Initially, I had plans of writing one long blog about my latest adventure to Peru, but after giving it a go and realizing that my first three days alone took up almost 3 pages in Word, I decided to follow Adrian's suit and break it up into three parts. :)
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It's 20 degrees in Washington, DC, but I'm nursing sunburned shoulders under my layers. Just over 72 hours ago, I was strolling along in a tank top in the warm, humid air of Lima, Peru. A little over a week ago, I was gazing down 10,178ft, to a river coursing through the Andes. Surrounding me were the mist coated ruins of the last stronghold of the Inca Empire.
Last March, I made a spontaneous decision to take advantage of a friend studying Spanish in Cusco, Peru. I hopped on a plane at the beginning of my spring break and spent a wonderful week romping through Inca ruins. A week later, after a hellishly long drive up from Miami (that's another long story), I arrived back in D.C. with pictures that only began to show the breathtaking beauty of the Andes. Coupled with an article in the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/03/travel/03inca.html?_r=1&oref=slogin), the photos inspired my boyfriend, Adrian, to begin planning another trip to Peru, this time with a four day hike to Choquequiroa, the lesser known 'sister city' of Machu Picchu.
The entire trip was absolutely indescribable, but I'm going to give it a go, if only to help my aging memory in the years to come.
January 10
Adrian, two friends and myself loaded our plane to Peru at 12 p.m. and spent the next 11-ish hours flying, arriving in Lima at 11:30 p.m. Our flight to Cusco didn't leave until 6 the next morning, so we had a few hours in the airport to kill.
The first order of business was food. While they had given us a couple of meals on the flight, as anyone who's traveled will understand, we left the plane salivating at the mere sight of crumbs. After scoring a brief bite to eat, we decided to attempt a nap on the linoleum floor outside the food court. The minute my head hit the ground, I was asleep… for at least 30 minutes, until my legs started to tingle from where my bones digging into the linoleum had cut off the circulation. Eventually, 6 a.m. rolled around and we boarded our plane to adventures unknown.
We swooped down dramatically onto the runway in Cusco surrounded by lush, green peaks and shanty-like buildings. After departing our plane and collecting our bags to the sound of a local band playing Andean music (who were also in the airport last time I arrived. I'm guessing they make a killing on sleep deprived, American tourists), I attempted to haggle the taxi driver down to 20 soles (roughly 6 dollars). After a few rounds of negotiations, we jumped into the taxi.
Our taxi driver barreled us through the noisy city streets as I pointed out local highlights that I remembered from my previous visit. I breathed in the aroma that all third world countries seem to have: a mixture of dust, open sewage, earth and cooking food. When he reached the bottom of the large, sharp hill (all too common in Cusco), he stopped and unloaded our bags. Loki, our hostel, was at the top.
After a brief shower and a promise of a small climb, I took the boys up to the Christo Blanco, Buddy Jesus to anyone who's a Jay and Silent Bob fan, a giant white statue of Jesus that presides over the city of Cusco. The thin, oxygen deprived air took it's toll on us as we trekked up the steep, narrow steps, taking breaks often to admire the astonishing view of the city below.
On our way down, we stopped off in a four table restaurant, surprising the owner and daughter with our pale faces. Since none of us spoke enough Spanish to distinguish between the various kinds of carne, we chose our meals at random. As luck would have it, the solo woman chef gave each of us the most amazing meal we would have on our trip…at least until Herbert entered our lives (more about him later)… for about 2 USD apiece. Using his superb charade skills, Adrian managed to determine that his meal was lamb. Around 7, our guide Felix (who would soon prove to be 'the man') showed up and explained the details of our excursion, a 4 day trek to Choquequiroa.
As the evening progressed, the elevation took its toll on me. I began noticing the tell-tell signs of altitude sickness and by the end of a non-descript dinner and a few pisco sours, I was feeling rather ill. I had hoped that my previous visit had left me immune to the dreaded 'disease,' but all it took was the climb to our hostel to send me bowing to the porcelain god and languishing in my bed while my friends took in the Loki nightlife (ask Josh how he got a free t-shirt).
January 12
At one time, the Loki hostel in Cusco was a: chapel, a house of mayors, cite of multiple executions, and a national monument. Today, it houses a rowdy bunch of backpackers from around the world (http://www.lokihostel.com/cusco/thehouse/history.) From the common room, you can gaze out upon the Plaza de Armas, or main square. When I woke up in the morning feeling like I had a horrible hangover, I slowly dragged myself up the steps of the courtyard of our hostel to the common room, hoping the phenomenal view would distract me from my pains.
After pouring myself a cup of mata de coca (a legal mix of water and coca leaves… a cure-for-all of the locals) and grabbing slice of bread, I settled down at the table next to the early rising Adrian. As I gingerly nibbled my bread, pulverizing each bite until it was a chowder consistency, I looked around the room, enviously watching the other backpackers gorge on plates of sausage, potatoes and eggs, blissfully unaware of how lucky they were. Thankfully, few cups of mata de coca and a couple of aspirin later, I was feeling better and ready to hit the streets.
We spent most of the day wandering through the streets of Cusco, dodging cars, petting stray dogs (best fed stray dogs I've ever seen), visiting museums (highlight: mummies!) and local markets and admiring the fresh produce (and cow heads). For lunch, Adrian and I bravely sat down at a stall manned by an old woman and requested whatever she was serving. Adrian sanctified our stomachs and we dug in. I'm still not sure what it was, but I know it was yummy. I had warned the guys ahead of time that they would quickly get cheap in their expenditures. Sure enough, by the time we reached the local artisans market, they were ready to haggle down to the last 50 cents.
As the sun began to creep behind the mountains, we stopped off at a restaurant down the hill from our hostel where I had my first bite of Alpaca (in the same family as Llama). Being the good little trekkers we are, we hit the sack at 9 p.m. in preparation for our 5 a.m. wakeup. Sleep never comes for the wicked, however… very quickly our beauty rest was bombarded with A-ha and Boy George. 80's night was going full swing in the bar above our head and clogs were mandatory.