Andes and Beyond

Potosi, the highest city in the world

2006-07-25T11:44:00.000-05:00

Well, after being informed that it would be an additional $800 to fly out of Buenos Aires to home, I decided to do a quick cross- country journey to Lima, because flights from Argentina to Lima were about the same. From Mendoza I went north 19 hours to Salta, where I spent the better part of a day enjoying the balmy, sunny weather which was a welcome change from all the cold I had experienced and was about to return to with my trip through Bolivia. So from Salta I headed yet north again to the boarder town of La Quiaca, where I arrived at 6 am, caught a taxi to the boarder and walked across, through customs and down the main street to find the train station. Upon arriving at the train station I was informed, by a note posted on the station door, that all trian tickets were sold out yesterday. That stunk. For anyone who has or hasn't traveled through Bolivia, you should know that the roads are atrocious, you are lucky if they are paved, but sometimes the dirt roads are better than the paved ones so.... nevertheless train travel is the preferable form of transportation to cover long distances. Back to the bus station I trekked, and bought a ticket for whatever was generally far away and leaving soon, which turned out to be Potosi. A lame breakfast of stale bread and coffee with chunks of powedered cream in the bottom, and I walked around, trying to get some blood flowing after so many hours on buses, and in anticipation of the 8 hours to come. I bought some orange juice and a much needed roll of toilet paper, remembering I was back in Bolivia and there was a severe lack of public sanitation. Back to the bus station ans who should I see, but my friend Michael and another american Jay, whom I had met briefly in Buenos Aires. They were also planning on taking the train, and upon my informing them that the train was unavailable, they bought the last two tickets to Potosi and joined me on my northern route.

9 hours of bumpy, hot dust ridden roads later, seated among some of the most unbathed persons I had yet to encounter, we all arrived in Potosi, the worlds highest city at 4070 meters, roughly 12,100 feet. Also the home to the world's oldest mine, Cerro Rico some 450 years old. I good stopping place I decided, since I had come from 2 days of bus rides and had at least that many ahead. So Jay, Michael and I caught a cab to Koala Den Hostal, thanks to Michael's guidebook aka the bible, and soon found ourselves in a warm, cozy hostel filled with brightly painted walls and friendly faces. Our other roommate was a girl from Sweeden, whose name I have since forgotton, and she guided us to a chinese restaurant, which for me was a welcome change from the usual Bolivian cuisine. Afterward we went back to the bus station and bought our tickets, mine for an 8pm bus the next day to La Paz, where I hoped to catch a flight or another bus to Lima. As for my day in Potosi, I planned on taking the mine tour and frequenting the "miners market" where it is legal to buy a "completo" which is nitroglycerin, green play-dough like dynamite (someone help me with the name here), a blasting cap and a 90 second fuse. Anyone from age 3 to age 103 can buy these and for us americans they cost us a mere $2. All to just "blow shit up" as the guys were so fond of saying.

Back to the hostel, finished watching the already started Motorcycle Diaries, and off to bed. Up at 7:15 for the mining tour and just in time to catch some breakfast, included, some nice bread, juice, coffee or tea and scrambled eggs. Not too bad. Into the minibus with the rest of the group, which turned out to be 22 or so people, and off we went to the unknown world of mining. First we were outfitted in these ever so attractive high rubber boots, taurplin-type pants and jacket, complete with yellow helmet which would later hold a headlamp. We were all looking pretty spiffy, and much like painters, since the clothes were splashed with a plethra of different colors of dirt, ore and such. Back into the minibus and to the refining factory where we learned a bit about the process of refining the ore to produce shipping-quality minerals. Where we went they were refining zinc and silver in a maze of water floatation separaters that separated the ore from the other elements to produce the purest form possible (under Bolivian standards and conditions). Back in the minibus again and off to the mine to spend 2.5 hours underground, led only by our guides and our headlamps.

A world of its own down there, and not one I am super fond of at that. Its dark, dusty and often chlostrophobic. This mine is being worked by a myriad of different "groups" which could be classified as mini-unions. But there are no regulations, no rules, and no safety codes. The heirchy among the groups is what rules, and disputes are usually settled by dynamite wars, where a few limbs are lost, then all is settled. The average life expectancy for a miner is 32 years due to the toxic levels of dust, unpumped air and long days of work. We walked among criss-crossing tunnels, some with rails for carts carrying kilo upon kilo of raw ore. There are no elevators, no main tunnels, just a mish mash of tunnels some sections outfitted with mechanical cranks bringing ore up from the lower levels, some walked some 47 times a day by men carrying 50+ kilos of ore on their backs, ascending each level. Some men worked in groups, some all alone, some dug blasting holes in the rock by hand, those belonging to larger groups dug with machines. One large group had just aquired an electric cart that could pull 3 ore-filled carts at a time, while the others were still using the manual method of riding on the carts, using the hand or foot brakes, just like the movies.

It was quite an eye opening experience, i can't wait to post the pictures, they reveal even more. I will be ever grateful for any job that I have, because it is not in a mine. When we finally reached fresh air and sunshine again, the real fun was to be had. Our guides made bombs for us out of our purchased "completos" and we all took turns posing with the bombs for pictures. Then our guides ran off with the bombs, placed them in the middle of a field and we all waited, posed with cameras and video to capture the demolition. I think my picture will be of the sky, because when the dynamite exploded, even at 50 meters, a shock was felt and I jolted back, picturing the sky, i'm sure of it. Back to the hostel we went, showering the sulfur smell off along with the layers of grey dust that had accumulated all over our person. I packed my things and prepared to go, so i could spend the rest of the evening enjoying the company of friends and some good food.

Lazy days in the wine country

2006-07-10T18:43:00.000-05:00

Two days ago I arrived in Mendoza, in the hazy morning light with multiple persons filling my hands with hotel/hostel fliers as soon as I disembarked from the bus. I politely declined in my sleeplessly hazed state of mind, and then more forcefully as they became more persistant. I collected my pack and joined my friend Michael inside the bus station. He went off to check something and I vigilantly stood guard over our things, as a few people came over and pointed behind me saying "You shouldn´t stand with your backpack exposed." A classic trick, as you turn around to see what is there, another person comes up and swipes what is sitting in front of you. I politely smirked a "Thanks" and anjusted my grip and position, slipping one of the pack straps around my leg and shoving myself securly up against the wall.

Once Michael returned we collected our things once again and caught a taxi to the highly reccommended HI-affiliated Campo Base Hostal. It was obvious from the guy passed out on the entry sofa that there had been some sort of crazy party there the night before, that had continued into the morning. We were led to a room up stairs, with a door that slid into the wall and where the bunk beds were about 1 foot away from that sliding door. The bedclothes were suspiciously damp and as we attempted to take a morning nap after our 19 hour bus ride. A worthless attempt, we gave up after an hour or so, and headed out to see what there was to see in Mendoza. After a rather unsatisfying breakfast, we found a nice contemporary art museum in the main square, with a refreshingly absent entrace fee. It was quite nice, with lots of original work, and I couldn´t help but think of Dani, and wish that she was there with me, since she would surely appreciate it far more that I. Through the park and down the street following the map we had been given by the hostel, where we discovered that Mendoza had a large park situated within the city limits, complete with a zoo, several fútbol fields, a rowing club, a fitness club, miles and miles of walking/running trails, a BMX track and the site of 1978 World Cup. We made our way to the zoo and were pleasantly surprised by the super cheap entrance fee and large variety of animals, complete with deranged polar bear in far-from-arctic conditions, lazy lions, tigers and bears, rhino, hippoo, a billion species of crazed monkeys, and of course, llamas. It was a good way to spend the day, and it felt good to get out and walk after weeks of relative inactivity, rich food and abundant drink.

Along the way we found another reccommended hostal and immediatly made a reservation for the next night. Then returned to the not-so-wonderful Campo Base. There we consulted "the book" once again for a good spot for dinner, found some cheap pizza and returned once again to the hostel for several rounds of cards, some beer and then a plan to head out after a bit. Around 1:15 am, still a bit early by Argenitinian time, we headed out and found fabulous ice cream, or helado. The richest ever and full of fantastic flavors. After that treat we once again resumed our search for a watering hole and found an "Irish Pub", of which there is one in almost every town in South America, surprisingly enough. We watched clips from the third place match between Germany and Portugal, incredulous at the score, since we were both going for Portugal for the third place. Around 3 we decided to call it a night, and began the short walk back to the hostal. We were stopped by the sight of McDonalds, welcoming us in the wee morning ours with crisp fries, generic cheeseburgers and glass bottles of World Cup collectors edition Coca-Cola (there you go Phil!). Bad food never tasted better, and I comforted myself with the thought that Argentina has the best beef in the world, and surely some of that has to trickle into the fast food stock. Perhaps not. I hastily brushed my teeth and squirmed, once again, between suspiciously damp bedclothes.

The next morning dawned quickly, with a rushed check-out and brisk morning walk to Winca´s, our new hostel, complete with a decent breakfast, clean rooms and mansion style bathrooms. We made a trek to the bus depot to find what was available for departure, me 14 hours east to Buenos Aires, Michael 19 hours north to Salta after discovering the pass to Chile was closed indefinetly and so all options to Santiago were out of the question. The sun was out, but the wind chilled as we walked back, stopped by the market and then hung out at the hostel as we waited for the World Cup to begin.

ITALY!!!!!! We were all so glad that France didn´t win and were even more elated to find an Italian among us who generously filled our glasses with champagne to toast the victory. We signed an Argentinian flag comemorating the World Cup this year and stating our sentiments about the battle to the end, depending on where you were from. The day was a lazy one, and after dinner we all watched a movie that lulled us to sleep and off to bed.

With my bus not departing until 7:30 tonight Michael and I decided to find something to do to prevent us from sitting around watching movies all day. The choice was paragliding, and without a thought or question of what it would actually entail we signed up and paid for our 2:30pm activity. In the meantime I discovered that there was a Delta airlines office in Mendoza, but it was closed for the customary 12-4pm lunch "hour", so hopefully we would return from paragliding in time for me to run down and have a check.

Two-thirty came around and our paragliding leader, German(that was his name, he was Argentinian so pronounce it with a Spanish pronunciation), came round to collect us, inquiring if we had jackets as he looked at our t-shirts. We collected our jackets and hopped in a car, wondering what we were really doing, after we realized that we had both assumed we would be towed behind a boat, but there was a distinct shortage of water in the vicinity. We were first taken to the landing field where we got into a truck with two other Argentinian guys and began our climb up the sharp mountains that jutted from the smooth valley floor. Up to 1600 meters we went to a flat area populated by other guides and tourists like ourselves, and then we truly realized that we would be running off the steep incline with a parglide picking us up from the ground. After waiting for the wind for awhile and having German repeat many times that I need to keep running, not sit down until he tells me, we were off, the gravel faded away and despite German´s insistance that I should keep running, my feet were already a good 2 feet off the ground and soon we were sitting in tandem in our makeshift harness seats with a stellar view of the mountain, valley and town below spread out before us. I began snapping away with my camera, but with no real hope of capturing the fullness of the experinece. Just 10 minutes later we were preparing to land, making tight circles in the wind and me preparing to run as soon as we hit dirt. It was an amazing experience, and only at the end I found that there they also have a school where you can become a certified paragliding instructor. I made a mental note on my list of things to do when I return to Argentina.

Back to Mendoza, and in time to check at the Delta office, where I found, despite all my optimistic persistance that it would cost me no less than $842 to fly from Buenos Aires rather than Lima, a good deal more than I had paid for my original round-trip ticket! So I resolved to return to Lima, despite all my dissappointment. The guy at the Delta office checked all the airlines for flights to Lima, and the price to bus it there was less than half. A phone call from the hostel, then another trip to the bus office to change my ticket from Buenos Aires to anywhere north. All the buses were already full, so I got a ticket to Salta for the night, resolving again just to stay one more night in Mendoza and kill one more day while waiting for the bus(again!). I watched my hotel friends depart for Salta, and said words of hope to see them there perhaps. Then walked to the supermarket and bought some food to live on and a chocolate bar to console my sorrow at leaving Argentina, and the rapidly approaching reality of being homeward bound.

Using a guidebook I planned a rough route through Argentina, into Chile and then to Peru, with a few highlighted stops along the way to make the journey a bit more meaningful and a little less body and soul-draining. There are some fabulous things that I would have never seen had this not occurred. So while I am still a bit down about the direction of my trip, and the finality of my time here, I am excited to see what this last week will hold and the little touches it will add to my farewell.

Heading North to Mendoza

2006-07-07T09:56:00.000-05:00

Well, today I leave my lovely mountain/lake town of Bariloche and head north to spend the weekend in Mendoza, the Napa County of Argentina, producing 70% of the nation's wine. Should be a good time, some relaxation and some milder weather. After a few days I have to return to Buenos Aires and see if I can't get my ticket sorted out for my immenent return home. Thats about all for now, I can't say the idea of a 19 hour bus ride has ever inspired anyone very much.

Bariloche, Argentina

2006-07-05T09:51:00.000-05:00

I'm no longer playing catch-up, but I have rather settled into this semi-quiet mountain town. I am in the lake district of Argentina, which is much like upstate New York, with kilometers and kilometers of lakes, large and small, interconnected by waterways, creeks, rivers and streams. Bariloche is situated on the edge of the largest lakes in the district, with several islands floating inconspicuously in the middlish part. Around the lake and from behind the town, sharp snow-capped(although not as snow-capped as they should be) peaks rise to form dramatic horizons that harness the sunrise and release the sunset.

Argentina and Chile have been much more European in their food, architecture and the appearance of the people. Bariloche is fantastic, I have become quite enchanted with this town, the people and the way of life here. You might understand why to a greater extent if I tell you that the ski resort of Cathedral, with over 32 lifts, and unlimited area to ski, a huge terrain park a proper half-pipe and more backcountry that looks much like some Alaskan footage I've seen than one could wish for. The lift passes are only $30 a day, cheaper if you plan on boarding for consecutive days, and there are several shops where one can rent never-been-used demo boards, boots, bindings from several major snowboarding manufacturers. Its a dream. Apart from that the lake lapps at the foot of the town and the national park stands by only 5 kilometers away with recreation unlimited. I sit on the northern edge of the mysteriously renouned land of Patigonia, with all its wonder and harsh winter conditions, coupled with the beauty of summer that creates a landscape that is quite unimaginable in the fullness of winter. I hope to see it for myself in December.

Bariloche carries all the charm of any mountain resort town. A grid-based town layout on the edge of Lake Nahuel Huapi has a quaint villiage square and streets lined with restaurants, nationally renouned chocolate shops, tourist venues with shirts sporting "Bariloche" in about 500 different fonts and colors, overpriced skiing outfitters and restaurants catering to most budgets and tastes. Away from the downtown area the streets fade into residential districts filled with families, hostels and hotels, quiet corner stores and lazy internet cafes. Buses run reguarly, taking you anywhere you want to go, including the nearby mountain, which is 22 kilometers away, for a mere $3.10 pesos, or $1 American dollar.

It has been a good place to rest, to enjoy and to make friends. The snow, due to lack of precipitation, has not been amazing, and only half the mountain has been open. Nevertheless, half the mountain holds the equivalent amount of terrain that my hometown Mt. Shasta holds. To give an idea, a run from the top of the mountain to the very base would probobly take you between 30 and 40 mintues, depending on whether you were going for speed or enjoying yourself as you went. Can you tell that I'm in love with this place? Unfortunatly my time is winding to an end and I must soon depart from Bariloche and head toward Buenos Aires once again, and homeward from there. I wish that I had a digital camera so that I could share the beauty and awe-inspiring scenery I have encountered here, and throughout my journey, with everyone.

Playing Catch-Up from Bariloche, Argentina

2006-07-01T21:16:00.000-05:00

Okay I am just going to tell you that the Salt Flats Tour was incredible, but after three days of freezing nights and cramped days looking at rock formations, lagunas, volcanic mud pits and hot springs; with the main focus being on an excess of rock formations, one gets a little tired, a little sick and a little ready to be done. Even better yet when you are 15 kilometers from the end, you reach a roadblock, manned by mine workers protesting the nationalizing of Bolivian mines, and the sun goes down, and the temperature drops to about 27 degrees Fareinheit, or -3 degrees Celsius and you are waiting in a cramped jeep for another two hours waiting for another vehicle to meet you on the other side of the roadblock. Then you are really ready to just get on the trian and head back to civilization, or La Paz. But better yet when you reach Uyuni, and find that not only was that road blocked, but all others leading in and out of town are blocked as well, the train has been stopped, the temperature is still dropping and the best food you can find is at a cantina. Then what do you do? You do what any money touting foreigner would do, get 4 people together, hire the only jeep left in town for $200, and conduct a blockade run in an old jeep, driven by an old man and his companion, down a sketchy road that requiered four-wheel drive and a little more, under the cover of darkeness and ever-plummeting temperatures. We passed 4 busses that had been stopped by the roadblockers, with gringos, and Bolivians and God knows who else, whom, in the middle of the night had exited the busses and begun to burn the brush on the side of the road to keep warm. We finally arrived in Ororu at 8 the next morning, after leaving at 11 the night before, a 9 hour journey that usually takes 5 by car.

Upon arriving to La Paz all I wanted to do was sleep and be warm again. Two sleepless nights of sub-freezing temperatures do something horrible to you, where the only things that make you feel better are your bed, hot showers, hot cups of tea and steaming bowls of soup. I procrasinated in La Paz, soaking up the civilization, and running a sub-temperature, trying to warm up and recouperate from a simple 3 day tour. After 4 days of procrastination I decided to head to Chile, to try and snowboard. Little did I know that a flying-in entry fee on all Americans would cost me $100. A heavy dent in a backpackers budget.

Chile greeted me with all the civilization and comforts of home, standard freeways, hot and cold water tap, sanitary systems capable of flushing toilet paper, heated rooms and warm cushy beds. I soaked it in, and properly got sick. I guess my body finally broke down knowing I was in a comfortable warm environment. Nevertheless I went snowboarding, which wasn't that good, wasted too much money, as Chile is the most expensive country in South America, and promptly evaded Chile for Argentina.

20 hours by bus later, and chance encounters with more Americans than I had seen in all of Peru and Bolivia, I arrived in Buenos Aires, a shining star among South American cities. I met up with Dhiresh and Andrew, whom I had met in La Paz prior to the Salt Flat Tour. We had fabulous food, did a bit of shopping and planned to evacuate the city the next day and head south to a quiant ski town of Bariloche, another 20 hours by bus. I was glad to leave Buenos Aires, though I didn't get to shop as much as I wanted, the notorious pary scene there would have wrecked me, just as it had all those who had gone before me. There, clubs don't open until midnight at the earliest and then carry on until 7, 8, 9 in the morning. I enjoyed the steak, the shopping and the city, which was modeled after Paris in its plan. Then I promptly hopped on a bus to Bariloche with Dhiresh and Andrew, slept the night away and arrived in Bariloche at 11 the next morning.

Bariloche is fabulous, quiet nestled on the edge of a lake, with snow-capped peaks rising behind to provide some of the best skiing and snowboarding in the country, not to mention, marginally cheaper than Chile. So here I am in Bariloche, a town renouned for beef, chocolate and skiing, three of my favorite things. I hit the slopes on our second day, with snowboard and boots that had never been used, edges still sharp, base untouched and full of pop. While Dhiresh took skiing lessons Andew and I took off to explore the mountain. There hadn't been fresh snow in a few days, but the day was warm, with a little rain, the snow softened up quickly, and although was a little sticky, made for an excellent day of boarding. I decided to wait for new snow before committing myself to the slopes again, and have spent the days meeting people at the hostel, having fabulous dinners, sleeping in and staying up late. Some good rest and relaxation. Though the weather hasn't improved, in fact it has been raining hard and steadily for two days striaght, the drum of rain on the roof is nice, and unless you have to go out, it casts a hazy feeling over everyone, making for mellow days watching the World Cup games, and movie after movie in the common room. So here I am, and loving it.

A long way away

2006-06-29T17:23:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-19T08:35:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-16T10:31:00.000-05:00

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.

2006-06-10T10:47:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-10T10:16:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-09T16:56:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-04T16:20:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-03T20:50:00.000-05:00

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!!!

Winding Roads To Cuzco

2006-05-28T19:58:00.000-05:00

We have arrived in Cuzco. After waiting for the bus until 9:30pm, although we were supposed to leave at 8pm, we finally departed on our "semi-cama"(partial bed) bus for Cuzco. We were instantly served some sort of chicken with rice and and indiscribable dessert of some sort of jellied fruit. I was already feeling rather ill from all the exhaust and noise in Ica, and my head had been throbbing for 2 days, so a bus with warm uncirculated air and questionable food aroma didn´t do much to aid my situation. The seats reclined and a foot/leg rest pulled out so we were able to sleep in our "semi_cama" seats. As we pulled away from Ica and began to climb into the desert mountains I was glad that we were asleep since some of the roads boardered sheer cliffs and were nothing more than packed dirt without guardrails. I put my faith in God and my trust in our driver and closed my eyes under a clear starry sky.

I awoke to the winding roads along a beautiful river winding though the canyon toward the Andes. The mountains rose before us and the scenery gave way to small villiages, mountainside farms and rushing creeks and rivers. We continued climbing into the Andes as the bus proceeded to have a movie marathon (5 movies in one bus ride at an intolerable volume). As we drove deeper into the Andes we saw snow capped peaks much like the appearance of the Swiss alps. Houses perched on the edge of cliffs over rivers made of homemade adobe bricks. We frequently had to stop to avoid hitting herds of miniature horses and milk cows being driven down the highway. We stopped several times and the driver added water to a overheating bus, then finally crested the final mountaintop and laid our eyes on Cuzco, the city nestled in a valley, climbing the hills and mountains around it.

We arrived to find that our Lonely Planet South America Guidebook, aka our trip bible, had gone missing and found ourselves at a loss of where to go or what to do. We decided to go to the Plaza de Armas, these plazas are in every city and are usually the center of the city and tourism. Once we got there we saw a book fair and found that if we return tomorrow we can purchase a guidebook for a mere 150 soles, or 40-50 dollers. A bit expensive, but because it is such a necessary resource, we will return. We then proceeded to search out a hostel that had been reccommended to us by a fellow traveler Christoff. Without a city map we were at the mercy of the locals. One man saw that we were clearly lost and looking for something and rather than just giving us some quick directions and going on his way he lead us all the way to the street of the hostel. Up flights of stairs we went, and with 40 lb packs at 10,000ft/3300m we were sufficiantly out of breath. When the man left us we proceeded down the street to be met by a woman asking if we were looking for a hostel, when we gave the name, she told us that was her hostel and instantly offered a room for 3 at 15 soles apeice, the very price we wanted to pay.

After settling in we set out to check out the city, get a map and get some food. We found a french owned restaurant where we indulged in mexican cuisine, and excellent deseert. Full and content, armed with mate de coca for the altitude we set out to do some shopping where Jordan found a llama wool beanie for 5 soles or $1.75 and I found a cool ring. We all got ideas for other things and also found some genuine Peruvian dark chocolate. Indulgence. Chocolate from the orgin. Afterward we return to our room, the chocolate dissappeared and we all felt the call of sleep, at only 8pm!!! But after interrupted sleep on the bus, it is a great idea. Tomorrow we set out to see the city, check on our Machu Pichu trip and find our native hosts, friends of Sophie´s : Margarita and Alfredo.

On our way to Cuzco, Peru

2006-05-27T15:18:00.000-05:00

Satuday dawned again with excellent weather and the most annoying patter of pigeons on our roof. In a place where it never rains, none of the roofs are water proofed and so are only thin boards secured to the top of the cement walls. The pigeons make a horrible racket as though they were racing eachother around the roof, and I don´t reccommend them as an alarm clock for anyone. Sophie and I woke up slowly, Jordan was already gone somewhere, and soon we were greeted by him with gifts of fresh bread, fresh oranges and fresh grapes from a market he had discovered. We ate for a tenth of what we had all been paying.

A great beginning to a new day, we packed up our things and checked out of our hotel, our host then caught us a taxi, then asked if we wanted one, and arranged for us to be taken to the bus stop in Pisco that would take us to Ica, where we would catch the bus to Cuzco. We bid him a thankful farewell and set off. Upon arrival to Pisco we were informed by our driver that our pre-arranged fare would take us only to central Pisco, and the bus station would be available for a mere 2 soles more apeice. We grudgingly agreed(again), and were taken to a corner, where we were issued a 3 sole apeice ticket from Pisco to Ica which was about 35 kilometers. Upon arrival in Ica we inquired at the local bus companies about fare to Cuzco and finally found the cheapest at 80 soles for the 18 hour trip into the mountains and to Cuzco, to which we will arrive around 2pm tomorrow afternoon (our bus leaves at 8pm). After aquiring more funds from a bank we trekked back to the bus station and purchased fare, and were (very thankfully) able to store our packs there so we could tour the town without our houses on our backs.

We set out, found a restaurant serving delicious cheap cuisine and ate....oh it was good. The most common lunch/dinner here is fish or chicken cooked a couple different ways served with either white rice, homemade french fries, or beans and preceeded by either a fresh vegetable salad or a noodle soup. When we first began eating we thought we were just being served tourist food because it consisted of a lot of white rice, noodles and home cut french fries. As we have come to find out that is a pretty standard meal, although the fish and vegetables are much better than in the states because they are FRESHer than anything I have tasted in a long time. I am even eating the tomatoes, which is a miracle for anyone who knows me.

We then found two bread shops and indulged in amazing sweet breads, cupcakes and bought a loaf for the 18 hour trip so we have some snacks. Now we are just passing time, awaiting our departure this evening, and then....to Cuzco.

Lima to Paracas, Peru

2006-05-27T14:33:00.000-05:00

Well.....it has been joyous, and we´ve only been here for about 4 days, but being transported into another world, using another language, and acclimating to another culture has distanced us beyond the limits of time. It is though we have been here ages already. On Thursday we decided to leave Lima and so we packed up, checked out of our hotel and hit the streets of Lima in search of the bus station. We walked along under partially overcast skies, dirt at our feet and people everywhere, horns were honking, taxi and bus hustlers were yelling and we walked, single file through it all with 40lb packs. When we got close to the bus station we asked a nearby policeman where the station was. He pointed down the street and told us it was around the corner. As it was we were in the very neighborhood where a fellow hosteller had been robbed the day before, so we looked a bit skeptically down the abandoned street. Seeing our doubt and a bit of fear, the police officer told us to follow him and patted his gun, explaining, "You´re safe with me." Sure enough, right around the corner, there was the bus station. Upon arrival the police officer offered a few measures of precaution for protecting ourselves, our money and our belongings and bid us farewell.

After purchasing the bus fare we found that we needed to go to the other bus station on the outskirts of town by the Pan-American Highway in order to catch the bus. We had 3 hours so we thought we would be economical and take a bus. As it was there was only one bus to take us where we needed to go and despite the aide of the bus stop workers running out in the street trying to get the bus for us, it was to no avail. We decided to just take the taxi for a bit higher fare, but more direct and sure. When we arrived at the bus station our bags were tagged and loaded and we were ushered to a posh waiting room with TV and sofas to lounge on. When the time came we loaded up on the bus and left Lima, never to return, but no great loss there.

As the city faded away we were greeted by the Peruvian coast, blue ocean leading up to desert shores. That´s right! I too was shocked to see great expanses of desert and dunes stretching out as far as your eye could see. Every so often you would dip into a valley were a river drained to the sea and suddenly the landscape would change before your eyes from desolate wasteland to lush green farmland with rows and rows of cotton, corn, sugarcane and chicken farms. Chickens are raised here much like the states. They are grown in houses that are hundreds of feet long and about twenty feet wide with small cages where the animals can barely move. The desert was also broken up by settlements of luxury homes on the water in the middle of wasteland. I wonder how fresh water is procured for such lavish gardening?

Moving on we stopped in Chinca (I think that was the name of the first town) which was a wine town similar to Napa or Sonoma, then proceeded on to Pisco. From Pisco we left and drove a few more kilometers to Paracas, a sleepy beach town nestled in the Bay of Paracas and just a few kilometers from the Paracas National Reserve Park entrance. After being in a bus for four hours it was refreshing to get out, strech my legs and breathe in deep breaths of sea-sweetened air. We began the trek down the center of town in an effort to find a clean cheap place to stay. Its the off-season now, so we knew if we played our cards right we would be able to strike a deal. After touring the hostals the Lonely Planet book suggested we were given a generous offer by a friendly guy who owned two hostels and a travel agency. We checked out the rooms, bargained, and flipped rocks in an effort to choose in our sleep and food deprived state. We finally decided on a room with two beds(Jordan prefers the floor), a private bath with hot water and a nice patio outside our room with a glorious view of the beach and bay. After washing up and settling a bit we set out to find something to eat. The town sports a glamorous tile boardwalk that is about 50 meters long, lined with restaurants on one side and a view of the beach and bay on the other. As we walked by, various hustlers ( I need to find a better word for them) tried to entice us to eat their cuisine, which was terribly overpriced. We finally settled for a small restaurant on the outskirts that was a bit less lavish.

Friday dawned quietly with plenty of sunshine and a fresh sea breeze. We relaxed and then went to the same restaurant for a desayuno(breakfast) of bread with butter, a fruit bowl of banana, papaya, apple and pineapple, and our choice of fresh juice, coffee(Nescafe) or tea (in this case Mate de Coca which is a mild helping of cocaine from the coca leaves and is legal in several South American countries and is said to help with altitude, or just give so much energy that you don´t notice the altitude). After breakfast we decided to head out to the Reserve on foot, despite the protest of our travel guide host who insisted we pay for a tour. Now when I think of "National Reserve" I think of green forests and such. This reserve consisted of thousands of acres of desert whose coastline happened to host penguins(the warm water variety), flamingos, dolphins and an Incan ruin in the shape of a candalabra. We decided to try our luck at walking, though our host warned us that it was 13-15 kilometers of desert!!!!!! We made it to the museum/bird-watching area, which wasn´t too impressive, then pressed on to the bay on the other side. Sophie decided to head back to the hotel so Jordan and I set out. About 1 kilometer up the road some locals stopped and gave us a ride to the bay, which was huge and absolutely beautiful. A little gathering of restaurants(probobly just for tourists) was on a small peninsula that extended into the middle of the bay. On the left side towering desert cliffs called the Cathedral obscured the horizon, while to the right the coastline curved sweetly toward the entry of the bay. Jordan took a swim then we hiked to the top of a small hill beside the restaurants to view the bay in its entirety.

After relaxing for a bit we ate a VERY expensive meal (on the expensive scale here), and then geared up for our return trip back across the desert along the road. No offers of rides this time and after 10-12 kilometers of desert we reached the outskirts of the town in late afternoon.We walked through luxury neighborhoods with walled yards and exquisite gardening, all with backyard pools and boats. We finally joined Sophie at the hotel and refreshed for dinner. We had seen some vendors on the boardwalk before who were selling necklaces, earrings and bracelets of semi-precious stones such as amazonianite, peruvian opal, amber and turquoise. We all made perchases and friends with these Peruvian/artist/hippie types as they taught us how to weave the materials and shared with us about their country and asked us of ours. It was a sweet time and it felt real, not just a bottled tourist experience, but hearing of real life from a local. These people travel all over the continent selling their wares at tourist spots, craft fairs and such. They have seen and experienced a lot. There was one woman and two men. Such friendly, helpful, loving people. We didn´t even bargain when we bought necklaces, they had all given us free gifts from their trade, what more could we ask for, than some new friends and excellent practice in our new language.

Arrival and first day

2006-05-24T21:35:00.000-05:00

Well we have arrived. Our plane was classically late and customs, while organized, were a bit of a drag, though everything seems to move slowly when you have been trapped in the waiting rooms of airports and airplane seats. We finally receieved our much-coveted ¨Peru¨stamp in our passports and proceded to baggage claim. There we found that Jordan´s tent had mysteriously dissappeared from his pack, although no harm or mangling of the straps that had secured it was evident, the tent was gone none the less. Dissappointed, but determinted we proceeded to exchange our American dollars for Peruvian soles and proceeded through customs without incident. By now it was 1 am and we were glad to have booked a driver from our hostal to meet us at the airport. The wonderful guy had waited since our intended arrival time of 10:30pm, and was now just as tired as we were, but openly shared about Lima as we drove through the abandoned streets. The hostal was everything the website had presented it to be (surprisingly enough) and we found ourselves in a maze of dormitory-style rooms created from an old mansion. With an internet cafe on the first floor and a restaurant on the 3rd, with lots of interesting and informative people inbetween, we had found a winner. Jordan and I were both glad to brush our teeth, and go to bed with the promise of breakfast with Sophie in the morning.

The morning dawned without the sun, but with a healthy amount of brick dropping, or something of the like. We were both awakened by what sounded like bricks falling through the ceiling and hitting the tile floor with resounding sounds. Though the hour was decent, what a way to wake up!!!! We brushed it off and got dressed, and went to meet Sophie. SOOOO great to see her and hear of what her 2 days in Lima have held for her. After breakfast we set out to see the city, which although it is grand in size and population (around 9 million) is rather boring apart from its many plazas. We journied to Miraflores, the newer outer part of town that is right on the beach, or on the cliffs above the beach. We wandered around there and saw a great skate park and BMX track right on the beach, had a marvelous 3 course meal for $1.50 and then took the long and arduous journey by bus back to our part of town. During our bus ride we met a guy named Lorenzo who was 21 and studying English at a local university. We were unsure of where to get off the bus and he gladly guided us back to Plaza de las Armas, which is 4 blocks from our hostel. The plaza was blocked off by police barricades due to protest demonstrations due to a visit from the president. The country is in a bit of healthy turmoil as elections come up on June 4, in Cusco. If one party wins there will be war with Chile to reclaim previously lost territory and settle old grudges. Due to the proximity of the elections and the circumstances of a winning party the police went to extreme measures to secure the Presidential palace which is in the Plaza de las Armas.

Upon returning to the hostel Sophie, Jordan and I sat down and began to roughly sketch out our trip, since we are done with Lima and ready to move on. What began as a rough sketch became an outline, since it takes so much longer to travel between destinations here due to road conditions. With the advice and encouragement of John, one of our fellow travelers we planned a jungle expedition as well as visiting some national parks and such(more on those soon!). We bit off a bit more than we can handle and realized a detailed trip schedule will be necessary if we intend on reaching Costa Rica by the end of June. Not to be pressured or worried, but to fulfill one of our main goals, which is to attend Spanish language school and improve our spanish.

The city is okay, but I would rather see the country and the wildness of the untamed jungles. The people here, though in a city, seldom speak English, which is both challenging and refreshing, though sometimes frustrating when you can´t communicate well. Challenging and and refeshing though because it is forcing us to remember and improve our spanish speaking skills daily, and gives a true authentic feel, rather than the mexican spanish speaking thing in baja. All in all, its been a great start, apart from the missing tent, which we hope to soon recover. Tomorrow we depart from Lima to the south to see ¨Poor Man´s Galapagos Islands of Peru¨ whose names I can´t remember. Buenos noches.

the day before 5-22-06

2006-05-23T07:16:00.000-05:00

Well I have arrived in San Francisco and eagerly await the arrival of my brother Jordan, who should arrive sometime this evening. I was drivn down by some great friends; Dana and Calub Englert. Last night I finally finished my final paper for my English class at 1:30am, so school is finally, finally done. My bag is packed and I have to continually check myself because I reherse and continually find myself going over a mental checklist of things I need. There must be at least 32 checks by each item by now if they were actually scibed on a peice of paper.
I should get some sleep, considering the fact that I only claimed 4 hours last night, and this night is sure to be close to the same, seeing as we anticipate catching the shuttle to the airport at about 5:40am. The Ozzfest tour bus is at our hotel and I keep waiting to catch a glimpse of a band member or something rediculous like that. As if I even listen to any of those bands anyway, but a brush with celebrity.....i'll pass.
Well, not much to say, although it hasn't "hit" me quite yet, except when I tried on my pack and found the 40-50 lbs to be rather staggering. I am certain of one thing, my physique is destined for improvement, whether I try or not, there is not really a choice when I"m packing 40-50 lbs of dead weight with me.

A Beginning, or almost. 5-21-06

2006-05-23T07:12:00.000-05:00

SO the journey is almost afoot, tomorrow at 8 am I depart for San Francisco to take in the sights, a hotel room and my last night in the States for the next 2 months!! Craziness. Tonight I relinquished my phone and my car to trusted individuals and am now hindered only by a short 3 page english paper (my english final incidently), and the final packing of my bag!!!! Oh yes and about $100 of coin to roll for my final deposit for my trip!!!
Keep looking for more posts, pictures and stories of unseen adventure as the summer unfolds!!!