This jungle fruit (found primarily in Peru but in other South American countries as well) has a subtle, almost caramel flavor with a starchy, grainy texture that dissolves in your mouth.

I bought 2 or 3 of these big Gloria bottles of lúcuma yogurt each time I hit the grocery store and would drink almost half a bottle each morning for breakfast. And while the yogurt is good, nothing beats the ice cream flavor. I would pick up an ice cream bar from the street vendors whenever I could, but getting lúcuma as a milkshake or dish of ice cream from a nice sit down ice cream establishment (like Artika near the Plaza de Armas) was mind-numbingly good. I can say without hesitation it’s my favorite ice cream flavor.

I’m not sure if this is a gaffe or Neil Patrick Harris’ Peruvian counterpart setting up shop south of the equator, but it got a good laugh out of me all the same. 80’s sitcom references aside, these types of signs are somewhat common down here–in fact, my favorite cevicheria in the entire city is called the Fory Fay, which I’m told was supposed to be ‘forty-five’. It’s also a great place for the terminally-indecisive to eat, because they actually only serve ceviche, which is a remarkable time-saver when placing your order.

Of particular note is the electrical circuit you need to flip on before you jump in. Note its uncanny resemblance to the executioner’s switch in an electric chair:

There is an art to coaxing an acceptable level of hot water out of these things, although to be honest even when the shower is at its maximum heat it’s still lukewarm at best. When turning the hot water on it’s necessary to move the knob very slowly with a keen eye riveted to the bathroom light. At the first sight of an almost imperceptible flicker you need to back off or the water will lose what little heat it has gathered and the process will need to be started all over again.

While showering it’s also important to not get too flamboyant with your hand movements, because slapping an exposed wire while shampooing your hair could potentially redirect the entire city’s power grid through your person and out your feet. I am fairly confident if Janet Leigh had her choice between this and the Bates Motel wash facilities she’d take her chances with Norman.

The electric shower is still superior to the other type of shower typically found in Peru–the solar-heated variety. Although solar showers usually provide much hotter water, they usually only do so for a maddeningly short period of time, which is right around high noon. For those with the luxury of waking up around the crack of noon I’m sure this is a brilliant invention, but for the rest of us they fall a little short.

This photo was taken from the shotgun position of Marco’s car as he attempted to cut off at the pass the catastrophic volley of GI discomfort that was surely on its way due to our heroic bout of street dining earlier in the day.

It’s fascinating to me how easy it is to self-diagnose maladies and self-administer remedies this side of the equator. Although the harder, more easily abused drugs are necessarily more difficult to get, most drugs that would require prescriptions in the states are readily available here. Of course antidiarrheal medications hardly fit into either of those categories, but from what Marco told me the pharmacist gave him a hard time of it anyhow.

(And yes, this pharmacy is being run out of someone’s garage, which is not at all out of the ordinary here, and no cause for alarm)

It’s amazing to see how much customization can be done to these vehicles; we saw Ticos with batmobile fins attached to the rear, devil horns on the roof, tassels dangling from the ceiling and a host of other forms of individualization. You’ll also see a great deal of Ticos with either quotes, names or dedications lettered on the rear windows.

One final word on the Tico; with a 3-cylinder engine and their drivers’ propensity to load them to the gills, you never want to be behind one when they attempt a steep grade, such as the almost San Franciscan-sized hill between Yanahuara and the Plaza de Armas.  I have personally witnessed a Tico give a valiant if short-lived struggle to crest the hill before giving up the ghost and careening backwards before shaving a few inches of their brakes (and the lives of those behind them).

You can’t experience Peru without riding in the back of one of these sardine cans on wheels. The worse thing is even if you can successfully board the rickety beast, at some point someone either getting on or getting off is going to shove ass, leg, arm or elbow into your face and leave it there until the combi comes to a complete stop or someone makes room for them. Both of these occurrences are infrequent at best.

After dropping off his grandfather’s car Marco and I decided to hop on a combi and ride it downtown to take a few pictures for old time’s sake. We almost decided to take one with standing room only but we quickly decided nostalgia only goes so far. Pardon the quality of the pictures as it was extremely difficult to get a good shot rocketing down the streets of Arequipa in a vehicle with a complete lack of suspension, held together by a prayer and a few strategically placed wads of gum.

This particular combi was nowhere near capacity, since we were taking it during off-peak hours, but even so it quickly became uncomfortable for the both of us.

When loading passengers the fare-collector hollers “Sube, sube, sube!”, which means get in. When dropping them off he yells, “Baja, baja, baja!”, which means get down, or get off. Halfway in between routes he will either shake the coins in his loosely held fist in your general direction, or ask for “Pasajes”, which in this case indicates your fare.  When you need to get off the combi, you simply say “Baja” to get off as soon as possible, or “Baja en la esquina” to be deposited on the nearest corner.