Bourdain’s Field Notes

On a previous trip, I bounced around Lima, exploring the ever-changing, ever more exciting food scene—from the more cutting-edge fine-dining restaurants to the funkiest but most delicious traditional cevicherías. I’ve had many Pisco Sours. Huffed up mountains, lightheaded from altitude sickness, my cheeks stuffed with coca leaves. I’ve eaten guinea pig in Cuzco. Explored the jungle of Amazonia. Drunk chicha with yucca farmers. I took ayahuasca in the middle of the night with a curandero, puttered upriver in a wobbly boat with imaginary bats screeching in my brain and lights that probably weren’t there dancing in front of my eyes. I have looked out over Machu Picchu at dawn—one of the most extraordinary experiences one can have in this life— watched millions of cutter ants strip a forest floor clean, made friends, learned something about the world and about myself.

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