Huanchaco via Cockney

I´m on the clock at an internet dive by the northern shoreline of Peru, in a town called Huanchaco. I´m about to make my way over to the mini mercado [re. alleyway] where I´m going to haggle in Spanish over the price of some beautiful hand crafted, hand dyed leather sandals. It should be noted that I am a terrible haggler... while I was trying them on the other night for the first time, I had the very American woman reaction that would have probably been more appropriate over a pair of Frye boots in a Nordstroms [¨Oh my gosh I loooooove them! Don´t you just looooove them aren´t they just precious!!] The Peruvian keeper smiled and her eyes gleamed as she immediately raised the price about 20 soles. David ushered me away and we practiced looking vaguely unconvinced over delicious postres and the freshest ceviche in the country.. the takeaway is that I should basically never, ever gamble.

Peru has been a pretty charming trip thus far, as we´ve lazily drifted from Lima up the coastline. We´ve seen some good ruins [basically, if it´s broken and covered in dirt, it´s a ruin...learned that lesson about guides and booked tours the hard way in Trujillo] museums, beaches, and nightlife. The food has been mostly fried [chifa is a big one here, which is fried rice with everything they have in the scrap pile mixed in] or a product of corn, but I´ve had my fair share of scary chicken parts [Mallory, you take the cake with the goat liver in Africa].

The best thing about Huanchaco so far was the luck we had with lodging. As we were lugging ourselves up a random street toward the shining oasis of a Hostal´s neon sign, a lovely young local called out to us on behalf of her middle aged, beach worn patron sitting behind a stack of fried donuts. Do you want a room overlooking the beach, hot water and a private bathroom in a large, open air beach house for only 25 soles a night- yes. Keith is a 40ish Brit ex pat who lets rooms and hammocks in his rottweiler-guarded beachhouse at the end of the strip. It´s like staying at a luxury resort in Kona-- quiet, white washed, with low hanging hand woven hammocks grazing a glossy wood panel porch with a brick layed barbecue pit in the corner. Keith has given us great tips about where to eat, buy gifts, and where to see the ´real´ Peru. We spent the day trolling the mercados for fresh fruit and chasing crabs on the beach. Before we had keys yesterday we had to wait for Keith to come to open the door while Rocky the bilingual rottweiler lost his shit on the other side of the wall, and not five minutes past the point of wondering if we were lost Keith comes speeding up in the back of a bicycle taxi clutching dog biscuits and an industrial size package of toilet paper. He speaks what he calls ´Cockney Spanish´ and is thus a little less decipherable than the most articulate Peruvian, but so far we´ve figured out the important bits-- don´t walk by the rottweilers at night, and if we need towels or want to flush paper down the toilet it´s an extra 25 soles.