20-minute observations - #1

So I've given myself a little project to fill up the journal my sister-in-law gave me for Christmas. Once a week (or so) I'll spend 20 minutes (or so) sitting in some location around the city observing the goings-on around me and writing about them. This project will stave off the pangs of guilt and self reproach that would attack me if I were to ignore this little book full of clean white pages. That's one reason I decide to try it. Another reason is that I can't think of a better way to spend a half hour on a breezy, sunny 75-degree day in February than by sitting outside people-watching.

I'd like to invite you to experience these 20-minute observations with me. But first, a disclaimer: I can't promise great writing, creativity, or even anything particularly interesting with these posts. They'll just be copies of my journal entries for those who want to vicariously people-watch in Peru.

20-minute observations #1
Date: January 19
Location: a bench in a small park across the street from the school where I teach English every morning

Two men close their laptop cases and leave their seats at one of the tables in the park. The five tables are concrete, with chipping green paint and faded checker boards on top. I've never seen anyone playing checkers here. An older couple totters along the uneven stone path. She's wearing a purple shin-length skirt, a tan sweater that seems to me much too warm for today's weather, and green baseball cap. He's got on a dress shirt and tie and is walking two steps behind her. She shuffles; he walks with a slight limp. A young guy sits on a bench about 50 meters away from me. He could blend into almost any U.S. city with his trendy jeans, Vans-type shoes, and hair carefully spiked to achieve that I-don't-care look. He's half-reading a newspaper, maybe killing time between classes, or maybe waiting for someone. His girlfriend, perhaps, so they can make out in the park, which seems to be a popular past time here -- both for teenagers and adults. Up the block on the corner there's a woman selling queso helado (homemade ice cream). Her poofy yellow skirt matches the yellow umbrella she's using for shade. She doesn't have the black butt-length braids that many traditionally dressed women do. It came to my attention recently that those braids may often be fake extensions. How disappointing. I can't tell what the man on the next bench over is doing. He bent over and picked up a few somethings from the round. Then he did a farmer's blow to clear out some snot. Then he finished the job with a little unabashed public nose-picking. Now he's fiddling with something in his hands. Possibilities: He's fixing a cell phone; he filing his nails; he's knitting.* A man with his right arm in a case and sling is walking past me toward the athletic club entrance. In his left hand is a gym bag. Good for him! He'll whoop up on his buddies in fronton one-handed.

*On my way home I passed the guy on the bench to see what he was doing. He was using a toothpick to clean between the teeth of a comb. Right. Now how did I not think to guess that?