Vamos a Viajar

Looo loo loo I got some apples
Looo loo loo ya got some too...

Ahem. Greetings. Salutations. Digame. Buenos tardes. What in fact is the bleedin craic? I´m here in the internet cafe listening on youtube to 90s super fashion disco party dance sensation Sash and their hit song Ecuador and it makes me want to hop, skip and jump an hour from where I am now, cross the border and do a little dance. I hope it´s their national anthem. Yes...I´m miles away from Cuzco, in a place called Macora with a farmers tan and a kings thirst for the frosty brew which thou might have for thus. Hit me!!

But what happened? How did I get here? Why have I got so much sand in my ears? Are those my feet? Dame tu mano y venga conmigo....

Januray 1st and I had one of those hangovers that you just can´t buy in the shops. Unless you know a guy who knows a guy. Ouch, ouch and double ouch. I had no intention of starting 2008 till at least lunchtime Januray 2nd. And I thought ahead to what that lunch might consist of.....then I remembered how sore my head was. No sir, I just felt like folding my arms and sticking my tongue out like a two year old at the mean sun and returning to my cama for some good ol fashioned sleepy dreamy nighty snoozey snooze. And how...My nueva familia cuzcanean had other ideas however and were calling me down for breakfast....a simple affair consisting of bread, butter, marmalade and a bathtub of Pisco Sour. Pisco Sour being a favourite cocktail in these part which contains Pisco (a regional brandy), lemon juice, egg whites, simple syrup, and various bitters.
No sausage and bacon for me it would seem...just fiftteen or so eager Peruvians sitting around in a circle laughing at how I had slept in untill 11am. And wanting to play some drinking games.
"Hey you weren´t doing what I was doing last night. Back off. I didn´t know the big celebration was today....ok how do we play?". Well if you could count up to say 50 in spanish and knew your multiples of seven, you didn´t need to take the forfeit i.e a glass of the Pisco Bathtub of Justice. Apparently I was the only one who could do this and they all looked like they were having way too much fun so I began joining in the sillyness. And sillyness it was.

Its a tradition in Cuzco on new years day for all families to eat a dish called Lechon. I say dish...what I mean is pig. A big fat pig with an apple stuck in its mouth roasted in a special oven. And since nobody actually has such a special oven everybody brings their pig up to a public oven in the town at around nine o´clock in the morining, puts a lable on it and comes back for it about three hours later. This was the same thing that was done with the turkey on Christmas day. So we took a brief reprise from all the shenanigans and got our hands dirty with some tasty lechon. This was followed by more drinking, dancing, singing and eh drinking. Bunch of locos. And a nice send off from Cuzco as I said goodbye to all and headed off to Arequipa, Peru´s second largest city two days later...

No wait...we had another send off before that and myself and two dutch friends from the spanish school Pauline and Rose, and un otra amiga de Belgium, Frea arrived at the bus station at 6am in a very silly state straight from one of our favourite dancing establishments. Head on my shoulders? My head was in my bag somewhere and I couldn´t find my bag anywhere so I hoped someone else could be so kind and put in on the bus and maybe attach it to my oh so sleepy body ten hours later. In all the confusion I actually made it on the bus whereas Pauline and Rose had bought fake tickets earlier, found out at the last minute with me waving to them sad and confused with my face pressed up the window like a lost puppy as the bus drove up without them...

Have you ever heard Brian Adams singing "Everything I do, I do it for you" in spanish. I have. Six times. And this only added to my upset state on the ten hour bus ride from hell to Arequipa, a very strange smell of lama floating about the bus and music to make you want to bite your own ears off if trying to do such a thing didn´t look so ridiculous. But luckily we all met up again some time later in Arequipa, happy as Larry´s cousin Jimmy, who makes Larrry look like a manic depressive in comparison.

In this place Arequipa, and what with the festive season making us all feel a little more pleasently plump and slightly more unfit we felt we should do something outdoorsy and active. And being the volcano climbing sonofabitch that I am we headed up with our bags to the top of the 6000m high nearby active volcano El Misti. This made the Inca trail feel like a walk in the park with your dog on a nice Summers day where you can still see your house and know that a remote control, comfy sofa and a cup of barrys tea is only but a few minutes away. It wasnt. We walked a pleasent six hours the first day, no porters with us this time I´m afraid carrying our tents, sleeping bags, water, extra clothes etc. etc. and set up camp at six in the evening falling asleep not so much later after a delicious dinner of spagetti soup followed by spagetti. Our second day began a half an hour or so after midnight when we woke up and walked for ten hours through rain and snow till we reached the crater. I had become very quiet in myself staring at my feet the whole time with the girls muttering the odd dutch word or funny sounds which might have been dutch. I had been doing my best to learn it. When we arrived at the crater, we said "thats a nice crater" and came back down. The incas thought of mountains, volcanos and large things of that ilk as Gods and would regular sacrifice only the prettiest virgins to the volcano. Seems like a bit of a waste really but the Gods must be pleased and the show must go on don´t you know. All in all though the whole thing was quite rewarding. Dont think Ill be climbing another one anytime soon but good fun all the same.

We said goodbye to the dutch girls and myself and Frea came all the way up North to sunny Mancora where we´ve been for the last couple of days. Doing...well nothing really. I´ve been scaring the locals at the beach, taking off my shirt with my pale Irish body and standing out like a sore thumb. Have just said goodbye to Frea who has returned to Belgium and I find myself travelling solo once again.

Dont really have a plan as such of what the hell I´m going to do now and where Im going to travel next. The night is young now and I must venture out to make some new friends. This doesn´t always prove that easy. Last night I was hanging out with four locos from Columbia and another four from Argentina and well I did feel slightly odd, pale Irish dude in the middle while they ranted to me how savage their country was in crazy new slang which they dont talk in cuzco with me being able to keep up with the pace of the night but not too well with the pace of the conversation. A lot of smiling and nodding.

Ah well, thats the craic. Thought I´d check in and say hello to you all. hello. Voy a salir como una caraloco. Stay sexy. I miss your musk

Hasta luego

Ron

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