It's Peru, Baby.

It's Tuesday. I think I still have a hangover from Saturday night. Is that bad? I did what all the songs suggest, and partied like it was birthday (even though it isn't 'til Wednesday). Because I could, alright? Last year, I recall, I went to my deadly CELTA course all day, taught, bought myself a solitary chocolate bar to celebrate, then travelled home (three hours on bus/train) thinking someone would surely buy me a pizza. No-one did. I ate dinner my mummy cooked for me and sobbed into the phone (to a certain someone in Nippon) and finally went to bed, shivering and alone.
(CUE VIOLINS)
That's why my birthday this year is going to be so bloody good. Part 1, on the said Saturday night, involved imbibing plenty of thrist-quenching Cuba Libres, going to Samba nightclub, enjoying lashings of Pina Coladas, and dancing my pants off until about seven am. Monika and Neil, fellow teachers at ICPNA, both missed their Sunday morning classes completely, which I think is a fitting testiment to the excellence of the evening's festivities.
Part 2 involved waking up sometime on Sunday to a lovely, massive arrangement of flowers from Tito's parents, a gorgeous cake and about 10 pounds of pork to be cooked. We went out for lunch with some friends, came back, slept more, then prepared dinner(the largest I'd ever made). Tito's mum Glavis had very kindly seen to the pork, I just had to prepare the mountain of garbanzos. I did, then 17 people came over and we fed them. They left, we went to bed. It was wonderful.
Stayed tuned for further episodes of the never-ending birthday!