As promised I will be using the diary I kept as a reference for my trip to Peru. So here it is……

June 18, 2010

The start of the trip was almost a complete disaster before I even stepped in to the shower. My ability to forget to check the settings on my alarm clock is no longer a surprise to me.

My plan had been to wake up at 3:50am, drag my sorry carcass to the shower, and when I finally managed to throw on some clothes double check the luggage one last time and make sure nothing had been forgotten. My grandparents were scheduled to pick us up at 4:50am.

Unfortunately I was rudely awaken from my government issued beauty sleep (I have been apparently dragging down Australia’s overall ‘Good Looking’ factor single handily) by my mother belting on the door and asking “You coming to Peru?”

Even at that time of morning sarcasm is not lost on me.

Looking at my clock I see the time is 4:30am, and I officially had 20 minutes to do all I had planned for one hour.

Nothing wakes you up faster, or better, than the realization that you are going to miss a flight that will cost you thousands of dollars to rebook. Even by men’s standards, the 10 minutes it took me to get a shower and dressed is almost worthy of a Guinness World Record notation.

Anyway, the crisis is averted and we are on our way to Sydney Airport. The combination of no traffic and my grandfather’s ability to ignore his blinker completely when changing lanes, which is almost a holy thing to see, are the reasons we arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare.

After being jettisoned at the curb, we walk through the doors to a deserted International Terminal. That’s right; there is almost no one around apart from the pre-angry Security Guards and Customs officers wandering around devising new and inventive ways in which they can delay your departure, or arrival, depending on how much tighter their uniforms had gotten since yesterday.

We join a queue that doesn’t know it’s a queue through the lack of people in it and proceed to wait for the next 90 minutes for the arrival of the Check-in personnel.

During that time my beautiful girlfriend (Bren) and her parents arrive, and assist us by joining the still unformed queue. Five people standing around talking is either a gang/loitering/revolutionary coup, but definitely not a queue.

We finally checked in and made the request for exit row seats for myself and mum, of which I was the only lucky one to get it.

The flight to New Zealand took about 3 hours and was quite uneventful. Mum got stopped at customs because to her drug lord looking style sunglasses. But nothing else remotely exciting happened.

The flight to Santiago (Chile) was the same, only much longer. I tried to watch “Alice in Wonderland” about three times and instead decided to check my belly button for collectable lint. This only took up 3 hours of my time, with 10 fun filled more to go.

Getting restless I decided to stand up and stretch my legs a bit. At one stage I went through a series of exercises that in polite company would be embarrassing. However, when you are on a plane with a bunch of strangers and your legs need movement, embarrassment is the least of your concerns.

Something I did find interesting was a kid (that had a bladder the size of a thimble) who, no matter how much I moved my feet, always managed to tread on my toes when he came bolting past.

The thought of bouncing him off the wall with a well time push as he tore past gave me cause to chuckle for a few minutes.

Eventually I passed out and woke up when we were two hours away from Santiago. T this time I decided to explore the inflight entertainment facilities a little more and found what could only be described as an instrument of torture and undeniable evil.

The flight map.

The flight map shows the path the plane has taken (Indiana Jones style red line). The plane’s representation on this program, in relation to the thickness of the red line, gives you the impression that the remaining distance is not that great. But then, unexpectedly, the screen appears to magnify the image. It was still not too far. Magnify. Ok, there’s still a way to go. Magnify. The red line is now the width of the plane. Magnify. The red line exceeds the dimensions of the plane. It’s at this point you realise if the plane plummeted out of the sky a rescue would be slim at best.

Once again I pass out and awake with only 30 minutes to go until we land.

Tormenting myself further I take a look at the ‘Screen of Evil’ to see that the misrepresented plane has moved all of 3 inches, and is mere centimetres from our destination. Three to four magnifications later the plane is actually an inch or two from Santiago.

We touch down at around 12:00 midday local time and were able to see the ‘Andes’ from the waiting area.

After several minutes staring at the amazing scenery, we made a bee line for the first place that sold alcohol, which turned out to be a ‘Pisco Sour’ stand.

This drink is both amazing and a foul temptress all in one. Whilst tasting refreshing, it deceptively allows the alcohol to seep ‘Ninja’ like in to your blood system, and stealthily integrate itself in to your brain causing all manners of havoc with speech and basic motor skills. Also, in Chile they appear to make it twice as strong as what I have previously tasted.

Our saving grace is a complimentary meal (provided by LAN Chile) at a restaurant where we ate red meat, rice and salad, washed down by Papaya juice.

After all this there are still 6 hours to kill before we take the final three hour leg of our journey to Lima Peru.

This time was spent aimlessly wandering the airport and visiting stores selling souvenirs at the prices only airports can charge.

Eventually we all became tired and tried to sleep wherever we could.

After five and a half hours and three gate changes, we waited at gate 20a (which looked scarily like 11B and 15A) with what appeared to be the Mexican soccer teams cheer squad on their way to South Africa for the World Cup. Also, we are cheerfully informed that the plane has been delayed by two hours due to bad weather.

This time passes depressingly slower than the 13 hour flight here. The Mexicans depart noisily, and leave us with nothing but our exhausted carcasses marinating in travel clothes that smelled like they had been around the world twice, and could probably make the rest of the trip without us.

Like a lighthouse in a storm, our plane finally arrives like a beacon of hope to safely take us to our final destination.

We arrive at Lima airport and make our way through the Duty Free store without incident and grab our bags then head to customs.

When we get outside the vehicle that was to pick us up is not there and we have to risk (will explain this later) taking a taxi to our hotel in Miraflores. Everything outside of the airport has an orange glow due to the street lights. There is also a type of mist that I later find out is also part smog. We bundle in to a Tarago van impersonating a taxi.

The drive to our hotel was quite interesting in much the same way walking in to a den of lions blindfolded is humorous. If there are road rules in this country they are merely a suggestion and not enforced in any way. All the drivers seem to have the same amazing ability my grandfather does at ignoring their blinkers like they are an unwanted family member at a barbecue.

The streets are a sombre experience. Buildings are half completed and I thought I saw a child scamper off down an alley.

I wanted to take pictures but was advised to keep my bags and things on the floor so as to not attract attention. The people in this area will break the window of a car to get to your belongings.

My head was constantly swivelling from side to side taking in the atmosphere of the place; as you do when it’s your first time out of your country. All houses seem to be built like forts. By this I mean that there are no front yards visible as everything is behind the walls that line the streets. Those that don’t have walls have gates and fences that are decorated with razor wire or spikes at their peaks. Every house is a testimony to a people that need to fight and protect everything they have.

Finally we arrive at 1am to our hotel, which looks like the houses we have seen. My priority is a shower followed closely by sleep. These feats I manage to accomplish with determined efficiency.

*This is where I will finish. The next entry will be following soon.

Groomed For Failure

This is my first attempt at blogging, so please be gentle with the criticism. Nah, just kidding, be as harsh as you want, I would like the feedback.

Anyway, to the topic I wish to bring to the table...

I am asking you if we (Australians) are grooming our younger generations for failure? (If you are reading this in another country, then I would like your input as to the situation in your own country)

I am not all that old, but when I was in High School, I remember that we were graded based on our performance throughout a School year. We had half yearly and end of year exams. There were assignements during the year, and tests at the end of each subject to track our performance.

My grades were mediocre at best, and at worst I failed.

However, at no time throughout my Schooling was I ever given a second chance, or told not to expect top marks as they were unattainable. My teachers told me that if I did not put my head down and bum up (metophorically) then I would fail.

That's right, the other four letter 'F' word that nobody likes to hear; "FAIL".

But they were right. I did not put my nose to the grind stone, and 10 years after leaving school I regret not trying harder. However, when I went out in to the workforce, I knew that I would not keep a job if I did not perform to the companies standards.

This was because all through my high school career, the need to do better was a constant requirement. The teachers did not worry about how I would feel if they told me that I had failed, and in one case I was told that I was a "waste of space".

At the age of 28, I have around 13 cousins, 8 of which are still in school or just finishing, and when they told me that the grading system throughout their schools had changed, and how it had changed, I admit that I was quite shocked.

Kids are actively being told that they should not expect an 'A' for their efforts, but should aim for a 'B' instead. Which subsequently leads to lower grades being moved up.

But this is not just happening in schools, but also sporting events where there is no score being kept. This is to save 5 year olds from dealing with the prospect of failure. Although I acknowledge that they are just kids, and it doesn't matter all that much as they are out to have fun.

Is this not setting a trend for further down the track?

Will buffering the youth of today from failure help them prepare for the world outside of school?

In my opinion, no!

Do you think Sir Richard Branson would have built the Virgin name in to such a globally recognised corporation if he had not learned how to deal with failure? Of course not. He learned that if you failed at something you tried again.

I think it is time that we stopped wrapping them up in cotton wool, and started exposing them to the real world, and what will occur if they fail at their schooling. This may just scare them into trying that little bit harder in the next exam.

Please let me know your thoughts or opinions on this subject. Also, if you disagree with what I have said, tell me why.

Thank you all and goodnight