I Wanna Be Your (Latino) Lover

With the Peru tour finally over I am enjoying a few days doing as little as possible in Huanchaco, on the north coast of Peru. This afternoon as I was looking for somewhere to eat lunch a local guy ran up to me and started chatting away, suggesting after a couple of minutes, "Perhaps we can be friends?"

One thing I will say for the Peruvian men, what they lack in stature they more than make up for in enthusiasm. After being largely ignored by the men in Argentina and only receiving shouts of "Gringa alta!" from men I passed on the street in Chile, I was expecting the Peruvian romeos to stay well clear of this pasty English giantess.

It would seem, however, that plenty of Peruvian men just crave being towered over by a 6-footer and I have been approached from all sides!

My first encounter was in Miraflores, Lima, when a dog-walker called Percy ran across the main road to catch-up with me and guide me to the street I was looking for. After a couple of minutes he was telling me about his ex-girlfriends and what he looked for in his ladies. Assuming I might be a little on the large side for him I was mistaken, as he declared, "I LOVE big STRONG women" and suggested he take me out for a drink. I declined.

Our Inca Trail tour guide, Humberto was less original. On the first day of the trek he asked me whether all the girls in England are as beautiful as me before responding to my question about what time we would arrive at camp with, "Your eyes are a beatiful colour" and then suggesting I try out some of the romance section in my phrasebook on him.

Then of course, there was long-haired Paulo, the tour guide who got me on side by speaking to me in easy to understand Spanish and salsa-dancing with me, before inviting me back his hotel room in Cusco, but even he was not as presumptuous as the Peruvian student I met on my penultimate night in Lima. We met as his friend had taken a liking to my Canadian tour mate and we found ourselves in his car bound for a bar on the other side of town. His technique was certainly more unusual as he started by asking me whether I used sanitary towels or tampons, then accusing me of being uptight for admitting that I didn't really want to talk about it. I tried every 'not interested' technique I know short of actually ignoring him but still he followed me back to my hotel. When he finally realised he wasn't getting anywhere he loudly announced, "I think I am in the wrong place!" and left in a huff.

Entertaining as it has been to watch someone utilise all their romantic artillery in their efforts to woo a gringa, I still have a soft spot for awkward Englishness and bad dancers.