I’m gone from Peru now, probably for good; and I hear that Pizza Street has been cleaned up. Too bad; it was THE place to go for a close-up view of the motley crew that comprised expatriates in Lima. Stretching about two blocks between the main avenue and a side street in the Miraflores neighborhood, Pizza Street was replete with low-end restaurants selling bad pizza, industrial beer of either the Cusqueña or Pilsen Callao brand, and the ubiquitous Pisco sour - a syrupy sweet concoction of the local rotgut, pisco, together with lime juice and a whipped raw egg white. Hawkers would approach anyone looking like a gringo, and gringo men were harangued by young women, known as bricheras, looking to befriend anyone for the possibility of a free meal and drinks (and maybe a roll in the hay, if the stars were aligned). There were outright hookers, too; but as so many Peruvians tried to convince me, they were ‘all colombianas;’ no peruana would EVER sell herself, no not ever….
Walking down Pizza Street, one quickly learned to distinguish the varying types of expats making their homes in Peru. There were the young idealists - people like one acquaintance who got sent to Peru by a charity organization speaking zero Spanish whose job was to convince mountain people that they should eat more guinea pig as a protein source (in truly remote communities, people don’t speak Spanish either, so her job must have been rather challenging; fortunately, locals already eat substantial amounts of guinea pigs so her mission can be considered a success).
Pizza Street didn’t get too many of the second group I found in Peru, professionals sent there by the home office to get field experience or serve as sales or diplomatic representatives. These folks generally had the nicer homes in the better neighborhoods, with guards and gates and budgets for private schools for their children. Most spoke limited Spanish, so their social milieu was mostly other similar people, with occasional overlap with some of the other expat groups. That overlap did occasionally lead them to visit Pizza Street, and they could be identified by the suits and fine clothing they wore.
A third group was the sexpats. Armed with the legends of easy women, they were easily led astray by the bricheras and spent their evenings partying until the wee hours and landing their catch for the night; and their days sleeping it off, or performing whatever remote work they managed to obtain to fund their adventure. Sexpats were generally middle aged men, walking arm in arm with attractive younger women. Their only saving grace was that they may, in fact, treat those women better than the local machista types who believe in the adage, Cuanto más te pega, más te quiere (the more he beats you the more he loves you). When they were bored with the bricheras, you could find them at one or two of the Pizza Street bars where gringos were known to congregate.
One group that seldom stumbled down Pizza Street was the group of people who had managed to capture the heart of a peruano or peruana, and was happily living a life enmeshed in Peruvian society. But this group was a small minority as far as I could see.
I laugh when I think about these gross generalizations, and it’s a fair question - which one was I? What was I doing on Pizza Street, sociological/anthropological research? I guess you could say that I had a little bit of all of that floating around in my motivational ether - I did come to Peru as something of an idealist, hoping to make a professional contribution. While I didn’t live in a gated community or get a salary like the sales reps and diplomats, I could afford to live rather well, with digs in the heart of Miraflores not far from Pizza Street but much quieter. As for the other two groups, I cannot deny that the charms of Peruvian womanhood were not lost on me, and I did partake rather frequently; but I did not end up marrying any of them so the last group cannot describe me in any way.
It really is too bad if Pizza Street has truly been cleaned up. I hope at least that the pizza has gotten better; but if that comes at the cost of having a nice, seedy, contained space for all sorts of sinning it is the city’s loss. If I ever do get back to Peru, I’m sure I’ll miss it - even if I end up partnered.
Ahhhh, the memories Mark. Although mine was mostly as a spectator, I was always entertained by the happenings on Calle de las pizzas. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. Hope all is well.
Pizza Street. Does the word 'pizza' mean something other than pizza in Peru? Or is this where all the pizza joints are?