Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I'm not sure whether it's because I'm the lone blonde with a strange name in the neighborhood, or if it's because I tend to frequent the same establishments on a pretty regular basis, but people around here are starting to recognize me. The woman at the laundry place where I take my clothing greets me each time with, "¿Hola amiga, cómo estás?" and doesn't need to ask my name anymore when she writes out the receipt. At the panadería across the street, they know exactly what I'm going to order when I walk in - 4 little loaves of bread and 2 empanadas (my treat on bread-buying day). The people at my favorite internet cafe set me up on the same computer each time, know that I need "tiempo libre" due to all the correspondence I've been keeping up, and of course all remember my name too.

I've never really lived in an environment like this before. I'm used to being an anonymous number in a university's database, a nameless customer in an oversized supermarket, an indistinguishable cog in a giant mechanism. All of a sudden, I've found my own city-wide version of Cheers. People remember where I work and ask how the music lessons are going. They're interested in my life back home, and ask about how I like Cusco, and offer ideas and suggestions for thing to do and see. This is the kind of environment people look for when they move to small-town Middle America, and I managed to wind up with it in the middle of a South American city.

And then, of course, there's El Viejo. El Viejo is this little hole-in-the-wall bar just off the Plaza de Armas that we've basically adopted as our official hangout. It's dim, smoky, small - and friendly as all hell. The bouncer knows us all, waves when we walk in, and sometimes takes a break to dance with us when a particularly good song comes on. The bartenders know which drinks we like, who's a beer drinker and who sticks with cocktails. They even makes sure to save us our usual table.

All this, of course, is just an attempt at creating some sort of home in a strange land thousands of miles from our families and friends, where the language and the customs are hardly familiar, and where the scary expanse of cityscape can only be narrowed by finding something good and sticking to it. Still, why mess with a good thing? We've got our little system that offers some homey comfort, and that goes a long way toward giving us a sense of security. Little kids have blankies. Big kids have their favorite bar.

I'd like another amaretto sour, please.