The journey from Copacabana to Cusco was horrendous. A minibus took us to the border where we had to pay a fine for being ‘illegal’ in Bolivia. They claimed we had tried to sneak in to the country avoiding the immigration officials, whereas in fact there had been no sign of any officials at the border. Personally, I reckon it is a sneaky way of gaining some extra dough out of unsuspecting tourists.  Be warned!

The drama over, we then took a fairly decent coach to Puno where we had to wait an hour before boarding a horridly cramped bus bound for Cusco. Seven hours overnight in a brightly lit, decrepid old bus with no leg room. I thought to myself ‘this is it – I can’t take any more. I’ve had enough of traveling.’

We finally arrived in Cusco at about 5am to be greeted by the now usual swarm of aggressive hostel touts and taxi drivers clamouring for our attention and battling for our custom. We ended up opting for a hostel near the main square but, yet again, we were met with a grotty room and cold water. We stuck with it for a night but the next day moved our belongings to the Hospedaje Artesanal de San Blan – the best hostel of our entire trip.

With a proper bathroom, actual hot water, a quiet location and a beautiful, spacious white room with beams, I cannot recommend this hostel enough. Plus, it’s a steal at 15 soles per night.

After La Paz, Cusco was like a breath of fresh air.  Civilised, elegant and, yes, pretty tourist friendly.  We spent our first day there just ambling around the city admiring the colonial architecture and stumbling upon fragments of Inca history.  

We bought a ticket that allowed us entry in to some of the museums in the city, plus entry to some of the surrounding Inca sites.  Of the former, my favourite was most definitely the convent of Santa Catalina.  Those of you who have read some of my earlier posts will know that I am a sucker for nuns and being able to eavesdrop on some real ones singing a ghostly hymn behind a big wooden door added the right note of eerie melancholy to the day.  Of course, it was probably a little ghettoblaster stuck on repeat to fool the gullible tourists who were now invading their holy sanctuary but I’ll choose to picture the real thing instead.

My other favourite was a cluster of rocks called Zona-X, a rocky limestone formation of caves, secret passageways and tunnels.  Again, my romanticism took over and I drifted in to a scene from Picnic at Hanging Rock – yes, for one glorious moment, I was Miranda.  

The Sacred Valley of the Incas

Our most informative tour was a one-day trip into the Sacred Valley where I got a little carried away taking notes…  Our trip took us to Pisac, Ollaytanbo, a ‘traditional artesan market’ (yawn, overpriced) and Chinchero.

Pisac is a sprawling Inca site overlooking the Urubamba river.  The Incas divided their settlements into different sectors based on the inhabitants’ particular role in society (the soldiers lived in one camp, the politicians in another and so on) and the settlements in Pisac illustrate this style of urban planning perfectly. 

The military sector is the first you come upon and, unsurprisingly, it sits on a craggy outcrop allowing the best possible view over the valley.

We then passed the politicians’ sector and the cemetery.  The graveyard in Pisac consists of holes carved in to the mountain in which hundreds of bodies were laid and covered with small stones and mud.  Apparently, coca leaves and chicha were also interred with the mummies in their tombs but the bit that grabbed my attention was the fact that people were buried in foetal position, thereby leaving the realm of the living the same way they entered.  I could feel Miranda beginning to make her presence felt again…

We then emerged from a tunnel carved into the rock out onto a mirador overlooking geometrical terraces supported by stone walls of about a metre high.  Floating steps allowed farmers to get from one terrace to the other – one of the first examples of such a construction.  Above lay the houses belonging to the agricultural engineers, revered for their knowledge and skills in providing food for the masses.

Our final step on the tour was the religious sector with its numerous temples.  The most important of the temples was the Temple of the Sun, built around a hunk of volcanic rock named la Waca, used as an altar for sacrifices, ceremonies and the purification of dignitaries.  The exterior of the temple is Inca in construction but the earlier structure was built by the Wari (or Huari) civilisation who dominated the region before the Incas conquered them.  

The majority of these temples throughout the Andes were destroyed by the Catholic invaders, stripping them of their gold and silver idols and ceremonial offerings.  Even the stones themselves were removed to be used in the construction of new buildings and often churches.  That evening as we wandered around Cuzco, I found myself wondering where some of the Inca stones we saw had originally come from before they were repurposed.

The next stop on the tour was Ollantaytambo, another hugely impressive Inca settlement.  The agricultural terraces made those in Pisac look tiny but the swarming mass of tourists clambouring about the place lessened its impact.  Our guide gave us a detailed description of how the Incas carved their stones and I would be happy to share it with anyone who asks (ho hum).

The final stop on our trip was the beautiful 17th century church, Chinchero.  Faded frescoes painted with natural dyes adorn the walls and a huge, ornate altar dominates.  The back of the church was destroyed in an earthquake in 1950 but has been painstakingly renovated using the same plaster material and paints.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t take any photographs inside and the light was fading rapidly outside.  

Despite being herded about all day, I did enjoy the excursion and was happy for someone else to make the decisions for the day.  A good night’s sleep and we were ready to take a flight to Lima and the meet the family of friends for an entirely different cultural experience…

Yo ya había tomado. Fue en Brasil el año pasado, en un lugar llamado Alter do Chao. Aquella vez fue increible-sentí amor como nunca, lloré de compasión por mis seres queridos, el mundo me acogió en su ternura. Debido a esto esperaba la segunda oportunidad con una mezcla de gozo y miedo de no colmar mis expectativas.

En Lagunas nos ofrecieron otra vez. La ocasión pintaba bien, tomaríamos despues de nuestro 4 dias en la naturaleza. Luis, nuestro anfitrión en Lagunas nos guió al lugar de la ceremonia. El escenario me desconcertó en el acto. Sentados en unos bancos incómodos, en una pequeña sala lleno de mosquitos, el chaman no nos dijo ni buenos dias, ni buenas tardes, ni quede usted con dios-vamos que no nos dirigió la palabra. Un molesto ruido de generador nos acompañó toda la velada.

 El ritual también me dejó tambien fuera de juego. El chamán bendice con cantos un tabaco, nos sirve la ayahuasca, canta más. Una vez ya te ha “subido” el buen hombre te viene a soplar tabaco en la coronilla, espalda y pecho. Con esto se supone que se anulan los efectos nauseantes de la bebida.

A Peter se le hizo bastante cuesta arriba. Vómitos y deposiciones varias, solo tuvo un rato de viaje. Yo tuve un viaje más largo, pero no llegué ni por asomo los niveles de la primera vez. Besaba el espacio y sonreia pidiendo por favor la gracia de aquella vez. Esta vez tuve muchas visiones, algunas inmensamente bonitas, otras mas ridículas. Parece que el hecho de estar incómodo en ese lugar y pendiente de Peter me distrajo en mi camino.

Lo mejor con diferencia fue el amor y ternura que senti por él. Rememoré un poco que pasó por mis entretelas cuando lo conocí, e hice consciente porque a día de hoy estoy a su lado. Ahí es nada.

Pero como he dicho, esta experiencia con el shaman no fue santo de mi devoción. En mi opinión el shaman enfoca la experiencia a la curación, y cree en agentes externos (espiritus negativos) que debemos eliminar o evitar. No comparto nada de lo anterior. Además el hecho de que no nos hiciera sentir cómodos en el lugar y que no nos explicara nada de nada empeoró la situación.

Nos fuimos del tugurio tambaleandonos, casi huyendo del panorama (había otros paisanos que habían tomado y que comentaban la jugada delante nuestro sin ningún respeto) . Acabé vomitando y defecando horrible tambien, con temblores y un cansancio mortal.

Comparando las dos experiencias con ayahuasca, achaqué los inconvenientes de la segunda a la mala organización. La reputación de la planta como herramienta espiritual no mermó un ápice.

Peter y yo fuimos a Iquitos en un barco que por dos noches y un dia nos tuvo de via crucis por el rio Marañon. Al día siguiente de llegar nos encontramos de casualidad con Federico y Steve, unos conocidos de Sucre. De nuevo la ayahuasca entró a colación-por ese entonces ya nos habíamos percatado de que la bebida se ha hecho muy popular entre los turistas y  convertido en un negocio muy lucrativo para los chamanes de por aquí. Los chicos querían probarla y parecían mejor aconsejados que yo en mi ingesta nº2.

El lunes decidí probar suerte otra vez. La ayahuasca nº3 se realizó en un lugar precioso, en la selva. El chamán, joven, moderno, empático. La experiencia, mejor que la segunda, pero ni por asomo llegué a la conexión de la primera. Instantes de amor por mis amores, pero nada de aquel sentimiento universal. Lloré en instantes por perdidas y despedidas, pero poca compasión. Risitas y bromas visionarias, pero ni rastro de la carcajada continua de gozo sin fondo de la mencionada velada.

Ay ayahuasquita, porqué me niegas tus encantos! Tal vez aquella vez tuve la suerte del principiante,  ausencia de espectativas, que son el origen de todos nuestros males. Quien sabe, quizas tenga la dicha de pasear por sus altas cimas alguna otra vez.

Still, we had three reasons to come here: shopping, getting to Lake Titicaca and Peru and cycling down the ¨World`s Most Dangerous Road¨.

The World`s Most Dangerous Road

An exhilirating descent of 3,500 metres from the snowy mountain above La Paz through cloud forest to the sub-tropical rainforest of Coroico, all in under four hours. At times very scary, you pass dizzying drops and many gravestones of locals and tourists alike who have plunged to their deaths. Yes, I was mad to attempt it but we were in good hands and we did not pass any cars. You can probably understand why I didn`t mention is to my parents first…

If you are thinking of hurtling down this dangerously uneven, haphazard road then I can recommend B`Side Tours.

Shopping

More exhaustine than the bike ride, I`m not sure how well I did, and my only advice is to haggle, haggle, haggle! I think perhaps Domingo found the shopping more exhausting than I did as the very next day the Bolivian belly finally got to him and we had to spend an extra day in the ironically named La Paz.

Lake Titicaca and La Isla Del Sol

The next day, Domingo still felt ill but wanted to leave La Paz so we set off for Copacabana on the shores of Lake Titicaca.  This time the bus journey was by day so we got to see the views as we approached the town.

Lake Titicaca is often described as the world`s highest navigable lake but, according to Lonely Planet, Chile beats that. Titicaca however, is immense and impressive. Copacabana itself is pretty little port town (in parts) with an enormous cathedral.

We settled in to another bleak hostel with no hot water and Domingo began to feel worse, probably brought on by the altitude. We both decided another relaxed day was in order for him so I set off on a boat for La Isla Del Sol.

The Incas believed Isla del Sol was the birthplace of the Sun God and there are supposedly a 180 ruins on this small island. I only actually visited one sight, instead choosing to just sit and look out at the lake. The sound of a flute accompanied me as I sat munching on a sandwich, looking out past the lake to the snow-capped mountains in the distance. The lake is a virulent cobalt and, on the Peruvian side, stretches out to the horizon.  Pigs run about the island as freely as the children do, there being no risk of being run over by a speeding vehicle. The land is harsh yet every possible inch of it seems to be farmed.

The return journey was intensely irritating as was unable to escape listening to a flirtatious conversation between and Israeli and a Polish backpacker. I was so ecstatic to see Domingo at the port again and escape the boredom and discomfort I felt at being a lone traveller, even for just one day! We then set to trying to find the quickest route out of Copacabana and into Peru.  We had had our fill of Bolivia.

Breakfasts

The first stall we discovered was a fruit juice stall manned by a lovely lady keen to encourage us to try every juice on her list. At first I was reticent for the juices in Bolivia are mixed with milk and I`ve never been one for mixing fruit with milk. My first sip of tumbo (like passionfruit) with milk proved me wrong and from then I tried nearly every juice over the course of the month, repeating favourites such as coconut, papaya, passionfruit and, of all things, alfalfa and lime! The same stall also offers the most amazing fruit salads with yogurt, cereal (like sugar puffs).

Our next discovery was the coffee stall on the third floor that also serves pastel de queso (cheese pastry) which I renamed `pastel de aire con queso`as there is more air than cheese. Still tasty though, the pastels are deep fried in oil until they puff up and are served with caster sugar sprinkled over them.

In the last half of the month we ended up just coming for the coffee (nothing to rave about) for we had actually ventured to try the the extravagantly gaudy looking cakes on the ground floor and discovered that they were heavenly creations of light sponge, softly sweet cream and a moist, thin nutty spread. The ladies on the stall got used to us taking the cake up to eat with the coffee and were soon lending us plates and increasing the portion size.

The other stall I have to mention is one of the tojori stalls, manned by a Bolivian diva with a smooth line in banter and a knowing twinkle in her eye. This was the first time I’d come across a Bolivian from the lowland region (Santa Cruz) and the difference in character from the altiplano women was marked. She was warmer, more jovial and less reserved and it was a pleasure to sit at her stall and drink the addictive tojori, even if I could barely manage it after the huge slices of cake. Tojori is a warm drink made of maize, sugar and cinnamon. It is made by cooking the maize in water all night and adding the sugar and cinnamon. It’s thick, not too sweet and contains pieces of soft maize. After leaving Sucre, we tried some in La Paz and it was totally different and not very nice at all… I miss my Sucre Tojori!

Another popular drink in the markets and streets is api. It`s a sweet drink made with purple corn, lemon, sugar, cinnamon and sugar. Neither of us liked it very much but it`s a drink to try if you are in Bolivia. On each of these cafe or tojori and api stalls you will find buñuelos, which resemble mishapen doughnuts served sweet, both plain and scented with anise.

Lunches

The first few days in Sucre we ate our lunches in the market too. Then I was stricken with a stomach bug and spent the next six days barely eating anything. That put an end to our market lunches. This also coincided with our volunteering work up at Hogar Sucre, far up the hill from the market. The closest place to eat lunch was also the most beautiful – Cafe Mirador in Recoleta.

Blessed with beautiful views, the cafe has a lovely garden with tables and deckchairs perfect for whiling away a couple of hours. They serve delicious blended juices (all fruit), humongous omelettes, generous salads and much, much more. It’s perfect for a leisurely lunch but not so good when you are rushing to get back to the orphanage. We tried many techniques to speed lunchtimes up but the staff would not be rushed nor comply to accepting pre-orders. If you have time though, you must, must visit.

Dinner and Drinks

After reading Lonely Planet, you would be forgiven for thinking that the only restaurants in Sucre were along one street off the plaza plus a vegetarian in the other direction. For the sake of completeness, I`ll give a quick rating of some of these eateries before mentioning my absolute most favourite place in Sucre…
Joyride – unavoidable gringo haunt crammed to the rafters with beer-swilling backpackers looking for a Western vibe. Great hot chocolate, terrible coffee and so-so food, it isn`t actually that bad.

Bibliocafe 1 and 2 – overrated gringo bars offering the same menu in each but one bar has live music and the other is cosier. The food is below par but slightly redeemed by its Submarino (chocolate bar added to hot milk). I must applaud them though for hosting a benefit for the orphanage which helped both raise the profile of the Hogar and money for new games too.

La Vieja Bodega – Probably the best proper restaurant offering some traditional Bolivian fare, pasta dishes, very good salads and a great fondue. The atmosphere is classy and comfortable.

Monte Bianco – tiny Italian restaurant run by a very Italian Italian! Its deep red walls are strewn with minature reproduction of classic paintings by the likes of Velazques, Van Eick, Latrek, Monet, Degas and good old Italian rock and ska-punk competes with the occasional salsa music from the bar opposite the courtyard. A limited menu covers 5 pasta dishes, 4 pizzas (all that can be cooked in the oven), a couple of salads and a very tasty tiramisu. The one bottle of wine offered is perfectly drinkable and at 30Bs a bottle is half the price of other Sucre restaurants. Definitely worth a visit.

GRAND PRIZE – Crisalida.

If I ran a bar/cafe than I would want it to be like Crisalida. Arty, relaxed, good music, cheap prices, lovely staff, live acoustic music, film screenings, tasty food (try Naira’s menudito)… I cannot recommend it enough. Vanessa and Naira are fantastic owners and if anyone reading ever happens to pop in, give them our love!

We settled in a cheap hostel called Hostal Potosi, which had an interesting take on hot water, a surfeit of fleas and a far more irritating infestation of Mennonites. To those of you ignorant of the Mennonite clan (as I was prior to meeting them), they are a group of Christian Anabaptist denominations named after Menno Simons (thanks Wikipedia). Committed to pacifism they may be, but friendly they most certainly are not. I am also not a fan of their chorale singing, which can be best described as a caterwauling drone.

We quickly decided to seek volunteering opportunities in Sucre and found a language school (Fox Academy) that both offered teaching opportunities and assitance in securing voluntary placements in local orphanages. At this point, I came down with Bolivian belly which left me bedridden for 5 days and well and truly off my food. Perhaps my eagerness to eat in the bustling market was a little foolhardy.

Feeling better one evening, I went to meet Domingo after his lesson teaching English and found him in conversation with a lively Bristolian named Steph. She too was interested in volunteering and mentioned a project in one of the orphanages to create a new games room for the children. A couple of days later, we popped up to the lovely Mirador Cafe for lunch and ran in to Steph again. This time, she was with Stephen, the project leader who quickly spied that Domingo had a sketchpad with him.

“Looks like we found our artist”.

With the help of others, Stephen had already built a partition wall to create a games room out of the previously cavernous dining room. Now he was in need of artists to paint a mural and help with the rest of the room. Thanks to the sketchbook, Domingo was now the mural designer and art director!

It was decided that the mural should be a jungle scene, with waterfalls and animals so Domingo quickly got to work sketching ideas. He was a little overwhelming to suddenly be tasked with creating an entire mural from scratch but I had faith…

The next day, we turned up at the Orphanage, Hogar Sucre. The orphanage is enormous in terms of space with football courts, a garden and even a horse. It is also very run down and need of a lot of work.

The first day, we joined Steph, Stephen and Marc in painting the walls white as an undercoat. The second day, two other girls joined, Michelle and Sarah, and Domingo began to sketch out a scene on the walls.

From then on, everything slowly began to take shape.

Domingo would sketch out a leaf or a tree and then Sarah or I would then get to work painting it in.

Unfortunately, after a couple of days of painting, we realised it is far more practical to paint your background first before doing fine detail.

Whilst we were busy with the one wall, Stephen and Marc began to construct the raised platform that would act as both the smaller children’s play area and the stage for the otder boys’ bands.

Michelle and Steph soldiered on with painting the other walls, ceilings and began to plan what we could fill the room with.

The mural seemed to then come together quickly. On the left of the wall we created a waterfall, then the jungle with insects, monkeys, parrots… Through the jungle we created a window to the salt flats with a llama and a flamingo to represent the altiplano! Climbing up the right side of the wall and disappearing into the jungle is a giant snake, which also acts a height chart. We then left a space to create a bush whose flowers would be the made up of the childrens hands.

As well as making friends with the other volunteers we also quickly found ourselves a social life in the town itself. Our first week was spent socialising with our Salt Flat friends before they left for pastures new. In our second week we discovered the best bar in Sucre, Crisalida. On our first night there we made friends with a Bolivian-German guy named Samuel who was in Sucre for a year. Soon after, on our second visit we befriended the owners, Naira and Vanessa and formed a strong bond.

The final week and Friday`s deadline for completing the orphanage was looming and there was much work to be done. Stephanie, Michelle, Sarah and Lizeth scoured the markets for paddling pools, balls, material for curtains, balloons etc… Then, Stephanie decided to set herself and the girls the challenge of creating bean bags from scratch.

On the Tuesday, two new volunteers appeared, Lottie and Rosie from Scotland. Casually, we asked them if they could they paint a world map on another wall in time for Friday. Just as casually they said yes and went off to research. I was a doubting Thomas and wondered if they would come back and by 11am the next morning I felt sure I was right. A short while later though, Rosie and Lottie walked in , grabbed some pencils and brushes and somehow managed to create a map of the world surrounded by flags in two days flat, without even seeming to break in to a sweat.

Michelle set to tackling the clouds and no doubt strengthening her arm muscles and Stephanie began to draw the patterns for the beanbags. Everyone was mucking in together and the dining room was a hive of activity. Domingo was asked to create some frames to hang pictures, coats or whatever the children wanted and came up with the idea of cartoon phrases. We set to painting them together on the last day and hung them up of the other two bare walls.

Stephen had done wonders sourcing a tennis table and table football game and Oxfam had donated a truck of toys. With the new floor layed (terribly by the professionals and therefore redone by the caretaker, Marc, Rosie and Lottie) everything could be taken in and set up. At the last minute, Stephanie rushed in the mot amazingly comfortable beanbags and the room was done.

The opening ceremony was great fun with local TV station, press and a radio station which interviewed me without informing me it was live.

The whole ceremony was so emotional and when it came to saying goodbye to the children we found it so hard to leave. Two hours later we were still there, sitting in the smallest boys room with the Orphanage administrator just chatting. Walking out of the orphanage was one of the saddest things I`ve done and I hope one day to go back.

Our last night in Sucre was spent at Naira and Vanessa`s housewarming. It was such a wonderful experience to have made such good friends so quickly that it made it even harder to leave. Not only had we had the most amazing experience in the orphanage and made great friends there but also we had seemingly built a life in the town itself with people we would have to leave behind. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to continue traveling…

Ciudad rodeada de colinitas selváticas. Lo primero que te salta al oído son los mototaxis, híbridos entre motos y

calesas que son el método locomotriz por excelencia de la zona. Aunque solícitas y baratas, sus trucados

motores emiten un ruido que sobrepasa la paciencia humana.

Después de un viaje de 14 horas por carreteras de montaña decidimos tomárnoslo con calma. Al mediodía fuimos a dar una vuelta por el mercado, donde nos agasajaron con lingotazos de los múltiples alcoholes locales presuntamente afrodisíacos, como el uvachado y el rompe calzones.

La atracción turística numero uno de Tarapoto es la catarata de Ahuashiyacu. Las ventajas de ésta entre las muchas otras de la región es su cercanía y su accesibilidad por carretera. El inconveniente (y eso lo supimos mas tarde) es que la carretera en cuestión se encuentra en obras y sólo se abre en ciertas horas y con ciertos permisos. Tuvimos que perder dos mañanas para averiguar eso.

Como alternativa nos propusieron otra catarata, la de Huacamaillo, de mas o menos 20 metros y que queda cerca del pueblo de San Antonio de Cumbaza. El mismo mototaxista que nos llevó hasta el pueblo nos acompañó en el camino para llegar a la catarata, ya que él tampoco la había visto nunca.

Pues que os voy a contar…genial.

Otro día hicimos rafting por el río Mayo. Nos guió un chico muy simpático y profesional.. Chupi lerendi.

De Tarapoto poco más, casi no hay turistas (al menos en estas fechas) la comida regular, aunque ya nos imaginábamos que en la selva no íbamos a comer como en Lima.

Yurimaguas y el trayecto en barco.

Nuestro plan después de Tarapoto consistía en ir en taxi hasta Yurimaguas (2 horas y media) y luego tomar un barco hasta Lagunas, puerta de entrada de la Reserva Pacaya Samiria, nuestro trocito de selva elegido para explorar.

El viernes de madrugada tomamos un taxi hacia Yurimaguas. El taxista nos tuvo una hora dando vueltas por Tarapoto para llenar el taxi. Intentó cobrarnos el doble por ir únicamente 2 pasajeros pero a mí me salió el genio de recién levantado y me negué a pagar un sol más.

Llegué a Yurimaguas mareado por las curvas del camino, aterrado por la manera de conducir del taxista y aplastado por las dos moles humanas que tenía por compañeros de asiento. Todavía no había parado el coche cuando varias cabezas asomaron por la ventana dándonos los buenos días y ofreciéndonos taxi e información.

Por un momento les quise gritar que se me dejaran en paz, pero luego nos dejamos llevar. Un mototaxista sonriente nos explicó los pormenores de viajar en el barco, nos guió por el mercado para comprar lo necesario (comida, tupper ware, cuchara, hamaca, agua). Un señor que nos había abordado a la llegada insistió amablemente en darnos información sobre la Reserva. Finalmente accedimos y así nos acompañó el resto la mañana.

El señor, de nombre Juan Huallaga, se dedica de captar turistas para ACESTUR, una de las asociaciones que organizan tours por la Reserva. Tras proveernos de varias pruebas de su veracidad nos llevó de la manita a un barco y luego a otro ya que presintió que el primero no partiría ese día, pese a que el tripulante aseguraba lo contrario. Al día siguiente comprobaríamos que fue así.

Juan tenía una libreta con las dedicatorias de varios turistas. Insistió en que las leyéramos para ganar nuestra confianza. Mi favorita fue la de un tal Josep María, que explicaba cómo se zafó de Juan para más tarde encontrarselo en el mercado y sucumbir a la comodidad de dejarse guiar. La última frase me sacó una carcajada: “Regategeu-lo tot”.

Seguimos el catalán consejo de Josep María y poco después acordamos viajar al día siguiente con ACESTUR por 80 soles por dia y persona,

El barco. Mi primera experiencia fluvial. La primera vez que viajo en hamaca. La primera también que tengo como compañeros de viaje a vacas y gallinas. Por suerte los animales estaban los suficientemente apartados para que su olor no nos penetrara.

Salvo las 3 horas de retraso el viaje fue muy bonito, con puesta de sol como momento estelar.

Por segundo día consecutivo nuestra jornada empezó en medio de la noche (4 am). Un poco aturdidos por tantos ires y venires llegamos a Lagunas, donde Luis Góngora, el presidente de ACESTUR. Igual de atento si cabe, nos invitó a dormir unas horas en su casa.

Pacaya-Samiria:

Esa misma mañana, sabado 7, empezamos el viaje por el parque. Hemos pasado 4 días subidos en una canoa de 5 metros (son preciosas, hechas de una sola pieza de una madera noble, esbeltas, sencillas y ligeras) con la compañia de nuestros guías Armando y Elmer. Por las noches dormimos en unas casas muy apañadas, comimos no muy mal y siempre fuimos atendidos como princesitas por nuestros guias. Si no preguntaron por nuestro estado mil veces no preguntaron ninguna.

El paisaje es precioso. tuvimos sol, lluvia, tormenta. Descubrimos lo difícil que es pillar a los animales in fraganti, un gesto o ruido de más y ya se han escapado de la vista. Aun así tuvimos la suerte de ver muchos monitos, garzas gigantes, delfines rosados y grises-¡incluso nadamos no muy lejos de unos cuantos!

Una noche fuimos de expedición. Los guías buscaban en la oscuridad los ojos brillantes de los cocodrilos. No hubo demasiada suerte con los bichos, pero la sensación de estar surcando un rio en la selva con la luz de la luna y ensordecidos por los sapos e insectos, fue una suerte en si.

No muchos turistas visitan esta reserva, pese a lo inmensa y rica que es. Otra de las ventajas de este parque es que los mismos guías son los guardaparques. Hacen un arduo trabajo de conservación y recuperación de fauna y flora, como por ejemplo la cría de las tortugas locales, llamadas charapas. Y no reciben un sol del gobierno, todo proviene de ONGs y del dinero de los visitantes. Al enterarme de esto me sentí más feliz todavía de estar aquí y poder ayudar a esta gente.

El martes por la noche fuimos a tomar ayahuasca.Y esta historia me apetece que sea el tema del próximo post.

]]> http://andeandaremos.wordpress.com/2008/06/13/de-tarapoto-a-lagunas/feed/ 1 andeandaremos http://andeandaremos.wordpress.com/2008/06/03/chiclayo/ http://andeandaremos.wordpress.com/2008/06/03/chiclayo/#comments Wed, 04 Jun 2008 01:16:18 +0000 andeandaremos http://andeandaremos.wordpress.com/?p=146 ]]> Chiclayo, fea y ruidosa, el lugar donde nos hemos sentido mas guiris, cientos de personas nos decian “jelou” por la calle, los niños se quedaban embobados observandonos. Nos buscaron un buen numero de chiclayanas para casarnos, y nos dieron a probar comida por la calle.

En Lambayeque, mucho mas bonito, fuimos a visitar dos estupendos museos, el mas afamado de ellos se llama Tumbas Reales del Señor de Sipan. la historia es mas o menos como sigue: unos arqueologos encontraron en los años ochenta una tumba de un ricacho de hace 1700 años con un monton de oro y joyas. Lo interesante para mi de la exposicion es ver como se las vieron y desearon para adecentar lo que encontraron, asi como revivir la euforia que debieron sentir los descubridores. Ademas el museo es precioso.

Peter se empezo a sentir indispuesto y se fue de vuelta a la ciudad. Yo me di una vuelta solito por Tucume, donde se pueden ver un grupo de piramides de adobe desde un mirador (tienes que poner un poco de imaginacion para ver piramides en vez de montañas de tierra)

Poco mas en Chiclayo, ya que Peter siguio malito por un dia y medio. No sufrio demasiado porque en el hostal teniamos tv por cable y se puso tibio de telebasura yanqui. Bueno, algunas cosas no estaban tan mal.

El sabado por la noche nos animamos a salir. El lugar agraciado se llama Mirage y fue muy divertido. La gente bailaba desaforada y nosotros nos unimos como no.

El domingo nos dispusimos a viajar a Tarapoto. 14 horas de viaje, pero no fue tan horrible. Tarapoto ya esta en la selva, aunque rodeado de montañas. Tenemos unas ganas inmensas de explorarlo.

El 21 de mañanita abandonamos este lugar paradisiaco para aterrizar en Lima. Nuestra estancia en esta ciudad estuvo marcada por dos extremos: la aversión hacia la ciudad (tráfico odioso, casi ningún lugar donde caminar tranquilo, polución, taxistas ineptos, influencia de yanquilandia por doquier) y la profunda satisfacción de sentirnos como en casa con Cecilia y Humberto, los padres de mi amiga Camila.

Hemos pasado momentos muy buenos con ellos, a destacar la comida en el club Regatas y la noche del sábado, en la que Cecilia se empleó en la tarea de enseñarnos a jugar buraco.

Con Nico, el otro componente de la familia, fuimos a pasar la primera tarde en Barranco, y el sábado por la noche nos invitó a sumarnos a su pandilla. Karim, su enamorada, nos invitó a una pequeña fiesta en su apartamento, y mas tarde nos fuimos a La Noche, un lugar muy recomendable en Barranco donde bailamos hasta las tantas la música del grupo de chicha amazónica Los Mirlos.

Toda la comida que probamos estaba muy rica; Peter ha disfrutado como un enano con tanto pescado y marisco, ya que en sus tierras inglesas la oferta de frutos del mar no es tan grande. Asimismo se ha enamorado del pisco sour y piensa recrear la receta una vez volvamos.

El jueves fuimos a ver la última de Indiana Jones (era el día del estreno mundial!) y nos reímos de las barbaridades del guión, como que Indi aprendió quechua con Pancho Villa; y que en medio de la selva peruana descubran inscripciones antiguas en lengua maya. Además es casualidad que la aventura transcurra en el Perú!

Una de las cosas que no nos queríamos perder en Lima era el festival de Eurovisión. En un golpe increíble de mala suerte se estropeó el cable diez minutos antes de que empezaran a cantar. Intentamos por internet pero el ordenador apenas se oían las canciones. Al final desistimos de festival e intentamos reconstruir nuestras vidas (no drama!)

El domingo por la noche abandonamos la urbe rumbo a Trujillo. Tal y como nos aconsejaron fuimos a hospedarnos a Huanchaco, un pueblecito sin pena ni gloria, pero para nosotros un relajo para olvidar el trauma visual de Lima. Fuimos a Chan Chan, lo que queda de la mayor ciudad de adobe ever. En la actualidad se parece al contenido de un paquete de galletas danesas tras haber servido de balón en un partido de fútbol. Aun así, la visita fue interesante. Y además, con ese nombre tan simpático, quien se puede negar a visitarlo.

En Trujillo contamos 3 intentos de timo en cuestión de 5 minutos. Aparte de la Plaza de Armas la ciudad es bastante impaseable. volvimos en seguida a Huanchaco y disfrutamos de la orillita del mar medio día más (solo paseo, el agua está helada)

Después de Trujillo la verdad es que no nos quedaba claro que hacer. ¿Seguir por la costa hacia Ecuador? Al final hemos decidido adentrarnos por el norte del Perú hasta la selva, cruzar la frontera de Colombia por Leticia y desde allí volar a Cartagena de Indias. A ver que resulta de este super plan.

Pero el norte del Perú es un martirio para quien viaja por carretera. Cualquier trayecto que en el mapa parece un ratito se convierte en 7 horas de viaje. El ejemplo más jevi que hemos encontrado es Chachapoyas, una capital de provincias. Le habiamos hechado el ojo porque queda de camino y por Kuélap, lo que llaman el Machu Picchu del norte (y tal). Aunque no hemos visto ninguna foto que nos convenciera pero todo el mundo dice que vale la pena.

En el mapa estaba clarísimo cual era el camino más corto. Ir Trujillo-Cajamarca-Chapapoyas. En total quizás 700 km. Por lo que la tarde del martes nos encaminamos a Cajamarca (7 horas por carretera de montaña tortuosa). Ya en el hotel leí en la Lonely que no se nos ocurriera ir Cajamarca-Chachapoyas (20 horas, carretera peligrosa). Que era más aconsejable ir desde Chiclayo (300 km al norte de Trujillo, 3 horas de camino). Después de darme repetidas veces con la guía en la cabeza meditamos el asunto y decidimos volver a la costa hacia Chiclayo. Lo que podía haber sido 3 horas resultó 14 horas. ¡Nunca más!

Cajamarca no estuvo tan mal. Paisaje muy bonito, un poco como la provincia de Girona, 0 turistas. Mucho rollo evangélico-adventista-mormón y como no católico hasta decir amén. “la palabra de Dios” esta presente por doquier.

Fuimos a los Baños del Inca y nos dimos baño en piscina termal y masaje. Todos los males se me fueron y hasta la fecha.

El miércoles por la noche otra vez nos acomodamos en el bus, dirección Chiclayo. A esa altura empezamos a dudar a donde ibamos, de donde veníamos y que planes teníamos. Decidimos no movernos de Chiclayo hasta que nuestros huesos nos den permiso.

At 4090 metres above sea level, Potosi is the world’s highest city and by goodness can you feel it. The alititude means that even walking a few blocks is exhausting. The city is attractive, with many examples of colonial architecture and we managed to visit a couple of the city’s sights, despite our snail pace.

On our second day there, we decided to forego the infamous mine visit and instead opted to catch a bus to a nearby thermal pool, Tarapaya. We hopped on a micro whereupon I was accosted by a frankly terrifying Bolivian lady who seemed intent on using me as entertainment for the journey. Reminiscent of the original She-Devil (not the goddawful Hollywood remake), this lovely lady nearly took up two seats, used my leg as an arm rest, flashed a toothy gold smile and proceded to inform me that ‘Bolivian women are great workers’.

She spent the rest of the journey ‘teaching’ us Quechua words – quite why the Quechua word for ‘Hello’ would dissolve an entire busload of Bolivian into hysterics is beyond me. I soon began to suspect she was taking the proverbial out of us. Thankfully, the driver soon pulled over, telling us Tarapaya was ‘up there, over the ridge. I was relieved to see my new Bolivian paramour was remaining on the bus and bade her a hearty farewell.

We began our ascent up the cliff, wondering whether we were being sent off on a wild goose chase, but Tarapaya was indeed awaiting us. The setting is idyllic: a volcanic crater overlooking a valley with steep rocks at either side.

The place was deserted and, for an hour, we had the crater to ourself. At 18 metres deep in its centre, swimming across was a little scary.

I was glad Domingo only told me afterwards that people had been sucked down and had died.

That afternoon, feeling relaxed, we rejoined Andreja and Benny to catch a very cheap taxi to Sucre, following in the footsteps of Phil, Chloe and Peter. Who knew Domingo and I would end up staying a month…