excerpt from my journal, stranded for five hours at the Lima airport.
I am sitting at a sushi bar at the airport in Lima, Peru, where I have just had the best sushi of my life possibly (I mean, Lima is the gastronomical king of South America, and I think this airport is seaside—so a breaded calamari with flounder and cream cheese and avocado roll wrapped in sesame seeds, yes!), and the server—between asking if I have a boyfriend—has somehow talked me into ordering another pisco sour, and a double pisco at that. Peru pricing—even at an airport—makes this all a feather touch on my severely beaten pocketbook, and reminds me that, though my time in Peru was punctuated by transit difficulties and small annoyances (cough broken iPhone cough), if I were to come back, I would be back for the food. Best. Food. Ever.
Also, I am going to be drunk for my flight from Lima to Quito. Damn.