The Plaza de Armas that Pizarro laid out in 1535 remains Lima's ceremonial heart, though earthquakes have destroyed and rebuilt the buildings surrounding it several times. The Cathedral, rebuilt after the 1746 earthquake that killed 10,000, holds Pizarro's remains in a chapel near the entrance. The Government Palace, rebuilt in the 1930s, hosts the changing of the guard that tourists photograph. The colonial balconies that line nearby streets, carved from cedar, represent the adaptation of Spanish architecture to Peruvian conditions.

The historic center declined in the 20th century as wealthier residents moved to suburbs, leaving colonial buildings to subdivide into crowded tenements. The UNESCO World Heritage designation in 1988 sparked preservation efforts that continue unevenly - some buildings restored, others crumbling, the contrast visible block by block. The centro is not gentrified like European historic districts; it remains working-class, commercial, crowded with vendors and buses in ways that sanitized tourism would eliminate.

The garua is Lima's defining weather - a fine fog that blankets the city from May to November, rarely producing measurable rainfall but keeping skies gray and temperatures cool. The Humboldt Current that flows north along Peru's coast brings cold Antarctic water that chills the air above it; when this air meets warmer land, fog forms. The result is a city that averages less than 10mm of annual rainfall but feels damp for most of the year.

The fog shapes Lima's character. The parks and gardens that green the wealthy suburbs require irrigation; the desert hills that surround the city bloom only briefly after rare rains. The garua depresses mood in ways that Lima residents acknowledge - the city's melancholy, its introspection, its literary culture all attributed to skies that rarely clear. When summer brings sun from December to April, the city transforms - beaches fill, spirits lift, Lima becomes the coastal city its geography suggests.

Miraflores is Lima's showcase district - the cliff-top parks, the shopping centers, the restaurants and hotels that tourists visit. The Malecón that runs along the cliff edge provides walking paths with Pacific views, paragliders launching to ride the updrafts, the Parque del Amor with its sculpture of embracing lovers. The neighborhood represents what Lima aspires to be: modern, safe, prosperous, connected to the world.

The contrast with other Lima is stark. The pueblos jóvenes - young towns, the euphemism for informal settlements - cover the hillsides east and north, their residents having migrated from the Andes seeking opportunity the countryside could not provide. Miraflores and San Isidro are islands of wealth in a city where poverty remains widespread, the inequality visible in any drive from center to periphery. The tourists who stay in Miraflores see a Lima that most Limeños cannot afford.

Lima has become one of the world's great food cities, its restaurants consistently ranked among the best globally, its cuisine representing the fusion of indigenous, Spanish, African, Chinese, and Japanese influences that Peru's history produced. Ceviche - raw fish cured in citrus juice - is the signature dish, its variations as numerous as the restaurants that serve it. The chifas serve Chinese-Peruvian fusion; the anticuchos vendors grill beef hearts on street corners; the fine dining establishments of chefs like Gastón Acurio attract culinary tourists.

The food renaissance reflects broader changes. Peru's economic growth and political stability since the 1990s have enabled a cultural confidence that food expresses. The rediscovery of indigenous ingredients - quinoa, purple corn, aji peppers - connects modern cuisine to pre-Columbian traditions. Lima's restaurants have become ambassadors for Peru, the meals that visitors remember long after architectural memories fade.

Lima sits on the Pacific Ring of Fire, the subduction zone where the Nazca Plate slides beneath South America producing earthquakes that have repeatedly destroyed the city. The 1746 earthquake killed 10,000 and triggered a tsunami that devastated the port of Callao; the 1940 and 1970 earthquakes damaged buildings throughout the historic center. The seismic risk shapes architecture and anxiety - buildings designed to sway, residents trained to shelter, the knowledge that another major earthquake is inevitable.

The informal construction that houses much of Lima's population is particularly vulnerable. The hillside settlements built without engineering, the colonial buildings maintained without reinforcement, the infrastructure that struggles with normal demands - all would fail catastrophically in a major earthquake. The government's disaster planning assumes casualties in the tens of thousands; the question is not whether but when.