We took one of those 2 hr turned - 4.5 hr bus rides from Ica (sandboarding! - post to come) to Pisco on the 22nd. The bus doesn't actually go to Pisco, however, so we got off to shouting hoards of taxi drivers and managed to find a shared collectivo - jam-packed with people who eyed our backpacks and looked ready to push us out of the bus at the slightest provocation. Pisco doesn't have all that much to speak of, as it turns out. There was an 8 magnitude earthquake which lasted 2.5 minutes back in 2008. Much of the town still has not been rebuilt, and except for the Plaza de Armas, it feels rather like a ghost town. Hearing reports of crime and skethcy hostels, we stayed in a bit more upscale place, Hotel San Isidrio, whose lovely owner Caria, made us feel totally welcome.
After exploring what little was open in Pisco, we hit us the supermarket to buy meals for the next couple of days and went back to the beautiful hotel to chill by the pool.
As we made our dinner that evening, the night guard had a couple of his friends over (?!) to drink a couple bottles of wine (?!) haha. Which was probably not the most secure thing, but we watched then end of the Giants with them and talked about sports and miami and, as one of the guy's dad was the owner of a winery, the wine business in Ica.
The next day we rose bright and early to visit the Islas Ballestas, sometimes called the Poor Man's Galapagos. You could smell the sea lions well before you could see them. But! so cute and so so fat. There were more than 3000 on the islands, and we were lucky to be there just after the birthing season, so we saw lots of babies too. And of course, there were thousands of birds of over 20 different species everywhere you looked (we were rather grateful for our hats). Grandma would have loved it.
In the afternoon , we went to the National Reserve of Paracas, to a museum and to several magnificent lookout sports along the coast. Learned all about the fascinating Humbodlt current (allow me a quick Env. Science nerd moment, would you?), which brings cold Arctic waters to clash with warmer Pacific seas, creating upwellings which bring the oxygen-rich water from the bottom of the sea to the surface, creating a marine environment full of plankton and subsequently other marine life. We also learned from our guide about problems the Coast Guard has with people fishing with dynamite! It seems hard to beliece but basically these illegal fishermen make homemade dynamite sticks and thros them off the boast, and then just collect whatever floats to the top... when buyers ask in the market why the fish might be missing pieces, they simply tell them , " a sea lion tried to bite it ..." hmmm.
Colca Canyon Trekking
After shopping around for the cheapest Colca Canyon tours and even bargaining down pricies, we went back to the hostel in Arequipa to do a quick legitimacy test to see if anyone had ever heard of the company we were leaning towards. What we found was a whole slew of reviews lauding a company call Land Adventures, which was not even on our list of possibilities. They weren’t open so we spent another day poolside chilling with the Argentineans and laughing as the hostel hosted “Drinking Game” night. We tried bilingually to teach them Kings, and Jacki failed her country miserably by losing at beer pong =P
We knew we were in for an interesting three days when our to-be guide fell off his chair whilst we were booking the tour. The owner of Land Adventures truly believes in sustainable and responsible tourism and our tour guide, Pepe, clearly had a close relationship with many of the villagers, homestays, and even the little kids.
People have been living in the Colca Valley since pre-Inka times, without electricity until the last 20 years and still without any means of transportation other than their own feet and those of their mules. The one school shared between nine canyon villages was on vacations now, but often Land Adventures brings in volunteers to teach English (or French or Chinese or whatever it may be) just to encourage the kids to learn and the parents to let them.
The second day we awoke to a delicious breakfast of banana pancakes with chocolate. (Fortunately for me, Jacki seems to hate every food I love – so I get seconds of bananas, tomatoes and avocados – seriously … who doesn’t like avocado ? )
We spent the most beautiful afternoon in a mountain-nestled lodge/pool call the Oasis. After four hours of morning hiking, jumping into that pool was unimaginably delightful. We had a fantastic lunch of quinoa soup and some egg/potato/rice dish(Peruvians <3 carbs) before nestling ourselves into the curves of the warm rock to read before we had to leave.
So along the way, Pepe had been telling us about the upcoming three hours. Everytime there had been a difficult up part during the past two days he would tell us “Okay – 5 minutes of this difficulty, you can do it !” Then at the top he would say , “Okay good, now get ready for three hours of that.
With foolish certainty, I elected to climb, as Jacki opted for a mule. I had climbed Machu Picchu! I had brave altitude sickness and hostels high atop hills – how bad could it be?
[yes, afterwards, reflectively, it does strike me as quite odd that I just paid to endure the most grueling experience]
The trek started wonderfully – steep, difficult, but I had found my pace.
In, step step, out step step.
Everytime I stopped to gasp and grasp for air, I was surrounded by incredibly diverse beauty and the rushing sound of the river below. The rain came slow at first. Gentle droplets were even welcomes by my overburnt shoulders and heaving lungs. When the thunder roared, it echoced throught the canyon, seemingly shaking the rocks I was standing on. The lightening was a beautiful acompanyment, and urged us onwards. About two thirds of the way up, drenched, shivering, and gasping for air, I started to reconsider my sanity. My envy for Jacki and the mule which passed us an hour ago was intense. As water rushed down the foot path I thought about flashfloods and landslides and tried to recall what was the best course of action should that happen … surely with all my cousins’ zombie preparedness training he must have taught me something usefull about escaping canyons?
Finally, we made it to the top, greeted by a beautiful rainbow and a sense of accomplishment unlike any other. The walk takes an average 3 hrs – I made it in 2hr 20 min. Pepe and I hustled, now bone chilled by the whipping wind to town, and celebrated with the hottest, still dripping with oil French fries we could find, and then met Jacki back at the hotel for hot showers and dinner.
Today, muscles that I didn’t even know I had are aching. But! We saw condors and I kissed a baby Alpaca. Now that I’ve survived, I can reflect with wonder and awe, most likely content to persist in my insanity until the next adventure =)
Meeting other people is one of the best parts of traveling. For a moment, perhaps brief, perhaps days, you have insight into another culture – another world. And not only that, but also the way that person interprets this third culture you’re experiencing as well. However biased it is- the more opinionated sometimes the more interesting – you can ask all you’ve ever wanted to know about some far away place. On the three hour boat ride back from Taquile, we spoke with an Argentinean student of photography and politics. Those of you who know me know I’m horrible at small talk, but I find it much more fun to ask every burning and perhaps politically incorrect question possible (much to Jacki’s chagrin). A conversation which started with me asking about if there were just as many education strikes in Argentina as in Chile turned into an explanation of the entire eduation system and subsequently, regionalism, MercaSur, Unasur, and the fight of the ladinos against American Imperialism.
Lovely small talk.
Machu Picchu
Machu Picchu is one of those places everyone describes to you in such over the top romantic language that you can’t possibly believe that it’s true…. Until you’ve seen it. We went on a guided tour for the first two hours, with the leader of our group “Washington” explaining the discovery and design of the place. Essentially, a Peruvian boy living in the jungles outside of Cusco decided to show the incan grounds to Hiram Bingham, but as it was covered with vines, Bingham set the whole place on fire to clear it, and then paid local people 1 sole for every artifact they looted (err, um… recovered.) Peru is still fighting it out with Yale to get all of the items back.
After some context, we were left to explore on our own, and we hiked up intipunku to beautiful views of MP below. It rained the whole way down, but our spirits were cheery nonetheless. We then saw the Incan bridge and some llamas (don’t tell the sloths, but llamas are coming in at a close second) before heading back down the treacherously winding road to the small town of Aguas Calientes, drifting on our day’s high all the way back to Cusco.
I should start by describing the distinct type of traveling my roommate Jacki and I are embarking on. Cheap, unplanned, and flexible. Thus, when researching Machu Picchu late after a night of exploring Lima, we realized that the Peruvian rules have changed quite a bit since the last time my trusty guide book was published, and now entrance fees must be reserved weeks if not months ahead of time. In the midst of searching the web for all of the possible permutations for how to get there cheaply, we had missed this rather large detail. We had considered the taxi, bus, collective, cable car over a river, four hour walk combination to get to Machu Picchu, but not the actual entrance. Our flight to Cuzso has already been reserved for the next morning however, and we are planning for Machu Picchu the day after. (*were planning) Trying to maintain a calm façade while dear Jacki teeters on the edge of freaking out, we decide to do what we do best … figure it out tomorrow =) . We ended up booking a combination package type deal with a travel agency for much cheaper than we could have been able to do ourselves, and much less headache. When we arrived in aguas calientes, in complete darkness, none of the hastily crafted signboards held by the many guides, hotels, and tour operators bore our name. Undaunted, we hiked up and up until we found our hostel, and with hopes of early sleep, awaited the arrival of our guide, whom our receptionist assured us would soon come. Four hours and many confused, doubting, and finally angry phonecalls to the elusive Vincente later, it became clear that two different guides had each thought the other one had been assigned to us, and so as it turned out none of them was looking for us. When that was finally straightened our and our guide sitting with us in the hostel, we expressed with naïve excitement our supreme desire to wake up at 4am and see the sunrise over the Incan city. With a rueful sigh he told us, “chicas… it’s the rainy season. There is no sunrise.”
After an idyllic train ride back to the midway point, we looked frantically for a bus we were told would be waiting for us, despite our lack of tickets. After asking around, we finally found “Danys bus” and took our seats, although it seemed odd there were only three other people on the bus. Then came a hoard, lead by one of those hastily scrawled list holders, who all piled on to our bus. After checking his list, he told us we weren’t on it, and we’d have to get off. This man was ruining my perfect day, and Im afraid the tired cranky Rebecca wasn’t about to get kicked off and the end our wonderful day. I told him his list was wrong, we were supposed to be on the bus and we were staying. Please? That seemed to do the trick, and safe passage assured, we returned to magical bliss of our day at Machu Picchu.
Happy Planet Index
Oh, the pains of studying abroad in the happiest place on the planet.
In all seriousness, Nic Marks is pretty interesting.
Granada
We arrived in Granada in all of its oppressive heat and humidity mid afternoon and went for a quick swim in the hostel pool (more like a large bathtub, but honestly, even a bucket of cold water would have been an incredible blessing). Swen, Gillian and I set out on the cobblestone streets to find Iglesia de la Merced, where we watched a stunning sunset from the belltower.
The next day I wandered about all morning, in my favorite sort of half-lost/half-wandering adventuring where you stumble on the best sort of randomness the city has to offer. I had coffee on the brightly painted pedestrian street Calle Cazuela where you can people watch to your heart's content. I made friends with this little old lady when I asked for directions to a certain Casa de los Leones, and she decided it was enough on her way to accompany me there. She had a daughter in Miami, and that was in the United States, so even though I didn't know her (she asked three times) it was enough of a connection for her to kiss me goodbye (and tell me to be on the lookout for her Maria). I poked my head into the workshops of Casa de los Leones, which are actually pretty incredible. A non-profit grants all sorts of artists different spaces to showcase their pieces as well as work on new ones, so I spent a while talking to a stone/ink/impression (? I still really don't understand how people were to buy his art) artist and watching a splatter paint fight between others.
It's rather unexplainable, but I loved this city.
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