Though really, more often than not, Rand or I will glance at our shocking un-photogenic mugs and say to the other, “You are the only person on the planet who will ever find me attractive.” (Which is perfectly okay, kids. You only need one near-sighted fool to think you’re pretty.)

Given the number of self-portraits I’ve taken, and the limited complete and utter lack of talent I possess for photography, I’ve learned a thing or two. Here’s my list of dos and don’ts for mastering those tricky one-armed self-portrait shots, and making sure that all of your chins are displayed in the best light.

1. Do make all subjects are clearly visible. And that you aren’t, say, covering your long-suffering spouse’s adorable mug with your own ginormous head. Which is made even MORE ginormous by a hat.
   -
   

   This is Rand's "I'm not amused" eye.

   -

2. Do figure out what your best angle is. For me, it’s my left side.
   -
   

   The downside of this is that nearly all our vacation self-portraits are IDENTICAL.

   -
   I repeat, MY LEFT SIDE, and not, say, straight-on, which gives me the distinct impression of looking like one of those troll dolls that were all the rage in middle school.

   

   Fact: under that hood is a poof of neon pink hair.

   -

3. Do make sure everyone in the photo is conscious.
   -
   

   I am going to be in such trouble for this photo. And yet, I have no regrets.

   -

4. Do invite other people into your shot, because with any luck, one of them will look like a pirate.
   -
   

   "Arrrgh!"

   -

5. Do try to find an interesting background.
   -
   

   I don't know why this photo makes me laugh so much. I think it's how smug I look. "NYAH NYAH NYAH! I have skin and you don't!"

   -

6. Don’t worry about taking photos at funky angles. Holding your camera high and tilted is a great way to avoid double chins. Which isn’t a problem if you are as stunning as my aunt (grumble, grumble).
   -
   

   She's not a blood relation, so it's not like I can inherit any of those fantastic genes, anyway.

   -

7. Don’t forget to adjust your focus.
   -
   

   Barcelona? I don't remember too much about that trip. THINGS GOT KINDA FUZZY! (Ba-dum-dum!)

   -

8. Don’t pay so much attention to how you look that you crop out something important.
   -
   

   I may not have a double chin but what does that matter when I CUT OFF THE STATUE OF LIBERTY'S ARM?

   -

9. Don’t over-expose yourself (I mean camera-exposure. Though you probably want to avoid having a nip-slip, too). At such a close range, it’s easy to look washed out by the flash.
   -
   -
10. Don’t zoom in too closely.  You’ll scare the children.
    -
    

    Now you know what your goldfish feels like.

    -

So take my advice. Or don’t. Because you know what? It doesn’t matter. Sometimes you’re left with a blurry vacation photo because a dark-haired boy with twinkly eyes just swept you off your feet.

And when you see it, all you can think is, “Man. That’s a great picture.”

Take a few months back, when I was in my kitchen, pouring salt into a concoction I was working on (because really, next to sugar, salt is the best thing you can eat), and thinking, “Damn, I am on it. I mean, I love my blog, and even though I don’t make a dime from it, it’s really going somewhere and it feels like EVERYTHING IS COMING TOGETHER and maybe I should even start working out and thinking about trying skinny jeans again and …”

BOOM. The lid came off the salt shaker. And it was a HUGE shaker. I spilled roughly three cups of salt onto my counter, the floor, my concoction, myself. And my brain snickered at the scene and said, “Sorry, what was that about you having it all together, girly?”

At which point I laughed, because it was either that or crying.

The thing is, there are times in life when we need to be slapped back to our senses, whether by rogue salt shakers who remind us that we are not all that, or by – as I learned last month – rambunctious five-year-olds who can teach you a thing or two about travel.

I want to introduce you to someone. I’m not going to give you her name, because I don’t want the paparazzi stalking her. She’s that fabulous. Anywho, this little gal politely informed me that I was pronouncing the capitol of Idaho incorrectly. Me, the intrepid traveler, was butchering the name, and it was how everyone was able to peg me for a visitor. I was only one state over, but I’d managed to stand out like a sore thumb.

-

She could also teach me a thing or two about fashion, I'm sure.

-

“You say Boise wrong,” she said to me gently, as though quietly informing someone that they had their shirt on inside out and backwards (which, for the record, was the case with me the other day at dinner. I rectified the situation immediately. At the table. In front of everyone. You only live once, kids.)

I stared blankly at the little one. “No, no,” I said, “I’m pretty sure I’m saying it right.” I looked at her parents for confirmation. They politely shook their heads. Nope. I was off base.

“You say BOY-zee,” she explained, as though she were the 30-something and I was in pre-K. “That’s wrong. You’re supposed to say BOY-see.”

“BOY-see,” I repeated. “No way.”

“That’s how you say it,” she said, confidently. And it turns out, she’s absolutely right.

The good news? I learned something new. And there’s now significantly more wiggle room in my britches.

Once, when we were in downtown Seattle, a middle-aged couple stopped Rand and me and asked where they could find a liquor store (at 2pm on a Saturday. I suppose they were putting the magic back in their relationship). I gave them very specific directions that, had the couple followed them to the letter, would have led them not only the wrong way down a one-way street, but nowhere near a liquor store. Rand looked on, in awe – he would later tell me that I spoke to the couple with such confidence that, against his better judgement, he didn’t question it.

I have no idea what became of that couple. Odds are, they probably gave up, headed home, and promptly divorced. But some small part of me is convinced that they are circling those blocks down which I sent them, doomed to spend an eternity yelling to each other, “It must be here. She said it was here. And she sounded so confident.”

The lesson is a simple one: asking me for advice is a terrible idea and it will ruin your marriage if not your life. And yet, on a nearly-daily basis, some poor misguided soul sends me an email, asking me what they should do in x country, and where they should stay. My response is usually, “HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW? GO ASK THE INTERNET.”

And then I realize with no small measure of horror, some people have already done that and ended up on my site. To them, I am the internet. I am filled with curse words and rude comments and things you weren’t looking for.

And on very rare occasions, just like the internet, I have an answer. Like when blog-reader and certified chicken hawk wrangler (I totally made one of those up) Janine mentioned that she was going to be traveling to Peru. Janine sent me a message on Facebook (because she “liked” the Everywhereist fan page. Hint-hint) and I was quick to reply with some actual useful information, which I’ve shared below. Hopefully, I’ll was slightly more helpful to Janine than I was to that poor couple looking for liquor. Funny thing, too, because god knows they needed a drink after what I put them through.

1. Instead of a visa, you will get an “Andean Migration Card” – a little white slip of paper that will be handed to you, rather nonchalantly, at the airport. Like your virginity, no one will impress upon you the importance of it until it is lost. That slip of paper is as important as a visa – you will need it when you check into hotels and when you leave the country. So don’t get drunk and hand it over to the next guy who comes along.
2. The sun in Peru is intense, even when it is cloudy. Be sure to wear sunscreen. We all got scorched in Machu Picchu, but that might be because we’re pasty Seattlites. Ever lift up a rock and see the bugs underneath writhe around in a panic? That’s us on a sunny day.
   -
   

   We expose ourselves to melanoma while enjoying the scenery.

   -

3. Watch your bag. Hold it on your lap in restaurants, and not, say, over the back of a chair. Even though Peru is relatively safe, it’s still a good idea to this. Fortunately, my bag weighs roughly the same as a medium-sized anvil, so I would love to see someone try and take it, then throw out their back in the process.
4. Nearly every place accepts either soles or U.S. dollars. So don’t panic if you only have American currency – it’s actually worth something in Peru (and no where else. Seriously. Stupid euro.)
5. If you go to Machu Picchu, you must bring your passport to get in (having dragged it all that way, you can also get a novelty passport stamp from Machu Picchu. I did this, but kind of regretted it – the stamp is about the size of a child’s foot and takes up valuable real-estate)
6. If you are desperate for food, there are a few chains in Peru that are great – one is Pardo’s chicken, which is surprisingly authentic and yummy, and the other is Bembo’s, which is less fantastic but not bad in a pinch. We had dinner at the former, and dessert at the former and the latter (What? This is me we’re talking about).
   -
   

   Dessert at Bembo's. I was very happy. Rand was very dorky.

   -

7. Haggle like crazy. Really, you shouldn’t be paying more than a few dollars American for hats or scarves, depending on the quality. There are lots of little artisan markets in Peru – you might want to walk around a couple and see the different prices and compare (in one place, scarves were 10 soles before we even started negotiating – in another they were 20 for the exact same scarf. Guess how much I paid for mine? That’s right! 25 soles.)
8. Carry tissues with you, and hand sanitizer or wet wipes, if you can get some. A lot of more rural places don’t have t.p., and don’t have running water or soap to wash your hands. Oh, and did I mention lots of meals are communal? So … yeah.
9. In many villages, bakeries are denoted by these hanging baskets. Obviously, this is the most important thing you will need to know when traveling in Peru.
   -
   

   They also had a bunch of guinea pigs in a pen.

   -

10. Usually your hotel can help set up a tour for you if you want to see stuff in neighboring towns. This is usually incredibly affordable. We spent a day traveling to Moray and Pisac from Cuzco, and they served us a snack and gave us an elaborate tour for $30 U.S. a person. The market at Pisac was absolutely amazing and I highly recommend it.
    -
    

    Rand with Nicolas, our totally awesome tour guide who spoke English, Spanish, Quechuan, and Japanese.

    -

    So there you go – proof that I’m not entirely worthless when it comes to giving advice. Unless it involves finding liquor stores in my hometown. Then you’re on your own.

My husband occasionally has moments of brilliance. He has moments of utmost stupidity, too, but since I love him more than Seattle on a sunny day (a rare phenomenon that I can see outside my office window as I type this) I’d like to focus on the brilliance.

At the end of our trip to Peru, we were talking about our experiences in the country. I noted that Peru was much cheaper than Italy, yet seemed to be just as culturally rich. Even though we got ripped off a few times, it wasn’t nearly to the degree that we might have in Rome or Naples. It was far less costly to see Peru.

Rand nodded. And unleashed his occasional brilliance.

“Italy is the pretty girl who knows she pretty, and will make you pay for it. Peru is the pretty girl who has no idea that she’s beautiful.”

Boom. Brilliant.

And nothing we saw in Lima exemplified this more than the Larco Museum (or the Museo Larco, as it is known locally). Though we spent a good chunk of time online researching things to do in Peru’s capital, we found little information on the museum. Even the gals who worked there looked shocked when we walked through the door. One stared blankly at us – a group of pasty Americans, before asking, “How did you hear about us?”

I told her we had read about the museum online and that it came highly recommended from those who had visited it. She looked shocked.

Like the pretty girl who was just told that she’s stunning. And she had no idea.

The Larco Museum is privately owned. Having visited the Barnes in Pennsylvania, I know that this can usually make for fantastic (if unconventional) collections. This is true of the Larco, which isn’t particularly big, but is nevertheless home to the largest collection of pre-Columbian artifacts anywhere in the world. If you associate Ancient Peru with just the Incans, you are merely scratching the surface of the country’s history. There are pieces from the Moche, Nazca, Chimu, and Inca peoples. What’s that? You’ve not even heard of most of those groups? Well, that’s not really surprising. They had a habit of conquering and subsuming one another. The Incas were perhaps the most prominent group up until 1532, when the Spanish arrived.
-

Notice how, in 1532, the reigning group over all territories became "Colonial."

-

The impact of Colonialism seems (at least, in my opinion) to have left a lasting mark on the psyche of Peru. One of our tour guides – a native to a small village near Cuzco – told us that he had recently given a tour to a group of Spaniards that didn’t go particularly well. Whenever they asked him questions about native peoples, he always added at the end, “But then you guys showed up, and killed and raped everyone.”

I can see how that might make things a weensy bit awkward, no?

And while I don’t think that we can hold present-day members of an ethnic group accountable for what their forefathers did (I’m Italian, Russian, and Catholic. I’d have a lot to atone for), it’s hard not to feel anger on behalf on the native peoples. Their temples were torn down and desecrated, their homes destroyed, their children enslaved. Their culture was so devalued, that even today, when you enter a museum dedicated to it, the employees who working there look shocked that anyone would be interested.

“You … want to learn about what was here before the Conquistadors arrived?” they seemed to ask, wide-eyed. And we did.

We learned that in Ancient Peru, a few recurring symbols were used again and again. A condor represented the sky, a cat (or jaguar) represented the earth, and a snake represented the world underneath the soil. Used together, these three icons represented the world.

-

Pitcher at left representing the cat/condor/snake trifecta. Look closely and see if you can spot all three.

-

Rand peers at some pottery.

-

We saw plenty of gold and silver – the former representing the sun (which, I am pleased to say, is still shining out my office window. Really, Seattle, WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON?), the latter representing the moon. While gold may be considered much more precious by today’s standards, in Ancient Peru they were valued equally.
-

I know just the outfit that I would wear with this.

 -

Seriously, I'm beginning to think I don't own enough jewelry.

-

The exhibits we saw weren’t terribly big – we covered that portion of the museum rather quickly, but there was still plenty left to see. The Larco is one of only a handful of museums worldwide that lets you browse their storage area (most museums only ever display about 20% of their collections at a time). We walked through large rooms lined with artifacts up to the ceiling.

-

Megan checks out the storage area.

-

There's a joke here. Something about the REAL Pottery Barn. I'll work on it.

-

-

We didn’t have much context for many of the items in this part of the museum (after all, they weren’t officially on display) but it was nevertheless mesmerizing. We were kids in an archaeological candy store.
-

After the Conquistadors arrived, the Incans depicted many of their gods in chains to symbolize the ravages of Colonialism.

-
I kept expecting to see the Ark of the Covenant nestled in some corner Sadly, I did not, but I did see this guy, who was almost as cool:

In this instance, they've actually created a Conquistador (noted by the facial hair) in a submission position.

-

But perhaps the most entertaining part of the Larco is the section of erotic pottery.

Yes, you read that right. EROTIC POTTERY: now no longer just a class at a community college in San Francisco! It was a real, permanent exhibit in the museum. And, all jokes aside, it was rather … extensive (hee).

Keep in mind, the following photos are solely of pottery – but for those of you who live or work in puritanical or conservative environments, you might want to skip the rest of this post. It features a lot of terra cotta genitalia.

Okay …

Don’t say I didn’t warn you …

Here we go …

-

Someone add this to my Amazon wish list (GET IT? AMAZON?)

-

SHAZAAM! That’s the money shot. Or money pot, as it were.

I have to say – I’m actually quite proud of us. We held it together pretty well, despite reading informative signs (in both Spanish and English) that said things like,  Water pot depicting couple in missionary position, or Fruit bowl featuring couple partaking in anal sex.

I imagine Ancient Incan dinner parties must have been a total trip.

“Sweetie, can you please get the nice pitcher out for me?” 

“Which one do you want? The one with the tiny dude wielding a penis as large as he is, or the one with the woman reluctantly performing fellatio on her husband?” 

“Honey, PLEASE. My parents are coming over! … The one with the woman performing reluctant fellatio. OBVIOUSLY.” 

-

I bet you thought I was kidding before, huh?

-

I suspect part of the reason we were able to behave so well was that we were in the company of a tour group of folks who were old enough to be my parents, and they were saying things that were positively raunchy. They were misbehaving for us – making cracks like, “Goodness, she doesn’t seem to be enjoying that at all,” and “We need to try that one at home.”
-

I like this one, because everyone involved looks so darn happy.

-

Keeping up with the Joneses.

-

Looking for the perfect Christmas present for your boss? Look no further.

-

Nothing to see here, folks. Just move along.

-

The comments coming from the tour group were positively dirty. It was delightful. In a perfect world, I would get to hang out with those folks every day.

Having had our fill of erotic pottery (I know – I, too, was surprised such a thing was possible), we enjoyed the gardens of the museum before heading out.
-

The hubby took this of me, and I think it's kind of cute. Like I said before - moments of occasional brilliance.

-

This photo, like so many things we had seen that day, is overexposed.

-
We’d spent the better part of an afternoon at the museum, seen priceless treasures, and stifled some serious giggles. The total price of admission? Roughly $12 U.S.

In Italy – or even in the states – we’d have paid twice that.

Rand really was right – Peru is the pretty girl who has no idea she’s pretty. Once you get to know her better, you’ll find that in addition to her loveliness, she’s truly entertaining and a lot of fun.

-

Yowza.

-

And she has one heck of a naughty side, to boot.

—————

The Essentials on the Larco Museum, Lima, Peru

• The Verdict: YES. Admission is only about $12 U.S., and the Larco has a collection which is literally unlike anything you will see anywhere in the world. If you are in Lima, it’s a must-visit.
• How to Get There: We cabbed it over. Check out my post on how to haggle for taxi cab rates in Peru if you want to go this route. And when you are leaving the museum, be sure to wander a few blocks away before hailing a cab: the ones waiting outside the Larco will try charging you much more.
• Ideal for: Anyone who loves archaeology or ancient cultures, or who’s interested in learning more about the pre-Colombian groups in Peru.
• Insider Tips: Give yourself at least an hour to visit the museum. Don’t forget to take a look at the erotic pottery section, the gardens, and the storage area. The gift shop was also quite reasonably priced compared to the ones you’d find in the U.S. or Europe. And keep an eye out for the Peruvian National Hairless Dog, which usually stands guard near the museum’s entrance.
• Nearby Food: The cafe at the museum is supposedly pretty decent, but we didn’t go there. Instead, we found ourselves at the Antigua Taberna Queirolo. It was a little hectic and our server spoke no English, but we got along fine (you will be okay – people are friendly in Peru, and the menu has photos).
• Good for kids: Children with some knowledge of the pre-Colombian civilizations of Peru would probably get a kick out of this (I was in fourth grade when we first started learning about South America), though there’s a risk that younger ones might get bored. Everything is behind glass, so there’s little that even the smallest guests can damage, and they can run around the gardens, too. Plus, a good section of the place is stroller-friendly.

Flying out of Cuzco, back to Lima.

-

With the exception of my thighs and derriere, I am not what you would call a hearty girl (though those two parts of me could survive drought, famine, pestilence, and probably a nuclear war. Everything, really, save for another season of skinny jeans). But excluding my well-developed lower region, I’m kind of wimpy. My arms aren’t particularly strong, I have a small waist, I’m prone to migraines and colds, and I’m constantly suffering from motion sickness (just the sheer number of other illness-related posts I was able to link to in that last sentence should convince you of my alleged frailty).

Naturally, I was more than a little nervous about traveling to Cuzco. At an elevation of 11,000 feet, altitude sickness is almost a given. When we first arrived at the airport, there was a rather graphic poster warning visitors of this fact. It featured a larger-than-life image of a tourist vomiting on his own feet. Sadly, I did not take a photo, but here is my artistic rendering of it:

 -

I can't remember the warning they had in Spanish, so I just put "BEWARE THE TREES."

-

I am pleased to say that no one in our party took it upon themselves to recreate the scene above. We did have to deal with a good measure of light-headedness and nausea, and here’s how we did it:

We gave ourselves plenty of time to acclimate to the altitude. We arrived into Cuzco on a sunny afternoon, and had that entire evening and the whole next day to get used to the elevation before we headed to Machu Picchu (which is at a far lower elevation). We took our time and didn’t rush things. When we first stepped off the plane, we felt okay – a bit short of breath, and a bit light-headed, but okay. After a little while, dizziness set in, along with racing heartbeats, and for a few of us, nausea followed. After three or four hours in Cuzco, Rand was feeling like this:

-

My poor sick man.

-

But after a solid night’s sleep he was feeling fine and eating cheese-filled empanadas he bought off some random dude in the village of Pisac:
-

I love Tom's face in this pic. It just screams, "BEWARE THE TREES." Fortunately, Rand was fine.

-

So when all else fails? Don’t hesitate to nap, or at least lie down.

For those of you who wish to stay conscious, one of the best ways to combat altitude sickness is coca tea (or mate de coca, as it is known in Peru). The stuff  is amazing. This is an odd thing for me to say, given that I’m so paranoid about narcotics that I no longer take Sudafed now that you need two forms of I.D. and a blood sample to buy it in my home state of Washington (better than Oregon, which requires you to have a prescription from a doctor and a copy of your original high school transcript, as well as letters from three of your neighbors stating that you are not, in fact, a meth addict, and that you just have a cold).
-

I thought someone from the DEA was going to tackle me just for taking a sip.

-

But coca leaves aren’t cooked up in some sketchy backwoods meth lab. They grow directly from the ground, and they’ve been consumed in Peru for ages to combat fatigue and altitude sickness. Nearly every hotel you go to will offer you a complimentary cup or three, and it’s on the menu at restaurants all over town. The taste is grassy and herbaceous, not unlike a green tea. I didn’t even notice any buzz from drinking several cups – it was literally milder than a glass of coca-cola, which I found amusing.

If you aren’t a tea drinker, there are also coca toffees, which I found delightful but a bit gritty (incidentally, this is exactly how I felt about Jack Palance). Though I now crave these candies fortnightly, I don’t really think that’s because they’re addictive – I think it’s because I just really like sweets. I’m pretty sure these are a big reason why I fared so darn well in Cuzco. Sick as though I usually am, I was fine.
-

They were an incredibly dark brownish-green. Incidentally, after munching through two-packs, so was my pooh.

-

(One word of warning: if you do partake in either the tea or the candy, you might fail a drug test in the weeks following. Yes, I’m serious.)

One thing we all noticed when we got to Cuzco, which may not have been directly related to the altitude, was that our stomachs were feeling a little off. As one person put it, “things were flowing a little more freely than usual.” Okay, fine – it was me. I said that. In reference to my BOWELS. It wasn’t severe – no one was really sick or in gastrointestinal pain or anything like that. We were just using the bathroom a lot and wondering exactly what to do with our toilet paper in the aftermath. The solution to that, as well as to altitude sickness in general? Chug plenty of water.

We found that having a full stomach also helped (if you are light-headed already, adding low-blood sugar to the mix is a bad idea). As usual, I choose to battle all feelings of nausea or illness with pastries. Our hotel definitely aided in this fight:

-

Me, to Rand: "Send for my things back home. I am never leaving."

-

If pastries aren’t your thing (they are certainly mine – VIVA THE BUTT!) then you can also try munching on these little dried corn snacks that are all over Peru. They tasted kind of like dry, bland Fritos (I’m totally not selling these, am I? I can’t believe I used to be a copywriter). I was the only one who really dug them. Rand thought they tasted like dust, but then again, so do Saltines, and look how well those work.
- 

They're like rustic corn nuts.

-

Oh, and one last thing to be wary of while hanging out in higher elevations: it takes far less to get drunk, or even tipsy. If you do choose to drink, know that your tolerance will be half to a quarter of what it usually is, and follow it up with plenty of water. Also, you might want to make sure that no one around you is sober and wielding a camera. Otherwise, this might happen:

-

I love the look on the face of the woman in the background of this picture.

-

Of course, that’s just the risk you take when you travel, particularly to places in high altitudes. On the plus side? The view usually makes it all worth it:

-
-

So heed my advice. Stay hydrated, get plenty of rest, and have some hearty, carb-filled meals. And beware the trees, of course. 

The city of Lima: plenty of cabs, plenty of chances to haggle.

-
Haggling is an art form, and my mother is Picasso. Analyze her technique too closely, and it will fall apart, but stand back far enough, and a masterpiece emerges. I’ve seen her haggle in retail stores. RETAIL STORES. With success. She will take an item up to the cashier and note that a thread is coming loose – would they mind giving her a discount? Or she’ll point out a popped button, a fraying hem (all things which she can fix in a matter of moments) and ask for a ludicrous percentage off.

AND SHE WILL GET IT.

I thought about her a lot when I was in Peru. Not only is haggling a way of life down there, it’s institutionalized – nothing seems to have a fixed price. Not even the cabs. That’s right: you haggle for cab fares in Peru. None of the vehicles have meters. You simply talk to a driver and negotiate the price before getting in.

For me, this was incredibly nerve-wracking. I didn’t inherit my mother’s knack for seeking out a bargain. I tried once to get a deal on a sweater that was – I kid you not – coming apart at the seams. The cashier offered me 10% off. I stared at her blankly before putting it back on the rack. My mother would have been paid to take it off the store’s hands.

I’m just no good at fighting over money. I hesitate to even point out when I’m overcharged for fear of an embarassing exchange with a store clerk. And besides all of that, my Spanish is not perfect. Not even close. In Italian or English, I’d be fine. But how on earth was I supposed to tell a Peruvian cab driver that I knew he was charging me too much when I could barely speak the language?

Miraculously, I managed to do it. Here are the lessons I learned from my week of hailing and bargaining for cabs in Peru – both in Lima and Cuzco. Hopefully it will come in handy if, like me, you lack my mother’s amazing bargaining skills.

1. Negotiate the fare beforehand. This is the most important thing to know before you hail a cab in Peru: you and the driver agree on a price before you get in. Once you are on your way, you can’t renegotiate – trying to short change your driver after you’ve established a fare is unacceptable. And getting in without setting a price is just a recipe for getting ripped off.
   
2. Don’t be afraid to walk away. If a proposed fare too high, don’t hesitate to say “no” – you are not going to offend the driver (and if you do, really, WHEN are you going to see him again?) During our trip, everyone had piled into a minivan to head back to the hotel. Seeing this, the driver came at me with a ludicrous number. Fortunately, Casey had seen my face, and was willing to drag everyone out of the vehicle at a moment’s notice. Seeing that we were willing to say no, the driver came down on his price – by nearly 50%.
3. Be wary of anyone who approaches you (especially in the airport). Odds are they are going to come at you with a number that is much higher than what you’d get if you just step outside on to the curb.
   -
   

   These cabs were lined up outside a museum, just behind a tour bus.

   -

4. Ask to see the vehicle. This will give you better negotiating power. Rand and I spoke to one driver who wouldn’t take us to the airport for less than 45 soles (about $20). It’s not a bad rate for tourists, but still much heftier than that of his colleagues. But when we saw his car – a pristine vehicle with A/C and leather seats, we figured it was worth the splurge.
5. Watch out for drivers that work for your hotel. Many places will offer to pick you up from the airport as a complimentary service (check ahead if you want to do this – it helps alleviate a lot of stress, particularly when you’ve just landed). But be cautious if you want to travel from your hotel out into the city – the driver, knowing you are out-of-towners, may try to rip you off (ours did, claiming our destination was really far away. Even his colleague looked at him like he was full of shit.) Instead, ask the bell hop to hail you a cab off the street, or better yet, walk a block or two away from your hotel and do it yourself.
6. Move away from tourist destinations before hailing a cab. If you are standing right outside the Larco Museum, odds are you’ll be given a much heftier price than if you stand outside a cafe where all the locals are congregating. Consider wandering a little bit down the block to grab a cab.
7. Tipping isn’t customary. Since you’ve already set a price beforehand, that is all you are expected to pay. Rand couldn’t break the habit of adding a tip, which was sweet, but unnecessary (a few drivers gave him an appreciative slap on the back when he handed them an extra 5 soles – roughly $2)
8. Guard your valuables. Peru felt surprisingly safe – even in the sketchier areas. Still, there’s no need to tempt fate. We’d heard a horror story or two about cab windows being smashed in and bags being snatched (it’s rare, but it does happen). The best way to avoid this is to make yourself a hard target. Wrap your bag strap around your arm, tuck your backpack between your legs, or out of site. And lock your doors.
9. Ask a local. Since we had no frame of reference about how much cabs should have cost, we checked with the locals. They gave us broad tips which proved helpful (a ride from Lima to the airport – which took nearly 40 minutes – was about 40 soles – or $15 US. Any cab from one part of Cuzco to another shouldn’t cost more than 4 or 5 soles – $2 U.S.)
10. Most drivers accept U.S. currency. In fact, most places in Peru accept U.S. dollars – so be sure to clarify what currency you are paying in, and don’t let a driver try to charge you more if you paying in dollars – they won’t have any trouble getting rid of their cash.
11. Don’t be afraid to use your rudimentary Spanish. Cab drivers want to understand you – after all, you’re going to pay them. You’ll be surprised at how far you can get with just a few words. Grab a phrasebook and learn how to say things like, “How much?” and “How long will it take to get there?” Try to commit some numbers to memory, but don’t worry if you can’t – you can always write down some rates and haggle that way.
    -
    

    Since no one else on the trip spoke Spanish, they had to put up with me.

    -

12. Bring a map. Like I said, very few drivers will speak English. A map will help you communicate where you need to go, and give you an idea of how long the journey will be (and consequently, how much it should cost). It will also show that you aren’t totally clueless – something which comes in handy when trying to negotiate a fare.

I’m pleased to say we only got really ripped off once. The hotel driver told us that the destination was far away, and the trip would cost 20 soles ($7 U.S.). I told him that seemed unreasonable but he insisted that it was very, very far and unwalkable. I gave in, and he proceeded to drive us a few blocks away. I was infuriated, and tempted to scream at him (while I’ve forgotten most of the Spanish I’ve ever known, I’ve committed to memory choice words like “thief”, “liar”, and “son of a bitch”. I am slightly concerned as to what this says about my personality) but thought better of it when I realized IT WAS ONLY SEVEN FRIGGIN DOLLARS. That’s the thing to remember about Peru – even when you are ripped off, you’re still getting a pretty good deal.

And hey – it’s waaaay cheaper than the cabs in Bulgaria. But still – next time I go to Peru? I’m taking my mom.

As some of you may have noticed, I don’t really do much research on my travel destinations, except when it comes to cuisine. I left for Peru with a vague understanding of who created Machu Picchu, but I was able to rattle off the local desserts like an expert. This concerns me slightly. I have this fear that, should aliens ever abduct me (and let’s face it: this is a highly probable likelihood) they will ask me all sorts of questions about other parts of my planet. And most of the time, I WILL HAVE NO CLUE WHAT TO SAY right up until the topic of food comes up, at which point I will be some sort of savant. Governmental structure of Peru? No clue. But they have these fantastic dulce de leche sandwich cookies called alfajores (I’ve eaten enough in one sitting to risk diabetic shock). Iceland? I can’t remember anything about my trip there except for that yogurt dessert they kept feeding us. And my usually reply to when anyone mentions the U.K. is to drool and mumble “sticky toffee pudding” with a glazed look in my eye.

Gah. I will be so useless if the aliens are planning some sort of governmental takeover. How embarrassing. And completely likely, as I am sure you will agree.  But fortunately I’m more often asked questions that pertain to travel, and not the domination of the human race. So if you plan on staying earthbound, and make your way to Peru, here’s what you should munch on while you’re there.

1. Alfajores. I first learned about these delightful sandwich cookies on a chilly day, sitting in a restaurant outside of Port Charles, New York. Rich dulce de leche sandwiched between buttery, not-too-sweet shortbread cookies, dusted with powdered sugar. Remember Oreos? Well, you won’t after you have one of these. Heck, you’ll barely remember your own name.
   -
   

   See those fingers in the background? Pretty sure I bit them in the frenzy of shoving this thing into my face.

   -

2. Cuy. Yes, it’s guinea pig. It’s also a very traditional mainstay of Peruvian cuisine. If the idea of munching on one of these cute, furry fellows doesn’t horrify you, I suggest you try it. The meat is sweet, dark, and flavorful. And you can totally freak your friends out with the story.
   -
   

   I'm sure this will horrify a lot of you. But it was really, really yummy.

   -

3. Mate de Coca. The coca plant has some really bad press stateside – yes, it is used to make cocaine. But that requires a lot of leaves (something like 600 kg of the coca plant make 1 kg of cocaine), processed with gasoline and numerous chemicals. In the Peruvian Andes, the leaves are chewed or brewed into a tea. It tastes like a grassy green tea, and no, it won’t give you the shakes or make you feel crazy, but it will help alleviate the nausea of high-altitude sickness.
   -
   

   Coca leaves stewing in a pot.

   -

4. Llama. Alpacas are incredibly important in the Andes – they’re used to the rough terrain, and they produce wool which is used to make clothing and textiles. It’s not nearly as common as cuy or chicken, so my hubby jumped at the chance to order it when he saw it on a menu. The meat is tender and light – I described it as “white meat beef”. He enjoyed it a llot. (GET IT? I AM CLEVER.)
   -
   

   Rand's llama entree with some potato croquettes in the foreground.

   -

5. Lomo Saltado. Peruvian cuisine is like a Benetton ad – a colorful mix of cultures and ethnicities. Lomo saltado (literally, “jumping beef”) is a great example of this. The dish is a Chinese-style stir-fry of vegetables and meats, seasoned with soy sauce and served over fried Peruvian potatoes. My husband craves it fortnightly.
   -
   

   Seriously, Rand asks for this all the time, but I don't know how to make it. OUR MARRIAGE IS A SHAM.

   -

6. Chicha Morada. Note that is distinct from “chicha” – the alcoholic drink made from chewed up, fermented corn. Chica morada is a dark, sweet beverage made from purple maize. It tastes like grape juice, minus the refreshing tartness (so … raisin juice?). While I’m not a huge fan of the stuff, the frozen variant that I had was fun to try.
   -
   

   It really was pretty - I just wish it had been a bit more tart.

   -

7. Anticuchos. While anticuchos can refer to any type of grilled meat on a skewer, you’ll commonly find beef hearts prepared in this way. The meat is rich and velvety. As delicious as they are, you likely won’t eat more than one before feeling your own heart clench.
   -
   

   Anticuchos of various meats with a rocoto relleno (stuffed pepper) in the background.

   -

8. Pisco Sour. Pisco – a grape grappa that originated in Peru – is mixed with lemon, sugar, bitters, and an egg white (which is how any good sour is made). The alcohol goes down alarmingly easy, with very little bite. Combined with the high altitude (which increases the effects of alcohol and the time it takes to feel it), this drink can be very, very dangerous.
   -
   

   Photos of us taken AFTER the consumption of said sours have been diplomatically omitted from this post.

   -

9. Cebiche (or ceviche). This dish is usually served as an appetizer. Fresh raw fish is cut up and tossed with lemon or lime juice – the acid of which “cooks” the fish, and is combined with onions and chili peppers. Peru has a substantial Japanese population, and you can often see modern twists on sushi involving cebiche.
   -
   

   And halfway through this post I realize: I am starving.

   -

10. Picarones. Three words: fried pumpkin donuts. The crispy, golden crust of these fritters is usually softened by dipping them in a caramelized honey sauce. They taste like a fall carnival.
    -
    

    I refuse to admit how many of these I ate. It was many.

    -

11. Pulpo. Octopus (“pulpo” in Spanish) is by no means unique to Peru, but you will see this cephalopod on menus throughout the country, either grilled or occasionally in cebiche. If you are a fan of squid (and really, who isn’t?) this dish is definitely worth trying.
    -
    

    Mmm ... tentacle-y.

    -

12. Aji de Gallina. When this dish arrived at our table – consisting of tender chunks of chicken stewed in a rich yellow sauce, absolutely no one could tell us the ingredient list. Apparently it is long and varied (not unlike a mole recipe). The dish takes a while to prepare, too – but the result (a creamy concoction that is cheesy, nutty, and spicy all at once) is worth it.
    -
13. Rocoto Relleno. The Peruvian take on the stuffed pepper is not kidding around. Forget the sweet bell variety that we’re used to – in Peru, they use a slightly spicy pepper that delivers a bit of a kick. Fillings variety, but it’s usually a mix of ground meats and vegetables.
    -
14. Chifa. Owing to its large immigrant popultaion, Chinese food (known as “chifa”) is a specialty in Peru. Sadly, we didn’t get to try it, but we did enjoy a number of dishes that had Chinese influences (including the aforementioned Lomo Saltado).
    -
    

    So we didn't get chifa, but it's not like we starved.

    -

15. Lucuma. This peculiar green fruit is not common in the U.S., but the flavor is so prevalent and delicious that in Peru, your ice cream choices will often be chocolate, vanilla, and lucuma. The fruit has a mild, caramel-flavored sweetness to it – try it in ice cream or (like we did) in a cake.
    -
    

    Two slices of cake (lucuma and chocolate) and my dorky husband. I've never been happier.

    -

16. Inca Cola. Created in Peru in the 1930s, this drink is so popular it outsells all other soft drinks in its home country. The color is a quasi fluorescent yellow and the taste is like a less-sweet Mountain Dew. I didn’t really like the stuff (but then again, I’m not a big soda drinker) but a few people in our party were hooked.  
    -
    

    I call this color "electric pee."

     -

Can't we all just be adults here?

-

When I left for Peru, I took a small pack of tissues with me. I’d read that in more rural areas, we might not find toilet paper in public bathrooms. This didn’t really phase me: one time in Italy I’d peed in little more than a hole in the ground. A place not offering toilet paper isn’t that big an offense.

While the tissues came in handy, what was far more difficult to get used to, and what I discovered immediately upon arriving in Lima, is that in Peru (and, indeed, in many parts of the world) it’s not customary to toss your toilet paper into the bowl to dispose of it. Instead of flushing it down, you throw it in a trash can that’s conveniently placed next to the bowl. I’ve read a variety of reasons why this might be the case (everything from the drainage pipes being narrower to septic tanks being designed differently, and even one account that it might just all be an Old Wives’ tale) but the bottom (heh) line? You toss your t.p. in the trash. It’s just understood.

The pristine toilet bowl and trash can in our hotel in Lima.

-

(Interestingly, this now makes one of the things Philip mentioned in his “Toilets of Japan” post a while back make sense. They were clearly catering to visitors who were accustomed to not flushing their used paper.)

I, unfortunately, had trouble following the rules. Even after I read a sign and comprehended it (in both Spanish and English! Hooray for bilingual bathroom etiquette!) I still kept tossing my paper in the bowl. It’s really a reflex – I did it without thinking (next time you’re in the bathroom, you’ll find the same is true. Tossing paper into the bowl is not something to ruminate over. And if you do decide to get pensive over some soiled Charmin … Sigh. Well, whatever. I’ve found inspiration in weird places, too.)

I figured I’d never get the hang of peeing in Peru. I probably ruined several septic tanks across Lima and Cuzco, and I started to feel guilty about it. A few times I remembered to use the trash can, but that didn’t make things better. I felt … unclean, knowing my paper will still around. I may have gone a little Lady MacBeth while washing my hands a few times as a result.

Seriously – where is a nice hole in the ground when you need it?

I finally did get the hang of things, you’ll be pleased to know. I used an airport bathroom and tossed my toilet paper discretely in the small trash can in my stall. The only problem? I was in Los Angeles.

I’ve loads to tell you about that trip – and heck, I’m not even done telling you about Kansas or my trip to Lake Placid, Florida (please try to contain your excitement). But all of that will have to wait, because presently, I want to take a piece of sandpaper or, failing that, a cheese grater, to my ankle. It’s covered in bug bites attained at Macchu Pichu, and it’s positively killing me. While I’m blessed to not suffer from allergies (unless, say, I shove my face directly into a cat and breathe in deeply, which I’m sure we’ve all done once or thrice), there is one thing I am severely allergic to: mosquito bites. They usually swell up to the size of a quarter, and have literally woken me from a restful sleep with the sting.

I took a photo of my bug-bitten ankle thinking it would be impressive, but instead it looks disappointingly normal, so I now seem like a huge wuss. Behold:

The cropping on this photo is excellent. You can see neither my hairy legs nor my wonky toe. Huzzah!

-

But believe me when I tell you that, right up until the second I took this picture, it was covered with red welts from a team of incredibly industrious mosquitoes up in the Peruvian mountains. I had literally 2 inches of leg showing between my the bottom of my cuffed jeans and the top of my ankle socks, and they went for it. Yes, I realize that cropped jeans don’t necessarily look good on someone with my frame (i.e., short, pear-shaped). Perhaps the little jerks that bit me were just fashionistas trying to teach me a lesson.

One particularly brave member of their crew managed to fly up my pant leg, like a insect equivalent of Hiram Bingham, and made it up to my knee before I squashed him with a slap. I hope he finds solace in the insect afterlife knowing that his earthly remains will be a part of my jeans forever, or at least until I wash them.

I felt no small measure of sadness when I returned home and found that these bug bites are indeed the only souvenirs I have from our visit to the Inca ruins. Still, I’m not sad to see them go. If, like me, you can’t deal with mosquito bites (or any bug bite that leaves you itching and stinging), and often find yourself on the road with no drugstore in sight, here are my home remedies and cures for getting a little bit of relief. (And obviously, if you have a more severe reaction than just itching, GO TO THE DOCTOR. Duh.)

1. Ice. It never ever occurred to me to apply an ice-pack to a bug bite, but it totally works. Granted, you’ll seem a bit melodramatic, hoisting your poor red limb up onto a table as though you had a real injury, but about 10 minutes of applying an ice pack will give you an hour or more of itch-free relief. It’s glorious.
2. Aspirin. Instead of popping the pills, grind them up into a powder, add a drop of two of water to make a paste, and apply it to your bug bites. Leave it on overnight and wash off in the morning. Aspirin is an anti-inflammatory, and it works even topically (this also is great for big red zits. Apply the paste to red spots at night, and wash off in the morning. Hope no one sees you in the interim).
3. Alcohol. No, no, no. Put that margarita down. That is so NOT what I meant. If you have rubbing alcohol (or any liquid that contains a high content of alcohol, like mouthwash or, hell, vodka) dab a little on the bug-bites. It should relieve the itching and will disinfect the bite (helping to prevent infection).
4. Toothpaste. Just a dab of toothpaste (preferably the cheap, white, pasty kind) can help relieve itching of bites. It has anti-inflammatory properties, and ingredients like baking soda and menthol help to relieve the irritation. And you obviously have toothpaste with you on your trip, RIGHT?
5. Hydrocortisone cream. I take a small tube of hydrocortisone with me wherever I go. Most of the time it never gets used, but when I actually need it, I feel absolutely brilliant for having dragged it with me. It relieves the itch and redness, and works on all manner of skin irritations, allergic reactions, and bites. I’ve also been known to dab it on zits at night to relieve redness.
6.  Pop some Sudafed or Benadryl. It absolutely shocked me that this worked, because I’ve always sucked at biology and don’t understand the human body. But taking an antihistamine pill can relieve itching for hours – it blocks your body’s reaction to the bite, which caused the irritation in the first place. Just half a Benadryl tab worked for me for hours.
7. Salt. Lots of sites suggest making a paste with regular old salt and some water and applying it to bug bites to relieve sting. While I’ve never tried this technique, I suspect it works: as I kid, I remember that going to beach and swimming in the ocean was always a great relief after a group of bugs had dined upon me.

For what to do when someone has a more serious reaction, check out the Mayo Clinic’s first aid guide to insect bites and stings. And as a preventative measure in the future, avoid bananas and perfume (for the record, “Bananas and Perfume” would be a great band name). Bugs are attracted to your skin when you’ve applied perfumes, hair sprays, and gels. Ditto for when you’ve eaten bananas. So try to hold off on doing either. I know. There go my weekend plans, too.

And just remember, as annoying as they are, mosquitoes clearly have an important purpose on this earth.

My love for gray-haired men in uniform is so strong that it sincerely saddens me to tell you that the NPS guided tour of Freedom Trail in Boston is not really worth the time. At least, not from a historical perspective. It was educational and informative, though, when it came to pastries.

And while I am sure you’d rather I discuss baked goods first, you will have to wait, as I did, and suffer through all the boring stuff. I know. Life is difficult.

The Freedom Trail tour begins at 15 State Street near the Old South Meeting House (the times of the tour vary depending on the year. For the full list of hours, see here). It’s supposed to take 90 minutes, but mine clocked in at over two hours, which is an exceptionally long time to stand in the cold while not eating sweets. I had tried to take the tour on numerous prior trips to Boston, and always managed to miss it. Each time I did, I built it up more and more in my mind, until at the very end, I had convinced myself that the Freedom Trail tour included live re-enactments by costumed actors and bottomless cups of cocoa.

Sadly, none of that was true. It did have this gentleman, though, who was adorable, but not terribly good at projecting his voice.

-

His accent was fantastic. It was one part Shelbyvillian, one part old Maine fisherman. He personally described it as an “Old Yankee” accent, and I could picture him wearing overalls and taking about a nor’easter. Unfortunately, he spoke so softly it was difficult to hear him, and the roaring wind that wound up the narrow streets of downtown did not help. We clustered around him, and one woman asked him if he could speak up.

“Well-uh, no. ‘Fraid I can’t-uh talk loudah than this.”

He explained to us that the tour generally made only one indoor stop in Faneuil Hall, but since it was currently closed for renovations, the entire tour would be outside, in the unseasonably cold May weather. We walked by the Old State House, the Old South Meeting House, and Paul Revere’s house. Fortunately, I had visited these places on my own time in previous trips – otherwise I’d have felt a bit let down by the tour (“Let’s walk past all these historic sites, but not go inside a single one! FROSTBITE BUILDS CHARACTER!”)

Paul Revere's house, where he impregnated his wife with A LOT of babies.

-

It didn’t help that our guide wasn’t exactly … urgent, shall we say? 90 minutes is long enough to dedicate to a walking tour, but 2 hours is excruciating, especially when you can’t really hear what’s going on over the chatter of your own teeth. I suspect that had I gone on a warm spring day, my experience would have been radically different (in fact, I may go again if I am in Boston on a warmer day).

Oh, and did I mention I managed to snag myself a nemesis sometime during the course of the tour? I seem to have a talent for pissing people off. Not really sure how it happened (that’s a lie. I know exactly how it happened. I asked the tour guide where he was from, and he explained that his usual reply is “Up north. Not from around here.” I said that I figured he wasn’t from Boston, because it didn’t really sound like it, and one woman pounced on me. “We don’t all sound like that,” she growled, angrily. And I tried to furiously apologize, because she resembled a young Chris Farley, and could have seriously messed me up). For the rest of the tour, she glared at me.

So, let’s recap my experience thus far:

• We were collectively freezing.
• It was raining. Did I mention that? It was.
• A woman who bore a striking resemblance to one of my favorite deceased corpulent comedians looked like she was going to give me a smackdown.
• There was no hot cocoa.
• IT LASTED TWO HOURS.

And then, blissfully, it ended. I stood, shell-shocked. Was it really over? Yes. Everyone had begun going their separate ways (even my nemesis had scampered off, but not before shooting me one last final glare). A few resilient souls lingered around, asking the tour guide questions. It all merged into white noise. I had apparently fallen asleep while standing in the middle of Paul Revere Mall.

“Can you tell me how to get to Modern Pastry?” someone asked.

My head snapped up. I was suddenly wide awake. What was that about a pastry?

The tour guide chuckled.

“Used ta be, everyone asked ’bout Mike’s Pastry. But-uh folks in the know, they’re uh askin ’bout Modern Pastry.”

I didn’t hear what he said next. I was already running down the street, tongue flapping in the wind like a giddy golden retriever. I stopped when I saw this:

The promised land.

-

The Jews spent 40 years roaming the desert. I spent two hours roaming Boston without dessert. And now I had reached it. I had visited Mike’s pastry in the past and deemed it good, but Modern was superior. They had all the Italian pastries and cookies that I remembered from my east coast childhood: little sandwich cookies shaped like leaves, tiny nut shortbreads rolled in powdered sugar (that made you resemble a cocaine addict after eating them), three-layered little cakes which are supposed to look like the Italian flag but don’t really.

I will not tell you how many of these I ate. But "all of them" would be a good guess.

-

And cannoli. Itsy-bitsy filled-to-order cannoli in flavors both traditional and not. Since Modern Pastry only accepts cash, I only got two of the little buggers. Otherwise, I’d have downed a half dozen and not thought twice about it.

These I actually shared with Rand: ricotta and chocolate cream filled cannoli.

-

Later, from the warmth of my hotel room, I ate chocolate-enrobed torrone and tried to sum up what I had learned on my National Park Tour:

• The black circle on the pavement outside the Old State House is where the Boston Massacre happened. I knew it was around there, but didn’t realize that circle marks the exact spot. According to our guide, they’ll be adding a more fitting memorial there soon.
• The large lion and unicorn on top of the Old State House are symbols of the British monarchy. There were torn down and burned during the revolution, and replaced years later, amidst some controversy.
• Modern Pastry is pretty darn good. Most of the cookies are Americanized (it’s authentically Italian in the sense that they only take cash, and little old Neapolitan women will cut in front of you in line). Get cannoli and hazelnut torrone.
• That’s pretty much it.

Would I recommend my experience to someone else? The part with the cookies, yes.

As for the National Park Tour, you can skip it unless the weather is great and you don’t mind killing some time. A guidebook will serve you just as well, and you’ll be able to enter all the places we only saw from the outside.

Regardless of what you do, be sure to finish it with a cannolo. It’s what the patriots would have done, had they an Italian bakery close by.

—————

The Essentials on the Boston Freedom Trail Guided Tour (by the National Park Service):

• Verdict: Meh. It’s a good overview, but not really great. (I’d just get a guidebook and go on your lonesome).
• How to Get There: Take the T to State Street.
• Ideal for: History buffs; folks impervious to the cold; anyone who really likes to walk.
• Insider Tips: The tours fill up fast, and they’re first-come, first-served. Arrive at least half an hour early to pick up your sticker and reserve your place on the tour. Wear incredibly comfortable shoes and be ready to walk. You won’t be able to enter most of the buildings on the tour, so plan to visit them again later. (I recommend going inside Paul Revere’s House and the Old South.)
• Nearby Food: I’ve covered you on the pastry front, but if you are looking for something savory, there are lots of options for good Italian food in the North End. Grab a bite when the tour is over. (Or stop by Quincy Market if you want something before the tour.)
• Good for Kids: No. A thousand times no. I’m 30 and I was bored.