First, I had the worst ceviche since I learned the word, and I've really sampled quite a few after three years in Peru! They had tried to make it more refined by adding some dill (I think), but it tasted of YEAST. Not good. Michael and I are hoping it tasted like that because it had been frozen.
Second, I went to the only British school for girls in Lima, to see the celtic choreography my friend had created for the 5- and 6-year-olds. It is quite close to home, but it was a skip and a jump through the income brackets. I DID expect it because I checked the address before leaving the house, and, out of curiosity, the matriculation fee. How about a single, non-refundable fee of 6000 USD plus 350 USD for 10 months of school plus a series of "instalments" for the parents' association etc., etc. There were almost as many nannies as there were mums, and in Peru they are easy to spot because they were all-white caretaker uniforms and usually have a tiny backpack on the arm too, courtesy of spoiled brat. Anyhow, the girls were adorable and absolutely unruly and forgetting to follow the teacher and waving their gymnastic attire the wrong way, disconcerting the whole row, and almost breaking their backs between the trampoline and plinth....like all kids.
Thirdly, I went to my first Peruvian fashion show, at the studio of my Japanese/Peruvian wedding dress designer. There was the expected gay crowd, fashionable ladies from the Brazilian embassy and some mortals, like me. The models were not mortal, nor was the viciously cool female DJ of Asian origins with striking red eyeshadow, a big black perm and a slinky blue dress out of the Spring collection that I had wondered if it would suit me. It would not, I decided after seeing it on her figure...
Also, I've started gambling, so to speak. No, I haven't taken up the habit of an early afternoon stroll to the nearest slot machine hall, where the mid-fifties women and friends go and spin their household allowance. I finally got round to applying for my international drivers' license, which is valid for 2 years, but only accepted for the first 3 months of my stay in Peru. Of course. It is a well-established trick among expats not to carry your passport with you, but only a copy where the stamp is nowhere to be seen and fake a touristy accent, should the police stop you. Anyway, driving makes me feel ever so slightly Peruvian. Or rather, I've found some obscure talent I didn't even know I possessed to show complete disregard for whoever is behind me on the road, zig-zagging in and out between the "combis", bike carts, motorcycles, petrol tank lorries, tractors, and what not. It's a nice feeling to control where you are going and not be sardined into a tiny old van taking the corners at reckless speeds. Also, I still can't believe my first ever car is something as grand as a Mercedes, albeit 27 years old.
