Don't ever need to phone the UK Passport Customer Service Line. It goes like this: 'Hello, this is a very bad line', 'Yes it is, I'm on Skype calling from Peru', 'So what is the problem?', 'Well, we sent our passport applications in to you, they arrived on 3rd April but there's no update on the website', 'OK, give me a second... yes, we have no record of receiving those applications','Oh right. What now?','We'll I'll email the Peterborough office, they'll get back to you next Wednesday or Thursday after the bank holiday. Do you have details of the package?', 'Yes, but I need to phone home and get them', 'No problem, I'll email, you phone back if you get the details', 'Goodbye'.
Phone home, get details of package, get name of signature off Royal Mail website, phone UK Passport Office again.
'Hello?', explain again what happened, explain that I am calling back with more information to assist Peterborough office in finding our (rather urgent) passport applications. 'Ah,... well... you see I'm not going to email them...because... did the other girl say she was going to email them?', 'Yes, and she said call back with any extra information', 'yes... well... you see if I email them... that means there are two emails in the system...? So... you know... its better if you just keep that information... for when they get back to you....?'.
I bit my tongue and got off the phone.
So now we are anxious. At least we are safe in the knowledge that, any failing at this point, is on HM Passport Office's side, not ours. In the big breakfasting room of 1900 Hostel, as we endeavour to eat as much of our surplus food as we can before Saturday's flight to Cusco, we fret a little. Then we stop fretting and notice that Lima is a bit quiet today. Very quiet, in fact. Is the day before Good Friday a holiday here?
Well, not quite. Its an event, surely, called Jueves Santos, or Saints' Thursday. Lots of folk take the day off work, churches throw their doors open to the world, and museums seem to be free which, given our cultural wont, suits us nicely.
I shall be said to leave Lima. I had previously thought that the city centre might have been too chaotic for us after the glorious coastline of Miraflores, but actually its been wonderful being within walking distance of so many sites, and there have been enough pubs and eateries to distract us (not to mention yet another wonky pool table to while away the hours).
The big ubiquious horse statue in Plaza San Martin. To the left you would be able to see the fading grandeur of the Hotel Gran Bolivar, home to 'The Best Pisco Sour in Peru' apparently.
Panoramic shot of the Plaza De Armas
Sarah is very fond of taking photos of people, something I simply do not do. So here, for posterity, is a girl selling pomegranate on the street from a shopping trolley.
And here we have a small streetfront bakery selling, amongst other treats, so breads shaped like guinea pigs. MMmmmm.
Craziness on the streets. We did reflect though upon how well organised the chaos was. Plenty of police and securocrats everywhere sending away dubious sellers, lots of sellers selling lots of nice produce (and some pruck), and a few roadside toilets too. Not one single person was drinking on the street! In fact, almost all restaurants have signs up pointing out that anyone who has been drinking will be refused service. They dont take boozing lightly here. Anyway, this is where all life in Peru was, crammed into churches and buying delicious local delicacies.
Outside every church are little straw palms for sale.
Yes, that is a roasted pig head from which a nice lady is making tasty sandwiches.
PRUCK.
One of the more unusual street treats are these little sellers offering up peeled quails' eggs. You get it in a little plastic pouch with some seasoning and a cocktail sausage. Haven't tried one yet, but they are mighty popular.
We spend a little time berating the sorry state of affairs in Norn Iron, where street food has been virtually (actually?) outlawed. I have a fond childhood memory of the guys outside the front door of Castle Court selling roasted chestnuts at Christmas, not to mention the guy who used to sell hot dogs and burgers in front of the Tesco on Royal Avenue. Is it health and safety gone mad? Or have our embattled shop owners, with their rates bills, made a deal with the council to keep traders off the streets? Belfast feels so utterly tame nowadays, especially when you consider its raucous history.
We pull ourselves into a little cafe for lunch, another three courses for PNS$16.50 including a drink. My chicken soup / trucha a la parrilla (grilled trout, another local speciality) / creamed rice plus glass of chicha morada was good, but Sarah was unconvinced by her Papas A La Huancaina / Lomo Saltado / Ice Cream plus glass of sugar-free lemonade (literally lemon juice and water, a sharp combination I assure you!). In a sign of Lima's cosmopolitan nature, a family came in and pretended to peruse the menu whilst one of them went for a wee; when she returned they ran away! Cheeky devils!
This is the Peruvian Congress. Beside it is the Museum of the Inquisition, where we learn how to torture people to find out if they are heretics or witches. We learn that, according to the Catholic church in the 1500s / 1600s / 1700s etc, it was pretty much accepted that Jews were heretics or witches. I was glad we didn't pay into the museum, it was not as good as its Trip Advisor rating suggested.
This girl is preparing anticucho, the famous grilled cow-heart skewers that offended Sarah so much. I had a different sort of snack in mind, however...
...no, not llama!
Yes! Apparently this place does the best churros in the world! Three different fillings! Imagine a cigar-shaped donut, warm, with super-sweet chocolate in the middle and rolled in sugar, and you're nearly there! I am cultivating my Type 3 diabetus!
Busy busy Plaza De Armas.
Mentalness down the shopping streets. We couldn't handle the carnage and dropped into Starbucks for an coffee which, I'm fairly certain, cost me even more than the equivalent coffee back in Belfast. Do away with any notions that Peru is a second rate, second world country. They have everything here, and lots of it is good.
We dodge down a sidestreet about 5pm, trying to find a bookshop selling some second-hand books in English, to save me from the ramblings of Henry James, but we discovered a curious aspect of Peruvian culture; the 'old magazines' shop. About a dozen bookshops all on the same road, a little like Bargain Books from the front, but inside there are endless stacks of back copies of magazines, all topics, home interiors to culinary critiques, Vogue and Cosmo to some rather more 'gentlemen' orientated pamphlets. And, for those interested, an awful lot of comic books.
Sadly though, no second-hand English novels. We call into a few places but without luck, and end up back in the hostel, playing pool against an Aussie guy from Perth who reminded me in many ways of Lovejoy. Sarah's tummy is acting up again a bit. I fall asleep on the sofa. We go to bed hungry, having forgotten to eat dinner, fading to the snoring of the fat bloke in the bed opposite.
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