Traveling Ph.D.

Museo Nacional de Antropologia, Arqueologic y Historia del Peru
Lima, Peru

March 14, 2009: From Puno to Lima, Peru

Dear Grandma,

Today, I went to a wedding in Lima. Obviously, I didn’t know the people who were getting married. And, seeing that I don’t know Spanish, I couldn’t even tell you what the priest was saying. What I can tell you is that priests around the world have one thing in common; they like to hear themselves speak. This guy had one of the longest homilies I’ve ever heard in a Catholic wedding, and Lord knows, I’ve been to enough of them. Yet, there was something quite peaceful about sitting in the church, surrounded by people I didn’t know, with a little dog barking somewhere behind me. I could just sit there, with the intermittent Catholic aerobics (stand, cross yourself, sit, rinse, repeat). No concentration necessary – just embrace the calm.

In retrospect, I’m not quite what the name of the church was or even where it was located, I was so lost by that point. I’m not even sure that the three other people with me would know. We had been on the road since 6 a.m. when we left our hotel in Puno for the airport in Juliaca. We probably should have left earlier, seeing how we pulled up to the airport at the time our plane should have been leaving!

Note: When traveling in South America, never believe the time estimates given by the tour guide. Our guide said it was only 45 minutes to the airport, but it took us over 90 minutes. We got stuck in construction and then the cops pulled the bus over to check the driver’s papers and license. After careful consideration, I recommend that you triple any estimates you are given. For example, plan an hour for a trip that supposed to be 20 minutes. Trust me on this!

Fortunately, our group made up approximately half of the passengers on the plane, so it was held for us. I suspect that the airline folks didn’t want the headache of trying to rebook 28 people onto another flight, especially since we were told that all of the flights from these high altitude cities are in the mornings. We scurried into the airport, paid the airport tax, and rushed through security. Our luggage was checked en masse – the clerk just gave M. the baggage claim tickets for the entire group. I was a little worried that my suitcase would be left on the tarmac, but LAN didn’t let us down. Phew!

Now, this wasn’t the only drama at the airport. We nearly lost Lucy … again. Here we were, running for the plane, plopping in our seats, cramming our backpacks in any space that could be found, when someone said, “Where’s Lucy?” Pretty soon, M.’s wife was shouting down the aisle: “Lucy! Lucy! Where are you?”

I’m sure all of the Japanese tourists on the flight thought we were nuts.

Lucy, apparently, had a fight with the cashier at the airport tax kiosk. Then she had a panic attack. When she finally got onto the plane, the crew had to give her oxygen. Really, it’s a miracle our flight ever left Juliaca.

The Pacific Ocean
Lima, Peru

Unlike the U.S., where you tend to have a hub-and-spur type of flight pattern, our flight actually stopped in Cusco to let people off and take on new people. While we were sitting there, waiting to take off for Lima, we saw a plane that was trying to land. It touched down, but took off again before it ever stopped! It managed to land on its second attempt. I’ve never seen that happen before, but I sure am glad that I wasn’t on that flight because I am sure that the people on that plane were freaking out.

We finally made it to Lima, we grabbed our bags and then made our way to the buses. Our new tour guide, Dante, was going to take us on a tour of the city, but M. intervened so that we had plenty of time at the Museo Nacional de Antropologia, Arqueologic y Historia del Peru. That’s the anthropology, archeology, and natural history museum. We had a huge group, so it was a little problematic fitting us all into the different displays, so after P. and I found water (it was really damned hot at sea level after being up at Lake Titicaca for a few days) I struck out on my own. Some of the displays were a bit, uh, pornographic – and these were the tame ones!

Of course, we didn’t have enough time to really explore the whole museum – our guide told us to consider this a “Peru sampler” – but we had to keep going because we were supposed to have lunch at this horse ranch. Our guide, however, was sneaky and made the driver take us on an abbreviated tour of Lima. We found ourselves driving down the coast so we could look at the Pacific Ocean. At first, the coast was pretty trashy and I mean that literally. All sorts of trash had washed up on shore. Then there were all the mounds of fill dirt because an expressway is going in along the shore. Eventually, though, we found some nice spots along the shore – there was a surfing beach named after Waikiki, there was a dock that reminded me of Daytona Beach, there were people tanning on the shore. The funny thing is that the shore was so rocky that it just couldn’t have been comfortable, flopped down on just a towel!

Pix: Squatters on the hillsides around Lima

The bus eventually turned around and headed out of town towards the ranch. Along the way, we went through miles and miles of squatters’ homes. I wouldn’t characterize them as slums, exactly, because some of the areas were well established. You see, Lima has a population of around 9 million people, four million of which are living in these squats that line the hills. These people came to the city, hoping for a better life: schools for their children (in Peru, students are only required to go to elementary school, so I guess that there aren’t a lot of high schools out in the rural areas) and safety for their families (they were escaping the Shining Path rebels of the 1980s). The squatters worked together to provide their own infrastructure because the government won’t do it – they have built roads, sidewalks, and stairs. It’s a very communal society.

Soon, we found ourselves on the Pan-American Highway, headed towards Los Ficus Casa Hacienda, home of the Peruvian Paso Horse. I’m fairly certain that our driver was lost as one point, but we eventually we drove down a dusty dirt road, through some dubious neighborhoods, and ended up in front of the driveway to the ranch. Our driver tried to get down the driveway, but failed, so the group ended up walking through the dust, past the armed (I think) guards, and into the most amazing oasis. We were welcomed with – what else – pisco sours and an appetizer of French fries as we settled down to watch a horse show. I won’t lie to you. By the time we got there, I was hungry enough to eat a horse, but the show was worth starving through. Those horses were incredible. Seriously, it was like watching a ballet, the horses were so graceful. Afterwards, some of the people on our trip took a turn riding the horses, then we had the best food on the whole trip: organic salad grown on site, three types of potatoes, roasted chicken, and homemade ice cream (vanilla, chocolate, and butterscotch) with fresh strawberries.

After our lunch – which we ate around 4 p.m. – we headed back into the city. This is when the majority of our group went shopping and I ended up sitting through the wedding.

Peruvian Paso Horse
Los Ficus Casa Hacienda, near Lima, Peru

Later, our tour guide tried to feed us dinner, but it ended up being a disaster. We waited forever for the food to come, but all that arrived were our appetizers (avocados stuffed with chicken salad). People were starting to panic about making it back to the airport, so M. made an executive decision. He forced the tour guide to call it a night, leaving the restaurant with all the half-cooked food to deal with.

The food – and the waiters – really were the worst part of this trip.

Unlike our trip to crazy rush to the airport in Juliaca earlier, we made it to the Lima airport with time to spare. That’s a good thing, seeing how it took forever to get through security. First, the guy tried to take away my $10 sunscreen, even though it was 3 ounces. Then, he tried to take away my drop because he couldn’t decide what type of candy it really was. The word licorice didn’t compute. P. finally intervened on my behalf, saying that it was anise. That actually worked and the guard finally let me through. No need to panic though; our flight ended up being delayed for what seemed like hours (but was really only about 50 minutes) while the ground crew changed the tire on our plane.

When we finally got onto the plane, we had more ‘Lucy’-related drama. You see, ‘Lucy’ was supposed to sit next to the woman she fought with earlier this week … but she wouldn’t! Instead of talking to M. or trying to change seats with another person on our trip, she actually went to the stewardess and refused to take her seat. The stewardess nearly put her off the flight, because she was afraid that ‘Lucy’ would do something crazy like try to break a window or open a door.

Incredible, huh?

The rest of our trip was uneventful. Granted the food on the plane smelled like the bathroom was overflowing (I’m not exaggerating – it was that bad!) and the guy next to me hogged all my legroom, but we made it to Houston without incident. ‘Lucy’ didn’t open any doors, she didn’t have another panic attack, she didn’t fight with another passenger. There was one bad moment in the Houston airport when P. got a text message from The Coach saying that her car had been stolen, but fortunately he was wrong. Phew!

Speaking of The Coach … he met me at the airport with my official T&P letter in hand, clean clothes, and hotel reservations. He even had a T&P present for me.

Yeah, it’s a good thing I schlepped that chessboard back from Peru, eh?

Love,
The Traveling Ph.D.

Originally Published: March 26, 2009
The End

Lake Titicaca
The largest lake in South America

March 13, 2009: Floating on Lake Titicaca

Dear Grandma,

Here I sit, curled up on the bed in my hotel room, waiting for this massive storm to pass. My roommate, the Spanish teacher, tells me that I shouldn’t be worried about the storm siren that is wailing loud enough to be heard over the thunder. “After all,” she said, “they don’t have tornadoes in Peru.” What they do have is massive hail. I can hear it slamming into the roof of the atrium two stories down.[1] We’re just lucky that the hail didn’t hit when we were floating around on the lake in the dark, eh?

Wait. Let me start from the beginning.

We got up at the crack of dawn to eat breakfast in our hotel lobby before setting out on a tour of Lake Titicaca. Our guide, bless his heart, must know how snarky Americans can get when they are hungry, because he warned all of us to pack fruit for snacks. I’m prepared: I hauled two boxes of Soyjoy bars because I knew better than to depend on a reliable feeding schedule in South America. Others in my group? Not so smart.

With provisions in hand (snacks, aqua con gas, gingko, Tums, sunscreen, and a healthy supply of drop), I headed out the door of Hotel Casona Plaza to our transportation. Not a bus. Not a taxi cab. Nothing with an engine. Oh no. We were transported to the dock by pedal power! Puno has tricycle taxis which are kind of like the Asian tuk-tuks that you see in the movies. The trikes were lined up, 15 deep, to haul our fat Americans asses to the lake. It’s a good thing we were traveling downhill!

Well, maybe not.

The peddlers decided to race down the hill, which was funny until someone’s backpack went flying out of her cab. A few of the guys came screeching to a halt, but our guy kept going, flying over the railroad tracks [bumpity, bump], across the street, and into the port. Eventually, the whole group was assembled, and we stood around long enough for P. to remind her daughter to put on sunscreen and her son to buy a hat. The lake has a mean reflection, don’t ya’ know

Eventually, we were loaded onto a boat and headed out towards the Uros Islands. Now, the side of the boat said that it was rated for 30 passengers, but there were only 22 lifejackets aboard. Seeing how the water is supposed to be damned cold up here – and “heavy” to swim in – I’m thinking that the jackets probably wouldn’t have been that useful if we all went for a dip. Hypothermia, anyone?

About 30 minutes later, our boat emerged from the reeds and docked next to one of the floating islands. The “reed people” have been living on these floating islands for about 6,000 years, refugees from the Incans. Our guide took great pains to explain how the mats are constructed from the totora plant and – in a modern twist – nylon rope. While the families live in relative simplicity, I was surprised to find solar panels on the island. They just seemed so out of place!

In many ways, our trip seemed a bit invasive. Here we were, white privileged tourists, gawking at the young girl who showed us the pink pom-poms in her hair. We watched as they chewed on the roots of the totora plant. We walking around, staring into the houses and looking at the fish farm in the middle of the island. Hell, we even played with the kitten (who was later tossed onto the roof of a house by a little boy, but that’s beside the point).

It’s a dying culture, I am told.

The population is dwindling. Many of the young people move to Puno and only come back for special occasions. The ones who stay seem to be making their living as fisherman, fish farmers, and artisans. I guess this is the way of the modern world? And yet, some of the islands are off limits to tourists and other outsiders, so maybe the people have a chance to preserve some small portion of their culture.

Christina
A resident of the Uros Islands

Before we left the island, I bought a wall hanging from the young girl. It will have a place of honor in my office as soon as I can figure out how to clear some wall space.

Leaving the island, however, was not as easy as you might imagine. Our boat had engine issues. I’m not mechanical, but someone told me that the solenoid had to be replaced. Now, that made me a little nervous because we were about to embark on a 3 hour journey to Taquile Island. {Insert theme song from Gilligan’s Island here}

I love the water, so a three hour boat ride – against the wind – was pretty fun. I sat on the back of the boat, enjoying the relatively fresh air and the occasional gas fume. Things inside the cabin, however, were not pretty. One of the guys on our tour went down with either altitude or motion sickness, I’m not really sure. What I am sure about is the fact that he looked like he was about to have a heart attack – all pale, clammy, and sweaty. At one point, the guide gave his wife something to wipe his face with (alcohol, perhaps?) and I’m fairly certain that some kind of super-duper altitude sickness drugs were administered. Really, it made my adult-onset asthma-like attack seem mild by comparison.

 Taking the Sheep to Pasture
Taquile Island

Although our guide had mentioned that there were a couple of steep paths on Taquile, you could hear a collective groan come from the boat when we arrived at the island. It’s all about perspective. In the Midwest, most islands are relatively flat. Taquile, on the other hand, was tall. Very tall. Greek island from Mama Mia! tall, but at 14,000 feet. [Sidebar: For the record, there is no way that Meryl Streep belted out a song then ran up the hill to her daughter's wedding without having to stop for breath. No way!]

“Take your time climbing the path,” said the guide.

Yeah, I don’t think he really needed to stipulate that. We were all turtle-like going up that hill. 30 steps. Stop. Take picture. Breathe in the muña, a mint that you crushed in your hands. 30 more steps. Step in sheep poop. Take picture. Breathe in the muña.

You get the picture.

For the record, I was not the last person up the path. Okay, I wasn’t the first, either, but I thought I did fairly well, all things considered. My legs didn’t really hurt. My heart didn’t really race. It was just the damned altitude. Maybe I should have bought one of those Oxishot canisters back in the Cusco airport? By the time I got to the top of the hill, though, it was fairly obvious that some of the other people in the group were having trouble making the climb. Fortunately, no rescue crews were necessary, but it did cause a bit of a problem for the tour guide. You see, we were actually going to climb higher on the island before descending down 500 or so stairs to the boat. That didn’t happen. I’m fairly certain that someone would have keeled over if it had. It’s just too bad that the boat had already moved to the other side of the island, so someone had to go and tell them to come back to the original dock.

I’m really not sure what to say about Taquile except for the fact that we had fish, rice and fries at the restaurant. {Groan} People shopped. I made a little girl cry because I wouldn’t take her picture. Hey, I was out of change, I was tired, I had just paid un sol to pee in the nasty bathroom ever, [2] and she had snot running down her face. Really, she looked like a poster child for infantigo.

God, that makes me sound like such a bitch.

For the record, I do feel bad about the fact that I didn’t give the little girl some money. If I had known how ubiquitous this type of activity was going to be — and in retrospect, I should have known — I would have gotten a roll of soles when I exchanged my traveler’s checks.

So Close, Yet Too Far
You can see Boliva from Taquile Island

The ride back from Taquile Island should have been uneventful and for a while, it was. The four young folks (yes, that includes me!) and P. sat on the top of the boat, talking about a variety of topics, including – of all things – a term paper I wrote on cult weddings when I was in Catholic school. But as the night got darker, the breeze grew colder and we migrated into the cabin. I guess that was a good thing, given the fact that our tour guide saw a police boat on the lake and was going to make everyone cram into the cabin. That probably should have been the first tip that something was amiss.

It seems that we were traveling on a boat that was authorized as a tourist boat. Our captain, in an effort to avoid paying some kind of fee, was running under the radar. Even though it was pitch black out, he didn’t turn on the running lights. When someone asked about it, we were told that the boat had reflective striping and that no one would ram into us!

And then, the boat ran out of gas.

Here we were, drifting along, out of swimming range to Puno. Tension boiling. Complaints flowing. But wait! The captain produced a gas can. We’re not out of gas after all! Of course, he did manage to choke the engine, so it took forever to get the boat started again. And when we arrived back in Puno, he didn’t pull up to the dock. Instead, we had to climb across seven (I counted) boats to get to shore. Hey, that was the easiest thing we did all day and I found it quite amusing. I mean, it was supposed to be an adventure, right? [3]

Love,
The Traveling Ph.D.

Originally Published as: Floating Islands, Sheep Shit, & a 3 Hour Tour
Originally Published on March 24, 2009

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Parrot in Aguas Caliente

March 11, 2009: Aguas Caliente to Cusco

Dear Grandma,

Brace yourself because today was probably the most boring day of the trip, thus far. Although a bunch of folks decided to go back up to Machu Picchu (remember that’s ~$60/person) for a few hours, I decided that my cash was better spent in the marketplace at Aguas Caliente. After all, I’ve been a good little cheapskate so far, but I needed presents for The Coach and The Nephews so I waded into the marketplace with wallet in hand. Well, actually, money pouch around my neck to avoid the pickpockets, but you get the basic idea.

I have to admit that the day didn’t start off the greatest. I mean, I nearly killed myself twice, first by stubbing my toe in the bathroom, then by burning my hand with hot water. The first event was just stupid: the bathroom is so small that you have to stand in the shower to open the door to get out and I wasn’t paying attention. Since I was alone when the F-word came flying out of my mouth, it didn’t really matter. The second event, well … let’s just say that some of the wealthy, old, proper folks got an earful when the hot water spigot didn’t turn off while I was making my coca tea. {Ouchie!}

So, here I am, stubbed toe crammed into my Doc Martins, sucking on my burnt finger, making my way down the street to buy presents. In a fit of stupidity, I bought the heaviest item first — a chess set for The Coach, with little Spanish conquistadors and Incans – and then I had to haul it around all day. Ugh! I nearly dropped it a couple of times, but I managed to get it back to Cusco in once piece [1]. I also bought three scarves: a beautiful blue baby alpaca one for me, a gray alpaca one for my oldest nephew, and a dark blue alpaca one for you. Now, the alpaca wool is a bit scratchy, so you’ll have to wear it with a turtleneck, but it sure is pretty! I also scored a herd of wooden animals to put in my office: an alpaca, a llama, and a vicuña. They are pretty delicate, so I suspect that I’ll have to carry them onto the plane in my purse or else their legs will break [2].

I hate shopping, I really do. I mean, I do like browsing through bookstores and shopping online, but I hate going to stores and dealing with crowds. Shopping in these marketplaces is even worse because I don’t know Spanish and I hate to bargain. I always feel bad trying to make them come down on their price. I mean, I can afford to buy what I want because everything is so ungodly cheap to begin with. The gal who was shopping with me, however, was a different story. Now there’s someone who drives a hard bargain. She would just name a price and if they didn’t match it, she’d walk away. Then, of course, the vendors would go on and on about how much lower they could go, “but lady, that’s only S/.3 for me.” Seeing how one sol is the equivalent of 33 cents/American, you can see how small the profits were – if the vendor was telling the truth, that is.

There’s only so much shopping a girl can do, so after a while B. and I went into a restaurant to have breakfast. We both ordered the “tipical” breakfast, which was odd: tenderloin, potatoes, and rice, all salty as hell. Now, these are meals that The Coach would love, seeing how starch is his favorite food group, but B. and I ended up giving most of our breakfast to the starving mama dog near our hotel. Here’s hoping that all that salt and MSG didn’t cause her milk to curdle. [Sidebar: There was also a rooster running around in the riverfront park across from our hotel.]

Even though the food was nasty, the drinks were great. They brought us coffee strong enough to make hair grow on your chest, but after I added the leche and spooned in some unrefined sugar , it turned out to be quite lovely. They also brought us fresh juice, right out of the blender. My papaya juice was so thick that the straw stood straight up! Apparently Aguas Caliente has a reputation for food poisoning, so drinking that juice might just be the end of me [3].

But then, I like to live dangerously.

We were in Aguas Caliente through lunch (a buffet that included fish, avocados, cold potatoes and these wicked awesome bananas that were only as long as my thumb), then we caught the train to Cusco. It was an elegant train, with fresh flowers on the tables, a snack that included an alpaca finger sandwich, and a sexy, sexy steward. Luckily, I sat at the back of the coach with the only student on the trip and we had a blast. First, a bunch of us bullied her into changing her major. Then I paid the steward to make me a pisco sour so I could watch him shake his ass while he was shaking the drink. A. made like she was going to pinch his butt, but she backed off at the last minute. Later, there was a fashion show where the steward modeled expensive sweaters made from baby alpaca and flirted with our ‘Lucy.’ I thought about TQE the whole time the steward was strutting his stuff, because I just knew that he’d never believe how HOT this guy was. I tried to take a picture, but the camera crapped out. (Blah)

And let’s not forgot the fact that ‘Lucy’ got into a fight with another member of our trip. Now, I didn’t see this fight, but I was told that the other woman’s husband actually had to break them up. Seriously? I don’t understand why people can’t just grow up — especially people who are over the age of 60.

The day ended with a meal and a show in Cusco. Again, we managed to dodge the French fries, but there were a lot of potatoes on the bar. One item actually looked like a sushi roll, only it was made out of mashed potatoes. The weirdest food, however, was the desert. A. and I thought it was some kind of berry cobbler, without the cobbler part. I think that was a decent assumption seeing how it was purple and seeing how we had been fed elderberries on this trip. She asked the waiter and after some severe miscommunication we learned that it was actually some kind of sweet pudding made out of black corn! Like I said, weird.

I can’t really say much about the show because I ended up in a chair with my back to it. I can tell you that the dancers kept dragging people out onto the floor against their will. I can also tell you that the waiters in Peru are rude. Our waiter actually told me that I would have to pay for A.’s drink because he didn’t have change – and I couldn’t argue with him because he snatched my money and left hers on the table. No tip for you, buddy!

Love,
The Traveling Ph.D.

Originally Published: March 22, 2009

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Taken from the Train
Between Ollantaytambo and Aguas Caliente

March 10, 2009: Ollantaytambo to Machu Picchu

Dear Grandma,

This morning, our group left Ollantaytambo in a flurry of activity. After breakfast – sweet potatoes, hot dogs, soupy eggs, elderberry jam, and coca tea – our tour guide had to get 29 people and all of their luggage to the train station. That’s right: luggage. It seems that most people were afraid of leaving their belongings back in Cusco, so the hotel porter had to load up all of these heavy bags in a bicycle-like contraption to haul it down the street. Later in the day, this would be even worse as some of the group left the train to hike on the Inca Trail – and the rest of us were stuck with their baggage.

Americans. Sometimes, we have no common sense.

To summarize: Rush to the station. Grab the tickets. Pull out the passports. Load up the Vistadome. Head through the Sacred Valley. Ignore the announcements and hang out the window to take pictures of the breathtaking views. Lose a few people to the Inca Trail. Arrive in Aguas Caliente, wade through the market, and arrive at the Santuario Hotel.

Machu Picchu
Yeah, we climbed up pretty high for this shot

After a short break at the hotel, our group headed to the bus terminal to go up the mountain to Machu Picchu. I was a hostage to the will of the tour guide, seeing how he had all of the bus tickets and the entry tickets to the park (total cost per person ~ $60). Fortunately, P. saved the day, securing our tickets, and springing me from the group tour. While everyone else was following our tour guide into Machu Picchu, we were enjoying a $33 meal at the hotel just seconds from the entrance to the park. Lima bean salad, curry rice, trout, bread – why is the bread so amazing everywhere except the United States? I think this was the first meal in days were we didn’t have to eat French fries and rice together.

Eventually, we wandered into the park. Actually, we climbed into the park. Yeah, we are idiots. Although there is a nice, easy entrance (3 steps up), we managed to get lost and ended up climbing almost to the top of the park. I’m sure that at some point we were crawling around on illegal stairs, we were that lost.

Let’s just say that it was an Indiana Jones kind of day.

After getting almost to the House of the Guardians, we headed down towards the Temple of the Three Windows where we (inadvertently) caught up with the tour group. That’s right: we ate an entire lunch, climbed way up into the ruins, and still ended up back with the group. Maybe they were moving slow. After all, ‘Lucy’ was hauling around a big black bag of goodies. [Note: This was after our guide told us to leave everything at the hotel except for a raincoat, sunscreen, and a bottle of water.] P. has some seriously mad skills though; she managed to keep us from merging back into the group. Instead, we found an outcrop and sat around for a while, watching the llamas (say: yah-mas) play in the courtyard.

Quizzical Critter
In the courtyard at Machu Picchu

I have to say this: You know how most places don’t live up to the hype? How you get all worked up about going someplace, only to find the reality to be a bit anticlimactic? Well, this is not true of Machu Picchu. This place was beyond my wildest imaginings. You really can’t understand the magnitude of the place until you’ve been there. I mean, I can’t even think about the amount of manpower it took to build this place.

So, we sat there, watching the llamas climb the stairs, watching the clouds swirl around the mountains, watching the tourists march by, and getting bit by some weird little Peruvian equivalent of a chigger. [Note: You should see my legs. I shaved over them when I got home and now I have a bloody mess on my calves. Ouchie!]

Meditation time aside, P and I went our separate ways for a while. I made my way to the back of the site, finding the Ceremonial Rock near the entrance to Waynapicchu. And then, my map reading skills went haywire and I ended up getting a bit lost in the industrial sector of the ruins. Every time I thought I had a path back to the main courtyard, I ended up in one of three places: facing a llama with a mouthful of grass, standing on the ledge of a cliff, or staring out the window of a room in the ruins. At one point, I ended up trapped on a stairway by a tour group that didn’t want to move. Overall, it was pretty fun … and then I came to the staircase that reminded me that I’m not too fond of heights. Those Incan people must have had teensy, tiny feet because my size 8 Doc Martins were pretty long for the stones!

Viscacha, near the Temple of the Condor
At least, a Flickr person said it was a viscacha.
Me? I thought it was a chinchilla.

When we did meet back up, P and I headed down to the Temple of the Condor where we saw the cute little guy above. Now, we thought it was a chinchilla, but I have since been corrected. Apparently, it is a viscacha. [Oh well.] Then we went back to the Temple of the Three Windows because P wanted to wait for her family to return from their seven hour hike on the Inca Trail. We kept staring up at the Guard House, waving at the wrong people. I’m sure they thought they were crazy, especially the one guy who I ended up next to on the bus back to Aguas Caliente!

M and the kids finally finished their hike, but the guards wouldn’t let them into Machu Picchu proper. M was a little more ingenious than the rest of the group, dodging the guards to get down to us, but eventually they caught up with him and we all had to head for the exit. Go figure, eh? You hike four miles in seven hours (that’s how strenuous it is) to get to the place, but then you’re not even allowed to look around!

Later that evening: Back at the hotel, irony rang supreme. Even though we were in Aguas Caliente, the hotel’s supply of hot water was spotty at best. Plus, the shower leaked so much that I had to roll up my pants’ legs just to go to the bathroom. My poor roommate tried to squeegee the gray water down the drain in the middle of the room, but she wasn’t very successful.

I could talk more about the evening, but really, it was predictable. More fries and rice, this time with salty chicken that hardly anyone ate. Someone thought she lost her purse, only to find it hanging on the back of her chair. The hotel had wonderful Pisco sours which helped me to sleep despite the sour muscles in my ass and thighs. One couple had a funny little tiff about a bottle of water which was so similar to the spats that The Coach and I have when we’re on vacation that I almost laughed out loud.

More later,
The Traveling Ph.D.

Originally Published: March 21, 2009