Nothing in particular in Peru

Since my bout of food poisoning I have done very little in the way of conventional tourist activity. So little, infact, that it is arguable that writing a blog about the last two weeks is a largely pointless exercise. But it has been fun, at least, so will attempt to scrabble together something, just to please my mum more than anything.

After my ill-fated attempt to do the Colca Canyon trek, I ended up lazing around in a hammock in Arequipa, getting slightly sunburnt and and listening to music. Travel is supposed to broaden the mind, but for about three days all I did was broaden the amount of Stones plays on my ipod. However, Arequipa was a fine setting for doing the square root of nothing - the weather was perfect, the people friendly and the nitelife {sic} pretty kicking! Also managed to tick a few things off the culinary to-try list, including ostrich steak and guinea pig {or 'cuy' in Peruvian} which as well as not having much meat on it was predictably chicken-like too. It was also very difficult not to visualise the doomed rodent scuttling around in a cage possibly hours earlier. At least they cut the head off and dunked it in garlic.

Also fun in Arequipa is the haggling over ridiculously small amounts of money. Nothing is worth the price it is initially offered at on the street, especially at black markets, and haggling is a fun game you are encouraged to play. Failure to do so tends to provoke John Cleese-like indignation {Won't haggle?!}. The black market itself is an experience. You can walk past stalls selling cow carcasses and toothpaste, fags and pirate DVDs, sacks of unidentified grain, black bananas and tins of paint. Sometimes on the same stall. Also fun are the 'collectivo' minibus taxis {also everywhere in Bolivia} that hurtle around town and cram in up to 20 people at a time, often not really going to the places they say they are. It costs about ten pence to go across town though, and it gives you a local experience that taxis can't really offer.

Earlier in the week I headed up to Cuzco, former capital of the Inca empire, now the major gringo hangout in South America. It was a 12 hour journey on a day when there were major roadblocks and transport strikes all across the country. Not sure exactly what for - something to do with indignation over water privatisation. And the unwelcome involvement of the French, apparently. It began with ten hours of serene progress through the ubiquitous mountains, but two hours from Cuzco there were rocks all over the road that protesters had thrown, in order to sabotage the infidel bus companies not playing ball. The bus had to swerve perilously through many boulder chicanes, and when the road was impassable we had to get out of the bus and move some rocks on to the side of the road.

Got to Cuzco in the end, and worth it it was. Lots of buildings have original Inca stonework in their foundation, with colonial modifications above. There are beautiful squares with fountains, statues, and every other building seems to be a cathedral. They even have Quechua mass in the Catholic HQ on the main square - not sure how the Pontiff feels about a bizarre merger of an ancient {better?} religion with his own, but it seems to happen once a week. Cuzco is hemmed in with mountains too, and on one is hewn the legend 'Viva Peru' in enormous letters for the entire city to see, apparently carved by the army many years ago. My hostel, Loki {also stayed at the legendary Loki branch in La Paz} had a great view of it, and I was delighted to find the hostel was peopled by dozens of people I have met along the way, from Buenos Aires to La Paz. The thing I have said the most at Loki so far is - 'Put it on the slate, Room 103'. Which is all well and good until check-out time.

Yesterday went to watch the Bolivia v Peru World Cup Qualifier {a proper S American local derby} with some locals me and a friend had met {more about her later}. We were taken to a proper Cusquenan bar, populated only by locals, with a small TV propped up on a crate of beers. Locals dont drink lager, but a heavy, viscous maize homebrew called Chicha, which is served up from a concrete cauldron on the floor. Either that or neat Pisco, the national spirit, which not unlike the sensation of swallowing magma. Hens and chickens run amok in the bar and there is an obligatory llama tethered out the back. Peru lost three nil and were never in it. The locals didnt really get angry, just shrugged their shoulders in resignation to the inevitability of the result. Peru will now not be taking part in the World Cup 2010...

One of the funniest people I have met so far is an Australian girl called Kelda {mentioned earlier}who just has a great knack of making hilarious things happen around her, usually deliberately caused directly by her. The other night we were in a club where she suddenly decided she wanted to work for the night. She was a barmaid back home, but I still found it amazing that they just let her wander behind the bar, and within a few minutes she was juggling cocktails, throwing ice around and awarding herself {and me, to be fair} free tequila shots, sometimes directly out of the bottle. They even let her operate the till. This probably says more about the laid back Peruvian temperament that anything else. I can't imagine walking into a bar in Covent Garden of a Saturday and expecting the same reception. Oh, and Kelda used to live opposite me for a couple of months in Ealing this year, a level of serendipity we were both oblivious to.

Another hilarious character I've met is a local called Manuel, who couldn't look more Incan. To throw gringoes a curveball, he has perfected a brilliant Cockney accent. It was more than disarming to be greeted with a 'Alrite Geeeezaaaa! Haaars Tricks?' Apparently he has watched endless repeats of 'Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels' to get it perfect. And the joke never wears thin, even after many, many, many, many repeats.

Former work colleagues Warren and Claudia arrived in town today from a few days in Lima, to do the Inca Trail. Infact, I have to go and wake them up right now - they are having a siesta in their hotel, which is about five minutes walk down a 90 degree-gradient hill from my hostel. Walking up it is less fun, especially at 3,600 metres above sea level.

Next week - the feted Inca Trail will be trailed, which hopefully will be a blog in itself!

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