Getting On

       I can now say I´ve been to Peru, I´ve been to Bolivia, Chili and Argentina as well.  I´ve sandboarded in San Pedro de Atacama and trekked the four day infamous Inca Trail.  In Mendoza I paraglided for the first time and toured the Bodegas via bicycle.  I´ve been higher than 14,000 feet and stood mesmorized before the Andes Mountain Range.  Tomorrow, weather permiting, I will ice climb the extremely active Volcan Villarrica in Pucon, Chili before heading south east back into Argentina and on to Patagonia. 

If you could see through the window of your dreams what would lay beyond?

       For six weeks I had the best travelling companion I could have ever asked for.  Linda Batista worked for me at Tommy Bahama in Palm Desert, California.  Before she left to return to Santa Maria in the Azore Islands of Portugal we developed a friendship that would exceed both our expectations.  I had not seen her for over five years but through Facebook we managed to stay in contact.  When I told her my plans to backpack through South America for eight months her only response was, "Great!  Where are we starting?  Hoovie this will be the adventure of a small but fruitful lifetime.  Let´s go vagabonding!"  From there one we planned the trip together.

       Linda.  This blog is for you!  Thank you for your free spirited attitude and laid back approach to every obstacle we tripped over.  Thank you for you abundant laughter and always calling me on my bullshit.  Thanks for being cranky in the morning but demanding that you "shop till you drop."  Thanks for managing to trip, fall or stumble over every crack in the sidewalk or sewage drain you could find. I always waited for you to laugh first...and you always did.  You are one of the few people who laughs at your own folly before that of others.  Anyone can light up a room but you lit up entire Hostels.  Sometimes to the point of almost getting us kicked out!  Coco will never forget you.  In the next Lonely Planent book you will be mentioned as a warning to all International Hostels.  All of Ireland is in love with you and you left Brazil envious of your abs.  Colombia laments for another kiss, (if only you had drank his secret elixhar).  God only knows what La Paz and the Wild Rover would comment on.  You are a legend on three continents.  In Chili some petty thief is looking at your pictures thinking what a crazy chica you are.  They would probably return your purse just for the chance to party with you.

       I am left without a friend.  Without a travel companion.  Now I have to make friends on my own where once you made them for me.  You are the best!  Already I miss singing to Michael Jackson and howling at the moon every time you tried to carry a tune.  And I´ve never seen a person fall as much as you have.  Whether it was off a chair, into a pool, up an Inca step or over your own two feet; every day it amazed me.  But when I saw the wonder in your eyes I understood that you you are one of these magical persons who just don´t have time to look down.  Life is in front of you, not at your feet..  It holds so much wonder and excitment for you; I can almost see it going through your eyes, directly to your heart and back out through your smile.  Those who are fortunate enough to be around you appreciate a glimpse of life through your soul.

       To the family and friends that recieve gifts from Linda, enjoy them.  She had to buy a rather large duffle bag for all of her hairpins, dresses, skirts, magnets and earings she purchased.  Many Alpaca met their demise at the her demand for hats, sweaters, socks and gloves.  Now that I think of it, don´t thank her.  I think she bought it all for herself. 

Linda.  In Spanish and Portugal it means beautiful.  You are exactly that but with magic, wonder and amition as companions.  Here in Pucon where the days are as long as the mountains high I wonder, "Where is Linda?  Back to work.  Back to the Pub with fresh ideas."  Perhaps one day we will paraglide over you island.  I´m just a dish-dog looking for a laughing joke and some meager work.  Besides...someone has to tend the garden while you become an old cat lady.

Extreme Sports

       It's been a bit since I've posted but it really is to much trouble to deal with.  I've borrowed a buddies laptop from Ireland and am begging for more time with it.  Here are some pics of the last few weeks.  I will post more on Facebook because it seems to run a lot faster. 

Sandboarding has serious consequences!!!

Sunset hike in Valley of the Moon, San Pedro de Atacama, Chili.

Rockclimbing wall in Cordoba, Argentina.  To easy!

Linda paragliding in Mendoza, Argentina!!!  Crazy best time of my life

We kept saying we needed some activity and we got it.  Today we toured the Bodega's of Mendoza and tasted some of the best Malbec in the world.  Oh...and we did it all on bikes!  Life is about to slow down as Linda leaves in 10 days and I head south to Patagonia for some serious trekking and camping.  I'm more than ready to leave the cities behind and get back to these incredible mountains and glaciers. 

More pics will be on Facebook so check it out.  More writing later when I really have time.  At least my journal is slowly filling up. 

Salar de Uyuni

       A four day journey through the salt flats of Uyuni, Bolivia.  They are the worlds largest stretching 6479 square miles.  Beyond that is tens of thousands of miles of volcanic minerals reaching as high as 15,000 feet.  I am going to let the pictures speak of the trip but there is one story to tell.
      

       The Toyota Landcruiser is arguably one of the best off road vehicle in the world.  Tough, reliable and durable under tremendous stress both from driver and terrain.  I have owned two myself and have never been disappointed.  You could even call me a bit of an enthusiast.  My old FJ55 was a 1971.  To this day it is my favorite car I´ve ever owned.

       You can imagine my excitement when we arrived via tourist bus to Uyuni, Bolivia only to discover that all the tours were taken by Landcruiser.  Although none dated back as far as my FJ55, many of the older ones were FJ60 and FJ62 which date back to 1989.  The newer cruisers (which we were in) were more luxury vehicles in the U.S.  The rounded body and high roofs lent themselves to the Baby Boomers and would comfortably seat 7-8 people fr family travel.  I have always laughed at these trucks thinking of them more as an expenisve mini-van than an actual off-road vehicle.  I couldn´t have been more wrong.

       Our driver, Raul, was a sort and capable man of few words.  I don´t think I ever saw him without his sunglasses on or without a fiendish grin on his face.  He was born to race to Baja 500, only he had no idea what that was.  He adorned a full body aviator suit every time he climbed onto the roof to load our gear and food supplies.  He was, I would say, a Bolivian bad-ass.

       Day two of our trip commenced at 8am with the usual bread, jelly and tea.  Raul loaded up the packs and hearded us into the truck.  Along with Linda and myself were four Irish guys on a break between school and the world of work.  They were cordial and polite, not at all like the other Irish we had met along the way.  Ny that I mean that they were mostly sober and a bit reserved.  We loved them and were fascinated by their shy nature.

       And that was how day two began.  I was a little tired and spinning from the constant climb in altitude.  Our average elevation was around 12,500 ft.  I´m not sure if I was daydreaming about U.S. comforts long gone or trying to take a picture but I was jarred by the sudden halt of te truck only ten miles outsdie of camp.  Even after only one day we had pretty much become accustomed to the violent rolling of washboard roads at 110 kph (68mph) which our calm but psychotic guide seemed to enjoy.  Even at times when an experienced driver might switch to Low Gear, Raul prefered gasoline and speed.  I prayed for his suspension system and tires.

       Why were we stopped?  Raul put the truck in park, lifted his sunglasses (for the first and only time) and turned around to look at me.  We had no common language with which to communicate but I understood at once what he was saying by his hand signals.  He pointed at me and began to turn his hands as if holding a steering wheel.  He wanted me to drive!

       In any other situation I think I would have paused for a moment to ask myself why.  But here we were, six travellers lost in world´s largest salt flat somewhere in the Bolivian desert and our dear Raul was handing command of the mother ship to me!  I was out of the truck and around to the driver´s side before he could tip his sunglasses back down.  He tried to expalin the gears but I already had the truck moving.  "Sesenta!  Sesenta, no mas!"  He would yell.  60 km per hour is only 37mph and I know good old Raul never travelled any slower than about 80 km.  He was trying to keep me honest.  I rolled the truck foward, excellerated and took my first really good look at the road ahead.

       If you´ve ever seen old animal trails you know that they diverge.  They branch off and splinter every hundred yards in multiple directions only to meander back to an original path.  This was no different.  I wondered about gaining speed when every minute a new road appeared.  I looked back at Raul, now sitting next to Linda, for some advice but his hand signals simply motioned me foward; he seemed not to care where I went.  As best I could tell Raul wanted me to go about 70 mles ahead and to the southeast of a mountain that shared a border with Bolivia and Chili.  That was at best an educated guess.  The Irish boys remained cautiously quiet and I decided to see what this truck could deliver.

       Before passing out on Linda´s shoulder Raul informed us that yesturday was his birthday and he was too tired to drive.  That would explain the music and playful groans of a woman we had heard late into the night before.  With that, he was asleep.  Linda said he stunk of booze.  Good for Raul!  Hate the player not the game.  If a man, in this vast desert, can get can a piece of ass, why not?  Who were we to judge?  Hit it and quit it from Bolivia to Chili!  Raul who was about to party, we salute you!  I think all the men (and maybe even Linda), were more than little jealous. 
       For now there was the road to think about, or lack there of.  By now we were beyond the salt flats.  Volcanic ash and dried mud from the rainy season formed deep grooves in the road.  I used these tracks from last season´s treks to find my direction the best I could. 

       In the far distance, up along the mountains and directly ahead, we noticed some lumps in the landscape.  We all agreed that it must be a town.  Road or not we were going to head towards it and see if we couldn´t buy some water.  On this decision Raul was quite passive and we took his snoring as a sign of agreement.  Tracks in the mud would veer off to the left and right but everything seemed to be taking us in that direction.  And it was none to early.  We needed our daily dose of Coke and Pringles.  The hearty were already talking about a noon glass of red wine and piece of bread.  I had long ago rolled down the window and started smoking, acting the part and demanding to be tipped in Bolivian Pesos for my role as tour guide.

       In hindsight I´m not sure if the road became more difficult or I just started to proceed with more caution because this group of buildings was definetly not a town.  A dozen or so oval structures took shape.  They were lined in a very organized fashion and had a short five foot wall encasing the entire area.  As I had never seen any round architecture before anywhere in South America (other than a church dome) I believed them to be tents.  In my mind this could only mean one thing.  Military.

       Up until this point we had been pretty jovial.  We snapped shots of Raul passed out and I swirved the truck west to east just to watch him sway in his sleep.  Bastard that he was, he remained asleep and stoic like an Incan stone artifact.  There was no denying what we were looking at though.  The road was even and I could tell it had been pushed to the side by a machine and grated.  The lack of rock made the tires quiet and the road took on an ominous sound.  White rock began lining either side of the road escorting us to a gate ahead.  Signs in Spanish gave directions but we had no idea what they said.  We did notice that they were not pedestrian in nature.  I felt as though we were entering area 51.  It´s one thing to see the familiar yellow signs with the sillhouette of a woman and child dashing across the road.  It´s another thing entirely when they have barbed wire, rifles and landmines on them.

       I reduced the speed of the Landcruiser to 30km and approached a clay hovel that had a decrepid wooden post blocking our way.  Along the mounside gypsm had been used to write the words Bolivian Militaria in giant script.  The Irish boys clutched their ipods and I could almost here U2´s Sunday Bloody Sunday coming from the earphones.  Linda was knudging Raul harder now but he was lost in the slumber of his birthday.  As the driver of precious cargo I tried to appear as though all was normal but I too, couldn´t mask my fear.

       Outside the gate were 3 young guards.  They couldn´t have been any older than eighteen and they all had Russian built AK47´s losely slung across their shoulders.  As I rolled the truck to a stop at the gate, I´m not sure what was noticed first, their amazement to see me driving or my fear of imprisionment and death.  The commander looked at me, then at the tour truck and back to me.  He furrowed his young brow; I could see this made no sense to him.  He may have tightened his grip on his rifle a bit when he motioned me closer.  I thought I was goig to be shot with only four Irish kids who loved the Beatles to bear witness.

       Linda knocked Raul so hard his head almost hit the window.  He didn´t need to raise his sunglasses for me to see the surprise on his face.  I think he dropped the pringles that had been nestled in his lap.  Feigning that all was as it should be Raul laughed, offered an hello and motioned the guard to the other side of the truck.  The guard wasn´t as confindent as Raul but he came around the back side to where the door had been opened.  Another guard took his place at my side and said nothing.
       It´s customary for guides to come upon check points or toll roads where they pay a fee which has already been included in our price.  They show ID, pay the money and off we all go.  This was a little different.  Raul fumbled around for his identification and then produced a rather large sum of cash.  He seemed a little out of sorts but cross cultural differences are hard to decipher.  Once the money had changed hands the tone of the entire scene altered.  The guards snickered at the fact that I was driving and made friendly eye contact.  A few even raised their hand in a welcoming gesture.
       The gate was lifted and we were allowed to pass through.  What exactly we crossed I´ll never know.  Raul laughed loud with a sense of new found ease, muttered something in Spanish and was back to his dreaming within minutes.  Not sure what to do, I kicked the truck into gear and proceeded towards Chili.  Not 3 miles down the road Raul woke and motioned for me to stop.  My day as a Bolivian Tour Guide was at an end.  Militia or no, I was sad to relinquish the wheel.

Here are pictures of Salar de Uyuni and the surrounding area:

      

    

uyuni - Create slideshow

La Paz

       La Paz.  With her dizzing off balance height, her whirlwind of traffic, people and vendors.  Her music never stops; locals and tourists alike delight in her sounds until the morning light is at arm´s length.  She is alluring like a woman engaged in an exotic and foreign dance and dangerous like a dark alley with to many encroaching shadows.  She takes your breath away.  Literally.  At 12,007 feet she sits as Inca once did overlooking her people, all the while grining at being the heighest city in the world.  
       As the locals sit selling their wares, chewing the medicinal and mythical coca leaf, tourists race like out of focus neon lights prepping their noses for the cheap cocaine.  La Paz is where you set your clock to noon so you know when to rise from a comotose slumber.  There is an old poem that says, ¨where the Inca shall find comfort and healing and prosperity from the coca leaf, the white man, when he attempts to let it enter his body, shall find only pain and his veins will run through his body in chaos.  He shall encounter only poison and a shattered mind.¨ That is a rough paraphrase but what an accurate prediction of the future.

       It is early today when I wake.  I sip on some coca tea that I bought from and exteremly kind mother who was selling on the street.  My head faintly pounds from the music and costumes of last night´s festivities.  I am toying with the idea of a brief walk down to the Witches Market where an exhilar for any aliment can be purchased.  Dried llama fetus´s hang everywhere.  When a new home is purchased they are burried in the front to wash the house clean and ward off evil spirits.  It is impossible not to stare at the tiny creatures, dried up with eyes wide open.  Such a brief moment they had in this world.  Their first breath was immediately followed by their last and in those eyes I see them screaming, ¨Wait!  I want to be a blessing in life before you make me a martyr in death.¨ Tiny forepaws that aren´t yet totally developed stretch up to cover their face rather than hang down to take a first step on dry soil and stumble to drink their mother´s milk.  I don´t know whether they are still born or untimely ripped from their mother´s womb.  I suspect the latter.  So hang the hundreds of MacDuff´s, killers of Macbeth just as the witches prophesied.
      My eyes wander over them, past the armadillos and charm braclets of animal claws and teeth.  Thousands of tiny viles filled with liquids and powders fill the stalls, promising to to cure everything from poor digestion to fertility.  I stop just for a moment to examine one witche´s brew a little closer.  It is enhance the size of a man´s member.  Hmmm....who couldn´t use an extra inch or two?  But the hag will not sell to foreigners and she cast an evil eye on me while I snap a photo and move on.
       I  stumbe and try to catch my breath on the steep cobblestone streets.  Around the corner is the famous black market.  Here in what consumes dozens of city blocks a person can buy anything from fabric to stereo equipment.  Tobacco, alcohol, toys, hardware supplies etc.  All of it seems neatly packaged and ready for Western consumption.  But it will never make the western shore.  Pirated, it now sells for pennies on the dollar in La Paz.  I had to pick up some Camel smokes since they were only four dollars for 10 packs!  I am amazed at the vast amount of toilets, faucets and piping s this whole continent seems to be void of any sort of septic system or sanitation.
       Tonight Linda and I have a ten hour bus ride that will herd us and hundreds of other weary travellors out of La Paz and south Uyuni where the world´s largest salt flats reside.  We will spend three quiet days in a Landcruiser touring southern Bolivia and camping in mud villages along the way.  It will be a welcome change to the disharmony of Bolivia´s capital.  I prefer the quiet open space and dirt roads of the country to the dazzling cities and throngs of local buses spewing out endless amounts of carbon minoxide.  When I go to wash my face and clean my nails, I like to know that I am washing simple soils rather than soot and exhaust fumes.


Adios La Paz.  Adios Boliva.
Estoy consados y debil con su enfermo.
Gracias para su casa y comida y personas,
Estoy caminando a la Sol.
Bienvendios Chili!

Oh Bolivia.

1-11-09

       It just occured to me to put the dates of when these were written because I don´t post them for days after. The sequence is European, day/month/year. It´s amazing how backwards the states are in everything. My fellow travelers look at me with glazed eyes when I tell them how many miles I´ve travelled or how high we are in feet. Why couldn´t King whoever have had a ten inch foot! We´d all be in the same page.

       Anyway...it´s 9:30 pm and Linda and I are rushing like mad lamas to make our bus from Cusco to Copacobana, Bolivia.  We have not travelled by bus yet but were quite accurate in assuming that it would be a mad house.  The station is cold and buzzing with an uncontrolled, incohearant level of noise and excitement.  We seem to be the only two travellers lost in its sea of irrational composition.  But when I slow down, breath deep and let the noise fade and the movement slow, I see another picture.  I begin to see the other scared faces speckled throughout the crowd;  travellers like us, who have no clue where they are supposed to be.  We are all clutching our packs, white knuckling it through the mass of locals, dogs, vendors and pick pockets trying to find our platform.

       Linda manages to find the right line and we make our way onto the bus.  One quick prayer for my luggage and on I go.  It´s now 10:50 and we were supposed to be on our way at ten.  We have learned not to be early now.  Licky for us our double decker bus is full of fellow nomads, weary and scared.  We feel safe enough to let our guard down and go to sleep, hoping that our day packs will be there under our seats when we awake.  The tempature drops to 50 degrees in the bus and now I am angry that I declined a blanket.  Such is life and the learning process begins.

       I am awoken to our caretaker hurrying us to get off the bus.  Peeking through the thin drapes, I peer out the window expecting to find the sleepy town of Copacobana on the shores of Lake Titicaca.  Instead I see desert.  Miles of dry and barren land in every direction.  Why are we being ushered off our bus?  Our bags are already on the dirt waiting for us.  One by one we gather our things and are directed to a very small bus, a van really.  It looks older than any Inca ruin I have seen but the motor is running so we get on.  Our driver takes us to the border of Peru and Bolivia and seems annoyed that he has to wait for me to get a Visa.  No other forgeiners need a Visa for Bolivia but since America declared a war on drugs (Bolivia´s number one export, and 80% of it to the U.S.A., this is how they responded).  Another 40 minutes to Lake Titicaca.  A small Bolivian boy and his father, who we squeezed in along the way, sit facing me and stare with faint interest at my skin and fair color.
       Finally we arrive and gather our belongings to begin a short hike up hill to our Hostel.  Copacobana is a quiet religious town thriving only because it sits next to Lake Titicaca.  The lake is a massive body of water at 3820m (12,532 feet) with two notable islands.  Isle del Sol is the birthplace of the sun in Incan mythology.  After staying one night in Copacobana we will take a two hour boat ride on the worlds highest navigable body of water and stay on the island. 

       At Copacobana near our hostel we found a local church that was built with a Moorish influence between 1605 and 1820.  The locals make long pilgrimages to see the monk who blesses them for health and prosperity.  I snuck a picture here while he was meditating (highly discouraged).  There is a chasm behind the church where for hundreds of years they light candles in hommage to the Virgin Mary.  Wax covers the floors and the walls are black with soot.  It is called Capilla de Vellos and if you ever visit, don´t miss it. 

       Linda and I will spend a quiet night here watching the sun dip over one of the world´s highest lakes.  We have no idea what to expect but have been told that for $5 U.S. we can get a room with a view of the lake.  We have to be willing to lug or packs up 200 meters of stairs but why not?  We are used to the abuse!

Vagabonding Life

It occurs to me now that I have always underestimated the value of toilet paper. It is unheard of in the public bathrooms and restaurants that I visit. I have learned to keep a stash readily available in my daypack and I´m finding that I use it more than anything else I have brought with me. And with a frequency that almost scares me.

To be caught without toilet paper can cause quite an emergency here. At a local market a man charged me .50 soles (.33 U.S.) to use the toilet. When I entered the tiny room I found it to be little more than a hole in the ground. No flushing required right? Looking around I found that there was no toilet paper. I left to find the kind man who had taken my money and inquire about my situation only to find him gone. Missing in action just like my toilet paper!

Moving on....what about mosquitos? We all hate them. They are tiny, fast and have an addicts taste for gringo blood. See my leg in this picture! That happened in about 30 seconds after changing into shorts at a patio cafe in Aguas Caliente, Peru. I ran my hand innocently down my leg to find it covered in blood. Twelve hours later my leg looked like this! Deet 100% is the common cologne for all smart travellers. Linda brought along a full body mosquito suit but I have yet to see her wear it.

Machu Picchu

Where to begin. This magnificient community was never mentioned in the records of the conquering Spanairds and its location was only known by the local Quechuas until 1911 when it is said that a small boy took an American historian by the name of Hiram Bingham up the now famous Inca Trail.
Today over 1000 people vistit the site daily in the high season and it is the undeniable gem of South America. My friend Linda Batista, who is with me for six weeks began the 33 mile trek with me just past Ollantaytambo at 8502 feet and had an easy six hour accent to the first camp 12km away. Our site was on a womans farm. Dogs and Burros followed us everywhere while the senora offered to sell us everything from water to Coke to Cusquena, the local Peruvian beer. After the porters had unpacked our gear they engaged in a game of futbol. Some of the braver Europeans joined in but were quickly put to shame. This seemed to be a great source of humor for the local children.
After watching the game for a bit I climbed up to a small peak that overlooked the valley below to wait for sunset. Some local children were playing in the dirt so I snapped a few photos of them for fun. When they noticed what I was doing they immediately ran over to see what I was up to. I showed them the pictures and they errupted in laughter and exclaimed, "Es Domingo! Es Rodrigo!" I don´t know if they had ever seen their own reflection before. I blew up a few balloons for them and wandered back down to my tent.




The next day was by far the most difficult. We climbed to 13,779 feet in a few short hours, besting what has come to be known as Dead Woman´s Pass. The air was thin and cold and the wind found every opportunity to invade our clothing, leaving us gasping for breath and freezing. In the excitement of our accomplishment we hardly seemed to notice.





Day three I took a turn for the worse. Lack of sleep and dehydration took hold and left me vomiting on the trail running for a bathroom (which there were none). Although it was sunny and easily 75 degrees, I was shivering with cold and sweating at the same time. Todays hike was relatively easy in terms of altitude gain but it was also an 8 mile stretch. Up until this point I had ussualy been in the lead and was almost always the first to arrive at rest points but now I had fallen behind just trying to get one foot to follow the other, slowly leading me through the jungle towards my tent where I might get some rest.




Wilfredo was our assistant guide and he stopped me and made me get on my knees. I watched with suspicion as took from his bag two small viles and mixed the contents together in his hands. Without warning he threw his hands up in my face and yelled for me to breath in. The stench was indescribable and I fell to the dirt vomiting. Then he took the top of my head in his hands and began to chant. Other trekers watched while Wilfredo commanded the sickness to leave my body and return to darker shadows in the jungle where the Puma hunts. By the next morning I was fine.

The fourth and final treking day our guide Yuves woke us at 3:30am for coca tea. In total darkness we began our climb towards the Sun Gate, the ancient entrance for the Incas into Machu Picchu. What a spectacle! As the sun blanketed the jungle, we could almost see the orchids tip their heads up. Rain water from the previous night evaporated into a mist and vines unravelled from tree trunks to dangle at our heads.

We had arrived. There are moments in life that seem to transcend time. Moments that take on a life of their own and become spiritual. Standing on Inca built terraces, looking down at the lost city, I had such a moment. Its grandeur and elequence defied the architectural technology of the time and it left me amazed and asking how? How did they manage to build such a complex system of irrigation, worship temples and terraces so high? Unlike almost every other major society in history, the Incas never engaged in slavery. Every citizen was expected to make a contribution and for that they were fed and kept safe. The Incas did not conquer surrounding tribes as much as they requested that they join and enjoy the fruits of the society. That said, no tribe was allowed to say no.

There is far to much to write about and my words can´t do it justice. I´m trying to get a slideshow up but these computers aren´t updated and nothing works correctly. Here are a few...

Machu Picchu - Create slideshows online

Arriving In Life

       Cusco.  I´ve seen it spelled Cusco, Cuzco and Ququo.  Cusco with it´s cobblestone streets just wide enough to fit a compact car, with its tattered tile roofs and mercahnts selling there wares on the ground.  I fell in love the moment my derrelect cabdriver dropped me off.  I was immediately struck by the forgeiness of my surroundings.  My year of preparation and research was no where to be found.  I got into a scetchy cab, the kind with no meter and no official signage.  I paid him way to much and quietly observed as he took the longest possible route from the airport to my hostel.  Now I know I could have walked the distance in twenty minutes.  It would be my last cab ride in Cusco.

       Cusco, Peru sits at 11,000 feet nestled in a long valley surrounded by moderately dry hills that reach as high as 4000 km. (12000 feet).  There is a strong presence of Inca tradition coexhisting with the thriving Catholic Church, a gift from the Spanairds that plundered their beautiful temples, kindly removed them of all their gold and constructed a maze of European worship centers where they could pay taxes and be converted to Christianity in the name of our Lord.  In this the Spanish were quite sucessful.
        Today there is a power far greater than colonization or persecution.  It is patient, cunning and persistant.  It is the culture changing presence of tourism.  It feeds the majority of Cusco´s 400,000 inhabitants and is the reason for it´s continued success as a speck on the map in this vast planet.

       Perhaps I am to much of a daydreaming purist.  In a country stricken with poverty, Cusco thrives.  Women in traditional Peruvian garb will let you take their picture for a mere 1 sole (roughly .33 U.S.).  Other families travel to the jungle to retrieve the insects and flora that are used to make the dyes for their vibrant colors.  In my broken Spanish I´ve learned that the poorer shop keepers and street vendors do in fact make their own products.  One woman, who I insisted we buy from showed us pictures of her family buying the wool and dyeing the cloth themselves.  They gather an insect in the Northern jungles which is then used to make the variety of reds and browns for the clothing.

       What else of Cusco?  After six months of reading government travel warnings and hearing the horror stories of muggings and pack slashers I have arrived to find that the people are beautiful.  They smile when they speak and are genuinely currious about where we are from and if we are enjoying their town.  They are helpful and full of warmth; a charm that has been lost in the fast paced advancement of the western world).

       It is about midnight now.  I am at a rickety table writing only by a light shining through in the next room.  Up here in the Plaza de la Blas it is quiet and far enough from the noise of the bars and restaurants that crowd the streets of the main Plaza de la Armas.  I can only hear the constant sounds of dogs barking and roaming in friendly packs.  Ocassionally a drunk tourist stumbles by, tripping on therough cobblestone, looking for their hostel.  It is wonderfully cold and suits me for a place to write.

       I will not post again until after I have visited Machu Picchu.  Our four day trek which covers 42 km and takes us to the dizzying height of 13,776 feet begins on Wednesday.  After that we will return to Casa de la Gringa for two days before we catch a nine hour bus to Puno.  There we will explore Lake Titicaca which shares a border with Bolivia, before heading to La Paz.

       Thanks to all that continue to read.  Remember:  It is good to go out into the world and do well.  It is better to go out into the world and do good.

      

Gear Head

         This is for all the gear heads out there who may be planning there own trip.  Endless amounts of time were spent on choosing the right pack, boots, water filter, camera, rain gear etc.  I have laid it all out by brand where I could and will occasionally reference it along my trip to let people know how things are holding up.  This may seem boring to those of you who are  just checking in to see what's going on in my world, but believe me, this kind of information floods the Lonely Planet forums.  People are continually asking what kind of anything should they take.  In fact most of my questions were answered by searching these forums.  Outdoor companies charge top dollar for these specialty items and I want to put them to the test and document my findings.  That's just the kind of vagabonding nerd I am.  Get out and see the world, not the gear, right?  
         I have to live with this stuff for eight months and I'll be traveling from 1600 ft in the Andes to sea level in the Amazon Basin.  I want to know how it all worked, what I forgot and what I didn't need.  And preparation is a great deal of fun.  The attendants at REI came to know me by name.  I spent hours in every department of the store; some days would result in a big purchase and other days I would walk out empty handed.  This constant planning got me through the days where I was tired of my job and yearned to be out on a trail or lost on a chicken bus heading towards some unknown village.  Daydreaming is a great way to patiently wait while your bank account builds.  

         I went so far as to lay it all out on my bed just do I could look at it and take photos!  Playing with this stuff can be more fun than using it at times.  A piece of gear like a first aid kit or a rain cover for a backpack isn't all that exciting when you have to use it but if you've handled it, inspected it and played with it, you will know exactly what to do when you actually need it.  You need to know it inside and out.  For instance I spent a great deal of time deciding what brand of water purifier I wanted.  After reading all the negative reviews of the Steripen I thought I might pass.  I bought it just so I could handle it a bit (REI will take anything back) and discovered that most of the negative posts were not from inferior quality but rather from buyers who hadn't spent the time to master all its signals.  The directions need to be followed perfectly and it lets the user know what's happening through a series of blinking signals.  This took time to figure out.  Now I feel I have one of the best purifiers on the market (for my purpose) and will be adequately prepared when I need to use it.  
         So part of this blog will be spent chronicling the choices I made in gear.  Where I can I have named it by brand and model name.  It may help the adventurers come after me.  If not then it will be an experiment in self-entertainment.  I prefer it over reality TV and late night dramas.  This is what I took:

Travel Packing List

GEAR:

Osprey 40L pack with hydration sack

Marmot ¾ zip 40° sleeping bag.  1.2 lbs.

North Face camelback day back – very small and straps to outside of main pack

Thermarest expanding pillow – medium.

Petzel Tikka XP Headlamp

Maglight – small

Steripen water purifier with extra batteries

REI hiking 1^st Aid kit – modified.  See below.

Oakley FLAK polarized sunglasses

REI DUCKS Pack rain cover – medium

Camelback hydration sack cleaning tablets

Nalgene water bottle – 1

2 compression bags (med & small) for sleeping bag and clothes + 2 stuff sacks

     to compartmentalize pack for easy reach.

Mosquito net for head

CLOTHES:

Patagonia Capaline long underwear – top and bottom

Marmot Rain Jacket – ultra light + Patagonia lightweight rain pants

North Face Windbreaker fleece jacket - lightweight

Columbia dry fast shorts

REI dry-fast pants

Smartwool socks 2 pair full & 2 pair ankle

Lowa hiking boots

Keen sandals

Underwear 4 pair

REI wind-stop gloves for high altitude in the Andes (optional)

Sun Hat

REI Peruvian Hat  (will replace with authentic)

T-shirts 2

Exofficio 100% Nylon long sleeve shirt with UV coating

Eagle Creek silk hide a pouch for inside clothes.  Waist type.

Eagle Creek money belt

ELECTRONICS:

Cannon G10 camera with two 5-hour Lithium batteries & charger

8 GIG memory cards – 3

360 GIG portable Hard Drive for storing pics

Lowepro Camera case (very small)

iphone with charger

All applicable cords for charging and USB into internet cafes

HYGENE & PERSONAL:

Toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, razor, shaving and bath travel sheets, nail-clippers, shampoo, travel bag, earplugs, clothes line, deodorant, foot powder, REI Large dryfast towel, microfiber multipurpose hand towel, sunscreen, insect repellant 30% DEET, Permethran spray for clothes, chapstick with sunscreen x2, hand sanitizer, toilet paper & shovel, Power Bars and Gu Gel for energy on Machu Picchu,

PRESCRIPTIONS:

Azithromycin or Z Pack Antibiotics                         Cipro for Diarrhea

Acetazolamide for altitude sickness                        Doxycyline Hyclate for Malaria

Tamiflu

FIRST AID KIT ADAPTIONS:

REI Hiking First Aid Kit.  Medium size.  I added Imodium AD, Pepto tablets, liquid skin, DenTek temporary filling Material for teeth, Chlorine Dioxide tabs for potable water, Moleskin, the Extractor bug and bite treatment kit, digital thermometer.

MISCELLANEOUS:

Sink stopper, duct tape, copper wire for sewing, sewing kit, nylon patches, bandana, coffee filters to pre-filter water, flexible soft spiral journal + 2 pens, rubberbands, hard plastic silverware, locking carabiner, travel lock, basic bike lock (combination type), pocket knife, strike anywhere matches, zip ties.

I also included balloons and crayons to give children along the path of Machu Picchu as well as 5 pair of cheap reading glasses for adults.  This will go a long way in establishing relations.

DOCUMENTATION:

I made photocopies of Passport, emergency contact info (including # for Nomads International Travel Insurance), possible allergies, any prescriptions, traveler’s checks, ATM and credit card phone numbers and all computer passwords.  Copies are hidden in various places on my person and in my pack but I also emailed PDF’s to my gmail account in case they are lost.

Getting to Oregon

 I know I’m supposed to be talking about South America but being that I'm not there yet this will have to do. The excitement is mounting.  I awoke at 6am and left Palm Desert with the rising sun on my back.  Cigarettes, beef jerky and Dr. Pepper kept me company.  The drive to Mt. Shasta was neither memorable nor note worthy but a journal, no matter how small or insignificant is so alluring to me, I can’t help but write it all down.  I am just outside Mt. Shasta National Recreation Park.  I finally got the sense to pull off he road and find a place to camp.   After driving along a forest service road for about a mile I got down near a river.  I’m not sure what river it was but it was pleasant to hear and drown out the faint sound of trucks from the interstate.  It did not however drown out the railway tracks that were about 30 feet from my camp sight.  That is the drawback of picking a place to sleep in the middle of the night.  Inevitably one wakes up to find the surrounding area completely different than what they imagined when they lay down.  I didn’t have to wait long before the trains started rumbling down the tracks.  It started right after I had set everything out and got snug in my sleeping bag.  Exhaustion overtook me and I hardly cared enough to watch the freight trains barreling by.  The moon was just two days past full and blanketed the ground enough to make it appear mysterious and tranquil. The river, whatever river it was, ambled by and barely took notice of me sleeping on the ground in front of my car.  Soon enough the train passed and I was back to the babble of the brook and dreaming of South America with its cloud forests and ruined ancient empires.  I dreamt that I was on the shore of the mighty Amazon River washing my clothes with the villagers who depended on it for so much of their resources.

            I woke before the sun crept into my narrow valley, packed my gear and had a couple smokes while I walked around to survey the area around me.  There was an old bridge that led across the river; I was still forty or so feet above the shore.  Adjacent to that was a fairly large stone bridge that arced across the small ravine where I had found myself.  Not that one ever really finds himself, but rather where I found myself on this particular morning.  Between the two bridges were the railway tracks.  They stretched as far as I could see in either direction, which wasn’t really that far.  They wound into the distance on both sides following the river until both were out of sight.  I must have driven over the tracks to get to my camp but in my dreariness I had completely failed to notice.  On the other side, where my car was parked, there was the usual white railroad crossing sign.  Again I had totally failed to notice.

            I snapped a few photos and then turned the car around to climb out of my little valley and back to the highway.  One last look around and I was gone.  Just the way I liked it.  Next stop, Bend Oregon.  Here are some photos I took.

Saying Goodbye

       Alexander Supertramp tells us that happiness is only felt when shared with other people.  Edward Abbey spent  his years in solitude in order to explore the far corners of his mind and soul.  Both are correct.  To try and be so linear in thought is a huge mistake.  We need companionship, love and laughter as equally as we need solitude, quiet and self-exploration.  I think the latter makes the first more fulfilling.  

    

    

       

Background. Check. Now Where?

I can't believe this is actually about to begin.  Thanks to all who have checked in to take a look, I hope you follow me throughout all of South America.  The plan is to spend eight months backpacking through every country I can get to,  get involved with the culture and basically live a more freeing life that I think we all deserve.  I have sold my house, traded my car, removed myself of almost all possessions except what I will take on the road and received, in return, a freedom and chance for self-exploration that few people ever get the opportunity to indulge in.


My final days work will end on September 29th, 2009 at about 11pm.  By then I will have everything packed and ready to drive over to Palm Springs and then on to Bend, Oregon where I will leave my car and books.  October 22nd is the day I fly out for Lima, Peru and then over to Cuzco to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu and one of the Seven Wonders of The World.  My good friend Linda Batista will be along for the first five weeks.  We'll head south into Bolivia, Argentina and Chili and then to Santiago where she will fly out and I'll be solo.


Where does this traveling bug come from?  Why from such an early age did I relate so much with Jack London and Thereau?  For what reasons was I so entranced by the biographies of  Ernest Shackleton or the fragmented journals of Alexander Supertramp?  I know my father played a part in the One Act play that will be my life.  He took me hiking, climbing, rafting, skiing, sailing, cave dwelling and exploring as far back as I can remember.  He took me on the road and got me fascinated with pavement and the dotted yellow lines of America's highways.  Little did he know it would be a phase I would never grow out of.  Instead I would work, go to school and seek out a profession that would be lucrative and add stability to my life.  For a time I was happy with that.  But there was always something missing when I came home from work and marveled at all the neat things I had accumulated with my paychecks.  It nagged at me while I watched the National Geographic Channel.  I felt as though I was missing out somehow even though I had Anthony Bourdain there to tell me how wonderful the world was while I grew fat and complacent on my new luxury sofa.  As my friends eventually all got married and began having children I wondered to myself, sometimes aloud, "should I just stay on the couch?
       "I will need all 'this stuff' when I get married."  But I never did.  And I mean that in the dual sense.  I never got married and I never needed the stuff.  In fact it seemed to make me angry.  "Why should anyone in there right mind spend $5000 on a couch or TV when that money could take them half way across the globe for months on the proper budget?"  Brave thoughts for someone sitting on a couch and watching a TV with an accumulated value of $9000! 
       At the end of No Reservations, Mr. Bourdain always gives a little monologue weaving in philosophy, humanity, desire and adventure.  It is just enough to keep us happily on our ass's waiting for the next episode.  By the way, that is our fault, not his.  But he got me thinking scared sober one night in 2007, "Why not me?"
        Why am I spending all this time watching so much crap, letting this man define my expectation of a place, culture or food, when I could do it myself?  I may not have a television show or camera crew but I could sell this couch and my new 55 inch TV and probably get pretty far!"
       That's a frightening thought.  Sobering.  Full of mythology and logic that is counter-intuitive to our up bringing.  But let me say from experience, once you go down that road there is an adrenaline rush that is like no other.  I held garage sales, posted listings on Craigslist, sold things to friends and coworkers for pennies on the dollar.  I'm still not sure if my goal was to make vagabonding money or just get rid of the things that hindered my travels!  I was off running but to where, I did not know.
I am fairly certain of one fact.  In America we have but 70 or 80 beautiful years on this planet and it is up to us to decide how we are going to spend it.  The first quarter is spent on education and development, years where we have little say.  We are but observers in the Grande Comedy.  Sadly we often spend the second and third quarter doing nothing else but accumulating wealth so that we can live the fourth quarter in some sort of comfort.  When we are older, wiser and full of thought then we rest our heads on the pillow of our dreams.  But by then it is to late.  The fancy of youth and the wisdom of age seldom collide together at the same moment in time and space.  We are left with memories and dreams.  And really nice couches in front of huge TV's!
       I know this is not an original thought but what if we were to redefine the confines our our own existence?  Bend the bars; devil give chase to our own tail!  Can we not work and play in the manner so expected of youth and still retire happy in the end?  We all face the same specter at our door-step lacking manners.  I would rather greet Him on a bed of straw with stories to enchant than lined with silk ready to bore Him with my greatness.  He has come to take us either way.  I say grab your youth by its own ass and God willing, hurt yourself in the process, because then you can stand on equal ground facing the ultimate unknown with defiance and smirk.  Laughter is the only song I suppose Death can enjoy.  Don't let Him down.  Be a good house guest as you have for all those whose presence you could barely tolerate.  We must take it in stride when that stride is our last.  
       It appears to me from what I have observed (and felt in myself) that we spend our lives preparing for an illusion that we will never obtain.  We chase happiness like a sun dipping over the horizon.  When we finally figure out that the world is not flat we feel like the hamster in the plastic wheel.  But by then we have used up all our energy, and at such a frantic pace, that the heart has slowed and silently prepares for its long sleep and separation from the soul.
        I can't speak for other countries but in America, I believe credit has become the modern demon from which so much misery has been born.  We are enticed by it's ability to produce an immediate outcome, one which we would otherwise have to wait and earn and plan for.  Credit replaces long term satisfaction with immediate gratification.  It allows us to live, for a short time, outside our means.  And with the American Dream pressuring us to buy, buy, buy it is no wonder we give in.  How can I possibly be happy in life without German auto-engineering?  Doesn't everyone deserve a four bedroom house with a pool and gated yard?  Aren't we all supposed to wear $200 dollar jeans?  I swear it's an inherent right built into our constitution!  Seinfeld never spoke of money problems.  He just did stand-up and bought his parents Cadallacs.  And Rachel and Ross never squabbled over bills while raising a child out of wedlock.  They were able to spend countless hours at their favorite coffee bar and leisure time with friends.
       Get the point?  Life just doesn't work like that.  Who would watch a TV show about people who worked hard all day at a job they hated just to come home, prepare a substandard meal full of artificial every-things and plopped down on the sofa to escape the their own dull existence.  No one.  Because it's boring, pathetic and drowning in atrophy.  But this is the path so many of us choose.  We are kept afloat only by escape and the illusion that tomorrow will bring a better day.  Perhaps a Lotto ticket.  If we're really depressed we can just go buy the latest surround sound system or maybe some new rims for the sports-car that won't be paid off for six years!
       Credit is a demon.  We would be better off to work in trade.  At least trade requires that you bring a talent to the table.  Look at the economic climate of the US today.  We are in the dregs of the worst downfall since the Great Depression yet the upturn  is only measured by the amount that Americans are spending!  'Summer spending is down, back to school spending is down, Christmas spending is forecasted to be less...Americans just aren't spending what they used to.'  We must be in a recession!  Three years ago all we heard was 'the US family must learn to budget.  Don't follow in the footsteps of our government with a trillion dollar deficit.  Invest in real-estate...land is the only thing they won't make more of.'
       When money is tight the government and media seem to tell us that the only way out of this mess is to start spending again.  'Lets get progress back on track.  Get stock prices back up and inuities flowing again.'  Shouldn't we be spending our money on food and fuel rather than the rising cost of COX Cable or True Religion jeans?
       The truth is they want us in debt!  They want us so high in debt that the only payment we can afford is the minimum one.  That's the only way they make money.   Lucky for them debt is transferable.  At least after you pay the death tax.  The economy no longer runs on money but rather the transfer there of.  
       I know I sound like a conspiracy theorist.  I can hear the criticism from friends shouting Capitalism and Freedom from every mountain top.  All I'm saying is that I have yet to meet a friend without money problems.  Poor or rich.  But I have an abundance of friends with cool cars, fancy clothes and dollars to spread at a bars, concerts, festivals and hi-tech gadgets.