March to- Keep Fear Alive / Restore Sanity

National Crime & Punishment Museum

                                    Mike and Leslie Friday Jan 2, 2015

                     My next door neighbor at the museum

        All good things must come to an end

My Legacy

                  A Criminal at the 
National Museum of Crime & Punishment

         Thomas, (Producerism, see comment below) missing from the final lineup

High flying

So, What am I getting myself into this time?

Oh yes, a plane that I'm supposed to jump out of at 12,500 ft. above the ground.

Actually, it's more like falling out of the plane.

View from my point of.... See upper left corner of previous picture.

Becky, Rachel and I, back on the ground. Damn, that was fun.....one more time!

Rehearsals at Sky Venture

Shuttle launch

Great motel

Guns

Roses

Martinis

 Scromlets with celebrity chef

The Beach Boys...

The making of...with special thanks to Suzanne and Lee

No dogs, crabs or crabby old guys were harmed in the making of this photo.

6 days in Peru

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I was 10 years old when I first discovered photos of Machu Picchu.

They were in an old National Geographic I  had found at my grandmothers house. 
( Wish I still had that copy )
     I was extremely envious of Hiram Bingham and the exciting life he was leading.  Growing up in a small town in West Virginia...not so much.
    I was sure that I would never in my lifetime make it to Peru and that magical place on top of a mountain in the Andes.


     50 years later...

     At the entrance to Machu Picchu.  After having your passport stamped at the customs house (building on the left) you proceed down a small path and into the clouds.
     Discovering whatever was around the bend in the clouds reminded me of the entering Shangri-La scene from the movie Lost Horizon

                     Thomas photographs first look, not much to see...yet

                          The sun begins to rise and burn away cloud cover

                Thomas overlooks the 'city' as the clouds begin to rise and dissipate

 Early afternoon, crystal clear. Una Picchu (new mountain ) on the left, Huayna Picchu ( young mountain ) on the right. Machu Picchu ( Ancient mountain ) is the mountain behind us.

After going around the corner from customs at the lower right of this photo you encounter my so nicknamed "stairway from oxygenless hell".  It took me about 45 minutes to get to the top. Ten steps, rest, chew coca leaves, 10 more steps.......
                    The payoff at the top is worth every minute of the climb






                                                                Cusco

                  
     
    

                                    Eating Italian Food In Peru

     It was our last day in Peru and ‘T’ and I were planning our last meal in this magnificent city of Cusco.

   Thomas, affectionately referred to as T by his friends, and I had generally been searching out local and traditional foods of South America since arriving here six days earlier.

    In Aquas Caliente, after a very tiring day of exploring the unique city in the clouds that is Machu Pichu, we relaxed with a dinner of Cuy and Pisco. 
Cuy, of course, is what we refer to as guinea pig here in the states.  Cuy, pronounced ‘cooey’ has been a high protein staple of Incan life for thousands of years. Evidence of ‘cuy runs’ have even been found in the kitchens of Machu Pichu. Most tourists usually try cuy at least once when in Peru and it is often served spread out on the plate, and sometimes ‘dressed’ literally with a mini hat on its head and a small vegetable clutched between its teeth like a miniature roast pig at a South American luau. 

In Aquas Caliente we follow one of the locals up the hill to the restuarant with the best Cuy.  Thomas heads back down to 'downtown' Aquas Caliente also knows as Machu Picchu town. 

                         Cuy......tastes like chicken.....rubber chicken.

     Pisco comes in the form of the pisco sour cocktail. A mixture of pisco, a local white brandy, lime juice and topped with a foamy egg white.

     I’ve read that both Peru and Chili argue over which country originated the Pisco sour. The Peruvians don’t waste too much time arguing. They just know it belongs to them.

     On our first evening here in Cusco, T discovered ceviche, a seafood salad of red onion, avocado and fish ‘cooked’ by soaking it overnight in a citrus juice marinade. I tried alpaca steak with chicha beer. Chicha being the locally brewed pink; corn beer cooked exclusively by the women of Peru in private home kitchens.  In addition to chicha being available in most restaurants, the local women set up ‘lemonade stand’ type mini kiosks outside of their homes or hang a red flag over their front doors to let the tourists and locals alike know when chicha is available.

Alpaca steak sandwich

     T and I both fell in love with Cusquena beer. Cusquena is a slightly sweet, totally refreshing brand of beer that seems to be only available in Peru. I know because I have many times tried to find a distributor to track it down for me since returning to the states, to no avail.

     Although T and I have shared an office and have become fast friends over the last year, we could still be the most unlikely of friends. You see. T is in his early 20s.  I am in my early 60s.

     T spends at least one hour a night at the gym, I, however, spend the same amount of time each night crawling around my living room floor looking for the remote.

     Because of this great difference in age and lifestyles, some unusual scenarios have arisen.

     Although the day on Machu Pichu was easily one of the most memorable for each of us, it wasn’t always the easiest for either of us.

      Because of a recent knee injury at the gym, T sometimes had to crab crawl down many of the thousands of steps we had to navigate that day. The unevenness of the ancient hand carved steps combined with their steepness created a painful jolt with each step.

T maneuvering back down the many steps

     And because of my sedentary life style and age, I couldn’t climb up more than ten steps at a time. I would usually climb 10 steps; rest for ten minutes; chew on come coca leaves; then start the process all over again. It was a long day.

     To me there was a cosmic balance to our differences. I crawled up the steps, and T crawled back down.

     Today, our last day in Cusco was quickly shaping up to be one of those mismatched days.

     While Machu Pichu sits at an elevation of only 8,000 ft, and Aquas Caliente at only 7,000 ft., Cusco elevates from 11,000 to 12,000 ft. at its highest point Sacsayhauman the ruins that overlook Cusco.

     The majority of our time in Peru was spent in Cusco and I was exhausted.

     T and I had had enough of our culinary experimentations and just wanted some last day, readily known, comfort food. Italian sounded good to both of us.

                         Thomas at Plaza de Armas, Cusco, Peru

Earlier that week I had read the menu on one of the doors of an Italian restaurant at Plaza de Armas, just two blocks from our hostel. T agreed to check it out.  He wasn’t impressed. He had eaten at an Italian restaurant while I was passed out from altitude exhaustion the day before and he wanted to find it again. The problem being, T, being a child of his generation could get lost in his own home without GPS.  We had no GPS and didn’t even know the name of the restaurant if we did.  

                         Looking for Italian at the Plaza de Armas

Maria, the cutest kid in Cusco.  Yes, I bought the belt.

We started our search with I stroll around the complete Plaza de Armas.

Nothing looked familiar to T so we kept looking.

     I was wearing down.

     From there we headed north to the San Blas area, another four blocks, nothing familiar. 

     Thomas now headed west, past the restaurant I had suggested and we headed into a whole new plaza section of town.

     Yes, I was now calling him by his full name and not his nickname.

     I said,  “Thomas, stop, I have to sit here, I can’t breathe, I’ll wait.”

     I didn’t realize how bad I looked until the third person stopped and said to me. 

     “Sir, are you OK, do you want me to call an ambulance?”

     I assured her that I was fine, just resting while waiting for a friend.

     I could see Thomas about two more life threatening blocks away. He was leaning up against the side of a building, arms crossed. I could feel his impatience. The impatience of youth.

     I gave up, crawled up the side of the building, and headed back towards our hostel. I waved my arms over my head to let him know that I could go no farther and was on my way back.

     A few minutes later, Thomas went charging past me. He brushed up against me to let me know it was he and didn’t say a word to let me know he was angry.

     I shuffled one more block to find Thomas sitting on a park bench. Legs spread out and crossed to the front, arms fully extended across the back, Thomas owned that bench but still had nothing to say to me.

     So I stopped, turned towards him and said.

     “Thomas, we are only one block from that Italian restaurant I first pointed out to you.

      “That is where I am eating dinner tonight. It won’t be the same if you don’t join me.”

      We sat and ordered our usual, orange soda for T and coca tea for me.

We then spent a few minutes settling in and getting the lay of the land. Our fellow diners seemed to be from all corners of the world, all having a

carefree time, as tourists do, all lost in lively conversations and everything spread out in front of them looked especially delicious.

     Then T said:   “You know, this is the Italian restaurant I’ve been looking for. It didn’t look the same from the outside.”

     Everything turned white.

     Many scenarios passed through my head in a few seconds of time. One of the most violent involved me placing my palms under the edge of the table, flipping the table and all of it’s contents over Thomas’ head, followed by both of us on the floor with my hands around his neck squeezing really, really hard.

     The more relevant scenario was a flashback to a point in my youth. My mother was yelling at me, as often was the case. 

     “You little brat, you have worn me out today.  I’m not as young as I used to be and I can’t keep up with you anymore. Now get your ass in bed. And just wait till your father gets home.”

     The next part of what she said was the most relevant.

     “You don’t seem to understand that I’m not a kid anymore. But, someday you will. Mark my words, someday you will.”

     I think that day had finally arrived.

     My conclusion being that the worst thing my friend Thomas had done leading up to that moment was the very thing that I had obviously been guilty of for most of my younger years. I guess he too will understand.

     Someday.

     So we drank a toast to Peru, a memorable trip and most importantly, our friendship.

     We soon fell into lively conversation, blending In with the other happy tourists, reminiscing and laughing over the events of the previous six days.

     Years later we still get together for dinner occasionally. At some point the conversation always returns to that evening and eating Italian food in Peru.

For those of you who have commented that it is wrong and just plain disgusting to eat a cute little guinea pig.

...see below.                                                               We dined in good company!

A few years earlier