Lo Siento: A South American Sojourn

By John Randall Dye

DO NOT VISIT THE AMAZON, MACHU PICCHU OR THE GALÁPAGOS ISLANDS 

(UNTIL YOU HAVE READ THIS BOOK)

The Amazon. Machu Picchu. The Galápagos Islands. Considering a vacation to these desired and exotic locations? Perhaps you need to read this book first.  Part travelogue, the reader will delight in the itinerary that thousands of tourists follow each year. Part cautionary tale, the reader will discover pitfalls that can befall the savviest and best prepared traveler.

Lo Siento is a humorous but informative take on the best that Peru and Ecuador have to offer and is recommended for the undecided traveler. If you have a significant other who is determined to tour lands that offer certain danger, you will go unless you can make the better case for not going.  Lo Siento offers many convincing arguments—cleverly disguised as chapters—to come to your senses before it is too late.

Hopefully, it won’t do that because there are better arguments to go.  Visiting the Peruvian Amazon, Machu Picchu and the Galápagos Islands will dispel myths and change the way you think about the world.  Lo Siento portrays lands of intense natural beauty populated by people of indomitable character. Lo Siento makes the case to visit them straightaway.  To wit: What we call civilization will soon erase many of the ways of the indigenous people in Peru. See them while you can. Dance with them while you can. Hold a baby sloth while you can. Dare to experience unique gastronomic adventures. Maybe pass on eating a smoked monkey, but feast otherwise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Mar 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977263407

John Randall Dye

 John Dye lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana where he practiced pharmacy for 35 years until he came to his senses and retired. He loves animals which explains the sloth on the cover and the baby sloth in the author’s photograph.  

Book preview

Lo Siento

A South American Sojourn:

The Amazon, Machu Picchu, & The Galápagos Islands

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2023 John Randall Dye

v3.0

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Cover Photo © 2023 Renaissance Imaging. All rights reserved - used with permission.

Interior Photos © 2023 123RF. All rights reserved - used with permission.

Outskirts Press and the OP logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Table of Contents

Introduction

South American Sojourn Day 1: Friday October 28th - ORIGIN OF TRAVEL

South American Sojourn Day 2: Saturday October 29th - IN THE JUNGLE, THE MIGHTY JUNGLE

South American Sojourn Day 3: Sunday October 30th - PINK PORPOISE SURPRISE

South American Sojourn Day 4: Monday October 31th - ESSENTIAL SPANISH

South American Sojourn Day 5: Tuesday November 1st - LIMA LUXURY

South American Sojourn Day 6: Wednesday November 2nd - COME TOGETHER

South American Sojourn Day 7: Thursday November 3rd - FLIGHT TO HEIGHT

South American Sojourn Day 8: Friday November 4th - SHOP OPS

South American Sojourn Day 9: Saturday November 5th - HUFFA PUFFA

South American Sojourn Day 10: Sunday November 6th - HALFWAY HOME & A LONG WAY TO GO

South American Sojourn Day 11: Monday November 7th - A GUINEA PIG BY ANY OTHER NAME

South American Sojourn Day 12: Tuesday November 8th - LIMA? AGAIN?? WHY???

South American Sojourn Day 13: Wednesday November 9th - QUITTING IN QUITO?

South American Sojourn Day 14: Thursday November 10th - GALÁPAGOS OR BUST

South American Sojourn Day 15: Friday November 11th - GALÁPAGOS GLORIOSO

South American Sojourn Day 16: Saturday November 12th - GALÁPAGOS REDUX

South American Sojourn Day 17: Sunday November 13th - GALÁPAGOS SURPRISE

South American Sojourn Day 18: Monday November 14th - QUITO AGAIN

South American Sojourn Day 18: Tuesday November 15th - THE LONG GOOD-BYE

Epilogue

Also by John Randall Dye

Fiction

Better To Be Vile

The Book of James

Bullfrog Moon

Essay/Travelogue

One Bad Day

N’Iceland

Author’s Note

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the travels and recollections of the author. In some cases, names of people have been changed to protect their privacy. The author has stated to the publisher that, except in minor respects not affecting the substantial accuracy of the work (i.e., obvious conjectural passages for the purpose of humor), the factual contents of this book are true.

Sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.

Jerry Seinfeld, Actor and Comedian

To Louise, with love. Thank you for sharing this journey

and the bigger journey through life.

To Lydia, Bonnie, and Amy. Lo siento for spending your inheritances on vacations and books. My apologies also to Mark, Matt and Brant.

To Tom, Charlie, Bobby, Jack, and Ella: Te amo!

Introduction

Tractors! That’s what I’d like to write about since they are very much on my mind. I currently have this image of a bright orange mechanical beast which can either wreak havoc or tame an environment depending on the skills of the operator.

However—and this pains me to admit it—very few people care about tractors. I have therefore resigned myself to writing about some recent travels to places that seem to interest people: The snake-infested Peruvian jungles of the upper Amazon River, the tourist-infested Incan ruins of Machu Picchu, and the more tourist-infested Galápagos Islands of Darwinian fame. I’ll throw in the surprisingly unexpected delights of Quito, Ecuador as an added bonus. There might also be a mention of a headhunter who does not work in the corporate setting. I cannot guarantee that this individual actually harvested a head, but I would not question his honesty. If he said he was a headhunter, then I believe him. You would too if you met him.

An author usually has a purpose when writing. To be honest, I’m not sure I do in this book. This is my third venture into the essay/travelogue format and it will be my last. The first book, One Bad Day, failed miserably as an act of revenge for humiliations suffered during an extended trip to Australia and New Zealand. Despite my best efforts, I could not be as nasty as Bill Bryson, the funniest travel writer on the planet. The second, N’Iceland, succeeded somewhat as a tribute to travelers in the time of a pandemic. But the real purpose of the book was a tribute to my brother who died recently. I recommend the book solely on the last printed page. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the last page is worth the price of the book.

This third venture, Lo Siento, is perhaps best described as a cautionary tale. The world is a dangerous place and no amount of planning will prevent the unexpected. One travels at one’s own peril. Malaria, typhoid, Covid, tarantulas, piranhas, and big thick snakes are as real as it gets once you leave the civilization you know behind. As eight of our group of twenty discovered, you may fall victim to any of them no matter how well you have prepared. If you do, there are two things to remember: Never lose your sense of humor and press on if at all humanly possible. However, if you are done in by a tarantula, swallowed by an anaconda or have the flesh stripped from your bones by piranhas, please disregard these last two bromides.

Introductions are tricky things. You have to make them interesting enough to engage the reader but not reveal too much about the content that follows or its ultimate purpose. I do not know why this is, but I will do my best to keep the reader in the dark as long as possible. Just like the Amazon jungle where only three per-cent of the light filters down to the ground, Lo Siento is only a partial illumination of a remarkable journey along and near the equator in Ecuador and Peru respectively. In the hands of a more skillful writer, this narrative could be life-changing. My only hope is that it is somewhat life-informing. However, I will gladly settle for mildly amusing.

That said, it is difficult to write about such things as a smoked monkey complete with facial grimace and find humor in it. The more likely outcome is to immediately consider the benefits of becoming a vegan. All one can say—and be respectful to the culture of the indigenous people—is that there are some interesting dark meat selections in the market places of the Peruvian Amazon. As one of our fellow travelers said of the smoked simian, It’s impossible to unsee that.

What the reader of this book will purportedly experience in this narrative is a trip to three of South America’s greatest wonders that do not involve waterfalls, Juan Valdez, or the sensuous, semi-naked Mardi Gras dancers of Rio de Janeiro. With the possible exception of the smoked monkey experience, the upper Amazon River, Machu Picchu, and the Galápagos Islands should be experienced at least once in a lifetime.

This runs counter to an opposite opinion formed before the journey that speaks to this author’s apparently unlimited capacity for ignorance. All I can say, is "Lo siento" which translates as I am sorry. I hope this book atones for that serious lapse in judgment.

Finally, the Amazon, Machu Picchu, and the Galápagos Islands have all generated stories that are more akin to myth than actual fact. Visiting these sites will dispel those myths and create new ones. For example, my myth take on Machu Picchu tends to favor the nutcases who believe aliens lent a hand. Not that I want to be lumped in with them, but I now have no other logical choice.

If I have offended anyone in the writing of this book— including nutcases and alien life forms—I apologize. Lo siento.

South American Sojourn

Day 1: Friday October 28th

ORIGIN OF TRAVEL

Spanish phrase of the day:

¿ Recuerdas cómo llegar a la sala VIP del aeropuerto?

(Do you remember how to get to the airport VIP lounge?)

5:00 am. Awake.

5:05 am. Awake again.

5:10 am…5:15am...5:20am. Awake… awake…awake.

5:25 am. Really awake this time. My hand failed to hit the snooze button as intended. I accidentally knocked the alarm clock off the dresser and onto the floor. I was forced to get up to make it stop.

5:58 am. Shaved, showered, dressed and almost ready to go. Bed made. Really proud of that. One less task for Louise to do. Glad she has the suitcases packed. Hope I have what I need for a three-week journey.

I need to reconsider my hands-off policy when it comes to picking out and packing my clothes. I mean, after all, I’m an adult fully capable of dressing myself with clothes of my own choosing. What am I, a ten-year older? Oh, well, the clothes are already packed so what’s the use of undoing what has been done? Besides, Louise always does a better job than if I had done it myself. It’s amazing how much she can get packed in a suitcase. She rolls things like shirts up into tight cloth cylinders and maximizes the space by minimizing the volume.

I only got three hours of sleep last night. I was up until 2:00 fooling around on the computer. No, that’s not accurate. I was conducting some vital business and writing the introduction to a potential book. I also sent emails out to various people who should know that I’m out of the country for three weeks. They were mostly replies to emails I failed to respond to in a timely manner. Tacking on another twenty days of silence seemed a bit uncaring. Despite the ability to do so, I seldom look at a computer when on vacation. It was either respond last night or apologize profusely at a later date.

A lot of preparation goes into any successful journey. First and foremost, a bank account needs to be emptied to pay for the trip. After that, various forms need to be filled out. There’s no need to go into detail because I can’t. My wife, Louise, fills out any forms necessary for travel. I suspect they offer proof that you have done everything within your power to be disease free once you step aboard an airplane and that you absolutely absolve your tour company of events beyond their control—such as dying from viral infections or fatal Amazonian encounters with the wildlife. I know she purchased travel insurance because the odds were high that the trip would be interrupted by illness.

Before traveling, appointments must be made with medical providers to obtain injections and prescriptions for medications tailored to the diseases of the countries to be visited. The best information available suggested an anti-malarial for the jungle of Peru and an altitude sickness medication for the mountainous areas of both Peru and Ecuador. One of the more enterprising members of our group did a spreadsheet detailing which medicines needed to be taken on a daily basis. As a retired pharmacist, I should have been tasked with supplying this vital information, but my approach to travel is strictly hands-off unless forced to be hands-on. I did note there was no mention of the medications that were even more vital to functioning well within a group on the go. These, of course, are the anti-nausea and anti-diarrhea treatments. I might have contributed a few bits of information there, but that was a clear violation of my hands-off policy.

I should have said something though. There are 39 trillion bacterial cells within the body of an average American, but they are no match for the much more robust bacteria within the bodies of our brothers and sisters south of the Texas border. So, it should be assumed that the domestic flora in our intestinal tracts will demand attention at some point when they come under attack from their foreign counterparts. Based on past experience, these encounters usually occur in the dead of night when one wakes up and wonders which part of the body needs the toilet the most. I’m speaking hypothetically of course.

I journal when I take a long vacation and most of my entries are little more than a quotidian account of some very mundane occurrences. I have a daughter who actually reads my books and she usually remarks that I am using big words to show off. This is an astute observation on her part and I plead guilty. But I am not contrite and I see no need to apologize for tossing our such words as quotidian. Why should I? I love vocabulary and see no need to use a simple word when a richer, more complex one is available to confuse the issue.

Look, there are times I cannot control what comes out of my pen or word processing program. In a way, it is a curse. In a way, it is a comfort. I usually write my worst nonsense when I am about to embark upon a plane ride of great length. In the past, I have referred to planes as flying death tubes. I have mentioned specific air disasters as proof that bad things do happen to good people. Bad things that give these good people plenty of time to think about why they got into the death tube in the first place. I have not calculated the time it would take to fall to the ground from eight miles high, but I’m sure it is plenty of time to get right with God—time enough for a religious Hail Mary that cleans the slate of all misdeeds accrued during a lifetime and paves the way into Heaven.

Sorry! I seem to have a talent for doing exactly the opposite of what my oldest daughter advises. I treasure her opinions because I know she is right; yet, I cannot help inserting some religious dogma into my books. I really cannot because I get filled with dogma whenever I get ready to board a plane. I need to let God know that I’m thinking about Him and to please spare the really good person who is sitting by me on the plane. Since my wife never reads anything I write other than the annual Christmas letter, I can say or write anything I want to about her. True, there are some of her friends who read my books and they can rat me out at a later date, but that assumes our plane functions as it is supposed to and we survive this trip.

My wife, Louise, is a good person. I am not sure what she did in life to deserve me, but who am I to question God for answering my prayers so many years ago? Who am I to question the God-given gifts of three wonderful daughters and five grandchildren? Who am I to question that I have someone to fill out all the forms and pack the suitcases to make this trip a possibility? I won’t answer all these rhetorical questions because there’s no need. I only ask them to demonstrate that I am married to a good woman who has made my life a great one. I make no claims for myself as a good man, but I do hope that God rewards her with traveling mercies and keeps the plane safely and uneventfully in the air until it lands equally safely and uneventfully at our destination. If it so happens that a sinner who is sitting beside a good person escapes judgment for foolishly entering a death tube, who am I to question God?

7:45 am. Seated at Gate 1 of our local airport. Ticketing and check-in of our luggage went smoothly for all of us—Dan and Marian, Doug and Linda, Cathy and George, and Louise and me. Everyone but Dan and Marian arrived in a 1999 GMC Suburban.

7:55 am. Someone in our group just received a text from Jessica, our driver to the airport, letting us know that the Suburban she drove is parked back at its home and is securely locked up. Of all the glitches that might have been, there was one that never occurred—a failure of that vehicle to get us to the airport. With 200,000 plus miles on the odometer and a history of mechanical problems, it was anything but a sure bet. Still, it was worth taking the risk. The Suburban is a truly capacious machine with three bench seats capable of seating nine adults and hauling a lot of luggage. However, continency plans were made yesterday should it give up the ghost at the least opportune time. It involved taking two cars, but another driver would have to be recruited. That’s a hard sell for 6:45 in the morning. As it was, we were lucky to have Jessica who graciously agreed to take us to the airport.

But there was a possible glitch here also. She is vertically challenged and there was some discussion whether or not her feet would reach the gas pedal and brakes. The remedy of course was to move the front bench seat forward as far as it would go. Incredibly, the mechanisms that were responsible for this movement were still fully operational after twenty-three years of non-use. The trip to the airport was glitch-free. The Suburban will live to haul passengers another day—possibly upon our return from this vacation.

The local airport is a small one but is thoroughly modern with large glass panels that let the sunshine in as the passengers gaze out upon the runway. The skies are streaked with clouds illuminated by the first red light of morning. I find it quite beautiful until one of our group members, let’s call him Doug who is wearing his distinctive fedora hat, says, Red skies in the morning, sailor take warning. He can say this because he and his wife, let’s call her Linda, sail a lot. They have their own boat and are both adept at doing all the things necessary to set sail out of a harbor and into the nearby lake.

I wonder if I should interpret Doug’s words as an omen to forego the death tube and turn back while there is still time. I look to the sky and do not see any sign of the weather that would give sailors pause and make them batten down the hatches or whatever it is they do when a storm is on the horizon. All I see is a beautiful day—one that is as nearly perfect for flying as one can imagine. I decide to ignore the implied warning.

I buy a USA Today and The Wall Street Journal from a shop in the secured area of the airport to expand my feel for what’s going on in the country. I already have the local newspaper stowed in my briefcase. I enjoy The Advocate for the wonderful collection of comics and puzzles it possesses and no other newspaper can match it. Almost two hours of every morning are devoted to maintaining my mental acuity by filling in the LA Times crossword, making numeric sense of the Sudoku, unscrambling the Jumble, and decoding the Celebrity Cipher. Until a good cup or two of Community Dark Roast kicks in, I usually struggle a bit, but that caffeine almost always does the trick. My guilty pleasure is reading the comics and seeing my friends, Charlie Brown and the gang plus Blondie and Dagwood Bumstead. They have been around longer than I have and I find them to be a comfort in my old age—good friends who never fail to amuse me. There are many other comic panels I enjoy and would love to mention, but I need to change the direction of this narrative.

We will meet up with another couple later, Joe and Nancy, who are currently in Miami, Florida. They will fly to Lima, Peru from there. The reason for them being in Miami initially was to visit with a daughter before leaving on this vacation. Since air travel bookings were made well in advance of the departure date, there was little that could be done when the daughter upped stakes and moved to Texas. Oddly enough, it was still cheaper to get a hotel room and fly out of Miami to Lima, than it was to change the air bookings to our local airport.

8:49 am. Boarding for Houston is about to begin and Travel Day is officially underway! Off we go to Lima, Peru and many points beyond. Laissez les bon temps rouler! Let the good times roll ! Doug makes an interesting comment that the engineering at Machu Picchu could not be duplicated today. I have no idea where that came from, but I can only assume Doug, who is an engineer, is focused on that part of our journey. I suppose that makes sense even if we are first headed for a destination in the jungles of Peru by way of the Amazon River. I’m thinking there will be few engineering marvels to unravel until we reach the most famous Incan ruins in the Andes.

9:00 am. On board the airplane for a 56-minute flight to Houston. May be bumps along the way, someone in the cockpit of the plane calls out. This is immediately followed up by It is currently raining in Houston. I don’t need that type of information. I envision rain-slickened runways and hazardous downdrafts from stormy weather.

9:25 am. Take-off! We head out north on the runway and bank west once we are in the air. The Mississippi River is in view briefly and it never fails to amaze me. The milk-chocolatey water dominates the landscape forming loops that sometimes become oxbow lakes. Nothing can stop its sinuous progress to the Gulf of Mexico. After a few minutes of actually enjoying the scene, I settle into a routine of ignoring the hazards of plane travel by working the USA Today crossword puzzle. Louise is reading a book loaded onto her electronic device.

10:20 am. Houston International Airport. Overcast but no rain. PBTG. Smooth landing. More PBTG. Much better than I thought even if the wings were fluttering furiously as we touched down. I will never understand how the wings of an airplane stay attached to the fuselage, but I am thankful that they do.

10:32 am. Plane docked. We now have a three-hour wait before boarding our next flight—and we rejoice! That’s plenty of time to make a beeline to the American Express Centurion Lounge—a bit of paradise in the Houston airport where personal comfort is guaranteed. The drinks and food are all complimentary. A bartender there will make just about any drink you can think of. Waiters come to your table and practically beg you to allow them the privilege of getting you a beverage. I’m not sure why this is, but I am committed to writing down the facts with as few embellishments as possible.

Louise and I rely on the kindness of Cathy and George to allow us to tag along with them into this Shangri-La. They have the magic cards that allow them to enter with two guests per card. As we are currently eight people, two of us will not make the cut. Dan and Marian graciously decide to use our down time to get some exercise by walking the airport. This alleviates some of the guilt, but the wish is that we could all go in and relax together. With skills acquired during past travels, I lead the way to the secret entry point.

I am always astounded at how well the lounge is hidden. Once we find the secret elevator, it never fails to remind me of Platform 9 and 3/4 at Kings Cross Station in London. This is the train platform made famous in the Harry Potter books. Of course, it does not exist, but that does not stop Harry Potter fans, aka Muggles, from trying to find it. I’ve written about this before, but they need to give up their fantasy life, found a start-up, earn big bucks (or British pounds), get a magic Amex card, and enjoy some real magic at a VIP Lounge such as the one hidden away here in Houston—or firmly attach themselves to some excellent friends like George and Cathy when waiting between planes at a major airport. Oh, and for the record this excellent lounge pales in comparison to the Strata VIP Lounge in Auckland, New Zealand.

12:12 pm. Aah! (And in honor of our Texas locale, Yippie-Ki-Yay!) Can there be a better place than this Houston airport lounge? Even though I just wrote there is a superior one in New Zealand, I’m now willing to give this place the nod because it’s more accessible. It almost feels like home. Not my home because I do not have a bar, but home in the sense that I feel totally comfortable. There are dessert items in abundance. The buffet offerings may have been modest but the chicken dish was tender and tasty. The Bloody Mary I ordered was perfect, complete with two fat olives skewered together and placed inside the glass. Cathy ordered something called a Chinese New Year—Prosecco plus a ginger liqueur. The judgment was it tasted as good as it looked, but the name was a total mystery. It’s nowhere near the actual Chinese New Year. But does it matter? Currently, Doug and Linda, George and Cathy and I are together. Louise has gone walking.

12:35 pm. Leaving the Centurion Lounge. I mourn briefly before filling up my pockets with some shortbread cookies.

1:40 pm. We will be boarding soon and are standing outside gate E4. This area is a familiar departure place. Louise and I have left for Europe many times from here to visit our oldest daughter who lies there with her British husband and our first grandson. One encouraging thing about the airport now is the number of shops that have opened or re-opened. I buy two more newspapers, The Houston Chronicle and The New York Times. I should be set for a long time wading through all of those.

A year ago, the Covid pandemic was still an issue; much more so for people traveling by planes. It now seems to have passed. Fewer people are masking up, but they still should in my opinion. Covid is still very much with us and being in a closed environment such as the interior compartment of an airplane is the perfect place to contract it. A few months ago, our oldest daughter came home from a trip to Disney World complaining of a sore throat. She tested and was positive for Covid. There is little doubt that she got it on the plane. Her case was mild and she recovered in a few days.

Louise and I are fully vaccinated and, immunologically speaking, are as prepared for Covid as one can be. I’m sure there are mutated strains just waiting to get at us, but there’s not much we can do about it if we want to travel the world. Cathy and George each have an oral medication to treat Covid. The drug is still considered experimental and somewhat controversial, but it is better than nothing in an emergency.

1:59 pm. Seated. We are in a Boeing 767-300. I am glad that it is not the Boeing 737 Max which had two of its planes crash within six months of each other in 2018 and 2019. Other than being a more reliable airplane, the 767 is more spacious.

Okay, it’s not. My knees are still as close to the seat in front of me as any airplane I’ve been on, but there are two aisles to this plane versus the one in the death tube that got us to Houston. The seating pattern is 2+3+2. Louise and I are in seats 37D and 37E respectively. This is United Flight 854 from George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston to Jorge Chávez International Airport in Lima, Peru. I wonder if that’s George Bush the father or the son? I wonder who Jorge Chávez is? I wonder why I wonder about such things?

3:00 pm. Due to the weather and the luggage being loaded late, we are delayed in our take-off. It doesn’t matter to me because I fell asleep for about 20 minutes. After I woke up, I worked a crossword puzzle in Hemispheres, the United Airline magazine.

3:45 pm. Take-off!

4:12 pm. Holy Carumba!! Turbulence!!!

4:18 pm. Turbulence over! PBTG!!! The pilot made an announcement that we are beyond a line of thundershowers. Great. But why did he have to fly into them in the first place?

5:00 pm. Food! Glorious food! The cabin crew actually fed us. I never know what to expect when it comes to airline perks. Surprisingly the food was good. Not surprisingly, it was a meager portion, but I’m not complaining. I chose the carved chicken on focaccia bread that came with pretzels as a sorry side. A small (but not mini) bag of M&Ms served as the dessert portion of the meal. Meal? Well, let’s say it was more like an after-school snack. Still, it was better than nothing. Louise had cheese, tomato and basil on focaccia bread along with the sorry side of pretzels and the dessert M&Ms. Unlike an after-school snack (at least in my house when I was growing up) there was complimentary wine or beer. I opted for a Stella Artois lager. Louise opted for water. I realized too late that I blew an opportunity to get an extra beer by nudging Louise to request a beer for herself and then pass it over to me. This was probably a good thing though. Louise is not fond of either being nudged by her husband or having him overindulge.

9:45 pm. Arrived in Lima. Yes, indeed! We are at Jorge Chávez International Airport and I have no idea who he is. I’m going to guess he was freedom fighter. There’s a certain romance in that. Naming airports after Presidents (either father or son) seems a bit tame. Actually, it’s really dull.

Airports should be named after aviation heroes. In the future there will be spaceports. One should be named after astronauts such as Gus Grissom, my personal favorite from the earliest days of the space program. I’d also nominate Christa McAuliffe, the teacher-astronaut who died along with six others when the Space Shuttle Challenger blew up in 1986. Pioneers and heroes come in all shapes and sizes, but their impact on the world should never be forgotten.

Getting through immigration was a routine experience. No surprises. No interrogations. Just Passports, please, at a window and Welcome to Peru! with a smile. I think I’m