curlyguy18 wrote:And yes, Peru is being promoted as a tourist destination, which is great, but people can't expect it to be the same as their own countries, can they?
Of course not.
Regardless, they can and should expect common courtesy.
Good manners have no nationality Curlyguy.
curlyguy18 wrote:t you're describing; neither here nor abroad. And if it happens I'm pretty sure it's not common practice everywhere in Lima or in the rest of the country; meaning not everyone does this.
Actually the sad thing is that almost everybody behaves that way. Now as an example the testimony
of Vargas Llosa about one of the worst Peruvian customs "The Art of Delaying something forever",
which was published on the year 2010 in el Comercio.
"The art of delaying", a tasty article by Mario Vargas Llosa
The award-winning writer tells how one company took more than a year to install a fireplace in your house in Barranco
Sunday February 21, 2010 - 10:26 a.m.
This morning, at lunchtime, I heard my daughter Morgan tell stories that he tells her and Stefan, her husband, the Magic cable company to justify its delay in instalarles the cable television system. I swear they go this afternoon, tomorrow, tomorrow afternoon, and never will. Fed up with so many stories, have decided to switch to the competition, Direct TV, to see if more time.
What happened to Morgana Stefan and I have had several hours remembering the wonderful story of SA Rodriguez Vents I lived and suffered about twelve months, here in Lima, the joke makes thirty. We had bought a house on the corner of the city we wanted, oceanfront Barranco, and an architect friend, Cartridge Miro Quesada, I had designed the entire second floor of the studio of my dreams: bookcases, a desk very long very thick board, a squad of chairs to chat with friends, and a fireplace beside which have a comfortable very comfortable and a good reading lamp.
The circumstances would make the most memorable part of the study were, in time and unforeseen reasons, the fireplace. It was metal, air and cylindrical cartridge had designed himself, like a sculpture. Who would manufacture? Someone, perhaps the same cartridge, I recommended that indescribable company appellation refrigerated: Ventilation Rodriguez SA I remember that afternoon, at dusk, its owner and manager, the engineer Rodriguez, appeared in my study yet available to sign the contract. He was young, energetic, talkative, friendly fiercely. He heard the explanations of the architect, the plans sounded dowsers eyes, said two or three details with security expert and concluded: "The chimney will be ready in two weeks."
We explained that we should not rush so much. The study would only be completed within six weeks. "That's their problem," he said, with a lunge bullfighting. "I'll list the fortnight. You can pick it up whenever they want. "
Broke like a shot and never saw him again until now. But I swear that his name and his ghost was the most consistent and recurring presence in all the months following that meeting only, while the study has been constructed and filled with books, papers, records, typewriters, tables, furniture, carpets and the ceiling void was still there, showing the gray sky of Lima and waiting for the fire that never came.
My contacts with Rodriguez Ventilation Inc. were intense, but only phone. At some point I got to get an insane passion for the secretary of the engineer Rodriguez, who also never saw the face or knew his name. But I remember her voice, her flattery, their pauses, inflections, its theater everyday, as if he had called half an hour ago. Talk to her every morning, five days a week, became a rite unbreakable my life, like reading newspapers, eating breakfast and shower.
"What story will you tell me today, Miss?" Greeted me.
She never got angry. It had the same irresistible sympathy of their chief and, smiling and friendly, was interested in my health and my family before demoralizing the pretext of the day. I confess that I expected this moment with great fascination. Never be repeated, had an endless repertoire of explanations to justify the unjustifiable: the weeks passed, months, quarters and the damn chimney never came to my house. Trivial things happened as the Lord of the cast fell prisoner of influenza with high fever, or catastrophes such as fires or deaths. Everything worth. One day, I had lost patience and shouted into the phone like a madman, the versatile secretary disarmed me this way:
"Oh, Mr. Vargas Llosa, you riñéndome and amargándose life and I'm here watching the sky, I say."
"What do you see the sky? What do you mean? "
"That we dropped the ceiling, I swear. Last night, when nobody was there. But that is not accident that gives me more grief, but have been wrong with you. Tomorrow we brought your fireplace without fail, word. "
One day he had the extraordinary cold blood to make sure that:
"Oh, Mr. Vargas Llosa, you getting so bad blood here and I see your beautiful fireplace, brand new, starting at the truck that takes her to his house."
He lied so wonderfully well, with so much poise and sweetness, it was impossible not to believe him. The next day, when I called to tell him that it was impossible for the truck that brought me the fire is delayed more than twenty-four hours to get to Lima Colonial Avenue to Barranco (no more than five miles) was exceeded itself, assuring in the act with accent and almost tearful distress:
"Oh, you can not imagine the terrible misfortune that happened: the fire truck collided with her and now the driver is with a concussion in the Hospital Obrero. Fortunately, the fire had not a scratch. "
History lasted more than one year. When the fire finally reached the home of Barranco and we had almost gotten used to the ceiling void, one day, a dove distracted strayed and landed on my desk. The most fun-o-the tragic end of this episode was that the fire could only use blessed once. With disastrous results: the study was filled with smoke, everything is messed up and I had an onset of asphyxia. Never tried on.
That mythological vents secretary Rodriguez SA Cultist pride was a widespread practice in Peru that is nothing short of a national sport: the art of rock. "Rocking" is a Peruvianism which means maintaining long a person in the uncertainty and deception, but not in a raw or crude, but friendly and even affectionate, adormeciéndola, throwing in a vague confusion, dorándole the pill, telling the story, and aturdiéndola mareándola so that they think they are, although not so tired that ends up leaving and desist from what he claims or intends to achieve. The victim, if it has been "rocked" with talent, despite notice at any time that you have put your finger to the mouth, not angry, ends up resigned to defeat and is happy to recognizing and admiring even the good work you have done with it. "Rocking" is a task difficult, requiring histrionic talent, parliamentary suasive, grace, unhelpful, sympathy, and just a hint of cynicism.
Behind the "meceo" is, of course, informality and a table of values upside down. But also a frivolous philosophy, which considers life as a representation in which truth and falsehood are relative and exchangeable, due, no correspondence between what is said and what is done, between words and things, but the persuasiveness of that "rock" over who is "rocked". Ultimately, life, for this way of acting and this morality is pure theater. The practical result of living "rocking" or being "rocked" is that all it takes, is wrong, nothing works and reign everywhere confusion and frustration. But this is a narrowly pragmatic consideration of rock art. The generous and art is that thanks to meceo, life is fun, farce, slapstick, game, masquerade.
If the Peruvians to invest all the fantasy and skill they put into "rock" to each other in doing good things and meet their commitments, this would be the most developed country in the world. But how boring!
Say thank you to google translator. Looks Vargas Llosa lives in Peru and his books are used as reference
in colleges all over the world. His criticism is even more detailed and accurate than mine but nobody
is telling him to leave Peru or denying reality.