about my flight

At 19:30 on 20 June I stepped into a taxi to Jorge Chavez International. My flight home, scheduled for 22:50, was delayed one hour and we wouldn't take off until almost two hours later.

I was vaguely informed about the ban on liquids on US-bound flights. However, I didn't know that it extended to dulce de leche. I watched in horror as the security agent opened the factory-sealed can and fed the best caramelized milk in the world to a giant trash can. A trash can with a wide mouth and no teeth, that gorged but couldn't digest. It would be constipated with the sweet creams and savory liquids I wanted to share with family and friends, to communicate a little of what my life was like, a little of what I love and admire and will desperately miss about South America.

The security agent did the same to the lucuma jam, to the algorrobina. With all his manly strength, he couldn't open the two jars of onion and passion fruit delicacies. After 5 minutes, he discarded them whole into a bin already piled high with other terrorist-friendly contraband, like capers, toothpaste, and pisco. When he tried to discard the anchovies, the fish got stuck in the neck of the bottle and only the oil drizzled out. He took pity and let me keep the remaining fish since the jar was drained of its liquids.

I was traumatized, but not angry. The flight eventually boarded and took off. The two women who sat next to me talked too much. By then I was already numb and exhausted. I wanted to leave Peru, I already missed Peru, I wanted to come home, I didn't know where home was.