El Pedregal, the small village

We’re going to visit the rest of Erika’s family for a birthday—her aunt’s. But also to visit her grandfather and pick up her things.
My friend was born in this country, but she moved to Belgium when she was in elementary school; her family stayed behind. Her grandfather kept her room so she’d have a place to stay during her vacations. She doesn’t usually get to see much of the country, since, as she puts it, she stays in the sticks. My visit gave her the chance to travel around the country.

We took the bus—a 2.5-hour trip. It cost us 9 soles each way in a minivan, which was relatively comfortable and even had a TV as a bonus.
I’ll admit it’s a far cry from the luxury buses in Thailand, but we’re not complaining for the price.

I’d been feeling worse and worse since I woke up; I think I have the flu or a sore throat. Even the effervescent tablets aren’t helping. I found out that Howard ended up spending the night in the hospital with food poisoning, and Erika wasn’t feeling well either—she had a stomachache. We figured it must have been something we ate at the Mollendo market on Sunday: a ceviche that wasn’t quite as fresh as it should have been.

As soon as we arrived, we went to Erika’s grandfather’s house, where he was waiting for us to have dinner. As for me, I forced myself to eat the fish, but it felt like I was swallowing thousands of needles all at once (and it wasn’t the fish bones). After dinner, we went to the local pharmacy, where they were already trying to sell me antibiotics without a doctor’s consultation. I just asked for throat lozenges—sold individually—and a throat spray. I had some anti-inflammatories with me.

We were exhausted by it all—the travel, dealing with our illnesses, and, in my case, my flight issues. We dropped off our dirty laundry at a dry cleaner’s and had to head to her aunt’s birthday party; her aunt had just gotten married a week earlier.

They took great care of me, offering me something to drink for my sore throat. In the end, I think I tasted my best Pisco sour so far, made by her aunt Noela’s husband. We also used the computer to plan our trip north, where it’s usually warmer.
A Pisco sour is a drink made with one glass of Pisco, one glass of aromatic lime juice, two glasses of a thick, sweet syrup, and the egg whites from two eggs—a real treat, but it was torture to swallow because of my sore throat.

Before leaving, someone offered me a hot Pisco to soothe my throat—a kind of grog made with Pisco and orange. (I love grogs 🙂 ) My temperature spiked suddenly; it was time to head home. I fell asleep very quickly.
The next day, though I was still having trouble swallowing, I felt a little better. I had some hot tea and papaya juice. I forced myself to eat, but it was difficult.

We took a short tour of the city and visited Erika’s family before lunch.

After picking up our laundry, we went to her aunt’s house one last time to say goodbye to her whole family; they hope to see me again next year at the very least, and they were sad to see Erika leave. For the first time, she didn’t stay very long.

It was time to pick up our things and head back to Arequipa before nightfall.
We’d take a quick tour of the city, grab a bite to eat, and get some sleep.

Tomorrow, a short tour of the city awaits us.

See you soon,

Ninve