Trout, Anis and Churros

We went for a day out on Sunday with Rocio's friend Zenaida, to a small town called Concepcion. It is famous around here for its trout farms and it's a pleasant place to stroll about.
We did arrive very late in the day when most people were getting ready to go home but still we found a lovely restaurant for Bob and Zenaida to have trout and we sat in the warm sun in the gardens. It was most civilised and relaxed.
On the way we had bought Michael a white stick. He is always so anxious to get his hands on his Mum's cane and cries when he can't have it because she is using it herself. To be honest I use the cane a lot when we are out and about together as I constantly need to stop people from bumping into Rocio. It is amazing to me how many people will simply crash into her as we walk arm in arm. Somehow they never happen to crash into me. How is that? So I hold Rocio's cane across in front of me covering her. If someone wants to accidentally crash into her they must get through me and the cane first, and they still do it, not without a small bruise and a strange mark on their clothes from the dirty end of the cane but they do. Funny it is often teenagers and business men, posh women and drunks who bump her. Never women with their babies, old men or women selling stuff on the street. I am now very good at predicting who will try to bump her.
So Michael wanted a white stick and we bought him one of the mock military batons that school children carry around here to show that they are prefects (They get silly military braids for the shoulders too) He loved it immediately and here he is posing with it in the gardens of the restaurant.




He is a danger with it and he often bumps himself or anyone around, but he loves it.

Here is Zenaida giving Rocio a relaxing massage




Here is Bob also looking quite relaxed




On leaving the restaurant we were each given shot glass of Anise (Rocio drank mine) and this went down so well with Bob, reminding him of breakfast times in Domingo Perez, that we decided he should go to the shop to buy a full bottle of Anis and help Rocio and Zenaida drink it all before we got the bus back to Huancayo. This done we got into the bus, a small combi of course about the size of a VW camper and so did about 30 other people. Rocio and I were squashed into one seat sharing with 4 or 5 children who were in danger of suffocating otherwise and Rocio ran a kind of improvised crèche there. Bob was over by the door with Zenaida on one knee and apparently an unknown man on the other all squashed in together. The bus got so full that the young man who collects the money could no longer actually enter and had to hold on outside, earning him the nickname Superman. There was much singing and joking and complaining and it did seem like a loooooong way back but these are the cultural experiences that we tourists come to Peru for.

We had churros on the street on the way home, delicious and messy and they made Michael's eyes go a bit funny.