Motorbike Excitement

Our friend Fredy has two motorbikes, and in an act of generosity that surprised me even by the incredibly high standards that Lou and I had experienced in Vilcabamba thus far, lent me the keys to his 4 month old Honda so that we could ride up the valley to Vilcabamba Real to see the sights, based on my obviously insubstantial comments that it had been "about 3 years since I last rode a bike"; try 7 years (and that was for 2 days...)

After a bit of mangling the clutch to get going and a few stalls, we wound our way up the mountain, Lou wisely riding pillion behind Fredy instead of me. My face, according to Lou, set in a grim mask of concentration, I wove the bike around muddy switchbacks occasionally cutting out the engine with my ineptitude, Fredy waiting patiently for me at sporadic points up the hill, seemingly unconcerned with the damage I must have been doing to his engine.

It was all worth it though; the motorbike buzz soon overcame the fear, and I got better at the gear changes. Before long we were zooming along tracks in the back end of nowhere, crossing river fords swollen with rain and dodging languid dogs in little towns as we navigated the rutted and winding streets. Eventually we ended up at a the top of a waterfall at some incredible altitude overlooking a lush mountain pasture being grazed by cows, whose owners were hiding from the driving rain under ponchos, balefully staring at the manifestation of a pending task and chewing coca leaves to delay the inevitable.

Vilcabamba, Peru
20th December 2009

Fun With Plantlife

Ingredients:
Old Man's Beard x1
Camera x1

Vilcabamba, Peru
19th December 2009

The Monthly Shopping Trip

Mule train; if you stand in one spot in Vilcabamba for acoupleof hours, a ton of these will go past,entering the village unladen and leaving as you see, with tarp-wrapped bundles containing sugar, flour and rice (and,occasionally according to our friend Fredy, a few kilos of coca paste intended for dishonourable uses),staplesthat do not existin the far flung corners of the mountain region, and that the incoming drivers trade in exchange for the potatoes that they carry from their fields; cash features in no part of this process.

Stopping one of the drivers, I asked where he was going. "Choquequirau", came the answer. "But that's eight days away!", I responded. "We can do it in three", he replied, before turning and trudging away up the path to the hills (crossing the Inca bridge out of town), beginning his three day walk, the midway point of a six day shopping trip.

Try to remember that next time you throw a strop in Waitrose when you can't get the balsamic vinegar that you were after...

Vilcabamba, Peru
19th December 2009

Ancient Civilization 1, Peruvian Government 0

This is one of the two bridges leading from Huancacaya to the Rosaspata ruins. It's Inca design, stone support pillars holding up a structure of heavy wooden beams and wooden cross struts. It's been outside the community for hundreds of years.

The photo is taken from a big concrete bridge, built in the last 10 years, painted in the blue and white colours that feature on all municipally funded projects. No-one uses the big, expensive concrete bridge. The spanning section is made of sheet metal, supported by thin, springy metal rods,that make it bounce when you walk over it. This means that mule trains, which constitute the majority of passing traffic and form the purpose for such a bridge, can't use it. They use the Inca one next to it.

Vilcabamba, Peru
19th December 2009

A Visit to The Campo; Death To Furry Small Animals

I popped out to the countryside this week to visit a couple of the farmers who are partners in the COCLA cooperative with whom Lou and I are writing a business plan at the moment to try and learn a bit more about the organisation from the producer end of things. Tagging along with a routine trip by two of the techical assistants who work for COCLA training farmers on recent agricultural practice and performing internal organic and fairtrade accreditation inspections, it was an interesting experience to say the least.

I got a chance to look around the farms and see the variety of cash crops grown along their subsistence counterparts, learning in the process about the renovations that were happening to the coffee bushes, some of which were over 40 years old and long due for replacement; a worrying exercise when you consider that a newly planted coffee bush can take anything up to 3 years to get to cherry bearing status, expensive in time and money from plant purchase and loss of income from the replaced plants in the short term. It was interesting to hear about how all the neighbouring farms chipped in to help each other with maintenance and harvesting and the strong sense of solidarity in the campo, and also good to hear that after decades of the farmers having to support themselves solely through self organised cooperatives, the municipality was finally helping out by providing some of the new coffee plants that were due to be used in the renovations. Better late than never...

One fairly interesting sight that I stumbled across was the farm guinea pig collection. These small furry creature seen scuttling around the floor of the farm kitchen are normally exclusively used as family pets to be sacrificed to over zelous children in the UK; not so in Peru. These little blighters are reared for droppings (used in natural fertilizer) and consumption. Yup, they get skinned, split open and roasted instead of cuddled in rural Peru. It's hardly compensation to know that there 'aint much meat on a cuye.

Quillabamba, Peru
16th December 2009

Political Mudslides and Wilderness Walks

On a weekend break from the 'rigours' of working on the business plan, Lou and I headed off to Santa Teresa, the commonly acknowledged 'back door to Machu Picchu', by which punters can walk sections of the Inca Trail and avoid the unpleasent stinging sensation of paying for a train ticket to Aguas Calientes from Cusco. It became clear after hammering around a couple of hairpin bends in a combi why the average mild-mannered tourist would prefer a train ride instead of a front seat view over sheer drops; you'd think after repeated road trips over the Southern highlands Iwould have become accustomed; sadly, no.

Having made it safely to Santa Teresa, we hada quick poke around the town, which apparently was completely destroyed by a huge mudslide in the late 90's, and subsequently rebuilt further up the hill. Overlooking the old site in the base of the valley, we got chatting to a local chap, who filled us in with the details; mercifully only two people died when the whole town was wiped out, but a more serious consequence of the slide was the destruction of the railwayline, which previously had run all the way to Quillabamba. The final stop of significance for the train was now Aguas Calientes, and the various commercial interests held there were preventing the line from being reconstructed to its original destination, thus pooling the vast majority of tourists in Aguas Calientes and leaving the rest of the communities only servicable by road of the kind on which I had just braved my life. Most of these roads are impassable in the wet season (lasting about 3 or 4 months), which can make life in Santa Teresa difficult at times. This is, it turns out, the tip of the iceberg in terms of conflicting political and commercial interests with the needs of the isolated populations of the region...

Political grumbling aside, Lou and I turned our interests to walking to Santa Maria, about 4 hours away and the wrong way down the Inca Trail in terms of reaching Machu Picchu. This suited us just fine for a day trip, and meant that the only people that we had to share the trail with (about 10 people spread over 3 groups) were all headed the other way, leaving us to stomp the base of impressive canyons, swinging brigdes, teetering drops and tiny pathways through picturesque villages without even getting a taste of josting in the crowds that are reputed to flood the trail in peak season.

Santa Teresa, Peru
12th december 2009

My Worst Haircut Ever, For 70p

Having freshly arrived in Quillabamba, I decided that my shaggy hair was suitably unprofessional and decided to dive into a hairdressers across from the local market to sharpen up my act. Pleasently surprised by the price of 3.50 nuevo soles (about 70p) I decided to commit. I sat in the chair and, without warning, my hairdresser launched at my head.

Unperturbed, I decided not to issue any instructions, to see of what the hairdresser was capable. In brief, this consisted of taking random secions of my dry hair off the side of my head, shaving random patches around the back and sides of my head and neck with a cutthroat razor weilded with enthusiasm,before finally drenching my head in water and combing my hair into a style that was decidedly 1950´s, a bit like his.

Lou watched the whole thing from the sidelines, smirking as the masterpiece took shape, before snapping the photo below; a catalogue moment, I'm sure you'll agree. In all fairness the hairdresser and his family (as well as a temporarily assembled audience) were all very sweet, and there's no one by whom I would have rather had my hair mangled.

Quillabamba, Peru
5th December 2009

Quillabamba

After four months (ish) of dossing around through Central Amercia and Peru, it was time to hunt for some work to get involved with, thus following the 'living and working in Latin America' mission statement.

Over the course of the last couple of months or so, it became clear through Lou's contact network that opportunities were available with a big coffee cooperative, COCLA, in the region of La Convencion, an 8 hour bus ride outside of Cusco. Following a couple of very promising meetings with one of the coop directors it was decided that we would assist with the writing of a business plan with the aim of developing the national market for the cooperative's coffee (more about this in later entries) and in the process of writing the plan, factor some continued involvement and payment for ourselves into the scheme of things, assisting the coop with the various skills and experiences that Lou and I had picked up during our time in the UK.

We got straight down to it, meeting the sales manager for Cusco, Sonia, and getting a tour around the various current sales outlets for the coffee, as well as visiting a couple of unversities where COCLA was intent on establishing concessions.

All the meetings and orientation allowed us to stitch together a basic proposal for COCLA for the steps of business planning and beyond, and with this emailed in advance of our journey, we headed for Quillabamba, the headquarters of COCLA, situated in the jungle region of Peru, to commence the first stage of work.

The road was incredible to say the least, climbing to pass at 4,300 m and descending through 3 different climate zones. By the time we rounded the corner in the road that wound along the side of the valley and got our first glimpse of the 'City of Eternal Summer', cold, rainy Cusco seemed like a lifetime away.

Quillabamba, Peru
4th December 2009

Up, Down and Around in The Sacred Valley

With the parents gone, Lou and I have joined forces once again, heading out for the archeological site of Pisac. Passing fairly rapidly through the Sunday market that purveys a range of near identical handicrafts at each stall, we wheezed up the selection of terraces that consistute the bottom of the site, expecting to reach the top...about five or six times.

The site was huge, winding its way around the hillsides that look down into the sacred valley, of which the settlement was once the capital city. Dizzying drops looked down from impossibly constructed buildings, clinging to sheer rockfaces. The site was spectacular and endless, a truely pleasant surprise, even if my legs needed a couple of days afterwards to ride out the beating they took.

Pisac, Peru
30th November 2009

Family Presence Drops by 66% in Peru

Sadly had to say goodbye to the folks today as they headed in a taxi off to Cusco airport. We've had a lovely month together bumbling around various bits of Peru, giving me a great opportunity to get to know a selection of the wide variety of the regions of desert, mountains and jungle that make up the country.

Cusco, Peru
26th November 2009

Top Notch Riding

Pa and I, deciding that the exhaust fumes and constant touted offers of massages, photos with llamas, cheap jewellery and expensive knitware were not really our bag, decided to escape to the countryside on a mountin biking excursion; this turned out to be a fantastic decision.

Renting a couple of squeaky but funcional front suspension bikes, we muddled around the centre until we found the bus terminal from which transport to the widely acknowledged 'mountain biking bit' of the region departed. Cheerfully tossing our bikes on the top of the next departing combi we eventually left the bus at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere by the reccommendation of the bus ayudante and pointed our wheels in the direction of the most rural looking exit.


Thus followed a four hour epic that passed mirror calm lakes supporting reed boat fishermen, tiny adobe villages, sweaty breathless climbs to bitterly cold ridges, fast downhill curves and long traverses across the bases of huge natural bowls in which we seemed to be the only forms of life amidst the vastness of nature.
Eventually sporadic directions from locals led us down a gravelly, sheer switchback to the salt pans of Salineras, hidden in the crook of a valley. After marvelling in a slightly exhausted way we proceeded through a gate down a narrow dirt track that clung to the side of the hills overlooking a dizzying drop and decended into a technical section of rocky path that spat us out at the bottom of the valley, a languid cycle along the river and onto the paved highway to Urubamba, where the bus to drag us back up the valley to Cusco awaited.

In our own way, we'd bumped into the local mountain biking scene, seeing for the first time in hours a selection of mud-dusted bikers, all who had obviously enjoyed picking their own lines down the valley.

Great fun, and I'll be sure to investigate more options in the Sacred Valley if I end up spending more time in Cusco.

Cusco, Peru
24th November 2009

MISSING: Have Seen This Person?

Height: Approx. 6ft
Weight: Approx. 75kg
Age: 36
Description: Shoulder length hair, beard, brilliant incandescence surrounding head
Clothing: Long blue, red and gold robes
Occupation: Saviour of Humanity
Last Known Location: Huancayo Central Plaza

We would greatly appreciate any information on recent sightings of The Messiah (excluding those of his form in bread/rock walls/clouds etc.), who disappeared in the middle of a crowded Plaza de Armas a couple of weeks ago during the town parades. His mother is very worried because even though she acknowledges he is a very naughty boy he would never wander off for this long.

Any information can be emailed to i_once_was_lost@hotmail.co.uk. Bless you for your kindness.

Cuzco, Peru
22nd November 2009

Elementary Level Civil Unrest

Its national children's day in Peru, and what better way to celebrate than to get the little tykes out parading the streets and waving placards with numerous messages about respecting children's rights and such. Heartening indeed that a spirit of voicing political opinion in a very public way is fostered in Peruvians from a young age, much better than the training to sit in a corner and grumble quietly that we Brits seem to have cultivated.

Cuzco, Peru
20th November 2009

All For Naught

Wandering around the broken-tooth fortifications of Saqsaywaman outisde Cuzco with Dad and reading about how the Spaniards had torn down the impossibly engineered stone walls to build their own houses, Dad mentioned a poem that sprang to mind about the inevitable ravaging of time on empires and the men who founded them, no matter how mighty they once were. After a short bit of internet digging the poem was found, and by crikey it's a good one.

"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Cuzco, Peru
20th November 2009

Machu Picchu, Almost In Glorius Technicolour

After a groggy bus ride at six o'clock in the morning up the winding switchbacks leading to the entrance gate which I pass with little delay, I round the corner along the paved entrance to the breathtaking wonder of the world that is the Lost City of The Incas, Machu Picchu.

Confronted by astounding stone terraces 2000 metres above the river Urubamba that froths and churns and backed by the iconic image of the imposing mountain of Wayna Picchu, I take out my camera to capture the moment. Flicking the lens cover open, I position the jaw dropping landscape in the viewfinder and press the shutter.

Beeeeeeep. Battery empty.

Below is the last image that was taken on the dying battery, unaware of it's impending end; a worthwhile shot in the central plaza of the pathologically ugly Aguas Calientes, posing with a tacky Inca statue. A fine alternative, I'm sure you'll agree, to world class ancient mountaintop monuments.

Aguas Calientes, Peru
17th November 2009

A Temporary Agreement With Death

The woman in the seat next to me jerks awake as all four wheels of the bus skid to a halt over the dusty earth road, coming to a stop inches away from the radiator grille of a large blue truck that has performed the same procedure in the opposite direction around the blind bend that hugs the cliff face. Glancing out of the window, the tyres of our vehicle have drifted within inches of the crumbling outside edge of the road that drops away vertically 150 metres to the tumbling river at the bottom of the valley.

An elderly lady lets fly with a screeching tirade of obscenity at the driver, opening the partition between the passengers and the cab, making sure that she will be heard. I can't say I blame her; for the last hour the bus has been flung with incresing optimism around such corners, seeming from my window seat vantage point on the side of the unprotected drop that we are launcing out into space, destination riverbed.

Over the course of the bus ride between Huancayo and Ayacucho I have been, without doubt, about as terrified as possible at the prospect of imminent death on the high, twisting single track dirt road, punctuated by passing places which allow vehicles to knock wing-mirrors as they pass, the outside vehicle teetering on the edge. Prior to leaving Huancayo all conversation pertaining to the route with locals was met with sobering admissions that the journey was very dangerous and buses were frequently lost, but as it was at least an hour quicker than the higher, safer alternative path it was accepted as the choice of the local bus company.

Staring like a shell shocked war veteren into the distance in the safety of a bus stop in a town beyond the mountain pass, a delay was attributed to the large pile of rocks that the ayudantes unloaded from the rear luggage locker below the passenger compartment, presumably to stop the back wheels skidding out over the precipice on the corners; a retrospectively almost reassuring measure.

Ayacucho, Peru

10th November 2009

Who's A Pretty Boy Then?

Huancayo, Peru
8th November 2009

Getting High in Trains

Rocking gently out of Lima, the classic train route to Huancayo crawls steadily up stunning mountain scenery along a narrow gauge overlooking precipitous drops.

Options are for the "classic" (re: cramped and uncomfortable) or "tourist" (reclining seats, glass carriage roofs, bar inhabited by girating Peruvian college tourism students etc.) cars, guess which one I ended up in. Almost worth the saving of three or four quid...but not quite.

Topping out at over 15,000 feet above sea level, the brief exit from the train permitted by the staff in order to take photos of the second highest railway station in the world (damn those ambitious Chinese) is a slightly light-headed affair, feeling throughly slapped around by the altitude.

Huancayo, Peru

7th November 2009

A Spot Of Culture

Museums. The domain of childhood boredom and monotony. Not so the National Museum in Lima; battles, alliances, empires, sacrifices, far flung trading routes and the fabric and intracacies of society all pass before you as you wander the halls. I suppose I've grown into the concept of impressive displayed artefacts woven into a story that defines our best guess at a long gone civilization.

Especially when the civilization makes ceramics depicting what Bill Clinton could only describe as "lewd acts"; it's great to know that as long ago as 2500 years they were getting busy with the kind of things that you wouldn't chat to your parents about over dinner. Or, in fact, ever.

Lima, Peru
4th November 2009

Parents and Plans

The long anticipated arrival of the parents has finally happened; after numerous twists, turns and changes of plan we've all managed to land in the same city with the intention of spending the next month together bumbling around Peru while a job opportunity that I'm chasing up near Cuzco simmers with typical Latin American time frames.

Relaxation is the watchword; we'll be spending a couple of days around Lima before heading to the impressive coastal town of Paracas to lounge around for a bit, followed by a jaunt up the railway to Huancayo before somehow getting to Cuzco to help Ma realise her dream of visiting Machu Picchu. There will doubtless be other bigs and bobs; as plans go it's a simple one, but that's how we like it.

It's great to see The Olds again after a 10 month dry spell, and with so much happening for us all since I took my leave of Blighty in January there's a lot of catching up to do, as well as consuming the copious quantity of home-made flapjacks smuggled through customs.

Lima, Peru
27th October 2009