Mist (Missed)

I feel like I am in a horror movie.

I look all around, but my vision is clouded. The streets are still bustling with impatient drivers – the piercing honking of their horns reminds me of that much - but I can’t see far enough down the street to know what they are honking at. It doesn’t matter anyway, though; I know it cannot be anything important because Peruvians honk their car horns just as often as they breathe.

The fog has rolled in and overtaken the city just like 1 million armies have done throughout history. Smothering, commanding, refusing to be ignored – for some reason I cannot get the word “omnipotent” out of my head as this force swallows me up. It has overtaken me, yet I cannot feel it at all.

I am starting to think this is what love is - so engrossed by something that I cannot grab onto, feel, or hold, but all too aware of its presence all around me.

I mistakenly think that walking into the fog will be refreshing, that it will cleanse me, or that it will give me a crisp chill from its dewy kiss, but yet I feel nothing. I open my eyes only to find that around me is nothing. I continue forward towards the fog just ahead, but still nothing. It seems that wherever I am, the fog has just vacated. That it is always ahead, but never with me. I am always one step behind.

I am starting to think this is what love is – unobtainable.

I feel like I am in a horror movie. The fog has rolled in and clouded our vision.

Sea of Lights

The streets of Lima are dominated by "combis," or local buses, that cruise the streets and put my life in danger on a daily basis. These combis can cost a whole 20 - 50 cents for rides traversing the main arteries throughout the various areas of Lima, providing the city with its lifeblood of people that are simply in endless supply. I love the combi for its easy access, cheap fare, and ability to stop & go as it pleases as opposed to rushing to a designated stop to catch a ride. However that concept is laughable here, so best you ditch it from your repertoire before visiting Perú, or anywhere else in Latin America for that matter.

Just as I love the combi for my being able to flag down as I would any regular taxi, it is also for this reason that I hate it. Just when you think you've boarded the gravy train to a smooth ride to the other side of town, you've already made 5 impromptu stops to pick up Jose with his sledgehammer and random assortment of tools, Maria and her 5 crying children, and Tio Ricardo who makes you antsy just by looking at him.

However, despite being sardined into seats that never come close to accommodating the leg room of any person over 5 feet tall, while sandwiched in between your new friends Jose and Maria, it is this sort of masochistic madness and unpredictability that make the combi ride one of the highlights of my day. Sure, the drivers swerve around cars without batting an eye; come to unannounced, halting stops; and have a general disregard for any "rules of the road," but that all went out the window for me long ago as well, so I think we're all in agreement now - the combi drivers and I. Just get me to my destination as quickly as possible and in one piece and I will happily pay my 30 cents and ignore the fact that you nearly ran over that lady crossing the street with her stroller.

Anyhow, all of that to say that riding the official city bus of Lima is a treat when the occasion calls for it. The Metropolitano bus of Lima mostly follows the main highway cutting through the city, has designated stops, and even looks like a normal city bus, and not some cramped van bought off the junker lot. Most importantly though, there is a stop located 10 feet in front of my apartment building, which makes it rather attractive despite its steep fare of 80 cents.

I swipe my Metro card at the turnstile at the 28 de Julio stop and walk onto the loading dock for the bus, which is an island in between the northward and southward bound lanes of the Via Expressa, or main highway of Lima. The traffic whizzes by in a blur, but the Metropolitano Bus has its own designated lanes along the highway so that it can quickly and efficiently transport the swarms of people, a stark contrast from the world of combis found throughout the rest of the city. I sit in a real seat and appreciate the LED lights on the sign above my head that clearly spell out the upcoming, planned stop for me.

A quick 5 stops to the National Stadium and we have reached our destination. It's Sunday night and my friend and I are not alone among the mobs of families who have taken advantage of this mild summer evening to enjoy Lima's Parque de la Reserva.

Sea of Lights

The Parque de la Reserva was completed in 1929, but since 2007 has housed a "Magic Water Tour," which is the draw for what feels like hundreds of families on this Sunday night. Although I am not quite sure how they measure or distinguish this honor, the park and its accompanying magical tour of water, is the world record holder for "largest fountain complex in the world."

Fountain of Magic

There is a circuit of 13 different fountains to visit while perusing the ground, with its heavy hitter clearly being the "Fountain of Magic" that spews a fountain of water up to 80 meters into the air. 

Purple Haze

However, my personal favorite is the tunnel of water, under which you can fight through the crowds of people to make it to the end while trying not to come out the other end completely soaked.

Tunnel of love

Another crowd pleaser, especially for the young ones, is the ring of fountains that you can walk into. Levels of the water rise and fall, opening the window of opportunity just enough for young daredevils to run into the center of the fountain. However, it still confuses me when they seem perplexed and upset when they turn around only to find themselves trapped behind walls of water that now resemble jail bars of their aquatic jail cell. 

What goes up...

...must come down.