Lima is part LA, part Brighton Beach (the English one) and Madrid.
Brightly colored, privately run commuter buses fill the Ave. Jose Larco, which takes me down to the beach promenade that runs high above the dark-grey sands of the beach. A marine layer hangs low; as I run along the promenade, I see a VW bus with surfboards strapped to it and, in the distance, surfers paddling out to wait for good waves, which look to me as though they have yet to materialize.
Just below me, an ornate, Victorian gingerbread of a something on a grand pier--big hotel, I think, but totally English.
Every so often you pass a little workout area on the Promenade, including one with an elliptical trainer and a bench press! I have seen a lot of gyms.
Lots of highrises back the beach, there are cranes and construction everywhere. Back on the Jose Larco, some pastel, grande dame colonial buildings remain.
Everyone is courteous and friendly, the security guards, the driver who waves at me to give me the rightaway as I cross the street, pedestrians on the street corners politely greet me, "Buenos dias."
Now, I'm going to run back out and grab a cafe at one the little shops I see people jamming into!
Sent from my iPad
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