Big League Chu

As if our debauchery and decadence to date had merely been a preview of what was to come, our excursion reached its bacchanalian best during the final third of our trip. Immediately upon entering the “terminal terrestre” of Cusco, Rob and I were accosted by the imperious “Juana”, an aggressive hostel owner who demanded that we stay at the Hostal Samani located “minutes from the central Plaza de Armas”. Exhausted and vulnerable as we were, we accepted the reasonable fair of five dollars per person per night and boarded in what appeared to be the annex of a family household before exploring our surroundings the following morning. We found the city of Cusco to be absolutely enchanting, composed of five centuries of Spanish architecture constructed on top of Inca foundations. The narrow, shaded streets and tiled roofs are very reminiscent of Andalusia and the warm, open plazas provide a common meeting place for denizens and visitors alike. After a day of local sightseeing, we were ready for our trip to reach its culmination, both literally and figuratively.

Friday morning at 5:00am Juana woke us up and made us breakfast (her maternal instincts cannot be overstated) before walking us to the bus stop where we would depart for Ollantataytambo en route to Aguas Calientes. I should mention that we found the translation of Aguas Calientes (“hot waters”, due to the presence of local geothermal spas) to be laughingly ironic, as our showers were perhaps the most frigid to date. We spent the night tranquilly (only a few drinks) before rising before the sun in order to make the morning bus. And then it happened. After nearly two weeks of traveling, we had finally arrived at the one destination in our itinerary that was inflexible, the testament of Inca innovation, and one of the new Seven Wonders of the World: Machu Picchu. It is impossible to put into words the sensation one feels upon entering the gates of the ancient city and looking out onto the mist covered Andes. The remoteness of the mountaintop retreat that once hosted the Inca elite helps to explain why the site remained undiscovered for nearly 500 years until the arrival of Yale professor Hiram Bingham in 1911. Rob and I began the day with a guided tour of the particular points of interest before scaling the adjacent Waynapicchu, a nearly insurmountable peak that provides a spectacular aerial view of Machu Picchu. After dozens of photos and an unrelenting throbbing in our legs, we descended from what had been once of those “once in a lifetime” experiences.

Arriving in Aguas Calientes upon our return, we dined on “Mexican food” with an interesting character named “C.S.” who we had met while scaling Waynapicchu. The New Yorker explained to us that he had moved to Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union, become an instrumental part in the establishment of the Russian stock market, and (of course not in his words) made a fortune for himself. We parted with “C.S.” (only to reconvene later for an unhealthy amount of diversion) and headed for our train back to the anxiously anticipating Juana. Waiting at the station, absolutely bushed from the day’s adventure, we lay listening to an album of Beatles covers played on traditional indigenous instruments. When the final bars of “Hey Jude” (you know the part) came on, the entire assortment of international travelers began belting out the refrain in what was the perfect ending to our tour. The night, as mentioned earlier, began chasing a couple English girls (who we rightly deemed the “Spice Girls”) before meeting “C.S” for one last hoorah. Our early flight to Lima was the official conclusion to fifteen days, countless memories and a few hundred soles well spent.

The Copa...Copacabana and a Restless Peace

Our original itinerary had us leaving Arequipa to spend a day in Puno (Peru’s supposed folklore capital) before crossing into Bolivia. Unmoved with our initial impression’s of the town, however, and accompanied by our newest addition, an Australian named April who had a yearning to see Bolivia, we decided to forego Puno and head immediately to Copacabana the following morning. Upon boarding the bus we noticed a host of young attractive backpackers (much like ourselves) from every part of the globe: Belgium, Spain, Honduras—every nation, in fact, except Peru or Bolivia. Suitably, as we would find upon our arrival, the Copacabana is a quaint town on the edge of Lake Titicaca composed mainly of guesthouses and low key restaurants catering to the Western vacationer. (No, this is not the Copacabana of Manilow fame and no we didn’t meet any girls named “Lola”.) The “touristy” sector of the town runs along a steep hill that leads from the main plaza to the shores of the lake and at 3,800 meters altitude, scaling the incline can be quite a feat. (I should insert here our breakthrough discovery of mate de coca, a tea made with the infamous coca plant, which acts as a natural stimulant and would facilitate our acclimation for the duration of the trip.) The main attraction of Copacabana (in addition to the “chill” bars and fresh seafood), is the Isla del Sol, actually located 90 minutes off-shore, which boasts of being the birthplace of the two founders of the Inca Empire, Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo. The island hosts some 5,000 permanent residents, mostly sheep farmers, and is purported to be an enjoyable hike but our limited time did not allow us a very thorough exploration. Although far from establishing any sort of lasting empire, it is on the shores of the Isla del Sol where we formed a friendship with Vanessa and Eva, two charming Germans who we would share mojitos and live reggae music with in the evening.

Our German friends were anything but Arian: Eva was half Peruvian, Vanessa half Greek, and Nastaran, who we would meet later, was full blooded Persian. After a night of entertainment, as alluded to before, we decided to accompany (notice I did not say “follow”) the girls to the capital of Bolivia, a slight detour from our already amended itinerary. La Paz, translated as “the peace”, was anything but pacific. Our first day was spent on a very busy street located near the city center, allowing us to visit the principal plaza which hosts the presidential palace and populist leader, Eva Morales, himself. The conglomeration of hundreds of working aged men throughout the city in the middle of a weekday suggested the dire reality of unemployment in what is considered to be South America’s poorest nation. Rob and I bypassed the opportunity to visit more markets, realizing that it would be more of the same hand-woven alpaca articles and holistic medicinal cures (try llama fetus), only bartered in bolivianos rather than nuevo soles. We would need our strength later anyway. At 8:00 we rendezvoused with the girls and went to dine at a restaurant called “Mongo’s” where the evening began tranquilly with a few burgers. Drinks were consumed in a civilized manner until someone at the table suggested that we indulge in tequila shots. Game over. Before we knew it, our table of seven had polished off a bottle of Jose Cuervo and even the Americans and Brits with two left feet (yours truly included) we on the dance floor staggering a salsa step. The surprise of the night, far more astonishing than my falling madly in love with our Deutch acquaintances, was the evening’s bill. After dinner for seven, twenty table sized beers and a bottle of tequila, our check was 780b! While that may seem steep to those unaware of exchange rate, the conversion comes out to less than US $90 total. Realizing we had an 8:00 bus to catch, we left the salsa celebration reluctantly, leaving our invaluable company behind.

Fear and Loathing in Las Americas

After a two week backpacking binge through Peru and Bolivia, any attempt to recount all of our exploits will be hazy at best; notwithstanding, I will try to chronicle our adventures based on the plethora of digital photos taken along the way. Our three days in Lima were divided appropriately between three of the capital’s most important neighborhoods: the sprawling southern sector of Chorillos; the modern tourist Mecca of Miraflores and the bohemian barrio of Barranco. The addition of Rob as a touring partner opened several doors, both literally and figuratively, as I felt less intimidated riding in unmarked taxis or staying at unaccredited hostels. A funny anecdote found us in a seedy part of town where vendors walked among traffic selling “TAXI” roof ornaments, implying the ease at which an unemployed citizen can pose as a taxista. Likewise, our experience proved that there is absolutely no correlation between comfort and the number of stars advertised, as hotels use the “honor system” to designate their level of quality. From shared rooms to uncarpeted floors, we never found our accommodations unbearable although hot showers were always elusive.

As for culture, we got some of that too! The erudite traveler may find our omission of Lima’s outstanding museums boorish but, in our defense, we did take pleasure in most of Peru’s culinary offerings. Although the lomo saltado, ceviche, and chicharron, were all delectable, we found the pisco sour to be our personal favorite. After enjoying the smooth blend of brandy, egg whites, and lime juice we spent our afternoons walking along the Avenida Bolognesi and the Costa Verde, taking in the colonial architecture and the first world high rises, respectively. The apex our of sightseeing was a night tour of the city center in which we saw Lima’s principal plazas illuminated at night, including the nearly 500-year-old presidential palace which was constructed by conquistador Francisco Pizzaro himself. Throughout the three-hour tour Rob had to endure an 84-year-old Peruvian who insisted he spoke Spanish and proceeded to recount his life’s conquests in a half-intelligible castellano.

After three days of Peru’s chaotic capital, we decided to part for Arequipa in the south. The taxing bus ride began just above sea level and left us gasping at over 8,000ft nearly 18-hours later. Our first day was spent doing little more than acclimating to the altitude, although the intimate size of Arequipa allowed us to tour the city’s historic center in a few hours. The city’s Plaza de Armas is said to be the most beautiful in all of Peru and in my opinion may be the most handsome in the world. Surrounded on three sides by colossal colonial balconies, the 16th century cathedral rises high above a snowcapped backdrop. Further exploration saw an equally antiquated (and still functioning) Franciscan monastery that serves as the Arequipa’s main attraction. I would be lying if I left out our discovery of the night life, in which we visited a three story night club where Rob and I found ourselves learning to dance salsa with two beautiful ariquipeñas until the early hours of the morning. Rob probably could have stayed a few more days with his Peruvian paramour but our travels led us in another direction.