The past

It has been difficult for me to grasp the pre-Columbian history of Peru when living only in Lima, which is ironic given that the country’s history was one of the main reasons I chose to come here. I wrote my dissertation on the Spanish conquest of the Inca empire earlier this year and it inspired me to see the ruins left by that empire and of the people who came before it. Only in Cusco, the Sacred Valley and the Colca Canyon have I been so priviliged as to see any pre-Colombian structures.

In Lima these aspects of the past are barely visible. One ruin – Huaca Pucllana – does stand out of the metropolis but it largely resembles a neatly crafted pile of dirt and it seems out of context with towering condominiums appearing whenever you turn your head. The only other remenants lie in the names of various aspects of the city. There’s Inca Kola (a bubblegum flavoured soft drink) and Inca Farma (a popular pharmacy) with some streets and universities being named after famous Inca leaders or scholars. These are just a few examples that display that people in Lima are aware of their country’s distant past.

But in truth it is of little concern to those immersed into the reality of a developing world city of eight million people in 2008. Lima is dominated by European descendants who care far more about aspiring to western values and glorifying the Peruvian republic. They seem very distant from the quechua speaking amerindians of the Andes who show much more nostalgia for Peru’s vibrant pre-Colombian heritage, or not so much nostalgia as a certain type of continuation of traditions.

Then there are the museums, which are pretty damn cool. Through these it is possible to catch a glimpse of Peru’s rich and diverse history that streches back thousands of years and contains numerous peoples and civilisations. Today I visited the Museo Nacional Antropologia, Arquelogia y Historia. This is the third of Lima’s museums that I have been to and they display an almost alien world to that of Lima’s urban sprawl. Beautifully crafted pottery with intricate colours and patterns; delicate peices of jewellery crafted from gold and silver; textiles woven with such precision; these remenants of Perus colourful past seem so far away from the unimaginative, unsubstantial and decadent cluster of buildings that constitutes most of modern Lima.

cerámica chévere

The Eternal Dilemma of Buying Things

I spent the day today clothes shopping. I ended up with nothing.

Shopping in Lima – true to the nature of the city itself – is crazy and completely uncontrolled.

Just about everything outside of the few main department stores is a pirate or a fake. In some parts of town, stalls sprawl across the pavements of streets with varying degrees of quality pirate movies, cds and computer games. Which is good if you want to watch a movie for next to nothing, but bad if you dont want this to be marred by disc skipping, audio problems and silhouettes of heads moving across the front of the cinema screen where the movie was recorded.

By and large, different districts of the city host clusters of stores selling the same type of good. There are areas where computer software is sold (pirated of course), there are streets of book sellers (many ringbound photocopies) and neighbourhoods of electronics stores (these dont so much have fakes as expensive imports for sale). Today I was in a clothes section of town: a street composed of near hundreds of shops dedicated to the religion of clothing. They are arranged in rather haphazard fashion, not one area of wall was wasted where a display or colourful entrance could be held.

a shopping street in Lima - blurred ... ahem ... to emphasise craziness ... yeah

After searching the entire street i could find no decent pair of trousers that was long enough to cover to my entire leg. The fakes were again plentiful: I lost count of the number of fakey brand names that i saw. Luckily it was easy to spot the worst of these when after just seconds of examination it was possible to pull threads clean from the stitches of the trousers. Even amongst the better quality clothes I could find absolutely nada, there are definite disadvantages to being tall, especially in a country where people are generally small.

I will probably have to settle for one of the main department stores – Ripley or Saga – for my trouser needs. These are located in more well off parts of town and have rather a more western mall-like feel to them but are markedly more expensive than their tiny-room-with-entrance-opening-onto-a-mobbed-street counterparts.

Walking down one of these shopping streets is an experience in itself. Today I was harrassed by people from all sides, thier favourite advertisment allure was the repeated shout of “Lacoste, ropas de lacoste, lacoste la mejor”. After I hazarded a mere glance ate one pair of trousers that a salesman was selling he tailed me for at least a minute as I tried to walk away, shouting at me to make sure that there was no mistake of what an unbelievable offer I was missing.

This is life in Peru: there is always a middle man who’s job it is to advertise and sell absolutely anything and everything to people walking down the street minding their own business: shops, buses, restaurants, candies, cigarettes, massages, chewing gum, casinos, empanadas, fruit, drugs, entertainment … you can see where i’m going with this. From what I can gather this culture is born out of the fact that there just isnt enough jobs to go around. People have to do anything to try and make money and creating jobs that purely involve selling things – anything – is one way to give paid, commissioned work to more people.

This works on many levels. At the top end you have a guy who stands outside a classy restaurant to try and lure you inside with special deals and a neatly prepared sales pitch in which he competes with other such fellows from nearby restaurants to win your custom. I have perfected the art of just plain ignoring these people and not reacting to a single word that they say, it just puts me off and makes me think “if your trying so hard to sell this place, it cant be very popular, which means it cant be very good”.

The sad thing is that at the bottom end of the scale many salespeople are children. It’s pretty heartbreaking to turn down a seven year old who is scurrying around the streets trying desperately to find somebody to give them money for some of the sweets or candies or whatever it is that lies in a tray held in place by a strap looping around the back of their neck.

The humble combi

The public transport in Lima relies almost entirely on a system of minibuses.

Wherever you need to get in Lima a combination of combis will take you there. There are hundreds if not thousands of them. They are painted different colours to represent their company and have the names of the most important streets that they will visit written across the side.

Inside a combi

Combis are small, dirty, usually packed full of people and pretty dangerous. Each one has a crew of two people: one person drives while the other handles the passengers and the money. The latter hangs through the reclining doors and shouts the names of the same streets to attract customers. In order to catch a combi you need to wait at the side of the road, search for one that you think is going your way and indicate that you want to get on – not a difficult task seeing as they all slow down to entice you on board.

In the process of scrambling on to the combi, a couple of words are exchanged with the “conductor” to confirm that the combi is going your way. By this point the driver will have already screeched off again making finding a seat and sitting down somewhat troublesome. The combi then careers thrugh the wild sea Lima traffic, the driver honks his horn as an indication, or more accurately a warning sign to other drivers who begin to pull in front of his path.

After paying the fare, usually somewhere in the region of 20p, you have to shout “baja a la esquina ” to the conductor when you want to ge off. A quick well-timed jump later, prompted by the anxious shouting of the conductor: “baja, baja, baja. baja” (pronounced bacha, ch like the word loch), and you find yourself on the pavement long after realising that the combi has already teared off again.

Apart from taxis, whose drivers need to be bargained with for a fair price, combis are the most affordable way to get about the city.

And so what of Lima?

What has been written in this blog so far only really covers a total of 7 days out of the four months that have passed in Peru: Cusco lasted four days; Arequipa and the Colca Canyon just three. In the next seven days I am goin to try and double this.

For those of you who don’t know, I live in Lima.  Like any city on earth Lima has it’s own characteristics, it’s own distinct features and it’s own little quirks and fables. By making a log of one week of my everyday life here I hope to cover at least a few of these in more detail. I have been largely inspired by a visit from two of my friends from home who came to celebrate my birthday at the end of October. Watching how they reacted to the city made me think back to the same things i noticed on my first days here and just how much I have become accustomed to life here over four months.

Also I got a camera which makes it easier to show what I am trying to describe.

Ok. Thursday November the sixth 2008. I’ll start at my work. Here is the view that I spent 8 hours looking at today.

eight hours a day, five days a week

This is one of the many beautiful parks in Miraflores, the district of Lima where I work and live. This picture was taken from my office window.

The spikes are pretty much a standard part of many of the houses and offices here. Fear and protection are very much a part of every day life though I am told that this has eased since the threat of terrorism in the 1980’s and 1990’s. Senderos Luminoso were one group who successfully detonated a devastating bomb in Miraflores alongside other parts of the country killing many people.

So there are spikes, electric fences and glass set into concrete that line high walls running around the outside of Limas more expensive properties. There are also security guards who occupy booths at the corners of most of the blocks in Miraflores who are very nice and always like to chat or just say hello.

The park is full of various birds, my favourite of which are humming birds who hover around the spikes before speeding of again.

There is always some sort of noise coming from the park, whether it be the screech of the whistle by a guy selling ice creams to kids from the nearby school or the endless cycle of car alarms that seems endemic in this city which ring out immediately after the alarm has been set.

So this is the view I have spent the best part of my time in Peru looking at. Along with my computer of course!

Count the Adjectives

Arequipa and the Colca Canyon were an even tighter mission than Cusco and MP. This time I managed to arrange just one day off of work to complete a weekend excursion to a city high in the Andes and far far away from Lima. This was on the condition that I made up the extra day by working the following Saturday.

No flying in and out this time either: I had to endure my first Latin American long haul bus journey.

Now even the shortest intercity bus journeys in Peru are comparable to what would be considered the longest of road trips that I have taken in the UK. Arequipa was billed at fourteen hours one way, but with mountainous roads, stoppages, and road accidents the journey ended up taking eighteen. This is by far the most preferred form of travel on the continent. There are barely any railroads except for the Machu Picchu money-spinner and flights are too expensive for the vast majority of people and those of us who no longer have any European money left.

So we sped down the Peruvian coastline on the night of 18^th September (hmmm … let’s call it … writer’s block). I didn’t sleep a wink – buses are not built for people who need more than average leg-room. Plus I have the tendency to be intrigued by what lies outside the window. The landscape looked lunar at some stages with grey-brown dirt and barren rocks reminding me that Lima sits smack bang in the middle of the coastal desert that dtretches the entire length of the Peruvian coast. The Pacific Ocean loomed to the right, right up until the point that we cut up into the mountains on approach to Arequipa. After what seemed like a life time of bus travel – during which I finished reading an entire book (not something that I am renowned for) – we arrived in Arequipa.

Arequipa

The city looked lovely. We had little time to linger however as our time was pressed and we wanted to visit the Colca Canyon within our schedule. We had a couple of hours to tour the bus station – brimming with passengers and alternative bus companies – before we set off towards the Canyon.

The sunset on this journey was top banana, burning red on the horizon, pouring over walls and near-primitive farmland to project deep orange light over the mountains that surround Arequipa, which include the towering white volcano El Misti. After the sun fell we were greeted by the stars of the southern hemisphere. This is still not something that I am accustomed to given that I live in perhaps the cloudiest place south of the equator. I had already caught a glimpse of them on the MP train as I cupped my hands around my eyes and against the train window. Not exactly prime viewing.

A further 4 hours by bus wound us through the Andes to the small town of Chivay, deep at the base of the Colca Canyon. It was dark and true to Andean form bone-achingly cold. We searched for a hostel with seven spare beds and after some food an Irish pub soon drifted off to sleep.

Or rather a quick snooze. The first bus (yes another) to “Cruz del Condor” left at four in the morning. We wanted to spend the early hours of Saturday at such a place not for no good reason. As the name suggests, we went to see condors, and the cruz (cross) high on the edge of the Canyon marks the perfect spot to fulfil such a desire.

I don’t think I have ever felt this cold in my life. The Andes is so so cold at night and in the morning before the sun comes out. So cold. Seriously.

hat blows gracefully; scottish man slowly freezes

seven very cold people from Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, Germany, Scotland and Switzerland stand on the edge of a canyon in the hope of seeing condors

Anyway, the condors came out as the sun rose making for a beautiful display of wings, feathers, majesty, elegance and all that. There was certainly some swooping involved and I’m sure I caught the glimpse of a talon. “The Kings of the Andes” they certainly are and they certainly looked at home against a jaw dropping backdrop of crisp mountain ridges. They didn’t seem to care too much about us, and neither they should have.

As the morning went on and the sun rose higher a few of us decided to trek further up the canyon towards a small town. This walk I saw some of the most gorgeous landscape which became ever more illuminated by the warmth of the sun. Fields of golden grass bordered with green hedges were at the base of the canyon and the typically pointy Andes creased with deep caverns stretched high up into the sky. Terracing swept around the contours of the hills with rich brown patches providing flat fertile land for farmers on even the most precipitous of perches.

Our group walked for an hour or two, taking in our surroundings and enjoying the silence that is sorely missed in Lima. We jumped on a bus that our friends were already on – they had opted to wait at the cruz to catch a better glimpse of the condors. We twisted and turned through the canyon on out way to the small town Cabanaconda. The Agricultural terracing here was fantastic, like layered steps at every contour of the hills.

Andean farming

Cabanaconda

After some breakfast (which felt like lunch – we had been up for hours by this point) and a bit of deliberation we decided to continue trekking to an “oasis” at the base of the canyon. This was an epic hike.

descent

It took us over two hours to walk down; the view was, believe it or not, spectacular. It was possible to see where layers of molten lava had seeped down the side of the canyon to form the high walls of rock.

The blue water of the oasis taunted us on the whole trek as we caught glimpses of it winding our way down the rocky path.

closer ...

and closer ...

and closer ...

When we arrived we were greeted by signs saying ‘welcome to paradise’ and ‘paradise – this way’. My mind quickly turned to Leonardo de Caprio – not because his acting has left a particularly striking impression on me – but because this setup looked overwhelmingly like somebody had watched (or read) The Beach a few too many times. Now, I’m not a picky person but when two adequate swimming pools and a modest bunch of palm trees accompanied by overpriced bar and restaurant are billed as ‘paradise’ then surely something is amiss.

"paradise"

I’m being ungrateful again (please see about section for irony and sarcasm warning), the place was pretty enough, the canyon surroundings at the very least were idyllic and the isolation certainly added an edge even if the oasis was a touch surfer-dude-ish. A dip in the swimming pool was also welcome after the walk and I soon reminded myself of how crap I am at swimming. No matter.

Perhaps I would have enjoyed the beach … I mean oasis more if we had had more than an hour to explore. Our tight schedule dictated otherwise. After spending the best part of a sun soaked day descending a side of one of the world’s deepest canyons, few of us were enthusiastic to climb back up which was going to take twice as long as the walk down. Moreover, sunlight was not on our side as the sun god slowly creeped towards the edge of the high canyon. Luckily, the owners of the oasis had already thought the naivety of unprepared gallavanters over.

la mula

The mule: a stubborn but highly respectable animal, it climbed the mountain with little effort, even with a tall Scottish upstart lodged on to its back.

"muling it up"

yet more mule action

The muleteer knew what he was doing. He talked to the mules all the way up and they refused to walk without his guidance. They surefootedly marched us up half way to the top where we met our friends – who had started walking before us – to swap mule duty and make the whole procedure fair and more affordable (7 mules OTT).

As the sun finally set over the Colca Canyon, my German friend, my Brazilian friend and I heaved ourselves up the last stretch of the trek back to the town of Cabanaconda. We fumbled our way through an unorthodox farmland route before arriving in the town and meeting with our mule-aided friends.

I couldn’t help it. I shouldn’t have. Coca tea is just so damned moreish and we had spent a long day walking. It certainly has a buzz to it and I found myself sipping somewhat quickly on a cup of the home-made brew in the rustic restaurant our friends had discovered. I found it so hard to get to sleep that night as we bussed (again) back to Chivay. After crashing into another hostel bed (me not the bus) I drifted off into an unsubstantial altitude-hampered sleep.

At four AM the next morning I used what was left of my physical ability to drag myself to the bus station so that we could return to Arequipa in time to catch a bus back to Lima for Monday morning.

We arrived at Arequipa just after sunrise. The city is fascinating; most of the buildings in the centre are built from white volcanic stone. It has a very Mediterranean feel to it with Romanesque architecture such as pillars and domes garnishing the Spanish religious buildings. This has a much more polished feel than Cusco however. The city seems much more organised when compared to the haphazard colonial architecture that sits on top of the firm foundations which are the remains of the Inca capital.

Plaza de Armas

We took a sleepy and relaxed tour of the city. I found some birthday presents to be sent to my adorable older niece. We generally took it easy after the previous day and enjoyed the ambient atmosphere of the city and I indulged in some of the city’s renowned chocolate.

relaxing in Arequipa

Arequipa is also famous for picanteries: restaurants that specialise in spicy food. Though the place that we found was good, it didn’t quite live up to Lima’s standards. I do not joke when I say that the food in the capital is absolutely amazing. Peruvian food is in the top five in the world for sure.

Ok, I digress, I’m sorry but the quality of Peruvian food should not be understated (f**king delicious by the way). On the journey back to Lima the bus was still to small for me, even after I had forked out for “Semi-Cama” (or “half-bed”). I just could not sleep with my legs jammed into the back of somebody who had reclined their Semi-cama as far back as it could go. At least this bus was faster and only took twelve hours…

The next day at work was an absolute riot. I had got off the bus at six that morning, got home at half seven and gone to work at nine, all with a total of seven-hours-in-four-nights-sleep behind me. I have never wanted to stare at a computer screen for eight hours less.

Of course it was worth it. The Colca Canyon was stunning. Arequipa was a marvel. Fresh air and sunshine are always refreshing. I am sure I will go back

Ok, this took me a while to get round to writing, what can I say, I work all day and I don’t want to spend my evenings and weekends staring at computer screens. Nevertheless…

“World renowned for breathtaking architecture and scenery, Machu Picchu is a must see for any visitor to Peru. Found by Europeans almost 400 years after the fall of the Incas, its seclusion and serenity are both humbling and thought provoking. Every corner of these beautiful ruins is filled with intrigue and intelligence, and it fits in perfectly with the mist of the towering green peaks that surround…”

I wrote these words weeks before I’d seen Machu Picchu. As a web content developer for a travel agency in Peru, I am being given money to write itineraries that sell travel packages, and the vast majority of these itineraries include the Inca Citadel. It is by far the most visited tourist spot in the country – if not the continent – and it is the selling point for almost every person who books a holiday to Peru – if not the continent.

So, being a visitor here and everything, I was itching to see whether I agreed with myself or not. Moreover, my friend Ed was soon to leave the country, so together we thought we should maybe check it out. I soon talked with my boss to ensure that it was ok to take a couple of days off work for the venture. He agreed that Cusco and MP (working itinerary abbreviation) might be a good place for someone who was doing an internship based in Peruvian tourism to visit. Cue two weeks of anxious waiting, daydreaming, attempted planning, trawling travel websites and learning the Spanish for “I’m going to Cusco, I can’t f**king wait”.

Cusco

We finally blasted through the Lima haze early in the morning on the 21^st August 2008 (yes it takes me that long to write a blog).

Andean peaks soon became close enough to touch. Poking from the clouds like icebergs, stretching northwards as far as I could see, iced with snow yet dark with mystery. I looked down at the ground below: apart from the odd winding road and village hugging the mountainside, the remote wilderness of Peru’s hinterlands became apparent.

For snacks, LAN Peru served cake, bad coffee and a little chocolate …

Nestled high in this vast mountain range – the worlds longest – is the city of Cusco. It was founded hundreds of years ago by the Inca’s as the capital of their far-reaching Andean empire. Although elements of this culture still remain, its character has since been shaped by the events of the Spanish conquest and its subsequent existence as an economically sidelined colonial town. Ironically, in recent years, the surge in the tourist industry surrounding Machu Picchu has caused Cusco to resurface as Peru’s second most important economic centre next to Lima.

Our plane had to lose very little altitude to land: the city stands at an astonishing 10,800 feet. It swept around the edge of the hills to find a favourable approach, and descended into the bowl shaped valley onto a runway directly in the middle of the city.

Within seconds of landing Simon starts taking pictures

From the moment we stepped into the airport, the tourist heart of the city became noticeable. The small airport was crammed with tour agencies offering either hotels or trips to Machu Picchu. We promptly avoided this melee, and walked far away from the airport to find a taxi that wasn’t going to charge us a gringo tax. A quick spot of bartering soon found us heading to the Plaza de Armas, the city’s Main Square.

A Cathedral on the Plaza de Armas that the Spanish built

Fresh air and sunshine – two things of which Lima has deprived me – were abundant in Cusco. This made me very happy. I felt had finally got to see what I had come to Peru for. Cusco has the feel of a Mediterranean town with terracotta rooftops and winding alleyways; trendy cafés and beautiful restaurants. There is a certain amount of peacefulness that it captures but this is offset by an almost haunting rememberence of its brutal history.

View from hostel

Spanish cathedral built on Inca walls

Gringos

We spent our first day ambling around the city, visiting a few cafés and museums and admiring both the Spanish and Inca architecture. Of utmost priority were organising tickets Machu Picchu, not as easy a task as it may seem. Travel to Machu Picchu is difficult, and not always available in the high season. Moreover it is expensive. The train track is monopolised by a single operator – the aptly named ‘PeruRail’. We had to visit the train station in person, avoiding all of the people trying to give us deals. Eventually, we managed to arrange return tickets from a town called Ollantaytambo which sits half way between Cusco and Machu Picchu. We would have to make our way there on our own, and we were pleased to be going off the beaten tourist trail to do so.

It is fair to say that both of us were quite overwhelmed by the altitude difference, and our ambitious trekking throughout the city made us tired very quickly. My bones and muscles ached and my head, though not particularly sore, felt like it could explode with the pressure at any given moment. But adrenaline kept us going, along with the odd delicious coffee and a spot of Coca tea. The latter beverage is made from the same plant as a certain white powdered narcotic of which consumption would probably land me in a Peruvian jail – not, I might add, on my to do list.

***

After a literally sleepless night – caused in part by altitude, another part by our choice of noisy backpacker hostel, and a final part by tequila – we spent the morning exploring more of Cusco’s offerings. Sacsayhuaman – or ‘sexy woman’ as it is more affectionately known, although as a historian of the Inca empire I should point out that this is somewhat disrespectful to its graceful Quechan etymological roots – is a fortress outside of Cusco. Its gigantic blocks, slotted masterfully together, stand imperiously and impressively over the city. They are arranged in a zig-zag shape to represent the teeth of a puma, Cusco, naturally, being that very puma.

Nearby, we caught a glimpse of the routine ‘cristo la redentor’ statue (you might have heard of him, he’s quite well known) which was erected at a higher spot than Sacsayhuaman. This was a symbol to remind people of HIS superiority over anything the Incas ever did, and thus the Spanish superiority over indigenous peoples. Swords and disease certainly helped to prove this theory correct.

Man stands in Cusco with arms held out

An afternoon in the chic and arty San Blas district was followed by our departure from Cusco by bus. Our journey to the fabled Machu Picchu had begun … ahem, it’s real, sorry.

Our bus travelled over a high plateau as we approached the Sacred Valley. The scenery was spectacular. I gazed out at the sun setting over the ubiquitous Andes; into the sleepy villages constructed from burning red mud; at the yellow maize swaying in the wind; at the Inca terracing that still runs along the contours of hills. Away from Cusco poverty became much more apparent. Many buildings lay in a state of dilapidation and villages seemed ghostly and empty. Some of the roads too were in a poor condition of which I shall not describe so that my mother does not fear for my safety.

View from bus window

We eventually winded down the side of the Sacred valley into a town called Urubamba, where we planned to catch a ‘combi’ for the next part of our journey up the valley to Ollantaytambo.

This stretch was far from comfortable. As I explained in my first post, combis are not built for tall people, and I was consequently crammed in the back of a sardine tin packed with Quechan speaking Andeans. They seemed less than impressed with my botched attempt at ‘Castillano Espanol’ and the conversation that had sprung from the novelty of the length of my legs soon became non-existent. My legs themselves almost followed the same path after half an hour of being jammed against the back of a chair. The view I’m sure remained beautiful though with my head buried in the ceiling I simply could not appreciate it.

In Ollantaytambo things took a familiar turn back to the touristy. My legs sprang out onto a plaza with overpriced restaurants that were not of particularly good quality. We headed down to the train station, decked with vendors of all sorts of generic Andean goods sweets and soft drinks.

None of the tourism in the world could have prepared us for Aguas Calientes. This town exists for the sole purpose of providing people with a place to sleep before they hit MP in the morning. This breeds the least authentic and most commercial tat that you could ever imagine.

Within moments of stepping off of the train our fears of not being able to find a hostal were quickly destroyed: “Hostal!”; “Hostal senor.”; “Quiere una hotel esta noche?”; “Senor, you need a room, yes?”; “Senor why don’t you stay in my hostal?”; “por favor” “solo treinte soles senor”; “My hotel have private bathroom, hot water… te gustes?”; “Tengo bueno hospedaje para usted ahora…”

The sound of the rabble died away as we walked with a guy who had had a suitable pitch. Of course by this point, having secured the sale, he became our best friend, and was chattering excitedly about his hostal that had opened just two weeks ago. He was a young guy, and I respected him for trying to make an honest buck, but it seemed so out of place that our conversation, just like this entire town, would not have existed if it were not for tourist money.

That night, for the first time in Peru, we received a charge for tax on the bill at a restaurant. After double checking the menu to see if this had been stated, we queried the waitress. After she reassured us that tax was normal, we reassured her that, in Lima, where we had lived for several weeks, that added taxes were not in fact a normal charge in her country.

“Tip.” she promptly revealed, “It’s a tip!”

“But, [Ed explained in Spanish [at least I think he did…]] surely, that’s our choice to make?”

She looked perplexed so I cut to the chase: “Machu Picchu?”

“Yes. Yes. Machu Picchu. It’s because it’s Machu Picchu.”

“Machu Picchu tax,” I replied. “Claro.”

***

We awoke at half past three the next morning, determined to beat the first buses to the front gate. The walk from Aguas Calientes to MP takes approximately an hour and a half, but comprises a hefty climb through a forested path. Since arriving in Cusco I had managed a paltry four hours of sleep in two nights. This mattered very little and we approached the task ahead with relish.

In pitch darkness we climbed a trail that clings loosely to the road built for buses. We passed a few early punters who shared our bus avoidance ideal but our conversations were minimal and we marched on alone. I was pretty exhausted as we traipsed up the jungle path but adrenaline kept this in check: In a matter of hours we would see Machu Picchu.

So many times I had been told how fantastic this place was. I had read every travel guide for work and a thousand more websites; every description ringing the same message but yet holding its own unique take. The history books I had perused to write for my dissertation reverberated this message. There are Inca ruins across the Andes, from southern Columbia to Northern Chile, but Machu Picchu was the one that every visitor had to see. It was one of the first photographs that captured my imagination and made me want to come to South America.

As sunlight slowly began to creep into the sky, so too did the mist: an unremitting mist that clung to the surrounding jungle. It began to dampen my spirit a little as I had hoped we would see the full glory of the site blazing in the full light of the object worshipped by the Incas. (The sun)

How they had managed it I don’t know, but we arrived at the entrance to find dozens of people ahead of us. I think they might have been Inca trailers. We waited until 6pm for the doors to open, it was imperative for us to make it in first as only a limited amount of people can climb Huanya Picchu – the mountain in the background of the picture every day. So the gates opened and we marched straight through the ruins of Machu Picchu to where the entrance for the mountain trail was. I could not take very much in, partly because of tiredness and partly because of the mist which hung around the ghostly buildings that we could just make out.

After another hour long queue our fatigue was given another test: an hour’s climb up a near vertical path to the top of Huanya Picchu. This mountain towers behind Macchu Picchu and features in many of the most famous pictures of the ruins. It hosts its own set of beautiful ruins perched on the edge of the mountaintop. Although still disheartened by the mist that blocked our view, it swooped around the ruins with an eerie silence that created the most amazing atmosphere. The agricultural terracing was a marvel: made parallel with accurate precision and appearing like large steps down even the steepest of slopes, curving naturally at the edges as though they had simply been sculpted straight from the rock.

Climbing Huanya Picchu

Appreciating Huanya Picchu

Huanya Picchu in mist with people

I cant remember if it was because we were pretty tired after so much climbing and very little sleep or whether we were so impressed with the ruins that we decided to stay at the top for a little while. No matter, it turned out to be a good decision. Glancing down the mountain we began to see the mist starting to sweep away at some points. This became stronger and stronger and we could see the Urubamba river deep in the valley below.

Wave after wave of mist began to clear. More and more we could see through, into the surrounding hills caked with forest. Glimpses of the base of the valley which was far below. And then lines and lines of people in multi coloured coats, walking along the walls of Machu Picchu. The hexagonal shape of cleared jungle, marking the boundary of the preserved area of the Inca Citadel, stood out vividly from the landscape. The maze of walls  that were Machu Picchu looked perplexing from so high up. This is truly a genious piece of urban planning.

So it was well worth the climb, and we spent a while gazing from our high perch. After our descent, the rest of the day was spent exploring the intricacies: the temples; the altars; the houses; the storerooms; the sacrifice areas. World renowned for breathtaking architecture and scenery, Machu Picchu is a must see for any visitor to Peru. Found by Europeans almost 400 years after the fall of the Incas, its seclusion and serenity are both humbling and thought provoking. Every corner of these beautiful ruins is filled with intrigue and intelligence, and it does fit in perfectly with the mist of the towering green peaks that surround. What more can I say?

Temple of Three Windows

Huanya Picchu from below

The famous view

The famous ... haircut

Except for about the people. People, People, People, People. French, German, United States of American, Argentinian. Everywhere. At one stage I could not climb a flight of steps because there was a continuous flow of people coming down it. I wish I had a sol for every Che Guevara T-shirt I saw. But this is all only because it is so beautiful. In conjunction with those bastard tourist agencies who try to make a quick buck by selling it as a one-off package.

Anyway, one new world wonder out of the way, six to go. And many many more Inca and pre-Inca ruins, except quiet, isolated, still covered by foliage, barely touched and not commercial. This makes me happy.

After a day of winding around as much of the ruins we could see, we ran back down the path towards Aguas Calientes in about a third of the time it had taken us to climb that morning. A quick beer at a bar and it was time to head back to Ollantaytambo by train. I had no trouble sleeping that night.

***

The next day we awoke at our idealiclly located hostel in Ollantaytambo. The sun shone through trees into the garden courtyard as the noise of a river trickled in the background. We climbed early to the ruins that looked like they were built like giant lego blocks and towered around the town. It was easy to notice the peace and quiet compared to frantic MP.

Hostal in Ollantaytambo

Lego Blocks

We spent the day cruising down the Sacred valley in taxis and buses. We made a quick stop at Urabamba where we visited a pottery workshop with excellent modern designs that try to capture all of the pre-Colombian styles in one.

We went onwards down the valley towards Pisac which host a massive market on Sundays. Ed used the opportunity to pick up a few last souvenirs to take back home. The market suffers slightly from displaying the same generic Andean goods that you can find anywhere in the country> one person we met described it like a Scooby-Doo cartoon, going past the same background again and again. But there is enough quantity to find some really good quality goods, which Ed managed to do.

Pisaq market

Unfortunately one day was not enough time to explore the Sacred Valley. There were several other ruins that we did not have time to see. The towns, though still close to MP, had managed to shake off some of the tourist attire and were much more laid back and relaxing to spend time. Luckily for me, I have time to go back, and I certainly intend to do so.

On our last night in Cusco I was given a friendly reminder of life at home. We popped into an Irish bar for a quick pint of good old English (!?) Ale to celebrate the success of our trip – a commodity hard to come by in Lima, especially on tap. Before I knew it we were downing several more at the insistence of a Liverpudlian high school physics teacher. He had just been on a tour of Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands, finishing off with Cusco and Machu Picchu. I can swear at one point in that pub it felt like I was back in Scotland, at a bar with a nice pint of beer: the décor and banter probably helped this to happen. We visited a few more bars and a restaurant, Ed ate alpaca, I ate trucha, we drank more beer. I had a hangover. Brits abroad…

Plus the next morning I had to fly to Lima, acclimatise to low altitude, and go straight back to work. I almost fell asleep at my desk.

So, the question you’ve all been waiting for, what did I learn? Well, to tell you the truth, I have just spent four months harping on about how brilliant the Incas were at everything in my dissertation, so inevitably a lot of this was clarified by seeing mmasterful architecture that had survived five centuries and a European conquest. Sadly, money and tourism has deteriorated the entire region. Machu Picchu, beautiful and intelligent to every end, is a theme park.

Apart from this four day extravaganza life in Peru has remained pretty much the same. Delicious food at every corner, good times with good friends, an expanding vocabulary of Spanish and also beer. I tried fresh mojito which was damned good and also conchas parmesano, which is like the most delicious oysters grilled with, you guessed it, parmesan cheese.

I’m going to Arequipa tonight, which is why I had to finish this post now. Fourteen hours on a bus in Latin America should be fun. Don’t worry about the hijackers mum

Caio

Ok so I can’t be bothered repeating things in e-mails to people. What can I say, I’m lazy.

Best cure for an aching stomach? Raw prawns and a cold beer.

It was the first time since I’ve been here that I had actually feared for the fresh wave of pain that the gurgling in my gut would bring, and for the inevitable consequential trip to the bathroom, of which I will promptly spare the unpleasant details. I tried everything: digestive green tea; a diet of oats and apples; a galleon of water; pain killers; immodium plus; but it was the “Ceviche de languistines” accompanied by a chilled bottle of Cusquena beer that finally ceased my days of anguish.

It’s not the first time I tried Ceviche. That was on my first day in Peru. One month ago to the day, I unsuccessfully insisted my friend (of less than 24 hours) that it was probably not a good idea to fire into the raw fish at this early juncture. He insisted otherwise.

My tastebuds were soon to agree with him. Ceviche: raw seafood, of near any type, marinated in lime or lemon and chilli. Garnish with plenty of red onion, boiled sweet potato, possibly steamed maize and probably rice. Just before your teeth slice through the soft and refreshing flesh of fresh fish you are greeted with an outburst of citrus zest accented by the sharp bite of Andean chilli. The yam and corn offer sweet sustenance to soften the blow. Fish, naturally, is sublime.

On this occasion my stomach, being a big fan of seafood, was fine, and this only left my confidence sky high. Restaurants here, fast food there, perhaps a little beer or two and then another restaurant.

And more beer. (It’s 50p from the shop next door to my house)

This had to take its toll: hence the predicament in which I found myself after two weeks. I have promised myself that a balanced diet of seafood and beer will ensue from now onwards…

Up until this point, food had been the least of my concerns. Of more imminent danger in this hazy pacific desert sprawl is millions of drivers vying for their space on the road. If road laws exist then they certainly are barely adhered to.

This poses a number of problems. Firstly, pedestrianism is a nightmare: to cross a road requires patience, perseverance and the general ability to withhold anger. Secondly, the pollution is terrible. Worse than smoking. Thirdly, public transport proves to be a risky little game. Fleets of “combis” – tiny minibuses probably as ancient as the Moche – prowl the main streets trawling for customers. The moment they collect their catch they take off at breakneck speed, which is troublesome for the taller of patrons. I saw a statistic that the death toll in 10 days on Peru’s highways was 80. This is a far more pressing concern than mugging, theft, hepatitis B, rabies etc…

While I’m on this note, let’s get some more negatives out of the way … Nescafé in cafés? No Sunshine for a month? Expensive wine? Bad CHEESE?!?!?!?! I ask you…

Ahem, ok, so, my job is good. The people here have been really cool and it’s a great atmosphere. I’ve toured both Chile and Brazil to write hotel descriptions, spent 2 weeks in the Amazon rainforest researching berries, and I’m currently extensively travelling Peru to research content for a new website. All through my laptop from the comfort of my desk in an office on a leafy Miraflores avenue. God bless the internet.

It has been really interesting so far though, I am becoming an expert on Peruvian tourism without even leaving Lima. By the time 6 months is up I will have planned an amazing tour for myself, and have the time and money to do it. Additionally, a part of my job is writing content for our monthly newsletter, which includes all sorts of stories from across South America, so I’m keeping up to date on regional affairs (deadly interesting im sure you’ll agree … please ask me for links and details).

Only problem is: I’m itching to see every place that I read about. In time perhaps…

So anyway, to round up, highlights of the first month have included: an extensive independence day parade (2 weeks before the actual day itself); Peruvian independence day; fiestas associated with Peruvian independence day; a reunion concert to mark the 25th year of Peru’s greatest rock band; meeting a scottish guy to try and start a rock band; getting p**sed in Lima centro; getting p**sed with folk from work; putting on a kilt and instantly becoming a celebrity; Aji sauce; mussels (mmm, mussels); pisco sour; cervesa; FIESTA; playing football with south americans; playing pro evolution soccer with South Americans; various fiestas at my house with a variety of themes; my house; seeing the Amazon and the Andes from the plane (both spectacular); going to an organic market every Saturday a block from my house; writing; visiting two ancient ruins – one slap bang in the middle of modern Lima, one south of Lima on the pacific coast; views of the Pacific; visiting a park full of spectacular fountains; pondering why a developing country’s government spends money on spectacular fountains; saying “no entiendo” to as**oles; a 3 day AIESEC congress at a beach resort north of Lima; a firework display; attempting salsa; crap movies with Spanish subtitles; learning Spanish; and not to forget pretty much every restaurant, sanguigeria, canteen, cevicherie, cafe, market, fast food joint, diner, bar, takeaway and eatery that I’ve been to.

And of course the people, whether Peruvians or fellow foreigners, everyone is friendly, everyone has welcomed me, everyone has helped me with Spanish and everyone wants to include me. I have AIESEC to thank for helping me to get here and subsequently meeting so many cool people.

In spite of all of these niceties, getting used to a different culture has been very hard: the most difficult thing that I’ve ever done. Living in a well off part of Lima has been the worst part: many things such as malls, fast food, modern conveniences, money and “modern society” are sickening when placed alongside begging children.

Homesickness has also featured a bit and I sometimes have flashbacks of good times in Scotland. Its all part of the process though.

Not knowing the language is also frustrating: I lack the ability to communicate effectively with almost absolutely everybody, I feel totally ignorant, I can’t express myself and I feel like i’m missing out on alot. But every day I can notice a difference in comprehension and I can speak more. I’m starting to string sentences together and answer people’s questions, to the extent that people are beginning to say that my Spanish accent is easier to understand than my Scottish one.

Well, that’s pretty much all I can write off the top of my head. I’m impressed if you read this far. I would have navigated away after the first paragraph. By the time of my next blog I will have explored more of Lima, will no doubt have visited some museums at last, I can imagine I will have visited a few more restaurants (it’s more cost effective than supermarkets!!!), and will have been to CUSCO!!!

I’m going to the Inca capital one week on thursday. Unfortunately, I’ve been informed that I’m 478 years too late, but that there’s a place nearby called “Machu Picchu” which will be really really quiet and peaceful at this time of year (Thousands of tourists a day can’t be wrong).

Ungrateful sarcasm aside, I absolutely cannot wait to go, it might well turn out to be the best four days of my life, I probably won’t want to leave, and it will (just!!) make up for not being at Lowlands with my friends this weekend. Hope you guys have as fantastic a time as last year.

Anyway, I’m going to find some food.

Viva Peru!