Day Four: It's a jungle out...

There.

After our bonus one hour of extra sleep, we woke feeling a tad human for a change. The pace seemed to be more relaxed too. Our guides didn't push us with that "Vamonos!" (Let's go!) Attitude which was so prevalent the previous days. In fact, our walk through the cloud forest would be just that - a mosey along to the next campsite. Rumor had it, our "being on the move" chores would be completed before lunch. We were scoring time off for good behavior! 

We heard positive descriptors about this stretch from our guides. It didn't take long before I realized they were spot on. Heaps of the original Inca Trail was what we trod upon. The route maneuvered through dense undergrowth and overgrowth. The choking foliage would have required a machete to plow through. I had a notion that if I stood still too long, the vegetation would steamroll right over me. It being the rainy season everything was slick, dewy and glossy. 

The Inca steps were scary though. A few descents were at a ladder setting angle (about 70%). What made it even more fearful though was the "rungs/stairs."  They were only 6"-8" wide. You descended by side stepping each one. A normal walk would have had you imitating the "Flying Wallendas" sans safety net. Imagine a head over bum free fall. A no Bueno moment for sure. It was quite apparent to me, there were no personal injury lawyers in the Inca Empire. Now that's an advanced civilization. 

En route we came across a terraced ruin overlooking the Urabamba River way down below. The scene was simply amazing for want of other adjectives. Nearby a male llama was hoping to "get lucky" with a female llama of his dreams. He gave chase, while she played hard to get. A South American "Animal Planet" moment for all us Peeping Toms to enjoy. 

After another group photo, we were all pleasantly seated at our campsite with lunch in front of us. The time? About 1:30 pm. Gasp! Free time! This was a concept I could handle.

Cheers from Florida, 

I hear an IPA calling my name.

Jeff 

Day Three: Out comes the whoopin'

stick.

There wasn't a read a newspaper amount of light when Damas (a guide) and two porters shook my tent. They chirped out a friendly "Buenos Dias!" before dropping off warm wash water and soap. I pleaded and received  a cup of hot water for one of my Starbucks instant coffee shots. 

Later on I tried coca leaves, but I nearly got sick when I accidentally swallowed a soggy wad. 

Sleep had avoided me like a too-busy bartender. It's not easy to nod at over 11,000 feet. Any attempts at taking a deep breath caused me to jolt awake. I might have scored three hours of dream time-maybe.  Thank god for Starbucks and adrenaline. 

After breakfast and packing we started our assault of 13,828' Dead Woman Pass. (The outline of the pass looks like a supine woman, complete with a nipple)  Alex reassured the females in our tribe that "it's just a name! Don't worry!  I shouldered my load and headed uphill to the group's first break area. 

When I got there, locals had already set up a 7-11 convenience store. They were selling  water, candy, sodas and beers. Alex informed us down below this would be our last call for alcohol until the town of Aguas Calientes. I chose to give my liver a break for a few days. Besides, I didn't want to carry the added weight. 

I pulled off to the side and looked around. Ahh! From that point I was able to make out a distant glacier. On the rare moments when the clouds parted, one could see how wild and jagged the high Andes mountains are. They seemed to leap Michael Jordan like from the valleys below. There were very few similarities to the Colorado peaks I was used to. 

One by one our group coalesced at the rest stop. Everyone seemed to be in pretty good spirits. Some looked up expectantly at the prominent saddle that marked the summit of the pass. When everyone was somewhat rested, Alex gave us the green light to proceed upward. 

I inhaled a Cliff Bar for those precious 250 extra calories, and started up. After a kilometer or two I caught up with a peloton of porters. When they saw me they kicked it into that extra gear they possessed. That was the last I saw off them until the top. The ascent never seemed to want to end. Luckily it finally did. 

I smiled grandly while panting like an overheated hound. I settled back on a soft rock and took in the surroundings. Wow!  

One by one my teammates appeared. High fives and hugs were distributed in equal doses. Sincere grins was the prominent look. We couldn't get too cocky though, we still had another pass to climb. But first a descent and a much needed lunch break. 

I knew the crew was beat when Damas announced three times that lunch was ready. Eventually he began to gently herd his flock into the dining room tent. It was a quiet meal with muted conversations. Everyone seemed to be in lost in their own thoughts. 

After a short digestion period we psyched ourselves for the second major climb. Pass number two is a few stacked basketball players short of 13,000.' Damas assured us the hike would be "easy". Well, maybe for his 26 year old body. 

We passed a few small ruins en route as we made our way into a fog bank. It all felt sort of surreal. At the top of the pass, there were no "ooh-ahh" views. Kind of disappointing for all the sweat labor that went into our hike. Oh well, it was all downhill to our campsite. Yay!

The only instructions we were given was to stop at a fork on the trail before proceeding on. At least our guide Niko didn't quote Yogi Berra by saying "when you come to a fork in the road, take it." 

 

At the junction there was a good sized ruin to the left. Of course, it was uphill about 100 steps. On the right and at a lower altitude was our camp. We could see the familiar blue tents signifying "home." 

When Niko arrived he asked me, "want to see the ruin? I'll tell you it's history when we gather there." My answer was as short as I am, "NO! I'm Done!" I turned right and skidaddled down to camp. A porter led me to a choice of tents. I pitched my pack inside one. Yes! After over a half of day of motion, I was finally in "west and wewazation" mode "at wast." 

My companions drifted into camp to rounds of applause and back slaps. After a monumental effort we had put the toughest segment of the Inca Trail behind us. As a reward, we would get to sleep in before the next day's stroll through the cloud forest. Alex told us to chill until 6 am. Heavens! 

At dinner the conversations were animated and back in full swing. I could feel a general sense of relief. We were 17 happy campers. 

Cheers!

Jeff

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.