Global Nomad Travel

Why Peru was the Last Stop?

06/25/10

On a flight back from Cusco to Lima, I decided to describe why I choose Peru to be our last stop on our around the world trip. In every single way, it was the perfect ending point for us.

Mesmerizing and mystifying, delicate and rash, spiritual and historical, Peru is one of the world’s most intriguing countries. At first thought, Peru conjured up an image of nightfall in the mountains, where the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu seemed to hold the light of the moon, leaving the rest of the world in its massive shadows. A ruin so old and rooted in the soil, it appeared as part of the mountain’s natural landscape. In this mysterious light, the country remained, for us, to be the best destination in South America – the land of the sun-worshipping Incas - sparking our imaginations constantly.

Energized with life and culture, and blessed with its charming blend of history and growing modernity, Peru was full of surprises. Besides the archaeological hotspots, Peru is home to a 2414 km of coastline, over half a million square kilometers of the Amazon rainforest and claims the world’s deepest canyon and highest passable lake. The country’s three regions – the desert coastline, tropical rainforest and the awe-inspiring Andes – combine Peru to be one of the most ecologically diverse countries in the world. We hope to return and see more.

The mountains were the heart of the country, pumping dozens of rivers through tropical rainforests, ending along the slender spine of the desert coastline. From up high, the impoverished indigenous people found refuge from the cities, some with whom we met on the Inca Trail, while the coast’s more affluent residents live in urbanized areas. The country was a cultural blend of mestizos, descendants of Spanish conquistadors, indigenous people, and African and Asian migrants, making Peru rich in music, dance, festivals and cuisine.

The Incas were daring engineers. They built mountain-top citadels and carved hillsides into vast farmlands, which were fed by water canals and drainage systems. The Incas followed the absolute power of their emperors for centuries and worshipped the moon, earth, mountains, rivers and most importantly, the revered Inti, Sun God, who nourished the earth and controlled the harvest.

For all its natural beauty and rich heritage, Peru has suffered a tragic past by the rifles of Spanish conquistadors in the 1500s. For centuries, the Inca people endured lengthy periods of political turmoil and bloodshed. Peruvian independence was achieved in 1821, bringing an end to Spain’s exploitation of Inca treasures, from gold and mineral deposits, to the slave labour of the indigenous people. Thankfully, much of the Incas structural marvels, culture and tradition survived, allowing us to witness the Incas innate ability to build in harmony with the environment.

Today, Peru is an electoral democracy with a 120-member, unicameral Congress elected every five years. The economy is dominated by fishing, mining, agriculture and tourism. The class structure was clear-cut with the indigenous people at the bottom and the mestizos at the top, with little middle class in between. While development continued to transform the capital of Lima, in many rustic sections of the country, indigenous people have managed to change their lifestyle very little over the past 400 years. The result was a country that offered a buzzing metropolitan - and the ability to travel back in time.

Peru was bursting with opportunities for unforgettable travel experiences and exploration. Our imaginations were left at home in a country legendary for lost temples tangled in shrubbery and vines, hiding their ancient treasures and dusty imperial tombs. Snowcapped mountains, volcanoes and the jaw-dropping terrain of the Amazon jungle made way for raging rivers, the prowl of pumas and the medicinal treatment of healing wizards. And while the diversity, at times, even overwhelmed the most affluent traveler, the tranquility of Peru remained – a country where locals always seemed to find time for a drink, a chance to take in the setting of a country that has laid claim to over 20,000 years of empires.

Fact File

-Peru shares borders with Ecuador and Colombia to the north, Brazil and Bolivia to the east, and Chile to the south. It is the third largest country in Latin America, encompassing 1,300,000 square kilometers.

-Peru has a population of 27,900,000. It has the largest indigenous population in South America. Approximately half of the population is indigenous and poor.

-The capital of Lima is home to 8 million people. One million people live in Arequipa, the second largest city. Other major cities include Trujillo, Piura, Iquitos, Cusco, Cajamarca, Puno and Ayacucho.

-Since independence in 1821, Peru has experienced alternating periods of civilian and military rule.

-The Amazon accounts for more than half of Peru’s territory and one half of the world’s jungles.

-There is a widespread belief among the young that worthwhile education can only be obtained overseas. As a result, more than 400,000 Peruvians leave the country each year, most between the ages of 15 and 29.

-There are approximately 3,000 festivals celebrated every year in Peru. Although most derive from the Christian calendar introduced by the Spanish, indigenous Andean beliefs are also celebrated.

-Peru has two distinct seasons – the wet and dry season. The wet season runs from December to April. The dry runs from May to October and is ideal for visiting most of Peru.

-Peru holds world records in highest diversity for birds (1,816 species), butterflies (3,532 species) and orchids (3,500 species). The country also has a huge number of mammals (462 species) and amphibians (379 species). There are at least 6,288 endemic species of plants and animals.

-The national dance is the mariner, which mimics the mating ritual of birds. A female dancer marks the beat with a white handkerchief held above her head, and shakes the folds of her skirt, while a suitor struts around her.

That´s all for now.

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Inti Raymi: The Festival of the Sun

06/24/10

Loudspeakers belted speeches in Spanish, as we walked towards the main square of Cusco, known in Inca times as Huacaypata - “The Warriors´ Square.” I later realized why. It was time for the packed crowds of Inti Raymi, the Inca celebration of the sun and the winter solstice.

The parade circled the square blocked off by police. Buildings were draped in massive Inca photos, the images of ancient priests. In an attempt to crazy-horse gallope before the beginning of the Inti Raymi Parade, I was only able to penguin waddle, still sore from the hike with the facial expression of a woman in labour. Thinking of this, I then wondered why men have nipples and some women have nostril hair.

We found Yamila, Fabienne and Victor in a section overlooking the square and joined them. The sound of marching began. Men chanting. Dressed in long, colourful gowns, soldiers passed by wielding shields and speers. Elderly Peruvian women as tall as my belly button, nestled under my arms like I was a giant and they were baby elephants. Their elbows began digging into my side and gazed at them with puppy dog eyes, wishing I had octopus hands to push them gently away. I stiffened my position, while women on both sides attempted to burp me with their eblows.

“I am being hit from all angles,” Boxie-boo yelped. She gave me a strange, enthusiastic look, the facial expression of old men after learning of the invention of Viagra. She then tightened her lips, pouted, looking ready to do her usual rabbit thump of anger.

Tourists were as sparse in this section as armpit hair on newborn babies. With most locals being small, my head was well-above the crowd, even more so than in places like China and Cambodia. Women with boards of jewellery tapped my shoulder, while locals chewed coca leaves, pushing into me. The sound of plastic twisting. People cheering. Dancers and soldiers passed through the square, some carrying golden chairs and what appeared to be an ancient mummy with its hand attached to its face, stray hairs dangling, old skin attached to visible bones. In every single way, I appeared distracted, but was sure to bury my wallet, before returning my hand into my pocket between photos - a habit born from traveling.

The wind belly-laughed with the sound of banging drums. Then silence, only the loudspeaker´s muffled words as the head priest held his arms up towards the sun. His soldiers dropped to their knees, colourful and in perfect unison. Their costumes resembled the card soldiers from Alice in Wonderland. A child was lifted onto a father´s shoulders, forcing Boxie-boo to elongate her neck and coil her sight in abnormal positions.

Post-photograph, I felt a hand brush my upper thigh. Then saw a man in his early 20s.

Adrenaline pumped through me, screaming into my bones, my smile smothered away, turning my face into the look of a disabled frog attempted to stalk flies. Ribbit, homie. I shook my head slowly, my forehead lined with wrinkles and my body leaned forward. I pointed at the man beside me as if my finger was a gun, my body visibly flexed in attack position, warning him I was willing and able to massage his brain with my forefinger up his nose. He lifted his hands in the surrender position and walked away. I imagined him tripping, falling face first into a pile of dog shit with his crotch slammed into a rock.

Legion after legion of soldiers - from red and yellow, to green and golden in dress - stayed in a respectful silence, bowing. The procession ended shortly after, the crowd dispercing. We caught a cab to the next Inca celebration site, finding packed crowds in the thousands.

Walking on route to Sacsayhuaman, salespeople were in full pursuit for the rare sight of foreigners. The roadway was lined with outhouses, women in decorative ponchos carrying baby sheep, dangling with bracelettes and shawls. Salespeople were selling everything from traditional clothing and small instruments, to bubble-makers and candy.

Most tourists paid anywhere from $100 to $150 U.S. for a tour of Inti Raymi. Our tour cost a few bucks for a taxi ride between sites, finding a viewing point on a hillside between the expensive seats, overlooking the entire parade.

We arrived at Sacsayhuaman early. It was built before the Inca Empire around 1100 AD, later expanded by the Incas. It was the official ceremony point for Inti Raymi, where flag runners lined the hillside, standing inbetween the massive rock walls of the Killke ruin. The opposing hillside was packed with locals, as most Peruvian people could not afford the $70 U.S. ticket price and the view was fine from above. Gathering in what appeared to over 100,000 onlookers, we awaited the emperor. He arrived, carried on a golden chair on the shoulders of his guards. When he raised his arms, the sun reflected off his gold medalions, causing the crowd to erupt with cheers.

The event had four different rituals, involving dancing and praising movements to worship the sun, all narrated by speeches in the native language of Quechuan. It ended when a black llama, most likely sedated, was symbolically sacrified. The sacrifice was simulated, no llama died, through the raising of organs that seemed hidden on the central rock structure, where the ancient priest screamed, elevated towards the crowds.

In all honesty, we were both very glad we did not pay the expensive cost of a tour and seats. The rituals at Sacsayhuaman were very similar to the square, easily visible and more entertaining to be viewed on the hillside from a local´s perspective. This should be the cardinal rule of any traveler - whenever safe and accessible, leave the shelter of your foreigner mindset and enter a society, as best you can, as a citizen of their culture, seeing their world from the inside out, instead of merely spectating from the outside in.

That´s all for now.

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After the Inca Trail

06/23/10

At 4:30 a.m., we entered the silent streets of Cusco, finally having returned from the Inca Trail. Sort of. We were hours late, a result of the train stalling twice and catching two buses. Again, Cusco Explorers did not live up to its contract. Instead of dropping each person off at their hostel/hotel, our driver booted a group of foreigners off the bus on a random street, in a town that we did not know our way around. After a 30-minute walk, lost, cold, legs stiff, with headaches from lack of sleep, we managed to find our hostel at 5 a.m. - and woke up later at noon.

Throughout the day, we accomplished nothing. I looked like someone´s great-aunt after three strokes had toddled me, my face unable to lift up into its normal position, appearing to be suffocating from my own clothing. I was foaming at the mouth with the thought of Cusco Explorers, my eyes bloodshot and red as if I had injected heroine directly into my eye. I enjoyed the afternoon no more than I would enjoy a diagnosis of penis shrinkage. Then I felt nothing. A sleep state. I found myself tempted to light my hair on fire and walk into the Cusco Explorer office. Look what you did to me?

Honesty reigns supreme for the Ribatron-don. When I do not get what is promised to me, especially in a written contract, a distaste enters my mouth that resembles monkey droppings. At night (above), while we walked around Cusco, my rage howled like a baby after being told he can never suck a nipple again.

Then the culture of Cusco invaded my ear drums, healing my soul.

Walking with the pace of a turtle with an oversized shell, the streets of Cusco were packed for pre-Inti Raymi celebrations. We inhaled the smell of popcorn and frying meat, passing through locals wearing colourful ponchos. Street performers spray-painted gold stood statue-still, only moving for drops of change. It was a Halloween-like scene with goblins and witches, the streets crafty with salespeople, guitarists and women tapping shoulders with wooden boxes selling chocolate bars to the gathering crowds.

Another parade had formed, its drum beat penetrating my skin and into my heart, fueling me with needed life. Firecrackers popped and echoed, turning the cobblestone into orange lightning. Trumpets all tuned differently blasted. Young mother´s backpacked their babies within their ponchos. The rainbow flag of Cusco swayed. Bronze instruments pointed upwards at the sky. It was a sight of moving music and colour, where we searched and bartered our way, in time, for an Inca massage - a must after the Inca Trail, costing 25 Soles per person for an hour and a half, about $9 Canadian.

We entered a room that smelt of hockey equipment, surrounded by draping red curtains and a red massage table. Solo flute music fluttered in the room. Paranoid about my camera and wallet, I placed them through the face hole to ensure I could always have them in view. My paranoia rang true, as later in the night, we met up with Fabienne who told us her camera had been pick pocketed. Fabienne, if you are reading this, email me and I will mail you a DVD of photos as promised.

The massage was just what we needed, starting from our head, releaving me of my exhaustion-caused headache.

“How you doing, babe?” I asked, through the swaying curtains. The festivals drums slightly penetrated the wall, the flutes smooth over top of a backdrop of rhythm.

“Ohh wahh ohhh wahh,” Boxie-boo responded, too relaxed to communicate properly, unless she confused me the ancestors of Fred Flintstone. It was yabba dabba do-errific.

While on the table, all my sore areas were concentrated on - neck, upper back, mid-back, arms and feet. When she began massaging my caves, pain shot up my legs and into my back. Painful at first from hiking. Then lessoned. I relaxed, possibly too much. After massaging my thighs, she pulled my arm over my back, massaging my tricep, before gripping my wrist and shaking, my hand flapping back and forth over my bootae. It was as if she was signalling I farted.

Boxie-boo continuously moaned, mixing caveman jibberish with the post-poop giggles of a baby. The party outside continuously creeped in with the backdrop of drums, a rhythm crawling in my skin as gentle hands kneeded into my muscle. I began to feel loose and flexible, as if one wrong step would result in my own foot slipping into my bumhole. Then they were finished, the world around us beaming, slowing time.

We treated ourselves to a dinner, a three-course meal for 20 Soles each, capping of the night watching the parades pass by, women swaying in circles and dancing, followed by drummers and blasting trumpets.

That´s all for now.

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Cusco Festival and Pre-Inca Trail

06/18/10

The drums wailed and trumpets blasted, creating a wall of noise around us we leaned against in silence. With her back against a wall, the sun´s glow burnished Boxie-boo´s skin. She watched out wearing a smile on her face of permanent stone. In each direction, young children kicked off the Cusco Festival, sending goosebumps across my skin and waves of music through my veins. The entire city was alive with colour, personality and a feeling of community unmatched anywhere else on our around the world trip.

“This town is amazing,” Boxie-boo said, her voice slurred and out of breath from high altitude. The sun seemed to close in around her. Energy in every direction. A movement of electricity. The parade of children continued: Dancing, smiling, playing instruments, their oufits colourful from large feathers to high hats glittering with stones. She smiled at me and gripped my hand, a moment worthy of a photograph and also a high five from my readers.

Before we left Canada, I had planned for Peru to be our last stop for three reasons - end with one last hike through the Inca Trail and arrive for both the Cusco Festival and Inti Raymi, the Inca celebration for the Sun God. Though our day was spent mostly shopping for our hiking supplies, we were fully entertained, though I was envious, of the men who were followed my packs of sheep, dressed like ancient priests and belting out high-pitch notes with instruments made of bones. All I could do was whistle quietly, making me feel no more adequate than my testicals would feel if I had no penis.

As Boxie-boo continuously pointed out, I needed new shoes. My shoes had the body of a battered and abused crocodile, the facial expression of a teased duck, front lip extended and pouting upwards, with heals touching what was left of my flattened rubber grip, sole broken right through. Boxie-boo convinced me to buy new shoes, which were cheap in Cusco, so we also bought two pairs of new socks for each of us. My sweet mercifcul crap! New socks for us, after months of travel, made our feet feel finer than baby hairs. I wanted to burp my big toes, but decided instead to mimic Boxie-boo´s happy dance.

Our shopping list also included: Gatorade powder, granola bars, winter jackets (two North Face bartered down to $39 U.S. total), toques, gloves, a little bit of candy, and due to Boxie-boo´s decision to throw out her small backpack (I warned her not to), we had to buy another one. Since I like shopping about as much as I enjoy lighting my underwear on fire, I was glad the festival turned a boring day into a fun and exciting afternoon. Though, this did not last long.

Andex Adventure, the travel agency with whom we reserved our Inca Trail trip with through Cusco Explorers, did not live up to its written contract. Our free hotel pick-up never happened at the airport and we never received one free night accommodation in Cusco. My email of complaint received a new, edited version of our previous receipt, stating the promises were “typing errors.” We were also under the impression that sleeping bags and a porter was included. Instead, we had to pay $130 U.S. extra, a handing over of cash to a Cusco Explorer employee that made me wish I had pooped on my own hand.

This is backpacking, I suppose. Sometimes we can fight con-artist companies who take advantage of tourists, other times we cannot. In this case, I wrote multiple emails of complaint, phoned and stomped my feet like an elephant on steriods. Nothing worked. Even my telepathic attempt to communicate with the Tom Cruise did not help. It was too late for a refund and we were set to wake up early for our last adventure - a four-day, three-night hike through the Andes Mountains to Machu Picchu.

At night, while the drums echoed across the ceiling, I looked up at the white paint and thought of our last adventure left. I heard myself in Boxie-boo´s voice. I leaned on my side to view her from another angle.

“I´m nervous about the hike,” she said, her fingers nervous and twiddling together.

“Me too, babe,” I responded, then kissed her forehead. “We´ll will do it together.”

That´s all for now.

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Arrival in Cusco

06/17/10

The plane dipped an aggressive left, cutting through mountains low to the ground towards Cusco. After landing, our plane did a 360-degree u-turn, before being pulled by what looked similiar to a tractor towards the airport. I was already excited, before even leaving the plane.

When we walked across the concrete runway, I found myself mesmerized by the setting: Cusco was exactly what I expected, a country South American town, dusty with brown mountains to brown homes, feeling summoned from Peru´s past - horse-drawn carriages and homemade, massive backpacks of coloured blankets, the smell of cold-brushed wind, the pale light that covered the whole city in a soft glow, marking a pathway to walk amongst history. I found myself lost in mental images, my mind photographing each sight, until my infatuation with Cusco broke by the trance of footsteps echoing indoors.

Inside the airport, I found myself with the energy to continue carrying both our large backpacks, though tempted to test the airport´s courtesy oxygen cannisters, though, I was unwilling to deal with the salespitch that would have followed. The baggage conveyer hummed, while outside, men dressed in brown military suits and helmets paced in circles, armed with what appeared to be AK-47s. My excitement grew in rolling waves of thunder, the lightning crashes in my bones, this feel of nakedness, of being so out of place, which I have come to love.

I thought about heading home, of soon returning to a normal life, a feeling that left me with mild fear, as if the comforts of the familiar tired me, pulled me away from my current life, exhausted while living in a dream.

Without warning, a lightness hit my temples. A warm lassitude spread through my body in deep, even breaths, the world closing in with light air. I was panting like a dog from taking only a few steps out of the airport. My balance felt off, as if the ground below me gently shook. My limbs became feather light and weak. My brain an air bubble. Toes without feeling.

I was glad I planned this in advance, to arrive in Cusco two days before we began hiking, in the hopes this would be enough time for us to adjust to the change in altitude. We were 3,400 metres above sea level, near the Urubama Valley of the Andes Mountains, the historic capital of the Inca Empire.

Boxie-boo was handling the altitude adjustment better and began talking with taxi drivers. She returned minutes later, out of breath from the short walk, taking breaks between sentences to swallow air. A driver told her he would not take us to the Apu Wasi Hostel, as the place was supposedly home to a violent riot. At best, he would take us within a few blocks, then we would walk the rest of the way at an expensive price of 50 Soles.

I knew he was full of shit. Taxi drivers lie constantly in the hopes to trick travelers into going to a hotel where they get a commission. Before entering Cusco, I checked the status online in Lima - the place was safe, only going through a mild worker strike. Eventually, we found another taxi who agreed to take us for 30 Soles, discovering the dangers of our hostel - people were outside playing soccer with nets made marked by large rocks, while street vendors sold fresh fruit to locals. Oh the danger! A taxi tried to pull this same trick on us in India, and we were glad we did not fall for it then or in Peru.

The altitude adjustment hit us harder trying to walk up the stairs, the two of us walking very slow, breathing in hard enough to dry our throats. We began slowing our breaths and later relaxed in our room, only leaving for a short sprint around the beautiful town of Cusco to grab lunch, before returning to rest. The best medicine for altitude adjustment is to take it slow and be patient, so we obliged, feeling constantly light-headed, near stoned, as if they city exhaled hole a soothing drug in its moisture.

That´s all for now.

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