Delta Lost Our Luggage—and Also Our Faith in Humanity

I almost never check bags when I fly. Two reasons. First, I pack light. I’ve traveled for more than a year with less gear than most people bring to the gym. Second, I don’t trust airlines. I’d rather keep my worldly possessions within arm’s reach than hand them over to a corporation that thinks “delivered within a week” is a brag.

But in the summer of 2024, as my wife and I left for Peru, I did something foolish. I believed. I checked my bag.

Cue ominous music.

Act I: In Which Delta Begins Its Descent Into Villainy

Our trip began with a pit stop in Austin to visit our daughter and son-in-law. Lovely people. Austin airport? Less lovely that day. Lightning delays. Aircraft roulette. Endless sprints across terminals as Delta played its favorite party game: “Guess Which Gate It Is Now.”

Eventually, we boarded a flight to Atlanta. Us, not our luggage.

We knew this, thanks to the AirTag in my wife’s bag—a beautiful piece of 21st-century tech that quietly said, Your luggage is still chilling in Austin. Good luck with that.

“No problem,” I thought, like an absolute idiot. “We’ll just call Delta and sort this out.”

Obstacle 1: Delta’s Disappearing Act

We called Delta.

Delta said: “Oh, no no no. You need to contact Avianca Airlines. They’re operating your final leg into Lima. Not our problem. Goodbye.”

We called Avianca.

Avianca said: “Um, the bags are still in Austin. Delta has them and we don’t have any access right now. But we’ll let you know when Delta delivers them to us. Have a great day.”

So we flew to Lima—without our bags, without warm clothes, and without answers.

Obstacle 2: Surprise! It’s Winter

Here’s a fun fact: July in Lima is winter. Another fun fact: we live in Hawaii and believe any temperature below 70°F is a form of passive aggression.

So there we were—jet-lagged, luggage-less, and shivering through the misty grey chill of a Lima morning, counting the hours until we could check into our hotel.

I had packed a fantastic down jacket—in my checked bag.

To stay warm, I layered all my shirts like a sad travel onion and hoped I wouldn't need to make gloves from hotel pillowcases.

Obstacle 3: Delta (Still)

We tracked the bags. They made it to Atlanta! Progress!

But then Delta, that hateful rogue, just… left them there. Like forgotten dreams.

Flights came and went. We watched Delta planes take off for Lima. Our bags, meanwhile, sulked on the tarmac like last year’s gym resolutions—full of promise but going nowhere.

When we finally got a Delta agent to talk to us (after a ritual involving two hold queues, three sacrifices, and one customer service chant in ancient Greek), they promised—PROMISED—our bags would be on the next flight.

They weren’t.

Obstacle 4: Delta Strikes Again

Even if it is a bit chilly, a walk on the Malecon in Miraflores is spectacular

Eventually—miraculously—on Monday night, our bags got on a flight. Cue the hallelujah chorus.

A Delta rep told us to go to the Lima airport first thing Tuesday morning. Our bus to Huaraz (and the much colder Andes) left that evening. We needed our bags or we weren’t going anywhere.

So we Ubered to the airport first thing on Tuesday, crossing our fingers, and smiled politely at the Avianca desk.

Them: “Your bags? Oh, they’re in Delta’s office. Which opens… maybe at 6pm. Possibly 7. You never can tell.”

Us: “I’m sorry, WHAT?”

Apparently, Delta had decided that their office—unlike the functional, open Avianca desks—should only operate during vampire hours.

We begged. We pleaded. We made our case in broken Spanish and panicked English.

And to their eternal credit, Avianca came through. An agent managed to arrange for Delta’s office to be opened early—5:30pm. Just enough time to grab the bags and make our bus. If nothing else went wrong.

The Grand Finale

Back to the city we went. And we had a lovely, although slightly chilly, day.

Then back to the airport. Again. (Yes, we Ubered enough that day to personally finance three new bridges over the Rimac River.)

At the airport, we followed a trail of cryptic directions, jumped through security hoops, and performed the sacred Airport Ritual of Bag Retrieval. And just like that—our bags emerged, grumpy but intact.

Reunited with our bags!

We got back to the bus station with about 20 minutes to spare. And yes, the jackets were still in the bag. And yes, the clean underwear felt like redemption itself.

Moral of the Story

Think twice before checking bags. Don’t trust Delta. And if it’s winter where you’re going, for the love of everything holy, pack your coat in your carry-on!

Because travel teaches you things. Sometimes patience. Sometimes humility. And sometimes the phone number of Delta’s baggage claims department in three different countries.