Monthly Archives: June 2012

Copacabana!

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Everyone hears Copacabana and automatically things Brazil, but the Copacabana I was in is actually a tiny tourist city on the shore of Lake Titicaca, right on the border of Peru and Bolivia.

On my full day in this beach town, I decided to take a day trip out to Isla de Sol. Though I’d seen the floating islands in Puno, I’d heard and read about Isla de Sol as a completely different experience — its scenery makes you feel as though you’re on a greek island, until you see the view of the snow capped mountains over the ocean. Boats leave Copacabana at 8:30 AM and take 2 1/2 hours to arrive at the northern tip of the Isla de Sol so I was up at 6:45 to shower (with hot water and good water pressure, totally worth the splurge on my fancy hotel!) and grab breakfast as soon as my hotel restaurant opened at 7:30 AM. For 59 Bolivianos, about $8.50, I got a cafe con leech, an egg scramble with cheese, olives, onions and tomatoes, wheat bread, and a “boxed lunch” which included a sandwich, drinkable yogurt, apple, chips, chocolate bar and water bottle. Bolivia is so damn cheap!

I walked the five minutes down to the beach to catch the boat, which cost me 30 bolivianos (just over $4) for a round trip ticket. The ride to the northern part of the Island was long and cold, and there was a group of a few very loud portuguese-speaking folks who were way too loud for 9 AM in the middle of a lake. I sat next to a nice German guy named Martin, and in between attempting to sleep, we had some good conversation. He, like most people making the trip, was going to spend the night on the island at one of the many basic, but cheap, hostels. Unfortunately, since I had already booked my hotel and didn’t have more than a day and a half in Copacabana, I didn’t have time to take more than a day trip. When you go for the day, most tourists walk the 8 km from the northern tip to the southern port, where you can catch the last boat back to Copacabana at 3:30 PM.

Once we got off the boat I quickly discovered there was nobody at the tourist office who spoke a word of English. Thankfully, a super sweet French-Canadian guy who spoke some Spanish helped me translate, and pointed me in the right direction of the boleto (ticket) office and the walk I wanted to do. He was traveling with a friend and his older sister, and the four of us ended up doing the majority of the 3-4 hour walk from the north of the island to the south together.

When I read on trip advisor that some of the walk would take your breath away, I had no idea that actually meant that the walk was full of steep paths up multiple hills. There were (many) moments where I was cursing my decision to do the walk, at the same time barely able to catch my breath. Even though the altitude in Cusco is similar to the altitude in Copacabana, it seems to be affecting me a lot more down here — I’m out of breath so much more than I was on my trek, and I did ten times the amount of walking in Peru!

The first forty five minutes of the walk was uphill to a section of runs which, to say the least, were quite unimpressive. Maybe because I just saw such spectacular Inca buildings up north in Peru, but the measly wall we had walked to was definitely not worth the extra time. Oh well!

The rest of the walk was beautiful, but because the four of us were a bit concerned about making it across the island before 3:30, we did it quite quickly. It was nice to have people to push me along, since there were certainly points where I would have stopped, or simply collapsed! It was also nice to have company and conversation, even if I did have a hard time understanding their Québécois English!

Along the way, there were several checkpoints where you had to pay 10 or 15 bolivianos to pass. I’d read about this in my guidebook and was warned at my hotel, but most people doing the walk didn’t realize and were relatively unhappy about having to fork over the extra cash. It seemed silly to be upset about forking over a dollar or two, I was happy to support the locals, and in the scheme of this trip, a few dollars seemed like nothing. It was disappointing to hear so many grumbles, instead of willingness to support the locals and such a beautiful island.

Once we reached the southern part of the island, I was relatively close to wanting to pass out. I hadn’t eaten in several hours but luckily had my very cheap boxed lunch, so while the group of Canadians continued walking to a section of restaurants, I took a seat on a shaded concrete staircase with a beautiful view of the lake and ate my sandwich (which, unfortunately, turned out to consist mostly of a disgusting mystery cheese, so I mostly ate the bread, tomato and cucumber). While I was sitting, another group of English-speakers (two English guys and a girl from Iceland) passed and started talking to me about the unimpressive ruins we’d seen on the beginning of the walk. I gave up my seat and walked the rest of the way to the harbor with them, a good distraction since we had to make our way down some seriously steep, rocky stairs. One thing is for sure: I’ve had enough with the narrow, steep stairs!

My new friends didn’t bring lunch with them, so I sat with them at a restaurant and shared some of my trail mix (Trader Joe’s cran-almond-cashew mix shlepped all the way from Boston — so worth it in that moment) while they ate their over-priced and unimpressive pollo sandwiches.

Then came the boat ride from hell. Okay, I exaggerate. But between the harsh rocking of the very small boat, the loud talking of everyone around me, and the very harsh, hot sun beating down intensely on the back of my head and neck, I was not a happy camper. The ride back to Copacabana was only an hour and a half, but by the end I was seriously convinced I was going to hurl out of the side of the boat. Luckily I didn’t, and was able to (somehow) stumble up the stairs from the beach and back to my hostel to sleep off the nausea.  My plan was to nap for an hour and a half and then sit in the TV room of my hotel with my laptop and catch up on blogging, eat some dinner and relax. Instead, I woke up at 10:30 PM completely confused, and soon realized the restaurant was closed and I couldn’t get dinner. So instead, I changed into sweats and passed back out. I woke up in a cold sweat at 5 AM from a dream that I’d somehow misunderstood the time of my bus down to La Paz and therefore missed my only chance out of Copacabana. So unrealistic, but definitely not a fun way to wake up!

I slept on and off for the next two hours, then woke myself up to triple check the time of my bus (13:00 PM, just as I had thought, but I’m consistently paranoid about misreading 24 hour time). I also realized that on my paperwork, the company I had booked with said I should have a voucher ticket in my email, which I of course never received. So I spent the first hour and a half of my day emailing/chatting them, trying to get the voucher and figure out if I needed to print it. I also made a friend while I sat in the kitchen eating my leftover breakfast from yesterday: an orange cat who decided her new favorite spot was my lap, and absolutely refused to move from her spot on my thighs no matter what I did. She kept me warm though, so I didn’t complain, at least not until she started crawling all over my keyboard in an attempt to snag some of my breakfast.

After I got my voucher situation sorted out, I checked out of my room, stuck my stuff in storage and made my way “downtown.” Copacabana itself is a relatively unimpressive town — it’s on the lake and nestled between two mountains so the scenery is great, but the actual town leaves something to be desired. Similar to Puno, it’s very hilly and mostly filled with hostels, hotels, and tourist “pizzeria” restaurants everywhere you turn. It was, however, a perfect picturesque place to do some relaxing (or in my case, lots of sleeping) without feeling like you’re missing anything. I did some wandering and considered making my way up one of the very steep mountains to some ruins, but the combination of feeling short of breath from the altitude, realizing how sore my legs were from the walk yesterday, and simply looking up the path, I decided to just appreciate them from the base of the hill. During my wandering, I happened upon a concrete plaza with a small church, which actually had some really beautiful views of the lake and town, so sat in the shade and talked to a guy from Rhode Island whose wife, from Boston, was making her way to the top of the lookout.

From there I went to a small, ex-Pat run cafe and got a deliciously sweet banana milkshake and some eggs, then walked back to my hotel to grab my bags and get a taxi to the bus station.

Turns out the “bus station” I thought I was going to was actually just a small storefront, where Vicuna Tours has their office. I was told specifically to arrive at least 30 minutes prior to the departure of my 1 PM bus, but I sat in an empty office between 12:25 and 12:45 until someone finally showed up to check my ticket. Naturally, since I was there so early, our bus didn’t actually leave Copacabana until closer to 1:30. I’m learning this is very typical — South American time is something else!

About an hour into our bus ride, the driver’s assistant came into the back of the bus (the bus has a separate front section for the driver and front passenger with a door to the main cabin of the bus) and made an announcement in Spanish. My paranoid self decided he was saying that the bus wasn’t working properly (I’d seen them fiddling with the engine while I was patiently waiting to board at the office in Copacabana) and that we needed to buy a ticket for another bus. Thankfully, the nice American man sitting next to me translated and explained that we had to get off the bus to buy a ferry ticket across the lake. Uhm, what?

Turns out there is no bridge across the lake, and the only way to cross is by tiny motor boat. Meanwhile, the busses are boated across on wide, wooden platform boats that look like they’re going to spring a leak and sink into the lake at any moment.

Silly me, I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t get on another boat this trip. Little did I know…

This boat ride was also rather rocky and nausea-inducing, luckily it was only a 7 minute trip to the other side. From the shore, I watched our bus teeter its way across on its own ship, convinced at any minute it was going to topple into the lake. Once our bus (miraculously) made it across 15 minutes later, we hopped back on and were on our way. I didn’t ask the obvious question to anyone I interacted with during that half an hour excursion, but all I can think, to this day, is “Why don’t they build a damn bridge?”

The bus dropped us off in La Paz on a random street corner, handed us our luggage and disappeared. I, along with many of the other passengers, were totally confused and had read lots of things about the dangers of taking unofficial taxis in Bolivia, so a couple from London and I finally flagged down a Radio taxi that we shared to the other side of town where we were all staying.

Once I got to my hostel in La Paz it was already 7 PM and I was unmotivated to wander the city past dark on my own. I was relatively exhausted and happy to have a regular, working wifi connection, so I stayed in, caught up on blogging and sorting through my photos, ordered a caprese sandwich from the bar and called it a night!

Floating islands tour and crossing the Bolivian border

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After my conversation with both the receptionist at my hotel and the tourist office on the main square the night prior, I got the impression that Puno isn’t exactly a safe, happy tourist town the way Cusco is. It certainly isn’t beautiful or picturesque either, and I’m glad I only had 24 hours there, I definitely wasn’t upset upset to be leaving so soon. My floating islands tour was a bit frustrating — I was with a group of 5 Argentinians speaking in very loud, fast spanish, a Russian couple who shoved their way to the front of everything to get a ridiculous number of photos, and a Japanese woman who got on the boat and immediately took her socks and shoes off and began scratching her scab-covered feet. So bizarre.

Our “tour” was supposed to be bilingual but it wasn’t much of a tour at all. Our guide didn’t speak a word the entire 30 minute boat ride to the islands, and once we got off onto one of the floating islands he explained a few things for less than 10 minutes, almost entirely in Spanish. When I got frustrated and tried to tell him I couldn’t understand the Spanish explanations, he said “Oh, sorry” and then continued speaking in Spanish. And on top of that, the Argentine girls kept yelling and shouting things over everyone else, asking questions and getting answers that I also couldn’t understand. Regardless of the weird group, the floating islands and our boat ride were really interesting, and I’m glad I got to see them, even if I didn’t really enjoy them. It was a strange reality to observe these families living on individual islands, meant just for them and their close family members. It was hard in many ways to tell what was authentic about their lifestyle and what was a sort of show for the hundreds of tourists that come to their island each month.

I will admit it was a very unique experience to be standing on an island made entirely of reeds, suspended above an enormous lake. Lake Titicaca from the Peruvian side is beautiful in its expansiveness, and very calm, in comparison to Bolivia’s side. If I were to do it again, I’d probably skip Puno entirely and spend more time in Copacabana instead, but I’m glad I had the chance to do them both, and I know for next time!

One of the family members of the island we visited spoke relatively good English, so he took me inside his home and showed me around. He explained that he goes to Puno once a week to get groceries and anything else the family needs, but that high school children go to the city every day. Elementary school children are educated in the island community on the “main island,” another floating island just a few minutes away by boat. Once we paid an additional 5 soles, the family took us on an extra boat ride around the islands on their personal boat. Though I was happy to give them the $2, I felt sort of obliged to go on the boat ride. I also felt a lot of pressure to buy the unimpressive souvenirs they were selling. Saying “no, gracias” just didn’t seem good enough, and it was frustrating that I’d pay to go on a tour to feel pressured to spend more money. The whole experience felt very touristy and very routine, which I didn’t enjoy.

When I got back to Puno after the tour I had an hour or so at the hotel before I had to be at the bus station, so I asked the guy at my hostel for a good local restaurant recommendation. His answer? He couldn’t suggest anything good in the area aside from the restaurant I’d already eaten at last night. Not so impressive, and also made me glad I was leaving! I ended up walking down to the main square and getting a cheap chicken sandwich at a local heladeria. Not great, but for 4 soles, it did the trick!

A few minutes after I got back to the hotel from lunch, a woman rushed into the lobby, calling my name frantically. For some reason I still can’t figure out, she had my bus ticket for the bus to Bolivia I was getting on in an hour and a half in her hand. I was under the impression I needed to pick up the ticket with my passport at the actual bus station, which is why I was planning to get there an hour early, and was super confused as to who she was and what was going on. I kept trying to ask questions, but she and the hotel clerk spoke to each other in Spanish and didn’t really explain anything to me, all I know is that she somehow was connected to GTB, and she had my name on the bus ticket, spelled “Racel Cusman.”

In the end she just handed me my ticket, called me a cab, and warned as it pulled away that I shouldn’t pay more than 4 soles for the ride. When I finally got to the bus station, I had to ask 3 people questions before I figured out I needed to pay a 1 soles tax on my ticket out of the city. Sweaty and frustrated, I finally found my bus.

The guys in charge made sure I had all my paper work, a photocopy of my passport, a photo for my visa, and my paperwork from entering Peru. Their diligence in checking my paperwork made me feel a bit reassured, but not much. I was very anxious for the entire 2 1/2 hour bus ride — crossing the border to Bolivia was something I had read a ton about and was the most nervous for during the entire 10 days of my time alone. I had heard such crazy things, including my friend Sarah getting left at the visa office, of people being scammed, etc. As we were driving, I kept thinking we were finally at the border but it turned out we weren’t even close.

The actual border crossing wasn’t as horrific as I had imagined, but it was quite bizarre. When the bus pulled up, the driver made the 3 Americans get off first, in anticipation of us taking the longest. First, I had to get my passport stamped out on the Peruvian side twice, in two separate offices, one right next to the other. Then I had to walk up the hill to Bolivia and into the visa office, a tiny whole-in-the-wall building that looked far from official. There, I had fill out a visa application form. Once I handed the officer my application, all of my customs forms, the copy of my passport and my passport photo, I then had to watch him deeply inspect my $20 bills (Americans have to pay $135 as an entrance/visa fee) for any possible tiny rip or flaw. He could have cared less what was actually written on my forms, what I was doing in the country, where I was going or who I was, but because one of my $20’s had a slight line at the top, middle part of the bill where it had been folded, he simply crossed his arms and said he wouldn’t accept it. Luckily, another guy in line from my bus, also from California, had extra $20’s on him, so he was willing to trade one of his bills with me. Not sure what I would have done otherwise — seriously ridiculous!

After the officer finally accepted my money, he put a visa sticker in my passport saying my entrance fee gave me until 2017 to come back to visit the country, then sent me across the room to another border control officer who took my immigration paperwork, very slowly stamped my forms and my passport, then wrote a “90” next to my stamp, which apparently means I can be in the country for 90 days on this visit.

My heart racing, I left the building and was more than relieved to see my bus was sitting outside, my luggage intact. It was a very short drive from the border into Copacabana, but I got to see an absolutely beautiful sunset over the lake, which was very calming!

When I got off the bus in town and tried to ask a handful of people if they could help me get a taxi, no one would help or even give me a map. Finally, one guy told me I couldn’t get a taxi, that my hotel was just 2 blocks “up” and that I had to walk. So with my purse, backpack and very heavy duffel bag, I shlepped myself up the relatively steep hill, thankful to see signs with my hotel name, pointing me in the right direction. Even though I’ve been up in Cusco since Saturday evening, the altitude in Copacabana immediately started getting to me — I had a major headache from sitting on the bus, and I was huffing and puffing by the time I got the three blocks, uphill, to Hotel Cupula. So much for being in shape after my trek!

After I checked in I spent an hour or so in the TV room, watching Rain Man with a couple from Sweden (I’m telling you, there are SO many couples traveling around South America — who knew?!) and reading about Isla de Sol and Copacabana online. I had a quinoa salad for dinner at the hotel restaurant that would have been good had it not been absolutely drenched in balsamic vinegar. It was wonderful to have a private room at my hotel, even though I was paying $20 a night instead of the $10 average at most hostels in the city, I was in desperate need of a room to myself — well worth the extra $20 splurge!

Back in Cusco, then heading down to Puno

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On my first day back in Cusco after the trek, I was planning to let myself sleep in as late as possible but when you sleep at a hostel in an 8 bed dorm room someone is bound to wake you up. That, and I think my body has officially adjusted to early alarms!

When I had stayed at the Pariwana hostel before my trek I really liked the girls in my room, but my second time there I had a mix of not so friendly roommates which was kind of a bummer. Three of them were friends traveling together from New Jersey, so I was excited to have some east coast bonding time, but they weren’t at all interested in talking to me or hearing my advice about Machu Picchu, so I gave up trying. The other two girls were Norwegian and nice enough, but fairly loud at odd hours, and not very interested in making friends either.

That morning, the Norwegian girls warned me that the shower was ice cold, and needless to say, I was not a happy camper. A half hour later I decided to try it out anyways and luckily there was scalding water coming through the shower head. There is no such thing as a nice, hot shower in South America. You’re either burning your skin off or freezing cold, it’s nearly impossible to find a happy medium.

Since I hadn’t met anyone at the hostel I wanted to spend time with, I spent the majority of the day wandering the streets of Cusco, having Rachel time, and falling even more in love with the city. It was definitely an adjustment to go from having 5 constant companions and a tour guide to coordinate everything to suddenly being on my own again, and I was a little emotional that the trek was over, since it was the part of my trip I was so highly anticipating. Regardless, I had a really wonderful Sunday!

I walked over to the local San Pedro market and saw more dead, skinned animals that I’d like to remember, wandered up the hills to San Blas square and ate at Jack’s Cafe, an amazing restaurant run by an Australian guy, where I had one of the best veggie burgers of my life. I went souvenir shopping and perusing, then ended up back at the Plaza de Armas to watch a huge festival/parade. I got a fresh passionfruit-pineapple juice at a local juice market on the square, then wandered into McCoy, an English-run pub that Stian and Gene had told me about on our trek. Coincidentally, I walked upstairs and there they were!

I hung out with them for a bit, then Hege pointed me in the direction of the amazing, and very cheap, massage place she’d tried out earlier in the week. For 25 soles, just over $9, I got a great back and neck massage. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to let her massage my legs because they were seriously sunburnt from sitting in the sun at Machu Picchu all morning the day before. Oops.

I went back to my hostel to do some research on places to stay in La Paz, committed to a large, but very cheap, party hostel because it seemed like the best option, then met Stian and Gene back at McCoy for dinner.

When I walked back into McCoy, I ran into one of the girls we had gone rafting with on our trek — she was from another group doing the same trail at the same time as us. It’s a very small world in Cusco, since everyone is there mostly to go to/from Machu Picchu, and it was great to run into her again!

Monday, June 18 — Driving from Cusco to Puno

On Monday morning, I was up bright and early for my 10 hour tour bus ride from Cusco down to Puno. I got to the tour office at 7 AM, as suggested, to find that my name wasn’t on the reservation list. Considering I had booked this bus over a month ago, I was relatively pissed, but thankfully a phone call to the tour company’s main offices and then another to the GTB offices got everything sorted out.

The drive down to Puno from Cusco is between 7 and 8 hours and most people, like Dan and Millie, opt to do it overnight. I chose to do a day trip that stopped at four different ruins sites, plus a fifth stop for a buffet lunch. It was a nice way to break up the drive, and I love staring out the windows at the scenery, so I was happy to do the drive during the day instead.

I was traveling on a relatively luxurious bus with a group of 50 tourists, including 15 older Australian tourists, most of whom were grandparents. They were super cute and kept asking me lots of questions about LA and traveling by myself, much different from meeting young, dirty, hostel-staying travelers like myself!

The first ruins we stopped at were Inca ruins and were really interesting — much different than anything I’d seen in Northern Peru as they were constructed with adobe, not just stone. Our second stop was a very ornate church that had been used by multiple denominations — interesting, but absolutely FREEZING inside! Our third stop was at La Raya — a gorgeous outlook where we officially left the Cusco region of Peru where you could see the beautiful snow-capped mountains. Our last stop was a pre-Inca museum that was very run down and almost entirely in Spanish, so unfortunately, it felt mostly like a waste of time.

Our buffet lunch, however, in between all of our stops was delicious, and we got to hang out with llamas and alpacas in the fields outside the restaurant after we ate, which was pretty sweet. Check out these action shots from when I tried to pose with the llama — it tried to spit on me!!

When I got to my hostel in Puno, I was very proud of myself for carrying on a conversation with the receptionist almost entirely in Spanish. Granted it was very basic Spanish, but it was much better than giving a blank stare and a typical gringa “No Habla Espanol” answer.

I wasn’t quite hungry when I got in, so I wandered down to the main square and went into a tourist information office to ask a few questions. I was going to be ambitious and wake up early, before my 8:45 AM floating islands tour, and hike up to an outlook I’d read about in my guidebook. The woman at information, however, told me it was relatively unsafe to do on my own, especially around sunrise, and even though I was disappointed, I took her advice and chose not to go.

I got dinner at a cute restaurant I’d read about in my guidebook and recomended by my hostel. I had an adorable table on the second floor overlooking the plaza and ordered a traditional peruvian dish of chicken breast in mint sauce, over sweet potatoes and quinoa salad — delicious!

I headed back to the hotel with the intention of catching up on blogging and emails, but the internet connection was terrible, so I just passed out early instead. What is vacation for if not to get an excessive amount of sleep?

Trek to Machu Picchu: Day 4

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Waking up at 4 AM isn’t really so bad when you know you’re finally going to see the thing you’ve been waiting (and killing yourself) to see over the last three days: Machu Picchu. We dragged ourselves out of bed, put our luggage in storage , then walked in the pitch black, freezing cold up to the bus line, which at 4:50 AM was already a full block long.

I was seriously beginning to question everyone’s logic who suggested we get up at that crazy hour to be on the first 5:35 AM bus up the mountain, but I was already up, so that was that. The bus ride was dark but slightly nauseating so I didn’t get in the nap I was hoping for, but the adrenaline and excitement kicked in once we were finally at the entrance gate. Just after 6:15 they began letting us through the gates.

It was bizarre, yet incredible, to see this huge ruins site in person after I’d pictured it, and seen it in so many pictures, for so many years.

Juan Carlos spent the first two and a half hours of the morning walking us around the ruins, explaining the history and showing us the various temples on the site. We saw the sun rise, which was spectacular over the jagged peaks, and at around 8:45, Juan Carlos said his goodbyes and left us on our own to explore and wander. Mat had disappeared somewhere on his own, but the 5 of us found a spot in a corner overlooking part of the site and sneakily ate some of our snacks and bagged breakfasts the hostels had supplied us (you’re not supposed to eat at the site… oops).

From there we walked up toward the Guard House, which is where the perfect picture overlooking the ruins is taken. We sat on the edge of the cliff for a while and took too many pictures, then decided to let some other tourists in and made our way to the start of the walk to the Sun Gate, which is the very end of the commercial Inca trail where many hikers arrive into Machu Picchu. We were all exhausted and Juan Carlos had really been able to show us the entirety of the ruins, plus Dan’s leg was starting to ache, so instead of splitting up, we decided to pick a spot in the sun overlooking the ruins, sunbathe and enjoy the view.

We hung out and watched the crowds completely fill the site — hoards and hoards of gigantic tour groups were making their way up the stairs. I had to leave the ruins to pee at one point, and it was like working my way against Los Angeles rush hour traffic. Only then did I appreciate waking up so early to be at the site before sun rise — it was really great to be able to have a guide explain everything without being swarmed by other groups.

There really are no words for how stunning Machu Picchu is — there’s no doubt in my mind why the Incas chose the spot they did, nestled between beautiful mountains, overlooking the gorgeous river valley — but it’s mind blowing to try and grasp how they built such an intricate city at such a high altitude in the middle of nowhere. Where did all of the stones come from? How did they manage to be so precise, so many hundreds of years ago? The questions are endless, and as we were sitting taking it all in, I decided I had to read Hiram Bingham’s (the man given credit for discovering Machu Picchu) “Lost City of the Incas” when I got home.

After 6 1/2 hours in the sun at the ruins, we made our way down the steps to discover two llamas seriously goin’ at it. Be thankful you’ve never had to witness llama sex, it is one of those train wrecks that you can’t look away from. Hundreds of tourists were taking pictures, and the noises as we walked by were just… scarring. Apparently these two llamas like to get it on at the ruins, because as we lined up for the bus, one of the many Peruvian souvenir sellers tried to sell us the “llama sexy time” postcard. I guess humans are humans, wherever they are in the world, everyone is obsessed with sex, even llama sex!

Dan, Millie and I went back to our hostel, grabbed our bags then perused our way through the souvenir market on the way to the train station. Our Inca Rail train from Aguas Callientes to Ollantaytambo was quite luxurious — we had complimentary beverages and snacks, and a beautiful view through huge windows and smaller windows in the ceiling of the beautiful mountain scenery we had walked through the day before.

When we arrived in Ollantaytambo a van was waiting to drive us back to Cusco. We thought it would just be the three of us, but the driver and a woman assisting him crammed it full with locals looking for a cheap ride back to the city, so we were relatively crammed for the hour and a half drive.

The van dropped us off at the plaza just a half block from my hostel, so Dan and Millie came with me to grab my suitcase and re-check in. I quickly changed and stuck my stuff in my locker, then hopped in a cab with them down to the bus station in the southern part of the town. Instead of staying the night in Cusco, they were taking an overnight bus down to Puno that night, since they were only on vacation for just over 2 weeks, they wanted to save some time.

Being at the bus station was a big slap in the face — it’s so easy and so cheap to book bus tickets between cities in South America, prepaying for all my busses was not only a huge rip off but a big mistake. I wasted a ton of money booking my “hop” through Green Toad Bus, but of course I could have only known this after coming down to SA and doing the traveling myself. You live and you learn I guess — next time, I know!

Once they got their bus tickets we went back to their old hostel, grabbed their bags and got some dinner. My lasagna was relatively unimpressive, but they had some good pasta. Then we had to say our goodbyes, and I was off to my hostel to find my sweats, take a long hot shower and pass out!

The internet at my hostel is very slow, but I will try to upload the rest of my MP pictures ASAP! 

Trek to Machu Picchu: Day 3

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Our third day started with a slightly bizarre zip-lining adventure. Sadly, I didn’t take a single picture, so I’m going to try my best to describe the experience without any visual aids…

Before we could start ziplining, we had to walk for 15 minutes up a ridiculously steep hill. There were no stairs, just an enormous dirt hill, with paths so perpendicular that they handed us ski poles to use on our way up. I must have been severely dehydrated from all the hiking the day before, because I could barely make it up the hill. By the time I reached the first zip line, I was breathless, seeing black spots and convinced I was going to pass out. Luckily sitting for 5 minutes and drinking a lot of water helped, and I was able to keep going. Scary though!

I’ve done a handful of ziplines, including a canopy tour in Costa Rica and adventure zip-lining in Mexcio, and absolutely loved all of my experiences, so this was byfar the part of the trek I was most excited for. I love the feeling of flying through the air, your feet dangling and the air rushing by you, yet knowing you are completely secure and safe. I had fun on these ziplines, but didn’t love the experience as much as I had hoped I would, which was definitely disappointing.

The actual ziplines themselves were fine; we had great harnesses and proper equipment, including thick gloves to break on the cable.  Ironically, it was on the actual ziplines themselves that I felt the safest. The platforms we landed on after each zipline weren’t bolted to the ground/mountain — of course the cable we were on was well secured, but the wooden landing platforms were loose, so when I landed I felt very shaky coming off the line. Between ziplines, we had to walk along paths that were similar to the ones we walked on the day prior in that they were along the edge of the mountain, but they weren’t well marked and were full of lose dirt and gravel. I was more terrified on those paths than the ones I had been on the day before, and I felt more scared walking between ziplines than on the actual ziplines themselves.

I guess this just goes to show what expectations can do: I was the most terrified for mountain biking on day one, but it was by far my favorite of all the “extreme” activities. The zipline was the activity I was most looking forward to, but didn’t end up loving my experience.

On the last zipline, you landed in a platform in the middle of the air (literally, not bolted to anything, just suspended on the cable) and then were attached to a rapel line. The guide then rappelled you down into the jungle below, about 100 feet or so. I was terrified to land on the floating platform so I ended up breaking too early and pulling myself toward it instead. Dan, however, wasn’t told to break early enough and ended up smashing into the platform, right on his shin.

Immediately, a gigantic bruise/welt began to form, so huge we were all terrified he had broken his bone. He wasn’t in pain immediately because his body was in so much shock, so they took him to the urgent care in town to make sure he was okay. Luckily it was just a severe bump with a small cut, and they gave him an injection to prevent infection, some heavy painkillers for later and bandaged his leg. It did mean, however, that he couldn’t walk much on it during the rest of the day, so he had to take the train down to Aguas Callientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu, and miss the rest of the day with the group.

After our rendezvous at urgent care, the zipline company drove us 40 minutes to our lunch spot. The van ride literally felt like the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland — the road was so rocky and dusty, the van was literally shaking from side to side, it barely felt like we were moving forward, just rocking up and down. I have come to realize during my time in South America that drivers here — in all 5 of the countries I’ve been in — are absolutely insane. Peruvian drivers, however, are fearless. They will simply push on the gas pedal, with no qualms about the people or other vehicles that may be in the way.

We got to the restaurant for lunch relatively late because of Dan’s injury, so we were the last group to eat. I preoccupied myself with an absolutely tiny and adorable grey kitten, and there was a fütbol match on a TV in the corner, so all the boys were happy. Lunch was a sort of mystery chicken and potato in cream sauce, which was slightly strange, but they gave us two small scoops of ice cream, a very rich vanilla with chocolate chips, that did a great job satisfying my sweet tooth.

After lunch we had a 3 hour walk through the river valley along a set of train tracks. Everything was so picturesque that I kept stopping every 5 minutes to take pictures and ended up lagging behind the group. Juan Carlos stopped to join me, and we ended up walking together and talking most of the walk. We talked about everything from groups of Israeli travelers to relationships to his goal of going back to school to study Biology and eventually become a researcher in the Amazon jungle. I learned a lot about his life and about the Peruvian school system, which allows students to graduate from high school as early as 16. Turns out Juan Carlos went right to college to study tourism after high school, so even though he’s my age, he graduated from college at 20 and has already been working for 3 1/2 years.

I think on all of my trips and time in these various countries, the sites and cities have been really wonderful, but meeting local people and hearing about their experiences, especially when they welcome you into their lives with such open arms, is the most rewarding thing. Carla and Natalia at the B&B in Argentina, Monica and Miguel at their Estancia in Uruguay, even the hostel workers who took us to the soccer game in Montevideo. Yet another cliche, but hearing about local people’s lives and experiences really makes a country come alive.

Our walk was such a great way to end the trek into Aguas Callientes — of course my feet were still throbbing at the end, but it was nice to have a leisurely (and relatively flat!) walk to end the trek!

Because we had all booked the trip separately at different times through a variety of middlemen companies and for different amounts in different currencies (confusing, I know), Stian, Gene and Mat ended up at different hostels and restaurants from Dan, Millie and me on our last night. It was pretty disappointing after we’d had 3 great days hanging out getting to know each other that on our last night we couldn’t all be together, but I guess that’s what happens on these types of trips, especially since June is peak time in Machu Picchu, not everything was available.

After dinner, Dan, Millie and I officially decided to opt out of walking up the long set of steep stairs at 4:30 AM in the pitch black the next morning, and went to buy bus tickets instead. Even though I’m sure the walk up was a great experience and felt like a wonderful achievement (and I could have saved myself the $20 — Machu Picchu is expensive), I was so exhausted from all the physical activity of the last 3 days that I decided not to pressure myself to walk up. In my mind, it just wasn’t worth it, and I wanted to avoid being even more exhausted at Machu Picchu the next day.

We bought some very expensive snacks for lunch at the ruins the next day — Aguas Callientes is a very expensive, very touristy town since everyone has to pass through it to get to MP — and then went back to our hostel to pass out in preparation for our 4 AM alarms.

The rest of my pictures from Day 3!

Trek to Machu Picchu: Day 2

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Who doesn’t love a 5:30 wake up call, knowing you’ll be walking 16 miles up and down a mountain?

The good thing about our pre-sunrise alarm was knowing we’d have the entire day to pace ourselves during the walk. Leaving later would have meant rushing at the end of the day to avoid sundown, and I’m glad that wasn’t the case. The first hour and a half of our walk was along a mostly-flat, dusty, car road. We stopped several times so Juan Carlos could show us the various fruits and vegetables growing along the road —  bananas, avocados, papayas, passionfruit, and a special type of native fruit that turns into red paint, which he used to paint our faces with “tribal” designs.

Then, out of nowhere, Juan Carlos led us off the road and up a very narrow, steep path with intense, switch back turns. Lets face it: I had no idea what I was in for during the next several hours. I don’t think I’ve ever walked up such steep inclines in my life — the paths were angled at least 45 degrees, if not more, and my ankles were completely flexed upward at many points. Between the altitude and the incline, my breath was short and my heart was absolutely racing — when I stopped you could literally see my heart pounding my chest. I don’t know how else to explain it other than to say we were hiking along the edge of a mountain. One step to my left, there was a thousand foot drop, to the right, an enormous boulder engrained in the side of a mountain. Juan Carlos would point to a roof or a path far off in the distance and cheerily exclaim “that’s our next stop!” as if it was no big deal that our next destination was on an entirely different side of the mountain.

I have to admit, however, that it was incredibly satisfying to see your destination so far away and finally make it there, look back and say to yourself, “damn, look what I just did.”

Along the way up the mountain, there were several “houses” where we made stops — geared toward tourists, selling overpriced water and snacks, but one had traditional Peruvian clothing to dress up in and a display of the various produce that grows in the area, which Juan Carlos explained to us.

I mostly walked slowly at the back of the group, telling myself over and over again that it wasn’t a race, that I could take my time. My feet felt shaky and I was nervous as my feet found their places among the large rocks lining the very narrow path. One wrong slip and I could have literally tumbled off the mountain, knocked unconscious in the Peruvian jungle. I tried not to think about it as I made my way forward, trying to force myself to take breaks to look up at the incredible landscape. Aside from the fear, the walk really was breathtakingly beautiful — I’ve never seen tree-covered mountains with such unique formations.

We finally made it to our restaurant where we all wolfed down a delicious lunch. I’m not sure if it was the intense calorie burning or if the food really was that good, but the fresh guacamole we had was, in that moment, some of the best I’ve ever tasted.

After lunch, we walked for several hours along the Urubamba riverbed. We crossed several bridges back and forth over the river — some made of a handful of tree branches laid across the riverbed, others man-made but still very rickety. During rainy season, the riverbed often floods and, in some cases, wipes out the trail, so they often have to create a new path on either side every season. The terrain was rocky and sandy and not completely flat, but not nearly as uphill or treacherous as the morning had been. The sun had come out from behind a thin layer of clouds and it was definitely hot — much hotter than I had anticipated it being. Sweaty and exhausted, I was thankful I’d paid the 5 soles to send my bag ahead to the hostel instead of carrying it with me the entire day. At that moment, it truly felt like the best $2 I’ve ever spent! It was relatively unbelievable to realize that my body had taken me from steep mountains into jungle, then onto the banks of a river. I was in shock with how much I’d been able to do, despite my fear, and inability to breathe, at many points along the way.

At the very end of our walk, we had to cross the river on what Juan Carlos kept referring to as a cable car. This cable car was actually a 10 foot by 5 foot wooden and metal platform, attached to a long wire cable that stretched at least 300 feet across the river, whose calming gurgling noises had suddenly become intense, rushing sounds 25 feet below us. Mat (the Australian in the group) and I sat in the “cable car,” Juan Carlos gave us a giant push, and we began to sail across the cable. From the other end, a young boy — not much older than 14 or 15 — held a white rope, attached to the cable every 10 feet or so by a metal ring. Once our car slowed, he began to pull the rope, and consequently us, toward him. After we paid him a single sole (35 cents) for the crossing, he politely handed us a square, pink receipt, then used all his strength to push the car back to the other side, ready for two more passengers. Mind-blowing to say the least, and my pictures definitely don’t do the experience justice.

Another 15 minutes of walking and we reached what had become heaven in our minds: the hot springs. I cannot think of a more amazing way to end a day of such intense walking. Three gigantic pools of hot water, nestled along the riverbed, surrounded by jungle-covered peaks. It was the perfect reward after an exhausting day, and I’m sure the reason my muscles didn’t quit working for the rest of the trek. At first, we stood in the water in silence. I’m not sure what the others were thinking, but my loss of words was definitely a combination of exhaustion, shock, and total relief!

I’ll pause now to explain our group a bit — there were six of us total, two couples. Millie and Dan, a couple from London, were who I met at my pre-departure orientation, and I’d say I definitely became closest with them. Millie and I walked and chatted for a lot of the hike, and we got along really well. Stian and Gene were the other couple, from Norway, who were traveling all over the world for 8 months. Mat was the fifth member of our group, a 25-year old Australian guy with a very stereotypical Australian attitude. He did the whole trek in thin, canvas shoes, and mostly kept to himself, not talking much. Juan Carlos was an incredible guide — unlike a lot of the guides of the groups that we’d run into along the way, he wasn’t interested in partying or going crazy, he wanted to show us his beautiful country, teach us about the Incan culture and history, and really get to know us. I spent a lot of the time walking next to him and chatting — his english wasn’t perfect, but it was 100x better than my Spanish! I have to admit, by the end of our trip, I might have developed a baby crush…

Speaking of, despite spending most of my time with the two couples, I really felt at ease. There was a point at the hot springs when I was standing by myself, watching Stiam and Gene exchange loving, flirty looks, where I had a pang of jealousy but overall, the four days of the trek really entrenched in me a satisfaction in my own singleness — something I haven’t felt in a long time. I am so genuinely happy to be on my own at this point in my life, and despite all the heartbreak of the last year, I truly believe it all happened for a reason, and for me to finally be at this point emotionally.

I digress. After relaxing in the hot water for an hour and a half, our group of 6 opted for a 5 soles van ride into town instead of walking the last 2 miles — our muscles had had enough! We changed into our non-hiking clothes and had our standard dinner — a mealy soup I was not a fan of, chicken breast, rice, tomato and avocado and potato strips. We each got a complimentary Inca Tequila shot — just thinking about it brings back the burning sensation in my throat, even with the salt & lime. I was exhausted before dinner, but the tiny amount of alcohol ensured I was asleep the second my head hit the pillow.

Those are just a small smattering of the pictures I took on day 2 — to see all of them check out the Google Plus album I posted.

Trek to Machu Picchu: Day 1

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My jungle trek might have been one of the most physically challenging things I’ve ever done in my life: 40 kilometers of downhill mountain biking, rafting through Class 3 rapids, walking 26 kilometers up and down steep mountains… it was quite a challenge. That being said, my trek was also one of the most incredible experiences of my life.

I remember climbing into bed on my first night and looking at my watch, only to realize it had only been 14 hours since I’d left Cusco, but it somehow felt like days. I started the day with a 6:15 wake up call to take my last hot shower for four days — thank goodness there was hot water at my hostel that morning (another small thing you learn to seriously appreciate when you travel: a decent shower). I had to literally sit on my (er, Kate’s) bag to close it, I was taking so little with me on the trek. Two pairs of leggings, four pairs of underwear, a bathing suit, two sports bras, a long sleeve shirt, a short sleeve shirt, two tank tops, my fleece, a pair of sweats, face wash, toothbrush/paste, body wash, a small towel, my camera & charger, chapstick, and a flashlight. Damn good packing!

I was told there were only 6 of us on the trek, so when our 16-seater van ended up completely full, I was less than thrilled. We were taking a 3 hour drive up into the Andes to start our mountain biking, and there were 9 Israelis who were going to be joining our group for the first half of the first day. Unfortunately, they were being typical Israelis, screaming and shouting and blasting techno music… at 7:30 AM. The other 6 of us looked at each other with frustrated and exhausted faces, silently thankful they were only with us for those few hours.

As an American Jew, it’s often hard to hear the reaction to the myriad of Israelis traveling in groups down in South America. Stian, one of the Norweigans in my trek group, simply said “I hate those people” on our way to dinner on our first night, and though I was immediately hurt and frustrated, I completely understood why his impression of Israel and Israelis was so negative. The 9 Israelis in our van made no attempt to speak English or communicate with us — they spoke over the guides when they tried to explain things during our drive, and they didn’t take us into consideration whatsoever. Of course there are exceptions to all the stereotypes, and I of all people know that not all Israelis are like this — for instance the great guy, Alon, I met on my tour of the Cusco ruins. I think when people travel in groups, it’s just a different situation.

Regardless of their obnoxiousness, mountain biking was quite the experience: serene, slightly terrifying, but overall, a few of the most incredible hours of my life. After my not-so-impressive biking experience at the Estancia in Uruguay, I was more than a little nervous to hop on a mountain bike and cycle 40 km (almost 25 miles) down a massive mountain. Luckily, our guide, Juan Carlos, was great at explaining all the functions of our bikes, triple checking everything worked, and then loading us up with the right gear: helmets, gloves, full top “armor” jackets with spine protection, plus full knee/calf protectors. I looked pretty ridiculous, but I felt safe!

Once I did a few circles around the dirt lot where we were suiting up, I immediately felt more comfortable on my bike than I had in Uruguay, but the first mile or two were still a bit of a struggle. I was the last in the group, ended up breaking a lot, and took the curves very, very slowly. As I got more comfortable on my bike, I eased up a lot. There was a steep drop-off on one side of the road, but even the parts of the road with hairpin turns were wide and well paved, and I was able to ease into the ride and a higher speed relatively quickly.

There is nothing more beautiful than descending from 4500 meters (just over 13,000 feet) above sea level, surrounded by beautiful snow-capped peaks, into a temperate jungle, watching the vegetation become more and more green, feeling the air get warmer and warmer, the sun on your face and wind in your hair. It sounds so disgustingly cliche, and nearly impossible considering I was navigating a two-wheeled vehicle down a steep mountain road, but it was such a freeing, relaxing experience. Ironically, mountain biking was the part of the trek I was most nervous for, but it was by far my favorite official activity of the four days.

After biking we had pesto chicken, rice and tomatoes for lunch at a local restaurant (unexpectedly delicious!), awkwardly changed into our swimsuits in the backyard of our restaurant, then got picked up for rafting. The sun was slowly sinking in the sky, and I realized it was already past 3:30. We ended up sitting in the van in town for nearly half an hour waiting for people from another tour group to join us, so by the the time we drove down to the river and got our lifejackets on, it was close to 4:15.

Firstly, I was expecting wetsuits, and there were none. Instead, I stayed in my leggings and tank top over my bikini, in fear of being freezing cold. Secondly, I somehow ended up at the very front of the 8-person raft. Our guide began to explain the proper procedures for catching the rope if you are thrown overboard, and how to duck into the raft when he says “Get down!” instead of the typical “forward” or “backward” paddling instructions. My heart immediately started racing.

I’d like to say the first, gigantic, bone-chilling wave of ice cold river water was the most shocking, but that would be a lie. Every time I got drenched, which was at least a dozen times in the hour and a half we were on the water, was just as cold and just as terrible. I was shivering, annoyed and mostly terrified. But halfway through, as we floated down a rapid-free section of the river with our paddles in our laps, I just couldn’t help but laugh. Here I was complaining, yet if this were any other normal day, I’d be sitting in my cubicle, complaining about how cold I was — from the AC — and how frustrating the CMA was being that afternoon. Instead, I was river rafting through class 3 rapids in the middle of the Peruvian jungle. How could I possibly be miserable?

After that, I kept a firm grip on the rope at the edge of the raft and dug my feet firmly into the foot-holds, but I smiled, even when I got a mouthful of water. I wish I had a picture of myself when I got out of the raft (or any pictures from rafting — I left my camera with Juan Carlos to take to our hostel) — I literally looked like I had showered in my clothing, there wasn’t a single inch of my body that wasn’t soaked. We towel dried and attempted to soak up the last of the sun, then helped the guides reattach our rafts to the top of the vans before they drove us back to our hostel.

By the time we were back at our hostel it was pitch black and not very warm out, so I was happy to have warm sweats and a dry fleece to change into. Dinner at a local restaurant was delicious, and it was wonderful to crawl into a bed (not a sleeping bag) and pass out!

Sad to report I took very few pictures on the first day — the few I did take are uploaded to Picasa here. 

I’m back! Catching up: June 12 in Cusco

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Its only been 7 days since I last blogged, but I am still struggling to process all of the incredible things that have happened in just a week. My trek was absolutely amazing and I can’t wait to share all of the details, but I’m going to work backwards, starting with June 12, my last day in Cusco before my trek:

I was up relatively early to book a day tour through my hostel, a half day visit to five Inca ruins sites in the Cusco area. My tour didn’t leave until 1:30 PM, so I had the morning to myself to check out the city. I ate the very average free breakfast at my hostel — breakfast pretty much anywhere in South America consists of bread (in Argentina you get lucky and score Media Lunas, sweet croissants) with butter and jam, average coffee and cocoa tea. Over breakfast, I met a German girl who was stuck in a huge cast because she fell on one of the floating islands in Bolivia on Lake Titicaca and fractured her ankle. Luckily, she had friends living in Ecuador, so she was heading up north to meet them and take it easy, since she was stuck in her cast for 6 weeks, the duration of her time traveling. Her injury certainly put my tiny stresses of the week prior in perspective — having a vacation ruined by a broken bone is so much worse than anything I’ve had to face on my trip thus far, a good reality check for me!

Two of the girls staying in the same room at my hostel were American — one from Portland and one from San Francisco — so we immediately bonded. They had just come back from their Inka Trek, and wanted to spend the morning at the Artisinal Market. The market was also on my to do list, so I took them up on their offer to join them shopping for the morning.

The market was a pretty crazy sight — a giant warehouse filled with row upon row of tiny cubicles, crammed with hundreds of alpaca- and lama-knit sweaters, scarves, keychains, figurines and necklaces galore. Luckily we were there on a calm Tuesday morning, so we didn’t have too much company. Annie was a crazy bargainer, so she helped me snag an awesome lime green, knit alpaca zip-up for 30 soles ($11). It’s pretty out there, but now that I’ve worn it for the last few days, I’m relatively obsessed with it. One thing’s for sure; it will be very easy to spot me in NYC when I wear it all winter!

After grabbing a quick light lunch of bananas, granola and peach drinkable yogurt (strangely delicious) at a local supermarket, I made my way back to the hostel for my tour, which ended up starting much closer to 2 PM than 1:30. I panicked slightly when the guide began to make his long, Spanish introduction that I didn’t clarify earlier that morning that I needed a bilingual or English tour. Luckily, there were a handful of other people who needed the tour in English, so the 5 of us bonded while the rest of the group talked and became restless and rude when our tour guide switched to explain things in English for us.

One of the biggest downsides to traveling in a country where you don’t speak the language is the lack of accessible information at museums and ruins — very few signs are in English, especially at less popular tourist destinations, which can be relatively infuriating. Luckily, we had a good guide, and I was able to grasp most of what he was explaining to us.

Alon, a 30-year old Israeli TV journalist, and I started talking immediately and spent most of the tour chatting — we also made friends with three other girls, one from Sweden, one from Switzerland, and a student from Davidson College in the states.

The two words that immediately come to mind when I think of all the gorgeous Inca ruins I’ve seen over the past week are humbling and mind-boggling. Looking at these gigantic stones, some of them 15 feet high and weighing in at close to a ton, built up perfectly on these beautiful grass plateaus, completely isolated from everything, really blows your mind. How did a people, who lived in such rocky, steep terrain, and who didn’t use the wheel, manage to transport and beautifully carve such massive stones, close to 700 years ago?

It was also heartbreaking to hear about how much of the Inca civilization is a mystery to our generation because the Spanish destroyed so much of the Inca’s structures, precious metals, and culture when they came to conquer South America.

Though it’s the most bizarre of all the ruins sites, I found the Qorikanca Temple in downtown Cusco the most aesthetically fascinating. The Spanish built their church directly over the Inca temple that they partially destroyed, so the site is a strange mixture of Spanish architecture and beautiful Inca-carved stones. We also made our way up into the hills of Cusco to see Saqsaywaman, a gigantic Inca situated on a beautiful grassy hill that overlooks the entire city of Cusco. We had a clear view of the Plaza de Armas, just a few blocks from my hostel, and our guide explained that Cusco was originally meant to be shaped like a Puma, one of the three sacred animals to the Incas, and that Saqsaywaman forms the head of the Puma.

Because our tour started so much later than scheduled, we ended up seeing the last two sites after sundown, so we didn’t get the best views. I was relatively annoyed, but have to admit it was really neat to see all of Cusco lit up below us once it started to get dark.

Us English-speakers all opted for a nice dinner at Inka Grill on the Plaza after the tour — a bit pricey, but my goat cheese and spinach stuffed chicken breast was delicious, and so was the chocolate tart we all split afterwards.

When I got back to my hostel I was exhausted from being in the sun and high altitude all day, but completely anxious and wired for my trek the next day. I accidentally left disc 1 of Friday Night Lights in my laptop when I moved, so after I packed and separated my stuff, I watched an episode and then promptly passed out!

Country number four: Peru!

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After yet another airport mishap (I guess it’s bound to happen when you take 4 flights in 3 days, right?) I am alive, in one piece, and settled down in Cusco, Peru — country number 4!

I got in my cab at 6 AM this morning, this time to the right airport (ha), and when I checked in at the Santiago airport, I found out that LAN had automatically changed my connecting flight to Cuzco (you have to fly through Lima, the only international airport in Peru) up an hour, so I only had a 50 minute layover. I asked the LAN attendant checking me in if this was enough time and she said yes, no problem, so I stayed on the earlier flight. Mistake.

I get to Lima and discover that not only do I have to go through customs at the Lima airport, but I also have to claim my baggage and re-check in for my second flight. Our flight from Santiago left 15 minutes late, and there were multiple international flights landing in Lima when ours did, so I wasn’t even close to making my connection. Three LAN attendants and a lot of sweat later (I was layered up for cold weather and the airport was SO hot!) I got a seat on the flight I had originally scheduled. Ridiculous, but it ended up working out fine, thanks to a very nice LAN attendant named Angel (ironic, I know). Security in Lima was super confusing — I got in a line and had all of my stuff in bins on the conveyor belt before someone told me that the line was men only. When I got to the other line and it was both men and women, and the person who ended up having to scan me after I went through the metal detectors was also a male? Very confusing. All of this travel has also helped me realize that South Americans, regardless of the country, have no sense of your personal bubble. When you’re in line, they’re 3 inches from you at all times, half walking in front of you, half shoving you forward. It was irritating at first, but now its (mostly) entertaining.

In happier news, Cuzco is beautiful. When we landed, I was literally breathless watching the snow covered mountains and the gorgeous green hills surrounding the city — I had beautiful weather today, and the sun lit everything so perfectly. I made a friend, Harold, from Austria, on my flight from Lima, and we ended up on the same Cuzco flight despite my whole mess, and shared a cab to our respective hostels. Always good to have a buddy who speaks English!

A view of the surrounding hills from the Plaza de Armas, 3 blocks from my hostel!

My hostel is huge, but really great — much cleaner than the place we stayed in Montevideo, and there are dozens of people staying here in several large rooms. I’m in an 8 bed female room with a bathroom ensuite, but so far 5 of the 8 beds are empty. After I checked in, I wandered through a few of the plazas that are right near my hostel, had a delicious quinoa salad for late lunch, then went for my pre-departure trek briefing. I met my guide, Juan, and another couple from London (yay English speakers!) who will be trekking with me. Our guide, who has been leading treks to Machu Picchu for 4 years, said there were 3 other people on the trip who were being briefed tomorrow, so I’ll meet them Wednesday when we leave.

My itinerary is pretty intense, and though I’m still a bit nervous, now I’m mostly excited. I’m glad I’m challenging myself and not just taking the train to Machu Picchu — I know doing the trek will be so much more rewarding in the end, but I’m also more than thrilled that I’m not going to be sleeping on the ground in a tent for four nights.

The Catedral in the Plaza de Armas

The first day of the trek we take a 3 hour bus ride from Cuzco, then go from an altitude of 4100 meters all the way down to 1500 meters… on mountain bikes. I think this is the part I’m most nervous for — riding a bike on a wide, paved road in Uruguay was a big enough challenge for me! Our guide assured me that I could stop as often as I wanted and that 80% of the road is asphalt, so that made me feel a bit better, but it will definitely be nerve-wracking. After the biking we take a short bus ride, then go river rafting. I’ve been warned we’ll get wet and it will be Class II and III rapids, but they’re providing wet suits, and said we’re supposed to have great weather, so hopefully I won’t freeze to death. After the rafting we arrive at our first hostel in Santa Maria, where I will most likely pass out from total exhaustion.

Day two is 7-8 hours of hiking, part of which is along the Inca Trail. I was told originally that we have to carry all of our stuff, but our guide told us we can pay 5 Peruvian sols (less than $2) to have our stuff carried instead, and even though I’m packing light, I’ll probably take advantage of the cheap porters! After a long day of hiking we’ll get to relax in the hot springs, and then get to our second hostel in Santa Teresa.

Day 3 is what I’m most excited for — zip-lining! I can’t wait for this part of the trek — it will definitely be my motivation during 8, very long hours of hiking on day 2. We walk for a few hours (9km) after the zipline, then get to our third and final hostel where, dun dun dun, we get a hot shower! (The two other hostels are in towns where no hot water runs, period.) We’ll get to bed early and then be up at 4:30 AM the next day to get out to Machu Picchu, where our guide will show us around for the morning. Then we have the afternoon to ourselves at the ruins before we get on the train back to Cuzco. I’m booked in the same hostel for another two nights after my trek, so I can relax, do some souvenir shopping, and let my sore muscles relax before I take a 10 hour bus ride down to Puno at Lake Titicaca. The plan for tomorrow is to take a guided half day trip to four or five of the ruins sites outside Cuzco — that way I don’t wander aimlessly and misunderstand everything I’m seeing.

I can’t believe this part of the trip is finally happening — it’s so surreal, and probably won’t feel real until my muscles are aching from all the rafting, biking and hiking. Cross your fingers for me!

“I think you’re at the wrong airport..”

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Hearing someone say those words to you, in slightly broken English, at 5:45 in the morning is not a good way to start your day. Just, you know, in case you were wondering.

To clarify, Buenos Aires has two airports. As I understood (until this morning), the Jose Newbury Aeroparque is the local airport, and the other, a 30 minute drive out of the city, is the international airport. Alison and I flew into the Buenos Aires International Airport from Santiago at the end of May when we first came to Argentina, and since I had booked a round trip ticket back to Santiago from BA, I simply assumed my flight would leave from that international airport. Of course, I knew there was a local airport, since I had flown in and out of Iguazu through the Aeroparque, and I even joked with Alison when I was coordinating a taxi pickup through the BA hostel I stayed at last night that it was a good thing I knew to differentiate between the two airports, otherwise they would have sent a driver to pick me up at the wrong one.

So when I forked over $180 pesos (just about $40 US) and hopped out of my taxi this morning after a 30 minute drive outside the city, you can imagine my disbelief when the LAN agent I spoke with told me my flight wasn’t, in fact, leaving from that airport. Luckily, I’m my parent’s daughter and left a ridiculous amount of time between getting to the airport and my actual flight departure time (7:50 AM) since I didn’t know how long customs would take, so the extra 45 minutes back to downtown BA wasn’t too detrimental and I was able to make my flight. Thank goodness it was a Sunday morning and the roads were empty! Of course I had to pay another $220 pesos ($50 US) to get all the way back where I had just come from… nothing like wasting close to $100 on a stupid mistake! Oh well, lesson learned and it all worked out fine — I made my flight without a problem, and I’m back safely at Alison & Ignacio’s apartment.

I’m in disbelief that 3 weeks of my trip have already gone by — I can’t believe I’m back in Santiago, getting ready to travel on my own, and hike to Machu Picchu at that! I have such a mix of emotions: part of me is terrified to be out in Peru and Bolivia by myself, another part of me can’t wait to be on my own, truly enjoying my independence and some very serious “me” time.

Last night was a bit of a strange experience in and of itself — I got back from Iguazu and got in the cab my hostel had arranged for me, checked in at the hostel to find that even though I’d paid $8.60 US for one bed in a 4 bed suite, I was actually going to be staying in a room on my own. I didn’t have any complaints, of course, but was confused when they showed me to a rather large room with only one bed and a small wooden wardrobe with a place to lock my bags. Of course the tiny heater they had started in the far corner of the room (opposite the bed) was doing nothing to heat the huge space, so I knew it was going to be a cold night.

I think I confused the man working the desk — when I asked him to bring me an extra blanket and he came upstairs, he seemed completely taken aback that I had taken it upon myself to move the bed directly next to the heater. Hey, a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. I told him I’d move it back this morning, but he didn’t seem too concerned, just mostly confused. Luckily leggings underneath my sweatpants, two pairs of socks, a tank top, long sleeve shirt and sweatshirt were enough to keep me warm under the two relatively thin blankets they’d given me. I’m becoming a pro at learning to sleep in the cold!

I also had a grocery store fail yesterday: the original plan was to meet up with Erica and cook, but she wanted to go out to dinner and watch the Celtics, and the last thing I wanted to do was to be faced with Boston sports in another hemisphere. Instead, I went across the street to the grocery store, where I spent a significant amount of time wandering the aisles, probably looking like a sad, lost and confused puppy to everyone else in the store. In all fariness, it’s rather difficult to grocery shop in another language and country where you don’t have the vocabulary to ask where things are.

At one point, I was able to mutter the question “Donde esta queso parmesano?” to a man stocking the shelves, who answered something very quickly and pointed in a vague, general direction, so off I went to wander down the same 3 aisles I’d already been down. Of course, grocery shopping for one is impossible in the states, but to shop for one person, for one night, not being able to keep any leftovers was a total fail. I spent $40 pesos ($9ish bucks) on pasta, pasta sauce, parmesan cheese, a yellow bell pepper (the only decent looking vegetable I could find in the produce section), chocolate cookies and a bottle of water.

One thing I wish Alison, Carolyn and I had done more of when we were traveling was cook — buying groceries to split and share amongst 3 people is relatively easy. Unfortunately, we didn’t really have a kitchen we could use at the BA B&B we were at, so it didn’t make much sense, but it could have saved us a lot of money, especially since Buenos Aires is a very expensive city to eat out in.

I met two super sweet girls from Liverpool while I was cooking dinner last night, and left them with my extra pasta and sauce, and they were very grateful. I talked to them a little about how they had taken the TEFL and were certified to teach English, spending their summer after graduating from university in Buenos Aires together. I wish it weren’t so expensive to take the class and get certified in the states — aside from that obvious hurdle and the fact that I’m paying to store my stuff in Connecticut right now, I think I’d very seriously consider moving abroad to teach if I had someone to go with. I do feel so thankful that I am truly “free” right now — though the goal is to be in New York City eventually, I can really do whatever I want, and that freedom is so exhilarating!

Speaking of, Briann just booked a two week trip out to the west coast! We’re going to meet in Seattle on July 11 and spend a few days in Seattle, then hop down to Portland, then see San Francisco before we head down to LA for a few days in my home city to show her around. She has never seen the pacific ocean and I’ve never been further north than Sacramento, so I’m very excited to export the Pacific northwest! I think it will be hard heading back to LA from such an amazing vacation/travel adventure, so I’m glad to have another leg of travel booked — and this time speaking the language and having a cell phone will make coordinating and traveling much easier!

The rest of today is dedicated to errands: doing laundry, unpacking and repacking, getting passport pictures taken for my Bolivian visa, printing out copies of my credit card and passport, also for my visa, and then buying a handful of things like an alarm clock, flashlight, and more shampoo/conditioner. I’m glad I have the day to get that type of stuff done — it’s much needed after 18 days of non-stop travel!