Thursday, October 30, 2008

¡Bienvenidos a Chile!

It’s hot. Very hot. The kind of mind-twirling, throat parching of hot. We’re in the touristy desert oasis of San Pedro de Atacama. Northern Chile. We made it!

How did we get here? It began with an early morning Monday October 27 Cruz del Sur bus from Arequipa to Tacna. Uneventful bus ride except that we had to disembark before the end of the movie. I hardly noticed the landscape change into sand dunes.

In the Tacna terminal, we were surrounded by pushy taxi drivers figuring that they could trade us a ride to Arica for 15 soles. Think again. We banded together with an Irish couple and set out in search of unbiased transit information. Good luck!

We hopped into an honest cab for the train station. Closed. A disappointing lunch in the center of town til the ticket sale frenzy began. I say frenzy, but it was quite underwhelming. The excitement began when we got the Peruvian exit stamps and took our seats aboard the hunk of metal on wheels they called a train.

The sunset hour-and-a-half journey was a gabfest between us and the Irish couple. We exchanged stories (their Peruvian nightmare sounded a lot like our Ecuadorian trip… a whole lotta terrible) and antidotes.

By the time we arrived in Chile, we had crossed two hours worth of time zones. We were peso-less and I was thoroughly confused by the rapidfire Chilean accent. We found an atm and a cab to our hostel. A friendly, eccentric, proudly socialist, French man opened the door and offered us two rooms. Dinner was cheap and of mercado origin.

Tuesday October 28.

We woke up to CNN (in English!) with our all-we-could-eat bread breakfast. News about the US election dominated the headlines. We’re all getting giddy for the 4th.

Hustled to the bus terminal to buy our overnight bus tickets to San Pedro de Atacama. Whew. The rest of the day we did errands.






Nate was WAY overdue for a haircut.








Tada! The haircutter was.. um… very friendly.









Chile. Are we really in South America? People in trendy outfits and highlighted hair sipping espresso beverages in outdoor cafes.

After an overpriced, very sweet lunch and JENGA!, we checked out of the hostel and headed to the beach. Nate, Padraig and I shivered in the chilly Pacific while Caroline lounged in the sun. We must have spent hours on the beach. No amount of sunscreen could have saved our skins.

Ice cream and junglegyms were in order when we realized that we were roasting. Dinner was delicious pizza. Nate had a 4-person pie to himself.

The four of us narrowly avoided a knife-attack and scurried to the bus station. The 12 hour bus ride was the best I’ve ever had. Except for the 4am security bagsearching check point, we slept relatively well until we arrived at 10am on Wednesday October 29 in San Pedro.

One difference between Chile and Peru (and there are many!), the people trying to sell us stuff aren’t pushy. They’re respectful. When you say no, they smile apologetically and proceed to leave you alone. Amazing!

We shouldered our packs and faced our sunglasses and set off into the sunbaked San Pedro. It was hot. Very hot. It was only 10am.

We were all sunburnt. Caroline was the worst. She was bright redpink and limping. We finally found a cheap hostel and sighed out of our bags.

We had all day as a designated RESTday. We oriented ourselves around this tourist town and poked our heads into a few grocery stores. Nate and I whipped up a not-too-fancy-but-definitely-filling lunch for the four of us.

San Pedro is a dusty road kind of town. The clay buildings reflect the hot sun. Everything simmers from 1-5pm. The heat and the nightbus caught up with us and we cowered in our rooms resting until well after sunset. Nate and I, taking clues from a French couple, fashioned our own tomato sauce to go with fettuccine and garlic bread. Wish we had salt and pepper. And more garlic!

Cooking for four people is cheaper than for two. And we were stuffed!

Competitive cardplaying kept us up past our bedtime. Nate was unusually giggly. I think it was the chocolate.

Monday, October 27, 2008

¿Dónde está el oxígeno?


We arrive in Arequipa at midnight on
Wednesday October 22 after a bus ride full of drama. The terminal terrestre is a short cab ride to the Point Hostel. After dealing with hunger pangs and an apathetic staff, we catch a cab to the Plaza de Armas in search of food. Nothing is open.

Nothing except a little pizza restaurant with a wood-burning stove and guitar-playing waiters. The pizza was good for our empty tummies. Sleep was good for our tired bodies.

Thursday Octber 23.

Took it easy.

Decided relatively spur of the moment to climb Mount Chachani, a 6075m stratovolcano peak overlooking Arequipa. (See middle peak) It wasn't a task to be taken lightly. The highest I've ever been was Mount Ararat at 5200m and I remember that being quite tough. Nate's never done a climb like this. But we've had enough of bus-sitting and passive food-eating. We needed a proper push-yourself adventure. We also needed three people for the trek. Luckily, a minute later, Irish Mark walked into the room inquiring about the same trek. We made reservations for the next day.


The rest of the day was devoted to necessary errands and gazing at the mountains rising over of Plaza de Armas. We got to be rather familiar with the Ariquipeño streets, markets, and vibe.



Friday October 24

The 4 x 4 came to pick us up at 8:30am. It took us scowering the city to find hiking boots that fit us and around 10:30am we were on our way out of town. We sped out of the Arequipa city limits and into the countryside. The tremendous peaks of Chachani and El Misti towered in front of us. It was hard to believe that we would be climbing in less than 24 hours!

After a tremendously rough ride, the car dropped us off at 5200 meters. We shouldered our packs and walked by the green alien moss-covered rocks to the base camp at 5400 meters. I could definitely feel the altitude. Whew. Tents were set up quickly and we rested with tallarines for the rest of the afternoon.


The view was pretty spectacular from the base camp. The air turned chilly and then bitter as the sun set. Soup warmed our tummies. We crawled into our layers and packed our daypacks for the next morning.

But sleep doesn't come. It's cold. And uncomfortable. My sleeping bag's zipper doesn't work. Mice pine at our tent flaps. I work myself up about how the vacuum that the antibiotics left in me plus the extreme conditions I was subjecting my body to would leave me uncontrollably ill.

Saturday October 25

2am. Roy, our trekking guide extraordinaire, gives us the buenos dias wakeup call. Mate de coca and bread with jam, breakfast of mountain trekker champions. The night is dark and cold. Even with every conceivable layer, my toes and fingers are numb.

We set off with our headlamps and gear.

We start heading up, gaining altitude with every step, weaving in and around boulders. I bet Nate was secretly (or not so secretly) yearning to climb them. Meanwhile, I was working on my breathing. Breathe, step, step, breathe, step, step, swig of coca tea, breathe, rinse, repeat.

Phase II began when the ground to our left disappeared. That meant it was pole time, so I whipped out my ski-like poles of radically different lengths. One positioned on the steep incline to the right, one as a third leg on the narrow path. Without proper light, I couldn’t gauge how far the drop was. I just took a deep breath and tried not to think about it.

It wasn’t particularly difficult, I just had to concentrate on where I placed my steps on the soft volcanic sand and loose rocks. My breathing had a chance to stabilize itself.



Next came the ice. Continuing traversing, we sidestepped the conical icy stalagmites. No slipping allowed.






Slowly the twinkling lights of Arequipa became visible thousands of meters below us. Perfect timing too because we were due for a descanso. We sat on rocks with our coca tea watching the sky soften into morning colors. It was 4:30am.


Roy points up. We have to summit El Angel and Fatima before we can begin with Chachani. Three volcanoes for the price of one? Fantastic.

Across another icy maze and up the slippery dusty path. Nate and Roy flew. Mark and I held our own steady pace. Breaks usually included someone flinging themselves into a sprawl and chocolate munchies.



Passed 5600 meters
sobre el nivel del mar. Passed 5800 meters snm. And climbing!



The sun rose and exposed the breathtaking scenery. Mountain peaks near and far towered over the misty ground. Wispy clouds snaked in and out of view. It was so unreally stunning. Being able to switch off our headlamps was humbling because it showed us the magnitude of what we were doing. It made the task at hand (putting one foot in front of the other) that much more daunting. Just keep breathing.






¿Dónde está el oxígeno? Breathing was getting quite hard. Mark was talking about a headache. Our breaks became more and more frequent. Whew.

Nate and Roy are up ahead. I can hardly make it ten steps without a break to lean on my poles.


Will I make it? I have to; I'm so close. But it's tough. There's hardly any air. And my body is so fatigued. Do people really do this for fun?!

Oh stop it, Alisa. You know you'll make it. And YOU are doing this for fun. Just take your time, head down and step, breath, step, breath, step...

Mark says he feels like he's going to throw up. My limbs feel so tired.

But but but. I make it! And collapse at the top.







We spend some time at the summit, regaining our composure. The view is ridiculous.




Going down is a lot easier than going up. We practically runslideski down the soft sand.
I try to keep up with the guide, but he scoots on ahead. We take well-needed long breaks enjoying the view and and act of rehydrating.

It takes us about 3 hours to return to base camp. That's about 2 hours less than the ascent. All-in-all, I think we held our own against the volcanic peak. And we couldn't have asked for nicer weather and better company!


Completely exhausted, we all plopped down for a nap. The 4 x 4 picked us up around 1pm and we headed back into town. We arrived back to our cushy hostel completely exhausted around 3:15pm. What a tremendous day!

Friday, October 24, 2008

Island hopping? On Lago Titicaca?! Yes, please!

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Finally the day arrived! The day when we would finally leave Cusco, that is. Whew.

We said goodbye to the touristy colonial streets and our cushy backpacker party hostel and jumped a cab to the terminal. Cusco had been our base for exploring and it felt weird, but refreshing, to leave. Our bus to Puno was with a reputable company, but the bus itself was tired, dirty and worn down. The door was tied on by a string. The windows were cracked or broken. The seats were dirty grey. There was a funny musty smell. It was all mighty grimy.

It’s only 6 hours. It’s only 6 hours. It’s only 6 hours.

Or so we thought. Things don’t tend follow strict time schedules in Peru. When we finally pulled out of the terminal, we cruised down the road out of Cusco. Finally getting out of Cusco! After so long! And…

WHAM!

We slowed to the side of the road to inspect the damage. A tire on the left side of the bus was blown to smithereens! In fact we left half of it down the road and the bare rim had cut into the road. My only thought was: Oh my goddess, we’ll never get out of Cusco.

But we did, eventually.

After a few stops to facilitate the movement of people to towns en route, we pulled into a darkened Puno. Courtesy of LP, we found a nice hostel pretty close to the happening part of town. It was getting late, so our dinner options were limited. We had a pretty disappointing meal before retiring to bed.

Monday, October 20, 2008

After attempting (and failing) to get up at 6am for the Lake Titicaca island departure, we gave ourselves an orientation and preparation day. Plus Nate’s digestive tract was doing the unhappies.



Errands. Errands. Errands. Laundry. Pineapple for host family. The always dependable iPeru office. Food food.





Tuesday, October 21, 2008

5:45am. Out the door by 6:50am. Mototaxi to the muelle.


We try to avoid the hassling vendors, but they keep up with our quick pace. We buy our boat tickets to the islands. Here’s the itinerary:
Puno-> Uros (the floating islands) -> Amantaní -> Taquile -> Puno

Ready? Go!

8:20am departure from Puno to Uros (the floating islands), travel time 30min


We share the boat with colorful, friendly, smiling, Quechua-chatting Indigenous folks. Our common language is Spanish. They patiently wait for us to do our tourist business on the floating islands.



The floating islands were started by the Uros people as a way to isolate themselves from the more aggressive tribes of those times. The islands themselves are made entirely from the roots and reeds of the buoyant totoras, hence floating islands. Pretty much everything in their daily lives is made from the reeds: houses, boats, crafts, food!

We pull into the community of 50 islands and step down from the boat. Squish. Squish!



The “ground” is spongy and our shoes sink into the reeds as we walk. A man sits us down for a quick Uros 101 lesson. Did you know that Titicaca means “grey puma”? Afterwards, we climb a mirador for a view and buy some crafts. And off we go!




10am departure from Uros to Amantaní, travel time 3 hours

It’s a long boat journey. We station ourselves at the front of the boat until the wind and the sun drive us inside. Three hours is a long time for a boat ride. I try to sleep.

My stomach starts doing the unpleasantness… oh no. NOT AGAIN.

Stay the afternoon and night on Amantaní with a family

Sitting on Amantaní’s dock are a few men spinning wool. Our boat pulled up and we stepped uneasily onto shore. We dodged looks from locals and followed the boat driver up dirt paths leading to clay houses. The boat driver’s wife, Elisabeth, met us part way and led us to the house.




Our room was on the second floor and contained two creeky beds, a table, a handful of chairs and two windows that sported awesome views over the lake. There was no electricity in the whole house.



Lunch was prepared over burning leaves and consisted of soup, half an omelet, and a host of boiled lumpy roots. The roots still sported dirt, but were cooked so we ate them without fear. The best part of the meal was the mate de muña, supposed to help stomach problems and digestion. Perfect!

After lunch we decided to go for a walk. The boat driver and his wife drew us a map in the dirt of how to reach Pachi Tata and Pachi Mama, the shrines on the highest peaks of the island of the Earth Father and Mother. On our walk we passed children recently out from school, exchanged buenas tardes with countless locals, meEEeehed back at the sheep, and almost got lost.

The altitude is very apparent here. We slowly make our way up the stone path. The sun is fierce and forces us to tap deeper and deeper into our water bottle.

As we climb, the view opens up. Lago Titicaca extends its majestic blue waves out in all directions. We can see Taquile and the Peruvian coast on one side and just barely make out the Bolivian side. The view looks unreal. We take a bunch of pictures. The panorama ones are hit or miss.

I don’t know what I was expecting for the shrines themselves, but it wasn’t crumbling rock structures with padlocks leading into them. Oh well, the view was well worth it! First up to one peak, then the other. Whew. There’s hardly any air up here!

Amantaní is mainly an agricultural island. There are many tiered terraces for crops, a technique used by the Incas. It was really awesome to see how self-contained the island was. All the electricity used (and there were some houses that had it) was produced on the island. True some food is imported from mainland, but a lot of it is grown right there. There were no cars or any motorized vehicles for that matter. The mode of transportation of choice was feet. The overall vibe was tranquil and relaxed. There was no rushing to get anywhere. Everything and everyone happened at their own pace.

On the way down, we descended with the sun. We passed the afternoon wave of tourists and watched the locals set up portable markets in hopes of coaxing a sol or two from the jiggling pockets. We preferred to watch a soccer game.



We descended on the beach for sunset. The sky changed to a marvelous shade of purple, and the water reflection responded. It was nearly dark by the time we made it home.



Amelia, Anderson, and Michael were sitting outside our room on the stairs when we got back. Amelia, the oldest, couldn’t have been older than 10. We showed them our headlamp, which was an entertainment highlight along with our camera. As Amelia sat peeling totoras, Nate opened the floodgates with a question. Do you like music?

Floodgates? Oh yes. From there, the situation spiraled out of control and into hours of singing and dancing. We performed none of it, but rather watched, laughed and applauded songs in both Spanish and Quechua. Stomping ensued.

Just when we thought we could take no more, the children tired before us. Dinner came and was very welcomed. We slept very well bundled in our jackets, pants, and wool blankets.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

We were up without an alarm before 6am. Pancake breakfast and last pictures before we said goodbye to our family, and the outhouse.

We were told that we were going to join a tour group for the day. Oh great. Just what we wanted, to be in a pack of tourists listening to a guide. This is precisely why we did NOT join a tour to begin with.

8am departure from Amantaní to Taquile, travel time 1 hour




The ride Taquile was uneventful, just took a while.





Three hours on Taquile

Started with an ascent to the main plaza. We passed all the tourists in the group, oxen that almost speared me, amazing views, and little shacks. I wish I could have enjoyed it, but my stomach was not doing well. I was very happy when we arrived at the plaza.

Tourism has sculpted Taquile’s Plaza de Armas. There are restaurants, a large artisans market, and little children running around selling bracelets.

I self-diagnosed myself with a bacterial infection and promptly began my antibiotic regimen. More meds. Yum yum yum.


We had to have lunch with the group, which ended up being fun. Before the food came, we heard a spiel about the history and culture of the Taquile indigenous people. It was interesting, but way too long.

Quinoa soup was phenomenal. The fish was good too. We sat between two French dudes who didn’t speak Spanish and three Peruvian women who didn’t speak any English or French. Nate and I were the translators. It was kind of fabulous. I want to learn more languages.



We crossed the island and began our descent down to the other dock. While we waited for the rest of the group, Nate found a structure that he absolutely had to climb.



12:30pm departure from Taquile to Puno, travel time 3 hours


Sleep was awesome. There’s nothing that makes a boat ride go faster like sleep. But after a while, Nate got bored of me sleeping. We spent the rest of the ride poking each other and giggling at nonsensical elements.


Arrival in Puno…

… meant preparations for our immediate departure to Arequipa. We said goodbye to our groupmates and scuttled into town. Plaza de Armas led us to Parque Pinos. Laundry pickup, snacks, packing, and Terminal!

We picked up a pair of bus tickets to Arequipa on a pretty nice bus. We even got the top front seats on the double decker bus. We had an awesome view. What a great ride it’s gonna be, we thought. But, no, things in Peru are never that predictable.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

CHECK it OUT

Quick update. We're in Arequipa after a less-than-desirable bus ride from Puno. It's sunny. And warm.

More to come.


If you haven't already, check out our vlog (video blog) on http://www.youtube.com/user/thebigtripvlog

it's off da hook.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Who's got jungle feevah?


I wake up feeling quite excellent on Monday, October 13. So we decided that it was time to leave Cusco. Finally! We’re both so excited and we begin researching at once. We can’t go too far because we’re still waiting for Nate’s jacket to be mailed from Ecuador. So we decide to execute a last-minute trip to… Puerto Maldonado.

Where? Ok. Here’s the deal. Peru can be divided into three sections: the coast, the mountains, and the jungle. We’ve experienced the coast, the mountains… but not the jungle. Fantastic. Let’s go.

The Lonely Planet’s information is out of date, slightly. It says it takes 3 days to get to Puerto Maldonado, riding on the top of a gasoline truck over the bumpy roads. Ummm… Sounds like fun to me, but Nate is weary. But we find out that since the LP’s copyright date, the roads have been improved and buses have taken over this tedious journey. So we buy two tickets for Tuesday. It’s settled, we’re going!

Tuesday morning wake up. Eat. Oh no. Maybe I’m not entirely better. My head does the swimmy, nauseous feeling. Oh no. Maybe we can’t go. But we have to; we’ve already paid for the ticket. As 3pm drew closer, I felt worse and worse. I was fighting back urges to throw up. So we called a doctor, who was phenomenal and came within 10 minutes. She was super helpful and gave me a consultation and some anti-nausea pills at no cost.

So we sped off for the Terminal Terrestre with 15 minutes to the bus’s departure. We arrived and, after paying the exit fee, found the right bus. Apparently the company that we had booked had been in an accident the day before and weren’t deploying any buses. We had to change our ticket for another company. We hopped aboard and it was not what I had expected. It smelled weird and was rather dirty. Nate said he heard someone say something about us “gringos.” The circumstances were not ideal, but what other choice did we have?

We left the bus terminal late. We got stopped by police who asked for our Ids and checked for seat belts. My seat belt was non functioning, so I tied it together and hoped for the best.

A man tried (for about an hour) to sell us ginseng tablets and other cure-all Chinese potions. Nate and I were having none of it (lucky Nate could tune him out), but the other passengers were eating it up.

We stopped for a bathroom break, which was on top of a hill. We filed out of the bus and out into the open country side. The men walked a few feet and proceeded to relieve themselves. The women had to go off a little ways. It took a little bit to get me comfortable with the idea of peeing in public. The bus almost left me behind.

The TV had to be held into place with tape. A goat bleated from somewhere in the bus. The mother across the aisle from me laid her daughter down on the dirty aisle to sleep. Passengers had to walk over her to get on and off the bus, whacking me in the head each time they did. The woman behind us kept coughing up some terrible sounds (some of them in my hair). It was disgusting.

They served us a Styrofoam box of dinner each accompanied by some rice pudding. Some passengers took one look at it and tossed it straight out the window. During the bus ride, the rice pudding somewhere was spilled and was tracked throughout the bus.

I slept. I guess I was tired.

Throughout the night, I snuck peaks out of the darkened bus windows. The trees closest to the road sported bigger, tropical leaves. The air changed from cool and dry to warm and humid. And the road itself was rough and so narrow that only one car could pass at a time.

It was around 5 or 6am when the bus woke up. I felt disgusting. The bus was humid and dirty; I could almost feel the germies in the air. Everyone seemed to be coughing up something terrible. It was hot. But to add to that, it started raining. Normally, buses keep out the rains, but this one let it loose… onto my head. I put on my raincoat in the bus and got drip drip drip dripdripdripdriped on for a little while.

We started getting close around 9am. We could tell because the crowd in the bus held a collective invisible expectation. The bus made frequent stops to let passengers off and food vendors on. Nate and I split a yucca rellena for 1 sol, which ended up being pretty awesome.

It was 11am when we finally pulled into Puerto Maldonado, concluding our 20-hour disgusting bus ride. Our backs and faces were covered in sweat. Welcome to jungle territory.

But it wasn’t what either of us had expected. No all-encompassing green foliage. No exotic birds everywhere. Just a dusty city with few paved roads and lots of 2- or 3- wheeled transporation. We hopped a motorickshaw to the plaza de armas, thinking that would be a great place to start. The government-run tourist information office, however, would be another motorickshaw ride away along a dirt road. We get some information and then back to the plaza de armas to find another tourist information office.

It was pretty frustrating. We were spending a whole lotta time and money running around this ugly boiling hot city AFTER spending 20 hours on a filthy bus. We got to the second tourist information office and looked at guided tours that were more than we really wanted to pay. I’m not a fan of tours. You pay a bunch of money get shuttled around from place to place and talked at. I like to do it myself, at my own pace. But this time we had no other option, because you weren’t allowed to enter the National Reserve without a guide.

So we chose between the tour options and found one that would be a whole day of jungle stuff. A woman, Luz Marina, came up from seemingly nowhere and jumped in along with us, lowering the per person cost. Sweet.

When it was all done and paid for, we set out to find the cheapest hostel in town. We ended up at Hostel Moderno, which despite its name, offers nothing modern. The rooms looked like large chicken coups with mesh walls near the ceiling for ventilation. The bathrooms were shared and mildly unpleasant, but it was cheap. The first thing we did was shower. No hot water, but none needed. The brutal sun took care of everything else. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been somewhere that hot.

We sweated all through lunch, which was filling and good. I got extremely tired after eating so we passed out after an ice-cream cone in our ridiculously hot hostel room.

Dinner was at a Chinese restaurant over an Argentina-Chile soccer match. Food did not make me feel good, but I ate what I could because, with my illness, I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight.

The hostel was sweltering and ridiculously noisy. We lay awake to people hacking up terrible sounds all night long. Nate says a radio started blasting at 4am, I know that I am eternally grateful to my earplugs.

We awoke the morning of Thursday October 16, sweating and tired. After a rushed breakfast of grilled chicken, rice, and salad we waited for our guide at 8am. The sun was already frantically attacking our bare skin; it’s gonna be a long day, I thought.



The guide came and we took some motorichshaw taxis to the muelle. Our boat driver and jungle guide extraordinaire was Don Jose. We road the “peke” boat, so named for the sounds its engine makes: pekepekepekepekepeke…




We peked down the river to flight of stairs that marked the beginning of the Reserva National.





Then stepped into the jungle. The air was humid and all around us was the thick vegetation and life that only a jungle breathes. My senses were overwhelmed. There was so much to investigate, so many sounds, sights, smells… It was so unfamiliar and wild; I felt like a naïve intruder. After a short spiel from the park guard, we were let loose into the selva.


Thick vines reached up around us. Millions of plants and hidden animals stared at us as we passed. There was too much for my eyes to take in. The sounds of countless bugs and birds were put on hold as I listened to explanations of different trees and fruits and their medicinal properties. Don Jose was awesome. You could tell that he lived for his jungle. He understood that life comes from nature and we have to reciprocate.

We pass a colony of highly organized agricultural… ants. I’d heard about them in biology class. It was awesome to see them in action. Don Jose picked up a soldier ant, which was huge! Each of the classes of ants had a job. The job facilitated the gathering of leaves. The ants don’t eat the leaves they collect, but rather use them to cultivate a species of fungus inside the ant colony. The fungus is the nourishment of the ants. During the rainy season, they block up all the entrances to the colony and sit inside with their food storage. They are more organized than any civilization of humans I’ve seen.



We saw hundreds of spiders with a collective goal. Butterflies dominated the pools of water. We walked by the home of an anaconda. I could have spent hours walking down the path, trying to take everything in, but we had a plan for the day and so we kept walking.




There’s so much that goes on in a jungle; millions of species working together. The curious little flower has curious little bugs on it. And the two species mutually benefit each other. The monkeys eat the aguaje fruits, depositing the seeds. Species working, surviving, aiding, living together. The harmony is quite remarkable.




We arrived at the Lago Sandoval after 5km of jungle walking. There were monkeys tree-jumping over our heads (one threw an unripe mango at Don Jose). We put on our swimming gear and carried big sticks to scare away the sting rays. The water was a ridiculously warm temperature and felt so good after the humidity. We met some friendly Spaniards and some jovial Peruvians. We all took turns on the rope swing!

Time to eat. The refreshing dip in the water was quickly wiped away by sweat as we started eating. Our group was hilarious and we all got along well. Nate was keeping up quite nicely with the Spanish. I was impressed.



After lunch we hopped into a canoe. We brushed our arms with suntan lotion and put towels and shorts on our heads. The sun was fierce and dehydrating.




We spent some time on the water and saw a lot of birds, tortugas, and even a few caiman! We heard some pretty large animals! I secretly wanted to see a tapir or puma or something, but they were all too well hidden.




After a bit of navigating the perimeter of the lake, we headed back to the path. It was only about 3 or 4pm, but the sky was getting darker. All of the thick leaves kept the pesky sun at bay, but I wasn’t about to wait around until dark. The noises of the jungle are enough to keep me on my toes. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if it was dark.




I was pretty worn out by the time we got back to the boat. We made faces and played games while the two women slept and Don Jose navigated the boat. The sun was setting as we pulled into the dock.









One last picture before we go! What a great group. I guess not all tours are bad.




After a great day, we splurge on a calzone and burrito dinner, which left me feeling not so good. Good night jungle!

After another sleep-strenuous night of people hacking up lungs, babies crying, and terrible music being blasted, we woke up to a day of errands.

Friday October 17. What kind of errands?

Well, we have a bunch, so we rent a motor scooter to save us money on moto-rickshaw taxis. Do we know how to ride one? Well, Nate’s a quick learner , so off we go!

First stop… we get directions for the bus companies. There’s no central bus station in this town, there’s just a street with all the bus companies lined up. We shop around and find one that suits us. We take a look at the bus, looks okay from the outside. We buy our tickets for 2:30pm. Great. What’s next?

Second stop… Mercado. We’re looking for a machete. Not only do they make awesome souvenirs, but you never know when they’ll come in handy against vicious dogs on Laguna Quilotoa trails. Plus, we need to chop up our pineapples some way… So we go machete hunting. But no one seems to sell them with a sheath... and we’re not about to go walking around with a naked machete. Hmm…

Our brain wheels start turning as we have a market breakfast/lunch. After much searching, we find the shoe-repair stalls. We explain our situation to the first shoe repair man who gives us a quizzical look. He agrees to make one for us! So we go to our friend the machete dealer, buy a machete and then have a sheath custom made for us.


While we’re waiting we grab an aguajina juice, made from the juice of aguaje. Apparently the fruit itself contains a fair number of hormones, so men should drink it in moderation. Not a problem for either of us, because we find that the yellow-orange drink is not so appetizing. But it’s always awesome to try something new, especially something so typical of the region.

We return the motor scooter, convinced that we’ll have to do it again some time… We check out of the hostel and sit around with the guy at the desk talking for a bit. Then back to the market to check on our machete.




Whadda think? It’s rugged and perfect! We thank the shoe repairer (who I think was more than happy to take on our out-of-the-ordinary request to spare him from the monotony of shoes) with a picture.




Then we sit down to a pair of refrescos of maracuyá and cocona. The woman who serves us the drinks sits pealing an aguaje. She sees our puzzled looks and offers us some. The pealing was the fun part, the aguaje itself was sour and quite the acquired taste. We thank her though and head off to wait for our bus.

Waiting for our bus brings us into contact with a strange looking jungle animal that a family has decided to adopt as a pet.



The bus takes off a little late, but it’s much cleaner than the last one. We make good time bouncing over the dirt road. Of course there’s time to pick up a pineapple on the way out of town.