The sun illuminated Cuzco. The mountains shined green, sparkling boasts of red from all the rooftops. I was stuck in the airport, watching flight after flight to Lima take off while my plane sat on the runway. Luckily I ran into someone I had met in the line to climb Huayna Picchu who was on the same flight. I was in good company as the airline handled us like cattle, attempting to board us five times with absolutely no success.

They finally held us at the gate to board, and then told us the flight wouldn’t leave for another 2 hours and that they were going to issue out exit passes for lunch. More than half the passengers left the waiting room. Being skeptical of the incredibly awkward boarding procedures, we stayed behind. Within 5 minutes, the frantic airline staff announced that the flight was ready to depart, and they were going to begin boarding the plane immediately (good thing we stayed!)

Or not.

Half of the passengers were on the plane. The other half were having lunch. We sat on the runway for another hour and a half.

By the time we arrived in Lima, all my day plans to mess about Pachacamac shot to shit. On the bright side, the sun was setting over the Pacific, and it was beautiful.

Overlooking the ocean, I was staying at Second Home Peru, the house and studio of artist Victor Delfin. Inspired by the ancient Paracan culture, and pre-hispanic mythological origins, his works convey a message of passion rich with a diversity of emotion. This place was a love shack.

I met up with the boys from Machu Picchu. Military and Digital, these boys were handsome and gentlemen. The Peruvian elections were taking place which meant there was a drinking ban. We found a tourist trap that was serving alcohol (of course), and proceeded to get trashed. Double Pisco Sours, Margaritas, strongest house shots later, we closed down the bar and a stream of cabs are waiting to take us to a night club.

The drunk idiots that we are, hop into the first cab, and get driven through mini jungles and guarded gates (such a no no!). The car stopped and we found ourselves in a secluded housing compound. Hard techno was blasting to an empty scene of strobe lights, girls running around half-naked, and men lounging about in towels. We were in a brothel.

We went back to where we started. Another cab rolled around very quickly and said he could take us to another night-club. Two of the boys got in and drove off.  The rest of us stayed and got attacked with tickles from children who kept appearing from out of the mist (I’m still confused).

We’re not all sure how the night really ended. The two guys who went to the other night-club got taken back to the same brothel. One guy woke up in the wrong hostel. Another guy missed his flight to Cuzco. Another guy got kicked out of his hotel room naked. And I woke up next to Thor.

Rushing to check out of my room,I have never been so hungover, and productive all at the same time.

I couldn’t wait to come home, but riding with the boys to the airport made me feel this innate sense of possibility. I realized that I needed more time to explore the world so I could possibly find and be comfortable with where my place is in it.

As I sat in the airport lounge waiting to have my luggage stripped searched by the DEA (Don’t worry, everyone’s luggage gets searched), it hit me that what felt like an end, was really only the start of a new beginning.

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