Catching Up, the abridged version
So, let's see. It's Halloween and I'm sitting in the Lima airport, having arrived here earlier today from Cuzco, awaiting my flight to Buenos Aires tomorrow morning! Because I'm cheap and not all that in love with Lima, I've decided to just wait it out here in the airport, rather than heading into town, getting a hostel for a few hours, and then coming back out here to fly. Which means I've got 13 hours on my hands until my flight takes off... ample time to catch up on what I've been doing!
Everything I wrote up to this point took you to the end of our 4-day trek on the Santa Cruz trail in Huaraz, Perú. Upon returning from that trek, the three of us killed a few days in Huaraz itself. Friday, the first full day back in town, was spent lazily, as would be expected. The sun came back out after the rains of the previous day, so we spent a good portion of the day up on the rooftop terrace reading in the sunshine. Saturday we contemplated going for a hike to Laguna Churup, but alas, when we wandered out of our hostel to stock up on food, we came across tons of costumed children lined up in the street, assembling for a parade. Well, since parades are awesome and the kids were super cute, we decided to stick around for the day and see what all the hubbub was about. Turns out that it was some kind of children's celebration, timed in conjunction with the first annual agroindustrial fair in the city of Huaraz. It made the center of town packed, so it was fun to wander around. That evening, at a pizza joint, we ran into Megan, a girl we met at our hostel, and we ended up having dinner together, after which she invited us to the bar she worked at for a "last night in Huaraz" celebration (she had been volunteering there for a month and was leaving town the next day). The bar, called 13 Buhos (13 Owls) was a small little place on the second story above a discoteca where the owners brewed their own beer and a giant set of Jenga blocks was available for a good time. Consequently, we played quite a few rounds of Jenga while we sipped on some pretty tasty homemade ales, and we gathered a crowd around us, so our Jenga-playing group got bigger every time.
At one point, I saw a couple guys at the bar eyeing our game, and since we were about to start a new one, I invited them to join us. They declined to play, but we chatted for a while anyway, and it turned out that they were on the coaching staff for the local fútbol team (the head coach and an assistant trainer), who just happened to have a game the next day. All I had to do was mention that I loved fútbol and then what did I find in my hand but two free tickets to the match. Megan had told us about it at dinner and we definitely wanted to go, so it was a great stroke of luck to have two tickets handed to me, gratis. All we had to do the next day was buy one more ticket and we were home free! That turned out to be pretty easy, and we had nice seats on the second level of the west side of the stadium in the shade. We were surrounded by some very passionate fans, and while the match itself wasn't of the highest quality, the men shouting all around us more than made up for that. The visiting team was from Lima, and I swear they were more actors than fútbolistas...every time they were touched, even just the tiniest little bump, they went down to the ground, rolling around clutching at (fake) injuries and trying to get a call. The delays caused by these displays got longer as the match went on, and at one point the fans got so fed up with it, and with the refs, that they started throwing food and trash onto the field (particularly memorable were a chicken wing and a half-eat apple). From this point on, one of the men behind us started heckling like it was his job, and though he only had three or four phrases that he repeated, he had some choice insults (like "grow a pair, or I'll lend you one of mine"). All told, the game was a tie, but it was as crazy as we had hoped it would be.
Monday we finally motivated ourselves to hike to Churup, although Forrest stayed behind, waylayed by a touchy stomach. Travis and I, along with Lily, who we met a breakfast, set out on our journey kinda late in the morning. We took a colectivo partway up to the trailhead and then hoofed it the rest of the way. The day was cloudy and as we arrived at the beginning of the trail to Churup, we saw a couple women hastily making their way down. They told us that it was really cold and windy and raining up at the top, and they'd decided to turn around because of it. If any of us were apprehensive about this report, we didn't say anything, and the three of us set out up a steep trail towards the lake. Partway up, we stopped for lunch, and I didn't hike much longer before I decided to turn around. Since we'd gotten a late start and still had to make it back down to a town early enough to catch a ride back to Huaraz, and since my knee was acting up again, I reckoned I wouldn't make it to the top and should start heading down because I would be slow on the descent. Travis and Lily continued upwards, but said they would turn around soon. It took me a bit over an hour to get down, and I ended up waiting at the windy trailhead for about 45 minutes before Travis and Lily joined me. They did make it all the way up in about half an hour more, and said the lake was beautiful and the weather was okay. We decided to hurry down, as much to escape some ominous clouds as to keep to our rough time schedule, but on our way we got sandwiched by a couple old ladies herding their sheep and cows down from the heights. They kept a pretty good pace, but whenever one of their animals started to slow, the women would make a whooshing sound like a whip and the critter would speed up again. If an animal stopped altogether or started going the wrong way, the women wouldn't hesitate in picking up fist-sized or larger rocks and hurling them at the animal's haunches, putting their full body weight into the throw. They had good aim, and were generally pretty effective in their efforts. After a while, we parted ways, but it was an interesting and entertaining experience to be sure.
Monday night, Forrest, Travis, and I hopped on a bus to Lima, where we arrived at 5 in the morning and headed to the airport for a short hopper flight to Cuzco. Though we were all curious about the bus ride from Lima to the Inca capital (21 hours long and purportedly very curvy) we decided we'd rather save the time and energy and fly to our next destination. When we finally arrived, it was sunny and warm, and the taxi driver that took us to our hostel was the most talkative and tour-guide-like I've ever had. We stayed at Pariwana, the sister hostel to the one in Lima where we first all crossed paths, and after we got settled, we set out to wander the center of town. We stumbled upon a big market with everything from textiles to meat to bread to produce, and part of it was even packed with food stands. Curious and hungry, we sat down at one of the counters, where a very smiley woman made us the most delicious meal ever. It was called mixto, cost S/.4 (probably $1.50) and consisted of a pile of rice over a bed of french fries, topped with avocado, fried bananas, and ham, with a fresh-chopped onion, cucumber, and tomato salad on the side. I pawned my ham off on Travis, who was actually the first one to order the dish, and we all gorged ourselves till there was no more room. YUM. To fend off our pending food comas, we walked around more of the town, wandering through the Plaza de Armas and into a neighborhood of cobblestone streets and thick stone walls that seemed to be the "ritziest" (and most touristy) part of town.
Once we tired of wandering, we headed back to Pariwana, where we sat in the bar and planned what to do with our next few days. We decided to go for a two- or three-day trek in the Lares area, instead of the more well-known Inca Trail or Salkantay Loop, before hitting up Machu Picchu, and resorted to doing the rest of the planning the next day. We made good use of the South American Explorers house, where a wealth of maps and people ready to answer questions are available to help you plan your adventures throughout Perú. Logistics nailed down, it was time for food shopping, so we returned to the market to pick up the usual (bread, cheese, avocados, apples, bananas, nuts, and dried apricots) as well as try another market meal. This time we went for a different food counter, and were served a tasty lentil-potato something with rice, salad, and trout. The guys split the fish, and we again stuffed ourselves till bursting. At about 5 that afternoon, we hopped into a colectivo that took us to Calca, in the Sacred Valley, from which we took another one up into the mountains to Lares, a little town known for its mineral hot springs. By the time we arrived in Lares, it was dark, and so we walked into the first hostel we saw and bargained our way into a room. Next came a little dinner, and although we had been tired from the drive, the food rejuvenated us, so we decided to head to the hot springs to see about a nighttime soak (actually, Travis practically dragged me and Forrest out the door, but we were glad once we got going). Our directions were typically vague, so we took a wrong turn at first, but after backtracking, we found the right road, and wandered our way to the pools. By the time we got there, the guards informed us that there were only about 20 minutes of swim time left, and asked if we'd come back tomorrow. As we talked the idea over, they revoked that idea and said they'd let us in tonight if we only stayed for an hour. This was more than enough time for us, and after some more bargaining (the hostel owner told us a cheaper price than the guards did), we were let into the hot springs. There were several pools in the complex, and we chose the warmest one (warm, but not hot) for a soak. We didn't stay long, but left relaxed and glad of our adventure.
It turned out to be a good thing that we'd located the hot springs the night before, because the beginning of our trek the next morning took us right past the pools. Stopping occasionally to ask for directions from passers-by on the road, we hiked our way from Lares to Concani, from which point we climbed our first pass up to 4200 m (13,780 ft), the green scenery studded by turquoise lakes, sprawling waterfalls, and llama herds. It was not far into the climb that my camera battery died, and upon looking for my replacement, I realized that I had left it (and the charger) in my backpack in Pariwana's storage in Cuzco. So much for picture taking. Forrest and Travis were nice enough to snap a few extra shots for me, since I could no longer be the fanatical photographer, but it was a nice way to force me to just enjoy where I was without the preoccupation of making sure it was well documented. We got to the top of the pass late, around 4:30 pm, and stayed on top a short time before heading down into the next valley, trying to get as far down as we could before nightfall. We made good progress, and camped not far from the next town, Quishuarani, which was slated to be our goal for the first day. The stars were out, the night was not as cold as we expected, and we awoke early with the sun, ready for the next day of hiking. We set out around 9 am, and bagged our second pass (again, 4200 m) shortly after 1. This one was peppered by false summits, and so when we finally reached the top, we were glad of the achievement. The views from the trail, which followed near the top of a ridge for quite a ways, were incredible; turquoise lakes set in green hillsides that rushed up to meet icy blue glaciers beneath rocky, snow-capped peaks. In addition to the terrain near at hand, we could see lots more mountains in the distance in all directions, making for some beautiful surroundings. Again, we made good progress on the way down on the second day, and overshot our projected campsite by a good distance. We had the energy to keep going, so we figured, "why not?" The third day, we awoke to a steady rain, which continued off and on throughout the day. We finished our trek in Huaran around midday, and caught a series of colectivos to Urubamba and then Ollantaytambo, from where we'd take a night train to Machu Picchu.
Upon arriving in Ollantaytambo, we were greeted by a large crowd of people in the central square, gathered around a stage sporting a banner that read "Happy 137th Anniversary." We're still not sure what anniversary they were celebrating, but the town did put on quite a party. We hung out in a restaurant for a couple hours, eating lunch and watching some of the Panamerican Games broadcast from Guadalajara. Our next goal for the afternoon was to find a place to print out our train tickets, which turned out to be more of a hunt than expected, owing to the fact that most of the locutorios were closed for the celebration. We finally found one that was open, and took our time printing tickets and checking emails, since we still had hours until our train was due to depart. We wandered outside and stationed ourselves on the fringe of the crowd to observe the goings-on, which turned into live traditional music by an energetic band from Cuzco after dark. Though the plaza was relatively deserted when it was still light outside, dusk brought people out of the woodwork, and the street began to fill up with partygoers enjoying the live music. Several people lugged out cases of beer and sold them, along with cups, on the street. Of course, as the night went on, more than a few people were already drunk, and it was pretty funny to watch them try to buy more alcohol from the vendors or dance with random ladies around them. We were enjoying ourselves until it started to suddenly rain, at which point we decided to make a dash for the train station and shelter. Turns out there was no shelter to be had, as the train station itself consisted of a gate and the train tracks. So we stood in the drizzle until they let us load into our coach, where we sat reading and dozing off until we arrived in Aguas Calientes, the launching pad for all Machu Picchu adventures. We followed the throng of train riders uphill through the town and waved off numerous invitations to various hostels and restaurants. We had the idea that we wanted to hike partway up to the ruins and then spend the night, so I eventually just started asking for directions to the trail. We finally made our way there (in the opposite direction of where we'd initially gone) and made it to the Puente Ruinas, where a guard controlled access to the road and footpath up the mountain. He turned us around, saying we couldn't start hiking until 4 that morning, and directed us to a campground a minute's walk back up the road. We went for it, because at that point it was late and dark and we were tired, and crawled into our humid, still-damp tent for some rest.
We awoke lazily and didn't feel any rush to get up to the ruins, so we cooked our usual oatmeal and apple breakfast, prepared our daypacks (we left our big backpacks in the tent where we camped), and set out for Machu Picchu. The footpath up to the ruins was essentially a steep set of stone stairs that straightlined the ascent, while the road wound through a series of switchbacks. The hike was hot and humid, and we realized that our weeks spent at altitude really did make a difference: we got to the top in 35 minutes, when we'd been told it would take an hour (Aguas Calientes is at 2040 m/6693 ft and Machu Picchu is at 2470 m/8104 ft). Sweaty and triumphant, we walked into Machu Picchu, where we spent the majority of the day wandering around and lazing about. It was one of the most surreal feelings I've had, to be standing there and looking at the place that I'd seen so many times before in photos. I had a couple giddy moments of feeling like a kid in a candy shop. We didn't pay for a tour, but we found a couple groups that we tagged along with, and so we heard bits and pieces of the guides' explanations of various parts of the ruins. One of the most interesting things I heard was that the city was built in about 17 years, and it was used as a way for people to pay their taxes during the days of the Inca empire. There's no real idea of how many people contributed to the site's construction, but it must have been in the thousands, to do so much work so quickly. A lot of the walls had been reconstructed since the days of the Inca, and the difference was blatantly obvious: the Inca's smooth, precisely-fitted and mortarless walls were in sharp contrast with the chunky, haphazard post-Inca work. Although my camera battery was mostly dead, Travis had the brilliant idea of trying to warm it up against my skin and then seeing if that gave it enough life to get a picture or two. This worked well enough, and I took the battery out of the camera whenever I wasn't using it in the hopes of conserving a bit more of that last energy. I didn't snap away hundreds of pictures of the place, which I would've done with a full battery, but I did manage a few of the prize shots - proof that I was there.
Around 2:30, once we'd had our fill of Machu Picchu, we decided to hike back down, and not a moment too soon; about halfway back to our campsite it started to rain. Hard. It had let up by the time we got back to the tent, but we gathered up our belongings and stashed under the small awning over the building that housed the bathrooms. While Travis and Forrest relaxed, I joined a rainy, slippery game of volleyball with some other campers, which turned out to be a lot of fun. We had no net, so we set up shoes and shirts to roughly delineate a court, and had a great time arguing about whether or not balls landed in, out, or in the "net." Partway through our game, we saw a double rainbow soaring from one side of the canyon to the other, which I'd hoped to see since the rain started with the sun still out. After a while, we tired of our game and all retreated to the mens' bathroom, the only one open, to dry off, hide from the rain, and make some dinner. By the time the three of us started eating, the rain had stopped, so we ate quickly, packed up, and took advantage of the chance to walk back to the train station without getting soaked. We made it back undrenched, but were not so lucky upon our arrival in Ollantaytambo. Luckily, not far up the road from the train station, we came across a colectivo offering to take us all the way back to Cuzco, an opportunity we jumped at. An hour and a half later, we were dropped off about a block away from Pariwana, and we scampered inside to find beds for the night. Once we settled in and dried off, we headed to the bar again, where a live band had just finished playing and dance music was pumping from the speakers. We ran into a few friends there and chatted for a while before falling sleepily into bed.
This morning, I was in Cuzco, taking a slow morning, a luxuriously warm shower, and one last stroll around the town before getting on my plane to take me back here, to Lima. I left Pariwana with not much time to spare in getting to the airport, but my taxi driver understood the hurry and drove quickly. Come to find out, when I check in, that my flight was delayed, so I was in no danger of missing the plane. All told, we took off an hour later than scheduled, and I really appreciated that I wasn't trying to connect to a flight any time soon, so the delay didn't throw any kind of monkey wrench into my travel plans.
Though I'm a bit sad to leave Perú and the good friends I made in Travis and Forrest over the past couple weeks, I am very much looking forward to being in Argentina, where new friends await me, as well as a more stationary, routined life (at least during my CELTA class). I've got a bit less than a week before the course starts, which I'll utilize to relax and get the lay of the land. So, until Buenos Aires, hasta luego!
Everything I wrote up to this point took you to the end of our 4-day trek on the Santa Cruz trail in Huaraz, Perú. Upon returning from that trek, the three of us killed a few days in Huaraz itself. Friday, the first full day back in town, was spent lazily, as would be expected. The sun came back out after the rains of the previous day, so we spent a good portion of the day up on the rooftop terrace reading in the sunshine. Saturday we contemplated going for a hike to Laguna Churup, but alas, when we wandered out of our hostel to stock up on food, we came across tons of costumed children lined up in the street, assembling for a parade. Well, since parades are awesome and the kids were super cute, we decided to stick around for the day and see what all the hubbub was about. Turns out that it was some kind of children's celebration, timed in conjunction with the first annual agroindustrial fair in the city of Huaraz. It made the center of town packed, so it was fun to wander around. That evening, at a pizza joint, we ran into Megan, a girl we met at our hostel, and we ended up having dinner together, after which she invited us to the bar she worked at for a "last night in Huaraz" celebration (she had been volunteering there for a month and was leaving town the next day). The bar, called 13 Buhos (13 Owls) was a small little place on the second story above a discoteca where the owners brewed their own beer and a giant set of Jenga blocks was available for a good time. Consequently, we played quite a few rounds of Jenga while we sipped on some pretty tasty homemade ales, and we gathered a crowd around us, so our Jenga-playing group got bigger every time.
At one point, I saw a couple guys at the bar eyeing our game, and since we were about to start a new one, I invited them to join us. They declined to play, but we chatted for a while anyway, and it turned out that they were on the coaching staff for the local fútbol team (the head coach and an assistant trainer), who just happened to have a game the next day. All I had to do was mention that I loved fútbol and then what did I find in my hand but two free tickets to the match. Megan had told us about it at dinner and we definitely wanted to go, so it was a great stroke of luck to have two tickets handed to me, gratis. All we had to do the next day was buy one more ticket and we were home free! That turned out to be pretty easy, and we had nice seats on the second level of the west side of the stadium in the shade. We were surrounded by some very passionate fans, and while the match itself wasn't of the highest quality, the men shouting all around us more than made up for that. The visiting team was from Lima, and I swear they were more actors than fútbolistas...every time they were touched, even just the tiniest little bump, they went down to the ground, rolling around clutching at (fake) injuries and trying to get a call. The delays caused by these displays got longer as the match went on, and at one point the fans got so fed up with it, and with the refs, that they started throwing food and trash onto the field (particularly memorable were a chicken wing and a half-eat apple). From this point on, one of the men behind us started heckling like it was his job, and though he only had three or four phrases that he repeated, he had some choice insults (like "grow a pair, or I'll lend you one of mine"). All told, the game was a tie, but it was as crazy as we had hoped it would be.
Monday we finally motivated ourselves to hike to Churup, although Forrest stayed behind, waylayed by a touchy stomach. Travis and I, along with Lily, who we met a breakfast, set out on our journey kinda late in the morning. We took a colectivo partway up to the trailhead and then hoofed it the rest of the way. The day was cloudy and as we arrived at the beginning of the trail to Churup, we saw a couple women hastily making their way down. They told us that it was really cold and windy and raining up at the top, and they'd decided to turn around because of it. If any of us were apprehensive about this report, we didn't say anything, and the three of us set out up a steep trail towards the lake. Partway up, we stopped for lunch, and I didn't hike much longer before I decided to turn around. Since we'd gotten a late start and still had to make it back down to a town early enough to catch a ride back to Huaraz, and since my knee was acting up again, I reckoned I wouldn't make it to the top and should start heading down because I would be slow on the descent. Travis and Lily continued upwards, but said they would turn around soon. It took me a bit over an hour to get down, and I ended up waiting at the windy trailhead for about 45 minutes before Travis and Lily joined me. They did make it all the way up in about half an hour more, and said the lake was beautiful and the weather was okay. We decided to hurry down, as much to escape some ominous clouds as to keep to our rough time schedule, but on our way we got sandwiched by a couple old ladies herding their sheep and cows down from the heights. They kept a pretty good pace, but whenever one of their animals started to slow, the women would make a whooshing sound like a whip and the critter would speed up again. If an animal stopped altogether or started going the wrong way, the women wouldn't hesitate in picking up fist-sized or larger rocks and hurling them at the animal's haunches, putting their full body weight into the throw. They had good aim, and were generally pretty effective in their efforts. After a while, we parted ways, but it was an interesting and entertaining experience to be sure.
Monday night, Forrest, Travis, and I hopped on a bus to Lima, where we arrived at 5 in the morning and headed to the airport for a short hopper flight to Cuzco. Though we were all curious about the bus ride from Lima to the Inca capital (21 hours long and purportedly very curvy) we decided we'd rather save the time and energy and fly to our next destination. When we finally arrived, it was sunny and warm, and the taxi driver that took us to our hostel was the most talkative and tour-guide-like I've ever had. We stayed at Pariwana, the sister hostel to the one in Lima where we first all crossed paths, and after we got settled, we set out to wander the center of town. We stumbled upon a big market with everything from textiles to meat to bread to produce, and part of it was even packed with food stands. Curious and hungry, we sat down at one of the counters, where a very smiley woman made us the most delicious meal ever. It was called mixto, cost S/.4 (probably $1.50) and consisted of a pile of rice over a bed of french fries, topped with avocado, fried bananas, and ham, with a fresh-chopped onion, cucumber, and tomato salad on the side. I pawned my ham off on Travis, who was actually the first one to order the dish, and we all gorged ourselves till there was no more room. YUM. To fend off our pending food comas, we walked around more of the town, wandering through the Plaza de Armas and into a neighborhood of cobblestone streets and thick stone walls that seemed to be the "ritziest" (and most touristy) part of town.
Once we tired of wandering, we headed back to Pariwana, where we sat in the bar and planned what to do with our next few days. We decided to go for a two- or three-day trek in the Lares area, instead of the more well-known Inca Trail or Salkantay Loop, before hitting up Machu Picchu, and resorted to doing the rest of the planning the next day. We made good use of the South American Explorers house, where a wealth of maps and people ready to answer questions are available to help you plan your adventures throughout Perú. Logistics nailed down, it was time for food shopping, so we returned to the market to pick up the usual (bread, cheese, avocados, apples, bananas, nuts, and dried apricots) as well as try another market meal. This time we went for a different food counter, and were served a tasty lentil-potato something with rice, salad, and trout. The guys split the fish, and we again stuffed ourselves till bursting. At about 5 that afternoon, we hopped into a colectivo that took us to Calca, in the Sacred Valley, from which we took another one up into the mountains to Lares, a little town known for its mineral hot springs. By the time we arrived in Lares, it was dark, and so we walked into the first hostel we saw and bargained our way into a room. Next came a little dinner, and although we had been tired from the drive, the food rejuvenated us, so we decided to head to the hot springs to see about a nighttime soak (actually, Travis practically dragged me and Forrest out the door, but we were glad once we got going). Our directions were typically vague, so we took a wrong turn at first, but after backtracking, we found the right road, and wandered our way to the pools. By the time we got there, the guards informed us that there were only about 20 minutes of swim time left, and asked if we'd come back tomorrow. As we talked the idea over, they revoked that idea and said they'd let us in tonight if we only stayed for an hour. This was more than enough time for us, and after some more bargaining (the hostel owner told us a cheaper price than the guards did), we were let into the hot springs. There were several pools in the complex, and we chose the warmest one (warm, but not hot) for a soak. We didn't stay long, but left relaxed and glad of our adventure.
It turned out to be a good thing that we'd located the hot springs the night before, because the beginning of our trek the next morning took us right past the pools. Stopping occasionally to ask for directions from passers-by on the road, we hiked our way from Lares to Concani, from which point we climbed our first pass up to 4200 m (13,780 ft), the green scenery studded by turquoise lakes, sprawling waterfalls, and llama herds. It was not far into the climb that my camera battery died, and upon looking for my replacement, I realized that I had left it (and the charger) in my backpack in Pariwana's storage in Cuzco. So much for picture taking. Forrest and Travis were nice enough to snap a few extra shots for me, since I could no longer be the fanatical photographer, but it was a nice way to force me to just enjoy where I was without the preoccupation of making sure it was well documented. We got to the top of the pass late, around 4:30 pm, and stayed on top a short time before heading down into the next valley, trying to get as far down as we could before nightfall. We made good progress, and camped not far from the next town, Quishuarani, which was slated to be our goal for the first day. The stars were out, the night was not as cold as we expected, and we awoke early with the sun, ready for the next day of hiking. We set out around 9 am, and bagged our second pass (again, 4200 m) shortly after 1. This one was peppered by false summits, and so when we finally reached the top, we were glad of the achievement. The views from the trail, which followed near the top of a ridge for quite a ways, were incredible; turquoise lakes set in green hillsides that rushed up to meet icy blue glaciers beneath rocky, snow-capped peaks. In addition to the terrain near at hand, we could see lots more mountains in the distance in all directions, making for some beautiful surroundings. Again, we made good progress on the way down on the second day, and overshot our projected campsite by a good distance. We had the energy to keep going, so we figured, "why not?" The third day, we awoke to a steady rain, which continued off and on throughout the day. We finished our trek in Huaran around midday, and caught a series of colectivos to Urubamba and then Ollantaytambo, from where we'd take a night train to Machu Picchu.
Upon arriving in Ollantaytambo, we were greeted by a large crowd of people in the central square, gathered around a stage sporting a banner that read "Happy 137th Anniversary." We're still not sure what anniversary they were celebrating, but the town did put on quite a party. We hung out in a restaurant for a couple hours, eating lunch and watching some of the Panamerican Games broadcast from Guadalajara. Our next goal for the afternoon was to find a place to print out our train tickets, which turned out to be more of a hunt than expected, owing to the fact that most of the locutorios were closed for the celebration. We finally found one that was open, and took our time printing tickets and checking emails, since we still had hours until our train was due to depart. We wandered outside and stationed ourselves on the fringe of the crowd to observe the goings-on, which turned into live traditional music by an energetic band from Cuzco after dark. Though the plaza was relatively deserted when it was still light outside, dusk brought people out of the woodwork, and the street began to fill up with partygoers enjoying the live music. Several people lugged out cases of beer and sold them, along with cups, on the street. Of course, as the night went on, more than a few people were already drunk, and it was pretty funny to watch them try to buy more alcohol from the vendors or dance with random ladies around them. We were enjoying ourselves until it started to suddenly rain, at which point we decided to make a dash for the train station and shelter. Turns out there was no shelter to be had, as the train station itself consisted of a gate and the train tracks. So we stood in the drizzle until they let us load into our coach, where we sat reading and dozing off until we arrived in Aguas Calientes, the launching pad for all Machu Picchu adventures. We followed the throng of train riders uphill through the town and waved off numerous invitations to various hostels and restaurants. We had the idea that we wanted to hike partway up to the ruins and then spend the night, so I eventually just started asking for directions to the trail. We finally made our way there (in the opposite direction of where we'd initially gone) and made it to the Puente Ruinas, where a guard controlled access to the road and footpath up the mountain. He turned us around, saying we couldn't start hiking until 4 that morning, and directed us to a campground a minute's walk back up the road. We went for it, because at that point it was late and dark and we were tired, and crawled into our humid, still-damp tent for some rest.
We awoke lazily and didn't feel any rush to get up to the ruins, so we cooked our usual oatmeal and apple breakfast, prepared our daypacks (we left our big backpacks in the tent where we camped), and set out for Machu Picchu. The footpath up to the ruins was essentially a steep set of stone stairs that straightlined the ascent, while the road wound through a series of switchbacks. The hike was hot and humid, and we realized that our weeks spent at altitude really did make a difference: we got to the top in 35 minutes, when we'd been told it would take an hour (Aguas Calientes is at 2040 m/6693 ft and Machu Picchu is at 2470 m/8104 ft). Sweaty and triumphant, we walked into Machu Picchu, where we spent the majority of the day wandering around and lazing about. It was one of the most surreal feelings I've had, to be standing there and looking at the place that I'd seen so many times before in photos. I had a couple giddy moments of feeling like a kid in a candy shop. We didn't pay for a tour, but we found a couple groups that we tagged along with, and so we heard bits and pieces of the guides' explanations of various parts of the ruins. One of the most interesting things I heard was that the city was built in about 17 years, and it was used as a way for people to pay their taxes during the days of the Inca empire. There's no real idea of how many people contributed to the site's construction, but it must have been in the thousands, to do so much work so quickly. A lot of the walls had been reconstructed since the days of the Inca, and the difference was blatantly obvious: the Inca's smooth, precisely-fitted and mortarless walls were in sharp contrast with the chunky, haphazard post-Inca work. Although my camera battery was mostly dead, Travis had the brilliant idea of trying to warm it up against my skin and then seeing if that gave it enough life to get a picture or two. This worked well enough, and I took the battery out of the camera whenever I wasn't using it in the hopes of conserving a bit more of that last energy. I didn't snap away hundreds of pictures of the place, which I would've done with a full battery, but I did manage a few of the prize shots - proof that I was there.
Around 2:30, once we'd had our fill of Machu Picchu, we decided to hike back down, and not a moment too soon; about halfway back to our campsite it started to rain. Hard. It had let up by the time we got back to the tent, but we gathered up our belongings and stashed under the small awning over the building that housed the bathrooms. While Travis and Forrest relaxed, I joined a rainy, slippery game of volleyball with some other campers, which turned out to be a lot of fun. We had no net, so we set up shoes and shirts to roughly delineate a court, and had a great time arguing about whether or not balls landed in, out, or in the "net." Partway through our game, we saw a double rainbow soaring from one side of the canyon to the other, which I'd hoped to see since the rain started with the sun still out. After a while, we tired of our game and all retreated to the mens' bathroom, the only one open, to dry off, hide from the rain, and make some dinner. By the time the three of us started eating, the rain had stopped, so we ate quickly, packed up, and took advantage of the chance to walk back to the train station without getting soaked. We made it back undrenched, but were not so lucky upon our arrival in Ollantaytambo. Luckily, not far up the road from the train station, we came across a colectivo offering to take us all the way back to Cuzco, an opportunity we jumped at. An hour and a half later, we were dropped off about a block away from Pariwana, and we scampered inside to find beds for the night. Once we settled in and dried off, we headed to the bar again, where a live band had just finished playing and dance music was pumping from the speakers. We ran into a few friends there and chatted for a while before falling sleepily into bed.
This morning, I was in Cuzco, taking a slow morning, a luxuriously warm shower, and one last stroll around the town before getting on my plane to take me back here, to Lima. I left Pariwana with not much time to spare in getting to the airport, but my taxi driver understood the hurry and drove quickly. Come to find out, when I check in, that my flight was delayed, so I was in no danger of missing the plane. All told, we took off an hour later than scheduled, and I really appreciated that I wasn't trying to connect to a flight any time soon, so the delay didn't throw any kind of monkey wrench into my travel plans.
Though I'm a bit sad to leave Perú and the good friends I made in Travis and Forrest over the past couple weeks, I am very much looking forward to being in Argentina, where new friends await me, as well as a more stationary, routined life (at least during my CELTA class). I've got a bit less than a week before the course starts, which I'll utilize to relax and get the lay of the land. So, until Buenos Aires, hasta luego!
A Backcountry Tale, Part 4.
The last day of our trek opened chilly and beautiful. I slept through the night and woke up at 6:30, with the first rays of sun, and decided to sit by the river and read until Forrest and Travis awoke. I spent a pleasant hour there, watching as the sun crept down the canyon walls and filled the narrow valley with warming rays. The light brought with it the sight of ominous gray clouds resting in the valley east of us, and since we'd been rained on the night before, we figured that's what these clouds had in store for us. We'd been lucky with weather so far (it is, after all, supposed to be the rainy season, but we didn't see any until our third night out) and were keen to keep it that way, so we ate a quick breakfast and packed up early to get a head start on the trail.
The last portion of our hike was steep and rocky in most places, which made the going a bit slower. This was the day where we realized the wisdom of doing the trail backwards as we had...this would have been a steep and tiring climb for the first day of the trek, making the whole thing feel more challenging. Thankfully, the rain clouds stayed behind us for the remainder of our trek, and we made it out of the national park and into Cashapampa in time for lunch. We'd heard talk of hot springs near the end of the trail, but since we finished in the middle of a sunny day, immersing ourselves in hot water didn't sound as appealing as it had before. Instead, we walked to a little plaza in the middle of the small town and sat under a gondola for our last round of cheese and avocado sandwiches. Some of the shopkeepers stared at us as we ate, and we were visited by a few hopeful dogs, but we enjoyed our food just the same.
As we had come off the trail into the town, we were met by several taxi drivers offering to take us to Caraz, the nearest town from which we could catch a bus back to Huaraz. One in particular met us farther up the trail than the others, and followed us in his car to the plaza where we ate, even though I had told him not to. Since it's no longer high tourist season, I can see why the drivers are anxious to get as many jobs as they can, so he wasn't going to just let us walk away. Once we finished eating, we loaded our packs into the back of his white station wagon and set off down the road. He said he wanted 15 soles from each us for the ride, but between the three of us we only had 30. He didn't like that scenario at all, so we drove to a couple towns close by to see if there were any other riders to be had. We were unlucky in that department, but he decided to take us down to Caraz anyway, and we made our way down a narrow windy rocky road. This was quite unexpected for us, since we assumed it would be a short ride, but it was much more fun that way. Our driver, sporting an Argentine fútbol jersey, drove quickly, listened to regional polka-inspired music, and honked his horn before he came to any blind corners. It felt so typically Latin American, in the best way, and was a fun way to transition back to normal life.
Once we got to Caraz, we had two orders of business: find a bus to Huaraz, and find an ATM so that we could pay for it. We asked for directions from a couple people, but eventually we did find a bank where we could get money. Having restocked our wallets, we walked back to the area where we thought we'd find a ride to Huaraz, and found a taxi driver willing to take us there for 100 soles total. We were all a bit taken aback by the price, and so told him we'd look for another option. A more kindly bus driver directed us to a terminal where the collectivos that run between Caraz and Huaraz depart from, and we got there just as one was getting ready to leave. They ushered us on board, with our packs in our laps, and away we went. Price per person: 6 soles. Ahhhh. Much better.
Not long after our bus to Huaraz pulled out of the station, it started to rain. Hard. We couldn't have had better timing. It was still raining when we got back to Huaraz, although by then it was more of a light drizzle, so we donned our rain jackets and hoofed it back to our hostel. The walk was shorter than we anticipated, and when we rang the doorbell, Juan (one of the hostel owners) opened the gate wearing a heavy parka and told us he thought we'd decided to do a longer hike, since we hadn't returned yet. We laughed with him and were shown back to the same dorm room where Forrest and Travis had stayed before we left. We got our remaining things out of the luggage storage room and collapsed onto our beds, reveling in the fact that we had mattresses instead of foam pads and feeling proud of what we'd done. All in all, we hiked about 50 kilometers, over 31 miles, in 4 days' time, and we saw many incredible things. Worth it? Of course. The last time? Probably not. Hasta pronto, Santa Cruz!
The last portion of our hike was steep and rocky in most places, which made the going a bit slower. This was the day where we realized the wisdom of doing the trail backwards as we had...this would have been a steep and tiring climb for the first day of the trek, making the whole thing feel more challenging. Thankfully, the rain clouds stayed behind us for the remainder of our trek, and we made it out of the national park and into Cashapampa in time for lunch. We'd heard talk of hot springs near the end of the trail, but since we finished in the middle of a sunny day, immersing ourselves in hot water didn't sound as appealing as it had before. Instead, we walked to a little plaza in the middle of the small town and sat under a gondola for our last round of cheese and avocado sandwiches. Some of the shopkeepers stared at us as we ate, and we were visited by a few hopeful dogs, but we enjoyed our food just the same.
As we had come off the trail into the town, we were met by several taxi drivers offering to take us to Caraz, the nearest town from which we could catch a bus back to Huaraz. One in particular met us farther up the trail than the others, and followed us in his car to the plaza where we ate, even though I had told him not to. Since it's no longer high tourist season, I can see why the drivers are anxious to get as many jobs as they can, so he wasn't going to just let us walk away. Once we finished eating, we loaded our packs into the back of his white station wagon and set off down the road. He said he wanted 15 soles from each us for the ride, but between the three of us we only had 30. He didn't like that scenario at all, so we drove to a couple towns close by to see if there were any other riders to be had. We were unlucky in that department, but he decided to take us down to Caraz anyway, and we made our way down a narrow windy rocky road. This was quite unexpected for us, since we assumed it would be a short ride, but it was much more fun that way. Our driver, sporting an Argentine fútbol jersey, drove quickly, listened to regional polka-inspired music, and honked his horn before he came to any blind corners. It felt so typically Latin American, in the best way, and was a fun way to transition back to normal life.
Once we got to Caraz, we had two orders of business: find a bus to Huaraz, and find an ATM so that we could pay for it. We asked for directions from a couple people, but eventually we did find a bank where we could get money. Having restocked our wallets, we walked back to the area where we thought we'd find a ride to Huaraz, and found a taxi driver willing to take us there for 100 soles total. We were all a bit taken aback by the price, and so told him we'd look for another option. A more kindly bus driver directed us to a terminal where the collectivos that run between Caraz and Huaraz depart from, and we got there just as one was getting ready to leave. They ushered us on board, with our packs in our laps, and away we went. Price per person: 6 soles. Ahhhh. Much better.
Not long after our bus to Huaraz pulled out of the station, it started to rain. Hard. We couldn't have had better timing. It was still raining when we got back to Huaraz, although by then it was more of a light drizzle, so we donned our rain jackets and hoofed it back to our hostel. The walk was shorter than we anticipated, and when we rang the doorbell, Juan (one of the hostel owners) opened the gate wearing a heavy parka and told us he thought we'd decided to do a longer hike, since we hadn't returned yet. We laughed with him and were shown back to the same dorm room where Forrest and Travis had stayed before we left. We got our remaining things out of the luggage storage room and collapsed onto our beds, reveling in the fact that we had mattresses instead of foam pads and feeling proud of what we'd done. All in all, we hiked about 50 kilometers, over 31 miles, in 4 days' time, and we saw many incredible things. Worth it? Of course. The last time? Probably not. Hasta pronto, Santa Cruz!
A Backcountry Tale, Part 3.
Waking up on day 3 of our trek was one of the best moments I've had. I'd slept well, stayed warm, and the sun was shining! The cherry on top of the cake, of course, was the fact that I crawled out of our tent to look up at 19,130-ft (5830 m) Tauliraju, the impressive mountain presiding over our campsite. We had first seen it the day before as we came up and over Punta Union, and the more we saw of it, the more Travis and I decided it was one of our favorite peaks. You'll have to see a picture of it to understand why it was so impressive.
After a tasty breakfast of oatmeal, apples, and brown sugar, we packed our things up and headed off down the trail. Going was slow at first, because the trail was somewhat steep and my knee was still achy, but we were infected by an easy-breezy attitude and didn't feel the need to rush through the day. By the time we got down to the valley floor, clouds had covered up the sun and a cool wind has once again stirred up, so we quickened our pace across the flat floodplain to try to get to a more sheltered part of the trail. This valley was similar to the others in that it was lined with high rock walls strung with lacy waterfalls, and at various lucky times we could glimpse yet another snow-covered mass peeking over the canyon walls. One of these that graced our day was Alpamayo, a mountain that measures 19,511 ft (5947 m) and has been called the most beautiful peak in the world for its almost-symmetrical pyramidal shape. Its taller neighbor, Quitaraju (19,803 ft or 6036 m), was also impressive, and the view of the two, towering over the valley and its turquoise lagoon, made a great backdrop for the day's trek.
We hiked on for a ways, through intermittent sun, clouds, and wind, past Laguna Jaluncocha. This large expanse of deep turquoise water extends across the entire valley floor, and a small river stems from it. On the other side of the lagoon, the trail began to descend again into the next valley, and the winds picked up. Hungry but tired of the breeze, we lucked out and found a large boulder that served as a perfect windblock and lunch spot. I was feeling pretty tired by this point, since we'd been hiking for 5 hours already, but the food helped revitalize me, as did a visit from an adorable little golden cattle dog. He came looking for food, of course, and was happy to dispose of the rinds of cheese we didn't eat in our sandwiches, but he was also pretty partial to human attention, so he sat with us for a while and let us pet him. Once he'd had his fill, he left as quickly as he had come, but we saw him again further down the trail keeping some pesky cattle in line.
Not far from our lunch site, we passed through Llamacorral, the first campsite that most trekkers use if they start their journey in Cashapampa. It was still early in the afternoon and we had more walking in us, so we continued on for a bit longer, aiming for a campsite another 2 miles away. We never saw the actual camping area, but we did come across a beautiful flat clearing right by the river, and decided to make camp there (at 12, 470 ft or 3800 m). The sun was still strong in the western sky, and we relished the early departure from the trail by lazing about, reading and enjoying the rare rays of vitamin D. We were all pretty sore from 3 days of trekking and carrying packs, so we had a little massage train until the sun went down, which left us feeling nice and relaxed. As the sky lit up with another wonderful pink and purple sunset, we set about cooking more quinoa and vegetables, taking turns to prepare the food and take pictures of the colors. Since the clouds had been more intermittent throughout the day, we caught some glimpses of stars above us, although we weren't able to make out any familiar constellations (as expected, since the southern hemisphere sees different skies that we're used to).
We crawled into our sleeping bags content and tired, lulled to sleep by the Avett Brothers and a light rain. Since they'd seen the rain coming earlier in the afternoon, Travis and Forrest suggested that we cover our packs with our rain jackets so as to keep them dry through the night, which turned out to be a brilliant idea. That night I slept hard, and awoke before the others to a dewy morning, a beautiful start to the last day of our trek (the final push told in Part 4).
After a tasty breakfast of oatmeal, apples, and brown sugar, we packed our things up and headed off down the trail. Going was slow at first, because the trail was somewhat steep and my knee was still achy, but we were infected by an easy-breezy attitude and didn't feel the need to rush through the day. By the time we got down to the valley floor, clouds had covered up the sun and a cool wind has once again stirred up, so we quickened our pace across the flat floodplain to try to get to a more sheltered part of the trail. This valley was similar to the others in that it was lined with high rock walls strung with lacy waterfalls, and at various lucky times we could glimpse yet another snow-covered mass peeking over the canyon walls. One of these that graced our day was Alpamayo, a mountain that measures 19,511 ft (5947 m) and has been called the most beautiful peak in the world for its almost-symmetrical pyramidal shape. Its taller neighbor, Quitaraju (19,803 ft or 6036 m), was also impressive, and the view of the two, towering over the valley and its turquoise lagoon, made a great backdrop for the day's trek.
We hiked on for a ways, through intermittent sun, clouds, and wind, past Laguna Jaluncocha. This large expanse of deep turquoise water extends across the entire valley floor, and a small river stems from it. On the other side of the lagoon, the trail began to descend again into the next valley, and the winds picked up. Hungry but tired of the breeze, we lucked out and found a large boulder that served as a perfect windblock and lunch spot. I was feeling pretty tired by this point, since we'd been hiking for 5 hours already, but the food helped revitalize me, as did a visit from an adorable little golden cattle dog. He came looking for food, of course, and was happy to dispose of the rinds of cheese we didn't eat in our sandwiches, but he was also pretty partial to human attention, so he sat with us for a while and let us pet him. Once he'd had his fill, he left as quickly as he had come, but we saw him again further down the trail keeping some pesky cattle in line.
Not far from our lunch site, we passed through Llamacorral, the first campsite that most trekkers use if they start their journey in Cashapampa. It was still early in the afternoon and we had more walking in us, so we continued on for a bit longer, aiming for a campsite another 2 miles away. We never saw the actual camping area, but we did come across a beautiful flat clearing right by the river, and decided to make camp there (at 12, 470 ft or 3800 m). The sun was still strong in the western sky, and we relished the early departure from the trail by lazing about, reading and enjoying the rare rays of vitamin D. We were all pretty sore from 3 days of trekking and carrying packs, so we had a little massage train until the sun went down, which left us feeling nice and relaxed. As the sky lit up with another wonderful pink and purple sunset, we set about cooking more quinoa and vegetables, taking turns to prepare the food and take pictures of the colors. Since the clouds had been more intermittent throughout the day, we caught some glimpses of stars above us, although we weren't able to make out any familiar constellations (as expected, since the southern hemisphere sees different skies that we're used to).
We crawled into our sleeping bags content and tired, lulled to sleep by the Avett Brothers and a light rain. Since they'd seen the rain coming earlier in the afternoon, Travis and Forrest suggested that we cover our packs with our rain jackets so as to keep them dry through the night, which turned out to be a brilliant idea. That night I slept hard, and awoke before the others to a dewy morning, a beautiful start to the last day of our trek (the final push told in Part 4).
A Backcountry Tale, Part 2.
Day 2 of our trek was the most demanding by far, because this was the day where we went up and over Punta Union, a pass that tops out at 15,584 ft (4750 m). Starting at our camp at 12,795 ft (3900 m) around 8:45 in the morning, we slowly made our way upwards. The climb the day before was generally mellow, but day 2 had something else in store for us. Not long after breaking camp and setting out, we found ourselves on a narrow rocky trail that threaded its way uphill through plentiful switchbacks. As the trail climbed, the views in front of us improved every second. Huge 19,000+ ft mountains loomed in our sights, and pausing to turn around rewarded us with sweeping panoramas of the valley below and distant mountains on the other side.
We took our time with the ascent, stopping for water and rest relatively often. The higher we went, the more we were battered by a chilly wind, and as we ascended to an exposed ridgeline, we felt it the most. We decided to break to eat lunch and don more layers on the far side of the ridge, where the trail wound into the shelter of large boulders before beginning its final assault on the pass. Just before finding a suitable lunch spot sheltered from the wind, we looked up at a large rock face to our left and found icicles hanging from every ledge. As if we weren't already feeling cold enough, the sight of the ice reminded us of how high up we were, and justified our grumblings about the temperature.
Lunch was, again, bread, cheese, and avocado. By the time we stopped, we were all in a particularly silly mood, fed as much by the food as our relief to be out of the wind. We layered up with more jackets and hats, and since my fingers were freezing, I pulled out a pair of wool socks to cover them, which I promptly turned into sock puppets. Like I said, a silly mood...
Refueled by delicious sandwiches and ready to get over the pass, we continued on our way. Not far above our lunch spot, the trail crossed many huge slabs of rock, and our direction became, in large part, guesswork. We'd identified a notch in the ridgeline above us where we thought we'd find the pass, and so we wove our way over and up rocks towards that gap. At this point, we were all moving pretty slowly, taking a breath for every step or two. Whenever we needed a breather, it was pretty easy to just stop and look up or turn around...the views were still every bit as wonderful as they had been earlier in the day, and in some cases better, because we could see more and farther away. We measured our progress by comparing our height to another pass across the valley we knew to be 100 m lower than ours. Once we determined that we were at least as high as that pass, I felt more encouraged, since our own summit couldn't be far away.
Forrest was the first one to reach the top. He was a good 10 or 15 feet in front of me on the trail when he stopped and took a picture in the direction of the pass. I took this as a good sign, thinking he could see the top of it, and huffed up the last few stone stairs to see it for myself. The pass was a small notch carved in the wall of thick stone atop the ridge, and a sign greeted us at the top, saying that we were now 4750 meters sobre el nivel del mar (above sea level). None of us had ever been that high before, and so cold and windy as it was, we had to take a few minutes to celebrate. We were joined by a solo German hiker, coming from the other direction, who got to the top just a minute after we did. We took pictures for each other, exchanged pleasantries and the typical info about what brought us to Perú, and then he went on his way. Forrest, Travis, and I scrambled up the rock wall of the pass a bit to see what the view was like from the top. Man, was it awesome. Behind us were two 19,000+ foot snowcapped peaks that straddled the ridgeline, and below us were the valley through which we'd come and the one that now awaited us, both dotted with turquoise lagoons. I felt like I was on top of the world.
The only downer at that point was the knowledge that we still had to hike down, which was going to pose a painful problem for me. My right knee had been hurting since day 1, the remnant of a running injury from 3 weeks prior that I wrongly assumed had healed. While climbing up on a trail was generally okay, going down hurt much more because my legs had to bear my weight differently, and every step down with my left foot sent pain shooting up the outside of my right knee as it supported my body. This meant I had to go down slowly, but Forrest was feeling a headache from altitude, we supposed, and so we decided to split up. Travis stayed with me and made sure I made it through the bigger steps while Forrest went ahead to get to lower altitude and set up camp (which was still at 13,780 ft, or 4200 meters, so "lower altitude" was relative). It took me quite a while to get down, and Forrest even came back up to take my pack from me, but we finally all made it to camp right at sunset, around 6 or 6:15.
After a full day of hiking, having covered a lot of ground and been battered by cold wind, we were all pretty tired and hungry, so we got straight to dinner. Quinoa, soy chicken chunks, onions, and peppers lifted our spirits a bit, but it was time for bed soon afterwards. Forrest was the first to turn in, still not feeling in the best of shape, but Travis and I stayed outside of the tent and talked for a bit. As we stood there, we glimpsed a pair of shining eyes from behind a nearby boulder, and watched as a big red fox began circling our camp, looking for food. We chased him away, but he doubled back and tried to steal some morsels again, so we ran him off for a second time. He came back for thirds, but after that he didn't bother us anymore, and he was never lucky enough to make off with any tasty mouthfuls.
The second night of sleep was more restful than the first, partly because we were getting used to sleeping at altitude and partly because we had exhausted ourselves with the day's trek. We awoke in the morning, feeling better, to sunny skies, and relaxed at the thought that all we had left before us was two days of descent (more to come in Part 3).
We took our time with the ascent, stopping for water and rest relatively often. The higher we went, the more we were battered by a chilly wind, and as we ascended to an exposed ridgeline, we felt it the most. We decided to break to eat lunch and don more layers on the far side of the ridge, where the trail wound into the shelter of large boulders before beginning its final assault on the pass. Just before finding a suitable lunch spot sheltered from the wind, we looked up at a large rock face to our left and found icicles hanging from every ledge. As if we weren't already feeling cold enough, the sight of the ice reminded us of how high up we were, and justified our grumblings about the temperature.
Lunch was, again, bread, cheese, and avocado. By the time we stopped, we were all in a particularly silly mood, fed as much by the food as our relief to be out of the wind. We layered up with more jackets and hats, and since my fingers were freezing, I pulled out a pair of wool socks to cover them, which I promptly turned into sock puppets. Like I said, a silly mood...
Refueled by delicious sandwiches and ready to get over the pass, we continued on our way. Not far above our lunch spot, the trail crossed many huge slabs of rock, and our direction became, in large part, guesswork. We'd identified a notch in the ridgeline above us where we thought we'd find the pass, and so we wove our way over and up rocks towards that gap. At this point, we were all moving pretty slowly, taking a breath for every step or two. Whenever we needed a breather, it was pretty easy to just stop and look up or turn around...the views were still every bit as wonderful as they had been earlier in the day, and in some cases better, because we could see more and farther away. We measured our progress by comparing our height to another pass across the valley we knew to be 100 m lower than ours. Once we determined that we were at least as high as that pass, I felt more encouraged, since our own summit couldn't be far away.
Forrest was the first one to reach the top. He was a good 10 or 15 feet in front of me on the trail when he stopped and took a picture in the direction of the pass. I took this as a good sign, thinking he could see the top of it, and huffed up the last few stone stairs to see it for myself. The pass was a small notch carved in the wall of thick stone atop the ridge, and a sign greeted us at the top, saying that we were now 4750 meters sobre el nivel del mar (above sea level). None of us had ever been that high before, and so cold and windy as it was, we had to take a few minutes to celebrate. We were joined by a solo German hiker, coming from the other direction, who got to the top just a minute after we did. We took pictures for each other, exchanged pleasantries and the typical info about what brought us to Perú, and then he went on his way. Forrest, Travis, and I scrambled up the rock wall of the pass a bit to see what the view was like from the top. Man, was it awesome. Behind us were two 19,000+ foot snowcapped peaks that straddled the ridgeline, and below us were the valley through which we'd come and the one that now awaited us, both dotted with turquoise lagoons. I felt like I was on top of the world.
The only downer at that point was the knowledge that we still had to hike down, which was going to pose a painful problem for me. My right knee had been hurting since day 1, the remnant of a running injury from 3 weeks prior that I wrongly assumed had healed. While climbing up on a trail was generally okay, going down hurt much more because my legs had to bear my weight differently, and every step down with my left foot sent pain shooting up the outside of my right knee as it supported my body. This meant I had to go down slowly, but Forrest was feeling a headache from altitude, we supposed, and so we decided to split up. Travis stayed with me and made sure I made it through the bigger steps while Forrest went ahead to get to lower altitude and set up camp (which was still at 13,780 ft, or 4200 meters, so "lower altitude" was relative). It took me quite a while to get down, and Forrest even came back up to take my pack from me, but we finally all made it to camp right at sunset, around 6 or 6:15.
After a full day of hiking, having covered a lot of ground and been battered by cold wind, we were all pretty tired and hungry, so we got straight to dinner. Quinoa, soy chicken chunks, onions, and peppers lifted our spirits a bit, but it was time for bed soon afterwards. Forrest was the first to turn in, still not feeling in the best of shape, but Travis and I stayed outside of the tent and talked for a bit. As we stood there, we glimpsed a pair of shining eyes from behind a nearby boulder, and watched as a big red fox began circling our camp, looking for food. We chased him away, but he doubled back and tried to steal some morsels again, so we ran him off for a second time. He came back for thirds, but after that he didn't bother us anymore, and he was never lucky enough to make off with any tasty mouthfuls.
The second night of sleep was more restful than the first, partly because we were getting used to sleeping at altitude and partly because we had exhausted ourselves with the day's trek. We awoke in the morning, feeling better, to sunny skies, and relaxed at the thought that all we had left before us was two days of descent (more to come in Part 3).
A Backcountry Tale, Part 1.
Hello! I'm back from my trek on the Santa Cruz trail, which was, in a word, amazing. We had perfect weather, perfect campsites, perfect everything. Such a great time.
Our journey started on Monday the 17th, when we hopped on an early bus bound for Yanama, a mountain town on the other side of the Cordillera Blanca from Huaraz. Through the course of the 5-hour ride, we wound our way north up the valley floor to Yungay, from whence we turned eastward and started our ascent into the mountains. This took us over a pass that measured 15,639 ft (4767 m) and down to Vaquería, a small collection of buildings at 12,139 ft (3700 m) that marks one end of the Santa Cruz trail. Most hikers, especially those going on guided tours, end their journey here, but acting on some brilliant advice from Daniel, who works at the hostel where we stayed, we decided do do the trail backwards. Best decision ever.
We got off the bus in Vaquería right around noon, and snacked on some apples before setting off. The trail led down the hillside to a river crossing, from which point it slowly began to climb. We passed through several small villages and were greeted by swarms of adorable children asking for candy, cookies, and pens. The first lucky ones to ask were given the random cough drops that I had in my pocket, but I didn't have enough to make them all happy. Some gave up their campaigns quickly, as we continued walking, but some accompanied us on the trail for a while, heading home from school. When Forrest started singing random tunes, they all erupted in giggles, and some exclaimed "blanquísimos!" (meaning super white) as we passed.
One girl in particular, named Santa, walked with us the farthest, and was less interested in asking for treats as she was in seeing the pictures I took on my camera. Once I stopped to snap a photo of the landscape and buildings in front of us, and she looked at my camera curiously. I showed her the picture, which she liked, and then asked her if she wanted me to take one of her. She shyly agreed, and so I did. Travis and I tried to get her to smile, which she wouldn't do in front of the camera, but I did manage to get a picture of her laughing...the cutest one, by far. She was a sweet girl, and I ended up giving her my fairy-shaped silly band, after learning that she really like the magical beings.
Once we judged ourselves to be out of sight of the towns, we stopped for lunch in a pasture. The food (ripe avocado, creamy local cheese, and sweet bread) was delicious and became our standard midday fare for the remainder of the hike. As we snacked, we were passed by a herd of goats and then approached by their shepherd, asking for money or food. We gave him a few soles and he wandered off, but he never went very far, waiting to see if we'd feel more generous. Next, various strings of donkeys wandered past our lunch spot, which turned out to be a common site along the trail, as many guides use the burros to carry their clients' gear.
After satisfying our hunger, we continued walking, passing through an expansive valley with great views of the peaks ahead. At random intervals, to both sides, we would see waterfalls, or the paths they would run once the rains arrived, and it gave me a sense of walking through a mythical tropic paradise, something like Jurassic Park. We worked our way up the valley, occasionally met by a cold headwind, until we found a nice clearing right by a river for our first campsite, at around 12,795 ft (3900 m). We set up our tent and proceeded to cook dinner, quinoa with onions, carrots, and peppers, which also became pretty standard for the rest of our trek. The sun set early, and we crawled into our tent right after dark, which was only around 6:30. We listened to the Avett Brothers on Travis's ipod to lull ourselves to sleep, but we all had trouble sleeping straight till morning. Once morning arrived, bright and early, we were ready to get up, eat some oatmeal and bananas for breakfast, and tackle our biggest day of hiking (continue to Part 2).
Our journey started on Monday the 17th, when we hopped on an early bus bound for Yanama, a mountain town on the other side of the Cordillera Blanca from Huaraz. Through the course of the 5-hour ride, we wound our way north up the valley floor to Yungay, from whence we turned eastward and started our ascent into the mountains. This took us over a pass that measured 15,639 ft (4767 m) and down to Vaquería, a small collection of buildings at 12,139 ft (3700 m) that marks one end of the Santa Cruz trail. Most hikers, especially those going on guided tours, end their journey here, but acting on some brilliant advice from Daniel, who works at the hostel where we stayed, we decided do do the trail backwards. Best decision ever.
We got off the bus in Vaquería right around noon, and snacked on some apples before setting off. The trail led down the hillside to a river crossing, from which point it slowly began to climb. We passed through several small villages and were greeted by swarms of adorable children asking for candy, cookies, and pens. The first lucky ones to ask were given the random cough drops that I had in my pocket, but I didn't have enough to make them all happy. Some gave up their campaigns quickly, as we continued walking, but some accompanied us on the trail for a while, heading home from school. When Forrest started singing random tunes, they all erupted in giggles, and some exclaimed "blanquísimos!" (meaning super white) as we passed.
One girl in particular, named Santa, walked with us the farthest, and was less interested in asking for treats as she was in seeing the pictures I took on my camera. Once I stopped to snap a photo of the landscape and buildings in front of us, and she looked at my camera curiously. I showed her the picture, which she liked, and then asked her if she wanted me to take one of her. She shyly agreed, and so I did. Travis and I tried to get her to smile, which she wouldn't do in front of the camera, but I did manage to get a picture of her laughing...the cutest one, by far. She was a sweet girl, and I ended up giving her my fairy-shaped silly band, after learning that she really like the magical beings.
Once we judged ourselves to be out of sight of the towns, we stopped for lunch in a pasture. The food (ripe avocado, creamy local cheese, and sweet bread) was delicious and became our standard midday fare for the remainder of the hike. As we snacked, we were passed by a herd of goats and then approached by their shepherd, asking for money or food. We gave him a few soles and he wandered off, but he never went very far, waiting to see if we'd feel more generous. Next, various strings of donkeys wandered past our lunch spot, which turned out to be a common site along the trail, as many guides use the burros to carry their clients' gear.
After satisfying our hunger, we continued walking, passing through an expansive valley with great views of the peaks ahead. At random intervals, to both sides, we would see waterfalls, or the paths they would run once the rains arrived, and it gave me a sense of walking through a mythical tropic paradise, something like Jurassic Park. We worked our way up the valley, occasionally met by a cold headwind, until we found a nice clearing right by a river for our first campsite, at around 12,795 ft (3900 m). We set up our tent and proceeded to cook dinner, quinoa with onions, carrots, and peppers, which also became pretty standard for the rest of our trek. The sun set early, and we crawled into our tent right after dark, which was only around 6:30. We listened to the Avett Brothers on Travis's ipod to lull ourselves to sleep, but we all had trouble sleeping straight till morning. Once morning arrived, bright and early, we were ready to get up, eat some oatmeal and bananas for breakfast, and tackle our biggest day of hiking (continue to Part 2).
Rocky Mountain High
So Huaraz is really cool. I've heard it called an ugly, dirty city, and I guess I can see where that point of view could stem from. However, I think whoever described the city in that way must have been immune to the beauty of the enormous mountains all around us. The view from the balcony of our hostel is pretty plain, like any other city in Latin America, until you look up, and then it's an automatic high from seeing the beautiful peaks. I got here at about 6:30 am yesterday, and the first sight from the bus as I opened my eyes was Huascarán, the highest peak in Perú, which reaches 22,205 ft (6,768 meters). I took a taxi through the sleepy town to my hostel, called Alpes Huaraz, and hung out for a bit until breakfast. It's not high tourist season here anymore, so I was put into a 3-bed dorm that I've had all to myself for the past 2 days. Pretty sweet. Alpes has a nice courtyard at its entrance with plants and cats, one of which is a sweet small orange and white guy that I've dubbed Santiago. Can't say why, but the name seems to fit him.
After breakfast yesterday, I talked to the hostel owner, Juan, about my options for the day, and he suggested that I go on one of three guided tours in the surrounding area. I opted for a full-day trip to Chavín, some pre-Incan ruins in the valley north of this one. The tour was supposed to leave at 9, and by the time Juan finished explaining it to me, the clock read 8:50. Time to go! I hurried upstairs, packed my stuff for the day, and ran down to meet the van. We tooled around town picking up various people from their respective hotels, and then we were off, headed south. Our guide, Nilda, was great. She spoke slowly so that everyone could understand what she was saying (our group consisted mostly of Peruvians, but there were also a French couple and me), and she knew a lot about the surrounding area and everything we saw. As we drove the 109 km (68 miles) to Chavín, she explained the process of cleaning and cooking wheat grains, which we saw drying by the side of the road, and well as the history of the various towns we passed through, and the story behind the myths that llamas spit (apparently, they only spit when threatened, and when they were first brought to the Andes, their owners didn't understand their dietary needs and drove the animals hard, carrying heavy loads, without proper nutrition. One day, when one of the llamas had had enough, it spit at its owner as the man tried to haul the poor animal to its feet. Since then, Nilda says, the people realized that they had to respect the animal and properly care for it, and they've thus avoided further spitting problems). We were on a nicely paved highway for the first 35 km (22 miles) or so, but then we turned off on a semi-paved, curvy mountain road, and while the vistas were incredible, my stomach wasn't so happy. I felt generally fine until we stopped at Lake Querococha, after which point I had to keep my eyes closed for the rest of the drive to Chavín. A shame, really, because the scenery was incredible.
Once we got to the ruins, we spent the next 2 or so hours wandering through them under the hot sun as Nilda explained the significance of this or that thing as we passed it. This site was discovered quite a few years ago, but it was only last year that the archaeologists were able to leave things unexcavated...up until that point, for lack of funding, they'd spend a certain short amount of time digging up a part of the site, recording what they found, and then reburying it. The Chavín culture was around way before the Incas, and even before Christ, but they had some pretty sophisticated technologies and knowledge at their fingertips. The central plaza of the site, in front of the temples, was aligned so that it would be perfectly divided in half, sun and shadow, on the summer solstice, and it was also apparently filled with water on special occasions so the shamans could use it as a huge looking glass to observe the stars. Structurally, the Chavín buildings were made of large granite blocks brought from who knows where (but very far away, because the nearest granite quarry now is 20 km, or 12 and a half miles, away) that fit together well with thin layers of mortar in between them. The Chavín rock carvings were always very intricate and detailed, and there are still some original pieces at the site. Nilda explained that one of the greatest shows of their engineering knowledge was their use of round pillars and rooms, indicating their sophistication and good grasp on physics. She was full of many more facts that I'm sure would be interesting, but I was a little too distracted by stomach pain to focus very well.
One of the highlights and most famous parts of the ruins at Chavín are the cabezas clavas, large carved stone heads that purportedly jutted out from the temple walls at exact measured intervals. There's only one left on the wall now, but you can see the places where the others would have broken off. In total, there are 16 of them in the Chavín museum, housed there along with other pottery and carvings from the ruins.
After the touring the ruins, we went to a local restaurant for lunch. I was feeling mildly better by then, and ordered some soup so I could at least get something light in my stomach. Turned out that the only soup they had was beef and vegetable, so I stuck with the broth and nothing else. From the restaurant, we headed to the museum to give the artifacts there a quick look before embarking on the 3 hour drive back to Huaraz. I slept for a good portion of it, and awoke just as we were heading through the tunnel that connects the Chavín valley with the one where Huaraz lies. Shortly after passing through the tunnel, punctured at random intervals by hanging ice stalactites, we began our descent down from the mountains, and were graced with a beautiful pink and orange sunset. I got back to my hostel a little after 8 pm, and found my friends Travis and Forrest, who had gotten here earlier in the evening. I met these two at my hostel in Lima, where we sat and talked for a while before I hopped on the bus to come to Huaraz. Turned out that they were planning on heading this way as well, so we decided to go on a 4-day hike together, on the Santa Cruz trail.
We spent the day today getting ready for the hike, buying food from the market and working out the logistics of getting to the trailhead. We bought a bunch of bread, cheese, avocado, apples, bananas, nuts, quinoa, onions, peppers, carrots, and oatmeal for our excursion, and since food in Perú is pretty cheap, we didn't break the bank doing it. We're all really excited by the prospect of getting out of the city and into the mountains, especially now that we're set to feast like kings and a queen. Both of the guys work in Alaska during the summer, and between them, have a good deal of outdoor and guiding experience. They have all the essential camping equipment, so we don't have to pay for a commercial tour. We've got a map and a sense of adventure, and that's about all we need.
We're getting on a bus at 7 tomorrow morning, where a 5ish hour ride will take us to Vaquería, the town that is our starting point for the Santa Cruz trail. From there, we'll hike for 3 or 4 days (whichever suits our mood and the weather) at altitudes somewhere between 3,000 and 4,800 meters (9,800 and 15,600 feet), among the highest mountain range outside of the Himalaya, finally ending in Cashapampa and taking a bus or collectivo (shared taxi) back to Huaraz. So excited that I just can't hide it!
Going on this trek means, naturally, that I'll be out of the loop for a few days, but I did manage to get a few pictures up for you before I checked out for a while. More will be coming once I'm back, especially of this trek, since I fully expect to come back with a million and one more photos. Until I come back to civilization, then, hasta luego! Sending love from the Andes.
After breakfast yesterday, I talked to the hostel owner, Juan, about my options for the day, and he suggested that I go on one of three guided tours in the surrounding area. I opted for a full-day trip to Chavín, some pre-Incan ruins in the valley north of this one. The tour was supposed to leave at 9, and by the time Juan finished explaining it to me, the clock read 8:50. Time to go! I hurried upstairs, packed my stuff for the day, and ran down to meet the van. We tooled around town picking up various people from their respective hotels, and then we were off, headed south. Our guide, Nilda, was great. She spoke slowly so that everyone could understand what she was saying (our group consisted mostly of Peruvians, but there were also a French couple and me), and she knew a lot about the surrounding area and everything we saw. As we drove the 109 km (68 miles) to Chavín, she explained the process of cleaning and cooking wheat grains, which we saw drying by the side of the road, and well as the history of the various towns we passed through, and the story behind the myths that llamas spit (apparently, they only spit when threatened, and when they were first brought to the Andes, their owners didn't understand their dietary needs and drove the animals hard, carrying heavy loads, without proper nutrition. One day, when one of the llamas had had enough, it spit at its owner as the man tried to haul the poor animal to its feet. Since then, Nilda says, the people realized that they had to respect the animal and properly care for it, and they've thus avoided further spitting problems). We were on a nicely paved highway for the first 35 km (22 miles) or so, but then we turned off on a semi-paved, curvy mountain road, and while the vistas were incredible, my stomach wasn't so happy. I felt generally fine until we stopped at Lake Querococha, after which point I had to keep my eyes closed for the rest of the drive to Chavín. A shame, really, because the scenery was incredible.
Once we got to the ruins, we spent the next 2 or so hours wandering through them under the hot sun as Nilda explained the significance of this or that thing as we passed it. This site was discovered quite a few years ago, but it was only last year that the archaeologists were able to leave things unexcavated...up until that point, for lack of funding, they'd spend a certain short amount of time digging up a part of the site, recording what they found, and then reburying it. The Chavín culture was around way before the Incas, and even before Christ, but they had some pretty sophisticated technologies and knowledge at their fingertips. The central plaza of the site, in front of the temples, was aligned so that it would be perfectly divided in half, sun and shadow, on the summer solstice, and it was also apparently filled with water on special occasions so the shamans could use it as a huge looking glass to observe the stars. Structurally, the Chavín buildings were made of large granite blocks brought from who knows where (but very far away, because the nearest granite quarry now is 20 km, or 12 and a half miles, away) that fit together well with thin layers of mortar in between them. The Chavín rock carvings were always very intricate and detailed, and there are still some original pieces at the site. Nilda explained that one of the greatest shows of their engineering knowledge was their use of round pillars and rooms, indicating their sophistication and good grasp on physics. She was full of many more facts that I'm sure would be interesting, but I was a little too distracted by stomach pain to focus very well.
One of the highlights and most famous parts of the ruins at Chavín are the cabezas clavas, large carved stone heads that purportedly jutted out from the temple walls at exact measured intervals. There's only one left on the wall now, but you can see the places where the others would have broken off. In total, there are 16 of them in the Chavín museum, housed there along with other pottery and carvings from the ruins.
After the touring the ruins, we went to a local restaurant for lunch. I was feeling mildly better by then, and ordered some soup so I could at least get something light in my stomach. Turned out that the only soup they had was beef and vegetable, so I stuck with the broth and nothing else. From the restaurant, we headed to the museum to give the artifacts there a quick look before embarking on the 3 hour drive back to Huaraz. I slept for a good portion of it, and awoke just as we were heading through the tunnel that connects the Chavín valley with the one where Huaraz lies. Shortly after passing through the tunnel, punctured at random intervals by hanging ice stalactites, we began our descent down from the mountains, and were graced with a beautiful pink and orange sunset. I got back to my hostel a little after 8 pm, and found my friends Travis and Forrest, who had gotten here earlier in the evening. I met these two at my hostel in Lima, where we sat and talked for a while before I hopped on the bus to come to Huaraz. Turned out that they were planning on heading this way as well, so we decided to go on a 4-day hike together, on the Santa Cruz trail.
We spent the day today getting ready for the hike, buying food from the market and working out the logistics of getting to the trailhead. We bought a bunch of bread, cheese, avocado, apples, bananas, nuts, quinoa, onions, peppers, carrots, and oatmeal for our excursion, and since food in Perú is pretty cheap, we didn't break the bank doing it. We're all really excited by the prospect of getting out of the city and into the mountains, especially now that we're set to feast like kings and a queen. Both of the guys work in Alaska during the summer, and between them, have a good deal of outdoor and guiding experience. They have all the essential camping equipment, so we don't have to pay for a commercial tour. We've got a map and a sense of adventure, and that's about all we need.
We're getting on a bus at 7 tomorrow morning, where a 5ish hour ride will take us to Vaquería, the town that is our starting point for the Santa Cruz trail. From there, we'll hike for 3 or 4 days (whichever suits our mood and the weather) at altitudes somewhere between 3,000 and 4,800 meters (9,800 and 15,600 feet), among the highest mountain range outside of the Himalaya, finally ending in Cashapampa and taking a bus or collectivo (shared taxi) back to Huaraz. So excited that I just can't hide it!
Going on this trek means, naturally, that I'll be out of the loop for a few days, but I did manage to get a few pictures up for you before I checked out for a while. More will be coming once I'm back, especially of this trek, since I fully expect to come back with a million and one more photos. Until I come back to civilization, then, hasta luego! Sending love from the Andes.
On the road again.
So. The Magic Fountain turned out to be a whole park of magic fountains. Awesome. Apparently the whole project cost something like $13 million, funded by the US Embassy and Movistar, a phone company in Latin America. There were about 15 of us who went on the tour organized by our hostel, so we had a decent group of tourists walking around with cameras and getting to know each other: 5 Israelis, a German couple, 2 girls from Belgium (Marilen and Valerie), one girl from Tasmania (Sarah), an Alaskan (we called him Alaska), an Oregonian (Zach), and even a fellow Coloradoan (Lance, from Montrose)! There were a lot of the people at the park, probably about an equal amount of tourists and Peruvians. It cost S/.4 (4 soles, or a little under $2) to get into the park, and we stayed for an hour and a half or so. Definitely worth the money.
One of the highlights was the Children's Fountain, which is a large flat concrete circle punctuated a bunch of small water jets that shoot up at unexpected times. The catch is that children (or in our case, tourists unleashing their inner children) run through the fountain area, from outside in, and try not to get wet in the process. This is where the unpredictability, combined with wet concrete, can produce some pretty entertaining spectacles. Most of us managed to run there and back without getting wet, because you can stand in the middle and you won't get sprayed, but a couple people were the soggy victims of bad timing and slippery flip flops...they were falling down and getting nailed by water, but everyone was giddy and laughing about it.
At the end of our tour around the park, we watched a 15-minute show with some pretty cool light effects and a video projected on the jets of water. Not quite sure how that one worked, but it was pretty neat.
After getting back to the hostel, Lance, Zach, Sarah and I decided we were hungry, so we ventured out for some food. The boys had a short amount of time to catch a bus to Huaraz, so they opted for a quick Burger King feast. Neither Sarah or I were feeling the burgers, but we sat and talked with Lance and Zach while they ate. Once they ran off to the bus terminal, Sarah and I kept walking around looking for some more appetizing food. We ended up wandering down the Pizza Street, which turned into a hilarious competition between all the doormen to get us to come into their restaurant and not their competitors'. Some yelled at us in Spanish, and others proffered some token English phrases like "Ladies, I'm in love wit chu." Ha. We walked all the way down the street laughing and basking in the attention, and then turned around until we found someone who offered us the best deal...a free drink. Sarah and I were both feeling indecisive, so that was as good a motive as any to choose a restaurant. We proceeded to sit there for almost 3 hours, sipping pisco sours and feasting on grilled trout with salad and rice (her choice) and papas a la huancaína, or potatoes in a spicy cream sauce with a hard-boiled egg and olives (the vegetarian's choice). She's a really easy going person and has an awesome accent (Tasmania, duh), so we found it pretty easy to get along, and we talked about a wide range of subjects. We finally decided to call it a night around midnight, when we walked back to our hostel and I crawled into bed for a short sleep.
At 6 the next morning, Carlos picked up Brandee and I and we hopped on a southbound bus to Parácas and Huacachina. Parácas and the surround area were hit hard by an earthquake in 2007 I believe, but since the area is pretty poor, a lot of the buildings haven't been resurrected and people are living in thatched reed huts amongst piles of rubble. It was a sharp contrast to Miraflores, which is a relatively clean and well-to-do area of Lima. On top of that, we had ventured into the desert, so everything was dry and flat, lending to the desolate feeling. In Parácas, we went on a boat tour of the Islas Ballestas, home to sea lions and thousands (maybe millions) of birds, such as pelicans, terns, cormorants, gulls, and Humboldt penguins! It struck me as a kind of Peruvian Galapagos, a strange but interesting environment. Once we got back from the island tour, we sat down at a little oceanfront restaurant for some lunch, where we were visited by an adorable little calico kitty (of course this is important for me...I'm experiencing cat withdrawals, although the park in front of my hostel is home to about 20 of them).
After food, we caught another bus, this one bound for Ica. Brandee parted ways with us there, as she was continuing on to Nasca for the night before setting off for Chile the following day. Carlos and I went to Huacachina next, a desert oasis at the foot of extensive and very unexpected sand dunes. We walked around the laguna there for a bit, waiting to join the next dune buggy and sand boarding tour. Our guide, Marcos, was a very friendly man with sun-darkened skin and a love for the desert. He took our group (me, Carlos, 2 guys from L.A., 2 girls from the Netherlands, and 4 last-minute additions who I suspect were from Chile) on a wild ride around the dunes and encouraged us down some pretty long and steep dunes on our sand boards. The biggest ones we did on our stomachs, but on some of the gentler slopes we tried our hand at standing up, snowboarding style. The velcro straps that held our feet in place weren't the best, so there wasn't much carving to be done, but straightlining the hills was pretty fun. We stayed and played in the dunes in the sunset, and then Marcos brought us back to town. I was really impressed by how far the dunes went. As we drove around, I felt like we were so far from the oasis where we started, but there were miles and miles of dunes we didn't even get close to. I'm not sure how those dunes came to be there, but it's definitely worth looking up.
We had originally planned to visit some wineries in the area as well, since a lot of the wine and pisco made in Perú comes from the Ica area. However, as it was already dark, we eventually decided to leave it for another time, and hopped on a 5ish hour bus ride back to Lima.
Today was more relaxed. I repacked my bags, keeping things with me for hiking and staying at higher elevations in preparation for Huaraz, Cusco, Puno, and Arequipa (an ambitious list that I probably won't complete, but I'll give it my best shot). Carlos has agreed to let me leave my duffel at his house while I travel around, and it's nice not to have to juggle that with my backpack and day pack. After reorganizing my things, we went to see a movie (Real Steel, about boxing robots) in a mall close by. It turned out to be really good, and while it's not what I would've thought to do with the day, it was a good afternoon activity. Tonight at 11, I'm hopping on an overnight bus to Huaraz, in the Cordillera Blanca, home to massive mountains and crystalline lakes. I'll get there around 7 tomorrow morning, at which point I'll head to my hostel and figure out how best to take advantage of my time there. I caved this time and went for the bed bus, where the seats are wider and fully recline, so I can actually get some rest. It's more expensive, yes, but I'll be useless tomorrow if I don't get some decent rest tonight, and I don't want to squander any time when I could be hiking or climbing. I'm really looking forward to leaving the city and getting acquainted with some new mountains, so I want to make the most of it. Here's to a return to altitude!
One of the highlights was the Children's Fountain, which is a large flat concrete circle punctuated a bunch of small water jets that shoot up at unexpected times. The catch is that children (or in our case, tourists unleashing their inner children) run through the fountain area, from outside in, and try not to get wet in the process. This is where the unpredictability, combined with wet concrete, can produce some pretty entertaining spectacles. Most of us managed to run there and back without getting wet, because you can stand in the middle and you won't get sprayed, but a couple people were the soggy victims of bad timing and slippery flip flops...they were falling down and getting nailed by water, but everyone was giddy and laughing about it.
At the end of our tour around the park, we watched a 15-minute show with some pretty cool light effects and a video projected on the jets of water. Not quite sure how that one worked, but it was pretty neat.
After getting back to the hostel, Lance, Zach, Sarah and I decided we were hungry, so we ventured out for some food. The boys had a short amount of time to catch a bus to Huaraz, so they opted for a quick Burger King feast. Neither Sarah or I were feeling the burgers, but we sat and talked with Lance and Zach while they ate. Once they ran off to the bus terminal, Sarah and I kept walking around looking for some more appetizing food. We ended up wandering down the Pizza Street, which turned into a hilarious competition between all the doormen to get us to come into their restaurant and not their competitors'. Some yelled at us in Spanish, and others proffered some token English phrases like "Ladies, I'm in love wit chu." Ha. We walked all the way down the street laughing and basking in the attention, and then turned around until we found someone who offered us the best deal...a free drink. Sarah and I were both feeling indecisive, so that was as good a motive as any to choose a restaurant. We proceeded to sit there for almost 3 hours, sipping pisco sours and feasting on grilled trout with salad and rice (her choice) and papas a la huancaína, or potatoes in a spicy cream sauce with a hard-boiled egg and olives (the vegetarian's choice). She's a really easy going person and has an awesome accent (Tasmania, duh), so we found it pretty easy to get along, and we talked about a wide range of subjects. We finally decided to call it a night around midnight, when we walked back to our hostel and I crawled into bed for a short sleep.
At 6 the next morning, Carlos picked up Brandee and I and we hopped on a southbound bus to Parácas and Huacachina. Parácas and the surround area were hit hard by an earthquake in 2007 I believe, but since the area is pretty poor, a lot of the buildings haven't been resurrected and people are living in thatched reed huts amongst piles of rubble. It was a sharp contrast to Miraflores, which is a relatively clean and well-to-do area of Lima. On top of that, we had ventured into the desert, so everything was dry and flat, lending to the desolate feeling. In Parácas, we went on a boat tour of the Islas Ballestas, home to sea lions and thousands (maybe millions) of birds, such as pelicans, terns, cormorants, gulls, and Humboldt penguins! It struck me as a kind of Peruvian Galapagos, a strange but interesting environment. Once we got back from the island tour, we sat down at a little oceanfront restaurant for some lunch, where we were visited by an adorable little calico kitty (of course this is important for me...I'm experiencing cat withdrawals, although the park in front of my hostel is home to about 20 of them).
After food, we caught another bus, this one bound for Ica. Brandee parted ways with us there, as she was continuing on to Nasca for the night before setting off for Chile the following day. Carlos and I went to Huacachina next, a desert oasis at the foot of extensive and very unexpected sand dunes. We walked around the laguna there for a bit, waiting to join the next dune buggy and sand boarding tour. Our guide, Marcos, was a very friendly man with sun-darkened skin and a love for the desert. He took our group (me, Carlos, 2 guys from L.A., 2 girls from the Netherlands, and 4 last-minute additions who I suspect were from Chile) on a wild ride around the dunes and encouraged us down some pretty long and steep dunes on our sand boards. The biggest ones we did on our stomachs, but on some of the gentler slopes we tried our hand at standing up, snowboarding style. The velcro straps that held our feet in place weren't the best, so there wasn't much carving to be done, but straightlining the hills was pretty fun. We stayed and played in the dunes in the sunset, and then Marcos brought us back to town. I was really impressed by how far the dunes went. As we drove around, I felt like we were so far from the oasis where we started, but there were miles and miles of dunes we didn't even get close to. I'm not sure how those dunes came to be there, but it's definitely worth looking up.
We had originally planned to visit some wineries in the area as well, since a lot of the wine and pisco made in Perú comes from the Ica area. However, as it was already dark, we eventually decided to leave it for another time, and hopped on a 5ish hour bus ride back to Lima.
Today was more relaxed. I repacked my bags, keeping things with me for hiking and staying at higher elevations in preparation for Huaraz, Cusco, Puno, and Arequipa (an ambitious list that I probably won't complete, but I'll give it my best shot). Carlos has agreed to let me leave my duffel at his house while I travel around, and it's nice not to have to juggle that with my backpack and day pack. After reorganizing my things, we went to see a movie (Real Steel, about boxing robots) in a mall close by. It turned out to be really good, and while it's not what I would've thought to do with the day, it was a good afternoon activity. Tonight at 11, I'm hopping on an overnight bus to Huaraz, in the Cordillera Blanca, home to massive mountains and crystalline lakes. I'll get there around 7 tomorrow morning, at which point I'll head to my hostel and figure out how best to take advantage of my time there. I caved this time and went for the bed bus, where the seats are wider and fully recline, so I can actually get some rest. It's more expensive, yes, but I'll be useless tomorrow if I don't get some decent rest tonight, and I don't want to squander any time when I could be hiking or climbing. I'm really looking forward to leaving the city and getting acquainted with some new mountains, so I want to make the most of it. Here's to a return to altitude!
More Lima
So Chile beat Perú yesterday. 4-2. For the first 20 minutes or so, Perú hadn't even shown up to play yet, so Chile was in easy control of the game. Once Perú started to fight back, the game got more interesting, and throughout the course of the match Peruvian strikers managed to hit all 3 sides of the goal posts, inches away from scoring each time. Carlos and I watched the game in a discoteca, surrounded by shrieking girls, on la Calle de las Pizzas (literally, it's the Pizza Street, lined with restaurant after bar after restaurant that serves pizza). The Calle's 4 or 5 blocks were packed with people sporting their national red and white, crowding in and around the bars, whose TVs were tuned to the game. Some establishments even set up big screens with projectors for their customers' viewing pleasure. Throwback to Spain last summer during the World Cup. What a blast.
Last night I was feeling pretty worn out, so after the game, I called it a night. I was asleep by 10 or so, and got some much needed rest. This was interrupted, however, by a rather hilarious situation starting at 3:45 in the morning. Last night, I shared our 10-bed room with Felipe (Brasil), Natalie (California) and Brandee (Minnesota). Earlier in the evening, before I had gone to bed, all 3 were in the room getting ready to go out, and Natalie told us that it was her last night in the country after traveling around for 3 weeks with her bestie Brandee, and therefore she was going to make the most of it. I certainly believe that she did, because when her alarm went off at 3:45 am, both girls were asleep enough not to hear it for the several minutes of its sounding. Partly for the sake of sleeping, and partly for concern that Natalie would miss her flight if she didn't get up, I shook both girls awake and told them that their alarm was going off. Brandee acknowledged what I said, and in the course of the next 45 minutes, slowly rose to the task of rousing her still-drunk friend, collecting her belongings, and pouring her into a cab to the airport (but not before Felipe got up and turned off their alarm and a hostel employee came into the room to tell the girls that Natalie's taxi had already arrived). Natalie, in her hazy sleep-and-alcohol-crossed mind, didn't believe Brandee when she was informed of her taxi being downstairs, and groaned instead, calling her friend a liar in two languages. With a little more coaxing, Natalie got out of bed and started rounding up her last-minute items to pack, which included her shoes, "the pink and white ones..." as she insistently grumbled. I'm sure she mumbled even more drunk gems, but I was in between paying attention to their funny exchange and trying to fall back asleep. Ah, hostels...
Brandee and I ended up having breakfast together, which our hostel serves for free, and it turns out that she's a really cool person. She's a nurse who quit her job in the hospital stroke unit a year ago and has been traveling through Central and South America ever since. She's got lots of stories about people that she's met along the way, and they all involve some sort of unwritten traveler's trust that comes with hostel-hopping around various countries. I love the way this happens...in some ways, travelers are more trusting and open than people normally tend to be in their day-to-day lives. Think about it. In a hostel, if you meet someone you happen to get along with decently (which is pretty frequent if you're willing to talk to people), more often than not you'll either extend or receive an invitation to travel together, if you're planning on going the same way. When you've been traveling for as long as Brandee has, then it seems that you also start running into people you met in other places, because as she puts it, "we're all going in pretty much the same direction, right?" I just think the sense of camaraderie is so cool, and it's welcome to find a sense of community in a place where you left home for.
But sometimes being solitary is nice too, which is essentially what I did for most of the day. After breakfast, I decided to wander around more of Miraflores on foot. Since I wasn't really sure where to go, I decided to first head in the direction of the Love Park, fashioned after Parque Güell in Barcelona. It's a relatively small area, delineated with tiled walls that draw a scalloped half moon around a gigantic statue of the Lovers. The walls are decorated in flowers, moons, suns, and amorous quotes, all projected against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. It's a rather beautiful place, a nice bit of color on an otherwise cloudy and gloomy day. In this park, as I'm walking around taking pictures, I hear someone say "You know how you can tell that she's American? Chacos. The sandals she's wearing." I smile and turn around to find a fellow US-ian girl with her Peruvian friend. And guess what she's wearing. Chacos. They walk up and introduce themselves to me as Emily and Roberto. She's from Texas but has been living in Santiago for the past year working on a project that she describes as "toilets for poor people." Roberto is from Perú and is showing Emily around on her vacation. They invited me to go for some ceviche with them, but since I wasn't hungry, and since ceviche, delicious though it may be, is a fish dish, I thanked them for their invitation and went on my merry way.
I walked along the cliffs overlooking the ocean for quite a while, until the path naturally turned away from the waves and back to the concrete jungle. I wandered around on various streets, heading in what my internal compass told me was the general direction of my hostel, until I found a street I recognized and made my way back to Pariwana. Just as I come in the door, I run into Brandee, who invites me to have lunch with her at a delicious vegetarian restaurant. This time, I am very hungry, so we head off in the direction of Govinda, an Indian-inspired place that serves pretty tasty food. We have some veggie soup, lentils and rice with tofu, and pineapples in some kind of sweet jam sauce. YUM.
I'm about to head off to see the Magic Fountains with a group from the hostel, so more stories and pictures will come later. Sending love from Lima.
Last night I was feeling pretty worn out, so after the game, I called it a night. I was asleep by 10 or so, and got some much needed rest. This was interrupted, however, by a rather hilarious situation starting at 3:45 in the morning. Last night, I shared our 10-bed room with Felipe (Brasil), Natalie (California) and Brandee (Minnesota). Earlier in the evening, before I had gone to bed, all 3 were in the room getting ready to go out, and Natalie told us that it was her last night in the country after traveling around for 3 weeks with her bestie Brandee, and therefore she was going to make the most of it. I certainly believe that she did, because when her alarm went off at 3:45 am, both girls were asleep enough not to hear it for the several minutes of its sounding. Partly for the sake of sleeping, and partly for concern that Natalie would miss her flight if she didn't get up, I shook both girls awake and told them that their alarm was going off. Brandee acknowledged what I said, and in the course of the next 45 minutes, slowly rose to the task of rousing her still-drunk friend, collecting her belongings, and pouring her into a cab to the airport (but not before Felipe got up and turned off their alarm and a hostel employee came into the room to tell the girls that Natalie's taxi had already arrived). Natalie, in her hazy sleep-and-alcohol-crossed mind, didn't believe Brandee when she was informed of her taxi being downstairs, and groaned instead, calling her friend a liar in two languages. With a little more coaxing, Natalie got out of bed and started rounding up her last-minute items to pack, which included her shoes, "the pink and white ones..." as she insistently grumbled. I'm sure she mumbled even more drunk gems, but I was in between paying attention to their funny exchange and trying to fall back asleep. Ah, hostels...
Brandee and I ended up having breakfast together, which our hostel serves for free, and it turns out that she's a really cool person. She's a nurse who quit her job in the hospital stroke unit a year ago and has been traveling through Central and South America ever since. She's got lots of stories about people that she's met along the way, and they all involve some sort of unwritten traveler's trust that comes with hostel-hopping around various countries. I love the way this happens...in some ways, travelers are more trusting and open than people normally tend to be in their day-to-day lives. Think about it. In a hostel, if you meet someone you happen to get along with decently (which is pretty frequent if you're willing to talk to people), more often than not you'll either extend or receive an invitation to travel together, if you're planning on going the same way. When you've been traveling for as long as Brandee has, then it seems that you also start running into people you met in other places, because as she puts it, "we're all going in pretty much the same direction, right?" I just think the sense of camaraderie is so cool, and it's welcome to find a sense of community in a place where you left home for.
But sometimes being solitary is nice too, which is essentially what I did for most of the day. After breakfast, I decided to wander around more of Miraflores on foot. Since I wasn't really sure where to go, I decided to first head in the direction of the Love Park, fashioned after Parque Güell in Barcelona. It's a relatively small area, delineated with tiled walls that draw a scalloped half moon around a gigantic statue of the Lovers. The walls are decorated in flowers, moons, suns, and amorous quotes, all projected against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. It's a rather beautiful place, a nice bit of color on an otherwise cloudy and gloomy day. In this park, as I'm walking around taking pictures, I hear someone say "You know how you can tell that she's American? Chacos. The sandals she's wearing." I smile and turn around to find a fellow US-ian girl with her Peruvian friend. And guess what she's wearing. Chacos. They walk up and introduce themselves to me as Emily and Roberto. She's from Texas but has been living in Santiago for the past year working on a project that she describes as "toilets for poor people." Roberto is from Perú and is showing Emily around on her vacation. They invited me to go for some ceviche with them, but since I wasn't hungry, and since ceviche, delicious though it may be, is a fish dish, I thanked them for their invitation and went on my merry way.
I walked along the cliffs overlooking the ocean for quite a while, until the path naturally turned away from the waves and back to the concrete jungle. I wandered around on various streets, heading in what my internal compass told me was the general direction of my hostel, until I found a street I recognized and made my way back to Pariwana. Just as I come in the door, I run into Brandee, who invites me to have lunch with her at a delicious vegetarian restaurant. This time, I am very hungry, so we head off in the direction of Govinda, an Indian-inspired place that serves pretty tasty food. We have some veggie soup, lentils and rice with tofu, and pineapples in some kind of sweet jam sauce. YUM.
I'm about to head off to see the Magic Fountains with a group from the hostel, so more stories and pictures will come later. Sending love from Lima.
Lima
I'm in Lima! I haven't even been here for a whole day, but so far it's been quite an experience. I got into the airport around 9:15 last night and had no problem gathering my belongings, getting through immigration and customs, and finding my friend Carlos in the airport. He was kind enough to come pick me up and show me around a bit of Lima last night. As we drove from the airport to my hostel in the neighborhood called Miraflores, we passed by the beach, a few brightly lit casinos, and wove our way between more than a few cars. Carlos says traffic in Lima, which in now home to about 10 million people, is disorganized, and I can see why. People change lanes whenever they feel like it, and drivers here have a special penchant for driving between two lanes and then deciding at the last minute which one is moving faster and joining the traffic in that one. Everyone also loves to use their horns. It's definitely part of the Latin American feel that I've grown to appreciate, and that takes some getting used to.
After checking me into my hostel, Pariwana Backpackers, we walked around the area a bit and went into an Irish pub (of all places) for a pisco sour, a local cocktail that contains pisco (a Peruvian grape brandy), lime, egg whites, and bitters. It tasted mildly like a margarita, owing I think to the lime, and on a whole was pretty good. Carlos says there are better ones, so I'll have to seek them out. Today was a day for touring around Lima. This morning, we hopped on a tourist bus that took us around Miraflores and described the importance of the various streets and parks we encountered. It was a good way to see quite a bit of the city, more than I could hope to see on foot, and definitely brought to light the contrast between the old and the new that one finds here. For example, as we drove past Huaca Pucllana, a set of ruins in the middle of the city, we were faced with tall, modern-looking apartment buildings, which our guide said were built on top of other sections of the same ruins. The ruins also house a restaurant that shares their name. A couple doors down from my hostel is a Burger King, housed in an old colonial building. This contrast or juxtaposition of old and new has always seemed funny to me, and I noticed it a lot as we explored Lima.
In the afternoon, Carlos took me to Lima center, where we walked around and passed old buildings, new ones, churches, parks, and plazas. In one of the plazas, an entire array of inflatable Coca Cola soccer balls and bottles were set up, surrounding a giant screen where they'll show the soccer (let's call it fútbol, because that's what it really is) match between Perú and Chile later today, part of the qualifying rounds for the next World Cup. I love how much the entire country supports its fútbol team, and how excited and prideful people get about these matches. You'd never see anything like this in the U.S., much less for fútbol.
We also wandered through the Museo San Francisco, where a tour took us through various parts of the monastery and cathedral dedicated to Saint Francis, the monk responsible for starting the Franciscan order. The majority of the walls were covered with beautiful yellow, blue, and white decorative tiles, which the Spaniards brought to their colonies after being influenced by the Arab presence in their own country. My favorite room may have been the library, where hundreds of books stacked themselves on cedar shelves and covered almost any subject you could think of, and in several languages. The room was complete with two short spiral staircases leading up to a second level of bookshelves, a couple gigantic choir books, and two adorned Bibles. The end of our tour found us in the catacombs beneath the church, where it's estimated that 25,000 people were buried over the years; the bones of many priests and followers alike were laid to rest there, and some of them happened to be on display as we wandered through the dark stone rooms. Especially interesting were two deep stone wells that served a dual purpose in the catacombs: they housed people's remains, naturally, but they also served as a sort of shock absorber for earthquakes and the like. The idea certainly worked, because the catacombs haven't fallen down yet, despite frequent seismic activity. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take pictures during any of the tour, so you'll have to let your imagination help you visualize what the place might have been like.
I've got a little downtime before heading out to find a place to watch the game at 5:45, but I'm thinking we're on the late side of things in that respect. People have been congregating at the huge screen in Lima center for at least a couple hours already, and the sound of traffic outside my window is increasingly laced with different horns, those carried by trumpeting fútbol enthusiasts. This is one of the most exciting coincidences ever!
And speaking of coincidences, three of the people sharing my room last night have turned out to be Peace Corps volunteers who have been placed in a small village outside the city of Huaraz. They were on their way back from a few days spent in the Amazon participating in a rafting contest, where they lashed 8 logs together and then paddled for 3 days to the finishline. I've never heard of this before, but apparently this is the 13th year of this competition, called the Great Amazon River Raft Race, and people do take it seriously. Sign me up for 2012!
Pictures will come soon. Until then, know that I'm having a great time being out of the U.S. and send you all my love.
After checking me into my hostel, Pariwana Backpackers, we walked around the area a bit and went into an Irish pub (of all places) for a pisco sour, a local cocktail that contains pisco (a Peruvian grape brandy), lime, egg whites, and bitters. It tasted mildly like a margarita, owing I think to the lime, and on a whole was pretty good. Carlos says there are better ones, so I'll have to seek them out. Today was a day for touring around Lima. This morning, we hopped on a tourist bus that took us around Miraflores and described the importance of the various streets and parks we encountered. It was a good way to see quite a bit of the city, more than I could hope to see on foot, and definitely brought to light the contrast between the old and the new that one finds here. For example, as we drove past Huaca Pucllana, a set of ruins in the middle of the city, we were faced with tall, modern-looking apartment buildings, which our guide said were built on top of other sections of the same ruins. The ruins also house a restaurant that shares their name. A couple doors down from my hostel is a Burger King, housed in an old colonial building. This contrast or juxtaposition of old and new has always seemed funny to me, and I noticed it a lot as we explored Lima.
In the afternoon, Carlos took me to Lima center, where we walked around and passed old buildings, new ones, churches, parks, and plazas. In one of the plazas, an entire array of inflatable Coca Cola soccer balls and bottles were set up, surrounding a giant screen where they'll show the soccer (let's call it fútbol, because that's what it really is) match between Perú and Chile later today, part of the qualifying rounds for the next World Cup. I love how much the entire country supports its fútbol team, and how excited and prideful people get about these matches. You'd never see anything like this in the U.S., much less for fútbol.
We also wandered through the Museo San Francisco, where a tour took us through various parts of the monastery and cathedral dedicated to Saint Francis, the monk responsible for starting the Franciscan order. The majority of the walls were covered with beautiful yellow, blue, and white decorative tiles, which the Spaniards brought to their colonies after being influenced by the Arab presence in their own country. My favorite room may have been the library, where hundreds of books stacked themselves on cedar shelves and covered almost any subject you could think of, and in several languages. The room was complete with two short spiral staircases leading up to a second level of bookshelves, a couple gigantic choir books, and two adorned Bibles. The end of our tour found us in the catacombs beneath the church, where it's estimated that 25,000 people were buried over the years; the bones of many priests and followers alike were laid to rest there, and some of them happened to be on display as we wandered through the dark stone rooms. Especially interesting were two deep stone wells that served a dual purpose in the catacombs: they housed people's remains, naturally, but they also served as a sort of shock absorber for earthquakes and the like. The idea certainly worked, because the catacombs haven't fallen down yet, despite frequent seismic activity. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take pictures during any of the tour, so you'll have to let your imagination help you visualize what the place might have been like.
I've got a little downtime before heading out to find a place to watch the game at 5:45, but I'm thinking we're on the late side of things in that respect. People have been congregating at the huge screen in Lima center for at least a couple hours already, and the sound of traffic outside my window is increasingly laced with different horns, those carried by trumpeting fútbol enthusiasts. This is one of the most exciting coincidences ever!
And speaking of coincidences, three of the people sharing my room last night have turned out to be Peace Corps volunteers who have been placed in a small village outside the city of Huaraz. They were on their way back from a few days spent in the Amazon participating in a rafting contest, where they lashed 8 logs together and then paddled for 3 days to the finishline. I've never heard of this before, but apparently this is the 13th year of this competition, called the Great Amazon River Raft Race, and people do take it seriously. Sign me up for 2012!
Pictures will come soon. Until then, know that I'm having a great time being out of the U.S. and send you all my love.
It's almost time...for winter?
I'm sitting in my room at home, looking at the next 7 months of my life fit into my 50 L backpack and a duffel bag of about the same size. Although they're both decently full, I'm glad to say they're not stuffed to the gills...which means I have room to accumulate the inevitable souvenir or gift here and there. It's hard to believe that tomorrow is the day I finally embark on my adventures. Over breakfast, my mom and I both agreed that it seems strange and almost surreal to say "Tomorrow, when I (you) leave..." since my departure date has eternally felt like an ambiguous day some time in the future. But I couldn't be more excited.
I'm making last minute notes from guidebooks about Perú, of places or names I want to remember to investigate. Soon, we'll head up to Denver and spend the night there as an intermediary stop between me and the airport, where I have to be early tomorrow morning. Colorado's farewell to me has been a taste of the winter I'm skipping in exchange for a South American summer; yesterday morning, we awoke to big fat wet snowflakes blanketing the ground and still falling from gray clouds above. It took most of the day for the sun to come out, but once it did, the snow melted away quickly enough. It got cold enough overnight for frost to form on the grass, and for any water in our raincatchers outside to freeze. Though I do like this weather sometimes, I'll be glad to miss the gloomy, bone chilling days I know are right around the corner. Maybe next winter I'll want to stick around? Admittedly, I would love some time on the ski slopes, but that'll have to wait. Right now, it's time to say adios, Salida!
I'm making last minute notes from guidebooks about Perú, of places or names I want to remember to investigate. Soon, we'll head up to Denver and spend the night there as an intermediary stop between me and the airport, where I have to be early tomorrow morning. Colorado's farewell to me has been a taste of the winter I'm skipping in exchange for a South American summer; yesterday morning, we awoke to big fat wet snowflakes blanketing the ground and still falling from gray clouds above. It took most of the day for the sun to come out, but once it did, the snow melted away quickly enough. It got cold enough overnight for frost to form on the grass, and for any water in our raincatchers outside to freeze. Though I do like this weather sometimes, I'll be glad to miss the gloomy, bone chilling days I know are right around the corner. Maybe next winter I'll want to stick around? Admittedly, I would love some time on the ski slopes, but that'll have to wait. Right now, it's time to say adios, Salida!
Anecdotal Entertainment
I meant to post this story before this, but I forgot. But no matter, because here I am now, paying attention to my computer instead of my cat, who is in fact putting on her best show of cuteness like standing on the keyboard and rubbing her cheek on the corner of the screen to distract me, telling you about the funny thing that happened on the way to L.A.
Background: I spent last Tuesday through Saturday in the L.A. area visiting my dad and seeing a couple college friends. I took a bus from Salida to Denver (yes, there is a bus that runs from Salida to Denver!) on Tuesday morning, met up with my dear friend Anna in Denver for a little lunch reunion, and then headed out to the airport. We ran into some traffic on the way and were saved by her roommate's mad Mapquest skills. So, we get to the airport in just enough time for me to get through security and get to the gate with 20 minutes to spare.
Here's the hitch. In my not-so-necessary rush to make sure I got to the right gate, I did in fact wait for 20 minutes at the wrong one. Operator error. I looked at the flight monitors, saw a Southwest flight to Phoenix (my intended layover spot) and went to the corresponding gate. No checking of the flight number or the departure time. Oops. BUT when I got to the gate and asked them if they'd started boarding yet for my flight, since I figured they had or would be soon, the attendant told me they were boarding Phoenix next. So, I assumed I was at the right gate and settled down to wait. WRONG.
At, let's say, 2:47, I looked at my phone and, realizing the time, started to think "Oh crap. My flight's supposed to leave at 2:50." So I walk up to the Southwest counter and show the lady my ticket, explaining how I just realized I was waiting for the wrong flight. She informs me that yes, I was waiting on the wrong one, but my flight had just pulled away from the tunnel and the next flight to Phoenix didn't leave for another 2 hours. Gah. So I ask her how she can get me to Burbank (my final destination) more quickly than that, and she says she'll reroute me through Oakland, no problem, and I'll only be about half an hour later than expected. Cool, that works. Thanks Southwest. So I park myself in a chair again and wait for the flight (but not after quadruple-checking the flight numbers at my new gate).
Because of the last minute change, I was one of the last people to board the flight and with Southwest's whole free-for-all seating deal, I figured the only seats left would be middle seats, so why not sit in the front row where there's at least some more leg room (not like I really need it) and I don't have to wait as long to get off the plane. So I sit down on the right side of the plane between a man and a woman, both in their sixties, who had apparently stayed on the plane from wherever they had come from and were headed to Oakland. The man, on my left, immediately remarks as I take my seat that he oughta buy me a drink for sitting there, because the guy who had just vacated my seat upon landing in Denver apparently weighed 400 pounds and took up almost the whole row. OK, maybe an exaggeration on his part, but I understand the sentiment. I laughed and we made small talk for a couple minutes, enough time for me to determine that he was indeed a very friendly person. As we taxied out to the runway, we turned to our respective newpapers and books and I figured that was that, because I don't normally talk to people on planes. Wrong again.
When the flight attendant comes around asking for drink orders, he (let's call him MM for Mystery Man) turns to me and asks what I would like to drink. I was taken aback and didn't know what to say, so I asked him what he was having. Red wine. "I like your style," I said, "so I'll have one too." I didn't actually expect him to go through with it, but MM swipes his card and then turns to me and starts talking. Which he did for most of the flight, except for the occasional comment I made to one of his statements. So, what did we talk about? Really, what didn't we talk about?
He started out by asking why I was heading to California, so I told him I was going to visit family. MM is smart, so he figures out that my parents are divorced and I'm leaving one of them to visit the other. This starts him off on a whole tangent about family. In the process, I learned that he works for a local utility company and has a 25-year-old daughter, a son who's 22, and a wife that he loves to the end of the world. Good. No longer any feelings of who-is-this-(creepy?)-guy. Once MM gets started on the topic of his wife, well, he might as well tell me about how they met and how he hitchhiked through 3 states on one weekend, from his college to hers, just to say hello. By now I'm thoroughly amused by his storytelling and his apparent passion for things he loves.
He pauses from his story to ask me what I'm doing with myself, now that I'm out of college. I tell him a bit about my plans for South America, and once I mention Buenos Aires, he tells me about how he was recently there. "What for?" I ask him. Turns out he was there with his daughter and her boyfriend (who I think went through the wringer, being tested in every way the protective MM), but during that time he started to set up contacts for an organization that he's working on. Of course I have to ask him about this organization. Which is when he humbly explains to me how he has taken it upon himself to help cities in developing countries improve their water quality so they can decrease their death rates.
That one came out of nowhere. So now I'm totally hooked and ask incessant questions about it. MM's basic idea is to establish partnerships between successful utilities in the U.S. and utilities in developing cities that need better (safer) drinking water. So, let's say he picks Vegas and Guadalajara (2 cities he used as examples). The employees of the water treatment body in Guadalajara are sent to Vegas for at least a month, where they shadow someone in Vegas's water treatment company that does the same job that they do back home. After the month is up, they go back home and implement changes in their own water treatment system based on what they observed in Vegas. The idea is that this puts the power of change in the people's own hands, instead of trying to impose solutions without including people in the process of arriving at them. The workers in Guadalajara see the improvements in their water quality, realize how beneficial their partnership was, and then start to pursue more training trips, but this time without the middleman to organize it.
The whole thing strikes me as an awesome idea, so I ask him if the organization has a name, or if he's looking to take on more people to help out. MM says it's just getting off the ground, really, and he's not interested in making a website or anything of the like. Shucks. So it's going to be impossible to find out more about this.
So this is probably where you all say, what's his name? Thing is, I have no idea. We didn't formally introduce ourselves when we first started conversing, and it seems kind of frivolous to ask halfway through our talk. Until he started telling me about his work. And of course, timing doesn't like to lend me a hand: our conversation continues until we're at the gate in Oakland, at which point he turns to me, says, "Nice talking to you," and leaves. I tried to write down as much info as I could remember, but to no avail. I just tried to look him up and can't find any clue as to who he is...hence the moniker MM.
So there it is, my whole long-winded tale. Things like this don't normally happen to me, so of course I'm psyched to have a story to tell. It felt pretty serendipitous, even if it didn't end in an incredible contact with some great organization. Who knows, maybe he'll show up on the news next year with this project and I can track him down that way. Fingers crossed!
Background: I spent last Tuesday through Saturday in the L.A. area visiting my dad and seeing a couple college friends. I took a bus from Salida to Denver (yes, there is a bus that runs from Salida to Denver!) on Tuesday morning, met up with my dear friend Anna in Denver for a little lunch reunion, and then headed out to the airport. We ran into some traffic on the way and were saved by her roommate's mad Mapquest skills. So, we get to the airport in just enough time for me to get through security and get to the gate with 20 minutes to spare.
Here's the hitch. In my not-so-necessary rush to make sure I got to the right gate, I did in fact wait for 20 minutes at the wrong one. Operator error. I looked at the flight monitors, saw a Southwest flight to Phoenix (my intended layover spot) and went to the corresponding gate. No checking of the flight number or the departure time. Oops. BUT when I got to the gate and asked them if they'd started boarding yet for my flight, since I figured they had or would be soon, the attendant told me they were boarding Phoenix next. So, I assumed I was at the right gate and settled down to wait. WRONG.
At, let's say, 2:47, I looked at my phone and, realizing the time, started to think "Oh crap. My flight's supposed to leave at 2:50." So I walk up to the Southwest counter and show the lady my ticket, explaining how I just realized I was waiting for the wrong flight. She informs me that yes, I was waiting on the wrong one, but my flight had just pulled away from the tunnel and the next flight to Phoenix didn't leave for another 2 hours. Gah. So I ask her how she can get me to Burbank (my final destination) more quickly than that, and she says she'll reroute me through Oakland, no problem, and I'll only be about half an hour later than expected. Cool, that works. Thanks Southwest. So I park myself in a chair again and wait for the flight (but not after quadruple-checking the flight numbers at my new gate).
Because of the last minute change, I was one of the last people to board the flight and with Southwest's whole free-for-all seating deal, I figured the only seats left would be middle seats, so why not sit in the front row where there's at least some more leg room (not like I really need it) and I don't have to wait as long to get off the plane. So I sit down on the right side of the plane between a man and a woman, both in their sixties, who had apparently stayed on the plane from wherever they had come from and were headed to Oakland. The man, on my left, immediately remarks as I take my seat that he oughta buy me a drink for sitting there, because the guy who had just vacated my seat upon landing in Denver apparently weighed 400 pounds and took up almost the whole row. OK, maybe an exaggeration on his part, but I understand the sentiment. I laughed and we made small talk for a couple minutes, enough time for me to determine that he was indeed a very friendly person. As we taxied out to the runway, we turned to our respective newpapers and books and I figured that was that, because I don't normally talk to people on planes. Wrong again.
When the flight attendant comes around asking for drink orders, he (let's call him MM for Mystery Man) turns to me and asks what I would like to drink. I was taken aback and didn't know what to say, so I asked him what he was having. Red wine. "I like your style," I said, "so I'll have one too." I didn't actually expect him to go through with it, but MM swipes his card and then turns to me and starts talking. Which he did for most of the flight, except for the occasional comment I made to one of his statements. So, what did we talk about? Really, what didn't we talk about?
He started out by asking why I was heading to California, so I told him I was going to visit family. MM is smart, so he figures out that my parents are divorced and I'm leaving one of them to visit the other. This starts him off on a whole tangent about family. In the process, I learned that he works for a local utility company and has a 25-year-old daughter, a son who's 22, and a wife that he loves to the end of the world. Good. No longer any feelings of who-is-this-(creepy?)-guy. Once MM gets started on the topic of his wife, well, he might as well tell me about how they met and how he hitchhiked through 3 states on one weekend, from his college to hers, just to say hello. By now I'm thoroughly amused by his storytelling and his apparent passion for things he loves.
He pauses from his story to ask me what I'm doing with myself, now that I'm out of college. I tell him a bit about my plans for South America, and once I mention Buenos Aires, he tells me about how he was recently there. "What for?" I ask him. Turns out he was there with his daughter and her boyfriend (who I think went through the wringer, being tested in every way the protective MM), but during that time he started to set up contacts for an organization that he's working on. Of course I have to ask him about this organization. Which is when he humbly explains to me how he has taken it upon himself to help cities in developing countries improve their water quality so they can decrease their death rates.
That one came out of nowhere. So now I'm totally hooked and ask incessant questions about it. MM's basic idea is to establish partnerships between successful utilities in the U.S. and utilities in developing cities that need better (safer) drinking water. So, let's say he picks Vegas and Guadalajara (2 cities he used as examples). The employees of the water treatment body in Guadalajara are sent to Vegas for at least a month, where they shadow someone in Vegas's water treatment company that does the same job that they do back home. After the month is up, they go back home and implement changes in their own water treatment system based on what they observed in Vegas. The idea is that this puts the power of change in the people's own hands, instead of trying to impose solutions without including people in the process of arriving at them. The workers in Guadalajara see the improvements in their water quality, realize how beneficial their partnership was, and then start to pursue more training trips, but this time without the middleman to organize it.
The whole thing strikes me as an awesome idea, so I ask him if the organization has a name, or if he's looking to take on more people to help out. MM says it's just getting off the ground, really, and he's not interested in making a website or anything of the like. Shucks. So it's going to be impossible to find out more about this.
So this is probably where you all say, what's his name? Thing is, I have no idea. We didn't formally introduce ourselves when we first started conversing, and it seems kind of frivolous to ask halfway through our talk. Until he started telling me about his work. And of course, timing doesn't like to lend me a hand: our conversation continues until we're at the gate in Oakland, at which point he turns to me, says, "Nice talking to you," and leaves. I tried to write down as much info as I could remember, but to no avail. I just tried to look him up and can't find any clue as to who he is...hence the moniker MM.
So there it is, my whole long-winded tale. Things like this don't normally happen to me, so of course I'm psyched to have a story to tell. It felt pretty serendipitous, even if it didn't end in an incredible contact with some great organization. Who knows, maybe he'll show up on the news next year with this project and I can track him down that way. Fingers crossed!
T minus how many days?
Six. Yup. Six five four three two none. Then I fly far away and galavant around. I still can't believe that this is what I get to do with myself now, but I could get used to it. It's a bit disarming, though. I feel like I have so much time left because I'm counting days (as opposed to hours, like I'm used to on the block plan), but really I think it's gonna whiz by and before I know it, Perú! I'm trying to divide my time between researching travel options, getting in the last visits with friends here, and making piles of clothes and other things to stuff into my backpack. Funny how when I make lists of things to take in my head, it doesn't seem like much...but then I pile it up in front of me and say, "Why did I think I needed this much stuff again?" Not like it's really that much, considering I'll be gone for 7 months, but I'm still working on cutting it all down. Good thing I don't have to pack for winter...
On the bright side, I'm pretty sure I know where in Perú I want to devote my energy to this time around. Problem is, the three places are kinda sorta in opposite directions. I'll spend a few days in and around Lima, which I'm sure will be enough city time for me. Then, the dilemma...head north or south? Northward lies Huaraz and the Huascarán National Park, in the heart of the Cordillera Blanca (loosely, White Spine), which houses numerous enormous peaks...I think the Moon guidebook on Perú said that it's the highest mountain range outside of the Himalaya. Can you see the appeal? (As a side note, I'm currently on my third book about expeditions to climb Everest, so my brain is in a certain groove at the moment.) The region is touted for having incredible day hikes, as well as multi-day trekking options, and quality rock climbing. Sounds great.
Southward, though, lie Cusco and Puno, central hubs for exploring Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca, respectively. Neither place really requires a description, and I'm sure they both offer a lot of opportunities to explore amazing things. Problem is, I'm not quite sure how much time I'll have to dedicate to them, and I want to err on the side of spending too much time in a place as opposed to not enough. Good thing is, at this point my plans are pretty loose, or maybe even nonexistent, so I can play it by ear. Woo!
It's about time for me to get off the computer and get to work, but I can't resist this shameless plug: one of my dear friends from CC, Louisa, is spending a year in Germany as an au pair, and she's keeping a blog about her (hilarious) experiences. Single posts make me laugh out loud multiple times, and besides, it's Louisa's blog! So I recommend that you all check it out and spread the word: the au pair report.
Signing off for now.
Love, Me.
On the bright side, I'm pretty sure I know where in Perú I want to devote my energy to this time around. Problem is, the three places are kinda sorta in opposite directions. I'll spend a few days in and around Lima, which I'm sure will be enough city time for me. Then, the dilemma...head north or south? Northward lies Huaraz and the Huascarán National Park, in the heart of the Cordillera Blanca (loosely, White Spine), which houses numerous enormous peaks...I think the Moon guidebook on Perú said that it's the highest mountain range outside of the Himalaya. Can you see the appeal? (As a side note, I'm currently on my third book about expeditions to climb Everest, so my brain is in a certain groove at the moment.) The region is touted for having incredible day hikes, as well as multi-day trekking options, and quality rock climbing. Sounds great.
Southward, though, lie Cusco and Puno, central hubs for exploring Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca, respectively. Neither place really requires a description, and I'm sure they both offer a lot of opportunities to explore amazing things. Problem is, I'm not quite sure how much time I'll have to dedicate to them, and I want to err on the side of spending too much time in a place as opposed to not enough. Good thing is, at this point my plans are pretty loose, or maybe even nonexistent, so I can play it by ear. Woo!
It's about time for me to get off the computer and get to work, but I can't resist this shameless plug: one of my dear friends from CC, Louisa, is spending a year in Germany as an au pair, and she's keeping a blog about her (hilarious) experiences. Single posts make me laugh out loud multiple times, and besides, it's Louisa's blog! So I recommend that you all check it out and spread the word: the au pair report.
Signing off for now.
Love, Me.
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