San tennista

On a very rare cloudy morning in Arequipa, I'm enjoying a breakfast of pepino, yellow granadilla, green apples, little bananas, drinkable yogurt, super sharp cheese, and my beloved pan de tres puntas. I deserve a treat. It was a  rough weekend of homesickness and other emotional maladies, and I even smoked a cigarette or five -- effectively ending a 14-year drought. But back to the fruit. Granadilla is awesome, and I'm sure many of my devoted readers (ha ha) have tried it. I think it's also called maracuya, and it's supposedly good for urinary tract infections and sporadic coughing. Both are on the way for me, I'm sure. It's very light. You crack it open and eat the mucus-like center, seeds and all. Mucus-like is the only way to describe it. Yet it's absolutely delicious. I think it's also known as a passion fruit, but I know nothing about passion. The pepino, which I've been told means cucumber, doesn't taste like it looks. The outside is cream colored with some purple stripes. It looks kind of like a peach when it's cut in half, but tastes a tiny bit like a cross between cantelope and cucumber. It's also quite good, and good for you as well. Helps with depression, I believe. I'm feeling better already. (I have a picture of some of my breakfast. Properly name the fruits and bread and you get a prize -- another blog from me in a week or so.)
I'm playing tennis this afternoon with a teacher named Rony. I'll see if he'll let me post his picture. The dude can play some tennis. He's younger, 36, USTA certified or something, and about 25 cuts above my level. He's a good sport about our differences in ability. We're playing on clay courts, which is kind of cool. I like the color, and the ball bounces all over the place. Rony's top-spin is ridiculously good, and oh by the way, I suck at tennis. On the bright side, I suck even more at golf.
I've hit a bit of a routine. The little shop owners near my apartment all know me now and are quite friendly, and I have a budding friendship with the lady near the Puente Grau who makes my anticuchos. She's great, and so is her anticuchos. She has a daughter or granddaughter who's 11 that hangs with her sometimes. I call the little girl 'once' (pronounce all the letters for 11 in Spanish) and we high-five when we see each other. I guess with friends like this, there's really no need to get down. It's a good scene here.