Expect the Unexpected.
Flying into Lhasa, Tibet is not an easy thing to do. Flights in and out of the city are often canceled because of sand storms and or wind shear. You fly through a narrow cut ---I believe a natural one—in the mountains. I’m sure the cut is wider than my perception, but it seemed as if I could have touched the mountain on either side if I’d been sitting on the wing tip. It is best not to be looking out the window, but then again how can you not?
Flying into Cusco, Peru afforded a fantastic view of the Andes mountains below. The many Inca trails were easily visible, and they seemed to zig zag all over the mountains. From the perspective of an airplane they looked pretty flat, but I was to learn a few days later that they were anything but! We off loaded the uneventful flight and per usual started to hustle into the terminal. All of a sudden, like a curtain had been dropped in front of us, everyone suddenly slowed to nearly a snail’s pace. One and all was gasping for every breath.
The smart terminal people obviously were used to this common altitude effect, because as we entered the terminal building we found a small band playing lovely Peruvian music. We stood around while our breathing slowed and waited for our luggage to arrive. The music was a nice distraction!
Arrivals into South America always seem to be in the evening, which means one usually arrives in the dark. In Lima, Peru it was highly recommended that one secure a cab from inside the airport. Although a bit more expensive than securing a cab outside it was deemed safer.
Driving in Lima is like playing chicken. Honking horns was a constant, no one paid any attention to the few traffic lights or stop signs. Thank goodness the cab had good brakes and the driver quick reflexes!
On the edge of the city we drove through barrios where disheveled people, mostly men, were standing on the street corners smoking and drinking. I said a silent prayer for no accident, flat tire or mishap. It was a relief to leave the barrio, but then we were on a two-lane winding, very dark road that seemed to be following a body of water. There were no lights or buildings. Were we on the right road? Would we be robbed or worse? Maybe left on the road in a country where we did not speak the language?
Suddenly the lights of Miraflores, a Lima suburb, appeared. The neat homes and well kept yards were a welcome site. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I spotted our hotel. In retrospect it was probably a very pretty ride in daylight, but in total darkness it was scary indeed!
