April 28, 09 by Sergio Reyna
I am a real fan of ceviche. In fact, I am a real fan of seafood in general. But my favorite by far is ceviche. Imagine sushi but marinated with Peruvian lemon, and supplied with sweet potato, corn of the cob, stripped onion and chili pepper. A place where ceviche is served is called cevichería here in Peru. As I was told there are also cevicherías in the United States, but most or a few of them don’t use Peruvian lemon but lime so that the flavor is rather different. You should definitely come to Peru to taste the genuine ceviche.
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April 26, 09 by Sergio Reyna
Deisy and I had to run in order to catch the double decker bus.
“Double decker bus in Lima, like in London?”, I asked her when she told me about it.
“Oh, yeah! Open-top double decker buses, indeed”.
“Then, we should go for it as soon as possible”.
“Chévere!”, she called out joyfully.
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April 11, 09 by Sergio Reyna
I could hear the cathedral’s bells tolling as I was about to spot the Nazarenas square walking down Pumacurco street, just three blocks away from the main square in Qosqo.
Darkness still spread over the city as it was 5:30 am. Dozens of silhouettes were loomed by the morning twilight. Men, women and even kids were heading for the cathedral. Like me, most of them wore shawls and wool caps since it was rather cold out here.
There were women by the façade selling white candles and incense. Most worshipers held light green crosses made of palm branches. A few people bought them at that moment from street vendors. A girl showed me a small cross made of a plant called “chonta”. She told me I might hang it on the back of my door so that evil energy would be defeated. This cross was trimmed with dollars notes, maize, and “huayruro”, a kind of red bean, all of them aimed to bring luck and fortune.
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April 01, 09 by Sergio Reyna
My feet are fastened on the surfboard. My arms move vigorously, and I can sense the balance just in the middle of my body. My waist and hip turn smoothly and quickly in order to face the big swells. I ride left and right breaks and barrels. Just before the moving ridges batter its pointbreak on the shore, I plunge in the water. Sergio, the instructor, cries out to me: “great, now, go on”. “Sure thing”, I shout at the top of my lungs.
I lift my head from bed when my cell alarm fires off at half past five in the morning. Somebody claims dreams come true?
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