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.