Ninety Minutes to Pamukkale

“What do you want to do today?” Nick asked me this morning. We were feasting on a typical hotel breakfast in Turkey: bread and jam, watermelon, olives, a bit of goat cheese, cucumbers, and two slices of mystery meat. And tea. There’s always tea.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m beat. I could use a down day after yesterday.”

We’d spent the entire day in transit from Istanbul to Izmir — then south to Selçuk. Two hours by ferry, five hours by bus, one hour in the bus station’s internet cafe looking for lodging, and then an hour by van (dolmuş) to Selçuk.

“Then I’m going to go to Pamukkale,” Nick said.

“What’s in Pamukkale?” I asked.

“Hot springs,” Nick said. “And ruins.” There’s always ruins.

“Well, I’m going to stay in Selçuk to rest,” I said. “Maybe I’ll do some writing.”

We finished eating. Nick shared his breakfast with one of the neighborhood cats. The neighborhood cat was grateful. Too grateful.

Some folks have requested a photo of Nick. Here he is, feeding a cat in Selçuk.

I finished my meal and stood to go. “Have fun,” I said. “I’m going to shower and shave.” Last week, I received the best shave of my life in Istanbul. Since then, I’ve remained clean shaven. (I’m not sure whether that’s permanent, but it’s fun for now.)

I was at the sink shaving — watching my own WDS speech on the iPad — when Nick burst into the room.

“It only costs 25 lira each to get to Pamukkale,” he said. “And it’s only a ninety minute trip. But we have to leave now. The bus is waiting.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go.” I finished shaving in a rush, grabbed my camera, and we hoofed it to the bus station.

It’s common on trips like this to run into other travelers and then to strike up a conversation. It’s one of the best parts of traveling, yet it hadn’t happened for me in Turkey — until today.

The bus made a quick stop at the edge of Selçuk to pick up four other tourists. They happened to sit near us. We soon became acquainted with:

Linda, an OR nurse from San Diego
Dustin, a computer programmer from Los Angeles
Nicole, a pediatric nurse from Atlanta
an investment broker from New York City whose name I’ve forgotten

As our ninety minute ride began, the six of us chatted about travel and life. Of the group, Nicole had traveled most extensively. In fact, she’s in the middle of a ten-month round-the-world trip that started March first. She doesn’t plan to be home until the holidays — if then.

“Wow,” I said. “That sounds almost Australian.” Australians do a lot of world travel.

“I know,” Nicole said. “Not many Americans do this sort of thing. But it’s always been a goal of mine, so I saved up to do it.”

“That’s awesome,” I said. I explained that I make my living by writing about personal finance. “How long did it take you to save for this trip?”

“I don’t know,” Nicole said. “Maybe eight years.”

“Hold on,” I said. I pulled out my notebook and pen. “I want to write this down. I have a magazine column due in a couple of weeks, and the topic is smart saving. Can I use you as a source?”

“Sure,” she said. We chatted about how she’s saved and where she’s traveled and what she’s seen along the way.

Time passed.

“This bus is taking longer than ninety minutes,” I told Nick.

“How long has it been?” he asked.

“Nearly three hours,” I said, checking my watch.

“I think maybe we’re there,” he said as the bus pulled to the side of the road. The driver motioned for us Americans to get off…and to climb aboard a dolmuş. After thirty more minutes, our “ninety minute” trip to Pamukkale was over.

I did a mental calculation. Three-and-a-half hours by bus to our destination and another 3-1/2 hours to return. That’d be nearly as much travel as we did yesterday! I hoped the hot springs would be worth it.

They were.

Looking up to Pamukkale

According to Wikipedia:

Pamukkale, meaning “cotton castle” in Turkish, is a natural site in Denizli Province in southwestern Turkey. The city contains hot springs and travertines, terraces of carbonate minerals left by the flowing water.

In plain English: Pamukkale is a vast white hillside with streams and pools that have been depositing white minerals for thousands of years, creating an amazing landscape that looks like a snowy hillside, but which is really nothing but rock.

Pamukkale is a World Heritage Site, and for good reason. It’s beautiful.

Your humble author at Pamukkale (photo by Nicole)

After our 3-1/2 hour trip, we spent the next 3-1/2 hours wading through the mineral pools. We could have spent much longer. Nick went off on his own while Linda, Dustin, Nicole and I slowly walked up the hillside, chatting and taking photos.

Dustin and Linda, posing for Nicole at Pamukkale

As four o’clock deadline approached, Nicole and I found Nick. Together, we walked down through the mineral pools. The cool water and the soft white mud were refreshing.

“I hope I’m not too late,” Nicole said. “I don’t want to miss my bus.”

We reached the station just as the dolmuş arrived. “Is this the bus to Fethiye?” Nicole asked. The driver said it was, but we couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth. She climbed aboard anyhow. The dolmuş made its way to the nearest bus station.

As we got in line for the bus back to Selçuk, Nicole left to find her bus to Fethiye. But it wasn’t there. “It’s left already,” she told us. “It’s gone.” But she didn’t seem panicked. She’s been traveling for six months, after all. And she’s been to India.

“There’s probably another bus,” I said. There’s always another bus. She went inside the station to buy tickets. (Nicole, if you’re reading this, please let us know you’re safe.) Nick and I boarded our bus and settled in for the 3-1/2 hour trip. I wrote. Nick watched Turkish movies with the sound turned off.

Unknown couple getting great photos at Pamukkale

As we rode into the darkening dusk, I couldn’t help but think back on a tiny event at the start of the day. When I left Nick at breakfast, I went upstairs to shave. As I shaved, I watched my talk from World Domination Summit.

In that speech [full transcript], I talked about personal transformation and about how I’ve grown and changed over the past five years. One of the key parts of my development was learning to say “yes” to the things that people offer me.

And here I’d just had a marvelous day — seen a World Heritage Site, taken some fun photos, made some new friends — all because, once again, I’d overcome my initial urge to say “no” and had said “yes” instead. I could have stayed to rest in the hotel room, but instead I had a small adventure. Lesson learned.

But I still need a rest day!

Postscript: Just for kicks, I tracked down a list of the 962 World Heritage Sites (as of 2012). I’ve visited 25 of them, including two already on this trip (and two more to come — one in Turkey, and one in the U.S.). Sounds like I need to more travel!

Five Days in Istanbul

Nick and I have been in Istanbul for five full days now, and we’ve barely scratched the surface.

Without a tour group and with no real agenda, we’ve explored the city slowly. In fact, there are still lots of things we haven’t done. Whenever we part ways — which we do at times during the afternoons — Nick ranges far afield while I explore old Istanbul, trying to get a better feel for the streets and neighborhoods.

Tulumba, the Turkish equivalent of a donut Our feet are sore, and so are our throats. (We can’t tell whether it’s pollution or allergies. It might be both.) But so far, the minor ailments have been worth it. Here are some of the highlights from our first few days in Turkey.

Overall, I’m not that impressed with the food. Maybe I’m just trying the wrong things. Before I left, people kept telling me how great Turkish food was, but I don’t get it. There’s just not much variety. (Jodi‘s given me a lead on a good kebab place (or “kebap” as they’re known here), but that’ll have to wait until I return to Istanbul in ten days.)

That said, there are some Turkish foods that I like — including Turkish coffee. I’ve only been drinking coffee for about six weeks, so it might seem strange that I’ve leaped into the deep end and am now drinking the industrial-strength stuff. But there you go. I’ve had Turkish coffee twice and loved it. I especially loved it with a small dish of tulumba, which are a sort of cross between a donut and a churro. (One of my super powers is finding the local equivalent of donuts no matter which country I visit.)

Just as I learned to love maracuyá (a type of passionfruit) in Peru, I’m learning to love pomegranate here. Pomegranate juice, especially. Between four and eight lira (about $2US to $4US) will buy a cup of fresh-squeezed juice. It’s very sour — much more sour than the Pom-brand stuff in U.S. grocery stores — but it’s delicious.

For two bucks, this boy squeezed me a glass of fresh pomegranate juice

Actually, Turks seem to have a fondness for sour flavors. Many things, such as candies and juices are flavored with sour cherry (visne). I like sour things too — such as the afore-mentioned maracuyá — so, hey, I feel right at home.

There are cats everywhere in Istanbul. Just like the dogs in Cusco, Peru, the cats live and interact with the humans on a daily basis. They have their own cat agendas, almost as if they have jobs. There’s an orange cat that hangs out at the benches benches between the Blue Mosque and Haigia Sophia. And today I stopped to rest at a coffee shop. A small calico kept bringing bits of meat off the street and carrying them to a back room. “She has a litter of kittens back there,” the shop owner told me. “I’m letting her stay.”

Kids playing with a cat near the Blue Mosque

Kids playing with a cat between the Blue Mosque and Haigia Sophia

Salesman are aggressive here, and tourists are suckers. How do I know? Because I’ve been a sucker already, and so has Nick. Nick paid 40 lira (about $25US) for a shoeshine. I paid 75 lira (about $45US) for a meal that should have cost 20 lira. But you’re only a sucker once. (Sometimes twice.) After that, the aggressive salesmen have to find new suckers.

A mild-mannered shopkeeper, selling his lamps in Istanbul

A mild-mannered shopkeeper, selling lamps in Istanbul

Surprisingly, I’m getting plenty of practice with my Spanish. I have a Spanish-language map, Spanish-language guidebooks, and I pick up Spanish-language brochures at each museum or site. We’ve befriended a shopkeeper named Ramazan, who speaks a bit of English and a bit of Spanish. He and I speak Spanish with each other whenever go in to buy water or deodorant or chips. When I’m accosted by the afore-mentioned aggressive salesmen, I pretend to speak Spanish, which usually (but not always) gets me out of having to deal with them.

The tourist attractions are neat, but they’re very much tourist attractions. This includes the fabled Grand Bazaar, which now seems like the world’s largest souvenir shop. (It’s huge beyond words.) There’s plenty of life to be found in the streets and alleys near the tourist attractions, though. My favorite part of the trip so far has been the afternoon that Nick and I just wandered aimlessly in the streets, absorbing the vibrancy of the people and the place.

The bustling real-world marketplace outside the Egyptian Spice Market

Finally, I like a couple of my snapshots from Haigia Sophia, so indulge me.

This cat was guarding the Imperial Gate at Haigia Sophia, but it let me pass

The ceiling (and great chandelier) in Haigia Sophia

A group of tourists gathered near the apse of Haigia Sophia

This morning, Nick and I will take the ferry and bus to Izmir, which is a couple of hundred kilometers south of Istanbul. We have no hotel reservations and no idea what we’ll do when we get there (which will probably be around 17:00 local time). So far, things have been easy, and we’re counting on that being the case in Izmir as well. It may be a bad assumption. We’ll see.

Until next time, my friends, be well.

Getting a Haircut in Istanbul

Tonight, I got the best shave and haircut of my life.

One of the things I like to do when I travel is to get my hair cut in other countries. I’ve also become accustomed to getting a shave. (A professional shave can be expensive in the U.S., but it’s surprisingly cheap elsewhere in the world.)

In Cusco, Peru, I asked for a shave at the hotel salon. It was terrible. The woman was very nice, but she had no idea what she was doing. She shaved my entire beard using teen tiny amounts of shaving cream. It was essentially a dry shave, and it hurt like hell.

I had a nice chat with this woman, but the shave was miserable

I had to finish the job myself back in the hotel room. It was a miserable experience.

A few weeks later, though, I had a great haircut from a young man in La Paz, Bolivia. We tried to talk to each other, but my Spanish was just too weak. (Though it was better than his English.) The haircut was great and only cost about $7 US, including tip.

Getting my hair cut in Bolivia

So, of course, I told Nick that one of my goals while we’re in Istanbul is to get a shave and haircut. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

But today after we toured the Dolmabahçe Palace, we took the funicular up to Taksim Square. From there, we walked down İstiklâl Caddesi, a pedestrian mall lined with shops and restaurants. The place was jam-packed, but the side streets were much more interesting and much less crowded. (On one side street, we tried stuffed mussels. But Şalgam, the drink I chose, was awful!)

Near the bottom of İstiklâl Caddesi, we passed a barber. “You could get your haircut and shave here,” Nick suggested.

“Nah,” I said. “I don’t feel like it.” But at that moment, the barber saw us and beckoned us inside. This is a very minor come-on compared to most in Istanbul — merchants are aggressive here — so I gave in. I did need a shave and a haircut, after all.

“How much?” I asked, but the barber didn’t speak English (and I don’t speak Turkish). Still, he understood what I meant. He pulled out a ten lira note. I agreed and sat in the vacant chair. The barber’s partner entered the shop and put a towel around my neck. The process began.

My barber — whose name was Ibrahim — started by lathering my face for what seemed like an eternity. It was very relaxing. Then, he shaved me in short, sure strokes. He pulled my skin taut and scraped quickly. Before long, he’d stripped me of all my facial hair, even my mustache and goatee.

A cleanly-shaven J.D., which doesn’t happen very often. Nick is to my right.

“Chai?” Ibrahim asked me. At first I refused, but eventually gave in. He scurried next door and returned with a glass of hot tea for me and one for Nick (who had succumbed to the other barber’s pressure and was getting a shave in the seat next to mine).

After I’d begun to sip my tea, Ibrahim shaved me for a second time. When he was finished, he pulled his fingers through my hair. “Cut?” he asked. Again, I refused, but Ibrahim’s gentle insistence was enough to win me over. Even though I just got my hair cut two weeks ago, I agreed to let him cut it.

The haircut was meticulous. He took twenty minutes going over every single hair on my head. It was as if he were manicuring a lawn.

Then a couple of surprising things happened. I was sort of drifting off to sleep (I still have jetlag) when I felt a strange burning on my ears. I opened my eyes to find — WTF!?!? — Ibrahim was singing my ear hairs with a cigarette lighter. In my 43 years on this earth, I’ve never had a barber do that to me. I didn’t even know it was a thing!

Getting my ear hair singed by the best barber I’ve ever had

Next, Ibrahim had me put my head face-down in his sink. He turned on the water, lathered up with soap, and then washed my entire head, front and back. Strange, but satisfying.

Finally, he doused me in aftershave and cologne. The aftershave didn’t just go on my face; he poured a generous amount over the top of my head and massaged it into my scalp. After give squirts of cologne, I felt as if no woman could possibly resist my scent!

When Ibrahim had finished, he whipped away the apron with a flourish and waved his hand to indicate the master had finished his performance. “How much?” I asked. He wrote the answer on a pad of paper: just 25 Turkish lira. I gave him 35, or about $20 US. Best haircut I’ve ever had in my life, and a bargain at twice the price.

I’m telling you folks: If you want to have fun, get a haircut (or a shave) when you visit another country. Or find something similarly mundane. When you don’t know the language and you don’t know the culture, the commonplace can be a fun way to connect with other people.

Crossfit Around the World

Over the past 2+ years, one of the most important parts of my life has been a dedication to fitness. Starting on 01 January 2010 at 213 pounds and 35% body fat, I’ve managed to drop fifty pounds (though I’m now at 173) and shed fat until I’m at about 21% body fat. I still want to get so I can maintain at 163 pounds and maybe 18% body fat, but I’m pleased with where I am.

Some of this progress is due to diet. But I’d like to think that most of it is due to Crossfit, the exercise regiment that I follow nearly every day. Crossfit contains a lot of different stuff: weight-lifting, traditional exercises like pull-ups and push-ups, running, and crazy things like sled drags and tire flips.

Over the last two years, I’ve undertaken a silly little photo project. I call it Crossfit Around the World. Basically, I’m trying to take photos of myself doing various exercises in exotic locations as I travel. I thought I’d lost two of these photos, but I recently found them. Thus, I’m sharing the first four in this ongoing series.

Double-Unders at the Eiffel Tower (France) — October 2010

Pull-Ups at Victoria Falls (Zimbabwe) — February 2011

Push-Ups at Macchu Pichu (Perú) — October 2011

Squats on Easter Island (Chile) — February 2012

The pull-up photo isn’t very good; I’m going to try to re-take it somewhere else in the world. Also, I plan to be in Turkey this September. Any suggestions as to which exercise I should do there? Sit-ups? Sprints? Hand-stand push-ups?

Hiking to Torres del Paine

Hola, mis amigos! I am writing to you from lush Puerto Varas, Chile, on the shores of Lake Llanquihue. Over the past five years, I’ve visited many places in the world, but none resemble my home so much as this place. At times, I could swear I’m in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. But I’m not. I’m half a world away.

So far, our group has ventured from Buenos Argentina to Cape Horn, “the end of the earth”, as it’s billed down here. It’s the southernmost continental point in the world (before you reach Antarctica). We’ve visited penguins and puppies, eaten empanadas and beef. Lots of beef. I’ll cover all of these things in due course, but for now I want to share my favorite part of the trip so far: hiking to Torres del Paine.

Tip: Torres del Paine is pronounced something like “toe-rays dale pie-nay”. Please don’t say “towers of pain”.

Our group spent last weekend at a hotel in Chile’s Torres del Paine National Park, near the southern tip of the country. Sunday and Monday, we were scheduled to do bus tours of the surrounding countryside. Bus tours have their place, but I was itching for some exercise. Besides, it seemed a shame for a fellow who loves hiking so much to be at the base of a spectacular trail and not make use of it. So, I skipped Sunday’s bus tour in order to explore on my own.

I’d left my proper hiking gear at home, but no matter. I laced up my sneakers and set out.

The start of the trail at Hotel Las Torres

At first, I was a little worried. The start of the trail is moderately steep. I knew I was in for a 9km hike (about 5-1/2 miles) each way. Without proper shoes, how would I fare? And without any sort of physical activity over the past couple of weeks, would my body hold out? The warning signs didn’t bolster my confidence.

Warning sign on the trail to Torres del Paine

Fortunately, that sign came 90% of the way through the first of two steep climbs. By then, I knew I could make it. This helpful signpost came soon after:

These signposts along the trail were actually very helpful.

After 2.4 km (a mile and a half), the terrain leveled and soon I reached the “Chilean campsite”, a refugio for trekkers. Here folks can pitch their tents for the night or grab a snack or a meal as they walk through the park.

Torres del Paine National Park is huge, spanning more than half a million acres. There are several major treks through the nearby mountains, as well as hikes to and from the many lakes in the park. For my one day of hiking, I elected to take one of the most popular paths, the one leading directly to the towers.

After passing the refugio, I entered el bosque, a lightly forested area full of gentle creeks spanned by wooden bridges.

A bridge at the start of the forested section of the trail

After several relatively flat kilometers through the forest, the path to Torres del Paine once again began to climb, following a rocky creekside. In fact, the path became quite steep in parts. And eventually, it cleared the canopy of the trees for a final push to the towers over scattered rocks and boulders.

Coming out of the forest with a view of las torres

Three hours and three minutes from starting my hike, I crested the final ridge to see a sight more stunning than I had anticipated: Las Torres del Paine towering over a glacial lake. I recruited two German hikers to snap my photo.

A fine morning’s work

But, of course, the towers look even better without my ugly mug blocking the view.

Las Torres del Paine

I sat on the boulders, soaking in the sun, admiring the beauty before me. I ate an apple and some peanuts. I drank agua con gas. I watched my fellow hikers laughing and chatting. But I felt most akin to the others who sat silently, reverentially taking in the view.

After 45 minutes of personal meditation, I picked up my stuff and started home. The downhill trek was much quicker — it took only two hours and seventeen minutes — but in many ways it was more difficult. Because I hadn’t planned to do any hiking, I didn’t bring trekking poles. And my old knees need trekking poles. I was sore for days after. But you know what? The pain was worth it.

End of the trail…

In Patagonia

As most of you already know, Kris and I are on the road again. We’ve jetted to Buenos Aires to start a three-week tour of Patagonia. I won’t be sharing notes about the trip here, but you can read about our adventures at my travel blog, Far Away Places. The first piece about the trip is a quick overview of our first few hours in B.A., including a visit to a beautiful bookstore and finding my favorite flavor of ice cream — only available in South America. Chao!

Animals in Peru

I’ve been home now for 72 hours. Three days ago, our plane from Lima landed in Portland, and ever since, I’ve been trying to adjust.

In a way, it’s good to be home. The trees are gorgeous this fall. I’ve enjoyed eating at some of my favorite haunts, and it’s been good to be back to the gym and back to Spanish lessons. At the same time, though, I miss Peru. I don’t want to be here — I want to be there. (Although perhaps while transplanting some of my favorite things about the Pacific Northwest…)

There’s still lots to write about my six-week trip. I have many photos and stories to share. Today, though, I want to talk about one small part of Peru that I miss most: the animals. One of my favorite differences between Peru and the United States is the way that people treat animals. (And children, but that’s another story.)

I’m an animal lover. I have a (near-dormant) blog about animal intelligence in which I’ve written some about my respect for the emotional and intellectual lives of the creatures around us. But one thing I regret about animals in the U.S. is how removed they are from our lives.

Animals need love, too.

Yes, many people keep animals as pets. (I have five cats!) But often these pets are indoor-only, and when they go outside, they do so on a leash. Our animals don’t lead very natural lives, even on farms. Instead, it’s like we’ve created a pocket universe where they’re insulated from us and we’re insulated from them. I’m not sure why this is the case.

The marketplace in Ollantaytambo is a fine place to eat and sleep. (Photo by Laura Bullock.)

In Peru, however, it’s different — at least outside of Lima. In Peru (and in Bolivia), animals are everywhere. Cats and dogs roam the streets, as do llamas and burros and more. In the countryside, the livestock is unfenced. It’s herded or allowed to roam free. The net effect is that people and animals have integrated each other into their lives.

Rae talks with Julisa (and her lamb, Laurita)

In rural areas, it’s not uncommon to have farm animals for pets. Julisa has Laurita, her lamb.

This means you might stay in a hotel where the cats wander freely from room-to-room, including the lobby and the kitchen. Or you might encounter llamas wandering in the streets. And everywhere you go, you find dogs of all shapes and sizes. These animals all interact with each other, and with the people, and with the traffic. It’s like a parallel world.

Dogs go about their business, which often includes sleep, on the streets of Cusco.

I think the most prominent example of this is the way dogs roam the streets of Cusco (and other cities in the Sacred Valley). Dogs run free in Cusco, without leashes or collars. They respect the people and the traffic, and the people and traffic respect them. Everyone — man and beast — follows certain rules, and everyone is happy. It’s fun to see a dog (or a group of dogs) trotting along on some sort of canine agenda. It’s also fun to see the animals sitting or sleeping on the sidewalks and steps around town.

Though the dogs roam the streets freely, they know and respect their limits.

I love seeing a society that allows the animals to create their own network of social interactions, one that lets them eat, sleep, and go about their business. To me, this is vastly preferable to the way we treat animals in the U.S.

This old Quechua woman outside Ollantaytambo had a cat and a dog for companionship.

My wife and I have always allowed our cats to go inside and outside at will, which has drawn criticism from some friends and readers. We’re unfazed. The cats are clearly happier when they can roam freely, just as you would be too. Visiting Peru has only reinforced my belief that it’s healthiest for the animal live an unfettered life (or at least as unfettered as possible).

Cats in Parque Kennedy (Miraflores, Lima)

In Parque Kennedy (Miraflores, Lima), cats roam free.

I’ll leave you with a few more photos of the animals I met in Peru. And then I’ll walk home along empty streets — streets that could contain cats and dogs and horses and burros and lambs and llamas…but don’t.

Puppies need to learn the rules and sometimes are wary of strangers.

People take their dogs with them everywhere — here on a ferry in Bolivia.

Cats aren’t as common as dogs (or not as visible, anyhow), but they’re around.

This old dog felt it was his duty to keep Aguas Calientes safe from pigeons.

Even in rural areas, dogs are common — especially where there’s food. (Photo by Laura Bullock.)

This cat (and his brother) roamed freely at our hotel in Ollantaytambo. Even into the kitchen.

Most homes seem to have at least one dog and sometimes several.

A Culinary Tour of Lima, Peru

I love food. This is no secret to those who know me. (I’ve struggled with my weight all of my life.) Fortunately, I’ve found a sort of fitness equilibrium, because since arriving in Peru a month ago, I’ve been eating like a king.

I knew Peruvian food was good before I started this trip, so I had some warning. (One of Portland’s best restaurants is Andina, where I’ve dined many times.) But I wasn’t prepared for the constant quality at every meal.

Un alfajor (with ice cream) at Las Brujas de Cachiche

During the first three weeks of my trip, while I was trekking, I managed to eat several fantastic meals in Cusco and Ollantaytambo. I discovered ají de gallina (a sort of Peruvian curry), chicha morada (a sweet soft drink made from purple corn), cuy (roasted guinea pig), chicharrón (fried pork), and oh-so-many delicious soups. (Peruvians, at least those in the Andes, seem to love their soups.)

My wife joined me in Lima a few days ago, and since then we’ve been enjoying the Culinary Peru excursion from Gap Adventures. To start, our host Andrés took us to the Surquillo market, which is something like a supermarket except that it’s filled with individual vendors who mostly sell fresh meat and produce. For instance, here’s a stall with strawberries (for a dollar a kilo!), bananas, lúcuma, apples, avocados, passionfruit, and more.

Fresh fruit at the Surquillo market: strawberries and more exotic fare

We bought a bunch of fruit to eat that afternoon. In fact, we bought too much fruit. Two days later, we’re still munching on it. (Not that I’m complaining — I’ve become addicted to maracuyá, the passionfruit.) Yesterday for breakfast, we ate the chirimoya, a fruit unlike any I’ve ever encountered. (Andrés described its taste as “like eating cotton candy from the mouth of god”.)

Chirimoya: “Like eating cotton candy from the mouth of god…”

After shopping at the market, we headed to Kennedy Park. At El Parquetito, one of the chefs gave us a lesson in how to prepare ceviche, that Latin American answer to sushi. Some fresh fish, a little lime juice, ample salt, ají pepper, and strong red onions combine to produce a delicious dish, one I enjoyed by ordering the first beer in my life. (Not kidding. I’ve never ordered a beer before this.)

The ceviche we helped to make

That beer was just the start of our drinking. Next, Andrés took us to downtown Lima, where we visited two of the bars that claim to have invented the pisco sour, which has become the emblematic cocktail of the country. Pisco is a colorless grape brandy common in the Andes; a pisco sour mixes pisco, lime juice, egg whites, sugar, and bitters. Over the next couple of hours, we drank three pisco sours.

Our tour guide, Andrés, with our second round of pisco sours

At our last stop in Pueblo Libre, we decided to take the edge off the alcohol by grabbing snacks at one of Andrés’ favorite bars, Antigua Taberna Queirolo. The jamón sandwiches and papas rellenas (stuffed potatoes) helped, but what I really enjoyed were the picarones I bought in the nearby plaza. Picarones are like donuts, but they’re made from a pumpkin and sweet potato batter, and they’re drizzled in sugar cane and fig syrup.

Picarones made fresh at a plaza in Pueblo Libre

Yesterday, our culinary tour of Lima took us to Las Tejas, where one of the chefs gave us a personalized demo of cooking lomo saltado, a sort of Peruvian stir-fried steak and potatoes dish. (Lima has a strong Chinese influence, which can certainly be felt in its cuisine.)

Making lomo saltado at Las Tejas

Lomo saltado was fun to make, but it was even more fun to eat.

Lomo saltado, the finished product

After lunch, we stopped next door at Senora Buendia for some actual tejas. A teja is a Peruvian “sweetie” (as Andrés called them) made of a sugar shell filled with dulce de leche and fruits or nuts. They’re small, cheap, and delicious.

Note: Though Peruvians eat plenty of Snickers and Sublimes (a local candy bar), traditional treats like tejas can be had if you know where to look. Andrés also took us to a local bodega (the ubiquitous corner store, very much like a U.S. minimart) and asked for un beso de moza (literally: “a kiss from a young girl”), which was a chocolate-covered marshmallow.

Our official culinary tour ended here, but my unofficial exploration of the country’s food will continue for the next ten days. (And for the rest of my life, I imagine.)

Last night, for instance, we walked from Miraflores to the heart of the Barranco neighborhood to find Sóngoro Cosongo, which Andrés had recommended for anticuchos (beef-heart kebobs) and picarones. Today, we’ll stop by Punto Azul, which he suggested for ceviche and seafood. And I still haven’t tried chifas, which is supposed to be a delicious Peruvian twist to Chinese food.

And, best of all, after nearly a month in the country, I’m finally ready to relax and try street food. I heard enough horror stories about food poisoning that I was reluctant to dabble in more informal delicacies at the start of the trip. I didn’t want to ruin my treks by having to be confined to bed — or the toilet tent. Now, though, I’m willing to take more risks. That means plenty of snacks from street vendors.

With nearly ten million inhabitants, Lima is a big place. And Peru is bigger still. There’s no way that a quick 48-hour tour can fully cover the rich culinary tradition to be found here. And though I’ve eaten broadly over the past month, there’s no way that five weeks is enough time to sample the complete range of the cuisine either.

That’s okay. I’ve enjoyed the food I’ve tried. And besides, this gives me an excuse to come back for more, right?

Note: My favorite Peruvian food by far? The humble maracuyá. The passionfruit.

Trekking in Peru and Bolivia: A Beginner’s Guide

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.

Note: This article is text-heavy at the start, but I promise there are plenty of photos at the end.

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 marsh past Salcantay

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.

Exploring La Paz, Bolivia

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.

Note: I love coca. It’s used as a flavoring everywhere in Peru and Bolivia. You can have coca tea, coca candy, coca drinks, coca everything. Many people chew (or suck) on the leaves during the day, especially the morning. I’ve actually picked up the habit myself. But I’d better get my fill while I can. I’ve been told I can’t take anything coca back to the U.S., which is a shame. There’s a big difference between coca and its derivative, cocaine.

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.

School children welcoming tourists in La Paz, Bolivia

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.

Pigeon on a boy in Plaza Murillo, La Paz, Bolivia

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.)

Protestor in Plaza Murillo, La Paz, Bolivia

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“.

Simple Pleasures

Helado (ice cream) is very popular in La Paz. After lunch today, some of us waited in line (under the blazing sun) at Bits & Cream, which offers two-for-one specials on Tuesday. For 18 bolivianos (just under $3 US), we were able to buy two gigantic ice cream sundaes.

We ate our helados in the hotel lobby. But after weeks of small portions, I couldn’t possibly finish mine. It was huge. I offered it to Steve. “You sure, mate?” he asked.

“Claro,” I said. I was sure.

“I could eat ice cream all day,” he said, digging into my sundae. “If there were some sort of contest for ice cream eating, I’d win it. What sort of food could you eat all day, J.D.?”

“Bacon,” I said. “Definitely bacon.” I was thinking of the amazing bacon I’d had with my llama steak last night — the best bacon I’ve ever had. Salty and smokey and delicious.

“I could eat ice cream all day, too,” Anita said. “But I’m lactose intolerant.” Stating this aloud seemed to make her think twice about the giant sundae she was working on. She passed it along to Steve too, who happily accepted.

“What about you, Grace?” Steve asked. “What food could you eat all day?”

“Corn,” Grace said without a moment of hesitation. “Seriously,” she said after I laughed at her. “I could eat corn all day. You just boil it up and yum!” And here she made a motion like eating corn-on-the-cob in the classic typewriter style.

Ice cream, ice cream, bacon, corn. For some people, it’s the simple pleasures.