Copocabana - Isla del Sol - Copocabana - La Paz: 17/08 - 18/08

I met Pete and Urv from Bolton near Manchester on the slow boat over to Isla del Sol. After alighting we soon realised we didn`t want to be there and managed to tag along with a bunch of Americans who`d chartered a local to take them to the northern end for the purpose of trekking back down to the south. Before we departed I left my big backpack in storage with the tourist cafe (him: "10 Bolivianos..." me: "don`t think so" him "OK... 5Bs") The Americans all belonged to various arms of the Mormon Church and were at the holidaying end of a charity project installing running water and performing dental and medical work for a remote Altiplano community - cool! Soon after starting our trek we arrived at some ruins - there are over 80 ruins on the island. Most of these date to the Inca period circa the 15h century AD. Archaeologists have discovered evidence that people lived on the island as far back as the third millennium BCE. Many hills on the island contain agricultural terraces, which adapt steep and rocky terrain to agriculture. Among the ruins on the island are the Sacred Rock, a labyrinth-like building called Chicana, Kasa Pata, and Pilco Kaima. In the religion of the Incas, it was believed that the sun god was born here.

The Aymara are a native ethnic group from the Andes and Altiplano - about 2 million live in Bolivia, Peru and Chile. They lived in the region for many centuries before becoming a subject people of the Incas - their name for the island is Titi'kaka. Some linguists and archaeologists believe the name to be a corruption of Titi (puma) and Kala (rock). In a 1612 Aymara-Spanish dictionary the phrase Tahksi kala is listed as "piedra fundamental" or "foundation stone" possibly alluding to the origin story of the Inca that the Sun and Moon were born in the lake.

One version of the Isla del Sol myth has that Manco Capac is said to have emerged from a prominent crag in a large sandstone outcrop known as Titikala (the Sacred Rock). The people of the province were without light in the sky for many days and grew frightened of the darkness. Finally, the people saw the Sun emerge from the crag and believed it was the Sun's dwelling place. In another version related by your dad, others believed the crag was dedicated to the Sun because it hid under the crag during a great Flood. Isla del Sol was the first land that appeared after the flood waters began to recede and the Sun emerged from Titikala to illuminate the sky once again. A temple was built at this rock and later expanded by the 10th Inca Tupac Inca Yupanqui. He built a convent for mamaconas (chosen women) and a tambo (inn) for visiting pilgrims. (Wiki)

After seeing our ruins (which, although fantastic, after Peru seemed quite mild and plain really) and an awesome Inca picnic spot with stone table and chairs, we started the trek proper in the super-bright light towards the south. The island sits at about 4000m and the altitude made trekking a bit huffy even on its easy slopes and wide trails. It reminded me of a Greek island, and on this amazing blue lake was a very pleasant days walking. Pete explained a little of the diverse geological formations but mostly I just observed and took photos of the awesome colours and wicked textures. The height of the lake and a clear shining day made for surreal visual effects, particularly as the day grew longer as we trekked the length of the island. As the sun dropped the massif of Cordillera Real (an extensive line of 6000m + snowy mountains) became more marked on the horizon and were very impressively set above the huge body of water. The layers of refracted light created an amazing multi-coloured atmosphere and the afternoon wind painted brushstrokes on a canvass of grey aqua. We settled in a comfortable hostel with terrible beds but great views from the top of the hill at Yumani.

Throughout the day we had been charged 3 separate entry fees into the different sections of the island, none of which we were informed of before leaving for the island. That night Pete, Urv and I were treated to a 1.5hr wait in not busy restaurant while our to be friends from Isle of Man, Felicity and Will, waited 2hrs - there were at least 4 people in the kitchen and the meals were very simple. Earlier I had descended down to the harbour to collect my backpack but the cafe was closed! The guy had not mentioned anything to me of a closing time, nor had a note been left, nor could I find where they had gone to to retrieve my pack. When they returned (late) to open up the next morning they had the gall to ask me for another fee for storing my bag an extra night! Luckily I didn`t punch the wanker in the fayce. It was the combination of all these things that made me realise I wasn`t in Peru anymore - Bolivia was another large step up in unprofessionalism and moronacy. I have also considered whether this particular strain of humanity has evolved with less logical reasoning due to a smaller brain capacity. I was also quite disappointed in the island itself after such a huge(!) build up from fellow travellers - not a scrap of nice vegetation nor anything of interest really - the setting is definitely what made it such a great day.

That night`s sleep wasn`t so good due to the beds and 4100m, as such I was awake for the sunrise behind the Cordillera, a truly special sight. I shared the boat back to the mainland with the Mormon`s and we chatted more about their charity project and travel in general. I finally got my breakfast at Paranoid Android with all the British mates. The late morning bus to La Paz passed by much of the lake, including a ferry across a channel. A few years ago a bus full of people had blown over and sunk on the crossing and because of this most people got off the bus to get on a passenger boat over, while the bus swayed it`s way across... with me and a few others abordo. Of course no one had told me what was happening, but under the gaze of my water gods we made it just fine. The rest of the journey brought closer the snow-capped Real range and revealed the hazy air of the burning-off season swallowing an endless altiplano, inhabited by campesinos and sparse grasses. La Paz`s outskirts sprawl out onto the altiplano, but this is a recent phenomenon as the city itself sits in a bowl-valley under the watch of the 6462m Mount Illimani.

Cusco - Copocabana: 15/08 - 17/08

On leaving the hostel for the bus to Copocabana, I reflected upon my few days in Cusco & whom I`d shared them with. It was great to hang out with Amalaa again, with so much happy, positive energy she certainly helped me recover from my recent intense experience. We also connected on occasion with crazy Susanna (Snooze) and their Temple of the Way of Light friends, Bridget and Mandy.

As may be seen from the previous blog entry, I didn`t do much over those days that didn`t revolve around food, particularly knowing I was leaving the great culinary city. We did visit The Muse Too, a bar, to see a bossa/jazz soloist and a classical guitarist. And it also seemed to be great days for re-meeting people. I met Ama`s friends Tara and Amanda, and also Gary upon whom I dumped a tonne of northern Peru travel tips. I ran into Plad (I met him at Pisac) and his mum from NZ (originally Russia) who`d just returned from 2 months in the jungle with a local community.... whoa! I ran into Astor and his American friend Lanae, and also Woflgang (he took my Facebook Jesus photo in Vilcabamba, Ecuador!) and his friend Monica. They and Ama took a few moments to connect through Vilcabamba, where Ama had lived for several months.

But the time had come to leave Cusco and Peru. And so I said goodbye to the land of the best and worst of things - immense natural resources like the Camisea Gas Project and the stark contrast of the local poverty there in La Convencion; the amazing natural beauty in the mountains and jungle and the seeming apathy of the plastic rubbishing population; the skyrises of Miraflores and the horrid barrios just a few kms away; generous, honest people and The Gringo Culture which seemed to embrace dishonesty. But despite these things I give you my best wishes, dear Peru, and thanks to all that made my stay there so magical.

The overnight bus wasn`t too bad, despite rocking from side to side as we sped to the heights of Puno and the Altiplano. After a bleary hour catching glimpses of the great Titicaca, we got off to considerably downgrade to a mini-van to Copocabana. After a quite painless border crossing we finished our journey passing the shimmering lake and poor farmers and soon arriving in the sunny and pretty town in a protected cove. I found a cheap room and then really average baked beans on toast (but it was baked beans on toast!) in a morning bar that immersed me in Nina Simone-style lounge tunes. Copa reminded me quite a bit of Aguas Calientes, but less intense, with ridiculous prices, hassling street gimps and a serious rubbish problem away from the main streets. I dined that night next to a fireplace in a great-vibes restaurant (see Paranoid Android-style indigenous painting) on Andean pizza with corn and quinoa.

After my early rise to indulge in breakfast at Paranoid Android I took a casual stroll through their entire restaurant to find no-one, which actually turned out well because I`d forgotten about the 1hr time difference and was late for the boat to Isla del Sol! After being bombarded with ads and propositions for prepurchasing boat tickets the day before it didn`t surprise me one bit that actually you could just go to the boat and by them on board.

Cusco: 12/08 - 15/08

* Thin crust vegetarian pizza, cooked in 5 mins in superhot woodfire earth oven, chosen from menu that included "Typical Foot" - Mama Grill

* Sweet & salty steaming soft tamales - various street mamitas

* Fresh orange, papaya, banana, pineapple and apple juice - San Blas market

* French style Chocolate croissant with custard - Pan Am bakery

* Saturated chocolate cake with Yellow Sapote and ice-cream - Inka Fe cafe

* Farmhouse yoghurt in Yellow Sapote, Sauco and Peach flavours - San Isidro Dairy

* Custard apple, sweet ladyfingers and white and orange sweet peaches - San Pedro Market

* Double cappuchino top with delicious chocolate sprinkle, Rich Brownie, Huevos Rancheros and Lime, Ginger, Honey Tea - Jack`s (Super) Cafe

* Chicken Burrito - One of the 10,000 restaurants on Gringo Lane serving Mexican and Italian and Everything: this one offered us our money back if we didn`t like the food

* Sweet Faba Bean flour drink - Lady on the Plaza

* Rice Pudding and Hot fruit Jelly - Potato Woman`s Sleeping Sister

* 1/4 Chicken and Chips with yummy Salad Bar and added MSG - The upmarket Chicken Place a few blocks before Top Chicken

* Nelson Mandela hazelnut or something creamy cake - Granja Heidi`s

* The Best Farmhouse Smoke Bacon in History with crusty bread roll and huevos revueltos - San Isidro Dairy, Me & Amalaa

* Thick Coca, Cane Syrup and Lime Tea and Coca Brownie - The Coca Shop

* Inch-thick Steak with steamed veges and guacamole - Me and Amalaa

* Perfect capucchino with tasty chocolate galletas - Two Nations - Australia and Peru - Cafe

* Sweet Potato Donut drizzled with sugar syrup - that place close to the corner of Ruinas and Recoleta

* Tres Leches and Chocolate Raspberry Cake - The bakery just up from Hostal Iquique

Sachahuares - Quillabamba - Cusco: 10/08 - 12/08

Part 5 - You gotta break some eggs to make an omelette

Day 16

I packed and said a heartful farewell to all at Sachahuares - Roberto did a video interview with me getting me to state what had happened the day before - when almost at the house a crazy man had shouted at me something I didn't understand and he was carrying a machete. Harry explained that it was a family that used to own the land but now lived nearby but constantly returned to pick coca and thought they still owned the place.

My pack was light, my legs fresh and knowing I had a few soles to spare made me think of chocolate. Within a half-hour of walking I jumped in the back of a truck heading to Quillabamba, by now only 45km away. But my joy was short-lived - we stopped for 40 min in the baking sun for a bush-mechanic-style tyre change. I had the usual conversation with two coffee farmers who shared the tray with me and their harvest as we bumped along a very poor road. I was extremely anxious to arrive and as such the infinite stops to wash, piss, buy food, navigate 1000 speed bumps, let other vehicles pass, get pulled over by the cops and roadworks helped greatly to alleviate that stress.

Quillabamba came at last. I thanked my transporters and headed for my first of 200g of chocolate for the day (bliss!), then to the pretty Plaza de Armas and the Western Union agent. The country-style system apparently took many hours to operate as opposed to instant cash in the city... I waited until 630pm that evening to then find out someone had decided I wanted US dollars instead of soles (and it certainly wasn't my Mum). The guy then explained he didnt change money so would have to charge me a % for changing the dollars back to soles!! but you made the mistake, bozo. I explored the convenience of a our consumptive system which gives convenient and quick food on demand including eating some animal product... thank you chickens!! This was another Peruvian large small-town with a bit of an identity crisis, many people thinking they are cool city-types but still retaining that judgemental country attitude. I had many mocking laughs and stares and one young ^*(*&^wit even tried to provoke me by saying "Gringo!" loud enough for me to hear when I walked past - I turned, stared right at him and asked if everything was OK. Of course he put his tail between his legs by mumbling something in reply and hurrying off. Don't @#$ with me, I'll have you, no problems, big backpack and all.

I waited until 930pm for the overnight bus to Cusco which compared to my earlier truck ride was limousine-like. I leaned back, absorbed some music and slept while we wound our way up, through Ollataytambo and on to the great city.

Day 17

We finally arrived at 400am in a different terminal to the main one. I was going to stay on the bus until first light and walk from there, but decided to ensure my bag underneath the bus was ok first... and it wasn't. Someone had gone through it and taken my pack cover - the top zipper was still open. The bus urchin was a useless muppet upon my telling him, his only input/output being a token look where my bag was and to say that maybe the cops had done it when they stopped us to search for coke. I was really over Peru - dishonesty, theft and discrimination towards tourists and locals are all commonplace here and I'd had enough. I then caught a taxi back to the town centre and finally checked in to Iquique, Amalaa's hostel a few hours later.

Later I discovered more stuff was missing from the main compartment of my pack - arrggh!! Grrr! That's it, I was not going to be screwed over again - I was going to file an insurance claim. Initially I was not really too keen to involve my favourite (dis)organisation, the police, so checking my insurance requirements I went to the bus company to try to get them to sign a document acknowledging that my stuff had gone missing and the details thereof. Of course they didn't, so I had no choice but to go to the cops (via 4 different stations). I entered, showing them my document which had all the information from the events - they soon dismissed that, formally interviewed me and then called the bus company to request the bus driver and baggage boy come down to the station for questioning. After more waiting the bus employees don't show, so Inspector Gadget decides to drag me with him and his assistant down to the bus station, where we all held an on-site interview/statement, including signatures and fingerprints. I thought that would be the end of it and I could get my statement, but no, the baggage boy was sat next to me in the car and we were taken back to the station to both be interviewed by different cops. Talk about a friggin process. And who was to say the boy was guilty and/or responsible anyway? The bus company had no system at all for monitoring luggage on/off the bus, so they were partially responsible too. It felt like a very heavy situation for him - a few times the cops came to me questioning what I'd claimed because the boy thought I was lying. His parents arrived, the bus driver was there and then the cops were insinuating that he would go to jail - just unneccesarily heavy and stressful. I even asked if there was anyway I could "not press charges" as they say, but no, just the facts, Jack, just the facts. At the end of the whole process for the evening I felt like (but didn`t know that) the kid wouldn't be charged, which was a relief, because even though he may have been guilty/responsible I certainly didn't want to be a part of the ruin of his life. So after the full 5 hours of joy they still didn't give me a copy of my statement... 'No, you'll have to come back tomorrow ' - !!

Day 18

So I did, early, which was lucky because when I got there I was told 'No, first you have to take this ticket to a specific bank, wait in line for 30 mins, pay a few dollars, get the reciprocal ticket, bring that back to us, then wait another hour or more while we can't find the digital version of your statement and have to type it out by hand (with significant typos) transcribed from the hard copy' Am I on another planet? Please, tell me... Oh well, doesn't sound like much fun but I guess I don't have much choice, eh? :) And so my saga was complete.

Espiritu Pampa - Chanquiri - Yuveni - Kiteni - Palma Real - Chahuares (Sachahuares, Quellono): 05/08 - 10/08

Part 4 - No blood, no foul

Day 11

I returned to the Espiritu Pampa village and heard the latest news of the paro. It was reported that the day before 2 people were killed and 18 injured in clashes between police and strikers in Kiteni, a town central to my escape back to Cusco. It wasn`t good, but the news also came that government ministers were helicoptering to the province of La Convencion to discuss matters with the strikers. The issue at hand was the massive gas project Camisea in the area which successfully exported the richness straight to countries like Mexico and the US while locals paid up to ten times the price for bottled gas as their Bolivians neighbours. The area is also one of the poorest with least infrastructure in Peru. And of course the government does not care an iota for those people. Peru is one of the most corrupt countries in the world it seems to me.

Maybe it was only the apprehension I`d had about my ability to achieve all that I`d wanted to, but during the entire time headng towards Espiritu Pampa from Huancacalle I`d felt that a foreboding sense of discontent and malevolance was growing, - from where I wasn`t sure. I set off at midday-ish downhill towards Chanquiri through more conclusively efficient agriculture including citrus and cacao. This caused another period of walking with few water sources as I came in and out of forest but not to any running creeks. A campo requested painkillers from me - instead I gave him anti-diaorrhea pills and had to explain it 7 times. Soon after a large tree smashed across the path about 10m ahead of me - a campo had felled it with his machete assuming there was no one on the path. I eventually found water then cleared to a landslide-affected road upon which I trudged until arriving at a steep descent to a river where a work crew were lunching in between constructing a bridge over the beautiful river. While photographing the intersting texture of the blasted rock a worker blew his whistle at me! Be alert, no alarmed, people. Talk about a culture of fear. What a shame it was to see this development after having seen how affected the ecosystems were already just because of subsistence farming - I shuddered to think of the area in 10 years time once ready access to disposable plastic and other rubbish comes.

I chatted about the usual subjects with the workers, one of whom promised to give me a lift to Chanquiri on his trail bike - sweeet! I waited in a filthy horrible town full of overbearing political advertising, dogs and rubbish for Eduardo to emerge. I thought that the shanty town was the ugliest place in history until I saw Chanquiri some 45 minutes later. A soul-destroying square of deteriorating buildings facing a soccer field complete with a uteful of local hoons showing off their aggression. Then (of courrrrse) Eduardo asked for a large amount of money for the uncomfortable ride, which he hadn`t mentioned prior to leaving in any way or form. I should`ve known, and gave him some of what he asked for, sat for a little weighing my limited options then hoofed it out of town towards Kiteni, the heart of the paro.

Chanquiri, Steady Eddy and the strike had spooked me and I felt very scared - I really felt like the area wasn`t a good place to be. I stopped at a nicer looking farm (the Jesus paraphenalia actually drew me in this time! Praise the Lord :) but no-one was home; I searched around for a quiet place to camp including in people`s cacao farms and in some scrub next to a creek but nothing stuck. With the light fading and after much fretting I pushed on to and through the town of Yuveni, of a similar design but much nicer vibe than Chanquiri. I didn`t want to be any where near any people if I could manage it so I kept walking, finally getting desperate enough to ask a passing local if they knew of a good pampa. He replied by saying before complete darkness I`d probably find nothing, so better to just crash on in under the cacao trees and find the best possible spot, which is what I did. The result was hardly flat with many sticks and rocks and I got a billion burrs in my leg hair and clothes as a free bonus extra. I was hyper on-edge and feeling very scared and vulnerable - paranoid for being discovered by the landowners (I occasionally heard distant barking dogs drawing closer), the strike and its stressful effect on the local people, very little money to buy my way out of it, always with the stares and `Gringo, gringo`and being totally alone.

But I was away from the road and pretty much in the bush - falling asleep without a fly that night kept a beautiful temperature and the sounds of the forest soothed me very nicely. It was one of the nicer camps I`d had actually, despite a rough bed and being woken around midnight by a mid-sized animal prowling through the forest right near my tent.

Day 12

I woke as early as possible to ruthlessly pack and get off the farm and back on the road. I soon stopped at a river for water where some local youths joined me, gifted me a few tangelos randomly plucked from in the tall grass and gave me the usual rumours about the strike being over that day. Keeping on I saw a black wooly thing in a tree which I thought was a monkey, despite it being well away from any kind of decent forest habitat. I was then offered a lift on another trail bike - this time I made it very clear I had no money to give. He didn`t seem to believe me but invited me on anyway, so upon arrival in Kiteni I gave him the last of my chocolates as a trade.

There were heavy, heavy scenes in tropical Kiteni. Barricaded on both sides by locals, many drunk, the town also contained a deployment of 350 national police to keep the peace (and kill people). The bored and edgy protestors crowded around me as I tried to pass through and I knew I`d have to stop and give my verbal support for their cause. One tried to assure me that they had no problem with tourists and that nothing would happen to me - I was extremely wary as I could hear the ape-like laughing and jokes coming from around the circle at my expense. I pushed on through to the bridge and passed easily through a line of fully equipped riot police - obviously they had no problem with tourists either as the locals were being subjected to full body searches and ID checks at the same point. In the town itself it seemed most locals supported the strike but were suffering due to two weeks without their usual supplies.

Kiteni is actually quite a pretty town - tree lined streets, a pleasant main plaza and large-town facilities set on a big rainforest river. I was extremely relieved to get some internet to communicate with the outside world - then I quickly decided to push on as I came, walking the road, hoping for cheap transport to the next roadblocked town. On exiting the town I again had to stop firstly for police then longer for demonstrators and saw the Red Cross and Government officials walking around doing stuff, what I`m not sure because their sure seemed no resolution in sight. When I finally got out I at last heard some realism from a (educated) local - Tuesday was a possible day for resolution. That day was Friday.

An incredibly uncomfortable triple on a trail bike soon failed as my feet continued to clip the road, but it got me a few km`s more towards Quillabamba, still 100km or so on the hellish road away. The midday sun was hot - I was accompanied for a few k`s by a local teenager but couldn`t summon the spirit to care much conversation with him. It was a horrible situation - I had no choice but to trudge on and hope for the best. Even this was very difficult and I stopped many times as my willpower faded. Finally I reached a point near a small farm and sat in the semi-shade - I was absolutely distraught and ready to give up. I had no idea how far I was from Palmareal, the next town and did not want to camp in the countryside again. At absolute rock bottom I cried in despair for myself.

But... at least I was alive, warm and watered. I ate the last of that days supplies knowing only one day`s worth remained - 'Hmm, Lembas bread... I ain't oweing much to foreign foods, but, this Elvish stuff, it ain't bad'. I steeled myself for asking for a place to camp once more and set off for the last few hours of the day. Soon though a combi travelling to Palmareal (in return from "strike-service" in Camp Kiteni) picked me up, and though at a costly 15 soles I took it gratefully as from that town Quillabamba was one step closer. Quillabamba itself, however, was still very much locked down in paro, but I had to cling to some kind of hope. At the next small town (not Palmareal) with true union grit the well-manned roadblock refused to let us through... until 5pm. 15 minutes of shouting and arguing and 15 minutes of relaxed chatting later (at 5pm) we were granted passage and continued another few hours to arrive late into Palmareal, where the Kiteni veterans held court in front of many townspeople to give the latest news. I was still by no means in a comfortable situation - I was as per usual exhausted and really didn`t want to camp on the local soccer field or at the school but it seemed those were my only options. I started off but was interrupted by Leonardo from Pulcallpa, a wild young man (also just returned from Kiteni service) volunteering at local schools with environmental education and at a local community with recycling and its library. I was taken aback - in this backcountry I hadn`t expected any kind of educated and overt benevolence as such. He then quickly explained he was walking back to a lodge (!) where he was staying with a Belgian lady, her Peruvian husband and their three children. They ran Sachahuares, the NGO for whom he worked and also had a permaculture farm at a town he said was 3 hours walk away. AND, he insisted that I would be welcomed there that night. My mind was blown, but I couldn`t just yet give over to complete relief as my paranoia and fear still held in me, despite almost instantly feeling like I could trust the guy.

After one hour of rapid walking and listening to even more rapid talking from Leo (about things like his intencion to prepare himself fully before first taking ayahuasca) a truck passed us going the other way, questioned us as to our destination then continued on. A little later though it returned going the other way - Leo and the passenger exchanged words briefly then we jumped aboard... yay!! I was shattered and barely able to hear what Leo had been saying because I literally couldn`t focus on walking and listening at the same time. Oh the bliss, and lucky too because I daresay the walk would`ve been 5hrs not 3. We bumped along including stopping to proposition a 13-year old girl to join us and for the truckies to smoke the weed Leo had exchanged with them for the ride - cheers mate! We arrived at strike-bound Chahuares where I paid the truckies some soles and Leo updated some locals on the Kiteni situation before we set out for another 20 minutes to Sachahuares including 5 last minutes of steep uphill. We finally made it. I was extremely dizzy and exhausted to the point of passing out and I dropped my pack and slumped into a chair while Leo disappeared to connect with Sabine and Roberto (Harry). I almost cried when their young son Kieran appeared to amiably greet me by name. Here was a such a precious thing; a child in his safe space without fear, and then I knew I could at last relax and let go. Such joy!! I felt relief like never before, and I had been truly, truly blessed. My eternal thanks to the universe. And a big sloppy kiss too. x

Day 13

The next morning I prepared a Huancacalle-style soup and Sabine added green papaya and pasta to create a delicious recovery meal. They had graciously and without expectation of payment invited me to sleep in a cabin that evening but weren`t able to extend the offer to include food as the strike was skyrocketting food prices and some things just weren`t available anymore. By that time I knew the strike would last the weekend at least, and although I desperately wanted to get back to Cusco and comfort I knew staying a few days at Sachahuares with this endearing family would do me a world of good, so I promised to re-imburse them with some cash for an extended stay the next time they were in Cusco. I met youngest son Ilian and wild Mirko with an agenda of his own who kept me entertainment and enlightened. That day Leo and I braved the midday heat to trudge 2 1/2 hrs to the town of Quelleno and our nearest internet. There I charged my music (yes!) and contacted the outside world. The whole town was dead, with basically lots of sitting around - it didn`t seem like the locals had much to do if they weren`t working. We arrived at home late and after more soup I prepared the last of the salty balls into a hot chocolate, which actually wasn`t bad and certainly would`ve tasted great with the 7 spoons of sugar Kieran put into his! On the way back from Quellono we passed someone arriving from Cusco! He`d come through Calca and Lares to Quelleno, which he said was doable... hmmm.

Day 14

I was loving having simple oats with cinnamon and sugar for breakfast and I even had cafe con leche - awesome! Then I helped with the depression food - peeling green bananas for boiling up as a carb. They really tasted terrible, but hey, right then I was grateful for any food I could get. Later I picked cacao - anything yellow or with a tinge of yellow is ready to be picked. After another awesome soup at lunch I needed to rest - I had certainly been pushed to the edge and my body wasn`t ready to keep exerting itself too much at all. Later in the afternoon I finished navigating the whole cultivated area at Sachahuares picking the cacao from their 70 or so trees. An aquaduct system runs throughout the property taken from a nearby creek and feeds their citrus, bananas, papayas, coffee, custard apples and of course chocolate trees, along with a smattering of native trees. Their simple but comfortable cabins are used mainly to house international volunteers who come to stay both long and short term. That evening we shared in delicious Belgian Birthday pancakes, even though it was no-one`s birthday - oh the joy with sugar!

Day 15

The next day the strike ended. Far out, what a saga, and not just for me - Sachahuares was also very keen to be able to get to and from Quillabamba for supplies and Cusco for business. Things had been very tight for everyone. I also found out there was a Western Union in Quillabamba - I would be able to get money there... what a relief. That day I felt strong enough to start a modified exercise regime again - 'His strength returns... and yet to have come so far carrying the Ring the hobbit has shown great resilience to it's evil.' I decided against going to Quillabamba to ensure that transport would not be a problem. Sabine and Leo cooked amazing beans with alpaca and rice, I internetted with my Mum for her to transfer me money and I again tasted my favourite food in the world -whole fresh cacao. Oh my god, sweet custard apple/lychee flesh on crunchable seedses combined with the uplifting high of chocolate. %·&(/ yeah! We saw a wicked-looking leaf mantis. That afternoon Kieran took me to his special waterfall and we swam and enjoyed the cool water - thanks Kieran! Later Sabine showed me photo albums and works from her organisation`s efforts with local schoolkids, like the doll and small backpack made from plastic bags in the top photo. They also took them on fun field trips, held agricultural field days for the community and got them earning their own $ through recycling. Just great work, and worth a visit if you wish to volunteer cheaply for a very worthy cause.

http://www.sachahuares.org/

I was sad to be leaving Sabine, Harry and the boys who`d offered to have me stay on as a volunteer for a while - this was very tempting but I was still very emotionally fragile and really I just wanted to get back to the comfort of Cusco, my friends and ultimately get out fo Peru. Being in that seeming impossible situation with little money, food, friends or options had given me a much more humble view of the world that I don`t wish to forget or let pass anytime soon.

that I always remember the incredible blessing it is to have abundance... abundance of rich and amazing food, the security of a conscientious and caring community and beautiful music that brings me joy

Huancacalle - Pampaconas - Nigrepay - Ututu - Vista Alegre - Espiritu Pampa Archaeological Monument: 03/08 - 05/08

Part 3 - Stubborn as a mule

Day 9

I awoke to the sound of gentle rain on my tent, which caused me to think of the classic Beastie Boys sample, `Well if it`s gonna be that type of party I`m gonna stick my dick in the mashed potato! ` as I had up until that point avoided the extra weight created by hiking with a wet tent. That being the case I swiftly removed my tent pegs and transferred undercover to pack it away.

After a farewell breakfast with Apo, a local hero who put me up with grace even though I couldn`t pay him much and shared his space and food. He warned me of a paro (strike) in the province where I was headed and I knew from the Pisac strikes that it didn`t just mean a day off work... But I`d come so far, this was the trek of my life really and I wasn`t going to let that stop me. The day before I`d been blessed by another local angel who`d sold me 10 chocolate and peanut bar (very important rations) for 70c each at 6 soles... and they`re worth 1.20c. Cheers. I made good time uphill in the on/off drizzle with a coffee under my belt, a much more manageable pack and rejuventaed energy. The area was decidedly more Christian than around Cusco and the Valley and I passed much paraphenalia dedicated to the Man who was a man unlike any other manly man.

This path took me up through misty eucalypt forest reminiscent of Taswegia and on and off the main road to Vilcabamba. I stopped to rest under a shrine and a thundering new ute stopped to let me alight into the tray. Whoo hoo! Lift to Vilcabamba! But the journey was quite rapid and I didn`t have enough clothes on so by the time we arrived I was rather cold. The driver worked for the council and spoke English to a degree, so was of course keen to try it out. Through this I discovered they were continung on to Pampaconas, my destination for the day... so get back in! Yeah! Even after layering up more I was still cold and uncomfortably numb clinging desperately to the tray as we wound up and down from the 3400m Pampaconas Pass in freezing rain. After a total of around 2hrs in the ute we arrived at the small and filthy town, where I wolfed down some energy food, exchanged a goodbye and muchas gracias for vague directions with Warner and friends (in his words, `not the rich Warner like Warner Bros., the poor one.... ha hah ha`) and set my sights on Vista Alegre with the aim of cutting a day off the trek.

I checked my map and guide notes and followed the most likely route out of town for an hour our so, holding my altitude but unable to confirm if I was on the right path due to there being no-one around stupid enough to be out in the unusual winter rain. When I was desperate enough I hollered to a smoky farmhouse and after being told I was lost was persuaded up to their tiny house to share a mouthful of coca, dirt-and-all boiled potatoes, a slightly alcoholic sweet mate and pleasantries before getting down to business. By this stage I was actively looking for opportunities to offload my salty balls and did so. The very gracious people of Nigrepay were firstly surprised at my age and then at the fact I didn`t speak Quechua. They drew me a map on a piece of cardboard and one of them guided me back down from whence I came to the start of a short cut which was, funnily enough, at a fork in the path where I`d considered heading downhill in search of the main path. I thanked him with oranges and busted downhill, eager to make up for a lost hour. Soon things got difficult as I knew I was supposed to follow the creek but fences and thick cloud forest were rather in my way. I needed to precariously cross the creek and then bush bash through two sections of scrub - the first was a serious mission but the second was just ridiculous. I got caught up, scratched and almost fell a few metres into the creek only to be saved by vines. Soon after I found the relief of the wide main path folowing the Inca trail - these guys knew how to make a trekking path, that`s for sure.

The fog enveloped the cloud forest to create an amazing atmosphere as I followed the River of Many Local Names past picturesque Ututu and its inviting cabins and smoking chimnies towards Espiritu Pampa. But I couldn`t stop as I needed to smash it if I was to arrive at Vista Alegre by nightfall. Agriculture started to become more prominent as I descended - I passed a large clearing of recently burnt rainforest on the steep hillside where people were planting corn. This seemed a little silly to me in this perfect environment for subtropical fruits. The men fulfilled their duties of requesting that I give them money by suggesting I wouldn`t make Vista Alegre that afternoon and that I should stay with them (this wasn`t the last time this occurred with the campesinos of course). At 230pm, I thought not, and continued down past more farms on my side of the river and gorgeous rainforest and spectacular waterfalls on the other. Eventually I made it to the greenness of the Vista, being a shack, toilet, school/everything building and a full-size soccer pitch. Tired and wet but happy to be a day ahead I quickly set camp as the light faded and fell asleep to the rushing river, waking in the night to see fireflies.

Day 10

I woke, packed and left early before any locals could ask me for camping fees. The path continued along the river but this day climbed higher while the river dropped lower. The vegetation was evolving into subtropical rainforest, marked by more vines, large leaves, strangler figs, bigger trees and a generally junglier feel. There were lots of beautiful flowers, leaves, insects and loads of birds. I disturbed a bunch of raucous birds that seemed like quetzals and also a group of quail-like ground birds that sounded like guinea pigs. I also maintained my vitamin levels with the occasional scoffing of wild blackberries. Despite an overall drop for the day there were lots of strenuous ups and slight more downs. The stress of my finances weighed heavily on me along with my pack and I wasn`t in the best shape mentally. I soon emerged from the initial virgin rainforest to more of the repulsive slash and burn farms which absolutely destroyed the hydrology, essentially robbing all the water for that zone. Some cultivated areas were insanely steep and I figured those people must have been very desperate to live there. The Inca path had disappeared by now and the local effort at track making and maintenance at times left a lot to be desired.

I was very frustrated at constantly having to up and down, but it was a lovely temperature and I was in the rainforest, my favourite place. Despite the destruction of the creeklets of the mountains by the farming I encountered enough beautifully alive rainforest water to drink myself well again - I was also back to a very healthy appetite and churned through my provisions with gusto. I eventually came to the ruins of a lookout post, met local nurseryman Sedillo and as we descended down an amazing set of restored Incan stairs he opined that there was no 30 soles entry fee for the ruins... my interest was piqued. I met Americo the local shop owner/Government representative for the ruins and we all shared tea and coca. They spoke of the paro that by now was almost two weeks old in Quillabamba. Well, what could I do¿ I was feeling very tired, stressed and miles from home, but I`d made it! I wasn`t going to turn back now and anyways, I had some sleeping to do, so I set camp amongst the chooks, sheep, dogs, forest birds and some complete turkeys and crashed it.

Day 11

I woke, packed and stored my big pack at a house before the seriously official (naaaaaht!) registry at the shop including having to draw up the tables in a new registry book myself. I marched through locals` coffee and banana farms to a junglier section and came to a strong wooden gate. On the path into Espiritu Pampa I saw some hacked vegetation and stones which were ruins in the process of clearance and restoration - intersting. And then I arrived. Espiritu Pampa (or Vilcabamba Viejo, from the Quechua Willkapampa, or Sacred Plain) was a city founded by Manco Inca in 1539 and was the last refuge of their empire until it fell to the Spaniards in 1572, signaling the end of Inca resistance to Spanish rule. After its fall, the city was burned, the area swiftly became engulfed in jungle and the location of Vilcabamba was forgotten by the Europeans. The first outsiders in modern times to come to the remote forest site that has since come to be identified with Espiritu Pampa were three Cuzqueños: Manuel Ugarte, Manuel Lopez Torres, and Juan Cancio Saavedra, in 1892. (wiki)

The main plaza of the ruins, some 5 hectares, was dominated by a large reconstructed hall with grass roof and indeed that entire space reminded me of a kind of Valhalla for the Incas - rainforest giants towered above a pampa containing the remains of square buildings, typically impressive Incan terraces and self-seeded coffee plants while a myriad of birds kriss-krossed. A huge carved and sacred "Vilca" stone featured on the lower plaza and there were a few different levels and many separated sections obviously with various intencions - but it certainly wasn`t as diverse nor visually grandiose as Macchu or Choque... this was a city designed to be hidden. I chewed coca (and off-loaded balls) with two vigilantes (caretakers :) who told me that monkeys used to be here in good numbers but had been pushed back to the jungle proper with the felling of most of the trees in the inicial stages of the restoration.

Fortunately the restorers had left many of the large figs and other trees as centrepieces for the site, but unfortunately they had gone the hack with not much finesse on much of the remaining vegetation. This was the coolest part for me - seeing the way that the rainforest had taken over the ruins in what I imagine to be reminiscent of Ankhor Wat¿. Beads of dew accentuated the various fungii, lichen and moss growing on the rocks. A short walk to the Palace of the 14 Ashlars revealed what I`ve just described - A massive fig sprawling all over strong ruins still well intact - the actual palace contained 14 altars inset into the walls of a small shrine-like building. I explored the rainforest a little myself in the hope of finding some undiscovered ruins but to no avail. I spent a great morning there, it was a beautiful experience - towards the end of my visit I spotted the striking red form of an Andean-Cock-Of-The-Rock who apparently make nests throughout the site.