Peru-Part 2
Isla Taquile, Cusco, Ollantaytambo, Machu Picchu, and back to Lima
March-2019
Arrival to Isla Taquile was met by cliffs and steep terraces. I could see a few buildings from the village at the top. From the peer, the path up winds its way back and forth. My thighs get a good burn as we walk. After many minutes we pass under a stone arch and into the central plaza of the village. From here you get sweeping views of Lake Titicaca. Almost feels like an ocean out there. The water is calm, like glass. There’s a cafe restaurant on the corner which serves as the main hang out spot for locals and tourists. A lady comes up to me “Casa? Casa?”, using hand charades mimicking the sleep position. “Si!” She waves me into the cafe and introduces me to two German travelers. Both were young and taking their gap year before university. After some small talk, our Host mentions us to follow her to the guesthouse as we were just in time for the festival to start. I had just heard about this festival the day before in Puno, so the timing could not have been any more perfect.
She offers us to try on some traditional clothes. We spend a while trying to get a good fit. Most Peruvians are shorter, and all three of us pretty tall. The clothes are mostly wool tied together in different pieces. There are multiple colors as well to signify marital status. I don’t know all the exact details but once we finished dressing, we were invited to join the procession. A huge group of people, playing music with various band instruments and parading around the island. They will go all day and far into the night.
We go from house to house. We would enter each home and fill the space, front to back. The band would not stop. Through the crowd, drinks would be passed around. Crates of the brand Cusqueña were stacked along the wall. Every house had bowls full of fried fish. After 20 or so minutes we would continue on. From one end of the island to the other. We were the only foreigners in the group. We did see occasional tourists taking pictures. We tried to wave them in, but they just laughed and watched us pass by. Some of the guys have pouches full of Coca leaves and they pass massive handfuls over to us. At the time I didn’t know that the leaves were the precursor to cocaine. I remember getting a terrible headache after trying it, so I ended up spitting the leaves out. Or maybe it was the alcohol combined with high elevation (12,500ft, 3,800 metres). The air did feel thin to me as the previous entire month I had spent at sea level. It was funny to see how much these guys loved the leaves. Wads protruding from some of their cheeks.
As the day went on, we progressively got far from sober. Some guys started to stumble now from house to house. My German companions and I shared some laughs together at the situation we were in. One of the guys needed a break from his snare drum so he gave it to me. I was a bit inconsistent with the beat as we proceeded to the next house, but I don’t think anyone cared. I remember we went along a walkway with a wide-open view of the Lake. I look out beyond in awe and get lost in my own thoughts for a long second. What a moment to be here at this time and place, with these people.
I have a short video from my phone:
As nighttime comes, we all end up at the plaza. It was full of people. The whole island came for the finale. Now it’s quite dark here. No proper electricity. Perhaps batteries or a generator. I didn’t see solar panels. Anyways, its dark enough that you can’t really see other people. A few simple lights at the corners of the plaza. We were just a mass of energy underneath the stars. I bump into a guy, and I hear his distinct American English. I don’t know his name, I didn’t clearly see his face, but I could tell he was an older guy. He was from Colorado. He said he’s been coming here every single year for the last 20 years to enjoy this festival and it was one of his most favorite places in the world. I can understand why, but then I wasn’t ready for what happened next.
The older people started to line up boys with the girls. Spontaneously I get gently pushed into the line. A girl jumps in line next to me. Her English was pretty decent, and we make some small talk. She said she was a doctor at the small hospital here. She was wearing clothes similar to the women in the picture above but because of the darkness, I couldn’t see her face. Then suddenly fireworks began shooting off from the rooftops, we all hold hands and start running through the streets around the town center. Loud bangs and quick flashes of color reverberating through the alleys. We were running pretty fast, and I was still unadjusted to the altitude. As my breathing became heavier, I started to wonder how much longer we will run around town. There may have been over 100 of us couples running at a near sprint. Through my panting I remember outlines of people on the roof cheering and shooting more fireworks. They must have bought hundreds of the big types. Huge explosions in the air above us. The adrenaline made me laugh and forget about being out of breath. The band was still playing, and the thunderous drums were beating as hard as my heart.
After what seemed like a 5K, we finally stop in the square and I’m foaming at the mouth. The doctor gave me a hug and said to come find her at the hospital if I want to hang out. After that she faded into the darkness and the crowd. I make my way to one of the dimly lit corners as I spot my German adventurists. One of them was at the point of blackout, as we have had far too many beers to count now, and his buddy was helping him back to the guesthouse. People were beginning to disperse, perhaps it was 1 or 2 in the morning. While in the crowd I get a tug on my elbow, look down and I’m surprised to see our Host waving to me. “Casa!” she said once again mimicking the sleep position. Our quartet waddle back, using our phone lights to follow the trail. The band finally stopped playing and in-between the ringing in my ears, I can hear the echoes of laughter as others precariously make their own ways home in the darkness.
Early in the morning, one of the guys takes the first ferry back. I think he had a bus to Bolivia to catch. I agree to meet up with the other in Puno later that night. He was going to sleep in and take the last ferry back due to his hangover. I take a stroll through town and find the hospital, but it is closed. Because I didn’t know mystery girl’s name or face, I didn’t continue looking for her. It is what it is. I pack my bag and say goodbye to my Host. Such a nice lady. Before I walk down to the ferry, I pause on a terrace and observe a woman tend to her crops. Behind her is the epic view of the lake. After the commotion of yesterday, it was really quiet and peaceful now. What a life.
Back in Puno, they have their own festivities. Walking around the streets, so many houses full of people on the balcony hurling water ballons at those below. I run with others and try to dodge the bombardment. In Puno’s Parque Pino, hundreds of children were in the square spraying each other with silly string, foam and water guns. I get tagged as I walk through but can’t help and laugh at the commotion. I remember good street food with many vendors to choose from outside the Estadio Enrique Torres Belon. A bowl of quail eggs served with toothpick. I’m still hungry from all the exertion yesterday so I walk into the mall Plaza Vea. The mall was pretty nice, and they had a food court. I see a burger place called Bembos full of locals. It’s funny to see local versions of fast food and to observe the life around. At least there’s no Mcdonalds here. I get a burger combo meal for 11 Sol’s, or approx $3. It was pretty good. I meet up later with the other German. We chill in the hostel lounge, share a drink and play some chess. After some stories it was time to say, “See you later.”
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I take the night bus to Cusco. We arrive at sunrise. The Cruz del Sur bus terminal is close to the Monumento Inca Pachacutec, at the beginning of the main avenue into central Cusco. It’s a couple kilometers into town and the hostel. I take my time and enjoy the silent streets. The sun has yet to come over the mountains and shine down. In the distance I can see individual rays piercing up through ridges along the surrounding mountains. Just east from here the range creates the transition from desert to rainforest on the other side. Peru pretty much has everything geographically.
When I reach the center, I’m blown away. Some of the buildings are constructed on top of the Incan remnants! I’ve never seen that before. The stones at the base are massive. I can only imagine the effort put into stacking them together. In the Plaza Mayor de Cuzco is a fountain statue of an Incan King. Surrounding is the Cathedral, another church, museum, fancy hotel and a few tourist shops. There is also the office if you want to buy train tickets to go to Machu Picchu. The train is fancy and it’s a beautiful ride, but the tickets can be expensive. There is a cheaper back door route you can take but I will talk about that later. This town is the base for many tours.
I’m staying at the Wild Rover Hostel. It’s up on a hill and takes a steep set of stairs to reach. It’s a big place and pretty nice, but it is more set up as a party hostel. If you’re in the mood, then I would recommend. I didn’t realize until I arrived, but it’s alright. There are some nice views here. I put bag on my bunk bed and go back out for a walk.
On the mountain above town is the historical complex of Saqsaywaman. The ruins have stones stacked together that are nearly the size of a small house. It was a long walk up. There’s a very steep staircase with a ticket booth and groups of tour guides swarming the entrance. I continue to follow the road around to the other side of the site where there’s a parking lot and a Turismo Policia shack. Here there are trails that lead through the forest and then into the area. No ticket booth. Use that information however you want. I explore the ruins for a while, enjoying the great views of Cusco below before heading back down.
Next day I take a walk down a random road outside the center. I end up going through a local market. People selling all types of food. This area was very local and there was some poverty here. Trash covering the street. I see a lady selling Arroz con Huevos (eggs with rice), surrounded by a crowd. If the people love a spot to eat on the street, I want to try. I get a plate and squat on the road with others, as it is too dirty to sit down. Some people give me a curious look. Back at the hostel its drunk shenanigans. I chose sleep instead tonight, put my ear plugs in and drift off.
In the morning, I take the bus to Ollantaytambo. The road cris-crosses up and down the various mountains here. There’s one section where it snakes its way heavily to the town of Urubamba in the valley below. The view is phenomenal. High desert, jagged rock mountains, down into lush green agriculture. This region is called the Sacred Valley for its role in holding political and spiritual significance. An hour of driving later we arrive.
This town is famous for its expansive Incan ruins. It used to be a royal estate and became a stronghold for the resistance against Spain. It is still relatively quiet on the tourist trail. I was able to enjoy the ruins without crowds. I don’t see the hostel I stayed at on the map, perhaps it is closed now, but I remember it had a beautiful garden and was down a way on the first road past the Plaza to the train station. I was alone when I first showed up. After check in its time for my walk.
Going through the ruins was incredible. The ability to imagine something in our mind and construct that vision into the physical reality is a testament to human ambition. Even how they managed to move water around the rock structures I can’t help but stare at it in the same fascinated way a young child might stare at a Lego set. The site goes up onto the mountain in many stepped terraces. Further above is a temple. On the other side of the valley are some isolated houses used I believe by the Royals. I’ll go there tomorrow.
Walking around Ollanta center, some homes have red bags hanging above the doors. This indicates the owners are making their own beer called Chicha, and they are open for visits. I heard they make this beer on occasion, and I knew it would be a great way to interact with locals and get an insight into their lives. Chicha is corn and potato based. The pulp is poured through a straw filter. It has a thick consistency almost like a milk shake, yellow in color. The smell is slightly sour, and taste is closer to a cider rather than a beer. Some people blended strawberries into the mix for flavor. This is a traditional beverage consumed since the Inca days. Legend has it that the history of Chicha began when stored corn became wet from the rain. It fermented causing it to be thrown out. A starving person ate it and got drunk like never before. Sharing the discovery through word of mouth the revelation spread to become what Chicha is today. I have no pictures from this moment. I just enjoyed the exchange with the people.
I walk into a house, and I’m greeted with positive shock. Perhaps they don’t get many tourists. Looking around, the homes here are built from rock and some of them seem constructed over the same blueprints of the old Incan homes. Stone, hay, and rugs fill the space. Through hand charades, I’m handed a mug of the brew and sit at the table of a dozen locals. They all are looking at me in surprise. Or wtf. I listen to them conversing in the Quechua language. No Spanish, and no English either. We laugh at the language barrier. It’s all good. I sit with them as they talk. Sometimes I can tell when they are talking directly at me or about me. I tell them my story even if they don’t understand just to break the silence. I can tell they are enjoying the exchange regardless. I’ve always wondered what English might sound like to someone who does not understand. The owner pours me another one.
A couple more folks walk in. A younger Peruvian guy sits next to me, and he speaks some broken English. Tragically, I do not remember his name. He’s now the esteemed translator and I answer the people’s questions such as where I’m from, why travel to Peru, my job, etc. My new friend tells me about his life. He works at a tourist restaurant and has lived all his life here. He said financially, things can be hard for many locals, but in these valley towns they have each other and that is enough to endure. He said he’s been to Lima a few times, but other than that he hasn’t traveled anywhere else and would like to see more someday. I told him the world is a big place, but Peru is such a diverse country that one could spend their entire life traveling to every corner and still not see it all.
My new friend says it’s time to go house hopping, as at least a dozen homes tonight around the neighborhood were brewing Chicha. “Alright, here we go again!” I thought, as I mentally prepared for a hangover tomorrow. We’re now a caravan, as we go from house to house. Everybody laughing, various people putting their arms around my shoulder. We clank our mugs together in an endless stream of cheers. They are used to the brew and chug it down refill after refill. However as for me, I had to slow it down. By the third mug I was already dizzy. I think the thickness can be rough on the stomach. Perhaps fibers from the corn irritate the lining walls. The time flew by and several houses later the night is late. My friend helps me back to the hostel as I remember my vision was twirling. He said to come visit him at his restaurant and a meal on him. I agree to find him the next day and moments later I flop into bed and sleep like the dead.
In the morning my stomach is not happy, but now I have happy memories, so I deal with the discomfort. My pants that I’ve been traveling with over the past year had started to develop holes around various seams. I always travel light, my bag rarely exceeding 10 kilos(~22lbs), and my clothes develop sentimental value as they have been on the journey with me. I wasn’t willing to throw them away and buy new clothes. I put on my swim trunks and walk to the central market, and it was like the universe answered my concerns. I see a lady with a sowing machine. Through hand charades she agrees to patch my pants up for a couple Sol’s. “Dos horas” she said. Alright I’ll be back in two hours. While relaxing in the garden of the hostel another guest checks in. A girl from Japan. We talk for a while, and she tells me how she just spent the last year hitchhiking to every single country in Europe by herself. My only response to that is wow. Her next journey was going through S. America to see as much as she can. And you thought my story was crazy.
After picking up my repaired pants I go to the restaurant to find my friend. I see him in the back cleaning up from previous patrons. I told him I planned to check out the isolated houses on the other side of the mountain and he decides to come with me. He said tourists never go up there, and the trail is worn away. It was a steep hike climbing up, the trail overgrown with shrub or destroyed by erosion. When we reach the houses, my friend shows me how they were built. Rock and clay, but holding it together is Incan hair! On the side of one of the homes he pulls a small piece off, and sure enough there is hair in there. Now that was mind blowing. Hair does not decompose at the same rate as the rest of the body. I try to imagine the lives of the people those strands used to be attached to.
Back down, as promised, he treats me to a meal. Fried fish and a salad. While eating, a bicycle traveler comes in. We end up in conversation. He was also from the US and was riding all around S. America. The way he talks about his journey I know I have to try it out sometime. Cross country travel by bicycle definitely changes the depth of immersion wherever you go. So different to jumping on a plane and magically arriving at your destination. Instead imagine covering that distance overland all off your own pedaling. Reminds me of the last bicycle travelers I met. In my previous articles about Tajikistan, I met two French guys riding from Thailand all the way back to France. Amazing.
After he finished eating, we said “See you later.”, and he rode off into the sunset. A local guy comes in who’s a friend to my restaurant host. Translating, my friend looks at me and says, “Let’s have Chicha at his house.” At his house, he shows me his shack. Inside there are hundreds of hamsters. Some of them were friendly and would come up to me in a swarm. I asked why he had so many of them as pets. Through the translation he said the hamsters are a local delicacy. He raises them as food for the people. I never tried, but I guess the locals love it if there are so many here. Night arrives and I say good night to them. I wished my friend all the best, shook hands and left. My time in Ollanta was up, now the journey to Machu Picchu begins.
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The easiest way to get to the tourist town of Aguas Calientes which sits below Machu Picchu is by train, but like I mentioned before it can be expensive. You have to take the tourist train. Sometimes you can get a deal but when I was there tickets went for $140 and up. Luxury closer to $1000. If that’s what you want to do go for it. There is also the Inca Trail, I don’t know the prices, but you have to book very far in advance. I don’t believe it is allowed to solo hike. You have to go through an agency. There is a third option, the one that I took. A back door route and hike along the old railroad. It’s cheaper and doesn’t take much longer. Personal opinion I think it is the more adventurous way to get there. Let me tell you all about it.
You can buy a ticket at the Plaza in Ollanta. A van going to the Hydroelectrical station. Just ask about the Camino A Machu Picchu. The locals know. To be honest, I don’t recall how much the ticket was. Just a couple of Sol’s really. I think it could not have been more than $20. It’s approx a 4 hour ride through the back valleys of the mountains surrounding the famous site. A gravel and bumpy ride once past the village of Santa Maria. We get dropped off at the station, and from there it’s around a 10km walk to the town. The old railroad is party shrouded in jungle and follows the river. Through the canopy you can see the mountain itself that Machu Picchu was built on. There are some tourists, but no crowds and I got plenty of space to enjoy the walk. It was really fun.
The town is a bit of a trap. I didn’t like it, but this is one of the most famous places in the world, so it serves its purpose as the main profit generator for the country. You have to buy a ticket obviously to visit the site. The prices I’m sure have fluctuated over the last years. Also, the government has implemented a daily limit and specified circuits to curb over tourism and you can longer freely wander around. So, you may have to book far in advance. I did not make a reservation. When I was there (March 2019) I bought a ticket in town for the following morning. Being last minute, I think I paid around $100. There is a bus you can take. You have to buy a ticket to go up AND down. Around $12 each way. I decided to buy a ticket to go up, and then hike down when I was finished. I also recommend you go before sunrise so that way:
You hopefully get an awesome picture of the sunshine coming up on the ruins and
Less people. I actually had distance from others to enjoy the moment almost in solitude. An hour later the back-to-back hordes arrived and there literally was no space. Especially if you want a picture without others in it.
It’s an expectation vs reality moment. Go early. Hopefully you get lucky with the weather. Sometimes there is fog, and then unfortunately you will see nothing. The place is incredible, and the views unbelievable. What else can I say? Some people say it’s not worth it because of over tourism and a money grab. I think it was worth it. It’s up to you to decide what memories you would like to die with.
Back in town I go for my beloved exploration walk. On the far end there is a futbol field and the local kids were playing. Behind that was a school and a few hang out spots with more locals than tourists. Other than that, it’s all shops, tour companies, bars, restaurants, nearly everything in English, and too many accommodation options to count. The hostel I stayed at was more expensive ($25+) given the location, but also less quality. Just how it is. I get some sleep and in the morning, I head off. Time for the loop back to Lima.
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I did not want to go back to Lima the same way I came. Instead, I chose to take the local route to Ayacucho, then a bus from there to the capital. The road goes from desert to rainforest, and then back again. First, I have to get to Quillabamba, then to Pichari/Kimbiri, then Ayacucho. The route is off the beaten path. It will be a hard push to cross, but I am up to the challenge.
After hiking back to the Hydroelectric station, at the parking lot are taxis to the village Santa Maria. The taxi driver points to an unsigned street corner which serves as the spot to catch a ride. Some minutes later, a mini-van to Quillabamba arrives. The driver drops me on the main road. A long straightaway through the center. It’s a quaint town, and I am definitely the only foreigner here. After being surrounded by tourists from all over the world, it felt surreal again to be amongst only Peruvians. Also, now I have to navigate the language barrier again.
I spend hours walking to and from different van depots asking about Ayacucho. I am met with a lot of no’s. Somewhere close to the center, I see a sign for Pichari/Kimbiri with a picture of a pickup truck. Inquiring within they told me I can get a ride to Ayacucho from there. They leave at night and will arrive the following morning. I’m sold. Now I have the rest of the day to spend before meeting back at the truck office. At this point on my journey, I did not know when I would get another charge on my phone, so I turned it off. Some memories are better without pictures.
I’m sweaty and tired, so at a hotel I negotiate for just a couple dollars staying there for several hours and leaving later that night. The hotel looks like it caters to local travelers. The room was bare bones, the outlets did not work, and the water was yellow/brown. No smell. I decide to roll the dice and shower anyways. At least the simple twin bed was comfortable. No bed bugs were a plus. There is a shared balcony several floors up with a refreshing breeze and great views over the town. I was alone up here, and I remember looking down below. It looked like a school parade or protest. A thousand children at least. Holding signs and chanting phrases. They were very loud I had to cover my ears. I don’t know what was going on, but it was still surreal to observe. Time for a nap.
Later that night I check out and walk around counting down the minutes before leaving. I end up at a shop with a large TV and a huge crowd on the street. The Peru National Football Team was playing. I don’t remember who the opposition was, but the energy in the street was excited. I watch for a while and observe the cheering. Then I think that’s what the kids were chanting about. It was a rally before the game. I go to the truck office and meet the driver. He points to his watch and motions to wait for the others. In the garage there is a mattress on the floor in the corner. I prop my bag up and nap for a bit. Some minutes later another person shows up and motions for me to make space for him. We sit on the mattress with our backs against the wall and nap some more. Perhaps 30 minutes later the rest show up and we get ready to leave. A lady is given the passenger seat. Me and three other guys are crammed into the back seat, and 6 or 7 others are huddled together with the bags in the truck bed. It’s midnight and we are expected to arrive in Kimbiri around 8:00AM. I ponder how the people outside riding in the bed will manage through the night. I’m now grateful to be jammed up against the window. Time to hit the road.
The road is dark. No lights, all gravel once outside of town. It twists and turns endlessly and I feel lightheaded. I don’t deserve any complaints though, as it is raining now that we are on the jungle side of the mountains and the people outside try to cover each other with a tarp. No way any of them are getting sleep. We ride in silence, everyone deep in their own minds surviving the next bump on the road. I’m sure the views are incredible, but all I can see is in front of us were some trees and the grey of the road for a short distance before the next turn. It’ll be a long night and there will be some soreness later, but I’m enjoying the adventure.
At dawn, we stop at an unknown small village for a break. It is pouring rain. The few shops here are closed. I stretch my legs and stand under a doorway for some cover. There is too much fog at the moment to see farther beyond. After some minutes we load up and continue on. The people in the back are soaked. I wonder if some of them have to make this journey on a frequent basis. The sunlight finally breaks up the fog just as we are getting close to Kimbiri. Cold fog immediately turning into hot sun. Kimbiri is a bustling town, tons of activity on the street. We get dropped at a roundabout and the driver points to a building and says, “Ayacucho amigo.”
A taxi driver eagerly greets me and puts my bag in his trunk. By taxi I mean just a normal car. The rides are shared. We have to wait for others. I get a lot of looks from the people here, like as if they had never seen a foreigner before. The night drive had worked up my appetite, so I go to a restaurant across the street. I remember the waiter was flamboyantly gay. The first I’ve seen in this country. No harm, just a unique observation. I’m not sure how open Peru is for the LGBTQ community. He could speak some English and said I was the first American he ever met. Our conversation is cut short however because from the other side of the roundabout I see the driver start taking off in his car. Worried he might drive away and I lose my bag forever, I run out after him down the street. He sees me and stops. Once I get in, I believe he is trying to tell me that he was just picking up other passengers and I can relax. Let’s get on with it.
We cruise the streets for some minutes. At various intersections he stops, and a passenger gets in. There are only four of us, and once loaded we take off out of town for the final leg of this trip. There’s a bridge leaving town called Puente San Francisco. Much smaller than the Golden Gate, I think it carries the name for having that vibrant red steel construction.
The drive to Ayacucho would end up taking 12 hours. Why? Because of all that rain there was mud/rockslides in multiple locations, and we had to wait for cars to pass through. Now in this area of Peru there is no proper services for plowing or towing. The people are more or less on their own. There were a couple instances where I saw children with shovels creating pathways through the rubble and asking people for money. One kid even defiantly stood in front of us, hands on hips. His shovel taller than him, demanding that we pay. Like a toll. The children were barefoot and covered in mud. At another spot the line was long because the mud was so thick. The driver asks us to get out, walk to the other side and wait for him. An hour later we see him driving being pushed forward by a group of guys through the mud. Once we reached the top of the ridge, the environment changed quicky to desert, and after that it was smooth sailing.
As sunset nears, we pass through a town called Tambo. The valley is blanketed with red and green fields, and the road here goes back up in dozens of switchbacks. We cross a rather empty and desolate plateau before the road goes back down in elevation. As the sky gets dark, we cross one last ridge and then I see the massive expanse of city lights below. We finally made it. We get dropped at the center. It is then that everyone else pays our driver. I hadn’t even asked about prices, but I got the local price anyways. It could not have been more than $12. All that driving for 50 bucks. I thank my driver and walk into the busy streets.
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I’m feeling completely fried out at this point. Driving all through the night, and now all through the day. I didn’t make any reservations. Walking around I find a local hotel and book a room. Clean water this time. My clothes and skin are soiled in sweat. White stains underneath my pits. I spend the night washing everything in the shower and then once again sleep like the dead.
When I wake up my left eye hurts slightly with a numb throbbing and has some gunk around it. I take a look in the mirror, and I got pink eye. I think it was from the yellow shower water in Quillabamba. I go out and find a pharmacy. The lady behind the counter laughs when I look at her, point to my eye and all I can say in Spanish is “Rojo.” Hopefully Peruvian eye drops will do the trick. I still feel good enough to go for a walk.
The central Plaza had a nice Cathedral, but I remember groups of people there begging for money with signs saying they were from Venezuela. I guess if people don’t have the capability to make the journey all the way to the US, they try to make a life somewhere else. Possibly anywhere in S. America is better than the economic situation in Venezuela. Down the street is the Mercado Chorro. A hectic place full of life. I keep walking down. The streets become quite empty around here and I come across gangs of feral dogs. Every other block had a group of 4-6 large breeds, and they were nasty. I try to cross the street and they bluff charge me, barking madly. I have to yell and wave my arms, slowly backing away until they leave me alone. Two blocks later repeat. I even see them harass an old lady. She would shake her cane at them to back off. The multiple cycles of adrenaline were fatiguing. Some of the buildings here looked abandoned with no investments. Perhaps the people here just left the place for anarchy to step in and the dogs took over. It was pretty crazy. They were posted up on various corners and stop signs. Watching their street with deadly intent. I never seen that before. Why did the packs end up becoming so aggressive? For example, when I was in Istanbul, they treat the street animals fairly and take care of them. Both dogs and cats. They are really peaceful and add to the flavor of life here. It’s really pleasant to interact with them. In Ayacucho however, it’s war on these blocks. Be careful if you end up here.
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Thankfully my pink eye healed quickly, and I find the Cruz del Sur terminal back to Lima. Another night bus. I’m excited to get back. Miraflores is a nice place to relax. The morning is greeted with a traffic jam and heavy smog. Almost took longer to get into the city than it took to drive here from Ayacucho. Eventually, I’m off and I make my way back to the same hostel I started my Peru adventure at. I book several days and just relax at the many different parks lining the ocean. I remember a crepe restaurant overlooking the sea. Man it tasted so good. I watch the sunset and think about life. These were my last days in S. America for who knows how long. Maybe the last time. I’ll be going back to the US after being out for almost 4 years. So much traveling, so many experiences. It’s a lot to reflect on. In summary, I went through 38 countries across 6 continents during that time. As you can see across my Substack, I’m just getting started with all the stories. When I went back, I finished visiting all 50 states, spent a summer season working in the fishing industry up in Alaska (a future article), then later end up working on Cell Phone Towers (a previous article).
At the hostel I meet my first Romanian travelers. A couple. We had a good time and sadly I no longer have the picture of us. It was on an old phone with a closed Whatsapp number so I can’t seem to pull it out of the digital void. I tell them “See you later”, as they board a bus to Ecuador. Later that same day the American bicycle traveler who I had met in Ollanta 10 days prior came into the hostel. So funny sometimes how you bump into people you met on the road. He tells me more stories and his next adventure was Africa. Cairo to Cape Town by bicycle. Insane. Unfortunately, I’ve lost touch with him in the present day. I wish him well.
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First place I went back to in the US is New Orleans. At customs, the officer is slowly flipping through my passport curiously looking at all the stamps, gazing up a few times giving me an inquisitive stare. After an extensive silence, the officer asks:
“Soooooo….how long were you out?”
“Just a quick vacation. A couple places.”, I said, giving a warm smile.
With a laugh and a shake of the head, the officer hands me my passport.
“Welcome back.”
Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment on your thoughts or even suggestions on how else I could articulate my experiences to you. I know I can craft these stories from different viewpoints. Also, I’m not writing in chronological order. Whatever comes to mind. I think that adds to the entertainment factor. You won’t know what country to expect next. I’m happy to announce that I just surpassed 100 subscribers and its only up from here.
Until next time!
-AbroadwithBrian
