One Day in Peru

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).

Note: So far, I’ve uploaded just a single photo of our trek: Crossing Incachiriasca, the 4950-meter (abnout 16000-foot) pass near Salcantay. More to come later.

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.

Note: I know this probably grosses some of you out, but getting sick is a part of traveling. It happens. And because it happens, it’ll be a part of this blog. (Just not very often, I hope.)

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.

Kids in the main square at Aguas Calientes

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:

Ananau by the group 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 (!!!).

Entertainment on the train ride from Aguas Calientes to Ollantaytambo

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.

In Praise of Wool: Fabric of the Gods

In the spring of 2010, my neighbor — a retired shop teacher that I’ve dubbed the real millionaire next door — invited me to spend ten days with him on his boat in Alaska. To prep for the trip, I bought some warm clothes at REI, including a green long-sleeve Smartwool shirt, which basically looked like a piece of long underwear or pajamas.

Because the shirt was so warm and comfortable, I wore it every day. As we cruised around the Inside Passage, I wore the shirt while we fished, as we hiked, and as we worked on the boat. I wore the shirt to bed, too. Basically, I wore this shirt all day, every day.

Mac, my traveling companion, made fun of me. “Dude, surely that shirt stinks by now,” he said after a few days.

“I know,” I said. “I keep expecting it to reek. But it doesn’t. Here — smell.” But Mac wouldn’t smell my shirt. (Not that I blame him.)

The truth was, my wool shirt didn’t stink. Not at all. Strange but true. In fact, after ten days of wear, the shirt had only a faint, musky scent.

When I returned home, I raved about the shirt to my wife. “It was amazing,” I told her. “I have no idea why it doesn’t retain odors, but it doesn’t.”

“It’s the lanolins,” she told me. “The waxy stuff in the sheep’s wool. It’s the same stuff that repels water. It’s probably repelling your sweat, too.” Whatever the case, I filed Smartwool away in my brain. I needed to learn more about the stuff.

Icebreaker
Later in 2010, I was at REI again (I love that place), shopping a clearance sale. On the rack, I found a merino wool t-shirt from a company I’d never heard of: Icebreaker. I like the shirt’s style, and it was in my size, but the thing cost $40, even on clearance. Could I rationalize that?

Then I remembered that the Smartwool shirt I’d taken to Alaska had cost me $70. It had been expensive but worth it. I decided to take a chance. I bought the Icebreaker t-shirt.

When Kris and I went to France and Italy last September, I carried with me five t-shirts: one cotton, three synthetic, and my new Icebreaker wool t-shirt. I liked each of the shirts, but I found myself wearing the wool shirt over and over, while the other shirts fell into disuse. Why?

The wool t-shirt was more versatile. When I wore it on cool days, it kept me warm. When I wore it on warm days, it kept me cool. The other shirts only seemed to work in one direction. (The cotton kept me cool, and the synthetics kept me warm.)

The wool t-shirt didn’t retain odors. The synthetics were stinky after only a few hours of wear, which is about what I’d expected. They’re good for exercise, but not for long-term wear. The cotton t-shirt needed to be washed after a day of wear, too. But the wool t-shirt? I washed it only once during our month in Europe.

The wool t-shirt was more stylish. I’m not really a stylish guy — far from it — but because I’d lost about 30 pounds in 2010, I was beginning to look for clothes that were at least a little flattering. The wool t-shirt just fit better.

By the time we returned home from France, I was sold on wool. I wanted more. Instead of packing give t-shirts to travel, I figured I could pack just two. For an entire month. (Maybe three, if I took my long-sleeve shirt.) Sure, the shirts were more expensive, but I figured they earned their higher cost by being more versatile and useful, and by the fact that (in theory) they’d last longer because they didn’t need to be washed as often.

Warehouse sale
At a World Domination Summit planning meeting last fall, I raved about my wool shirts. I expected people to laugh at me, but they didn’t. In fact, Sean Ogle chimed in with his agreement. “I took an Icebreaker shirt to Thailand,” he told me. “I wore it all the time. I’d wear it for a run in the morning, and then wear it again after I’d showered. It never retained odor.”

“I need to get more of these shirts,” I said, “but they cost a small fortune, especially if they’re not on sale.”

A few days later, Sean forwarded an e-mail from his girlfriend, Tate. It was a notice for an Icebreaker warehouse sale here in Portland. I cleared my schedule for that day and went. It was awesome: racks and racks of wool clothing for bargain prices. My $80 t-shirts were marked down to $10 or $12 or $20. I bought a $400 wool jacket for $80. I bought wool socks. Basically, I stocked up on wool.

Here I am, wearing wool on a summer hike at Lake Louise.

In love with wool
Except briefly in high school, I’ve never been a guy who cared about clothes. Yet here I’ve just written 1000 words about wool t-shirts. I love them that much. They’re a staple not just of my travel kit, but of my daily wardrobe. I wear them when the temperatures are below 0, and I wear them when it’s 40 degrees outside. (I wore them around Zimbabwe, for instance, where the temperatures were around 35 and the humidity was “melty”.)

Wearing wool in Cape Town, South Africa

I’m in Peru now and my pack is filled with wool. I brought five pairs of socks — they’re all wool. I brought five t-shirts. They’re all wool. I brought my long-sleeve wool shirt that I first wore to Alaska. My main jacket (or is it a sweater?) is a wool hoodie. And I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.

Plus, you can use wool to soak up formaldehyde! I don’t recommend it, though. Instead I suggest you wear the stuff. And love it. Just like I do.

Note: I was delighted to find another member of my group here in Peru is also an Icebreaker fan. Nigel too is carrying several pieces of Icebreaker clothing, and he loves them for the same reasons I do.

North Korea Tourist Photography

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:

Mass Games, North Korea -- photo by Sam Gellman

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:

Women soldiers marching -- photo by Sam Gellman

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:

Soldier bumper cars in Pyongyang -- photo by Sam Gellman

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.

Further reading: Gellman’s travel photography is beautiful. You can see more at his website or in his Flickr stream.

How Much Spanish Do You Need in Peru?

For the past four months, I’ve been learning Spanish. Three times a week, I meet my tutor, Aly, for ninety minutes of conjugation and conversation. Plus, I spend a lot of time on my own reading Spanish books (and comics), listening to Spanish music, and practicing Spanish flash cards. Basically, I’m in love with the language; if I could do this full-time, I would.

At home, It’s been tough to gauge my practice. Things move too slowly. Aly assures me I’m doing well, but sometimes I don’t believe her. I get frustrated with my progress because I can see there’s still so much to learn!

So, I came here to Peru worried that I wouldn’t be able to cope with the language barrier. I knew the present tense, the future tense, the conditional tense, and both past tenses. But I don’t know the subjunctive, and my skill with irregular verbs of all types is abysmal. Plus, my vocabulary still seems weak. And it’s tough for me to hear the language, let alone speak it.

But after four days here, I’m feeling very confident. I’m nowhere near fluent — that’s going to take years of work — but apparently four months of Spanish is enough to get by in Peru. (Assuming those four months have been spent in diligent study.) What do I mean?

I’ve been able to carry on conversations with several tour guides and all sorts of shop owners. They seem to get a kick out of it. They correct my mistakes, but many of them compliment my Spanish. Maybe they say nice things to everyone, I don’t know. But I suspect their praise is indicative of three things:

Most of them are learning English, and that’s a struggle for them too. Sometimes my Spanish is better than a tour guide’s English even though they’ve spent years studying. Because our skills are similar, I think that leads them to compliment me.

Most of the people with whom I’m traveling (Australians and Canadians, mostly) have little or no Spanish. By comparison, of course mine is better. So maybe the compliments just mean my Spanish is better than the average tourist.

I’m not afraid to try. Most folks are afraid to look like fools. I’m not. On this trip, I’m ignoring fear. I’m just speaking. I get a lot wrong, and I know it. I also get a lot right. But more than that, I’m making an effort, and people seem to appreciate it.

That last point is so important. In fact, I’d argue that it’s the key to to language learning. Most of my companions who know a bit of Spanish never speak it because they’re afraid to feel embarrassed. I just use my words as best I can (steering clear of those damn irregular verbs). I get by.

In fact, I do better than just get by. I have fun asking Peruvians about their lives, and they seem to enjoy sharing, if only for a few minutes. Plus, I get people on my side. When I talk to them in their language, they smile. They offer to do more for me (except that taxi driver in Lima, who took more from me).

Note: Because I’m willing to speak Spanish, I’ve acted as translator a few times on the trip. How fun is that? If we’re somewhere that the locals don’t speak English, I get to use my Spanish to moderate to order food or buy trekking gear. (But if Nigel or Rae are along, they get to play this role. Their Spanish is better.) And I helped one fellow pull money out of a Spanish-only ATM.

I think my favorite moment so far has been getting a shave. I’ve never had anyone else shave me before, but when I saw our hotel in Cuzco offered shaves for ten soles (about $4), how could I refuse? I asked the woman in the salon, Rosmarina, if she could shave barbas y bigotes. She smiled and said she could.

Rosmarina hacking away at my beard.

My beard is tough — “muy fuerte” is what Rosmarina and I decided — so the process was something of an ordeal for both of us, but we made it through. (It’s because of these tough whiskers that I have a beard and moustache in the first place — it’s painful to shave.) Rosmarina had told me she spoke English, but I think my Spanish was better, so we used that. She complimented me on my abilities.

I should note, however, that I don’t do well with time pressure. I have great chats in Spanish when the other person can take the time to help me along. But if they’re under time contraints — taking an order in a restaurant, say, or ringing up a purchase in a busy bookstore — I’ve found it’s better to switch to English.

But if I have time to talk with the other party? Well, things are great. Yesterday, I was talking with one of the tour guides, and he asked me how long I’d been learning Spanish. “Four months,” I said. He was surprised. “But your accent is perfect.” I laughed heartily at that one. My accent is terrible. But again, I try. And that’s what counts.

I’m not sharing these things to brag. There’s little to brag about. I have many frustrating conversations in which the other person doesn’t understand me and I don’t understand them. Instead, I’m trying to show that it’s very possible to get by in Peru with only four months of Spanish. I want to show the power of making an effort, to illustrate why you should embrace the imperfection. And I want you to understand how much of a psychological boost you can get just from that.

Success breeds success. When you take risks and are rewarded, it makes you more willing to take more risks in the future. It’s important to fail too, of course, but I’m finding that four months of Spanish is certainly enough to get by in Peru.

I don’t plan to stop here, though. When I get home, it’s back to lessons with Aly. I don’t want to just get by in Spanish. I want to become fluent!

Exploring Ollantaytambo, Peru: Photo Highlights

¡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.)

Note: First, I want to point to this piece from NPR’s Marketplace about the wide world of financial blogging. I know that Far Away Places isn’t my money blog, but Tess Vigeland’s story covers the conference I attended in Chicago at the start of this trip. Chicago is a far away place, right?

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

Weaving demonstration 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 -- Guinea pigs being fattened for eating in 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

Relaxing at the train station in 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!

Exploring Cuzco, Peru: A Photographic Tour

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 peeking around a corner in Qorikancha

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.

Muñecas hanging in a tree at Q'enqo in Cuzco, Peru

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!

Note: Yesterday’s touring actually made me realize I have a question I’d like to research: To what degree was the European Renaissance made possible by the rape of the Americas (and the rest of the world)? I’m not sure of timeline, but that which I can remember makes me think this quite likely. (Ha! “lo que” == “that which” — Spanish phraseology creeping into my English writing!) Here’s an interesting juxtaposition: Today we toured sites that used to be filled with vast wealth: gold and silver and jewels. Almost exactly a year ago, I was touring the Vatican, a complex that is quite literally filled with the remnants of this vast wealth, perhaps some of the same gold, silver, and jewels. No me gusta.

Exploring Lima, Peru: The Cats of Miraflores

With just one day to explore Lima, there’s no hope to see everything. I don’t even try. I spend the first part of the day around Plaza de Armas with a local guide and then return to the hotel in Miraflores. I’ll explore more of Lima at the end of my trip.

After a nap, I put on my jacket and head outside to explore Miraflores. I’m actually looking for dinner — and probably at a KFC. But instead of eating, I walk.

Note: KFC is popular here. More popular even than in the United States. (Or at least more popular than in Portland.) It seems like there’s a KFC on every corner, and there are KFC billboards all over the place.

I walk down past the taxistand where the minivans packed with people stop to pick up more passengers. (As they stop, a man leans out the door — or walks alongside the van — announcing destinations and asking people to climb aboard.)

I walk past Iglesia de la Virgen Milagrosa (the Church of the Miraculous Virgin) and see that folks are flocking to the doors. I go inside too. Because I know little of Catholicism, I can’t tell if it’s the start or the end of Mass — or if it’s Mass at all — but I stand for five or ten minutes to listen. I’m not at all religious, but I’m moved by the prayer and the song, the strange familiarity of the ritual. I look at the people in the pews and, for a moment, I wish I could trade places with them.

Instead, I leave. I walk toward Kennedy Park to see the cats. Miraflores apparently has a cat problem. People dump their unwanted animals here, and they roam the streets begging for food. As a Crazy Cat Man, this makes me happy. But the local government doesn’t like it.

I smile at the teenage girls who stroll past. They’re talking and laughing and having a good time. One girl in braces is struggling to ride her skateboard on the cobblestone sidewalk. And there’s un niño, a boy about three years old who is chasing one of the cats into the street. (There’s no traffic here; it’s like a pedestrian mall.)

At the park, I sit on a bench and write. Just like I used to! It’s been too long since I’ve done this: sitting still, watching the details of life as it flows around me, writing it all down. I’ve been too busy, which is a lousy excuse. Because this! This is what I love.

Cats in Parque Kennedy (Miraflores, Lima)

And so I spend half an hour watching the people. And the cats. And the people with the cats. The city may not want the cats here, but it’s clear that the people do. They smile when they see them. Every few minutes, somebody stops to call to them. Sometimes one or two cats come closer. They want food, I think, but they settle for being patted and petted. (One cat tries to enter the church but is quickly rebuked.)

There are cats on benches. There are cats on the lawn. There are cats on the sidewalk, and there are cats standing still as stone statues in the middle of the flower beds.

I know this isn’t all of Lima. In fact, it’s completely unrepresentative of the city as a whole. But in this moment, in this place, I love the town.

As I’m preparing to leave, a little tortoise-shell cat comes up to me and meows. I pet her and she rubs her face against my hand. She talks to me. When I stop petting her, she stands on her hind legs and paw-paws me, asking for more.

For a moment, this feels like home.

Exploring Lima, Peru: Plaza de Armas

After my first night’s misadventure with the taxi, I was a little nervous about what to expect in my first full day in Lima, Peru. Fortunately, things worked out just fine.

After scolding me for not finding him at the airport, Manolo — the agent for the travel company — asked me what I planned to do with my free day. “I don’t know,” I said. “I may just wander around Miraflores. But maybe I’ll try to head downtown. Is it walkable?”

He frowned. “No,” he said. “You need to take a taxi. If you’d like, I can show you around.”

“That’d be great,” I said, so we headed out together. Taxi rates are much more reasonable when you have a Peruvian asking for the fares. Instead of 95 soles from the airport to Miraflores, it only took 14 soles to get downtown (and the distance was about the same). We wended our way through the chaotic Lima traffic, traffic that’s much more of a mess than any city I’ve ever been to. Worse than New York. Worse than Rome. Worse than Paris. I would not want to drive here! But at least I learned some new Spanish swear words.

On the steps of el Palacio Arzobispal de Lima

Museo San Francisco

Manolo and I spent about five hours together in the center of Lima looking at churches and tiendas and watching the changing of the guard at the Palacio de Gobierno. We paid seven soles to take the guided tour of the Museo San Francisco, a sixteenth-century Franciscan monastery.

Longer ago, this church served as Lima’s cemetery. When people died, they wanted to be buried beneath it. “They thought it would bring them closer to heaven,” Manolo told me. “But it wasn’t true.” He was raised Catholic, but doesn’t know what to think now. (He’s been dabbling with Mormonism over the past few years.)

As we followed the small group from room to room, we chatted in both English and Spanish. I asked Manolo a little bit about himself. He’s from Aguage, a small town near the jungle city of Iquitos in the north of Peru. He’s been studying tourism for the past few years, but it’s slow going because he can’t always afford the classes he wants to take.

The Franciscan Church in Lima, Peru

As we toured the church, I smiled at a painting of the Last Supper. “They’re eating apples and potatoes and chili peppers,” I said.

“And cuy,” Manolo said, indicating the roast guinea pig. “They’re eating only Peruvian food.” Por supuesto!

As we toured the crypts beneath the church — or the first of three levels, anyhow — I was reminded of the Basilica di San Clemente, the church I loved in Rome. There, though, the tunnels under the building were actually city streets that vanished as sediment was deposited throughout time. And instead of being 350 years old, the catacombs in Rome are 2000 years old.

Note: Unfortunately, no photos were allowed in the Museo San Francisco. I know many people would have taken them anyway but — aside from the Cistine Chapel — I try to respect “no photo” rules. (I must be the only person to have visited Florence and not taken a photo of Michaelangelo’s David!)

After I took a photo of this dog alone, the old man insisted I take one with him in it!

Plaza de Armas

After the museum, we stopped briefly at Casa de la Literatura Peruana, the Peruvian writers museum. It was packed with schoolchildren, but there was little to interest me. (Although I did take a photo of the Mario Vargas Llosa sign for Aly, my tutor.)

Outside, we stopped in the Plaza de Armas to watch a part of the changing of the guard. The brass band was fun because instead of playing only marches, it played Latin-influenced jazzy stuff.

For lunch, we ate lomo saltado at a restaurant Manolo recommended. I wanted to try lúcuma juice, but the jungle fruit was not in season. “You might get sick from your meal,” Manolo warned me. I told him I knew the risks. I ate heartily, but still couldn’t finish all the food on my plate.

After eating, he led me down a long calle that has been closed off for several blocks as a pedestrian shopping mall. (This is very similar to places I’ve seen in Dublin, Paris, Florence, an Cape Town.) And then we took a taxi back to Miraflores.

Manolo in Plaza de Armas

“How long have you been learning Spanish?” Manolo asked at one point.

“Solamente cuatros meses,” I said. I keep saying three months, but it’s closer to four months now.

Manolo smiled. “Cuatros mas y ya sabes todo,” he said. Ha. Not likely. It’s nice to be complimented, but I feel like I’m really struggling.

In the later afternoon, I walked around Miraflores — or a small part of it, anyhow. I explored the shops around Kennedy Park, and here I got confirmation that my Spanish is still very raw. While my conversations with Manolo had gone well, I couldn’t understand the folks in the stores — and they couldn’t undrestand me. But I muddled through.

In the evening, I spent some time lounging around Kennedy Park in Miraflores. But that’s a story that will have to wait until tomorrow.

How NOT to Take a Taxi in Lima

Hola, todos! I am safe and sound in Lima and will soon depart for Cuzco. Before I go, I want to share a bit about the journey from Chicago to Peru. Generally, I don’t think of the actual travel part of travel as being very interesting. This time was different.

Things got off to a good start in Houston when una abuela asked me for help. In Spanish. And I was able to help her. In Spanish. We only exchanged a few sentences, but it felt good. The only problem? I forgot to use usted, and used the familiar form tú instead. Oops. (I also practiced my Spanish in flight by watching 30 Rock en español. For some reason, the show is even funnier when I barely understand a word.)

In-Flight Entertainment

I was seated next to Mark, who lives in California. He’s in Lima to visit his girlfriend. They met on a Latin American dating site and want to get married, but need to iron out some issues with her visa. He gave me some practical tips about getting around town. “Be careful of the taxis,” he told me. “They’ll try to rip you off.”

Note: A drunk young man was seated in front of us. He was loud but friendly. When the flight attendant chastised him for being so noisy, he was contrite. He offered to “buy everyone everything from the SkyMall catalog”. It would have been annoying, but he was sincere. Well, sincere and loud. Eventually he settled back to watch Captain America: The First Avenger. So did I — though not in Spanish.

Also on the flight was Ben, whom I’d met briefly at the airport. He came to find me, and he and Mark and I had a long conversation about travel in general and Peru in specific. Both Mark and Ben have traveled extensively. Ben has been traveling for 30 years, and has strong opinions about Americans who are stuck in the rat race.

“The world is full of abundance,” Ben told me. He stood in the aisle, using his styrofoam coffee cup to gesture for emphasis. “Food. Clothes. Housing. It’s all out there and will come to you if you let it. I mean it. Its true. ” I listened, but I didn’t say anything. If you’ve been reading my stuff for a while, you know what I think of the Law of Attraction.

Mark and Ben talked about their visits to Peru and Colombia. They agreed that Latin American women are beautiful, but that Colombian women are the most beautiful of all. I winced at the loudness of it all, especially when Ben began to generalize about Peru and Peruvians. (Mentally I noted that sometimes generalizations about Americans are correct.)

How NOT to Take a Taxi in Lima

I hesitate to tell the next anecdote because it’s precisely the sort of thing you’re not supposed to let happen to you in Peru, but truth is truth. I made a mistake, and I may as well be honest.

After clearing customs at the Lima airport, I wandered into the reception area, which is a large funnel of people. There were dozens of drivers holding signs, but nobody was holding a sign for me. Not ten minutes in the country and already I’d hit a snag! I went back through twice more but couldn’t find my transfer.

Not to worry. There were plenty of helpful taxi drivers offering to assist me. I brushed them off until one clever fellow convinced me to let him call my hotel. They had my reservation, he told me, but they didn’t have me down for an airport transfer.

“I can take you, señor,” he volunteered helpfully. (Read that “helpfully” with a touch of irony, please.)

“Cuanto cuesta?” I asked, not sure if that was the right way thing to say. He understood.

“Treinta soles, señor,” he said. That’s about $12, which sounded reasonable, so I agreed. He helped me put my bags into the back of his car.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. I was a little scared. I’ve taken few taxi rides in my life, and I’ve heard too many warnings about taxi scams in Latin America — not just from Mark, but from other people. But my driver and I had a pleasant drive into Miraflores. Between his broken English and my broken Spanish, we made it work. I remembered to use usted. He complimented me on my Spanish, saying it was good for having studied only three months.

But then, as he was driving me through a dicey neighborhood, he asked me to pay him. “Now?” I asked.

“Si, señor,” he said.

“Thirty soles, right?” I said. Confirmation seemed like a formality.

“No,” he said. “Treinta dólares.”

I was caught off guard, and I tried to argue a little, but there was no use. He held firm. He even dug out some sort of rate card (although he wouldn’t let me hold it) where something was listed as $30 or 95 soles. In the end, I gave him 60 soles and $10, or about $31.60.

The rest of the drive was pleasant enough. I focused on practicing my Spanish, but inside I was steaming. I wasn’t mad at the driver. I was mad at myself. What a dope!

Even Worse

This morning I met Manolo, my liaison in Lima. “Where were you last night?” he asked. He had been at the airport, holding a sign for the travel company. I explained that I’d looked several times but seen nobody. I apologized profusely. “It’s okay,” he said. When I gave him my receipt for the taxi, he shook his head in disapproval. “You should have only paid maybe 22 soles,” he said.

Some personal finance whiz I am. I paid four times as much for a taxi as I should have. And I didn’t need to take one at all. But you know what? Lesson learned. I need to make this same taxi ride twice more while in Peru, and now I know what to expect.

As I mentioned, I spent the day seeing a few tiny pieces of Lima: Plaza de Armas in the city center, and the area of Miraflores around the hotel. More on that tomorrow. Right now, it’s time for bed. I need to catch an early-morning flight to Cuzco!

Destination: Peru!

Earlier this summer, I made plans for the trip of a lifetime. I would fly to England where I’d spend most of August and part of September walking from coast to coast, following the path of Hadrian’s Wall. From there, I intended to hop a ferry to the Netherlands or to make my way south to Cambridge, where I’d lodge with some Get Rich Slowly readers.

Real life, however, intervened. My mother got sick. Our roof sprung a leak. Work demanded my attention. Between these things (and more), I was forced to cancel the trip.

I was bummed for a while, but soon put plans into motion for a different adventure. And tomorrow that adventure begins. As I write this, I’ve just wrapped up a weekend at a Financial Blogger Conference in Chicago. But I’m not returning directly to Portland. Where am I going instead? Well, on Tuesday I fly from Chicago, Illinois to Lima, Peru.

Lima evening, HDR. Photo by rednuht.

Destination: Peru

“Why do you want to go to Peru?” a friend asked me recently.

“Well, at first I thought I wanted to go to Ecuador,” I said. “But as I started to make my plans, my heart just wasn’t in it. Nothing about the trip excited me except the excursion to the Galapagos Islands. Then I did some reading about Peru, and I realized that Machu Picchu is there. Not just Machu Picchu, but also Lake Titicaca and Lima and the Nazca Lines. Plus there’s the Amazon rain forest. In fact, the more I read about Peru, the more I realized that there was too much to see and do.”

It took me an entire day of planning to come up with a five-week itinerary that packed in plenty to do while still remaining affordable. It was tough. I feel like there’s more to do and see in Peru than there was in Paris!

First up, I’ll do the Andes and Altiplano Trek from World Expeditions. I’ll meet the other members of the trip on Wednesday in Lima. From there, we’ll fly to Cuzco, the historic capital of the Inca Empire. After a few days to acclimate to the high altitude — Cuzco sits at 3399 meters above sea level, which is twice as high as Denver, Colorado — we’ll trek to Machu Picchu.

A llama atop one of the terraces at Machu Picchu. Photo by epicxero.

Machu Picchu is an ancient Incan city or estate — archaeologists can’t really agree on its original purpose. Nobody denies its beauty and importance, though. (It was selected as one of the new Seven Wonders of the World.) Tens of thousands of hikers walk the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu each year. I chose an expedition that takes the less-traveled Salcantay Route.

After reaching Machu Picchu, we’ll return for a couple of days rest in Cuzco before journeying to the town of Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. (At 3811 meters above sea level, this is the highest navigable lake in the world.) From here, we’ll venture into Bolivia for a four-day trek through the Condoriri region (and elevations of up to 5100 meters!). We finish the trip in La Paz.

From La Paz, I’ll fly back to Lima, where my wife will join me for a less strenuous trip through Peru. We’ll do a short culinary tour of Lima, and then fly to Cuzco for several days of site-seeing and a train ride to beautiful Machu Picchu.

Photo by szeke.

Ready to Go

With just 36 hours remaining before my flight leaves from Chicago for Lima, I’m eager to begin. I’ve never done anything like this. I’m both excited and scared.

But I’m packed and ready. I’m carrying a 45-liter travel pack weighing about 9kg. I also have a small daypack that comes in at about 4kg. I would love to get everything to fit in the bigger bag (and get my total weight down to 10kg), but that’s going to be tough. I picked up another kilogram of bulky material here at the blogging conference. Besides, I actually think I’m under-prepared for once. I may have to buy additional cold-weather layers in Cuzco.

My main worry is crime. Everyone I talk to says something like, “Oh yeah, you’ll probably get mugged, but it’s no big deal. Just accept the fact you’ll probably lose your laptop.” I don’t want to lose my laptop. I don’t want to be mugged. I know there are things I can do to reduce the likelihood that I’ll be targeted, but still…it’s not comforting to have every person I talk to — including native Peruvians — tells me that I should just accept the fact that I’ll be a victim of crime. (But you know what? Many folks told me I was going to get mugged in Italy. And Paris. And Cape Town. But I never had any trouble whatsoever.)

The truth is, aside from my life, nothing I have is that precious. Yes, I’d be pissed if my laptop were stolen, but everything I do on that machine is backed up online automatically anyhow. And it’s really the data I’m afraid of losing, right? As long as I can find a way to back up my photos as I travel, I should be fine.

Note

My top choice for this trip was a actually “tour” from Gap Adventures that consists of two weeks volunteering at a drop-in center for kids in Cuzco. I want to to explore “volunteer vacations” — I’ve been looking at projects with Edge of Seven, for instance — and I’m certain there’s some voluntourism in my future. But not this time.

The literature for the Cuzco Kids program strongly discourages folks who are’t proficient in Spanish. After three months of learning Spanish, my skills are coming along and I’m able to read it okay, but my speaking ability is terrible (and my listening skills aren’t much better). I’ll have to keep the Cuzco Kids program as an option for 2012 or 2013.