Buenas dias! Yo estoy en Peru y you no hablo Español!
Only because there is no such thing as too much drama in my life, my trusted Spanish translator, Caleb Dayton, started sneezing, sniffling and complaining about his sinuses two days ago and, despite the fact that his bags were fully packed, did not get on the flight to Newark/Lima with me on Friday April 9. Likely a f**cking blessing in disguise as a mere ten hours into airborne and my sinuses were dolorating despite maximal hydration (hourly trips to the loo!) and so much squirting of Dr. Karin Tansek's recommended saline stuff up my snout that the passenger seated next to me asked (thoughtfully) if I was a recovering cocaine addict. As more luck would have it, the spacious accommodations for two that I was told to expect turned out to be the size of a college dorm room with a single bed. If Caleb and I had arrived here together we would have both been greeted by the scene at the desk of an American tour guide having a meltdown about the place being full and not enough rooms for her group. For lonely and languageopenic mio it meant that I was actually relieved that Caleb wasn't with me to translate the screaming match. I felt blessed to see the tiny but very clean room and to stretch out alone in my little bed lulled to sleep by the all-night, high-pitched warble of a car alarm from the street outside.
So I have left my spouse (hopefully temporarily) to sort out my son and I will proceed to massacre the Spanish language on my own. I will report back as soon as I have found food, water and a suitable fitness center.
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