Destination Two: Friendly Skies Over Peru

Interjet flight 2890 to Lima isn't packed with bookish lesbian hikers like the plane from Missoula to Salt Lake was or prudish mormon elders like the plane from there to Mexico was. These faces are browner and happier - as I'll soon be. The girls in boots and guys in suits have been replaced by smooching couples, nursing moms, and doting dads. Latino love is in the air - and so am I.

Goodbye gringo misery and hello South American food and music, peoples and places, spirituality and sensuality. There may be a problem with sensuality though. Airport security seized my shampoo, mouthwash, and shaving cream, but overlooked my straight razor, so I'm armed to kill but not to love. Oh, the irony! Our world is getting tough on terrorists, but it has always been hard on romantics.

Thus, I've planned my escape. I'm off to a simpler place, where art is the pursuit of beauty not the pursuit of multiple revenue streams. Wanna come along? I promise to pass on all the living-with-gusto tips I pick up but none of the rashes or infections. How's that for a deal?

I'm completely at a loss where to begin a noble global quest for beauty and enlightenment - ah yes, my lovely flight attendant. There was a time when artists credited almighty God or captivating women as the ultimate muses (rather than modern genocides or childhood molestations), so forgive me for revisiting this quaint politically-incorrect artistic tradition. Back to senorita Miriam Rosas! As I ponder where to look for radiant beauty in this dark de-humanizing age, her gently swelling curves softly respirate the answer with a warmth and fertility no cool corporate uniform can truly muffle. Her moist eyes gleam like a beacon into my soul.

While gringos cling stubbornly to the trendy dogma of gender equality through gender uniformity that has brought many of them such loveless and passionless lives, latinos still prefer the old-fashioned perspective of men and women as differently-designed animals equipped with differently-awesome jedi powers. They have good reason.

People often ask whether I fear the drug traffikers and kidnap ransomers while living in Latin America, to which I stifle a cry: "No you fools, I fear the babes who only need try on a dress at the mall to leave me trembling, kneeling, weeping, and handing over my cash." Flight attendent Miriam walks softly but carries a big lipstick. She says she's at my service, but our eyes lock and we both know she could throw a bone down the aisle and I'd fetch it.

Why would she surrender the proven elegant soft-power of femininity for hard-edged feminist theories that produce more bitterness than happiness? Most Latinas wouldn't. Treating women with disrespect has been one of history's dumbest mistakes, but treating women like men has been one of modernity's. I'm thrilled to be here. I mean the literal thrill of men and women flaunting their distinct primal forces like cowboys used to wear their weapons into town.

It's dangerous down here. People sometimes get hurt. Yet, they often find love and passion far beyond the typical gringo experience. That's why I'm back and headed farther South in the Americas than ever before. Had enough political correctness? Open to a little more bliss? Latin America just might be for you.

Did I mention that Miriam's lustrous chocolate hair keeps tumbling out of its loose bun? Important detail. She stands in jutting profile, stretching up to repin the strands behind her delicate ears and off her creamy neck. I am mesmerized. Just for the record, I would be equally passionate to know the geography of her mind and heart, but that's absolutely impossible with the fasten seatbelt light on. I must gaze from afar. Nature designed these details to catch my notice then draw me closer. Should she ask whether I'm staring at her, I'll neither deny nor apologize for my natural attraction. I'll firmly and slowly whisper, "Not as much as I'd like to." She might smile and blush. God bless Latin America! We're now landing in Peru, so I gotta go.