Before I left for Peru, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. Three weeks of trekking sounded fun — but what exactly is trekking anyhow? “Is trekking just like hiking?” I asked my friends, but nobody seemed to know.

Turns out that trekking is just like hiking — except that you do it hour after hour, day after day. Trekking is walking cross-country all day, camping at night (though some treks do use lodges for accommodation), and reveling in the natural environment.

Let me explain how my trek worked.

High Andes and Altiplano Trek
Because the dates fit my schedule, I selected the Andes and Altiplano Trek from a company called World Expeditions. This 22-day adventure cost $3420, which included a week of trekking in the Peruvian Andes and four days of trekking in the Bolivian altiplano (or high plains).

On our hikes, all of our meals were provided. (They were simple meals, but nourishing.) Tents and sleeping bags were provided, and so was a warm jacket for the evenings. For $3 a day, we could rent a Thermarest mattress.

About half the time, we were not trekking. Part of that time was spent moving from one place to another. But most of it was spent doing standard touristy things: exploring Cusco, marveling at Machu Picchu, shopping in La Paz. Except for the final hotel in Bolivia (which was very nice), most of the accomodations were standard. (And that was fine — after all, we slept in tents for half of the trip!)

A Typical Day
On the trek, a typical day might go something like this:

• At 6:30, the assistant guides go from tent to tent, waking the trekkers. They offer hot tea or coffee, as well as a bowl of warm water for bathing. (There are generally a few early risers like me who are up well before 6:30.)
• At 7:30, breakfast is served in the mess tent. There’s plenty of hot water for coffee and tea, and there are rolls and/or cold cereal (with powdered milk). The cook provides something hot: eggs, porridge, etc.
• At 8:00, we begin the day’s journey. Those who are sick ride horses. Everyone else spreads out, with the faster people following the main guide at the front of the pack. Slower folks (or those who want to chat or take pictures) lag behind. One assitant guide brings up the rear, and another assistant guide roams the line to be sure everyone is okay.
• Every hour or so (depending on the difficulty of the hike), the group stops and gathers together for a short break. Sometimes the breaks are longer, and we all eat and drink.
• At about 13:00 or 14:00, we stop for lunch. During our morning walk, the cook and his staff have passed us with their mules. They prepare a hot lunch, which generally includes soup and something else (with the “something else” often being pasta). Sometimes there’s time for a nap after lunch. Sometimes not.
• The afternoon hike is generally much shorter — often just an hour or two.
• We reach camp at about 16:00 or 17:00. We take off our hiking boots, change into warmer clothes, and gather in the mess tent to wait for dinner. While we wait, we chat and play cards. (I spent some of my time pestering the assitant guides, Darwin and Tina, to teach me more Spanish.)
• Dinner is served at about 19:00. (Unless the Peruvian national soccer team is playing a World Cup qualifier against Chile. Then dinner is served at 20:30.)
  The evening meal starts with soup before continuing with protein and a starch.
• People are finished eating by about 20:00 or 20:30. Most folks head straight to bed, though some hardy souls linger for more cards or conversation.

That’s the routine. Every day, we hike for six to eight hours, covering up to fifteen kilometers over mountainous terrain. The elevation rises from 3400 meters to over 5000 meters — and then falls away again. (And it’s because of this elevation that trekking is difficult. At high altitude, it’s important to move slowly and steadily.)

There are variations every day, of course. We might stop by a rural school, for instance, to visit with the teacher and students. We might explore some Incan ruins. We might encounter a local farmer and buy a wheel of cheese from him. And so on.

Sounds like fun, right? It is. But the fun doesn’t come without costs.

The Costs
Some mornings, trekking looks like this:

But other mornings, it looks like this:

Or worse. When you’re walking from mountain pass to mountain pass at high altitude, the air can be cold. Freezing, even. And if the rain and wind come, life gets miserable.

In camp isn’t any better. Here’s where you live:

Grace gives a tour of her tent

Since your tent is too small to do anything but sleep, most of your time is spent in the mess tent:

Your kitchen while trekking: powdered milk, chicken soup, and pasta

And what about when nature calls? Well, when you’re in camp, you have a place to go, though it’s not always pretty:

At least there were rocks…

When you’re on the trail, you go behind a bush. That’s easier for men than for women, of course, though both genders suffer when it’s time to take a crap. Especially if you’re sick.

Yes, people get sick while trekking, and yes people get hurt. In our group of sixteen, nearly everyone became sick at some point. Altitude sickenss and food poisoning are the most common problems, and they strike indiscriminately. You can be the fittest athlete in the world and altitude sickness can still lay you low. To protect yourself, it’s best to exercise caution: go slowly, drink lots of water, and don’t eat foods that you know will cause problems. (I avoided eggs during the entire trek, for instance, and limited my dairy intake.)

Grace is sick and has to ride the horse

And if you want to clean up after all of this? If you’re lucky, you can get a bowl of warm water to wash up once you reach camp. Several of us preferred to brave the cold in order get even cleaner:

Luc needs a bath after a week in the wilderness (photo by Stephen)

As you might imagine, all of this work can be draining. It’s no wonder many folks needed ten or eleven or twelve hours of sleep per night.

These are the costs of trekking, but what about the rewards? Well, the rewards are spectacular.

The Rewards
For being willing to rough it, trekkers are treated to spectacular scenery across a variety of terrains.

Nigel and the red mountain (for which I have no name)

Trekking through the marshland near Salcantay (photo by Laura)

After eight hours of walking, it’s a huge psychological lift to see the camp come into view.

Our most difficult day dawned cold and clear. We were camping at the base of Salcantay. As we began the 600-meter climb to the pass, the wind and the rain began. It was miserable work. Once we cleared the top and descended, our spirits raised some (and chatter increased), but the rest of the morning was still cold and wet. As we neared our campsite in the mid-afternoon, the rain ceased. The sun came out. Our moods soared.

The rains have ended, and camp is in sight!

And some of the campsites were truly spectacular. People would pay big bucks to have views like this.

Camping at the base of Salcantay — does it get any better than this?

In the evening, the cameraderie offers another reward. Our group played cards, told stories, and shared photos. It was cozy and familial.

Laura and her father try to indentify a bird

But I think the top reward for me was simply being outdoors, being close to nature. There’s just something about being ouside in the world that city living cannot provide. Standing on a mountaintop for ten minutes recharges my mental batteries.

5350 meters above sea level in the Bolivian Andes (photo by Grace)

And, of course, there’s one final reward. When you travel, when you trek across mountain valleys, you get to write about it — and to share your journal with others. Here, for instance, is the travel diary of Carl, the man I met in Aguas Calientes. He’s walked thousands of kilometers this year, and he’s documented his journey:

Carl shows me his travel journal

Trekking is hard work, but it’s worth it. For me, anyhow. I know it’s not for everyone. I doubt my wife will ever join me for an adventure like this. Sleeping in a tent and shitting in a hole are costs that are too high for her. That’s fine. But for those of us willing to put up with these discomforts, trekking is a great way to see the world.

Our guides: Lidia, Darwin, Ernestina, and Pepe Lucho. Thank you.

Hola, todos! For the past week, I’ve been traveling in southern Peru and northern Bolivia. While not quite as intense as the first part of my trip (about which, more details will follow as time allows), it’s still been a hell of a lot of fun.

Yesterday morning was our final leg of trekking in Bolivia, a gentle 90-minute walk to the mountain town of Botijlaca, the entire economy of which is based around the hydroelectric plant (one of many that dot the valleys of Bolivia). Botijlaca has a fun mascot: a smiley face with a light bulb for a nose.

The basketball/football pitch in Botijlaca

We stopped briefly in Botijlaca for a mid-morning snack: salteña, a traditional Bolivian food eaten between 8am and 11am. Salteñas are pastries filled with meat and vegetables and maybe a little bit of gravy. They’re delicious.

Salteñas — traditional savory meat pies eaten mid-morning in Bolivia. Photo by Grace.

As we were eating our end-of-trek treats, a shy boy peeked from the edge of a nearby building. Our local guide, Freddy, called the boy over and gave him a salteña. He ran off. Before long, he returned with a couple dozen of his closest friends. We happily handed out fruit and candy and other food, which the kids shyly accepted.

Three shy girls, waiting for handouts in Botijlaca

Our bellies filled, we piled in the minivan for the three-hour drive to La Paz, the capital of Bolivia. Though this wasn’t the worst ride of our holiday (that honor goes to the journey from Copacabana, Bolivia to the start of our Condoriri trek), this ride wasn’t without adventure.

Warning: sharp curves ahead…

…don’t say I didn’t warn you!

This time, however, we were prepared. Everyone took motion-sickness pills (thanks, Anita!). Besides, the riotous ride wasn’t without its rewards, such as these views of Huayana Potosi:

Huayana Potosi and dam (this photo was taken near the refugio)

A tin miners’ graveyard outside La Paz, with Huayana Potosi in the background.

After arriving in La Paz, we took much-needed showers. Then, in true adventurer fashion, we gathered in the hotel bar to drink the local beer (Paceña, which isn’t as good as Peru’s Cusqueña) and swap photos. We also compared travel journals:

Laura’s travel journal (with Laura sorting photos in the background).

We went to bed relatively early — it’s tough to break the habit of being in the tent at 20:30 and waking at 06:00! — and woke early too. This morning, Freddy took us on a three-hour walking tour of his home town. He took us past the San Pedro prison, where the scent of onions filled the air. Then he led us up to El Mercado Rodriguez, where old women sat in their stalls eating pan (at 0.40 bolivianos per roll, or about a nickel a piece) and sipping coca-leaf tea.

A woman selling plátanos (bananas). You can’t see it, but she has bread and coca tea by her side.

Signs painted on the wall outside a pharmacy in La Paz

Next, Freddy showed us el mercado de las brujas, the witches’ market. (Or, more aptly, the tourists’ market.) As we were walking up the street, we met a group of grade-school kids who were out greeting foreigners as part of a “tourist appreciation” program. It seems a little absurd, but it was fun to hear them chant, “Welcome to La Paz, bienvenido a La Paz.” Their teacher asked me to pose for a photo with the class. I had him take one with my camera too.

These kids gave drawings to some of our group. I got a photo instead.

Eventually, we made our way to Plaza Murillo, which was filled with pigeons and protestors. The pigeons flocked to whomever was the most likely food source, which was often children. Anita, one of my fellow travelers, is frightened of pigeons (though she’s fine with other birds), and had to be led through the swarm.

I couldn’t tell if this boy liked the birds or not, but he liked having his photo taken.

The protestors were disbanding after days of occupying the plaza. Television and radio crews were interviewing them about the successful outcome of their complaints. (The President of Bolivia, who campaigned on a pro-indigenous peoples platform, had managed to piss them off because he’d pushed through a trans-Amazonian highway. Apparently he backed down recently, and the highway won’t be completed.)

The protestor’s flag reads: “For dignity, for unity, and life.”

After parting ways with Freddy, Stephen and I wandered around on our own. He picked up some gifts for his son. I let a barber talk me into a shave and a haircut. We carried on an awkward but amiable conversation in Spanish. He wanted to talk about the news, but my vocabulary just wasn’t up to it. Besides, I’ve been in total media isolation for nearly a month. I have no idea what’s going on in the world.

A shave and a haircut in La Paz, Bolivia — photo by Steve

After my 50 boliviano ($7.50 US) grooming, Steve and I headed back to el mercado de las brujas. We stopped in a shop so that he could buy several charms. While he looked around, I struck up a conversation with the proprietress. She was pleased that I spoke Spanish — or tried to. She asked us where we were from, what we were doing in La Paz, and where we were going. She asked about the magazine I was carrying around (Zumate): where I bought it and how much I paid. She even borrowed it for a few minutes, flipping through the pages while Steve finished his shopping.

We said good-bye — and the woman wished us safe travels — and returned to the hotel. “You know,” I said, as we neared our destination. “I like La Paz. I almost think I could live here.” I know it’s silly to judge a city after only 24 hours (and after only seeing a few square blocks), but I like the size and scope of this town. It almost feels like home.

Concert posters for Zoe, one of my favorite Mexican bands. I love their song “Soñe“.

Hola, todos! After more than a week of roughing it, I’m back in Cusco, where I have my own computer and a reliable internet connection. Tomorrow I head back out on the road — this time for Lake Titicaca and trekking in Bolivia. Eventually, I’ll share details of our trek around Salcantay in the Peruvian Andes. For now, I’m going to share my adventures yesterday in Aguas Calientes (near the base of Machu Picchu).

Yesterday may have been the best day of the trip so far, but it didn’t get off to a good start. I woke to a second day of diarrhea, which prompted me to start on the Cipro. (I only have six pills, so I’d been holding it in reserve for an emergency. I decided this qualified.) I’ve been lucky so far. Nearly everyone else in my group has suffered diarrhea or vomiting or altitude sickness of some sort. My problems waited until we’d returned to the land of indoor plumbing.

Our group of fourteen rose early to catch the bus to the top of Machu Picchu, the ancient Incan city set high on a mountaintop. We were treated to a dry three-hour tour of the ruins. (A guide with personality can make such a difference!)

Machu Picchu is beautiful, but to be honest, I think most of us found it to be a little anti-climatic after a week of trekking through the Peruvian Andes. The natural beauty we’ve seen has left us numb to man-made wonders. Still, there’s no mistaking the wonder and immensity of these ruins.

Machu Picchu — or a part of it

After a quick snack, I decided to walk down the roughly 500-meter mountain instead of taking the bus back to Aguas Calientes. The pathway is steep (and hurt my aging knees), but the entire trip only took 55 minutes (as opposed to 20 minutes by bus).

Back in town, I sat on a bench in the main plaza, watching the world go by. After a few minutes, the fellow sitting next to me struck up a conversation. He introduced himself as Carl, a traveler from Antwerp, Belgium. Carl has been traveling on-and-off for the past five years, and continually since May of this year. For ninety minutes, he and I talked about walking (he’s walked all over Europe!), traveling, journaling, relationships, and more.

At one point during our conversation, we were approached by three children: Sanaís (?), Alis (or Alex), and Dulcea. They wandered over to our bench and started talking to us, taking our woeful Spanish in stride. Because each of them were just two or three years old, we got along just fine.

In this photo: My travel journal and Spanish dictionary, Carl’s arm, the kids (with Sanaís wearing my sunglasses upside-down), and the main plaza in Aguas Calientes

The kids climbed on the bench and looked through our stuff. “Bebida!” they told Carl, demanding to drink from his water bottle. When they grew tired of us, they ran back through the pigeons in the plaza to their parents, who were watching from the steps of the nearby church.

After chatting with Carl, I met my group for lunch at El Manu. I had a limonade (made with limes in Latin America, of course) and the causa limeña, which is mashed potatoes stuffed with tuna fish. It was quite tasty. (The potato originated in Peru, and the Andes produces thousands of varieties, though globalization is killing this diversity. Stop buying Yukon Golds, people!)

My lunch, the causa limeña

As we ate, the restaurant’s TV played a concert from the group Alborada, which hails from Cusco. They blend traditional Andinan musical forms with modern instruments. They sing in both Spanish and Quechua (the latter being the language — or family of languages — spoken by nearly ten million people in Peru. I only know a handful of words, including “michi”, or cat.) I loved the music. Here’s a representative song from Alborada:

Lunch ran late, so we had to rush to catch our train from Aguas Calientes back to Ollantaytambo. Despite the rush, I had time for a few photos.

Cats (“michi” in Quechua) in Aguas Calientes

In the mercado near the train station, I was waylaid again by children. (Not that I minded.) They were playing with bugs. I squatted to look closer. “Qué es eso?” I asked one girl.

“Mi mano,” she said, indicating her hand. I laughed.

“No,” I said. “Los insectos. Cómo se llaman?”

“Mariquitas!” the kids said in unison, and they held up their arms to show me the ladybugs. Then they started putting them into the palm of my hand, counting them off: “Uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco.”

I laughed again. “Gracias,” I said. “Me gusta, pero estoy muy tarde. Debo salir.” I smiled and waved as I stood to leave. They waved back.

Niños playing with mariquitas in the mercado of Aguas Calientes

I expected the train ride from Aguas Calientes to Ollantaytambo to be a dull affair, but it wasn’t. Looking out the windows and consulting a map, our group picked out the places where we’d walked along the Urubamba River. We talked about future plans and enjoyed the on-train entertainment, which included music, dancing, and a fashion show (!!!).

The dancing…payaso? (clown)…that entertained during the fashion show.

When we reached our hotel in Cusco at about 19:30, we experienced our first real glitch of the trip. After two weeks on the road, we were all eager to do some laundry, and our guide (Pepe Lucho) had arranged for a laundry woman to meet us at the hotel. All well and good, except our bags weren’t waiting for us. We were all carrying small daybags, but the bulk of our possessions had been separated into two other bags, and most of the dirty laundry was missing.

After half an hour in which we all imagined wearing the same stinky clothing for another ten days, our bags finally appeared. We sorted the laundry, then headed for a fine dinner at Pacha Papa, which we’d enjoyed during our first stint in Cusco. I had the ají de gallina (a sort of Peruvian curried chicken) and two maracuyá (passion fruit) sours.

It was a fine ending to a fine day.

What made the day so special? I’m not sure. For one, little was planned. Everything (except the tour of Machu Picchu) happened spontaneously. For another, there was tremendous variety: the natural beauty of the mountains, the splendor of Machu Picchu, the strenuous walk down the hill, the lengthy chat with Carl from Antwerp, the interaction with the kids, the delicious food, the enchanting music, the surreal train ride, the problem with the luggage and laundry, and so much more. (I haven’t even mentioned the wild van ride from Ollantaytambo to Cusco over the dark and dangerous Peruvian roads!)

This entire trip has been amazing, but I think yesterday was my favorite day so far. And now it’s time for me to stop writing. I want to go out and see Cusco. I want today to be amazing, too.

As much as I’d like to visit every corner of the Earth, I’m well aware that’ll probably never happen. Unlike a certain friend of mine, visiting every country in the world is not one of my actual goals. Because I’m more into travel for the romance of it all, I’m going to have to visit some far-off places vicariously, living through the eyes of others.

Take North Korea, for instance. I’m fascinated by the place, but I’ll never go there. I’ve read a couple of books about this insular nation, watched a handful of documentaries, and eagerly devour each new article I find.

Recently, Jason Kottke pointed to a photographic portfolio of North Korea by Sam Gellman. Some of these images are stunning:

From Gellman’s description on Flickr:

This shot was taken at the Mass Games, a 100,000 person choreographed performance of simultaneous dancing and gymnastics on the field of Pyongyang’s May Day stadium. The image in the background of the mountain is made up of 30,000 “pixels” which are constantly being changed into new images, each pixel by a different Korean kid. Each time they turn the page to create a new giant picture, they cry out, mixing the shout with the noise of thousands of pages turned at the same moment. A 3-second exposure.

Others capture scenes Americans might more typically associate with North Korea:

From Gellman’s description on Flickr:

Women soldiers practicing their marching. For all the soldiers in North Korea, it’s strange that there’s really no war at all. Still the country has one of the largest militaries in the world. And they spend much of their day marching and chanting anti-American and anti-Japan songs. There seemed to be about as many women as men in the army, though that was just observation. I think for a 18 year old, it seems there’s not a whole lot else to do.

But I think my favorite photos from Gellman’s North Korea trip are those that show everyday people doing everyday things, the ones that demonstrate that people are people wherever you go. Like this one:

From Gellman’s description on Flickr:

Not much of a shot for image quality, but playing this bumper car game with the DPRK soldiers was one of the highlights of my trip to North Korea. Went head to head with them, nothing but laughs. A few were with their kids in the same car. Good times had by all.

You can view all of Gellman’s North Korea photos on Flickr.

Though I doubt I’ll ever visit North Korea myself, I do hope to visit southeast Asia in the next couple of years. But first, I have a couple of dates with South America! (I’m hiking through the Andes from Cuzco, Peru to Machu Picchu as you read this.) And maybe in 2012, I’ll even visit Turkey and (fingers crossed) Antarctica.

¡Hola, todos! I’m writing to you from Ollantaytambo, in the heart of the Sacred Valley (Valle Sagrado) high in the Peruvian Andes. It’s beautiful here. I love it. Monday morning, we leave for our week-long trek to Machu Picchu. During this time, I’ll have no internet connection (though I’ve pre-written a couple of posts to tide you over). It has been over fifteen years since I went a week without the internet. Will I be able to survive?

Before I leave, I want to share a handful of photos from the past few days. I don’t have time to write much, so the photos will have to stand on their own. (All of these photos are posted to Flickr — click through to see larger versions.)

Me (carrying my Peru 2011 journal) overlooking the Incan terraces in Chinchero, Peru

Our guide, Pepe Lucho, helps with a weaving demonstration in the town of Chinchero

A salt farmer in Las Salineras de Maras

Ollantaytambo y el Valle Sagrado

Me on an early morning scramble up the hillside overlooking Ollantaytambo

Photographers (Brad, Anita, Peter) in the ruins above Ollantaytambo

Muchas verduras frescas en el mercado de Ollantaytambo

Cuy (aka guinea pigs) being fattened for future fine dining

Grace and Luke pausing on our hike along the Urubamba River (aka Vilcanota River)

An old Quechua woman with her cat and dog, north of Ollantaytambo

Our group relaxing in the courtyard at the Ollantaytambo train station

Rae and an enormous moth outside a restaurant in Ollantaytambo

I’m sure I’ll have tons of photos and stories to share over the next few weeks, but I’m about to go off-grid. For more photos from our group, check out Laura’s photos on Flickr. And look for a couple of new posts later this week!

For the past two nights, I’ve been lodged at the Royal Inka Hotel with the thirteen other members of this tour group. We’re at the start of a 21-day trekking tour of Peru and Bolivia.

Viva el Perú

Yesterday, we had a standard tourist tour of the town. There’s not a whole lot of story to share, so I thought I’d show some photos instead. Here’s a chronological diary of our day.

Plaza de Armas in Cuzco, Peru

Plaza Kusipata
The Royal Inka Hotel is located on the Plaza Kusipata, just one block from Plaza de Armas, the center of Cuzco. It’s a nice place. (Nicer than I need — I don’t need fancy places to stay. This isn’t fancy, but it’s nice.)

Stephen photographing Plaza Kusipata from the hotel doorway.

Plaza Kusipata is busy day and night. It’s a popular place to hang out, and a crossroads for commuters of all sorts. Teenagers laugh and wrestle and flirt. Young couples sit together on benches. Dogs wander the square, like the cats of Miraflores. Tourists like me take photos. And women wander to and fro, trying to sell hats and boxes and bracelets and more.

Shoeshine in Plaza Kusipata (Cuzco)

As in many cities around the world, vendors set up stalls on sidewalks (or simply walk around selling their goods). At first it’s easy to feel guilty for not buying, but eventually you learn to avoid eye contact, say “no gracias“, and keep walking. If you engage the sellers in any way, they become very persistent.

Newsstand near Plaza Kusipata

Qorikancha
In the morning, our group ventured up to Qorikancha, the ancient Temple of the Sun, the most important temple in the Inca Empire. As with all things in Peru (and Latin America), the Spaniards pillaged the temple when they arrived, eventually constructing the Church of Santo Domingo on the site, destroying much of the original temple.

Qorikancha and the Church of Santo Domingo

Grace peeks around a corner in Qorikancha

Brad frames a photo in the courtyard of the Church of Santa Domingo

The Inca worshipped the heavens, and the sun most of all. Qorikancha had rooms dedicated to the sun, the moon, rainbows (arco iris), lightning, and more.

My favorite part of the tour, though, was this modern painting of the heavens. I think it’s absolutely brilliant. I’m not always much for the visual arts, but this blows me away. So beautiful. Simply mesmerizing.

This painting hangs in Qorikancha but is uncredited

Saqsaywaman
After touring Qorikancha, we headed up a nearby hillside to the site of Saqsaywaman (which English-speakers bastardize into “sexy woman”), a walled complex made of carefully carved boulders. We didn’t get a chance to photograph the main edifice side-on, so my photos below show only small details.

The far side of Saqsaywaman — I would have liked to have climbed these steps to photograph the site

Our guide, Gustavo, describing the construction of Saqsaywaman

Me, posing to provide some scale for the size of the boulders

There was a herd of alpacas wandering around Saqsaywaman. They seemed completely indifferent to us. And they were sopping wet from the rain.

A bored alpaca — after all, what does an alpaca have to look forward to?

Q’enqo
Our final stop of the day was to Q’enqo, the smallest site we visited, but possibly my favorite. For one thing, I got to chat with the bus driver about why there were muñecas dangling from the trees.

Dolls (muñecas) hanging from the trees at Q’enqo

He told me these were for Carnivale, which is celebrated every February. These muñecas represent a mother and a father, though I forgot to ask the purpose. (And why they were hanging at Q’enqo, an ancient Inca burial ground.) I did however ask about el día de los muertos, which I know is coming up. (And actually, I had that wrong, because in Peru it’s el día de todos los santos.) But he told me something about el día de todas las almas that I didn’t catch. (The former takes place on November 1st and the latter on November 2nd.)

Anyhow, Q’enqo was an important burial spot. It’s a small labyrinth carved from massive stone outcroppings. I liked it.

Gustavo explains that people were mummified in a fetal position.

In the afternoon, the group had a fine lunch at Pacha Papa. I got to practice my Spanish: “Voy a probar la chicha morada,” I told the waiter. Chicha morada is an Andean drink made from purple corn, cinnamon, and other ingredients that I don’t know. It wasn’t bad. For my lunch, I ate adobo de costillar de chancho, a sort of pork-rib stew. (My god, but Spanish has a zillion words for pig!)

After lunch, I joined Brad and Grace for a little pre-trek shopping. It has been very rainy and cold here (it’s the equivalent of early April in Oregon), and I’m heeding the advice to buy a pair of rain-proof pants. Plus, I didn’t bring my trekking poles since they wouldn’t fit in my bag and they’re not allowed as carry-ons. I bought a trekking staff for 40 soles (or about $15). I’ll give it away at the end of the trip.

A market in Cuzco, Peru

Brad was craving coffee and I was craving un dulce so we stopped at Inka…fe, which is an hilarious pun, in my opinion. (I can’t wait to tell my tutor about it.) I ordered maté de coca — hot tea made from coca leaves, the very same plant used to produce cocaine. I’ve only been in Cuzco for 48 hours, but I’ve consumed about a gallon of this stuff. (No joke. It’s everywhere.) Plus, I had a piece of chocolate cake with lúcuma ice cream. (The lúcuma is a Peruvian fruit that tastes like…well, I can’t describe the taste, but I like it.)

And then, my friends, I came back to the hotel to write. Instead of exploring the town, I wrote about what I’ve seen.

After three hours of work, I headed out into the cold night. The Peruvian national football team had an important match against Paraguay (their first World Cup qualifier maybe?), and I wanted to find a pub where I could watch the match with the locals. I ended up eating eating a bowl of onion soup while sipping a curuba sour. (I’ve come to love passion fruit.)

Peru won the match by a score of 2-0. Everywhere you went around Cuzco, people were watching and listening to the game. It was awesome. ¡Viva el Perú!