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. 

On the move again...

There was the H Park where I was going to send out some nice shots, but a Chilean Beer Gremlin intervened and forced me to delete photos instead of downloading them. I salvaged one panoramic pix from my I-Phone. 

Then there was the trip back to the V Park where fall weather made a comeback despite being mid-summer here. The trees capture the gloomy all around feel of that day. The one thrill was coming across El Toro. This bull would yield no quarter, not even a hindquarter. I'm no matador but I know when a male bovine paws the dirt, it's not the same as a dog wagging it's tail. 

Then a visit to the C Park where the real adventure is driving its single lane gravel, rutted through road. Its a game of Chilean Chicken when you meet an oncoming vehicle. No driver wants to back up a steep road bank. It was a contest of who blinks first. I'll admit to losing the battles half the time. When that ordeal was done, I spent an evening in a moldy smelling cabana complete with a cold shower and thread bare towels. Just like a stay in a Hilton Hotel only different. 

Then today, I was surprised in a good way. I visited an M Park which none of my three Chile travel guides mentioned. I took a chance and I'm glad I did. I found a delightful 12 mile hike to some splendid miradors  (lookouts). Summer was my companion again. This time the long range forecast looks like it's here to stay. Better late than never I suppose. 

I'll go back to the M Park manana. It was that good. OK, you are now caught up, sort of. 

Cheers,

Jeff 

The return of...

Summ-ahh! 

And it felt so good. For the first time since the New Year began, there were no clouds, no damp, no cool temperatures and no horseflies. It was my first hike since I got sick with a nasal sinus infection (for a guy with a large schnoz like mine, this could be a fatal condition).

Yesterday, I paid a visit to the CONAF Ranger Station in Pucon. It was cold, foggy and rainy so it gave me something to do besides starting Happy Hour too soon. The Ranger spoke English and pointed me toward the Chile/Argentina border for hiking opportunities. He provided information about trails that really do exist both on the map and on the ground. What a swell guy!

Today I wandered around in the warmth of Villarrica National Park. I got very close to the border. So, how close? Jeff? I was so close, I could practically tinkle into Argentina. 

I had the trail, the volcano, the gyrating dust devils, the lakes, the flowers and the monkey puzzle trees all to myself. It made me remember why I love hiking in National Parks again. 

My feet and legs are now sore after my illness, horsefly and weather related lay off. However, de nada a cerveza won't cure. 

Happy, Happy Hour from my cool cabana in Pucon,

Cheers,

Jeff

PS. I'll be ready for an American IPA when I get back stateside. 

Patagonia Postscript:

A few days ago I dropped Lisa off at the airport in Puerto Montt.

Little did we know when we made Patagonia plans so long ago, we were taking a Grand Canyon sized leap of faith. Who knew how it would turn out for two virtual strangers? 

I'm pleased to announce we got along better than I ever imagined.

The only times we had issues was in Patagonia. When we had disagreements, we sorted it out with direct eye contact. I would roll my eyes after an Uber Polly Anna statement she would make. Lisa would slam her eyes shut and hold her breath when I was being too in-her-face practical.  For the last time, typical men vs. women stuff. Somewhere between these Equator versus Antarctica beliefs was the ideal solution. 

Later on we were both grown up enough to laugh about what had transpired earlier.  

For Lisa, being at the end of the world was the culmination of a thirty year dream. For her everything was beautiful in it's own way, including the brief wind and weather. 

For me, being in a region described as a "Magellanic sub polar forest" climate wasn't my idea of a winter getaway. To be honest, the place scared me. The predictable unpredictability of the weather was a constant source of angst for me. Even the CONAF Rangers couldn't provide the most basic of weather forecasts. Contrary to popular beliefs, I'm a very conservative hiker. I hedge my actions with safety being my number one priority. I have a tendency to be a Jewish Mother when I'm with newcomers to the Great Outdoors. Patagonia was the Great Outdoors on a scale of wild and vast like I've never experienced before.

That all being said, the chance of seeing the Towers on a rare warm, blue sky day will be something I will cherish forever. The many glacier views we had after that scenic moment was the extra scoop of Moose Tracks ice cream on a warm piece of peach pie. That was my dessert. I still gaze at my photos in disbelief. 

In the course of those eight days and 80 plus miles of hiking, Lisa taught me a valuable life lesson. Humans are capable of amazing feats once they set their minds to the task. The driving force for Lisa was the thirty year carrot on the stick. She was one motivated person who would not be deterred from her mission. 

Upon returning to the Chilean Mainland, we didn't do much of anything besides try to get over our colds and swat at swarms of flesh gouging horseflies. 

I'm still sick and lying low in the resort town of Pucon. I set up housekeeping in a cabana for six nights. I'm now cooking meals and making my own bed. Outside, the Pucon Triathlon is in full swing. There's 1,600 participants racing about in a fine damp mist. Maybe the sun will come out to bake this crud out of my lungs. I hope so. I need to get back on the trails to get in shape for the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu in a few weeks. 

Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed my dispatches from Patagonia. 

Happy belated birthday, Jenny. 

Thanks Lisa for being such pleasant company. Enjoy your first day back at work after your dream come true trip. 

Cheers from Pucon,

Jeff

Day Eight: New Year's Day and...

Seven miles of sprinting to catch a catamaran.

 One would think if the final day's victory lap was connecting Lagos Grey to Lagos Pehoe we would be strolling along the lakesides and riverside. Wrong! We had a few headlands to get up and over. The payoffs for the sweat labor were cliff side views of Glacier Grey, icebergs and one red catamaran on a three hour scenic tour. 

At a "mirador" (scenic overlook), Lisa and I compared notes on the state of our health. The news was no Bueno. We both woke with sandpaper scratchy throats and the usual suspects of sniffling and sneezing. Lisa sported a racking cough. Apparently the virus had been germinating in us for a few days before it had its "Coming Out Party" on New Year's Day. 

I blame it on the wear and tear of the journey, the days of damp and cool weather, the white foods we were served (colorful food have more vitamins), the dubious hygiene of the Refugios (no soap in the banos means no easy hand washing before meals). 

However the real culprit was probably being jammed in a three bunk high room with just one sick camper occupying it. Our night air was being recycled through all of us. This is my first cold in over four years. 

We made our catamaran appointment with an hour to spare. From there it was a seven plus hours of waiting and two bus rides back to Punta Arenas. We dropped our muddy packs at the hotel as the sun was setting at 10 pm. We found a warm, attractive restaurant to eat colorful foods and relax over beers and wine. We were both too tired and sick to really appreciate the fact that "We Did It!" 

I wonder what Lisa's next thirty year dream Bucket List trip is? I hope it's in a warmer place than Patagonia. 

Manana we take a morning flight back to Puerto Montt and mainland Chile. There won't be any hiking in the next few days with these illnesses. 

Wash your hands before you eat and stay away from sick backpackers! Oh yeah and once again Happy New Year. You too Jenny. 

Jeff