Samaipata, Bolivia

Shhhh, don´t tell the expats who are looking for the next big thing, but I´ve found a slice of heaven to hang out in for awhile...and land prices are still fairly reasonable!

Samaipata is a tiny town nestled in a lush valley in the remote part of Bolivia between Sucre and Santa Cruz. At just over 1,600 meters above sea level, it´s a perfect place to recover from the higher altitudes.


The pace of life is refreshingly slow, and the village is small enough that everyone greets each other on the street and knows instantly if you´re new to town. I´ve met people easily, and had lunch at a new friend´s house today.


If you´d like to check out the organic herb farm where I am staying, here´s the link:

www.lavispera.org



They are looking for a manager, so if you´ve got the urge to be abroad for a year, I´d highly recommend it as a place to spend your time.



View Larger Map

Sucre, Bolivia

Sucre is often referred to as Bolivia´s ¨white city¨, because almost all of the buildings in the downtown area are painting a gleaming white. Combined with the relatively high altitude, this means that sunglasses are a must when walking around town.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Sucre is more picturesque than it is interesting. There is not much to do here beyond strolling the pleasant streets, wandering into any number of churches or convents that are open to the public, or eating the mediocre food (I got spoiled in Peru!). Nonetheless, it´s been an inoffensive place to relax for a couple of days on my way to the Eastern lowlands. If you only have a few weeks in Peru, I wouldn´t necessarily recommend a trip to Sucre, unless you´re using it to acclimate a bit to the altitude before heading up to higher ground such as La Paz, Potosi, or Lake Titicaca.

Speaking of altitude, if you have never had altitude sickness, I don´t recommend that either. Unless you enjoy spending your Friday afternoon deliriously laid out on a rusty hospital bed with an IV drip in your arm. Awesome!

Tonight I leave on a bus for Samaipata -- el territorio del Che! I´m staying at a recommended organic farm, http://www.lavispera.org/, where you can volunteer in the gardens and enjoy the slower vibe and warmer weather of the low altitude life. From there, I am excited to visit a number of Che Guevara sites--I finally get to see where it all went down!

Scenes from La Paz

La Paz, Bolivia

La Paz is a city of stark contrasts. Sprawling, but with charming and easily navigable neighborhoods; dirty, but with beautifully preserved colonial streets; reportedly dangerous, but yet one of the most inviting Latin American ¨capitals¨ I have been to. I love La Paz!

On the journey from Copacabana to La Paz--which involved getting off the bus at one point while it was ferried across a river--we met a cool French-Lebanese guy named Jules with whom we spent much of our time in La Paz (see photo, at left). In order to enter the city you have to drive through a sprawling suburb known as El Alto, built on the mountain plateau above. With a population almost the size of that of La Paz, it is really a city in its own right, and is the Aymara capital of the world. The Aymara are the cultural descendents of the Tiahuanaco empire, which was based outside of La Paz in the years before Inca domination. Their current homeland is one gigantic marketplace, with unadorned brick and cinderblock buildings that all look the same, except for handwritten signs advertising different things for sale--tires, key copies, furniture, television sets.

Once in La Paz and settled into a comfortable hotel in the middle of the historical district, we set off on a walking tour of the immediate area. Just down the street from our hotel is the infamous Mercado de Hechiceria (Witches´Market), where vendors sell everything from llama fetuses to bury under the foundations of new buildings for good luck, to stone carvings of owls meant to embue success in intellectual matters, to magic powders guaranteed to make the wearer either irresistible or highly resistible, depending on whether he or she is trying to attract or repel.

We also wandered into the gorgeous Iglesia de San Francisco, well worth a visit for both its gold saints´altars and its beautiful interior and exterior stonework--the latter being a prime example of indigenous artists skillfully weaving pagan imagery into Catholic art. And we enjoyed sunset around the photogenic Plaza Murrillo (seen in the photo at left), where hundreds of people congregate with friends and family every day to watch the Bolivian flag being brought in for the night, and where you can have a delicious ice cream at the Heladeria Napoli that rivals any cold concoction I´ve had in Italy (try the chocolate and cream).

On Monday morning, the three of us took a short taxi ride to the exceedingly well-curated Museo de Textiles Andinos Bolivianos. The manager of the museum took the time to give us an excellent overview before we checked out the exhibitions, which consisted of some of the most impressive textile art I have ever seen. Assuming I understood him correctly, in Bolivia alone there are over 40 indigenous groups that demonstrate distinct weaving styles. Far from being considered merely an art form, fabrics are also used to portray critical social information about their wearer, such as marital status, social status, and indigenous community of origin. Some of these traditional patterns have hundreds of threads to the square inch.

Although researchers have managed to trace all of the natural dyes used to give Andean weavings their distinctive pigmentation, they have been unable to figure out how ancient textile colors were ¨fixed¨; whereas weavings hundreds of years old still display their distinctive colors, more modern textiles invariably fade in the sun. Investigations are ongoing, as there is a great deal of interest in isolating the chemical used to create these color-fast textiles. And this is just one of the ages-old secrets of textile weaving that may never be uncovered--some of the unique textile patterns themselves have been lost, as during the 80s and 90s many young indigenous people moved to the larger cities in hopes of escaping the difficult living conditions and making a better life for themselves, and did not learn the traditional weaving techniques of their ancestors.

Interestingly, there has been a resurgence of interest in the indigenous past and its art forms due to the election of Evo Morales to the Bolivian presidency in 2005. As Bolivia´s first-ever indigenous person in the highest government office, Evo (as he is adoringly called by the masses) has made quite a public display of forwarding indigenous rights and interests; critics consider it a form of reverse racism. A former cocalero (coca-growers´leader), he has often sided with Cuba´s Castro and Venezuela´s Hugo Chavez in denouncing the involvement of the United States in third world affairs. His personality cult is strong here, with many youths wearing shirts with his likeness that bear the words ¨Evo-lucion¨(Evo-lution).

In this climate, it has become popular in recent years to harken back to one´s (sometimes invented) indigenous past. Younger people are once again sporting traditional dress, sometimes just for special occasions, but also as daily wear. However, because many of the traditions surrounding this style of dress are unfamiliar to this generation, they are often wearing these textiles with no real sense of what the colors and weaving styles convey. Purists such as the curators of the Textile Museum are dismayed that the real meanings behind these masterful, unique pieces of art may be lost in translation.

Other highlights on Monday included a visit to the Museo de Etnografia y Folklor, with a beautiful display of ceremonial masks and an equally stunning exhibition of Bolivian feather art; the Museo de Instrumentos Musicales, an interactive experience which included musical instruments from all over the world as well as an impressive collection of Bolivian charangos (small, guitar-like instruments famed for their role in traditional Andean music) made out of such diverse materials as wood, tortoise shells, and armadillo skins; and dinner at the delicious French-Bolivian restaurant la Comedie, where an upscale dining experience can be yours for a mere $10USD, including the most delicious dessert I´ve had here to date--quinoa flan topped with chirimoya (custard apple) ice cream.

Machupicchu for Free!

Ever wonder how to get into Machupicchu for free? It is a lot easier than you would think. For a video posted by a friend of mine, check this YouTube link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnls9Sc74ss

It is a little long, but gives you a good feel for the place and there is a good view of the ruins at the end.

Solstice at Isla del Sol

On Friday the 19th, we took a boat from Copacabana to Isla del Sol (the Island of the Sun) in the middle of Lake Titicaca on the Bolivian side. According to both Quechua and Aymara legend, this island is the birthplace of the sun, so it seemed particularly fitting to pass the winter solstice here.

After disembarking and immediately climbing 200 Inca steps at 4,000 meters above sea level (read: breathless), we walked another half an hour or so to the top of the Yumani ridge. With some help from a wandering Argentine named Agustin, we found a lovely hostel that, although it did not have heat or running water in the rooms, had views of both sides of the island.

Isla del Sol seems to attract all types. We met a number of young travelers, particularly from Argentina, who were there on some sort of spiritual quest. Agustin was a particularly interesting case. He had clear, beautiful eyes and an absolutely infectious laugh, so you wanted to trust him...but his stories were constantly contradictory and just a little too big to be believed. He had been camping on the island for over a month on a quest to find himself, and he made a little bit of income by bringing tourists to restaurants and hostels in exchange for free food or a small commmission. After checking in at our hostel, he led us to a restaurant that had a $3 set menu that included delicious quinoa soup and the famous Lake Titicaca trout.

We woke up on Saturday morning to a slight pink-orange glow out the window, and scrambled up the hill in the freezing cold to what seemed to be the highest point on the island, to watch the last sun of the solar year climb up above the horizon. I have seen one sunrise in my life that has always stood out as the most impressive. Krissy and I were camping in the Sonoran Desert in Arizona, and we woke up to the most spectacular pinks, purples, and oranges, punctuated by gigantic cacti. This sunset wasn´t that dramatic, but it was notable for the clarity of the horizon line. As the sun rose over the snowcapped ridges in the distance, each individual ray of the rising sun cast its light down on to the surface of the lake. One at a time, these rays of light transformed the entire body of water into a deep, sparkling blue.

That afternoon, we took a boat from the southern side of the island to the northern side to see the Chincana ruins, as well as the Títi Kharka rock, the Rock of the Puma where the sun was born, and from which the lake gets its name. The ruins themselves are not that impressive, and it takes a good imagination to see the form of a puma in the rock face, but the several hour hike back across the island to Yumani ridge boasted warm sunshine and amazing views. For as long as I have known about the Isla del Sol, I have always dreamed of spending the solstice here, so this was an amazing experience for me!

Cusco to Bolivia: La Ruta Alternativa

After reports of attacks on tourists by opportunists taking advantage of the chaotic environment of the road blockages, I decided to spend a few more days in Cusco before making a break for the Lake Titicaca region. Highlights included more lactose-heavy breakfasts at Granja Heidi, and a visit to the Ollantaytambo ruins in the Sacred Valley about an hour outside of town (the only place where the Spanish lost a major battle when an ingenious Inka diverted the river and flooded the plains below the fortress, making them impassable to Spanish calvary). On a signpost in a small plaza in the historical center I also picked up my first phrase in Quechua, ¨Allin Kaypacha Wiñay Pak Kachun.¨ Roughly translated: ¨peace eternally prevails on Earth¨. I figure that if I get into any trouble with the highlanders on my quest to pass the blockades, this phrase will either incur goodwill and cross-cultural understanding, or will so confound any would-be attackers that they will be left scratching their heads while I run away.

On Wednesday morning, we decided to take our chances and hop on whatever bus was heading south towards Lake Titicaca and Bolivia. Perhaps we should have been tipped off by the 18 bus companies at the terminal telling us 22 differing stories about the road conditions along our intended route--but in Peru, this is often par for the course as companies jockey for clientele. Or maybe we could have taken as a sign the fact that the bus we boarded was graffitied with the smeared words ¨que muere Alan rata¨(death to President Alan, the rat), and ¨paro Sicuani¨(blockade in Sicuani). At this point, however, we were more than ready to get out of Cusco, and willing to face whatever lay ahead along the way.

Not half an hour outside of Cusco, the luggage compartment under the bus popped open, spewing backpacks on to the highway. A quick recon mission later, and we were back on the road. At least until we got to Sicuani, where several days earlier protesters had burnt the only bridge across the river. Pedro and I knew this bridge had been burnt, but had been assured by the bus company that they were taking an alternate route. As it turns out, they knew quite well they were taking us to an impassable point, but hoped to return us all to Cusco without having to give refunds, thus assuring that the road blockages didn´t make a dent in their business.

After several hours of standing in the hot sun with 40 other angry bus passengers and being told half a dozen different things about the state of the roads on the other side of the burnt bridge, Pedro and I, along with our two new friends Scott and Keith from NYC, decided to retrieve our packs, cross the bridge, and walk as far as necessary to find transport--to Lake Titicaca if need be, which is roughly a two day walk in scorching daytime heat and sub-freezing nighttime temps. I have a great sleeping bag with me and yes, we were ready to get out of Cusco.

After crossing what was left of the bridge--a single rickety plank over a steep ravine through which flowed a shallow river that would surely not soften the potential fall--we arrvied at the other side to find that the bus company had been pressured by fellow passengers into negotiating a passenger trade with a bus on the other side. We ate avocado and queso fresco sandwiches, and boarded the new bus, which was quite a step down from the first. Scott and Keith had to change seats because the ones they were originally assigned had been peed on.

The new bus took off at a snail´s pace on what they called the ruta alternativa (alternate route) through the dusty, potholed streets of tiny villages packed with mud houses, children in school uniform, and skeletal dogs scurrying away from the bus tires. We passed occasional remnants of blockades--large rocks and piles of stones scattered on the roadway, as well as a rather frightening shell of a burnt bus covered in graffiti and smeared with excrement. Just before nightfall, the bus came to a stop for what appeared at first to be a bathroom break, but turned out to be a bus breakdown. The village we had landed in had likely not seen a group of visitors this large in some months. Children gathered around to gape at the passengers, vendors came by to offer fruits, sodas, and Jello snacks, and some local youths celebrated by getting so intoxicated that they were holding on to each other and falling down in the streets. All this ruckous was punctuated by the occasional clatter of tools underneath of the bus. Some hours later, the welcome sound of the engine starting was heard, and we were off. Night had fallen, and the temperature was falling even faster. The windows on the bus became sheets of ice, and passengers were huddling together for warmth. Pedro had the ingenious idea of stripping the bus seats of their cloth lining and using them as makeshift sleeping bags.

The bus coughed along winding roads barely wide enough to fit a car, and with holes big enough to topple a vehicle on its side if not properly negotiated. Every time we came to a switchback, the driver would have to back up in order to execute the turn. With each pothole, it seemed that another nut came loose underneath of us, until we seemed to be riding atop nothing more than a cacaphony of rattle and hum. At one point, the bus ran squarely into something--perhaps a concrete barrier.

At some point in the journey, we all had to make peace with the fact that we might tumble off the side of a cliff into oblivion--something that happens with some regularity in Peru. But the saving grace was the amazing celestial display--Scorpio, the Southern Cross, the Milky Way. I had a completely sleepless night, but one filled with stars. It was such an absurd journey, that all I could do was laugh merily at the utter implausibility of it all. Allin Kaypacha Wiñay Pak Kachun.

At 3am, eight hours late and still an hour from our destination, the driver pulled over and said he didn´t have enough gasoline to continue on. It was quickly discerned that he wasn´t telling the truth and just didn´t feel like driving anymore. Passenger threats of broken windows ensued, and he was convinced to go the distance. We arrived at a very basic Hospedaje Santa Rosa just after 4am, the private bathroom nothing more than a closet housing a toilet, sink, and shower all on top of each other and with a shower curtain for a door. Collapsing into the hammock-like mattress, I awoke several hours later to piercing sunlight and the tune of car horns and cries of street vendors. I decided we needed to escape Puno as fast as we could.

After a breakfast of fresh juice at the market, we got on the first micro out of Puno and headed to the Bolivian border--I had Pedro take my picture to prove that we actually made it!!

We´re now in Copacabana, best known for being the most convenient transit point to the islands. It is also famous for its cathedral, where a black Virgen del Candelaria statue resides. Local superstition says that if the statue is ever removed, devasting floods of Lake Titicaca will ensue. This cathedral is also where thousands of people come every year to have their vehicles baptized in holy water for good luck. Bus and taxi drivers come from all over the country. If you are hoping for a new car in the coming year, you can also buy small car figuirines and have them blessed. Not having any vehicles to bless, we are just spending the afternoon recovering from the bus ride and heading out to Isla del Sol first thing tomorrow.

Lat: 13° 32' S Long: 71° 57' W

Pedro´s favorite joke right now is that Cusco does not want me to leave, and indeed, it appears that way. We went to the bus terminal today to catch a bus to Lake Titicaca, and found out that due to national strikes, no buses are running today--and there are no assurances that tomorrow will see an end to the situation. We decided that we were willing to take a bus to anywhere--La Paz, the Chilean wine country, Brazil--but all roads have been blocked by piles of rocks and heaps of burning tires. And the flights have tripled in price because the airlines hope to take advantage of the situation.

I would be irritated by this turn of events, except that the protesters appear to have every reason to be angry. The current Peruvian president, Alan Garcia, has evidently signed agreements with petrol companies to allow oil drilling in national forests and on indigenous lands in the Amazon region. Already an unpopular figure due to widespread terrorism, corruption, and narcotrafficking scandals during his previous presidency in the 1980s, many Peruvians believe that during that era Garcia supported the terrorists and cocaine dealers in order to justify a state of emergency that allowed him to abscond with millions of dollars from the national coffers. It is unclear why he was voted back into office. For more on Garcia, see this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Garcia

It is difficult to get straight news here because most of the newspapers are full of the latest occurences in the lives of soap opera stars and advertisements for love potions, but it seems that several days ago an indigenous protest in the jungle turned violent. At least one police officer was killed in the Amazonas area, although it is not certain whether it was the protesters or the police who started the violence. In response, the president sent troops into the area. Reports are coming in that a group of over 50 indignenous protesters were massacred, their bodies drenched in gasoline and burned in a remote area of the jungle. As a result, groups of campesinos all over the country are blockading the highways to support their indigenous brothers and sisters in the Amazonas region and to draw widespread attention to the struggle. For the most up-to-date information, please see this link:

http://salsa.democracyinaction.org/o/531/t/6557/campaign.jsp?campaign_KEY=27388

The sad truth is that this is nothing new in this part of the world. Corrupt governments and genocide against indigenous populations has been par for the course since the 16th century. It is so common, in fact, that I would not be surprised if not much of this news is reaching the States at all.

We are perfectly safe here in Cusco, however, and plan to leave as soon as the blockades are lifted and we are able to get to Lake Titicaca and into Bolivia. The one piece of good news is that I will be able to eat at my favorite restaurant in Cusco again, an amazing place called Granja Heidi. It is run by a Swiss woman and has the most delicious fresh milk products imaginable--yogurts, cheeses, warm milk concoctions. If only it had kombucha I would be all set...as it is, I guess I have at least one reason to return to the States someday.

Adios, Aguas Calientes!!

On our last day in the Machupicchu region, we decided to climb the highest mountain in the immediate area, Machu Picchu mountain. Rising 3,000 meters above sea level, it is a straight climb up from the ruins. The coca leaves are helpful. One up there, the views are phenomenal, and its even quieter than Wayna Picchu, although some Israelis did manage to hike up to the top with a boombox that was playing the Aerosmith 90s hit, Crazy--flashback to middle school. Bz this point, my camera had run out of batteries, but Pedro did take a video of himself sneaking into the ruins, and I will post this when we have a chance to upload it.

After enjoying a few more hours in the ruins that afternoon, we went down to Aguas Calientes for yet another dinner at my new favorite restaurant, The Tree House--why mess with a good thing? I had no idea that seared alpaca loin wrapped in bacon could be so heavenly. And of course another slice of the passionfruit cheesecake--nothing like passionfruit in the states, there are actually several different kinds here, and they are all unbelievable. A glass of wine and a game of chess later (I am getting better at this!!), and my comfortable bed at the awesome Hospedaje Chiraoquirao was well-deserved.

Every morning in Aguas Calientes we would visit the same juice vendor. In Peru, when you develop a relationship with a market vendor he or she is known as your casero (if male) or casera (if female). You are also known as his or her casero/a, and in a manner just short of a blood pact this signifies that you are loyal to that particular vendor. Our casera in Aguas Calientes is named Felicitas. Not only does she serve up the best juice in town, but her cohort Irma makes a mean avocado and egg sandwich. And so for 9 nuevos soles (the equivalent of $3), the two of us would fortify ourselves with sandwiches and fresh carrot and orange juice before heading out for a day of scaling Andean peaks.

Evidently, Felicitas is better at making juice than she is at giving accurate information on local transportation. Despite her assurances that we could buy tickets from Aguas Calientes to the next town over on the train itself, we arrived a few minutes to departure time to find that we actually had to purchase them at a ticket office on the other side of town. Ten minutes later, the entire town of Aguas Calientes saw me racing down the tracks after the departing train, to a symphony of street musicians playing Andean wind pipes. Railroad officials were cheering me on, assuring me that they were calling the conductor and that all I had to do was keep running after the train. The train did eventually squeal to a dusty stop, and I hopped on. After all the excitement, they let Pedro ride in the tourist car with me.

We made it to Santa Teresa by mid-afternoon, and hopped into the most amazing thermal springs for a much-deserved soak after days of hiking around Machupicchu. If you are ever in this part of the world, it is well worth a visit--clean, comfortable, and they even have a cold plunge. That evening, we took a cramped mini-van on a 7 hour night ride from Santa Maria back to Cusco. Coming over the mountains, jostled in the back of the van, I was unable to breathe from the altitude and felt extremely carsick. It was a sleepless ride. (Nick, you can appreciate how much fun I am when I have not had any sleep while traveling.) We rolled into Cusco at 2am and woke up the people at our hotel haunt here, a dank little place with lukewarm showers called the Hostel Jhuno. Moldy sheets have never felt so good.

Machupicchu, Peru

On Sunday morning, I awoke from a bed that was more like a hammock due to the backache-inducing gorge in the middle of the limp mattress, and pulled on several layers to venture out into the pre-dawn air of the high jungle. Several hundred stairs later, and before the sun even broke the horizon, I was sweating profusely and peeling off layers. It took hundreds of uneven Inca steps to reach the entrance to Machupicchu. The alternative is to take a bus, but going on foot saves $7--which is almost a third of my daily budget!

While Pedro snuck in a back entrance (as a tourist I have too much guilt to do this, but I admire his gumption and appreciate his point that it´s not as thought the government of Peru actually uses any of the funds incurred from entrance fees to do anything about cleaning or protecing the site), I entered through the front and sat amid the ruins with some tourists from Texas, watching the sun break over the mountains. In two more weeks, on the June 21st solstice, it comes up through a specific ¨V¨shape in the mountains, and illuminates parts of the ruins in an intentional pattern. We´re close enough to solstice that some of these spots are activated now.

It´s incredible how much intention was put into the building of Machupicchu. Certain parts were built to resemble a condor, a llama, an alligator, and the profile of an Inca, among other things. And there are even ancient scale models of Macchupicchu located around the site itself. It is not known exactly what this site was used for, as no written records exist. At one point, due to the discovery of predominantly female remains, it was thought to have been a city of Chosen Women--high priestesses, Incan princesses, and the like--but after a large cache of bones containing the remains of men was uncovered, that theory was debunked.

Regardless, it is now one of my favorite places in the world. After watching the sunrise, we hiked for an hour and a half straight up Wayna Picchu, the mountain that towers above Machupicchu and that is often seen in photos of the site. If you are even somewhat physically fit, do not miss this climb--it was undoubtedly the highlight of my visit. Only 400 people are allowed to do the climb each day, so you have to get to the bottom of the mountain by 8am to get your name on the list.

Climbing Wayna Picchu gives you a completely different perspective on the ruins, as well as the natural majesty surrounding them. Once we reached the top, we found the very highest point of the mountain, and ventured out onto the rock outcropping. We spent four hours without moving, enjoying 360 degree breathtaking views of the Andes. This was the perfect place to learn how to pikchar (chew coca leaves)--having chewed tobacco as a rebellious teenager, I´m a natural! Seeing the white caps of the snow-covered peaks in the distance rising above the impossibly steep mountains in the foreground dotted with sparkling waterfalls, I think I finally understand the expression ¨icing on the cake.¨ This is the second most incredible place I have ever been in my life, and I could have spent three days there, just watching the horizon like a movie screen.

As the day wore on, the clouds turned from light wisps to thick, grey masses that obscured the tops of the peaks around us, and we decided it was time to make the vertigo-inducing climb down and check out the rest of the site. The Temple of the Condor and the Temple of the Sun were definite highlights. We also ventured down into the steep agricultural terraces at the bottom of the site. Looking down into the thick vegetation surrounding the ruins, you can see evidence of other walls and terraces that have yet to be uncovered. It´s almost a surity that in years to come, more ruins of at least as impressive a scale will be discovered elsewhere in the Andes.

Pedro almost had me convinced to spend the night in the site itself -- we even snuck a tent and sleeping bags in. But in the end, I decided it was wise to have a warm bed and a good meal, and not to take our chances with the guards, or with rolling off a cliff in the middle of the night. We returned to town for one of the best meals I´ve eaten months--the trout carpaccio was mouthwatering, the blue cheese and elderflower risotto was extremely satisfying, and the Peruvian wine was surprisingly delicious. If you ever come to Aguas Calientes, don´t miss eating at a place called The Tree House.

We were going to leave on Monday morning, but I am so in love with this place that I just couldn´t bring myself to do it. Not to mention the fact that we ended up switching into a great hotel for $6 a night and I haven´t had a bed this comfortable or a room this warm to sleep in since I left Batesville. So we spent the day ascending a nearby mountain via slippery wooden ladders and thousands of steep stairs. Once at the top, we had more amazing views, and made what has become a signature lunch of bread, avocado, cheese, and canned tuna. On the way down, once we´d gotten past the last ladder, I started running down the mountain trail. By the time I got to the bottom, my legs were literally running on their own. Today, I cannot even feel my legs. My calves have never been this sore--all I can do is laugh at myself every time I try to walk. We spent most of today resting, and are hoping to go back up to Machupicchu tomorrow. Maybe Pedro will talk me into jumping the fence and scrambling through the underbrush to the locals-only back entrance.


Ver mapa más grande

Aguas Calientes, Peru

I spent the last few days wandering around Cusco, and am finally getting a feel for the twisting, turning streets. Many of the roads that lead up from the main plaza date from Incan times. They are so steep that cars cannot climb them, and so narrow that if two cars are heading in opposite directions, one has to back up and pull into a side street so that the other can pass. A good 95% of the cars on the streets of Cusco are taxis, and it costs less than a dollar to get from one side of town to the other.

One recent highlight was the Museo Precolombino (Pre-Colombian Art Museum). Unlike most of the museums that I have visited here so far, it was very well-curated, and the English translations of the exhibition text was actually readable. It had examples of art from many of the pre-Incan cultures of this area, including the Nazca, the Moche, and the Chimu. The artwork of these cultures consists largely of stone and wood vessels, textiles, and metalwork. These cultures were actually much better artists, in terms of understanding of color and mastery of form, than were the Inca. The Incan culture is more widely known, however, due to its impressive architecture, and the many dozens of ruins that remain in Cusco and the surrounding areas.

Speaking of Inca ruins, tomorrow we are hiking up to Machu Picchu. We´re staying the night in a little town a couple of kilometers away from the ruins called Aguas Calientes. There are hot springs here, hence the name, but I have been told they are more like Lukewarm Springs. The train ride here was beautiful. Non-Peruvian nationals such as myself have to pay about five times as much for the train ride (a staggering $53, which is two days worth of my budget so I guess I´ll fast this week), and we actually can´t ride with the locals so my friend Pedro and I had to take a separate train. The upside, however, is that tourists get to ride in a train with large portions of glass on the sides and ceiling, so the views of the rushing Rio Urubamba and the snow-covered peaks are phenomenal. I met a bunch of contestants and film crew for the Latin American version of Discovery Channel´s Amazing Race, which is a Survivor-style reality TV show that involves racing round the continent finding clues to your next destination--they were headed to Machu Picchu. The cameraman I made friends with told me in confidence that their next destination is Bogota, Colombia--the contestants are not allowed to know this. During the 90 minute ride, we decended from a more typically Andean climate into what is known as selva alta, or higher-altitude jungle. It´s beautiful here--much greener, and warmer, and unlike in higher-altitude Cusco, here I am spoiled with plenty of oxygen and am not losing my breath climbing the steep streets around the markets.

Right now as I am sitting in an internet spot (to call it a "cafe" would make it seem a lot more cosmopolitan than it is), there is a loud parade going on outside in the streets. Young people dressed in colorful, traditional costume are dancing and flinging their shawls about in an impressively synchronized way. Parades of this sort go on all the time here--I saw at least one a day in Cusco. Some coordinate with traditional holidays, but it seems that they are generally put on for the benefit of tourists. In fact, students appear to spend so much time parading around the city that I am always joking to my Peruvian friends that they should be in the classroom learning math or science or something.

In general, Peruvians are very warm towards tourists, who make a large contribution to the country´s economy. This year, the worldwide economic crisis has affected the number of tourists coming to the country, with disastrous effects for some smaller businesses. Two things that many Peruvians want to talk to me about: how the economic crisis is looking in the United States, and how excited they are that our backwards country actually managed to elect Obama!

Cusco, cont´d

I have been speaking only Spanish since I got here, and it feels awkward to write in English....

The last few days have been spent taking amazing hikes into the mountains surrounding Cusco, and ferreting out seldom-visited ruins in deep canyons and remote hillsides populated by the mud houses of campesinos. Between the sheer cliffsides we are traversing and the bands of aggressive wild dogs that live in the hills, this is awesome adventure at 3,300 meters above sea level!

Today we took a bus an hour outside of Cusco and then walked 12 kilometers in the intense sun, on a dusty road winding through wheat fields in the shadow of the snow-covered Andean peaks. I took my best photos yet. Eventually, we arrived at an active salt mine called Maras, which is among the most amazing places I´ve visited so far on this trip. Salt terraces are carved right into the mountainside, and you can walk on narrow pathways all throughout the site. The colorful combinatin of rich brown dirt, pure white of the salt, trickling streams, and clear blue sky was amazing. We hitched a ride back to the highway from a Brazilian tourist, and rode the packed bus back to town.

One highlight from yesterday was visiting the Coca Shop. This is a socially conscious business that is trying to give coca farmers an alternative to selling their harvests to the cocaine industry. They pay a fair price to the farmers, and then make teas, chocolates, ice creams, and other products using coca. The topic of coca production is very hotly contested here. Chewing the leaves or making them into tea is not at all like using cocaine, it´s more like caffeine. These leaves have long been used by indigenous peoples in traditional ceremonies, and can even serve as a form of currency--they are considered very sacred. Nonetheless, the government, partially due to pressure from the United States, is trying to ferret out the small coca farmers and put them out of business. Of course what this effectively does is remove competition from the large, wealthy cocaine manufacturers, who are paying large bribes to the goverment and the DEA, and who are the ones that are involved in nacrotrafficking--they are virtually unaffected by the laws. The smaller producers oftentimes have nothing to do with the cocaine industry, but they are the ones most vulnerable to government measures--and because the government is not helping to create alternative industries, these laws are taking away their only form of livelihood. The government is also interested in erradicating small-scale coca farming because it is something that is very important to the indigenous culture, and the government has not historically been interested in supporting the cultural identity of indigenous communities. Thus this criminalization of coca is seen by many as a form of cultural genocide. A much more complex topic than it seems at first...

Another note for anyone thinking of traveling to Peru: the food is awesome. Every meal has been delicious. Each morning we go to the market and get fresh juice. I ate prickly pear for the first time today. The other day it was Pedro´s birthday, and his friend Elias taught me how to make pollo a la huiancana (sp?), a traditional chicken dish with a sauce made of aji (Peruvian hot pepper), condensed milk, and saltine crackers. No, I am not kidding. And yes, it was delicious. For desert, we sat around and played guitar and sang Bob Marley songs. No matter where you go in the world, everyone seems to know Bob.

And for anyone thinking of traveling in general: wool is the Way. I have been wearing the same shirt for three days, and it doesn´t even smell!! And with that lovely image for you, I´ll sign off....