December 2024: Family Trip to Peru
Back in March, I found nicely priced tickets to Peru on Latam for their Christmas, and early in the morning of Monday, December 23rd, we were off! At 4:00 we were in an Uber to the airport, and at 5:40 on a flight to Atlanta. We rode the airport train leisurely, admiring the large number of switchbacks and turnarounds and spur tunnels they have, and also their announcements (“now arriving at terminal B, as in burgers and beverages…next stop is terminal C as in coffee”), got breakfast burritos in a food court with an extremely nice, friendly customer service guy who ran around offering people napkins and making chitchat (Robert and I both immediately wanted to hire him), and spent some time playing cards and eating Georgia Peach jelly belly jelly beans in the priority pass lounge. Then we got our connecting flight, 6 1/4 hours to Peru, not changing any time zones.
We took pictures by various airport Christmas trees, and just had a lovely day—we watched “Furiosa,” which is really been looking forward to seeing; “Give Light,” a documentary about traditional indigenous midwives around the world; the 2003 Leonardo DiCaprio “Great Gatsby” (Samantha was interested to compare its depictions of the characters to what we saw in this summer’s play at the ART); “Flamin’ Hot,” a sweet and funny movie about the mexican American man who invented flamin’ hot cheetohs; and “Fly Me to the Moon,” a half space race movie, half rom com set in the ramp up to the Apollo 11 mission. The girls also watched the “Muppets Christmas Carol,” which they love, and Marcus read some Neal Stephenson (I think Diamond Age), Samantha some Neil Gaiman, and Helen Redwall. It was a productive and happy set of flights.
Landing in Lima, customs was pretty quick, and we didn’t have any checked bags to wait for so we got cash from the ATM in the baggage claim area and were able to meet our driver (a prearranged van through Lima Cabs because I figured we’d all be tired) and go straight to our hotel, the Costa Del Sol Wyndham Lima City. An Uber would have been a little cheaper, but getting Uber XLs in Lima seemed like it would be tricky (and eventually did turn out that way), so this seemed a safer bet for our initial arrival. It was about 40 minutes into the city to our hotel, and we pretty quickly got into bed—Robert and Samantha in one room, and Marcus, me, and Helen across the hall, because they insisted they could never have more than three people (oddly enough) in a room.
Robert decided to get a big bottle of water from one of the two convenience shops on the block, but it was 4 soles (abbreviated PEN—1 sol is about $.27), and we had nothing smaller than a 100. The guy in the shop asked us if we had change, and when we said no he went on a little quest for change: first he tried the woman selling tamales on the street corner, and asked if she had change, and when she said no he went to the bigger convenience store next door and asked them if they had change. They gave him a 50, two 20s, and a 10, and apparently he didn’t even have change for the 10, but he went back outside and the tamale woman gave him two 5s for the 10, so then he was able to change the 5 for us. Robert was very pleased, first of all, at the workings of this little corner ecosystem economy we observed, and also at getting a very large bottle of good-brand bottled water for $2.
With our water, we walked back to the hotel, checked out the rooftop pool and views from the floor above our rooms, and then woke up kids and ushered them down to breakfast to get the day started. Once everyone was fed and watered, we took an Uber to the Plaza de Armas downtown, the big central colonial-era square that still has government buildings. It’s a lovely car-free area with some shops and vendors on side streets, and we got the kids ice cream cones and popsicles as we walked around.
The sun was shining, and though the temperature was only 74/75, the sun felt noticeably hotter than we might expect at home, and when Robert checked the UV index it was around 12 or 13, so we were all grateful for our hats and were attempting to stay in the shade. Samantha (having roundly refused all hats we had at home) caved and found what Helen calls “an explorer hat” from one of the shops and agreed that she could actually wear that happily.
Though we had timed it correctly to arrive for the 11:45 ceremonial changing of the guard at the presidential palace, it seemed they weren’t doing that as it was Christmas Eve, so we peered a little at the lone, unchanging guard, and then walked around the corner to the Convent of San Francisco, where we waited 15 minutes for an English-language tour and meanwhile used their bathrooms and admired their large nativity—with zebras and elephants, yes, but also with the annunciation and the flight to Egypt. Helen loved the layout of it, as you followed the progression of the story around a large U-shape.
Once the tour started, Marcus quickly found himself feeling like he would have understood the guide better if she’d just spoken Spanish. Sure, some of her idioms and diction were off (she heavily overused the verb “organize”—everyone was organizing ceremonies and renovations and masses right and left, in her narrative), and some of her vowels and diphthongs took a bit of getting used to (“cloister” was…not target-like at all), but it was indeed her suprasegmentals, her repeated word-initial epenthesis on “state,” “speak,” “stare,” “start,” etc., and her Spanish-like rhythm and intonation, that made us need to focus very hard on her speech. As soon as your attention wandered from her words for even a second—and, as we were walking around the church and cloisters and looking at various paintings or ceilings or floors, that naturally tended to happen—you’d find yourself lost, perceiving no words from the stream of speech, and needing to focus all your attention back and try to draw yourself back into comprehension. It was a fascinating experience.
Beyond the guide’s pronunciation issues, we learned about the initial religious orders that accompanied the conquistadors, as well as the many earthquakes that had damaged Lima over the years. We also saw the Franciscans’ crumbling but still impressive library, as well as the famous Last Supper painting that has Jesus and his apostles dining on new world dishes of potatoes and roast cuy (guinea pig).
The end of the tour was a lengthy exploration of the catacombs under the church, where about 25,000 people had been buried between the late 16th century and 1810, when it was closed off and abandoned, only to be reopened and (“here’s where she can use the verb ‘organize,’” Marcus noted, “because these are some VERY organized piles of bones”) the bones were catalogued and sorted. The guide sounded quite proud when she insisted that these were all REAL bones, REAL skulls, and REAL skeletons around us, and it was very impressive. Since then, Franciscan brothers have continued to be buried in the catacombs—just last week a 92-year-old brother was buried there, according to the guide, and she pointed to indicate his resting place.
It was cool in the catacombs, and we all managed to escape without bumping our heads. The kids agreed that this was a worthwhile stop. From there, we walked about 15 minutes to Chinatown, stopping along the way to buy fresh-squeezed orange juice (a 16 ounce bottle for 2 soles) and some skewers of meat from a butcher with a little cooked-meat stall in the corner. A big food court/market on the edge of Chinatown was a fabulous stop—we got a flan and a strawberry blueberry smoothie (batido), and we browsed up and down the aisles of stalls.
Chinatown was jammed, with some guys doing performances on one of the streets, but we went into a chifa (Peruvian Chinese restaurant) and ordered a few dishes and had a nice lunc
At this point I should mention that Marcus has been great about using his Spanish while we’ve been here. He stepped in at the butcher shop, when Robert had ordered a skewer of sausage and what turned out to be a purple drink, and said en espanol, “Sorry, my dad thought that was meat,” so that the guy came out from behind the counter and gave Robert and Marcus a little tour of the different cuts of meat they were grilling, and then gave him an extra skewer instead of the drink. (Incidentally, after first reacting in surprised horror that someone might be offering us something grape-flavored, I suddenly realized no, this was that Peruvian purple corn drink—chicha, or chicha morado, not grape at all.) Marcus is also great at learning words and storing them away, and he’s pretty willing to try to say things when he wants to communicate or find something out.
So at lunch, at the chifa, we sat back and let Marcus do most of the ordering. It was a little confusing because we weren’t totally clear, when we ordered a wonton soup, which of the things listed with it on the menu were coming IN the soup and which were indicating a combo and were coming on the side, but we ended up with a wonton soup, two stir-fried noodle dishes, and a stir-fried beef and potato on rice dish.
After lunch we walked through some narrow streets around Chinatown, buying more popsicles for the kids and also a box of poppers, which they used as we moved slowly through the crowds of people selling everything—Christmas wrapping and bows, tree skirts, bedding, tee shirts, shampoo, hair dryers, capybara headbands and pins, and toys, toys, toys. It was a festive environment, and it felt like the entire city was there, at 2 and 3pm on Christmas Eve, in the hot sunshine, doing their shopping.
We eventually got to an uncrowded-enough street, where cars did seem to slightly move, that we were able to grab a taxi to head back to the hotel. The driver charged too much, but got us there, and then Robert took Helen and Samantha to the pool while Marcus and I read and napped in the room.Having had Peruvian Chinese food for lunch, we wanted to try Japanese Peruvian (Nikkei) food, especially fusion sushi for dinner, but the first location of Edo Sushi that we walked to had closed early for Christmas Eve. The kids had races in their parking lot (which in hindsight was suspiciously empty) while Robert called an Uber to take us to another location just outside the Plaza San Miguel mall. Dinner was delicious, though slow and complicated—ordering things on the side proved tricky, and I mixed up the words for fork, knife, and spoon, to great and hilarious ends. Eventually we ate ramen, some excellent appetizers (including garlicky edamame, a perfectly seasoned cucumber salad, tuna tartare tacos, and a Peruvian-seasoned sashimi dish), and a few interesting rolls. We had hoped to explore the mall afterwards, but only had time for a stop at an ATM and a cursory glance at the churro and alfajores stands before everything closed, and we walked back to the hotel in the clear dark 75-degree night.
We enjoyed our complimentary drinks (lemonades and pisco sours) at the hotel lounge. Then at midnight there were fireworks, though not as many as when we were in Panama City for Christmas Eve, and the kids completely slept through them. Christmas morning, Wednesday, we had the buffet breakfast at the hotel once again and then took an Uber to the airport for a flight to Cusco. Security was fast and easy, and we could keep our water bottles full. Marcus, Helen, and I sat at the gate and read, while Samantha and Robert explored a bit and found a lounge that had chicha morada, chocolate mousse cake, and spinach empanadas.
The flight to Cusco was only an hour, and when we landed we were met by a driver from Taxidatum, who took us in a van all the way to Ollantaytambo (about an hour and forty five minutes away) for 180 soles. He was an excellent driver, turning and merging effortlessly into the spills of traffic that flowed around us.
Samantha was feeling carsick, so I gave her a candy cane to suck on and she put music and headphones on and was able to go to sleep and keep the sickness at bay. The rest of us enjoyed watching the many unleashed dogs (friendly-looking, and seemingly well-taken-care-of) who darted in and out of traffic; the road-side rotisseries with fat guinea pigs (cuy) arranged in rows on their spits; and the mountains, river, and architecture.
When we arrived in Ollantaytambo, it was around 1:00, so we checked into our hotel, Apu Qhawarina (which means “lookout” in Quechua), and left our bags in the lobby while we got something to eat. We went to a second floor place just on the other side of the river and ordered alpaca kebabs, chaufa (Peruvian Chinese-influenced fried rice), a broiled trout dish with an herby sauce, and a pizza for the girls. The alpaca was Marcus’s favorite, and the passion fruit dressing on the side salads was a tasty surprise for me. Samantha tried the house-provided ketchup on some of the fries that also came on the side. Her verdict was “too gelatinous, with specks of something in there, and too sweet, in the worst way.” Though we decided that ketchup would make excellent fake blood for a costume or a play, after that we did carry some US-smuggled ketchup packets in my pocketbook with us to meals.
After lunch, we went back to the hotel and put our bags in our room (a family room with three twin beds and one queen), and then went to the Ollantaytambo Incan ruins, just past the restaurant we’d eaten lunch at. Ice cream cones (albeit small ones, but with a choice of three flavors, freshly scooped) were 1 sol from a vendor with a cart here, and the girls appreciated their 27-cent cones.
The ruins were the platform kind, with lots of steps but easy climbing because they’d built modern stairways into the hill to get from one level to the next. You had a really good view of the town from up above, and then we went down to the bottom and explored the baths and other structures there too.
There was a stone slab bridge over a small stream here, and I particularly appreciated that that bridge was not going to budge, ever, no matter how much jumping on it anyone tried. There were also a few alpacas and a llama hanging out in a grassy field, and a cow just on the other side. Helen was brave and went up close to the alpacas, while Marcus and Samantha and I sat on a bench over on the side and researched the differences between llamas and alpacas.
From there, we stopped for ice cream from an actual shop (excellent mango-passionfruit combination, plus a surprisingly good galleta flavor for Helen), bought bottled water, and played some Uno in the hotel room before dinner, which was at Chuncho, a farm-to-table restaurant on the second floor overlooking the town square.
We ordered the tasting menu for two people, including roasted guinea pig (cuy) and lamb, assorted meriendas, some little salads, and a trio of desserts con sabores andinos. We also got a duck with sauce, and more alpaca (tenderloin this time). Some of the little salads were tasty, and some were less so (one was particularly okra-like, and was none of our favorites). The desserts included a very good dark chocolate truffle, a quinoa pudding, and a yellow tomato jam. Marcus had ordered a chicha morada, which was lovely and refreshing, and Samantha a hot chocolate, which was entirely unsweetened. Marcus carefully grated salt onto everything that needed it and some things that did not, and Helen enjoyed the Quechua word search and phrase booklet on the back of the menu, while also designing a menu for a restaurant of her own.
During dinner, Samantha said “I think that boy goes to our school,” and indicated a teenage boy disappearing down the steps. “What?” I asked. “Why would you say that?” “Well, he’s wearing a sweatshirt that says ‘Latin’ and has a wolf on the back of it,” she said, reasonably enough. Sure enough, when the boy came back up the stairs, we poked Marcus and he looked up and said “Whoa…Ben?” and he got up and the boy came over saying “Hey, Marcus, bro!” and they dapped (“boy hugged,” as Robert likes to say) in the middle of the restaurant. Apparently he indeed goes to Marcus and Samantha’s school, and is even in his grade, though Marcus says they haven’t had a class together since ninth grade.
His mother came over and chatted a little, and said also she thinks her younger son was in baseball with Samantha a few years back (“I hope he wasn’t that obnoxious boy you punched that time,” I whispered to Samantha later). We all wished each other a merry Christmas/happy Chanukah (it was the 25th, after all), and finished our meal, the girls running out to the restaurant balcony whenever fireworks started. On the way home we stopped at a little place on the square to pick up a dish of salchipapas (hot dogs and French fries) for Samantha, who found dinner itself a little lacking.
The next morning, breakfast was downstairs in the hotel. Robert had coffee and I was given a choice of tea—chamomile, strawberry, or coca. Not coconut—coca rather is the local tea made from leaves of the coca plant (cocaine), illegal in the US. People say that a cup of it can make you test positive on a drug test, but also that its stimulant effects are so mild as to be comparable only to caffeine. People also say the tea helps aid altitude adjustment, and this was made with just the leaves floating thickly in the cup, not a tea bag. The taste was earthy and not unpleasant, though who knows if it really helped with anything. At any rate, it didn’t seem to hurt, and I am not addicted. There were also round flat breads with strawberry jam, and fresh-squeezed orange juice, and little cups of fruit with kiwi, strawberry, mango, banana, and custard apple. Robert had a second cup of coffee, and also asked for more mango, which she cut up for him.
We checked out and left our bags in a closet behind the lobby, and I changed into my “adventure sandals,” as I call them (Keens) for hiking. From our hotel it was a straight shot down an alley to a short hike up to the Inca granaries, Pinkuylluna, that had been built into the mountain overlooking the town. Samantha pulled off the trail and sat in the shade near the bottom, but I persevered until we got to the fork in the path just past the wooden bench.
At that point I turned to the right, while Marcus and Helen and Robert kept going up to the left—they would hike up to the main granary, and then take a loop path down to the right side as well. I tried to follow the path, but lost it in several places, and found myself in various dead ends. Still, I explored the other granaries, and eventually managed to find the path again and make my way down. It was quite windy at the top, and apparently that was why the Inca constructed their storerooms there—the wind kept their grain cooler and it stayed fresh longer. I also read that when Ollantaytambo was under attack from the Spanish, the Inca flooded the valley below and retreated to the mountains, where their food was already stored, to hold out longer.
We had more $0.27 ice cream cones after the hike, and then went to an early lunch at Sabor Magic, where we ate on the covered terrace overlooking the river. We had more alpaca kebabs, of course, and a trout dish, and chicharron de pollo, which in this case basically felt, to Samantha, like popcorn chicken. We also ordered a jug of lemonade (lovely and foamy) and a cup of what we thought was hot chocolate but was actually coffee with chocolate sauce.
After lunch, we went back to the hotel, picked up our bags, and walked down to the train station via another ice cream stop along the way (this time at one of the actual stores, on the road down to the train station).
Go back to web essays.
robertandchristina.com
was made with a Mac.
© 2025 C&R Enterprises
Email christina@robertandchristina.com
or robert@robertandchristina.com
Created: 1/05/25. Last Modified: 1/05/25.