Bewildered in the Nazca Desert
“Welcome to Lima International Airport.” Said the stewardess’s voice over the intercom,
as the plane taxied into the terminal. My flight was finally over. For several
hours into the night, I flew over the inky black ocean of the Carribean, and then
over land where I didn’t see any lights. A cluster of lights was an island, and then
there were stretches of darkness. A single light was a ship. Over the darkness of
the Amazon, a cluster of lights was a village. I arrived into an unknown with a
language where I knew at most, fifty words, thirty of which were for flirting with
women, thanks to Maria’s lessons. The rest I gleaned from a cram session on the
plane, and I memorized a routine conversation for getting a taxi, and finding a hotel.
During the plane flight, I thought about what I’d do when I arrived. I had a
road map of Peru, and all of Southern South America. While analyzing the map, I
noticed my lonely light in a dark, slumbering cabin. Nervous, and hyper, I drank
five cups of coffee. Then I went to the bathroom four times, and smiled at the
stewardesses each time.
“Too much coffee?” She asked me.
When the plane landed, I was anxious to get off. After customs, I washed up
in the bathroom, and smiled to myself in the mirror. “I did it!” I said to myself.
I hurried to the baggage claim, and grabbed my bags, but my bicycle box wasn’t
there. Thirty minutes later, a reddish brown man came in with a cart, and a big box.
I picked up my bicycle, and carted everything to the tariff zone.
“How much is the bicycle?” Asked the officer. I looked at her, then the box,
and then back at her again.
The list of tags is empty.