I was doing something I’d wanted to do as long as I could remember. But I wasn’t bursting with excitement like I should have been.

Instead, I was a bundle of nerves and worry. My worry greatly outweighed my excitement for what I was doing.

I knew deep down I was doing the right thing, but a pesky voice in my head was full of questions and worries and doubts that made it impossible for me to think about how fun and exciting and fulfilling this adventure would be.

Was it stupid to quit such a good job to go have fun around the world?

Did I ruin my career?

What if I can’t find another job when I get back?

What if I run out of money?

How will I make money when I get back?

What if something scary happens to me on the road?

What if I get lonely?

What if I get homesick?

What will I miss out on being away from home for so long?

Will my friends remember me when I get back?

What will people think of me – my parents, my friends, potential future employers – quitting my job just so I can galavant around the world?

And the biggest worry I had was, what if I don’t get everything I want to get out of this trip?

Stories and comments on the Internet and conversations with people I meet tell me that there are many, many people out there who would love to put their career lives on hold for a period of time to travel the world. But they tell themselves they could never do it, there are too many obstacles.

There are real obstacles to traveling, of course. You do have to save some money. But I think most people would be surprised at how cheaply you can travel and how easy it actually is to save money once you decide to do it. But that is a story for another day.

The biggest hurdle to taking that trip you’ve always dreamed about is that pesky voice in your head that tells you it’s not possible. The voice that comes up with questions and worries and doubts that make you think you could never do it.

This is what I would tell the me of one year ago and all of you would-be-world-travelers who have the same voice telling you you can’t do it:

Just ignore that voice.

Admittedly, it’s really simple to say, “just ignore it!” and it’s quite another thing to actually do it. But think of that voice as your enemy. That voice is a naysayer and isn’t looking out for your best interest. It’s telling you what you can’t do, not what you can. It is trying to inhibit your ambition, oppose your dreams, stifle your capability, smother your aspirations. Why would you want such a negative voice making such important life decisions for you?

I admit it was scary, but I got on the plane in spite of the questions, worries, and doubts that were thwarting my excitement.

The minute I arrived in Beijing, the disagreeable voice was silenced for good. I had different worries, of course, like “What is the exchange rate again? Did that cab driver just rip me off?” and “How do I figure out which of these Chinese characters translate to the subway stop I want to get off on?” Worries specific to traveling that turn into learning experiences and contribute to the knowledge and wisdom you gain while traveling.

Once I was actually out there in the world, seeing things, meeting people, having new experiences, doing things I’d always wanted to do, not one of the questions or worries or doubts that I had before I left seemed to matter one bit.

Even now that I am back in the States and having to face the real world again, I have gained such a different perspective on my life and what I want out of it, that my worries from a year ago are no longer relevant. Traveling has given me confidence and security, understanding and awareness, insight and enlightenment. It has given me a feeling that I can do anything in the world I want, be it something new or exactly what I was doing before.

Traveling has given me something I never would have gotten had I listened to that pesky voice of negativity.

You will never, ever regret ignoring that voice. If you listen to it, you will most definitely always wonder what you could have done and been if you only didn’t listen.

First, I would like to thank you, America, for not having garbage all over your streets and sidewalks, in your bodies of water, and tainting the beautiful scenery of your nature. I have been home for a few weeks now, and I still cannot get over how litterless your ground is.

Garbage tainting the beautiful beach in Viña del Mar, Chile

Thank you, America, for being friendly to your pedestrians. It is so nice to walk across intersections knowing that your cars will not skid through paying no heed to the people crossing the street. In fact, drivers here actually slow down and let the crosswalkers traverse to the other side peacefully, without a constant fear for their lives!

Thank you, America, for your efficiency. Even in the leisurely days of travel, I got frustrated with the preposterous disorganization and waiting times at banks, hotels, restaurants, and ticket agencies in some foreign countries. Here in America, we are always in a rush, with too much to do and too little time to do it in, going crazy if we have to wait too long at the Starbucks drive-through or in the grocery store check-out line. But at least we have the option of frequenting businesses that want to serve us quickly and efficiently – and even if they are not always successful at it, they usually give off the aura of trying.

Thank you, America, for your reliability. Your courts may deal with many frivolous lawsuits, but on the flip side, the laws that encourage these ridiculous cases also motivate corporations to follow through with what they promise. I rarely have to worry that when I buy a bus ticket for a certain seat at a certain price, my ticket will be exchanged without my knowledge and without a refund for a worse seat on a worse bus that costs less. And if that were to happen, I usually have some sort of recourse that will at the very least give me a venue to vent my anger.

Thank you, America, for your entrepreneurial spirit. In most of your industries, there is a healthy level of competition, which means I have a choice of which company to give my business. If one company gives me bad service, I can easily switch to one of its competitors. And out of spite, I can get my family and friends to do the same.

Thank you, America, for having clean water to drink, hot water to shower in, fast Internet to surf on, paved freeways to drive on, and cheap(ish) Apple products to buy.

America, thank you for giving me the freedom to voice my frustration with your government and to freely access information in whatever publication I want to read or on whatever website I want to visit.

Thank you also, America, for respecting your women. Thank you for allowing your women to walk the streets without being subject to offensive catcalls and devouring looks. Thank you for making the machismo attitude an ugly thing and not one that your culture glorifies.

Thank you for making it possible for even the most unlikely and underprivileged of us to succeed.

And finally, I would like to thank all the people, both Americans and foreigners, who have fought to make it possible for us to live in a country where we can enjoy all of these things.

Happy Memorial Day!

(Yes, I realize Memorial Day was actually yesterday, but I succumbed to procrastination, and before I knew it, the holiday was over. Obviously, I will never be a breaking news journalist.)

Welcome Home!

It has been a few days since I arrived back to the States, and it is time for some reflection. What did I gain from my ten months of traveling? Was it just a fun time of visiting places, doing new things, making new friends? Or did I get something more, something that will forever change how I live my life?

Before I left for China last July, the first country of 22 I would visit over the next ten months, I had grand hopes for how this trip would change me. I knew that my perspective on how I should live my life wasn’t making me happy. But I had no idea how to change this perspective.

I hoped that going out into the world on my own, without the influences from American society, without the pressures of having a successful, high-paying career, without anyone but me telling me what I should do each day and how I should do it, I would discover what it is I really want to do with my life.

The thing about experiencing a change in your outlook on life is that you don’t really realize it as it’s happening. My dad asked me shortly after I got back if I had any revelations while on my trip. I thought and thought, but I couldn’t think of any big revelation I had that had brought about a huge change in me.

And yet, I feel like an entirely different person.

I can’t help it, I really love my Civvy!

Don’t get me wrong. I am still me. And I still love the same things. (Unfortunately, a year without material things didn’t make me less materialistic. It just made me really miss my stilettos, my skinny jeans, my Chanel, and my Civic. But I also appreciate them much more now.)

When I left, my life seemed like a narrow tunnel that I had to follow to reach some obscured happiness way in the future. I would (try to) constantly move forward in my career, working myself up the corporate ladder to some level of success that was undefined. I would (try to) find a good husband, buy a nice house, have some kids. I would take vacations when I could get away from work. I would see my family on the major holidays.

It would be a great life, an enviable life. But it just wouldn’t make me happy.

Somehow, somewhere between shrieking over leopards in the African savannah, flinging myself off a one hundred meter bridge with just a bouncy cord connecting me to solid ground, having confusing conversations in Spanish that sounded to me like gibberish, and scaling volcanoes and ancient mountain trails, I let go of the constraints that were forming a tunnel around my life.

One goal of my future life: see my family more!

Now the world seems like a place with endless possibilities. There are so many fun, exciting, fulfilling things to do, and I have an entire lifetime to do them in.

We humans are always confining our lives with what we think we should do, never thinking about what we want to do or what we could do if we only tried. The biggest gift this trip has given me is the realization that the only thing that was stopping me before from doing what I wanted to do and being happy with my life – was me.

What would you do if you could do anything you wanted?

The Panama City skyline

Although I had tentatively planned to visit Panama after Colombia, keeping with the theme of my trip, my plans were not concrete. The visit was solidified at the airline counter while I was trying to check into my flight to Bogotá. The Avianca airline employee wouldn’t check me in without an onward ticket out of Colombia.

My sleep-deprived mind was blurry from traveling all night, so I purchased the cheapest flight I could to Panama City from Cartagena on a random day that seemed good. And that’s how I found myself in Panama, what was going to be my last destination before returning to the States.

The Panama Canal at the Miraflores Locks

The city is, of course, known for its canal. The Panama Canal is the fifty-mile waterway that connects the Pacific Ocean with the Atlantic, saving ships the hassle of having to sail around the southern tip of South America. It is as much a part of U.S. history as it is a source of pride – and revenue – for Panama.

It was pouring down rain when I excitedly arrived at the Miraflores Locks, one of the canal’s three locks that either lower or raise the crossing ships to the level of the water, depending on whether they are heading to the Pacific or the Atlantic.

The canal at the Miraflores Locks, one of the canal’s three sets of locks

I have no idea why I was so eager to see the canal in real life. It’s just a manmade channel of dugout land after all. (However, judging from the pack of tourists – American and Latin American – crowding the viewing deck at the locks, I was not the only one that got excited by the visit.)

The next boat wasn’t scheduled to cross the locks until later that afternoon, so unfortunately, I didn’t get to see a ship navigating its way through the canal. But I did get to visit a museum and watch a movie about the history of the canal. I felt like I was in school again – except I was having fun!

The canal stretching towards the Atlantic

The United States bought the interests in the canal from the French, who had abandoned the construction of the canal due to engineering difficulties and tropical diseases. Facing opposition from Colombia, who controlled Panama at that time, the United States provided support for Panama to separate from Colombia. Shortly thereafter, in late 1903, Panama declared its independence. The United States began work on the canal a few months later.

Casco Viejo, the Old Town of Panama City

The canal officially opened in 1914, when a cargo ship made the first passage. In 1999, Panama formerly took over control of the canal zone. Today, thousands of ships pass through the canal each year, paying Panama billions of dollars in tolls for the privilege.

Having seen the modern Panama City, it was time to experience the old. Casco Viejo is the city’s historical quarter, built in the 17th century after the original site of the city was attacked by pirates. A small peninsula of narrow cobblestone streets and colonial buildings, it starkly contrasts with the wide arterials and modern skyscrapers of the rest of the city.

The skyscrapers of modern Panama City starkly contrast with the colonial buildings of Casco Viejo.

I made my way to the Old Town by way of a seaside run. The wide and flat esplanade was a fantastic spot for a run. The atmosphere of scorching hot humidity was not.

With exhausted legs, I staggered around the plazas, churches, and colonial buildings of Casco Viejo. The historical district is currently in the middle of a major restoration project. Every other building is surrounded by a construction fence, streets are torn up, and pedestrian detours traverse over piles of crumbling rock past noisy jackhammers and sparking welders. The few open streets are congested with traffic.

A building that has already been restored in Casco Viejo. And lots of traffic.

It will be a much better place to visit when it’s fully renovated.

Now I’m waiting for a flight that will finally take me home. But the journey is not over. I may be returning to the States, but I have no intention of reverting back to my unsatisfying, overworked life. I’m not sure what is in store for me in the future. But whatever it is, I am looking forward to it.

This is really just the beginning.

A wall surrounds the colonial quarter of Cartagena.

Ancient Cartagena sits in the Walled City, the colonial quarter of the city that is enclosed by a massive wall. In the years after the city’s founding in 1533, its Spanish residents surrounded their rich new city with a wall and fortresses to protect its profusion of gold and silver from pirates and pillagers. Inside this citadel is where I began my stay in Cartagena.

I discovered the Cartagena underneath the luxurious polish by accident. Braving the torrid dripping air, I left the Walled City for a run along the coast, thinking I was jogging towards the upscale Bocagrande neighborhood. Unbeknownst to me, I had gone in the opposite direction. Concentrating more on not passing out from the heat and humidity and less on my surroundings, I didn’t notice the action going on around me until I was smack dab in the middle of it.

A colonial building in the Walled City in need of some refurbishing

A pack of kids bolted past me. And I mean bolted. I am not a fast runner, but these kids really left me in their dust. I offhandedly thought it was strange, but didn’t think much of it. Then I saw their motivation for running so fast. A cop with his gun unholstered and pointed at them was chasing after them.

There’s nothing like a man with a cocked gun about twenty feet from you that will get your feet to move. I booked it down the next street and ended up on the beach, only to see that one block ahead of me, the hoodlums had turned onto the beach too.

Colonial buildings walled in the Walled City

Thinking only about how I had to get off the beach, I scrambled over a pile of rocks and back to the street. Everything had returned to normal. Lunchers were casually eating at a sidewalk cafe. Locals were strolling down the street with shopping bags, returning home from an afternoon of doing errands. Apparently, a gun-cocked foot chase with a cop and a group of young delinquents was a normal occurrence in the area and not a cause for alarm.

The top of the wall of the Walled City

Still, I couldn’t help wondering what a group of pre-teen kids could have done to cause such a violent reaction by the cops. I guess I’ll never know.

Back in the refuge of the Walled City, I decided the best way to appreciate its colonial architecture was from on top of its ancient barricade. I climbed a set of narrow stairs built into the wall and proceeded to mosey along the perimeter of the city’s rampart.

From above, the narrow streets of colorful colonial buildings with their tiled roofs and landscaped balconies looked like a painting.

Colonial buildings from the top of the wall

Upon arriving at the Torre del Reloj, the yellow clock tower that reigns over the main entrance to the Walled City, I alighted to lower ground to scout out the city from the level of a normal pedestrian.

Restored colonial buildings have modernized themselves into expensive hotels, trendy restaurants, emerald-filled jewelry stores, high-end furniture shops, art galleries, and high-fashion boutiques. The crisp freshness of these revamped old buildings distracts the sightseer from their intermixed neighbors, neglected buildings of broken windows, peeling paint, and crumbling wood.

Shoes! I wish I could shop at these fabulous boutiques.

I would have loved to browse the fabulous fashions in the posh boutiques, but I don’t think my sticky, red-faced appearance would have been received very well by the fashionable salesgirls. (Although it could have been fun to personally experience a real-life Pretty Woman moment.)

My cold shower that evening might have been one of the only times in my entire life I welcomed getting sprayed with frigid water.

Torre del Reloj, the clock tower entrance to the Walled City

Another day of exploring the enclosed old city brought me to some of its ancient landmark sites, the muddled white Teatro Colón and its next-door twin the Teatro Cartagena, the 16th century Catedral, the blanched stone Iglesia de San Pedro Claver, the city’s first church called Iglesia de Santo Domingo, and numerous small plazas. Arcades in the city wall that used to be dungeon cells and today are tourist shops rounded out my historical tour of Cartagena.

The esplanade along Bocagrande’s waterfront

It was by pure luck that I ended up staying in the fancy Bocagrande neighborhood for the last days of my visit to Cartagena. My hostel was full, so I had reserved a room at a cheap hotel nearby. This hotel informed me that they had overbooked themselves, so they sent me to another hotel for the same price.

Lounging by the pool at my hotel

Initially frustrated, I changed my mind immediately upon entering my new hotel.

Bocagrande sits on a narrow peninsula, its width stretching only a few blocks, so that every corner in the neighborhood is no more than a three-minute walk to the beach. My hotel was in a highrise right across from the beach, its pool and the street the only things separating it from the sand. My room at the hotel was a sixth floor retreat with a wall of windows soaring over the Caribbean, the colonial tops of the Walled City’s buildings peeking up in the distance.

Sunset over the Walled City from my hotel room in Bocagrande

I took advantage of the amazingness of the hotel and its location in every way possible. I strolled along the shoreline of luxurious condo towers. I lounged at the pool until the sun disappeared behind a canvas of clouds. I ran on the waterfront esplanade. I ogled the sunset from my seaview room, making eyes at the pink sky above the evening lights of the Walled City.

Bocagrande’s glitter is almost strong enough to veil Cartagena’s underlying dilapidation.

My quick trip to Colombia is over. Tomorrow I am heading to Panama City, just a short flight over the Caribbean.

The city’s tallest building, Torre Colpatria

Grinding construction machinery drills into concrete and grates against bricks. Diesel engines thunder by to a cacophony of constant honking. Blaring speakers in front of every few establishments reverberate music, different instruments and voices blending so it’s impossible to focus on just one song.

Trucks, taxis, buses, and scooters whiz by, paying no heed to pedestrians. Homeless people stumble erratically on the sidewalks. Marketers thrust business cards in the face of every passerby. Fearless pigeons gather in droves, blindly flying or begging for food. Masses of people, people everywhere, flow off the sidewalks, line up out of fast food joints, throng in plazas, loiter at street corners.

A more tranquil street in the residential-ish neighborhood of my hotel, Teusaquillo

Every breath of air permeates with the stench of exhaust, a gag of cigarette smoke, or a waft of street food.

Normally, I am very comfortable in cities. In fact, I usually revel in the din and commotion. I love to aimlessly wander down city streets, absorbing the vitality that is unique to each city.

Bogotá is the first city I’ve ever visited where the hubbub overwhelmed me rather than gave me energy. Maybe it was its past reputation of being one of the most dangerous metropolises in the world. Maybe I didn’t arrive with an open mind. Maybe I didn’t visit the right parts of the city. Or maybe Bogotá really is that crazy.

A delicious cup of coffee, just one of dozens I consumed during my few days in Bogotá

The city does have some appeal. For one thing, you can stay in a nice and new hotel for what would be hostel prices in other destinations. It was glorious to stay in a room with a flat screen TV, a minibar, and shampoo that got restocked every day. My hotel was in a more residential part of the city called Teusaquillo, its tree-lined streets a haven from the mayhem of the rest of the city.

And of course, there’s the coffee.

The Museo del Oro, or “Gold Museum”

I love coffee. Naturally, my first venture into the life of Bogotá was to a coffee shop to sip on the Colombian version of one of my favorite drinks.

Don’t get me wrong. I am by no means a coffee connoisseur. I just really, really like to drink it. A lot of it. All kinds. Gas station coffee. Starbucks caramel macchiatos. Italian espresso shots. Even Nescafé. My unsophisticated palate enjoys it all.

It was with this gold container, called a poporo, that the museum owners started the Gold Museum in 1939.

Even my unrefined taste buds could tell that my Colombian cappuccino had a distinctive deliciousness, which is obviously why the country is famed for its coffee.

Invigorated with caffeine, I continued on to the Museo del Oro, a museum with thousands of pre-Columbian gold artifacts. Perhaps my brain was overjazzed with java, but I was having a hard time concentrating on the descriptions about each gold piece and the civilization to which it belonged. I was just too mesmerized by the dazzling gold containers, armor, masks, mirrors, jewelry, musical instruments, and more.

Gold armor worn by a pre-Columbian chieftan

I left the museum with little additional knowledge about Colombia’s ancient cultures but a camera full of shining gold pictures.

A few blocks down from the museum on Carrera Séptima, an arterial that crosses through the city’s financial district and historical center, is Plaza de Bolívar, the city’s main plaza named after the Venezuelan military leader Simón Bolívar, one of the major players in Colombia’s quest for independence from Spain. Enclosing the square are an early 19th century Cathedral, a modern Palace of Justice, the French-Renaissance-style mayor’s house, and the National Capitol building, the meeting place of the country’s Congress.

The pigeon-infested Plaza de Bolívar

The hordes of pigeons and people in the plaza were too much for me to handle, so I headed back to the refuge of my hotel.

My next jaunt in Bogotá was to La Candelaria, the historical quarter of the city. With sloping cobblestone streets of colorful colonial buildings housing libraries, universities, museums, theaters, and churches, it is also a tourist hotspot to experience the culture of the city. I was not really in a cultural mood, so I satisfied myself with zigzagging up and down the streets of the hilly neighborhood.

Some colonial buildings on the sloping streets of La Candelaria

It was Sunday, a day where certain streets all around the city are closed to cars so bikers, runners, and pedestrians can stream off the sidewalks, leaving them open for window shoppers and food carts. As a biased pro-pedestrian, I thought this was a brilliant way to encourage residents to get some exercise while reducing the vehicle population in this normally congested city, at least for one day out of the week.

It was almost enough to earn Bogotá a few points on my mental list of city rankings, if only on Sundays.

Now it’s on to my next destination in Colombia, the Caribbean resort city Cartagena.

The black volcano rock coast of Rapa Nui

The enigma of the island revoles around its famous moai statues, the giant stone figures that line its coastline. The curious statues are a glimpse into the life of an ancient civilization that flourished and then all but disappeared.

The mystery of Rapa Nui begins about a thousand years ago when a group of Polynesians traveled for days and days by wooden boat and arrived at a tree-rich island. They settled the island, using the trunks from the island’s tall palms to make canoes for fishing. Within a few centuries, the new inhabitants had multiplied to about 15,000 people and developed a complex society.

The moai that line Rapa Nui’s coast are glimpses into the mysterious history of the island.

The islanders worshiped their ancestors, who they revered by carving the moai, each of which represented a deceased ancestor. They placed the moai on ceremonial platforms called ahu and situated them along the coast with the faces of the moai looking inland, presumably in order to watch over their descendants.

As the population grew, the resources on the island were overexploited, and eventually the tall palms and some species of birds became extinct. Without these palms, they couldn’t make canoes to fish, and the people started going hungry. Overpopulation and overuse had plundered the resources the islanders needed to survive.

Each moai represented a deceased ancestor.

It is thought that this devastation of the ecosystem fueled an internal crisis among the island people. A group called the Bird Man cult fought for power and changed the religious practices of the culture. The people stopped carving moai. The existing moai were knocked over. An intense internal war permeated the island.

The island was in the middle of this calamity when a Dutch explorer came across it on Easter Sunday in 1722, dubbing his discovery Easter Island. In the following years, civil war, violent slave raids, and the introduction of European diseases diminished the population to just a little over one hundred people by the late 1800s.

Even today, the island has few tall trees.

A representative of the remaining Rapa Nui people officially annexed the island to Chile in 1888. It has been a part of Chile ever since. The several thousand modern natives of the island profess to be descendants of 36 of the island’s inhabitants at the low point of its population.

Seeing Easter Island’s moai in real-life has been something I’ve wanted to do ever since I saw one in a picture so many years ago I can’t even remember the circumstances. A visit to Easter Island, though budget-breaking, was something I was looking forward to more than any other segment of my trip.

The hilltop yard view from my guesthouse

A five-hour redeye flight brought me to the island from Lima. Landing at 7am and enduring an agonizingly slow immigration line and a cab driver who couldn’t find my guesthouse, I was not in the best of spirits when at last I collapsed in my bed for a morning nap. The thrill of actually being on this island I had wanted to visit for so long was overwhelmed by my exhaustion and frustration.

Thankfully, a nice long sleep erased all vexation. I awoke impatient with suspense to finally see the wondrous statues in person.

My first view of moai!

I set out towards Hanga Roa, the island’s only town, in search of some moai. It was an uneventful though scenic walk along the charcoal shore, past hotels and restaurants with views of the frothy, vivid blue ocean.

Then I rounded a bend of the coast, and there were two moai, tall and proud, solemnly watching over the town with oval eyes between stern foreheads and broad noses.

One of the more restored moai, with white coral eyes and a pukao balanced on his head

Standing under these lofty figures, I was in disbelief that I was actually staring them down up close and in front of me. I spent the rest of the afternoon rambling along the moai-filled coastline near Hanga Roa in enraptured wonder. Each moai is in varying states of restoration, some with white coral eyes and balancing pukao hats on their heads, some so battered that their human features are barely distinguishable.

I returned home filled with anticipation for the next day.

Me on a bike, ready to cruise around the island

The triangle of Rapa Nui extends only fifteen miles from end to end, which means it is possible to see the sights of the island without the aid of a motor. I was bursting with excitement to traverse the length of the island on a bike, a mode of transportation that I think is extremely underrated.

It had been a long time since I’d ridden a bike, and I’d forgotten how absolutely exhilarating it is!

Some moai on the side of Rano Raraku

I pedaled to the southern coast of the island and cruised along the seaside road just taking in the land and waterscape. I was having so much fun maneuvering the bike that I was almost disappointed when I reached Rano Raraku, a small volcanic crater that functioned as the moai quarry and workshop.

Ahu Tongariki from Rano Raraku

The moai were carved out of the side of Rano Raraku then transported to their final destinations on the island’s coast. No one knows for sure how the moai made it from the volcano to their spots around the island. Some theories speculate that they used the trunks of the tall palms to carry the moai, which contributed to their eventual extinction. It would be ironic and sad if the construction of these extraordinary statues that defined the culture also precipitated its demise.

Ahu Tongariki behind a toppled moai

Hundreds of moai in various stages of completion grace the side of the crater. Some are even still a part of the volcano, only partially carved.

As I circled the volcano through the multitude of moai, a long ahu appeared in the distance. It was Ahu Tongariki, the largest ahu on the island with fifteen moai. Pushed over in the civil wars and inland during a tsunami, Ahu Tongariki was restored in the 1990s and is today one of the most impressive ahus on the island.

Capturing Ahu Tongariki from all angles

Of course, I had to get a closer look at Ahu Tongariki, so I hopped back on my bike and vigorously pedaled on a rocky shortcut to the ahu site. After I had sufficiently captured the ahu and each of its moai on my camera from all angles and zooms, it was on to the beach.

Despite being a tropical island, Rapa Nui has only a few beaches. Its main beach, Anakena, is ivory sand, waving palms, and moai. I would have liked to collapse on the fine sand, soak up some sun, and gaze at the ocean and moai for a while, but it was a long ride back to town.

Anakena beach, one of just a few beaches on Rapa Nui

The main road through the middle of the island towards town began with a few miles of uphill sweating. Cars sped past me as I slowly inched up the road. Then I reached the crest and coasted down as fast as the cars. I arrived back to Hanga Roa with a euphoric adrenaline high.

I had covered twenty five miles of the island on a bike!

Moai and palm trees at Anakena beach

The next morning, my bike had to be returned to the rental place, and I had to continue my exploration of the island without the ease of wheels. I headed in the direction of another volcano crater, Rano Kau, just outside of Hanga Roa.

During the short walk from town to the crater, a sign for a cave lured me from the road. A momentary detour took me into a shoreline grotto crashing with waves on its coal-black rock. Thought to be used at one time or another as a canoe workshop and a ceremonial chamber, it was a secluded and tranquil sanctuary from the inland life above.

Looking out to the ocean from inside the cave

Scaling the side of Rano Kau, I enjoyed elevated views of Hanga Roa and its little airport before arriving at the crater. A path along the rim of the crater leads to Orongo, a ceremonial village that was used for an annual competition held by the Bird Man cult. Islanders stayed in little round stone houses in the village while the competition was held. Chiefs of different tribes on the island would swim to a nearby islet to find an egg of an endemic seabird. The first one to bring the egg back to Orongo was declared that year’s “birdman,” a sacred distinction that gave its holder a lot of privileges.

The mottled lake in the crater of Rano Kau

The little village of Orongo sits on a narrow bluff on the very edge of the island with the crater of Rano Kau on one side and a sheer cliff on the other. Many of its round dwellings have been restored. Petroglyphs relating to the birdman competition are engraved in rocks around the village. The stone houses in the village have views of the three islets off the coast of Easter Island, including the islet where the birdman competition was held.

Some of the round stone houses at Orongo

Without wheels, the best way to get to my next destination a few miles outside of town was with a jog. Crumpling with tiredness, my legs dragged me to some petroglyphs near a quarry called Puna Pau, which is where the pukao hats were made.

I forced my weary legs to persevere on to Ahu Akivi, an ahu of seven moai. Unusual because the ahu is not on the coast, it also contains the only moai that face the ocean.

The seven moai of Ahu Akivi face the ocean.

My journey through the center of the island next took me to a cave. The grove of palm trees adorning the entrance gave the pitch-black cavern a misleading cheerfulness. With a half-hearted attempt at daredevilry, I ventured into the blinding darkness with just the faint light of my waning flashlight as illumination.

Sunset behind a moai

A few minutes of climbing over piles of rocks and ducking through pasages that connected the cave’s separate hollows was enough for my sense of adventure, so I turned back. With three miles to go to make it back to town and the sun sinking in the sky, I wanted to get a move on. (And, I’ll admit, I wasn’t too stoked about burrowing into the abyss of the earth without having an idea where it led.)

My sore legs carried me along the volcanic rock cliffs of the coastline road as the sun lowered towards the ocean. Finally back in town, I joined a crowd of people on a grassy hill and gaped at the falling sun disperse pinks, oranges, and yellows over a group of silhouetted moai.

It is now back to the mainland and a new country, to the capital of Colombia, Bogotá.

Constructed in 1650, the fountain in the middle of the Plaza Mayor is the oldest surviving structure in the plaza area.

My first few days in Lima were spent in the Lima Centro district exploring the surviving historical heart of the city. What is today called the Plaza Mayor was the site of the city’s founding in 1535 and became the center of Spain’s rule in South America. It is also the spot where General San Martín of Argentina declared Peru’s independence from Spain in 1821.

None of the plaza’s original buildings stand today, but it does exhibit some impressive historical buildings built during the epoch of colonial rule and ensuing years of independence.

The Catedral and its next-door neighbor, the Archbishop’s Palace

The president’s house, the baroque Palacio de Gobierno, was built in 1937 and commands the entire far side of the plaza. The archbishop’s palace, the colonial-style Palacio Arzobispal, was built in 1924 and boasts covered Moorish-style balconies. The archbishop’s next door neighbor, the Catedral of Lima, flaunts a baroque facade from its original structure built in 1551. Most of its remaining elements have been rebuilt several times due to frequent earthquakes that jarred the city over the years.

A sunshine yellow colonial building in the historical quarter of Lima

Cornflower blue, carnation pink, and sunshine yellow colonial mansions and churches make up the neighborhood surrounding the Plaza Mayor.

During my aimless circuit of the plaza and its bordering grid of streets, I found myself at the Parque de la Muralla. My initial impression of the park was that it was too much concrete and not enough greenery. But then I discovered that the rocky grounds are actually unearthed glimpses into ancient Lima.

The excavated 17th century wall and house in the Parque de la Muralla

The park was built around an excavated part of the muralla, or “city wall,” that enclosed Lima in the 17th century. When the city expanded in the late 19th century, the wall was torn down, but apparently the demolishers didn’t complete their job. Along with remnants of the muralla, the ruins of a 17th century house form the concrete attractions in the park.

The pedestrian shopping street, Jirón de la Union

I strolled back to my hotel via the Jirón de la Union, a five-block pedestrian alley connecting the Plaza Mayor with its younger comrade, the Plaza San Martín. The promenade that was the place to see and be seen in the late 1800s is now also a happening place of shopping and milling about.

Satisfied with my reconnaissance of Lima’s architectural history, I decided it was high time I got a taste (literally) of the fare that is responsible for Lima’s renown as the gastronomical capital of South America.

A delicious salad lunch at the cheerful bistro, T’anta

Gastón Acurio is a celebrity chef who helped make Peruvian cuisine gourmet, opened a dozen restaurants around the globe to serve this nouveau culinary creation, and succeeded in bringing international attention to a cuisine that has been enjoyed by Peruvians for hundreds of years. The illustrious chef just so happens to own my favorite San Francisco cevichería, La Mar, which is also the select place in the city to savor (or guzzle) pisco sours.

Sipping on “La Catedral,” the signature pisco sour drink at El Bolivarcito

Obviously I had to experience a meal at one of Señor Acurio’s hometown restaurants while in his hometown. I chose T’anta, a cheerful bistro that was playing the local fútbol game for a bevy of business lunchers. It was a pleasant soundtrack to my even-better-than-expected salad.

My afternoon of research into Peruvian gastronomy would not be complete without a pisco sour. El Bolivarcito is a bar in the landmark Gran Hotel Bolivar, a historical hotel of luxury that hosted Hollywood stars and other elite travelers in its prime years of the mid-1900s. The bar is famous for galvanizing the pisco sour as the national drink. I figured this would be the best place to degust a Peruvian pisco sour with all of its historical lustre.

Larco Mar, an outdoor mall built on the coastline cliffs of Miraflores

From my window table at El Bolivarcito, I sipped on the bar’s signature “La Catedral” pisco sour and gazed at the Plaza San Martín across the street and its quarter of pristine white beaux art buildings. There was an extra spring in my step as I sauntered home that evening with a slight pisco buzz.

My historical tour accomplished, it was time to forage into contemporary Lima. I carted my luggage to a hotel in the trendy Miraflores, a coastal neighborhood that is the hub for shopping, eating, and nightlife in Lima.

An enormous plate of ceviche and a pisco sour with ocean views

Settled into my new hotel, I rambled along the coastline on a clifftop esplanade. The seaside walk took me right into Larco Mar, an outdoor mall built on the jagged cliffs overlooking the Pacific. I really had no choice but to browse around the upscale boutiques of the mall, working up an appetite for a lunch of Peru’s national dish, ceviche.

Strolling the coastal esplanade of Miraflores

The cliffside mall is home to a stretch of restaurants with outdoor ocean-view terraces. I picked a respectable-looking one and lucked out with a perfect corner table that was practically sailing over the water. My enormous plate of ceviche was absolutely delicious but difficult to finish, even for my normally bottomless stomach. I didn’t have the same problem slurping up my pisco sour.

The 5th century adobe temple of Huaca Pucllana

After continuing along the water for a while past parks and highrise condos, I meandered inland to look for the ruins of Huaca Pucllana, the one historical attraction in modern Miraflores. A restored adobe temple dating back to the 5th century, it mostly just looked like a huge stack of bricks in a pyramid shape. I normally would have been more impressed with such an old structure, but I was having too much fun attempting to partake in the fashionable life of Miraflores to appreciate the historical allure of the ancient construction.

Me at the salon with a Peruvian haircut

I prolonged this fun with a trip to the salon. My hair was in dire need of a trim, and it turns out in Peru, you can get a fabulous haircut at a hip salon for Supercuts prices. Going to the salon is one of my favorite indulgences at home. It is even more fun when you are traveling, on a budget, and can treat yourself without breaking the bank.

Needless to say, it was a glorious evening at Voce Peluquería.

Some of Barranco’s colonial houses and its Puente de los Suspiros, or “Bridge of Sighs”

Just south from Miraflores along Lima’s coastline is Barranco, a bohemian neighborhood that was an exclusive resort community in the late 1800s. I thought it would be a good spot for a run along the coast, but it is so high-class that all of the seaside streets are gated shut for access by residents only. Nevertheless, it was an entertaining run loping by the grand colonial houses and over a pedestrian bridge that extends across a cove of restaurants tapering down to the beach.

Now that I have seen the old and new of Lima, I am heading to the mysterious on Easter Island.

Some vicuñas hanging out at a lagoon in the National Reserve

We buckled into a comfortable van early in the morning so we could make our idle way to the village of Cabanaconde, our home base for hiking into the canyon. It was an unhurried drive with frequent stops to admire the scenery along the way.

Right outside of the metropolitan area, we entered the National Reserve, home to endless packs of vicuñas and their domesticated descendants, the alpaca. Vicuñas and alpaca pervade the Andean region of Peru, but that doesn’t stop us tourists from getting excited when we see them.

Me staring down a naturally formed Incan head made of volcanic rock

Past marshy lagoons and rocky grass meadows, we were chauffeured to a forest of finger-shaped volcanic rock formations, formed by the erosion of dried lava that erupted from the nearby entourage of volcanoes. The naturally formed sculptures were molded in such refined configurations that they looked like they had been deliberately carved by an artist’s hand.

The town of Chivay from the road above

We braved the biting cold at the highest point of our drive, a viewing point where we could see partially clouded-over Andean volcanoes, before zigzagging down to Chivay.

Ravenous with hunger, I was extremely happy when we finally made it to Chivay, a dingy town that is mostly just a place to stop on the way to the canyon. There was no shortage of food in our lunch buffet, and I scarfed down about five plates of Peruvian meat, potato, rice, vegetable, and dessert dishes.

One of about five gigantic plates of food I ate for lunch

I wasn’t prepared for the arctic air near the canyon, so I spent our next stops in little towns on the way to Cabanaconde jumping up and down for warmth rather than appreciating their colonial churches and squares.

We reached Mirador Cruz del Cura as the sky was portending dusk. The viewing spot is named for an arequipeño priest, or “cura,” who fell in love with a local girl. In order to avoid the wrath of the city, he drove himself and his beloved off the cliff into the canyon at the exact spot of the mirador.

The cross on the top of the canyon in honor of the priest and his girlfriend

A cross, or “cruz,” marks the spot of the priest’s last act as well as the point where the canyon officially beings.

From the priest’s cross, we hiked along the top of the canyon in search of condors, the sacred bird of the Incas. Condors fly on wind currents because they are so heavy, and the thermal air in the canyon buoys these lazy floating birds. Unfortunately, it wasn’t windy enough that evening for the condors to want to fly, and they all stayed hidden somewhere in the rocky canyonside.

View from the priest’s cross and the beginning of the canyon

At the end of the trail, our driver was waiting for us with a thermos of coca tea, a perfect anecdote for the freezing twilight air.

Cabanaconde, our destination for the night, was just a few minutes down the road. After a dinner of lomo saltado, beef stir fried with tomatoes and onions, I wrapped myself in four blankets and tried to warm up for a good night’s sleep.

In the morning, our bags were strapped onto three sturdy mules, and we strolled from the dreary town through an expanse of cornfields to the top of the canyon.

The canyon is somewhere in that mist.

We halted to a stop in front of a dense haze. The canyon was nowhere to be seen. A seemingly impenetrable fog completely obscured the view of what we were hiking into.

We set off into the mist, crisscrossing down the side of the canyon on a trail constructed by the Incas in post-Incan times. Apparently there had been a well-designed trail during the heyday of the Incas, but they had destroyed it when the Spanish arrived in hopes the invaders wouldn’t find their communities around the canyon. The Spanish did eventually find the remnants of the trail, and forced the Incas to rebuild it.

The crisscrossing trail going down into the canyon

The Incas haphazardly reconstructed the trail, taking way less care with its quality than their previous trail. The trail that remains today is loose dirt and unstable rocks instead of the Incas’ normally flat and smooth sculpted stairs. This makes the way down a slow-going, slippery journey. I had to concentrate intently on keeping my legs under me.

A teenage condor. When he gets older, his feathers will turn black and white.

My concentration was interrupted by some condors who graced us with their presence close enough to see the black and white fringed feathers of their wingtips. They soared back and forth around a bend in the canyon while we engaged in a continuous pattern of hike, sight, point, and photograph as they repeatedly disappeared and reappeared.

Our resort from above

Condors are fascinating animals. They live long lives – to 80 years old! – staying with the same mate their entire life. Both father and mother care for the eggs and babies. They are members of the vulture family, which means they eat carrion and do not hunt live food. And their effortless gliding through the air is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. It is easy to see why the Incas revered them as symbols of their heaven.

Our camp resort oasis at the bottom of the canyon

After a few hours of skidding down the canyon trail, we were at our camp resort in Sangalle, known as the oasis at the base of the canyon. Indeed, the palm trees, flowering plants, and flowing river did give the area a tropical-like atmosphere.

We collapsed on the riverbank at our camp resort and filled up with food. Then it was time for an afternoon hike to the pedestrian bridge that crosses the river to the other side of the canyon. Local vendors who live on the other side of the canyon walk their wares all the way down the side of the canyon, over the bridge, and up the other side in order to sell their produce and products. What a tiring profession!

The river from the pedestrian bridge in the base of the canyon

When we returned to the resort, some angry clouds exploded with sheets of rain. The only thing to do was seek shelter under a cabana and pass the rest of the afternoon with cards and Arequipeño Beer.

At bedtime, I dashed through the rain to my cabin, ecstatically grateful that we got to sleep under a wooden roof instead of tents as we’d planned. My cabin had no electricity and a leaky door, but it had a bed and a roof, and that’s all I needed! It was also very cozy falling asleep to flickering candlelight and the sound of rain on the roof.

This is what was covered in mist the day before. We had no idea what we were missing out on!

We were up before sunrise to climb back up the canyon. I hotfooted it up the trail as fast as I could go, mentally thanking the mule who was carrying my bag for freeing me of extra pounds. I’m not sure why I was in such a hurry other than that it is really fun to go fast!

There was no covering of mist when I arrived at the top, so I got to take in the views we had missed out on the day before. The canyonside was an incredible hunter green, resplendent in the sunlight and the backdrop of glacier peaks.

These Incan terraces in the valley near Chivay are still used by the locals.

Our reward for a morning of hiking was an hour of relaxation at some hot springs in Chivay. I wasn’t really looking forward to this reward, because it was absolutely freezing and I am just not that into hot springs, which are usually crowded and dirty. But these were fairly empty and mostly clean. And amazingly hot so the torturous thirty seconds from the changing rooms to the steaming pool were forgotten as soon as my toes hit the water.

Me attacking my plate of cuy

Back in Arequipa when the tour was over, I met some of my new Australian friends for dinner to try the Peruvian specialty dish, cuy. My guinea pig arrived in his entirety, head, teeth, claws, and all. My normally open-minded taste buds were not so welcoming of this whole animal that was filling my plate. However, his edible parts did taste pretty good. And it was fun to try this food favorite of the locals.

Now I’m off for the food metropolis of Peru – where I hope to try some dishes without the limbs still attached – Lima!

View of the Plaza de Armas from my balcony table

Peru’s second largest city is centered around a majestic Plaza de Armas that could be the younger brother of Cusco’s magnificent main plaza. The 19th century neo-classical Catedral dominates one entire side of the square and is backdropped by a trio of volcanoes. Arcaded and balconied colonial buildings border the remaining three sides of the plaza.

My visit to this white city started off leisurely with dinner on a second-floor balcony overlooking the Plaza de Armas. Stuffed with pizza and salad, I nevertheless couldn’t ignore my dessert stomach’s demand for queso helado, an arequipeño specialty. It literally translates to cheese ice cream, but it doesn’t actually have cheese in it. It is, however, a really sweet square of frozen deliciousness.

It looks like a big hunk of cheddar cheese, but this “cheese ice cream” doesn’t taste anything like cheese.

The next day I headed to Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a convent founded in 1579 by a rich young widow. Occupying an entire city block and surrounded by high walls like a fortress, the convent is like its own little town, completely isolated from the rest of the city. It has little streets with actual names that connect plazas and wind around the compound to living quarters, a garden, a chapel, a cemetery, and even its own coffee shop. Oh wait, no. The cafe was added later for the tourists.

A living room in one of the nun’s cells

The nuns seemed to have lived quite a lavish life, at least according to nun standards. Only girls from the best Spanish families were accepted into the convent, and their fathers had to pay large dowries for their admittance. Upon entering the convent, they were permitted to continue to live according to the standards they were accustomed. This meant that they had their own servants, threw parties, and lived in cells that were really much more like apartments than confined rooms.

A kitchen in one of the nun’s cells

Each cell had a kitchen, living room, and bedroom, all with plush furnishings. Some even had dining tables, music rooms, bathrooms, and second floors. The wealthier the nun’s family, the more luxurious her living quarters at the convent.

About thirty nuns remain living there today but stay hidden from public view as the tourists traipse around their place.

Toledo Street, one of six named streets at the convent

I meandered around the nuns’ town for hours, getting lost in cells that went on and on and on, finding myself in courtyards of orange trees and flowers, a plaza with a fountain, and an art gallery of religious paintings. I climbed stairs that led to nowhere but at one time ascended to second floors. My exploration of the dead-end staircases eventually did lead me somewhere – on the roof of the chapel, where I could see sweeping views of the roofs of the short buildings that make up Arequipa.

The surprisingly modern-looking bedroom at Casa del Moral

It was next on to the Casa del Moral, an 18th century one-story mansion built around a central courtyard. It was constructed in the baroque-mestizo style, which combines indigenous Andean elements with Spanish design, a unique style that originated in Arequipa.

The house is basically an exact square with a hole cut out of the middle for the courtyard. It was very easy to tour but not as fun as exploring a mansion with a jumble of interconnecting rooms because it was impossible to get lost! I also noticed something I hadn’t before when visiting old houses – the style of furniture really hasn’t changed much since the colonial days. All the bedroom needed was a TV on the dresser and a laptop on the desk and it could have been a modern house, albiet with a more traditional style of decor.

The front entryway at Casa del Moral

I completed my day of tourist spot-hopping at the Museo Santuario, a museum that exhibits an Incan child mummy who was sacrificed as an offering to the gods over 500 years ago on the top of the Nevado Ampato volcano in southern Peru. A mountaineer and archeologist discovered the almost perfectly preserved young girl in the frozen snow of the volcano in 1995. Dubbed Juanita the ice princess, the mummy was wrapped in colorful garments that indicated she was from the royal class.

To the Incas, being chosen as a sacrifice was a huge honor. The young girl would have believed she was going to live with the gods in their world. The sacrifice ceremony likely began with an arduous trek from Cusco to the summit of the volcano and ended with her drinking a hallucinogenic. She was then hit on the head and buried on the top of the volcano.

The Catedral by day

Sacrifices to the gods are thought to have happened every seven years, coinciding with El Niño, the weather pattern that brings extreme weather to countries bordering the Pacific Ocean. The periodic bad weather would have negatively affected the Incas’ crops. El Niño also caused shells usually only present on the coast of Ecuador to be carried down to Peru. The Incas believed their crops were suffering because the gods were upset and viewed the arrival of these shells as a message from the gods that it was time to make another sacrifice.

Consequently, the Incas would perform a human sacrifice – usually of a child – and include some of the shell “messages” at the burial site. Afterwards, the bad weather would usually disappear, and the Incas interpreted this as a sign that the gods were appeased by the sacrifice.

The Catedral by Night

The mummies of fourteen sacrificed kids have been found in the mountains of southern Peru. Juanita is the best preserved, but unfortunately maintaining her preservation requires her to be cooped up in total darkness for a few months out of the year. As (bad) luck would have it, April is one of those months, and Juanita was not on display during my visit to her museum.

Sarita is Juanita’s understudy during the ice princess’s months in seclusion. She may not be as well-preserved as her sister in sacrifice, but Sarita is preserved enough to cause her visitors to gaze at her in open-mouthed awe. She sits in the lotus position, appearing to float in mid-air in her special glass tank.

A parade of Jesus to a nearby church

The sacrificed children may or may not have gotten to live with their gods as they hoped, but they do get to live on in a kind of immortality here on earth.

The sky was dark when I walked home that night, and the Arequipa of the night had unveiled itself. The entire city pulsed with a nighttime energy. The Catedral was radiantly lit, illuminating the plaza that was lively with revelers. The streets were filled with arequipeños emanating a merry aura. It wasn’t until I ran into a street parade with a float carrying a Jesus figure to a nearby church that I realized the mostly Catholic city was out in full force celebrating the night before Easter.

It was a fun stroll through the city back to my hostel, me totally energized by the festivities. And I will need all the energy I can get now that I am headed for a trekking trip in the Colca Canyon just outside of Arequipa!

My bungalow in the jungle!

My first taste of the jungle town was at a lodge close to the airport that felt miles away from civilization. The lodge was a cozy neighborhood of bungalows connected by muddy paths snaking through the leafy jungle foliage. I had a huge bungalow all to myself, complete with a hammock-filled living room and wall-to-wall screens. Despite being totally open to the outside, the bungalow seemed very secluded, because it was completely surrounded by big floppy leaves and flowering trees. It felt like it was just me and the jungle. Well, me, the jungle, and the bugs, monkeys, and birds making a ruckus right outside my screen.

A monkey sticking his tongue out at me

On my first morning in the jungle, I wasn’t prepared for the entertainment that awaited me at breakfast in the main lodge. As I unsuspectingly scarfed down my plate of eggs and rolls, a group of monkeys came out of nowhere and started playing on the railing of the lodge’s balcony, right outside my breakfast table. They swung from the hammocks on the balcony, hung from the beams of the railing, chomped stolen bananas, and devoured a cactus. One even opened the door to the lodge and walked in like he owned the place. I was completely captivated by these comical troublemakers.

The main plaza in Puerto Maldonado

Reluctant to leave the show, I finally dragged myself away and hopped in a jam-packed minibus heading downtown.

After a day exploring the small town of short metal-roofed buildings, a plaza, and not much else, I rushed from the tuk tuk that brought me home and made it inside my bungalow refuge right before an intense rainstorm arrived. I was totally dry under my wooden roof but surrounded by the vivification of the downpour through my screen walls on all sides. The rain beat madly on my roof. A chorus of bugs sang me a screeching lullaby. Monkeys scratched at the screen while they swung from tree branches to bungalow to tree branches. (Apparently the rain does not stop them from having fun.)

I have TWO hammocks all to myself!

The noise of the jungle was surprisingly soothing and lulled me right to sleep.

The next day it was time to delve deeper into the jungle. A tuk tuk took me and my luggage to the town’s port on the Río Madre de Dios, a tributary of the Amazon River, where I climbed into a long wooden boat that took me for a half hour ride down the swiftly flowing river.

The boat deposited me at a riverside jungle resort. I was led to a bungalow right on the bank of the river, with its own front porch containing two hammocks with river views. This huge abode was also all mine. How luxurious the jungle is!

Having a one-sided conversation with a very talkative macaw

I spent the afternoon lounging on one of my personal hammocks, watching the riverboats chug by every so often and having a one-sided conversation with one of the resort’s resident macaws. They are really good talkers, but they sure don’t like to listen! Lola loved to say “¡hola!” and “¿cómo estás?” over and over but she didn’t seem to care that I was “muy bien, gracias.” Then she would start laughing hysterically and it was impossible not to laugh with her. It’s so funny how the ability to speak can give an animal such a charming personality.

I’ve never seen a tree that looks like this before.

When the rest of my tour group arrived in the early evening, we tugged on Wellingtons and followed our guide Jose out into the soggy jungle. We trekked through the mud in our rubber boots under a canopy of huge leaves, palms, ferns, and all sorts of trees I’d never seen before.

Back at the resort, we piled into a boat and patrolled the river in search of caimans. It was pitch black outside, so our guides used spotlights to canvas the riverbank. It didn’t seem like it would be a very eventful night until one of the guides spotted a tiny baby caiman camouflaged in the tan mud on the side of the river. The guide grabbed him and paraded him around the boat so us voracious tourists could get a closer look. It was cool to see him up close, but I really felt bad for the poor guy! I was relieved when they released him back into the river.

Poor little guy

It was a painful morning the next day when my alarm went off at 5am and I met my group for another excursion. Treading through the jungle in our Wellingtons, we reached a hut overlooking the river. We sat on a bench and silently waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

A wall on the opposite side of the river is made of clay and normally attracts hundreds of parakeets and macaws in the early morning. The clay lick provides a mineral rich breakfast for the tropical birds, minerals that are thought to help them with digesting toxins in their other foods.

The empty clay lick

On this day, I guess the parakeets and macaws weren’t hungry for clay. After about an hour of sitting in silence, we finally glimpsed a few little green guys who stopped by for a quick nibble. But before we even had time to push the shutter buttons of our cameras, they had fled, scared off by a predator.

It wasn’t our lucky day. I wasn’t too upset, because I was having a great time just being in the jungle.

Stomping through the muddy rainforest in rubber boots is so much fun!

After breakfast, we jumped back in the riverboat, destined for the National Reserve. A three mile walk in the tropical rainforest took us through the mud under dense jungle vegetation, into kaleidoscopes of vibrantly colored butterflies. I felt like a kid again, stomping through the deep mud in my rubber boots, trying to get them as muddy as possible.

At one point, Jose stopped at a hole on the side of the path and nudged a long stick into it. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I sure wasn’t prepared to see an enormous tarantula dart out! Shrieking in surprise, I ran ahead on the path, but not before I was able to appreciate the sort of ugly beauty of the hairy spider.

Hehe, so muddy!

At the end of the path, a long canoe was waiting for us. We piled in and glided through a lagoon into a lake. It was Lake Sandoval, completely encircled by floating palm trees and other trees of the rainforest.

We paddled around the entire perimeter of the lake, gazing at the fervor of the lakeside jungle. Spider monkeys and squirrel monkeys and howler monkeys dangled from the trees. Tiny turtles pretended to be rocks on drifting logs. Mohawked birds, called hoatzins and appropriately nicknamed punk chickens, rocked out on tree branches. Vultures inspected the trees for their dinner.

Floating palm trees encircling Lake Sandoval

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, we didn’t see any anacondas, the illustrious snake of the jungle.

Shady, dank, and noisy, the jungle had become rather spooky on the walk back to our riverboat. I was in the front of the group and was completely caught off guard when I ran into the tarantula again. Luckily, she was just as scared of me and dashed back into her hole when I appeared.

Best buds: a macaw and a dog

Our next excursion was to a local fruit farm where we meandered around an orchard and sampled the different fruits being cultivated: papayas, cocoa fruits, oranges, lemons, limes, and sugar cane. The highlight of the visit was the farmer’s pet macaw who had taken on the role of guard dog. He kept charging at us, head down and colorful tail outstretched, then went back to hanging out with his friend, the actual dog. It was hilarious to see two buddies in such different animals.

A local boy catching me a butterfly

Next we visited a local tribe where the grandfather taught us about the tribe’s old customs. The guy was certainly entertaining – dancing around for us, eating sardines head and all, chugging homemade beer – but I couldn’t help feeling that the whole thing was a bit contrived in order to get tourists to buy the homemade souvenirs his family was selling. Or maybe I was just repulsed about how he bragged of his five wives. I did like his grandson, who spent our time there trying to catch me a butterfly. Such a nice gift! (Although of course I couldn’t keep it.)

The gorgeous Preciosa giving me a very angry look

My last day in the jungle started with a long boat ride to an animal shelter. Sick or injured jungle animals are rescued and nursed back to health here before being released back into the wild. Our first stop was at the cage of Preciosa, an absolutely gorgeous but feisty jaguar. She was pacing her cage and appeared to be going mad with cooped up energy. It was sad that she was locked up, but I was also relieved that metal bars separated me from her delirium.

Me in a treehouse! That tree behind me is 150 years old.

We left Preciosa for another journey into the jungle. Thirty minutes in, we arrived at a suspension bridge whose opposite end disappeared up above the canopy of trees. We scaled the rickety bridge and emerged over the tops of the trees … at a tree house!

The tree house was built on a 150-year old tree and had a far-reaching view of the jungle treetops. Again I felt like a kid, bursting with excitement at getting to be in a tree house. I would have insisted we spend all afternoon there, but hundreds of tiny bees were flying around our faces, trying to get a sip of our dripping sweat.

The funniest animal I’ve ever seen, the pig-elephant tapir

Back at the animal shelter that afternoon, we met many other sick or injured animals – tons of monkeys and birds and the funniest animal I’ve ever seen, looking like the offspring of a pig and an elephant, a tapir.

And now my time in the Amazon is over. I must return to the mountainous land of southern Peru, in the city of Arequipa.

It’s not hard to see why Machu Picchu is one of the wonders of the world.

It wasn’t until 1911 that it was rediscovered by Hiram Bingham, a lecturer at Yale who was on a conquest to find a different Incan city. The story goes that Mr. Bingham was walking through the forest when he encountered a young Quechua boy who led him to the ruins for a small tip. Because the Spanish didn’t know about it and thus never had the opportunity to loot it, Machu Picchu had stayed mostly intact.

In the century since Mr. Bingham’s fateful trip, the ruins of this enchanting city have been recognized as one of the top wonders of the world and one of the world’s most visited tourist destinations.

Trekking the Inca Trail had been an unreal experience, and I would have been fine if we turned right back around the way we came to relive the hike in reverse. Getting to visit Machu Picchu was just the icing on the cake of an already unbelievably amazing trip.

Beginning our last few miles to Machu Picchu in the super early morning

It was still the middle of the night when we breakfasted and left camp to stand in line at a checkpoint to get on the trail for our last few miles to Machu Picchu. We vegged sitting on the ground in the dark, and I waited for the coffee and coca tea I chugged at breakfast to take effect. Finally, the sunlight penetrated the thick foliage around the trail, the line started moving, and we were off!

The trail was mostly flat but treacherous. It was narrow and slippery and sheerly dropped off on one side into a jungle abyss. I was enjoying the easy walk and having a grand old time talking to Noah when all of a sudden he disappeared over the edge of the trail.

The jungle abyss that Noah fell into

Um, yes, he had stepped on a crumbling part of the trail and plunged into a jumble of leaves and trees that went a looooong way down.

Luckily, his fall was stopped by a dense layer of jungle vegetation. Extremely traumatized, I watched as Eddy pulled him back up to stable land. Phew. A slightly more exciting than anticipated start to the morning.

Climbing some almost vertical Incan stairs

On through the jungle we trekked, being more careful about the abrupt trail edge. After a few hours, we reached a flight of exceptionally steep Incan stairs. Clambering up the almost vertical steps like a ladder, we made it to the top one by one. We had arrived at Intipunku, the famed Sun Gate.

Through an opening in the stacked stones, we looked out at the mountain landscape in front of us. There was Machu Picchu!

It was cool, but it was pretty far away and wasn’t mind-blowing like I expected. But as we kept walking towards it and it got closer and closer, it got more and more impressive. And without me even realizing it, my mind was blown away.

Pachamama group at the Sun Gate, with our first view of Machu Picchu behind us

Upon our arrival into the ancient city of ruins, we strolled down into the agricultural sector, sprawling out on one of the terrace crops while Eddy told us about the city. It was 9am, but we’d been up for more than five hours, and I struggled to keep my eyes open and concentrate on our history lesson.

The true purpose of Machu Picchu remains a mystery. Some believe it was a vacation retreat for the emperor and other members of Incan royalty. Others believe it was a full-fledged city, a center of politics, religion, and trading.

Sprawled on an agricultural terrace at Machu Picchu, struggling to stay awake

Most don’t deny that Machu Picchu must have been an important religious place because of its location, the extraordinary quality of its stonework, and the existence of various sacred objects and symbols.

The Incas revered mountains as gods, and exactly due north, due south, due east, and due west from Machu Picchu are mountains. The site of Machu Picchu in what the Incas would have viewed as a sacred location was undoubtedly not an accident.

An example of the differences in stonework depending on how important the building is. The building on the right was a more revered building than the one on the left.

Incan stonemasons took great care to construct the walls of religious and other revered buildings using big, smooth stones that fit perfectly together. A large portion of the structures in Machu Picchu are made of stone walls with this flawless workmanship, indicating that they were buildings of religious importance.

Many of the buildings in the ancient city have three or seven windows, both recognized as sacred numbers by the Incas. There are also many carvings of the puma and condor throughout the city, the animals that represent the Current World and the Upper World in Incan mythology.

A second-story trapezoid door

After our introduction on the background of the ruins, we began our tour of the city, traipsing up and down stairs bordered by irrigation canals, peeking into a tomb where mummies were purportedly kept, squeezing into a cozy two-story house with alcoves for ritual objects, passing through a trapezoidal door into a mansion with a bedroom, kitchen, dining room, royal bathroom, and mountain views out of its trapezoidal windows.

Wandering around Machu Picchu

The Incas were masters in architecture, shaping their doors and windows into trapezoids and inverting all of their walls at a thirteen degree angle so their buildings would better withstand earthquakes. As a result, the Incas’ buildings have survived two devastating earthquakes since the fall of the Incan empire, temblors that knocked down a majority of the Spanish buildings.

Knobs on windows and walls measured the time of day based on their shadows

We continued through the ruins, me trying to imagine what it would have been like to be an Incan princess walking along the stone streets of my city. Past a rock quarry, where Eddy showed us an unfinished puma rock carving, we ended in the Sacred Plaza.

The Incas’ skill in monitoring celestial activity is apparent all over the city. Knobs on the corners of walls and windows were placed to create shadows that told the time of day. The Sun Gate, the entrance to Machu Picchu from the Inca Trail, got its name because on the summer solstice, the sun shines directly through the gate and onto a sort of sundial at a shrine near the Sacred Plaza.

The Temple of the Three Windows

In the Sacred Plaza is the Temple of the Three Windows, where on the solstice the sun reflects through the three windows onto a spot where underground copper creates the shape of the chakana, an important symbol in Incan mythology. On the same day in the same plaza, a rock forms a shadow in the shape of the Southern Cross.

Musing about the Incas’ brilliance, I was jolted from my reverie to Eddy announcing that our tour of the city was over, and we were free to check it out on our own.

I have to climb that mountain behind me!

It was time to garner up some energy. Huayna Picchu is the formidable mountain towering over Machu Picchu in most pictures of the ancient city. Despite what it looks like from afar, it is actually climable if you buy a ticket in advance. Andrew and Gregg, the bros from Melbourne, and I had reserved tickets, so our afternoon was to be spent surmounting this menacing-looking mountain.

We have to go up those?!

It was relatively short but quite arduous hike. Steep stairs zigzagged on the side of the mountain, getting steeper and narrower the closer they got to the top. When I thought we were as high as we could get, the trail took us over boulders poised next to the cliffside, on our hands and knees through a claustrophobic tunnel, and onto a minuscule stair landing with no ledge. This hike was not good for my fear of cliff edges!

But then, all the scariness was forgotten as we scaled the last set of stairs and Machu Picchu again appeared before us, sheltered among the green peaks of the Andes, high on the hill above the Sacred River snaking through the valley so far below.

The impossibly built building on the side of Huayna Picchu

An impossibly built building teeters on the side of Huayna Picchu. It was absolutely mind-boggling to me how the Incas even got the rocks up the mountain, let alone constructed them into the shape of a building.

Our time taking in the astounding views and exploring the cliffside ruins was short because we had to rush down to catch a bus to Aguas Calientes, the nearest town to Machu Picchu where we would be eating lunch with the rest of the Pachamama group.

I was sad to leave Machu Picchu. I could have stayed there for days. Actually, I could have moved into one of the roofless buildings and been perfectly content for years.

Me on Huayna Picchu with Machu Picchu looking pretty small behind me

Giddy with a total adrenaline high and a slight Cusqueña Beer buzz, I was in great spirits after lunch. Noah and I went to the hot springs that gave the tiny town of Aguas Calientes its name. I am not a huge fan of hot springs because they usually seem like a dirty, unclorinated version of a normal pool, but it was nice to soak my exhausted muscles in hot water for a while.

After our hot springs excursion, Noah ran to catch the train back to Cusco while I trudged upstairs to my hostel room for a nap, fully intending to wake up in a few hours to eat dinner with the other members of Pachamama group that stayed in Aguas Calientes. Instead, I completely conked out until the next morning. That Inca Trail wore me out!

There is more fun to be had. Now I’m going to Puerto Maldonado to explore the Amazon jungle!

Glaciers peeking out of a cloud-covered forest on the Inca Trail

There is something more, something unexplainable, something mystical, even transcendental, that makes the route the Incas used to get to Machu Picchu so out of this world.

It all started with an extremely early morning pickup at my hotel in Cusco, where I joined my fellow members of the Pachamama group, as we were affectionally referred to by our leader, Eddy, on a one-and-a-half-hour drive to Ollantaytambo. My new friends in the Pachamama group, named after the Incan fertility goddess “Mother Earth,” are six other Americans, six Canadians, and two Australian brothers. Over the next four days, we would have a great time bonding and creating what I hope will be long-term friendships.

Pachamama group at the entrance to the Inca Trail

Eddy grew up in Ollantaytambo speaking Quechua, the language of the Incas. Sometime during the 30 years of his life he acquired an extraordinary knowledge about everything relating to the Incas and their mythology, an outstanding skill as an Inca Trail tour guide, and a like-native fluency in Spanish and English. We were incredibly lucky to have been put under the care of Eddy and his assistant guide, Gianni.

After breakfasting in Ollantaytambo and stocking up on last minute necessities (a rain poncho and a pack of Skittles for me), we drove on to Kilometer 82, so called due to its distance by train from Cusco, where our trek would start.

Our amazing chosquis setting out on the trail with massive loads of stuff

Our chosquis, or “runners,” packed our gear into huge packs they would carry on their backs, expertly navigating the trail, sometimes even running, with 40-pound burdens containing our tents, food, kitchen supplies, sleeping bags and mats, and even tables and chairs.

We passed through the registration checkpoint, crossed a bridge over the Urubamba River, and … we were on the trail!

The trail sloping up to a large grass field

The trail was mostly flat and calm at first, mildly sloping up and down next to the river, passing little villages of huts selling candy and beverages. Gradually it began to slant upward until we reached a large grass field at the top of a hill.

Eddy told us to stand in a line facing the edge of the hill, clasp hands, and close our eyes. Then he directed us to slowly walk forward. Yes, we were walking towards a cliff with our eyes closed!

Our view of the Incan village of Llactapata in the valley below

My slight … well, moderate … okay, extreme fear of cliff edges was only partially mollified by the knowledge that Eddy was standing in front of us. As long as I could hear him talking, I knew that he had not tumbled over the side.

Finally, he told us to stop and open our eyes. In front of us in the valley below were the ruins of an Incan village built at the base of a steep green mountain, with a curve of farm terraces stacking up to a neighborhood of square buildings. The village was Llactapata, a place for religious ceremonies and housing for soldiers and travelers.

Me flying like a condor over the ancient Incan town of Llactapata

It was a spectacular way to have the ruins unveiled to us, unexpected and all of a sudden right there.

Before Eddy would let us leave our spot near the drop-off, we took turns standing mere inches (well, maybe feet) from the edge, eyes shut tight, while he flapped a set of condor feathers in front of us. Condors are sacred symbols in Incan mythology, representing the Upper World. With wingspans of over nine feet, they have beautiful and impressively long feathers.

View from the trail as we continued on to our lunch spot

The wind from the massive waving feathers made it feel like I was flying over this ancient Incan town. I almost felt ethereal. It was a very meaningful introduction to our Incan experience.

We persevered on until we came to another bridge crossing the gushing river. Over the bridge were our chosquis, cheerily greeting us with trays of lemon water and a tent where we sat down to a table full of mouthwatering plates of local dishes.

We would not be going hungry on this trip!

Sunset from our campsite

The trail got a bit more arduous after lunch. Eddy let us each go at our own pace. I like to go fast, and lucky for me, there was a cute boy in our group that was also a speed demon. Noah and I became hiking mates for most of the trek, which made it even more fun for me, and also tougher, because I had to keep up with him!

We went up, up, and up until we finally reached our camp for the night. To my great surprise and happiness, our chosquis had arrived before us and set up our tents! I could really get used to this kind of camping.

After another amazing Peruvian meal of a dinner, I cuddled up in my sleeping bag and prepared for an even more strenuous day.

The Pachamama hikers and chosquis

It was another early morning the next day, but this time I – and my also-not-a-morning-person tentmate Alice – didn’t have to wake up to the annoying blaring sound of an alarm. Instead, one of the chosquis lightly shook our tent and handed us cups of coca tea. We sipped the rejuvenating wonder drink from the comfort of our sleeping bags while our minds and bodies slowly adjusted to the early hour.

What a marvelous way to wake up!

Me all hyped up to set off on our most difficult day

I slurped down three bowls of quinoa porridge, known as a poor man’s meal in Peru, but to me a bowl of breakfast deliciousness. Then we stood in a circle with our chosquis so we could all introduce ourselves.

Our chosquis are fifteen men from nearby villages, smiley and shy, full of warmth and spirit. The youngest was 17, a second generation chosqui getting to work with his dad. I will never forget the look of pride the father chosqui had while his son was introducing himself.

We made it! Noah and me at Dead Woman’s Pass.

With stomachs full, the Pachamama group set off for what would be our most difficult day of the trek. Noah and I booked it up the trail through jungle foliage, next to a waterfall, waaaaay uphill into practically oxygen-less air, resting for twenty second increments only when absolutely necessary, then for longer at an alpaca-populated rest place, higher and higher, up some stairs, me gasping for air, up, up, and up some more on the formidable climb to Dead Woman’s Pass.

Dead Woman’s Pass is the ultimate feat of the Inca Trail. At 13,776 feet – that’s over 2.5 miles! – above sea level, not only is it a ridiculously high summit to conquer, but it has some very thin air.

Eddy and Gianni threatening to chuck me off the edge of the pass. We started waaaay down in the valley behind us.

At last we reached the pass. I tried to regain my leg muscle and lung function while Eddy played the recorder for the hikers still ascending the mountain.

We all reveled in our accomplishment for a while, high fiving and taking pictures. Then we began our plunge into the valley on the other side of the pass to our lunch spot nestled next to a waterfall.

After lunch, we got ready to scale another pass. Steeply up the next segment of the trail we climbed. A quick stop at another ruin of a round structure with a little square house, past a lagoon, up some more stairs, and we arrived at a clearing at the top of the next pass.

Just a tiny part of the ruin that used to be an Incan hotel

There was nowhere to go but down from here, which is where we went to the ruin of an Incan compound on a bluff with sublime Andean views. Eddy made us guess the purpose of the building. I was convinced it was a mansion, due to the endless maze of luxurious-seeming rooms.

Nope. According to Eddy, it was actually a sort of hotel for Incan royalty to stay at on their way to and from Machu Picchu. Apparently I do not have a knack for guessing the use of Incan structures.

The ruin of Phuyupatamarka through the mist, with a fountain running down one side and a staircase leading to the top level, which was a sort of astronomy observatory

I was more than willing to be a guest of the hotel for the night, but alas, we had to get to our camp for dinner. We proceeded downward to our campsite through the darkening mist and enjoyed another meal of fine Peruvian cuisine.

We awoke the next morning to another friendly tent shake and coca tea. Our last full day of hiking started upward with glacier views as we trekked above a cloud forest. Through an Incan tunnel carved into the mountain rock, we surmounted our last pass and headed back down the misty mountainside.

Me trying not to fall on slippery stairs in another tunnel through the cloud forest

We were inside the clouds when we made it to Phuyupatamarka, a multi-tiered ruin with fountains running down the side and a staircase rising to the top level where Eddy showed us holes in the rock that correspond to the stars in the Southern Cross constellation. Just one example of countless that show the Incas’ astronomical (as in, regarding the stars) intellect.

A ruin of agricultural terraces

Onward down into the dense vegetation covered with misty fog, it was a precarious descent on narrow trail and slippery stairs plummeting through the damp forest to a ruin of agricultural terraces called Intipata.

Just a short march downhill was our camp, where we spent the afternoon resting, napping, and taking advantage of Eddy’s connections so we could take a hot shower! What a luxury to be clean and warm.

Pachamama group ponchoed up at Wiñaywayna

Before night set in, we ponchoed up in case the ominous sky produced the rain it threatened. Hiking smack dab in the rainy season, we had been extremely fortunate with the weather so far, our tents getting pelted with rain at night but us remaining dry during the day.

Clad in our colorful plastic bags with arms, we followed Eddy to the nearby Wiñaywayna ruins of houses and agricultural terraces. Inside one of the houses, at Eddy’s command, we stood in a circle holding hands with our eyes closed. Eddy waved condor feathers at each of us, one by one, while we thought about things that are important to us.

The ruins of Wiñaywayna

Then we each got to put three coca leaves in the center of a heart drawn in the dirt and make a wish. Three is a sacred number in Incan mythology and is connected to the three worlds and their representative animals – the Underworld and the snake, the Current World and the puma, and the Upper World and the condor – and declarations and rules for living – “I Live, I Work, I Love” and “Don’t Lie, Don’t Steal, Don’t Be Lazy.”

When our coca leaves were in place for the fulfillment of our wishes, we added to the heart a border of pebbles, a circle of flower buds, and a sprinkling of kernels of corn. Then we all hugged. It was a moving ritual and an entrancing connection to the Incan spiritual world.

The finished product

Feeling at peace, we drifted around the little Incan village in the dark, absorbing the tranquility of this ancient site in the middle of the Andes until it was time to go back to camp for dinner.

I wasn’t sleepy at all after dinner. But, with a 3:30am wakeup call for our last drive to Machu Picchu tomorrow, I forced myself to crawl into my sleeping bag. Now if only I can shut my mind off from the excitement of being so close to Machu Picchu!

A colonial building built on top of an Incan wall

Upon their arrival in the Incan capital, the Spaniards stripped opulent Incan fortresses and temples of their gold and other riches and built churches and colonial mansions right over them. As a result, many of Cusco’s historical buildings are a funny mix of austere Incan stone block walls and foundations and elaborate colonial arches, columns, and domes.

Developed around the 12th century, Qosqo, which means “navel” in the indigenous language Quechua, formed the core of Tawantinsuyo, the Incas’ name for their kingdom. Tawantinsuyo, or “Land of Four Quarters,” had four provinces – to the northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast of Qosqo – with the capital city located in the exact center.

The sprawl of Cusco in the Andes, with the Plaza de Armas in the center

The factual origin of the Incas isn’t known because the people of Tawantinsuyo didn’t chronicle their history in writing. The genesis of the Incan kingdom is told through various legends. A popular story says that Manco Cápac, son of the sun god Inti, came from his birthplace at Isla del Sol in Lake Titicaca with a golden rod and founded the city in the earth’s navel, the spot where he could thrust the rod into the earth until it disappeared.

The Incas occupied just a small region of land surrounding Cusco for a few hundred years until their ambitious ninth emperor decided to expand. Under his rule and later that of his son and grandson, the Incan empire spread north to what is now Colombia and south to modern Chile and Argentina.

The Incan empire enjoyed only 100 years of domination. The Spanish arrived to Cusco in 1533 and conquered the Incas with disease and more sophisticated weaponry. Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro founded a Spanish city right on top of the Incan capital. After some years of Incan resistance, their empire was ultimately extinguished.

Me on the bus, angry because no matter how much care is taken beforehand, reliable service is never guaranteed in Peru

During my journey to this beguiling city from Puno, I was quite miffed because – after I had taken great care to book a ticket with Tour Peru, the best bus company according to many people I talked to, and paid more for it – the company had bumped me to another, less reputable and punctual company and changed my seat from the front seat with a panoramic view to a cramped seat with no view. I had been looking forward to a trip of gazing at archeological ruins, villages, and scenery out the window, but instead had to hunker down and just endure the ride.

Unreliable service is not an uncommon occurrence in Peru, indeed in many of the South American countries I’ve visited so far, and there is really no way to prevent it. It is rather annoying, although it is just one of those things that must be accepted while traveling.

The magnificent Plaza de Armas and its Catedral, churches, and palaces-turned-tourist-haunts

My consternation didn’t last long because I quickly learned that Cusco is tourist heaven. Not only is the Plaza de Armas one of the grandest, most magnificent squares I’ve ever seen, with its magisterial Catedral, ornate churches, and colonnaded palaces, but its colonial buildings house absolutely everything that entrepreneurial locals (and some foreigners) could think of to indulge tourists. Tour agencies, handi-marts, ATMs, stores selling trekking gear and tools, alpaca textiles shops, cheap massage spas, bars and restaurants with second-floor balcony views of the plaza, and yes, even a Starbucks.

A colonial Starbucks!

Apart from the appeal of the plaza-scape, it was really nice to be in the presence of a surprisingly large number of American tourists. I haven’t met many Americans on my trip, and I felt a little bit guilty about being so happy to be around my peeps for a while.

Completely overwhelmed because there is so much to see in Cusco, I decided to follow my Lonely Planet’s suggested tour of the city. (Thank you to my hostel friend who bequeathed me her Lonely Planet on Peru so many months ago. I knew it would come in handy at some point!)

The Catedral and the connected 16th century Iglesia del Triunfo on its right

Starting at the glossy fountain in the middle of the Plaza de Armas, I zigzagged to the front steps of the Catedral and ogled this grandiose structure that was built in the 16th century on the site of an Incan emperor’s palace with rocks mined from a nearby Incan fortress. Then I strolled the perimeter of the square for a closer look at the two ancient churches that flank the Catedral, the Compañía, an extravagant church that rivals the Catedral in splendor, and the arcaded and balconied palaces that complete the plaza’s rectangle.

La Compañía, a church that rivals the Catedral in splendor

Ambling through Plaza Regocijo, which is also bordered by colonial mansions, I ended up back on Calle Garcilaso, the street of my hotel. My hotel, Marqueses, which got a special shout-out from Lonely Planet for its exceptional charm, is a renovated 16th century colonial residence, complete with internal courtyards and balconies and a grand parlor. (And a pretty delicious breakfast buffet.)

The front of my hotel, Hotel Marqueses, a renovated 16th century colonial mansion

More plazas and churches were next on my tour, including Plaza San Francisco and its spartan San Francisco church, and the Santa Clara church and convent that are reachable from the nearby plaza through a colonial arch.

Across the street from the Santa Clara church is the Mercado Central, a madhouse of a warehouse that reeks of dead meat and swarms with locals selling and buying raw meat and fish, produce, juice, knick-knacks, toys, and alpaca clothes. It was fun to be a part of the local bedlam for a while, although the chaos of it all was also a bit trying.

An imposing brick fortress. The original Incan walls remain as the foundation, while the lighter brick of the colonial church comprises the bulk of the current structure.

The jumbled flurry flowed onto the congested Avenida El Sol, home to the busy Palacio de Justicia, a creamy white mass of a building whose front steps were the scene of a hubbub of people coming and going in their daily routine. Continuing on down this main avenue of Cusco, I accidentally missed the turn recommended by my guide book and found myself in front of a massive, impeccably manicured lawn towered over by an imposing brick fortress. It was obviously something important and demanded my patronage, even though it wasn’t a part of the Lonely Planet tour I was following.

An Incan room at Qorikancha, with perfectly smooth and fitted stone walls

A quick glimpse at my map told me I was at Qorikancha, once an Incan temple devoted to Inti the sun god and used for religious ceremonies and astronomical observations. Meaning “Golden Courtyard” in Quechua, Qorikancha was abounding with riches – gold covered the walls and solid gold and silver statues and other treasures filled the courtyard – until the Spanish discovered it and looted it of all of its wealth.

The colonial columns and arches of the courtyard funnily contrasting with the Incan stone block walls and cobblestone floor

After totally stripping Qorikancha of its valuables, the Spanish built their Santo Domingo church and convent on top of it, using the sturdy Incan walls as a foundation. A few Incan floors, rooms, and walls remain today, brilliantly showing off the Incas’ genius stonework. Earthquakes that crumbled colonial buildings around the city failed to take down the perfectly-fitted and extraordinarily smooth stone blocks of the Incas’ walls.

The pedestrian alley Loreto, enclosed on both sides by Incan walls

The once treasure-filled courtyard is now a square of colonial columns and arches that opens onto a few of the ancient Incan rooms, an excellent example of the comical mingling of Incan and colonial architecture in Cusco.

Leading back to the Plaza de Armas from near Qorikancha is Loreto, a pedestrian cobblestone alley that is sided by two Incan walls, one of which belonged to the palace of the 11th emperor. I followed this narrow street to another street that took me to the bohemian San Blas neighborhood.

A cobblestone alleyway in San Blas

Slowly rambling the cobblestone alleyways of San Blas, I was already getting winded. When oh when will my lungs get used to the lack of oxygen in this Andean air?

My Lonely Planet next told me to “follow my nose to Sacsaywamán.” Since I couldn’t smell anything potent, I figured that meant “go up.” And up. And up. Curving uphill stone paths and steep stairways conducted me to the Incan ruins jokingly known as “sexy woman” by English-speaking tourists.

The three-tiered zigzagged rampart at Sacsaywamán

Sacsaywamán was an Incan military fortress and religious ceremonial site. Huge stones, carved so that they fit perfectly together without requiring mortar, make up a zigzagged rampart, stone benches circling a field, foundations of what used to be towers, and stairways.

Despite being on a hill way above the city, Sacsaywamán was not free from the Spaniards’ pillaging. The Spaniards used stone blocks from the compound to build the Catedral, other churches, and houses in their new city.

A door and wall remaining of the fortress at Sacsaywamán

A particularly brutal battle between the Spaniards and Incas was fought here a few years after the Spanish arrived in Cusco, the Spanish barely emerging victorious.

I roved around what remains of the Incan walls, foundations, benches, and stairs, stopping at the edge of the fortress for a sweeping view of the valley that holds Cusco. It was impossible to visualize what this marvelous structure looked like before the Spanish got their hands on it. But from what I have seen of the Incas’ mastery in architecture, I imagine it was absolutely sublime.

The White Jesus

Next door to Sacsaywamán is a hill topped with a pure white Jesus statue that watches over the city. With legs feeling like jelly, I garnered one last burst of energy and traipsed up the dirt trail leading to Jesus. Standing underneath his open arms was slightly disconcerting, mostly because his all-white eyes look entirely void of expression up close.

After dinner on a balcony overlooking the Plaza de Armas, which transforms into a lustrous, magical-feeling sanctuary when the sun disappears and the lights come on, my tour of Cusco was over.

Today was spent shopping for things I’ll need for my Incan trail hike to Machu Picchu, which starts tomorrow!

Adding to the mayhem are flooded streets

Most travelers stay in Puno to see the famous floating islands on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. My day in Puno was just a quick stop-off so I could make it to Cusco in time for my reserved trek to Machu Picchu.

After an errand to the bus station to buy my onward ticket to Cusco, I made my way back to the center with a detour along Puno’s unimpressive coastline. It was hard to believe I was looking at the same lake that surrounds Isla del Sol in glistening blue waves and embraces the setting sun in Copacabana. The shore of Lake Titicaca in Puno is malodorous, marshy, and tainted by a layer of garbage.

The marsh that is Puno’s coastline. Fortunately, this picture doesn’t show the piles of plastic bottles and other garbage buried in the marsh.

A trek back to the tourist area brought the only sights worth seeing in Puno, the Plaza de Armas, its 18th century baroque Catedral, and the few adjoining blocks.

Across the street from the side of the Catedral is the 17th century Casa del Corregidor, one of Puno’s oldest residences. I thought it would be fun to tour this old stately manor, but it is now just a cultural center, art gallery, bookshop, and cafe. Sometime between the 1600s and now, it has lost its historical mansion allure.

A double-spouted ceramic pitcher from the Nazca culture

The bulk of my afternoon was spent next door to the old casa at the Museo Carlos Dreyer, an archeological and artifact museum with tons of cool findings from the pre-Incan and Incan days and collector items from the museum’s namesake, Carlos Dreyer.

The Incas are the most famous of Peru’s bygone societies, but for thousands of years before the Incas made their appearance, a half-dozen other cultures left evidence of their existence in the earth around Puno, including monolith stone sculptures that belonged to the ancient Pucara civilization, ceramics interestingly shaped and painted during the Nazca period, and stone works carved by the Tiwanaku people, perhaps the most important predecessors to the Incas. Naturally, the museum also displays an array of Incan pottery and battle tools.

Some Pucara monoliths called Yaya-Mama (which means man and woman in Quechua) because they were carved in masculine and feminine figures in pairs.

Charles Dreyer was a German painter and antiques collector who moved to Puno in the early 1900s (and apparently adopted the Spanish version of his name). Admittedly, I do not have an eye for art, but his indigenous oil paintings, sumptuous gold frames, silver jewelry and accessories, antique furniture, and hundreds of gold pieces (501 to be exact) on exhibit at his museum make me think Señor Dreyer had a very sophisticated taste in fine art.

When I exited the museum, I was dying of hunger. Around the corner from the museum is Jíron Lima, a pedestrian street of artisan stores, alpaca clothing shops, tour companies, and tourist-friendly restaurants. My grumbling stomach led me to a window table at a second-floor restaurant with a view of the disorderly rush on the promenade below. It was a perfect way to be a part of the action without experiencing the stress of the crowds.

Jíron Lima, the pedestrian promenade of tourist shops and restaurants

After I gobbled down an entire ham and pineapple pizza and tried to savor the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had, I went for a browse of the clothing shops on Jíron Lima.

It was really hard not to buy a colorful alpaca sweater, the uniform of all tourists in the Lake Titicaca region. Even harder to resist was laying down my credit card for gorgeous but expensive soft baby alpaca gloves. Baby alpaca wool is the most exclusive fabric in Peru because of its softness and rareness. (But don’t worry, no baby alpacas are harmed in the garnering of their wool.)

My tour of Puno concluded at the end of the street, where a French-Gothic church dominates an unexceptional plaza. After taking some obligatory pictures of the church and monuments in the middle of the plaza, I retraced my steps on Jíron Lima and headed back to my hostel for the night.

And now I’m off to Cusco, the Incan capital!

Cruising to the north side of the island

Bright and early, blurry-eyed and sleepy, I boarded a small boat at Copacabana’s lake port and settled in for the two hour ride to the island. I had booked a hostel in the village of Yumani on the south side of the island and was all set to disembark the ferry there so I could drop off my stuff and spend the afternoon exploring the neighborhood.

Unfortunately for my plan, the boat cruised right on by the port on the south side of the island. I watched all the other boats pull into the docks below Yumani as we motored past. Apparently I had picked the only boat that didn’t stop where I wanted to go.

The village of Ch'allapampa

Our boat chugged on for another half hour to the north side of the island, parking at a dock in the small village of Ch’allapampa. Now my mode of transportation to my hostel on the other side of the lengthy island would be my own two feet.

A tour guide approached the passengers disembarking my boat, urging us to follow him to some of the Incan ruins near the village. It was tempting to join him – the mention of “Inca” and/or “ruins” always gets me excited – but I had a long walk ahead of me to my hostel and figured I’d better get going.

The hike to the top of the hill doesn't look toooo bad.

Luckily, I would still be getting my fill of Incan sights because there remain some of their creations on the other side of the island as well. But first, I had to find the trail that connects the two sides of the island. I hoisted my slightly heavy backpack over my shoulders, thanking myself for having the keenness to leave the rest of my luggage at my hostel in Copacabana. I started ambling south along the coastline, hoping I’d run into either the trail or someone who could point it out to me.

Well, at least the views from halfway up are amazing!

The girl who I finally asked directions from told me the trail was at the crest of a rugged hill, reachable by merely climbing up the hillside until I arrived at some Incan ruins. The trail passed right by those ruins, she said.

Easy enough, I thought, looking up an incline of trees to the seemingly close tapering off of the slope.

Just. gotta. make. it. to. those. ruins.

I started to trudge straight up the slant of the hill, dodging trees, climbing boulders, darting over logs, and maneuvering my feet on the loose dirt, rocks, and leaves so as not to fall on my face or backwards back down the hill. My lungs were panting for oxygen from the thin altitudinous air, and I began to regret bringing my not-as-light-as-an-Air MacBook Pro and my heavy toiletries.

Despite my fatigued muscles and screaming lungs, I was having a great time with the challenge of making it to the top. I sputtered over one last boulder and commenced a mental celebration for surmounting the hill.

That looks like a trail!

My feet flattened out on level ground, and I looked up to see … an even higher undulation of grass and rocks in front of me. Regrettably, I had forgotten that the summit of a hill is never where it seems. All my years of traversing the steep San Francisco streets still hadn’t taught me that there is always another block to scale after you think you’ve made it to the top.

I could barely make out some crumbling rocks at what I really hoped was the top of the hill. Please, oh please, let these be the ruins I’m looking for, I begged Inti the sun god.

The trail right next to the ruins, as promised

Thankfully, this second stretch of hill was less arduous. Finally, I reached the collapsing stone building, and as promised, there was the road. Victory!

My trek to Yumani was a relaxing yet strenuous three hours up and over rocky green swells flanked by blue satin lake. Gradually the terrain turned agricultural, with verdant crop terraces strikingly complementing the periwinkle sheen of the lake. Barely a person – tourist or local – was in sight. It was such a fun journey that I was mildly disappointed when I reached my hostel.

Agricultural terraces contrasting with the blue satin lake

My disappointment was short-lived. The hostel owner led me to a spectacular room with a wall of windows overlooking the lake far below down the hill. I sat on the balcony outside my room, rested my legs, and daydreamed at the lake to a soothing medley of mooing, baaing, and hee-hawing.

A half hour later, my legs were ready to get to work again.

I made my way past tourist shops, restaurants, hostels, and tables of handmade alpaca wear down to the ferry dock that I had hoped to arrive at that morning. Leading up the cliff from the coast is a set of still-intact Incan steps with an Incan fountain spouting water down the length of one side. Wanting to get the full Inca experience, I forced my tired legs to lift themselves up the stone staircase.

The Inca steps with a fountain spouting water out to the left

At the top of the stairs, a path twisting around the southern tip of the island implored me to find out where it went, so I turned onto it and headed southward.

Apart from the fun of the hike, I was completely entertained by the local life going on around me. Women in bowler hats and flowing skirts with florescent packs on their backs herded llamas and sheep along the narrow road. Lone donkeys somberly plodded by like they were just another person on their way home from work. I almost expected to see one troop past on his hind legs wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase.

The path around the south side of the island

Every so often the quiet was interrupted by a loud baa or snort and I would be jolted out of my reverie by an attention-seeking sheep or a hungry pig chomping away in the terrace fields next to the path.

In the distance ahead, I could see an Incan-looking building, so I rushed on to scout it out. It was the Incan ruins of Pilko Kaina, a stone structure that looks like a mansion. Complete with a raised front foyer, alcoves to house sacred objects, easterly lake views, and a labyrinth of rooms, it definitely had the feel of a luxurious estate, Incan-style.

Palko Kaina, looking like an Incan mansion

Back at my hostel that early evening, I enjoyed the sunset over the lake from bed, then totally conked out before the sun had fully disappeared. I guess I was tired!

I spent the next morning wandering the island’s network of pathways through little villages and terrace farms. My lunch was the island’s specialty, trout, recently caught right out of the lake.

An afternoon ferry took me back to Copacabana, and now I am on a bus to Puno on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca.

The town of Copacabana fringed by farmland and circled by mountainous hills

It’s a short yet precarious ride to Copacabana from La Paz. The road – thankfully paved – twists around the side of a hill that abruptly slopes down into the lake in rippling green waves. Bolivia is home to the World’s Most Dangerous Road, so it’s not surprising that the sheer drop-off from the side of the road way down to the lake is barrier-less. It was lucky that I was crammed in the middle seat of a van and could barely see out the window to the death fall below.

Boulder steps and a Station of the Cross on the way up Cerro Calvario

My hostel was conveniently located on a steep incline of a street that leads up to Cerro Calvario, a commanding hill with stone structures representing the 14 Stations of the Cross at every turn of the trail that ascends to the top. Since I was already partway up the hillside, I decided that a climb to the hilltop would be a good way to start my exploration of Copacabana.

My lungs were still not used to the high altitude of Bolivia’s Altiplano, and the short hike up the hill left me frustratingly out of breath. Nevertheless, I had a lot of fun maneuvering the uneven boulders set in the path like stairs, using the astounding view as an excuse to take pictures every so often and catch my breath.

The Copacabana coastline from the top of Cerro Calvario

Panting and sweating, I finally reached the summit and was rewarded with a far-reaching view of the prodigious lake, the opposite shore hidden beyond the horizon. Behind me was a panorama of the entire town bordered by a green stretch of farmland.

The crown of the hill flaunts a row of the Stations of the Cross extending towards the ultramarine blue lake. It wasn’t hard to understand why people – from the Aymaras to the Incas to modern pilgrims – regard the area as a spiritual place. I spent a long while staring at the lake in holy awe before heading back down to town.

Stations of the Cross on the top of Cerro Calvario

Upon my return to flat ground, I went out in search of some Incan ruins about two miles outside of town. My map didn’t show the exact location of the ruins, so I set forth into the countryside hoping that my usually dependable sense of direction would lead me to the right place.

The walk was an entertaining excursion in itself, providing a sweep of captivating rural scenery and an array of amusing farm animals. Fields of all sorts of different wildflowers grew up beside the muddy road, interspersed with pastures and tracts of corn. Sheep crowded together amongst the crops, greedily munching on the greenery. Cows languorously sprawled in the tall grass. Pigs and chickens wandered about next to stone houses.

A field of wildflowers in the middle of the farmland

I followed some kids on their way home from school up a stone path, then randomly turned down a street that looked promising. Halfway down the street between two stone buildings was an archway announcing my arrival at an archeology museum and some Incan ruins. It was my desired destination, the manor at Kusijata!

Kusijata’s museum contains pottery, tools, baskets, and statues from various pre-Columbian civilizations, including the Chiripa, the Tiwanaku, and of course, the Incas. The most fascinating exhibit is the ancient mummy sitting in a fetal position, found in a chullpa, or a mausoleum, where important people of the area were buried.

An Incan faucet, spouting water from a stone water tank to the irrigation canal

Even more intriguing than the artifacts in the museum are the archeological finds in the manor’s backyard, where a narrow irrigation canal glides next to agricultural terraces that descend like stairs to the horizontal cultivated land below. The channel pours water into a circular stone pool that is thought to have been used by the Incas as a ritual bath.

When my amazement with the Incas and their ingenious farming and irrigation techniques had settled down, I began my return back to town. I wasn’t in danger of getting lost, because I could see the crowded buildings of the town peeking up in the distance over the acres of flat farmland. However, I didn’t anticipate the obstacles I would encounter as I traversed past the modest stone houses and patchwork crops.

First, I stumbled upon a lethargic cow who had made the road her resting place. Luckily, she didn’t mind my intrusion and let me walk peacefully by after she graciously posed for a picture.

A lazy cow graciously posing for a picture

Another cow confrontation was as uneventful as the last, the lazy cows staring at me uninterestedly as I inched my way past them.

It was a family of sheep that next blocked my way. They were less welcoming of my appearance, but I had an advantage in size. Plus, it’s really hard to be fearful of such fluffy animals with friendly faces. I wound my way past the curious baby, the dreadlocked grandmother, and the black sheep of the family (literally) and persevered onward.

A sheep family sprawled across the road

I was feeling cheerful due to my newfound animal friendships when a stream of water crossing the road like a slow-moving river stopped me short in my tracks.

It was about a mile and a half to get to the other road that I knew to be dry. I didn’t want to waste my afternoon retracing my steps, so I thought I’d chance it and try to find a stable spot of land in the marshy pasture. That was a mistake. My foot immediately sunk into the soggy grass and I was soaked up to the ankle.

There's no getting by this without getting soaked.

Since my shoe and leg were already covered with water, mud, and who knows what else, I decided to just go for it. I splashed over the submerged depression in the road and made it to the other side, dripping wet halfway up to my knee. Not wanting to think about what sorts of things end up in flooded farm water, I bolted back to my hostel and spent a half hour scrubbing my shoes and skin with soap.

White wooden boats at Copacabana's lake port

Rejuvenated and hopefully clean, I strolled along Copacabana’s coastline, admiring the small white wooden boats anchored in the sparkling navy blue. Then I darted inland to the base of another hill that promised some more ruins on its peak. As the sun lowered towards the lake, I scrambled up the stair boulders to the smooth rock surface of the hill’s brow.

Pachataka, an astronomical observatory from the 14th century B.C.

Facing the sunset was a trilithic stone contraption that looks like an oddly shaped doorway into the sky above the lake. Named Horca del Inca (“Inca Gallows”) by the Spanish because of its resemblance to gallows and their assumption that it was built by the Incas, the site was actually constructed by the Chiripa people in the 14th century B.C., way before the days of the Incans. Also called Pachataka, it is an astronomical observatory that was used to monitor the solstices and equinoxes and watch celestial bodies.

When the sun was in danger of being swallowed by the lake, I joined a Spanish couple that I met at Pachataka and we headed to the last ruinous attraction of Copacabana before the sunlight would be completely extinguished.

Me pretending to be the Inca on a throne-like seat at Intikala, with some Bolivian kids wanting to get in on the fun

These ruins, called Intikala, actually were created by the Incas. Boulders sculpted into the form of seats, they are thought to have been used as an Incan court, with a bench-like seat forming a semi-circle around an enormous rock with the aura of a throne. Picturing the tribunal required some imagination because the area is basically just a meadow of big rocks, but it was still cool to be in the presence of a place frequented by the Incas.

The Moorish Catedral and its front courtyard

On the way home for the night, we stopped in the Catedral, a 19th century building of Moorish architecture that houses a statue of the Virgen de la Candelaria, a figure that is believed to have brought about many miracles since it was sculpted by an Incan in 1576. Due to these miraculous happenings, its presence at the Catedral makes the spot a popular pilgrimage stop. We didn’t actually see the statue, but we did spend a few minutes absorbing the tranquility of the inside of the Catedral and moseying around its huge front courtyard.

It was a quick trip to Copacabana. Tomorrow morning I will take a ferry for a jaunt to Isla del Sol, in the middle of Lake Titicaca.

We found a hotel on the steep tourist street, Sagarnaga.

It was a painful ride – literally – from Uyuni to La Paz. My joints ached with every bump the bus encountered on the unpaved road north through Bolivia. I slept in five minute increments all night until the bus finally reached the upper part of the chasm that is La Paz. It was about 7am when the bus turned a corner and the earth opened up to reveal this impossibly built city. I momentarily forgot my pain and exhaustion as I stared at the steep cityscape out the window while the bus zigzagged down the side of the profound gorge.

Without hostel reservations, two of my new friends, Hollee and Mitch from Perth, Australia, and I spent the morning searching for a place to stay. Striking out several times at the front desks of a few places, we decided to settle into a cafe with WiFi and use the magic of the internets to make a reservation. An added bonus was that the cafe had a great atmosphere and great food. After booking a reasonably priced hotel nearby, we spent the rest of the morning chowing down an American breakfast until it was check-in time.

View of Illimani peeking up over the side of the canyon wall

When we finally checked-in to our hotel, my body was hurting with tiredness. I laid down for a nap and accidentally slept until the next morning. Whoops! An entire day of La Paz was gone.

Since I slept through half of my time in La Paz, I only had one day to see everything. I figured the best thing to do first would be to take in the city in all its glory from above, so I headed to Mirador Killi Killi, a hillside viewing point that provides an incredible vista of practically the entire city. The view was a hard-earned one, as my lungs were still not adjusted to the city’s high altitude. I huffed and puffed my way up hills and stairs before finally reaching the terrace of the mirador.

The city center, surrounding San Francisco Church, in the hollow of the canyon

The icy peaks of Illimani, La Paz’s eminent mountain, were glowing behind some clouds over the rough edge of the canyon. Plaza San Francisco and the domed towers of its baroque church were a historical mecca in the midst of the more modern highrises of the city center. And of course, the sides of the city hollow were completely covered with the city’s distinctive brick dwellings, served by roads crisscrossing up the precipitous incline of the canyonside.

Looking towards the southern tip of La Paz

When I had completed a circle around the terrace and captured each degree of the 360 degree view with my camera, I made my way back down the hill and towards the southern tip of the narrow gorge where affluent neighborhoods enjoy better weather than the elevated slums.

I crossed a busy intersection to the Plaza Arqueológica, a sunken square of archeological pillars that resemble totem poles. I continued on and ended up on a pedestrian bridge winding over and around Parque Urbano Central, the city’s Central Park. Not wanting to dish out the five bolivianos to enter the park, I admired the trimmed grass and thick hedges from the wooden bridge and strolled on. At Plaza Camacho, I went through a glass enclosure and down some stairs and found myself in what looked like an underground parking garage but was actually a market. Most of the market stalls were garaged up due to it being Sunday, so I turned right back around and kept walking south to the wealthy, mostly residential neighborhood of Sopocachi.

View of the Bridge of the Americas in the southern part of the city from the pedestrian bridge

My map promised another hilltop mirador nearby. I was determined to find this lookout point for a different perspective of the city, but somehow ended up lost in a maze of hills and confusingly twisting streets that was beyond the reaches of my map. After wandering around a neighborhood of gated condos and well-to-do residences, I finally stumbled upon the park, complete with a church, a gazebo, and southern city views.

A southern city view from the mirador in Sopocachi

It was early afternoon and I had only a few minutes to make it back to the city center to meet my friends. I rushed through the commotion of the city, past plazas boasting monuments, a sports stadium, and a prison taking up an entire city block, and back to the sloping narrow streets of the center, where artisan shops, tour companies, hotels, and restaurants make the area a haven for tourists. I burst into the hotel lobby to meet Hollee, Mitch, and Titus from NYC with thirty seconds to spare.

Some shops at the Witches' Market

We set out to explore the Witches’ Market, a street corner of shops selling figurines, herbal concoctions, coca products, tourist trinkets, and – a somewhat disturbing sight to see – llama fetuses. Rumor is the market got its name when a group of ladies visiting from Europe went home to say they had seen witches because of the products that are offered to cure ailments, bring luck or prosperity, or to otherwise influence the gods. The street has since become a tourist hotspot, presumably because of the lure the word “witch” produces.

A bowl of llama fetuses for sale

One of the friendly owners welcomed us into his shop and enthusiastically regaled us with the story behind the llama fetuses. Indigenous religious beliefs center around worship of Pachamama, or “Mother Earth,” the goddess of fertility. The llama fetuses are burned and the ashes are buried as a sacrifice to Pachamama to bring fertility and prosperity. The shop owner assured us that the llama fetuses are not killed because a llama mother carries five fetuses but can deliver only one alive. The sacrificed fetuses are the ones that will never be delivered live. Not knowing anything about llamas except that they are very funny-looking animals with humorously expressive faces, I decided to accept this explanation.

Me in the shop at the Witches' Market trying on a bowler hat, a fashion statement for Bolivian ladies, sideways on my head to signify that I am unmarried

Getting into the spirit of the religious practices of the Ayamara and Quechua indigenous groups, I bought a turtle figurine, which signifies long life because she was created as Pachamama’s daughter to take care of Pachamama in her old age.

We ended the night with a very non-Bolivian dinner of pizza, not wanting to venture too far away from our hotel because of the extreme cold of the night air.

My short visit to La Paz is over. Now I am squeezed in the middle seat of an overpacked van on my way to Copacabana, a town on the shores of Lake Titicaca.

Laguna Blanca

To get to the salt flat from San Pedro de Atacama in Chile, I joined a tour group for a two-day off-roading adventure over the Altiplano. We first bussed to the Chilean-Bolivian border where I endured a slightly anxious meeting with the border guard. Americans have to purchase a visa for entry into Bolivia, but this border crossing didn’t sell them, so the guard took away my passport for safekeeping by my tour guide until we reached the city where I could purchase my visa. Luckily, I convinced my guide to let me hold onto my passport. I tend to be a bit overprotective with the document that is required for me to get allowed back into my home country.

Laguna Verde and the Licancabur volcano

Safely and somewhat legally in Bolivia, I hopped into the front seat of a land cruiser and got ready for our foray through the mountains and over the plateau to the city of Uyuni, which would be our home base for our excursion to the salt flat.

Our land cruiser bounced over the rocky and sandy terrain of the Altiplano and skidded to a halt at the Laguna Blanca, an ice-white lake circled by smooth mocha-brown mountains with white tips. It was truly beautiful, but there wasn’t much more to do than wander around and take pictures.

The paint-worthy colors of Desierto Dalí

After we had gotten our fill, we rode on to the nearby Laguna Verde, similar to the White Lagoon, although perhaps with water of a slightly greener tint and fronting a massive volcano that was competing for our attention. Despite being in a desert, the air was frigidly cold, and I was becoming apprehensive for our afternoon stop at the hot springs, which would require us to strip down to our bathing suits and get wet.

The thermal springs, just like a big hot tub but with gorgeous scenery

On our way over the arid plateau to the hot springs, we made a quick stop at the Desierto Dalí, named after Salvador Dalí, an eccentric Spanish artist who was known for painting desert scenes. (Apparently he is really famous, and I suffered the dismay of a few of my group members for never having heard of him. What can I say, I’m not good at art history.) I’m not sure if he ever painted the desert named after him, but the red, pink, orange, brown, and white mountain and sand landscape would have made for a stunning piece of art.

Me at the sulphur springs

We made it to the Aguas Termales, and I braved the freezing air in my bikini from the car to the small thermal springs. Thankfully, they were steaming hot. It was nice to relax for a while surrounded by mountains, desert, and flamingo-filled lagoon, although it really felt like we were just chilling in a regular old, unchlorinated hot tub. And it was pretty painful trying to dry off afterwards in the dreadful cold.

The pink-red water of the Laguna Colorada

Next it was on to some sulphur springs that looked like geysers emitting smoking vapor high into the air and dispersing a rotten egg smell into our noses. The smell wasn’t too much to handle, though, so we spent some time darting around the spurts of gas and posing for pictures before speeding off again through the desert and up over the high plains.

Gasping for air, we finally arrived at our hostel. (Okay, we weren’t quite gasping, but at over 15,000 feet above sea level, the thin air was definitely making it more difficult for us to breathe.)

Tons of flamingoes at Laguna Colorada

We chowed down a surprisingly tasty lunch of hot dogs and mashed potatoes, then reboarded the land cruisers for a jaunt to a nearby lagoon. Laguna Colorada was undoubtedly endowed with its name – Red Lagoon – because of the vibrant pink-red color of its water and the salmon pink of the hundreds of flamingoes that awkwardly walk around the shallow lake.

They walk so funny.

I could have watched those flamingoes walk forwards with their backwards legs for hours, but the granite clouds and windy air were threatening storm. Indeed, as the land cruisers bounded us back towards home, a crazy thunderstorm appeared over the hills behind our hostel. I could see the lighting continuously striking the hillside in powerful jagged bolts. We made it into the dry indoors right before the clouds burst over our heads.

The dim lighting of the hostel, the crash of the rain on the tin roof, the booming thunder, and the lack of any human life for miles and miles outside the hostel gave the evening a spooky, horror film-like vibe. I almost expected to see Jack Torrance show up in the dark hallway with an ax.

The eeriness had dissipated the next morning, and we set out in the land cruisers under clear blue skies.

The Stone Tree

All of a sudden, the sandy, rocky ground turned white, and we pulled to a stop at an area of huge natural stone formations, one of which is called Árbol de Piedra, meaning “stone tree,” because of its tree-like shape. On this day, however, the main attraction wasn’t the cool stone formations because the whole place was covered in snow! Thanks to the area being about a thousand feet higher in altitude, the precipitation of the storm the night before had turned to snow and blanketed the whole area with thick whiteness.

Fun in the snow

Of course, we couldn’t resist playing around in the snow for a while. Some snowballs were thrown, some snow angels were made, and the smooth snow surface was damaged with footprints. I imagine our stop at the Stone Tree lasted a lot longer on this day than for other tour groups on non-snow days.

After a few stops to take pictures of some more lagoons in the middle of the desert, we arrived at the Valle de Rocas, where we climbed all over the gigantic rocks covering the valley while our guides made lunch. Then I practically inhaled my plate of rice, potatoes, and tuna. I’m convinced the high altitude makes me hungrier.

The Valley of Rocks

On through the Altiplano we went through towns of farms with llamas and sheep and little stone shacks, to the Cementerio de Trenes, which is just what it sounds like, a train cemetery. It is a place where old trains were abandoned when the area’s mining industry collapsed in the early part of the 20th century. Now the mostly still-intact engines, cars, and cabooses form a sort of playground for tourists to climb over and in. It was really fun to clamber up into the steam engine car and pretend to be conductor for a bit.

Me as a conductor in an abandoned train

That evening, we settled into a hostel in Uyuni, a squalid town that is only worth visiting as a place to sleep, and prepared for a 4:30am wakeup to make it to the salt flats before sunrise.

Half asleep, without coffee, more than a little bit grouchy, and freezing cold in sandals and shorts (our guides had said to prepare for walking in water but didn’t warn us about the freezingness!), I wasn’t having the best time as we waited on the crunchy salt ground for the sun to come up. As I jumped up and down to restore feeling to my feet, I was actually getting angry at the sun for taking its sweet time in coming up that morning. It didn’t help that the expanse of white salt looked like snow, which I think made it feel even colder.

Sunrise turning Salar de Uyuni into a gigantic mirror

Right when I was convinced that the sun wasn’t going to come up that day, a few beams of light appeared over the mountains, the mountaintops turning pink and blue and the few-inch layer of water covering the salt pan turning into a gigantic mirror.

It was one of the most incredible sights I’ve ever seen, the combination of atmospheric colors, jagged mountains, and fluffy clouds doubled in the mirror covering thousands of square miles of flat ground. I was also much happier and warmer as the sun’s reflection off the natural mirror instantly heated the air.

Flying on the roof of a land cruiser over the salt flat mirror

After a leisurely breakfast on the flats, our group scrambled up to the roofs of our land cruisers and our guides sped us back to the entrance of the salt flat. The glass-like water reflected the mountains and clouds and made it feel like we were flying. I was in disbelief that there is actually such a breathtaking place on our earth.

We ended our tour at a nearby salt factory, where we stepped around huge piles of salt, learned of the importance of salt to the region, and saw how salt is packaged for sale. Apparently salt in its crystallized form can be used to make things from little trinkets to furniture and even walls of houses.

I spent the afternoon with a few of my new friends at the Extreme Fun Pub, where we had an extremely fun time drinking coca-infused cocktails and playing cards until it was time to catch our overnight bus to La Paz, which is where we are headed now!

San Pedro de Atacama, the Old West of Chile

Upon my arrival at eight in the morning, the town was completely quiet and almost deserted, making it feel even more like an old Western town. As I dragged my suitcase over the dry dusty road, it was hard to believe that this desert town had suffered abnormal amounts of rain in the past month that caused devastating flooding in the surrounding area, the worst they’ve had in eleven years. A madly overflowing river is an unusual occurrence for a place that is considered the driest place on earth.

Modern touches to San Pedro's Old West feel: an ATM, a tour shop, and streetlights

Later that day, I saw firsthand how dusty streets and dry stone buildings can turn muddy and dark with wetness in a matter of minutes. A blanket of purple clouds arrived out of nowhere and exploded rain on the tiny town, causing tourists and locals alike to seek temporary shelter in the adobe shops and restaurants as streams of water poured from the flat roofs and accumulated in the dirt roads.

The next day the rain had abated and the skies were sunny, so I headed out for a run in the desert. A long road extended straight out from the town into the sandy tan and rocky orange landscape, with nary a building or person to be seen for miles and only a few odd cars passing every ten minutes or so. It was just me and the desert. And a snow-topped volcano that was peaking up on the horizon, looking very out of place towering above the arid orange landscape!

A volcano in the desert

Enticed by the rumors of cool archeology attractions in San Pedro, I prepared myself for an afternoon archeology lesson. In the center of town is an archeology museum that showcases archeological findings from pre-historic humans in the Atacama Desert to the Incan reign to the Spanish colonization. Atacameño tools, jewelry, pottery, baskets, kitchen wares, and even tablets for inhaling hallucinogens were on display in impressive condition.

Next, I set off for Pukará de Quitor, a site of Incan ruins about 2 miles outside of town. A 12th century Incan building built of stone on a hill overlooking the San Pedro River, it presumably operated as a fortress because of its perimeter defensive wall. At least, that’s what my map told me it is. I was anxious to see it for myself, mostly because I am fascinated by ruins. It seems incredible that buildings from an ancient civilization remain existing today, providing clues to how these people from another era lived their lives.

Jewelry, a tablet for inhaling hallucinogens, pottery, and other Atacameño artifacts

I lumbered along the now-dry dirt street until I encountered the river overflowing across the road. My hope for an afternoon of archeological adventure was almost extinguished, but then I spotted a slab of wood crossing the river, serving as a pedestrian bridge. Obstacle overcome!

Trudging on past the flooded spot in the road, I made it another quarter of a mile, only to be interrupted again by the river gushing across the road. This time, there was no makeshift pedestrian bridge. There was no way to cross without getting my legs wet up to the knee.

Hmmm. I wasn’t too keen on wading through this disgusting-looking brown water. Slightly frustrated that my mission for the afternoon had failed, I turned around and retraced my steps back to town.

Phew, there's a bridge!

All was not lost when I arrived back in San Pedro. It was time to join my tour group to head to the Valle de la Luna, a desolate rocky canyon area where we would watch the sunset.

Apparently finding a reliable tour company for seeing the sights outside of town is an art, and visitors are advised to research the companies before making their ultimate choice. Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to know what you are going to get from any given company, even if you read the big book of handwritten tourist comments in the tourist office right off the main plaza. (Plus, a lot of people have really hard-to-read handwriting. Not that I’m one to judge.)

Not so lucky this time. There's no getting across unless I get soaked and dirty.

Anyway, I definitely made the wrong choice. When I arrived at my chosen tour company’s office, it was an absolute madhouse. Tourists spilled out of the small office into the street while the woman in charge ran around like a crazy person trying to tell people where to go while attempting to answer the company’s phone that was ringing off the hook. Before I was able to hand over my credit card to pay for the tour, the woman shouted for me to follow a guy with a clipboard.

After all my care to book with a good tour company, I got sent with a guy from another company! My annoyance began to simmer, but I tried to have a positive attitude. There are certain aggravations you must endure when traveling in other parts of the world, I reminded myself.

The guy led me and a dozen others down the street away from the chaos, and we proceeded to wait for our tour van to pick us up. And wait, and wait, and wait. Forty minutes passed. A herd of sheep baa’ed their way on by, but there was no sign of our driver.

Sheep being herded through town. At least there's some entertainment while we're waiting for the driver.

At this point my annoyance had boiled over. Chileans are notoriously late, and I tried to tell myself that while in Chile I had to accept the Chilean way of doing things. But in this case, I just really didn’t feel like dishing out money for a five-hour trip that was already almost 20% wasted.

I guess it was lucky that the woman at the tour company was too unorganized to accept my credit card before the tour started. I took this as a sign and snuck away from the group.

Instead of seeing the sun set at the Moon Valley, I downed a dinner of apple tart and pisco sour at a local restaurant. It was a fabulous tradeoff, I thought as I savored my sugar high.

Dinner

I used my free evening to plan my last day in the desert. I had already struck out twice trying to see the attractions outside of San Pedro. The tour I had planned for the next day required me to get up at 3:30am in order to see the sunrise at the Geysers del Tatio. Ouch.

It probably would have been really fun to see a bunch of geysers spurting out of the earth as the sun rises behind them. But I was enjoying myself in the little town and didn’t feel like spending money on another tour that may or may not be good.

Sometimes while on a long-term trip, things just don’t work out, and it’s impossible to see every single amazing thing in every place I visit.

So, instead of being an ambitious traveler and seeing all that San Pedro had to offer, my lazy side decided to get a good night’s sleep and enjoy a leisurely last day in San Pedro to rest up for my next venture, a three-day trek through the desert to see the famous salt flats near Uyuni, Bolivia!