I'm a bit too tired from intensive Spanish and from checking out Barranco, the suburb of Lima closest to the sea, late last night to be coherent. That's the problem with staying out late... everyone over a certain age knows there's a price in the near future. The night is precious for the price yet unpaid. Uh oh, here I go again, waxing poetic. Should just remember the sensory details... The slightly salty smell of the night air by the water; across from it the lit-up cross, so far yet so large; the infectious Latin dance music, the young man dancing on the table, a girating column of muscle shirt, bare midriff, throng underwear visible above very low-slung camouflage jeans; and the excellent Peruvian delicacies at four in the morning: anticucho, cow's heart as a kebab; picarone, a soft donut-like dough lightly fried and served with syrup, and chicha, the famous sweet drink made from purple corn. I'd have them any time.