Arequipa/Colca Canyon

The cold bug that hit me in Puno proceeded to kick my ass for 10 days.  It got so bad (I know you want to know how bad) that I had big green boogers coming out my eyeballs.  One night, I had to get up and wash my face in order to open my right eye; it was completely glued shut.  Dad called it the “diesel snots” because of the horrible emissions from all the old busses and broken-ass collectivos around here.  Whatever the fuck it was, I’ve never seen shit like that come out of me before.

By the way, Arequipa (~1 million people, ~7500 feet, Rubble Alert Level: Sunshine!  No problemo!) has a beautiful Plaza de Armas, of course.  Despite my condition, we did manage to get in some sightseeing, shopping (bleh), and futbol before taking off on a tour of the Colca Canyon.

The Colca Canyon (according to our guide – he is likely lying) is the deepest in the world at 1800 meters/5900 feet, about 200 meters deeper than the Grand Canyon.  Our first stop was a pass at 16,000 feet, certainly the highest I have been (except for with the French guy in Mancora), but it was not nearly as painful by bus as it was on foot with a punch-drunk Czech in tow.  We paid a visit to “the highest baño in the world” (surely, this is bullshit) and used our well-practiced “No gracias,” and “Maybe later!” on the indigenous locals.  They were impressed.

After a month in Peru, I was finally given the “how to macerate coca leaf” demo, as opposed to using the coca tea and lozenges that I’ve been voraciously consuming.  The leaves need an agent to activate the alkaloids inside, and what is most commonly used is either potash or sodium carbonate (i.e. Tums).  The flavor is not exactly righteous, but the effects are amazingly real for reducing the effects of the altitude.  You also get the fancy numb mouth sensation that comes with other drugs that some people might be using.  (Mom, I know what you’re thinking, but coca leaf is considered a sacred plant here and is about as close to cocaine as a coffee plant is to a double caramel macchiato.)

We then stopped for an interesting evening in the dusty little town of Chivay (~5000 people, ~12,000 feet,  Rubble Alert Level: Fuscia – if I wasn’t stranded on this fucking tourist bus, I would surely run away.).  We bailed out on our lame tour group and went out to party on our own.  One important side note here is that, 90% of the time, if a drink is not on the menu, they have no fucking idea how to improvise.  So, instead of trying to convince the restaurant to put the pisco in the pineapple juice (this is the go-to drink for me in Peru, by the way), we just ordered pineapple juice and then ran to the store next door to get our own pisco.  We finished the first bottle walking around Chivay (this took approximately 7 minutes), and picked up a second one to take back to the hostel for a nightcap.  Except that the second bottle went down far more smoothly than the first and we were also out of juice.  (Is this the miracle cure I’ve been seeking?)  Back in to the clothes and back down to the corner store, where Dad announced, “We’re back!!” to belly laughs from the entire family working there. I tried to get the mother figure to exchange hats with me, but she wasn’t having it.  At least I got this…

A 5 am wake up call, moldy bread and instant coffee for breakfast (seriously), and we’re off for another 3-hour dusty diesel snots bus ride to the Condor Cross overlook.  (Why do I feel like this is my new destiny?  A year of fucked up bus rides?  I chose this??)  The place was literally crawling with touristicos, but that didn’t even register when the condors started swirling directly overhead.  Apparently (again, could be tour guide propaganda) the only larger flying bird is the albatross.  Surreal experience; it’s like they knew we were coming and were waiting to show off.

It was a long ride home, but we went back the same way we came…time for Xanax and a dust mask.

The architecture of Arequipa is quite stunning because of all the white stone mined from the surrounding hills.  It’s kind of like Minas Tirith, but without the orcs and that pesky eye of Sauron thing.  (Thank el baby jesus for that.)

One of my favorite parts of this journey is running into fellow travelers that we have met along the way.  In Arequipa, we watched futbol with Ken, a Brit who roomed with us in Mancora.  (The bastard still owes me a tequila from the US v England game, but I couldn’t stomach it this time around.)  We had dinner with Tom from Slovakia who hung out with us in the Sacred Valley.  And, on the street, we randomly bumped into Orlando  from LA who had drinks with Dad and I in a bar in Cusco.  There is a different spirit in those who are on the road and you connect in a way that is so much different from our lives in the “real world.”

As our week in Arequipa comes to an end, what was once a cloud of fear has now become my sole focus:  I haven’t spent more than two hours alone in more than 6 weeks and I am about to chew my fucking arm off.  Yes, it will be difficult to be completely alone.  Yes, I am lucky to have family here.  But family is family.  And what was once a scratch becomes a gash becomes an open sore becomes a severed limb, if you’re not careful.  I am SO ready for everyone to go home and to get some time to figure out why the hell I am here.  We had a great, relaxed time our last two days in the city and were able to close on the highest of notes.  While Holly, Dad, and Nan took the arduous plane ride from Arequipa back to Coeur d’ Alene (36 hours…yipes…), I popped two halcyon (thanks Dad!!) and jumped on the night bus back to Cusco.

Puno/Lake Titicaca

I didn’t have high expectations for Puno (~110,000 people, ~13,000 ft, Rubble Alert Level: Beige) based on the piece-of-shit guidebook, but it turned out to be a very nice little town.  It’s a bit off the gringo trail, so life seems to go on a little more as normal.  It’s nice not to have someone trying to sell something to me every 30 seconds.

Below, the (always) lovely Plaza de Armas:

We only had two days here, so we had to stick to the tourist schedule pretty closely, but that really fucked with our pre-existing World Cup schedule.  The tourist bus came to pick us up for our late afternoon cruise to the floating islands just as Uruguay and Ghana went to overtime.  Fortunately, our guide had live TV on his cell phone and we got to watch the triumphant penalty kick on the boat.  For all my bitching, I really do love The Technology.

The floating islands of Lake Titicaca really are amazing to see, but it’s crushingly disappointing to see how much of a theme park ride they have morphed into.  The Sister says to keep in mind that it’s how they make their living, but it still seems a bit gross.  After a brief presentation on how the islands work, we were all invited to “come into a home” (i.e. death march through a sales pitch on why I should buy another llama sweater).  There were several in our group who spent the night on the island with host families.  Pretty sure those poor bastards came home with empty pockets.

At this point, I’m starting to get pretty ill.  The Sister had come down with a pretty crushing cold the day before and, since we had been sharing everything from salads to cigarettes for six weeks, there’s really no escape.  I spent the last half of our Puno adventure in bed.

Cusco II

We were all looking forward to returning to Cusco, and not just because of the nasty ride back from Aguas Calientes.  There’s always something happening here.  We scored a great hotel right off the main square (Plaza de Armas – I think every city on this continent has a Plaza de Armas…will keep you posted) that gave us easy access to everything we needed.  The only real annoyance is the endless pandering from the street vendors trying to sell you paintings, bracelets, sweaters, massages, and tour packages.  My favorite part is when you tell them “no gracias,” they always reply with, “Maybe later?”  All you can do is smile and say, “Yes.  Maybe later.”  I’m now trying to work that phrase into as many of my Cusco conversations as possible…always good for a laugh.

The dynamics of having the parents on board as well as The Sister make things quite interesting.  On the one hand, we have seen amazing things together and built plenty of the “memories that last a lifetime.”  On the other hand, there is absolutely no escape and we have to live with each others’ faults a little more than any of us would like.  It’s also quite difficult to find time to write (or just think, for god’s sake) and I’m running quite behind in my postings.  The Great American Novel has received absolutely zero attention to-date.

Nevertheless, we got in some sightseeing, museums, Inca ruins, and rubble research before we had to get on the bus again for Puno.

Some Important Notes:

1. The constellation that I have been referring to as “The Great Hockey Stick in the Sky” for a month now is apparently the Southern Cross.  I’ll be damned.
2. I am really fucking tired of hearing “El Condor Pasa.”  Every asshole in this country with a flute knows that song, and that song alone.  Kind of like “Stairway to Heaven” for guitar guy at home.
3. All the lasagna here tastes strangely like Chef Boyardee, which makes for equal parts comfort and horror.
4. Because it’s what Dick Cheney would do, I am going to be adding a “Rubble Alert Level” to each location I visit since I am now convinced this is an entire continent of rubble.  Cusco rates a Yellow – proceed with caution.  The little rubble we have seen in the central city is used and cleaned up in a day or two.  Nice!  (In contrast, Pisco rated a Rubble Alert Level: Magma – evacuate immediately.)

Another interesting observation is that all of the travelers we meet ask about our travels.  Except for the ones from the US.  They almost always ask “What do you do?”  (My new standard response is, “I take photos.  Of me.  Pointing at stuff.”) 

Those readers familiar with The Korea will be happy to know that the official taxi of Peru is the Daewoo Tico.  It’s pretty fun jamming the four of us into one of those and then bouncing down the cobblestone streets.

We had a great time in both of our stops in Cusco and I think we all would have liked to stay longer.  But for me, with equal parts fear and joy, I can’t help but look ahead to the day when I will be alone on this journey.  On the one hand, I have been so fortunate to have my family to help me make this transition.  But I am also desperate for solitude, for time to reflect.  But no time for that mushy crap now… we have to pack up and head south to the “highest navigable lake in the world.”