Museum of a Dusty Mind

The National Museum of Archaeology, Anthropology and History of Peru is a mouthful but it was worth a walk around even if almost all the explanatory panels were in Spanish. It provides a little bit of history and culture without having to leave the city. It is located in what looks like a former colonial residence. Funny how Lima seems to recycle its buildings in this way. “Let’s put our national treasures in someone’s old house”. I don’t think it is a case of not respecting their heritage. But over the years it may well be case of simply not having the funds to house them in premises that would more effectively set them off. Read more

Pigeon Sphincters Work Differently in Peru

I wonder how General Jose manages to not have the squadrons of blue eyed pigeons paint him and his steed. He is thirty feet above the ground and surely a lightning rod in this vast plaza for any and every pigeon sphincter. And this is surely battlestar HQ for the world’s pigeons. Read more

Shuddupayorface

Oops, some Delhi belly. Bet I picked that up from the KFC last night. Who travels this far to go to KFC? I confess, the smell wafting up the street was too much after being out for an hour to stretch my legs. Actually I was looking for a street directory. Read more

Sapphire on Black

Over the years I have tried all sorts of ways of beating jet lag and figure in the end that simply sleeping when tired is best. That of course means I slept yesterday afternoon, sat up late and got some writing done (about 3000 words), slept and was up again at 0600. I wandered down for breakfast (al fresco) at 0800 and was served a cup of coffee by a chap who had no idea what I wanted. I figured that even though it was a working day that I was up too early for these people. It is now 0900 and I see (by leaning out the window and peeking under the bougainvillea) the breakfast bar being set up so my initial assumption was not far off the mark. Read more

The Second Last Continent

We push back at 1135. The plane is full. A three year old cries in the seat in front of me. A spoilt brat I grump to myself, who does not want to be strapped in and would rather sit in Mum’s lap. Little prat, I am ready to box his ears. Might as well give him something to cry about if he is going to try that simpering whining on.  Come travel with me kid, we’ll have you sorted in a flash. I am consoled, partly, by the exasperation of the flight attendant whose Spanish lapses into English in frustration at not just the kid but especially the indulgent parents who want to hold him in their lap. He is about to call the Capitan. Ah, this has the prospect of being a long trip.
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