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  • Writer's pictureStreetViewVagabond

Streetview Fiction #2: Flavor Wolf - Lima, Peru

Sitting in the back seat I can feel every bump, divot and rock on this unpaved road. I am 6 inches above the back wheel, 12 inches off the ground. By the looks of it, we're also on the edge of cliff with a 100 meter drop. I hate heights.

My focus turns to only one thought: "Please pass the garbage truck ahead on the inside."

Riding on the edge of a cliff in a three-wheeled taxi is not only nightmare fuel, but also infuriating knowing I could get out and walk faster than this trimovil. But I am here for the experience. At least that's what I tell Xochi.

I met her at the Black Llama Hostel just yesterday. We connected quickly and both shared a desire to find the best ceviche we could score over the next 48 hours we each had in Lima.

I waved to the garbage man as we passed on the inside. I breathed deeply with relief until we stopped abruptly. A tire blew out and our driver informed us that he didn't have the tools to fix it, even though he had a spare tire.

"Was there a good place to get ceviche around here?" I admired Xochi's optimism in asking our driver, but my focus was just on taking the stairs in hopes of catching another ride.

"Yeah, just take these stairs and ask for Flavor Wolf when you get to the top." My doubts doubled.

Xochi smiled broadly. The prospects ahead of her felt like the ever illusive "authentic experience" all travelers desire. The barren landscape at our backs and the dusty steps ahead of me were greater motivations for some shade and shower than the allure of fresh seafood. But winds picked up a bit as we summitted. Faintly reminiscent of a sea breeze.

"There it is!" Xochi pointed across the paved street. We arrived at a commercial strip lined with trimivols and corner stores. There was a street placard with enticing photos of fresh seafood. We had arrived at Flavor Wolf. A bottle of water, Pilsen Callao and a plate of peanuts were swiftly placed on our table with a marine blue table cloth. The plastic chairs were a welcomed rest and the ceviche soon followed. I shouldn't have doubted a Flavor Wolf that was in fact, barely, in sight of the Pacific.

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