How David saved my flip-flops' life ... twice.

Alternate title: Flipflops have nine lives, too
Alternate title 2: My Sayonara Saga
(Sayonara means flipflop, which happens to be one of my favorite Spanish words)

The repair shop is smaller than many of your
bathrooms and is crammed floor to ceiling with
shoes and purses in various stages of repair.

Back in July, I noticed to my dismay that my favorite black Teva flip-flops were coming apart and I commented to David what a bummer it was that I'd have to pitch them. He reminded me I could take them around the corner to the Renovadora, a hole-in-the-wall repair shop for shoes and leather goods. Brilliant! So I did. I dropped off the flip-flops, explained the problem and agreed to a price quote of 3 Nuevo Soles ($1).

"They'll be ready on Monday morning," I was told by a man whose black stained hands looked as if they'll never be flesh-colored again.

At 10:30 on Monday morning I returned, eager to pick up my freshly mended sayonaras. The girl behind the tiny counter looked worried when I explained what I was there for.

"They're not here," she said.

Hmm.

The tiny place was packed floor to ceiling and wall to wall with all sorts of footwear and purses in various stages of repair, yet for some reason my flip-flops were not included in the collection.

"Come back after 11:00," she said.

"11:00 today?" I clarified.

Yes.

For good measure, I waited until after 5:00 p.m. to return and waited 15 minutes while an older couple had a leisurely chat with the shoe repair guy. I didn't mind too much since I was there after closing time, according to the handwritten sign taped to the door. By the time the older couple left, there were seven more people waiting behind me, clogging up the sidewalk outside the tiny shop. I commented to the guy behind the counter about all the people, and he agreed but didn't seem even a bit flustered about the after-hours rush.

He looked over his shoulder toward the same girl I had spoken with earlier. She mumbled something I didn't catch, and the guy asked me to come back later. Normally I probably would have agreed and walked away feeling a mix of mild annoyance and amusement, chalking up the situation to a misunderstanding based at least in part on my poor Spanish, or perhaps just yet another example of the cultural differences between Peru and the States. But I was leaving on a trip in a couple days and wanted the flip-flops for the trip, so I was a bit pushier than normal.

"She told me they'd be ready at 11:00," I said leaning slightly over the counter to look at the girl, annoyed that she seemed to be hiding be hiding a shelf of shoes. (I'm sure now that was all in my imagination).

"I forgot," she said sheepishly.

I waited.

They waited.

I waited.

Then the girl abruptly jumped up, told me to wait just a moment, and sprinted up the street.

I took a seat on a stool shoved next to the counter and observed as the line of customers filed in one-by-one to drop off or pick up shoes and purses. It must've been the after-work crowd because many of them were well-dressed. After 15 minutes or so, the girl came running back down the street with a little black bag in her hand.

Breathless, she opened the bag and showed me my sayonaras--good as new!

I paid her $1, said thanks, and walked away feeling that familiar mix of mild annoyance and amusement. And resigned confusion. (Resigned, because by this point I'd realized that I probably needed to get used to spending a good portion of my time in Peru in a state of mild confusion.)

Enjoying my good-as-new flip-flops! I'm embarrassed about the
terrible paint job on my toenails, but not embarrassed enough to  
repaint them and retake the photo.

Fast forward seven months to February.  I'm feeling much more confident in my Spanish skills now, and I have adjusted to the perpetual state of slight confusion. Still, though, when one of my favorite black Teva flipflops started getting a hole in the sole, I didn't think to take it to get fixed. Instead, I put up with painful pebbles jabbing me in the foot for a couple weeks and then lamented to David about how I'd have to pitch them. Once again, he encouraged me to take them to the Renovadora. This time the story is pretty anticlimactic. I took them in, agreed to a price ($5 this time), and mentally added 24 hours to the suggested pick-up day. And this morning I picked up my sayonaras, which are refitted with brand new soles--good as new once again!

I'll close by saying that if anyone has anything that's in need of fixing, I suggest a trip south to visit the Martins. I know a good cheap place we can go. Just be sure to book your trip for at least a week since there's no guarantee the item will be fixed sooner than that.