Not the land down under, but under enough.

OK. I'm just going to come out and say it. Air travel sucks. You're not a passenger. You're cargo. I had naively thought that a flight to Peru would have some empty seats on it so I could spread out a bit and get a little sleep on this overnight flight.

Bull. Packed to the gills. It was even overbooked, so there was some bumping going on. Just to make it more fun, there was some kind of warning light on the dash of the plane whining about some kind of hydraulic problem. By the time all that was sorted out, the plane was taking off two and a half hours late.

But we're here in Lima, Peru. And a few scant hours later, those hours in that flying sewer pipe are fading from memory.

The bus ride from the airport to the hotel was an exercise in controlled chaos. Driving in Indianapolis, we are accustomed to allowing a certain minimum number of feet between oneself and the other vehicles on the street. In Lima, they think about six inches is plenty. The eight year old son of one of the Samaritan's Feet Staffers actually reached out the window at one point and touched the glass of a neighboring bus.

Danica Patrick would no doubt wish to have words with these drivers, but she would find herself badly outnumbered.