Twenty years ago, I was in my second year of high school Spanish. I was pretty good; I had that Ricardo Montalban accent going on, I could deftly conjugate and use irregular forms of verbs with wanton abandon. As the years ticked by, I found few uses for my newly learned language. The hot Puerto Rican girlfriend I envisioned never entered my life, and most of my vocabulary faded away like the color of a favorite t-shirt or the panoply of Sumerian gods.

Meanwhile (present day)…

Through the strategic acquisition of credit cards, random domestic air travel and the skillful trading of various airline miles on points.com, I was able to accrue 35,080 frequent flyer miles with Delta Airlines. For those of you up on current events (besides Michael Jackson and Martha Stewart), you may be aware of Delta's serious financial troubles, so this is what the wise men refer to as a limited-time offer. Checking the charts, I had enough to go to either Hawaii or "Northern" South America. Although my sister had just been to Hawaii and loved it, I still hadn't seen Machu Picchu yet (or anything on the South American continent for that matter), so this was those aforementioned wise men refer to as a "no-brainer". I was going to Peru.

In a bit of luck (perhaps fate? Destiny?), The Delta Airlines representative who made my reservations had just been to Peru. She gave me the name and email address of Yony, her awesome Tourist Agent in Cuzco. (Note: Was Yony a man or woman? I couldn't tell by the name - I even google picture-searched "Yony" and got a mix of both men and women. Oh well.. all will be made known in time). Yony began putting together some great packages for me, but there was a slight problem. Based on the correspondence, I could tell Yony was taking my email, feeding it into a web-based translator (Babelfish or some like page), composing a reply in Spanish, feeding it into the same translator, and sending me the results. I am including an actual portion of our correspondence here to illustrate my concerns:

Like this You, cheer to me that even this thinking about visiting Peru and any aid that needs it does not doubt in calling to us.

atte Yony

As a daily visitor to the engrish.com website, I usually enjoy this sort of mutilation of my mother tongue. However, with time-sensitive schedules and critical must-do events, I needed to call in the big guns for this one to ensure everything was handled with the required precision: "Lisa, Help!" My sister, still relatively bilingual from her time in Spain was able to translate my emails into near-perfect Spanish. Schedules, prices and places snapped into sharp focus, and I was off.

Feb 20

A cool thing about visiting Peru from Cleveland is the zero time-zone shift. After a lifetime of looking at flat maps of the world, one imagines Peru a little left and down from California, but put that map onto a globe and South America is pulled way out into the South Atlantic. So after a 6-hour flight (due South) from Atlanta, I arrived in Lima at 11:30, and as coincidence would have it, that's what time my body thought it was.

World travel is often a test of resourcefulness, if not critical survival skills - I was fully expecting a little sign with my name on it at the Lima airport. I booked my Lima hotel based on the availability of a free airport shuttle, but whoops, looked like they forgot. I had the address, so I knew where to go, but I had no idea what the exchange rate was (or even what the Peruvian monetary unit was called), so I ended up severely overpaying for a cab ride (I knew I overpaid when Carlos, my cab driver started whooping and crying tears of joy upon our final negotiation "I'll be able to feed my family for a year," he exclaimed while trying to hug me. "Hey, both hands on the wheel, Carlos - Dos manos! Dos manos!"). My hotel seemed unconcerned over such a mix-up (yes, it appears we were supposed to pick you up, and oh yes, you certainly overpaid for your taxi). Well thanks - thanks a lot. I think I'll go up to my room and urinate in your air conditioner (but there wasn't one). Yay Lima!

Feb 21

After a stop at the well-picked-over breakfast buffet, I headed out to explore Greater Lima. Everything I read about Lima on the Internet said pretty much the same thing: Don't linger - just stay long enough to get a flight to the REAL Peru. Well, I like to form my own opinions about things, based on first-hand experience if possible. My opinion: Don't linger - just stay long enough to get a flight to the REAL Peru. Lima is overcrowded (8 million souls), dirty (what I refer to as a 2-pack city, where breathing a day is like smoking 2 packs of cigarettes - a.k.a. a "black booger" city), hot, humid and unhappy (18% unemployment!). I would also venture "unsafe" except for the few touristy spots. It was those safe spots with their constantly circulating security personnel that I would be sticking to during the Lima portion of my adventure.

I took a cab to the city center (paying the correct amount this time), amazed at the chaos that passes for normal traffic patterns. Now I've been to Cairo, so I can't be shocked anymore when it comes to traffic, but Lima easily debuts at the no. 2 position in the motor mayhem category. There must be some kind of class that cab drivers take: "How to shed your fear of death in 5 days or less" or "Driving in Lima 101 - They are all your enemy". I found myself commenting aloud as we were almost sideswiped, T-boned, or cut off every few minutes (I did this in Spanish for the benefit of my cab driver.. estupido! El burro! Pechos de la Madre!).

Arriving unscathed, I explored the various churches and government buildings of the Plaza del Armas. Meh. Not that impressive. Plus the sky was pure white (a combination of low clouds & pollution), so the lighting for photography was not going to be that great. I did manage to find the nearby Church of San Francisco, which boasted a cool labyrinth of catacombs filled with the bones of parishioners from the last few hundred years.

As noon approached, I positioned myself outside of the government palace to watch the daily changing of the guard, which featured a colorful display of synchronized goose-stepping - perfect for the discriminating tourist photographer. While snapping away, a woman introduced herself to me and asked if I would like to speak with her a bit. Frequently in my travels, I am approached by people wanting to practice their English skills. Sometimes there is an ulterior motive (usually culminating in the sharing of a long list of expensive school supplies or some like financial crisis), but sometimes people are just curious about other people who visit their country. Her name was Betty, and she was learning English to be a tourist guide. She had worked in a circus, and now did occasional street magic performances (she therefore had a live bird in her bag, which was a little surreal).

Betty and I talked while I had lunch - her English was much better than my Spanish, but I would try to throw in some Spanish (to let her know I was trying). Belly full, I inscribed my name in her book of tourists, said adios, and went back to exploring Lima.

In the Miraflores area (where my hotel was located), I found a large, modern shopping mall built into a cliff overlooking the Pacific. The bulk of the restaurants and stores were supported on massive struts over a picturesque 200+ foot drop. While I sipped Peruvian beer and enjoyed the view, I tried not to think of the massive earthquakes that tend to hit Lima every couple of decades.

OBSERVATION

Ah, the Language Barrier - Remember the Spanish language class I mentioned? 20 years later, I was left with a patchy 4th grade vocabulary and since I only retained the ability to speak only in the present tense, I'm certain I sounded like a retarded 4th grader (I go Machu Picchu! I am water!). To my credit I was able to get through most interactions (It's easier when my conversational partner has equally broken or better English skills), The trick is just to try - jump in the fire, I say! - It's also better if you can learn self-deprecating phrases to show that you KNOW you sound like an idiot.

Feb 22

My flight to Cuzco was at 6:00a.m. I remember thinking: "Okay, 6:00 - wake up at 4:30, 15 min. shower, 15 min. drive to airport, leaves me PLENTY of time to check-in - No problem!" uh.. right. I don't know what half of Lima is doing at 5 a.m., but the traffic to get in the airport was insane. It was probably related to the airport vehicle security personnel (they were checking every car.. "Aha! Another brown person!"), then the obligatory wait in the TACA Airlines check-in queue.. After all that, I had 20 minutes to catch my flight. No Problem! er.. Problem. There is a departure tax in all Peruvian airports (who knew?). So now I have to wait in a horrendous line to buy a little $5 stamp for my boarding pass. Every time I heard my flight announced over the PA, I nervously shifted my weight to my other leg (much shifting ensued). I made it to the gate at 5:56. There were a few other survivors of the Lima Airport Gauntlet with me, so I felt a little better knowing that there were other humans with similar planning deficiencies.

Apparently the Airport Gods were pretty pleased with my ability to keep cool under pressure and my morning tribulation was rewarded with an unexpected bump to business class (but showing they always have a sense of humor, they put me next to a young lady with the plague. For the next hour, I endured sniffling, sneezing and her arterial spurting of mucous all over the comfortable leather seats).

I arrived in Cuzco to the repeated calling of my own name. It was Yony! And Yony was a woman! I was delighted to finally meet the person behind the cryptic emails (and her friendly apprentice Carlos). They quickly whisked me away to my hotel, where I stashed the bulk of my stuff, taking enough for an overnight trip into the Sacred Valley. I then got on a mini-van with a Peruvian guide, Romallo, and a pair of Australian couples who were apparently all going to be my companions for the next couple of days (A slight deviation from the established plan of a solo trek). The Aussies seemed to be about my age (perhaps a little younger), smart, well traveled (several weeks into some kind of world-tour) with a good collective sense of humor. I'm not a fan of tour groups of ANY size, but after the first few minutes with my new companions, I was pleasantly optimistic about the next couple of days.

Peru's "Sacred Valley" is unbelievable. It's a winding, well-maintained road through the Andes, punctuated with fabulous views, small villages and Incan ruins. Our first stop was a nice roadside animal farm. There, we could photograph, feed, chase and otherwise torment llamas and alpacas (for free! ..but please stop in our overpriced gift shop on your way out). They seemed to be pleasant animals - no sign of the infamous spitting behaviors I had heard about (Perhaps they had the salivary glands removed, like you would do with a scent-gland for a pet skunk..)

Our next stop was Pisaq, where we got to explore some fantastic 15th century ruins, perched precariously on a mountainside. This sort of exploration is not for the acrophobic (which was a big bummer for Leah, the one of our group who was quite acrophobic and had some difficult moments). To illustrate, here's a picture of me next to a 500 foot drop . During the hike down the mountain, we caught some summer rain. There's a slight problem with rain - it wasn't that my camera would get wet, for I had a light jacket to shield it - no, the problem was the hewn rock stairways abutting a plummet to certain death. They were fast becoming slippery hewn rock stairways abutting a plummet to certain death. Oh well, all part of the fun, I say. I may not exactly laugh in the face of death, but I have been known to snicker a bit when his back is turned.

The good people of Pisaq have strategically placed their tourist market at the end of the mountain trail (a coincidence? I think not). Romallo, our guide and official tour timekeeper said that we could spend 15 minutes in the market before meeting back at the van. I bought a most excellent jungle explorer hat - It looked like a cross between Indiana Jones and Crocodile Dundee - perfect for keeping future sun and rain off my head (also perfect for looking like a dorky tourist..).

Back at the van, Leah, Nathan and I were sharing our Peruvian treasures with each other as the 25-minute mark rolled around. The other Australian couple (Anthony and Carly) were nowhere to be found. There are many reasons this is a problem. Selfish ones aside, there was a real time table involved, including the catching of a train to Machu Picchu. Romallo and Nathan went back into the market to look for them, making the whole situation into a bad horror movie plot (Yaquruna, the Peruvian Market demon picked off the whole van of tourists, one at a time as they went back to look for their missing comrades..). At the 55-minute point, everyone was finally back at the van. An Australian-rules shouting match ensued (many f-bombs from down-under were tossed). Best I can tell, Carly thought it was her right to be 40 minutes late because they got off to a late start that morning (apparently because of me and my irresponsible "being on a plane", which almost brought me into the fray, but a nervous look from Leah kept me quiet). While our bus rocketed off to our next destination in an attempt to make up for lost time, I quietly added this event to the list of "reasons I like to travel by myself."

I was very relieved to find that our train departure was not in jeopardy from this unscheduled delay, though the time at our next stop would probably suffer. Ollantaytambo was another city of the Incas, complete with ruins and beautiful mountainous views. It was from here that we would catch our train to Agua Calientes (The town at the base of the mountain where Machu Picchu resides).

The train trip was incredible. The tracks wound their way through a picturesque Andean valley alongside the most powerful river I have ever seen. As an occasional white-water rafter, I have become familiar with "class 5" rapids, where the rating implies a real danger to human life. Well, for the entire duration of the train trip, the river approximated a rating of "class 39." I found myself mentally projecting a poor kayaker into the river and watched as he got mercilessly pummeled and smashed up against rocks.

The town of Agua Calientes has become quite the thriving tourist trap. It's pretty much a collection of hotels and restaurants clustered around a central tourist market. My hotel was small but nice; A comfortable place to read & sleep, which is really all I ever need when I travel. I spent the rest of the day in the market, finding gifts for all the unfortunate friends and family back in the cold North American winter.

Feb 23

It's Machu Picchu day! I was up at 5:20 for some breakfast before meeting Romallo and the Aussies (I couldn't tell if they were speaking to each other yet). We got the very first (6:00) bus up the mountain. I sat in the front seat next to the driver and got an unexpected thrill; Every time we turned on one of the narrow switchbacks, I was thrust out slightly over the edge of the cliff. I got to ponder such things as "Hmm.. I wonder if those little trees are strong enough to stop this bus if it slipped" or "I wonder if the bus would stop on the previous switchback or keep rolling down the hill" Sometimes, I'm a sick, morbid man.

From previous travels, there have really only been a handful of things that, once experienced, met or surpassed all hype and expectation. Among them: The Grand Canyon, Paris from atop the Eiffel Tower and The Great Barrier Reef. I can now unequivocally place Machu Picchu on that list. It's not just the 500 year-old Incan ruins (which are certainly impressive), it's also the place those Incans decided to build a town..

(500 years ago..)

Hwayano: <pant> <huff> Well Tazco, we made it.

Tazco: <pant> <barf> <pant> Yeah, <pant> we can see the whole valley from here.

Hwayano: And here's where we'll build our city.

Tazco: (pointing) You mean that beautiful valley down there, with the river of plentiful water?

Hwayano: No.

Tazco: (pointing again) Then you must mean that clearing over there, close to the other river. Yes, ample space for crops and dwellings.

Hwayano: No. Right here dude - top of the mountain.

Tazco: Have you been chewing the coca leaf again? We're on a mountain - Where are we going to grow our crops?

Hwayano: I was thinking right here on the cliff side.. Oh yeah, this is great.

Tazco: The lack of oxygen is making you all stupid, Hwayano, we can't put a city of a thousand people on top of a mountain.

Hwayano: <push>

Tazco: Aaaaaaaaaaahhh! <tumble> <tumble>

Good ol' Hwayano - never let a rational man keep you from your coca-induced dreams. Machu Picchu was truly awesome. At 6:30 a.m. on a cool summer morning it was even better. The clouds from the lower valley swept up and over the ruins, producing amazing photographic opportunities ( and ). Plus there was the added benefit of the ruins being almost deserted (The tour busses from Cuzco don't arrive until around 10 a.m.). I silently thanked Yony for arranging the 2-day trip while we hiked around the ruins. Romallo was imparting wisdom and tales of the site, but what really got my attention was when he said we could climb to the top of the nearby mountain, Huayna Picchu. If you look at this picture: , there is a path that goes straight up to the top, where the ruins of another temple complex can be found. I live for this kind of stuff (and someday I may die for it), but either way, I was going to the top.

Leah, with her fear of heights, was not going to attempt the climb. She and Nathan would wait the 2 hours for the survivors to return. By this time, the morning clouds had burned off and it was a gorgeous 70° and sunny. Machu Picchu is already at 2200M, and the top of Huayna Picchu is 2900M. I don't have to tell you that it's a pretty brutal climb. The low oxygen and roughly carved "path" straight up the mountain had us stopping every few minutes to catch our breath (Romallo on the other hand, did this kind of thing every week, and was happily sprinting to the top with his 50lb. backpack in tow. I'm certain at sea-level this guy would be some kind of super-oxygenated superman).

The view from the top was staggering. Seeing Machu Picchu waaaay down there provided a real sense of accomplishment. Looking at the mountains that surrounded me, I wished for some kind of panoramic camera to record the experience, and then remembered some "stitching" software" that came with my digital rebel. With this program, I should be able to take several overlapping pictures and stitch them together to make my own panorama. I'm here to say that the program is great:

I was a little nervous about getting back down. The path (especially the thin steps of the mountaintop ruins) were tough enough during the ascent. But that's when I met Steve, a 67-year-old adventurer from California. Not only was he my instant hero for getting to the top of this mountain, but as we exchanged conversation and adventures during the descent, I found we had a lot of similar interests and adventures. We talked about scuba diving, world travels, and before I knew it, we were back at Machu Picchu. I hadn't really noticed that I just navigated the entire path without a worry. There's something to be said for engaging the mind and letting your body go on autopilot. Maybe I'll buy an ipod for the next time I climb a mountain.

Our 6 member group was reunited and we decided to go back to Agua Calientes for lunch. The Cuzco busses were arriving in droves and Machu Picchu was being transformed into a tourist nightmare. We had a nice group lunch and killed a couple of hours before catching the train back to Cuzco. It was at this time when the best laid plans (of Yony) fell apart slightly. "Our Man" in Agua Calientes accidentally went home for the day with our train tickets on his person. Romallo went into damage control mode and was able to secure our passage, but for a while we had to give up our passports (and some cash) to facilitate the process. We were justifiably concerned about dispensing our passports (and Nathan disclosed how much money they were worth on the black market), but in the end, we got the documents AND the cash back, which was nice.

Three and a half hours later we rolled into Cuzco. Yony and Carlos were there to meet us. Yony seemed horrified about the train issue, but we assured her it all worked out and her reputation as silky-smooth tour coordinator was intact. Back at my Cuzco hotel, I shared a last meal with my Australian travel mates, and had just enough stamina to pay Yony for all of my Peruvian activities before crashing. Funny how climbing a mountain makes one really, really tired at the end of the day.

Feb 24

Why bother buying a cool jungle explorer hat if you're not going to explore the jungle? Today was the start of my 2-day rainforest adventure. The omnipresent Yony drove me to the airport for a flight to Puerto Maldonado - gateway city to the Peruvian Amazon. As my plane was landing, I was amazed at how little development there was in this part of Peru - Unspoiled Amazonian forest stretched as far as I could see in all directions. I was pretty sure the mosquitoes could sense the low frequency oscillations of my jet's engines and were preparing themselves for a raid on my personal stash of O+.

It was raining when I stepped off the plane (It was a rainforest after all; There's a reason they use such descriptive meteorological nomenclature). I knew it was the end of the rainy season when I booked the trip, and fully expected some precipitation, though I really wasn't sure how much. I met my Eco-Amazonia Lodge coordinator at the airport who put me on a "bus" (a loose term for a converted cattle truck made to look like a trendy eco-friendly tourist transporter) and brought me to a "boat" to take me to my "hotel". Ha. My generous use of quotes is for effect only - It was a real boat, but we had to equally distribute the weight of my fellow eco-tourists (five travelers from England, France, Peru and the US) so we wouldn't tip over during the hour-long trip downriver.

The rain stopped as soon as I stepped on the boat (and curiously enough, stayed stopped until I got off the boat again after my two days in the forest - awesome!) The boat trip was enjoyable, a very Heart of Darkness experience (or perhaps Apocalypse Now for those of you less versed in the classics). I'm sure my own personal Kurtz was waiting for me in the form of a 7-foot-tall mosquito queen or some like adversary.

The Lodge was impressive. It looked very new, with a large reception area, a huge communal eating area, covered walkways and numerous independent bungalows, each named after a different jungle denizen (I hoped for the anaconda room, but got some kind of jungle rat instead). There was no air conditioning in the cabins, but each one had a shower, clean, comfortable beds and a dual-door airlock system to keep the bitey-things out. That was luxury enough for me.

We were welcomed with what the promotional literature referred to as a "refreshing drink" (mine had a bug in it), and then had an awesome lunch (tasty seasoned rice with chicken and fresh vegetables wrapped in a banana leaf) before being ushered on our first tour: Monkey Island.

As our longboat putted across the river, I entertained Edgar Rice Burroughs-ian visions of a Monkey Island where we would hack through dense jungle undergrowth to spy on a secret race of talking Warrior-Gorillas.. I eventually scaled back my fantasies a bit and hoped just to see some of the primates who give the island its namesake. As we disembarked, I took the no. 2 position behind our machete-swinging guide. I was stunned at the immense cloud of mosquitoes that followed him - I was certain that there was a similar cloud behind me and hoped the Australian insect repellent Nathan gave me was up to the task (it was miraculous!). After some botanical wisdom (the natives eat this for stomach parasites, etc.), our guide started shouting "Platano, Platano, Platano!" (banana, banana, banana) and whacked a tree a few times with his machete. In a few minutes we heard rustling in the canopy as various species of monkey started converging on our group.

We got close-up views of wild spider monkeys, squirrel monkeys, and a couple of different capuchin species. Well, wild may be a slight exaggeration. Although they were certainly free to frolic in the forest, I imagine they were getting used to the free banana gig (one mild-mannered capuchin female even seemed to like human contact!). I suppose I can't be too conflicted about the situation - I'm glad to have had the experience. I just loooove monkeys!

Back at the lodge, we got our assignments for the following day. Because I was staying a day less than the others, my schedule was: 7:00 wake up; 7:30 breakfast; 8:00 boat back to Puerto Maldonado. I was certain there was a better way to spend my morning and asked about a jungle trail to something called a "Lost Lagoon" (once again, conjuring Burroughs-esque images of pole-axe wielding serpent people and 100-ft. anacondas). The manager said that in order to do that, I would have to wake up at 5. I don't know what kind of pussy tourists this guy normally gets, but I assured him that was no problem - Sign me up! After dinner, we went on an evening caiman hunt along the riverbank. Although we didn't see any, the full moon and evening jungle sounds (once we cut the engine on the boat) provided another great rainforest experience.

Feb 25

My guide for the morning was Elmer (I love that the people of South & Central America have names our country stopped using around World War II). I donned some rubber jungle boots and followed Elmer into the dark forest. At this hour, the jungle was a single color of cool blue, like CNN night scope footage of the war de-jeur. It made the bellows of the Howler monkeys and the splashes of the startled caimans that much more spooky.

Elmer and I agreed upon English for the day's commentary and he was able to explain to me that the bridge was out on the primary path, so we would be taking an "alternate route" to the Lost Lagoon. Not quite as expertly manicured, our path required quite a bit of machete maintenance as we foraged along. I'm pretty sure he was as surprised as I when our path ended at what can only be described as a "vast inland lake." Apparently, it must have rained a lot before I got there. I watched as Elmer waded into the water, coming within an inch of his boot top. Satisfied with something (?), he came back, machete-ed up two walking sticks in about 10 seconds (whack whack whack - here.) and asked me to carefully follow him. I was just trying to figure out how to say "Are you out of your fucking head?" in Spanish when he explained that there was a path of submerged logs that should lead to the other side. Oh.. Kaay.. sounds like fun. Actually it was pretty exciting. The trick was not to think of the thousand dollars of camera on my (dry) back while I inched along the logs.

Back on good ol' mud, we resumed the hike to the lagoon. The jungle was starting to brighten up at this time (which made me feel better about seeing the jaguars before they jumped at my throat). Unmolested, we arrived at the "Lost Lagoon." There, we scaled the 4-story lookout, which gave us a great view of the little lake and surrounding forest. We saw toucans, parrots and macaws flying in the distance (Hey, just like the rainforests on TV!) and plenty of other interesting creatures around the lagoon. I would've been happy with the trip right there, but Elmer bailed out a nearby canoe and paddled me around the pond, providing some amazing photography of the plentiful plants and animals.

On the way back to the lodge, we decided to check out the damaged bridge to see what was wrong. Sure enough, a 10-foot plank had cracked in the middle, creating an impassible, submerged "V." Not to be deterred, Machete-Boy ran into the jungle and proceeded to chop down a nice-sized replacement bridge. Right when he was about to halve the trunk, we spotted the spare planks hidden in the nearby underbrush. After a good chuckle, we (well, he) whipped up a quick repair (not entirely stable, but workable) and we continued on to the lodge, concluding a great morning adventure.

After breakfast, it was back up the river to Puerto Maldonado. On the flight back to Cuzco, I met another solo adventurer: Michelle from California. It's always a special little thrill to meet people with similar interests in the farthest corners of the earth (and even more special when they're really cute!).

(Of course) Yony was at the airport when I touched down. She handed me off to George, the cab driver who brought me back to my hotel. George offered his services for the next day should I want to explore Cuzco (and hey, don't tell Yony, okay?). As a matter of fact I did want to explore Cuzco tomorrow, and his for-hire rate was about half of Yony's price for a day tour. I told him to meet me at 8 a.m., unpacked my stuff, and went out to explore the city around my hotel.

Within a few blocks, I found the parish of Santo Domingo - It was an old Spanish church built upon the ruins of an Incan temple. The hybrid architecture and museum-style presentation (and gorgeous sunny afternoon) made for some fabulous photography. As the parish was closing, I continued my walking tour and found the main square. If you had a bunch of photographers write down what heaven should be like, the list would certainly include beautiful churches, interesting people, vast blue skies, big puffy clouds and Spanish tiling everywhere. Okay, maybe the Spanish tiling is a stretch, but I love it, and Cuzco in summer has all of these things in abundance.

I wrapped up the day in a pizza restaurant of Carlos' recommendation. As I was retiring for the evening, I was feeling an odd, but mild headache - I usually don't get headaches, and wondered if it might be altitude sickness. I didn't know this until I got back from Peru, but the elevation of Cuzco is 11,000 feet! That's like spending a few days at the top of Portland's Mt. Hood. In retrospect, I'm going to say YES, it was altitude sickness I was feeling that evening.

Feb 26

Good morning George, let's go see the city! George spoke less English than any of my guides to date, so I really had to dust off the remainder of my inactive Spanish. Topping the list of things I wanted to see today were the Incan ruins in the surrounding hills. The first (and largest) ruin was Sacsayhuaman (pronounced "Sexy Woman," which seems to keep the locals and tourists alike giggling like little girls). It was an impressive temple complex sprawling over several acres, but thanks to several hundred years of Spanish rule, the top 2/3 of all structures had been pillaged for building materials. I know this because I met a "guide" about ½ hour into my exploration. Edwin was friendly and knowledgeable, and though I felt I needed no guide to enjoy the ruins, his insistence that he was "tariff-free," employed by the Cuzco tourism board (or some like-sounding organization) made me reconsider and I let him accompany me and talk about the site. At the end of the tour, I was pleased with his exposé and felt like giving him a little gratuity for his efforts. I dug out my last 3 solas (which seemed reasonable to me for a half hour of doing his job) but was politely informed that the minimum tip for his tariff-free service is 10 solas. If there is a human expression comprised of 1/3 shock, 1/3 amusement and 1/3 disappointment in another human, I put that on my face and explained that this was the last of my money and he didn't have to take it if it he felt insulted (he took it). Shaking my head, I walked back to my cab-for-hire and woke up George.

For the next couple of hours, we hit three other Incan sites (not nearly as impressive as the Sexy Woman) and a blanket "factory." During my trip, I had my eye on a particular blanket - a common design (all the tourist markets had it) made from alpaca wool with black & beige geometric patterns. In Agua Calientes, I got close to the price I wanted (50 solas, or about 15 dollars), and even had my money out at one point, only to have the greedy blanket lady ask for 5 extra solas "for her." I gave her my 100% disappointment face (no shock or amusement this time), re-pocketed my money, said "I don't even know you" and stormed off. Now in the blanket factory I was hoping to breach the 15 dollar barrier, but it was obvious that even with my superior bartering skills I wouldn't be getting close to that price in this "factory." Screaming "I don't even know you!", I grabbed George and stormed out.

Back in Cuzco proper, George drove me to the central market. I was becoming obsessed with breaking the 15 dollar blanket-barrier. Though I got reeeal close, I ultimately walked out empty handed. As George was taking me back to my hotel, he suggested I hit a museum or perhaps check out the native dancing that evening (and further explained that I probably had free tickets that came with my Sacred Valley tour that Yony "forgot" to give me). I thanked him for the info, and for the day's adventure.

I took a few minutes to admire my impressive new sunburn and went back out into Cuzco on foot. I discovered a hidden Market near the main square and after a few minutes of haggle, proudly walked out with my fourteen dollar blanket. The take-home lesson here kids: Be patient! You can always find a tourist hawker who's losing at the tracks or needing that next fix of smack if you just keep looking.

Wandering around the city, I realized that I was down to my last 20 shots on my digital camera. I brought a 1 GB and a ½ GB CompactFlash card, and the dwindling tally meant that I had taken a little more than 500 pictures so far (!!). I knew that they weren't ALL keepers, and I could delete a few if absolutely necessary, but I didn't really want to do that yet. I told myself to exercise a little photographic restraint and see how it turns out (I finished the trip with four left). Sunburned and exhausted, I made it an early evening, opting to eat dinner in my hotel (which was incredible!) and read until I fell asleep, which didn't take long.

OBSERVATION

The Barter System - I'm not sure why exactly, but I love the art of the haggle. The secret is to be an unfeeling barter-machine. If a shopkeeper parades his "starving" mucous-dripping children in front of you, do not be swayed! Keep your eye on the price. Of course, there is the reconnaissance work, which involves getting several shopkeepers to quote a price on an item you don't intend to buy just yet. This can also be difficult for the more "feeling" of tourist shoppers, but be strong! Your persistence will pay off in the end when you save 80 cents on some crappy, mass-produced trinket.

Feb 27

As Yony drove me to the airport, I thanked her for all of her help making my trips so memorable. I assured her that I would recommend her services to any friends and family who wanted to explore South America and flew back to Lima.

You can be damn sure that I got a good airport taxi rate this time! For my last night, I was staying in the Sheraton (Four stars - I like to pamper myself on my last night of an adventure, if possible). It was a nice enough hotel (it had a casino - uh-oh), even if it did smell a little like tinkle. I was surprised to meet Australian Anthony in the elevator lobby. He told me that the group had a great time in Nazca, flying over the strange lines and figures in a small airplane (whoa! Gotta do that next time). I told him my room number and to call if he wanted to do dinner that evening. Looking at a Lima map, I noticed that my hotel was next to the Lima Art museum, so I gave it a try.

Meh. A little pre-Columbian art, a lot of Jesus & Mommy paintings and a few interesting works by Peruvian painter Carlos Baca Flor. Borderline unimpressed, I grabbed the free hotel shuttle to Miraflores to find some lunch and (hopefully) some books in English (I brought two books with me and was almost done with both).

Alas, no luck on the literary quest (the few English books I found were insanely priced at the aforementioned cliffside mall). Dejected, I returned to the hotel to feast upon room service vegetarian pizza while I watched the Oscars dubbed into Spanish. If I concentrated hard enough, I could listen to the original English broadcast barely audible in the background.

Feb 28

The challenge for today was to kill it. I had seen as much of Lima as I cared to, and my flight was not until late in the evening. The only way I was going to succeed was if I found some English books. I extended my check-out to 3 p.m. (the latest I could do without a fee) and went out toward the city center to find reading material. "Tienes Libros en Ingles?" was my mantra for the next hour or so. Just when all seemed hopeless, I discovered a street that was store after store of used books and periodicals, and each had a smattering of English books (though mostly '70s paperbacks - James Clavell's Shogun, James Michener, stuff like that). I found one store with some Douglas Copeland and Bill Bryson, both very readable modern authors who would certainly allow me to kill a day in Lima. I returned to the Sheraton in triumph and made the business center my home for the afternoon and early evening.

As I drove to the airport, I went over my trip mentally, savoring the images of Machu Picchu and the Andes, the Amazon and the beautiful city of Cuzco. This had been an incredible solo adventure for me. Even dirty Lima had its place, for there aren't many cities that come to mind which actually inspire me for a return to Cleveland, Ohio. I didn't even flinch when they hit me up for a $28 international departure tax. Bargain at twice the price - good bye Lima! Hello Cleveland!

Mark
March, 2005