Bright Lights and Lost Cities: Peru

The 'entertainment' on the bus ride into Peru didn't serve as the best introduction... For those of you who've seen Mel Gibson's Apocolypto you'll understand. We arrived in Arequipa and didn't mind too much getting ripped off by the taxi driver- he gave us quite an informative tour of the colourful city and also, we thought the exchange rate was more favourable for the first couple of days. Therefore, our kind of cool, kind of empty and weird accommodation, and tour to Colca Canyon seemed really cheap! A 2.30am start and the realisation that we'd left two of our park entrance tickets at home were redeemed by dawn. We entered the region via a Vicuna Park (think of a deer crossed with a llama) and by 9 in the morning, we were watching condors soaring above a canyon that was a kilometre deep. We've found that preparing snacks always takes precedence over sleep, so we managed to opt out of the group lunch at a standardly over-priced buffet and lay out on the grass with avocado sandwiches....right outside the restaurant. Classy. Especially cutting into (and finishing) a whole block of cheese with a rusty penknife. Didn't make tonnes of friends on that tour. Apart from the birds, of course.

Not quite a condor but certainly worth the photo fee. In fact, it seemed that splashing out was truly on the agenda that day. After experiencing much envy throughout our trip- we'd heard tales of post-dinner whiskey and on-board bingo games- we decided to treat ourselves to a ride on a 'cama' bus to Cusco.

We didn't get whiskey. We didn't get bingo either. But we were extremely impressed with the on-board  service; little did we know that from then on we would get pretty accustomed to being attended to by our very own bus hostesses! What better place to celebrate a friend's birthday morning than stretched out (only a little more than usual) on Transporte Executivo and sipping cortados in a 5 star hotel on the sqaure, deciding whereabouts we would stay during our time in Cusco. Unfortunately, our luxury ended there.

Witness right: Budgeting. We knew it was right for us from the get-go: no running water, therefore no flushing toilet, and an available room with two single beds. Perfect, we thought, let's just share! A day or so later, we began to realise this was a bad decision. Three days later, we were sleeping in shifts. And the damp had started to really affect us... Meg, suffering especially, was bedridden, so we had to push back our trek date a couple of times. What a shame for Anna & Eva that postponing meant they were obliged to attend large hostel party dressed as a papaya and a pineapple. Meg seemed somewhat glad that she didn't have to join them as 'Kiwi'.

Mostly recovered from damp-sickness and indulgence as exotic fruits- they really know how to have fun- we finally set off on our 'Jungle Trek', of which Machu Picchu would be the end goal. Glad to have our favourite Mancunian companions in wing, we were optimistic. But Day 1 started on slightly rocky ground. Getting the cheapest tour around does, obviously, have its drawbacks. We can handle ambiguous meat and meandering mini-bus journeys, but bikes with no brakes wasn't exactly ideal. Even less ideal was that despite stopping at three bike store rentals along the way (they don't book things in advanced here, which became even more apparent later), there weren't enough bikes to go round. The guide appointed a fellow tour member to lead the way, who fell off his bike half-way through, so we spent the day stopping at every new town, wondering if that was the destination.

After the road accident, we were one friend down. The lack of brakes hit home for her when trying to avoid said fallen 'group leader'. A fit and healthy foursome, we turned down the optional zip wire (skydiving is cooler and we've done that) and braved the seven hour walk. Described by the commission-friendly guide as a 'busy, dirt road', we were pleasantly surprised to be trekking alongside a waterfall, and then following train tracks through the jungle for the majority of the day. 

Restraining on complaints about foot ache that night, we got to bed early, knowing full well that our feet would have to endure a lot more, starting at 4am the next morning. We climbed 1,768 steps. When we got to Machu Picchu, we were just about alive enough to watch the sun peak over the mountains and see all the birds begin to stretch their wings. We then ate our picnic at Machu Picchu and, attempting to re-cooperate before another trek we'd roped ourselves into, had a nap on Machu Picchu. With tickets to climb the actual mountain in hand- very, very ambitious decision in the tour office- we thought we should push ourselves that little further and mustered up the courage to tackle another incline. We reckon we got about a quarter, no let's say a third of the way up, stopped at a view-point for a chocolate bar and stumbled back down to find Meg painting a picture of the mountain instead.

Exhausted, but ecstatic- we'd accomplished one of our main trip goals. We trekked through the jungle and climbed bloody Machu Picchu and the tour agency couldn't even complete their ONE task- booking our return train. 'Girls,' said Jergen, 'there has been a little problem.' He suggested that instead, we stay an extra night and catch the 5am train back to Cusco. Oh, we went all 'Na-ah', bitch-fit on him. In South America, when threre's a will, there's a way. Because we'd kicked up such a fuss, when a First Class train pulled up to our platform, we thought we'd been spoiled for the agency's miss-conduct. Then another train pulled up on our right.

Well-rested after another night in Cusco, this time in our own beds, thank god, we headed to Huacachina the next morning. We like simple places, so we knew we'd reached a winner when we saw that the only bar in town was called 'Huaca-fucking-china'. After so much time in the bustling city, and so much time on our poor little feet, we relished in the relaxed atmosphere that Banana Hostel offered us. Before even checking in, we were poolside with a beer. That night, we trundled up to the top of the sand dunes in order to watch the sunset fall over the lagoon. 

People go to Huachachina for two things: to climb the sand-dunes for sunset and to launch themselves down them upon a piece of wood. We went sand-boarding! We were picked up in a futuristic buggy and driven at quite a speed up, down and through the dunes. It felt like we were all racing teammates in a video game. Sand-boarding was equally exhilarating. With little to no instruction, we were pushed between the legs of our guide down half-pipes made of sand. That night, we all were emptying sand out of the strangest of places and comparing the bruises on our thighs.

From the wooden shacks at Banana, to a homely apartment with a sea view. We arrived in Lima very in need of a washing machine and a home-cooked meal. Like spoiled kids arriving home from university, we received such a warm welcome and were immediately treated as part of the family at Dick and Anita's.

Residing in the plush suburbs, we had a very different city-stay to usual. We were recommended to art exhibitions round the corner, ate in fancy Italian restaurants and even took a visit to a top-notch Peruvian school. A very convenient place for Eva to get her mosquito bite drained, obviously. Our hosts directed us to the Circuito Magico del Agua and again, we got more than we bargained for. Who'd have thought we'd be so lucky as to witness the opening ceremony for the International Junior Weight-Lifting Championships?! Corr.


Very reluctant to leave our pad- we'd stayed an extra night even though our hosts left for holiday in order to catch up with a special friend from Argentina- we thought it was probably time for us to start worrying about Meg's flight home. We needed to head north, pretty sharpish. With fully-recovered, trusty Mancunians saving our beds in Mancora, we would undertake the longest bus journey of our trip so far.

The Kokopelli hostel chain earned itself the title of our favourite upon arrival in beach town, Mancora. It was bliss. Despite Eva's second bout of bed bugs, we spent the time completely relaxed, doing what we love best: absolutely nothing. We discovered some incredible desserts and tried our hand at pool volleyball, much to the amusement of the much-more-active-than-us Loki hostellers. Everything was perfectly within reach. We spent our evenings sampling the region's ceviche with the waves lapping at our feet. A perfect close to Peru.

I Don't Boliv'ya!

Curling up through the mountainous roads, we approached the highest city in the world, Potosi, but didn't linger. A little shakey and claustrophobic after just the bus ride, the city's main attraction of exploring the dangerous mines didn't really sound attractive to us- setting off explosives is just pushing our luck when we're tying our bags to our legs on buses now. We've been lucky in Bolivia though, no scams or thefts to report of, just some carelessness. Leaving the laptop charger plugged in at a hostel wasn't exactly conducive to blog-writing. Apologies about that.

First stop: the white-washed, previous capital, Sucre. At an elevation of 3000 metres, we stumbled upon a hostel that should have been much out of our price range- it felt like we were parading around a villa- but managed to get a bed for just four pounds each a night. The issue, however, when everything is so cheap, is that you buy more. Much more. Purchasing new bags was a must in order to carry all of our new things around. Guys, llama memorabilia just doesn't get old. Everything looks better with a llama on it. Surprise, surprise, we also indulged in food. Nursing a hangover after a cheesy gringo bar crawl, we ganged up with a bunch of like-minded foodies and bought the freshest veggies and hunks of meat from the Mercado Central. Hands-down the most epic South American BBQ to date.


Nothing like a good spot of outdoor activity to blast away the cobwebs of two late nights. Thankfully, we were just about stable enough to haul ourselves onto some lovely Bolivian stallions and while away the afternoon trotting through the hillside. Some riders were more lucky with their horses than others... We all gave Anna a wide berth- her horse was a biter for sure; Natasha brought up the rear, riding a mother with new foal following alongside. With little to no English from the guide, we attempted to translate to the group his explanations of the Andean plains, and were entrusted to lead everyone down paths that were definitely too steep to be the right way.


As standard, we stayed in Sucre far longer than we had accounted for; it was time for us to do some serious exploring. And serious it was. A fifteen hour bus ride was what it took to take us to a city like Sucre, but worse. Thankfully Santa Cruz (oddly Westernised and flashy), was just our gateway to what had somehow become a sort of trip mecca: Samaipata.

 Described in the Lonely Planet as a 'tropical paradise' where 'travelers lose themselves for days', we'd set aside a decent amount of time to discover the Bolivian wild. Put in a mini van by an old friend- having a chicken broth with a work mate from home was comforting if slightly bizarre- we journeyed for another three hours to reach this 'hippy haven'.
Well, we were certainly off the beaten track: sharing a ride with a strange bunch of locals who nestled kilos of coca leaves in between their feet. The welcome that we received at our hostel in Samaipata was among the most warm. Really, it didn't feel like a hostel at all, just that we'd arrived at Cynthia's (yep, on first name terms right from the get-go) house for a glass of wine and to play with her gigantic dog. "First I smoke," she said "then I clean." So she smoked and we waited.

Moved hostels the next day and were thankful for some running water and at least one indoor area because it was pissing it down. We ticked some ruins off the list and made plans to see the surrounding landscapes the preceeding morning.


Carefully following the footsteps of our
seasoned guide- 60+ German expat, Frank-
we traipsed through mountainsides of
over-grown greenery, stopping at several
points along the way to talk of many things.
Of shoes of ships, of palm tree wax... Frank, to say the least, was a nature
enthusiast. The climb that we were all sporting our walking boots for, which were satisfying to use after carrying around for so long, he just wore flip flops and shorts. We cut our way through the jungle (see Anna above) to some lushous scenes and saw, much to Eva's delight, tonnes of butterflies!

Contrary to opinion of the guide book writers, we didn't linger too much longer in Samaipata, feeling we had got our fix of exploration, and to be honest, the town was somewhat eerie. Back on the gringo trail, we swallowed the awful journey back West and stopped off at another uglier step-sister to Sucre, Cochabamba. More fun to pronounce than to spend time in, really, but we did sample some new market delights and rest our tired calves before all the dancing that would ensue in La Paz.

Party hostel snobs, we went for one of the less popular options in the city, proximity to the bus station being our main criteria, and were thankful to be able to sleep before four am on the first night. Nursing our free beers the next night, we began to question, where the hell is the party at?! So we chose to hit up friends in the more happening establishments and swiftly realised that really, we were no better than those dickheads who crawled back in after sunrise. The next couple of days followed a similar pattern: playing surreal games of pool with Israelies who had also, had no sleep and scouring the stores for some more off-the-wall purchases. We made sure to get a good night's rest before cycling The Death Road, though. Very important for hurtling down cliff-edges at 60km an hour.

On our penultimate night, we actually had an excuse to celebrate. Meggy turned twenty-four! We got dolled up- as far as travelling attire permits- and treated ourselves to the number one, yes, the number ONE restaurant on TripAdvisor.
 As the birthday girl, it was only customary for Meg to be the one to sample the renowned llama steak. Slightly blasphemous when three of us round the table were wearing llama jumpers but hey-ho, Meg described it as tasting like a weird turkey. In-keeping with the refined activities of the night, we visited La Paz's answer to a jazz bar that wasn't exactly jazz but fun all the same, and gave ourselves a pat on the back for being able to remember the taxi-ride home this time.

On-wards and upwards, it was time for us to start crossing into Peru, via Lake Titicaca. We did wonder how exactly our coach would cross the lake: perhaps we transfer into a boat for the rest of the way, or perhaps there's a bridge for the coach to cross? Nope, we witnessed Bolivia at its most ridiculous. See left. A bridge wasn't necessary, apparently, and instead the coach took a short ride on a raft across Lake Titicaca. Sure. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang left well behind, we resided in laid back town Copacobana (confusing, we know) before taking a trip to the Isla del Sol, right in the heart of the 'highest large body of water in the world'.  A group of eight, we basically had the island to ourselves for the night and spent the majority of the time soaking up the view from our hostel's balcony and playing card games until the sun went down. God knows what the tranquil island people must have thought whilst we screamed 'You ARE the mafia!' and drank red wine altogether in one three-bed room. With a morning dip in the lake (not for the faint-hearted...or anyone bar Eva, really) and a pleasant boat ride back, the islands were a great close to the Bolivian story-book.

The Salt Flats: An altogether Savoury Experience

An early start for the trio, all packed up with enough snacks to feed the whole mini bus, we waited avidly for our tour pick-up at seven in the morning. By standard South American time-keeping, we were picked up an hour later and introduced to the group who would be our jeep buddies for the next four days. We struck lucky, whiling away the border queue time by chatting to our new mates: a Brazilian video editor, Slovenian journalist and Aussie personal trainer. Eclectic bunch to say the least! We were spoilt on this tour right from the start, having imagined it would've been solely a pilgrimage to the Salt Flats with some basic accommodation along the way. After just driving for an hour or so, we started hitting the lagoons...

 

The White Lagoon was especially incredible, the reflection of the distant volcanoes and mountains almost mirror-like. Despite the truck loads of tourists that do this route everyday, at points it felt like we were the only people on some undiscovered planet. Or, in Meg's words, the set of a new Star Wars film.

We bathed in natural hot springs & ran up a little bit too close to boiling geysers...

Visited the hundreds of flamingos on the Red Lake (simplicity at its best), red due to the algae that the birds flock there to feed on. We thought we could probably do a good job of living there as flamingos for a while. There were, however, a few attempts at taking this photo due to high wind speeds. The jeep, at times, became a haven of sorts to the chill and insane altitude outside. And we collaborated on some pretty good road trip playlists. Much better than the Bolivian dance music alternative that our driver was partial to.

We didn't know to take the term 'Salt Hotel' quite as literally as we should have. Floors, beds and tables made of salt. Pretty ironic, therefore, that Eva thought the spaghetti needed a little more seasoning and, after a couple of glasses of wine, thought salt from the floor would be appropriate to add to her meal. It was a cosy place where we star-gazed and prepared for our 'sun-rise' wake-up for the Salt Flats. A little disappointing that we didn't leave until 8 (our driver claiming that, if we leave earlier, that means he has to get up to prepare the food earlier, and frankly, that was not in his agenda).

Nonetheless, it was incredbile.

Hard to not get carried away with all those iconic perspective shots, eh?!

The neglected jeep with sleeping driver:

Set eerily amidst a landscape of nothingness, we were welcomed properly into Bolivia by a train graveyard. An unexpected last-stop on our tour, we had fun taking cheesy group photos on tyres and rusty old swings. Arriving in Uyuni, it was very surreal to be back in civilisation, expecting still another lagoon around every corner. Following up on pizza recommendations, we spent a comfortable night in this cross-over town before exploring the more urban wonders that Bolivia had to offer.