Welcome back. After being chained in this country by semi-poverty for half-a-year, I'm gearing up to hit the road yet again - this time to continent number four: South America. Here's the game plan:
August 5: Depart
August 6: Arrive in Lima, Fly to Cuzco, Hike
August 7: Pisac
August 8-11: Hike Inca Trail to Machu Picchu
August 12: Puno
August 13: Islas Taquile and Amantani in Lake Titicaca
August 14: Return to Puno
August 15: Copacabana, Bolivia
August 16: Isla del Sol
August 17: Puno again
August 18: Arequipa
August 19: Hike Colca Canyon
August 20: Colca Canyon and Arequipa
August 21: Nasca
August 22: Fly over Nasca Lines
August 23-4: Pisco
August 25-6: Lima
August 27: 1:05am Flight Home
Luck provided, all will go as smoothly as that trip to the Grand Canyon. Let us speak not of the Mitsubishi Gallant (rip).
With the future in mind, you may be interested in revisiting the past. Since Michael J. Fox isn't quite as spry as he used to be, and the crazy old man is dead, your best way to achieve that is to click on the following links (btw, efforts to upload Mexico and New Zealand trip summaries before leaving were aborted by some jackhole that wanted to answer Mr. Owl's famous question - how many screwdriver hits does it take to get to the center of a quadruplex):
Western Europe: Or, How a Gypsy Curse Caused 9-11
El Camino de Santiago: A Pilgrimage Across Spain
Mexico: Cortes Didn't Cross It As Quickly
New Zealand: Eleven Days of Kiwi Talk Radio
8/17: On the night of the 15th I met up with French friends Tim and Sandra and went to a really nice restaurant, perched on a hill overlooking Copacabana bay. Their eyes lit up when they saw Fondue on the menu, so we ordered not only cheese fondue for dinner, but also chocolate fondue for dessert. Total cost, $6 each. Stomachs weren´t meant to hold that much melted cheese and chocolate. Fortunately, Tim and I had already gotten the political debates out of the way on our return from Isla Taquile, so we could instead focus on the offensive British pronunciation of aluminum.
Yesterday, I pulled myself out of bed for another Titicaca boat trip, to the Isla del Sol. The boat drops its passengers off on the northend and picks them up on the south, allowing them to hike the distance, passing numerous peninsulas, bays, ruins, and finishing with the Fuente del Inka, the island´s only water source.
Today I woke up early to hike with the locals to the top of Cerro Calvaro, a large hill overlooking Copacabana decorated with the stations of the cross (most people make the trek every Sunday). One family took me under their wing and had me throwing rocks on top of statues and crawling through tunnels. I´m pretty sure they weren´t screwing with me. Then I walked up to the cathedral, following an endless line of cars. Apparently, the townfolk also bring their cars to the cathedral on Sundays so that they can be blessed and ordained with flowers. Sundays are big here.
At 1:30 I had a bus to catch, leaving Bolivia behind me and returning to Puno for a brief stop, before my night bus to Arequipa.
8/15: Today, to paraphrase Mike Tyson, I faded into Bolivian, travelling to Copacabana on the south side of Lake Titicaca. After checking into my $2 hotel room, one block from the lake, with a rooftop terrace sporting panoramic views, I dropped off some laundry (finally getting that Mildew Picchu experience out of my pack) and headed out for a hike along the peninsula. It can be difficult to remember that I´m looking out at a lake...often it extends beyond the horizon.
8/14: Yesterday, I headed out on a two-day trip on to Lake Titicaca. First stop were Los Uros floating islands. The villagers amass bunches of reeds, to produce a floating surface on which to build reed huts and sell tourists simple crafts (amusingly, these include ceramics - how can you have ceramics without earth?). They also build boats out of reeds; I hopped on one to taxi across to a separate island.
From Los Uros, we had a three-hour boat trip to Isla Amantani, where we were matched up with different local families. I was sent to the house of Don Rufino and Doña Apolonario, and promptly delivered to their tourist loft. While I waited for lunch, their two young boys jumped and rolled around, essentially posing for pictures for which they would request one sol. The lunch consisted of six potatoes called okas that look like fingers (at least, I think they were potatoes), plus potato soup, an omelette, and the greatest tea ever - muña.
After lunch, and a quick soccer match with the natives, we walked up to the top of one of the two hills, Pachamama, featuring pre-Inka ruins, and a ceremony in which we threw three stones left-handed onto a rock pile, and then inhaled burning coca leaf smoke. By doing so, we are supposed to receive three wishes.
Dinner consisted of more potatoes, plus carrots and rice, during which time the two daughters in the family asked if I was going to attend the dance. They seemed very excited. I agreed, and Don Rufino brought me a large, heavy poncho and a floppy, cone-shaped beanie. I thought he gave me these just because it was a cold night on the island.
Instead, all families give the male tourists this same outfit. The women, however, receive flowery blouses, black scarves, and red, pleated dresses. Then the music started.
Five village boys play essentially the same song over and over, and each time it lasts for nearly ten minutes. Each señora abducts the male staying in her house and forces him through the steps. If you´ve never been tossed around like a sack of potatoes by a 50 year-old village women who routinely launches snot rockets as she walks across the island...well, I cant begin to explain it here. The evening ended with a bonfire, and a large group dancing around it. The views of the stars were incredible, with a very clear milky way stretching across the sky. I slept well.
The next morning, breakfast consisted of potato pancakes. Soon after, our boat departed, stopping next on Isla Taquile. While Amantani manages to absorb tourists and remain somewhat idyllic, Taquile is a tourist trap. Its roofs are all painted red to look nice and artisan shops clutter the walkways. Worse, unlike Amantani, the residents rarely even reply to tourists. Our guide explained they are just a serious people. I think they just hate tourists. I mean, to have a boatload of foreigners appear, fondle their children, shoot pictures of them indiscriminately, and then not give the measly one sol propina that is expected for pictures, why would they like us? There was a large group of Spanish tourists that was particularly impolite in their conduct of the islanders. Haven´t the Spanish done enough to these people already?
Despite that, the island was still quite pretty, with more pre-Inka ruins, and more fantastic views of the lake. After a three-hour boat trip, I was back in Puno, where a band was playing in one of the plazas and teens were launching fireworks.
8/12: I woke up early on 8/8, excited to start walking to Machu Picchu. Waiting outside for my ride, I started chatting with a taxi driver about Cusco, and guinea pigs - quite a delicacy around here. In fact, two paintings of the Last Supper in town show Jesus and pals feasting on just such a critter. He asked me where I was from, and responded with
After pickup, the group fully assembled, we drove to Ollantatamba, last town before the trailhead, and home to some impressive ruins of its own. Soon after, our bus blew a tire. Ever wonder how many Peruvians it takes to change a tire? The answer is nine.
By the time we started walking - nine tourists, eight porters, a chef, and a guide - the weather was holding steady, cloudy but dry. The hiking was easy, along a rolling trail above a river. We passed several farming enclaves, selling refreshments to ill-prepared travelers, including chicha - a fermented corn alcohol beverage. The group stopped to partake; none seemed particularly impressed. Soon after we stopped for lunch. The porters pitched the food tent and prepared soup, several entrees, my vegetarian food, and a boatload of tea, particularly mate de coca, a tea brewed from coca leaves. Of course, cocaine is eventually derived from coca leaves, but in the Andes mate de coca is a standard beverage, as is chewing the leaves, to help alleviate altitude sickness. Just don´t forget to toss any remaining leaves before returning home...
The porters stayed behind after lunch to repack, but before long they ran on ahead of the group - porters generally trot along with 40 pounds on their backs. The fastest completed the whole Inka Trail in less than four hours (that´s 43km folks). Meanwhile, we walked up the first significant uphill stretch, reaching good views of our first set of ruins, Llactapata, a tri-level village in the valley, with a small settlement up above. At this time, our guide, Saul, explained that the people living in the Andes weren´t Incas - Inca just referred to the king, and the Spanish applied it to all. In truth, they were the Quechua, and, similarly, the Inka Trail is really the Gringo Trail.
Daylight was running short, so we marched on, eventually reaching our campsite at dusk. We had a snack followed by dinner, and then hit the tents. All of the guidebooks stress that nights are frigid and one must have a zero-degree sleeping bag. I had a 40-degree summer sack, and found it too stifling. Soon after we zipped up, the rains came.
The second day dawned with rain falling lightly. After a big breakfast, we started the assault on the mountain. I followed Joe, an ex-British army official, who set a perfect pace for the 1200 meter ascent. About halfway, we stopped at the designated group meeting place. After an hour or so, we were freezing and stiff from waiting in the cloud-covered downpour, but finally most of our group arrived. We deicded to head back out. I thought Joe was with me, but he was slightly delayed. I assumed I would slow, but instead I started passing people in bunches. Staggering, I found myself alone, except for a few porters, when I finally reached Dead Woman's Pass, at 4200 meters (almost 13000 feet). Snow was falling fast, and about an inch of slush/snow covered the rocky path.
The downhill proved far more precarious - a slip would launch an unfortunate individual down the mountainside. Taking it slowly, I finally reached our campsite, empty except for a couple dozen porters. Of course, many of them walk the trail in sandals. I asked Saul later if this was because they lacked the money to buy proper hiking boots. He said they prefer it - it connects with the ritual washing they do in the streams at the end of each day. However, Saul added, some like to copy the fashion of the tourists and buy shoes - the only porter I saw slipping was, in fact, wearing shoes.
Joe arrived around 30 minutes later, by which time I was changed into warm clothes and sipping tea in the food tent. Then his son Jason, and Jason´s Irish friend Cillian arrived. Next came Phil, an Australian trekker, and Roman and Brigite, an Austrian couple. Finally, Mike and Maria arrived, a Spanish couple (Mike is a British ex-pat). Spirits were low. Roman complained about the rain and said he just wanted to finish the next day. (Roman sported a voice almost identical to Ahrnold. On the first day, he said
Phil and I awoke in our tent on the third day and noticed a distinct absence of rain, tapping on our tent top. He unzipped the flap, producing a panorama of nearly-clear skies. Excitement returned in the dining tent, as we prepared for a big day of ruins. Our day started with the ascent to the next big pass; on the way we saw Runkurakay, the only circular ruins on the route, and probably some sort of way station. After a looksee, Joe and I trucked on over the pass, through a couple of natural tunnels, and down to Sayacmarca, the best ruins we had yet seen. It was probably a control station, as it has 360 degree views on the Andes, allowing its inhabitants to monitor those coming and going. It is quite large, with lodging for 1-200, and a thorough irrigation system. Best of all, Joe and I had it to ourselves for perhaps 30 minutes; the next half hour only brought Jason, Cillian, and Phil.
Next, we headed over the third and final pass, after a trek through jungle, loaded with orchids and hummingbirds. We reached our lunch tent just as the rains started - the tents were barely visible in the clouds, even from 10 meters away. Later, others arrived wet, and a little dejected. As lunch ended, I proclaimed the rains would end in 15 minutes. Everyone else put on their raingear, but I refused, and the clouds finally yielded to my will.
Joe, Jason, Cillian and I headed on with incredible views periodically emerging through the clouds of Intipata and Huiñay Huayna, converse and convex ruins set on cliff sides, the latter looking like a Roman amphitheater, watching nature putting on a show. We arrived at our campground once again as rain started. To the victors went the first crack at the semi-warm showers - this final campsite actually had a permanent building with a cafe and bathrooms.
After a snack, we headed to the ruins of Huiñay Huayna, even more impressive from up close, and returned for dinner. Saul and I played Peruvian rummy and I won four games in a row. Finally, we presented our tips to the porters and exchanged thanks and congratulations. We went to bed, once again pondering what the next day´s weather would bring.
In fact, it brought semi-clear skies. We rose at 4am, ate a quick breakfast, and started marching along a dark jungle trail, which gave way to a steep series of steps, and finally a viewpoint from which, hopefully, to watch the sun rise over Machu Picchu. It was too cloudy for anything more than a gradual lightening, so we headed down for a closer look.
It's hard to explain what seeing MP is like. Other great sights - say, Rome´s Colliseum, Germany´s Neuschwanstein castle, or Spain´s Moorish palaces - are satisfying, powerful, and absolutely worth the money and time needed to visit them. But MP is different. It may be the most spectacular site on earth, set on a plateau, surrounded by sheer Andes peaks. And unlike other ruins, MP still feels like a vibrant city. Indeed, it still has inhabitants - a precocious pack of Alpaca strolling around at will. We sat, for at least an hour, on the terraces opposite MP, never wanting to move. The skies cleared, producing perfect blue skies and a roaring sun. Every step around MP produced new angles - produced new MPs. Saul took us on an extensive tour, explaining every temple, every odd-shaped rock, and then let us go. Many of us went to climb up Huayna Picchu, the steep mountain behind MP, which has steps so steep one has to use hands and feet periodically, especially considering the mud. The peak feels like the top of the world though, with MP far beneath.
When we returned to MP, we sat in a rebuilt temple with a full straw roof. Soon, one alpaca popped in, then two young alpaca, and then another adult. The first one looked at us, proceeded to lie down, and then awkwardly, spasmodically twisted itself in the dust. The others followed suit, getting a thorough dusting, and causing us to simultaneously run out of the temple and fumble for our cameras.
Regretfully, we started meandering our way out of the ruins, looking back longingly every so often. When we reached our bus to Aguas Calientes, we were tired, ready to go, and wondering what could ever top this. We gathered as a group one last time in AC before hopping the train back. The train was a fantastic experience in and of itself, passing through the jungle, along a few additional sets of ruins, and, after darkness, took hold, the brightest moon I´ve ever seen (it actually cast large shadows) and great views of the southern cross.
Today, 8/12, I reentered life as a normal tourist. I hopped a bus early to Puno, set on Lake Titicaca, and prepared for the next few days. My hotel room costs 10 soles (less than $3), my dinner cost $2, and tomorrow I head out to some islands in the lake. I´ll be back on in two days.
8/7: After hopping off the computer yesterday, I remembered I hadn´t eaten yet, so I set off to find a supermercado. Before I could find one, I stumbled across a vegetarian restaurant where I grabbed a four-course dinner for less than $2.
Today, I caught a bus for Pisac, a small town settled well beneath some more well-preserved ruins. The town is basically a big crafts shop; walking through the endless booths at 9am, almost completely alone, I wondered how any of them could make a living. As I started scaling the trail to the Pisaq ruins, the rains came, although they were never too bad. Here´s hoping they´ll be finished by tomorrow. Regardless, the ruins were in good shape, surrounded by heavily-terraced cliffs; some even still had their adobe walls preserved. As I walked back through the village, it was flooded - with tourists.
It´s afternoon now. There´s plenty left for me to see around Cuzco, so I´ll be busy the rest of the day, building up strength to take the icy shower awaiting me in my hotel. Tomorrow, I head out at 7am for the Inka Trail (which will be totally dry. repeat, totally dry).
8/6: Departed Seattle at 9:30am, transferred in LA around 2pm, watched The Hunted, Shanghai Knights, and Two Weeks Notice, landed in Lima around 1am, waited, waited, waited, caught my flight to Cuzco at 6am, and finally left the airports behind me at 7:30am.
Cuzco is around two miles high; breathing air up here can be a little like trying to finish off the last fifth of a slurpee with a straw. Regardless, I hiked up to Sacsayhuaman, an Inkan fortress overlooking town, in which lots of school kids gather after school to play soccer. Later, I checked out La Catedral, which has a number of interesting features including an odd mishmash of different colored blocks of marble and a large mestizo Jesus.
Otherwise, an easygoing day, devoted to recovery and acclimatization. Tomorrow, more ruins, and then I head off on the Inka Trail for four days.
