18.12

I can’t imagine that travelling anywhere with small children is much fun so it was little enthusiasm that we Ioaded our stuff into the van for our trip to the airport.
In Peru the ‘can’t do’ attitude is alive and kicking in certain quarters as we found out on our trip to Tumbes.
Lan Peru, the Chilean owned airline we normally travel to Cusco with, only fly as far as Piura, a three and a half hour journey from where we are staying, so today we flew with Tans.
Tans are a Peruvian owned outfit whose most recent claim to fame was a plane that flew straight into a mountain last year.
Can’t bring Esther’s carry on onboard bag – too big.
Can’t take Salvador’s buggy on.
Can’t take more than one bag on each.
Don’t have seatbelts for babies (thought I’d put a don’t in for a bit of variety).
Add to the can’ts & don’ts a rattling plane, second rate stewardesses with faces as long as a wet Wednesday in Bolivia an in-flight meal of greasy cake & Inca Kola substitute and you begin to understand that Club Class this ain’t.
A bumpy landing on three wheels for our stop at Piura in the freckled desert of the North didn’t help our frayed nerves too much either.
On arrival at Tumbes the plane made a more confident glide onto the tarmac and taxied to a terminal building comfortably two whole rooms smaller than Esther’s mum’s house.
After a lengthy wait swapping sweat and competing for the carousel with ex-president Belaunde’s brother at my armpit, our luggage arrived.
It wasn’t the first time a Belaunde had made us sweat, in Lima in 2002 we boiled our way through a city tour with Christine & Mick and Kerry & Mike when we inadvertently followed the route of the great mans funeral procession.
In the meantime, Salvador had turned on his usual charm with the airport police, securing broad grins from underneath comedy Zapata moustaches.
Cases lugged high on backs Peruvian style and we were off in the taxi chugging through rice fields and banana plantations with the driver swerving at every oncoming vehicle as if he’d never driven in the dark before.
We had been in negotiations with the hotel for quite some time and in minute detail to make sure that things were just so for Salvador.
On arrival we were greeted with friendly smiles and offers of help with our bags, we were on the third floor after all, the third floor? More negotiations and with considerable huff and puff in the stifling post sunset heat we moved rooms and are now stair less in pole position for the bar and disco that is sure to start in about an hour.
At times like these Esther gets frantic, icy and downhearted; she only likes adventure to look back on.
Thankfully the new room is approved and in the dark has an excellent view of the sea; I am waiting to wake up next to a sewage works tomorrow.
We have beaten off the hunger pangs for now with some fried yucca and red hot chillies and Salvador has finally made it to sleep.
As I type I can hear waves crashing on the shore a few yards away and mosquitoes are quaintly surveying the new flesh that has arrived in room 17, the middle of my back and my ankles seem to be the favourite points so far.