There´s so much to catch you up on so I´ll just get right to it.
With Machu Picchu in the dusty, crooked rearview mirror, we arrived back in Cusco with just enough time to eat a rushed dinner and catch a cab to the bus terminal. A short three hours later we arrived in Puno. Sleep deprived and still adjusting to the altitude, we climbed five flights of stairs with all of our belongings to the bare dorm room. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. We pampered ourselves a bit the next morning and slept in until 10 or so, checked our emails, ate the conventional breakfast of coffee and bread and jam, and hit the steep brick streets of Puno. First stop: artesenia markets. We had been resisting purchasing things along the way in Peru because we had heard that it´s cheapest in Puno. Arms loaded with bags full of handmade jewelry, home decorations, and alpaca wool skarves, we headed to the shore of Lake Titicaca to inquire about tours to the islands. We decided on a tour that visits Uros, Amantaní, and Taquille which would leave bright and early the following morning.
After we each ran our own errands, we met up back at the hostal and grabbed some dinner with a new friend, Amy, who was staying at the same place. Partway through dinner, Molly and Sam began to feel ill and headed back early. This was unfortunate considering what happened on the way home. We were accosted by a tall Columbian man speaking English faster than I can, explaining how all of his things were stolen and he was stuck in Puno and if we could just purchase a couple of his bracelets or earrings, we could help him continue his travels. If it was just him, we probably would have expressed our condolences and walked on. However, the small quiet woman standing next to him caught Jessie´s eye and she just had to ask her about her beautiful long dreads. Jessie had been contemplating getting some for the past few weeks but she was still unsure. So the nice couple offered to satisfy her curiosity for S./5. They began ripping, tearing, and tying in knots a section of her hair until just a few minutes later, she had her first dread.
But you can´t stop at just one, right? Before we knew it, two other dreaded rastafarians and were working away fulfilling Jessie´s dream on a bench in downtown Puno. I can just imagine what this must have looked like to the other tourists and respectable Peruvians passing us on the street: three white American girls and a curious French Canadian all gathered in the street around another young white girl getting her gorgeous, wavy brown locks ripped to shreds by four Latin street rats. But we all laughed and shared stories about our travels, and then we moved to a bar after a couple hours to continue the work and share a few beers. Five hours later and the work was done.
After three hours of sleep, we got up and headed to the boat. Blissful morning. Sitting on the top of the boat, face to the bright morning sun, breathing in the cool, biting wind, maneuvering through patches of reeds, taking in the sight of the clear blue water reflecting the surrounding mountains, chatting with El Capitán. It was hard to tear myself away from the comfort of sailing, even to chat with the locals who live on Uros--manmade floating islands made of the reeds that grow in the lake. We sat in a circle around two women who explained exactly how the islands stay afloat and what has to be done to maintain them. Then we were shown inside the homes--reed mattresses, reed tables, reed walls... It´s still hard to believe that several families will live next to one another their whole lives on an island smaller than the average home in the States. (Although many of the locals in Puno claim that many of the residents commute the islands for tourists but sleep at nights on the mainland.)
We spent a short hour or so in Uros and then headed to the beautiful Amantaní. This is one of my favorite places that we´ve been so far. We arrived well before the other tour boats and were indifferently greeted by the wife of El Capitán and led to their home where we would stay the night. After settling in, we hiked to the top of the island to see the ruins of Pachamama and Pachatata. We were the only people at the top and we spent a good half hour sitting in silence just taking in the view. Across the blue lake and over several other small green islands, the shore of Bolivia can be seen. A maze of knee-high ancient rock walls criss-crosses Amantaní´s rolling hills; herds of sheep and llama graze amongst the ruins; and near the dock, a group of small homes are separated by crooked wooden fences and small crop fields. After a while, we headed back down the steep, rocky path and stopped when we noticed a sign that read ¨Best hot chocolate in the world in the best place in the world with the best view in the world.¨ So true. And so delicious.
After another blissful morning boat ride, we landed at our final stop the next day. Taquile´s claim to fame is their society based around colorful knitted hats. The men wear long knitted caps of different colors and patterns depending on their marital status and societal importance. They knit the hats themselves and also wear colorful belts knitted by the women. After wandering the town a while and purchasing a few souvenirs, we relaxed aboard the boat for a couple more hours until we were back in Puno. Another night in Puno and the next day we said our goodbyes to Peru as we crossed the border into Bolivia.
We decided to make Isla del Sol a quick day trip so that we could be in La Paz that night. If you ever decide to go, give yourself at least an entire day, if not two. We spent a total of 30 minutes on the island, most of which was spent hiking up to the main area and back down to the dock. We basically paid for four hours on a boat. And this time it was cold and there were about three times as many people on board. Lesson learned.
I wish I could sit here for the next two hours and tell you all about La Paz, Santa Cruz, Sucre, Potosi, and Uyuni, but this is my last night in Bolivia and it would be a shame to spend it here in an internet cafe. So off I go to absorb all of the sights and smells and tastes (or as many as possible without getting sick) and then I´m off to Lima in the morning!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Courage by Billy Corgan
There is of course the courage of a single flower
Pushing its form thru concrete
If only to be trampled into dust
What is worth speaking
If seeking is death?
Does meaning become
Meaningless?
Summoning up the voice
To do the will of the soul
To explore the far reaches of my wonder
I make the choice to speak
Is it so simple
That it´s easy to overlook
That living is poetry
And poetry nothing less
Pushing its form thru concrete
If only to be trampled into dust
What is worth speaking
If seeking is death?
Does meaning become
Meaningless?
Summoning up the voice
To do the will of the soul
To explore the far reaches of my wonder
I make the choice to speak
Is it so simple
That it´s easy to overlook
That living is poetry
And poetry nothing less
Episode 3
Blogs are funny things. By definition, they require that all natural social filters be removed and all stories be recounted in the same way, regardless of the audience. My life is now a series of episodes separated by an hour or so spent in front of a computer screen. These moments don´t exactly feel like mine. This internet cafe is white sound and I´m floating peacefully in it.
Jessie and I left our respective cubicles and the sound of young fingers tapping on old keyboards just as the rain let up in Huaraz. We went to Cafe Andino for dinner and proceded to gorge ourselves on the first real meal we´d had since Loja, Ecuador. This turned out to be a poor decision, as our seats on the night bus to Lima were the first row on the upper deck with two huge windows in front of us. Our full stomachs did not play well with the windy mountain roads. Nausea ensued. But eventually, we managed to fall asleep and somewhere in that time the dirt roads turned into the interstate and I awoke to the first metropolis I´d seen in South America. We were told that the bus ride would take 6-8 hours so naturally, we assumed we would arrive in Lima a 6am, eight hours later. But we actually staggered off the bus and into a taxi at 4 am.
We were both looking forward to crashing on the couch in the hostal lobby as soon as we arrived. However, it became apparent that we wouldn´t be arriving as soon as we´d hoped when our driver began asking us for directions. I´m sorry sir, but do these gringas fresh off the bus look like they would know their way around better than you? After yelling at a few innocent bystanders, he found his way and dropped us off at Barranco´s Backpacker´s Inn. We graciously accepted a bed to catch a couple more hours of sleep before meeting Sam, Holly, and Molly to explore the city. Turns out, there was one bed for the both of us to share in the men´s dorm. Those poor, unsuspecting Australian boys...
Before falling asleep on the night bus, Jessie and I planned a full day of sightseeing to be started promptly at 9am since we only had one day in Lima. Unfortunately, things never work out as you hope and we wound up marking two things off of that list. Don´t ask me where the time went. We did manage to make it to the Museo de la Nacion which was a priority. It houses an exhibit on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission which was organized to combat the nationwide violence and political unrest from 1980-2000 largely brought about by the terrorist groups Shining Path and Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Movement. For twenty years Peru was basically a failed state and 70,000 people died at the hands of these groups and the military government. The exhibit was eye-opening, but it left me ashamed at my own ignorance and wondering why it doesn´t get talked about more.
On a more positive note, the expansive Plaza de Armas in Central Lima was full of life and activity as masses of tourists and locals gathered on the steps to watch the changing of the guards and the Fiesta de la Virgen de la Candelaria. That evening we sat on the beach and watched the sunset and bar hopped in Barranco, the hippy district of Lima. We made use of the brand new metro system so when my semester starts in a couple of weeks, I´ll be experienced and already have my metro card set up. I´d been nervous about getting to Lima and hating it and dreading having to spend five more months there. After it was too late, I had heard and read so many negative things about the city. Herman Melville described Lima as ¨the strangest, saddest city thou canst see¨ and the gray fog that hangs over the city known as la garua as a ¨white veil,¨ "and there is a higher horror in this whiteness of her woe." Thanks, Herman. Real encouraging.
But I loved it. And I can´t wait to live there and see its every dirty corner. I already have a friend there, too! His name is Cesar and he owns a restaurant called Mi Causa. He´s extremely tall for a Peruvian and his 60 some-odd years show in his wrinkled smile and gray ponytail. He spent his younger years as a women´s accessory designer in Europe and showed me a slide show of the beautiful belts and buckles he´d designed. He also designed on particularly intricate buckle for Scar Face which has a compartment in it for cocaine crystals and then a small ax that came be removed and taken apart for crushing, lining, and snorting the coke. Not that I have any interest in the stuff, but his creativity was really impressive. After that, he moved to the jungle two hours from the nearest village and harvested honey and coffee beans. When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer he was forced to move to the city but he still sells his organic coffee and honey in his restaurant. I have a feeling a lot of my time will be spent there practicing my Spanish with him.
The next morning, we headed to the airport for our flight to Cusco. It was a short one hour flight, but we decided it was a better option than the 30 hour bus ride. We arrived breathless to our hostel at the top of a hill too steep for taxis and then got down to business organizing our trip to Macchu Picchu. We also explored the San Blas neighborhood, the Museo de Inka, the Coca Museum, and Qorinkancha, Cusco´s major Incan temple. Cusco was nice but it was really just a doorway to Macchu Picchu to me. The next day at 7pm we hopped into a van and were at the train station in Ollantaytambo in plenty of time for the 11pm train. The train arrived in Aguas Calientes at 1 am and at 3:30 am, we were eating breakfast and heading out the door with the rest of the young backpackers to hike up to Macchu Picchu.
The hike reminded me of Santa Cruz in its difficulty, but the hoardes of strangers had a powerful motivating effect in its silent competitiveness. The first 400 people to arrive at Macchu Picchu get tickets to climb Wayna Picchu, a smaller mountain nearby, for a spectacular view of the ruins. Sweaty but in high spirits, we made it in time to get tickets and waited in line for entrance. Not to diminish one of the wonders of the world, but it felt like a theme park. A friendly woman stamped my ticket at the entrance and a man with an orange flag kindly demanded that I follow him through the ruins. At the top of one hill, I looked down at the bright green terraced mountainside dotted with grazing llamas and Incan architecture, and all I could see were seas of sunburned faces led by multicolored flags and all I could hear were voices in broken English encouraging us to take as many photos as we wanted. The view from the top of Wayna Picchu was gorgeous but not as peaceful as I expected. The highest peaks were covered with several groups of young Chileans sharing songs of national pride and a few joints.
After the hike back to Aguas Calientes, our group shared a meal served in true Peruvian fashion (slow) and then split up to enjoy various forms of relaxation. Holly, Sam, and Molly "splurged" on massages and Jessie and I decided to save the $10 and opt for the hot springs, instead. Apparently, all the other tourists had left by the time we got there so we wound up sharing a large, lukewarm, urine-scented bathtub with a crowd of Peruvian men. Should´ve gone for the massage.
This commercial break has already taken far too long, so I´ll leave it at that and tell you about my favorite part of our trip so far, Lake Titicaca, next time. Thanks for tuning in.
Jessie and I left our respective cubicles and the sound of young fingers tapping on old keyboards just as the rain let up in Huaraz. We went to Cafe Andino for dinner and proceded to gorge ourselves on the first real meal we´d had since Loja, Ecuador. This turned out to be a poor decision, as our seats on the night bus to Lima were the first row on the upper deck with two huge windows in front of us. Our full stomachs did not play well with the windy mountain roads. Nausea ensued. But eventually, we managed to fall asleep and somewhere in that time the dirt roads turned into the interstate and I awoke to the first metropolis I´d seen in South America. We were told that the bus ride would take 6-8 hours so naturally, we assumed we would arrive in Lima a 6am, eight hours later. But we actually staggered off the bus and into a taxi at 4 am.
We were both looking forward to crashing on the couch in the hostal lobby as soon as we arrived. However, it became apparent that we wouldn´t be arriving as soon as we´d hoped when our driver began asking us for directions. I´m sorry sir, but do these gringas fresh off the bus look like they would know their way around better than you? After yelling at a few innocent bystanders, he found his way and dropped us off at Barranco´s Backpacker´s Inn. We graciously accepted a bed to catch a couple more hours of sleep before meeting Sam, Holly, and Molly to explore the city. Turns out, there was one bed for the both of us to share in the men´s dorm. Those poor, unsuspecting Australian boys...
Before falling asleep on the night bus, Jessie and I planned a full day of sightseeing to be started promptly at 9am since we only had one day in Lima. Unfortunately, things never work out as you hope and we wound up marking two things off of that list. Don´t ask me where the time went. We did manage to make it to the Museo de la Nacion which was a priority. It houses an exhibit on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission which was organized to combat the nationwide violence and political unrest from 1980-2000 largely brought about by the terrorist groups Shining Path and Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Movement. For twenty years Peru was basically a failed state and 70,000 people died at the hands of these groups and the military government. The exhibit was eye-opening, but it left me ashamed at my own ignorance and wondering why it doesn´t get talked about more.
On a more positive note, the expansive Plaza de Armas in Central Lima was full of life and activity as masses of tourists and locals gathered on the steps to watch the changing of the guards and the Fiesta de la Virgen de la Candelaria. That evening we sat on the beach and watched the sunset and bar hopped in Barranco, the hippy district of Lima. We made use of the brand new metro system so when my semester starts in a couple of weeks, I´ll be experienced and already have my metro card set up. I´d been nervous about getting to Lima and hating it and dreading having to spend five more months there. After it was too late, I had heard and read so many negative things about the city. Herman Melville described Lima as ¨the strangest, saddest city thou canst see¨ and the gray fog that hangs over the city known as la garua as a ¨white veil,¨ "and there is a higher horror in this whiteness of her woe." Thanks, Herman. Real encouraging.
But I loved it. And I can´t wait to live there and see its every dirty corner. I already have a friend there, too! His name is Cesar and he owns a restaurant called Mi Causa. He´s extremely tall for a Peruvian and his 60 some-odd years show in his wrinkled smile and gray ponytail. He spent his younger years as a women´s accessory designer in Europe and showed me a slide show of the beautiful belts and buckles he´d designed. He also designed on particularly intricate buckle for Scar Face which has a compartment in it for cocaine crystals and then a small ax that came be removed and taken apart for crushing, lining, and snorting the coke. Not that I have any interest in the stuff, but his creativity was really impressive. After that, he moved to the jungle two hours from the nearest village and harvested honey and coffee beans. When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer he was forced to move to the city but he still sells his organic coffee and honey in his restaurant. I have a feeling a lot of my time will be spent there practicing my Spanish with him.
The next morning, we headed to the airport for our flight to Cusco. It was a short one hour flight, but we decided it was a better option than the 30 hour bus ride. We arrived breathless to our hostel at the top of a hill too steep for taxis and then got down to business organizing our trip to Macchu Picchu. We also explored the San Blas neighborhood, the Museo de Inka, the Coca Museum, and Qorinkancha, Cusco´s major Incan temple. Cusco was nice but it was really just a doorway to Macchu Picchu to me. The next day at 7pm we hopped into a van and were at the train station in Ollantaytambo in plenty of time for the 11pm train. The train arrived in Aguas Calientes at 1 am and at 3:30 am, we were eating breakfast and heading out the door with the rest of the young backpackers to hike up to Macchu Picchu.
The hike reminded me of Santa Cruz in its difficulty, but the hoardes of strangers had a powerful motivating effect in its silent competitiveness. The first 400 people to arrive at Macchu Picchu get tickets to climb Wayna Picchu, a smaller mountain nearby, for a spectacular view of the ruins. Sweaty but in high spirits, we made it in time to get tickets and waited in line for entrance. Not to diminish one of the wonders of the world, but it felt like a theme park. A friendly woman stamped my ticket at the entrance and a man with an orange flag kindly demanded that I follow him through the ruins. At the top of one hill, I looked down at the bright green terraced mountainside dotted with grazing llamas and Incan architecture, and all I could see were seas of sunburned faces led by multicolored flags and all I could hear were voices in broken English encouraging us to take as many photos as we wanted. The view from the top of Wayna Picchu was gorgeous but not as peaceful as I expected. The highest peaks were covered with several groups of young Chileans sharing songs of national pride and a few joints.
After the hike back to Aguas Calientes, our group shared a meal served in true Peruvian fashion (slow) and then split up to enjoy various forms of relaxation. Holly, Sam, and Molly "splurged" on massages and Jessie and I decided to save the $10 and opt for the hot springs, instead. Apparently, all the other tourists had left by the time we got there so we wound up sharing a large, lukewarm, urine-scented bathtub with a crowd of Peruvian men. Should´ve gone for the massage.
This commercial break has already taken far too long, so I´ll leave it at that and tell you about my favorite part of our trip so far, Lake Titicaca, next time. Thanks for tuning in.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Buses and Blisters
Jessie and I just finished the Santa Cruz trek and arrived back here in Huaraz around 11:30am. Our bus to Lima leaves tonight at 10:30 so we actually have some spare time, which is new. Therefore, another blog entry for my faithful readers.
Total time spent on a bus so far: 46 and a half hours. Oof. We left Loja at 1pm to cross the border into Peru. Jessie and I decided not to let ourselves sleep during the 9 hour ride so that we would sleep on the 7 hour night bus to Chimbote. The border crossing was uneventful and went quite smoothly. We met an older man on the bus who got off with us and watched over us while we went through the process. But that's not the part we were actually nervous about. We had been researching before and asking around about the night bus from Piura to Chimbote make sure it was safe. Not that we had any other choice, though. We were assured that the bus was safe enough, but not to spend too much time in Piura itself. We felt confident because we were by then very experienced bus riders. However, when we boarded the bus again after crossing the border, the sun had just set and the driver decided it would be fun for everyone to watch a horror movie the rest of the way. Great. Normally, I would have laughed at this terrible movie about shark attacks but instead it just made me extremely anxious about reaching Piura at 10 that night. But everything went without a hitch and we wound up only spending an hour in Piura before we hopped aboard what felt like a luxury bus by that point. For seven hours we slept well.
We got lucky again in Chimbote. The port city reeked of fish so we were glad when once again we only had time for a bathroom break and a bread and cheese sandwich before we were on our way to Huaraz. And what an experience that bus ride was... Remember those people who would stand in the aisle for 1-2 hours on our other buses? Well the aisle on this bus was filled with people standing shoulder to shoulder for the entire ten hour trip. And at every stop several more would climb aboard hawking everything from fried banana chips (delicious) to peanuts, ice cream, candy, drinks, LOTS of mangos, and even an assortment of knives and other tools. Our bags were thrown on top of the bus along with dozens of bags and boxes of fruit, a full size mattress, a single large tire and rim, two crates of chickens, and a bag of pigs (literally, two live piglets in a mesh bag). The closer we got to Huaraz, the smaller the towns and the more indigenous our companions. At one point, we stopped at what must have been the equivalent of a rest stop on the side of this dirt road on the mountain. Everyone got off but Jessie and I decided to take advantage of the clear aisle to stretch our legs and backs. But then a woman came back on the bus and told us that we needed to get off or everyone would blame us if their things were stolen. So we complied and sat on a rock underneath a tree while the 20 some odd Peruvians ate their snacks on other rocks under other trees and stared.
When we arrived in Huaraz, a man named Oscar approached us right as we stepped off the bus and told us about a hostal we could stay at and a deal for the Santa Cruz trek. We already had a hostal in mind and had decided against the Santa Cruz trek for lack of time, but Oscar walked us to the first hostal anyway. After looking at the rooms, we decided this place was overpriced and Oscar walked us to the place he told us about. The older couple who own it are very sweet and it was much more affordable (S/. 10 a night, which is about $2.70). Then, Oscar sat us down at the dining room table and gave us his spiel. What's sad is that we were already bummed about not being able to do the trek so that when he responded with "No hay problema" to our every question and doubt, we were convinced. He assured us that the price was low because we would be sharing the cost with two Italians, we would have burros to carry our bags so that we could complete the trip in plenty of time to jump on the bus to Lima in 3 days, that our guide spoke very good English, and that the bus ride to our starting point was a mere 3 hours. We gave him a significant down payment.
After Jessie and I spent the entire day gathering supplies and prepping for the trek, Oscar showed up at our hostal and told us that he would have to up the price because the Italians dropped out. Since Jessie and I also bought plane tickets for later in our trip which turned out to be more expensive than we were expecting, we told Oscar that we wanted to back out as well. He became frantic. He lowered the price several times as we repeatedly told him no. Finally, the price was back to what he had originally promised and after we told him that we still didn't want to go and would like our money back, he said that it had already been spent on food for the trip. Of course.
We met our guide at 6am the next morning. He did not speak English and informed us that the bus ride was actually 5 hours. And we would be carrying our own packs. But our guide, Benito (or Bonito, as he liked to call himself), was great and we wound up having a wonderful experience. The bus ride was the roughest we had been on yet, possibly because the three of us sat in the very back row. But on the way Benito told us some of the legends and history behind the mountains and lakes. I wrote about it in my journal, but I will spare you patient folks. I also learned two other things on that bus ride: I am much too tall for Peruvian buses, and they make coca candy, which tastes very gross.
The first day was easy and we only spent about 4 hours hiking since we didn't arrive in Vaqueria until the afternoon. It was mostly flat as we walked through serene villages and farmland to our first campsite. I felt slightly foolish in my hiking pants, walking shoes, and rain jacket when we passed the people who live in those mountains. They wear light linen pants and shirts, flip flops, and walk exposed to the rain or wrapped in a plastic tarp. They cross the mountains with ease while I was more than relieved to reach our campsite that evening after just six kilometers of hiking. It was raining but luckily Benito is the fastest tent pitcher I've ever seen. This was also the night that I discovered that I must have dropped my camera somewhere along the way. Very unfortunate. But Benito assured me that Pachamama (Mother Nature) would reward me for my gift. We shared a meal of bread, coca tea, and chicken soup and I zoned out while Jessie and Benito conversed in Spanish.
We woke up early the next morning and set out on the longest and most difficult day of the trek. Most of the trail was simply a stream which required jumping from rock to rock to avoid soaking our shoes and socks. As we passed one of the lakes which I can't remember the name of now, Benito pointed out a tall ridge in front of us that we would have to climb over. It was intimidating. By that point the altitude was getting to me and Jessie and I must have stopped every 10 minutes of climbing to catch our breath. Meanwhile, Benito ascended like a mountain goat. To save time, Benito suggested that we take a shortcut. Turns out, the shortcut requires actual rock climbing and precariously inching across these large slippery rocks on the mountainside with nothing below to stop me if I fall. I think I'll take the long way next time. But it was an amazing feeling reaching the top (4,800 meters).
The descent was significantly easier, but very long and very hard on my poor tired legs. My ankles were so weak by the end of the second day from balancing on the rocks that Benito and Jessie had a good laugh at my wobbly legs as I brought up the rear. Our campsite that night was beautiful, though, right next to a river in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. All of us were in high spirits that night. Sitting in that tent cupping my bowl of soup, watching Benito tell stories through the steam, that was one of the most euphoric moments of this trip so far. On our last morning together, Benito told us that our spirits were now in those mountains. When our friends and family come and follow in our footsteps, they will feed the spirit that we left there and it will grow after we leave.
Oh, I also tried coca leaves on this trek. It's apparently good for adjusting to the altitude and it gives you energy. Benito always had a wad in his mouth. His addiction, he called it. You're supposed to chew up a handful and then let it sit in the side of your mouth like chewing tobacco. There's also this white powdery stuff that you stick a straw of grass into and then mix it into the leaf in your mouth. It's not cocaine, I swear. He said it was some sort of crushed up rock. It apparently brings out the flavor and the energizing effects. I don't know about all that. All I noticed is that it made my mouth go numb and it was interfering with my ability to gasp for air so I spit it out.
To sum up (and brag a little): 30km in 15 and a half hours over 2 days. Through the Cordillera Blanca during wet season. Santa Cruz trail. Start: Vaqueria. End: Cocabamba.
In Vaqueria, Benito approached a man for a ride to Caraz. Soon, we were climbing into the backseat of his car and were on our way. There's a kind of patriotic trustworthiness out here. Men and women will stand on the side of the road and wave at the next passing car and whoever has space pulls over and gives them a ride to wherever they're going. In the states, there's a loyalty to this grand, vague idea of a country. Here, they're loyal to one another. Like being from the same country gives means that you have a duty to take care of each other. It's beautiful, really.
Once in Caraz, we hopped aboard a colectivo, which is small 8-10 person bus that travels between nearby towns. In this case, Caraz and Huaraz. So again, there go our backpacks strapped to the top of a bus with bags of crops and what sounded like a goat. This time the bag of chickens sat in the aisle next to us. We arrived here in Huaraz with plenty of time to shower, wash our filthy clothes, grab a cheap lunch, and write this blog. Tonight we head to Lima and meet up with the rest of the group in the morning.
Total time spent on a bus so far: 46 and a half hours. Oof. We left Loja at 1pm to cross the border into Peru. Jessie and I decided not to let ourselves sleep during the 9 hour ride so that we would sleep on the 7 hour night bus to Chimbote. The border crossing was uneventful and went quite smoothly. We met an older man on the bus who got off with us and watched over us while we went through the process. But that's not the part we were actually nervous about. We had been researching before and asking around about the night bus from Piura to Chimbote make sure it was safe. Not that we had any other choice, though. We were assured that the bus was safe enough, but not to spend too much time in Piura itself. We felt confident because we were by then very experienced bus riders. However, when we boarded the bus again after crossing the border, the sun had just set and the driver decided it would be fun for everyone to watch a horror movie the rest of the way. Great. Normally, I would have laughed at this terrible movie about shark attacks but instead it just made me extremely anxious about reaching Piura at 10 that night. But everything went without a hitch and we wound up only spending an hour in Piura before we hopped aboard what felt like a luxury bus by that point. For seven hours we slept well.
We got lucky again in Chimbote. The port city reeked of fish so we were glad when once again we only had time for a bathroom break and a bread and cheese sandwich before we were on our way to Huaraz. And what an experience that bus ride was... Remember those people who would stand in the aisle for 1-2 hours on our other buses? Well the aisle on this bus was filled with people standing shoulder to shoulder for the entire ten hour trip. And at every stop several more would climb aboard hawking everything from fried banana chips (delicious) to peanuts, ice cream, candy, drinks, LOTS of mangos, and even an assortment of knives and other tools. Our bags were thrown on top of the bus along with dozens of bags and boxes of fruit, a full size mattress, a single large tire and rim, two crates of chickens, and a bag of pigs (literally, two live piglets in a mesh bag). The closer we got to Huaraz, the smaller the towns and the more indigenous our companions. At one point, we stopped at what must have been the equivalent of a rest stop on the side of this dirt road on the mountain. Everyone got off but Jessie and I decided to take advantage of the clear aisle to stretch our legs and backs. But then a woman came back on the bus and told us that we needed to get off or everyone would blame us if their things were stolen. So we complied and sat on a rock underneath a tree while the 20 some odd Peruvians ate their snacks on other rocks under other trees and stared.
When we arrived in Huaraz, a man named Oscar approached us right as we stepped off the bus and told us about a hostal we could stay at and a deal for the Santa Cruz trek. We already had a hostal in mind and had decided against the Santa Cruz trek for lack of time, but Oscar walked us to the first hostal anyway. After looking at the rooms, we decided this place was overpriced and Oscar walked us to the place he told us about. The older couple who own it are very sweet and it was much more affordable (S/. 10 a night, which is about $2.70). Then, Oscar sat us down at the dining room table and gave us his spiel. What's sad is that we were already bummed about not being able to do the trek so that when he responded with "No hay problema" to our every question and doubt, we were convinced. He assured us that the price was low because we would be sharing the cost with two Italians, we would have burros to carry our bags so that we could complete the trip in plenty of time to jump on the bus to Lima in 3 days, that our guide spoke very good English, and that the bus ride to our starting point was a mere 3 hours. We gave him a significant down payment.
After Jessie and I spent the entire day gathering supplies and prepping for the trek, Oscar showed up at our hostal and told us that he would have to up the price because the Italians dropped out. Since Jessie and I also bought plane tickets for later in our trip which turned out to be more expensive than we were expecting, we told Oscar that we wanted to back out as well. He became frantic. He lowered the price several times as we repeatedly told him no. Finally, the price was back to what he had originally promised and after we told him that we still didn't want to go and would like our money back, he said that it had already been spent on food for the trip. Of course.
We met our guide at 6am the next morning. He did not speak English and informed us that the bus ride was actually 5 hours. And we would be carrying our own packs. But our guide, Benito (or Bonito, as he liked to call himself), was great and we wound up having a wonderful experience. The bus ride was the roughest we had been on yet, possibly because the three of us sat in the very back row. But on the way Benito told us some of the legends and history behind the mountains and lakes. I wrote about it in my journal, but I will spare you patient folks. I also learned two other things on that bus ride: I am much too tall for Peruvian buses, and they make coca candy, which tastes very gross.
The first day was easy and we only spent about 4 hours hiking since we didn't arrive in Vaqueria until the afternoon. It was mostly flat as we walked through serene villages and farmland to our first campsite. I felt slightly foolish in my hiking pants, walking shoes, and rain jacket when we passed the people who live in those mountains. They wear light linen pants and shirts, flip flops, and walk exposed to the rain or wrapped in a plastic tarp. They cross the mountains with ease while I was more than relieved to reach our campsite that evening after just six kilometers of hiking. It was raining but luckily Benito is the fastest tent pitcher I've ever seen. This was also the night that I discovered that I must have dropped my camera somewhere along the way. Very unfortunate. But Benito assured me that Pachamama (Mother Nature) would reward me for my gift. We shared a meal of bread, coca tea, and chicken soup and I zoned out while Jessie and Benito conversed in Spanish.
We woke up early the next morning and set out on the longest and most difficult day of the trek. Most of the trail was simply a stream which required jumping from rock to rock to avoid soaking our shoes and socks. As we passed one of the lakes which I can't remember the name of now, Benito pointed out a tall ridge in front of us that we would have to climb over. It was intimidating. By that point the altitude was getting to me and Jessie and I must have stopped every 10 minutes of climbing to catch our breath. Meanwhile, Benito ascended like a mountain goat. To save time, Benito suggested that we take a shortcut. Turns out, the shortcut requires actual rock climbing and precariously inching across these large slippery rocks on the mountainside with nothing below to stop me if I fall. I think I'll take the long way next time. But it was an amazing feeling reaching the top (4,800 meters).
The descent was significantly easier, but very long and very hard on my poor tired legs. My ankles were so weak by the end of the second day from balancing on the rocks that Benito and Jessie had a good laugh at my wobbly legs as I brought up the rear. Our campsite that night was beautiful, though, right next to a river in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. All of us were in high spirits that night. Sitting in that tent cupping my bowl of soup, watching Benito tell stories through the steam, that was one of the most euphoric moments of this trip so far. On our last morning together, Benito told us that our spirits were now in those mountains. When our friends and family come and follow in our footsteps, they will feed the spirit that we left there and it will grow after we leave.
Oh, I also tried coca leaves on this trek. It's apparently good for adjusting to the altitude and it gives you energy. Benito always had a wad in his mouth. His addiction, he called it. You're supposed to chew up a handful and then let it sit in the side of your mouth like chewing tobacco. There's also this white powdery stuff that you stick a straw of grass into and then mix it into the leaf in your mouth. It's not cocaine, I swear. He said it was some sort of crushed up rock. It apparently brings out the flavor and the energizing effects. I don't know about all that. All I noticed is that it made my mouth go numb and it was interfering with my ability to gasp for air so I spit it out.
To sum up (and brag a little): 30km in 15 and a half hours over 2 days. Through the Cordillera Blanca during wet season. Santa Cruz trail. Start: Vaqueria. End: Cocabamba.
In Vaqueria, Benito approached a man for a ride to Caraz. Soon, we were climbing into the backseat of his car and were on our way. There's a kind of patriotic trustworthiness out here. Men and women will stand on the side of the road and wave at the next passing car and whoever has space pulls over and gives them a ride to wherever they're going. In the states, there's a loyalty to this grand, vague idea of a country. Here, they're loyal to one another. Like being from the same country gives means that you have a duty to take care of each other. It's beautiful, really.
Once in Caraz, we hopped aboard a colectivo, which is small 8-10 person bus that travels between nearby towns. In this case, Caraz and Huaraz. So again, there go our backpacks strapped to the top of a bus with bags of crops and what sounded like a goat. This time the bag of chickens sat in the aisle next to us. We arrived here in Huaraz with plenty of time to shower, wash our filthy clothes, grab a cheap lunch, and write this blog. Tonight we head to Lima and meet up with the rest of the group in the morning.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Ecuador!
Ok, really quick update! Jessie and I are at an internet cafe in Huaraz, Peru and we only want to spend an hour here so please excuse the grammar and spelling mistakes. Also, these keyboards are wierd and I´m, not going to spend time trying to figure out how to make certain buittons work.
Jan. 26thÑ Arrive in Quito, Ecuador around 8Ñ30am. Ricardo from the hostal we stayed at )the Secret Garden) picked us up from the airport. As Holly described it, the smell of deisel fuel and bread welcomed us to the country. The Secret Garden was definitely a backpacker´s place. The fifth floor was a bar-patiio with an am
azing view of the city. We were warmly welcomed with a round of shots. Probably not the best idea while trying to acclimatize at 2800 meters. Though we did decline the offer to leave on the party bus with everyone else at 11pm that evening. I remember on the plane to Orlando listening to two small children on their way to Disney World¨¨We´re going to fly up to the night sky!¨ ¨Yeah, we´re going to hit the stars!¨And that´s exactly how I felt on that night overlooking Quito from the balcony. The lights from a million churches and houses lit the rolling mountainside.
We woke up early the next day to see Quito since Jessie and I were going to leave that night for Cuenca. Our first stop was the big statue of the Virgin Mary that sits at the top of one of the hillsides and looks over the city. I should try to remember the name of it, but I can´t be bothered. Anyway, we got there early so a lot of the Ecuadorians were still setting up the market and there weren´t any other tourists, which was nice. Then our cab driver dropped us off in Old Town so we could take a walking tour. We saw the President´s Palace, a really wonderful )and free!= art museum
)On a side note, The Virgen de Candelaria... I can´t find the freaking question mark on this keyboard!... festival is going on right outside of the cafe! Super cool!
Then we headed to the basilica, which I should also know the name for, which was one of my favorite parts. For one, it´s beautful, and we also got to climb all the way to the top of one of the spires and then on the other side, to the top of the clocktower. To get there, we had to climb about a billion spiral staircases, walk across a wooden plank suspended over a giant abyss, and climb a billion more ladders. It was exhausting but the view was amazing and our lunch right after only tasted that much better. On our way to the teleferiqo, we walked through several beautiful parks )the parks in Ecuador are so much nicer than in the States, and people actually hang out there). The teleferiqo was frightening, but promised a really awesome view of the city and Cotopaxi at the top. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, it was too late in the day and the fog had already set in. So instead of a gorgeous view, we got cold, rain, and grey on all sides. So we headed back down and watched the ominous sky darken and lightening strike far too close for comfort. But we made it down safe and had fun, regardless. Afterwards, Holly, Jessie, and I headed back to Secret Garden to meet Sam and Molly for dinner.
Then, a short 26h hours after arriving in Quito, Jessie and I were aboard a night bus for Cuenca. )Sorry Dad! Had to do it!) We were a bit apprehensive about our first night bus, but it turned out to be totally comfortable and safe. We were the only gringas aboard, but the rest were families and a church group who sang praise songs and prayed for a safe journey. We had hoped to sleep on the way, but the roads were so windy and bumpy that it was almost impossible.
Jan. 28: Cuenca
First impression: a wealthier and less crowded city than Quito, but just as touristy. Jessie and I arrived at 6am and set off walking down a street near el centro to find a hostal. We knocked on a few doors and wound up staying at a place we found because the owner called to us from her balcony. She is a wonderfully kind woman who told us just to rest for now and worry about paying her later. And rest we did. Two hours later, we headed out to explore the city. Cuenca is beautiful with its many churches, parks, and cobblestone streets lined with colorful buildings and balconies decorated with pink and red flowers. We saw a ton of markets with deliciously tempting fruits and vegetables, which, unfortunately, we couldn´t eat. We went to the Museo de Arte Moderno and El Prohibida Museo de Arte Extremo. That last one was recommended by Lonely Planet, but perhaps did not include enough information about what exactly that museum housed. Awkward. Especially because we had to ask several people how to find it. So Jessie and I looked around there for a bit and then sat inside on a coffin next to the bust of some sort of green demon with slobbery fangs and red eyes to enjoy our pan con queso.
Then we took a walk along the river, saw the university and the beautiful neighborhoods in that area. It was getting dark by that point so we decided to head back toward our hostal and stop at a the Wunderbar for dinner. We expected it to be filled with turistos, but it was convenient so we went anyway. Surprisingly, there were a lot of locals there and Jessie let me practice my Spanish on her. I asked for the check and our waitress understood me! Woohoo! EArlier that day we had walked past a kind of Indian area of town with a lot of hookah bars. We decided that if we had time we would stop in one that night. But by the time we had finished our dinner at Wunderbar, we were exhausted and ready to be in bed by 8Ñ30. As an excuse, we decided that if there was a hookah bar right next door, we would go, but since there´s not, we should just go back and get in bed. However , when we walked out, we saw one on the corner and therefore had no choice but to go inside. We didn´t stay long, though, because we were once again the only gringas and spent the whole time being stared at by Cuencan men. Uncomfortable.
The next morning we slept through our ala
rm but were out the door by 10:30. Many of our plans failed that day, but it turned out to be ok because even though we had only been awake for 2 or 3 hours, we were super tired and decided to grab a taxi to the bus station and head on to Loja to meet Holly. Unfortunately, our first taxi driver convinced us that he knew of a smaller bus for six people that was much faster and cheaper that the regular buses. Turns out, there wasn´t room for us on that bus and it wasn´t cheaper and he charged us way too much to take us there. But we grabbed another taxi, got on a legitimate bus, and were on our way to Loja only slightly behind schedule. The bus system here in interesting. They tell you that the bus goes directly to your destination, but our definitions of direct must be different, becuase they always stop along the way and let more people on who stand in the aisle for hours on roads so rough that even I have trouble staying in my seat. I don´t know how they do it. Also, there must have been something appealing about the aisle right next to me because I spend the entire ride with someone´s butt or crotch in my face. But I couldn´t even be bothered by it because of the gorgeous countryside out the window on the way. Mountains and valleys lush with green, green grass, trees, and crops. Herds o f every kind: cows, llamas, sheep, pigs, chickens, all grazing peacefully on the steepest hillsides. Bright, colorful homes dotted the langscape with no particular organization. It seems as though they just pick a spot on the mountain and make their home there, and then traverse the plains and their distant neighbor´s farms to get there. As I watched the indigenous women in their tall hats, bright sweaters, stocking, and full skirts carrying their infants or crops in large slings on their backs, I kept trying to imagine what it must be like to live like them, but it´s so different. All I could think was, I wonder if they know that they´re living in a painting.
We reached Loja around 7 and met Holly and the Powells, a missionary family that Holly stayed with who have an adorable little one and a half year old girl named Anika. They were so kind and generous to us, arranging a hostal for us to stay in and letting us hang out at their house and use their internet. That night we had a calm evening of eating typical Lojanan food and eating fruit at the Powells! Fresh pineapple, strawberries, apricots, passionfruit, and a bunch of other stuff that I don´t know the name of or have time to describe. That was such a treat... I miss fruits and vegetables more than I ever thought I could. My diet so far has consisted of carbohydrates, cheese, and more carbohydrates.
Exciting news! I made Ecuadorian friends! OK, technically, they´re Holly´s friends that we hung out with while in Loja, but still! They showed us around Loja, we went to church with them, ate with them, and then went to the most amazing park that night to play basketball. Then the next morning we all had breakfast together and spent our last remaining hours at a coffee shop playing card games, talking, playing music, and singing together. It was a fantastically tranquilo couple of days, a much needed break.
Loja was probably my
favorite but most challenging stop. Because we were spending so much time with locals who speak little English, my Spanish was put to the test. I was already physically exhausted from so many days of travelling, and now concentrating and thinking so hard all day at trying to understand and communicate in another language was taking its toll on me mentally. At one point, I broke down in tears in the back of a taxi. Whoops. But I have the most patient, loving friends with me who are helping me learn and comforting me when it gets to be too much. I knew this was going to be difficult, but I never expected it to be so tiring. When I lay down at night on rock hard hostal mattresses, I´m more excited to be able to stop thinking for a while than to rest my aching legs.
I have so much to tell you about the 27 hour bus trip to Huaraz, but I think it will have to wait until next time. Jessie and I are spending the rest of today gathering supplies for the Santa Cruz trek through the Cordillera Blanca, which we´ll leave for at 6 am tomorrow morning, and relaxing in the nearby hotsprings. I´m really having the best time here and can hardly believe how blessed I am. I´ll try and upload pictures as soon as I am in a place with wifi.
Jan. 26thÑ Arrive in Quito, Ecuador around 8Ñ30am. Ricardo from the hostal we stayed at )the Secret Garden) picked us up from the airport. As Holly described it, the smell of deisel fuel and bread welcomed us to the country. The Secret Garden was definitely a backpacker´s place. The fifth floor was a bar-patiio with an am
azing view of the city. We were warmly welcomed with a round of shots. Probably not the best idea while trying to acclimatize at 2800 meters. Though we did decline the offer to leave on the party bus with everyone else at 11pm that evening. I remember on the plane to Orlando listening to two small children on their way to Disney World¨¨We´re going to fly up to the night sky!¨ ¨Yeah, we´re going to hit the stars!¨And that´s exactly how I felt on that night overlooking Quito from the balcony. The lights from a million churches and houses lit the rolling mountainside.We woke up early the next day to see Quito since Jessie and I were going to leave that night for Cuenca. Our first stop was the big statue of the Virgin Mary that sits at the top of one of the hillsides and looks over the city. I should try to remember the name of it, but I can´t be bothered. Anyway, we got there early so a lot of the Ecuadorians were still setting up the market and there weren´t any other tourists, which was nice. Then our cab driver dropped us off in Old Town so we could take a walking tour. We saw the President´s Palace, a really wonderful )and free!= art museum
)On a side note, The Virgen de Candelaria... I can´t find the freaking question mark on this keyboard!... festival is going on right outside of the cafe! Super cool!
Then we headed to the basilica, which I should also know the name for, which was one of my favorite parts. For one, it´s beautful, and we also got to climb all the way to the top of one of the spires and then on the other side, to the top of the clocktower. To get there, we had to climb about a billion spiral staircases, walk across a wooden plank suspended over a giant abyss, and climb a billion more ladders. It was exhausting but the view was amazing and our lunch right after only tasted that much better. On our way to the teleferiqo, we walked through several beautiful parks )the parks in Ecuador are so much nicer than in the States, and people actually hang out there). The teleferiqo was frightening, but promised a really awesome view of the city and Cotopaxi at the top. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, it was too late in the day and the fog had already set in. So instead of a gorgeous view, we got cold, rain, and grey on all sides. So we headed back down and watched the ominous sky darken and lightening strike far too close for comfort. But we made it down safe and had fun, regardless. Afterwards, Holly, Jessie, and I headed back to Secret Garden to meet Sam and Molly for dinner.
Then, a short 26h hours after arriving in Quito, Jessie and I were aboard a night bus for Cuenca. )Sorry Dad! Had to do it!) We were a bit apprehensive about our first night bus, but it turned out to be totally comfortable and safe. We were the only gringas aboard, but the rest were families and a church group who sang praise songs and prayed for a safe journey. We had hoped to sleep on the way, but the roads were so windy and bumpy that it was almost impossible.
Jan. 28: Cuenca
First impression: a wealthier and less crowded city than Quito, but just as touristy. Jessie and I arrived at 6am and set off walking down a street near el centro to find a hostal. We knocked on a few doors and wound up staying at a place we found because the owner called to us from her balcony. She is a wonderfully kind woman who told us just to rest for now and worry about paying her later. And rest we did. Two hours later, we headed out to explore the city. Cuenca is beautiful with its many churches, parks, and cobblestone streets lined with colorful buildings and balconies decorated with pink and red flowers. We saw a ton of markets with deliciously tempting fruits and vegetables, which, unfortunately, we couldn´t eat. We went to the Museo de Arte Moderno and El Prohibida Museo de Arte Extremo. That last one was recommended by Lonely Planet, but perhaps did not include enough information about what exactly that museum housed. Awkward. Especially because we had to ask several people how to find it. So Jessie and I looked around there for a bit and then sat inside on a coffin next to the bust of some sort of green demon with slobbery fangs and red eyes to enjoy our pan con queso.
Then we took a walk along the river, saw the university and the beautiful neighborhoods in that area. It was getting dark by that point so we decided to head back toward our hostal and stop at a the Wunderbar for dinner. We expected it to be filled with turistos, but it was convenient so we went anyway. Surprisingly, there were a lot of locals there and Jessie let me practice my Spanish on her. I asked for the check and our waitress understood me! Woohoo! EArlier that day we had walked past a kind of Indian area of town with a lot of hookah bars. We decided that if we had time we would stop in one that night. But by the time we had finished our dinner at Wunderbar, we were exhausted and ready to be in bed by 8Ñ30. As an excuse, we decided that if there was a hookah bar right next door, we would go, but since there´s not, we should just go back and get in bed. However , when we walked out, we saw one on the corner and therefore had no choice but to go inside. We didn´t stay long, though, because we were once again the only gringas and spent the whole time being stared at by Cuencan men. Uncomfortable.
The next morning we slept through our ala
rm but were out the door by 10:30. Many of our plans failed that day, but it turned out to be ok because even though we had only been awake for 2 or 3 hours, we were super tired and decided to grab a taxi to the bus station and head on to Loja to meet Holly. Unfortunately, our first taxi driver convinced us that he knew of a smaller bus for six people that was much faster and cheaper that the regular buses. Turns out, there wasn´t room for us on that bus and it wasn´t cheaper and he charged us way too much to take us there. But we grabbed another taxi, got on a legitimate bus, and were on our way to Loja only slightly behind schedule. The bus system here in interesting. They tell you that the bus goes directly to your destination, but our definitions of direct must be different, becuase they always stop along the way and let more people on who stand in the aisle for hours on roads so rough that even I have trouble staying in my seat. I don´t know how they do it. Also, there must have been something appealing about the aisle right next to me because I spend the entire ride with someone´s butt or crotch in my face. But I couldn´t even be bothered by it because of the gorgeous countryside out the window on the way. Mountains and valleys lush with green, green grass, trees, and crops. Herds o f every kind: cows, llamas, sheep, pigs, chickens, all grazing peacefully on the steepest hillsides. Bright, colorful homes dotted the langscape with no particular organization. It seems as though they just pick a spot on the mountain and make their home there, and then traverse the plains and their distant neighbor´s farms to get there. As I watched the indigenous women in their tall hats, bright sweaters, stocking, and full skirts carrying their infants or crops in large slings on their backs, I kept trying to imagine what it must be like to live like them, but it´s so different. All I could think was, I wonder if they know that they´re living in a painting.We reached Loja around 7 and met Holly and the Powells, a missionary family that Holly stayed with who have an adorable little one and a half year old girl named Anika. They were so kind and generous to us, arranging a hostal for us to stay in and letting us hang out at their house and use their internet. That night we had a calm evening of eating typical Lojanan food and eating fruit at the Powells! Fresh pineapple, strawberries, apricots, passionfruit, and a bunch of other stuff that I don´t know the name of or have time to describe. That was such a treat... I miss fruits and vegetables more than I ever thought I could. My diet so far has consisted of carbohydrates, cheese, and more carbohydrates.
Exciting news! I made Ecuadorian friends! OK, technically, they´re Holly´s friends that we hung out with while in Loja, but still! They showed us around Loja, we went to church with them, ate with them, and then went to the most amazing park that night to play basketball. Then the next morning we all had breakfast together and spent our last remaining hours at a coffee shop playing card games, talking, playing music, and singing together. It was a fantastically tranquilo couple of days, a much needed break.
Loja was probably my
favorite but most challenging stop. Because we were spending so much time with locals who speak little English, my Spanish was put to the test. I was already physically exhausted from so many days of travelling, and now concentrating and thinking so hard all day at trying to understand and communicate in another language was taking its toll on me mentally. At one point, I broke down in tears in the back of a taxi. Whoops. But I have the most patient, loving friends with me who are helping me learn and comforting me when it gets to be too much. I knew this was going to be difficult, but I never expected it to be so tiring. When I lay down at night on rock hard hostal mattresses, I´m more excited to be able to stop thinking for a while than to rest my aching legs.I have so much to tell you about the 27 hour bus trip to Huaraz, but I think it will have to wait until next time. Jessie and I are spending the rest of today gathering supplies for the Santa Cruz trek through the Cordillera Blanca, which we´ll leave for at 6 am tomorrow morning, and relaxing in the nearby hotsprings. I´m really having the best time here and can hardly believe how blessed I am. I´ll try and upload pictures as soon as I am in a place with wifi.
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