Apart from the three hours of lessons, talking with my homestay family, and the occasional water bottle purchase, the most conversation I usually make is with cab drivers. After all, the drive to school/from home to the Plaza de Armas is $1. Or, when they want to make money, $1.50.

Yesterday, I had a very interesting conversation with the driver (in a super nice car that looked suspiciously un-taxi like) about the variety of food in Peru, and what I had and hadn’t tried yet. Peruvians are extremely proud of their culinary traditions.

This afternoon, I happened to be in a very good mood, good enough not to worry about inflicting the eardrum-piercing sounds of my broken Spanish upon the entire human race. Even though the driver demanded 4 soles instead of 3, I consented, because, hey, what’s another 35 cents? The conversation: where I’m from, where I’m going to school, where he lives, if I’ve been to Machu Picchu (all very familiar territory for me). But then it gets a little personal: my name, my dating status, where I’m staying in Cusco. I finally notice the bizarre eye contact through the rearview mirror and start hoping traffic would clear up. It did, but not before he… said that I was nice and pretty and dropped me off at the church I wanted to see.