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Arequipa, though, was the immediate target of attention, and it caught attention in a big way.  The moment I walked out of the LAN office back onto Santa Catalina, a large parade procession was just beginning to approach my direction. 

The entire street was lined with various displays of Arequipan pride, with these flag-bearers awaiting the approaching procession at the entrance to the plaza:

Within a couple minutes, the parade leaders walked right by me:

I followed these guys into the plaza, where -- in mid-morning -- a crowd had already amassed to watch the arriving parade:

To be honest, I can't explain the significance of any of these paraders or the flags/emblems they were carrying.  The occasional chants of "Arequipa!" were really the only reminder (to me, at least) of what this celebration was all about.  That said, you could definitely feel the energy in the air (and, given the musical onslaught, you could definitely hear it).  And the parade sure made for a colorful collection of sights:
 
 

The plaza itself is renowned as one of Peru's most beautiful:
 

Because it is constructed of white volcanic limestone, Arequipa is known as "the white city" (and no, this nickname is not intended to have any racial undertones).  To be real, though, the city is really more a shade of grey than it is white:

The cathedral is one of the headliners among this grayish architecture:

More parade action:
 

After I took in the parade for a couple hours, Tammy joined me in the plaza, and we set off to find a place for lunch.  A lanky, bespectacled guy (a restaurant employee, not me) convinced us to check out his employer: the poorly named "Touristic Restaurant on the Terrace."  Among the items on the Touristic Restaurant's menu: cuy, or guinea pig.

Disgusting as it sounds, cuy is unofficially the Peruvian national dish.  In Peru, guinea pigs are revered as creatures of spiritual and religious value; locals apparently revere them by eating them.  So when we decided to include Arequipa on our list of Peruvian destinations -- and read that it had some of the best food and cheapest cuy in the country -- we knew we had to try guinea pig there.

So, for 25 soles (US$8), we each ordered cuy.  This was followed by a bit of a wait, but true to its name, the Touristic Restaurant on the Terrace helped us pass the time by offering this view:

In the distance, you could see the nearby volcanoes:

And minutes after we sat down, the plaza was visiting by a flock of migrating birds:

After a bit, the cuy was brought to our table -- and it looked nothing short of disgusting!

I didn't know that it would be fried.  But even on the fried skin, you could distinctly see the guinea pig's little hairs:

As it turned out, the skin was the least vile-tasting part -- it pretty much had the same taste and texture as pork rinds.  The flesh, though, was a different story (even though there was very little of it); while it sort of had the texture of chicken, it had a very weird taste, distinct from any meat I'd had before.  I couldn't exactly put my finger on it, but something about the cuy tasted and smelled really off, almost like there was some sort of fishy taste/odor to it.  I don't know if that's normal for cuy, but I do know this:

between the smell of the cuy, the sickening knowledge that I was eating guinea pig, and the actual eating of the cuy and the accompanying onions and tomatoes, I felt sick -- and to top it off, I felt like I had burned a hole in my stomach.  I waited at the table for this feeling to subside, but it lingered -- and, as I would later learn, would turn into something far worse.  Even the musical styles of the balcony band didn't help me feel better:

After lunch, we headed back downstairs to the plaza

and to the mercado to find something that might make me feel better.  Not realizing the severity of my condition, I am sad to report that the best thing we came up with were Chizitos, the Peruvian cheesy poof that melts in your mouth:

On the shelves, I also found a couple reminders of home (look at the brands):

Walking out of the mercado, I sipped on water and munched on Chizitos.  I started thinking I was recovering from lunch and feeling better, though -- ever so faintly -- the sensation of the hole burnt in my stomach lingered..

We decided to go check out the big central market a few blocks from the plaza.  On the way, we stopped at a bakery and got an alfajor, adding another dimension to the munchfest (though the alfajor I had in Aguas Calientes was better). 

We walked down another couple blocks and started getting the distinct feeling that we were being stared at.  Actually, it was impossible not to notice -- we had apparently ventured into an area of town rarely visited by tourists, let alone by Asian American tourists.  It reached a point where virtually every person we walked by couldn't help but stare at us for several seconds -- which may not sound so odd in words, but was certainly very bizarre to see in person.  We heard our fair share of konnichiwas, too (in over a week in Peru, we'd only seen Japanese tourists once -- at lunch in Cusco on the 7th -- yet most locals throughout the country assumed we were Japanese). 

Ignoring all the stares, we arrived at our destination -- the central market:

Inside this massive building were rows upon rows of produce, freshly butchered meat, and other foodstuffs:

Some of the meat looked (and smelled) pretty vile, though there were a couple smoothie bars that made me wish I had a stomach that could tolerate local produce.  Looking up and down the aisles inside the market, it became pretty clear why tourists steered clear of the surrounding area -- this was pretty much a place for locals to get their groceries.  Our travel books had suggested there'd be alpaca shops up and down the street adjacent to the market, but oddly, we saw none.  After finishing our browsing, we headed back in the direction of the plaza, passing by a random huge door

and a little pharmacy-type shop whose freezers -- visible from the sidewalk -- were selling cherimoya ice cream bars.  By this point, I was convinced that my stomach was totally recovered from lunch, so I got myself one of these bars -- and was disappointed to find that it pretty much tasted like any artificially orange-flavored ice cream bar you might find at a bad supermarket back home.  It's funny what a week in a developing country will do to normally healthy eating habits.

We wound up back on Santa Catalina, and decided to stop in a couple souvenir shops not far from the plaza.  We haggled with the shopkeepers over shirts and other items.  I was moments from purchasing an Inca Kola shirt when, all of a sudden, everyone working in the store sprinted toward the entrance.  Confused, we followed suit -- and were greeted by horses

that signaled the beginning of another parade!  Everyone, from passersby to workers in stores, dropped their business to crowd the sidewalks and get a glimpse of the procession of dancers, musicians, and merrymakers:

  

In the backdrop of these festivities was a majestic skyline of volcanoes:

More parading:



 

Peruvians evidently have no problem with liberally (and randomly) borrowing from American culture:

Funniest float: perched behind these guys

was this fisherman and five actual fish

and, as if that weren't random enough, at the end of the float was a guy cooking potatoes

and feeding them to people running up to the float.  Something strangely funny about watching this unfold.

There was music..

..there was dancing..

..there were horses..

..there were donkeys..

..and there was MORE dancing.

I don't think anyone watching this would think Peruvians -- or Arequipans, at least -- have any qualms about throwing a parade. 

The parade went on, but we decided to wrap up our shopping and then make our way to the plaza.  At this point, the day was starting to fade, and we wanted to check out the cathedral before it closed.

One small problem, though.  My stomach, which had stopped acting up for a while, was starting to bother me again -- a lot.  I went inside the cathedral and tried to walk it off, but it was too much.  I left my camera with Tammy and headed back to the Hotel Wilson to get her Pepto-Bismol. 

Back at the hostel, Raja Bell opened the front door and asked that I see him about paying for the second night.  I told him I'd talk to him on my way out and ran upstairs.  Turns out I couldn't have decided to head back at a better time, because by the time I made it to my room, disaster was ready to strike.  I rushed inside and suffered Bout of Diarrhea #1. 

I took a couple Imodiums and went down to talk to Raja.  He had acted plenty shady the night before, but he was about to bring it to a whole new level.  He started off by telling me that, for the second night, our rate was increasing from 35 soles to 40 soles.  Now first of all, what hotel ever charges someone more to stay in the same room for a second night?  Second of all, he'd specifically told us the previous night that our rate would be 30 soles if we stayed multiple nights.  What happened to this deal, I inquired in Spanish.  He responded that he'd gotten more people interested in lodging at the Wilson, and since our room had three beds, he'd have to charge us more if we wanted to remain.  I protested again, stringing together whatever Spanish I could to make my point.  Fine, he said; you can pay 35 soles, but you'll have to change to a smaller room.  I refused to budge; he said he had no other options.  After some more back-and-forth, I came up with a winning counter: we're students, is there a student discount?  Fine, he said.  35 soles, same room.

After this little debate, he again refused my US bill and demanded that we pay him in soles (of which I'd again run out).  I told him I'd have to go change over some more money and pay later that night.  I headed back upstairs to get my things and get ready to walk back to the plaza; I swallowed some Pepto-Bismol for good measure, and put this and the Imodium in my bag.

I met up with Tammy just outside the cathedral.  In my absence, she'd snapped these photos of the interior:

With the fiesta alive and kicking in the plaza -- and my body demanding that I sit down and rest -- we decided to check out another balcony restaurant.  I knew I'd be needing access to a serviceable bathroom throughout the night, so we decided to check out Inkafe, a restaurant inside Sonesta Posada del Inca Arequipa -- one of the nicer hotels on the square. 

With gringos all around us, we walked through the inside dining room and out onto the balcony, where we got the last unreserved table overlooking the plaza.  It was just my luck that, in a city known for its food, I'd be stuck sipping on chicken soup and hot tea for dinner.  This is exactly what I did -- that is, when I wasn't in the bathroom, swallowing pills, or snapping these photos:

 

It is worth mentioning here that Peruvians are inexplicably easily entertained.  As you can see in the video and the last couple photos, there were big crowds circled around and watching street performers.  Problem is, all indications were that the performances were not only not funny, but incredibly stupid.  The big circle of people closest to us spent hours watching some crossdressing idiot pretend to get beaten and raped by his co-performer.  And when I say hours, I'm not kidding.  We spent nearly five hours sitting on Inkafe's balcony, and these fools continued their little routine the entire time.  What's more, the crowd of people watching them never left.  There were seriously dozens of people standing around for hours watching this moronic routine.  I'm not sure how they found it tolerable, let alone funny.

The reason we sat watching this crap for five hours is that there was a big fireworks show scheduled for midnight, when it would officially be August 15th -- the Arequipan anniversary day.  Lonely Planet describes the fireworks show over the plaza as "well worth catching," so -- despite my incredible discomfort and general feeling of illness -- we decided to wait for midnight on the balcony (even though our dinner started before 8 PM). 

We watched the festivities for hours; I made an untold number of trips to the bathroom.  Finally, midnight struck.  However, instead of fireworks, all we got was more waiting.  And waiting.  And waiting.  It was almost 1 AM when the show finally got underway.  And here's what we saw:

I don't know what the Peruvian standard for a fireworks show is, but I do know that a fireworks show that gives you one firework every 45 seconds does NOT qualify as a show "well worth catching" (I'm talking to YOU, Lonely Planet).  Yes, I sat through hours of discomfort to wait for what was unequivocally the WORST fireworks show I have seen in my ENTIRE life.  What's more, when the fireworks started, the aforementioned locals -- who'd had no problem watching hours of simulated wife-beating -- immediately began to disperse.  Seriously, I have no idea what qualifies as entertainment to Arequipans, but I have an inkling that the Lonely Planet authors were heavily under the influence when they recommended that tourists watch the Arequipan anniversary fireworks show.  Not even some pretty pictures

could save this thing from being an unmitigated disaster, and a definite waste of time that (for me) would been better spent asleep.

Very disappointed (and even more sick), I trudged home.  Unbelievably, well past 1 AM, yet another parade got underway on Santa Catalina

but the fiesta mood had left me long ago, replaced by horrible, horrible diarrhea.  After arriving back at the Hotel Wilson and paying Raja his 35 soles, I made another trip to the bathroom and collapsed in bed with a bad fever -- a symptom that indicated it was time to start taking the cipro (five days of antibiotic fun).  I swallowed my first pill and fell asleep (though not for long, as I'd be waking up and rushing to the bathroom throughout the night).  A city that was supposed to bring me a party had instead brought me the fun and pleasantry of South American sickness.

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