SALKANTAY TREK DAY 1: Ominous Beginnings

 

They told us 4:30 in the morning to be standing in the lobby of our hostal.  At exactly 5:05 the bell rang and the driver led us down to the van.  That is, exactly at 4:30, Latin time.  We picked up three others who were told the same thing: 4:30, sharp.  One of the girls asked what was the deal with the delay.  The driver replied, “Si, 4:30 to 5:00.”  I found that an ingeniuos answer.  It made me wonder if I could do that at my job.  The principal says, “Joe, you showed up halfway through first period!”  The answer: “Yeah, 7:30 to 8:30, so what?”

People that were under six foot tall slept on the three hour bus ride to the village with the trailhead so I was entertained by my book and the scenery, which thankfully was beautiful.  We arrived at our desayuno (breakfast) place and seventeen of us sat to eat bread, coffee, and coco leaf tea.  The two guides announced that they would break us up into two groups to make it easier.  The first group had five and naturally, the second group had twelve.  Even splits apparently.  To make it even more interesting we were joined with three Canadiens the following day pushing our group to fifteen.

We began our hike after our guide Raul’s unsuccessful search for a sleeping bag for the girl who was not provided with one despite numerous promises.  He was confident that we would “come across” one at the camp.  We asked him if he would offer his bag to her if she was without because it was going to be cold that night.  His reply: “No es mi problema.”  Of course, he’s just the guide.

The first day we walked along a dirt track for most of the day, often being passed by people who were bussing to the first campsite.  We gradually got to know one another as we walked.  Three hours into it we stopped for lunch on a nice overlook.  Lunch consisted of soup followed by pasta, but the highlight was the drink.  Raul announced that we would get jugo de fresa natural, natural strawberry juice.  I looked over our cook who was using a wooden spoon to  mix a pitcher of bright red fluid that could not have been mistaken for anytrhing but red Peruvian Kool Aid.  YGWYPF.

The afternoon hike involved a mellow climb along the dirt road in the direction of a large snow-capped peak.  Soon into the hike the Brazilians found a roadside stand that sold cervezas.  I’m not sure the Incas would have made it to Machu Picchu with 10 sol ($3) beers every two hours.  Maybe that’s why the Spaniards were successful in their defeat of the Incas and not the Brazilians.  Afterall, why leave the beach to conquer when there’s sun, sand, and beer by the sea?  And, yes I am aware that Brazil was not a country during the time of the Incas, but if they were…you know, they’d be safe from a Brazilian front.

We arrived just as darkness was descending upon the valley.  All of the other six to eight groups had their tents set up with their cooks already fixing dinner.  We actually beat our horses to the campsite.  Essentially, it was a group of tired two legged beings beating a group of four legged beings, which were carrying our tents, food, clothes, etc.  When the horses arrived our guides went about setting our tents with no apparent urgency.  They did this with the work philosophy of road construction:  it takes one man to work and two others to stand and chat.

With our tents set up eventually, Keith and I sat in our tent trying to keep warm.  At nine “deener” was announced.  We congregated into a tent to see two folding “tables” that would accommodate six.  Our group of twelve squeezed into the small chairs around the table and joked about how this would work.  I kicked off dinner by accidentally nudging the table sending a burning candle that was placed delicately into a large beer bottle in the middle of the table over nearly onto Keith.  For my pride’s sake I checked the sturdiness of the table and found that one of the legs was not even touching the ground and swung like a pendullum with contact.

Danny and I ate the pre-meal popcorn like starving animals and drank some of his cañazo, the Peruvian homemade drink for staying warm that tastes like it should be used to clean engines or strip paint.  Dinner was uneventful, which is generally a good thing on a YGWYPF tour.  The only action occured when a girl sitting across from me tipped the beer bottle candle over onto me as I was receiving hot water for tea sending an array of hot liquid onto my hands and arms.  Given the climate it was a welcome change.  Burning is a form of warmth.

The highlight of the evening was the light from the near full moon hitting the snow capped mountains which was breathtaking.  It was something that not Raul nor burning wax nor YGWYPF could take away–moonlight hitting snowpeaks is free.

MACHU PICCHU: The Salkantay Trek Intro and the Economics of “YGWYPF”

To get to the world famous Incan City of Machu Picchu there are many available options. The most well known, thus most expensive and hard to book is the famed Inca Trail, the trail used by the Incas during their short, but well documented reign.  This option requires prior thought and action, usually three months in advance which immediately eliminated it as a possibility for me.   In fact, if you show up in Cuzco now and try to book the Inca Trail you’ll be waiting for the next available opening in November.

There are a few alternatives, which the tour books tout due to the over-used and over-booked and over-trashed (so I’ve heard anyways) Inca Trail.  Based on word of mouth I chose the Salkantay trek, which is a five-day, four-night trek through and assortment of valleys surrounding Mt. Salkantay (20, 550 ft.).  Keith and I shopped around for prices in Cuzco and got everything from $160 to $420–for the same route.  I considered my traveling rule of “never go with the cheapest nor the most expensive”, since at both extremes there are drawbacks:  The high-end, posh crowd usually is not as fun as the backpacker crowd you get on the more budget trips and for me the group really makes it memorable.  On the other hand, going with the cheapest usually leaves you freezing or lost or hungry or pissed or most accurately, all of the above.

Yes, I considered my rule– and promptly ignored it.  Keith and I chose the $160 outift.  I was uneasy when I entered and the man held up his guide certificate smiling like a small child at show and tell who just stole his older brother’s best toy truck for the occasion.  Our logic was that they all go the same route so why pay another ten, twenty, thirty dollars for the same thing?  I mean thirty dollars is three nights accommodation or about 27 huge plates of food at a local food joint.  We signed and forked over the money.

Actually, in retrospect I’m not sure if I have ever really follwed my own rule.  See last summer’s partial debacle at the Galapagos.  I really should start following my own rule.

So, here is the basic outline:

The Game:  A five-day, four-night trek that ends up on Machu Pichhu, including food, shelter, transport, entrance to the park, etc.

The Players:  Three Canadiens, two Germans, a French couple, three Americans (myself included), and Englishman, three Brazilians (two of which were about knee-deep in beer for the duration), and even a Romanian!

The Fearless Leader:  Raul.  Raul was not the most popular guy on the trip and was perhaps the poster boy for the concept of “You Get What You Pay For”, which given it’s persistence through the trip will be from here on out shortened to the handy acronym: “YGWYPF”.

Raul led the trek with the passion and vigor of a child in his fourth consecutive day of standardized testing.  Soon after arrival he was thrust into responsibility mode when Kathy, one of the American girls had no sleeping bag even though the agency had promised that there would be one waiting for her.  Some camping trips do not require the aid of a sleeping bag but the first night we would stay at 11,000 feet and it is winter in Peru.  She complained to Raul, and he replied, “Es la agencia, no es mi problema.“  It’s the agency’s fault, not my problem.  Okay, enter YGWYPF.

To the trek…

ONE GRINGO STRANDED ON GRINGO ISLAND

Before any talk of Machu Picchu it is worth noting my current position in Peru–that of being stranded on the tiny tourist trap town at the base of Machu Picchu called Aguascalientes.  Last Friday night after dinner the only ATM machine in town ate my card and sucked it into the hopelssly locked up  gut of the Bamco CP.

Being Friday, the bank would not open again until Monday.  So as it goes I have been stuck in possibly the most expensive town in all of Peru.  My train ticket on Saturday was now useless so I booked a train ticket back to Cuzco on Monday, the plan being to get the card from the bank on Monday then grab the train.  Needless to say I bought the ticket with wobbly confidence.  Afterall, this is South America.  For all I know it could require the service of some ATM handyman who only rides in from Cuzco every fifth Wednesday on horseback and who really likes his commissions. 

Having limited funds I ate a local dinner last night at a sidewalkstand eating chicharrón, which is something from the pork family I believe and salad for two bucks.  A friendly local showed me a place to get a cheap but amazing smoothie, and surprisingly he even offered to pay for it.  Amazing, given this is gringoville and most tourists here use $20 bills as tissues.

Today as I walked around I noticed some armed guards by the bank with some other people milling about.  I asked the guards if there was someone inside and he said yes and they were fixing the machine.  When my card was initially sucked into the machine I thought about smashing the ATM, which would certainly get the things fixed right away (as well as myself fixed into some Peruvian prison).  In fact, my friend Danny from the Machu Picchu trek suggested that same method after the police toild us that it was a lost cause until Monday. 

“Then we’ll just smash the (expletive) out of the machine!  Then someone will come an fix it!” he exclaimed to the policia loudly.  The cop looked uneasy.  We left but decided against the destruction of the ATM.

I asked them to get the guy inside and eventually they did and he retrieved my card from a stack of about 25 other cards.  I tried to get cash out immediately only to have the same thing happen.  They retrieved my card and told me not to bother again.  I am still stranded until tomorrow but at least the card is in hand.

The revised plan now reads as such: train to Cuzco, get the rest of my stuff from my hostel there, catch a bus to Puno (six hours) where I will meet up with my traveling amigo Keith.  Of course, this all depends on there being no broken links in the chain, such as more bank/card problems, the expiration of the limited funds in the wallet, missed bus, earthquake etc. 

Gotta keep the faith.

CRUZ DE CONDORS: Shooting Birds in the Canyon

The majestic condor searches for a small child or goat to snag from the group of onlookers.

The final day of our Colca Canyon tour involved seeing a part of the canyon where condors soared around.  It was a beautiful sight.  There were about two hundred tourists gawking and shooting photos (myself included) so I am surprised the birds want anything to do with the place.  I haven’t ruled out the possibility that they are trained by the Peruvian government to fly around at the exact hour that Colca Canyon tours pass by.  The one pictured above flew at us with it’s huge wings extended and perched on the rockabout fifty feet away.

After seeing these birds I think it’s time for America to rethink our national bird situation.  These things would beat the ever-living crap out of an eagle and that is not good for our stellar reputation worldwide.  Either we adopt the condor or breed eagles to shoot lasers from their eyes and blow up terrosit caves.  This needs to be done soon.

Seeing this, you wouldn’t want to be whatever this thing eats.

To Burn Down a Travel Agency or Not To Burn Down a Travel Agency?

That was the question my traveling amigo Keith and I asked ourselves at about 5:45 AM when it was evident that our Machu Piccu trek coordinator was not picking us up for the five day journey.  They had told us: “Lobby of your hostel, 4:30 sharp because we need to catch a bus at exactly 5:00.”  So it goes.  Or so it went.

We decided to retire back to our rooms because the travel agency was not open.  We had heard that some companies, if they do not reach a desired number of people, will cancel the trip.  Being ready to do an ything at 4:30 AM is admirable for me in some respects, so to wake up and wait for nothing to show up, the result was a festering, probably unhealthy anger. 

The hostel night guy, who was sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor awoke to let other people out to their respective tours.  He spoke little English but was hopeful for us.  He may not have understood terms like “kill” and “bastards” and “we should burn down their agency after wrecking the furniture”, but I’m confident that he understood our sentiments.

Soon after we had gone back to sleep there was a knock on the door and it was the night guy.  He told us that our travel agency coordinator was there and wanted a few words.  He then gestured with two hands extended to relax, “tranquilo, es bien, es bien“.  Apparently, he feared that we would unleash the fury on the agency guy and he’d be the only witness to the incident and probably the clean-up crew, as well. 

But, as it was the travel agent was very apologetic as he explained that there was trouble with the driver being sick and that we could go on our trek tomorrow and he even offered to pay for tonight’s hostel stay.  No blood, no fire–tranquilo indeed.  So, another day and night in Cuzco, which is not a bad deal.  Somehow I bet it doesn’t pay to toy with arson in Peru.

COLCA CANYON: Home of the Hardcore

Deep in the Peruvian backwoods lies Colca Canyon, which is noted for being twice as deep as the Grand Canyon.   Twelve of us embarked on a three day trek down, through, up and out of the canyon–for fifty dollars, including food, transport, lodging, and so on.  The group was a very fun band of English, American (myself) and a horde of Germans who were more than happy to see to it that I captured the German language perfectly in three days.  Right.

We were headed by Carlitos, whose real name is Carlos, but given his vertically challenged stature he is known as ‘Carlitos’.  By far the best tour guide I’ve had in five years of traveling, he made sure that everything was taken care of.   He is from nearby Arequipa and knows the area and culture very well, including the native language Quechue.

A five hour bus ride brought us to the rim of the canyon.  It was unlike other canyons I’ve visited.  For exaple, the Grand Canyon is very flat as you approach the rim, then it plummets far down to the Colorado River.  This Canyon did not have a proper flat rim.  The rim, or top oif the canyon was mountainous so there was not a defined rim.  So when you’re inside the canyon, instead of looking up and seeing the rim, you see the tops of huge mountains so it feel like you are very deep inside the canyon.

Naturally, we started hiking downward to the river.  This turned into a near jog for me because trying to stop my momentum going downhill was not an easy task.  I was called ‘fast’ for the first time in my life.  Thanks, German friends.  One tip we received from Carlitos was to stay on the mountain side of the trail when mules passed by because they enjoyed nudging tourists off the cliff if you stood cliffside.  I actually know some people from Maine who feel the same way about tourists and would do the same if given a cliff and chance.

There are small villages on the other side of the canyon, one of which we stayed in.  The side we trekked down was dry and arid as you can see in the picture.  The other however was lush due to the massive irrigation ssytem that dates back to Incan times that channels water all over the hillside.  Cactai were plentiful but there were also papaya and avocado trees.

The most impressvie part of the trip in many ways was the lifestyle of the locals.  They were infamous walkers, and given that there were no roads that was how you moved.  The whole loop was 22 km, involving two steep rises, and two steep descents.  The day after we departed they had a marathon through the canyon.  The best local time through the canyon is two and half hours, which is unbelievable.  The best gringo time was over five hours, and even that was moving at a good clip.  Carlitos told us that locals would even walk to places as far away as Cuzco, which he said would take them nine days, and for tourists: sixteen.  Most of the locals who passed us wore sandals, as well.

We stayed the first night one of the villages.  We were given a bed, a dinner of soup, chicken, potatoes and tea.  They even had hot showers.  I was going to go for it until I heard someone shriek in horror: they had run out of hot water.  No thanks.

Our digs for the first night.  The theme of the night: Why the hell is my ski jacket in North Jay, Maine?

Breakfast: Two pancakes wrapped around bananas and smothered in chocolate sauce.  I almost ended the trek right there and moved in.

Brushing my teeth with a view of the canyon.  I think that I will paint a picture of a canyon over my mirror at home so that I can brush my teeth with a view of the canyon every morning.

I am confident that if had played my high school ball in this part of Peru I would have scored somewhere in the neighborhood of 54, 370 points by my senior year.

The German Invasion at Colca Canyon.  Can you find the under cover American?

This is the oasis that we spent much of the second day before the steep ascent out of the mountain.  It was as good as it looks.

Carlitos:  Español for “Coolest tour guide”

We stayed the final night in a hostel in the village called Cobaconde, which sits atop the canyon.  We had a nice meal then spent the evening in the local tavern with music and dancing to everything from salsa to a Nirvana.  Seeing people from Peru, Belgium, Germany, the States and England head bang and slam to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is an image I won’t soon forget.

The next day we headed for Cruz de Condor, which is the area of the canyon that huge condors soar.  There are some pictures on the way of that.

AREQUIPA: Love What You’ve Done With The Place

I arrived in Arequipa and instantly was impressed with the place.  Southern Peru is quite sparse and very arid with deserts and barren landscapes around.  Arequipa is nestled at the foot of the snow capped volcano El Misti (a nice little 19,000 footer) that my English buddy wants to hike once he acclimates.  Apparantñy, only roughly forty percent of the climbers make it to the top because of altitude sickness so they have to go back down.

Cathedrals and mountains, they love their cathedrals and mountains.

The food here is cheap even though it has a solid tourism industry-  The ‘3.00′ you see on the menu is equal to one Amerian dollar and the plate is heaping over.  Tallarin de Pollo is what I had, which was spaghetti and chicken with some onions and peppers.  Some other words there lomo is beef, arroz is rice, and chaufa means fried rice (usually served cwith chicken.

It is in Arequipa that most people arrange a trip to the Colca Canyon, as well as other outdoor actvities like rafting, mountain bking and hikeing treks.  The night life here is quite lively, driven by ïsco sours, which is the local drink.  We went out to a place that had a salsa band with a bit of a hip hop feel to them.  Very good music.  They then turned it over to a DJ who played everything from Latin hip’hop and pop songs to Nirvana and Snoop Dogg.  Music is never easy to predict in this place. Sitting here writing I just heard the song “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”  I think I need more sleep.

LUIS.

Pimp my llama.  Luis was quite friendly, but if you dressed this well you would be inclined to be in a good mood as well.

NAZCA LINES: Lines in the Dirt

A small airplane took me flying above the Nazca Lines, geoglyphs that were believed to be built between 200 BC and 700 AD.  The lines create hundreds of animals and creatures that span acres of land and are found in a widespread area over the Nazca desert.

I had to pay $70 for a plane because it was high season, which is a Peruvian fortune.  My taxi driver talked to some Brittish girls who payed $100, so whether or not the story was true I still felt better about my $70 ticket.  The ride was a half an hour and traveled over the biggest and most imortant lines.

Our pilot was a friendly guy who pointed out the lines in Spanish and English.  The trip is not for the weak stomached. I usually have little trouble with motion sickness but towards the end I felt a little dodgy.  Apparently, a girl behind me was not so lucky, but managed a very covert vomit into the barf bag without anyone noticing except for her boyfriend who told me about it once we had deplaned.  She was appreciative.

It was an exhilirating ride.  The pilot made sure that both sides got equal viewing of each creature, which could only be done by dipping the plane steeply into a turn in a tight loop.  Good times.

I will never be too short to be a pilot.  This guy reminds me of an older version of Ponch from the show CHiPs, but with a plane instead of a motocycle.

GOT SAND?: Huacachina Says “Yup”

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I spent a night in a small mirage town called Huacachina, about four hours south of Lima.  It surrounds a small lagoon laden with palm trees and tourist places.  It used to be a Peruvian getaway for locals and has now been saturated by gringos who come namely for the sand boarding and insanely wild dune buggy rides the locals offer.

Huacachina is next to a decent sized town named Ica and so a short taxi ride takes you up the main ”road” up a massive sand dune and then drops you into the town.  From that initial dune there are some forty miles of dune extending westward to the ocean. 

For twelve American dollars you get two hours of sand boarding and dune buggy insanity.  They strap you in as if you’re heading to the moon and soon into the initial ascent up the sune I saw why.  The driver flies up and over and down and around the dunes like a he’s being chased, which makes me wonder what the ride would be like if he actually was being chased.  Perhaps that ride could be arranged by the hostel for a few extra soles that I would gladly pay. 

The real fun ones were the huge dunes that the driver climbed almost all the way to the top then cut the wheel hard and like a roller coaster you scream down the dune to “safety”.  I wanted to sit in the front but a couple of kids (ages 8 and 11, probably) had already staked them out and I was not feeling like fighting with children over the front seat.  i gave up the front seat battle years ago when my brother finally went to college and was not there to vicously rip me from the front seat while laughing like a depraved maniac.

Between spells of crazy buggy riding we would stop atop a big dune where we could ride the sand boards.  The sand boards were similar to snow boards only in that the word ‘board’ is found in both items.  Essentially, they were planks of four foot long, inch-thick wood with velcro straps for your feet.  If the sand was packed down you could get going well but some areas were a bit soft which made turning a nightmare.  I found the sand to be a somewhat softer landing than snow (depnding on the snow, of course), certainly warmer and more arid, but the taste is far worse than snow.  For the record, I did not voluntarily eat sand but when the velcro gives way in the middle of a turn, the diet tends to be sand upon landing.

Huacachine had little night life when I was there, due possibly to the fact that most of the town is trying to shower the sand out of their hair, ears, nose, mouth, etc.

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At this point I have no idea just how deep into you ear sand can go.

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SEISMIC ALARM CLOCK: Welcome to Arequipa

On Tuesday morning at about 4:15 I was jolted out of bed from a dead sleep, which is no easy task.  It usually requires either a high powered fire hose or an earthquake.  In this case it was an earthquake.  The room started rumbling and the bunk bed started thumping on the floor.  I jumped up and went out onto the balcony to see the palm tree outside the room swaying slightly.  Dogs barked wildy, and a few neighbors came out onto the street.

Really, the previous paragraph is all I can do to dress this up.  It was not a big tremor for these parts.  The rumor was that it was 5.5, but that was word of mouth. The first thought I had as things shook was last year’s devastating earthquake in Pisco that ranked in the high sevens, seismically speaking.  I wasn’t about to hang out under a bunk bed to compare notes with the people of Pisco.

My real alarm was set for quarter of five to start a three day trekand needless to say it was not needed.  Fresh off my first earthquake experience I was not exactly ready to rest.  The following three days I spent on a trek in the nearby Colca Canyon, which is deeper than the Grand Canyon.  I have now arrived back in Arequipa and plan tomorrow to post up in this internet cafe (which has quite impressive internet quickness) and get caught up.  I have an overnight bus to Cusco (homebase for Machu Piccu) tomorrow night with an English dude from my canyon trek.  Good guy, another teacher– for good or ill.  Stay tuned.

PERUVIAN SIDENOTE

Just finished sleeping the sleep I did not sleep on the overnight bus here at my hostel.  One quick thing to remember when packing for a Peruvian or any Latin American vacation, aside from all the typical items you need (passport, money, books, clothes, etc.)  one thing to avoid when planning a trip here is being 6′4″.  No good at all for traveling purposes.

But now that I am rested it is off to the plaza here in Arequipa to secure a three day trip into Colca Canyon, which apparently is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon.  I will also assume that there will be twice a few slow moving RV’s with satellite dishes than are found at the Grand Canyon.  “I aint go nowhere without being able to tune into FOX News 24/7, so I can keep up with their ‘fair and balanced reporting.’”

NOTES FROM NAZCA: Waiting for the Overnight Bus

I’m sitting in an internet cafe in Nazca, Peru, or maybe it’s Nasca–something with an ´N’ and a ‘CA’.  In a couple hours I will board an overnight bus to Arequipa.  My camera battery died as I turned it on to add pictures so there will be no images, simply some random thoughts.

1.  Sony camera batteries are rubbish.

2.  I mean big time rubbish.  And I am now over it.

3.  If anyone ever says let’s go sandboarding in Huacachina, Peru, the answer should be to the effect of ‘yes’.

4.  If anyone asks you to take a deep breath of Lima’s fresh air, the answer needs to be ‘no’.

5.  I have now heard “I Got My Mind Set On You” by George Harrison and “Summer of 69′” by Bryan Adams on two consecutive days.  Apparently, Hell’s radio station comes in down here in Peru.  (I think “Summer of ‘69″ was by Bryan Adams, but then again it really doesn’t matter).

6.  The guy sitting next to me in the internet cafe is definitely looking at girls in bikinis and saying, “Mmmmmm” just loud enough to be heard.  Not sure how many more random thoughts I can post.

7.  I am still not used to the @ sign being achieved by conveniently pressing the ‘Alt’, ‘Ctrl’,and ‘2′ buttons simultaneously.  Still don’t know what a ‘ç’ is.  Someone tell me so that I can use it in a sentence- that would make me a good writer.  I wonder if I could slide it into my posts here.  “We paid two soles and took a crowded Ç into the city center” or “That tour guide was a real son of a Ç, and I don’t give tips to no sons of Çs!”

8.  I met an llama today.  His name was Luis.

9.  The movie on the bus today was “The Never Ending Story 2″, which begs the question: can we please pass a law prohibiting movie sequels on busses?  Give me the Godfather II if you want to give me a sequel.  For tonight’s bus I’m putting my money on “Honey I Shrunk the Kids Again IV–Damn Am I Stupid” If I am lucky it will be at top volume.

10.  I bought shades and a wristwatch for four dollars here today.  Beat that Cafe Rick’s.  And for anyone unfamiliar with Cafe Rick’s check out this picture of the Western Maine convenience store and it may become clear.

11.  I’m trying to figure out mentally what time 19:54 is and how that relates to my upcoming bus departure.

12.  People in Peru are remarkably friendly and smile often.

13.  Riding in one of the tiny Daewoo taxis makes you think about things, like “What the hell is this seatbelt (that the drivers insist you wear to avoid fines) going to do if we get into an accident?  The only other thing that I know that Daewoo makes are televisions, and these cars about the same size as an average teleivion.  Next time you feel brave try flying around the crowded streets of Lima in a 25″ television on wheels.

14.  One of the Daewood television drivers I rode in cranked Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” for me to combat homesickness.  Thank you, Señor, just like at home.

Okay, this has to be it for now.  More later whem I get some photos on here.

WALKING THE LIMA: Meandering and Shooting

I spent much of the day walking around Miraflores.  Miraflores is the touristy part of Lima, though not touristy like you might imagine what ‘touristy’ looks like in the States.  You don’t see families dressed in matching t-shirts walking awkwardly around gawking at all the weird, foreign imagery around them.  But it is also not the place where seeing a gringo walk by would be of any surprise.

I walked, drew in the sketchbook, took some photos, checked out an art market, bopped into a supermarket, tried to convince a t-shirt vendor that a medium shirt would not workfor my non-medium frame, and got filled up with a huge plate of food for roughly $2.50.  (According to a Brittish girl here at the hostel I am staying at, I got ripped off.  She says I could have gotten the same thing in Bolivia for under a dollar).  But really, anything cheaper than Cafe Rick’s in Wilton is cheap to me.

Here are some thoughts and images:

This is where ‘el presidente’ lives.  He was not seeing visitors when we were there.  Apparently, running Peru takes up any free time he would have to  mingle with tourists.  I wonder if he has his own version of Crawford, Texas where he can go fishing and fix fence posts and eat barbeque ribs when the going gets tough.

Peruvian kids wear out the DDR (Dance, Dance Revolution) game in an arcade.  I didn’t see any Guitar Hero but  didn’t look too hard.  My tolerance for hanging out in an arcade is remarkably low if you can believe it.

Like myself, these fish were amazed at how bustling the local supermercado was.  Some products are markedly cheaper, such as a big roasted chickens with fries for three dollars that would feed a family.  Red Bull, though wuld cost you over $2.50 for a small can.

I wandered into an art market filled with some cool original art.  I may swing back through when I get to Lima again at the end of the trip.  It was cool seeing Peruvian art that wasn’t just touristy images such as Machu Piccu or alpacas wearing Peruvian soccer jerseys.

SLEEPY LIMA: Don´t Cue Up The Cypress Hill Just Yet

This morning I arrived in Lima, Peru on an overnight flight from Miami.  I had never taken a plane that was supposed to take off at two in the morning but this one did.  One thing that I will never be famous for is my ability to sleep on an airplane and I ensured that fate on this flight.  The in-flight movie was “Into the Wild” and after that I watched the sun rise over South America which while beautiful was a lot more slow moving than the movie. 

I was expecting a circus atmosphere at the airport at eight in the morning when we arrived as is the norm for most of the Latin American airports i have flown into.  Generally, you can expect something similar to a trip to Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving and a Spanish speaking stock market.  People yelling, hugging, haggling, selling..and seemingly the loudest wins.  I now realize that Los Angeles rap group Cypress Hill must have hung out in the Mexico City ariport for inspiration for the song “Insane in the Brain” and quite possibly for much of the rest of their music catalog as well.

This morning was different though.  I got my bag, was ushered through customs and all that greeted me were groups of people looking for their family and friends not at all interested in what a tall sleepy gringo was doing there.  I wandered over to an ATM wondering where the taxi guys were.  Taxi guys come in all shapes and sizes and with all different levels of intensity.  Sometimes they will try to grab your bags for you,¨”Amigo, amigo thees way for taxi…”, sometimes they will even mention what hotel to check out, like a human Hotwire search (only with a tip expected). 

But this morning, an older gentleman sauntered over to me as I finished up with the ATM and said very sheepishly and politely, “¿Senor, necesias un taxi?”  Sir, do you need a taxi?  He didn’t even come with some line, or drop the ‘amigo’ bomb on me.  Just a nice taxi driver.  A half hour later I was checking into a hotel for some much needed sleep.