I've realized it was a life changing experience, and that everybody should use the time given to them to do at least a little bit of traveling. I was meaning to go somewhere, anywhere, since Junior High, and with school and full time jobs keeping me tied down it wasn't possible, until I made it possible. With some money set aside, a trip to Peru for a little more than a week would be more than enough to get me started on my crusade to travel the globe.
Flight was alien to me, and I found it even stranger the reaction I got from people who learned of the fact I’ve never flown.
“What?! You’ve never been in an airplane!” My landlord Sam, said. “That would make you a flying ‘virgin.’”
His eccentrics aside, that’s exactly what it felt like when I entered the domain of the airport. It was here the epiphany of societal psychosis dawned on me through experiencing it first hand. A 20cm x 20cm ziploc baggy later, filled with liquids under 100ml, I felt as if I had my virginity taken already, but it was still the beginning of this escapade. Obediently, I complied with the scanning of metal objects, as well as my only luggage, a backpack with a few changes of clothes, my sketchbook, and toiletries. Matthew and I (my travel companion and also interested in the fandom), boarded the plane after waiting an hour, and flew on Mexicana toward Mexico city.
In all honesty some of us are far too accustomed to the society we live in to really appreciate the simple things, such as flight. I got the window seat before my travel companion and eagerly stared out the window until the jet engines fired up and we took our position on the runway. The power and the speed of the jet was intense, and I could feel my back pressed firmly into the back of my seat, before the plane simply began floating above the ground. No lurch, just a smooth transition from the ground to being airborne. I watched the earth leave us, and flew amongst the misty clouds. Calgary appeared as icing sugar littered with buildings, and it was soon the height we were at made the earth’s features difficult to distinguish.
Shifting between sketching and staring out the window, it made for a short five hour flight. After disembarking and flashing around my passport a bit, Matthew and I were heading down the hall of the Mexico City airport, looking to get our transfer to Lima taken care of, when I see a familiar face in our direction, walking towards me.
“What the HELL are you doing in Mexico?!” Came the incredulous voice of Dave, a good friend I’ve known for several years, and part of the ‘brotherhood’ (cheesy name we gave ourselves, I know) of friends that I grew up with together. He was with another Lethbridge friend, Randy, and they were both with their mates. We hung out for a while, exchanging pleasantries and the plans of our trips, before we had to part ways, their destination being San Luis. I was still recovering from that coincidence as we took off from Mexico city.
We arrived in Lima at two in the morning, I was already quite dazed from the Corona served on the flight and wanting some warm covers to crawl into. We entered a fenced off area with people holding up signs.
“Taxi! Taxi! You need a taxi?!” Came collective shouts. There were some that held up signs for those who pre-arranged their cabs, and having pre-arranged ours we searched for ‘Hostel El Patio,’ but after having our rounds a couple of times, and being approached more than once by cab drivers competing for our attention, it was clear there was no sign to be found. That didn’t come as a surprise to me, since our flight was a bit late and it took an hour to get through all of the security. I was quite distrusting of every clamoring voice, in this city there are rogue ‘taxi’ drivers who will rip you off, or steal your shit and leave you in the middle of nowhere. We approached the desk that appeared to be the Airport’s own form of organizing taxis for visitors. We paid the $15 for them to take us to our hostel near the coast. Our cab driver didn’t speak much English, but we managed to make some form of communication by thanking him in Spanish for loading our backpacks. He drove on, windows down with the local radio station playing.
We sped off down the freeway, entering Lima. I gazed out the window trying to absorb as much as possible in the orange glow of the sodium vapor street lights. Bars and shutters whizzed by, I picked up garbled Spanish graffiti and billboards touting the Inca Kola beverage, and Movistar cellphone service. Religion I knew by now was an important factor in the lives of Peruvians after seeing a concrete statue of Mary as we turned left onto another street. The laws of traffic differed greatly in Peru, from North America; I spotted a cop ignoring us zipping through a red octagonal sign reading ‘PARE’ at fifty kilometers and hour.
Hostel El Patio was dimly lit by lamps strewn about. And after arriving, we entered through some black iron gates and registered, there were plants everywhere, grown in pots in the courtyard. A drolly dog rested in a corner next to a large cage containing some unknown birds. We went up a floor and found our room, reflecting on the today and the tomorrows, talking early into the morning, before finally falling asleep.
(Journal to be continued later)
