I arrive to Lima, Peru, from Santiago late afternoon through a blanket of mist. Apparently there is only grey cloud cover for most of the year. I have an address but without wifi I have no way of contacting my host.

Lima International Airport has a serious police presence with drug dogs and uniforms everywhere. I feel very safe yet at the same time concerned that they’d need such measures.I prepay for a taxi (the norm is that a price is decided beforehand) and we drive out into the afternoon peak hour traffic. Immediately my driver switches on the radio and I’m listening to Latin beats. He asks me if I want to take a quicker option. I say no as I have plenty of time. My host is not expecting me for at least an hour.

 

An hour later we have moved probably only a quarter of the distance. Traffic here, I discover, is part of the Lima ‘experience’. I relent and we head to the toll road which is only marginally quicker. The number of near misses in the chaos that is Lima traffic increases by the minute. Drivers use indicators  but they seem perfunctory, as they move quickly from lane to lane, sometimes sharing a single lane with other cars, buses, or trucks. Every few minutes my driver hears a sharp intake of breath from the back seat, even over the Latin music. Every now and then he strokes a picture of the Madonna hanging from the rear vision mirror, then genuflects with eyes closed, while driving. I believe it it because there is a 90% Catholic religion belief here but I hope he is also praying for our safety on the ride.

 

When waiting in the traffic, vendors take their lives in to their hands by wandering through the lines of cars selling everything from food to electrical goods. Two hours later, after using my driver’s phone to call my host and assure her that I am still on the way, we arrive in darkness. My stress levels are through the roof. My host is waiting outside her home for us. I feel relieved to finally arrive and sorry to bother her.

‘No importa’, she says. It doesn’t matter.

I have organised to stay with her through a group called Servas, a sort of cross between couch surfing and a non-political and non-religious peace organisation that encourages international relations and understanding through networking. It is more safe than couch surfing, I feel, because it is cheap but not free, and you need references to join. Their ideals relate directly to mine, that is of encouraging connections with people of diverse cultures.

She is calm and happy to greet me. I have sent her my Servas Letter of Introduction so she knows all about me and vice versa. She is an agricultural scientist who works with remote Peruvian tribes assisting them to grow and export coffee and other products for their financial benefit.

By now, my cold and cough are evolving into a chest infection, so I start myself on antibiotics that I have brought from Australia. But seeing how ill I am, my host brings me into her kitchen, sits me down, and immediately makes me a ginger/lime/honey concoction which warms me to the bone and hits my illness on the head. I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have someone who knows the benefits of these ingredients in combination to heal, and has them readily available.

We chat about ourselves, she in English to practice, me in Spanish to practice. She decides to organise a day tour of Lima for tomorrow for me through a friend of hers – it is cheap because of this connection. I am given my own room and bathroom. I cannot believe my good fortune. I have only brought a small suitcase for my trip to Peru, and have left the rest at Marcia’s. I have a flight to Cusco the day after tomorrow, so I am very happy to see some of Lima. Using her wifi I make some quick phone calls home, then slip into a deep slumber.