For a Peruvian now living in the United States, a trip home offers both a chance to escape a privileged but superficial culture, and to return to a land of extremes. But in a recent visit Andres T. Tapia found signs the differences are narrowing. PNS associate editor Andres T. Tapia writes regularly on Peru.

LIMA, PERU -- One privilege of growing up middle class in Lima, Peru was the occasional pilgrimage to the United States -- the country that not only had Disneyland but was Disneyland.

A Big Mac and a smile in less than a minute was a marvel for someone from a country where the most basic dishes take two to three hours to prepare. And no trip was complete without a stop at the temples of Macy's and Saks, sanctuaries with perfect artificial weather and a numbing quantity of leisure products to worship.

But the special allure of the Big Mac and the Magic Kingdom came from the fact that we did not have them. To us, these were the icons of a bold theology that claimed the pursuit of happiness as a right. In Peru, we would have settled for freedom of the press.

But now Lima, in the name of economic revitalization, is being Disneyfied -- and it's killing our culture. On a recent visit, I saw those golden arches, the white-bearded Colonel's smile, Pizza Hut's logo and Blockbuster posters everywhere I turned.

Living in the United States, I look forward to escaping its plastic environment. I visit Peru for its grittiness, for seafood dishes as fresh as the morning's catch, juices made from fruits just cut up. A place where there is always time for "la conversa" -- conversation.

But now Lima has its own fast-food drag strips with loud neon signs and louder rock music. And, despite horrendous traffic, Domino's pizza still promises to deliver in 30 minutes or less or its free. Peruvians are on the go -- cellular phones are everywhere, food is fast, delivered and cheap.

But the cost is high.

One night, my counter-culture friends take me to, of all places, TGIFriday. Another night, to Bembo's, a hamburger joint modeled on McDonald's, which offers "Peruvian-style" burgers, but there is nothing recognizable as Peruvian in sight -- it's all Coke, stick fries and ketchup.

I want to leave the country with my mouth tingling with "criollo" spices, but this is all we can find that can feed us in time for me to catch my plane.

The place is packed with families who have never made it to the United States. The commercials I see in the United States can come to them, but this is no outpost of the American Dream. The families look harried, and all I can think of are the gatherings we used to have at our favorite aunt's house, eating hard cookies and drinking lemon grass tea, with most of the lights out to keep the electric bill low.

Watching TV used to be a good way to get back in touch with the country, but now it's the Cartoon Network, CNN, Hollywood movies.

Where has my Peru gone? There is still the excellent journalist Cesar Hildebrant getting a police officer to confess how the top brass shakes down lower rank police who in turn shake down common citizens. But he is followed almost immediately by a talk show host imitating Oprah who is grilling audience members about their tangled sex lives.

I am aware of my personal contradiction. While I live in the comfortable United States I want my homeland to retain its inefficient charm. Peru is a nation of extremes -- seafood can kill you with cholera or provide the most sublime taste experience you've ever had.

Fast food franchises, indoor malls, plastic jungle gyms offer safe, predictable environments. But they also deaden our senses, distance us from our real passions. Lima life engages all of my senses -- its invigorating element of chaos keeps us all connected to life's true currents.

In reality, plastification does not eliminate our human angst. Near my home in suburban Chicago, seven people were murdered at a franchise fried chicken restaurant and a deranged woman mowed down a classroom of kids before killing herself.

Such events make my neighbors ask, "How could this happen here?" In Lima, this question is never asked because we have always understood that beauty and brutality live side by side. We could lose this primal sensitivity to Dunkin' Donuts.

At the airport, across from the duty-free shop -- hawking Chanel perfume, Johnny Walker whiskey, and Mickey Mouse paraphernalia -- I was lured into a boutique with herbal medicines, coca tea bags, and aphrodisiacs from the Andes. For $69 you could buy "Erector, super potente," made of maca leaves, guaranteed to work instantly. Business is brisk.

Near the end of my stay, I did find some gritty pockets that had eluded me for most of my visit, but I fear they will not be here the next time I return.

Just before my flight, I was on the beach eating ceviche -- raw fish marinated in lemon juice, smothered with onions and hot peppers -- chased down with robust Peruvian beer. I followed this with sole "macho style." I'm barefoot, the table is cracked, the boardwalk rough underfoot. The sun beats hard, the breeze is fishy and seawaterish. My senses are engaged. I feel alive.