Civilized plus in NYC

What a difference a week makes! 

After just shy of 4 months, minus a few kilos and three toenails, but with a treasure trove of memories, I finally left South America. The journey to New York was a marathon - a 3am wake up call for a 6.30 departure that was delayed till 7.30. The connection in Miami (had to collect my bag and go through customs ) was a tight one... made it with minutes to spare, only to sit on the ground for 1 1/ 2 hours because of a mechanical problem with the aircraft. We were finally deplaned and boarded a substitute aircraft  3 1/2 hours late, to find there was no food aboard. 

That was the end of my woes though.... driven in a plush black limo to downtown Soho and lived a life of luxury ever since! 

Day 1: beside myself with excitement seeing Cnris at brunch, followed by a full body massage and “creme de la creme” facial. A combination of “serum, stem cells and placenta” left my face plumped and soft as a baby’s bot!! Dinner at Nobu - a one Michelin star Japanese - Peruvian restaurant....

Day 2: A mega makeover in the hairdressers, a quick shop to find something elegant to wear (got carried away and teetered on some tres chic, vertigo inducing Italian heels!!), before we dined exquisitely at ‘Daniel’, a 3 Michelin stars Art Deco restaurant in Manhattan....

Day 3: Brunch, a visit to the Frick Museum, a walk in the spring sunshine through Central Park, surrounded by blossom trees and tulips..... a quick bite with Tuppy and Bob (Aussies in NY) at Joe Allen’s Theatre restaurant, before a wonderful night at Phantom of the Opera... a couple of wines in Soho Grand’s bar to come down from the clouds (for me at least!).......

Day4: Breakfast in the hotel, a subway ride Williamsburg, more wonderful food in an old restored 1920’s Diner a walk through trendy Brooklyn with all it’s antique stores, vintage shops and cafes, through the fascinating ultra orthodox Jewish quarter (lots of guys with log black coats and weird curls and coke bottle glasses seemed to come out of the woodwork - I learnt later that there was a crisis of leadership at their synagogue), onto arty DUMBO (down under manhattan bridge overpass - they just love their acronyms) and over the Brooklyn Bridge into the sunset....talk about Cinderella.........more food at famous Wolfgang’s Steakhouse, and Chrisso swore he could never eat again....

Had to bid Chris farewell next morning, then met Geraldine at their restaurant Nile’s in 7th Ave before some more spoiling in a real home again on Long Island....

life’s tough...

Gorgeous Galapagos

I spent a somewhat sleepless night waiting for the mysterious room mate to materialize, but she did not. Fortunate for me....I ended up with a room and a cabin to myself which was heavenly.

A flight to Galapagos via Guayaquil was surprisingly up market; we landed in pouring rain...onto G1or the Pelikano, Gap’s most basic boat, for lunch and then we weighed anchor. On board were a Canadian family of 4, 4 couples - 2 young German, a retired Danish, and an Aussie one, a young Pommie lawyer and myself.

We spent 3 days on board, well fed, but not well watered - the bar had run out of wine, and the beer supplies were minimal, but a good time was had by all.

The wildlife was as stunning as I had anticipated, and unbelievably approachable. 

Sea lions sauntered over the jetties and slept on the pylons. Frigate birds, the male with a vermillion pouch at his throat, hitched a ride on our boat or soared along with us in the slip stream. Peculiar pelicans with brown feathers and grey feet, perched for hours on our zodiacs.  Thousand of brilliant orange and blue crabs scuttled across rocks at the water's edge, stalked by patient herons. Flamingoes balanced precariously on one foot as they slept. Others preened and stretched nonchalantly, totally ignoring our presence.

And my favourite, the blue footed booby...it looks like a sort of caricature, with it’s blue eyes and webbed feet, and bluish beak. It’s called a booby because it dives from a height of up to 40m after large fish, and is only successful every10 - 15 attempts! (It’s a fishing process that has caused them to develop air bags in their cheeks, but they still suffer brain injury and blindness, and are destined for a short life!!!) Alas I was so excited to see them that I didn’t check the setting on my camera, so the photos are none too good.

We saw hundreds of marine iguanas, lying atop one another for warmth during the night. They freeze like statues as we approach, perfectly camouflaged against the basalt rocks - they stay totally immobilized as we stare at them, transfixed....

The outer islands, so recently formed, are stark and barren in the dry season; hardy cactus are all that survive... but the unseasonal rain now has left many flushed with green. The earth is so young, erodes so easily; many hillsides have slipped into the sea. Sands vary from island to island ...white, golden, black and red....

The islands are growing through frequent eruptions of it’s volcanoes.... lava flows from the 1906 eruption seem frozen in time as they flowed around other pinnacles and plugs on their way to the sea, then solidified. It’s like living in a geology lesson!

And the snorkeling is nothing short of dazzling! We’re blessed with clear water, a wonderland of life and colour...purple and orange, black and yellow...

Tropical fish of every colour and description dart past rocks covered with a bright orange algae; schools of tiny striped fish the size of white bait form huge glittering balls as they flit this way and that, acting as one....it was surreal to swim down amongst them...

We dived down and swam along with turtles, floated over the top of white tipped reef sharks; of iridescent parrot fish, all green and pink and orange...

Two penguins torpedoed past me, so lithe and graceful under the water, so clumsy on land. They’re only about 10 cms taller than the fairy penguins.

A marine iguana grazed my hand on one occasion in his haste to get out of the water....took ten years off my life!

And the tortoises - huge, lumbering, pinheaded, and none too intelligent. They’re really ugly, but I’m sure their mother loves them....

Lonesome George, the last of his race from Pinta Island, was asleep and hiding in his enclosure - the world is apparently still waiting with baited breath for him to reproduce with his new hybrid companions...

Alas it was over all too soon...Galapagos is a fascinating place, a weird wildlife wonderland. If ever I was to return, I would stay for a week, (not just 3 days), to see more of the islands, and I would take an underwater camera!

It's no huge disappointment to head back to Quito though.... though it's the end of my South American sojourn - I've been here for almost 4 months; I'm soooo excited about flying to New York and seeing Chris!

Conservative Quito

So, back in Lima, just another huge sprawling city. The big attraction is the beach at trendy Miraflores, but alas, in my two days there the city was shrouded in heavy fog, and I saw little. The city was in lockdown because of an election on the day I departed. There were riot police everywhere, and no venue could sell alcohol for 72 hrs in the lead up. I played safe and holed up in the Radisson to indulge in the pleasure of having my own room and a comfy bed, and to resume blogging; took a hotel car to the airport on election day for my flight to Quito.

16th April:

Apparently the Church is the big power here, still, and it shows; everywhere....

There’s a church or monastery on nearly every street corner in the old town, watched over protectively by a huge Virgen de Quito with wings. 

It’s copied from a statue in the huge Franciscan monastery, dating from 1535. It covers 3 hectares and was the birth of the Quito school of art - an art form developed by the monks , through indigenous artists, to communicate with and convert the masses. 

The overlays with indigenous traditional beliefs are everywhere. The original statue of the Virgen de Quito is housed here - she’s pregnant, and standing on a new moon (signs of fertility) and a demon... she’s winged, like an apocalyptic angel...

The chapel is gilded, ornate; the ceilings and floors are wooden geometric mosaics echoing the Moors; a window in the choir loft lets the sun shine directly through on the winter solstice onto a huge statue of Christ....a leaf taken straight out of the temples of the Incas.

There’s a preoccupation with suffering and the Passion of Christ... several bloodied statues are housed here - they are carried through the streets in Holy week, followers dressed in purple robes with hoods (aping the Franciscan monks supposedly but looking like Ku, Klux Klan) self flagellate en route as penance....it’s all a bit ghoulish...

The Jesuit church is unbelievable - every nook and cranny, the walls, the ceilings,the pillars are carved and covered in gold leaf. Maria isn’t such a big star here, but many a saint and martyr cover the walls....

And the cathedral, started in 1926, is huge, gothic...a climb up it’s spires, across a rickety wooden plank and through a series of vertigo inducing ladders offers the most amazing view of the town and surrounding hills, and directly on to the Virgen del Quito. No saints and martyr here ... the stain glass windows depict all the archbishops of Quito, resplendent in all their power and glory. Talk about power writing your own history...

It takes a little while to feel comfortable in Quito. There’s a huge police presence, armed security guards outside all the banks and many stores, riot police surrounding the plaza during a noisy political demonstration outside the presidential palace....politics South American style. I make sure I’m really discreet with my camera. But the people are friendly, diligent... they seem to look after their poor and disabled.

I had 6 days to fill in here, trying to recuperate from my tummy bug. It’s responded neither to abstinence nor antibiotics prescribed (through a lot of mime) by a pharmacist, so trying another lot.

My first taxi ride here was hair raising - we narrowly avoided several collisions, and lost the passenger side window in one such encounter; and they try and con you into paying exorbitant prices without the metre for the privilege!

I risked another death defying ride out to the Equator - the Mittel del Mundo; very kitsch but kind of neat standing at 0’0”. The adrenalin inducing trip did nothing for my tender tummy but I survived. The hour trip through the city make me realize how huge it is, and quite modern outside the old city. We even passed an Apple store called Mundomac (- my new benchmark for progress in South American cities!)

So now I’m up to date with my blog, ensconced in my new hotel, and waiting to meet my new room mate for the trip to the Galapagos.

A bientot

The Last Leg on Gus

Another long day over wild Andean high altitude desert, brought us to colonial Arequipa, Peru’s second largest city, and unexpectedly beautiful, it’s setting dramatic. The grand old Spanish buildings, the whitish local volcanic rock, sparkle in the harsh sunlight... the town is surrounded by active and dormant volcanoes, puffing wisps of smoke on the horizon. They’re a constant reminder of how unstable this land is, and why the Inca felt the need to sacrifice their children to appease the Gods inside them.....

The museum, with the artifacts and mummies from these sacrifices is fascinating ... we hear the story of Juanita, the Inca princess, who was walked here from Cusco to face her fate; we see the beautiful fine cape and tunic she wore...the mummies were found at 6280m, perfectly preserved  at altitude.

Equally impressive is a massive convent, established by a wealthy Spanish widow in 1580. The daughters of wealthy Spanish were taken in, but had to build and furnish their own quarters; they had at least 2 servants, and lived a life of luxury, (and prayed all day apparently) This continued for 300yrs, until they were ordered form Rome to live communally in 1800’s. Nuns lived there in the same mediaeval conditions until 1970’s when it was opened to the public, a city within a city with hundreds of tourists wandering the maze of cobbled streets, and courtyards....the 22 nuns still here are cloistered; they make Communion bread, scented soaps and rosaries with rose petal beads...

We were warned of frequent recent robberies by taxi drivers but armed with my map and some basic Spanish words, I braved a couple, searching all over the town for a computer charger but to no avail. I hated being parted from my Mac, obviously....

After 2 nights of sleeping in comfort in a bed, we headed to the coast for a night in the old Puerto Inca, now nothing more than a hotel on the beach. Most camp in the sand - I opted to pay for a bed!  Ivan made a great cerviche for dinner,and we shared the last of our wine from Mendoza around a bonfire.

 I climbed early next morning over the ruins, up to the site of the old sacrificial altars, now guarded only by vultures and cormorants.

The winding drive up the coast was stunning in it’s own desolate way, the eroded hills literally tumbling into the sea. I had no idea so much of Peru was desert - it’s not all like Machu Pichu! The desert is punctuated by rivers and strips of cultivated land...they rely entirely on these rivers coming from the snow melt (it never rains here) and the snow up in the Andes  is less and less frequent. One riverbed has dried up, the fields are a wasteland...We have a last roadside lunch in Gus - a bit sad!

Further north to Nazca - what we saw of the lines were disappointing, but we’re warned against taking a flight to see them properly (they are apparently stunning) - the safety standards leave alot to be desired and they lose quite a few tourists ...

We  were "treated" to a tour of a Nazcan funerary site...lots of ghoulish mummies with extraordinarily long hair, preserved by the harsh dry conditions. The last forty years have seen a big trade by grave robbers, and the desert sands are literally strewn with bones of all descriptions. Not the most pleasant place I’ve been, but the sunset was beautiful...

Our last night on the road was a gem, one of the best. We passed through the town of Ica, to an oasis in the midst of huge sand dunes. We hung around for our dune buggy rides at sunset, and it was a real thrill, like the biggest roller coaster, straight down near vertical dunes, 180deg turns on the side of others. made the palms sweat a little, but they were very accomplished drivers...

We watched the most amazing sunset, then were treated to a around a campfire, fed lots of Piscola and danced to the guides Peruvian music,, complete with improvised bongo drums. In the wee hours, some later than others, we found a bit of space - easy enough to do, crawled into our sleeping bags and slept under a sky full of stars, not sound to be heard (except my nemesis, the truck's snorer)...but it was awesome.

The next day was a long one with a stop at Pisco where some opted for a boat tour of Islas Ballestas, called the poor man’s Galapegos, but I was going to hold at for the real thing. We arrived tired, hungry and desperate for a shower in Lima, at 9pm, but still managed to go out for a farewell dinner. I’ll miss the crew - 6 hardy souls are continuing on for another 3 weeks.

And so it was goodbye Gus!

Homestay in Racqui and the Colca Canyon

Our numbers were reduced to 12 after Cusco - it was sad parting with old friends KPeg, Terry, Melina, Gary, Anna... I had no great expectations for the rest of the trip, but it still threw up surprises....

Our next stop was an overnight homestay with the people from Racqui, the site an Inca temple on the main route north to Quito. The area was renowned for it’s pottery in the Inca empire, and the locals are given help to establish an income from tourism....

We stay 2 per house....our hostess is delightful, cooks us a 3 course meal, typically Peruvian, which we share with her children. Lots of giggling and sign language....

We’re treated to a pottery demonstration (lots for sale of course), a tour of the ruins (with Ivan translating), and then a chance to play dress up... we don their local costumes, and they invite us to join them in a traditional coca leaf offering to Pachamama and Apu, wishing us well. Afterwards they sing their songs and teach us their dances...they ask us to reciprocate, and all we can rustle up is a terrible rendition of Waltzing Mathilda!

Their life is very communal, their valley beautiful in the early morning light, patchworked by shared plots of hand cut fodder ... they give us all a gift of an Andean Cross as we leave, quite sobered by the simplicity, but joy of their lives...

Onwards and upwards, over another remote Andean pass, 4,820m this time. It’s a lunar landscape, punctuated with huge mines and the  odd (prosperous) town. 

Up further, past the treeline, and there are still herds of llamas, alpacas, and sheep, being tended by a lonely shepherd.....they are brought in and corralled at night.

Twice we have to detour because of huge washouts and holes in bridges. The last wet season took a heavy toll on the road....rough and potholed, many a landslip only half cleared. It’s dark and late when we arrive in our next destination of Chivay; a quick meal, in bed at midnight for 6am pickup to view the Colca Canyon.

2000 yr old terraces line the valley...the oldest high near the peaks because they relied on snowmelt. The Inca with their knowledge of water and irrigation  cultivated the lower slopes. It’s stunning....

After the fall of the Spanish in 1820’s this valley was left isolated and remote from the rest of Peru....the canyon was “discovered” by pilots in 1926, flying for nat Geo. The women, copying the Spanish ladies,  had developed extraordinarily intricate embroidery on the clothes and hats. The style of hat reflected whether you came from the lower of highland villages, and echoed the old cultural practice of elongating or broadening the skull...

The canyon is famous for it’s condors, and they don’t disappoint, rising up on the early morning thermals, to fly out and hunt. They are huge, magnificent....Just wish I’d had my good camera!

The troops all headed off to some thermal pools for a soak....I crashed and actually had an afternoon nap...

Cusco and the Big Trek

Our first glimpse of Cusco is through the Southern Inca gate...K Peg cracks open the wine she has left from Mendoza, as we’ll part company with her in Cusco. We’ll all miss her dulcet tones and hearty laugh on Gus.

Cusco, once the centre of the ancient Inca empire, is beautiful, nestled in a valley, watched over by Inca ruins and a giant statue of Christ. The skill of the interlocking Inca stone work is incredible - it’s the foundation of the Spanish colonial buildings churches lining the Plaza del Armas . 

We have a day to wander the cobbled streets and markets, stocking up on last minute necessities for the big Inca trek. Half the group does the classic trek; the rest of us are doing the Lares Community Trek, camping at tiny remote villages up in the clouds. There are a few nerves; some of us wonder whether we’re up for it....

We explore the ruins of Saksaywaman and Pisac, stock up with supplies in a local market - the hygiene and smell left alot to be desired, met our porters (they carried the tents, food and cooking equipment on horses, mules and llamas) and were treated to lunch on the road, tablecloth chairs and all.

Ramundo,( sporting local dress and hat), is one of the village leaders and in charge of transport. He distributes this amongst the people so they can share the income. This trek is sponsored by Andina Travel and Dragoman.....part of the money we pay for the trek goes towards paying 2 teachers for the local schools, and installing basic facilites.

Then we start..... up a steep humid valley following a river, racing downhill, full of snowmelt, past the last few hardy trees, covered in moss and lichen..... up to 3,600m and our first camp. It rained for the last 20mins, and we were ruing not donning our waterproof pants. By the time we reached camp we were freezing, but our tents were set up thank God. We changed into every layer of thermals we had and crawled into our sleeping bags, waiting for dinner, and wondering why we had paid good money to torture ourselves....

It was the first of many 3 course meals, a warming soup, main and sweets ...delicious local food. The “flushing” loo was broken..the great outdoors was appealing, even in the freezing cold...

How the people here survive is extraordinary..... they have no facilities, no power, no wood for fires; they live in adobe huts with thatch rooves, wear no closed-in shoes, only sandals year round. They wear a thick llama wool blanket as a type of cape, and always the men and children wear beanies. The women wear a hat, unique to their village, and often decorated with fresh flowers.. They’re not dressing up for the tourists either.... it’s their life. 

They are very shy, very polite, and seem incredibly happy....And they are certainly very fit, literally running up the steep sides of the valleys to herd their stock or pick traditional herbs.  All e can do is plod, breathlessly....

Day 2 took us up and up...and up, one tiny footstep at a time, over a pass of 4,700m. The air was very thin, and progress slow; a few in the group were a little worse for wear.

 Down steeply, past lakes and waterfalls to another village for lunch, and more gently down to our campsite at a school (3850m). Some of the group line up for a soccer game with the porters; Kathleen and Ivan were stars, and the porters had never been beaten before, especially by women. I played with some of the local kids as their mothers sat and watched and were hopeful we’d buy some of their handicrafts...

We each presented a book and pencils to a child (part of the fundraising) their delight was amazing, and we joined the local teachers and our guides for a lesson in Quechuan. Great fun, great hilarity...

Day 3 took us up over another pass, 4,400m this time but steeper. Terry and Kath D decided to opt out for the shorter flat route; Mel ended up having to ride the horse for the last bit up - scarier than trying to walk she said - we were in gravelly scree, that seemed to fall away to nothing.

We were ecstatic at making the top - mandatory photo stop, and then the hairy descent, down in the scree... really proud of myself, having gotten over my fear of steep downhill - I romped it in.

Lunch at another school, then down to camp at the thermal pools outside the Lares for our first wash in 3 days and a good soak to soothe tired bodies.

It was sad not to be ending our trek at Machu Pichu, but by far preferable to have shared a bit of the village life high up in the Andes and not to see one other tourist! We were woken on Day 4 at 3.30am for a hair-raising ride down the mountain, past many landslides (lucky it was dark!!) to the town of Olleyantaytambo for breakfast, and a guided tour of more extraordinary ruins. Dinner at a restaurant overlooking the river to celebrate - we had walked 46ks, over 2 passes 4,700, and 4,400 in 3 1/2 days.

Day 5: Drove to Agua Calijentes, a touristy town straddling the raging river at the end of the Sacred Valley, for our trip to Machu Pichu, and it was everything I expected and more. The clouds parted for us (so many tourists only get to see rain and cloud), the light perfect; the view from the Sungate stunning... ticked another box!

We had one more full day back in Cusco,.... explored the Dominican monastery with the remains of Inca temples underneath, and the extraordinary cathedral - 3 churches together, with extraordinary artwork. There was a black Jesus on a cross - the body was made of llama skin and had blackened over the centuries with candle soot; a replica of the ornately carved choir stalls in the Seville cathedral - except that the chair arms were bolstered with figures of pregnant women, not lion heads!, and a painting of the Last Supper, the table replete with a feast of cuy (or guinea pig) the local delicacy. 

Bought my owl flute in the museum from a potter/musician who had made replicas of all the Inca flutes - his music was hauntingly beautiful

Said goodbye to K Peg with a few drinks in her room at the luxurious Hotel Monasterio (a converted monastery of course) and then tried cuy in a restaurant that night, served whole with the head staring at you....

Breathing easier in Bolivia

Bolivia is full of desperate poverty, of subsistence living in the countryside, amongst ruins and terraces full of echos of Aymara and Inca civilizations. They scratch out a living in the most remote of places, sitting all day on the hillsides herding their llama and sheep. A revolution in the 50‘s handed the land back to the campesinos from the landholders; families have their patch, and must contribute time and labour to the community... but they look healthy and happy.

 The colonial Spanish period was clearly brutal, and it’s curious the way the indigenous peoples adopted the toffiest of European dress as their own. The Inca shifts were replaced by the multilayered gathered skirts of the Spanish ladies, but are short, for practical reasons and worn with leggins. And they only ever wear sandals, usually made of tyres. The Inca style braiding of their thick black hair continues, but topped with a bowler hat. The style and height of the hat reflects an ancient custom of deforming and elongating the skull, a sign of beauty and high class in pre-columbian times. The hat and the skirts vary from town to town....

And even more curious is the overlay of Catholicism on their traditional religion and beliefs. Their Gods were Apu, the the spirit of the mountains, and Pachamama, mother earth. Apu was to be appeased, to ward off earthquakes and volcanic eruptions; Pachamama embodied rain and fertility. The religious art and statues in the unbelievably ornate churches and cathedrals are a combination of both....the Virgen Maria is often depicted as a life giving mountain; her dress in it’s many forms is always conical or mountain shaped and she seems to rate much more highly than her son;.... the statues of innumerable saints are lavishly dressed and revered, paraded through the streets on elaborate litters on their feast days..... and outside the churches, the abject poverty....

Le Paz is surrounded by snowcapped peaks and seems to spill over the sides of the canyon to the gorge at it’s base....easy to understand why landslides occur here. At 3680m, it’s an effort to walk up and down it’s steep streets. It’s big, bustling, but not unattractive. The markets are full of portly bowlered hatted women selling their wares...they make no effort to solicit custom, and are averse to any photographs...they are not here for the tourists. I sneak a few with my little camera (my big camera has gone on the blink anyway) and take in the hustle and bustle, the colour, the rhythm of life here...the witches market is full of llama fetuses, hung traditionally in indigenous homes. 6’7” Gusite Gary is almost pickpocketed, distracted by having something spilt on his back...

Some in the group elect to do the ‘death ride” on mountain bikes, 64k down a dirt road from a nearby peak, but we only have 1 day here. The museum has a fascinating collection of Inca feathered headdresses and textiles, of ceremonial masks which show remarkable similarity to Chinese dragons, and a curious contemporary display of Chinese workers happiness and solidarity with their Bolivian brothers.The Plaza del Armas is full of pigeons and people, ignoring the odd protest parade and the riot police on most street corners.

We had dinner in an Afrobolivian restaurant, and taste food and culture born of the slave trade; we dance to the wonderful rhythm of African drums....A new Gus girl Juliet, a native of Ghana, teaches us the moves...we say goodbye to many from the group, and pick up a few more for the next leg to Lima.

19th March:

Gus is fixed and ready for the trip to Lake Titicaca, but she still struggles with the hills at altitude (3800m). The air is crisp and clean, the clouds stunning as we catch the most primitive of ferries over the southern part of the lake, (past the parade of what maybe land locked Bolivia’s only 4 sailors!) to the quaint old colonial town of Copacabana, sleeping on the lakes edge ...it’s like a time capsule, steeped in religious ritual, now surviving on tourism, just...

Climbed the hill overlooking the bay (Stations of the Cross on the way), ate the freshest trout from waterside stalls...the morning took us on a boat trip in the rain and freezing cold, to the Isla del Sol in the middle of the lake, and the birthplace of the Incan gods. A 13k walk over the island (up over 4020mand in blazing sun) took us past ancient Inca temple and the puma rock.....the oracles would give guidance to the people after ceremonies involving coca and hallucinogenics....a “face” with a beard in the white rock was thought to be a God, and the reason why the Incan chief thought Pizarro was God when he confronted them....

The views, the skies are spectacular...could be in the Aegean or the Mediterranean

Back to spend the night celebrating Ivan (the driver)’s birthday on the beach watching the sunset... 

The following day, we spend more hours in a remote border crossing into Peru, chug onto Pucon, and a visit to the fascinating floating reed islands. The Quechuan people here are wonderfully hospitable and relaxed in their island homes, trying to preserve their way of life through tourism. The bows of their reed boats for the tourists are filled with plastic bottles for floatation now and they themselves use modern  boats, but the school and community hall are the only modern buildings.....

I bought an embroidery from one of the needle women.

One more huge day in Gus, rattling over dirt roads, will bring us to Cusco.

Online again in Lima

Lima, 8th April

At long last I’m reunited with my computer after 5 weeks without a recharger. Lord knows what happened, but it’s amazing how bereft I felt without the comfort of wifi and the ease of uploading photos and blogging. 

The internet in the back blocks has been painfully slow and often outdated...hard to open a pdf let alone find a new Mac charger. How on earth did people backpack in the old days????

I’m holed up in a nice hotel in Lima at the moment, laid up with a lurgy that makes me very loath to venture outdoors. The joys of travelling! After 9 weeks, I finally cut my umbilical cord with Gus - the cool kids mostly left after Cusco and I was ready to relinquish my role of honorary crew/truck cleaner.....

The last 5 weeks have been almost an overload of all the senses....a kaleidoscope of colour and cultures, of people and poverty, of extreme effort at altitude with the reward of unforgettable vistas; (and of the never ending and all pervading stench of non functioning loos!!). I awoke yesterday morning atop a sand dune after sleeping under the stars, and finished the day in a less than salubrious hotel in a seedier part of Lima....But I get ahead of myself; I need to start where I left off before the old cogs of my memory refuse to be kicked back into life...

14th March Yuyuni

Forgot to mention the Mummies in the Salta museum....3 perfectly preserved mummies of children sacrificed to appease Apu, the mountain God at the top of nearby LLullaillaco volcano, buried at 6,720m....the highest archaeological site in the world. The skulls were conical, deformed after birth to signify royal lineage.

Also a statue of a pregnant Madonna in the church of San Francesco.... quite extraordinary....

From Salta we started an incredible journey upwards, ever upwards, slowly up more switchbacks...a lunch stop on some salt flats where they were actively mining salt for export, a leg stretch at Pumamarca and a colourful market at the base of the “Hill of Seven Colours”, and then a long winding stretch still upwards across the never never between Argentina and Chile to San Pedro. Our last camp was a dusty one at 3,500 metres...set up finally at 9.30 and wandered down town to eat at a surprisingly flash restaurant...quite a shock in a frontier town of adobe houses and dusty streets, litter everywhere. We’re reminded that we/re really on the edge of the 3rd world here. And we’re feeling the first effects of altitude sickness... , no appetite, the air is thin...

An early start the next morning takes us up to the Bolivian border crossing, a shack of an outpost in the middle of nowhere, and then onto an extraordinary tortuous (and quite full of torture) drive across the infamous Altiplano...

the Laguna Blanco with its beautiful reflections, laguna Verde, iridescent green in the morning light, full of arsenic and magnesium; the thermal springs at 4850m where we dunked our toes and tried to eat a little.... by this stage any exertion is tiring; many have headaches.....past geysers belching steam and lord knows what, then over the highest pass at 5020m.... suddenly there’s a soccer field, basketball “court”...it’s a sulphuric acid processing plant where they bring the borax mined 800m down the other side of the pass. What desperation or enticement would bring one to work here?

Several in the group are really sick now, vomiting, headaches... and Gus jolts onwards over the most ordinary of roads. I had to ask for a reprieve from the back seat!

We descend slowly past the borax mine and the road deteriorates rapidly...past the Laguna Colorado, awash with pink from the betacarotene, and flush with flamingoes ...truly mind blowing vistas.....

we almost crawl to our refugio for the night, a bleak spot high on the Altiplano where there are the first signs of semi arable land next to a spring. The locals are shy, colourfully dressed ... the women with bowler hats topping braided hair, their skirts stiff with multiple layers of gathers, their skin lined and deeply tanned from the harsh sun...

a tail plane on top of a wall tells another woeful story .....hardly anyone can eat, and sleep eludes most at this altitude of 4200m...., but the bed is good, and the heavy llama wool blankets keep us warm

Everyone is keen to descend the next morning, if not keen to rattle around again in Gus. We past a collection of amazing rock formations, interspersed with same ancient mosses of Tierra del Fuego, and inhabited by chinchillas...

down past more and more signs of habitation, basic adobe huts and llama corrals dotting the landscape.....

the llama are beautiful, festooned with ribbons by their owners as a sort of brand; crops of quinoa struggle here and there, breaking up the constant expanse of stony hills.

We pass San Cristobal. the largest silver mine in the world, built by the Americans, (they moved a whole village and brought water and electricity to the area, but now the Japanese Sumimoto (?) own it - they are the ones who are in negotiation with the Bolivian gov. to develop the Lithium mines .... and onto Uyuni at last, on the edge of the salt flats, las Salinas.

It’s a wild west, frontier sort of town, treeless, unbelievably dusty...the edges of town are strewn with litter and plastic bags as far a the eye can see. The locals are desperately poor; they don’t make any eye contact and won’t have their photo taken...it’ our first glimpse of the traditional dress, the women in their black bowler hats, voluminous gathered skirts and leggins...

It’s the end of carnival here though....a strange mix of Christian and pagan festivals; (a sort of cross between Meiringen in Switzerland with the caricatures of evil spirits, and Palm Sunday, with the locals dancing behind a band, swaying corn sheathes in the air.) We headed down to watch the parade in the street, and ended up caught in the revelry, sprayed and being sprayed by cans of foam, the local kids taking great delight in our playing with them....

Off to the salt mines the next morning in 4WD’s....what incredibly hard work, reaping this harvest from the endless flats, covered in water now because of the wet season; the process of gathering, roasting and packaging the salt is labour intense and pays a pittance...

Lots of fun taking perspective bending photos on the flats; a wonderful lunch in a surreal landscape...tablecloths and fresh tea, picante grilled chicken and pasta salad, cooked by the mother-in-law of hotel owner, an American pizza maker who who married a Bolivian, and now makes the highest (and arguably the best) pizza in the world.

There’s also a train graveyard here... it’s the end of the rail line built with the British to ship out minerals, and the place where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid plied their trade before their final siege.

Another day’s slow drive with an ailing Gus through more treeless “lunar” landscapes finally brings us to Potosi, the once great city (bigger than London) which kept the Spanish Empire rich for 300 yrs. Built at the foot of the bare mountain where the silver was extracted, it’s almost haunting ......lavish Spanish architecture, even more lavish cathedral, numerous churches and monasteries embellished in mind blowingly ornate silver, a huge mint which supplied most of the world’s coins.... the tangible reminders overlaying a sad and brutal history...... 8 million indigenous and African slaves died here over the course of 300 yrs in the still appalling mine conditions; the miners were fed coca leaves to increase their output; the life expectancy of miner was 30; a mule’s was 3 mths as they drove the giant cogs that pressed the ingots of silver...

The local Chequa people felt abandoned after filling the coffers of Europe for so long, but still have an unbelievably deep conservative Catholic faith. We eat heart and tripe and huge white local corn in the street stalls; watch them celebrate yet another saint’s feast day, dancing beneath arches of beaten silver and plastic flowers... 

The markets are very basic, more so than China of 20 years ago... cows heads and intestines displayed next to toiletries and overripe fruit; corn and llama meat are staples ..

17th March

On the road again, on the way to Le Paz, celebrating St Patrick’s day on the bus... we deck her out in green balloons and shamrocks; a few stalwarts stow some liquid sustenance on board to celebrate..

Gus is really sick now, struggling to a standstill climbing up the ranges. The boys change the filter and expoxy up a fuel link, and she agrees to carry on. A few glasses in Club Gus for Paddy make the 13 hr day pass more quickly...finally after Bangkok style traffic jams, we’re treated to a glittering view of Le Paz, stitched onto the sides of a gorge, and only 3,600m. It’s easier to breathe, but not easy...