It's A Selva Out There

Hola…and what a difference two brandys and a good nights sleep can make. In theory I should be home in about 48 hours, landing back in Boise at noon on Friday. The trip to Cuzco and Machu Picchu was fantastic, but coming back was a little rough.

First in Lima, it was cold, musty and damp…permeating the walls, floors, and all things cloth. The sun never shined and you could smell mold. I knew my lungs were going to take a hit. The day before there was a woman on the bus tour who was “hawking up” some wet ones…it sounded like she was gargling a beef stew, and I tried to move as far away from her as I could, pulling my sweatshirt up over my head like the “Unabomber” would have done to avoid her coughing, but I knew I was going to breath some of her airborne gunk.

Fast forward next to my early morning arrival yesterday at the Jorge Chavez Lima International Airport, named in honor of the man who flew over the Swiss Alps in his little airplane 100 years ago, and into the Italian Alps the following day, effectively ending his career and life.

I had a quick breakfast of runny eggs and “pre-buttered” toast, and immediately felt disaster chortling through my system. The International Sign I saw posted in the terminal was not a direction sign meaning “Oh my god I just ate some runny eggs with bad butter that Tony Robbins warned me about and where the hell is the bathroom muy pronto rapido”? It's the airport “Quick Exit” indicator, which was also the message my intestines were sending me.

I found the upscale “bano por hombres” at flight level and waited my turn. Well, let me tell you about the “paint by numbers” scenario that followed and you can use whatever colors you want, but as the previous depositor stepped out it became immediately apparent to me that the psychic motion flush indicator that told things to move was not working! I did some frantic hand waving along with some magical incantations (like “voila, abracadabra“ and “shit“) to no avail…nothing moved. Now I was shaking like I was in a “Saint Vitus Dance Contest”, hoping that the more waving and jumping around I did while swearing would be the answer to my present nightmare. Even my best rabid Joe Cocker imitation failed.

Let me just say that I’m not interested in analyzing other people’s eating habits first thing in the morning, but I had little choice. The other stall was occupied by a person who had been in there for quite some time…an apparent airport employee with a “walkie talkie”, who understood what the meaning of “stall” meant, because he was not going anywhere out of his . I would hear several “10-4’s” and “Roger that” (in Spanish) coming from his new "oficina" for about 10 minutes, and resigned myself to an unpleasant fate. At that point I decided to never eat food again.

Anyway, I made it back to Quito, checked into my hotel (Rio Amazonas), and walked around the city until it started raining and I started coughing. That’s when I came back to my room, climbed under my covers, and thought about my next big trip, which will be a “staycation”.

So here I am. I’ll put together the Cuzco Machu Picchu part and post it tomorrow with some good pictures.

Saludos.