Throughout Perú, I encountered frustrating scenes of inefficiency. Every bus that was stolen from the 1970s was manned by not only a driver but also a young boy or man or sometimes girl whose job it was to collect the fares by walking back and forth along the barely perceptible crowded aisle. I suppose it was too modern to consider installing a conventional ticketing device at the entry. This person also served as an ersatz advertiser for the vehicle, sticking his head out the window and shouting destinations at potential passengers.

Doing anything at the Claro or Movistar stores took approximately forever, as the rooms were filled beyond fire code regulations.

In the U.S., I use my credit card for every purchase, even $0.10 charges for a photocopy. At a Lima department store, I presented my credit card, driver's license, and passport. The cashier made several calls of insufferable duration, leading me to conclude that he was securing authorization from the president of Perú. Finally, I signed the receipt but had to try two more times to match forensically the autograph on the back of the credit card. This experience henceforth discouraged me from using credit cards in Perú.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

En Lima, I spent much of my time with and received much guidance from my best friend attending Atholton High School, Lamonte. Through him, I met Manuel, who invited me to attend Mistura with his coworkers.

I heard that Mistura was the largest food festival on the continent. I will attend and try just about anything, so I gladly accepted Manuel's invitation. Lamonte had warned me how social and borderline incestuous Peruvian interactions could be, from the simple kiss greetings to romantic relationships. Knowing how annoyed he would be at some of the group behavior, he and his girlfriend discreetly attended Mistura on a previous day.

At Mistura, there were more than 100 food stands of varying shapes and sizes. One could not simply go up to a stall and remit cash. BBVA was the official intermediary and processed the national currency into festival money, which would be worthless otherwise.

With festival money in hand, Manuel and I purchased a couple of platters. Not having eaten all day, I immediately started to eat while walking, as I noticed Manual issuing me a subtly disapproving glance. I stopped eating, as we arrived at a setup where we had to wait for the 15 other people to arrive. After 20 minutes of further starvation, the other people had arrived, and I thought I could resume eating what I had started one disapproving glance ago. Not so fast, my friend. The other 15 people had each brought a dish from a Mistura stand.

I noticed that people were taking a bite or two from a dish, and as if on an invisible conveyor belt, the food started rotating counter-clockwise. Everyone took a bite out of a dish and passed it on to his or her right. I am okay with sharing food or even using serving utensils, which were noticeably and I suspect, purposefully, absent here. This behavior was not limited to solid foods. While my face was resolutely stolid, my mind expressed mild disgust when this community food sharing display extended to soups. I am not a fan of soups in general but especially when 16 other spoons are ladling out of the same small bowl. It was not unlike a bunch of pigs feeding out of a farm trough.

Manuel could detect my uppity U.S. sensibilities and he deserves much credit for his considerateness, as he started to grab dishes to ensure that I would be the first person to spread my germs on a particular item. The final straw, as it were, was what I have now termed the "community milkshake." There was an oddly colored strawberry-yellow viscous concoction that one person tasted, who exclaimed in castellano, "This is good! Who else wants some?" Sure enough, the other 15 people each sampled this 16-ounce milkshake. When the mixture reached me, I politely demurred. By this point, this abhorrent synthesis of backwash and milkshake bore scant resemblance to the original beverage.

I should note that one of the group wrote a blog about her Mistura experience and specifically noted my discomfort with the food-sharing behavior. She wrote that I must have thought of Peruvians as "Third-World savages" and their behavior as "barbaric."

Despite encountering many situations that would make mysophobics cower into catalepsy, I have not been sick during my 51+ days in South America. I have faded mal de altura en Cuzco, helpings of street food, cold showers, tap water, etc.


Latest TV seen: Damages: Season Two (2009); Lights Out: Season One (2011); Louie: Season Two (2011); Dexter: Season One (2006); Damages: Season Three (2010); The Hour: Season One (2011); Breaking Bad: Season Four (2011).

Latest film seen: Cave of Forgotten Dreams (2011).

Latest books read: The Remains of the Day (1989) by Kazuo Ishiguro; A Year in Provence (1989) by Peter Mayle; Public Enemies: America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34 (2004) by Bryon Burrough.

Miles flown year-to-date: 60,319.