Bildt working towards legitimacy?

Today I have a cold, and my thoughts are thus even less coordinated than usual.

I've realised that I never wrote about our second visit to Barranco, one of my favourite districts, on Friday. I even took pictures, so I will have to get back to that.

Now that I've discovered Din Gata, I am slowly but surely becoming reintegrated into Sweden, at least virtually. Yesterday I was quoted in the broadcast as "an e-mail from Peru". I got annoyed because a caller (f) made strippers out as the most ignorant, stupid creatures on this earth, so I wrote a message saying that some strippers might be financing their quantum physics studies that way.

Today, thanks to the same radio channel, my attention was drawn to the blogs of Sweden's foreign minister, Carl Bildt: Alla Dessa Dagar & Bildt Comments.
Regardless of the ideology he represents, Carl Bildt seems to be plotting his very own particular course, and having a blog only makes him more sympathetic to me. I will endeavour to have a look from time to time.
A complete contrast to these two cool, composed and diplomatic sites, I stumbled over a Norwegian blog which is nothing but irreverent: Til helvete med moderasjon. Translated the title reads "to hell with moderation". When I first spotted it, there was a Norwegian quote:

"I'd bet the entire oil money fund that I'll never be minister of finance. (self-fulfilling bet)".

Finally, the word of the day from Oxford is:

pisco
• noun [mass noun] a white brandy made in Peru from muscat grapes.
— origin named after a port in Peru.

So there you have it.


Please note that all orders for said beverage must be disregarded on the account of weight and customs restrictions.

Sun, sun, sun and beach rugby

Cooked crayfish would be jealous of the colour of my skin this morning! I just cannot get used to the fierceness of the Peruvian sun, and behaved rather stupidly. Yesterday, we had rugby practice in the beach "el Faro" (which lacks all evidence of there ever having been a lighthouse) in Chorillos, a district in the South of Lima. The beach is beautiful and stretches out seemingly endlessly towards the South, whereas in the North it's sealed off by some rocky formations much like the "Cathedral" in Paracas. If you look into the distance, the air at the lower part of the beach is misty blue with water drops from the breaking waves. There were no surfers at this beach, though, possibly because of the strong outward currents.
Starting around 10.30 am, we warmed up by running along the beach passing the ball up and down. Of course, running in a slope caused my unfit right leg to overstretch and hurt. Then we did lots of exercises in the sand and water, and rounded off with a game. After that we went swimming, and sat in the sand enjoying the day. Some people stayed and Michael arrived a bit later. I put on sun block, while the Peruvians used and offered me coconut oil. But obviously I did not put enough cream on, and not in all the required places, and now I look like the main meal of a Swedish crayfish party...oh dear. When we went home, the only item of clothing I could bear wearing was a very blue summer dress, so when we walked to Michael's mum, I was the gringa with traffic light complexion in a fluorescent blue dress - wonder why some people stared, hmm?!

Beach rugby - finally!!

Thanks to a rather quiet outing on Friday night, with only a few small glasses of Chilcano (pisco, ginger ale and sugar) and a few turns on the dance floor of the Pueblo Libre Queirolo, my brain was only half asleep when I got on the 'micro' with my two lifesaver empanadas in a firm grip. 45 minutes later, I got off at Universidad de Lima, where Angela was waiting together with Ivan, another rugby player and the designated driver, Abel (Angela's younger brother).

Every time I get into a real car now, I feel like I'm in a limousine...it's pure luxury not having to crowd up in a mini bus which has had extra seats added to it. Seat belts, too, are expendable extras.

We dashed down the ring road to pick up Sandra, and then got onto the Panamericana, with loud music almost lifting the car roof, and the wind in our hair, and a nice sense of expectation in the air. An hour later we arrived in Asia without any drama (well, we got pulled over by the police, but they just checked the driver's licence).

Asia is a very curious place: bordering the dusty Panamericana with its occasional pub or cevicheria, Asia is walled on all sides and has huge lit billboards. You enter on a sand road, then drive through the actual entrance decorated with flowers, and it's like a different world, all made up of high-tech kiosks for McDonald's, Dunking Donuts, Häagen-Dazs, Deli France and more, and of course the most expensive supermarket in Peru; Wong with an exclusive range just for Asia, including readymade sushi. Of course it's all very pleasant, but at the same time really artificial.

The beach rugby pitch and artificial grass football pitch were located down at the far end of the commercial area. We arrived at 9.30 when the first game was scheduled to begin, but of course, half of the teams had yet to arrive. We claimed some spectator seats under the roof, greatful for some shade in the scorching morning sun. I was wondering how we, the girls, would be able to play at all at 16.00...In the meantime I tried to learn some last-minute strategical moves from the guys.

It was a really nice day - the audience (including the teams not currently playing) counted some 2oo people, I think, and the atmosphere was good. No beer, though, and definitely no shots! Instead ceviche was served on disposable styrofoam plates. However, given the heat I opted for the safer bacteria contained in a youghurt.

Around half past four we started warming up, and I was so nervous I wanted to run away and hide. The actual game against Newton flew by - a result of adrenaline rush and the fact that we were only granted 10 play time in the end (whether that had anything to do with the subsequent bikini show, I could not say!). I did have time to do some scrums as well as a perfect tackle, during which some opponent decided to beat me in the back with her fist! Fortunately for her, I never noticed... Ach well, we did't play dirty, and we still won 2-0, so there! The Alumni boys sadly lost the final, but they were playing in rapidly descending darkness, after about 9 hours in the scorching sun, so who can blame them for being a bit slow? We'll see what happens on the 24th when Alumni is hosting a tournament. "Unfortunately" I have to help Michael organise his mum's birthday bbq in our flat that day, but hopefully I'll be able to play against the Chilean women's team who is coming here for a game of 15!! Tell you more later...

Beach Rugby

Latecomer parcels and First Class icon jungle

Hallelujah!
Today Michael and I went for our dreaded third visit to the Serpost lair in St Martin, armed with copies, copies and more copies of anything and everything but optimism. We walked up to the lady who is in charge of processing "rectifications of recipients" and proudly presented the savage murder of a small forest that was our application. She took one look at the date on the parcel receipt slips out of the corner of her eye between shouting down the phone to presumed customers and across the hall to colleagues, and exclaimed "too late". My heart sank, but of course I had shoved it down already so as not to be disappointed. The lady then told us that now the matter was out of her hands, and we would have to go to the customs in San Miguel, i.e. back most of the way that we came, and try to smoothe-talk the jefe there. But first we might take the time to check whether my parcels are actually still in storage....
Said and done. We checked, and there they were. The woman in that part of the hall took another look at the date and explained that it was too late...and that the only possibility would be for Michael to ask to have the contents evaluated as commercial goods, potentially pay taxes, all according to the customs officers personal evaluation, and maybe the shoes would be confiscated...
In the meantime, while we were waiting on uncomfortable chairs, we had observed that most of the staff was new, this probably due to the change of government that took place in Peru in the autumn, sorry; spring. In particular our "friend" "así es la ley" was nowhere to be seen. At his desk sat a much more amiable guy who looked like his life did not just consist of making other people's existence a living hell...he even looked as if he was being helpful with other customers!
Michael decided to give it a go. He told the secretary the lamentable story, while I was sitting in her direct field of view doing my best to look devastated and lost. She gave in and said we should talk to the boss. He listened to the story, looked at my blue eyes and said he would attend to the matter personally. We almost began hoping again.
A new customs officer opened the first box again, whereupon selected tampons, sanitary towels (there was empty space to be filled, and those things cost a small fortune, you know!), makeup and shoes became visible. He took one look and more or less asked us what all the fuzz had been about the last time. He signed some papers, Michael signed, I paid 80 soles (instead of the >500 soles I had expected to pay) and we found ourselves walking out the front door, fighting down an urge to run like the wind and never look back.

***

This afternoon I received the login and password for my second distance learning course, and am already stressed. It seems that while I was away, First Class software has invaded my country, subjecting my fellow citizens to slavery under fluffy icons and windows lacking all help texts, instructions or menus. Apparently it is all explained in the introduction letter (the one that got lost in the mail)...I vaguely remember taking one look at the First Class interface in my first week of Term 1 at Heriot-Watt, discarded it as cumbersome and mysterious, spent the time required to find out how to forward mail to my hotmail account, and never used the software again. Alas, it has come back to haunt me.

***

Yesterday I booked my tickets for going to Brest. After much trotting up and down streets in San Isidro (where all the major airlines have their offices), which was quite a shock to me - it appears the Peruvian equivalent of those artificial-looking American suburbs you see in films, and all the street names are named after fruit trees - I decided to fly with Lufthansa. They not only had the most pleasant office staff and least queue time, they also provided the cheapest ticket at the earliest date - in your face, BA/Iberia (45 minutes of wait in a stuffy, loud office, then I left)! Admittedly I have to stop in Caracas and Frankfurt, and my luggage will probably get lost somewhere in between Taca International Airlines and Lufthansa, but never mind. It also seems as if maybe Michael would be on the same plane, if the people booking his ticket will ever make their mind up. Bonus!

Student with complications

Pisco Sour Day did not turn out quite as intended - we went to the wrong part of Surco, the old town centre with the compulsory park, church and picturesque bars. This was apparently not where the real municipal festivities took place. We still managed to try some pisco cocktails, and listened to live spanish rock music from when Michael was a teenager (decades ago, hehe).

This week my fish ecology course started, and it's great! So far I've learned a little bit about fish history, and that Sweden has approx. 12 types of shark and 10 types of rays. I've also picked the fish that I will make a fact sheet about -
Tångsnärtan.
It's such a nice feeling to read nice, well written texts about something interesting just for me!
The registration form for my other course got lost in the mail (in Sweden!), but it's all getting sorted out thanks to scanners and pdf forms. I admire anyone who studies a full degree at distance - at least Swedish universities still do not quite understand the concept. For example, to access the electronic journals in Gothenburg University I need a library card. The library card must be requested by me in person in the library...! Oh well.

PISCO SOUR DAY

On Saturday the 3rd of February, Peru celebrates Pisco Sour Day, so I feel it is strictly necessary to include the recipe here:

• 3 parts Peruvian pisco
• 1 1/2 parts lime juice
• 1-2 table spoons of sugar (or sugar syrup jarabe de goma)
• egg white from 1 egg
• ice

The picture was shamelessly borrowed from Living in Peru.com

Giving blood

Apart from the weather, January is turning out to be a bad month...a definite translation drought will mean less 'plata' in March, when I will supposedly be back in the home hemisphere.

Also, Michael's mother is not doing very well, and has ended up in hospital again, unfortunately. Yesterday I went with Michael's cousin's husband and a childhood friend to give blood, so that the blood bank in the hospital would authorize giving more blood to his mum.

Just our luck, the blood bank computer system was down for the first hour, and almost nothing happened, apart from a 'pre-donation interview' with a uniformed nurse, and a blood sample was taken from us. The director of the blood bank faffed around the office in a long floral dress complaining about people not sitting down (the seats were old hospital beds, and only comfortable for...oh no I lie, they were not!). After having waited for 3 hours in the tiny blood bank waiting room and reached a state of acute starvation on the account of having had no breakfast, we were told to drink something. We were then ushered into the donation room, told to wash our arms with liquid soap, and then to lie down on the beds. Apparently my veins are impossible to find, and so the doctor in training made a complete mess of my right arm, which is rather blue today. A more experienced person thankfully tried my left arm, and I managed to donate the 250 ml required. The funniest thing was when I stepped out into the waiting room again with cotton taped to BOTH of my arms - the mostly male donators-to-be were suitably impressed with the fearsome gringa, especially as the guy who left before us fainted and had to be picked up by a relative!!

As a reward for the drama, after checking on Michael's mum we went to have ceviche at Manolo's, and I drank the better part of a litre of chicha - juice made from pineapple and black corn.