Category Archives: Peru

The Hokey Pokey

The Galapagos Islands and Machu Picchu were the last two big hurrahs of my whole trip. Talk about finishing on a high.

The day after we got back from the hike, we caught up with Gabby, Christina, Karen & Tonya (two sassy chicks from the States) for a breakfast so big it could have fed an African village. We walked it off at the Inka Museum, which is definitely worth seeing if you’re ever over this way.

I wasn’t feeling so flash (plumbing problems) so I went back to the hostel while Shell carried on sight-seeing and squeezing some last minute beanie-buying in.

That night we met up with Karen & Tonya, and a wicked English couple who’d also been on the hike –  Jon & Megan for ‘last drinks’ inside an opium den of a bar. We sat on the floor & talked shit for a few hours while working our way through the entire cocktail list. Good times.

Shell & I said our goodbyes very early the next morning. It had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience to share the last 2 weeks with one of my besties. She had done it. She had managed to get me up those big ass hills with her big ass smile. It was nice to know it would be only a matter of days – not months – before I saw her again.

I spent the rest of the day making plans, doing some last minute gift shopping and visited the Art Gallery. Which I wouldn’t bother seeing if you’re ever over this way.

I then got on what must surely be the poshest bus in the world. For 150 sols ($50) you get a seat that reclines to a bed. There is so much room in between the seats it is impossible to kick the seat in front of you. I tried. They give you a blankie and a pillow and a headset. There was a meal & a movie and get this: freaking wi-fi!!! I was a bit hungover from the night before, so I crashed early and got one of the best nights sleep ever. On a bus! In South America!

I woke up in a shithole called Ica. And then got onto a local bus to a place called Huacachina where I’d heard you could go sandboarding down desert dunes. Sanded like a cool lil diversion on the way back up to Lima.

There wasn’t much to do in Haucachina, so I just caught up on some emails, writing and what have you. And then at 4, we met by our dune buggy driver.

He took us up & over the dunes as if he was driving in a demolition derby. On crack. Taking the hills completely airborne. Then crashing down with an almighty thud. And a skidding sideways finish.

It sounds like fun, doesn’t it.

It was

TERRIFYING.

Don’t get me wrong. I am all down with taking risks. I have jumped out of planes. I have dived with sharks. I’m all over that shit.

What I am not down with, is being in sketchy-assed steel death trap with zero safety options that is being driven by a short, fat man with something to prove. We of course, had no helmets. It seemed highly probable I could be tossed out, crack my skull and die. I was so scared, I actually started praying. For the record, I am not religious. By the time we got out, I was shaking like a wil wabbit. I wanted to vomit.

I decided to have a quiet – but firm – word with the short fat man. He looked me up & down, fancied he might have been in with a chance, and reassured me he’d slow it down.

We then spent the next couple of hours sand-boarding down silky smooth slopes just as the subdued sun started setting. I kinda forgot about the crazy dune buggy ride for a while. It was just so surreal & sublime. The colours. The curves. Just stunning.

Now when I say I went sand-boarding, I feel like I should clarify what I mean. Anyone who knows me will testify that I sometimes find walking a challenge. I am notoriously clumsy. But! I did manage to board (on my feet) down the first little baby slope. I also ate an awful lot of sand.

Sand doesn’t taste anywhere as good as snow. Just so you know.

So I took the remainder of the slopes which got increasingly steeper, longer & harder on my belly. Easier. Safer. Much better for everyone. No less sand in your face. Maybe more. I had a wicked afternoon and came home with enough sand in my bits to complete for a world record. And trust me – I’ve had some previous attempts at it J

***

The next day, I headed straight up to Lima for what would be my last 2 nights in Latin America. Wow. My year of warm summer nights, dancing in the streets & drinks featuring lots of limes was now coming to an end.

My time in Lima ended up being decidedly uneventful.

I got my haircut & my nails done. I did a bit of last minute earring-buying. And I ‘celebrated’ with a few vodka cocktails with a few randoms at the hostel. If you can call it that. To be perfectly honest, my company was a little uninspiring. And I was in a very reflective mood.

I started thinking about all my loved ones who I was able to connect with along the way, mates who lived abroad who I was able to visit in their home towns, new friends I’d made along the way, all who had proffered good times, and folks who I hoped to see again one day.* People are what make places great. I had been very very lucky to have met some absolutely remarkable ones along the way.

I also got to thinking about what I had learnt. Big stuff, small stuff. This isn’t all of it. But it’s a fair whack.

  • Clean drinking water should be a right for all. It is, in all reality, a privilege for a few.
  • We are very lucky in Australia to have access to such a diverse range of fresh produce.
  • “Higiénico sanitarios” doesn’t necessarily translate to reality. Oh, and paper goes in the bin not down the dunny.
  • When they’re shouting at you in Rivas, remember that you can always get the next bus.
  • Stay if you like. And go if you don’t. You are always free to choose a different road.
  • Don’t believe everything you read in the LP or on TripAdvisor. One man’s awesome can be a meat market. While one woman’s 1-star can be simply simple. And authentic. And amazing. Some people have absolutely no idea.
  • On that note, ‘real Peruvians’ are everywhere.
  • I think country folk tend to be nicer everywhere in the world.
  • A little bit of the language & a big smile goes a long way.
  • Yo hablo Español! (yo soy retardo, pero peudo hablar un pocito Español)
  • You can be true friends with a stranger in an instant.
  • And it doesn’t mean you ever have to see each other again.
  • Karma is fo’real.
  • People are essentially good.
  • But ignorant fucks are still everywhere. Some of them are well educated and incredibly well-travelled.
  • and to that point – America is not a country, it’s a whole continent. Containing no less than 35 countries. The US of A is just one of them.
  • Colombia is not dangerous. No more than Blacktown.
  • Men over there can dance!
  • And they love my ass. (What’s not to love.)
  • I LOVE diving. But in my old age, I am becoming a fair-weather diver.
  • What’s the difference between God & a Dive Master? God doesn’t think he’s a Dive Master.
  • I’m funny.
  • And I make a pretty mean Mojito.
  • Apparently I have exceptional taste in music.
  • 5 hours sleep is plenty when I’m not stressed.
  • I like to write. In fact, this is my 70th post. Which would bring the word count to approximately 100,000 words. Or 2 novels. In just over a year.
  • We in the first world waste so much & complain about so much.
  • We buy a lot of shit we don’t need with money we don’t have, to impress people we don’t like.
  • And we think being busy is a good thing.
  • Whilst I have learnt that being still is an even better thing.
  • Some of the poorest people I met were the happiest.
  • I can highly recommend a daily dose of gratitude.
  • I have a lot to be grateful for.
  • Time is a luxury but I need to take responsibility for how I manage it.
  • I want to spend more time being creative.
  • And more time with less people (who matter more).
  • I also want to spend more time with my folks. I want them to know me a bit better. And I want to learn what I can from them. While I still have the opportunity.
  • Evidently I cannot live without Vegemite.
  • And I don’t want to live without laksa. Or blue cheese. (Not together. That would be wrong.)
  • It is more difficult to get a good coffee over there, than you would imagine.
  • Kindles will never replace the magic of a real book with real pages but they Are. Remarkable. Inventions.
  • I need less now than ever before.
  • But my list of countries I want to visit keeps getting bigger as opposed to smaller.
  • The world is an amazing place.
  • The more I learn, the more I realise how little I know.
  • The Hokey Pokey could just well be what it’s all about.

*Shout out to Leanne, Naomi , Angie & Charlotte (New York).  Martin, Faith, Matt, Melissa & Maya (San Fran). Dave & Rita & their crazy crew (Houston). Claire & Christian (Mexico City). Dahlia, Coleena, Jill, Pamela, Rowdy & Chris (Isla Mujeres). Nathan & Sparkles (Belize). Jenn, Shelby, Phil & all the Maximo Nivel crew (Antigua). Skye (Honduras / Nicaragua). Shannon & Queso, Morgan, Kate & their Mammy (Ometepe). My neighbours Flaco & Luis and their families, Steph & Cimba. Pinky, Topless & Curly, Nathan & Josie, and Essex (Little Corn Island). The Bowen brothers (Panama – Colombia). Scott (Colombia). Sammy, Frida, Fernando, Niamh, Marcia, Marc, Big Mike & Nasir (Salento). Michelle (Peru). And all the other incredible human beans I met along the way, who I shared a beer / meal / dance / spliff / bed / conversation / laugh with. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

But final credits must go to the COO  (Chief of Opportunities). And the little angel who made sure I didn’t kill myself despite best efforts. Muchisimo gracias!

***

This is the final post for indygogal.wordpress.com – at least for this trip.

I’m back home in Sydney now, and will be indulging my desire to keep on trucking at my new blog: indygowords

You can expect erratic entries, mad ramblings, marrow & flesh, bad typing, dirty fantasies, made-up answers, music, film & book reviews, personal confessions, and some rollicking good times along the way.

So strap in, sign up & get involved!

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Climb ev’ry mountain

We were up at “sparrow’s” the next day. After a lot of dicking around – we got to have a catch-up kip on the soft seats of a plush bus which took us up to the lil village of Mollepata. We had a light brekky & got some last minute supplies (cocoa leaves, flower water and the like). We were then thrown into the back of a bone-rattling truck which took us up a wild rocky road to the start of our trek.

It was all very relaxed for the first few hours: a chilled out, mostly flat walk with stunning vistas of the Vilcabamba mountain range.

So far, so good – I thought.

Leading up the walk, I had some little doubts that had tried to creep into my consciousness. Yes, it had been a while since I’d taken on a big physical challenge. No, I hadn’t been doing enough exercise recently. Yes, I had been drinking a bit too much red wine. No, I hadn’t ever done a multi-day hike before. Yes, I had a couple of issues with my poor old feet (tendonitis).

I reassured myself by thinking of all the Things I Never Thought I Would Do – And Did. (Giving up smoking. Doing a triathlon. Completing a 5km swim.) I just needed to have faith in myself. And just get on with it.

And then it started raining.

It would help if it didn’t rain all day every day for the next 5 days.

We stopped at a refuge & had the first of many ah-Mazing meals (no Beans Means Heinz here) prepared by our exceptionally resourceful cooks.

After lunch we were treated to a gorgeous grey sky showcasing a crisply coloured rainbow. The sun came out shortly after that and didn’t go away for the rest of the trip. Except at night. But that’s allowed.

With happy bellies, we continued on through the crisp, clean Andean valley. Admiring the views. Finding our pace. Getting to know each other. There were about 23 of us all up separated into 2 groups with 3 guides.

Some people struggled with the altitude. Shell & I were doing fine, benefiting from our time at Lake Titicaca.

It was all rather pleasant until we came to a big fuck-off mountain which presented us with a good couple of hours of hard work. Never ending switchbacks. It was slow & steady for ‘lmost everyone with the air thinning right out and making it hard to breathe.  I’d count to 50 steps and take a breather, but I soldiered on.

Shell was a little ways ahead of me and was sweet enough to come back to get me after she got to the Salkantaypampa camp (3,950m). We had walked some 12km, ascended some 1,100m over a period of maybe 6 hours. I was starting to get tired. Shell coming back was just the encouragement I needed to get that last lil bit done.

The sun had dropped behind Mount Salkantay (which translates to ‘savage’) – and the temperature dropped dramatically.

Within a matter of moments we were all uncomfortably, ridiculously & unnecessarily cold.

Sorry, did I sign up for this?

We got sorted in the tents our horsemen had set up for us, before having a quick dinner and some hot tea. We all went to bed early that night. Too cold basically, to do anything else.

I was inside my sleeping bag (designed for zero degrees at best),wearing pretty much everything I owned, and all curled up around a makeshift hot water bottle.

And I was:

Fucking.

Fah-Reezing.

I was an inconsolable shivering little ball. Every muscle in my body was tensed up in self-defence. I had to clamp down on my teeth to stop them from chattering. I wanted to cry.

It got down to minus five degrees that night.

And we were in a goddamn tent. By choice.

I have never ever been so cold or so miserable in my entire life.

The only cool (pardon the pun) part about the night was listening to avalanches.  I’ve never heard such a thing before. You know that scene from Jumanji when the rhinos start stampeding through the house. Well it kind of sounds like that. Simply astonishing.

We all got up with the sun the next day. You could hear the communal relief as we all scrambled out of our tents. And it wasn’t just the first pee of the morning kind of relief. More the glad I don’t have to do that ever again in my life kind of relief.

When we got up, we realised what an absolutely cracking view of Cusco’s 2nd highest peak we had. Salkantay rises to an impressive 6,264m.

A muy rapido pack-up & brekky and we were off! Despite 2 coffees and a very strong cup of cocoa tea, I was nowhere near properly awake when we started walking.

It was shaping up to be a glorious day and I was in good spirits but my body wasn’t cooperating … I was a bit of a slow poke all day that day.

When the others split off to go see a glacial lake mid morning – I kept on track with Cristina & Gabby (a bubbly Brazilian mother & daughter duo).

At one point, I walked on ahead on my own. Not another person within cooee. So lucky to get those breath-takingly beautiful mountains & valleys all to myself. Every now & then, I’d stop and just take it all in… majestically jagged snow-capped peaks of the Humantay range in their varying shades of brown & grey… the surprisingly lush mountainside vegetation satisfying the hunger of some very happy cows. Pretty white rivers busily babbling away. And lots of brilliant blue sky setting the whole scene off.

I’ve never seen anything like it before. And I’ve never breathed in air that clean before. It put me on such a natural high. This is what all my mad mountaineering mates were always banging on about!

Although Day 2 had been the longest day (I think we walked some 16kms), it was mostly downhill and easy, and (at the risk of sounding like a pompus git) just glorious.

We got to camp well before nightfall and were able to sit around in the sun & have a couple of long-necks before dinner, which was most civilised. Being at 3000m also meant it was a heck of lot of more pleasant in terms of temperature, too.

Day 3 was another easy & beautiful walk through a mountainous jungly landscape called Ceja de Selva. It was so vastly different in terms of terrain, and flora & fauna compared to the previous days. Lots of greenery and pretty little waterfalls.

Victor our lovely guide took the time to stop and show us some truly special flowers along the way, including a really rare orchid. I really liked him. He was young & fit, but by no means one of those ‘I’m a Legend – Watch Me Hike’ type of blokes. I liked that he was always keeping company with whoever was bringing up the rear. He took every opportunity to stop, sit and just enjoy the environment. He took the time to tell us the stories of the original custodians of the land, and some of his own story as well.

Although I really enjoyed the day, I had a terribly large blister (a good square inch or more in size) on the back of my left heel that was starting to become unbearable.  So when the track dried up a bit – I took off my boots & walked in my thongs for the last couple of hours of the day. The last part of the track traversed a lot major landslides. I likened the seeing the sides of the mountains all sliced up like that, like the seeing the insides of the earth’s body.

Just before reaching our campsite, we stopped at a little village and bought avocadoes to make a guacamole. We reached La Playa (2,350m) early in the afternoon.

We had time to make a little excursion to Aguas Thermales de Cocalmayo – some hot springs, maybe an hour or so away. The 3 natural pools with their crystal clear waters were a welcome relief for our tired old aching bods. Tucked away inside a deep cut-away on the side of a rocky mountain – the baths offered 180degree views of more mountains across a great divide. Their silhouettes provided a dramatic skyline.

Later that night we enjoyed a few drinks around a campfire and celebrated a couple of birthdays. I went to bed completely content & utterly knackered that night. I later got up for a midnight piddle and took a moment to enjoy the stars. So many stars. The kind of stars that make you feel such a small part of the universe. But also make you feel big enough to make a wish that might come true.

I know this is gunna sound lame but the next day, I seriously struggled to get my hiking boot over my heel with the ever bulging beast of a blister.

I didn’t want to compromise the next day, the last day – the grand finale of walking around Machu Picchu and hiking up Huayna Picchu. So I talked to Victor. He told me my choice was 8 hours of walking or nothing. He also told me the day would be a bit tough-going and walking in my thongs was not really an option. He encouraged me to take it easy so I could enjoy the next day. I didn’t take much convincing. Having said that I had a little, ‘I’m such a sooky-la-la’ cry.

The bus took me & Cristina (who also didn’t go for her own reasons) directly up to the Hydroelectric Plant at 1,870m where we had the last lunch with our awesome staff & the rest of our group. The arrieros, horses and donkey herders all made their way back to Soraypampa, where we started. And then we caught the super luxe train to Aguas Calientes at 2,000m.

We checked into our hostel, had a much needed warm shower and ‘glammed up’ for dinner. We had some free time to have a poke around, and we all met up later for a few pre-dinner Pisco Sours.

Dinner tipped me over the edge and I wasn’t alone in opting for another early night (and that’s coming from someone who didn’t even walk that day).

Next morning we were up for the first bus at 4am. We were all used to the silly early morning starts now, so it wasn’t that big a deal. Besides we were all super excited. After all, this was what we had come so far to see.

Walking in through the gates of this 15th century Incan site and seeing Machu Picchu open up in front of us was a moment I will never forget. Sitting in between mountains of extraordinary beauty, smack bang in the middle of a tropical mountain forest is this remarkable city.

The place is bloody huge – it spans some 5km2. And is arguably the most un-touched Incan site in the world. There is no sign of the Conquistadors ever having visited the remote city.

The place is thought to have been a sanctuary inhabited by high priests and the ‘Virgins of the Sun’ (chosen women). Excavations revealed that of the 135 skeletons found, 109 were women.

There are some places that when you finally clasp eyes on them, literally make you want to weep. You just can’t believe you’re there, you know…

Victor took us on a really passionate interesting tour. I like that he focused on the Incan significance of various parts of the site.

My ears perked up when he started talking about one of the more important structures – the Room with Three Windows.

I have a little bit of a crush on the number 3. I regularly look at the time when it happens to be 3.33. I like to exaggerate in lots of 3s. (There were 3 million people at the festival!) My birthdate is divisible by 3. I Googled it once. And it has a lot of significance in a lot of different cultures. Generally speaking though, it’s seen to represent balance. Think of your average bar stool, for instance.

So I was interested (but not all that surprised) to learn the number 3 was also significant to the Incans. The ‘chakana’ was a 3-stepped symmetrical cross. They strived to live their lives according to three principals (love, knowledge and work); three commandments (don’t steal, don’t lie, and don’t be lazy); and three types of work (for others, for the State, and for the Gods).

The three worlds that the Incans believed in were the Uqhu Pacha – which represented the underworld and death, the Kay Pacha – which represented the world of humans, and the Hanan Pacha – which represented the stars, celestial beings and gods

There were three revered animals: The snake, living underground, representing the lower world; the puma, a powerful land animal represented the middle world; and the condor which represented the upper world in the skies.

After the tour, Shell and I went up with Cristina and Gabby for the optional climb of Huayna Picchu.

Huayna Picchu is actually the mountain that you see in all those ‘hero shots’, the one you see in postcards, accompany travel articles etc. The mountain Machu Picchu is actually what you see when you’re standing on Huayna Picchu.

Everyone I had met on my travels, who had been, had told me climbing Huayna Picchu was a ‘must-do’. And they were right. It was just a very steep climb with a lot of unsure stairs, and it took me a good while.

We were exceptionally fortunate to have a really clear day. The views from there were nothing short of spectacular. And it was there you really got the best sense of the sheer scale of the site.

I could describe the site in painstaking detail, I could regurgitate lots of interesting facts & figures, I could re-tell some of the stories I’ve heard until the llamas come home. But for me –it comes down to this:

This is a place you’ve been seeing images of all your life and it somehow strangely feels familiar. This is a place that has seen countless sunrises & sunsets. And will continue to do so long after you’re on the bus back home. This is a place which has held so much meaning for so many generations of people – from the original landowners who conducted spiritual rituals here, to global visitors who come to meditate during the Solstices. This is a place which was built by an incredibly intelligent race of people who we have a lot to learn from. This is a place which you can’t really know, until you go. So if it’s not on your Bucket List, I’d suggest your list needs revising.

To write this post, I referred to the SAS Travel website (we trekked with these guys & they were great). The section about the significance of 3s to the Incans was lifted (and re-worked) from a 3rd party website.

River deep, mountain high

Shell & I moved across town to a hostel in Miraflores & went out for a walk in the afternoon, essentially to book a flight for the next day & get all important supplies: wine & cheese. We had a lovely afternoon catching up on the events of the past year.

Isn’t it funny how with some friends, it always feels like it was only yesterday since you saw them last. I love Shell to pieces. We became friends in our last year of uni, so we’ve been friends for more than 20 years now. She’s smart & sassy and super interesting. And she makes me giggle my arse off like a little school kid.

I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather be doing my first multi-day hike with. She’s a total outdoorsy type and has done lots of this sort of thing before. She’s the sort of person who has technical socks in her wardrobe.

And (for the most part) she knows exactly how to manage me with the right balance of genuine encouragement (for those moments when I’m unsure of myself) & gentle mocking (for those moments when I just need a good kick up the arse). I was confident she’d be able to help drag my sorry butt up & down all those big ass hills.

After we knocked off all the wine & cheese – we went out to a hipster Japanese brasserie & celebrated our friendship, our trip, our everything with some very tasty morsels of ceviche, sashimi and the first of many Pisco Sours.

On Thursday, we caught a plane to Cuzco and went to find the Walkon Inn. The LP described it as ‘a short puff up the hill’. At an altitude of 3,400m, it was much more of a big puff up the hill, I’ll tell you that for nothing.

Cuzco was Just. Gorgeous.

It reminded me a lot of Antigua, Guatemala. The big open plaza (which incidentally was the scene of the death of the original Tupac) with its pretty little trees and old wooden benches made way for amorous kissing couples, eager ‘art students’ selling Cuzco School imitations, or people like me having broken conversations with wrinkly old men in faded 3-piece suits.

The grand old cathedral and the beautiful Church of La Compañía corner the square. Touristy tiendas, outdoors equipment stores, and balconied bars take care of the rest.  Big old wonky cobblestone streets spider off in all directions, making Cuzco an absolute delight to just get lost in.

We spent a bit of time sorting out our Salkantay Trek to Machu Picchu. Neither of us knew we needed to make reservations to be one of the 400 they let up daily to Huayna Picchu, which threw a little spanner in the planning. But by the end of the next day, we had booked in a tour for the following week.

We spent a bit of time getting to know Cuzco a bit better. Shell  went & saw some of the churches. I just kinda wandered about, spent some time in a cafe, and practiced Spanish on any locals who would afford me the time of day.

Shell took us on a self-guided walking tour of the city & we had a great morning of haggling in the markets for all sorts of mismatching colourful things. (“It goes with your outfit!”) She entertained gorgeous Peruvian kids (who are right up there with Guatemalan kids in terms of Steal Factor) with a wind-up backflipping kangaroo. And we had a cheapo market lunch washed down with our first Inca Kola (tastes just like creaming soda). Soooo good.

We had a few days to kill before our trek so we decided to make our way down to Lake Titicaca – the biggest in all of South America.

On Saturday – we took a very fancy tourist bus down to Puno. It stopped along the way at some historically significant sites: Andahuaylilllas, Raqchi and the Pukara Museum. I’m not sure if I’ve just been travelling too long now but truth be told, I was a little bored.

I think I’m just less into seeing sites and more into having human exchanges. My all-time favourite moments over the last year have been having laughs with locals. Learning a bit about their lives first-hand. Buying something directly off an artisan I’ve shared a box of goon with. Being part of family celebrations. Seeing how someone cooks. Having kids correct my Spanish. Impromptu salsa lessons with Latino men.

Having said that – the tour wasn’t entirely awful. I think I was still a bit tired – one of my personal manifestations of attitude sickness.

That and a loss of appetite. Much to both mine & Michelle’s dismay. It was such a disappointment as we had some truly beautiful meals. We also met some truly lovely people.  People who would quite literally cross the road to ask if they could help you.

I had met a few travellers in the past year who had told me that Peru wasn’t all that terrific for food and Peruvians weren’t all that friendly. I really don’t know what Peru they visited because I had a completely different experience.

We got to Puno and I made a phone call to the boss-lady of a family who ran an unusual home-stay, that Shell had read about.

Uros is a group of 50 or so man-made islands constructed of Totora reeds – each one populated with 3 to 5 families. The original inhabitants of the area (who speak Aymara, Quechua and Spanish) built the islands as an escape mechanism from the Conquistadors.

Cristina told me she’d send her son to come collect us from the bus terminal. Shell & I had picked up a lovely young lad from NYC by the name of Jeff & he decided to come along for the ride. We didn’t really know what we getting ourselves into, so it was a bit of blind faith on his part. Turns out, he made the right decision.

Khantati island was one of the highlights of my whole year. It was a bit pricey for a night’s accomm & 3 meals for 165 sols (USD$60). When you can get a room for $7 and a meal for $3 soles. But it was one of those experiences you end up calling ‘priceless’.

The sun had set by the time we got to the water’s edge for our slow motor boat ride to the family’s home. Landing on the island, my feet sank squishily into the reed ground. It was like walking on a foam mattress.

We were greeted by Cristina, who was all decked out in traditional clothing – she was wearing a brown bowler hat which covered her waist-length braids which had pom-poms tied to the bottom of them. She was also wearing a brightly coloured bolero style jacket and a big big skirt with lots of pleats around her generous waistline which made it look, well, even more generous. She was also wearing a massively cheeky grin.

She introduced us to some of her other family members & then showed us our rooms. They were so coooote! Two beds sighing under the weight of masses of brightly coloured blankets.

Not long after, we were sitting on the dining room floor wrapped up in those same brightly coloured blankets, warming ourselves with cocoa leaf tea, waiting for our dinner. The whole meal was divine but the soup was amazing. Soups are a bit of a specialty of Peruvians. Note to self: Must procure a Peruvian cookbook when I get home.

It was freezing cold & there wasn’t much (in fact absolutely nothing) to do on the island, so after a sweet lil exchange of songs with some of Cristina’s family members (get this: they knew Waltzing Matilda!) – we got an early night.

The next morning, the son took us out on a ‘fishing’ trip of sorts. More of a lazy boat ride in a reed canoe in the morning sun with a bit of net chucking. Total catch equated to two tiny fish that were going to be cooked up for the cat. It was a nice way to pass the time.

When we got back he gave us a history lesson on the area & the people. I was surprised to learn that the Uros pre-date the Incans. They had once been on the verge of disappearance but are now thriving on tourism and the sales of their textiles.

I was also interested to learn how they more or less knit these islands together by hand. The islands decompose from the bottom up and so the Uros keep adding layer upon layer. Family disputes are apparently resolved by chopping the island in half and the two parties going their separate ways! That’s one way to do it, I suppose.

After lunch, Shell & i said goodbye to Jeff and made our way to the peninsula of Llachon. It wasn’t far but on the way, I was really struck by how geographically diverse Peru was. It really is a very striking country.

After a knees-up-around-your-ears kind of bus ride, we ambled around the lil village knocking on doors to see if anyone knew of anywhere we could stay the night.

Word must have gotten around – as before you knew it we were being led by a little girl and her younger sister down a dirt road to their father’s house.

The views of the Lake from Magno’s home were in a word – spectacular. We were shown to a tiny little guesthouse with a cold shower (brrr!) bathroom, where we dumped our bags and did a little ‘We’re in Peruuuuuu!’ dance.

Within moments we were surrounded by the Quechua couple’s tribe of gorgeous lil kids & their cousins – with their tassle-eared beanies, rosy cheeks and snotty noses. They wanted to play volleyball with Shell (apparently the national women’s team is a force to be reckoned with) and play horseys on me. I get all the good jobs.

We had a couple of long necks and watched the sun go down. Later we were treated to yet another beautiful meal (again with the amazing soups!) and had yet another early night.

Next morning we went for a walk up to the mirador – the highest point on the peninsula to get a better idea of the sheer scale of the lake. It’s so big, you could be forgiven for thinking you’re looking out at the ocean.

The next day we sadly farewelled the lovely family & caught the long bus back to Cuzco which took forever. We got in late that night.

The day after, we got organised for our trip and in the afternoon we visited Sacsayhuamán (pronounced more or less, Sexy Woman) – which is the former capital of the Incan empire.

“The stones used in the construction of these terraces are among the largest used in any building in pre-hispanic America and display a precision of fitting that is unmatched in the Americas. The stones are so closely spaced that a single piece of paper will not fit between many of the stones.”

The largest limestone block is estimated to be anywhere from 128 tonnes – 200 tonnes in weight. Freaking heavy in other words.  It’s quite mind boggling when you start thinking about how these people built such a place without the technologies of today.

It certainly got Shell & I a tad excited about what was to come at Machu Picchu. At 7pm, we had our briefing for the trek which was *interesting* to say the least.

And afterwards we met up with another Michel (you can never have too many) for drinks & dinner.  We had met the charming silver-haired surfer at breakfast and bumped into him again up at the ruins. We invited him to join us for dinner.

We were all keen to try Cuy – a Peruvian specialty. Cuy is actually guinea pig & they serve those little buggers whole. It’s most disconcerting to see their little faces and feet.  When you can get past that – they’re actually very tasty. Just don’t tell the kids.

We had another drink after dinner before heading back to the hostel to finish packing for our trek. It was a stupid early start the next day, so we were keen to get at least a few hours of shut-eye beforehand.

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PS: Am home now but have a few more posts to publish before I wrap this baby up.

Hammer time!

In retrospect, I feel like I didn’t give Ecuador enough time. It’s such a geographically diverse country for its size. There were so many places I didn’t get to.

And I could have stayed longer if I wanted to. I turned down a ‘job’ offer teaching English on the Galapagos Islands. Essentially volunteering in exchange for accommodation & a bit of lunch money. I would have had to get a 2nd job to make ends meet, let alone make the most of everything the Islands had to offer.

I’m not 100% sure why I didn’t take it. But put it this way: I was focusing more on the reasons why it wasn’t a good idea rather than the reasons why it was. So I went with my intuition. I’m sure the reasons will reveal themselves in time.

So, exactly 12 months after leaving Aus, I booked my flight home. I admit to having troubles hitting the ‘Confirmation’ button. There was such a big part of me that felt like I wasn’t done. So much more to see. Peru, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Argentina. But it felt like time. I was missing my mama’s cooking, my friends, babies I haven’t met yet, and our beautiful beaches. And besides, I needed to get a job, pull some more savings together and try & be a proper grown up. Enough of this gallivanting around the world with just a backpack to my name & no real plans to speak of.

It was Mother’s Day back home, so I called Ma to let her know. She burst out into tears, she was so happy. Bless.

There was one more thing I had to do before I felt I could leave the Galapagos. I had been chasing hammerheads since Nicaragua in November. The only issue was the next available dive was on Sunday. Same day as my flight out to Guayaquil. Everyone reassured me that getting on another flight on Monday wouldn’t be a problem.

I decided to go on the dive. I had to see these dang sharks. I’ve racked up 44 dives in the past 12 months. This was a pretty hectic dive. For starters, the water was cold. Maybe 18 degrees at depth. We were fitted with 7m wetties which make you feel like the Michelin Man. There was a lot of surge. And the visibility in some places wasn’t all that great.

We came up from the first dive. No hammerheads. And of course the other group came up chattering excitedly like schoolkids. I couldn’t help but be quietly petulant. We had seen some amazing things on our 1st dive. But it wasn’t what I had come here for. I looked down at my wrist: “Gratitud”. Mmmm.

We went down for our 2nd immersion and then my DM started pointing his fist very deliberately. I scanned the deep blue waters & saw what looked like pretty much your run-of-the-mill shark. But then I saw his head. I could not believe my fucking eyes. Shaped just like a big flattened hammer (I’m gunna say his head was close to a metre in width) and with big bulbous eyes on the ends! What a peculiar looking beast. I was spellbound. Then into my peripheral vision swam two more. I looked up and around and saw we were floating in amongst a school of maybe 12 of them. Unlike most sharks, hammerheads usually swim in schools during the day, and become solitary hunters at night.

Up there with one of the most amazing dive moments of my life. I came up from that dive happy as Veruca Salt when she thinks she’s going to get her golden egg-laying geese.

The “next day, ‘nother flight, no worries” actually turned out to be quite the opposite. The only flight with my carrier on Monday was full, and so I had to wait another day. This meant I would be really pushing it to meet my dear old friend Michelle in Peru on time. Shell was coming over from Aus so we could do Machu Pichuu together.

Flights from Guayaquil to Lima were nearly $500 one way, so that was out of the question. I spent a bit of time hunting around & found a cheap flight from a little town just south of the border. I could catch a bus to there and be in Lima on Wednesday morning. Michelle could get a good night’s sleep from her long haul over & we could get on with it.

Well, 4 buses, 2 planes, 2 taxis, 1 boat, 1 tuk-tuk, 1 lost Kindle (GUTTED), 1 scary motherfucker wearing army fatigues, a balaclava & waving a machine gun around, plus another night-time border crossing but this time UTTERLY on my own –

And 26 hours later I was having a good old giggle with one of my besties in the foyer of her fancy hotel in Lima.

Hello Peruuuuu!