In less than forty-eight hours I'll be on a plane bound for Miami. From there I'll transfer to smaller plane bound for Lima, Peru, after which I will fly in a yet-smaller plane to Cuzco, Peru. Counting layovers, I'm looking at about sixteen hours of travel. While I love traveling, as in going places, I hate traveling, as in getting to those places. Flying absolutely terrifies me. The prospect of three hours on a two engine, ten seat, propeller driven vehicle makes me more than a bit uncomfortable. Nonetheless, I'm well armed for my journey: an iPod filled with opera and indie rock, a couple tabs of Valium, a flask full of whiskey, ear plugs, crossword puzzles, and a backpack full of books.
I'm looking forward to my stay in Peru. My time will be divided between my hotel -- a luxuriously renovated sixteenth century monastery -- and the Inca trail leading to the ruins of Macchu Picchu. I'll follow that up with a few days of fly fishing in various small streams running through the Andes.
Until I depart, though, things are going to be a bit chaotic. I'm sparring a few rounds tonight and hoping to catch the Sox game. I've also got two filings due in court tomorrow, and sometime between all this I need to pack, get a haircut, and learn to use my new camera. Like the song says, every plan is a prayer to Father Time.
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