Awake in Jorge Chavez

SOME TIME HAS passed since I last added anything substantial to this hodgepodge collection, and for good reason–my life in the good ol’ corn belt was blissfully static.  In the morning the sun would rise over rows of corn and the beige east walls of houses side by side in the quiet suburbs.  A handful of hours later, I would wake and flip on NBC to catch the latest Wimbledon match on delayed broadcast.  In the afternoon I would turn with half a mind to this or another economics textbook, then resolve to finally finish Archbishop Tutu’s excellent book, and most likely end up on the Wikipedia page for fish aggregating devices.  It was, you would agree, a grand, slovenly existence.

Then I decided to do something so random and larkish it was bound to work.  I am writing this from a computer in Jorge Chavez–just out the doors from this communications terminal, travelers roughing out an overnight in the airport lie on their luggage, trying to catch a few hours’ rest before the early planes take off.  A mix of adrenaline and necessity keep me awake.  The hangover is going to be bad…welcome to Peru.

And now a moment of silence for Argentina.  The nation which produced Borges, Ernesto Guevara, and yes, the rising Lionel Messi! coming to disgrace in the QF.  God willing, Messi will enjoy good health for four more years and we’ll continue to see some beautiful football in Barcelona, and ARG ’14.

Now, the flight from Miami to Lima was very pleasant.  Somewhere in the machinations of fortune, it was determined that the people seated to my left and right would give me good conversation and a rising forecast for the rest of my stay.  The girl to my right was just the friendliest.  We traded stories and opinions about some of my favorite things: food, family and books.  She was completely biligual, so I was able to ease back into Spanish use in a casual setting (attempts to engage with airport personnel in la lengua franca didn’t go over too great).  The main takeaway from the conversation, though, has to be to never move to Miami or Memphis.  These places seriously sound dodgy as a wanker…

Only a few more hours of mute darkness separate me now from my final destination in Trujillo.  It is going to be an intense few weeks, hopefully filled with a lot of learning and growing up, and if fate inclines in such a direction, perhaps even my making some marginal difference in the lives of a few others among us in this strange siglo XXI.

If anyone interrogates you, yes, ceviche is cooked.  No lo creo, but whatever helps you sleep at night.

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