Pigs in Cyberspace

My new cameras

2007-08-12T01:36:00.001-07:00

Yashica Electro 35 GSN, originally uploaded by Banjor.

Here is a lovely photo of my brand new (to me) Yashica Electro 35 GSN rangefinder. According to the serial number, it was built in '72 in Hong Kong, which probably means the parts all came from Japan.

I've wanted one of these babies for a long time, ever since I tried to take night shots with my beloved Canonet GIII. I love the Canonet, but the Electro will auto expose up to 30 seconds at night. Who needs a flash?

I won't know for sure if everything works until I get a battery for it, which is a special order item. It looks like it's barely been used, although there is a dent so it has been banged at least once.

I took this shot of it with my new compact digicam, a Canon A570 IS. I'm really impressed with the results I'm getting from this camera, considering that it costs under $200. It does almost everything I could want except exposure bracketing and RAW format. It's somewhat limited by a small sensor and lens, but that's to be expected in a camera that you can wear on your belt and forget about.

I'm looking forward to taking the new Canon out to Burning Man. I never take enough shots, because I usually don't want to carry a camera around. The new Canon is small enough to take everywhere. I should have lots of subjects to shoot, that's for certain.

Jungle Cruise

2006-06-14T12:19:00.000-07:00

Early in the morning we woke up and wrapped all of our bags in plastic to prepare for the boat ride into the jungle. We piled into Toyota Celica wagons with our baggage in the back, and drove down a long dusty dirt road toward the river. We were stopped several times for construction, as the road is being paved for the first time. Most of the people in my group heeded instructions to bring hats and bandanas for the dusty ride, but I figured that being a desert camping veteran I would be fine without either. After 30 minutes I wished that I had both.

We pulled into a tiny little town on the river and got out of the cabs. After a few minutes to load all the bags onto one long canoe, we all piled into a second boat for passengers only. The boat was barely wide enough for two passengers to sit side by side on the hard plank seats, but long enough that it could have held 20 people. Fortunately, our guides could afford a nice quiet and fast Suzuki outboard motor, which is a real luxury on these rivers. Most of the natives either use noisy "peque-peque" (pron. peckey peckey, like the sound they make) motors with long extensions that hold the tiny propeller several feet behind the boat, or they just row by hand.

We sped along the water at a surprisingly brisk pace, considering that we were going against the slow current. Dense green foliage grew on either side of the muddy river, which was about 30 yards wide in most parts. Some of the trees were partially submerged, or over hung from the banks over the edge of the river. It had been raining recently, so the water was high for June, which is one of the drier months. Every now and then we passed moorings with long canoes tied to small piers or trees. Paths led up the muddy banks to houses and, in some cases, small towns. Eagles soared over our heads, small birds skimmed the surface of the water, and every now and then long-necked large river birds would watch us as we passed or take flight as we neared. Fishermen waved at us as we passed, and laughed at the rare sight of a boat full of gringos.

As we continued up the river, the weather alternated between sun and rain, slowly filling the bottom of the boat with several inches of water. At some point I realized that the Jungle Cruise ride at Disneyland was surprisingly accurate, and I felt like any moment the driver would discharge his pistol to scare off a large hippo. Of course, there aren't any hippos in the Amazon, but you get the point.

Finally, we made it to our destination tributary, and the rains had raised the water high enough that we could proceed to our camp without hiking through the mud. As we slowly made our way up the narrow and shallow tributary (little more than a creek in these dry months), the resemblance to the Disney ride only increased. The trees closed in over our heads, and large vines swooped over our heads and kissed the water in places. Due to the rains, the water was the color of coffee with cream, and it was impossible to see that it was actually rather shallow. The trees were covered with mud giving away a high water mark 15 feet above our heads.

We were able to pull right up to the camp kitchen, where the cooks were just finishing our soup lunch. We ate hungrily, and those of us that eat meat made the most of some tough pieces of jungle chicken. For the next 10 days, we would be eating a sparse traditional diet with little meat, so I appreciated the protein even though it was the least appetizing chicken I have ever eaten. We also had balls of plantain mixed with onions and potatoes, which were dry but tasty when broken up and mixed into the soup.

After lunch, we were shown our little tambos (traditional wooden huts). These little huts with mosquito net covered beds, hammocks, and little writing desks would be our homes. They are similar to the tambos that the natives of the jungle would traditionally live in, but the foam beds were a compromise for the comfort of the gringos, and instead of thatched roofs we had tin roofs, in order that we would be safe from falling branches from the tall trees which form a thick canopy over everything except the river.

I secured my mosquito netting around the bed, and settled into my hammock. Soon I drifted off to sleep for several hours, and by the time I woke up it was almost dinner time and night had fallen. The jungle around me was pitch black, except for the luminescent green bugs all around. I was completely disoriented by the darkness, and even though the moon was full it provided little light through the clouds and the dense canopy of the trees.

I put on my rubber boots, turned on my flashlight, and made my way to the kitchen for dinner. Those who had spent time in the jungle before felt immediately at home, but I was wide-eyed in the darkness and wondrous at the sound of the crickets and the frogs and the river. After dinner, I returned to my tambo and spent several minutes chasing out all the flying insects which were inside my mosquito net. I slept beautifully.

Welcome to the Jungle

2006-06-12T16:24:00.000-07:00

In my last entry, I thought I would have no more opportunities to send updates, but surprisingly I have an opportunity in Pucallpa to send one last high-speed update before heading beyond the reach of the Internet.

Pucallpa looks pretty much like what you would expect a jungle town to look like. If one doesn't look at the faces of the people, it could be in Thailand or Brazil or Vietnam or Malaysia. Huge and alien green plants grow everywhere where they haven't already been chopped down. Three-wheeled motorized rickshaws with motorcycle front ends and benches in the rear are the main form of transportation, except for the motorcycles with whole families crammed on to them.

When we flew into the airport, the weather was stifling, and people were ripping off their clothes before we even exited the plane. The temperature is only 85 degrees, but with the everpresent humidity it feels oppressively hot. I have been sweating ever since I got off the plane.

Our Pucallpa hosts met us at the airport with taxis and took us back to the house where we will be spending the night. We had a meal of chicken, rice and vegetables, and then most of us split into small groups and headed into town or to the market.

The market sells most staples one would expect, but also there are stands with merchandise that is hard to imagine many people want. There are stands that specialize in plastic flower leis, for instance. I found a pair of tall rubber boots for snake protection, and some rope to tie up my belongings to dry or to keep my bags away from the ants that will inevitably invade my tombo.

The noise of the mototaxis and the cacauphony of music and yelling create a feeling of tension. The smoke from the vehicles and restaurants combine with the dust to create a haze that the sun filters through in amber hues. The streets are bordered by gutters several feet deep in places, giving an idea how much rain must fall here during the rainy season. Many of the houses are built on four foot stilts for the same reason.

The people in this part of the country look different from the denizens of Lima and Cusco. Their features are less pronounced and sharp, and their cheeks fuller. Despite the abject poverty, the people here smile a lot, and the older people have smile lines carved deep into their dark faces.

Tomorrow we will get up early to head into the jungle, where I certainly won't have Internet.

Cutting it Short

2006-06-11T22:48:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened in the last 9 days. I returned to Peru via a crowded Bolivian mini-bus. I had a harrowing (and freezing) overnight ride on a malfunctioning Peruvian bus. I rested in beautiful Pisac. I returned to the ruins of Cusco with another Quechua-speaking native, and learned about a prophecy contained on the Temple of the Moon. I went to Machu Picchu and took over 200 photographs and climbed the surrounding peaks, which was one of the more physically intensive things I have ever done. I ate more wonderful food, shopped for gifts and souvenirs, and finally made it back to Lima, where I met up with the group I will be traveling to the jungle with.

Unfortunately, I don't have time to turn all these experiences into blog entries before I go to sleep, and tomorrow I have an early flight to Pucallpa, followed by a 2 hour drive, a 2 hour boat ride up the river, and a hike into the jungle where I will be living for two weeks.

My group had a nice conversation about what we are going to face in the jungle. We discussed various methods for going to the bathroom without getting one's tender bits devoured by ants. We discussed all the wildlife that we may encounter up-close, from pumas to deadly snakes to stingrays to tarantulas bigger than your hand, and a few non-dangerous animals as well, like frogs the size of basketballs and strange luminescent insects. Biting fish are to expected, but hopefully not the kind that crawl up your urethra and have to be surgically removed.

I don't mean to make any of this sound any more dangerous than it really is. Don't get me wrong, I would feel safer spending weeks in this jungle than wandering around South Central LA for one night, but it's good to consider the possibilities before one is faced with them unexpectedly.

Of course, even though there is Internet access in almost every desert on earth, on the highest peaks of the Himalayas, and at the South Pole, there is no Internet access in this part of the Amazon jungle. Satelites cannot be reached through the dense foliage, and the nearest cell towers will be far too distant for a signal. There is no electricity, few gasoline motors, and completely unpredictable weather. I will be completely incommunicado for the next two weeks.

So, to my friends and family, farewell for now, and I'll talk to you when I emerge. Think good thoughts, do not worry about me, and be glad that I'm not wandering around Compton.

Thoughts on Tiahuanaco

2006-06-02T20:34:00.000-07:00

Tiahuanaco is like the Bolivian equivalent of Machu Picchu. Its structures were not as extensive, but they were beautiful and grand. The site itself is located square in the middle of a large valley. There was no thought given to defensive posture, as it is open on all sides to attack. This should give an idea as to the security and confidence that the culture had in their own superiority. The Tiahuanacos ruled a massive area of South America for around 3,000 years before being folded into the Inca culture. Soon after, the Spanish completely decimated their power, but the influence on the ways and culture of the people in Bolivia is still very much felt today.

The Tihuanaco culture were master agriculturists. They had over 300 species of potatoes alone, and a vast distribution network that shared resources over all of Bolivia, southern Peru, and beyond. They had a strict system of caste specialization, and their lives were ruled by religious structures. The Tiahuanaco ruins were the religious center of the entire culture. The most significant and largest statues unearthed at ths site were the Pachamama, or mother earth statues. In one hand, Pachamama holds a staff of power, in the other a cup with serpents coming out. The eyes are huge, and the statues are covered with motifs representing serpents, pumas, and condors. There are also condor-men, which might represent spirits or enlightened figures or medicine men, I'm not certain.

Many of the religious symbolism that is commondly associated with the Incans actually began with the Tiahuanacos. The three animal avatars representing the underworld (serpent), realm of man (puma), and spirit world or heaven (condor) began here. The Incan cross, with three stepped sides on each diagonal was also around long before the Incans rose to power.

The imagery and style of the art is very similar to native art from all over the Americas, including North American natives. Much of the art could be mistaken for Incan, Mayan, or even Canadian native art, suggesting a widely shared language of artistic imagery, even though there was no shared spoken or written language.

Truly, this was a highlight of my trip, and a completely unexpected one. One more reason to travel without a set plan.

Traveling to Tiahuanaco

2006-06-01T12:22:00.000-07:00

Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, we awoke to find a light rain just beginning. We grabbed our bags and hit the streets to try to find a taxi that would take us across the mountains to Tiahuanaco, several hours away. The taxi drivers seemed to salivate at the prospect of foreign tourists, and tried to rip us off royally. Eventually, we settled on a bus destined for La Paz, where we could easily get a cheap taxi or a minivan to take us the rest of the way.

Unfortunately, bus service in Bolivia is notoriously bad, and after a while it became clear that our bus would not go much faster than 30kph (about 20mph) up and over the mountains. The rain poured down heavily, but for some reason the driver chose not to use his windshield wipers. All the windows of the bus fogged over as the temperature dropped, including the windshield. Every few minutes the driver's assistant would smear a dirty rag across the windows, creating a little patch of relative visibility on the opaque window. As we gained altitude, little flakes of snow mixed with the rain, as the bus wound its way over the winding road with hundreds of feet of canyon below.

At some point, we had to exit the bus and take a boat across a river. From the far bank, as we watched the boat slowly make its way across the river perched precariously on a barge, we decided that this bus was not going to get us there in a reasonable timeframe. We found a minivan who's driver was willing to take us the rest of the way to Tiahuanaco for around $15 each, which was acceptable for a 2 1/2 hour drive. The minivan belched thick black smoke as we left the bus and its passengers behind at the docks. These minivans, known as "combis", are common in Peru and Bolivia, and although they have 15 narrow seats stuffed inside, they will often carry over twenty passengers. Luggage is stacked on the roof sometimes 6 feet high. You can flag them down on the highway if they have room, and you pay based on how far you are going, often negotiating a price rather than paying a fixed tariff.

All along the road were apartment buildings, offices, garages, and gas stations. As many were abandoned as inhabited, and very few had ever been painted. Almost all of the buildings were made of cheap, brick-colored cinder blocks, held together with grey mortar. Fields that had once grown crops were overgrown with weeds, and everywhere there were walls that no longer served any purpose, whatever they once deliniated now long returned to the wild.

We came within site of La Paz, a bowl stretching as far as the eye can see, filled with trash, pollution, and many more abandoned buildings. Smoke rose from the low buildings and settled over the low city, with no fresh air currents to clear it out. A tiny adobe shack with a tin roof carried a sign: "Computers For Sale". A compound that looked like a small abandoned prison had a logo for a Bolivian pharmeceutical manufacturer, and a shifty-eyed guard with a rifle guarded the front gate. Desperately ill dogs stumbled into traffic, half-blind with food and water poisoning. Naked children ran after the dogs, laughing. Fortunately, our turn off soon led us perpendicular to the road into La Paz, and soon we were once again traveling through beautiful mountain fields, farms, and open highway.

We made it to Tiahuanaco right on schedule.

Leaving the Island Before the Rain

2006-05-31T16:52:00.000-07:00

After such a long walk to Punta Norte (heavy backpack and all), I was looking forward to catching the boat back to Copacabana. Unfortunately, the boat wasn't running that day, so we had to hoof it back over the entire island in time to catch the late afternoon boat from the southern end of the island.

There was no use complaining, though, and the weather was still good, so we slung our backpacks on our weary shoulders and started back. The hills somehow seemed higher on the return journey, but it is much easier to hike when you are in one of the most beautiful places on earth.

We had time to stop for lunch before the boat, and casually made our way down to the dock. We were burned with a return fare that was 50% higher than our fare to the island, but considering that the exchange rate meant that the hour long boat ride cost us less than $2.00US, it was a minor burn.

The boat ride was smooth, but off in the distance we could see rain clouds dumping on the northern side of the lake, moving toward the island. We had been very fortunate to have the weather that we did while we were on the island, just one more thing that has been perfect about this trip.

Back in Copacabana, we found a hotel for just over two dollars US each with warm water (not hot, unfortunately), and took much needed showers. Then we went to a nice restaurant and had a truly splendid meal, where I ate strawberries and cream that tasted just like the sunset looked the night before.

All in all, I can't speak highly enough of Copacabana and Isla del Sol. Actually, maybe I shouldn't, lest it become too crowded. Hear me: stay away from Lake Titicaca and especially the Islands of the Sun and Moon. There are wild hogs everywhere, everyone gets food poisoning, and all your posessions will be stolen, leaving you to run naked through the Bolivian streets, where children will laugh and throw mud at you.

Where the Sun was Born

2006-05-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

We awoke before dawn, and I went outside and sat on a pier jutting out into the bay at Punta Norte to watch it rise over the mountains and Lake Titicaca. As I watched it rise, fishermen returned from their early morning catch, and women led donkeys, pigs, llamas, and sheep out to pasture.

It was about a 45 minute walk to the ruins at the northern tip of the island, through the local residents' homes and fields. The people on this Bolivian island are generally shy, and they still wear traditional brightly colored woven dress and practice the sustainable farming methods of their ancestors without the help of machines.

This island was integral in the creation myths of the Tiahuanaco, Uros, and later Incan cultures. It was said that this island was the birthplace of the sun, and the birthplace of the first Incans. In particular, the northern side of the island was considered sacred, and religious ceremonies took place in this sacred place.

We set up blankets on the lower part of an amazing rock that was sacred to the Incans and the Tiahuanaco culture before them. The view was incredible, and I was happy to just sit and stare at the incredible beauty for hours. The ruins of the buildings were unspectacular, but the "Puma Rock" on which we sat was amazing. Almost every square foot of this part of the island has been shaped by the hand of ancient man. The fertile soil has been shaped into terraces for farming all the way from the water to the top of the hills. The rocks have been etched and shaped with serpents, pumas, hyperbolic forms, and criss-cross designs whose purpose is unrecognizeable to me. It is clear that this land was a sacred destination for countless ancient people before being abandoned after the fall of the Inca.

As we sat, several species of hawks performed shows for us overhead. Large black hawks with white patches underneath their wings swooped low along the sloping ground, up and down from the water. Slightly smaller white hawks performed circular patterns right above our heads, their shadows moving along the ground frighteningly quickly.

Our view out on the lake looked out over a stunning bay, with curving peninsulas that seemed to be embracing the water contained within. In the distance, the huge white mountains presided over miles and miles of lake.

We stayed all day on this part of the island, watching the sun move across the northern sky from east to west. We saw perhaps a dozen other tourists in the whole day, but they were never close enough to talk to us. I applied sunscreen a dozen times or more, but in this thin atmosphere my face turned red anyway. When the sun was finally down over the horizon, we made our way back to the town just in time as the light faded to darkness, the sky becoming a rainbow of hues. We sat down in a field of coca and wheat to watch the last of the sunset, and a sliver of a moon hung far overhead, reminding us that the smaller Island of the Moon awaits a future visit.

Arrival at the Island of the Sun

2006-05-29T20:00:00.000-07:00

After an all-night bus ride from Cusco, Peru to Copacabana, Bolivia, my new travelling partner Javier and I took a boat to the Island of the Sun.

We found a bustling tourist center on the south port of the island, but didn't stay long and proceeded to walk 3 hours or so to the north end of the island. I had thought that the walk would be along the coast, but as it turned out the path was along the top ridge of the island. The sun was bright and the atmosphere thin, but we still had multiple layers on since we were at approximately 13,000 feet of altitude.

The beauty of the Island of the Sun is absolutely incredible. From the top of the ridge, you can see the lake on several sides, beautiful turquise and aquamarine and azure shades in the many bays, and the massive deep lake stretching out as far as the eye can see. In the distance, snow covered mountains loom above the mainland.

We headed to a hostel, where we were the only guests. In fact, there were perhaps a half dozen guests in the tiny village of Punta Norte, and all was quiet shortly after nightfall. It boggles my mind that a place so beautiful, and relatively easy to access, is visited by so few. It is just as well, though, since the fragile ruins in this area could not support many tourists.

Ruins Above Pisac

2006-05-27T16:30:00.000-07:00

After the breakfast portion of the lovely Paz y Luz bed and breakfast, I headed up through the main square, where the market takes place, stopped for a cup of coca tea, and proceeded up the steep 5 kilometer climb to the ruins of Pisac.

The ascent wasn't easy, with a mix of steep trails and hundreds of Incan stone inlaid stairs. As I climbed, the views just kept getting better and better. I could see the whole town of Pisac and the surrounding farmlands, the Urubamba river, and the steep and tall surrounding mountains. Every time I thought I had found a perfect spot for a photo, I climbed a little more and found even better views.

At first, I came across what I thought were the ruins at the top of the first hill. Fortunately, I kept hiking up and around, and found partially reconstructed adobe homes and the remains of a grand temple. Amazingly, the temple still had a working system of aquaducts and fountains. There was a round wall surrounding a large rock, that I think was some kind of clock or calendar.

I was pretty tired by the time I had seen all the ruins, both from the climbing and from the altitude. It was well worth the effort, however, since the weather was beautiful, the views fantastic, and the ruins impressive.

Change of Plans

2006-05-27T12:00:00.000-07:00

After my second night in Cusco, I became disillusioned with the hucksters and the shady characters and overpriced tourist stores, and I felt that I had to leave. I had my laundry done, and took a taxi over the hill and down into the valley to Pisac. I walked about 1km along the Rio Urubamba to a secluded and beautiful bed and breakfast named Paz y Luz (Peace and Light). The rooms are nice, but the location is stunning, nestled between steep hills with Incan agricultural terraces lining the mountains hundreds of feet above the valley.

I met a man at the bed and breakfast who knows some of the people I know from the Bay Area (small world!), and he has invited me to join him on a quick 5 day trip to the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca and the Island of the Sun, so I am changing my plans and taking a bus with him. On the way back we will visit the ruins of Tiahuanaco in Bolivia, south of the lake. Here's to spontaneity!

Hiking the Ruins in Cusco

2006-05-25T20:00:00.000-07:00

I awoke to find the hot water in the hostel was very hot indeed, and enjoyed a fantastic shower before heading upstairs for a scrumptious breakfast with tea, coffee, and papaya juice. The breakfast room at the Hostel Q'Awarina has an even better view than my room, and I looked over the city as I planned my day.

My first stop was the Sacsayhuaman fortress, where Marco Inca lost the decisive battle against the Conquistadors, and sealed the fate of the Incan empire. Eighty percent of the grand fortress was either destroyed by the Spaniards or recycled into the architecture of nearby Cusco. Still, what remains is massive, with three levels of zig-zagging battlements which serve the dual purpose of forcing divisions within advancing forces to better slaughter them from above, and representing the teeth of a giant puma (the plaza in Cusco forms the body, the main avenue the legs, the river the spine, and the original and complete fortress formed the head).

I was approached by a local Quechua man, who asked if he could show me his art. He brought out several small sculptures of Incan iconography and explained the meaning of each one. He complained about the tourist shops in Cusco selling replica pieces for three times the price, and I could tell that his were hand carved from Machu Picchu rock, where the tourist shops sell impossibly clean and smooth versions made of clay for 3-5 times the price. I was particularly enamored by a piece representing an essential Incan mythology which describes the forces of the world as a serpent, a puma, and a condor. The serpent represents mother earth and the low forces, the puma represents fierceness and war (the realm of man), and the condor represents the forces of the sky and tranquility.

The man introduced himself in both Spanish and Quechua (his Spanish name is Armando Quispe), pointed out his house on the hill overlooking the fortress, and his family's ranch. After I gave him $10 for the sculpture, he offered to be my guide around the ruins. I refused, intending to rent a mountain bike and see the ruins by myself. He graciously accepted my refusal, but proceeded to tell me all about Sacsayhuaman without pressuring me further. I soon realized that he knew more about the area and the people than the professional guides, so I asked him to accompany me to Quenco (and the Temple of the Moon) and he began telling me things that can't be found in any guidebook. I was a little bit concerned about walking to all the ruins, but he said that his sister could rent us horses if I got tired, and he had plenty of coca leaves in his backpack if I wished to chew them to fight altitude and fatigue. As it turned out, I required neither, and the hiking became easier with someone to follow.

As we walked, Armando pointed out which plants were good to chew to fight the altitude, and which were poisonous. I chewed and enjoyed "Incan Mint" (Muvio?), which freshened my breath and lifted my spirits. As we continued our journey, he made me stop and appreciate the care with which the Incans had placed the Incan Trail, which leads from Cusco, through the sacred temples, and is located among peaks and valleys for maximal views and reverance.

We traversed ancient Incan roadways and aquaducts, open fields, and beautiful singletrack trails as we gained altitude.

Armando made sure to point out what all the plants were, and pointed out many useful and mystical plants, many of which have healing and spiritual properties when used by the shamen that still practice the arts today. Some plants are good for fighting fatigue and altitude sickness, some are used for rubbing on sore muscles or cuts, and some plants--unlike anything I've seen outside of a Dr. Suess book--produce visions if prepared into a tea. I can't remember the names of any of these plants, but I remember the unique visage and smell of each of them.

We walked together for many miles (8-12 in all), and I was pleased to be able to keep up with my native guide, and although he was breathing as hard as I was, I gulped water while he had not even a sip.

After seeing several ceremonial ruins, we stopped at Tambomachay, the site of a grand Incan aquaduct and fountain, where water still flows endlessly from precisely set stone outlets. Armando encouraged me to hop the rope and drink from the fountains. I asked him incredulously if it was safe for me to drink. He replied that this water was pure and natural ice runoff. He also said (in Spanish) "Why do you think I have been walking for two hours without water? The bottled water might make me sick, but this is safe." I drank from the font and filled one of my bottles, and it was some of the best water I have ever drank.

I asked Armando about chicha (a traditional brew made of fermented corn), and he replied "let's drink", and took me to a small mud-brick hut where Quechua women were preparing the frothy brew. I paid a single sole (about $0.30c US) for a large pitcher, and both of us drank three small glasses from the pitcher in the hut while women and their husbands drank copious quantities of the concoction. The men sat half asleep in their chairs, with their chins against their clavicals, while the women complained about how the men did nothing all day. Dozens of guinnea pigs roamed free about the shack, while pigs, chickens, and donkeys grazed free and casually outside.

I soon realized why the women were so animated and awake despite their alcohol intake when the coca leaves were passed around. Although not strong enough to produce a high, the chewing of coca leaves staves of hunger, fatigue, and drunkenness. Chicha is fairly low in alcohol content (it is only fermented for 3 nights and 2 days), but it is high in fructose and vegetable content, and both Armando and I felt energized after drinking. We chatted about his life, and he took me to his house and introduced me to his wife and son. They live in a tiny adobe hut, with smaller adjoining huts for animals, storage, and guests. Armando was proud of his humble abode, and after seeing the huts of some of his neighbors I can see why.

Armando offered me what food he had available, and I accepted a mandarin and enjoyed it immensly after our four hour hike. I bid farewell to Armando and his family, and walked back down the steep hill past Sacsayhuaman and down to Cusco.

Flying to Cusco

2006-05-24T23:00:00.000-07:00

The flight from Lima was relaxing and beautiful. Almost immediately, we were in the clouds, but after traveling east for no more than 10 minutes the clouds were no more and we were passing over increasingly large ranges of mountains. The thing that struck me most was that these steep and remote mountains were covered with roads. Well defined dirt roads switchbacked time and time again up impossibly steep slopes, down the other side, and back up the next.

I wondered what these roads could possibly be used for, but soon found the answer when villages and towns began appearing at the ends of the roads. As the plane continued east toward Cusco, the towns increased in size and I spotted large trucks making their way slowly over the precarious mountain roads.

The mountains continued to rise, making it feel like we were descending long before we actually were.

Eventually, we did begin our brief descent, but by this time we didn't have far to fall. Cusco loomed before us, large and well populated, but to me it felt like we were crashing into the mountains. We had a very smooth landing at the world's highest international airport.

As I stepped down the stairs at the rear of the plane, I noticed something strange: colors lept out, and I could see clearly for miles in any direction. I spent the first day in Lima cursing myself for never getting corrective lenses for my slight astigmatism. I couldn't see anything very well, and blamed my eyes and the stress of traveling. Now it was clear that the thick, everpresent smoke and seasonal fog in Lima were to blame. I haven't seen atmosphere so clear and bright anywhere, except perhaps Kuaii.

I felt a strange weakness and light-headedness shortly after disembarkation, but this is perfectly natural when you've gone from sea level to almost 11,000 feet in one hour. Upon getting to the main plaza in Cusco, I stopped at a restaurant and had a cup of coca tea (not only legal here, but traditional and highly recommended; no, it won't get you high), and within minutes any trace of physical uncertainty was cleared up.

After eating and finishing my tea, I made my way to a hostel that was recommended in my guide book, and was pleased to find that I was given a triple-occupancy room with a bath all to myself. The room has breathtaking views of the Plaza de Armas and most of the surrounding hills, all for the lowest price I've ever paid for a hotel room.

Cusco has tourist prices for almost everything. I almost balked at paying the restaurant prices around the plaza, until I did the exchange rate and realized that I have spent more at a Taco Bell than I was paying for a meal in a balcony seat overlooking the main town square (with live Andean music and a drink included in the price). I soon noticed a crowd forming in the square below, and witnessed a procession of a life sized Mary, followed by a marching band. Roman candles were fired over the crowd, which must have numbered a thousand or more people, and for hours giant firecrackers boomed and echoed between the mountains. I learned that 200 nights a year are like this in Cusco.

Fear and Loathing in Lima

2006-05-24T22:00:00.000-07:00

On my way to the Lima airport today, I had my first case of traveller´s paranoia. I flagged down a taxi on Calle Schell, and negotiated a price to the airport (or, rather, I agreed to pay 10% more than I wanted to). The taxi driver tried to show off his one phrase of English: "Don't worry, be happy!"

For some reason, this made me begin to worry. Would I make my flight? Had I forgotten anything in the hotel? Was I about to be robbed? He asked me if I spoke Spanish, and I told him I spoke only a little. He began rapid firing complex sentences at me, and I had to tell him I didn't understand. He began to repeat himself, at the same pace only yelling now. I became flustered, and couldn't remember how to tell him to speak slowly. He flashed incomprehensible hand gestures at me, and seemed to be telling me to wait, and something about "cinco". Was he telling me to wait while he ran an errand? I didn't have time, and I told him so. He asked me if I wanted to walk?

Suddenly, the taxi driver began honking angrily and got out of the car in the middle of traffic and told me to remain "tranquilo" (quiet). I hadn't been loud, or even the least bit outwardly vocal, so all I could think was that he was going to fetch a thug amigo to rob me. I didn't know what to do, so I held onto my bag and prepared to bolt. The driver went over to another taxicab and spoke to the driver. When he came back, he told me in slow and clear Spanish that the other driver would take me to the airport for the fee I had originally wanted to pay. I thanked him and swapped taxis, but paid him nothing since we had only travelled three blocks.

The new driver drove twice as fast, and did his best to communicate with me. He explained that he needed gas and pulled into a gas station. He looked at me expectantly, and asked for the fare. I gave him half and told him I would give him the rest at the airport.

Suddenly it dawned on me: the first driver had been asking for 5 soles up front to buy a third of a gallon of gas to drive to the airport. In Lima, this is a perfectly reasonable request, where taxi drivers keep as little gas in the tank as possible and carry little change. I felt such a sense of relief that I didn't mind that the driver almost killed two motorcyclists, a bicyclist, and an old woman crossing the street in his rush to get me to the airport, where he dropped me off outside the police gate and told me to walk the rest of the way.

Ah! Dinero para gasolina. Why didn't the other driver just say so?

Religion, Death, Torture, and Luxury

2006-05-23T19:30:00.000-07:00

My day began with a visit to the main cathedral in Central Lima. This ancient church was first built in 1555, later expanded, and then flattened in an earthquake in 1746. It was promptly rebuilt to resemble the original. Then Pope John Paul II renamed and added adornments to some of the statues. Perhaps he made other changes as well, since the tour guide kept mentioning him, but I couldn't understand everything she said.

I was struck by the reverence and enjoyed the trancendent feelings brought about by the stained glass, sculpture, and paintings. In a chamber below the pulpit, the supposed body of Francisco Pizzaro resides, along with a handful of skulls and preserved bones.

My next stop was the Church of San Francisco, where tens of thousands of bodies were entombed within the catacombes. The smell was unique and ancient. I followed a tour given in Castillo Spanish, and was quite pleased to find that I understood at least the gist of everything that was said. My Spanish is coming back to me, but not reliably. Sometimes I am able to communicate well enough that people begin speaking quickly, and use words I don't understand. When this happens, it is all I can do to croak "no entiendo" (is this even correct?), and revert to hand gestures and grunts.

After the catacombs, I made my way to the Museo de la Inquisition, where Inquisition trials took place for hundreds of years. Wax models now stand in for the accused, frozen solid in poses of perpetual torture. After walking around downtown Lima long enough to get a feel for it, I then hopped a cab for the Parque Salazar overlooking the beach in Miraflores. I made it just in time to see a muted red sun descend into the sea mist. I grabbed a table at Mango´s restaurant at the edge of the cliff, and settled down to a meal that would be considered California Fusion cuisine back home. Although non-traditional for Peru, and not as good as last evening's ceviche, I enjoyed the view of the coast and the atmosphere. The meal cost many soles, but was still inexpensive compared to home.

Tomorrow I fly out to Cusco for more adventure.

Lima at Last

2006-05-22T21:30:00.000-07:00

On the descent into Lima the plane followed the setting sun. The coastline is beautiful from above. I look forward to seeing it from sea level. By the time we had taxied to the gate it was dark (just a few minutes after 6PM).

From the airport I boarded the shuttle bus with a single other passenger. The ride was quite harrowing, with the driver shoving the smelly old diesel bus through gaps that appeared too small for a Mini, narrowly avoiding suicidal taxicabs and pedestrians by mere inches. Shops, office buildings, restaurants, and casinos slid slowly by as we barely missed getting into a new accident every block. Each casino was themed with a different variant of "America". One giant casino was like a grotesque parady of Planet Hollywood. Another, named simply "New York" sported a three-story tall replica of the Statue of Liberty.

We got stuck in a traffic jam. By "jam", I mean that we didn´t move for almost 10 minutes, and niether did any of the cars around or behind us. Blaring electric lights illuminated the smoke-filled air, and opening the window of the bus I found that this part of the city smelled worse than the diesel fumes, so I slid the window closed promptly. Once we got moving again, everybody was anxious to get off the main drag and find a better side street, so there was gridlock for a few minutes. After much honking of horns and near collisions, our bus driver got lost immediately, and began leaning his head out the window to ask every policeman and valet for directions. Eventually, after winding our way through streets far too small for a bus, we got back on track.

I took the shuttle to the Hotel Ariosto in Miraflores, Lima, where I will be spending my last night before heading into the jungle in a few weeks. The Ariosto is a beautiful hotel, but they had no vacancy tonight, and I don´t think I would have wanted to pay the non-discounted rate in any case. I wished them farewell, and I will be back in a few weeks to enjoy my pre-paid luxury room.

I consulted my guide books, and after a short walk and not more than five minutes later, I had a room at La Castellana. This hotel is in a lovely old estate house, and although the room is small it is quite charming. This is one of the nicer hotel rooms I will be staying in during my trip, and I didn´t mind spending almost $50 US for the location and the comfort.

Miraflores is upscale and cosmopolitan, reminding me of Santa Monica 15 years ago. Here I now sit, at the overpriced El Tigre restaurant (still cheap to me), eating ceviche, and listening to live Peruvian music. I might as well be on the Third Street Promenade, except both the food and music are much better. It feels familiar, much like how the French Quarter seemed familiar my first night there, because I had been to Disneyland´s "French Quarter" so many times. No matter. I´m certain that my preconceptions will be shattered soon.

I finish up my meal, and it is the best I´ve had in a while. I don´t know if it is because I´m in a foreign country, or because I´ve eaten nothing but airplane and airport food for the last 24 hours, but every bite tastes fantasic.

Back to my room, to try and sleep as much as I can to avoid jetlag. Tomorrow I will explore Miraflores and Lima Central, or maybe go to the beach.

Banana Republic

2006-05-22T08:55:00.000-07:00

"Banana Republic"

These words flashed through my mind as we landed in San Salvador. Lush hills and winding rivers give way to idyllic coastline with long, lazy breakers that seem to take minutes to reach the shore. From the air, it is easy to tell the farm houses from the hotels. Ceramic roofs and swimming pools grace the former, while plants and animals unrecognizeable to me dot the latter. Are those cows? They do not look like any cattle I am familiar with.

The heat and the humidity are stifling. As we taxi in on the tarmac, clouds of condensation pour forth from the air conditioning vents above every seat. The overhead compartments look like freezers with their doors open. Tropical foliage pervades well inside the bounds of the airport, with palm trees lining either side of the runway, and I am happy.

I stop for a meal in the airport, and damnit if every single cooked dish on the menu doesn´t have cheese. I order a sandwich with two kinds of ham, cheese, pickles, and avocado. Soon I will be departing for Lima, without even a hint of what the rest of this beatiful third-world paradise looks like.

Off The Road

2006-05-21T22:01:00.000-07:00

This is my backpack. For the next 5 weeks, I will be living out of this backpack in Southern Peru. With luck, it will take me from the sea to the mountains to the jungle.

Yes, it's small. This was intentional.

I had to make some sacrifices. I couldn't take my Canon S1. I decided not to take my iPod, but it wasn't an easy decision.

Here I go...