Guide Washington

Cusco: The Next Episode

9/18/09 – 7:30 am. Lima, Peru. Mike and I wake with no recollection of the past 24 hours. Looking around the room we discover our twin beds are pushed together and there are two girls lying in between us. We scramble to our cameras for clues of the past day´s happenings. Upon realizing the unknown guests are actually just our hosts, we start to piece things together. Unfortunately for Mike, the puzzle was a bit more complicated. One look at his face and I can easily diagnose his Typhoid Fever. I recall the previous day Mike felt dizzy, feverish and looked as if he could pass out at any moment. At one point he went to a Peruvian pharmacy for Advil and walked out with two ¨cure-all¨ pills manufactured in Colombia. Needless to say, they cured all. However, it probably was not the best idea to combine them with alcohol, which our Peruvian friends said would be entirely ¨OK.¨

It wasn´t.

At this point we are convinced our friends rufied us, which, coincidentally, we had joked about all week. In Lima, roofie pills are freely available at most bars. Our friends work at the bar. We only had two drinks. Slight coincidences. The last thing we remember is standing outside a bar at 5am in the middle of Peru shouting obscenities at a group of guys.

Jump to the airport. After 30 minutes of hugs and tears we leave our lovely hosts and approach the terminal that looks like a North Face fashion show, buzzing with backpackers itching to conquer Machu Picchu. Twenty minutes into our flight Mike wakes up, turns to me wide-eyed and asks, ¨Why is everything white?¨ Looking at his perspiring forehead and dilated eyes, I suggest he go to the bathroom. Thirty minutes later when the pilot´s voice tell us to prepare for landing Mike wearily emerges from the plane´s tiny washroom. When I ask him what happened he replies, ¨With what?¨and immediately falls back asleep. Mike later tells me he was closer to death than he had ever been in his whole life. Needless to say, I felt like a million bucks.

Take one step into the Cuzco airport and it immediately sets the tone for the entire city; swarms of people competing for your wallet. I have never felt more wanted. After departing the plane, a corridor forces you past a row of vulchers offering ¨free information.¨ Amazing – people competing to help us and give us information, just out of the goodness of their hearts. Perhaps it is our aimless walk or the stupid ¨gringo¨ look plastered on our faces but we are immediately greeted in English by a man resembling the classiest used car salesman; slicked back hair, terrible suit with an even worse tie and one of the whitest smiles I have ever seen. How could we resist? There is no way this guy will try to take advantage of us young American backpackers. And thus we came to know Paul “Salchipapas” Ivan.

The second we tell him we don´t have hostel reservations in Cuzco he hurriedly pushes us out of the airport and into a giant van that could easily seat 15 people. Instead it sat two. Still a bit skeptical, we refuse to put our bags in the trunk and opt instead to grip them tightly. Sweat dripping down our faces, heavy rucksacks on our laps, no idea where we are going, we glance at each other and decide to just enjoy the ride for what it is: free. We quickly learn nothing in South America is free.

After realizing the people of Cusco act, dress, and look just as miserable as the people of Lima, we knew Peru was going to be a long ride. We pull up to an extremely nice looking hostel in the center of the main plaza. Paul hops out of the van to make reservations for us. He approaches the door and tries the handle. Nothing. He knocks once. Nothing. Two and three and four times. Nothing. Mind you it is 1:00pm and we can see people walking around inside. After repeatedly being ignored through the intercom he returns to the van and tells us with a smile that could please a baby, “We´ll just go to the next one, this place is a shit hole anyway.” Perhaps Paul´s reputation proceeds him. By the time we arrive at the third hostel we are ready to jump out and sleep on the streets, but as luck may have it they actually have a room for us. After showing passports and signing in we sit down on a couch at Paul´s ushering. Immediately, he turns on supersalesman mode. He offers us coca tea and begins ranting about every type of tour available; from whitewater rafting to horseback riding to rappelling to riding ATVs to the Inca Trail. We have just come from a week of nonstop partying. I can´t remember last night. I can barely comprehend where I am. The last thing I want to do is listen to this cheeseball blab on about adventure tourism. After a few minutes I am at my wits end. Too tired to care about manners I interrupt him and say,  ”Listen Paul, I´m exhausted and I´m going to my room to sleep. PEACE.” With that we made our first escape from his endless sales pitches and both decided that we would book absolutely nothing more with Paul.

After leaving the comfort of Teresa´s home this came to be our first hostelling experience – off to a bit of a rocky start. We are a bit skeptical of the beds so we whip out our North Face Snowshoe sleeping bags, zip ´em up and pass out. After sleeping for what feels like 28 hours I wake up starving. Mike is making no noise and doesn´t react to my talking so I venture off alone. Armed with only a small book of Spanish phrases, I wander around the city in an altitude/hunger induced stupor and stumble into a restaurant. After pointing at a few different things on the menu, I discover that I ordered soup, chicken, rice and lemonade. While I eat a man in a motorcycle jacket next to me busts out a taser and starts shocking the air wildly. I think he is telling a story, attempting to impress his female companions, but I really have no idea what is going on. I pay the bill, which I´m pretty sure is too expensive, and step outside to realize I have no idea where I am. Dizzy, disoriented and out of breath I eventually make my way back to the hostel to find Mike still asleep.

After hibernating for 34 hours Mike wakes up and runs to the bathroom. We spend the next day speaking with tour companies and comparing prices for the Salkantay Trek. We didn´t go with the cheapest but rather the company that seemed most professional and spoke the most English. We considered booking the trek via Internet, but thankfully we waited until we got to Cuzco.

Advice for Machu Picchu - If you want to hike the actual Inca Trail, plan ahead. The trail has a daily capacity and it is absolutely impossible to join a tour unless you reserve a spot/permit via a tour company months in advance. The Salkantay trek is cheaper, less crowded, one day longer, always available and absolutely gorgeous. You must reserve the Inca Trail trek from home, but definitely wait to book the Salkantay trek upon arrival in Cuzco because: 1) It´s cheaper. The least expensive tour we could find on the Internet was $400. We paid $180 for the Salkantay 5 day trek and we could leave any day we wanted. 2) Altitude sickness is real. Most tour companies suggest arriving in Cuzco two days before your trek to allow your body to acclimate to the city´s elevation. We waited three days and I´m thankful we took the extra day – a decision you might not know until you arrive in Cuzco.

Up next: 5 day trek through mountain and jungle to visit Machu Picchu…

A preview of the trekkers