Romantic Travel

From Frommer's, here are some ideas for some romantic getaways.



Can't go wrong with Patagonia or Barcelona, but interesting choice in Torrey Pines. I've been to Torrey Pines. Never felt anything magical when I was there. But I always went with my family, so I'm not a good judge of what's romantic or not. But I will say that a hot air balloon ride through TP can be just the thing to ignite that spark between you and your loved one.

Unluxurious

I've been checking out this site recently.

Rentvillas.com lets you book a villa in Tuscany or Provence or several other areas in Greece, England and Spain. These villas hold from two to twenty-four people, or even more.

The more I explored each villa, the more excited I became. How awesome would it be to get a group of friends and/or family, spend a week in the Italian countryside, eating great food, drinking new wine, and having a ball?

Each property is rated on a 5-star scale, so of course I checked out the "best" villas. And...my goodness, some of these places are just insanely lavish.

Take for instance, this property:



This is the Chateau Traffaut, located in Gironde, France. It sleeps up to 20 people and costs up to $24,000 for one week's stay. Judging by the photos, it looks very palacial. And I think I could only take staying here for one day before I would lose my mind.

While I could very well live like a King for one week, this sort of luxury travel is complete opposite of what I look for in a trip. Put me in a place that's in the middle of everything. Where the village square is footsteps away. Where the aroma from the marketplace invades my living space and makes me hungry. Where the neighboring farm animals wake me up at the butt-crack of dawn.

But knowing me, if I were to stay in such a Chateau, I'd never leave. Why would I, when I have my own pool and tennis court? And maids to wait on me hand and foot? And while the thought of such a life entices me, I prefer immersion over seclusion any day.

With that said, if anybody is down for sharing a villa with me in Italy or Spain come 2009, drop me a line.

Jamon Iberico - Now or Later?

From USA Today:

Ibérico hams have been approved for sale in the USA for the first time, and a small initial supply is making its way into the retail pipeline this month.

I've heard about jamon iberico for a while now, and I am absolutely DYING to try this.



Although I'm inclined to wait until I make my virgin trek to Spain...hopefully in 2009. Just to make the experience that much richer.

Has anyone had this? Is it worth the wait? Or should I get my hands on the jamon ASAP?

San Antonio

I'll be spending a few days in San Antonio this coming April.

Anybody have any ideas what do to there? Feedback welcome...

Traveling Alone

When I was in Peru, I was the only single person amongst a bunch of married people. Sure, it felt weird being the 9th wheel, but the bonus was that I had my hotel room. And that, my friends, was paradise.

There is a strong possibility that I'll be traveling to Thailand by myself next year. However, I do have relatives in Bangkok, as well as a friend who is a missionary over there, so it's not like I would totally be by myself. But for the most part, I would be going it alone. Thinking about it scares me, but intrigues me at the same time.

I'm very picky about who I travel with. There are some people I know would be good travel buddies, and there are some people who I know I'd probably kill within 24 hours of traveling. And yet, solo travel is something I don't feel comfortable doing. It's dangerous. You stand a good chance of getting scammed or mugged. You have a huge target on your back the second you step off the plane.

Just thinking about it brings up and grip of insecurities and fears. But healthy travel, where you immerse yourself in a place, taking in everything, getting your hands dirty, so to speak, that kind of travel breaks down those fears, shows you that you're not that different from the strangers around you, and reveals to you the adventurous spirit that we all carry within us.

My point is, don't be afraid to consider solo travel. Because really, it's not really solo travel unless you're going to a place where there is absolutely nobody present. And that's just scary.

53 for 2008

Looking for some ideas for next year?

Here's a link from the New York Times with 53 places to check out for 2008.

Interesting list of choices. It would have never occurred to me to go to Detroit. Or Iran. Or Kuwait City. But there are places representing all corners of the world.

Pick one (or more) and enjoy!

Wanna Be A Travel Writer?

Budget Travel is having their June 2008 issue consist of all user-submitted content.

Go to their site to pitch your best idea, or you can submit your best photos. You might even make the cover!

And sorry, I already submitted the Karaoke Across America idea. You can't use that one...

Themed Travel

Found this site that offers vacation packages with a dancing theme.

Wouldn't it be cool to spend a week in Cuba and learn Salsa? Or belly dancing in Morocco? Or Flamenco in Granada?

Sadly, I didn't see any packages where I can spend the week doing the Soujia Boy.

But I love the idea of combining traveling with another of your favorite hobbies. From dancing to marathon running, if you can think of it, it's probably yours to get.

I have this crazy idea of doing a Karaoke road trip across the US. I'd spend two to three weeks, starting in LA and ending in New York, and hit a karaoke bar every night. Wouldn't that be insane? Who knows what might happen in say, Kansas? Or what if I end up in Alabama, looking for karaoke? What in the world would I sing?

Anyone willing to come with?

The Travel Blog Is Dead

Interesting article found here.

I should probably rethink this travel blog thing. I feel bad that I don't update it when I'm not traveling and I would still like to make it worth coming back to for the four people that read this thing.

Look for more links to other sites and interesting travel ideas...

Plans

I haven't traveled in forever. And I've been reading a lot of friends' blogs about their vacations, and yes, I'm mad jealous.

But every so often, I take time out and just plan my future trips. And it's great to just plan:

- March 2008 - Vegas. Ahhh, Vegas in March can only mean one thing. And really, there's nothing like sitting, or more likely standing, in the Sports Book at Caesar's while 12+ hours of basketball flash before your eyes. And you have action on every game. Truly, March Madness.

- April 2008 - San Antonio, Texas. Talk about acting on faith. That's right. I've booked a flight at the site of this season's Final Four. My first trip to Texas. I couldn't be more thrilled.

- May 2008 - Philippines/Thailand. The big one. Original plan is to spend at least a week and a half with family in the PI, and spend a week in Thailand hanging out with family and friends. Philippines is confirmed, Thailand is iffy. This could be very well be my first solo vacation. The thought terrifies yet excites me at the same time.

And I'd like to take some side trips in between. I'm thinking Bay Area, East Coast, all over...

And it's great to plan long-term as well. To dream:

- 2009 - Back To Europe. I really want to spend a good three weeks there, in Spain, Portugal and Italy. And yet, there's so much left to see!

- 2010 - South Africa. World Cup. It'll be insane. And if I'm going to Africa, this is my shot to do it.

- 2011 - Wow, who knows? I kind of want to go somewhere random. Not too random like Antarctica (now THERE'S a thought!) but I'm thinking some place that's just crazy. Like India. Or Detroit.

And the next thing I know, it's 2012 and I'm thinking about going to London for the Olympics. Meanwhile, there are places in the US I've never been. Places in CALIFORNIA I've never been. Heck, there are places on the Westside that I've never even touched, and I've lived here for eight years.

And while I've laid out plans, I have no idea what's going to happen over the next three to four years. But it's still a joy to just plan, and dream away.

L.A. Adventures: The County Fair

I had been looking forward to this day for weeks.

I like to read food blogs that display oddly interesting and slightly grotesque foods. More often than not, these foods are deep fried. Also, they're available at county fairs. And this past Sunday, several friends and I made the trek to Pomona(!) to the L.A. County Fair.

I used to go to the Del Mar Fair when I was growing up (it's called the San Diego County Fair nowadays, and that's just weird). But as a kid I was more concerned about the carnival games and the rides. Today, it was all about getting the grub.

And did I get the grub today.

This was the first sign to catch my eye coming into the fairgrounds.



Corn Dogs are pretty much required fare here (PUN). And these dogs are huge. HUGE. And for $7, they better be.

Quick note; From the time we entered the parking lot to the time this picture was taken, about 10 hours elapsed, give or take 2 or 3 or 8.5. My point is, if you plan on going anytime soon, give yourself plenty of time. Anyway, back to the food...
So you know that picture of the deep fried rattlesnake bites that I posted a while back? Well, we saw them at the fair but, they are not cheap. I saw a dish for $11, my friend Susan saw one for $14, and I'm sorry, unless these snakes are covered in bacon, I'm gonna pass.

However, I did not pass on this:



This is the Deep Fried Snickers Bar. According to my friend Peter, this was the craziest thing he had at the fair. The first bite is gooey.




And then you see the insides and...well, that pretty much sums it up. It tastes as it looks.

Next item up was Cheesecake On A Stick:



There really is no subtlety with fare foods. This really is a cheesecake on a stick. Cheesecake dipped in chocolate, topped with almonds, on a stick. It was awesome, but at this point I reached the moment where I "hit the wall".

And then we reached this booth:



Look at this menu. LOOK AT IT!! I spent a good 5 minutes staring at this. I was shocked. I couldn't decide what I wanted. Thankfully, I went with five other people, so...we tried most of the items here, such as:



Deep Fried Avocados. Not bad. There are some Deep Fried Tomatoes too, but..sorry, I'm still not eating them. Even if they are deep fried.




Deep Fried Coke. I tried a little, it too was not bad. Peter liked this. It's an interesting taste. By the way, I washed this down with Coke. Not weird at all.




Deep Fried Peanut Butter, Banana and Honey Sandwich. Word has it that Elvis Presley ate these every day. And now he's dead. I had about 3 bites of this and then I gave up.




Deep Fried Twinkie. OK, after eating so many fried goodness, everything started to taste the same. I really couldn't taste this. It did nothing for me. It couldn't have been that bad, right?

And this is ultimately where I said no more. We all wandered the various exhibits, spending a lot of time around the farm animals. Some of the pigs on display were enormous, and all I could think of was, "mmm, bacon."

Oh, and some of the foods I passed by on our way out were Deep Fried Cupcakes and Chocolate Dog On A Stick. Sometimes I wish that I was a cow. That way, I'd have four stomachs. That way, I could probably eat a little more than what I did today at the fair.

I recommend the fair to anyone with an adventurous appetite, or if you're looking for an alternative to the major theme parks in Southern California. But be warned, there are massive amounts of people, you'll end up paying out the ear for your meals, and several areas of the grounds smell like total ass.

But you'll never forget your time at the L.A. County Fair.

L.A. Adventures: Air Conditioned Supper Club

(When I'm not traveling, I like to explore my own backyard. I don't do enough of it. Los Angeles has so much to offer. So I thought I'd post some entries detailing some of the scenes that make up this city. Enjoy.)



Most go to clubs to have fun, hook up, or get drunk. I just want to find a comfortable place to sit and people-watch. I love people watching. However, there's a fine line between people watching and eerily staring.

The club scene in L.A. is fantastic for people-watching. However, you need to be in the right frame of mind. As in, you're not there to hook up. Now if you go to drink with your buddies and clown everyone on the dance floor, that that's what I consider a fun time. Which is what I had at The Air Conditioned Supper Club in Venice.

I saw quite a few guys dancing by themselves. I've seen this before at other clubs, and I've never understood why guys do this, but then again, I don't go to clubs often, so maybe this IS a common thing. Whatever. It's weird. I also saw a bunch of guys dancing together. Well, they weren't exactly together, but in a loose circle. I didn't find it weird it all.

Other characters of note were the dude trying really hard to impress his girl with his dancing, the asian woman with absolutely no rhythm, and some guy dressed like Waldo. We found him.

And all the while, I sat on my comfy sofa, knocking back Heineken after Heineken, cracking jokes with old and new friends, and getting up a total of three times to use the can. I regret nothing. While making fun of club-goers might seem a little harsh, I did envy them a little. At least they're putting themselves on the line. At least they're in the game, while I'm content watching from the cheap seats.

I could learn a thing or two from them.

Or I could just keep sitting on the comfy sofa...

Undiscovered

From: Gadling.

10 Undiscovered Locations.

I LOVE reading stuff like this. The list has places all over. Several from Europe, a couple in Asia, even one in the US.

Where the heck is Escatada??

Now I have MORE places to add to my list of places to explore. Sweet.

A Family Affair (A Weekend in Vegas)

My brother and I are sitting on the top floor of Margaritaville. It's Saturday night, right when the clubs up and down The Strip start to open up and let the hedonism in. We can see Pure right across from us. The Strip is alive.

We down cup after cup of semi-watered down brew called Land Shark. Around us, clusters of people chatter in raised voices to rise above some Jimmy Buffet wannabe blaring through the loudspeakers.

Everyone's in high spirits. A randy bunch of dudes and semi-hot chicks at the table across from us are especially high. Or drunk. Most likely drunk. They drink from the weirdest looking alcohol-containing contraption I've ever seen, probably built for the sole purpose of producing embarrassing pictures that'll show up on the Internet. Two of the chicks are seated on one guy whom my brother dubs Stifler. He had me going. I really thought that was him. Another girl is seated on another dude's lap. They make out for five minutes straight. The waitress as she gives us the bill notices the two of us staring at the couple is disbelief. "Apparently, they just met," She snorts.

Ahhh, Vegas.

I go to Las Vegas twice a year; Once in the Spring to partake in the glory of March Madness, and once in the fall to immerse myself in football, college and pro. This time however, the brother was graduating UNLV, so Mom and I made the drive through the unforgiving Mojave Desert. Here's a tip, unless you absolutely need to, don't go in August. Unless you plan on spending your time buck naked, which I'm absolutely positive some people do. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

But ANYWAY, this trip was a family affair, so no wild and crazy partying this time around. However, Vegas with Mom is not as dull as you might think. While thinking of things to check out in LV, I jokingly suggested Thunder From Down Under. "What is that, a play?" She asks me. If only.

I admit, the options of things to do in Las Vegas with your mother are slim. But when you're talking about MY mom, there are three; Gamble, eat and gamble. Fortunately, I enjoy all three, so I didn't have a problem finding things to do.

However we did find some time out of our busy schedule to check out the Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay. If you're not into gambling, or if you have kids in tow, I would definitely recommend checking out the Reef. They have a lot more than sharks, they have stingrays, jellyfish, barracudas, and so much more. The kids will go nuts.



This is the Lionfish. Why it's called the Lionfish...I'm not sure. I guess I'm not too good in aquariums either.

And that's the extent of what my family and I did in Vegas. I could tell you about the slot machines that robbed me senseless with their cute cartoon characters and Star Wars motifs, or the travails of playing craps with surly old men, but that's not that interesting. Not compared to walking down the Miracle Mile Shops and having mom attempt to pronounce the name of this boutique:



"Fa-CUCK!!"

Yes, mom.

Ahhh, Vegas.

Hotter Than Hades

The forecast for Vegas this weekend:

• Thursday: Sunny. Highs 104 to 108F and lows in the low 80s.
• Friday: Mainly sunny. Highs 105 to 109F and lows in the low 80s.

Good grief.

I just have to change my plans. Instead of doing a tour of off-strip Vegas, I just might tour all the Resort Swimming Pools.

By the way, there are European-style swimming pools on the Strip now.

Now there's a thought.

Prayers For Peru

"Thank God we were there a month ago."

That was my first thought when I heard the news that a monstrous earthquake hit Peru, just miles away from Lima. The place that I came to love so dearly, now in a state of distress. I admit, I felt relief.

In the case of most worldly disasters, I would think, "Oh, that's a shame.", then move on with my daily life. However here and now, I feel strained within.

Having walked the streets of Lima and Cusco, laughed with their residents, and having felt like a guest being lavishly cared for by his hosts, my heart goes out to those affected by the quake.

My prayers and thoughts are with you, Peru. May you stand on your feet once again.

Vegas Ideas?

I'm hittin' up Vegas in a week and half, and I need help.

If you know any cool things to do in Vegas, preferably things off-Strip, drop me a line.

Or, I'll just do what I usually do when I'm up there...

Thanks.

The Quest For Cuy

On the evening of our last full day in Peru, I was getting antsy.

Besides hiking to Machu Picchu, one of my goals for this trip was to try cuy. I only had a few hours left.

Cuy (pronounced kwee) is what the Peruvians call a guinea pig. It's a delicacy in these parts. They throw an annual Cuy Festival here, and unfortunately we had just missed it.

Normally, the thought of eating a rodent would absolutely sicken me. Also, my brother once had a pet guinea pig. I thought it was the cutest thing ever. And now I wanted to eat one. Because I firmly believe that if you're in a foreign land, you do as the natives do. If you're in France, you eat the crepes. If you're in Holland, you eat the pannenkoken. And if you're in Peru, you eat the cuy.

Let's back it up a little bit. On our first day in Cusco, we had lunch at a restaurant (who's name escapes me) and lo and behold, cuy was on the menu. I thought it was way too soon for cuy. I hadn't even hiked yet! So I passed. My friend Allan, who also made it a goal to try the cuy, did not pass up the opportunity.

And this is what he ate:



You can have cuy many ways; grilled, deep-fried, raw. OK, maybe not raw. Allan ordered it roasted. They had to cut it in smaller chunks for him. It was a little much. But Allan seemed to like it.




So it was with a little trepidation that I, along with my friends who REALLY wanted to see me try this thing, walked into La Tranquera restaurant in Miraflores, a swanky, tourist-friendly section of Lima.



La Tranquera is not your typical Peruvian restaurant. It's actually an Argentine-themed steakhouse. Meaning they do meat right. Including cuy. So I bucked up and ordered an entire guinea pig.

And this is what I ate:



No seriously, this is guinea pig. Sure, it looks like it's a decent cut of meat. That's because it is! The chefs are that good. La Tranquera, folks. Check it out when you're in Lima.

So how was it? Good, I guess. It was definitely unlike any meat I've had. It kind of tastes like pork. But not really. It's hard to describe. You really have to eat one to see (and taste) for yourself.

This is what I looked like as I was finishing my cuy:



It was a big guinea pig.

Everyone else in our group, except for my best bud Allan, just couldn't imagine eating cuy. I didn't know what the big deal was. Why would I travel to some country just so I can eat food that I'm familiar with? With that said, I would never ever eat cuy in the U.S.

Because that's just weird.

Here are some more pics taken from our last day in Peru. To reassure all of you, we did eat very well on the trip. But that's another entry...

Museum Issues

I have a confession to make.

As much as I love museums, I cannot fully enjoy them. There's too much wandering, standing around and reading tiny print. It's not that comfortable, my back always hurts and I never retain any of the info that I was supposed to pick up.

So when we went to the Archaeological and Historical Museum in Lima, Peru's capital city, I decided that I was going to try a different tactic; I would take my little journal to jot down some notes, and I would take my camera and snap a few photos.

The results were mixed.



For example, back in the day, tribes would intentionally deform the shapes of their skulls to stand out more. However, I have absolutely no idea which tribe did this. So I kinda learned something, but not really.



And take this exhibit. Just freaky. Although I don't remember if this is how he died or if they positioned him this way. Or, if he is a she. He (or she) is still kinda freaky.



Now this is taken from the part of the museum devoted to fertility-related artifacts. I spent a great deal of time in this section. I've always been fascinated by ancient cultures' views of procreation. And as you can see, those tribes native to Peru were very...open to such matters. And this was one of the tamer artifacts.

Unfortunately this is pretty much the extent to which I learned about ancient Peru. I'll probably have to go back and spend the whole day at the museum. OR I can go to Wikipedia.

But where's the fun in that?

Here are some more photos of the Archaeological and Historical Museum in Lima, along with various other pics from that day.

Shout Out

Before I forget, I wanted to give a big shout out to Peru Treks.

I thought the people at Peru Treks did an outstanding job in taking a bunch of Gringos such as ourselves and enabling us to experience the Sacred Inca Trail with minimal hang-ups. Also, our guides, Juve and Whilder, were excellent; warm, friendly, knowledgeable...the best.



*Juve, me, Whilder*

I would recommend Peru Treks to anyone interested in doing the hike to Machu Picchu. Make sure to book your tour way in advance.

Cheers.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Seven - End Of The Road

This is what I had going for me coming in to Day Four:

- I hadn't shaved in four days. I hadn't even looked at myself in the mirror for four days, so I couldn't bask in my rugged bearded awesomeness.

- I hadn't showered in four days. This was the least of my concerns because...

- I hadn't done a number two in four days. I couldn't go. I tried once on Day Three. False alarm. I couldn't use the public toilets. I have squatting issues. The longer I'd go without doing my business, the more it weighed on my mind.

On Day Four, you start early. Really early. We're talking 4:30 in the morning. You have to line up at a checkpoint at the campsite until it opens at 5 am. You then hike three miles to the Sun Gate, where you gaze upon Machu Picchu for the first time, with the ruins bathed in the rays of the morning sun.

The night before, Juve asked us when we should wake up. We could have woken up at 4:30, but we'd be stuck in the back of the line at the checkpoint. So we said 3:40. Our group was third in line. There were no complaints.

The hike starts out flat. I blaze through it like one of the porters. It helped that I didn't have to carry my sleeping bag anymore, thus demoting my backpack from "nemesis" to "respected acquaintance". I sprint the first mile and a half. I was possessed. Mind you, this is at the buttcrack of dawn, so the path isn't well lit. I had a flashlight. That I remembered to bring.

I'm burning down the trail, feeling good about myself, when the trail climbs uphill. I slow down. Yet again. I slow down some more. The adrenaline is going away. Meanwhile, frenzied trekkers with better lung capacities pass me.

I'm alone on the trail. Yet again. Going uphill more and more, heart beating faster and faster, breathing getting shorter and shorter with anticipation. Looking up and seeing Juve yelling, "Let's go, Eman!" The group applauding in encouragement, this band of brothers and sisters that I've shared the past four days with. Each step toward the Sun Gate feeling like I'm walking on air. Slowly, surely, reaching the summit.

And this view waiting for me:



As you can see, no sun. The skies are overcast today. The end of our labor is before us. We've just completed our journey, taking the trail that Incas took hundreds of years ago. 27 miles over four days. Four days of back-breaking, knee-killing, quad-burning hell. Four days through heat, rain and snow. Four days of sidestepping the droppings of random farm animals. Four days of muscle ache, thin air and slight nausea. We earn this vista. We deserve it.

There are no tears from me today. Just joy, relief and lots and lots of sweat.


* Photo by: Christine Lau*

I'm not pleased with this picture either. This is just to give you an idea how strenuous the hike is. You will sweat. You will hurt. You will make sounds you've never made before. You might get queasy. You'll step in poo. The Inca Trail: Good times!!



Describing the ruins of Machu Picchu does not do them justice. Even as the skies are dull, we are amazed. How majestic is this place! With Wayna Picchu Mountain in the background, stone buildings lay in immaculate condition. As we walk through the ruins, Juve explains how the Incas fared centuries ago. He leads us through temples, royal palaces, observatories. He gives us so much information that I'm ashamed to admit I recall none of his stories.

To be immersed in the ruins of Machu Picchu, in the places where the Incas ate, slept and worshipped; It blows your mind. While we were on the hike, the Lost City of Machu Picchu was named one of the new Seven Wonders of the World. I wouldn't disagree with that at all.

We wander the ruins for a little longer, snapping our cameras, taking in the pristine buildings. We hear a rumble in the distance. It's not thunder. It's the horde of tourists coming off the train to visit the ruins for the day. Here's a tip: Get to the ruins early. At daybreak. You'll be very grateful.

Our trek is over. Our bodies ache. We crave sleep. We board the bus to Aguas Calientes for lunch, where we down bottle after bottle of Cusquenian Beer. It is like nectar from the Incan Gods.



We board a train back to Cusco. To our hotel. To a warm shower, a clean shave, and that other thing.

And what a beautiful thing it is!

----

So ends The Road To Machu Picchu; Without a doubt once of the greatest experiences of my life. I say that now. I certainly wouldn't have said that as I was doing the hike. But looking back, I'm definitely glad I did it. I truly believe that everybody that is of sound mind and body should walk the Sacred Inca Trail. And really, if I can do it, most anyone can.

Here are my pics from Day Four. There were plenty of adventures in our remaining days. We did have two days back in Lima. But those adventures will have their own posts further down the line.

Thanks for reading, friends. And I hope you stick around for more travels. More adventures. More stories.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Six - Only Peace

I awoke on Day Three in high spirits.

I had just climbed Dead Woman's Pass the day before. The hardest part was over. In my mind, everything else would be icing on the cake. Or so I thought.

Turns out there are two more passes to climb on the third day. The first pass, which is really the Second Pass, is a steep hike (nowhere near as steep as DWP), and the Third Pass is an up and down trek through the absolutely stunning Cloud Forest. And after the Third Pass awaits a downhill stretch that is so brutal, so punishing, that it is affectionately known as "The Gringo Killer".

Oh by the way, Day Three is the longest day of the Inca Trail.

At this point, I should bring up the weather. Now, Day One was quite warm. Day Two was cloudy and eventually rainy (there was even hail). Day Three started out incredibly chilly. What do you expect when you're 13,000 feet up? And yes, rain did fall, and everyone busted out the backpack covers and ponchos...except me. All I had was my super thin rain slicker over my perspiration-soaked fleece and t-shirt. And as I trudged up the Second Pass, rain beating down on my face, my glasses fogged up so much that I could barely see, my hands nearly frozen, I thought to myself, "Well. It couldn't get any worse, could it?"And then it started to snow.

This is why Inca Trail is one of the most badass hikes around. What other trail gives you a mix of sun, wind, rain, hail, snow, along with horses, burros, sheep, llamas, stray dogs, and unsanitary public toilets? If you know of another trail like this, please let me know.

Because the elements were so chaotic and I was in "icing-on-the-cake" mode, I took my sweet time on Day Three. And because I was so laid-back this day, I found myself hiking alone. It can be quite daunting hiking the Inca Trail on your own. I admit, I would have like to have been in the company of my friends, or the guides, or the porters, or the stray dogs. Alas, I was on my own.


*Photo by: Allan Yu*

As I walked down from the Second Pass, away from the snow and right through the Cloud Forest, I would pause and take in the ambient sounds of the Andes. More often than not, I would hear silence. Absolute silence. It was unnerving. Not even the birds were chirping.

I continued to hike. More solitude. More thoughts to myself. More tranquilidad. And then suddenly, unknowingly, my thoughts turned to Dad.

My father loved the outdoors. He would take me and my family to various campgrounds around Southern California. Unfortunately, very little of that zest for nature and such rubbed off on me. He tried to teach me how to pitch a tent. I balked. He tried to get me to cast a fishing reel into the river. I chose to play my GameBoy.

Walking the Trail on Day Three, with nobody around, I found myself talking to Dad. I told him that I missed him. I told him that I wish he was there when I got to the top of Dead Woman's Pass. I told him that I wish he was here hiking the Inca Trail with me.

I said all these things aloud. I was met with silence. I wept more tears.

The Sacred Inca Trail means many things to many people. For some it's a chance to learn more about this civilization of centuries ago. For others it's a chance to see the majestic Andes and their vegetation and wildlife. But these moments of solitude on Day Three were what defined the hike for me. Dad passed away three years ago, and in those three years I found myself struggling to cope. I would think about him, but only as a passing thought, and then I would move on with my daily life. Here on the trail, there are no distractions. There are no project deadlines, no meetings. There is no TV, no DVDs, no emails to check, no blogs to read. Solamente La Tranquilidad. Only peace. Through the peace, I was able to reconnect with Dad. I was able to cope. I was able to heal.

That's why I hiked The Inca Trail.

More photos from Day Three can be found here.

Tips

A reprieve from all the Peru craziness to bring you 51 tips for international travel, brought to you by the L.A. Times.

Among my favorites:

- In China, don't go on and on about Taiwan.

- In Cuba, don't say you hope things never change.

- In Canada, don't pretend to be Canadian.

- In Singapore, don't do a lot of things.

These are all good to know. I'm always busting out my Canadian accent (eh??), so I guess I should dial it down when I'm north of the border...

...and maybe I should take Singapore out of my itinerary.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Five - Anything Is Possible

I started Day Two free of my nemesis.

One of the porters graciously took my backpack off my hands and carried it to the next campsite. Best twenty bucks I had spent in years. All I had to take with me were my camera, water bottles, and a plastic trash bag full of random things I would need for the hike. This was the same trash bag I wore on my feet the night before to keep my socks dry from my soaked sleeping bag. I was too tired to care.



Before setting off, our guides Juve and Whilder gathered the porters (all twenty of them) for a quick introduction. These porters are nothing short of phenomenal. All from Cusco and its surrounding towns, all incredibly warm and friendly, and all freakishly athletic. One of them completed the ENTIRE Inca Trail in less than four hours. No kidding. We were in the midst of greatness.

Juve advised us throughout the night before and the morning of, go at your own pace. If you need to go slow, go slow. If you need to take a break, take a break. I planned on doing both. Wholeheartedly.

Here's why you'd probably want to take your time; You start Day Two at an altitude of 3,100 meters (10,137 ft). You then proceed to scale a whopping 1,100 meters (over 3,300 ft.) to the top of first pass, affectionately known as Dead Woman's Pass.



And there she is! Start on the right. See how it kind of makes a face? Just work your way to the left. And yes, it gets quite cold up there.

ANYWAY, with nothing but me and my trash bag, I set out on the trail. And I went slowly. Slowly. Oh so slowly. Just me, my friend Tammy and our assistant guide Whilder, taking our time. And despite moving as slow as molasses, despite carrying absolutely nothing on my back, despite one of the porters even taking my trash bag away from me and leaving me empty handed, I was still huffing and puffing, trudging up that damn pass.

I developed a sort of rhythm on my hike; I would take twenty to thirty paces and rest for ten to fifteen seconds, taking gigantic deep breaths and frequent swigs of water. I even looked up from the trail to take in the scenery. I had nearly forgotten I was in the middle of the Andes!



Lush vegetation and serene little creeks running down the mountain. Llamas buried high on the slopes looking for grass to munch on. The sense of tranquilidad dominating the scene. I would've taken it all in more, but the guides warned us that staying too long in one place will leave us shivering in the cold. And I started to lose some feeling in my hands. So I pressed on.

Twenty steps, rest. Twenty steps, rest. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Porters passing me with their exortations ("Vamos, amigo! Vamos!"). Fifteen steps, rest. Ten steps, rest. The Dead Woman started to get bigger and bigger. Yet so far away. Five steps, rest. Rest some more. Rest some more. I couldn't feel my hands. My head started to hurt. My stomach started doing backflips...

...and then I looked up.

The whole group was there at the top of the pass, shouting words of encouragement. I stared at them for a good thirty seconds, not knowing if I should thank them or tell them to shut up. "One last push!" They yelled. So I put my head down. I attacked each step like my last, slamming my walking stick down with each step. And somehow, some way, through some Divine Miracle, I made it to the top of Dead Woman's Pass.

And then I did what most manly men do when they reach the top of the First Pass of the Inca Trail; I pumped my fist, gave the people in my group a high-five, retreated to a quiet place at the top away from everyone, and wept. For a good minute or two. Straight up bawled. So much so, everyone else in the group started to tear up. So I hear.

I'll tell you why I wept. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could do what I had just done. And I knew that it would be tough going the whole way. There was even a part of me that thought there was no way I was going to get to the top. Either my body would shut down or I would just quit. But I stretched myself, always pressing forward, never quitting. I didn't care how long it would take me, how many muscles I would pull, how many bones I would break. I was getting to the top. And there I was, at the top. A city kid who never walks anywhere just made it up Freaking Dead Woman's Pass. It was a dream realized. A goal achieved. An improbable, damn near impossible goal. And I did it. Nobody could take that away from me. And nobody will.

I was weeping tears of felicidades. Because if I can make it to the top of Dead Woman's Pass, then damn near anything is possible.



Anything.

To see my modest picture collection of Day Two of the Inca Trail, go here.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Four - The Easiest Day

Say hello to my nemesis.

This is the Ridgeline Backpack made by REI. It was recommended to me by my friend Brian. Brian used to be a Boy Scout. I trust Brian.

I hate this backpack.

Scratch that. I hate it when it's full. I hate it when it weighs over 20 lbs. I hate it more when I have to strap the damn thing on my back and hike 27 miles over four days. And that's exactly what I was expected to do.

Why would I even consider putting myself through all this physical activity? Do I like hiking? Put it this way. Here in L.A., my office is located less than a mile from my apartment, and I STILL choose to drive. And I'm supposed to hike 27 miles with the equivalent of a chubby two-year-old on my back over the next four days.

So again, why did I decide to fork over some of my hard earned pay to hike the Inca Trail?

I have absolutely no idea.

Here's how the first day of the hike starts: You wake up around 5 am (which, when you compare your wakeup times for the next three days, is actually kind of late). Then you take a bus through the outskirts of Cusco, down into the Sacred Valley to the town of Ollantaytambo, where you stop for breakfast, after you're bombarded by locals trying to sell you walking sticks (ESSENTIAL for the hike, by the way). After a super-quick meal, you're whisked back into the bus to the start of the trail, and the start of a exhilarating trek through the Andes.

Here's how my first day started:

I damn near lost my passport right before boarding the bus, causing me to have the mother of all panic attacks (I eventually found it). When we picked up our bags to start the hike, my pack was soaked on account of my leaky CamelPack (which I might as well call Public Enemy #2). Not only that, the backpacks that were touching mine were soaked as well. Their owners were not too happy with me. Oh, by the way, the thermal underwear I packed was soaked as well.

And on that note....I began the Inca Trail.



As you can see, I'm undeterred.


*Nothin' stoppin' me now!*

The hike started out fine. And then it got...steep. Very steep. Oh, and the day was quite hot. And I was carrying gear soaked to the core, making the Ridgeline Backpack from REI that much heavier. By lunchtime, I felt nauseous and dehydrated. By the end of the day as I pulled into the sleepy farm town of Wallyabamba, I was drenched in perspiration, totally exhausted, and my thermal underwear is still wet.

And this is the best part: Day One is supposed to be easiest day of the hike.

Was I taking in the wonderful scenery? Not really. Was I bonding with my group and tour guides. Heck no, I was bringing up the rear the whole time. Was I enjoying myself? Absolutely not.

This is how I slept on the first night:



I'm using an unopened roll of toilet paper for a pillow (Which I never used. More on that later). I have a trash bag protecting my feet from my damp sleeping bag. Because I don't have any (dry) thermals, I'm wearing my windbreaker on top of my fleece. My fleece is soaked in sweat, as is the t-shirt I'm wearing underneath. Why not change shirts, you may ask? Soaked. That's right. All my clothes were soaked either from Public Enemy #2 or from good ol' fashioned sweat. Good times!

Before going to "bed", I wrote a little blurb in my journal to describe my experience.

This is what I wrote:

"Day One Sucked."

And the next day, I was supposed to climb around 4000 feet up something called Dead Woman's Pass. All during that first night, as I constantly adjusted my roll of toilet paper for maximum comfort, I thought that they might just have to rename it to Dead Eman's Pass when all was said and done.

Here's my paltry collection from Day One. I do apologize for the lack of scenery pictures. But not really.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Three - Over The Valley

I have a few minutes before jumping off the cliff.

In the beginning it was decided amongst the four of us that I was to go first. I didn't want to. Nobody wanted to. However, Richard, the man who we have reluctantly handed our lives over to, mandated that the lightest person has to go first.

I get to go last.

So with a few minutes to go, I sit on a grassy field littered with deer pellets, trying to calm myself down. I'd already seen my friends Amy and Christine take to the skies, and Brian was touching down somewhere, so what was the big deal? It's safe, right?

Oddly enough, I'm not scared at all. The Sacred Valley has a way of calming you down.

To get to this vista is no quick and easy task. You take a taxi or bus (God help you if you drive ANYWHERE in Peru on your own) away from Cusco, through the sleepy towns of Poroy and Chinchero, and instead of taking the road further down into the valley, you pull off...in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, to this day I have no idea where we were the day we all paraglided. But that's not important.

What is important is the sight you see when you come across the Sacred Valley for the first time.



It takes your breath away.

And so for two hours or so, I sit on the grass/deer poop, waiting for the others to complete their flights. I brought a book and an iPod, but I end up sitting and being completely still. It's wonderful. Except for the few distractions. Such as:



- The horde of wild (baby) pigs that descended upon us, looking for God knows what. Look, they may seem harmless here, but let me tell you, there was a MASSIVE staredown between me and the pigs. The pigs won. I screamed, gathered all my things and ran for the bushes. Fortunately the pigs went away, never to return. Guess I showed them.


- The group of tourists that descended upon us, out of curiosity as to what we were doing, and to see the Sacred Valley themselves. They arrived just as Christine was about to take off. This is them nearly trampling me to death as they return to their tour bus.

- The truly horrendous baying of random farm animals, probably burros. Either they were in pain or in heat. Whatever the case, it was awful.

- The frequent circling of falcons over our heads. That's never a good sign. Although, when do I ever get to see falcons?!

And despite all these distractions, I maintained a sense of tranquilidad. The Sacred Valley demands it.

More time passes, and Richard pops up. Richard, a fellow Bruin, has been paragliding for 8 years. And when he's not paragliding, he's river rafting in Brazil. The guy just oozes cool.

Richard's assistants attach him to my back (it's not as weird as it sounds), and we wait. We wait for the wind to be just right. "Ready...GO!", Richard shouts. I run as fast as I can toward the edge of the cliff. Except I only take two steps. I'm nowhere near the edge. Doesn't matter. I'm up and away.

And just like that I'm flying.

The first five minutes are spent in absolute terror. Not because I'm so high up, but because I can't get my damn camera out of the pocket of my windbreaker. Eventually, I got it out and snapped away. I even shot a video. I'd post it, but it's probably the most boring video you'll ever see. So pictures will have to suffice.


*The view from above*

I can't begin to describe the feeling of flying high over the Sacred Valley. In fact, I won't even try. You'll just have to take my word for it. It was spectacular. A rush of adrenaline.

As we begin the slow, slow, slow descent back to earth, I get a little queasy. Actually, I get very queasy. Richard informs me, "Let me know if you're gonna hurl. There's a special position you have to be in, and it's not easy to get to." This does nothing to make me feel better.

We touch down with ease. I can't get my helmet off fast enough. I give Richard a high-five, mumble something along the lines of, "I gotta be by myself...", walk to a lonely space, and proceed to NOT vomit. Richard advised us not to eat anything before paragliding, and I'm seeing the value of that advise. Three dry heaves later, I head back. Richard exclaims, "Are you GOOD TO GO?!" Something tells me he's no stranger to his clients yakking over Peruvian farmland. I yell back, "I AM GOOD TO GO!!"

We drive back toward the launch point, where my three friends are having a picnic, and the next group of paragliders, a trio of British ladies, await. They ask how I liked it. Without missing a beat, I reply, "It was AWESOME!" Well, it was. If you take away the nausea.


*Amy, Me (post-dry heaves), Richard, Christine, Brian*

Taking the taxi back to Cusco, the four of us are exhausted and baked from the Andean sun. But we're content, knowing we got a view of the Sacred Valley that few get to see.

But all our thoughts were on the next day. When the fun begins...

Catch all the paragliding madness, as well as farm animals in combat, on my flickr site.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Two - Take A Deep Breath

We landed in Cusco at approximately 7 AM. I started feeling light-headed at 7:02.

Cusco is over 11,000 feet above sea level. That's pretty damn high. At this altitude, the air is quite thin. It's so thin, that altitude sickness is common for Gringos on their first day in the Incan capitol. I was alarmed.

Peru Treks requires us to spend at least two days in Cusco to prepare ourselves for the Inca Trail. Our first day was all about exploring. And Cusco is a wonderful place to explore. The streets are narrow and windy. When you think no vehicle could possible fit, along zips a taxi. Quite a feat.



Most roads in Cusco lead to the Plaza de Armas, the main square. You can tell you're in the Plaza by the gigantic Cathedral and neighboring Iglesia de la Compania de Jesus. Numerous markets and restaurants surround the plaza and neighboring streets, complete with locals trying to push their wares on you This was very intimidating for me, as I usually like to be left alone. I had to say "Gracias, no" many times. I had to, lest I run out of soles on the first day.

What I was looking for the whole day to purchase was a chullo.

Chullos are those super cool Peruvian knitted hats, made from alpaca. In my hastiness, I had forgotten to pack a knit hat for the hike, and I heard it can get around 30 degrees at night. I needed a chullo, and I needed one badly.

Strolling from market to market, I laid my eyes on this pink, poofy looking chullo that was so outrageous I knew I had to have it. But the lady selling it wanted 30 soles (10 dollars). It occurred to me that I'd be stuck with a pink knitted hat...forever.

So I chose this one instead:



The pink one would probably have been more stylish. Some say it would suit me better. But this one was 15 soles. And it has blue. I think I got the better hat, gracias.

With chullo in tow, I felt pretty good about myself. We walked down street after street, taking in the Andean sunshine, fending off persistent street vendors, inhaling that oh-so-thin Cusco air...

And then it hit.

Altitude sickness strikes within a few hours of arrival in Cusco. I had a dull headache for the whole day, but paid no attention to it. By 4 pm, my stomach had refused to cooperate. It's a weird feeling when you want to vomit but you can't. It sucks.

For two hours I lay in my hotel room, doing nothing but breathing. Deep breathing. Not the most exciting thing to do on your first day in Cusco, but for me it was necessary.

And it was a blessing. The typical first day in a new city is the time to pack everything in; To do so much in so little time. You can't do that in Cusco. Unless everyone decides to pack it all in and move 11,000 feet down to the sea, you have to take a deep breath, then another one, and then one more. Or else you'll flame out with a queasy stomach and throbbing headache. And that's no way to start a vacation.

I went to bed pretty early. But I was OK with that. I had a packed day tomorrow that included flying over the Sacred Valley.

To see more pics on our first day in Cusco, go to my flickr page here.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part One - Looking For Signs

As we pull out of Lima International Airport, Victor, the shuttle driver taking us to our hotel in the heart of the city, turns to me and asks, "Habla Espanol?"

I answer the way I always do when asked this question: "Un poquito." Very little. I'm being humble here, in hopes that Victor would talk to me at the very least in broken English. No luck. All Spanish, and all very very fast. It's been like that all day, from the ticket counter in LAX to the flight attendants on the plane, to Victor the shuttle driver. And finally I get to use my five years of learning Spanish to good use.

I'm able to maintain a sensible conversation with Victor. I tell him my friends and I are on way to Cusco the next day. He tells me he's been to Cusco, but not to Machu Picchu. I ask small questions here and there about this and that. He gives me recommendations for restaurants to try in Miraflores, a fancy-schmancy part of the city located by the sea. All the while, my friends and I are mesmerized by the huge billboards, run-down buildings and speedy taxis and trucks creeping insanely close by our shuttle. Shocking, to say the least.

Victor drops us off at the Sheraton in Central Lima. I say, "Gracias", he says "De nada" and just like that, I make a new friend in Lima, Peru.


*The view from my hotel room*

The first day of a big vacation is all about looking for signs. Embracing the good, and scooting the heck away from the bad. Getting all your luggage from baggage claim? Good sign. Having a reliable shuttle driver who offers suggestions on where to eat on your first night? Good sign.



Checking in your hotel, flipping on the TV, and having "La Oficina" be the first thing you see? GREAT SIGN.

But I couldn't stay too attached to Lima. I'd be back here in a week's time anyway. But I was about to get on another plane the next morning to Cusco, the capital of the Incas, where more than a few adventures were awaiting me.

I had a good feeling about this trip.

For more pics of central Lima, LarcoMar Shopping Center in Miraflores, and more, go to my flickr page here.