My house in Lima, faces the east and west, the front and the back that is; the east side being of the Andes, and the west, the beginning of the Pacific Ocean—nearly facing Easter Island, and should you turn a little north, you’re headed for Japan.
Reading on top of my roof, which is really a platform area, with a table and umbrella extended towards the moon, a big umbrella, I’ve written four books there, some 1650-pages, or nearly 400,000-words, there about.
The roofs of all the houses in between, its width, the sun, coming up over the roof of my house, will shine on my face and pert near wake you up, if you try to go to sleep, that is, if you choose to read, the sun will be getting in your way, stronger as the day goes on to twilight, which you can watch descend over the pacific, all you need to do is turn 180 degrees, you may have to move the large umbrella, at its strongest point.
You take a late shower, look out the little window in the shower area you will be next to the rainbow colored twilight. Breakfast under the umbrella on the roof, you will see sunrise coming over the Andes.
When its winter in Lima, it is summer in Minnesota, my birth place: maybe that’s a good thing, I don’t know. I go to Huancayo, the rainy season there has stopped, and that’s four-hundred miles, deep in a valley 10,500-feet above sea level: June, July and August are the season you get the most sun, and warm winds, especially if you like to fly kites, get there in August: if you like to party, drink, anytime will do. It just takes more stamina to live in the Andes, it makes you tired, more quickly, but it is no more dangerous there, than spending a long chilly, foggy winter in Lima.
In the Mantaro Valley, which is really the Huancayo Region, the angry weather starts back up in December, that is when you want to drop back down to Lima.