One month. That’s it. Then I leave this happy, humidity- and oxygen-rich, beach-centric place and fly to the exposed and oxygen-deprived, mountainous heights of Cusco. Oh boy.
Okay, so I don’t fly directly to Cusco; I am stopping in Lima for a few days on the way there. As a matter of fact, I will be doing a bit of touristy touring of Lima with my beloved father. He’s flying with me to Lima. He claims that he is coming so that I don’t have to stay all by my lonesome in a hotel connected to the airport by a walkway (something I don’t think I would really mind at all). But, I suspect he just wants to see some of Peru. And, I guess it is a pretty good excuse: “I must accompany my teenage daughter to Lima and see her safely off to her final destination.”
Anyways, the tickets are purchased, and I am indeed departing in one month. On the 15th of September in twenty eleven… I was going to make that last sentence into a rhyme to sound like the beginning of “Paul Revere’s Ride” by Longfellow, “On the eighteen of April in Seventy-five…” Alas, I failed. Anyways (again), Father and I shall fly to Lima on Thursday, visit the places prescribed by my Peru book, and fly back home and to Cusco (respectively) on Sunday. Speaking of Lima, according to Father, this week I must conjure up some sort of plan as to where we could stay, what we could see, where we could contrive to purchase a cell phone for me, and how we could escape the city and see other sights. I think it is an unfairly tall order for someone such as me; so occupied as I am with doing, uh, things like…reading! and eating and sleeping and not cleaning my room and cooking and making lists and occasionally filling out Panama application pieces. (I do but jest. I think it shall be fun, this whole scheming-about-our-days-in-Lima thing!)
In other news, I ordered a suitcase. Now, I did and currently still do have one that I lately acquired as a graduation gift from my parental units (thank you, Mother and Father!); however, after recently removing it from the box it had been occupying in the middle of my bedroom floor for the duration of the summer, I looked at it and began to think some difficult thoughts. These thoughts went as follows: That is a small suitcase. I thought it was big. Guess not. It’s almost the same size as my other, normal suitcase. Oh dear. All the stuff from my list of extraneous things to pack would not even fit in there. And that doesn’t even include my clothes. Oh my. I believe I will require more spacious accommodations for my belongings. Naturally, after having such disturbing thoughts, I promptly trotted downstairs to find my mommy. She, as usual, immediately devised a solution to my quandary: send the one suitcase back and buy a different one. So, after much consideration, research, and agonizing decision-making, I settled on a 700-cubic-inches-larger (4,900 cubic inches total; that’s not an obscene amount of room, is it? Mother thinks so.) and significantly less expensive “convertible wheeled pack,” basically a wheeled suitcase with backpack straps. I think it’s pretty cool. Perhaps I will write it its own post once it arrives.