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.

Inca Trials...

INCA TRIALS...

Oh how original, I changed the word trail for trial, how utterly witty and incisive of me. The phrase has of course been used many times before in the context of the purported difficulty of hiking the famous Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, arguably the most visited and hence overrun tourist site in all of South America. I however am utilizing this crafty little pun with respect to the incredible amount of difficulties and frustrations I seemingly always endure when dealing with the cheapest and nastiest tourist operators possible. I never learn.

Me at Machu Picchu doing an "Ogston".

After weeks of staying relatively put in my incompetent attempt to learn Spanish, I was very keen to hit the proverbial road again, or trail in this case. Fortunately for myself, I had shown a rare glimpse of forethought and planning by having booked my place over a month before commencing. I say fortunately because despite there being vacancies for some 500 people per day to start the "official" trail (there are many other alternative trails available that all lead to Macchu Pichu), within days of reserving my place, the months of April through to the end of July were totally booked out. In addition to the hordes who ascend upon the ruins by train every day, that's a lot of people milling about the place.

Machu Picchu in all its glory on a spectacular day before its daily inundation of tourists.

Anyway clearly the experience is a popular one and I was excited at the prospect particularly because a friend of mine had raved about how great the whole experience was with the company she recommended me. The fact that it was also the cheapest didn't ring any alarm bells, nor the fact that it was run out the back of a pokey trinket store which also quadrupled as a money exchange, a book store and a clothes outlet. Furthermore my friend was Brazillian...

In any case, I made my reservation without reservation and promptly headed down to the Plaza de Armas on the designated day of departure to await my bus scheduled for a 6:00am departure. Despite being assured several times over the next four hours that the bus was arriving "muy pronto" by Walter of the aforementioned company, I was eventually put in the clearly negligent care of one Edgar, a manic taxi driver who was charged with the responsibility of getting me to Ollantaytambo, the departure point for the Inca Trail, in double quick time. This he promptly did at speeds of over 140km/hr, speeds I rarely like to travel when in a well maintained, reliable vehicle on a straight concrete highway let alone in a beat-up, rusted out bomb along roads precariously hugging jagged mountain sides. Credit to him however, he didn't send us plummeting to an incendiary death at any point during the hell and hair raising journey AND he got me there on time.

Some of the scenery enjoyed from a speeding taxi...

Once I was able to prise my fingers open from their death grip of the dashboard, I met my guide Maria Sol and before exchanging even a few basic pleasantries, she requested that I produce my unfortunately absent passport. I was quickly made aware that having this document on one's self is more important for completing the trail than say bringing shoes or water, a fact that was unfortunately overlooked by my agency when quizzed by yours truly w.r.t. essential items. Fortunately I had a copy in my posession which Maria just needed to confirm was sufficient via a phone call. All seemed according to plan, I heard lots of "si, claro, no problemas", and when she hung up she said all was fine and I was ready to go. So long as I paid US$175 of course.

Some typically impressive scenery from the trek.

Seems that Maria Sol's company had not received a dime from the little agency I had booked through but had neglected to inform anyone of such an oversight until my arrival in Ollantaytambo despite some four weeks since issuing my ticket. Maria Sol claimed it was an easy solution of me simply paying again but I was clearly not in posession of a) another lazy $175 nor more importantly b) a desire to hand it over even if I did. Although surprised by my disinclination at such a "comprimise", she did agree to search for an alternate resolution.

More impressive scenery. Clearly I am not referring to myself.

Unfortunately our discussion with tourist police was somewhat brief when I realised that my receipt was in the same place as my passport (i.e. not in Ollantaytambo) and for the life of me I couldn't remember the name of the agency apart from the fact that it included the word “Inca” which, as you can imagine when trying to isolate a tourist operator in Cusco is like refining a search for a website by remembering it finishes with a .com.

My other problem was that if I failed to commence the tour that day, which was looking increasingly unlikely, I would not be able to start again until sometime in late July. As a result I was left with no option but to return all the way to Cusco, a journey which when taken by buses not driven by Edgar, is decidedly longer, 2 and 1/2 hours in fact compared to Edgar's 45 minutes on the same road.

The beautiful craggy green mountains so associated with the trail.

With receipt in hand I made my way to Maria Sol's company in Cusco that afternoon and somehow everything seemed to be resolved soon after my arrival. Turns out they had been speaking to the wrong agency altogether and had simply failed to ask the right one for the money. This they said they would do promptly and in the meantime I was able to return to commence the trail that afternoon. They were of course very sorry and extended the gracious offer of allowing me to pay for another taxi back to Ollaytaytambo.

The starting point of the trail, somewhere I wasn't expecting to see beyond following my first day dramas.

As you might suspect it was getting rather late in the day by the time I arrived back to the starting point. Actually the day was pretty much over so far as sunlight was concerned, I didn't even start until 5:30pm but thankfully the first day is only some 11km long. The magnificent vistas normally enjoyed during this section were limited however to the tiny patch of blue light provided by my headlamp, sufficient only to place my next step and prevent me falling off the side of the mountain.

Machu Picchu aren't the only ruins seen during the trek, they're actually quite frequent along the trail.

Things at least started to look up when I finally met up with the rest of the group at our first campsite. Not only was I the solitary Australian but also the only non-Argentine and the only person in possession of a Y-chromosome. Awesome. Several advantages of hiking with 9 other Argentinian women became immediately apparent, firstly and most importantly, there is much more food available. They also tend to think Australian men are far more interesting than they really are and generally improve the view, which is quite a feat considering the surroundings. Another advantage of being the only male is that you get a tent to yourself, but I can assure you it didn't stay that way for long...

Mountains...

I'd like to leave it at that and have you assume that I am inferring that I seduced one of the Argies but apart from clearly being a preposterous notion in my case, the reality is a much more unpleasant one in that one of the porters, obviously averse to personal hygiene, took it upon himself to make use of the extra space. Not only did he stink terribly, but he also knocked over his water bottle in the tent soaking my sleeping bag AND he woke me up an hour early (at 4:00am) in the freezing mornings, nearly knocking the tent over when departing to start breakfast.

Another incident of my lack of sophisticated charm (if one is neccessary)occurred when during a typical breather waiting for one of the girls labouring up the hill I light-heartedly shared my observation that cardio was evidently not one of her strongest traits. She then politely informed me that she suffered acute Asthma. Oops. Thankfully the girl Jo turned out to be much more gracious than myself...

Fortunately for me, the women were all lovely and two in particular, the delightful Jo and Sol, showed more patience than was necessary and I was lucky enough to enjoy their company in particular for the entire duration of the trip during which time they summarily and regularly destroyed my attempts at Spanish. Even phrases and words I had learned in my classes and textbooks were deemed stupid and incorrect leaving me utterly bewildered most of the time. Immersion however does wonders for your spanish (the girls might disagree in my case) for following the trek I could sucessfully describe the intricacies of AFL in spanish, a feat which I never tire of performing for anyone interested enough to listen. And those who are not, which is the majority...

My two favourite Argentinians; the beautiful, graceful, witty and intelligent Maria-Josephine Dominguez and Soledad Merkau,who due to the fact I was staying with them in Argentina at the time of writing demanded I give favourable descriptions.

Anyway, a little about the trek itself. In a word, beautiful. The whole time you enjoy spectacular panoramic vistas of snow-capped peaks perched upon the craggy green slopes so synonymous with the trail and we were particularly blessed by perfect weather. Every day leading up to the trek, it was absolutely pouring in Cusco and surrounding areas but we didn't endure a single drop of rain, and barely a cloud was seen for the four days. I personally didn't think that it was all that demanding physically but our slow pace and having spent a month living at some 3300m prior certainly aided me compared to many trekkers. That and my superb physical conditioning and natural athletic ability of course.

The impressive scenery surrounding MP soon after sunrise (above) and yo con mi amigos otra vez (abajo).

The main event and star of the show is of course Machu Picchu itself. One of the main advantages of doing the trek is that it allows an early arrival to MP at sunrise on the fourth day ensuring you beat the hordes of lazybone train tourists who swarm the place daily come about 10:00am. The ruins are of course impressive and extensive but it is the the incredible surroundings and location of the place that make it such an unforgettable sight, particuarly when relatively free of tourists and on a perfect day as we were fortunate enough to enjoy.

The tour of the ruins proved a little difficult. I could (and can incidentally) barely hold a decent conversation about the weather in spanish let alone a understand a detailed description of Incan history and architecture.

Typically Peruvian. Huayna Picchu taken from the main courtyard of MP complete with llamas.

It's possible to climb the neigbouring mountain Huayna Picchu (the nose of a giant incan face in the eyes of the overly imaginative Peruvians) for a special view overlooking MP and the surrounding valleys. Great views, a great workout and I was fortunate to be stuck on the way down the single file path behind a riotous and sharp-witted American chap, who never tired in his selfless quest to provide mirth to every hiker who was fortunate to cross his path. Most would eventually tire of telling the same joke (he informed breathless hikers within vicinity of the top that it was “only one more mile” to go, hilarious AND original) but considering the pleasure that he no doubt assumed this brought everyone he forged on gallantly. I of course was fortunate to witness all 14 occasions.

The impressive view over MP from the peak of Huayna Picchu. Supposedly the ruins are built in the shape of a condor, a crocodile, a jaguar and any other South American animal you care to think of.

Despite the fair weather, beautiful scenery and fine company, my dramas were not limited to my first day fiasco. For instance the night before heading up to Machu Pichu we had been required to stay in the town of Aqua Callientes (Hot Waters) due to the lack of available campsites. This was to be an extra cost despite our tour clearly including the third night's accommodation. Particularly in light of paying some $40 extra already for other party's faults, I was fairly insistent on my right to a "free" bed for the evening. Maria Sol eventually relented and offered me a few square feet of concrete floor space in the storage area which would be available once the occupying stove was removed after dinner. The fact that it was outside, on the roof seemed an inconsequential detail to her and I was tempted to freeze to death just for the story. I insisted once again however and a real bed within a real room complete with a roof and walls was eventually provided.

Me and my girls. 8 of them at least. The big incan dude can be seen beyond, complete with chin, lips and nose (Huayna Picchu).

Worse was to come the next day when I was casually informed by Maria Sol that I no longer had a train ticket back to Cusco, despite it very much being an included cost within the tour. By the way, I’m not talking about a QR citytrain $2.40 zone 2 fare, it is more around the ridiculously expensive US$55 mark one-way to Cusco (the train is, unfortunately for Peru, owned by the crafty Chileans who not surprisingly make an absolute killing on the venture). Of course I was pretty annoyed about the whole situation but my anger was nothing compared to the fury unleashed by the Argentines upon their discovery that the company had also forgotten to book all of their tickets for any of the trains which were booked out for the entire day.

Truly a sight to behold (hell hath no fury etc); cocked hips, pointing fingers, and glares that wounded several people in the vicinity. I have to say spanish really is a most beautiful language when spoken at such speeds as to convey pure rage. The tactic was obviously a successful one however as they somehow managed to get on the train leaving my state of awe and wonder (and amusement) to dissolve into a frustrated reality that I was alone without my translators and in need of paying for a ticket that was supposedly not available...

Sol and Jo in particular put on quite a show at the train station. I could listen to angry spanish all day.

Now it is hard enough to remain calm and coherent, and express ones feelings of immense dissatisfaction in english when in the state that I found myself in, so you can imagine what a trainwreck results in spanish. Basically feels like you have slid back several thousand years on the evolutionary scale and are limited to communicating with basic grunts and chest thumping. In reflection, my only half decipherable attempts at communication amounted to little more than "Me angry. No, me VERY angry. And you stupid. You VERY stupid." I believe I may also have banged my stick several times forcefully on the ground for extra emphasis. (Amazingly, although never having had any lessons, in my frustration I also found myself speaking fluent French...).

From the top of Huayna Picchu.

I have found many times when dealing with tour operators particularly in these countries, it's very much a game of chicken, they probe and test you out hoping that you just give up in exasperation and pay the extra cash, accept the poor service, or neglect the omitted promise etc, anything to make an extra buck. For example, I was at first required to pay the full $55, then following my steadfast refusal (indicated by aggressively thumping the ground with my stick), miraculously I needed only 50 soles, or around $20. After another display of percussive rage, the price was then reduced to 10 soles which I accepted against my principles due to the fact several hours had passed already and train after train were blowing their whistles and heading off. Being that Aqua Callientes has very few redeeming features other than a proximity to MP, I was none to happy with prospect of spending another whole day there at my own expense and the facing the likely probability of having to pay the full amount for the train in the absence of Maria Sol.

The long and winding road that leads to MP's door. An easy way up for your average tourist via bus or a sweaty slog up for your budget travellers such as moi.

The last train for the day was actually blowing its whistle to depart when Maria Sol, within seconds of meeting a pulpy death via repeated clubbing with my stick, suddenly sprung into action and within about 15 seconds I was boarding the already moving train. It may have been that she saw the genuine homicidal rage in my eyes that transcends languages, I'm not sure, but Peruvian railworkers can exceptionally efficient when they want to be.

But aside from these little slip-ups which I'm sure everyone on the trail experiences, it was altogether a great trek and if I could remember the name of the company, I couldn't recommend them highly enough. If you ever go to Cusco just look for a company with the word "Inca" somewhere in the name. You'll have no problems finding it.

Til next time...