Numero una dia: Cuzco, Peru and the Sacred Valley...

I woke up feeling a bit mangy after too many Peruvian IPAs. I suppose drinking 8% alcohol brews is not the healthiest way to make entry in a city that sits at over 11,000 feet. The need to hydrate for altitude ain't easy in Peru. You can't drink the tap water without getting real problems. (Like "Lose weight, ask me how" issues.) 

The evening before, I got caught up in the moment when I found myself in a real honest to goodness bar and grill. The place was featuring the Bronco/Patriots game on its big screen TVs. They could have been showing synchronized swimming for all I cared. The bartender spoke New York. It felt like being back home. 

After a tasty breakfast with real coffee, I did some early morning sightseeing while Cuzco woke up too. I strolled around the Main Plaza with its Roman Catholic cathedrals, restaurants and hotels. There I saw street vendors who were starting to warm up. Their wares were as diverse as their personal appearances. Jewelry, knick-knacks, alpaca woolen hats, food items and sketches were being hawked. They looked at this Gringo as a possible first sale of the day. I disappointed the Peruvian entrepreneurs by saying "No Gracias!" many times. I'm not much of a shopper. 

At one time Cuzco was the "Navel" of the Inca Empire. Intricate stone work is still prevalent throughout the historical part of town. They employed a lot of muscle power in their building construction techniques. Hugh granite blocks were sanded, polished, scraped and cut to fit. It didn't take long for me to realize these stonemasons were not being paid at a Union rate. Civic projects did not spring up overnight. 

My favorite scene was watching a petite, pretty and well-coifed traffic cop. She was making a futile attempt to direct the mayhem of cars, buses, trucks and taxis from occupying the same place at the same time. She wore a white, shiny vinyl gun holster. Unlike the Carabineros of Chile there were no strings attached to her pistol. 

At about 8 am, a passenger van and our guide Alex showed up at the hotel. Me and a few fellow Inca Trail soon-to-be sojourners boarded. Introductions, handshakes and pleasantries were made. I sighed in relief when everyone appeared to be nice, normal, interesting and pretty smart. I was hoping they were thinking the same thing about me. Well, maybe I was reaching for the sky for them to think of me as "normal."

Our ultimate destination was the Sacred Valley of the Incas with a few stops along the way. If the tourist spot didn't grab me, I would wander about and snap photos. (See the Guinea Pigs? In Peru, it's what's for dinner.) 

Much of the day was spent in the van watching the Peruvian world go by. From my vantage point, villages appeared to meld into one another. Most had a hard scrabble look about them. Many of the housing units seemed to be in a construction or deconstruction mode. Dogs milled around piles of plastic garbage bags strewn along the roadsides. Long walls were painted up with presidential political ads. From my impromptu poll, I think Cuna will get the nod in the Cuzco district. Old women trudged by bearing enormous who-knows-what loads wrapped in red woolen blankets. They wore bowlers and other not seen in the USA type of hats. Lots of men just seemed to be hanging out. 

Si! But if you looked past the human side and gazed up at the natural side. Here's what you would see: lush green steep hillsides, distant 20,000' mountains containing glaciers and terraced farmland clinging to the angled slopes. I liked the Mother Nature side more. 

Yep, I was surely in a foreign country. 

We made stops at some ruins with Inca names I can't even begin to pronounce or spell. Then again, I can say the same thing about a multitude of places in North America. Alex would talk (sometimes drone on) about the site and its significance to the Big Picture view of what the Inca Empire was all about. I felt like I had enrolled in a freshman Machu Picchu 101 course. Alex didn't mention if there would be any surprise quizzes. 

It was an infringement of my Happy Hour by the time we returned to the hotel. Me and my fellow travelers would soon find out long days would be the norm instead of the exception. We didn't know it, but we had all paid to be in an ultra-marathon. The finish line would be Machu Picchu. 

Salud,

Jeff 

Day Two: The IncaTrail, we take our first...

Steps.

Ring! Ring! My I Pad's alarm clock woke me at the pre-rooster crowing time of 3:45 am. We were scheduled to leave sans breakfast, and worse no coffee at 4:30 am. 

As Elmer Fudd would say "west and wewazation at wast!" NOT! 

I met the rest of my fellow Inca Pilgrims as we stumbled aboard the bus. 

In total numbers there were seventeen Gringo hikers. Demographically speaking, we were a diverse group. Our ages ranged from 23 to 70 years old. I was the second oldest guest. There were sixteen Yanks and one Canadian (Eh!) The majority were married couples. There were four other solo travelers like myself. Most were still gainfully employed: two doctors, one dentist, an ER nurse, a pilot, one firefighter, a home decorator, and one nice man who designed displays in art museums (I think). There was a couple who struck the retirement lottery like myself, and one woman who was between jobs. All were well educated and had an interesting story to tell. I guess boring people wouldn't undertake something like this. That's a good thing.

We also had a complement of 23 porters and three guides. We were a zip code's amount of people in motion.

It was a long bus ride to kilometer 82 to our start. En route, we were allowed one bano/desayuno break. That's it. 

The previous evening, it had poured gatos y perros. Somehow the bus driver willed the vehicle and it's human cargo through mud holes and past oncoming traffic (on a one lane greasy dirt road). The coachman was nice enough to avoid a head on with an aggressive bicyclist too. Apparently, the wheelman didn't understand the basic laws of physics. Getting struck by lots of mass hurts. I know this first hand. 

At the put in, we unloaded our gear, took another bano break and snapped a few photos. We then presented our passports to two bored dudes at the trail's starting checkpoint. They matched our passport's numbers to the information on their list of permitted hikers. We all passed that test. We then spanned a bridge across the Urabamba River. After that we were officially on the Inca Trail and on our way to Machu Picchu. 

The first day of hiking was described in the brochure as a warm up stroll. That being said we still covered about 10 miles of undulating trail complete with a big uphill finish. 

For our efforts, we were rewarded with views of the river while walking past tiny trailside villages. The locals were going about there daily lives as we moseyed through their front yards. It made me feel like a voyeur, and sort of strange. It was definitely far from the wilderness experience I was expecting. 

The weather was damp, cool and kind of dreary by the time we arrived at camp. We were all feeling spent and tuckered out. Luckily, an enterprising middle aged local woman saw the potential to score a few sols. (Peruvian dollars) She stopped by and offered us warm beers and tepid sodas. The brews were bought up in a flash. The sodas, not so much. 

It was around 5 pm at this point. We've been in motion for over half the day. Alex the lead guide informed us of our 5 am wake up call for the following day. We groaned but accepted our fate. We were on a mission to Machu Picchu. 

Buenas noches, 

Jeff

BTW: A Wandering, Wondering Jew has now passed 25,000 pageviews since I launched it on July 4th 2014. Thanks everyone for looking in, especially you Russian, Chinese and Indian wannabe hackers. 

Back to the M Park...

Where I slogged up an old volcanic field consisting of loose course black sand. 

If any of you ever climbed South Sisters Peak in the Three Sisters Wilderness of Oregon, you would be able to relate. One step forward, a half slip back. 

I followed the yellow marking poles to a prominent saddle. Once I achieved that height, I saw what looked like a small hill to my left. What the heck, I had the time. (I'm retired and Happy Hour was a long way off). So I headed uphill and met a few false summits. I hate when that happens. Finally I made the top where I was treated to a view of four volcanoes. 

I took a seat on a soft rock to admire the sights and enjoy a PB&J sandwich. Unfortunately two species of Arthropoda had other aggressive ideas. It was a two pronged attack. One air based - horseflies. One land based - biting ants. Many of them took the ultimate sacrifice, but yet they kept coming. Why can't we all just get along? I flew a white flag while retreating down the hillside and away from my scenic lunch counter. 

I'm back in the C town which was a two thumbs up hit for both Lisa and I. My cabana rocks. Of course it  comes with the obligatory barking dogs as neighbors. Can't have everything.

Tomorrow I'll see the Pacific Ocean. 

L'chaim, 

Jeff

PS. The kid drawing is on a wall in my cabana. Obviously living under an active volcano influences the tykes around here. Note the vulture watching the action.