Well, Monday night at 7:50, as we were sitting watching a bit of TV with both kids nestled snug in their beds, the house started to shake. A fair bit, actually. After it was over, Aaron looked at me and said, "maybe we should have gone and stood in a doorway or something." It has taken till today, but the earthquake is finally turning up on global earthquake monitoring sites as a 4.4 on the Richter. The epicentre was just 40 kms from here, which is probably why we felt it so strongly.
The earthquake was all the buzz Tuesday. The weather had turned cloudy and cool suddenly, and all the Peruvians were claiming that in spite of scientific consensus, earthquakes cause the weather to change suddenly.
Then Wednesday morning at 3:45 I was awakened by another earthquake. By the time I was awake enough to consider doing anything about it, it was over. Sure enough, Wednesday dawned sunny and warm, and the Peruvians confirmed their belief that earthquakes change the weather.
I've only felt 4 earthquakes since we've been here - apparently there have been 6 noteworthy ones in that time - and two of them were this week. I've been scouring the internet for some evidence of meaning in the quick succession of earthquakes, but so far I'm coming up with nothing. It's probably indicative of nothing much, other than a bit of plate tectonics.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Olive Maki
A week or so ago, Joffre and I were making sushi for supper. I asked him what he wanted to put in the sushi, and he said, "olives." We didn't have any olives, but apparently I am bound now to make olive rolls next time sushi happens.
It might be good.
Man, how many three-year-olds do you know who could combine two of their favorite foods to get olive sushi?
It might be good.
Man, how many three-year-olds do you know who could combine two of their favorite foods to get olive sushi?
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Oh, The Sick
Both kids got sick again last week. Joffre continues to be ill, while Alec seems recovered except for a lingering cough and a blunt refusal to take cough medicine. Of course, they simultaneously got a tummy bug and a cold, causing them to be utterly pathetic and also really unpleasant. I felt like washing myself down with bleach, as well as everything else. Blech.
Peruvian Whine, Part Dos
Given the propensity for whining in Peru, it should come as no surprise to me that trying to keep Joffre from whining is like trying to, you know, what's that expression where your effort is useless in the face of overwhelming opposition? Spitting into the wind? Bailing out a sinking ship with a thimble? Something like that. The odd time I'm at the school during classes, I can hear kids whining like crazy, and nobody does anything about it.
Also, Alec is going through a charming "give me what I want or I'll scream like a baby Ring Wraith" phase. Of course, my tactic is to only give him what he wants when he's not screaming, so we can train him out of it, but Peruvians as a group seem to feel that when the baby cries, you do whatever it takes to make him stop as quickly as possible.
Also, Alec is going through a charming "give me what I want or I'll scream like a baby Ring Wraith" phase. Of course, my tactic is to only give him what he wants when he's not screaming, so we can train him out of it, but Peruvians as a group seem to feel that when the baby cries, you do whatever it takes to make him stop as quickly as possible.
Friday, September 15, 2006
My Work is Never Done
So, that covers Machu Picchu, Cuzco, and Puno pretty thoroughly, I think.
But we also went to the Colca Canyon and Arica, Chile, in the past couple of months. I will blog about that later.
No, really, I will!
But we also went to the Colca Canyon and Arica, Chile, in the past couple of months. I will blog about that later.
No, really, I will!
Dirt-Eating Gringo Babies of the Upper Altiplano (AKA typhoid Alec)
Written by Grandpa Clint:
Throughout our ten day tour of the high-altitude tourist areas we were all plagued with regular bouts of 'travelers bowel' in addition to the more serious tummy bug that Cindy and Melania endured, and the colds that Cindy and I now have. For the most part, we were somewhat careful about diet and hygiene. I made a point of eating only cooked foods, a tactic that I had learned years ago in India. Steven followed suit on that one, as did Cindy after suffering the bug. I was also at them to use the hand sprays frequently, and to eat only raw fruits/vegetables that we had peeled, cleaned and cut up ourselves. By the end of it all, I felt like the over-protective mother-hen type, doling out the unsolicited advice.
But what about the young folks? It is pretty difficult to avoid sharing your water bottle with a cute baby when he is thirsty, and then there are those kisses and snuggles, and the fact that he wanted to feed us little bites of whatever he was eating. The truth is, wherever we went, both boys were quick to get up close and personal with the ground or floor, exploring under hotel beds and courtyard benches, checking out the texture (and sometimes the taste) of the dirt, gravel, grass, etc. wherever we stopped. Minute bits of unidentifiable refuse were carefully scrutinized, and usually offered to the grown-ups for examination and possible consumption.
Once safely back in Arequipa, with tummies settled down, both boys exhibited their enthusiasm for stuffing dirt into the back yard garden hose, then sucking out the soggy mixture that this practice created. Observing this behaviour, I entered into a philosophical discussion with my son-in-law, A.J., about the whole phenomenon. His opinion, and I tend to agree with him on this, is that this will help boost their immune systems and stand them in good stead to fend off infections later in life. Fair enough, but what about my aging immune system? Now I have never been particularly squeamish about such things. I was raised playing in a yard full of chicken pooh, and I have always believed it did me a world of good. Come to think of it though, Steven and I were discussing this whole thing one day on the trip as we watched the boys sift through the debris and dirt under a park bench, checking it out thoroughly with a number of their senses, and he pointed out to me that, whenever I took him to my parents' farm and into that same health-promoting environment, he always took extra underwear. I was reminded of that conversation again just yesterday when Alec offered to share with me some bird droppings that he was examining in the back yard.
Sooo... The questions remain unanswered. Do these tactile and sensory investigations of a whole lot of gross goodies in all of these exotic environments in fact strengthen these intrepid young travelers? And what what about the gastro-intestinal well-being of the adults that accompany them? The jury is out.
Throughout our ten day tour of the high-altitude tourist areas we were all plagued with regular bouts of 'travelers bowel' in addition to the more serious tummy bug that Cindy and Melania endured, and the colds that Cindy and I now have. For the most part, we were somewhat careful about diet and hygiene. I made a point of eating only cooked foods, a tactic that I had learned years ago in India. Steven followed suit on that one, as did Cindy after suffering the bug. I was also at them to use the hand sprays frequently, and to eat only raw fruits/vegetables that we had peeled, cleaned and cut up ourselves. By the end of it all, I felt like the over-protective mother-hen type, doling out the unsolicited advice.
But what about the young folks? It is pretty difficult to avoid sharing your water bottle with a cute baby when he is thirsty, and then there are those kisses and snuggles, and the fact that he wanted to feed us little bites of whatever he was eating. The truth is, wherever we went, both boys were quick to get up close and personal with the ground or floor, exploring under hotel beds and courtyard benches, checking out the texture (and sometimes the taste) of the dirt, gravel, grass, etc. wherever we stopped. Minute bits of unidentifiable refuse were carefully scrutinized, and usually offered to the grown-ups for examination and possible consumption.
Once safely back in Arequipa, with tummies settled down, both boys exhibited their enthusiasm for stuffing dirt into the back yard garden hose, then sucking out the soggy mixture that this practice created. Observing this behaviour, I entered into a philosophical discussion with my son-in-law, A.J., about the whole phenomenon. His opinion, and I tend to agree with him on this, is that this will help boost their immune systems and stand them in good stead to fend off infections later in life. Fair enough, but what about my aging immune system? Now I have never been particularly squeamish about such things. I was raised playing in a yard full of chicken pooh, and I have always believed it did me a world of good. Come to think of it though, Steven and I were discussing this whole thing one day on the trip as we watched the boys sift through the debris and dirt under a park bench, checking it out thoroughly with a number of their senses, and he pointed out to me that, whenever I took him to my parents' farm and into that same health-promoting environment, he always took extra underwear. I was reminded of that conversation again just yesterday when Alec offered to share with me some bird droppings that he was examining in the back yard.
Sooo... The questions remain unanswered. Do these tactile and sensory investigations of a whole lot of gross goodies in all of these exotic environments in fact strengthen these intrepid young travelers? And what what about the gastro-intestinal well-being of the adults that accompany them? The jury is out.
Clint's Machu Picchu
Aguas Calientes and Machu Picchu
To reach Aguas Calientes (Machu Picchu Village), and gain access to the famous ruin itself, we must first ride the train down from Ollantaytambo. It is a journey of just over an hour on the day-liner. There are other trains that make the run all the way from Cuzco, and Melania and the group did it that way on the previous trip, but we are much happier to have stayed at the Albergue, and to be making the shorter run with the children this time. This is another fine example of how well Melania has organized the trip for us.
The day-liner coaches have a built-in engine and the driver is aboard the lead coach. The one we take has only two coaches, although some of the ones coming in from Cuzco are longer. There is also a luxury train, which we see parked at the station in Aguas Calientes, and there are local passenger and mixed trains that continue on down the valley past where we are bound.
The coaches of the day-liner are somewhat crowded, with overhead luggage space compromised in order to make room for curved-glass observation windows, which afford an excellent view of the mountains. We have taken only what we need for the two nights, leaving excess luggage with the good people at the Albergue. Good fortune is with us, and we are given the seats right at the front of the lead coach, next to the driver's cabin, so Joffre and Cindy have the pleasure of the unobstructed forward view as the train makes its way down the spectacular valley of the Urubamba. The tracks follow the river closely, often seeming to hang right out over the rushing waters. We pass through stone cuts and short tunnels, around turn after turn, passing clumps of cactus in bloom, and always with spectacular views of the steep slopes and mountains around us. As we draw closer to Aguas Calientes, the growth becomes more lush. We enter the cloud forest, and are treated to views of a wide variety of vegetation, including beautiful yucca-like plants that grow all the way up the steepest of slopes. We make a brief stop to let off some of the more ambitious passengers, who will hike the last few km of the Inca Trail into town. A few minutes later, we arrive at the station in Aguas Calientes.
I am thinking that, had I come here a few years younger, and unaccompanied by grandchildren, I might have tried the Inca Trail myself. It is a four day hike of some 40 km, through terrific mountain terrain. The hikers are required to have porters and a guide. They start the hike at the rail line part way down from Ollanta, and finish it at the Machu Picchu ruin.
Aguas Calientes is a bustling tourist town, nestled in the steep valley of the Urubamba at the very foot of Machu Picchu. The town itself is quite picturesque, with the river tumbling by below the main road, steep mountain slopes towering all around, and a steep Incan style street, pedestrians only, leading up through the shops and restaurants to the hot springs from which the town derives its name.
We walk through a sizable tourist market immediately after leaving the train station, and proceed down along the main road to our Hotel. Melania has chosen the last hotel on the road to the ruin, mainly to be as far away as possible from the noisier tourist area near the station. The El Sanctuario hotel is a fairly new building, described by Lonely Planet as being 'somewhat bland'. They also describe it as being opposite the bus stop for Machu Picchu, which it isn't. To catch the bus we must walk back to the top of the hill, opposite the train station. We check into the hotel and are given rooms at opposite ends of the second floor, which is actually the third floor. The rooms are reasonably nice, although the one Melania has seems to have a bit of a mold smell. That room has a good-sized balcony that overlooks the river, while the other room has corner windows that look out on the river, the tracks, the construction sight of a new hotel. And the road up to Machu Picchu itself.
This is, in fact, the only hotel in town that has a view of the road leading up to the ruin. Just below the hotel the river passes through a narrow 'V', where the railway enters a tunnel. Just beyond that point, the bus road crosses the river, and heads up a series of steep switchbacks all the way up to the ruin. From our hotel room we can watch the buses, dwarfed by the landscape, working their way back and forth up the improbable slope. Lonely Planet states that it is a distance of 8 km by road. As the condor flies, however, it is probably less than 2. There is, in fact, a foot path (stone stairs really) leading from the ruin down to the town. It takes a much more direct route to the bottom, crossing the road on every switchback. Local boys dressed in traditional costume will run down the path in sandals, waving at the bus at every crossing, beating the bus to the bottom, then boarding the bus to collect tips for the entertainment they have provided. Some of them do this many times a day. It makes my knees hurt just to think about it.
Once settled into the hotel, we go out for lunch, and find several open-air restaurants along the rail line a few blocks above the hotel. Once again, we are treated to up-close train watching, as we could literally touch the passing trains, had we reached out from where we were seated at the outdoor table. Melania is now battling the bug that Cindy had on the Andean Explorer, so she misses most of her meals while we are here, but manages to get up to the ruin all the same. On our first evening we walk down as far as the bridge on the bus road to visit a conservatory. It is located about 1.5km out of town. As we walk along we meet the last few hikers who have decided to walk down from the ruin. They look tired enough, it must be a fairly challenging hike. It is late enough in the day that we meet only the last few of the buses coming down from above. Just outside of the village, we hear a commotion across the river. We stop and look across in time to see a large flock of green parrots fly out of a treetop and settle in a little further up river. We reach the conservatory at dusk. It is the off-season for the plants, but is it still quite lovely, and we are able to beg a ride bask to the village with a group that is touring there and are being bused back. While we are there, Cindy spots a number of 'rodents of unusual size,' which we believe to be paca. After a meal of pizza just off the town square, we pack it in for the night, planning to rise early and go up to the ruin.
Our third guide of the trip, Berto, meets us in the hotel lobby, and we board a bus and head up to the ruin. We arrive early enough in that morning that the light is excellent, and Berto gives us a guided tour. The ruin is all that one would expect it to be; massive and beautiful, spectacular in fact. Melania and the boys take in part of the guided tour, then meet us at the end. We go for a terrific buffet lunch at the top end hotel situated at the gate. Then Melania and I take the boys on the bus back down to the hotel, while Steven and Cindy make the hike to the Sun Gate.
Melania is still not feeling well, and sleeps for most of the afternoon while I entertain the boys in the other room. Cindy and Steven thoroughly enjoy the hike, which takes them along some nerve-wracking drop offs and over the site of a recent landslide. The are able to get some terrific pictures of the hotel far below, the road winding up the slope, the ruin itself, and the local flowers. After their return we dine once more on pizza at one of the restaurants along the tracks.
I feel that I have not done justice to Machu Picchu, so early the next morning I board the bus and head back up while the rest of the groups goes to the hot-springs. I arrive earlier than we did the previous morning, and the site is much mistier. Once in, I make my way directly to the gate where one must register to climb Huayna Picchu, the steep and flat-topped mountain that overlooks the site. It is not my attention to climb Huayna Picchu, but rather the smaller 'Baby Mountain' that stands beside it. Either way one has to register and enter through the same gate, and only 400 people per day are allowed in. At this peak season, there is a significant line-up by 9:00 and the maximum is reached by 10:00. I arrive shortly after 8:00, and I am the 166th person to enter that day.
I find the climb difficult, not that it is particularly long, but it is steep. The trail is easily found, but the drop-off to the side is phenomenal, and the trail is narrow, and slippery in places. I find that I am having to fight off a sense of vertigo, and I am short of breath due to the altitude. After 10 or 15 minutes of climbing, I make it to the top, and it is all worth the effort. The early morning view of the site is positively awe inspiring. Heavy mists are moving up the slope to my left, and burning off into clear sky to the right as they move over the site. At times my view of the area is obscured completely, then suddenly I can see portions of it bathed in sunlight, then nothing but mist again, then clear. Over to my left I can see the same thing happening on Huayna Picchu, as the cloud moves up the one side and burns off over the top. There is only one other climber up there with me, so I have the spot pretty much to myself. I sit there enjoying the views for close to half an hour, then make the precarious climb back down. At the registration gate the line-up is huge. I walk to the other end of the site and climb to the top of the ruin where the Inca trail enters coming down from the Sun Gate. This is another spot that I did not manage to visit the day before, and I sit for a few minutes and enjoy the view from here. Then I make my way back down to the site entrance to catch the bus back to town. The same young boy as yesterday races my bus to the bottom, and I make sure to give him a tip.
Back in Aguas Calientes, I walk up the pedestrian street to the entrance to the hot-springs, and have only a few minutes to wait before the rest of the group comes out. Melania is feeling somewhat better, and we enjoy a terrific meal at one of the better restaurants, Indio Feliz, (excellent food; the broiled vegetables were terrific), then walk back to the station to catch our train for the ride back down to Ollantaytambo.
The threat to the Machu Picchu site posed by the flood of tourists is readily apparent to the observer at this peak season. The fleet of some 20 or so buses that shuttles the throngs up and down the mountain runs non-stop from pre-dawn until supper time. The trip takes about 20 minutes one way, more or less, depending on how many oncoming buses are encountered on the hairpin turns and switchbacks, and how many times one has to back up to let the other by after these bumper to bumper encounters. At the end of my visit on the second day, I was the first to board the bus, so I had a wait of about 15 minutes until it was full enough to depart. As I was going down at about 10:00 AM, the downward traffic was a trickle compared to the upward bound. During the 15 minutes that I sat there, five more buses arrived and unloaded, and we met at least another five on the way down. Each bus would hold around 40 passengers, so, if one does the math..... That would be about 400 tourists an hour going up there at the peak of the day. Lonely Planet indicates that UNESCO some years ago recommended that number as a daily maximum if the integrity of the site is to be sustained! Truth is, at about $25 US a pop for entry, the place is a real cash cow for the government, so there is bound to be a lot of resistance to restrictions. The staff do an excellent job of keeping the wayward tourists on the designated paths, but the task is overwhelming. In a bizarre incident described by our guide and corroborated by Lonely Planet, a beer company filming an add at the top of the intihuatana, or 'hitching post of the sun' bashed the corner of the rock with their heavy equipment and broke off a large chip, which had to be glued back on. The intihuatana is possibly the most important single feature at Machu Picchu. Unlike the rest of the structure, it is carved from the living rock, ie. still connected to the mountaintop, and is considered to be the major shrine on the site. I felt the same kind of tourist guilt here as I did when I joined the throngs standing around on the very roots of the giant sequoias, or was one of the millions per year gaping from the edge of the Grand Canyon. We are at real risk of loving these world-class tourist destinations to death.
To reach Aguas Calientes (Machu Picchu Village), and gain access to the famous ruin itself, we must first ride the train down from Ollantaytambo. It is a journey of just over an hour on the day-liner. There are other trains that make the run all the way from Cuzco, and Melania and the group did it that way on the previous trip, but we are much happier to have stayed at the Albergue, and to be making the shorter run with the children this time. This is another fine example of how well Melania has organized the trip for us.
The day-liner coaches have a built-in engine and the driver is aboard the lead coach. The one we take has only two coaches, although some of the ones coming in from Cuzco are longer. There is also a luxury train, which we see parked at the station in Aguas Calientes, and there are local passenger and mixed trains that continue on down the valley past where we are bound.
The coaches of the day-liner are somewhat crowded, with overhead luggage space compromised in order to make room for curved-glass observation windows, which afford an excellent view of the mountains. We have taken only what we need for the two nights, leaving excess luggage with the good people at the Albergue. Good fortune is with us, and we are given the seats right at the front of the lead coach, next to the driver's cabin, so Joffre and Cindy have the pleasure of the unobstructed forward view as the train makes its way down the spectacular valley of the Urubamba. The tracks follow the river closely, often seeming to hang right out over the rushing waters. We pass through stone cuts and short tunnels, around turn after turn, passing clumps of cactus in bloom, and always with spectacular views of the steep slopes and mountains around us. As we draw closer to Aguas Calientes, the growth becomes more lush. We enter the cloud forest, and are treated to views of a wide variety of vegetation, including beautiful yucca-like plants that grow all the way up the steepest of slopes. We make a brief stop to let off some of the more ambitious passengers, who will hike the last few km of the Inca Trail into town. A few minutes later, we arrive at the station in Aguas Calientes.
I am thinking that, had I come here a few years younger, and unaccompanied by grandchildren, I might have tried the Inca Trail myself. It is a four day hike of some 40 km, through terrific mountain terrain. The hikers are required to have porters and a guide. They start the hike at the rail line part way down from Ollanta, and finish it at the Machu Picchu ruin.
Aguas Calientes is a bustling tourist town, nestled in the steep valley of the Urubamba at the very foot of Machu Picchu. The town itself is quite picturesque, with the river tumbling by below the main road, steep mountain slopes towering all around, and a steep Incan style street, pedestrians only, leading up through the shops and restaurants to the hot springs from which the town derives its name.
We walk through a sizable tourist market immediately after leaving the train station, and proceed down along the main road to our Hotel. Melania has chosen the last hotel on the road to the ruin, mainly to be as far away as possible from the noisier tourist area near the station. The El Sanctuario hotel is a fairly new building, described by Lonely Planet as being 'somewhat bland'. They also describe it as being opposite the bus stop for Machu Picchu, which it isn't. To catch the bus we must walk back to the top of the hill, opposite the train station. We check into the hotel and are given rooms at opposite ends of the second floor, which is actually the third floor. The rooms are reasonably nice, although the one Melania has seems to have a bit of a mold smell. That room has a good-sized balcony that overlooks the river, while the other room has corner windows that look out on the river, the tracks, the construction sight of a new hotel. And the road up to Machu Picchu itself.
This is, in fact, the only hotel in town that has a view of the road leading up to the ruin. Just below the hotel the river passes through a narrow 'V', where the railway enters a tunnel. Just beyond that point, the bus road crosses the river, and heads up a series of steep switchbacks all the way up to the ruin. From our hotel room we can watch the buses, dwarfed by the landscape, working their way back and forth up the improbable slope. Lonely Planet states that it is a distance of 8 km by road. As the condor flies, however, it is probably less than 2. There is, in fact, a foot path (stone stairs really) leading from the ruin down to the town. It takes a much more direct route to the bottom, crossing the road on every switchback. Local boys dressed in traditional costume will run down the path in sandals, waving at the bus at every crossing, beating the bus to the bottom, then boarding the bus to collect tips for the entertainment they have provided. Some of them do this many times a day. It makes my knees hurt just to think about it.
Once settled into the hotel, we go out for lunch, and find several open-air restaurants along the rail line a few blocks above the hotel. Once again, we are treated to up-close train watching, as we could literally touch the passing trains, had we reached out from where we were seated at the outdoor table. Melania is now battling the bug that Cindy had on the Andean Explorer, so she misses most of her meals while we are here, but manages to get up to the ruin all the same. On our first evening we walk down as far as the bridge on the bus road to visit a conservatory. It is located about 1.5km out of town. As we walk along we meet the last few hikers who have decided to walk down from the ruin. They look tired enough, it must be a fairly challenging hike. It is late enough in the day that we meet only the last few of the buses coming down from above. Just outside of the village, we hear a commotion across the river. We stop and look across in time to see a large flock of green parrots fly out of a treetop and settle in a little further up river. We reach the conservatory at dusk. It is the off-season for the plants, but is it still quite lovely, and we are able to beg a ride bask to the village with a group that is touring there and are being bused back. While we are there, Cindy spots a number of 'rodents of unusual size,' which we believe to be paca. After a meal of pizza just off the town square, we pack it in for the night, planning to rise early and go up to the ruin.
Our third guide of the trip, Berto, meets us in the hotel lobby, and we board a bus and head up to the ruin. We arrive early enough in that morning that the light is excellent, and Berto gives us a guided tour. The ruin is all that one would expect it to be; massive and beautiful, spectacular in fact. Melania and the boys take in part of the guided tour, then meet us at the end. We go for a terrific buffet lunch at the top end hotel situated at the gate. Then Melania and I take the boys on the bus back down to the hotel, while Steven and Cindy make the hike to the Sun Gate.
Melania is still not feeling well, and sleeps for most of the afternoon while I entertain the boys in the other room. Cindy and Steven thoroughly enjoy the hike, which takes them along some nerve-wracking drop offs and over the site of a recent landslide. The are able to get some terrific pictures of the hotel far below, the road winding up the slope, the ruin itself, and the local flowers. After their return we dine once more on pizza at one of the restaurants along the tracks.
I feel that I have not done justice to Machu Picchu, so early the next morning I board the bus and head back up while the rest of the groups goes to the hot-springs. I arrive earlier than we did the previous morning, and the site is much mistier. Once in, I make my way directly to the gate where one must register to climb Huayna Picchu, the steep and flat-topped mountain that overlooks the site. It is not my attention to climb Huayna Picchu, but rather the smaller 'Baby Mountain' that stands beside it. Either way one has to register and enter through the same gate, and only 400 people per day are allowed in. At this peak season, there is a significant line-up by 9:00 and the maximum is reached by 10:00. I arrive shortly after 8:00, and I am the 166th person to enter that day.
I find the climb difficult, not that it is particularly long, but it is steep. The trail is easily found, but the drop-off to the side is phenomenal, and the trail is narrow, and slippery in places. I find that I am having to fight off a sense of vertigo, and I am short of breath due to the altitude. After 10 or 15 minutes of climbing, I make it to the top, and it is all worth the effort. The early morning view of the site is positively awe inspiring. Heavy mists are moving up the slope to my left, and burning off into clear sky to the right as they move over the site. At times my view of the area is obscured completely, then suddenly I can see portions of it bathed in sunlight, then nothing but mist again, then clear. Over to my left I can see the same thing happening on Huayna Picchu, as the cloud moves up the one side and burns off over the top. There is only one other climber up there with me, so I have the spot pretty much to myself. I sit there enjoying the views for close to half an hour, then make the precarious climb back down. At the registration gate the line-up is huge. I walk to the other end of the site and climb to the top of the ruin where the Inca trail enters coming down from the Sun Gate. This is another spot that I did not manage to visit the day before, and I sit for a few minutes and enjoy the view from here. Then I make my way back down to the site entrance to catch the bus back to town. The same young boy as yesterday races my bus to the bottom, and I make sure to give him a tip.
Back in Aguas Calientes, I walk up the pedestrian street to the entrance to the hot-springs, and have only a few minutes to wait before the rest of the group comes out. Melania is feeling somewhat better, and we enjoy a terrific meal at one of the better restaurants, Indio Feliz, (excellent food; the broiled vegetables were terrific), then walk back to the station to catch our train for the ride back down to Ollantaytambo.
The threat to the Machu Picchu site posed by the flood of tourists is readily apparent to the observer at this peak season. The fleet of some 20 or so buses that shuttles the throngs up and down the mountain runs non-stop from pre-dawn until supper time. The trip takes about 20 minutes one way, more or less, depending on how many oncoming buses are encountered on the hairpin turns and switchbacks, and how many times one has to back up to let the other by after these bumper to bumper encounters. At the end of my visit on the second day, I was the first to board the bus, so I had a wait of about 15 minutes until it was full enough to depart. As I was going down at about 10:00 AM, the downward traffic was a trickle compared to the upward bound. During the 15 minutes that I sat there, five more buses arrived and unloaded, and we met at least another five on the way down. Each bus would hold around 40 passengers, so, if one does the math..... That would be about 400 tourists an hour going up there at the peak of the day. Lonely Planet indicates that UNESCO some years ago recommended that number as a daily maximum if the integrity of the site is to be sustained! Truth is, at about $25 US a pop for entry, the place is a real cash cow for the government, so there is bound to be a lot of resistance to restrictions. The staff do an excellent job of keeping the wayward tourists on the designated paths, but the task is overwhelming. In a bizarre incident described by our guide and corroborated by Lonely Planet, a beer company filming an add at the top of the intihuatana, or 'hitching post of the sun' bashed the corner of the rock with their heavy equipment and broke off a large chip, which had to be glued back on. The intihuatana is possibly the most important single feature at Machu Picchu. Unlike the rest of the structure, it is carved from the living rock, ie. still connected to the mountaintop, and is considered to be the major shrine on the site. I felt the same kind of tourist guilt here as I did when I joined the throngs standing around on the very roots of the giant sequoias, or was one of the millions per year gaping from the edge of the Grand Canyon. We are at real risk of loving these world-class tourist destinations to death.
Ollantaytambo and Cuzco
Written by my Dad, Alec and Joffre's Grandpa Clint:
Ollantaytambo
The fifth and eighth nights of our journey find us at the ancient Inca village and ruin of Ollantaytambo. For our lodging here, Melania has chosen the El Albergue Ollantaytambo, which is actually the old railway station, located immediately adjacent to the current one, a ten minute walk below the town. Lonely Planet describes it as 'characterful', and there is no denying that. They also describe it as a hostel, but I have to say it is more of a full blown hotel, or B&B, with each of the private rooms boasting its own modern bathroom.
The entrance to the hotel is right off the station platform, making the location very secure, as access to the platform is gained through a guarded gate, and access to the hotel is gained through a locked door by buzzing for the staff.
The reception and kitchen/dining area are on the main floor, with the dining room providing access through a rear door to the rest of the compound. The back yard is a lovely space, walled, and providing access to several smaller buildings. It has hammocks, wicker chairs, games, lawn, stonework paths, sauna, and a terrific variety of flowering plants centered by a large palm tree. Three friendly dogs have the run of the yard. The boys have a great time playing out there while the adults relax and photograph the flowers.
An outside back staircase leads to a second floor balcony that gives access to the rooms. Chairs on the balcony provide a lovely shaded area for relaxing with a superb view of the mountains and the ruin. The rooms themselves are delightfully restored, with thick white walls and dark wooden floors and furnishings. They feature old style double doors, and hinged windows with shutters. These can be closed up for daytime sleeping, opened to let in light, or opened again to flood the rooms with fresh air. The rooms are tastefully decorated with vases of fresh-cut flowers from the back yard, visual art created by the proprietress, and nick-knacks of local origin. We are delighted with the visual appeal, peaceful atmosphere and comfort of the place, and find that we can take beautiful pictures of the mountains and of the Ollantaytambo ruin right through our bathroom and bedroom windows.
The station is a train lover's dream come true. The terminal is still quite active, with service to both tourists and local traffic. We are amazed by the crowds and the frantic activity on the platform and outside the gate at arrival and departure times. It is quiet during the night, but very active morning and evening. The room that Melania, Joffre, Alec and Steven have for both stays has double doors with shuttered windows that open directly onto a tiny balcony, which overhangs the platform. From it we can look down on the trains and on the people as they come and go.
Just beyond the tracks is a rushing mountain river, and beyond that a series of Inca terraces rising up the lower slope of the mountain. Looking to the northwest along the tracks we can see the snowcapped peaks that we will pass on the way to Machu Picchu. Trains are being assembled right before us. Local trains and tourist specials come and go with much ringing of bells and blowing of whistles. Local women move up and down the platform and between the tracks selling hot corn with cheese to the passengers, or offering brightly coloured hats, bags and dolls for sale. Backpack toting tourists move uncertainly along the platform, while local passengers jostle past in a much more hurried and purposeful manner, and toting significantly larger loads.
Closing the shutters and stepping back through the room and adjacent lounge to the backyard leads to a contrasting atmosphere of quiet serenity and relaxation.
Overall, the Albergue is just a superb place to stay. The staff are very friendly and helpful, preparing an excellent breakfast, as well as providing economical laundry service, and storing excess baggage while we are at Machu Picchu.
The town of Ollantaytambo stands where the Sacred Valley narrows as the Rio Urubamba begins a more rapid descent toward Aguas Calientes at the foot of Machu Picchu. The town itself is truly delightful, and is accessed by a cobblestone road that climbs from the end of the highway through the Sacred Valley. The road leads into a narrow street that opens onto a village square. Immediately behind the square, one enters a series of beautiful Inca era streets, too narrow for vehicles, and leading past the ancient courtyards of occupied homes. Water still runs cheerfully down the aqueducts at the edges of the streets, as the inhabitants go about their business. Lonely Planet describes this area of canchas as the best surviving example of Inca city planning, and tells us that it has been continuously inhabited since the 13th century.
Across the square is the road that angles down to the river and the railway station. Immediately beyond that intersection, a small bridge leads to the entrance to the ruin. Once past the souvenir stands and inside, one is immediately at the base of the terraces, which lead steeply up to the complex at the top of the ruin. This is believed to be one of the last building sites that the Incas commissioned, as there is a lot of evidence that it was still under construction at the time of the conquest. In addition to the spectacular views of the village and the surrounding valleys, it features some of the best examples of Inca stonework to be seen anywhere. Because of its close proximity to the village, we have ample time to see it properly in under two hours, even with the youngsters along.
The ruin is not actually limited to this particular site. There are what are believed to be massive granaries high up on the opposite mountain face. These can be accessed from a steep hike that begins on the end of one of the Incan streets just off the edge of the town square, but we have neither the time nor the energy to go there, so we satisfy ourselves with photographing it from the ruin.
We are back at the Albergue by 10:00 AM, on our last day there, and our driver has arrived to take us back to Cuzco. I would have been happy to spend another week in Ollantaytambo and the Sacred Valley, as I feel that we have only just begun to see and appreciate the area. We take a different route back, climbing out of the Sacred Valley up a series of switchbacks above the town of Urubamba, which again offer terrific views of the valley and the mountains beyond, then heading over a high plain, through beautiful rolling dry-land farm country, before descending once more into Cuzco.
The last two nights of our tour are spent in Cuzco, at the same hotel described earlier. We visit a weaving museum/store, and are able to purchase some wonderful samples of the local woven goods. At this late stage in the tour, the boys are becoming less and less enthusiastic about dressing up and heading out from yet another hotel room to get a bite to eat in yet another restaurant, or to visit yet another historic site catering to the interests of gown-ups, so, other than our outing to the colossal ruin of Sacsayhuaman, we spend the bulk of our time at the hotel relaxing. One restaurant worthy of mention is Moni, a terrific little place where we have a delightful time enjoying excellent curries and top notch coffees, and sensational hot chocolate. Moni is just a few blocks off the main square, and we can walk through the square on our way there and back. The cathedrals on the square are truly impressive. Very ornate competing structures in brown stone tower above the square with its central fountains and flocks of pigeons that Joffre loves to chase.
It seems there is always a celebration of some sort involving a parade and bands going on, either in the square or on the streets leading into it. Joffre loves parades and bands, and we find ourselves watching processions for various saints or virgins, and at one point watching a huge parade, bands and all, celebrating all of the classes that have graduated from a local girls' school.
On our last evening we try to have supper at a Korean restaurant just up the street from Moni. Melania has eaten here on her previous trip, and very much wants to go back. Unfortunately they are closed, so we make a point of going back for lunch on our final day, prior to heading for the airport. It is on the way back from this lunch that we are provided with a stark reminder of he fact that this country is still not far removed from times of serious civil conflict.
On the way to lunch, I notice a truck full of fully outfitted riot police in front of the hotel, and I find this passingly odd. It is not uncommon to see heavily armed police in this country, and Cuzco seems to have police of every sort; traffic police, tourist police, and so on, but this is something more. We enjoy a terrific lunch, Korean style, and walk back toward the hotel, timing things so that we will arrive just prior to our transfer and her driver. As we cross the square we notice a group of young people up on the roof corner of the building next to the Jesuit cathedral, banging a drum and shouting slogans through a megaphone. Melania cannot quite translate what they are saying, as it is a bit garbled, but the tone is obviously anything but festive. To reach the hotel, we have to cross the intersection with one side street after leaving the square. As we approach the corner, we can hear quite a commotion coming out of the side street, and we can see a number of tourists and local bystanders peering up the street. We have to step out into the busier street to walk around them. As we do so I glance up the street and see more young people. Obviously protesters, again shouting slogans, and face to face with the aforementioned riot police. We keep moving, and stop at a small market a few door closer to the hotel entrance to buy the boys an ice-cream. While we are doing so, there is a sudden increase in the intensity of things back at the corner. People, and tear gas burst forth from the side street, followed by the riot police. Cindy and I quickly push our group into the store, as the pursuit charges past us. The woman running the store tells Melania that the university students are protesting the corrupt selection process for professors. As soon as we can safely do so, we run to the hotel entrance a few doors down.
Like ex-pats in a stereotypical movie, we find ourselves sitting in the hotel courtyard, eating our ice-cream and watching the turmoil outside the door. At one point the base drum appears to be arrested, and riot police run by the door carrying it, pursued by the students.
Our transfer, Celia, arrives at the appointed time, but the driver has some challenge getting in with the van, as several streets are blocked of by the police. By this time the protesters have moved to the opposite side of the busier street, and are pontificating from a ledge, again face to face with the riot police. We drive by the scene on our way out, and are re-directed through side streets as the main square is still blocked off. Once clear of the area, we are on our way to the airport and the short flight back to Arequipa. After all of the ground that we have covered in the past 10 days, and all of the adventures we have experienced, it seems very strange to be able to pop back to the beginning on a half-hour flight.
Ollantaytambo
The fifth and eighth nights of our journey find us at the ancient Inca village and ruin of Ollantaytambo. For our lodging here, Melania has chosen the El Albergue Ollantaytambo, which is actually the old railway station, located immediately adjacent to the current one, a ten minute walk below the town. Lonely Planet describes it as 'characterful', and there is no denying that. They also describe it as a hostel, but I have to say it is more of a full blown hotel, or B&B, with each of the private rooms boasting its own modern bathroom.
The entrance to the hotel is right off the station platform, making the location very secure, as access to the platform is gained through a guarded gate, and access to the hotel is gained through a locked door by buzzing for the staff.
The reception and kitchen/dining area are on the main floor, with the dining room providing access through a rear door to the rest of the compound. The back yard is a lovely space, walled, and providing access to several smaller buildings. It has hammocks, wicker chairs, games, lawn, stonework paths, sauna, and a terrific variety of flowering plants centered by a large palm tree. Three friendly dogs have the run of the yard. The boys have a great time playing out there while the adults relax and photograph the flowers.
An outside back staircase leads to a second floor balcony that gives access to the rooms. Chairs on the balcony provide a lovely shaded area for relaxing with a superb view of the mountains and the ruin. The rooms themselves are delightfully restored, with thick white walls and dark wooden floors and furnishings. They feature old style double doors, and hinged windows with shutters. These can be closed up for daytime sleeping, opened to let in light, or opened again to flood the rooms with fresh air. The rooms are tastefully decorated with vases of fresh-cut flowers from the back yard, visual art created by the proprietress, and nick-knacks of local origin. We are delighted with the visual appeal, peaceful atmosphere and comfort of the place, and find that we can take beautiful pictures of the mountains and of the Ollantaytambo ruin right through our bathroom and bedroom windows.
The station is a train lover's dream come true. The terminal is still quite active, with service to both tourists and local traffic. We are amazed by the crowds and the frantic activity on the platform and outside the gate at arrival and departure times. It is quiet during the night, but very active morning and evening. The room that Melania, Joffre, Alec and Steven have for both stays has double doors with shuttered windows that open directly onto a tiny balcony, which overhangs the platform. From it we can look down on the trains and on the people as they come and go.
Just beyond the tracks is a rushing mountain river, and beyond that a series of Inca terraces rising up the lower slope of the mountain. Looking to the northwest along the tracks we can see the snowcapped peaks that we will pass on the way to Machu Picchu. Trains are being assembled right before us. Local trains and tourist specials come and go with much ringing of bells and blowing of whistles. Local women move up and down the platform and between the tracks selling hot corn with cheese to the passengers, or offering brightly coloured hats, bags and dolls for sale. Backpack toting tourists move uncertainly along the platform, while local passengers jostle past in a much more hurried and purposeful manner, and toting significantly larger loads.
Closing the shutters and stepping back through the room and adjacent lounge to the backyard leads to a contrasting atmosphere of quiet serenity and relaxation.
Overall, the Albergue is just a superb place to stay. The staff are very friendly and helpful, preparing an excellent breakfast, as well as providing economical laundry service, and storing excess baggage while we are at Machu Picchu.
The town of Ollantaytambo stands where the Sacred Valley narrows as the Rio Urubamba begins a more rapid descent toward Aguas Calientes at the foot of Machu Picchu. The town itself is truly delightful, and is accessed by a cobblestone road that climbs from the end of the highway through the Sacred Valley. The road leads into a narrow street that opens onto a village square. Immediately behind the square, one enters a series of beautiful Inca era streets, too narrow for vehicles, and leading past the ancient courtyards of occupied homes. Water still runs cheerfully down the aqueducts at the edges of the streets, as the inhabitants go about their business. Lonely Planet describes this area of canchas as the best surviving example of Inca city planning, and tells us that it has been continuously inhabited since the 13th century.
Across the square is the road that angles down to the river and the railway station. Immediately beyond that intersection, a small bridge leads to the entrance to the ruin. Once past the souvenir stands and inside, one is immediately at the base of the terraces, which lead steeply up to the complex at the top of the ruin. This is believed to be one of the last building sites that the Incas commissioned, as there is a lot of evidence that it was still under construction at the time of the conquest. In addition to the spectacular views of the village and the surrounding valleys, it features some of the best examples of Inca stonework to be seen anywhere. Because of its close proximity to the village, we have ample time to see it properly in under two hours, even with the youngsters along.
The ruin is not actually limited to this particular site. There are what are believed to be massive granaries high up on the opposite mountain face. These can be accessed from a steep hike that begins on the end of one of the Incan streets just off the edge of the town square, but we have neither the time nor the energy to go there, so we satisfy ourselves with photographing it from the ruin.
We are back at the Albergue by 10:00 AM, on our last day there, and our driver has arrived to take us back to Cuzco. I would have been happy to spend another week in Ollantaytambo and the Sacred Valley, as I feel that we have only just begun to see and appreciate the area. We take a different route back, climbing out of the Sacred Valley up a series of switchbacks above the town of Urubamba, which again offer terrific views of the valley and the mountains beyond, then heading over a high plain, through beautiful rolling dry-land farm country, before descending once more into Cuzco.
The last two nights of our tour are spent in Cuzco, at the same hotel described earlier. We visit a weaving museum/store, and are able to purchase some wonderful samples of the local woven goods. At this late stage in the tour, the boys are becoming less and less enthusiastic about dressing up and heading out from yet another hotel room to get a bite to eat in yet another restaurant, or to visit yet another historic site catering to the interests of gown-ups, so, other than our outing to the colossal ruin of Sacsayhuaman, we spend the bulk of our time at the hotel relaxing. One restaurant worthy of mention is Moni, a terrific little place where we have a delightful time enjoying excellent curries and top notch coffees, and sensational hot chocolate. Moni is just a few blocks off the main square, and we can walk through the square on our way there and back. The cathedrals on the square are truly impressive. Very ornate competing structures in brown stone tower above the square with its central fountains and flocks of pigeons that Joffre loves to chase.
It seems there is always a celebration of some sort involving a parade and bands going on, either in the square or on the streets leading into it. Joffre loves parades and bands, and we find ourselves watching processions for various saints or virgins, and at one point watching a huge parade, bands and all, celebrating all of the classes that have graduated from a local girls' school.
On our last evening we try to have supper at a Korean restaurant just up the street from Moni. Melania has eaten here on her previous trip, and very much wants to go back. Unfortunately they are closed, so we make a point of going back for lunch on our final day, prior to heading for the airport. It is on the way back from this lunch that we are provided with a stark reminder of he fact that this country is still not far removed from times of serious civil conflict.
On the way to lunch, I notice a truck full of fully outfitted riot police in front of the hotel, and I find this passingly odd. It is not uncommon to see heavily armed police in this country, and Cuzco seems to have police of every sort; traffic police, tourist police, and so on, but this is something more. We enjoy a terrific lunch, Korean style, and walk back toward the hotel, timing things so that we will arrive just prior to our transfer and her driver. As we cross the square we notice a group of young people up on the roof corner of the building next to the Jesuit cathedral, banging a drum and shouting slogans through a megaphone. Melania cannot quite translate what they are saying, as it is a bit garbled, but the tone is obviously anything but festive. To reach the hotel, we have to cross the intersection with one side street after leaving the square. As we approach the corner, we can hear quite a commotion coming out of the side street, and we can see a number of tourists and local bystanders peering up the street. We have to step out into the busier street to walk around them. As we do so I glance up the street and see more young people. Obviously protesters, again shouting slogans, and face to face with the aforementioned riot police. We keep moving, and stop at a small market a few door closer to the hotel entrance to buy the boys an ice-cream. While we are doing so, there is a sudden increase in the intensity of things back at the corner. People, and tear gas burst forth from the side street, followed by the riot police. Cindy and I quickly push our group into the store, as the pursuit charges past us. The woman running the store tells Melania that the university students are protesting the corrupt selection process for professors. As soon as we can safely do so, we run to the hotel entrance a few doors down.
Like ex-pats in a stereotypical movie, we find ourselves sitting in the hotel courtyard, eating our ice-cream and watching the turmoil outside the door. At one point the base drum appears to be arrested, and riot police run by the door carrying it, pursued by the students.
Our transfer, Celia, arrives at the appointed time, but the driver has some challenge getting in with the van, as several streets are blocked of by the police. By this time the protesters have moved to the opposite side of the busier street, and are pontificating from a ledge, again face to face with the riot police. We drive by the scene on our way out, and are re-directed through side streets as the main square is still blocked off. Once clear of the area, we are on our way to the airport and the short flight back to Arequipa. After all of the ground that we have covered in the past 10 days, and all of the adventures we have experienced, it seems very strange to be able to pop back to the beginning on a half-hour flight.
From Arequipa to Ollantaytambo
Written by my Dad, Alec and Joffre's Grandpa Clint:
Arequipa, Peru, August 3rd, 2006
On July 17th, Cindy, Steven and I arrived in Arequipa. We were treated to a wonderful view of the sun rising over the Andes as we flew down from Lima. Melania had the boys up very early to meet our flight. As we climbed down from the plane, the sun was rising over El Misti behind us and glinting off the snow caps on the higher mountains to the north. Joffre was thrilled to see us, while Alec was a little unsure as to who we were. We had, at last, arrived in The White City about which we had heard so much. Our first impression beyond the airport was established by the taxi ride to the house. It was immediately apparent that driving here is a whole different game than at home. Throngs of trucks, taxis and private cars move quickly through narrow streets. And despite the fact that the city rivals Winnipeg in size, they do so without benefit of signage or any great number of traffic lights. Safe movement through intersections seems to be based on driver alertness and intuition rather than any established system or protocol.
Our first few days here we spent in Arequipa, visiting a few of the sights and restaurants downtown, and becoming acclimatized to the altitude, then we boarded a bus and headed off on an approximate repeat of the trip that the family had accomplished earlier with Aaron's parents and their friends, Ron and Verna. Melania had done considerable research during and after that trip, with the result that our adventure was fine-tuned to meet the needs of our little group. The itinerary, lodgings and pace were all carefully planned and tailored to our needs, interests and abilities. Many thanks go to Melania, and to the AQP agency for making the trip such a huge success.
So there we were, a group of five adventurers ranging in age from 1 to 53, aboard the upper level of a double-decker tour bus, making the 6.5 hour journey upward to the city of Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. Our first impression was that this was going to be a very comfortable trip. The drive up out of Arequipa offered terrific views of the city, and the arid country beyond was quite interesting, as the road followed switchbacks and curves around steep-sided valleys with irrigated fields in the bottoms far below.
After the first hour or so, a couple of things became apparent. The first was that the air quality on the bus was not particularly good. The second was that the on-board movies, theoretically provided for our entertainment, were going to screech out their soundtracks through a loud but garbled sound system, alternating between Spanish and English every few minutes, for the entire trip. Approximately half way there, the bus company was generous enough to provide each passenger with a supply of very dry crackers, and about 4 ounces of flat coke. Melania pointed out the place where their bus had broken down on the previous trip, and I found myself wishing that ours would do the same so that I could get out, breathe some fresh air, and be delivered from Monster-in-Law and Eight Below blaring at me unintelligibly through tinny speakers in various languages. We had cleverly packed all of our headache medication with our checked luggage, a faux-pas that we would not repeat, so by the time we reached the dusty city of Juliaca, I was not much good for anything. The drive from there to Puno across the Altiplano was flat and reasonably smooth, so I arrived there somewhat able to function, and we were able to get off that bus. From my perspective, that leg was the only uncomfortable part of the journey. From there on it just got better and better.
Our first guide, Aldo, met us at the bus station and had a driver take us to our hotel. The hotel was quite lovely. It is the Casa Andina, located downtown just off the square, and quite new. The service was excellent, and the rooms were very comfortable, boasting heaters, and excellent showers with lots of hot water. Once we had settled in we took a brief walk through the touristy part of town, and had supper in a cozy restaurant called 'The Balconies of Puno' on a narrow side street nearby. The balconies were quite tiny, but the pizza was passable and the alpaca excellent.
We were up early the next morning to enjoy a hearty buffet breakfast provided by the hotel. It featured a wide variety of options, including a very tasty alpaca ham. Aldo arrived with the driver to take us to the harbour, and we found ourselves boarding an older two-level passenger boat, which chugged slowly but cheerfully out onto the lake.
Puno forms a semi-circle around a bay on the shore of Lake Titicaca. From the water it appears as a gigantic amphitheater with the harbour in the centre foreground, and a rim of dry mountains around the back. The railway runs out from the base near the harbour, following the shore of the lake, and the narrow streets fan out steeply from the shore.
A short boat journey out into a larger bay brought us to the famous Islas Flotantes, home of the Uros people. Ever since Grade 9 Geography back in 1967, I had carried with me the image of this unlikely floating civilization on the very roof of the Earth, and I was quite excited to actually be there. The initial impression was truly enchanting. We arrived in the bright early morning sunlight, beating the rush of the day tourists, and stepped off to be greeted by Islanders in bright traditional costume. Although fishing is still a part of the lifestyle of the people, (trout imported from Canada being a predominant catch), catering to the throngs of global tourists has become the major industry. The revenue generated from performing for and selling souvenirs to the tourists has allowed the people to sustain some vestiges of their traditional lifestyle in the modern world. During our brief visit at one of the islands, the home of our boat captain, we learned more about the reeds that are used to build the boats, houses, and the very islands themselves, (the reeds can even be eaten, we tried a sample). We then walked around on the springy surface, bought souvenirs from the islanders, and visited one of the small homes. The experience was a joy for all of the senses. The feel of the island floating underfoot, the bright lighting, the appearance of the homes and boats, and the colourful appearance and sounds of the islanders themselves all combined to create an almost overwhelming sense of wonder. We rode a reed boat to another of the islands where our tour boat picked us up for the ride to Isla Taquile.
Our guide and our group were the only passengers on the little old boat, so we had the run of it. The driver and the captain were the only others aboard. The driver manned the wheel, an old car steering wheel, from a wooden chair at the front of the cabin while we moved through the reed beds that supply the Uros, then set the tiller and relaxed as we chugged slowly but steadily across the open lake clear of the bay. Once out on it properly we were truly impressed with the size of the lake, and with the brilliant colours of water and sky in contrast to the dry landscape of surrounding mountain tops. Such a large body of water at such a high altitude seemed so unlikely, even when experiencing it directly.
Slowly but surely, Isla Taquile loomed larger before us, and we arrived at a small dock on the north end of the island around mid-day. The island is a dry and rocky mountain top, 6 km in length, that rises some 240 metres from the surface of the lake and is completely covered with small terraces and pathways. Lonely Planet indicates that it is inhabited by some 2000 souls, a Quechua-speaking group unique unto themselves, and that it has been inhabited for many thousands of years. The face of the island seen as one approaches from the mainland is the steeper and less inhabited side. The main town and the villages are on the opposite face, and are obscured by the high central ridge.
Our path from the dock is one of the more gradual climbs, leading up along the east face of the island, but we still find it quite challenging due to the altitude, especially carrying two youngsters and our luggage. I find myself stopping frequently to enjoy the impressive views of the lake, or at least that is the excuse I use, but my heavy breathing betrays the real reason. In due time we climb a series of rock steps at the edge of the trail and arrive in the yard of Alexandrio and his family, where we will be staying the night. We are greeted by the extended family as we walk up past the kitchen and dining room through the yard to a separate building where we will be occupying rooms on the second level. The rooms are accessed from a small balcony that we reach by climbing more stairs to a cement patio that is the roof of the building below. The view is absolutely astounding. We look out over steep, terraced fields punctuated by tall Eucalyptus trees (imported from Australia few hundred years ago and found all over Peru). The lake and sky shimmer brightly in the clear, thin air, and mountaintops completely surround us at a distance. Those to the southeast in Bolivia gleam with bright snow cover. I have never been to the Mediterranean, and yet I find myself wanting to describe this place as having a Mediterranean feel.
The steep and rugged nature of the island's pathways leaves the people here with little need of wheels. We see the odd bicycle, but for the most part all travel is on foot, and all movement of materials is on the backs of the islanders.
As we settle into the rooms, we enjoy the company of two little girls from the host family who are dressed brightly in local costume, and intrigued by the presence of our little traveling companions. Once we have rested, deposited our luggage, and used the facilities, we head off again along the path to the town centre where the ever-patient Aldo awaits us at a local restaurant. We sit at an outdoor table under a canopy, and once again the views are outstanding. We enjoy a pleasant meal of soup and fish while the boys take great pleasure in the chickens strutting around underfoot. After lunch we visit the town square, which features a cooperative selling locally woven wool products, and head back along the trail to our quarters where Aldo once again awaits us.
Now during the past year I have been doing a fair amount of hiking at home. We live in real hiking country, and we were up to 25-40 km per week this spring, but at this altitude, and on this terrain, it is a whole different ball game. However, despite that, and despite my age and the fact that I am still feeling a little punkish from the bus ride the day before, I announce at lunch that I want to climb to the top of the island to watch the sunset over the lake. And so it is that Steven, Cindy, Aldo and myself leave the main trail just below the home of our host and head up the steep steps and terraces toward the summit.
I am winded in no time, and Aldo picks sprigs of a local mint, which we sniff to relax our breathing. Steven appears to have little trouble keeping up to Aldo, although he suggests that Also may have moved quite a lot more quickly if he were not waiting for the older members of the group. Cindy does quite well, and I puff along bringing up the rear. Eventually we achieve the top of the island and it is worth all of the effort.
The area at the top of the island is surprisingly small, and is surrounded by low stone walls and arches that pre-date the conquistadors. This area is used, Aldo informs us, for religious ceremonies that combine Christian and older traditions. Offerings are left here on special occasions. The view over the lake is fabulous in all directions. We sit against the west face of the ruins and watch the sun set over the reed beds and mountains to the west, and it is truly spectacular.
By the time we are ready to leave it is dark enough that we cannot go down the steep and rocky climb that we followed on the way up, so we must take a longer but safer path, back through the villages to the main square, then back along the path we followed earlier in the day. Part way down Cindy realizes that she has left her sunglasses on a rock where she was watching the sunset. We are far to tired to go back for them, so Steven suggests that she consider them her small offering on this special occasion. We have two small flashlights with us, purchased that morning at the harbour, as there is no electricity on the island, and we use them to find our way along. We encounter islanders of various ages, who move along briskly through the dark, with no apparent need of a lights. After what seems to me like a very long walk, we arrive back at our lodging. By this time I am completely exhausted, but am revived a good deal by hot tea and excellent soup provided by our hostess. During the night Steven feels the effects of the altitude and exertion in his chest, and has to utilize the cocoa candies that we have on hand in order to relax and get some sleep.
In the morning we are provided with a fine breakfast by our host family. They then demonstrate for us the local weaving techniques as well as adobe brick-making. Once this is done, and we have purchased some fine souvenirs from them, we take to the trail once again, making our way back to the town square once more, then up over he spine of the island, and down the long stairway down the landward side, through beautiful stone arches, to yet another small harbour, the main one, where our boat has spent the night. After considerable persuasion, the engine sputters to life, and we make the return journey to Puno.
The afternoon finds us back in Puno, where the Casa Andina provides us with a fine late lunch. We then spend some time in the town square, where Joffre and his Amma enjoy a ride in a bicycle rickshaw, and we spend some time visiting and negotiating with the local shoeshine boys. We return to the 'Balconies of Puno' for supper, then make an early night of it at the Casa Andina. Aldo will return shortly after 7 AM to provide one last service by delivering us to the train that will take us to Cuzco.
After having another fine breakfast at the Casa Andina, Aldo and the driver dropped us at the train station, and we said our goodbyes. We have arranged to ride the Andean Explorer from Puno to Cuzco. This is a world class train ride, some 10 hours in length, aboard coaches that have been retrofitted with comfortable chairs and tables, and a bar and observation coach, suggestive of luxurious train rides of a bygone era. Information on the ride is available at www.perurail.com and it has also been mentioned in Melania's blog in reference to her first trip to the area.
The train heads out of Puno, traveling in the bright morning light of high altitude, along the shore of Lake Titicaca, the across the flat Altiplano to Juliaca, where the tracks carry us directly through the heart of a large market, where merchandise is on display on either side, and even between the rails. The crowd splits to let the train through and closes in over the tracks behind us. Once past Juliaca, we climb through high, arid farmland, and I marvel once again at the hearty nature of the people we pass by, going about their daily routine and eking out a living in this challenging environment.
We climb for the first half of the trip, and stop for 10 minutes at a tiny village near the summit of the pass, at an altitude in the neighbourhood of 4200 M above sea level. (in excess of 1400 feet). We then make the gradual decent into a beautiful valley, which becomes more verdant and prosperous as we go. Service and entertainment on the train are excellent. We are served a lovely 3 course dinner, listen to an excellent Peruvian quartet, and even are treated to a fashion show. The train arrives in Cuzco just after dark, and we are met by our 'transfer' from the company, a terrific young lady named Celia, with whom Melania is already acquainted from her previous trip. The train ride is a must for any railway buff, and I would highly recommend it to anyone touring the area. Unfortunately, we experience our fist bout of real illness in the trip, as Cindy has suffered from a stomach bug throughout, and has had to miss out on the meal and a good deal of the scenery. She is, however, determined that she will be able to press on the next day, so we are dropped off at our Cuzco Hotel.
The Hotel Cuzco Plaza 2 , where we will spend the 4th, 9th and 10th nights of our tour, is located just over one block off the main square in Cuzco, and is part of an old colonial mansion. Access from the street is gained through modern glass doors, fronted by the original massive wooden ones, with their large and ornate metal reinforcing hardware. The doors look out on a stone wall across the street. Many of the stone walls in the lower parts of the buildings in this part of town are remnants of the Inca buildings, and many more, such as this one, are examples of re-use of the stones. The hotel is delightful. The rooms, on two levels, open onto a pair of spacious and beautiful interior courtyards. The upper rooms are accessed by a grand stone staircase, with heavy stone arches as its entrances.
The upper rooms open onto an interior balcony, or promenade, supported by aging beamwork, and featuring a spindled rail and hand-hewn posts. The stonework around the courtyard is a rich golden-brown in colour, and the walls have been painted a yellow-ochre shade that effectively compliments the stonework. The last few feet of the upper arches still show some aging fresco work, pale and fading, against a white background. Roof tiles hang out over the upper edge of the promenade.
The courtyard was obviously open-air at one time, and much larger than it now is. It has been walled off on the side opposite the rooms, and roofed in with a metal framework, supporting glass panels and a safety mesh. Although it is no longer open air, the courtyard still catches the light beautifully, and is a lovely place to spend a little down time. It is furnished for relaxation as well as for the serving of breakfast. The two rooms that we occupy on our return visit open directly onto the breakfast area. These rooms are simple, high-ceilinged affairs, with comfortable beds, modern bathrooms, lots of warm blankets, and heaters provided.
The room that Cindy and I had the first night we stayed here was the farthest in on the upper level. It had within the room a main level with a bathroom and two single beds, and a staircase leading to a sky-lighted loft that housed a double bed.
We had a fairly leisurely morning the day after our arrival on the Andean Explorer. Cindy was feeling quite a bit better, and our next guide, Percy met us in the courtyard after breakfast. He ushered us out to a van, and the driver took us up a steep incline out of the city, giving us a great view of Cuzco, and heading out past the immense Inca ruin of Sacsayhuaman. We will spend a bit of time walking around this ruin when we return to Cuzco later in the week. The ruin offers spectacular views of the city, and is pretty spectacular in itself. The size of some of the stones is truly impressive, but the grand scale of the site in terms of sheer size is what really overwhelms the viewer.
A short distance from Cuzco, we stop at a farm/ weaving centre/ tourist centre that features live examples of all of the various camelids that inhabit the Andes. Once inside, we are able to move from pen to pen, and interact directly with llamas, alpaca,
A short distance further, and we begin our descent into the Sacred Valley. The views are truly spectacular. The morning light highlights the vast Inca terraces up the sides of the mountains. The steep slopes surround a flat and verdant valley floor, and the river winds through the towns and villages below. The town of Pisac spreads out below us, its market and church clearly visible, and the ruin towers above it on the far side. We descend into Pisac, spend an hour in the market, and have a pleasant lunch on the second floor of a small restaurant just off the edge of the market, recommended by our guide. Our driver picks us up, and we enjoy a scenic ride along the valley to the ancient Inca village of Ollantytambo.
Arequipa, Peru, August 3rd, 2006
On July 17th, Cindy, Steven and I arrived in Arequipa. We were treated to a wonderful view of the sun rising over the Andes as we flew down from Lima. Melania had the boys up very early to meet our flight. As we climbed down from the plane, the sun was rising over El Misti behind us and glinting off the snow caps on the higher mountains to the north. Joffre was thrilled to see us, while Alec was a little unsure as to who we were. We had, at last, arrived in The White City about which we had heard so much. Our first impression beyond the airport was established by the taxi ride to the house. It was immediately apparent that driving here is a whole different game than at home. Throngs of trucks, taxis and private cars move quickly through narrow streets. And despite the fact that the city rivals Winnipeg in size, they do so without benefit of signage or any great number of traffic lights. Safe movement through intersections seems to be based on driver alertness and intuition rather than any established system or protocol.
Our first few days here we spent in Arequipa, visiting a few of the sights and restaurants downtown, and becoming acclimatized to the altitude, then we boarded a bus and headed off on an approximate repeat of the trip that the family had accomplished earlier with Aaron's parents and their friends, Ron and Verna. Melania had done considerable research during and after that trip, with the result that our adventure was fine-tuned to meet the needs of our little group. The itinerary, lodgings and pace were all carefully planned and tailored to our needs, interests and abilities. Many thanks go to Melania, and to the AQP agency for making the trip such a huge success.
So there we were, a group of five adventurers ranging in age from 1 to 53, aboard the upper level of a double-decker tour bus, making the 6.5 hour journey upward to the city of Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. Our first impression was that this was going to be a very comfortable trip. The drive up out of Arequipa offered terrific views of the city, and the arid country beyond was quite interesting, as the road followed switchbacks and curves around steep-sided valleys with irrigated fields in the bottoms far below.
After the first hour or so, a couple of things became apparent. The first was that the air quality on the bus was not particularly good. The second was that the on-board movies, theoretically provided for our entertainment, were going to screech out their soundtracks through a loud but garbled sound system, alternating between Spanish and English every few minutes, for the entire trip. Approximately half way there, the bus company was generous enough to provide each passenger with a supply of very dry crackers, and about 4 ounces of flat coke. Melania pointed out the place where their bus had broken down on the previous trip, and I found myself wishing that ours would do the same so that I could get out, breathe some fresh air, and be delivered from Monster-in-Law and Eight Below blaring at me unintelligibly through tinny speakers in various languages. We had cleverly packed all of our headache medication with our checked luggage, a faux-pas that we would not repeat, so by the time we reached the dusty city of Juliaca, I was not much good for anything. The drive from there to Puno across the Altiplano was flat and reasonably smooth, so I arrived there somewhat able to function, and we were able to get off that bus. From my perspective, that leg was the only uncomfortable part of the journey. From there on it just got better and better.
Our first guide, Aldo, met us at the bus station and had a driver take us to our hotel. The hotel was quite lovely. It is the Casa Andina, located downtown just off the square, and quite new. The service was excellent, and the rooms were very comfortable, boasting heaters, and excellent showers with lots of hot water. Once we had settled in we took a brief walk through the touristy part of town, and had supper in a cozy restaurant called 'The Balconies of Puno' on a narrow side street nearby. The balconies were quite tiny, but the pizza was passable and the alpaca excellent.
We were up early the next morning to enjoy a hearty buffet breakfast provided by the hotel. It featured a wide variety of options, including a very tasty alpaca ham. Aldo arrived with the driver to take us to the harbour, and we found ourselves boarding an older two-level passenger boat, which chugged slowly but cheerfully out onto the lake.
Puno forms a semi-circle around a bay on the shore of Lake Titicaca. From the water it appears as a gigantic amphitheater with the harbour in the centre foreground, and a rim of dry mountains around the back. The railway runs out from the base near the harbour, following the shore of the lake, and the narrow streets fan out steeply from the shore.
A short boat journey out into a larger bay brought us to the famous Islas Flotantes, home of the Uros people. Ever since Grade 9 Geography back in 1967, I had carried with me the image of this unlikely floating civilization on the very roof of the Earth, and I was quite excited to actually be there. The initial impression was truly enchanting. We arrived in the bright early morning sunlight, beating the rush of the day tourists, and stepped off to be greeted by Islanders in bright traditional costume. Although fishing is still a part of the lifestyle of the people, (trout imported from Canada being a predominant catch), catering to the throngs of global tourists has become the major industry. The revenue generated from performing for and selling souvenirs to the tourists has allowed the people to sustain some vestiges of their traditional lifestyle in the modern world. During our brief visit at one of the islands, the home of our boat captain, we learned more about the reeds that are used to build the boats, houses, and the very islands themselves, (the reeds can even be eaten, we tried a sample). We then walked around on the springy surface, bought souvenirs from the islanders, and visited one of the small homes. The experience was a joy for all of the senses. The feel of the island floating underfoot, the bright lighting, the appearance of the homes and boats, and the colourful appearance and sounds of the islanders themselves all combined to create an almost overwhelming sense of wonder. We rode a reed boat to another of the islands where our tour boat picked us up for the ride to Isla Taquile.
Our guide and our group were the only passengers on the little old boat, so we had the run of it. The driver and the captain were the only others aboard. The driver manned the wheel, an old car steering wheel, from a wooden chair at the front of the cabin while we moved through the reed beds that supply the Uros, then set the tiller and relaxed as we chugged slowly but steadily across the open lake clear of the bay. Once out on it properly we were truly impressed with the size of the lake, and with the brilliant colours of water and sky in contrast to the dry landscape of surrounding mountain tops. Such a large body of water at such a high altitude seemed so unlikely, even when experiencing it directly.
Slowly but surely, Isla Taquile loomed larger before us, and we arrived at a small dock on the north end of the island around mid-day. The island is a dry and rocky mountain top, 6 km in length, that rises some 240 metres from the surface of the lake and is completely covered with small terraces and pathways. Lonely Planet indicates that it is inhabited by some 2000 souls, a Quechua-speaking group unique unto themselves, and that it has been inhabited for many thousands of years. The face of the island seen as one approaches from the mainland is the steeper and less inhabited side. The main town and the villages are on the opposite face, and are obscured by the high central ridge.
Our path from the dock is one of the more gradual climbs, leading up along the east face of the island, but we still find it quite challenging due to the altitude, especially carrying two youngsters and our luggage. I find myself stopping frequently to enjoy the impressive views of the lake, or at least that is the excuse I use, but my heavy breathing betrays the real reason. In due time we climb a series of rock steps at the edge of the trail and arrive in the yard of Alexandrio and his family, where we will be staying the night. We are greeted by the extended family as we walk up past the kitchen and dining room through the yard to a separate building where we will be occupying rooms on the second level. The rooms are accessed from a small balcony that we reach by climbing more stairs to a cement patio that is the roof of the building below. The view is absolutely astounding. We look out over steep, terraced fields punctuated by tall Eucalyptus trees (imported from Australia few hundred years ago and found all over Peru). The lake and sky shimmer brightly in the clear, thin air, and mountaintops completely surround us at a distance. Those to the southeast in Bolivia gleam with bright snow cover. I have never been to the Mediterranean, and yet I find myself wanting to describe this place as having a Mediterranean feel.
The steep and rugged nature of the island's pathways leaves the people here with little need of wheels. We see the odd bicycle, but for the most part all travel is on foot, and all movement of materials is on the backs of the islanders.
As we settle into the rooms, we enjoy the company of two little girls from the host family who are dressed brightly in local costume, and intrigued by the presence of our little traveling companions. Once we have rested, deposited our luggage, and used the facilities, we head off again along the path to the town centre where the ever-patient Aldo awaits us at a local restaurant. We sit at an outdoor table under a canopy, and once again the views are outstanding. We enjoy a pleasant meal of soup and fish while the boys take great pleasure in the chickens strutting around underfoot. After lunch we visit the town square, which features a cooperative selling locally woven wool products, and head back along the trail to our quarters where Aldo once again awaits us.
Now during the past year I have been doing a fair amount of hiking at home. We live in real hiking country, and we were up to 25-40 km per week this spring, but at this altitude, and on this terrain, it is a whole different ball game. However, despite that, and despite my age and the fact that I am still feeling a little punkish from the bus ride the day before, I announce at lunch that I want to climb to the top of the island to watch the sunset over the lake. And so it is that Steven, Cindy, Aldo and myself leave the main trail just below the home of our host and head up the steep steps and terraces toward the summit.
I am winded in no time, and Aldo picks sprigs of a local mint, which we sniff to relax our breathing. Steven appears to have little trouble keeping up to Aldo, although he suggests that Also may have moved quite a lot more quickly if he were not waiting for the older members of the group. Cindy does quite well, and I puff along bringing up the rear. Eventually we achieve the top of the island and it is worth all of the effort.
The area at the top of the island is surprisingly small, and is surrounded by low stone walls and arches that pre-date the conquistadors. This area is used, Aldo informs us, for religious ceremonies that combine Christian and older traditions. Offerings are left here on special occasions. The view over the lake is fabulous in all directions. We sit against the west face of the ruins and watch the sun set over the reed beds and mountains to the west, and it is truly spectacular.
By the time we are ready to leave it is dark enough that we cannot go down the steep and rocky climb that we followed on the way up, so we must take a longer but safer path, back through the villages to the main square, then back along the path we followed earlier in the day. Part way down Cindy realizes that she has left her sunglasses on a rock where she was watching the sunset. We are far to tired to go back for them, so Steven suggests that she consider them her small offering on this special occasion. We have two small flashlights with us, purchased that morning at the harbour, as there is no electricity on the island, and we use them to find our way along. We encounter islanders of various ages, who move along briskly through the dark, with no apparent need of a lights. After what seems to me like a very long walk, we arrive back at our lodging. By this time I am completely exhausted, but am revived a good deal by hot tea and excellent soup provided by our hostess. During the night Steven feels the effects of the altitude and exertion in his chest, and has to utilize the cocoa candies that we have on hand in order to relax and get some sleep.
In the morning we are provided with a fine breakfast by our host family. They then demonstrate for us the local weaving techniques as well as adobe brick-making. Once this is done, and we have purchased some fine souvenirs from them, we take to the trail once again, making our way back to the town square once more, then up over he spine of the island, and down the long stairway down the landward side, through beautiful stone arches, to yet another small harbour, the main one, where our boat has spent the night. After considerable persuasion, the engine sputters to life, and we make the return journey to Puno.
The afternoon finds us back in Puno, where the Casa Andina provides us with a fine late lunch. We then spend some time in the town square, where Joffre and his Amma enjoy a ride in a bicycle rickshaw, and we spend some time visiting and negotiating with the local shoeshine boys. We return to the 'Balconies of Puno' for supper, then make an early night of it at the Casa Andina. Aldo will return shortly after 7 AM to provide one last service by delivering us to the train that will take us to Cuzco.
After having another fine breakfast at the Casa Andina, Aldo and the driver dropped us at the train station, and we said our goodbyes. We have arranged to ride the Andean Explorer from Puno to Cuzco. This is a world class train ride, some 10 hours in length, aboard coaches that have been retrofitted with comfortable chairs and tables, and a bar and observation coach, suggestive of luxurious train rides of a bygone era. Information on the ride is available at www.perurail.com and it has also been mentioned in Melania's blog in reference to her first trip to the area.
The train heads out of Puno, traveling in the bright morning light of high altitude, along the shore of Lake Titicaca, the across the flat Altiplano to Juliaca, where the tracks carry us directly through the heart of a large market, where merchandise is on display on either side, and even between the rails. The crowd splits to let the train through and closes in over the tracks behind us. Once past Juliaca, we climb through high, arid farmland, and I marvel once again at the hearty nature of the people we pass by, going about their daily routine and eking out a living in this challenging environment.
We climb for the first half of the trip, and stop for 10 minutes at a tiny village near the summit of the pass, at an altitude in the neighbourhood of 4200 M above sea level. (in excess of 1400 feet). We then make the gradual decent into a beautiful valley, which becomes more verdant and prosperous as we go. Service and entertainment on the train are excellent. We are served a lovely 3 course dinner, listen to an excellent Peruvian quartet, and even are treated to a fashion show. The train arrives in Cuzco just after dark, and we are met by our 'transfer' from the company, a terrific young lady named Celia, with whom Melania is already acquainted from her previous trip. The train ride is a must for any railway buff, and I would highly recommend it to anyone touring the area. Unfortunately, we experience our fist bout of real illness in the trip, as Cindy has suffered from a stomach bug throughout, and has had to miss out on the meal and a good deal of the scenery. She is, however, determined that she will be able to press on the next day, so we are dropped off at our Cuzco Hotel.
The Hotel Cuzco Plaza 2 , where we will spend the 4th, 9th and 10th nights of our tour, is located just over one block off the main square in Cuzco, and is part of an old colonial mansion. Access from the street is gained through modern glass doors, fronted by the original massive wooden ones, with their large and ornate metal reinforcing hardware. The doors look out on a stone wall across the street. Many of the stone walls in the lower parts of the buildings in this part of town are remnants of the Inca buildings, and many more, such as this one, are examples of re-use of the stones. The hotel is delightful. The rooms, on two levels, open onto a pair of spacious and beautiful interior courtyards. The upper rooms are accessed by a grand stone staircase, with heavy stone arches as its entrances.
The upper rooms open onto an interior balcony, or promenade, supported by aging beamwork, and featuring a spindled rail and hand-hewn posts. The stonework around the courtyard is a rich golden-brown in colour, and the walls have been painted a yellow-ochre shade that effectively compliments the stonework. The last few feet of the upper arches still show some aging fresco work, pale and fading, against a white background. Roof tiles hang out over the upper edge of the promenade.
The courtyard was obviously open-air at one time, and much larger than it now is. It has been walled off on the side opposite the rooms, and roofed in with a metal framework, supporting glass panels and a safety mesh. Although it is no longer open air, the courtyard still catches the light beautifully, and is a lovely place to spend a little down time. It is furnished for relaxation as well as for the serving of breakfast. The two rooms that we occupy on our return visit open directly onto the breakfast area. These rooms are simple, high-ceilinged affairs, with comfortable beds, modern bathrooms, lots of warm blankets, and heaters provided.
The room that Cindy and I had the first night we stayed here was the farthest in on the upper level. It had within the room a main level with a bathroom and two single beds, and a staircase leading to a sky-lighted loft that housed a double bed.
We had a fairly leisurely morning the day after our arrival on the Andean Explorer. Cindy was feeling quite a bit better, and our next guide, Percy met us in the courtyard after breakfast. He ushered us out to a van, and the driver took us up a steep incline out of the city, giving us a great view of Cuzco, and heading out past the immense Inca ruin of Sacsayhuaman. We will spend a bit of time walking around this ruin when we return to Cuzco later in the week. The ruin offers spectacular views of the city, and is pretty spectacular in itself. The size of some of the stones is truly impressive, but the grand scale of the site in terms of sheer size is what really overwhelms the viewer.
A short distance from Cuzco, we stop at a farm/ weaving centre/ tourist centre that features live examples of all of the various camelids that inhabit the Andes. Once inside, we are able to move from pen to pen, and interact directly with llamas, alpaca,
A short distance further, and we begin our descent into the Sacred Valley. The views are truly spectacular. The morning light highlights the vast Inca terraces up the sides of the mountains. The steep slopes surround a flat and verdant valley floor, and the river winds through the towns and villages below. The town of Pisac spreads out below us, its market and church clearly visible, and the ruin towers above it on the far side. We descend into Pisac, spend an hour in the market, and have a pleasant lunch on the second floor of a small restaurant just off the edge of the market, recommended by our guide. Our driver picks us up, and we enjoy a scenic ride along the valley to the ancient Inca village of Ollantytambo.
Doo Days
What has Melania been up to, you might be asking yourself, to stop her completely from blogging for all this time?
Well, first off, we were all really sick for a really long time. Then, we got better just in time for my parents to come with my brother Steven, and they were here for a month, and we traveled a lot and did touristy stuff with them. I will be publishing my Dad's writing about that trip here in the blog. Then, after my folks left, I started cracking down with my studies for the LSAT, which I hope to write in December before we move. I also found myself once again deeply involved in fundraising and purchasing things - lockers, mattresses - for the boys' home that we've been helping. We had to go to Chile to renew our residency here, and now it appears that sickness is once again with us; Aaron had a throat infection that required antibiotics, both kids have had colds, Alec had some sort of tummy bug for the first half of this week, and I have a cold with a very sore throat right now.
To top it all off, I have started Alec in estimulación temprana, or "early stimulation", classes, at Joffre's preschool, which basically consist of 3 one-hour sessions a week with other moms and toddlers where we sing songs, play in the sandbox, mold clay, dance, build with blocks, climb, jump, slide, ride trikes, etc. Oddly, now that I think about it, Alec's three hours a week cost 140 soles a month ($48 CDN), while Joffre's twenty hours a week cost 180 soles a month ($62 CDN). So, I'm only paying $14 more for 68 more hours. Huh. Mind you, all our supplies are provided for Alec's class, whereas we had to buy all Joffre's school supplies.
Anyway, Alec has been accompanying Joffre to the gate of the preschool every morning for many months. So his recent initiation into "early stimulation" has been the source of great excitement. This morning, as I got the kids dressed, I commented to Joffre that I would be taking him to school today as Alec was going to have his class too. Right away, Alec jumped up and teetered off, returning with his shoes and announcing, "Doo! Doo!" ("School! School!") I got him into socks and shoes, and he lurched as only a toddler can for the door, arms outstretched, punctuating his meandering charge with cries of "Doo! Doo!" all the while. He was like the cutest little academically-inclined zombie ever.
It doesn't totally make up for Peruvian September being devoid of all things autumn and back-to-school, but it comes close.
Well, first off, we were all really sick for a really long time. Then, we got better just in time for my parents to come with my brother Steven, and they were here for a month, and we traveled a lot and did touristy stuff with them. I will be publishing my Dad's writing about that trip here in the blog. Then, after my folks left, I started cracking down with my studies for the LSAT, which I hope to write in December before we move. I also found myself once again deeply involved in fundraising and purchasing things - lockers, mattresses - for the boys' home that we've been helping. We had to go to Chile to renew our residency here, and now it appears that sickness is once again with us; Aaron had a throat infection that required antibiotics, both kids have had colds, Alec had some sort of tummy bug for the first half of this week, and I have a cold with a very sore throat right now.
To top it all off, I have started Alec in estimulación temprana, or "early stimulation", classes, at Joffre's preschool, which basically consist of 3 one-hour sessions a week with other moms and toddlers where we sing songs, play in the sandbox, mold clay, dance, build with blocks, climb, jump, slide, ride trikes, etc. Oddly, now that I think about it, Alec's three hours a week cost 140 soles a month ($48 CDN), while Joffre's twenty hours a week cost 180 soles a month ($62 CDN). So, I'm only paying $14 more for 68 more hours. Huh. Mind you, all our supplies are provided for Alec's class, whereas we had to buy all Joffre's school supplies.
Anyway, Alec has been accompanying Joffre to the gate of the preschool every morning for many months. So his recent initiation into "early stimulation" has been the source of great excitement. This morning, as I got the kids dressed, I commented to Joffre that I would be taking him to school today as Alec was going to have his class too. Right away, Alec jumped up and teetered off, returning with his shoes and announcing, "Doo! Doo!" ("School! School!") I got him into socks and shoes, and he lurched as only a toddler can for the door, arms outstretched, punctuating his meandering charge with cries of "Doo! Doo!" all the while. He was like the cutest little academically-inclined zombie ever.
It doesn't totally make up for Peruvian September being devoid of all things autumn and back-to-school, but it comes close.
Day Ten: Home For A Rest
We got up the next morning and decided since we had the extra morning, to do a bit more touring. It proved unfeasible to visit Tipon, known for its Incan waterworks, so we visited the Cusco textile museum and an archeological museum, instead. Then we had lunch at the vegetarian place, and headed once more to the airport.
Maddeningly, we had a whole new raft of problems with our boarding passes, and very nearly missed our plane - connecting in Lima, due to all the upheaval - as they tried to get all of us seated together, and went through the same nonsense with Alec's boarding pass. Then, when we got to the security check, we realized that one of our party had been issued two boarding passes, and another had no pass at all, so Celia had to race back to the check-in desk to clear up the problem. Of course, in all the upheaval, I managed to leave all four of our passports - our only ID - in a piece of checked luggage, which also held the potential for disaster. When we got to Lima, we realized that we would have to leave the secure area and then go back through security to go to Arequipa. Concerned that we would need our ID, we waited in the secure area by the baggage carousel while the others went to check. It was lucky we did wait, because all of our luggage got offloaded in Lima by mistake, instead of checked through to Arequipa, and had we not happened to be right there and noticed the luggage coming by, we would all have arrived in Arequipa with nothing. So, we extracted our passports, rechecked the bags, and headed off to our next departure gate. We had a whole new bureaucratic nightmare trying to get through security as a connecting flight, without having to pay the Lima airport tax, a nightmare that doubtless confronted every single passenger from our Cusco flight, as they confronted the security agent and his goldfish-like memory.
Finally, however, we got on the last flight to Arequipa. Due to the unexpected extra day, our laundry situation was dire, and Alec arrived in Arequipa wearing nothing but a diaper, socks, and his brother's sweatshirt. We made it home, spent and sleepy, and ready for a good long rest. Or, you know, in the case of half of us, a long flight back to Canada three days later!
Maddeningly, we had a whole new raft of problems with our boarding passes, and very nearly missed our plane - connecting in Lima, due to all the upheaval - as they tried to get all of us seated together, and went through the same nonsense with Alec's boarding pass. Then, when we got to the security check, we realized that one of our party had been issued two boarding passes, and another had no pass at all, so Celia had to race back to the check-in desk to clear up the problem. Of course, in all the upheaval, I managed to leave all four of our passports - our only ID - in a piece of checked luggage, which also held the potential for disaster. When we got to Lima, we realized that we would have to leave the secure area and then go back through security to go to Arequipa. Concerned that we would need our ID, we waited in the secure area by the baggage carousel while the others went to check. It was lucky we did wait, because all of our luggage got offloaded in Lima by mistake, instead of checked through to Arequipa, and had we not happened to be right there and noticed the luggage coming by, we would all have arrived in Arequipa with nothing. So, we extracted our passports, rechecked the bags, and headed off to our next departure gate. We had a whole new bureaucratic nightmare trying to get through security as a connecting flight, without having to pay the Lima airport tax, a nightmare that doubtless confronted every single passenger from our Cusco flight, as they confronted the security agent and his goldfish-like memory.
Finally, however, we got on the last flight to Arequipa. Due to the unexpected extra day, our laundry situation was dire, and Alec arrived in Arequipa wearing nothing but a diaper, socks, and his brother's sweatshirt. We made it home, spent and sleepy, and ready for a good long rest. Or, you know, in the case of half of us, a long flight back to Canada three days later!
Day Nine: Sacsayhuaman . . . and Stranded
So, there's this ruin outside of Cusco, called "Sacsayhuaman" or, as most tourists call it, "Sexy Woman." It is pretty amazing. It's an enormous fortress, built who-knows-how, with massive stones all fitting together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Although very different from MP, it is every bit as awe-inspiring. We took two taxis from the hotel up to the ruin, and wandered around amid glorious wildflowers, marveling at the construction and enjoying the view over Cusco. Then we headed back to town, and I took advantage of a few minutes to check out a couple more hotels for my return trip. We went to a little street near our hotel for adobo (stewed pork) and chicharrones (deep fried pork), before returning to the lobby to wait for Celia.
She picked us up on time, and took us to the airport, where we stood for a disturbingly long time trying to get checked in for our flight. At first we were told that our flight had been cancelled, and that we would have to come back the next day. To this I replied, "and is the airline going to pay for our hotel?" and we were quickly told that they would get us on another flight. However, it took a disturbingly long time for them to issue Alec's boarding pass, since he was a lap-held baby with a ticket - for some reason, the airline's computer system was completely unable to deal with this, and the agent had no clue how to compensate for the computer's shortcoming. Finally, we got our boarding passes, paid our airport tax, and went through security. Then we sat. And sat. And sat. Until finally there was an announcement that all LAN flights were cancelled, and would all travelers collect their luggage and then return to check-in to exchange their boarding passes and receive hotel vouchers. Of course, near-mayhem ensued. I was especially annoyed by the volatile combination of macho American and Brazilian tourists shoving at each other and trying to be first in line.
Sensibly, however, I called Celia and got her to come to the airport and help us out. Literally hours later, we had our bags, our boarding passes, and our hotel vouchers. Off we went to yet another hotel, where we ate a really awful supper and slept in freezing cold rooms. We had yet to receive any sort of compelling explanation for why the flights had all been cancelled, other than "bad weather in Lima", which didn't account for why other airlines continued to fly.
She picked us up on time, and took us to the airport, where we stood for a disturbingly long time trying to get checked in for our flight. At first we were told that our flight had been cancelled, and that we would have to come back the next day. To this I replied, "and is the airline going to pay for our hotel?" and we were quickly told that they would get us on another flight. However, it took a disturbingly long time for them to issue Alec's boarding pass, since he was a lap-held baby with a ticket - for some reason, the airline's computer system was completely unable to deal with this, and the agent had no clue how to compensate for the computer's shortcoming. Finally, we got our boarding passes, paid our airport tax, and went through security. Then we sat. And sat. And sat. Until finally there was an announcement that all LAN flights were cancelled, and would all travelers collect their luggage and then return to check-in to exchange their boarding passes and receive hotel vouchers. Of course, near-mayhem ensued. I was especially annoyed by the volatile combination of macho American and Brazilian tourists shoving at each other and trying to be first in line.
Sensibly, however, I called Celia and got her to come to the airport and help us out. Literally hours later, we had our bags, our boarding passes, and our hotel vouchers. Off we went to yet another hotel, where we ate a really awful supper and slept in freezing cold rooms. We had yet to receive any sort of compelling explanation for why the flights had all been cancelled, other than "bad weather in Lima", which didn't account for why other airlines continued to fly.
Day Eight: Post-Machu Picchu
As it turned out, Aaron had not managed to get into Huayna Picchu the day before, as they close the gate at 2:00 pm. So, he got up at the crack of dawn and headed out for the ruin once more. My grand master plans for the last day in MP Pueblo were to check out other hotels in the town for my upcoming return to MP with my parents in July. I toured a number of spots, and after a leisurely coffee, we eventually hooked up with my exhausted husband and made one last visit to the hot springs. While there, someone stole a towel we had rented, and we had to pay a fine for the towel loss. We ate pizza for lunch, and wandered back toward the train station.
Our train left at 4:00, and the first 2.5 hours of the trip weren't so bad. However, I could definitely have done without the hour or more of switchbacking back into Cusco with two grumpy, tired kids. Luckily, we got picked up by the lovely Celia, and shuttled off to our hotel again. We ordered in pizza and fell, exhausted, into bed.
Our train left at 4:00, and the first 2.5 hours of the trip weren't so bad. However, I could definitely have done without the hour or more of switchbacking back into Cusco with two grumpy, tired kids. Luckily, we got picked up by the lovely Celia, and shuttled off to our hotel again. We ordered in pizza and fell, exhausted, into bed.
Day Seven: Machu Picchu
We managed to get up and have breakfast - an extremely uninspired breakfast - by 7:30, and got up to MP at about 8. Joffre wasn't feeling very well, and we were worried that he wouldn't make it, but he held on quite well. It was gorgeous going up to the ruin in the bus; riotous flowers seemed to be springing straight from the cliff walls, out of the thick jungle foliage. Once at the top, we could not see any of the ruin for the clouds and fog. But, as we rounded a bend in the path, the clouds parted slightly, and we got our first unforgettable glimpse of Machu Picchu.
It really is an amazing place. No matter how many pictures you've seen of it, you're never quite ready for seeing it in person. The most amazing thing, to me, was how much the ruin really looked like it had sprung fully formed out of the pages of National Geographic. I don't think you could take a bad, or even an ordinary, picture of MP if you tried. It impacted everyone, even Joffre, who still talks about it.
We hired a guide and embarked on a three-hour-long tour of the site. I won't give you the blow-by-blow, but if you're interested in learning more about MP, click here. Some of the highlights for me were simply the amazing scenery, the unbelievable masonry, and the Temple of the Condor.
After our tour, we ate lunch in the buffet restaurant of the Machu Picchu Sanctuary Lodge. It was an amazing meal, the best buffet I think I've ever had, and someday when I'm fabulously rich and the children are older, we will come back to Peru and stay at this hotel, too - hey, it's only US$715 a night!! The hotel, like the train from Puno and a number of other attractions and services in this neck of the woods, is run by the Orient Express company.
We finished eating and wandered back into the ruins. Aaron went off to explore and hopefully climb to the top of Huayna Picchu (the big mountain that sticks up at the end of MP). Al and Ron decided to walk back to town, and Mary, Verna and I stayed and played on a grassy terrace with the children for a while, before catching a bus back to town. Joffre fell asleep on the bus ride, and Verna heroically carried him from the bus back to our hotel.
Eventually Aaron turned up, tired and thirsty, and we went for a bite of dinner before we all collapsed.
It really is an amazing place. No matter how many pictures you've seen of it, you're never quite ready for seeing it in person. The most amazing thing, to me, was how much the ruin really looked like it had sprung fully formed out of the pages of National Geographic. I don't think you could take a bad, or even an ordinary, picture of MP if you tried. It impacted everyone, even Joffre, who still talks about it.
We hired a guide and embarked on a three-hour-long tour of the site. I won't give you the blow-by-blow, but if you're interested in learning more about MP, click here. Some of the highlights for me were simply the amazing scenery, the unbelievable masonry, and the Temple of the Condor.
After our tour, we ate lunch in the buffet restaurant of the Machu Picchu Sanctuary Lodge. It was an amazing meal, the best buffet I think I've ever had, and someday when I'm fabulously rich and the children are older, we will come back to Peru and stay at this hotel, too - hey, it's only US$715 a night!! The hotel, like the train from Puno and a number of other attractions and services in this neck of the woods, is run by the Orient Express company.
We finished eating and wandered back into the ruins. Aaron went off to explore and hopefully climb to the top of Huayna Picchu (the big mountain that sticks up at the end of MP). Al and Ron decided to walk back to town, and Mary, Verna and I stayed and played on a grassy terrace with the children for a while, before catching a bus back to town. Joffre fell asleep on the bus ride, and Verna heroically carried him from the bus back to our hotel.
Eventually Aaron turned up, tired and thirsty, and we went for a bite of dinner before we all collapsed.
Day Six: To Machu Picchu Village
The next morning, we were picked up in the middle of the night by Celia. Well, I exaggerate slightly, but it was very, very early. Our train left at six am, so I believe we were picked up at 5:15. We got on the train with no trouble, and found ourselves seated amidst a pack of Brazilians. This turned out to be a good thing, as they played tirelessly with Joffre throughout the long, uncomfortable ride. The first hour or so was spent switchbacking up out of Cusco. Then we took roughly 1.5 more hours to get to Ollantaytambo, and another hour and twenty minutes or so on to Aguas Calientes, or Machu Picchu Pueblo.
MP (as I will call it from here on in) Pueblo is interesting. It's built in a gorge, and at a significantly lower altitude than Cusco, or even Arequipa. It's rainforesty, and hilly, and except for the endless stream of buses hauling tourists up to the ruins, it is vehicle free. So, the entire village is pedestrian, with steep sidewalks and stairs everywhere. The town also appears to exist entirely for the tourists, with cheap restaurants, bars, and souvenir shops stretching off in all directions. In a strange way, it reminded me of Banff or Whistler. Our bags were brought from the train station by porters with a sort of wheelbarrow luggage cart, and we checked into our hotel. Then we had a bite of lunch across the street, and rested for a while before making the long, slow trek up to the hot springs at the far end of town.
The MP hot springs are large pools of water ranging from bathtub warm to unpleasantly lukewarm, and they are pretty murky. However, they are pleasant enough and I certainly felt relaxed after a good soak. We hit a tourist restaurant for supper, and had an early night.
MP (as I will call it from here on in) Pueblo is interesting. It's built in a gorge, and at a significantly lower altitude than Cusco, or even Arequipa. It's rainforesty, and hilly, and except for the endless stream of buses hauling tourists up to the ruins, it is vehicle free. So, the entire village is pedestrian, with steep sidewalks and stairs everywhere. The town also appears to exist entirely for the tourists, with cheap restaurants, bars, and souvenir shops stretching off in all directions. In a strange way, it reminded me of Banff or Whistler. Our bags were brought from the train station by porters with a sort of wheelbarrow luggage cart, and we checked into our hotel. Then we had a bite of lunch across the street, and rested for a while before making the long, slow trek up to the hot springs at the far end of town.
The MP hot springs are large pools of water ranging from bathtub warm to unpleasantly lukewarm, and they are pretty murky. However, they are pleasant enough and I certainly felt relaxed after a good soak. We hit a tourist restaurant for supper, and had an early night.
Day Five: Free Day in Cusco
On the fifth day of our trip, we had our first free day. Al celebrated it by become severely ill. Fortunately, he happens to be a doctor, so was at least able to instruct us as to what kind of medication we needed to bring to him.
Cusco itself celebrated our free day by raining in the morning and in the afternoon/evening, with only a brief break around lunchtime. Due to these factors, we mostly laid low, drinking coffee in a local "American" style vegetarian restaurant and letting the children play in the Plaza de Armas. Cusco is a remarkable city, as it is the Inca capital and later became an important colonial centre. Colonial buildings are built on Incan foundations, and the city's identity as a cultural and historical nexus ensures that it remains colourful and engaging. We had a good time just soaking in the atmosphere, wandering down narrow, ancient streets, and surreptitiously observing the other tourists.
During my wanderings, while fending off the ladies in traditional costume who wanted to pose with their lambs or baby alpacas for photos, I spotted a Korean flag down a little street. Intrigued, I investigated it and discovered that there actually is a Korean restaurant - Arirang, right next door to the Novotel Hotel, at 239 San Agustin - in the back of a Cusco casona. So, that's where we had supper. In our little, windowless room, the white walls were covered in the testimonies of tourists - mostly Asian - who had eaten there before us. The food was very, very good. And Joffre got his fill of sushi, which was also pretty awesome.
After dinner, I picked up my laundry from the shop next door, and got packed for the painfully early morning to come.
Cusco itself celebrated our free day by raining in the morning and in the afternoon/evening, with only a brief break around lunchtime. Due to these factors, we mostly laid low, drinking coffee in a local "American" style vegetarian restaurant and letting the children play in the Plaza de Armas. Cusco is a remarkable city, as it is the Inca capital and later became an important colonial centre. Colonial buildings are built on Incan foundations, and the city's identity as a cultural and historical nexus ensures that it remains colourful and engaging. We had a good time just soaking in the atmosphere, wandering down narrow, ancient streets, and surreptitiously observing the other tourists.
During my wanderings, while fending off the ladies in traditional costume who wanted to pose with their lambs or baby alpacas for photos, I spotted a Korean flag down a little street. Intrigued, I investigated it and discovered that there actually is a Korean restaurant - Arirang, right next door to the Novotel Hotel, at 239 San Agustin - in the back of a Cusco casona. So, that's where we had supper. In our little, windowless room, the white walls were covered in the testimonies of tourists - mostly Asian - who had eaten there before us. The food was very, very good. And Joffre got his fill of sushi, which was also pretty awesome.
After dinner, I picked up my laundry from the shop next door, and got packed for the painfully early morning to come.
Day Four: The Sacred Valley
(Allow me to begin by apologising for the hiatus. I was, you know, doing stuff. Which, if I ever finish blogging this trip, I may blog about.)
So, We woke up in our reasonably decent hotel in Cusco, ate a reasonably decent breakfast, and didn't even have to be picked up by our liason (Celia! That's her name!!) until 7:30, which by this time seemed like the greatest luxury. We were heading off for a tour of the Sacred Valley of the Incas. Along came Celia at the appointed time, and got us onto a huge bus, which proceeded to cruise around Cusco to various hotels, picking up tourists, till the bus was full. Then we circled the same city block about thirty times, trying to find our tour guide for the day, while certain members of our party stewed mutinously. Finally, we set out on the road. After a brief Joffre meltdown close to the beginning of the trip, the kids held it together pretty well. We got through the mountain pass leaving Cusco, and entered the beautiful, verdant Sacred Valley. Although I know I'm being a wet blanket, I think the less-romantic Useful Valley would be a more accurate name. The valley of the Urubamba River is unquestionably gorgeous, and fertile, and temperate, and strategically useful (although not, as it turned out, ultimately enough to fend off the Spanish), but I'm not sure that it was sacred to the Inca, per se.
After stopping at a lookout for panoramic photos and the ubiquitous handicraft peddlers, we switchbacked down into the valley to Pisac, a town famous for its enormous market. It also has an impressive ruined Inca fortress far up the mountain from the town, but our tour did not visit there. We had about an hour or so to wander around Pisac market - the men in our group hiked up toward the ruin instead - and then we were off through the valley again.
We stopped for lunch in a sprawling hacienda-style buffet restaurant, which exists exclusively for tour groups, and rested for quite a while before the bus picked us up again. Then we were off through the rest of the valley, to the fortress town of Ollantaytambo. This town is the best remaining example of Incan town planning and architecture, and is just flat-out lovely. The fortress has some of the most amazing stonework in the Andes, which is saying something when one considers the Incas' reputation for spectacular masonry. Of course, I discovered all of this on my second visit to Ollantaytambo, because on this day both of the kids fell asleep and I spent the whole visit to Ollantaytambo in the bus in the parking lot.
The bus left Ollantaytambo at around 3, and wove its way back through the Sacred Valley to another pass, much higher than the first, which offered us amazing views and a bit of a glimpse at high-altitude subsistence farming. Our last stop of the tour was Chinchero, the "birthplace of the rainbow", and as the sun went down we hiked up into the town and church square, before trekking back to the bus. A big cob of boiled corn kept the kids quiet until we finally got back to Cusco, after dark, around 7:30. The Gunsons and Keelers blessedly took care of Joffre while Alec, Aaron and I went out for some Chinese food, made by real Chinese people!
It was an incredibly long day, but overall quite enjoyable, and we certainly saw a fair bit of the Sacred Valley. But I resolved that my next tour would not be in a bus with 30 other people.
So, We woke up in our reasonably decent hotel in Cusco, ate a reasonably decent breakfast, and didn't even have to be picked up by our liason (Celia! That's her name!!) until 7:30, which by this time seemed like the greatest luxury. We were heading off for a tour of the Sacred Valley of the Incas. Along came Celia at the appointed time, and got us onto a huge bus, which proceeded to cruise around Cusco to various hotels, picking up tourists, till the bus was full. Then we circled the same city block about thirty times, trying to find our tour guide for the day, while certain members of our party stewed mutinously. Finally, we set out on the road. After a brief Joffre meltdown close to the beginning of the trip, the kids held it together pretty well. We got through the mountain pass leaving Cusco, and entered the beautiful, verdant Sacred Valley. Although I know I'm being a wet blanket, I think the less-romantic Useful Valley would be a more accurate name. The valley of the Urubamba River is unquestionably gorgeous, and fertile, and temperate, and strategically useful (although not, as it turned out, ultimately enough to fend off the Spanish), but I'm not sure that it was sacred to the Inca, per se.
After stopping at a lookout for panoramic photos and the ubiquitous handicraft peddlers, we switchbacked down into the valley to Pisac, a town famous for its enormous market. It also has an impressive ruined Inca fortress far up the mountain from the town, but our tour did not visit there. We had about an hour or so to wander around Pisac market - the men in our group hiked up toward the ruin instead - and then we were off through the valley again.
We stopped for lunch in a sprawling hacienda-style buffet restaurant, which exists exclusively for tour groups, and rested for quite a while before the bus picked us up again. Then we were off through the rest of the valley, to the fortress town of Ollantaytambo. This town is the best remaining example of Incan town planning and architecture, and is just flat-out lovely. The fortress has some of the most amazing stonework in the Andes, which is saying something when one considers the Incas' reputation for spectacular masonry. Of course, I discovered all of this on my second visit to Ollantaytambo, because on this day both of the kids fell asleep and I spent the whole visit to Ollantaytambo in the bus in the parking lot.
The bus left Ollantaytambo at around 3, and wove its way back through the Sacred Valley to another pass, much higher than the first, which offered us amazing views and a bit of a glimpse at high-altitude subsistence farming. Our last stop of the tour was Chinchero, the "birthplace of the rainbow", and as the sun went down we hiked up into the town and church square, before trekking back to the bus. A big cob of boiled corn kept the kids quiet until we finally got back to Cusco, after dark, around 7:30. The Gunsons and Keelers blessedly took care of Joffre while Alec, Aaron and I went out for some Chinese food, made by real Chinese people!
It was an incredibly long day, but overall quite enjoyable, and we certainly saw a fair bit of the Sacred Valley. But I resolved that my next tour would not be in a bus with 30 other people.
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