Day one...Excess baggage

            Apparently, it seems to upset nature whenever I decide to leave home base at any given time now. This is the second time in the past three months that I’ve had to outrun a hurricane to reach my destination. Either I’m supposed to stay put, or I’m supposed to get out of Dodge before the metaphorical shit hits the fan. So I don't know if my timing is good luck or bad luck. Although, that the fact that I'm going on this trip tells me that I won't be pursuing a new career as a flight attendant anytime in the next few months. But, the good news is…this trip to Peru is happening and seems as though it was always meant to be.

            Just two days ago I was sitting at home slightly panicked over the packing situation, and although I was given a basic packing list through my agent, this list was a little too basic and didn't specify what I might need for the time of year that I'm entering Peru. Here in the states we're on the cusp of fall turning into winter, but in South America they’re on the cusp of spring going into their rainy summer season. Then there's the altitude to consider. There will be times when I'll be as high as 14,000 feet from sea level! I remember freezing my butt off from 10,000 feet in the middle of summer in the Hamptons last year. This was while I was falling to my death from a perfectly good single engine plane, attached to a man I hardly knew with a parachute defining whether I lived or died, but it was still quite far up there. What will 14,000 feet feel like?

            I spent the better part of the morning stuffing all of the must have items from “the list” into this one bag. I'm the worst last minute packer. Dina was nice enough to let me borrow her man sized hiking bag. Mind you, the bag is nearly the same size as her. I honestly don’t know how on earth that little five-foot woman was able to move with this thing strapped to her back. When I tried to put the thing on my shoulders I fell backwards with its weight. I’m just grateful I had the sense to place it on my bed and then sit INTO the bag because just as quickly as I sat up, I went right back onto the bed like a deep-sea diver falling into the ocean. Let’s try this again. The second time I was prepared for the weight and my legs were beams of steel planted on the sound foundation of the floor below me. With the hip belts snapped around my mid-section, shoulder straps in place, I bid my sweet cat adieu and dove into the unknown world before me.   

            I left for the airport a little sooner than I probably needed to but my fear was that if I didn’t get there sooner than later, the flight would have changed on me and I wouldn't have been aware of it, or been canceled all together and sitting at home in anticipation was never one of my strong suits. If it was the former than I would be prepared for the change of plans, if canceled then there was nothing I could do and I would just head back home. However, in some strange way, being at the airport made it seem like a cancellation would not have felt like an option. If was already there, then somehow, I would be going, hurricane or not. Ha ha, you’re too late, I’m here, now take me to Peru. When I got to the airport nearly every flight on the board was either canceled or delayed…all but flights to and from Chicago or Miami. What luck! Miami was my first stop and then it was an overnight to Lima to follow. As I sat by the window in front of the gate for two hours, I could see that what was just a slight breeze not so long ago was turning into gusts of wind. Dark grey clouds were beginning to roll over the airport with greater haste as the ground crew held on to their flapping orange vests for dear life. Oh man, maybe this wasn’t such a stroke of luck like I thought. Will this be the day that I die? When the plane rolled into the terminal and the bridge was attached to the side of its belly I decided to do a little storm tracking on the internet. This was probably not a good idea, but it did put me at ease when I saw that the worst was to come tomorrow and not in the next two hours.

            When I boarded the plane I found myself in a window seat next to a couple who looked to be somewhere in their mid forties, heading home to their kids in Miami. The wife sat next to me in the center and her husband, wearing his shiny brown and blue striped shirt, sat in the isle. His shirt reflected not only a glare of light but his fun personality as well. Like a little boy on his very first flight, headphones plugged into his ears, arms perched up on the seat in front of him, he watched the people enter the plane with a large smile on his face. Everyone else on the flight looked tense and serious, including myself, except for this guy. He just sat in the back end of the plane with the rest of us singing–“You can go your own way” to the music in his ears. His wife nudged him after a few minutes, probably used to his spectacles, but felt she needed to remind him that he wasn’t singing in the shower at home. I was actually enjoying his serenade. In fact, I don’t think I was the only one feeling his soothing effect when I looked back and noticed the smirks on the rest of the passengers sitting in the back end of the plane with us.

            For the next forty-five minutes we continued to sit in our seats while traffic was clearing the runway. At one point I had a great view of the baggage crew loading my massive backpack onto the plane. As it climbed unsteadily on the conveyor belt one of the crew watching it wobble off the edge caught it before it plummeted to the tarmac five feet below the ramp. Nice save Mr. Baggage claim man, I salute you! I need a Bud. Once the plane finally took off, the winds were merely a breath, but with the force of the plane going against the wind I was sure the wings were going to rip right off the plane before my very eyes. As it continued to climb, the ripples of the wind currents seemed to only grow stronger and with my seat positioned just behind the right wing, I had the best view of the effects it was playing on it. I had a front row seat of the spectacle it would be if they did decide to rip off the plane. Lord, help me. I love flying, but taking this trip alone to a foreign country I’ve never been to, at night and during a hurricane, was a little too adventurous...even for me.

            Soaring at 28,000 feet instead of the usual 30,000, there were times that I could see from one end of the peninsula of Florida to the other while heading over Miami. It was an amazing sight at night. The city sparkled and stretched across the horizon like a reflection of a clear and starry sky below us. The couple I sat next to on the next flight from Miami did not seem as excited or as social as the last. In fact the woman sitting in my seat was not happy that she had to move to the seat next to her dozing husband in the isle seat. I was so tired at this point I slept through most of this ride but for the first time in nearly a decade I was not only provided with a warm meal but also a pillow and blanket so my head wasn’t snapping up and down the entire journey. As we flew over the city of Lima, it was then that I got a little apprehensive about the whole idea of coming to Peru. After seeing the splendor of Miami in all it's glamour and glory, Lima looked like a sparse model of a city covered in dust and dirt in comparison.
            At the Lima airport, my watch told me I had forty-five minutes to get to my connecting flight and another half hour before taking off to Cusco. Plenty of time...so I thought. My verbal Spanish is very basic, but my reading comprehension is close to fluent, so although I was nervous about this foreign country, I was confident I could get around without too much difficulty. As I got off the plane, with my international customs form filled, ticket and passport ready in hand, I disembarked the plane and made my way through the terminal at a casual pace, reading every sign carefully so that I was not going in circles in search of baggage claim and my next gate. After I found and retrieved my pack I made my way to the entrance of the gates. There I was greeted by a man who was collecting custom forms from nonresidents. When I handed the man the only form I was given, he glanced at it and shook his head pointing me to the table showcasing the proper form he needed from me. Lugging myself over to the table I filled out the form and got back in line. The man looked over the form I thought I had filled out correctly, but with another shake of his stupid head, he asked me if I had come from a LAN flight, and replied that I wasn't. "I'm going ON a LAN flight." Apparently, the flight number I put down was not supposed to be the departing flight but the arrival flight I just disembarked. The form only asked for a flight number but did not specify an arriving or departing flight number. Ha ha, silly me. I giggled uncomfortably at my mistake, trying to keep the mood light, but the man was not amused by my sense of humor. Back to the table I went, massive pack on my back and all, to fill out another form. When I finally passed the man’s inspection and went to check in my pack a petite woman at the desk looked at my ticket and told me I had missed my flight.

"WHAT?" I pulled out my cell phone reading 5:25 a.m. as the local time. "There must be some mistake."
"The flight is closed and your bag is too large to carry on the plane."
"But I have five more minutes to board the plane and another half hour before takeoff."
"Let me look at your bag again, maybe you can just squeeze it into the overhead compartment." Yeah right, sure. Just get me on that plan. I’ll throw some things out the window if I have to. A minute later she hands me my ticket and tells me to get to gate 13 as fast as I can. Fudge. I grabbed my ticket from her and made my way through the terminal replicating the scene much like that of Home Alone, while ripping my belt off my pants and holding my laptop in my arms ready to throw down at the gate for inspection at the security check point. When I reached that area I thought the game was over. Before me was a mass of Peruvians scrambling and snaking through a line as long as the ones you would see at Six Flags for the Kingda Ka coaster. Good for me that their security was not as locked down as it is in America and everyone wearing shoes below the ankle were spared the process of taking them off. That was one less thing I had to do to get me on that plane and every little moment counted. I was planning on going to the bathroom before entering the next plane but that was out of the question and I was beginning to feel the pressure on my swelling bladder before I even cleared with security. I’m surprised I didn’t pee my pants between nerves and the need, but I got to the plane in the nick of time. Of course, my bag was too big as a carry on and it was taken under the belly of the plane for loading before takeoff, but I made it and they had no choice but to accommodate me...and my bag.
            This last flight was only an hour long and in no time I was looking out at the most beautiful scene I’ve ever witnessed with my own eyes. As the plane began to gradually descend it flew right through massive mountains that looked like sleeping giants covered in suede the color of milk chocolate. We looked to be clear of the peaks but from behind the wings one could never tell. I let my faith in the pilots do as they must and I just sat, nose pressed against the window, looking out at the majesty before me. It was so beautiful, I nearly cried. 

            When the plane landed the only thing on my mind was a toilet. Luckily the baggage claim was located right next to the facilities. Grabbing my pack I ran to the restroom and squeezed myself into a stall only to find out, after it was too late, that the toilet paper was located outside of the stalls. Good thing I grabbed my pack first because one of my essentials on "the list" was toilet paper.

            With Cusco sitting at 11,000 feet above sea level, I was already feeling the ear-popping effects of the altitude level and the shortness of breath. When I reached the Hotel Midori, just around the corner of downtown Cusco, my head was starting a slow throb, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle, so far. I was fascinated by hotel’s warm and humble, Spanish style architecture. With narrow alleys and stairs climbing a series of ups and downs from the outside of the property leading to the rooms, it felt as though I had walked through a time warp or a fairytale. My room was like stepping into a hobbit's home. The old wooden door that lead from a second floor balcony took me into a room with a double bed and low ceilings that stood just short of two feet from my head. The room was neat and clean with furniture that looked hand made by the locals. It was cozy and beautiful and something old-world. After the bellboy left me to my room he was back a few minutes later with a tray of coca tea for me.

"You should drink. This will be good for you."

“Muchas gracias por el te.”

From what I've read, the coca leaf is supposed to help with altitude sickness. They're also the same leaves that make cocaine. Although the effects are clearly far from the finished product of cocaine, it does provide the benefits of alertness and energy that a lack of oxygen can seep away from a person. Although, if I were to take a drug test within the next month, it's likely that traces of cocaine may be found and raise a flag. In other words, I'd probably fail. Perhaps it's best that I don’t look for new job anytime soon...just in case.

To be continued...