Austrians, Germans and Canadians Oh My

When we last spoke, our adventurer had left his bag, including his wetsuit, in the back of a taxi. Now lets see how the plot thickens... (I know this is corny, but just roll with it)

I got back to always dangerous city of Callao where I planned to sleep and relax in my room, however I couldn't get a second of shut eye because the thought of my wetsuit being stolen haunted my dreams. So I stashed some cash in my pockets and I made my way back towards Miraflores. I arrived at the beach where I had been 2 hours before and began to comb the parking lot for Gordito's car. With a sigh of relief I found his crummy shit-box-of-a-car and saw that my bag was still inside, though it had numorous footprints all over it.

After that, my mood changed tremdously and, feeling energized, I figured that the only thing left to do was to celebrate. So I found the closest hostel to the beach (not wanting to repeat my sleeping situation from the night before) and made some quick friends over a couple brews. I met 3 fellow surfers in the hostel: Moritz, Gavin and Scott. Moritz (Morris) is an Austrian surfer who speaks a wide variety of languages and looks like a poster child for the Aryan race. Gavin and Scott are some Canadian players (I know, ¡¿CANADIAN PLAYERS?!, it seems pretty far-fetched, but both of them seem to be doing pretty well with the ladies down here). Scott is a big hockey fan, so I can seek refuge during the season with another enlightened soul and talk some puck. The three of them are students in Lima, have traveled the area pretty extensively and speak darn good español.

The boys and I took a break from Spanish and spoke the King's for a bit. I feel like I need to pause from Spanish every now and then in order to keep my sanity down here. So my new friends invited me to join them at a local house party where it was a fellow student's birthday. Of coarse, I obliged and we hopped in a taxi to explore the festivities. (Sometimes I feel like writing with a British flare, don't judge me)

We arrived and I was thrust into a very familiar party scene that I have seen many times before in the US. Allow me to paint you a picture; drinks were being poured, music was blasting, cups were continuously raised in the air, a bold few were dancing, a bolder few were sucking face in the corner, and the constant chatter of the party was always present. However, there was one thing that was different. Everyone was speaking SPANISH! The convival crowd seemed so surreal and familiar, yet fresh and exciting.

Anyways...I mingled through the international crowd and avoided the other Americans as best as I could (trying to keep things strictly in Spanish at this point) until I fell upon a couple of German gals. Christina and Sofia were a fun bunch and we chatted, danced and drank until 5 in the morning. At one point I left the party, but then turned around to chase Chistina a bit longer. It turns out that my hostel was a block away from her house, so we walked home together and continued to shoot the shit in Spanish. Finally we got back and she gave me a kiss on the cheek and said good night. So with my head hanging a little lower than before, I shuffled back to the hostel unsatisfied. I guess I need to work on my Spanish game.

Hasta Luego,
Derek