Fin de mi Viaje

As I leave South America, back to my country, back to the streets i know so well, and the people I love, I am bombarded by a mix of thoughts and emotions. This trip has been an unforgettable, exhilarating, and at times exhausting, experience. It is difficult to transform my contentment and personal successes into words. I have learned to look at the world differently, appreciate aspects I just learned existed, and abstract lessons and wisdom that the great teacher of experience has to offer. I met some incredible people and some very miserable people. I communicated with people from all over the world and realized, after breaking down language barriers, how much we really have in common.

In a way, the end of my trip feels like a small death, but it is also the start of a new life. The next chapter is beginning... I just hope I can go forward with the same spirit and optimism I have gained in the past 8 months. If you are having doubts about wanting to travel, or are just waiting around for "something"... stop waiting. Take the leap and don't look back. Life is too short to wait for opportunities. Make the opportunities and abundance follows...

Buenos Aires and Iguazu Falls Pictures

Argentina

I have now been home for over a month but thought it appropriate to finish my journey in writing and close out what was an amazing experience. My last 3 weeks were spent in Argentina, a highly developed and interesting country. It was a major change coming from the underdeveloped and poverty stricken land of Bolivia. I could tell a difference immediately after crossing the border when I went from stuffy, old buses driving on dirt roads in Bolivia, to air conditioned, brand new looking buses in Argentina. The highways opened up into 5 and 6 lanes and traffic flowed like blood through healthy veins. The metal roofed houses that lined the roads in Bolivia slowly transformed into street lights and farms as we drove further into the heart of Argentina. I remember making a mental note about how such a large change can occur between two countries that share a border and language. Don't get me wrong; South America as a whole has suffered from centuries of exploitation, dictatorships, and hardship; but Bolivia still remains one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere, while Argentina has become a developed and highly efficient country (more European than Latin).

I continued my journey through Argentina and spent varying amounts of time in Salta, Cordoba, Mendoza, Buenos Aires, and Iguazu Falls. Each city had enormous churches (from a heavy Catholic influence), lots of culture, music, students, and lots of external beauty. Mendoza, famous for it's vineyards and mountains, was one of my favorite stops. Beautiful, laid back, and with great character, just my type of place. I spent my time exploring the wine region and biking through some of the most famous vineyards. Tasting, sunshine, a bike, and latin music, what more is there? I also visited the Aconcagua National Park, home of South America's largest mountain (Aconcagua). Many climbers attempt the 22,841 foot summit, which takes almost 3 weeks. The season was not right for me to attempt this, but I doubt that I have had the training or experience to try. Maybe in the future...

Buenos Aires was, second to none, a mind boggling city, both in it's grandeur and culture. I spent a week in the city and felt I had seen a small fraction of what she offered. The city of over 11 million people (second largest population in South America next to Sao Paolo in Brazil) is the home of Tango. Culture booms from every street corner and at times it feels much more European than South American. I loved exploring the different neighborhoods and nightlife that BA had to offer.

The last highlight was Iguazu Falls. I find it hard to describe this wonder of nature. It seems that the earth just drops off and water falls from all directions. It is a site that must be seen in your lifetime and offers a sense of tranquility and inspiration that only water offers. It was one of my last stops on the map before heading back to Buenos Aires and my flight home. My final bus journey after 8 months of many buses couldnt have gone more smoothly. I was served a hot chicken meal, whiskey, champaign, and dessert. The bus was smooth, air conditioned to perfection, and sleep came easily as I contemplated my trip and the end of one of the best adventures of my life.

Salar De Uyuni

Directly after leaving Sucre I went on a 3 day tour of the famous Salt Flats (Salar de Uyuni). It was a magical place with salt deserts that stretched as far as the eye could see, moon like landscapes, unreal rock formations, and freezing cold temperature (I am fairly certain it dropped below 0 degrees the second night of the journey). I feel the only way to justify this trip is with pictures...

After my tour, we arrived in Uyuni and I only had 9 hours to wait for my train that was departing at 2:30 in the morning. I nearly froze as I sat in the train terminal with every layer of clothing hugging my body. When the train finally arrived I was glad to get out of the cold and close my drooping eyes for a few hours. The overall train journey took about 10 hours and when we arrived at the Argentine border I had slept about 4 hours in more than 24. No time to sleep... after crossing the border and catching another 7 hour bus with a changeover halfway, I finally found myself in Salta at 1am. It would have been nice to sleep on the bus to Salta, but unfortunately a 14 year old girl kept me awake with 7th grade stories in rapid fire Argentinian Spanish. I couldnt find the heart to tell her to shut her mouth, so endured this for a few hours until she got off at her stop. Nearly 48 hours later and only 4 hours of sleep I was ready to crash but so tired I wasnt tired. After a few games of pool and some music I finally fell asleep at about 2:30am.

With 3 weeks left and dwindling money I am feeling bittersweet about my inevitable return to the mother land.

My New Home

Sucre, the capital of Bolivia, is a beautiful city with some of the nicest parks and my favorite main square in all of South America. The extravagence of the buildings and cleanliness of the streets make you forget you are in the poorest country in South America. I had decided to stay in Sucre for a month and take a short break from the day to day movements and constant bus rides. A few Spanish classes, volunteer work, and a daily routine was just what I needed.

Everything fell into place within a week; I was aligned with the perfect apartment situated just to the side of a courtyard and owned by a lovely Bolivian family (I had my own bathroom and tiny kitchen and paid just $80 for the entire month); I set up 2 hours of Spanish classes per day; I found a job volunteering at a local savings and loan bank learning micro finance and helping to create better efficiencies in their processes; and I quickly made local friends. It was the perfect combination, however the job turned out to be quite the adventure.

My ¨interview¨ did not go well at all and I barely understood a word the banker said. If it werent for the fact I was a foreigner and the position was strictly volunteer I would have been kicked out the door immediately. I had the excuse of not being fluent in Spanish as my reasoning and I was given a 120 page risk management document (the bankers Bible I was told) to read within the next week. Each day following I was stationed at the computer and got to my daily reading. After 3 or 4 days of struggling through the material and using my Spanish to English dictionary, I was exhausted. When I returned the following week with my newfound knowledge I was told they were switching my project and I was given another 30 page document of credit risk to read for the next week!! At this point I had a strong feeling I was not being taken seriously. When I finally ¨started¨ work I only had about 3 days left, but had learned many new financial vocabulary words in Spanish. I ended up reading over some loan applications for micro finance projects and creating a spreadsheet that was supposed to maximize the efficiency of calculating their risk exposure and volatility of deposits and loans. I realized how far behind the banking system in Bolivia is. It was the first they had heard of using complicated formulas in Excel to calculate volatility and create graphs. I think I got a little out of the experience and offered some of my knowledge at the same time. The only regret I have is not having enough time to maximize the experience.

Another great aspect of Sucre was the food and fresh juices. I made a habit out of eating chorizo sandwiches 2 or 3 times per week and going to the local market for a fresh fruit juice or fruit salad almost every day after Spanish class. Sucre was turning into my favorite South American cities and as the month neared its final days I knew it would be a hard place to leave.

On the final Friday I had in Sucre, the unexpected happened. It began with the sound of fireworks and chants that echoes from between the historic buildings as more and more people arrived to the Plaza 25 de Mayo. It had begun earlier in the week with mild protests supporting the latest political grievence and was culminating on this particular Friday. The people were audibly showing their support for the recently ousted mayor of Sucre. He had been democratically elected, but didnt align with Evo Morales´ (the president of Bolivia) party. Issues were raised about past corruption, on behalf of the mayor, and a panel of 3 judges voted for change. The elected mayor was tossed from office and a replacement, who happens to align with Evo´s political party, has been sworn in as Sucres new mayor. In Bolivia the norm for such an event is to take to the streets with banners and chants to show their disagreement. Occassionally, these protests can turn hostile...

As I neared the square, I noticed a large gathering of people chanting and marching as tires burned in the streets. On one side riot police stood in formation. All of a sudden, without warning, screams erupted and the crowd scattered in all directions. Tear gas flooded the demonstration and sent people running down side streets in search of clean air. This was just the beginning. What insued in and around the main plaza of Sucre was not unlike a war of small proportions. Police were constant with their tear gas bombardment, while rioters threw rocks, shot marbles from slingshots, and launched fireworks at the Police. The bang from exploding fireworks and small pieces of dynamite echoed off the buildings, smoldering tires slowly burned in the streets, smoke from the tear gas and burning rubber filled the sky, and Plaza 25 de Mayo momentarily transformed into a war zone (but without real weapons).

I was caught in the mix and tear gased multiple time. Luckily I was offered vinegar (which helps with the stinging sensation in your throat and eyes) by locals. Roads became impassable due to burning tires and more and more smoke filled the sky as the day turned to night. The chaos finally settled down around midnight and the only sign that anything had happened was a deserted and destroyed plaza still filled with remnants of tear gas. For me, this was one of the most adrenaline filled days I have had in a long time, but for the locals of Bolivia it was just another ¨normal¨ day.

***Please take note (Mom): No sons were hurt in the production of this story. I will be home in 3 weeks and you can scold me.

A window gets broken during the riots

A local runs from surrounding tear gas canisters

Police vs. the Citizens

Police march on the plaza

Locals cover their faces from the smoke filling the sky

A couple friends from Sucre

Self explainatory

A Sucre side street (without rioting)

Into the Bolivian Amazon

I stepped off the plane and felt the thick jungle air fill my lungs. The mugginess felt good after many cold days in the frigid Bolivian alto plano. I was amazed at how much my world could change with a 35 minute flight from La Paz (12,000 feet) to Rurrenabaque (sea level). Immidiately after stepping outside we were bombarded by locals offering accomadation, rides into town, and restaurants. After bargaining between the bus, a motorcycle, and a private jeep as a means of transportation into town, we settled on moto transport for less than 50 cents. I hopped on the back and felt a moment of panick as we took off in a motorcycle gang of about 15. It would have been very easy to rob me for all I was worth, but the closest thing to a knockout punch I received was the wind whipping my face as we sped down the cobbled street.




Rurrenabaque is a popular tourist hub for either the thick jungle of Madidi National Park or the Pampas (savannah) region. My Canadian friend and I decided on the Pampas tour because it was possible to see more in less days. The three day tour ended up being amazing and included floating the Tuichi river in a canoe, searching the vast savannah plains for Anocandas (we found one!), eating incredible buffet style food, swimming with pink river dolphins and aligators nearby, Piranha fishing, and viewing an abundance of wildlife. I usually steer clear of organized tours, but this specific one exceeded my admittedly low expectations.





When we arrived back in Rurrenabaque the plan was to spend one night and catch a flight out the next day. However, when I awoke at 4:30am to the sound of monsoon type rain rattling the tin roof, I had doubts that there would be any flights. My suspicion was confirmed when the rain pressed on until about 11am. Plan B: A 17 hour bus on winding dirt roads! I wasnt thrilled, but had no other options... I was running short on money and wanted to get back to La Paz sooner rather than later. The bus swayed and bumped in route to La Paz and all was uneventful until about 11pm when, all of a sudden, we stopped. I looked outside and could see nothing but dark skies and wondered why we had stopped. After a few minutes half the people on the bus got off, while the other half stayed wondering what was going on. The engine rumbled and the bus lunged forward, tilted right, tilted a bit more, and suddenly I realized I was sitting in a death trap. We had slid slightly off the road and were stuck in the muddy embankment. As the driver tried to force the bus forward we had slid further onto the brink of an even worse outcome. Luckily, I realized this and scurried off the bus before we ended up sideways in the ditch. Needless to say, after a half hour or so of the crew unsuccessfully attempting to free the bus from cluches of Pacha Mama (Mother Earth), a passing truck was able to tug us out damage free. Just another normal night en route to La Paz.





We arrived the next morning and were greeted once more by the freezing cold of La Paz. I had to search for warmer weather. Next stop, Sucre, for some R&R, volunteering, Spanish classes, and, I hoped, sunshine and warmth...

Look at the teeth on this Piranha!


And the dientes in this Caiman

This is the motorcycle I rode into Rurrenabaque on

La Paz, Bolivia

Our crew standing on the death road outside of La Paz

Another stretch of deadly road

La Paz at dusk

Llama fetuses in the witch market

As the bus crept forward into the outskirts of La Paz, I could feel the cold air seeping through the window panes. Outside, the fumes and honks of rush hour filled the evening sky. The streets were flooded with people, buses, and cars, everyone going their own way, lost in their thoughts and routines. I, meanwhile, was contemplating the chaos around me, while I anxiously awaited our arrival. It had been another long bus ride and I was ready to stay put for a week or so. I remember thinking how ugly La Paz was and what the fuss from other travelers was about. It wasn´t until we reached the crest of one of the ridges that surroundes La Paz and began to drop down into the city that I saw the hidden beauty and marvelled at the way the city clings to the sides of the protruding mountains. It is a mix of modern infrastructure, old adobe houses with tin roofs, traffic, pollution, amazing views, nearby mountains that tower in the distance tempting climbers with their snow capped peaks, and crowds of people slowly living their Bolivian lifestyle.

Like most South American cities, La Paz is filled with street vendors selling everything from clothes and food to love potions and llama fetuses. Fetuses??!!??... you are probably asking yourself... and no this is not a typo. They actually sell llama fetuses to give as a gift to bring good luck when hung in a persons home. I couldn´t see myself getting used to the idea of a fetus hanging anywhere near my prescence, nor of anyone else I know appreciating such a gift, so I passed on the purchase. However, I probably could have used some luck for what I planned to do in La Paz... bike at high speeds down the ¨death road¨. The death road is a dirt road built into dramatic landscape with thousand foot drops, poor visability, narrow enough for only one car in places, and has claimed thousands of lives in it´s history. The road is now closed to traffic due to the number of cars and buses that have rolled off it´s steep cliffs, but has become a thrill seekers tourist attraction instead. Closing the road to traffic has slowed the death count, but not halted it completely as the occassional biker loses control and joins the growing number of tragedies.

The ride was one of the more dangerous things I have done here, but well worth the hair raising drop offs and narrow turns. I can happily report no accidents and beautiful views. From beginning to end we descended from 4,700 meters to 1,200 meters. All and all a good day!

The rest of my time in La Paz was spent strolling the markets and freezing in the high altitude winter. I had also planned a trip to Rurrenabaque, the portal into the Bolivian Amazon basin, by way of a 35 minute flight. I would soon be in the thick, muggy air of the jungle.

Boobs and S**t

There was one more stop in Peru before I would be in my fourth country (of this trip) and one step closer to the fate of my return home. Lake Titikaka, pronounced Tee Tee Ka Ka, is one of the highest lakes of it´s size in the world and a sizeable portion rests on the Peruvian side of the border, with the rest ¨owned¨ by Bolivia. While the literal meaning in English is cause for a few chuckles, the real meaning is derived from the two indigenous languages of the region; Quechua and Aymara; and is translated to Grey Puma. The Puma, along with the Condor and Serpent, is a very important symbol to these cultures. Naturally, I wanted to visit the lake in both the Peruvian and Bolivian territories.

Puno rests on the Peruvian shores and was the next stop as a gateway to the floating islands of Uros. This civilization goes back many years, still exists in its true form today, and is just as it sounds. It consists of numerous islands artifically constructed from mud, wood, and the reeds that grow from the lake. Each island is tied down using wooden stakes pressed hard into the bottom of the lake to prevent the inhabitants from being pushed by the will of the wind. Each family lives on their own island and hunts (mostly birds) and fishes for nourishment (with weekly trips to Puno for rice, corn, bread, etc.). The entire community shares a school, church, and medical facility, which all exist on a seperate community island. It was very interesting to see this unique way of life. Unfortunately, the culture seems to be dying out as a new generation learns about the outside world and is tempted by its glamours and materialism. I would have loved to see more islands on the Peruvian side of Titikaka, but Bolivia was tempting me on the opposite shore.

After a short 3 hour bus ride from Puno to Copacabana, with a stop at the border for passport formalities (as an American I had to pay $135 for a visa and provide numerous copies of documents for the Bolivian government), I was in Bolivia! In general, border towns are always fairly similar to each other and provide an easy transition between cultures. Besides the change in currency and a few name changes on the local menu, Copacabana seemed much like Puno. In the sense that Puno was a jumping off point to explore the Peruvian islands of Lake Titikaka, Copacabana served the same purpose on the Bolivian side; specifically the beautiful Isla Del Sol (Island of the Sun). The traditional route to the isla is on-board a very touristy passenger boat that leaves from the shores of Copacabana. As a tourist, I like to explore the road less traveled and, ironically, steer clear of these tourist traps. Thus, my friend and I decided to walk 4 hours along the Peninsula to take another, most likely more expensive, boat. Our decision automatically came to fruition when we were politely stopped along the path by some locals who were enjoying Bolivian spirits at 10:30 in the morning. It was immediately brought to our attention that it was the last day (out of 4) for the Ascension of Christ celebration. On a side note: every holiday in South America seems to be centered around Jesus, with the majority of celebrating focused around drunken merriment. Anyways, it was only polite that we should have a few drinks with our new found friends. Sure, it was 10:30 in the morning and we had a few hours of hiking ahead, but our Bolivian friends were adament. After a few beers, some chit chat, and a few jokes that were over my head, we were on our way again. We were stopped two more times before reaching our destination, both times by cheerful Bolivians that wanted to know where we were from and what we thought of their country. The second time was admittedly a precurson to a sale. The friendly Señor wanted to sell us a trip to Isla Del Sol on his private boat. We were headed there anyways and our feet were weary so we negotiated a fair price (we could have taken the cheaper boat, but would have had to paddle ourselves) and jumped aboard.

Isla Del Sol proved to be as beautiful and unique as rumors had indicated. Despite it being a common tourist destination, there was enough space to avoid the crowds and enjoy the journey back in time. All the locals wore traditional dress and the town had a very authentic feel. We were even lucky enough to witness a Bolivian wedding with it´s unique music, tradition, and many cases of beer. Also, the views were amazing! Some of Bolivia´s highest peaks (many over 6,000 meters) rise majestically out of the lake to pierce the sky with their snow covered summits. The terraced farm land of the island glows green in the setting sun, as the reflection bounces off the waters below. A crisp breeze arrived in the evening that gripped the island tightly as the unaccostomed visitors hurried towards the shelter of hostels or restaurants. As I watched the wedding festivities and the cold began to rattle my bones, I too had to seek refuge inside. So, after a long day, an early night, and a good sleep, it was time to explore the island, which meant (as my followers are accostomed) more walking. It took 3 or 4 hours to walk from one side of the island to the other before we settled on the opposite shore to find a boat back to Copacabana. After a long morning I just wanted to hop in a boat and head back, but the strong winds had prevented the normal entourage of boats from arriving. After an hour of arguing over the capacity in a private boat and the price, we agreed to an over inflated price to go only as far as the Peninsula (Copacabana was too dangerous for boats due to the high winds). Having no choice, we boarded and rode the rough(ish) waters back to the main land before boarding a mini bus to Copacabana, and another onto La Paz.

Some Inca ruins on Isla Del Sol

Our private boat transport friend nourishing the engine

Wedding festivities with plenty of beer

The high snow capped Bolivian peaks rising from Lake Titikaka off in the distance

Pit stop along our hike

Two kids buy sweets at the local store

Arequipa and Canyon Country

Lately I had been moving a little faster than normal. Due to the constant tick of time and the fact I still wanted to see Bolivia and Argentina, as well as volunteer, I had decided to catch a night bus to Arequipa the same day I returned from our exhausting 3 day Machu Picchu adventure. I figured I could sleep on the bus and save some time... Little did I know how far from the truth this would be. I seemed to be on an unlucky bus streak that was unlikely to end soon. When I purchased my ticket from the company with the lowest price I had a gut feeling the "perks" they promised were either exaggerated or fabricated completely. To keep a long story short and my complaining to a minimum, the bus ended up leaving almost an hour late and the cama (bed) and blanket I was promised were non-existent. The typical action films were blaired throughout the night and at one point I woke up freezing cold to find the windows coated in a centimeter or two of ice. I immediately realized we must be on a high mountain pass because the ground outside was blanketed in snow. It would have been an optimal opportunity to cover myself with my non-existent blanket. Instead I curled into a ball and tried to trap what body heat I had left. We arrived in Arequipa only slightly behind schedule and I only had sleep on my mind.

Arequipa, a beautiful European type city in southern Peru, is Peru's second largest city (next to Lima) and is popular for it's proximity to Colca Canyon. Colca Canyon is the second deepest canyon in the world (the first lies very close in southern Peru as well) and is perfect for a few day trekking trip. However, before embarking I needed a few days of relaxation and recovery after pushing myself so hard. Arequipa was the perfect catalyst. Aftet some sun, sleep, good food, and strolling the bustling thoroughfares I was rejuvenated and ready for another trek.

Thus, after a few days rest my Canadian travel buddy and I set of for Colca Canyon on a series of buses. The first, besides running an hour late, was refreshingly normal. However, my bad luck returned for the second bus... I was surprised when we pulled into the Chivay station to transfer buses onto Cabanaconde and found an orderly line of locals waiting for the second bus. We jumped in line fairly close to the front and we confident we would obtain seats. Unfortunately, the bus arrived and the Peruvian norm reasserted itself: Within seconds the line was a bubble hovered around the door with barely enough time or space for the arriving passangers to make their way off the bus before the blob, with a life of it's own, was funneling to the door. There was pushing, shoving, yelling, cursing, and could have even been some biting going on for all I know. After much effort and just when I was about to board, an old man plowed through me, pushed my friend into the door, and boarded, while proceeding to give me a dirty look. I finally managed to board and occupy one of the last standing spaces on the bus. I would comment how unbelievable this circumstance was, but I had seen it many times before, and it was now an expectation when boarding buses without a ticket.

We had made it in the bus and only had 3 hours of standing... no problem, the locals do it all the time. However, I had one disadvantage in this case... my height. If I stood upright, it was impossible to fit into the bus, so after occupying the fire exit space (it had extra head room where you could pop up the ceiling to exit the bus in an emergency) for about an hour, I was dismayed to be slowly pushed back to where I had to hunch with my ear next to the speaker that blared horrible Peruvian music. After 2 hours, a stiff neck, and one blown ear drum, I almost lost my temper when we arrived... everyone that was seated and those occupying the back of the bus decided they wanted to disembarque first. Another round of pushing and elbowing ensued as little ladies used all their force to be the first off the bus. Instead of lose my temper, all I could do was laugh.

The Colca Canyon proved to be an amazing hike... down to the bottom, across the river, up the other side, across the terrain of the opposite side, and back down to our lodging oasis along the river. It was hot, dry, and after 7 and a half hours it felt good to kick off my shoes and relax. We completed the loop the next morning in just 3 hours of tough uphill hiking. More kilometers on the old boots and another great South American experience.

** I apologize for the lack of pictures in this post... I have been having some trouble uploading with the slow connection speeds in Bolivia. I guess it is just another reason for everyone to come see the pictures when I come home

Machu Picchu

There are a large variety of tours to get to Machu Picchu with the Inca trail being the most popular. However, we had no reservations and after some debate on how to get there, we decided to go on our own via a series of buses, cars, foot paths, river crossings, and a train. It was myself, a Canadian, and a Spaniard. The plan was a 5 hour bus to the small town of Santa Maria, change to a collectivo (a small car that leaves when it is full) to Santa Theresa, change again into another collectivo to Hydroelectrica, take a zip-line across the river (you used to be able to cross, but the bridge got destroyed in a recent flood), walk an hour to the train station, ride the train to Aguas Calientes to spend the night, and hike the last hour to Machu Picchu early the next morning. If there is one thing I have learned while traveling, it is that not everything goes according to plan.

The initial bus, after leaving almost 40 minutes late, ended up taking 6 hours, and it was 6 hours of great movies (note my sarcasm) and even better music! With step one out of the way, we packed 5 people into a tiny car in Santa Maria, which felt tight until I saw another car of the same size with 12 school kids stuffed inside like luggage, and took off on the hair raising road to Santa Theresa. We must have had the local race car champion as our driver, because he was on a mission. We plowed through water, passed slower drivers with barely enough space for 2, skidded and bumped around corners, and got deathly close to the edge, until the only thing that could slow us down did; clunk, clunk, clunk, the sound of metal on dirt... flat tire. After popping on the spare I noticed the driver had stripped/broken 2 of the 4 bolts on the wheel. Luckily we were very near to Santa Theresa, but I never the less spent the last few miles gripping the door as we rumbled along on a spare that was barely hanging on. Santa Theresa to Hydroelectica and on to the train station was a rush of trail finding, speed walking, and a nice jog to cap it off. In the end, we missed our train by 10 minutes. Plan B: walk 2 hours in the dark along the train tracks to Aguas Calientes. The walk was the most uneventful part of the day and we strolled into Aguas Calientes at about 7:30, more than 12 hours after we had begun our day, exhausted and hungry.

Before I felt I had time to close my eyes the alarm of day 2 sounded at 3:45am and the proximity of Machu Picchu created excitement that silenced the need for sleep. The last hour to 2 of hiking from Aguas Calientes is a series of steep stone stairs that charge up the mountain to one of the most glorious Inca settlements in the world. As the hike began I realized we were not the only people up at such an extreme hour. We were joined by 30, maybe 40 people, and most were ahead of us. As I climbed my fatigue subsided, my legs felt strong, and my lungs took huge gulps of oxygen from the fresh morning air thick with fog. One by one hikers began dropping off, tired from the climb. I passed group after group and finally obtained a few moments of solitude as I hiked toward my destination under the night sky. I knew solitude would be hard to come by on this particular journey, so I consumed it while I could. I was one of the first to arrive at the gates and watched as the other hikers arrived, followed by the employee bus, and finally tour buses full of somewhat less determined visitors.

The initial walk-through was better than I had imagined. No picture could do justice to the feeling and sense of history these ruins hold. As we passed through 500 years of Inca history, the mist and clouds that surrounded us were slowly being pulled back by the rising sun; revealing temples, village houses, terraces, gardens, Andean crosses, and the surrounding mountains. I marveled at how the Incas built this community on the side of an enormous mountain with stones the size of houses and hardly any flat land. Every stone had to be cut and molded, every flat space had to be created, and as we learned later it was unfinished after 100 years of work. We spent the day walking the small corridors, climbing Huana Picchu (the mountain in the background of the famous photos of Machu Picchu), and learning about the construction and significance of different structures. After a wonderful day we headed down in the late afternoon for a hot meal and a soak in the hot springs.

On day 3 it was decided we would go back a different way... There is a train that runs from Aguas Calientes to a town where you can take a bus back to Cusco. However, the train is outrageously expensive (on my tight budget) and only travels 28km. Instead we would walk it. Thus, day 3 was 7 hours of walking 28km along train tracks with some stunning views of the surrounding peaks. Despite the slight boredom of walking on flat land for 7 hours, we had the satisfaction of knowing we returned to Cusco for the price of a Peruvian dinner ($3).

The Sacred Valley

One bad night bus and 23 hours later were enough to revise my opinion about Peruvian buses. Now my consensus is ¨the bus riding experience is not universally good...it greatly depends what bus company you take¨. For this particular journey from Lima to Cusco we had decided to take a cheaper and lesser known bus company called Flores only for the sake of saving a few dollars. The bus was similar, the seats just as comfortable, and the same 20-25 hour journey would applied to most companies. However, many times the difference between a good bus journey and a bad one is the movie/music selection, volume level of the stated entertainment, and the type of road/driver (and his ability to create a smooth ride). These factors become much more important on a night bus. On this particular journey with Flores the road and driver were just fine, but the rest wasn´t all flowers.

A very common, and completely counterintuitive, practice in South America is to play 1 or many horrifically loud and violent movies throughout the night with the sound on full blast. Try falling asleep with the sounds of screaming women running from Godzilla, while Jean-Claude Van Damme or the governor of California fires machine gun or rocket fire in your ear. Miraculously, the sound of locals snoring can be heard over the madness coming from the crackling speaker system. I, however, could not sleep. The movies coupled with a bad stomach kept me reeling in the fetile position for hours, with frequent trips to the ¨only for number 1¨ bathroom only to disobey this rule, and a plastic bag held close for the almost certain possibility that my stomach wanted to rid itself of the foreigners invading it on short notice. Through some divine interference I eventually managed to fall asleep. When all was said and done 23 hours later I was hungry, tired, had sat through about 8-10 horrible movies, but was happy to be in the sunshine of Cusco.

Cusco is a very interesting city. The grandeur and mystery of massive buildings, large plazas, and Inca ruines make it very popular. This, coupled with it´s proximity to Machu Picchu, fills the streets and shops with droves of tourists and just as many entrepreneurs trying to get a piece of the travelers pocket book. If you want a genuine local experience Cusco is not the place to be, but still a very interesting and unique stop on the Gringo trail. After thinking and saying this to my current travel partners, it was just our luck that we met 2 very friendly locals while exploring the ruines of the Moon Temple...

Kiki and Kula were tour guides taking a rest at the temple and offered to explain the importance of this site for free. After some chatting, picture taking, and jokes, they offered to help us buy bus tickets for our journey to Machu Picchu and later invited us to their house for a proper Peruvian dinner. That night we feasted! After a first course of salchipapas (hot dogs), pollo (chicken), a type of pastry made from maiz (corn), queso (cheese), and cuy (yes, I finally tried the famous guinea pig), we ate rice, vegetable salad, a tender piece of beef, and a delicious cut of ram meat. This was followed by a Peruvian mate (type of tea) and cake. I only wish someday these wonderful hosts will visit my house and I can return the favor.

Next stop... Machu Picchu!

Lima- Peru´s Most Underrated City

After a short 10 hour night bus I awoke in Lima refreshed and ready to explore. The Peruvian buses are surprisingly comfortable and an upgrade after the rickety, packed night buses of Ecuador. Most Peruvian companies even offer bus cama services (seats that nearly lie flat) for night buses, as well as a meal or two (very small portions but better than most US airline companies offer). Initially, Lima was just going to be a stop over before heading to Cusco. I hadn´t heard the greatest reports from other travelers and the majority of opinions centered around how dangerous, polluted, and oppressively hot it is. I had to see for myself... two days, and many great experiences later, I sided with the pro-Lima camp.

When arriving in a new city, the first thing I like to do is explore as much as I can on foot. This is a larger task in a city of 8 million like Lima, but large areas can still be explored with some extra effort. The first day I explored Miraflores (the popular neighborhood bordering the seaside very close to the city center), checked some prospective cooking schools (I had thoughts of coming home a fine Peruvian chef), chatted with locals in the street, visited the artisian market, and tasted some delicious cuisine. I capped the night off with a friend of mine and a delicious dinner (including Ceviche, a local dish of raw seafood marinated in lime juice and onions) followed by drinks with another friend I had met in Colombia. While having a drink we were introduced to a group of locals enjoying the night and were soon invited to a matrimonial party at one of the couple´s houses the following day. Not a bad day in Lima.

The next day we set aside for exploring the historic center, known for it´s colonial Spanish buildings and architecture. If Cusco and the surrounding area is known as the Inca capital, Lima is the capital of Spanish Conquistador rule. The center did not disappoint in grandeur or in energy. We were lucky enough to arrive for the parade and celebration of ¨Day of the Cross¨, a fusion holiday to pay homage to the Christian cross and the Inca cross (or astrological southern cross). The sun was shining, music was thumping in the street, and dancers and musicians marched past in their traditional dress. All the excitement of the day slowly came to a close as the sun began to set in the Peruvian sky. We had a party to attend with our friends from the night before and rushed back to our hostel to change and get ready. We arrived at their house to find no party (it had been changed to a different location), but perfect hospitality, great conversation, and the warmth of strangers who were slowly becoming close friends. The locals seemed to be just another side of Lima that is over looked.

Unfortunately it was only a short stop in a kind city, but the journey had to continue; Cusco and the Sacred Valley lay in wait!