With a little online research, amazing values often under $65 a night are available with breakfast to boot. Casa Aika is an ideal location for its proximity to both the Larco Museum and the Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Antropología e Historia del Perú. (When we stayed there the exterior yard was a work in progress, lending an informal air to the whole enterprise and the low-lighting in the bathroom made cosmetic applications problematic.) Pietro, our youthful Dutch host, was gregarious and generous with his recommendations and time, making up for the improvised character of his establishment.

Food for the eye and stomach — our priorities for the present, even if our lunch could hardly be considered a distant memory — were amply in evidence at Huaca Pucllana, our next culinary destination that same night. The restaurant sits directly across from a 1,500 year old adobe pyramid that is garishly illuminated at night. Reservations are a must for outdoor terrace dining, equipped with enough braziers to take the chill off the diners. We found indoor dining preferable, with the walls colorfully filled with geometric abstract paintings and gorgeous arrangements of cotton branches tickling the ceiling. Pietro hailed the taxi for our after-dark foray to the tiny Miraflores district, negotiating the price down to a more reasonable 20 soles from the initially quoted 40.

This particular excursion proved to be a bit of a wild toad ride, with Lima’s neighborhoods spread across a willy-nilly bumper to bumper expanse as challenging as vacating Manhattan on a Friday afternoon in July. After circling the pyramid mound on several false turns, we arrived thankfully in one piece. We wasted no time devouring a main course of sea bass and paiche, an Amazon River fish that would thankfully appear on several menus throughout Southern Peru. It was a meaty yet tender choice, not unlike the American South’s catfish.

Happily, the ride home was a little smoother and the restaurant, like many to come, was only too willing to call a taxi service for our convenience. (A note to the foot-weary: taxis are plentiful, even the three-wheeled variety, and will more often than not, help rather than hinder any sightseeing plans.)

The second day of our stay, Pietro accompanied us partway on a zigzag stroll to the National Museum, preceded by a promised stop at Santiago Queirolo — a famed distillery for Pisco and imported wines founded in 1880 — where we purchased a Malbec from Argentina for later sampling.

Situated in a 19th century mansion once occupied by independence heroes San Martin and Bolivar, the National’s collection dates from prehistoric to Colonial and Republican times, and is simply overwhelming in scope. The star attraction, the Tello Obelisk, is a finely carved granite example of the early Chavín culture, displaying the anthropomorphic riddles that so much Peruvian art invokes. How did the human and animal spirits merge and become gods? What do the serpent and the fanged warrior tell us about ourselves? A resident black cat in the courtyard at our departure seemed docile enough and was a welcome sight after such mythological beasts.

Cat sightings were rare and as we were later told by a guide in the colonial city of Arequipa, many of his countrymen view cats with trepidation. The puma is a fearful beast in Andean culture and as the guide further explained, Peruvians equate the modern day domestic cat in similar fashion. Who would want a miniature puma offspring in his abode? Dogs are another matter entirely, and we spotted a variety of breeds wandering the cobblestone streets in the Cusco highlands, frequently in packs. They’re often a semi-domesticated lot, the occasional scruffy, sweater endowed terrier visible in the mix — unleashed but not necessarily ownerless.

It’s funny how the pangs of hunger have a way of returning, especially after exposure to great art and artifacts. We next hopped a cab for the Barranco neighborhood skirting Lima’s coastline. Our destination was Amor Amar, an open air seafood spot in an alleyway with no sea in sight. Peruvians in general seem to adhere to keeping their most precious treasures behind closed doors and this restaurant was no exception. When the doors did part, a friendly maitre’de led us into a biergarten-style dining area that reminded me more of a post-film party for the Ingmar Bergman set than an ocean side experience. Disappointments for Peruvian authenticity aside, when my grilled scallops in a “drunken butter sauce” finally arrived — that’s translated as a butter mixture with dark beer, chili and lime — I was smiling like a drunken sailor. The scallops were served in the shell with the small pinkish tail nestled inside and were cooked to perfection. It was another wonderful dining experience but I still longed to see the Pacific coast — haze or no haze — in this hemisphere.

After a few false turns — don’t ask the local popcorn vendor for directions, especially in Spanish — the fabled coastline came into view. La playa, or beach, must have meant something else entirely to the natives than it did to gringos like us. A few more blocks westward and el mar appeared. Let’s face it, weather aside, the ocean looked beautiful and mystifying as always. We walked along a cliffside path, checkered with cactus and morning glories that overlooked a freeway lining a strip of sand far below. Encountering a number of resident dog walkers, a little spotted terrier in a Superman coat was my favorite.

In the late afternoon cab ride back to the hotel, I noticed the daylight already dimming. It might have been mid-summer for New Yorkers like ourselves but we were far from home in another country’s winter season. It was a bittersweet surreal sensation. I couldn’t help wondering how Peru, beyond the luxury high rises bordering the coast and the culinary wizardry of the capital city, would come into focus for us.

Back at Casa Aika, we set our alarm to allow for a 7:30 a.m. departure from the Cruz del Sur bus terminal and alerted Pietro that we would need a taxi no later than 6 a.m. Unfortunately, our inner clocks were not yet on an early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule and we poured over our guidebooks and surfed through the local TV channels, waiting for the proverbial sandman and sleep to overtake us. I think we both sensed the real adventures were yet to confront us. The maritime sanctuary of Paracas, the Ballestas Islands and the deserts of Nasca with their otherworldly lines in the sand were awaiting our arrival. But were we ready?

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