can you handle it?

So I wrote all this last night, and I would have liked to edit it before plopping it down, but that's just not going to happen. Apologies if it's weird or hard to follow, but I think I had some stream-of-consciousness going on...It was 8 pages on Word, so hope you can slog through it. By the way, I think I figured out what was wrong with me before I left here: I didn't have a cold; I am allergic to Santiago. All that nastiness is back, and so I think I have another excuse to go back to the clean air in the Sacred Valley...Oh, and I also just noticed that Internet Explorer converted all the apostrophes I used in Windows to little boxes. Does it always do that? Sorry.

viernes 30 julio 2004

Damn, I started to write this all in Spanish, and it’s a good thing I didn’t get too far, because I was on a roll before I realized that the majority of my immense readership does not know that language…Unfortunate.

But there is so much to tell, and I hardly know where to begin, as I’ve already teased you all with a few tidbits of the trip to Perú. I could give you the timeline, which would likely put you to sleep. This would have been much easier to tell as I went along, though, alas, that was impossible.

Got back to Santiago last night, though we crossed the border with a huge sigh of relief on Wednesday night. You’ll have to get out your map to understand the crazy travels. We (Lelia, Mateo, Katie, and I) flew between Santiago and Arica, which is the border town between Chile and Perú. From there, we mostly took buses and colectivos, which can range from sedan- to mini-bus-sized vehicles carrying assorted passengers.

So to get you oriented: last Monday, the 19th, we flew out of this lovely city on a horribly delayed and fantastically scary plane on Sky Airline (sounds funny, but it’s not a typo), to arrive in Arica in the middle of the night. I feel like I never arrive in cities during the day any more: since I got to South America, all of my first impressions of cities/pueblos have been between 3 and 7am. Border towns always fascinate me, and this was no exception. Perhaps the most interesting was considering the lives of the colectivo drivers that take folks across the border. We had to crash in a very creepy hostel Monday night (but what do you expect for CH$3000?—you wouldn’t want to see the bathroom, and you would probably lose sleep over what sounded like an INS raid at 4 in the morning [“¡Están aquí! ¡Están aquí!”]), waiting for the border to open in the morning. After feasting on the typical Chilean hostel fare, we stumbled across the street to the bus terminal and boarded a colectivo, which we needn’t have worried about finding, as we were accosted at the station by about 10 colectivo drivers seeking passengers. We got used to that phenomenon pretty quickly.

The crossing takes about two hours when you go by colectivo (which costs about US$.50), and the bus we took was like a school bus, packed with Quechua folks bringing goods back to their towns and regular Chileans and Peruvians doing who-knows-what—and then there was us. I guess most tourists take fancier buses, because we were the only kids with backpacks on that bus. We were incredibly freaked out because they took our passports before we boarded, mumbling something about getting migration paperwork sorted out, and we really thought we were never going to see those precious documents again. But again, we worried for naught, because those harried colectivo drivers/assistants helped us at every step of the way with those crazy border formalities.

How can I describe the colectivo ride? I should have been exhausted from lack of sleep, but I was electrified by the view. The terrain between Arica (Chile) and Tacna (Perú) is fascinating: it’s the Atacama Desert (I think it’s one of or the driest desert/s in the world) but along the coast of the Pacific Ocean. I didn’t sleep, as I just had to keep pinching myself to remind myself I was indeed en route to Perú! The land was so dramatic, with mountains of sand and deep, deep valleys, with random rivers flowing through some greener parts.

Well, it looks like I’m doing the itinerary, so I hope it’s not boring. I think I have to do it this way, to remember everything. I’ll probably get over that soon enough, but lucky you, who get to read every last detail of the first few days, at least.

We had heard only scary things about Tacna, so we weren’t heartbroken to have to be in and out of there right quick, though it would have been interesting to check out. We scored bus tickets all the way to Cusco, which is the number one tourist destination in Perú, because it’s the gateway to Machu Picchu and the Inca Trail. Yay. We spent all day Tuesday in transit, with a lovely view until dark, then a horrible Kung Fu/cocaine-den/rape-infested movie began blasting in our ears, and I had an intense moment of losing my glasses while I slept for twenty precious minutes.

I guess I should have been cranky by then, but there was, as yet, no drama among my traveling companions (oh, but when that hit…), and I was just so excited that none of this madness really phased me.

The second bus of the day got us to Ariquipa, and from there we got to Cusco at 6am on Wednesday the 21st. So much for having a ten-day vacation. The first lesson we thought we learned was to always make hostel reservations, as this was the second time we had trouble getting into one, but fortunately we got into one of the ones we wanted (guess who recommended it? Yes, Lonely Planet! But the politics of that are also yet to come), and we got to see the sun rise over the beautiful Spanish tile roofs of Cusco, in the valley. Love at first sight.

So far, so good, though, right? Cusco was the first stop on our itinerary, so we hadn’t gotten off track yet. After the delicious nap, we had to plan (which soon became our enemy: down with the guidebook!) the rest of our trip, and then we saw Cusco for what it really is—or at least the area around the Plaza de Armas—which is a giant tourist circus. Finally found out that any version of the Inca Trail was impossible (surprise, surprise), though the group of EAP buddies that had arrived the day before had booked a super-expensive “alternative Inca Trail,” for which they were leaving the next day. Yeah, we had not enough plata, and we still had to adjust to the elevation (2500 meters), which would make me sick that day.

It’s funny, but I can’t really remember what we tried to accomplish that day—I remember getting train tickets, but the most vivid memory is the altitude sickness combined with that terrible moment that was the first time I tried to get cash and was denied…yes, it would be the beginning of a rough vacation. Also, I was really appreciating the lack of pollution, and beginning to really get over my cold (I thought I was a healthy person, but I’m finding out instead that I am a very fragile young woman), until we got to Avenida Sol, the main drag through town, which is almost as bad as Alameda in Santiago.

Thursday was amazing though: we got a taxi from Cusco (after a very special interrogation of the driver, trying to make sure he was authorized) to Ollantamba (about an hour), during which ride I learned to get over road rules. It’s just different in Perú (that’s for Kathy)! It made us all pine for a car to do a road trip, or our bikes for touring. Let’s see. Soundtrack was hard rock, and the driver was hilarious, not to mention a wild one, who got by without sleeping because he was chomping on coco leaves all day. There were several times we thought we would surely be crushed by oncoming traffic, when he decided to pass what he obviously thought were lagging cars on the road. But it was gorgeous, though you’ll have to take my word for it.

The point of getting to Ollanta is that not only are there ruins there (which we could only see from a distance), but that is where tourists have to catch the train to Aguas Calientes, the real gateway to Machu Picchu (Peruvians can take the train directly from Cusco). Another beautiful ride, which included our entrance to the highland jungle, which I almost didn’t believe was happening; it was so surreal.

That’s another weird town, in which there are only locals and people headed to or coming from Machu Picchu. But we were able to get dinner and go to bed early to be able to hike up to the ruins in the morning. Matt insisted on getting up at 4am the next day, to catch the sunrise at the top of the mountain, for which we could not fault him, though the ladies could not join him either. So we set out at 5:30 (of which we were quite proud) and started the day as burly mountain women by hustling up the four kilometers up a great climb.

What can I say about what we found at the top? As it was still early, we got in without the total annoyance of the tourist crowds, but we didn’t realize how much there was so see there! It’s huge! An entire city on a mountaintop, which the Incas pretty much leveled off of this imperial cite. There are a bunch of hikes you can do from the city, to see more ruins, but we took it easy and ran into Matt after he had done one of those (which I would like to do in my next lifetime, but that day, I was not prepared to scale a mountain to get up there). We had the best tuna fish sandwiches of our lives that afternoon.

Blah blah blah. Anyway, it’s an amazingly impressive place, and those few classic photos of the ruins cannot possibly do it justice. Lelia, Katie, and I had fun imagining what all the spots were used for, and we poached a few tours, which were pretty lame. The city had four sectors: agricultural, residential, intellectual (my favorite part, which included a sky-observatory), and artisan. Though you’re not supposed to climb the ruins, we were exploring one part which we had to ourselves (and some of the workers), and ended up climbing a seven- or eight-foot wall!!!

Anyway, that night, after relaxing in the refreshing but disgusting hot springs, the drama began…Let’s just say that a lot of ego and chauvinism was involved, as suddenly one member of the party began complaining about traveling with women (but respectfully, by not calling us girls or bitches!), and announcing the change of plans. OK, it was impossible to do the hike the Chokiquiroa (or however you spell it), which we had been fantasizing about, but anyway, we had to duke it out, and then have a little community moment to sort it out.

I guess I should mention that between all the interpersonal drama and activities, we were all falling in love with Perú. Don’t tell any Chileans I said so, but by the end of the trip, we liked it more that Chile! So many little things, like the totally friendly and warm people and the wonderful array of soft-drinks, which you can’t get in Chile, and of course the geography and colorful history of the Incas on display everywhere you go.

Somehow we survived the train and taxi rides the next day, though we could no longer pretend we all got along (OK, I could not longer pretend; everybody else had already been pretty clear on that), and we had to spend the rest of the trip cleaning up that mess. But wow, it was already half-way over, and now that we knew the big hike was out of the question, we could make other plans.

If I had to choose a day, I’d say that that day, Saturday, was both the best and the worst day of the trip: there was the drama residue and my sudden realization of my utter lack of financial resources, which caused a minor panic attack when we got back to Cusco and had to argue about how to save money (CAMPING! CAMPING), while lustily discussing the important Copa America game happening that very night in Cusco and deciding we had to stay yet another night in a hostel (which were all pretty full), costing us US$4.50 each a night, and (I hope you’re enjoying the run-ons; I can’t express it any other way) enjoying the game between Colombia and Uruguay (we kinda cheered for both, because they both played really well—can you believe we got to go???), and then celebrating by dancing all night at a club in Cusco, meeting some very cool kids.

Sunday, we snagged a colectivo to Chinchero, a tiny town to the north of Cusco, along the same route we had previously taken to get to Ollanta. They have a famous market there every Sunday, and our goal was to go there and barter (which some Chileans we met told us was the norm there) stuff we didn’t need, for gifts for our families. We also had a vague notion of camping there, which we assumed would involve asking people if we could set up in their backyards or something. I should mention that it’s so amazing to be there, because it’s just a different world. The market is really big, and until about 4pm, it seemed to be mostly intended for the locals: they had a lot of fruits and vegetables, as well as mass-produced clothes for men and boys, and regular household stuff. As the sun started to set, the crafts vendors moved their wares a bit up the hill, to a restricted area, to whose admittance the Tourist Police regulate. The people we had met before that madness showed us a way to evade the admission fee (which does nothing to benefit their community, from what I understand: it goes to Lima), so we felt not so bad about spending other money that day (yes, think beautiful gifts from Perú!). But I guess the reason it’s so amazing is that indigenous traditions are just not so in the open and every-day in the US as it is there (and it’s definitely absent from Chile). All women and young girls in Chinchero were dressed traditionally: very bright, hand-made outfits that we would normally think of as costumes. Pretty much all Peruvian women—at least those in all the towns we saw) carry their babies on their back in these holders fashioned of simple cloths that can double as tablecloths. We did not see so many Quechua men that day, but those we saw the next day seemed dressed more “Western.”

Instead, Lelia made friends with one of the vendors, who told her all about Quechua spiritual traditions and sold her items appropriate to doing Ceremony. She also encouraged us to set up camp in the ruins there (the site there is really run-down, but it’s one big palace and some terraced fields in the mountain for agriculture), which are obviously treated very differently from those at Machu Picchu.

In spite of this good news that meant we could sleep for free that night, we waited for the sun to go down and the cold to set in before we took our stuff into the ruins; we were still a bit worried about the guards giving us a hard time about being there. But instead of being chased by guards, a few small children pursued us and insisted on helping us set up camp and make dinner. They were, of course, hungry and excited about the yummy meal (I promise you would not have recognized the feast I coaxed out of ramen noodles and fresh vegetables with these kids), and now that I think about it, we would have been in a bit of trouble without them. It was all about José (“for San José”), Rudy, and DAMN, I forgot the other kid’s name. Sorry.

We had been a bit worried about running out of water, potable or not, so it was a small miracle to take a midnight walk with them to the river. They were enamored of my headlamp and took turns wearing it to guide us (just the ladies went with them to the river, and Matt stayed to guard the camp) so we could get water for dinner. Along the way, they gave us the run-down of the history of the ruins, pointing out flowers growing and showing us the thrones of kings and the monkeys carved in the rocks, etc. We couldn’t have hoped for a better night, as we were anticipating freezing cold and cloudy, but it was clear and not too cold, with a beautiful first quarter moon overhead. One of the more interesting aspects of the walk was a stop at a reservoir at the river, where they take huge sacks of potatoes and leave them to soak, to make a Quechua potato food, which starts with an M, I think, but whose name I forget…

After the scrumptious dinner, the hastily-performed Ceremony done by the boys, and delicious stories told by José, we finally convinced the kids to go home, and Matt and Katie ended up walking José home because he lived farther away.

We were sad to leave Chinchero the next day, but we got to leave with some great memories, especially since that day started the week of Fiestas Patrias for Perú, so all day Monday, the ruins there were turned into a staging ground for celebrations. Starting at about 8am, the kids were lined up and ready to march around. We got to see major patriotism and community pride. Though I of course question holidays such as the Fourth of July in the US (in the sense that it’s a holiday to distract people from their class interests…sorry, that’s bad propaganda), it seemed weirder to me to see indigenous people celebrating Perú’s independence from Spain, since they were not the main beneficiaries of that independence. There’s also major bitterness there toward Chile, as they were involved in intense land disputes, so there were these kids giving these fiery speeches denouncing Chile and Spain and reciting patriotic poems (it was really cute though), while all their parents looked on from the higher ruins. It was a big day.

I know it seems like a lot to comment on every single event of being transported between cities, but it is worth mentioning that we took a colectivo back to Cusco, which was just a normal sedan, but in which the driver crammed 8 people (four more than would have been “safe”—this wouldn’t have flown in Chile). Another thrill-ride, for sure.

Back in Cusco again, we had to face the reality that it’s hard to camp there (if anyone knows where to camp there, let me know—even my travel bible didn’t recommend anything, but I don’t believe that’s because it doesn’t exist), and we went searching for hostels. Lelia was convinced that she could stay out all night partying and therefore could save money instead of hostel it, but alas, we ended up crashing. Our friends got back from their big hiking adventure that day, totally wiped out, so we met up with them at Extrem (not a typo; the same club where we partied on the previous Saturday), to view a pirated version of Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9-11. I’ll save my commentary on that film for a later date (let’s just say I was a bit disappointed). It was so good to have the bigger group back together though, because we all needed some fresh company, to diffuse the drama. Afterwards, we went to an Irish bar in Cusco, where we met their hiking guide and cook, as well as the other folks they suffered with.

Thanks to my utter fatigue/laziness that night, I kept my stuff in the hostel where our friends were (they didn’t have room for our group) and wasn’t able to retrieve it, so that our last day in Cusco, Tuesday, I had nothing on me except the dirty clothes from the day before: yum. Luckily, Katie had a few soles (Peruvian money) left, and the three of us (the ladies) were able to take a tour of four more Inca ruins just north of Cusco (a route we had fantasized about taking over two days and camping along the way, though it’s really a day trip). Because we had declined to purchase the Boleto Turísticos, which benefit Lima and were beyond our daily budgeted means, we jumped on the opportunity to take a cheaper route. This guy approached us as we were bummin’ out at the entrance to Sacsyuman (“Sexy Woman,” as it is charmingly called), to which we had hiked in the hopes of getting in for free…It was incredibly shady, as was much of Perú, but we took his offer to go up to “his ranch,” where we could tour the ruins on horseback. Upon receiving the horses to do the tour, our friend Alfredo disappeared and left us in the custody of a young man (with the Peruvian mullet; very cute), who reluctantly guided us (on foot) through the four ruins. One of them was pretty boring, since we still couldn’t have access to them without the Boleto Turístio, and the other, Sacsyuman, we only got to see in the dark. The other two were pretty cool though: forgive me, as I don’t have the LP handy to remind me of their names, as Matt still has it—he worships that book. The one was huge, consisting of a GIANT rock (the size of probably six North Shore-sized houses) into which the Incas had formed the Temples of the Moon and the Sun. Quechuas still use the Temple of the Moon (which is a cave that gets fully illuminated once a year by the full moon) as a place to get positive energy for getting pregnant. It was at that site that we got to see the “Triología de los Incas,” which means that everywhere you look in the ruins, you see the symbols of the puma, condor, and llama (which represent power and some other things…). The other one is called the X-Zone, and we got to walk through a completely dark tunnel (thanks, Katie, for letting me hold onto the back of your pants to not get lost in there…what a friend!), which was formed by a waterfall, not by the Incas. It was a great tour, in spite of the fact that dear Alfredo didn’t pay the real tour guide (mullet dude), so he was kinda bummed out until we gave him the biggest tip we could afford (which was not much).

Wait. Now I’m thinking that Tuesday was the best day of the trip. Because that night, though we were supposed to have reservations at that one hostel, somehow we no longer had them, and we ended up across the street (actually one of the many pedestrian-only streets in Cusco, which I dug!) at a much nicer place. Warm water! Comfy beds (not that I slept that night)! And, best of all, a super-fabulous owner, who not only let us use her kitchen to make the best meal of our trip (again, just the ladies that night)—a vegan rice-veggie-soy meat stew featuring fresh herbs from the Sacred Valley—but also hung out with us and made us maté de coca.

That gave us enough energy to go out that night, for sure. We had been kind of upset because The Rave of the Year was happening that night and the next, in the mountains nearby, and we couldn’t afford it. All the hippest Peruvians were in town for it, and we weren’t able to convince the dude to hook us up (though Lelia did a valiant job talking house music with him…), so we were forced to go to Fallen Angel, which was rumored to be the gay bar full of drag queens (I don’t know—I was excited for it!) and house music. It was the night before Fiestas Patrias, so we had to wear red and white to get in free. Anyway, the music was fantastic, and we heard from the locals that the rave sucked anyway, and Fallen Angel was the place to be. I ended up staying out all night and ended my time in Cusco perfectly symmetrically: I walked back to the hostel at sunrise. (Can you believe me? I can’t. I can hardly stay out past 2am in Oakland…I think the night air here makes me crazy.)

From there, there’s not much to tell: we were able to fly from Cusco to Ariquipa (a twelve-hour bus ride was the alternative), where we split with Matt (good thing, because there was about to be bloodshed), who wanted to stay in town for the big holiday celebrations. A six-hour “economy” bus took Lelia, Katie, and I to Tacna, and we were just able to cross the border in time to crash in Arica for the night. The next morning—yesterday—we reunited at the airport for a surprisingly smooth and on-time flight back to Santiago.

Whew! I can’t believe I got that all out at once. I just couldn’t stop writing. It’s kinda unfortunate, too, because I had told Tía Sonia and her son Eduardo (not the creepy guy who lives here; he’s on vacation working for that super-right-wing party) I would make them a yummy dinner…I’m moving tomorrow into Katie’s apartment until I can find something better, and I wanted to do something nice for Sonia before taking off. But it’s been weird. There’s no food in the house!!! And due to my desperate financial situation (and the fact that I paid room and board for a month here), I wasn’t about to go out and buy food to make my famous chili. Argh. So she got home from work starving to death, and I’m glued to my computer, with this excuse that we didn’t have tomatoes and black beans…and I couldn’t think of anything else to make, especially given the limited food supply (I don’t know—can you think of anything to make from almonds, short pasta, cornmeal, iceberg lettuce, avocado, and butter? Because that’s all there was to work with. Yeah, it was one of those awkward moments, because I was too shy to ask her to buy food, and she sure wasn’t offering. Gotta work on getting over that business, but I didn’t want to alienate her on my last day…

Anyway, so the real part of my time begins tomorrow. I was totally supposed to go to campus today and pick up my registration packet and get all squared away for my classes, but I was too obsessed (I know it’s hard to believe) with packing my EIGHT bags (and I came here with four) to get out of the house in time…I need a vacation to get over my vacation first, though, so it’s an early night for me. Hopefully I can cook dinner tomorrow night, and survive the next week in this crazy city.