Panama Adventure I

28 Thursday May 2009

I have changed my flight yet again…for the last time, I think! I fly home on June 4th and am very very sad that my journey is coming to an end. It has been an incredible trip that interestingly has improved as the weeks went by…I feel like I am finally in the groove of travelling, and alas, it is time to return to reality and look for work. Sob.

I last left you on my return from the top of the world after my climb up Huayna Potosi. I spent the next two days in La Paz as I was unable to change my flight to leave earlier to go back to Central America. As it turned out, I really needed the rest. The first day I just slept, got a massage, did email and then spent the afternoon going out with the boys to see the Sunday afternoon locals´entertainment of Cholita´s wrestling. What is a Cholita? It is an indigenous Bolivian woman living in the city who continues to wear traditional dress. It was supposed to be riotous fun.

It was not. I don´t know what had happened on the day that other travellers went, who had recommended this activity to me, but I´m not sure if I could describe it as fun. Public display of female abuse would be a more appropriate description. Whilst the fighting is only supposed to look ¨real¨, the message that it sent to the crowd was extremely disturbing.

We watched as guys fought, as the opening act, and then the first set of Cholitas appeared (one was a dwarf, or is it midget? Can´t remember which is politically correct) and we basically watched them get repeatedly punched, slapped, kicked and beaten to a pulp. At one point, the midget was hit so violently in the skull that fake blood poured down her face. Just as she was cowering and crying in the corner of the ring, the aggressor took one of her pigtails and lit it on fire. It was very disturbing and a bunch of people left. We just kind of sat and stared.

Afterwards, I felt quite tormented. The boys and I took off for a slap up meal which we found at the first restaurant I had visited upon my arrival in La Paz two weeks ago After, to dull the visions of beaten cholitas, we all went to the movies to see Angels and Demons which was a lot of fun. Then we said our goodbyes as the boys were leaving in the morning for Sucre. Ah….alone again! Sniff.

My final day in La Paz took me around the city actually as a tourist for the first time. I visited the Coca museum to learn the history of the leaf that is so negatively viewed back home (source of cocaine production), the Witches Market, strolled down the Prado and visited the Sopacochi neighborhood.

The next day was an epic journey day. I took a cab at 6am to the airport and flew from La Paz to Lima where I had a 2 hour layover before my flight to San Jose. On arrival in San Jose, I took a cab to an airport hotel where I unloaded half of my stuff in storage as I wouldn´t be needing all the winter clothes whilst travelling in the tropics. Back in a cab, we navigated a torrential thunderstorm to get me to the Caribe Terminal where I boarded a 4 hour bus bound for Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, a southerly Caribbean beach town near the border of Panama.

I was absolutely exhausted upon arrival and opted for my own hotel room where I could just take a shower and get some needed rest. I was hounded by some locals as I walked the five blocks to the hotel, and learning how many people were mugged over the next day in Puerto Viejo, I realise now how stupid I was to walk there alone in the dark.

It was very strange to feel the humidity in the air again…and to be able to breathe!! I was back at sea level, and very excited to experience some BEACH.

The following morning I set about deciding if I was going to stay in Puerto Viejo for the day, or if I´d catch the bus straight to Bocas del Toro in Panama. I set out for some breakfast to mull the decision over coffee and met up with 3 lads from Montana who promptly invited me to stay at their hostel and hang out with them for the day. We decided to rent some bikes and ride down to Manzanilla stopping at beaches and snorkeling along the way. Sounded like a great idea, and they even offered to carry my bags for me! Never gonna be concerned with travelling alone ever again!

The day was perfect. The ride was leisurely and the scenery lush. We spotted monkeys as we cruised along, stopping a couple times to swim and frolic in the surf. At Manzanilla we enjoyed one of the best lunches I’ve had on the trip: Garlic shrimp and coconut rice. Delicious.

Getting back to our hostel, I headed over to the beach to watch the sunset and met 3 people who would become friends over the next several days in Bocas Del Toro: Aurelien, Matt, and Kelly. We all decided to head over to a bar after dinner that was playing live music (I was hoping to be able to sing, which I did! Remey, one of the three guys I’d met at breakfast was quite the musician and played guitar while I sang “Me and Bobby McGee” made famous by Janis Joplin). It was a good evening followed by dancing at a club downtown which we arrived at in style after hopping on to the tailgate of a passing truck. Ah, good times.

In the morning, a group of us jumped in a minivan headed for the border and the backpacker haven (or should I say pit of sin) of Bocas Del Toro, situated on the beautiful Isla Colon in the blue Caribbean azure. The town didn’t look like much as we sweatily clambered off of the water taxi that had brought us here, but it would soon grow on me in its affection. I knew where I wanted to stay and began to haul my bags north up the main drag, losing the guys in the process to a haggler trying to sell them a dorm at his hostel. Weak, I tell you!

I was very happy with my digs, named Mondo Taitu, which became as much a character in my stay as the islands themselves. Mondo Taitu has a funky appeal with bright colors, hammocks littered across balconies, and a free pancake breakfast. Each night hosts happy hour with prices that make your head spin: beer for 50c and cocktails for a buck. We never missed a happy hour.

Matt and Kelly were already there and I added Christina, Abraham, and Carina to the list of friends whom I made during my stay. We became quite a connected happy little bunch. After a shower and a happy hour, I decided to lay down for five minutes in my dorm before heading out.

I woke up the next morning at 8am.

Wanting to head out and see more of the islands, I joined a sailing trip aboard a catamaran which took a leisurely day out to such points as Dolphin Bay and coral key, stopping along the way at choice snorkeling spots. I’d been told that the visibility was particularly bad here, but I was pleasantly surprised by the color of the coral which we found in the shallower areas. It poured out of the sky in the early afternoon and we all had to take shelter inside the boat and wait for it to pass. All in all, by 4pm I was completely mellowed out and operating on island time, blissfully ignorant of the time on my watch except for when it would signify happy hour, of course.

Stopping by the supermarket on my way back to the hostel, I was stunned to find they had fresh milk for sale. Not being able to resist, I bought the half a gallon bottle together with a slice of fudge cake and sat in the sun gloriously gulping down the white stuff that I hadn’t imbibed in nearly 3 months. It was spectacular.

Walking into the hostel I was greeted by a familiar face from Puerto Viejo: Aurelien (from Paris) had decided to travel south and spend a few days at Mondo Taitu as well. The whole “crew” from Rocking J’s was here. It was going to be a good stay.

That night we all got a taste of Bocas‘ night life, where every single night, women drink for free. It is shamefully hedonistic and blatant in its marketing, but it seems to work, because the entire town seems to visit only one specific different bar each night of the week, which makes for a fun, if slightly high school atmosphere. I happily danced the night away until sleep beckoned. Even then, Aurelien and I ended up hanging out on the balcony outside my room for the next several hours anyway…

The next day, having woken too late for a boat trip, Matt organized us into a beach targeted group and we grabbed a collectivo to the north of the island and a stretch of beach called Bocas Del Drago. It was picture perfect with little surf, swaying palm trees, white sand, and lots and lots of starfish. It was the perfect beach day with swimming, a delicious lunch of red snapper sitting in swim gear, snorkeling, exploring, and taking lots of pictures. This was paradise. Little did I know it could get even better.

The following morning Aurelien was distraught as his ATM card didn’t seem to be functioning. I offered to buy breakfast, and during the meal it occurred to me that when the same thing happened to me in Copacabana, Bolivia, I went to a hotel and they kindly ran my card through their merchant machines in order to give me cash back. After trying the story out at several retailers we found a dive shop who was willing to give him cash. Relieved at being able to “do” things again, we immediately booked a boat charter out to the one island I desperately wanted to visit before leaving this place:Isla Zapatillo. It is supposed to be the most beautiful and unspoilt of the islands, completely uninhabited and circumnavigable on foot in about 30 minutes.

Despite being horrendously delayed by this very strange Persian man who insisted on making 7 of us wait an hour for him while he ate lunch at a stop along the way, it was an incredible day. I felt like I was in a movie and luxuriously breathed in the incredible scenery and utterly crystal clear water that lapped at our toes. It was so so beautiful, and I think honestly to say it was the best beach I’ve ever seen in my life. We ate a picnic under a palm tree and then happily lazed away the next five hours or so we had before being forced (literally) to get back in the boat and head back to Isla Colon.

I knew I needed to leave this place the next morning in the same way I know I need to leave Las Vegas after 3 days. This kind of self indulgence was starting to get to me. So after another memorable night spent at a club that was designed around a sunken ship and artificial reef, complete with sand, I packed up my bags, and Abraham (lovely sweet Dutch guy from Utrecht who had been travelling with Christina for the past month and who was headed back to Columbia) and I headed down to the docks for our water taxi and subsequent buses on to the mountain, and coffee town of Boquette.

After five hours of buses, Abraham and I felt the shift in climate and donned another layer. It was a welcome relief to experience a little chill, and watch the daily afternoon downpour come down over the cloud forest, and this little town which is apparently rated as the third best place to retire in the world! Walking over to our hostel in the rain, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed at the unearthly quiet that abounded. I was de–bocasing. It was going to take a day or so. I was already missing my friends. The parties. The happy hour. The beaches. Mondo Taitu! But no, it was time to move on and travel.

After setting down our bags in our hostel of second choice (the first was full! Damn!) we headed out for a good meal to lift our spirits. And we found it in a little American owned restaurant called Bistro Boquette. As soon as we arrived, a server came over and poured us both ice water. It was so beautiful it almost brought tears to my eyes.

We happily dined on rather expensive (for travelling that is) fillet Mignon with garlic mashed potatoes, red wine, and a brownie with ice cream for dessert. It was fantastic. After booking a trip to go white water rafting the next day, we settled in for the night at our hostel by watching a movie with our fellow roomies (some of whom had also arrived from Mondo Taitu).

I’ll leave it there for now as its getting rather long…I am in Panama City now and will be leaving for the San Blas Archipegalo in a few days for my last dose of sunshine before heading Stateside.

Much love to you all!

Bolivia Adventure Part II

22 Friday May 2009

Posted by Anita in Bolivia

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By the way!! I have FINALLY uploaded pictures from the last month on Picasa…here is the address (haven’t had time to write captions yet, but I will!)

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/Boliva2009#

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/PeruvianAmazonAndLakeTiticacca#

I write this from the Carribean shores of Bocas Del Toro in Panama. I feel very behind in recording my adventures during the middle of my time in Bolivia, and if I do not complete my story with due haste, I feel it may be overtaken with the far warmer memories I am creating at this moment.

I already wrote to you about climbing Huayna Potosi, and the previous email, I believe, left off with me the night before I joined a tour of the Salt Flats and the volcanic region south of them, on the border with Chile.

We left early in the morning for the train station as we were told that there were strikes going on in downtown La Paz and the journey to the bus station might be slow going. As it was, we were fine. The station was an experience for its toilets, which were quite disgusting..and like so many bathrooms in South America, inexplicably gave you a ticket for paying to use the facilities. Why do they do this? Are armed police going to raid you in the stall, mid pee, and demand to see your ticket?

The bus journey to Oruro was uneventful (yet again, I was the new addition to the group of 10 travellers and they didn’t seem too keen to engage me) but I was very happy to see Michael, Tiago and Samara at the train station as we collected our tickets for the 7 hour train ride to Uyuni…one of the coldest placest on earth with temperatures in the winter of up to -100 degrees celcius. We all lunched together and then got on the train.

Unfortunately, they were playing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button on the train. Whilst I love this movie, it is a very sad memory for me when I saw it for the first time, and that coupled with the fact that it is a very sad movie overall, had me crying for about 3 hours of the journey and arriving in a rather sour mood which was not aided by the fact that none of my new comrades wanted to share a room with me. Probably for the best, I cried myself to sleep.

We piled in groups of 4 into our 4×4’s for the next 3 days and headed off to see the world’s largest salt flats. The tour itself turned out to be somewhat disappointing with absolutely no interpretation…we were just driven around and told to get out at various points of interest and take photos. Not that the locations were not stunning, because they were.

The first day was a highlight for me as we took a lot of perspective photographs in the area of blindingly white ground, piercingly blue sky, and sun that could burn your eyes if you walked around without protection. The idea was to have objects in the foreground appearing to interact as if in the same plane and space with objects (usually other people) way way in the background, creating unique illusions. This was a lot of fun, but took a good while to get a hang of together with a lot of patience.

We also visited a very strange mountain covered in cacti which stood in the middle of the salt and seemed very oddly out of place. The entire area was like an illusion, especially as we drove on the horizonless “freeways” of salt that carried no mark or indication of direction. I would not want to be stuck out here with my own car.

That first night we stayed in a hostel that was made entirely of salt. Really. You could lick the walls. The ground was covered in thousands of salt crystals which crunched as you walked on them. Definitely an alternative to floor vacuuming and cleaning. ?

It was very cold that night, but thankfully our room, though not heated, had good protection against drafts. The evening meal was spent bundled up and ladling soup complete with gloves. My new group seemed to love playing cards, but I didn’t join in, opting to read instead. Later, some musical talent from a local school stopped by to sing and dance for us. That was very sweet and we all tipped and thanked them.

The next two days we continued our journey south stopping at incredibly colorful lagoons scattered with flamingoes, unusual rock formations that stood out in stark contrast to the unending desert behind them, and beautiful volcanoes that had a pretty sprinkling of snow on top of them.

Our second night was far more frigid than the first and we resorted to wearing nearly ALL of the clothes we’d brought with us whilst trying to keep warm in the silly thin sleeping bags the company provided, all the while inside the beds covered in 7 more woolen blankets. If you didn’t lay awake from the cold, it was from fear of being smothered by the weight of the covers. Just turning over was quite a task.

That morning we had to ready ourselves in the dark (other than a plastic roof which let in a blustery wind, the hostel only had electricity from 7-9pm) using our headlamps and set out into the night sky at 430 in the morning. our first stop were some steaming geysers and bubbling mud pots, which ended up being quite wonderful to stand in front of, trying to warm our butts and hands in the steam.

The thermal baths, therefore, came as a very welcome sight. Our guide had said she didn’t like them because they were too hot, but I for one think she is mad, and after dipping in a toe, needed absolutely no encouragement to strip in the frigid cold and dive right in (keeping my wooly peruvian hat on, of course). The water was fantastic and Tiago and I were the first ones in. Lots of people came up to the water, hesitatingly putting in their toes only despite our shrieks for them to f*%^*ing get their kit off and get in! “Oh, but it’ll be too cold to get out again!” Clearly none of them had lived in a ski resort long enough to know that if you sit in a hot tub for 30 minutes, you’re very much protected from the chilly night air for at least a few minutes after you get out. After much whining, we were joined by more people as they got up the nerve.

I bid goodbye to my friends that afternoon as Michael headed back to La Paz on the night bus, and Tiago and Samara went on to San Pedro de Atacama (which, ironically was only about 20kms from where we were…and where I had spent such a fantastic time in March, 2008). I loved meeting you guys and hope that we stay in touch!!

That night getting back to Uyuni, we were all in need of some solid gringo food and fell upon the most delicious pizza, apparently, in Bolivia and washed it down with fresh homemade chocolate cake (heated!!) and ice cream. It was fantastic.

The following day we had a long, hungry, bus journey to Potosi, followed by an even more famished trip to visit the world famous unesco world heritage silver mines of Potosi. Somehow our guide had neglected to realize that the mines would not be worth visiting in the morning as it was a Sunday, and therefore had last minute arranged for us to have a late afternoon tour on Saturday. However, it didn’t afford us any time to stop for lunch. By the time we had our second meal of the day it was 945 pm! Luckily, I had leftover pizza from the night before to tie me over.

The 3 hour or so visit to the mines will stay with me for a very very long time. The mines are now almost stripped of silver, during the time of Spanish conquest, thousands of African slaves were brought over the ocean to work the mines in unbearable circumstances, sometimes being forced to stay in and work in the mines for six months at a time. The descendants of the lucky few slaves who survived make up the tiny african bolivian population who live in the north of the country. We all bought gifts for the miners which consisted of coca leaves (which the miners chew religiously to battle symptoms of altitude, since the mine is at 4300 metres, as well as to suppress appetite and provide energy to work in the deplorable conditions) cigarettes, unfiltered, and sticks of dynamite. The mine is a cooperative, and each miner is not salaried, his wage is determined by the amount of mineral he is able to extract and sell. The principal minerals being sold today are tin and lead.

These miners work in horrifically cramped spaces, at 4300 metres, in temperatures of 45 degrees celcius (115 degrees fahreinheit), breathing air that is full of noxious fumes such as cyanide, and silica dust, carry loads of rock up to 100 kilos at a time on their backs several times a day through miles and miles of back breaking low clearance tunnels, risk their lives from accidental death or dismemberment due to explosives, and generally have a life expectancy of about 15 years after entering full time work in the mines, at which time they usually contract silicosis pneumonia. We asked several groups of miners how much they were able to make for a day’s work: Their answer? Between $6 and $9 a day. If they have to stop working due to a loss of lung capacity of MORE than 50%..they can earn a pension of $1.50 a week.

I will never again complain about the working conditions of any job I have back home again.

We were all completely filthy and having great difficulty breathing after just two hours in the mine. Just walking was hard enough. I couldn’t begin to imagine actually spending 8-10 hours a day here. It was too difficult to contemplate. The passageways were impossibly cramped and my heart was racing at some points from the fear created by such enclosed spaces. At some points we literally had to crawl on all fours and squeeze through the narrowest of halls. When asked if we wanted to go visit a blast site a few of us volunteered.

I soon asked myself what on earth I was doing as I found myself climbing up a ladder with more rungs missing than present (definitely no health and safety code in Bolivia) all the while with rocks and silica crashing down on my helmet and clothes. The passageway at the top of the ladder was not only tiny, but it had a significant degree of slope to it. Susie, who was ahead of me, was having a very hard time and eventually decided to back out. We were told that during the day, as many as 10 men would be working in this tiny tiny space. We all backed out and had quite a difficult time squeezing back down the shaft, not able to look down. I was very unnerved by it all.

Thankful to be back out into the fresh air (still hard to breathe though because of the altitude, Potosi is the highest town of its size in the world) we were next given the opportunity to experience a dynamite explosion. How cool? Well, first I managed to get a photo of me holding the lighted stick of dynamite before a volunteer together with the guide ran down the hillside to set the charges before legging it back to where we were. When the first bang came, I almost fell over from the sheer force of it. It was incredible. Forget taking a picture..I practically dropped my camera.

After a memorable morning spent wandering the streets of Potosi, which had many seemingly moorish influences in its architecture, we all jumped in cabs for the 3 hour ride to the capital of Bolivia> Sucre.

Our hotel was lovely, and at this point, I was enjoying my unpopularity in the group because I was still enjoying a room all to myself. After a yummy dinner we headed out for karaoke which Sole, our guide, had arranged. Of course, everyone in the group just wanted to have fun and I wanted to SING. And I wanted to sing alone, not with the entire group crooning drunkenly along with me. That’s not karaoke for me, at least (but as you all know, I’m weird and a voice snob). Disappointed, I headed back to my room and settled in for a delightful if subtitled movie in bed.

Much better.

I thoroughly enjoyed exploring the white capital of Sucre the next day. It was a stunning little city, and one in which I think I could happily live for a while. There were parks and trees everywhere with little outdoor cafes and lots of places to sit and watch the world go by. I was thrilled to find a beautiful Potosi silver ring for a ridiculous price, and drink glasses of fresh “tambo“…unripe passion fruit juice, at the local market. In the evening, a few of us took a cab up the main hill to a cafe called Mirador which had an incredible patio view over the entire city. It could have been Spain or Tuscany with the setting sun warming our toes as we sipped tea and ate fantastic chocolate cake. I was in heaven.

On our last day in Sucre, 3 of us decided to go on a guided walk through the mountain range east of the city, the Cordillera de los Frailles. The route took us first down an original Inca trail (apparently part of the trail that connected Buenos Aires to Machu Picchu), through villages inside an ancient volcanic crater strewn with violet and red rocks, and then several miles further over hills to a set of original and fossilized dinosaur footprints. They were fantastic and much better than expected as we could walk right up to them. Anywhere else in the world and these incredible artifacts would be cornered off away from tourists and viewable only by binoculars. The scenery was also very different from all else I’d experienced thus far on this trip, and together with the green hills, dramatic rock shades, glorious sunshine, and abundant eucalyptus trees, I would have guessed I was in Australia.

It was a long 18 km hike followed by a two hour off road drive through rivers and over many boulders. We were wrecked by the time we got back and after a shower, I barely had the strength to make it to a restaurant and get food to go.

The next morning a few of us boarded a plane back to La Paz as the rest of the group continued on their South American odyssey on to Santa Cruz and Brazil. I was looking forward to doing my own thing again…and as I mentioned in my last email..I decided on that flight to climb Huayna Potosi. The rest you know!

OK…I will leave you there and pick up next time with my last two days in La Paz before flying back to Costa Rica and journeying on to Panama where I am now.

Bolivia Adventure Part III (part II coming later!)

17 Sunday May 2009

Posted by Anita in Bolivia

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For the first time since my adventure began two months ago, I am going to write to you out of sequence. That´s because I just completed what has to be the greatest physical challenge of my life to date…the 3 day expedition I took to climb Huayna Potosi, a stunning mountain in the Cordillera Real of Northern Bolivia, just a few feet shy of 20,000 feet. It was the worst and best experience simultaneously, however, by far I believe it will be the most memorable moment of this trip (if not of recent years) and something I will look back on in utter disbelief for many years to come.

I returned to La Paz on the 13th of May and had a flight booked to San Jose, Costa Rica for the morning of the 14th. For some unknown reason, however, I had it in my head that I wanted to tackle this 6088 m peak…and set out to explore my options for joining an expedition, and whether changing my flights was even a possibility. My Kiwi guide whom had accompanied me on the World´s Most Dangerous Road had told me that he had climbed the mountain the week before, and that whilst it was the most gruelling trek, he said that the views and experience was otherworldy. So, I had been thinking about it over the past week, and I don´t know why (I really need my head examining) but I decided I had to do it on the flight from Sucre to La Paz.

On arrival in La Paz I went to a travel agency and called the trekking company my guide had recommended, and was disappointed to hear that they didn’t have a group leaving for the summit until May 22. A few more calls to other agencies left me similarly disappointed. Just when I thought I should give up and leave Bolivia in the morning, I came across an agency by the same name as the mountain, and they had a group leaving for the 3 day trip in the morning! I walked there and spoke for a while with the owner, a mountaineer and ER doctor with a crazy and generous personality, and pondered my options. He explained the route, the ice climbing training on the first day during acclimatization, the risks of altitude sickness, physical fitness requirements, and all the gear that I would need to rent if I had a chance at success. He seemed very pleased that I had essentially been at altitude for a month, and assured me that I shouldn’t have a problem, but that he would give me some drugs in the event I started to feel sick.

When I explained that I needed to first check and see if I could alter my flight…he offered to take me directly to the airline office because he wanted an excuse ¨to get out of the office for a while!¨¨ How kind. We hopped in a taxi which took us down to La Paz´main thorough fare of The Prado whereupon he helped me secure a flight out on Tuesday next week, giving me two more days in La Paz after we got back. It seemed a lot of time, but then again, I would probably be needing at least a day of rest on return (too right) and then one more day to actually SEE La Paz (which I hadn´t yet) before departure. So, it all worked out and we cabbed back to the office where I proceeded to pay the $140 for the whole trip and sign my life away for the adventure.

Funnily enough, one of the girls from my 10 day tour of Bolivia, Helen, who had the same flight booked as me tomorrow but connecting onward to Santiago, also decided to come on the trek after hearing me talking about it on the flight from Sucre! I asked her if she had any idea what she was getting herself into, to which she happily responded ¨no, but a great spur of the moment decision, right?¨¨ As yet, I wasn´t so sure…I was pretty anxious but excited at the same time.

I called my sister back in England and told her about my plans and asked her to try and dull the details to my mom. I tried to tell her not to worry, and that I would be in touch as soon as I returned to La Paz on Saturday afternoon.

It was a somewhat restless night as I contemplated postponing my departure until the next morning so I could have one day to rest before this gruelling excursion…but Helen convinced me to come along with her. OK, then.

If I´d had one more day to really contemplate what I was about to do, I may have pulled out anyway!

Off we set for the van which took our trekking group of 8 (though one of the trekkers, Wolfgang from Germany was setting out to complete the ascent in two days instead of 3) to the company´s equipment rental store where we were all kitted out with gloves, crampons, gaiters, plastic boots, ice axes, jackets, down jackets, head-scarf combos, extra wool socks, backpacks, and climbing harnesses. Each pile of necessary gear was enormous and I wasn´t looking forward to carrying it all up to high camp…

The drive was 2 hours and we all excitedly chatted about what lay ahead and stopped a few times to get photos of the massive peak as it got bigger and bigger as we approached. I kept thinking…was I going to make it?

Arriving at base camp, I was pleasantly surprised at the charming little refugio where we were to spend the night. It had several rooms filled with bed bunks, and a cozy living area with combo dining room-kitchen and a lovely open fireplace providing the only heating in the building for the chilly night ahead at 4700 metres.

After a home cooked lunch, we strapped on our gear and harnesses and headed out for the hour walk to the foot of the glacier for some ice climbing-crampon-ice axe training.

I had some experience with this equipment so I wasn´t too nervous. Turned out that it was a good thing I was there as I was the only person on the trip who could speak Spanish well enough to translate the guide´s instructions to the group about the various methods of ascent and descent. We spent roughly 3 hours there, ending with a rappel down the side of the ice. Lots of fun and hopefully the information had stuck enough in our heads and bodies to be of help on summit day (though at the time it didn´t really dawn on me just how much harder it was going to be to scale a wall of ice and snow in complete darkness).

After our trek back to the refugio, we were famished and dined heartily on vegetable soup and pasta…carbing it up for tomorrow. After some welcome Coca de Mate tea around the fire with my new companions, I headed upstairs to my sleeping bag and an early night. Of course I filled my Nalgene with hot water first to serve as a welcome hot water bottle for my frozen toes.

I slept surprisingly well, despite the altitude (insomnia is notorious at these heights) and after breakfast, we welcomed the group from that morning´s summit attempt (including Wolfgang) as they trickled in around 10-11:30 am. I was very disturbed to learn that of their group of six, only three had made it to the summit. The other three (all girls, I might add) had turned around after just a few hundred metres higher than high camp, vomiting and suffering from horrendous headaches and disorientation. They looked pretty shaken and weary. But then again, so did the triumphant three who had made it. I asked them about their experience and it did little to allay my own fears. Very tough, difficulty breathing, narrow ridges with extreme sheer drops either side, harder than they had thought it would be, yet entirely amazing, were all descriptions of what lay ahead.

Gulp.

After lunch, our group geared up and set off for the 3 hour or so ascent to 5300 metres and the refugio at Campo Argentino…high camp where we would attempt to get some sleep before our 12:30am wake up call to begin the summit day. (NOW THAT´s EARLY!) I found the walk to be pretty easy and was pleased at how well I was breathing. Saying that, I had copped out just a little and paid a porter to carry the heaviest items of my gear…and I´m not ashamed of it! I wanted to have the best possible chance at making the summit, and I thought that saving my legs was probably a good idea. Helen agreed with me and we shared the cost between us.

The views as we climbed got more and more spectacular, but the peak still seemed an impossibly distant and far away treasure. We got to the snow line around 4pm and scrambled up over rocks where we could to reach the refugio. Watching the sun set over distant Illimani and the other peaks of the Cordillera Real range was a sight that was breathtaking…especially with all of the clouds hovering below where we stood, seemingly at the top of the world.

But no, that was for tomorrow (or tonight, if you think of midnight that way!)

The refugio was tiny but very cute…we all lined up like sardines on the one top ¨´single´bunk bed, happy to be close to one another for warmth. I was very much enjoying the camaraderie that was developing between our happy little international group : countries represented amongst us were France, the US, Canada, the UK, and Israel. We chatted happily and shared stories from our travels and conjectured about what may lay ahead, over bowls of chicken soup ( which I had to force down my throat because I was not hungry at all).

The refugio also contained the worst outhouse I´ve ever seen, it does not even bare description, lets just say it was ¨´overflowing¨¨ and one was far better off choosing to do one´s business behind a rock despite the bitterly cold night air.

We all agreed on lights out at 6:30pm, and despite the early hour, attempted to crawl into our bags and get some shut eye before our ridiculously early start. I lay there, anxious and heart pounding from the altitude, feeling a little out of breath just from turning right or left in the bed, or re-arranging the bag. WTF. Shit.

I got maybe an hour of restless sleep. It was just too high to get hard sleep. And I lay there for an hour trying to convince myself to get out of my sleeping bag because I needed to pee, not wanting to step out into the icy night. It was time to prep for the big day, and it was madness in the tiny refugio as the seven of tried to sort out our day packs, water, gear, headlamps, and plastic boots.

Stepping out into the still of the night, I will never forget the excitement and thrill that lingered in the air, the bright stars shining overhead lighting up just the outline of the majestic peaks surrounding us. And the cold. God it was cold….around -15 degrees Celsius without the wind factor. Brrrr.

I was going to be in a rope team with just my guide…Gualberto, since we were an odd numbered group (plus, he´d probably correctly figured out that I was going to be the slowest of the group). Gualberto helped me as I struggled to tighten the second pair of plastic boots I had (the first were horrendously too big and he had another pair sent up from La Paz for me) and affix them to my crampons and thick gaiters. Affixing my headlamp onto my woolly hat to light the few feet ahead of me, we set out into the dark silence. My heart was racing.

It was 2am, and my team was the penultimate to leave.

The going was tough and looking back on it…it was also somewhat of a mental blur. I couldn´t think of anything more but trying to control my breath, attempting to get more oxygen in my lungs by forcing air in and out through pursed lips. It helped at first but got more and more difficult with every step, with every gained metre. Roped up with Gualberto, I soon fell behind and was visibly the slowest one of the team. I didn´t care much, and the owner had told me that the key to success on the day was to travel as slowly as possible. Having said that, Gualberto kept pushing and pushing me to keep going, not really allowing me to take breaks when I felt my lungs might burst if I didn´t rest.

It was gruelling.

About an hour into the climb, I fell into a rhythm that was almost hypnotic as I listened only to the sound of my ice axe and crampons crunching into the snow. Every few minutes I looked up, horrified at the sight of the peak which still seemed an impossible distance away from my tiny and insignificant little speck of a body.

As the slope became more intense, I realized that I needed to go to the bathroom, and number two as well. I´m not sure I´ve ever crapped in such an uncomfortable state in my life (far worse than on the Salkantay) with my bare arse exposed to the blistering wind, trying to remain stable on an impossibly steep slope, and my guide standing a few feet away, hopefully with headlamp pointed away.

However, I was definitely able to climb in an improved fashion afterwards.

The silence was comforting in some way. Until it was disrupted by a deep rumble that suddenly grew in volume and my mind cleared enough to comprehend that what I was listening to was an avalanche which seemed to be hurtling towards us. Unfortunately, one couldn´t see anything and I had no idea whether we stood in its path. My heart leaped into my throat for a few seconds as I saw my guide, frozen, seemingly contemplating whether to make a run to the right or left. As he was about to make such a decision, the rumbling stopped, and the mountain fell quiet again but for the sound of our breaths. ¨¨That was very close¨¨ Gualberto said. ¨¨We are ok, lets go¨¨.

Trying to remember to keep up my energies by eating chocolate and drinking water, we plodded on, each step increasingly more painful and breathless. At one point, I saw that the first real ice climb just lay ahead and I was sure that I wasn´t going to be able to keep going. I asked Gualberto how much further? He looked at his watch and was concerned, telling me that we were running late. For what exactly, I asked? Apparently, the descent becomes hazardous too late in the morning as the snow becomes soft and falling deep as you tread an additional danger. I was up against the clock which didn´t help my nerves one bit, nor my aching muscles. ¨¨We have another 2 and 1/2 hours to go to El Cumbre¨¨, he said. More devastating words I could not have imagined him saying.

What on earth was I doing, and why? Why was I putting myself through this? Why not just give up?

Trust me, these thoughts plagued me, and even more when we passed up one of my companions, Matthew, who had turned around due to a bad stomach. I so wanted to go with him, but something deep inside pressed me to keep going.

That first ice climb was ridiculous. It was then that I realized doing what we had practiced a few days before was completely different when attempted in the middle of the night. I couldn´t see where I was going, nor how far down the drop was below my feet. I was utterly terrified. To make matters worse, Gualberto kept yanking on my rope, urging me to climb faster as I gasped and gasped a few feet below him. I kept screeching ¨¨No puedo! Me Espere. Momento, por favor!!!!¨¨ which means, I can´t, wait a moment, please! I can´t count how many times I tried to yell this, out of breath, only to have him continue and tug on the rope.

The top of that first technical climb was a welcome relief, until my headlamp lit what lay ahead. This time, only swear words entered my head and I felt like crying. I was numb from cold. I couldn´t feel my feet. I asked Gualberto if I could rest a while, to which he responded (as he did many times)…¨¨in another twenty minutes, ok?¨..though of course, in Spanish. Thank God I could speak Spanish. I wondered how my friends were managing to communicate with their guides… I could see their headlamps in the far off distance, moving slowly up the side of the mountain. God, they seemed so far away from me! How could they be going so much faster?? Ugh.

At one point I had to stop and re-tie my boots. My left foot had no blood running through it and my neuroma was being aggravated. That was the last thing I needed, because once acute it would not be weight bearing. I couldn´t afford that to happen today.

I told my guide that I wasn´t sure if I could make it. ¨¨No te preocupes, Anita. Yo te ayude. Vamos a la cumbre!¨¨ he said…encouraging me not to worry, I will help you, lets go to the summit!! Wiping tears, I pulled on my down jacket and another hat, put my ice axe to the mountainside. Onward.

And onward. Breathing was ridiculously difficult. Gualberto stopped and told me I had one more hour to go, but that it was going to be much harder climbing than before. Once we started he said, we could not stop. This was my last chance for chocolate and water. I was terrified at this point, my legs ached, my heart pounded, and my head started to throb from the altitude.

I absolutely do not know how I managed that last 35 degree slope. Every swing of the ice axe was exhausting, every step felt like an effort coming from a place that wasn´t my body. Pulling myself up on to Polish ridge (so named for the Pole who fell from it in 1994 during a solo ascent) I was greeted by the incomprehensible sight of a ridge of snow just a foot and a half in diameter with 3000 foot drops either side…one stretching to La Paz and valley, the other to snow capped mountains to the west. It was quite a sight. To add to the magnificence, the sun chose that exact moment to pop above the horizon and shed its golden rays over us. I was overwhelmed. I could see the summit. And I could see my friends already making their way down.

It was another twenty minutes, and we had to stand on a treacherously thin sliver of shelf to allow my group to pass us on their descent. Weary, they offered words of cheer, and we climbed on. When I finally hauled myself to the top of the world, I broke down in hysterics.

I had made it.

As it turns out, crying is much more difficult at this height also. I couldn´t catch my breath between gulps of tears and I tried to calm myself. The view was beyond words. I couldn´t believe I´d done it. Gualberto hugged me in congratulations and we proceeded to snap lots of victory poses as I tried to choke back emotion. Wow.

After 15 minutes or so enjoying the sunrise and the glow of victory it was time to head down. Luckily I´m far more adept at descent than I am at ascent and we quickly caught up with the others.

It started to make more sense why we start the climb in the middle of the night…its not just for the snow conditions. You simply wouldn´t attempt the climb if you saw what lay ahead. Simple as that. Bloody stupid. That’s all I can say.

Deep treacherous crevasses that I had jumped across without a thought in the night suddenly became lightened caverns of death. We saw the results of the avalanche and stared in disbelief at its proximity to the route we had taken.

It was so very beautiful and it was on the descent that I could take most of the pictures to remember the ascent by. On and on we trudged, our knees taking a beating with every step. At one point I fell down, my head dizzy from altitude and exhaustion. A little chocolate helped.

After a couple hours we were back at the refugio where we were welcomed with some hot tea. I would have welcomed breakfast but alas! we had to wait till we descended to base camp. I was spent, beaten, unable to move. I lay down and quickly became very cold by my wet underclothes. I quickly changed, re-packed all of my equipment, and then headed down with the others, thankfully back in my hiking boots.

That 2 hour hike is a blur. My head hurt so much but I thought it must be from hunger and tension as much as from altitude. The sun beat down on us like meat on a grill. I was so so happy to see the lake, to cross the dam, and enter the refugio a full 10 hours since we had set out.

After a cold shower, I sat down to a bowl of soup followed by chicken and rice. I felt like hell. But I had made it. This image of eating lunch at the table with my fellow climbers (and with the anticipatory group for the next day) had got me through I think. ¨¨How was it?¨ I was asked by the nervous looking new group. ¨Hardest thing I´ve ever done in my life¨¨ I replied, truthfully.

After two hours in the van I was ecstatic to crawl into bed back in my hotel room which I was sharing with Helen. After a 3 hour nap, I felt somewhat jetlagged as I showered and changed to meet the group for a celebratory curry. It was the perfect ending to a unbelievable day.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading this…I must ge going…we are off to watch Cholitas wrestle in El Alto. I will write Part II very soon.

Meanwhile, here are some pictures taken by Ezra a member of my team. I should be able to upload my pics in the next day or two before I fly to Costa Rica and on to Panama. What a relief sea level, sunshine, and the beach will be after this….

http://picasaweb.google.com/ecyashar2/HuaynaPotosi6088mAboveSeaLevel#

Bolivia Adventure Part I

11 Monday May 2009

Posted by Anita in Bolivia

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I write to you from the UNESCO World Heritage site of world-famous silver mining town of Potosi in South central Bolivia. Much has happened since I last wrote, so I will endeavor to get caught up…and attempt to concentrate on doing so despite the horrendous din of a practice parade outside this coffee shop window.

I left you last travelling on an overnight bus to Puno and Lake Titicacca..finally saying goodbye to Cusco…and hello to my first day in Bolivia, as I would be continuing on that next afternoon to Copacabana on the lake shore (no, not the famous beach in Brazil).

Well, the bus was yet another experience not to be forgotten. This time, not for the uncomfortable seats or bad incessant music…no, this time for the heat. I had a heater right by my foot which was jetting out oven worthy temperatures over the 7 hour journey to the extent that I couldn’t even place my feet on the floor and I felt like a rotisserie chicken. Multiple pleadings to staff fell on deaf ears. By the time we arrived in Puno, at 345am I might add (another lie told to me by a bus company…that we would arrive around 6am) I was Medium well done.

My plan had been to hang out at the bus terminal until around 7 before catching a cab to the harbor and a boat tour to the famous floating reed island of the Uros people. However, I was quite pleased with myself after I managed to finagle, in Spanish, a free room for 4 hours of sleep, before going on a tour that included the boat trip, transfers, and the bus ticket to Copacabana.

And it was worth it. I needed that shut eye and a refreshing shower before heading out at 830 to meet the boat and my tour guide.

I had been warned by other visitors that the Uros Island tour was very tacky and fake. I, in fact, enjoyed it thoroughly. These islands are made entirely from totora reed who´s roots literally float, allowing them to be tied together and then heavily stacked with layers and layers of reeds on top, then the entire “island” is anchored to prevent it from drifting out into the lake, and voila! You´re ready to build your totora reed houses on top and your totora reed boats to get from A to B.

The lifestyle of these people is fascinating. They seemed very happy to see us and clearly rely heavily on tourism for their income. Their costumes and hair braiding was uniquely colorful and ornate. It was just so strange to be walking around on ground that had give to it. I´ve learned how many things in my life I´ve taken for granted…but living on solid ground was never one of them before this experience.

Unfortunately, we were told that due to the extreme and damp conditions…most kids raised on the islands had rheumatism and arthritis by the age of 20 and were unable to walk by the time their 40th birthday rolled around. We were told that this generation was probably the last to live in this traditional (no electricity except for a few solar panels that powered TV´s!!) method, the mainland and its modern conveniences being too strong a pull.

Upon return to the bus station, I was alarmed to be warned that I might have trouble entering Bolivia on my British passport because I used my US passport to enter Peru. I couldn´t understand why that would be an issue, and there was nothing I could do at that point on the bus…so I fretted for the next 3 hours until we reached the border.

On arrival, I spent what Peruvian money I had and waited to get Bolivianos from the border´s ATM.

There was none.

And to my dismay, the border officials demanded that I continue to travel on my US passport and pay the $138 for a visa. I couldn´t believe that the completely benign decision I made a month ago to use my US passport upon entering Peru was now going to cost me. And worse yet, I didn´t have any money. I was screwed.

To my amazement, a couple from Brazil (who later became fabulous travel companions for the next week or so, Samara and Tiago) handed me 2 $100 bills and told me I could pay them back later. I was so grateful.

After miserably and intentionally stalling for time, the border guard threw a form at me and told me to fill it out. Meanwhile, Samara told me to hurry up as the bus driver was getting antzy and wanted to go without me! This was stressing me out and I started to panic.

THEN…the official told me that one of the bills was fake..which was an absolute lie. I couldn´t believe it…he actually wanted to deny me entry into Bolivia. Luckily, Michael, an American on the bus, lent me the other $38 in a mixture of Soles and dollar bills. Just when I thought I was going to get a visa, the official demanded to see proof of my yellow fever vaccination (which no one else had been asked to produce). Thank God, I had it..albeit about 1 year before expiration (I had had a shot on the USS Explorer doing Semester at Sea when our itinerary was changed to include Brazil). He made me go photocopy it twice along with my passport.

At this point, Samara and Tiago were literally standing in front of the bus to stop him from driving away…and with my luggage!

If it weren´t for them, I would have been staying the night sleeping on the pavement outside immigration in nothing but a fleece for warmth and no money to even buy a bus ticket back to Puno in the morning!! What a nightmare.

Thankfully, I got my visa (which they then messed up by granting me permission to remain in Bolivia for 5 instead of 1 year!!) and we journeyed together to Copacabana.

On arrival, it turned out that my hotel had given away my reservation. Could this day get any worse? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it could.

There was no ATM in town, and the bank was closed for the next 3 days for a festival. WTF. What was I going to do?!

Well, thankfully, Michael, myself, Samara, Tiago and two lovely Canadian girls (Arielle and Christine) found ourselves staying at the same hotel and we hung out together for the next two days before heading to La Paz, and they kindly subsidized my existence during that time. I don´t know what I would have done without them! THANK YOU!

By the time we had checked in, we were all in need of a stiff drink and some good food. So the six of us headed out and found a lovely restaurant at the hotel that had given away my room (bastardos) and promptly ordered a red wine and tried to laugh away the stress of the day. We then gorged on an amazing swiss fondue and other dishes that left us full and exhausted. It was a wonderful meal with wonderful company.

The next morning was when we discovered that the bank was shut. Thankfully, I was advanced a few bolivianos by a sympathetic hotel owner on my credit card, just enough to cover my hotel costs and a bus ticket to La Paz. Michael would loan me the rest.

After all the traipsing around town to sort out money, we were left no other option than the shorter afternoon tour to the beautiful Isla Del Sol on Lake Titicacca, and after lunch, Michael and I caught the ferry together.

It was a long, slow crossing, hell, I think I could have rowed faster than this boat travelled. But the view up top was beautiful albeit freezing with a biting wind.

The island itself was very Mediterranean in appearance..it felt like Spain..with lots of rolling green hills, pastureland, and of course the dramatic backdrop of the lake itself. Unfortunately, the boat only gave you 40 minutes on the island before you had to turn around again, so Michael and I opted for a longer tour of the island for a couple of extra bucks (which was added to my tally) which would allow us to take a hike along the south shore to a different boat heading back to the mainland.

It was well worth it, despite the altitude that had us huffing and clutching our chests as we climbed and climbed.

Back on the mainland, being gluttons for punishment, we decided to climb Cerro Cavalrio which is a giant hill view point overlooking the town, and it was supposed to have an amazing vantage point for sunset. It was an exhausting climb but we were rewarded with not only views over the city and lake as the sun set into the water, but also of the revelries going on in the main square as severe partying got underway for the Festival of the cross.

By the time we arrived at the top, huffing and puffing, it was already getting dark and we realized that we better hurry if we were going to get down safely. We chose the alternative route down, and whilst I was pretty comfortable, Michael was not enjoying the lack of visibility and the steep jagged rocks underfoot. We made it back the city OK, just very ready for our evening meal.

Meeting up with our fellow travellers we enjoyed a wonderful meal in a fire lit restaurant of the local speciality: Trucha, or trout. It was delicious, and I had perked up because the manager had assured me that the bank would re-open in the morning.

Of course, it didn´t. How shocking. Not.

After dinner we walked back up the hill towards the sound of trumpets blaring and thousands of
people cheering and having fun.

This party was unlike anything I´ve ever experienced. First of all, towns from all over the region had come to Copacabana and were represented by their own brass band. Each brass band played their own song which was intricately choreographed (though not often intricately executed due to the fact that most of the musicians were blindingly drunk). Now, imagine all 8 or 10 bands, playing different songs, all very loudly…..AT THE SAME TIME. It was a cacophony of noise, yet somehow, it roused the locals to their feet in a frenzy of dancing.

What surprised me the most about this Bolivian party (as opposed to a street festival back home) is that all generations were represented- young mothers with children, elderly couples all decked out in indigenous attire, as well as the twenty something crowd. It was fantastic to observe: everyone was having a blast and getting very very wasted on the FREE booze (a peach hot tea with brandy) that was being passed around.

In addition to the music and dancing, each town let off its own fireworks display in a sort of competition style. What was unique was that the fireworks went off in the middle of the crowd! Every time there was a giant Catherine Wheel you had to turn and run for your life or falling pellets of fire would smelt your clothes.

It was certainly a night to remember.

The following day, after a final morning in the town running errands, saying our goodbyes to Arielle and Christine, and booking a day trip¨for Michael and I in La Paz to mountain bike ¨´The World´s most dangerous road¨, we boarded a bus bound for La Paz.

It was a stunningly beautiful drive, and another unique bus experience, this time because we had to get off the bus at the crossing for Lake Titicacca and proceed by boat while the bus was loaded onto a cargo barge. Descending into La Paz, with the incredible Cordillera Real mountain range all around was a breathtaking sight. The city was enormous and completely filled the deep valley and dotted the hillsides all the way up to the famous suburb of El Alto. The city is comprised of thousands of red brick houses and a large proportion of the buildings are incomplete because property taxes are not due on unfinished building projects.

Upon arrival we checked into a hotel that was recommended to me by Mirjam (thanks, Mirjam!)
which had giant painted murals on the walls, then headed out for a dinner at a place that was recommended to Samara for its Llama steaks wrapped in bacon. The first stop, however, was an ATM, and I was so overjoyed at being able to withdraw money that I had my group take several pictures of me in happy glee at my renewed self reliance.

The Llama was VERY VERY good….

I was truly enjoying the company I was in. In all these weeks of travelling I realized that what I was really yearning for was to connect with one or a group of people. Other than Mirjam, I really hadn´t at this point. Surrounded by other travellers, I have still felt very lonely and the pain of my break up was still very strong and causing me to weep daily. I have been so sick of feeling sad and depressed, and angry with myself because I should really be enjoying this experience…the travelling has been so wonderful. Unfortunately, I just feel like a part of me has died from disappointment, so I was so very grateful to spend just a few days with my new friends because they allowed me to breathe in a sweet yet short reprieve from my torturous thoughts.

The next days´ adventure was, I think, the high point of my journey thus far. It was a truly remarkable and memorable experience. The world´s most dangerous road (so named for the number of vehicle fatalities that occur annually and over its history) stretches 75 kms from La Paz to Coroico, and descends over 3800 metres (that’s 12,500 feet!!) with one section of climbing. The scenery was incredible. We began at 4900 metres, cold, barely able to gasp oxygen, surrounded by mountain peaks, and SEVEN HOURS OF ALMOST COMPLETE DOWNHILL riding…we were in the hot, humid, sweaty jungle at 1100 metres, breathing easy. The views were beyond belief. As was the knowledge that at almost every bend in the road, a 1200 metre sheer drop was waiting to accept you and your bicycle if you skidded, hit a rock just wrong, or fell off. At some points, the road was barely wide enough to accommodate a single vehicle and extra caution had to be taken at blind corners to make sure nothing was coming the other way.

Our guides (and the brakes on our bikes!) were incredible and gave us lots of guidance along the way. We were warned to enjoy the first 22km of asphalt as an opportunity to get really comfortable with our bikes, and with going much faster than we were comfortable, to get used to going around the tight corners with correct footing and balance, and being able to do so without depressing the brakes. The logic here was, that if we travelled too slowly on the dirt road sections, we were much more likely to crash, and we had to learn to trust the bikes that were designed for the rigors of the downhill rough.

It was astounding that I made it without completely freaking out. Sometimes, our guide would come along side me and tell me that I needed to go faster and just relax. HOW?? I could die at any moment! He suggested that I sing to myself, which I did.

It helped immensely.

I soon got the hang of the speed and whizzing around sharp bends with confidence. On arrival at the jungle, we were directed into an animal sanctuary (the third I´ve visited now) where we were given congratulatory ice cold beers (God, they were good) and invited to take showers or swim in their pool. Heading to the pool, I was greeted by a group of Kapuchin Monkey, one of whom took a liking to me and proceeded to want to play pat-a-cake by clapping my hands together. He was adorable.

After a filling lunch we piled back into the bus, completely spent, and began the long, winding climb back up to La Paz, all the while staring in disbelief at the crazy drop offs that we had maneuvered on our descent.

What a day.

Samara and Tiago were waiting for us when we got back, and Michael and I excitedly relayed our day´s experiences over an incredible plate of Cuban food in a restaurant we had stumbled across a few blocks from our hotel. They had decided to leave for Uyuni and the salt flats in the morning as well…so it turned out that we would probably be on the same bus and train in the morning (I had booked a different tour when I was in Peru). Michael decided to join them, so we all toasted to the next 3 nights which were going to be COLD and test our endurance of basic basic basic accommodation that was without heat, water, or electricity in subzero temperatures.

I hoped I would see my 3 friends throughout my trip…which I did!

I´ll leave it there for now..and write again (probably later today) and fill you in on my trip to the Salar de Uyuni and Potosi.

Peru Adventure Part VI

04 Monday May 2009

Posted by Anita in Peru

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I write this to you from the Lake Titicaca Bolivian town of Copacabana. I
am leaving in a few hours for La Paz. Bolivia has been a bit of a
NIGHTMARE, I was forced to pay $135 to enter the country as they refused to
accept my British passport, there are NO ATMs in the town, and the bank is
CLOSED for a festival. If it were not for the kindness and generosity of a
couple of fellow travellers, I would be sleeping on the streets and unable
to eat. More about THAT later…

I left off with me arriving in Ollantaytambo in the Sacred Valley after
completing the trek and having spent the day in Machu Picchu. I slept 14
hours that night…i really needed it.

In the morning, feeling like a new person, I packed up my bags and headed
downstairs to have some breakfast. I met a group of Americans from LA who
invited me to eat with them. They were so nice and sympathised greatly with
my story about getting ripped off, in fact, one of them was Peruvian and
recommended that I complain officially by going to the local consumer
affairs office in Cusco. They even paid for my breakfast.

I headed out to check out the Inca ruins in Ollantaytambo and the rest of
the town. I was a little “ruined out” but these were completely different,
and again, in an outstandingly beautiful natural location. The entire time
I was walking around (and CLIMBING..the incas loved their stairs and steep
locations) I kept hearing this sheep bleating. It was incessant, very loud,
and it sounded like there were several animals crying out in excruciating
pain. I asked a guide whether that was a herd of sheep or just one sheep,
and she said she believed it was just one. This may not seem significant,
but I tell you, the bleating went on for 2 hours without stopping. As I was
leaving the ruins by the river…I saw the sheep..tied up next to the river
in a little patch of grass. I approached and the sheep literally ran
towards me and head butted my knees. He stopped bleating and looked at me
with amused anticipation. I sat down on a tree stump and he started happily
eating the grass, looking up at me every few seconds and ensuring that
I was still there.

The sheep had just been lonely.

I sat there and sang him a song. I know I sound completely mad, but I felt
an affinity with this sheep. I´ve been so lonely on this trip sometimes that
I´ve felt like bleating for 2 hours. I understood, and it was really hard
to leave him because he immediately started bleating again.

That afternoon I wandered around the town…this was the only place in Peru
where people are still living in original inca buildings. It was so
beautiful, the original inca irrigation channels flowing through the
ridiculously narrow streets, where people lived in homes with the skulls of
their grandparents sitting proudly above the fireplace (I know, weird huh?)

Then began the transportation adventure…I took a ¨collectivo¨, or
van first to Orumba, and then hopped on a bus bound for Pisac. I met
a lovely local indigenous lady selling her wares on the first bus.
Her name was Daisy. Seriously. She was only sixteen, but already
carrying her heavy load in her brightly colored back shawl.

On arriving in Pisac, I bartered hard for a cab ride to see the ruins.
The cab driver was a bit of a maniac driver, but we arrived safely
and he said that he would accompany me as I toured the site. At first
I didn´t think anything of this, it all seemed normal. Then when it
dawned on me that there were no tourist left (it was 4pm), I started
to feel a little uncomfortable having him with me. That was worsened
by what I saw next. A man of about 55 sitting next to the sacred
temple, staring at me while he patted a machete into the palm of his
hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stood upright and I began to
ask myself how I had been so stupid to get myself into this precarious
situation. I promptly set off up the hill, hoping that they wouldn´t
follow me.

It began to thunder and rain.

As I tried to decide what on earth I was going to do about getting
back to the city…I bumped into a lovely Australian guy named Nick.
I told him about the guy with the Machete and he said that it would be
perfectly fine for me to accompany him back down. I was relieved.

It was lovely chatting to Nick who had recently left his job working
for a hedge fund in London to work for a non profit micro finance
company in New York City. I listened intently as he described what he
did, and I found myself fascinated. A job in finance where you can
make a difference in the world by encouraging business and
entrepreneurship to women in East Africa and Cambodia. He explained
that I should consider the field since I had a background in finance,
could speak multiple languages, and was not harried by the thought of
travel to extreme impoverished locales in the world. I was very
intrigued, as he offered to email me job opportunities that he knew
about.

A potentially nightmarish afternoon had been turned around into a
potential career opportunity. How exciting.

And then 2 rainbows appeared. Maybe a sign from the universe. We shall see.

Nick then offered to give me a ride back to Cusco with himself and his
parents in their beautiful privately rented van (it had leather
seats). I gratefully accepted.

I chatted happily with his folks who were from Melbourne. They shared
personal anecdotes from the recent bushfires that killed so many
people in Victoria. It was shocking to listen to.

After kindly dropping me off at my hotel, I showered and hurried out
to meet my trek guide, Nico, for dinner. We had a lovely meal, and
then he introduced me to a friend of his who organized treks to the
Amazon jungle in Puerto Maldonado. I happily took the information and
headed off to bed.

The next two days I recovered and relaxed in Cusco. I met up with
Mirjam again and went to see my final inca ruin at Qoricancha, which
was actually very fascinating since it was an incan ruin with a
Catholic monastery, complete with modern day monks, built on top. I
booked my flights and trip to the jungle, did some last minute
shopping, rested, and saw the chiropractor again to sort out my back.
It was just what I needed…but I was eager to leave Cusco again that
Monday morning.

Mirjam decided not to join me in the Amazon, which I was sad about,
because I was booked to travel only with 2 couples, which I had
reservations about…. As it turned out the couples, from France and
South Africa respectively, were delightful and didn´t make me feel
like a fifth wheel at all. My flight was smooth and I revelled in the
blast of steaming hot air that attacked my face as I stepped off the
aircraft and onto the tarmac. We met up with our guide, Alberto, and
set off in a van to meet our boat on the mighty Madre De Dios River
for our hour long boat transfer to our Tambo Jungle Lodge.

I immediately was loving the scenery and the environment. The river
was a dark muddy brown, and navigating its waters provided a delicious
breeze which cooled our sweaty brows. We were very quickly out of the
city and I noted that the vegetation was far denser than any other
jungle type place I´d visited before…this was the real thing!

I loved our lodge. It was so…I don´t know….Hollywood B movie from
the 1950´s…netted dining room, cute little thatched bungalows with
giant screens and mosquito nets to keep out the critters, and the
obligatory five macaw team of pets.

What I loved about my three days at this lodge was that it was the
perfect combination of activity and sloth. We would head out very
early in the morning, often before sunrise and the heat of the day,
head upriver and start our hiking explorations before returning for
lunch, a cold shower (which was fantastically welcome for a change!)
and a nap in the shade of your mosquito net or outdoor shaded hammock.
Then there would be another activity and meal. It was all very well
organized.

The first evening we visited Monkey Island and saw Kapuchin and howler
monkeys. On the way home in the dark, our guide used a huge spotlight
to hunt for the glow of red eyes of the animals near the riverbank.
We spotted a pygmy marmoset and a dozen or so caimans lurking near the
surface. I was so blissfully happy to just sit and relax in the boat,
just absorbing the absolutely stunning sunset on the river, and just
drink in the ambiance of it all. I felt as if I were in a movie.

Our second day was spent in a nature reserve that took care of injured
and abandoned animals, as well as providing a hair raising canopy walk
that raised you 45 metres into the tree canopy above to look for
birds. I did enjoy it thoroughly, though it was upsetting to see
Preciosa the jaguar, who was kept in captivity because the centre
didn´t have the resources to transport her deep enough into the jungle
that they could be assured that she wouldn´t continue to seek food
from human sources such as farms, since this is what she had grown
accustomed to.

I also learned that pink toe tarantulas make their home inside
pineapple plants. Hmmm. They don´t tell you that at Del Monte.

The evenings at the lodge were spent in very relaxed games of chess,
glasses of beer, and conversation with both our group and the group
that had arrived the day before us. It was just lovely.

Our second day we completed a 14km return hike to Lake Sandoval where
we canoed through beautiful inlets lined with more wildlife such as
caimans, snakes, lots of birds (can´t remember all the names),
spiders, and squirrel monkeys. I enjoyed it, but by the end of the
hike, which was done entirely in gumboots because of the knee high mud
in places, I was spent and felt at one with my clothes as they were as
dirty and sweat ridden as me myself. Ugh. Cold shower was fabulous,
once again.

That night was the highlight of my stay. We headed out after dinner,
in the dark, with headlamps to do a night walk in the jungle environs
of the lodge. It was terrifying because Alfredo would make us turn
off our lights and just listen to the sounds of the jungle. Not
knowing what the calls, screeches, and various rustling noises were
around you added to the suspense as you weren´t sure if something was
going to just jump out of the jungle and grab you. My imagination run
rampant.

At one point, Alfredo hushed us as we heard the snorts, sounds, and
running of what seemed like a group of large mammals. He said they
were wild pigs or pecarys…and as he listened intently, he informed
us that we were standing very close to a group of about 25 of them.
We shone our lights out into the jungle and were met with a bunch of
evil glowing red eyes. Alberto said that they could be dangerous if
provoked, and after bearing it for a few minutes, instructed us to
back up slowly and head back.

That was exciting.

On the way home we found jaguar tracks…Alberto said that it was more
than likely hunting the pecaries.

Good stuff!

The final morning was rather disappointing as we awoke at 4am to
journey 1 1’2 hours upriver to view a salt lick that attracted
hundreds of parakeets. Whilst seeing the sunrise on the river made
the trip worthwhile, I was rather disappointed by the far away view of
the parakeets and wondered why I had awoken at such an ungodly hour
just for this.

After it was time to head back to our lodge to pack and head to the
airport and the cold brisk air of Cusco.

This was to be my last afternoon in the former inca capital, and I did
some shopping and had a final celebratory meal with Mirjam before
hopping in a cab bound for the bus station to take a night bus to Puno
and Lake Titicacca.

I would be spending just the morning visiting the Ouros Islands,
before catching a bus headed to the Bolivian lakeside town of
Copacabana.

And that is where I will leave it for now…(I am actually now in La
Paz and have to go pack for my four day trip to the wonder of the
world that is the Salar de Uyuni in the morning. I hope to write
again soon!

Peru Adventure Part V

26 Sunday Apr 2009

Posted by Anita in Peru

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I know its only been a day…but I´m heading off to the Amazon jungle tomorrow for four days so I need to take this opportunity to journal my time since I arrived in Cusco last Friday. Because a LOT happened to me. Some tragic, but all funny when told in hindsight.

Mirjam and I spent the first two days in Cusco acclimatizing, and trying not to do too much. The first morning, after recovering from the Death by Pan Flute Express, we went out for brunch at a restaurant called Jack´s that was recommended to me by the people I met in Huacachina. It did not disappoint. I had the best breakfast with fresh baked bread, eggs, tomato, potatoes, avocado, fresh orange juice and a piping hot latte. I needed a little bit of home.

We then headed up the hill to check out the beautiful little neighborhood of San Blas which was just charming with lots of very steep narrow streets that twisted and turned endlessly. Continuing up we decided to visit the original Incan fortress of Saskaywaman…which tourists affectionately refer to as “Sexywoman“. From there we could admire the incredible stone work of the incas…some of the rocks used to construct the fortification weighed up to 3 tonnes, and yet were carved and put together to stand for over 600 years without the use of mortar or clay. And none of the stones were rectangular, they were all polygon shapes fitted together like a giant jigsaw. From the top of the hill we could appreciate a bird´s eye view of the entire city of Cusco, the oldest inhabited city in South America. It was much larger than I had expected and surrounded with beautifully lush green hills and valley as far as the eye could see…with just a few snow capped peaks visible in the very distance.

Coming back to the city …I hopped in a cab to have a chiropractic appointment and sort out my bus ravaged body. Getting back I attended the first orientation for my five day trek..and it was a complete waste of time. The agency couldn´t answer my questions, I was the only one from my group in attendance…oh well! This is the Peruvian way, I´m beginning to appreciate.

However, it was my birthday and Mirjam and I had invited a bunch of travellers to come out and celebrate with me. In all, 11 people showed up and the drinks started to flow. We were even joined by a guy from Miami, originally from Israel, who´s birthday it was too! It was a great night out which ended in a karaoke bar (of course!!) with lots of singing and dancing… I even managed to get a very nice good night kiss from my fellow birthday boy (unfortunately he was flying home the next day).

The next day, Mirjam and I awoke with a serious hangover. I stayed in bed most of the day and only ventured out to buy some last minute needed items of gear for my trek like rain pants, and a poncho. Then we went out for a lovely meal and I tried to get to bed at a reasonable hour because I was being picked up at 4:15am the next day!

Of course, I hardly slept. And the pickup was an HOUR late. Which pissed me off. However, I got in the van and tried to sleep, to no avail, all the way the trail head at Mollepata. Beginning to converse with my fellow hikers, I was shocked to discover that I had paid FOUR TIMES what each of the other 11 trekkers had for this trip. This put me in a horrendously bad mood as I felt completely cheated, robbed and lied to. It wasn´t so much the money…but that I had been told that the 19 April was SOLD OUT and that the company was making an exception adding me at the last minute. Well, everyone had booked the trip in the last three days. My poor impression of tourism operators in this country continues to be formed.

Our first day of hiking we covered 19 kilometres and climbed 1000 metres to our first camp at Soraypampa. The scenery and weather changed drastically…we started in very humid, mosquito infested, semi-jungle, and then climbed into an alpine valley with lush green meadows and snow capped peaks in the not too distant horizon. By the late afternoon we had piled on our jackets, pants, gloves, and hats…Our porters (the cooks) and the pack mules were way ahead of us and had laid out a lovely spread of hot tea and popcorn (okay!!) for our arrival. It was so lovely and cozy, I could definitely get used to someone carrying my shit, and cooking for me when I backpack. So spoiled were we. To add to the atmosphere of it all, there was even a little ginger kitten who curled up in a ball on my lap while we ate and drank.

Dinner was not disappointing either…we had cream of asparagus soup, strips of sirloin steak with rice and vegetables, followed by jello for dessert. Yum! After several rounds of cards with my new group of trekkers, I was ready to crawl into my -15 sleeping bag for a good night´s sleep. Thankfully, it was.

Day 2 was going to be the toughest, with over 11 hours of hiking and climbing over the pass at 4950 metres- 15250 feet. I felt ready for it, physically, but was still nervous about the altitude. We were extremely blessed with fantastic weather, and the clouds soon dissipated to reveal glorious 6000 metre peaks all around us. I found the trekking poles very helpful as we began the gruelling switchbacks, up, up , up to our goal. I was the fifth to make it to the top and felt really good, just a little breathless. The biting wind also took a hold once you had stopped for a few minutes. After taking in the vistas of the glaciers overhead, and hearing them crack and move, it was time to move on to our descent back into the sub alpine green meadows and then further down into the jungle.

After nearly 7 hours of walking we stopped for lunch and ate ravenously. I couldn´t fathom that we still had 3 hours to go. That section of the trail was the toughest, and your aching muscles just willed the campsite to come into view as we went around each and every bend. I was starting to feel very weak, my stomach was hurting badly, but it wasn´t until I arrived into camp that I began to suspect that there was something very wrong with me.

I sat down, exhausted, on arrival. Then I thought to myself: ¨”oh, I´ll just lie down for a few minutes before I get into my tent and change”. That’s when everything went downhill. In a matter of minutes, I began to feel nauseous. Then the world started spinning around me, and every time I tried to sit up I was sure I was going to be sick. I was feeling really bad and worsening. Then I started to shiver, and I realized that I was lying on the ground in my sweat soaked clothes, and that I needed to get out of them quickly. I just couldn´t move and I began to panic. I willed someone to help me, but no-one seemed to notice me lying on the ground. Eventually, my tent mate asked if I was ok…I explained, though terribly embarrassed, that I was going to need help getting in the tent. With her´s and Nico´s help, I got in the tent, and somehow managed to get into dry clothes and curl into my sleeping bag.

No sooner had I got in my bag than I needed to get out again..and crawling just steps from my tent, I threw up. That was when things got bad, and things started exiting me from..um..both ends, shall we say? A fever began to spike and I was unable to keep water down.

What had I eaten or drank different from anyone else? I couldn´t think of anything. My guide, Nico, was convinced I had altitude sickness. All I knew is that things were bad and I wished to be anywhere but in the middle of nowhere.

Concerned with dehydration, my guide gave me hydration tablets and lots of water, which I promptly threw up. Nothing was staying down. It was so awful. He fetched me some Gatorade from another campsite, and I managed to keep sipping that throughout the night, thank God.

It was by far one of the longest nights of my life. I didn´t sleep at all, but just lay there writhing in pain and nausea for over 12 hours. In the middle of the night, I knew I had to go to the bathroom, but I had no idea where it was, or how on earth I was going to muster to the strength to walk there. I woke my tent mate who explained that it was about 200 m east of the tent, and that I should just head to the river.

There I was, in pitch black darkness, stumbling horrendously with my headlight trying to stay upright to get to the latrine. I stepped in donkey shit. In sandals. I tried to avoid chickens and nearly walked into a mule. Finally finding the outhouse, my heart sank as I saw that these toilets were no more than holes in the ground.

Now, as any of you who´ve had the pleasure of using such facilities will know…a good ¨”aim” is difficult at the best of times…but when you are delirious and have diarrhea….well, lets just say, that I missed….and creating such a disgusting mess that I threw up again.

I couldn´t go back to the tent like this…so I tried to find the water bucket that is used to flush the toilet…it was empty. So I hobbled down to the river and tried to rinse my feet and sandals, but the current was so strong I nearly got swept away.

Its all really funny to recall now, in retrospect, but I can assure you that at the time, it was severely lacking in humor.

Back in the tent, I was so uncomfortable and sick, that the only relief I could find was in scratching all the mosquito bites on my legs. Well, that soon got out of hand and I think I scratched myself till I bled.

In the morning, my guide came over and told me that I had to get up and walk. I just wanted to crawl up in the corner and die. God. How was I going to walk?

I can´t even begin to describe how hard it was to get ready and start walking when I felt like collapsing at every step. I was so dizzy and nauseous, it was a battle of the mind just to keep going. At one point, unable to go any further, I sat on a rock on the trail and just started to cry. It was especially difficult not having anyone else that I knew there to offer even so much as moral support. Some hiker came over and pointed out that I didn´t look so great. “What an astute observation,” I thought to myself sarcastically…but when he explained that he was a doctor…it was like music to my ears.

Turned out, he thought I had caught a virus, and promptly gave me some drugs which he explained might help with the nausea and dizziness. He said that if I still wasn´t keeping liquids down within 6 hours that I should stop and have an IV administered.

Yeah, that´s likely in the middle of the jungle.

Thankfully, the drugs helped a little and I was able to keep going and keep some liquids down. After about an hour, a local came by on horseback, and after some negotiating, I managed to bargain my way onto his horse in his stead. It was a relief not to be walking, but the horse trotting and crossing rivers and large rocks jolted my insides so bad that I threw up a couple more times.

After what felt like eternity, we reached our lunch stop for the day, I slid off the horse and crawled over to a nearby tree and lay down in the grassy shade, so incredibly grateful to not be moving anymore.

I didn´t eat much those next 2 days, but I was beginning to feel better by that evening…even well enough to go to the Hot Springs in Santa Maria with the rest of the group. It was an incredible setting, and it was so nice to get a sense of cleanliness after 3 days of roughing it.

Thankfully, the next day was pretty easy, without much climbing…just a long trek along the River Urumbata towards the train tracks leading to Aguas Caliente…the town at the foot of the mountains of Machu Picchu. It was now lush green jungle and we saw lots of beautiful birds, cascading waterfalls, and got eaten alive by swarms of mosquitoes.

The night before our dawn climb to Machu Picchu I was again, unable to sleep a wink. The entire next day I ran entirely on adrenaline and the excitement of seeing a sight I´d been dreaming about for nearly 20 years.

We set out at 3:30 in the morning with headlamps to tackle the very steep climb up the incan stairs to the entrance gates of Machu Picchu. It was a ridiculously steep climb, but it felt worth it when we claimed one of the first places in line to be allowed in. Walking into the ruins just as dawn was breaking is a spectacle I will not soon forget. Nothing can prepare you for that first glimpse of this wonder of the world, and as I gazed on this lost city of the Incas, surrounded by the mist enveloped green peaks, I couldn´t help but be overcome with emotion and tears flooded my eyes. It was so unreal…to finally be here.

We all raced through the ruins to get ” in line ” for permits to climb the famed Wana Picchu mountain, since only the first 400 hikers are permitted to get to its summit on a daily basis. Nearly 5000 tourists visit Machu Picchu on any given day.

After a two hour tour led by our guide Nico on the history and story of the city, it was time to head up the peak. I was so tired that I nearly fell asleep standing during the tour, so I´m not sure how I managed to summit the 700 metre climb. It was ridiculously steep and narrow, and having to make room for some people descending as we climbed was particularly precarious. I was a puddle. My legs shook with the effort. Just when I thought we´d reached the summit…we had to CRAWL through a very narrow tunnel like cave in order to emerge on top on the other side. It was barely large enough to push my body through.

The view made it all worthwhile…the ruins below us formed the shape of the condor and looked like a small spec all those metres below us. The bridge we had crossed the river on the day before was but a brown spec on the valley floor below us.

Most unfortunately, despite being the one person who had paid through the nose for this trip, I also seemed to be the one person singled out to return to Ollantaytambo and on to Cusco on the 2pm train- everyone else on the trip was reserved on the 6pm train. I was very upset at having to leave the site early as I wanted to spend the day there. Having said that, by the time I descended from Wana Picchu, and climbed up to the Guard House to take some of those iconic photographs…I had been walking for nearly 10 hours and I was completely wrecked. I would never have suspected that of our gruelling 5 day trek, the day in Machu Picchu was going to test me physically the most.

I was so dead that I decided to take the bus back down to Aguas Caliente. Sadly, I didn´t even get to say goodbye to the rest of my group, only Nico, who had tried unsuccessfully (bless him) to change my train ticket to the later departure.

By the time the train pulled into Ollantaytambo 3 hours later, I was convinced that I was going to spend the night here and get some rest, and take advantage of the location to see the Sacred Valley before heading back to Cusco the next evening.

Turned out to be a good decision. Actually relieved to be all alone for a change, I ate a quick dinner and then promptly fell asleep around 7pm…only to awake 14 hours later at 9am the following morning. I had needed it.

Peru Adventure Part IV

25 Saturday Apr 2009

Posted by Anita in Peru

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It has been too long since I last wrote, and if I don´t put pen to paper soon, figuratively speaking of course, I will forget what I have done this past week or so. I have just returned from a six day trek through the Peruvian Andes, the “Salkantay“, ending in Machu Picchu and the Sacred Valley…but before I get ahead of myself- I will continue my travel account from where I last left you…standing alone in the middle of the night outside my hostel in Arequipa waiting for someone to let me in.

Here is the latest link to pictures from my last trek-

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/CuzcoSalkantayTrekMachuPicchuAndTheSacredValley2009#

Well thankfully, someone eventually listened to my persistent banging on the door and cries for help. “No, we are not open all night,¨I was told by a solemn faced young man who finally came to my rescue. ¨”Well, then don’t advertise that you are on your website!” I madly responded as I set my bags down in my room which would be my home for the short four hours I had before my tour leader to the Colca Canyon was picking me up.

The Colca Canyon is advertised as the deepest canyon in the world (which technically isn´t true..the Cotahuasi Canyon a few hundred kilometres from there is 150 metres deeper), over twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. I was excited to hike down to the bottom of it and spend a couple of days exploring its famous villages that house people who live at the bottom, isolated from the world around them, separated from the conveniences of public transport and a grocery store by a five hour climb straight up!

It was about a four hour drive to the canyon in our minivan…and I tried to sleep, to no avail. The altitude immediately started affecting me, especially since I hadn´t spent any time in Arequipa, and we were driving over a 4900 Metre pass. I felt lightheaded, dizzy, and generally quite out of it. We first stopped at the “Stone Forest” for some pictures, and though it was only a five minute walk, I was completely winded by the time we got back to the van.

My travelling party consisted of a lovely Dutch girl by the name of Mirjam (who I´ve been travelling with on and off since), as well as a couple from France, a couple from England, a guy from Montreal, Francois, and myself. It was a lovely eclectic group, but I struggled yet again with the fact that the French language is stored in the exact same space in my brain as the Spanish language, and switching one to the another is next to impossible!

After a fabulous buffet lunch we continued on to the “Condor” viewing area and took a few kilometre walk to reach it. Unfortunately it had begun to rain and the temperature had plummeted to the point where I was extremely grateful I had bought that winter jacket in Nazca. We didn´t really spot any condors and by the time we made it to our hotel on the canyon rim for the first night in Cabanaconde, we were all shivering and chilled to the bone. Some hot coca tea helped warm us up and (though I never really felt it) alleviate the symptoms of altitude.

The town itself felt extremely authentically rural Peruvian. There were only dirt streets, and women walked carrying their traditional parcels of goods wrapped around their shoulders, muddy children ran playing in the streets, chased of course by the obligatory plethora of homeless street dogs.

I slept under six blankets that night, and though I felt smothered, managed to keep somewhat warm (no heating in the hotel).

The next morning we started bright and early on our long trek down, down, down, into the canyon. We were blessed with warm sunny skies this morning much to our relief. The views were stunning (as you’ve probably already seen in the pictures I´ve sent) and the shades of grey rock turned to yellow and orange as we got closer and closer to the Colca River. Upon arrival at the “Oasis” where we would be sleeping, I was surprised to find an almost “resort like” set of swimming pools, palm trees, lounge chairs, and green grass…where our guide was busy setting up our tents. We all relaxed and swam in the pool while our lunch was prepared.

The food on this trip was amazing…the freshest of soups..asparagus, corn or vegetable, lots of stuffed avocado, chicken with rice and salsa…all home prepared. Wonderful.

After lunch, a few of us set off for our excursion to the next village up the canyon, Mallata, which was another 2 1-2 hour hike away. First we descended to the bridge across the river where we hungrily snapped pics of the churning frothy rapids before huffing it up the switchbacks over to the next “valley” within the valley itself. We had Alicia, an indigenous girl from Cabanaconde, accompany us on this trip and she showed us many of the plants along the way and the medicinal uses they had. For instance, we came across the Aloe Vera Plant, and placing its juice directly on the sun burnt arms of one of my fellow hikers, within five minutes there were two healthy brownish patches of skin in the middle of the red…amazing. Alicia was also a force of nature, hiking with barely any water, without let up straight up the hill wearing sandals. When it got really dark on the way back, she didn’t even need a flashlight…it was as if she knew the location of each and every stone as she walked.

The town of Malata was fascinating…so small and full of mud and stone huts, a little town square where we engaged a group of local kids in an impromptu game of soccer. I tried imagining what life would be like here, so far from the world far above, and found it very difficult. As I had mentioned before, it was dark by the time we made it back to the Oasis, but hiking with headlamps and seeing the glow of the stars overhead just added to the atmosphere and adventure of it all.

After another fabulous meal we all exhausted headed off to our tents. I had a quick swim in the pool under the night sky first, and climbed into my sleeping bag feeling somewhat worrisome alert as opposed to sleepy.

I didn´t sleep a wink that night. I tossed and turned and felt each hour drag by till the dreaded time of 4am approached and I knew we had to wake and tackle the monster climb out of the canyon before the heat of the day hit home. I later realized that insomnia is one of the popular symptoms of altitude adjustment. Ugh. To make matters worse, my period had started.

FANTASTIC!

That climb kicked my ass. I was beginning to wish I had decided to book a mule the night before for the 1400 metre climb, which took over 4 hours. It was horrendous. I don´t know if Ive ever been so tired in my life. But I made it through a sheer force of will.

Back in Cabanaconde, we greedily packed away a second breakfast before collapsing in the van and making our way to the hot springs! That was a welcome refreshment and offered some relief to my aching limbs.

I tried sleeping on our drive back to Arequipa but was unable to because of the windiness of the road we had to drive. However, after bidding our adieus, I grabbed my bags from the stupid hotel where I´d spent the first night and checked into my hostel which was just a few blocks from where Mirjam and Francois was staying. Knowing that if I didn’t go out for dinner right away I would simply pass out….I set out to find my new friends and grab some drinks and food with them.

We found the cutest little pizzeria and ate the melted cheese and welcome “taste of home” washing it down with a glass of red wine. It was some of the best pizza Ive ever tasted. At about 9pm, I´d been awake for over 48 hours and I crawled into my bed bunk and passed out.

The next two days were spent in a blissfully relaxed fashion, and I needed it after the crazy travelling of the past week. The first day I had breakfast with Mirjam and some of her friends she´d met in Bolivia in the main square overlooking the cathedral….they were a couple from Canada-UK and were travelling for TWO YEARS!! Wow. They had quite some stories to share…and encouraged me to move to Vancouver! Hmmmm..Food for thought. I then wandered the streets with Mirjam, dropped off some laundry, bought our night bus tickets to Cusco for the following evening, and then we both decided wed treat ourselves to massages!

Well, we got a little more than we bargained for. A cab driver dropped us off at a massage place….and the strange thing was that all the masseuses were blind. Weird, eh? Well, I thought….Blind people might make excellent masseuses since they have such a stronger sense of touch. Wrong. My female masseuse, who refused to listen to even the most BASIC Spanish commands like, “NOT SO HARD”, or “THAT HURTS”, kept insisting on punching me with her fists with all her might, and then trying to loop her arms around my neck and legs, contorting me to try and crack my spine. NO WAY. I put a stop to that.

Turned out I fared better than Mirjam, who´s male masseuse also massaged her breasts, which made her extremely uncomfortable. Feeling very weirded out, we ordered some chicken mole burritos and tried to laugh over the whole strange event.

That afternoon, I watched the sun set on my hostel terrace while swinging in a hammock. Ahhhhhh. Lovely. Then I treated myself to a movie! My hostel had a little cinema room with tons of pirated DVDs and Mirjam and I settled in with some chips and hot tea to watch “The Last King of Scotland”…which was a riveting albeit disturbing film which I enjoyed thoroughly. It was the perfect antidote to the last 3 days of hiking.

On my last day in the beautiful, white, second largest city in Peru…I decided to go be a tourist and spent the morning and most of the afternoon wandering around the incredible Catalina Monastery…a veritable city within a city. Nuns still live a cloistered life here, but in the times of the first Spanish settlement, they had quite the life complete with servants, flowing wine, and lots of parties! The buildings were absolutely gorgeous, all brightly painted in hues of blue and orange set against the white volcanic rock of the buildings themselves. If I had to be a nun, I would do it here…I thought to myself.

After more wandering, repacking of my backpack, collection of laundry, trip to the Internet cafe, and a lovely meal…it was time to meet Mirjam for our cab ride to the bus station….and our bus journey of 11 hours to Cusco….a journey that I shall fondly remember as “Death by Pan Flutë“.

Music videos of some guy playing Pan Flute for the first two hours was replaced then by incessant Pan Flute music for the rest of the journey while we tried to sleep in our reclining seats, which were so large, that for small women like Mirjam and I…made it impossible to get comfortable since we were sloshing around in them each time the mad driver took a hairpin mountain road bend doing 60mph…like feet in shoes four sizes too big.

We were exhausted upon arrival in Cusco (I seem to have begun a trend of a good nights sleep followed by a night of no sleep, and then a night of good sleep etc etch) but I was happy to see someone greeting our bus with a sign with my name on it! We got to my hotel (which was included in my trip to trek the Salkantay) around 6am…and were told that check in wasn’t until 11am. However, the very kind man at the front desk gave us a key to a twin room where he said we could sleep for a few hours until my real room was vacated. I could have kissed him, I was so elated. And I didn´t even have to tell him that it was my birthday!!

I´ll leave it there for now and pick up from here, probably tomorrow, where I will relate my stories of the trek and Machu Picchu!

Peru Adventure Part III

19 Sunday Apr 2009

Posted by Anita in Peru

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Its 4.30am and I am waiting to be picked up for my Salkantay Trek which ends in Machu Picchu next Thursday. It is going to be one of the hardest hikes of my life, covering 75 kilometres and going over a 4950 metres pass! I am excited, exhausted, and terrified at the same time. One things for sure, I´ll be coming back thinner.

I am sorry I didn´t get a chance to write you all yesterday. I was in bed most of the day suffering from the effects of heavy partying for my birthday. Thanks to all of you who sent their well wishes. It was amazing the fun I managed to have here in Cusco with only 11 strangers all meeting up at the last minute invite. Lots of fun, and singing, which is all important for me as you know.

It has been an amazing week leading up to this since I last wrote. I spent 3 days hiking in the worlds deepest Canyon, followed by two days of recovery in Perus southern city of Arequipa, followed by an overnight bus and acclimatizing in the continents oldest city – Cusco!

My guide should be here for me any second now, so I will probably write off now and write properly from Aguas Caliente if I can…the night before my big climb to Machu Pichu itself. Its so weird that after all these years of hearing that name, and imagining myself there…that I am actually about to set out on my own to walk to it! Hard to fathom.

Peru Adventure Part II

15 Wednesday Apr 2009

Posted by Anita in Peru

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Where did I last leave you hanging? I believe that I was just arriving in Pisco, dismayed at what I witnessed, a town that looked like it had been ravaged by civil war for 10 years…

Nevertheless, I was happy to be out of Lima, and set about using the afternoon to firm up some of my other travel arrangements (still minus an English guidebook!!). I booked a day trip for the following morning to the ¨Poor Man´s Galapagos Islands¨ of Las Islas Ballestas followed by an afternoon tour of the Reserva National de las Paracas. Then I spent all afternoon in an internet cafe arranging accommodation and my Inca Trail Salkantay Trek for when I arrived in Cuzco..(am leaving for Cuzco tomorrow night…so excited!)

The following day I headed out bright and early to the islands which are a natural wildlife reserve, home to literally thousand of Cormorands, Pelicans, blah blah blah birds (i´m not an orthonologist by a stretch), Humbolt penguins, a colony of 10,000 sea lions, and lest we not forget for the smell we were tormented with during the 2 hour visit…one of Peru´s primary exports= GUANO, or more commonly known as ¨BIRD SHIT. Wow it was bad. Somehow the smell made my already seasick stomach churn all the more and I had to stay seated much of the time, buring my nose into my shirt. The scenery was beautiful, as was the wildlife, but I am just such an, Í don´t know, ¨¨spoiled, over-travelled bastard¨´, that I´m left comparing it to other more spectacular places I´ve been to in the world. I know, I know, its awful. Today I had lunch with a couple who said they knew it was time to head home after travelling through South East Asia when they sat on a beautiful, pristine, white sand, turquiose water beach and thought ¨´Ugh! Another paradisaic beach…I´m so bored with them!´¨ It happens.

I spent the whole day with a small group of women from Argentina, Peru, and Belgium who had met living in Buenos Aires. It was my third day conversing with other people ONLY in Spanish! By this point, I was getting pretty good…and I even made my first joke in Spanish (though I can´t remember what it was at this moment). The afternoon took us to the Paracas Reserve which was interesting because of its vast sand dunes, rugged coastline ….very damaged by the earthquake, with visible 3 foot cracks in the rock caused by exposed fault lines. Our guide had me on the edge of my seat, as it were, as he recalled that day August 15, 2007…when he had taken tourists down to the beach and walked under the natural arch and cave only hours before the whole thing came down in the 7.8 quake. He explained how the shaking had started vertically and then moved horizontal, lasting an agonizing 4 minutes and completely flattening the city. There was a big celebratory mass taking place in the cathedral and all 400 or so souls inside perished.

We also learned about the Paracas culture which pre-dated Inca culture, with ruins dating back to 2100 years BC. They are credited with the design of the Nazca lines where I was heading in a few days…

After a nervous hour waiting at the bus station, with my hands and arms wrapped around my luggage (Pisco is very dangerous…I was told not to walk on the street after 3pm!! WTF!….People are desperate since they lost everything in the quake) I was taken by cab back to the PanAmerican Highway to rendez vous with my bus to Ica. I shared the cab with an annoying buddhist German traveller who kept talking about his infected foot, and how the pain and trouble it has caused him travelling, coupled with the suffering he experienced as a child, was a profound blessing. I bid him adieu with a heartfelt wish that he continued having horrible experiences on his trip that he could learn from…which he seemed genuinely pleased to hear. Bizarre.

The sunset against the desert from the bus was spectacular. I started worrying about the cab I was going to have to take to get to my next stop…the desert Oasis of Huacachina. Everytime I step into a cab on this trip, a small part of me wonders whether I´ll end up at my desired destination or…God forbid, some other locale where I might be robbed, raped, or worse. Its a worry shared by all solo travellers, especially women. Luckily for me, my driver Tony seemed very pleasant and happily chatted to me all the way to the Oasis.

I arrived in the dark and it took a while for me to find my hostel. I checked in, dismayed that there was no window in my dorm room…and wandered outside to grab some dinner. Having not spoken to a soul in English in over 3 days (the German dude did not count)…I couldn´t face another meal alone, and invited myself to sit at a table with 2 Australian girls and their mother. It was so nice to talk in English…but, I must admit…after listening to them chatter wildly about their wonderful friends and family reunion hiking the Inca Trail, and how 6 of them were continuing on to Bolivia, and how Mom had flown 36 hours to come spend a week with her daughter…I began to feel very sad about my going it alone. They left when I was still waiting for my meal to arrive…and I admit a few tears were flowing by the time I asked for my check. It was such a picturesque setting, even in the night, the sky full of stars, a nearly full moon reflecting against the lakes backed by mountainous looking sand dunes…but all I longed for was a companion that I could share it with.

The following morning I met up with two girls who had staggered in drunk to my dorm room at about 3am. They were the craziest travellers I have ever met…arriving in Peru with no money, working in Lima for a month for room and board, hitch hiking on local trucks from town to town, walking the train tracks to Machu pichu because they couldn´t afford the bus or train… They´d been in Huacachina for 6 days and talked to all the locals as if they´d been friends since childhood. We went for breakfast, stopped on the way for Lauren to try and talk one of the local drunks who was still sleeping in the street after their night of revelry into having breakfast with us, an effort which she thankfully gave up on after ¨´Rodofo´´ walked into a lampost and promptly fell down. I listened to another hour of their insane bohemian, drunken stories…and was relieved to go back to my way of travel…heading back to the room to grab my laundry and a book by the pool….how very boring and conservative of me.

That afternoon I decided to go sandboarding, an activity that Huacachina is famous for. Well, the company I went with had their marketing all wrong. The sandboarding was fun, but HOLY SHIT, the sand buggy we drove up the sand dunes in was absolutely, undeniably, the most insane, bone jarring, neck twisting, stomach churning, gut wrenchingly terrifying thrill ride of my life. These drivers are completely bonkers. I wondered how many people had died being crushed by the rolling steel mass of this cage like rollercoaster of an all terrain vehicle, as they careened around sweeping dunes at breakneck speeds and gravity defying angles. We would accelerate up a sand dune that was near vertical, and I kid you not, literally launch at the crest of the sand before crashing down the other side where the driver would immediately accelerate so that your stomach fell away with the drop like you were coming down a theme park thrill ride.

I had sand in every single crevice of my being by the end of the three hour…um….ordeal? I was still sneezing gobs of sand 2 days later! And they should have warned contact lens wearers like me that they would be rendered blind by the sand blasting your face while they raced around the moonlike landscape. The scenery was spectacular, and felt like we were on location for the next Star Wars movie. The sandboarding itself was fun except that my feet were too small and kept coming away from the velcros straps invariably throwing me into a cartwheeling fall, head over feet. After two descents, someone said ´´Did you know that someone died here last week?´´ WHAT? Apparently someone fell off their sandboard and broke their neck. Lovely.

I went down the next four dunes on my butt, using the sandboard like a toboggan. Way more fun, and a tad more safe.

I was so late getting back to the tour place that I literally had to run (sand clumped in my shoes) back to my hostel, deciding that I just had to shower and change before grabbing a cab back to the highway in time for my bus to Nazca. I still had sand all over me, but it was bearable for the 2 hour journey. I just made my connection.

Nazca is famous for the Nazca ´´Lines¨´ …strange shapes of creatures and symbols that can only be seen from the air. There were many theories that I had read about why these Lines were created and how, and I was hoping that my pre flight would include some more information about their genesis. Unfortunately that was not the case.

After cabbing it to my hotel, we were greeted by a roadblock for another Easter Procession…so I walked the last 4 blocks through hundreds of people, with all my bags, still crunching with sand, to my place for the night. Setting down my bags, I ran out into the street again and joined the throngs of candle waving Catholics eager to throw flowers on the statue of the Virgin Mary…and a glass coffin with an ephigy of Jesus inside. I turned left out of the crowd, ran ahead of the procession and then doubled back on myself to get photos ahead of the crowd. It was quite beautiful.

Not that hungry, I bought some fruit from a street stall, and after wandering around the city munching away for about an hour, I headed back to my room, re-de-sanded myself in the shower, and collapsed into bed.

The following morning I woke early, took some travel sickness pills, ate a tiny breakfast and headed out to the local airport. The plane was a 5 person Cessna, and being solo, I got to sit next to the pilot. Despite the medication, I still felt very sick, especially when the plane banked and circled again and again around each figure allowing us to get a good look and hopefully a photo of the shapes below. Overall, the lines were much harder to detect than I had imagined…and despite it being a curiosity satisfier, I was left feeling a bit disappointed in myself for wanting to do this just to have ´´ticked it off´on my to do list of Peru.

Oh. I forgot to mention my next wondrous experience with my lovely bus company Ormeno. I had booked a trek to the Colca Canyon for the following morning, and the company were picking me up at 8am sharp from the bus station in Arequipa. I had checked, rechecked, and triple checked with Ormeno staff and website to ensure that the bus would not be late. I was assured, repeatedly, that the scheduled arrival time was 6am, but normally it arrived around 7am, and occasionally in heavy traffic 730am. However, on arrival in Nazca at 11pm the night before, I reconfirmed my ticket only to be told, mockingly I might add, that the bus to Arequipa NEVER arrives before 9am, and that EVERYONE should know this. I was infuriated…and was told that I should book the afternoon bus leaving Nazca at 3pm, getting me in to Arequipa at midnight. Could I do this over the phone in the morning? Of course, no problem, I was told.

Liars. All of them. In the morning I called, having decided to take the afternoon bus, and was told ´´no its not possible, you must come to the bus station to change ticket. Must come soon as its Easter weekend and nearly no seats left´¨. So, after my flight…instead of being able to take advantage of the free lunch and pool at the next door hotel, I had to taxi it another 20 minutes to the bus station, and 20 minutes back to my hotel just to change my stupid ticket. And when I got to the bus station, the guy at the counter just looked at me blankly and said he couldn´´t change my ticket. I learned how to give violent protest in Spanish…to which he shrugged his shoulders, picked up the phone, mumbled for about a minute to someone, then handed me back my ticket and said ¨´its ok…come for bus at 3pm´´. THAT was what I HAD TO COME IN PERSON FOR? To listen to your initial refusal, then one minute phone call? No new reservation, new ticket, new seat assignment? I left in a huff, telling him that not one person working for Ormeno had told me the truth yet. Ugh.

After a mountain of cab fare, I packed the rest of my stuff and set out in sun baked Nazca to find a winter jacket for my high altitude trek to the Colca Canyon. Where was I going to find this? In the parched desert? I was having no luck, then stumbled on place that had a few reasonable coats, and grabbed the only one that fit, paying way too much for it I´m sure.

The bus to Arequipa was about 9 hours….and they played 3 action packed, violent, LOUD, movies back to back. Crash, followed by Death Sentence, and a Jet Li film to finish us off. By the time the martial art film came on…about 2-3rds of the bus was trying desperately to sleep, so I went downstairs and suggested that they put the movie on in English with Spanish subtitles (all movies were dubbed in Spanish with English subtitles…weird huh?) and turn the volume down since all were trying to sleep. She nodded, seemingly in a daze. They changed the movie into English…but then turned the volume UP. Jesus. I jammed in my earplugs and tried to sleep listening to the sounds of incessant fighting. Oy.

The bus was late. I got in to Arequipa at 3am, was dropped off at my supposedly open 24 hour hotel, looking forward to my 4 hours of sleep…only to find that no one answered the door and I was left standing on the street, in the dark, with all my bags, wondering if I was facing a cold night alone on the street….I´ll leave you there…wondering what happened as this letter is long enough by now!!

Peru Adventure Part I

12 Sunday Apr 2009

Posted by Anita in Costa Rica, Peru

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When I last wrote you, I left off at the point where I was saying farewell
to Central America and heading to the airport for my solo adventure in Peru.
Well, what an adventure it has been so far.

We´ll start with the saga of the guidebook. All travellers know that a
guidebook is essential to any foreign excursion. Especially when you are
doing a ¨DIY¨deal, it is essential to know what there is to do, where you
can stay, how you get to places etc. Without said guidebook, one might say
that you feel somewhat paralyzed, and that’s in a country where you speak the
language, and buses arrive on time, and people tell you the truth when they
are selling a trip. But not Peru. Here, being without a guidebook is
extremely difficult. As I found out on Monday.

On my last night in San Jose, I went searching for a guidebook in several
large bookstores. They had all kinds of books from all of South America but
nothing on Peru. ¨You´ll find one at the airport, they told me¨. No
problem.

SO, at the airport, departing San Jose, there were plenty of guidebooks,
hundreds in fact, but they were all for Costa Rica. Not sure why that would
be necessary if you´re leaving Costa Rica, but oh well. I figured the same
would be true in Lima, and I would find myriads of books in the departure
area of the airport. I wasn´t too concerned. However, upon arrival, to my
dismay ‘ I found lots of travel guides but NONE for Peru…for Rome, Athens,
London, Europe, Chile, India, Nepal…anywhere you wanted to go, except the
country YOU HAD JUST ARRIVED IN. When I asked, I discovered that it wasn´t
that they were out of Peruvian guidebooks, they just didn´t carry them!

Ok. Deep breath. I´ll find one. Stela´s family had very generously
offered to let me stay with them in Lima. Her brother, Saviour, met me at
the airport and we walked out to the car. I then saw her father, 76 years
old, Jose ¨Pepe¨ Diaz standing in the heat with his walking frame in the
heat and I just wanted to give him a hug for being so kind.

The Diaz family were wonderful to me and extremely hospitable. It was
also the greatest Spanish lesson of my life, I think I spoke more
Spanish in that one day than I have in the last 10 years. I also
learned, to my horror, that I´ve been saying certain phrases that mean
something completely different than I originally thought. Apparently,
when in the past I have commented to someone ¨Wow, its so hot, and I´m
so tired…but I´m excited to be here¨ I have actually been saying
¨Yeah, I´m hot stuff, and I´m so married….but I´m sexually aroused.¨

Oops.

I immediately noticed with the Diaz family just how patient everyone
is here with one another. After driving to their family home and
dropping off my luggage, Savior and I sat and chatted for a while. I
asked him what the plan was..and he said that he was waiting for me.
¨Where is your Dad´´ I asked, ¨¨in the car, waiting for us!¨¨ So
bizarre. I was sure that I was waiting for them.

So off we went to find the local tourism office and enquire after
finding an English language guidebook. I couldn´t imagine it to be
too difficult. Well, they sent us to 3 different bookstores, and we
ended up fighting traffic for the next 4 hours, disappointed at each
store that had lots of guidebooks, but none on Peru. I felt so awful
to be wasting their time, not to mention gas for their car, and the
fact that they were all hungry. Pepe kept telling me not to worry,
because if I was a friend of his daughter, then I am also his
daughter. He was so sweet.

This all would be stressful enough, except that, did I mention, Pepe
really can´t drive to save his, and ultimately, our lives. The entire
time we were in the car I was braced for a metal twisting, screeching
brake, people yelling collision. Pepe drove very slow, causing every
car to honk their horn at him, yell angrily, and drive madly around
him. Because he drove so slowly, he kept stalling the car…when he
tried to rev it from 5mph in 3rd gear. We would stall in the middle
of an 8 way intersection, and I would just close my eyes and brace for
impact. I ts a miracle we survived.

At one point, Pepe decided he didn´t want to turn right, and turned
left into oncoming traffic, honking his way through cars, in order to
make a U Turn. It was absolutely terrifying. I asked Savior why he
didn´t drive, and he said that he didn´t want to pass the exam. I
don´t know, I wouldn´t let my dad drive me around if I felt that each
venture out of the house might be my last.

At one point, Pepe just stopped the car dead in the middle of the
street and started to get out of the car. It took him about 10
minutes, after which he stood there and peed. It was
very…interesting.

After an exasperating time looking for the damn book, we gave up and
decided to go buy my bus ticket for tomorrow to Pisco, as the lady at
the tourism office had warned us that since it was Holy Week, I MUST
buy tickets today, I couldn´t buy tickets in the morning, and the bus
might be sold out.

I kid you not, it took another hour and a half just to crawl through
traffic MADNESS to get to the bus station, then another hour waiting
in line to talk to an incompetent sales agent who moved at the speed
of tortoise on valium. The bus company had been recommended to me..it
was called Ormeno‘ it was supposed to be the nicest of the companies,
and the safest. However, I really think they should change their
slogan from ¨´We are the people who help people travel´….to ´´We are
the people who make it as difficult as possible for you to give us
business!!´´

The following morning, I arrived, early. The bus was an hour late and
wait for it…there were only 2 passengers on board. We had to spend
5 hours arranging tickets for THAT. I don´t understand why people
can´t just make bookings on the phone or the Internet, especially
since it is a city clogged to a full stop with traffic. Apparently,
as I´ve discovered over the past few days, you can ONLY change your
ticket IN PERSON, AT THE BUS STATION, even if that means you have to
spend an entire afternoon and taxi fare going back and forth.

That evening the family and I went to have Chinese food, which was a
little odd for my first day in Peru. However, I did try a Peruvian
staple of Inca Kola…the Peruvian soft drink of choice which is
bright yellow and tastes of bubble gum. By the time we finished
eating it was 11pm, and I still had to go to the Internet to print AT
LEAST one chapter of the Lonely Planet,…which ended up taking
another two hours to print, no laser printers here!

Needless to say, I was extremely sleep deprived in the morning, but
caught my bus to Pisco and felt quite relieved to be leaving the dirty
metropolis. I loved staying with the Diaz family, I only wish I had
had the time to watch them teach in their local folk ´´Marinera¨dance
school….

The bus itself was very comfortable and despite being tired, I
couldn´t resist watching Marley and Me even though it was dubbed in
Spanish. These Ormeno Spanish movies have been really improving my
language skills. I arrived in Pisco having balled my eyes out after
Marley had died, and then nearly started crying when I looked at the
city I was entering for the night.

It looked like what I imagine war torn rural Iraq to look like.

The roads were dusty, buildings completely destroyed, thousands of
makeshift homes made from mud and clay….The earthquake of 2007
clearly had very visible remnants of its impact, and rebuilding has
only just begun.

I was beginning to wonder what my hotel would look like, but I was
extremely pleasantly surprised to find a beautiful, clean, courtyard,
with restaurant, and very welcoming room with breakfast for 16 bucks!

I have to end there…to be continued! I am currently in the Colca
Canyon, so I might not be able to write again for a couple of days…

Hope you enjoy!

	Anita on Climbing Mt. Rainier – M…
	Elle Mclees on Climbing Mt. Rainier – M…
	Anita on Climbing Mt. Rainier – M…
	evejakubowski on Climbing Mt. Rainier – M…
	TsiTsi McLure on Take Me to Church – Chimaniman…

Anita Go Travel

~ Life as a passport, one stamp at a time.

Panama Adventure I

Bolivia Adventure Part II

Bolivia Adventure Part III (part II coming later!)

Bolivia Adventure Part I

Peru Adventure Part VI

Peru Adventure Part V

Peru Adventure Part IV

Peru Adventure Part III

Peru Adventure Part II

Peru Adventure Part I