After visiting the Institute for Liberty and Democracy, I walked down to Avenida Arequipa to catch my bus. As I waited, I noticed a strange- looking church nearby. I walked over to check it out. Only a block off the busy road, I was surprised how quickly the cafes and shops started looking more upscale. Rather than catching my bus, I opted to wander further into the luxurious blocks that reminded me more of Europe than of the Peru with which I'd become acquainted.

All of the cars looked freshly waxed, dusted, and glinted in the sun. Men and women in freshly pressed, pastel colored business-casual dress sipped Inca Cola behind the crystal clear glass of air-conditioned restaurants with 15 soles menus (which are all inclusive lunch specials that typically cost 5 or 6 soles). Streets and sidewalks were pristine, without even a chewing gum package to be found. After passing a spa/hotel with four black chauffeured Mercedes, windows fully tinted, parked in front, the sight of a traffic circle struck me, dominating the interchange with a fountain that sent a shaft of water twenty feet into the air. It seemed out of place in this city where it never rains.

Beyond the traffic circle, colorful, unique condos and chalets lined the streets. It was there that I discovered something astounding: silence. I hadn’t experienced this in Lima since my arrival three weeks ago. The lack of noise was largely due to the lack of public transportation that is so abundant in most districts of Lima. No noisy diesel "micros" with their cobradores shouting, calling people to "get on, get on!" their bus, in castellano, no sputtering moto-taxis, no dogs barking. Just a few birds chirping and muted sedans rolling by.

I took a relaxing stroll down a broad, paved walking path, which was lined with ancient olive trees and ponds. There were ducks, and more fountains, and more groves of trees. Short, dark, indigenous women pushed elderly white women along in their wheelchairs at a leisurely pace. Other indigenous women pushed baby carriages or walked fluffy white dogs. I partly see where indigenous people get the perception that white people are fragile.

By the end of my walk, I was stunned by the stark contrast between the wealth of San Isidro and my neighborhood in San Juan, which is more middle class. On my way back to Arequipa Avenue, slightly-fenced houses slowly faded into the more heavily fortified residences, with high walls topped with shards of glass. Diesel-soot-encrusted buildings and the mere presence of leaves on the street, signaled I had made it back to the busy avenue of Arequipa, where I flagged down a micro to take me to another world.