So, life goes on as our trip nears its end. Currently we are sitting around in La Paz, Bolivia; home to Condors and Salt Flats. These last few weeks cum months have flown by, and it seems the relative risk we are willing to take to get a travel buzz has also risen exponentially. Given that I'm feeling a little sick (just overcame some serious shakes and chills) I'll keep this brief by starting where my limited short term memory can still put together a cohesive string of events; that being two weeks ago the 27th of Dec, Cusco, Peru.
It was a long and misserable bus ride which took us from Lima through Puno to Cusco (direct never means direct when your paying 1/2 of the leading competitors price), and when we finally arrived (27 hours later), we were that familiar combination of stoked, exhasted and badly needing a crapper. Making our way to the Loki hostal located on top of a miniature mountian overlooking the impressionable city of Cusco, we considered our options: 1) Make for machu Picchu before New Years, essentially rushing things and leaving little time for planning; 2) Leave after New Years, drastically diverting from our now irrelavent travel plan; 3) Screw it, watch a BBC documentary, and keep going to La Paz.
Through fate more than rational decision we ended up opting for #2 (Though I'd be lying if I said that #3 wasn't looking ridiculously attractive to me at this point). So, as life usually goes, Chris met a beautiful Chilean expat currently vacationing in Cuzco from Lima while dancing late into the night (also our first night in town, did I mention the bus was 27 hours?), I, on the more respectable / "having slightly less game" side of things instead opted to begin planning our trip to the big M.P. Examining the available options, it soon became apparent to me that one could do the same trip being offered by the numerous tour operators, with less cost, and the near guarantee of becoming lost several times in the Peruvian Andes. Naturally it appealed to both Chris and I. Soon, others became interested in our little trip, and before long we had 15 eager (albeit misinformed) trekkers representing Israel, Argentina, Great Britain, Canada and the States. Did I mention that there was no guide? Yeah. So. Through the usual progression of planning 4 day epic treks through the wild unknown, people naturally had their own ideas of what "makes" the ideal Machu Picchu trek. Trying to appease everyone, we began organizing two excursions, first, a limited entry overnight downhill biking adventure in a massive 4wd diesel pickup with 6 bikes and 7 people (Sadly, Chris being with his beau, this left sans one intrepid panamerican explorer). It was a good time, and through a mixture of happenstance and pure, unbridled travelling savvy, we ended up on top of some random mountain, sleeping beside a monastery (with the monks permission obviously) and killing it down 1.5 kms of gnarly terraces, streams and drops. Using the truck as a chair lift, we managed to maximize both ride time and extreme factor. The next day we did time trials down a nearby road and explored the surrounding countryside (During which I accidentally tsunamied a kid carrying veggies back home to mom... chico, if you read this, lo siento) .
Okay, finally to the real shiz. Despite a rocky start to our M.P. trek (8 of 15 people having no way to return home... due to 2 very special (barf in my mouth) people (you know who you are), we left in two chartered buses for Santa Maria, a small town apparently inaccessible due to a recent landslide. Upon making our first way point, it was time for a little orienteering, at which point it became evident that nobody could really place us on our exquisitely detailed (though apparently too far south) topo map. Following the advice of locals, we made our way down to a river, through a ghost town, and across to Town X (First memory blank). At this point I confronted the group with two options, 1) head over the massive mountain that separated us from our 1st night goal, 2) keep following the ground level path which would inevitably lead us to the same location, though considerably more slowly. Being as it was that this group actually decided to trek with a clueless Canadian through territory unknown, their risk propensity made the decision to huck the mountain an obvious one. About 2 hours in a 15 mins before sunset, a mixture of two screaming mountain women (both apparently wanting us to camp at their homes, and both accusing each other of being thieves), the complete exhaustion of several party members, and no foreseeable end nor camping site, we decided to turn around, descending the mountain in the dark, our fumbling movements heckled constantly by local dogs, parrots and one very persistent Peruvian mountain woman. The path was quite difficult (even without our lack of adequate lighting) and our regression slow. We made town X by 8 or 9 and camped out in a vacant football field. Spirits remained high, and with some food and plenty of wine, we slept and dreamt collectively of the misadventures to come.
Rising with the light, I was amazed by the hell we razed in a mere 10 hours; camp, and the surrounding "debris" would take us till 11 to fully packup, not that this was the limiting factor on the days progress. Quite the opposite, like the day before, again we spent the better part of 3 hours hiking another random mountain, only to turn back (I, being the genius that I am, decided to run ahead to see if indeed the path would lead anywhere, 20 minutes running directly uphill into the thin mountain air later, with throat nearly closed due to hypercardio exertion, decided to turn back. Later I learnt the path would have lead via 3 day hike to a fairly pristine mountain lake know by locals for its trout fishing). Eventually the path became more obvious, and soon we found ourselves part of that sordid mess which is organized tour hiking. With a trial of gringos stretching like ants to the horizon, we made our way to St Teresa, where we stopped at a particularly delightful hotspring which, conveniently, allowed camping. Taking a combi with Chrissy and Ari to the local meat and booze market, we returned heroes with 4kg of fresh meat, salad materials, and a large bottle of rum (for more stories relating to the latter purchase, ask me in person). Somehow, (I don't think anyone in our party knows for sure) the nights festivities led to many lost articles of clothing, camping gear and dignity. Waking to both wet tents and throbbing heads (Not mine, naturally) we opted to take a combi to the nearby town... (train stop?) of Hidroelectrica. It was during this trip in which my master plan of starting an Argentine gang, AST (Assesinos de San Telmo), which robs tourists from the barrio of San Telmo took hold, and the argentines where quick to sign on. Arriving in Hidroelectrica, the group divided in a very unequal 2, with 5 of us opting to hike up to Aguas Calientes (The remainder choosing rail transportation). Somewhere in the first 300 meters, I decided it would be a good idea to race the train to the top whilst trying to break the time record for hike. 1.5 hours of pain later, I and one of our Argentine friends reached the top. The train was delayed. No contest.
Five Pizzas later (Between Chris and I), we hit the sack, and slept with the sweet knowledge that we would wake at 4 and begin a straight vertical hike to Machu Picchu.
And so it began, that at 4am en punto our group, gathering like the perculated drops of coffee through a paticuallary fine grind, left in the darkness for the final phase of the inca trail. The assent was steep and I kept rear guard, helping motivate a sad trio of Argentines towards the top. When we finally arrived, the line of sombrero wearing gringos ushered to the top by busses streched into the 500s. Seeing a freind near the front, I naturally snaked my way into the top 50. When the gates opened (Yes, suprisingly like disney land) we made for the base of Wayna Picchu like bandits, as only the first 200 are admitted. My American friend Eric and I hiked con prisa and we arove withing the initial 13 at the top of the world. Overlooking Machu Picchu on the arguably more spectacular peak of Wayna Picchu, it dawned upon us that some Off-Piste exploration was in order, and we descended sin sendero down the rocky crags and towards the boiling clouds below. Seeing several rarely seen before carvings, walls and stairs, our trek took us down the wrong side of the mountain, without water, to where the jungle again became thick, and I could hear the river from the previous day's hike. The uphill was a battle, and, in culmination with the stupidity of running up a mounting "scouting" and trying to set new speed records with a train, it proved too much for my ankles, essentially destroying my achelies for the following three days and rendering me unable to walk. Machu Picchu was indeed gorgeous, but falls victem by the classic dialectic of people wanting to see something beautiful whilst destroying it with their presence. Pics should be up in the viewer thing on Picasa to the right...
We ended the day with a bus ride, followed by a uneventfull train ride, followed by a cramped combi shuttle back to Loki in Cusco. In all it was a riot. Would I do it again? Yeah, but I'd probably opt to take a helicopter to the top.
Cheers, and, sorry for no updates, this is South America, and belive me, when you try to upload the same videos 4 to 5 times without sucess, it discourages future efforts.
B
It was a long and misserable bus ride which took us from Lima through Puno to Cusco (direct never means direct when your paying 1/2 of the leading competitors price), and when we finally arrived (27 hours later), we were that familiar combination of stoked, exhasted and badly needing a crapper. Making our way to the Loki hostal located on top of a miniature mountian overlooking the impressionable city of Cusco, we considered our options: 1) Make for machu Picchu before New Years, essentially rushing things and leaving little time for planning; 2) Leave after New Years, drastically diverting from our now irrelavent travel plan; 3) Screw it, watch a BBC documentary, and keep going to La Paz.
Through fate more than rational decision we ended up opting for #2 (Though I'd be lying if I said that #3 wasn't looking ridiculously attractive to me at this point). So, as life usually goes, Chris met a beautiful Chilean expat currently vacationing in Cuzco from Lima while dancing late into the night (also our first night in town, did I mention the bus was 27 hours?), I, on the more respectable / "having slightly less game" side of things instead opted to begin planning our trip to the big M.P. Examining the available options, it soon became apparent to me that one could do the same trip being offered by the numerous tour operators, with less cost, and the near guarantee of becoming lost several times in the Peruvian Andes. Naturally it appealed to both Chris and I. Soon, others became interested in our little trip, and before long we had 15 eager (albeit misinformed) trekkers representing Israel, Argentina, Great Britain, Canada and the States. Did I mention that there was no guide? Yeah. So. Through the usual progression of planning 4 day epic treks through the wild unknown, people naturally had their own ideas of what "makes" the ideal Machu Picchu trek. Trying to appease everyone, we began organizing two excursions, first, a limited entry overnight downhill biking adventure in a massive 4wd diesel pickup with 6 bikes and 7 people (Sadly, Chris being with his beau, this left sans one intrepid panamerican explorer). It was a good time, and through a mixture of happenstance and pure, unbridled travelling savvy, we ended up on top of some random mountain, sleeping beside a monastery (with the monks permission obviously) and killing it down 1.5 kms of gnarly terraces, streams and drops. Using the truck as a chair lift, we managed to maximize both ride time and extreme factor. The next day we did time trials down a nearby road and explored the surrounding countryside (During which I accidentally tsunamied a kid carrying veggies back home to mom... chico, if you read this, lo siento) .
Okay, finally to the real shiz. Despite a rocky start to our M.P. trek (8 of 15 people having no way to return home... due to 2 very special (barf in my mouth) people (you know who you are), we left in two chartered buses for Santa Maria, a small town apparently inaccessible due to a recent landslide. Upon making our first way point, it was time for a little orienteering, at which point it became evident that nobody could really place us on our exquisitely detailed (though apparently too far south) topo map. Following the advice of locals, we made our way down to a river, through a ghost town, and across to Town X (First memory blank). At this point I confronted the group with two options, 1) head over the massive mountain that separated us from our 1st night goal, 2) keep following the ground level path which would inevitably lead us to the same location, though considerably more slowly. Being as it was that this group actually decided to trek with a clueless Canadian through territory unknown, their risk propensity made the decision to huck the mountain an obvious one. About 2 hours in a 15 mins before sunset, a mixture of two screaming mountain women (both apparently wanting us to camp at their homes, and both accusing each other of being thieves), the complete exhaustion of several party members, and no foreseeable end nor camping site, we decided to turn around, descending the mountain in the dark, our fumbling movements heckled constantly by local dogs, parrots and one very persistent Peruvian mountain woman. The path was quite difficult (even without our lack of adequate lighting) and our regression slow. We made town X by 8 or 9 and camped out in a vacant football field. Spirits remained high, and with some food and plenty of wine, we slept and dreamt collectively of the misadventures to come.
Rising with the light, I was amazed by the hell we razed in a mere 10 hours; camp, and the surrounding "debris" would take us till 11 to fully packup, not that this was the limiting factor on the days progress. Quite the opposite, like the day before, again we spent the better part of 3 hours hiking another random mountain, only to turn back (I, being the genius that I am, decided to run ahead to see if indeed the path would lead anywhere, 20 minutes running directly uphill into the thin mountain air later, with throat nearly closed due to hypercardio exertion, decided to turn back. Later I learnt the path would have lead via 3 day hike to a fairly pristine mountain lake know by locals for its trout fishing). Eventually the path became more obvious, and soon we found ourselves part of that sordid mess which is organized tour hiking. With a trial of gringos stretching like ants to the horizon, we made our way to St Teresa, where we stopped at a particularly delightful hotspring which, conveniently, allowed camping. Taking a combi with Chrissy and Ari to the local meat and booze market, we returned heroes with 4kg of fresh meat, salad materials, and a large bottle of rum (for more stories relating to the latter purchase, ask me in person). Somehow, (I don't think anyone in our party knows for sure) the nights festivities led to many lost articles of clothing, camping gear and dignity. Waking to both wet tents and throbbing heads (Not mine, naturally) we opted to take a combi to the nearby town... (train stop?) of Hidroelectrica. It was during this trip in which my master plan of starting an Argentine gang, AST (Assesinos de San Telmo), which robs tourists from the barrio of San Telmo took hold, and the argentines where quick to sign on. Arriving in Hidroelectrica, the group divided in a very unequal 2, with 5 of us opting to hike up to Aguas Calientes (The remainder choosing rail transportation). Somewhere in the first 300 meters, I decided it would be a good idea to race the train to the top whilst trying to break the time record for hike. 1.5 hours of pain later, I and one of our Argentine friends reached the top. The train was delayed. No contest.
Five Pizzas later (Between Chris and I), we hit the sack, and slept with the sweet knowledge that we would wake at 4 and begin a straight vertical hike to Machu Picchu.
And so it began, that at 4am en punto our group, gathering like the perculated drops of coffee through a paticuallary fine grind, left in the darkness for the final phase of the inca trail. The assent was steep and I kept rear guard, helping motivate a sad trio of Argentines towards the top. When we finally arrived, the line of sombrero wearing gringos ushered to the top by busses streched into the 500s. Seeing a freind near the front, I naturally snaked my way into the top 50. When the gates opened (Yes, suprisingly like disney land) we made for the base of Wayna Picchu like bandits, as only the first 200 are admitted. My American friend Eric and I hiked con prisa and we arove withing the initial 13 at the top of the world. Overlooking Machu Picchu on the arguably more spectacular peak of Wayna Picchu, it dawned upon us that some Off-Piste exploration was in order, and we descended sin sendero down the rocky crags and towards the boiling clouds below. Seeing several rarely seen before carvings, walls and stairs, our trek took us down the wrong side of the mountain, without water, to where the jungle again became thick, and I could hear the river from the previous day's hike. The uphill was a battle, and, in culmination with the stupidity of running up a mounting "scouting" and trying to set new speed records with a train, it proved too much for my ankles, essentially destroying my achelies for the following three days and rendering me unable to walk. Machu Picchu was indeed gorgeous, but falls victem by the classic dialectic of people wanting to see something beautiful whilst destroying it with their presence. Pics should be up in the viewer thing on Picasa to the right...
We ended the day with a bus ride, followed by a uneventfull train ride, followed by a cramped combi shuttle back to Loki in Cusco. In all it was a riot. Would I do it again? Yeah, but I'd probably opt to take a helicopter to the top.
Cheers, and, sorry for no updates, this is South America, and belive me, when you try to upload the same videos 4 to 5 times without sucess, it discourages future efforts.
B
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