McPapas
I'm sitting at McDonald's on a leather couch, eating McPapas, the Peruvian version of french fries. This is the classiest and cleanest McDonald's I've ever seen.
Leather couches? Seriously!
Across the street I can see the massive and imposing Embajada de los Estados Unidos de America, or the American Embassy. It is circumferenced by a Jericho wall, painted a slick gray.
The first time I saw the embassy was on Monday, shortly after I hugged my parents goodbye in the Lima airport. The taxi driver pointed, "There it is, the temple of your country."
Oddly enough, it did kind of look like a temple. A really big, impersonal rectangular one. I was immediately embarrassed by the size and grandiose nature of the place.
My passport was stolen on Sunday morning, hence the trip to the embassy for a new one. Along with my passport, I lost my camera, wallet, guidebook, and every form of ID that I had. It wasn't, as you can imagine, the best of days. I was thankful to have my father's shoulder to have a little cry upon.
Now I'm doing a lot of waiting. A lot of making plans, then changing them again. A lot of paperwork and phonecalls and forms and proving my identity with a police report.
I wasn't allowed to enter the embassy on Monday afternoon, because they only passport cases in the mornings. Then Tuesday was a national Peruvian holiday, and the offices were closed. I finally was able to get the process started this morning, Wednesday.
Oddly enough, I didn't see a single American during my entire morning at the embassy. I guess I kind of imagined the buildings would be filled with smiling and English speaking North Americans, who would say kind things like, "Hey, we'll take care of you, our own flesh and blood." Alas, it was not to be.
Throughout security, paperwork, background checks, and solemn oaths to insure I really was who I said I was, all the facilitators were Peruvians who spoke to me in Spanish. The doors were dreadfully heavy, the security officers tense, the reds and blues of the flag faded in the hazy Lima sunshine.
As I passed out through the gates, still needing to return yet another time for my passport, I wanted to shake the embassy chill off of me. It is a no-man's land, not really Peru, certainly not the States, not a place that wants to claim me.
I came to McDonald's to watch the kids play in the McJuegos, and to eat McPapas. I'm feeling better.
Leather couches? Seriously!
Across the street I can see the massive and imposing Embajada de los Estados Unidos de America, or the American Embassy. It is circumferenced by a Jericho wall, painted a slick gray.
The first time I saw the embassy was on Monday, shortly after I hugged my parents goodbye in the Lima airport. The taxi driver pointed, "There it is, the temple of your country."
Oddly enough, it did kind of look like a temple. A really big, impersonal rectangular one. I was immediately embarrassed by the size and grandiose nature of the place.
My passport was stolen on Sunday morning, hence the trip to the embassy for a new one. Along with my passport, I lost my camera, wallet, guidebook, and every form of ID that I had. It wasn't, as you can imagine, the best of days. I was thankful to have my father's shoulder to have a little cry upon.
Now I'm doing a lot of waiting. A lot of making plans, then changing them again. A lot of paperwork and phonecalls and forms and proving my identity with a police report.
I wasn't allowed to enter the embassy on Monday afternoon, because they only passport cases in the mornings. Then Tuesday was a national Peruvian holiday, and the offices were closed. I finally was able to get the process started this morning, Wednesday.
Oddly enough, I didn't see a single American during my entire morning at the embassy. I guess I kind of imagined the buildings would be filled with smiling and English speaking North Americans, who would say kind things like, "Hey, we'll take care of you, our own flesh and blood." Alas, it was not to be.
Throughout security, paperwork, background checks, and solemn oaths to insure I really was who I said I was, all the facilitators were Peruvians who spoke to me in Spanish. The doors were dreadfully heavy, the security officers tense, the reds and blues of the flag faded in the hazy Lima sunshine.
As I passed out through the gates, still needing to return yet another time for my passport, I wanted to shake the embassy chill off of me. It is a no-man's land, not really Peru, certainly not the States, not a place that wants to claim me.
I came to McDonald's to watch the kids play in the McJuegos, and to eat McPapas. I'm feeling better.
posted by Ansley at 12:07 PM
1 Comments:
Ansley, I'm happy to have been your father and with you on the day you lost your passport. Seeing Sacsaywaman with you at sunrise is a memory I hope will always be fresh in my mind.
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