Wandermusings

The closest mass of land to this Chilean territory of Easter island is 4hrs by plane away and you can only catch one of 3 flights a week to get here… but here on Isla de Pascua, at "La Taverne Du Pecheur"  Pesquet Gilles who speaks three languages prepared for me the best mashed potatoes I have ever had, dethroning my mom’s recipe.  (This does not include the cheesy pototo recipe) 

I don’t know what was in them, but when the lady next to ordered the same meal as me and started salting the potatoes, without tasting them mind you. I almost smacked the salt shaker from her hand and then her, just because I couldn’t find the entry for salting amazing food unnecessarily in Hammurabi’s code. 

Oh and the 2 inch thick tuna fillet lightly seared was good too.

I love renting a bike to tour a new area.  You can see more, faster but should you decide to do so on a remote volcanic island, remember to inquire first of the steepness of volcanoes.

The conditions of the roads and paths, for they may not be tarred on the way to your favorite destination,

and wear heaps of sunscreen.

But should you make the mistake of not heading my advice, that I myself didn’t follow, at least bring plenty of water, and film and hopefully you’ll make it home by dark, sweaty, dirty and only a little sun burnt.

We’re 3 hrs from Machu Picchu, full bottle of water, half a pack of clothes, its dark and I’m wearing sunglasses… Hit it!

And as we tear off down the trail.  As weary as everyone seemed the days before they walked with a purpose this morning. Norma headed up our group and is tearing down the trail in the pouring rain, im hot on her heels trying to step where she steps and avoid the slick rocks. Somewhere not too far behind me I hear Steve mumble something about a mole digging in a hole… U2’s elevation chosen at an appropriate moment by his iPod. No iPod for my ears I am powered by lingering thoughts of upbeat U2 songs, although the rain and 10 kilo pack prevented any cartwheels. Finally we come to these steep steps 10+ inches high, and maybe 4 or 5 inches wide… They require me to use my hands to keep my wait forward and balance the pack. As I crawl up the steps, Norma turns briefly to explain that unbelievably, pack mules used to make their way up these same steps. Stories aside, we are now walking the original Inca trail, and the steps reek of the home stretch… this must be it… the sun gate is at the top of this climb.. Yes… I think I can even make out the neon sign flashing to cue the applause and oohs and ahhs…

Huh, nope just more trees and another 20 minutes of hiking before we reached the anticlimactic gathering of people at the sun gate. That morning it seemed the name of this check point seemed rather inappropriate because the sun was nowhere to be found. Instead of reveling the sun drenched ruins of Machu Picchu we saw a stone city packed in cotton ready to be boxed up and shipped to Japan. We did press on, shuffling our feet along the wet, stone trail. Every now and again the clouds would even part and let us have a glimpse of the city. We reached the city just after 9:30 I reckon, with the guys having taken turns piggy backing an Austrian kid whose bum knee had finally given up just after the sun gate.

The next few hours we toured the city climbing its stone steps, and enjoying our piece of history through intermittent rain and llama sightings. Finally just after noon, we gave in to the rain and caught a steamed window bus to town where we would eat lunch, dry our clothes on the stone oven and wait for our evening train and bus back into Cusco and hostel Loki.

Side note: At about 3:30pm the sun came out in full force parting the clouds and ending the rain for the day… yes I’m still bitter.

Two days down we roll into, or walk I guess, the last and most disappointing campsite of the trek… Well, I suppose elaborate is more descriptive.  Beautiful views as normal, but this camp had a lodge, showers and more surprisingly a bar where you could purchase copias amounts of your favorite alcoholic beverage to consume before rising at 4am for the final day of trekking.  Although the porters put together an amazing meal, the ambiance was lacking because instead of the twelve of us huddling around a 2.5 foot square table in a tent we were spread out over 3 big plastic tables in the lodge with everyone else on the trail that day.

See, you know how to take the reservation, you just don’t know how to *hold* the reservation and that’s really the most important part of the reservation, the holding. Anybody can just take them.

Well, after the booking problems with the Inca trail we woke up prepared to give our  bags to "hop chicken" to take ahead for us to  catch up when we did the first tow days of the 4 day trek in one day.. What hop tells us is that we will no longer be picked up at 6am the following morning, and rather it would be 8pm that night to camp at the trail head.  It’s about this time where Steve and I look to each other and start to wonder about our already seemingly shady trek.

But that night as promised our guide, Norma, showed up to take us to the bus.  Mind you there has been no explanation of our change in plans as of yet.  We arrive to pile on the bus with about 7 other backpackers and as many porters.  The confusing bit, Steve and I thought we were doing the trek alone, with only our guide.

After we all piled in the van started up and went to make its first turn, well try to make its first turn down the narrow street which turned out to be too tight.  After a dozen or so attempts, we throw it in reverse to try another corner.  The same insanity continues and after negotiating 6 points of our 10 point turn, someone yells for the porters to de-board the bus, (for the first time), so we can drive on the curb around the corner to get us onto a major street.

After an hour or so through dark streets and deserted towns we pull onto a river front gravel road barely big enough for one car.  We continued down this ditch littered riverside road, pausing to de-board and board porters at particularly rough spots.  However this tiny road did prove to be large enough for our bus as well as another full size bus seen below bearing down on us.

Every so often I exchanged confused and concerned glances at our other hikers and
listened to the not so soothing sound of steve snoring away, pondering
if this was the "normal" route to the trail head. 

We finally got to camp around midnight to catch a few hours of sleep before waking up to start the trail at 5 am.   It was tough to tell the night before but not a bad view to wake up to.

Did everything look like a puma to the Incas?

So the word on the streets is that the lake and the whole area around it were named titikaka because of the Puma (titi) shaped rock (kaka) on Isla del Sol in the middle of the lake…

Maybe it was the beautiful views, or the people

Or perhaps the 2.5 hr hike to get there, including the Inca steps…

whatever you suggest, I’m just having a tough time with this one, maybe the trick is to put your eyes out of focus or look through the rock?  Let me know if you can see it.

Two Copacabana’s down, no girl with yellow flowers in her hair.  But a nice sunset over lake titikaka from the Bolivian side.

Not very often I fly into an airport an have them roll out the red carpet, literally… justified i suppose but the brass band was over the top and lining the airport with armed military personnel is just unnervinging… Ok so the reception was for the Uruguay president who road in the first class cabin with us on the Lan Chile flight 960 or as we like to call it, air force uno.  Didn’t get to meet him because we were forced to exit the aircraft out the rear but I still contend that that bum nicked my iPod as i passed by during boarding…

Note to self: when someone asks you to tango you say yes!!

It’s weds night, I’m 3 lessons into my week o tango and Steve and I head to a tango social or milonga.  We enter and are seated.  Unlike swing dancing you are given a seat when you arrive if you haven’t already pre-booked, which is the norm.  Anyway, we survey the room just watching, and not planning to dance really.  And then out of the blue, cute girl comes and asks me for a dance.  I and my sandal clad hooves gracefully declined.  After all, I didn’t have proper shoes on… yes that it, no shoes on.

Later that evening I did put shoes on, hoping that somehow put on shoes would make me feel like a tango dancer.  It didn’t, but it apparently made me look like one.  After a few complements on the shoes and a scolding for turning the cute girl in blue down, one of the older women at the table suggested my 3 lessons were plenty and asked for a dance.  To avoid another scolding I obliged and successfully kept my feet off her toes for two whole songs.  It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t musical, but by god I danced tango in Buenos Aires.

Here’s a photo of me and my tango instructor…

Ok, so maybe he’s a bit preachy every now and again but that Jesus is a great guy.  Your average mountain man, he enjoys beautiful views and being at one with nature, partying in Rio, and he’s quite the storyteller.  Unfortunately we didn’t get a chance to go bowling.  But all and all a real mans man.  But honestly he’s a lot taller than he looks on TV.