Local Remedy

"I feel GREAT today!" J, a young woman on the Bolivia trip, had been bouncing off the walls one morning as our group got into three taxis.

"Caffeine," I stated.

"Oh." She looked deflated.

J and I had both gotten pills for altitude sickness from the farmacia the day before. She'd taken hers in preparation for going to altitude, but I'd decided to tough it out and hope for the best.

I'd looked up the Spanish for "altitude sickness" and we'd gone to the pharmacy.

"Take this," said the pharmacist, handing us "Sorojchi" pills. We'd both dutifully purchased some. But a little Internet research turned up info that they were just aspirin and caffeine. So I'd skipped it.

And when we got to Potosi, I was glad I skipped it. I'd felt pretty good at altitude this time. Seems taking the bus instead of the plane did the job.

Meanwhile, Back in the States

It's that egg cream store on Avenue A. What? Obama Fries? Obama Cheeseburgers?

Souvenir Show

In Bolivia, you can buy knitted finger puppets by the ton.

And then you can put on a puppet show, even if your Spanish sucks as much as mine does. I made one that goes like this:

L: "¿Cómo se llama?"

S: "Mi llamo es El Hombre Araña. ¿Cómo se llama?"

L: "Mi llamo es Llama!"

The Pros of Waterworks

My flight from Lima to Miami (connecting through to LaGuardia) left at 11:40 p.m. on a Monday night.

And though a nine-hour layover in the Lima airport didn't sound like fun, I had carefully booked my flight out of Cuzco for 1 p.m.

Because Cuzco is high in the mountains, and when there is bad weather, there are no flights. So I wanted to make sure I had plenty of chances to get to Lima in case my 1 p.m. flight was cancelled.

But the weather was perfect and my flight landed in Lima on schedule at 2:20 p.m. I had to pay for luggage storage. It was too early to check in. "You cannot check in until three hours before your flight."

Which I tried to do later, but somehow the entire planeload of passengers had managed to get there first. I hadn't rushed. By then I'd checked online and knew the flight had been delayed to 4:40 a.m. Ick.

I asked the security officials and the line managers. "How can I talk to an agent? I want to see if I can get transferred to the LAN direct flight at 11:50 tonight. It goes direct to JFK." I was on a frequent flyer ticket. It was theoretically possible to do this without paying anything.

"Wait in this line."

"This line will take hours. By the time I get to the front of the line, the other flight will be gone."

"It will take an hour."

It didn't take an hour. Two-and-a-half hours later I was still asking officials to help me. They were still telling me to wait in line.

American's office was closed. Their phone number reached only a recording. I pulled out my laptop and emailed friends. Was anyone online who could call American and get me onto the other flight?

Finally, Steve B showed up. He called American and got me on the LAN flight. "It's about to close! Run! Run!"

I ran, dodging baggage carts and those men who wrap luggage in giant swaths of plastic wrap. (Why? People are weird.)

And I raced to the LAN desk.

"The flight is closed."

"Please. What can we do? Is there any way?"

"No."

"Please. I have waiting for hours for a flight that is now leaving at 5:50 a.m. PLEASE."

I tried to cry but the tears didn't come. Yet.

"No."

I trudged back down the departures level of the Lima airport. Now I had a problem. Now I had no reservation for any flight to New York.

That pleased me for a moment. I had enjoyed my time in Bolivia and Peru and waiting for me at home was snow, ice, and moving an office across town. Plus my ears were stuffed up. Badly. I couldn't seem to equalize after being on the plane from Cuzco.

But I had to teach on Wednesday night. I could not stay in South America. I had to get home.

The line that I'd jumped out of was still about an hour long. And I had no reservation for any flight.

"Steve, are you there?"

"Yes."

"Can you help me?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Can you call back American Airlines and get me on ANY flight? Anything to the US?"

(pause.)

"You're on the 7:35 a.m. flight."

I waited in line, desperate to get rid of my bag. But even as I waited, I knew they would refuse to take it until 4:35 a.m. Three hours before.

Finally, I was at the counter.

"It is too early. Come back three hours before."

"No. No. You don't understand. You have to take my bag. I cannot carry it around the airport anymore. I have been here since 2 this afternoon and I CAN'T CARRY IT AROUND ANYMORE. I don't have any money for the baggage storage. Please, just take my bag. I'll come back later, but please check my bag."

The attendant looked at me with a little fear. Clearly, she had a crazy woman on her hands.

"I was on this flight, but then I got moved to LAN, but that was closed so just put me back on this flight then."

"No, this flight is full."

"Please. Do you have a supervisor?"

She got her supervisor, explained something tersely to her. The supervisor said I could switch to the earlier flight for $400.

"No, no, I don't care which flight. But please, can't you check my bag?"

I was delirious by now. I could have gone to the ATM and gotten out more Peruvian money and checked the bag, but I couldn't face it.

"Please, just take my bag. I was on the flight, and then I went to LAN, and now I am on the other flight..."

She glared at me and told me to come back three hours before, and this time, I didn't have to pretend to cry. I choked up and went silent, desperately trying to regain my composure.

And everything changed.

"Take a minute. Shhh... calm down. Explain slowly. Would you like a hotel?"

And with that, she checked my bag and gave me a voucher for the Radisson just across the driveway. I checked in, got my free meal that came with the voucher, went online and chose my seat for the flight. Then at 4 a.m., I ran down and got my boarding pass, went back to my room and showered, then strolled onto the 7:35 a.m. flight.

Which left on time.

Llama Crossing

The roads of Bolivia are fraught with peril.

Puno Parade

Here's a parade I stumbled over in Puno. It was practice for a later festival, and it looked like maybe they needed a little more practice. Some of the revelers looked bored out of their minds.

I'm still looking for a good way to add video to a blog. I tried using the blogger video function--bleh! Then I tried publishing directly from iMovie to YouTube, and it still looked lousy, so now I'm trying to embed a Flash player. Have a look.

Cuzco Now and Then

I scoured the southern edge of Cuzco's Plaza de Armas. My travel agent, Luzma Tours, had been right there in 1994 when I'd last been to Cuzco.

It was hopeless, I knew. The agent had probably changed careers years ago or given up on what must have become high-priced rent after a while.

But I'd try to find her. I owed her a big "Thanks." I hadn't spoken to her since she'd set up my plane transfer from Puerto Maldonado to Lima, one autumn day 15 years ago.

I've been a travel novice the last time I'd been to Cuzco. I'd checked in a few days earlier for my flight from Cuzco to Puerto Maldonado. I'd sat at the gate, oblivious to the Spanish-language announcements around me. When my flight left late, I thought nothing of it until I got to the gate.

"Puerto Maldonado? Your flight is up there!" The gate agent pointed at a plane in the sky. I still remember her wide eyes, her annoyed face. The gate had changed, I hadn't heard the announcement (in Spanish, which now I'd understand) and I'd missed my flight.

Sheepishly, I took a taxi to see Luzma.

"You'll have to go tomorrow. But there's no way to get back the following day and then to connect through to Lima. Unless..."

She'd made some calls and decided that I would transfer from the Puerto Maldonado to Lima flight ON THE CUZCO RUNWAY. I doubt you could even do something like that now.

A few days later, after visiting Explorers Inn, I stepped off the plane from Puerto Maldonado. I saw another plane. Uncertainly, I walked towards it. This was highly unusual. Had Luzma made it happen?

I looked towards the terminal. A short woman was waving frantically at me. Luzma! She caught my eye then gestured wildly. RUN, RUN, I could see her mouthing.

I ran to the other plane, laughing. A uniformed airline employee handed me my boarding pass at the stairs. Luzma had pulled it off and I was on my way to Lima.

She hadn't had a website or e-mail back then and we'd done our business by fax. I sent her a card when I got home to New York, but had no way of knowing if it had ever gotten there.

I still don't know.

Today, I spent my Sunday wandering the streets of Cuzco, now highly commercialized. The video arcade where I'd played pinball one hot afternoon was gone, I think replaced by a McDonald's. Govinda was still there, and my hotel where I'd laid in bed sick from the altitude and feeling my first earthquake was still there, but remodeled now into a 4-star establishment.

Cuzco is still a historic city, still the gateway for expeditions to Machu Picchu. But it's changed. The entire town, I think, has been renovated.

"Perhaps," I thought as I eyeballed the alpaca sweater prices in high-end boutiques on the main square, "I should have done my souvenir shopping back in La Paz."

Cuzco 'Tude

Signs of Cuzco

I'd asked my Puno hotel front desk to book me an airport taxi for 6:30 a.m.

At six, I went downstairs to breakfast. There was no one in the lobby and the breakfast man was busy getting the food ready. I went back upstairs and got my bag. I returned and poked my head in the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

The man didn't speak English, but he spoke coffee. He motioned me to sit down and wait.

I kept an eye on the front desk. Still no one. At 20 past, I gave up on the coffee and sat in the lobby drumming my fingers and wondering where the front desk clerk was. I needed to check out. The kitchen man watched nervously. He could see I was in a hurry.

The front desk clerk strolled in at 6:30. The kitchen guy gave her a bawling out. She was late and a tourist needed to check out.

I paid and asked where my taxi was.

"You want a taxi?"

"YES. I ordered one last night."

She shuffled papers and looked around and then called the taxi company.

"We can get one there at 7."

I started snarling at her.

"NOT okay. My flight is at 8. I need a taxi NOW, not at 7. NOW." (I had already checked in on-line, so was already cutting it closer than usual.)

She was flustered and started calling around. The kitchen guy gave her a look of disgust, walked out the front door, and stopped an empty taxi.

I was off to Cuzco. And when I got off the plane, the first thing I saw was a sign for oxygen. Cuzco is at altitude, but I don't know that a bottle of oxygen is required.

Traditional Songs on Lake Titicaca

If you have a computer that can handle watching QuickTime movies, click here for a .mov look at these women singing, er, traditional songs on Lake Titicaca, Peru.