It’s our last day in Miraflores. We moved slowly, trying to make our plans. I continue taking steps toward securing a family visa and extending my stay in Peru. It’s a slow and challenging process, mostly because I have no idea how this puzzle will look once all the pieces are in place.
My parents keep exploring. Miraflores doesn’t feel like Peru—it’s so different from Abuelita’s house. Life here feels easier and more convenient, but I long to be back at Abuelita’s, in her care. I miss her hugs and the way she kisses the tops of our heads each morning. Although she and I have walked very different paths in our lives, I feel at ease when I’m with her. I feel understood in a way that’s hard to describe.
I feel nostalgic for our life in the United States. My thoughts are half-formed and wrecked with worry. I feel pressure to hold it all together and not fall apart. My life feels reduced to this identity: the wife of an immigrant, shackled to her circumstances.
We pack up everything we have—toothbrushes, medicine, clothing, toilet paper, shoes, books. I prefer to travel lighter than this. My stomach roars to life, anxious about the trip ahead to Puente Piedra. Travel by car here can be slow and hot. Thankfully, we only have an hour and a half to go.
Our van pulls up. It has many seats, but no trunk. We begin piling the luggage onto one seat—the bags are stacked nearly to the ceiling. I feel nauseous but climb into the back anyway. I rest my upper body on a spare tire on the seat. My wrists and fingers tingle. It’s a warm day, especially in this non-air-conditioned car.
We set off. My nausea worsens. Leave me in a grassy patch—or better yet, in front of a hotel where I can check in and lie down. We wind through Miraflores and along the coast. The tingling in my hands intensifies. I’m screaming on the inside to get out. “Leifer, we need to pull over.” He tries to get the driver’s attention. There’s no good place to stop on the coastal highway, just a narrow shoulder. Eventually, the driver pulls over, and I climb out. I’m shaky and exhausted. Across the highway, I see a park—I want to lie in the grass. But eight lanes of traffic, four in each direction, separate me from the ocean. Could I make it? I’m not thinking clearly. My dad moves me to the front seat. I know I’m panicking. I close my eyes.
“Now I’m the immigrant,” I said through tears at Tía Trini’s table. After visits to the immigration office and the U.S. Embassy, this truth was becoming clearer. I can only stay here three months at a time on a tourist visa. With a relative visa, I could stay for two years. But I need my fingerprints taken to apply. The logistics are complicated—and I’ve been torn about whether I should return to the U.S. to take care of it and other matters.
Persona Ideal plays in the taxi. It reminds me of when Leifer and I were first dating—tears welled in my eyes. We have a relationship worth fighting for, and the Peruvian visa system seems determined to test us.
Tía Julia asked me if I wanted another child. “Leifer says no,” I replied. Leifer added, “How are we going to have more kids when we don’t even have a home right now?”
“No casa, no país, no trabajo,” I said.
We all laughed. Leifer always says you must laugh when things get hard—otherwise, it will get you down.
Today is my dad’s birthday. Tía Julia made fish for lunch. After a four-hour trip to the Interpol office that ended in a failed attempt to get my fingerprints taken, I was grateful to be back around the table with my family. “Chocho!”—a fresh bean salad with lime, onion, and salt.
Photo: My brother-in-law Chachi with my dad for his birthday.
Abuelita called Leifer. She said she had a dream about him last night and wanted to check in. But it wasn’t Leifer she was concerned about—it was Lucca. I think she senses that all of us wish to return to Mancos.
From Dad, please realize my writing is more from a tourist point of view and I hope does not take away from the real struggle Abby and Leifer are dealing with. They are essentially dealing with two bureaucracies which is enough to drive anyone insane.
Money exchange is fairly simple in the Miraflores area and I am sure in others. Miraflores is the most likely area you will stay in as it caters to tourists and is claimed to be one of the safer areas. There are other areas that are relatively safe as well.
The Peruvian money system uses "solas" which are roughly equivalent to the US dollar. 1 US dollar is worth about 3.5 to 4 solas. For example, a 20solas meal is about 5 US $.
There are many currency exchange places. Importantly, they like to give out high denomination bills but when paying for things most people don't like to receive high denomination bills. One must learn to keep on top of their money situation in order to always have low denomination change.
One way around the currency issue is to use credit cards but they are not accepted everywhere.
We mostly get around with inDrive or Uber. There are apps for both on your smart phone. With inDrive, you need the correct change because that is how they roll. With Uber, you can use the credit card you have registered with your account.
Riding in Peruvian traffic can be quite the thrill. The use of the horn is more important than signal lights. Short taps of the horn usually suffice and typically a city block isn't traveled without using the horn at least once and quite often many times.
With so much use of the horn, you might think there is a lot of anger or road rage involved but surprisingly not. I have seen a few drivers get the side eye from other drivers but not many.
Adherence to lanes does happen but there is a lot of moving from one to another.
Major intersections have signal lights but most intersections have no lights or stop signs. However, these intersections do have speed bumps where a stop sign would be in the US so that everyone has to slow down when approaching the intersection. This system allows one set of cars of cross traffic to make it through and sometimes 2 sets. Kind of similar to a US intersection with stop signs but here there is no waiting. The overall effect is that usually a car will progress through an intersection without stopping completely.
Driving in Peru requires drivers to commit without hesitation. If you hesitate, people do get mad at you.
To finish this up, all 7 of us squeezed into a small 4 door car the other night headed for our Airbnb during rush hour traffic. The driver had a good sized tv screen in his dashboard tuned to a soccer game between Peru and Argentina. An important game for Peruvians. I think the driver was keeping his eyes on the road but I can't be sure about that. Anyway, we came upon what seemed like an 8 lane thoroughfare that was perpendicular to us. The traffic was at a dead stop and would occasionally move about a car's length. Unbeknownst to us passengers, our objective was to get to the left hand turn lane across all 8 lanes of traffic. And there was no merging involved with this operation. We were going perpendicular to the flow of traffic and at any time taking up 2 lanes. To top it off, it all seemed kind of a natural thing to do. No one honked their horn more than normal and we were basically let through. And we made it without a scratch. Damnedest thing I have ever witnessed and I have 3 other adult witnesses.
I’m glad you made humor out of it. Man oh man- what an incredibly tough situation . Like Lois, sending love. Big love❤️. I wish that were enough to give you what you need- a pais!