It’s
midnight the night before I leave and not a single piece of clothing has found
its way into my suitcase. Apparently it’s true that the habits you develop at
school translate into your real life. Shoot. But hey, if I can pull an all-night
writing a paper, surely I can pull one off packing.
 |
I said a
tearful goodbye to my father who was kind enough to drive me to the airport
early in the morning, and then walked through the customs gate to the chiming
bells of Freedom and Independence. As much as I am a sociable person, the
feeling that I get when I am completely alone and in control of my every action is euphoric
for me. Yes I live on my own normally, but there’s a freedom that comes with
being surrounded by total strangers. I can carry my bags as goofily as I want
(aka, big backpack in back, small backpack in front), I can butcher my Spanish
and tell myself that I am fluent, and I can eat whatever the heck I want when I
want. I can also make a fool of myself and no one would ever know (lucky for
you, I also take detailed journal notes).
Got to Texas
and went up to the airhostess. Checked in with my ticket. She asks for my
emergency contact: “Bev. B-E-EV. Bev.” She looks at me uncomfortably. She says
something with a comically thick Texan accent. I giggle. She asks why I’m
giggling. I look at her uncomfortably. She processes the ticket and tells me to
have a nice flight. As I walk away I say, “You too!” Karma’s a jerk.
After
checking in I was told that I needed to get to another section of the airport.
The information guy told me that I should take the shuttle. I laughed at the
overweight Americans who need to take a shuttle and carried on my merry way
down the hallway. The hallway that never ended. The hallway that took me over
an HOUR to walk, luggage and all. The hallway that taught me that thinking that
you’re better than other people leaves you completely exhausted and feeling
like a total idiot. Life lesson there.
 |
| The never-ending hallway |
I got to
customs and had totally forgotten that I had just filled up my brand new
filtered water bottle. Not wanting to part with it, I explained my situation to
the nice customs man. “Well,” he shrugged, “looks like you’re going to have to
chug it.” Terrified of being accused as a terrorist, I shrugged, open my
gullet, and proceeded to chug my two-liter water bottle in front of the entire on-looking
crowd. I got about halfway through before the officer informed me through
muffled laughter that he had been joking and I could just pour it out on the
street twenty feet away. Customs officers are jerks.
I found my
seat on the plane and was finally able to relax. I could not stop smiling as
the boy three seats back from me proceeded to yell, “We’re FLYYYYYINGGGG!!!” for
the first ten minutes of the flight. I wanted to be annoyed with him, but I
must admit that my heart was saying the same thing, and I was glad that he was
voicing it. Being able to fly is just one of those things that I really hope to
never take for granted.
On the plane
from San Salvador to Peru the airhostesses spoke only Spanish. For my first
meal in Spanish I proudly ordered chicken and Sprite. I got pasta and Ginger
Ale. Not exactly a promising start. The guy beside me informed me all about the
benefits of horticulture (specifically weed) and actually spent over an hour
going over the biological and chemical efforts that go into making the perfect
kind of weed. I will never know as much about weed as I did during that flight.
On this flight I also learnt that the seats in front of the emergency exit
legally cannot recline. And that when the person in front of those seats
reclines their seat, trying to watch an in-flight movie is like watching a
movie at the Imax. My neck hurt just from trying to see everything that was
going on in my four by three-inch screen.
To my joyous
relief I arrived in Lima at 2am, bags and all, and looked for the man who I’d
arranged to bring me to my hostel. I saw a sign that says, “Maicol Willems”.
Considering our only interactions had been by email—where I had typed my name
out—I’m reaaally not sure how he managed to screw up Michael but get Willems. But
hey, pronouncing Ma-e-cole in my head made me laugh (and became my nickname
later on in the trip). I bartered with him before getting in (successful
tourist!) and even managed to keep my bags with me, as the tour book had
instructed me to never put my bags in the trunk (double success!). I was
feeling very proud of myself and my safe taxiing techniques until we got
halfway to the hostel and flashing lights turned on behind us. Nothing like
getting pulled over by the police after being in a country for less than 20
minutes. I’m not really sure what was said but the driver didn’t look
particularly happy afterward and I didn’t want to ask in my terribly broken
Spanish. How I imagined the conversation going:
Michael:
Sir, is everything ok?
Taxi Man: Long and impassioned response in Spanish
that either explains he’s an ex-convict, that he now has to pay $4000 to the
Peruvian government, or that the Police Officer was simply just a friend of his.
Michael:
…Si.
So I stayed
quiet. He was listening to a Christian sermon though, so I asked him if he was
a Christian and he said yes. This brought me great comfort at the time (though
I did find out afterwards that 90% of Peruvians consider themselves Catholic
sooo it wasn’t exactly what you would consider a ‘chance encounter’).
I finally
got to my hostel and a cute old Peruvian lady came up to me and welcomed me,
then informed me that there was “un poco problemo”: the elevator was broken.
“Oh, no problemo!” I youthfully retort. (Sidenote: actually saying no problemo
in its proper context is super weird after saying it ironically your entire
life.) You can probably see where this is going as, over thirty flights of
stairs later with all of my luggage, there was definitely un poco problemo. BUT
I made it, gasping and panting, to my little one-bed room that had an amazing
view overlooking all of Lima.
I gratefully
took the key from my new Peruvian friend and dumped my bags. To the bathroom to
freshen up! A sign informs me that the door doesn’t close properly. To the sink
to quench my thirst! A sign reminds me that the water is not sanitary in Peru
and should never be consumed. To the toilet! A sign informs me that in Peru,
toilet paper is never flushed, but placed in the garbage can beside the toilet.
Ah yes. So
this is traveling. So this is love. Let the adventures begin.
 |
| The view |