Day one: I flew to Miami early morning and spent all day in Miami waiting for my flight to Lima. Decided to leave the airport to see South Beach. Had researched that one South Beach hotel had a shuttle from airport. Waited for an hour (where I was told to wait) only to discover that I was in the wrong place. Finally found the right concourse for the shuttle and waited for the next hour (they arrive on the hour). I was not let on because I did not have a reservation at the hotel. Another traveler was also not let on for the same reason. So we decided to share a cab. We hailed a cab which already had a passenger. The driver was all smiles and eager to make a good deal of money with three passengers. My fellow traveler was young - in her 20s-, from Australia, but working in New York. She was quite a character. She was on her iphone the entire time; I was trying to figure out what she was doing. First she tracked where the driver was going and questioned him at one point. Then she gave him one destination, her hotel, and when we arrived she said, "Actually, do you mind dropping me off at Cafe Coffee" (don't recall exact name). She had been reading Lonely Planet and various travel recommendations on her iphone, and read about this fabulous coffee shop in South Beach. When we arrived at the coffee shop, she said to the driver, "Do you mind waiting while I run in and get a coffee, and then can you take me back to my hotel?" She even offered to pay a little more than our agreed price. "Was this typical behavior for a 20-something traveler," I wondered? The driver had been very accommodating up until this point. (I also wasn't sure where I wanted to go, and had asked him where the art galleries were and great places to walk around. I also first gave him one hotel and then decided to join the other traveler on the beach front where the coffee shop was.) He finally put his foot down, and said,"no" to the Australian about waiting for her to run in and get coffee. Even though I saw that the coffee shop was about 10 blocks from the center, I decided that I couldn't ask him to do anything anymore. We both got out of the cab, tipped him, and left a driver that now looked like he wished he never picked us up. This was my first official travel experience.
It was quite hot, so I stopped into a hotel lobby to get some relief and use their ground-floor facilities. While I was there, I asked the concierge for the best place to walk around. She told me what I needed to know and even gave me a map. Turned out that there wasn't much to see on my walk, other than one of my favorite clothing stores, Desigual. Shops were touristy and uninteresting, and there were no art galleries. I sat in an outdoor cafe and had some lunch, and then hailed a cab back to the airport. This time there were no shenanigans.
In the airport: I'm traveling LAN airlines, a South American airlines with domestic and international flights. The reality of being surrounded by people speaking a language that I do not understand was setting in. Announcements and the jibber jabber around me was all in Spanish. I tried to pick out words that I knew, which is about all I could do. I got pretty excited if I understood a word - even if it was just a number.
I was eager to get to my seat and close my eyes. I needed a good rest after a long hot day. I sat down in my seat (one of two together) and said hello to the woman next to me. Not really sure what prompted the flood, but she began to talk to me about her American husband, how he had no appreciation of her Latin culture, how all he liked to do was go fishing, and how controlling he was of her, and how upset he was that she was leaving him for a visit to Lima to visit her family -- and why did she have to bring so many suitcases with gifts? She would leave him, she claimed, if only she hadn't gotten sick. It's cancer, she shared. She can't have children; they took it all out. "I'm so sorry," I found myself saying as I fought my closing eyes. I listened until I couldn't any longer. I awoke to dinner being placed in front of me.
Getting out of the Lima airport took two hours--long long lines for immigration and for getting luggage. Mine was one of the last suitcases to show up. Groups of Spanish speakers were accosting the poor baggage clerks, as if they were responsible for the long delay before the last batch of luggage (including mine) arrived. During the wait, I went back and forth between the bank kiosk and the money exchange kiosk to see where I could get a better deal. One was charging a 3% commission, and the other a flat fee of $2.50. Hmmmm. I had to think math now?? Laziness set in and I exchanged some at both.
When my luggage was still not arriving, I thought I better alert my driver.. But I had no phone that worked in Lima. I had planned to purchase one in the local market, as advised by my son and others. I anticipated this problem, and had planned to ask to borrow a phone, if needed. I approached a couple, and the male answered, "Why don't you just rent one like we did?" He pointed to a kiosk with heavily-made up uniformed-clad girls.. Oh! Is that what they are selling! They had greeted all of the passengers speaking rapid Spanish, and I had dismissed them as selling some make-up or some entertainment package which I didn't need. So I got my phone! By then my luggage finally arrived. The make-up girl called my driver for me to let him know that I arrived. It took yet another hour to go through customs.
It was a relief to see my name on that piece of paper amidst the crowds. One local guy took my luggage to my driver. These were arranged through the hostel where I would be staying. By the way, don't think "metro car." Think hand-cranked roll-down windows, dusty seats, and broken seat belts. We drove through neighborhoods where I would not hang out at night, and probably not even during the day, I was surprised when the car stopped before leaving the neighborhood. You get what you pay for; the hostel cost $15 a night. It was simple, but pleasant and clean inside. I had read about hostels without towels, soap, hot water. I was pleased there was a towel and one small piece of hard soap.. Perhaps that is one reason why there is a certificate hanging in the front area apparently from some hostel association saying "best value for your money." The shower was a single strand of water, but at least it was warm.. When I paid for the taxi and the room, I noticed that there were no computers and everything was noted down in pen in a notebook. I began talking to a young guy, whom I discovered in conversation was a member of the family who owned the hostel and himself studying hospitality at school; it hit me then that this was an honest business of local folks trying to make a living. The spiked iron rods on the outside protecting the hostel were evidence of their own local struggles and challenges. The boy apologized for the loud blasting music that filled the neighborhood at 8 am and that came from the home of someone in the neighborhood. "We complains before," he said in his broken English. A driver picked me up to take me to the airport.. Again no seat belts in a small dusty cranky old vehicle. I was pleased to have the ride and pleased that the young boy driving had a job.
