The bottom reads 'no Llamas were harmed in the making of these snacks.' This is a great shame. They are actually rather tasty afterall.
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
There is no escape after all
What I discovered on my bed when I got home:
The bottom reads 'no Llamas were harmed in the making of these snacks.' This is a great shame. They are actually rather tasty afterall.
The bottom reads 'no Llamas were harmed in the making of these snacks.' This is a great shame. They are actually rather tasty afterall.
Lima
Weather: Preparing me for a return to England... Rainy, grey and foggy.
Llama Count: The odd fluffy llama in a tourist shop. Think I may have seen my last live llama, which means the only animal that spat on me in the trip was a grumpy Peruvian Whoop!
I have a reckless last day in Peru: I eat raw fish. This is pretty much the largest adventure of the day, and I eat an enormous plate of Serbicche, which includes crab, shellfish, octopus, and mussels. Amazingly I am not sick.
There is a religious festival of some description taking place in the cathedral, I decide that I ought to join in. I sit in a pew for three quarters of an hour waiting for it to start, nothing happens. I give in and decide to go to a few museums instead. I start with another San Franciscan monastery, the main attraction here is definitely the catacombs, which hold about 50,000 dead bodies. The limestone they are built from is particularly good at breaking bodies down, to the extent that the only bits left are the femurs. Beagles would daydream of this place, lines and lines of bits of bones just ready to be knawed upon...
I decide that I have had enough of monastery’s and churches, so decide to go to the inquisition museum, which documents the peruvian inquisition. To my delight I find it has more catacombs, and I pretend for a bit I am Indiana Jones. After that I go on a very long, and rather dull Spanish tour that explains the place. I think I am beginning to be South Americered out...
Which is just in time as a few hours later I am on a plane flying back to sunny England.
Llama Count: The odd fluffy llama in a tourist shop. Think I may have seen my last live llama, which means the only animal that spat on me in the trip was a grumpy Peruvian Whoop!
I have a reckless last day in Peru: I eat raw fish. This is pretty much the largest adventure of the day, and I eat an enormous plate of Serbicche, which includes crab, shellfish, octopus, and mussels. Amazingly I am not sick.
There is a religious festival of some description taking place in the cathedral, I decide that I ought to join in. I sit in a pew for three quarters of an hour waiting for it to start, nothing happens. I give in and decide to go to a few museums instead. I start with another San Franciscan monastery, the main attraction here is definitely the catacombs, which hold about 50,000 dead bodies. The limestone they are built from is particularly good at breaking bodies down, to the extent that the only bits left are the femurs. Beagles would daydream of this place, lines and lines of bits of bones just ready to be knawed upon...
I decide that I have had enough of monastery’s and churches, so decide to go to the inquisition museum, which documents the peruvian inquisition. To my delight I find it has more catacombs, and I pretend for a bit I am Indiana Jones. After that I go on a very long, and rather dull Spanish tour that explains the place. I think I am beginning to be South Americered out...
Which is just in time as a few hours later I am on a plane flying back to sunny England.
Friday, 12 October 2012
Nazca and Huacachina
Weather... The sunny desert once more.
Llama Count... Happy happy 0.
So I survived the deathly bus ride. It was worse than being on a boat, there were a ridiculous amount of turns, each one including a cliff on one side. Long live travel sickness pills! I was not the one vomiting into the sick bag.
Finally after a sleepless night the bus reached Nazca, which is a bit of a dead end desert town, despite having a famous name. Having heard plenty of scary stories about the flights, and feeling very lucky to be alive after the bus...I take the wimpy option and catch the local bus to the mirador (look out.) I can see three of the shapes, the hand, the crazy tree, and the crazy frog, which is a lot more artistic than the song by the similar name.
After about an hour and a half of roasting in the desert sun I catch another two hour bus to a nearby Oasis called Huacachina. The desert has no cliffs, I like the desert.
Huacachina is world famous for its sand boarding championships. In the afternoon I take a sand buggy out into the desert. This is amazing fun. It is like a roller-coaster on sand, and the driver is definitely on the super side of crazy. Before long he has everyone tobogganing downhill on their stomachs on boards, and then we get to give sand boarding a go. After years of horses trying to throw me off the sand board stands no chance, and with the exception of one time where I land flat on my face my attempts at going downhill are remarkably incident free.
Llama Count... Happy happy 0.
So I survived the deathly bus ride. It was worse than being on a boat, there were a ridiculous amount of turns, each one including a cliff on one side. Long live travel sickness pills! I was not the one vomiting into the sick bag.
Finally after a sleepless night the bus reached Nazca, which is a bit of a dead end desert town, despite having a famous name. Having heard plenty of scary stories about the flights, and feeling very lucky to be alive after the bus...I take the wimpy option and catch the local bus to the mirador (look out.) I can see three of the shapes, the hand, the crazy tree, and the crazy frog, which is a lot more artistic than the song by the similar name.
After about an hour and a half of roasting in the desert sun I catch another two hour bus to a nearby Oasis called Huacachina. The desert has no cliffs, I like the desert.
Huacachina is world famous for its sand boarding championships. In the afternoon I take a sand buggy out into the desert. This is amazing fun. It is like a roller-coaster on sand, and the driver is definitely on the super side of crazy. Before long he has everyone tobogganing downhill on their stomachs on boards, and then we get to give sand boarding a go. After years of horses trying to throw me off the sand board stands no chance, and with the exception of one time where I land flat on my face my attempts at going downhill are remarkably incident free.
Cusco
Weather... Body and mind too broken to care.
Llama Count... A woman was carrying a baby Alpaca in a street today. Frankly once you have seen one you have seen them all. She asked me if I would pay to take a picture of the Alpaca. I almost replied that I would pay to delete some of the pictures on my camera of llama+ Alpaca things.
I met up with the French girl Alizee today. We went shopping and gossiped. My body is too broken to do much else. I have a few blisters, and a few thousand mosquito bites.
The only thing I achieve is that I manage to book a bus to Nazca for the evening. I get ready for yet another South American bus route. The bus seems pretty South American Standard, but I make the mistake of asking the guy next to me why the woman is going round with a camcorder videoing where we are sitting. I wish I didn't understand Spanish that followed...
'It is to help identify bodies if the bus crashes. There have been many crashes on this route, but don't worry it is only a precaution.'
And so began a very sleepless night.
Llama Count... A woman was carrying a baby Alpaca in a street today. Frankly once you have seen one you have seen them all. She asked me if I would pay to take a picture of the Alpaca. I almost replied that I would pay to delete some of the pictures on my camera of llama+ Alpaca things.
I met up with the French girl Alizee today. We went shopping and gossiped. My body is too broken to do much else. I have a few blisters, and a few thousand mosquito bites.
The only thing I achieve is that I manage to book a bus to Nazca for the evening. I get ready for yet another South American bus route. The bus seems pretty South American Standard, but I make the mistake of asking the guy next to me why the woman is going round with a camcorder videoing where we are sitting. I wish I didn't understand Spanish that followed...
'It is to help identify bodies if the bus crashes. There have been many crashes on this route, but don't worry it is only a precaution.'
And so began a very sleepless night.
Salkantay Day 5... Machu Pichu
Weather..Foggy and first, and then blazingly hot for the rest of the tramping about.
Llamas... 3, happily grazing on the slopes of Machu Pichu... probably cheaper than a lawn mower. Will suggest that Dad buys some for this purpose, he could even buy them hats to match his favourite youtube video.
For some reason we have to start climbing to Machu Pichu at 4.30. This turns into a race, and half way up the mountain I am very sick, in the win or die mentality I fail... I am a failed extreme trekker and climb the rest very slowly. The Incas like their steps. I am not quite sure why, it makes climbing a lot more difficult, and a lot more tiring. However, finally all the motley bunch reach the top to discover that Machu Pichu does live up to its own hype after all. In the fog it is eerie, with temples carved out of the natural rock being broken up by perfectly carved symmetrical stonework. As the mist rises the mountains become black shadows against the cloud, perfectly guarding this hidden plateau from the view of the outside world. However, it seems word of Machu Pichu has well and truly reached the USA, and by 9am, an hour after the first train arrives at Agua Calientes the place is swarming with OATs, and the lesser spotted CCATs (clearly cleverer american tourists.)
The guide has persuaded us all to climb Machu Pichu mountain, and we head for the hills once more. Climbing Machu Pichu mountain turns out to be ridiculously hard core, and the extreme trekkers return. My legs are like jelly for most of the way due to steps jutting out into thin air on one side of the mountains... The Spanish guy eventually succumbs to his vertigo and is forced to stop three quarters of the way up, karma for all the McFlurry jokes he has been making since seeing my passport. The view from the top is spectacular, we can see where we have walked for the past five days... Turns out to be quite a long way.
Then began the long tramp down to Agua Calientes, in time for pizza, and a very very long wait for a train. I arrived back in Cusco at 1.30 am... partly by Peruvian railway, and partly by a taxi that got stuck behind a bus that couldn't fit down a really thin street. I am so exhausted that I leave my wonderful green hat in the taxi. This is a truly sad event, but it may save me an awful lot of teasing in England.
Llamas... 3, happily grazing on the slopes of Machu Pichu... probably cheaper than a lawn mower. Will suggest that Dad buys some for this purpose, he could even buy them hats to match his favourite youtube video.
For some reason we have to start climbing to Machu Pichu at 4.30. This turns into a race, and half way up the mountain I am very sick, in the win or die mentality I fail... I am a failed extreme trekker and climb the rest very slowly. The Incas like their steps. I am not quite sure why, it makes climbing a lot more difficult, and a lot more tiring. However, finally all the motley bunch reach the top to discover that Machu Pichu does live up to its own hype after all. In the fog it is eerie, with temples carved out of the natural rock being broken up by perfectly carved symmetrical stonework. As the mist rises the mountains become black shadows against the cloud, perfectly guarding this hidden plateau from the view of the outside world. However, it seems word of Machu Pichu has well and truly reached the USA, and by 9am, an hour after the first train arrives at Agua Calientes the place is swarming with OATs, and the lesser spotted CCATs (clearly cleverer american tourists.)
The guide has persuaded us all to climb Machu Pichu mountain, and we head for the hills once more. Climbing Machu Pichu mountain turns out to be ridiculously hard core, and the extreme trekkers return. My legs are like jelly for most of the way due to steps jutting out into thin air on one side of the mountains... The Spanish guy eventually succumbs to his vertigo and is forced to stop three quarters of the way up, karma for all the McFlurry jokes he has been making since seeing my passport. The view from the top is spectacular, we can see where we have walked for the past five days... Turns out to be quite a long way.
Then began the long tramp down to Agua Calientes, in time for pizza, and a very very long wait for a train. I arrived back in Cusco at 1.30 am... partly by Peruvian railway, and partly by a taxi that got stuck behind a bus that couldn't fit down a really thin street. I am so exhausted that I leave my wonderful green hat in the taxi. This is a truly sad event, but it may save me an awful lot of teasing in England.
Salkantay Day 4
Weather... Boiling
Llamas... Still a happy 0.
After the excitement of the day before the 8 hour trek today felt long.
In the morning we waked along a very long road that supplied all the local mines. It was boiling, but it did have the added adrenaline factor of sudden death by rampaging mining lorry or car at any moment.
Lunch consisted of pasta vegetables and cheese.. all eaten on the edge of a railway. The Turkish and Dutch guys had finally sobered up... One discovered that he had walked the whole morning in flip flops and socks. The guide had tried to change this, but he had been very insistent on this particular combination.
In the afternoon we walked to the base camp of Machu Pichu... the tourist town of Agua Calientes. It was a wonderful trek through the jungle, with steep mountains on either side... and the added fun of being on train tracks, with the odd train trying to run you over when it felt like it.
Compared to the day before it was rather muted, and the sight of Machu Pichu on the top of a very big hill meant everyone went to bed very early. No Inca Tequila was touched.
Llamas... Still a happy 0.
After the excitement of the day before the 8 hour trek today felt long.
In the morning we waked along a very long road that supplied all the local mines. It was boiling, but it did have the added adrenaline factor of sudden death by rampaging mining lorry or car at any moment.
Lunch consisted of pasta vegetables and cheese.. all eaten on the edge of a railway. The Turkish and Dutch guys had finally sobered up... One discovered that he had walked the whole morning in flip flops and socks. The guide had tried to change this, but he had been very insistent on this particular combination.
In the afternoon we walked to the base camp of Machu Pichu... the tourist town of Agua Calientes. It was a wonderful trek through the jungle, with steep mountains on either side... and the added fun of being on train tracks, with the odd train trying to run you over when it felt like it.
Compared to the day before it was rather muted, and the sight of Machu Pichu on the top of a very big hill meant everyone went to bed very early. No Inca Tequila was touched.
Salkantay Day 3
Weather... The guide said it wouldn't rain today. It pours for a good three hours of walking, and then is sunny for the rest of the days events.
Llama Count... 0... Although I am sure the Dutch and Turkish guys did good impressions of llamas many times in the evening.
Today was an easier day... in walking terms. We only plodded for the morning, through beautiful cloud forests, with humming birds, wild orchids, waterfalls, and peruvian rain. Definite highlight was discovering wild avocado trees- even if the were lacking avocado.
We returned to civilisation for lunch, and it was a shock. The villages restaurant had blaring trance music to accompany the inevitable lunch of rice and meat.
The afternoon was scheduled for rest and relaxation. It began with a classically terrifying collectivo ride the local hot springs. Here all European bodies were sacrificed to the whims of the local mosquitoes as they waited in the queue to enter the pool. Having perfected a deet mist for the past few weeks around my arms and face, my naked legs were quickly eaten alive by the hungry bloodsucking beggers. The hot springs were beautiful, situated in a valley next to a white water river, with steep mountains on all sides. However, something was definitely afoot, while we were swimming the peruvians were setting up spotlights, and a stage all around us. Before long it became clear, we had arrived just in time for...
Miss Coffee Santa Teresa 2012 Beauty Pageant.
The guide couldn't believe his luck, 'lots of girls in bikinis' he kept repeating.
'Lots of local village girls in bikinis' the Spanish and Dutch guys added
... and so began the excruciatingly slow build up to the the pageant.
It began with a speech by the mayor, this lasted for almost half an hour. The highlight of the speech was definitely the statement that high culture tourist events like these would attract more tourists. To be fair one particular Dutch guy was on the edge of his seat for the whole contest. Then we had a couple of local folk bands... we asked the guide if they were famous, he replied enthusiastically yes yes... they are from Cusco.
The girls arrived two and a half hours late. They then proceeded to change into their formal dress wear in the banos (bathroom) for the hot springs. The only problem with this was that the doors had gaps at the top, and the eager members of the local crowd, broke through the lines of (heavily armed) security to take a picture over the top of the doors.
Finally the girls arrived, all dressed in white, with masks of make up diamante jewellery, and very delicate high heels. They performed a dance routine, which was a little bit confused, and almost ended with one candidate falling into the hot springs.
Then it was time for a change of costume and more folk music. The girls appeared in their traditional dress... if their traditional dress conformed to the dress code of a Halloween in the Mean Girls film, with no brightly coloured hemline grazing anything lower than a buttock, and every chest pumped up to its full magnitude with the aid of a tightly fitting corset. It was time for an even more confused dance routine.
By this time it was getting late, and the guide decided he couldn't possibly give our driver any more beer (I am not joking at this point, this was how the driver was being bribed to stay at the beauty pageant.) So we all tramped back for an even scarier ride in the taxi, along a cliff lined road in the middle of Peruvian wilderness. Sadly we did not get to see what the girls would wear for their 'night time' and 'miss nice' routines.
By this point the health anxious Dutch guy and the Turkish guy had consumed a fair few beers. Their mid life crises were well and truly pushed over the edge by a bottle of the local Inca Tequila. This concoction had never seen a bottle of Tequila in its life. It tasted a bit like Irish porcine, and the Tea with Tea I had tried in Bolivia. Absolutely vile stuff. Anyway before long, the Turkish guy was declaring he was off to the Amazon to build a bonfire, and the Dutch guy was stumbling around looking for a wild pizza.
The drunken two had very sore heads the next morning. The greatest shock of the night was that the Dutch guy had found a woman to go to bed with... A female baby tarantula had crawled in beside him in the night. On being presented with this hairy specimen the following day, he could only reply that he was glad he had finally found a woman. Spider was returned to jungle pretty quickly, as he was definitely still not sober, and no one quite put it past him trying to kiss his new found love.
I am sure you are on the edge of your seat wanting to hear who won Miss Coffee 2012.... Luckily the guide had returned for the finale after dinner. Apparently a 19 year old called Jocelyn won, she was single and ran the local chicken shop. The guide seemed surprisingly well informed... when asked about his marital status he replied that he wasn't married but his girl friend definitely was.
Llama Count... 0... Although I am sure the Dutch and Turkish guys did good impressions of llamas many times in the evening.
Today was an easier day... in walking terms. We only plodded for the morning, through beautiful cloud forests, with humming birds, wild orchids, waterfalls, and peruvian rain. Definite highlight was discovering wild avocado trees- even if the were lacking avocado.
We returned to civilisation for lunch, and it was a shock. The villages restaurant had blaring trance music to accompany the inevitable lunch of rice and meat.
The afternoon was scheduled for rest and relaxation. It began with a classically terrifying collectivo ride the local hot springs. Here all European bodies were sacrificed to the whims of the local mosquitoes as they waited in the queue to enter the pool. Having perfected a deet mist for the past few weeks around my arms and face, my naked legs were quickly eaten alive by the hungry bloodsucking beggers. The hot springs were beautiful, situated in a valley next to a white water river, with steep mountains on all sides. However, something was definitely afoot, while we were swimming the peruvians were setting up spotlights, and a stage all around us. Before long it became clear, we had arrived just in time for...
Miss Coffee Santa Teresa 2012 Beauty Pageant.
The guide couldn't believe his luck, 'lots of girls in bikinis' he kept repeating.
'Lots of local village girls in bikinis' the Spanish and Dutch guys added
... and so began the excruciatingly slow build up to the the pageant.
It began with a speech by the mayor, this lasted for almost half an hour. The highlight of the speech was definitely the statement that high culture tourist events like these would attract more tourists. To be fair one particular Dutch guy was on the edge of his seat for the whole contest. Then we had a couple of local folk bands... we asked the guide if they were famous, he replied enthusiastically yes yes... they are from Cusco.
The girls arrived two and a half hours late. They then proceeded to change into their formal dress wear in the banos (bathroom) for the hot springs. The only problem with this was that the doors had gaps at the top, and the eager members of the local crowd, broke through the lines of (heavily armed) security to take a picture over the top of the doors.
Finally the girls arrived, all dressed in white, with masks of make up diamante jewellery, and very delicate high heels. They performed a dance routine, which was a little bit confused, and almost ended with one candidate falling into the hot springs.
Then it was time for a change of costume and more folk music. The girls appeared in their traditional dress... if their traditional dress conformed to the dress code of a Halloween in the Mean Girls film, with no brightly coloured hemline grazing anything lower than a buttock, and every chest pumped up to its full magnitude with the aid of a tightly fitting corset. It was time for an even more confused dance routine.
By this time it was getting late, and the guide decided he couldn't possibly give our driver any more beer (I am not joking at this point, this was how the driver was being bribed to stay at the beauty pageant.) So we all tramped back for an even scarier ride in the taxi, along a cliff lined road in the middle of Peruvian wilderness. Sadly we did not get to see what the girls would wear for their 'night time' and 'miss nice' routines.
By this point the health anxious Dutch guy and the Turkish guy had consumed a fair few beers. Their mid life crises were well and truly pushed over the edge by a bottle of the local Inca Tequila. This concoction had never seen a bottle of Tequila in its life. It tasted a bit like Irish porcine, and the Tea with Tea I had tried in Bolivia. Absolutely vile stuff. Anyway before long, the Turkish guy was declaring he was off to the Amazon to build a bonfire, and the Dutch guy was stumbling around looking for a wild pizza.
The drunken two had very sore heads the next morning. The greatest shock of the night was that the Dutch guy had found a woman to go to bed with... A female baby tarantula had crawled in beside him in the night. On being presented with this hairy specimen the following day, he could only reply that he was glad he had finally found a woman. Spider was returned to jungle pretty quickly, as he was definitely still not sober, and no one quite put it past him trying to kiss his new found love.
I am sure you are on the edge of your seat wanting to hear who won Miss Coffee 2012.... Luckily the guide had returned for the finale after dinner. Apparently a 19 year old called Jocelyn won, she was single and ran the local chicken shop. The guide seemed surprisingly well informed... when asked about his marital status he replied that he wasn't married but his girl friend definitely was.
Salkantay Day 2
Weather: There is nothing worse than being woken up at 3 am in the morning by the rain pounding down on the tent. Well nothing worse than waking up at 6 am to discover said rain was actually snow, and a healthy inch deep blanket is now covering most of the ground.
Llama Count A healthy 0... Am deep into mule country instead. Having fun trying to guess what is mule and what is pony, the line is quite blurred out here. All could be cousins of Zebadee.
This was the hardest day. The guide didn't really seem to have much faith in any of us completing it, even the super keen north face contingent, and was strongly advising everyone to hire mules. It would have made a good photo, especially with the addition of the word fail scrawled in black felt tip pen beneath it. Certain members of the Dutch speaking contingent spent most of dinner heckling a man they had seen take a mule in a trek near Arrequipa the previous week, the poor guy did most of the Salkantay trek with 'mule man' ringing in his ears. Consequently no one in our group hired a mule.
In the morning we climbed up to the mountain pass that skirts below Salkantay, which is the biggest mountain in the area and coincidently also the most revered god. The mountain pass was a cool 4629 metres above sea level, which was a challenge for my boggy fenland lungs. Not quite sure how but somehow I made it, despite hail, rain, sleet and snow. The awful weather was probably my fault, the Salkantay God's revenge for the amount of swearing I was doing in my head that I didn't get round to booking the easier Inca trek.
Peruvians are a bit more clued up in the tourism stakes. Apparently some guides study tourist psychology at university, which I imagine is a crash course in how to deal with a grumpy sugar deprived OAT. One particular family had camped at the Salkantay pass the night before in order to sell souvenirs. An impressive feet in itself.. before I add that they were wearing sandals.
Julia and I came up with an ever changing playlist to reflect the mood of the group and weather. I am not sure that the rendition of The Eagles Take it Easy, and The Beatles Here Comes the Sun won us many friends.
After climbing up to the bottom of a glacier in the pass we descended down into a valley, which looked to me exactly like Scotland. It was rocky greeny, grey, there were sheep, it was raining, and the mossys were hungry. The clouds conveniently hid the fact that these mountains were probably double the size of Ben Nevis, and we walked through a Scottish wonderland in horizontal rain until lunch.
At lunchtime finally the sun arrived, and it became apparent that we had walked into Jurassic Park. Cue Julia with the Jurassic park theme tune for a good forty minutes. Saw a few dinosaur fleas, which could perhaps have doubled as caterpillars in another life.
We finally reached the camp site after almost a ten hour plod. Exhausted we are forced to defend the tents from a couple of rampaging local chickens. Everyone heads to bed at 8.30 pm, the poultry finds revenge for its previous affront, and the cockerel crows three times an hour for the rest of the night.
This is extreme trekking.
Llama Count A healthy 0... Am deep into mule country instead. Having fun trying to guess what is mule and what is pony, the line is quite blurred out here. All could be cousins of Zebadee.
This was the hardest day. The guide didn't really seem to have much faith in any of us completing it, even the super keen north face contingent, and was strongly advising everyone to hire mules. It would have made a good photo, especially with the addition of the word fail scrawled in black felt tip pen beneath it. Certain members of the Dutch speaking contingent spent most of dinner heckling a man they had seen take a mule in a trek near Arrequipa the previous week, the poor guy did most of the Salkantay trek with 'mule man' ringing in his ears. Consequently no one in our group hired a mule.
In the morning we climbed up to the mountain pass that skirts below Salkantay, which is the biggest mountain in the area and coincidently also the most revered god. The mountain pass was a cool 4629 metres above sea level, which was a challenge for my boggy fenland lungs. Not quite sure how but somehow I made it, despite hail, rain, sleet and snow. The awful weather was probably my fault, the Salkantay God's revenge for the amount of swearing I was doing in my head that I didn't get round to booking the easier Inca trek.
Peruvians are a bit more clued up in the tourism stakes. Apparently some guides study tourist psychology at university, which I imagine is a crash course in how to deal with a grumpy sugar deprived OAT. One particular family had camped at the Salkantay pass the night before in order to sell souvenirs. An impressive feet in itself.. before I add that they were wearing sandals.
Julia and I came up with an ever changing playlist to reflect the mood of the group and weather. I am not sure that the rendition of The Eagles Take it Easy, and The Beatles Here Comes the Sun won us many friends.
After climbing up to the bottom of a glacier in the pass we descended down into a valley, which looked to me exactly like Scotland. It was rocky greeny, grey, there were sheep, it was raining, and the mossys were hungry. The clouds conveniently hid the fact that these mountains were probably double the size of Ben Nevis, and we walked through a Scottish wonderland in horizontal rain until lunch.
At lunchtime finally the sun arrived, and it became apparent that we had walked into Jurassic Park. Cue Julia with the Jurassic park theme tune for a good forty minutes. Saw a few dinosaur fleas, which could perhaps have doubled as caterpillars in another life.
We finally reached the camp site after almost a ten hour plod. Exhausted we are forced to defend the tents from a couple of rampaging local chickens. Everyone heads to bed at 8.30 pm, the poultry finds revenge for its previous affront, and the cockerel crows three times an hour for the rest of the night.
This is extreme trekking.
Thursday, 11 October 2012
Salkantay Day 1
Weather: The guide compared the weather to the local women: changeable, unpredictable and bad for the health.
Llama Count: I cant tell the difference between llamas and Alpacas, this probably invalidates all previous llama counts.
South American tour companies just love their early mornings. I suppose the sleepy tourist is easier to deal with, and by the time said tourist wakes up properly they are too far away from civilisation to complain. Today was no different, I left Cusco/ Cuzo at 5.30 am, (like all journeys on this continent it left a casual hour later than intended, I had a wonderful sleep in the hostel reception .) Before I was properly awake I had entered to Peruvian roller-coaster which is the road from Cusco to Mollepata, the collectivo (taxi) sped up for each bend, with Perus finest folk music blaring. We arrived at the destination just before I threw up, I still have the travel sickness of a four year old.
Salkantay is one of the many treks to Machu Pichu...
The Inca Trail:
This is the classic trail, which most people do. However, as I am organisationally challenged, and didn't get my act together in time (6 months in advance) it was all booked up by the time I had even decided to go to South America.
Inca Jungle Trek:
Described by someone I met in Bolivia as the marshmallow option. Involves little walking, a bit of biking and zip lining instead. I thought it would probably be the OAT appreciation society.
Lares Trek:
Easier walking through rural communities.
Salkantay:
The hardest option, and involves climbing to a mountain pass of 4900 metres.
So I turned up in jeans, and an Indiana Jones hat. This is apparently not the correct trekking gear, and I was given dirty looks for the first few hours by members of the group who were kitted out in North Face gear, and had a large love for their trekking poles. It probably didn't help that I had managed to sit on my sun glasses on the way to Mollepata, and had had to go into a local shop and try and buy another pair... The only pair they had was a pair of Prada sunglasses which had definitely spent a couple of years on the mountain side, and were sporting more scratches than my CD collection. I could now see, but the addition of Prada definitely upped by poser status by a factor of about one hundred.
Fortunately there were no politicised republicans or hippies in the group. Instead the Motley collection contained:
Julia, who is the most normal by far, wonderfully cool, grew up on a game reserve in Botswana, and also has an amazing straw hat for the trek.
The Three Dutch.
The Dutch girls mother was not happy with her going travelling around South America on her own, and had insisted she find some people on the Internet to go travelling with. So the Dutch girl found Mark an eruditely geeky man who also needed a travelling companion, later in the trek Julia asked Mark- "were you not concerned about meeting a weirdo on the internet." Mark apparently replied something along the lines of well I have one week left, which leads me to introduce the last of the Dutch trio. Only problem is I couldnt say his name properly for the whole five days... I think it was something along the lines of Gheert. Gheert was definitely looking for something a bit more than a travelling companion, this was advertised by the large pack of condoms he insisted in carrying around in a clear plastic bag for the whole trek, it was never trusted to the mule. However, he very concerned about exertion at altitude, and kept demanding the guide give him oxygen. The guide gave him nothing, and he self medicated by smoking another cigarette.
A Catalan, who basically is Spanish speaking Tom Smith. He did engineering at university before going to to work in Management Consultancy with telecommunications. They even look a bit similar, with dark hair and rather a lot of teeth (certainly more than your average Peruvian.)
And finally last but not least a forty five turkish man, who works in air conditioning, and probably is in the middle of a mid life crisis.
Llama Count: I cant tell the difference between llamas and Alpacas, this probably invalidates all previous llama counts.
South American tour companies just love their early mornings. I suppose the sleepy tourist is easier to deal with, and by the time said tourist wakes up properly they are too far away from civilisation to complain. Today was no different, I left Cusco/ Cuzo at 5.30 am, (like all journeys on this continent it left a casual hour later than intended, I had a wonderful sleep in the hostel reception .) Before I was properly awake I had entered to Peruvian roller-coaster which is the road from Cusco to Mollepata, the collectivo (taxi) sped up for each bend, with Perus finest folk music blaring. We arrived at the destination just before I threw up, I still have the travel sickness of a four year old.
Salkantay is one of the many treks to Machu Pichu...
The Inca Trail:
This is the classic trail, which most people do. However, as I am organisationally challenged, and didn't get my act together in time (6 months in advance) it was all booked up by the time I had even decided to go to South America.
Inca Jungle Trek:
Described by someone I met in Bolivia as the marshmallow option. Involves little walking, a bit of biking and zip lining instead. I thought it would probably be the OAT appreciation society.
Lares Trek:
Easier walking through rural communities.
Salkantay:
The hardest option, and involves climbing to a mountain pass of 4900 metres.
So I turned up in jeans, and an Indiana Jones hat. This is apparently not the correct trekking gear, and I was given dirty looks for the first few hours by members of the group who were kitted out in North Face gear, and had a large love for their trekking poles. It probably didn't help that I had managed to sit on my sun glasses on the way to Mollepata, and had had to go into a local shop and try and buy another pair... The only pair they had was a pair of Prada sunglasses which had definitely spent a couple of years on the mountain side, and were sporting more scratches than my CD collection. I could now see, but the addition of Prada definitely upped by poser status by a factor of about one hundred.
Fortunately there were no politicised republicans or hippies in the group. Instead the Motley collection contained:
Julia, who is the most normal by far, wonderfully cool, grew up on a game reserve in Botswana, and also has an amazing straw hat for the trek.
The Three Dutch.
The Dutch girls mother was not happy with her going travelling around South America on her own, and had insisted she find some people on the Internet to go travelling with. So the Dutch girl found Mark an eruditely geeky man who also needed a travelling companion, later in the trek Julia asked Mark- "were you not concerned about meeting a weirdo on the internet." Mark apparently replied something along the lines of well I have one week left, which leads me to introduce the last of the Dutch trio. Only problem is I couldnt say his name properly for the whole five days... I think it was something along the lines of Gheert. Gheert was definitely looking for something a bit more than a travelling companion, this was advertised by the large pack of condoms he insisted in carrying around in a clear plastic bag for the whole trek, it was never trusted to the mule. However, he very concerned about exertion at altitude, and kept demanding the guide give him oxygen. The guide gave him nothing, and he self medicated by smoking another cigarette.
A Catalan, who basically is Spanish speaking Tom Smith. He did engineering at university before going to to work in Management Consultancy with telecommunications. They even look a bit similar, with dark hair and rather a lot of teeth (certainly more than your average Peruvian.)
And finally last but not least a forty five turkish man, who works in air conditioning, and probably is in the middle of a mid life crisis.
Friday, 5 October 2012
Cusco
Weather: Quite Chilly.
Llama Count: A surprising 5 spotted trotting around the city. Including two, which seemed to be street llamas, owner less vagrants who were keeping the mangey dogs company at the corner of a derelict church, and no doubt sharing their fleas.
Still no start for the Paddington Bear Relation metric. This country seems too focused on their llamas for such nonsense.
Cuzco was the capital city of the Incas. Today it is the capital city of the obese American Tourist (OAT), who can guard themselves against the dangerous increase in their rates of metabolism (caused by the altitude) at the local KFC and Starbucks. However, the city to fights back against this lardy invasion. Its endless steps and steep streets, ensure for the moment that all OATs are too out of breath to complain to the authorities and have a chairlift installed.
Cuzco was built in the shape of a Puma. This Puma has grown strange and vast tumours since its original conception in the 12th century , and the suburbs now spread out to the feet of the surrounding mountains. Every tourist is still discussing the woes of altitude sickness. It is 1000 feet lower than La Paz, and more humid, I dont know what all the fuss is about.
I was a classic tourist and went to a cathedral and museum. The cathedral was built on an Inca temple, but was still not as eerie as the San Franciscan church in La Paz. The museum consisted mainly of Inca artefacts which ranged from the mundane plates and cutlery, to the exceptionally rude fertility mugs. Unfortunately, a good 30% of the museum was made up of photographs, as the actual objects are being looked after by Yale University. This is muchos unpopular in Peru.
Tomorrow I need to be up at 4.30 as I have signed up to go trekking for four days. On the fifth day Ill hopefully reach Machu Pichu, if the altitude doesnt get me (general cockiness about the situation is eventually going to come back to haunt me for sure.) Three nights in a tent sounds particularly unappealing, but having discovered a large OAT intolerance it will probably be more fun.
The hostal I am staying in is in a national monument of Peru, and the computer room is in what looks like a deserted crypt. When I checked in here the person asked me if I was scared of ghosts...
Hasta Luego mis amigos!
Llama Count: A surprising 5 spotted trotting around the city. Including two, which seemed to be street llamas, owner less vagrants who were keeping the mangey dogs company at the corner of a derelict church, and no doubt sharing their fleas.
Still no start for the Paddington Bear Relation metric. This country seems too focused on their llamas for such nonsense.
Cuzco was the capital city of the Incas. Today it is the capital city of the obese American Tourist (OAT), who can guard themselves against the dangerous increase in their rates of metabolism (caused by the altitude) at the local KFC and Starbucks. However, the city to fights back against this lardy invasion. Its endless steps and steep streets, ensure for the moment that all OATs are too out of breath to complain to the authorities and have a chairlift installed.
Cuzco was built in the shape of a Puma. This Puma has grown strange and vast tumours since its original conception in the 12th century , and the suburbs now spread out to the feet of the surrounding mountains. Every tourist is still discussing the woes of altitude sickness. It is 1000 feet lower than La Paz, and more humid, I dont know what all the fuss is about.
I was a classic tourist and went to a cathedral and museum. The cathedral was built on an Inca temple, but was still not as eerie as the San Franciscan church in La Paz. The museum consisted mainly of Inca artefacts which ranged from the mundane plates and cutlery, to the exceptionally rude fertility mugs. Unfortunately, a good 30% of the museum was made up of photographs, as the actual objects are being looked after by Yale University. This is muchos unpopular in Peru.
Tomorrow I need to be up at 4.30 as I have signed up to go trekking for four days. On the fifth day Ill hopefully reach Machu Pichu, if the altitude doesnt get me (general cockiness about the situation is eventually going to come back to haunt me for sure.) Three nights in a tent sounds particularly unappealing, but having discovered a large OAT intolerance it will probably be more fun.
The hostal I am staying in is in a national monument of Peru, and the computer room is in what looks like a deserted crypt. When I checked in here the person asked me if I was scared of ghosts...
Hasta Luego mis amigos!
Peru... Cusco
Weather: Dont know was on bus
Llama Count: Too many.
Paddington Bear relation count: 0, no one seems to know who he is out here.
I ought to be getting used to bus journeys. But they are not getting any better. The smelly toothless woman next to me did not improve the situation.
I was probably quite lucky to get across the border, the border policeman held up by visa slip and asked -que passe?- said Visa slip was crumbled torn and had at some point been watered. I tried to explain I dropped it in the shower, before being interrupted by Alizee who I think said in bullet fast Spanish that I was half sharp and could the Policeman please get a move on, there was another stamp in my passport anyway.
Welcome to Peru, unsurprisingly it looks a bit like a smarter version of Bolivia. I am yet to see any super glue.
Peruvian buses are just like Bolivian buses with two exceptions:
1. The women who come on board sell fluorescent jelly, and chocola which is disappointingly corn not chocolate.
2. Travelling salesmen join the trip for about an hour at a time trying to flog their products.
Travelling Salesman number one:
He begins with a quiz handing out caramels for correct answers to general knowledge questions... The final one being how many litres of water should you drink a day. The correct answer is two, and the woman next to me wins a caramel. Then begins his public health lecture on how important it is to drink this amount of water. Considering I am facing a twelve hour bus journey I havent drunk anything. I begin to feel bad. Then he starts on how not drinking water leads to Colon cancer, and brings up sheets of ugly tumours. Apparently you can also get an infected colon that swells, gives you a bear belly, and causes ageing. We are shown a picture of normal man and man with infected colon. Normal man is shown with pretty girlfriend/wife. Then we are told that there is a solution -- Gin Seng and green tea. The man successfully sells a bunch of this stuff, and then leaves.
Travelling Salesman number two:
He begins with a religious lecture: Isn't it good that we all trust in God and Jesus, and hopefully he will guide us safely to the houses of our family tonight. (A fair prayer considering the erratic driving going on as he spoke.) However, apparently God doesn't protect you against cancer. Cue a long line of explicit photos of scary looking tumors on all parts of the body. He particularly focuses on the prostrate, and then he leaves the cancer discussion for the moment and takes a side step. Apparently prostrate infections (sometimes mistaken for cancer) are deeply linked to erectile dysfunction, and I am pretty sure he said at one point that some doctors cure the infection by chopping it off. Cue another dodgy photo. All men in the captive bus audience are addressed individually and each one squirms. The man tells them not to worry he has the magic solution. A magic Chinese mushroom, which is yours today for five Soles. He adds that some conmen try to sell Gin Seng to cure cancer, and that it is nothing but sugar and dirt. He sells one mushroom to a woman. He departs telling the men that he will be available at Cusco bus station should they want to purchase the magic product in private.
The bus finally reaches Cusco.
Llama Count: Too many.
Paddington Bear relation count: 0, no one seems to know who he is out here.
I ought to be getting used to bus journeys. But they are not getting any better. The smelly toothless woman next to me did not improve the situation.
I was probably quite lucky to get across the border, the border policeman held up by visa slip and asked -que passe?- said Visa slip was crumbled torn and had at some point been watered. I tried to explain I dropped it in the shower, before being interrupted by Alizee who I think said in bullet fast Spanish that I was half sharp and could the Policeman please get a move on, there was another stamp in my passport anyway.
Welcome to Peru, unsurprisingly it looks a bit like a smarter version of Bolivia. I am yet to see any super glue.
Peruvian buses are just like Bolivian buses with two exceptions:
1. The women who come on board sell fluorescent jelly, and chocola which is disappointingly corn not chocolate.
2. Travelling salesmen join the trip for about an hour at a time trying to flog their products.
Travelling Salesman number one:
He begins with a quiz handing out caramels for correct answers to general knowledge questions... The final one being how many litres of water should you drink a day. The correct answer is two, and the woman next to me wins a caramel. Then begins his public health lecture on how important it is to drink this amount of water. Considering I am facing a twelve hour bus journey I havent drunk anything. I begin to feel bad. Then he starts on how not drinking water leads to Colon cancer, and brings up sheets of ugly tumours. Apparently you can also get an infected colon that swells, gives you a bear belly, and causes ageing. We are shown a picture of normal man and man with infected colon. Normal man is shown with pretty girlfriend/wife. Then we are told that there is a solution -- Gin Seng and green tea. The man successfully sells a bunch of this stuff, and then leaves.
Travelling Salesman number two:
He begins with a religious lecture: Isn't it good that we all trust in God and Jesus, and hopefully he will guide us safely to the houses of our family tonight. (A fair prayer considering the erratic driving going on as he spoke.) However, apparently God doesn't protect you against cancer. Cue a long line of explicit photos of scary looking tumors on all parts of the body. He particularly focuses on the prostrate, and then he leaves the cancer discussion for the moment and takes a side step. Apparently prostrate infections (sometimes mistaken for cancer) are deeply linked to erectile dysfunction, and I am pretty sure he said at one point that some doctors cure the infection by chopping it off. Cue another dodgy photo. All men in the captive bus audience are addressed individually and each one squirms. The man tells them not to worry he has the magic solution. A magic Chinese mushroom, which is yours today for five Soles. He adds that some conmen try to sell Gin Seng to cure cancer, and that it is nothing but sugar and dirt. He sells one mushroom to a woman. He departs telling the men that he will be available at Cusco bus station should they want to purchase the magic product in private.
The bus finally reaches Cusco.
Isla Del Sol
Weather: Boiling painful heat whilst trekking.
Llama Count: One. (Whose owner was charging tourists five Bolivianos to take a picture of it... the grand price of 45p) I think this was extortionate, and thankfully am at end of Llama craze phase, and entering over Llamered phase.
This is about to become a recurrent theme, but the french and I missed the tourist boat to the Isla del Sol. Instead we had to charter a boat out to the island, for the extortionate price of nine pounds. (At some point I will stop searching for the pound sign on the south american keyboard.)
According to Wikipedia:
"The first Inca Manco Cápac is said to have emerged from a prominent crag in a large sandstone outcrop known as Titikala (the Sacred Rock). Manco Cápac is the son of Intithe Andean deity identified as the sun. In one version of the myth, the ancient people of the province were without light in the sky for many days and grew frightened of the darkness. Finally, the people saw the Sun emerge from the crag and believed it was the Sun's dwelling place. In another version related by Cobo, others believed the crag was dedicated to the Sun because it hid under the crag during a great Flood. Isla del Sol was the first land that appeared after the flood waters began to recede and the Sun emerged from Titikala to illuminate the sky once again. A temple was built at this rock and later expanded by the 10th Inca Tupac Inca Yupanqui. He built a convent for mamaconas (chosen women) and a tambo (inn) for visiting pilgrims."
There was certainly no lack of sun today. There was not a cloud in the sky, and it beat down during the four hour trek, which should have been easy but at high altitude it felt like I was a pensioner trying to climb up Everest. My camera (which was fixed by a lovely Korean man in Sucre) decided to break again. Well I thought it was broken for the day (it did eventually transpire that it had merely run out of battery.)
We returned at about four to Copacabana. The trip back (on the tourist boat this time) went past the main station of the Bolivian navy. The navy is an exceptionally sore point for many Bolivians, they were not always a landlocked country and lost their coastal department to Chile in the war of the Pacific in the nineteenth century. Today judging by the size of the naval base, it wouldnt surprise me if the ships were made up of the two hundred or so swan shaped pedalos which were moored a couple of hundred metres along the coast.
We returned in time for more trout and a Bolivian festival celebrating the birthday of St Francis. It was held in the main plaza, which was quite big, but the pyromaniac in charge was setting off rockets next to, and in to the lines of dancers.... I wonder if this is the real purpose of the ubiquitous bowler hat. Anyway at one point he disappeared for a few minutes only to return with a cardboard pig, which had a couple of roman candle fireworks attached to the front of its face like tusks, these acted as flame throwers with a range of almost eight meters He then ran into the dancers and then the crowd, I escaped with singed jeans. All revelers were drinking a strange concoction that translated as tea with tea. This was deeply misleading, and failed to take account of the bottles labeled -portable alcohol 96%- which were being poured liberally into the mixture.
Tomorrow I say goodbye to the french, and head to Cusco in Peru for more fun Inca times.
La Paz- Copacabana
Weather: Absolutely freezing in Copacabana
Llama Count: Back in full swing... Inordinate amounts spotted from bus window in the Scrub land between La Paz and Copacabana.
I spent the last morning in La Paz wandering round one of the central churches, listening to some very unusual theology from the guide, apparently St Francis was the second coming of Jesus. To be fair I could see it might seem like that from a Bolivian perspective, their country was completely dominated, and to a large extent run by the Franciscan order for quite a few centuries. The Virgin Mary was also referred to as Pachumama, with odd representations of the moon around her inferring whether she was pregnant or not. However, nothing compared to the morbid and macabre collection of life sized wax statues that surrounded the church, complete with real human hair.
Then it was time to leave for Copacabana, a port on the edge of Lake Titikaka. By this point I was travelling with three french- Pierre Alexandre and Alizee. I wouldn't say we were the most organised group. We got to the bus station to discover that all the tourist buses had left an hour ago, and our only option was to go up to the cemetery area and take a local bus. Have since discovered Lonely Planet considers this method of transport to be incredibly dangerous, and to be avoided at all costs due to a number of incidents. However, it fails to explain what these incidents are. Having safely reached Copacabana I can speculate it was probably one of the following.
1. The locals mug/ drug/ kidnap you. Pierre and Alexandre obviously put them off this idea, or possibly it was Alizee, who will take any opportunity to argue in Spanish.
2. The bus breaks down and you are stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a Llama for company for a freezing night. Luckily the punctures held off today.
3. When you take a ferry across Lake Titikaka the bus just drives off (with all you luggage instead of waiting for you on the other side. (You have to take a separate ferry to the bus across the lake.) To be fair this almost happened. Thankfully even with a small back pack on I can run quite fast and Alizee can shriek in Spanish,
4. The chicken in the crate next to you escapes and gives you bird flu. Thankfully said chicken stayed put, and I can thank my lucky stars I am inoculated against that particular disease anyway as at some point my Dad told the government I was a poultry worker.
5. The bus goes off the road and crashes down a cliff. This is standard Bolivian bus behavior anyway.
6. The bus driver recklessly overtakes into oncoming traffic. Again see above.
Thankfully Lonely Planets worst fears failed to come to fruition and we reached Copacabana in one piece. Just in time eat some enormous, gigantic trout for dinner.
Llama Count: Back in full swing... Inordinate amounts spotted from bus window in the Scrub land between La Paz and Copacabana.
I spent the last morning in La Paz wandering round one of the central churches, listening to some very unusual theology from the guide, apparently St Francis was the second coming of Jesus. To be fair I could see it might seem like that from a Bolivian perspective, their country was completely dominated, and to a large extent run by the Franciscan order for quite a few centuries. The Virgin Mary was also referred to as Pachumama, with odd representations of the moon around her inferring whether she was pregnant or not. However, nothing compared to the morbid and macabre collection of life sized wax statues that surrounded the church, complete with real human hair.
Then it was time to leave for Copacabana, a port on the edge of Lake Titikaka. By this point I was travelling with three french- Pierre Alexandre and Alizee. I wouldn't say we were the most organised group. We got to the bus station to discover that all the tourist buses had left an hour ago, and our only option was to go up to the cemetery area and take a local bus. Have since discovered Lonely Planet considers this method of transport to be incredibly dangerous, and to be avoided at all costs due to a number of incidents. However, it fails to explain what these incidents are. Having safely reached Copacabana I can speculate it was probably one of the following.
1. The locals mug/ drug/ kidnap you. Pierre and Alexandre obviously put them off this idea, or possibly it was Alizee, who will take any opportunity to argue in Spanish.
2. The bus breaks down and you are stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a Llama for company for a freezing night. Luckily the punctures held off today.
3. When you take a ferry across Lake Titikaka the bus just drives off (with all you luggage instead of waiting for you on the other side. (You have to take a separate ferry to the bus across the lake.) To be fair this almost happened. Thankfully even with a small back pack on I can run quite fast and Alizee can shriek in Spanish,
4. The chicken in the crate next to you escapes and gives you bird flu. Thankfully said chicken stayed put, and I can thank my lucky stars I am inoculated against that particular disease anyway as at some point my Dad told the government I was a poultry worker.
5. The bus goes off the road and crashes down a cliff. This is standard Bolivian bus behavior anyway.
6. The bus driver recklessly overtakes into oncoming traffic. Again see above.
Thankfully Lonely Planets worst fears failed to come to fruition and we reached Copacabana in one piece. Just in time eat some enormous, gigantic trout for dinner.
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
The Death Road / Race
Weather: Changeable enough to cause a wardrobe crisis... It was 6 degrees at the start and 30 at the finish.
Llama Count: Princessa the bitch of a filly fufils this metric with thankfully only a count of 1.
Finally a mispent youth of cycling around Redhill, Edgehill, Kingston, and Norfolk´s rocky tracks came in handy. It was either this exceptionally long and arduous preparation, or my attitude of win or die that contributed to me coming third overall. I was beaten by to very pro french BMX fans, but very happily I beat the exceptionally annoying male canadian contingent. The general race attitude probably upped the danger level slightly, but despite my worst fears the bike did not fall to bits.
Having survived the death road we went to a hotel to go swimming. This was a Bolivian four star hotel, complete with no glass in the windows and a horse wandering in and out of the kitchen. The canadians were trying to feed the horse (not very successfully.) I had a go, and the filly (who was aptly called princessa) managed to kick me three times in under two seconds (with one front leg and two back.) She´s going to be a very interesting breaking project for someone. Anyway the only bruises I have are hoof shaped, maybe horses are more dangerous than bikes.
Llama Count: Princessa the bitch of a filly fufils this metric with thankfully only a count of 1.
Finally a mispent youth of cycling around Redhill, Edgehill, Kingston, and Norfolk´s rocky tracks came in handy. It was either this exceptionally long and arduous preparation, or my attitude of win or die that contributed to me coming third overall. I was beaten by to very pro french BMX fans, but very happily I beat the exceptionally annoying male canadian contingent. The general race attitude probably upped the danger level slightly, but despite my worst fears the bike did not fall to bits.
Having survived the death road we went to a hotel to go swimming. This was a Bolivian four star hotel, complete with no glass in the windows and a horse wandering in and out of the kitchen. The canadians were trying to feed the horse (not very successfully.) I had a go, and the filly (who was aptly called princessa) managed to kick me three times in under two seconds (with one front leg and two back.) She´s going to be a very interesting breaking project for someone. Anyway the only bruises I have are hoof shaped, maybe horses are more dangerous than bikes.
Monday, 1 October 2012
La Paz
Weather: Back to 3500 meters above sea level, and the battle recommences between the tourist population and the weather. Its a riveting competition, who can change clothes/temperature fastest. The weather is definitely winning, its bringing out the big guns... we almost had a thunderstorm this afternoon.
Llama Count: Thought I saw one from the plane, but it was a brief momentary glimpse, my eyes were tightly shut for most of the night.
The death flight was delayed as the plane was broken, it turns out there is only one plane that flies between Rurre and La Paz, and that it is possible to fix said plane in two and a half hours.I bet the pilots used super glue. After a long wait and a terrifying forty minutes I arrived in La Paz in one piece, having made friends with all the people waiting for the flight, which were a Motley collection of Bolivians Dutch.... and more French.
La Paz is La Paz on a Sunday, the whole city appears to be hungover from the night before. I stuck with a french friend from the death flight, called Alizee. We wandered round the city for most of the afternoon. Even when it is quieter La Paz is a ridiculously surreal place, the city covers the whole of a crater and is surrounded by mountains. However, the tourists talk about three things here; firstly altitude sickness/suckness, how has is effected you what strange dream did you have last night; secondly national Bolivian oddities, plaits bowler hats, llama fetuses, strikes, and bowler hats; and last but not least toilet bowls, food poisoning, bowel movements, parasites, and general vomiting.
Alizee and I decided to join the other french boys in the dormitory and attempt the ´death road´tomorrow. After surviving the death flight (with added superglue) I think I am superhuman and anything is possible. We book with their tour company (a reassuringly named pro downhill). It is only on returning to the hostel that we notice an enormous sign with a broken bike photo on it, and don´t book the death road with pro down hill next to it. It is ten at night, we leave La Paz at seven tomorrow.... bit too late to change anything. Maybe the death road will be the death road after all.
Llama Count: Thought I saw one from the plane, but it was a brief momentary glimpse, my eyes were tightly shut for most of the night.
The death flight was delayed as the plane was broken, it turns out there is only one plane that flies between Rurre and La Paz, and that it is possible to fix said plane in two and a half hours.I bet the pilots used super glue. After a long wait and a terrifying forty minutes I arrived in La Paz in one piece, having made friends with all the people waiting for the flight, which were a Motley collection of Bolivians Dutch.... and more French.
La Paz is La Paz on a Sunday, the whole city appears to be hungover from the night before. I stuck with a french friend from the death flight, called Alizee. We wandered round the city for most of the afternoon. Even when it is quieter La Paz is a ridiculously surreal place, the city covers the whole of a crater and is surrounded by mountains. However, the tourists talk about three things here; firstly altitude sickness/suckness, how has is effected you what strange dream did you have last night; secondly national Bolivian oddities, plaits bowler hats, llama fetuses, strikes, and bowler hats; and last but not least toilet bowls, food poisoning, bowel movements, parasites, and general vomiting.
Alizee and I decided to join the other french boys in the dormitory and attempt the ´death road´tomorrow. After surviving the death flight (with added superglue) I think I am superhuman and anything is possible. We book with their tour company (a reassuringly named pro downhill). It is only on returning to the hostel that we notice an enormous sign with a broken bike photo on it, and don´t book the death road with pro down hill next to it. It is ten at night, we leave La Paz at seven tomorrow.... bit too late to change anything. Maybe the death road will be the death road after all.
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