I write from Arequipa...

We are in the lovely "white" colonial city of Arequipa ("white" because many of the buildings are constructed of native white volcanic rock...very beautiful in a textured way). To get here, we survived the 6 hour bus ride to Nasca, and the 9 hour bus ride to Arequipa. That the buses were are embarrasingly plush helped (our seats, in addition to being very wide and cushy, reclined all the way...those of us in first class had our own bathroom, and on the Arequipa leg we were served a perfectly acceptable meal of lomo saltado and some gray, mucousy mass in a bowl...no bingo on the Arequipa leg). And best of all, there were no robberies of the bus!

In Nasca, we hired a taxi driver to take us to the mirador, a platform on the outskirt of town, from which you could see two of the Nasca figurines. The figures are drawn into the desert floor, are quite large, and have lasted (to Kristina´s continuing dismay) for 2,400 years. No one is quite sure who made them or why (the brilliant nut Eric Von Daniken (sp?) made a load of money arguing that they were drawn by the ancient astronauts, given some credence by the fact that you can really only see them from above...even from our mirador, for example, you could only see the "hand" and the "tree" (or at least that what they said they were)). We developed an alternative theory that the figures were created by townspeople in the 20s to create a tourist industry. As they say in Espanol, es posible. Kristina and I (we were the only ones on the platform...Riki and Malu took one look and huffed...as if to say, "what´s the big deal" and descended to shoot the shit with the taxi driver) argued about the lines, their significance, and exactly what they depicted. No conclusions. Our taxi guy took us to a hill nearby and made us climb it too...from that rocky perch we got to see lots more lines that seemed to emanate from our rock. Malu was so moved, he took a piss on the hill.

Our driver convinced us to head over to the Chauchilla Cemetery which, we were told, featured ancient, "pre-Inca mummies." Down a nauseatingly bouncy, dusty road, we soon found ourselves in a spectacular valley surrounded by beautiful desert mountains. Unfortunately, the cemetery stank of fakery. There were "grave sites," each covered with a little thatched roof, in which you would find "mummies," with accoutrement. They even hired some lackeys to pose as archaeologists...they would look around to see if anyone was watching, and pick up a brush and hit a rock or two. Pitiful. We lasted about 2 and a half grave sites and called it quits, headed to the museum where Kristina took the liberty of changing a major poopy diaper next to a child mummy.

Made it back in time to catch the 9 hour bus to Arequipa. Plush seats again. Spectacular journey, with desert moonscape on one side, the thunderous Pacific on the other. I took the liberty of popping a motion sickness pill and all was right. Good chat with Lady K and sweet Kanahe, interpeted occasionally by demands from the boys in front of us (Riki and Malu).

Arrived in Arequipa around midnight to find that our transfer was not at the bus station to greet us. So we, picture this, three worn adults, a rambunctious but tired 5 year old, and sweet Kanahe, set off across the dark bus station parking lot to attempt to score a taxi, in the dark, and in the cold. We managed after a few minutes (and he did not even try to rob or strangle us). But he dropped us off on a completely deserted street in front of our hotel, the door was locked, and it took awhile for anyone to answer. Not an all together pleasant situation. But taken in stride nonetheless (take that Pete).

Our hotel, the Casa del Melgar, is a beautiful colonial hacienda built in the 1800s, with twists and turns and staircases and courtyard...beautiful, clean, and cheap. My room felt like a castle, stone walls, cold, and dark...like I love.

We spent the day exploring Arequipa (and dealing with the dynamics of a demanding 5 year old (I don´t know how to spell it, but if you speak Cajun French, the appropriate term would be a "pesta mezair")...the 4 month old continues to be a complete and utter angel, smiles almost constantly, no demands, no whining, and always accommodating...I have been around a lot of children in my life and this one is truly amazing...I will take him). And on that note, one of the great unexpected pleasures of this trip is to watch people, particularly locals, try to figure us out. They see Kanahe first...and everyone googoos all over him. Then they see Malu and realize they´re brothers. Kristina is clearly the mama, as she is attached at all times to one of the children. But then there´s Riki, dark, bearded, mysterious and usually frowning, and me, oily and plump with bad hair...and there´s immediate and profound cognitive dissonance. The pieces of the puzzle do not fit. Some are brave enough to ask, "Where´s the papa?" Kristina laughs, and eventually explains. But few walk away happy or satisfied. There´s just something that´s not quite right. But everyone, everywhere, adores Kanahe...and touch him and poke him and coo at him. Professional women, policemen, Incan women. And when they find out he´s only 4 months, the cooing and giggling and adoration only worsens. We have come to exploit him, of course...so when we need to ask for a late checkout, Kristina approaches the desk with baby in hand, pleads for the extension, is refused and says, "Es para the baby" and they relent. I will never travel again without an infant.

And for you naysayers (Pete), we have made every bus and contact so far without incident (that is not to say that my blood pressure was not tested). And we continue to roll with the punches.

Oh, and today, after promenading around town to see the big plaza here, we jettisoned Riki to the internet cafe and headed over to the Santa Catalina convent. This place has been cloistered for something like 300 years and finally opened to the public (but for a corner where cloistered nuns still live) in the last few decades. It is truly a city within a city, spectacular colonial architecture, inflected by the use of the local stone...and beautiful indigoes, terra cotta red and muchas geraniums and twisted religious art (one bloody Jesus statue that even scared me). Kristina is a little peeved at what she perceives to be excess on the part of the so-called austere nuns...but nonetheless is considering moving in.

Off tomorrow with a private driver into the Colca Canyon where we hope to ride ponies on the precipitous mountain trail and see Andean condors catch thermals before our very eyes. We spend the night at the very end of the trail in the Colca Canyon and head back to Arequipa the following day (Kristina insisting that we stop at the stinky hot springs on the way back).

For Bonnye, the grandlala: everyone is in good health, in generally good spirits, and behaving. Stop worrying.

The Hawaiians have arrived...

and Peru will never be the same. Monica, my guide, and I made it to the airport late Sunday night and weren´t there 5 minutes when the sliding glass doors to customs opened and out strutted Kristina holding little Kanahe above her head as if to offer him in sacrifice to the throng. Her ploy worked as we spied her immediately, and she us. Riki, Malu, and Kristina all looked good for having flown from Maui to Oahu beginning Saturday evening, then onto Houston, where they suffered a six hour delay, and onto to Lima...but Kanahe was beaming. You´ve never seen a happier baby. And he´s stayed that way. At 4 months, he´s alert, chatty, and of course wants to stick everything in his mouth. This baby is incredibly laid back and pleasant ALL of the time. He spews of course, in incredible volumes and at times with amazing force, but it doesn´t faze him (I, on the other hand, have the occasional gag reflex, but what´s new). He is so cute you can´t stand to look at him too much...but I do. And I swear he understands me when I coo in his face.
We got to sleep for about 3 hours, made the bus (which was very plush and comfortable--two stories even--but for the unduly loud showings of some Drew Barrymore movie followed by one of those loud Disney animated things). We slept through most of it (including the bingo game played on the bus loudspeaker). And awoke to a bleak, gray desert. The closer we got to Nasca, the more hilly the landscape got, but it is really desolate stuff. Made it to Nasca in 7 hours (we told it would be 6)...walked to our cute hotel where Malu demanded a swim while the adults drank Cusequeno cervezas and watched Kristina do Pilades and some Germans eat giant avocadoes. Navigated the tiny town as the sun went down, and had dinner (grilled meat and french fries, the best I have ever had. Really.).
Off tomorrow morning to see the Nasca lines, and then to catch the 8 (!) hour bus to Arequipa.

Lima doesn´t smell nearly as bad as people say...

Monica picked me up and we hit the streets of Lima hard in her thin, rattling, but tenacious tiny van. The old part of downtown Lima (Plaza de Armas, etc.) and a tour of the San Francisco monastery and church (including creepy catacombs with lots of dusty bones), where we were forced to look at a ghastly portrait of San Francisco "depicted 24 hours after his death" (why? And with one eye stuck open, the other shut...is that necessary?), next to which sat another portrait of San Francisco in which, I swear the tour guide said, the saint is depicted "playing the rabbit, which he did before he said mass." The painting and room were dark and I couldn´t make out much of anything...and she moved quickly so no explanations. Monica dragged my tired ass all over the city, which is big. And I´m happy to say, relatively clean and well-kept. The guide books bad mouth poor Lima, and maybe I only saw the high points. And I´ve travelled enough (and lived in Houston) to know that all cities have nice spots and dreadful spot...but Lima´s nice spots are awfully nice. Sorry we don´t have time to explore the nightlife more. (By the way, it´s gray and wet, and I don´t think the sun breaks out until November so I´m loving it.) We finished the tour off with a very long lunch at El Segorio de Sulco overlooking the Pacific. Monica got me looped with a Pisco sour, and I was able to knock off two of my must-eats for Peru: ceviche (with giant corn kernels and sweet potatoes, I´m not shitting you) and lomo saltado (a sort of stir fry with beef, onions, ginger, peppers and rice). Sure was fine. Monica also introduced me to chicha morada, which is a purply looking drink made of, well, purple corn (!). Sweet and a little bit sour and fabulous, as the gays say. Must have more chicha morada (there´s also a chicha beer, made, obviously, of corn...but Lima´s too refined to serve it but I will find it!).

I have filled Monica in on the Hawaiians, and we return to the airport tonight to retrieve them. Should be an interesting cultural moment (Monica, too, volunteered that it was crazy to bring a 5-month-old to Peru...oh well).

Tomorrow, we head to the bus station at 6 a.m. to catch the bus to Nasca to see the weird, spooky Nasca lines. Our first of many travel challenges. More on that later.

Made it despite Delta Airlines...

I learned upon arriving at SFO that my Continental flight had "been delayed." I learned later that that meant the plane I was supposed to fly to Houston on at 7:30 a.m., and then onto Lima, would not arrive until 5 p.m. in San Francisco. They found me a seat on, god help me, Delta, which has long been fighting with United to be the worst airline in the world. Check in at SFO for Delta is incredibly and inexplicably frustrating, consisting of standing in a series of lines, eventually, ploddingly, moving from one to the other, but with no real progress in sight. Somehow I made the flight, only to Atlanta, not Houston. I begged for an aisle seat on the Lima leg...the clerk acted like he had done me a big favor. When I boarded, I found myself stuck in a tiny, windowless window seat for the very long 6 hour journey to Lima. What a jerk.
The best news is that Monica was there to greet me with my name held high amidst of sea of jockeying touts. Between my broken Spanish and Monica´s busted English we had a lovely conversation as we drove the 30 minutes to the Miraflores district (the nice, much less dodgy part of Lima, on the ocean). The hotel, while aspiring to a kind of atrium lobby, quasi deco grandness is a tad sad. My room is covered in orange...and while I like orange, there is a limit (the bedspread is that cheap kind of plasticky fabric that scratches)...and outside my bedroom window it sounds like a riot or a robot war (but when I look out, I see nothing). But it is clean and very well located I am told (I have no idea) and the bellhop just delivered my Cusquequena beer.
Tomorrow, Monica picks me up for a tour of Lima. Then off to the airport to retrieve the Hawaiians. It is in the 60s and wet here.
P.S. I confront once again the mysteries of the international computer keyboard! Forgive me for a misplaced or absent hyphen, or a loose exclamation point...things just aren´t where they are supposed to be.

We're off!

Everything's a go (except Kristina just found out that that damned Continental airlines wants to charge her $700 to carry her baby on board. Oy vay.) And, as the idiot president might say, "Mission Accomplished!": I received just in time the fleece onesie I ordered from L.L. Bean for little Kanahe...only it's a little loud (looks like a gay prison outfit). But it'll keep that angel warm and that's all that matters. Over and out until Lima.

Finally, something useful on that internet...

I feel compelled to share a find I made in preparing for this little adventure. Given my pathetic Spanish skills (thanks to Mary Jo distracting me in Sister Carla Marie's high school Spanish class), in communicating with my Peruvian contacts, I've relied heavily on: http://www.spanishdict.com/translation. It's a simple website that not only translates English to Spanish and vice versa, but gives you translations from three different online translators! I fear, however, that Monica Velasquez, my Lima guide, will be disappointed with me and my "poquito" Spanish when I show up without this online crutch in tow. Me perdone, Monica.

FYI: I depart this Saturday, August 16...

and the Hawaiian posse joins me late Sunday, August 17. Happy to report that not only does the dollar go further south of the equator (the Euro whipped our ass last year in Sicily), but getting there is a lot easier than making the tortured connections (and suffering the wearying delays) flying to Asia or the mid-East entails. I leave at something like 7 a.m. and arrive in Lima around 10:30 p.m. the SAME DAY (with only a short stopover in Houston). Wheeeee.

The control freak in me reports, cautiously, that everything appears to be in order. Or was until I was assigned the job yesterday of finding longjohns for the Hawaiians (they're not routinely stocked in the tropics, you see).