Days 80 - 82: futher adventures in Lima.

It seems I am destined to lie in dentists’ chairs around the world. My teeth are like the United Nations – they are sporting Hungarian, Thai, British and now Peruvian work. Since I’d lost that filling on the Inca Trail, there’s been practically nothing left of my back molar, so Mike convinces me to go see his dentist brother-in-law, Lucho, who apparently knows what he’s doing. I try to tell Mike that it’s not as simple as that, that it takes years to build the trust between dentist and patient, but he just doesn’t listen.

So I agree to a free checkup and Lucho confirms what I’d already suspected – that I need a crown, as well as a root canal and another urgent filling. Am dubious about the root canal, because according to Lucho, there’ll be very little left of my tooth, so he’ll have to rebuilt it using an artificial pin and a crown, but in the end I agree to the back crown at least.

I’ve had a phobia of dentists for as long as I can remember. Though I myself have never experienced serious pain at their hands, I’ve heard horror stories told by my parents of dental surgery in the Soviet Union, which was performed without any anaesthetic and which you’d regard as a session in a torture chamber. When I was a kid, I thought that by the time I was old (i.e. sixteen), I’d be over it. When I was sixteen, I figured that my fear would disappear by the time I hit twenty. I’m almost thirty and I still find myself lying rigid in the chair, mouth wide open, eyes bulging with the anticipation of pain that may or may not come. Going to the dentist is so undignified – it’s just like a visit to the gynaecologist. The only difference is the orifice in question; the discomfort and the vulnerability are about the same.

Lucho isn’t using the sucky tube thing, so I find myself spitting blood every minute; I must’ve lost about a gallon. I may have to rename myself ‘Bleeding Gums Kaminski’, like ‘Bleeding Gums Murphy’ in The Simpsons. Lucho thinks it’s hilarious that whenever he stops the procedure, I sit up and ask him: “Is it over?” There’s no pain, though, and after chomping down on a mould filled with yellow putty and fitted with a temporary crown, I’m released until the next visit. Lucho tells me that I may have a sugar-free sweetie for being so brave. I get the impression that he and Mike are making fun of me.

Dental adventures aside, I keep writing. Sometimes the writing is methodical, i.e. I focus on a particular part of the chapter, like Nazca, and try and work through that, but most of the time I find it difficult to focus on anything for too long and resort to flicking through the text, pausing at bits that I feel like updating at the time, and figuring I’ll fill in the gaps later on.

The map work is progressing nicely, though in order to complete the city maps, I first need to make a final decision as to which hostels and eateries to include for each city, and I’ve been known to agonise for hours over the merits of a particularly good dessert spot versus an equally good kebab joint. You can only include so many.

Have just re-read the chapter brief prepared by my editor, with suggestions for where to cut text and where to expand. Feel very protective of my Nazca section when I read that James suggests leaving the Nazca Lines but cutting all the outlying archaeological sites. I will argue against that vehemently; as it is, Nazca is viewed very much as a one-day destination, when it’s got so much more to offer. I wonder if I’d have liked Nazca as much if I hadn’t had an excellent guide and if I didn’t enjoy looking at human remains…

Since it’s the weekend, Mike, Monica and myself go out and explore more of Lima’s culinary delights. We visit Mar Azul, where the signature ceviche comes covered in a rocoto sauce; it’s tasty, but the ceviche purist in me rebels against the sight of bright red ceviche, as opposed to just chunks of white fish in lime juice. We meet up with a Couchsurfer who stayed at Mike and Monica’s before I arrived; she and her new friends meet us at a random little market stall which specialised in all things fishy, so it’s more ceviche for me, as well as seafood-fried rice. I thought I could go on eating the two indefinitely, but I think I may have reached saturation point as far as rice with miscellaneous tentacled things is concerned; I don’t understand why an average portion of rice should contain about seven pounds of boiled octopus. Yum rubbery yum.

What I haven’t lost the taste for is chicharrón, so will make sure to fit it more deep fried pork belly sandwiches before I leave. So much to eat and so little time.

I’ve begun to put down roots in Lima, so am not looking forward to having to uproot myself and fly home in two days. Still, I’ve got my hot date with Leo tomorrow (or mildly hot, since Mike’s coming along too)…