I suppose the Developers, they must have their fun

I was quite excited about going to the gym today. So excited infact that I might have over-decked myself for the event. "Nice headband!" Eddie the doorman smiled appreciatively as I left the building.
"Thanks! Helps me bike faster," I rejoined, but mostly I was just a bit embarrassed that he had noticed I'd actually put effort into dressing for the gym. For the gym.

Why all this excitement, you ask?

They've introduced these new bike machines which, instead of the standard TV screens, are attached to video game portals. So you can choose your difficulty, choose your racetrack, and suddenly you're part of a bike race. Nothing like a bit of competition to give me the kick in the posterior that I need.

As soon as the race started, I surreptitiously glanced at the others on the bikes beside me. I wanted to make sure it wasn't one of those networked gaming systems that allowed me to compete with the guy next to me. I mean, losing to a computer might be ok. But losing to the eighty year old guy sitting next to me - less easy to deal with. So I started my bike race. I can't begin to tell you how much of a difference it makes to your effort level, the minute you know it's a race. So there I was pumping away furiously at the pedals, heart beating wildly, mind intent on beating the other virtual chappies I was competing with.

Also - the fancy scenery wasn't lost on me; I was intrigued by all the detail in the cliff sides and meadows I was biking by. And then I suddenly noticed a horse galloping through the meadow, parallel to the road. Running along, right beside me.

Oh. Faster than me. Overtaking me. I was just wondering about it, when suddenly the horse veered sharply onto the road and bumped right into me. What the ... ?!!

I might have been going a bit slow, and maybe a bit distracted by all the exciting scenery, but seriously? A horse ran right into me? And - judging from the "WORKOUT OVER" message that flashed onto my screen - apparently the horse ran me over and killed me.

Eh. I'm all for video game workouts and all, but do I have to die?

Well, I suppose the developers, they must have their fun.

A whole new world, right next door

Last weekend, we were at a loss for a defined plan, and the weather was just so beautiful it beckoned for us to be outdoors, and we still had hiking on our minds... - and it suddenly occured to us - hmm wonder what hiking might be accessible on public transport from NYC!

Thanks to that internet thing; all it took was a bit of nifty googling to find what we were looking for - hiking trails and public transport. So Delta and I, caught up in a burst of impulsive excitement, donned our hiking attire and jumped quickly onto the train.

We were there in less than an hour. I'm not sure what I expected in terms of hiking trails close to the city. Exercise and fresh air, certainly. Woods, definitely. But I was totally - entirely - unprepared for the huge mountains that loomed before us. Or how quickly the people dispersed, and suddenly there we were, just Delta and me, by ourselves.

Roaming through forest and wood. Glen and glade. Holler and berm. Just Delta and me, as though we were the only people in the world.

As though we had just stumbled, entirely unprepared, through a closet into our own little narnia. And all this, so close to home.

Garfield

Every once in a while, we try and put Queen Jaffa in a new place she hasn't visited before - like the top of a bookshelf, or a walk in the corridor outside our apartment, etc. You know - just to give her a new perspective and expand her horizons, dutiful parents that we are.

So yesterday was QJ's turn to explore the bar counter. She quite enjoyed being on it, spent some time sniffing at the fruitbasket (distainfully, for there was no meat there), and explored our cache of cellphone chargers (all things wire-like are strings to be played with. But soon enough, it was time for her to get off. And I was appalled to see, QJ couldn't figure out how to get off.

Where have her catlike instincts gone? Isn't she supposed to navigate the leaps and falls of life with grace and panache, relying only on her feline instincts?

"She's a city cat," Delta mused, as QJ miaowed at us pitifully to pick her off the counter and carry her to the floor.
"No way, QJ!" I admonished. "The counter's only four feet high! No cat of mine is going to be too scared to jump that."

QJ peered fearfully over the ledge at the floor below, full of trepidation of the feat she was going to have to accomplish. In a show of tough love, Delta and I pretended to be watching telly, so that she harboured no hopes of getting rescued by us. Ultimately, after much pitiful mewing and some general pathetically helpless looks in our direction, she took the plunge and jumped onto the barstool, a foot or so lower than the counter. There she stood for a few minutes, heart thumping in exhilaration, plotting her next jump to the floor. Finally, mustering all her mustard, she did the final leap as if it would be the last jump of her life.

I think she rather surprised herself, once she discovered herself safely on the ground, to realise how easy it was. And then she was embarrassed of the drama she had just created, so she strutted disdainfull to the rug, and stretched herself out with a bored yawn. QJ is all about appearances.

I, for one, was mortified at the extent of her inabilities. Like the kind of parent who is too embarrassed to watch their nerdy child participate in school sports.

I looked at her asleep on the rug, spreadeagled on her back, belly exposed to the world. Fat (I mean heavy), complacent, self-satisfied. OMG, we've got the real live Garfield.

A great mayor for a great city

I noticed Mike Bloomberg in the baseball audience, which reminded me, of course, that it would be remiss of me to end the day without a little cheer and hurrah for the man. Couldn't say the election results came as a surprise, but that doesn't reduce the elation all the same.

It's rare to come across a politician that actually makes you dizzy with their vision and promise of all to come. The Obama's took the world by swing last year, but this year, in his own microcosm of the universe, it's Bloomberg's turn.

So, Mike, a couple of requests, if you please:

- Can we please try and finish up on the Second Avenue Subway? I know it's one of those legacy projects that has been going on since 1920 and all, and it would seem a disrespect to history to get it completed all of a sudden, but, well, could we please try? Especially now that the MTA has started digging the station in our building and all.


- More bike lanes, please. The one's you've put so far are great. But, like everything good in life, they've only made us greedy for more.

I hope that wasn't too forwward of me. I'm just excited, that's all. Here's to yet to another great term, MB.

A local World Series

In an surprising twist of Americanisation that I would have never foreseen for myself, Delta has successfully got me watching baseball. After many, many years (I've been told how many, but the details slip my mind like water off a ducks back), the Yankees are in the world series. And Delta, like half of New York, is duly hooked.

With the baseball being broadcast in our living room in truer-than-life-50-inch HD, there's really nothing to do but watch it. And so, without even trying, I've gotten somewhat acquainted with the cast of characters over the past week. The guys who can pretty much usually be counted on to hit the ball. The guys who pretty much always strike out, but then make up by pulling some rather eye-popping catches in the field. And those that fumble, and have me yelling, "I could do that for 20 million dollars too, you nugget!!"

"Why's it called the World Series," I asked Delta pointedly, "when it's really just the US?"
"Well there's Canada too, sometimes," he pointed out laughingly.
But I'm not convinced. Not when the "World Series" is being played out between New York and Philadelphia, I'm just not buying it.
Then on the other hand, teenagers all over the world are obsessed with getting to first base or second base. And once the teenagers adopt you, you've reached world class status. Just look what they did with Facebook and Twitter.

Besides, it has to be the sport with the guy who has the coolest name in the world. Melky Cabrera. Wow, I'd love to hear someone beat that.
"If we were planning to have a son, we'd name him Melky Cabrera," I told Delta.
"Even the last name?"
I tried to separate them out in my mind, but just Melky didn't sound quite as cool as the whole name together. It just has flow to it.
"Yep, the whole thing. The kid's name would have to be MelkyCabrera."

Now no one can argue with that. One of the best things that baseball brought to the world is the name MelkyCabrera.

Of course, maybe I'm not the best person to judge the sport. I still don't know whether it's a referee or an umpire, and I sometimes confuse bowling with pitching.

But at least, all in all, at least I've learnt to root for the guys with the stripes.

Peru Days 10-14: A little of everything

After the hike, we spent a day in Cusco doing a bunch of necessary recoup. We had a whole bunch of the dirtiest laundry I'd ever given anyone. I was mortified.
"This is all very urgent," we told the laundry woman. "Very sorry, but we need it all back by this evening. And especially really sorry it's all so dirty." When we opened the bag out in the laundrette, there was actually a foul smell of festering mountain dirt that filled the little room. And when I say laundrette, I really mean a woman who was going to wash everything by hand, under the tap.

But as it turned out, she was a hardy old soul, and had probably seen hikers in far worse condition than us. Or at least with laundry in far worse condition than ours.
"No problem, I'll deliver it to your hostal this evening," she said, cheerfully charging us double for the efforts. Best money by far that we ever spent though.

Later that day, we went to Sacsayhuaman, the second-most sacred Incan ruins after Machu Picchu. It was a pretty steep climb up the hill, which would have probably defeated us pre-Salkantay, but this time, strengthened by our experiences, we positively skipped up the hill. The temple of Sacsayhuaman (pronounced 'sexy woman' much to everyone's snickering delight), is built up of some of the hugest rocks found in any Incan ruins still remaining.

The Incans had somehow mined these rocks in quarries miles away, hauled them intact up the mountains, and chiseled them to perfection so they fit tightly against eachother without as much as a centimeter between them. And then managed to buid every temple so that the sun's first rays would enter the windows specifically on the dates of summer and winter solstices (their way of tracking the vernal calendar). As you stand there, gazing at the walls, the immensity of what they accomplished hits you like a ton of bricks (rocks?). I can't believe some of them didn't just say '"forget that, I'm going to start a new religion where the gods live in little pebble houses down on the plains". People cite aliens and magic and cosmic energies and all sorts of ideas typical of when we just can't figure out how they did it, but the Incans were a remarkably scientific people, so those theories are probably making them turn in their graves.

After Cusco, we headed down to the Amazon for a few days, and stayed in a remote lodge on the edge of an oxbow lake in the Amazon basin. To get there, we had to take a 45 minute flight to Puerto Moldonado, a 45 minute boat ride up the river, a 2 hour walk through the jungle, and another 45 minute boatride to the other side of a lake. You get the idea. Once you're there, you're there to stay.

Based on Rohinton and Jeet's experience in the rainforest, I had entered the Amazon with two primary fears:
- that after dark there would be large toads the size of dinner plates that would jump onto our feet if we left the room
- that swarms of mosquitoes would attack my posterior when I lowered my pants to pee, and I would need to get steroid shots in the hiney before I could sit again

But as it turned out (fortunately), neither of those fears transpired. Ultimately, the worst creature we faced was those evil vampire chiggers in the hotsprings. And I say this with deliberate consideration, I haven't forgotten the giant tarantula (bigger than my palm) that lived in the front garden of the lodge. Or the time our guide told us, "there's a dedicated swimming area in the lake, that's safer than the other parts. But only go in at your own risk, it still has piranhas, electric eels and sting rays." Or the time a moth the size of a saucer flew into our room (our strategy would be to put out our lights before everyone else, so the insects would fly elsewhere. Sick, I know. But it's all about self-preservation in the jungle).

After our time in the rainforest, once we'd made it back into the civilization of Lima, and checked into our little B&B, Harry, the owner, came to find us. "Hey guys, while you were out, someone came and delivered some plates for you. They're beautiful."
We couldn't believe it! The waiter from our restaurant had actually ordered and delivered the plates! We rushed to take a look. Yep, and there they were, four of the most beautiful, hand-painted, wooden plates we could have ever asked for. So that afternoon, apt for our last day in Peru, Delta and I headed over back to the restaurant where we'd had our first dinner, thanked the waiter and paid him the rest of our share of the bargain.

Peru Day 9: Machu Picchu!

The morning when we woke up to head to Machu Picchu, it was raining. Not just raining. Pouring. Sheets and sheets of water. We were hoping the weather would clear up by the time we actually reached the site, but it wasn’t to be. Rather, it was still raining hard, and the entire mountain was fogged over. It was hard to hide our disappointment. Wouldn’t you know it. After planning this adventure for about six months, and hiking twelve hours a day for the last week, all to get to Machu Picchu, the disappointment was so crushing, none of us even mentioned it. We just slouched around in an oppressive silence.

The fog was so thick around us, we could barely see more than a few feet away. No Incan ruins, and certainly no surrounding mountains.

“Don’t worry,” Marco said, looking around at our crushed faces. “Sometimes the rain clears if you wait long enough.” And with that, he thanked us all for a great hike, and was gone.

Unsure quite what to do, and more than slightly numbed by the freezing rain, we headed over the little café to try and out-last the weather. Our plan had been to climb Huayna Picchu, the neighbouring mountain peak that towers over Machu Picchu and therefore offers a top-down perspective of the ruins, and despite the weather, we decided to go ahead with the climb. As it turned out, Huayna Picchu was some of the most difficult hiking we had encountered yet. Painstakingly, and not without difficulty, we made our way up the narrow, steep path towards the top of the mountain. And then, all of a sudden, just as we approached the top, the rain suddenly stopped. And a few minutes later, the clouds started clearing, and glimmers of sun peeked through the sky. Just when we’d resigned ourselves to perhaps having no views of Machu Picchu at all, there it was, spread out on the mountain side below us, glistening like a jewel in a hypnotic, post-rain haze. We couldn’t take our eyes of it.

When at last we reached the top of Huayna Picchu, I couldn’t believe what we had before us. The top of Huayna Picchu consists of a few large boulders balancing precariously on the mountain top. Everyone who climbs the mountain has to somehow secure themselves a perch on one of the boulders. There just isn’t any other space at the very top. Off the boulders, on all sides, is sheer cliff face. The whole situation was so risky, and so precarious, I couldn’t believe they actually let people up here. I couldn’t believe there weren’t more injuries, or even deaths. And yet, it’s the thing to do. Everyone climbs Huayna Picchu. We certainly did too, and I have to say, we loved every moment of it.

We spent a long time at the top of Huayna Picchu, absorbing the peaceful calm that had settled over the mountains. When we finally descended from the peak later that afternoon, we decided to walk to the Sun Gate – which used to be the official entrance of Machu Picchu for the Incas. The trail to the Sun Gate was more than two miles long, and had been cut into the mountain face the entire way. All along the walk, we were offered stunning views of Machu Picchu and the surrounding mountains and valleys. Words could not describe how encompassingly beautiful the entire scene was.

If you ever do make it to Machu Picchu, you must climb Huayna Picchu (despite what I just said above) and walk to the Sun Gate. We sat there for a long time, until we watched the sun set over Machu Picchu. Easily one of the most beautiful scenes I have seen in my life.

Peru Day 8: Aguas Calientes

The last day before Machu Picchu was designed to be a relatively easy one. We spent the last few hours of our hike following the train tracks in to Aguas Calientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu.

I had thought, after all the beautiful terrain we had passed, that walking along the train tracks would be boring. Instead, I discovered a newfound fetish for old, crumbling tracks. Something about the large iron bolts and the cracked wooden sleepers simply grabbed my fascination.

And, of course, there was the old abandoned cars that were just screaming to be climbed.

Luckily, the boys took it upon themselves to listen for approaching trains.

The sun was already setting when we finally reached Aguas Calientes. We gathered our luggage, and made our way into our hotel rooms. Oh, for a hot shower and clean clothes and fresh sheets! In a moment of proactive enthusiasm, I even washed myself a clean shirt for the next day. Of course, I failed to calculate that in the damp, cold weather of Aguas Calientes, there was no way it would dry overnight. Infact, it probably wouldn't have dried if we'd been there all week.

All the same, we were finally, finally going to see Machu Picchu the next day, and nothing was going to dampen my enthusiasm. Not even a wet t-shirt. We all had an early dinner together, and retired to our individual rooms. The next day, we were due to meet at 3.30am to start our hike to Machu Picchu, and all of us wanted to get a good night's rest before our big day.

Peru Day 7: Choosing the lazy way out

Everyone woke up this morning complaining of various ailments. Most had some kind of stomach bug or another. Apparently, you can't leave Peru without at least one incident of wobbly belly. But even those with stomachs of steel were enfeebled elsewhere - sore thighs, sore calves, or just fatigue.

"Guys, we have two options today," Marco told us. "We can either climb Llactapata, another mountain from which we can get our first view of Machu Picchu, or we could take the easy way out and camp near some hot springs and just have a slightly more relaxing day. What do you think?"
Without hesitation and in unison, the entire group said "hot springs!"

And so started our relatively "easy" day.
"It's flat today," Marco told us cheerfully, "Nothing like the climbing we did the past two days."
But as we learnt, when they say 'flat', they refer to the Peruvian flat. It consists of a series of constant ups and downs, which even out into an average flat altitude by the end of the day. But until that end, it's a lot of hard work. Up and down. Up and down.

On the other hand, the entire way, the path followed the edge of a valley, overlooking a river. Now how could you fault that.

That evening when we finally arrived at the hot springs, the only possible feeling I could compare it to was reaching heaven. It was the first time we could bathe in days, and water had never felt so welcoming on the skin.

But no sooner had a slipped into my swimsuit, when I felt a sudden sharp nip at my ankle.
Ow!
I glanced down, and saw a little red dot. I'd been bitten by something! And then suddenly, again. Ow! This one on my elbow. And another one. And another one.

I looked about - Bobbis, Ilajna and Delta were all being attacked too. And then we noticed it. The air was filled with swarms of tiny, tiny, flies. Vicious, biting flies. Without a moment to loose, we all fled for the cover of water, and dove into the pools. The hot springs, of course, were fantastic. But more than slightly overshadowed by our panic of the biting flies outside.

"I'm going to spend the night in here, with only my eyeballs popping out of the water!" Delta gasped.

Only after we got back home to New York did we learn that we had been attacked by chiggers. I researched them, and what was the first thing I read?

"Probably no creature on earth can cause as much torment for its size than the tiny chigger."

That, my friends, is the creature that bit us. En masse. All over. Torment like no other creature on earth.

That's the karma you get, I suppose, for opting to spend a lazy evening at the hot springs when you could be climbing yet another mountain.

Peru Day 6: The Mighty Salkantay

I have never been as cold as we were that night, camping there at the base of the glacier. I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night; I needed to pee. I thought perhaps I could lull myself to sleep and wait it out till dawn, but when I glanced at my watch, it was just barely midnight. That's what you get when you go to sleep at 8pm, I suppose. With resignation, I got out to pee. I was kind of worried - can pee freeze while you're peeing? - but then I glanced at the sky, and it distracted me completely from my fears.

I had never seen the sky as it was that night. Crystal clear, cloudless, millions of stars, all jostling each other for space. It momentarily (quite literally) took my breath away. But then a moment later, the cold started seeping in again, and I quickly crawled back into the tent. Sleeplessness is one of the basic symptoms of altitude sickness. But that night (other than the peeing incident), Delta and I both "slept like baby llamas", as Marco would have said.

We woke up early the next morning, but the sun was already dawning. Our solitary tents there in the deserted valley, there was a quiet calm hanging in the air. Without realising it, all of us were whispering, unconsciously hesitant to disturb the surrounding peace.

After a hearty breakfast, we headed straight out ("We're late, team!" Marco hurried us on). The trail started immediately with a steep uphill. Barely a minute into the hike, all of us were gasping for air. Less than a minute into the hike, and my lungs were screaming for oxygen, my legs were screaming for a rest, my back was screaming to get the pack off. And in that manner, we continued for the next six hours.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Gasp, gasp. Shuffle, shuffle.

The good part as it turned out, everyone in the group was roughly the same level. Gradually, painfully, inchingly, we all made it up the mountain side together. Every ten steps, I had to stop to catch my breath. I'd suck in large gasps of air, trying to fill my lungs. But the air just had no oxygen in it. No matter how much you inhaled, you just couldn't catch your breath. "Keeping moving on," Marco advised. "It doesn't get better until we do down the other side."

And so I continued up the mountain, lungless, legless, backless. I mean, who needs to breathe anyway. You can breathe all you want when you're dead. At 16,000 ft, that's just what you get.

Just as I felt like I wouldn't be able to do anymore, Marco gestured to us excitedly. "We're almost there! It's the final push!" We looked up, and we could see it before us. There it were, we were almost at the top! Amazing how inspirational it can be to know you're almost there. We skidaddled to the top.

I've never been at the top of a mountain before. It looked like the moon. I wonder if Armstrong got off on the moon, and thought, hell, it looks like a mountain top.

Somehow, reaching the top of Salkantay had blown itself into such a big deal in my head, that somehow I'd assumed that it would almost be the end of our day. But it wasn't. At all. Far from it. As it turned out, reaching the summit was only one of the milestones in the day. And then it was downhill. For hours and hours and hours.

Downhill might be marginally better than uphill, but only by a hair. My old knees had a thing or two to say about the rugged steep downhill. And none of it was positive. But lower and lower we went, descending towards where the vegetation line started again, heading towards the forests. When we broke for lunch, I turned around to catch one of our last glimpses of Salkantay.

And there it was, unapproachable in its mightiness, the mountain we had traversed only earlier that day. Already, it seemed like a lifetime away.

That evening, we ended up walking well into the darkness. Of course, we ended up getting separated from those in the group who had flashlights. So the last hour was spent tentatively, gingerly, feeling our way down the rocks with almost no visibility.

But when at last we did reach camp, there was a woman outside running a little stall. Selling cerveza. Needless to say, sitting there squashed together on a tiny cracked bench in the mountains, exhausted after 12 hours of hiking, it was the best beer any of us had tasted in our lives.