It was the day after the end of the Memory Studies Association conference in Lima that I had been attending. A day that started out with a nice morning walk through the arts, crafts and cultural markets of the Miraflores neighbourhood in Lima. A day that I was looking forward to as I get to change altitude and have been told to brace myself for potential altitude sickness…and then it happened. It had to happen once, didn’t it? For the first time – and hopefully the last time – I missed my flight travelling from the Jorge Chavez International Airport in Lima to the Alejandro Velasco Astete International Airport in Cusco. I missed the flight by a hair’s breadth and only because the last bus transferring passengers from the terminal to the plane on the tarmac had left. I will not bore you with the factual and counter-factual explanation of how I came to miss my flight. The memory of this experience that stayed with me was the sudden panic and stress which enveloped me on that late Sunday afternoon. At the service desk to inquire about rebooking a new flight, I was quoted such an exorbitant price that my stress-o-meter increased. Having left my laptop back at the hotel in Lima I had only my mobile phone to rely on in somehow finding a relatively less expensive new flight ticket. After a few false starts, I somehow managed to book myself a new Lima – Cusco flight for later that Sunday evening. Whew! End of stress drama, I thought! But I was wrong.

The next drama was retrieving my earlier checked in luggage that got taken out of the plane when I missed my flight. This is where ‘lost in translation’ took on a whole new meaning but I will make this long story short. Through a series of ‘Spanglish’ and through the medium of English-Spanish & Spanish-English ‘Google Translate’ I had quite some time of waiting face-off with the airline staff about how I was going to get my luggage so I can check it in again for my new flight. Given the tick-tock running of the time, it almost felt like I was going to miss my new flight again. Cue, a turbo charge increase in my stress-o-meter. Fortunately, my luggage was finally found and brought to me for a new check-in. I made sure I was one of the first at the boarding gate for this new flight. Luckily, there was no bus transfer involved and we could just walk from the terminal through the passenger boarding bridge/jetty/jetwalk straight into the plane. As if to make up for my stress and my rather long legs, the air hostess offered me a change from my middle-seat to an unoccupied aisle seat with enough legroom. But this is where the final drama will unfold upon arrival in Cusco.

Upon touch down in Cusco I couldn’t find my backpack which I placed in the overhead compartment. One of the air hostess told me that perhaps someone had taken it. Cue, my stress-o-meter on steroids! I run out of the plane like a headless chicken checking people up and down and trying to see if anyone was holding hiding my backpack around the luggage claim belt. I kind lady seeing my distress approached me to ask what was the issue and suggested that perhaps I could ask to see some CCTV tapes. Unlike a missed flight, I just couldn’t just simply rebuy a new backpack with my essential personal items. I rushed back to the plane disregarding the security personnel who were gesturing that I was not allowed. Thankfully, as Shakespeare noted, all is well that ends well. It turn out my backpack was on still on the plane all along. The air hostess gave me my backpack and I could finally smile. I mean how much unending drama can unfold in day in the life of….?

Qusqu or Qosqo or Cuzco or Cusco was well worth the drama of getting it. On the first night I had my taste of high altitude weakness when I couldn’t walk up the stairs in my hotel without stopping to catch my breath every few steps. Over the next 2 days of walking around the city trying to get acclimatised to the high altitude, winter cold and night time freezing temperatures took quite some work. As a tourism scholar in this mega-touristic city my observational antenna systems were overloaded with trigger alarms of both the mundane, the curious and the wonderful – with a number of surprise observations. But I will tell you more about these in the next instalment of the Peruvian Posts.