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.

Back From Peru

And now comes the fun part of organizing photos, and telling the stories.

But first, I need to sleep.

The Road To Machu Picchu - Prologue: What Am I Doing?

My bags are packed. I have everything I need. And I've just spent the past two hours trying to figure out how to adjust my backpack. Earlier this afternoon at a parking structure near 3rd St. in Santa Monica, I decided to forgo the elevator ride to my car and took the four flights of stairs. I was winded.

And now I'm terrified.

I was not made out for adventure travel. And I can say that because I've never done it. Until now. In a few hours I'm boarding a plane to Peru. My first time in South America, and hopefully not the last. And while Europe Trip was all about culture and city life, this is straight up Indiana Jones. You'd think I'd be excited. But truthfully, I'm freaked out.

It's mostly fear of the unknown. I confess, I'm an ignorant American. I keep thinking we're going to see the Mayan ruins. I couldn't tell you the population of Lima. I couldn't tell you any other cities in Peru other than Lima and Cusco. Shoot, I didn't even know what alpacas were until a few months ago. But I have my trusty Lonely Planet guidebook. It's a tad thick. I'm also traveling with incredibly knowledgeable friends. All I know is that we're hiking the Inca Trail, I'm going paragliding in the Sacred Valley, and I'll be on a quest for cuy. In case you've forgotten, that be the guinea pig.

But it's good to the get the traveling jitters one more time. There's nothing like the final few hours before getting on a plane to who knows where. I'm going into unknown territory, full of potential dangers. But isn't that the fun of it? Yeah, I could hurt myself, or get bitten by a guinea pig, but think of the experiences...



...and when this is awaiting you, how can you NOT get excited?

Who knows, maybe this is the start of a whole chain of adventure travels. The Himalayas aren't so bad, are they?

OK, enough with the thoughts.

Let's do this.