A Knee Jerk Bleeding Heart in the Third World

We did the gawking tourist tip toe through the soul crushing poverty of Peru this December. A tourist visit to the third world is a little like walking on the moon. As you wander around in the world of undrinkable water, and a virtually non existent health and education infrastructure it may look like you're in the same time and place as the locals around you but you're not. Why? Because you're actually in a bubble tethered to the mother ship by a lifeline -also known as your passport, and a reserved seat on the deep vein thrombosis express back to Newark.





In addition to luggage we all bring our psychic baggage with us when we travel. Mine is particularly annoying for my fellow travelers - Im an overtipping chump. If I was standing on the wing of that Airbus floating in the freezing Hudson while Captain Sully was checking the empty cabin twice I'd be thinking - "Gee I wonder what the usual gratuity is for this kind of thing?"

This need to tip everyone in sight stems from the same reasons that my knee jerks and my heart bleeds every time my feet hit the New York City sidewalk. For example, as a New York City cab ride from hell is ending and we are hurtling back to within range of the earth’s gravitational pull a normal person might be writing down the complaint number. Not me. I'm busy doing the tip math to stay in good graces with my new friend from another land - Mr Knievel.

Fast forward to a street vendor on the shores of Lake Titicaca. My daughter, with her upgraded Spanish from a semester in Argentina negotiates with a lady selling bracelets. She’s getting close to closing the deal - I take a good look at the 6 year old helping his mom and suddenly Im the bracelet ladies agent urging my daughter to bump up our last offer.





Negotiating with taxis is such a part of life in Lima, that when you hail a cab another cab always pulls up right behind to be there when the haggling with the first guy fall apart.

Im pretty sure Im on an international tipping chumps list. Cab drivers seem to spot me instantly as I cram myself into the shotgun seat next to the driver with my family in back. After some polite mumbling in my pathetic Spanish one driver suddenly pulled out a picture of himself, taken many years ago with a woman and a young girl - Before I could make an approriate noise - he tells me its him and his wife with their schizophrenic daughter. Like a fish in a barrel I’ve been hooked and then he reels me in - from the glove compartment out comes a handwritten list on a prescription pad which he tells me are the medications that he cant afford. The back seat watches helplessly knowing that I been harpooned right before their eyes - and the prenegotiated cost of the trip just got bumped up.













The cab driver passenger relationship can sometimes take an interesting hop. Our taxi from the hotel to dinner in Puno was stopped for a paperwork check by a traffic cop on foot. As the cop walks away with the driver’s documents our guy suddenly takes off. Our cabbie/customer relationship has been upgraded and now we're Bonnie and Clyde on the lam zooming thru Puno rush hour. Eventually we blend into traffic, calmly pull up to the restaurant and of course I give him a nice tip. We got away didnt we?








Gaping out from the tourist bubble the cavernous gap between rich and poor hits you right between the eyes. Private guards in bullet proof vests mill around on the street corners and in front of hotels. In the Lima neighborhood of Miraflores wealthy homes with nice cars in the driveway are completely wrapped in metal security gates with barbed wire at the corners.

Crime in Lima is a problem. The cops in Lima and all over Peru seem pretty good at standing around in heavily armed clusters looking tough, clueless and corrupt. The armored vehicles and machine guns are reminders that Peru's 20 year bloody civil war ended only 8 years ago.