There are five short stories I want to share with you today… and the first is most certainly the longest.

My Trip To The Peruvian Post Office

Today I woke up with two major goals:

1. Mail home some Peruvian souvenirs I’ve purchased over the past couple weeks.
2. Get a new battery for my watch (it stopped working last night).

So, I left my apartment sometime around noon and walked a short distance across town to the post office. When I got there, I was greeted by a number of street vendors selling envelopes, boxes and mailing tape. I was certainly in the right place.

After a quick look inside the post office, I realized that if I was going to get a box to mail home my souvenirs, I was going to have to purchase one from one of the street vendors parked at the entrance to the oficina de correos. So, I approached a young woman around my same age who was perched behind a small white cart piled high with yellow mailing envelopes and motioned to the girl that I needed a box.

Unfortunately, the girl didn’t have a box big enough to hold all my things, so she asked me to follow her to a friend’s cart, where I was able to purchase a box for 2 SOL… and together the two woman put a single strip of clear mailing tape on the bottom of the box.

After putting my Peruvian gifts inside the box I motioned for the women to tape the box up, but through my limited understanding of the Spanish language I was able to come to the conclusion that taping the top of the box closed before the woman at the post office inspected the contents was not allowed.

So, with my things now in a half-taped box, I got in line and waited to speak with the only worker at the post office – an unhappy looking, middle-aged woman with a giant frown on her face.

When it was finally my turn at the window, I approach and smiled while handing the box to the woman.

“Estados Unidos,” I said to the woman. She shook her head, took my package and inspected its contents briefly before placing the box on a scale and declaring the weight at a little under 3 kilos. She then pointed at a chart where the price for a three kilo box was listed and I shook my head in agreement – acknowledging the fact that this price would be acceptable (about 117 SOL).

Then, the woman handed me a form, asked me to fill it out and get back in line once I was finished.

So, I took my box and the form I had just been given and went to a dark corner of the post office where I attempted to fill out the paperwork I had been given.

Of course, this was more difficult that you might expect. I don’t know Spanish, so I was unable to read more than half of the words on the piece of paper. I was able to figure out where the destination address went and all of that, but everything else was a mystery. So, I filled out as much as I could and then get back in line.

Back at the window, I handed the form back to the woman and said, “I don’t have an address here in Peru. What address should I put as my mailing address?”

The woman didn’t understand me of course, but she knew what I was trying to say. She had an answer for me, but I couldn’t understand it. For nearly three minutes we exchanged confused glares. She’d say something to me and I’d say “No entiendo” and then she’d try and rephrase her sentence and the whole thing would start all over again. It was pretty darn embarrassing.

Finally I just wrote down my dad’s office address back in California as my mailing address and the depressed woman behind the counter seemed okay with that.

I thought it was time to pay for my package, but I wasn’t time for that just yet. After filling out that first piece of paperwork, the woman behind the counter then handed me a blank piece of paper and instructed me to write the mailing address on it and to tape the piece of paper to the top of the box.

So, I left the line again, wrote my parents’ address on the piece of paper and returned to the young woman where I had purchased my box. Once there, I asked the young girl if she would kindly tape the piece of paper in place and seal shut my cardboard box. Once that was done, I got back in line.

Surely, this was all I needed to do in order to mail my package. But no! There was more.

Now the woman behind the counter wanted to see my passport. So I fished my passport out of my backpack and handed it to her. She looked at the document, but she didn’t look pleased.

“No,” she said. “Fotocopia.”

I understood what that meant. She was telling me that I needed to leave the post office and go and get a photocopy of my passport. So, that’s exactly what I did.

I left the post office line once again and dashed out into the street with my box of Peruvian souvenirs. Down the street and across the way, I found a small hole in the wall business with a photocopy machine. I handed the young couple behind the counter my passport and asked for a copy. They asked for.10 SOL in return and I gave that to them as well. Then, with my passport photocopy in hand, I ran back to the post office and go back in line.

Back at the counter, the woman took my box, my passport photocopy and that piece of paper I initially filled out with my mailing address and all of that on it. Surely there was nothing more.

But there was more! Now I needed to be fingerprinted!

The woman at the post office then pulled out a small ink pad and told me to stick my finger into it. She then grabbed my wrist and instructed me to dab my finger on five different sheets of paper.

With my hands now dirty, I went to hand the woman my credit card to pay for this long and excruciatingly complex transaction. But there was a problem.

“No credit cards,” the woman said while she hung her head and shook her finger in my face.

Luckily, I had some cash on me… and it was enough to cover the postage for my box of souvenirs. So, I handed the woman a 150 SOL and she spent nearly three minutes inspecting the two bills – both with her eyes and with a special black light device she had permanently fixed at her size.

When she finally came to the conclusion that my bills were genuine she informed me that she did not have the proper change. So she called over one of the nearby security guards and asked him to run to a nearby bank and get change for the 100 SOL bill I had handed the woman.

With my transaction now complete, the woman told me to step aside and wait while the security guard went to get the proper change.

And I didn’t have to wait long. In just a few seconds the security guard returned and I was handed back my change.

“Muchas gracias” I said to the woman… and she nodded while waving in the next customer.

Now, I just have to cross my fingers that the package actually makes it to the United States. Apparently, I’ve got 25 long days to wait until I know whether or not it has made it.

Getting My Watch Repaired

After my long ordeal at the post office, the next thing on my to-do list was getting my watch repaired. The battery died last night, so I needed to get a new battery and have it installed.

After leaving the post office, I stepped out onto the street and asked a police officer standing at the corner if he knew where I could get my watch repaired. He said something to me in Spanish about going a few blocks down and then turning left, so that’s exactly what I did. And when I got there, I asked a store clerk in the area if he knew where I could get my watch repaired. He too told me to continue down the street a couple blocks and turn to the right. So that’s exactly what I did.

I did this about a half dozen times before finally stumbling across a man selling watches on a street corner. When I approached the man, a whole group of people from nearby shops gathered around to watch as I spoke with the elderly repair man.

I motioned to the man that I needed a new battery for my watch and he instantly understood. He took my watch, flipped it over and tried to pry the thing open with a pair of nearby pliers. But that didn’t work, so he called for his daughter to come over and search through a box of tools underneath his feet.

His teenage daughter then stuck her head deep inside the box that was wedged between the man’s legs and returned about a minute later with the necessary tool in her hand.

The man took the tool, set it on the back of my watch and pried the back of my timekeeper open. In no time at all, he had removed my battery and placed in a new one.

“Quince,” the man said… and I thought I understood him. 15 Soles is what I thought he said it cost.

So I dug into my wallet and pulled out a 20 SOL bill and handed it to the man. He handed me back a 5 SOL coin and I was relieved. I had fixed my watch… and I had indeed understood the man’s price. It’s taking a long time, but I am slowly learning a little Spanish.

Taking Out The Trash On Calle Prostituta

After repairing my watch, I returned to my apartment for a couple hours worth of work… and around 8 PM went back out to explore the streets of Arequipa.

I had a bunch of trash in my apartment, so I took three bags of it with me as I left and searched for a good place to dump the stuff.

You see, there isn’t really a place to put your trash here in Arequipa. Or, at least, I haven’t been given any instructions for as to where my trash is supposed to go. So, I’ve been doing what the locals do… and that is, I just leave the trash on a street corner somewhere… and when I wake up in the morning, the trash is gone.

So, I carried these three bags of trash out onto the street and after walking a short distance found the biggest street-side trash pile I have ever seen. Somewhere near the Mercado, there was a mountain of trash sprawled across the sidewalk and overflowing into the street. And swarming around that massive pile of trash were a number of people who were bent over, ripping open plastic bags, and digging through the contents of the rubbage. It was here that I tossed in my contribution to the mountainous trash pile and continued on my way.

A few minutes later, I quickly realized that I had stumbled across prostitute alley. In fact, I had stumbled across this place on my first day in Arequipa, and it didn’t take me long to realize I had stumbled across the same place yet again.

All along the street were women perched with their backs against the walls, facing out toward the street and whistling to men (myself included) as they passed by.

Not wanting to draw too much attention to myself, I picked up my pace and darted out of the areas as fast as I possibly could, brushing past two armed policemen standing on the corner as I finally made my exit.

Cross-Dressers Drag Me Into Their Performance

A few blocks up I noticed a large crowd of people gathered around what appeared to be a group of street performers.

I wanted to see what was going on, so I went over and tried to blend in with the crowd.

Once there, I realized that these street performers were men dressed up as women, performing some kind of sexual comedy in front of 300 or more onlookers.

My attempts to blend into the crowd, unfortunately, were poorly executed. Somehow I forgot that I was the only white person in the area… and I’m at least a foot taller than most Peruvian people. In other words, I stood out like a sore thumb.

And when the cross-dressing street performers saw that I was watching their performance, they instantly drew their attention toward me… and pulled me into their show.

The most feminine of the cross-dressing men came over and said something to me and the crowd in Spanish. Of course, I couldn’t understand what was going on, so I smiled and pretended to laugh at the jokes he was surely making about me.

Then the man stuck out his hands like he wanted me to kiss them. I certainly didn’t want to do that, so I just stuck out my hand and shoot the man’s hand like I would with any other person I had met for the first time. This got a small laugh from the audience.

But while the man had a hold of my hand, he bent over and started to try and look up my shorts. I, of course, pulled away. And when I did, the man turned around to the crowd of onlookers, called out something in Spanish, and held his hands out wide (which I can only assume was a comment about how big penis was). The crowd erupted with laughter… and I stepped backward, wishing more than anything I could understand what it was that the man had just said.

For another minute or two the cross-dressing men asked me about where I was from and made jokes about the Gringo from California. And then, when the men weren’t looking, I took off running down the street and quickly got as far away from their twisted street performance as I could possibly get.

(I’m over-exaggerating here at bit. Them calling me into the show wasn’t really all that bad. I think I handled it pretty well and I don’t think they were saying anything about me that was too outrageous. The people who were watching seemed to get a kick out of it and as I left the scene, many of the onlookers smiled at me so as to let me know that everything was okay.)

Peruvian Santa Claus

Just minutes after evading the cross-dressing street performers I saw a man standing in the middle of the street wearing what I thought looked an awful lot like a Santa costume.

As I got closer, I could see that that is exactly what it was. It was an old Peruvian man with dark skin and a white beard, standing in the middle of the intersection and selling chocolates of some kind to the passing taxi cabs whilst wearing a green and yellow Santa suit.

This was a photo opportunity I could not miss, so I pulled out my camera and when the passing traffic had cleared I asked the man if I could take his photo.

“Seguro,” the man said. So I stepped into the middle of the street and snapped the photo you see above.

After snapping the pic, the man asked me where I was from and if I would like to purchase one of his chocolates.

I was sure the chocolates didn’t cost much and I wanted to thank the man for letting me take his photo, so I paid 1 SOL for a Canonazo bar and wished the man a “Feliz Navidad.”

It was the perfect ending to what is very easily the strangest day I have yet to have here in Peru.