Pictures from the last couple months, covering Peru, Ecuador and Colombia, has been added to the picture blog page “Eyes of a Lemming” (where you will find links to the photo albums from the start to the end of the trip):
Enjoy. Ciao.
October 5, 2008
During the trip, some of the most commonly asked questions were: Where are you from? How long have you been traveling? How much longer? Where have you been? Where are you going? What was your favorite country, city or place? So, as you see, not that much different than what most of you would ask.
Now, that I am home, the common questions, are just slightly different: Where did you go? How many countries? What was your favorite country, city or place? What did you miss most? How much did the trip cost? And the deep philosophical enlightening question: How have you changed, or what have you learned?
The truth is, Yes I am sure I have changed and learned many life lessons, as anyone would over the course of 15 months, at any point in there life. Sure those specific 15 months, are and were beyond words and imagination, but to identify them, here and now would be an impossible task, as I will probably never fully realize the impact it had on me, but I am sure that I will notice those changes from time to time, for the rest of my life. But, in an effort to appease the curious:
Changes (but, not what you think), The road has made me stronger:
- Bathrooms, seriously if I ever had any issues with using a public restroom for either a #1 or #2, I am over it. It can’t ever be worse than a room with a hole, no windows and no light, where many other before you had missed.
- Bed, before moving back into my apartment next month, I have been splitting my time between, an air mattress, futon, and kid sized bed, all of which are just fine, when compared with a blanket over a sheet of plywood, and questionable bed covering and the constant fear of bed bugs. To be fair most of the hostels have respectable beds, but often it is a roll of the dice, when you first walk into the room to see the appearance of you bed and sheets.
- Questionable food, if it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger. That saying has a whole new meaning, now.
- Patience, have to see how long this last. But, a ten hour ride, in a hard seat designed for some one less than 5′ 6″, or waiting in lines at the DMV, wouldn’t even phase me, just give me a book and/or my Ipod.
- Personal space, if you can’t get seven or eight passengers into a taxi, you are just wasting space.
Some random things, that I miss about the road or just doesn’t have the same meaning at home:
- Going to the corner of the street to buy a DVD of any current movie for the equivalent of a buck, for movie night at the hostel.
- All the family mini-markets up and down every street, where you can buy your snacks, for that walk to the next block to that next mini-market.
- Strange fact, all my friends on the road, are unemployed bums.
- High fives all around, when #2, came out solid.
- Having free internet is like free porn (remember that episode of Friends), it is hard to walk away from.
- Being able to trade for a book, you actually wanted to read.
- Open electrical outlets, available 24 hours a day, to recharge your Ipod and camera battery.
- Being able to take a leak any time and any where I want. What do you mean, I can’t just go around the corner, there is a perfectly good wall.
Pictures, of Bolivia:
Potosi:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.7sgi2bt7&x=0&y=d2k2jf&localeid=en_US
Sucre and Cochabamba:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.9vxo1auz&x=0&y=l3wpu9&localeid=en_US
Tiahuanaco (outside La Paz):
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.c1cui89n&x=0&y=-xcrikx&localeid=en_US
Death Road (outside La Paz)
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.axp9t1zv&x=0&y=9fuy91&localeid=en_US
La Paz:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.4i416gwr&x=0&y=wwquj&localeid=en_US
Rurrenabaque:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.26nnpx0b&x=0&y=-ajpxoz&localeid=en_US
Copacabana and Isle del Sol:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.62nv9jiz&x=0&y=667byy&localeid=en_US
September 8, 2008
Hi all, it’s a bit strange to be back in Southern California, to be speaking English 100% of the time, and not having to hesitate when speaking to someone on the street or in a store. First of all, thank you for all the well wishes and the welcome homes. In many ways, it is great to be back in familiar surroundings and meeting up with friends, but of course I miss the road and the constant unknowns and adventures, and for the short term I am trying to find a place to call home, but still living the dream!
Here are some pictures from the last few months of my trip, with more to follow…
Bariloche and Andes de San Martin (Argentina):
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.9qfd1p8b&x=0&y=-k76p4a&localeid=en_US
Santiago and Valpariso (Chile):
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.bjns6igr&x=0&y=-ktys00&localeid=en_US
Mendoza, Cordoba & Salta (Argentina):
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.2ja3htiz&x=0&y=-wml8wb&localeid=en_US 
San Pedro de Atacama (Chile) & Road Trip to Bolivia
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.98n3qbnf&x=0&y=iubbhm&localeid=en_US
Uyuni Salt Flats (Bolivia):
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.1hjqi2sr&x=0&y=-27ynyz&localeid=en_US
August 24, 2008
In my last country, Colombia, of this trip, my long and never-ending list of “lasts” has started. The last exchange rate I have to learn (Bolivia, $1USD = 7.3 Boliviano; Peru, $1USD = 2.9 Nuevo Sol; Ecuador, $1USD = $1USD, as they actually use US currency; and Colombia, $1USD = 1900 Pesos), last entry stamp (one of the most boring along with Ecuador), the last section of my guide book that I have to reference (or at least what is left of it, after tearing most of the pages out),… but now having completed my last overnight bus ride, to and now in the last city of this trip, Bogota, everything now seems so final and real.
After leaving Huanchaco, I finally and for the first time (that I can recall) missed my stop on a long bus or train trip, and had to back track. Originally due into Mancora at 4 am, I woke sometime around 6 am, to find the bus pulling into the depot at Tumbes, just south of the Ecuadorian border, known as one of the most hassle burdened official border crossing in South America. As I exited the station, a group of drivers swarmed around me and literally followed me, as if I was a celebrity and they were the paparazzi, in hopes of taking me to the border. After constantly refusing their services, I escaped by running across the street and hopping in a tuk-tuk that was rolling by, and eventually located a micro (mini-bus) headed two-hour south, back to, Mancora. Sometime after 8 am, I finally arrived at the brand new, not quite completed The Point Hostal, located less than 50 paces off the beach. I than spent three and half days in Mancora, reunited once again with my bud Linda, along with some new found friends, whom I affectionately called the United Nations and the Lonely Wolf Club, as we were all traveling alone, the members: Michael (England), Joana (Portugal), Katarina (Germany), Johan (Netherlands), Tamara (Switzerland), Mark (Canada) and Elad (Israel). To be honest, it was some of the most relaxing and fun I had in awhile, a vacation within a vacation of sorts, as we all got along so well, and seriously enjoyed each other’s company. The days were spent, lounging on the patio, and of course the beach, followed by a trip into town for lunch, than another trip to the beach, where we watched the sunset each night. A couple of the top highlights, was our improvised Sunset Olympics, watching a sea of birds (literally thousands) diving into the sea at once in search of food, and spending each evening at a bar, on the side or even in the middle of the Pan-American Highway.
Not wanting to leave, but feeling pressured on time, Michael, Joana, Katarina, and I hopped on a bus headed for a 16 hour plus journey for the Ecuadorian capital city of Quito. Unlike most other South American countries, with the exception of Brazil, the capital city of Ecuador is not it’s largest city, as that distinction goes to the coastal city of Guayaquil. While in Quito, the four of us, battled various severity of altitude sickness and stomach bugs, and eventually took in some sights, including: the many plazas, the Virgin Statue looking over the city, the Basilica, and of course a side trip to step on, over and multiple times across the equator. Known as the Mitad del Mundo (Middle of the World), Ecuador boasts that this portion of the equator is unique due to it’s vicinity to a populated city/capital, and it’s terrain and accessibility, as water or rain forest cover most of the remaining portions of the equator. Little did we know, that there were three places that argued over the distinction and location of the actual equator. The monument celebrating the line, where majority of the tourist visit is said to be 240 meters off the mark, recently confirmed by GPS. Just a block or so away north, with a fair like ambiance is the Inti Nan Museum, where they pledge is the actual location of the equator, originally located by a past indigenous civilization. A visit to this small fair, actually cost more than the large official monument at $4, but you are entertained and slightly amused by the “scientific” experiments which are suppose to demonstrate the strength of the gravitational pull between the northern and southern hemisphere, and the resulting reduced strength of gravity at the “actual” equator. Not to be out-done, between these two locations, is another museum, which discusses the historical significance of the Equator, to the local people, and more importantly to Ecuador, which directly or indirectly derives it’s name from this line. There we met, a mad scientist, who on the verge of scolding, told us to see the truth from the rhetoric, and to view the equator in a whole new light, and that for centuries we have been drawing the world and globe in the wrong orientation. Feel a bit puzzled? Well that is how we felt coming out, but we were just glad to have escaped still in one piece, and not two hemispheres.
Later that night, I left the remaining members of the Mancora crew, and headed for Colombia. After more than 20 hours, I arrived late in the evening in Cali, famous for their love of Salsa (the dance not the condiment). Unfortunately, I only stayed for a day and half, but was able to squeeze in a quick Salsa class, and again was lucky enough to meet some great people to spend the only full day I had. Next, it was off to Medellin, the previous home of Pablo Escobar, the notorious cartel leader. As, I arrived just after the completion of a 9-day Fiera Festival, the town and hostal was quiet, trying to recuperate from the week long parties. Four days later, along with a couple new friends, Michael (Oz) and Dan (England), we headed for the Caribbean Coast of Cartagena. Considered by most Colombians to be their favorite city, amongst single backpackers/lemmings it was just a pretty colonial city, where the beaches closes to the city, were not the draw to the town. So, on the second day, we took a small boat to Playa Blanca, located 20km from Cartagena, and finally got to enjoy the beach back in the northern hemisphere. The following day, we hopped back on a bus to Santa Marta/Taganga, towards the famous Tayrona National Park, where the rain forest meets the coast. A bit tired from all the traveling, since I left Pisco, I took a full day off to rest in Taganga, before Michael and I traveled to Tayrona, as Dan was much to sun burn from our day at Playa Blanca. Tayrona, did match up to the hype, as the water was warm, and the palm trees stretched deep into the sand, as if they were extending out to touch the crystal blue water. Than there was the sand, like no other that I have seen to-date, as the grains were a mixture of white and gold, living up to the history of the gold in Colombia. Indeed, Tayrona was and is beautiful, one of those places, that made me feel like, maybe I should have saved this place for later, when I meet and travel with that someone special, no offense Michael.
Upon returning to Taganga, after pseudo-camping at Tayrona, I was quickly reunited with Joana, but had to say Ciao just hours later. That is when, the finality of this trip, started to set in. There was only one more destination left, and the chances to reunite with an old traveling mate, was running out, it had seriously been a great run. That night, I hopped on the aforementioned final over-night bus, to my final city, Bogota. And instead of being re-united with a friend from the road, I was met by a great friend from home, Nick B. Spending a few of his youthful years in Bogota, he was back for a short trip to visit his parents. Nick has been a great friend for years, working in the same industry, so part of our time together, was spent talking shop in an attempt to re-introduce me to the industry vocabulary, and to catch me up on current events. Seeing Nick, also reminded me, of some of the reasons, that I took on this trip/adventure. For years, I shared with Nick, my interest and desires to visit his other homeland, but for many past years, his response was always the same: not now. Than, just a year before I left home, he finally said: go for it. Now, thousands of miles from home, during the last week of my trip, I again got to see a familiar face in a different country, a different continent. Thanks, Nick and Mr. Biro, for your hospitality and willingness to show me your beautiful city of Bogota.
Now, in my final hostal, with one last time to pack my backpack/rocksack, and less than 48 hours to go, before I am on a plane headed for the States, I am filled with varying emotions and thoughts. Although, I may actually shed a tear when I finally fill my seat on that plane, I can guarantee you that no doubt it will be accompanied with a smile.
This has been an adventure beyond words, although I have probably used more than a hundred thousand, trying to share and describe it to/with you. If, I had to choose one word to describe this whole experience, which is as impossible as picking my favorite place (which is the fifth most commonly asked question), surprising to most, it would not be: amazing, instead I think “grateful” would be the most appropriate word to use. I will not even attempt to share all the reasons with you, as that could take another hundred thousand words, but I will say this: I am grateful that you have been able to follow me with this blog (and you are probably as well, for the following reason), otherwise I would have to re-tell these stories a hundred times and no one would ever be able to shut me up 
Thank you, for all your e-mails and comments, along the way, they always made me feel a piece of home, and meant more to me, than you will ever know.
Hope all is well.
P.S. This is not the end… (entonces, feel free to check back).
August 17, 2008
Unlike any other Wonder of the World, literally if you are traveling for longer than a month and are on the South American continent, you will inevitably visit Machu Picchu. For this reason, I will save on the description of the actual visit itself, as hundreds if not thousands of actual employed and professional writers and historians can described this previous lost civilization/city of the Incas, much better than I. Instead I will share with you the trip, itself, to the lost city.
Throughout Cuzco/Cusco, more traditionally spelled Qusqo, there are touts and agencies selling excursions to Machu Picchu, the most popular of which is “The Inca Trail,” a four day hike that follows the actual footsteps of the Incas from centuries ago. As the Wonder and hike has become more popular, the cost has steadily increased and the impact to the environment has as well, resulting with limited number of permits being issued each day and season, to the point that one must book the Inca Trail hike six weeks to three months in advance. As, I couldn’t be bothered planning that far ahead, I spent my first couple days in Cusco interviewing the fellow lemmings, on alternative hikes and ways to visit Machu Picchu, as you can not physically bus it all the way. The alternatives range from a train from Cusco all the way to Aguas Calientes, the city located at the base of the hill, to a list of other three, four or five day hikes, such as the Lars or Salkantay. Instead, I chose one of the newer more popular trails, known as the Inca Jungle, a four day excursion, where on day one, you mountain bike for apx 40 kms, on day two there is a 20 km hike followed by a visit to a thermal pool, day three another 20 km hike to Agua Calientes, and day four an early morning hike to witness the sunrise at Machu Picchu.
My adventure started early Monday morning, when I hit the town and went to a handful of travel agencies to interview agents, inspect the bike, and to negotiate the cost. Eventually, I chose an agency near the Plaza de Armas, primary based on their bike, on display. The tour was booked and my adventure was set to begin at 8 am, the next morning with the agency picking me up at the hostel.
Three thirty am the next morning, I was shaken awake by the night manager of the hostel, telling me that I had fifteen minutes before my agency was picking me up for the trek. In a daze, and a bit confused I got dressed and left the room to figure out what was going on. Apparently my travel agency stopped by in the evening, to move up the pick up time, as a strike was being organized by bus drivers for Wednesday, and the farmers decided to piggy-back the farmer´s efforts by having their own strike and road blockades starting early Tuesday morning. Promptly, at 4:42 am, my travel agency sent a representative to pick me up, and walk to the pick up point. Sometime after 5:30 am, we started out of Cusco, ready to begin our trek. After less than an hour on the road, we quickly realized that we did not start early enough to avoid the roadblocks, as now our bus driver veered off the paved road turning our mini-bus into an all-terrain vehicle. Still in a daze from the early wake up call, I was rocked back to sleep by our lack of proper shocks and suspension for a trip such as this. When I woke, the scene was surreal, almost as if it was an image from a movie. Our bus had jumped back on a paved section of road, ascending up a hill, a thick cloud/fog layer was quickly moving through, when our bus came to an abrupt stop. Everyone in the bus, including the driver and guide blankly starred at the front trying to make out the image/scene a couple hundred feet in front of our vehicle. As the fog started to move past, we saw the silhouette of a group of men blocking the road, what made it eerie, was the fact that they each held fire lit torches in their hands, clearly lit from the trash can fires that they started at the side of the road. Each of us, starred at the mob in front, and quickly came to the same conclusion: let’s get the heck out of here. The bus driver quickly turned around, and hopped back off the road. At 7:30 am, we ended up in a small town (Urubamba) 10 km from Ollantaytambo, located approximately 50 km from Cusco. Our guide and driver got info that roads were blocked ahead but expected to clear around noon, so they decided that we would take this opportunity for a breakfast break. After grabbing a quick bite, our guide grabbed me and Jack, from Seattle, and asked us to quickly return back to the bus, as there was a break in the blockade and we could continue to move forward, and he would search the town for the rest of our group. When we walked back to our bus, not only was road directly in front of the bus blocked, but there were now multiple blockades located behind our bus, one of which created from tree trunks the size of a small car. At this point we really couldn’t help but laugh as we walked and climbed through the various blockades, and as the strikers smiled and waved at the gringos. Upon returning to the bus, our driver told us that he had it from a good source that the strike would end and clear in a few hours, and until then we would just wait it out. Slowly seven of our group of eleven started to return to the bus, as we sat in the middle of the street playing kick the bottle with the locale kids. Entertained by this, one of the strikers even retrieved a futbol/soccer ball for us to play with the kids. As we waited, we noticed that the locales started to add additional debris to the blockades and new ones were constantly being created, it was almost as if it was a sand castle building contest, one person started to build one, than someone would help and add to it, before they decided that they wanted to branch out and start their own. Proud of their creation, they would tell others to see the fruits of their labor, which would result in additional creations popping up and down the street.
Just before noon, we again questioned our driver, as there was clearly no evidence that the strike would cease, and if anything it would take hours for the road to be cleared ahead. At this point, the guide along with the four remaining people from our group had yet to return from the town, so the driver said we needed to wait for everyone to return. Not sure what this had to do with questioning the status of the road, we began to question the source of his information, as it was clearly evident to anyone that the blockades were getting bigger and not smaller. A bit irritated at our questioning he said, he just heard that it would be a couple more hours, and that we needed the guide to return before anything could actually happen.
The group of us than, assessed the situation and deliberated on some alternatives: one to sit and waste the day away; two, to take our gear and hike ahead, for the bigger town ahead; and three, my proposed alternative to take the bikes off the roof and ride back to Cusco. To confirm what we already suspected, I asked the striking farmers, if there was any chance that the blockades would cease anytime soon, to which they laughed with amusement, as they motioned me to look at the fruits of their labor, a blockade with parts of a horse corral, rocks, boulders, branches, cactus, barb wire and topped off with a flag of Peru. He responded that the strike and blockade would continue until at least Thursday. Upon hearing this, I told the group that I was planning to get the bikes off and head back for Cusco before it got too late, and wanted to see who was staying or going. In the group there were three volunteer teachers from the States, whom seemed to have a love-hate relationship with one and other, and choose to stay behind. The four Spaniards along with the guide were still missing, and haven’t been seen since we first parked on the side of the road, more than four hours before. The remaining four: Jack and I, along with a couple of English mates, James and John, decided we wanted to try the ride, after all we had signed up for the trek with mountain biking, this would just be in the opposite direction.
The problem, was the bus driver wouldn’t play along. As I approached with our proposal, the bus driver wanted nothing to do with us, other than responding that he could not release the bikes to us, that he was a contract driver, and any instructions had to come from his boss the agencies or the guide. As, he wouldn’t call the agencies or locate the guide, I pulled him aside and calmly explained to him, that as they are all absent, and we each paid good money for this trip, which in turn is paying his salary, he now did have a new boss, us/me. Not impressed by this, self-appointment, it did however spark him to finally get out of the bus to search for the guide and agree to call the agency. As we walked back towards town, we finally found the guide, where I approached him with our proposal, and since our group of eleven was a consolidated group from four different travel agencies, he agreed to call the agency representing the four of us. Eventually, after some convincing we were able to get our respective agencies to release the bikes to us, and agree to meet with us upon our return to discuss a refund or rescheduling of the trip.
As we pedalled back through town, we laughed, at all the new road blocks created within the last couple hours, it had seriously become a family bonding activity as we saw kids and grandmothers alike adding to the existing blockades. Than, all the smiles and laughter stopped when we reached the base of the hill, and looked up at the switch-backed road, snaking up into the sky. After, all the work it took to get the bikes off the rack, there was no turning back, so we pedaled forward, and we pedaled, pedaled, pedaled, and pedaled some more. An hour and half later, we finally reached a plateau, and celebrated our achievement, 10 km up the hill, but still miles away from home. At this point, John was struggling a bit, and we decided to set up a gringo blockade with our bikes, whenever we saw a bus, in hopes that they would give us a lift back into town. After two failed attempts, where they didn´t have enough room to accommodate our bikes, a soda pop delivery truck stopped, and gave us a wave signalling us to hop on into the back. The four of us celebrated in excitement when we finally piled into the back and the truck started towards Cusco, but than suddenly the truck slammed on it’s brake and the guy hopped out, and jumped on the side to talk to us. We immediately thought he changed his mind, and was asking us to get out. Instead, he just wanted to tell us, to please not drink the soda.
The truck driver dropped us off at the top of the hill overlooking Cusco, and the four of us flew down the hill with smiles from ear to ear. What started as an early wake up call, and a day full of uncertainty, was now filled with adventure, excitement, unforgettable, and we still got our bike ride in.
When we arrived back into the heart of Cusco, we immediately returned to our agencies by the Plaza de Armas, and agreed to reschedule our trip together for Thursday. Jack and I had little trouble with our agent, as he admitted there was little alternative, and the others who had stayed behind would just have to find a locale hostel and wait the road blockades out. Whereas, James and John’s agent was not as honest, and tried to explain that the remaining group would clear the blockades and make up the lost time by the morning and be atop Machu Picchu by Friday, as scheduled.
Thursday morning, the four of us, joined a new group of eight, with a new guide and driver that was well aware of our past attempt at visiting this wonder. The guide was careful to take extra care of the four of us with detailed information and to check that we were having a good time. The first three days, went without a hitch. Day one, mountain biking down paved and dirt roads, ending in Santa Maria. Day two, hiking through various terrain, and finishing the evening in Santa Teresa. Day three, a visit to a freezing waterfall, followed by a few hour walk along a road and along side an abandoned railroad track, finally arriving in Aguas Calientes (2100m), and got our first glimpse of Machu Picchu from a lookout point on the top of an adjacent hill, elevation 2600m.
Than on day four, we woke up at 4:00 am, and started our ascent just before 5 am. About an hour later, we reached the entrance, another half hour later, under the cloud filled sky, we wondered if we would get to see the sunrise, the famed and unforgettable first rays of the morning light splashing across the terraces of this once lost city, but it was just not meant to be, like many a sunrise on this trip. As we all stood there, like kids thirsting for information and history about this monumental place, the guide decided that this would be the perfect time and place to deliver the unpredictable news, that some of us were without train tickets, back to Cusco, this evening. And your´s truly was one of them.
Jack and I, had tickets, but they were for tomorrow. And even worse, James and John, were without any tickets, and their alternative to return back was to go back with the guide who was heading back down the hill in less than a couple hours. Not impressed by this news, the mood almost immediately changed from spiritual to hostile. I than took the guide aside, and told him, that I am in a very special place, and would not let him or this news ruin that for me or us, but when I returned back to Cusco, there would be some explaining to do, so be prepared. The rest of the morning till mid-day, I walked throughout Machu Picchu (2400m) and climbed the highest peak of Wayna Picchu (2700m).
When we returned back down the hill, the guide was long gone, and I went to retrieve my train ticket in an attempt to switch it at the train station, but unfortunately they were booked. As I got my ticket, I asked the agent to review the tickets of everybody else in my group, and saw that they indeed have tickets for tonight, and surmised that the reason my agent bought us tickets for the next morning, was because it was cheaper, and he wanted to recoup some money, considering his small cost expended from our cancelled trip. Jack, decided that he, along with James and John would hike back along the railroad track back to the hydro-plant, where they would hire a taxi to take them back to Cusco. Knowing that this would take at least four or five hours, I passed and elected to have someone ring up my agency, and demanded them to put me up in a hotel for the night, and pay for my dinner, which they unhappily did.
The next day, I returned back to Cusco and immediately stopped by the agency, for the showdown. At first, the gal told me that the owner was not present and to return in half an hour. When I returned, she said I just missed him, and that he would not return until the evening. I explained as he completely changed my schedule, I would just sit and wait, as now I had all day, and tell all the gringos about my troubles. This of course got her, to ring up the owner, who than changed his plans and came to the agency, immediately. After a half hour of shouting and debate, I told him, all I really wanted him to do was to apologize and admit that he made a mistake. After another fifteen minutes, he would still not admit that he did it to save a buck, but he did finally apologize, and offered to give me a nominal rebate.
In the end, my four day trip to my last Wonder, was a seven day adventure that will surely last me a lifetime of memories.
August 1, 2008
In many previous entries, where I updated you as to my location and status, I would often reference the time spent away from home. But now, the only time that sticks out in my mind, is the time that is left, and hoping to make each and everyday, significant, lasting and memorable. I didn’t realize it, but since a few months after I first left, it has been really carefree to be able to travel, without really knowing or caring when the end date would be. Now, everyday seems to be a race against time and the search for new experiences.
Tonight, I leave on yet another overnight bus from Huanchaco, Peru (a small historical fishing and surfing town) 15km west of Trujillo, for Mancora, a beautiful beach town just south of the border from Ecuador. By the time I cross the border, I will have spent over a month in Peru, and have only three weeks left on this trip of a lifetime.
I last left you, back in Cusco, where I hoped on a bus for Nasca. I arrived the city of mystery, where historians, scientists and mathematicians for years have tried to decipher the significance and meaning of the Nasca lines. The plan was to hop on one of the hired planes for an aerial view, but the cloud gods were not cooperating with my schedule, and the locales had colluded to gouge the prices for the rest of the season. So, within an hour of arriving, I hopped back on another bus, headed for Ica and hired a tuk-tuk to drop me off at the desert oasis of Huancachina, where I sandboarded once again, and literally almost broke my neck, and scared the crap out of the rest of my group, but it was crazy fun. Next I arrived at the city of Pisco, where much of the city is literally in shambles due to an 8.0 earthquake that occurred in August 2007. Based on a reference from a friend, I decided to lend a helping hand for a week, with some down and dirty manual labor, by digging holes, setting forms, and pouring alot of concrete. For the celebration of Independence Day, I headed to the capital city of Lima, and I am still looking for that firework show that I missed out on, the last two years. Now, on what I have deemed the goodbye leg, or farewell tour part of the trip, I arrived to this beach town, to meet up with my buddy Linda, possibly for the last time, as we, along with some other friends are racing against the clock, to reach our final destinations.
So, with that, my countdown has officially begun, as I am less than a month away, and in my last calendar month, before I am back on US soil, and… back to reality.
Hope all is well.
July 21, 2008
During the beginning of this trip, I couldn’t be kept from joining an organized group, led by a guide to learn about the locale history and custom, and information that you can not find in guidebooks or even the internet. To this day, I still rave and recommend the six-hour yellow umbrella tour, back in Prague. But, some where along the way, you get tired of jumping in with the band of gringos, those equipped and packed with telephoto lens, fanny packs, and those notorious loud and obnoxious tourists. Even more so, you get tired of being duped by the travel agents, charging you gringo prices, but giving you little or no service and information, and barely giving you enough time to enjoy the scenery that you drove hours to get to. It’s actually a constant battle of trying to sieve out the worth while excursions, trips, tours, and admission prices to pay, versus the ones to skip. Sure a few pesos, baht, rupee or sol is nothing, but day after day, it does add up, and after being duped a few times into paying for an entrance fee for something that they should pay you to visit, you are done.
By, the time I arrived at San Pedro de Atacama (SPA), in the high desert in Northern Chile, it had been awhile since I did anything informative/educational, other than self guided tours through museums or excursions. And SPA was known as the backpacking excursion capital of northern Chile. I arrived in SPA, with my new partner in crime, substituting (but never replacing) Orlaand Lorraine with another Irish Sister, Linda O. I first met Linda at the hostel, as the group was on our way for a big night out. Unlike many of the other backpackers from outside the States, she actually spent some time in the States and enjoyed it, as she attended part of her undergrad at UC Santa Barbara, but than again, who wouldn’t love Santa Barbara. Linda was also another one of those people, who spoke amazingly good Spanish, with little more lessons/classes than the ones she took while traveling and just by practicing with the locales.
Originally, she was suppose to be a couple days ahead of me, to San Pedro, but somebody over-slept and missed her 6:45 am bus, so instead she got stuck, taking the same bus, as I was on. Little, did I know, Linda was soon going to be my coincidental traveling partner for the next couple weeks. I say coincidental, as we never made plans to travel together, instead it was: well we are both headed that way, so we might as well stay at the same hostel and split a cab.
We arrived at SPA in the afternoon, with a bus load of backpackers, and nobody seemed to have any reservations. Unlike, every other South American cities, there were no taxi drivers waiting to suggest and/or take us anywhere, as the town is seriously only a few blocks wide and deep. Other friends had suggested a hostel that they previously stayed at, so I was on my way, and luckily I got there just in time, to take one of the last available dorm bed for the night. Linda was not immediately sold on my choice, so she elected to walk through the town and inspect the other hopefully cheaper options. In the end, she ended up back at my same hostel, where there were no more dorm beds, and she had to settle for a single room for the night, which was of course more expensive, and of course I gave her plenty of crap for trying to find cheaper, but than in the end, spending more.
With the hostal situation all worked out, a group of us, decided to wander through town, to figure out the next move: the road trip into Bolivia. Much like my trip from Tibet to Nepal, the San Pedro de Atacama (Chile) to Uyuni (Bolivia) 4×4 trip is an institution, with the highlight being a trip through the Salar de Uyuni (Salt Flats of Uyuni). As the group ventured from agency to agency, for quotes and information, I suddenly started to wear down, first feeling tired, not sure if it was hunger related, but than a massive headache set in, feeling as if my head was in a vise-grip and as the minutes went by, the vise got tighter. San Pedro de Atacama is located at only an approximate elevation of 2500m, but it turned out that the pass through the Andes from Saltato San Pedro was up around 4700m, so I was in for a long night of altitude sickness. As, we walked around, I couldn’t take it anymore and told the group that I had to get some food and quick, as soon as we sat down, I was done, out for the count. So bad, in fact, that the waitress, saw me, and immediately offered me the locale secret remedy to everything, co co leaves, this time in form of a tea. Not knowing when the leaves would eventually kick in, I excused myself without eating my dinner, and returned to the hostal, while I could still walk the two blocks. Amazingly by the morning, after more than twelve hours of sleep, and maybe with the assistance of the leaves, I woke up refreshed and ready to go.
That first afternoon, after finally figuring out which tour agency to do the Salar trip with, we rented mountain bikes and sandboards, and hit the sand dunes. A group of us, biked the handful of kms outside of the city, into some amazing desert and out of the world like landscape to eventually stop at sand dunes, that made the sand boarding at Florinanpolis (Brazil) seem like a walk in the park. This time, the slopes were much higher, steeper, and maybe because of the size of the sand, faster and harder. One by one, we each attempted to board down the slopes, but ever cautious we used the modified falling leaf method, by going more side ways, than straight down. But, after a few runs, and the always testosterone, finally kicked in, I decided it was time to tackle the hill straight ahead. As most of the others, started to pack it away, to catch the sunset, I jumped on the board, with Linda video taping me, and flew down the slope. The problem is, that it doesn’t take a genius, and therefore I have mastered the art of flying down the hill at full speed, the real art and skill is the carving for the stop, and accounting for the change in texture and speed of the sand below. About two-thirds of the way down the hill, yours truly, ate-it/stacked it, almost as hard as Kate, when she had back in Floripa. That is, until my next run. Not happy to end the day, on that note, while everybody else was packing it in for the day, I just sat at the bottom, still out of breathe from the recent crash, when I decided to huff and puff back to the top, to complete one more run. This time, there were no camera/video, as I was literally the last one on the hill for the day, and everybody was the process of heading back for the bikes. Than, they noticed that I was back on top, and waited to watch. Dang, I had an audience, that meant I couldn’t just go down cautiously with a safe run. Half way down the hill, I was going faster than any of the previous runs, and felt completely in control, as I approached roughly the crash site of the previous run, I craved to the left, in any attempt slow the board down, and think I even heard one of them yell out: wooo whooo. That is when… it was lights out, the crash, according to the spectators (since I wasn’t permanently hurt) worth the price of admission. So good, in fact, that two hikers, still a good distance from us, came up to see the fool, that almost broke his neck. After laying in pain on the sand for about a minute, maybe two, and inspecting my limbs and body part to make sure that they were still attached, I was able to get up dust myself off, and limp back to the bike, and have a good laugh. But, I must admit, my butt did hurt from that crash, for more than a week.
That night, I participated in one of the best and unique tours that I have done during this whole trip, known as the Estrella Tour (Star Tour). Led by a world renowned astronomer (originally from France, worked at Mount Wilson and Caltech for years, and now permanently with his wife in Chile), he brought the group to his home and his self made star gazing field on his property, where he had approximately eight world class top of the line telescopes pointed at various points in the sky, and literally the galaxy. That night, I felt like a kid again, talking about the sky, stars, suns, and literally galaxies far far away. He explained the milky way, the southern cross, versus the north star, brightness of stars (alpha, beta, gamma…), constellations, zodiacs, light years, and brightness of planets, even the history of astronomy and astronomers. Literally, he explained things in a way that made me look up into the night sky, with my mouth dropped open, feeling like a kid again, and dieing for more information and knowledge. The coolest thing of the night, was looking into a telescope the size of a Volkswagon, at a galaxy 25 million light years away, and the topper? Another telescope, focused, so that you stared at an unimaginable beautiful bright light, making you feel surreal, as you looked through the lens, and let your eyes focus, on the most recognizable planet of them all, Saturn. If you are ever in SPA, I will literally kick your butt, like the sand dunes kicked mine, if you don’t do the Estrella Tour.
The next day, battered and sore, I took the morning off, and signed up for a tour in the afternoon, to visit the Valley of the Moon. The tour also included a visit to the Valley of Mars/Muerte/Death, named such, because of it’s unique and obscure landscape, and probably also because the name it’s self generates interest from gringos, according to the guide. The day ended, with what else, but another sunset, where we hiked up another hill and sand dune. This sunset was unique to others in the fact that the beauty of the setting sun, was actually better when you had your back to the sun, and stared at the reflection of the lights set against the Andes to the east.
Next stop, Bolivia.
July 15, 2008
It was never the plan, if anything I was trying to avoid it: the whole process of checking off the list. But, I guess that is what happens with plans, as with life: things change. Not to be philosophical, but having just finished my list of Seven, I can’t help to reflect, think, and in some weird way, feel a bit unsettled and guilty. Maybe it has to do with the fact, that for the first time on this trip, I finally see the sign-post, identifying the date and final destination of this trip. Or maybe it is that feeling that you get, when you finally complete something, that has been a goal forever, and now that it is complete, you are a bit lost and numb.
Today, I returned to Cusco/Cuzco/Qusqo from the previous lost civilization of the Inca’s known as Machu Picchu, my seventh and last Wonder of the World. The road back to Cusco has been long, exciting, exhilarating, tiring, frustrating, and a ton of other adjectives that words can not correctly express, but in sum, truly an adventure. Since, I left you last in Potosi:
Along with my dorm mates, we decided to risk it, and make our way north for Sucre. What should have been a two hour bus ride, covering just over 120 km, became an adventure that I will probably never forget, as we crossed road blockades, one after another, to only travel 20 km, about half of which on foot, over the course of three and half hours. Eventually, we arrived at the last blockade, just as dusk arrived, and hired a taxi to take us the rest of the way. After that bonding experience, our group of four, stuck together for a few days in Sucre, the constitutional capital of Bolivia (versus La Paz, the administrative capital), where we witnessed a street race through the city, that only a developing country can host, and the World’s Largest set of Dinosaur tracks. Feeling the urge to keep moving, I left the group, and my buddy Linda, and headed north to Cochabamba, home of Cristo de la Concordia, a Jesus statue taller than the Redeemer in Rio (by less than a meter). There, I stayed at the home of the Leano’s, a relative of a friend from home, where they showed me Bolivian hospitality and helped explain some of the culture differences of a developing country. Next, I visited the “other” capital city, where words can not express the craziness that is La Paz. Where, I entered a prison; raced down the World’s Most Dangerous Road, where people die every year, with a mountain bike; but still had enough time to take in a little culture by celebrating the Winter Solstice/New Years at the ancient city (ruins) of Tiahanaco home of the Sun Gate, and ancestors of the Inca civilization. Next, as I was literally on my way out of La Paz, I was finally convinced to visit the wild and jungles/pampas of Bolivia, at Rurrenbaque, where after a crazy dust infested 17 hour bus ride down a portion of the aforementioned World’s Most Dangerous Road, we boated on the River Beni (an upstream tributary of the Amazon), swam in caymeninfested waters with the pink dolphins, hunted/searched for anacondas and cobras, and fished for piranhas. Having spent more time in Bolivia, than I originally planned, I headed north for the border, and spent a few days on the Bolivian side of Lake Titikaka, at Copacabana and Isle del Sol. After, entering Peru, where I again got ripped off by another travel agent, I arrived in Arrequipa, and spent a couple of days, starring at arguably the world’s most perfectly shaped volcano: El Misti. Which now, brings me back to the present, where I signed up for a four day trek to Machu Picchu, and ended up with a seven day adventure, which included a farmer’s strike, road blockades, protests, biking 10kms up a mountain, to avoid sleeping in the middle of no where, hitch-hiking, a waterfall, 40 km hike, Machu Picchu, and a couple confrontations with travel agents/guides.
The last month has truly been an adventure, and I am definitely sad to know that it is soon coming to an end. But having just completed the list, a large part of me is ready to come home, to start the next adventure. With six weeks left before my flight, strangely enough I feel pressured on time, funny how your perspective changes, in my previous life six weeks off was unimaginable. So, the plan? Well, tonight I leave Cusco, and head west and to lower altitude, where I hope to ditch some of the winter clothing for good. I will spend another week to two in Peru, with stops in: Nazca, Ica, Pisco, and Lima. Than, it’s off to Ecuador to visit the equator, and cities to be determined for a week or so. Finally, I will finish this leg in Colombia, which was once a country that was only visited by the daring, but now has become one of the most popular destinations in all of South America. The goal is to spend at least three full weeks, between Bogota, Cartagena and Medellin. If you have any suggestions for other stops, or for a new list, please let me know, but I am short on time
Hope all is well.
July 9, 2008
Traveling South America is much different than Europe and Asia. In Europe, you have so many options, from north to south, west to east, and with EuroRail and the discount airlines, you are literally all over the place, not knowing if you will ever run into a familiar face at the next destination. While in Asia, hostals can at times be as much a distant memory as the last time you took a nice long warm bath, instead of that quick cold shower, so you often return to your private room in the guesthouse, reading until you fall asleep. As for South America, there are generally three options: one, you are from the States and doing a quick two to three week trip, and never to be seen again, as you blaze through the sightseeing at the speed of sound; or two and three, following the lemming trail, traveling north to south, or in the reverse direction. The result, intentionally or not, you continue to see the same faces time after time.
Unfortunately for me, Salta would be the last time I would meet up with my Irish Sisters (Orla and Lorraine) on this trip, as we were now headed in opposite directions. With less than a month left on the South American leg of their trip, the girls were headed south to hit the slopes, before hopping on their flight, taking them from Santiago to New Zealand, and eventually Oz, where they will rejoin the third musketeer (Zoe) and spend the year working, living and hopefully traveling the land down under. Entonces, we decided to meet up in Salta for one last dance, not knowing if we would ever see each other again.
I arrived to Salta, via what else, but another overnight bus, with the girls due in, later that night. The first day, was spent with the previously mentioned due diligence trip to the Bolivian Embassy, followed by a jog around town to break in the Supernovas. Just as the party was starting at the rooftop bar of the hostel, Orla and Lorraine made their appearance, and the band was now back together again. About twenty of us from the hostal ended up, on the north side of town, at Club XXI, in disco row, where we ran the place. Seriously, since our group probably represented over 25 percent of all the people in the club. It’s funny, but in Argentina, it is very common to have the same type of stores on the same street, for example, one street/block will be lined with stationary stores, the next with hardware, the following with hair salons, and this is also true with bars/clubs/discos. I guess the theory is, if your not happy with one, you can just go next door.
The next day, Lorraine and I decided to jog up to Cerro San Bernardo, the hill over looking the city of Salta, and well beyond. The view was beautiful, but to be honest, after jogging the 1070 steps up the hill, the view could have been smog covered crap, and I would still swear that it was absolutely amazing. If you do make it to Salta, the other option to see the same “amazing” view of the city, if to take the funicular/gondola up the hill, or you can test your endurance by following the footsteps of this lemming. However, the most interesting thing about that afternoon, was not the view or the park on the top of the hill, but rather it was the conversations that I had with Lorriane as we jogged up and down the hill. Orla and Lorraine live in the same small town, country if you will, a place called Navan. This much I knew, but what I didn’t know was how much some of the old school culture still existed in their upbringing. Their community was still very much tight-knit where everybody pretty much knew everybody else, and what intrigued me most was the provincial sports competition that had within communities and the country as a whole. Zoe and Lorriane had joking told me, that they had played on Ireland National Women’s Lacross Team years ago, and won the European Lacross tournament, with little previous experience. But when we talked about the various sports that she played growing up, little did I know, I was jogging with a semi-sports-celebrity, who not only represented her community in locale competitions, but also competed overseas in various events, representing all of Ireland.
The main attraction of Salta, is not actually Salta itself, but rather it’s vicinity to some unique and beautiful landscape/scenery. Entonces, the next morning, bright and early, the girls and I hopped into our rented car, and headed north. Along the way, we stopped and visited: San Salvador de JuJuy, in my humble opinion, not much more than just another city; Purmamarca, home of the Cerro de Siete Colours (Hill of Seven Colors), the highlight of the self-guided trip; Tilacara, a small town and home of the hillside Cemetery of Maimara; Humahuaca, another small town… It’s actually sad, but on any other normal holiday, a visit to one of these small towns, could fill pages of memories, how the adobe brick buildings along with the dirt and cobbled roads, felt like you were stepping hundred of years back in time, and how the dress of the locales, and the barefoot kids playing in the dirt, made you think that it wasn’t really that long ago, when this was just another town, and not another checklist place for us westerners to pass through and take photos of. But, reality is always quick to bring you back, when you round the corner to find a modern looking cafe, with signs and the menu in English, and you find most of the stores and all the stalls around the main square/plaza, hocking the same souvenirs and supposed hand made wares/wears, reminding you that you are indeed fast on the lemming trail, and Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, you are not.
After an eventful day, which also included stopping for an obligatory photo on the Tropic of Capricorn, we headed back to Salta. But, along the way, we unknowingly took an alternative challenging route, where the road was reminiscent of Ortega Highway back in Southern California: narrow and snaking through the hills, with steep drops on one side, and rock fall areas on the other. Lorriane took the wheels and the corners like a true champ, but I can assure you that none of us would ever choose to take that alternative road again, especially in the dark.
Eventually, the time had come, it was time to say goodbye to the girls. Orla and Lorriane, now held the record, of the most number times that I met up with someone during this trip, at four times, over a period of three plus months, across three countries. It was so, great to arrive at a new place, and know that you had friends there waiting to see you, in some ways, it felt like returning to friends from home. I only hope, that along with Zoe, that the record will be extended to at least five times (Ireland and The States) along with countless number of years. Miss you girls, thanks for the memories!
July 4, 2008
A year ago today, I was walking on the streets of Berlin, not knowing a year later, I would still be away from home. It’s almost impossible to remember each and every day, but in some strange way, I feel I can. From all the places I have visited, to all the people that I have met, this last year, I probably have more than enough memories to last me a lifetime. Even now, I can still close my eyes on the coldest night in Bolivia, and think back to that day in August, standing in the desert of Cairo in awe of the majesty and imagination of those ancient civilizations, while feeling the heat of the moisture-less air, and the strength of the beating sun. It truly has been an amazing ride.
Why all this rambling and reflection? Yes, you guessed it, it is almost time to come home. Having already missed some important events back at home, and feeling that I could postpone a return date, for yet another year, I have finally purchased a flight ticket home, with a twist…
Light a firework (safe and sane, of course) and eat a nice juicy hamburger for me, tonight. Happy 4th of July.
Hope all is well.
