CHICAMA: the reckoning (oh, okay. the re-reckoning)

 How many times will I use the reckoning, or Electric Boogalo in some sort of sequel-that-isn't-really-a-sequel? I have no idea. If I wanted to take shots for every time, I'm pretty sure I'd be drunk. But aren't I the kind of person who does everything in excess? Exactly.

The point of this is to say that despite my absolute and sudden dropping of this blog-- due in part to the changing weather, and to Dani's o2 sensor deciding to crap out-- I achieved another beach on my list. In fact, one of the few unattainable by car. Incroyable. INCROYABLE.

I'm calling it incredible because it's the one country I swore I'd never go to, even with a beach on my list. It would be the last country I'd step foot in. I'd rather never see Chicama than go to that place. And instead, it's the first beach I went to, out of California.

In case anyone doesn't know, Chicama Beach is in Peru, two hours out of Trujillo, to be exact. In case anyone doesn't know, I'm Peruvian. And in case you can't tell, I absolutely despised that place. It gave me my mother and my father, and any place that did that could go suck my left toe. I didn't care that Chicama had the world's longest wave, or that the water looked so pretty. I'd literally rather cut my foot off.

But then my uncle went to travel South America, and set his home base up in Peru, and I was really sad about it. I was sad and I was bored, and I was constantly looking up plane tickets because I just wanted to go... At that point, I didn't even care where. I was itching for a plane and a new place, and a way to avoid the person I thought I was becoming. I'd told him I would visit, and despite not really wanting to go there, Peru ended up having suuuuuper cheap tickets. $400 round trip, WITH luggage.

Yes, it was Spirit. They get a bad rep, but I'm broke, okay?

The time before was nerve-wracking. To enter Peru, you need a vaccination record-- or a negative test, if you're not vaccinated-- and a health affidavit. I had both of those, but I still worried that they would look at me and tell me that I did it wrong, and that I wasn't allowed on the plane. I was worried I didn't pack enough, or that I wouldn't have enough space for souvenirs, or that I looked like I was carrying too much.

This is not even including the fact that my super cheap airline ticket involved three different flights, and approximately 24 hours traveling. Las Vegas to Detroit, Detroit to Fort Lauderdale, Fort Lauderdale to Lima, with some layovers in between. But I love airports, so it was actually pretty fun, in my opinion. Check my bag, find an outlet, get settled, and wait it out. Rinse and repeat for three airports.

All of this is to say: I have about sixteen days' worth of a travel journal that I kept, and I can and will be updating this website with it. Not to mention, summer is coming up, and Dani seems like she might be ready for another adventure into California. So's my birthday, and last year, my sister and I went to Carmel, so I might be able to talk her into another trip this time around for another beach.

Is anyone ready for the travel journal? It's a little unhinged, but brutally and wildly honest. I got drunk a lot, realized I couldn't leave myself behind, and had more than a few unpleasant hours. And I'd do it all over again.

(and yes. I have pictures.)