Deportes and Recreation 1: Working on the Bod

My dearests.

So, it's been two months since I flew out of Canada's then sunny skies, and descended into these far greyer ones. Two months! Long enough now for me to start a normal quotidian life - as I have described in my first posts.

Of course, there are many interesting, fascinating, fun, sometimes unfortunately depressing, and even baffling, moments. But in truth, am still trying to get a grips with this city, and hope to describe it's wonders faithfully soon: the run-ins with the falconers or skateboarders on the malecon, the amazing cultural scene, the flashy denizens, the incidents with utter poverty, and lots and lots of life outside in parks, on the beach, in restaurants, and of course on the streets.  

And then there is me, your lonely hero trying to make a life for himself among the throng. In these next three posts, I will describe my attempts at joining in with the sporting fun.

Hope you'll enjoy them.

--

Although my first post didn't mention it, I did start physical activities pretty quickly. On my first Saturday in town, my colleagues planned an intra-Lodge soccer game in honour of the Peru-Canada friendly occurring in Toronto . And the following week, my colleague and friend Waleska organised a horse ride just south of the city, which took us through recent cement-brick urbanisation growing among the farmland, under a highway overpass to the beach, and eventually back again. Except that on our return leg we actually went on the overpass, and our group perilously negotiated our horses along the appropriate Panamerican Highway exit, hoping they would respect the general rules of traffic, as the cars, trucks, combi-busses, and moto-taxis passed us.

 The Peruvian Beach Cow, one of Peru's lesser known wild animal species (courtesy of Waleska R., who I hope doesn't mind).

And in efforts to work on my bod, I tried out a local gym in a visit that left me startled at how weak I had become before I realized that everything, of course was, in kilos not pounds. Subsequent days brought pain.

Probably because it would be hard to find something that would replace the positive body image attitude of the ol' humble Centretown Ottawa Y, which seemed to say hey, it's ok, we're all a little chubby here, and also because I fear doing more damage to my broken back and knees, I've ditched the gym-scene for now and joined a local yoga studio.

I started with the evening power yoga class because the word power helped me overcome any masculine insecurity. But these classes ended too late, and so I decided to try the only other evening option, the Ashtanga class, which I was surprised to learn was led by a 6 or 7 month-pregnant woman.

In fact, the first time I went in and saw the heavy-with-child teacher as I opened the door, I understandably mistook it as prenatal class. Embarrassed, I quickly closed the door, but it then occurred to me that there were men in there, none of whom looked pregnant - neither did any of the women. So, I went back in, and surely it was just a normal yoga class, taught by a perfectly normal and very pregnant woman.

What was most amazing (and also somewhat demoralizing) was how well and easily the instructor could get into the positions while a whole new life developed inside of her. Whereas I had trouble with the mere child's pose alone, and the only thing in my belly were the salchipapas I ate earlier. 
 

Say ommmmmmmm!

A Day in the Life

Note: I wrote this the night before the minor earthquake hit Peru, near Lima, so this is why it doesn't give it any mention.  For the record, it was minor (5.7) so I heard it more than I felt it.   It did last for quite a while, and that did freak me out.  I found myself wondering if I should make a run half-naked down 7 floors in case it got any worse.  Luckily, by the time I collected myself it was over and I went back to an uneasy sleep.  When morning came, I had forgotten all about it, and only remembered on my walk to work (although it took me a while to reassure myself that I hadn't dreamed it).

Hi, everyone.

Thanks for all of your comments.  I am really glad so many of you liked my first post, and that some of you even thought it was entertaining, which is funny because nothing interesting happened. It must have been the photo of the baby alpaca.  It was also fun to see all the places the blog has been viewed (hello Zambia!).

To make this blog slightly less pedantic and actually interesting, not just pretend interesting, I am have started taking photos of regular scenes here in Lima, and will soon put them up. Also, I just bought my first surf board, so that bodes well for humbling self-depreciating tales.

But, although nothing still hasn't happened, I thought I would give a brief description of my daily routine here, so you, my friends, can get a better sense of what it is really like to live in Lima while performing the noble duty of representing the Crown. So now close your eyes and read words below, magical words that will transport you the fabled land of: Lima......

... to put you in the right frame of mind, you should first have the right soundtrack. Contrary to what you might think, you wont hear that much pan flute music in Peru, especially in Lima. Rather 80s music dominates, the cheesier the better. Yes, Lima is constant yacht rock party, and ELO is on regular rotation. I can even prove this empirically: during a one week period I heard Lionel Ritchie's "Hello" twice, and saw the video once.

Neither Hall nor Oates.

Of course, you also have the constant yet jarring noise of the famed noisy, alarmy swarm of cars. To get a sense of what that's like, occasionally smash your face with a hammer while smoking 78 cigarettes.

Ok, with that, we are ready to begin.

I wake up very early every morning to milk the llamas and slaughter the guinea pigs (which the locals call cuy) for breakfast. Then, I shower, brush my teeth, put on a snazzy suit, and cut a dashing figure as I walk out my apartment door, as befits a man representing the Crown. Passing the guardsman (who the Peruvians call, funny enough, wacheemen) I cross the threshold to do battle with the swarm-of-cars who dare me to cross the street without the benefit of traffic lights or human decency (it's much like a real-life game of Frogger if you will. But you have run out of quarters).  If all goes well, I arrive safely at the Great Canadian Lodge, even if a little frazzled and smelling slightly of diesel (it's ok, so does everyone else).

Who wachees the wachee men?

When I reach work I  REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED espionage REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED Ivana Humpsalot REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED a baby Alpaca!? hahaha! REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED until it is time to leave work REDACTED REDACTED.

Once safely at home, slightly more frazzled and diesel-smelling, I settle down and cry into my miserable dinner of quinoa and potato, pathetically sad with loneliness.

No, just kidding. Seriously, I have a fantastic life, where, depending on the night I can look forward to REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED Ivana Humpsalot REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED a baby Alpaca!? Ewww! REDACTED

That pretty much sums it up.  

This weekend, I expect to begin my surfing tutelage, so watch this space for exciting photos of me on the beach, and perhaps even of my new surfing buddies, or at least of the guys who kick sand in my face.

Oh, and the sun has started to come out.  Happy spring!

A representation of the Crown

Welcome to Pius Square

Buenas tardes, todos.

Welcome.

I would like to introduce you to my first blog, where I will try to fill you all in on my little adventures, petty grievance, and dubious observations as I collect them down here deep in the heart of Lima, Peru. My hope and expectation is that eventually I will find something worthwhile for you to read. Meanwhile, look at this fancy picture.

This is where I live

While I am here, let me give an update to those of you wondering how I am doing.

First, it must be said that there is something unholy that a city located so close to the equator and at sea level should be so cold. What is really strange is that the temperature never drops below 12 or so, yet Lima is able to generate such humidity as to be brutal. I only exaggerate a little.  That and the automobiles - the endless, restless swarm of noisy, honky, alarmy, menacing cars - conspire to make the atmosphere a bit too grey and damp. Such that I now have a touch of the flu, and am forced to write with a baby alpaca scarf wrapped around my neck vainly trying to keep me healthy.

Why oh why?

My only hope.

Sorry, had to get the major complaints out of the way.

Other than that, am adjusting relatively well, as could be expected since I have been here plenty of times before. People at work are nice, I've been able to get out to a few bars, concerts, and even saw a homage to a well-loved Peruvian poet on the 10th anniversary of his passing. Cesar Calvo born in the jungle metropolis of Iquitos, who made a name for himself in Lima with his melancholic verse and famed womanizing in the 60s (he might have even sung a song called Suzanne, but I am not sure). His poet friends told stories of their time together, his work, and exploits. All of which was touching and clever. I only understood about 20% of it.

Did Cesar and Leonard hang?

(So, maybe I can use this blog for this - to introduce my faithful to neat Peruvian stuff. I hereby suggest that you all check out Cesar, and the modern pop-rock-dance fusionist Miki Gonzalez.)

Being in city-sprawl, it is much much harder to be active than say in green Ottawa, where I have been spoiled by my ability to run off and play in the woods. So have tried out yoga en Lima to deal with my back that aches (I threw it out after packing, moving, and moving and unpacking), and that is the limit of my physical exertion thus far. Eventually, my dream is to learn to surf too. As you may well know unless you are sad and ignorant, Lima is on the coast and sees pretty good waves. So, to escape the city, I am forced to swim out into the ocean. Should be fun.

Me and my eventual surfer buddies

My refuge in all of this sprawl is currently under renovations, so I am stationed at a very nice temporary apartment mere steps from the Great Canadian Lodge (also known as the Embassy). It has nice features like a balcony (so I can curse at the cars driving by), free internet, a big screen TV where I can watch endless soccer and, very surprisingly, the Mighty Boosh! Amazingly, the walls of this building are unable to spare me from any of the damp cold, while simultaneously drawing away all of the heat from my body.

They understand my pain

My new place will be much larger, but in an older, and let's say uniquely designed building. Saw it today for the first time, and it became very evident that I will have much needless space, and can comfortably accommodate 6 people before using a couch, a further extra room, or putting more than 2 people to a bed. (yes, I am asking for visitors). It also overlooks a most serene park named after the most serene (and fairly controversial) Pope Pius the XII (hence the name of this blog). Mom would be happy at least.

I know you are all sitting there dying with questions like:

So, when will you get to go out and visit exotic ancient cities in the jungle?

or

How are you surviving without your shipment of 14 Nutella bottles?

or

How's your bum?

But, amigos y amigas, all in time, all in time. It is late, I am tired, and so I go now to wrap myself in a blanket, lie by the useless heater, and wait out this cold, cold night.

Fret not, adventures, or at least awkward cultural mishaps, await!!

Abrazos!

Domenic