Perfect your Tan
August 21 1998
OK, stacks of stuff to tell in this new high speed travel mode. Way too much
happens for me to keep up with. But here’s a feeble attempt After 2 months in
backward but beautiful Bolivia I eventually climbed
out of the bowl of La Paz on a packed Gringo bus. After so long well off the
beaten track, I feel like a complete sheep right now. Stopping briefly at the
little lake resort of Copacabana, I changed from an
organised Bolivian bus into the hectic world of Peruvian transport. I often
wonder at just how an imaginary line in the sand between two countries can
create such vast changes in people and attitudes. Peru has gone out of its way
to annoy me so far, and I’m afraid that the 15km from Copocabana saw me leaving
a sensible and pleasant world. The reputation of Peru precedes it, but seems
well justified. nothing works in the normal sense of the word, and every waking
moment is a protracted fight not to be ripped off. Every price for every item is
simply silly, and the fact you have to haggle to buy an ice cream on the street,
a bus
ticket or a hotel room can get a little much. Still, travelling past the vast
and dazzlingly blue waters of titicaca, I was still enjoying the fact that
finally I was moving into a new country. Puno soon put pay to
that short lived pleasure, and the haggle for a room and train ticket to
cusco left me a little exhausted. Still, somehow I made it into the colonial but
overly touristy Cusco. It’s all very gringo traveller and everything, but to be
honest, I found it a bit of a dive. As quickly as possible I headed off to hike
the infamous Inca Trail. I knew from before even packing the bag that it was the
wrong time of year to be doing the hike, but only once I disembarked at the
start with 200 other people did the reality of the Tourist season strike me. So
off I shot at 6km an hour pace, leaving the masses trailing behind. I started
the 2nd day early, but the hoards were up already, and it took a 4200m pass to
separate the masses. I headed down the beautiful steep descent almost alone, and
for the first time began to enjoy the spectacular surroundings that reminded me
often of the high Berg back home. The majority of people on the trail go with
tours and do not carry
their own gear. This leads to great flocks of porters lumbering past under
silly loads, while the overweight out of shape tourists hang grimly onto their
tour guide. I shared the second nights campsite with an excellent collection of
2Canadians, 2Swedes, a Dutch couple and an Alaskan. We kept together for the
rest of the trip, laughing in disbelief at the solid line of camera and water
bottle laden hikers. The morning of third day is the best of the trail, as the
old Inca path moves gently through high mist forest, with all manner of
delectable plants, and the tourists well behind us. One passes numerous Inca
ruins on the way, with ceremonial baths and exquisite terraces. Towards mid
afternoon of day three we finally reached the sun gate, and our first view of
the Macha Piccu ruin itself. Frankly, it didn’t take my breath away, but was
pretty exotically located. We tried to sneak out the last campsite at this
vantage point, but ended up in a convenient tin shack alongside the $100 a night
hotel. The next morning was spent in the ruins, contemplating the priceless
stonework, and the value of properties until the ever-increasing masses of
stereotypical tourists forced us to abandon the hill in disillusionment. The
train trip back is one I'd rather forget, and I passed a couple of eventless and
expensive days in Cusco before a breathtaking flight to Lima. Here I awaited Rob
in the eclectic and wonderful Hostal España.
Robs first flight to Lima was cancelled, and although he managed to fight his
way onto a later flight, it meant we had an extra day in Lima, which we spent
exploring the old cathedral and some of the more attractive streets. We left on
an overnight bus to Huaraz, a dump of a town below unbelievably white mountains.
An exhausting morning saw us ready to trek the next day by the afternoon of
which we were in the mountains. Our hiking beast days have been left in an
overenthusiastic youth, and we drifted into the deep valleys with no sense of
urgency. After a brilliant campsite on the first night, we strolled up to an
even
better one for our second night. Next to a little lake, at 4600m, the
enormous and unpronounceable bulk of trumallija soared like some icy stalactite
in direct view of the tent door. (sadly I must report that
Sinead, my blessed and faithful tent, is finally showing the endless abuse,
and her zips are failing fast). It took only 30 minutes the next morning for Rob
and I to summit the 4750m pass, and climb the ridge a bit
to our new record together of 4830m (a bit higher than the berg!!!) It was
then a rambling descent into a grassy valley. We camped on a spectacular plain,
close to an aquamarine lake, and an amazing waterfall
that tumbled vertically down to a wide, smooth and perfectly flat valley
floor. The next day we drifted out, descending a toe bashing vertical kilometre,
before the endless bus rides began. First to Caraz, then
Huaraz, then Lima, then Tumbes (22hours), then through the corrupt and
wearisome border into Ecuador, and onto Machalla and finally Cuenca. Here we
crashed to a temporary and lovely halt, admiring the wonderful colonial
architecture, before heading on to humid and sleazy Guayaquil and our flight out
to Galapagos.
What to say of those wonderful islands. After we had bought the cheapest of
cheap tours, we expected hassles from day one, illiterate guides and endless
piles of rice. What we got instead was a real holiday (which I am long overdue
for) The excellent boat staff took care of everything, and all we had to do was
look at utterly tame animals, eat delicious food and tan. I’m way browner than
after the jungle, looking positively Indian. A surly and arrogant second guide
for 3 of our 8 days was the only damper on a brilliant holiday. The other people
on the boat we better than we could of hoped for, enthusiastic, energetic and
interesting. Rob and I managed to spot most of the birds around, including a
lot of those unique to the island and most of the lazy lizards too. Although you
hear much about how tame the wildlife is, its only as you weave you way around
blissfully disinterested sea lions and tread lightly to avoid iguanas, that you
realise these creatures have no clue as to the destructive nature of the human
mind. The snorkelling was rather cold, but we got to see Sting rays, white
tipped sharks and turtles as well as swimming with a playful young sea lion. Our
time seemed to fly, but every day is a sparkling memory nonetheless. We both got
here to Quito a little land sick, and after 7 nights on the cosy little boat,
felt all weird in our stable unrocking beds.
I’m in Quito at present, thinking over my options. Colombia is looking a
little dodgy at present, with a bit of governmental upheavals, so I may fly
direct to Venezuela in a week or two’s time. Then it’s more
snorkelling and trekking before I return to England, browner than a nut and
not well moneyed. Well, that’s about the last month. I think I prefer my
plodding slow travel, as it needs less summary, and is way way cheaper. Still,
I’ve enjoyed being a tourist rather than a traveller for a while. But back to
travel now !!!
