Missing Luggage

The flight from Dallas-Ft Worth (DFW) to Miami (MIA) went smoothly, and allowed plenty of time to collect my bag and recheck for the MIA to Lima (LIM) trip. At the gate, however, I found my plan had come to a stand still. The weather in LIM was bad enough to require extra fuel, which meant the plane could not carry all the passengers and luggage and cargo, so not even all the paying passengers were going - certainly no standby non-revenue adventurers. Not this flight and not the next. My best hope was 24hours hence. I opted to leave my bag "in the system" and wait in the airport (maintaining my 'keep it cheap' theme). I, along with a few other roadwarriors, found a make shift bed by gate D-34, under a large model of the DC-3, and slept in my bag liner. Not uncomfortable, really, though with the absence of bodies the temperature in the terminal was in the mid-60's!
The next day was a long one of ambling here, sitting there, and thumbing through magazines until the attendants glared. FINALLY I was able to recheck and BOARD the late flight to LIM. Seated next to the window I was amazed at the ferocity with which the travelers, mostly Latino, boarded. To be fair, I do not visit the back of my airplane often, but still the slamming of overhead bins, the banging of tray tables and testing of blinds, as well as the volume of trash that fell to the floor was disgusting and nearly frightening. Waiting past departure time I noticed that the baggage was coming OUT of the plane, not going into it, and this was because someone had decided not to travel. If they didn't want to go, we didn't want their luggage to go. However, as time passed it became more important to close the doors and be off than to make sure all luggage made it back onto the airplane. Mine was among those left on the ramp.

Arriving bleary eyed in LIM the following morning I had great difficulty reading the finely printed immigration form, but the missing baggage chit was very legible. There were about twenty of us reading it. Best we could hope for would be the next day. I filled out the form and went to the domestic side of the airport, thoughts whirling in my sleep deprived head. Lessee. I get to Cusco today, the trek leaves tomorrow morning early, that leaves just this afternoon to find the hostel, find the tour office, get some clothes, and acclimate to the 11,500' altitude of Cusco.
Can do easy.
So I boarded a LAN Peru 737 and off we went. This time the passengers were polite and orderly, and though the flight was only an hour long we were treated to snack sandwiches and drinks. Hmmmm. I was not near the window, and the cloud cover would have prevented viewing anyway, but I did note the slight tailwind as we landed, and was well aware of the loooooong roll out. Passing through the terminal was easy - no bag to pick up - and out into the parking lot were taxi's galore awaited. 10Soles (about 3 bucks) was what I had been advised to pay for a ride to Loki, and 10S it was. We zipped through town, making pig-spanish remarks and pointing in wonder at statues and cathedrals, until the driver deposited me at the foot of some impressive steps alongside a monstrously sloped street. I said Loki, and he pointed upward.
Can do easy.
Ten steps later my lightweight bag was on the ground at my feet and I was leaning up against a century's old wall heaving breath like my teen aged daughter's boyfriend on a date (waaait a minute). This altitude thing was impressive.
As was Loki. The doors, when I finally reached them some 5 minutes and as many rest-stops later, where huge wooden ones, apropos of a Spanish Castle. In one was a more human sized portal, through which the guard allowed passage. The office was to the right, and in minutes I had been assigned bed #1, room #15 and given a tour of Loki Hostel. Common area, TV lounge (with DVD), Internet room (3 computers, free, high speed), kitchen, and bar/restaurant. Wow. Lounging about were 20-something year olds from all over the world - Germany to Ireland to the Orient. I think I was the only American, and certainly double the age of anyone else I saw. Sigh. Then it was off to the market by taxi to get clothing.
Open air markets are a labyrinth of stalls and vendors, of colors and scents, and the mythical minataur is no bull headed man, but the stigma of being fleeced and paying too much for too little. What I was after was very specific, and my spanish grew more and more aggitated as I searched for warm hat and gloves, a long sleeved shirt, a t-shirt, blue jeans (size 32, thank you), thick socks and a poncho. After an hour of twisting this way and that and retracing my steps dozens of times (I KNOW I've been past this vendor before), I had accomplished my list for about 40$usd, paying more for the small things and less for the big things than I'd have expected. 10S and it was back to Loki where I met my roomie for the night - an Australian lad who had just returned from the first day of a 2 day rafting trip (for 60$!).
Now to Llama Path for the pre-trek meeting. Cusco was the former capitol of the Inca Empire, and then re-designed by the Spaniards who conquered them and the Jesuit priests who saved them. So it's layout is influenced by geography, history and religion. Originally it was shaped to look like a Puma, for power, now one would be hard pressed to find any similarity. Relatively tall 3 and 4 story buildings with overhanging roofs wall the narrow ancient streets, blocking views of the mountains except in the plazas, which are ringed with Jesuit cathedrals. These cathedrals stand on the foundations of razed Inca temples (once there were 365) and are grandiose architectural achievements out of place with their surroundings. Street names seem to change from one block to the next, and most of the roads have enough of a kink in them that one cannot see from one corner straight to the next. It was a long short walk. If you know what I mean, but eventually I found the doorway. Inside were Casiano and 6 other trekkers: Choo Lye, a lawyer from Malaysia, Hein and Fran, a carpenter with brilliant bushy red hair and a veterinary student from Australia, the Germans Daniel and Franz, a surgical intern and an industrial engineer, and Randy from Texas. No, not me; the remaining hiker was actually Randy, a CPA from Houston Texas. Yes, it became the running joke about the Randy's from Texas.
Initial meeting was jovial and informative, and somewhat tentative on my part. The more I heard and visualized, the less sure I was that I could actually pull off this hike with just the clothes on my back. Sure, they would rent a sleeping bag, mat, and hiking pole and carry those for me (small additional cost for each) and a tent was provided, but I felt very vulnerable. Casiano encouraged me to continue saying that we could work out whatever problems came up. Well, I'd come this far, so I agreed to meet at 0430 the next morning for pickup and transport by bus to Ollytambo, the hike's starting point. Tea was offered, as were cocoa leaves (no, thank you) and we dismissed with visions of Inca Kings marching through our heads. Back at Loki my room-mate advised that at that hour I was likely to find folks just returning from a night out, and he was right.