Next week: “Why I spent $200 on alpaca sweaters and don’t regret a single sol.” ¡Hasta luego, causita!
Welcome. If you’ve stumbled onto this page, you probably know me as PeruGuy —the gringo who traded his office chair for a chullo and hasn’t shut up about ceviche since 2018.
This account is proof that Peru doesn't just grow on you—it rewires you. PeruGuy-s Account
Trying to explain causa rellena to my mom back in Ohio. "So it's like a cold potato casserole with chicken salad, but also yellow pepper?" She hung up. Final Entry (For Now) Peru isn’t for everyone. The altitude will humble you. The traffic will rage you. The bureaucracy will make you scream into a pillow.
— (a.k.a. Greg from Minnesota, but don't call me that here) Next week: “Why I spent $200 on alpaca
Somewhere between getting lost in the San Pedro Market in Cusco and watching the sunrise over the Rainbow Mountain, I realized I wasn't a tourist anymore. I was a resident of the magic.
This account isn’t just a travel log. It’s a ledger. A confession. A love letter to the land of the Incas. I landed in Lima on a cold June morning with zero Spanish, a broken suitcase, and a Lonely Planet that was already three years out of date. My plan was simple: stay two weeks, see Machu Picchu, go home. This account is proof that Peru doesn't just
Day of the Dead. Went to the cemetery in Ayacucho. A mariachi played Contigo Perú while a family painted their abuelo’s tombstone. I cried into my pan de muerto .