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.

Peru Day 5: Our first view of Salkantay

We all met early in the morning, considerably before the sun had risen. As it turned out, that was a pattern that would repeat itself over the next five days. Groggily, we all piled in the bus that was to take us to the trailhead. I of course promptly fell asleep as soon as we were cosily nestled into our seat. There's something about moving vehicles which just knocks me out cold. Delta, of course, stayed awake as usual, absorbing breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside.

I awoke three hours later, when the bus jolted to a halt. We had stopped for breakfast at a tiny restaurant in a little village, Mollepata. I piled the food in as much as possible. The eggs, the toast, the juice, the coffee, and anything else on offer, as though it was my last meal. Who knew what the food would be like on the hike. But all the same, breakfast was a hurried affair. All of us was trilling with anticipation, and were excited to get started.

At this point, we finally broke down and stopped looking eachother up and down suspiciously, and introduced ourselves instead. For the next five days, we were family. The group had two guides, Marco (head guide) and Edison (co-guide).
"All right, guys," Marco said firmly, gathering us all together after breakfast. "For the next day and a half, it's pretty much uphill. Until we reach Salkantay pass, it's pretty much all uphill. I won't lie, it's going to be hard. But we can do it."

A surge of panic went through me. We were already at 11,000 ft. My breathing came out in little gasps. How much further uphill could we go? But the thought had time to fester, we were off.

It was freezing cold, and the wind added an additional chill. We all huddled as far as we could into our jackets, as we trudged solemnly on.

For hours, and hours, and hours.

And then suddenly, we turned a corner, and saw a tent set up randomly, in the middle of the deserted hillside. "Well done, guys. Lunch time!" said Marco.

Exhausted, we all piled numbly into the tent. And were greeted by the most unbelievable lunch I could describe. A complete three course meal, with soup, starters and dessert. A complete three course meal for fifteen people, made on a little gas stove in the mountains. Just unbelievable. As it turned out, the chef was just a genius. Each day, for each meal, he surpassed our expectations, again and again.

And then, just a moment too soon, we were on our feet again. For mile after mile after mile. As dusk was settling over the mountainside, I started to get a bit worried. The group had spread out over the path, and just Delta and I were together. "We're almost there," Delta encouraged. We were exhausted, dehydrated, and our feet were dragging.

And then, just as we reached the end of our tether, we rounded a corner, and both of us stopped short. Right there, towering over our campsite, was our first close view of Salkantay.

Peru Day 4: Cusco

We woke up to a rainy day, and had to abandon plans for the hike to Sacsayhuaman, the nearby Incan ruins in Cusco. The last thing we needed was to get soaked and fall ill the day before our hike. Instead, we inquired in our hostal for directions to the local marketplace, and decided to give Cusco a deeper exploration.

The directions to the market took us into an entirely non-touristy part of Cusco. Infact, it's safe to say with our cameras and our periodic squeals of excitement, we stood out in the crowd like a sore thumb.

The market itself was the central point of daily commerce in the town. Rows of stalls hawked all kinds of fruit, vegetables, groceries and local eats. I was dying to try the tamales, but eating them here on the road would have been sure ventral suicide. Instead, I absorbed in the surrounding bustle at every stall. All around us, people were variously browsing, bartering and bargaining. Somehow, amongst the hundreds of stalls in the market, Delta and I managed to locate the one which had plastic garbage bags, in which we could pack our clothes for water-proofing during the hike.

Three of our group had come down with severe cases of Delhi belly. Luckily, it seemed I was still okay. Then on the other hand, as it turned out, my stomach was only saving my turn for when we were actually on the hike. Typical.

Later that evening, we headed over the LlamaPath office for our briefing. All fifteen people who would be in our group were present, and as subtly as possible, we were all trying to suss eachother out. Instantly I panicked. Everyone looked fit and healthy. A couple of them looked like avid hikers. There was no one who looked like they might have difficulty hauling up the mountain.

On the other hand, everyone looked pretty friendly, and if you're going to be with a group of peeps day and night for five days, they might as well be a group ready for a laugh.

As it turned out, our first impressions turned out to be prophetic. We turned out to be hiking with the best group we could have asked for.

Peru Day 3: Sacred Valley

We did a day trip to the Sacred Valley. I guess it didn't quite help in our acclimatization, since the Sacred Valley is at a considerably lower altitude than Cusco, but it was definitely worth the trip all the same. Our guide, Roger (Ro-yare), gave us the Incan history 101, taught us little Quechua phrases, and laughed obligingly at our silly jokes.

Ultimately, guide or no guide, the sites of the Sacred Valley simply speak for themselves. Each site, each viewpoint, each glance of ancient ruins, simply took our breath away. The sheer scale and sophistication far surpassed anything we'd been expecting. And sitting there on the mountain tops, watching the ruins drift in and out of view through the clouds, it was easy to see how the Incans had considered the valley to be sacred.

On the adventurous food front, Croc has been dying to try cuy (guinea pig) for two days now, but has somewhat lost some of his bravado since none of us are willing to share in the adventure with him. I was open to trying the cuy in concept, but it only comes in one form, roasted whole, complete with head, feet and tail. There's no way I can behead the little fella on my plate, even if he is already toast and all. I don't get why they haven't progressed to roast shredded cuy sandwishes. Now that, I'd give it a shot.

Both Bobbis and Croc tried alpaca, but both their alpacas tasted so significantly different from each other, I was kind of wondering what meat they were actually serving up anyway. Needless to say, I wasn't going to be in a hurry to try that one either.

On a separate subject, everyone in the group was still feeling alarmingly breathless every time we climbed even the slightest incline. I was beginning to get my doubts about this altitude thing, but then we went to the local Irish Pub (Paddy's), where it boasted the sign: "The highest Irish Pub in the World". And suddenly the whole altitude thing seemed rather cool all over again.

Peru Day 2: Cusco

Arriving in Cusco is a dramatic event. Your plane swoops low between the mountains, alarmingly close to the mountain faces on all sides, and you still can't see hte runway. Your face is glued to the window, looking for reassuring signs of a safe landing. But all you see are jagged mountain faces. And then suddenly, a sharp turn around a steep mountain edge, you think you might just fall out the plane, and suddenly there you are, right at the foot of the runway. The plane screeches to the ground and grinds to a halt. There's no room for error in this manoever. And you breathe a sigh of relief, you are alive after all.

Or you try to breathe a sigh of relief. Except you realise, all of a sudden, that you can't breathe at all. There's just not much oxgen in the air. Welcome to Cusco.

We jumped in a cab, told the cabbie where our hotel was, and sat back to take in the sights. Not much rest for the weary though. For suddenly, the cab rumbled to a halt in the middle of an unimaginably thin lane. "Here you go!" Said the cabbie cheerfully, opening the door to usher us out.

"Where? Where?!" Delta and I asked in puzzlement. There was no hostel in sight. "Just at the top of those stairs," he indicated with a pleasant nod of his head. We turned to look where he had pointed, and our jaws dropped in unison. As far as our eyes could see, there were stairs. Before we could gather our wits, our driver gave us the spanish equivalent of "toodle-oo!" and off he was, just a disappearing cloud of dust in our yearning. So with no option before us, Delta and I hauled our 40-lb bags onto our backs, and slowly, slowly, started clambering up the stairs. Try doing that when the air offers you no oxygen.

Needless to say, I thought I might just die. Or dry-heave, at the very least. But just in time, we reached the top, and were greeted by the most lovely little hostal we had ever stayed in. Almost, just almost, worth the battle.

After we'd settled in, it didn't take long at all to meet up with the rest of the gang. And with the unbridled excitement of vacations just beginning, we ventured out to explore the town. Cusco is a charming combination of Incan and colonial architecture. With its tiny cafes and cobbled streets, it was the perfect place to make our base.

The first meal we had in Cusco, I learnt that Peruvian corn is huge. Just huge. The first time I saw one of the kernels, I thought it might be a tooth I'd lost. But no, it just happens that Peruvian corn has kernels the size of gumballs. In time, I learnt that it brings with it an economy of effort. More corn in less bites. But right then, before I'd put it in my mouth and learnt how delish it was, all I could think was how it rather gave me the jeebies.

Peru Day 1: Lima

Ultimately, Lima's a loud and bustling city, throbbing with the pulse of activity. Not quite the vacationer's dream, when you're coming from New York. But all the same, it certainly offered it's share of eye openers.

Doing the typical tourist circle in the morning, we stopped at one of the city's main churches. "Underground catacombs inside" advertised a sign. Neither Delta nor I had ever seen catacombs before, so we decided the day warranted a visit. As soon as we stepped underground, we were transported into an entirely different world, of centuries ago. A world of deep wells, where hundreds of human bodies had once been left to decompose, when dead. A world where people would be buried crushed up against eachother. And bones. Hundreds and hundreds of thousands of skulls and bones.

Morbid, I know. Eye opening. Shocking. But more than anything, just relief that we hadn't been born to that time.

Later that afternoon, we went to the local handicrafts market. Delta and I were intent on finding a piece of Peruvian art with which to adorn our little nest. But look as we might, we couldn't find just the right piece. "Look at these bowls! All hand-carved and painted!" each shop keeper would call as we passed by. But nothing was just right.

And then as we sat down in a beautiful little restaurant for dinner, just between the sea-fresh ceviche and the grilled trout, we exclaimed in sudden surprize. There it was. Our thing. The exact piece of art we'd been looking for. Unfortunately, presented to us in the form of hand-painted plates we were eating from. Immediately, we called the waiter.
"Where do you guys get these plates? We'd like to buy some!"
The waiter was taken aback. "We don't get them from here, ma'am. We order them specifically from our artist in a village outside Lima."
My face must have looked crushed, because he offered, "If you're here for a few days, and yo'ure willing to pay, perhaps I could order some for you. I'll need at least a week."

And so there we had it. The waiter agreed to get us some of those beautiful hand-painted plates, and deliver them to the hotel where we had been staying. We paid him half the agreed money upfront, promising to return to the restaurant and pay him the rest upon our return to Lima in two weeks. A couple of rather fragile promises, buoyed on the optimism of a carafe of smooth-flowing wine.

In the clear light of day, it all seemed rather more dubious. Now that he had half the payment already, what were the chances that he'd actually deliver the plates? And even if he did deliver the plates, what were the chances that we would actually go all the way back to the restaurant, in our one afternoon in Lima? I don't think either of us truly believed the other. But sometimes, for just the right piece of art, those are just the chances you take in life.

The start of our adventure

Delta and I were bursting with excitement when we jumped into a cab for the airport.
"LaGuardia please!" we told the cabbie.
"Eh, good. Going anywhere exciting? I'm going to Ghana myself in a couple months," he added. Delta's ears immediately pricked up, Ghana being one of his frequent work locales.

And immediately, an enthusiastic conversation ensued, giving us a brief glimpse into the cab driver's fascinating life. We found out that he was from a little village in Ghana, about a hundred miles from the capital, Accra. At the tender age of 17, he had immigrated to New York to study civil engineering. And for the next twelve years, he had lived in the YMCA, working as a cabbie full time to get the money to live and put himself through school.

Erm, that's the same age when my only worry was drinks at a pub and my next vacation. I'm mortified.

"For six years," he told us, laughing ruefully, "I ate pizza for every meal, every day. That's all I had money for. If I look at a pizza now, I think I'd throw up!"

Delta and I listened in silenced awe as he told us how he had won a civil engineering contract to build a network of roads back in Ghana. "So I'm going back home, after all these years!" he could barely conceal the elation from his voice. "And I'm going to take some friends back with me to help. Like me, they too are cab drivers from Ghana. Some of them haven't been back in forty years. Such an easy thing for me to do, and it would mean so much to them."

Delta and I had been caught up in our admiration, and hadnt even noticed we'd already pulled up at the airport until the cabbie hopped out and opened the trunk. "Well, good luck to you, guys!" he said, shaking our hands and heading out.
"Same to you, man," we responded.

I was glad he had told us his story. It felt great to start our vacation on such a positive and inspiring note.

A note of anticipation

Tomorrow morning, fairly earlier than I would have liked for a vacation day, we leave for Peru. In some ways, this marks a milestone in our lives. For the last six months, it's all been about Peru. The training, the clothes, the equipment, the travel bookings - all of it. It's kind of like planning a wedding (except we already did that).

And once the event's over, there's a void in your life. No more reason to get up early in the morning for a whole day of PBJs and exercise. No more hours of internet research on the best hiking fleeces and socks. What in the world will we do?!

But why worry about all that now. For now, I'm focused on tomorrow, and the sheer excitement of reaching Peru. Of bandying about ye ol' spanish verbs I've been practising so diligently. Of procuring ourselves alpaca hats with the dangling sides, and other funny knick-knacks (or, as Delta would say, whatnot. That's his new favourite word. Whatnot.). We'll buy ourselves alpaca hats and whatnot.

But I'm getting ahead of myself again. Before I even focus on tomorrow, I really need to focus on the here and now (not as exciting, but pretty compelling). There's a cat to feed, an apartment to clean, and as we pack, everywhere we walk we leave puddles of whatnot in our tornado-like wake.

One day, we'll reverse the tables and train Queen Jaffa to clean up after us. But for today, (sigh) I guess I better get started cleaning her kitty litter as she snores quietly to herself on the rug.

Speak to you in two weeks, my friends.

Drama Queen Jaffa

Since we'll be away for two weeks, Dee very kindly offered to look after Queen Jaffa for us. So we called her over for dinner the other day, so that Dee and the cat could officially get acquainted.

Unfortunately (but how did we not predict this would happen?), Queen Jaffa sensed what was happening, and decided to put on a show of obstreperousness that evening. When Dee bent over to pet her, QJ swiped at Dee with her paw, forcing Dee to leap back in alarm.

"Oh!!" Dee exclaimed, blinking at me in surprize. I had just finished telling her how loving Queen Jaffa was.
I shrugged. There's just no excuse for QJ. "She's just pretending," I tried to explain to Dee, while at the same time surreptitiously glaring at QJ, who now purred up at me calmly, a picture of demure coyness.

Dee, ever-forgiving, tried to pick her up, but QJ let out little loud child like warbling screams, like a baby with colic. I couldn't believe it. What a sneaky little drama queen!

"She's not normally like this, Dee! I promise!" I tried to convince Dee, although I don't think she quite believed me. I don't blame her. QJ really can be a handfull when she wants to.

Speaking of drama, Queen Jaffa has picked up a new habit nowadays which I'm rather appalled by. Lately, whenever we have visitors over, she's taken to suddenly splaying herself on the rug in most ungainly fashion and cleaning herself in places that are absolutely unacceptable to do in public.

The other day we had the whole gang over for a "Machu Picchu kick off dinner", and there she did it again, right in the center of the rug, so everyone could stare on in grotesque fascination.

"Queen Jaffa! How un-lady-like!" I reprimanded with an embarrassed laugh, tapping her lightly on the head to remind her where she was. But the cheeky little cat just scuttled back out of my reach, and continued on unabashed.

I swear, if that cat was a human, she'd be quite the exhibitionist.

Yikes, the time is nigh

You wouldn't believe it. I barely can myself. But after months and months of planning, researching, hype and training, our time to go to Peru is almost here. In typical disparate fashion, all of us have booked ourselves on different flights to Peru - but ultimately, we all end up in Cusco at some point or another on Saturday morning.

The plan looks something like this:
Delta and I will head out this Thursday, so we can spend a couple days in Lima before we head to Cusco. Doobie will join us in Lima on Friday. We'll all meet Ilajna and Bobbis in Lima airport on Saturday, where we'll all fly to Cusco. And Croc and M will join us directly in Cusco whenever their flights roll in. There, we'll all spend a couple days in Cusco together, exploring the Incan ruins and Peruvian handicrafts, before starting (with a fair share of trepidation) our much-hailed hike on the 13th.

Assuming we live to tell the tale, our quivering legs will haul our sorry behinds into Machu Picchu early in the morning of 17th. After the hike, our group will pretty much disband into pairs, where we'll each head to our different adventures separately. Delta and I, for our part, are heading out to a lodge in the Amazon to spend four days trying not to be killed by tarantulas.

Because, you know, that's how we like our vacations.