Machu-ismo

In about six hours I'll be taking my last ride out to the airport. Goodbye, gorgeous Latin men! Goodbye amazing Peruvian cuisine! And most of all, goodbye to the Evil One, my former partner-in-crime, moving forward into a life of wedded bliss (or will be as soon as the Boy can get his butt down here...consequentially, I am currently accepting applications for a new partner-in-crime. Minimum requirements: travel experience, sarcastic sense of humor, common sense, intelligence, and a love of reading. Candidates with temple recommends, y-chromosomes, and Latino heritage will be given preference. Please send a cover letter with CV and photo attached to thegrandwagoneer@hotmail.com).

Machu Picchu is just about all I have left to write about from this trip (just about. I might still have one post left in me. We'll see). It is the most difficult destination to get to I've ever visited - first, you have to get to Cuzco. Then you have to get to Aguas Calientes (unless you are doing the Inka Trail or the backdoor route by biking into Santa Teresa - both are expensive and you have to book the Inka Trail about 6 months in advance, as only a certain number of people are allowed on it each day), and to get to Aguas Calientes you will need to take a train. I went via Ollantaytambo (as mentioned yesterday), and my train ticket still cost 53 dollars each way. Once there, you either have to hike up to the ruins (hahahahah - in my shape and at this altitude, which admittedly is not as high as it was at Titicaca - NOT BLOODY LIKELY - see the below photograph for a demonstration of how steep the place is).

The bus up to the top costs about twenty dollars roundtrip. If you're going to try to be on the first bus, you'll need to buy your tickets the night before, as no one will be there to sell them before the crack of dawn. The ticket for Machu Picchu itself you'll have to buy in advance, as well (they also limit how many people can go here each day), and it will set you back another 56 dollars. And if you want to make sure that you get at least a few photos without any of those other people ticketed for the same day as you, you'll need to get up early. I got up at 4 to be at the bus stop an hour before the first one headed up the mountain at 5:30. I am NOT a morning person, and surrounded by tourists this early in the morning was not good for my morale.

As I was writing my postcards the night before (at a typically expensive, lackluster restaurant - pretty much the only kind there is in Aguas Calientes), I found myself asking if all this was worth it, or if, when I was finally face to face with Machu Picchu, I would just be disappointed. And the verdict? Honestly, it took my breath away in a way that I haven't felt in a long time. Not just the sun rising over the mountains, lighting up the farthest-away mountains before finally working it's way closer, over the ruins, and finally up Wayna Picchu...but the place itself. Three hours I spent happily snapping away over 200 photos. Every time I turned a corner there was a new angle to catch, a new scene of Wayna Picchu, a new flower to capture, a dizzying view of the valley below.

If you can go - GO! It is worth the time and money. It is worth the early wake up call. And once you get up on that mountain and see those ruins you will be filled with joy and peace and be at one with all the other tourists, glad to snap their photos and share this amazing place with them.

Tour du Jour

I hate going on "tours," and I kind of hate tourists. There is something obnoxious about someone blathering on and on when you just want to take in the scenery, snap photos, and make inferences in your own mind about what you're seeing. Not to mention the fact that standing around listening makes for tired feet. However, the ugly truth is that it is often cheaper and easier to join a tour than it is to find your own way to point B. Particularly in South America. This is how I ended up going on more tours in the last week than I have in the last five years.

Sillustani was another destination plucked from Jane's Discover Peru. They even had a beautiful picture of the funerary towers with Lake Umayo in the background. I decided I must go - however, it takes about an hour each way to get there, and rather than spend a lot of money on a taxi or mess around with combis, I paid a mere 35 soles and joined a tour. This was not too obnoxious as it was just the one site, and after loading us down with some information at the beginning (such as the fact that the entrance to the tower always faced the sun, and that the inside of the tomb was a rougher, conical shape while the outside had a more polished look and was cylindrical in nature, as seen above) he left us to our own devices. And inside the tombs? Mummies, of course, although they were loaded down with gold, and most of them are long gone, these three from the Museo Carlos Dreyer (which also has a nice display of gold and other objects in their display) being an exception.

The next day saw me on the Inka Express bus to Cuzco. The tour bus aspect of this experience was really just a means to an end, but it meant that I got to see some things and some places I ordinarily wouldn't have. The toritos (little bulls) made in Pukara, for example - you'll see them sitting on top of houses for decoration and good luck.

There was also the Q'ewar Project, a women's cooperative workshop that makes the most beautiful dolls I saw for sale on the trip.

Neither of these were actually meant to be highlights of the "tour" part of the bus ride. There were some Inka ruins, a couple of museums and probably the most garish church I've ever seen (including the ones I saw in Venice, and I saw a lot of churches in Venice). But these were the things I really looked forward to seeing (and buying).

No sooner had I gotten settled into my hostel in Cuzco (the Pantastico Hotel, which got laughs out of everyone I mentioned it to, as apparently "pan" is bread in Spanish - a purposeful pun, since it was a self-proclaimed bed-and-bakery which did, in fact, serve up some nice bread in the mornings) than I went out looking for YET ANOTHER tour. I originally intended to get to Aguas Calientes via a "gravity-assisted" bike ride. However, in the end I never heard back from the guys at Gravity Peru, and I decided that I wanted to see a little of the Sacred Valley on my way to the main event, so I went looking for a tour that would drop me off in Ollantaytambo where I could catch the train. Andina Travel (listed in Lonely Planet) made it happen for me - although I had to dash across the plaza to buy my train tickets before they were willing to sell me my trip (understandably, since it wouldn't really be much good to leave me there if I couldn't get on the train). For the low price of $31 I got to see the Inka ruins at Pisac (above), shop at their famous market, enjoy a delicious buffet lunch in Urubamba, and see MORE Inka ruins at Ollantaytambo (below....and if you are seeing a face in that mountainside, it's not just the coca tea - apparently the Inkas did that on purpose).

After a glut of Inka ruins, you might be tempted to say, "Well, you've seen one, you've seen them all." I admit that after so many, varied examples, I was worried that Machu Picchu might be a bit of a let down. After all, I'd seen skies of blue...clouds of white. The brightness of day...the darkness of night. I'd even thought to myself, "What a wonderful world!" and let me tell you, it was a lot less of a pain in the butt, and much cheaper than trying to get to Machu Picchu. Could it possibly live up to my expectations? Stay tuned to find out.

True or Phallus?

Okay, the truth is, this post has only a tangential connection to the above title. It's really about what I did in Puno. But when I came up with the title I thought it was so witty that I had to use it.

There is, supposedly, a Templo de Fertilidad 18 kilometers south of Puno in the small town of Chucuito. I wouldn't have known this from my standard Lonely Planet, because I didn't read up on all the south shore towns, but in the Evil One's "Discover Peru" Lonely Planet (ie, the edition of Lonely Planet that tries to be like all those other travel guides with lots more pictures and lots less content) mentioned it at the beginning of the chapter on Lake Titicaca, and these kinds of places have sort of become my thing. So I went. However, after reading up on it some, I did take the place with a grain of salt. The statues are undeniably phallic in shape, but after reading online that they were of not-exactly-known origin, and had, in fact, been lying around the town until one of the townies decided they ought to set them up as a tourist attraction...well, like I said, grain of salt. Not nearly as funny as Haesindang Gongwon in Korea, but an amusing way to spend a morning near Puno nonetheless.

The real reason, though, that people go to Puno is to see Lake Titicaca (now, tell me honestly that the name doesn't make you giggle...or blush...inside every time you read it...) It's the world's highest navigable (meaning by large boats that need enough depth to move in) lake at an altitude of 12,507 feet high. It's also South America's largest lake (in case that question ever comes up on a pub quiz, I expect you all to be able to answer it). And it's also home to the floating islands.

These really blew me away, and I swear I'm not becoming an avid-enviro, but I couldn't help admiring how "green" they were. I wasn't sure what to expect in the way of electricity on the island I stayed on, but it was hooked up with solar electricity. The islands are completely created from layers and layers of those reeds, called totori, and they also use them to build houses and boats, although the boats, at least, also contain plastic bottles, which other than great recycling help give the boats buoyancy.

There's not a whole lot to do on the islands, actually - it was very relaxing, but trekkers (of which I sort-of qualify) are not exactly used to a lot of down time. So when the family I was staying with decided it was time to play dress-up the gringos, the Russian couple staying there and I got to experience traditional dress. That's all I'm saying about that one.

I also learned about local costumes at - where else??? - the Coca Museum. You might not be surprised that coca is still a big part of Peruvian culture...and I'm not just talking about drug trafficking. They chew the leaves and drink it in tea. What did surprise me, however, was just how quickly my fellow gringos jumped on the coca train. The tea is widely prescribed as an antidote for altitude sickness. Altitude sickness sucks, by the way. Feeling like a big fat slob because you're out of breath after one flight up steps is not fun, but the headaches that went along with it were the worst. And so I can understand how a miracle elixir like coca tea would be tempting for your average lowlander - after all, not only does it cure your headache but is supposed to make you smarter, funnier, and sexier. However, religion aside, I am almost definitely going to be taking a drug test when I get to Mongolia, and everyone I met who raved about how much they loved coca tea seemed to be forgetting something - that where we come from, it is, in fact, a drug. So I found myself a good farmacia and mimed a headache (not hard at that point), and she set me up with some nice migraine pills that fixed me right up.

Line Upon Line

I really wanted to see four things while I was here in South America (I say South America rather than Peru because my next side trip will actually take me out of the country). This weekend I got to see the first of them: the Nazca Lines. The Evil One had told me about her visit to Nazca while I was still in Shanghai, and that she wasn't actually allowed to fly over the lines from Nazca, due to the fact that her employer is the American government and they like to impose restrictions on their employees when it comes to dangerous things (such as flying one of three companies which apparently have been shut down repeatedly due to crashes). I, on the other hand, am an educational mercenary and a good old-fashioned PYP risk-taker, so I paid my $100 to fly over the lines. But not until I'd seen them up close and personal.

This is the somewhat rickety looking tower that Evil was allowed to climb to look at the lines. It's not that tall, but you can see two different figures - the hands and the tree. Here's a picture of the hands as seen from the mirador:

This, on the other hand, is what they look like from the sky:

Now, lest you think that flying over the Nazca lines is as easy as showing up and paying some money, let me tell you a thing or two. We stopped into a travel agency the night we got into town, filled out a form, and paid the money. The agent said she'd pick me up from the hotel at 9 the following morning, and if the weather was okay, we'd take off around 9:30. And up until we got to the aerodromo, everything went well. But the sky was definitely overcast and the mist was snagged on the mountains. Also, the guys at the desk at the aerodromo tried telling me that I was overweight and I'd need to pay an extra 50%. Well, one of the questions on the form I filled out dealt with weight and the weight I put down on the form and the weight they weighed me in at the desk were both over the weight that they said was the cut off, and I wasn't told ANYTHING about it the night before - I understand that more gas would be needed, it could impact safety, whatever, but it was totally a situation where they were trying to screw over tourists. In the end, I griped about it long and loudly enough that they didn't charge me more, but in case you end up at the aerodromo in Nazca looking to do a flyover, watch out for these guys - they're totally sketch.

Even after I'd paid (before he could change his mind again), my ordeal was far from over. I got to the airfield just after nine, but it was 11:50 before the skies had cleared enough to make the flight worthwhile. I checked out the booths of tourist schlock in the first hour, and soon after found myself wishing I'd brought my book, after all. However, soon enough I'd paid my "departure tax," gone through security and went out to board this tiny little airplane.

I mean, SUPER tiny - my family's owned cars that seated more people than that! But in the end, it was all worth it when you got to see cool stuff like this - the astronaut.

Dem DRY Bones

A couple of years ago, I went to the catacombs in Paris (it's really obnoxiously written, due to the fact that French keyboards have some keys in the wrong places - but if you want to use your secret decoder rings and try to read it, it's here). I swear I'm not morbid, but there is something interesting about bones, and something kind of fun about being creeped out by the fact that said bones used to be a person. So when the Evil One told me about the catacombs here in Peru, I decided I needed to visit them. Well, as I mentioned in my last post, the monastery doesn't allow photos to be taken (I wasn't that impressed with it, and I'm blaming this on the Parisian catacombs...and I'm fully aware that I'm starting to sound like some sort of macabre snob, so I'll shut up), but the catedral does, and this was pretty interesting.

This is a shot of a crypt under a chapel in the catedral. I knew that in Europe people used to be buried under churches, but this is the first time I'd actually gotten to see one of those crypts. And in this cathedral, you can actually go under the altar and see where the other half gets buried...

Why is it so important to be buried under the altar? Well, apparently if you're buried under the altar, you go straight up to heaven. That sounds like a bit of Catholic propaganda to me, but you know - whatever pays the bills...

This is also apparently where they buried children. My Mormon propaganda says children go to heaven anyways, so they probably should have saved that space for tax payers, but it's a nice thought nonetheless. Well, no worries - apparently when you bought a space under the church, you only got to keep it for a few years, after which you were moved out to the catacombs. By that time you were probably hunkered down in your cloud with your robe and you didn't care where your bones were. A very practical outlook, I think.

On a normal holiday, this probably would have been the full extent of my weird fascination with dead people, but this is my super summer extravaganza, people. Her Evilness also shared some photos with me from a place near Nazca - the Chauchilla Necropolis. A little language lesson for you - necropolis comes from Greek. Polis, of course, means city, and necro means dead. Put it together and you have something like the above. Evil and I were the only people out there other than the handful of people operating the ticket booth and snack shop in the distance. It was desolate. And did I mention the bones strewn across the ground?

In another life (pun totally intended) these bones were part of funerary bundles lovingly buried with pottery and other items. Presumably some of these had some value to them, since the bones became strewn across the desert at the hands of grave robbers. One archaeological society or another has taken it upon themselves to gather at least the larger bones up and bring some order to the site (kind of like the old woman all skin and bones...you remember that old Halloween song, right???) These excavated grave sites are the result:

It isn't the easiest place to get to but it was an interesting end to our road trip to Nazca. Stay tunes for the REAL reason for our road trip to Nazca - Senora Buendia's tejas! Just kidding...the Nazca lines, of course!

The Strangest, Saddest City

Herman Mellville once visited Lima. He called it the "strangest, saddest city thou canst see. For Lima has taken the white veil; and there is a higher horror in this whiteness of her woe." He was talking about the garua, the fog that the Evil One warned me about, the same fog that caught up the lights of the airplane when we were descending and made it seem as if we were landing during the day, rather than at night.

It's winter here - I'm south of the equator for the first time in my life, and the fog is a winter thing in warmer climes (remember how we got stuck in a train station for hours on end in India, faithful readers? Well, same sort of thing - although except for a take-off yesterday I haven't been able to complain much about this fog). I can understand how it might be kind of depressing, but for me, I'm happy to be traveling again, and the grey skies are just part of the journey.

I've been in Peru for five days now - I should have written before now, but I've been both lazy and busy soaking up the atmosphere. Thursday I spent wandering the Evil One's barrio - Miraflores. What can I tell you about Miraflores? Excellent food, nice parks (filled with gatos!), tourist crap shopping out the ying-yang...Oh, and it's perched on the cliffside. But I'll be writing about that sometime next week, so just wait for it. It's expensive and has a much newer feel about it, but you do have occasional moments of that former colonial feel.

Her Evilness suggested taking the Mirabus to get a glimpse of greater Lima, so that's what I did on Friday, in spite of the fact that I don't really DO double decker tour buses. What can I say? I don't speak Spanish and Lima doesn't have a subway system. This was the easiest way to look around, even if it was a bit on the expensive side. And I finally started to get the feeling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore - inside Miraflores I could blur my vision and sort of convince myself I was still on the Plaza in Kansas City (Evil One, be quiet - you don't have as good an imagination as I do). Once I got a little further afield, it became apparent I was in South America. In the US, we just don't appreciate color enough.

The bus stopped (sorta...see...well, long story, I'm getting ahead of myself) in the Plaza de Armas - Lima's town square. There are a lot of plazas de armas in Peru - in the next week or two you'll see more, trust me. This particular one is home of the Palacio de Gobierno, Peru's equivalent of the White House. Pizarro established this as the center of his new capital.

While the buildings aren't original, the old tyrant himself is in residence at La Catedral de Lima. Apparently they thought they had his body, but while cleaning the crypt underneath the cathedral, someone found a box that said something along the lines of "Pizarro's head," and after much testing they were able to find the right body and reunite the two (why were they ever separated and hidden, you might ask. I'm not sure. Pizarro was a great guy, after all, and he never pissed anyone off, especially not his newly conquered subjects).

After the catedral I was supposed to get back on the bus and take a different route back to Miraflores. Evil told me I could possibly catch the later bus back at the end of their tour, and after discussing this with my guide, this was the plan (I ended up being ready to go an hour early and rather than waste more time on my feet I took a cab back). I wandered around the plaza some more, ate lunch, and went to visit the catacombs under the Monsasterio de San Francisco. Which was cool and all, but their library was what actually took my breath away. Unfortunately they didn't allow photos to be taken of the inside, so I'll leave you with a shot of the entrance to the church.