Our 7 hour bus ride started in Cusco at 8:00 Thursday morning and arrived in Puno at 6:00 in the evening. Driving through the sierra, the countryside between the two cities, reminded me of driving in Alberta; except when I saw those flamingoes bathing ponds in the fields. A apron-clad lady on the bus sold papas rellenas. Papa rellena is mashed potato filled with chicken, vegetables and egg and then baked. Best served on a long and bumpy bus ride to Puno hot out of a basket with fresh salsa. The delay started in Juliaca. At this point we were still on the main highway. The bus stopped, as it had a few times before, only this time we sat in the baking sun for an hour. When I looked out the window I saw a line of buses and cars about a kilometre long stopped ahead of us. Local vendors, always ready to make a sale, were taking advantage of the traffic jam by hawking all kinds of food to the people on the buses... the most tempting being the ice cream. No sooner had I agreed to go buy a banana for my friend Jen than I was informed we were moving. Moving meant turning onto a rutted side street and into the town/hideous wasteland of Juliaca which we proceeded to drive around for two hours. At one point we stopped at the bus terminal and some of us got off to buy water. When we went back to the bus not five minutes later it was gone. No longer parked at the terminal where we had left it. Crap. We had to run through the terminal to the road on the other side and wave it down, which we would NOT have known to do unless a man who had seen our bus leave showed us the way! I was very thankful not to have to spend more time in Juliaca than was absolutely necessary. Back on the bus, we eventually made it to the main highway, which was covered in stones and broken glass, some kind of protest blockade. Soon we turned off the highway again and into a potato field. At first I thought we were driving directly through the crops, but there was, in fact, a narrow dirt road running through. Marla, Heather, Vicky and I amused ourselves by telling jokes... some bad, some good and most including references to Janek, our volunteer coordinator, and his Manchester accent. We stopped to dismantle a small stone wall constructed across the road. After that it was smooth sailing, except for the part where the bus had to weave around more stones and glass, the ticket checking guy getting out to move the most unavoidable pieces. Smooth sailing into Puno, on the shores of the highest navigable lake in the world, Titicaca. Or as I have heard it called, "Booby-Poopy". Not my words.
Love,
Julia
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Princess Jasmine goes camping.
I woke up to a knock on my door rather than my alarm clock. It was 7:30 a.m., an hour and a quarter after my intended meeting time with Marla and our guide from rock-climbing, Chalex. So much for the showering off last nights dancing sweat...
Our weekly volunteer costume party is at the Aldea Yanapay restaurant on Friday nights. The theme this week was "Disney". A Princess Jasmine costume easy to pull off, thanks to my partiality to a certain turquoise colour and arabian-style pants. The only things I bought were a couple of scrunchies and a golden bangle, which cost me four soles and fifty centimos ($1.60). I figured no one would recognize Jasmine without her hair so I put my leggings on my head and put the scrunchies on the legs to create her signature voluminous ponytail. After our dinner we played some drinking games, like passing an orange from person to person with your neck ("Nice to meet you too, random german girls breasts!") and musical dance partners where the odd one out had to dance with a broom. Fortunately for me my team kept winning (or losing, depending how you look at it), so I didn´t have to choke down any Ron Cartavo. Later we had a limbo competition, which Marla and I tied for the win. We finished the night dancing at IncaTeam... our costumes (especially mine and Heather´s homemade garbage-bag-and-tape Cinderella dress) drew a few looks. One guy asked where I was from and the way he said it made me think he meant what planet, rather than what country... Marla and I left around 1:30.
Fast forward to 8 am the next morning and I am in a spendy hotel near our bus stop, using my best spanish "pretty please" to convince the concierge to let us use the bathroom before our 4 hour ride; when you sleep through your alarm for the first time ever you neglect important parts of your morning routine. "Us" was Marla, me and a Texan we had just met that morning named Chandler. I feel privileged to have met some named that in real life. The bus ride was sleepy and slightly queasy. A baby bundled in colourful cloth on his mothers back held on to my finger part of the way. We got off the bus and into a taxi in Tinqui. The driver took a regular station wagon up winding, rocky roads that I would never attempt in anything but a quad... or maybe a horse. The land was crisscrossed by dozens of mortar-less stone walls (some topped with cacti) containing cows, alpacas and potato crops... dividing the rural area into each family property. We climbed and climbed, further and further from the highway and into the middle of nowhere. We got out of the taxi near the barely-there village of Packchanta, ditching our big bundles of gear at the roadside for the horses and walking the rest of the way to our campsite. At the campsite a stone-scattered valley spread out before us across the swollen Packchanta river. Not a tree in sight, it was as though God had taken a mountain and thrown it to earth, smashing it to pieces of every imaginable size. At the end of the valley loomed snowy Ausangate, impressive even mostly veiled by clouds. Our campsite seemed to exist in some parallel universe, though the village was just behind us, hidden behind the ridge; far from anything but the perfect, lone, white-washed, mud-brick-and-thatch house perched on the hillside to our right. Bouldering and exploring, then a steaming bowl of soup in the Party Tent (as we called our orange, circus-like kitchen tent). We went back out to boulder, but I was too cold for climbing so I started building an Inukshuk nearby. A local woman came by, traditional dress and all, came by to sell me her handicrafts. Luckily for me I hadn´t brought any money. She sat with me for a few minutes anyways, babbling away in Quechua, even though I clearly had no idea what she was saying. Her teenaged daughter came and sat with me when she left, helping me choose stones for my Inukshuk and laughing with me when it fell over.
In the tent I shared with Marla I changed into my bikini as fast as I could manage then bundled back up into every layer I had brought (plus the down coat Chalex had brought) to ward off the bitter cold of the Andes at night. Fifteen minutes walk to the village later we were stepping into the perfectly warm water of the Packchanta hot springs. It was pretty surreal to sit in deserted outdoor hot pool in the Andes in the dark. I also appreciated the dark because it camouflaged the murkiness of the water. These hot springs were no luxury spa, that´s for sure. The pools were just a pair of rectangular concrete basins (a little slimy in places), the latrine was locked and the change room was a creepy, graffitied concrete box with a dirt floor which I came to refer to as the "Sketchy Shed". But oh how the water warmed you through... and kept you warm until bedtime, which came after the most delicious bowl of spaghetti I have ever eaten. One of the guides with us, Alfredo, was principally there to cook; and cook he did. We ate about five (delicious) meals a day; breakfast, first lunch, second lunch, soup and supper. Camping was not like the camping I have done at home; little annoyances like washing the dishes were non-existent, the food was always ready when we were and because we didn´t have to carry our gear far I could afford to have two sleeping bags.
Thanks to two down sleeping bags I woke up at 6:30 feeling refreshed and ready for a day of hiking.
Six hours went by like lightning. How can I describe the hike? Surreal. Our trail wound past creeks farms and valleys, turquoise lakes and herds of alpacas. The local people tended to their livestock; shearing and herding, all in traditonal dress. The men wore wide-brimmed felt hats adorned with bright, woven bands. The women´s voluminous skirts swayed as they walked after their alpacas with nothing but crude leather sandals on their feet. Their hats were platter-like circles perched on their heads, secured by strands of white seed beads and covered in colourful embroidery with yellow, red or pink fabric hanging over the edges like a tableclothes. Each lonesome adobe house was a little more remote than you had thought possible before, snuggled into the base of imposing mountains. As we struggled up hill after hill it became obvious that we were at even higher altitude then Cusco. Each twist and turn afforded incredible new vistas; a glacier here a soaring rock face there... We arrived at the base of Ausangate (summit 6384 m), for our picnic lunch of sandwiches, apples and cookies (that would be lunch number one). Clouds twining around the rocky peaks of Ausangate and it´s nearly-as-impressive neighbours lent a mystical impression to the landscape. We sat there staring for a while, layering up again after hiking in powerful sunshine for part of the three hours we had been on the trail. We had to set off again without seeing the full summit, unfortunately. I was filled with energy after our meal and rest and was happy to bound along the now downhill trail when I fell behind taking photos. We crossed a spongy meadow where tiny white flowers punctuated the emerald green grass between deep, serpentine creeks, leaping across the water where we had to. Hawks, viscachas and vicuñas all made their appearances as we went by, the natural inhabitants of the landscape. Rain, sun and wind all fought for supremacy but it was the sun who was winning as we finished the hike and found the perfect spot for a nap. It turned out to be the perfect spot to view Ausangate completely for the first time. I was in awe. A local man stopped by to give Chalex a gift of a whole roasted cuy (guinea pig) and some potatoes in a plastic container. Dinner was good, but it wasn´t cuy. I would rather try it when it is fresh and has been beheaded. After hot-springing it with Marla it was time to get my poi out for the first time this trip and put on a bit of a show beneath the murky multitude of stars.
The next morning we had the most delicious breakfast; homemade hot chocolate, bread rolls with butter and cold chewy, perfectly seasoned alpaca meat (another gift). Mario, our local contact, sat tightening yarn as we ate, waiting to pack up the camp and load the horses for our departure. Marla and I started our return walking as Chalex waited for the gear and the car to load it in. As we passed children in the road we would wish them "Buenos dias." and they would just stare at us and giggle, turning over their shoulders to look as we walked on. I know that because I was turning over my shoulder too. But these were the friendliest most curious stares and it just felt right.
The bus ride back to Cusco, despite amazing views ("So that´s when we gained all that altitude!"), was not the most pleasant experience. Stench, wailing music and inconsiderate behind-seat neighbour. We got back to Señora Haydee´s house twenty minutes before school started. So much for showering off all that camping filth.
With love from,
Julia
Our weekly volunteer costume party is at the Aldea Yanapay restaurant on Friday nights. The theme this week was "Disney". A Princess Jasmine costume easy to pull off, thanks to my partiality to a certain turquoise colour and arabian-style pants. The only things I bought were a couple of scrunchies and a golden bangle, which cost me four soles and fifty centimos ($1.60). I figured no one would recognize Jasmine without her hair so I put my leggings on my head and put the scrunchies on the legs to create her signature voluminous ponytail. After our dinner we played some drinking games, like passing an orange from person to person with your neck ("Nice to meet you too, random german girls breasts!") and musical dance partners where the odd one out had to dance with a broom. Fortunately for me my team kept winning (or losing, depending how you look at it), so I didn´t have to choke down any Ron Cartavo. Later we had a limbo competition, which Marla and I tied for the win. We finished the night dancing at IncaTeam... our costumes (especially mine and Heather´s homemade garbage-bag-and-tape Cinderella dress) drew a few looks. One guy asked where I was from and the way he said it made me think he meant what planet, rather than what country... Marla and I left around 1:30.
Fast forward to 8 am the next morning and I am in a spendy hotel near our bus stop, using my best spanish "pretty please" to convince the concierge to let us use the bathroom before our 4 hour ride; when you sleep through your alarm for the first time ever you neglect important parts of your morning routine. "Us" was Marla, me and a Texan we had just met that morning named Chandler. I feel privileged to have met some named that in real life. The bus ride was sleepy and slightly queasy. A baby bundled in colourful cloth on his mothers back held on to my finger part of the way. We got off the bus and into a taxi in Tinqui. The driver took a regular station wagon up winding, rocky roads that I would never attempt in anything but a quad... or maybe a horse. The land was crisscrossed by dozens of mortar-less stone walls (some topped with cacti) containing cows, alpacas and potato crops... dividing the rural area into each family property. We climbed and climbed, further and further from the highway and into the middle of nowhere. We got out of the taxi near the barely-there village of Packchanta, ditching our big bundles of gear at the roadside for the horses and walking the rest of the way to our campsite. At the campsite a stone-scattered valley spread out before us across the swollen Packchanta river. Not a tree in sight, it was as though God had taken a mountain and thrown it to earth, smashing it to pieces of every imaginable size. At the end of the valley loomed snowy Ausangate, impressive even mostly veiled by clouds. Our campsite seemed to exist in some parallel universe, though the village was just behind us, hidden behind the ridge; far from anything but the perfect, lone, white-washed, mud-brick-and-thatch house perched on the hillside to our right. Bouldering and exploring, then a steaming bowl of soup in the Party Tent (as we called our orange, circus-like kitchen tent). We went back out to boulder, but I was too cold for climbing so I started building an Inukshuk nearby. A local woman came by, traditional dress and all, came by to sell me her handicrafts. Luckily for me I hadn´t brought any money. She sat with me for a few minutes anyways, babbling away in Quechua, even though I clearly had no idea what she was saying. Her teenaged daughter came and sat with me when she left, helping me choose stones for my Inukshuk and laughing with me when it fell over.
In the tent I shared with Marla I changed into my bikini as fast as I could manage then bundled back up into every layer I had brought (plus the down coat Chalex had brought) to ward off the bitter cold of the Andes at night. Fifteen minutes walk to the village later we were stepping into the perfectly warm water of the Packchanta hot springs. It was pretty surreal to sit in deserted outdoor hot pool in the Andes in the dark. I also appreciated the dark because it camouflaged the murkiness of the water. These hot springs were no luxury spa, that´s for sure. The pools were just a pair of rectangular concrete basins (a little slimy in places), the latrine was locked and the change room was a creepy, graffitied concrete box with a dirt floor which I came to refer to as the "Sketchy Shed". But oh how the water warmed you through... and kept you warm until bedtime, which came after the most delicious bowl of spaghetti I have ever eaten. One of the guides with us, Alfredo, was principally there to cook; and cook he did. We ate about five (delicious) meals a day; breakfast, first lunch, second lunch, soup and supper. Camping was not like the camping I have done at home; little annoyances like washing the dishes were non-existent, the food was always ready when we were and because we didn´t have to carry our gear far I could afford to have two sleeping bags.
Thanks to two down sleeping bags I woke up at 6:30 feeling refreshed and ready for a day of hiking.
Six hours went by like lightning. How can I describe the hike? Surreal. Our trail wound past creeks farms and valleys, turquoise lakes and herds of alpacas. The local people tended to their livestock; shearing and herding, all in traditonal dress. The men wore wide-brimmed felt hats adorned with bright, woven bands. The women´s voluminous skirts swayed as they walked after their alpacas with nothing but crude leather sandals on their feet. Their hats were platter-like circles perched on their heads, secured by strands of white seed beads and covered in colourful embroidery with yellow, red or pink fabric hanging over the edges like a tableclothes. Each lonesome adobe house was a little more remote than you had thought possible before, snuggled into the base of imposing mountains. As we struggled up hill after hill it became obvious that we were at even higher altitude then Cusco. Each twist and turn afforded incredible new vistas; a glacier here a soaring rock face there... We arrived at the base of Ausangate (summit 6384 m), for our picnic lunch of sandwiches, apples and cookies (that would be lunch number one). Clouds twining around the rocky peaks of Ausangate and it´s nearly-as-impressive neighbours lent a mystical impression to the landscape. We sat there staring for a while, layering up again after hiking in powerful sunshine for part of the three hours we had been on the trail. We had to set off again without seeing the full summit, unfortunately. I was filled with energy after our meal and rest and was happy to bound along the now downhill trail when I fell behind taking photos. We crossed a spongy meadow where tiny white flowers punctuated the emerald green grass between deep, serpentine creeks, leaping across the water where we had to. Hawks, viscachas and vicuñas all made their appearances as we went by, the natural inhabitants of the landscape. Rain, sun and wind all fought for supremacy but it was the sun who was winning as we finished the hike and found the perfect spot for a nap. It turned out to be the perfect spot to view Ausangate completely for the first time. I was in awe. A local man stopped by to give Chalex a gift of a whole roasted cuy (guinea pig) and some potatoes in a plastic container. Dinner was good, but it wasn´t cuy. I would rather try it when it is fresh and has been beheaded. After hot-springing it with Marla it was time to get my poi out for the first time this trip and put on a bit of a show beneath the murky multitude of stars.
The next morning we had the most delicious breakfast; homemade hot chocolate, bread rolls with butter and cold chewy, perfectly seasoned alpaca meat (another gift). Mario, our local contact, sat tightening yarn as we ate, waiting to pack up the camp and load the horses for our departure. Marla and I started our return walking as Chalex waited for the gear and the car to load it in. As we passed children in the road we would wish them "Buenos dias." and they would just stare at us and giggle, turning over their shoulders to look as we walked on. I know that because I was turning over my shoulder too. But these were the friendliest most curious stares and it just felt right.
The bus ride back to Cusco, despite amazing views ("So that´s when we gained all that altitude!"), was not the most pleasant experience. Stench, wailing music and inconsiderate behind-seat neighbour. We got back to Señora Haydee´s house twenty minutes before school started. So much for showering off all that camping filth.
With love from,
Julia
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Yawar Mayu
I was relieved to get off the bus. It had been swaying through the Peruvian countryside for about an hour, making my breakfast feel a little less than secure. Relieved to get off the bus and into a taxi with a local campesina riding in the hatchback, voluminous skirt, fedora-esque hat and all. Our Peruvian Paso horses were waiting for us by the colonial church in the town of Maras. Waiting with them was an old man in a green felt hat with a crinkly smile. Our guide, Alvisu, introduced us to the horses; Inti (the sun god) and Tobias (I liked to call him Toby) were Victoria and Marla´s mounts. Mine was the beauty of the bunch; a rich bay with a handsome face named Yawar Mayu. Soon we were riding out of Maras, smiling and laughing at the thrill of riding horses... in Peru! To our right, farmland sloped down to plunge into a steep valley whose other side rose abruptly in rugged green peaks. Our path was a dirt track bordered by american agave; winding up and down, in and out of little canyons.Winding out of little canyons and into rolling, tree-less grassland. We waved to farmers, hunched over their crops, as we approached the ruins of Moray. A light, sunny rain was falling.
We dismounted and stared into the deep, amphitheater-like ruin. Built in a meteor crater, the Incas used Moray as an experimental agricultural centre. There is a difference of about a degree Celsius betwen each terrrace; the ones at the bottom once grew coca, which normally only grows in the jungle! The ruin is beautiful; such perfect circles ringed in green. Alvi stayed with the horses while the girls and I descended into the ruins down the steeper-than-they-looked-from-above Inca stairs. I introduced Kyla and Dylan to Marla and Victoria, which made them laugh... they loved the idea. Climbing back out from the very lowest terrace took a TON of energy. An old peruvian man told me to breathe through my nose, which I´m sure would have been very helpful if I wasn´t so congested and physically able to follow his advice. He thought I just didn´t understand Spanish.
We found Alvi and our noble steeds and bridled them back up (just the steeds, not Alvi) to head for our picnic spot. We lunched in the shade of a grove of trees next to an abandoned mud-brick house with a wide view of the valley. From Yawar Mayu´s saddlebags Alvi produced a salad of cooked cauliflower, carrots and beans, bread, cold chicken, yucca and chicha morada. All delicious, even the cauliflower.While we ate Alvi told us that the house belonged to his family and how he dreamed of turning it into a guest ranch. When I went around the front of the house to take some pictures the mountains ahead and to the left pulled me like a magnet. I walked and ran as far towards the "edge" as I thought I could without getting separated from my group. A local man with a cowboy hat on his head and a dog at his side was contemplating the view from a few hundred metres ahead of me. I snapped a few photos, took a deep breath and reluctantly returned to my friends.
Riding on, we quickly noticed the horses´ distinct personalities... Inti was deadset on following our guide horse (even when he tried to pull aside for a picture) and would cut everyone off to be second in line. Toby was pretty lethargic, yet he too wanted to walk ahead of the others. Yawar Mayu was the only one who didn´t mind bringing up the rear, but because Toby would walk so slowly we always ended up tailgating him massively. Consequentially, my left knee was nearly pooped on... twice. I would have rather ridden out front.
The rest of the day was a blur of hoofbeats, sunshine and countryside. People working in the fields would stop to stare at us or call out a "buenas tardes". And a buena tarde it was; drinking in the scenery (think green fields in the foreground and glacier draped mountains in the background), singing and laughing with my group and breathing in the fresh country air. How epic is it to ride through the peruvian highlands on a beautiful horse whose name means "Blood River" in Quechua? The Paso horses gait is famously smooth, but we had to work to keep them moving that way rather than bouncing us around like sacks of potatoes. 6 hours on a horse is a long time. By the time we rode into Chinchero I was getting almost unbearably sore and cold. The most comfortable and (to me) natural parts of the ride were the brief minutes we sped up to a canter along the more level stretches of red earth road. By the end of the day I was more relieved to get off the horse than I had been to get off the bus. All of us, Alvi included, were completely knackered and dozed the whole (freezing cold) taxi ride back into Cusco. I came home from my day of riding feeling like I´d been run over by a bus. Sore muscles? Check. Bruises? Check. Sunburn? Check. Nasty cold? Check.
It´s not a day well spent unless you have battle wounds, right?
Con amor,
Julia
We dismounted and stared into the deep, amphitheater-like ruin. Built in a meteor crater, the Incas used Moray as an experimental agricultural centre. There is a difference of about a degree Celsius betwen each terrrace; the ones at the bottom once grew coca, which normally only grows in the jungle! The ruin is beautiful; such perfect circles ringed in green. Alvi stayed with the horses while the girls and I descended into the ruins down the steeper-than-they-looked-from-above Inca stairs. I introduced Kyla and Dylan to Marla and Victoria, which made them laugh... they loved the idea. Climbing back out from the very lowest terrace took a TON of energy. An old peruvian man told me to breathe through my nose, which I´m sure would have been very helpful if I wasn´t so congested and physically able to follow his advice. He thought I just didn´t understand Spanish.
We found Alvi and our noble steeds and bridled them back up (just the steeds, not Alvi) to head for our picnic spot. We lunched in the shade of a grove of trees next to an abandoned mud-brick house with a wide view of the valley. From Yawar Mayu´s saddlebags Alvi produced a salad of cooked cauliflower, carrots and beans, bread, cold chicken, yucca and chicha morada. All delicious, even the cauliflower.While we ate Alvi told us that the house belonged to his family and how he dreamed of turning it into a guest ranch. When I went around the front of the house to take some pictures the mountains ahead and to the left pulled me like a magnet. I walked and ran as far towards the "edge" as I thought I could without getting separated from my group. A local man with a cowboy hat on his head and a dog at his side was contemplating the view from a few hundred metres ahead of me. I snapped a few photos, took a deep breath and reluctantly returned to my friends.
Riding on, we quickly noticed the horses´ distinct personalities... Inti was deadset on following our guide horse (even when he tried to pull aside for a picture) and would cut everyone off to be second in line. Toby was pretty lethargic, yet he too wanted to walk ahead of the others. Yawar Mayu was the only one who didn´t mind bringing up the rear, but because Toby would walk so slowly we always ended up tailgating him massively. Consequentially, my left knee was nearly pooped on... twice. I would have rather ridden out front.
The rest of the day was a blur of hoofbeats, sunshine and countryside. People working in the fields would stop to stare at us or call out a "buenas tardes". And a buena tarde it was; drinking in the scenery (think green fields in the foreground and glacier draped mountains in the background), singing and laughing with my group and breathing in the fresh country air. How epic is it to ride through the peruvian highlands on a beautiful horse whose name means "Blood River" in Quechua? The Paso horses gait is famously smooth, but we had to work to keep them moving that way rather than bouncing us around like sacks of potatoes. 6 hours on a horse is a long time. By the time we rode into Chinchero I was getting almost unbearably sore and cold. The most comfortable and (to me) natural parts of the ride were the brief minutes we sped up to a canter along the more level stretches of red earth road. By the end of the day I was more relieved to get off the horse than I had been to get off the bus. All of us, Alvi included, were completely knackered and dozed the whole (freezing cold) taxi ride back into Cusco. I came home from my day of riding feeling like I´d been run over by a bus. Sore muscles? Check. Bruises? Check. Sunburn? Check. Nasty cold? Check.
It´s not a day well spent unless you have battle wounds, right?
Con amor,
Julia
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