Our final morning started the way the previous day ended: dark and raining. The guides woke us at 4am. As I slowly came to I realized our tent had leaked during the night; the bottom of my sleeping bag was soaked. December is the rainy season. I just hoped the rain would clear before we got to Machu Picchu.
Breakfast was light. Our guides were eager to get us moving. The trail from our campsite to Machu was only 5 kilometers but they wanted us to be among the first to see Machu Picchu from the Sun Gate when the sun rose.
We hiked in the rain to a gate five minutes down the trail. This was the entrance to the last part of the trail. Apparently no one is allowed through before 5:30am. Not exactly sure why, but there we were, waiting behind this gate until the clock hit 5:30. Other groups piled in behind us. At least we managed to be first. As we waited, the rain stopped. Booyah!
When the gates opened people bolted. Suddenly I realized I was practically jogging the trail. It was narrow and I eventually found myself stuck behind two other trekkers from my group. They tried to make small talk but I only wanted to pass. When the trail widened, I did just that. Why was I in such a hurry? No idea. We were all going to have to wait at the Sun Gate together. Maybe I just wanted to make up for going so slow the day before.
The trail was relatively easy, even as I jogged it. It was easy right up until the almost vertical flight of 50 Inca stairs leading up to the Sun Gate. I leaped up step after step as others climbed with hands. And then I got to the top at the Sun Gate and almost passed out. Should have taken those steps a little slower. But I was eager to see Machu Picchu from the Sun Gate. The Sun Gate, or Intipunku, is where trekkers get their first grand view of the site. And when I looked out to where Machu Picchu was supposed to be I saw…..clouds. Should have taken those steps a little slower.
As everyone trickled in we sat and waited. There were small breaks in the clouds and the hope was that the early sun would burn the rest off. Our guide didn’t look hopeful. As more and more hikers gave up and continued on with the hike to the site, we started to give up hope. Fifteen minutes later we were walking the last 20 minutes down to Machu Picchu.
When we arrived at the watchman’s hut, the spot for the classic postcard view, the site was still covered in clouds. We were in Machu Picchu and couldn’t see it. Sigh.
Time to take care of formalities. We descended down to the main entrance, where the day-trippers arrive by bus. The site was already busy, several buses had arrived and dozens of people were walking around. Our guide led us to a passport check where we presented our park tickets and received another stamp. Now immigration will know I did the Inca trail AND saw Machu Picchu. After bathroom visits and bag checks, we regrouped and reentered the site. Our guide took us to a spot near the front of the site where he began his lecture about the history of Machu Picchu – The Lost City of the Incas.
Perched high in the Andes with a commanding view, Machu Picchu clearly was once vitally important as a ceremonial center. Most of the site is still intact, mainly because the Spanish seem never to have discovered its existence. There are no records or mention of the citadel in the chronicles kept by the Spanish and therefore no clear indication of what the site was used for. In 1911, while looking for the lost city of Vilcabamba, the last stronghold on the Incas, American historian Hiram Bingham discovered Machu Picchu – thickly overgrown and abandoned. Now, up to a 1000 people a day visit the site during its busy season.
Not quite as many people were there while we were which made the tour and lecture more enjoyable. As our guide talked, the clouds lifted revealing an enormous site – much bigger than I expected it to be. I was almost overwhelmed. And surrounded by the awe-inspiring Andes, I suddenly felt very small. But I could appreciate why the Incas chose the site. We continued walking throughout the site as our guide explained various parts. For two hours we learned about Machu Picchu and the Incas and their fate after the Spanish conquest. The whole experience was incredible and doing the hike in along the trail only enhanced the experience.
Finally we were given three hours to explore on our own. Because I missed both post card views of the entire citadel, I decided to tackle Huayna Picchu, the imposing mountain seen in most pictures of the site behind the citadel. From the top of this mountain we were told there would be a sweeping view of Machu Picchu. But we were warned it would require lots of energy as the trail up was steep and tough. I didn’t care. I wanted the view. And off I went with several others from the group. It was steep. And it was tough. I was again breathing hard and my heart was racing within minutes. The tight Inca stairs up the mountain were soaked from the earlier rains and didn’t help the climb. Finally, at the top, I got my view of the entire city, But I was so high up the citadel looked tiny. No matter, the views were still amazing. Of the site, of the trail down the mountain, of the Andes.
By the time I made it back to the base of Huayna Picchu I had about half an hour before I was to catch the bus back to Aqua Calientes where we would meet the guides again and catch a train back to Cuzco. I decided to make a dash back to the watchman’s hut for the quintessential shot of Macchu Picchu. I followed a family towards that direction only to find myself in a restricted part of the park. The father shrugged his shoulders as I backtracked. Machu Picchu is easy to get lost in and I did several times on my way to the hut. But it was also a good way to see parts I hadn’t seen during the tour. Finally I made it to the hut. And the resulting view was worth the scramble. I got the camera shot I wanted. Then I took several goofy ones. Why not? I deserved it.
As the rain started once again, the group gradually found each other near the entrance and we piled into the buses bound for Agua Calientes. Here we met our guides again at a restaurant and chowed on pizzas and beer and talked about our last four days together. We tipped the porters and the guides. And with money in hand, the guides led us to the train station where we departed on our four hour ride back to Cuzco. I spent most of the trip discussing Holland with the two girls from said country.
Once back in Cuzco, I decided I didn’t have the energy or the patience to spend another night in the party hostal. A couple in the group mentioned a hostal they were staying in a few blocks from the party pad. They said it was quiet and comfy. And for only $18 a night it was perfect. I checked in, dropped my things, and headed down to the restaurant/lounge for one of the best omelets I have ever had and a huge fresh fruit drink. And I read by the fireplace in absolute silence. At midnight I crawled into the most comfortable bed I had slept in to that point and immediately passed out. I had earned my rest.
For pictures of the trail and Machu Picchu, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603570646929/
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Trying to Catch Up
Okay, three new stories from my Inca trail hike. Yes, that was weeks ago. I am trying to catch up. Unfortunately the internet connection here is ridiculously slow so uploading the pictures has been a chore. I hope to have the pics to go along with the stories up tomorrow. Sorry for the wait. Use your imagination until then. I also plan to have the final story from that trip, and a couple of more since, posted tomorrow. I am trying to take advantage of having a laptop at the house.
As for the current situation, Tarija has been very relaxing. During the day. At night I am usually out until the sun comes up. It`s exhausting. Bars, clubs, late dinners. This family knows how to party. They also love their wine. I am trying to keep up with all the toasts. I can`t. Tonight I have to get a full night`s rest because the next 48 hours will be non-stop partying for new years and grandpa`s birthday.
As for the current situation, Tarija has been very relaxing. During the day. At night I am usually out until the sun comes up. It`s exhausting. Bars, clubs, late dinners. This family knows how to party. They also love their wine. I am trying to keep up with all the toasts. I can`t. Tonight I have to get a full night`s rest because the next 48 hours will be non-stop partying for new years and grandpa`s birthday.
The Gringo Killer and Excellent Views of…..Clouds
On the third day I was feeling really good. No symptoms of altitude sickness. In fact, I was feeling so good I decided to change into a clean pair of underwear. With no showers along the way, I felt no need to change them before now.
The third day is the longest. We were told it has the best views and the most ruins. Unfortunately we were also in the beginning of the rainy season and those views were obstructed by clouds all along the trail.
We set off from camp at 6:30am and hiked uphill for an hour. It was a grueling start to the day. Although clouds were everywhere, the view of the Andes during the first hour was incredible and it was hard to keep my eyes on the path. When we reached the first Inca ruins of the day, the round ruins of Runkuracay, everyone was ready for a break. From these ruins the view of the valley below is sweeping. Or so we were told. All we could see were clouds and fog.
After our disappointing view we continued up another 45 minutes until we reached the trail’s second highest peak. All that climbing before 9am. But for the rest of the day it was all downhill on original Inca steps: the Gringo Killers.
We came to the ruins of Sayacmarca after descending a tight Inca staircase built along the side of a cliff. The name of the ruins means “Inaccessible Town” and it was clear why. Apart from the trail that led into it on one side, it was surrounded on the other three by sheer cliffs. With two other groups arriving at the same time and rain starting to fall, walking into the ruins was tricky. But once we were inside the ruins we got a chance to rest as we listened to a lecture on different aspects of Inca engineering. Why trapezoid windows were used, which buildings used the best stone work and why others didn’t, and why the Incas built in such inaccessible places.
From there we made our way down into the cloud forest. Raincoats were pulled out of backpacks and a bit more caution was used as the rain picked up and we started descending Inca stairs. We made our way slowly down the Gringo Killer. We couldn’t see the impressive views but the cloud forest itself provided plenty to look at. One of the American girls was having a tough time with the stairs; her knees and ankles were flaring up and she was leaning heavily on her walking sticks. I slowed down to walk with her and the older guy. As she went down some of the trickier stairs, I held her backpack in case she slipped. Though it was me that that was slipping most often. Slowing down gave me a chance to take in the trail and the surroundings. The forest was full of orchids and other flowers. Those colors were a nice addition to the solid green of the Andes. Even the original Inca stairs, hundreds of them, were impressive to look at. At one point we had to pass through an Inca tunnel carved into the rock. It was nice to stroll leasurely instead of barrelling down the path.
Finally, later in the afternoon and quite wet, we found ourselves in front of a huge terraced set of ruins. Our guide walked with the three of us down through the ruins explaining that the Incas were masters of agriculture and used the terraces to grow different plants and foods and different altitudes. The site, I`m sure, would have been much more impressive were we able to see it all at once. But with all the clouds and fog we basically saw whatever portion we were standing in. Still, it was one of the biggest sites we had seen so far.
Around 4:45 we arrived at our final camp grounds. This was luxury. There were showers (okay, not luxury, but running water from a tap was nice to see again), a small "club house" and beer. Cold beer. When I discovered the showers were hot, I paid the few dollars and washed the Inca trail off me. I got dressed in the clean clothes I had been saving for the last day. I smelled good again. Or at least I didn`t smell bad. Then I found everyone in the club house downing cold beers. It only took one grande to set me straight.
Dinner was served around 7pm. Our final dinner was topped off with the porters presenting us with a cake and congratulating us for making it this far. They all came in the dining tent and sang us a traditional song. We, in turn, thanked them for all their hard work and for clapping each time we finished the day`s hike.
And then we went back for more beer. Seriously, nothing is finer than a cold beer after hiking for three days. We stayed in the club house until 10pm, the latest we had stayed up thus far. We played more card games, we got a little tipsy, we enjoyed the fact that most of us were clean again. And then, running through the rain, we went back to our tents, excited for what was to come the next morning: Machu Picchu.
The third day is the longest. We were told it has the best views and the most ruins. Unfortunately we were also in the beginning of the rainy season and those views were obstructed by clouds all along the trail.
We set off from camp at 6:30am and hiked uphill for an hour. It was a grueling start to the day. Although clouds were everywhere, the view of the Andes during the first hour was incredible and it was hard to keep my eyes on the path. When we reached the first Inca ruins of the day, the round ruins of Runkuracay, everyone was ready for a break. From these ruins the view of the valley below is sweeping. Or so we were told. All we could see were clouds and fog.
After our disappointing view we continued up another 45 minutes until we reached the trail’s second highest peak. All that climbing before 9am. But for the rest of the day it was all downhill on original Inca steps: the Gringo Killers.
We came to the ruins of Sayacmarca after descending a tight Inca staircase built along the side of a cliff. The name of the ruins means “Inaccessible Town” and it was clear why. Apart from the trail that led into it on one side, it was surrounded on the other three by sheer cliffs. With two other groups arriving at the same time and rain starting to fall, walking into the ruins was tricky. But once we were inside the ruins we got a chance to rest as we listened to a lecture on different aspects of Inca engineering. Why trapezoid windows were used, which buildings used the best stone work and why others didn’t, and why the Incas built in such inaccessible places.
From there we made our way down into the cloud forest. Raincoats were pulled out of backpacks and a bit more caution was used as the rain picked up and we started descending Inca stairs. We made our way slowly down the Gringo Killer. We couldn’t see the impressive views but the cloud forest itself provided plenty to look at. One of the American girls was having a tough time with the stairs; her knees and ankles were flaring up and she was leaning heavily on her walking sticks. I slowed down to walk with her and the older guy. As she went down some of the trickier stairs, I held her backpack in case she slipped. Though it was me that that was slipping most often. Slowing down gave me a chance to take in the trail and the surroundings. The forest was full of orchids and other flowers. Those colors were a nice addition to the solid green of the Andes. Even the original Inca stairs, hundreds of them, were impressive to look at. At one point we had to pass through an Inca tunnel carved into the rock. It was nice to stroll leasurely instead of barrelling down the path.
Finally, later in the afternoon and quite wet, we found ourselves in front of a huge terraced set of ruins. Our guide walked with the three of us down through the ruins explaining that the Incas were masters of agriculture and used the terraces to grow different plants and foods and different altitudes. The site, I`m sure, would have been much more impressive were we able to see it all at once. But with all the clouds and fog we basically saw whatever portion we were standing in. Still, it was one of the biggest sites we had seen so far.
Around 4:45 we arrived at our final camp grounds. This was luxury. There were showers (okay, not luxury, but running water from a tap was nice to see again), a small "club house" and beer. Cold beer. When I discovered the showers were hot, I paid the few dollars and washed the Inca trail off me. I got dressed in the clean clothes I had been saving for the last day. I smelled good again. Or at least I didn`t smell bad. Then I found everyone in the club house downing cold beers. It only took one grande to set me straight.
Dinner was served around 7pm. Our final dinner was topped off with the porters presenting us with a cake and congratulating us for making it this far. They all came in the dining tent and sang us a traditional song. We, in turn, thanked them for all their hard work and for clapping each time we finished the day`s hike.
And then we went back for more beer. Seriously, nothing is finer than a cold beer after hiking for three days. We stayed in the club house until 10pm, the latest we had stayed up thus far. We played more card games, we got a little tipsy, we enjoyed the fact that most of us were clean again. And then, running through the rain, we went back to our tents, excited for what was to come the next morning: Machu Picchu.
Dead Woman’s Pass Kicked My Ass
The second day of the Inca trail is notoriously known as the hardest day. The morning is spent climbing to the highest point of the trail, Dead Woman’s Pass, at 12,600 feet. And it is a steep climb. No one was looking forward to the climb.
The guide came to each of our tents at 5:30am, along with a porter carrying a tray of coca tea, to wake us up. We all groggily made our way to the dining tent for breakfast. Most everyone agreed they slept well. Though one girl did say she went to the bathrooms in the middle of the night and they were crawling with tarantulas. The bathrooms were disgusting and I felt badly for the girls who had to squat. The smell alone was enough to make us get our business done quickly. I caught one of the American girls vomiting shortly after exiting – the smell being too much for her.
I had gone to a pharmacy in Cuzco and bought what I thought was altitude medicine for the trek. The pharmacist didn’t speak English and I tired to describe what I wanted as best I could in Spanish. What she gave me seemed odd, and studying it later, I decided it was meant to go in the mouth between the lower lip and gums. I tasted a corner of it and found it very bitter, but thought nothing more of it at the time. Now, on the second day of the trail, I decided to try one before we started our hike in order to offset any coming symptoms. But first I asked my guide how to take it. After looking at it, he gave me a puzzled look and asked what I was using the medication for again. I explained I bought it at a pharmacy to alleviate altitude sickness. He grinned broadly, took it from me, and shouted something in Spanish to some of the porters, who started to laugh. He then informed me I had bought lip balm. Clearly my Spanish is not getting any better. He felt badly about making fun of me and gave me two real altitude sickness pills. The porters continued to point and laugh.
At 6:30am we started our hike. We were immediately hit with a grueling uphill climb. People had the option of hiring locals from the tiny village to carry their packs to the next destination and three of the girls did just this. The steep climb was tough even for the locals. They seemed to stop and rest just as often as we did. I was doing much better today, generally staying near the front of our group as we plugged uphill through the cloud forest. My heart was beating fast but I was able to keep my breathing steady as long as I didn’t stop to rest very often. Even when the group stopped for the longer breaks, I decided not to stay put for too long. It was always difficult to get going again.
The hike through the woods was beautiful. The trail followed a stream most of the time and there were little waterfalls along the way. There was also a dog that seemed to belong to one of the hired locals walking the trail. He was bounding along the trail with no sign of exertion. I hated that dog.
Finally we made it through the forest and into a clearing. The trail seemed to go straight up. And it got tougher. I was now starting to breath really heavy with each step. I kept pushing on, trying to keep pace with one of the girls from Holland several feet in front of me. Occasionally I would take a quick stop to catch my breath. But never for too long. The longer I stopped the harder it was to get going again. I eventually came to what I thought was a peak – not the peak, but hopefully close to it. Two French dudes were resting there. We nodded in quiet agreement at the difficulty of the trail. As I walked around them and the peak, I discovered I was nowhere close to the peak. Dead Woman’s Pass was much further up. I whimpered.
On I went. I caught up with a few others from the group. We urged each other on. The peak never seemed to get any closer, but the trail seemed to get increasingly tougher. Our guide had warned us that the last twenty minutes would be the toughest. He wasn’t lying. I struggled, pausing every few minutes to catch my breath. At the peak I could see other trekkers watching us climb. It didn’t help. I cursed them in my head, smug in their sense of completion.
And then I climbed the last step. I had made it to the top, to Dead Woman’s Pass. Where is a rock to sit on? Screw it, I dropped to the ground. And watched the others struggle up the last 20 minutes, knowing they were silently cursing me.
Eventually everyone made it to the top. We congratulated one another and took a group picture. The hardest part of the trek was behind us. Then the guide informed us that the third day is called the Gringo Killer, even though it is all down hill. Actually that is why it is called the Gringo Killer: the steep steps going downhill are really tough on the knees. Awesome.
No matter. The legs could suffer now. My lungs no longer had to. The rest of the day’s trail was downhill to the next campsite. Straight downhill. I walked it mostly alone. Others had rushed on after the group picture as I stayed back and took in the view. It was a nice walk down. Quiet. A time for reflection. Though I mainly just reflected on the blister forming on my little toe.
Early in the afternoon I arrived at our campsite to more clapping. I waved appreciatively and picked a tent to pass out in. Thirty minutes later I was woken up for lunch, but I wasn’t very hungry. I ate a bit of the soup and excused myself to head back to the tent where I slept for two and a half hours.
Dinner was preceded and followed by more card games. Everyone seemed jovial at having put Dead Woman’s Pass behind them. Even the light rain didn’t seem to dampen the high spirit of the evening. We stayed up talking a bit later this night. And when I finally went to bed, I fell asleep immediately. The Gringo Killer was up ahead, but I wasn’t worried. I had conquered Dead Woman’s Pass. And with it, the fear of not finishing the trail.
The guide came to each of our tents at 5:30am, along with a porter carrying a tray of coca tea, to wake us up. We all groggily made our way to the dining tent for breakfast. Most everyone agreed they slept well. Though one girl did say she went to the bathrooms in the middle of the night and they were crawling with tarantulas. The bathrooms were disgusting and I felt badly for the girls who had to squat. The smell alone was enough to make us get our business done quickly. I caught one of the American girls vomiting shortly after exiting – the smell being too much for her.
I had gone to a pharmacy in Cuzco and bought what I thought was altitude medicine for the trek. The pharmacist didn’t speak English and I tired to describe what I wanted as best I could in Spanish. What she gave me seemed odd, and studying it later, I decided it was meant to go in the mouth between the lower lip and gums. I tasted a corner of it and found it very bitter, but thought nothing more of it at the time. Now, on the second day of the trail, I decided to try one before we started our hike in order to offset any coming symptoms. But first I asked my guide how to take it. After looking at it, he gave me a puzzled look and asked what I was using the medication for again. I explained I bought it at a pharmacy to alleviate altitude sickness. He grinned broadly, took it from me, and shouted something in Spanish to some of the porters, who started to laugh. He then informed me I had bought lip balm. Clearly my Spanish is not getting any better. He felt badly about making fun of me and gave me two real altitude sickness pills. The porters continued to point and laugh.
At 6:30am we started our hike. We were immediately hit with a grueling uphill climb. People had the option of hiring locals from the tiny village to carry their packs to the next destination and three of the girls did just this. The steep climb was tough even for the locals. They seemed to stop and rest just as often as we did. I was doing much better today, generally staying near the front of our group as we plugged uphill through the cloud forest. My heart was beating fast but I was able to keep my breathing steady as long as I didn’t stop to rest very often. Even when the group stopped for the longer breaks, I decided not to stay put for too long. It was always difficult to get going again.
The hike through the woods was beautiful. The trail followed a stream most of the time and there were little waterfalls along the way. There was also a dog that seemed to belong to one of the hired locals walking the trail. He was bounding along the trail with no sign of exertion. I hated that dog.
Finally we made it through the forest and into a clearing. The trail seemed to go straight up. And it got tougher. I was now starting to breath really heavy with each step. I kept pushing on, trying to keep pace with one of the girls from Holland several feet in front of me. Occasionally I would take a quick stop to catch my breath. But never for too long. The longer I stopped the harder it was to get going again. I eventually came to what I thought was a peak – not the peak, but hopefully close to it. Two French dudes were resting there. We nodded in quiet agreement at the difficulty of the trail. As I walked around them and the peak, I discovered I was nowhere close to the peak. Dead Woman’s Pass was much further up. I whimpered.
On I went. I caught up with a few others from the group. We urged each other on. The peak never seemed to get any closer, but the trail seemed to get increasingly tougher. Our guide had warned us that the last twenty minutes would be the toughest. He wasn’t lying. I struggled, pausing every few minutes to catch my breath. At the peak I could see other trekkers watching us climb. It didn’t help. I cursed them in my head, smug in their sense of completion.
And then I climbed the last step. I had made it to the top, to Dead Woman’s Pass. Where is a rock to sit on? Screw it, I dropped to the ground. And watched the others struggle up the last 20 minutes, knowing they were silently cursing me.
Eventually everyone made it to the top. We congratulated one another and took a group picture. The hardest part of the trek was behind us. Then the guide informed us that the third day is called the Gringo Killer, even though it is all down hill. Actually that is why it is called the Gringo Killer: the steep steps going downhill are really tough on the knees. Awesome.
No matter. The legs could suffer now. My lungs no longer had to. The rest of the day’s trail was downhill to the next campsite. Straight downhill. I walked it mostly alone. Others had rushed on after the group picture as I stayed back and took in the view. It was a nice walk down. Quiet. A time for reflection. Though I mainly just reflected on the blister forming on my little toe.
Early in the afternoon I arrived at our campsite to more clapping. I waved appreciatively and picked a tent to pass out in. Thirty minutes later I was woken up for lunch, but I wasn’t very hungry. I ate a bit of the soup and excused myself to head back to the tent where I slept for two and a half hours.
Dinner was preceded and followed by more card games. Everyone seemed jovial at having put Dead Woman’s Pass behind them. Even the light rain didn’t seem to dampen the high spirit of the evening. We stayed up talking a bit later this night. And when I finally went to bed, I fell asleep immediately. The Gringo Killer was up ahead, but I wasn’t worried. I had conquered Dead Woman’s Pass. And with it, the fear of not finishing the trail.
Conquering the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu (Just Barely)
I purposefully arrived in Cuzco four days before my Inca trail hike to Machu Picchu to have plenty of time to acclimatize. I had read that the hardest part of the hike was the altitude and that it is best to arrive at least a couple days early so the body can adjust.
But the night before my hike I was still getting winded just walking up the stairs to my hostel. I attempted to walk up and down those stairs several times to get used to the exertion. But midway through the second attempt I was breathing so heavily and my heart pounding so fiercely that I had to pause for 10 minutes just to make it back to the hostel and call it quits. I was growing increasingly worried about doing the trek. How could I possibly make it through the 26 miles that reach an altitude almost twice that of Cuzco’s if I couldn’t even climb the stairs leading to my hostel? The two all-night drinking outings sure weren’t helping matters.
Monday morning I woke to my watch alarm at 5:15. I had packed everything up for the trip the previous night, and so I needed only to collect everything quietly in my dorm room of nine other sleeping bodies and head down to the hostel entrance where the trekking company would pick me up. There were several others waiting at the entrance, most leaving for the Inca trail as well. All looked to be in great shape. I quietly prayed the bus picking us up would stop at a gloriously over-priced, luxury hotel where a few obese Americans were waiting to join our group. I needed some one to keep pace with.
Those obese Americans never materialized. Though we did pick up five other Americans – five girlfriends doing the trek together – they all seemed to be in pretty good health. Sigh.
The bus drove to the small town of Ollantaytambo where we would stop for breakfast before driving on the trail head. Along the way we stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, to pick up our 22 porters. They were all vibrantly full of energy. I tried guessing which ones would be selected to carry me back to town when I could no longer push on. As soon as the bus arrived in town, local vendors swarmed us. We were mobbed as we tried to make our way to the restaurant for breakfast. People were selling wide-brimmed hats, walking sticks with little indigenous weaved handgrips, coca leaves, and, of course, water. Always water. We all pushed through the disappointed vendors on to the restaurant, completely missing the huge Inca fortress perched on the hill above. I would see this when I returned on my Sacred Valley tour later in the week.
Breakfast was rushed, but gave us our first chance to meet each other. There were five architects from Ireland, all around my age. They would prove to be the most fun of the group (the Irish always are). Two girls were from Holland, both young students. Both were much taller than me. One guy, an Indian from Singapore, was a college professor and also the oldest of the group at around 40. He would be sharing my tent during the trek. Two girls were from England, both on their sixth month of a two-year jaunt around the world. And there were the five American girls, all friends or relatives of each other, from Chicago, Seattle, and L.A., and all in their 30s. All would prove entertaining in their own way along the trail.
After breakfast the bus took us to the trail head where we were again mobbed by local vendors selling the same things as in the village. They had more luck this time as people went through their bags and discovered they were lacking several crucial items. I debated getting the wide-brimmed hat, but decided against it once I saw what it looked like on one of the other guys. My UNC baseball cap would do.
Finally, we noticed all the porters had already departed and our guide announced it was time for us to do the same. After a group picture at the trail head marker, we moved on to passport check and our guide paid our trail fees. They even had a stamp for our passports. Now every country’s immigration control will know I did the Inca trail. This was also the first time anyone from our group, including the Americans, had seen the new U.S. passport (compliments of me). There were several ooohs and aaahs. And jokes. It’s so patriotic.
On we moved across the Vilcanota River and up a fairly steep trail. The views were breath-takingly stunning; walking through the Andes was going to be a treat in itself. We followed the trail along the river, high enough now to look down at it and out over the mountains. In the distance was the snow-capped peak of Veronica Mountain at 17580 feet, which reminded some one of the story of three British climbers who trekked the Andes without a guide – one getting hurt so badly he was almost left for dead. I tried my best not to think about it any further.
My heart was beating pretty quickly, but my breathing was steady. I could even almost hold a two-sided conversation about college basketball and world soccer teams. Though, admittedly, the conversation was mostly one-sided as I concentrated on breathing. But over all I was doing much better than expected.
After some time we came to our first Inca ruins: the Inca hillfort of Huillca Raccay. Not all that impressive. But from here we could see the huge Inca ruins of Llactapata in the valley below. Apparently used as an agricultural station to supply Machu Picchu, Llactapata was comprised of over 100 buildings and houses for workers and soldiers. It was an amazing site from high above the valley. And it was also our first chance for a solid rest as our guide described what we were looking at. I needed it. We had just done a long, steep climb and I was exhausted. I had watched incredulously as porters practically jogged past me carrying five times the weight of my own bag. And most were doing it wearing simple sandals made of old tires.
When it was time to start moving again, we were finally going downhill. But I suddenly had a severe and pounding headache. And my stomach was churning. The altitude was taking a toll. I kept moving along the trail, but talked very little even as the rest of the group seemed to be doing fine. We eventually stopped, not a moment too soon, at a site for lunch. The porters already had everything set up when we arrived. A large tent with tables and stools was the center point – lunch was soup followed by a chicken and rice dish and tea. I was just expecting to have sandwiches while sitting on the grass. But my headache was too intense and I had no appetite. I quietly got up from the table and went out to lie down in the grass. I started to go over different scenarios in my head of how I would be taken back to the trail head.
Apparently one of the American gals had just arrived in Peru the day before and the altitude was kicking her butt too. She was lying out in the grass as well. Another American gal walked over and, noticing how bad I looked, offered some maximum strength Tylenol. Now normally I am opposed to taking any kind of medication, no matter how badly I feel. I am kinda silly that way. I took three.
Twenty minutes later I was practically bouncing down the trail.
That afternoon at 3:30 we arrived at the tiny village of Wayllabamba where we were camping for the night. Again, the porters had everything set up when we arrived. And as we made our way towards the campsite, the porters, all lined up, welcomed us with applause for completing our first day. We all dropped in an open space near the tents and took in the views of the mountains in the distance and the ducks, chickens, and donkeys walking (and waddling) around us. Wayllabamba was a farming village after all.
There was a woman selling Cokes and Gatorades and different chocolate bars. Everyone was a customer. At tea time (yes, we had tea time) in the large dining tent our guide taught us card games. We played until it was time for dinner. Then we played some more. Around 8:30 when the guide suggested we go to sleep, no one argued. The sky was clear and full of more stars than seemed possible. I was tempted to sleep out under them. But the guide, at just that moment, mentioned the need to take a flashlight to the bathroom in order to look for tarantulas before popping a squat. Into my tent I went. I had no problem falling asleep after my first day on the Inca trail.
But the night before my hike I was still getting winded just walking up the stairs to my hostel. I attempted to walk up and down those stairs several times to get used to the exertion. But midway through the second attempt I was breathing so heavily and my heart pounding so fiercely that I had to pause for 10 minutes just to make it back to the hostel and call it quits. I was growing increasingly worried about doing the trek. How could I possibly make it through the 26 miles that reach an altitude almost twice that of Cuzco’s if I couldn’t even climb the stairs leading to my hostel? The two all-night drinking outings sure weren’t helping matters.
Monday morning I woke to my watch alarm at 5:15. I had packed everything up for the trip the previous night, and so I needed only to collect everything quietly in my dorm room of nine other sleeping bodies and head down to the hostel entrance where the trekking company would pick me up. There were several others waiting at the entrance, most leaving for the Inca trail as well. All looked to be in great shape. I quietly prayed the bus picking us up would stop at a gloriously over-priced, luxury hotel where a few obese Americans were waiting to join our group. I needed some one to keep pace with.
Those obese Americans never materialized. Though we did pick up five other Americans – five girlfriends doing the trek together – they all seemed to be in pretty good health. Sigh.
The bus drove to the small town of Ollantaytambo where we would stop for breakfast before driving on the trail head. Along the way we stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, to pick up our 22 porters. They were all vibrantly full of energy. I tried guessing which ones would be selected to carry me back to town when I could no longer push on. As soon as the bus arrived in town, local vendors swarmed us. We were mobbed as we tried to make our way to the restaurant for breakfast. People were selling wide-brimmed hats, walking sticks with little indigenous weaved handgrips, coca leaves, and, of course, water. Always water. We all pushed through the disappointed vendors on to the restaurant, completely missing the huge Inca fortress perched on the hill above. I would see this when I returned on my Sacred Valley tour later in the week.
Breakfast was rushed, but gave us our first chance to meet each other. There were five architects from Ireland, all around my age. They would prove to be the most fun of the group (the Irish always are). Two girls were from Holland, both young students. Both were much taller than me. One guy, an Indian from Singapore, was a college professor and also the oldest of the group at around 40. He would be sharing my tent during the trek. Two girls were from England, both on their sixth month of a two-year jaunt around the world. And there were the five American girls, all friends or relatives of each other, from Chicago, Seattle, and L.A., and all in their 30s. All would prove entertaining in their own way along the trail.
After breakfast the bus took us to the trail head where we were again mobbed by local vendors selling the same things as in the village. They had more luck this time as people went through their bags and discovered they were lacking several crucial items. I debated getting the wide-brimmed hat, but decided against it once I saw what it looked like on one of the other guys. My UNC baseball cap would do.
Finally, we noticed all the porters had already departed and our guide announced it was time for us to do the same. After a group picture at the trail head marker, we moved on to passport check and our guide paid our trail fees. They even had a stamp for our passports. Now every country’s immigration control will know I did the Inca trail. This was also the first time anyone from our group, including the Americans, had seen the new U.S. passport (compliments of me). There were several ooohs and aaahs. And jokes. It’s so patriotic.
On we moved across the Vilcanota River and up a fairly steep trail. The views were breath-takingly stunning; walking through the Andes was going to be a treat in itself. We followed the trail along the river, high enough now to look down at it and out over the mountains. In the distance was the snow-capped peak of Veronica Mountain at 17580 feet, which reminded some one of the story of three British climbers who trekked the Andes without a guide – one getting hurt so badly he was almost left for dead. I tried my best not to think about it any further.
My heart was beating pretty quickly, but my breathing was steady. I could even almost hold a two-sided conversation about college basketball and world soccer teams. Though, admittedly, the conversation was mostly one-sided as I concentrated on breathing. But over all I was doing much better than expected.
After some time we came to our first Inca ruins: the Inca hillfort of Huillca Raccay. Not all that impressive. But from here we could see the huge Inca ruins of Llactapata in the valley below. Apparently used as an agricultural station to supply Machu Picchu, Llactapata was comprised of over 100 buildings and houses for workers and soldiers. It was an amazing site from high above the valley. And it was also our first chance for a solid rest as our guide described what we were looking at. I needed it. We had just done a long, steep climb and I was exhausted. I had watched incredulously as porters practically jogged past me carrying five times the weight of my own bag. And most were doing it wearing simple sandals made of old tires.
When it was time to start moving again, we were finally going downhill. But I suddenly had a severe and pounding headache. And my stomach was churning. The altitude was taking a toll. I kept moving along the trail, but talked very little even as the rest of the group seemed to be doing fine. We eventually stopped, not a moment too soon, at a site for lunch. The porters already had everything set up when we arrived. A large tent with tables and stools was the center point – lunch was soup followed by a chicken and rice dish and tea. I was just expecting to have sandwiches while sitting on the grass. But my headache was too intense and I had no appetite. I quietly got up from the table and went out to lie down in the grass. I started to go over different scenarios in my head of how I would be taken back to the trail head.
Apparently one of the American gals had just arrived in Peru the day before and the altitude was kicking her butt too. She was lying out in the grass as well. Another American gal walked over and, noticing how bad I looked, offered some maximum strength Tylenol. Now normally I am opposed to taking any kind of medication, no matter how badly I feel. I am kinda silly that way. I took three.
Twenty minutes later I was practically bouncing down the trail.
That afternoon at 3:30 we arrived at the tiny village of Wayllabamba where we were camping for the night. Again, the porters had everything set up when we arrived. And as we made our way towards the campsite, the porters, all lined up, welcomed us with applause for completing our first day. We all dropped in an open space near the tents and took in the views of the mountains in the distance and the ducks, chickens, and donkeys walking (and waddling) around us. Wayllabamba was a farming village after all.
There was a woman selling Cokes and Gatorades and different chocolate bars. Everyone was a customer. At tea time (yes, we had tea time) in the large dining tent our guide taught us card games. We played until it was time for dinner. Then we played some more. Around 8:30 when the guide suggested we go to sleep, no one argued. The sky was clear and full of more stars than seemed possible. I was tempted to sleep out under them. But the guide, at just that moment, mentioned the need to take a flashlight to the bathroom in order to look for tarantulas before popping a squat. Into my tent I went. I had no problem falling asleep after my first day on the Inca trail.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Now Where Was I?
When I left off last, I think I was recovering from a night out in Cusco. The day after recovering from that night out, I decided to sign up for a couple of tours in order to say I did something productive in Cusco.
After an early breakfast at the party hostal, I went to the tour office they had on site to see what was offered. I wanted to see the Sacred Valley (several Inca ruins sites) and so I signed up for that tour for Sunday, the day before the Inca trail to Machu Picchu. Figured it would get me ready for the the big site. As the guy at the tour desk was filling out the paper work for that tour, I noticed another tour that took people around the city. There was one leaving that day at 1:30pm. Sounded like a good way to get an overview of what was around me, so I signed up for that as well. The guy told me to head to the main tour agency office in town and a bus would pick me up just before 1:30.
I walked into town and did a little site-seeing on my own, still feeling guilty for wasting the day before. Around noon I stopped at a restaurant hoping to get some of the chicken I swore I heard Peru was famous for. I got chicken, but it wasn`t worthy of being famous.
Just before 1:30 I walked over to the tour agency. It was closed for the afternoon siesta. Not knowing exactly how to pick up my tour, I just sat on the front steps in hopes the bus would pull up. 10 minutes later it did.
Turned out not to be so much a tour of the city, as a tour of some of the oldest parts of the Cusco area. Our first stop was the Inca Temple of the Sun. Or what was left of it. The Spanished destroyed it and a new religious building was placed on top of the foundation. Most of the tour centered around what was left of that foundatation. The place was mobbed with tourists that all seemed to have arrived with a tour group. We had to wait in line to see everything. And the local venders were well aware of the tourist haven possibilities. Local vendors were everywhere, selling everything. You could even get your pic with little indigenous kids in costumes, holding little lambs. The whole thing didn`t end quickly enough.
Next we moved on to the large church in the city`s center plaza. The highlight of this tour was being told it was the third largest church in the Americas. Not sure if that is true. But the church also held a crucified Jesus that was apparently brought out years ago when Cusco was suffering continuous earthquakes. The crucifix was paraded out in the main square to much fan fare and the earthquakes ceased. Now the "Earthquake Jesus" has a special place in the church. Sorry, no photography was allowed.
Next it was time to tour the nearby Inca sites. The first, pronounced sexy woman, was interesting and I think everyone dug being able to walk around it and see the views of Cusco just below (see discriptions of the sites on my picutre site). Also, taking pics with some costumed indigenous women and their llamas was a highlight. But this was also about the point that I had time to start chatting up other people on my tour. There were two gals from the States: one from Chicago and the other from DC. We got to talking and I discovered the one worked at the Newseum. Then I met two girls from Hong Kong; both had gone to school in L.A. And finally I met a guy from L.A. and another from Brazil.
Since the next two sites weren`t nearly as interesting and we were all seeming to suffer the effects of the altitude, conversing really took off (as the sites were seemingly ignored). Even more so when we were dropped off at a souvenir shop (not on the agenda, but always expected - guide`s gotta make a commision somehow).
As the bus brought us back to Cusco, talk moved to what to do that night. I hadn`t showered all day and was eager to get back to the hostal to at least drop off my backpack (which carried all the things suggested may be needed - but weren`t). But people were hungry now and didn`t want to wait for the one guy who was staying way back up on the hill. So I offered to do dinner and then bid an early good-night. The guy from L.A. and the other from Brazil had discovered a great restaurant the previous night and were eager to go back. We all followed them as they led us down street after street, at times the same streets multiple times. After killing 40 minutes and not finding the restaurant (they said the streets looked different at night), we decided to just follow one of the many guys selling various menus on the street. The restaurant was empty. But they had alpaca (like llama) and coca tea on the menu and I had tried neither to this point. And so I ordered both. Coca tea is suggested to alliviate the effects of altitude (yes, it´s the same plant cocaine comes from). And alpaca, well, it doesn`t do anything for you. But it tastes good and is supposidly low in cholesterol. I enjoyed both. And felt healthier for eating both.
Afterwards, everyone was ready to call it a night. But suddenly I wanted a beer. It might have had something to do with wanting to avoid the huge party that was going on at my hostal that night. Either way, the guy from L.A. was up for a drink too. And so he and I (still unbathed and carrying my bookbag) headed to Norton Rat`s; a dive bar on the plaza. The place was pretty busy. Apparently that day was their 10th anniversary and they were giving out prizes. The prizes turned out to be little trinkets the bar had received for free from their alcohol vendors, but it kept the crowd entertained. And it kept the bar fly busy calling out numbers and handing out prizes instead of making an ass of himself in other ways. I got a key chain from some English brewery. It disappeared a short time later.
As the night went on, and the fourth pint of the strongest English ale I have ever downed was poured, I realized heading back for a shower was not in my immediate future. The guy from L.A. and I had challenged two British blokes to billiards and were losing horribly. But it opened up conversation. By 1am I found myself sitting at the bar discussing how the British elite military was still a force to be reckoned with and how the naval incident with Iran earlier this year was not a custard pie in the face of a once mighty lion. I said it was. The older Brit agreed. The younger Brit, with "State of Love & Trust" tattooed across his chest (he liked Pearl Jam a little too much), disagreed. I changed the subject to music to keep things civil. I few positive comments about Pearl Jam kept people smiling.
Two hours later I was back in the same dance club I had spent an entire night in two days previous. Drinks were poured and consumed regularly. The dance floor was spared my moves this time. But the bartender and two Dutch guys were not spared my thoughts on American pop culture. Fortunately they had equally negative thoughts and that kept this discussion civil as well. Finally, I decided I had had enough and it was time to get home and sleep before my Sacred Valley tour at 8:30am. I headed for the door and when I opened it I found a bright, sunny morning. My watch read 7:30am. There is something about Cusco and staying out way too late. I think it`s the altitude.
I stumbled to the stairs just around the block from the club, right on the main plaza. The plaza was full of people setting up something big; maybe a morning festival. I had no idea. I sat down for a bit to investigate. And to stop the plaza from spinning. And suddenly I was being serenaded by a vagabond from Argentina with an old guitar. Ahhhh Cusco. I gave him a few Soles and found a taxi to take me to my hostal. At 8am I passed out in my bed, clothes, shoes and all. At 1:30 in the afternoon I woke up to realize I had missed my Sacred Valley tour.
Something about the altitude in Cusco really knocks me out. The Sacred Valley would have to wait until after Machu Picchu.
After an early breakfast at the party hostal, I went to the tour office they had on site to see what was offered. I wanted to see the Sacred Valley (several Inca ruins sites) and so I signed up for that tour for Sunday, the day before the Inca trail to Machu Picchu. Figured it would get me ready for the the big site. As the guy at the tour desk was filling out the paper work for that tour, I noticed another tour that took people around the city. There was one leaving that day at 1:30pm. Sounded like a good way to get an overview of what was around me, so I signed up for that as well. The guy told me to head to the main tour agency office in town and a bus would pick me up just before 1:30.
I walked into town and did a little site-seeing on my own, still feeling guilty for wasting the day before. Around noon I stopped at a restaurant hoping to get some of the chicken I swore I heard Peru was famous for. I got chicken, but it wasn`t worthy of being famous.
Just before 1:30 I walked over to the tour agency. It was closed for the afternoon siesta. Not knowing exactly how to pick up my tour, I just sat on the front steps in hopes the bus would pull up. 10 minutes later it did.
Turned out not to be so much a tour of the city, as a tour of some of the oldest parts of the Cusco area. Our first stop was the Inca Temple of the Sun. Or what was left of it. The Spanished destroyed it and a new religious building was placed on top of the foundation. Most of the tour centered around what was left of that foundatation. The place was mobbed with tourists that all seemed to have arrived with a tour group. We had to wait in line to see everything. And the local venders were well aware of the tourist haven possibilities. Local vendors were everywhere, selling everything. You could even get your pic with little indigenous kids in costumes, holding little lambs. The whole thing didn`t end quickly enough.
Next we moved on to the large church in the city`s center plaza. The highlight of this tour was being told it was the third largest church in the Americas. Not sure if that is true. But the church also held a crucified Jesus that was apparently brought out years ago when Cusco was suffering continuous earthquakes. The crucifix was paraded out in the main square to much fan fare and the earthquakes ceased. Now the "Earthquake Jesus" has a special place in the church. Sorry, no photography was allowed.
Next it was time to tour the nearby Inca sites. The first, pronounced sexy woman, was interesting and I think everyone dug being able to walk around it and see the views of Cusco just below (see discriptions of the sites on my picutre site). Also, taking pics with some costumed indigenous women and their llamas was a highlight. But this was also about the point that I had time to start chatting up other people on my tour. There were two gals from the States: one from Chicago and the other from DC. We got to talking and I discovered the one worked at the Newseum. Then I met two girls from Hong Kong; both had gone to school in L.A. And finally I met a guy from L.A. and another from Brazil.
Since the next two sites weren`t nearly as interesting and we were all seeming to suffer the effects of the altitude, conversing really took off (as the sites were seemingly ignored). Even more so when we were dropped off at a souvenir shop (not on the agenda, but always expected - guide`s gotta make a commision somehow).
As the bus brought us back to Cusco, talk moved to what to do that night. I hadn`t showered all day and was eager to get back to the hostal to at least drop off my backpack (which carried all the things suggested may be needed - but weren`t). But people were hungry now and didn`t want to wait for the one guy who was staying way back up on the hill. So I offered to do dinner and then bid an early good-night. The guy from L.A. and the other from Brazil had discovered a great restaurant the previous night and were eager to go back. We all followed them as they led us down street after street, at times the same streets multiple times. After killing 40 minutes and not finding the restaurant (they said the streets looked different at night), we decided to just follow one of the many guys selling various menus on the street. The restaurant was empty. But they had alpaca (like llama) and coca tea on the menu and I had tried neither to this point. And so I ordered both. Coca tea is suggested to alliviate the effects of altitude (yes, it´s the same plant cocaine comes from). And alpaca, well, it doesn`t do anything for you. But it tastes good and is supposidly low in cholesterol. I enjoyed both. And felt healthier for eating both.
Afterwards, everyone was ready to call it a night. But suddenly I wanted a beer. It might have had something to do with wanting to avoid the huge party that was going on at my hostal that night. Either way, the guy from L.A. was up for a drink too. And so he and I (still unbathed and carrying my bookbag) headed to Norton Rat`s; a dive bar on the plaza. The place was pretty busy. Apparently that day was their 10th anniversary and they were giving out prizes. The prizes turned out to be little trinkets the bar had received for free from their alcohol vendors, but it kept the crowd entertained. And it kept the bar fly busy calling out numbers and handing out prizes instead of making an ass of himself in other ways. I got a key chain from some English brewery. It disappeared a short time later.
As the night went on, and the fourth pint of the strongest English ale I have ever downed was poured, I realized heading back for a shower was not in my immediate future. The guy from L.A. and I had challenged two British blokes to billiards and were losing horribly. But it opened up conversation. By 1am I found myself sitting at the bar discussing how the British elite military was still a force to be reckoned with and how the naval incident with Iran earlier this year was not a custard pie in the face of a once mighty lion. I said it was. The older Brit agreed. The younger Brit, with "State of Love & Trust" tattooed across his chest (he liked Pearl Jam a little too much), disagreed. I changed the subject to music to keep things civil. I few positive comments about Pearl Jam kept people smiling.
Two hours later I was back in the same dance club I had spent an entire night in two days previous. Drinks were poured and consumed regularly. The dance floor was spared my moves this time. But the bartender and two Dutch guys were not spared my thoughts on American pop culture. Fortunately they had equally negative thoughts and that kept this discussion civil as well. Finally, I decided I had had enough and it was time to get home and sleep before my Sacred Valley tour at 8:30am. I headed for the door and when I opened it I found a bright, sunny morning. My watch read 7:30am. There is something about Cusco and staying out way too late. I think it`s the altitude.
I stumbled to the stairs just around the block from the club, right on the main plaza. The plaza was full of people setting up something big; maybe a morning festival. I had no idea. I sat down for a bit to investigate. And to stop the plaza from spinning. And suddenly I was being serenaded by a vagabond from Argentina with an old guitar. Ahhhh Cusco. I gave him a few Soles and found a taxi to take me to my hostal. At 8am I passed out in my bed, clothes, shoes and all. At 1:30 in the afternoon I woke up to realize I had missed my Sacred Valley tour.
Something about the altitude in Cusco really knocks me out. The Sacred Valley would have to wait until after Machu Picchu.
Monday, December 24, 2007
A Traditional Christmas
It´s Christmas eve and I am about to hop on a plane from La Paz, Bolivia to Tarija to spend the holidays with my coworker´s family. I am extremely greatful for this opportunity. Otherwise I would be spending my first Christmas away from home alone.
In light of this I want to take a minute to remember what my traditional Christmas is like with my family in NC...
Christmas eve is usually spent with me running around buying last minute gifts - gifts I have put lots of thought into, but just haven´t had time to purchase. Seriously. Around 5 or 6pm, dinner is served. My grandmother makes a large batch of potato soup for everyone. But I hate potatoes. So every year, this kind soul makes one small batch of chili for yours truly. We eat, we chat, we disperse an hour later. Usually I will head to my grandfather´s shed and watch whatever he´s watching while we smoke cigars. This is a sacred spot. Kids are kept at bay. The women in my family usually avoid the shed as well. And thus tv watching, chatting, and smoking is thoroughly enjoyed in solitude. Around 10:30pm, I return to my parent´s house where my mom and aunt are sitting on the floor of the living room surrounded by dozens of rolls of wrapping paper, more presents than are necessary for three Christmas holidays, and a large tub of potato chips and home-made dip. They wrap presents until 2 or 3am. My dad and uncle attempt to watch a movie in the same room. Both pass out within an hour. As do I.
On Christmas day, I am woken up by my mom and the dog (who is sporting a red ribbon on her collar in honor of the holiday) and told to get to work on my annual Christmas task: making fresh-squeezed orange juice from two large bags of oranges on a relic of a juice maker. The chore is a tradition and I enjoy keeping busy while my nieces and nephew parade around the house eagerly anticipating all the presents coming their way. But the machine is old and loud. And it vibrates so much I am shakey until 2pm. But the results please everyone. Afterwards I dive into the home made banana bread and eat several slices before anyone else can gt close.
Cousins and other aunts and uncles are told to arrive late in the morning so that the grandkids can enjoy opening some of their gifts before the house gets too full. They always arrive early. And the living room is full as presents are handed out, balled-up wrapping paper is tossed at whomever is closest to the large trash bag, and the dog paces to any space that opens up among the chaos.
When the unwrapping is complete, I hide in my room with my presents to do inventory and avoid the kids. Then I take a nap. The kids are usually still around when I wake up, so I take one of the three nice cigars given to me, my father, and my grandfather for Christmas, and head back to my grandfather`s shed and start smoking.
Dinner is around 4:30pm. A large ham and a collection of other foods has been laid out in the dining room. I am eager to get to my grandmother`s pecan pie and scarf down dinner. Then I have a ridiculously large piece of the pie. The rest of the night is usually spent back at my grandfather`s shed.
This year my parents moved just before Christmas. I have been told there wasn`t even time to buy a real tree. Sounds like if I had to pick a Christmas to miss, this was the one.
In light of this I want to take a minute to remember what my traditional Christmas is like with my family in NC...
Christmas eve is usually spent with me running around buying last minute gifts - gifts I have put lots of thought into, but just haven´t had time to purchase. Seriously. Around 5 or 6pm, dinner is served. My grandmother makes a large batch of potato soup for everyone. But I hate potatoes. So every year, this kind soul makes one small batch of chili for yours truly. We eat, we chat, we disperse an hour later. Usually I will head to my grandfather´s shed and watch whatever he´s watching while we smoke cigars. This is a sacred spot. Kids are kept at bay. The women in my family usually avoid the shed as well. And thus tv watching, chatting, and smoking is thoroughly enjoyed in solitude. Around 10:30pm, I return to my parent´s house where my mom and aunt are sitting on the floor of the living room surrounded by dozens of rolls of wrapping paper, more presents than are necessary for three Christmas holidays, and a large tub of potato chips and home-made dip. They wrap presents until 2 or 3am. My dad and uncle attempt to watch a movie in the same room. Both pass out within an hour. As do I.
On Christmas day, I am woken up by my mom and the dog (who is sporting a red ribbon on her collar in honor of the holiday) and told to get to work on my annual Christmas task: making fresh-squeezed orange juice from two large bags of oranges on a relic of a juice maker. The chore is a tradition and I enjoy keeping busy while my nieces and nephew parade around the house eagerly anticipating all the presents coming their way. But the machine is old and loud. And it vibrates so much I am shakey until 2pm. But the results please everyone. Afterwards I dive into the home made banana bread and eat several slices before anyone else can gt close.
Cousins and other aunts and uncles are told to arrive late in the morning so that the grandkids can enjoy opening some of their gifts before the house gets too full. They always arrive early. And the living room is full as presents are handed out, balled-up wrapping paper is tossed at whomever is closest to the large trash bag, and the dog paces to any space that opens up among the chaos.
When the unwrapping is complete, I hide in my room with my presents to do inventory and avoid the kids. Then I take a nap. The kids are usually still around when I wake up, so I take one of the three nice cigars given to me, my father, and my grandfather for Christmas, and head back to my grandfather`s shed and start smoking.
Dinner is around 4:30pm. A large ham and a collection of other foods has been laid out in the dining room. I am eager to get to my grandmother`s pecan pie and scarf down dinner. Then I have a ridiculously large piece of the pie. The rest of the night is usually spent back at my grandfather`s shed.
This year my parents moved just before Christmas. I have been told there wasn`t even time to buy a real tree. Sounds like if I had to pick a Christmas to miss, this was the one.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Rushing To Christmas
Hello all, I really wanted to get the Machu Picchu pics posted and finish the stories up to at least Colca Canyon by now. But things have been moving really quickly, and so have I.
Tomorrow I am leaving first thing in the morning to try and cross over to Bolivia (I have all my necessary paper work laid out and ready for the visa). We plan to see Isle del Sol (on Titicaca) tomorrow afternoon and maybe stay the night. Then Sunday I make my way to La Paz where I may have time to post some things before meeting my coworker at the airport on xmas eve to fly to his family`s place in southern Bolivia. Rush, rush, rush.
If not, Marry Christmas!
Tomorrow I am leaving first thing in the morning to try and cross over to Bolivia (I have all my necessary paper work laid out and ready for the visa). We plan to see Isle del Sol (on Titicaca) tomorrow afternoon and maybe stay the night. Then Sunday I make my way to La Paz where I may have time to post some things before meeting my coworker at the airport on xmas eve to fly to his family`s place in southern Bolivia. Rush, rush, rush.
If not, Marry Christmas!
Easy
Just went to the Bolivian consulate here in Puno, Peru. The man there was really nice and extremely patient with my Spanish. He showed me everything I would need and said it could all be handled at the border on Sunday. I have almost everything needed; just need an invitation from my coworker`s family to show that I am staying with them. No problem.
Hopefully the fellows at the border crossing are just as helpful.
Hopefully the fellows at the border crossing are just as helpful.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
More Random Thoughts
It was just brought to my attention that the icecream truck tune the garbage trucks here in Peru make as they back up is Fur Elise by Beethoven. Sad.
Peru has a severe lack of toilet seats.
Two words most often heard when walking through any market: Hola Amigo
Word most often heard when exiting a bus at a tourist point: Agua
When being sociable or friendly on a bus by offering some of your food to others, offer only what you want to give. People will not take a "piece" of anything. They take whatever is in front of them.
Peruvian women wear their wedding ring on their right hand. Not the left.
An entire study could be done on the various Christian icons placed randomly inside buses in South America.
Peru is known to have great ceviche. I have yet to try any (except the soy dish early on). I have had plenty of Chinese food here though.
Christmas is in 5 days. I won`t be at home with my family for the first time in 30 years. And it is supposed to be 85 degrees where I am staying for Christmas.
I have yet to have anything stolen during my travels. I have, however, lost several things:
My jacket (amazingly, recovered at the tiny airport two days later)
My glasses (in a taxi)
My shoes (forgot to pack them at 5am before the Inca trail hike)
My pocket knife (at airport security in Lima - don`t worry wehmann, it was the smaller one I bought before your gift)
The bag for my rain jacket (some where along the Inca tail)
A pair of underwear (a casualty of laundry service in Cusco)
And I am not even at the half-way mark. I almost left behind my small pack this morning at a view point before one of the Dutch in the group grabbed it and brought it to me. That would have added my iPod, two cameras, and passport to the list.
Peru has a severe lack of toilet seats.
Two words most often heard when walking through any market: Hola Amigo
Word most often heard when exiting a bus at a tourist point: Agua
When being sociable or friendly on a bus by offering some of your food to others, offer only what you want to give. People will not take a "piece" of anything. They take whatever is in front of them.
Peruvian women wear their wedding ring on their right hand. Not the left.
An entire study could be done on the various Christian icons placed randomly inside buses in South America.
Peru is known to have great ceviche. I have yet to try any (except the soy dish early on). I have had plenty of Chinese food here though.
Christmas is in 5 days. I won`t be at home with my family for the first time in 30 years. And it is supposed to be 85 degrees where I am staying for Christmas.
I have yet to have anything stolen during my travels. I have, however, lost several things:
My jacket (amazingly, recovered at the tiny airport two days later)
My glasses (in a taxi)
My shoes (forgot to pack them at 5am before the Inca trail hike)
My pocket knife (at airport security in Lima - don`t worry wehmann, it was the smaller one I bought before your gift)
The bag for my rain jacket (some where along the Inca tail)
A pair of underwear (a casualty of laundry service in Cusco)
And I am not even at the half-way mark. I almost left behind my small pack this morning at a view point before one of the Dutch in the group grabbed it and brought it to me. That would have added my iPod, two cameras, and passport to the list.
I`ll Take the Physical Challenge
So I am in Puno, Pero. I made it. But it was quite a test. The hike into Colca Canyon (which our guide said was reestablished as the deepest canyon in the world last year) was easy. Into Colca Canyon. The hike out was tougher than the Inca trail. It was really tough. There were four of us: me and three Dutch (one gal, two guys). The Dutch gal finally had to call it quits and ride a passing mule the last fifth of the way up. The three guys were determined to make it, but cussing up a storm when we saw seven other backpackers who had rented mules instead of hiking up too. Then, instead of doing drinking games to celebrate like we planned the night before, we passed out at 7:50pm.
The trip to Puno was a bit more trying. When I told the tour company manager I needed to get to Puno by today, he said the guide could have me dropped off at a police check point when the others were returning. There I could have the police flag down a bus going the opposite direction. Easy enough. So this morning instead of doing the thermal baths with the other three, I asked if I could do the bus drop off thing a bit early. I wanted to get to Puno to see about my Visa to Bolivia. The guide said it was no problem and he put me on a bus and told the driver to let me know when we got to the check point. The driver did. I got off in the middle-of-no-where, Peru. I found the check point cop and told him the situation (as best I could in my ever-worsening spanish) and he informed me that because of Christmas most buses would be full. Awesome. He waved down bus after bus and asked if there was room. 45 minutes later he found one. I asked again if he was sure it was going to Puno. He nodded and waved me on.
An hour later I decided to ask the fellow beside me if the bus went to Puno. He said it did not. I asked again in case my spanish didn`t work the way I wanted it to. He repeated that the bus did not go to Puno. I asked where it went, he mentioned some name I didn`t recognize, and I had a mini-freakout. At the next bus stop I got off and asked the baggage handler where the bus was going. He mentioned the same name. I told him I needed to get to Puno. He gave me a look that said "good luck with that" and went on taking out people`s luggage. I asked what I should do. He said the destination city had collectivos that go to Puno for about 80 cents. Collectivos are cars that take several people with a common destination to that place once the car is full. There are also larger vans that do the same thing.
Once we arrived at this city, I hopped off and looked completely confused. This kid who was in a military academy in Lima, but coming home for the holidays, took pity on me and helped me find one of these vans. He was going to same way. I thanked him over and over. Then we chatted in spanish for a bit while we waited on the van to fill up.
I finally arrived here in Puno just before 5pm and took a bike taxi to the consulate. The guy peddling looked far too old to be doing so and I almost jumped out and told him to sit while I peddled. But we got to the consulate (or close enough to have two police officers walk me there) at 4:55. The consulate closed at 2pm.
Guess I am going tomorrow morning. But at least I am here. But damn do my legs ache.
The trip to Puno was a bit more trying. When I told the tour company manager I needed to get to Puno by today, he said the guide could have me dropped off at a police check point when the others were returning. There I could have the police flag down a bus going the opposite direction. Easy enough. So this morning instead of doing the thermal baths with the other three, I asked if I could do the bus drop off thing a bit early. I wanted to get to Puno to see about my Visa to Bolivia. The guide said it was no problem and he put me on a bus and told the driver to let me know when we got to the check point. The driver did. I got off in the middle-of-no-where, Peru. I found the check point cop and told him the situation (as best I could in my ever-worsening spanish) and he informed me that because of Christmas most buses would be full. Awesome. He waved down bus after bus and asked if there was room. 45 minutes later he found one. I asked again if he was sure it was going to Puno. He nodded and waved me on.
An hour later I decided to ask the fellow beside me if the bus went to Puno. He said it did not. I asked again in case my spanish didn`t work the way I wanted it to. He repeated that the bus did not go to Puno. I asked where it went, he mentioned some name I didn`t recognize, and I had a mini-freakout. At the next bus stop I got off and asked the baggage handler where the bus was going. He mentioned the same name. I told him I needed to get to Puno. He gave me a look that said "good luck with that" and went on taking out people`s luggage. I asked what I should do. He said the destination city had collectivos that go to Puno for about 80 cents. Collectivos are cars that take several people with a common destination to that place once the car is full. There are also larger vans that do the same thing.
Once we arrived at this city, I hopped off and looked completely confused. This kid who was in a military academy in Lima, but coming home for the holidays, took pity on me and helped me find one of these vans. He was going to same way. I thanked him over and over. Then we chatted in spanish for a bit while we waited on the van to fill up.
I finally arrived here in Puno just before 5pm and took a bike taxi to the consulate. The guy peddling looked far too old to be doing so and I almost jumped out and told him to sit while I peddled. But we got to the consulate (or close enough to have two police officers walk me there) at 4:55. The consulate closed at 2pm.
Guess I am going tomorrow morning. But at least I am here. But damn do my legs ache.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Another Hike
This morning at 5am I am meeting a guide to bus to Colca Canyon, which, until recently, was considered the deepest canyon in the world. It is now considered the second deepest canyon next to it`s neighbor a few kilometers over that is about 160 meters deeper. Either way, it`s deep. And I am going to hike down into it. This will keep me busy until Thursday when I am told I will be dropped off at a police station in the middle of no where to catch a bus going the opposite direction to Puno. And then I go to Lake Titicaca before attempting to cross the border into Bolivia. Wish me luck on all three accounts. I will make an attenmpt to post again Thursday night if I do, indeed, make it out of that police station. Hopefully you all will have a conclusion to Cusco before Christmas.
Can`t promise the Inca Trail tales though.
Hasta Luego
Can`t promise the Inca Trail tales though.
Hasta Luego
Ignoring the Altitude
Cusco, the once mighty capitol of the Inca empire, is now the center of the archeological universe in the Americas and the hopping off point for the thousands of tourists who come to Peru each year to see Machu Picchu. It is also at an elevation of 3360m (over 10,000 feet ASL) which can quickly knock out any tourist who has just arrived and is not used to the altitude. People are warned to take it easy their first day and abstain from smoking and drinking.
I was up at 6am to grab a taxi to the airport in Lima. My taxi was a little odd to say the least. I asked him how long it would take to arrive - he said 15 minutes. I knew it would take about 30. He went down not one, but two one-way streets the wrong way. And he stopped at a gas station to fill up along the way, hopping out without turning off the car and filling up. He looked surprised when I stepped out of the car until he was finished. Closing in on the airport, he asked me a question. He looked quite serious but I had no idea what he was saying. I told him I didn`t understand. He repeated himself, louder. It didn`t help and I told him as much. He started pointing at signs and talking faster. I had no idea what he wanted. So I pointed at one of the signs. 30 seconds later we pulled up to a toll booth. He wanted to know if I wanted to pay 50 cents for the express lane. Ah. Sure, here`s 50 cents. I was dropped off, on time, and thanked him.
The flight was full of gringos. Everyone goes to Cusco after flying into Lima. I slept half the time, the other half spent admiring the mountain range we were flying over. When we arrived, the airport was much smaller than I expected, and a bit like a circus. Little costumed music bands played flute music. People were all over me suggesting hotels and hostels. Two women offered their services in finding a taxi. I politely declined. 20 minutes later I arrived at my hostel and found I had been completely ripped off by my taxi. Mental note: The airport staff aren`t trying to rip you off.
My hostal was on a hill looking out over Cusco. According to Lonely Planet, expats restored this 450 year old national monument of a building from near ruin and turned it into a ridiculously huge party hostal. But with hot water and free internet. During my stay I am sure I saw several people who never left the compound. This was the first time I was staying in a full dorm. I would be sharing a room with 9 other people. These were not quiet people. Nor did doing lines in front of me seem to bother them very much. But hey, for $7 a night, what could I say. Maybe, "Dan, don`t be so cheap". This was not the best idea I had, especially before hiking the Inca tail - arguably the one time I needed a full night`s rest.
But I was here. I unloaded my pack and decided to walk the city. It was beautiful. Cusco`s economy is built primarily on tourism. 70% of it derives from tourism annually. And they seem to want to keep it booming. The city is clean, it`s pretty, it`s friendly. There were kids every where selling postcards, "original" paintings, bracelets, everything. And they were persistant. But I had a nice stroll.
After being asked for the seventh time if I wanted to massage, I decided to dart into a restaurant for an early dinner and watch some soccer. When it started to get dark, I made my way back to my hostal. In an attempt to meet people, I went to the hostal bar for a drink before going to bed early and acclimatizing. People were clustered in groups. I sat at the bar. Figure skating was on. I was suddenly very lonely in a room full of people. I don`t think I have ever had a beer and watched figure skating. This trip is full of firsts.
Finally I bucked up and started talking to an Austrailian two chairs down from me. He was on a four month round-the-world trip and had just flown in from the States. Good, something in common. Actually, Austailians are about the easiest people to talk to any where. Almost as friendy as the Irish. And we chatted for a while. Eventually, after two grande beers, a Swiss guy entered the conversation. Another grande beer later, an Irish gal, who was also a designer, entered the conversation. Gin & tonics were passed around. Shots were ordered. A suggestion was made that we all go to the dance club in the main plaza. I made a feeble attempt to abstain, citing the need to rest and and get used to the altitude first. This was refuted as just silly. They had been here two days and were fine. Shoot, I had no argument. I went with them.
There was more drinking. There were tall tales from other countries. Brits dominated the group and one should never try to keep up with a Brit while drinking. I remembered this much. But it was already too late. By the time I switched to ordering bottles of water, the damage had long since been done. I looked at my watch: it was 6:30am. I mumbled something about needing to leave. And out in the bright streets I went. When did morning come?
Friday, the day that I was going to go all out - after a day of acclimatizing - was spent mostly in bed. I drank enough water to keep me steadily running to the bathroom. And from my bed, after my second day, I finally felt like I had acclimatized to Cusco.
To see pics of my time in Cusco, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603475125371/
I was up at 6am to grab a taxi to the airport in Lima. My taxi was a little odd to say the least. I asked him how long it would take to arrive - he said 15 minutes. I knew it would take about 30. He went down not one, but two one-way streets the wrong way. And he stopped at a gas station to fill up along the way, hopping out without turning off the car and filling up. He looked surprised when I stepped out of the car until he was finished. Closing in on the airport, he asked me a question. He looked quite serious but I had no idea what he was saying. I told him I didn`t understand. He repeated himself, louder. It didn`t help and I told him as much. He started pointing at signs and talking faster. I had no idea what he wanted. So I pointed at one of the signs. 30 seconds later we pulled up to a toll booth. He wanted to know if I wanted to pay 50 cents for the express lane. Ah. Sure, here`s 50 cents. I was dropped off, on time, and thanked him.
The flight was full of gringos. Everyone goes to Cusco after flying into Lima. I slept half the time, the other half spent admiring the mountain range we were flying over. When we arrived, the airport was much smaller than I expected, and a bit like a circus. Little costumed music bands played flute music. People were all over me suggesting hotels and hostels. Two women offered their services in finding a taxi. I politely declined. 20 minutes later I arrived at my hostel and found I had been completely ripped off by my taxi. Mental note: The airport staff aren`t trying to rip you off.
My hostal was on a hill looking out over Cusco. According to Lonely Planet, expats restored this 450 year old national monument of a building from near ruin and turned it into a ridiculously huge party hostal. But with hot water and free internet. During my stay I am sure I saw several people who never left the compound. This was the first time I was staying in a full dorm. I would be sharing a room with 9 other people. These were not quiet people. Nor did doing lines in front of me seem to bother them very much. But hey, for $7 a night, what could I say. Maybe, "Dan, don`t be so cheap". This was not the best idea I had, especially before hiking the Inca tail - arguably the one time I needed a full night`s rest.
But I was here. I unloaded my pack and decided to walk the city. It was beautiful. Cusco`s economy is built primarily on tourism. 70% of it derives from tourism annually. And they seem to want to keep it booming. The city is clean, it`s pretty, it`s friendly. There were kids every where selling postcards, "original" paintings, bracelets, everything. And they were persistant. But I had a nice stroll.
After being asked for the seventh time if I wanted to massage, I decided to dart into a restaurant for an early dinner and watch some soccer. When it started to get dark, I made my way back to my hostal. In an attempt to meet people, I went to the hostal bar for a drink before going to bed early and acclimatizing. People were clustered in groups. I sat at the bar. Figure skating was on. I was suddenly very lonely in a room full of people. I don`t think I have ever had a beer and watched figure skating. This trip is full of firsts.
Finally I bucked up and started talking to an Austrailian two chairs down from me. He was on a four month round-the-world trip and had just flown in from the States. Good, something in common. Actually, Austailians are about the easiest people to talk to any where. Almost as friendy as the Irish. And we chatted for a while. Eventually, after two grande beers, a Swiss guy entered the conversation. Another grande beer later, an Irish gal, who was also a designer, entered the conversation. Gin & tonics were passed around. Shots were ordered. A suggestion was made that we all go to the dance club in the main plaza. I made a feeble attempt to abstain, citing the need to rest and and get used to the altitude first. This was refuted as just silly. They had been here two days and were fine. Shoot, I had no argument. I went with them.
There was more drinking. There were tall tales from other countries. Brits dominated the group and one should never try to keep up with a Brit while drinking. I remembered this much. But it was already too late. By the time I switched to ordering bottles of water, the damage had long since been done. I looked at my watch: it was 6:30am. I mumbled something about needing to leave. And out in the bright streets I went. When did morning come?
Friday, the day that I was going to go all out - after a day of acclimatizing - was spent mostly in bed. I drank enough water to keep me steadily running to the bathroom. And from my bed, after my second day, I finally felt like I had acclimatized to Cusco.
To see pics of my time in Cusco, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603475125371/
Park Life & Papa John`s Silliness
My last full day in Lima I received a text from my coworker telling me there may be issues getting my visa for Bolivia. Just before I left, Bolivia announced plans to require all U.S. citizens to have a visa for entering the country. This was reciprocal for the U.S.`s requirement of Bolivians entering the U.S. I ranted about this in one of my first posts. When in the States, I was told I could just get it at the border; they didn`t have the paper work for it at the embassy yet.
Now I was being told I should get it before I got to the border. So the mission of the day: find the Bolivian embassy in Lima and get my visa. It was 12:30. We hopped in a taxi. We asked if he knew how to get there. He said yes. He didn`t.
Our driver stopped no fewer than five times to ask directions to the embassy. It was after 1pm when a traffic cop finally gave us directions to a building that should have taken fewer than 10 mins to get to. When we arrived it was 1:15. The embassy was closed. The man behind the dark window by the gate was slightly sympathetic to my cause and suggested I try obtaining a visa in Puno. Since it was my last day in Lima, there was no way I could get it now. I thanked him, decided there was nothing more I could do, and suggested we go see more ruins. My travel buddy, who was staying another day, was going to try and return the next day to get hers.
And off to the ruins we went. This time to Huaca Pucallana. These were within walking distance of our hostal. Very similar to the first, they were built about 100 years prior by a people who worshipped the sea. They built their pyramids high enough to view it. Why not just closer, not sure. They sacrificed women. They had advanced pottery. They were also long forgotten when the current city of Lima was built. For years kids played soccer on top of the mountain of dirt seemingly rising out of nothing in the middle of their city. People thought nothing of this mountain of dirt for years. And then archelogists decided to question why this huge mound of dirt was there. Lo and behold, there was a pyramid there! And excavation & reconstruction began. To hold our attention, they had guinea pigs, rabbits, and alapaca on site in cages (to show what the people ate back in the day). This got our group snap happy. Ancient adobe bricks piled 8 stories high? Eh. Rodents in a cage squeeling? Grab the camera! There was a restaurant on site for the wealthy to view the ruins while they ate. We decided a trip to the market would make better use of our money.
After stocking up on cheeses, breads, and fruits, we hit the main park. People lined the benches and strolled the walkways. But no one sat in the grass. It was up to us to set a trend. We plopped down in the grass and immediately startled several homeless cats hanging out in the flowers beside us. Then we checked for cat poo around us. What we didn`t see couldn`t hurt us. The afternoon was spent chowing down on our goods and people watching. And enjoying the city. It was decided Lima was very livable. Maybe in the future significant others would be asked to relocate.
When the food ran out, we walked. There was a large book fair in the park, and we partook. The park was rather lively for a Wednesday afternoon and the bookfair was full. Regina looked for books to read. I flipped thru books on design. I need pictures. Then it was on to the small crafts market set up in the park. Interesting items, but better kept on the tables.
A chill had began to fill the air, and my bladder had been full for some time, so it was time to seek refuge. Coffee? Great idea. Where? Um, I see a Starbucks. Anything else? Okay, just this once. And for just one quick coffee. 2.5 hours, 2 drinks, 3 chapters, and 6 card games later, our short trip to Starbucks was complete. Feeling utterly ashamed, we decided to hide in a cyber cafe and pretend Starbucks never happened. Nothing like emailing the folks back home to make you forget you were just at a U.S. chain.
When we got back to the hostal at 10:30 we realized we were hungry again. Thirty minutes passed with us going back and forth over where we could eat this late. Finally we just decided to go out and look for beers and snacks and chill at the hostal. But on the way out, the hostal clerk told us nothing would be open. BS. We knew something had to be open. Nothing was. Every direction we walked had closed shop after closed shop. The hunger began to make us goofy. Jokes were told and were laughed at, despite not being funny. We continued to wander. We continued to become goofier. And then, at 11:50pm, we saw the bright green and red glow of a Papa Johns pizza place up ahead on the corner. It was open!! We bounced in. Could we still order? Yes, but only for take out. I think we scared the patrons. We ordered a large with two sprites and waited. More jokes were told: "A side fish of ham", "ding, fries are done", "stupid is as stupid...uh, could, uh...". I have never seen pizza cooks work so quickly to get a pizza done. Just ten minutes later we were hurried out of Papa Johns and off we strolled back to the hostal.
The silliness wore off. We were fed and tired. And I still had to pack for my flight to Cusco in the morning. I set my alarm to go off in six short hours and passed out.
Now I was being told I should get it before I got to the border. So the mission of the day: find the Bolivian embassy in Lima and get my visa. It was 12:30. We hopped in a taxi. We asked if he knew how to get there. He said yes. He didn`t.
Our driver stopped no fewer than five times to ask directions to the embassy. It was after 1pm when a traffic cop finally gave us directions to a building that should have taken fewer than 10 mins to get to. When we arrived it was 1:15. The embassy was closed. The man behind the dark window by the gate was slightly sympathetic to my cause and suggested I try obtaining a visa in Puno. Since it was my last day in Lima, there was no way I could get it now. I thanked him, decided there was nothing more I could do, and suggested we go see more ruins. My travel buddy, who was staying another day, was going to try and return the next day to get hers.
And off to the ruins we went. This time to Huaca Pucallana. These were within walking distance of our hostal. Very similar to the first, they were built about 100 years prior by a people who worshipped the sea. They built their pyramids high enough to view it. Why not just closer, not sure. They sacrificed women. They had advanced pottery. They were also long forgotten when the current city of Lima was built. For years kids played soccer on top of the mountain of dirt seemingly rising out of nothing in the middle of their city. People thought nothing of this mountain of dirt for years. And then archelogists decided to question why this huge mound of dirt was there. Lo and behold, there was a pyramid there! And excavation & reconstruction began. To hold our attention, they had guinea pigs, rabbits, and alapaca on site in cages (to show what the people ate back in the day). This got our group snap happy. Ancient adobe bricks piled 8 stories high? Eh. Rodents in a cage squeeling? Grab the camera! There was a restaurant on site for the wealthy to view the ruins while they ate. We decided a trip to the market would make better use of our money.
After stocking up on cheeses, breads, and fruits, we hit the main park. People lined the benches and strolled the walkways. But no one sat in the grass. It was up to us to set a trend. We plopped down in the grass and immediately startled several homeless cats hanging out in the flowers beside us. Then we checked for cat poo around us. What we didn`t see couldn`t hurt us. The afternoon was spent chowing down on our goods and people watching. And enjoying the city. It was decided Lima was very livable. Maybe in the future significant others would be asked to relocate.
When the food ran out, we walked. There was a large book fair in the park, and we partook. The park was rather lively for a Wednesday afternoon and the bookfair was full. Regina looked for books to read. I flipped thru books on design. I need pictures. Then it was on to the small crafts market set up in the park. Interesting items, but better kept on the tables.
A chill had began to fill the air, and my bladder had been full for some time, so it was time to seek refuge. Coffee? Great idea. Where? Um, I see a Starbucks. Anything else? Okay, just this once. And for just one quick coffee. 2.5 hours, 2 drinks, 3 chapters, and 6 card games later, our short trip to Starbucks was complete. Feeling utterly ashamed, we decided to hide in a cyber cafe and pretend Starbucks never happened. Nothing like emailing the folks back home to make you forget you were just at a U.S. chain.
When we got back to the hostal at 10:30 we realized we were hungry again. Thirty minutes passed with us going back and forth over where we could eat this late. Finally we just decided to go out and look for beers and snacks and chill at the hostal. But on the way out, the hostal clerk told us nothing would be open. BS. We knew something had to be open. Nothing was. Every direction we walked had closed shop after closed shop. The hunger began to make us goofy. Jokes were told and were laughed at, despite not being funny. We continued to wander. We continued to become goofier. And then, at 11:50pm, we saw the bright green and red glow of a Papa Johns pizza place up ahead on the corner. It was open!! We bounced in. Could we still order? Yes, but only for take out. I think we scared the patrons. We ordered a large with two sprites and waited. More jokes were told: "A side fish of ham", "ding, fries are done", "stupid is as stupid...uh, could, uh...". I have never seen pizza cooks work so quickly to get a pizza done. Just ten minutes later we were hurried out of Papa Johns and off we strolled back to the hostal.
The silliness wore off. We were fed and tired. And I still had to pack for my flight to Cusco in the morning. I set my alarm to go off in six short hours and passed out.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Going Back In Time
After a day of modern life in Miraflores, it was time to explore the older side of Lima. First stop: Huaca Huallamarca, a highly restored Maranga adobe pyramid, dating from around 400 or 500 AD, in the middle of the city. The site includes a ceremonial platform visitors can walk up providing a great view of the surrounding city. There was also a small artifacts museum with skeletons and vases found on site. The skeletons were found with their burial clothes and their hair still entact. These provided Regina much more material for photography than the rest of the site. Poses pretending to kiss skeletons out-numbered poses on the actual site.
The site quickly grew hot and I missed my sunglasses. So I pouted until it was agreed we could go back to the hostel so I could change clothes. Then we hailed a taxi for the city center. And what is always in the center of Latin American cities, class? Bingo: the Plaza de Armas. Getting to the Plaza took some time, as Lima is a big city and traffic occures at all hours in the big city.
Once we arrived we were almost overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. Where to begin? My choice was La Catedral de Lima. I just finished reading three books on the history of Peru in which Francisco Pizarro plays a lead role (before these books I knew pretty close to nothing about S America). Pizarro was the conquerer of the Incas. With just over a hundred men, he managed to knock down an entire civilization that had grown to be the largest in the Americas in only two centuries. Okay, he didn`t do it with just men. He also had guns, the smoke from these guns, and germs. What does all this have to do with the Catedral de Lima? Pizarro is buried there. This I wanted to see. And a magnificant burial it was. Fit for a, well, conquerer.
Funny thing is he wasn`t the one orinally placed in this grand coffin. The remains of an unknown church official were in there. This was discovered after a body was found in the crypt with numerous stab wounds and a disembodied head. Pizarro was assinated, harshly. Thus these bones must be his. Scientists agreed. The bones were moved to the coffin baring his name. No word what happened to the body of the unknown church official.
The rest of the church was pretty darn amazing as well. We spent almost two hours scouting it out. Each alter, into the crypt, even studying the ornate choir chairs. Creepy statues watched over us as we explored the religious art museum. And then my stomach growled. Break for lunch.
Aftrwards it was on to the Monasterio de San Francisco. This site was chosen because Lonely Planet mentioned it had catacombs with over 70,000 bones. AND we could walk through them. But we couldn`t take pictures. It was still interesting. For some reason, the catacombs had been dug up and the bones had been organized according to type. So people were no longer whole skeletons. They were a thigh bone here, a skull there. Whatever, I still felt like Indiana Jones. We went next door to the second church where we found tackiness to the third degree. Madonna was wearing black lace (the real Madonna), there was a picture of baby Jesus behind a frame, there were candles with little florescent bulbs. And people were praying to all of them. It was the busiest church I had been in to that point. I felt bad chuckling at the ridiculousness of the decor.
Not sure if this was a test, but as I was preparing to leave the Vegas temple, a bum walked up to me and started a conversation about the church. He reaked. He got to the point: could I spare some money. I only had large bills. Sorry. And then Jesus walked away. Was it him? Did I just commit a sin by not helping the poor INSIDE A CHURCH? I asked Regina. She said no, don`t be stupid. I felt better.
To celebrate our history tour we decided to try the drink of Peru: the Pisco Sour. Hotel Boliviar is said to make the best in the city. That`s where we headed. This was my first Pisco Sour. I was not impressed. I was, however, quite buzzed off of just one. Our bartender told us all about Piscos in Spanish. The booze didn`t help me translate what he said. It made me sleepy. And thus I declared an end to our trip back in time. Plus my stomach was rumbling something awful and it declared the need to be close to a bathroom. I obliged it and back to the future we went...
For pics of my time in Lima, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603403921726/
The site quickly grew hot and I missed my sunglasses. So I pouted until it was agreed we could go back to the hostel so I could change clothes. Then we hailed a taxi for the city center. And what is always in the center of Latin American cities, class? Bingo: the Plaza de Armas. Getting to the Plaza took some time, as Lima is a big city and traffic occures at all hours in the big city.
Once we arrived we were almost overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. Where to begin? My choice was La Catedral de Lima. I just finished reading three books on the history of Peru in which Francisco Pizarro plays a lead role (before these books I knew pretty close to nothing about S America). Pizarro was the conquerer of the Incas. With just over a hundred men, he managed to knock down an entire civilization that had grown to be the largest in the Americas in only two centuries. Okay, he didn`t do it with just men. He also had guns, the smoke from these guns, and germs. What does all this have to do with the Catedral de Lima? Pizarro is buried there. This I wanted to see. And a magnificant burial it was. Fit for a, well, conquerer.
Funny thing is he wasn`t the one orinally placed in this grand coffin. The remains of an unknown church official were in there. This was discovered after a body was found in the crypt with numerous stab wounds and a disembodied head. Pizarro was assinated, harshly. Thus these bones must be his. Scientists agreed. The bones were moved to the coffin baring his name. No word what happened to the body of the unknown church official.
The rest of the church was pretty darn amazing as well. We spent almost two hours scouting it out. Each alter, into the crypt, even studying the ornate choir chairs. Creepy statues watched over us as we explored the religious art museum. And then my stomach growled. Break for lunch.
Aftrwards it was on to the Monasterio de San Francisco. This site was chosen because Lonely Planet mentioned it had catacombs with over 70,000 bones. AND we could walk through them. But we couldn`t take pictures. It was still interesting. For some reason, the catacombs had been dug up and the bones had been organized according to type. So people were no longer whole skeletons. They were a thigh bone here, a skull there. Whatever, I still felt like Indiana Jones. We went next door to the second church where we found tackiness to the third degree. Madonna was wearing black lace (the real Madonna), there was a picture of baby Jesus behind a frame, there were candles with little florescent bulbs. And people were praying to all of them. It was the busiest church I had been in to that point. I felt bad chuckling at the ridiculousness of the decor.
Not sure if this was a test, but as I was preparing to leave the Vegas temple, a bum walked up to me and started a conversation about the church. He reaked. He got to the point: could I spare some money. I only had large bills. Sorry. And then Jesus walked away. Was it him? Did I just commit a sin by not helping the poor INSIDE A CHURCH? I asked Regina. She said no, don`t be stupid. I felt better.
To celebrate our history tour we decided to try the drink of Peru: the Pisco Sour. Hotel Boliviar is said to make the best in the city. That`s where we headed. This was my first Pisco Sour. I was not impressed. I was, however, quite buzzed off of just one. Our bartender told us all about Piscos in Spanish. The booze didn`t help me translate what he said. It made me sleepy. And thus I declared an end to our trip back in time. Plus my stomach was rumbling something awful and it declared the need to be close to a bathroom. I obliged it and back to the future we went...
For pics of my time in Lima, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603403921726/
Nostalgia in Lima, Peru
Airline tickets across country borders are expensive. Our plan was to cross the Ecuador border by bus and get a cheaper flight to Lima, Peru, from Piura. After our night with Winnie the Pool, we woke up early to catch a cab to the Piura airport and see about buying a ticket. Our plan worked: We found tickets for $80 each instead of the $280 from Guayaquil or Cuenca.
But, as proper scouts should be, we were prepared for the worst and arrived more than 2.5 hours early. Since there was no one in line when we arrived, and we had no problems getting the tickets, there was much time to kill in a tiny airport with nothing to do. Okay, one of us had a bad case of the runs (hint: their name doesn`t start with a D), so that person had plenty to do during that time. The other half of us looked through our guide book to see what there was to do in Lima and where to stay. He hit on the upscale neighborhood of Miraflores just outside the city center.
Lima is one of the world`s largest cities with 7.6 million people. Francisco Pizzaro founded it in 1535 and the city retains much of that colonial history. In fact, Mr. Pizarro, conqueror of the Incas, is burried right in the city center. Large archelogical sites, dating over a thousand years old, dot the city landscape. But its sky scrapers and hurried business elite remind you it is very much a modern city.
A modern city with problems. Apparently the shanty towns, full of Lima`s impoverished, are quite large. And crime is rampant. This has given Lima a misleading reputation as a dangerous city, and unfortunately many tourists skip the city in favor of Cusco. But we were ready to see what Lima had to offer. At least from the safety of its more upscale neighborhood.
When we arrived at Lima`s airport and gathered our luggage, I tried to book a later flight to Cusco. But every airline`s systems were down and so we just walked out to the parking lot in search of a cab. Our cab driver doubled as a tour guide as he pointed out this landmark and that ocean on our way to the hostal; at one point even stopping the car on a cliff looking out over the ocean and getting out of the car - we both clutched our bags ready to sprint for it, just to discover he was simply proud of his city. The metal cage around his driver-side seat didn`t add much comfort.
The early afternoon was spent dropping off laundry, getting a quick bite to eat at what appeared to be a local favorite restaurant (not one of our favorites though), and then my travel buddy, Regina, taking a much needed nap while I went off in search of an airline office to buy a ticket to Cusco (attempt numero dos). Ticket in hand for three days later, I decided to explore the neighborhood. The neighborhood was very affluent. Reminding me of many parts of U.S. and European cities. There were restaurants galore, coffee houses (even a Starbucks, of course), high-end bookstores, public parks with art, and people crowding the streets with shopping bags in hand. I had to share this with Regina. And so I went and woke her up. She didn`t hurt me for doing so.
We decided to see Miraflores from above. Paragliding was offered on a cliff by the ocean, and for $40 we were game. We suited up, both a little anxious at the thought of sailing off the cliff with a freeway below it. But once each of us were in the air with our "pilot" strapped to our back, the anxiety ceased and enthusiasm ruled. My pilot couldn`t speak spanish, but there was little to say once airborne, aside from "mas alto" and "a la derecha"! We sailed over the Pacific. We sailed over the open air mall. We sailed over the parks. We sailed passed the windows of penthouses in the numerous aptartment highrises. One of us was told about the many nude sightings in those windows. And 15 minutes later we each sailed back to the ground. It seemed short, but it was great! (see the video clip below).
Now knowing the layout of the land, we decided to get a snack from the local market. The local high-end market. It was similar to Whole Foods in the States. Too similar. I was starting to feel nostalgic. Then I heard the Christmas tunes playing overhead. It was all too much. I needed to get back outside and remind myself I was in Peru. And yet the neighborhood feel didn`t help.
We walked to a cafe for coffee and some food. We watched the people of Miraflores stroll by. All eerily familiar. Next we decided to walk down to the open-air mall by the ocean. Full of little shops and trendy looking people buying things from them. And there in the corner was a Hooters. Maybe not so European, but definitely felt like the States. With the feel of nostalgia already overwhelming us, we decided to see a movie. After confirming "Lions for Lambs" was in English, we bought our tickets, our popcorn, our big soda and sat with the rest of the young movie-goers.
Two hours later when the movie ended and I walked into the restroom, I had completely forgotten I was not in the States. The spanish being spoken in the restroom was the only thing that snapped me back to reality (though that is surprising for those of you who know DC). It was time to walk back to the hostal. The site of my backback would snap my brain back into the present.
And it did. But then I met a British fellow there at the hostal and ended up talking about his time in the States until well into the night. I decided then that the next day would be spent exploring Lima`s colonial past.
For pics of my time in Lima, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603403921726/
For my paragliding fun...
But, as proper scouts should be, we were prepared for the worst and arrived more than 2.5 hours early. Since there was no one in line when we arrived, and we had no problems getting the tickets, there was much time to kill in a tiny airport with nothing to do. Okay, one of us had a bad case of the runs (hint: their name doesn`t start with a D), so that person had plenty to do during that time. The other half of us looked through our guide book to see what there was to do in Lima and where to stay. He hit on the upscale neighborhood of Miraflores just outside the city center.
Lima is one of the world`s largest cities with 7.6 million people. Francisco Pizzaro founded it in 1535 and the city retains much of that colonial history. In fact, Mr. Pizarro, conqueror of the Incas, is burried right in the city center. Large archelogical sites, dating over a thousand years old, dot the city landscape. But its sky scrapers and hurried business elite remind you it is very much a modern city.
A modern city with problems. Apparently the shanty towns, full of Lima`s impoverished, are quite large. And crime is rampant. This has given Lima a misleading reputation as a dangerous city, and unfortunately many tourists skip the city in favor of Cusco. But we were ready to see what Lima had to offer. At least from the safety of its more upscale neighborhood.
When we arrived at Lima`s airport and gathered our luggage, I tried to book a later flight to Cusco. But every airline`s systems were down and so we just walked out to the parking lot in search of a cab. Our cab driver doubled as a tour guide as he pointed out this landmark and that ocean on our way to the hostal; at one point even stopping the car on a cliff looking out over the ocean and getting out of the car - we both clutched our bags ready to sprint for it, just to discover he was simply proud of his city. The metal cage around his driver-side seat didn`t add much comfort.
The early afternoon was spent dropping off laundry, getting a quick bite to eat at what appeared to be a local favorite restaurant (not one of our favorites though), and then my travel buddy, Regina, taking a much needed nap while I went off in search of an airline office to buy a ticket to Cusco (attempt numero dos). Ticket in hand for three days later, I decided to explore the neighborhood. The neighborhood was very affluent. Reminding me of many parts of U.S. and European cities. There were restaurants galore, coffee houses (even a Starbucks, of course), high-end bookstores, public parks with art, and people crowding the streets with shopping bags in hand. I had to share this with Regina. And so I went and woke her up. She didn`t hurt me for doing so.
We decided to see Miraflores from above. Paragliding was offered on a cliff by the ocean, and for $40 we were game. We suited up, both a little anxious at the thought of sailing off the cliff with a freeway below it. But once each of us were in the air with our "pilot" strapped to our back, the anxiety ceased and enthusiasm ruled. My pilot couldn`t speak spanish, but there was little to say once airborne, aside from "mas alto" and "a la derecha"! We sailed over the Pacific. We sailed over the open air mall. We sailed over the parks. We sailed passed the windows of penthouses in the numerous aptartment highrises. One of us was told about the many nude sightings in those windows. And 15 minutes later we each sailed back to the ground. It seemed short, but it was great! (see the video clip below).
Now knowing the layout of the land, we decided to get a snack from the local market. The local high-end market. It was similar to Whole Foods in the States. Too similar. I was starting to feel nostalgic. Then I heard the Christmas tunes playing overhead. It was all too much. I needed to get back outside and remind myself I was in Peru. And yet the neighborhood feel didn`t help.
We walked to a cafe for coffee and some food. We watched the people of Miraflores stroll by. All eerily familiar. Next we decided to walk down to the open-air mall by the ocean. Full of little shops and trendy looking people buying things from them. And there in the corner was a Hooters. Maybe not so European, but definitely felt like the States. With the feel of nostalgia already overwhelming us, we decided to see a movie. After confirming "Lions for Lambs" was in English, we bought our tickets, our popcorn, our big soda and sat with the rest of the young movie-goers.
Two hours later when the movie ended and I walked into the restroom, I had completely forgotten I was not in the States. The spanish being spoken in the restroom was the only thing that snapped me back to reality (though that is surprising for those of you who know DC). It was time to walk back to the hostal. The site of my backback would snap my brain back into the present.
And it did. But then I met a British fellow there at the hostal and ended up talking about his time in the States until well into the night. I decided then that the next day would be spent exploring Lima`s colonial past.
For pics of my time in Lima, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603403921726/
For my paragliding fun...
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Inca Kola vs Coca Cola
Inca Cola is the local soda in Peru. It looks a bit like Mountain Dew, but tastes like bubble gum. It's awful. Coke tried for years to break into the soda market here, but could never beat Inca Kola's sales.
So it bought Inca Kola.
I am making no effort to support Coke through Inca Kola purchases. It really is bad.
Thought of the day.
On to Arequipa tomorrow where I will try and catch the blog up and upload loads of pics.
So it bought Inca Kola.
I am making no effort to support Coke through Inca Kola purchases. It really is bad.
Thought of the day.
On to Arequipa tomorrow where I will try and catch the blog up and upload loads of pics.
Friday, December 14, 2007
That`s What I Was Thinking
Wow. Seriously, wow. That was an amazing trip. The hike was tough, and the altitude almost knocked me out of the hike the first day because of severe headaches. But aftewr popping some extra strength Advil, I was practically skipping the rest of the 42 kms. Okay, skipping is a stretch. But I did the hike with heart. And lots of drugs. The views were surreal. Standing on the side of one mountain staring at a series of others that looked more like a Hollywood backdrop, was absolutely surreal. And the destination was more grand and impressive than I expected. Some people said after four days of hiking, seeing Machu Picchu wasn`t all that exciting. My mouth was left gaping. I also heard the Inca trail is over-hyped. I thought each day was better than the previous and worth the sweat exherted.
And when I returned to Cusco, I found a new hostal with a single room and the most comfortable bed I have slept in yet (all for $18), and passed out. I slept better than I have in weeks. This morning I had a huge, delicious breakfast, turned in my laundry, and spent the day stretching my calves looking for gifts for the folks back home. I miss hiking the Andes. So I am doing a Sacred Valley tour tour tomorrow. I am a suckah for ruins and gloriously high mountains.
I am so glad I did that hike. If you`re thinking of doing it, go for it. Just don`t do it during the rainy season. The grand view from the "sun gate" when we arrived to the site was of a sea of clouds and fog. Fortunately, the clouds lifted when we made it down to the ruins.
Stories of Lima and Cusco to come...
And when I returned to Cusco, I found a new hostal with a single room and the most comfortable bed I have slept in yet (all for $18), and passed out. I slept better than I have in weeks. This morning I had a huge, delicious breakfast, turned in my laundry, and spent the day stretching my calves looking for gifts for the folks back home. I miss hiking the Andes. So I am doing a Sacred Valley tour tour tomorrow. I am a suckah for ruins and gloriously high mountains.
I am so glad I did that hike. If you`re thinking of doing it, go for it. Just don`t do it during the rainy season. The grand view from the "sun gate" when we arrived to the site was of a sea of clouds and fog. Fortunately, the clouds lifted when we made it down to the ruins.
Stories of Lima and Cusco to come...
Sunday, December 9, 2007
What Was I Thinking?
Tomorrow morning at 5:30 I leave for my Inca trail hike to Machu Picchu. I have been in Cuzco now for four days and am still having problems breathing when I walk up a few steps. Cuzco`s elevation is over 2200 meters. I thought four days here would be enough to acclimate to the elevation. I thought wrong. And now I am going to hike for four days, at one point reaching 4200 meters? Why did I think I could do this? There is a train that takes tourists up there. Why didn`t I buy a ticket for that?
I am really nervous about this. My heart pounds every time I take a set of stairs. Ugh.
Anyway, I will be away from the blog until Friday when (if) I return to Cuzco for a day before heading south. I will catch the blog up to my time in Lima and Cuzco when (if) I return.
Hasta
I am really nervous about this. My heart pounds every time I take a set of stairs. Ugh.
Anyway, I will be away from the blog until Friday when (if) I return to Cuzco for a day before heading south. I will catch the blog up to my time in Lima and Cuzco when (if) I return.
Hasta
Friday, December 7, 2007
Welcomed to Peru by Winnie the Pool (sic)
After five weeks it was finally time to say goodbye to Ecuador. We woke at 6am to catch our 7am bus across the border to Piura, Peru. There we would catch a flight to Lima. But first we had an eight hour bus ride. Surprisingly, the eight hours didn`t seem so long. I got a lot of reading done, slept a bit, and, during our breakfast stop, tried tree tomato juice. I didn`t like it.
I had read that the border crossing closer to the coast was a real pain, with lots of hassles from people trying to take advantage of the confusion of a border crossing three kilometers from the actual border. Mark had gone that route and said he felt like a target. An Austrian on our bus said she had done it a few months earlier and the whole process took her more than three hours. This is why we chose to cross further inland. I`m glad we did. Both sides of the border crossing were easy. We (the six foreigners on the bus) finished the whole process in less than 30 minutes. But I did get a small customs form that I was told I needed to hold on to until I leave the country. That`ll be a challenge. How many things have I lost so far?
We arrived in the busy city of Piura around 3ish. Bus stations in Ecuador were centralized with each company operating from one main building. Peru is different: each bus company has it`s own building. And they don`t have all the services the big stations have. So we couldn`t immediately get Peruvian soles from an ATM to pay a taxi. Fortunately the only taxi at the station offered to drive us for a dollar (U.S.). Driving through the city I was reminded of my time in Kenya. Taxis were much smaller and several were motorbikes with a carriage attached. We noticed a large, dusty outdoor market that looked similar to one in Mombassa. People were walking every where and there was a lot of trash as well. We left all of this behind when we turned into the posher neighborhood where our hostal was.
The hostal was really nice. We got a large, sun-lit room with two beds and cable TV. The bathroom was big too. And spotless! All for $9 each. After settling in and putting on clean clothes for the first time in three days, we went out in search of an airline office to buy our Lima tickets and find a phone shop to get new cards for the new country. The airline offices were closed. The large mall, quite open. And packed well into the night. We asked the clerk at the phone stall if the next day was a holiday. At 10pm, the central plaza, mall, and streets were busy with families checking out this and that. She said people just take advantage of their day off.
Dinner options here were limited. We found a place that advertised ceviche and ordered a large plate of it. It was made of soy. Almost everything on the menu was. I finished it anyway. Then we walked next door for some coffee. The central plaza was our view and it was hopping. There was even a man dressed in a Winnie the Pooh costume posing for pics and handing out toys. But wait, his red shirt didn`t say Pooh. It said Pool. Huh? And he wasn`t wearing the torso part of the costume. This made his butt look way out of proportion. And was that an indigenous handbag around his shoulder? It`s ethnic Pooh! Where was Chanchito and Tigre?? We rushed our coffee so we could go out and get a picture with Pool. But by the time we got out there, Pool had moved on and was replaced by Barry, a Barney look-a-like. Not the same effect.
We made our way back to the hostal where we had the receptionist get our phones working (we couldn`t understand the spanish instructions) and finished the night with Talladega Nights on HBO. Certainly not as funny as Pool.
I had read that the border crossing closer to the coast was a real pain, with lots of hassles from people trying to take advantage of the confusion of a border crossing three kilometers from the actual border. Mark had gone that route and said he felt like a target. An Austrian on our bus said she had done it a few months earlier and the whole process took her more than three hours. This is why we chose to cross further inland. I`m glad we did. Both sides of the border crossing were easy. We (the six foreigners on the bus) finished the whole process in less than 30 minutes. But I did get a small customs form that I was told I needed to hold on to until I leave the country. That`ll be a challenge. How many things have I lost so far?
We arrived in the busy city of Piura around 3ish. Bus stations in Ecuador were centralized with each company operating from one main building. Peru is different: each bus company has it`s own building. And they don`t have all the services the big stations have. So we couldn`t immediately get Peruvian soles from an ATM to pay a taxi. Fortunately the only taxi at the station offered to drive us for a dollar (U.S.). Driving through the city I was reminded of my time in Kenya. Taxis were much smaller and several were motorbikes with a carriage attached. We noticed a large, dusty outdoor market that looked similar to one in Mombassa. People were walking every where and there was a lot of trash as well. We left all of this behind when we turned into the posher neighborhood where our hostal was.
The hostal was really nice. We got a large, sun-lit room with two beds and cable TV. The bathroom was big too. And spotless! All for $9 each. After settling in and putting on clean clothes for the first time in three days, we went out in search of an airline office to buy our Lima tickets and find a phone shop to get new cards for the new country. The airline offices were closed. The large mall, quite open. And packed well into the night. We asked the clerk at the phone stall if the next day was a holiday. At 10pm, the central plaza, mall, and streets were busy with families checking out this and that. She said people just take advantage of their day off.
Dinner options here were limited. We found a place that advertised ceviche and ordered a large plate of it. It was made of soy. Almost everything on the menu was. I finished it anyway. Then we walked next door for some coffee. The central plaza was our view and it was hopping. There was even a man dressed in a Winnie the Pooh costume posing for pics and handing out toys. But wait, his red shirt didn`t say Pooh. It said Pool. Huh? And he wasn`t wearing the torso part of the costume. This made his butt look way out of proportion. And was that an indigenous handbag around his shoulder? It`s ethnic Pooh! Where was Chanchito and Tigre?? We rushed our coffee so we could go out and get a picture with Pool. But by the time we got out there, Pool had moved on and was replaced by Barry, a Barney look-a-like. Not the same effect.
We made our way back to the hostal where we had the receptionist get our phones working (we couldn`t understand the spanish instructions) and finished the night with Talladega Nights on HBO. Certainly not as funny as Pool.
A Short Time With Long-Lived People
The plan for Saturday was to bus an hour and a half south to the town of Vilcabamba. The town is known for its many residents who live ripe, old lives. It is thought the residents live so long because of the slow pace of the city and the beautiful, natural surroundings. We wanted to hike around those beautiful, natural surroundíngs. And maybe see a really old person or two. With nothing else to do in Loja, this was our plan for the day.
Except we got a late start. I went off in search of a cyper cafe early because I couldn`t sleep in. When I returned, my travel buddy was no where to be found. So I walked around a bit and returned 45 minutes later to find a note saying she was at another cyber cafe. After eating breakfast and getting a shower, it was already after 11:30am. So we packed up a few things in a bag and jumped in a cab to the bus station. There was a bus leaving for Vilcabamba in 10 minutes. Well, more like a short bus. Or a big van. We hopped on to the crowded bus/van and off we went. Continually stopping to pick up people along the way.
When we arrived in Vilcabamba it was already 2pm. Not really enough time to go for a hike. We also immediately realized we had no map of the city and no real plan - other than to come here. The first problem was solved by walking one block over and seeing the town was tiny. The second problem; well, the town was tiny. What do we do now? Aside from feeling a bit absurd. From the central plaza we spotted a restaurant with outdoor seating and decided to have a beer and watch for old people. We ordered fajitas and a large beer to split and started watching. There were three gringas sitting beside us and I asked them what there was to do in town. One answered hammocking. Right. They also said there had been several muggings along the hiking trails. Scratch that too.
Lunch took an hour. We saw one old person. And a teenage boy hanging out with his friends while holding a rooster. That was about it. We decided to shift our perspective a bit and move to a park bench in the central plaza (maybe 30 yards away). There we saw another old man. And a guy who looked (and dressed) like Ralph Macchio in the Karate Kid. And a large German girl playing a harmonica. This killed another hour. It was decided we needed to plan trips better. And that it was time to catch a bus/van back. We found one immediately and headed back to Loja. A road trip for lunch. That was our day.
Except we got a late start. I went off in search of a cyper cafe early because I couldn`t sleep in. When I returned, my travel buddy was no where to be found. So I walked around a bit and returned 45 minutes later to find a note saying she was at another cyber cafe. After eating breakfast and getting a shower, it was already after 11:30am. So we packed up a few things in a bag and jumped in a cab to the bus station. There was a bus leaving for Vilcabamba in 10 minutes. Well, more like a short bus. Or a big van. We hopped on to the crowded bus/van and off we went. Continually stopping to pick up people along the way.
When we arrived in Vilcabamba it was already 2pm. Not really enough time to go for a hike. We also immediately realized we had no map of the city and no real plan - other than to come here. The first problem was solved by walking one block over and seeing the town was tiny. The second problem; well, the town was tiny. What do we do now? Aside from feeling a bit absurd. From the central plaza we spotted a restaurant with outdoor seating and decided to have a beer and watch for old people. We ordered fajitas and a large beer to split and started watching. There were three gringas sitting beside us and I asked them what there was to do in town. One answered hammocking. Right. They also said there had been several muggings along the hiking trails. Scratch that too.
Lunch took an hour. We saw one old person. And a teenage boy hanging out with his friends while holding a rooster. That was about it. We decided to shift our perspective a bit and move to a park bench in the central plaza (maybe 30 yards away). There we saw another old man. And a guy who looked (and dressed) like Ralph Macchio in the Karate Kid. And a large German girl playing a harmonica. This killed another hour. It was decided we needed to plan trips better. And that it was time to catch a bus/van back. We found one immediately and headed back to Loja. A road trip for lunch. That was our day.
Heavy Metal Loja
Because time was getting tight we all decided to leave Cuenca a day earlier than we had planned. Friday morning we did a mass mailing from Cuenca`s post office of items we didn`t want to carry any longer. Also, the thought of mailing items from Peru seemed less secure than Ecuador. Those of you receiving postcards from me, let me know if they actually arrive.
At the bus station a short time later Mark bought a ticket bound for Peru`s coast and my travel buddy and I bought tickets to Loja, Ecuador; a city four hours south where we could pick up a bus to cross the Ecuador/Peru border. Our buses were leaving immediately and so we rushed on board. The entire four hours was spent reading and trying to tune out the reggaeton that has been a staple on each bus so far.
Our hostal was in the middle of the city. We were led to our dorm room of four beds for just the two of us. As we unpacked the sound of a big band came through our doors over-looking the busy street below. Just down on the corner a military band had set up in front of a construction site and started to play. A nice welcome to Loja.
We were both hungry and decided it was time to find a restaurant and see the city in the process. The city wasn`t all that big, but it was busy. People were every where. And most of these people were kids. And four of these kids were piled into a car that drove past us during our walk. As these kids drove past, one shouted "HEEEY GRINGO!". I shouted back "HEY!". Another nice welcome to Loja.
That night we decided to check out Loja`s bar scene which, according to Lonely Planet, consisted of two bars. One of which was no longer there. There were other bars. At 10pm on a Friday the city was full of kids and young adults standing in lines for various bars. But we decided to play it safe and try the second bar Lonely Planet refered to as "a rustic old watering hole, perfect for a relaxed drink". That and we were in no mood for more reggaeton. We found El Viejo Minero (The Old Miner) and walked right in. Right in front of everyone staring towards the soccer match on the film screen beside the front door. Awkward. And there were no seats to immediately hide in.
Fortunately the game ended two minutes later opening up several tables, and into one we dove. It was a relaxed place for a beer, decorated to look like a mine shaft. Sort of. We ordered a round and chatted. Then in walked five guys who marched straight to the small stage area in front of the bar. They started picking up the instruments we thought were left over from a band that might have played earlier. Then they started to rock. So much for a relaxed drink.
During the first few songs everyone in the band seemed nervous. The singer had one hand in his pocket while the other gripped the mike. Odd since there were only about 12 people in the bar. But with the encouragement of our waiter (who reminded me of the crazy big guy in Bachelor Party), who was whistling and yelling enough to make it seem like they had an audience of 20, they started to get more comfortable and began rocking harder. They were actually really good - in a late 80s heavy metal sort of way. The lead guitarist drove through great solos. The drummer followed with his Metallica-esque banging. And the lead singer wailed like Chris Cornell. And then they did a cover of Radiohead`s "Creep" and the fun was over. They butchered it. It was the only song they did in English and it was clear the singer didn`t really know the words. And there was no bang of the guitar before the chorus. Awful. We couldn`t bring ourselves to applaud.
Thankfully afterwards they went right back to rocking out. And the bar filled up steadily. People were really into it. Including the pair of guys sitting in front of us with black jean jackets and spiked leather braceletes, banging their heads and giving each other high fives. They were henceforth referred to as Beavis and Butthead. We stuck around the entire set; even when they took a short break. And because I had just downed three grande beers, I decided to stay longer when they finished. And order another. We finally arrived back at the hostal around 1am. And went to bed completely rocked out. Enter Sandman.
For pictures of Loja, and a few more from later, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603391460468/
At the bus station a short time later Mark bought a ticket bound for Peru`s coast and my travel buddy and I bought tickets to Loja, Ecuador; a city four hours south where we could pick up a bus to cross the Ecuador/Peru border. Our buses were leaving immediately and so we rushed on board. The entire four hours was spent reading and trying to tune out the reggaeton that has been a staple on each bus so far.
Our hostal was in the middle of the city. We were led to our dorm room of four beds for just the two of us. As we unpacked the sound of a big band came through our doors over-looking the busy street below. Just down on the corner a military band had set up in front of a construction site and started to play. A nice welcome to Loja.
We were both hungry and decided it was time to find a restaurant and see the city in the process. The city wasn`t all that big, but it was busy. People were every where. And most of these people were kids. And four of these kids were piled into a car that drove past us during our walk. As these kids drove past, one shouted "HEEEY GRINGO!". I shouted back "HEY!". Another nice welcome to Loja.
That night we decided to check out Loja`s bar scene which, according to Lonely Planet, consisted of two bars. One of which was no longer there. There were other bars. At 10pm on a Friday the city was full of kids and young adults standing in lines for various bars. But we decided to play it safe and try the second bar Lonely Planet refered to as "a rustic old watering hole, perfect for a relaxed drink". That and we were in no mood for more reggaeton. We found El Viejo Minero (The Old Miner) and walked right in. Right in front of everyone staring towards the soccer match on the film screen beside the front door. Awkward. And there were no seats to immediately hide in.
Fortunately the game ended two minutes later opening up several tables, and into one we dove. It was a relaxed place for a beer, decorated to look like a mine shaft. Sort of. We ordered a round and chatted. Then in walked five guys who marched straight to the small stage area in front of the bar. They started picking up the instruments we thought were left over from a band that might have played earlier. Then they started to rock. So much for a relaxed drink.
During the first few songs everyone in the band seemed nervous. The singer had one hand in his pocket while the other gripped the mike. Odd since there were only about 12 people in the bar. But with the encouragement of our waiter (who reminded me of the crazy big guy in Bachelor Party), who was whistling and yelling enough to make it seem like they had an audience of 20, they started to get more comfortable and began rocking harder. They were actually really good - in a late 80s heavy metal sort of way. The lead guitarist drove through great solos. The drummer followed with his Metallica-esque banging. And the lead singer wailed like Chris Cornell. And then they did a cover of Radiohead`s "Creep" and the fun was over. They butchered it. It was the only song they did in English and it was clear the singer didn`t really know the words. And there was no bang of the guitar before the chorus. Awful. We couldn`t bring ourselves to applaud.
Thankfully afterwards they went right back to rocking out. And the bar filled up steadily. People were really into it. Including the pair of guys sitting in front of us with black jean jackets and spiked leather braceletes, banging their heads and giving each other high fives. They were henceforth referred to as Beavis and Butthead. We stuck around the entire set; even when they took a short break. And because I had just downed three grande beers, I decided to stay longer when they finished. And order another. We finally arrived back at the hostal around 1am. And went to bed completely rocked out. Enter Sandman.
For pictures of Loja, and a few more from later, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603391460468/
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Two Discoveries (in Cuenca): One Bad, One Good
Before coming to Cuenca I had decided two days would be plenty. After arriving I decided I would need three. My travel buddy, her friend, and I spent our second full day exploring the city on foot. We walked its streets taking in all its charm. We did this the first hour and a half because we could not find the restaurant we were looking for. Nevertheless, Cuenca was a great city to get lost in.
We walked along its river (which looked like a slice of Switzerland), we glanced at its Inca ruins (what was left only required a glance), we visited it`s museums (and snuck pictures of monkey skeletons), and we ate for hours at its restaurants housed in colonial buildings (because we had to wait out the rain to stop).
That night I was looking forward to catching the UNC game against Ohio State. In the States the game was playing across the country on ESPN at 9pm. I asked and asked some more where there was a place that would show U.S. basketball games. Answers varied, but the best option seemed to be a sports bar in the newer section of town. I managed to talk the other two into joining me, warning them things could get ugly. We arrived at the sports bar more than an hour early for the game. The bar was empty but looked promising; flat-screen TVs lined the walls. Yes, they all were showing soccer games, but the odds looked good. I asked a waiter if they were able to get the game. He happily offered to flip through the Direct TV menu to see what channel it was playing on. My wide grin shrank steadily as he scrolled through over 600 channels without seeing any mention of a college basketball game. He patiently scrolled through them again. And then just once more to be sure. Nothing. A prime time game on ESPN in the States did not interest Ecuadorians?? This question seemed to amuse my coworker when I asked him later.
And thus the realization that I would probably not see one UNC game during my travels. I was not a happy camper for the rest of the night. I did park myself in front of a computer at a cyber cafe hitting refresh over and over to see updates for the game. UNC won. *sigh*
Cuenca did have more to offer though. We discovered this the next day as we went in search of the outdoor markets. After a few distractions along the way (an ad outside of a women`s underwear shop showed undies with fake cheeks attached - had to check that out), we came to the area of Cuenca one goes for fresh fruits and veggies. And meats. And when I say fresh meats, I mean still squeeling. We went a little crazy. We bought a little of almost everything (except the meats). When we saw kids hunched over a pod-like object, Mark had to find out what it was. It was big. And sweet. We looked for other things we didn`r recognize. We found items in a variety of shapes and colors. We chatted with the vendors. We tried to take pictures. The vendors tried to charge us. We declined. But we walked away with three large bags full of fruits and veggies. We were pleased with ourselves. We bought breads from a bakery. And we celebrated our purchases by making sandwiches. Bellies full, yet again, we decided to celebrate our find again; this time at Cuenca`s thermal baths. This time they were clean. And there was classical music. And there were no kids. All was right with the world. I almost forgot about missing the UNC season.
Almost.
All pics of Cuenca can be found here:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603376142164/
We walked along its river (which looked like a slice of Switzerland), we glanced at its Inca ruins (what was left only required a glance), we visited it`s museums (and snuck pictures of monkey skeletons), and we ate for hours at its restaurants housed in colonial buildings (because we had to wait out the rain to stop).
That night I was looking forward to catching the UNC game against Ohio State. In the States the game was playing across the country on ESPN at 9pm. I asked and asked some more where there was a place that would show U.S. basketball games. Answers varied, but the best option seemed to be a sports bar in the newer section of town. I managed to talk the other two into joining me, warning them things could get ugly. We arrived at the sports bar more than an hour early for the game. The bar was empty but looked promising; flat-screen TVs lined the walls. Yes, they all were showing soccer games, but the odds looked good. I asked a waiter if they were able to get the game. He happily offered to flip through the Direct TV menu to see what channel it was playing on. My wide grin shrank steadily as he scrolled through over 600 channels without seeing any mention of a college basketball game. He patiently scrolled through them again. And then just once more to be sure. Nothing. A prime time game on ESPN in the States did not interest Ecuadorians?? This question seemed to amuse my coworker when I asked him later.
And thus the realization that I would probably not see one UNC game during my travels. I was not a happy camper for the rest of the night. I did park myself in front of a computer at a cyber cafe hitting refresh over and over to see updates for the game. UNC won. *sigh*
Cuenca did have more to offer though. We discovered this the next day as we went in search of the outdoor markets. After a few distractions along the way (an ad outside of a women`s underwear shop showed undies with fake cheeks attached - had to check that out), we came to the area of Cuenca one goes for fresh fruits and veggies. And meats. And when I say fresh meats, I mean still squeeling. We went a little crazy. We bought a little of almost everything (except the meats). When we saw kids hunched over a pod-like object, Mark had to find out what it was. It was big. And sweet. We looked for other things we didn`r recognize. We found items in a variety of shapes and colors. We chatted with the vendors. We tried to take pictures. The vendors tried to charge us. We declined. But we walked away with three large bags full of fruits and veggies. We were pleased with ourselves. We bought breads from a bakery. And we celebrated our purchases by making sandwiches. Bellies full, yet again, we decided to celebrate our find again; this time at Cuenca`s thermal baths. This time they were clean. And there was classical music. And there were no kids. All was right with the world. I almost forgot about missing the UNC season.
Almost.
All pics of Cuenca can be found here:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603376142164/
My Kinda Town, Cuenca Is
Tuesday morning I cabbed to the bus station in Guayaquil, got my ticket, and waited. I arrived too early. This allowed time for two young local women to approach me asking if I knew what happened to us after death. My eyes quickly darted down to the small booklet being thrust in my direction. Did I know Jesus? I assured them I did, took the booklet, thanked them, and said I needed to catch my bus. Bye Guayaquil.
The bus was luxury. At least compared to my previous bus experiences. There was a bathroom, the seats reclined, and it was near empty. I stretched out, turned on my iPod, and enjoyed the ride. We drove from the tropics to foggy hills (and a man passed out in the middle of the road) to mountain peaks (and unpaved roads) to rolling green hills that reminded me of Switzerland. We passed through indeginous villages where women dug ditches while the men watched. And we passed another man passed out in the middle of the road.
Four and a half hours later I arrived in Cuenca, Ecuador`s third largest city. A cab took me through the brick streets of this colonial UNESCO World Heritage Site. And those streets were immaculate. I was dropped at a hostal run by an older woman and her three beautiful, young daughters. All of which either had kids or were having kids shortly. The hostal was interesting; colorful, but empty. I saw one other guy as I was led to my room. And then I never saw him again. After dumping my pack it was finally time to get my laundry done. The old woman saw me with arms full of dirty clothes and said she could take care of them. I happily turned them over to her. No washing underwear in the sink tonight...
Next chore was to find a shop where I could replace the glasses I lost in Quito. Ah, but at 2pm the city was in the middle of its siesta time. Nothing was open. Except a pizza joint. And here I waited until three while eating two slices of "NY" pizza. And a Fanta. Fanta ALWAYS tastes better over seas.
Finally I saw the shop across the street open and in I went. And no one spoke English. Not the kind of scenerio in which I wanted to practise my Spanish. But I managed to indicate that I had lost my glasses, needed a new pair, and would probably lose them again so keep them cheap. The lady helping me was intent on showing me thin rimmed glasses even though I kept pointing to thick rimmed ones. Finally it hit me that she was showing me the cheapest frames in the shop. When I asked how much they were, and she told me $35, I suggested we could look at slightly more expensive glasses. And suddenly I was into the thick rimmed section. Once I picked out a pair I asked how many days it would take. I could pick them up at 5pm. Tomorrow? No, today. Cuenca is awesome. And for the next hour and half I explored the city in all its colonial grandeur.
Cuenca was great! Beautiful, charming, historic, clean, friendly, and even quiet(ish). Aside from the obligatory car alarms. How is it no matter where I am in S America, I can always hear a car alarm going off. I have memorized the five different tunes.
I picked up my glasses at 5pm and they were perfect. I could now write blogs again! Or at least see them. I started walking back to the hostal to pay when my phone rang. My travel buddy, and roommate, from Quito had just arrived in Cuenca. I had told her I was coming here for a few days. She had met up with a friend from home in Quito and the two of them bused down to meet me. I told them where I was staying and 30 minutes later they met me at the hostal. Well, technically at the internet cafe beside the hostal. I was excited to use my new glasses.
We walked to a bar that Lonely Planet recommended. The description said it had fire places, couches, and microbrews. There were no microbrews, but the fire was enough to keep me there. We caught up on the events of the past 12 days and I met her friend Mark, who was also traveling for 8 months. Mark has been working for part of the national park service in Vancouver since high school and had managed to build enough of a rep there to secure a hefty sabbatication. We continued to chat even as a man got up on stage and sang tunes to his guitar. It was nice background music. And then there was the old French man. He was sitting at a table with his wife, having a drink, when he asked if he could play a couple of songs. He was unfortunately obliged. He was awful. And when he started singing Bob Dylan`s "Blowing in the Wind" the room looked like it had had enough. He was politely applauded, but the original player decided it was time to reclaim his guitar. We agreed.
For pics of my time in Cuenca, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603376142164/
(I have no idea how to flip a video over in youtube, so if anyone knows, tell me!)
The bus was luxury. At least compared to my previous bus experiences. There was a bathroom, the seats reclined, and it was near empty. I stretched out, turned on my iPod, and enjoyed the ride. We drove from the tropics to foggy hills (and a man passed out in the middle of the road) to mountain peaks (and unpaved roads) to rolling green hills that reminded me of Switzerland. We passed through indeginous villages where women dug ditches while the men watched. And we passed another man passed out in the middle of the road.
Four and a half hours later I arrived in Cuenca, Ecuador`s third largest city. A cab took me through the brick streets of this colonial UNESCO World Heritage Site. And those streets were immaculate. I was dropped at a hostal run by an older woman and her three beautiful, young daughters. All of which either had kids or were having kids shortly. The hostal was interesting; colorful, but empty. I saw one other guy as I was led to my room. And then I never saw him again. After dumping my pack it was finally time to get my laundry done. The old woman saw me with arms full of dirty clothes and said she could take care of them. I happily turned them over to her. No washing underwear in the sink tonight...
Next chore was to find a shop where I could replace the glasses I lost in Quito. Ah, but at 2pm the city was in the middle of its siesta time. Nothing was open. Except a pizza joint. And here I waited until three while eating two slices of "NY" pizza. And a Fanta. Fanta ALWAYS tastes better over seas.
Finally I saw the shop across the street open and in I went. And no one spoke English. Not the kind of scenerio in which I wanted to practise my Spanish. But I managed to indicate that I had lost my glasses, needed a new pair, and would probably lose them again so keep them cheap. The lady helping me was intent on showing me thin rimmed glasses even though I kept pointing to thick rimmed ones. Finally it hit me that she was showing me the cheapest frames in the shop. When I asked how much they were, and she told me $35, I suggested we could look at slightly more expensive glasses. And suddenly I was into the thick rimmed section. Once I picked out a pair I asked how many days it would take. I could pick them up at 5pm. Tomorrow? No, today. Cuenca is awesome. And for the next hour and half I explored the city in all its colonial grandeur.
Cuenca was great! Beautiful, charming, historic, clean, friendly, and even quiet(ish). Aside from the obligatory car alarms. How is it no matter where I am in S America, I can always hear a car alarm going off. I have memorized the five different tunes.
I picked up my glasses at 5pm and they were perfect. I could now write blogs again! Or at least see them. I started walking back to the hostal to pay when my phone rang. My travel buddy, and roommate, from Quito had just arrived in Cuenca. I had told her I was coming here for a few days. She had met up with a friend from home in Quito and the two of them bused down to meet me. I told them where I was staying and 30 minutes later they met me at the hostal. Well, technically at the internet cafe beside the hostal. I was excited to use my new glasses.
We walked to a bar that Lonely Planet recommended. The description said it had fire places, couches, and microbrews. There were no microbrews, but the fire was enough to keep me there. We caught up on the events of the past 12 days and I met her friend Mark, who was also traveling for 8 months. Mark has been working for part of the national park service in Vancouver since high school and had managed to build enough of a rep there to secure a hefty sabbatication. We continued to chat even as a man got up on stage and sang tunes to his guitar. It was nice background music. And then there was the old French man. He was sitting at a table with his wife, having a drink, when he asked if he could play a couple of songs. He was unfortunately obliged. He was awful. And when he started singing Bob Dylan`s "Blowing in the Wind" the room looked like it had had enough. He was politely applauded, but the original player decided it was time to reclaim his guitar. We agreed.
For pics of my time in Cuenca, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603376142164/
(I have no idea how to flip a video over in youtube, so if anyone knows, tell me!)
My Hate/Love Relationship With Guayaquil
Monday morning I was up at 9am. I popped on the tube for some background noise while I showered, shaved, unpacked everything and gathered up my dirty clothes. "Friends" was on. I got sucked in. I know, I really hate that show. But it was the first American show I had seen in English since I arrived in South America. I was hooked for two episodes. Don`t judge me until you are in the same situation.
When the second episode ended and Dawson`s Creek began, I was able to pull myself away the tv to actually get the earlier mentioned things done. I shoved all of my dirty clothes into my daypack along with my two cameras and a few memory cards. Down I went to confirm the location of the laundry the guy at the desk pointed out on a map the night before. Yep, still there.
Two blocks later there was no sign of a laundry. I walked down a few other blocks just to make sure I didn`t miss it. Nothing. No laundries any where. I decided to go looking for an internet cafe, hoping to find a laundry on the way. I was wearing my clothes from the previous day and really wanted something fresh for the next day.
Guayaquil is just a big city. There is nothing really unique about it aside from it being the biggest city in Ecuador. It is not really in close proximity to anything so tourists tend to skip it. I did not see another gringo all day. Just lots of Guayaquillanos going about their daily business. I eventually found an internet cafe near a large park square (but no laundry) and darted in. It was hot out and I desperately wanted to cool down in the air conditioned room. Here I killed 3.5 hours uploading and editing the 1000 pics I took in the Galapagos. I emailed friends, took care of banking duties, and added a few blog entries. Around 2:30 I realized I had not had anything to eat all day. I grabbed my bag full o` dirty clothes and hit the streets in search of food.
As I made my way further and further down the road, the businesses got smaller and poorer. People selling random things from the sidewalk were everywhere now, in front of tiny shops selling other random things. When I had not hit the river front after 11 blocks I pulled out my map and realized I had been walking down the wrong street, deeper and deeper into the city. Time to take a break and get something to eat, anywhere. There was a hole in the wall Chinese restaurant to my left with all the cooking being done right at the door. It did not look in the least bit sanitary. But I was starving. And the menu scribbled on the wall said a plate of chicken and rice was $1. Sold.
I ordered and waited. Out came a huge plate of chicken and rice. I looked over to where my dish had just come from. Refrigerated meat? Ha! Not here. I dug in anyway. It was really good. Or I was just really hungry. As I wolfed it down I noticed a man who was eating behind me walk around to the entrance and buy a cup of coke from a guy selling portions of a bottle outside. When he returned and sat down, I turned to ask him how much the cup was, bumping his table in the process and spilling some of the drink. Ugh. He did not look happy. I apologized and asked again. He told me 10 cents. I offered him 20 cents to pay for the spill. He now looked really happy. And this began a broken conversation about where I was from and where all he had been. Oh, he had been every where in the world. So he claimed. All over the U.S. too, except, where was I from?, no, never been to there. I agreed he was quite the traveler, and tried to return to eating. But wait, he had been to other places. Finally he finished his food and said it was time to go. Then he ran out after a girl who had walked by. I was now able to finish my meal. And study a map.
I paid $1.25 for my large plate and a bottle of water and headed back up the street in the opposite direction. I bumped into a large market area of vendors selling everything one could possibly want. I tried walking through the maze and quickly got lost. There was no map of this area. Being the only gringo in there, I received lots of attention. This kept me from taking candid shots, but it helped when I asked for directions out. Clearly I did not belong. Nor did I want any of the hundreds of Tupac shirts.
I exited the maze right at the riverfront and Guayaquil`s pride and joy: Malecon 2000. It was still full of families. I took a stroll and enjoyed the serenity of it all. Guayaquil wasn`t so bad; you just need to appreciate it as a large city, built for it`s residents, not tourists. I cut back into the city to check out a few of the parks, including one with dozens of iguanas crawling around. People were out enjoying everything the city had to offer. This area was actually quite attractive. I passed monuments to independence and past leaders, large beautiful churches, and trendy little restaurants full of people. Back to the Malecon 2000, I made my way to Las Peñas, a hillside section of the city made to look like a Spanish town. Up the numbered stairs I continued taking in the lively colors and music coming from its many small bars. And finally at the top I had a magnificant view of Guayaquil and the river. Not a bad city at all. Even though I was still carrying my daypack full of dirty laundry.
It was now 5:45 and I decided to take a cab to the bus station to find out departure times for Cuenca the next day. The cab driver told me about the wealthy people of Guayaquil and pointed out the areas where they lived in mansions with heavy security. When he dropped me at the bus station I paid him $4 and went off in search of a ticket. A ticket to Cuenca cost $6, but I would have to buy it the day of my departure. Buses left every 45 mins so I said I would be back at 8:30am. Then I took another $4 cab back to my hostal. $8 to find out I could buy a $6 ticket to Cuenca the next day. Mental note: just buy tickets when you are ready to go.
Back at my hostal I organized my pack again, stuffing the dirty laundry inside. "Seinfeld" was now on and I got sucked in again. Two episodes later I forced myself out to take in the city again at night. This time I enjoyed it more. Christmas lights were starting to appear. People were out enjoying the park squares, eating ice cream, kids dancing around costumed characters. Every one seemed proud of their city. As well they should be. Guayaquil is a great city. You just need to know how to appreciate it. And come with plenty of clean clothes. I finished the night washing a pair of underwear in the sink...
For pics of my time in Guayaquil, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603375798858/
When the second episode ended and Dawson`s Creek began, I was able to pull myself away the tv to actually get the earlier mentioned things done. I shoved all of my dirty clothes into my daypack along with my two cameras and a few memory cards. Down I went to confirm the location of the laundry the guy at the desk pointed out on a map the night before. Yep, still there.
Two blocks later there was no sign of a laundry. I walked down a few other blocks just to make sure I didn`t miss it. Nothing. No laundries any where. I decided to go looking for an internet cafe, hoping to find a laundry on the way. I was wearing my clothes from the previous day and really wanted something fresh for the next day.
Guayaquil is just a big city. There is nothing really unique about it aside from it being the biggest city in Ecuador. It is not really in close proximity to anything so tourists tend to skip it. I did not see another gringo all day. Just lots of Guayaquillanos going about their daily business. I eventually found an internet cafe near a large park square (but no laundry) and darted in. It was hot out and I desperately wanted to cool down in the air conditioned room. Here I killed 3.5 hours uploading and editing the 1000 pics I took in the Galapagos. I emailed friends, took care of banking duties, and added a few blog entries. Around 2:30 I realized I had not had anything to eat all day. I grabbed my bag full o` dirty clothes and hit the streets in search of food.
As I made my way further and further down the road, the businesses got smaller and poorer. People selling random things from the sidewalk were everywhere now, in front of tiny shops selling other random things. When I had not hit the river front after 11 blocks I pulled out my map and realized I had been walking down the wrong street, deeper and deeper into the city. Time to take a break and get something to eat, anywhere. There was a hole in the wall Chinese restaurant to my left with all the cooking being done right at the door. It did not look in the least bit sanitary. But I was starving. And the menu scribbled on the wall said a plate of chicken and rice was $1. Sold.
I ordered and waited. Out came a huge plate of chicken and rice. I looked over to where my dish had just come from. Refrigerated meat? Ha! Not here. I dug in anyway. It was really good. Or I was just really hungry. As I wolfed it down I noticed a man who was eating behind me walk around to the entrance and buy a cup of coke from a guy selling portions of a bottle outside. When he returned and sat down, I turned to ask him how much the cup was, bumping his table in the process and spilling some of the drink. Ugh. He did not look happy. I apologized and asked again. He told me 10 cents. I offered him 20 cents to pay for the spill. He now looked really happy. And this began a broken conversation about where I was from and where all he had been. Oh, he had been every where in the world. So he claimed. All over the U.S. too, except, where was I from?, no, never been to there. I agreed he was quite the traveler, and tried to return to eating. But wait, he had been to other places. Finally he finished his food and said it was time to go. Then he ran out after a girl who had walked by. I was now able to finish my meal. And study a map.
I paid $1.25 for my large plate and a bottle of water and headed back up the street in the opposite direction. I bumped into a large market area of vendors selling everything one could possibly want. I tried walking through the maze and quickly got lost. There was no map of this area. Being the only gringo in there, I received lots of attention. This kept me from taking candid shots, but it helped when I asked for directions out. Clearly I did not belong. Nor did I want any of the hundreds of Tupac shirts.
I exited the maze right at the riverfront and Guayaquil`s pride and joy: Malecon 2000. It was still full of families. I took a stroll and enjoyed the serenity of it all. Guayaquil wasn`t so bad; you just need to appreciate it as a large city, built for it`s residents, not tourists. I cut back into the city to check out a few of the parks, including one with dozens of iguanas crawling around. People were out enjoying everything the city had to offer. This area was actually quite attractive. I passed monuments to independence and past leaders, large beautiful churches, and trendy little restaurants full of people. Back to the Malecon 2000, I made my way to Las Peñas, a hillside section of the city made to look like a Spanish town. Up the numbered stairs I continued taking in the lively colors and music coming from its many small bars. And finally at the top I had a magnificant view of Guayaquil and the river. Not a bad city at all. Even though I was still carrying my daypack full of dirty laundry.
It was now 5:45 and I decided to take a cab to the bus station to find out departure times for Cuenca the next day. The cab driver told me about the wealthy people of Guayaquil and pointed out the areas where they lived in mansions with heavy security. When he dropped me at the bus station I paid him $4 and went off in search of a ticket. A ticket to Cuenca cost $6, but I would have to buy it the day of my departure. Buses left every 45 mins so I said I would be back at 8:30am. Then I took another $4 cab back to my hostal. $8 to find out I could buy a $6 ticket to Cuenca the next day. Mental note: just buy tickets when you are ready to go.
Back at my hostal I organized my pack again, stuffing the dirty laundry inside. "Seinfeld" was now on and I got sucked in again. Two episodes later I forced myself out to take in the city again at night. This time I enjoyed it more. Christmas lights were starting to appear. People were out enjoying the park squares, eating ice cream, kids dancing around costumed characters. Every one seemed proud of their city. As well they should be. Guayaquil is a great city. You just need to know how to appreciate it. And come with plenty of clean clothes. I finished the night washing a pair of underwear in the sink...
For pics of my time in Guayaquil, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603375798858/
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
A Futile Attempt at Laundry
Still playing catch-up on the Blog. This entry takes place on the last day of the Galapagos trip. That sunday was my 10th day in the Galapagos and my last morning on the yacht. I thought the crew would drop everyone off at the main town as they had done at the half way mark. But the night before, I was told we were returning to the airport because most people were flying out at noon. I had 10 days worth of laundry and had planned to drop it all off at a lavandaria while going off to explore more of the main island. But that would now require me to take a bus an hour back into town. So during our last landing of the trip, while we were scouting for Frigates with enlarged red balloon-like sacks, I debated whether or not to stay or try and change my flight to a day earlier. Laundry on the Galapagos: expensive. Laundry on the mainland: well, it had to be cheaper.
Our last landing of the trip was on an island a short distance from the airport island. We were looking for randy Frigates; our guide saying there was a 1% chance of seeing them inflating their red sacks for mating rights. I had seen this on a Nat Geo special and was anxious to see it live (I am weird). A 1% chance seemed low. Especially since we saw one within minutes of the landing. And many more 20 minutes later. It was late in the mating season, but there were still a few guys hoping for luck at last call. I was snap-happy with my camera.
After stepping over and around more sea lions, we were picked up and taken back to the yacht for breakfast and to pack. I was looking forward to another big breakfast full of eggs, fruit, and maybe even some bacon. We had bread and cold cuts. Apparently they were going to restock when they dropped us off. As I was packing up my things, and trying to figure out what to do with my boots that stunk of sea lion poo, I decided I might as well see if I could switch my flight to that day and spend the afternoon in Guayaquil. That would help make up for some of the time I lost staying in Quito and extra week.
When I got to the ticket counter and asked about availability, I was told there was room for me to switch, and at no penalty. I asked what time the flight was. I thought the agent said 2pm. I told him that was too late and said nevermind. My yacht guide, who was standing there helping those of us who weren`t fluent (me), told me he said 12pm. Oh, noon is good. I would be in downtown Guayaquil by 3pm. So I switched the flight. This was at 9:30am. Fourty minutes later an announcement said the flight was delayed until 1pm. By this time the buses had departed for the mainland. But an hour wasn`t so bad. Then, at 11am, an announcement said the plane would depart at 2pm. Figured. Those of us from the yacht, waiting on that flight, sat around drinking beers, filling out post cards, and ordering over priced lunches. Then, at 1pm, we were told the flight would leave at 3pm.
The flight left at 4:15pm. We flew a Nestle plane (no idea what that was all about) and were told to take any available seat. I got a window and slept most of the way back.
When we landed in Guayaquil at close to 7pm (the mainland is an hour ahead), I realized it was too late to do laundry, but decided to look in my Lonely Planet guide book for a hostel near a lavandaria. The map showed no lavandarias. I picked a random hostal and then took the book´s advice about walking out past the taxis in front of the airport and out to the main road to flag one down. This supposedly saved me $2. I am cheap. It was worth the hike.
The cab driver knew exactly where my hostal was and we darted through the deserted streets of downtown Guayaquil. The location was not pretty. I asked the cab driver if the neighborhood was safe. He smirked and said "sure". And in I went. The room was really nice (nice for $10 a night). Even came with cable tv. But the tv would turn itself off and back on every few minutes (couldn`t figure that one out). The shower had great pressure and hot water, but no shower curtain. And the toilet was spotless, but had no seat. There was, however, air conditioning. And I needed it. Guayaquil was hot.
I asked the man at the desk about a laundry and he pointed to a place on a paper map where one should be. But it would have to wait until the morning. I asked him if the neighborhood was safe. He said "sure". And so off I went to explore. Guayaquil was not pretty. At least not at night. And I saw no sign of a lavandaria. After walking around for about an hour, I did find a new riverfront plaza that had been put in a few years back and was loaded with families. Here I strolled until, during a phone call with my coworker, I was told it was late and this wasn`t the city to be exploring at night. And so I went back to my hostal and went to bed, amongst 10 days worth of dirty clothes. That would be chore numero uno in the morning.
Our last landing of the trip was on an island a short distance from the airport island. We were looking for randy Frigates; our guide saying there was a 1% chance of seeing them inflating their red sacks for mating rights. I had seen this on a Nat Geo special and was anxious to see it live (I am weird). A 1% chance seemed low. Especially since we saw one within minutes of the landing. And many more 20 minutes later. It was late in the mating season, but there were still a few guys hoping for luck at last call. I was snap-happy with my camera.
After stepping over and around more sea lions, we were picked up and taken back to the yacht for breakfast and to pack. I was looking forward to another big breakfast full of eggs, fruit, and maybe even some bacon. We had bread and cold cuts. Apparently they were going to restock when they dropped us off. As I was packing up my things, and trying to figure out what to do with my boots that stunk of sea lion poo, I decided I might as well see if I could switch my flight to that day and spend the afternoon in Guayaquil. That would help make up for some of the time I lost staying in Quito and extra week.
When I got to the ticket counter and asked about availability, I was told there was room for me to switch, and at no penalty. I asked what time the flight was. I thought the agent said 2pm. I told him that was too late and said nevermind. My yacht guide, who was standing there helping those of us who weren`t fluent (me), told me he said 12pm. Oh, noon is good. I would be in downtown Guayaquil by 3pm. So I switched the flight. This was at 9:30am. Fourty minutes later an announcement said the flight was delayed until 1pm. By this time the buses had departed for the mainland. But an hour wasn`t so bad. Then, at 11am, an announcement said the plane would depart at 2pm. Figured. Those of us from the yacht, waiting on that flight, sat around drinking beers, filling out post cards, and ordering over priced lunches. Then, at 1pm, we were told the flight would leave at 3pm.
The flight left at 4:15pm. We flew a Nestle plane (no idea what that was all about) and were told to take any available seat. I got a window and slept most of the way back.
When we landed in Guayaquil at close to 7pm (the mainland is an hour ahead), I realized it was too late to do laundry, but decided to look in my Lonely Planet guide book for a hostel near a lavandaria. The map showed no lavandarias. I picked a random hostal and then took the book´s advice about walking out past the taxis in front of the airport and out to the main road to flag one down. This supposedly saved me $2. I am cheap. It was worth the hike.
The cab driver knew exactly where my hostal was and we darted through the deserted streets of downtown Guayaquil. The location was not pretty. I asked the cab driver if the neighborhood was safe. He smirked and said "sure". And in I went. The room was really nice (nice for $10 a night). Even came with cable tv. But the tv would turn itself off and back on every few minutes (couldn`t figure that one out). The shower had great pressure and hot water, but no shower curtain. And the toilet was spotless, but had no seat. There was, however, air conditioning. And I needed it. Guayaquil was hot.
I asked the man at the desk about a laundry and he pointed to a place on a paper map where one should be. But it would have to wait until the morning. I asked him if the neighborhood was safe. He said "sure". And so off I went to explore. Guayaquil was not pretty. At least not at night. And I saw no sign of a lavandaria. After walking around for about an hour, I did find a new riverfront plaza that had been put in a few years back and was loaded with families. Here I strolled until, during a phone call with my coworker, I was told it was late and this wasn`t the city to be exploring at night. And so I went back to my hostal and went to bed, amongst 10 days worth of dirty clothes. That would be chore numero uno in the morning.
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