Most travelers don their most authentic Indianna Jones-chic apparel for a trip to Machu Picchu, despite not actually doing any kind of intense adventure tour involving multi-day hikes along the Inca Trail or traversing jungles.
As we snaked through one of our trip's most harrowing ordeals, a long check-in line at the Cuzco Airport, we encountered a group of authentically dressed adventurers carting tons of gear to a dedicated check-in line. These obviously were not your typical tourists on holiday. Their safari-wear wasn't freshly pressed, instead sporting wrinkles and discolorations that belied exposure to rigorous outdoor conditions. The fact that a musty smell that can accumulate on camping gear did not accompany these intrepid explorers indicated great care and professionalism in maintenance of the equipment they lugged to the counter.
There were excited whispers among the family in front of us in line, and the mother of two tween-aged boys eventually approached a handsome man in the rugged group.
"Are you Joe Teti?"
He acknowledged the truth of his identity with a gracious smile.
"We love Dual Survival. It's my boys' absolute favorite show, and we all love to watch it together."
Joe immediately consented to have his photo taken with her sons, who beamed to be alongside their muscular hero, who at about 5'9" was surprising not that much taller than those big boys.
When they noticed Coty, his partner from the previous season, wasn't with the entourage, they tried to find out who Joe's new partner would be for the upcoming season. Joe said that was a secret.
Of course, we felt obliged to watch the season premiere when it aired a couple of weeks later, and if I'm not mistaken, his new partner Matt had been smiling modestly in the background. Julie and I had seen "Dual Survivor" a couple of times in a prior season and found it interesting, but now it is on our DVR series recording list. You might want to check it out.
We happened to be in the right place when the "Dual Survival" crew arrived because our Gate 1 transfer bus picked us up 4 hours before our flight. We saw no point in rushing to be the first ones to check our bags, and actually turned out to be the last, which put us in the right place at the right time. Even after an hour in that line, we were through security 2 1/2 hours early, knowing we had a short hop to Lima where we faced a 4 hour layover before our redeye flight to Miami.
When we finally received a gate assignment, Julie and I proceeded to the next waiting area, where we met two pretty American graduate students who were studying abroad in Ecuador and taking advantage of their weekend to explore Peru. We learned the girls had met in graduate school, and upon finding their mutual love of travel, proceeded to take a series trips around South America together. They were so sweet and vivacious, we wished our son Jay and nephew Brooks could have been there to meet them.
In Lima's airport, we met up with the father and son who were both named John from our tour and shared a meal in the airport diner. We should have stuck with McDonalds fare. I ordered two tamales.
How can you go wrong with tamales in South America?
At worst, the cook could have opened a can and microwaved them without taking the individual wrappers off, or so I thought.
These "tamales" were square, slimy pieces of mushy cornbread with a trace of some mystery meat hidden within the bland mix. Nonetheless, we enjoyed an interesting conversation with the Johns.
When the bill came, we noted the tab had been bumped up another 30% or so.
John Senior, a retired executive based in Connecticut whose generally cordial manner and conservative views reminded me of my Manhattan Beach friend Bill Bundy, politely asked our surly server if this amount included the tip. The waiter snarled, "The tip has not been included," with no explanation for the padding beyond the tax.
I read the menu, and at the bottom in small print it said there would be airport tax and service charges. "Isn't this service charge the tip?"
It became a heated argument between the normally sedate John Senior, an experienced business traveler who had certainly eaten many airport meals, and the waiter, who never explained what the service charge was if not for service bringing the food to the table.
Julie and I ended up leaving a tip, but it certainly was not merited. We didn't want to leave Peru with a bad taste for Americans, even if I was leaving with the taste of bad tamales (after days of outstanding food) on my palate.
After a night of occasionally nodding off while watching videos in flight, we arrived in Miami in the morning, cleared customs and picked up our luggage we had checked in Cuzco. We had already garnered a full vacation of memories, but that afternoon we would depart from Ft. Lauderdale on a Panama Canal cruise.
Julie had thoroughly researched how to take the Tri-Rail from Miami to Ft. Lauderdale, so when we asked an airport guide for directions that turned out to differ from what she had learned, we ignored him and headed for the shuttle bus stop, which we finally found after asking a couple of airport workers outside. The scheduled time came and went, and we began to wonder if perhaps the guide inside had been correct in saying we could head directly to the Tri-Rail station rather than taking a bus trip, despite the sign that indicated we were indeed in the right spot.
About 20 minutes late, however, a full-sized bus showed up, and the harried driver apologized for being delayed, saying something about it being a bad morning. There was only one other rider, and the bus had the vague smell of marijuana in the air. Her day didn't get any better when our plump driver missed our offramp, indicating this might not be her normal route. We knew we had plenty of time to reach the train station, and we had chosen to ignore the whole "hurry up and wait" stress long ago in Cuzco, so we arrived at the train station in good humor on a typically sunny Miami day.
The train was clean, and the ride to Ft. Lauderdale smooth. It sure beats the alternative long expensive cab ride, but once in Ft. Lauderdale, we had to take a taxi the rest of the way to the port.
Taxis seem to always have peculiar smells unique to each vehicle, or maybe it's the driver. This was no exception. Our driver was on the phone throughout the fifteen minute drive, speaking jovially in some language we didn't understand on a social call for our entire ride.
As an aside, I recently booked a European land tour for some folks, and for one transfer in Germany, a driver who spoke the "local language" actually cost more than an English-speaking driver, so it seems no matter where you go, you are likely to encounter primarily foreign-born taxi drivers, just as we do in the USA.
We made pretty good time, but when we arrived at the cruise port, the last fifty feet resulted in three money clicks on the meter. Julie was sure our driver, still chatting on the phone, was milking the fare, but I know these guys probably have strict guidelines on where they may drop customers. The short taxi ride did, however, cost twice as much as the $10 total we spent to cover the 27 miles from MIA to FLL.
In any case, we had made it to Port Everglades, where we breezed through check-in as a result of our past-guest status (you can get the same preferential boarding by upgrading to a suite) to board the beautiful Island Princess.
Yes, we survived the transit. Traveling always provides opportunities to meet interesting people, and if you're open to the possibilities, they make the necessary transits that could be drudgery into something you'll learn to love.
When we finally received a gate assignment, Julie and I proceeded to the next waiting area, where we met two pretty American graduate students who were studying abroad in Ecuador and taking advantage of their weekend to explore Peru. We learned the girls had met in graduate school, and upon finding their mutual love of travel, proceeded to take a series trips around South America together. They were so sweet and vivacious, we wished our son Jay and nephew Brooks could have been there to meet them.
In Lima's airport, we met up with the father and son who were both named John from our tour and shared a meal in the airport diner. We should have stuck with McDonalds fare. I ordered two tamales.
How can you go wrong with tamales in South America?
At worst, the cook could have opened a can and microwaved them without taking the individual wrappers off, or so I thought.
These "tamales" were square, slimy pieces of mushy cornbread with a trace of some mystery meat hidden within the bland mix. Nonetheless, we enjoyed an interesting conversation with the Johns.
When the bill came, we noted the tab had been bumped up another 30% or so.
John Senior, a retired executive based in Connecticut whose generally cordial manner and conservative views reminded me of my Manhattan Beach friend Bill Bundy, politely asked our surly server if this amount included the tip. The waiter snarled, "The tip has not been included," with no explanation for the padding beyond the tax.
I read the menu, and at the bottom in small print it said there would be airport tax and service charges. "Isn't this service charge the tip?"
It became a heated argument between the normally sedate John Senior, an experienced business traveler who had certainly eaten many airport meals, and the waiter, who never explained what the service charge was if not for service bringing the food to the table.
Julie and I ended up leaving a tip, but it certainly was not merited. We didn't want to leave Peru with a bad taste for Americans, even if I was leaving with the taste of bad tamales (after days of outstanding food) on my palate.
After a night of occasionally nodding off while watching videos in flight, we arrived in Miami in the morning, cleared customs and picked up our luggage we had checked in Cuzco. We had already garnered a full vacation of memories, but that afternoon we would depart from Ft. Lauderdale on a Panama Canal cruise.
Julie had thoroughly researched how to take the Tri-Rail from Miami to Ft. Lauderdale, so when we asked an airport guide for directions that turned out to differ from what she had learned, we ignored him and headed for the shuttle bus stop, which we finally found after asking a couple of airport workers outside. The scheduled time came and went, and we began to wonder if perhaps the guide inside had been correct in saying we could head directly to the Tri-Rail station rather than taking a bus trip, despite the sign that indicated we were indeed in the right spot.
About 20 minutes late, however, a full-sized bus showed up, and the harried driver apologized for being delayed, saying something about it being a bad morning. There was only one other rider, and the bus had the vague smell of marijuana in the air. Her day didn't get any better when our plump driver missed our offramp, indicating this might not be her normal route. We knew we had plenty of time to reach the train station, and we had chosen to ignore the whole "hurry up and wait" stress long ago in Cuzco, so we arrived at the train station in good humor on a typically sunny Miami day.
The train was clean, and the ride to Ft. Lauderdale smooth. It sure beats the alternative long expensive cab ride, but once in Ft. Lauderdale, we had to take a taxi the rest of the way to the port.
Taxis seem to always have peculiar smells unique to each vehicle, or maybe it's the driver. This was no exception. Our driver was on the phone throughout the fifteen minute drive, speaking jovially in some language we didn't understand on a social call for our entire ride.
As an aside, I recently booked a European land tour for some folks, and for one transfer in Germany, a driver who spoke the "local language" actually cost more than an English-speaking driver, so it seems no matter where you go, you are likely to encounter primarily foreign-born taxi drivers, just as we do in the USA.
In any case, we had made it to Port Everglades, where we breezed through check-in as a result of our past-guest status (you can get the same preferential boarding by upgrading to a suite) to board the beautiful Island Princess.
Yes, we survived the transit. Traveling always provides opportunities to meet interesting people, and if you're open to the possibilities, they make the necessary transits that could be drudgery into something you'll learn to love.
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