Another continent, another language, another world

Gear loaded and ready to go, airport in Lima.

It seemed to happen quickly, I boarded a plane in western Pennsylvania, stopped in Atlanta, and then 6 hours later we landed in Lima, Peru. It was late, everyone one was tired, and the lines were brutal. I think we all waited in immigration for over an hour, many flights must have arrived at near the same time, it was late, hot, and nobody was in a good mood. But I survived immigration, collected all my baggage, including my mountain bike and SUP without issue, and headed for customs.  Is funny looking back, especially based on troubles I had with customs later, how easy this process was at the airport. You fill out your declaration form, which I feel no one actually looks at, you wait in another brutal line, they scan your baggage, and off you go. Too bad my later dealings with customs would not go nearly as smooth. I had made arrangements with my hotel for a ride, dude hanging out with a sign with my name on it, nice, and 40 minutes later I was checking into Casa de Baraybar in Miraflores. It was late, I was tired, but nice to have a smooth and uneventful trip from the airport. By this time, it was after midnight.  Thus began the Miraflores days, and I mean days, many of them. I was in greater Lima, I was in Peru, the adventure had began, I just did not realize how long it would take to really start the adventure, and get out of Lima. 

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