¡Porque Perú!

One night, when we were living with the señora, one of our housemates mentioned that she couldn't buy a Metropolitano bus pass at a certain station. Unsure whether she meant that a dispensing machine was broken or if that particular station just didn't sell passes, period, I asked why: "¿Por qué?" Before our housemate could answer, the señora interrupted. "¿Por qué?" She sniffed. "¡Porque Perú!"


Why? Because it's Peru!


It became a joke, one that Sam and I would tell each other on occasions when we thought something was funny or strange. Why was the señora so particular with us? ¡Porque Perú! I had to go to the doctor and called up Christina's clinic, which has multiple locations. When I asked how much it would cost, the voice on the other end asked which office I planned to visit. "Why?" I asked. "Because the price is different depending on which clinic you go to," she said. "It's 70 soles in Chorrillos or downtown Lima, 100 soles in San Borja, and 120 soles in San Isidro." ¡Porque Perú! The postal carrier delivered a package from my mom, but when I asked where her other boxes were, he asked me for a special tip, told me of course it was not necessary, but that it might help the rest of the packages arrive. ¿Por qué? ¡Porque Perú!


And then it passed from our daily usage and I forgot about it, until last weekend. We had decided to go to a free concert we'd read about in the newspaper, one that sounded like it would be Spanish-style flamenco guitar music. Sign us up!


The concert was to take place in a museum located in a new (to us) Lima neighborhood, so we went early to explore. There was a lovely little plaza in front of the museum, complete with a beautiful photo exhibit, so we played with Simon and looked at the art.


We still had an hour to kill, however, so after awhile, we started to leave and explore side streets. Then I noticed perhaps a dozen people lining up for the concert. A line forms an hour ahead of time for guitar music? It seemed excessive but I got in line too while Sam and Simon continued romping around.


A guard came out after 20 minutes or so and told the line of people, now over 100 strong, that the invited guests were welcome to enter through a different door. "What about those of us who were invited by the newspaper?" called out the woman in front of me. "Where do we go?" The guard smiled faintly and said the doors would open soon.


"When are the doors supposed to open?" I asked her. "Hmpf," she said. "This is Perú. They were supposed to open a half hour ago. If we're lucky they'll open by the time the concert starts."


We eventually got in and were surprised that the auditorium was so small and already so packed with people. Our plan - to sit in the back, on the aisle, in case we needed to make an early exit, but leave at intermission regardless - was foiled when we ended up in seats as far away from the exit as possible. Okay, that's fine, I told myself. Don't panic. Simon will be OK for half the concert. We just need to make it to intermission.


The guy in front of us had a program. "Can I see that?" I asked. "Or, could you tell me when the intermission will be?" He offered me the program but rolled his eyes: "Don't trust it. There is an intermission listed, but this is Perú. You can't trust what they tell you."


After a lengthy wait during which I worried incessantly about how Simon might behave during a concert where one is supposed to be quiet, and berated myself for thinking that a concert near his bedtime was a good idea, a woman stepped up to address the packed house. "We are sorry for the delay. There are over 100 people waiting outside to get in and we are trying to convince them to leave. We will begin in five minutes."


A half hour later, after four loooooong introductory speeches by various important people, the musicians entered. After tuning their instruments, the harpsichordist abruptly stood up and said, "No flash cameras, please; it will damage the paintings." She started to sit back down, then straightened up again. "And there will be no intermission."


Arrggghhhh! ¿Por qué? ¡Porque Perú!


Simon was mesmerized for six pieces, tranquil for three, and ready to go for one. We snuck out, jostling about every person possible between our boy and our backpack, ready to make our way home. "Wait," said a guard. "You can't go back out that way." He started walking with us. "There are still people waiting outside and if you leave from that door, they will want to come in." He took us deep into the bowels of the museum and we exited through a guard shack onto a dark side street. How sneaky!


We walked around to the front of the building and saw perhaps a dozen hardcore devotees waiting at the door. I have a pretty good idea of what they were saying to each other.