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Colca Canyon and a torn ligament

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I would hike down, and through, one of the deepest canyons in the world but manage to tear a ligament in my foot just several hours afterwards… from tripping trying to get on a bus. All I can think right now is “typical Rachel.”  That, and a huge sigh of relief that I didn’t break a bone or seriously hurt myself to the point where I’d need to go home. I just have to be off my foot for a few days, and then I should be good to go. Even after one nights rest and some painkillers/anti-inflamatories, I’m feeling much, much better, and can put some weight on my foot.

It was nearly 4 AM, and I’d been waiting at the bus station in Arequipa for close to 4 hours. The woman I bought my bus ticket from specifically told me (and even wrote on my ticket) to be at the station by 12 AM. Although the bus schedule indicated the bus arrived at 1:30 AM, I decided I’d better listen to the woman instead. Two hours passed, and no bus. I paced, asked the attendant, who said it’d be another hour. After an hour, he said it would be another 20 minutes. Finally, around 3:45 AM, I was sleeping on and off against Dora when he woke me with a start, saying the bus was here. I grabbed my backpacks and my plastic bag of snacks and dashed for the door. Exhausted from being up for nearly 23 hours straight, and out of it from sitting at a bus station for 4 hours, I missed the curb and tripped, slamming my left knee onto the pavement and twisting my right foot inward, landing on top of it, my gigantic backpack slamming me further into the ground.

Everyone around me rushed to help, but when I tried to stand I nearly blacked out from the shock and pain. In complete disbelief, I let the driver stick my bag in the back of the bus, wiped my tears and hobbled up the steps to my seat on the second floor.

I managed to sleep a few hours, but I was so worried about the pain in my foot, and how little weight I could put on it, that I was mostly just freaking out.

Was I going to have to give up six weeks of travel and go home? Was I going to have to fork over a thousand bucks for x-rays? Were my parents going to flip out and try and force me to come home? Could I even walk on crutches with my enormous backback?

When I got to La Paz, I originally had every intention of getting right on a bus to Cochabamba. Instead, I grabbed a cab to the only place I knew: Loki Hostal, the party hostel where I’d stayed almost three months ago. I mostly hated the place for its atmosphere, but I knew they’d keep my bags safe and have a good doctor to send me to, and they did. Fifteen minutes after my arrival, my bags were locked up and I was in another cab, off to a clinic. After I explained what happened in my exhausted form of Span-glish (thank god for my hospital vocabulary lesson in Montanita!), the doctor assessed the pain and explained that because there wasn’t much swelling and I had a wide range of movement, there was no way I could have broken a bone.

Fourteen hours later, I could finally breathe again. I had, however, torn or significantly sprained a ligament on the top of my foot. He gave me a prescription for 800 mg of ibuprofen, cleaned my scraped-up and bruised left knee, wrapped my foot/ankle in an ace bandage and sent me on my way.

Because of the convenience, I asked for a night at the Loki hostel, stumbled pathetically up the stairs, and settled myself into my bunk bed, where I’d been instructed to stay, immobile, for at least 24 hours.

The damage…

After a much needed 12 hours of sleep, I am feeling a lot better, and I can now put a significant amount of weight on my foot. Since I’ve already spent several days in La Paz and don’t particularly want to be here, especially in this cigarette-smelling hostel filled with party travelers who never leave the building, I’m spending the day relaxing with my foot elevated, then heading to Cochabamba on an overnight bus. I don’t plan to do much walking there, but at least I’ll be in a new city.

And since I’ve got nothing else better to do than write, I’ll make this blog post ridiculously long by including my four days in Arequipa and at Colca Canyon. 

I’d anticipated that Arequipa would be a city I’d like, and I was definitely right. Smaller and more quaint, with beautiful architecture and lots of people out and around at all hours of the day, I really enjoyed my two days in the city.

Filiz and I spent our time relaxing, wandering, doing a bit of shopping, seeking out good coffee (a task which proved relatively costly), cooking our own dinners for ridiculously cheap, and taking an interesting walking adventure to the bus station, which wasn’t quite on the city map we had.

Arequipa’s pigeon-infested main plaza

The main square of Arequipa all lit up at night

After talking with several tour agencies and the woman at our hostel, we finally committed to a two day, one night tour of Colca Canyon — one of the deepest canyons in the world, and one of the most popular trips on Peru’s gringo trail. We’d been told the first day would involve 8 hours of walking, after which we’d spend the night at the bottom of the canyon, and the next day would be a 3 hour hike straight back up the canyon. We knew it wouldn’t be easy, persay, but everyone we talked to who’d done it hadn’t had major problems, and really enjoyed it. We figured if everyone did it, we could too.

And we could — we did — but it certainly wasn’t a cake walk, that’s for sure.

After our 3 AM wake-up call and 3:20 AM hostel pick up, we drove 3 hours in a packed, 12-person van to Chivay, the small town that serves as the gateway to volcano row and Peru’s stunning canyon country. After paying our steep 70 soles ($26 bucks!) entry fee, we got to a restaurant for the typical South American breakfast: bread, jam, and tea. We had another 3 hours or so of driving, broken up by a stop at the Condor lookout, where we were lucky enough to see several condors gliding gracefully above our heads and into the valley below.

View of the mountains from the Condor Lookout

Gorgeous condor (with a 15 foot wingspan) gliding over the outlook + lots of tourists

Just past 9:30 AM, we began the first half of our walk: 3 hours straight down the canyon. As a total klutz (oh, the irony), the steep, and very dusty, path made of rocks and lose gravel wasn’t exactly my favorite, and I quickly fell behind the group – slowly taking my time getting down the mountain, stopping plenty to take photos and steady my feet. We all met at the bridge crossing the river at the bottom of the canyon, and spent the next half hour walking uphill on the other side of the canyon, finally making it to our lunch spot.

After lunch, we had another hour of uphill walking (yes, up the other side of the canyon, after we’d just climbed all the way down the opposite side), then an hour of relatively flat paths through small villages, and then an hour of downhill walking. Yep, you read that right. We climbed all the way down, then up, just to go back down to the very same river. When we crossed the river for the final time, we’d made it to the ‘oasis’ — a set of bungalows with swimming pools where we’d be spending the night.

It had been ridiculously hot all day, and though I’d specifically purchased a horrifically touristy hat for the hike, the two liters of water I’d drunk throughout the day were clearly not enough. I immediately got a pounding headache and intense nausea and yes, you’ve guessed it: puked for the second time in southern Peru. Sun stroke, dehydration, who knows. My poor body, I just can’t stop abusing it.

Thankfully I managed to keep some coca tea down, and somehow fell asleep around 8 PM, which gave me a solid 10 hours of sleep before we had to be up to catch our mules back up to the top of the canyon.

Yes, you read that right. I copped out. There were four of us in our hiking group: Filiz, myself, Tom and Chloe – a couple from London. Though we felt a tad guilty, Chloe and I both opted for the mules. After being sick, not to mention challenging and exhausting myself the day before, I decided I deserved a ride up, instead of killing myself walking straight up hill for 4 hours. I know my resistance was mental: if I wanted to get up the side of that canyon, I absolutely could have, but I simply didn’t want to. After all, this is my vacation, hah!

The mule ride was slightly terrifying — steep, narrow paths aren’t exactly easily traversed when you’re sitting on top of an animal — but after adjusting to the bouncing and learning to trust our new four-legged friends, we ended up having a great time. I took a slightly nausea-inducing video as we climbed, but the internet here is too weak to let me upload it.

We walked 30 minutes from the entrance to the canyon to our breakfast restaurant, where were all shocked to be served eggs instead of bread — a welcome change. We hopped back in the van and made our way slowly back to Arequipa, with several stops for photo pops, bathroom breaks and an amazing vicuna (another high altitude animal similar to the alpaca and llama) spotting.

So there you have it — how Rachel Kossman traversed a canyon, but managed to tear a ligament in her foot getting on a bus. Like I said, typical Rachel. Moments like this make traveling alone a little bit lonely and a little more scary, but the clinic was wonderfully helpful and in the scheme of life, I’m completely fine, and everything could be much, much worse. After another few days of rest, I’ll be ready for more adventure!

Peru: Mi segundo pais!

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One very interesting thing I forgot about South American culture and was reminded of today: People have absolutely zero concept of the personal bubble.

In lines for buses, customs, checking luggage, even buying groceries or walking on the sidewalk, people get so close to you it’s absurd. And I’m not talking about potential thieves trying to get at my purse. We’re talking little, pushy old ladies or mothers with children who just inch their way so close to you I find myself flinching.

That being said, my 15 and a half hours of bus rides from Loja, Ecuador into Chiclayo, Peru went without much of a hitch. After a painless hour ride from Vilcabama into Loja, I grabbed a ticket for my overnight bus and sat down next to a very sweet Australian girl who is spending a year traveling through Central and South America. We spent the hour and a half before the 11 PM bus we were both on chatting and learning about each others lives and travels. Around 10:20, a couple who had gone to McGill and was staying at the same hostel as my new Australian friend (small world!) in Vilcabamba showed up, so the four of us English-speakers decided to band together.

Because yesterday was a huge holiday in Ecuador and there was a large parade in Loja, they were running two overnight busses into Piura. The bus I was on was scheduled to depart at 11:06 (why, I really couldn’t tell you) and there was mass confusion about the number of the bus since half the peoples tickets said numero 05 and the other half said 80. Regardless, it all got sorted out and we were on our way by 11:15 or so, which, for all intensive purposes, is 11 PM Ecuadorian time. I had a rather gordo, although very nice, man sitting next to me who, again, didn’t quite understand the whole personal bubble thing and, as a result, had his elbow on top of me for part of the ride. I think the trick is to shove back juuust enough that the person figures out that just because I’m little doesn’t mean I don’t need my space. Regardless, I slept on and off, jolting awake everytime the bus would crawl across unpaved roads or stop suddenly to let people on and off. And yes, despite it being 2 AM, people were still getting on and off the bus. Direct buses are apparently non-existant in Ecuador.

My horrific, camera phone photo of the 4 AM border crossing — Thanks for visiting Ecuador in the foreground and the red and white striped Peruvian flag in the background!

At approximately 3:45 AM we arrived at the border. Everyone piled off the bus and waited in line to get their passport stamped out. Then, just like at the Peru/Bolivia border crossing, the bus drives up ahead and you walk the several hundred yards to the official country entrance, fill out your forms and get your passport stamped into Peru. Both border officials were very nice, understood my Spanish no problema and stamped my passport with very few questions asked. Despite taking 30 minutes total for all of us to get past the two customs desks, I felt completely safe the entire time, and it really was an incredibly easy process (especially compared to my nightmare at the Bolivian border!)

As we waited in line, we made friends with a very nice Peruvian man who was listening to music out-loud on his blackberry. At some point, a Toni Braxton song came on, and he proclaimed that she was his wife, laughing. We continued talking on and off as we waited. Little did we know this man would be our saving grace.

Lesson number one: Never cross into a country without at least a little bit of the right currency.

Lesson number two: Don’t assume that just because you’re on a bus you will be arriving at a central bus terminal where your next bus will be departing from.

I bet you can imagine where this is going. As the four of us piled off our respective busses and met to figure out where our busses to Chiclayo (for myself and the couple from McGill) and Trujillo (for the Australian girl whose name I can’t remember for the life of me — oops!) were leaving from, our new Peruvian friend informed us that, there is no main bus station in Piura. I’d been warned by several people that Piura is not a nice or particularly safe place, and to be especially careful with your bags when you’re leaving the bus station. The easy answer would have been to simply grab a cab, but none of us had Peruvian Soles. Major fail.

Thankfully, our amazingly nice Peruvian friend took the time to walk us several blocks away to an ATM and then to our respective new bus stations. When the ATM wouldn’t work for any of our cards, he happily traded us $20 US cash for 50 soles.

I will admit that he was definitely attempting to hit on me, and started saying that Toni Braxton was his wife but I would be his next wife. It was all in clean fun though, and he was so sweet and I never felt uncomfortable or creeped out. When he left, he told me I was beautiful and bien viajes (good travels). Such a wonderful reminder how how sweet and incredibly helpful people can be. I’m sure had he not been there we would have figured something out, but he made everything so painless, and we were all so thankful!

We only had to wait 30 minutes for an 8:15 AM bus into Trujillo. Three hours later (I completely passed out for the entirety of the ride, thankfully) the three of us were in a cab on the way to a hostel. We showered, found a working ATM, got ourselves some lunch, then spent a few hours out and about in the city. After a long night of on and off sleep on the bus and an even longer day trying to keep myself awake, it’s time to pass out. I promise another blog post soon with my impressions of northern Peru and Chiclayo!

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.