Lima

I was only in Lima for one morning to catch a flight back to Quito. I walked through the major park that is bordered by government building and art museums. I only had time to go into one, and most of it was closed for renovation. Lima is covered in fog for large portions of the year, and Herman Melville wrote about Lima is his chapter dedicated to whiteness in Moby Dick. I did read the entire book. It only took six months. 

Nor is it, altogether, the remembrance of her cathedral-toppling earthquakes; nor the stampedoes of her frantic seas; nor the tearlessness of and skies that never rain; nor the sight of her wide field of leaning spires, wrenched cope-stones, and crosses all adroop (like canted yards of anchored fleets); and her suburban avenues of house-walls lying over upon each other, as a tossed pack of cards;- it is not these things alone which make tearless Lima, the strangest, saddest city thou can'st see. For Lima has taken the white veil; and there is a higher horror in this whiteness of her woe. Old as Pizarro, this whiteness keeps her ruins for ever new; admits not the cheerful greenness of complete decay; spreads over her broken ramparts the rigid pallor of an apoplexy that fixes its own distortions.