Home again, home again - Adios Peru

Friday, September 30 - The rain comes down in torrents on our way back downriver. When we put flaps down on the sides of the boat, the driver can't see where he is going. We hunker under ponchos, but we still get windblown and wet. Nevermind, somehow it seems funny and we laugh all the way. Back to Lima just long enough for a farewell dinner with our fellow travellers. Manuel arranges taxis and chooses a Chifa restaurant. Chifa is Peruvian-style Chinese cuisine, very popular to the locals. It seems very similar to Chinese/Canadian food. A surprising side effect is that the generous quantity of MSG together with a small? amount of alchohol results later in a good sleep on the flight home.I would have liked one more day in Lima, but I am also ready to go home. We've shared some great moments with our new friends and we are sad to say goodbye, but we promise to stay in touch and Duncan promises to set up an FTP sight so that we can share photos. Peter and I decide that our next trip will be to the UK to stay with Alice. I don't think she really believes us. Just wait and see, Alice. Better get the spare room ready. The Crazy Canadians are coming to visit.

We followed the sun to the top of the mountain and back to the sea. Time to go home. Adios amigos. Adios Peru.

Amazon Jungle Adventure

Wednesday, September 28 - 29
Most of the group are up to see us off on the next leg of our journey. Hugs all 'round. They were great travel companions; different ages and backgrounds, but we enjoyed good conversation and found plenty to laugh about together. Only six of us, Lauren, Duncan, Alice, Cindy, Peter and I continue on to the Amazon with our trusty guide, Manuel. At the airport it is the usual chaos of the internal flights terminal. We have great faith in Manuel's ability to get us places on time, so we follow him patiently through the crowds. Cindy's pack is at bursting point and she is still in recovery mode from her accident the day before, so Peter and Duncan help her lug it around. Its a quick flight to Puerto Moldinado, where we are met, by our jungle guide, Emerson with a bus to take us into town where we do another resorting and repacking of clothes into duffel bags. The town has a certain wild west charm, with motorbikes instead of horses. Its not long before we are back on the bus headed to our boat ride upriver.

We are served a picnic lunch in little baskets as the long narrow motor boat powers us up the Tambopata River. The river is wide, flat and mud brown in colour. It looks sluggish, but I think the current is quite strong. Emerson is eagle-eyed and spots maccaws, comical looking hoatzin birds and other wildlife that are barely visible to me even with binoculors. You have to work pretty hard to spot wildlife in this jungle, not like Costa Rica's cloud forest or the game parks in Africa. But it is made very special by our outstanding guide. Born in the jungle, Emerson knows the creatures and the terrain intimately. His English, which he claims to have learned from tourists, is perfect and he has a wonderful sense of humour. We are all charmed by him. He is as handsome as he is clever - he calls himself George of the Jungle, but we think he looks like Tom Cruise. So, Cruise of the Jungle??

The Tambopata Ecolodge is simple but efficient and prettily laid out with rooms in semi-detached cabins.

There is solar heated hot water for the showers and a generator from 6pm to 10pm at night. This gives us light in the dining room and bar. There is a powerbar where we can charge cameras and other appliances. We are all provided with rechargable flashlights for jungle hikes and negotiating the route to our cabins. The rest of the light in the well appointed rooms, is from candles. It is hot and humid during the day and night - a complete contrast to the chilly temperatures we have had over the past couple of weeks. For the next couple of days we relax, go on jungle walks, night excursions on the river, take photos and drink beer. We also respect siesta time and eat very well. Some of the highlights are, feeding piranas (with crackers, not our fingers,) teasing a tarantula out of its hole, a glimpse of night monkeys, being introduced to the large rodent-like creatures, capybaras and rescuing Alice from a tiny blanket snake. The night-time river ride was pretty special, particularly when the motor was turned off so we could mediate quietly while drifting downstream.We also became a pretty efficient team for taking night photos. Peter, Lauren and Alice got some amazing shots.

The best part of the jungle experience is being woken by the dawn chorus. First their is a troop of howler monkeys sounding like the roar of an engine needing a tune up. Their rumbling call fades as every creature that chirps, tweets, peeps, or squeaks adds their voice to the morning serenade. I particular likely the weaver bird that I can watch out of our bedroom window. At night another group of critters flitter and creep around. Before going to bed, Peter and I do a room inspection for Alice checking in all the obvious places for creepy crawlies, but clearly not well enough. As Alice tells it in an email home "Having learnt my lesson from the night before I enlisted some help with the routine bug spotting. The Canadians came armed with head torches and flashlights...fantastic...all was declared clear and I was starting to feel a little calmer. Just needed to wash the face, brush the teeth, apply the deet and jump under the mosquito net...perfect. Alas no such luck, a small tail belonging to a rather large snake was waiting for me in the overflow of the sink...(which we forgot to check). Oh shit....but was this a whistle emergency??? A short but very brisk walk to the Canadians lodge to enlist their help who returned bearing head torches, flashlights and a pair of tweezers.. Plan A to pull said snake out of the overflow and into a bag to dispose of some where outside, but the snake had better ideas, refused to be pulled out and decided he would be better off disappearing down the pipe. Several pieces of toilet paper later and the overflow was properly blocked. Some uneasy sleeping again but it was quite beautiful to be woken by the sound of the jungle."

Relaxing in Cusco

Tuesday, September 27

It's a rare treat not to be up at dawn. There is nothing on the schedule today, but Manuel, always eager for us to get the most of our travels, has offered to take us to see the views from Sacsayhuaman, the Inca ruin that towers over Cusco.(generally pronounced "sexy woman", everyone remembers the name of this site). We take a bus up the hill and stop to shop at Grupo Esmeralda. It's one of the more expensive tourist outlets specializing in alpaca products and jewellery. Between us we drop quite a few soles. Peter and I buy a small painting from the artist working in store because I like the strength of the design and it will remind us of the vibrant colours of Peru. We are a pretty listless bunch this afternoon but we enjoy the relaxed outing and wander back down into town and go our separate ways to sightsee or sleep.

Tonight will be our last supper together as a group. Six of us are going on to the jungle and others each have different agendas. Manuel has been looking forward to showing his chosen restaurant, the Fallen Angel. However, this is not to be. During the afternoon, Cindy is involved in an accident with a cab and is taken to the local hospital for xrays. Fortunately there are no broken bones but there is plenty of paper work and police reports to deal with. So Manuel has to make sure all that is taken care of properly. The rest of us have our last dinner in the restaurant with crazy angels' and demons' decor. Our table is an old fashioned bathtub with a glass top, filled with water and gold fish.

Ciudad Inka de Machupicchu

Monday, September 26
3am - Time to rise and prepare for the final assault on the trail. It doesn't take long to get ready. I slept with most of my clothes on and its way too early to put on contact lenses. Its drizzling and dark. Using headlamps to light the way, we walk 10 minutes to the check point where we are early enough to get a seat under shelter. While we are waiting, Peter tries to straighten my pole, using a rock for leverage, but with limited success. If he can't fix it, I may as well throw it away. Its useless like this and can't retract to be easily portable. Henry takes it away and returns a few minutes later - pole fixed. The sky begins to lighten and at 5:30 am the checkpoint opens. We show our passports and the final leg of our journey begins.
There is a big crowd heading in the same direction but we are one of the first groups and near the front of the pack. We start out at a good pace. At first its pretty even terrain, quite narrow and following the steep mountain edge. I don't even look down any more; the height doesn't bother me, but after my fall yesterday I am cautious stepping on wet stones. The younger, fitter crowd in our group make a break through past the slow hikers in the front, and they are off at a good clip. There is some competitiveness amongst them to be the first to reach the sun gate. I carry on at my own pace - there is a bit of an incline, nothing like the previous days, but I slow down and a few hikers pass me from other groups. When I walk on my own, my energy level plummets. But its only two hours at the most, so I slog it out. Then I am faced with the Gringo Killer, the 50 steps we have been warned about; ladder-steep, impossibly high stones leading to the sun gate. At this point I have two options, sit down and cry, or grit my teeth and clamber up like a baby on all fours. With more than 100 people clambering up behind me, I choose option 2. Enrique is at the top. "Nearly there" he says and yes, apparently he is right. I have made it!

The Sun Gate this morning is more like a Cloud Gate. I overhear a guide promising his group that the clouds will clear and there will be an unobstructed view of the Lost City of the Incas. I take heart from that and follow the group along the downhill slope to the classic view point. Manuel, Therese and Russell, who had not joined us for the hike, are there to meet us and congratulate us for conquering the trail. And while Henry fills us in with more Inca history, the clouds swirl around the high pitched mountains, shift slowly, become wisps and then fade away. The magnficent view of ruins, mountains and valley is revealed.

I would like to say that I had that magic moment, the burst of spiritual clarity that so many people talk about, but for some reason, my mood is anything but euphoric. I had imagined this moment for a long time, and in my mind it was peaceful and meditative. Selfishly I expected a quiet, personal revelation in the solitude of my own headspace. I hadn't taken into account sharing the vision with a crush of hikers and early morning travellers. However, this is a mood that soon disipates. For some reason, we have to exit and then re-enter the gate with our permits and passports. It gives us time to freshen up and have a snack. I take the opportunity, in a bathroom with real sinks and running water, to put on my contacts. That improves my mood immediately. I throw my wet poncho into the trash and strip off a couple of layers. Now that the sun is out, it is blissfully warm.






We go back up the steps for a tour with Henry and then to explore at our leisure. I decide to take some time on my own and I wander off to find a quiet place to meditate. Even though the ruins are littered with tourists, they mostly clump in the same areas, so there are plenty of peaceful nooks and crannies to sit in. I admire the stone work and the incredible structures of temples and houses. Many of the fountains built by the Incas still carry water through the site; an incredible testament to the ingenuity of the builders. The magic of the city begins to work on me. There is so much mystery and creativity in the structures and terraces. The Incas must truly have been driven to be close to the sun to endure the back breaking labour to build even one carefully positioned stone structure, let alone the roads, terraces and aqueducts. I take a moment to thank Paccha Mama for helping me along the trail.

Peter joins me and we spend a couple of happy hours wandering around and photographing everything in sight. Each house has view, and what a view! Pitched slopes, jagged mountains and the Urubama River looking small and far away. The steep rise of the mountain Huana Picchu looms lofty and daunting. There is a line up of people waiting to climb the peak. Crazy people! Oh, perhaps they haven't just completed 4 days of hiking to get here.

The rest of our group are already tucking into a delicious lunch in the appointed meeting spot, when we finally join them, after taking the bus down the switch back road to town of Aguas Calientes. The main road of the town is a railway line. It is lined with restaurants and other facilities to attract tourists. Our day isn't over yet. We still have a long way to travel back to Cusco. First of all the train to Ollantaytambo and then a bus for the rest of the way. The route to the train station is through a colourful craft market but we can only look longingly as we pass through, because we don't want to miss the train.The train ride is heavenly, with comfy seas and a sit down loo that flushes, and toilet paper. Tea and snacks are served. The railway follows the river and we get views of farms, ruins and the rushing river.

On the bus ride most people doze, but I can't take my eyes off the fertile fields and rolling hills bathed in the beautiful light of the setting sun.
Back at the Cuzco Plaza II hotel we collect the valuables and luggage they have kept in storage and have a luxurious shower. There is hot water, which is not always the case in this hotel. Manuel has arranged for a much needed laundry pick up. Six of us join Manuel for dinner in the San Blas area and then onto a club for Salsa lessons and dancing till the wee hours. I can't believe how my legs revive on the dance floor but by 1:30 am I have to call it quits.

Journey to Machu Picchu - Day Three

Sunday, September 25
The day is not starting out well. During the night Peter was violently ill and this morning, despite taking Cipro, he is still pretty rocky. It is quite cold when we are woken so I tuck my clothes into my sleeping bag to warm them up. It always seems like a rush to get ready in the morning. How is it possible to lose stuff in such a small space? But every day its the same. Where is my woolly hat? What did I do with my glasses? And what happened to the precious toilet roll? We stuff everything into our duffels and day packs, fill our water bottles and eat a hurried breakfast. The porters are already rolling up our mats and sleeping bags and by the time we set off on the trail, most of the tents are already down. It's going to be a long day of hiking - about 8 hours. Very soon I discover that if Day 2 was tough, Day 3 is even more challenging. We have to conquer another pass. Dick and I team up again. We are both surprised that we are struggling uphill again. Surely ir should be easier now that we are more acclimatized to the altitude? But apparently not. Minda is like a cheerful guardian. She darts ahead, examines plants, waits for us and points out views and interesting flora. Today we discover a new breathing technique. Dick points out that the porters put emphasis on a strong inhalation and exhale very gently. This is almost opposite to my undignified panting. So we experiment with this and find an immediate difference. Its most notable in my leg muscles. Slowly and steadily we make our way upwards to the lunch stop.

Peter is still not feeling great but is hanging in with the help of candies and dehydration pills that Alice shared with him. We walk together for the long afternoon's descent. There is a steady drizzle and we go carefully on the slippery rocks. I know it is treacherous and I focus on each step but still I slip, loose my footing, slide and tumble. My loud squawk gives Peter some warning. He is about 10 steps ahead and he just has time to brace himself and stop me from flying over the edge. It takes me a moment to get my breath but checking my body, everything seems to be in one piece. No broken bones. Scraped knees and a bruised bum, seem to be the only injuries. Enrique comes rushing down the steps and is quickly by my side. One of my hikng poles is badly bent, so Peter carries that and Enrique takes me firmly by the hand and, arms locked together, we continue down the trail. I reflect on how lucky I am; how I narrrowly missed serious injury; how karmic that Peter was there to save me.

After another hour or so, the trail changes from stones to sand, and winds gently towards campsite. We opt for the "short cut" which doesn't have steps. Enrique trusts me to continue without his help. The rain has dribbled to a halt, but our ponchos still flap damply around us. This is a busy area, as everyone who plans to reach Machu Picchu tomorrow, will be camping here. One of our porters is there to direct us to where our orange tents are pitched in a neat line along a narrow terrace. The familiar blue bowls of water are ready for us to freshen up. Its happy hour and today we finish the bottle of rum. After dinner our amazing crew of porters, cooks etc. gather, crowding into the dining room tent with us, so that we can thank them. They are a superb team providing all the comforts our campsites with seemless efficiency. Before going to bed, we have a short debate about what time to get up in the morning. Henry wants us to be one of the first groups at the check point by 4:30 am, even though it won't open for another hour. The group agrees on 3 am wake up, for 4.15 departure.

Journey to Machu Picchu - Day Two

Saturday, September 24Wake up call is 5 am when the porters gently shake our tents and present us with bowls of warm water to wash in and mugs of hot coca tea. I would love to snuggle back into my sleeping bag and savour the tea, but there is no time for that. Henry wants us to reach the top of the pass by noon, before the worst heat of the day. We are breakfasted and ready to go by 6 am. Not far along the route we come to a shelter where we weigh our back packs. The maximum is meant to be 5 kg, but almost everyone is over. There seems to have been no real point to the excercise and we are soon back on the trail. The route this morning is one long, vertical ascent. There will be no lunch stop until we reach our campsite around 2 pm. The group spreads out as we all find our own pace. Dick and I team up to encourage each other and we find a pattern in walking and resting. We have to keep ears and eyes open for porters that pass us at a steady clip. We call out "porter coming" so the person ahead can step to the mountain side of the trail and let the porters rush by with their enormous packs. It is a very steep incline and the air is very thin; even the porters are breathing heavily. "Hola" we greet them as they go by.
The trail stretches upwards forever it seems; the climb goes on and on and on. My lungs struggle to get enough oxygen, my thighs feel the toll of a 1,000 or more steps. I pant, I puff, I gasp. Dick and I are still able to laugh at our struggles. We are both pretty fit but this hike makes us feel humble. We forge onwards and upwards. The sound of my breathing dominates my world. Step,step, step, breathe, step, step, step, pant. Step, step,rest. "Day 2 is the killer day" everyone has warned me. i fear they may be right. Henry drops back to check on us. He offers some "Agua de Florida" Inhaling the scent is meant to revive your energy. Enrique decides that he should relieve me of some of the weight I am carrying and takes my day pack, leaving me with just the camel-back to carry. By now most of the group is far ahead of us. From time to time we spot Anna walking on her own, but I can't muster the energy to catch up with her to give her some company. I am pleased that I have Dick to talk to, as we keep each other's spirits up. The weather is very changeable. From time to time we have a sprinkle of rain. We put on our ponchos. Then the clouds pass and the sun bakes down. We strip down some layers and keep on walking. Up, up, up, and then we see it; the top of Deadwoman's Pass. Most of the group are waiting, bundled up in all their layers. It must be chilly in the wind at the summit.

I call up to Peter that I am out of water and he comes down to meet me. What a gentleman. And then finally I take the last few steps and reach the top. The group cheers. There are high fives all around and we gather for a group photo. Then Henry breaks open the bottle of rum that someone bought along the way and Enrique carried in his pack. A dribble is poured on the ground as an offering to Paccha Mama (Mother Earth) then we pass it around and enjoy a capful of rum to celebrate our achievement.
Its downhill all the way now. I loan my poles to Lauren who, like a few of the others, finds the descent hard on their knees. The first part is quite tricky and steep, but after that it flattens out a bit and the path is wider. I get into a good rhythm and I enjoy the hike to the campsite and the welcome site of the dining room tent. After lunch, most of us retire to our tents and have a lovely nap. There's no more hiking today, so we relax after happy hour, play cards and are tucked into our sleeping backs soon after dinner.

Journey to Machu Picchu - Day One

Friday, September 23

Today is the day we set out on the long trek, with our end goal, the eye-popping Inka city, Machu Picchu. A short bus ride from our pleasant little hotel in Ollantaytambo takes us to where our support team of porters and other staff, 20 in total, are waiting to load up with our duffel bags. Each porter carries a huge pack, up to 27 kg on his back. In addition to our gear and their personal stuff, the porters carry tents, food and everything they need to make our lives as comfortable as possible at the campsites. They are supermen.
There is a crush of groups ready to clear the check point where our passports are checked and stamped. Each trail permit is pre-booked and is issued for a specific passport. We stop briefly for a group photo and then we're on our way with our trail guide, Henry, setting a good pace in the lead and Enrique keeping an eye on stragglers. The trail follows the river at a fairly gentle grade. We share the route with locals travelling with donkeys, horses and the occasional llama. About 200 hikers set off each day on the trail, so what with their support teams of porters, there is a considerable amount of foot traffic, until we start to spread out. For the most part, this is a relatively easy day, and yet its not long before I realize how tough the next 4 days are going to be. I am soon at the back of the pack, just staying focussed. One step at a time, one deep breath at a time, I settle into a groove. I make friends with my hiking poles and adjust my day pack comfortably on my back. Together with a camel-back in my pack and a waterbottle in a pouch on my hip, I am carrying 2 litres of water.
Dick, Anna and I keep each other company, making regular stops to catch our collective breaths and drink water. And sometimes we stop to admire the view. We are behind the rest of the group, but not too far. Enrique offers encouragement and herds us forward. The porters have gone ahead and they have set up a dining tent where we stop for a very civilized lunch break. As promised, we have half an hour to eat and half an hour to digest. After lunch it starts to feel like a long slog to our campsite. The terrain changes frequently. We walk on stones laid by the Incas on the trail 500 years ago. The steps are uneven and impossibly high. I follow the route the porters take, which is often at the sides where it is worn smooth. Quite often we follow a preciptious cliff edge where we get stunning views of the valley and tall jagged mountains. We see occasional small settlements and there are even some covered rest spots where I plonk myself down gratefully and eat a quick snack. Homemade beer (chicha) is sold from the places that advertise with a red covered jug on the end of a long stick. This is not for the delicate constitution of the turisticas.

Ahh! the campsite at last. Rows of orange tents are set up on a terrace belonging to a local farmer, who greets us at his gate waving a purple Gap flag. The porters, cooks and other staff line up, oldest to youngest to greet us formally. Henry translates as they introduce themselves by name, age and marital status. I find out that I am older than the oldest porter! And, like all of them, he has grown up in this area, is tough and wiry, has legs like pistons; and he can carry 27kg on his back while running uphill over uneven rocky paths. As I said, SUPERMEN.
We claim our duffels and select a tent. Peter and I organize our stuff in the compact space. The mummy style sleeping bags that we rented from Gap, are cosy and warm. The thermarests are placed over foam mats and the porters come around to each tent to help us inflate them properly. We each get a blue basin of warm water to wash in. This is going to be okay, I think. Alice calls it glamping (glamour -camping.) The baño is down a muddy path some distance away so the girls get together and agree on a suitable spot for middle-of the night nature calls.
I think we have made reasonably good time today. We explore the nearby ruin which is immediately adjacent to the farmer's property and wonder at the energy of the porters who are playing soccer in the clearing beside the ruin. Happy hour is at 5pm, a routine we come to look forward to eagerly each day. Crowded into the dining room tent, we are served tea, popcorn, biscuits and jam. There's no alchohol at this happy hour. After a decent dinner miraculously whipped up in the kitchen tent, we are all ready for bed. Before settling down in our tents, we take time to marvel at the glorious night sky with brilliant Southern Hemisphere stars and the creamy white band of the Milky Way. Its very cool at night at this altitude, but I snuggle down into the sleeping bag, wearing long johns for extra warmth, and its quite toasty. I fall asleep to a chorus of snores echoing through the campsite. Sleep well everyone, tomorrow will be a tough day as we head 4200 metres high to the top of Dead Woman's pass.

The Sacred Valley

Thursday, September 22
Our first stop today is at Planeterra Women's Weaving Project. Here we meet the ladies who spin, dye, weave and craft alpacca wool into dozens of different items. I am fascinated by the process of making dye from plants and minerals. The colours are strong and vibrant. The bright reds, yellows, pinks are the ones we see in all the traditional outfits. En route we go through the town of Pisac and stop for a tour ofsome splendid ruins and our first close up view of Inka farming terraces.

Ollentaytambo is the traditional starting point for the route to Machu Picchu; by foot or by train. Old and new blend together in the town. A grand ruin dominates the site. Climbing the steep, stone steps reminds me that tomorrow we will be starting on the long awaited Trail hike. I am a bit nervous of how my body will hold up under the stress and strain of hiking at high altitude. No point in worrying. Near the local tourist market we find a restaurant/bar with tables outside and we relax in the sun. There is still some shopping to do to stock up on essentials for the 4 day hike. We all stop at the same little shop en route to dinner and then carry our shopping bags of toilet paper, plastic ponchos and energy bars to the restaurant where the woodfired-oven pizza is delicious. Peter and I figure that 3 rolls of TP will be enough for the trip. I hope our calculations are right.

Long ride to Cusco

Wednesday, September 21
We're on an early bus to Cusco - a seven hour journey, but in relative comfort. We only make one stop en route, but we are well supplied with snacks and their is a toilet on board. (Note for Alice: this is the ride where the incident of the rolling-tampon took place.)We are pleased that by taking an earlier bus than the original schedule, we'll have some time to explore the town of Cusco. When we check into the Cusco Plaza II, it is a big disappointment - mould in some of the rooms, bad service, intermittent hot water, not enough towels; the list goes on. Before the end of the trip we have a long list of complaints and a strong suggestion forwarded to gap headoffice to consider using another hotel. The place is buzzing with other Gap Adventurers, so I think the company has some leverage here. Manuel leads us on an orientation tour through the main square, ending up in the bustling local market. It looks like the place where locals come to shop.

The merchandise is piled in high. There is every kind of produce imaginable - the array is vast and varied. In the meat section, the displays of animal parts are interesting from an artistic perspective, but slightly nauseating. A dogs runs by carrying a large bone, possibly pilfered from one of the stalls. Peter snaps a photo of a cell phone nestling in a mound of brains. I blanche at the line up of horses' heads. We stop for a taste of frog soup, avoiding the little legs floating in the ladle. Moving along we head to some more touristy markets where we poke around looking for the exact right souvenirs and gifts to spend our tourist money on. I find a wide brimmed sun hat which becomes indispensible in the next few days.
Tonight we have to re-organize our luggage again and pack into the duffel bags provided for the Inka trail. We have already had a briefing on how to prepare for this part of the adventure. Manuel goes over everything again. We are allowed a maximum of 6 kg in our duffels and 3 kg of these will be taken up by a sleeping bag and therma-rest. There is a scale at the front desk and it takes me several tries before I have pared down my pack to fit the weight limit.