Sauced Down South

I had fully been planning on avoiding Lima altogether, but nevertheless found myself there briefly a couple weeks ago. But no matter... I had a special agenda: to pick up my friend Desiree from the airport! Desi is one of my best friends from my UC Davis days, and somewhere around mid April, needing desperately to get off her Island (aka NYC), she suddenly decided to come visit me in Peru. Desi is the kind of person that I have tons of fun with when we're doing nothing at all, and we've always dreamed and talked about how ridiculously awesome it would be to travel together. I couldn't have been more excited.

Before we even put her bags in the room at the hostel, we stopped for a beer at the bar. This was a particularly appropriate kick-off to our journey, since the next 9 days together would involve quite a bit of happy hours, bar-hopping, beer sampling, general silliness, and nonstop laughter. Naturally, we went out that night in Lima and were lucky to find a cool little reggae bar nearby. The next day we walked around a bit, but were highly disappointed at how closely parts of Lima resemble Southern California, what with the ginormous shopping malls, ritzy cliffside apartment buildings, and McDonald's, KFC, even a Tony Roma's. We didn't stay long.

After a short flight, with 2 free Cusqueña beers onboard, we happily arrived in Arequipa. Known as the White City, Arequipa is a dazzling gem of a town, especially at night. We found a fantastically cozy little hostel right in the center of town, and got to business straight away. Luckily we'd arrived on a Friday night, so the bars were going off in a big way. We took advantage of the abudance of drink specials going on, and Desi & I tried our first Pisco Sours, the national drink of Peru. We were also pleased to discover that every region of Peru seems to have its own variety of beer; here, we were tossing back nice, grande Arequipeñas.

The next day we explored a little neighborhood called Yanahuara. It reminded me a lot of southern Spain, which isn't all too surprising considering the Spaniards themselves are responsible for the architecture around here. It was a lovely, peaceful stroll away from the tour groups and touts in the city center. But the best part came afterward ... ceviche! We stopped into this tiny cevichería and almost thought we´d been completely jipped, when all of a sudden two plates of the most incredible ceviche arrived. It was Desi's first ceviche ever, but it was also the best one I've ever had. And it cost us about $2 each.

Clearly, we were off to a good start.

Back in the Harness Again

Once I was safely back down from the mountains, the agenda was clear: time to go climbing. Though I climbed briefly in Quito (Ecuador) on a fake rock wall, I hadn´t been on real rock since November, and hadn´t done any outdoor climbing thus far in South America... Ridiculous! I had about a week left in Huaraz to see what I could pull together.

I had been searching hard for other climbers for a few days, but nothing was turning up. Finally, when I had just about given up hope, I found not one but two awesome partners. I overhead Jo, from Britain, talking about cilmbing over breakfast, and though she had other plans to go trekking, she changed them rapidly as soon as I pitched the climbing plan. She couldn´t have been a nicer or more pleasant person to spend a few days with, not to mention a great and supportive climber. Tom is a climbing guide from Colorado, who I´d heard about and had been searching for for days. I finally found him when I wandered into a dorm room and saw an enormous Black Diamond backpack and climbing gear spilled all over the room. He only had a couple days left in Peru but was up for a last minute change of plan to head for the rock. Like Jo, he was an easygoing, super fun person, and needless to say an excellent climber. Go team.

I had heard about the climbing area, called Jatun Machay ("big cave" in Quechua... what caves??), from a helpful German tour guide in Huaraz. I saw pictures of the place and was immediately sold. It has a very space-age, surreal quality to it: it´s located at an altitude of about 4100m, and the funky-looking rocks themselves seem to sprout out of nowhere. There´s a great refuge there, built and run by an incredibly friendly Argentinian man named Andrés, with a huge communal kitchen and a cozy fireplace around which I spent every evening.

The rock itself is a unique mix of granite and something else (no one could quite tell me what), that is found only in the Cordillera Blanca here in Peru. It wasn´t the friendliest of rocks -- my hands are recovering from a mix of cuts, scrapes, shreds, and general abuse: a sure sign of a few great days of climbing. But it was great fun to climb on. I had to build up my confidence a bit since it had been a while, but by the third day I was leading some really fun routes. (yup, that´s me on the rock in that photo, looking a lot more hardcore than I really am)

Despite my aching arms, bruised legs, and cut-up hands, it was a fantastic climbing adventure. Even getting there via cramped minibuses and shared taxis was fun. Most importantly, I finally got on some rock in South America, in an area that is mostly unknown and absolutely spectacular. And after pumping out on crazy cracks and thin faces, we were rewarded with technicolor sunsets and sparkling starry nights. What more could I possibly ask for?!

High on Life (and Altitude)

Huaraz was my top Peruvian destination before I even got here, and I set aside two weeks to explore the surrounding area. As a city, it´s not much to look at, but it wasn´t the city I came for; it was the mountains. The Cordillera Blanca (White Mountains) are an epic range of snow-capped peaks that are the second highest mountain range in the world next to the Himalayas. Huaraz sits in a valley in the middle of it all, and is surrounded by huge, looming peaks as far as the eye can see. I arrived my first morning to find the sunrise painting so many peaks orange and pink that I couldn´t even count them, and I knew immediately this was going to be an amazing stop.

It didn´t take long to meet the right people and get a trek together. Within two days of my arrival, I´d met 4 other people that were up for exploring the mountains, and we were off. Altogether, we were 2 Americans, 1 Irishman, 1 Brit, and 1 Norweigan. Since our plan was to go up one valley and down another, we opted out of hiring a guide and doing the trek with an agency, and instead carried all our own gear & food for the 4-day journey.

Day one we mosied up Valley Quilcayhuanca, an absolutely textbook glacial valley that just got better with every step. On either side of the steep valley walls, you could see some serious snow-capped peaks peeking out, and at the very end of the valley was an enormous snow-covered mountain with a massive glacier creeping down its center. The weather was pleasant, and the sun made for a bluebird day. The going was slow but steady, with plenty of curious, horn-clad cows blocking the trail and bright purple wildflowers to admire.

We had a lovely evening where we cooked a delicious pasta & soup dinner, and sat around a small campfire enjoying the peace and quiet. The night, however, was not so lovely. It started seriously raining when we went to bed, and didn´t let up until about 2am. There were 3 of us sharing what should have been a 2-man tent, and a tent that would have been better suited for the desert and not the mountains. The rain came in, in a big way. I woke up in the middle of the night to find pools of water inside of my sleeping bag, and my feet and legs were so cold that I couldn´t fall back asleep. The tent itself seemed to be collapsing, and it wasn´t long before my 2 other tentmates found themselves in the same position.

Come morning (at long last), it was time for some changes. The other American chica, Carisa, had suffered from a nasty bout of altitude sickness the day before, and not feeling 100% better was hesitant to go on and UPwards. The two of us decided we would head back and change our plans a bit, and leave the rest of the trek to the remaining threesome.

As it turned out, Carisa & I had an amazing time. We spent the night at a cozy mountain lodge called The Way Inn, taking utmost advantage of their adobe sauna and duvet-clad beds. The next day, we went on a 30 kilometer round-trip hike up and down Valley Cojup, the one we would have been in on the trek anyway. The end goal of the hike was Laguna Pachacocha (4560m), a lake that sits at the bottom of the incredibe glacier we´d been staring at all day long. It is hard to describe the feeling of hiking up a valley towards an epic mountain glacier all day, but it sure is a good one. The lake was quite literally breathtaking. Even though the sky was completely full of clouds (in fact, it started snowing the moment we arrived), the lake was radiating a pure, crystal blue. Far off in the distance, I could even see an iceberg floating in the middle of it. It was a long day, and the hike completely kicked our asses, but in the best possible way.

Exploring the North

Once safely in Peru, I spent a few days in Chachapoyas, more than happy to not be sitting on some form of transportation all day long. But Northern Peru has more than just great vibes and a lack of tourists to enjoy; one of the main attractions are scores of ruins that are rarely visited. The biggest set of ruins is an amazing pre-Incan fortress high atop a mountain called Kuelap. It was an amazing place that really blew me away. After entering the narrow passageway through the immense fortress walls, I could see ruins of the round houses everywhere. They have discovered 420 such houses, so far, and an archeologist working on the site reconstructed one house to represent what the village might once have looked like. One of my favorite things at Kuelap was what first appeared to be a pile of rocks, but in fact was an ancient compass designating north, south, east, and west. In addition to admiring
the ruins, I was really loving the dense vegetation of trees, vines, and orchids that covered the stones, and really added to the whole mysterious aura of the place. Quite an experience for my first set of South American ruins.

One of the best things about traveling by myself -- and there are many -- is being able to change my plans spontaneously, whenever I feel like it. Originally I´d planned on going through the mountains on another multi-day hairball journey to get to Cajamarca, but after looking at maps and a calendar, I changed my mind. I hopped on a night bus, and made it all the way down to the coastal city of Trujillo by morning. Done.

Trujillo wasn´t very exciting, despite some colorful buildings and very colonial architecture. But nearby was another set of interesting pre-Incan ruins called Chan Chan that I set out to explore. Originally I planned on doing it completely on my own, but was met outside the ruins by a guide named Moses, and mostly just wanting an excuse to think in nothing but Spanish for an hour, hired him for $4. Chan Chan used to be a completely adobe city, the largest one ever known to the world. In fact, they estimate that some 60,000 people used to live there! Much of it is understandably eroded, but the main palace is still pretty much in tact. Most interesting to me were places for their worship of the sun and the moon, including huge pools of water that they´d collected via underground passageways. It was a strange place, to tell the truth -- something about seeing nothing but neutral, sepia tones in all directions. But fun to imagine what it might have been like hundreds of years ago.

After the ruins, I jumped on a minibus for 5 minutes and found myself back at the Pacific Ocean for the first time in 3 months. The little village of Huanchaco was a
nice little mid-afternoon stopover, and I spent a couple hours eating a huge plate of ceviche, and admiring the collection of totora (reed) boats strewn along the shore.

One, Two, Cha Cha Cha

After over 1,000km and way too many delays in buses, I needed a quick break before I continued my journey south. I stopped to spend my last few Ecuadorian days in Vilcabamba, a beautiful little town nestled into the Valley of Longevity that´s famous for its supreme mellowness. It was the perfect rest stop. Although I debated indulging myself with a massage or a horseback ride through the mountains, in the end I decided to save my money and instead spent my days hiking and seriously chilling.

It would have been easy to get stuck in this peaceful haven of good vibes and the easygoing lifestyle, but I was anxious to get to Peru. My last afternoon in Vilcabamba, I looked out over the valley to find a beautiful rainbow. I took it as a sign that my journey to Peru the next day was going to be a good one. I was right.

Feeling ambitious and confident, I opted to take the rural La Balsa border crossing from Ecuador to Peru that foreigners rarely go for. I was slightly hesitant at first, finding myself trapped in that cycle of negative thought that can make almost anything seem like a bad idea. Not wanting to submit myself to that kind of thought process -- and trusting my gut instincts -- I went for it. It was one of the best journeys I´ve had so far.

I started out with a 6am bus ride through foggy mountains that descended into incredible hills covered in jungle foliage with tiny villages emerging out of the dense vegetation. I arrived in the small town of Zumba, where I killed a couple hours sitting at a table at the bus
terminal at a local family´s very basic restaurant. They asked me plenty of questions about my traveling, including of course the normal inquiries as to my age, my marital status, and why in the world I am traveling by myself. Mostly I spent my time with 8-year-old Carol, who after drawing several beautiful pictures in my journal decided to try on both of my backpacks. Could she be a future world traveler? I hope so.

I was excited to discover that my next form of transport was the "ranchera," open-air rows of benches mounted on the flatbed of a heavy-duty truck (you can see it in the background of the first photo of Carol). It felt like an adventure ride at an amusement park, and was equally as fun as riding around in huge Land Rovers in the Masai Mara in Kenya. We bumped along for 2 hours, stopping twice to deal with some serious mud that stood in our way. I wasn´t nervous at all though... by this point, I´ve seen the crappiest of vehicles make it through the worst of situations, so I knew this huge beast of a truck wasn´t going to be a problem. Naturally, there were guys carrying several chickens seated behind me, a few people sleeping (which seems to defy the laws of existence), and an old guy with his dogs practically sitting on my backpack (which I was grateful for because at least it meant my bag wouldn´t go flying out of the truck).

The scenery was absolutely jaw-droppingly beautiful, enhanced further by the perfect weather and the excitement of the ride. We made it to the rushing river that marks the Ecuador-Peru La Balsa border and seeing nothing of importance on the Ecuador side, I walked over the bridge into Peru. A few minutes later I had it pointed out to me that I had neglected to get my exit stamp from Ecuador, so back across the bridge I went. I entered the police office and found 3 immigration officers in shorts and flip-flops engaged in a riotous card game. I interrupted the game to have my passport stamped by one of the "officers," but the other two were impatient and kept prodding him to make a move all the while. It was an easy ordeal, and I promised to return soon to Ecuador on my way out... they said they´d be waiting for me.

Back over in Peru, my immigration officer was a mullet-clad, jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing young man, who was listening to salsa so loud that I had to shout at him to be heard. I filled out a piece of paper, got a stamp, and then he invited me to drink a beer with him while I waited for my shared taxi to depart. I would have done it, too, but my ride was ready to go as soon as I was, so I bid the border farewell and kept on moving.

My shared taxi was an old, white, Toyota station wagon with a cracked windshield and a friendly driver who sang along to sappy Peruvian love songs. I was joined by the two guys from the ranchera and their squawking chickens, as well as a couple bottles of pure cane alcohol they´d brewed up at home which they spent the whole ride drinking. We slowly traveled along a particularly crappy road, but somehow made it to San Ignacio right after sunset, where I took a cold but divine shower and crashed out early.

Day two of the journey involved a bit more coordination and stamina. I took a
minibus to Jáen (where the inevitable chicken rode right next to me), another minibus to Bagua Grande, and finally another piece of shit shared taxi all the way to Chachapoyas (or simply "Chacha") -- with rides in crappy Asia-esque motorbike taxis across town shoved in between, since there don´t appear to be many central bus terminals here in northern Peru.

The journey was totally nutty and at times completely illogical, but tons of fun. Truthfully, it was easier than I expected; the biggest challenge arose from possessing enough stamina, patience, and good faith to make it through the day. The scenery was some of the best and most diverse that I´ve seen, particularly in such a short time span. And there came a certain secret pleasure from knowing that I was the only gringo around for miles...

Bumping Along the Quilotoa Loop

After departing Cotacachi, Lauren and I decided to go for one more adventure together. We´d been planning on checking out the Quilotoa Loop about 6 weeks before, but were deterred by a series of landslides and a string of changed plans. This particular area of Ecuador was a must-see because of its challenging accessibility, tiny and unspoiled indigenous villages, and mindblowing scenery. It did not let us down.

We started out early one morning and took buses as far as we could physically stand it. We ended up in the tiny, endlessly charming village of Zumbahua, a good deal into The Loop. Our timing couldn´t have been better, because we´d arrived in time to check out its famous Saturday morning market. Indigenous folks from all around flock to Zumbahua for this weekly ritual, and often haul their variety of goods in on the most popular form of local transport: llamas. We browsed the market for a couple hours, checking out the good on offer: stands of colorful yarns and clothing, bright and fresh produce, stalls of traditional indigenous shawls and skirts, and even squealing animals waiting in line to be slaughtered and sold right there on the spot.

To arrive in our next and far more remote destination, we hopped on a local bus. We sat on the bus and waited for over an hour, as the passengers crammed themselves into it. By the time the bus took off, it had turned into a foul-smelling mess of people and goods: clearly a baby had made a mess of a diaper or two, sacks of potatos and onions and fish were reeking up the air, I had two barely-alive chickens on top of my feet, and to top it off someone had spilled a particulary disgusting batch of homemade booze all over the floor. After an hour and a half bumping along the most nail-biting road I´ve experienced in Ecuador yet, we made it to Chugchilán.

The next day, we realized that the road we´d traveled in on the day before was no longer accessible due to heavy overnight rain. Fearing the worst (ie, getting stuck in the Loop and Lauren missing her flight home), we decided to proceed onwards ´round the loop in the same direction. This was the most "exciting" bus ride yet. About an hour in, we hit a major landslide and got stuck in the mud. Instantaneously, a few guys jumped out and began to dig us out with shovels. It worked. Then 20 minutes later, a woman started screaming "stop!" because the entire back of the bus -- where I was seated -- began filling with smoke. The cause of the white smoke pouring out of the ceiling was determined to be an "electrical malfunction," which after some apparent "disconnecting" classified us ready to be on our way. I was skeptical, but the problem never resurfaced. An hour later, we got a flat tire! At this point, I just had to laugh. The tire was fixed incredibly quickly and, miraculously, we made it out of the Loop to our final destination without any more problems.


Crazy as the bus rides were, truthfully it was all part of the journey. And nothing could beat the views.

The End

For my last couple weeks of volunteering, I was unexpectedly joined by Lauren. I´d been dabbling in a variety of projects in the area, as usual, but when Lauren showed up I thought it would be best to use her experience teaching English as a second language however we could. We traveled about an hour together to a nearby elementary school, where we taught English to 4 different classes in 4 hours. It was a whilrwild experience. Some classrooms even had two different age groups together, because there just isn´t enough space or enough teachers to take care of everyone. We left feeling exhausted and overworked, but definitely had some fun -- especially teaching "Head Shoulders Knees & Toes" to giggling groups of young´uns. Aside from the teaching gig, I continued to work at Runa Tupari translating new website material from Spanish to English and selling tours, and helped my family do some gardening and planting at home.

After 4 1/2 weeks that absolutely flew by, it was time to say goodbye. For my last night, I decided to buy a couple of little presents. The first was a purple potato peeler for Maria; one day while cooking lunch together she mentioned not having one and needing to buy one (as I was struggling like an idiot to peel the potatoes with a dull knife). The second was a large, delicious chocolate cake from my favorite cafe in Otavalo, where I would begin every day with a slice of cake and (real!) coffee for $1. Not surprisingly, little Sayani was extremely excited and quite literally couldn´t keep her hands off of it. We all had a great last night together, taking tons of photos and even looking through old family photos. It was a bittersweet goodbye -- it felt like the right time to be moving on, but the experience had been so great that I was a little sad too.

Reaping the Benefits

One the many projects I was involved with during my volunteering period was UNORCAC`s community-based tourism operator, Runa Tupari (www.runatupari.com). They are based out of the city of Otavalo, and have on offer a bunch of tours throughout the local area that include activities like hiking, mountain climbing, and visiting indigenous communities. As the dedicated and hard-working volunteer that I was, I was able to take part in a bunch of these tours free of charge.

The first outing I went on was a four-hour hike up to the summit of Fuya-Fuya (4265m; 14,075ft). It was steep going in steadily increasing fog and rain, but tons of fun. I couldn´t get enough of the amazing flora and fauna of the páramo (Andean highlands), and snapped loads of picturs of the amazing things growing underfoot. We even saw an Andean fox (though I didn´t have time to snap his photo). All the while the amazing Mojanda Lakes were below us, so really any which way I turned I was treated to something beautiful.

Feeling exceedingly confident and enthusiastic, two days later I decided to go for a much bigger mountain: Volcano Cotacachi. We started the trek at 5am, and for the first few hours were treated to an exceptionally good view of the area. Sure, there were still some clouds around, but shockingly no rain! It was 5 hours of straight uphill hiking, not exactly an easy chore with my legs still aching from the other climb 48 hours before. Whoops. But no matter, I still made it. We hiked up to where the snow began -- about 4800m (15,800ft) -- but since we didn´t have proper gear that´s where we had to stop. On the way up and down, we saw 6 different llamas chilling on the high mountain slopes, all of whom stopped to check us out with that particular curious stare so unique to llamas. It was a classic South Ameriacn moment.

Later that same week, I accompanied a Danish couple on the indigenous community tour, acting as translator. The tour goes to three different villages in the area, each one specializing in a certain indigenous crafts. We watched a woman using a stone to pound together pieces of reeds to make mats (a full day´s work for $3); a demonstration and performance with traditional Andean instruments; and a weaver and his wife who process and create wool masterpieces in a tradition that hardly anyone uses anymore. Fascinating as they all were, I couldn´t get over the cuteness of the weaving couple. I mean, have you ever seen anything cuter than this old weaving mama?

Holy Fiesta

Last Saturday, my two favorite little Ecuadorians were baptized. Sayani (3) and Apauki (5) received their holy cleansing in a tediously long nighttime ceremony in the central church of Cotacachi along with another two dozen tiny people from surrounding communities, half of whom were, not surprisingly, asleep for the whole thing. But this was hardly the main event.

Immediately following the ceremony was one big-ass party. About 100 people came: family, friends, friends of friends, community members, their children, even a few random dogs. The celebration kicked off at 11pm, when a DJ arrived with three enormous speakers and began pumping out ear-poppingly loud cumbia. (Sidenote: Cumbia, though originally a musical form from Columbia, has infiltrated Ecuador to become something of a national musical phenomenon. To paraphrase Lonely Planet, it does indeed sound like a "three-legged horse" trotting along to a Latin blend of rhythm, bass, horns, and words. More often than not it´s all produced on a single electric keyboard. Cumbia is everywhere, from restaurants to bus rides to grocery stores, and at times is sped up to such a frenzied tempo that it becomes "psycho cumbia.") Food was of course the first order of business, and each person was served up some soup and various plates, all of which naturally included the poor dead creatures mentioned in my last post. Interestingly, the guinea pig (cuy) was cut into pieces and served directly into people´s bare hands, along with a whole potato. People were pretty stoked on the cuy. It was about this time that the alcohol began to surface.

Drinking in Ecuador is a very communal affair. It goes something like this: someone walks around with a bottle of alcohol. There are three choices, and three choices ONLY of what to consume. Pilsener, the national beer; agurdiente, homemade sugar cane alcohol; or box "wine," this absolutely repugnant sugary crap artifically flavored with chemicals and in the resulting neon color it becomes, bears an eerily odd resemblance to nuclear waste (I tried my best to stay away from it). The bottle beholder walks around the party with a small plastic shotglass. When you are approached (and everyone is), you accept the shot gleefully and select another person with whom you make serious eye contact and dedicate the toast to. This person is thusly deemed the next recipient of the shot. He, then, follows suit by consuming the booze and selecting the next drinker. This process resolves around and around and around until, inevitably, it rolls right around back to YOU. Naturally, everyone gets real wasted real fast.

I retired around 4am, but the party did not. In fact, the cumbia continued at headache-inducing volumes until 10am! The DJs went home, but my family continued to play music music through their own speakers. When I finally emerged from my room around 2pm, haggard and not very well rested, there was a crew of about 5 guys who were still going. They hadn´t slept, were still drinking, and would in fact continue to do until the following night! I don´t know how they do it.

The best part of the night, for me, was the dancing. Although I got very, very tired of endlessly hearing cumbia -- especially with some of the same popular tunes repeated over and over again -- I was rewarded with a break from it, when they played selections of indigenous highland music I had never heard before. Everyone got into two large circles, and essentially shuffled around in time to the rapidly changing tempo of the music until someone decided to shout "VUELTA!" and it was time to turn around and shuffle in the other direction. And in case you´re wondering, out of all the dozens of slaughtered animals, by the end of the night only the head of one of the pigs remainded. Great success!