The R&R Big Adventure

From northern desert to the central lakes

The Rainbow Valley was a great way to finish our tour of the region. Just the scenery on the drive to and from the valley was impressive. Situated about an hour north of San Pedro de Atacama, the rocks had spectacular colours and formations, including phenomena such as lighter ash layers in the hills, underneath heavier lava strata, due to the ground literally being turned upside down as result of a huge volcanic explosion millions of years ago. It was interesting as well to understand how Chile was formed from dramatic tectonic plate activity. The region still gets many, imperceptible, earthquakes every day, and the Andes continue to grow by about a centimetre a year. 

We spent the early afternoon by the pool – the 8% desert humidity (the driest place on earth, apparently) is great for not sweating when sightseeing in the heat, but the side effect is parchment skin after a few days in it. Our last night in the region was in Calamar – a mining town just over an hour from San Pedro, and convenient for the nearby airport. We weren’t expecting much when we arrived late afternoon – it was purely a convenience stopover – but we were both surprised by how every (pretty grim) apartment block, shop or restaurant had 8’+ high steel gates, topped with barbed wire. The Dominos pizza we passed had not one, but two steel gates, whilst the corner shop from where we bought some water had thick steel bars around the counter. Either Calamar is well prepared for a zombie apocalypse, or they have a serious crime problem. We didn’t venture out at night to find out which.

We’ve just finished our second (and final) flight of the day (Calamar-Santiago-Temuco). The snow capped mountains that stretched north from Santiago for so many miles also stretch south all the way to Temuco (and beyond) – beautiful to see from a plane, and brings to life just how vast this range is. Our flights so far in South America have all been good – no significant delays, or any cancellations. LATAM in particular have been punctual, and have usually landed ahead of schedule (B.A. take note).

Temuco is at the northern end of the ‘Lake District’ of Chile, the furthest south we have been on the planet (yes, further south than Melbourne) and with weather more like its UK namesake. From there we are picking up a car and driving even further south through the lake region for the next week. We are actually looking forward to a week of cool, damp weather, seeing lots of forest and greenery, and no silly o’clock starts. 

Desert Days

It has been a busy few days in the Atacama. Soon after we arrived at our hotel on Monday we were off on a tour to explore the Valle de la Luna, the stereotypical landscape one associates with the Atacama – an other-worldly scene of sand dunes, craters, and all kinds of different rock formations. The light at sunset really made the views magical. However we had to leg it back to the hotel after that for our ‘astronomical excursion’ – which we thought would be a bit of gentle star gazing, spotting the odd constellation etc. When we arrived to an old Chilean astronomer’s place, just out of town, our tour party were shown to what looked like old car seats arranged in a circle, with a couple of (what appeared to be in the dark) Heath Robinson-esque telescopes set up in the middle. With so little light pollution, the stars truly were amazing: the crescent shape of the moon inverted due to our position in the southern hemisphere, and as that disappeared under the horizon (rather than ascending, as it would during the night in the northern hemisphere), the Milky Way became clearly visible. So far, so good, except our astronomer started discussing how stars were born and died, the theory of black holes, and the potential existence or not of other life in the universe. All wonderful stuff, but not at 10.30pm, after a long day of travel and tours, that started with a 3.45am alarm. His accent (and that of the translator) were very soporific as well, which didn’t help matters. We did (amongst other things) see Saturn and its rings with the naked eye through the aforementioned telescopes, which, to be fair, was quite cool.

Finally getting to bed at midnight, we were woken by our alarms at 4.50am, in readiness for our next tour leaving at 5.30am, to get to another part of the desert: this time visiting red rock salt lakes, various lagoons (Miscanti and Miniques), both at an altitude over 4,000m, before coming back down in the afternoon to the salt flats of Atacama. Not as pristine as Uyuni, but with more photo-friendly flamingos, as it was a nature reserve. Have a look at Instagram for some of the views.

This morning was an even earlier start – 4.30am – to see the natural geysers at El Tatio, another 4,300m ascent into the mountains surrounding the desert. It was sub-zero when we arrived at 6.30am, but the early start and cold air temperature was necessary to fully appreciate the steam emanating from the various geysers, including the aptly named, Killer Geyser. At least there wasn’t a strong smell of sulphur coming from them at that time in the morning. Even by 8am, when we stopped to have breakfast, with a view back to the site, the steam was already much diminished in the rapidly warming air.

Back at the hotel late morning, we decided to skip the afternoon tour to other lagoons (I’m sure they were fabulous, but we needed a rest) and R&R have spent the afternoon having some much needed R&R. Our final excursion tomorrow is to see the Rainbow Valley, so called due to its multi-coloured rock formations, which we are looking forward to, as we didn’t have time to see a similar natural phenomenon when we were in Cusco, Peru.

We’ve struggled to get a barman to come to the hotel pool for a much needed late afternoon G&T and V&T respectively, but I suppose that is all part of the R&R Big Adventure.

Santa-Meh

We weren’t expecting much, and Santa Cruz was indeed uninspiring – lots of low rise dusty buildings next to unfinished pavements, punctuated by fairly modern apartment blocks and shopping centres. It is telling I only took two photos there – one of which I thought was a very well designed and illuminated apartment block, but which turned out to be the A&E wing of a new hospital. Whilst out for a run, R stumbled across an upmarket centre not far from the hotel, so we went there hoping to find a semi-decent restaurant for dinner. By coincidence, the restaurant we thought looked nicest, and got a table at, was top of the recommended restaurant list in Santa Cruz; and was in the ‘Top 50 Restaurants in South America’ list (as signs in there later told us). The food was indeed delicious – I had a lovely ceviche, followed by a very tender steak in oyster sauce, with noodles. It was still very brightly lit though 🙄. Unfortunately I woke in the night with a stomach upset, but I think that the more likely culprit was the cheap burrito I had had at lunchtime.

Yesterday was a ‘meh’ travel day. We cleared security at Santa Cruz airport, turned a corner in a closed corridor, only to go through yet another security scanner (?). On which note, there is no rhyme or reason to airport security checks in South America: some airports want everything out the bag, others insist you keep everything in; some don’t care if you carry bottles of water in your hand luggage, others do… no wonder passengers are confused. There was also lots of form filling to do before leaving Bolivia – no I’m not carrying more than $10,000 – and buying something in duty free, I practically had to give my Mum’s bra size, the amount of personal information they required at the till.

We arrived late afternoon in Santiago and suddenly it felt like we were on a very different trip. SCL is a very large modern airport – like Heathrow, with long queues for immigration (the first we had encountered in South America) and noticeably more expensive than our previous three countries. Staying – by necessity, due to a 4am start this morning – in a very anonymous airport hotel, on a grey, cool afternoon, didn’t help the feeling of meh-ness. We had a very forgettable pizza in the hotel restaurant for dinner (I don’t know how business travellers who have to regularly stay in hotels like this do it, they suck the life out of you) and had an early night.

I felt much better this morning as we checked out to get our 6.32am flight to Calamar (SCL airport was heaving at 5am – more like a UK train terminus at rush hour). For the first hour or so of the flight I had a beautiful view over the snow-dusted Andes that stretched as far as the eye can see; it puts the 20mins or so view one sees when flying over the Alps into perspective. For the last hour it was mostly flat desert with occasional hills and mountains. Low lying mist (it is still 6 deg out there) gives a very eery feel to the landscape. Atacama here we come.

All Souls Sucre

We thought Bolivians would make a big effort for All Souls Day, but we weren’t expecting the turnout we saw for Halloween on Thursday night, as we made our way to a restaurant for dinner. It seemed that at least half of Sucre was squeezed into the main square, and the other half was gridlocked in traffic in every road leading into it. The crowds were as big as we had seen in Valencia’s main square for NYE, except this time practically every child was in costume. Unlike the U.S., where it seems any costume goes, the majority here were dressed in Halloween appropriate outfits. The cutest were the toddlers, some still in their parent’s arms, dressed as vampires, complete with mini-capes and make-up. My favourite though was another toddler in a superb Minion outfit, who due to his size, looked like he could have been a real one. It seemed to be very much geared for the children here, as most of the adults were not dressed up.

Yesterday morning we went on a tour of the Casa de la Libertad where our guide gave a fascinating insight into Bolivia’s history and independence from the Spanish. Clearly there is still no love lost with the Spanish, or Chileans, who took Bolivia’s last bit of land, that gave them access to the sea, at the end of the War of the Pacific in 1884. Lunch lasted longer than expected due to an impromptu thunderstorm (a good excuse for another glass of wine) but, when that passed, we did a tour of a convent (Sucre’s Oratory), that gave access to the roof, and great views over the city. We only got to see the exterior courtyards and passages, but got a glimpse of a very modern basketball court in their buildings. Who knew.

We then walked to the city’s cemetery (Cementerio General) which was on a list of things to see. We expected it to be busier, being All Souls Day the next day, but again, we were not expecting the crowds we saw. I can only imagine some of these people had only just got out of the previous day’s traffic jams, and then turned straight round to join yet more gridlocked streets in order to pay respect to deceased loved ones. The place was heaving, with police crowd control measures in place. It was a beautiful (and what normally would be a peaceful) setting, with large scented pine trees everywhere creating dappled shade over the many mausoleums and walls of tombs. Most of these tombs were glass fronted, and behind these were offerings (food, drink) or mementoes of the deceased. Particularly moving was the area devoted to babies and children, and seeing photos, dummies and toys behind the glass frontages. However the mood overall was uplifting rather than sombre. There were vendors, food stalls, and many small bands playing near several of the tombs, where large groups of friends and family had come to celebrate those lives. Many people had dressed appropriately – even if just a black shirt or shawl – and then there was R and me – the two 6’ gringos in shorts and t-shirts.

Leaving there, we found a rooftop bar for a sit down and rest. It had great views across the rooftops of Sucre, although their initial choice of music was questionable. Whilst enjoying a drink as the sun was going down, we really didn’t want hear a rapper telling a (offensive slang for a black person) that he wanted to (copulate) dat (offensive slang for a black person) (female dog) (offensive female genitalia slang), especially not on repeat, at high volume. They must have seen our faces, as the track list soon changed. We discovered that the hotel had a restaurant in the basement-come-crypt, and went there for dinner later. It was a great setting underground, with old stone walls, gothic paintings and furniture, and tall candelabra on the tables. The only problem (and we have found this in many restaurants in South America) was that the ambience was spoiled by bright lighting everywhere. Dimmer switches and accent lighting clearly aren’t a thing here.

It’s Saturday morning and we are now in Sucre airport, waiting for our flight to Santa Cruz de la Sierra. We are going to the commercial hub city in Bolivia, partly to see it, but mainly as that is the most convenient stop to get a direct flight to Chile tomorrow, our fourth and final country we are visiting in South America. The flight has been delayed (so far) by an hour – our first most significant delay since we started this trip over a month ago, so shouldn’t complain. Let’s see what mood the Bolivian cabin crew are in when we finally take off.

Sweet Sucre

I have previously said all the South Americans we have met so far have been super friendly – however one exception to this appears to be Bolivian Airlines crew. Having now taken three flights with them, and with one more to go, it is less ‘To Fly, To Serve’ with them, and more ‘To Sneer, To Ignore’.

It seems to be one of those (hopefully) few airlines left in the world for which if the cabin crew (and so far, from our experience, they have been 100% female) dare to get bigger than a size 10, or don’t apply the mandatory number of coats of Bordello Red lipstick and blusher each morning, they are quietly shown the door. I can only assume the critical take-outs of crew training are:

1. Try and avoid eye contact when passengers enter the aircraft, and only give a cursory ‘Buenas’ through clenched teeth if necessary.
2. Look as bored as possible during the safety demonstration, and be thankful as a land-locked country you don’t have to pull a deflated life jacket over your head, ruffling your hair.
3. Once the plane has reached cruising altitude, whip the curtain shut, and do not enter the cabin again until preparation for landing, unless someone repeatedly presses the call bell. If that happens, ensure the passenger knows the call bell should only be used in extreme emergencies.
4. On landing, enforce the ‘disembarkation by row number’ rule to the letter. If a passenger in row 6 stands up and opens the overhead locker before rows 1-5 have left, storm down the aisle (abandoning applying coat 5 of your lipstick) and firmly slam the bin door down. Berate the passenger in front of their family and friends so they never make the same mistake again.

I can only think that someone at BoA stumbled across a Pam Ann sketch on YouTube, and genuinely mistook it for a corporate training video.

Sucre has been a delight to explore today – it reminds both R and me of a European city – the colonial whitewashed walls and manicured squares reminiscent of Seville, although perhaps with a vague whiff of Paris about their drains. To be fair, Cartagena was prettier, but Sucre doesn’t have the hustlers or American tourists. The temperature has been Spring-like, and it is a relief to leave the high altitudes behind (which were both dehydrating, and giving me headaches, despite guzzling water).

After a month away from home, we both needed a haircut, so used our best pigeon Spanish to explain what we wanted to a local barbers. Our barber(ess) was great, and actually did a better job than our respective ones back home. And at half the price. However we also now both have the same haircut.

We meandered through town today, stopping off at an amazing market – the choice and quality of food beating any market at home. Ever since I arrived in South America, I have been in awe at the size of their avocados (madame). We are planning on going back tomorrow to try one of the juice stalls – you choose your fresh fruit from one of the enormous displays, to then be liquidised into a smoothie of your choice. We couldn’t do the obligatory cathedral visit – closed – but popped into another church, and got an impromptu private tour by one of the officials, including a visit to the crypt (apt, seeing actual skeletons on Halloween), and to the bell tower, which gave a great view over the city.

We returned to our hotel for a leisurely afternoon. It is in a lovely colonial building in the old town, with a beautiful central courtyard replete with fountain and bougainvillea. Our room is on the corner of a tower, on the top floor, and from here we can currently see flashes of lightning over the neighbouring hills, and can hear the distant sound of bands playing in the street. We are looking forward to experiencing how All Saints Day is celebrated tomorrow, in a devout Catholic country, whilst we are here.

‘A Vast Expanse of Nothingness’

The town of Uyuni really took off during the late 1800s when the silver mining industry expanded nearby, and boozers and brothels were needed for the miners. When that industry collapsed in the 1940s, the trains that had been brought over from the British were left to slowly decay outside of town, and became part of the tourist trail for visitors to this region. We visited it yesterday morning after our arrival, and the start of our two day tour. It looked like leftover props from a ‘Mad Max’ film. Interesting to note that the people who couldn’t wait to climb over the abandoned locomotives, and take photos, were nearly all male – and a couple of lesbians. Nearby some enterprising young artists had created a small park of iconic screen characters made of scrap metal, which was fun to see. From there we stopped off at the obligatory local handicraft shops and saw traditional salt producing techniques in action, before the highlight of the tour, which was driving onto the salt flats of Uyuni. The scale of the terrain is hard to grasp – it is a vast area covering 12,000 sq km. It can be seen from space, and is apparently used by NASA to triangulate satellite locations. The blinding white salt reflects UV so well that clouds dissipate above it. We saw this phenomenon both days – a ring of cloud that surrounded the flats in the far distance, but with no clouds directly above it. The (for all intents) infinite horizon, coupled with no buildings or vegetation on the flats, means perspective tricks can be played on the brain; our guide suggested various poses which we built on using R’s Eeyore, a toy llama and can of Pringles. Re the photos on Instagram – no alcohol was involved in the making of those shoots!

Our driver set up a picnic table and chairs so we could have lunch on the flats – miles from anyone else. A surreal experience. We then travelled on to one of the islands in the flats formed by a volcano many millennia ago. It was covered in cactii that were several metres tall and at least 300 years old. The few flowers that had appeared on many of them only bloom for a few days a year to enable pollination; we were lucky to see them. For our final part of the day’s itinerary we drove to a spot where we had a great view of the impending sunset. We were one of the first to arrive, and got a great spot. Soon though, a fleet of 4x4s could be seen getting bigger in the distance, before eventually pulling up next to us. It was like a scene from ‘Succession’, except instead of disgorging a family of scheming media moguls, it was other European tourists here to see the sunset as well. Each driver (as ours had done) duly set up a trestle table and chairs, with crudités and wine for the occupants to enjoy the occasion. The sunset was a magnificent sight, especially the last rays of light reflecting off the ring of cloud I mentioned earlier. It was only marred slightly by a car a few down from ours playing ABBA at high volume, and its guests singing and dancing along. Clearly they had started on their wine much earlier.

As we drove to our salt hotel, on the edge of the flats, we saw the clouds ahead of us come alive with lightning strikes. Fortunately the storm moved away from us. In answer to an obvious question as to how a building can be built of salt bricks without dissolving with the first rains – the bricks include layers of sediment as well as salt, and the foundations are made of traditional stone to stop any water creeping up during the rains (which only last a few weeks in December / January). Even the base of our bed and side tables were made from salt bricks.

Today the tour continued with a visit to a dormant volcano by the edge of the flats, an hour’s drive from the hotel. We then went on a walk along the mossy plains at the base of the volcano, the salt flats beyond appearing like a sea shore to this land. Hundreds of llamas were grazing on this land, we walked for over an hour along the ‘shore’ spotting these, and the flocks of flamingos feeding off the algae and small insects in the shallow waters. We caught sight of two llamas attempting to mate, before a third, and then a fourth joined in. You don’t see that on teatime Attenborough.

After another picnic lunch by the flats, we decided to skip the last part of the tour (a salt monument…) and headed back – another hour across the flats – to our next hotel in Uyuni. A walk into town this afternoon confirmed this is a one horse town – lots of dusty streets and unfinished houses (apparently no tax is paid on your house if it is a building site). We saw a street market which had stall after stall selling the same industrial size bags of corn snacks, and flower stalls getting bouquets ready for the Day of The Dead. A pick up truck pulled over and lots of traditionally dressed Bolivian women gathered round, jostling to buy the best fresh legs of llama being sold off the back of it.

I didn’t try guinea pig in Peru, but we thought we should at least try llama here. We walked into town to a recommended restaurant and had a traditional dish of llama and vegetables (like chewy beef, if you are wondering). I won’t be seeking it out in London. We walked through a mini dust storm on the way back, as the wind was whipping up the dust that lay on every street. Our next stop tomorrow is Sucre, the official capital of Bolivia according to Bolivians. It is a historical city famous for its whitewashed buildings – and hopefully a lot less dusty than here.

Surprising La Paz

In the taxi from the airport to our hotel yesterday afternoon we passed through some pretty depressing areas (which turned out to be El Alto, a separate, but adjacent city to La Paz) and wondered why we had booked to spend time here. The area around our hotel though is very different – with shops, restaurants and embassies all close by. After a (relatively) good night’s sleep, we felt in much better shape today to explore. We weren’t expecting much, especially being a Sunday, but were thankfully proven wrong.

We started the day by getting a birds eye view of the city from the many cable cars that criss-cross the city. An amazingly efficient system that was introduced in 2014 (we had seen this on a much smaller scale in Colombia) for a city built on, and surrounded by, large hills. The cable cars arrive every 20s or so, and the connections between lines (handily colour-coded) is swift. And at 20p per ride, an amazingly cheap way to see the city. If only the Tube were like this. We stopped at a Sunday market that seemed to stretch for miles in each direction – selling everything from dismantled car parts to every over-size bra size you could imagine. We bought a very unconvincing fake ‘Under Armour’ bag to replace the old one carrying our hiking gear that had fallen to bits. I wanted to haggle with the seller to reduce it from the ridiculous c. £8 asking price, but R wouldn’t let me do that to the 70yr old lady whose stall it was.

Once we reached the centre of La Paz it seemed every street was alive with activity – more Sunday markets, bands playing, a couple of sound stages with a rock band on one (and an open air mosh pit) and traditional Bolivian band on another. As we turned a street corner, a huge procession was coming down the street with what looked like the equivalent of Bolivian freemasons in suits and regalia, but singing, banging drums and twirling rattles to a brass band following them. Most of them were carrying cans of beer as well, so they probably were half cut to be fair. Behind them were more men in pastel suits singing, and women in traditional Bolivian dress. We passed several flower shops – many of them selling bouquets of red roses with a sunflower stuck randomly in the middle: I am hoping this was just a nod to the colours of their national flag (red, yellow and green).

We splashed the cash on another 20p cable car ride back to the hotel, to find our room covered in rose petals (floor and bed), a bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of bubbles (Bolivian demi-sec, don’t ask) on ice. Aside from celebrating eighteen wonderful years with Robert of course, I had paid an extra tenner to get an upgraded room and sparkling wine in their ‘romance weekend’ package, but wasn’t expecting them to go to this length. All the staff here (like everywhere else) have been super friendly.

An early-ish night tonight as we are up very early (again) tomorrow for a flight to Uyuni – and a two day tour of the famous Bolivian salt flats. I am really looking forward to seeing some stunning scenery, but instead of spending the two nights in a campsite, staying in hotels made of salt…

The Inca Trail

So after three and a half days hiking, often for seven hours at a time, with just a handful of ten minute breaks, we made it to Machu Pichu. It was an amazing experience – every day there were new and amazing views for which photos do not do justice. The scale and beauty of the scenery around us and the various types of terrain we walked through will stay with us forever. Machu Pichu itself, of course, was incredible in its own right, and is not one of the Seven Wonders Of The World for nothing, but for me, the actual journey getting there, and what we saw en-route, was a major part of the experience.

We were fortunately in a small group (eight of us, all Brits, no egos, all got on well) and similar abilities – which meant we all walked at the same pace and weren’t being held up by stragglers, which apparently is quite common for the larger groups. Our team name was the Speedy Colibris (hummingbirds, native to the region – some of whom were feeding on flowers directly in front of our tents in our last campsite 😊).

We were all thankful we weren’t in the group consisting of several Australian women who didn’t seem to stop talking whenever we saw them (no, we don’t want to hear about your relationship crises at 5am), or the one with the American guy who had to check (loudly) that he had outperformed the rest of his group at every check point, and who made Tarzan cries at the entrance to each new valley.

We were accompanied by a local and indigenous guide, Javi, who was very knowledgeable – not just for the journey, but also to explain Machu Pichu itself. He was also a running fanatic – entering 60K (!) races – to the extent that after many hours a day hiking with us, would then go off for a run up the mountains whilst we were recovering, often following the same steep ascents and declines we had taken earlier in the day.

Each day would start early (c. 5am wake up call, consisting of a cup of hand delivered coca tea at our tent) setting off walking soon after 6am. Most days we finished  by around 2pm, except on the last day, which was the most tiring. A combination of little sleep for three days, sore legs, and a very early (3.45am) start for the final push to Machu Pichu, meant R and I were both exhausted yesterday evening by the time we got back to Cusco. Every day was also different: the second day was a hard going, uphill trek to Dead Woman’s Pass (so called as the rock formation resembles the profile of a woman), especially as we were reaching altitudes of 4,230m (far higher than Cusco) in addition to the time hiking. However the reward when we got to the summit there was immense, made the more moving by a traditional Inca ceremony that Javi performed, followed by our group having our own individual silent moments of reflection as well. This was in stark contrast to the Australians who whooped each team member (very loudly) as they reached the summit.

We all continued to be amazed at how hard the porters worked, who accompanied each group (there were several groups hiking the Inca Trail at any one time, with their own team of porters accompanying them). Each day the campsite would be dismantled by them, packed up, and carried to the next site. This included all the tents, food, cooking utensils etc. that were needed over the four days. We would see different porters representing different tour companies on the trail (the poor guys in the yellow branded gear were referred to as the Minions by the others), overtaking us whilst still carrying 20kg+ of equipment on their backs. They often would run rather than walk the trail on some very steep paths. ‘Porter behind’ would be the cry to alert everyone to move to one side to let them pass, as they needed to get to the next site in plenty of time to set it up before their respective group arrived.

This was my first camping experience (yes, after 54 years) and to be honest I won’t be rushing back. Aside from having to sleep in a tent barely big enough for two grown men to lie down in (apparently it was a three person / Oompa Loompa tent), there is no getting away from the fact that camping on hard ground (no fancy mattresses due to weight restrictions), less than basic toilet facilities, and often rain arriving at the end of the day, just when you wanted to dry sweaty or damp stuff out, was tiring (in every sense of the word). The highlight (?) of the basic facilities was when we went to brush our teeth at 4.15 on the last morning, in pitch black, during a thunderstorm, and found someone (potentially from one of the eighteen groups who shared the same campsite, either tourist or porter) had left a few stools in one of the (low) sinks. Yes, the hole-in-the-ground toilets were disgusting, but really…? What a wake-up call that was.

Last night we were all drained by the time we got back to Cusco, but our group made the effort for one final reunion meal to say our goodbyes, before going our separate ways. After all the early starts, we were now essentially jet lagged, and despite wanting a good night’s sleep, still woke very early this morning.  Fortunately our flight to La Paz in Bolivia, our next stop in South America, was uneventful. Our hotel room on the 12^th floor has a fabulous view towards the mountains surrounding the capital, including the snow capped peak of Illimani, the ‘guardian mountain’ of the city. Seeing it brings back fond memories of our hike, which already seems a long time ago now.

Machu Pichu Prep

Our second day in Lima was spent very pleasantly exploring Miraflores, an upmarket neighbourhood by the sea – with perfectly manicured green spaces, jogging and cycling tracks atop the impressive cliffs that tower above the sea, and even a shopping centre that clings onto one of the cliff faces, with probably the best views (directly overlooking the Pacific) of any shopping centre in the world. A statue of Paddington was sited between this and the British Embassy in Lima, just over the road. We came back here for a Sunday morning stroll and coffee before our flight to Cusco. There was a gathering for dog enthusiasts on one of the greens – or rather dog lovers who loved to dress up their dogs – with stalls selling everything from mini Starbucks (or rather Starbarks) aprons for the pets, to bow-tied mini suits, and even dog halloween outfits. Their owners looked really pleased with themselves.

Our flight to Cusco was yet another on time, efficient LATAM flight: our bags again coming off less than ten minutes after we landed. If only a well established British airline could learn lessons from a South American carrier. The landing was interesting though: arriving at Cusco (which is nestled between mountains), we took a sharp left over a very large hill, before descending rapidly onto the runway; the pilot then had to break quickly (throwing everyone forward in their seatbelts) to avoid running out of tarmac. Clearly it takes some skill from the pilot – whilst we were enjoying the scenery from a high vantage point in Cusco today, we noticed a plane having to abort landing three times before eventually succeeding.

We definitely noticed the altitude difference last night – at 3,400m above sea level, even walking up a few steps put us out of breath. Fortunately we have acclimatised today, taking it easy around town, and seeing some of the impressive landmarks in Cusco. We had our Inca Trail briefing at 4pm – meeting the six other people we will be hiking with (all British, seem normal, but then let’s review that after fours days up and down mountains with them) and what is involved over the next few days. We can only pack 3kg (excluding sleeping bag and mat) for our porters to carry, and have to pack for temperatures ranging from 3 to 23 deg, and for both hot sun and rain, so some tough decisions had to be made. I did say to Robert whether Eeyore’s 350g could be better allocated for other essentials, but unsurprisingly, I was ignored. Last minute purchases for the trip were made tonight. We realised we could do with elasticated bandanas to use as sweatbands, or as face masks to deal with the mosquitos – unfortunately the only ones left in the shop had designs suitable for teenage skateboarders, so please bear that in mind if you see us wearing them in any photos.

So – the four day hike to Machu Pichu starts at 5am tomorrow, we will have no reception I assume by lunchtime, and therefore no further updates probably until we fly to La Paz on Saturday. If anything happens to us, I would like to think we make it to the News at Ten, and not just be a byline before the local weather.

Purple Miracles

I did indeed tempt fate yesterday by saying travel up until now had been uneventful. Soon after I boarded the plane to Lima, I was asked to leave the plane by one of the ground crew, as they thought I had a cigarette lighter in my checked bag. I thought this was a mistake, and Robert thought it might have been his, but I obviously obliged. I was led to the behind-the-scenes baggage area where I could see police with sniffer dogs checking all the bags before they were loaded onto the planes. Sure enough, it was R’s bag they brought out. By this time there were four police in the area where I had been asked to stand, two with dogs, one of the dogs pulling on its lead. I was trying to explain to them that we needed Robert to go through the bag and find the lighter, but the ground staff person had clearly chewed at least two wasps before her shift, and wasn’t listening. The police looked on impassively. I tried to call Robert, who wasn’t picking up (I later remembered he had run out of mobile data earlier in the day). I was trying to open the lock on the case and even though I knew the combination, it didn’t work: possibly due to a combination of the presence of the police, stern officials, and a clock in front of me which showed that my flight was due to leave in 15 minutes. If I couldn’t get the case open they would not have hesitated to off-load me. I eventually got the padlock open, but then had to think where on earth he would keep a lighter (clock in front of me still ticking). I was rummaging through all his clothes, found his packet of cigarettes (it wasn’t in there) and then suddenly thought: wash bag. There it was, inside the bag. Who knew I could be so pleased to see a purple cigarette lighter. The officials and police still looked on impassively. Lighter removed, they allowed me to get back on the plane. I raced back to the airbridge and got on board – the aircraft door shut quickly behind me. I had become that person that holds up a flight by boarding late. At least I wasn’t stranded at Cartagena airport.

This morning we decided to explore the historical centre of Lima. We happened to be there at the same time as ‘The Lord of The Miracles’ festival in Lima (apparently started after the disastrous 1655 earthquake, to save Lima from another one), and October is also Mes Morado (‘Purple Month’). As we got closer to the main square we could see fireworks going off (at 11am?), people dressed in purple, and hawkers selling all kinds of purple rosary beads and prayer cards. Buildings around the Plaza Mayor were draped in purple and white, purple and white balloons were being let off, and large purple and white floral displays were being paraded around the square. Wimbledon would be envious of this branding. In front of Lima cathedral, there were huge choirs singing, brass bands playing, religious processions, and the Archbishop of Lima (who, I am reliably informed by my accompanying theologian, is soon to be made a Cardinal) giving a sermon to the faithful who packed the square – quite a spectacle. I almost lost Robert in the throng, but due to a combination of the average Peruvian being 5′ 6″, and R wearing an orange polo shirt, quickly found him again.

We decided to get away from the crowds and stopped at a traditional restaurant that had a view of the surrounding hills, and the many multi-coloured houses that covered its slopes. I had my first Pisco sour, which was surprisingly drinkable. The presence of the egg white though couldn’t tempt R to try it as well.

Tomorrow we are heading to the Miraflores district and the coast – and hopefully a sighting of a statue of Peru’s most famous bear.