Perulog

[Del]

I think that says it all, doesn't it bouche?

[Ms.Huxtable]

Have I mentioned how jealous I am? Thanks for keeping us posted Velvet. It sounds like an amazing time, make sure you come home (not sure I would).

[Velvet]

Stardate 102105

At least I think it´s the twenty-first. Ahh well.

The keyboards in Peru are different, which is no big deal because I can´t type anyways, but there are some weird things. Like to get an apostrophe, I have to hit ´{ and then backspace. The @ sign is either ctrl alt 2 or alt 6 4, depending on the keyboard. And the one I´m currently using looks just like ours back home, but works like a Peruvian one, so I have to remember which buttons are different. The big plus is they have a ñ button (although it´s actually the button to the right of the L). I like typing ñ.

So I arrived in Nasca last night and walked from the bus station ignoring all the touts trying to book me a room and a flight. Hit every damn hotel in town and finally talked someone down to twenty soles. Then I had the same job finding the cheapest flight ($30 US) over the lines. People seem impressed when I tell them how much I paid so I guess I did good. I set my alarm for 7am and pre-rolled my last doobie for pre-flight. When my tour dude showed up he was with a driver, driving an old beat-up Dodge Coronet. We went to another hotel to pick up a couple of other guys, but they were late so I got plenty of time to talk to the driver, whose name was Jesus. I marvelled at the car - all the vehicles here are small, tiny actually, and most are Dea-Woo or some other Asian models. The only American cars you regularly see are Volkswagon Beetles, and the are everywhere (waitaminnut, VW´s are German. I need a fact-checker). A sole is about thirty cents US, and a room generally cost ten to twenty soles, I´ve paid ten almost every night. A big meal cost four soles. A litre of gas costs 10-12 soles. It´s ridiculous. Jesus had dropped a Japanese diesel engine into the Dodge himself, and converted it from automatic to standard, increasing the kilometrage to eight per litre as opposed to four. He was overjoyed that I showed an interest in the car and we checked under the hood, looked at the muffler, opened the trunk, I got a better tour of that car than I was to get of the Lines! He had a book out, and was studying his (beautifully) handwritten notes for an exam this afternoon, he´s studying to be an official tour guide. But my favourite bit about Jesus was his whistle. Peruvians can whistle, that´s for sure. People are constantly busting out a loud tweet-tweet to get attention or whatever, but Jesus had this grand, loud, melodic whistle (I subsequently found the notes - D B E A). I asked him about it, and it turns out all his friends do the same whistle (by the way, Jesus is easily 50 years old and about 250 pounds). He showed me - he burst forth a few times and sure enough I heard a few responses in the distance. It was really really cool. As we drove along to the airport he would see a friend and do the whistle, and invariably the same strong tune would be sent back to us. Then he would give me a wink. I can´t do it in the right key, and he was a bit dissappointed at that, but when I did it lower he was damn pleased. I shot a little movie of him doing it on my digital camera. When I showed him he almost exploded with pride, and I had to show everybody he knew.

So we get to the airport and they show us a video, actually a British documentary, on the Nasca Lines, and next thing you know we´re in a four-seater Cessna. As mentioned above, the next fourty minutes was like leafing through an issue of National Geographic. Don´t get me wrong, the lines are very impressive, and I´ve been enamored by the ancient landing strips since I was a little kid, but frankly I coulda saved the thirty bones. It was like going to a Rolling Stones concert. Nothing you haven´t heard before, but at least you can say you saw ´em.

About an hour after we landed Jesus showed up and we headed back to town. I agreed to go with them for a sight-seeing tour after I ate lunch (there´s really not much to do in Nasca itself), but somehow we missed each other. It was kinda cool, I went to the tour office and asked if Jesus had already left. The guy didn´t know who I was talking about (Jesus is a popular name around here), so I did the whistle and immediately without batting an eye the guy said he had already left.

With nothing to do but kill an afternoon I decided to walk to the bus station to buy my ticket. It was about two kilometers each way (once I found the right one) through the hot hot sun, but at least I saved four soles on the taxi. Boy did I need a beer whjen I got back to town! I leave here for Cuzco at 6pm, the sun should cool down by then so I think I´ll walk again.

On the way to the bus I passed a bootleg cd store that had a guitar hanging on the wall. I´d been itching to play a little so I popped my head in and asked if I could sit and play a while. The guy said sure, and soon he grabbed one of his own. He asked me to show him the twelve-bar blues and I happily obliged. It was a fun hour, he kept pointing to cd´s asking me to play songs from them. First it was Clapton, then the Chili Peppers, then The Cars, and luckily I knew something by every artist he asked for. It was a good time.

My internet time is coming to a close, so I´ll just add a few mysteries and peculiarities here, in point form:

-in Lima, though all the trffic lights function properly, every intersection has a cop directing traffic (following the traffic signals), and the busier streets have a girl on each corner in a blue Municipalidad de Lima shirt and in white-face, and these mimes direct traffic.

-garbage trucks include a guy that walks behind loundly and constantly ringing a bell. In Taiwan the garbage works on a similar system, only the trucks play Fur Elise really loud. It´s a wonder they hire someone when a bullhorn and a recording would do the same.

-Peru is unbelivably clean (cleaner than Ottawa for example), yet everyone seems to litter.

-The people here move really slow when they do anything, except drive. People pass on the highway in situations where you would never dream of passing back home. For example, a bus passing a truck on the outside going uphill around a hairpin U-turn. The driving is way tamer than lots of Asia though, so it doesn´t bother me at all.

-The ten sole bill has an upside-down airplane on it.

-On the bus to Ica, the bus guy insisted twice that I keep my bag on the floor between my legs as opposed to on the seat next to me, despite the fact that I only have a small shoulder bag instead of the usual backpack, and the bus was almost empty. No biggie, until he came back and insisted I pick the bag up off the floor, as diesel fuel was currently streaming down the floor. Yep, my bag got soaked in fuel. Expensive fuel.

Okay, I´m out for now, this internet stuff costs thirty cents an hour ya know! A cerveza or two and some lomo saltido and then I got a bus to catch.

[Velvet]

Stardate 012205

And what a bus to catch it was. The busride started with a mouthful of coca leaves (completely legal here, about sixty cents a pound) to pre-acclimatise myself, and a Jackie Chan movie in Spanish. The need for acclimatisation is great. Nasca is about 400m above sea level, but Cusco is another 3,000m above that, so the bus was to take us approximately 700km forward (though as the condor flies it´s likely about 250km), and 3km straight up. If my brain is working right it´s the equivalent of driving a bus about a third of the way up Mount Everest. And I´m sure the fear factor would be similar. I mentioned earlier that the driving didn´t make me nervous, and it doesn´t, but 15 hours of constant mountain switchbacks overlooking a railing-free cliff is enough to get my nerves on end. The Central Cross Highway in Taiwan is more treacherous, and I travelled that a half-dozen times, but always by motorcycle. The huge bus...well frankly it seems impossible for it to make those U-turns, and to do so you gotta get pretty damn close to the edge. I was praying for dark, and it soon came. Ignorance is not only bliss, but it helps foster courage as well. A dozen hours of fitful sleep and I made a point to be awake for the sunrise. Wowwee. By the time the sun came up we were supposed to be an hour out of Cusco, but Peru time being what it is we still had four treacherous hours to go. Here, though, was the real Peru. Mountains full of greenery, looking down at a sea of clouds. Majestic is the only word that fits. Uncomfortable, late, wanna get my ass offa this bus as soon as possible at any cost, and majestic. The people getting on the bus now were the real tamale - ladies in their bright handmade sweaters and their funny little hats, farmers heading to the big city, it was great. Meanwhile touristos and Peruvians alike were puking all around me, there´s that acclimatisation for ya. Altitude sickness can be fatal starting at 3,000 metres, and I´m sure we got up to 4,000 for a bit. I´m feeling okay, bag of coca leaves at the ready. Took it reeeaaal easy today, ate a lot and I´ll stay off the booze for a night. Smart traveller me.

Seeing as I have nothing to write about today, a small editorial: I passed many farms and other things this morning, and they all had kids as well as adults working, and young kids too, definitely under ten years old is the norm. It´s scenes like this that reaffirm my belief that child-labour laws should be regional. Well, I suppose they are, but the stigma that´s attached to child labour I think is largely unjustified. For example, these farmers have been and will be farming for as long as they know. They have no need for formal education. Granted, all people should be afforded some education, but really I think they get it. They are taught by each other and learn all they need there. If they want more, to some it´s available. Sure not to all, but neither is university in North America. I guess the education you pick up locally is equivalent (in worth) to a high school education (which admittedly ain´t worth much). Plus it cuts down on the need for child prostitution, which is a big problem some places.

Babble babble babble, I´m bored on the computer. I´m out.

[ggrtrhhrtgg]

wow, I am totally sold on that trip--Todd...

[PassedOutGuy]

im loving this trip Todd.. keep on keepin on...

[meggo]

thanks for the editorial todd... i studied latin america extensively in university (how's that for a "what am i going to do with THIS?" degree?), but having never been to most latin amercian countries it's like you're only learning half the story (or less). many farmers in latin america face very difficult odds... anyway, i found your comments very interesting. keep on observing for me!!

[Velvet]

Stardate 012505

My first night in Cusco I broke my promise to myself and had one (1.2 litre) beer. I drank this beer on the street in front of my hotel, which people seem to think is crazy, and I guess it is given how many bars there are full of people drinking. It´s good though, you meet interesting people. Like Marco, a guy who works at a restaurant down the street. We hung out for an hour or two and he invited me to join him for the opening game of the soccer season, an exhibition game between Peru and Chile. So the next day we met and set out on foot for the stadium, which was about two kilometres away. The game seemed like a pretty big deal, there were thousands streaming in the same direction as us, many wearing the team colours or sporting any array of donkey symbols, the donkey being the Peruvian teams mascot-in-absentia. The ticket booth was interesting, just a sign advertising the ticket prices next to a small hole in the stadium wall, like literally a single brick is missing from the wall and someone in there sells tickets.

We went in early to get a good seat. There were tickets at eight, ten, or twelve soles (a sole being equivelent to about thirty cents US). For eight soles you get to sit in one of the end zones, ten soles gets you a seat anywhere else. There is one section for the people that buy the twelve soles tickets, maybe 200 seats. The section isn´t so special, it´s the fact that you get to sit in an actual seat, whereas the rest of us sit on concrete. Anywho, me and Marco find a great place to sit in the 40,000 capacity arena and wait in the hot hot sun. Luckily I brought a jacket so I would be susceptible only to heat stroke as opposed to sun stroke. Eventually the teams came out to warm up and there was some hullaballoo with four pretty girls and some officials and then all the Peru players were introduced. The few that were from Cusco got huge applause, especially #15, a player with long dreads who happened to be my hosts cousin. As the game got underway there was an entire section in the cheap seats who started singing songs, and they never stopped. One drum, one trumpet, and about 200 people constantly played and marched around cheering on their heroes. After ten solid minutes I was impressed with their stamina but by half-time I couldn´t believe it. I had never been to a futbol game before, and frankly I don´t care for the sport at all, but it was a really good time, especially when you have someone to root for. Marco´s cousin deserves his fans I think. He had the ball all the time and got a few damn good shots on goal. Funny thing about non-North American sports is the whole whistling thing. I´ve made mention previously about the Peruvians knack for a good whistle, and when a player messes up boy do you hear about it. Wonderfully abrasive sound that is.

Early in the second half Peru scored the first goal of the game. Everyone cheered, I whistled. Force of habit. I woulda crawled under my seat if I had one. The game ended tied 1-1, and as soon as the game was over the 75 or so police in riot gear that had been sitting on the sidelines watching the game took their positions ringing the field. The Peruvian team left the field and as we were cheering for them all of a sudden I saw the entire other side of the stadium rush the fences towards the Chilean team. Here we go, I thought, but no, I wasn´t gonna get to see a real-live soccer riot, it turns out the Chilean players were throwing their jerseys into the stands and people were trying to get their hands on one.

Incidentally, when a ball goes over the fence into the stands all the kids scramble for it just like kids do back home with hockey pucks or baseballs, only here they do it for the thrill of kicking the ball back over the fence onto the field. Happened three times, and keeping the ball seemed to be not an option.

On the way back to the Plaza Des Armas we were going through a park when Marco said ¨there´s my band!¨ He had told me that he plays the pan flute (which is verrrrry popular here) and so he joined in, twelve pan flutes and four big drums. I stuck around for a couple of songs (that sounded almost identical, though I amused myself by unsuccessfully attempting to figure out the time signature) and then bid my friend farewell and headed back, passing another pan flute group along the way, playing what sounded to me like the exact same material.

I was absolutley spent from spending the afternoon in the hot sun, so I decided it was time for a splurge. I had noticed that there is an Irish pub on the corner, and I figured if there was anywhere I would find the Steelers game it would be there. Walked in, found the remote and then the game, ordered myself a Guinness(!) and a philly cheese steak sandwich. I was in heaven. The Guinness cost the same as my hotel for a night, but it was worth it. Another couple of cheaper beers watching the exciting yet frustrating and disappointing game, and I hit the streets.

Back at the hotel I considered turning in for the night but thought one more big beer on the sidewalk wouldn´t hurt. I´m glad I did (it turned into three more big beers) ´cuz I met some more interesting people, but yeah, more beer hurt. Hangovers come easy when you sleep up in the sky, and when my alarm when off I almost died. Why the alarm? ´Cuz I had met a guy who offered to show me around the local ruins in exchange for some English practise (he wants to be an official guide). I met him at 9:30 this morning and we got into a car and drove up one of the mountains that surround this city. We got out of the car and he asked if I had experience riding a horse. ¨Sure¨ I say, only half-lying. Much to my surprise the next thing I know me and Jose each hop on a horse (they belong to his friend) and we spent about four hours riding around visiting really cool Inca ruins. Damn nice way to spend the day.

Again exhausted and starving (I didn´t have time for breakfast), I couldn´t resist another trip back to the Irish pub for a heaping serving of shepherd´s pie. I can´t go there anymore, it´s too expensive and too not-Peru.

A post script onto the child labour stuff, last night me and a girl wandered drunkenly over to the Cathedral to have a final beer on the steps and we were soon joined by three kids trying to sell us finger puppets (you would be astounded at the quantity and variety of hand-woven finger puppets there are here. To go to the store and back ten different people will try and sell you some). These kids were 7, 10, and 12, and here they were plying there trade at almost 2am, not a parent in sight. They told us about their hassles with the police and stuff and it struck me how odd it was that they should be out on their own at such an hour. I don´t know what to think of that, maybe there´s nothing to think about it. One of them followed us back to the hotel and when we went in without buying anything she called us bad tourists, which perhaps we are.

My Canadian friend Steve should be arriving in Cusco any minute, we´re gonna hook up and go white water rafting tomorrow.

The days are just packed.

[PalacePrincess]

... when scientific progress goes boink.

still reading, keep 'em coming, todd!

[boogieknight]

great stuff. I nominate you offical travel journalist of the skank.

[ggrtrhhrtgg]

South American futbol games rock!!!

[ollie]

Wow. I love this thread.

[backbacon]

Thanks for sharing Velvet. Pretty wild times!!

[Velvet]

Stardate 012505

¨And the sky, the sky will remain.¨

Just as I finished the last log Steve showed up. I showed him around town and he bought me a few Guinnesses. Yum. So, we signed him up for the rafting trip today, had another beer or two and booked it to sleep early enough. Curiously, Steve´s house burnt down last year too.

Up at 7am and a little breakfast and off we go to meet our group. Seventeen of us board a bus for a two hour cruise (a two hour cruise). We stopped to grab some equipment and Steve and I got off the bus to wait, as did a guy from Spain. The Spanish guy was smoking a joint which he happily shared and Steve and I and we got rocked, which made the drive that much more beautiful. This drive wasn´t as hairy as the bus ride to Cusco, this was more like driving through the mountains in BC. Except these mountains all look like they´re covered with green felt, and everywhere you look the mountains tower over tiny mudbrick homes that look like birdhouses in the distance. We stopped for a break and watched the locals chase each other with buckets of water (the week leading up to Carnival is splash-each-other week). Back on the bus and soon enough we´re at base camp. Another hoolie got shared between the three of us and then it was time to strip down and get into our wetsuits. Lemme tell ya, they´re tight. I looked like a walrus in spandex, but nobody was looking at me anyways ´cuz all the girls looked like girls in tight wetsuits. Helmet and lifejacket on and paddle in hand we were given our instructuions and training and split up into three rafts. It being the rainy season the Rio Urubamba was high and fast, and before too long we were all soaked, navigating rapid after rapid. Water is a damn curious thing. Sometimes you´d be paddling away and all of a sudden you´re paddling the air ´cuz the water is five feet below you. And it´s amazing to come upon huge holes in the river, where the rapids form a concave of nothing. Freaky. In one of the more treacherous areas we were backbackbackbackbackforwardforwardforward and then the side I was on seemed to be going down. We were taking on water fast and soon I realised Jesus fu©king Christ we´re flipping over! Milliseconds later the six of us and our team captain are in the water careening through these rapids. I managed to grasp the rope on the side of our upturned raft and assumed the position we were told to take if we ended up in the water, which is essentially laying on our back with our feet pointing downriver. I immediately slid over a rock which gave me a nice cut on my left foot. It will certainly leave a scar, but hell, it´s cheaper than a tattoo and lasts just as long. It´s kinda in the shape of a condor too, which is very Peruvian. Anywho, our team leader righted the raft right on top of me, so I´m still heading downriver, except I´m underwater and under the raft, one hand clinging to my glasses and the other scrambling to get me near some oxygen. It was a bit scary for a second or two, but I got beside the thing and got pulled in first, then I scrambled around pulling others back in. When we were done we were down to five of us, the sixth having been saved by another raft. Seconds later we were in calmer waters and managed to reunite our team. My lungs were trying to explode, and we didn´t have an oppourtunity to rest for a bit. It was painful and bleedy. At one point we landed the thing and in trying to get it back in the water it started to go under again so I jumped ship, barely making it to a big rock. Me and the other guy who was smart enough to abandon (hell, we´re not the captains) had to walk up the rocky shore a few hundred metres to make our team whole once again. We continued downriver and after almost three hours it was over, all were alive and exhausted and we booked it back to base camp.

Back at camp we all stripped off our wetsuits and hit the sauna to warm up. I, like most, had worn my underwear under the wetsuit, and I gotta tell you, when I stripped my underwear off my penis was nowhere to be seen. I mean the head of my dick had withdrawn completely into my body, and I looked like I had never been circumsized. I actually let out a little yelp. And to think all this time I was afraid of losing my glasses. I´ve actually heard of martial arts masters who can suck their testicles up into their body, but this was ridiculous. Anyway, after the sauna we had a nice warm meal as we watched the beautiful day turn to rain and cold wind. A couple more fatty´s and we were back on the bus. With the buzz and the exhaustion and the thrill of the day in my head, coupled with the stunning scenery outside, I was in a nice little reverie when the bus driver put in a cd. Out of the speakers came ¨Every Rose Has It´s Thorn¨ by Poison, and for some reason it just seemed right. At the middle eighth I even threw my rock and roll hands in the air, eye´s closed mouthing the words. I didn´t care who saw or what they thought, this was my moment dammit.

Back into town we go, we depart with hugs and handshakes to team members and head our seperate ways. Back at the hostel I borrowed a guitar for an hour and sunk into heaven.

Tomorrow I begin a four-day hike along the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu. I´m frankly a bit worried about the old lung, we climb to an elevation of 4,500 metres, more than a kilometre above where we start. I anticipate the possibility of a heart attack miles away from a hospital. If I don´t make it back, I want you all to know I´ve had a hell of a time these last 37 years.

There´s been some riots down in Araquipa, and I learned a bit about the political situation here. There are elections coming in 2006 and there are campaign signs everywhere. They´re not actually signs, but paintings on the sides of buildings. This guy Alan used to be president years ago and everybody hated him. Their last president is, strangely enough, Japanese. He got very rich and everybody thought he was stealing money from the countries coffers. With that in mind the current president made lots of financial campaign promises based on the fact that if the president isn´t skimming money there will be plenty to spread around. Well, the new pres got in and realised that the last president wasn´t skimming money after all, he was selling the cocaine that his police force confiscated and getting incredibly wealthy on the profits. So now the new president can´t keep his campaign promises so he´s introduced a new tariff on the already-way-too-expensive fuel costs. Let´s just say effigies are being burnt across the land. And good old hated Alan is taking this oppourtunity to try and get re-elected.

We live in a funny world.

[meggo]

velvet, shoot, i howled at that one. ask my neighbours.

you rawwwwk.

[mark tonin]

"If I don´t make it back, I want you all to know I´ve had a hell of a time these last 37 years."

You'd better make it back because I want to read more!!!

Peace, Mark

[paisley]

right on man, again I must thank you for this vicarious vacation you're providing us... lovin it ::

happy trails!

[Blane]

In Velvet's absence on the Inca trail I though I'd add some visual flavour from my trip through the same area last month. SOme of the same places that he's hitting right now.

The main square in Cuzco, source of many stories...

The locals... (hey Todd, take a picture one sole!)

Machu Picchu from a distance. The zigzag on the left is the road up, but the trail actually comes down from the mountains on the right.

Macchu Picchu in the afternoon. Especially great in the sunshine in low season, when it doesn't resemble an ant-hill of tourists.

The ever-present Macchu Picchu llama...

This one's for Velvet. Hey Todd if you haven't yet, make sure you get Ceviche in Cuzco. It's unbelievably tasty, particularly the Ceviche de Trucha. The best cevicheria in town is on avenida peru. All the cabbies know it, so just tell them you want to go to the best one. they'll bring you there. Delicious!!!

Have fun man!

[Velvet]

Stardate 013005

I write this under considerable duress.

Seven am and I`m up and waiting for my four-day trek of the Inca Trail to begin. The van pulls up and I hop in with a cheery ¨Good Morning Team¨ only to be met with a few murmurs of hello. There are five touristos and myself in the van, and we drive around the corner to pick up three more. The back seat is absolutely crammed with bags and I suggest we`ll have to put them on the roof to make room for the other three people. ¨Ees nowt possibell, ees nowt possibell. These peoples will have to find an other way.¨ Nice friendly start. Turns out we have four people who just flew in from France to do the trail, and a young guy from Hungary. The four frenchies are cliche, three men and a woman, ranging from 28 to 54 years old. They tell me they`re from Nice and I reply ¨Oh, isn`t that nice?¨ They have no sense of humour. Remarkably, the tour people actually put the other three people (who are very cool, one Canadian girl and a young British couple) in another bus and off we go, a team of six. Our guide is there also, his name is Al. We bus it out of town for a couple of hours, stop for supplies where I buy my walking stick, then another half-hour and we get to the starting point. At this point we are introduced to our porters, new regulations require one porter per tourist, and they aren`t allowed to carry more than twenty kilos each. I see the massive amount of luggage is not our supplies for the trek; each of the french tourists has their backpack PLUS a huge green army surplus-type of bag, and the Hungarian guy has the biggest backpack ever. Of course the french folks employ the porters to carry their extra bags, and the Hungarian has to hire a whole extra porter to carry his bag, so he only carries his camera and a bottle of water. Al tells us that we are Team Puma, so we will be strong. Okey-dokey. We check in with the trail patrol, cross the mighty Rio Urubamba and we`re off.

The first day is pretty easy, a few fairly big hills, but not that big of a deal, mainly a somewhat leisurely stroll through the woods. The scenery is awesome, and I try and fall in step with everybody at least once to get to know everyone. My favourite by far is Al, our guide. Though I`m chomping on coca leaves the whole time I still get pretty winded on a few hills, so Al offers me some llipta. Llipta is a gooey black substance that is concentrated from the coca plant. You take a bit of it and put it in the moddle of the leaves you`re chewing and badda-bing, your face begins to freeze and you start running up those hills. Sound familiar? Six hours down the path and we stop for the night. I`m bunked down with the Hungarian guy and Al announces happy hour. Happy hour (or tea-time) will come every day around this time, it consists of hot drinks and a snack; crackers, cold toast, that sort of thing. The eldest french guy pulls out a bottle of some stuff that tastes like Zambuka, he calls it a aparetif. Okay, maybe these frenchies won`t be so bad after all. We sit and sip and revel in the beauty of the place. The Hungarian asks for the washroom and shower. He`s shown the washroom, which is an Asian-style hole-in-the-ground and he asks where the tourist washroom is. I tell him it`s in the internet cafe and he (seriously) asks me where that is. He is also amazed to find out that there will be no hot shower until the last night. During dinner he freaks out when the light attracts moths - he says he doesn`t like bugs. Soon enough we turn in, and while I lie there waiting for sleep I hear one of the porters say ¨Not yet heaven¨ though he actually said something in Spanish (or quecha) that sounded like not yet heaven. I found that positively ominous.

We are camping on someones land where there are cats, dogs, chickens, roosters, cows, bulls, all kinds of critters just wandering loose, so of course we are awakened early. It had rained in the night, our tent leaked a bit, but no biggie. The mountains in the morning are stunning. I`m all but running around like Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music, it`s so glorious. We chow down our breakfast but the Hungarian doesn`t eat. Says he slept poorly. Our guide warns us that this is the hardest of the days, we`ll be climbing from our present altitude of 2,700 metres to 4,200 in about six hours. The frenchies all check their altimeters (did I mention they are set up to climb Mount Everest, though only one of them has ever walked in the woods before?) and off we go. Coca and llipta on my side, I try and keep a steady pace. Before too long I get word that the Hungarian has given up and gone back to Cusco, and throughout the several teams trekking that day, two more would also pack it in. Team Puma is now down to five.

Let me tell you, six straight hours of up can really grind a fella down. I was drenched with sweat from head to toe. Of course, the thinning air exacerbates the situation greatly, as does having to wait for the elder frenchman, as he gets everybody to film him (following long break after long break) walking confidently up a step or two. Once you hit 4,000 metres you leave the atmosphere and enter the something-else-ophere. At that point I am literally walking five paces, tops, and stopping to catch my breath. Five steps, stop exhausted, five steps, stop exhausted. Soon I can see the pinnacle, but it still takes me another hour or two to get there. Keep in mind that Mount Everest (I keep mentioning it becuase to me it was that kind of challenge) is less then 9,000 metres and we are striving for 4,200. The situation is breathtaking in more ways than one. Finally, with all the signs af altitude sickness wearing me down (fatigue, dizziness, headache, etc) I make it to the top, but on our guides warning that the altitude is dangerous for tourists, I rest for less than five minutes and start the hour-and-a-half journey down. By this time my right knee (which I have had surgery on) is getting tender and my walking stick is now a bona fide cane. I`m exhuasted to the point of collapse, and the downdowndown is killer. Camp Puma was a beautiful site. I don`t think I`ve ever voluntarily experienced a more difficult physical trial. Tea time then I slept for two hours, woke for dinner then slept another eleven hours. My body was raked with fatigue, the blisters I acquired back in Nazca are really coming to the fore, and I think my rafting gashes may be infected. But holy sh!t is it beautiful. The whole way down was walking through clouds, and to see this valley with an ever-shifting mist was extraordinary. After dinner I was standing there staring at the wonder of it all and I happened to look up. The clouds had dissipated for a bit and there was likely the most impressive array of stars I`ve ever seen. We were in heaven now. The lack of city lights or moon coupled with the elevation being out of the atmosphere created a display I think I shall never see again. I stared at the sky for a half-hour straight. The frenchies came `round and tried to convince me that Orion was the Big Dipper so I went to bed.

Day three started with two hours up, which was no biggie after the previous day, with stops at several ruins along the way (I forgot to mention that we stopped at ruins every day), and many hours of walking brought us, finally, to the final camp, which is a lodge with showers and a rec hall. I`ve never needed a shower more, it was glorious. It was our last night with the porters, the cook made an unbelievable nine-course meal for us and we applauded and tipped our slaves. I had four or five frosty beers and hit the tent, as we were getting up at 4am to hike to Macchu Picchu for the sunrise. For the third time it rained in the night, but for the first time it was raining when we got up. We ate and started walking in the rain. A few times I almost lost my footing, which would have plunged me hundreds of metres down the side of a mountain, and that`s when my walking stick which had become a cane became my friend. I have it with me now. Anywho, after an hour we reached the point above Macchu Picchu where we would see the sun rise over one of the most remarkable man-made creations, and it was cloudy. So cloudy we couldn`t see a thing. Sure Macchu Picchu was down there, but we only knew that `cuz we were told. Nothing but fog. Okay, downdowndown we go and finally we reach it.

I was kinda thinking that after seeing so many ruins that Macchu Picchu wouldn`t be that big of a deal, but I was dead wrong. Macchu Picchu is indescribable and I won`t try to describe it here, any attempt of mine would be futile.

I couldn`t afford the bus down from Macchu Picchu and had to walk another hour-and-a-half. No biggie, after those four days I feel I could walk damn near anywhere. Got down to the town of Agua Caliente where the Pumas were eating in an overpriced restaurant. I walked around and found a meal, suana, and shower that cost less than a beer did at their restaurant.

In a feat of rearrangement, I managed to change my train ticket to get back to Cusco early enough to get a bus towards Lima. So it was two hours on the train (which was spectacular), then a two-hour taxi ride to Cusco, bought my bus ticket to Ica and boarded the bus at 6pm last night (after getting up at 4am with a very very sore body). It was a cheap bus, no bathroom, and an hour into the trip a family gets on and takes the two seats next to mine (all seats are assigned and I`m at the back with a row all the way across). This is a family of five, the youngest child is maybe seven, and the are in two seats. The bus dude comes back and starts sorta yelling at them and the mother starts whining. fu©k I hate the whining. It`s the same whine that the finger-puppet girls give you when you don`t want to buy their sh!t. Anyway, turns out the mother (who is already in my bad books) and her two daughters are in the seat next to me while the dad and son are moved to another seat. Guess what? Three people don`t fit in one seat, so all fu©king night, no, make that the entire fifteen-and-a-half trip I have these three people sharing my seat with me. No bathroom, no food, no standing up, no sleeping. Holy fu©k. I had to hold myself back from freaking out on them a few times. It was pure hell.

Finally I get off the bus here in Ica. It`s about 10am and I`ve been up since 4am yesterday with a body more worn than it ever has been, and that was before the bus. I`m in Ica `cuz I want to spend my last night in Peru back in Huacachina, about five minutes from here, and as soon as I type this last sentance, that`s exactly what I`m gonna do.

ps I made the French folfs out to be jerks, but they were pretty tolerable, though by the last day they were really getting on my nerves. I fear the bus ride made this log less than it should be.

[bokonon]

i really appreciate that you go through all of the effort of writing these posts, i have been loving them! i can't wait to travel. but i think i'll try to graduate first, and then travel.

[ggrtrhhrtgg]

wow. nice!

[PalacePrincess]

what bokonon said. this is incredible to read about. thanks for posting those pictures, blane... talk about breathtaking!

I`m all but running around like Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music, it`s so glorious.

hahahahahahaha....... ah, i heart you, velvet! i hope every last moment there is spectacular.

[Velvet]

Stardate 0201005

I left the internet cafe, changed some money, bought my bus ticket to Lima (11 sole) and got me a three-wheelie, three sole taxi ten minutes outta Ica, over the sand dune and there's Huacachina again. With as much glee as I can muster I book a room for fifteen sole and order lunch, both of which I have to wait an hour for as it was only 10:30 or so in the morning. No problemo, I just hop out back where all the girls are hanging around the pool, order meself a cerveza grande and plop my sorry ass down next to a trio from Alaska, Will, Michelle, and umm, the other guy. Anyways, we all end up drinking the afternoon away together. The two guys work on the railroad out there and she's a bartender, fun people to hang with. They had been chillin' in Huacachina (and of anywhere, Huacachina was the place for chillin') for a few days already, and they still had not done the buggy/boarding thing, though they were booked to go that afternoon at 4:30. By four-twenty or so I had managed three objectives: I had arranged to acquire some pot for the four of us later that day, I had gotten quite drunk, and I found somebody who rolled us a couple of fatties while we waited for our sh!t to come in. In my spectacularly exhausted, double-barrelled intoxicated state I ran around and found one of the dune buggy go-between dudes that I knew. Me and Steve had helped him push a buggy into the driveway/restaurant when I was here about ten days ago, it was no mean feat and he promised to take us up in the desert for ten minutes or so the next day to take some pictures in return for the favour, as neither of us had taken our cameras when we went on our dune buggy trips. We never did find him the next day; actually that's not true, we saw him in Ica at the bus station. Anyways, back to the day before yesterday, I'm loaded and in a state of fatigue-dementia, and I find the guy outside and convince him to convince the driver to let me come for only 25 sole, 'cuz I'm almost broke.

Can you believe Michelle and her boyfriend didn't even want to bring sandboards? I wasn't having any of that, I grabbed a couple of extras and threw them in the back, assuring them that they'll be happy they had them. So we boogie around the desert for an hour or so and stop for a hill. It's a smallie, as they just keep going to bigger and bigger hills until you stop asking them to, but of course for everybody's first time any hill looks huge. So they're ooing and aahing a bit so I just jump on my board and slide down about eighty feet, jump up and scream "it's easy! Just try it!". A few seconds later, down comes Michelle, the most nervous of them all, and she's screaming laughter the whole way! They all come down, it's a hoot, and we're off to the races. Another great time in the desert though frankly not near as good as the first time I went. Then the buggy was bigger and much more powerful, and thus able to take you up much higher dunes. This time we got stuck within the first ten minutes. When it became apparent that we're not gonna move without some sort of physical human intervention, the guy shuts off the motor, turns to us with a smile and says, "good place for take peectures, the desert is beautiful, no?" By the end of the day Michelle was over the moon, saying that it made up for the week-long illness she had just gotten over. The third hill we went down I got a guy to film me on my little digital camera. Fortuitous, that. For as I was nearing the bottom of the hill, and really starting to truck, I hit a divot, likely caused by a previous boarder. I started to tumble, and for the first second and-a-half it was a laugh, but in about two seconds when I realised that I was still tumbling out of control, arms over legs like that poor old polar bear in that horrible Disney clip, I got scared. Strangely similar to getting tossed in the water when we were rafting, the sand dune had me and was putting me wherever the fu©k it wanted to. I guess I only tumbled four or five times, and I managed to land mainly unharmed and immediately leap to my feet and do my best Rocky-reaching-the-top-of-the-library-at-the-end-of-the-movie dance, though it was actually closer to the Rocky-reaching-the-top-of-the-library-at-the-beginning-of-the-movie dance 'cuz I ended up flat on my back, I really couldn't stay up. I thought I lost my glasses too, it wasn't until I started to stand up the second time I realised it was the safety goggle-glasses the guy had given us that had flown off; it took me that long to realise I could see. Like getting tossed in the river my vision and most of my body remained intact, as my left arm was a bit fu©ked up for the rest of the afternoon.

It's all on film, maybe one of you can tell me how to post it here.

Back to the hostel for a shower (though there's sand in my crevices to this hour) and some clean clothes as I had gotten some laundry done. I deliberately didn't get three pairs of socks and a t-shirt from the sweaty, smelly Inca Trail trek washed, thinking having those in my bag would overpower any trace scent of coca leaves that might linger. More drinks by the pool waiting for happy hour and mureewaaan. Both hit right around eight o'clock and I pound eight pina colatas in forty minutes. Cleverly we went out for dinner and came back and hung on the Alaskan's huge balcony partying away. By eleven Michelle was asleep, and around twelve I peered over the balcony wall and saw that the bar was rockin', girls were dancing on the bar, there was about ten people dancing behind the bar...I turned to the two men and said, "guys, I think we're at the wrong party." I grabbed a beer and a joint and headed down there, with those two drunk bastards hot on my heels. A couple of hours of cd-skipping dance music and cd-skipping spanish music and I finally get drunk enough to do something about it. I searched though the two hundred or so absurdly scratched burned discs and find only one worth putting in. It was simply marked "beatle", and it saved the party. Just when things seemed to be winding down suddenly Paul started singing Let It Be, and every honky there sang their hearts out, forgetting the lyrics together as one, a similar yet wholly different version of the bus scene in Almost Famous with that Elton John tune. Then Day Tripper comes on and we're off. I think my head hit the pillow around 4am, exactly 24 hours after I had been awoken to hike up to Macchu Picchu with an unendurable bus ride in between, and I'm up at 9am to smoke my last two joints, give away my remaining leaves and llipta, and completely US Customise my baggage for the trip home.

Shower and bid farewell to the Alaska folks, pay my bill for the night of partying (95 sole! My most expensive night in Peru excepting the Inca Trail tour) grab my 3 sole taxi to the bus station and find something cheap to eat (a bag of Ritz crackers con queso at a supermarket-thingy). At this point I have $10 Cdn (which is useless here), $10 US, and 12.8 sole, and I still have to eat and drink water and get to the Lima airport for my 1am flight. When I board the bus to Lima, the only other two touristos are in my seat. It turns out me and the girl of this French couple were both assigned the same seat, and though this might have proved troublesome it was actually incredibly fortuitious. The guy was fluent in Spanish, he talked to the bus guy, and the bus dude just sat me in the seat behind the couple. Soon the bus was filling up and this old man came up and indicated that I was in his seat. I got up and asked the French guy to explain. The old man takes his seat but as I move to take one of the many others he motioned for me to sit next to him. He immediately strikes up a lively conversation with the French guy, which he then translates for his girlfriend, and occasionally for me when prodded. I have come to understand a fair bit of the language, but soon I lulled out of following the conversation and pondered my financial dilema. I didn't have enough money to take a cab to the airport, and I sure didn't know how to get there by bus, Lima being a huge and trafficly challenging city. Eventually the old man, who curiously reminded me very much of my late grandfather, settled back in his seat. He offered me an apple and I stumbled through the little conversation I could. I tried to ask him if he could tell me how I could take the bus to the airport, and how much it would cost. I found out it would be 1.5 sole, which was great, but couldn't understand much more. He started talking to the French guy and discovered that we weren't travelling together, which only now makes me realise that's why he insisted I stay sitting next to him, and thus behind the couple he thought was my friends, when he and I could have both had double seats to ourselves. I'm also just now thinking he must have thought I was quite rude. He initially thought I was French also, but I wasn't reacting at all when their earlier converstion was being translated back and forth. Anyway, through interpretation I told him I couldn't afford to taxi to the airport. He laughed, replying that he once went to Barcelona and had the same problem at the end of his vacation. He said he lived near the airport, we could travel to his place together, have a coffee and drop off his bags, and he would take me to that airport himself. And that's just what we did.

I will tell you the bus ride through Lima to his place was a cool experience and though I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't have made it on my own after all, it made the whole experience one of excitement and fun instead of one of worry and being the idiot touristo who's asking a million times "this goes to aeropuorto, si?" and constantly looking around half panicked. We got to Victor's house, and he proudly showed me around, pointing out each piece of furniture and (I think) telling me where and how he got it, and showing me portaits of his family on the wall along with several paintings of the Virgin Mary. At 70, he is an avid gardener, and we toured his impressive garden in his tiny concrete backyard. We had coffee and cigarettes while we both worked our way through enormous peices of dry cake fresh from Victors week in Nasca.

After an hour or two of slight but enlightening communication we were ready to make our way to the bus stop. On the way we toured his neighborhood and he proudly showed me the new park. It's a clump of grass with a garish fountain elevating a ballerina that curiously has her knickers blantantly showing, but he took me around the fountain and rambled on about every ornament and painting on it, each of us using as basic words as we can trying to find some common denominator. He walked me through the market, where it was obvious every vendor knew him. We made it to the bus stop, and he escorted me right to the airport, all the way to the point where it was passengers only, and hugged me like an old friend, or maybe like a grandson.

I can't tell you what a great surprise it was to have a real interaction with a real Peruvian just before my departure, and a great one it was. One of the disadvantages to spending such a short time in a country is you tend to pack in the activities and don't necessarily end up spending a lot of time with the people that make the country what it is. Thanks Victor.

So, with five hours of sleep in me since waking up in that tent after punishing my weak and long-abused body with a four-day mountain trek, I plunked my ass in that airplane seat and drank my way to Houston. Drunkenly (and very smoothly, if I do say so myself) get through US Customs at 7am and drink my way to Newark (Is it too early for a CC and Coke? No sir, I'll be right back). Already intimately acquainted with the lounge in Newark from my 14-hour layover on the way down, I deftly spend 195 minutes of my three-and-a-half hour layover drinking before hopping on the two-hour flight to Ottawa which I slept through like a dead man. I'm sure I snored like an engine.

Lovely Douglas met me at the airport, and I hit Harveys for a cheeseburger and the Beer Store for some Sleemans. Here I am and I'm going to bed.

All in all it was a fantastic vacation I would recommend to anybody. In case you're curious I spent around $600 US for the 18 days (not counting the airfare), doing essentially everything I wanted to do and riding the line between living it up and slum-touring, ie I took the cheapest rooms possible, always rode the economy bus, ate mostly the cheaper stuff going and bought no souveneirs, but I took every tour I wanted to, drank a fair bit, and splurged here and there for yummy meals. I will definitely be back to Spanish America soon.

There it is. Thanks for reading everybody, it was fun to play travel-journalist instead of just emailing this diary to myself. I hope some of you might be inspired to get down there yourself.

[PassedOutGuy]

Todd, A huge thank you for letting me live your experience with u in words.... I cant say that i wouldnt want to take the exact same trip! Now get some much needed rest.... when do u have to work again?

[Davey Boy 2.0]

Thanks for the fantastic reading Todd !

welcome home