A long way away

Well I am in Argentina, after a brief stint in the super-expensive Chile. Snowboarding opportunities have consumed me and I am having a great time, which creates a bit of apathy toward keeping up to date, but that is soon to change!!!

Stay tuned for the latest adventures of the ever-moving south american traveler!!!

Salar de Uyuni, Blurred Horizons

After killing a few hours in Ororu, Emma and I boarded the train to Uyuni at 7pm and headed out across the flat altiplano desert. We settled in to our seats, surrounded by a group of 4 young guys from Holland and another set of 4 from England. Train hosts came through trying to sell us everything from plastic-looking packaged chicken dinners, beer, soda, jell-o with whipped cream, donuts sprinkled with powdered sugar and candy. All we really wanted was a steaming hot cup of tea, due to the ever dropping temperature within the coach car. Movies came on, first Maid in Manhattan complete with english subtitles, then some horrible Robert Redford film. The temperature continued to plummet, not just fall, but dive deeply into the base of the thermometer. Soon the condensation on the INSIDE of the windows was frozen into sheets of ice that obscured a view to the outer world, not that there was much to see anyway. We put all our clothes on that we had with us and opened Emma´s sleeping bag up and draped it around us as we snuggled together to keep warm. We finally arrived at Uyuni at 2:30am, in the freezing cold darkness, claimed our packs and looked around for our pick up. Well, our pick up failed to appear and the rest of the travelers dissappeared slowly into the town square, respective hostels, leaving Emma and I cold and alone, unsure as to what to do, or where to go. We finally gave up on our pick up, and asked a european-looking girl who was waiting for the 4:30am train to the Chilean boarder, if she had a guidebook we might glance at to find a reasonable accommodation. She stared at us incredilously, as if anyone traveling without a guidebook was mad, and silently handed her torn-out section of Bolivia out. We quickly located two close hostels and set out, was ushered into one by a woman, and then found that the only room left was one with a double bed. We scrambled into the room, unpacked our sleeping bags, placed them under the triple layer of woolen blankets and climbed in wearing the full assortment of thermals, gloves, hats, scarves, socks and fleeces. Even so it took at least an hour to be comfortable to fall asleep. We woke suddenly in the morning, worried that we had missed our 10:30 departure time for our tour. It was only 9, so we called the travel agency, packed our things and had some breakfast, in time to join the other four in our 4WD Toyota Land Cruiser along with our guide and driver Carlos and our cook Janet.
All packed in and ready to go we first visited a small settlement outside Uyuni where the salt is processed, first piled in pyramid-like towers to drain the water, then heated on a flat sheet of metal with a fire below to dry it further, then placed in a giant grinder to produce the powder substance that was packaged in 1 kilo bags for the market and for our dinner table. Then onto the "museo" of roughly carved salt statues which we found upon leaving costs 5 Bs. per person, sneaky eh? Back into the jeep and out onto the salt flats which are indiscribable. Streaching 90 km across and 167 km wide, the layer of salt that covers the ground like icy snow stretches as far as the eye can see and obscures the usually clear horizon line with its vastness. A few pictures then onto the Salt Hotel, a hotel composed entirely of salt blocks, the tables, the chairs, the nightstands, the bedstands, everything, but yet again, you had to buy something at the overpriced snack bar in order to take a photo, unless you were really devious and sneaky of course! Back into the jeep and off again across the ever expanding salt road to Isla del Pescado (Island of the Fish), not because it has fish, but because from an aireal view the island is shaped like a fish in the middle of the white sea of salt. The island is composed of petrified coral, PETRIFIED CORAL at some 3800 meters, and dotted with HUGE cacti extending 3-40 meters into the sky. Odd surreal landscape which we hiked, then returned to the jeep and a neatly set salt table for lunch. Because of the neverendingness of the salt flats, its possible to do "trick photos" where it appears as though a miniature of a friend is standing in the palm of your hand. Yeah we´re cool like that, ha!

Back into the jeep yet again for a two hour jaunt across the flats to the southeast shadowed by mountains of more petrified coral, cacti and odd letchin clumps. Through rocky valleys we drove upon leaving the Flats, up dry creekbeds and over rocks which produced a flat tire. With the efforts of our diver and one of our group we were soon on the track again. Our route took us through a valley surrounded by volcanic peaks, one softly smoking/steaming in the distance and stopping us at odd rock formations, no doubt created by hardened lava that was exposed by the raging rivers of the rainy season. We finally arrived at a small settlement, which was to be our stop for the night. Cemented rooms with private half-bathrooms containing fridgid running water. If you wanted a hot shower, you had to go to the communal showers in the other building, where you turned the tap on just enough to power the gas heater so the water could be the hottest possible, and even then, whichever side was absent from the water, was turning shades of cold, which caused a constantly revolving bather.

We weren´t the only group there, and in the communal dining room we were eached served our dinners from our respective cooks, Janet was great, good hot food to warm our bodies and souls as we scooted close together at the table to keep warm. Our group was fantastic from day one, two sweet girls from Denmark; Katarina and Monica, then two guys Menno from Holland and Volmer a Dutch-Austrailian, Emma reperesented the English and I from the States. Carlos our driver was amiable and easy-going, enjoying the music procured from the guy´s MP3 players and Janet was constantly teasing him and the rest of us. That night we played the ever popular traveler´s game of President-Asshole, a revolving game of seats, heiarchy and fun. When the generator powered down at 10 we were snug in our frigid echoing chambers, privy to the foreign conversations of others as their voices echoed off the unfinished cement walls. Small twirling flower fireworks were thrown into the halls and created shock and a revolving rainbow of colors, then everyone settled in to stay warm until morning shone her face.

El Gran Poder, Festival of Epic Proportions

So I arrive in La Paz, obtain some dinero, and settle in for the night, weary from travel and cold. The next morning Emma, my friend from my bus ride to La Paz, who´s from England, and I head out to find some breakfast, check our email and get a feel for the city. Upon arrival to the main street in front of San Francisco Church and Plaza we find the mainstreet blocked off, beacher seating lining the street and rows and rows of exquisitly costumed dancers dancing in unison with thier groups down the street. It turns out that we have arrived in La Paz on one of the biggest festival weekends in La Paz. El Gran Poder, roughly translated The Great Power, is a festivel wherin each dancer makes a wish or request of God, or a higher power and then dances from sunrise ´till long after sunset to appease the diety and have thier wish or request granted. The result is a all inclusive city-wide party. It is like a carnival, streets are closed off, businesses shut down, except for those selling alchol and food, and everyone is caught up in the magic and music that blares from every street in the city. The parade route begins at the top of the canyon that the city is built within and proceeds through the city for all to see the costumes and well practiced coordinated dancing of each group. There are business men dressed in tubular barrel-like costumes adorned with glitter, fringes and bobbles with noise makers in hand and wigged masks over thier faces in seas of 40 to 100 in each group. Then there are groups from each high school, each barrio and each indigenous group. They all sway , swing, shake and move to the same rhythem, with marching bands keeping the beat for them where the speakers are unable to reach.
Emma and I stare in awe and wonder at the spectacle and enormosity of it all. We make a search for some friends, Dhiresh and Andrew, whom Emma met on the same bus as we did, but to no avail, the streets are packed with people and its like finding a needle in a haystack. We finally make our way to the main drag in front of San Francisco church, two bleacher sections down from the Presidential tent, where the president of Bolivia is taking it all in, where the cameraman is perched and where the dancers perform to their utmost ability. We are able to procure 2 bleacher seats at the top of the section with the best view for only 20 bolivianos each, roughly $2.50 american. Perched there, with the parade to the front and a walkway to our back we are able to procure food, drink and still maintain a pristine photo-taking position. The sun warms our backs and turns our skin pink, the locals smile at us, offer us drinks and toast the day and our revelry in a long-practiced Bolivian tradition. We are petitioned by some of the dancers to join them in the parade, ahhh the minor celebrity of white skin and blonde hair. Those sitting around us are amused and we all raise our glasses together to toast the day and the abundance of life that is felt in such a gathering.

The President makes his debut, surrounded by police and secret service, taking a dance with three amazingly attractive sexy dancers with red costumes, high -heeled sequined go-go type boots that rise to the knee and exquisitly sequined hats with red feathers rising 2-3 feet above their heads. The dancers all look like performers in any show found in Las Vegas. After pictures and news footage the President is whisked away to his seat and the procession continues on, much to the delight of the spectators, who applaude and whistle at their favorites.

6 hours later the sun dissappears behind the buildings and a chill sets in. Emma and I decide to abandon our seats and head back to the hostel where we find a note from Dhiresh and Andrew saying that they have checked in and hope to find us soon. Starved and dehydrated, Emma and I visit an Arabian restaruant down the road and return an hour later to find Dhiresh and Andrew in the lobby with their guide, José, with whom they had just completed a 5 week tour from Ecuador, through Peru to Bolivia. We all make arrangements to meet around 10pm to go out and José returns to his hostel to get ready, while we search for a place for Andrew to cash his travelers checks, and an ATM for Emma to procure some fundage. Along the way we get some fantastic photos, as I ask to borrow masks, musical instuments, hats, and parts of costumes from the dancers who have paused to drink along the way. By this time all the dancers are weary and the parade is pausing every few minutes and spectators are rushing the dancers with drinks. So everyone is well over the edge of drunk and all in good spirits of the festival and more than willing to share their props with a passing gringa for a photo.

We make our way back to the hostel and wait for José to arrive, and when he does sit around for an hour or so while people get ready, then finally make our way, the five of us stuffed into a late ´80´s Toyota Camry cab, to Mongo´s, a house that has been converted into a club, with rooms leading off to eacherother, some with fireplaces, some with a mishmesh of tables and bars at each end. The place is already well full and its only 11:15, early by Bolivian standards. But the atmosphere is quite with cliques and groups crowded around tables quietly talking and sipping their drinks. As our group of five walks through its as though someone has painted¨"Look at us" on our foreheads, as everyone stops their conversation and looks up to watch us pass by as we peruse the place. Finding no empty tables, we order some drinks and stand in the middle of what would become the dance floor, talking among ourselves until a nearby table clears out. After about 45 minutes the music picks up and a small group of locals and gringos begin to get their groove on in a variety of international ways. Soon the tables and chairs are pushed to the side of the room, drinks are cleared and the room packs out with barely enough room to dance, much less move. The music ranges from "Paradise City", to european techno and house, to latino tango and salsa beats. Everyone is dancing, smiling, laughing, making moves on eachother, and the music takes over. The hours pass like seconds, the temperature in the room rises, the windows fog, we glow from sweat and laugh as old overplayed songs make their way to the speakers and the dancers change beats and partners, dancing moves and drinks. We find ourselves exausted and check the time; 4am. We all decided we´ve had a night, and leave the still-packed dance floor in search of fresh air and a taxi back to the hostel. In we cram again and exit, attempting wind down and go to bed, with the music and adrenaline of the club still pulsing through our veins.

We finally drift off. Emma and I wake at 9, despite our late night and shower the night off, making our way to "our" restaurant for a hearty meal and then proceed to make reservations for a Salt Flat tour in the south of Bolivia, starting from Uyuni. Its Sunday, and the tour starts on Monday. We return to the hostel, leave a note of our plans for the guys and head out for the 1pm, three-hour bus to Ororu, where we hope to catch the 7pm, seven-hour train to Uyuni, where we will arrive at 2:30 am, stay at a hostel, then leave for our tour at 10:30am.

Lake Titicaca to La Paz, Bolivia.

After leaving Cuzco I traveled with a British friend from my Salkantay trip, Greg to Puno, on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. Our bus to Puno left from Cuzco at 10 pm and we arrived in Puno at 4:30 am. I have never been so cold in my life. The bus was freezing and the reclining mechanism on my seat wan´t working so well so it was either straight up, or reclining so far i was in the lap of the person behind me, which didn´t endear me to them so much. Greg and I finally arrived at our hotel around 6am and crashed. I was so cold I was in my bed, in my 10 degree sleeping bag, under 2 wool blankets and a comforter, in my thermals with gloves, hat and socks on. I finally drifted off into the sleep of the truly cold and deprived, only to be awoken by someone pounding on our door. I decided that if I pretended I was asleep long enough Greg would get up from his bed and answer, although I knew in the end I would have to get up anyway. Indeed Greg answered the knock, which was to tell us that our tour was there to pick us up to go to the Floating Islands on Lake Titicaca. We scrambled to get ready and rushed out to the waiting van, then went off to pick up the others joining the tour, all of which had been on our bus the night before.

Out on a boat through algae filled waters that coated the top of the lake with a lime green hue and stacked up thickly against the reeds. It looked like a huge pond, rather than a renouned lake from this view and our boat took us further out until we could spot buildings, houses and boats out among the reeds. The islands were indeed floating and we emerged from the swamp-like passage into a huge bay created by different floating island communities. The islands are created by stacking loads and loads of reeds measuring about 10-12 feet tall atop one another over the course of a year to create an island about the size of a basketball court, some larger. The islands reed base ends up being about 8-12 feet thick and is continually maintained by piling more reeds on top as the ones below erode away organically. Impressive, but these peoples too have been highly tourised and their lives sold to the coin of the traveler in an effort to gain more, like cable TV, internet, and electricity by way of solar power.

Glad we had only scheduled a half-day tour, Greg and I made it back to our hotel around 1pm, and slept till early evening, went out and ate then returned and slept again, bracing ourselves for the 6:30am wake-up to catch the 7:30 bus to Copacabana, on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca, where we would visit the Isla del Sol, where it was said the gods of the Incans had rose from the lake and birthed the Incan people, and where more Incan ruins remained.

3 hours and a short boarder crossing later where i recieved my much coveted Bolivian stamp in my passport, we arrived in Copacabana, a small fishing villiage nestled on a small bay with a huge crag hill looming up on the eastern shore, with some sort of Catholic monument at the top. We were ushered to a great hotel for a mere $4.50 a night we had private rooms on the 3rd floor with a view of the bay, hot showers and bathrooms that supplied both toilet paper and soap, completely unheard of in these parts.

We had added Luka, a nice cheery guy from Italy to our group and we all retired to our rooms after lunch for a bit of our own time. I hiked the hill to the east to find the Via de las Cruces (Way of the Crosses) a monument to a saint that had been installed in this town almost a hundered years ago, and upon installation a wave of miracles had swept the town, and this was the monument that had been created, a stairway to the top, marked by crosses every so often and culminated with a row of 7 huge towering crosses at the top honoring different saints.

The next day we set out for Isla del Sol where I went off on my own, after being dropped at the southern end of the island I trekked across the rocky desert hill climbs and trail that ran along the ridgeline for 2 hot, windblown hours until I finally reached the Incan ruins. Hiking was strenuous, not because it was a difficult track, but because we were just shy of 4,000 meters/ 12,000 ft by only 100-70 feet at all times depending on the hill. Upon arriving at the ruins I was able to tour and climb, unhindered through the walls of this ancient villiage that lay overlooking a bay below with white sand beaches and dark turquiose water. Shortly before the villiage was the stone alter, much like the one pictured in the Narnia movie that Aslan was sacrificed on. Only here young virgin girls had been the sacrifices to the gods of the Incans and an air of heaviness surrounded the site. On the nearby Isla de la Luna the ruins of a convent house illustrated how virgin girls were kept close by, then boated over to appease the gods with thier pure blood. Heavy.

Upon leaving the site I was joined by Mat from Britain. It was great to have some company across the way back and I ended up getting a room where he and his traveling companion, Lucy were staying. We all went for the most delicous hot meal of soup, fresh trout (the regional delicacy), rice and fresh fried potatoes, which was capped off with a small bowl of fruit with chocolate sauce. We were all whipped from the trek and retired to our rooms.

I woke with the sun, well actually around 8 am, had some breakfast, turned in my key and made my way to the boat dock to purchase my ticket back to Copacabana. While waiting I met Henry, another British guy, who had just come from La Paz as well and just like Mat and Lucy, had lots of helpful information on where to go, what to do and where to stay.
We finally arrived in Copacabana, I collected my things that Greg had generously kept for me at the hotel, looked for Greg and Luka to see what their plans were, and when I couldn´t find them booked a bus to La Paz that would leave at 1:30. I went to a pub and watched the beginning of the World Cup game of Germany and Costa Rica, but left at halftime to baord my bus. Greg found me just as I was boarding, and asked what, where I was going, I tried to explain that I couldn´t find him, and was hurridly ushered onto the bus without a sorry or a good explination or even plans to meet. On the bus I sat next to an Ecuadorian hombre, who was a guide for a three-country trek and impressed myself, and perhaps him as well by carrying on a conversation in Spanish for a half hour!! Bravo!

We finally arrived in La Paz which is a huge city also built at the bottom of a huge valley with hills rising even more steeply than those in Cuzco, completely blanketed with houses and buildings all the way to the top. When we went to disembark I found Emma, a girl from Britain(yet again) who had the same hostal reccommendation that I did and was traveling alone as well. We shared a cab, and upon arrival to the hostel, a room as well, as all the dorm accommodations were full. She is great. We met up with a girl Brie and her mom, whom Emma had known from her Inca Trail hike, at the Radisson in La Paz for a taste of unprecidented luxury. Brie has been in the far reaches of Bolivia working with the Peace Corp. for the last 2 years and here mom was here for a visit. We enjoyed a fantastic meal on the top floor restaurant that gave an incredible view of the city as the lights of the buildings climbed the sides of the hills around us. Our meal was excellent, the quality, service and presentation that would cost at least $80 per person in the States, left us only $10 dry. Emma and I proceeded back to our hostel via taxi and set ourselves to sleep in after weeks of schedules and reasons to wake early.

La Paz has the busyness and excitement of New York, with street vendors selling anything and everything on the sidewalk, students and businessmen walking to and from their places and the smell of bacon from some street-side eatery penetrating everything.

The colors of Peru

There are so many things that became second nature and familiar upon entering Peru that I didn´t even write about them, but they are so intrensically different from life at home I feel it would be an injustice to pass them by.

Cuzco I fell in love with, situated in the valley with hills towering around it and houses trickling up the hillsides it was massive and engulfed everything. I stayed mostly in the "tourist area" the large section surrounding the Plaza de Armas with restaurants of every kind, every kind of clothing you could dream of made from alpaca/llama fur, an endless stream of local artists selling their wares of watercolored streets of Cuzco, children in the bright attire of the indigenous peoples, Machu Picchu, and the plaza de armas with the two huge cathedrals towering on either side. The thirteen year old kids hounding you with postcards, telling you they´ll give you a good deal because they think you are pretty. The endless stream of shoeshiners tracking down anyone with polishable shoes on with their little stool and kit of shoe oils in ever color that shoes have ever been made.

There are two types of Peruvian people that I continually observed, the nationals, and the indigenous. The indigenous are more stand out because of their bright dress and comical top hats. The women always have their hair braided in two braids falling down thier backs to thier waists with dark tassels tied to the ends making the ends of thier braids look fuller upon first glance. Thier heads are covered with proper gentleman-style bowler/top hads with bands of satin ribbon around the band. Held securly by hair pins against the wind. They wear proper button up collared shirts, usually covered by a button-up cardigain of knitted or crocheted alpaca wool. Thier skirts are amazing. Full skirts with layers of petticoat type underthings and slips make the skirts fuller as they swoosh gently as the women walk. Most carry children or wares in brightly woven blankets on their back tied in such a fashion that they knot below their collarbone on their chest and span their shoulders, placing the large portion of the weight on across their shoulders.

The people are generous with their time, though accoustomed to tourism they often hound you to visit their store, their restaurant, their hostel, their cab....anything to make a buck, which can be often less than endearing, but they have to make thier living somehow, and we foreigners are a goldmine of opportunity.

The sad thing I see is children growing up from their youth asking white tourists for candy, pushing thier wares, begging for money and expecting a hand out. Never given the opportunity to see beyond thier limited circumstances they are locked into a lifetime of slaving to the foreigners who have the money. Taught how to raise prices, pout thier lips and give thier best sad look just to make an extra coin. Of course it isn´t all like this, but I can´t help but wonder how their lives would be different, and how we could influence thier lives for the better as visitors and strangers in thier homeland. I hate to think of lives and cultures changing just to feed into a capitalistic system of need-based living, catering to the preferences of people that have no long-term investment in the lives of those who have endured so much to protect and preserve all that they hold dear. I have been humbled by the gracious service of the people here, their willingness to help, to lead strangers to their hostels when they are headed the opposite way, although the hounding becomes annoying, I understand where I comes from. I will count it a privelege to have shared in the lives of the Peruvian people I encountered and how they have etched changes in the lenses I view the world through.

Salkantay to Machu Picchu III

So we pick up at the base of Machu Picchu in the touristy town of Aguas Calientes. There we were able to enjoy some soft beds, hot showers and hot greasy pizza!!! We all had a celebration dinner together in a pizza place, the real stonebaked pizzas with lots of cheese and meat. The next morning we arose at 4 am, at breakfast and set off to climb the stairs to the sky, up the mountain to Machu Picchu. The stairs followed the same track as the buses, but instead of zig-zagging nicely they ascended directly up, some stairs 2 inches some a foot and a half. We puffed on endlessly, aspiring to reach the top before the sun rose over the encircling mountains. Anna held the lead as we ascended step after step until we finally reached a sign that said, " Usted esta aqui. (you are here)" Where we all leaned heavily against the rainling to catch our breath while we watched the bus riding tourists embark freshly from their air conditioned busses and look around brightly at the entrance to Machu Picchu.

Once we were joined by the rest of our group we entered the park, only to climb yet more stairs to the highest point so we would have the vista of Machu Picchu from above. Our tour guide droned on monotountously, and we were so delirious after all the work we had done to get there, we found much more humor in making inside jokes with one another and goofing off, much to our guides disdain. After two hours of monotone we were finally released to explore on our own which sent us back up all the stairs to the top to take some more pictures and play "Name that Nationality" where you try to guess the nationality by the appearance and then confirm it by the speech. Quite the entertainment, with rows of tourists huffing their way up the stairs to start their tours. It kept us quite entertained for the better part of two hours! All the while enjoying the surreal scenery laying out before us. After descended the million and a half stairs, we returned to our hotel, freshened up and then took a lunch of ever tasteful pizza, and lemonade as we observed the very persons we had wateched before passing by our patio lunch table.

A short while later we gathered our things and boarded first a train and then a bus back to Cuzco, where we had another celebration, and spent the next 2 1/2 days lazing about, eating, reading and writing, watching films, sleeping in and gathering every day until our group was dispersed on flights home.

Somewhere in between all this I decided that I would rather tour the South of South America, and with kisses, hugs and tears, bid a sorrowful farewell to Jordan and Sophie as they made their way north to Lima and then to La Merced where they would begin their jungle tour, and I started off south to Lake Titicaca where I would begin my Bolivian experience.

Salkantay to Machu Picchu II

Well I have returned to Cuzco and have eaten some good food, had some good rest and relaxed all of today.

This whole trek began last Monday, when I was sorely dissappointed to find out that there was NO POSSIBLE WAY to go on the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. The Inca Trail is the original trail used by the Incan people to reach Macchu Picchu, their most holy city, back during the height of the Incan Empire in the 1500´s. I really wanted to go on this because of the historical significance and because I didn´t want to do the cheesy tourist thing and take the bus and train there, I wanted to earn my way to this ancient site.

So while we were at an internet cafe I saw this ad for a 5 day 4 night trek over a pass by Salkantay peak, one of the glacieral peaks of the Andes, and then continue overland to Aguas Calientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu. I checked two travel agencies in town and then decided to book on a whim instead of staying in Cuzco by myself while Jordan and Sophie trekked on the Inca Trail. I was due to be picked up at 4:30 am the next morning and so Jordan, Sophie and I made our way to Margarita´s house, a friend of a friend of Sophie´s, where we would stay. After sitting with Margarita for awhile and aquainting ourselves, we all went to bed, I repacked my things for the trek, leaving the unecessary and cumbersome things behind, and set an alarm for my 4 am wake up. Nervous and fearful that I wouldn´t wake up and would miss my pickup I slept lightly, waking up to every taxi horn and dog bark until about 3:45, when I decided to just get up. The taxi didn´t arrive until 4:55 when I was then whisked off under the pre-morning darkness to an ominous bus waiting at a street corner. I got on and found my seat next to a French-Canadian from Quebec, who turned out to be one of my trekking partners.
Three hours later we arrived at the mountain village of Mollapata at 3600 meters altitude (10,800ft), from where our journey would begin. We took only small packs or waterbottles and the porters loaded our large packs onto the mules and horses. We began hiking up the mountainside via a dirt road, following our guide Renaldo. After 3 hours of good breath-stealing hiking we arrived at the lunch site where our cook and horses had gone ahead. Upon finishing our lunch of soup and spaghetti we started out again up the road that slowly revealed the sister glacieral peak of Salkantay, our goal. With something to guide us on Anna, a sweet girl from Holland, and I set our pace and trooped ahead up the road, finally arriving 3 hours later at our campsite near the base of the peak in a mountain valley. On our way there was an avalanche on the glacier, an amazing sight to observe with a clear view, free of the danger, and awed by the thunderous beauty.
That first night was COLD, it got down to 0 degrees Celsius/ about 28 degrees Farenheit. The wind whipped through our campsite and our clothes, chilling us to the bone. Wednesday morning dawned with overcast skies and a sharp chill. We all huddled together around the breakfast table, clasping our cups of steaming drink, awaiting our send off, into the cold and up to the pass. Renaldo, our guide, predicted a 10 hour day and we all groaned at the idea of walking 10 hours in the cold. We all put on our brave faces and set out into the wind, gloved, scarfed and hatted, as small snowflakes pattered infrequently from the sky. Taking frequent rest stops and eating power bars and chocolate our group of 8 pressed on, some falling behind due to altitude sickness, some pushing ahead with a steel will.
After 4 1/2 hours of intense hiking under cold and overcast skies we all finally reached the pass, where the wind was whipping the clouds up the valley between peaks at a frenzied pace, and chilling us to the bone. After a short congratulations to all as we regrouped at the top, we took our victory pictures and began the welcome trek down from the 4,800 meter/ 13,800 ft pass. We trudged exausted through a rocky river bed, strewn with boulders and pebbles that threatened to bring us down at every step. The river bed finally dispersed and we reached a small green mountain meadow on a cliff that overlooked the valley below and our much anticipated lunch site. Hopeful with our guide´s perscription of 1 1/2 hours walk to lunch, Anna and I raced on, but grew complacent after we had already walked 1 hour and 40 minutes with no lunch in sight.

Finally we reached the lunch, ate in weariness and reluctantly asked how far it would be to the campsite. We received the dreaded response of 3 hours more. Brave faces were installed once again, and we set off, only to be surprised by the welcome change of jungle scenary as the drab mountain landscape faded away to be relpaced by lush greenery, bright flowers and warmer weather. Three hours later we arrived at the promised campsite, where we all collapsed in sheer delight and glee at our accomplishment.

We all slept well and awoke to hike just a short 45 minutes to a natural hot spring at the edge of a river, where we all passed soap and shampoo, glad to be warm and clean after two days of cold, sweaty, dusty hiking. It was short lived however, after 1 1/2 hours in a hot spring, there were few who wanted to embrace the 5 hour hike that lay ahead of us in order to reach the next campsite, and lunch.

As we drug ourselves down the trail we were greeted by a boggy trail where natural springs had flooded the dirt, and continual streams as they crossed the trail and headed to the river 200 meters/600 ft below. The thin jungle path finally gave way to a bulldozed landslide and to a frequently used road into La Playa, the town where we would stay for the night. It was a less than wonderful site that greeted us however, as we were to be camping the the front yard of Renaldo´s friend, rather than proceeding on to the next town of Santa Teresa, 45 minutes down the road, with hot springs as well. The dissappointment was met with brave optimism, but was only to get worse as loud radios, dog fights and roosters in surround sound kept us all from the good sleep we all so desperately needed.

The whole lot of us awoke grumpy and with sour dispositions as we sat over our pancakes and hot drinks. We then loaded in to the bus bound for Santa Teresa, where we would take the cable car over the river. The "cable car" turned out to be a poor rendition of something that might appear on Fear Factor, a shabby tray measuring 3 feet by 4 feet connected to a cable that flew like a zip line to the other side of the river and was then pulled back manually by a rope attached to the tray. As the only means of transport over the river, people, parcels, bamboo, wood and all sort of other things were transported on this tray. We loaded people and parcel together, with people atop parcels, sometimes one or two persons, sometimes five, with two wooden crosses of those who had gone before us mocking our brave shows from the bank of the river below. All made it across without incident and we then boarded a fenced flatbed truck with about 45 others to take us to the railroad track´s end where we would hike the tracks to Aguas Calientes, the town that lies at the base of Machu Picchu.

To be continued....

Salkantay to Machu Picchu

WOW! I just returned from a five day trek through the glacieral peaks of the Andes, by way of the jungle, by bus, on foot, standing in the back of a huge truck with fifty other people, over the river on cart sliding along a cable and then up millions and millions of stairs finally to machu picchu. I do believe i walked at least 100 kilometers in the space of 4 days, if not more, and summited a 14,400 crest. Not only that, but finally ended at the amazing historical site of Machu Picchu. More to come soon, and lots of details, we just returned to town and will be going to celebrate our conquest!!!