Ça Va? Ça Va. Voila! La Conversation dans le Parc.

First off, I want to thank everyone for the very kind words about the blog. I hope to keep you all entertained and informed (in that order), and it feels great knowing when I'm hitting the right notes. Keep the feedback, musings, character attacks, strongly worded emails, haikus, etc. coming.

Despite living in an arguably South American country I seem to be surrounded by all things French. Kike and Juan are French. Most of their friends are French. The large Belgian contingent all speak French. The bread they serve in the morning is called "Pan Frances," loosely translated as "French Pan." There is a French flag on the Casona. Many restaurants in the area serve French fries. I might be mistaken, but I am fairly confident that the roof dog responds to commands exclusively in French and barks at me in French. I'm pretty sure I hear "ça va?" each time I walk by, but who can be sure with dogs these days? As I mentioned previously, this city never ceases to surprise me. Therefore, I would like to dedicate another post to more of the unexpected aspects of Lima I've encountered:

There are tons of bakeries here. When I say bakery, I mean any place that sells bread (typically along with other basic food items), and these little shops seem to appear once or twice every block. I have no idea how the city supports so many bakeries nor how one determines the bakery with the best products (typically, one would taste the bread baked by a bakery to see how good it is. However, there are so many bakeries here that it would take forever to find one's favorite. I see approximately 12 bakeries on my 17 minute walk to work, and that is not including the bicycles that have been outfitted with a large plexiglass case for mobile bread sales. And I'm not even in the pan district! [pan is bread, and there actually is no pan district that I know of. Sorry for exercising a little literary license]). Now, the quantity of these bakeries is surprising on its own, but so are the bread product lines at these places. Typically, you will see Pan Frances, Ciabatta, Pancito, Pan, Baguette, and maybe Baguettino if you're lucky. I have no clue why there are so many foreign breads. I also have no clue what constitutes plain old Pan or wily Pancito. I will say that most of the bakeries make solid, if not outstanding bread, and there is amazing consistency from one bakery to the next. Maybe Limans don't need to pick a favorite bakery at all because they all have mastered the art of French and Italian bread.

There is a strange older gentleman who stands about 20 feet south of the GEA office for large portions of the day. He always faces the street at a 45 degree angle pointing to the north and has a perpetually blank look on his face. I always figured that he was someone's relative and they just stuck him out on the sidewalk while they went about their day. I know it's bad to say, but it seemed like he was "out of sight, out of mind" for his family. Well today, Susana and I came back from a nifty lunch at another Gaston Acurio outpost, the casual sandwich place "Hermanos Pasquale." I had the Tanquecito which is a bed of tacu tacu (rice and beans mixture) topped with lomo saltado (beed stir fry) and a fried egg (chicken egg which has been quickly sauteed) with friend plantain (fried banana-like item, but starchier) and French fries (not sure, I don't speak French) on the side. Round it all out with five dipping sauces (Huancaina, Ocupa, Crema de Rocoto, Anticuchero, and another that slips my mind) and we had a great lunch. Nifty, even. Anyhow, while she is beginning to parallel park her car, the older fellow springs into action and gives extremely precise instructions on when she should turn her wheels, the angle of entry, etc. And darn it if that guy isn't a great parallel parker. I still don't know for sure why he is out there, but maybe he's some sort of angel sent by the gods of parking. Or maybe he's just happy to help. Either way, I now give him a subtle head nod when I see him. I would tip my hat, but I don't wear a hat.

I have heard "Who Let the Dogs Out," the Baha Men's Y2K smash hit, twice now. Given the frequency with which I've heard other songs popular ten years ago, I'm not sure whether to feel happy it has been been played so rarely, or outraged that it has been played at all. But as they say "a doggy is nuttin' if he don' have a bone." Can't argue with that really.

July 28 marks Peru's independence from Spain, and throughout the month there are a number of small celebrations before the big day. I know that in many European countries the workers are paid for thirteen months of work. Therefore, one month of the year they get a double paycheck. What?! That's outta sight! Well you're right, if you said that, but it's even better in Peru. In the month of July the workers here receive TRIPLE their normal paycheck. Watch out ladies, Andrew is going to be feeling spendy come payday. What's that you say? No paycheck?? Well beans, so much for that grizzly bear underwear I had my eye on.

Though some say "I rule the midnight air," I'm not really cut out for partying in Lima on a consistent basis. To illustrate, about a week ago my coworker Melissa was holding a fundraiser party for the art festival she's planning. This party took place on Saturday night, and I had already gone out to bars on both Thursday and Friday. I knew her party started at 10pm. I was tired from the two previous nights so I decided just to show up for an hour and then take it easy the rest of the night. Knowing that parties here begin on the fashionably late side of late, I showed up at the venue at 10:30. No one was there and the doors were closed. So I ring the doorbell several times, but no one responds. At this point I am cold and tired and don't feel like waiting around for the party. When I talk to Melissa at work on Monday, she told me I was a little early. Apparently, the party didn't underway until midnight. Two hours later than the time I was told. Wow, Mr. Uptight over here certainly feels foolish. Better go adjust my suspenders and check to make sure my goldfish bowl is properly chlorinated.

In conclusion, here are pictures of the roof dog, Pierre.