Trip Route

I was reviewing my travel journal and thought it would be interesting to calculate my total distance traveled.

Mi Viaje: Lima > Cusco > Arequipa > Arica > Iquique > San Pedro > Salta > Cafayate > Tucumon > Catamarca > Cordoba > Mendoza > Santiago > Pucon > Puerto Varas > Petrohue > Ancud > Castro > Achao > Castro > Quellon > Puerto Chacabuco > Coyhaique > Puerto Ibanez > Chile Chico > Los Antiguos > El Chalten > El Calafate > Ushuaia > Buenos Aires > Montevideo > Florianopolis > Curitiba > Sao Paolo > Miami > La Guardia

And the grand total is…

10300.479 km, which is 6400 miles.

FYI – Here’s the distance calculator website if you’re a nerd like me.

I Heart Iquique

Arica, Chile – Disco, Disco!

10/1/09 – 9:00 am. Tacna, Peru. Border Crossing. The plan is to cross into Chile via bus. The catch is there isn’t a direct bus route. Travelers must get dropped off in Tacna, Peru and then take a taxi through border patrol and on to the border town of Arica, Chile.

Hungry, we contemplate having lunch in Tacna, but take one look at the bus terminal and decide against it. We split a taxi with a British guy and a young American couple from Oregon. I`m no mathematician but 2 guys from Jersey + 1 British guy + 2 lovebirds + 1 disgruntled driver + 5 giant rucksacks = too much for one car.

An eager Peruvian man leads us through the bus terminal, past cautionary signs warning about ¨fake taxis,¨ out to the parking lot and stops at a midsized sedan. Three rucksacks fill the truck to capacity. A few of the drivers yell to each other and eventually they wave us over to a giant, boat of a car – a cream colored Cadillac straight out of the 80s. The mafia mobile easily stores all of the luggage in the trunk and is sufficiently comfortable for the hour ride to Arica. At border patrol Keating passes through customs with cocoa leaves, knives and a machete in his pack. Security doesn´t look twice.

Arica is a small costal, border town centered around one main street, 21 de Mayo, which can be toured in a matter of ten minutes. Arica, home to worldclass waves, is a surfer`s heaven. However, if you don`t surf there isn`t much else to do. You can hike up El Morro de Arica – if you risk passing dodgy dogs and don`t mind walking up a steep, sandy hill you will be rewarded with a beautiful view of the city, a giant Jesus statue and a military museum remembering the battle that took place there in 1880.

Despite the city`s lack of things to do, I still found it refreshing to have some nice weather. Keating and I had joked about how the weather would magically improve upon entering Chile, but, literally, it did.

We chat with the British fellow, Nick, on the taxi ride in and he seems cool enough so we all share a room at a hostel in Arica. The three of us spend the next few days exploring the small city, each night returning to the same hole in the wall restaurant. The food certainly wasn’t bringing us back – actually, we ordered the same dish every night but were surprised with a new meal each time. It was the tap beer – the cold, frothy golden goodness kept calling us. In Peru it is difficult to find a cold beverage. There are refrigerators, but they either aren’t running or they are on the warmest setting possible. To finally taste a large frosty mug of Schop was heaven.

I also loved the untouristy nature of Arica. Peru wore on me after a few weeks – nonstop begging annoys me. In a few short hours I was really enjoying Chile – happy people, nice weather, cold beer, drivers weren`t out to kill me.

The best part of Arica is the nightlife. There are two main discos – Drake`s and Soho – two neighboring oceanfront buildings that alternate nights they are open; a strategy that successfully packs everyone in town into one venue. We visited both, but have no idea which was which. We had heard people in South America start partying late, but we still were surprised. Here is a rough agenda of our first night out:

-1am: Arrive at club. The building is huge. Walk in and check out the first and second levels, both blasting reggaeton. A projector plasters giant music videos onto a wall that can be seen from both floors. The dance floor is empty.
-2am: People start arriving. The demographics range from 16 year old girls to 60 year old women and include everything in between. We try and buy drinks and almost fail. We first have to pay for drinks at a cash register, then redeem the coupon at the bar and order the drinks again.
-2:30am: (insert Nick`s legendary story)
-3am: Both levels are packed with people. Everyone is dancing – really well.
-3:15am: The music stops and the DJ clears people off the stage. Three girls enter stage left modeling clothes. They exit. One minute later the same three girls return wearing swimsuits. What the..?! There is a fashion show in the middle of the night, at a disco, with only three girls and six outfits?
-3:25am: The girls get off the stage. Dancing resumes as if nothing happened.
-4:00am: One of the models grabs me and introduces me to her Venezuelan friend who doesn`t speak a word of English. I dance with her. Broken glass and cigarette ash cover the floor.
-5:00am: I go look for Nick and Mike and we head out.
-5:45am: Convince taxi driver to take us on a beer run. He takes us to the ghetto. A man approaches the car with a 6pack.
-7am: Sleep.

From my experiences, the discos in Chile are nothing like the sleazy, meat market clubs in the US. The difference mainly being that fact people in South America love to dance, whereas the US scene relvoves around dugs, binge drinking and trying to pass off grinding as dancing. In Chile, everyone at the disco dances. In the US, there are usually a lot of creeps hovering around the dance floor.

We spend four or five days in Arica. A few sights worth noting.

*Keating and I are aimlessly wandering and pass a sign for a ¨Day & Night Club.¨ I can’t imagine who would hang out at place called the Day & Night Club at 2pm on a Tuesday. We excitedly speculate about the possibilities of who/what could be inside. That night we grab Nick and head over to the Day & Night Club. We pass through two doors and curtin before reaching the inside. The room is dark and narrow and lights flicker across the walls. Lonely men line one wall, slowly sipping their beers, gazing across at a stage with one of the largest women I have ever seen. Her outfit is a mix of lace, fishnet and neon green glitter. She isn`t even dancing. With a blank experssion, she shifts back and worth, sort of two stepping, sort of waddling. We can`t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Nick asks if they have cold schop at the bar. They don`t and there is our excuse to leave.

*We also pass two lovestruck dogs ¨stuck¨ in the middle of the street, stopping traffic. Nick took a video, which I will have to get from him.

I recommend strolling down 21 de Mayo and stopping at Schopdogs for a ¨tower¨ of beer and people watching. As a bonus, they actually have healthy meals (avocado & grilled chicken salad) along with the usual fried goodies like empanadas, popcorn chicken and fries.

One of the best parts of travelling is not only meeting locals, but other travelers as well. I learned two great tips from Nick:

How to choose a hostel – it sounds simple, but just go with the lonely planet pick. If you don´t have a lonely planet, go to hostelworld.com and pick the hostel with the best rating. My point being – don`t let price dictate choice. Since it`s a hostel it is going to be cheap, comparative to the location of course. Now that I´ve been travelling for a few months I can say that the amount of fun I`ve had is usually directly tied to the environment of the hostel.

Nowhere is dangerous – this obviously isn`t true, but I appreciate Nick`s insight into travelling. He has been all over the world and currently lives in Dubia. Here is his logic: You arrive at a location, be it a new town, city, country. From there you take transportation to lodging, be it a hostel, hotel, friend`s house. From lodging you can easily find out the dangerous areas and thus neighborhoods to avoid. Also, you can always call a taxi for going to dinner or sight seeing if nearby areas are unsafe. I was skeptical at first, but now I completely agree. We discussed kidnappings and assaults, but he made a good point – There is enough hype and horror stories in the media to make you not want to leave your home, but the odds of being attacked or randomly kidnapped are slim to none.

The Northface gang hanging out at the top of the Morro de Arica.

Photo compliments of Nick. Check us out in the mirror.

Did I mention how safe it is in South America? Every bed comes with a machete!

Up Next: I Love IQQ!!!

Motorbiking Arequipa

9/27/09 – 10:00 pm. Cusco. Keating and I head to the bus terminal to catch our first overnight bus to Arequipa, Peru. Seeing that there is a good hour before the bus leaves, Keating steps out for a quick bite to eat. He returns with anticucho (cow heart) on a stick that he bought on a street corner. He tells me how a lady took it out of plastic bag and cooked it right there in front of him. She then gave him way too much change back, which he rightfully returned to her. I don´t know why he thought it was a good idea to eat street meat immediately before a 12 hour bus ride with limited bathroom, but surprisingly he survived.

Prior to boarding the bus a policeman asks if I have any alcohol on me to which I respond, ¨no¨ and step onto the bus. There was no inspection of my bags. For the next security checkpoint, a policeman gets on the bus and points a small home-style video camera at us. Apparently this is their advanced security measures. I don`t know where exactly this evidence would come into play should their be a robbery, but I smile and wave to the camera

We opted for the premium ¨cama¨ (bed) section, which is first class. The large bus has two floors. The top floor is similar to any other bus with row after row seating. The first floor, however, is unlike any bus I`ve ever seen before – giant, leather La-z-boy style seats that recline to almost horizontal with foot rests. Shortly after getting comfortable a stewardess brings around pillows and blankets. We have our own bathroom, better meals and elbow room. The best part – we only paid an extra $10 for these seats. Another reason to spring for the luxury floor is that it is much safer. There are only 9 seats on the first floor. The second floor has around 50. When purchasing the tickets Keating and I were approached by a guy who told us horror stories of being robbed on the second floor. His story made our decision easy.

In Arequipa we spend a few days walking around the city, sampling local dishes and relaxing at Plaza de Armas. Food is incredibly cheap in Peru, especially Arequipa. Many restaurants offer a ¨Menu del dia¨ lunch special for just 3 soles (1 USD), which usually consists of a starter (soup or salad), entre (meat and rice or potatoes), desert (jello or pudding) and a drink. It couldn`t be cheaper to buy the food and cook it yourself. Surprisingly some people at the hostel still decided to make avocado and bread sandwiches.

Arequipa is a decent city, but compared to the touristy city of Cuzco it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere so Keating and I did the next logical thing – bought a giant knife and a machete.

14 inch knife: $3

Machete: $9

Feeling secure: Priceless

We walk through sketchy markets selling vegetables and knock off clothes.

Somewhere in town we stumble into an M.C. Escher picture…

A booth that offers motor bike tours catches my eye. I quickly sign up for a 3 hour tour for $30 USD. They don’t ask for a license, make me sign a waiver or ask if I have the slightest idea how to ride a bike. All they tell me is to stand outside my hostel tomorrow at 8am.

At 8:40am a motorcycle carrying two men roars up to my hostel. A small man, standing about 5`5 is driving and an older man from Scotland sits behind him with a look of terror in his eyes. The short driver introduces himself as Eddie. Thankfully he hails a taxi for us and beckons the cab to follow him to his house. At his casa he invites us in to pick out some ¨gear.¨ We walk past motorcycles in the hallway and half assembled frames in the living room. He tosses Bill, the Scotish man, and I a box with our supposed safety gear. I look inside and can`t help but let out a laugh. There are a few pairs of nasty winter gloves with holes, a single elbow pad and a pair of childrens` shin guards. Really? No goggles, no motocross gloves, nothing of use. The helmets are even more comical. Bill and I quickly grab the only motocross helmets. Two young guys from France show up and have slim pickings. The one is left to take a helmet that is much too large for his head. Eddie, the leader of the tour, hands him a winter hat to wear under the helmet to help compensate for the mismatched size.

We all wait while Eddie makes last minutes adjustments to the bikes – real comforting. The bikes are 250cc beasts straight out of the 1980s. I get last pick of the bikes, but I don`t care seeing as they are all equally likely to break down. We hop on the bikes, fire ‘em up and head to the gas station for a quick fill up.

Now in order to get to the trail we need to drive along paved roads (read: highway). I`ve already mentioned what I think of Peruvian drivers so it is a bit nerve racking weaving through traffic. He leads us through dirt paths, around farms, narrowly missing dogs as they run out in front of us, nipping at our feet.

Some goggles would have been nice.

At our second stop, Eddie leads us through a canyon to a secluded spot surrounded by 12 or so waterfalls. I wish I had my camera. Thankfully, Bill later sent me all these pics from his camera phone.

The ride was awesome, but it was far from easy. We ride through loose sand and I almost dump the bike as my rear end fishtails. Later we walk the bikes around a sharp switchback then continue along a narrow cliffside path. After lunch we drive on a highway past a protesting mob. As we double line the traffic, passing in the middle of the street, an oncoming tractor trailer nearly clips me.

At lunch we drink chicha – a traditional corn based drink, a type of fermented beverage common in the region. Traditionally, Inca women made this important drink by chewing corn to a pulp and then spitting the mixture into a vat of warm water. Hopefully ours was made in a more sanitary fashion.

Our last stop of the day is at a tower over looking the whole city. Volcanos surround us. It is beautiful.

That night Keating and I sit in the main Plaza listening to a girl talk to us in Quechua. We have no idea what she is saying. We tell her that we intend to sleep in the park because we have no money. She invites us to her house. We decline.

Up Next: Arica Discos

4 Month Recap

It took three and a half months but Mike and I finally made it to Santiago, Chile. In a previous post I wrote about how the original plan was to go straight to Santiago after hiking Machu Picchu, but that plan obviously went out the window. A lot has happened in such a short time and I will be writing longer posts about how we got sidetracked in Iquique, a beach town in the north of Chile,  and how we were forced to cross into Argentina to renew our tourist cards.

¨A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.¨

– John Steinbeck

In less than four months I´ve visited one of the seven wonders of the world, experienced a groundshaking 6.5 magnitude earthquake, hiked the driest desert on earth, toured majestic vistas with ominous names like Death Valley and Valley of the Moon, floated in a salt lake, ate guinea pig, surfed at some of the best breaks in the world, had dinner at 1 am, conversed for hours in a foreign language, learned the true spirit of Christmas and spent it sunbathing next to a pool, been kicked out of a party for being white, gone crabbing with my bare hands, watched the best sunset of my life, hiked mountain passes at 4,600 meters, touched a live monkey, hiked through jungle, picked up hitchhikers, ate the best steak of my life, been ripped off by police, toured wineries, drank malt beer with raw eggs for breakfast, learned how to whistle, been whistled at, been in a riot and swam with sea lions.

We´ve met a lot of people – many good,  some assholes and a few truly great ones. Thus is life.

My thoughts after three months in South America:

-South America is much safer than I had imagined.  I haven´t been mugged or had anything stolen and all of my organs are still intact.

-My trip isn´t unique. While staying at different hostels you meet many people who are doing the same trip as you – literally, the same route, destinations and attractions. Some are taking time off school, some are on vacation from work, some quit their jobs.

-Germans travel the most. Then people from Holland,  Australia, England, Canada and Israel.

-Chileans are some of the proudest people I´ve ever met. Their police are known for being the only law enforcement in South America who cannot be bribed.

-Peruvians are the worst drivers. Period. (read more about them here)

-South America is a lot more expensive than I had imagined. At times, big cities in particular, it rivals the US for food, alcohol and clothes.

-The rules are much more relaxed – I rented a motorcycle without being asked for a license, insurance or deposit. I´ve drank booze in a cab, in a mall, in a supermarket, in a bus terminal, on a bus, on the beach, at a skatepark, you get the point.

-Life is different – South Americans don´t have the same competitive attitude ingrained in them like people do in the US. In Argentina people go to work at 10am, have lunch at 12, then siesta from 1pm until 5pm, then go back to work for a few hours. Suffice to say, their lives do not revolve around their careers. There are also subtle touches here and there that you wouldn´t find in the States. In Salta, Argentina I ordered only a coffee and with it came fresh squeezed orange juice, seltzer water and a plate of cookies. One dinner on an overnight bus included lamb and rice, pizza, a glass of wine, then coffee cognac. In the morning they woke us up with coffee, tea and breakfast. On the airplane down to South America I was charged $2 for a pair of headphones to watch the ¨free¨movie.

-It is possible to get by in South America for four months without knowing Spanish.

The trip has been amazing but it hasn´t always been easy. One night Mike and I were stranded outside a disco in the pouring rain for 3 hours, miles from town, sober and extremely annoyed, unable to get a cab. Then there was the day we went to the bus station, fighting nasty hangovers to learn that the next bus didn´t leave for 10 hours. When we tried to lay down in the bus terminal we were continuously inconvenienced by security guards. We then sat on hard wooden benches, upright, for the remainder of the day. I have had more food cravings than a pregnant woman only to be met with the same three food options day in and day out.

I should also probably add that Mike has had more physical ailments in South America than I´ve had in 24 years. He´s had bug bites, colds, headaches, bruises, scrapes, infections, fevers, stomach problems, and now has a toe that turns away as if it doesn´t want to be associated with others.

The best is yet to come. I have been looking forward to seeing Patagonia for months and now it is only a few weeks away. The game plan after New Years: From Santiago go to the Chilean beaches of Valparaiso/ Vina del Mar, then go down to Chilean Patagonia for photography, trekking, and general outdoorsy activities. Cross into Argentina Patagonia, head north to Buenos Aires, cut through Uruguay to Brazil, travel up the coast of Brazil then fly to Columbia. Sail to Panama and travel Central America or return to New Jersey.

The trip so far: Lima, Cuzco, Arequipa, Arica, Iquique, San Pedro, Salta, Cafayate, Tucuman, Catamarca, Cordoba, Mendoza, Santiago.

For everything, airfare from NJ to Peru, a flight from Lima to Cuzco, 11 bus tickes, tours, food, hostels, discos and drinks, I´ve spent close to $3,000. Not bad considering I would have spent more than that on rent, gas, food, alcohol, and junk I don´t need if I had been living in New Jersey for that time.

Longer, more detailed stories about the Iquique Vortex, Gypsy Halloween, Chilean Christmas and more are coming!

Back in Cusco

9/25/09 – 11:40 pm. Cusco, again. Haggard and delirious, Mike and I walk up to our wonderful hostel, and shockingly enough, the owner doesn´t have a room for us. As much fun as it would be to scour the streets of Cusco at midnight with 50 lb rucksacks looking for another hostel, we have plans to meet everyone at a the bar – ten minutes ago. Keep in mind we not only wrote down the date of our return, but we also stored bags at the hostel. Great. Mike and I stare him blankly in the face, while he  furls his brow. With a wave of the hand he exits the hostel and beckons us to follow. He leads us a few blocks further from town to a condemned building empty hostel. We don´t care. We take it. A shower revitalizes us and gives us a second wind to go out with the gang for a celebratory/goodbye drink.

We pull up to Siete Angelitos and see the Spanish couple from our group waiting outside. Oscar, the non-english speaking guide walks up and his expression quickly turns to panic when he learns that Washington hasn´t arrived. After a few minutes we decide we might as well wait for everyone inside. As we enter we immediately see Washington. Turns out everyone was there the whole time, but in a side room all to themselves. We almost didn´t recognize them without all the hiking gear.

Rosie cheecks and toothy grins all around. We sit down and order drinks.

A live band belts out Manu Chau covers.  The lead singer has a tribal design tattooed across his forehead.

The music draws everyone into the main room and we start dancing. Thank you Oscar for possibly being a worse dancer than I.

A great end to a great trek. We met some great people I can only hope we cross paths in the future.

We saw stunning views, had great weather, toured Machu Picchu and made it back alive.

Hands in. On the count of three, ¨Salkantay!¨ And with that final cheer we complete the first part of our journey and the next chapter begins. The trek was the only event scheduled on our agenda. Now all we have is a few guidebooks, a general idea of where we would like to go and a lot of time. Time to head south to Chile.

Up Next: Motor Bike Arequipa

Salkantay Trek: Day 5 – Machu Picchu

9/25/09 – 2:00am. Aguas Calientes. The alarm rings and rings but my body doesn´t respond. I would rather continue listening to the incessant shrill beeps than lift a finger. The hostel beds are terribly uncomfortable. The only thing worse than the the thin, lumpy mattress is the 30 thread count sandpaper trying pass as sheets.

The group slowly assembles in the lobby at 2:30am, everyone looks like zombies. After four days of nonstop walking over rugged terrain and facing extreme conditions we are exhausted. Add a night without sleep into the mix and we are shot.

Our plan: Walk from the hostel in Aguas Calientes straight to Machu Picchu.

As we exit town there are no street lights, absolutely no light at all. Thankfully I brought a head lamp, as did a few others, which lites the way. We walk quickly in a pack, like a gang of soccer hooligans about to take on rivals, everyone silent but focused. I know it´s cold because when my warm breath hits the cool air it forms a mist in the light streaming from my torch. Fifteen minutes down the road we reach the stairs and stop for a quick break to de-layer in anticipation for the upcoming work out.

Here comes the hard part – 1900 stairs. We scramble up the unevenly spaced stone slabs – some steep, some slippery, all difficult.A road intersects the staircases, creating flat ground perfect for resting. At the top of the first set everyone is huffing and puffing. Ten minutes straight of stair climbing will do that to you. We have another hour of this. Our leader for this section is Oscar, a Peruvian man who doesn´t speak a lick of English. He is small but incredibly nimble. People exasperatedly blurt out ¨despacio¨ (slow) and remind him that we aren´t all decendants of mountain goat/cheetah like him. At times he picks up the pace.

I find it easier to go quicker and rid myself of this torture as soon as possible. Mike, on the other hand, continues along with a slow and steady pace. By the last few sets I am practically running up stairs. Out of nowhere I reach the top. Another group of trekkers is waiting at the gate, but we still arrive early enough to ensure our entrance to Winu Picchu – granted to the first 400 people.

Sitting on the steps, waiting for Machu Picchu to open, I have never been more exhausted. I´m sweating. I have no water. It starts to rain. Keep in mind its 4am and it´s pitch black. Mike eventually emerges from the dark path. We sit on the steps, sure that our legs won´t support should we try to stand. We´re both spent – minds empty and too tired to string together simple sentences. Buses start arriving and before we know it there are hundreds of people behind us. Machu Picchu opens and we receive a stamp for the 10:00am Winu Picchu. There is also a 7 am, but we have a tour first, compliments of Washi.

After a few hours of wandering around and waiting for the fog to disipate we all meet up again for our ¨tour¨. I´m cold, exhausted, dehydrated, dead. We follow around our guide through rain and fog, which masks the entirity of Macchu Picchu.

Listening to Washington´s broken English in the freezing rain after a night of no sleep and tackling those stairs is really starting to annoy me. I just want to eat and get a hot cup of coffee. He shows us a rock that is supposed to make you pregant if you touch it. I touch it, curious if the slab inspired the creator of the movie ¨Junior.¨ Nothing happens. We visit another area where the Incas performed sacrifices. The tour finally ends and we immediately head to the snack stand, only to be discouraged and disgruntled by the prices, which are ridiculous even by Disney World standards. I get a coffee and we huddle under an umbrella.

The weather is god awful. We try taking pictures but we literally can´t see anything because of the fog. The light myst clouds up our lenses. My legs, feet and hips are screaming and there is no way Mike and I can physically hike Winu Picchu.  If I had the strength I would have, but it just wasn´t going to happen. At around noon, after being at Macchu for 6 or 7 hours, we decide that the weather  isn´t getting better so we decide to walk back down the death steps, instead of taking the $7 bus. Jesus, going down is difficult. We take our time and it seems to take twice as long as coming up.

The views clear up as we descend but we don´t go back. We later find out that the weather broke as soon as we left…

Dirty, tired and famished we reach the town again. I buy the biggest bottle of water I can find, chug it, then head to a restaraunt for pizza. It in no way comes close to Jersey/NYC pizza, but it tastes glorious. The combination of dough, hot sauce and melted cheese straight from the brick oven is heaven sent. A little taste of home.

After lunch Mike and I spend the next few hours relaxing in the hostel lobby with a cold beer while waiting for our train. For some reason, our group is split up and we all have different times. When we arrive at the train station, we see a man holding a sign with our names and follow him to a giant luxury bus. Unfortunately we have to wait on the bus for 2 hours while he tries to fill the seats.

We pass out and finally make it back to Cusco around 11pm, the same time we are supposed to meet the rest of the group for a celebratory drink at ¨Siete Angelitos.¨

Up Next: Wait, what are reservations?

Salkantay Trek: Day 4

9/24/09 – 7:30am. Campsite 3. Our tent is sweltering.

I kick off my sleeping bag and ¨What the $”!%?!¨ My legs and feet are covered in painful red bites. I wake up Mike and his legs are possibly worse than mine. After letting out every curse word in the book we hop out of the tent and discover everyone else has the same problem. We have no idea if it was a spider or a mosquito or some other insect, but whatever it was it went to town on us. For some strange reason the bites only cover our legs though.

We quit complaining and walk through ¨town.¨

Moral is low and we don´t have the same enthusiasm and as the bright eyed versions of ourselves three days prior. We really just want to get to Machu Picchu. We walk on a dirt road and quickly grow bored of the repetitive scenery. The highlight of the day is passing a waterfall…

We stop at a train station for lunch. One of the girls woke up with a bad bite on her ankle that swelled up and started oozing puss. Yea, real nice. We ask if there is a doctor in the restaurant but have to settle for a dentist. He eagerly pulls out a travel medical kit and, like the bench warmer who finally gets to play in the big game, he cleans out the wound and wraps it in a fresh bandage.

Unfortunately at this point we have to carry our big rucksacks the rest of the way. Some choose to take a train – for a price of course.  Others try and unload some of their weight to those taking the train. Mike and I say, ¨Screw it,¨ and throw everything on our backs.

A sign tells us we will die if we walk along the tracks but, again, our guide assures us everything is OK.

The train tracks are hell. You either have to walk on loose rocks and risk rolling an ankle or concentrate on syncing your gait to the wooden planks. I choose the latter and go into a zen like trance, focusing carefully on hitting each plank. I start to think that perhaps it was a bad idea to drink the night before.

As we near the town we realize something very important is missing - our guide. Washington finally staggers up to us after an hour wait. He is so hung over he can barely see and is nearly passing out. After chugging some water he starts to come back to life and we continue on. Entering town we see beautiful hotels and again I urn for nice accommodations but instead keep trudging along to our budget hostel.

Mike and I are ecstatic to sleep in actual beds and take a shower. There isn´t hot water. Who cares? The shower head hangs from a cord without a holder and the water barely trickles out. So what? After four days of perpetual sweating and sleeping on hard ground, the hostel is heaven.

At dinner we learn we will be waking up at 2 am tomorrow to ensure we get passes to Wina Picchu, the top tip of Machu Picchu, a privilege only granted to the first 500 people.

Up Next: Machu Pichu

Salkantay Trek: Day 3

9/23/09 – 5:00 am. Campsite 2. Wake up slowly, eat breakfast, fill water bottles with mountain water and pray the purification drops actually work. Surprisingly, they do. Just a few steps down the trail and it´s apparent the trek is taking a toll on our bodies; our feet are blistering, legs are sore and hips are hurting. Physically and mentally spent from yesterday´s hike, Mike and I spend a good part of the morning walking in silence; possibly the whole morning.

Isn´t walking down supposed to be easier than going up? After an entire day of walking downhill, I learn it´s not. The views are spectacular, but it´s hard to fully appreciate them with the sun beating down on us. We descend further and the landscape turns into thick, lush green jungle and I look forward to sections of canopy and the glorious shade they provide.

Even though yesterday was technically ¨harder¨ I found it much more enjoyable. It´s good to push yourself every once and a while. It´s the feeling of accomplishing something. Going downhill and conquering nothing while pushing your body´s limits pretty much sucks.

Halfway through the day we pass a waterfall and a few brave souls climb under for a quick cool down. It looks like heaven but Mike and I don´t want to hike in wet clothes for the remainder of the day so instead we settle for splashing our faces and watching the others in amusement.

Little shacks selling food and supplies sporadically appear along the trail, literally, in the middle of no where. We are miles from civilization. I can barely make it here. How did an out of shape elderly woman with a baby get here? There are no cars in sight.

The huts don´t have electricity but they do have lollipops.

At lunch Mike chooses not to heed the advice of washing his face after eating an orange – a choice he pays for dearly. Apparently combining citrus, hours of sun and his pale skin is not a good idea. His lips blister and bubble and crack. He looks like a herpes model. We finally make it to the end of the trail where a bus is waiting to take us to our third campsite. We start to grow worried when the diabetic member of our group is nowhere to be found. The last time we saw him was four hours ago and now he is only member from our group missing. After much reassurance from our guide that he ¨probably isn´t dead,¨ and we still are going go to the hot springs we felt much more secure. He eventually arrives, desperately needing sugar.

We pull up to the third campsite – heaven. There is an actual bathroom (1st of the trip), a monkey and a shack selling liquor. We drop off our gear, buy as many beers as we can afford and take a van down to the thermal hot springs. They are gorgeous – a sprawling facility of clean pools and hot natural showers. Upon diving in we discover the floor is gravel and rock, which create a therapeutic massaging effect as we wade in the warm water. We relax for hours, star gazing into the pitch black sky, occasionally jumping under a nearby freezing waterfall only to accentuate the pools warmth.

When our fingers are pruny and wrinkled we return to the campsite for dinner, a bonfire and booze. Our fire is quickly interrupted by rain so we grab the rum and continue to party under a makeshift awning. I can´t believe how little it cost for a bottle of alcohol. Considering we are in the middle of nowhere, they could have charged anything and we would have paid it. Instead,  they charge more for the Coca Cola, assuming gringos need their soda fix. Little did they know are raging alcoholics – just kidding. Sort of…

PITA – please stop reading now.

Mike gets the monkey drunk. It promtly falls in love with him. So goes Mike´s life.

Note Mikes forehead…sunscreen is necessary in Peru.

Look at the love. With those little beady eyes staring up at you, how could you say no? We give the monkey a small cap full of rum. After which it sleeps for 20 minutes, wakes up, freaks out in a drunken confused state and, like my uncle at Thanksgiving, stumbles under the tablecloth and passes out.

It starts to rain harder but what the hell do we care? We throw on parkas and keep partying!

The day can only be described in one word – surreal. Trekking through jungle during the day. Thermal hot springs at night. Drinking with a monkey. The night is great but we wake up with a painful surprise…

Up Next: Aguas Calientes

Happy Slapsgiving!

Slap Bet

noun

ex. “Johnny cried after he lost his slap bet”

image from www.recapist.com

Two of my friends didn´t think I would last more than three months in South America so we did what any mature grown ups would do and decided to settle the matter with a ¨slap bet.¨ But this isn´t a simple one-slap slap bet. We upped the ante this time – 3 slaps, whenever the winner so chooses.

I left the US on September 14th. Today is Thursday, November 26th. The number of days until December 14th: 18

Happy Thanksgiving to all! I wish I could spend the holiday with my family eating a delicious spread of turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing, watching American football, but instead I will have to settle for completos, churrascos and pichanga.

A message for Dave and Johnny – 18 days…