Lima

Arrival in a country must be low-key, for you cannot hope to change the country and must instead accept that it is you who will be changed. A foil hat, garland and cluster of balloons ruined this possibility. The welcome party was a nice gesture by The Girls Who Call Themselves Bois (TGWCTB), but wearing the outfit probably maximised my chances of being kidnapped. A 9-year old kindly offered us a ride to the hostel. Welcome to South America. 

It's my party, I'll cry if I want to. 

After a Lie Down at Ekeko hostel, we set out to dinner at Maido, a restaurant whose name staff shout every time someone walks through the door. I joined in, and intend to repeat this in every restaurant from here until buenos aires. Lima has fantastic food and little else, reason enough for us to justify lunch at Astrid y Gaston (#world's14thbestrestaurant), where the waiter curiously said "why not" when I asked for the cuy (guinea pig). Why not?! It's a household pet, an oversized hamster. 

In preparation for our Gatz viewing I fruitlessly scoured the markets for a costume - panpipes and ponchos don't scream 20s New York. Speaking of screaming, many Peruvian shops sell terrifying multicolour balaclavas, no doubt making it hard to be taken seriously as a bandito. 

In the old part of town we saw the changing of the guard outside the charming government buildings, where the guard stand for hours in full uniform before popping off for a snickers. 

That evening we bussed to Ica, 5 hours south of Lima, and gateway to Huacachina. Peruvian buses are privatised, complete with instrumental music. Lord of the Rings was shown in Spanish, a sincerely bizarre affair - I struggled to sleep with Gollum's cries of "mi preciosaaaaa" ringing in my ears. 

With love