Readers: on my Flickr page where I post all the pictures, each album is set up with comments about each picture (I have taken some pretty unusual pictures that need an explantion). I just discovered yesterday, through my hosts in Buenos Aires, that the slide shows for these albums don't automatically show the comments. Are you, readers, seeing the comments that accompany the albums? The reason I am so far behind in posting new stories is because it takes a long time to upload the pics and add comments. I shudder to think that I have spent all this time writing up commentary to these albums and no one is seeing them (and that people are looking at some of these pics, not seeing the commentary, and wondering why the hell I took a picture of a shoe).
Show of hands: are people not seeing the commentary when viewing the pics? Please comment.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Update
Currently I am in Buenos Aires staying with my previous neighbors from Capitol Hill. They live in a brilliant apartment just minutes from everything in the city and in just 24 hours I have managed to see quite a bit of the city. More importantly I have already had a steak & wine lunch. When you visit Argentina, try the Lomo and ask for it "jugoso". Best steak I think I have ever had. The melted cheese side dish was pretty damn good too.
Guess what I am having for lunch today. Yep, same thing. And checking out the big antiques market (anyone want anything - JL, I am looking in your direction) and a tango show. My hosts have been here about a year and a half and recommended several great places to check out, including a wine bar and a mansion-turned-bar, both of which I explored thoroughly last night until 5am (I won't go into the details of my travel buddy - who I met up with again - having a bit of an messy accident at the end of her drinking excursion last night). Chris and Beverly (and their new addition to the family) have been excellent hosts and are making my stay here an easy, relaxed, and fun break before heading off to Antarctica in a few days.
I am planning to update the blog Tuesday during some down time in Ushuaia. Hopefully I can get through Bolivia during that time. Depending on how late I am out tonight I may try and get a post or two up before I leave Buenos Aires. Stay tuned readers...
Guess what I am having for lunch today. Yep, same thing. And checking out the big antiques market (anyone want anything - JL, I am looking in your direction) and a tango show. My hosts have been here about a year and a half and recommended several great places to check out, including a wine bar and a mansion-turned-bar, both of which I explored thoroughly last night until 5am (I won't go into the details of my travel buddy - who I met up with again - having a bit of an messy accident at the end of her drinking excursion last night). Chris and Beverly (and their new addition to the family) have been excellent hosts and are making my stay here an easy, relaxed, and fun break before heading off to Antarctica in a few days.
I am planning to update the blog Tuesday during some down time in Ushuaia. Hopefully I can get through Bolivia during that time. Depending on how late I am out tonight I may try and get a post or two up before I leave Buenos Aires. Stay tuned readers...
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Status Report
I am in Iguazu, on the Brazilain side. I am also staying at a resort of a hostel, with a soccer field, a basketball court, a pool (a bar to go along with that pool), and crazy amount of green space. And free internet. But for a limited time. Tomorrow I go to the Argentina side. And then fly to Buenos Aires. Do you miss me? I miss me too. I will write more soon, I swear. As for now..It's bed time for bonzo....
Saturday, January 19, 2008
A Different Approach to Christmas Eve
On the morning of Christmas eve I found myself waiting at an airport in La Paz, with a couple I had met only the night before, for my coworker to arrive from the States. The parade of people coming past us from his flight had dwindled to just a hand few of passengers when he finally came walking out. We had started to believe he was stopped at customs because of all the gifts he was bringing into the country for his family.
Fernando had graciously offered to meet me halfway through my journey and invited me to spend the holidays with his family in the southern Bolivian city of Tarija. I had been eagerly awaiting this part of my trip since he had invited me months before I left. I knew the holidays were going to be tough without my family, so being with any family would help make them pass a bit easier. Little did I know how much a part of the family I would feel during this Christmas.
We checked our flights on to Tarija for later that day to make sure we were still good to go. Okay, Fernando checked them. He´s the one that speaks fluent Spanish. His uncle picked us up a short time later and drove us (and all our luggage) to his house in La Paz. At the house I met Fernando´s grandfather and aunt, as well as a few cousins. We had been invited to lunch and I was pleased to find we were getting a full-on home cooked meal. To start it out, there a toast with Singani (the traditional liquor drink of Bolivia. We moved on to the dinner table and out came the courses. I was completely full by the time dessert (a rum ice cream) arrived. This would become a ritual when eating with Fernando´s family. Eating until I couldn´t move. After lunch it was time to catch our flight to La Paz. We said our goodbyes as our taxi waited outside. The family told me I was invited back any time. I promised to take them up on their offer.
I don´t know if it was the altitude or the Singani, but the entire plane ride to Tarija had me feeling ill. I didn´t want to talk, I didn´t want to sleep, I didn´t want to do anything. I just wanted off that plane. The turbulance added to my misery. When we landed in Tarija 90 minutes later I bounded from the plane. The temperature was much warmer as Tarija is at a much lower elevation than La Paz. This I was looking forward to.
When we got our bags and walked to the waiting area we found Fernando´s entire family waiting for us. Grandpa (Papito), uncles, aunts, cousins; everyone that was staying in the house with us. Hugs and introductions all around and then pile into an SUV bound for home. Everyone staying in the house was from La Paz and had made the trip down by car the days before to spend the holidays with Papito. The man is like the Godfather of Tarija. The entire time I was there people were dropping by to pay their respects. And the reverence for this man was incredible. He seemed to deserve every bit of it. A man of few words, when he spoke everyone came to attention.
At the house Fernando and I were given one of the main bedrooms where we unpacked and settled. I was quickly ushered out to formally meet everyone. Immediately wine was offered up. I was taught te invito (I invite you) and told whenever some one says this to another person, that person has to follow up a drink of the same amount taken before the glass is handed off. The phrase was repeated all night and throughout my time in Tarija. By dinner time I was already tipsy. Tarija is wine country and the people of the area are proud of their wine (from the highest vineyards in the world). They are only to eager to share their wine. And Christmas eve was no exception.
Dinner was a three meat soup with large chuncks of pork, chicken and beef. A fork and knife were set with the spoon in order to cut up the meat from the soup. The portions were large. I went back for seconds anyway. It was delicious. There were toasts throughout the night. As well as many more te invitos. As midnight approached the frequency of exploding fireworks in the streets increased. And at midnight Papito offered a toast with champagne. Everyone raised their glasses and Christmas was ushered in. In the nativity scene in the house hallway, baby Jesus was placed in the previously empty manger and prayers were said. The youngest of the cousins was given his Christmas presents: including a Wii and games, which we took turns playing into the night.
Belly full and slightly inebriated, I finally turned in around 2:30am. Not exactly how I have celebrated Christmas eve in the past. But a welcome experience during my first holidays without my family.
For pictures of my Christmas in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
Fernando had graciously offered to meet me halfway through my journey and invited me to spend the holidays with his family in the southern Bolivian city of Tarija. I had been eagerly awaiting this part of my trip since he had invited me months before I left. I knew the holidays were going to be tough without my family, so being with any family would help make them pass a bit easier. Little did I know how much a part of the family I would feel during this Christmas.
We checked our flights on to Tarija for later that day to make sure we were still good to go. Okay, Fernando checked them. He´s the one that speaks fluent Spanish. His uncle picked us up a short time later and drove us (and all our luggage) to his house in La Paz. At the house I met Fernando´s grandfather and aunt, as well as a few cousins. We had been invited to lunch and I was pleased to find we were getting a full-on home cooked meal. To start it out, there a toast with Singani (the traditional liquor drink of Bolivia. We moved on to the dinner table and out came the courses. I was completely full by the time dessert (a rum ice cream) arrived. This would become a ritual when eating with Fernando´s family. Eating until I couldn´t move. After lunch it was time to catch our flight to La Paz. We said our goodbyes as our taxi waited outside. The family told me I was invited back any time. I promised to take them up on their offer.
I don´t know if it was the altitude or the Singani, but the entire plane ride to Tarija had me feeling ill. I didn´t want to talk, I didn´t want to sleep, I didn´t want to do anything. I just wanted off that plane. The turbulance added to my misery. When we landed in Tarija 90 minutes later I bounded from the plane. The temperature was much warmer as Tarija is at a much lower elevation than La Paz. This I was looking forward to.
When we got our bags and walked to the waiting area we found Fernando´s entire family waiting for us. Grandpa (Papito), uncles, aunts, cousins; everyone that was staying in the house with us. Hugs and introductions all around and then pile into an SUV bound for home. Everyone staying in the house was from La Paz and had made the trip down by car the days before to spend the holidays with Papito. The man is like the Godfather of Tarija. The entire time I was there people were dropping by to pay their respects. And the reverence for this man was incredible. He seemed to deserve every bit of it. A man of few words, when he spoke everyone came to attention.
At the house Fernando and I were given one of the main bedrooms where we unpacked and settled. I was quickly ushered out to formally meet everyone. Immediately wine was offered up. I was taught te invito (I invite you) and told whenever some one says this to another person, that person has to follow up a drink of the same amount taken before the glass is handed off. The phrase was repeated all night and throughout my time in Tarija. By dinner time I was already tipsy. Tarija is wine country and the people of the area are proud of their wine (from the highest vineyards in the world). They are only to eager to share their wine. And Christmas eve was no exception.
Dinner was a three meat soup with large chuncks of pork, chicken and beef. A fork and knife were set with the spoon in order to cut up the meat from the soup. The portions were large. I went back for seconds anyway. It was delicious. There were toasts throughout the night. As well as many more te invitos. As midnight approached the frequency of exploding fireworks in the streets increased. And at midnight Papito offered a toast with champagne. Everyone raised their glasses and Christmas was ushered in. In the nativity scene in the house hallway, baby Jesus was placed in the previously empty manger and prayers were said. The youngest of the cousins was given his Christmas presents: including a Wii and games, which we took turns playing into the night.
Belly full and slightly inebriated, I finally turned in around 2:30am. Not exactly how I have celebrated Christmas eve in the past. But a welcome experience during my first holidays without my family.
For pictures of my Christmas in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
Moving Toward Christmas in Bolivia
Two days before Christmas I was awake at 7am on the Isla del Sol on Lake Titicaca, staring out at the beautiful scenery of the lake and the snow capped mountains in the distance. It was a tranquil morning. And I felt so far removed from any upcoming holidays.
My travel buddy woke up a short time later and we both took in the morning views. The views included several locals hiking down the path past our hotel with crates of empty beer bottles on their backs. We heard the ceremony go well into the night. Evidence of the night´s fun stumbled past us as a few older drunk men were helped down the path.
The woman managing the hotel made us a small breakfast which we gobbled up. After packing our things, we walked downhill to the port to wait for our boat back to the mainland. We were an hour early and used the time to read and nap some more.
Our boat back was near empty this time as we continued to enjoy the peace and quiet. Back in Copacabana we found a restaurant and ordered more fried trout (seemingly the only thing to eat on Titicaca) and a grande beer for lunch. Our bus was leaving around 2pm so we had some time before having to pick up my bag and laundry and riding towards our next destination of La Paz. We chatted about the odd asian-latin-fusion sounding music playing over the speakers, and what we were each going to miss most about the holidays at home.
Just before boarding our bus, I called my coworker´s childhood friend in La Paz to make sure he and his wife would still be meeting us at the bus station. They had generously offered to do this and host us at the apartment that night. My travel buddy was flying to Buenos Aires the next morning and I would be meeting my coworker at the airport and then flying on to meet his family in Southern Bolivia. They were planning on meeting us when we arrived. I thanked them and hopped on board our bus.
The bus ride was just a few hours. We passed a few interesting landscapes but overall, it was mostly just farms, small run-down villages, and distant mountains. When we approached La Paz the scenery was suddenly in a frenzy. Small buses packed full of people, pedestrians filling the empty spaces in the streets where cars didn´t, roaming malnurished dogs every where. As we rode down the winding express way towards the terminal we could see all of La Paz proper laid snuggly between the mountains. La Paz is the highest capitol in the world and I was not looking forward to continuing the high-altitude problems with breathing.
When we arrived at the terminal we went looking for our hosts. After 30 minutes of not being able to find them, I gave them a call. Apparently we had arrived at a different location from where the bus operator told me and I had in turn told our hosts. 20 minutes later our hosts found us and we drove back to their apt; a very comfortable apartment not far from where my coworker grew up. I took a much needed shower and unpacked a bit. We all relaxed with a drink and chatted. Mauricio and his wife Ide met each other in college in Santiago, Chile, and now worked in fields way over my head here in La Paz. Both hoped to return to Santiago to work soon. Ide was from Belize, meaning she spoke English, and acted as my interpretor. Though Mauricio seemed to speak enough English to understand what I was saying.
To thank them for picking us up and giving us a place to crash for the night, I offered to buy them both dinner if they chose the restaurant. They picked a nice place in a hotel not far from the apartment. We all ate heartidly and continued to chat about college, Bolivia, and my coworker. They were leaving the next day to drive 8 hours to meet Mauricio´s family for the holidays after dropping us at the airport. So we headed back to the apt after dinner and a short stop at the grocery. My travel buddy and I got the spare room - she had the bed, I had several layers of blankets on the floor to sleep on (one of the most comfortable night´s sleep I had had in days).
The next morning we all woke at 5:30am. Ide had prepared a table full of breakfast options for us. After dressing and packing, we chowed down on toast, ham & cheese, Fruit Loops, coffee and tea. And then we raced to the airport in a SUV packed full of luggage and presents. Ide made sure my travel buddy caught her flight. We said our goodbyes (the last appearance of Regina in my travels) and Mauricio, Ide and I went off to wait for my coworker to arrive. When he finally did, the start of my Bolivian holidays would be underway.
My travel buddy woke up a short time later and we both took in the morning views. The views included several locals hiking down the path past our hotel with crates of empty beer bottles on their backs. We heard the ceremony go well into the night. Evidence of the night´s fun stumbled past us as a few older drunk men were helped down the path.
The woman managing the hotel made us a small breakfast which we gobbled up. After packing our things, we walked downhill to the port to wait for our boat back to the mainland. We were an hour early and used the time to read and nap some more.
Our boat back was near empty this time as we continued to enjoy the peace and quiet. Back in Copacabana we found a restaurant and ordered more fried trout (seemingly the only thing to eat on Titicaca) and a grande beer for lunch. Our bus was leaving around 2pm so we had some time before having to pick up my bag and laundry and riding towards our next destination of La Paz. We chatted about the odd asian-latin-fusion sounding music playing over the speakers, and what we were each going to miss most about the holidays at home.
Just before boarding our bus, I called my coworker´s childhood friend in La Paz to make sure he and his wife would still be meeting us at the bus station. They had generously offered to do this and host us at the apartment that night. My travel buddy was flying to Buenos Aires the next morning and I would be meeting my coworker at the airport and then flying on to meet his family in Southern Bolivia. They were planning on meeting us when we arrived. I thanked them and hopped on board our bus.
The bus ride was just a few hours. We passed a few interesting landscapes but overall, it was mostly just farms, small run-down villages, and distant mountains. When we approached La Paz the scenery was suddenly in a frenzy. Small buses packed full of people, pedestrians filling the empty spaces in the streets where cars didn´t, roaming malnurished dogs every where. As we rode down the winding express way towards the terminal we could see all of La Paz proper laid snuggly between the mountains. La Paz is the highest capitol in the world and I was not looking forward to continuing the high-altitude problems with breathing.
When we arrived at the terminal we went looking for our hosts. After 30 minutes of not being able to find them, I gave them a call. Apparently we had arrived at a different location from where the bus operator told me and I had in turn told our hosts. 20 minutes later our hosts found us and we drove back to their apt; a very comfortable apartment not far from where my coworker grew up. I took a much needed shower and unpacked a bit. We all relaxed with a drink and chatted. Mauricio and his wife Ide met each other in college in Santiago, Chile, and now worked in fields way over my head here in La Paz. Both hoped to return to Santiago to work soon. Ide was from Belize, meaning she spoke English, and acted as my interpretor. Though Mauricio seemed to speak enough English to understand what I was saying.
To thank them for picking us up and giving us a place to crash for the night, I offered to buy them both dinner if they chose the restaurant. They picked a nice place in a hotel not far from the apartment. We all ate heartidly and continued to chat about college, Bolivia, and my coworker. They were leaving the next day to drive 8 hours to meet Mauricio´s family for the holidays after dropping us at the airport. So we headed back to the apt after dinner and a short stop at the grocery. My travel buddy and I got the spare room - she had the bed, I had several layers of blankets on the floor to sleep on (one of the most comfortable night´s sleep I had had in days).
The next morning we all woke at 5:30am. Ide had prepared a table full of breakfast options for us. After dressing and packing, we chowed down on toast, ham & cheese, Fruit Loops, coffee and tea. And then we raced to the airport in a SUV packed full of luggage and presents. Ide made sure my travel buddy caught her flight. We said our goodbyes (the last appearance of Regina in my travels) and Mauricio, Ide and I went off to wait for my coworker to arrive. When he finally did, the start of my Bolivian holidays would be underway.
Island of the Sun & of Very Little Oxygen
After our day of exploring the reed islands on the Peruvian side of Titcaca, we were ready to see the islands on the Bolivian side. These weren't floating islands, but they were believed by the Incas to be their birth place. What the hell, I just wanted to attempt to cross the border, and it was on the way to La Paz where I would meet my coworker in two days.
We took a taxi early in the morning to the bus station in Puno where we bordered our bus for Copacabana. The bus was filled with backpackers, most likely because it was the one bus company recommended by Lonely Planet. Funny how that works.
The bus arrived at the Peruvian/Bolivian border a couple of hours later and waited for us to manage border crossing formalities. I showed the Bolivian border police my U.S. passport and they ushered me to a back room where one other U.S. citizen was waiting. Every other backpacker was spared the need for visa formailities. But the process went quickly. They seemed less concerned with all of my paperwork and more concerned with the $100 I had to pay to get the visa. In the end, my paper work was barely glanced at and shoved in a manilla folder and then into a drawer. Probably never to see the light of day again. But I had my visa so I didn't care.
We arrived in the grand Bolivian town of Copacabana a short ride later. Copacabana is small and, short of witnessing the "blessing of the cars" that we had missed by an hour, there was little to do but relax and enjoy the many restaurants serving more trout. We agreed to buy a boat ticket to the Isla del Sol immediately, along with a bus ticket to La Paz the next day. I left my large bag at the bus office, along with my dirty laundry (and the promise they would wash it), and we took a leisurely stroll down to the port to find our boat. It was easy. There was a large crowd gathered to board with us.
The boat ride was long, again. The wailing child and the loud Brazilian kids on board didn't make the ride any more pleasant. I read, my travel buddy dozed. It started to rain just as we arrived to the Isla del Sol 90 minutes later. Just in time to deboard on an island with no clue where to go. There were no roads, and with the hilly terrain and seemingly hidden town, we were at a loss as to where to go. So we just started walking up the same Inca stairs other people were climbing. The lake is at such a high altitude that walking any stairs is tough. Especially with the added weight of a backpack. People were struggling. The stairs seemed to go up forever. Local kids took advantage of the situation by offering to carry bags for a fee. Few people took the offer. One British girl, who was really struggling, refused to let the kids help her with the bag for the hefty sum of 75 cents. The kids were harrassing her and I felt bad for her. So I offered to carry her smaller bag the rest of the way up. Finally, seeing their last opportunity had vanished, the kids left us alone.
When we made it to the top of the hill we still had no idea where to go. We saw a few signs for hotels, but most of the people who arrived on the boat had dispersed towards various places, following kids promising hot showers. We were determined to find something on our own. Why? I have no idea. Maybe the altitude was making us stubburn. But we walked to a nicer looking place just down the path. It was empty. But a young woman heard us walk up and offered us a room for $6. There was no running water or heat. But the beds were comfy and there was electricity. And the view from our room was incredible, with the lake and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Exhausted, we dropped our bags and crashed into our beds. There we laid motionless for the next half hour.
There are a few ruins on the island, but they were small and the walk to see them was several hours away. We didn't have the energy. And sunset would be arriving within a few hours. Despite this it was agreed we needed to go out and explore the part of the island surrounding us. We heard bad band music in the distance and that became our target. Making our way through a maze of paths and rock fences and up and down hills, we took in the views of our tiny town. Eventually we found the music. What accompanied the music appeared to be a wedding ceremony. There was a man dressed up with flowers around his neck. There was a woman with the same appearance. There were two families seperated by sex. There was a LOT of beer. Several dozen crates of it. And there was music. We asked the small kid watching the ceremony beside us what was going on. He said it was a graduation. Uh, ok. We were still convinced we were watching a wedding. So we stared. It beat going off in search of ruins. And the people didn't seem to mind us watching.
Eventually we grew tired of watching. Or I just grew too hungry to keep watching. We made our way up to the top of the the hill and found a restaurant over-looking the other side of the island. A trout dinner was only a couple of bucks and we declared this our dinner choice. Until it was discovered neither of us had money. Ugh. Back down the hill we hiked to the hotel in search of money. Not happy. Too tired. Want food.
Money in hand, we started back towards the restaurant. It was a slow return. The altitude had completely wiped me out. As had three nights with no sleep. When we eventually made it back to the restaurant we found a one man show. One guy was running the entire restaurant. He took our orders, we saw him slip out the back for indgredients from a nearby market, and then back into the kitchen to start cooking. I nursed my grande beer. We played cards. We admired the view. 40 minutes later our trout dinner was served. I dove in, salivating as the bites hit my mouth. We ordered another grande beer. We were suddenly tipsy - giddy even. Altitude or beer or both? Whatever it was, it was getting dark. Time to walk back to the hostel. There was nothing else to do on the island.
Back in our room at 7pm, bundled up, we tucked ourselves into our beds and started reading. I read until 11:30pm when I passed out. I finally slept most of the night.
For pics of the islands of Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
We took a taxi early in the morning to the bus station in Puno where we bordered our bus for Copacabana. The bus was filled with backpackers, most likely because it was the one bus company recommended by Lonely Planet. Funny how that works.
The bus arrived at the Peruvian/Bolivian border a couple of hours later and waited for us to manage border crossing formalities. I showed the Bolivian border police my U.S. passport and they ushered me to a back room where one other U.S. citizen was waiting. Every other backpacker was spared the need for visa formailities. But the process went quickly. They seemed less concerned with all of my paperwork and more concerned with the $100 I had to pay to get the visa. In the end, my paper work was barely glanced at and shoved in a manilla folder and then into a drawer. Probably never to see the light of day again. But I had my visa so I didn't care.
We arrived in the grand Bolivian town of Copacabana a short ride later. Copacabana is small and, short of witnessing the "blessing of the cars" that we had missed by an hour, there was little to do but relax and enjoy the many restaurants serving more trout. We agreed to buy a boat ticket to the Isla del Sol immediately, along with a bus ticket to La Paz the next day. I left my large bag at the bus office, along with my dirty laundry (and the promise they would wash it), and we took a leisurely stroll down to the port to find our boat. It was easy. There was a large crowd gathered to board with us.
The boat ride was long, again. The wailing child and the loud Brazilian kids on board didn't make the ride any more pleasant. I read, my travel buddy dozed. It started to rain just as we arrived to the Isla del Sol 90 minutes later. Just in time to deboard on an island with no clue where to go. There were no roads, and with the hilly terrain and seemingly hidden town, we were at a loss as to where to go. So we just started walking up the same Inca stairs other people were climbing. The lake is at such a high altitude that walking any stairs is tough. Especially with the added weight of a backpack. People were struggling. The stairs seemed to go up forever. Local kids took advantage of the situation by offering to carry bags for a fee. Few people took the offer. One British girl, who was really struggling, refused to let the kids help her with the bag for the hefty sum of 75 cents. The kids were harrassing her and I felt bad for her. So I offered to carry her smaller bag the rest of the way up. Finally, seeing their last opportunity had vanished, the kids left us alone.
When we made it to the top of the hill we still had no idea where to go. We saw a few signs for hotels, but most of the people who arrived on the boat had dispersed towards various places, following kids promising hot showers. We were determined to find something on our own. Why? I have no idea. Maybe the altitude was making us stubburn. But we walked to a nicer looking place just down the path. It was empty. But a young woman heard us walk up and offered us a room for $6. There was no running water or heat. But the beds were comfy and there was electricity. And the view from our room was incredible, with the lake and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Exhausted, we dropped our bags and crashed into our beds. There we laid motionless for the next half hour.
There are a few ruins on the island, but they were small and the walk to see them was several hours away. We didn't have the energy. And sunset would be arriving within a few hours. Despite this it was agreed we needed to go out and explore the part of the island surrounding us. We heard bad band music in the distance and that became our target. Making our way through a maze of paths and rock fences and up and down hills, we took in the views of our tiny town. Eventually we found the music. What accompanied the music appeared to be a wedding ceremony. There was a man dressed up with flowers around his neck. There was a woman with the same appearance. There were two families seperated by sex. There was a LOT of beer. Several dozen crates of it. And there was music. We asked the small kid watching the ceremony beside us what was going on. He said it was a graduation. Uh, ok. We were still convinced we were watching a wedding. So we stared. It beat going off in search of ruins. And the people didn't seem to mind us watching.
Eventually we grew tired of watching. Or I just grew too hungry to keep watching. We made our way up to the top of the the hill and found a restaurant over-looking the other side of the island. A trout dinner was only a couple of bucks and we declared this our dinner choice. Until it was discovered neither of us had money. Ugh. Back down the hill we hiked to the hotel in search of money. Not happy. Too tired. Want food.
Money in hand, we started back towards the restaurant. It was a slow return. The altitude had completely wiped me out. As had three nights with no sleep. When we eventually made it back to the restaurant we found a one man show. One guy was running the entire restaurant. He took our orders, we saw him slip out the back for indgredients from a nearby market, and then back into the kitchen to start cooking. I nursed my grande beer. We played cards. We admired the view. 40 minutes later our trout dinner was served. I dove in, salivating as the bites hit my mouth. We ordered another grande beer. We were suddenly tipsy - giddy even. Altitude or beer or both? Whatever it was, it was getting dark. Time to walk back to the hostel. There was nothing else to do on the island.
Back in our room at 7pm, bundled up, we tucked ourselves into our beds and started reading. I read until 11:30pm when I passed out. I finally slept most of the night.
For pics of the islands of Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
Walking on Reeds
I've already posted about my attempt to get to Puno from Colca Canyon and the stop at the police check point, directed to board the wrong bus, and ending up in the wrong city. If you missed it, look for "I`ll Take the Physical Challenge".
Once in Puno, the town situated on Lake Titicaca, it was time to start collecting everything I would need to secure a visa for entry to Boliva, time to catch up with my travel buddy, and time to see the floating islands of Uros.
My travel buddy arrived a few hours after I did and we went out for alpaca steaks with apple sauce. Hot apple sauce. Without cinnamon. Boo. We caught up over a beer (I drank the beer since she was sick) and a bit of ice cream for dessert. Turns out she had her iPod stolen from her hostel room in Arequipa. She was not a big fan of Peru at this point. We went to sleep around 11pm in our shit beds in a worse hostel. Seriously, worse bed I had slept in since I started traveling. But my cheap ass was so excited to find a room for under $4/night that I pretended not to care. Even though I didn't sleep at all that night.
The next morning I was up at 7:30 to try my luck at the Bolivian consulate a few blocks away (another reason I picked the shit hostel). The man working at the consulate was really nice and very patient with my spanish. He brought out a notebook and pointed to all of the things I would need. But I couldn't get my visa here. I would have to collect everything and try my luck at the border. I was going to need an itinerary and invitation from my host family, along with proof I had enough money to support myself (um, I am going to Bolivia - I should only need $50 right?), a yellow fever card, passport, two forms to fill out, and two wallet-sized photos. *whew*. I thanked him over & over again for all of his help and then ran to the nearest cyber cafe to email my coworker about the need for an invitation and itinerary. Amazingly, he got his uncle to send me an invitation within minutes.
With that all squared away, it was time to discover Puno. I met up with my travel buddy again and we took care of some essentials: showers, breakfast (a huge Americano breakfast at a great little cafe), and purchasing our bus tickets to Copacabana for the next day. And with all those things done (and a quick jaunt through a locals market looking for Christmas items to stick on some one's backpack), we made our way to the port to find a boat out to the famous reed islands.
We had no problem finding transportation. Touts flocked to us as we approached the dock. "You want to see the islands??", "Come with me, we have a boat", "Special price just for you". We picked the first tout and were immediately ushered to a boat. And there we waited. The boat would leave only when the captain (I use that word very loosely) felt like there were enough riders on board to make the trip worth his while. That happened about 35 minutes later. And off we went. Slowly. The boat creeped towards the floating islands. Maybe to let us take in the scenery?
The floating islands of Uros on Titicaca are made completely out of the lake's totora reeds. The people made these islands centuries ago to escape the Collas and Incas on land. They are constantly adding new reeds from the lake's shallow waters to replace the layers that rot. This makes for fun, bouncy footing. And an island destined to become a tourist destination.
What seemed like an enternity later we arrived and took our first precarious steps on one of many of the floating neighborhoods. We were one of only three gringos, the rest of the people on our boat were Peruvian young couples checking out the islands too. One of the island dwellers motioned for us to sit in a circle near a map of the islands. We did so as he started a presentation of the history and significance of the islands in spanish. My travel buddy translated for me. He told of how their whole exhistance depended on the reeds (why else would tourists come visit them and spend money?). How they built their houses and boats from the reeds and even their crafts - which were on sale just behind us. The lecture was interesting enough and we had time and the freedom to explore the small island on our own. We wondered what the people did way out here other than wait for tourists to come. Didn't seem like there was much else to do.
Then we were told we could ride in one of the reed-made boats to another island. A young girl who seemed no older than 12 guided our boat to the next island. When we arrived we were told there was a fee for riding the reed boat. Or course there was. Keeping with that theme we found the second island made for the tourist dollar. Not quite as interesting but impressive nonetheless. There was a public phone booth (made out of reeds - not the phone, just the booth), bars where you could order a beer, little cabins to stay in over night, and little restaurants - all offering fried trout. And of course, more souvineers. My travel buddy and I ignored the restaurants, bars, and souvineers and found a place to pop a squat and take in the island life. When we realized all the others from our boat were eating at the restaurants, we settled in for a long chill session.
When the others started to come back out to the boat we jumped up to join them. One couple was missing. Apparently they had decided to stay behind and enjoy one of the cabins at 2:30 in the afternoon. Hmmm.
Back on board we made the long ride back to Puno. And noticed one of the guys on board was growing increasingly drunk. We did a quick count in our head and realized he had downed five beers on the islands. His young wife was left to deal with their child as he made several loud calls on his cell phone and seemed to doze off at points. "Lovely vacation, honey. Ju-wanna-nothah-beer?"
Back on solid ground I realized I was sunburnt from our short stay on the islands. We found a bike taxi back towards town, but it was slow and there was no protection from the sun on board. I was reduced to wearing a designed cloth craft I had bought on the island to hide from the sun.
Later that evening, still full from a late ceviche lunch, we went looking for a coffee shop. The idea was to play cards and sip coffee in the warmth of a cozy cafe. It was cold at that altitude. We found a great restaurant with a fire place and cable tv showing Christmas programs in spanish. There was loft area seating and we immediately went upstairs and planted ourselves over-looking the rest of the restaurant. The sight of the food being served was too much, and when we looked at the prices on the menu it was agreed we needed to order dinner. Besides, our super huge waitress didn't seem happy that she had to hike the stairs just to bring us coffee. We played cards, we drank coffee, we ate way too much good, cheap food, we watched xmas programs. And then we headed back to our hostal where, for the second night in a row, I didn't sleep at all. But I was only paying $4 for the room...
For pics of the time spent at Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
Once in Puno, the town situated on Lake Titicaca, it was time to start collecting everything I would need to secure a visa for entry to Boliva, time to catch up with my travel buddy, and time to see the floating islands of Uros.
My travel buddy arrived a few hours after I did and we went out for alpaca steaks with apple sauce. Hot apple sauce. Without cinnamon. Boo. We caught up over a beer (I drank the beer since she was sick) and a bit of ice cream for dessert. Turns out she had her iPod stolen from her hostel room in Arequipa. She was not a big fan of Peru at this point. We went to sleep around 11pm in our shit beds in a worse hostel. Seriously, worse bed I had slept in since I started traveling. But my cheap ass was so excited to find a room for under $4/night that I pretended not to care. Even though I didn't sleep at all that night.
The next morning I was up at 7:30 to try my luck at the Bolivian consulate a few blocks away (another reason I picked the shit hostel). The man working at the consulate was really nice and very patient with my spanish. He brought out a notebook and pointed to all of the things I would need. But I couldn't get my visa here. I would have to collect everything and try my luck at the border. I was going to need an itinerary and invitation from my host family, along with proof I had enough money to support myself (um, I am going to Bolivia - I should only need $50 right?), a yellow fever card, passport, two forms to fill out, and two wallet-sized photos. *whew*. I thanked him over & over again for all of his help and then ran to the nearest cyber cafe to email my coworker about the need for an invitation and itinerary. Amazingly, he got his uncle to send me an invitation within minutes.
With that all squared away, it was time to discover Puno. I met up with my travel buddy again and we took care of some essentials: showers, breakfast (a huge Americano breakfast at a great little cafe), and purchasing our bus tickets to Copacabana for the next day. And with all those things done (and a quick jaunt through a locals market looking for Christmas items to stick on some one's backpack), we made our way to the port to find a boat out to the famous reed islands.
We had no problem finding transportation. Touts flocked to us as we approached the dock. "You want to see the islands??", "Come with me, we have a boat", "Special price just for you". We picked the first tout and were immediately ushered to a boat. And there we waited. The boat would leave only when the captain (I use that word very loosely) felt like there were enough riders on board to make the trip worth his while. That happened about 35 minutes later. And off we went. Slowly. The boat creeped towards the floating islands. Maybe to let us take in the scenery?
The floating islands of Uros on Titicaca are made completely out of the lake's totora reeds. The people made these islands centuries ago to escape the Collas and Incas on land. They are constantly adding new reeds from the lake's shallow waters to replace the layers that rot. This makes for fun, bouncy footing. And an island destined to become a tourist destination.
What seemed like an enternity later we arrived and took our first precarious steps on one of many of the floating neighborhoods. We were one of only three gringos, the rest of the people on our boat were Peruvian young couples checking out the islands too. One of the island dwellers motioned for us to sit in a circle near a map of the islands. We did so as he started a presentation of the history and significance of the islands in spanish. My travel buddy translated for me. He told of how their whole exhistance depended on the reeds (why else would tourists come visit them and spend money?). How they built their houses and boats from the reeds and even their crafts - which were on sale just behind us. The lecture was interesting enough and we had time and the freedom to explore the small island on our own. We wondered what the people did way out here other than wait for tourists to come. Didn't seem like there was much else to do.
Then we were told we could ride in one of the reed-made boats to another island. A young girl who seemed no older than 12 guided our boat to the next island. When we arrived we were told there was a fee for riding the reed boat. Or course there was. Keeping with that theme we found the second island made for the tourist dollar. Not quite as interesting but impressive nonetheless. There was a public phone booth (made out of reeds - not the phone, just the booth), bars where you could order a beer, little cabins to stay in over night, and little restaurants - all offering fried trout. And of course, more souvineers. My travel buddy and I ignored the restaurants, bars, and souvineers and found a place to pop a squat and take in the island life. When we realized all the others from our boat were eating at the restaurants, we settled in for a long chill session.
When the others started to come back out to the boat we jumped up to join them. One couple was missing. Apparently they had decided to stay behind and enjoy one of the cabins at 2:30 in the afternoon. Hmmm.
Back on board we made the long ride back to Puno. And noticed one of the guys on board was growing increasingly drunk. We did a quick count in our head and realized he had downed five beers on the islands. His young wife was left to deal with their child as he made several loud calls on his cell phone and seemed to doze off at points. "Lovely vacation, honey. Ju-wanna-nothah-beer?"
Back on solid ground I realized I was sunburnt from our short stay on the islands. We found a bike taxi back towards town, but it was slow and there was no protection from the sun on board. I was reduced to wearing a designed cloth craft I had bought on the island to hide from the sun.
Later that evening, still full from a late ceviche lunch, we went looking for a coffee shop. The idea was to play cards and sip coffee in the warmth of a cozy cafe. It was cold at that altitude. We found a great restaurant with a fire place and cable tv showing Christmas programs in spanish. There was loft area seating and we immediately went upstairs and planted ourselves over-looking the rest of the restaurant. The sight of the food being served was too much, and when we looked at the prices on the menu it was agreed we needed to order dinner. Besides, our super huge waitress didn't seem happy that she had to hike the stairs just to bring us coffee. We played cards, we drank coffee, we ate way too much good, cheap food, we watched xmas programs. And then we headed back to our hostal where, for the second night in a row, I didn't sleep at all. But I was only paying $4 for the room...
For pics of the time spent at Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
Sleepy
I couldn´t get a train ticket to Brazil, and the bus cost too much for 26 hours on an unpaved road. So I bought a plane ticket. But the plane left at 4am so I had to be at the airport at 2am.
Problem: couldn´t find my yellow fever vaccination card. And the airline peeps weren´t going to let me on the plane without it. Brazil leans on them hard to not allow anyone into the country without it. I had looked all through my bags for it before I went to the airport, only to find a photcopy of it. No idea what I was going to do, I was asking a manager what options I had. There weren´t many. And then I pulled out my phrase dictionary to see how to say something in Spanish to help my case, and there it was. *whew*
On the plane I went. And I arrived in Brazil (an hour ahead of Bolivia - two hours ahead of the US east coast) at 6:45am. No one seems to speak English here so far. And I don´t know a lick of Portugues. I am finding if I talk in Spanish it gets me by. It´s difficult. Maybe I just need to go to bed for a bit...
Problem: couldn´t find my yellow fever vaccination card. And the airline peeps weren´t going to let me on the plane without it. Brazil leans on them hard to not allow anyone into the country without it. I had looked all through my bags for it before I went to the airport, only to find a photcopy of it. No idea what I was going to do, I was asking a manager what options I had. There weren´t many. And then I pulled out my phrase dictionary to see how to say something in Spanish to help my case, and there it was. *whew*
On the plane I went. And I arrived in Brazil (an hour ahead of Bolivia - two hours ahead of the US east coast) at 6:45am. No one seems to speak English here so far. And I don´t know a lick of Portugues. I am finding if I talk in Spanish it gets me by. It´s difficult. Maybe I just need to go to bed for a bit...
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
By Foot or By Hoof
The night after our hike down into Colca Canyon I slept like a rock, inspite of the rock hard mattress and the lumpy pillow. It was either the long walk down or the evening full of drinks, but either way I felt rested when the guide knocked on our cabin at 6:30am. My cabin mate, the bigger and goofier of the two Dutch guys, woke up and discovered the gum he has drunkenly set to the side of his pillow before going to sleep was now entangled in his hair. A short time later he had a small patch of hair missing where the Dutch girl had used a pocket knife to cut out the mid-night accident.
We all gathered in the terrace for a tasty pancake breakfast with fresh-squeezed oj & coffee and watched the sun turn the canyon multiple colors. We tried to make breakfast last as long as possible. No one was ready to start our hike up.
Okay, one person was ready: our guide. We put on our boots (and our dusty gold tennis shoes) and followed him out of our little oasis away from physical activity, up a startling steep start to the first half of our hike. It was a short hike, only 30 minutes, but we were all winded. The Dutch girl was having to stop every few minutes to rest; not a good sign of what was to come later in the day. But we tried to give her encouragement. She wasn`t buying it. The first half of the day was a hike to a real oasis in the center of the canyon where we would relax, eat, and swim. The second half of the day was what worried us. That is when we would hike straight up the canyon side.
But first, after our mini-trek, we stopped at a tiny village where we were greeted by a woman who brought us fresh fruit from a cactus. Here we rested for a bit, as our guide chatted with the old woman while simultaniously chasing the guinea pigs crawling around the floor of her home; dinner to be.
We eventually moved on, following a mostly level path along the inside of the canyon, a few dozen meters up from the river. This side of the canyon was much greener than the other side and our guide told us this was because of how the rain blew in. Clouds were blocked on the one side and the rain water then flowed over that side. And because this side was more lush, there were more villages to pass through. When I say more, I mean more than the zero on the opposite side. But the odd thing was these small villages were mostly empty. Our guide told us many of the people had moved into the (relatively) larger towns above the canyon and only came back for festivals. We saw a few sleeping dogs, a couple of mules, and the random person tending to their small plots of land. Our guide knew the name of each.
And then we saw the oasis. The beautiful, relaxing, complete with lunch and drinks, oasis. We practically jogged there, eager to jump in the natural pool waiting for us. As we stepped deeper back into the canyon, it hit me that the several dozen meters we just descended would have to be made up again later. But that was a worry for another time. After my long dip in the pool.
When we arrived, the guys immediately changed into our swim trunks and dove in. Eight minutes later we decided the water was too cold and opt´d to sit out in the warmer sun. We had three more hours to kill. Time for a nap. Later during lunch, the Dutch, who to this point had been talking mostly in English, chatted the entire time in Dutch. With just the four of us, this left 45 minutes for me to talk to myself in my head. sigh. Suddenly I was ready to start the steep ascent.
Fortunately so was our guide. He had gone missing for an hour and we all assumed it was for a booty call with the attractive guide leading another small group. He had been flirting with when we arrived at the oasis. He was now walking towards us with a large grin on his face. But the attractive guide wasn`t following him. A short, gangly dude was following him. The Dutch and I exchanged glances but said nothing. We just stood up and started walking towards the path.
The hike up was as tough as we expected it to be. Our guide told us it would take about 3.5 hours. I tried to comfort the Dutch girl by telling her our guides on the Inca trail would warn us of a long hike that really took much less time - to make us feel better when we finished. Our guide here was probably doing the same. We had the option of taking a mule up the canyon, and most of the people from the other group took this option. But the Dutch girl decided to attempt it on her own gold colored tennis shoe clad feet. And we cheered her on. Even as we stopped every 15 minutes so she could rest. At first, I didn`t mind the breaks. The climb was challenging, even more than the steep climb on the Inca trail. But as we continued to slowly make our way up the canyon, the routine breaks got old. It was getting harder and harder to get moving again after each break and I wanted to just power on. So did the Dutch guys. But we kept our mouths shut and cheered her on, giving her pats on the back and words of encouragement.
Until finally we realized we were several lengths ahead of her. And then we could no longer see her. But at this point we didn`t care. The guide was keeping pace with her. She wasn`t alone. And even though we were struggling with each step and panting hard, we agreed to keep moving. We quietly cursed the other group as they passed us on their mules, sweatless and grinning. We told ourselves we were getting more out of the trek by hiking instead of riding. We convinced ourselves of this. It was all we could do since it was too late to hire a mule.
And then the lead Dutch guy told us to look back. There we saw the Dutch girl, looking very much relieved, and sitting atop a donkey, gold tennis shoes bouncing on either side. She had called it quits about 20 minutes earlier, about 5 minutes before a local man came past with his donkey on the way to the village above. He took pity on her and offered the ride for free.
Fine. The three remaining trekkers would finish this hike. Without the help of a beast of burden. Forward we marched, chests rising and falling twice as far and as fast as normal. It started to rain. We kept moving. Two more people passed us on mules. We kept moving. And finally, four hours later, when we couldn`t even bare to look farther than a few steps in front of us for fear of seeing how much longer we had to go, we made it to the crest. There were no porters there clapping for us. Just a harder rain and some lightening. And our guide telling us we had about another 30 minute walk back to the hostel. At that height it was freezing. And the rain soaking us didn`t help. We were all quiet as we walked on.
By the time I reached the hostel I was shaking uncontrollably. I went straight to my room and put on several layers, even a knit hat. But I couldn`t get warm. I feared taking a shower thinking the water wouldn`t be warm enough. I just headed downstairs and sat at a table to wait for a warm dinner. Half an hour later the Dutch trio came down. They were clean, smiling, seemingly content. I asked if they tried the shower. They had, and it was gloriously warm. I finshed my third cup of hot tea and ran to my room where I took a thirty minute shower. Finally I was warm. I was happy. And I was pleased I had done the entire trek on my own.
The drinking games we planned the previous night, to congratulate ourselves after the hike, never materialized. Everyone was exhausted. And by 7:50pm we were all fast alseep.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
We all gathered in the terrace for a tasty pancake breakfast with fresh-squeezed oj & coffee and watched the sun turn the canyon multiple colors. We tried to make breakfast last as long as possible. No one was ready to start our hike up.
Okay, one person was ready: our guide. We put on our boots (and our dusty gold tennis shoes) and followed him out of our little oasis away from physical activity, up a startling steep start to the first half of our hike. It was a short hike, only 30 minutes, but we were all winded. The Dutch girl was having to stop every few minutes to rest; not a good sign of what was to come later in the day. But we tried to give her encouragement. She wasn`t buying it. The first half of the day was a hike to a real oasis in the center of the canyon where we would relax, eat, and swim. The second half of the day was what worried us. That is when we would hike straight up the canyon side.
But first, after our mini-trek, we stopped at a tiny village where we were greeted by a woman who brought us fresh fruit from a cactus. Here we rested for a bit, as our guide chatted with the old woman while simultaniously chasing the guinea pigs crawling around the floor of her home; dinner to be.
We eventually moved on, following a mostly level path along the inside of the canyon, a few dozen meters up from the river. This side of the canyon was much greener than the other side and our guide told us this was because of how the rain blew in. Clouds were blocked on the one side and the rain water then flowed over that side. And because this side was more lush, there were more villages to pass through. When I say more, I mean more than the zero on the opposite side. But the odd thing was these small villages were mostly empty. Our guide told us many of the people had moved into the (relatively) larger towns above the canyon and only came back for festivals. We saw a few sleeping dogs, a couple of mules, and the random person tending to their small plots of land. Our guide knew the name of each.
And then we saw the oasis. The beautiful, relaxing, complete with lunch and drinks, oasis. We practically jogged there, eager to jump in the natural pool waiting for us. As we stepped deeper back into the canyon, it hit me that the several dozen meters we just descended would have to be made up again later. But that was a worry for another time. After my long dip in the pool.
When we arrived, the guys immediately changed into our swim trunks and dove in. Eight minutes later we decided the water was too cold and opt´d to sit out in the warmer sun. We had three more hours to kill. Time for a nap. Later during lunch, the Dutch, who to this point had been talking mostly in English, chatted the entire time in Dutch. With just the four of us, this left 45 minutes for me to talk to myself in my head. sigh. Suddenly I was ready to start the steep ascent.
Fortunately so was our guide. He had gone missing for an hour and we all assumed it was for a booty call with the attractive guide leading another small group. He had been flirting with when we arrived at the oasis. He was now walking towards us with a large grin on his face. But the attractive guide wasn`t following him. A short, gangly dude was following him. The Dutch and I exchanged glances but said nothing. We just stood up and started walking towards the path.
The hike up was as tough as we expected it to be. Our guide told us it would take about 3.5 hours. I tried to comfort the Dutch girl by telling her our guides on the Inca trail would warn us of a long hike that really took much less time - to make us feel better when we finished. Our guide here was probably doing the same. We had the option of taking a mule up the canyon, and most of the people from the other group took this option. But the Dutch girl decided to attempt it on her own gold colored tennis shoe clad feet. And we cheered her on. Even as we stopped every 15 minutes so she could rest. At first, I didn`t mind the breaks. The climb was challenging, even more than the steep climb on the Inca trail. But as we continued to slowly make our way up the canyon, the routine breaks got old. It was getting harder and harder to get moving again after each break and I wanted to just power on. So did the Dutch guys. But we kept our mouths shut and cheered her on, giving her pats on the back and words of encouragement.
Until finally we realized we were several lengths ahead of her. And then we could no longer see her. But at this point we didn`t care. The guide was keeping pace with her. She wasn`t alone. And even though we were struggling with each step and panting hard, we agreed to keep moving. We quietly cursed the other group as they passed us on their mules, sweatless and grinning. We told ourselves we were getting more out of the trek by hiking instead of riding. We convinced ourselves of this. It was all we could do since it was too late to hire a mule.
And then the lead Dutch guy told us to look back. There we saw the Dutch girl, looking very much relieved, and sitting atop a donkey, gold tennis shoes bouncing on either side. She had called it quits about 20 minutes earlier, about 5 minutes before a local man came past with his donkey on the way to the village above. He took pity on her and offered the ride for free.
Fine. The three remaining trekkers would finish this hike. Without the help of a beast of burden. Forward we marched, chests rising and falling twice as far and as fast as normal. It started to rain. We kept moving. Two more people passed us on mules. We kept moving. And finally, four hours later, when we couldn`t even bare to look farther than a few steps in front of us for fear of seeing how much longer we had to go, we made it to the crest. There were no porters there clapping for us. Just a harder rain and some lightening. And our guide telling us we had about another 30 minute walk back to the hostel. At that height it was freezing. And the rain soaking us didn`t help. We were all quiet as we walked on.
By the time I reached the hostel I was shaking uncontrollably. I went straight to my room and put on several layers, even a knit hat. But I couldn`t get warm. I feared taking a shower thinking the water wouldn`t be warm enough. I just headed downstairs and sat at a table to wait for a warm dinner. Half an hour later the Dutch trio came down. They were clean, smiling, seemingly content. I asked if they tried the shower. They had, and it was gloriously warm. I finshed my third cup of hot tea and ran to my room where I took a thirty minute shower. Finally I was warm. I was happy. And I was pleased I had done the entire trek on my own.
The drinking games we planned the previous night, to congratulate ourselves after the hike, never materialized. Everyone was exhausted. And by 7:50pm we were all fast alseep.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
A Month Ago...
So I am still behind on my stories. I am going to attempt to get through New Years in the next two days. I`ll start with the trip into Colca Canyon:
Back in Arequipa I had finally gotten signed up for a trek into Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. It was Tuesday morning (December 18th for those of you keeping track) at 4:55 when my alarm went off. I was finally feeling better; the rest in Arequipa helped knock out the cold that was plaguing me for a week. I quickly took a shower and was out on the curb in front of my hostel by 5:20 to wait for my guide. He arrived 30 minutes later. Latino time.
Jose arrived in a cab and introduced himself while tossing my bag in the back. We arrived at the bus station 10 minutes later where we met the other trekkers on my tour: two guys and a girl from Holland. We had all opt`d for the cheaper tour which meant riding the public bus instead of in a private van. Save $25, get a bit of culture.
At 6am we squeezed into our down and dirty bus. The locals weren`t taking too kind to us after our guide kicked two old women out of our pre-paid seats. Most people pay on the bus. The gringos are the ones who usually pay in advance. We got several dirty looks throughout the ride. Despite the inhospitable reception, and the bumpy, unpaved road to our destination, the ride was interesting as we passed through lush landscapes and Mars-like terrain. We saw herds of alpacas (like llamas) roaming the grounds and tiny, worn villages dotting the route. And we saw snow! In December! We were that high up.
Our bus finally arrived in the tiny town of Cabanaconde. We grabbed our things and hiked through up an empty street, passed a collection of little stores selling candy bars and sodas, to our hostal. Although we were having lunch here, we weren`t sleeping at the hostel that night. After lunch we were starting our hike to and down into the canyon where we would spend the night in slightly less posh settings.
As we approached the rim of the canyon, I noticed for the first time the shoes the Dutch girl was wearing. Shiney, gold colored tennis shoes. As I would soon discover, she was not prepared for what this trek actually entailed. She thought we were doing a nice leisurely walk down a pleasant grassy path. Not so much.
The hike down was entertaining as the two Dutch guys cracked each other up by throwing things at each other and as one tried to out pace the other. This was occasionally interrupted by locals who were using the same path to move mules or cows up to the small town. At these times we were pressed against the cliffs avoiding having our toes crushed by the moving hooves. The views were brilliant and the trail down was relatively easy aside from a few missteps on loose rocks that had us (me) close to skipping a few levels of the trail.
Around 5pm we made it to the base of the canyon. Looking up we were all impressed with the height of the trail we had just decended. Looking down, the Dutch girl was upset by how dirty her shiney gold shoes were now. Our guide lead us to our camp for the night: a nice site with dingy stone cabins, but a great view from every angle. There was a mildly luke-warm shower if we wanted one. I voted for an extra layer of deodorant the next morning. And there was a cool little terrace with a thatched roof and a table for eating. This is where we spent the rest of the evening relaxing; first with a round of grande beers and travel stories. Then dinner (sans potatoes for me). Then two more rounds of grande beers. With card games. And finally a bottle of Cuban rum one of the Dutch guys brought. By 9:30 we were drunk and laughing at everything. I had just made my fourth trip to the bathroom, stumbling and tripping in the dark of the night, when I realized it would probably be best to call it quits now and turn in. The next day we we hiking back up the canyon. I did not want to be hungover for that.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
Back in Arequipa I had finally gotten signed up for a trek into Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. It was Tuesday morning (December 18th for those of you keeping track) at 4:55 when my alarm went off. I was finally feeling better; the rest in Arequipa helped knock out the cold that was plaguing me for a week. I quickly took a shower and was out on the curb in front of my hostel by 5:20 to wait for my guide. He arrived 30 minutes later. Latino time.
Jose arrived in a cab and introduced himself while tossing my bag in the back. We arrived at the bus station 10 minutes later where we met the other trekkers on my tour: two guys and a girl from Holland. We had all opt`d for the cheaper tour which meant riding the public bus instead of in a private van. Save $25, get a bit of culture.
At 6am we squeezed into our down and dirty bus. The locals weren`t taking too kind to us after our guide kicked two old women out of our pre-paid seats. Most people pay on the bus. The gringos are the ones who usually pay in advance. We got several dirty looks throughout the ride. Despite the inhospitable reception, and the bumpy, unpaved road to our destination, the ride was interesting as we passed through lush landscapes and Mars-like terrain. We saw herds of alpacas (like llamas) roaming the grounds and tiny, worn villages dotting the route. And we saw snow! In December! We were that high up.
Our bus finally arrived in the tiny town of Cabanaconde. We grabbed our things and hiked through up an empty street, passed a collection of little stores selling candy bars and sodas, to our hostal. Although we were having lunch here, we weren`t sleeping at the hostel that night. After lunch we were starting our hike to and down into the canyon where we would spend the night in slightly less posh settings.
As we approached the rim of the canyon, I noticed for the first time the shoes the Dutch girl was wearing. Shiney, gold colored tennis shoes. As I would soon discover, she was not prepared for what this trek actually entailed. She thought we were doing a nice leisurely walk down a pleasant grassy path. Not so much.
The hike down was entertaining as the two Dutch guys cracked each other up by throwing things at each other and as one tried to out pace the other. This was occasionally interrupted by locals who were using the same path to move mules or cows up to the small town. At these times we were pressed against the cliffs avoiding having our toes crushed by the moving hooves. The views were brilliant and the trail down was relatively easy aside from a few missteps on loose rocks that had us (me) close to skipping a few levels of the trail.
Around 5pm we made it to the base of the canyon. Looking up we were all impressed with the height of the trail we had just decended. Looking down, the Dutch girl was upset by how dirty her shiney gold shoes were now. Our guide lead us to our camp for the night: a nice site with dingy stone cabins, but a great view from every angle. There was a mildly luke-warm shower if we wanted one. I voted for an extra layer of deodorant the next morning. And there was a cool little terrace with a thatched roof and a table for eating. This is where we spent the rest of the evening relaxing; first with a round of grande beers and travel stories. Then dinner (sans potatoes for me). Then two more rounds of grande beers. With card games. And finally a bottle of Cuban rum one of the Dutch guys brought. By 9:30 we were drunk and laughing at everything. I had just made my fourth trip to the bathroom, stumbling and tripping in the dark of the night, when I realized it would probably be best to call it quits now and turn in. The next day we we hiking back up the canyon. I did not want to be hungover for that.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
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