blakspring

After a night on the lam we finally got a chance to see what our impromptu campsite looked like in actual light:

We were right at kilometer 82, the start of the four-day Inca Trail route. It was gorgeous and peaceful and the snow-capped mountains were simply stunning. We got all our gear, slung on our backpacks, and headed off:

The first day was short compared with what was to come but it was still tough because we had those heavy bags and our sleeping gear. The temperature ranged from almost 80 in the hot sun to dipping down to freezing in the night so we needed to have clothes for all occasions. And since we were entering a rain forest, we needed to be ready in case of a sudden downpour. That first day we each carried enough water to fill a small lake which added to our weight, especially since we drank a lot less than we had counted on. Our guide Angel, who was young, fun, very cool, and actually seemed to like the fact that we were constantly joking and laughing hysterically, took advantage of the few moments when we had our mouths shut to tell us about Peruvian, Andean, and Inca history. Illustrating his points were many beautiful ruins built intricately into the landscape:

As we passed by and talked with other groups of trekkers, we realized that we were the only ones actually lugging all our belongings on our backs. Everyone else had a little backpack with a small bottle of water and some sunblock - WTF. You see, we were under the impression that everyone carries their own stuff and extra porters are only reserved for the aged and weak. Apparently we were wrong because it turned out that we were the exceptions, with all the other gringos looking at us like we were crazy. Angel told us that the second day would be extremely difficult (12 kilometers, mostly on a very steep uphill incline) while the third day would be the longest (about 16 kilometers both up and downhill). He suggested that we hire porters to carry our stuff on those days. The four of us talked it over and decided to get the porters even though we felt like total pussies. It was probably the best decision we made. It’s a lot easier to appreciate your surroundings when you’re not on the verge of dying:

The second day truly was killer as we climbed what seemed an unending super-steep path of stone stairs for hours. As Ultra later told me, “You don’t know how many times I cursed Angel and called him “diablo” in my mind.” When I finally reached the top of what’s known as Dead Woman’s Pass, I was standing 4,215 meters above sea level. (That’s 13,828 feet for you Yankees.) I’d never done anything so physically challenging but it was worth every ounce of pain:

The third day of the Inca Trail was the most beautiful because we were walking in the heart of the rain forest. It had rained all the previous night and there was still mist and fog for most of the day which gave everything a slightly surreal quality. My camera takes very standard pictures and cannot do justice to the beauty that I saw that day:

If I got offered a job as a host for a travel show, I would take it in a heartbeat:

There were more Inca ruins everywhere and I felt like I was in another world. There was a strike throughout all of Peru but I wouldn’t know it from where I was. The world could have come to a stop but I would still be walking alone in my own universe, oblivious to the rest of humanity:

The fog rolled in and out all day; it was so gorgeous it was almost too painful to watch:

On our last morning, we woke at 4:30 AM and started making our way to our personal mecca, the place that our journey revolved around, Machu Picchu. It was still foggy and misting when we finally caught our first glimpse:

We were almost at the gates of our promised land…

I’m gonna use the oldest trick in the book and distract you from the fact that I have been too busy lazy to post photos from Peru by showing you a picture of my new hair colors:

The more artificial my hair is, the more I feel like myself. I didn’t bleach it so it didn’t come out as bright as it could have but it’s good enough. The bangs and front bits are Devilish, the small bit in the middle that is hard to see is Pimpin’ Purple, and the rest of it is Burgundy Wine. They’re all from Special Effects. I was really tempted to go for blue with orange but finally chickened out. I figure that there’s always next summer…I’ll just have to re-watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for inspiration.

Before I write anything else, I want to apologize for not posting sooner. Since I got back to Brooklyn it’s been a non-stop whirlwind of activity, which is quite unusual for me. And in the down-times I’ve been catching up on sleep and being lazy. Of course the more I put off writing, the less I want to write. I haven’t even edited my images or done anything constructive, but I will try to have pictures posted by the end of the weekend.

My ten days in Peru were full of adventure. The four of us had gone out for dinner last Monday evening thinking that we´d be leaving for the Inca Trail early the next morning. When we returned to the hotel after dinner we received a call from someone who did not introduce himself. The mystery man told us in broken English that the farmers were going on strike at 2:00 AM and that we had to pack our bags and leave Cusco immediately or else we would be stuck and miss our Inca Trail trip. Our initial reaction was shock followed by questions like what strike and is it even going to be safe driving around?. Ultra managed to ask in Spanish about where we would sleep at night and the man said that he did not know. We decided that we weren’t going anywhere until we spoke with someone from the agency who could actually explain to us in better detail what was going on.

Finally, one of the contacts from our agency called us back and he was much more helpful. Again Ultra did the talking, though perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. She kept telling him things like “I don’t want the farmers attacking me in my tent” and “I like life. I like to live” which would cause us to fall into fits of giggling. The man must’ve thought we were gringos locos. Finally, when she could no longer hide her own muffled laughter, Ultra told him, “I’m laughing because I’m so sad” and quickly hung up the phone.

Angel, our guide for the Inca Trail who we’d met a few days prior, also stopped by the hotel to talk to us in person. He explained that the farmers strike was local to Cusco and that on Wednesday the 9th there would be a general strike throughout all of Peru. Angel insisted that the strike would only last one day, during which time we would be so far removed from anything that it wouldn’t even affect us, and by the time we’d be done with the Inca Trail everything would be back to normal. We figured we might as well just go for it - the main focus of our trip had always been the Inca Trail. We prepared for it, bought equipment for it, and it seemed crazy not to go through with it. Angel said he would come back for us in one hour and we rushed to our rooms to get everything ready.

We set off right before 11:00 pm in a mini van with Angel, the driver, and two porters. The driver turned on the radio and an eclectic mix of American ’80s pop songs started playing. Ultra and I sang along and acted goofy to lighten the mood. All was well till the first road block. Large stones were put out on the road and we had to stop. A bus and another minivan were already standing there and a few men from the vehicles were quickly moving the rocks over to one side of the road. As we were finally able to continue, a rock was thrown at the side of our van; a little freaky but luckily it missed the window. We continued on the highway for another 30 minutes until we came to another, larger, roadblock. There were already about five vehicles stopped from both directions and a group of about 30 farmers were standing on the side of the road. This situation seemed more tense. Even Angel looked worried; he got out of the car with one of the porters without a word to us. Our driver turned the car around and we waited. We knew that we couldn’t exactly head back to Cusco either since by now there were sure to lots more roadblocks going up. Luckily, a compromise was reached and the farmers agreed to let the other men move the rocks since it was only about midnight. As happy as I was about the compromise, I really felt bad, like we’d crossed a picket line. These farmers were simply protesting for better wages and working conditions, something that I take for granted everyday, and I felt like a total jerk for going along on my merry way.

We were still a bit of a ways from the make-shift campsite we were heading for at kilometer 82 of the Inca Trail, our starting point. Our driver decided not to take any more chances on the highway and took to the unpaved, unlit, dirt back roads. We drove with just our high beams and occasional lights to illuminate the way. The music was still playing but quietly and nobody felt like singing. Well, I sort of did feel like singing but I figured it would be inappropriate and obnoxious, and I’m obnoxious enough already in the daytime. My companions deserved a break from my big mouth and off-key singing.

Finally, we saw a sign for kilometer 82 and pulled into the campsite. We’d been expecting other groups to be there already but it turned out that we were the first. The sky was a dark navy but sparkled with fat bright stars that you could never see in the city. The porters quickly set up our tents by the headlights of the car. We put our bags inside, grabbed our flashlights, peed in nearby bushes, and finally got into our sleeping bags to try to get some rest for the exhausting adventure that awaited us. A little while later we heard more cars pull up, American and German voices reverberating in the night, tents being set up. About 4:00 AM, beams from flashlights and the sounds of men’s voices and dogs barking woke me up but I was too tired to care who or what it was and fell back asleep. In the morning Angel told us that he’d spoken with other guides and that several groups did not make it.

We’d been lucky. We were about to head into the Andes, into the depths of the Peruvian rain forest, to forget the rest of the world for four days.

Perhaps you would like to hear about my Inca Trail adventures? Or perhaps you would like to know how, on the night before we were to leave for the Inca Trail, my companions and I found ourselves on the dirt backroads of Cusco at midnight trying to leave the city just as a farmer´s strike was about to shut down the roads?

But since I am on a super-sucky-slow Internet connection and am completely exhausted from waking up at 4 AM this morning and hiking to Machu Picchu (not to mention the other three days of intense hiking), you will have to wait. I think it´ll be worth it. Now I must go and fall dead asleep.

I’m in Cusco now and still exhausted thanks to a horrible bout of food poisoning the likes of which I hadn’t experienced in at least a decade. I was this close to looking for someone to perform an exorcism on me because I was convinced that some evil power was alive in my belly. Being sick sucks but being sick on vacation sucks giant alpaca balls.

As of this morning I feel much better but it’s now three nights in a row that I’ve hardly slept. Still, I was able to enjoy today which consisted of a full day tour to the Sacred Valley of the Incas, or something like that, since all the Inca stuff starts sounding alike after a while. I’ve seen tons of llamas, alpacas, vicunas, and other furry mammals, as well as guinea pigs which are a Peruvian delicacy. I’ve been in a restaurant where they have live guinea pigs and you can choose the one that you would like to gobble up for dinner. After seeing those cuties, as well as the fully roasted ones (pictures when I get back), there is no way I am going to even try one. I did try a bit of alpaca meat; tasted beef-like with a slight liverish aftertaste.

Most of yesterday and today was spent seeing some amazing Incan ruins. I’ve been to some absolutely breath-taking sights today in the valleys. Snow-capped mountains, terraces for irrigation, and centuries-old structures. Andean people in native dress posing for photos with their llamas for a small donation. Markets full of colorful hats, gloves, ponchos, and everything in between. Tomorrow we have a day for ourselves so we’ll just hang around Cusco and take it easy.

I will be heading out for the Inca Trail on Tuesday morning. From some of the folks I’ve talked to in the last two days, it will be amazing and exhilirating but also tough, especially the second day. During the day the sun is hot enough to wear short-sleeves. But it is winter here with the sun setting just after 5:00 pm and temperatures falling to freezing or below. I have come woefully underdressed and will have to layer up like a snowman after dark.

If I don’t have a chance to write tomorrow, then I won’t be back in the blogosphere until probably Saturday. Wish me luck.

As you can see, I was able to get on the internets - though this may be the only time, since tomorrow I’m leaving Lima and heading for Cusco and the Inca Trail. This post will be short and uninspired because I am running on empty right now. Had an overnight flight on which I barely slept and then continued to go as I touched down in Lima.

After Ultra, B, E, and I checked into our hotel we went out for breakfast which was a funny affair in a way that I cannot make sound funny right now.  A long cappucino spoon was involved in the hilarity.  Next we walked around the neighborhood of Miraflores and went to several stores/markets with all sorts of crafts plus anything and everything made from alpaca.  After a really good lunch - I had chicken sald with avocado - we went on a tour of downtown Lima.

Lima has some beautiful parts, including plazas with fountains surrounded by grand churches and official buildings from the early 1800’s.  It is a style of architecture that I had seen before in Mexico, Puerto Rico, and Dominican Republic; a style I happen to really like.  Our guide took us to the catacombs under an old church and we saw lots of bones.  Lots and lots of bones.  It was kinda cool.

Since it is winter here the sun set about 6:00 pm, by which time I felt almost high from lack of sleep.  As we rode on the bus towards our hotel, we went along a curving road on the top of a cliff overlooking the beach.  The sea and sky were both a gorgeous navy color and the building and boardwalk along the beach were lit up.  There was a restaurant built on a pier in the water which was all lit up too.  It was absolutely breath-taking.

On an unrelated note, I now know that I don’t like pisco sours.

I’m a very light packer yet I still ended up with what feels like a baby elephant on my back. How am I going to carry this behemoth around for four days:

I will be gone for 10 days, during which time there is a possibility that I won’t have a chance to find me some internets. Normally I post about three times a week and it probably takes you no more than five minutes to read and comment per post. (And if you read but don’t comment then you should be ashamed. Tsk, tsk.) Estimating that I would have posted about four times in a 10-day period, it would seem that I have saved you about 20 minutes of time. People, you are getting a whole extra 20 minutes to spend any which way you like. There’s a lot you can fit in 20 minutes so get creative, have fun, and be safe.

And tell me what you did with this gift of time that I have bestowed upon you.

It still hasn’t quite sunk in that I’m off to Peru tomorrow, mainly because this is one of the few times that I am not the organizer of the trip. When D and I go anywhere it is understood that I will plan everything out, sort through the details, go with the best options, while he follows me around and complains that we are walking too much. In my perfect world my husband would have an adventurous spirit like mine and going anywhere outside of our neighborhood would not be a constant struggle. In D’s perfect world, his wife would be kicking ass in Halo, skilled at setting up SQL Servers, and perfectly happy to never leave the bat cave that is our apartment. After over a decade together we’ve come to terms with the fact that these are pipe dreams. So I’m actually glad he’s not going with me to Peru because my trip would be a lot less fun if I had to look at his grumpy scowl for all those days. Normally if I sense him getting agitated, I whip out a scooby snack from my bag and steer him towards the closest bar or restaurant. But since the Inca Trail does not have even a corner deli or vending machine, I would have one unhappy camper on my hands. (In D’s defense, he did enough equipment-laden road marches in the army to last him a lifetime so he actually wants to relax on vacation.)

But my whole point is that I’ve done very little research on where I’m going. Normally I would have read through three different guide books, learned basic social customs, and even memorized some polite phrases in the native language. For this trip, however, I’ve only read up a bit about what to bring for the actual Inca Trail. Today I decided that maybe I could just put my MLS to good use and actually google some more information, which is how I came upon a site that goes into detail about each of the four days of the Inca Trail. Of course I realized that this would be a pretty intense four days otherwise I would not have been going insane on the elliptical machine these last few weeks. But now that I see phrases such as “arduous journey”, “quad-killing climb”, several mentions of “steep climbs”, and a “final push up a 50-step, nearly vertical climb”, I wonder if I won’t be calling for a llama service to get me to the top. Another thing I did not know is that “if you’re lucky, you can catch a glimpse of the ever-playful spectacled bears”. I like bears as much as the next girl and would love to take a cute little cub home with me but I’m not sure if I want a full-grown carnivore near my tent. Really, has anyone heard of an “ever-playful” bear?

The best part of the trail is apparently on the second day: “The 2 ½ hour climb is a mental and physical challenge, subjecting trekkers to a killer sun on the way up, and thin air and bitterly cold winds at the summit. Don’t be surprised if snow or freezing rain greets you at the summit. Inevitably, however, the mind-blowing views will distract you from the body-numbing cold and physically demanding ascent.” I’m one of those freaks of nature who are still chilly in 75 degree weather. Yeah, I’ll bet those “mind-blowing views” will be just fantastic when I’m dead of hypothermia. I’ll be shacking up with a llama just to get through the night. Then again, that’s not a bad idea. I might have to bring a video camera along. The money I make on the llama video will be able to pay for my next trip. Somewhere with a sandy beach and a hammock under a palm tree.

For our nine-year wedding anniversary on Thursday, I asked D to make reservations at Nobu. I love me some sushi, which we normally eat at our favorite local place Wasabi, and I thought it would be nice to try something fancier. When we got to the restaurant we were seated in the back so I barely even got to look at the decor as we hurried after the hostess. D was in a rare mood in that he didn’t want either beer (something I thought was a biological impossibility) or sake. Instead he ordered a Bitter Mango Martini, which was quite delicious. I stuck with sake, though the waiter discouraged me from ordering it in the traditional wooden box. Apparently it is hard to sip this way and I am a bit of a klutz. I’ll have to buy one for home and practice in a bib first.

For dinner I ordered an assortment of sushi pieces and an eel/cucumber roll. D ordered shrimp and lobster with spicy lemon sauce. We were both excited to get the Nobu experience as we waited for our dishes. When the food arrived it looked, well, normal. My sushi tasted just like what I eat in Wasabi. In fact, the salmon was not as good as Wasabi salmon. D said his dinner started off really good but ended too peppery. Perhaps my taste buds are not as finely tuned as those of food critics but I couldn’t figure out what the big deal was. The only other explanation is that it was the Wasabi curse, karma getting us back for cheating.

Since the portions were fairly small, D and I had room for dessert and we each ordered the chocolate souffle cake with green tea ice-cream. It came in a small wooden box and looked absolutely delicious. One bite and I was in heaven; I wanted to dive inside the cake and swim in its chocolaty goodness. I tried to eat slowly, savoring every bite, but it was over too soon. D discretely pointed out to me that I had a bit of a mess around my lips. I wiped with the white cloth napkin and left brown stains. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was so bad,” I said. “Yeah”, D replied. “You looked like you gave Willy Wonka a blow job.”

The chance of D saying anything else equally or more funny was slim to none so we asked for the check and hightailed it home. If we ever do go back to Nobu it will be for drinks and dessert, after we’ve had dinner elsewhere.

Putting up those ticket stubs brought back some good memories. It also made me realize how bad I’ve gotten about going to shows. I am going to see Rancid at Irving Plaza in August but otherwise there’s been quite a drought. There were times, oh there were times my friends, when every weekend there’d be a band to see. And you knew so many people that had bands, and you couldn’t miss their shows, even if the music sucked because everyone was there and after a few beers and a run through the mosh pit and a few more beers it all sounds great.

And you know what else alcohol makes great? Everything. Everything is great. The music is great, the singing is great, your friends are great, standing in a little stinky bar with a sound system older than you is great. But most importantly, you’re great. You’re soooo great that you can do anything. You’re smart and capable and have ten functioning fingers. And if your friend’s band happens to be missing a bassist, well, you’re so great that you could probably learn to play bass. After all, how hard can four strings be? You’re so great that it won’t make a difference if you’re tone deaf and have no musical talent whatsoever because your greatness will overcome all those obstacles.

So the next day Your Greatness and a friend go to the music store. And because your friend actually is a musician and knows his Gibsons from his Ibanezes (what?) you come home with the most beautiful five-string bass and rockin’ amp you could ever want:

And your friend makes the most beautiful sounds come out of that gorgeous instrument; sounds you never thought a bass could make.  And you’re all excited and start goofing around on it but your fingers feel so clumsy and slow, and the bass is making sounds that are the absolute opposite of melodic.  After a while your wrist starts to ache and your fingers are sore but you keep plugging along.  You print out some bass tabs and eventually manage to play five seconds of a song.  So you practice those five seconds over and over and you learn five seconds of another song and another song.  And eventually you stop lying to yourself and just admit that you are the worst bass player to ever roam this planet.