AS SHE STEPPED of our hotel in Lima, my wife, Tracy, took in the view. I’m blind, so I did not. Some sensations reminded me of our home on Vancouver Island, though. Sea lions barked. The fog from the Pacific Ocean filled my nose with a briny air. As Tracy and I followed the city’s malecón, or boardwalk, gentle waves peeled like a sigh, suggesting the presence of surfers. At cevichería Canta Rana, I scarfed a bowl of chupe, a Peruvian soup made here with sea bass, tomato, sweet potato, and the occasional maize kernel the size of a kidney bean. We washed it all down with tall glasses of chicha morada, Peru’s ubiquitous purple corn juice. Not the view, but these first sounds, smells, and tastes landed me in…
