Sexy Woman

Hello.

Our first morning in Cusco was bright and the air had a freshness that rivaled a snowy Tahoe breeze. Not as cold, but way nicer than anything Lima had to offer. Mark instantly felt the word of vacation seep into his extremities until he made a quick bee-line for the el baño down the hall. In the light of the day, the hostel and surrounding town took on it´s true persona. The night before was wet, dark, lacking oxygen and some locals may or may not have been rude, so it was difficult to grasp the true grander of our where abouts.

All of Cusco is very similar to Spanish or Italian style housing, with terra cotta (red clay) rounded roofing tiles that seemed to connect from house to house in layers all the way up the hillsides. Very much like corrugated stairs for the gods. The outsides are an off-white stucco with a lot less graffiti than Lima, but still there. The inside of our hostel had the same stucco walls with mutli-colored paint from room to room. The ceilings are very high and open with exposed vintage wooden beams with antique candles hanging.

The hostel owners are a family that has resided in the building for multiple generations. Every room has tons of photos of the family´s cousins, nieces and nephews. Each room has a photo of one of the family members with their name on the door, which is where they had grown up. Now they are the hostel rooms. Our room was called Biblioteca and was above the front door and the cobblestone stairway. Our windows had wooden doors as blinds and opened like mini french doors, with little terraces holding pots of flowers.

We went down stairs and Anin, one of the little girls photos on the room doors, took us to the computer room where breakfast awaited us. We tossed a handful of coca leaves in our mugs with teabags of choice, made our jamm sammiches, then headed out to start touring Cusco. Not too sure how fast the weather can change from sunny to thunderstorms, we took advantage of the sun and packed our bag for the first temples of the "Sacred Valley."

Fact time. Saqsaywaman (sounds like sexy woman) is right on top of Plaza de Armas. It´s name means "Contented Falcon" and was built under the rule of two Inca´s during the mid 1400´s to the early 1500´s, until the Spaniards began dismantling it to build churches and houses for themselves. The Spaniards didn´t actually dismantle or build anything, they killed and tortured all the local artists and laborers until they learned which false idol was their new boss. After time, the original religions and true culture became enslaved to the European ideals until sadly on the hilltop directly next to Saqsaywaman is a thirty foot Jesus statue. Most likely build with the very stones stolen from Saqsaywaman.

Speaking of the stones at the incredible Saqsaywaman, Mark was excited to see some of the seventy ton rocks placed with razor tight precision that he´d seen on the History Channel´s Ancient Aliens. Their theory is that UFo´s had been visiting Earth for centuries or longer. Their proof is in all of the religious texts and stories of lights/angels in the sky, vast amounts of paintings with ships in the skies, temples and pyramids with astrological positioning and alien art on the walls, and rocks weighing over twenty tons being moved without the technologies of today. Anyways, cool story that´s more plausible than 95% of all religions, the other 5% hasn´t been discovered yet. DMT?

So we climbed up the steep road behind our hostel, passing several different guys trying to get us to take the horse tours of all the temples around Cusco. Mark said "no gracias" for reasons having to do with el baño and sitting on a moving saddle for hours. The road then turned into a cobblestone staircase that almost reached into our lungs and stole the air from our bocas (mouths.) As we reached the top we were offered two ticket deals: S/.70 for one day or S/.130 for ten days in the Sacred Valley. We chose the S/.130 ticket which had pictures of all the temples on it and we get a hole punch on each picture as we visit that site. On each temple is a sign that says No Horses. Glad we didn´t pay that guy as the bottom of the hill.

We walked around Saqsaywaman and immediately were blown away by the degree of masonry the Inca were using. Manipulating whole hillsides and limestone slabs as big as hillsides, to be able to control water with ease. Aqueducts flowed from pool to pool for bathing, partying and rituals galore. All of them filled in with dirt, grass and flowers now, which is quite pretty, but you can still imagine the groups of naked ancients splashing away innocently, enjoying our true creator, Mother Nature.

We made our way to the larger stone walled temple that was featured on Ancient Aliens. Holy Shit, those rocks are stupid grande and literally razor tight fitting! We are not saying aliens did it, but it would be incredibly costly and difficult to do that with cranes and tractors of today. Much respect to the Inca´s and their laborers for building such unimaginable creations. Much disrespect to the Spaniards for forcing them to tear it down in the name of god.

As the sun at 12,000 feet left Mark´s bacony forehead and arms ready for night time, we made our way down to Cusco. There is a little market neat Plaza de Armas that sells everything except tortilla chips and salsa, Anna´s favorite munchy. So she pulled a MacGyvercervezas. We opened the can and saw it was more of a noodle, steak, onion, spices soup style dish and ended up crushing the yucca into it. Pretty good going in, not so much coming out. Wanting to see Cusco as night, we grabbed a bench in the Plaza and enjoyed getting offers of Incan jewelry, shawls, beanies, chiclets, cigarettes, and a multitude of other stuff. Anna then videoed some locals practicing dance moves for what looked like a parade or something. Then we headed to bed.

Right, Left, Right

¡Bueno noche! Mark and Anna trying to catch up on these blogs, if anybody is actually reading them. They are kind of like homework assignments over summer vacation. We don´t really see the point in calling it a vacation if you are stressing out about things like this. We´ve actually been more busy here than back in the states. We got through Lima where the city life made it difficult to grasp the emotions of a vacation. It was good to get that out of the way and move to the next leg of the ladder... way up on the 12,000 foot ladder.

When we landed in Cusco, Anna was gripping Mark as though he was able to make the thin air thick so the turbulence would cease to exist. He couldn´t, and didn´t, and the beautiful hour long flight to Cusco was jolty to say the least. Our plane was small, holding about 75 people, so it had a lighter build that was easier for the Andean air to smack around. Whenever we would skim the top of a peak or slice through the abdomen of a mountain thunder cloud, we´d skip up and down like a fishing bobber with a fish-on (© Primus, 1991.) All of the passenger's heads were dancing to the beats of the wind swept Andes.

As soon as we got off the plane, we walked down onto the tarmac, just like the Beatles. But instead of masses of fans and followers, it was hoards of taxi drivers and tour guides. One of the taxi drivers spoke good enough English to get our attention, so he started taking us to Plaza de Armas. Half way along the trek he pulled over and said, "Un momento, por favor," and ran off to meet a group of men. Mark mumbled, "drug deal, or we´re about to get jacked." Ten minutes later some other guy got in the seat and we got dropped off at Plaza de Armas.

We were fully bagged and only equipped with a print out of Anna´s last email with the hostel owner that had a little address with the address at the bottom. The clouds were getting way darker and we were directionless. We asked the securidad (security guard) where 'Resbolosa' street was and he pointed across the Plaza. In between a McDonald´s and a KFC there was an American tourist office, no joke. They pointed the same direction and said, "right, left, right." So with shoulders weighted down and no map, we went as we were told.

The street of Cusco are more like cobblestone roads with names and intersected by cobblestone stairways with names. We didn´t know the stairways with names were considered streets. So when our directions were right, left right, we followed the paths that cars were driving. Anna knew we had to go up a long set of stairs. That´s it. After twenty minutes and over a mile hiking, the 12,000 foot air was starting to take full effect. We ran out of water and it began to rain, so we pulled under a covered bus stop next to St. Theresa Chapel on top of a grand hill overlooking Cusco below, trying to catch our breath. We could hear a bar full of locals laughing hard as two gringos were heaving and huffing while contemplating going up higher or turning back.

"¡¡Eh Pancho!! ¡Hahaha!" Yelled a local drunk, setting the bar ablaze with heavy cackling, as we passed their front door on our way back to the Plaza to start over. Not knowing what hey pancho meant we headed down the steep hill but in the back of our heads it was directed towards us. We shrugged it off because we were out of breath, tired white tourists, feeling the mountain rain pelt our scalps and bags.

We almost got back to where our cab dropped us off when Mark saw a lady pulling her camping gear that was for sale back into her store. He asked her for a map and directions to Resbolosa, while pointing at the email. She gave us a full color free tourist map and pointed up an incredibly daunting staircase for our physical and psychological state of being. Our directions took us in the complete opposite of the securidad and tour office. After eight minutes of a painfully slow stair climb, we saw a little sign above a door at the top of the staircase that read Piccola Locanda.

We rang the bell and waited anxiously for someone to welcome us in. Shortly a middle aged woman came to the door and helped us to our room. With a quick tour of the hostel we found our way to the hang out room where there were computers, tables and chairs set up for the guests. There was an array of complimentary teas, so we picked our desired flavors and set up at a table in the corner. Tired from the bus fiasco, plane ride and unnecessarily long walk to our hostel, we found a stack of board games and began to relax. With Monopoly, Risk and Scabble all being in Spanish, Mark chose Scrabble knowing we´d be able to spell out our English words. Mark had an unfair advantage since he plays this game on his cell phone everyday. Anna slowly picked it up as Mark played easy on her and gave her tips to score more points per word. The game was missing the letter K and other amounts of typical American letters but read extras like RR, CH, and LL which we just put aside. The game soon ended with Anna winning by three points.

Now a bit rejuvenated and becoming a bit hungry, we ventured into the wet streets of Cusco to find a good meal. The rain had stopped just as fast as it had began. As we walked through the Plaza, we were overwhelmed with the bombardment of restaurant hustlers and women offering flyers for massages, every ten feet. Up a few cobblestone roads, we saw our many options. A little disoriented from hunger we went for a familiar and cheap choice of Chinese food, or "Chifa." Not really venturing into the local cultural cuisine, but we felt our brain cells were already spent for the day and wanted something simples.

The restaurants was decorated in traditional Chinese lanterns and garb, as well as paintings of Peruvian landscapes and people. All employees were Peruvian. We ordered our meal from our waiter Luis, whom we noticed kept a watchful eye during our dinner. There was a TV in the corner playing Hitch, overdubbed in Spanish (yes, Will Smith is just as annoying in another language), that the employees found hysterical, that we pretended to enjoy with Luis standing over us. Being in the Andes eating Chifa, our hopes were a little iffy at best, but the meal was actually pretty good.

As we finished the meal, Luis came up to us and began making small talk in English. We were surprised but relieved to be able to speak to a local. He then told us he was a student at a local university and his teacher told him he need more practice as he had just failed an English listening exam. We really enjoyed our conversation with him as he was very kind and eager to learn. After three separate conversations and our encouragement of his good English skills, we paid the bill with an extra tip and said "Hasta Luego." A quick stop at the mini market to stock up on supplies, then back through the teams of street hustlers and to our room for our first nights sleep in this quaint village town.

The Peruvian's Strike Back

The next day we walked to the park and looked at the stupid hand drawn map the last hostel gave us and decided to walk to downtown Lima to check out the cathedrals we heard about. This is the same map that we used when we waked from Barranco to Miraflores and this stupid map made it look as though the distance from the park to downtown Lima was about the same as we walked days before. So, we decided to be smart and save some money by not taking a cab, still not confident with the buses after our last experience.

Mark saw the biggest McDonald's he had ever seen and need to get some. Anna and Mark are not fast food eaters, especially places like McDonald's, so it took a good 15 minutes of convincing to get Anna to agree. Way better burgers here. The meat actually sticks out of the bun and is thick. It looks like the picture.

We then walked and walked, checked our map, and walked way more than we did to get to the park days earlier. The Miraflores District was long gone, cars were less prevalent and bad graffiti was everywhere as an overwhelming sense of ghetto was approaching. Anna bought a Red Bull to keep up the energy (there is no Rockstar anywhere in Peru!) and told Mark to take a picture of her drinking it. Mark didn't like the idea of pulling out a giant Nikon but did it anyway. Right then some guy comes up while Anna is holding her Red Bull and says "you two don't look Peruvian." He was right. He spoke clear English and said he was from New Jersey. We showed him our stupid map and he didn't really say much except we walked really far and he wishes he was as young as us to be able to do that. He showed the map to his lady friend, who barely spoke English but she pointed in the direction we were going and said we have A LOT further to go.

We walked and walked and then crossed a freeway and ended up in a ghettoer area. Anna saw a giant Coca-Cola billboard we passed an hour earlier and realized we were now backtracking. We gave in and got a cab. We ended up driving back the way we walked, got on the freeway we had crossed, then drove another ten minutes to downtown Lima. Would've been a lot of walking without that cab. Stupid map! The cab dropped us off at Plaza de Mayor, which we recognized from all the postcards we had seen. It was swarming with people. Most of them were locals, not too many whites. Anna being white and Mark, getting yet another unhealthy blast of sun during the walk, was shiny red, we stood out like soar thumbs. It wasn't one minute before a group of girls came up to us with video cameras wanting to interview us for their English speaking class. They asked us about ten simple questions any beginning language class would be studying. That was done, we took a picture of the fountain where the interview took place, walked about twenty feet and were asked to do another interview, then another right after in the same spot. We realized that many of the locals were students and were told to find English speaking tourist to record an English spoken interview. If you got stuck in one interview, the pirhannas would attack and you couldn't move. We took off up a side street and found another festival with live music and booths selling Inca merchandise and stuffed llama dolls.

We took picture of the chapels, churches and cathedrals and the statues of the giant white Europeans. We got a deeply disgusted feeling that the Peruvian culture has been mislead to worship this false idol that the Spaniards basically raped and murdered into their livelihood and destroyed all of their original ideals and teachings. You can stand in front of a church and statue made from the rocks of a torn down Incan temples, while a local Peruvian is practically begging you to buy some Incan trinket or a booklet of the lost Incas. Shit's weak! Not trying to walk while it slowly became dark, we took a bus back to our hostel Kokopelli and called it a night.


The next morning was supposed to be our last in Lima. Mark was super excited to get out of the loud, busy, humid, hot city life and looking forward to the 21 hour bus ride to Cusco so he could knock out a chunk of his book about neanderthal tribes battling early homosapiens in the future. We took a cab to the bus station which we walked past the day before. Our bus was supposed to leave at 2:00pm on Monday, but the laborers of Peru decided to start an anti-tax strike at noon Monday. There is only one road to get to Cusco that has to go through Nazca, and that's where they decided to start blocking the road, letting nobody through. With nowhere to go we had to take a cab back to Kokopelli. They only had a four bed dorm available for us so we bunked with two other people. One roommate was from Cusco who was incredibly nice, named Juan Carlos. We went upstairs to the rooftop bar and drank with him. He found out we're from San Francisco and called his one gay friend in Lima to hand out with us. Forgot his name, super nice as well, but he told us that Lima and Peru aren't very open to gays like San Fran is and how he wants to visit California where he won't feel judged or have to act straight around certain people.

Mark must have dranken some Peru water, because he was in the bathroom every hour letting the waterfall noises commence. Anna didn't have that problem. We went to bed and around 3am another hostel guy took Juan Carlos' bottom bunk. In the morning he saw Anna's SF Giants shirt and showed her his on the ground saying "nice shirt." His name was Willy, from Monterey and had been living in Argentina with a girl named Kristy who was in another room. They were stuck at Kokopelli too because of the strike. They spoke Spanish well and took us to breakfast. While eating they told us to be careful of certain things while traveling and to try other things when in certain towns. They were doing all of South America and had a lot of good information to share. We said our goodbyes and took a cab back to the bus station. The strike was still in full force and the bus station was a complete cluster fuck. We stood in line for over an hour to be told that we were not going to Cusco that day. The bus station was about 95 degrees inside with no fans, 100% humidity and Mark's rhea was teetering on the edge of an accident.

We couldn't take another minute of Lima so we dealt with the front desk, where no one spoke English, were able to get a refund of 85% of our bus tickets, and took a cab to the airport to try our luck there. Our cab driver spoke good English and told us it would be S/.40, which Mark said was too much, but he said he had tricks to get us there fast. The freeway and side roads were all stop and go, so he reached back and locked our doors, told us to roll up our windows as he flipped on the AC and his CD of 80's and 90's pop rock hits. He said the road was going to get dangerous. He then turned off the main street and started zig-zagging towards, what seemed like, us getting robbed in some rural slums. We followed a river that was speckled with homeless camps and lots of trash for a good ten minutes before jumping back on to stop and go traffic of the freeway a few blocks from the airport. Had we stayed on the freeway the whole time it would've been an hour or so, this guy got us there in fifteen minutes and we got to see another poverty stricken side of Peru that tourist never get to see.

We got inside and purchased two tickets to Cusco that were not cheap. This whole strike added a huge sum on the total of our trip. The taxis to and from the bus station, another night in Kokopelli, plus drinks there, the 15% the buses kept, the taxi to the airport and the flight tickets too. Not too cool. We had ten minutes to check our bags and board the plane, so we ran through the airport and made it just in time.

Our plane took off and we got to see Lima from above. It was mind blowing to see the areas we had been walking and cabbing with the vast amounts of slums surrounding all of the city. We looked for Pachacamac to no avail. Within ten minutes we were flying over desert and another ten we were floating over the gorgeous Andes. When we flew over the Sierra's back in California, we thought those were huge and vast. They are beautiful in their own right, but not nearly as jagged, as high or as long and picturesque. Our jet weaved in and out of these mountain tips that were fifteen to twenty thousand feet high. Anna isn't the best flyer and when forceful turbulence hit at one point, she grabbed onto Mark with a desperate look on her face. All of a sudden there was a town and we came to a smooth landing in the twelve thousand foot elevation town of Cusco.

St. Patty´s Day, Peruvian Style

¡¡AMIGOS!! ¿Como esta? ¡Bien! Anna and Mark coming at you from South of the boarder, way south. We had a great time our first week we spent in the Barranco District of Lima. Our next little leg of our journey is to move to Miraflores District of Lima. We had walked there some days ago when Mark got sandals but we didn´t go to check out our next hostel, so we weren´t sure what to expect. We whooped it up the night before in a super sweaty dance off, so the humid next morning was a little slow. The Barranco hostel has a laundry service that we took advantage of. Anna inched out of bed as Mark brought a giant plastic bag full of wet socks, unders, and clothes to Betty, the hostel caretaker. He handed it to her and she said it would be done by 7pm, we should have thought it through considering check out was at 10:30am.

So the packing of bags began and the tossing out of junk did too. When we finished, we didn´t want to lug three cumbersome bags around, so Betty tossed our stuff in a closet next to the kitchen. We then strapped on our swimsuits and headed to the beach for the day. Mark finally learned something and doused himself in an extra thick layer of SPF 55 infant edition sunblock. Ready to take on one of his favorite orbs in the sky. Anna picked a spot at the beach and threw a towel down on the rocky shore, while Mark paid S/.10 (10 soles) to rent a chair with a matching umbrella. Do you worst sun!!! He then headed into the water to compare California´s Pacific to Peru´s. Both salty. Peru´s is murkier, warmer, and the waves crash right on the shore. The surfer wait for waves out further than the California surfers would go, but they wouldn´t ride the waves very long. Maybe because the beach wasn´t sand but rocks the size of golf balls to foot wide cobble stones.

Since the waves were crashing twenty feet in front of our umbrella, it was hard to judge the tides. After and hour of Anna lying on her towel bronzing, a quick wave blasted up her torso soaking her precious towel. It took the whole beach by surprise, knocking chairs, umbrellas, bags, even clumsy red tourist over. The chair rental guys went into panic mode, sprinting up the shore yanking umbrellas out of the awesome Pacific that she swallowed whole.

A bit disoriented and peeved that our calm day at the beach was washed away, we decided to go to Rustica restaurant, right there, and get some Pisco Sours. Turns out you can´t just get drinks during their buffet. We stood there, looking touristy, staring, thinking...looking. Then walked about twenty feet away. Stopped. Looked. Thought some more... then like typical tourist, we turned around, pulled out our cash, super tucked our tails between our legs and headed in.

Wow there was too much food to process. Different kinds of ceviches, tomales, steaks, pollos, rice dishes, noodles, lasagna, pizza, Asian dishes, wontons, sushi, stir fry, soups, soups, soups... Anna went and loaded up on ceviche, while Mark strategically put a scoop of everything he could fit on one plate at a time... And went back six times. Damn good food!

Feeling full, we went up the long staircase (!) covered in good graffiti to wait for our laundry in a small park with sloping grassy hills surrounded by flowers, where we´ve seen local old, homeless or both lying down for a siesta. Mark wasn´t as red as he could have been, but he did get sun plus the huge lunch and beers and the partying the night before meant lose the shirt and enjoy a siesta. Anna pulled out a ridiculously big edition of Vogue magazine while Mark felt the tranquility of watching hoards of parrots fly by while cloud watching under Peruvian skies (© Dream Theater, 1996.) What felt like ten seconds later, Anna said was thirty minutes of snoring, a city landscaper was yelling in Spanish and making gestures to find the shirt. What´s the deal with Peru and ugly guys losing their shirts?

After we got another sign to book it we decided to write some post cards then check on our laundry. Betty wasn´t too thrilled to see us at 5:30. She reminded us that it was 7pm for pickup. We said we had nowhere to go and asked to sit on the couches to wait. That´s when we met another employee there how spoke good English and was from the Bay Area. This super talkative guy and Mark somehow started discussing the whole 2012 end of the Mayan calendar. He is a Peruvian and said that it´s funny how Americans are taking this whole thing to a level of morbidity that the Bible talks about and making it into a conglomerate religious corporation style of money making, that doesn´t have anything to do with the numerical equation of the Baktun. Very smart and nice guy. Betty gave us the laundry and we headed to Miraflores.

We boarded a taxi and the driver knew the exact address of Kokopelli hostel. As we passed by the Barranco locals, the Policia were wearing full riot gear and stopping cars for random checks. The cops were blowing whistles and just as Mark made eye contact with the head whistle blower, our taxi driver gunned it and we flew through the check point. Random.

We got to Kokopelli at twilight and saw that the bottom story of our building was an Irish pub called Houghlihan´s. One, it was incredibly random to find an Irish pub in Lima, two, we had a room above it, three, Kokopelli has it´s own bar up on the fourth story, four, it was St. Patty´s Day. We couldn´t have planned it any better. So we showered and threw on our greens and started to get our drink on. At the upstairs bar, we got a free shot with everyone else, that was incredibly weak but still free. There were thirty shot glasses lined up, ten of each color making the Irish flag. The bartender yelled out a short speech, "To St. Patrick for kickin´the snakes out of Ireland and making room for the rats to bring in the Black Plague!" Drank some beers then headed to the pub. There were about twenty people standing on the sidewalk in front that looked like they were just smoking cigs. Mark heard there was a beer drinking competition inside, so he wiggled through the masses, only to get provocatively grabbed around the midsection and told the bar was full and that all the smokers were waiting to get in. Makes sense as Irish pub in Lima would have lines on St. Patty´s Day.

We decided to walk the streets since night time in Miraflores is sort of like a festival. We got around one block to find out exactly where we are. It was the park full of little cats that we stopped at days earlier to switch the sandals and eat pbj. We felt a little more comfortable recognizing this section of the city now. The park wasn´t full of just cats this night. There were booths set up with live bands playing and hundreds of people. We danced a little then started back a different route than before. We found something that looked like an alley that turned out being twenty restaurants with hustlers trying their hardest to get customers into their place, not the place next to them or next to them. They were waving menus in our face, shouting drink offers at us and almost pulling us to a table. One place move their tables out of the way and set up spotlights with music bumping with guys and girls doing a high energy syncronized dance. the girls weren´t wearing much. The customers that were sitting there looked really awkward while trying to eat their dinner with booties shaking over their food.

We went back to our hostel to drink beers at the Kokopelli bar. Mark bought a bottle of Pisco and chugged it and almost threw up. Not the same without the Sour. Shortly after, it was lights out. Our first Peruvian St. Patrick´s Day.

First Ruin to Last Night in Barranco

Cabs are fun!

As they both peeled off the beds the next morning, and agreement was made. First, buy sunscreen, then fix of toss sandals, and then utilize this day to find and explore Incan ruins. Only one of those happened. We decided to go to the Pachacamac Ruins south of Lima. Mark headed downstairs, found Chris, and ignorantly said, "We are going to Punch-a-ma-cock." He knew what we were really trying to do and scribbled some brief directions and the bus number we should take. We got on the street and stared in bewilderment as taxis and buses flew by honking at us. Chris warned the next town is a bit chaotic because we get off in the middle of traffic to watch cars go in a giant circle honking and yelling at us, trying to get us to pay for a ride. He said to tell the driver, "Pachacamac Ruins," and if they agree then take it, if not then don´t. We stood at our street for about five minutes then took a cab. If anybody knows Mark, he sucks at busing.

The cab driver seemed very reluctant to take us there, but we headed out to a place that Anna and Mark never experienced, except in the movies, like District 9. The road we were on was surrounded with less than average looking Peru homes and a mountain to the right with a fifty foot Jesus statue. As that passes, the road became an actual freeway; the rubble and shanties appeared. We were experiencing hardcore culture shock at 55mph, from a distance. Our driver pulled off and got stuck in stopped traffic on a bumpy dirt road next to the largest dump we´ve ever seen. Puddles were splashing from our tires, formed from little creeks trickling from this wall of corrugated roofing tied to cyclone fencing for miles. That was nasty Lima dump water and it has it´s own kind of odor that would hurt to describe.

Model of the site

Long walk to the excavations

Temple del Sol

By the time we got dumped off ourselves, at Pachacamac, the redneck had double from the sun coming through the backseat window. Standing in the deserted desert parking lot was daunting to say the least. We paid for our tickets and began the long dry walk around one of the largest and oldest village ruins in Peru. All sand duns surrounding the tips of temples long forgotten and recently graffitied. There is a gravel road in the shape of a giant capital letter "Q" about a mile or two round. In the middle of the Q is most of the city structures which are massive in size and still being unearthed. There are random smaller, much older, and more dilapidated ruins one the outside of the Q that aren´t worth the effort of science right now.

View of the Pacific from the top

Ancient stone work

Walkway on the top of Temple del Sol

Since 2010, excavation has been focused on "Temple del Sol" which is up a steep dirt road on the leg of the Q. We started there and were instantly awestruck with the amount of work that has been done to build this, and the amount to find it. The view from the top of the temple is unique as well. One side is the Pacific, which they had lookouts constantly looking for travelers due to the fact that the city was a major, if not THE major, junction of trade for South America at the time. On the other side of the temple was a view of the city ruins and desert. Right behind the last of the temples is a huge brick wall built to keep the poverty stricken third world housing from piling up on these temples. Literally. Behind that is the Andes mountain range. During it´s heyday, Temple del Sol was the most prominent structure around, and you can´t help but imagine teleporting to that era just to view the hustle and bustle of one of the oldest civilizations in the world.

Excavation behind the old grave sites

View of the shanty town neighborhoods

Remnants of a what was a huge long wall

Hard at work excavating Pachacamac

Progression of the excavation

Lose the Shirt!

While we walked and read the signs of historical info, we were under constant watch from security guards, standing and sitting all over the ruins. They were fully armed with shotguns and bulletproof vests. At one point, Marks forehead and neck couldn´t take the dry desert sun anymore. Off went the shirt, and on went the turban style hat. We forgot sunscreen. About three minutes later, whistles were blowing, and a guard was yelling in Spanish and making gestures to not lose the shirt. Jerk! The temples were built by people who never found the shirt. Oh well, that was our sign to get out of the sun.

With our options limited to busing, or hitch hiking in the District 9 desert slums, we chose busing. The bus we got was about the size of a yellow short bus, shaped like a large van from the 80´s. There was a little guy how stood at the door and opened it one hundred feet before every stop, screaming at people to get on and pay. We nicknamed him the Bus Hustler. Anna had to do the talking because Mark was getting to the point of perma-fry, just wanting aloe and water. We showed him the little list of directions Chris wrote, and we think he said, pay me and I´ll find you for your stop. Just then a man sitting got up and gave Anna his seat. Peruvians are very polite when it comes to that. We were on that bus for over an hours not knowing where we were going, trusting the Hustler, and people gave up their seats on a packed little bus for the elderly and pregnant ladies over and over. The little Bus Hustler guy came up to Anna and signalled to hold the backpack closer, the miles of slums would love to get their hands on the contents of that bag. The bus was so packed, Mark stood the whole time, shoulder to shoulder, with a ceiling of five foot eleven. He loved every look the locals gave him when the boarded the bus, and proceeded to keep on staring. They must have thought that Diablo Rojo came crawling out of Pachacamac and decided to ooze sweat all over the first bus he found.



After the aggressive weaving in and out, literally within inches of stop and go traffic, Mark had had enough and needed off. We were through the slums, and taxis were everywhere. We took a cab to another Rustica restuarante, this one at the bottom of the stairs that go to our hostel. We ordered two Pisco Sours and watched the most glorious sunset of our trip.

After the lovely sunset din din, Mark and Anna headed to the hostel in Barranco for one last night in some serious slathering with the cheap aloe vera lotion we got suckered into buying. AAHHH... the forehead! We sat in the patio and mingled with the fellow hostel folk and found out there were two girls from the Bay Area staying there too. As well as Irish, Canadian, French, British, and who knows what the others were. Really nice people. The group told jokes, Mark´s were the hit of the courtyard, and got their drink on until the Canadian boy went off to bed. The rest of the guest slowly did the same and Mark checked his half of a watch he bought for six soles, seeing it was only midnight. He asked who wanted to go out for drinks and the girl from Fremont, named Laura, said "F-Yeah!! Let me get ready." She bolted off to her room, so Mark lathered a fresh aloe layer and chugged a cerveza. Laura was standing by the front door as we ascended the staircase, holding it open as we pasted and Mark smuggily looked at her in the eye saying, "Muchos Gracias." Before she could reply with "Denada," Mark was laying on the sidewalk. He should have watched for the step instead of looking ninety degrees to the right. Cat-like reflexes kept the ankle from popping out or the drunk and wobbly legs to the brunt of the left foot going completely sideways against the ground.

Laura took us to downtown Barranco where we headed to a place called the "Beir Garten" where the pushiest doorman forced us in. Instantly we wanted out as we entered the incredibly stuffy, smoke filled room, with hoards of locals standing still in what appeared to be a 90´s discotek club. The music was too loud, even to think, so we stood there. Mark instantly felt trickles of pore-sauce all over his body. After sticking out like soar gringo thumbs, a sting of employees goaded us to a table where we ordered a round of beers. Still too loud to talk and too stuffy to stop sweating, we agreed to leave after cervezas. Right then the tables behind Anna all lit up cigarettes at once. About ten or more. It got nastier than we thought it could have. Laura told us of a place way more chill she went to with the Canadians, so we departed.

The name of the next place has been forgotten but it was right up out alley. It was a restaurant that played lived music at night and there is no smoking. It was packed there as well, pretty much all of Barranco is awake at night, with the park full and the streets flowing and the bars full way past midnight. Warm nights do that to people. They sat us in the way back table that was specific to gringo tourists and the band began to play. This was our first encounter of live music and crowd reaction in Peru. Everytime a song began people were up doing their Salsa moves and grooves. The second the song ended they were back at their seats, staing at the stage awating their queue to twist their cute little feets to the beats.

After several rounds of beers and songs, staring at a giant white guy who looked really awkward (at first) at dancing, a more than big boned singer came on stage. She had a wonderful voice, even thought the microphone looked like a fork compared to her head. Laura and Anna agreed they were hungry and decided to order, which is when we felt the force of the words from the old man, "No Tiempo." Laura got a personal pizza, Mark another pitcher, and Anna wanted artichoke hearts. She found something that seemed to say this, on the last page of the menu. It read "Anticuchos de Corazon," which we knew corazon meant heart, and anticuchos must mean artichoke.

Right then the signer pulled a firey old lady from the crowd, and her family of local Peruvians, and that bulky white guy with his comb-over and push-broom mustache. She sang a corazon felt version of Feliz Cumpliaños for her birthday. After that song ended, the band went into another soulful samba, which got the front five tables dancing with the birthday girl. The white guy grabbed her hips, and someone his, and so on until a conga line was chugging through the restaurant heading straight for our table. The b-day girl in the lead was clapping and calling all to join and her gaze caught Mark´s. She signalled our table to become the conductors. Mark forced Laura to get in line, then he in front, the shoved the unwilling Anna to lead the whole, no joke, train in an unadulterated oval of awesomeness. The band was even suprised that the servers and bartender were following queen Anna´s once in a live-time (© Dream Theater) Peruvian conga line.

Anna pulled her imaginary train horn signally her finally stop in front of her imaginary train station at the stage and we turned to watch the b-day girls party colapse on the dance floor like a train wreck of giddy drunk Peruvians. The dance floor then became a huge circle dance off. B-day girl would go in the middle then point people out for their thirty seconds in the ring and that´s around the time Mark and the only other white guy who sucked, buy still tried their hardest at dancing, got it on. After three rounds of who could move their feet fast and more awkwardly under two hundred and twenty pounds and not fall, the real disco moves were being flown. Anna, Laura, and b-day girl were doing their thing with the crowds, and the sweatfest between "Gigante Rojo" and "Grande Gringo" reached heights of plasmatic proportions. At one point mustache was shoveling from b-day girl´s backside and tossing imaginary loads of imaginary debris into the air for Mark to catch in his shirt, and then pour back into white guy´s shirt. Epic!!

The song ended and the white guy and Mark hugged in agreement that they suck. Everyone returned to their seats. As we got to our seats, the pizza and pitcher were there with no artichoke hearts in sight. Instead, Anna accidentally ordered bull heart diced up and skewered. Anticuchos means chich-kabob She tried to complain, but no tiempo was still in full force. Drunk and hungry Anna ate her first animal heart. And it was delicious!!

We said our goodbyes to the birthday girl, who told us where she was staying in Cusco so we could do another dance off later in the week. The three of us stumbled back to our hostel, parted ways to our rooms and went to bed. Wow, what a night!

Miraflores

Local fisherman doing his thing.

Day number two started the same for Anna, but Mark lost his fear of five year olds and slept in like baby. Although still not accustomed to the sounds of extra loud vehicles at 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 in the morning, he still got the much needed rest. We got our complimentary biscuits and jelly with some cups of tea. Dumped! Then headed out, this time straight to the beach. A long staircase starts across from our hostel, covered in really unique art style graffiti, following a steep cliff to the beach. This whole part of Lima is ocean cliffs around 500 to 1000 feet tall. We walked a couple miles along a path with was ocean on one side and a four or five lane highway on the other (it´s always hard to tell since nobody follows the traffic lines.) At one point the road splits to send cars up a steep hill and we asked one of the thousands of security guards, ¨¿Donde esta?¨and pointed up the road. ¨Miraflores,¨he replied and pointed. We zipped across the highway, as there is no such thing as jay-walking around here, and started our long incline.

Old bus

Our coastal path

Starting up the stairs

Still trekking, almost there...

Here was the next wake up call for Mark and Anna, mostly Mark. The day was still gray and hazy, but the humidity and 80 degree heat almost made Mark loose it. This uphill made our lungs gasp for an air that basically clogged the transfer of oxygen to our blood cells, very thick and . Five hundred feet into it, Mark was emptying his pockets of any extra weight into the backpack, asking Anna to help out and carry it for a couple feet. That didn´t help. Two hundred feet later, about halfway up this hill, his shirt was off and the skin was wet and pink. Really pink. Kind of embarrassing to think about the locals driving by, by the thousands, seeing a cute little girl carrying her purse, the camera, a huge backpack, her boy´s shirt, and fully clothed; while this shiny viking looking neanderthal sloths along twenty feet behind her, brighter than the brake lights on the cars in front of them. All the while he was slipping and sliding in his shoes and socks he hasn´t changed since Marin County.

Finally, when Anna got to the top she set Mark down (gently,) surrounded by Miraflores. The streets in certain parts of the city have long straight parks running up the middle of the neighborhoods, very nice when you don´t have a car. We met an old man dressed in a suit, asking for fuego, a light, who spoke horrible English, however was very friendly. He did say something that we have seen over and over in Peru. He lived in Los Angeles back during the Kennedy administration but moved back to Peru shortly after. He said he loved being in the U.S.A. because everyone was "go, go, go." But in Peru, everybody has "no tiempo," which he showed by his body movements, they were more carefree and not in any hurry. He himself didn´t seem to have anywhere to go. We´ve noticed that his advice is correct with many people here, they just aren´t in any hurry to do anything at all.

Iglesia Medalla Milagrosa and the Miraflores Church next to the Parque Central

Skyscraper views

As we walked on to get Mark out of his living socks, we found Miraflores to be a little like San Francisco. There are tall skyscrapers, busy streets, hectic traffic, and hundreds of people moving around to various destinations. With more to offer here, he finally bought the first pair of sandals that could fit, without trying them on of course. Big mistake. They are cheap rubbery plastic and the right toe thong has sharp manufactured edges that instantly ate away at his soft, pale, pruny skin. He changed his feet at a beautiful park called "Parque Central," where our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches tasted a little better than the foot odor surrounding our bench. The sun finally showed face, making all the colors of the city come alive, but also raising more concern for lobsterboy. In this park, which is immaculately landscaped, were tons of gatos (cats) of all shapes and colors, who seemed to reside in the green grass and colorful flowers. Anna noticed many were tortoiseshell cats, which look a lot like our two girls back home, "Indy and Teevers". Slight home sickness struck over us for the first time as we missed our little family, Lola included. After wondering for a bit and walking through a small street fair full of authentic Inca arts and crafts, we decided to head back down another road which lead to a gorgeous dead end at a cliff top ocean view. We turned left followed the line of huge apartment homes, pretty little parks with grand vistas and random security guards standing around.

There we are!!

Looks just like Indica <3

Art fair collectibles

A nice view where we ate lunch

While enjoying the walk, and hating the sandals, Anna had to listen to Mark´s whimpers the entire way. He did, however, forget about the equator for the moment and that he now knows what it really feels like to be a redneck (insert joke here.) The farmers tan hurt more than any before, well maybe. He´s been very lobsterfied in the past, but this literally changed the way he thought about life. The forehead got it the worst, sucking the energy from the brain like a fiend sucks on a syringe. Anna still perfectly resistant from the glaring raise of the sun, making Marks frustration even more obvious. Sleep came easy that night after our long journey in the humid baking sun.

Looking back down the coast towards Barranco 

Walking home to Barranco with Miraflores behind us

There´s a First Time for Everything...

Our nice little room

¡¡Hola Amigos!! ¿Donde esta la cervaza? Anna and Mark here from Sudamérica where the air is as thick as pea soup. We both got a reality check after our first night here with the amount of farewell partying we did back in California. Anna slept like a log and really wouldn´t get up the next day, even if our Hostel was melting into the Earth. Mark on the other hand barely slept do to a few reasons. First, the warm sticky air here made the sheets of his bed turn into Biore Pore Strips, ew? Then the heat... Mark likes fresh cool air to keep his nightmares from becoming hot and malevolent, which is not a possibility in Lima. Next, the only window in our room was on a corner of a small backstreet with a huge wall across from us that created a reverby echo back into our room, making every car sound as if it was flooring it in neutral at the foot of our bed. At last was the little boy from the street side who did the splits-handstand... with every rickety muffler that slammed Mark out of his hot and sticky malevolent pore strip-covered nightmare, he would imagine that cute little Peruvian child sifting through the room looking for our wad of soles ($)...never happened. The room was actually quite nice, with a private bathroom, lively painted walls and view of the ocean from the window.

This squirrel showed up everyday, just chillin' 

The ocean is down there in all that fog

Staircase down to the main floor of the hostel

After getting Anna up around noon, we decided to venture into this new world in which we´d immersed ourselves. We covered each other in anti-bacterial spray, latex bodysuits, gloves and socks, then protective goggles and surgical face masks. Now we could experience the culture first hand... just kidding. We went downstairs and got to see our hostel during the daytime. It had a staircase that wrapped around a small living room area connecting to a big dining room full of small tables with bright Peruvian table covers. Through the dining room was a courtyard with a small bar that sold shots and cerveza´s at a descent price. Here we met the owner of the hostel. He was an English man named Chris who welcomed us, With Arms Wide Open (© Creed 1997) and offered us breakfast, which he said we were a little late for, so we nervously declined. He showed us a cork board in the kitchen covered with pages from a Peruvian cookbook. this was the beginning of Anna´s new found Latin lover... or should we say lovers? One of the pages said ceviche (say-vee-chay) which Chris told us the locals eat as a lunch time meal because it´s light and refreshing. They pair it with a drink from another page, Pisco Sour. It is very similar to a margarita but uses Pisco liquior instead of Tequilla and gets topped with frothy egg whites and a smidgen of cinnamon, plus some other ingredients to tweak with the awesomeness.

Incredible murals are found all over Peru

We left the hostel, after Chris offered us help in every way, and stepped into a world of sounds as bright as the colors splashed on every wall, car and person. Taxis are everywhere, in every make and model, with stickers and numbers all over them, still weavering in and out of each other in a dance that was a chaotic as their random horn taps but as smooth as a Pisco Sour on the beach during a sunset. People are constantly moving this way and that, wearing pinks, yellows, greens and blues... well, you get the picture.

Iglesia La Ermita

We walked up to a park, up the street a block or two and instantly had the camera out, snapping pictures of the beautifully landscaped rose bushes that were briefly interrupted by park benches, huge murals and big metal statues of bulls, horses, religious and political icons, and fountains. The district of Barranco has an old time feel, with a westernized vibe. One city corner has a large cathedral style church with a morbidly awesome statue of a cross with a Jesus head at the center, then bones, skulls and Spanish writing. Across the street is a Starbucks. Up the street from this was where we made our first big purchase with soles. It was peanut butter, jelly, bread, pears, apples, etc... The Metro (supermarket) is a lot like any Safeway or Mi Pueblo back in California. We barely paid our bill without looking like we were totally lost and set out to get sandals for Mark. Anna told him to pack some, but he said not to worry, it´s Peru, we can get sandal anywhere. Well, not knowing how to speak Spanish well at all and every sandal we found being for a little Peruvian foot, not canoe paddles with toenails, meant Mark had to sweat it out in his only pair of socks he brought. He didn´t pack socks either, even though Anna suggested, so he wore hers.

Without breakfast or lunch, we decided to get some grub. Anna noticed a place by the park that goes by the name of Rustica. We said ¨no gracias¨ about ten times as we slid past a man selling packs of Chicklets in one arm and coddling an infant in the other. They really train them early down here. Rustica was our first outing for a meal and our first time having to sit at a table and basically say ¨si, no habla español¨over and over until we realized we agreed to a Peruvian all you can eat buffet. What an overload of flavors, spices and different dishes that was. The buffet table looked like an artist spilled paint on every single dish. Anna loaded up on ceviche while Mark kept going back for some green rice chicken dish. Muy Bueno!

First Peruvian sunset

After pushing our tummies to the limits, we walked to the beach next to our hostel. But first, the Metro for a bottle of wine (twist off of course) then watched our first sunset in Peru. Not as epic as we had hoped. The whole day was overcast with a hazy fog that cleared slightly to see the orange outline of our true creator dip into the Pacific for some skinny dipping. Back to the hostel, exhausted from all the confusion, we went ´home´and called it a night.

Passed out

We Made It!!!

Hola Familia y Amigos,

Mark and Anna here in Peru. Where do we start? When did our trip actually start? That is the question. Was it the good-bye Jamm Sammich party on Thursday night that lead into a weekend of alcohol and procrastination? Or was it the plane ride and whole day of traveling vast distances while physically not moving muscles for hours and hours in our seats? I guess our trip really started when we were up in the air looking over the beautiful snow capped Sierra Mountains, leaving stormy Marin Country behind. The world from above is quite an incredible site.

After a three hour flight to Houston and a silent black and white movie that knocked Anna out, we landed at our first stop. A two hour layover in Houston left us anxious as we re-boarded our now sold out flight. Next stop, Lima Peru. The next 5 1/2 hours of our flight proved to be a true test of our patience. Between claustrophobia and the horrid Jon Bon Jovi New Year`s Eve movie to help pass the time, the pilot`s constant reminder every 15 minutes to stay seated due to patches of bumpiness, was the only thing that kept our attention alert. During the bad patches of turbulence, looking out the window at night and only being able to see the lights at the end of the wing go up as the body of the plane goes down, like a turkey vulture soaring, can really send your imagination flying, no pun intended. Mark was thinking about how he was going to save Anna, and then everyone else on the plane, after the wing broke off and we all hit the side of a mountain. Or how he was going to kick the sharks off Anna after skipping across the Pacific. But none of that happened and we saw a gorgeous sunset from 33,000 feet above the Panama Canal. The site of the golden sun setting behind the horizon was magnificent and actually calming.

I guess our trip started for us when we landed in Lima and we spent an hour waiting in line at immigration and non-strict customs. After that, our excitement arose as we were told a chauffeur was to great us with a crooked smile and a sign that said “Anna.” We were at a point of confusion as we entered a room the size of basketball gym full of hundreds of crooked smiles, and a myriad of signs with misspelled names. After a half hour and several phone calls we were told our chauffeur had left an hour earlier and we needed to find our own cab.

Our first culture shock was Lima at midnight in a cab, with windows so tinted you literally couldn’t see out. As we pulled up to the first stop light, Mark started opening the window to the view of a humid world where a five year old boy came up to the window instantly calling at us, “Senor, Senor!” He disappeared into a handstand spread-eagle splits hoping for a sole or two ($$.) Our driver took off immediately, cutting other cabs off on a road that should have been a four lane highway, but instead was one giant river of mid 90`s rundown cars with missing bumpers and slightly repaired fenders. All the cars are constantly tapping their horns to keep each other from playing bumper-cars at 40mph. There was no lane dividers for a majority of the roads, yet they all seemed to find their extremely chaotic groove.

It was a bit overwhelming, not only being reminded of our several car crashes together, but also looking out the window to flashing lights like a mini Las Vegas in a foreign language and odors that reminded us of the bushes on your way out of a festival. Several stops later to ask the local police for directions and avoiding the local dogs roaming the night, we arrived on a dead end street to a gated building. We rang the door bell on the gate and paid our cab driver. A lady opened the door, took our names, gave us a key and sold us a much needed chilled bottle of water. We sluggishly walked up the stairs to our final destination… Room 6 at the Barranco Backpacker`s Inn.