I made it to Peru. The flight was interesting. The first several hours were a mixed bag of bumps, and a reroute to Freeport, in the Bahamas because of bad weather in Ft. Lauderdale. My seat on the plane was tight, but it doesn't really matter anyway, because I simply do not like to fly. The layover in Ft. Lauderdale was shortened because we arrived almost three hours late. I grabbed a sandwich, drank a beer to calm my nerves, and sat on the floor. I received a call from Ross, and talked a bit about trip details. It was hard to hear him amidst the noise of the terminal, but I made out something about a travel agency meeting me in Lima with my ticket to Cuzco on the 18th. Time passed quickly, and before I knew it, the flight was boarding. I said goodbye to my cellular device, and promised I would reunite with him in a month. The phone cried and resisted my decision to leave, but I bid him farewell anyway. I promised I would return, and that to celebrate, we could drink beers and make inappropriate phone calls for hours. He giggled in delight.
The flight to Lima was great for the first twenty minutes and then we hit a fairly rough patch of turbulence. I glued my face to window, ordered a small drink, and listened to my heartbeat race inside my chest. The steward dropped off the vodka and smiled at me. I think he liked me. There was no time to feel awkward, only time to panic. The plane rattled and shook a bit more. No one seemed to care. In reality these collosal bumps were probably small. Nonetheless, in the moment, I was concerned only with the horrid fear of being trapped inside a speeding metal box, with not a damn thing to do for five hours but agonize over the shape of every cloud in the sky. It was too much to bear. I reached for my bag. It must have fallen out. I dumped out the contents of my bag on the seat next to me. I forgot to mention the steward gave me an entire row of seats all to myself. Lucky me. I cared nothing about my seating arrangement at the moment. I found my lucky dinosaur. This was small consolation at the moment. Finally I found it.
Ten minutes later I was drawing strange shapes on my arm with my favorite blue pen. I unfolded the tray table and set my lucky blue dinosaur on the table. I started talking to the dinosaur. My body melted into the chair. The plane bumped around the sky. It felt wonderful. I started writing messages to myself in my blue spiral notebook. Fly like an eagle.
I read the latest issue of Rolling Stone and Sports Illustrated from cover to cover. I am now educated on the greatest tennis match of all-time, the current melt rate of the Greenland ice sheet, Beck's new album, 'Modern Guilt', and the politcal wizardry of Barrack Obama. Change we can believe in.
The magic spell is slowly wearing off. I close my eyes for a brief moment. The captain comes on the airwaves and annouces are initial descent into Lima. It dawns on me that I have absolutely no plan when I get there. I laugh.
The plane lands. I am alive and extremely tired. I go through customs. The people in customs never seem to be very friendly. They always give me this heir of supremacy, like, oh great, more of you people visiting our country again. Whatever. He signs my ticket and off I go to get my backpack. I decide to exchange my money at the bank. You do not need to go to the bank, you can simply obtain the money from the international style automatic teller machines. Pick your language, insert your card, select your cash amount in the local currency and wallah, you are now in proud possession of Pervian Soles, (suns for laypeople). I am happy now. My wallet is full of suns.
I walk over to the conveyor belt that convincingly states on screen that my flight number and bag are on their way. The conveyor belt moves. I see no bags. My flight number disappears, and a new one from Miami appears. Now there are bags on the conveyor belt with tags from Miami. Apparently my flight only existed for a mere moment, and everyone on the plane had no bags. I fill out a form for lost baggage. Janette was partially friendly, and only partially cute. It is now very late. I am very tired and the room is starting to spill. I wonder if I am experiencing momentary magic withdraw. I walk through the exit. Everyone in all of Peru is waiting on the other side. Girls are whistling at me. They are ten. I almost leave the airport and decide I have no clue what I am doing. I start speaking to a nice old lady in Spanish. My brain hurts as I navigate my way through the conversation. A nice old man walks up. I decide this is good. Two old people. Old people are safe and cannot hurt me. I am bigger than both of them combined and they smell a little funny. They are promoting a local hotel. It seems like a good deal, forty dollars for a room with a bed, shower, and access to the internet.
I agree to the deal and we walk out of the airport. The air is heavy and sticky. The season is winter in Peru and the garua, fog, is thick. We hop in the cab and twenty minutes later we arrive at the hotel door. I have absolutely no idea where I am. Actually, I know that I am in Miraflores, but this currently means nothing to me. I have no perspective. I pay everyone. They seem happy. I am a tired bastard and follow a silent mime up to my room. He opens the door for me and immediately turns on the television. I think he believes this is a gesture of good faith. I thank him and sit down on the bed. I decided to leave the television on. Even at home I do not have cable, just a few fuzzy channels that come in for free. I take of my clothes, take a shower, and climb in bed. I flick through the channels for a while and laugh at the absurdity of my situation. I traveled to another continent to watch Vh1 by my naked self, in Spanish. I find this hilarious and start singing along to the sick line up of eighties American pop music. The novelty wears off and I begin to drool on my pillow.
The sun shines through my bedroom window. I wake up and put on my clothes. I peak out the window. I feel as if I've been captured by aliens and I am now about to escape, hoping I do not get caught. I look around at the buildings surveying the scene. I open the door, turn right, and head down the hallway. I see a hole in the roof with a ladder. I climb up the ladder. I stand on top of the roof at turn around in a circle starting off in all directions. I spot the mountains and the ocean. I get my bearings straight. I tiny man sneaks up on me. I briefly fear for my life. I am an idiot. I climb back down the ladder and down the five flights of stairs for the free complimentary breakfast. I am so excited and hungry. The breakfast is a four ounch glass of juice and a roll with jelly. Very tasty my friends.
A man tries to convince me to let him take me on a tour. I say no. I hop on the computer and send out some emails. A lady arrives an hour later with my ticket to Cuzco. She was not in the airport like she was suppossed to be the night before. I guess my Spanish is good enough to figure a few things out. I feel a little more sure of myself. I decide I might be ready to leave the hotel soon. I go upstairs and put the few belongings I have in my night table drawer. I throw my small bag over my shoulder with my wallet, passport, and keys and head out the hotel door. I have no plan. I make every decision in an instant and stick to it like glue. No second guessing, only direct and simple purpose. I make a left. I make another left. My head bobs about taking in the sights and sounds. The sun really begins to shine and the fog lifts. I start to smile and melt into the moment. I am hungry. Even though that roll with jelly was so delicious, I need a few more calories. I ask for directions to the grocery store. Lucky me, I am already headed in the right direction.
I enter the grocery store and go into near sensory overload by the variety of sights, sounds, and frenetic pace of the store. I wander through the aisles perusing unfamilar goods. I buy some mango yogurt in a bottle and two litros of guarana. They are both delicious. I decide to walk to the beach. It is a nice walk and I take pictures along the way, making sure to capture the clouds. I really like clouds in pictures. Es muy importante. Still no plan. I spot a jetty with a flag at the point and a restaurant nearby. I want to eat cebiche, raw seafood marinated in lime juice. This is the national dish and I hear it's delicious. I walk out toward the flag pole first. The waves roll by and I stare back at the city. Some dude is sitting on the rocks doing the same. I speak to him in Spanish, and then in English. He is Dutch, but speaks good English. We muse about the world, Europe, America, war, environmental issues, contemporary music, a little politics. The conversation is intersting and after a while we wander in the restaurant.
Cebiche is one of my new favorite dishes, crazy good food. I also try my first pisco sour the national drink, chock full of alcohol. The waiter is friendly and brings me a second one on the house. My new friend and I sit and talk for a while near the sea.
Soon we decide to pay the check and formulate a plan to possibly head south the very next day to a town called Ica and go sandboarding. We start to walk back toward my hotel and end up wandering into the heart of Miraflores. We wander for an hour or so. Now we are hungry again. We forget about the internet for a while and look for anothe restaurant. The streets are filled with activity. It is almost too much too process. My Spanish is improving by leaps and bounds, and by this point I am able to hold a decent conversation. We end up on a street that seems to sell nothing but pizzas, but we do not want American style pizza. We find a restaurant with a wider variety of fare and sit down. This time I eat a heaping plate of meat, french fries, and rice with a brown sauce. Two for two on the day. The food was great.
At this point I am not sure about going to Ica yet. I still do not have my bag from the airport and need to get my bag. We exchange emails and decide to email our plans. I think about taking a taxi, but decide against it, considering travelers are warned of imposter taxis that take people away from the city or into dark alleys and beat you for your money. I think about the dark tunnel I need to walk through to make it home. When I finally get there it is not so dark. My first day in Peru is great. Still no plan, just split second decisions. Perhaps I should live my entire life this way. Thinking too much only gets in the way of following the way. Besides, just like the dark tunnel on my way home tonight, once you get to wherever your going, it's usually not as dark as you imagined anyway.
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