a bit of catching up

I have been remiss about keeping my blog up… not that there hasn’t been what to write about, just a lack of zest to do so.

So I will give you snippets of the past week or so, and try to fill in the gaps later. 

I am teaching English temporarily to a small class of preschoolers, their original teacher having thrown his hands up in defeat in the face of a pack of rowdy 4 ∧ 5 year olds.  The class is down to 6 beautiful little brown faces looking up at me, smiling and chattering away and not quite getting that I don’t understand most of what they are saying.  We’ll get along.  They love to colour, and are finding singing silly English songs to be entertaining.

Having witnessed a master at work while volunteering in grade 1&2 at my childrens school I actually manage to keep the wee wonders under control.  

My friend Rosaria had an errand to run at the University a few days ago and there I had the pleasure of having to make my way through a crew of construction workers.  There must have been 50 of them working at pouring concrete on a new classroom block.  Picture will you an age old system…  men mixing the concrete in wheelbarrows, then shovelling it into buckets which were then passed up a line of workers to be poured by hand.  Buckets going up and buckets coming down.  All while a gaggle of them stood around and directed. 

Quite a sight.

But walking through this mass of macho testosterone was a memorable experience.  The catcalls, whistles, suggestions and outright offers were Gringa’d up a notch or three.  Intimidating yet oddly entertaining.  I was soooo glad Rosaria was there. 

I was gifted with an invitation to lunch and coffee with Rosaria’s friends and daughter yesterday.  We began by heading to a food festival close by but there was no hint of a vegetarian anything, and even though I told them to go ahead and eat they insisted we head elsewhere.  We ended up eating at a lovely little restaurant, hidden away on a side street and tucked behind one of those intriguing doorways.  Sigh.  Really, travel without hooking up with locals is just so “surface”.

I think that I have talked before about the composition of many neighbourhoods being block long tall white walls broken up intermittently by brown street level doorways and high windows.  Oh how I love getting a peek inside… you just never know what will be revealed.  Yesterday one of those doors opened wide for me and I found myself in a lovely garden surrounding a huge terra cotta coloured Spanish beauty of a home.  Wood beams and windows, stone floors, cool, quiet, earthy,  and equipped with every modern convenience.  Wow.  It came with a lovely welcoming family and sitting and having coffee there was nice indeed.

Yesterday also came equipped with a long walk down into the valley below Levanto (a small mountain town), a trip to the market for fruit and veggies (always a bustling, croweded, lively challenge), and the news that my not so baby Amy is now a homeowner. 

Wow again.  That little birdy has very successfully flown the coop.  (Insert proud mama sigh)

Festival is winding down and the kids are getting ready to return to school after their two month summer break.  Guests at the hostal have come and gone, many having infused the place with exuberance, chatter, planning and talk of their explorations. 

I continue daily with my health and wellness routines, although meditation has been challenging with the sounds of many lives around me.  My knee has healed, although it may take a little longer for the small remaining rabies worry to pass. 

The rains have been over plentiful, the flooding in the surrounding areas continues, loss of electricity has been common, and yet every now and then the sun is coming out and reminding us all of what a lovely spot this is. 

Today I sit in the sun and enjoy. 

A worried brow... silly me.

A couple of days ago I set out on a leisurly walk through town and up towards the hills.  A familiar walk, I have done it many times and it affords some great views of the mountains and Chachapoyas.  There were plenty of Holas and Buenas Dias's going on.

What was not on my agenda was the sudden appearance of a pack of large dogs showing up and scaring me sh*#less.  They growled and threatened and in true pack form one of them circled around to the back of me checking my retreat.  Tell the truth I really wasn't sure what to do, having never found myself in this position before.

The growling turned to snarling and barking.  As I was digesting just how bad this was they lunged forward, one of them snapping and then biting at my leg.  He got such a hold on my knee that I had a hard time pulling away.

Just as I figured a mauling was iminent there was a shout from an adjacent field and a farmer came running down calling to the dogs.  Two complied immediately, the other two (or was it three?) took their time, no doubt feeling deprived of their afternoon snack.

Shaken (such a tame word) I did a rapid retreat with a very tender knee.  When I got back to my room I discovered that indeed there was a very intensly raised and bruised area, with what appeared to be 2 small toothmark indentations.  I checked my pants to see if they had been punctured and in one spot there was a tiny hole.  Kudos to the pants for acting as an impressive barrier.

OK.  Rinse and rub with mouthwash, the closest thing I had to antiseptic.  Then I wonder... hmmm, agressive dog bite in a country where nobody vaccinates their dogs. I have a slightly grazed area and two toothmnarks with the smallest of skin surface actually broken....  Onto the internet and check into rabies protocols.

Every site I checked said that vaccinations are required for even the smallest of scratches.  Great.  I check around town and am told that there is no rabies in the dogs in the area.  Back to the internet which says it doesn't matter even if the dogs look healthy shots should be given as a precaution.

On to the Doctor (with a tourism office translator) who looks at the bite and says infection yes, rabies no.

Doctor says fine, internet says no.  So I sit in my room wondering what to do... I mean who am I to argue with the World Health Organisation, the Centre for Disease Control, and the British Health authority?

My brain says chances negligable.  I mean surely people in the area are bitten by dogs all the time without fatal consequenses.  But the niggle reminds me of my very intimate lifelong relationship with Murphy's Law.

I suppose my brow will remain worried for the next few weeks until it becomes clear that I will have worried for nothing. Or so I hope.  On to the antibiotics it is.

So far I am giving this trip a 4 out of 10.

long and winding.....

I had a nice skype talk with Carson yesterday, albeit one sided.  He spent most of the time looking, listening and tilting his head this way and that, trying to figure out why mom was in the box on the desk.  Entirely too cute.

Made the acquaintance of a woman who, with her two kids, lives upriver from town.  I will contact her when I get back to Tarapoto to visit and talk to her about how she found her adjustment to life in Peru after moving here a few years ago. 

Cindy is trying to talk me into buying land in Lamas, which is about 20 minutes from Tarapoto.  She claims it is cooler than town because it is about 400 meters higher in altitude.  I am not convinced.  Swelter.

Many people here are firm believers in Shamanism, and Cindy is one of them.  We talked about the use of Ayahuasca as a tool for finding guidance in life.  It is mixed with various other plants depending on the type of guidance sought, and is ingested during a meticulous ritual.  Fascinating.   

I glimpsed a large balloon filled celebration and parade for the February Festival celebrations.  Must have been the tail end because when I walked down to the square there was only the trash left as evidence.  There were kids on many street corners tossing water balloons as passer-byers, and more kids tossing buckets of water on the water balloon urchins.  Made for some fun entertainment.  Missed me by a mile.

I had dinner last night with a lovely young Argentinean girl named Anna Laura.  She reminds me of me back when I was young and traveling solo.  We did our best at the English/Spanish divide, and when I told her I am from Vancouver Island her face just lit up and she talked about wishing she could study marine biology there.  Coincidences like this are frequent when I travel. 

Packed, and I had trouble putting everything back in.  Arrange.  Rearrange.  Take it all out and start again.  Left out a change of clothes for the morning, set my trusty little timer and went to bed.  Notice the lack of the word “Sleep”… why is it when you know you have to be up very early in the morning sleep is hard to come by?  I was in that lala land of half asleep at 4am when the IDIOT in the room next door came home.  He and his partner were shouting at each other as they went by my room.  Then they slammed the door next door.  Then one of them came out on the porch to smoke as the other proceeded to bang about in their room.  Our rooms have screened windows, no glass, so I got to share the cigarettes with whomever. 

I tried to rest after that, but with a 6am pickup for the bus terminal it was short and sweet. 

So I was up at dawn and able to see the sunrise.  That is something that doesn’t happen very often.  It was nice sitting outside in the warm air in the quiet of pre-hustle and bustle.  The streets here are generally teeming with motorcycles and mototaxis.  

The mountains were shrouded in an early morning mist.  Enchanting.

Off to the bus station to get a place on the bus.  Last year I was able to buy a ticket a day in advance, but when I went there yesterday I was told that I have to come early and they would tell me at 6:30 if there was room on the 7:00 bus.  So show up I did, and yes, there was a place for me (the computer couldn’t tell her that yesterday afternoon?) so I checked my bag and was on my way.   But first one of the staff came through the bus video taping everyone.  This always freaks me out because it is done so that if the bus crashes it will help identify the passengers.  As if the list of passport or national identity card numbers isn’t enough.

The farmers in the fields had me beat by a mile.  They were already knee deep in the rice fields, some tending, some harvesting, and then there were the ones that were spraying the rice with what I deduce to be a pesticide of some sort.  Probably one that can no longer be used in Canada.  Multi-nationals.  Don’t get me started.

Bananas, plantains, rice, sugarcane.  Huge fields being worked by hand.  Very interesting were the black plastic mounds being unfolded to reveal their contents of harvested rice.  There was a worker opening up the piles, and more kicking the rice around, spreading it out to dry some more.  Barefoot.  And there were dogs walking around on the piles.  Note to self and anyone reading:  remember to always wash your rice before cooking.

There seemed to be a plethora of farm animals chowing down at the side of the road.  I joined them in spirit as I sat in my cushy reclining seat and ate apples and bread, washed down with grapefruit juice.  Yum.   I have actually been pretty fast and loose with the food rules for the last couple of days.  Fresh salads have been added to my diet despite all the warnings of such easily being contaminated.  We’ll see how it goes.

I had a window seat and great view of the valley and surrounding mountains, stripped bare of it’s jungle foliage for farming save for islands and pockets  left in the areas that are too steep to be viable or to delineate property lines.  Imagine what it would have looked like before being cleared.  So much deforestation, but how do you tell someone that they shouldn’t take land to grow food to provide for their families? 

Heading west towards the high mountains my little compass begins to dance to and fro as we hit the winding narrow roads.   The lull of the bus has me nodding off, only to be jerked awake as the bus lurches or the driver hits the brakes.  The many roadside shrines and markers are evidence at just how dangerous this road is. 

And of course it is high rainy season, with plenty of swaths of mountainside laid bare by landslides.  The rivers are high, wide, and flowing fast.  In some areas they roil and rage, and all the waters are brownish pink from the huge concentration of soil that it has eroded on its path, a condition that is exacerbated by the landslides on the steep hills that begin to make up its’ banks along so much of their lengths.

We pass scattered homesteads, in various states of disrepair viewed up against our snooty North American standards.  Constructed one handmade brick at a time, they are covered by thatched, metal or plastic roofs.  In many places they cling to the steep mountainsides.  I can’t imagine being so isolated.  Their occupants going about their family routines, one of which consists of checking for, and picking, lice. 

Oh the memories that brings back.  My kids.  Our lice.  The cleaning, the picking, and ultimately the haircuts… long flowing curly blond locks shorn so that school could be attended.  Their was the “regular” lice, and then there was the “super” chemical resistant lice brought back as a souvenir on one of our Middle East trips.  That one had to be picked daily for weeks until they were gone.  Oh the Joys.

We stop in Moyabamba and then Rioja to pick up passengers to fill the seats on this mega bus.  And a mega bus it is.  When this guy honks you get out of it’s way,  All the little motocars tooting along don’t stand a chance and the drivers wisely move to the very side of the road.  The nice bus driver does not mow any of them down today. 

I watch and wonder at the hard life being lived by those I see as this bus passes them.  It is once again a reminder of just how lucky we are.  The height of luxury we all live in comparison… My windows start to fog, creating a symbolic buffer between their reality and mine. 

While there are some crazy sections of road between Tarapoto and Moyabamba, the really hair raising ones start about an hour west of Rioja.  A wild ride by anyones’ standards, this year looks like a particularly bad one for road degradation and slides, either on to the road, or the road itself giving way.  Mud, rocks and other debris need to be navigated, and newly single laneways need to be traffic controlled.  All this in the pouring rain, accompanied by heavy machinery trying to keep up with Mother Nature.  She seems to be winning at this point…

Up, up, up we go on the rain and cloud shrouded mountain, as my ears pop and my headache starts.  Oh Altitude Sickness, how do I love thee?... 

After several hours of navigation along the roads we hit summit and begin descent into the “cloud forest”  side of the mountains.  My thought that the roads would get better was quickly proven incorrect, there has obviously been a lot of rain this side of the mountains this year too.  Landslides, rockslides and more road repair. 

After an amusing time spent on the bus toilet (did I mention how curvy the roads are?) we finally pulled into Pedro Ruiz, my drop off point.  From here I need to find some form of transportation to Chachapoyas.  Stilted words with the interim motocar driver have me directed to a collectivo depot. 

And it is at this point that I get “gringa’d” one to many times.  I mean both motorcar guys today upped the prices especially for me.  I paid for my collectivo  fare and a half hour later we were still waiting for two more people to join us in order to depart.  The fare was $1.50 per person, so I asked to pay the extra $3.00 so we could get going.  The cashier announces our departure and told everyone the “gringa” had paid the extra fare.  Fine.  Whatever.  I mean it would have been nice if she had referred to me respectfully as Senora, but it was Gringa I got.

We depart, all seats fully paid for, and about three blocks later the driver stops to pick up another passenger who proceeds to pay him his $1.50 fare.  I said nothing.  Then a few blocks after that he stops to pick up yet another passenger, and tells me to step our and let her take the empty seat in the front between the him and me.  So I asked him for my $3.00 back, since he had easily filled the empty seats I had paid for.  He refused, and so did I.  He couldn’t believe it.  He finally stuffed her into the back (god knows how, the seats were all taken) and proceeds to rant and rave as he starts driving.  Just couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t let him fill the seat.  I think the passengers in the back were a little surprised too, although I did explain it from my point of view as best I could. 

Exhausted, queasy and headachy, the ordeal tipped me past “amused”, and I got teary.  So I stared out the window while I tried to get grounded, and no doubt cemented his opinion of  me as a hoity-toity standoffish rude Gringa.

I wanted to come home. 

We arrived in Chachapoyas and I thanked him as he handed me my very heavy bag.  There were no offers of help. 

Lugging my bag 3 blocks to the hostal took some time and rest breaks, but the welcome was warm, and a bed was waiting. 

Unfortunately dinner was not, both vegetarian restaurants are closed.  So it was yoghurt and bread again. 

Tomorrow is soon enough to figure it out.  I have rambled shamelessly today.  Hope your enjoyed it.

Flute boy and sore feet

Wandered around town a bit yesterday, and managed an evening walk down by the river. I considered it a stretch your legs out kind of stroll and I enjoyed the memories that it brought.

I went to sleep with a vision of me waking at 7 and leisurely getting ready for what promised to be a very full day.

What I got was a 5am wake up thanks to the guest in the room below me playing a jungle flute. Then the fan bothered me. Then the rooster started. Then the parrots started making rooster sounds.

Alrighty then. I mean, do you know anyone that could go back to sleep?

Up, dressed, review, stretch and than head out for breakfast.

Pack backpack… trying to remember what to take: sunscreen, bug spray, camera in waterproof case, water, hat, sunglasses, toilet paper, more water and a change of shoes.

I am picked up promptly at 9am for a day trip hiking to Huacamallo waterfall. River crossings, mud, bugs, jungle vegetation, all under the blazing sun. Perfecto!

We are a diverse party… 12 in total, and not another English speaker among us. I am not worried so much as I am amused. Included in our group is a young woman (let’s call her bambi) in tight jeans, skimpy top and FLIP FLOPS! Yep, flip flops. But her hair and makeup were perfect, so I guess it all makes sense. (truth be told she was quite sweet)

I was a little more worried about the very kind looking older woman that looked like walking was a challenge.

Off in our little mini vans we go, turning onto a pitted dirt road shortly after leaving the city. Bumpy, rutted and consisting of rocks barely covered with red dirt, it seemed that the driver thought the smoothest ride was skirting the very edge of the road as we switchbacked our way up, up and away.

The 12km route takes us over several interesting (think flimsy) bridges and past a checkpoint, at which all cars are stopped and a “donation” requested on behalf of the villagers. It was apparently manned for security during the shining path terror campaign, and has since then been collecting money to compensate the local farmers for giving up their lucrative coco leaf fields and growing alternate crops.

End of the road (literally) is the town of San Antonio De Cumbaza, where we disembark and prepare for our hike. The bathroom is clean (toilet paper provided… very unusual) and it gets lots of use as we have before us a five to six hour return trip.

This is a hike I have done before, and so was slightly better prepared in that I brought along sandals for the river crossings. I distinctly remember what it is like to try and dry out shoes here (takes days and is usually accompanied by a particularly putrid smell).

After being cautioned by the guides to stay on the trail to avoid snake surprises, we head out of town and onto the trail. Lots of stairs, some rock pathways, plenty of mud, high grass fields, oodles of rocks to scrabble over, and of course the four river crossings. For me the real challenge was the heat, which had me queasy several times.

Our party included several strapping young men, and they, along with the guides played night in shining armour, helping with the river crossings. They also ensured that the older woman made the journey without taking a tumble. I felt like batting their hands away from time to time, but how could I insult them so?

Butterflies, birds, bees, mosquitoes, grasshoppers, spiders (!), fire ants, leafcutter ants, massive termite nests, frogs, flowers, vines, ferns, bromeliads, trees, trees, trees! The tall grass fields were so thick it was a challenge to find the trail and gave me the most pause, because where better for the snakes to hide?

I sunscreened, and bugsprayed, climbed, waded, balanced, and enjoyed it all while the sweat rolled down my face. Two litres of water barely made a dent.

After reaching our destination at the base of a magnificent waterfall, I waded in while some of the young’uns swam in the grotto and took turns jumping from the rocks for a good splash. The fact that there was shade and the water was cold was a relief that is hard to articulate.

Traditional lunches wrapped and cooked in largel eaves, fruit and juice were enjoyed by one and all. As with most journeys the return trip seemed to go by more quickly, but almost 6 hours in I was glad to see the end of the trail.

Bathroom. Gator aide. Shade. Rest. Ahhhhh….

Just in time too, because the afternoon storm clouds were filling the sky, and I watched in trepidation as the rains poured down and obscured the mountains. After all, the road is DIRT, and what happens when you mix dirt and water?? Mud bogs. Not the best to drive over. Luckily we kept just ahead of the rain as we scurried down the road, past the checkpoint and headed down and around the switchback before hitting blacktop on the way to the city.

Shower, drink water, crash. Dinner and a hammock. Now I sit in bed, and am having trouble concentrating because my feet feel like they are on fire. They took a beating today, that’s for sure.

Lets all just hope that flute boy doesn’t do another 5 am wakeup call… I won’t be held responsible if he does.

This old bod takes a day to catch up

The bats are flitting too and fro in front of the veranda where I am staying. Dusk brings them out, not one or two but a dozen at least, small charcoal grey fiends whipping past in every direction. Some might recoil in terror, but not me… ROCK ON! I say, eat as many of those blood sucking flying insects as you possibly can.

Hmm... remember I said this was shaping up to be a challenging trip? The two hour delay for the flight to Tarapoto became three, and again there was no airport pickup because reservations mixed up the date of my arrival. I was three days early? Noooo I say, fully confident because I only checked my dates thrice. Happily this is the rainy season and they had a room anyways. Checked my email to them. I was right.

I have previously waxed poetic about this hostal, “La Patarashca”, not only because it has a down home charm to it but because the owners have welcomed me into their fold as a friend. Each year I am amazed at the back breaking work that has been done, chiefly by El Senior, Cesar. This year is no exception with a two story 8 room addition since last year. Kudos.

I was not in the mood for dinner, although I did make a dash down to the market for water and a bottle of drinkable yogurt. My usual “watering hole” (a bottle a day habit, ha ha) was not open, which was unusual. Run by a lovely elderly couple, I am hoping all is well with them. Checked out the cable tv offerings. Still crappy in the English channel department. This morphed into an early bedtime and a surprisingly crisp night.

I remember reading about some weather phenomenon that brings cold air into the valley but have not experienced it before. I actually had to get up, turn the fan off and put some jammies on. This was a departure from the usual naked swelter.

My handy dandy little digital timer was set but not needed, as I awoke early. One lovely warm shower later and I scooted out for a quick breakie. Opted for scrambled eggs… might as well try and eat well no?

Hugs and welcomes from Cesar, and then I was back in my room as the temperature started to climb. A day spent napping under the fan to let my body catch up to the altered area code, interrupted only by my vain attempts to get my computer to work.

One day in and the stupid thing starts acting up. Perfect.

After a lovely dinner (a la dente vegetables and boiled potatoes, smothered with a heart of palm sauce, both healthy and yummy), I ran into a young couple I had the pleasure of spending time with on one of my previous trips. They have added their first mini unit to their family, Micael (spelling uncertain). We chatted about babies, the changes for them over the past year… the collapse of the Sacha Inchic (a jungle nut with astounding health benefits) market, their graphic arts endeavours, and the very exciting news that they are about to finish construction of their first ecco lodge. Which lead to discussions around developing tours… making contacts… doing business…

Interest is piqued.

But tomorrow is another day for scheming and dreaming.

And catching up with more friends.

And getting a new Sharpie because mine is out of ink already from making flash cards. My hopes of learning Spanish live on, although twixt you and me it would seem my broken recall button stymies my efforts. (or my brain has turned to mush, take your pick)

Now if they could just do something about the sugar ants… I have all my toiletries etc. tightly sealed in ziploc freezer bags and yet still they come.

Onwards and upwards, I’ll keep you posted as to what kind of trouble I find next.

And so it begins again...

After basically taking myself by the ear and forcing myself on a plane out of Vancouver, I sit now in the Lima airport waiting for my plane to Tarapoto. Thanks to fatigue and the side effects of my meds, things are quite tilted and I am fighting to keep track of the where’s, what’s and when’s related to travel in a foreign language. It helps that I am now very familiar with this airport and have the luxury of going with the flow.

My travels from Courtenay have included a night cruise (ferry) to stay a couple of nights with a friend in White Rock, and an overnight in Toronto with Grace at a friends home. The flight to Lima was quite a bumpy ride, made easier by access to all kinds of movies to watch and pass the time.

One very annoying note: it is now Air Canadas’ policy that if you have ordered a special meal you MUST call the day before to confirm the request, otherwise you are SOL. The flight attendant was very brusque about it as she firmly rolled by without producing dinner for me. Luckily a different attendant came by, noticed I was meal-less and brought me a veggie meal from First Class. Full points to her.

The line through customs snaked it’s way back and forth, full to the brim, and it took well over an hour to be processed. Good thing I guess because when I got to the carousel the bags had not yet been delivered. Get cart. Go wait. After I finally got my bag and sailed through inspection, the airport pick up arranged by my hostal had either not made it or had given up waiting. I gave him twenty minutes and then grabbed a cab to town.

The gent behind the counter forwent the check in formalities (thank goodness… it was almost 1am) and showed me to my room. Dirty and dishevelled I swilled some water, set my handy dandy little timer to wake me up in time for breakfast and crashed for the night.

Up for breakfast slightly behind the other guests meant the hot water ran out half way through my shower (ah yes, cold showers… how I had forgotten thee) so sans a hair washing I made my way to the dining room and was treated to hot coffee (ahhhh), fresh juice, nicely presented fresh cantaloupe, and breakfast buns with butter and / or olive paste.

Back to the airport and here I sit waiting for my now flight, delayed for 2 hours now I see. Perfect.

Or, if I turn that frown upside down… I have been given another 2 hours to read? My battery is about to die and there is no electric plug that I can see.

My feelings about this trip have been lacklustre at best, never feeling like it was quite right. Perhaps I am about to be served up what a friend once referred to as “another fu#@king opportunity for personal growth”.

And so it begins…

Peruvian Paso Horseback Fun

I have been fascinated with Peruvian Paso Horses since I first saw them in Trujillo two years ago. This is a horse that has been bred with a distinctive gait and is known for its smooth ride and amiable nature.

As one who has watched her share of cowboy movies, and even tried riding on occasion, seeing one of these horses being ridden is a rather otherworldly experience. The riders seem to almost float, with none of the up and down motion at play.

I wanted to know what it was like to ride one of these remarkable beasts.

Today I got the chance. Outside of town there is a man who raises these horses and I arranged to go by horseback to a ruin located in the hills outside of town.

Imagine if you can the romance of being met by a wizened old vaquiero (cowboy) and led through cobblestoned streets to awaiting horses. Metal stirrups are replaced by square leather footholds, the saddles intricately tooled and the tack included romal reins.

A quick boost up and I was following the leader through the cobblestoned roads and on the path out of town. We followed the river up the valley quite a ways while my host greeted and conversed with the locals as we passed. Once we cleared the trickle of small homes the road widened, and then the real fun began for me.

My host had until this point kept me at a walk, which was not what I had come for. When the road widened I passed him and encouraged my ride to speed up. My expectation that the gait would be exceptional was played out... wow, it was wonderful, so smooth and effortless. I would pull up and let my party catch up, and then gallop away again. What a blast. I think my smile must have been a mile wide.

Came the point when we left the road, crossed the river and headed up towards the ruins. As we rose above the valley we passed bulls and donkeys grazing at the side of the path, and to my delight we passed lovely, time grazed elderly women and men near their fields, all of whom were greeted respectfully in Quechua.

Throughout it all my mount showed independent spirit while consistently listening to my prompts. This is a prized characteristic of the Peruvian Paso horse, and knowing this it allowed me the confidence to ride more easily and boldly than ever before. What a blast.

Reaching the ruins required some steep riding, and while the ruins were extensive I will admit to not paying much attention to them... the ride down was calling.

Down is definitely harder on the butt. Days later and I am still feeling it.

Retracing our way back to Ollentaytambo allowed me more opportunities to gallop away, although I think this worried my host some. Clop, clop, clop over the cobblestones and through the alleyways and it was good bye to these great creatures.

What a fun fantasy of a day.

ollentaytambo

This lovely little town from which my adventure have been based also boasts its own official ruins. These are covered under what is known as the boleto turistico, or tourist ticket, which is the only way to get into a group of historical entities here in the Cusco area. Whether or not you are interested in most of the ruins etc. you must purchase this ticket.

Since I possess such a ticket I was welcomed into the ruins for a turn about. Part of the ruins are pre-Inca, although these are cordoned off from the masses. The rest of the ruins consist of the requisite terracing, some interesting housing and what looks like would have been some kind of temple. Hard to know because the town was overrun by the Spanish before it could be completed.

What is astounding is the sheer size of the stones used for the temple area, and that they were able to bring these mammoth blocks from the mountains across the river, over the valley and up the hillside to their positions on the mountain high above the town. The stones are faced with carved protrusions in no discernable pattern, although with so many left enroute and unfinished we will never know for sure.

There are a couple of ruins located high on the hills overlooking the temple, and they require a fair hike up to reach them. Off I went following a trail, which came to a fork with no signage. I chose left, which had me winding around and up for quite a distance. Once the track petered out (well past the scary spiders, geckos, butterflies, weird ants and donkey poop) it became apparent that right was the correct avenue, and this required a turnabout.

Of course by this time the sun had appeared, and I was well on my way to scorched. I found a white plastic bag in my backpack, wrapped it around my head (instant sunhat) and continued on. Once on the correct path it was not too long before I was again looking down upon most of the ruins in the area. Really cool, actually.

This portion of ruins was small, mostly what looked like an alter and caretakers area. There was a convenient bench provided for a rest, and after some rehydration it was a reverse trek back to explore the balance of the site.

All in all not a bad days schlepping, sunburn aside. I believe on facebook I have declared that soon my face will be like tanned leather. I will regret it one day, no doubt. But not today.

Spent a little time in and out of the various shops in town on my way back to the hostal, stopping to overeat at a nice place on the way. Whether it was sunstroke, or whether another reoccurrence of the tummy trouble bug I am not sure but I was down for the count.

Yet again another full, fun day.

Machu Picchu

Who knew a trip down memory lane would be so expensive? The cost of my admission and transportation was included the last time I made the journey as part of the Inca Trail trek, so I was less than prepared for the outlay.

But down memory lane I had decided to go, and the day started with a 5am rise from a dead sleep, a 5:20 quick bite to eat the breakfast left out by my host the night before, and a 5:30 dazed walk to the train station. Inside the gate there was a coffee bar, which I utilized in order to down the coffee I would need to wake up. I mean it was a very, very deep sleep.

The boarding of the train was organized and efficient, and we left more or less on time. I was very glad the decision had been made to pay the extra $3 for upgraded seats. This also included a beverage and snack, although the coffee and stale cookies were nothing to write home about.

The start to the day was nice and the view of the gorge through which the train route travelled was stunning. Most of my last journey here was done in darkness. There was lingering evidence of the rail closures of the past couple of years when the river rose high and washed out the tracks.

Upon arrival at the town of Aguas Calientes (the name meaning hot waters, for some thermal baths located in the area) there was a maze of mostly closed market stalls to navigate, and it was easy to get turned around looking for the exit and the way to the cultural centre where the tickets to the ruins themselves are sold. A passport is required to purchase the tickets, which I did for the hefty price of nearly $50. Then there was the short-lived search to buy the tickets for the bus to transport all of us tourists who chose not to walk up to the ruins. Another peek at my passport and I was allowed to spend the $31. to use their services.

A hop, skip and a jump later a seat was procured and the bus did depart. Up, up, up... a long, winding, switchback road that scared silly anyone unwise enough to actually look down, especially when busses had to pass on what is essentially a one lane road.

There was a surprisingly short line-up to get into the ruins. I expected a crowd, but then the option of staying over and trying to catch the sunrise by lining up at 4am for the first bus at 6am had been easily discarded, and I suppose the crowd had more or less already been through.

And so I once again found myself roaming the lost city of the Inca. I certainly never anticipated a return journey here, but there was much I was too tired to take in on my previous visit. Then I had legs of jelly after 4 days of trekking, and was on auto pilot. This time I arrived with legs, lungs and health more or less intact.

As most people took the path leading up to the heights of the ruins, I chose a path that countered and descended to the lower ruins. This was done mainly to avoid the crowds, and because I dislike feeling like a herded sheep. The sun shone down for the first hour of roaming before the expected clouds rolled in and rain ponchos sprouted.

Sauntering across the lower terracing to the temple of the sun area I looked for the alpaca that are set to graze to keep the grass controlled, but there were none about. From time to time I listened in on the guides speaking to the various tour groups, and realized that a lot of the information given was contradictory... I mean this is the lost city, with there is no one about who knows the inside story.

Walked the temple of the three windows, saw the sun dial and the temple of the condor, but I enjoyed most just wandering the nooks and crannies left out by the tours. Followed overgrown pathways, walked the extensive gardens, imagined living in the residential complexes and wondered how it must have felt to be a prisoner chained and tortured in the prison area.

Looking out at the masses of terracing I tried to envision the multitude it must have taken to tend the crops to maintain the population. There are new terraces being unearthed every year, and when a good look is taken at the jungle vegetation that surrounds the complex I suppose we will never find them all.

One thing I missed then was the path to the Inca Bridge. Long, narrow and built into the cliffs high above the gorge, those with a fear of heights should beware. Until recently you could actually walk across the bridge, but it was closed when a tourist took a tumble. The path was a back door that met up with the Inca Trail network, and is thought to have been an escape route. A collapse of the path about 50 meters past the bridge means it is no longer possible to walk this back door, even if the authorities found a way to keep tourists from falling to their deaths.

Sigh. Another opportunity lost. For a trek.

I walked back up the path to the Sun Gate. It is here that the trekkers of the Inca Trail hope to watch the sun rise over Machu Picchu. Two years ago I was one such individual, although the lost city was elusive and shrouded in clouds. This time was no different, but as then I did not mind because I was lost in thought, and in the beauty of the terracing in the mists. The air here in the cloud that rises from below is heavy and settles in your mouth and throat. It tastes elemental.

I sat for a while facing back along the trail and remembered bits of what was essentially the turning point of my life. How different a woman I am today. Then was a desperate and black time, now a time of strength and acceptance. Then I felt alone, and now I know I am loved.

Lightened by reflection, it is a relaxed and enjoyable walk back to the ruins, and with the skies having cleared there was time for a last long look at this destination of a lifetime for so many. Now smelly and exhausted after a full 8 hours wandering and exploring it was an easy decision to skip walking down the Incan Stairs to Aguas Calientes.

Somewhere along the line there was someone intelligent who decided that it was ok to allow visitors to carry a small pack into the ruins. This was much appreciated because I was able to carry in enough food and drink to keep the energy up for the full days fun. Most people do not abuse this privilege, but here and there was evidence of ignorance. When will idiots learn to respect that which is not theirs?

Down at the base of the mountain the river was roiling... the rapids massive and displaying a frightening power. It is not surprising that the rail lines and farms are washed away. Photos will not do it justice, although an effort was made.

Another ode to inhumanity was on display at a roadside gift shop, where a tiny monkey was tied up to a wooden beam. It was pacing back and forth, agitated, and obviously wanted to get away. Why wasn't it allowed to stay in the surrounding jungle and just be?

After ignoring the aggressive restaurant touts (found in every tourist area and city) I sat down for what turned out to be an expensive cup of really crappy coffee. Ick.

Back to the train station, where there was an earlier train getting set to depart. The door attendant was having no part in letting the empty seats be filled, and it was to a seat in the waiting area for me. The area filled with people, and I am sorry to say the loudest and most obnoxious of them were Israelis. At one point in the ladies room I got to listen in while two of them, young, badmouthed their friends and the tourists around them. Didn't have much nice to say about me, but it seemed rather pointless to let them know I understood what they were saying.

Once boarded and on our way it soon became evident that there was something quite wrong. The train barely made it out of crawl, and after an hour and a half of trying the engine filled the cars with smoke and gave up the ghost. Took some time to bring in a replacement, and I was glad I had provisions left from the day because once again we were served bad beverages and cookies.

My planned stop at Hearts Cafe for a hot bowl soup didn't happen because we arrived long past closing. Just a note about this Cafe. It was started as a project to employ locals and raise funds to support programs in the high mountain communities. Great place, great food and friendly people. They do good work.

After a full, full day exhaustion set in and after the short stroll (thankfully) back to the hostal, I enjoyed a welcome hot shower and a soft comfy bed.

Tomorrow... another great day was planned.

Great start to the week

There are some pretty impressive ruins on the mountainside above the Hostal. They are not part of the "official" Ollytentambo ruins and so can be climbed and investigated at leisure. (If you call scrambling up a mountainside leisurely)

After dropping my things in my room I followed my hosts' advice and walked down the alley until just passed the ceramic shop, turned left and went up the stone stairs... and just started climbing. Easy path to the first ruin, not so easy path to the next, and then pretty much off the path and upward from there. When the time came to look down and over, well didn't I just about swoon at how high I was. Way above the ruins accross the valley and well away from the original target. Took pictures, decided enough was enough for the day (sun was getting close to setting) and carefully picked my way down the shale covered incline.

Was treated to the sight of a curious and busy hummingbird, this one iridescent blue. Tried the photo thing... you all know how successful I am with it.

A walk down to purchase rail tickets for the train to Aguas Calientes, a town at the base of Machu Picchu Mountain. There was room for Monday which fit the schedule perfectly.

Excellent start to the week.

Dinner was pizza (how Peruvian), and after a full day of travel and hiking I made for an early nights sleep.

Also early was the start to the next days activity, a trip to Chinchero. After an early am breakfast I was introduced to the gent that was to take, wait and return. The trip involved an ascent of almost 1000 meters to this small town which is known for its authentic market, especially on Sundays when the locals descend from the hills in full native dress.

On our way we passed a couple of very swanky resorts in Urubumba (think $250 per night minimum), not someplace that I choose to waste money that can be spent trekking. I also noted the signs for Salinas and Moray, two places to visit on a beautiful day hike. This I did last time I was in the area, but I would like a return visit just to see if the incredible energy I felt was just my imagination at the time.

The market at Chinchero was smaller than I expected, but the ambience did not disappoint. There were rows of stalls selling all manner of local produce surrounded by vendors selling weaving and other tourist related items. Bartering was definitely the name of the game... all done respectfully and with smiles. I am now the proud owner of some hand made dolls, hand painted pottery and multicoloured woven wool blanket/cover. This last item I bought when the woman I had been bartering with followed me to the car and agreed to my price.

Now I will HAVE to decorate the guest room.

The market is not the sole attraction in Chinchero. There is also extensive terracing that surrounds the ruins of what was an Inca town. As per the custom of the day, the ruins were torn down and a catholic church built upon its foundations. I know it was something that was done 500 years ago, but I get aggravated each time I see it. Over and over and over. I took some photos of just how incredibly fit the original stonework is... the precision is amazing.

After wandering the terraces and ruins for an hour or so it was back to the cab and a descent back to town and the hostal. Should have remembered that most things would be closed Sunday, so I had a bit of a challenge finding food supplies for the day at Machu Picchu, which I wanted to do because I remembered how expensive it is once you are there. Water, Gatoraide, Sprite, Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, granola bars and fruit. All set.

Got my little alarm unit set for a 5am start and was asleep by 9. This being over 50 thing means adjustments to what "night life" represents.

I am stoked.