South America 3

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Hola amigos,
It’s been a while, and I have been many places. I’ve written this entry on a bus, in Cusco airport, under my mosquito net at Lagunas Surf Camp in Mancora, which is just south of the Ecuadorian border, during my cruise cabin in the Galapagos Islands, and now back in Quito.

My days have been full enough that on numerous occasions I have found myself lying in a bed thinking, “Have I slept here before? Was I here last night?” My Bolivian experience was like that, which was unfortunate, because I liked it there. I live without schedules as much as possible, but other people’s schedules can sometimes drive my decisions. My first morning in Copacabana, Bolivia, I began researching tours of the Peruvian jungle and saw that they all departed on Sundays. I had the choice of either two or nine days before returning to Cusco to make the jungle departure; the decision was made easier by the limits of my Bolivian visa. Bolivia is the second country I’ve encountered (Brazil was the other; different trip) where Americans have visa requirements that other countries don’t have. Well, actually, Korean, Chinese, and U.S. citizens all have to pay to enter Bolivia (seriously, it’s those three countries). The fee is $135 for 30 days of full access to Bolivia or $45 for up to a week in Copacabana and the nearby islands. I had no idea about this when I arrived at the Bolivian border, and I needed to pay at least $45 or I was going to have to take a four hour bus ride back from where I had just come (and I didn’t know when that bus was coming or how I could catch it). Now, $45 doesn’t seem like much, but in Peru and especially in Bolivia, it really is a lot of money. There were no ATMs at the border town and the bank was closed. Long story short, I was saved by American Express traveler’s checks; traveler’s checks that had otherwise proven so worthless that I had been kind of embarrassed for getting involved in a relic of the past (or the rich?). They took a big percentage for themselves, but I got into Bolivia.

As I noted in the previous entry, there isn’t much to Copacabana at all, which is a very relaxing thing, but since I had to head back to Cusco quickly, I caught the early morning ferry to Isla del Sol my first day there. Isla del Sol is a relatively small, but starkly beautiful island. It is the “Garden of Eden” for the Incas—the birthplace of both the first man, and the Sun. Isla del Luna, birthplace of women and the moon, is very close by, but is much smaller and less visited. The buildings on the island are quite run down, and every home or hotel has a sign up that says “restaurant”, but why not make some extra change by cooking for the tourists? The ferry to Isla was questionably safe, but a beautiful ride, and it was packed with both residents and backpackers from all over the world. The island is full of hiking trails and llamas and a few beaches lined with boats, and there was a beautiful sunset the night I was there. The whole Isla del Sol undertaking is pretty well documented on my Picasa page.

Leaving Bolivia
Leaving Copa was an adventure. I reserved a seat on a 1:00 bus. Around 2:00, the travelers were informed (in Spanish) that we would find out at 5:00 if our bus would be arriving that day. It took some asking, but I finally found someone bilingual who explained that a “strike” had stopped inter-country bus routes. And so the adventure began. Four Argentine guys, an Argentine girl, a sixth Argentine with his British girlfriend, an Italian, and I decided to make our way into Peru come what may. First, we found a taxi van that would take us to the border. And when I say “we”, I mean these four Argentine guys who, wild haircuts and funky sunglasses notwithstanding (sorry for not taking pictures, but I was trying to fit in, you know), had skills in teamwork and leadership, if not English. We reached and cleared customs, then walked across the border where the boys negotiated for a second van. The negotiations took about an hour and the van took us about five miles. From there, we waited about another hour and the Argentines found a bus that would take us the rest of the way to Puno. It was a wild journey. Apparently, in Peru, a “strike” means that, for one day, villagers block the road with rocks and their bodies until the bus attempting to pass pays them off. As far as I could tell, no one in the transportation industry was “striking” in the conventional sense of the word. Our driver dutifully paid the extortions and the villagers performed a call and answer routine that I’m sure will advance the cause of the people for future generations. The route I had taken on the way there had been paved and relatively direct. We didn’t take that route. Several times, we seemed to go many miles out of the way to drop off just one or two people at a time. The last two hours were when it got intense. Night fell and I realized that my chances of reaching Cusco that evening were bleak. Shortly afterward, well-armed police boarded the bus and shined flashlights on us then left. What was really eerie though were the fires. During the day, you would occasionally see farmers igniting fires across the countryside, but at night they picked it up. At one point I could see six or eight fires surrounding the bus from all directions. I gave myself to our leadership and it paid off. We finally reached Puno, and they found and negotiated a hostel by the bus station (I think it was $5 for the night). I woke up early, walked to the station, found out that the buses to Cusco were at a different station and I hopped on a bicycle rickshaw which went through the largest farmer’s market I have ever seen. Nine hours later I was in Cusco desperately searching for a laundromat that could get all of my clothes cleaned before closing because my Amazon expedition was literally at 5AM the next morning.

This is worth briefly expanding on. I have woken up before 7AM more times in the last six weeks as I did in the 9 2/3 years of the decade leading up to it. Further, I have woken up before 6AM more times in the past six weeks than in my entire-post infancy. I am confident in both of these statements.

Manu National Park
The jungle was an experience. It started well enough. A 10 hour bus ride that would have been terrifying five years ago, but at this point, I am entirely comfortable putting my life in the hands of a bus driver’s unwavering concentration (despite the New Zealand incident). As you can imagine, the views were spectacular. Our van descended from high arid terrain, through cloud forests, then finally into the rain forest. Waterfalls were everywhere, and exotic birds as well. We stayed in ecolodges. The first two and the last one had electricity from 6PM to 9PM. The four nights in the middle had none. While it would have been a bit more comfortable, you certainly didn’t need hot water for your showers down there. It’s damn hot. The last place, though, was just unfiltered river water. And at that particular point, the river was brown. Discomforting in the shower, disturbing in the toilet.

The heat and humidity were intense and consistent—except for the morning I woke up with a fever. When it starts pouring rain in Florida, it stays pretty warm out. Not in the Amazon, at least not that day. And I was stuck on a totally open boat for SEVEN HOURS, totally unprepared. At first, I didn’t realize that I was sick. I woke up aching, but I had had a horrible night’s sleep. My roommate for the night was not satisfied by being probably the loudest (and most immediate) snorer I’ve ever encountered; he was also, without a doubt, the loudest sleeptalker I ever had the displeasure of being next to. And he moaned. He moaned like a tortured ghost. Moan, snore, scream an entire sentence in Spanish, moan some more. And it poured buckets and buckets that night. Lightning and thunder. The non-Floridians in the group universally proclaimed it the heaviest rain they had ever experienced. It ranked up there for me too. In any case, I didn’t realize my illness until it was too late. Cold and aching, I was totally wiped out for a day. The next morning, I felt kind of better so I went on a hike. As I was beginning to feel the need to get some rest, we went on a lake on an uncovered boat in direct sun for two hours. I end up relapsing from the freakin' heat! Irony! The guides thought it was side effects from malaria pills I was taking, so I stopped. I did recover quickly and, as of this writing, I don’t have malaria. All’s well that ends well.

And it would be completely misleading to say that it didn’t end well. Fever and diarrhea in the jungle while sleeping without A/C is not fun, but outside of the discomfort, especially on the sick days—and, oh yes, the bug bites, I would be remiss to not mention the bug bites—the jungle was pretty awesome. Manu National Forest is one of the most biologically diverse regions of the Amazon Basin Rain Forest, the most diverse place in the world. We saw a rainbow of birds, dozens if not hundreds of monkeys, caimans, moths with six inch wingspans, massive beetles and beetles with glowing fake eyes, columns of leaf-cutter ants too long to be followed, army ants covering huge swaths of earth and solitary bullet ants on trees; we saw nocturnal rodents with huge eyes, an armadillo, giant otters, wild hogs (We actually more heard the hogs. We could only see flashes of them between the leaves maybe 20 meters away), many spiders including tarantulas, poisonous snakes, and various insects glowing yellow, orange, and green in the night. Each of these encounters was an experience that can’t really be put into words. For me, the highlights were the nighttime hikes and the boat rides. We were deep enough in the jungle that only boats and planes can get you there. In total, we spent over 24 hours on the boats. Despite the one rainy day, we were enormously lucky with the weather. I mean, it is a rain forest, and that was our only rain. The days on the boats were beautiful. I marveled at the scenery and the animals, read Huckleberry Finn, and played chess with the guide. Truly wonderful times and with a great group of people. I have been hugely lucky to be with great people on each of my three major tours. One minor drag is that a good camera really pays off out there, between the night hikes and the zoom needed to capture the animals. I do not have a really good camera. I’m out here on the trip of my life with a camera I literally got for free. Everybody who was on the expedition is supposed to share photos, though, so hopefully they’ll come through and I’ll post them.

The agency ended up cutting it one day short because some of the guests were supposed to take a plane back and the plane was canceled. That was fine. The four day trips don’t get you all the way into the jungle, but seven days is a long time for hot nights and merciless insects.

After the jungle was my fourth visit to Cusco. Cusco has amazing history and most of the accommodations of modern life, but the hassles on the street really wear on you at a certain point. “Masajes? Masajes?” “Cigarettes?” “Paintings, señor?” I know I’m a tourist but, Lord, it was unrelenting (I can only imagine how it would wear on someone who felt obligated to be polite!). I decided that rather than head directly to the next big city (Quito), I would spend some time at the beach. I took a short flight to Lima, a 45 minute taxi ride from the airport to the bus station, then a 17 hour bus ride up the coast to Mancora.

One stretch of coast was breathtakingly beautiful. Sand dunes hundreds of meters long stretched down between cliffs at the sea shore to yellow sand beaches. We didn’t stop, but I was in a window seat on the right side. I wish I had photos to share.

Stone cold chillin’ in Mancora
Mancora is a surf town. I stayed in the most basic of hotels, just off the beach. I woke up both mornings and swam in Mother Pacific. One morning I jogged up and down the beach. There were horses and gulls and vultures. Both days I surfed. The first, I paid for a lesson. There really isn’t much to surfing, at least not much that can be easily taught. Timing must be learned through experience. The lesson had one major advantage, though. The teacher wears diving flippers and helps push you out to the waves. A HUGE help as paddling through those waves is exhausting. More importantly, when the wave comes, he kicks to give you speed and then shoves you. Time after time I got up and several times I rode the wave all the way to the wave’s conclusion (I’m sure there is a surfing word for that). I was even making turns. …to the right at least. The second day I rented only a surfboard and a wet suit—no lessons. I didn’t ride too many waves that day, but I also did not drown, and for that I am thankful.

Next was a bus across the border to Ecuador. I ended up spending over five weeks in Peru. It is an amazing country. The coastal border of these two countries is notorious for scams and more blatant crimes (Lonely Planet - “worst in the Western Hemisphere”), and indeed I heard a nightmare story from some guys in Mancora, so I bit the bullet and spent the extra $8 for an intercountry bus ride (Seriously, it’s amazing how extreme one gets in trying to save money when most things cost less than a dollar and everything is a negotiation. Spending tons of time with backpackers traveling the world with only a few thousand dollars affects you, too.). The border crossing was odd but not scary, however, heavily police stopped us twice overnight to search the bus. I was frisked and given crap over the state of my pasaporte. In any case, we made it to Quito in the morning, and I found a hostel, which is, in fact, where I am, as I type these final sentences. I had been negotiating for a cheap Galapagos cruise from Mancora, and I went to the travel agency to pay for it when I arrived. It was a Saturday, and my intention had been to leave that Tuesday, but when I arrived, there was a much better deal leaving the next morning. I bought it with cash, then found a bar showing Florida-Georgia, and early the next morning, I was off to the Galapagos, the Enchanted Islands, the Islands that Changed the World.

The best part is next,

Greg

More pictures here - . The first 12 were posted before, but I wanted to get the photo albums in line with the blog.

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Comments

[Da]

Sounds about right
loved the last picture on Picassa, you sitting on a bike looking out to sea (or lake). You know Aguis is on an Odyssey (per facebook) and is admired and praised by some for driving to Starkville Mississippi etc. I wonder what he would call your trip? I could bre the only one you know who can identify with your trip. Many of my stories meet with vacant stares. Hopefully not you, and I inspired you a little. Many of these adventures (well written and humorous) mirror mine and Rudys. My tent buddy was bit on neck by a wild monkey, two per trip sicknesses, also I have suffered through a bus strike and a no cars allowed to move election. Keep up the good work and check for mites, borers and parasites (not the French ones). It's not Romancing The Stone is it? But muy cool. Adventure with locals, 5 stars Dad