As I was falling over backwards...

on the cusps of a cliff. This is what I was thinking.

A) So this is how it ends.

B) Those petroglyphs I scrambled up to take photos of weren't worth dying for.

My leg snagged on something, interrupting physics from pushing me to my final tipping point. My lower appendage decided to bend and not break. It torqued. Now I possess one very swollen knee. 

The whole incident scared me. Bad things can happen so fast. 

I'm not a patient patient. I've been told this a number of times from my too many orthopedic doctors and unfortunately surgeons too. 

The healing process takes me out of my retirement routine. Wake up, drink coffee, eat, take a hike, relax and wait for Happy Hour. The getting better time leaves me too many hours to think of my reality. I'm really alone out there and here. As I continue to age this will become more of an issue. That scares me too. 

Hey! Its a beautiful day in Death Valley National Park. I've got a bag of ice on my knee and an cold IPA in my paw. 

It's near record heat at Furnace Creek too. April temperatures in mid February. Go figure.

Here are the petroglyphs I nearly became a buzzard's kosher appetizer for. 

I dodged the great inevitable and got to see another Death Valley sunset.

I'll be more careful in my future. The blog must go on.

Cheers!

Jeff

A South America...

Summary...

I've been back in the USA for over a week and one Super Bowl. Between sleeping and eating too much, (I'm catching up on both) I've had time to think about our Southern Continental neighbor. 

Decades earlier than this past trip, folks would ask me why I hadn't visited any place in South America. My answer was truthful. I wasn't excited about going to countries where the who's calling the shots head honcho changes hands as often as a busy Biker Bar changes kegs of Bud Lite. (That's often. The more macho the bar, the wimpier the beer).

Now that situation has changed in a good way. South America seems to be almost tranquil compared to many tumultuous regions. Remember the good old pre-911 days? The world seemed so much gentler then.

With that excuse for not going gone. I decided to try my fortune with an untested traveling companion and visit Chile.
 http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/musings-and-mutterings-about-string.html

When Lisa split for work obligations the difficulties of South American travel for an older solo non-Spanish speaking wanderer became a bit too real. I grew frustrated by the lack of road signs, the pantomiming I had to do to get my point across and two kinds of breath-holding banos. The really foul WC's where I sought immediate psychiatric counseling or the ones where I could wait to speak to a shrink manana type.

As the trip continued it took a lot more effort to ignore the hordes of hungry hounds, the piles of detritus at impromptu landfills and the all too sad look of poverty in many places. (I can say the same thing about pockets of the US too). Without a travel partner to vent to, I internalized the experience too often. I got homesick.

Peru and Machu Picchu was a welcome reprieve for me. I met sixteen English speaking people who hadn't heard any of my stories yet. They told good yarns too. I've noticed people who take the chance of travel are pretty entertaining and interesting. That week salvaged my South American trip. I needed that.

Please don't get me wrong, the places I saw were intensely beautiful and eye catching. The people are friendly even though they couldn't understand me and visa versa. I never felt threatened other than a few scary driving moments. It's an experience worth checking out. For me, I would think twice about running solo again. It's too much alone time even for a curmudgeon like myself.

Now back to the present: I phoned GEICO today to restart my full insurance coverage on Barley the Van. Before I hung up, the nice agent asked me, "Would you be interested in an insurance policy for renting or for your other properties"? 

"I already have an insurance policy with GEICO for my only property. The van is bought and paid for too." 

The line got real quiet. As a goodbye, I said, "It's a long story."

So readers, please keep looking into my blog. The story will continue. 

Cheers from almost sunset time at Saint Pete Beach, Florida.

Jeff

The Most Impressive Thing...

about Machu Picchu. 

Hint: It's not the Inca Ruins.

Hint: It's not the cloud forests.

Hint: It's not the crazy steep terrain or majestic mountain scenery.

Hint: It's not a thing either. 

It's the Porters. 

Here's the new math of the Inca Trail. It takes twenty-three Porters to man haul the camping requirements of seventeen paying Gringos and three guides for a three night-four day Machu Picchu journey. 

At the completion of Day One's meander, Alex announced there would be a "Meet and Greet" with these extraordinary men. 

After dinner we assembled in a circle: North Americans in one hemisphere, Peruvian Porters in the other and three guides straddling the Equator between the two. 

Alex told us about the Porters in his melodic way of speaking English. Here's the gist of what I heard: (Some of this information came from Mary Lou, an employee of Valencia Travel.) 

The Porters live at 12,000' in remote villages. Many are subsistence farmers. Some of their homes lack electricity or running water. Valencia Travel is one of the few tour companies who provides health insurance while the Porters are on the Inca Trail. The Shining Path guerrillas made life even more difficult for them. When the Porters are on the job they each carry fifty-five pounds of gear. Chewing coca leaves is as much a part of their culture as drinking four glasses of wine during a Passover Seder is for Jews. They speak a language that is passed on by word of mouth-Quechuan. They work hard so they may one day earn enough money for their children to get a proper education. Tip money from us Gringos is a major source of their yearly revenue.

While Alex was speaking, I looked across the 20' gap separating the vacationers from the employees. Despite the fact we were all Homo Sapiens, to me it felt like a "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" moment. I couldn't fathom what it would be like to wake up hungry or with no source of real income. For us softies from North America, a bad day is when Starbucks pours soy milk instead of real milk into our morning coffee. Our cultural, economic and physical differences were light years apart. 

Yet, I admired them for their endurance, toughness and boundless energy. Their ages ran from 18-60. Their skin tones covered the spectrum of cafe con leche to burnt mahogany wood. A few sported a snaggletooth grin. Some stood in a supplicant posture. (That bothered me.) Every one of these human transporters were shorter and weighed less than me. I'm 5'4" and tilt the scales at about a $1.38. 

They practically ran up the passes bearing their cumbersome loads. Once in camp, their work day would begin again. Set up the tents, fluff up the sleeping pads and bags, heat water for tea, boil water for drinking, distribute warm water for washing up, cook meals, wait tables and clean up the whole mess. Repeat until the last camp three days later.

I saw them eat once. At that day's end, the cook prepared a huge white meal for them. Their bowls were piled high mostly with carbohydrates. I never saw any of them drink water. Coca Colas and a yellow liquid called Inca Kola was the only fluids I noticed them quaffing. On Day One local women provided them with a juice-like drink at one of their infrequent rest stops. They wore blue uniforms with the prominent Valencia Travel logo imprinted upon them. They were hustling advertisements for their employer. The rest of their clothes were a mish mash of hand-me-downs from former guests. Whether or not the footwear fit their tiny feet was problematic. 

There's an hierarchy within their ranks. There's a Head Porter, one Chef, an Assistant Chef and one Waiter. I don't use the word Chef lightly. The meals which were created within that humble cooking tent was fine cuisine compared to most of the grub I ingested in South America. Lots of thought and hard work went into those feeds.

Of course, there's the new guys. They had the unenviable tasks of hauling five gallons of sloshing water (41.5 pounds) up the staircase I mentioned in the following blog. http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/day-four-it-jungle-out.html

In other words, they performed the stupid hard jobs in order to prove their mettle. 

So the bottom line, what did these Mighty Mights make for their gargantuan efforts? Valencia Travel suggested a 100 Soles tip/Porter (About 28.75 USD). They wrote that this would be a very generous gratuity. That's what we handed them.

Isn't that crazy?

I'm on my way to Saint Pete's Beach to find a nice bar to watch the Super Bowl. It'll cost me more than $28.75 to drink and eat there.

Cheers 

Jeff

PS. One Porter photo was provided by Oliver.

But Wait! There's More!

Keep reading this blog about Machu Picchu and you can win a set of Ginsu knives! (Not really). 

Right now, I can create a few more posts about South America or South Florida. 

Maybe I can write one about the best "Early Bird Specials" in Palm Beach County, Florida?

I think you will enjoy the extra South American blogs more.

Way back when the Machu Picchu part of my trip was closing in fast, I decided I better look at the information bulletin to see what I got myself into. Contrary to what my retirement card says, I'm not really organized enough to be a true vacation planner. 

Hmmm! The last day featured an optional hike to a mountain named Waynu Picchu. OK. I like mountains. The bulletin said there would be great views from the summit. OK II. I like pretty views. The bulletin said it would cost an extra $65. I didn't like that, but figured what the heck, I don't visit Machu Picchu everyday. 

So after our official tour was complete:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/day-five-finale-good-newsbad-news.html 

Alex the Guide pointed Kevin (the other curious hiker) and me to another gate. Of course we had to produce our passports along with uno mas ticket. We signed a ledger and uphill we went.

Waynu Picchu is featured in the iconic photos of Machu Picchu. It's the camera catching triangular shaped mountain dominating the scene. And rightfully so, the peak is 1,180' higher than the ruins. Those workaholic Incas placed steep steps, terraces and temples upon the prominence too. High Priests and local virgins supposedly resided there. I have no idea how they figured out the virgin's fidelity. This blog will not dwell upon that touchy subject either.

Back to the hike: It was crowded. At the top, I had to negotiate through a gauntlet of dueling selfie sticks. It was scary. I called over to Kevin to tell him I was heading down. Kevin wanted to savor the moment some more. I wanted to savor a cold beer and a meal. We parted ways. 

At the meeting place/restaurant I met up with the gang. Food, drinks and laughs were all served up in equal measures. At that point, I desired that more than another pretty view. 

If you would like to read another Machu Picchu perspective, please check out Lin Sanchez' blog.

https://quesadillasinghettodise.wordpress.com/

Thanks from South Florida,

Jeff

Day Five: The Finale. Good News.Bad News...

"Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive” 

― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

First the Good News: We would be culminating our pilgrimage via the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. 

The Bad News: This would require a 3 am wake up call. (Yes, we paid a lot of money to do this!) We needed to be packed, swallow breakfast and be on the move (muy rapido) in order to wait in line until 5:30 am. That's the time of the opening bell for Machu Picchu. Fortunately, we had really fast pilgrims on our team. We were in gate position number three among the dozen plus tour groups. 

So we waited, and waited in the dark and damp in close quarters with shadowy strangers and 19 acquaintances. Conversations were muted or whispered. Most of us tried to nap while leaning up against our packs or fellow travelers. I laughed to myself thinking this situation would be a dictionary example of the term, "hurry up and wait." 

At about first light, we were called up to a window one by one. Our ticket was presented to an Machu Picchu official who materialized out of the vapors. We had our clearance. Next stop - the Sun Gate. 

It was an uphill hike with a few wonderful glimpses of Mother Nature's pretty profile. Oliver (the lone Canadian in our group) and I passed between two twin pillars (the Sun Gate) and looked down and to the right. 

There it was, the iconic Machu Picchu view.

Seconds later the sun came out to infuse light and shadows for some impromptu special effects. Clouds welled up from the valley below playing hide and seek with the ruins. I looked about at the gathering crowd and all I saw were exhausted yet smiling faces. Once again handshakes, hugs, kisses, congratulations and back slaps were doled out. I was damn pleased to be there at that moment. 

We relished the scene until reality set in. Our guides relayed the game plan on where to meet at the site itself. Once again we would have to show our passports and a ticket to gain entry to this UNESCO World Heritage Centre. 

So down we went into a growing storm of humanity who were fresh off the buses and tourist trains. Me and my fellow journeymen and women weren't fresh at all. I for one was feeling overripe from the days of dirt, toil and lack of a warm shower. Maybe this is the way to create space in a soon to be crowded place. 

It took awhile before everyone was moving in the same direction. Maybe we were feeling the lack of sleep, sparse breakfast or plain old weariness. Maybe all the above. 

Once inside, Alex morphed into an Inca History/Machu Picchu professor. We obediently followed him from one unique section to another. Stories, names, historical significance and of course the Incas brilliant methods of marking the solstices were expounded upon. 

As the day got warmer, I got hungrier. At the top of where the solar observatory was located, I began to break out in a frigid sweat accompanied by an out of touch feeling. I knew the big pass out was only moments away. No Bueno. I sat down before I flopped down. 

I explained my plight to my new found buddies. From the creases and nooks in their day packs a few energy bars and chocolate chunks were found. They generously gave them to me. I ate. I felt better double quick time. They were my heroes. 

Alex's walking tour continued to a final question and answer period. 

"Are there any questions about Machu Picchu? 

Maria who up to this point kept a pretty low profile piped up, "Yeah! When do we eat?" 

See? I wasn't the only one.

By the time we dined, drank a few beverages, boarded a train and a bus and were dropped off at our Cuzco hotel it was 8:30 pm. We had been up for over 17.5 hours. We were spent.

On the bright side, we had all successfully completed the Machu Picchu Ultra-marathon. 

It was one for the books. It was a great experience. 

Cheers to all,

Jeff

 

Musings and mutterings about a String Bean Shaped Country...

"What a long strange trip it's been." Grateful Dead

Remember way back when? From my original blog about Chile: 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.cl/2015/12/chile-today_16.html

Hell! I wasn't even supposed to be here! 

Well, I was here for six plus weeks. I think about this journey in two distinct segments. The W L time (with Lisa) and the WO L time (without Lisa). 

During the W L time I had an intelligent English speaking companion to share my many thoughts and rants with. She'd laugh at my vocalized frustrations concerning this foreign land we found ourselves in. "How hard would it be to put up a freaking sign pointing to a National Park?" 

When I dropped her off a few weeks ago, I experienced loneliness. Now I'm the kind of guy who prides himself on being comfortable in his own skin. In the States, I can go weeks without a real conversation and it won't bother me. Here it bothered me. The difference? I know what's going on around me in my own country. I understand the language.

In Chile, I felt like I was always walking through the famous Star Wars I bar scene. The one featuring Hans Solo with lots of aliens jabbering away around him. In Chile, that was my life minus the English subtitles. I was in a communication void. Chileans don't Habla Ingles a lot. In the course of the WO L period, I had two real talks with two couples from Europe. That's it. The rest of the time I smiled a lot and pantomimed if my limited Espanol wasn't working. It hardly ever did. 

Even the mundane act of going into a restaurant was challenging. I would sit down at an empty table in an empty restaurant. (I ate at Gringo plus hours, about 7:30 to 8:00). Eventually a waitperson would saunter over. I would ask to see a menu in Spanish. Blank look. I would then pantomime eating. Blank look II. Then I would switch to English and start to quietly rant. "Oh this must be the business where I can purchase a block heater for my Ford Van or maybe refill my blood pressure medicine prescription?" For some reason, this worked. I scored a menu. 

Don't get me wrong. You would be hard pressed to discover a kinder, gentler and more easy going people than the Chileans. They are obviously generous, family oriented and friendly. They just don't speak a lot of North American and I don't speak a lot of South American. It's my problemo not theirs. 

My social scene and Happy Hour consisted of a few mediocre brews and my Kindle app. I've read four books in two weeks. 

Enough about me. What about Chile?

First off, this Skinny Country is beautiful, complete with 18 million pretty nice people. (See above). It's almost twice the size of Montana. 

Most folks live along the Central Valley corridor and the Pan American Highway. This stretches north and south of Santiago. There's 5.1 million people in the capital city. On December 12th, we arrived in Santiago and quickly departed. I returned today and will leave in the early morning. My neighbor is the airport.  

Chile's economy is based upon what comes from below the earth (mining) and what grows on top of the earth, (forest products and foodstuffs). The fisheries industry is big too.Tourism is not a main driving force here. It's pretty much a Blue Collar Country. 

Most foreigners are like me and search out the protected areas of National Parks and National Reserves. If you are used to U.S National Parks along with its infrastructure, you might be disappointed like I was on occasion. Many of the parks are in name only. Access to them is extremely limited. Even the most famous ones have crappy roads and a limited  trail system. Getting a map when you pay your entry fee is problematic. I discovered if I made a real sorrowful look when they said "No mapa," one would materialize out of a drawer. 

Chile is now a politically stable country. It wasn't always like this. It was sort of a pick up the morning newspaper to see who's in charge country. The U.S backed a few less than stellar leaders-like Pinochet. I'm not proud of this. 

Maybe this is why there's so many low skilled menial workers seen everywhere. It keeps the populace from rebelling I suppose. It's not uncommon to see seven dudes milling around four gas pumps to pour product into your thirsty vehicle. The national average income is half what Americans take home. 

Chileans smoke a lot more than Americans too. 37% compared to 24%. The irony is they live longer than us. Go figure. 

I'll end this long post with a few questions to my readers. I'm all ears if anyone knows the answers. 

Why do Chileans believe their modern plumbing systems won't handle TP? I refused to participate in a possible local cholera outbreak by placing wads into nearby wastebaskets. OK, call me an Ugly American for this. 

Why do the Carabineros (National Police Force) drive around 24/7 with their emergency lights flashing? How was I supposed to know if I was getting pulled over or if they received an urgent call about fresh donuts? They have wooden handled pistols attached to their belts by a string too. Barney Fife would love them. 

Why do Chileans consider Nescafé Instant Coffee to be the bomb? Juan Valdez and his mule are flopping in their graves. Come on Chile! Trade copper for real coffee in South America! 

Lastly, why did it take so long for summer to show its wonderful side in Chilly Chile? Oftentimes the difference between comfort and cold was merely a passing cloud or a shade tree. 

Chile is not a Third World country, just once in awhile it seems to be. I can say the same thing for parts of the USA too. Like the time I was bicycle touring along the Ohio River in Southern Illinois. I could swear I heard the unmistakable strains of "Dueling Banjos." I pedaled harder then. 

I'm off to Cusco, Peru manana. I'll start trekking the Inca Trail soon thereafter. 

This will likely be the last time I travel alone to a predominantly non-English speaking country. It makes me write long blogs. 

Goodnight from the airport,

Jeff

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.