Above the Clouds: Over a 14,000+ foot pass

Day 7 - Lares Trek - Part 1

I woke up a new man, having seemingly recovered fully from the altitude sickness. This was a good thing because the day started with a grueling 3000+ foot ascent over the highest pass of the trip. But not before waking up to a cold, cold morning:

Shortly after starting the hike, two more people ditched carrying their bags (the mules didn't seem to mind). Only two remained out of nine. We hiked amongst fields of stone, and along steep ledges. The clouds constantly obscuring the sense of altitude, and scale. The thinning air told a different story.

It was hard to imagine anything surviving up here, but lo an behold, we saw a glimpse of a wild chinchilla!

About 3/4 of the way up, we took a breather.

Then literally two minutes later, as if sensing our presence, the clouds cleared out almost entirely, revealing even more spectacular views.

The rapidly changing weather conditions at these altitudes created some strange, and beautiful sights:

From there, the top came quickly. Feeling so much better, I was able to go on ahead of everyone else, and experience the first few views alone.

The sudden view of one of the few remaining glaciers in the area was a pleasant treat. In the distance, you could see the Andes getting smaller, trailing off, and a layer of thick, fluffy clouds hovering over the distant Amazon jungle.

We spent a little time talking about how the pass was used for sacrifices, a rare occurrence in the Incan/Quechua culture, but not unheard of. Had it not been windy enough to almost knock you off your feet (and nippy to boot!), I would have gladly stayed to enjoy the views for hours.

The way down was, of course, significantly easier. Because we were no longer in the clouds, there were grander views that continued to amaze.

Then, minor tragedy strikes when Janet sits down for a rest!

The trail skirted down around a beautiful lake at the bottom of a glacial valley, and we lunched next to a tiny village at its base.

And yes, as mentioned, as compared to every hiking trip I've ever been on, we were pretty darn spoiled.

Guide to riding the bus in Peru & Bolivia

We didn't know it at the time, but our first luxury bus experience in Peru would spoil us for the rest of our 5 week trip. It provided all the things expected of a coach bus in America:

• It left on time
• It did not randomly let passengers on or off in the middle of nowhere
• It went from point A to point B without unnecessary layovers
• It had a functioning bathroom

Not only did it meet all of the seemingly standard criteria listed above above, it went above and beyond the call of duty by:

• Providing a snack
• Offering blankets to cold passengers, with complimentary tuck-in service!
  
• Tagging and securing luggage
• Showing a movie appropriate for all ages
• Showcasing the rare, fold-down legrest

From that point forward, we never quite knew what we would get. And tragically, the bar had been set way, WAY too high.

In Peru and Bolivia, where most people do not own a car, the main method of transportation is via bus. In fact, it is not uncommon to look out the window at a sea of vehicles and not see a single car. Crowded mini-buses and taxis dominate the city streets.

Between cities, there are coach buses of varying price, quality, and comfort. Unfortunately, the relationship between the three is spotty at best, if not completely random. Be prepared. It can't hurt to ask the relevant questions at each ticket counter as you decide which of the ten different bus companies serving your destination you will entrust your happiness to for the next 12 hours.

But, it can't help much either.

In these countries, where people are generally known for their friendliness, honesty, and kindness, it can be downright soul-crushing to find out after several hours of bouncing along uneven, dirt roads that the handle to the bathroom door has been removed. Intentionally. Again. Despite assurances to the contrary.

Eventually you realize that some buses don't even pretend to have bathrooms.

Having to clean the bathroom, it would seem, just doesn't contribute enough to the bottom line. Nor does providing heat, even when nighttime temperatures drop well below freezing. The locals understand this, and embark carrying winter coats, hats, and wool blankets. Balled up, shivering in the fetal position, with all four limbs pulled into my only fleece, I couldn't help but wonder about all the potential revenue they were losing. I would have paid dearly to rent even one of those cheap airline blankets.

The first time it happened, I told myself it was an especially cold night. The second time? Just the particulars of the terrain we had driven though. But the third? I cursed my optimism and bought a nondescript gray wool blanket, which I begrudgingly crammed into the top of my already full backpack for the remainder of my time in Bolivia.

If there were a manual entitled "The ins and outs of busing in Peru and Bolivia", it would give advice like:

• Remember not to spend your last 30 cents until after paying the required departure tax
• Save an additional 30 cents: you will need it for the surprise bathroom break 6 hours from now
• If the bus stops for a layover, do not leave your seat unless you can have someone save it for you
• If an old lady sits on your armrest, deal with it. She isn't going anywhere
• If a man stands up in the aisle and speaks for more than 10 seconds, do not bother paying attention. Crank up your iPod, he'll be blathering on about God for at least another 15 minutes
• Only tourists sit in the front row of the upper deck. The panoramic windows don't provide protection from the cold. Besides, if the views aren't blocked by the giant lettering on the front of the bus, they will probably ice over shortly after sunset.
• "To be safe, the bus travels slower at night" is code for: "We will be making a two hour layover in a town of three thousand people at 1 am for no apparent reason"

And the list goes on.

Buses however, are the great equalizer. It may be one of the few times you find yourself side-by-side with the locals, having paid the same price for the privelege. I can only imagine this happens because, unlike places like Machu Picchu, there is an unbelievable amount of duplicate services shoulder to shoulder with one another.

In the U.S., your choice is essentially limited to a few different time slots. Pick one, and off you go. Greyhound awaits. Try walking into a bus station where thirty different people from twenty different bus companies are all yelling "Puno, Puno, Puno, Puno" in your direction.

Eventually, you will get used to the long, bumpy nights on an unpaved road for seven straight hours. Eventually, the dust billowing off an identical bus, traveling the identical route, on the exact same time schedule won't annoy you. Bus already full and stopping to pick people up on the side of the road to stand in the aisle next to you for several hours? No worries, this is how you travel now. You may even be able to convince yourself that the younger passengers aren't paying attention to that movie about terrorism, capture, torture, and worse.

But this is how it's done here. If you want to jolt yourself out of the daily lifestyle, travel in comfort, style and speed on a plane. But if you want to be a local, see the country from ground level, go easy on your wallet, and test your patience (and bladder), take a bus.

I'd lend you my wool blanket, but it's in the closet, awaiting my first houseguest of the winter who dares to ask: "What was your honeymoon like?"

Hiking at high altitudes is MUCH harder than you'd think

I woke up at 4am, feeling significantly better. Not 100% mind you, but good enough to start the trek. Our ride arrived at 5am, and we rode with our other trekkers (the couple from Denver, and 5 Irish) over dark, winding roads over the mountains and down into the next valley.

After successfully not hurling on the winding, bumpy roads, I was relieved when we finally arrived at the starting point. At which point our 10 porters/guides set up a table a continental breakfast of sorts?!? Yes a crew of 10 for the 9 of us. Kind of how I always imagined hiking Mt. Everest would be.

That equates to roughly 9,200 feet for those playing along at home. The hike was steadily uphill all morning into a narrowing valley. It was truly picturesque. Check out this video, the distant mountains and sky look like a painting.

I hung out in the back mostly. Exhausted. I hadn't eaten much in over 2 days, not to mention had mostly been laying in bed not moving. Certainly not preparing myself for the upcoming hike. As the morning went on, I felt steadily better.

The mountains were spectacular. The Andes is one of the newer mountain ranges of the world apparently, and whereas the Rocky Mountains generally top out around 14,000 feet, the Andes regularly push up into 19,000 feet and higher.

Although there isn't a ton of wildlife up in these altitudes, we did get to see some pretty cool stuff. Looking back, it's funny that we were excited to see llamas (by the end of the honeymoon it basically felt as exotic as seeing a dog), but these were the first we would encounter.

As my condition improved, we stopped for lunch. Rounding a giant boulder in a flat grassy area next to a stream, we came across a tent. Our tent. The porters and mules had gone on ahead (maybe calling them porters isn't correct since the mules were carrying everything, but I will use it as shorthand for cooks, tent guys, mule guys, etc) and set up our meal tent. We had a meal tent?!?

As someone who has never hiked with guides and porters before, it was surreal to arrive to a fully furnished meal tent, and separate portable toilet tent. There were place settings. Napkins. Metal napkin holders at the center of the table. And lunch was already being cooked. 3 courses later, I felt guilty about all the work I didn't have to do. But full. And happy.

For a little while.

As we set off, I regretted eating a normal sized meal, or even eating at all. My stomach was not happy with me, and I began to slow down, stubbornly refusing to let a mule carry my pack. 4 of us were carrying our own packs at this point, the other 5 had paid to have the mules do the work.

Every so often we'd come across a tiny little village. I don't know how they do it. Living up in the mountains where it was only possibly to grow one or two different crops (usually potatoes), miles from civilization. Granted, it was beautiful...I just couldn't fathom what they ate, and how frustrating it must be when you need to trade for things.

I kept expecting to round a corner and have the spectacular scenery take a short break, but it never happened. Each view was more striking than the last.

As the afternoon went on, I felt weaker and weaker. They held back a horse for me, in case I wasn't able to keep walking. But, I was able to compose myself for this picture, right before we arrived at camp.

As we came over the top of a small hill, our campsite came into view. Set in a wide flat area, half covered with stone rubble (I'm sure there is a better way to describe it), it was literally a beacon to me. I stumbled up, got in our tent (which was already set up for us of course), and promptly took a long nap.

It was fairly cold as I awoke, the sun disappearing from the mountains, and the wind whipping down through the valley. I had missed afternoon tea (which was at 4pm when we arrived, it was now 6), but thankfully had regained some of my appetite. The food was again amazing, although the fact that we had just hiked over 10 miles uphill probably had something to do with it.

Nothing interesting happens

Day 5: Cusco

Today was pretty much pointless. We took a taxi down to Enigma to pay for the rest of our tour. I mostly just laid there on the bench feeling sicker and sicker. Somehow, we were there for over an hour. Ugh.

Still spanishless, Janet braved some more errands on her own, such as buying hiking poles and trying to get medicine for me. I can only imagine her trying to describe my symptoms. Back in the hostel, I laid there motionless, either sleeping or listening to music, or both.

At night, Janet went back to Enigma on her own to meet the rest of the group and get final instructions. She met other honeymooners, a couple from Denver?!? who were thankfully able to hook her up with some semi-prescription drugs. This meant that I wouldn't have to rely on any of the other remedies suggested to us: coca tea, chamomile tea, or hot coke. The soda.

We had to have the unfortunate discussion of whether or not Janet would take the trek without me if I didn't feel better by morning. Recovery didn't seem likely, and we went back and forth on the issue for a while. I can't even remember what the consensus was. The most likely scenario was that we would have to skip the trek and meet up with the group just before heading to Machu Picchu.

Luckily for you, no pictures or videos exist from today. They would have been boring anyway!

Ryan gets sick, details omitted

Day 4 - Cusco

Yes, it's still day 4, but now it's nighttime. Not surprisingly there is no interesting footage of my afternoon in bed, battling altitude sickness. Figuring that as a young healthy buck I would be less prone to such nonsense, I was pretty disappointed.

We were advised to be in Cusco 2 days before the trek began (it begins on Day 6, and we arrived here on Day 3) to allow time for adjusting to the altitude. Symptoms of altitude sickness include: headaches, nausea, fever, diarrhea & vomiting (which lead to dehydration), lethargy, loss of appetite, etc. Which of those affected me is not important, nor is why I know those symptoms off the top of my head, and not any of the others.

After sending Janet out into the wild on her own (scary since she basically only knows "agua", "gracias" and the numbers 1-6 & 8), she graciously entertained me by the fire in the dining area.

After eating nothing but a lone (but tasty) tangerine all day, it seemed like I should probably try to eat something. The restaurant Chez Maggie (of which there are at least two on this block) would be our evening meal and source of entertainment:

The artistically illuminated Plaza de Armas at night:

And finally, what goes down, must come up:

Local protests? Stomach protests? Tomorrow has to be better, right?

Protests & riot police in Cusco - we're safe, right?

Day 4 - Cusco

So far, nothing really crazy had happened on our trip. Until day 4. We had prepaid half the cost of our 4 day trek (culminating with a visit to Machu Picchu) and needed to get across town to pay the remaining half. The protesters had a different plan.

These were planned protests mind you. Except for many of the establishments serving primarily tourists, the rest of the country had shut down completely and took to the streets protesting the government. We wandered around looking for a taxi, bewildered.

We would pass alongside a group one hundred strong, marching down the middle of the street, carrying banners, beating drums, and chanting protests in unison. Relieved, we would turn the corner onto the next street, only to find another group.

In between, a group of national police would scurry by, riot shields in hand, attempting to blockade one street or another. On more than one occasion, a mini-tank rolled by, dropping off a new batch.

I didn't know whether to be worried or not. On the one hand, we were just tourists and no one seemed to be paying attention. We could freely move in and out of the crowds, even walk past barricading officers. The protesters were peaceful, and didn't seem to be looking for a confrontation.

On the other hand...why were all the banks heavily guarded? Why were the police so anxious to seal off the area around the primary government building? And, wouldn't a "wealthy" tourist be the perfect target of violence for a repressed working class?

We wandered in the general direction of our tour company, but gave up after 1 mile. Not a single car could get through the morass. Even if they could, I wasn't convinced the office would even be open. Weaving back down different streets, the chaos was the same everywhere.

Still peaceful of course, but I must have subconsciously been counting the number of police I'd seen. Peru is safe, right? Stable too? It would only take one nervous or provoked policeman to ignite this situation...

As fascinating and viscerally satisfying as it all was, I became increasingly uncomfortable. It was time to return to the tourist safety of our hostel.

Behind that big wooden door, it didn't take long to forget the entire situation. Easy to imagine it was a normal day outside. Safe in the castle.

Later in the day, while sending emails at the internet cafe next door, the proprietor jumped up and ran over to the front doors, quickly shutting and latching them. Suddenly it was quiet. The natural light sucked from the room. In the 24 hours we had been in town, I had never seen them closed.

A few tense minutes passed.

The doors were reopened. It was sunny out. People walked back and forth as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

T-shirts, cocaine, and kindness in Cusco

Cusco, Peru

Brushing past a horde of scurrying schoolchildren, I passed through the narrow archway. In an instant, I had gone from blending in, to the obvious foreigner. As I moved upstream through the crowd, the wind whipped against my skin and it became clear - I was the only idiot wearing a t-shirt.

---

All the travelers go to Cusco. Why? Because it’s the staging ground for Machu Picchu, and why else would you visit Peru? Well it turns out there are plenty of reasons, and Cusco itself is one of them. This modestly sized city in the Sacred Valley has tripled in size to around 350,000 in just the last 20 years, no doubt because of the massive influx of tourists stopping through on their way to the ancient Incan city in the clouds.

(image courtesy of Cacophony)

At first glance, it’s almost too perfect. Beautiful, hilly cobblestone streets in every direction. Artistic nighttime lighting and shadows straight from a Hollywood set. A group of children doing group aerobics in a public square.

However, if you confine your visit to the main streets surrounding the Plaza de Armas, Cusco can feel like a Disneyland of shameless sales pitches. Every establishment within a 2 block radius (amounting to…hundreds?) has someone stationed out front just dying to sell you a meal, tour guiding services, international calls, or even cocaine. [Aside: While feigning shock and disgust, I was secretly flattered to be “cool enough” to have received the offer]. The annoyances are easily ignored (I suggest: “Ya comi”. Translation: “I already ate”) but there are a few areas in particular where you’ll find it hard to carry on a conversation uninterrupted.

Wander just a few blocks in any direction, and traveling abroad will feel like just you always imagined it. Get lost in a local market selling food you’d be afraid to eat. Peer through ancient doorways into secret courtyards and twisting hallways. Run your fingertips along an Incan wall, centuries old, and gaze up at the modern structure built atop it.

(image from Wikipedia photo gallery of Cusco)

And of course, just when you think someone is trying to sell you something, remember that Peruvians can be downright over-the-top accommodating and helpful. Which brings us back to me in my t-shirt, at night, at 10,000 feet. In the middle of winter.

Aware of my own condition, suddenly, I was my own hero. Yeah, that’s right. I was born and raised in a little place called Wisconsin. Ever heard of it?

Inner monologues don’t make public heroes out of idiot tourists.

I would survive the arduous trek back up to my hostel, where, despite the promises made, my laundry was 30 minutes late. With barely enough time to adequately clothe myself, my wife and I hurried down to the travel agency to pick up our bus tickets.

And again, despite the promises made, no tickets.

(image courtesy of orignal)

With less than 25 minutes to spare, the woman at the agency grabbed us and ran out the door. Here we were, two comparatively giant white people with enormous backpacks, being dragged through the streets of Cusco by a woman just barely over four feet tall.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I kept losing her in the crowd: a passing loud and colorful street parade of children, cruelly of identical body proportions to our scurrying hostess.

Figuring she was driving us to the bus station herself, I was surprised when she hailed a cab. Figuring she was making sure we would be driven to the right place, I was surprised to see her in the back seat, pinned beneath a pack several times her size. She didn’t drop us off at the bus station either, or let us pay for the cab. Figuring she was simply showing us which gate to head towards, I was surprised to see her paying the departure tax for our tickets. Then, after a hasty and bewildered goodbye from Janet and I, she shoved us off through our gate, and disappeared into the crowd.

(image courtesy of Kaldoon)

Cuzco, rising altitude and tension

Day 3: Lima -> Cuzco

We got up early and breakfast was delivered to our room, again (apparently there aren't enough seats at the table downstairs for everyone?). The scenic seaside route to the airport gave us yet another perspective of the city, and got us to the airport without incident (although plenty of near accidents, and by "near accident" I mean: the type of rare occurrence that would get you the bird and a sound honking in the US, but happens here about every other minute). The only notable story at the airport was that we resigned to eat fast food, and then unknowingly paid extra because we ordered from the guy standing in front of the counter with a menu (instead of the people behind the counter). He did bring the food out to us at our table, but I think I would have rather saved the $2.

Going from sea level to ~10,000 feet wasn't easy on everyone. The white-knuckled guy next to Janet gripped his seat for dear life (which actually had a calming effect on her). For the first time, I saw someone use the barf bag. For real. Visions of that scene from "Stand By Me" danced in my head...

We were greeted at the airport by a traditional band (yes that's right, it's pan flute time!), whose sweet song echoed throughout the baggage claim. The cynic tourist in me found this highly amusing. I believe my inner monologue was "They're putting on quite a show for us, aren't they?"

Navigating through at least 30 locals shouting, pitching their hotel, asking if we needed a ride, and saying anything they could to start a conversation, we hopped in a cab and rode to the tourist district surrounding Plaza de Armas (the main square in town). We would have arrived a bit sooner, but the protests scheduled for tomorrow were already in effect:



And here are a few photos:


We were able to snag a room at the awesome Los Niños Hostel. It was started by a woman from the Netherlands who was disturbed by the number of street children in Cuzco, so she began adopting them. 12 boys later, she had a pretty full plate. The proceeds of the hostel go to helping the children of the city, so everyone doesn't mind paying a little bit more.

I'm silently enraged right now because we did not take any photos or videos of the hostel. Basically you walk into a beautiful stone courtyard with chairs and tables scattered about a central fountain. The rooms are arranged on both the ground level and second floor around the courtyard. Luis (named after one of the adopted) would be our room for the next 3 nights.

[Edit: I found this great picture on the Los Niños website:]


While I wandered around the city, Janet tackled some much needed studying (apparently getting your MBA is serious) in the internet place across the street. For 40 cents an hour, you are basically sitting in a dank room (which smelled a little bit like pee) with 6 computers. Head through the doorway in the back and that's where the family lives, seemingly in poverty. It's truly amazing how everyone seems to be a businessperson of some sort. I guess that is what happens when there are very few decent jobs.

It didn't take me long to feel lost. Turn here, turn there. Suddenly I am the only tourist in a giant market with fruits, vegetables, and giant chunks of meat hanging from the ceiling. Sometimes it is fun to just wander aimlessly, pretending you don't exist and trying to observe without interaction or judgment.

For dinner, we ate at Victor Victoria where we dined on some excellent quinoa (a native Andean staple...supposedly the healthiest grain in the world) and alpaca. Which I enjoyed (tasted like pork). I semi-regretted it when I saw a really cute alpaca on the sidewalk the next day (it was on a leash). Yeah, I'm a softie.

Armed with that knowledge, you won't be surprised that I didn't order this:



Long ago, someone decided that guinea pig would make a great Peruvian delicacy. Yikes!

At this point, we were getting used to drinking bottled water (something we never do at home). And Janet's spanish was coming along nicely.



Hard to tell which she's better at. Right?

Would the real Lima please stand up?

Day 2: Lima

Wanting to stay active on this trip, we went for a run first thing in the morning. Wanting to make it a "good" run, not like our run through the city and industrial sectors of Toronto, we took a cab down to the beach assuming it would be cleaner and less traffic-y. Not entirely the case.

We were dropped off next to a group of 200 or so high school students? all doing calisthenics en mass. Weird right? Commands blared out from a megaphone at the front, and everyone seemed to be following along enthusiastically. These would pretty much be the only people we saw.

Dogs ended up being the most common sight. Usually it was hard to tell if they were dead or alive. With a group of stinky food stalls on one side, and exhaust from the road on the other, we pressed on. Then, randomly, a beautiful new oceanside restaurant. Empty (it was 10am, but there were employees bustling inside). Then, a giant, run down, palm treed convention center. Closed indefinitely. All that remained? A lone security guard watching sleepily from his tiny booth.

Our attempt to find a well regarded vegetarian restaurant for lunch failed, and we ended up at Tropical. After waiting a few minutes, we asked for the menu and were directed to the 2 inch by 2 inch scrap of paper on the table. The menu of the day. Pick from 4 appetizers and 4 mains. Juice and dessert included. For $3. It came quick too!

In the afternoon, we practically became best friends with our cab driver en route to central Lima. He warned us of the upcoming "molestacion" (people would be skipping work countrywide to protest) and offered his cell number, so that he could show us around the countryside when we returned.

Plaza Mayor, the heart of central Lima, looks like this:



Two cute little kids bugged us to buy those little thread people from them. We refused and tried to get the little girl talking. Apparently she does this every day (sad). And her younger brother's English vocabulary seems to be centered on the word "monkey".

The nearby pedestrian mall:



Even though Miraflores didn't feel very touristy, central Lima felt even less so. We saw only a handful of travelers (read: white people), which is always strangely comforting to me when I travel. I don't enjoy feeling like a tourist being herded around to all the "hotspots".

Next up, the Spanish Inquisition Museum. The cool thing about this museum is that it actually was the site of the Inquisition headquarters for all of South America (for a period of time). I would tell you more about it, but I only absorbed some of the information. We weren't prepared to wait another hour for the next tour in english!



Although it didn't end up being a "must do", it was pretty interesting. I was amazed at how graphic the tour was. Here our guide explicitly describes the various methods of torture used:



The tour ended crawling down into the "catacombs" where prisoners were held captive.


The view up and down Abancay Street (thankfully for you all the air pollution didn't really translate on film):



We eventually gave up trying to find the National Art Museum (even the guy selling tourist maps was no help...and he was only 1/2 a mile away), and took a cab back. Two blocks later, we drove past the museum, which happened to be closed on Monday anyway.

Back in Miraflores, we again attempted to find the vegetarian restaurant, but not even our host Angelo could find it (nor could his Phone-a-Friend lifeline), so we wandered around looking for a similar restaurant that he recommended. After about 20 minutes (and several failures), we found it. Practically deserted. Apparently, they explained, spaghetti was the only available food that evening?!?

You know how it can be when you really want something (food, water, bathroom etc.) and are constantly teased with the prospect of relief, but never quite get there? Yeah. We were famished. The result: over ordering at overpriced Korean food. It would be one of our only "international" meals.

Day 1: Miraflores

Amazingly, we have little/no visual documentation of this day. I have no idea why. Perhaps we were too tired? Bewildered?

Underwhelmed is probably closer to the truth.

I didn't think I had any expectations for Miraflores, the tourist district of Lima, but I must have, because I just wasn't impressed. Still tainted from our 5 am drive through shanty towns, we weren't quite sure what to think of this place. The buildings were colorful. The streets were clean-er. But was this a place of endless excitement for visitors?

The walk from our sleep n' go stay at Lion Backpacker over to B&B Tradiciones was far shorter (and less sketchy) than we remember from our cab ride the previous night. Down a dingy street, over the freeway (you could almost feel the exhaust seeping through your skin), onto a nicer street, and across a small, green little park...things seemed to be improving.

However, despite our reservation, Tradiciones did not have space for us. Lesson #1: be wary of using Travelocity to reserve a room in someone's house. Apparently Angelo (the owner) has the system take the reservation regardless, but the information is not received immediately. He later figures out if there is space. If not, he sends you to a new hotel nearby for the same price.

But that probably gives you the wrong impression. He's the nicest guy ever. And it's true what the TripAdvisor reviews say, you do feel like a part of his family (especially when wrestling the computer away from his daughter's Facebooking). He spent the better part of the early afternoon telling us where to go, making sure we got a room at the other hotel, drawing out maps, and suggesting not only restaurants, but also specific dishes.

Our patient listening paid off though, when after waiting over an hour to get a table at Punto Azul (sunday lunch is their busiest meal of the week, but we did get to make some Peruvian friends...which is easy when you tell people you are on your "luna de miel") we ate the fantastic Peruvian specialty: ceviche.

(image courtesy of Luis Delboy by way of Don Lucho)

Think raw fish (usually King Fish or Sea Bass), marinated in lemon and lime juice, served with raw onions and small bits of tiny chili peppers. It nearly blew me away. Awesome. We also had some chicha morada (a sweet juice made from purple corn?!?), and a creamy fish dish that isn't worth mentioning.

We walked down towards the ocean, stopping on a park atop the cliffs overlooking the ocean to toss the frisbee around. Most people there hadn't seen one before...making us the subject of many a furtive glance. One old man approached, asking about it...but then ended up being a guy who sold these little tiny Peruvian dolls made out of thread. We felt bad enough to buy them from him, but would run into many more (spanning all age ranges) of his kind throughout the trip.

The very western mall carved into the cliffs seemed like it was a big attraction in the area. Meh.

Further north along the coast is Parque del Amor (ie. "Love Park"), which lived up to it's name in every sense of the word. Beneath a giant statue of lovers embracing passionately were...many real life couples...embracing. Passionately. Nothing beyond some good ol' making out, but we were amused nonetheless. The nearby clearing served as a staging ground for a para-gliding operation, new chutes launching into the air seemingly ever other minute.

We walked back through Kennedy Park, the social center for Miraflores. Surrounded by restaurants, shops, and the occasional important colonial building, it was jam packed with locals out for an early evening stroll, taking in the photography exibit, and/or waiting around for something which was bound to happen.

We're not sure what, because it never happened.

Heading back, we passed through the "Indian Market", which is a bunch of fancy stalls all trying to appear traditional and handmade, but all selling the same stuff (including many exact duplicates of the street artwork we had been so impressed with moments earlier). Throughout the trip we would run into well dressed men on the street with leather portfolios of artwork, often with a "We accept VISA" sticker slapped on the outside. In fact, the Indian Market itself seemed to be sponsored by VISA...

We cobbled together a dinner from random items at the supermarket (Wongs, a giant, uber-fancy, better-than-western-supermarkets supermarket), including tasty bread which would be swarmed by people as soon as it was released into the giant bin from the trap door in the other side. (If you need a diagram, I'd be happy to take a shot at it)

Settling into our room at B&B Tradiciones (they actually did find space for us: a room with a double bed and a set of bunkbeds), we sat on the bed eating our bread, fruit and jelly, unaware those items would become staples of our trip.

City on the edge: Lima, Peru

"It hasn't rained in over 2,000 years," he told us. That couldn't be true, could it?

It might. Based on our small anecdotal sample, it hadn't rained at all in our five weeks in Peru or Bolivia. Heading down to the deserted oceanfront (where pollution problems discourage all but the most enthusiastic of surfers), you can see that it must be true. The edge of the city stands precariously atop cliffs that appear ready to melt into the Pacific Ocean at the even the slightest hint of rain.



Yes, those are just tiny stones held together with dirt.

Seemingly every aspect of Lima is either an exercise in extremes, or one of barely stable equilibriums.

While the weather is moderate (average highs in the low 60's year round) and continually overcast, heavy sustained rains would guarantee mudslides and housing collapses. The population has increased approximately 15-fold in the last 65 years. Services and development cannot seem to keep up with the influx of new residents.

(image courtesy of teague03)

And in the 17th and 18th centuries, it was almost completely destroyed by earthquakes. Three times.

After just two cab rides, the extremes became painfully clear.

On one trip from the airport, we denounced Lima as a sprawling slum. Barren, dusty, and often seemingly abandoned, there would be no reason to ever visit it again. This wasn't just a poor area of a modern city, these were mud and brick shanty towns woven together with crude dirt roads.

Returning to the tourist district of Miraflores several weeks later, we took a different route through town. Wide, tree lined boulevards. Green grass everywhere. Casinos. McDonalds. Sharply dressed white collar workers. The glimmering skyscrapers of the financial district, San Isidro. Had we arrived in the wrong city?

(photo courtesy of PromPeru, by way of Wikipedia)

Despite being a giant metropolis, the people are exceedingly friendly and helpful. The hosts throughout all of our accommodations bent over backwards to provide us with local insights and made us feel like part of their family. More than once I had to speed up the conversation after my eyes glazed over from well intentioned "help overload".

At one point, our taxi driver pulled over to ask a police officer on a motorcycle about the location of a particular street. He didn't know offhand, but quickly called a friend on his cell phone, and was able to give us an approximate location.

I guess you can't really fault our driver for not knowing one particular street, given that it was 15 miles from where our ride started. (It turned out to be only 1 block long!)

Still from the shanty towns surrounding the city, to tourist district of Miraflores, to the swanky towers of San Isidro, and the few remaining historic structures (like the Cathedral in Plaza Mayor):

(photo courtesy of mannover)

...you never quite know what you are going to get with Lima.

Sadly, this makes it a hard sell for the casual traveler. It is easy to feel like you have run out of things do to within the first 24 hours, but you'll miss the complete picture. If you understand and appreciate the nuances of it's history, culture, and extremes, this 'city on the edge' might just surprise and delight you.

Just pray that it doesn't rain first.

Day 0: Boulder -> Lima, Peru

Truth be told, we had planned to be honeymooning in Rio de Janeiro (Brazil), but an outbreak of Dengue Fever (Wikipedia link says: "2008 Health officials say an outbreak of dengue fever has infected more than 110,000 people in Rio de Janeiro state and claimed at least 95 lives since January 1.") left us certain that we would rather not risk death so early in our marriage. With South America on the brain we decided that Peru would make an excellent alternative (weighted heavily by the prospect of being able to visit Machu Picchu, which if you aren't sure what it is, check out the link...you probably already do).

The plan was: drive (be driven actually) from Boulder to Denver, hop on a plane to Dallas, hop on a plane to Miami, hop on a plane to Lima (actually, only a 5 1/2 hour flight), get in a cab and drive to B&B Tradiciones in Miraflores (the tourist district of Lima) unannounced, hoping they would have a room for us.

We urged our driver, the gracious Ms. Katy Plath to take the toll road to the Denver airport, which would guarantee no traffic. It also reminded us that for some inexplicable reason, the employees along 470/Northwest Parkway are the happiest toll booth operators you have ever seen. Each happier than the last. It's quite remarkable.

Nothing noteworthy about our flights except for a fantastic lightning storm while flying across Texas:



And before we knew it, we had arrived in Lima. First time for either of us in South America.

One of my favorite 'little things' about traveling abroad is the signage - which is always so much more...vivid than what you would find in the US. Exhibit A:

And in case you need a larger version:


Despite all my best intentions, I got a little jumpy and accepted the first offer from a non-official taxi driver (apparently the "official" ones that are waiting right outside the airport overcharge significantly, so the cool kids walk past them into the outer parking lots). Sadly, this would become emblematic of the trip...getting a decent deal, but not bothering to shave off a few extra soles here and there (1 sole is worth about $0.35 US). And since Janet spoke a total of about 3 words in Spanish, I was always the designated asker/negotiator. (My friend Kip probably has a stupid grin on his face right now, because the roles were reversed while we traveled in Thailand...I was always bitching about how he didn't try and save us 50 cents every time we took a taxi!)

Anyway the ride through Lima was shocking to say the least. The airport is outside of town 20km west of where we would end up. Things never quite look right at 5am on a Sunday. As it turns out, there are several ways to drive through town, and as though trying to instantly kill any enthusiasm we might come to have for Lima, our driver picked the sketchiest.

Hardly any lighting. Roads that went from dirt to paved and back again. Shanties built on top of shanties. All of it looking like an urban wasteland. The ruins of a once thriving brick and mud metropolis. No people or cars anywhere.

Mouths still agape (or aghast...or both?), we arrived at B&B Tradiciones, which was really more of a house than anything else. Dark and still, we decided rather than wake the proprietor, we would have our cabbie drive us elsewhere (not relishing the thought of wander around alone looking for another option). Enter the nearby Lion Backpacker, shown here:



Sorry about the quiet audio, I had to keep my voice down while mocking the place. For just under $25, this would be our refuge, at least till the sun came up. Despite the puddled water, moldy pillows, and thin walls (the room was adjacent to the lobby area), we were able to get a few hours sleep before tackling 5 weeks in Peru.

Welcome to our honeymoon!

We're back!

Got into town late-ish last night. Starting tomorrow, I will recount our trip day-by-day, interspersing descriptions of cities, the nuances of traveling in Peru and Bolivia, and other fun stories.

Be sure to check back to find out how the trip went (hint: well!).

I thought it would be a little weird being back, but amazingly, we seemed to find falling back into life in these United States fairly easily (Thai food last night that wasn't the 1 1/2 to 2 hour dinner ordeal we've been used to), and our cheapness carried over (buying two desks and a chair at the salvation army during a half price sale: total ~$25).

Here is a sneak peak, just to put you on the edge of your seat. Tension mounts in Cuzco during countrywide protests, on Day 5:

We´re still alive

Just killing some time in Uyuni, Bolivia right now waiting for a bus back to La Paz, where we were not too long ago. From La Paz, we went to Potosi, the highest (supposedly) city in the world, at over 13,000 feet. The city was formed because they found a ton of silver in the mountain there, and well, mined the crap out of it. Often using slaves. Many people died. More to come. Anyway, we got to tour a mine...it was pretty intense. Very taxing physically because of the altitude, and the horrible air quality inside. It´s completely amazing that people can make a living working there (though they often are forced to quit at a young age, for health reasons).

From there we went to Tupiza, which is sort of a wild west town, surrounded by red cliffs and mountains beyond. Did a nice little hike from downtown into the adjacent ¨canyon¨ and eventually up to a lookout of the city as the sun was setting.

From there we did a 4 day jeep tour of southwestern Bolivia including the Salaar de Uyuni...the Uyuni Salt Flats...the largest in the world I believe. The trip was rather...taxing...basically we weren´t prepared for the cold (well below freezing at night, and also some days with the windchill) and there was a lot of bouncing around while driving 8 or so hours a day. Pics to come!

We will be back in a few days, at which point I will blog day by day as though we are still here (you´ll just have to be patient about all the details of our trip). Stay tuned!