Machu Picchu

Not much to say about Machu Picchu (~8000 ft) except HOLY SHIT.  Seriously, if you can do it, you really should go.  As soon as we rounded the corner and it came into view, I felt the blood run out of my face and I had to sit down for a minute and collect myself.  Unfuckingreal.

Aguas Calientes

The Lonely Planet guidebook says that “it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to get stuck for a night in Aguas Calientes.”  First of all, what the fuck does that mean?  Second, why am I carrying around “the backpacker’s bible” when the damn thing weighs 5 pounds.  Don’t I have enough to carry around (47 lbs, at last check) without that piece of deadweight bullshit?

So let me take a shot:  Aguas Calientes (~6500 feet, ~5000 people) is a super quaint - if not slightly overpriced – little town that serves as the gateway to Machu Picchu for those arriving via rail.  As a purely tourist destination, the locals are extremely accommodating, although sometimes aggressively so.  FYI, it is always happy hour in Aguas Calientes and restaurants will compete for your business by offering 4-for-1 drinks and free nachos…but they will also always fail to mention the 25-30 soles “local tax” that goes on top of the bill.  Remember, you’re in the quintessential tourist town and you’ll pay a little more for the experience.

Every time I walked by another restaurant, someone would come running out.  “Señor!   Es Happy Hour!  4-for-1!!”  My response: “It’s Happy Hour??  Holy fuck!!  That is AWESOME!!”  That seemed to stun them long enough to make a safe getaway.

What was supposed to be a train ride from Cusco (literally, the most expensive part of our journey, to-date), turned out to be a painfully bumpy and slow 2.5 hour collectivo ride followed by a 1.5 hour train ride.  There were mudslides earlier this spring that caused some major issues and we should have felt fortunate to still make the trip.  But we didn’t.  Mainly because there was absolutely no mention of the substitute for the train service on the website or even when we checked in at the station in Cusco.  We didn’t pay $96 round trip for a damn collectivo ride.

We arrived early in the day so we would have a chance to explore a little before heading to Machu Picchu early the following morning.  Frankly, if it wasn’t for the advice of “the backpacker’s bible,” we would have spent another night here instead of rushing back to Cusco.  No matter, we’re only here for one reason.

Cusco

You know how a parade is cool for somewhere in the 15-30 minute range and then you’re ready to go back home and fold laundry or something more compelling ?  Well imagine that you stumble into an indigenous parade celebration that you watch over lunch, walk the parade route for 2 hours, stop for a coffee, stop somewhere else for a World Cup match, go back to the hostel for a 2 hour siesta, have beer in the hostel bar and meet a bunch of people who then wander back down to the parade with you 10 hours after it started, and you’re still pretty sure you haven’t seen the same thing twice.  I think Cusco’s ready to party.

Our journey up here from Ica was less a bus ride than a 15 hour aerobic workout trying to stay in the seat.  “If this bus is a rockin…”  We managed a couple hours of sleep with the aid of our increasingly good friend, Xanax, but sleep deprivation on travel days is quickly becoming part of the journey. 

We got to Cusco (~350,000 people, ~10,800 feet) just in time to catch the second half of the US’ last group game against Algeria.  England was playing at the same time and there were close to 50 Brits in the hostel bar screaming at their TV, but also taking the time to mock the US every time we missed a shot.  So it was quite gratifying when Landon Donovan pounded one home in the 93^rd minute, which won the group for the US and pushed England into a knockout round game with Germany…where they got humiliated.  Take that, pompous bastards.

We had a beautiful view of the city from our hostel window.  The Sister declares, “But it’s so BROWN.”  I guess terra cotta is not her color.

We had only discovered a couple of days prior that the biggest party of the year was in Cusco the day of our arrival.  The Inti Raymi, a celebration of the Inca sun god, goes on for a week, but culminates in the day-long parade in the city and then a massive ceremony on the hill outside of town the next day.  There were literally thousands of indigenous groups crowded into central Cusco, practicing their dances, warming up their bands, and drinking beer and chicha at 10 am.  By 10 pm, with the parade still rolling through the main square, the groups that were finished filled the streets with tables and chairs and it turned into the biggest outdoor food court I’ve ever seen.  Sit down and someone will pass you a beer and a plate of whatever mom is cooking – chicken soup with noodles, barbecued beef skewers, roasted guinea pig, alpaca stir fry – delicious.  The only issue for me was that the rivers of beer flowing through the plazas soon became rivers of pee rolling down the gutters, but when you take over the streets it includes some sanitation challenges.  We went back to bed close to midnight, but the drums and fireworks went on all night long.  Like much of what we have seen here, there is no adequate way to describe the beautiful energy we experienced.  Thousands and thousands who live high in the mountains and scratch out a living on a scrub hillside have been waiting all year to break out their local costumes and come down to Cusco to celebrate.   Great fucking party.

The next morning was the arrival of our dad and Holly’s mother from the US.  They hadn’t seen their daughter in 7 months, so it was naturally a bit emotional.  We spent a night and another day exploring Cusco and letting them heal from a 36-hour travel fiasco before we headed off for Machu Picchu.

Huacachina

Nearly 20 hours after leaving Huaraz, we finally arrive in the tiny desert town of Huacachina (~200 people, ~1000 ft).  Family crisis averted.  This place is an honest to god fucking oasis!

As difficult as some of these towns have been to assess, this one is pretty damn easy:  a ring of hostels and restaurants around a tiny lagoon in the desert.  Pick one, drop the bags, and relax a while.  Kind of an out-of-body experience finding a place like this, something that seems so out of time and space (particularly after the day we’ve had).  Completely disorienting, but in that magic mushroom kind of way.  We have 4 days to kill before heading up to Cusco.  No reason not to spend it here.

We’re already running into people that we’ve met along the way, and several passed through here.  So nice to start building connections, no matter how tentative.

The staff at our $5/night hostel was so gracious and helpful and they made us feel at home.  We went on a ride out in the dunes and Holly got in some sandboarding.  I went down on my stomach because I’m sexy like that.  Not my favorite stop of the trip, but certainly the most low-key, and highly recommended.

Holly and I decided that it was probably best if she went home with the parents in mid-July instead of staying with me another month.  First, I think she’s had enough of the “real” South America after 6 months and is ready for some first-world comforts.  Second, it’s clear that we’re traveling for very different reasons:  she’s here to “do,” and I’m here simply to “be.”

I don’t know how many adult siblings get to spend an entire month alone traveling together.  I do know I have met very few that have 19 years between them.  I also know I’m goddamn lucky to have had a chance to bridge that gap with Holly and build a bond that will last a lifetime.  We have had an amazing time together and I will miss her like hell when she leaves.

Next up is a 16-hour bus ride from Ica to Cusco where we will spend our last day and night alone together before picking up the parents at the airport.

Pisco

One hour down the road (standing in the middle of the collectivo with my 47 lb bag the entire way) is Pisco (~110,000 people, sea level) at the heart of Peruvian wine (and pisco) production and the gateway to the "poor man's Galapagos," the Ballestas Islands.


Nothing developing world about this place.  "If you thought that last place was a dusty shithole..."  We took a moto-taxi to the "beach" where we found nothing but chained up hostels, angry stray dogs, and piles of rubble.  After walking 4 blocks and seeing nothing resembling civilized society, we started walking toward the ocean to sit down and make a plan.  A kid immediately rode out to us on his bike and said it wasn't safe for us there; a gringo had been stabbed and robbed in the same place the day before.  Retreat.


We did manage to find a nicer hostel, but even there the sign on the heavily barred door said, "Do NOT purchase beer or water from the vendor across the street."  Evacuate.


Total stop time: 35 minutes

Chincha

After a 9 hour night bus ride from Huaraz to Lima and another 3 hour trip south, we arrived at what was supposed to be one of my "finds" on the Peruvian itinerary.  Chincha (~175,000 people, ~200 feet above sea level) is the center of Afro-Peruvian culture and is reported to have a great local music scene.  The Sister declared it a "dusty shithole" the second we hit the ground and clearly nothing would change her mind.  We walked 6 blocks and stopped for lunch.  The look on Holly's face never wavered.   "But what are we going to DO here??"  I'm not going to win, under any circumstances.


Total stop time: 45 minutes