Paracas: Where sand meets sand and also water.

Paracas is a very small town with not much going on. It's a bit of a one horse town, but instead of one horse it has about a thousand dogs. I don't really understand these dogs. I always thought any dog would do pretty much any other dog or animate/inanimate object, and out would pop a mongrel looking SOB. But I've seen dalmations wandering the streets like common street-dalmations. There was even a weimaraner stalking about on a roof. Do they search around for their kin? Are some doggy gene's just displacing those of lesser doggies? I haven't seen any pugs. Are they just too short to have their way and unleash their brood-horde on the hobo-dog world? I don't know.

We didn't really do much, I ate ceviche (which everyone always goes on about everywhere). It was good, like raw fish in lemon juice. Yum.

We also went out to the desert bit they call a reserve. I don't know who it's reserved for or what they're going to do with it when they squeekily pull up their chair and make their order. Who takes these reservations? There really wasn't much out there, saw two dead sea-lions on a beach. I pointed at them as if they were alive and made Bec look. It was funny to me. We also saw some sea-otters, which Bec took some beautiful shots of. It's the blob that isn't that other blob.

Then we stopped to eat lunch. We don't like to conform so we just ate our shitty sandwiches instead while others ate at the tourist-trap restaurants. Then we also went into one of the toursist-trap restaurants and shared a beer. We were shaken by our accidental stumbling onto what we'd thought might have been an ancient Indian burial ground, but was in fact just where all the local fisherman shat after a hard day's work. It was weird.

Next day we went out to the islands to look at the birds and inevitable birdshit. There was heaps of it, I can see why they mined it. I wouldn't want it sitting around in the hot sun near my house either. Lots of boobys, some penguins doing their little dance down the rocks, some cormorants, generic sea-birds +. Also saw some sea-lions. They looked like their breath smelled. The guide said all the ones we were seeing lying about on the rocks were the women, because the men were out working. Can't change some things I guess.

Bec had a bowl of tomatoes with lime juice and salt, plus a bun with tomatoes on it (and salt) for dinner. Pig. I had half a bottle of that milky-yoghurt type yoghurt. They love it here, and I admire their enthusiasm, but I don't think anyone ever told them that they only contain the good bacteria if you keep them below like 4 degrees centigrade.

Regards,

Chris.

Post-script:


During the evening of our final day in Paracas, the neighbours threw a party in honour of the local mayor's b'day. They partied like they'd finally caught speedy Gonzalez red handed with a piece of Swiss-cheese betwixt his incisors. Good for them.

Regards,

Chris.

Laguna 69 - The hike that nearly killed me

So we all know that altitude affects people in different ways. For some people they get a mild headache and a shortness of breath and for others it can be a lot more severe and icky. One of the people we met had a horrific vomiting experience at the base of a glacier due to the effects of altitude and had the terrible luck of having to sit through a 3-hour bus ride along one of the bumpiest and windiest roads you could have the misfortune to journey across in that state.

So obviously some of the effects of altitude are none-too-pretty, but we were lucky enough to escape it's ill effects, for the most part.

Where the affects of altitude really separate the boys from the men is when you're attempting to climb a mountain or two. Going along the flat you feel right as rain and may even go as far as to laugh in the face of altitude.

However, as soon as that lovely flat path is disturbed by even the slightest incline, forgeddaboudit. It's as if the thin air has suddenly turned into thick custard and you're struggling to put one foot in front of the other. And to heck with trying to lift your foot more than 6 inches off the ground because it is now made of lead.

Which is precisely how we felt on our Laguna 69 hike. We set out early at 6:30 (yes, sounds quite yuck but considering we'd been waking up around 5:30 anyway this wasn't really an issue) and hopped on a small van with two couples and a lone ranger. Feeling slightly inadequate at first seeing that others had packed helmets and full-on climbing gear we wondered what the heck we'd gotten ourselves into. Especially since we really knew nothing about the hike and had only signed up on a whim when another couple in our hostel mentioned they needed more people for their group to head out.

We quickly realised, however, that this gear belonged to only one of the couples who were heading out on a 4-day-hike to Pisco and that we required no special skills nor equipment to complete our expedition. Thankfully, as we were lacking in both.

The beginning of the hike was deceptively easy, across a flat plain dotted here and there with colourful tents set up by hikers on more intense routes and then passed these little stone huts.

Before the real work could begin, however, we had to navigate our own way to the beginning of the trail using a little hand-drawn map with instructions on the reverse. We had been told that the path was perfectly easy to find and that there was no way we could miss it, yet our band of 5 managed to get waylaid for a good 15 minutes or so looking in the very wrong direction before we found our way.

Making it to this little lake was our first goal. And it was definitely hard-won. By this time we were almost halfway on a 3 hour-ish hike and were hanging out in the middle of the pack as our younger and fitter compatriots powered on ahead and Lone Ranger Dan stayed a little behind.

The perfect place for a breather, we stopped and rested our weary feet. The terrible thing about resting during a hike at altitude is that you quickly forget what a struggle it is to do no more than amble along, and you jump up raring and ready to go (if you haven't been knocked back down by a severe case of the dizzies as a result of being too enthusiastic) and set off at a fair pace. But before you've gone 5 steps you're straight back in the custard pool and every step is once again a battle. Said without a hint of exaggeration.

It was at this point, crossing the little stream, that we once again got a little confused. The map wasn't all that much help as all it showed was zig-zagging up a mountain, but we were faced with two mountainous possibilities with two groups simultaneously climbing each. The closer one looked quite precarious and really bloody hard so I had my fingers crossed it wasn't that one.

Luckily a friendly local happened upon us at that time and must have seen us looking quite forlorn so he stopped to help us and began talking at me in rapid-fire Spanish, from which I was able to gather that we had to head to the left up the least daunting looking climb, zig-zag for another 45mins (my legs almost gave way as he said this), then head along a flat for 10 minutes (Hallelujah!) and then we'd be at our final destination.

Fighting off nausea and every muscle in my legs screaming at me not too, we headed up our final climb. Which hurt. A lot. And saw a 70-something-year-old man over-take us with barely a laboured breath. This, needless to say, is very disheartening. With every person who passed us on our way back down the mountain we would hope for positive details of how much further we had to go. I almost cried when someone said we still had about half an hour when I felt as though I had already been trudging along for that amount of time.

Cajooling Chris along just 200 meters out, all the miserableness was worth it when Laguna 69 finally came into view. Overshadowed by an incredible snow-covered mountain, Laguna 69 is a brilliant turquoise blue and set in the most incredible location and I really couldn't have hoped for a more idyllic setting for the end of the hike. And, importantly, reaching the end meant that I finally had a chance to stuff my face with my lunch and just rest.

It was such a relief to be able to sit and soak it all in knowing that I didn't have to get up in a minute and continue trudging up a mountain I had began to resent. I couldn't really think of a better location to have lunch and catch your breath and it was hard to tear yourself away.

Our merry band of travellers smiling triumphantly. Hidden behind my smile is the dreadful realisation that climbing up to Laguna 69 was only half the battle and that I had a two-hour walk back down the mountain. Which I managed to accomplish with legs shaking like jelly. Only then to have a near death experience (yes, a slight exaggeration) when our van was clipped and rocked by a speeding Toyota Hilux when our weary selves were being dropped off at our hostel. A very dramatic end to the day!



Post-script:

A couple of days after this we were watching a Spanish-dubbed version of Kramer vs Kramer on a bus. This hike was nearly as good.

Regards,

Chris.

Always bring a map

A good one. A fairly detailed one. Preferably one that isn't a mish-mash of two different maps and thus drawn at a strange scale. And one that at the very least has the places of interest in the correct spot. Unlike the following hand-drawn map by yours truly.

This hastily drawn map shows food place of interest, Point 1, several blocks away and in an entirely different direction than where it is physically located. This little gem of a map had us wandering around the streets of Huaraz, dazed and confused from hunger, looking for a place we were never going to find because in my haste to get out the door and get fed I had neglected to put it in the correct place. A small but significant error.

It is also a mistake to rely on simply a list of restaurants with street names in order to find a place to rest your feet and fill your tum. Even if you've been thoughtful enough to include street numbers on some this is still an inefficient method if you are not entirely familiar with the town you're in and where the heck these streets actually are.

This sort of behaviour will result in you eating 3 slices of cold potato smothered in Huancaina sauce with a quarter of a hard-boiled egg and a sad olive on top. Yes, Papa a la Huancaina is delicious. No, this is not a sufficient amount of food for lunch. You will then be forced to scavenge fries and boiled rice off your significant other's plate because there is nothing else on the menu you can eat.

So next time when you're considering leaving the guidebook at home because it's weighty and hurts to carry it, don't. It's maps are always better than yours.


Post-script:

Highlight: Saw a dog wheel-barrowing a slightly smaller dog around with it's hee-haw in a moment of doggy lust. It wasn't very dignified.

Lima: The City of Kings

Or so it may be sold to you as. A more apt description may be the City of Eternal Haze owing to the oppressive grey skyline that is an almost constant feature of this vast city. You can easily forget what a clear blue sky looks like if you spend too long here (unless, of course, you're lucky to be visiting in the small 2-month window over Summer when the fog lifts and Mr. Sun is able to poke his cheerful head through).

Blame the Humboldt Current.

Perhaps that is a little unfair. It is certainly not Lima's fault that it happens to be in a very unfortunate geographic position that sees it turned to grey for most of the year. Or that it rarely rains at all and so everything in the city, including people if you stand still for a little too long, become covered in a fine brown dust. And it may be true that the severe beating we took from the traveler's enemy, Jet Lag, could have clouded our judgement of the city (no pun intended). And we were actually lucky enough to experience a few glorious hours of partial sunshine while we were there, so it wasn't all bad.

However the truth remains: Lima is a very grey city. Which the council seems to be attempting to make up for with the proliferation of gardens that are to be planted on any free patch of dirt. It does make me wonder though, for one of the world's driest cities, where are they getting all the water from?

A bright(er) part of our stay in Lima was living in Miraflores for a couple of days and having a wander around and checking out the nice parks and walks along the ocean, and occasionally getting slightly lost. It was super safe and easy to get around and definitely one of the more attractive areas of the city. The guards on segways were a nice touch.

Also, if you're that way inclined, you can head down onto El Parque del Armor and get your love on like these two here.

We also managed to make our way without too much hassle to the Huaca Pucllana ruins in the middle of Miraflores. An ancient pyramid in the middle of an upmarket suburb of a capital city sounds pretty intriguing, doesn't it? And it was. Well, at least I thought so, especially when you were standing on top and you could imagine it a very imposing structure in its hey-day when there were no other large buildings around. And it's hard not to appreciate all the work that went into it, making all those damn little mudbricks.

We also navigated our way (badly) into the city via the new Metro bus system which probably shouldn't have confused us as much as it did. When we finally managed to make it to the Plaza de Armas after a bewildered detour downtown where we blindly wandered about with no more direction than 'Those buildings look old...maybe it's over there?' we had to take refuge in a cathedral and scour our guidebook trying to figure out where on Earth we were actually meant to go to look at old bones and get some food. The second part of which was made a lot harder since the place we were looking for didn't seem to exist anymore and menus everywhere else were heavy on the 'ol meat. But we managed not to strangle each other, I found a vegetarian restaurant (practically like finding the Holy Grail over here!) and we stumbled home. After waiting on a platform for a time a bus that was never to come.

Post-script:

Lima is like every single piece of Parramatta Road rolled into a smoggy ball.

Regards,

Chris.