Shine those shoes

As I was walking across the Cajamarca plaza the other day on my way home from the coast, I was waved down by one of the park's numerous shoe-shiners. He asked, "Señorita, may I shine your shoes?" I automatically shook my head: "no, gracias" - shoe-shining, in my mind, falls decidedly into the category of unnecessary expenses. The shoe-shine man then very pointedly looked down at my dull-and-dusty, ragged-around-the-edges, supposed-to-be-my-nice-pair-of-shoes black flats, then looked back up at me, eyebrows raised in a clear "are you sure about that?" attitude, and shrugged his shoulders - he could see I was a lost cause. My shoe self-assurance weakening a bit under the disapproving eyes of the shoe-shiner, I paused to glance down and consider the state of my footwear. The man was probably right - those shoes had seen much better days. But it's not like they had holes (yet) or were smeared with mud, so I concluded they were in an acceptable state and did not warrant any extra soles spent on shining.

All the same, the encounter made me reflect a bit: in training, Peace Corps staff told us time and again that appearance and formality were important aspects of Peru's professional world. They even specifically mentioned footwear: no flip-flops ever, and make sure your shoes are clean. I of course do comply with these norms when I'm working in site - my flats aren't really that ragged - but my run-in with the shoe-shine man was a reminder that the Peruvians and I might still have slightly different standards for how well-shod our heels should be.