If you read my last blog you’d know that I met Ludwig at Parque Kennedy on my first night in Lima. We immediately connected over our love of music, which is only fitting for someone named after the one and only, Ludwig van Beethoven. When I texted him the next day, he closed his antique shop for the afternoon and promptly met me at the same park bench as the night before. He proposed we do a tour of Chinatown in the Centro Histórico; one could only imagine where he came up with that idea.

For some reason I trusted this stranger enough to blindly follow him onto a public bus, which he kindly paid for as I didn’t have a transit card. We squeezed our way through the crowd and stood near the back of the bus as it crawled through traffic, making frequent stops and abruptly lurching forward in true Latin American fashion. Ludwig explained that the government had handed the public buses over to a private company which runs the fewest buses possible to increase profit, hence the overcrowding on board. Standing in a jerky bus in the sweltering heat proved to be a bad combination in my hungover state, and soon I was hunched over, leaning against the plastic divider that separated the row of seats closest to the back door. Ludwig suggested we get off at the park near the presidential palace, a few stops before our intended destination. I’m not sure if I answered verbally, but as soon as I stepped off the bus I was retching and spitting onto the grass. Talk about first impressions. He grabbed my arm and guided me to a park bench, seemingly our favourite hang out spot, where he consoled me like a disappointed dad and tried to make me feel better by blaming it on bad pisco, which, similarly to cheap tequila, can give you a nasty hangover.

Once I felt I could stand straight without doubling over, we started walking towards the Plaza de Armas. We shortly encountered an orange juice stand, which I thought would be the perfect thing to revive me, and I happily treated Ludwig to a cup too. This is when he taught me my first lesson of the day: don’t settle for less and don’t be afraid to ask for what you want. I was ready to grab one of the cups of juice that were lined up on the table, when Ludwig stepped in and asked the man to make us two fresh ones.
“You don’t know how long those have been sitting there”. I suppose he’s right.

Along the way, Ludwig pointed out some important monuments and buildings, telling me to let him know if I ever wanted to stop for photos. I didn’t exactly feel the need to pose with any of the sights, but I thought I would take a quick shot of one of the buildings just for memories. He turned to me, concerned, “you should let me know next time so I can keep watch in case anyone tries to steal your phone”. Lesson #2: the historical centre is almost always relatively dangerous compared to the rest of the city. This is definitely the case in Lima, where tourists prefer the coastal (and gentrified) neighbourhoods of Miraflores and Barranco. I can say the same for Rio de Janeiro, Santiago, Mexico City and Bogotá; though I never felt unsafe anywhere in those cities, I’ve gotten my fair share of warnings from the locals, especially if I was dando papaya (Colombian saying for being an easy target aka asking for it).

We arrive at the Plaza de Armas, and Ludwig unceremoniously waves at the Government Palace, “that’s where the president lives”. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”, I ask rhetorically, having seen her in the news. “Yeah, man or woman, it’s just whoever the cartel put up there”. Lesson #3: all governments are corrupt and are a front for those who are really in power.
In addition to criticizing the shortcomings of his country’s leadership, Ludwig also lamented the lack of national pride and identity, comparing Peru to the more emblematic and culturally relevant Mexico. Coming back from Colombia, I can say there’s more pride there too. In fact, being Peruvian is a bit of a running joke in the Latin American community, but I didn’t mention any of that in the conversation.

Chinatown was packed with locals and very few Chinese people, though not as sparse as in Mexico City’s Chinatown. Ludwig grabbed my hand so that I didn’t get lost in the crowd, and I would have pulled away had it been any other man in any other situation. But after he took care of my hungover self earlier, it was obvious that the act was more paternal than romantic.

Since I was still too queasy for a real meal, I bought us some fruit instead: a guanábana from a stand near the Chinatown arch and a lúcuma (Ludwig’s favourite fruit) from the local market. Which brings us to lesson #4: be confident. I don’t know why I’m so bashful and awkward when I’m doing something that may not be allowed or may inconvenience someone. So when Ludwig sat down at Papa John’s patio to eat the fruits, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy even though no one was there. He assured me it was fine, and I’m thinking it may just be a cultural difference if not the confidence of a middle-aged man. No one bothered us as we ate, and when we finished the fruits I called us a taxi back to Miraflores because I was not ready to be rocking on a bus just yet.

My 5th lesson was a language lesson at Wong’s supermarket near the malecón. Ludwig was eyeing some plushies they had on display, and I called them guay, which is how you say “cool” in Spain. He chuckled as he taught me the Peruvian way, which is bacán or chevere. He then excitedly asked if I knew that bacán came from “bacchanalia”, drunken celebrations of Bacchus, “the God of wine”, I interjected. Ah, there’s nothing like geeking out over etymology and Roman mythology.

After our free samples of cheese and carajillos, we went to see the sunset on the beach; it must’ve been the most romantic non-date I’ve ever been on. He even walked me back to my hostel and offered me a special edition 1-sol coin with Machu Picchu on it but didn’t manage to find it in his pouch full of miscellaneous antique items, which ultimately set up our second meeting.

The next day, my friend Ali had made it to Peru and I had told her all about my encounter with Ludwig. She agreed to meet with him after our Peru Hop tour of the country. So, after surfing the sand dunes in Huacachina and hiking Machu Picchu, we were back at the park bench in Parque Kennedy. Ludwig took us to his favourite neighbourhood cafe where he treated us to croissants with manjár and coffee. At the end of our long conversation, he gifted each of us a Machu Picchu coin, and I got an additional coin adorned with a tumi de oro, an ancient Peruvian ceremonial knife.

After the trip, Ludwig would occasionally text me song recommendations and random videos about politics, spirituality and the dangers of AI. Until one day he suddenly stopped responding, and my messages stopped delivering. I even asked Ali to try texting him in case he had accidentally blocked me. No luck. Now I’m worried something may have happened to him, and I’m not sure how to find him other than flying back to Lima and waiting for him at the park bench.