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Macchu Picchu!

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Trek Day 4 - Macchu Picchu!

Visiting Macchu Picchu is like a day spent walking through a giant postcard. Or maybe it’s like going onto the set of a film you’ve seen countless times and being able to poke around the bits the cameras don’t show. You may think the shine would have come off given its ubiquity, but there’s definitely something about being there for yourself to make to you see it with fresh eyes.

After having spent the last night of our trek in the relative luxury of a cheap hostel, we got up early to catch the first bus from Aguas Calientes. We may not have been able to enter through the Sun Gate like the official Inka-Trekkers, but having had access to showers we surely smelled better. For the first 30 minutes we followed our guide round as he explained some of the history of the site. Sleepily struggling to muster appropriately concentratey faces, Sarah found herself being told off for not paying attention, so we pulled some bananas out of our snack packs for energy. Two llamas ambled ominously towards us. How cute, we thought, they smell breakfast. Until they pursued me to the point where I was left with no other recourse but to lay the skin down on the nearest rock and slowly retreat. It may have seemed like cowardice to the growing crowd chuckling around me, but they didn’t know I had the rest of our snack bag to think of. History never celebrates you for preventing what might have happened.

Shooo!

Our guide headed off, and left to our own devices we went in search of photo ops and views. Since we had obviously lacked the foresight to buy the tickets to ascend Huaynapichu mountain before they sold out, we plumped for entrances to the lesser-known Macchu Picchu Mountain, which borders the opposing side of the site. ‘Huaynapichu is just more famous because people have made it more famous’ our agency reassured us, which like all the best explanations appeased us without having to make very much sense. It was only when we broke even with the peak of Huaynapichu with half of our mountain still towering about us that we realised there might be more to their relative popularity than our agency had let on. After an endless slog with the kind of uncooperatively deep steps that made me think jealously of Pod and his grappling hook in The Borrowers, midway through which came a dark period from which Sarah emerged carrying the heavy rucksack and I a great sense of shame, we collapsed into a shaded hut at the summit. And then made sandwiches, enjoyed being level with the clouds, and once again completely failed to get over our luck at being where we were. Macchu Picchu was the pinacle of our trip and everything we'd hoped it would be - breathtaking.

The view from the top of Macchu Picchu Mountain, you can just about spot the city below!

Steven

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What do you see when you look at the Milky Way? Can you see the snake?

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The Lares Trek : Day 3

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The Lares Trek - Day 3

Our wakeup call on Day three was the unpromising sound of rain drumming a tattoo on our tent roof. Option 1: throw our hands up in despair and bemoan our luck. Option 2: tiny tent fist pump, because I was able to use all of the hiking kit I´d brought! Option two all the way, it was time to whack out the ol´waterproof pantaloons and jacket.  Decked head to toe in waterproofs we tucked into our penultimate meal that through some miracle of campfire cooking was an entire chocolate cake.

Stomachs lined with slabs of cake we ventured out into the rain. We were following the windy, sleepy road that leads down the valley to the ancient Inka town of Ollantaytambo. Twenty minutes in, our porter team drew up alongside us and offered us a lift down the remaining 15km of road in a cosy, dry van. But, despite the pleading eyes of our guide who was looking a darn sight more miserable and cold in the rain than we were, we politely declined temptation. Taking short cuts ain’t what it’s about! So with the rain falling, the steep mountain passes that shot up on either side of the road and the odd local shouldering a tree trunk were our company for the morning. Apparently the majority of the other Lares trekking groups opted for a lift down the valley instead of walking in the rain. Armed with the knowledge that we were only two out of a handful of intrepid souls that actually completed the ultimate part of the trek, we proudly sat down to our final meal with Jaime the wizard cook in the town of Ollantaytambo.

Surrounded by mist shrouded mountain tops, Ollantaytambo is the only Incan town to retain its original city layout with Incan drainage systems, which fed by that night’s rain, were raging down the side streets. We spent the afternoon wandering around in the rainy haze, did a spot of lunch shopping for Macchu Picchu and finished it up with some fresh juice and a very welcome internet top-up at an organic café.

We left Ollantaytambo to catch the 7 o clock train to Aguas Calientes, the town at the base of the Macchu Picchu Mountain. And, so, happily tucked away in first class, we enjoyed our free cup of sprite alongside the bottle of Argentina wine that we´d smuggled on board.

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Lares trek day 2

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The Lares Trek - Day 2

Day 2 is the hardest and the highest day of the trek. We hiked up to the peak of the mountain and descended it after 5 hours of treking to have lunch next to a beautiful lake. At 7 am we began our ascent parallel to a hill of llamas proudly strutting their stuff - it was quite clear whose territory we were in. Being in the presence of so many llamas naturally led to the creation of a series of llama based jokes. For the Spanish speakers – “Llamas a mi” and “Como se llama, llama?” Hi-flippin-larious.

Further up the mountain we paused for a little lie down and befriended a pack of rather goofy dogs who accompanied another “pop-up” shop. It's official, you can buy Coca Cola literally anywhere in the world. On top of a remote Andean mountain, surely not, I hear you say? Oh yes, you can! Stocked up on Gatorade we left our Andean Tesco express and their dog pack. From this point the world turned white. All of the mountain tops were peaked with snug berets of snow. Our guide told us that this is really unusual and normally the peaks are bare, even though we were there during Peruvian winter. Trudging through the snowy path we put our walking sticks to good use and eventually made the summit. We were the first group of the day to arrive at the top. Naturally, the only appropriate response was to whack out the ol’ welsh flag and give it a good ol’ wave.

After another superb lunch we meandered down the valley, to reach Base Camp 2. On every corner you’re greeted by blasé llamas, local people in beautiful, vivid traditional dress and only wearing threadbare sandals on their feet. We did discover however that there is one particularly viscous plant to look out for. There’s a plant that is made of spines and when you touch it they come away in your hand or in my case, left bum cheek. When stooping down to take a photo of Steven by the lake I literally got the bum deal. It smarted for hours.

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The start of the journey and the view of the lares valley covered in snow as we drove to our starting point.

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Day 1 Lares

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The Big Cheese: The trek to Macchu Piccchu, Day 1

As Sunday night leaked into Monday morning, we were up and packed, bleary-eyed but ready to commence the golden pinnacle of our trip: THE TREK to Macchu Picchu. 

The practical organisation of the Lares trek at face value seems to be a bit backwards. Day 1 is when you’re supposedly at your most energetic and we commenced our trek with a … slow, leisurely morning in the Lares hot springs, followed by a 3 course lunch served up by our personal trek chef. Not so very strenuous or, indeed, “treky”. Common sense dictates that a dip in a hot spring would be more welcome after the trek, but in our case, I think it worked out better this way. Our guide Hugo, a relaxed but rather cheeky young fellow, told us that the most popular springs located at the end of the trek in Aguas Calientes, are actually a bit crap: one pool and in reality, not “hot”.

Thus suitably chilled out and incredibly well fed on stuffed avocado, poached trout and quinoa soup we commenced Part 1 of the actual trekking through the Lares Valley. We were heading to our base camp for the night, a remote village high in the mountains.  Despite the continual incline, the walk through the Lares valley isn’t strenuous. The views are incredible and merge between deep river gullies, outcrops of rocks and flocks of ambling llamas and alpacas.

Stopping for a break we were treated to the spectacle of a “pop-up” shop. Within seconds of parking our butts onto an accommodating rock, four little ragamuffin children seemingly appeared out of the rocks. Flinging a large shawl onto the floor, dust covered soft drinks and traditional hand-made trinkets tumbled out for our inspection along with a babble of the local language Quechan. Our guide Hugo’s first language was Quechan and throughout our trek he would make time to stop, talk and translate for the local people.

At the top of one steep stretch, we met an old lady selling the locals favourite drink “chicha”, a strong alcoholic drink made from maize that farm labourers enjoy for its restorative, nutritious properties as well as the alcoholic kick. She was sat alongside two buckets- one full of chicha, the other with water to clean the large and rather well-used beakers she served it in. Our guide bought a beaker and as part of the traditional ritual poured some onto the floor. It’s a donation to the Pacchamama – the mother earth. Steven's verdict: “tasted like it had been fermented in an old-plastic bucket outside for too long”. Delicious, then.

When we arrived at our base camp, the sun had dipped behind the mountain’s peaks and the air was cold and clammy.  The only way to reach our camp was to cross a bridge so rickety, Indiana Jones would’ve done a double take. But, in the spirit of adventure, we tackled it, making thorough use of our walking poles to stop us toppling through one of the half-rotted wooden beams. That would’ve been messy.

After knocking back a simple dinner of chicken and soup, we got thrashed by Hugo at cards (who carried a pack of cards which were covered in what can only politely be described as very scantily clad women) and hit the hay at 7 pm, probably the earliest I’ve been to bed since I was about 9.

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The final stretch: Cuzco

Throughout our trip, Cusco had stood tall in our itinerary. Travellers coming the other way spoke of it in glowing tones, it was the land of Cuzquena and apparently there was some kind of special mountain nearby. All this explains why we proceeded to fall ill as soon we got there.    

I blame the sleeper bus. Far from the restful, Gerald Butler equipped experience of our Arequipa-Puno Cruz del Sur journey, unpaved bumpy roads meant this night was dark and full of terrors. Sarah passed the 7-hours fighting an inevitable slide from her semi-cama (when did ‘half-bed’ ever sound like enough?), while I feverishly fought off visions of us skidding around narrow cliffside roads and clattering over dangling jungle canyon rope bridges.   Such torments did mean that, after joining the uncomfortable collection of couples in the hotels restaurants snoozing face down on the tables, we managed to steal a first impression of the city before anyone was up. Beautiful carved wooden balconies, European plazas, and a muddy coloured, soaring Cathedral just about managed to cut through the mirages of a comfy bed. I'm glad this encounter was our first, as it was quite unlike any of the others which followed, unspoilt as it was nasal calls suggesting that, as a friend, I might like to buy a 15 sol massage or a 1 sol painting. N.B. I have not been mistaken for a lady so many times in any other city.   

  Later we joined a walking tour. A highlight was seeing the pillow stones - soft edged heavy blocks of assorted sizes which had been painstakingly locked together without any mortar by the Incas for their most important buildings. For her part, Sarah found an unsurprising affinity with the chocolate museum. But even with the free food samples at several restaurants and the skittish energy of our guide who played music between stops, I preferred the tour in La Paz. It seemed to have more soul, but maybe that says more about the cities than the tours. At this point I tagged Sarah in on what is most pleasantly called an 'upset tummy'. We spent the rest of the weekend in our room, interrupted by increasingly panicked attempts to withdraw enough dollars for our trek from Peru’s treacherous cash machines.

View from above Cuzco at San Blas on the walking tour.  We returned to Cusco for a few days after our trek, keen to visit some of the cool looking bars we'd been too sick to enjoy first time round.  By happy coincidence it turned out to be the weekend (days sneak up on your when you’re not working), and we decided to meet up with a couple of English bankers we'd met during the hike for a drink in ‘bohemian’ district San Blas. Our guide had tried to sell us this area as like the Ramblas in Barcelona, but thankfully it wasn’t nearly as full of prostitutes and irritating street performers as that makes it sound. Later we found ourselves the only gringos dancing to unknown Latin music in a club full of locals, who gradually became relaxed about our intrusion. (By which I mean they began taking photos of us without even pretending to disguise it.) Not something we had to worry about in Temple, where a Peruvian would have been much more out place. Sarah brought some salsa based hip movements to the growing numbers dancing on the bar, while I decided my moves were more a connoisseur’s choice, better appreciated from the strategically important corner near the cloakroom.

  The lovely hotel we stayed in for our first few days. 

Increasingly strained wallets and ruin-fatigue meant we spent our last couple of days in Cusco cooking for ourselves and comparing the relative merits of nominally different bed throws in several markets. Having enjoyed our trip in Puno, once back in Lima we took another opportunity to visit the cinema, ready to perform some discreet cultural anthropology (and to munch popcorn while watching Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy crack funnies). Our findings - slightly more forthright film titles (‘The Heat’ becomes ‘Armed and Dangerous Girls’, whereas, awesomely, Pitch Perfect is ‘A crazy and Fun War of the Sexes’) and audience interaction, but not on a young-English-girls-sighing-at-Chris O’Dowd’s-character-in-Bridesmaids scale, and of course nowhere near Sarah-at-every-film-ever.

Think the milky way is made up of only of stars and gas. Look again, see what you see...

It sounds like wasted time, but sometimes it’s nice to take a step back from ‘experiences’ and just enjoy doing normal things somewhere strange for a while.

Steven

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Daft Punk - Lose Yourself To Dance

Video edited using footage from Soul Train.

There were two different artists who were the soundtrack to my trip. This song was on repeat for all my bus journeys through Bolivia and Peru. Complete with these moves (in my head though, obvs).

Sarah 

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Bolivia: La Paz

Our trip to La Paz was the result of a bout of ‘why not’ decision making (at only 3 hours from Copacabana it seemed churlish to ignore Bolivia’s capital-in-all but name). Not that you'd catch us admitting to such perfunctory motivations amongst the strung-up dried llama foetuses of the city’s infamous witch market, mind. The stall tenders there are apparently liberal with their curses.

  As the first place we'd been to that wasn't in our Peru-only Lonely Planet, we decided to combat any incipient independent-thinking by rolling up to a free walking tour, run by a company called Red Cap. A rangy, wired Australian named Jack was our man in the eponymous headwear (although a wash may be required to make 'red' an accurate description). He was joined by tattooed local with excellent English. Together they whisked us through an anecdotal but informative picture of life in the city.  They started with bizarro prison San Pedro, in which prisoners pay to rent a cell and until recently an enterprising British inmate was running tours.

  From there we went on to hear how the shopkeepers of La Paz had ingeniously made advertising redundant (sorry Don Draper) by simply having all shops of a type located on a single street. This was followed by a handy warning not to buy fruit from several ladies in the market on any one trip, lest we stoke any dormant tribal tensions, before things took a turn for the icky. Sitting on the floor next to a backstreet fortune teller, we listened to how local superstition dictates that a llama foetus be buried under the foundations of every new building to ensure an accident-free construction (hence the aforementioned, image-forever-burned-into-mind stalls in the witch market). Another interesting, sad detail was how the city's many shoe-shiners went around their business with their faces covered by masks, scarfs and caps, due to the social stigma attached to the job.  

As night fell we decided to try and shake off the day's terrors in true British fashion, by going to the pub. Two new Australian friends from the walking tour in tow and off we went. Through a combination of our incompetence and the tour guide's vague instructions when asked for recommendations, we spent an unproductive 30 minutes circling the same few streets.(To find one bar we were directed to look for 'a miner's hat'. It was only when we reached the marked point on the map that we realised we had no idea what this meant.)   But every cloud brings an atmospheric cocktail bar which also serves a decent chili, as we discovered in a bar Diesel Nacional, marked on our 'Day and Night' map but surprisingly not overrun with gringos. Queue cultural misunderstanding of the day, as what I thought sounded like a relatively smooth cocktail to have with my meal turned out to be a double shot of tequila with 4 caramelized limes. I did not acquit myself with the repose the new situation demanded. But luckily, Sarah's attempt to video any embarrassing floundering that may have occurred turned out to have been a case of someone holding an ipod up in the air and giggling whilst forgetting to press record. Not the video that carnival fortune-teller said would scupper my future political career, then. Phew!

 Steven

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Isla del Sol

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Bolivia: La Isla del Sol

The majority of people who stay in Copacabana use it as a base to explore the famous Islas del Sol y Luna – the Islands of the Sun and Moon. The Isla del Sol was considered to be the birthplace of the sun, and is revered by the Titicaca cultures. Always eager to commune with any place blessed with plenty of sunshine, we hopped on the first boat at 8.30 and slowly skidded our way across. It’s possible to take a mini-pilgrimage across the island and walk from one end to the other, which takes about 3 hours. Inspired, we landed at the north end of the island where we moseyed on over to the ruins at the northern point. There is one path that lazily snakes across the top of the island, from either side of which there are vistas of ancient Inka farm terraces. Everywhere we travelled in Peru and Bolivia we saw these terraces stacked symmetrically up steep hillsides that appear unfarmable. Today many of these terraces are not being used; however, we were later told that there is a movement in Peru to utilise these ready-made historical assets that are slumbering patiently around the country. Alongside the sleepy terraces were narrow coves and groping peninsulas, and at one point we even hit a small woods. Every day we pinched ourselves that we were so lucky to be seeing such incredible sights.

The beach on the north side of the island.

After three hours of trekking we arrived to a fresh trout lunch on the islands southern side, but owing to a breakdown in communication the woman decided we only needed one meal between us so it was a smaller portion than normal. We chose to stay on the island for one night, which you can do at either end. This appears to be a popular option, and the majority of people choose to stay on the southern side, rather than the south. We went with the majority, but having seen the north and its beautiful beach with crystalline sea we weren’t convinced that it was the best choice. Nonetheless, we stayed in a quaint gable roofed hostel that came with glorious views of the Isla del Luna. After a much needed beer, we hiked back up steep hill to enjoy the sunset with a bottle of wine. It was spectacular. We finished our wine and later enjoyed a mahoosive pizza in a tiny hilltop restaurant. There isn’t a great deal of spare electric on the island so the room was mainly lit with candles, which was incredibly atmospheric as the sun drifted off to wakeup New Zealand.

After a very chilled dinner, we meandered slowly back down the hill to our sleepy hostel. In honour of the wee Isla del Luna, there was a brilliant full moon which cast the island in an amazing stoney white light. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine what that you were sharing a view that hasn’t changed in hundreds of years. With hindsight there isn’t a great deal to do on the island after you’ve eaten, with very little street lighting and no bars or cafes to relax after dinner, so at the terribly sensible time of 8.30 we hit the hay. Despite our best intentions, this holiday has included far more early nights than disco nights!

Inka terraces on Isla del Sol

Sarah

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Copacabana

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Bolivia: At the Copacabana

Originally, Bolivia wasn’t part of our itinerary - we had decided that it was probably better to do one country properly rather than try to cram in a handful in the time we had. We did meet several people who’d stuffed at least half of South America into a 3 week slot, and they looked exhausted for it. But the lure of Bolivia from the other side of Lake Titicaca was too hard to resist. Copacabana is the gateway town to the country on the edge of the Lake. Like many people, my first thoughts about Copacabana go something like this: “Copacabana, Copacabana, music and passion are always in fashion at the COPACABANA”. Thus ensued visions of gaudy flower garlands, pulsing disco lights and maybe some fetching 80’s leg warmers in a lovely mandarin colour. You get the idea.

The harbour in Copacabana at 8 am

So imagine my surprise when Copacabana, was, unfortunately, none of those things (well, there may have been a showgirl called Lola, but we didn’t chance upon her). Also, in my head I think I consistently confuse Copacabana with Casablanca for apparently no logical reason, so my expectations were at the least a tad confused. Copacabana is a very relaxed, fairly touristy town where the majority of the bustle occurs along one long street that winds down to the beach and harbour where taxi boats rest alongside proud necked swan paddleboats. The street is jammed with “traditional” restaurants, agencies and shops flogging all manner of jumpers, jewellery, blankets and of course bobbly hats. The accommodation on offer is pretty top notch, and it’s fair to say that we enjoyed two of our best hostel experiences there. Our first night was spent in the Hostel Leyenda’s “Suite”, complete with our own reed boat bench and personal terrace. Not too shabby. Of all the stick-on Romanesque building fronts I’ve seen, I think it’s up there with the best. Resisting the urge to snuggle down smugly onto our personal reed boat for the evening, we paid heed to our grumbling tummies and set out for food. Following the glowing recommendation of our American acquaintances from the Islas de los Uros, we headed off to La Cupula Hotel, whose reputation clearly preceded it because there was an hour wait for food. The hotel’s owner, a lovely German chap named Martin, was incredibly gracious and accommodating and made us feel a little bit important, which when you’re 2 weeks into travelling and a little rough around the edges is most welcome. So we settled down to sample our first bottle of Bolivian wine Campo de Solana (it passed the test!) and did some trip planning next to a log fire, not before politely ejecting a rather large cat from the prime seats. The food was worth the wait, with Steven’s goulash with gnocchi being quite the hit.

Picnic lunch outside our turtle pod at Las Olas.

Day two was passed at the Isla del Sol (more info here). Whilst enjoying our yummy dinner at La Cupula we had discussed our original idea of heading south to see the famous salt plains at Uyuni, perhaps Bolivia’s most famous attraction and which (unlike Nazca) came with glowing recommendations from other travellers. But we needed to be in Cuzco for the 23rd and it would’ve meant a turnaround of two consecutive eleven hour night buses on Bolvia’s infamous roads. With our big trek coming up we decided to leave it for another trip. Instead, we gave ourselves an extra night in Copacabana to relax and be a little extravagant. So we headed to La Cupla’s sister hotel – Las Olas. Las Olas are two-storey self-catering pods with incredible views and interiors. They’re a little more expensive but the exchange rate worked out at 33 pound for the two of us. Again, not too shabby. Armed with wine, cheese, bread and all manner of tomatoes we had a picnic lunch in our own little sun terrace before zonking out in a hammock. We stayed in a large pod covered in turtles that had its very own log fire.

In the evening we met a couple who we made friends with on the boat from the Isla del Sol, one of whom was from Pembrokeshire, so naturally we hit it off. The four of us fought the altitude and hiked up the hill to watch the sunset over the islands while our hearts stopped hammering from the climb. To our backs Copacabana twinkled in the dusk and small fires burnt on top of the hill in honour of the town’s saint. As the sun disappeared we raced back down the hill in order to beat the cold night air. After enjoying a hearty supper, we all tucked up in a small bar and drank some hot alcohol, and damm, it was good! Dozy and cosy we finished our bottle of wine next to our little wood burner, while watching the little boats bob in the moonlight in the bay. It wasn’t quite Uyuni, but it was a very good day.

Sunset over Copacabana.

Sarah