Machu Picchu!

28 Sep 2002

Today's post is brought to you by Old Man Luedecke:

https://soundcloud.com/old-man-luedecke/machu-picchu

(I don't think this song is actually about Machu Picchu. TBH, I don't know what he's on about. Maybe it's about Halifax. And it certainly wasn't around in 2002, nor was I into folk music. But I like it now. Speaking of songs, I should do a post about my mix tapes ...)

There is a lot of hype around Machu Picchu, and it totally lived up to it. The place is incredible. Its position is outrageous - perched high on a ridge above the deep valley of the Urubamba River, where the dry western Andes have given way to wetter tropical jungles of the east. The ruins are beautifully restored, hinting at the scale and sophistication of the Incan empire. The fact that they could even build such a settlement in that location speaks volumes.

Machu Picchu

Incan plumbing

Llama on smoko

 

I had cancelled my booking for the Inca Trail due to altitude sickness. In the event I probably would have been well enough for the trek, but the place was so awe inspiring I couldn't feel hard done by for too long. Instead I caught the train from Cusco (alas, the only railway journey I made on the whole trip). On arrival we were split off into tour groups by language. Of course, the English guide had the biggest following, and though it was fascinating I soon got tired of trying to stay close enough to the guide to hear. Instead I bailed out and climbed Huayna Picchu, a peak which gives a spectacular view of the whole site, along with a very enjoyable steep climb through tropical jungle.

Me on Huayna Picchu

Lizard on Huayna Picchu

Into the Andes

That walk made the day for me, and I think was the turning point for the trip. Before then I was out of my depth, lacking adequate language and confidence, and constantly questioning my purpose. Afterwards I got into the rhythm of travel, loosened up and had a better feel for what I enjoyed - mostly walking in amazing places!

On the train back to Cusco, I sat opposite a gorgeous Mexican girl and we got chatting - her in broken English, me in much worse Spanish. It looked like I'd made a friend (which had thus far been lacking in Cusco) and was looking forward to getting to know her better - but disaster struck! The tour company I had signed up with was picking me up from an earlier train station. I realised too late that they would take me from this lovely lady and all would be lost. When I spied them on the train platform, I decided to ignore them and stay on the train. But when I didn't appear they boarded the train, calling out my name, and I had no choice but to go with them. My new friend was so confused (and I like to think disappointed) when I suddenly abandoned her without much explanation. I have few regrets but that is one of them :D.

The Cusco Curmudgeon

22 Sep 2002

(Yes, I'm getting behind. Can't keep up with youthful, healthy Garth!)

My plan had been to spend a couple of weeks in Cusco learning Spanish and taking in the archeological wonders of the surrounding Sacred Valley, then tackling the famed Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu. But reality was not obliging. My diary, oozing self-recrimination, reveals someone struggling to come to terms with the limitations - and failings - of time and body. Oh you have much to learn young man!

My experience with altitude in the Colca Canyon was a sign of things to come. It took me a good week to adapt to the 3400m of Cusco. Walking totally exhausted me, and ongoing gut problems didn't help. One night at dinner I had a sudden nose bleed, and the proprietors plied me with coca tea - the local treatment for soroche (actually, coca leaves were the solution to all health problems!). I eventually came good, but not before cancelling my booking for the Inca Trail and falling into a funk that I was wasting my precious time - the curse of being an optimiser in a chaotic world.

In any case, Cusco is an extraordinary city, literally built on Incan foundations. Many of the older buildings have a layer of Incan stonework at street level before becoming brick higher up. This is taken to an extreme at the Convent of Santo Domingo, which was built around the ruins of an Incan temple. It's hard to think of a more stark expression of colonialism.

Convent of Santo Domingo. The curved grey stonework is Incan.

View over Cusco

Salt pans at Salinas

The experimental terraces at Moray took my fancy. These terraced depressions create a wide range of microclimates that may have been used for trialling different soils and crops.

Experimental terraces at Moray

Sacred Valley

Ollantaytambo is an impressive contruction on a steep hillside. The main wall consists of six giant blocks that fit together perfectly, a remarkable feat of precision engineering at scale.

Ollantaytambo

In the Deep End

15 Sep 2002

Early on in my dreaming & scheming, I was intent on doing some trekking. The thing is, at that stage I had never actually done any overnight bushwalking! I did my first trip with Geoff to The Castle in the Budawangs only a few months before I left, by which time I had already invested in some of the camping gear. Foolhardy, naive, optimistic? Perhaps, but I was certainly right about it being my sort of thing!

So my second ever overnight walk was a solo trip, in a foreign country where I barely spoke the language, starting at high altitude and descending precipitously into what is claimed to be the deepest canyon in the world. But I was an invincible 21 year old - how hard could it be?!  It started at the Mirador Cruz del Condor, where Andean condors can reliably seen (along with a billion other gringos and touts). They are pretty ugly up close, but superbly graceful soaring on the thermals.

Andean condor

Mirador Cruz del Condor

Colca Canyon

 

The descent into the gorge was brutal, going from 3600m above sea level to 2200m in about a kilometre. I encountered a number of small aqueducts, carrying water from who knows where to fields unseen. The far side of the canyon was heavily terraced, but this side was a jumble of boulders and scrub, and I was lucky to see what I think was a mountain viscacha.

My route took me down the switchbacks, across the river up towards Tapay at the top right, then along to Malata & Cosnihua in the center, before dropping down to spend the night near the river at Sangalle

Mountain viscacha

 

At the bottom I crossed the river and found a nice spot to recuperate, looking back at the way I had come. There were two backpackers following behind and I idly watched them with my binoculars. From higher up I heard loud voices and a clatter of rocks - some local kids were running down the path, cutting corners so they were virtually coming straight down the cliff-face. I suspect they were on their daily communte from school! Suddenly they stopped and gathered together, considering something closely, then heaved a boulder off the path. My brain had long enough to realise that it was heading right for the backpackers below, but not long enough to actually do anything thing about it. All I could do is watch as it tumbled down, gathering pace. Thankfully the backpackers heard it coming and stopped in their tracks, letting it pass a few metres ahead. No damage was done, though they got quite a fright and had some pretty firm words for the kids when they caught up!

 

One lesson from the first day of walking was that I had to cut back on my pack weight. This was hammered home the next day when the walk out of the canyon took me eight hours instead of the expected three. Two of those were spent under an overhang avoiding the scorching sun, but also because I felt absolutely awful. I suspect I had altitude sickness, and possibly some underlying gastro. It would take me over a week to acclimatise to the elevation, and gastro would be a fickle companion for the next six weeks. I finally made it to town where I gratefully collapsed into bed, only to be awakened at dawn to the god-awful braying of a donkey right outside my window. 

From my email: "Ever noticed how donkeys sound like two humpback whales mating on a squeaky bed?"

On the Gringo Trail

11 Sep 2002

Over the next few days I hit the road, following the Gringo Trail down the coast before heading inland towards the mountains. I found myself conflicted about being on the main backpacker route, doing touristy things. I fell in with some cute Israeli girls, but soon left them behind because I couldn't stand their excessive whinging and posturing: "We're not tourists, we're muchileros (backpackers)!" 

From my diary: "They would have their photo taken in front of a great view, somewhat reminiscent of hunters standing proudly over their kill. As if to show off to everybody what they'd done - as if the view wasn't worth a photo for its own sake. I got the feeling from the vibe on the tour that people were there because that's the done thing, not because they had a particular interest in it. Ah well, I suspect I'm guilty of the same offence."

In retrospect I wonder if I my lack of enthusiasm was also related to being so far out of my comfort zone - it's hard to open yourself up to wonder and awe when you feel unsafe and uncertain. It was still early days in my travels and I had a lot of confidence to gain.

 

 

The Peruvian coast south of Lima is desperately dry and barren, but the cold Humboldt current means the ocean is teeming with life.

Islas Ballestas

Lagunillas, Peninsula de Paracas

The original inhabitants took advantage of the landscape to construct huge images that are only visible from high above. One theory holds that shamans conceived of the idea while tripping on psychedelics, their awareness expanding to transcend beyond the earth-bound. I used modern technology instead and splurged on a flight to view the Nazca Lines from the air. The lines were cool, but I think I was more excited by my first flight in a small plane!

Monkey, Nazca Lines

Spider, Nazca Lines

The bus system in South America is awesome. You can get anywhere, in any level of (dis)comfort. Every town has a bus station where all the bus companies have a shopfront, with the timetable and prices clearly displayed. You can quickly do a circuit and work out who's going where, when, for how much and in what sort of bus (for the economist types, it seems very close to a 'perfect market').

Salespeople give a cut to the driver to stand at the front and spruik their wares. In the Andean countries a preponderance of these was dental-related - for good reason, as the state of people's teeth was atrocious, thanks to copious soft drink consumption and little dental care. For the locals these touts are probably quite tiresome, but they provided me with a welcome distraction. On the bus from Pisco to Ica some musicians obliged us with some folk tunes - authentic or not, they were very entertaining.

Musicians on the bus from Pisco to Ica

Despite talking up the bus service, I arrived in Arequipa at 2am with my first mild bout of gastro. Arequipa was beautiful, with possibly the finest Plaza de Armas I encountered on the whole trip. But I wasn't that keen to be spending time in towns - I wanted mountains, nature, wilderness! There was plenty of that to come, and a fair bit more gastro too...

Plaza de Armas, Arequipa

Jewish in Lima

From Easter Island I made my way to Lima (Peru), with an overnight stop in Santiago. Still painfully daunted by the language barrier, I couldn't muster the courage to go out for a proper dinner or breakfast and made do with snacks from the nearest corner shop.

In Lima I found myself staying in an Israeli haunt - I must have failed to read between the lines of my guidebook. On arrival I asked a question in English and was met with blank faces until they realised I was speaking neither Hebrew nor Spanish. Israeli backpackers tend to stick together, but I was befriended by a girl called Amira who included me in their adventures. From an email (I couldn't find the apostrophe key):

"Fell in with a bunch of Israelis, and as it happened, last Friday was the Jewish New Years, so off off I went to celebrate with them.  Only problem was that the hosts were iffy about letting a Jewish girl called Christian come to the show, so we doubted if theyd be happy about a Roman Catholic Aussie.  As a precaution, we conconcocted a new identity for myself:  I became Guy Feldman for the night, mother an Israeli Jew, father an Australian, and we emigrated to Australia when I was five - hence my complete lack of Hebrew.  Unfortunately, I didnt need to use my false identity, but Im sure the fact that I had someone translating into my ear constantly drew some notice.  The Israelis were all prettyndty disappointed my the event:  for a start they had to *pay*, which is unheard of for a religious celebration, and there wasnt a great deal of food, nor was it very tasty.  But it could just be that Israelis like to whinge.  I had a good time, theyve got some funky songs, and I got to wear a skull cap for a while, but it kept falling off ...  guess I wasnt mean to be a Jew."

Perhaps I wasn't meant to be a Jew (or a Christian, it now seems!), but my haggling ability was nearing Israeli levels. I knew I needed to back off when Amira raved to her friends about the good deal I had extracted from a taxi driver. We had gone to the zoo together (this sounds like a date - it could have been a date - but I was too uncertain and she too reserved so nothing happened ... alas!) and while they had some cool animals, the conditions were pretty awful.

Parque de Las Leyendas

I was getting more comfortable with my limited Spanish and could just about manage the basics. My next challenge was coming to terms with the many con-people out to take advantage of the naive traveller. I had expected touts trying to sell me stuff, and pickpockets or bag-slashers, but many who approached me were much more subtle, with a blurring of commercial transactions and social relationship that confounded my simple brain (this came to a head in Cuba - stay tuned). I nearly lost US$100 in what I suspect was a counterfeiting scam, rather than a black market currency exchange. And a very friendly couple in the Plaza de Armas called me "Super Man" and wanted help with their English grammar - perhaps they were legit? Funnily enough, I did actually see a guy in full Super Man costume striding through the streets later on.

I had a pretty open itinerary from here on. My next flight wasn't until late December from the southern tip of Chile. Amira invited me to head north with her friends, but I didn't fancy being a hanger-on without Hebrew, so headed to the bus station happily on my own.

Ossuary in the catacombs under the Basílica y Convento de San Francisco

The Fall of the Moai

1 Sep 2002

There was an American woman, Sarah, staying in my hospedaje (hostel). I'm not sure if she took pity on my green-ness or just liked company, but we spent the next few days touring the island together, via foot and a little Suzuki 4WD.

On the first day we walked (a long) eight hours along the remote west coast from the town of Hanga Roa to the only surf beach on the island, Anakena. The terrain was spectacular, and typical of Easter Island: a blanket of verdant grass liberally scattered with black basalt boulders - not a tree to be seen except where planted by human. Along the way was a charming homestead nestled between escarpment and ocean, where we met a mainland Chileno who spent his summers there - quite the beach shack! He explained that the polypipes we had encountered were actually for pumping fresh water out of the sea. There is little in the way of surface water, so underwater springs are critical.

On the way to Anakena

Anakena is where the first Polynesians would have arrived, and where Thor Heyerdahl completed his voyage on the Kontiki in an attempt to prove that the Easter Islanders came from South America (he was wrong). Easter Island is, of course, famous for its massive sculptures (moai) which stand on platforms (ahu) overlooking old village sites. They are said to be ancestors looking over and protecting their descendents. But when the first Europeans arrived, they had all been toppled.

Ahu Hanga Poukura

At Anakena there is a solitary standing moai, which Heyerdahl raised manually, to prove it could be done without modern technology. But to move and erect a statue uses huge amounts of timber. In Jared Diamond's book Collapse, he argues that the islanders got carried away in a frenzy of one-up-moai-ship, going so far as to cut down all the trees, which triggered an ecological collapse, soon followed by social collapse, and the moai were toppled in the resulting inter-tribal warfare. By the time Europeans arrived, only a few desperate islanders remained to scrape a poor living from the degraded landscape - easy pickings for slavers. Another hypothesis puts the blame on introduced rats, which ate the seeds and seedlings of the native trees so they couldn't regenerate. And yet another that there was no social collapse, and that it was all the European's fault.

Whatever the case, the moai are truly incredible, and the vistas are uninterrupted. At the main quarry of Rano Ruraku there is the largest moai ever made, but which never made it to an ahu. It is 20m long! The largest erected was 10m.

The quarry at Rano Raraku

 

Buried moai at Rano Raraku

My visit to Easter Island was a great success, though the prospect of not having Sarah and her Spanish was slightly worrying ... I'll finish with this pithy observation from my diary:

"At Ahu Tongariki we saw a photographer and a girl scantily dressed. They were taking photos for postcards. Funny."

View towards Ahu Tongariki

Ahu Tongariki

View from Maungu Puakatiki

Sunset and storm from Maunga Terevaka, the highest point on the island at 506m