Five Weeks in the Amazon - #true #story

Chapter 2 - Culture Clash

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31

11am, Kennedy Park, Miraflores

All I'd wanted was breakfast. It was too early to be judged like this. The waiter had made it clear how he felt when he slowly repeated himself. Seeing that I still didn't understand him, he audibly snorted and looked at me like I was a dumb punk.

I tried my best to understand him. "No hablas Espanol," I'd said. He gave me a look of disgust. It's the kind of look someone gives you when they realize you don't speak their language, and assume you're stupid. I'm not stupid–I just didn't know enough Spanish to decipher his hyper-fast slang.

I explored Miraflores by skateboard yesterday, and I'd argue it's the best form of transportation when getting to know a city. By bike, you can cover more distance. On foot, you get to look at a specific area. But you get a mix of both on a skateboard. You can get off and walk in places of interest, and travel quickly through places that aren't.

I rode my board back and forth through the city, through the busy streets. Up curbs and down stairs, crisscrossing between pedestrians, through parks, across busy plazas, past the clay courts of the tennis club, and down to where the city meets a street named Circuito de Playa which is lined with apartments that stand like sentries along the cliff that drops down to a beach below. The beach is sandy and swallowed by each wave from the gray-blue Pacific Ocean, which transitions on the horizon seamlessly into a pure-gray sky.

Circuito de Playa, I learned, is the road we drove in on last night from the airport along the coast. Along the cliff there is a wide cement bike path winding over and around grassy knolls.

I crossed the busy road and looked to my left, and on the hill in the distance there's a statue of Jesus that I'd seen lit up last night. In the daytime, though, he stood lifeless and unconvincing. Throwing my board down, I went right and pushed and pushed along the bike path until the tiny muscles in my feet screamed for relief.

I was about to turn back to my hostel when I saw a skatepark around the corner of the path. Rolling past the dazed security guard who was sitting in a little wooden shack, I dropped in. A couple kids were already skating and a half hour later a group of Argentinian teenagers descended on the park.

They burst into the park like a pack of bees and their excitement was contagious. The kids who were already there sat down against the chain-link fence that went along the edge of the skatepark and watched.

The Argentinians were good. I had just barely begun to warm up but the explosive enthusiasm they brought to the session quickly got my blood going. The tricks started getting more technical and some of us were flying down the handrails or charging full speed through the bowl. The place was filled with shouts and cheers. Even the security guard stood up to see what the excitement was about.

Once we found a natural pace, the hierarchy of the skate session became established. It wasn't the best skatepark in the world, the cement was a bit wavy and cracked, but it might be the best location I've ever seen.

An observer might watch a group of skaters flying around a skatepark and think it is uncontrolled chaos. But it is not. There are precise calculations taking place which have taken years of experience to learn. The more talented the skaters, the more controlled the chaos.

We skated hard for about 30 minutes and when I needed a break, I sat down with a few of the Argentinian skaters who were in Peru on summer break.

Sweat dripped off me and I looked up at the sun with a smile on my face. Even behind the pollution and the cloudy marine layer, the UV rays were strong and had been baking me while I skated.

The Argentinians chatted with me in English and told me they were traveling students on their summer break. They asked me if I wanted to smoke a joint with them. When we left the skatepark I noticed the security guard had resumed his statue-like pose in the hut.

We walked out onto the small grassy field beside the skatepark and sat down in a circle like true hippies. The kid with a ratty ponytail struggled to roll a joint and I offered to take over. He'd told me he was 15 years old, which means I've been rolling joints for as long as he's been alive.

He handed me the skateboard he'd been using as a rolling-tray and a minute later, I handed back a two-paper cone. Personally, I prefer a joint mixed with tobacco, but I've learned it is better to ask what the locals want. You make more friends that way. These guys? They wanted me to roll a joint of pure marihuana.

We sat on the edge of Peru and passed the joint around our little hippy circle. When the joint was finished, our conversation slowed and we drew our attention to the horizon.

The sun dipped in the sky, dove into the ocean and a cool breeze began to blow as the final sliver of sunset-orange was disappearing. The ocean sent its salty breath into the urban expanse, soothing the city like the first breath of fresh air after a busy day.

I'm glad I took my friend Kari's advice to stay here in Miraflores

I'm glad I took my friend Kari's advice to stay here in Miraflores. While it's not all that glamorous, it seems a little nicer than downtown Lima. I like how it's perched on top of a cliff that overlooks the ocean. The busy and energized streets were a mix of historic Spanish architecture juxtaposed with sleek modern office buildings. It makes the city look like it is growing as though it really is alive.

Sounds from the city fill my ears with uncommon musical notes. Laughter sounds different, the cars honk constantly, there is no English, but at the same time I notice my senses are excited. This is why I love traveling.

When I woke up, I was sore from skating, but it felt good to get some exercise. Back home I've been so caught up with life that procrastination has become more of a habit than exercising. I'm constantly reminded of that fact today. Maybe tomorrow I'll start running. Today I'm too sore. But if I start tomorrow, and remain consistent, I'll be back in shape by the time I get home.

It's been more difficult to detach from the "Western world" than I was expecting, especially with regards to my cell phone. Since I got here, my loneliness has manifested itself several times an hour. Even though I know I don't have any cell service I'll reach into my pocket and pull my phone out thinking I have received an email or text message.

Unless I'm connected to a Wi-Fi network there's no way my phone can receive messages. Yet, I do this over and over automatically and then feel stupid. Even though my logical mind knows there is no message, my subconscious mind is searching for something that comes from a deeper issue. I recognize these feelings are unreasonable and I want to let go of whatever they are attached to. Screw my phone! I shouldn't even care what's happening back home. Not when so much is happening right in front of me.

To me, Halloween isn't a real holiday. But if it was, it would be my favorite. It's today, falling on a Wednesday this year, but in California everyone celebrated last Saturday. I loved Halloween when I was a kid because at the end of the night I'd end up with a pillowcase full of candy. Little did I know what this holiday had in store for me as an adult! Just thinking about it makes the back corners of my mouth salivate.

I went to a Halloween party in a mansion with Kelsey, the girl I'm seeing, and a bunch of our friends. It was first-class. Before the party, Kelsey and I had a half-joking (my half), and half-serious (her half), debate over which costume she should wear. She wanted to wear something "sexy." I lay on her bed and watched multiple wardrobe changes (strip teases), which led to creative brainstorming (sex), and somewhere in between she decided on the she-devil costume.

She reached down to her ankles and pulled slightly ripped fishnet stockings up her long, slender legs. Her short skirt hung like a drape off her firm ass and when she leaned towards the mirror to fix her eyeliner, it slid higher up the back of her legs. From the shadows of her hemline, I could see where her lace stockings ended and the crease at the top of her thighs became exposed. It was memories like that that make it my favorite quasi-holiday.

I'm thinking about going to see what kind of fun/trouble I can get into in Lima tonight. I don't necessarily need to find another sexy-devil, but what's the harm in looking? I'll get serious about the reason I came here tomorrow. Today, I just want to escape my problems. The darkness is overpowering. I feel like it's stalking me.