Puno (Lake Titicaca)
Andean Explorer train to Cusco
Cusco
Ollantaytambo
Machu Picchu
Sunday, August 31, 2008
More photos, finally...
Colca Canyon (and Cabanaconde) continued...
Puno (Lake Titicaca)
Andean Explorer train to Cusco
Cusco
Ollantaytambo
Machu Picchu
Puno (Lake Titicaca)
Andean Explorer train to Cusco
Cusco
Ollantaytambo
Machu Picchu
Friday, August 29, 2008
Machu Picchu at last
We got our 4:30 wake up call, roused the crew, packed up, picked up our box breakfasts, and headed out to catch the first bus to Machu Picchu. Thought there´d be a few hard cores, but no, there was a line of some 200 to 300 people all waiting to board the ¨first bus.¨ But Peru has figured the game out: they´re making a lot of money now on tourism and it´s one sleek machine they operate. An endless convoy of Mercedes buses, sparkling and new, pull up and load the masses. We got front seats (exploiting the baby again, of course), and watched as the windy drive up the dusty mountain road unfolded like a movie. These are steep mountains, covered in jungle, and I´m sure damn glad I didn´t have to haul my lumpy white ass up there on foot. Before long, you see it, on top of the mountain, or at least a small part of it, and it is every bit as magical as you might think. Day had broken and mist hung around the mountain tops and you could almost imagine the that honky Bingham must have felt when he ¨discovered¨ the big Picchu. That magic is mitigated somewhat once you pull to the top of the mountain and find the Sanctuary Lodge ($700 a night, and the only hotel up there), more buses, a bathroom (1 sole, please), and of course a concession and souvenir stand.
Malu insisted that we take the long, hard route, so we did. The four of us (Kristina, superwoman, once again, hauling the animated but bemused Kanahe along every square inch of that tortured path) zigzagged awhile in the jungle before we broke out into the open, and there spread beneath us was the Machu Picchu you see in pictures. A series of buildings, terraces, walls, and greens that cover the top of the mountain, very orderly and probably bigger than you think. This thing is so high up, and the mountain it is on and the surrounding mountains so steep, that it is hard to imagine anyone or anything being able to break through its defenses. We covered the front and the back, found the ¨hitching post of the sun,¨which Malu and I were looking for, having watched a documentary about Machu Picchu (on the equinox, the sun passes directly over this stone, which is in alignment with another solar observatory built by the Incas on a neighboring mountain (which you can barely see). The Incas, it is said, believed that they had to ¨hitch¨ the sun to the earth or it would become unstable and lost. Whatever.
Again, it really is impossible to describe the place. So I won´t push it. I should note that Malu kept insisting that he wanted to climb Waynu Picchu, a taller mountain which sits behind and overlooks Machu Picchu. Beside the fact that only 400 climbers are permitted to climb per day, it takes 2 hours (looks like terrifying, miserable hours) using ladders, rope bridges, and panic control. It´s not something for a booted 5 year old (much less his baby carrying mother and his klutz of a quasi-uncle). He kept insisting that we climb it. And I had had enough. I finally said, yes, you should climb ¨Whiney Picchu¨ because it is named after you (i.e., the Whiney king of the universe). He got mad, and went off on a crying jag, telling his mother that ¨Freebird may be a lawyer, but he´s a mean lawyer. And he´s a liar.¨ I turned back and said, ¨What did he call me?¨ And before it escalated into a full scale battle, a sweet German woman stepped in and gave Malu a piece of candy. His mood changed instantly.
We spent something like 4 hours on Machu Picchu (and the walking is not easy). But we managed very well, considering. We were also warned about bug bites, and despite the fact that I dressed myself with some toxic local brand of repellent, I was bitten numerous times leaving ghastly whelts on my hands and ankles. Poor Kanahe got his first 2 mosquito bites, but he seems to be faring well anyway.
We caught our train that afternoon to Ollyantaytambo, where we were met with a driver who hauled us back to Cusco and our Hotel Ninos. Today, we had a great breakfast (Malu finally got the bacon he´s been asking for), saw the Cathedral (where Kristina...raised as one of those Protestants...was put off once again by Catholic excess...as in solid silver alter pieces, etc...several highpoints: a giant painting of the Last Supper shows the group about to chow down on cuy (guinea pig), the first cross brought to South America sits on top of one of the altars there, and was used for services (and celebrations no doubt of Inca genocide) by Pizarro and his band of thugs), and the cathedral was actually built on an Incan temple where, it was believed, "instruments of Incan power" were buried. Cool stuff. The rest of the day was spent wandering around, gawking, eating more extraordinary Peruvian french fries (they´re ubiquitous, and they´re fresh cut from real potatoes and fried in lard!), and what Kristina believes to be the best chicken curry she´s ever eaten, and keeping Kanahe and Malu fed (not easy). Poor Kanahe had a little constipation problem that he resolved during our lunch, causing an uproar at the table and out in the courtyard, through which he giggled.
We head out tomorrow to Lima and onto Houston and eventually Hawaii for the Hawaiians and San Francisco for me. I´m tired so it´s probably best we head home.
Regarding comments:
We have not been chewing coca leaves, but you can buy them by the fist fulls in the markets. No big deal. However, we have been drinking coca tea, which helps with the altitude sickness, but there´s no buzz really and it tastes like murky green tea.
We never found chi cha, the corn beer. Well, not that we would drink. When you drive down the road in smaller towns, you´ll see a pole with a red plastic bag wrapped around it. That means they´re selling chi cha. When you a good look at the place, it tends to be a smokey hovel, and the kind of place where men on the way home from the farm stop to drink and shoot the shit...not a place I want to relax with a 5 year old and 5 month old.
I´ll post photographs when I return to my imperialist homeland.
Some random observations: Peru is cleaner than any other Latin country we´ve visited (I mean, they keep the streets here as clean as they do in Europe...deal with it); as in many places in the world, few people in Peru know how or want to bother to cook a scrambled egg well; traveling with 2 or 3 changes of clothes continues to be the best way to go (watching the unwitting haul giant duffle bags around is a powerful reminder); Peru seems to have a much more efficient infrastructure than other Latin countries we´ve visited, with lots of transportation options; the people have been friendly everywhere, especially to the baby (although some of the women chastise Kristina because the baby´s head, hands, feet, or legs are not smothered like the Incas wrap their children...we had to sneak home from the restaurant today to avoid more of the chastisement), and the tendency to dress a dish with fresh cut, lard fried potatoes is a landmark achievement in world cuisine. I know it seems regressive, but it is a celebration of the simple perfection of a potato and oil. What more could you need?
Malu insisted that we take the long, hard route, so we did. The four of us (Kristina, superwoman, once again, hauling the animated but bemused Kanahe along every square inch of that tortured path) zigzagged awhile in the jungle before we broke out into the open, and there spread beneath us was the Machu Picchu you see in pictures. A series of buildings, terraces, walls, and greens that cover the top of the mountain, very orderly and probably bigger than you think. This thing is so high up, and the mountain it is on and the surrounding mountains so steep, that it is hard to imagine anyone or anything being able to break through its defenses. We covered the front and the back, found the ¨hitching post of the sun,¨which Malu and I were looking for, having watched a documentary about Machu Picchu (on the equinox, the sun passes directly over this stone, which is in alignment with another solar observatory built by the Incas on a neighboring mountain (which you can barely see). The Incas, it is said, believed that they had to ¨hitch¨ the sun to the earth or it would become unstable and lost. Whatever.
Again, it really is impossible to describe the place. So I won´t push it. I should note that Malu kept insisting that he wanted to climb Waynu Picchu, a taller mountain which sits behind and overlooks Machu Picchu. Beside the fact that only 400 climbers are permitted to climb per day, it takes 2 hours (looks like terrifying, miserable hours) using ladders, rope bridges, and panic control. It´s not something for a booted 5 year old (much less his baby carrying mother and his klutz of a quasi-uncle). He kept insisting that we climb it. And I had had enough. I finally said, yes, you should climb ¨Whiney Picchu¨ because it is named after you (i.e., the Whiney king of the universe). He got mad, and went off on a crying jag, telling his mother that ¨Freebird may be a lawyer, but he´s a mean lawyer. And he´s a liar.¨ I turned back and said, ¨What did he call me?¨ And before it escalated into a full scale battle, a sweet German woman stepped in and gave Malu a piece of candy. His mood changed instantly.
We spent something like 4 hours on Machu Picchu (and the walking is not easy). But we managed very well, considering. We were also warned about bug bites, and despite the fact that I dressed myself with some toxic local brand of repellent, I was bitten numerous times leaving ghastly whelts on my hands and ankles. Poor Kanahe got his first 2 mosquito bites, but he seems to be faring well anyway.
We caught our train that afternoon to Ollyantaytambo, where we were met with a driver who hauled us back to Cusco and our Hotel Ninos. Today, we had a great breakfast (Malu finally got the bacon he´s been asking for), saw the Cathedral (where Kristina...raised as one of those Protestants...was put off once again by Catholic excess...as in solid silver alter pieces, etc...several highpoints: a giant painting of the Last Supper shows the group about to chow down on cuy (guinea pig), the first cross brought to South America sits on top of one of the altars there, and was used for services (and celebrations no doubt of Inca genocide) by Pizarro and his band of thugs), and the cathedral was actually built on an Incan temple where, it was believed, "instruments of Incan power" were buried. Cool stuff. The rest of the day was spent wandering around, gawking, eating more extraordinary Peruvian french fries (they´re ubiquitous, and they´re fresh cut from real potatoes and fried in lard!), and what Kristina believes to be the best chicken curry she´s ever eaten, and keeping Kanahe and Malu fed (not easy). Poor Kanahe had a little constipation problem that he resolved during our lunch, causing an uproar at the table and out in the courtyard, through which he giggled.
We head out tomorrow to Lima and onto Houston and eventually Hawaii for the Hawaiians and San Francisco for me. I´m tired so it´s probably best we head home.
Regarding comments:
We have not been chewing coca leaves, but you can buy them by the fist fulls in the markets. No big deal. However, we have been drinking coca tea, which helps with the altitude sickness, but there´s no buzz really and it tastes like murky green tea.
We never found chi cha, the corn beer. Well, not that we would drink. When you drive down the road in smaller towns, you´ll see a pole with a red plastic bag wrapped around it. That means they´re selling chi cha. When you a good look at the place, it tends to be a smokey hovel, and the kind of place where men on the way home from the farm stop to drink and shoot the shit...not a place I want to relax with a 5 year old and 5 month old.
I´ll post photographs when I return to my imperialist homeland.
Some random observations: Peru is cleaner than any other Latin country we´ve visited (I mean, they keep the streets here as clean as they do in Europe...deal with it); as in many places in the world, few people in Peru know how or want to bother to cook a scrambled egg well; traveling with 2 or 3 changes of clothes continues to be the best way to go (watching the unwitting haul giant duffle bags around is a powerful reminder); Peru seems to have a much more efficient infrastructure than other Latin countries we´ve visited, with lots of transportation options; the people have been friendly everywhere, especially to the baby (although some of the women chastise Kristina because the baby´s head, hands, feet, or legs are not smothered like the Incas wrap their children...we had to sneak home from the restaurant today to avoid more of the chastisement), and the tendency to dress a dish with fresh cut, lard fried potatoes is a landmark achievement in world cuisine. I know it seems regressive, but it is a celebration of the simple perfection of a potato and oil. What more could you need?
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
We think it was the minestrone...
After posting last night, I returned to the room to find my crew asleep. After tending to the nightly repacking ritual, I popped a melatonin and headed for bed, too. Not for long. While Malu´s throwing up seemed to have ended, Kristina´s was just beginning. We counted, and I think over the course of the night she hurled something like 11 times. As morning approached, and her sickness continued, I outlined in my mind alternative travel plans (i.e., me leaving the family in the hotel to rest and recover while I go on to Machu Picchu, and returning to pick them up in a few days on the return). Fortunately, the alternative plan was not needed. By morning, Kristina had done about all she could do in the expectoration department and was feeling much better. We made our 5 a.m. pickup and our 6 a.m. train in Ollyantaytambo, 35 minutes away. I told you this was a tough crew.
And yes, we believe the minestrone at our lovely little restaurant in Urubamba, recommended by the hotel, was the culprit. I didn´t eat any, but still felt a little queasy, and still do. Not sure if that´s mere suggestion or tainted spaghetti. A minor, but very unpleasant, bump in the journey. Our first, really.
We boarded the Backpacker train in Ollyantaytambo and were immediately struck by the difference between it and the beautiful Andean Explorer. This is bare bones stuff. And every cushion, it seemed, was stained with god knows what. Nonetheless, it was roomy, laid back, and not very crowded. We sat with a young couple from Boston, on an 8 week lark before they moved to San Francisco. Yes, I bored them with San Francisco tips. And Kristina chatted up surfing with the boy, as he, too, was an afficianado. The ride was short, only 1 and a half hours, and lovely, as we headed up into the wooded mountains.
Arrived in Aguas Calientes, which sits below Machu Picchu, and exists for the sole reason of Machu Picchu tourism. And it shows. Nothing authentic about this place, but it´s efficient, and has everything a German, Italian, Frenchman, Englishman, or American could want.
We plan to board the 530 a.m. bus tomorrow morning for the 30 minute ride to the top of Machu Picchu, where we hope to catch the sunrise. Wish Riki were here to play his nose flute (you have to be there).
After that we catch the 2 p.m. bus for the return to Ollyantaytambo, where we transfer to Cusco for our last full day in Peru. Boo hoo.
And yes, we believe the minestrone at our lovely little restaurant in Urubamba, recommended by the hotel, was the culprit. I didn´t eat any, but still felt a little queasy, and still do. Not sure if that´s mere suggestion or tainted spaghetti. A minor, but very unpleasant, bump in the journey. Our first, really.
We boarded the Backpacker train in Ollyantaytambo and were immediately struck by the difference between it and the beautiful Andean Explorer. This is bare bones stuff. And every cushion, it seemed, was stained with god knows what. Nonetheless, it was roomy, laid back, and not very crowded. We sat with a young couple from Boston, on an 8 week lark before they moved to San Francisco. Yes, I bored them with San Francisco tips. And Kristina chatted up surfing with the boy, as he, too, was an afficianado. The ride was short, only 1 and a half hours, and lovely, as we headed up into the wooded mountains.
Arrived in Aguas Calientes, which sits below Machu Picchu, and exists for the sole reason of Machu Picchu tourism. And it shows. Nothing authentic about this place, but it´s efficient, and has everything a German, Italian, Frenchman, Englishman, or American could want.
We plan to board the 530 a.m. bus tomorrow morning for the 30 minute ride to the top of Machu Picchu, where we hope to catch the sunrise. Wish Riki were here to play his nose flute (you have to be there).
After that we catch the 2 p.m. bus for the return to Ollyantaytambo, where we transfer to Cusco for our last full day in Peru. Boo hoo.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The survivors rattle on...
We sent Riki on his way early Monday morning, flying from Puno to Lima in the early morning...about an hour and a half flight...and onto to Maui at something like 11 that night. Long time in the Lima airport.
My crew, Kristina, Malu, Kanahe, and me, headed to the train station where we boarded the magnificent Andean Explorer train to Cusco. First ones on the train, we found ourselves in plush, quasi English club room surroundings. No plain old train seats, but Queen Anne chairs surrounding linen covered tables. Delightful. And the observation car on the end of the train featured a bar car on the end of which was an open air car with leather covered benches from which you could view and feel the Andean countryside. Yes, we were in hog heaven.
Once again, however, Kanahe was the star. I am not sure of the cultural or anthropological significance of this, but the haughty Germans and pinched English in our car, all on the older side, pretty much ignored Kanahe. While the Italians and Latins that passed through the car, including the staff, went gaga over him. Part of the reticence of the Europeans, I will admit, was their fear, upon seeing a 5 month old and 5 year old in THEIR train car, on the train ride they had saved and waited for all of their lives, that there would be honyocks going apeshit. In fact, the English even admitted it at the end of the ride. But to a person, the passengers of color, so to speak, stopped and made quite a to do over the little one. The Italians, including the men, stopped to take pictures. Several times during the 10 hour ride, our Latin attendant stopped by to hold and ogle Kanahe and whisked him away into the nether reaches of the train. She stopped by at one point to ask if she could borrow him for a fashion show...unfortuately, he was feeding and nothing gets in the way of Kanahe and his chow.
Anyway, we lunched on china...lovely if not extraordinary food...I had Andean sushi, boiled beef with some kind of pepper sauce, and rice pudding...and were served tea an hour or so before our arrival. The service was great, and the food delivered as if we were in the finest, if show offy, restaurant in Paris, the waiters lining up in the car with dishes in hand and, simultaneously delivering the dishes to the table. Too cute.
The landscape along the way was monumental, tall, steep mountains, rivers running alongside the tracks...and in some towns, we seemed to actually tear right through the market place with stalls practically touching the train.
Although it was a 10 hour ride, the group held up well considering. We soon found our way to the Hotel Ninos in Cusco. It is a little colonial style hotel, very simple and cheap, run by a foundation created by some Dutch woman to benefit homeless children of Peru. All I really cared about was a good bed and a hot shower, and the Hotel Ninos has both. Unfortunately, Malu began to have a nasal situation, perhaps a cold. So I ran out into the night to find Nyquil...no go. So I bought something recommended by the farmacia and when Malu woke up in the middle of the night, crying about how miserable he was, Kristina fed him one of the pills and he seemed to sleep much better.
Unfortunatly, Kristina accidentally overdosed him in the morning. There were no instructions on the packaging, and she remember me saying something about 2, i.e., 2 a day. But she thought, well if it works that good, lets try 2 this morning. At breakfast, Malu conked out and had to lay on two restaurant chairs pulled together. Meanwhile, I ran errands...more diapers, a visit to the ATM, and a visit to the South American Explorers Club, of which I am a member...yes, nerd alert...to find out how to get to Yucay in the Sacred Valley. I got to see a good portion of central Cusco, and it is lovely. The town means a lot to me, having just read a great history of the Incas. It was in the very Plaza de Armas where we had breakfast, and where Malu conked out and where we later changed Kanahes diaper in the grass while the policia watched, that the most decisive battle between the Incas and the invading Spanish was fought. The City is surrounded by mountains. The Spanish held the City, and hung out in the Plaza de Armas. The Incas had learned by that time that they were no match for the Spanish horses or guns on level ground, so they surrounded the city in the mountains and rained arrows, some with fire, into the Plaza. They did this for weeks. At night, the outnumbered Spanish would look out into the hills and shudder to see the Inca campfires glowing throughout the hills. Freaky stuff. We did not get to explore much more because we had to head to Yucay.
Yucay is in the Sacred Valley, another spectacular Andean valley. I had no idea how to get there, and I did not want to pay some tour operator, who would gouge me and then lecture me to death, not to mention stopping at the souvenir stalls where he would get a commission. So the SAE told me to go to one corner in the City and either catch a collectivo, which is a small public bus that packs them to the gills and heads off to a particular location. Or we could take what is in effect a private taxi. We opted for the latter. However, when we got to the intersection in question, this was no bus or train station. It was a bunch of guys standing around. When the cab stopped and we got out, they approached us yelling out towns. A little freaky, but, what the hell. We told the guy Yucay, and he whisked us to his car. He took us on an hour and 15 minute ride into the mountains for about 15 dollars. By way of reference, I can barely get home from my office for 15 dollars in San Francisco.
Our hotel, the Casona de Yucay, is yet another lovely hacienda. Simon Bolivar even stayed here, so there. We had lunch at a restaurant recommended by the hotel in nearby Urubamba. We thought it was great. But after I left for my solo field trip to the ruins in nearby Ollantaytambo, Malu hurled all over the restaurant...and Kristina. They retreated to the hotel where, so far tonight, he has hurled 2 more times. We are keeping our fingers crossed that his hurling will be completed by the 6 a.m. train. Pete stop laughing.
Oh yes, the ruins of Ollantaytambo were spectacular. An Inca fortress built into the side of a mountain another 35 minutes from Yucay. Fantastic location, and the ruins were both monumental and incredible...how did they build these things. It was very windy and at one point I found myself on a narrow path hugging the mountain. Not my thing. Glad I made the extra effort to see this stuff, despite my being bloated and tired from lunch.
Tomorrow, we catch the Backpacker Train to Aguas Calientes, which sits at the bottom of the mountain on top of which sits Machu Picchu. We will just see.
My crew, Kristina, Malu, Kanahe, and me, headed to the train station where we boarded the magnificent Andean Explorer train to Cusco. First ones on the train, we found ourselves in plush, quasi English club room surroundings. No plain old train seats, but Queen Anne chairs surrounding linen covered tables. Delightful. And the observation car on the end of the train featured a bar car on the end of which was an open air car with leather covered benches from which you could view and feel the Andean countryside. Yes, we were in hog heaven.
Once again, however, Kanahe was the star. I am not sure of the cultural or anthropological significance of this, but the haughty Germans and pinched English in our car, all on the older side, pretty much ignored Kanahe. While the Italians and Latins that passed through the car, including the staff, went gaga over him. Part of the reticence of the Europeans, I will admit, was their fear, upon seeing a 5 month old and 5 year old in THEIR train car, on the train ride they had saved and waited for all of their lives, that there would be honyocks going apeshit. In fact, the English even admitted it at the end of the ride. But to a person, the passengers of color, so to speak, stopped and made quite a to do over the little one. The Italians, including the men, stopped to take pictures. Several times during the 10 hour ride, our Latin attendant stopped by to hold and ogle Kanahe and whisked him away into the nether reaches of the train. She stopped by at one point to ask if she could borrow him for a fashion show...unfortuately, he was feeding and nothing gets in the way of Kanahe and his chow.
Anyway, we lunched on china...lovely if not extraordinary food...I had Andean sushi, boiled beef with some kind of pepper sauce, and rice pudding...and were served tea an hour or so before our arrival. The service was great, and the food delivered as if we were in the finest, if show offy, restaurant in Paris, the waiters lining up in the car with dishes in hand and, simultaneously delivering the dishes to the table. Too cute.
The landscape along the way was monumental, tall, steep mountains, rivers running alongside the tracks...and in some towns, we seemed to actually tear right through the market place with stalls practically touching the train.
Although it was a 10 hour ride, the group held up well considering. We soon found our way to the Hotel Ninos in Cusco. It is a little colonial style hotel, very simple and cheap, run by a foundation created by some Dutch woman to benefit homeless children of Peru. All I really cared about was a good bed and a hot shower, and the Hotel Ninos has both. Unfortunately, Malu began to have a nasal situation, perhaps a cold. So I ran out into the night to find Nyquil...no go. So I bought something recommended by the farmacia and when Malu woke up in the middle of the night, crying about how miserable he was, Kristina fed him one of the pills and he seemed to sleep much better.
Unfortunatly, Kristina accidentally overdosed him in the morning. There were no instructions on the packaging, and she remember me saying something about 2, i.e., 2 a day. But she thought, well if it works that good, lets try 2 this morning. At breakfast, Malu conked out and had to lay on two restaurant chairs pulled together. Meanwhile, I ran errands...more diapers, a visit to the ATM, and a visit to the South American Explorers Club, of which I am a member...yes, nerd alert...to find out how to get to Yucay in the Sacred Valley. I got to see a good portion of central Cusco, and it is lovely. The town means a lot to me, having just read a great history of the Incas. It was in the very Plaza de Armas where we had breakfast, and where Malu conked out and where we later changed Kanahes diaper in the grass while the policia watched, that the most decisive battle between the Incas and the invading Spanish was fought. The City is surrounded by mountains. The Spanish held the City, and hung out in the Plaza de Armas. The Incas had learned by that time that they were no match for the Spanish horses or guns on level ground, so they surrounded the city in the mountains and rained arrows, some with fire, into the Plaza. They did this for weeks. At night, the outnumbered Spanish would look out into the hills and shudder to see the Inca campfires glowing throughout the hills. Freaky stuff. We did not get to explore much more because we had to head to Yucay.
Yucay is in the Sacred Valley, another spectacular Andean valley. I had no idea how to get there, and I did not want to pay some tour operator, who would gouge me and then lecture me to death, not to mention stopping at the souvenir stalls where he would get a commission. So the SAE told me to go to one corner in the City and either catch a collectivo, which is a small public bus that packs them to the gills and heads off to a particular location. Or we could take what is in effect a private taxi. We opted for the latter. However, when we got to the intersection in question, this was no bus or train station. It was a bunch of guys standing around. When the cab stopped and we got out, they approached us yelling out towns. A little freaky, but, what the hell. We told the guy Yucay, and he whisked us to his car. He took us on an hour and 15 minute ride into the mountains for about 15 dollars. By way of reference, I can barely get home from my office for 15 dollars in San Francisco.
Our hotel, the Casona de Yucay, is yet another lovely hacienda. Simon Bolivar even stayed here, so there. We had lunch at a restaurant recommended by the hotel in nearby Urubamba. We thought it was great. But after I left for my solo field trip to the ruins in nearby Ollantaytambo, Malu hurled all over the restaurant...and Kristina. They retreated to the hotel where, so far tonight, he has hurled 2 more times. We are keeping our fingers crossed that his hurling will be completed by the 6 a.m. train. Pete stop laughing.
Oh yes, the ruins of Ollantaytambo were spectacular. An Inca fortress built into the side of a mountain another 35 minutes from Yucay. Fantastic location, and the ruins were both monumental and incredible...how did they build these things. It was very windy and at one point I found myself on a narrow path hugging the mountain. Not my thing. Glad I made the extra effort to see this stuff, despite my being bloated and tired from lunch.
Tomorrow, we catch the Backpacker Train to Aguas Calientes, which sits at the bottom of the mountain on top of which sits Machu Picchu. We will just see.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Out on Lake Titicaca with little Kanahe
We finally made it to the waterfront today for the trip out to the famous reed islands of Lake Titicaca. Yes, some of the islands, known as Uros, are made entirely of reed. I first heard about these when Papa took me to see a documentary on Thor Heyerdahl´s Ra Expedition and have been intrigued since (nerd alert). I got goose bumps when we finally approached the islands and there, tied up along the water front, were the very reed boats they´ve been using for centuries. We got to the islands by ignoring the many touts in the port, and jumping on the ¨locals¨ boat, which was much cheaper. 30 minutes out to the island, where we were greeted with the locals in their colorful garb. Not too pushy, but tourism has become their livelihood, so they´re selling lots of the same crap you see on the mainland. But they do live on these islands, in little reed huts. Walking on these islands is a challenge, quite mushy. My nerd dreams came true when one of the local men asked if we wanted to ride in one of the reed boats. Of course, we did, and he took our little group on a ride along the other islands for about 20 minutes. Delightful, but for the incredibly bright Peruvian sun and two Bolivian honyocks who acted up on the boat. Kanahe was bemused by the whole experience, watched as the reeds floated by in the water, took a giant dump on the boat (in his diaper, mind you), and giggled his way through the rest of the day. Malu did everything he could, it seems, to make as much noise on the boat as possible. Oy vay.
We´re beginning to feel a little of the altitude. I´m not sleeping much and wake up gasping like a fish. Riki´s dizzy and has a periodic headache. Kristina doesn´t complain much, but we all get winded making just the slightest physical effort. Candy helps.
Yesterday was Riki´s birthday and we celebrated it in the restaurant recommended by our pickup, Broz. The Balcones of Puno was a little corny, but fun. Had local folk dancers (who didn´t do anything Kristina and I thought we couldn´t pull off), and an incredible band (featuring the biggest pan pipes you´ve ever seen). Their repertoire included the standard folk music, plus John Lennon´s Imagine and the birthday song in Spanish for Riki. It was sweet. The food was quite good...my alpaca lomo saltado showed up in architectonic form: the rice was a pyramid, and the french fries stacked like bricks, the Inca way! I think there was only one time out during the meal, so it goes down in the history books.
Tomorrow, Riki flies home to Hawaii, leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves. Fortunately, we have first class tickets on a train to Cusco through what is supposed to be some of the most spectacular scenery on earth. Leave early, but that´s no hill for these steppers.
Over and out for now.
We´re beginning to feel a little of the altitude. I´m not sleeping much and wake up gasping like a fish. Riki´s dizzy and has a periodic headache. Kristina doesn´t complain much, but we all get winded making just the slightest physical effort. Candy helps.
Yesterday was Riki´s birthday and we celebrated it in the restaurant recommended by our pickup, Broz. The Balcones of Puno was a little corny, but fun. Had local folk dancers (who didn´t do anything Kristina and I thought we couldn´t pull off), and an incredible band (featuring the biggest pan pipes you´ve ever seen). Their repertoire included the standard folk music, plus John Lennon´s Imagine and the birthday song in Spanish for Riki. It was sweet. The food was quite good...my alpaca lomo saltado showed up in architectonic form: the rice was a pyramid, and the french fries stacked like bricks, the Inca way! I think there was only one time out during the meal, so it goes down in the history books.
Tomorrow, Riki flies home to Hawaii, leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves. Fortunately, we have first class tickets on a train to Cusco through what is supposed to be some of the most spectacular scenery on earth. Leave early, but that´s no hill for these steppers.
Over and out for now.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
It´s cool, sunny and very high on Lake Titicaca...
Finally, a life quest is completed. I have made it to Lake Titicaca. Well, not quite to the lake. We managed to rise at the ungodly hour of 4:30 a.m. (despite the fact that the hotel clerk failed to give us the wake up call he promised). The crew pulled together amazingly quickly and our pickup arrived on time. We were whisked to the Arequipa airport, and met there by a representative of my Lima agent (we didn´t have to pay for this transfer, because they screwed up on our transfer in Arequipa, at night, in the dark and cold, you remember). We managed to get through the check in with little difficulty (the only difficulty in fact was the LAN agent´s struggle to enter the long, polysyllabic Hawaiian names of the children). The LAN flight was short and sweet. We were met at the airport in Juliaca, and whisked an hour away to Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca.
On the ride, our guide, Broz, informed us that we were at 12,000 feet, which I guess I had overlooked. We are all getting a little dizzy and fatigued, but are trying to take it slow. After breakfast, we wandered over to the cathedral, where a series of weddings were taking place. A good mix of western and indigenous outfits, and the Wedding March in Spanish. Because the weddings followed one after the other, a mariachi band celebrating one wedding outside encroached upon the wedding mass going on in the Cathedral, but no one seemed to mind.
Malu was beginning to get feisty so Lady K retreated to the room with him and Kanahe for a nap. Riki and I treked across town to the market place (wild) to buy diapers (pinyas or something like that) and pants for Malu (since his blue jeans keep falling off). The market stretched across several blocks and into a warehouse of stalls, selling everything from diapers and pantalones, of course, to fish, fresh produce (including coca leaves), goat heads, and crap you don´t even know what it is. On the way back, Riki and I hopped into one of these three-wheeled contraptions that motored us around. Along the way, we saw a school field full of soccer players, and realized we will have to return with Malu once he wakes up.
Tomorrow, assuming no altitude sickness, we´re headed to the lake to catch "the people´s boat" to Uros, an island in Lake Titicaca made entirely of reeds. It´s a 3-hour trip. After that, we will no doubt collapse. It will be our last night together, as Riki leaves Monday morning for Lima and then Hawaii, leaving me, Kristina, Malu, and Kanahe to make our way to Machu Picchu. This should be interesting since my escape hatch will be closed (I´ll be sharing a room with the family for the last few days of the trip). Pray for me.
Why aren´t you people commenting? Am I writing for the ether? Peace out.
P.S. Just saw Biden is Obama´s VP pick. Exciting.
On the ride, our guide, Broz, informed us that we were at 12,000 feet, which I guess I had overlooked. We are all getting a little dizzy and fatigued, but are trying to take it slow. After breakfast, we wandered over to the cathedral, where a series of weddings were taking place. A good mix of western and indigenous outfits, and the Wedding March in Spanish. Because the weddings followed one after the other, a mariachi band celebrating one wedding outside encroached upon the wedding mass going on in the Cathedral, but no one seemed to mind.
Malu was beginning to get feisty so Lady K retreated to the room with him and Kanahe for a nap. Riki and I treked across town to the market place (wild) to buy diapers (pinyas or something like that) and pants for Malu (since his blue jeans keep falling off). The market stretched across several blocks and into a warehouse of stalls, selling everything from diapers and pantalones, of course, to fish, fresh produce (including coca leaves), goat heads, and crap you don´t even know what it is. On the way back, Riki and I hopped into one of these three-wheeled contraptions that motored us around. Along the way, we saw a school field full of soccer players, and realized we will have to return with Malu once he wakes up.
Tomorrow, assuming no altitude sickness, we´re headed to the lake to catch "the people´s boat" to Uros, an island in Lake Titicaca made entirely of reeds. It´s a 3-hour trip. After that, we will no doubt collapse. It will be our last night together, as Riki leaves Monday morning for Lima and then Hawaii, leaving me, Kristina, Malu, and Kanahe to make our way to Machu Picchu. This should be interesting since my escape hatch will be closed (I´ll be sharing a room with the family for the last few days of the trip). Pray for me.
Why aren´t you people commenting? Am I writing for the ether? Peace out.
P.S. Just saw Biden is Obama´s VP pick. Exciting.
Friday, August 22, 2008
More on that hotel, the Kuntur Wassi...
The enchantment of our little mountain hotel wore a little thin last night. With a tired, little baby, a weary, at-times manic 5 year old, and a temporamental parent (I won´t say which one), we had to deal with what may be the most surreal restaurant experience of my life. (I should have had a clue when I checked in and the hotel clerk kept refusing to take my payment for the hotel...I kept trying to hand her the voucher, but she´d shake her head and say no, that´s ok...it made no sense, so I kept trying and eventually won by leaving the voucher on the desk and walking away. I never understood quite what her role was there....)
At dinner, we had to pull teeth to order food or drink, despite the fact that a number of staff members lollygagged in the restaurant and hotel lobby, chatting it up and flirting. Then, the food started arriving in erratic spurts...a dish here, a dish there, and for some of us, nothing at all. Our queries were met with confusion, surprise, and ultimately ambivalence. Meanwhile, the 5 year old got a few time outs, the baby had to retreat to the room in misery with Mama and only part of her meal, leaving me, Riki, and the guide, Patricia to sort things out. We´d ask about the food, and they´d tell us, oh, we thought you cancelled that order, we´ll take care of it...half an hour passed, we would ask again, and they´d say, oh, you cancelled that...we´d explain again, be assured, and wait. That motif repeated itself about 5 times. Finally, a single plate of food arrived and Riki and I devoured it. A few seconds later, desserts arrived, although there were few left to eat them, but we did.
Then I wanted to take one of the sweet quinoa desserts to Kristina in the room, and that opened yet another series of delays, queries, confused responses. When bill-paying time came, the manager brought me a check with all the food we thought we had ordered, and included the dishes that were never received. Ala Cousin Jane, I said, hell no and started drawing lines through the charges. Sweet Patricia stepped in and sorted things out. I did not leave a tip. So there.
But the pain wasn´t quite over: after breakfast (great scrambled eggs, weird coffee...they brought you a thermas with hot water and a small pitcher of coffee...I kept asking what to do with them but the waiter just nodded and left...I mixed the two and it was barely palatable), I learned that I had locked my key in my room (maybe it was the cold shower that had disoriented me on a pretty cold morning). I announced my problem to the desk, and once again, the clerk, a new one, seemed to wonder why I was telling her this. Eventually, she and no less than 4 other employees began looking for keys. I heard her say, "No duplicado," so I thought we were going to have to pick the lock. Alas, someone found a giant box of keys, and they sorted through them one by one until they found my room key, although no one told me. I stood directly in front of the desk while they did this, and waited, and waited. No one said anything to me for a good 15 minutes, so I thought I´d stroll out to my room to see if there was any activity. There in the door was my key, where they had left it. I suppose I could have stood there until noon and I´d still be clueless.
Not everyone was having a bad morning. It seems Patricia, our guide, was getting it on with one of the other guides. She was with us for breakfast, but soon disappeared. Our driver had to blow the horn to get her to join us for the departure.
We went directly to the lookout where the Andean condors fly in the morning. This is something people live to see. Not so much me. I mean the valley is beautiful, as are the birds. But after about 4 flyovers I was ready to go (as was Kristina and Kanahe). We retreated to the bus, where Riki and Malu eventually showed up. Our driver was there. But no Patricia. Eventually, and well after our scheduled departure time, she arrived, giggling.
The pieces fell together at the hot springs outside Chivay. Kristina kept insisting that we find hot springs. Our guide got us to some fairly nice ones, and the Hawaiians all jumped in (I, like my mother, sat on the side, fully dressed with sunglasses on, reading). A naked Kanahe loved it (a funny: the lady who ran the poolside juice bar came over and asked if anyone wanted¨"jugo," fresh juice. Riki, who admittedly does not speak much Spanish, thought she was telling Kristina to get the naked baby out of the pool because he might poo, and Riki fled from the scene...we all laughed and Kristina ordered Malu some jugo de naranja).
Anyway, it was as we exited from the hot springs, that I discovered Patricia kissing a handsome, young Peruvian boy. Kristina and I felt vindicated in our suspicions, but no less off schedule.
We are back in busy Arequipa tonight at the lovely Casa del Melgar. We fly from Arequipa to Juliaca tomorrow morning (our pickup is at 5 a.m.!), and we transfer to Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca!
At dinner, we had to pull teeth to order food or drink, despite the fact that a number of staff members lollygagged in the restaurant and hotel lobby, chatting it up and flirting. Then, the food started arriving in erratic spurts...a dish here, a dish there, and for some of us, nothing at all. Our queries were met with confusion, surprise, and ultimately ambivalence. Meanwhile, the 5 year old got a few time outs, the baby had to retreat to the room in misery with Mama and only part of her meal, leaving me, Riki, and the guide, Patricia to sort things out. We´d ask about the food, and they´d tell us, oh, we thought you cancelled that order, we´ll take care of it...half an hour passed, we would ask again, and they´d say, oh, you cancelled that...we´d explain again, be assured, and wait. That motif repeated itself about 5 times. Finally, a single plate of food arrived and Riki and I devoured it. A few seconds later, desserts arrived, although there were few left to eat them, but we did.
Then I wanted to take one of the sweet quinoa desserts to Kristina in the room, and that opened yet another series of delays, queries, confused responses. When bill-paying time came, the manager brought me a check with all the food we thought we had ordered, and included the dishes that were never received. Ala Cousin Jane, I said, hell no and started drawing lines through the charges. Sweet Patricia stepped in and sorted things out. I did not leave a tip. So there.
But the pain wasn´t quite over: after breakfast (great scrambled eggs, weird coffee...they brought you a thermas with hot water and a small pitcher of coffee...I kept asking what to do with them but the waiter just nodded and left...I mixed the two and it was barely palatable), I learned that I had locked my key in my room (maybe it was the cold shower that had disoriented me on a pretty cold morning). I announced my problem to the desk, and once again, the clerk, a new one, seemed to wonder why I was telling her this. Eventually, she and no less than 4 other employees began looking for keys. I heard her say, "No duplicado," so I thought we were going to have to pick the lock. Alas, someone found a giant box of keys, and they sorted through them one by one until they found my room key, although no one told me. I stood directly in front of the desk while they did this, and waited, and waited. No one said anything to me for a good 15 minutes, so I thought I´d stroll out to my room to see if there was any activity. There in the door was my key, where they had left it. I suppose I could have stood there until noon and I´d still be clueless.
Not everyone was having a bad morning. It seems Patricia, our guide, was getting it on with one of the other guides. She was with us for breakfast, but soon disappeared. Our driver had to blow the horn to get her to join us for the departure.
We went directly to the lookout where the Andean condors fly in the morning. This is something people live to see. Not so much me. I mean the valley is beautiful, as are the birds. But after about 4 flyovers I was ready to go (as was Kristina and Kanahe). We retreated to the bus, where Riki and Malu eventually showed up. Our driver was there. But no Patricia. Eventually, and well after our scheduled departure time, she arrived, giggling.
The pieces fell together at the hot springs outside Chivay. Kristina kept insisting that we find hot springs. Our guide got us to some fairly nice ones, and the Hawaiians all jumped in (I, like my mother, sat on the side, fully dressed with sunglasses on, reading). A naked Kanahe loved it (a funny: the lady who ran the poolside juice bar came over and asked if anyone wanted¨"jugo," fresh juice. Riki, who admittedly does not speak much Spanish, thought she was telling Kristina to get the naked baby out of the pool because he might poo, and Riki fled from the scene...we all laughed and Kristina ordered Malu some jugo de naranja).
Anyway, it was as we exited from the hot springs, that I discovered Patricia kissing a handsome, young Peruvian boy. Kristina and I felt vindicated in our suspicions, but no less off schedule.
We are back in busy Arequipa tonight at the lovely Casa del Melgar. We fly from Arequipa to Juliaca tomorrow morning (our pickup is at 5 a.m.!), and we transfer to Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
On the edge in the Andes
Last night in Arequipa, I should report for the record, Riki and I ate alpaca. Not bad (although Malu was and our dinner ended on a sour note...I will withhold the details).
What we thought was going to be a taxi, hired to take us to the Colca Canyon, turned out to be a minibus with a driver and a guide, all to ourselves. We set off like kings into the Colca Canyon, stopping occasionally to touch ice, gawk at llamas (or alpacas, whatever the difference is), set up a prayer altar with rocks at 16,000 feet, whee in a hut, and even chat it up with a Houstonian (originally from Lima) who with his CEO, who was riding a motorbike, was headed to check on some new hydroelectric plant they´re building somewhere high in the Andes. Tells me he lives in Tanglewood, of all things. Never know who you´re going to meet, and that´s what´s fun.
Had a tourist, but fun, lunch in Chivay, the last town of any size in the Colca Canyon. It was a buffet and we hit it hard. For the record, Kristina ate 3 bowls of what we identified as a Peruvian curry. I even drank an Inca Kola, which is found everywhere in Peru and is the color of whee. Also got to drink some more chicha morada (the juice made from the purple corn). Even the unable to please Malu liked it.
On into the canyon, the road becomes quite jarring. We were rattled, but the baby took it in style. Bemused as always. It is impossible for me to describe these mountains, so I won´t belabor the point. But picture being surrounded by mountains, into each of which is carved green terraces...which go on for miles. These terraces, used for growing, were created before the Incas, so they´re old, clever and efficient, and beautiful. Our driver, Raoul, was very good, otherwise I might have minded the precipitous drop off on the side of the road down which we were hurling...the numerous cross-laden memorial reminds you that you wouldn´t be the first to plummet to your death in the beautiful Andes.
We arrived at our hotel mid-afternoon, in Cabanaconde, the last town in the valley. Our hotel is another charming, twisty, enchanted hostal. Malu is excited by the fact that the rooms have bathtubs. He´s tired of showers. But the highlight of the trip so far is our horseback ride. OK, to call it a horseback ride is something of an exaggeration. I, Malu, and Kristina (with Kanahe in her lap...you should nkow that Lady K even managed to breastfeed the baby while riding, much to the confusion of some local men) were on burros. Riki had a real horse (Riki is a real horseman). We headed through the tiny town of Cabanaconde into the countryside, the specatular countryside as the sun set. We even perched (me with very tight sphincter due to the height issues) on the very edge of a mountain with yet another precipitous drop WHILE on the burro. It was, to overuse an overused word, awesome (my burro tried to run me into bushes several times, displeased that he was having to work so late on Thursday night, but I managed to corral him back into the center of the rocky, dusty road.)
On the ride back, it was as if we had suddenly returned to the middle ages. It was dark and cold, the air full of smoke, and we passed shepherds and locals carrying giant bundles of sticks on their backs. People had fires going in their homes, and that was really the only light, but for a few street lights. Like a movie, only better. The only negative...I now stink like mule.
We fought our way once again through the throngs of old local women and children who went googoo over the baby. Some insisted on holding him, others just stood by and adored him. During the ride, a group of young girls even ran out of the shop to wave him on. He is something, and even the Peruvians know it.
To dinner in our hotel. Back to Arequipa tomorrow.
What we thought was going to be a taxi, hired to take us to the Colca Canyon, turned out to be a minibus with a driver and a guide, all to ourselves. We set off like kings into the Colca Canyon, stopping occasionally to touch ice, gawk at llamas (or alpacas, whatever the difference is), set up a prayer altar with rocks at 16,000 feet, whee in a hut, and even chat it up with a Houstonian (originally from Lima) who with his CEO, who was riding a motorbike, was headed to check on some new hydroelectric plant they´re building somewhere high in the Andes. Tells me he lives in Tanglewood, of all things. Never know who you´re going to meet, and that´s what´s fun.
Had a tourist, but fun, lunch in Chivay, the last town of any size in the Colca Canyon. It was a buffet and we hit it hard. For the record, Kristina ate 3 bowls of what we identified as a Peruvian curry. I even drank an Inca Kola, which is found everywhere in Peru and is the color of whee. Also got to drink some more chicha morada (the juice made from the purple corn). Even the unable to please Malu liked it.
On into the canyon, the road becomes quite jarring. We were rattled, but the baby took it in style. Bemused as always. It is impossible for me to describe these mountains, so I won´t belabor the point. But picture being surrounded by mountains, into each of which is carved green terraces...which go on for miles. These terraces, used for growing, were created before the Incas, so they´re old, clever and efficient, and beautiful. Our driver, Raoul, was very good, otherwise I might have minded the precipitous drop off on the side of the road down which we were hurling...the numerous cross-laden memorial reminds you that you wouldn´t be the first to plummet to your death in the beautiful Andes.
We arrived at our hotel mid-afternoon, in Cabanaconde, the last town in the valley. Our hotel is another charming, twisty, enchanted hostal. Malu is excited by the fact that the rooms have bathtubs. He´s tired of showers. But the highlight of the trip so far is our horseback ride. OK, to call it a horseback ride is something of an exaggeration. I, Malu, and Kristina (with Kanahe in her lap...you should nkow that Lady K even managed to breastfeed the baby while riding, much to the confusion of some local men) were on burros. Riki had a real horse (Riki is a real horseman). We headed through the tiny town of Cabanaconde into the countryside, the specatular countryside as the sun set. We even perched (me with very tight sphincter due to the height issues) on the very edge of a mountain with yet another precipitous drop WHILE on the burro. It was, to overuse an overused word, awesome (my burro tried to run me into bushes several times, displeased that he was having to work so late on Thursday night, but I managed to corral him back into the center of the rocky, dusty road.)
On the ride back, it was as if we had suddenly returned to the middle ages. It was dark and cold, the air full of smoke, and we passed shepherds and locals carrying giant bundles of sticks on their backs. People had fires going in their homes, and that was really the only light, but for a few street lights. Like a movie, only better. The only negative...I now stink like mule.
We fought our way once again through the throngs of old local women and children who went googoo over the baby. Some insisted on holding him, others just stood by and adored him. During the ride, a group of young girls even ran out of the shop to wave him on. He is something, and even the Peruvians know it.
To dinner in our hotel. Back to Arequipa tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I write from Arequipa...
We are in the lovely "white" colonial city of Arequipa ("white" because many of the buildings are constructed of native white volcanic rock...very beautiful in a textured way). To get here, we survived the 6 hour bus ride to Nasca, and the 9 hour bus ride to Arequipa. That the buses were are embarrasingly plush helped (our seats, in addition to being very wide and cushy, reclined all the way...those of us in first class had our own bathroom, and on the Arequipa leg we were served a perfectly acceptable meal of lomo saltado and some gray, mucousy mass in a bowl...no bingo on the Arequipa leg). And best of all, there were no robberies of the bus!
In Nasca, we hired a taxi driver to take us to the mirador, a platform on the outskirt of town, from which you could see two of the Nasca figurines. The figures are drawn into the desert floor, are quite large, and have lasted (to Kristina´s continuing dismay) for 2,400 years. No one is quite sure who made them or why (the brilliant nut Eric Von Daniken (sp?) made a load of money arguing that they were drawn by the ancient astronauts, given some credence by the fact that you can really only see them from above...even from our mirador, for example, you could only see the "hand" and the "tree" (or at least that what they said they were)). We developed an alternative theory that the figures were created by townspeople in the 20s to create a tourist industry. As they say in Espanol, es posible. Kristina and I (we were the only ones on the platform...Riki and Malu took one look and huffed...as if to say, "what´s the big deal" and descended to shoot the shit with the taxi driver) argued about the lines, their significance, and exactly what they depicted. No conclusions. Our taxi guy took us to a hill nearby and made us climb it too...from that rocky perch we got to see lots more lines that seemed to emanate from our rock. Malu was so moved, he took a piss on the hill.
Our driver convinced us to head over to the Chauchilla Cemetery which, we were told, featured ancient, "pre-Inca mummies." Down a nauseatingly bouncy, dusty road, we soon found ourselves in a spectacular valley surrounded by beautiful desert mountains. Unfortunately, the cemetery stank of fakery. There were "grave sites," each covered with a little thatched roof, in which you would find "mummies," with accoutrement. They even hired some lackeys to pose as archaeologists...they would look around to see if anyone was watching, and pick up a brush and hit a rock or two. Pitiful. We lasted about 2 and a half grave sites and called it quits, headed to the museum where Kristina took the liberty of changing a major poopy diaper next to a child mummy.
Made it back in time to catch the 9 hour bus to Arequipa. Plush seats again. Spectacular journey, with desert moonscape on one side, the thunderous Pacific on the other. I took the liberty of popping a motion sickness pill and all was right. Good chat with Lady K and sweet Kanahe, interpeted occasionally by demands from the boys in front of us (Riki and Malu).
Arrived in Arequipa around midnight to find that our transfer was not at the bus station to greet us. So we, picture this, three worn adults, a rambunctious but tired 5 year old, and sweet Kanahe, set off across the dark bus station parking lot to attempt to score a taxi, in the dark, and in the cold. We managed after a few minutes (and he did not even try to rob or strangle us). But he dropped us off on a completely deserted street in front of our hotel, the door was locked, and it took awhile for anyone to answer. Not an all together pleasant situation. But taken in stride nonetheless (take that Pete).
Our hotel, the Casa del Melgar, is a beautiful colonial hacienda built in the 1800s, with twists and turns and staircases and courtyard...beautiful, clean, and cheap. My room felt like a castle, stone walls, cold, and dark...like I love.
We spent the day exploring Arequipa (and dealing with the dynamics of a demanding 5 year old (I don´t know how to spell it, but if you speak Cajun French, the appropriate term would be a "pesta mezair")...the 4 month old continues to be a complete and utter angel, smiles almost constantly, no demands, no whining, and always accommodating...I have been around a lot of children in my life and this one is truly amazing...I will take him). And on that note, one of the great unexpected pleasures of this trip is to watch people, particularly locals, try to figure us out. They see Kanahe first...and everyone googoos all over him. Then they see Malu and realize they´re brothers. Kristina is clearly the mama, as she is attached at all times to one of the children. But then there´s Riki, dark, bearded, mysterious and usually frowning, and me, oily and plump with bad hair...and there´s immediate and profound cognitive dissonance. The pieces of the puzzle do not fit. Some are brave enough to ask, "Where´s the papa?" Kristina laughs, and eventually explains. But few walk away happy or satisfied. There´s just something that´s not quite right. But everyone, everywhere, adores Kanahe...and touch him and poke him and coo at him. Professional women, policemen, Incan women. And when they find out he´s only 4 months, the cooing and giggling and adoration only worsens. We have come to exploit him, of course...so when we need to ask for a late checkout, Kristina approaches the desk with baby in hand, pleads for the extension, is refused and says, "Es para the baby" and they relent. I will never travel again without an infant.
And for you naysayers (Pete), we have made every bus and contact so far without incident (that is not to say that my blood pressure was not tested). And we continue to roll with the punches.
Oh, and today, after promenading around town to see the big plaza here, we jettisoned Riki to the internet cafe and headed over to the Santa Catalina convent. This place has been cloistered for something like 300 years and finally opened to the public (but for a corner where cloistered nuns still live) in the last few decades. It is truly a city within a city, spectacular colonial architecture, inflected by the use of the local stone...and beautiful indigoes, terra cotta red and muchas geraniums and twisted religious art (one bloody Jesus statue that even scared me). Kristina is a little peeved at what she perceives to be excess on the part of the so-called austere nuns...but nonetheless is considering moving in.
Off tomorrow with a private driver into the Colca Canyon where we hope to ride ponies on the precipitous mountain trail and see Andean condors catch thermals before our very eyes. We spend the night at the very end of the trail in the Colca Canyon and head back to Arequipa the following day (Kristina insisting that we stop at the stinky hot springs on the way back).
For Bonnye, the grandlala: everyone is in good health, in generally good spirits, and behaving. Stop worrying.
In Nasca, we hired a taxi driver to take us to the mirador, a platform on the outskirt of town, from which you could see two of the Nasca figurines. The figures are drawn into the desert floor, are quite large, and have lasted (to Kristina´s continuing dismay) for 2,400 years. No one is quite sure who made them or why (the brilliant nut Eric Von Daniken (sp?) made a load of money arguing that they were drawn by the ancient astronauts, given some credence by the fact that you can really only see them from above...even from our mirador, for example, you could only see the "hand" and the "tree" (or at least that what they said they were)). We developed an alternative theory that the figures were created by townspeople in the 20s to create a tourist industry. As they say in Espanol, es posible. Kristina and I (we were the only ones on the platform...Riki and Malu took one look and huffed...as if to say, "what´s the big deal" and descended to shoot the shit with the taxi driver) argued about the lines, their significance, and exactly what they depicted. No conclusions. Our taxi guy took us to a hill nearby and made us climb it too...from that rocky perch we got to see lots more lines that seemed to emanate from our rock. Malu was so moved, he took a piss on the hill.
Our driver convinced us to head over to the Chauchilla Cemetery which, we were told, featured ancient, "pre-Inca mummies." Down a nauseatingly bouncy, dusty road, we soon found ourselves in a spectacular valley surrounded by beautiful desert mountains. Unfortunately, the cemetery stank of fakery. There were "grave sites," each covered with a little thatched roof, in which you would find "mummies," with accoutrement. They even hired some lackeys to pose as archaeologists...they would look around to see if anyone was watching, and pick up a brush and hit a rock or two. Pitiful. We lasted about 2 and a half grave sites and called it quits, headed to the museum where Kristina took the liberty of changing a major poopy diaper next to a child mummy.
Made it back in time to catch the 9 hour bus to Arequipa. Plush seats again. Spectacular journey, with desert moonscape on one side, the thunderous Pacific on the other. I took the liberty of popping a motion sickness pill and all was right. Good chat with Lady K and sweet Kanahe, interpeted occasionally by demands from the boys in front of us (Riki and Malu).
Arrived in Arequipa around midnight to find that our transfer was not at the bus station to greet us. So we, picture this, three worn adults, a rambunctious but tired 5 year old, and sweet Kanahe, set off across the dark bus station parking lot to attempt to score a taxi, in the dark, and in the cold. We managed after a few minutes (and he did not even try to rob or strangle us). But he dropped us off on a completely deserted street in front of our hotel, the door was locked, and it took awhile for anyone to answer. Not an all together pleasant situation. But taken in stride nonetheless (take that Pete).
Our hotel, the Casa del Melgar, is a beautiful colonial hacienda built in the 1800s, with twists and turns and staircases and courtyard...beautiful, clean, and cheap. My room felt like a castle, stone walls, cold, and dark...like I love.
We spent the day exploring Arequipa (and dealing with the dynamics of a demanding 5 year old (I don´t know how to spell it, but if you speak Cajun French, the appropriate term would be a "pesta mezair")...the 4 month old continues to be a complete and utter angel, smiles almost constantly, no demands, no whining, and always accommodating...I have been around a lot of children in my life and this one is truly amazing...I will take him). And on that note, one of the great unexpected pleasures of this trip is to watch people, particularly locals, try to figure us out. They see Kanahe first...and everyone googoos all over him. Then they see Malu and realize they´re brothers. Kristina is clearly the mama, as she is attached at all times to one of the children. But then there´s Riki, dark, bearded, mysterious and usually frowning, and me, oily and plump with bad hair...and there´s immediate and profound cognitive dissonance. The pieces of the puzzle do not fit. Some are brave enough to ask, "Where´s the papa?" Kristina laughs, and eventually explains. But few walk away happy or satisfied. There´s just something that´s not quite right. But everyone, everywhere, adores Kanahe...and touch him and poke him and coo at him. Professional women, policemen, Incan women. And when they find out he´s only 4 months, the cooing and giggling and adoration only worsens. We have come to exploit him, of course...so when we need to ask for a late checkout, Kristina approaches the desk with baby in hand, pleads for the extension, is refused and says, "Es para the baby" and they relent. I will never travel again without an infant.
And for you naysayers (Pete), we have made every bus and contact so far without incident (that is not to say that my blood pressure was not tested). And we continue to roll with the punches.
Oh, and today, after promenading around town to see the big plaza here, we jettisoned Riki to the internet cafe and headed over to the Santa Catalina convent. This place has been cloistered for something like 300 years and finally opened to the public (but for a corner where cloistered nuns still live) in the last few decades. It is truly a city within a city, spectacular colonial architecture, inflected by the use of the local stone...and beautiful indigoes, terra cotta red and muchas geraniums and twisted religious art (one bloody Jesus statue that even scared me). Kristina is a little peeved at what she perceives to be excess on the part of the so-called austere nuns...but nonetheless is considering moving in.
Off tomorrow with a private driver into the Colca Canyon where we hope to ride ponies on the precipitous mountain trail and see Andean condors catch thermals before our very eyes. We spend the night at the very end of the trail in the Colca Canyon and head back to Arequipa the following day (Kristina insisting that we stop at the stinky hot springs on the way back).
For Bonnye, the grandlala: everyone is in good health, in generally good spirits, and behaving. Stop worrying.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Hawaiians have arrived...
and Peru will never be the same. Monica, my guide, and I made it to the airport late Sunday night and weren´t there 5 minutes when the sliding glass doors to customs opened and out strutted Kristina holding little Kanahe above her head as if to offer him in sacrifice to the throng. Her ploy worked as we spied her immediately, and she us. Riki, Malu, and Kristina all looked good for having flown from Maui to Oahu beginning Saturday evening, then onto Houston, where they suffered a six hour delay, and onto to Lima...but Kanahe was beaming. You´ve never seen a happier baby. And he´s stayed that way. At 4 months, he´s alert, chatty, and of course wants to stick everything in his mouth. This baby is incredibly laid back and pleasant ALL of the time. He spews of course, in incredible volumes and at times with amazing force, but it doesn´t faze him (I, on the other hand, have the occasional gag reflex, but what´s new). He is so cute you can´t stand to look at him too much...but I do. And I swear he understands me when I coo in his face.
We got to sleep for about 3 hours, made the bus (which was very plush and comfortable--two stories even--but for the unduly loud showings of some Drew Barrymore movie followed by one of those loud Disney animated things). We slept through most of it (including the bingo game played on the bus loudspeaker). And awoke to a bleak, gray desert. The closer we got to Nasca, the more hilly the landscape got, but it is really desolate stuff. Made it to Nasca in 7 hours (we told it would be 6)...walked to our cute hotel where Malu demanded a swim while the adults drank Cusequeno cervezas and watched Kristina do Pilades and some Germans eat giant avocadoes. Navigated the tiny town as the sun went down, and had dinner (grilled meat and french fries, the best I have ever had. Really.).
Off tomorrow morning to see the Nasca lines, and then to catch the 8 (!) hour bus to Arequipa.
We got to sleep for about 3 hours, made the bus (which was very plush and comfortable--two stories even--but for the unduly loud showings of some Drew Barrymore movie followed by one of those loud Disney animated things). We slept through most of it (including the bingo game played on the bus loudspeaker). And awoke to a bleak, gray desert. The closer we got to Nasca, the more hilly the landscape got, but it is really desolate stuff. Made it to Nasca in 7 hours (we told it would be 6)...walked to our cute hotel where Malu demanded a swim while the adults drank Cusequeno cervezas and watched Kristina do Pilades and some Germans eat giant avocadoes. Navigated the tiny town as the sun went down, and had dinner (grilled meat and french fries, the best I have ever had. Really.).
Off tomorrow morning to see the Nasca lines, and then to catch the 8 (!) hour bus to Arequipa.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Lima doesn´t smell nearly as bad as people say...
Monica picked me up and we hit the streets of Lima hard in her thin, rattling, but tenacious tiny van. The old part of downtown Lima (Plaza de Armas, etc.) and a tour of the San Francisco monastery and church (including creepy catacombs with lots of dusty bones), where we were forced to look at a ghastly portrait of San Francisco "depicted 24 hours after his death" (why? And with one eye stuck open, the other shut...is that necessary?), next to which sat another portrait of San Francisco in which, I swear the tour guide said, the saint is depicted "playing the rabbit, which he did before he said mass." The painting and room were dark and I couldn´t make out much of anything...and she moved quickly so no explanations. Monica dragged my tired ass all over the city, which is big. And I´m happy to say, relatively clean and well-kept. The guide books bad mouth poor Lima, and maybe I only saw the high points. And I´ve travelled enough (and lived in Houston) to know that all cities have nice spots and dreadful spot...but Lima´s nice spots are awfully nice. Sorry we don´t have time to explore the nightlife more. (By the way, it´s gray and wet, and I don´t think the sun breaks out until November so I´m loving it.) We finished the tour off with a very long lunch at El Segorio de Sulco overlooking the Pacific. Monica got me looped with a Pisco sour, and I was able to knock off two of my must-eats for Peru: ceviche (with giant corn kernels and sweet potatoes, I´m not shitting you) and lomo saltado (a sort of stir fry with beef, onions, ginger, peppers and rice). Sure was fine. Monica also introduced me to chicha morada, which is a purply looking drink made of, well, purple corn (!). Sweet and a little bit sour and fabulous, as the gays say. Must have more chicha morada (there´s also a chicha beer, made, obviously, of corn...but Lima´s too refined to serve it but I will find it!).
I have filled Monica in on the Hawaiians, and we return to the airport tonight to retrieve them. Should be an interesting cultural moment (Monica, too, volunteered that it was crazy to bring a 5-month-old to Peru...oh well).
Tomorrow, we head to the bus station at 6 a.m. to catch the bus to Nasca to see the weird, spooky Nasca lines. Our first of many travel challenges. More on that later.
I have filled Monica in on the Hawaiians, and we return to the airport tonight to retrieve them. Should be an interesting cultural moment (Monica, too, volunteered that it was crazy to bring a 5-month-old to Peru...oh well).
Tomorrow, we head to the bus station at 6 a.m. to catch the bus to Nasca to see the weird, spooky Nasca lines. Our first of many travel challenges. More on that later.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Made it despite Delta Airlines...
I learned upon arriving at SFO that my Continental flight had "been delayed." I learned later that that meant the plane I was supposed to fly to Houston on at 7:30 a.m., and then onto Lima, would not arrive until 5 p.m. in San Francisco. They found me a seat on, god help me, Delta, which has long been fighting with United to be the worst airline in the world. Check in at SFO for Delta is incredibly and inexplicably frustrating, consisting of standing in a series of lines, eventually, ploddingly, moving from one to the other, but with no real progress in sight. Somehow I made the flight, only to Atlanta, not Houston. I begged for an aisle seat on the Lima leg...the clerk acted like he had done me a big favor. When I boarded, I found myself stuck in a tiny, windowless window seat for the very long 6 hour journey to Lima. What a jerk.
The best news is that Monica was there to greet me with my name held high amidst of sea of jockeying touts. Between my broken Spanish and Monica´s busted English we had a lovely conversation as we drove the 30 minutes to the Miraflores district (the nice, much less dodgy part of Lima, on the ocean). The hotel, while aspiring to a kind of atrium lobby, quasi deco grandness is a tad sad. My room is covered in orange...and while I like orange, there is a limit (the bedspread is that cheap kind of plasticky fabric that scratches)...and outside my bedroom window it sounds like a riot or a robot war (but when I look out, I see nothing). But it is clean and very well located I am told (I have no idea) and the bellhop just delivered my Cusquequena beer.
Tomorrow, Monica picks me up for a tour of Lima. Then off to the airport to retrieve the Hawaiians. It is in the 60s and wet here.
P.S. I confront once again the mysteries of the international computer keyboard! Forgive me for a misplaced or absent hyphen, or a loose exclamation point...things just aren´t where they are supposed to be.
The best news is that Monica was there to greet me with my name held high amidst of sea of jockeying touts. Between my broken Spanish and Monica´s busted English we had a lovely conversation as we drove the 30 minutes to the Miraflores district (the nice, much less dodgy part of Lima, on the ocean). The hotel, while aspiring to a kind of atrium lobby, quasi deco grandness is a tad sad. My room is covered in orange...and while I like orange, there is a limit (the bedspread is that cheap kind of plasticky fabric that scratches)...and outside my bedroom window it sounds like a riot or a robot war (but when I look out, I see nothing). But it is clean and very well located I am told (I have no idea) and the bellhop just delivered my Cusquequena beer.
Tomorrow, Monica picks me up for a tour of Lima. Then off to the airport to retrieve the Hawaiians. It is in the 60s and wet here.
P.S. I confront once again the mysteries of the international computer keyboard! Forgive me for a misplaced or absent hyphen, or a loose exclamation point...things just aren´t where they are supposed to be.
Friday, August 15, 2008
We're off!
Everything's a go (except Kristina just found out that that damned Continental airlines wants to charge her $700 to carry her baby on board. Oy vay.) And, as the idiot president might say, "Mission Accomplished!": I received just in time the fleece onesie I ordered from L.L. Bean for little Kanahe...only it's a little loud (looks like a gay prison outfit). But it'll keep that angel warm and that's all that matters. Over and out until Lima.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Finally, something useful on that internet...
I feel compelled to share a find I made in preparing for this little adventure. Given my pathetic Spanish skills (thanks to Mary Jo distracting me in Sister Carla Marie's high school Spanish class), in communicating with my Peruvian contacts, I've relied heavily on: http://www.spanishdict.com/translation. It's a simple website that not only translates English to Spanish and vice versa, but gives you translations from three different online translators! I fear, however, that Monica Velasquez, my Lima guide, will be disappointed with me and my "poquito" Spanish when I show up without this online crutch in tow. Me perdone, Monica.
Monday, August 11, 2008
FYI: I depart this Saturday, August 16...
and the Hawaiian posse joins me late Sunday, August 17. Happy to report that not only does the dollar go further south of the equator (the Euro whipped our ass last year in Sicily), but getting there is a lot easier than making the tortured connections (and suffering the wearying delays) flying to Asia or the mid-East entails. I leave at something like 7 a.m. and arrive in Lima around 10:30 p.m. the SAME DAY (with only a short stopover in Houston). Wheeeee.
The control freak in me reports, cautiously, that everything appears to be in order. Or was until I was assigned the job yesterday of finding longjohns for the Hawaiians (they're not routinely stocked in the tropics, you see).
The control freak in me reports, cautiously, that everything appears to be in order. Or was until I was assigned the job yesterday of finding longjohns for the Hawaiians (they're not routinely stocked in the tropics, you see).
Friday, August 8, 2008
Nevermind...
City Lights bookstore (of the Beat poets) saved me with its idiosyncratic inventory. It's got the standard fiction, non-fiction categories...along with a separate room for Latin American and Asian literature..and downstairs it's got the groovy categories you can find nowhere else (at least not at Borders): "Political Theory and Practice," (which is where I found several tomes by my hero, Subcommandante Marcos), "Commodity Aesthetics," and "People's Histories," etc. No New York Times bestsellers for my hippie friends. Anyway, not that anyone's the least bit interested, but I settled on a Mario Vargas Llosa novel, "Conversation in the Cathedral," and Matthew Restall's "Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest" (in which the ethnohistorian rips pervasive myths about the conquest of the Americas (e.g., "The Myth of Superiority" — the belief that the success of the Spanish conquest was due to technological superiority of the Spaniards or inherent cultural superiority)). Power to the people. And truth. I feel better now.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
One week to go and I haven't picked my travel books!
This is a big deal for the nerd that I am. You know I can't go anywhere without a book (or books). And I'm having trouble deciding what to bring in the way of fiction (preferably Latin American) and non-fiction (just about anything, but if it relates to Latin American history, all the better). The only other requisite is that the book be relatively light and small (e.g., Penguin editions and not the Riverside Shakespeare). Suggestions anyone?
I'm also soliciting suggestions as to ways one might occupy the active (devious) mind of a 6-year-old on interminable and potentially tedious bus rides...Pete stop laughing.
I'm also soliciting suggestions as to ways one might occupy the active (devious) mind of a 6-year-old on interminable and potentially tedious bus rides...Pete stop laughing.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Get the story straight...
Like everyone else who goes to Peru, I most want to see Machu Picchu. (For those who don't know, or forgot, Machu Picchu is the site of an Incan citadel perched on the tippy top of a steep mountain in the Andes, overlooking a valley floor 2,000 feet below...that's a photo of Machu Picchu at the top of the blog.) If you get your history from the Man, you probably know that Hiram Bingham, a Yale professor (and descendant of Protestant missionaries who helped steal Hawaii from the Hawaiians) "discovered" Machu Picchu in 1911. What you may not know is that when he finally set foot there--led by the hand by a local boy--he found some disquieting graffiti: Lizarraga, 1902. Yes, some 9 years before his "discovery," some cat by the name of Lazarraga got there "first." (He was a local, who lived on the valley floor for 30 years.) In the many books and articles he wrote about Machu Picchu, Bingham failed to mention Lazarraga...or the fact that a number of others told Bingham about Machu Picchu and where to find it, and three Peruvian families were already living next to the peak of Machu Picchu when Bingham showed up. As Kim MacQuarrie notes in the marvelous "The Last Days of the Incas," where I got this nugget, fortunately for Bingham, he had the Yale U. Press and National Geographic magazine to tell his story; Lazarraga, obviously, did not.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
The Marie Petitin effect
Anyone who knows me knows I have control issues and a tendency to over-think (more accurately, over-worry) a situation, especially a foreign adventure. My family refers to this as the "Marie Petitin" effect, the symptoms of which most frequently consist of lying in bed awake all night, twitching with anxiety and endless mental loops imagining the worst possible outcomes (e.g., "We'll miss the bus...no we'll make the bus, but it will crash...no we'll make the bus, and it won't crash, but I'll have a brain tumor."). (Marie Petitin was my great grandmother; she invented anxiety.) The guidebooks don't help. My recommended Footprints guide warns visitors to Cusco to travel at night by taxi only, and beware of "strangulation robberies." The bus line we're taking is recommended because it is least likely to be robbed (although, because it's high tourist season, incidents of theft on the buses on this reputable line are way up, the thieves even working in cahoots with the drivers). And apparently, the areas around any bus station are dangerous, rife with low-lifes, and are to be encountered only if they absolutely cannot be avoided. Oh, and the fly-overs in Nasca (to see the weird Nasca lines, which can only really be enjoyed from above, I'm told) are the subject of lots of critical commentary on internet forums (is it fora?) because of a crash or two and increasingly frequent emergency landings on the Pan-American highway. Why would anyone travel to such a place, one might ask. Are these travel guides unnecessarily alarming? Or is it just me?
I eventually realized that if I were to write a travel guide to my homeland, I would include many of the same kinds of warnings. O.K., not the strangulation robberies, but I would certainly caution San Francisco visitors about traipsing through the Tenderloin, to keep an eye on your stuff on BART or Muni, and to watch your step to avoid tripping on a body on the sidewalk. This realization made me feel better, kind of.
I eventually realized that if I were to write a travel guide to my homeland, I would include many of the same kinds of warnings. O.K., not the strangulation robberies, but I would certainly caution San Francisco visitors about traipsing through the Tenderloin, to keep an eye on your stuff on BART or Muni, and to watch your step to avoid tripping on a body on the sidewalk. This realization made me feel better, kind of.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
A little schadenfreude?
Pete, father of the world's most beautiful princess, regaled me the other night with predictions of the dire consequences that would befall me and my posse on this little outing. Let's see, they included altitude-induced constipation and marathon crying jags. He is not alone in suggesting that traveling with a 5 month old baby in a third-world country is crazy (and that's not even factoring in traveling with a smart but VERY demanding 5-year-old--who can REALLY push my buttons--or one crazy-assed dancing/singing earth motha'). But he doesn't (and the rest of you naysayers don't) know how tough my tribe is...and how we roll with the punches (which are sure to come, given that early on, for example, we will be trapped on a bus for, in one instance, 5 hours, and in another, 2 days later, 8 hours...that's assuming we get to the bus stations on time, etc.). You'll see, dammit.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Cultural/political/geophysical challenges we face
In prepping for the trip, and reviewing Peruvian news, I learned that in the last week or so (1) there's been an earthquake south of Lima, (2) riots in the streets protesting the guv-ment, (3) disruptions in train travel to Machu Picchu (because of those same riots), (4) a pissing match between the leaders of Bolivia and Peru that began when one called the other "fatter and less anti-imperialist," and (5) Peru has decided to embrace "vertical births" [you'll have to Google that one for yourself]. Pack light, everyone, and toss in your helmets.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Andean eats
Peru is said to have one of the great world cuisines, and I plan to partake abundantly of some or all of the following for which Peru is reputed: ceviche (fish and other seafood marinaded in Peruvian lemon, coriander, aji and garlic); causa (yellow potatoes, lemons, pepper, hard-boiled eggs, olives, lettuce, sweet cooked corn, sweet cooked potato and fresh cheese, served with onion sauce); aguadito (thick rice and fish soup said to have rejuvenating powers); humitas (small, stuffed dumplings made with maize); aji de gallina (creamy, chicken-based dish with walnuts and parmesan); alpaca (yes, that kind of alpaca); pachamanca (meats wrapped and placed in a hole in the ground with hot stones); rocoto relleno (Andean peppers stuffed with quinoa and beef); polla a la brasa (grilled chicken); chicharrones (crispy, battered and fried meat); and the ubiquitous lomo saltado (beef stir-fried with vinegar, ginger, onions, chili, tomatoes, and fried potatoes, served with rice).
Also, as in Ecuador, where I managed to elude it, cuy (guinea pig) is a delicacy in Peru.
Peru is also home to a large Chinese and Japanese population (for reasons yet to be discovered), who brought their cuisine with them. Asian food inflected by a Latin American influence…how can that be anything but good?
And finally, it bears noting that the potato was “invented” in Peru, where something like 5,000 varieties still grow. You should also know that the United Nations has declared 2008 the International Year of the Potato. Yes, I will celebrate the potato.
Also, as in Ecuador, where I managed to elude it, cuy (guinea pig) is a delicacy in Peru.
Peru is also home to a large Chinese and Japanese population (for reasons yet to be discovered), who brought their cuisine with them. Asian food inflected by a Latin American influence…how can that be anything but good?
And finally, it bears noting that the potato was “invented” in Peru, where something like 5,000 varieties still grow. You should also know that the United Nations has declared 2008 the International Year of the Potato. Yes, I will celebrate the potato.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Couldn't get a visa to Iran...
fast enough to make the trip I had planned this summer, so opted to go to Peru. I have always wanted to dangle my feet in Lake Titicaca (the highest navigable lake in the world, with the coolest name) and see Machu Picchu, not to mention the Nazca lines, the Andes, etc. Why not now? I planned to go alone. But Lady K discovered my plans and volunteered to join me, with Hawaiian brood in tow (including not only Riki and Malu, both interesting travel challenges, for similar and different reasons, but newborn Kahane, too!). So we depart in mid-August. Stay tuned.
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