Power is the capacity to translate intention into reality and sustain it. Leadership is the wise use of this power.
I have worked for many powerful people but have had only a few good leaders. Power is easy to come by in the military with our rank structure. Finding good leaders is another thing.
I haven’t, in the past, pursued power. Often, though, I find myself in powerful positions and it challenges me to be a good leader. Right now I’m an instructor often teaching young servicemembers the craft of journalism. Our specialty in the military is highly sought after and our school is tough. There are many times when a student won’t grasp the material and I’m forced to eliminate them. That’s a lot of power – I’ll literally change their lives. They joined the military to be journalists and they’re going to end up being a military policeman or fuel specialist because of a decision I’ll make. The power came with the job. Leadership for me is how I use that power. How much I’m going to work with that student to give them the best chance of success. How I’m going to conduct myself with him as a noncommissioned officer and a mentor. These are all what make me a leader in the classroom. I don’t take my role lightly.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Adrian 2.0
My friend Josh and I are developing a class for the course I teach. It’s an evolving concept that the military is attempting to catch on to. The class will focus on how to use the web effectively to further the mission of military public affairs focusing a lot on the concept of Web 2.0. The military is way behind on the whole social media thing and wary of embracing things like blogs and YouTube. The class is meant to create discussion and stimulate ideas. The official military posture on this media is evolving. Senior leaders have started coming out and saying we need to embrace things like Facebook.
Anyways, my buddy gives a good pitch on the subject and after hearing him talk about it yesterday to my students I was inspired to embrace it on my own. I’ve often written “blogs” which I sent out to family and friends. I started them while I was in Afghanistan, sending them off when I went on a unique mission or had some little adventure. I’ve continued to send them off when I travel – an example being our Peru trip below. But I’ve decided to open it up to the world.
How far it goes … I don’t care. If this just ends up being a platform for me to unload a little, fine. But here it is, Adrian 2.0
Anyways, my buddy gives a good pitch on the subject and after hearing him talk about it yesterday to my students I was inspired to embrace it on my own. I’ve often written “blogs” which I sent out to family and friends. I started them while I was in Afghanistan, sending them off when I went on a unique mission or had some little adventure. I’ve continued to send them off when I travel – an example being our Peru trip below. But I’ve decided to open it up to the world.
How far it goes … I don’t care. If this just ends up being a platform for me to unload a little, fine. But here it is, Adrian 2.0
Monday, June 2, 2008
After the trek
Machu Picchu. Lost city of the Incas. Home to its royal class and artisans. One of the new 7 wonders of the world.
We were going to Machu Picchu the day after we got back from our trek. We went to a tourism office they day before we left on our trek to set up a train ride up there. It was going to be $290. Yikes. It’s not the Peruvian government fleecing tourists. They jack the prices out of concern for the ruins. They are starting to feel the effect of the over 400,000 + tourists a year it gets. Upon further discussion, we said screw it. Sarah had been there and Sean, Josh and I were indifferent. I was apprehensive about future regrets I may have, but after our experiences on Choquiquerao I felt better. And Sarah didn’t think Machu Picchu would top it either. So I guess now I have an excuse to visit Peru again.
Getting back from the trek, we were spent. I had originally worked a day into the itinerary for recovery after the hike. We were going to give it up for an extra day in Machu Picchu. But as it turned out, a day off was awesome.
Josh was broken. He had a jacked up foot, bug bites and a terrible sunburn. His nipples were even chaffed. Mid morning we left him to recover and hit the town. We were on a hunt for crepes. Sarah remembered a crepe place from her first time there. I loved the food there, but was ready for anything not Peruvian. Arriving up a hill to the hip little artisan neighborhood, we found our crepe place was closed. So instead we went next door to a coffee shop.
Mmmm. I craved it. It had been days since I had a cup of coffee. Peru was known for it. I was back in a country that knew espresso. I ordered one. Then followed it with a macchiato similar to what I had grown to love in Italy. It was delicious and my senses vibrated high on caffeine.
After leaving the coffee shop we went back to the crepe place which had since opened. We all chose sweet crepes. Mine was covered with fruit and a sauce made from the local liqueur, pisco. It was sweet and delicious. The only thing that soured the experience was the music. I’m a fan of the punk-rock group Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. They are made up of members of different punk bands and do nothing but covers. It’s amusing. This restaurant had their creepy nemesis. A jazzish, female singer who took really good rock and roll songs and made them lousy lounge shit. I wanted to throw my shoe at the speaker. Joe Strummer from the Clash rolled in his grave and Axle Rose cashed a tainted royalty check.
After leaving the crepe place we wandered the local shops. Two cups of strong caffeine sat on my stomach. I had to quickly find a bathroom. Enough said.
For the next couple of hours, we sat on church stairs in Cusco’s Plaza de Armas. It was very relaxing as we watched the bustle of the city. I got punked in a battle of wits by a 10-year-old girl. We pet a pooch. And then we went and ate pizza.
Arriving back at the hostel around 3, we found Josh in the main lounge area overlooking the city. He had been sitting there at one of the long tables that stretched the length of the room for a few hours. One thing Josh isn’t so fond of is the outdoors. However, the boy likes people and meeting new personalities. As we sat there with a beer, he was constantly shouting out to new friends he had met. They would come and leave, but conversations would continue. One beer quickly turned into several. Dinnertime rolled around, but we didn’t want to give up our seats and we were meeting all these new, interesting people from around the world. We sat at that table non-stop until about midnight. We met several people who were traveling for weeks, months and sometimes even years at a time. Most were from wealthy families who were funding their travels, but some were true adventurers. I met one guy and his girlfriend who arrived in country the day before. He was an unfulfilled Madison Avenue advertising executive. She was a lawyer. One day they both said screw it, quit their jobs and went to South America to travel for 5 months. Hero.
Sarah and I were tired and hit the hay. A few minutes later we heard Josh come to the door. He stood there for a second and then we heard Sean yell out –“Hey Josh! I’m going out with these guys!” “Yeah? … You son of a bitch…” We then heard Josh’s flip flops as he grudgingly walked into the Cusco night scene. He rocked out while still in pajamas.
The next day we got up early. We had a full day ahead of us. We decided not to go to Machu Picchu, but I wouldn’t be satisfied with sitting around Cusco for three days. So we decided to go white water rafting. When we signed up for the trip we were told of two options. Class I and II rapids or class III and IV rapids. We chose the latter. All of us had been rafting at least once and we thought we could handle it. Plus I wasn’t sure how the Peruvian system compared to ours. We were fine until the night before we left. Sean had talked to a bunch of people who had gone before and they said it was more intense than they had expected. So my nerves were going during the bus ride, which took a couple of hours. I had images of us being swallowed by a river similar to the boiling, vicious-looking river we had crossed on our trek.
During the ride I heard the couple in front of us talking. I’ve been places and I can catch most languages – at least knowing if they are eastern European or whatever. I couldn’t quite catch this one though. I sounded almost Belgium. Turns out they were French Canadian. The same people who gave us Cirque du Solei. Turns out they aren’t kinda-creepy-clown-trapeze artists. They are nice people... with weird French accents.
The rafting turned out to be a lot of fun, but not nearly what I was expecting. The rapids were there and fun, but easily managed. We almost took a tumble out of the boat while attempting to surf a rapid. Good times. After lunch we headed back to Cusco. The hour-long van ride was torturous as we had obnoxious British ding bats aboard. Fart jokes and cat calls were in abundance. Jerks.
Arriving back at the hostel we found Josh at his post. We signed up for dinner there – BBQ. It was awesome. Exhaustion was starting to settle in and I retired somewhat early. Our time in Cusco was coming to an end. Tomorrow we would head to Lima.
The next morning we said goodbye to Cusco. We caught an early flight to Lima. Going from 11,000 feet to sea level during the summer in South America became quite apparent as we got off our plane. Lima was balmy.
Once again, we paid too much for a taxi. But we were in the big city now and so I expected to pay more.
Lima is a big city much like others I had been to. It lacked the soul Cusco possessed. It reminded me a lot of the non-descript outskirts of a large Italian city. Wasn’t as poor as Cusco – although we didn’t visit the slums. Our hostel was in a main tourist district - surrounded by shops and fast food restaurants.
My main mission after getting settled in was to find a place to get a shave. I hadn’t shaved in over a week and I was itching and dreading my disposable razor at home. I was in a country that still used straight razors so I thought I’d give it a try. After wandering for a half hour looking for a barber, we finally settled at a salon. There was one girl who knew how to do it and one razor. Wasn’t quite what I was expecting but it got the job done. All of us boys took our turn.
The hostel had a fourth-story roof on it. Wasn’t a spectacular view but a nice place to sit around in the sun and drink, which we did. We met a girl from New Zealand and spent the next few hours getting burned and burned. Hunger lingered and I had one more Peruvian dish I wanted to try. She was one of those travelers - somehow able to live for months at a time without working in cheap South American countries. She knew Lima pretty well and suggested we all go to a new neighborhood for dinner. We piled into a cab and went to an area near the beach. We stopped at a few places – one a cevicheria. The last of my must tries in Peru. Ceviche is raw fish that is drowned in lime juice. The acidic juice actually cooks the fish a bit. We found a little restaurant that served nothing but the stuff. It was interesting. Good but strong. They serve it with mashed sweet potatoes and corn to help mellow your pallet out between bites.
Satisfied with our appetizer we longed from something more. An afternoon of drinking in the sun left us drunk and hungry. Our new guide suggested chifa – Peruvian Chinese food. I’ve eaten Chinese food around the world. Everywhere has its own character; I can only imagine what China’s is like. We found a restaurant. It was complete with tables tucked behind curtains. Like mobsters in a private social club, we gobbled down lomein and other random Asian dishes.
The rest of the night was rock and roll. I was exhausted, not just from the day but from the trip but we trucked on through the night meeting new people and ending up in a dance club. I’m not much of a club guy – I like pubs. The thumping reggaeton and salsa started to annoy the shit out of me. Finding refuge from the dance floor and smoke on the ground floor we climbed up to a second floor balcony. Overlooking the dance floor I saw a redheaded, pale-skinned figure among a sea of black hair and brown skin. Josh was getting down. And he was a hit. At least five Peruvian girls surrounded him. The party continued late into the night.
The hostel was nice, but a bitch to sleep in. No AC meant keeping the windows open all night. The air sat still in our room, but the city didn’t. Traffic outside the window was loud and constant. I gave up on sleep early.
Our last day in Peru was spent killing time. We were catching a redeye out that night. We wandered. I was fascinated by the bus system in Lima. The buses were not uniform. They had random locations painted on the side – ranging from cities and neighborhoods nearby to Cuba. A bus would pull up, a guy would yell and would seemingly pull random people on. I don’t want to know specifically how it worked. My imagination was more fun.
We did go to a casino. There were a couple of them near our hotel. There were no tables; only slots and they used American currency. I bought $20 worth of nickels and settled in. Sean and Josh soon gave up and headed back to the hostel. Sarah and I trucked on. I turned out to be the big winner. The most I have ever won gambling was in Atlantic City last year. I had sat down at a slot just to justify a free beer. While I waited for my Heineken I played some random line. The machine went crazy. I looked over to my friends perplexed and printed out my ticket. I had won like $250. Then later that night on the craps table I won another $500. I paraded my single $500 chip around proudly and moved on. The casino barely took notice. In Peru I sat down at a new machine and played 15 cents. All of a sudden lights were going off and my siren was wailing. I looked over to a security guy and shrugged. He gave me a stern nod and thumbs up and talked into his walkie talkie. Several Peruvian women came over to my machine excitedly congratulating me. Soon an official looking woman came over with paperwork and a camera. She took a shot of the slot frame and had me sign several papers. She offered me some complimentary gift certificates. And then whipped out the cash. $60. Ballin.
We went to dinner and said goodbye to our new friends. Loaded our gear up and went outside to hail a cab. The one we picked was dilapidated, but cheap. Our back seat was broken, there were no seat belts and the car seemed as it might die soon. Our driver gave it his best, though, as he barreled through the Lima traffic while I searched for the imaginary brake at my feet. As we sped past the nightlife of Lima, salsa music played on the radio. The theme song from Indiana Jones, though, was playing in my head.
We were going to Machu Picchu the day after we got back from our trek. We went to a tourism office they day before we left on our trek to set up a train ride up there. It was going to be $290. Yikes. It’s not the Peruvian government fleecing tourists. They jack the prices out of concern for the ruins. They are starting to feel the effect of the over 400,000 + tourists a year it gets. Upon further discussion, we said screw it. Sarah had been there and Sean, Josh and I were indifferent. I was apprehensive about future regrets I may have, but after our experiences on Choquiquerao I felt better. And Sarah didn’t think Machu Picchu would top it either. So I guess now I have an excuse to visit Peru again.
Getting back from the trek, we were spent. I had originally worked a day into the itinerary for recovery after the hike. We were going to give it up for an extra day in Machu Picchu. But as it turned out, a day off was awesome.
Josh was broken. He had a jacked up foot, bug bites and a terrible sunburn. His nipples were even chaffed. Mid morning we left him to recover and hit the town. We were on a hunt for crepes. Sarah remembered a crepe place from her first time there. I loved the food there, but was ready for anything not Peruvian. Arriving up a hill to the hip little artisan neighborhood, we found our crepe place was closed. So instead we went next door to a coffee shop.
Mmmm. I craved it. It had been days since I had a cup of coffee. Peru was known for it. I was back in a country that knew espresso. I ordered one. Then followed it with a macchiato similar to what I had grown to love in Italy. It was delicious and my senses vibrated high on caffeine.
After leaving the coffee shop we went back to the crepe place which had since opened. We all chose sweet crepes. Mine was covered with fruit and a sauce made from the local liqueur, pisco. It was sweet and delicious. The only thing that soured the experience was the music. I’m a fan of the punk-rock group Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. They are made up of members of different punk bands and do nothing but covers. It’s amusing. This restaurant had their creepy nemesis. A jazzish, female singer who took really good rock and roll songs and made them lousy lounge shit. I wanted to throw my shoe at the speaker. Joe Strummer from the Clash rolled in his grave and Axle Rose cashed a tainted royalty check.
After leaving the crepe place we wandered the local shops. Two cups of strong caffeine sat on my stomach. I had to quickly find a bathroom. Enough said.
For the next couple of hours, we sat on church stairs in Cusco’s Plaza de Armas. It was very relaxing as we watched the bustle of the city. I got punked in a battle of wits by a 10-year-old girl. We pet a pooch. And then we went and ate pizza.
Arriving back at the hostel around 3, we found Josh in the main lounge area overlooking the city. He had been sitting there at one of the long tables that stretched the length of the room for a few hours. One thing Josh isn’t so fond of is the outdoors. However, the boy likes people and meeting new personalities. As we sat there with a beer, he was constantly shouting out to new friends he had met. They would come and leave, but conversations would continue. One beer quickly turned into several. Dinnertime rolled around, but we didn’t want to give up our seats and we were meeting all these new, interesting people from around the world. We sat at that table non-stop until about midnight. We met several people who were traveling for weeks, months and sometimes even years at a time. Most were from wealthy families who were funding their travels, but some were true adventurers. I met one guy and his girlfriend who arrived in country the day before. He was an unfulfilled Madison Avenue advertising executive. She was a lawyer. One day they both said screw it, quit their jobs and went to South America to travel for 5 months. Hero.
Sarah and I were tired and hit the hay. A few minutes later we heard Josh come to the door. He stood there for a second and then we heard Sean yell out –“Hey Josh! I’m going out with these guys!” “Yeah? … You son of a bitch…” We then heard Josh’s flip flops as he grudgingly walked into the Cusco night scene. He rocked out while still in pajamas.
The next day we got up early. We had a full day ahead of us. We decided not to go to Machu Picchu, but I wouldn’t be satisfied with sitting around Cusco for three days. So we decided to go white water rafting. When we signed up for the trip we were told of two options. Class I and II rapids or class III and IV rapids. We chose the latter. All of us had been rafting at least once and we thought we could handle it. Plus I wasn’t sure how the Peruvian system compared to ours. We were fine until the night before we left. Sean had talked to a bunch of people who had gone before and they said it was more intense than they had expected. So my nerves were going during the bus ride, which took a couple of hours. I had images of us being swallowed by a river similar to the boiling, vicious-looking river we had crossed on our trek.
During the ride I heard the couple in front of us talking. I’ve been places and I can catch most languages – at least knowing if they are eastern European or whatever. I couldn’t quite catch this one though. I sounded almost Belgium. Turns out they were French Canadian. The same people who gave us Cirque du Solei. Turns out they aren’t kinda-creepy-clown-trapeze artists. They are nice people... with weird French accents.
The rafting turned out to be a lot of fun, but not nearly what I was expecting. The rapids were there and fun, but easily managed. We almost took a tumble out of the boat while attempting to surf a rapid. Good times. After lunch we headed back to Cusco. The hour-long van ride was torturous as we had obnoxious British ding bats aboard. Fart jokes and cat calls were in abundance. Jerks.
Arriving back at the hostel we found Josh at his post. We signed up for dinner there – BBQ. It was awesome. Exhaustion was starting to settle in and I retired somewhat early. Our time in Cusco was coming to an end. Tomorrow we would head to Lima.
The next morning we said goodbye to Cusco. We caught an early flight to Lima. Going from 11,000 feet to sea level during the summer in South America became quite apparent as we got off our plane. Lima was balmy.
Once again, we paid too much for a taxi. But we were in the big city now and so I expected to pay more.
Lima is a big city much like others I had been to. It lacked the soul Cusco possessed. It reminded me a lot of the non-descript outskirts of a large Italian city. Wasn’t as poor as Cusco – although we didn’t visit the slums. Our hostel was in a main tourist district - surrounded by shops and fast food restaurants.
My main mission after getting settled in was to find a place to get a shave. I hadn’t shaved in over a week and I was itching and dreading my disposable razor at home. I was in a country that still used straight razors so I thought I’d give it a try. After wandering for a half hour looking for a barber, we finally settled at a salon. There was one girl who knew how to do it and one razor. Wasn’t quite what I was expecting but it got the job done. All of us boys took our turn.
The hostel had a fourth-story roof on it. Wasn’t a spectacular view but a nice place to sit around in the sun and drink, which we did. We met a girl from New Zealand and spent the next few hours getting burned and burned. Hunger lingered and I had one more Peruvian dish I wanted to try. She was one of those travelers - somehow able to live for months at a time without working in cheap South American countries. She knew Lima pretty well and suggested we all go to a new neighborhood for dinner. We piled into a cab and went to an area near the beach. We stopped at a few places – one a cevicheria. The last of my must tries in Peru. Ceviche is raw fish that is drowned in lime juice. The acidic juice actually cooks the fish a bit. We found a little restaurant that served nothing but the stuff. It was interesting. Good but strong. They serve it with mashed sweet potatoes and corn to help mellow your pallet out between bites.
Satisfied with our appetizer we longed from something more. An afternoon of drinking in the sun left us drunk and hungry. Our new guide suggested chifa – Peruvian Chinese food. I’ve eaten Chinese food around the world. Everywhere has its own character; I can only imagine what China’s is like. We found a restaurant. It was complete with tables tucked behind curtains. Like mobsters in a private social club, we gobbled down lomein and other random Asian dishes.
The rest of the night was rock and roll. I was exhausted, not just from the day but from the trip but we trucked on through the night meeting new people and ending up in a dance club. I’m not much of a club guy – I like pubs. The thumping reggaeton and salsa started to annoy the shit out of me. Finding refuge from the dance floor and smoke on the ground floor we climbed up to a second floor balcony. Overlooking the dance floor I saw a redheaded, pale-skinned figure among a sea of black hair and brown skin. Josh was getting down. And he was a hit. At least five Peruvian girls surrounded him. The party continued late into the night.
The hostel was nice, but a bitch to sleep in. No AC meant keeping the windows open all night. The air sat still in our room, but the city didn’t. Traffic outside the window was loud and constant. I gave up on sleep early.
Our last day in Peru was spent killing time. We were catching a redeye out that night. We wandered. I was fascinated by the bus system in Lima. The buses were not uniform. They had random locations painted on the side – ranging from cities and neighborhoods nearby to Cuba. A bus would pull up, a guy would yell and would seemingly pull random people on. I don’t want to know specifically how it worked. My imagination was more fun.
We did go to a casino. There were a couple of them near our hotel. There were no tables; only slots and they used American currency. I bought $20 worth of nickels and settled in. Sean and Josh soon gave up and headed back to the hostel. Sarah and I trucked on. I turned out to be the big winner. The most I have ever won gambling was in Atlantic City last year. I had sat down at a slot just to justify a free beer. While I waited for my Heineken I played some random line. The machine went crazy. I looked over to my friends perplexed and printed out my ticket. I had won like $250. Then later that night on the craps table I won another $500. I paraded my single $500 chip around proudly and moved on. The casino barely took notice. In Peru I sat down at a new machine and played 15 cents. All of a sudden lights were going off and my siren was wailing. I looked over to a security guy and shrugged. He gave me a stern nod and thumbs up and talked into his walkie talkie. Several Peruvian women came over to my machine excitedly congratulating me. Soon an official looking woman came over with paperwork and a camera. She took a shot of the slot frame and had me sign several papers. She offered me some complimentary gift certificates. And then whipped out the cash. $60. Ballin.
We went to dinner and said goodbye to our new friends. Loaded our gear up and went outside to hail a cab. The one we picked was dilapidated, but cheap. Our back seat was broken, there were no seat belts and the car seemed as it might die soon. Our driver gave it his best, though, as he barreled through the Lima traffic while I searched for the imaginary brake at my feet. As we sped past the nightlife of Lima, salsa music played on the radio. The theme song from Indiana Jones, though, was playing in my head.
Choquiquerao Day 3 & 4
Day 3
Screw you Andean rooster. It’s 4 o’clock bud. I hate you so hard. Have a heart huh? No? Fine. I’m a soldier. What’s a little sleep depravation followed by some intense physical activity?
Herbert had hot water waiting for tea. This tea stuff has to go. I’m a yank. I longed for a proper jolt to my system in the form of a strong cup of coffee. But the food was delicious. Go figure. Herbert’s smiling face was firmly planted in my heart.
We would leave the majority of our stuff at the campsite - just the bare essentials for the morning hike, a camera, some water and rain gear. After visiting the ruins, we would come back for lunch before heading back down the mountain. We were on the trail at about 6 a.m. – had about an hour and a half of hiking ahead of us. The trail had taken its toll on Sean and Josh. They were hurting but their only testament to it was a slightly slower pace.
There were clouds sitting on the mountain we were hiking on. The view Sarah and I enjoyed yesterday wouldn’t be waiting there for the boys. Sounds act funny in the mountains. As we rounded a corner, a waterfall roared in the distance. We all paused to take pictures of it as we walked by. Felix commuted past it indifferently the same way in which we commute pass the Washington monument.
Another steep, muddy hill through the jungle and 32 kilometers from where we started in Cachora we reached a sign indicating we were at Choquiquerao.
This was the last bastion of the Incans. Built shortly after Machu Picchu it had the same level of importance. Though, whereas Machu Picchu was reserved for the royal class, Choquiquerao was a full functioning city keeping an army and all classes of people. It’s more spread out than Machu Picchu, much of it still uncovered. The first western explorer to stumble upon it did so in 1710, but it remained relatively untouched until the late 90’s when formal excavations began. It receives a little more than 1 percent of the visitors that Machu Picchu does. And that number is a sharp rise from just a few years ago. The main reason is that there are no roads here. The Peruvian government wants to build tourism here. There are two different schools of thought by the people who live in the area. Hikers bring revenue to the small towns dotting the trail. At Machu Picchu, the poor that surround the area are passed by camera toting tour groups aboard busses. They don’t enjoy any of the revenue from the tourism industry. While a road may not be feasible to these ruins, they are talking of building a train. As well, these sites are sacred for the indigenous people around them. The Catholic Spaniards conquered this land, but for many of these people, the large mountains, or Apus, are still their gods. In the 16th century, the city was abandoned for reasons unknown. There was a civil war among the Incans going on when the Spanish and their allies arrived allowing the civilization to be conquered. This city was unknown to the conquerors and it became the most important political and religious center during the Incans’ last days. And then they vanished.
One last trudge up the mucky trail we reached a clearing. Through the mist, a long, 8-foot tall wall stretched ahead of us. We were there and standing on one of the three main terraces connected to the city itself. They were used for agriculture but were ceremonial as well representing the three worlds – heaven, earth, and the underworld. The moment of triumph was a quiet one. We were alone. Not a tourist to be seen. We would have the entire ruins to ourselves for the rest of the morning.
After clambering around the terraces for a few minutes, Felix led us up one of the staircases. At the top a courtyard opened up. To our left, a temple stood where the priests kept mummies in alcoves to keep watch over the town. The rest of the mountain was still shrouded in clouds beckoning us to get closer if we wanted a see.
We dropped our packs. Felix said nothing, our amazement was apparent – we didn’t need a guide right now. Like little kids on the ruins of an old fort, we immediately darted away from our guide to explore on our own. A path passed the little temple. I took it thinking my friends were right behind me. A couple of minutes later I noticed they weren’t. Turning around I could see them below me. Sitting and watching them, they all lost 15 years of age as they bounced around some old walls taking and posing for photos. After catching up, we walking a bit more up the trail until we came upon a clearing – a peak above the ruins that was lopped off and cleared of brush so the Incan priests could perform their rituals. It had a 360-degree view of the entire range around the ruins and us. It was early still, though, and we were among or above the clouds. The mountains and ruins peaked through the clouds from time to time. We scrambled for our cameras to try and catch a glimpse.
Pretty, but there is much more to see. We headed back down to the courtyard, past a relaxing Felix, over to some old houses, the most picturesque of the ruins with their vaulted walls waiting for a thatch roof to be replaced. Beyond those, a maze of other smaller dwellings spread before us. We broke the rules. Paths were a nuisance.
At one point Sarah and I turned around. The mountain was still shrouded in mist. All of a sudden, the baby Jesus or the Apus smiled on us and swept away the clouds for a few minutes leaving us a clear panorama of all the ruins. Goose bumps peaked their way on my arm as I tried to snap pictures of the scene. Like much of the trip, the grandeur can’t be caught on camera, even wit h the widest angle lens.
Climbing up and along walls, we worked our way deeper and deeper into the ruins. Some say the site is only 30% uncovered. We reached that point quickly. Sarah and I kept on passed the cleared buildings. We followed a dark, steep path into the jungle again. Alone, we could see walls of structures still waiting for an archeologist. Around us the bushes rustled. My heart was racing when a blow dart brushed my cheek sticking in to a tree to my right. Okay that part is bullshit. But there was rustling and the path only got more narrow, steep and dark. These gringos reached their turning point.
Finding our way back to the main courtyard we decided to take the llama trail to our right taking us farther up the mountain. I was in search of the Llama del Sol – an inlaid representation of a llama in a wall. I would never find it as Felix told me later that it was a 30-minute hike down the other side of the hill. No biggie. The llama was a staple beast of burden for the Incas, but this was too high for them. Felix said the Llama del Sol was a fond reminder of their favorite animal.
The path narrowed as we walked up it. There were no big trees around, only small brush. And while the clouds still shrouded most of the vistas around us, it hit me that we were walking along a very sheer mountain. It was the first time the heights got to me a little bit as I leaned to the side of the mountain. On top, sat more ruins. We ran into Sean and climbed around a bit more passing more dwellings and areas for storage.
A couple hours had passed and we were content so we made our way back down towards Felix. At the bottom, he sat us down and gave us a history lesson through his broken English. Felix is extremely smart on Peru, it’s history and current events. I was extremely grateful to have him along. Choquiquerao isn’t the latest Incan city to be uncovered. A few weeks ago, archeologists stumbled upon another in the jungle. There will be more to come.
After our lesson and after our juice boxes and snack Herbert packed for us, Felix led us back up to the scalped mountain top where we could see the ruins and terraces better now that the clouds were subsiding. Then down through some brush to the priests’ dwellings – two symmetrical temples on the end of the ruins which provided them a view to the two sides of the mountains. Two priests, two dwellings. Duality in all things, Felix said.
Our path kept on down. A machete would have been handy as we pushed branches past. Fauna embraced old walls as their own. Broken Incan tools and clay pots littered the path. Their intact brothers surely rested below waiting to be discovered. A stop at the administrative center for Choquiquerao would be our last for the cleared ruins. There, archeologists numbered the rocks making the walls. In case they fall in the future, they can now be restored. This area didn’t provide the granite stone used in the famed Incan walls of Machu Picchu and Cusco. Intricate cutting and placement didn’t keep these wall together – they relied on good ol’ mortar and stacking.
We said goodbye to the ruins and bushwhacked our way back to the main trail. As we walked back to the campsite, the clouds had cleared enough to afford Sean and Josh the view of the lower terraces Sarah and I enjoyed the day before.
Arriving back to the campsite we met an Argentinean couple, the first other tourists we’d seen on the trip and one of only 3 other groups we would see in the coming couple days. We’d see this couple again at the airport in Cusco, on the roads of Lima and again at the airport in Lima as we flew out. The path of the tourist in Peru is fairly narrow I suppose.
Herbert cooked. It was delicious. Again. We started to feel bad. We were almost too well fed. We didn’t want to be rude as we stuffed ourselves with his latest culinary awesomeness.
After lunch we hiked back down the mountain we scaled the day before. We knew where we were going so didn’t need Felix to lead the way. We all found our own pace. A thought that remained with me most of the way as we went down, down, down was that yesterday our punk asses went up, up, up. Good job. The sun came out with a force. I can’t say enough how lucky we were with the weather, misty, drizzly mornings made way for temperate weather in the afternoon. This isn’t tourist season down here and it could have been a lot wetter. Sarah and I passed a couple of young tourists on horseback going up the mountain. Their burro driver and supplies followed on foot. Silent nods were passed. We were looking pretty rough at this point. They looked fresh. Sissies.
Back down at the river we paused awhile to watch. A six-foot raging brown wave would explode before us every few seconds. Amazing. We relaxed at the checkpoint. The burros, Felix, Herbert and Santiago went past. Then another hour or so up the other side of the mountain. I could count the switchbacks we were going up from the other side of the mountain. I lost track as we were climbing them. We pulled into the same campsite we stayed in the first night. Another group was there – young Latin men on their first day of the trek. They were kind of assholes. I laughed at their future anguish and drank beer.
Herbert put Rachel Ray to shame.
Sean’s knees were done and he still had another hard day ahead of him. He looked like Fred Sanford wobbling down the mountain with his walking stick. With the guides surrounding, Felix pulled some Shaman shit and put some sort of hot boiling hot leaves on his knees. I chanted in the corner for full effect.
Day 4
Herbert baked a cake for breakfast. No shit, swear to god. A damned cake by on a one-unit burner using candlelight. I offered our futon in DC to him.
The website described the second day of this trip as the hardest. Horse shit. That day we climbed 1,500 meters. But that was on semi-fresh legs. Today was ONLY 1,300 meters, but we were tired. Sean and Josh were hurting pretty bad. They found their own pace and set off – slow and steady up the mountain. Our recollections let us down time and time again as we claimed to be past the worst of it.
At one point we came to a part of the trail that had been washed out. 2 days earlier we could hear rockslides echo through the valley. They are common occurrences during the rainy season. As we waited for Felix to catch up we could hear more rockslides, only these ones sounded like they were only a few hundred yards up the trail. A sense of uneasiness fell upon me as we climbed over the newly located earth.
Josh didn’t want to hold up the group so he got a head start. When he found a flat or somewhat downhill part, he was gone as he found his stride. As we walked along, after the hills and after rockslides, Herbert, Santiago and the burros galloped by. They ran up the mountain we huffed up. For the next 5 minutes I tried to explain to Felix what a ‘stud’ was. We even pulled out the English to Spanish dictionary. It doesn’t really translate that well.
The trail was wide and flat about 7 kilometers outside of Cachora. Sean, Sarah and I trucked along. Josh was way ahead. Felix was a hundred yards back. We noticed a little trail leading to our left. We stopped quizzically for a moment and looked back. A whistle from Felix let us know to take the smaller trail. I sure hope Josh went this way.
The trail was muddy and my non-native American and Sherlock ways kicked in as I started looking for Josh’s boot print. He was wearing old Army boots so I knew what the tread looked like. I saw the feet of burros, cows, Herberts and Santiagos, but no Joshes. It was about to be a bad day for everyone. Josh doesn’t speak Spanish and we are in the middle of nowhere. I was having visions of me hopping on horseback to gallantly go save him. Josh is a good Christian though. He went to a Christian college, has a minor in bible and is just an all around good person. I’d like to think that had something to do with him not being a lonely gringo forever implanted in the Peruvian countryside. As we came to another fork in the road we looked to our right and saw Josh in the distance trucking along. Our yells for him were drowned out by a river in between us. Felix showed up and wondered what Josh was doing. Our collective yell caught his attention and he headed back to us. The Apus like Josh.
As we walked triumphantly through the same fields we started in, the same group of men was working. Felix hollered out to them. They asked if he wanted chicha. Naturally. We plodded through the corn field and one of them met us with a gas can and tin cup. Whereas before we gingerly sipped on it, this time I eagerly took some down. If something happened, I was near a toilet and bed.
I asked Felix if we could have some cuy sometime along the trip. Sarah had a bit the first time she was there. It came to her fully intact, head, paws and all. She was fine until she started playing with it, then it made her queasy. I asked Felix if we did have it, to cut it up.
When we arrived back to the house we started in, I walked to the courtyard to wash my boots off with a hose. In the basin there was a couple puddles of blood. I grabbed my camera and went into the kitchen area were, in the pan, 2 little Guinea pigs sat frying. I let out a gasp a 7-year-old girl would have been proud of to the locals’ amusement. Obviously my request was lost in translation, because when Herbert brought out the main victory course, the cuy sat full intact surrounded by roasted potatoes. My stomach sank are the cuy smiled up at me, but Herbert beamed proudly so I showed little reaction. My friends sat around staring at me – you requested it homeboy, dig in. Luckily Felix quartered it. On my plate it looked less like a rodent and more like a leg and thigh of chicken, if chickens had little paws. The skin was tough so I didn’t eat it, but the meat wasn’t bad. It didn’t taste like chicken. It tasted like Guinea pig. I had my share. My Peruvian brethren dug in with a fury. Felix took the best part. The bit into the skull with a crush and ate the brains.
Mario was there waiting to take us back. After a detour to give a family in need a ride, we hit the road back to Cusco. Once again, we were white knuckled. I managed a nap and Mario managed to make me briefly hate Bob Marley. He had a tape player and played the same album probably 6 times at least. And I love Bob. Before arriving in Cusco, we made a deviation in a small town in the valley. Down a non-descript dirt road past some dilapidated homes was a pool built for the people of this area. The others were in pain or weren’t in the mood for a swim, but I joined Felix and Mario for a dip. The little girl came out again when I jumped in. Apparently Peruvians don’t believe in heating their pools. It was a welcome jolt to my system and managed to get a layer of grime and exhaustion off of me. Best $300 I’ve spent.
NEXT TIME – From the heights and grandeur of Machu Picchu to the urban sprawl of Lima, our adventurers manage to drink a lot of beer.
Screw you Andean rooster. It’s 4 o’clock bud. I hate you so hard. Have a heart huh? No? Fine. I’m a soldier. What’s a little sleep depravation followed by some intense physical activity?
Herbert had hot water waiting for tea. This tea stuff has to go. I’m a yank. I longed for a proper jolt to my system in the form of a strong cup of coffee. But the food was delicious. Go figure. Herbert’s smiling face was firmly planted in my heart.
We would leave the majority of our stuff at the campsite - just the bare essentials for the morning hike, a camera, some water and rain gear. After visiting the ruins, we would come back for lunch before heading back down the mountain. We were on the trail at about 6 a.m. – had about an hour and a half of hiking ahead of us. The trail had taken its toll on Sean and Josh. They were hurting but their only testament to it was a slightly slower pace.
There were clouds sitting on the mountain we were hiking on. The view Sarah and I enjoyed yesterday wouldn’t be waiting there for the boys. Sounds act funny in the mountains. As we rounded a corner, a waterfall roared in the distance. We all paused to take pictures of it as we walked by. Felix commuted past it indifferently the same way in which we commute pass the Washington monument.
Another steep, muddy hill through the jungle and 32 kilometers from where we started in Cachora we reached a sign indicating we were at Choquiquerao.
This was the last bastion of the Incans. Built shortly after Machu Picchu it had the same level of importance. Though, whereas Machu Picchu was reserved for the royal class, Choquiquerao was a full functioning city keeping an army and all classes of people. It’s more spread out than Machu Picchu, much of it still uncovered. The first western explorer to stumble upon it did so in 1710, but it remained relatively untouched until the late 90’s when formal excavations began. It receives a little more than 1 percent of the visitors that Machu Picchu does. And that number is a sharp rise from just a few years ago. The main reason is that there are no roads here. The Peruvian government wants to build tourism here. There are two different schools of thought by the people who live in the area. Hikers bring revenue to the small towns dotting the trail. At Machu Picchu, the poor that surround the area are passed by camera toting tour groups aboard busses. They don’t enjoy any of the revenue from the tourism industry. While a road may not be feasible to these ruins, they are talking of building a train. As well, these sites are sacred for the indigenous people around them. The Catholic Spaniards conquered this land, but for many of these people, the large mountains, or Apus, are still their gods. In the 16th century, the city was abandoned for reasons unknown. There was a civil war among the Incans going on when the Spanish and their allies arrived allowing the civilization to be conquered. This city was unknown to the conquerors and it became the most important political and religious center during the Incans’ last days. And then they vanished.
One last trudge up the mucky trail we reached a clearing. Through the mist, a long, 8-foot tall wall stretched ahead of us. We were there and standing on one of the three main terraces connected to the city itself. They were used for agriculture but were ceremonial as well representing the three worlds – heaven, earth, and the underworld. The moment of triumph was a quiet one. We were alone. Not a tourist to be seen. We would have the entire ruins to ourselves for the rest of the morning.
After clambering around the terraces for a few minutes, Felix led us up one of the staircases. At the top a courtyard opened up. To our left, a temple stood where the priests kept mummies in alcoves to keep watch over the town. The rest of the mountain was still shrouded in clouds beckoning us to get closer if we wanted a see.
We dropped our packs. Felix said nothing, our amazement was apparent – we didn’t need a guide right now. Like little kids on the ruins of an old fort, we immediately darted away from our guide to explore on our own. A path passed the little temple. I took it thinking my friends were right behind me. A couple of minutes later I noticed they weren’t. Turning around I could see them below me. Sitting and watching them, they all lost 15 years of age as they bounced around some old walls taking and posing for photos. After catching up, we walking a bit more up the trail until we came upon a clearing – a peak above the ruins that was lopped off and cleared of brush so the Incan priests could perform their rituals. It had a 360-degree view of the entire range around the ruins and us. It was early still, though, and we were among or above the clouds. The mountains and ruins peaked through the clouds from time to time. We scrambled for our cameras to try and catch a glimpse.
Pretty, but there is much more to see. We headed back down to the courtyard, past a relaxing Felix, over to some old houses, the most picturesque of the ruins with their vaulted walls waiting for a thatch roof to be replaced. Beyond those, a maze of other smaller dwellings spread before us. We broke the rules. Paths were a nuisance.
At one point Sarah and I turned around. The mountain was still shrouded in mist. All of a sudden, the baby Jesus or the Apus smiled on us and swept away the clouds for a few minutes leaving us a clear panorama of all the ruins. Goose bumps peaked their way on my arm as I tried to snap pictures of the scene. Like much of the trip, the grandeur can’t be caught on camera, even wit h the widest angle lens.
Climbing up and along walls, we worked our way deeper and deeper into the ruins. Some say the site is only 30% uncovered. We reached that point quickly. Sarah and I kept on passed the cleared buildings. We followed a dark, steep path into the jungle again. Alone, we could see walls of structures still waiting for an archeologist. Around us the bushes rustled. My heart was racing when a blow dart brushed my cheek sticking in to a tree to my right. Okay that part is bullshit. But there was rustling and the path only got more narrow, steep and dark. These gringos reached their turning point.
Finding our way back to the main courtyard we decided to take the llama trail to our right taking us farther up the mountain. I was in search of the Llama del Sol – an inlaid representation of a llama in a wall. I would never find it as Felix told me later that it was a 30-minute hike down the other side of the hill. No biggie. The llama was a staple beast of burden for the Incas, but this was too high for them. Felix said the Llama del Sol was a fond reminder of their favorite animal.
The path narrowed as we walked up it. There were no big trees around, only small brush. And while the clouds still shrouded most of the vistas around us, it hit me that we were walking along a very sheer mountain. It was the first time the heights got to me a little bit as I leaned to the side of the mountain. On top, sat more ruins. We ran into Sean and climbed around a bit more passing more dwellings and areas for storage.
A couple hours had passed and we were content so we made our way back down towards Felix. At the bottom, he sat us down and gave us a history lesson through his broken English. Felix is extremely smart on Peru, it’s history and current events. I was extremely grateful to have him along. Choquiquerao isn’t the latest Incan city to be uncovered. A few weeks ago, archeologists stumbled upon another in the jungle. There will be more to come.
After our lesson and after our juice boxes and snack Herbert packed for us, Felix led us back up to the scalped mountain top where we could see the ruins and terraces better now that the clouds were subsiding. Then down through some brush to the priests’ dwellings – two symmetrical temples on the end of the ruins which provided them a view to the two sides of the mountains. Two priests, two dwellings. Duality in all things, Felix said.
Our path kept on down. A machete would have been handy as we pushed branches past. Fauna embraced old walls as their own. Broken Incan tools and clay pots littered the path. Their intact brothers surely rested below waiting to be discovered. A stop at the administrative center for Choquiquerao would be our last for the cleared ruins. There, archeologists numbered the rocks making the walls. In case they fall in the future, they can now be restored. This area didn’t provide the granite stone used in the famed Incan walls of Machu Picchu and Cusco. Intricate cutting and placement didn’t keep these wall together – they relied on good ol’ mortar and stacking.
We said goodbye to the ruins and bushwhacked our way back to the main trail. As we walked back to the campsite, the clouds had cleared enough to afford Sean and Josh the view of the lower terraces Sarah and I enjoyed the day before.
Arriving back to the campsite we met an Argentinean couple, the first other tourists we’d seen on the trip and one of only 3 other groups we would see in the coming couple days. We’d see this couple again at the airport in Cusco, on the roads of Lima and again at the airport in Lima as we flew out. The path of the tourist in Peru is fairly narrow I suppose.
Herbert cooked. It was delicious. Again. We started to feel bad. We were almost too well fed. We didn’t want to be rude as we stuffed ourselves with his latest culinary awesomeness.
After lunch we hiked back down the mountain we scaled the day before. We knew where we were going so didn’t need Felix to lead the way. We all found our own pace. A thought that remained with me most of the way as we went down, down, down was that yesterday our punk asses went up, up, up. Good job. The sun came out with a force. I can’t say enough how lucky we were with the weather, misty, drizzly mornings made way for temperate weather in the afternoon. This isn’t tourist season down here and it could have been a lot wetter. Sarah and I passed a couple of young tourists on horseback going up the mountain. Their burro driver and supplies followed on foot. Silent nods were passed. We were looking pretty rough at this point. They looked fresh. Sissies.
Back down at the river we paused awhile to watch. A six-foot raging brown wave would explode before us every few seconds. Amazing. We relaxed at the checkpoint. The burros, Felix, Herbert and Santiago went past. Then another hour or so up the other side of the mountain. I could count the switchbacks we were going up from the other side of the mountain. I lost track as we were climbing them. We pulled into the same campsite we stayed in the first night. Another group was there – young Latin men on their first day of the trek. They were kind of assholes. I laughed at their future anguish and drank beer.
Herbert put Rachel Ray to shame.
Sean’s knees were done and he still had another hard day ahead of him. He looked like Fred Sanford wobbling down the mountain with his walking stick. With the guides surrounding, Felix pulled some Shaman shit and put some sort of hot boiling hot leaves on his knees. I chanted in the corner for full effect.
Day 4
Herbert baked a cake for breakfast. No shit, swear to god. A damned cake by on a one-unit burner using candlelight. I offered our futon in DC to him.
The website described the second day of this trip as the hardest. Horse shit. That day we climbed 1,500 meters. But that was on semi-fresh legs. Today was ONLY 1,300 meters, but we were tired. Sean and Josh were hurting pretty bad. They found their own pace and set off – slow and steady up the mountain. Our recollections let us down time and time again as we claimed to be past the worst of it.
At one point we came to a part of the trail that had been washed out. 2 days earlier we could hear rockslides echo through the valley. They are common occurrences during the rainy season. As we waited for Felix to catch up we could hear more rockslides, only these ones sounded like they were only a few hundred yards up the trail. A sense of uneasiness fell upon me as we climbed over the newly located earth.
Josh didn’t want to hold up the group so he got a head start. When he found a flat or somewhat downhill part, he was gone as he found his stride. As we walked along, after the hills and after rockslides, Herbert, Santiago and the burros galloped by. They ran up the mountain we huffed up. For the next 5 minutes I tried to explain to Felix what a ‘stud’ was. We even pulled out the English to Spanish dictionary. It doesn’t really translate that well.
The trail was wide and flat about 7 kilometers outside of Cachora. Sean, Sarah and I trucked along. Josh was way ahead. Felix was a hundred yards back. We noticed a little trail leading to our left. We stopped quizzically for a moment and looked back. A whistle from Felix let us know to take the smaller trail. I sure hope Josh went this way.
The trail was muddy and my non-native American and Sherlock ways kicked in as I started looking for Josh’s boot print. He was wearing old Army boots so I knew what the tread looked like. I saw the feet of burros, cows, Herberts and Santiagos, but no Joshes. It was about to be a bad day for everyone. Josh doesn’t speak Spanish and we are in the middle of nowhere. I was having visions of me hopping on horseback to gallantly go save him. Josh is a good Christian though. He went to a Christian college, has a minor in bible and is just an all around good person. I’d like to think that had something to do with him not being a lonely gringo forever implanted in the Peruvian countryside. As we came to another fork in the road we looked to our right and saw Josh in the distance trucking along. Our yells for him were drowned out by a river in between us. Felix showed up and wondered what Josh was doing. Our collective yell caught his attention and he headed back to us. The Apus like Josh.
As we walked triumphantly through the same fields we started in, the same group of men was working. Felix hollered out to them. They asked if he wanted chicha. Naturally. We plodded through the corn field and one of them met us with a gas can and tin cup. Whereas before we gingerly sipped on it, this time I eagerly took some down. If something happened, I was near a toilet and bed.
I asked Felix if we could have some cuy sometime along the trip. Sarah had a bit the first time she was there. It came to her fully intact, head, paws and all. She was fine until she started playing with it, then it made her queasy. I asked Felix if we did have it, to cut it up.
When we arrived back to the house we started in, I walked to the courtyard to wash my boots off with a hose. In the basin there was a couple puddles of blood. I grabbed my camera and went into the kitchen area were, in the pan, 2 little Guinea pigs sat frying. I let out a gasp a 7-year-old girl would have been proud of to the locals’ amusement. Obviously my request was lost in translation, because when Herbert brought out the main victory course, the cuy sat full intact surrounded by roasted potatoes. My stomach sank are the cuy smiled up at me, but Herbert beamed proudly so I showed little reaction. My friends sat around staring at me – you requested it homeboy, dig in. Luckily Felix quartered it. On my plate it looked less like a rodent and more like a leg and thigh of chicken, if chickens had little paws. The skin was tough so I didn’t eat it, but the meat wasn’t bad. It didn’t taste like chicken. It tasted like Guinea pig. I had my share. My Peruvian brethren dug in with a fury. Felix took the best part. The bit into the skull with a crush and ate the brains.
Mario was there waiting to take us back. After a detour to give a family in need a ride, we hit the road back to Cusco. Once again, we were white knuckled. I managed a nap and Mario managed to make me briefly hate Bob Marley. He had a tape player and played the same album probably 6 times at least. And I love Bob. Before arriving in Cusco, we made a deviation in a small town in the valley. Down a non-descript dirt road past some dilapidated homes was a pool built for the people of this area. The others were in pain or weren’t in the mood for a swim, but I joined Felix and Mario for a dip. The little girl came out again when I jumped in. Apparently Peruvians don’t believe in heating their pools. It was a welcome jolt to my system and managed to get a layer of grime and exhaustion off of me. Best $300 I’ve spent.
NEXT TIME – From the heights and grandeur of Machu Picchu to the urban sprawl of Lima, our adventurers manage to drink a lot of beer.
Choquiquerao Day 1 & 2
Day 1
Even parties in the 80’s apparently die down. I think I managed to get an hour or two of sleep. I think I was one of the lucky ones in my room. We grudgingly got up slowly. The thought of climbing a mountain sat on our tired consciousnesses like an unwelcome possum on a porch.
5 a.m. and Cusco is quite awake. We waited outside our hostel for our chariot. Our guide showed up on foot. We had to walk up the hill to our ride. Above a smiling man stood proudly next to his Hyundai mini van. Mario was his name. And it wasn’t just a clever one. He drove like a Mario. We piled into the van with our guide Felix and our cook Herbert and Mario roared off through Cusco.
We hit the countryside at full speed. I couldn’t sleep even though I was exhausted. One, the roads were winding their ways around the mountain. Two, Mario was putting that Korean engine to full use. And three, it was too beautiful to take you eyes off of it. My mind was sleepy but my senses were wide awake. I’ve been to many mountain ranges around the world. They all seem to have their own character. The Andes were no different - sheer and dramatic yet emerald green. We were there during the rainy season, which helped, but I imagine they are just as impressive in the winter.
The Incans took full advantage of terracing for agriculture. The arable land in Peru stands at 2.88%. So the present farmers have not given up on clinging their crops to the side of mountains. Quite a sight to see.
Four hours of white knuckle turns in and out of valleys and a few stops for fuel and herds of sheep and we arrived at our destination, Cachora. This was the closest town to our destination of Choquiquerao. No roads full of buses carrying Japanese tourists here. Cachora hasn’t lost its soul yet. This is where the road ends and adventure begins… at least for a few gringos.
Before heading out, our cook Herbert proved his initial culinary skill by whipping up some trout. Herbert would eventually hold a special place in my heart. Full on fish and rice and high on altitude and excitement we set out. We would leave without Herbert and his 15-year-old helper kid, Santiago. They would catch up.
50 yards into the trek my bag zipper came undone and the contents spilled out. Children giggled uncontrollably. The crowd went wild.
Heading out of town we filed through farm fields filled with corn and agave plants past a group of men who were getting ready to attack the field with their shovel-like hoes to till the earth. Our guide, Felix, knew a couple of them. While exchanging greetings and chatting a man carrying a gas can and a tin coffee cup offered something in Spanish. I thought he was offering water to us. I passed. Felix didn’t. A milky brown substance poured from the gas can. Felix eagerly took it down. I’m not going to let Felix show me up. I asked for a cup. Felix told me to drink just a little out of concern for my stomach. The drink was Chicha, the local moonshine made from fermented corn. It tasted like neither whiskey nor corn. Bitter, but not terrible. Wouldn’t want it at ever Sunday dinner table but it wasn’t bad. We passed the cup around sampling the drink. Heading Felix’s advice we didn’t drink too much.
Some folks bungee jump. I drink Chicha out of an old tin cup.
Our walk quickly took us passed some amazing vistas. It wasn’t a hard hike. We passed several locals walking along with or riding their burros. Once again, everyone was pleasant as we passed. I’ve traveled a lot and have never felt the overwhelming acceptance of a people. Not a cold stare to be found. Maybe they were smiling because of what laid ahead of these silly white people amused them.
We walked passed cows lying in the path and could hear a Peruvian flute playing in the distance. Gnarley. Felix says they play music while working the fields. These kids know how to party.
Cachora and the surrounding area sits at about 2,800 meters. For every city on top of the world, there is a valley near by. We discovered it soon. As we ‘oohed’ and ‘aahhed’ at our surroundings, our descent into the valley began. A few hours later my senses were no less impressed but my knees were pissed. A nagging thought hung in my mind. We were going to be coming back the same way we went. Super.
My knees were rubber as we walked into our campsite a tropical looking bluff. An area run by a family with thatch roof huts and a little stand where they sold sodas and beer brought in my mule. Warm beer tastes extremely good in certain situations. Behind us, beyond the valley and river that we would cross sat the mountain we would climb tomorrow. The switchbacks smiled at us. No turning back now kids.
A couple hours into the hike, the boys and Sarah decided to strip down to shorts. A decision they would live to regret. Matas Blancas. Little white flies. With teeth. Their pasty white legs fell victim quickly. As they nursed their bites, I praised god I hadn’t packed shorts in my day pack. As well, Josh fell into a cactus during the walk. He got most of the burs out but one was deep. I used some pliers to try and dig it out but it was too deep. His love of nature left him little by little with each grunt as I dug into his shin.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We fell asleep.
Day 2
The pitter patter of rain on my tent woke me up. I had to pee. I put on my flip flops, donned my headlamp given to me by my students (which turned out to be extremely handy by the way) and stepped outside the tent. A mere drizzle. It was about 5:30 a.m. and I could see the mountain we would climb ahead of me in the mist. Went to the hole in the ground and got back inside to prep for the day. I have an iPod nano and a small set of travel speakers. I made it a point to download the Indiana Jones theme song before I left. It’s never too early to be a smart ass. I stepped out of my tent, rested the speakers against Josh and Sean’s tent and hit play. Sufficiently amused with myself I stepped back into my tent. The rain began to pick up while we were getting ready. I still had music on when someone rustled the tent. I figured it was Felix letting us know to get up and paid it no mind. The rain picked up and the tent rustled again a couple minutes later. I poked my head out to see. Santigo sat out in the rain holding cups, a plate full of tea bags and coca leave and a pot of boiling water. Poor little fella. My heart sank as I took a cup of tea. Speak up dude!
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We left.
The rain cooled us as we descended the rest of the way down the valley. Much of the trail turned into an impromptu waterfall. We could hear the river roar below. The bottom came soon enough where we passed a checkpoint and site built by the government in the hopes of attracting more tourists. The highlight of the checkpoint, toilets! A couple on the team took advantage. We wandered down to the suspension bridge. Solid enough, but wobbly. The river roared brown below us. It was the rainy season and was alive in a way I have never seen a river.
The river was pretty, but 1,500 meters of mountain taunted us. Not much can be said about walking up hill for about 4 hours. We passed a couple of one-family towns. Some selling sodas. Took plenty of breaks. The misty morning was a sweet reprieve from the sun which would have surely tormented us had it the chance. Panting a few hours later, Sarah, Felix and I reached a summit. Felix’s high five signaled to me that it was the end. We rounded a rocky corner and a farmland of sorts stretched before us. We walked for 5 minutes to our next site – similar to the last but on top of the world. Chickens of all sorts greeted us. Soul chickens with their afros. Super chickens with capes sewn into their backs. (They were to keep eagles from swooping up the smaller ones) After dropping our bags, Sarah and I walked back to the pinnacle to greet Sean and Josh as they got to the top. I don’t think they were quite expecting the intense climb and their legs started bugging them. Sean with a bum knee which would quickly turn into two bum knees and Josh started developing an aching foot. We soaked in the view and the vistas peaked through the clouds. I yelled for Josh letting him know he was almost to the top. A common theme song of the trip was Europe’s final countdown. Peruvians for acres around wondered what the noise was emitting from the top of the mountain as a yelled out the signature cut.
Josh would tell me later that he thought a puma was stalking him. His pocketknife in one hand and his walking stick in the other, he trekked through the jungle and eventually reached us at the top. To his relief it was over and it was still early in the afternoon.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We relaxed.
The boys took a nap and Sarah and I took in the view for a while. I watched the local family tend to their chores feeding the chickens. At one point the mother went into a shed and left the door open. Inside, fuzzy little creatures could be seen walking around. Guinea pigs, or cuy, are a staple in the Peruvian diet. I just thought they were cute. I explained to Felix that in the states many people keep Guinea pigs as pets. Felix responded saying he would be at the pet store every Sunday.
Not satisfied with sitting around on the top of the Andes, Sarah and I decided to go for a walk a little farther down the trail. Rounding a bend about a half hour from where we were staying, terraces in the distance hung from the side of the mountain. Climbing up and down a couple mountains makes you appreciate the destination more. It was a welcome site to see some of the ruins Choquiquerao.
The Incans likedx to build many of their cities on top of mountains for several reasons. Militarily, they were defensible. They were secluded. The Incans and many of the present day Peruvians worshipped many of the larger mountains or Apus. And it was closer to the sun. Well, when you live on top of a mountain, it’s a challenge to get food from the valley. So you build terraces.
Quite the sight for a couple weary travelers. We took in the view, snapped a few pictures and headed back. Herbert had tea waiting. As I drank my tea I watched a group of burro drivers huddle around a few beers bought in the hut. I hoped they wouldn’t drink them all.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We went to sleep.
In Cusco hostels, they have 80’s parties. In little towns on top of the Andes they have annoying little son of a bitch dogs that bark all night and roosters that crow way too early.
NEXT TIME – Will our gringo travelers make it to the ruins? Will the caped chickens arrive in time to save the day? Will Josh disappear into the jungle? Stay tuned kids!
Even parties in the 80’s apparently die down. I think I managed to get an hour or two of sleep. I think I was one of the lucky ones in my room. We grudgingly got up slowly. The thought of climbing a mountain sat on our tired consciousnesses like an unwelcome possum on a porch.
5 a.m. and Cusco is quite awake. We waited outside our hostel for our chariot. Our guide showed up on foot. We had to walk up the hill to our ride. Above a smiling man stood proudly next to his Hyundai mini van. Mario was his name. And it wasn’t just a clever one. He drove like a Mario. We piled into the van with our guide Felix and our cook Herbert and Mario roared off through Cusco.
We hit the countryside at full speed. I couldn’t sleep even though I was exhausted. One, the roads were winding their ways around the mountain. Two, Mario was putting that Korean engine to full use. And three, it was too beautiful to take you eyes off of it. My mind was sleepy but my senses were wide awake. I’ve been to many mountain ranges around the world. They all seem to have their own character. The Andes were no different - sheer and dramatic yet emerald green. We were there during the rainy season, which helped, but I imagine they are just as impressive in the winter.
The Incans took full advantage of terracing for agriculture. The arable land in Peru stands at 2.88%. So the present farmers have not given up on clinging their crops to the side of mountains. Quite a sight to see.
Four hours of white knuckle turns in and out of valleys and a few stops for fuel and herds of sheep and we arrived at our destination, Cachora. This was the closest town to our destination of Choquiquerao. No roads full of buses carrying Japanese tourists here. Cachora hasn’t lost its soul yet. This is where the road ends and adventure begins… at least for a few gringos.
Before heading out, our cook Herbert proved his initial culinary skill by whipping up some trout. Herbert would eventually hold a special place in my heart. Full on fish and rice and high on altitude and excitement we set out. We would leave without Herbert and his 15-year-old helper kid, Santiago. They would catch up.
50 yards into the trek my bag zipper came undone and the contents spilled out. Children giggled uncontrollably. The crowd went wild.
Heading out of town we filed through farm fields filled with corn and agave plants past a group of men who were getting ready to attack the field with their shovel-like hoes to till the earth. Our guide, Felix, knew a couple of them. While exchanging greetings and chatting a man carrying a gas can and a tin coffee cup offered something in Spanish. I thought he was offering water to us. I passed. Felix didn’t. A milky brown substance poured from the gas can. Felix eagerly took it down. I’m not going to let Felix show me up. I asked for a cup. Felix told me to drink just a little out of concern for my stomach. The drink was Chicha, the local moonshine made from fermented corn. It tasted like neither whiskey nor corn. Bitter, but not terrible. Wouldn’t want it at ever Sunday dinner table but it wasn’t bad. We passed the cup around sampling the drink. Heading Felix’s advice we didn’t drink too much.
Some folks bungee jump. I drink Chicha out of an old tin cup.
Our walk quickly took us passed some amazing vistas. It wasn’t a hard hike. We passed several locals walking along with or riding their burros. Once again, everyone was pleasant as we passed. I’ve traveled a lot and have never felt the overwhelming acceptance of a people. Not a cold stare to be found. Maybe they were smiling because of what laid ahead of these silly white people amused them.
We walked passed cows lying in the path and could hear a Peruvian flute playing in the distance. Gnarley. Felix says they play music while working the fields. These kids know how to party.
Cachora and the surrounding area sits at about 2,800 meters. For every city on top of the world, there is a valley near by. We discovered it soon. As we ‘oohed’ and ‘aahhed’ at our surroundings, our descent into the valley began. A few hours later my senses were no less impressed but my knees were pissed. A nagging thought hung in my mind. We were going to be coming back the same way we went. Super.
My knees were rubber as we walked into our campsite a tropical looking bluff. An area run by a family with thatch roof huts and a little stand where they sold sodas and beer brought in my mule. Warm beer tastes extremely good in certain situations. Behind us, beyond the valley and river that we would cross sat the mountain we would climb tomorrow. The switchbacks smiled at us. No turning back now kids.
A couple hours into the hike, the boys and Sarah decided to strip down to shorts. A decision they would live to regret. Matas Blancas. Little white flies. With teeth. Their pasty white legs fell victim quickly. As they nursed their bites, I praised god I hadn’t packed shorts in my day pack. As well, Josh fell into a cactus during the walk. He got most of the burs out but one was deep. I used some pliers to try and dig it out but it was too deep. His love of nature left him little by little with each grunt as I dug into his shin.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We fell asleep.
Day 2
The pitter patter of rain on my tent woke me up. I had to pee. I put on my flip flops, donned my headlamp given to me by my students (which turned out to be extremely handy by the way) and stepped outside the tent. A mere drizzle. It was about 5:30 a.m. and I could see the mountain we would climb ahead of me in the mist. Went to the hole in the ground and got back inside to prep for the day. I have an iPod nano and a small set of travel speakers. I made it a point to download the Indiana Jones theme song before I left. It’s never too early to be a smart ass. I stepped out of my tent, rested the speakers against Josh and Sean’s tent and hit play. Sufficiently amused with myself I stepped back into my tent. The rain began to pick up while we were getting ready. I still had music on when someone rustled the tent. I figured it was Felix letting us know to get up and paid it no mind. The rain picked up and the tent rustled again a couple minutes later. I poked my head out to see. Santigo sat out in the rain holding cups, a plate full of tea bags and coca leave and a pot of boiling water. Poor little fella. My heart sank as I took a cup of tea. Speak up dude!
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We left.
The rain cooled us as we descended the rest of the way down the valley. Much of the trail turned into an impromptu waterfall. We could hear the river roar below. The bottom came soon enough where we passed a checkpoint and site built by the government in the hopes of attracting more tourists. The highlight of the checkpoint, toilets! A couple on the team took advantage. We wandered down to the suspension bridge. Solid enough, but wobbly. The river roared brown below us. It was the rainy season and was alive in a way I have never seen a river.
The river was pretty, but 1,500 meters of mountain taunted us. Not much can be said about walking up hill for about 4 hours. We passed a couple of one-family towns. Some selling sodas. Took plenty of breaks. The misty morning was a sweet reprieve from the sun which would have surely tormented us had it the chance. Panting a few hours later, Sarah, Felix and I reached a summit. Felix’s high five signaled to me that it was the end. We rounded a rocky corner and a farmland of sorts stretched before us. We walked for 5 minutes to our next site – similar to the last but on top of the world. Chickens of all sorts greeted us. Soul chickens with their afros. Super chickens with capes sewn into their backs. (They were to keep eagles from swooping up the smaller ones) After dropping our bags, Sarah and I walked back to the pinnacle to greet Sean and Josh as they got to the top. I don’t think they were quite expecting the intense climb and their legs started bugging them. Sean with a bum knee which would quickly turn into two bum knees and Josh started developing an aching foot. We soaked in the view and the vistas peaked through the clouds. I yelled for Josh letting him know he was almost to the top. A common theme song of the trip was Europe’s final countdown. Peruvians for acres around wondered what the noise was emitting from the top of the mountain as a yelled out the signature cut.
Josh would tell me later that he thought a puma was stalking him. His pocketknife in one hand and his walking stick in the other, he trekked through the jungle and eventually reached us at the top. To his relief it was over and it was still early in the afternoon.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We relaxed.
The boys took a nap and Sarah and I took in the view for a while. I watched the local family tend to their chores feeding the chickens. At one point the mother went into a shed and left the door open. Inside, fuzzy little creatures could be seen walking around. Guinea pigs, or cuy, are a staple in the Peruvian diet. I just thought they were cute. I explained to Felix that in the states many people keep Guinea pigs as pets. Felix responded saying he would be at the pet store every Sunday.
Not satisfied with sitting around on the top of the Andes, Sarah and I decided to go for a walk a little farther down the trail. Rounding a bend about a half hour from where we were staying, terraces in the distance hung from the side of the mountain. Climbing up and down a couple mountains makes you appreciate the destination more. It was a welcome site to see some of the ruins Choquiquerao.
The Incans likedx to build many of their cities on top of mountains for several reasons. Militarily, they were defensible. They were secluded. The Incans and many of the present day Peruvians worshipped many of the larger mountains or Apus. And it was closer to the sun. Well, when you live on top of a mountain, it’s a challenge to get food from the valley. So you build terraces.
Quite the sight for a couple weary travelers. We took in the view, snapped a few pictures and headed back. Herbert had tea waiting. As I drank my tea I watched a group of burro drivers huddle around a few beers bought in the hut. I hoped they wouldn’t drink them all.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We went to sleep.
In Cusco hostels, they have 80’s parties. In little towns on top of the Andes they have annoying little son of a bitch dogs that bark all night and roosters that crow way too early.
NEXT TIME – Will our gringo travelers make it to the ruins? Will the caped chickens arrive in time to save the day? Will Josh disappear into the jungle? Stay tuned kids!
Peru / Cusco
If I died tomorrow, nobody can say I didn't try to live. I've been to my 5th continent. Antarctica is going to be a bitch, but I'm sure I knock out 6 in my lifetime. Just got back from Peru yesterday. I enjoy writing and I enjoy showing my family and friends what I'm up to. I'm going to write a few little 'blogs.' Read them if you want. Look at the pretty pictures or say 'who the hell is this Adrian guy?'
Last year, my girlfriend Sarah went to Peru to see a good friend of hers. When she came back, she brought back some amazing pictures. It just so happened I came across an article in the NY Times travel section about this recently found Incan city that rivaled Machu Picchu. My interest was sparked. It's been awhile since I've been somewhere 'exotic'. Long story short, got a group together, Sarah, the roommate Josh and good pal Sean, and headed off to South America.
We left on a Thursday afternoon. It was a long couple of flights to Lima. We spent a few hours over night in the Lima airport, part of which was spent sleeping on the food court floor to the amusement of the locals. We hopped a short flight to Cusco, the former Incan capital and the jump off point for most tourists traveling Peru.
Sarah had told me about the flight in to Cusco. It was pretty dramatic. Green Andean mountains and a fog nestled the city as we touched down mid morning. A band played traditional Peruvian music near the baggage claim. They were probably paid to be there and were selling CDs, but the effect was not completely lost on me.
I quickly looked through my brain for the Spanish I had left back there from my roofing days as I tried to negotiate with a taxi driver for a ride to our hostel. I, being from DC, thought we got a good deal at 3 bucks a person. I was soon to find out we grossly overpaid. And the little bastard didn't even take us to our hostel. He dropped us at the bottom of the hill near it. We loaded our backpacks and trudged up the hill. The 11,200 feet of altitude and lack of sleep quickly caught up to me as I climbed the hill. We made it panting to our hostel, a former villa turned backpackers haven.
After settling into our room, I went the bar to have some coca tea – a staple of the locals, perfectly legal and apparently a cure all for altitude. The bar area looked over the city – a million-dollar view and a price of a few cents.
We wanted to walk into town. No nap for our troopin' butts. Sleep shouldn't get in the way of l-i-v-i-n. A stroll into town quickly turned into a trudge up a couple of the hills which surround the city as Sarah showed us some of her recollections.
After being to both Afghanistan and Cusco, I've discovered that the 3rd world has a smell. A mixture of open sewers and burning embers. Not an overpowering smell, but I was brought back to Afghanistan in certain neighborhoods the way a baby food brings back childhood memories to a full-grown man.
Lots of stray dogs too. Mangy but not hungry. Not sure how the system works, but the dogs were fed if not totally washed. And while it felt 3rd world and was incredibly cheap, there were few beggars and everyone seemed happy. Genuinely happy and quick to return an 'hola' or 'buenas dias'.
Our little impromptu trek led us to the Christo Blanco – or Buddy Jesus as he became affectionately known to the group. Our trek back to town led us passed a tiny, 5-table restaurant that we dipped into. We apparently took the owners off guard. We placed our orders somewhat blindly. The grandma cooked our meals in a nearby kitchen as we sipped on semi warm bottles of Peruvian beer. We got to know 2 very well. Not much of an import beer business in Peru. The meal turned out to be delicious. I was lucky and ended up with a rack of lamb. The total for a full meal and a large beer? About 10 Soles… or 3 bucks. It was a good welcome to South America.
The next day we headed out to an Incan museum. We then wandered to a local market. Tourists were few inside where teeming stalls were filled with local goods, spices, foods and meals. We passed a vendor selling tamales. A good snack. I enjoy trying new things so after walking awhile longer I walked up to a lady at a stall, pointed to her sign and had a seat. She smiled, and went to work on her one-element stove. Turned out to be a red meat covered in a tomato-based sauce served with rice and veggies. I'm Catholic so I gave the sign of the cross to Sarah's and my stomach and dug in. It was good and a total of 4 soles. About a buck thirty. As we were eating we looked over at another vendor who was selling drinks of various sorts. We wondered what they were, some looking pretty… ripe. We would find out in a few days.
After lunch we tried to find our way through the busy streets to an artisan market. Traffic in Peru is interesting. There are few lights and even fewer signs. A simple honk and a nose in front decide the right of way. We managed to not become a traffic statistic along the way. My friend Josh, however, became a Caucasian statistic. Josh's background is of the fairest complexion. While the Scottish and Irish he is descended from did fine in their homelands with lighter skin, 2 miles up in the Andes does not a happy skinned Josh make. By the time we made it to the market, the poor fella was toast. One of the man's many run ins with nature on the trip.
The market was fun. Lots of haggling. I managed an Alpaca sweater and a couple of hats for a few bucks. My Spanish came back with a fury as I would spend 5 minutes haggling with a local over 3 soles. I would usually get my way. Though, walking away it would hit me – I just stuck to my guns over a nice hand-made sweater that cost me about $10. She wanted $10.30. Capitalist pig.
After dinner we headed back to our hostel to get some sleep for our 4-day trek the next day. When I booked the hostel, I looked online at several hostels and their reviews. This one was considered a 'party' hostel, but not the rowdiest. I wanted to have a good time. And it was indeed. However, our room just so happened to be directly under the bar… and it was Saturday… and 80's night.
Aha's 'Take on Me' thumped over my head at 2 a.m. I had to be up in a few hours to hike over a couple mountains. Shit.
NEXT TIME – hills, valleys and rocks! Oh my!
Last year, my girlfriend Sarah went to Peru to see a good friend of hers. When she came back, she brought back some amazing pictures. It just so happened I came across an article in the NY Times travel section about this recently found Incan city that rivaled Machu Picchu. My interest was sparked. It's been awhile since I've been somewhere 'exotic'. Long story short, got a group together, Sarah, the roommate Josh and good pal Sean, and headed off to South America.
We left on a Thursday afternoon. It was a long couple of flights to Lima. We spent a few hours over night in the Lima airport, part of which was spent sleeping on the food court floor to the amusement of the locals. We hopped a short flight to Cusco, the former Incan capital and the jump off point for most tourists traveling Peru.
Sarah had told me about the flight in to Cusco. It was pretty dramatic. Green Andean mountains and a fog nestled the city as we touched down mid morning. A band played traditional Peruvian music near the baggage claim. They were probably paid to be there and were selling CDs, but the effect was not completely lost on me.
I quickly looked through my brain for the Spanish I had left back there from my roofing days as I tried to negotiate with a taxi driver for a ride to our hostel. I, being from DC, thought we got a good deal at 3 bucks a person. I was soon to find out we grossly overpaid. And the little bastard didn't even take us to our hostel. He dropped us at the bottom of the hill near it. We loaded our backpacks and trudged up the hill. The 11,200 feet of altitude and lack of sleep quickly caught up to me as I climbed the hill. We made it panting to our hostel, a former villa turned backpackers haven.
After settling into our room, I went the bar to have some coca tea – a staple of the locals, perfectly legal and apparently a cure all for altitude. The bar area looked over the city – a million-dollar view and a price of a few cents.
We wanted to walk into town. No nap for our troopin' butts. Sleep shouldn't get in the way of l-i-v-i-n. A stroll into town quickly turned into a trudge up a couple of the hills which surround the city as Sarah showed us some of her recollections.
After being to both Afghanistan and Cusco, I've discovered that the 3rd world has a smell. A mixture of open sewers and burning embers. Not an overpowering smell, but I was brought back to Afghanistan in certain neighborhoods the way a baby food brings back childhood memories to a full-grown man.
Lots of stray dogs too. Mangy but not hungry. Not sure how the system works, but the dogs were fed if not totally washed. And while it felt 3rd world and was incredibly cheap, there were few beggars and everyone seemed happy. Genuinely happy and quick to return an 'hola' or 'buenas dias'.
Our little impromptu trek led us to the Christo Blanco – or Buddy Jesus as he became affectionately known to the group. Our trek back to town led us passed a tiny, 5-table restaurant that we dipped into. We apparently took the owners off guard. We placed our orders somewhat blindly. The grandma cooked our meals in a nearby kitchen as we sipped on semi warm bottles of Peruvian beer. We got to know 2 very well. Not much of an import beer business in Peru. The meal turned out to be delicious. I was lucky and ended up with a rack of lamb. The total for a full meal and a large beer? About 10 Soles… or 3 bucks. It was a good welcome to South America.
The next day we headed out to an Incan museum. We then wandered to a local market. Tourists were few inside where teeming stalls were filled with local goods, spices, foods and meals. We passed a vendor selling tamales. A good snack. I enjoy trying new things so after walking awhile longer I walked up to a lady at a stall, pointed to her sign and had a seat. She smiled, and went to work on her one-element stove. Turned out to be a red meat covered in a tomato-based sauce served with rice and veggies. I'm Catholic so I gave the sign of the cross to Sarah's and my stomach and dug in. It was good and a total of 4 soles. About a buck thirty. As we were eating we looked over at another vendor who was selling drinks of various sorts. We wondered what they were, some looking pretty… ripe. We would find out in a few days.
After lunch we tried to find our way through the busy streets to an artisan market. Traffic in Peru is interesting. There are few lights and even fewer signs. A simple honk and a nose in front decide the right of way. We managed to not become a traffic statistic along the way. My friend Josh, however, became a Caucasian statistic. Josh's background is of the fairest complexion. While the Scottish and Irish he is descended from did fine in their homelands with lighter skin, 2 miles up in the Andes does not a happy skinned Josh make. By the time we made it to the market, the poor fella was toast. One of the man's many run ins with nature on the trip.
The market was fun. Lots of haggling. I managed an Alpaca sweater and a couple of hats for a few bucks. My Spanish came back with a fury as I would spend 5 minutes haggling with a local over 3 soles. I would usually get my way. Though, walking away it would hit me – I just stuck to my guns over a nice hand-made sweater that cost me about $10. She wanted $10.30. Capitalist pig.
After dinner we headed back to our hostel to get some sleep for our 4-day trek the next day. When I booked the hostel, I looked online at several hostels and their reviews. This one was considered a 'party' hostel, but not the rowdiest. I wanted to have a good time. And it was indeed. However, our room just so happened to be directly under the bar… and it was Saturday… and 80's night.
Aha's 'Take on Me' thumped over my head at 2 a.m. I had to be up in a few hours to hike over a couple mountains. Shit.
NEXT TIME – hills, valleys and rocks! Oh my!
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