Partying with the Peruvians

Friday night was wild - our first Peruvian birthday celebration.  A four course dinner dispersed between bouts of dancing, singing, and other quirky traditions.  All throughout the night, a bottle of beer with its accompanying cup passed between the hands of the guests; each took their turn, first pouring, then passing the bottle, toasting salud, drinking, and shaking what remained onto the floor.  Jaclyn and I both attribute our current sickness and my complete lack of a voice to the ritual.  The food began with some type of milky, sugary, egg-whitey, alcoholicy drink and cookies to compliment Edmundo (the birthday boy)'s toast.  Later were chicken sandwiches and coffee, and for the main course, ensalada russa, potatoes, and some large slabs of meet.  Of course, no party would be complete without the chicha, which was passed around with a shared cup later on.  We did our fair share of dancing, learning typical peruvian steps from the man deemed 'dance teacher' by his friends, circling around Edmundo and his rotating partners, or passing under the arm towers of all the others on the floor.  Jaclyn and I asked Edmundo's 83 year old father for a dance, which he led with an aggressive youthfulness.  We even sang happy birthday in English, during which all the women at the party took turns dancing with the birthday boy, followed by every guest lining up to hug and wish him a feliz cumpleaños.  The scene was at times reminiscent of a middle school dance, with everyone sitting on benches and chairs that lined the walls between dances.  One song would end, everyone would sit, and within two seconds another song (that often sounded exactly like the one before) would start and people would pull each other up to dance again.  The sight of food was always a welcome sign of rest as everyone would return to their spots against the walls and quietly eat.  By the end of the night, the plethera of food and drinks, plus the ridiculous amount of beans I consumed at lunch, had my stomach gurgling to the beats of the music.  Around 2, Doña Marina, Pablo, a sleep-walking Pedro and I made our way back home.  A late night in Lamud.