Starry, starry night

I’ve always been fascinated by the universe and everything in it. I’ve already said how I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little. We recently found a copy of a letter my mum had written to some astronomers’ organisation cancelling my subscription to their magazine, saying that, “although my daughter is very interested in astronomy, your publication is a bit too advanced for an eight year old”. I read A Brief History of Time and watched all the documentaries i could find with Stephen Hawking. I successfully convinced my IB Physics teacher to cover astrophysics as one of the optional subjects (this turned out to be a mistake as I knew more on the subject than she did). I even came close to studying astrophysics at university, but then took a gap year and ended up applying for something totally different. These days, I eagerly consume any programme featuring Brian Cox. And now, travelling in South America, I’ve discovered an amazing field that I never even knew existed: archaeoastronomy. It combines my love of the universe with other interests like history, anthropology, mythology, and physics.

At the planetarium in Cusco, Peru (a city which itself is designed to mirror, and point to, specific points in the night sky), they told us about the Incan cosmology and how the river in the sky, our Milky Way, had its earthly counterpart in the Río Urubamba. The Sun, the Moon, and the planet Venus featured prominently in the Incas’ beliefs, and they identified a number of constellations, including the lamas, the shepherd, the fox and the frog, that can be seen in the dark matter of the Milky Way. They constructed temples and observatories to align with the rays of the sun during the winter solstice or to maintain a calendar, mostly for agricultural purposes. They used the brightness of the Southern Pleiades to predict the weather and so to plan the harvest (since then corroborated by modern science). And on the steps of Choquequirao, a line of white stone lamas lead the way to the lama in the sky.

Since 1922, we have 88 official, globally recognised, constellations. (Is it just me, or does this number seem very small considering the vastness of the sky? And, I’m sorry to tell you this, but the Big Dipper, the one constellation we can all identify, is not actually a constellation. What?! In fact it’s an asterism, a pattern of stars within a bigger constellation, in this case, Ursa Major.) Of course, they are only constellations from where we are seeing them, in 2D – they don’t actual exist in 3D reality. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to gaze up at the night sky here in South America, in places far from the light pollution that otherwise prevents us from seeing what’s out there – on the boat in the Galapagos, up at Machu Picchu, out on the Bolivian salt flats. Some constellations can be seen, at certain times of the year, in both the northern and the southern hemisphere, while others are unique to one or the other. The most famous constellation in the south, and the smallest of all of them, is the Southern Cross. From this easily recognisable point, I’ve started to learn to identify the patterns that are nearby: the Centaur and the Southern Triangle, as well as some of the Zodiac signs on the ellipsis, the fabulous Scorpio and the not-so-fabulous Libra (it’s my sign, but it’s just four stars in a kind of square shape. Boring!) – still a long way to go to learning all 88! The planets move along this ellipsis, and I’ve been able to see both Venus and Saturn these past months.

At the Cusco Planetarium and at the Observatorio Mamalluca in Vicuña, Chile, I got to look through the different telescopes to see things invisible to the naked eye: clusters of stars, including the Jewel Box cluster of coloured gems, located in the Southern Cross constellation and officially named NGC 4755; the binary stars of Alpha Centauri (that look like one star without the aid of a telescope); and the rings of Saturn. Chile is a particularly favourable location for astronomers due to the climate and the clear skies (in some parts of the desert, rainfall has NEVER been recorded. Ah, just you wait for Anna to come and visit), and as such is home to many international telescopes. The European Extremely Large Telescope is currently being built outside of Antofogasta, dwarfing the existing Very Large Telescope. Chilean astronomers (and foreigners who have worked for a year in Chile) are fortunate enough to be allowed free access to these telescopes for a month each year, avoiding the otherwise huge cost of using one of these expensive telescopes to stare at a tiny piece of the sky and most likely find nothing of interest.

But perhaps astronomy and astrophysics would not have suited me after all. Really what I want to do is lie in a field and gaze up at the stars, not sit at a desk making measurements and calculations. Looking up at the blackness above – at the billions of stars, each as important as our own sun, whose light has travelled billions of light years to reach us; at the countless worlds that must, with mathematical certainty, exist out there; at the white mass of the Milky Way, which is just one of countless galaxies in the Universe – all of our petty little human concerns pale into insignificance. (Doctor Who, I’m sure, would disagree.) And yet, the next morning, when the sun rises and a blue sky encapsulates our little world – rather like the television studio bubble of The Truman Show – we forget all about that whole Universe that is out there and get on with our daily lives. I guess we have little choice – I’m not sure society would look kindly on me if I suddenly stopped living a normal life and instead wandered the streets pondering the meaning of life. This ain’t Ancient Greece, ya know. But a bit of perspective, a bit of humility, maybe wouldn’t go amiss.

The main telescope at the Mamelluca Observatory in Vicuña, Chile

Incessant noise: The sounds of South America

South America is not the place to come for peace and tranquility. It’s busy, it’s loud, it’s relentless.

As a backpacker, the first place you’ll notice this is on the bus. Most long-distance buses have films playing more or less continuously throughout the journey, and many have music at the same time. The volume of the TV is just loud enough to be disturbing, but mostly not loud enough to actually hear what they’re saying. Then at the start of the journey, you invariably have someone come on and hand out sweets, or biscuits, or whatever, and give a long spiel about how wonderful this product is and how little it will cost you. Throughout the journey you’ll have more vendors coming on board to sell their wares, waking you from your slumber with their loud voices and boxes that knock into you. On local buses, you instead have the guy at the front shouting “Moche! Moche! Moche!” every time you stop because of traffic or traffic lights, to round up more people from the street who want our destination.

The other day, on a local bus in Asunción, Paraguay, it was a complete circus: Imagine, first, a rusty old bus, rattling along down a busy street. Then of course everyone is talking on their mobile phone. There is at least one screaming baby. Add to this a whole line of vendors getting on at the front, moving down the aisle and off the bus at the back in an endless carousel of noise: Chipas, Chipas! Galletas, Galletas! Gaseosas, Gaseosas! (As if planned, the vendors selling cheese buns, biscuits, and soft drinks were followed by others selling toothbrushes and toothpaste. How very responsible.) As a final flourish, put two musicians on board, singing a traditional, and very shouty, style of music as they bash the strings of their guitars. Viewed from the outside, it was quite comical.

Out on the street, the main noise that I’m not used to at home is the honking. I don’t think I’ve ever used a car horn but here it’s part of normal driving protocol. I think the worst was in Piura in northern Peru, where the honking was just outside the hotel window and continued throughout the night. Cars will honk at each other for no apparent reason, while taxis will honk at pedestrians, especially at you since you’re a tourist, and they assume you must want a taxi since you’re walking down the street, or standing at the traffic lights. (On the plus side, this means that you can always get a taxi when you need one.) The other noise you have on the street, if you’re a girl, is the “Hola, qué tal?” but, worse, the kissing, or sometimes hissing, noises that the men let out as you pass. You just have to smile and walk on.

Of course the main experience as a backpacker is the hostel. Although I started very luxuriously with private rooms in Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia, as I entered the more expensive Chile, Argentina, and, surprisingly, Paraguay, I’ve been staying in dorms for the same price. Whether you go to bed early or stay out late, whether you set an alarm or plan to have a lie in, you’re bound to be on a different schedule to at least someone in your dorm. Especially when there are 14 of you, as the other night in Asunción, Paraguay. (I’m reminded of the ultimate nightmare of a room, The Bunker in Verbier, where there were 30 of us in triple bunk beds, drunk people returning from clubs, couples getting busy under the sheets, and one girl letting out a blood-curdling scream in the middle of the night.) But the most hilariously hellish night was in Mendoza, Argentina. I was already sleeping badly, frustrated at having just had my iPhone stolen, in a hostel where the bar played loud music until 6am. When I went to bed at 11pm, there were two girls already in bed – surprising, I thought, for a Saturday night, but perhaps they had an early bus the next day like me. I struggled to doze off, each time jolted out of near-sleep by one of the girls’ phones receiving messages. Soon thereafter, my instincts were proven to be correct as an alarm rang (I had to shine my torch in one girl’s face so that she would wake up and turn it off) and the two girls proceeded to get out of bed, turn all the lights on, and get dressed and made up to go out, all the while chatting loudly. Seemingly minutes after, they returned, again turning all the lights on to get ready for bed. And less than an hour later, my alarm clock rang and it was time to get up for my bus. (By the way, I sleep with ear plugs and a blindfold when I’m in hostels. Someone should invent dorm-strength sleeping aids.)

There are, of course, exceptions: sailing between the Galapagos Islands, hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, and standing in the middle of the Uyuni salt flats, we were in a magical place, far removed from the bustle of everyday life. And the trick, I think, is to find moments away from the noise around you, moments of inner silence. I know I sound like an old woman (in one comment on Trip Adviser, some young stud asked, “Why are people complaining about the noise in their reviews? Who comes to hostels to sleep?), but I get grumpy without my beauty sleep, and I enjoy some quiet time to relax or reflect on my experiences.

In any case, the sounds of a city in a foreign land are all part of the excitement of people watching, seeing life go by, experiencing the energy of a place, in a different part of the world. Take those sounds away and you lose the essence of the place. But, still, what I wouldn’t give for a good night’s sleep…

In a dorm of 14 beds, you’re unlikely to get a lot of quality sleep…

From Cusco to Puno: The Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca

From Cusco, I took the Inka Express bus for tourists, recommended by the Swiss man on my Galapagos cruise and by Lonely Planet. This meant that I wasn’t allowed to sleep on the journey as I would have liked, but instead we were herded off to see some church or ruin every hour or so. The guide was a charming man who looked like the French guy who lures Liam Neeson’s daughter into human trafficking in the movie Taken. “Mi nombre es Hugo. Cómo Hugo Boss. O Hugo Chávez. Jajaja.” He gave the exact same spiel in English as in Spanish.

On the way, we saw many of the non-native eucalyptus trees, imported from Australia to stop soil erosion but now planted everywhere as a cheap and profitable crop. Unfortunately in disregard of the fact that these thirsty trees are sucking the soil dry and in a few years time they won’t be biologically or economically feasible anymore. It was snowing at the highest point on the route, and the unfortunate souls who were bravely manning the artisan stalls had to cover them up and, I’m sure, did not do good business that day. In the communities at this high altitude, we were told, life expectancy is very low. This is due to the climate, their poor diet (they kept livestock but only to sell, while they stick to a very monotonous vegetarian diet), and the use of lama dung as fuel in houses with no windows. Community properties (previously under a feudal system) lack the titles to prove ownership, so the government could take the resources of these areas whenever they want to. The most important promise, therefore, that a politician in this area can make is to award these titles; but the inhabitants have been waiting 30 years for these promises to be fulfilled. Families have 4-6 children, as they need the labour, and education is limited though legally compulsory up to the age of 16. Education, as I’ve been repeatedly told by earnest locals, is the key to economic development and equality.

As we approached our destination, we passed through the commercial centre of Juliaca, strategically located between Cusco, Puno, and Arequipa, and close to the Bolivian border, and as such a centre of contraband trade. Puno, in fact, wasn’t a whole lot nicer, though more geared towards tourists. The main attraction is a visit to one of the islands, and in particular the unusual Islas de los Uros. The Uros are a pre-Incan people who live on manmade islands created from totora reed, originally built as a defensive measure against their aggressive neighbours.

The boat I took had some rather serious engineering problems but eventually we arrived at the island of Chumi. Five families make this island their home, with a president to lead them. In total, there are 2,000 Aymara-speaking inhabitants on 80 different islands. There is a small hospital and there are three primary schools, but for secondary education the children must travel to the mainland. On the capital island, there are even hotels. “No hay discoteca. No hay internet.” The principal activity is fishing; on the mainland, 1kg of fish can be exchanged for 2kg of potatoes. The people here also hunt birds and eat the meat – better than chicken, apparently. For entertainment, they play football and volleyball – but not basketball. And their weddings last for two days, with people coming all the way from Cusco and Arequipa to get married here.

From the small island of Chumi, we were told that we could also make a special visit to the capital island, for an additional, but apparently not optional, cost. As we left Chumi in one of the traditional boats (less traditionally powered by a small boat behind us with an engine), three women said their goodbyes. They sang a local song, followed by Row, row, row your boat, and finally Vamos a la playa. No commercialism here. We had a lovely boat ride after which we were dumped on a small patch of totora reed with an artisan shop, a restaurant, and a toilet. This must have been the ghetto of the capital. We all stood around there for an hour until the captain decided we would be allowed back to Puno.

The next day, I left Peru for the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca.

Photo opportunity at the highest point on the journey from Cusco to Puno

On the boat to the Islas de los Uros

Should the engine be smoking like that?

The island of Chimu

“Bang! Bang! This is how we shoot the tourists.” Haha.

Our boat to the capital

Adiós Peru!

Machu Picchu: I came, I saw, I wondered

Today was a special day in the Inca calendar: the winter solstice, on which day the morning rays of the sun would perfectly align with temples and streets and windows throughout the empire, intentionally built to coordinate with this astronomical date. Why don’t we construct buildings like that today?! It was also the time of the most important festival of the year, Inti Raymi, the Festival of the Sun. Unfortunately I’ve passed the southern reaches of the Inca empire, so there were no special celebrations where I was, and I spent much of the day on a bus. But I did enjoy the sun warming my skin through the window.

On the fourth and final day of the Inca Trail, we had a 3.30am wake-up call. The porters moved as if someone had pressed fast forward: Coca tea! Water! Breakfast! And the tents were packed up within seconds of us getting out. We said goodbye, as the porters had to run to catch the only local train back to Ollantaytambo – if they missed it, they would have to hike back to the start. The rest of us got our gear together and set off with our headlamps in the dark. Five minutes later we’d arrived at the queue to enter Machu Picchu, and settled down to wait for the entrance to open at 5.30am.

It was still dark when movement up ahead indicated that the checkpoint was open, and we filed through to have our tickets checked. From there, it was another hour to get to the Sun Gate, followed by a 30-minute descent into the site. It was a nice walk, the air pleasantly cool, and I marched on to reach our goal (the group told me later that I had set a tough pace, but we were so close! How could I have gone more slowly?). The only tricky bit was the ‘monkey steps’, so named because gringos have to climb the steep staircase on all fours (I stayed upright, sort of, out of pride).

Setting off before dawn, we were getting close to our final destination

At the top, after climbing the monkey steps

Arriving at the Sun Gate, and finally looking down on the famous site, my eyes welled up, just a little. It’s true what they say: however many times you’ve seen the pictures, it’s still a unique experience when you finally see it with your own eyes. When Hiram Bingham discovered the site in 1911, it would have been swallowed up by the jungle but he still recognised the importance of the ruins. As we continued on, we had different views from different angles until we reached the classic postcard shot of the ruins below the mountain of Wayna Picchu. We had arrived at Machu Picchu (pronounced pic-chu – who knew?), and I had my new Facebook cover photo – which is, of course, the goal of all travel.

Arriving at the Sun Gate, Intipunktu, and finally glimpsing that most famous of all Inca sites

The Shot

After descending into the ruins, we had to exit the site only to re-enter without our big backpacks and walking sticks. Within minutes, the ruins were filled with those evil tourists who had taken the train up. You could recognise them a mile away by their jeans, perfume, perfectly styled hair and make up (the women, that is). Bah humbug. There were also a few lamas, as well as security guards to keep us from climbing on the walls.

One of the less annoying beings we encountered in the ruins

Machu Picchu is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, now thought to have been a country estate of the Inca emperor Pachacuti (1438-72). It was actually known locally, with three families even living there and farming the land when Bingham arrived and then brought it to the attention of the world. Somehow, the Spanish conquistadors did not reach Machu Picchu, leaving it more intact than the many other sites that were sacked. Its geography is sacred according to Inca beliefs, surrounded as it is by the Río Urubamba, and four important mountains. Unfortunately all the original names of these places have been lost, so the names we use today are contemporary names.

The houses in which three local families were living when Bingham ‘discovered’ the site

The Torreón, or Temple of the Sun, its main window lining up with the first rays of the sun on the winter solstice (now closed to the public, as I have since found out, due to two Spanish tourists graffitiing the inside wall. Haven’t you done enough, España?!).

The Intihuatana, a ritual stone thought to have been an astronomical calendar or sacrificial site of some sort. (One of the fascinating things about Inca history is how little we actually know, so much is theory and speculation.)

Thought by Bingham to have been a royal mausoleum, this structure is now considered to have been a temple for Pachamama, Mother Earth

The Incas constructed important, usually religious, buildings with stones cut to fit together perfectly without mortar

Exploring the ruins

It started to rain just as we were leaving the ruins to take the bus down to Aguas Calientes. Quite fortuitous timing, I’d say. Thank you Inti, sun god of the Incas. In Aguas Calientes, we had a final group lunch together and celebrated with a pisco sour. I took the Inca Rail train, a train with leather seats and big windows, thankfully without the touristy entertainment they provide on some trains (strange fashion shows and ‘authentic’ music and dancing), back to Ollantaytambo, from where I was picked up and taken back to Cusco.

Aguas Calientes, otherwise known as Machu Picchu pueblo

It’s strange when you’ve seen so many pictures of a place and then you’re finally there… for a brief moment, and then you’re gone. Now it seems like a dream. Was I really there? Afterwards, in Cusco, I visited the new Machu Picchu museum and found it surreal to explore a model of the ruins having been there in person just a day or two before. Machu Picchu captured the world’s imagination 100 years ago and has retained its wonder, despite its commercialisation in the past few years. In fact, in 2007, it was voted as one of the seven modern wonders of the world; the other that I’ve visited is the Colosseum in Rome. That still leaves many more to explore: the Great Wall of China, Petra in Jordan, Christ the Redeemer in Rio, Chichen Itza in Mexico, the Taj Mahal, and the Great Pyramid of Giza (yes, there are eight, as Egypt succeeded in tagging on the pyramid, the only surviving original wonder of the ancient world). So lots more travelling to do!

Reflecting on the wonder that is Machu Picchu

The practical bit:
-Lonely Planet says you need to queue up on the day to get one of the limited tickets to climb up Wayna Picchu but this is out of date, you have to book it in advance. Unfortunately there were no tickets left by the time I found this out, but in the end, I was tired after the hike, it had started to rain, and I was pretty happy with what I’d seen of the ruins.
-Make sure to get a Machu Picchu stamp in your passport as you leave via the main entrance!

The Inca Trail: Four days and 45km to reach Machu Picchu

First of all, as I’ve been told now both in Peru and in Bolivia, there is more than one Inca trail – the Inca road system consisted of about 40,000km across the empire. But the famous one to which tourists flock is the Inca Trail, capital I, capital T, the Camino Inca, a four day/three night pilgrimage to Machu Picchu. This is what I had signed up for, the classic route.

The night before leaving, I had nightmares and then couldn’t get back to sleep after 2.30am, anxious and excited about the days ahead. The pick-up was at 5am, with a 1.5 hour drive to Ollantaytambo, a small town at 2,800m that retains its Inca structure, with a huge fortress above. At breakfast, I bought a poncho for 25 soles – it didn’t rain the whole time, so it was a worthwhile investment, I think. We passed adobe houses (they still use the same construction techniques as hundreds of years ago) that had been destroyed in flooding this past February. We also saw a truckload of children being shipped off back home for the weekend – coming from remote villages, they had to travel there for school from the age of eight. From Ollantaytambo, we continued on to Km 82, from where we would start our trek. The 13 other people in my group were super friendly from the start, supportive when someone struggled because of the altitude, and rarely complaining. Our group, though, was bigger than this 14: we had the main English-speaking guide, Ramiro, plus a second Spanish-speaking guide, Hilton; and then we had the porters.

Porters make up more than half of the 500 people who embark on the Inca Trail every day. These are indigenous men, coming from the surrounding highlands and with no more than a primary school education, and this is one of the few jobs for which they are qualified. Their role is to carry our gear – most tourists just carry a small daypack with water, snacks, camera, etc, leaving the sleeping bag, sleeping mat, and extra clothes to the porters – along with the tents, tables and stools, food, and cooking equipment. Just a few years back, there were no regulations, and there would be just four or five porters for a group of our size, carrying as much as 50kg each. Today, the personal things that we give them must not weigh more than 5kg, while the total weight the porters carry may not exceed 25kg; we had 13 porters, including the chef who both cooked and carried. These small men will run past you on the trail with their ‘backpacks’ – more like huge sacks, towering above them. “Porter, porter!” – you’ll hear the warning and you’re advised to back up against the mountain, rather than risk being pushed off the cliff. There was one 21 year old for whom this was his first tour group. At the other extreme, there was a man of 47 who had been working on the trail for 20 years. The oldest were Victor and Victor Raul, at 52.

At the 82km mark, we had our passes stamped at the entrance to the trail, and crossed the Río Urubamba to start our trek. Soon we saw our first ruins in the valley below, Llaqtapata. Our guide, Ramiro, gave us all the history of the sites but also showed us the local trees and plants along the way. My favourites were the yellow dancing lady orchids and lady slippers, and the purple flower, forever young (my flower!). The last stretch of this first day seemed to never end, but the satisfaction of reaching camp was worth it. I was first to camp that day and the following days too. Ramiro said, “It’s not a race” – pff! (Luckily, I didn’t have problems with the altitude. My large ribcage, which has otherwise been the source of much distress, seems to come with the benefit of housing big lungs.)

Fresh-faced and full of anticipation as we set off at the 82km mark

Our first ruins, Llaqtapata

Relieved to have made it through the first day

Day two, we’d been told, was the hardest: eight hours of trekking, including a climb of 1,200m in altitude, which was done mostly by the stone steps of the Incas. I thought they were short?! These steps were sometimes half a metre in height, and always continued for longer than you thought (or hoped). The worst part is that you don’t just go up, you go down as well – what a waste of energy! Why don’t they have zip lines to fly across the valleys to avoid this kind of inefficiency? And walking down is actually very hard on your knees. Thankfully, one of the girls in my group found me the perfect branch for a walking stick, which did wonders. I felt like Gandalf roaming Middle Earth with his staff. We reached Warmiwañusca, Dead Woman’s Pass, at 4,215m, after which we descended into the valley to eat lunch. No rest for the wicked, though, as we continued on to the egg-shaped Runkuraqay and the ‘inaccessible town’ of Sayaqmarka, after which we finally reached our resting place for the night. This second camp site gave us spectacular views of the sun setting and rising over the mountains.

Some of the never-ending Inca steps

The view from Dead Woman’s Pass was well worth the climb

The ruins at Sayaqmarka

The view from my tent

Day three started with another tough ascent but spectacular views over the mountains, including the sacred Inca peak of Salkantay. This was an ‘easy’ day, visiting the Phuyupatamarka ruins and the Intipata agricultural terraces, and arriving at the camp site at 1pm. I chose to brave the cold – ice cold – shower so as to be nice and fresh for Machu Picchu the next day. From outside the cabins, you could hear the squeals, both male and female: eeeee! oooo! wow! brrrr! (Lonely Planet says there are hot meals and massages here but not anymore! The government shut it down.) There was an afternoon visit to the Wiñay Wayna ruins but I stayed in my tent as I was coming down with a cold and wanted to be healthy for the big finish the following day. I’ve since been told that these ruins were the highlight of the trek. Ho hum. After dinner (which included a cake with the words “Mañana, llegamos a Machu Picchu” – tomorrow, we arrive at Machu Picchu – my second cake with inspirational icing on this trip), we had a ceremony to thank and tip the porters, and then it was off to bed, in preparation for the 3.30am start the next day to get to the Machu Picchu check point when they opened at 5.30am.

Phuyupatamarka and the mountains beyond

The peak in the background is Machu Picchu! Anticipation was mounting…

The terraces at Intipata

I actually slept quite well – the tents were great, and the sleeping bags sufficiently warm, while my down jacket made a perfectly adequate pillow; the main problem was the hardness of the ground, which bruised my hips and led to having to turn over endlessly to alternate the side that felt the pain. And I ate very well, the meals were way beyond my expectations. In the morning, we had a wake-up call with coca tea, followed by four, yes four, sit-down meals. Breakfast was bread with jam, hot drinks, plus omelette or pancakes; lunch was a two-course meal with soup as a starter and a hearty main dish (plus yummy garlic bread on the first day); happy hour was not what we would expect at home but it was pretty happy nonetheless, with trays full of popcorn and wontons drizzled with caramel; and dinner was a three-course affair with meat plus a choice of three carbohydrates for the main, followed by dessert and hot drinks. We could also buy snacks and drinks at various little stalls along the way, the cost increasing exponentially with the distance from civilisation and the time and effort needed to carry the items up the mountain. The toilets, by the way, started as toilets (1 sol and you get toilet paper and running water), became posh ceramic holes in the ground, then just holes in the ground, and finally returned to actual toilets when we reached the tourist hub of Machu Picchu.

Lunchtime

I had been so focused on seeing Machu Picchu itself, that I had completely missed the fact that I would have three fantastic days of experiencing nature, exploring several other ruins, getting to know 13 lovely people, and pushing myself physically with the satisfying feeling of achievement that followed. I understand that some people don’t have time to do the trek, while others are physically unable to do so. But for the rest of you, I strongly encourage you to invest your time and money to experience the full wonder of this Inca pilgrimage, rather than just taking the train up to tick another box.

The practical bit:
-I went with Inca Trail Reservations – well organised, good food (with a vegetarian option), and a friendly, English-speaking guide. Another company that comes highly recommended from a friend is Explorandes.
-What to bring:
–passport (not a copy)
–camera with extra batteries if possible (there are no power outlets)
–sunglasses
–sun hat
–sun cream
–insect repellent
–anti-bacterial gel and/or wet wipes
–toilet paper
–different vest tops/t-shirts (I had one for each day)
–layers: different cardigans and jumpers to put on and take off as you move and stop, walk in the sun and walk in the shade
–hat and gloves for the cold nights (you can buy these cheaply at the many artisan stalls in Cusco)
–socks and underwear
–down pillow or jacket to use as pillow
–long trousers (the ones that zip off into shorts are silly but practical given the rapid changes in temperature)
–other trousers for when you arrive at camp/to sleep in (I had both jeans and sweatpants plus a long-sleeved top to sleep in)
–hiking shoes
–other shoes for when you arrive at camp (I had flip flops, a bit cold at night but useful for the showers on the third day)
–flash light, ideally a headlamp (useful for trips to the toilet in the dark, and for the final day when you set off before dawn)
–toiletries (toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, shampoo etc if you’re going to brave the cold showers on the third day, wet wipes to stay fresh the rest of the time)
–walking stick (I thought this was just for old and decrepit people but it’s almost indispensable, especially when you go downhill. You can bring a posh fibreglass one or buy a cheap wooden one locally)
–swimsuit and towel if you’re going to the thermal baths in Aguas Calientes
–money for tips for the porters (given as a group, recommended is a total amount that gives each porter c. 80 soles) and the two guides (personal), as well as for lunch and souvenirs on the last day in Aguas Calientes
–diary and pen to take notes
–water (I brought 2 litres that got me through the first two days, then drank boiled water that was provided. You can also buy it on the first two days, though it’s expensive. I bought a sling in Cusco to carry a bottle outside of my backpack, or you can have a camel pack if you’re fancy.)
–snacks (They’re meant to be provided, but we just got a biscuit and an apple on the second day.)
–basic first aid kit and any personal medication
The agency provides a sleeping mat, and you can rent a sleeping bag if you don’t have your own (- I also recommend a silk/cotton sleeping bag liner to stay clean and warm!).

Cusco and the ruins of Pisaq, Saqsaywaman, and Qurikancha: the supporting act for Machu Picchu

Skipping along from Arequipa, I arrived in Cusco. I had a few days to acclimatise before embarking on the Inca Trail, so I spent some time exploring the city and the surrounding area. Cusco, or Qosqo, at 3,400m above sea level, was the navel of the Incan empire, its capital for 300 years. It’s now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.The Plaza de Armas, or the ‘Square of the Warrior’ in Inca times

For my first experience of important Inca ruins, I took a local bus out to the town of Pisaq. Getting off the bus, I had to cross the river on a rickety old bridge on which I actually felt seasick, after which I was immediately met with the usual “Taxi? Taxi!” I decided to walk. The second major attraction of Pisaq is the artisan market, with a big one on Sundays and smaller ones on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was there on a Thursday and it was pretty overwhelming despite allegedly being small! I wove my way systematically through the stalls but came away with just two items: an alpaca hat to wear on the cold nights on the upcoming trek, and a smaller hat for my nephew.

Next, to the ruins. Confusingly, I had heard “Ruinas! Un sol!” back at the bridge, but here I was confronted with a complicated spiel of different options going to the top or the bottom of the ruins, with pick-up or no pick-up. I opted for the taxi ride to the top and then to walk through the archaeological site and back down by myself. I was told the site would take two hours to explore, and then I’d need another hour to walk down to the town. I did the whole thing in 1.5 hours. Oops. I was worried about the sun setting while I was alone up on the hillside and I have to admit that I was filled with thoughts of possible violent attacks along the way, which spurred me on through the deserted ruins. Perhaps I should have paid the extra money for a guide. On the way down, I met an English girl who was bravely going the other way. We took photos of each other against the fabulous views over the valley (not being able to take photos of yourself is one of the difficulties of travelling alone and why I end up with so many photos of churches and landscapes!). We agreed to meet up for dinner, which included a huge chocolate cupcake and a glass of red wine on her last night in Cusco, so that was a fortuitous meeting.The agricultural terraces at Pisaq, used by the Incas to overcome the adversities of the weather and the terrain
Looking down on some of the ruins at Pisaq
On my way down

The second set of ruins that I visited was Saqsaywaman, believed to mean ‘speckled falcon’ but easier for us infidels to remember as ‘Sexy Woman’. The site lies a 30-minute walk up a very steep slope, at 3,700m above sea level – good practice for the Inca Trail! (I did this walk alone, despite Lonely Planet of 2010 warning against it… I felt a bit nervous again on the deserted trail, but everyone said it was safe, and I soon met up with the other tourists once I reached the site.) With Cusco designed in the shape of a puma, Saqsaywaman is its head. Originally thought to have been a fortress (it served as such in the battle of 1536 between Manco Inca and Pizarro, ending in a huge number of native deaths, the condors circling above the dead bodies forever commemorated in Cusco’s coat of arms), it is now believed to have had a more sacred purpose. Again it would have been helpful to have had a guide, but I enjoyed exploring the site on my own. The highlight was the view over Cusco from the hill with a wooden cross (in commemoration of Pope John Paul II who gave mass there in 1985) that lights up at night. Adjacent to the Inca site of Saqsaywaman stands a statue of Christ on top of another hill. Donated by Palestinian refugees following the Second World War, it doesn’t quite rival its cousin in Rio, but again the views over the city were well worth the climb.
The walls of Saqsaywaman

The view from above

Not quite Rio…

In Cusco itself, the Qurikancha (from Quechua quri – gold – and kancha – enclosure) was a temple dedicated to Inti, the sun god, once covered in gold. As with other locations of Inca temples, the Spanish demolished the temple and used the foundations as a base for a Catholic church, the Iglesia de Santo Domingo.

The Santo Domingo Church sits atop the foundations of the Qurikancha temple

There are many other ruins around the area – Qenqo, Puca Pucara, Tambomachay – but I was happy with my three visits before the Inca Trail, while anything after Machu Picchu was bound to be a disappointment! On my final evening before heading out, I got my briefing from the guide and packed my bag, ready to follow in the footsteps of thousands before me – from the Inca people of yesteryear through to the sweaty tourists of today.

THE PRACTICAL BIT:
-Local buses to Pisaq leave from Calle Puputi and cost 3.50 soles
-The taxi ride up to the top of the Pisaq ruins cost 25 soles, a ride to the bottom 20 soles. Then you can either walk back down or have the taxi wait for you (but it really isn’t that far).
-You can pay an individual entry ticket to each of these sites for 70 soles, but in practice if you visit more than one it’s worth getting the boleto turistico for 130 soles, which gets you into a list of 16 museums and ruins in and around Cusco.

Arequipa: I have seen The White City

The highlight, I think, of the few days I spent in Arequipa, the second most populous city in Peru, was my visit to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina. Another expensive one, 35 soles (plus extra, of course, for a guide), but again very much worth it and I spent several hours exploring this city within a city. Originally built in 1571, its premises cover more than 20,000 square metres and still today house around 20 nuns in part of the complex. The monastery was founded by a rich widow, Maria de Guzman, and mainly welcomed wealthy girls into the Dominican order. One of its more famous nuns was Sister Ana de los Angeles Monteagudo, beatified by the Pope John Paul II in 1985. The streets and alleyways have been restored in vivid colours, and I didn’t find the cells particularly austere; the barbed wire undergarments on display, however, took away some of the appeal of this otherwise romantic lifestyle.

I also visited the Iglesia de la Compañia and the tiny San Ignacio Chapel where the ceiling, painted by anonymous Cusco school artists, unusually depicted tropical birds, flowers and fruit, along with warriors and angels. Outside the chapel, a 17th century painting of ‘Santa Ursula y las Once mil Virgines’ – 11,001 virgins tortured and killed by a Roman emperor in the 4th century. At first I didn’t find the Cloisters of the Compañia but I returned in the evening to make another attempt and got to enjoy the views over the Plaza de Armas and the mountains beyond.

Alongside Plaza de Armas, I was quickly swallowed up by my first labyrinth of artisan stalls. There was the usual touristy tat but also some beautiful jewellery – I bought a ring and a bracelet that I’ve been wearing every day since – and (allegedly) alpaca jumpers – I bought one of those, too, to keep me warm during the cold Andean nights.

Arequipa was the second place after Lima where I found Starbucks and international chains of a similar ilk. I resisted the urge this time but i did have dinner at the #1 recommended restaurant on Trip Advisor, Zig Zag. It was there that I had my first alpaca burger. The whole meal was delicious: the homemade bread served with different sauces as a starter, and then the burger itself, succulent meat cooked and served on volcanic stone with quinoa and vegetables. A glass of red wine rounded it all off.

So Arequipa was one of my favourite places so far: the churches, the architecture, the food, the artisan stalls… all against the backdrop of snowcapped peaks. Next stop: Cusco. I was approaching what I expected to be the highlight of my trip, the Inca Trail and its final destination, Machu Picchu. The popularity of this region became clear as I boarded the night bus to find it full of gringos for the first time on my trip. Tourists, yuck. (Yes, yes, I know, I’m a tourist too…)The novices cloister, Monasterio de Santa Catalina

The orange tree cloister, Santa CatalinaDusk sets in at the cloisters of the Compañia, with Mount Misti in the background

One of the many ‘Plaza de Armas’ in South America

Huacachina: Bananas and buggies in the Peruvian desert

Huacachina is an oasis in the desert: a village, with a permanent population of around 100, set around a small lake just outside the town of Ica. Backpackers flock there for the dune buggy rides and sand boarding, and I saw it as a good way to break up the trip from Lima to Arequipa.

In Huacachina, I stayed in – stop the presses – a dorm, in a hostel called Banana’s Adventure. Rated #1 of the speciality lodgings by Trip Advisor, and with a name like that, it was impossible to resist. I arrived after a 5.5 hour bus journey to find skinny girls in bikinis draped around the pool, and behind them a shaded area with hammocks. Since my trip across Central America last year, I’m completely hooked on hammocks: they are my ultimate holiday experience, pure, unadulterated relaxation. The dorm was a small cabin with five beds, and I chose a lower bunk – despite hearing a horror story about a near-fatal accident in a bunk bed in Uruguay. (Evidently, I survived to tell the tale.)

I booked straight onto the afternoon buggy ride. At 4pm, a vehicle that wouldn’t look out of place on the moon arrived to pick us up, and we tore off into town. On reaching the gates of the desert, we were told to pay a tax. A tax!! On sand! Of course no one had thought of including the S3.70 in the price of the excursion. Then off into the desert we went. It was all very regimented, there were clearly set stops: “photo, photo!”; “sand board, stomach”; “sand board, stand up, once, three times, once”; “sunset”; and a final “photo, photo” on the slopes above the lagoon. The dune buggy ride was quite smooth, right up to the last part of the trip when it became a roller coaster ride that would have warranted a sports bra. Ouch. The dunes seemed impossibly high when we were first told to get on our boards, but in fact it wasn’t too scary. It was most fun going down on my stomach, though it was quite an exfoliation and when I got back I found that my pockets were full of sand. The sun set quickly, and darkness soon fell around us as we returned to town. That night, the hostel organized a barbecue, and the plan was to ‘go out’ – it was a Saturday, after all – but the four of us in the dorm all collapsed into bed by 10pm.

The next day was a day of indulgences. Banana and chocolate pancakes for breakfast. Chocolate brownie with ice cream for lunch. And piña coladas and mango daiquiris in the afternoon. Well, they cost the same as the fruit juice! I spent the afternoon chatting with one of my dorm mates – the other two had already left – until it was finally time to leave for my night bus from Ica to Arequipa. This was my best bus ride yet! In the evening, they showed My Name is Khan, a heart strings-tugging tale of an autistic Muslim in the aftermath of 9/11 that had me crying in my seat. And in the morning, the animated musical Anastasia! Bliss. If only all buses could have such quality entertainment…

The moon, sorry, dune buggy that took us into the desert

I look pretty cool standing still with the board…

According to Wikipedia, legend tells that Huacachina lagoon was formed as a beautiful native princess fled from a young hunter who had interrupted her bath

Two nights in Lima: The sophisticated life

I’ve been to Machu Picchu! It was amazing! But more on that another time. First, I need to continue from where I left off, with tales of human sacrifice, in Trujillo/Huanchaco in northern Peru.

From Trujillo, I took my first night bus to Lima (since then, I’ve taken two more). My hostel in Lima was one of the worst so far: an attic room, a cold drip and then no drip of a shower, and loud American teenagers. Ugh. But everything else I experienced in this city during the two days that I was there was much more glam.

I started off at the Museo Larco. To get there, I was told to “follow the blue line”. This I did, but I almost gave up after trying to follow said line, which disappeared at several points in the middle of the road, for what seemed like a very long time. Subsequently surprised by the expensive entrance fee of 30 nuevo soles, having spent the last weeks visiting local museums that cost no more than a few soles, in the end I was very glad I had made the effort, and spent several hours exploring the rich exhibits in detail. The museum covers all of Peruvian history, from stone spearheads and cotton nets from 2000-1250BC right through to the Spanish invasion in the 16th century. The museum was founded by Rafael Larco, at the age of 25, in 1926. The Incas are the most well known in modern times, since they were ruling when the Spanish arrived in 1532, but Peru’s cultural development stretches back more than 10,000 years. Arguably the highlight of the museum, though, is the Sala Erótica at the end, where you can find unusual ceramic art such as “masturbated dead man” and “woman with pronounced vulva”. I revived myself after all this culture with lunch at the expensive, but tasty, museum restaurant.

In the afternoon, I explored the historical centre, taking the usual photos of churches and colonial architecture. I decided against conquering my claustrophobia with a visit to the catacombs of the Church of San Francisco. As darkness started to set in, I then took a taxi to Larcomar, a modern underground shopping centre by the coast. Unfortunately there was no sun to watch setting, it was too cloudy, but the views out over the ocean were still fabulous. At Larcomar, I had a chai latte at Starbucks, dinner at TGI Fridays, and finished the day off with The Great Gatsby in English at the cinema. Yikes.

On day two, I hobnobbed with the Lima elite at Cebichería La Mar, ordering my first ever ceviche for lunch. I had the classic dish, with ‘leche de tigre’ – not, in fact, tigers’ milk but a rich lime marinade. YUM. I then spent the afternoon learning how to make truffles at the Choco Museo, leaving quite contented with nine coffee truffles hecho por Anna. Finally, on my second and final night, I went to the Teatro Municipal, where they were performing El Chico de Oz, The Boy from Oz, translated from the Broadway version into Spanish by my über-talented colleague. I can’t say that my level of Spanish was quite sufficient to cope with musical theatre, but I got into it as the story evolved. I was most moved by the penultimate song, “Antes de partir”, sung by the protagonist before succumbing to AIDS and passing away: “Once before I go, I want you to know, that I would do it all again … I want you to know, that I look back with no regrets”. An inspiration, and a unique experience overall. Thank you Marco!

So that was my experience of Lima! Very cosmopolitan, very expensive, but a nice change from my bohemian lifestyle of the preceding weeks. It was just a blip, though, as I next went straight back into backpacker land in the oasis town of Huacachina…

“Masturbated dead man” – in case you were wondering what that might look like

The catacombs beneath the Convento de San Francisco are said to contain the skulls and bones of around 70,000 people

The shopping centre Larcomar lies along a cliff next to the ocean, in the Miraflores district of Lima

The Lost City of the Incas: the highlight of my trip (and I haven’t even been there yet)

So this will be a rather short but rather special post, before I disappear off the radar screen for four whole days. Yes, the time has finally come: tomorrow, I head out onto the Inca Trail.

I’ve just had the strangest experience in a small shop off Plaza San Blas in Cusco. I had been wandering the streets, browsing the stalls as I made my way home, when I saw some nice jewellery in one of the shop windows. I also noticed some large dreamcatchers – I have a lot of nightmares, so I’ve always liked the idea of these! The door said “open” but it was locked. A man came to open it. I can’t now remember exactly how it happened but somehow he took my hand and started interpreting my aura. Now you sceptics out there, my dad included, can scoff all you want… But what he said was so close to the mark that I felt tears come to my eyes. He then recommended a particular stone, with additional small stones set on the back of the pendant. It was such a special experience that I was open to buying it. Unfortunately capitalism reared its ugly head and the price he quoted was far and above what I was willing to pay. I guess I won’t be healed after all.

Machu Picchu, some say, is a place of sacred energy. Whatever you believe, at least most people are in agreement that it’s a spectacular sight, and a unique experience. I’m told it’s never an anti-climax, even after seeing so many pictures. And Machu Picchu is really the reason why I’m in Peru, why I’m in South America. So I’m excited! And I look forward to sharing my experience with you all when I come back.

Cusco as seen from Sacsayhuaman – a good practice climb before the 4-day Inca Trail!