Some New Friends Bark

I landed in Lima just before midnight on May 5th 2022, very tired. I had flown all night the evening before and spent what I thought was going to be a restful day in the Mexico City airport. I was awoken twice by a police officer wagging his finger and telling me “No sleeping.” Turns out you aren’t allowed to sleep in the airport AT ALL. Not on the ground, not lying across multiple chairs, and not even while laying on your own bag in your lap. I found myself in the long line of fellow travelers waiting for customs and immigration, an always stressful experience, but for this one I was alone in a new country. Nurses were coming around checking everyone’s COVID vaccination cards. They would say the one word that transcends all languages, “COVID?” I showed them the card I had on my phone as I had seen other people do. A quick glance later and not another word and I moved forward in the line. I stepped to the immigration counter, an older lady in a mask looked at me and I handed her my passport. She looked up and started asking me the usual “Where are you going?” and “How long?” all in English. The opposite of my previous morning experience in Mexico City, where the immigration officer seemed to prefer to listen to me stumble through all his questions in mediocre Spanish. I thought at the time that I must just radiate an American vibe and that’s why she skipped Spanish and spoke to me in English. I realized much later when I was no longer going on roughly ZERO sleep for 30 hours that she was holding a United States passport and was indeed NOT actually psychic. I had pre-arranged transportation to the hostel for the night so the only thing standing between me and sleep was finding one man holding a sign that said “MARIS KLING.” I found him, got in the car, and we didn’t even attempt to converse on the maybe five minute ride. It was a surprisingly long five minute ride (he was blasting upbeat pop music). I remembered while writing this that I have a 11 second video of the music and was able to Shazam the lyrics. The song was Scatman (ski-ba-bop-ba-dop-bop) by Scatman John. Yes, that is the actual name. By the time I got in bed that night it was 2am, but I had to be up, showered and out of the hostel at the 10am check out time. I set an alarm, quickly unpacked the essentials and got to bed as fast as possible. 

The next morning the man who owned the hostel let me store my bags for the day and I had some time to kill before the following evening. That night would be the third leg of the no sleep triple crown, an all night bus ride to the mountain town of Huaraz. I had two goals for the day before the bus ride: go to the bank, and eat my first actual meal in 24 hours. My phone service didn’t work in Peru, unless I wanted to pay $10 a day. Who’s crazy enough to do that? I stood outside the front door of the hostel and used the wifi to find the nearest ATM and restaurants. I found my way to the ATM - it was in a shopping center that was surrounded by a 10 foot wall. I take it this isn’t the best part of town. I kept walking around trying to follow the wall to find an entrance. I could see stores and banks and I eventually found a gate with a guard that seemed a little intense for a mall. I watched people walk up, show him their phone and be waved in. I’ve seen this type of thing before, I strolled up and showed him my COVID vaccination card, he squinted, didn't say a word, and waved me through. Did he even notice that it was in English? Who knows? I found banks and my first objective was complete. 

Now that I had money and a grumbling stomach it was time to find food. Lucky for me all the restaurants near my hostel had signs with pictures. I continued to wander trying to find a place that sold something other than fish and soup. I wandered back into the neighborhood. It was dirty, there were old cars everywhere, they looked like they hadn’t moved in years. The buildings all looked half finished and the power lines looked like bowls of spaghetti running everywhere. I managed to find a place that sold chicken, fries and salad. Perfect. I walked in cautiously, it was empty. There were two sets of tables with chairs and a lady standing behind the counter. She looked up and saw me. She gave me a look as if an ostrich walked into her restaurant and said “Hola.” “Un momento” as she walked into the back. 30 seconds later a boy walked out. He was maybe 15 or 16, long curly black hair, moved with a youthful bounce in his step. He was smiling ear to ear, not a customer service smile, it was more the smile a teenage boy would give you if you had “I’m stupid” written on your forehead. I say “Hola” and point at what I want. He cautiously asks me in English if I’m sure I want the quarter chicken and not something more like the half. He spoke English well, not even an accent, but lacked any kind of confidence. I took a seat at one of the tables and what I assumed to be the mother of the boy came back and cooked for me. It was great, plenty of food, and it tasted good. A few minutes into the meal the boy comes back, asks if I need anything and if everything tasted good. I answered quickly to get past the small talk as fast as possible, and asked “Hey, where’d you learn English?” He cautiously, as I had learned was normal for him, said “I learned from video games. I actually have never spoken English with a real person before. I mostly just read it and use text chat.” Instantly I was filled with questions, I started with “What games?” and he responded, “Minecraft and PUBG mostly.” I managed to get a few less interesting questions in before eventually there was a voice who yelled from the back in Spanish, his ears perked up, and he said he had to go.

As I was finishing my meal, a motorcycle pulled up out front. It had the same logo as the signs for the restaurant and a phone number - clearly a delivery vehicle. A slightly older boy came into the restaurant, gave me a glance, then went back to the kitchen with his empty delivery bags. A few minutes later the older boy came out and we started to chat. He eventually sat across from me at the little table. I learned his name is Alé. He spoke English with much less trepidation. I learned that the boy from before was his little brother and his family ran the restaurant. He was going to college for architecture and his best friend was going for business and they hope to start a business of their own someday. He also learned English from video games and said he thought I was British until I opened my mouth. He told me I was the second ever foreigner to eat at their restaurant and the first American. I asked if I lived up to the expectations of an American and if I was obnoxious enough, he just laughed. He said the other traveler that came in there was also alone - he was French. Alé said “He was very talkative, just like you.” We talked more about his family and where they lived, there was apparently an apartment attached to the back of the restaurant that they all shared. All the while Alé’s dog laid in the doorway, if I didn’t know better I would think he was just quietly listening. I actually have a picture of this, it's very typical for me to take pictures of dogs, usually with my camera but I was not going to wander around an unknown park of Lima with my expensive camera. An iPhone photo would suffice for this one. Apparently his old dog ran away during some fireworks and this was his new one. He only hung out in the doorway - he would get yelled at if he came inside. After a while I figured I better get walking. I settled up for the food with Alé and left a big tip and told him to share with his brother. I could see his mother over his shoulder smiling and they both waved goodbye as I left.

Alé’s dog, lying and presumably listening.

I wandered around this neighborhood for several hours. I had ice cream, found a park and a farmers market, admired some of the buildings that were only properly finished on the side that faced the street. I walked probably 4 miles just killing time, my night bus didn’t leave Lima till 10:30pm and it was still early afternoon. When the time came for me to use the bathroom, it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen a public bathroom all day. I wandered more and the need grew and grew. After a while I passed by where I had eaten lunch and popped in to see Alé sitting at one of the tables and he was surprised to see me. “Are there any public bathrooms around here? I have to go really bad.” “Oh, no. We don’t have those here” he said. I was a little puzzled and I think he saw it on my face. “You can probably use ours, let me go see if it's okay.” He came back a minute later and gave me the go ahead. I walked through the kitchen where my food was prepared a couple hours ago, through a dark hallway, and into a small bathroom. I tried not to be nosey and look around their home even though I wanted a tour. On the way back, I passed their mom in the narrow hallway and she just gave me a warm smile. 

Alé was still sitting at the tables and I pulled up a chair next to him and we started talking again. We talked for so long my butt got sore so I stood up and we chatted outside. He went on to tell me about where he lived. The church was across the street and it was a big deal when they ordered a bunch of chicken for events. There were three children, all in what I would guess was elementary school, playing soccer in the street. I asked about the rats nest of power lines and he said people just steal power and cable from neighbors. They have to pay money every month to a corrupt group that is supposed to keep the streets clean. He turned and motioned at the road where there were plastic bottles and trash everywhere, the plants and grassy sections of the streets were clearly unmaintained. He was very smart, he read American politics for fun, he educated me about the history of Peru and the power vacuum and corruption that ensued when Spain left. We talked about the weather and how the seasons are opposite of mine back home. He told me his family is “actually poor,” he said it like I might have no idea and I just nodded so as to not offend him and he continued. He had to save up every quarter so that he could go to school and he couldn’t afford last semester. It was 1,600 soles a quarter, about 400 USD, to become an architect. He couldn’t afford the last quarter but was ready for the one coming up. He had questions for me too: how much does it cost to live in Seattle? Where am I visiting? What brings me to his neighborhood? I told him Huaraz to see the mountains, my hostel is right around the corner, and you guys had the best looking pictures of food on your sign. We chatted until the sun started to go down and I knew it was time for me to go. On the walk to the hostel I thought about how strange it is to meet someone one day, get to know them and then leave knowing you’ll likely never see them again. It felt like we were best friends for just the day. 

After making it back to the hostel I retrieved my bags and used the wifi to order an uber. The ride was rather terrifying, the drivers of Lima blatantly ignored street signs, traffic lights and a general sense of order. At one point we were waiting to turn left, the light turned red for the cars on the other side of the road and people just ignored the red light. I did get to see more of the city, everywhere was nicer than Alé’s neighborhood. There were swanky stores and presumably pretentious people walking around in expensive clothes. This ride went about 12 miles across the city and took more than an hour but I made it to the bus station. After the expected bumbling and fumbling, I got my bags checked and got onto the night bus. The seats were nice and reclined, and no one sat next to me so I had lots of room. I thought I was going to sleep like a rock for the 9 hour ride but, as you might expect, it was not a smooth ride out of Lima. Everyone drove crazy, including the bus driver, it was like trying to sleep on a slow roller coaster. By the time we arrived in Huaraz, I had slept for maybe a few hours and was very sick to my stomach but I was alive and could see the mountains, the ones I had traveled all this way to explore.  

I spent three days acclimatizing to the thinner air at 10,000 feet in Huaraz before going higher, it was a big change from sea level in Lima. These days consisted mostly of daily walks around town and ice cream. Then it was time to start my first trek of the trip. It was the Santa Cruz trek, a classic, a 4 day, 3 night walk in the mountains. My ride would be at my hostel at 5am the next morning. I packed, checked that I had everything, checked again, reviewed the list I was emailed and then eagerly went to sleep. I was going on this trip with 5 or 6 people I didn’t know. I was standing by the big metal gate to the hostel at 4:50 with no expectation of this trip being on time, watching for a van to show up. Maybe 3 minutes later a loud bang on the metal door and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The man I later found out was our guide clearly didn’t notice I was sitting right behind it, but I was wide awake now. I poked my head out “Hola, buenos dias.” He replied “Hola, Santa Cruz?” I nodded and he took my bag from me. The van was parked on a side street where I couldn’t see it and the driver was arranging bags in the back as I got in. There was an older Asian couple sitting in the front row of the van and the rest was empty. I took a seat and started to relax. I listened to the couple talk and they were speaking what I assumed was Mandarin. Next stop, a few minutes later, two young men got on, they were about my age. Sweet, I thought as they were handing over their bags. They got on and were talking to each other clearly speaking French. 

Oh no, I'm going on a 4 day trip with not a single English speaker. My Spanish is good enough to navigate a grocery store and that’s about it, and the only French I knew was stuff I learned from going on one date with a French girl. This might be a lonely trek.

We drove for a few hours into the mountains and for some reason picked up a local lady from the side of the road on the way. She had a backpack and a sack of something she put under her seat. We stopped in a small town for what our guide said was breakfast and to change vans. Translation: We are going to have a really good breakfast and then do a MAJOR van downgrade. We went from the type with AC to the kind where you have to strap all the bags to the top so we all fit. At breakfast we all started talking, the Asian couple was from San Francisco and the guys were from France but we all spoke English. After basic introductions we sat down to eat, I looked down and saw one of the Frenchmen was wearing La Sportiva approach shoes. “Do you climb?” I must have looked like a golden retriever and he was holding a tennis ball. Turns out he did and coincidentally was the better English speaker of the two. We talked about climbing all during breakfast with breaks for him to explain in French to his friend, who didn’t climb, what on earth we were talking about. He would motion with his hand how a cam, a piece of climbing equipment, works as he explained in French. I talked with the older couple too, they were avid hikers and the man was a photographer. We chatted about the Enchantments in Washington and how his wife had done the Grand Canyon rim to rim to rim. She stopped him and he said she doesn’t like to brag. That Grand Canyon hike, if you’ve never heard of it, is 24 miles to go from rim to rim and she did it there and back, 48 miles in one day.

Oliver, my new French friend at the apex of our hike, Punta union 4,750M.

Our first day on the trail we beat the donkeys and porters to the campsite, which we were told had never been done before. Typically the porters and cook would already have tents set up when hikers got there. The porter, or what our guide would call him affectionately, the “donkey driver,” was visibly stressed that we were already there waiting. We didn’t mind, we had lots of time to chat and get to know each other. What I regret the most is not taking all their photos, not writing this sooner when it was fresh in my brain, and not remembering everyone's names. I'm exceptionally bad with names but I'll always remember their faces and the interactions we had. At one point we walked by a sheep and I asked Oliver if he was going to pet it. “Pet it??” He didn’t know the word pet in English, I didn’t know the word pet in French obviously, I started doing my best to come up with a synonym for pet and came up empty. My dumb blank stare was met by his obvious confusion, we stared for a moment and I started motioning with my hand on my head, like I was petting myself and we both laughed. One night over dinner I asked the group what they missed most from home when they were out on the trail. The other French guy started talking about French baguettes and butter like they were his long lost love and he was a sailor that had been at sea for two years. It was the most French thing I've ever heard. I've just recently had a proper French baguette, months after returning home, and I can say he definitely isn’t as crazy as I thought. 

A few days later after we got over the high point, Punta Union, a 4,750 meter pass, we got into the next big valley. Along the way, we started to see more and more dogs running around the trails. Like the cows and sheep we had seen wandering the previous valley, they didn’t seem to belong to anyone. They were friendly, we’d pet them, give them snacks and in exchange they would chase curious cows out of our campsite, a job previously held exclusively by our donkey driver. The next day when we started hiking they came with us, they knew all the trails, they would cut the switch backs and would be sitting, waiting for us when we were done taking the long way around. We went on a side trip up to Alpamayo base camp, an out-and-back jaunt off the normal trail, the dogs seemed to know exactly where to stop, they knew we'd be back shortly. They found the first nice flat spot along the offshoot trail, laid down and that’s right where they were when we got back. One of the dogs took a liking to me, I called her Perro, until our guide overheard and told me her name was Gringa. She was a white, almost blonde colored dog with orange ears who must have known I had the most snacks to give. We hiked alone for hours. She showed me the way, constantly stopping and looking back to see if I was still there. When I found a good place with a rock to sit on and a spot to drop my pack, she was right next to me, sitting and staring longingly, she knew it was snack time. I shared my sandwich that was given to me that morning by our cook. By sandwich I mean a large mostly dried out roll with what I would guess was half an avocado spread in it. Then I had some chocolate all to myself. 

We eventually made it into camp that afternoon after a couple more miles. I relaxed, drank hot chocolate, chatted with the humans of the group and Gringa took up her duties chasing cows and playing with the other dogs. I asked our guide about the wild dogs, he said they lived in the valley and survived on food scraps from hikers and when we finish the hike they will make their way back up the valley to the base of the pass to make new friends. It was a fascinating symbiotic relationship of canines and hikers. While I was laying in my tent that night alone, listening to my customary 15-20 minutes of music on my phone before bed, I heard Gringa squeeze under the vestibule of my tent. It was staked down and she must have done a sideways army crawl to get under there. I didn’t see it, but that’s exactly what it sounded like. When I peeked out the tent window she was circling looking for a place to lay down and settled on a spot where she could lay up against my feet on the other side off the tent wall. Such a sweet and peaceful way to rest after a long day of hiking, unless a cow was to walk by your tent in the middle of the night and moo. At some unknown hour of the night, I was awoken by Gringa shooting out from under the vestibule barking to chase a cow out of camp. She may have given me a mild heart attack but I guess it was a fair price to pay for all the company and guidance she provided.

Gringa looking majestic.

The end of my trip was spent in Lima, three days of downtime before my flight home. I spent the first day just wandering, getting my bearings in the city. I found John F. Kennedy park, it was a wildly different part of Lima than where I started the trip, there were nice restaurants, flowers everywhere and it was full of people. One guy tried to sell me cocaine - I guess that's one way to know it's a rich part of town. On my adventures I found a McDonalds. Although not that interesting, they did have self service kiosks and I didn’t have to order in broken Spanish. It was quick and easy and after being in Peru for five weeks that was a win. I later found out you had to order the ice cream in person at a separate counter - I guess you can’t win them all. Later on my walk I came across eight tables that had chess boards painted on them. There was one man on the back side of these tables and he had set up all the pieces on a few of the tables. He looked maybe 40, approachable and warm. I started smiling, we made eye contact and I walked over. “Hola, can I play?” He held up his open hand like he was asking for a high five, “Cinco soles,” which was about 1.25 USD. I nodded and he motioned for me to sit down (he didn't know that I was the best chess player in my middle school's chess club). We played a game, it was close but I lost. He was really good, and I was out of practice. I made this a daily walk: chicken sandwich, chess, ice cream, then walk back to my hostel before dark. 

This went on for two days until I walked by one afternoon and he wasn’t there. I continued my day and got a chicken sandwich and when I walked back by the chess tables there was a different man there. This guy was way older, late 50s or early 60s. He was sitting with only one set of pieces, the ones in front of him. I didn’t even attempt my broken Spanish, I motioned as if to say “Can I sit?” and he nodded. We started to play and I could tell he was not as good as the other guy. I was dominating positionally and munching away on my sandwich and fries the whole time. The game progressed slowly until I forked his knight and bishop with a pawn, he was going to lose one of them. He sat thinking and I took the time to try to finish my sandwich. Then he looked up at me, and in perfect English asked, “How’s the chicken?” I just about fell out of my chair in shock and then laughed. I told him it was good and we started speaking in English. He was a programmer from New York and he moved to Lima for a year to work. We discussed over a few more games what it’s like to live in New York and what the chess scene is like there, how he likes Lima, and the economic disparity of the city. He started playing chess as an adult and he explained how much harder things are to learn the older we get. It started to get dark, it was time for my ice cream and a walk back to the hostel for the night.

This night's walk home was like any other until I got to the gate of the hostel. This hostel was the type of place where you’d ring a doorbell and whoever was at the front desk would buzz you in. I rang the bell and was let in. Standing just inside the gate was a guy I had seen once before in the hostel, he was smoking a cigarette and started chatting with me. His name was Ross and he was from Hawaii. Pretty early on in the normal “What is your name?” and “Where are you from?” he said he was going to check out a casino to play some blackjack and asked if I wanted to come. I was surprised there was a casino here and he told me it was a few blocks away. I agreed and I went into the hostel to drop my stuff off, and then we met at the Atlantic City casino. It was amazingly American, if I didn’t know any better I would think I walked through a portal to Vegas - they even had tables where you could play with US dollars. We sat down and started playing and chatting. It turns out you can’t drink in that casino, which was a little strange. We played for a couple hours before Ross turned to me and asked if I wanted to go grab a drink. I looked down and I was down about 10 USD from where I started, which was only about 60. I said “Sure, I'll go put this all on black and then we can get out of here.” After some searching I found the most hectic roulette table I’d ever seen. There were arms going everywhere, it looked like a contact sport. I timidly snuck in and in the chaos dropped all my chips on black and stood back ready to leave, then it hit black. None of the other gamblers at the table even noticed that my night was made. The dealer slid me my chips and the other gamblers started slapping down more bets before I could get out of there. “Looks like I’m buying drinks.” I said to Ross. He went to the closest bar and it was basically empty, not really the vibe we were looking for but we sat down for a drink anyway. I was unsure what to drink and we chatted with the bartender who told us Pisco sours were a classic. I had heard of those and we ordered two. I should have known I wasn’t going to be into it when I saw there were egg whites being mixed into our drinks, but I had to try it, it was a classic. As expected, this one wasn’t for me but I finished it, we settled up and Ross started looking for other bars on his phone. We wandered back over near where I had played chess and it was hopping. There were people everywhere, every bar had a guy out front telling us there were lots of women inside and if we said no they would say, “Oh, we have men too.” and we’d all laugh. We passed by a place with a guy with a new tactic, he offered us half off drinks and we decided to go for it. This dimly lit building was a nightclub, there was dancing, a fog machine, and deafening music. The type of place where I wouldn’t be surprised if Pitbull came walking out of the fog in a fur coat filming his new music video. We had our one drink and left. We ended up on a nice rooftop bar, doing our best to chat with some women at the table next to us who barely spoke English. We ended the night with a quick dinner before we were “those guys” quietly sneaking back into our hostel dorms at 3am trying to not wake everyone else up. A sentiment they did not reciprocate when they all got up at 8am.

Then as fast as my trip started, it was over; I was on a plane back to the US. I'll never forget the immigration line in Houston. Very happy to be home - or at least close enough to home that everyone spoke English - I stepped to the border patrol agent’s desk. He didn't look up and asked where I was coming from and how long I was there. Casually I told him five weeks. His interest piqued and he looked up curiously. “What were you doing in Peru for five weeks?” I just left it at tourism in an effort to make it through this interaction as swiftly as possible. His curiosities were not satisfied. He kept staring blankly. “Uhh, I was in the mountains. Uhh, climbing.” Hoping that was good enough, he handed my passport back with a face that said I don't understand but I don't have all day, leaving me wondering if I was as weird as he thought. What was I doing there and why do we travel? In the following months I slowly came to the conclusion that travel is for the people we meet along the way. New friends aren't really that scary, none of them bite, although some bark. Some climb and will share their love of the Pyrenees in France. Some will invite you to casinos and keep you out till 3am. Some are 50 year old super athletes and others are trying to make it through architecture school. The people are what made the trip so special, not just the pictures or epic climbs or mountain top views.