Friday, June 02, 2006

Budget Bolivia


Budget Bolivia


Bolivia - An exciting place

When I first arrived in South America, I had no intentions of seeing Bolivia due to my carefully formulated and foolproof plan to simply knock on the door and gain employment with my company GHD in Chile. Over the course of my time during Peru however I had been picking up distinctly non-good vibrations, and certainly no excitations from the Santiago office and with seemingly less onorous demands on my time of arrival in Chile as a result of that diminishing likelihood, Bolivia came distinctly within the radar for a number of reasons. Obviously I was keen to check out this relatively unknown country of high plateaus, Andean mountains, Amazonian jungle and blinding salt flats but I was also fortunate enough to have the chance to travel with yet more Dutch friends of mine who had coinciding plans. Of course the fact that it was dirt cheap added to its appeal. That and the cocaine...
.
.
One last day of shopping for gringo goodies with my beuna amiga, Devin, one of several folk whom made my time in Cusco so enjoyable.
.
It was hardly as if I'd been living an exorbitant existence in Cusco, a thoroughly affordable place in it's own right, but tales abounded from many a traveller of just how much bang your buck could achieve in Bolivia. High adventure for low cost was the general gist of it and so, following a few days completing a few essential Cusco experiences (I finally bought a damn finger puppet...) and saying goodbye to all the great folk I had met there, I headed south towards the Bolivian border.
.
.
Puno, the Monte Carlo of the Andes, only with much shittier boats.
.
Of course there was one more stop to make before leaving Peru indefinitely; one can hardly ignore the essential experience of Lake Titicaca, which at 3800m is the world's highest navigable lake and straddles the border between Peru and Bolivia. Its a pretty important place supposedly as Indian legend says the sun god had his children, Manco Capac and his sister Mama Ocilo, spring from the frigid waters of the lake to found Cuzco and the beginning of the Inca dynasty. The majority of the lake actually falls in Bolivian territory but the Peruvian town of Puno is considered the best site from which to embark on a tour of the Lake's islands, both those formed by natural and man-made processes.
.
.
Several of the some 40-odd floating islands near Puno.
.
There are a number of floating islands made up of the reeds that grow abundantly in the lake's shallows which have been habituated and continually replenished with fresh top layers of reeds by the Uros people who initially settled on them to escape those land-lubbering and war-mongering Incas some 500 years ago. These islands in particular are the main attraction of the countless tours of the lake that as always are shoved in your face immediately upon disembarking your bus.
.
.
Close up of the islands - like walking on a big spongy mattress and below, a touch of home. Not only did I spot the Aussie flag in one of the few residences on the island, there was also a huge number of eucalyptus gum trees, supposedly imported from Oz for their erosion prevention qualities and the islander's thriving trade in koala skins.
.
Tis certainly amazing how dexterous the folk who continue to reside permanently on the islands are with their reeds. They eat them, drink them, live under them (all their shelters are constructed from the reeds), sleep on them, and of course they use them to make useless trinkets that tourists lap up by the dozen. Another blatant tourist trap those crafty islanders employ are trips in their admittedly impressive reed boats, reminiscent of old Viking ships. I unfortunately fell for this one expecting to cross over to one of the main islands and forked out 5 sol (ok, it was only like $2) which is still quite a lot to sit in a boat over what eventuated to be a distance that Thorpie could cover in about 24 seconds.
.
Alas the ride to the main island on the agenda, Isla Taquille, was undertaken in the far less exotic diesel engined tour boat which was only marginally more hasty than the long-pole powered reed boats. After some 90 minutes of puttering across the open expanse of water (early suspicions that the lake was in fact quite large, proved correct), we finally arrived at Isla Taquille supposedly for a true Titicaca experience. Seemingly this simply involves hanging out with a whole bunch of gringos in the town square for an hour whilst the locals try to flog you stuff that isn't even half as impressive as the little reed keyrings on the other island. Alas this memorable encounter had to end, and so it was then another 3 hour journey spluttering back to the mainland.
.
Scenes from Cocacabana town, our first stop in Bolivia. Another example of whacked or spot-on priorities depending on your point of view.
.
.
The next morning I was met by one of my many Dutch friends, Charlotte, and the two of us headed to the border where I left Peru with the distinct hope of returning some day. We didn't move much beyond the border as we chose to stay at another Lake town, the infinitely prettier Cocacabana (the highest port south of Havana...). Our first impression of Bolivia was certainly a positive one, a fabulous trout meal (a Titicaca specialty), sunny weather, and a beautiful hotel with stunning views of the lake (and hot showers with PRESSURE!!) for around $6 each. A highlight was the hike up the neighbouring mountain which provided views over the town and a spectacular vantage point for watching the sunset over the lake which stretched beyond the horizon.
.
Cheap wine and a three month growth. Enjoying the sunset over Titicaca.
.
.
Alas our Coca experience proved to be a blip on the radar so far as quality is concerned for it seems the deeper you head into Bolivia, the drop in standards more than keeps pace with the dropping prices. Our rickety bus to La Paz was a case in point and proved two things; the lake is even bigger than I had imagined, and the buses in Bolivia are entirely shithouse. At least the same cannot be said of the vista one experiences when first driving into La Paz, the highest capital city in the world and surely also one of the most spectacularly located. Basically a huge depression surrounded by a ring of Andean peaks with the city sprawling up the slopes seemingly until they become too steep to support any more dwellings.
.
The spectacular setting of La Paz.
.
.
(Below left) Maybe they're taking things a bit far when they start counterfeiting cars as this "Toyosa" suggests. The bowling ball shaped woman aptly sporting a bowler hat is also a very common sight in Bolivia.
.
We checked into the first of several dive hotels in central La Paz (again super cheap - we had a room for four people to ourselves for around $10 - of course only two could safely support the weight of a human body) and headed out to start making the most of the cheap luxuries on offer, namely the restaurants with meals for which we paid only between $3 and $4. Certainly not fine dining by any standards but thoroughly edible and undeniably good value for the cost.
.
(Below) Myself, Joram and Charlotte eating out again at the markets in La Paz.
.
Or so I thought. As a further example of my inability to escape the company of those from the Nether regions, I met up with two good mates from Cusco, Joppe and Joram, who took the stereotype of the "tight Dutchman" to an altogether new level. They swore by eating only at the giant markets in the centre of town where you could buy a tasty chicken and rice meal for 60c, or a choripan for half that. I was quickly convinced of their logic and was soon eating there at every opportunity as well. My favourite were the incredible amount of fruit stalls served by the typically rotund fruit ladies who could whip up a monstrous fruit salad totally from fresh produce of your choice again for less than a dollar. A litre of fruit juice made to your specifications set you back a ridiculous 2 bolivianos.
.
Considering there are more than 6 Bolivianos to one Aussie dollar, 2 Bolivianos is hardly a noteworthy sum but it of course still represents a not inconsequential amount to locals. There seems to a spate of counterfeiting currency in Bolivia at present and one ultra-suspicious gentleman refused to accept a slightly tarnished 2 Boliviano coin I presented as payment. My seemingly logic arguments of the futility of counterfeiting such an inconsequential sum fell on deaf ears and I was forced to find an alternative note to pay for my internet.
.
My beloved fruit ladies...
.
All that eating at local markets complete with their non-existent practices of hygiene did of course catch up with me when a 25c hotdog played havoc with my bowels preventing me from heading out on the popular Choro trek just outside of La Paz. The disappointment of that missed opportunity was softened by the knowledge that we experienced more or less the same environment whilst completing arguably one of the most enjoyable experiences I've had on my entire trip.
.
The money shot of the bike ride down the "World's Most Dangerous" road.
.
I write of the WMD, or World's Most Dangerous road where the only weapons of mass destruction to be found were the madcap Bolivian trucks hurtling down the 65km stretch towards Brazil. It's a lot safer than it sounds, it merely has the title because it was officially listed by the WHO or some other international organisation of repute as being the road with the most fatalities in a particular year. Of course it also lures a lot of tourists to buy a T-shirt of the "I did it" ilk. I also picked one of these up (it was included in the cost!!) and it is amazing how many people you run into all over the continent all sporting similar apparel.
.
Obviously it is not the safest road but I get the feeling that most of those fatalities were the result of coked-up Bolivian truck drivers trying to deliver their "merchandise" across the border as quickly as possible, a risky proposition on a single lane, two-way dirt road winding down some 3.5 vertical kilometres on the sides of mountains. All in all it makes for one hell of bike-ride.
.
A shot of whiskey/straight metho to toast to our hopefully good health before commencing. Thankfully nobody rode off the edge that day.
.
Apart from a brief stretch of up-hill riding (ridiculously exhausting at some 4000m) it's pretty much just a point your wheels down and hold on tight situation. The first 25km or so are on pavement where you actually dodge in and out of the slower moving traffic but the real fun begins when you hit the 40km+ of dusty gravel road with the side of a mountain on your right, and a several hundred metre vertical drop on your left for much of the time. Being the vehicle descending, the rules of the road are of course that you need to remain on the left. Being that it is barely wide enough to support one vehicle width, it is a slightly nerve-wracking experience when passing an oncoming vehicle....
Some of the unnecessarily distracting scenery encountered on the way down. Below is me watching the second guy make it up the tough up-hill section. That's right, estoy numero uno...
.
.
The amount of commemorative crosses you pass on the way down is enough to keep your wits about you but I have rarely had more fun than when just going flat out down that hill, sliding round corners and letting go of the brakes, all the while trying not to be distracted by the incredible scenery all around me. I seriously recommend anyone passing through Bolivia to make it one of your priorities. An exhausting, dusty, exhilarating and entirely satisfying experience I will remember for a long time.
.
A very dusty but satisfied crowd at the end of the ride. Next was the dangerous part; driving back up the road...
.
.
(Below) Me and Charlotte at the ridiculously schmick dessert restaurant in La Paz complete with classy faux waterfalls.
.
Following this we had a few more days in around La Paz where we were eventually joined by our other Dutch friend Danielle, and spent our time in a variety of pursuits such as a hiking a beautiful local day trek, exploring the bizarre Valle de la Luna (valley of the moon), having our shoes cleaned by the terrorist-looking shoe shiners (they all wear balaclavas supposedly to avoid being recognised and thus avoid bringing "shame" on their family due to their lowly-esteemed profession), and also eating copious amounts of the best icecream I've ever had for a fifth of the price that you would pay at Cold Rock.
.
.
Some views from the day hike I did with Charlotte, Joram and Joppe. You can see the first stretch of the bike ride winding down in the the background. Below is the view out towards Brazil and the beginning of the Amazon rainforest. I think.
.
.
The other activity that preoccupied much of my time in La Paz was shopping for the ridiculous amounts of Alpaca wool clothes that I made the mistake of offering to buy for my family. Once this two day mission (which they better be especially grateful for) was over, I left myself a good two hours to simply put all 11kg of the stuff in a box and post it back to Australia before with immaculate timing, jumping on a night bus heading for Uyuni. Like my Mumbai experience, this was to prove frightfully insufficient.
.
Another shot from our lookout point of the WMD road.
.
.
Who'd want to be an electrician in La Paz? Typical of the chaotic disorganised feel of the city, these wire criss-crossed all over the city and often were directly under roof water discharges. Crazy.
.
For starters, the amount of money I had planned for posting turned out to be horribly short due to the fact that the information lady, upon confirming my quoted price from my previous questioning, had never in fact even heard of Australia. Austria sure, but Australia was evidently one of those mysterious countries in the "rest of the world" category which happen to be double the price. Setback number two was that the box lady was adamant that the cost of postage would be the same whether I put my cargo in one large box as in two smaller ones. I was sceptical but assumed that, being that it was her profession, she may have some idea what she was talking about.
.
Taking the concept of the zebra crossing to the next level. Supposedly these crazy dancing zebras are necessary to ensure the drivers stop at the lights. That or it's a novel way of reducing unemployment.
.
Umm, no. After filling in all the forms with a detailed description of all the items and wrapping up the boxes up securely and addressing them ready for postage I was informed that I would be of course required to pay the postage for two 6kg packages rather than one large 11kg package. Apart from being some $50 or so more expensive, it was also highly time consuming and damaging to my best laid plans of catching an imminently departing bus. Once again I failed the patience and calmness test in dismal fashion. Despite my pidgeon spanglish rants of "not my fault, not my fault. Your fault. Me no pay more!!" I was eventually forced to fork out the cash and sprint back to my hotel which quickly turned into a forlorn power walk considering the difficulty of physical exertion at that altitude...
.
Main governing square of La Paz.
.
Of course despite my panic, turns out I had nothing to worry about as I had yet again overestimated the quality of service availabe in these countries. The Bolivian time lag constant was in my favour on this occasion and despite turning up 20 minutes late to the bus station, where I found that my bus in fact was leaving from the train station (of course, how stupid of me...) and hence was forty minutes late, I still had to wait for another half hour before we headed off. And this was the only bus for that entire day that ran arguably the most popular tourist route from La Paz to Uyuni, the launching pad for tours of the famous salt plains.
.
More tastes of home, the green and gold of the Aussie wattle plant with some gum trees in the background. Both are pretty common around La Paz.
.
They should really issue public health warnings to all those considering travelling by bus in that part of the world. Firstly the engine was exposed in the driver's cabin and one was required to step over the gaping hole when boarding and for the rest of the night an unfortunate Brit had to keep the door closed with his leg to prevent the fumes billowing through to the rest of us. Much worse was the fact that despite wearing a three layers, not to mention a down jacket and complimentary blanket, and taking TWO valiums, I couldn't get an ounce of sleep primarily due to the deafening chatter of teeth and knocking of knees. I'm talking serious arctic conditions, the windows were completely iced over and I had no feeling in my face, hands and feet for most of what was a very ordinary journey.
.
The reason why people go to Uyuni, the trippy landscapes of the salt plains.
.
After enduring such a painful trip it was entirely disheartening to disembark in what must be one of the most unwelcoming, desolate places on the continent. Understandably at 7am on a freezing morning (well below zero), the place gave the impression of a deserted ghost town; one almost expected some tumbleweed to blow down the dusty streets but I dare say the place was too arid for any vegetation to grow at all. And in truth, it wasn't entirely deserted, we were of course met by an armada of tour operators all plying their trade of flogging the only reason why anyone would want to pass through such a place.
.
A Toyota, or possibly a Toyosa, speeding across the seemingly endless expanse of the Salar de Uyuni.
.
Thus loaded up with 12 flyers that I was too debilitated to resist, I hobbled away on my numb stumps for legs to another dingy Bolivian hotel wondering how I was going to fill up a whole day in this place before being joined by my Dutch girls the next day. After lying comatose under 6 blankets for several hours, I spent the rest of the day sifting through the dozens of tour operators (I think there are more than 50 companies in a town of only a few thousand people) and ultimately flipped a coin to break the deadlock between the companies offering the best deals. This more or less required about 50 coin tosses as there is little discernible difference between any of them and its pretty much luck of the draw as to whether you get a pimped up beast-from-the-east (i.e. a landcruiser) or a clapped-up pickup truck running on it's third engine.
.
Charlotte and I atop some of the memorable rock sculptures encountered during our 3-day salt plains tour.
.
A quick aside, I mentioned that the giant pimple that is Uyuni only exists on the tourist radar for its proximity to the salt planes, but there is one other redeeming feature which almost makes Uyuni a worthwhile destination in it's own right. MinuteMan Pizza. A super restaurant run by an American expat with his Bolivian wife which makes the best pizza I've had in my life. Period. Had I stayed any longer in Uyuni I may have considered setting up camp on the street outside.
.
Anyways, with a tour booked and stomach still in shock from the previous night's feast, I met the girls early the next morning, by the state of them they had also neglected to bring their fur-lined down suits on board the arctic express from La Paz. Unfortunately for them they pretty much had to jump straight into our cramped 4WD (there were two more Dutchies in our group, they're a virus I swear) and head out to the flats. We at least had time to squeeze in a quick breakfast as MinuteMan's. They also make arguably the best pancakes....
.
.
Aww, he's so cute. I'm referring to the llama if there's any confusion. Which there is not...
.
From Uyuni, it was pretty much straight out to the surreal and blindingly white expanses of the Salar de Uyuni, via a quick stop at the unique Cemeterio del Locomotivos and several tourist trinket traps. I did at least fulfill one of my main South American ambitions in that I got to hold a llama.
.
Me at the helm of one of the many locomotive corpses scattered about the Cemeterio de Locomotivos.
.
.
The interior of the salt hotel, constructed inside and out, furniture and all, of yep, you guessed it, salt.
.
The Salar de Uyuni is huge and you essentially spend half a day driving across its seemingly endless plains all the while attempting to set new land speed records for 1990 model Toyota (and Toyosa one suspects) landcruisers. Two noteworthy stops are however the impressive and aptly named Salt hotel, and the distinctly inappropriately named Isla Pescado (Island of fish). Where the hell any fish were in one of the driest places on earth I have no idea, I personally think the title of Isla de Fálico Cactos would have been more suitable.
.
.
Me standing on the mysteriously titled Isla Pescado with the many cacti which cover the island in the background. I guess there may have been fish about there at some stage for below is some fossilized coral which was somehow under water a long long time ago.
.
.
The next few days followed a similar theme of surreal out-of-this-world landscapes interspersed with long periods of mind-numbing driving followed by freezing nights in dive hotels in the middle of nowhere. The highlights package was worth it however and you tend to forget the hours of pent-up tedium when reflecting upon the many impressive landscapes we encountered.
.
Me, Danielle and Charlotte above Laguna Colorado and below is the aptly if not overly imaginatively named Laguna Verde, or Green Lake with a big volcano in the background which I cannot remember the name of.
.
Of particular note were the numorous coloured lakes, Lagunas Colorado and Verde in particular, and the Desierto de Salvador Dalí, the scene of (many of?) his most famous paintings, with its incredible naturally sculpted rock features including the immediately recognisable rock tree.
.
.
I tried to recreate the scene of Dali´s famous melting clocks with my watch but it just didn't quite fit the scale....
.
.
People went bananas about the flamingoes as well but I shall again be one of those irritating traveller types and express my distinct lack of enthusiasm for this "highlight" of the tour. When you have seen several million of the things lining a lake in Kenya, you are hardly quick draw McGraw with the camera upon the distant sighting of anything pink.
.
Alas the end of the tour for me also signalled the end of my oh-so-brief jaunt through Bolivia and also this oh-too-bloated blog entry. One last and typically freezing night in Bolivia was followed by pre-dawn excursion to the geysers, which I enjoyed for all of the 15 seconds I could bare to be out of the car, and then the infinitely more pleasurable and sirenesque hot springs which they almost had to winch me out of. It was then to the drop off point where a bus was waiting to make the short trip over the nearby Chilean border.
.
.
Me and an entirely fake geyser. There were real ones however.
.
It was certainly said to say goodbye to Charlotte and Danielle, the last of my many good Dutch friends from Cusco but it was just as sad to say goodbye to the Boliviano and all it entailed. Gone for good were those 30c juices and $4 hotel rooms; I was in for some serious culture shock in Chile. But at last the time had come to get to Santiago and achieve my main ambition and inspiration for this entire trip. Time to get a job....
.
Goodbye Bolivia...
.

Deepest Darkest Peru



Deepest Darkest Peru



Having successfully completed the Inca Trail (kind of...) and hence the essential Gringo experience of Peru, I figured it was time to explore a little further into deepest, darkest Peru, to get out of Cusco for a while if nothing else. Whilst I was disappointed in the ensuing weeks not to run into a single talking bear (let alone one with a trenchcoat and a liking for marmalade sandwiches) I did however make a number of other discoveries during my two week road trip around the southern half of Peru such as the benefits of valiumon long bus trips, the potency of donkey flatulence, and the disturbing malleability of human skulls amongst other things which I will endeavour to describe in the following entry.

Above are all photos taken during the Santa Cruz trek in Cordillera Blanca.



When hastily cobbling together a rough itinerary for this trip the night before departing, I may have been a tad adventurous and dismissive of a few logistical obstacles that were to cause much discomfort and require military efficiency and execution to achieve. Primarily I refer to the distances involved to traverse half a country that is 5 times the size of Great Britain. First up, a lazy 21 hour bus ride back to Lima where I enjoyed a respite of some 2 hrs before boarding another 8 hr ride to the first destination on my list, Huaraz, the gateway to the Cordillera Blanca national park. Fortunately I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of buses, at least those servicing the gringo rich centres such as Cusco, Titicaca and Lima. Quite a holiday in themselves with food, wine, movies, "relaxing ambient music for a relaxing ambience" (as one bus company eloquently boasted), and best of all the coche cama, or the fully reclining bed seat with which I was to have a love affair that continued throughout my travels in South America.


More scenes from the Santa Cruz trek.


Huaraz and the Cordillera Blanca are quite the adventure hubs with hiking being the order of the day, or days (4 to be exact) in my case. I had heard incredible reports from other travellers waxing lyrically with dreamy reflection about hiking the most accessible trail in the region, the Santa Cruz loop which follows a path amongst some of the highest and most spectacular mountains in all of the Andes. If anything, I think the reports I received may have understated just how good this trek is.

(Left) From the first day of the trek through the valley approaching Punta Union.

Having had no time to waste, I set off the morning after my late-night arrival with the first company I found, or at least the first company I had forced in my face upon stepping off the bus. Despite my hardline bargaining, I was pretty annoyed to find I had paid $20 more than some others in my group. Having paid $20 more, I was thus further annoyed to discover that they had not packed enough tents, and being the only single male, I was shunted to the cramped supply tent with both the guide and donkey leader, who not surprisingly for one who walks behind donkeys all day for a living, permeated quite a pungent odour through the tent.

Glacial lake (above) and below is me in front of a big mountain if it needed any explaining.


This was particularly unfortunate due to the fact that, with no light source of substance, we were forced to retire soon after the sun set behind the mountains towering around us and were not to emerge from our cocoons for some 12 hours every night (I fortunately had slightly less time to kill as I had to wait until the stove was finished with and removed to make way for my "bed").

Every campsite was brilliant, I didn't mind so much waiting outside for the cooking to be done when I was able to enjoy views such as this at every camp.


Fortunately the other 12 hours of the day more than made up for the tedium of hours vainly attempting to find a half comfortable position so as allow even a skerrick of sleep. The whole trek was absolutely spectacular and often reminded me of the amazing treks in Nepal, the diversity of environments encountered being very similar to the Annapurna circuit, only compressed into 4 days as opposed to 16. Lush vegetation, beautiful lakes and expansive valleys made way for cracking glaciers and towering peaks as we ascended over the high pass of Punta Union and more beautiful valleys with paths winding adjacent to crystal clear streams awaited us again on the other side. Absolutely stunning....

Above is a side trip we did to the glacial lake and below is the valley through whence we came.



An interesting little aside which gives further evidence of the park's natural beauty, which I have yet to confirm beyond doubt, is that we walked around a peak by the name of Artesonraju, a beautiful mountain which supposedly is the same mountain as seen in the famous logo of Paramount Pictures, the one with the stars that circle it just before a film starts.


(Above) The Paramount mountain? It kind of looks like it, would help if the stars were there.


One of the many nice places at which to take a break.

Unfortunately the notion of a four day trek is a bit misleading as I was disappointed to discover our last day consisted of barely an hour of humid, sweaty slog through thick vegetation, (an inconcievable thought having been colder than a brass monkey's only the day before) which we completed by 9am. Having been told we were not arrive back in Huaraz (not even 100km away) until late that evening, we were slightly stumped as to how we could take that long to get back.


Our donkey friends, slightly stinky but very friendly and overly inquisitive. Will eat anything in your hands.


Peruvian timing and punctuality of course played their significant part (some 5 hours of waiting on the side of the road) but considering the nature of the road required to be traversed, I was more than happy for the driver to take his time and utilise all of his concentration and (hopefully) extensive experience. Absolutely terrifying but exhilarating without doubt, the road kept winding up and up until one thought we may drive straight over the summit of Huascaran, which at 6768m, is the second highest mountain in all of the Andes.

The valley on the other side of the pass at Punta Union.


The descent from the high pass of nearly 5000m, was even worse, a single lane, two-way road that only barely hugged the incredibly steep slope of the mountain and wound down for a vertical drop of over a kilometre. The road was so narrow at the hairpin switch-back turns that when looking out the window, I could see the front tyre passing within millimetres of the edge. Hair-raising stuff for sure but we safely made it back to Huaraz. Two hours late.

Scenes from the ultimate and most green day.


Unfortunately I have no photos of this particular road as our designated photographer of the group (my camera was stored away in my pack on the roof) had his camera stolen in that evening in one of the most deft pieces of thievery I have yet encountered. Whilst eating at the flashiest polleria (omnipresent chicken restaurants) in town, some little devil managed to dash off with a bag slung over my mate's chair, which he was not only sitting on at the time, but which two of us were facing directly when it occurred. Writing of pollerias, I think Peru would probably implode if bird flu were ever to strike the country, chicken and chicken restaraunts are positively everywhere, and being that a half chicken, salad, chips, drink and desert will cost you about $2.50, I ate at them far more often than my weak stomach wished of me.


This isn't my photo, I pinched it from the web but is the same road we descended in the van.


Next stop, via another overnight bus (in 12 days I slept in a tent 3 nights, and a bus 5 nights... thankfully I discovered valium during the course of these relentless travels and have been dependent ever since) was the town of coastal town of Pisco. Pisco doesn't really have a lot going for it unless you like dried fish, or particularly the smell of it which is unsuprisingly potent considering there are drying beds that line the highway in and out of town. It is however a popular point for tourists due to its proximity to Islas Ballestas, a small island only a few kilometres off the coast of Pisco which has been dubbed the "poor man's Galapagos". As I fitted that bill quite nicely, I figured it was worth forking out my 25 sol (about $10 as opposed to a typical $1000 Galapagos trip) for a brief but fascinating boat trip.

Lots of seals and birds. Below is the "famous" candelabra, supposedly made many hundreds of years ago but just looks like the work of a bunch of Peruvians with shovels to me.


Well if value for money was to be measured by the amount of seals and birds on display, I dare say I picked up a pretty fair deal. The birds were so numerous as to give the entire craggy island a splotchy black coat, such was their density. The seals were similarly prevalent and not only clogged the limited beach areas, but were lazing on any available piece of flat rock and yet still the water around our boat seemed to be crowded with them. Quite the nature-lover's delight.


Like the Gold Coast during school holidays.


Immediately following the return to dry land, a short bus trip whisked me away to Ica, another entirely unappealing town again with only the attraction as I far as I could gather being its proximity to my desired destination of Huacacina. Flat, barren desert plains surrounded us as we drove into Ica but a hard right, another 3 or 4 km over a sand dune or two and suddenly I found myself in the middle of the most stereotypical desert oasis I could have imagined.

Huacacina at dusk.


Huacacina (the oasis) is a great place to do nothing and take in the surroundings, but as ever on a tight budget of time, I immediately signed up to partake of the most popular activity in town; sandboarding the monstrous dunes. Thankfully we were chauffeured to the appropriate spot avoiding the need to trudge deliriously up each slope (after attempting to ascend only a pathetically small dune, I have decided against ever getting myself lost in a desert) but I had been expecting a tranquil ride, a ferry service of sorts that would just take us back to the top a few times. I was thus pleasantly surprised upon the discovery that our ferry was in fact a very loud and very fast beast of a dune buggy complete with roll cage and completely manic driver.

A fine place to chill, my American mate Dave contemplates a crossword puzzle.


Slightly terrifying at times when our driver nearly lost it several times on the steep slopes, but it was unbelievably fun to tear up a massive dune and teeter on the lip before plummeting down a 60 degree slope at ridiculous speeds, much like a rollercoaster but without the assurance that you would stay on the rail... We had so much fun burning around the dunes that we barely got a few runs completed on the sandboard. 'Twas sufficient however to humiliate myself with the most inept display of co-ordination of our group and to lodge fine sand in every imaginable orifice that remained for days.

Dave, his girlfriend Vanessa and me aboard our dune beast.


By this stage I was lacking a little culture in my activities diet so I headed along the Ica museum, supposedly a treasure-trove of pre-Incan and Incan artefacts. Was slightly disappointed to discover many of the displays were actually empty except for a tag describing in spanish what I could only assume used to be there. In some cases, colour photos were on display of various tapestries and rugs that had also "used" to have been there but were stolen.

The dunes surrounding Huacacina, like a scene out of Star Wars. Unfortunately, even out in the middle of the dunes there was still garbage everywhere.


Thankfully the exorbitant entry fee for a relatively artefact-free museum was not entirely wasted due to the disturbing array of deformed and mutilated shrunken heads and various other mummified remains. I wouldn't be surprised if the creators of the Alien movie franchise took inspiration from some of the skulls on display, it really is quite disturbing what results when a wooden board is strapped to the forehead from birth....

The volcano El Misti that dwarves the city of Arequipa on the other side.


Anyways, with the museum done and hence all activities available in Ica exhausted, I was off to Arequipa. I was filthy to discover no Coche Cama was available and was hence forced to slum it with the locals on a regular seat that barely reclined even 45 degrees. Barbaric. Seats aside, it was arguably the worst bus trip ever as not only was the bus overflowing its capacity, so to was the mid-section of the overly rotund gentleman sitting next to me, crushing me against the window with his bulk. So 13 hours of no toilets, dubbed movies, sweltering temperatures, a snoring walrus as my neighbour all resulted in a particularly forgettable experience. Once again valium saved my sanity.

Scene from the drive out to the Cañon del Colca.


I nevertheless arrived safely in Arequipa, a beautiful colonial town which boasts beautiful architecture, easily summited 6000m peaks in the immediate vicinity and the far less physically challenging opportunity to park your arse on a ubiquitious tour bus for a tour out to the Cañon del Colca, the premier location for viewing condors, arguably the ugliest bird/animal/thing on the planet. I of course chose the later as I still had some sort of preoccupation with seeing some condors in the wild, probably a result of watching Cities of Gold too much as a kid. I can say the golden condor is infinitely prettier than the real thing....

Above was about as close as I got to a Condor. Still, it was spectacular scenery.


To be honest, I'm not really sure why everyone lists the Cañon del Colca as a must do, you basically drive for the 2 days there and back to sneak an hour or two at the canyon (admittedly a spectacular one, debate continues as to whether it is in fact the world's deepest) where you might see a dozen of the incredibly ugly things flying about in the distance. I think we saw about 8 and everyone was pretty stoked but having seen hundreds of vultures (which look very much like condors, only slightly smaller) a few months previously in Kenya and Tanzania, I felt an overwhelming sense of being underwhelmed. Very pretty area however and the I'll never tire of drinking a cold beer in a hot spring as we were fortunate enough to include in the tour.

Me about 20m down the canyon. Only about 2000m more to go.


With an impending departure date for Bolivia rapidly approaching I was forced to hightail it back to Cusco upon arriving back in Arequipa from the canyon, thus bringing my tour de Peru to an end. Fortunately I was back in business with a full cama seat but all that greasy polleria dining came back to haunt me as I probably spent most of the journey on the white porcelain seat downstairs which didn't even recline at all...

Another American friend Libby from the canyon tour trying out a Peruvian specialty, fried guinea pig. You can still see it's little claw all covered with fur in her left hand.

Til next time.