket part of Lima and the stallholders are fairly resistant to haggling. The usual things are on offer - silver jewelry, bracelets, earrings, trinkets, beads, garments, toy and puppet llamas, and some assorted oddities such as old Peruvian coins and rusty pieces of metal whose purpose I can't fathom. The park should be called Parque El Gato, it is full of stray cats, everywhere we walk up and down the stalls there are cats underfoot! By now I have sobered up enough to make a rational decision to buy a really nice grey-blue alpaca scarf for a very reasonable 15 Nuevo Sols.
I breakfast with Stephen and Judy the next morning. Judy, confides that she is given to certain medical conditions and pulls out a multitude of different coloured pills and downs them them all with breakfast. I think I just found the empirical evidence for my earlier assumption.
Judy's mannerisms and eccentricities are beginning to look a bit like Yiddish theatricality, she displays a touch of the Bette Middler bordering on Woody Allenesque paranoia in her remonstrations about most things. Submitting her omelette to forensic scrutiny at the table, she loudly declares it devoid of cheese and defies the waitress to identify any dairy products within the egg. When the girl tries to point out visual evidence of cheese on the plate, Judy rebuffs the suggestion and insists that another, more cheesier omelette be brought from the kitchen! While Judy waits and continues to complain about the withholding of cheese, her partner Stephen is obviously not so picky as he quickly wolfs down the rejected omelette.
I am not too disappointed when 9 o'clock ticks over and I have to take my leave of this slightly annoying American pair. As I go upstairs to fetch my bag and camera for the Lima city tour, Judy's attention turns seamlessly from me to the newly-arrived replacement omelette.
