Of Pisco and Peru: Lima Pt. 3

Auntie M jams the Yaris past a Volvo-driving soccer mamacita with a giant bumper sticker of Peru’s flag shaped like a pair of flaming lips. Unsure, I gently tap Auntie M’s shoulder.

She gives me an annoyed look. “Why es you poking at me?”

“Just checking.” She’s real, alright.

I recognize the Modern Art Museum as Auntie M bites her bottom lip, barreling down the curves on Quebrada de Armendariz. We descend past the chic high-rise condos flanking us for a stunning vista as the Pacific’s deep blue fades out, unfurling into the gray of the horizon.

“¡Eso!”

Wow! With both hands I clutch the bottom of my seat as she speeds past traffic into a gravity-fed right turn running north onto Circuito de Playas. I stare helplessly at the crowds of surfers and power joggers along Playa Makaha and Playa Waikiki, knowing full well we’re going the wrong way.

But things aren’t always as they seem and Peruvians definitely have their own way of doing things. I look over, wanting to tell Auntie M to ease up, that we’ll make better time going the wrong way at a slower pace. But she’s locked in, doing what Limeños do best: driving like a ceviche-eating bat out of hell.

She glides through traffic like a World War II bombardier ready to drop the Big One. The Yaris, “El Tigre”, has enough dents, bumps, dings, scratches and stripes to ward off potential passing predators.

Without warning, she busts left into a nook for a turn-out. Ignoring the honking, she stares at the onrush of cars whizzing by. A large Subaru capers in behind us, trying to keep its ass end out of traffic. The driver faithfully applies the one-second rule and blasts his horn.

Auntie M grits her teeth. “¡Ya Pues!”

I follow her eyes as she calculates the slim distance between us and an oncoming taxi. No! That’s not enou —

Her foot pounds the gas pedal. We burst into the imaginary safe space in front of the charging cab driver, bracing for impact. A horn blares. . . and then. . . I guess we have enough room.

Auntie M stares back from her rearview mirror and squeals “¡Ya Pues!” in a high pitch. It’s a flexible word combo. I’ve learned it can mean any of about five things, ranging from exasperation to disbelief.

Stretching my neck, I look back just in time to see the cabbie punch his steering wheel and flip us off. Hmmmph. I’ve been in Lima too long. I’m enjoying this.

The ending: https://readmedium.com/the-perfect-pisco-sour-56a527409fa4

Cheers.