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By Al, on December 12th, 2009
It was about 5am when the drugs kicked in. “The problem is…”, he said pausing theatrically for breath, “…is you two are just too lovely!” The formalities out of the way, he danced off to hail a passing taxi on the Plaza de Armas clapping all the while to a tune only he could hear. This guy had clearly spent a long night with South America’s most famous export.
He could best be described as a young Austin Powers, complete with Cockney accent, wearing a huge woolly helmet. It was an interesting and surreal introduction to Cusco.
Our plan was to spend three days acclimatising and exploring Cusco before our Inka Trail trek began. We managed to start our preparations off on the worst possible foot by having a bottle of wine while watching an obscure German movie in a pub about a man who wants to bring opera to the Peruvian jungle.
We fully intended to head back to the hostel for an early night when we happened upon “The World’s Highest Irish Owned Pub” and it seemed wrong at some fundamental level to just walk on past…
Any manual dealing with altitude sickness will carry dire warnings about drinking any alcohol when at altitude, something we were well aware of and yet still roundly ignored to our cost. Never, never again.
The world’s most expensive Guinness at the world’s highest Irish owned pub
Dee poses with locals and lambs
Al and his guinea pig or “Cuy” as they call it in Peru
The Inca Trail
Three days later we had pulled off a miraculous recovery when we hopped into a van in the early hours of the morning for the drive out towards “Kilometer 82″, the start of the Inka Trail.
It quickly became apparent that Al should have read the small print when he booked the Inka Trail online. For example, our guide Hugo seemed to be exclusively assigned to us while the twelve other people in the group were sharing a single guide between them.
We were seperated from the others at first which wasn’t exactly helping us integrate with the rest of the group. The situation was not entirely helped by Hugo referring to us loudly as “My King and Queen” at every opportunity.
A quiet word in Hugo’s ear at our first break resolved the issue – we agreed that we should join the big group and share the guides around. We thought everything was sorted out and started to chat to the others until Hugo popped his head inside our lunch tent to call Al outside.
Our porter was standing beside our backpack looking pretty disturbed – things did not look good. The porter explained through our guide that something bad was inside our bag and he couldn’t carry it. We all turned and stared balefully at the offending piece of luggage.
Al rather fearfully opened up the bag to try discover what “bad thing” was causing the issue… The porter took an involuntary step backwards as the wash bag was pulled out into the open emitting a low moaning sound. Guffaws exploded from both guide and porter as Al pulled out Dee’s electric toothbrush and switched it off.
Explaining the cause of the hilarity outside to the rest of the group turned into a fantastic icebreaker and we were now a single unified group.
Al and our guide Hugo at the start of the trail
The start of the Inca Trail – Kilometer 82
Old Quechuan lady drinking her brew of alcoholic Chicha
The scenery unfolding before us was simply majestic. Rolling hills and mountains flowing into green valleys with orchids dotting the trail made the first day of easy trekking a delight. We were well aware that the next day we would be facing our sternest test on the trek – “Dead Woman’s Pass”. At a shade over 4200m above sea level it would be a new altitude record for both of us, and was touted as a pretty hard day of trekking.
With this in mind we turned in for the night – there really isn’t much to do after 8pm when the sun goes down and the light disappears…
Incan terraced ruins
Snow capped peak towering above our campsite on the first night
Beer o’clock on day one
Dead Woman’s Pass
Setting out early on day two we tried to prepare ourselves mentally for the whole day of uphill climbing. Dead Woman’s Pass is named for it’s shape and as the mountains hove into view we could see our destination – her neck forming the pass between the imposing chin and breast.
Our guides had advised that we would be breaking the ascent into three segments of roughly two hours each, and that the second segment was the hardest. The guides are notorious liars as we’ve discovered in South America – the final segment was a killer. The cobbled Inca trail turned into knee breaking steps for the last two hours of ascent, although this didn’t seem to bother Dee who was in fine mountain goat form.
Al on the other hand was starting to take strain as altitude and a bullish dash up the trail five hours earlier started to take their toll… Dee gallantly waited for the slow coach to catch up and only sped on ahead when we were within a stone’s throw of the top.
The view from the top was worth every aching step up the final stretch – as was the sense of accomplishment.
Dee sitting smugly at the top of Dead Woman’s Pass
Al two steps from the top of Dead Woman’s Pass
Team Houston punching the rather thin air at 4215m on Dead Woman’s Pass
The little walk…
Dee, apparently not satisfied with crushing the pass decided that we’d be taking a little stroll to the top of the next pass while everyone else in the group lay in their tents recuperating.
Our walk gave us the opportunity to have the trail all to ourselves, and almost immediately we started to see the animals that melted away into the bush when all the trekkers were using the trail. Climbing up towards the next pass we spotted some Andean Deer and coming back down we came face to face with a very large and surprised fox. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he magically ghosted away into the mist.
Dee stops for a quick photo break on some ancient Inca stairs
We took a walk on day two while everyone lay far below in the campsite, crushed by the day’s trek.
With our new Irish friends way above the clouds
Nearly there
The third day lived up to it’s reputation as the most beautiful on the trek with ruins, valleys and andean mist forests. We were aware that the camp site at the end of the day held the two holy grails of the trek: hot showers and cold beer for weary walkers.
The highlight of the day was coming out of the forest to see huge Incan terraces overlooking the majestic Ollantaytambo valley. They also provided the laugh of the day as one of our new Irish friends had to crab down the steep stairs as his mates fell over laughing at the bottom.
Goofing around in the ancient and very sacred Inca ruins
Dee towering over the Incan terraces
Pretty steep steps apparently require special precautions while descending
Machu Picchu
At 04h15 we were all assembled and in line to enter the final stretch of trail to the “Sun Gate”, the pass overlooking Machu Picchu. Some people assumed that the trail etiquette could be thrown out of the window as they tried to shoulder through the groups who had queued patiently since the early hours of the morning.
Several blocking tactics were successfully deployed and we managed to be among the first to arrive at the Sun Gate, only to be greeted by a solid wall of grey mist… Machu Picchu was out there, we all knew it, we just couldn’t see it.
The mists did finally part for a few seconds to give us a tantalising glimpse of our destination for the day. Thankfully the sun burned through the mists fairly quickly and we arrived at the Incan Watchtower an hour later under a flawlessly blue sky – we had made it !
The mists at the Sun Gate clear enough to catch a tiny glimpse of Machu Picchu (it’s the lightish bit on the left hand side)
Yay – we made it !
The mists clear and we are greeted by Machu Picchu in all its considerable glory
Our tour of the ruins was a little more info than we strictly needed. Our guide would regularly punctuate his flow of information with “Chichos, preguntas hmmm ?” (Guys, questions ?), and we quickly learned that questions simply lead to even longer explanations so that shut us all up quite quickly.
The only disappointment was not climbing Huayna Picchu, the little mountain overlooking the ruins, but we were honestly just bone tired and dehydrated after not filling up our water supply in the rush of the morning. You can’t win them all.
Dee and Machu Picchu
Al and Suzy not exactly loving the tour guide so far. Preguntas Chicos ? I think not sir !
Al offers up Duckee to a somewhat malevolent llama
Group shot at the Sun Gate
Probably our best shot of Machu Picchu
Posing in front of the ruins for our new friends from Atlanta
Aguas Callientes
Another misunderstanding in our purchase of the trek online was that the five day tour we had purchased was simply the normal four day trek with a night in the nearby town of Aguas Callientes tagged onto the end. There is not a lot to do in Aguas Callientes…
We quickly discovered that the local wildlife could and would draw blood at regular intervals. We started out calling the midgies that seemed to be everywhere “little buggers”, but the blood sucking spawn of the devil soon received a far less flattering moniker that we cannot write here for fear of causing offence.
Our guide kindly organised an upgrade for our train journey back to Cusco – we would be travelling in a glass topped train to enjoy the view ! Which wasn’t very useful in the dark ! Oh well…
Our next stop is to head towards Puno on Lake Titicaca, more on that later.
Dee models the latest Peruvian fashion – the wooly helmet.
We called these “little buggers” although the blood sucking spawn of the devil got a far less complementary name later
What the hell is going on here ?! Duckee is ours but the rest defies rational explanation.
Duckee just can’t help trying on something in his size
Sad looking Quechuan woman is happy to pose with Duckee in Cusco
Dee posing with Bob
By Al, on November 29th, 2009
Colca Canyon
Our trip to the world’s second deepest canyon began at the rather unreasonable hour of 2am. Our tourist van raced through the night, negotiating the hairpin mountain bends with more optimisim than was strictly required. The words “blind corner” simply don’t feature in the Peruvian dictionary.
The reason for all the rush was so we could arrive on time to see condors flying from a viewsite in the canyon. For some reason known only the condors, they only fly once a day, for an hour starting at 07h50 on the dot.
When we arrived, shaken and slightly stirred, we found a massive condor perched cheekily on a boulder just below the viewsite. Cameras were trained on the condor as we all waited breathlessly for it to take flight. Lets just say that as a chick, this was probably the last condor out of the nest.
After fifteen minutes spent observing the flightless wonder through our camera viewfinders, we became aware of a few awestruck gasps and pointed fingers from the people around us. The condors had started to fly.
Shall I soar?… Nah! Might just sit here for a while longer.
All of a sudden the sky is filled with condors
Dude… Deep man
Our hike in the canyon was going to be a little lark down some path to see some condors and stuff (this is what we thought anyway). In reality, the path down into the canyon is over a kilometer straight down. Our decent was gruelling as the downhills really take their toll on the legs and joints.
Our hostel for the night was a delightfully out of the way affair, mostly due to the precipitously long hike to get there. Some hot springs at the river revived our tortured muscles, while later our host serenaded us on his guitar as we sipped our well earned beers overlooking the river.
Dee stops complaining about “the useless stick” around this point – they’re knee savers.
Our hostel owner serenades us with some latin guitar
View as we leave our hostel in the morning beneath another cornflower blue sky.
Our guide (Luis) assured us the next morning that the hike was “a little up, mostly flat then down again” to an oasis. He lied. It quickly became apparent that Luis did not own and has never seen a watch in all his days. “Fifteen more minutes to the top” turned into an hour of agonising switchbacks before we eventually stood over the next section of valley.
Much, much later as we made our final decent to the bottom of the canyon to the oasis we were thrown a curve ball of a 200 meter stretch of uphill that came pretty close to killing us. Dee threw herself to the ground near a spring close to tears and nearly unable to continue, for the first time in her young and innocent life considering the possibilty of throwing in the towel and taking a mule to the top of the canyon the next day (she did actually have a chest infection which never helps.)
Al is asked to express facially his feelings on the next three hours of trekking.
Our group from left: Luis, Al, Dee, Peter, Marijke and Bas.
Donkeys making the hideous ascent
Our oasis was just as it professed to be – a swimming pool and bed to soak and rest our weary bones. On the down side the Peruvians still continue to misjudge the astounding volume of beer that Gringos can put away when they’re thirsty – I mean seriously, who runs out of beer ?!
Stopping for a quick “photo break” , aka a “catch your breath break”!
Duckee practices his Quechua with his new friend
Entitled “self portrait” for obvious reasons
Dee was wracked with indecision at the oasis the night before our climb out of the canyon. She had picked up a chest infection and was seriously struggling to keep up a good head of steam on the uphill sections. Our guide Luis suggested that maybe Dee should consider hiring a mule to ride out of the canyon the next morning.
Dee agonised over the decision all night. On one hand she was bone tired, not well and worried that she would hold the rest of the group back on the way up. On the other hand, Dee never gives up. Ever.
In the end the stiff back of Dee’s will won out and we all set out to make our ascent at 5am the next morning minus the mule. This is where out new Dutch friends Bas and Marijke really came into their own. Bas discovered “The Pace” (patent pending) – not too fast, not too slow, never pushing too hard and not stopping for breaks. We watched in amazement as groups cruised past us on the trail only to be found later totally blown. Dee was absolutely fine and we made the ascent in a pretty darn decent time.
The mental strength gained from the ascent would help us greatly in future hikes, and as it was less than a week before the Inka Trail we would be needing all the help we could get.
Yay! I can breathe again!
Getting a healthy serving of home brewed chicha. Yum ! Not..
Duckee poses with a tired doggy
You can see the whole photo album by clicking on the link below.
By Al, on November 7th, 2009
Arequipa “La Ciudad Blanca” – The White City
One of the most amazing things about Peru is the diverse landscape. Hardly twenty minutes out of Nasca, the Pan American Highway rejoins the Pacific coastline and even the inevitable Jackie Chan re-runs couldn’t keep the eye from being drawn to the scenes out of the bus window. Rollers from the Pacific crashed against a beach overlooked by an unending array of red dunes lit up by the setting sun.
Arequipa’s skyline is dominated by it’s two resident volcanoes, the brooding Chachani and El Misti, as is most of the locals conversation. Arequipa is fancifully called the “White City” because of the white volcanic rock used in the local buildings, although it wasn’t as obvious to the naked eye as one would imagine, but still beautiful in its own right.
View from the bus window, sand rippling onto the road.
Views of Chachani and Misti – the two volcanoes brooding over Arequipa
Sunset lights up Misti
Our time was becoming rather tight as we had only five days until we had to be in Cusco to prepare for the Inka Trail. With this in mind, we scuttled between tourist agencies to set up our activities for our five free days.
Our first trip involved a downhill mountain bike ride down 4900m of volcanic slope from the top of Volcano Chachani. The view from the top when we got out of the van following two harrowing hours of ascent was nothing short of spectacular.
We both thought we were handling the altitude just fine, but a short uphill section of the ride quickly put us back in our place ! In true style Dee managed to wipe out spectacularly, not once but four times on the soft sands of the murderously vertical downhill “shortcuts” we were offered.
Near the peak of Chachani volcano for our downhill mountain bike ride. The air at 4900m is pretty thin.
Suited up at 4900m for our decent
The toilet at the top of the mountain.
Uphills. Who said ANYTHING about uphills on a downhill ride !!
Our support vehicle worryingly heading off down the road in front of us.
Dee basking in the sunshine after the decent
In celebration of our safe decent from the clutches of the volcano, it seemed only right that we crack open a bottle of wine. We visited the local corner cafe and found a rather limited selection of red wine, but decided to brave the local Peruvian produce.
The scene for our upcoming trial could not be faulted – the roof terrace provided and amazing view of the city and the volcanoes. The cat basked in the setting sun and the breeze teased Dee’s hair playfully as she took her first sip. The scene was shattered as the vinegared swill hit the back of Dee’s throat. The cat hissed and bolted for the stairs as the cloud of red mist was spat out. Worst. Wine. Ever.
This night was special. This night, for the first time ever, Dee agreed that the wine was undrinkable. Never fear, the night was rescued by our good friends the Argentians on our second trip to the cafe.
Dee tries Peruvian wine for the last time. Ever.
Al makes a frankly quite disturbing face in front of the guinea pigs, a Peruvian delicacy.
Santa Catalina convent Arequipa
A visit to the Santa Catalina Convent rounded off our time in the city as we had to crack on to Colca Canyon – the second deepest canyon in the world.
Somewhere an alarm bell should have been ringing, but we blithely continued on in the belief that we’d be going for “a little walk in a nice little canyon.”
Stay tuned to see how that worked out for us.
By Al, on November 4th, 2009
The enigmatic geoglyphs at Nasca
Click here to see the full photo album.
The Nasca lines are huge figures – geoglyphs – drawn out in the desert sands. We were told a succession of increasingly implausable stories about their origin, but they remain an enigma.
It has to be said from the outset that Nasca is an absolute dump. We arrived late, shattered from the bus ride to be met by a gratingly noisy and crowded town who’s sole purpose is to serve the unending procession of Gringos wanting to do a “Sobre Vuelo” or overflight of the lines.
“The Spaceman” geoglyph. Looks like a five year old did this.
“The Monkey” geoglyph
“The Condor” geoglyph. Far more elegant.
We had pre-booked our flight as time was becoming a precious commodity for the first time on our travels. We suddenly found ourselves with little under a week to get to Cusco to acclimatise for the Inka Trail. As it turned out, we paid an unnecessary premium by booking in advance as just about every tourist agency in town was still open and selling flights at 10pm when we arrived. Lesson learned. We hope…
Duckee conducts a more thorough pre-flight check than the pilot did.
Dee conforts a clearly pertified Duckee during the flight
Nasca is a dump as evidenced from our hotel rooftop. Couldn’t leave fast enough.
The flight itself was best forgotten by all involved. Dee is a slightly nervous flier, and Al unusually found himself airsick about half way through the flight. (Note – no photos of Al in this blog entry). Both of us were very happy to get both feet on terra firma !
So we will admit that the figures are indeed amazing, mysterious and vexing, but we were both delighted to see the back of Nasca as we hopped on a bus to the volcanic town of Arequipa a mere 10 hours bus ride away.
Just for the record
Dee wishes it clearly stated that Al may be being unreasonably harsh about Nasca (although the place was a dump and the figures looked like the works of an austistic child)
By Al, on October 31st, 2009
The poor man’s Galapagos
After a quick bounce through Lima to pick up our massively overloaded bags from our friendly hostel owner friend Quique, we grabbed a quick eight hour bus to Paracas to visit the Islas Ballestas.
We had intended to stay in Pisco (capital of the region of Pisco, famous for making, you guessed it Pisco). The entire region was devastated by an earthquake measuring 8.0 on the Richter scale in 2007, entire towns collapsing during the three minute quake. The tiny village we had lunch at on the second day was destroyed by the resulting tsunami.
Our plans to stay in nearby Pisco were soon in tatters as no taxis were available on a Sunday afternoon. In fact, nothing in South America is possible on a Sunday. We met up with an American family as we trailed a local tout to what turned out to be a fantastic hotel overlooking the bay. Ever wary of the stereotype, it didn’t take our new American friends long to wiggle their way into Al’s good books, in fact they had us at “beer”.
Paracas villiage bus stop
Sunset over the bay
Sunshine puts a big smile on Dee’s face
The trip out to the islands started pretty early, the sun just peaking over the placid bay as we jumped aboard the speedboat. It is easy to see why the islands are so popular – the region is blessed with sun for most of the year and the fauna rich islands lie only half an hour’s ride away on a speedboat.
Almost as soon as we approach the islands the sky is turned black by the birds swarming in huge flocks from all directions. Even the most die hard fan of Hitchcock’s “The Birds” would still freak out a little at the shear volume of bird life on offer. Gannets, Boobies (yes, they’re actually called that), Pelicans and Gulls wheel and scream in a cacophony of life against the azure backdrop of the Pacific.
The morning sunlight pouring through a sea cave
Pelicans. Lots of pelicans.
A bazillion birds on the rocky islands
Later we drove out to the Paracas National Reserve, a hauntingly beautiful fusion of desert and ocean. Paracas means “sand storm” in Quechua, and we certainly experienced the full impact as it raced across the barren desert.
Footloose and carefree on the beach at the Paracas Reserve
Pacific rollers hit the black beach
Dee about to take off in the wind
More than a little sad to be leaving this tranquil spot, we head next to Nasca to see the famous “Nasca Lines”.
Here is a link to the rest of the photos.
By Al, on October 23rd, 2009
The colorful jungle town of Iquitos,Peru
Click here for the Amazon Iquitos Photo Album
Shifting gears from Lima to Iquitos certainly jarred us out of the sense of chilled complacency we’d managed to cultivate in Lima.
The town is a riot of color and noise, literally crawling with the three wheeled motor taxis that form the backbone of transport on the island. They’re noisy, smelly, and absolutely bloody marvelous !
Our first sighting of this immense river was soon cut short as the first of many torrential rainstorms swept in off the river, but a conveniently located bar supplied a spectacular view of the storm over some cold Iquiteña cervezas.
Flying over the Andes on the flight from Lima to Iquitos
One of the floating homes as we leave Iquitos. During the wet season they literally float up on the high water.
Sun setting over the mighty Amazon river
The butterfly farm “Casa de Mariposas”
Dee’s relationship with the gentlemen of the jungle was true to form during a visit to the butterfly farm on the morning of her birthday.
After an hour she’d managed to aquire two new suitors – a red faced Bald Uakari monkey called Chavo and a frisky Howler Monkey by the name of Igor !
Beautiful butterfly at the Casa de Mariposas
Dee’s little red faced monkey friend. He definately had a thing for her.
Again, Dee’s a hit with the monkey males. Getting a groom here from a frisky Howler monkey.
Into The Jungle
We travelled in to the Peruvian Amazon via ferry later that day, a rather unique experience and memorable birthday for Dee. The journey lasted 32 hours on a ferry, sleeping in hammocks in rather close proximity to our Peruvian neighbours on the partly open upper deck. So close in fact that if we moved our elbows out from our sides we could touch both neighbours. We were the only “Gringos” amongst the friendly Peruvians with their pigs, chickens and boxes of sting rays (the only tourists for the whole trip actually).
The scenery for the first few hours of cruising on the Amazon was amazing and surreal. Shortly after a mind boggling sunset, the wind picked up out of nowhere followed shortly by twelve hours of torrential rain. Nobody thinks to mention the fact that it is quite possible to freeze in the Amazon basin, but we can both attest to the fact this is entirely true !
We landed late the following night and hauled our supplies up to the local village where we spent the night in a hostel – ironically this was the only uncomfortable night of the trip on a thinly stuffed straw mattress.
We were up early the next morning for breakfast in one of the villager’s gardens and then watched in the relative shade with growing trepidation as a canoe was loaded to the hilt (and some way beyond) with our supplies for the next ten days. We were eventually summoned to the bulging vessel and instructed to get in… and sit where?!? Al, graceful as a swan clambered in, followed by a nervous Dee and no fewer than four others!
Unbeknown to us, we were to be joined by two local guides on our travels – bringing the tally to six including ourselves. Somehow the canoe moved off without sinking, and actually appeared to be surprisingly stable when the engine was on. It was however only a matter of minutes before the first of many engine failures..
After five hours of butt numbingly long travel up a small creek, we eventually arrived at our first villiage settlement within the Pacaya Simiria reserve. It quickly became evident that our rights to camp within the reserve were not as ironclad as our guide(s) had ensured us was the case.
In true South American style, a blistering arguement ensued with the two of us sitting in the canoe trying to follow the proceedings. After 15 minutes of posturing and gesticulation, smiles broke out all round and we handed over two packets of spaghetti as a bribe and we were off !
Our tiny creek soon gave way to a massive lake, certainly not what we were expecting to find in the middle of the jungle. Our night excursions involved trips skimming across the shimmering lake, a tapestry of brilliant stars overhead and wet slippery fish hitting us in the face as they jumped into the canoe !
The ferry is still not at capacity, but hammock berths are filling up.
Al showing off his jungle hammock and mozzie net
Dee swimming in the Piranha infested waters.. and yes they definately are there cos we saw em.
The snake conundrum
Our complacency towards the dangers of the jungle was shattered on the second night on returning from a trip on the lake to discover a baby Fer De Lance snake slithering it’s way through the camp.
For the first time on the trip both of us were in complete agreement with the local’s bloodthirsty desire to kill anything that moved so that we might photograph it.
Far more importantly, Dee’s evening toilet trips into the jungle came to an abrupt end. This theme continued when we moved camp, Dee insisting on having an en-suite loo machettied from the virgin jungle right next to her hammock. So great was the sudden concern for physical safety that an hour was spent patching every tiny hole in the mosquito net when our guide Kid nonchalantly remarked that the Tarantulas liked to crawl through any holes to escape the almost nightly rain.
Al restored some injured pride from previously disasterous fishing attempts by pulling bucket loads of Piranhas from the river. These fish are incredibly stupid, you dangle a hook with something bloody dangling from it in the water, and with a few seconds you’re the proud owner of a very angry snapping Piranha. In a twist of irony, the best fishing spots turned out to be the same places we had been swimming in only minutes before !
The thankfully dead baby Fer-De-Lance snake. Possibly the first death on our trip we fully agreed with.
Our crazy guide Kid with a Tarantula running all over him.
Piranha and Caiman tail, straight off the braai
The Eco Tourism Memo
Apparently our guides failed to get the eco tourism memo and seemed determined to kill just about everything they saw despite our protestations.
Amongst the tally were two beautiful sleeping kingfishers who were knocked out of a tree with an oar (apprently this is hilarous too), a 2.5m Caimen killed for meat, 4 electric eels and we’re pretty sure that the baby howler monkey they “caught” while we were sleeping never made it in the end.
If you happen to find yourself in a Peruvian jungle and anyone asks you “Do you want to taste…”, the answer should be an emphatic no. Two huge palm trees met their end when we stupidly agreed to try Palm Heart in a salad. Destroying a 20m high tree to get a handful of salad from the top is more than a little galling.
In the end however, we both agreed that no matter how personally abhorent we found some of the customs of hack,slash and kill in the jungle it simply wasn’t our place to judge. There are too many local customs around the world that others disagree with and a certain patronising arrogance is implied if you try to change them.
The heartbreaking episode of the baby howler monkey. The poor mite never made it, of that we’re sure.
The table and bench made in less than two hours at the cost of only one 40m palm tree..
Abner shoulders the dubiously obtained Caiman, just before its cut up and cooked
The triumphant return
The return trip included a stop over in the tiny villiage of Flor De Punga where we were the star attraction at the Spring Festival at the local school. Apparently not many Gringos visit as every time we turned around we were confronted with a crowd of school kids squeeling in delicious terror.
Thankfully the ferry downstream to Iquitos was much quicker – only 24 hours on a ferry this time. Although the experience was incredible, we were both sorely in need of a long, long shower to remove the accumulated dirt from our travel weary bodies.
Next on the itinerary is a return to Lima, then on to Paracas for the Islas Ballestas, the Nasca Lines and the volcanic city of Arequipa.
By Al, on October 1st, 2009
Quique checking on the meat at the hostel BBQ
Quique and Duckee get up close and personal
Dee contemplates the many, many steps down to the ocean
Lima itself is a sprawling urban jungle of contrasts – run down in parts and opulent in others. There is however one over-riding constant throughout (with few exceptions) – and that is the friendliness of the people.
This was typified by the owner of our first ‘home’ in Lima – the charismatic Quique, owner of the Blue House Hostel. The place has a really chilled vibe as soon as you get away from the tourism attack zone.
We had been warned that the arrival process in Lima would be something of a shock, with taxi drivers and tourism agents ambushing the arriving Gringos to pick up their business. We were subjected to a particularly stern examination as the taxi pickup our hostel owner had organised for us failed to show up.
Eventually giving up we chose a driver who’d managed to be persistent and helpful in equal amounts.
Driving through Lima soon had the adrenal glands pumping.
Initial observations on the driving methods yielded the following conclusions:
- The lines on the road are for mostly decorative purposes only
- The object of driving is simply to get in front of the car in front at any cost
- Sidewalks, parking lots etc are to be considered part of the road at all time
- Pedestrians have no rights. Ever.
The first imperative order of business after arriving at our hostel was to locate a vendor of beer to calm the nerves. Managing our first timid transaction, in what was frankly the worst Spanish to leave a Gringo’s mouth, left us with a warm happy glow. We had shelter and the tools to buy beer. Things were going to work out fine.
We drank our beer until late into the night with our new Argentinean friend and fellow guest Gustavo, gathering vital local intelligence for our upcoming visit.
We set out on a mission to explore our new surroundings after a predictably late start on Saturday morning. Lima is a coastal city, and our hostel was located two blocks away from the steep bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
It was a long slog down to the pebbled beach, where we were instantly set upon by the legions of surf instructors. We were assured that today was the day we would stand up on a surfboard! Indeed, should we in any way fail to stand the cost of the lesson would be instantly refunded!
Employing the if-not-why-not policy, we duly returned at the appointed hour for our lesson. The theory was a formality quickly glossed over with three practice attempts at standing on a concrete block (if you can’t stand on a stationary block then you’ve probably got no place being on a surfboard).
Our kindly, wise and gnarly surfer teacher dudes morphed in the worst surf Nazis known to man as soon as we hit the water. Paddle, Paddle, PADDLE!!
Dee caught by far the worst of it staying closer to shore while Al was dragged out to bigger waves on the back line more suited to the larger man. The paddling was nearly the end of us both.
It’s not worth dwelling too much on who had more success on the day, but let’s just say that Al got the face plant of the day award while Dee actually managed to stand up a few times.
A ‘bombera’ float at the Wong Corso parade in Miraflores
Paragliding over the Pacific Ocean in Miraflores, Lima
Al just chilling out at the Parque de Amo “Park of Love” in Miraflores
The El Sol Spanish School
Going back to school for the first time in over a decade had the two of us feeling a little nervous and unsettled. Would the other kids point and laugh ? Can everyone else already speak some Spanish, are we going to be the dunces of the class ?
Thankfully our fears were quickly put to rest. Our only class mate was a fellow South African girl called Sue who appeared just as nervous as we were. Our morning teacher Edison employed a “total immersion” method, which would probably have worked better if we actually understood what he was saying. Thankfully Rosa (our teacher in the afternoon) put us all completely at ease and was more than happy to translate for us when we lost the plot.
Clearly one week of Spanish tuition is nowhere near enough to hold any meaningful conversations. It did however give us the basis for some functional communication which we can continue to build upon.
Far more important were the friends we made doing it – classmate Sue was staying with a Norwegian guy called Nicholas at a Peruvian family’s house. Nicholas is Ewan McGregor’s evil twin, if you doubt us then see the pictures below !
Al, Rosa and Dee on the last day of Spanish school at El Sol
Nicholas “Ewan McGregor”, Sue and Dee
Sue, Al, Nicholas “Ewan McGregor” and Dee on the Big Night Out
We had planned a quiet celebration for the Friday that school finished, a quiet dinner somewhere nice and a few beers would round off the week nicely. Things were going mostly to plan until we found ourselves in “Pizza Alley”, a Gringo alley filled with restaurants and bars.
One more beer before heading home turned into a few, Nicholas starting to get warmed up for a biggy. A disco seemed like the only viable option once the beer supply was abruptly cut off at midnight. To cut a long story short, we ended up leaving the disco at 7am Saturday morning after an eventful night !
Our plans to leave for the jungle town of Iquitos later in the day now in ruins, the only thing left to do was sleep the rest of the day (although Al did pull through to watch the Boks win the Trinations, quite weird watching rugby at 8am with a beer but hey?!)
P.S. We know we’re behind on blog entries, working hard to catch up !
P.P.S Don’t forget to check out the travels of Duckee album for some frankly shocking photos of the little fella ! Here are some snippets.
Disbelieving Duckee is.. well frankly disbelieving.
Voyeuristic Duckee approves of the menu at this establishment
Outrageous Duckee doing it Columbian style
By Al, on August 27th, 2009
..and the travels of “Duckee Tutanquacken” the Egyptian Duckee
 Taba Heights - Sinai Peninsula - Egypt Due to a last minute, unscheduled trip back to South Africa for Dee, I decided to take myself off to Taba Height in Egypt (about 200km north of Sharm El Sheik) for some sun, sea, golf and diving.
Welcome shade on the baking beach
Waterfalls over the Grotto bar
Al Fresco dining by the pool
The adventures of Duckee
So whats the deal with the duck then ?
Those from my old office at AOL will hopefully recognise the redoubtable Duckee.. (…eeee), who stowed himself away in my luggage so that he might share in the adventure !
Duckee was most often observed flying across the office at someone’s head, although where he came from is a matter for scholars and historians etc.
The look on the kid who owned the camel’s face was priceless when I whipped Duckee out of the bag for our big photo shoot.
Duckee and I actually paid the dastardly little rascal 30 Egyptian pounds for the photos so it wasn’t actually all that “priceless” after all.
The camel in the pictures below (I call her Mabel, but the reason escapes me) took an instant and visceral disliking to Duckee. I can’t imagine why – I was just trying to balance him on her nose.
There was a rather close escape when I tried the “flying Duckeeeee” maneuver passt Mabel’s head, she nearly ended Duckee’s life right there and then between her horrifically nasty gnashers !
Duckee Tutanquaken the Egyptian Duckee
Duckeeeee – Oh noes Camel attacks Duckee mid air !!
Duckee sipping a relaxing cocktail in the sun
Duckee Els caddies for Al
The Taba Heights Golf Course is breathtaking, literally.
Carved out of a desert best described as a bazillion rocks crushed up into various sizes and baked at 40°c for millions of years, a step off the lush green fairways feels like the opening of a blast furnace door.
Thankfully the enigmatic Duckee offered to accompany me around one morning, insisting that in the desert the old adage of safety in numbers holds truer than ever.
His insightful golfing brain helped me to a respectable round of 84 – not too shabby for me !!
Hopefully we’ll be seeing more of Duckee in far fly places across the globe shortly, and of course with Dee there too.
The inscrutable Duckee scrutinises the line
Masterful Duckee correctly points out the slight break to the right
Considerate Duckee offers to get the flag for me
Lush fairways and blast furnace desert side by side
Relentless Duckee overrules the choice of Driver off the tee – 4 iron it is !
Vigilant Duckee is quick to check for any scoring irregularities
By Al, on June 17th, 2009
Here are our various ramblings on the recent visit to Chianti in Tuscany.
The basic itinery was to fly into Florence late on the Thursday night, spend the day exploring the city before picking up the hire car and heading out into the country side to a villa in the Chianti region.
The taxi ride to the hotel in Florence should probably have given me some warning that the driving in Italy is something that only Italians could truly understand – our taxi driver spent most of the trip talking to us over his shoulder with the steering wheel expertly wedged between his knees.
“Looks easy, I’ll have to try that” I think to myself..
The morning was spent walking around Florence admiring the Duemo and the street market, followed by a climb along some of the hilliest roads to the Piazzale Michelangelo which was highly recommended by our taxi driver.
Dee in the “green park”
We decided to see the “big” David rather than queue for hours at the Galleria dell’Accademia
Climb to the top is rewarded with a view of the Florentine roof tops
Time to head to the Avis office to pick up our “Compact” hire car and head for the hills.. of course Avis decide to upgrade me to “The Beast”, a VW Passat the size of a small ocean liner – I’m going to need a drink after this..
The villa at Fattoria Pratale was definately what the doctor ordered – great view of the vineyards and a braai nearby, can’t really ask for more.
The Firefly Hypothesis
These things only seem to happen when we’re well into the second bottle of Chianti.. The first thing to explain is that I’ve never seen fireflys before, and the site of the blinking little beggars on the vines below the braai area got me pretty darn excited..
Excited enough in fact that with the urging of Dee and the rather fine Chianti in my bloodstream I relented and went down the little hill to the vines and sat with Dee in the Tuscan dirt (I’m more of a chair by the fire kind of guy).
Needless to say it was awesome, leading me to expound the the Firefly Hypothesis:
“To see the fireflys of life, sometimes you need to get your ass dirty”.
Yeah.. that’s probably the Chianti speaking again.
Dee immediately leaps on my Hypothesis and somehow it becomes her Firefly Philosophy – “A guide to live life by.”
I can’t really decide if we’re ineffably brilliant or blind drunk.
Our Tuscan villa
Geraniums and the pool at the villa
Starting the braai overlooking the vineyards
Saturday was spent walking around the quaint town of Greve in Chianti, followed by a walk to Montefioralle voted “the most beautiful village in Italy”.
The stone and terracotta buildings perched on top of a very steep hill were indeed stupidly beautiful, almost surreal.
Voted “One of Italy’s most beautiful villages”, Montefioralle is actually just stupidly splendid.
Time for a quick break in the shade before heading back to the car in Greve
Montecalvi and the “Firefly Hypothesis”
Wine o’clock can sneak up on one quite quickly in Tuscany apparently, and it begins to dawn on us that we’ve not replenished the supply we torpedoed the previous night.
I fire up the TomTom and search for the nearest wine estate and we’re off !
..and up a very narrow and rutted dirt road to what appears to be somebody’s house – bloody GPS again.
We decided to park up and at least attempt to establish some line of communication with local watching us pull into what is quite likely his private driveway – Firefly Hypothesis and all that.
Turned out that the local is actually from California and no, they don’t usually do tasting, but yes his friend guy that owns the place may open up for us, and come on in.
We’re starting to feel a little like we’re intruding on someone’s lunch as the owner comes out pulling on a shirt, but we’re soon put at ease with the American owner as he opens up the cellar and feeds us a great Chianti Classico and an unlabelled Cabernet Sauvignon “Super Tuscan”.
The mention that we’re South African seems to break the ice and we leave after an hours worth of chatting with our one bottle of wine, somehow feeling that although the owner almost certainly made a financial loss out of our arrival it was still worth it.
I guess when you have views like these it just kinda makes you chilled. We decide that so far the score is Firefly Hypothesis 1, Life 0
The American owners kids playing in front of the wine tasting garage at Montecalvi wine farm.
View of the vines at Montecalvi
View of the abbey at Badia a Passignano
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