Peru

[scooterscot]

Anyone up for a frog shake?

Don't forget to sample the local delights:



Luckily there are some very nice pizza/pasta restaurants in Cusco.

Over the lips and through the gums look our stomach froggy comes

Making a "frog shake" takes a few minutes. First the stallholder grabs a frog from the tank. She cuts its neck with a knife and skins it as easily as if she is peeling a banana. Then she puts it into a pan on a small stove with some liquid. Next the bubbling concoction is poured into a liquidiser with the other ingredients - powdered maca, a medicinal Peruvian root, vitamins, fruit and honey. The stallholder stops the blender and tastes the thick green mixture, her face a picture of concentration. She spoons in more honey, gives it a final whizz and pours it into a tin jug.

The country that blends endangered frogs - BBC News

[James Tiberius Kirk]

Fook the trains - what's the local totty like?

Are they all like this?

[scooterscot]

Some pics I took in Peru & Bolivia whilst teaching the wee ones..

[Pondlife]

Great pics SS!

Are you going to give us a run through of the trip?

[FatLazyContractor]

Fooking fantastic pics them lot!

[MrMarkyMark]

Very nice, thanks for sharing them .

[NickFitz]

The stallholder in the second photo is one of the shortest, hairiest people I've ever seen

Brilliant pics, thanks!

[scooterscot]

Great pics SS!

Are you going to give us a run through of the trip?

Some notes I took during the trip are below - I make no apologies for the grammar, it's awful.... or was it the result of altitude sickness?


**Cusco, Peru**!

**Day 1 - München to Madrid**
Really the title should read evening one, since day one proper does not begin until the Saturday, the day I arrive in Peru. But hey the journey begins this evening, the day before, in wet Munich. Got my a bier before boarding, there’s almost an hour before takeoff. The boarding card in my hand reads Lima and yet I’m still not really believing my destination is the one written on the card. All rather mad! And I think madder once I disembark the plane on arrival. I hope wifey, my little family unit I’ve left behind cope well in my absence.

As we approach Madrid the sun sets, the sky appears a magnificent orange looking through my virtual reality sunglasses and I think the next time I see the sun shall be in Lima! My first visit to Madrid, should I leave the airport for a laugh? Got a couple of hours. As it turns out I’ve little time at all. Madrid airport is rather huge and takes me the better part of 40minutes just to get to the next gate.

**Day 2 - Saturday - Madrid to Lima**
The flight is busier than I thought. Everybody myself included looking around as we board. Did we get a good seat? Ohh is that a seat with two spots next to it? Surely not? No, it’s not. Slowly but surely more or less every empty seat was taken. It was not possible to get a window seat and so I’m in the middle row next to the aisle. The guy sat next to me promptly claims the shared arm rest. Are we going to have a problem here? In a somewhat British style I watched that arm rest like a hawk waiting until it’s vacant. Snap!! My elbow strikes the arm rest like it has always been there as my chap takes yawn and stretches out. I’m glad I got that pillow from globetrotter. It worked a charm. I don’t know where or how I would have rested my head without it. I’m sure I managed some useful sleep. Was woken a couple of times by the chap wanting to get out, I think he had ants in his pants. Even once wanting to get out when they served dinner. Honestly he couldn’t have waited! Mutter moan. I notice the number of children onboard. I’m surprised how well they’re doing, I’ve heard more discomfort on a short flight to Edinburgh than I have this 12+ hour marathon. Many of them asleep across their parents laps perhaps, but quiet. I wonder if flying through the night is the secret to long-haul success with children?

Everyone is settled now, expect that they’re sat there for the journey, less moving around. Lots of Spanish spoken around me including the guy sat next to me with not a word of English. He keeps talking at times. I find a comfort spot on my pillow and snooze. 6 hours have passed just like that, wow. Don’t know how.

Nearly thirteen hours later we arrived in Lima. I’ve an easy three hours to make my connecting flight. I see from the face-book messages two others are ahead of me, the group leaders I think, and the rest either just beginning their journeys or already in transit. I collect my baggage as reminded by my phone and make my way to the next checkin desk for Cusco! Once checked in I make my way upstairs to departures. I got me a phone sim card at this point, I don’t think this was the first time the operator had a tourist just had over a phone and ask for help because cello-taped to the counter was a card in English with the tariffs on offer. I found myself a nice little cafe afterwards where I had my second breakfast. Although I’m not sure what was served on the flight counts as a first breakfast. This time there was scrambled egg and orange juice on offer not to mention a super strong coffee.

The flight out of Lima was delayed somewhat, Peruvian Air don’t get any brownie points in my book. Information was not forthcoming and once onboard we sat on the tarmac for what felt like an hour.

Our approach to Cusco was exciting. As expected the decent into Cusco was not nearly as much as we climbed from sea-level. To have the ground pass so quickly below us as we approached the runway was unusual. The approach would continue between nearby mountains and valleys, crazy. I guess it would be similar to flying low through the alps on approach. We landed fast and heavy using the full length of the runway to stop and turn around at the bottom. I understand the speed of the landing is necessary such is the lower pressure of the air at this altitude and that pilots need special training to be qualified to fly the route.

My holdall had inflated like a ballon. The increased Munich air pressure was still trapped inside. A overwhelming clothes smell escaped when I pulled back the zip. I was greeted by a taxi driver with my name on a whiteboard. We waited for another TGL member but did not show up so we made our way to the hotel.

Travelling through the streets I talked to the driver who had a little English. All his life he had lived in Cusco. I was reminded of the streets of India as we continued. Ramshackle, dusty, strong sunshine, and lots of car fumes with the occasional black cloud pouring out of exhausts from the heavier vehicles. I was spared the fate of the notorious steps I had heard about from other travellers. My driver drove uphill and deposited me just behind the hotel instead. The thin air really takes you by surprise. You only need climb the steps for a minute or so and you can feel your pulse racing as your heart works harder to recover oxygen from the air. I couldn’t live here for an extended period.

P greeted me as I stepped inside the lobby. All smiles and handshakes. By this point it was mid-late afternoon and the disorientation of travel was starting to take hold. I got the key to my room and managed to avoid using the bed until near 6.30pm. Black out - I did not wake until about 4am.

**Day 3,4,5 - Sunday to Tuesday**
How is this the first opportunity I’ve had to continue the journal?! Testament as to how busy its been. (Written on Wednesday)

Sunday is already a little foggy. It’s that feeling of more time has come to pass when you’ve squashed so many activities into a short space of time.

Others from the group arrived at different times throughout the day. Each having their own travel stories of airport chaos and layovers. My european status becomes clearer and clearer as others arrive ‘awesome’ ’stoked’ & some other additives I’m not familiar with. Whilst J, P (the group leaders) and myself wait for others to get orientated, we decided to go out for lunch. P has been here before and knows a place. I had me some BBQ chicken (Chicken in Spanish is Peyo pronounced Boyo, which made me think of the Welsh so I smiled every time I head boyo!). After a brief chat the leaders and I walked around the plaza for the first time. The surreal feeling of my being here is starting to kick in, as is the jet-lag. Cusco defiantly feels like a hip travellers hotspot. I recognise many English speaking travellers dressed as if they were on holiday from Glastonbury. The leaders returned to the hotel to meet the others but were not sure if they had arrived yet. So I stayed out a little longer on my own accord. I felt if I returned to the hotel now I would have hit the bed again, too early!! I walked through those wonderful Latin like streets. Everything so different. Magnificent traffic light signs to balconies looking less secure than one might like. Sights smells and sounds. The impression of the buildings and the people reflect our altitude. I don’t know how for sure but you get that feeling you are somewhere that’s hard to reach whether by air or road there’s something about the infrastructure of everything that because it’s old does not mean we knock it down and build something else. Peruvians, the ladies particularly, I passed in the street were often in traditional dress whilst in the shade of their rather large looking black but tall hats. Everyone I passed had something to sell.

[scooterscot]

**Tuesday**
Today we visit the Tipon ruins or mini Machu Picchu as I like to call it before we returning to Paflor in the afternoon. After breakfast we walk down the infamous steps leading to the hotel where our mini bus is waiting. We pile in and drive off collecting pack-lunches on route. The drive to the Tipon ruins takes over an hour I’m sure. After a good 40-50 minute drive we enter valleys with many mountains. We turn off the main road and start ascending a twisty single track mountain road with barely room to turn as we hairpin our way up the mountain side. Eventually we find the carpark where some other tourists had already arrived but not more than I could count with both hands. We got our gear out of the bus and smothered ourselves with suntan lotion. Not that it was particularly hot but you could feel the sun nevertheless. Cusco is actually higher than Machu Picchu and the Tipon ruins higher than both, the air here is thin I could feel my pulse had stepped up a gear. We began our hike to the ruins. It only took 20-30 minutes before we reached the first terraces. Although not Machu Picchu you can not help be impressed with the wonder as to how such constructions were built so high up in the mountains. Not only that but the clever designs of the water channels allowing flow to circulate around the terrace irrigating as desired. We walked around the terraces taken plenty of photos. J helped me out explaining the procedures for manual exposure when shooting for a panoramic. I’m looking forward to seeing the results of the shots I’ve taken but there’s so many! After the hike we sat and had lunch admiring the view of the valley below.

Today at Paflor we did the family visit. The family visit is where the children take us to their homes, meet the parents, and have some food or drink, an opportunity to better understand how Paflor house is bridging the gap between home and school. For the week I was looking after Rana and Re, sisters. A list of items, objects, and or expressions in English and Spanish we were given to photograph. All the while we began our walk from Paflor house to the centre of town. When I say town it’s a village with a square which the traffic goes round before heading back out of town. As we neared the square on foot we approach Rona and Re home. I had no idea what to expect. A wooden door led to the earth and stone pathway with walls on either side, no roof. Walking onwards we reach a plot with outdoor toilet and other amenities. To my left a room with two entrances. The only room shared by the entire family, Mum, Dad, two girls and one boy. The room smaller than our own lounge, without floorboards. Two beds lined each of the wall sides, single pendant light from above with flies circling. It was sorrowing to see such nice people living in such poverty. I asked where the wee boy slept and was told another bed comes out and goes between the two main beds at night.


**Wednesday**

Today is really Monday of the following week, on the train to Puno. I’ll cease this free bit of time to make use of the keyboard. It seems it is the wish of the train staff to apply me with alcohol. I’ll not make it to lunch time. I’ve asked for a cuppa of tea instead. So Wednesday, what happened on Wednesday….

Because of all the photos I’ve taken recollecting what happened on a particular day is no trouble at all. However Wednesday morning seems blissfully absent of photos. I wonder if this was the morning we had a time out from the day before? The night before we took the children up to the hilltop where a church and a rather large cross was situated. Took us an hour to hike up and I recall the hike might have been somewhat strenuous for the children. In fact one fell and I ended up carrying him for a little bit. But the sunset views were magnificent.

I recall now why Wednesday is absent of photos. Wednesday morning with a sleep-in, until about 8am. The morning was spent in the breakfast room of the hostel just below the terrace. The leaders gave us a tutorial/critique session on the photos we’ve taken, what we could have done differently, framing the shot. Also there was some interesting conversation on post-processing of the photos. The experience between the two leaders is very different. J much more about the taking of the shot and P about what we do after importing. I also got the impression he was very into the whole social media scene, and also learnt about even ‘hash tags’ whatever the are and the sizing of a photo before publishing to somewhere like facebook. Copyright becomes very important all of a sudden when others whan your photos. Don’t think I’m in any danger of that! All in all I think I preferred J’s style. A million people have cameras now and anyone can take a photo. But a good shot is dependent and where you take it from, he would say. And finding that place is key - sometime dangerous sometimes taking a 500 photos throughout the hour just so the light is right.

We must have lunched somewhere before going to the school, but where? Although advertised as a 45 minute drive outside Cusco the school, Paflor house was a hour’s drive in the back of a minibus through dusty town roads. Just about kept my stomach in one place by the end of each journey.

**Thursday**
Pisac

[scooterscot]

**Tuesday - Peru to Bolivia**

I arrange passage to Bolivia on the first available transport out of Puno on the realisation there’s a general forty eight hour strike from my planned day of department; the morrow. My bus fare cost 30 sols! That’s like 10 euro.

Crossing the boarder into Bolivia on foot is an experience and a half. The bus first pulled up to the edge of the Peruvian border. Only about ten of us on the bus. We disembarked and joined a queue outside an office. That’s where I took my selfie. Lots of commotion coming and going. Peddle powered rickshaws flowing in either direction with trade of some sort. A smell that belonged in the sewer combined with hot foods on makeshift cookers. You din’t know which way to turn your head next with all the sights. Eventually my passport stamped. I walked out the door and started to cross this unlit bridge. Although only after 6pm it’s pitch dark with only the neighbouring buildings offering light. The bridge took about a minute to cross on foot. The guarded barrier approached. It felt like a prisoner exchange! Only the lingering fog was missing. It was at this point I realised the stamp on my passport was the Peruvian exit stamp!! I still had to go through Bolivian immigration. That queue was much longer, nationals of each country with children under arm. I actually walked straight past immigration at first before the ‘Czech’ couple pointed me in the right direction. It was like standing inside an old wooden building that belonged in a cowboy film. Glass missing from the windows and the font on the walls written in an equally cowboy like italic. I felt empathy with the little ones standing in the queue falling on their feet I’m sure looking forward to rest. Another form to fill, that would be handed over the counter with my passport next to whom stood a armed guard. All very surreal and nothing like your airport passport control. The Belgium girl (who is also on the bus with us) seems to have fallen ill with suspected food poisoning whilst waiting in the queue. Eventually the passport is stamped and I wait with the other passengers until we’re all accounted for before we make our way to the bus. On that short walk to the bus there’s poverty in every direction. It’s dark smelly children sitting with their parents on the pavement, all very saddening. We’re back on the bus now heading towards La Paz. Must have taken 90 minutes or so to cross the border.

Passed through two further boarder controls about 30 minutes apart. They’re really not taking any chances!

Before reaching La Paz we passed through a town with not much life. It was raining, dark and a little cold. The first rain I can recall from the whole trip. Working street lights were more occasional rather than frequent. People seemed to congregate under those working lights, sometimes what looked like the whole family, More often than not you would see the Bambino carried in the arms and children my own daughter’s age looking tired and cold. I often wondered if they had a home to go to. So much poverty. So sad.

Eventually the blackness outside the window was replaced by a city lights; the rain still beating off the window. The bus pulled over ‘La Paz!’ shouted the co-driver. That was our que to get off. None of the passengers knew where we were. The bus station no where in sight, just a random street. Not very comforting! Myself and the Czech couple were just as miffed at our situation. Wet, cold & tired, the time now just after 11pm. We agreed to share a taxi that would take us to our respective hotels. The taxi was rather elderly and we laughed at our situation as the taxi tried to pull away with the weight. One of the couple was not to be seen buried under luggage and my own bag was sat on the roof rack free to move as we turned corners. Only small upturned edges on the roof-rack prevented my bag leaving the roof altogether. As the rain continued to beat down I recall being glad my holdall is waterproof. The torches were out pouring light over the handwriting that was the name and address of the couple’s hotel. The driver seemed confused. We drove in circles, and eventually a darkened alley. For a fleeting moment you realise your trust if on hold, you’ve no idea where this guy could be taking you. But the driver seemed reassuring. The hotel or perhaps hostel, was unlit with no sign of life. Of the couple, the chap got out in the rain and started knocking on the door. No response. It took another 5-minutes of knocking before a light came on. The coupled were reassured and welcomed. Not exactly the start you want in a strange new city?! I’m now left alone in the taxi as the driver studies the map to located my hotel. Thankfully only another 10-minute drive. The door to my hotel was also closed and unlit at first but did not take as long to come to life. I begin to wonder if the people of La Paz don’t do nights and barricade doors until first light. It turns out its just the hotels and hostels that do this.