Murder Mystery Night at La Casa de Aliaga

The second night in Lima we were treated to the rare opportunity to dine in the oldest house in Latin America. Situated next to the presidential palace in Lima's main square, we ambled down the street to the left of the palace, to a nondescript door with an elaborate "A" carved on its face. We arrived early, knocked, and I wondered if we had the secret password we needed to whisper to the mayordomo to get in. I think the secret word would have rhymed with Pisarro: "bizarro". And that described the scene on the other side.

The place belonged to Pisarro's best bud, a Count or some such by the name of Aliaga. The house has been in the same family (thanks Spanish feudalism!) for about 16 generations. They had managed to snag the title back from Spain in the 60's (that's 1960s) after the strength of the X chromosome for a few decades stripped them of the noble designation.

It was a dark, dark house, that even managed to make a the French rococo room seem sinister. We entered at night in the dark entry and were greeted by the house staff. Up the stairs from the main doors to an open courtyard, illuminated by one light, that confused the senses at night, as it seemed like the Lima cloudy night sky was the ceiling, as the sweep of the cold winter air swirled around you. They like to psyche you out in this palace.

Each room was old money decoration by the century. A disorienting mosaic of mishmashed styles spanning the continents and centuries. They like to keep you guessing. Dark Spanish1500s gothic decor one room, French rococo with original Louis XVI chairs we sat on, 2 original Versailles mirrors with Marie Antoinette's likeness above it, a paneled empire period waiting room, and family portraits dotting every available spot on the walls whose eyes seemed to follow you as you walk by. If the house were attached to a rotting pier and had a carousel it could have served as the backdrop for every Scooby Doo scene ever. I kept expecting to see human eyes behind the portraits quickly shutting as our eyes met The interlopers in a fish bowl, waiting for the murder mystery to begin.

We decided that our group of 10 would have two rules;
1: no one would go into the basement, and
2: we were only to travel the house in pairs.

Eventually, our tour of the house took us into an inner courtyard with a ficus tree so tall that extended a full story out of the house. Having only ever seen the sort of ficus that freaks out and drops all its leaves after someone moves it half a foot, seeing how substantial one can get when it's left stationary- planted in fact- was fairly eye opening.We waited on the mezzanine, next to the church room, a tiny chapel in miniature with 8 pew seats, ringing the tree for dinner to begin while two white-gloved butlers (BUTLERS!) brought around drinks and appetizers: chicken paté, which none of we Americans ate, and fried cheese sticks with guacamolé,which we Americans ate.

The butlers led us up the stairs into the dining room, where we ate a very formal meal, white gloves dancing around our heads, illuminated candelabra and fresh plates, infernally hot,preceded each of the four courses.

Chip, the unfortunate victim, got sick the next day.

Aha!

It was the old Aliaga man disguised as the butler. Mystery solved! Peruvian Scooby Doo would be proud.

Matt