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<title>Travel Blog | Pollito Solito</title>
<link>http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/Pollito-Solito/</link>
<description>Travel adventures in journals and photos from Pollito Solito</description>
<language>en-us</language>
<pubDate>Sat, 25 May 2013 17:48:28 +0000</pubDate>
<lastBuildDate>Sat, 25 May 2013 17:48:28 +0000</lastBuildDate><item>
                    <title>Inca Man 2</title>
                    <description>I spent the weekend camping in an original Andean forest high in the mountains. When I got back to town on Sunday there was a tree planted in the middle of the soccer court. On my way passing it in the afternoon I came upon a scene that I was soon dragged into. A colorful confetti necklace was wrapped around my neck and my face was dusted with a purple powder. A chain of hands absorbed anyone wi</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-691914.html</link>
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                    <title>Inca Man</title>
                    <description>I had recognized him from somewhere. He was hard to forget. He had a tall thin frame with long black hair under a cowboy hat. His forehead and his chin jutted out like the ends of a crescent moon. His face was slender with deep set eyes. He must have been of pure Inca blood.He ran at me from two blocks away. He ran down the cobblestone street surrounded by stone walls. I was confused. I only rec</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-691908.html</link>
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                    <title>Lares</title>
                    <description>My head tossed from side to side as I tried to sleep through the switchbacks. The bus rode the edge of the cliff as if it had the luxury of being connected by a rail. Jon and I sat bags on laps tiredly gazing out at the first morning light reach the highest mountain peaks. We were almost level with the snows before we began to descend.It rained in Lares and it didn39t stop. We were dropped in</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Lares-Trek/blog-691901.html</link>
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                    <title>Bones</title>
                    <description>I woke up to a perfect day. The weather was so nice that over breakfast I decided to take a return trip to las Canteras. Dark emerald green humming birds darted across my path. I was feeling a bit lazy and wanted nothing more than a relaxing day exploring the quarries. Of course I was in for more adventure than I intended.I arrived at the first quarry after about an hour. I hadn39t taken a s</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-691523.html</link>
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                    <title>Sick</title>
                    <description>Beeds of sweat dripped from my head into the bile below. I gagged and coughed up the white saliva of dehydration. I was dizzy and began to look for the best place to pass out. The bathroom floor had no accomodating spaces. I was weak and y arms trembled as I grasped the toilet seat. It smelled like death and I felt possessed by something very evil.I39d return to my room cold weak and thirsty.</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-691507.html</link>
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                    <title>Quillabamba part 2</title>
                    <description>We drove deeper into the jungled mountains. The driver took as far as his car could go. We thanked him and started up the trail into the dark forest. Colorful birds dartted from branch to branch overhead. Vines hung from tremendous trees like prehistoric snakes. Soon we found ourselves in the middle of a banana grove. Hundreds of bananas hung all around us. The boys rushed at them as if they were</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/La-Convenci-n/Quillabamba/blog-691139.html</link>
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                    <title>Quillabamba part 1</title>
                    <description>We lost the game and took a seat on the stone bleachers. Above the soccer court a truck carrying fruit rushed by in the night. Weary passengers lay on top of mangos and bananas staring up at the starry sky. Together they huddled under blankets and prepared for their journey over the snowy mountain pass. In five hours they would have passed through as many climates. Their faces were alien of ano</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/La-Convenci-n/Quillabamba/blog-688100.html</link>
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                    <title>Patacancha</title>
                    <description>It was overcast and drizzling when we arrived in Patacancha. The air was thin the mud too thick for our car to pass. We walked the short distance to the the town if the scattering of adobe huts could even be called that. We were on a tour with us was a middleaged couple from North Carolina.The weavers were unaware we were coming so as we past through the street Kiri had to call out tenemos u</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Sacred-Valley/blog-687412.html</link>
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                    <title>Inca Land</title>
                    <description>Four stones extended from an ancient terrace wall. Together they formed a staircase between chacras corn fields. I sat on the middle stone my back to the wall my feet dangling over a murmuring brook. I poured through a history on the Inca. The sun shimmered through the fruit tree above speckling the pages of my book with the shadows of leaves dancing in the wind. The book captivated my imagi</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-685616.html</link>
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                    <title>Rambling</title>
                    <description>The people of these mountains are sad. They are generally introverted and shy. They seem truly a conquered race who have lived in poverty since Europeans arrived over four hundered years ago. How much livelihood have they lost since they once governed themselves and the country they inhabitedTonight Doris described me the issues Ollantinos face with agricultural diversification. There are no lo</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-682238.html</link>
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                    <title>Las Salineras </title>
                    <description>Today we hiked through the Salineras or the salt mines of Mara. The mines were other worldly. They seemed to grow out of the mountains like a multicolored rectangular honey comb. We had summited a small mountain looking for them before they appeared before our feet. When we looked down 1500 salt pans met our gaze.Las Salineras produces the majority of the salt consumed in the Cusco region. St</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Moray/blog-682216.html</link>
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                    <title>Inti Punku</title>
                    <description>Inti Punku is Quechua for door of the sun. High above the valley this ruin awaits the solstace the day the sun passes through its door. Inti Punku is the highest ruin in sight of Ollanta eleven thousand feet above sea level. The people in my organization told me I shouldn39t try to summit this trail until I had completelty acclimated to the altitude of the town. Looking back they were proba</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-682046.html</link>
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                    <title>First Impressions</title>
                    <description>To be fair neither my words nor my picutures will ever come close to capturing the beauty of Ollanta. Even as I experience it I cannot grasp it. What follows is thus an endeavor in futility. These are my first impressions.Every morning I awake to the song of birds and the smell of a wood stove. Sun light beams through my window and beckens me to my feet. The balcony is aglow with early morning l</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/Ollantaytambo/blog-682041.html</link>
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                    <title>Arrival</title>
                    <description>Looking out the window high above the cordillera I imagined my route north as I headed south. After explaining my plans to my seat mate he passed me his lunch. He said I needed the food more than him. This happened on three of my four flights to Cusco. When we landed there were plenty of anxious people holding signs. None of them had my name on them. I was expecting an airport pickup but now I</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Cusco/blog-682016.html</link>
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                    <title>Departure</title>
                    <description>I turned 23 today. Looks like I39ll be spending the first 20 hours of adulthood waiting in terminals sleeping upright and surviving on cold processed sandwhiches. Behind me every influence that comprises me. Ahead a road unkown. All I can be sure of now is that one chapter of my life has ended and the next will be written with the liberty I39ve only recently achieved.I sit here at gate 1</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/North-America/United-States/Massachusetts/Boston/blog-681998.html</link>
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                    <title>The Existentialist</title>
                    <description>There aren39t ten minutes that go by without the thought passing my mind. My heart speeds up my palms get sweaty and I float into the recesses of my imagination. Just the thought of the adventure that awaits seems to put everything else into perspective. I break free of the ephemeral troubles that haunt my life and forget all about student loans girls careers and the pissed off guy at tabl</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/North-America/United-States/Massachusetts/Boston/blog-665188.html</link>
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                    <title>TickTock...</title>
                    <description>The adrenaline courses through me sporadic prickly hot and icy all at once. The tips of my fingers grow moist and my heart pounds away at my chest. I can almost make out the faint clicking noise of a cart climbing a monsterous rollercoaster. No that must be my clock. I roll over in bed and listen to the seconds tick by like the gears that carry the cart to its peak. I listen and I wait. My pul</description>
                    <link>http://www.travelblog.org/North-America/United-States/Massachusetts/Boston/blog-669899.html</link>
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