So many things I forget to put in here.
Like the radio station that all the taxi drivers that plays the Beatles for a solid hour every day. Sometimes they play George's solo stuff, but mainly its just the Beatles.
Like how freaked out Sarah was when she realised she had eaten anticucho, marinaded and grilled cow hearts on skewers, when we were in Norky's.
Like the little red Rocoto chillis they put on the ceviche that take your face off, they're so fresh and spicy.
Like the fact that Peruanos do not go in for draught beer. Its very upsetting for me.
Imagine then that moment when we discover the Rincon Cerveceria, a short walk from our hostel, is rated as one of the best pubs in the city. We need to find out whether Lima can redeem itself when it comes to pints.
Firstly, though, our dorm room. The first time I have shared a room with four other people who snore. Who would have thought there could be such variety in the noises? Honking and sniffing and gagging and strange machine-like noises all coming from the human mouth. Add to this the incessant honking of car horns from the outside, the guys who clump around and slam doors and talk at full volume at 6am. It is a tribute to how patient I have become that I'm not in prison right now.
We get through this and our petty breakfast of two baps and one stick of butter, but enjoy our first cup of good protestant tea in nearly six months. No chance of Nambarrie making us ill.
Off we go to MALI, the Museum of Art in Lima. Beautiful palatial building, sadly only with one exhibition at the time, archaeological findings from a ceremonial burial site north of Lima in the Ancash province. Its interesting and worth PNS$6 entrance fee. Lots of little carved wooden figures, pots, textiles and ear-pieces. From there we walk to the Museo Arte Italiano, a fascinating collection of paintings and sculptures donated to Peru by the Italians. For another PNS$6 you get five rooms, all killer no filler, and a little paper guide that was obviously written when the museum had a different layout. Still, the mosaics on the outside, the wrought iron gates, the thoughtful and well-positioned collection make this an essential site for tourists to Lima.
Sadly the little cafe, at the side of the Palacio Del Gobierno, is a might expensive for us, and we begin our journey back to the hostel. As if by magical accident we lift our heads outside Bar Munich, a spot which has eluded us on every walk up and down this street. Its easy to see why; the sign is small and the bar is actually down a flight of stairs in a cellar. Makes sense, I suppose. Inside we are treated to an old man hammering out great tunes on an upright piano, whilst a healthy mix of office peeps and students intermingle whilst drinking draught beer from clay steins. It doesn't take much to imagine this place as a smokey den of revolution. We converse of more ideas of what to do when we return home. Now I am going to write some children's books. I just need an illustrator, or to learn how to draw.
Its well past 9pm when we depart, in need of dinner. The pizza restaurant beside the hostel yields a fairly good meaty pizza that sorts us out and we play a few games of pool before retiring. Looks like all remaining cultural activities will need to be completed on Thursday before the country shuts down on Friday and we are left with nothing but Mass to entertain us (in a manner of speaking).
Like the radio station that all the taxi drivers that plays the Beatles for a solid hour every day. Sometimes they play George's solo stuff, but mainly its just the Beatles.
Like how freaked out Sarah was when she realised she had eaten anticucho, marinaded and grilled cow hearts on skewers, when we were in Norky's.
Like the little red Rocoto chillis they put on the ceviche that take your face off, they're so fresh and spicy.
Like the fact that Peruanos do not go in for draught beer. Its very upsetting for me.
Imagine then that moment when we discover the Rincon Cerveceria, a short walk from our hostel, is rated as one of the best pubs in the city. We need to find out whether Lima can redeem itself when it comes to pints.
Firstly, though, our dorm room. The first time I have shared a room with four other people who snore. Who would have thought there could be such variety in the noises? Honking and sniffing and gagging and strange machine-like noises all coming from the human mouth. Add to this the incessant honking of car horns from the outside, the guys who clump around and slam doors and talk at full volume at 6am. It is a tribute to how patient I have become that I'm not in prison right now.
We get through this and our petty breakfast of two baps and one stick of butter, but enjoy our first cup of good protestant tea in nearly six months. No chance of Nambarrie making us ill.
Off we go to MALI, the Museum of Art in Lima. Beautiful palatial building, sadly only with one exhibition at the time, archaeological findings from a ceremonial burial site north of Lima in the Ancash province. Its interesting and worth PNS$6 entrance fee. Lots of little carved wooden figures, pots, textiles and ear-pieces. From there we walk to the Museo Arte Italiano, a fascinating collection of paintings and sculptures donated to Peru by the Italians. For another PNS$6 you get five rooms, all killer no filler, and a little paper guide that was obviously written when the museum had a different layout. Still, the mosaics on the outside, the wrought iron gates, the thoughtful and well-positioned collection make this an essential site for tourists to Lima.
On the grounds of MALI
Inside MALI's lobby
The mosaics on the front of the Museo De Arte Italiano
Hunger attacks Sarah and I, and we find ourselves in the Rincon Cerveceria post-haste. There we treat ourselves to decent draught beer from Pilsen, I have a fine ceviche whilst Sarah wolfs down arroz con pollo. I notice the Spanish Cup Final is starting soon, and the room begins to fill up. Then the bar gets very full. Then its a full house. If you have ever wondered why Real Madrid are the biggest team in the world, its because everyone in Peru loves them. Its strange to be in a room with no Barcelona fans. Its a good game and I win a pisco sour from Sarah (as yet unclaimed) as she bet me Barca would clean up today. I wish I had bet on Di Maria as first goal scorer too, like I predicted before the game. Damn.
This is glory of ceviche. Those little red demons on the top make it 'picante'.
Draught beer. Thank God.
At 4pm we leave, full of food and feeling fine, and discover the wonders of the Casa De La Literatura Peruana, or rather would have done if either of us were fluent in Spanish. Sadly not the case. I can pick out a few sections here and there, but the beautiful flow of the Spanish tongue is lost on me still, and we eventually beat a retreat to the little cafe across the road. All tiled floors, wood, unchanged for a hundred years, it prompts us to discuss the little cafe we're going to run when we return to Norn Iron. I can't tell you too much about it in case you steal our ideas. But it's going to be great, I promise.
The charming glass roof of the Casa de la Literatura Peruana
Sadly the little cafe, at the side of the Palacio Del Gobierno, is a might expensive for us, and we begin our journey back to the hostel. As if by magical accident we lift our heads outside Bar Munich, a spot which has eluded us on every walk up and down this street. Its easy to see why; the sign is small and the bar is actually down a flight of stairs in a cellar. Makes sense, I suppose. Inside we are treated to an old man hammering out great tunes on an upright piano, whilst a healthy mix of office peeps and students intermingle whilst drinking draught beer from clay steins. It doesn't take much to imagine this place as a smokey den of revolution. We converse of more ideas of what to do when we return home. Now I am going to write some children's books. I just need an illustrator, or to learn how to draw.
Its well past 9pm when we depart, in need of dinner. The pizza restaurant beside the hostel yields a fairly good meaty pizza that sorts us out and we play a few games of pool before retiring. Looks like all remaining cultural activities will need to be completed on Thursday before the country shuts down on Friday and we are left with nothing but Mass to entertain us (in a manner of speaking).
No comments:
Post a Comment