Saturday, November 9th, 2013
I was picked up at 3am this morning to kick off a
3-day/2-night tour of the Colca Canyon outside of Arequipa. Colca Canyon is
billed as being twice as deep as the Grand Canyon and scores of people rave
about the experience, so I figured it’s a bit of a no-brainer for me. There
were both 2-day or 3-day options, and virtually every tour operator in Arequipa
was offering the same thing… which meant they were actually all booking for the
same actual tour. Unfortunately, the few companies I could find that ran their
own bona-fide tours did not have a tour I could join for a couple more so I was
stuck joining the masses.
After a 4-hour drowsy bus ride to Chivay, a small town on
the outskirts of the canyon, we were escorted into a dining room to have the
most basic “breakfast” in the world – bread, butter, and a cup of orange juice.
This simple breakfast is unbelievably common in hotels/hostels, but I figured
if they were going through the trouble of taking us to a dining room they’d at
least have something halfway decent. But then I remembered that I paid the
equivalent of $50 for a 3-day trip inclusive of room and board… breakfast was
kinda destined to be crappy.
After our breakfast munchies, we went to an overlook point
with hundreds of other tourists to try and view condors. Apparently, condors
are frequently found hovering towards the top of the canyon in the morning
hours, so we would effectively be looking down on them. I got one halfway
decent glimpse at a condor. Later I realized just how ugly these creatures
actually are, so I’m actually somewhat glad I didn’t get a better look.
Next, we are essentially dumped off on the side of a road to
start our hike. but because I’m one of the few on a 3D/2N trip, I’m traded to
another group because all the people I’m with are on 2D/1N trip… that’s too bad
because I had found a handful of friendly people that I was looking forward to conversing
with more.
My new guide is Chaco, and he doesn’t speak a lick of
anything other than Spanish. This is especially splendid since our group
consists of a Polish couple who speaks zero Spanish, a French couple who speaks
very little Spanish or English, a Swiss couple who took a week of Spanish
classes a few months ago, a French girl who is decent at Spanish but speaks no
English, and then measly old me. Early on, I think Chaco decided that I was the
translator for the entire group so I was thrilled with the added pressure. Many
in our group were feeling a bit gypped because the guides for the other groups
were very talkative and informative, whereas Chaco was just a friendly old man
wearing a backpack signaling for us to follow him.
We spent the next 4 hours walking downhill – mostly on rocky
switchbacks. I was wishing from the beginning that I had brought my walking
sticks since they would have been unbelievably helpful here. Instead, the tour
agency insisted that they would provide them and the original guide at 3am told
me not to bring mine. While I managed to snag one of their crappy sticks, I
learned another lesson to always bring my own if I have them (this applies to
more than just walking sticks).
After a few hours, we managed to get to the bottom of the
valley and cross a bridge over the river to get to the other side. A short
steep uphill climb later and we were at our resting stop for that evening. All
of the other groups also stopped here to have a simple lunch, but the 2D/1N
groups continued to hike after lunch whereas our group just got to relax. Given
the makeup of this group, I kinda felt like an oddball and ended up reading a
book for much of the afternoon.
The valley itself is very pretty, but fell short of
expectations for me. Since it’s supposed be twice as deep as the Grand Canyon,
I kinda expected a massive open pit… instead, this is really just a deep
crevice. I’m guessing that the “twice as deep” comes from measuring the highest
ridge to the lowest point in the valley – this clearly is not where we were at
the moment otherwise it should have easily taken us twice as long to descend.
And since I hadn’t put my knee brace on and I had only one crappy walking stick,
I was just fine with not having more canyon to descend.
Since the French girl and I were the only singles, we were
lumped together to share a room. Don’t get your hopes up – there were 6 single
beds in that particular room and most of the empties were between us. She kinda
had the pouty French look about her anyway – you know, the one that makes men
do anything they can to please women, usually against the best interests of the
dude? Yeah, that one. I learned about it in the movie, French Kiss.
Sunday, November 10th, 2013
This morning after a quick breakfast, we got moving, but not
before I could snap a picture of Chaco standing next to the kitchen building,
complete with a very interesting calendar. Mind you, the only person who
actually lives her is the cook, who is an elderly Indigenous Peruvian lady who
is probably well into her 60s or 70s. It’s clearly a very different world.
Our hike today was pretty short, although we had no idea
since communications with Chaco were a bit limited. I like Chaco, though, so
don’t get me wrong. It’s just that we didn’t talk much. Our goal was to travel
a bit down the crevice to an oasis a few hours away. This required walking both
downhill and uphill, including a particularly mean stretch of uphill for 20
minutes. In the grand scheme of things though, it was a cakewalk. The
interesting thing we learned is that the locals have been able to harness the
mountain’s natural water but only in certain areas. So we often saw one side of
the valley with beautiful expanses of green & farmland, and the other side
of the valley was barren. It was really quite striking.
After a bit, we reached a spot where we could finally see
the oasis. I don’t think any of us were really prepared for the oasis – we
figured they called it that because they had nothing better to call it. But in
fact, this was a ridiculously gorgeous plot of land, replete with sparkling
blue swimming pools and palm trees and flower beds and you name it. Wow. We
were all thrilled to get to spend an entire afternoon doing nothing here. As soon
as we could unload our bags into the rather sparse and basic guest rooms they
had for us, everyone was in the pool.
I learned a lot more about my fellow travelers today. The
Polish couple (Ana and Mario) have been traveling for almost a year and will get
married in May. Ana reminds me of a younger pre-plasticized Meg Ryan, who was
for many years a staple in my top 5. Mario works as a production planner for a
small Polish sweets company. The French couple is only traveling for a month –
in France, you can declare as a couple without actually getting married, it’s a
level of relationship between single and married and has a different set of
legal ramifications. The fellow also works at the La Defense complex, which I
mentioned to him was probably my favorite spot in Paris some 18-years ago when
I spent half of my senior year spring break there.
The Swiss couple are travelling for about 5 months as well,
and they are only a little more than a month through. Their rough itinerary
matches mine, but they are moving a bit quicker, having covered Ecuador and
northern Peru as well. And the single French girl, Nathalie, spent the last 3
months doing volunteer work outside of Cusco and will return there after this
trip. She hasn’t been able to see much of South America since she works from
Monday through Friday.
A few hours later, another group of travelers came to the
oasis as well, and suddenly we had to share the pool. We quickly realized that
this group had taken a 2D/1N trip that left early this morning, and we were
immediately thankful that we had done 3D/2N. These folks would only enjoy the
oasis for an hour or so before the sun set and the water got too cold.
Monday, November 11th, 2013
We woke up really early this morning to get a headstart on
the long uphill climb we had in front of us back to the ridge. In the previous
days, Nathalie was generally many minutes behind the rest of us, so Chaco was
really concerned she wouldn’t make it and kept suggesting that she pay for a
mule to ride up the trail on so that the group didn’t get too far behind
waiting for her. She kept declining.
I really struggled for the first 20 minutes… stopping quite
a bit for air and water, and Ana seemed to be the same boat. But it seems the
muscles just need to warm up and once that’s done, it’s much easier. I cruised
on slow speed for the rest of the climb, following the same rules I figured out
from the Choquequirao trek. Nathalie was basically doing the same and we were
generally within 50 ft of one another. The French couple and Swiss couple were
a bit of speedsters and it didn’t take long before we couldn’t even see them
anymore. Ana, on the other hand, struggled much of the way and stopped
frequently, so Nathalie was definitely not the weakest link.
After about 2 ½ hours, we made it to the top. The speedsters
had been waiting around for us for almost 20 minutes. I think they may have
been running. I blame my old age. J
After an unnecessarily long breakfast break, we went in
search of our transport so that we could get going back to Arequipa. We had a
few stops to make first though. The first was a small village with an old timey
neat looking cathedral in it. And there were a number of locals with eagles. I
grabbed a few pictures, before noticing the ropes tied to a leg – it made me wonder
if they are trained or if they are just captured. I stopped taking pictures. It
would be a shame for such a majestic creature to no longer do what it’s best at
doing.
Soon after we were on the road, and then we were on the side of the road. We had a flat tire (#2 for my overall trip). The next stop was at a local hot springs where many of us
paid a small fee to hop in. With the long uphill hike, the hot water felt
really good against the muscles. In all honesty, I think I actually liked the
cold shower even better.
After a quick buffet lunch in Chivay (with really good
ceviche), we had a 4 hour drive back to Arequipa. I was a bit tired, so it was
a low key evening. I found a pizza place that looked good, so I sat down and
had a nice little conversation with the owner until my pie came out. I’m
getting reasonably good at this, provided that whomever I’m speaking with talks
clearly and not too fast. Unfortunately that can be a really tall order. I’m
nowhere near being able to follow along with Telemundo.
Tuesday, November 12th, 2013
I woke up this morning without much of an idea on what I
wanted to do today. After looking a bit on the internet, I found some really
good reviews about a cooking school – I checked the address and it didn’t seem
to be far from where I was at, so off I went.
I walked for about 90 minutes through what, at times, seemed
to be less than stellar neighborhoods. But it was morning and there was traffic
around, so I kept my head down and tried to look like I belonged despite my
very different clothes and the camera slung around my shoulder. And when I
realized that the address I had written down didn’t exist, I walked back to the
hostel, defeated.
At the hostel, I asked the lady at reception about the
cooking school. One quick phone call later and she confirmed that the class for
today had already begun and that I’d have to wait until tomorrow or Thursday.
You could say that I felt a bit silly.
So I figured I’d do the next best thing – take a tour of the
convent in town. I don’t remember a lot of the stats about the convent but it
was particularly impressive because it was like a miniature city inside a set
of walls shielding it from the rest of the city. At one point, there were
hundreds of nuns and wannabe nuns (technically called “novices”) who lived in
the complex, dedicated to a life of contemplation on Christ. I was a bit
confused. I can’t say that I understand what the point of contemplating on
Christ is if you are not able to then act and serve as Jesus did, but I’m
guessing that I’m missing the point. After all, I didn’t pay for a guide.
There was clearly a hierarchy within the convent though – some
of the cells (their word, not mine) that the nuns lived in were quite small
while others seemed to be well bigger than an average New York City apartment
with multiple rooms and a full kitchen.
For dinner, I was craving something different and came upon
just what the doctor ordered – an Argentinian steakhouse. It was a bit early,
but I was hungry so I walked in and was quickly taken aback by the completely
empty dining room and obnoxiously loud music. I sat down and noticed that the
two waiters were consciously trying to ignore me. One finally came by and
dropped off a menu, and then returned 10 minutes later to take my order. I
asked for a filet. Five minutes later, he comes back and tells me that they
don’t have any filet. I’m not quite sure how an Argentinian steakhouse manages
to run out of steak at 6pm, but I guess anything is possible. I left and went
right next door to the very cheap and very local pollo a la brasa joint
(roasted chicken). I had a quarter roasted chicken with fries and salad and chicken-part
soup (there was a chicken foot and what I can only assume to be kidneys in
there) for about $3 coupled with an extremely friendly and attentive owner who
seemed thrilled to have an actual tourist in his restaurant in addition to the
plethora of locals. Take that, Argentinian steakhouse snobs.
On the way back to the hostel, I stopped back by the main
square and my jaw dropped. I mentioned before that the city is quite stunning –
that was when I saw it during the day time. At night time, the white volcanic
rock (sillar) that the buildings are constructed with seem to glow. Wow. I
briefly contemplated changing my travel plans so that I could sit and stare,
but then I remembered that I had a lot of ground yet to cover. I made my way
back to the hostel, gathered my bags and grabbed a taxi to the bus station
where I boarded an overnight bus to the town of Puno.
Wednesday, November 13th, 2013
The overnight bus ride was short, even though it didn’t
leave for about an hour beyond the scheduled departure time. I arrived at the
Marlon’s House hostel in Puno at about 4am and the schmuck made me sleep on a
couch. I had booked a one-day trip to go sightseeing on Lake Titicaca that
leaves at 7am, so it didn’t make sense to pay for a full night for less than 3
hours. Yeah, I know he’s in full right for not letting me in a room, but I
think he’s still a schmuck. It wouldn’t have cost them a thing – they were
nowhere near full.
At 7am, I loaded up with about 12 of my closest non-friends
for a quick jaunt to the dock. From there, we all boarded a boat that reeked of
gas fumes with another van-load of people. I was one of the last people on the
boat, so I got to sit up front on an awkwardly positioned seat facing left.
Lake Titicaca (go ahead and get your laughs out now) is the
highest navigable lake in the world at 3800m (12,500ft) and forms part of the
border between Peru and Bolivia. It was named by the Aymara Indians and means
Puma Rock, or something like that. And while confirming some of these details
on Wikipedia, I learned that one of the tributaries from this lake ends up in
Lake Poopo in Bolivia. Recommence childish snickering please.
The boat took about 2 hours to motor a few kilometers out
and get to the Uros Islands. These floating islands are man-made by the Uros
Indians, who build them out of reeds and they live on them and have been for
centuries. In fact, some believe that this is the oldest community in all of
South America. There’s about 60 islands in all with a current population of
about 2000 people. They rotate which islands have tourists come out to them
each day so that it’s not overload for any given group of people. On the island
we docked on, there were 7 families with about 25 people.
Historically, the Uros people subsisted on a fish diet along
with some crops grown/traded on the islands, but apparently the fish population
is dying off so they are increasingly dependent on tourism. This struck me as
not being very sustainable at all, despite the claims that the Uros people are
trying to preserve their culture. My guess is that the older generation doesn’t
know what to do and has had to turn to tourism, whereas the younger generation
that is being educated in schools will ultimately decide to go live elsewhere.
It’s sad in a sense, but given the food source availability, there’s not much
other alternative.
Besides, you could see them “adapting” to new world
technologies in multiple ways. There were at least two solar panels per island
to provide them with light at night, and in some of the huts, you could clearly
see plastic goods and toys. Oddly enough, I spotted a kid’s plastic tricycle –
I’m not sure where that particular child was planning to ride to on a 50 x 50
floating island.
The next stop was an actual island called Taquile, not
Tequila Island unfortunately, as this would have rocketed their prospects for
becoming a party spot in the vein of Cancun and Ibiza and the like. Taquile is
the second largest island in the lake and this community has their own culture
and is large enough that it seems that they will be able to preserve it. One of
the things that struck me as interesting is that they rotate the tour groups
around to all the restaurants on the island and all of the restaurants serve
the same food because they believe that competition is a bad thing. I found
that refreshing.
The island is indeed quite large. We spent the first 30
minutes hiking up to the main square – no small feat since we were starting
from quite a high altitude to begin with. Again, the first 5-10 minutes were a
bit difficult, but after that it was smooth sailing. It was a nice picturesque
walk on the island and I quite liked it. Unfortunately, I didn’t really have
anyone to talk with – I think on 1-day trips, people generally don’t see a need
to meet or talk to other people, since it’s so short. I may have mentioned this
already, I’m not sure. I only had one short conversation with a lady from Lima
who was on vacation with her mother from Arequipa, and that was basically it. I’m
often not much of an extrovert, especially when I’m not in a situation where I “own
the room”, but that’s a discussion for me and my psychiatrist.
Lunch was either an omelet or a fish. Neither option was
appetizing, so I took the fish. And it was a whole fish, as I expected, so I
got to pick at the meat and attempt to avoid the tiny bones and the skin. It
wasn’t half bad – I think I’m getting used to this whole idea of eating fish. I
think the thing it boils down to is just how fresh the fish is – if it doesn’t
taste fishy, I kinda like it. Strange way to put it, I know, but it’s true.
That’s why I love most sushi. Except eel. That’s just creepy. And those strange
large fish eggs. Eww.
After our late lunch, we got back on the boat for an
excruciatingly long 4 hour boat ride back to Puno. Seriously, they’ve got to be
able to figure out how to attach a stronger motor to these dang boats. This was
pitiful. I think I could have swam there faster. But at least it gave me the
opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep.
Puno as a town was a total bust, and I knew that coming in.
So I planned all along to only stay one night and leave the next day. The next
day couldn’t come fast enough. For dinner, I went to a local spot and had more
pollo a la brasa. At this spot, the quarter chicken also came with mystery
chicken meat/foot soup and a salad, if you can call a few slices of cucumber
and tomato a salad. Maybe they call them continental salads.
Thursday, November 14th, 2013
I got up early again this morning, but this time to get to
the bus station to catch a bus to Copacabana. No, not the one in Rio de Janeiro,
because that would seriously be one long-ass bus ride… probably close to two
weeks if I had to guess. This is Copacabana in Bolivia, which interestingly enough
is a beachside town… well, as beachside as you can get in a land-locked country
like Bolivia. Copacabana is beach side to the Bolivian Lake Titicaca.
The bus ride was pretty quick, only about 3.5 hours, but we
had to cross the border first. Things did not go so smoothly.
First, we had to go to the Peruvian police station so that
they could approve us each individually leaving – I guess they were comparing
our names to criminal database or something. This wasn’t a problem and went
quickly because we were one of the first buses that morning. Next was Peruvian
migration – apparently when I entered the country, they only put me in as
staying for 20 days and I’ve now been here for 34 days. So, they made me pay
$24 USD as a penalty and then I had to fill out an additional set of paperwork
& get some photocopies to return to them… all the while without being
clearly told what was going on. I guess I can’t blame the poor fellow – there was
just one guy trying to handle everyone, which is really quite mildly
unreasonable.
After this was done, we each had to walk 100 meters across
the border into Bolivia to get checked-in. This was very straight-forward for
most, but not me. Since I’m US citizen, dozens of countries have a reciprocity fee
to offset the pain-in-the-butt and high expense our country requires of their
citizens. Net: if the US charges a Bolivian $135 to get an entry visa to the
US, then by golly Bolivia is going to charge an US citizen $135 to enter their
country… even if it’s free for everyone else. I can’t say that I blame them,
but unfortunately the brunt of this pain ends up on the shoulders of a select
few US citizens from every one of these countries – the ones who travel. So I’m
getting potentially triple-whammied on this trip from Bolivia, Chile, and
Argentina. I knew this in advance though, so I knew what I was getting into.
After forking over $135 in USD and getting even more
photocopies for whatever photocopy-eating filing cabinet they have over there, I
got to get back on the bus, which was allowed to cross with our luggage. Yep –
they didn’t care about checking the luggage out. In fact, there really wasn’t
much stopping someone from just walking over the border and not checking out at
either border patrol. In fact, I think one German guy got so fed up with the
Peruvian border control that he did exactly that. I guess I could have just
done the same, in retrospect – it would have saved me $24 at least, but then I’d
be on Peru’s most wanted list or something like that.
Once the bus arrived at Copacabana, I overheard a couple
next to me on the bus say that they were going to skip staying at Copacabana
and immediately head over to Isla del Sol, which is the largest island in Lake
Titicaca. After surveying the town, which at the moment appeared to be a single
street of restaurants and hostels, I figured I’d join them. At the pier, we
bought tickets to go to Challapampa, the town on the less touristy north side
of the island. I had done no research on the island, so it sounded good to me.
After a quick lunch at one of the aforementioned
single-street restaurants, I learned that Dan is British and Barbara is Czech
and they live in Prague in the Czech Republic. Even better, they are currently on
their honeymoon on a month-long vacation in Ecuador, Peru, and ever-so-briefly
Bolivia. I apologized profusely for intruding on their honeymoon, and they
insisted that they were happy to have someone else to talk to for a bit. Ummm…
okay.
It took between 2-3 hours by boat to get to the island.
These guys apparently figured out how to actually propel a boat in a lake
because we were moving along at a decent pace, unlike the experience in Puno.
Not only that, they had two motors on the back of the boat and basically the
boat operator only bothered steering one of them… with his foot. Hey, whatever
works.
On the boat, I learned that Dan works as a university
teacher in the UK but lives in Prague w/Barbara and teaches his classes and
handles all of the coursework online. This allows him to pull down a UK salary
too, though he lives in the far cheaper Czech Republic. I got the sense that
they are able to live relatively large due to this. Barbara works for the
National Museum in Prague in what we decided was best described as the
Department of Methods. I couldn’t exactly figure it out, but she essentially
helps set standards for the network of museums in the country, or something
like that.
At the island, we quickly realized why this was the less
touristy end – we had a hard time even figuring out where the hostels were in
this tiny little village. Both of our guide books mentioned a place or two, but
there weren’t really any streets to reference, just random alleyways. Some
young kid tried to get me to rent a room in his house, instead I asked him
where one of the Hostel Cultural was and he got us in the right direction. The
Hostel Cultural was not all the cultural rage that was becoming of such a name –
instead it kind had a look of we’re-permanently-under-construction look with its
unfinished structure, mortar grey (i.e. unpainted) exterior walls, and exposed
rebar. I think exposed rebar is the next big hipster thing, since the whole
exposed brick trend took off. But you know, maybe it was a cultural experience
after all.
I walked around a little bit, but there wasn’t much to see
quite honesty. It was a pretty small village. So, Dan, Barbara and I went in
search for dinner – it looked like only one restaurant was open, so we and the
other 4-5 people on our boat eventually showed up there, sooner or later.
Friday, November 15th, 2013
I woke up to the extended shrieking sounds of a pig. Off in
the distance in an adjacent farm, I could see a group of villagers holding down
a large pig and I knew what was happening. One man with a machete, and
eventually a severed pig head. I couldn’t look away – I both wanted to scurry
back to bed and I wanted to man up and watch what I needed to watch since that’s
my food source. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I think it’s very
hypocritical to be willing to eat meat but not be willing to kill the animal
(or watch) that you are eating. But I just couldn’t get over how long that pig
had to ensure the excruciating pain of dying. I suppose that’s one of the good
things of the animal factories – they’ve figured out how to kill the animal
quickly, albeit out of a need for productivity vs the compassion and humanity
that drives my emotions on the topic. Someday, I know I’m going to need to settle
this animal/meat issue in my head and put it to rest once and for all. I think
I know which side is going to win too.
Since I was up, I had a quick shower and went in search for
breakfast – the only restaurant open was next door to the one from the previous
night, so I sat down and ordered a Desayuno Americano, which is basically a cup
of coffee, a glass of juice, a piece of toast, and a scrambled egg. After a few
minutes, Kate walked in. Kate is an older lady I met on the boat yesterday with
her traveling companion Ana. Kate is a retired anthropologist from North
Carolina who has spent the past few years in the Peace Corps in Guatemala.
While traveling in La Paz, she met Ana and they decided to travel with one
another for the next few weeks.
Kate told me that she and Ana were planning on hiking the
loop trail around the island, so I decided that I would join them since Dan and
Barbara were still asleep. This wasn't such a great idea. While the ladies were
interesting, I had a very difficult time understanding Ana – she is from
Argentina and speaks way too fast and too softly and with a funky accent. After
a while, I just started turning to Kate for clarification. Beyond that, they
walked way too slowly for my taste. It took all of 20 minutes before Dan &
Barbara passed us, and they had the good sense to just keep walking.
From Challapampa, the trail heads farther north where there’s
a set of ruins before turning to the south to go to the larger town of Yumani
on the island we were on. It took us a good 90 minutes to get to the ruins and
I was beginning to question whether or not we’d be able to finish the loop at
all at the pace we were going. I mentioned this to Kate and Ana and they tried
their best to speed up. I decided to take a quick side-trail at the northern
point to get a good vista of the whole island, and it didn’t take long to catch
back up with them. Before long, I went ahead. It was 1pm and I was hungry and
the heat was starting to bother me as well. Ninety minutes later, I made it to
Yumani and had almost caught up with Dan & Barbara. I joined them for lunch
and we waited for Kate & Ana. About an hour later, we spotted them and I
ushered them in to join us.
It was getting quite late though – sunset hits at about 6pm
and it’s dark shortly thereafter. We left Kate & Ana at the restaurant at
about 3:15 and headed back towards Challapampa and arrived around 5pm. The
direct path back was much quicker but wasn’t always well marked. I immediately
regretted leaving Kate & Ana behind and was worried that they wouldn’t be
able to find the trail and would get lost. I also wasn’t sure if they had brought
flashlights either. Though I barely knew them, they were somebody’s mothers,
and I was kicking myself for not treating them as I would my own mother.
At about 8pm, we went to grab some dinner, but first stopped
by the old ladies’ hostel to see if they had made it. The caretaker at the
hostel wasn’t sure if they had come back or not, unfortunately, so we went on
to find somewhere to eat. I suppose it’s a good thing that there’s only ever
one restaurant open because we found Ana sitting there – I ran in and gave her
a huge hug. She told us that they left Yumani at 4:15 and then only after pleading
with Kate that they couldn’t wait any longer. They found the direct path to
Challapampa, but got lost on the trail a few times. And then darkness hit and
they only had a single flashlight between the two of them. They made it back at
7:15 – meaning it took them almost twice the time it took us. Either way, I was
relieved.
Saturday, November 16th, 2013
The first boat back to Copacabana this morning was at
8:30am, so I got up early to get some breakfast, packed up my bag, and went out
to the pier where most everyone else was waiting as well. Except for Kate and
Ana – apparently, they decided to stay an extra day because Kate was so taken
with the island and wanted to learn more about it.
Dan wasn’t in great shape. Something he ate (trout?) at some
point didn’t sit so well and he was clearly struggling. About halfway in our
trip, he asked the boat driver to drop him off at a small town on the island so
that he could use the bathroom. I helped Barbara unload the bags – it looked
like they wanted to wait a few more hours before getting on a boat.
I continued on with a handful of familiar faces from the
past few days. One of the fellows was the German guy who walked across the
border without a passport exit stamp from Peru. I struck up a conversation and
we decided to find our way to La Paz together when we got to Copacabana.
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| What do you mean there's no WiFi? |
Tidbits:
1.
At intersections with no traffic light, crossing
the street can be a bit difficult. At certain points in time, I chose to draw
on my extensive jaywalking experience developed while living in New York.
Sometimes this worked fine. At other times, this resulted in a very angry honk.
But that’s alright, I got places to be, you know?
2.
At intersections with traffic lights, the walk
symbol is a man literally in motion – not just a static image like we have in
the States. Not only that, there’s generally a countdown clock accompanying it
and the man speeds up and starts running as the time gets smaller and smaller.
It’s a bit unbelievable that we can’t have this cutting-edge technology back
home.
3.
Many thanks to Jeremy Eng, who has helped me
solve my “How the heck am I going to watch Kentucky Basketball while in South
America?” dilemma. The answer, my friends, is blowing in the wind. The answer
is Dish Anywhere, which works on my cell phone screen but not on my Microsoft
Surface tablet.
4.
This beard is really starting to grow on me;
well, literally as well I suppose. But I think it makes me look quite fetching.
I mean, I don’t think women are going to start throwing their panties at me or
anything. Actually, with my luck, they’d be granny panties.
5.
In addition to being late on my blog posts, I’ve
also been trying to read a book a week on my computer – either from Amazon
Kindle or a digital copy from the public library. I’ve been a bit late on this
too. But finally this week, I finished Andre Agassi’s autobiography Open. I think I read it in less than
three days – it’s an amazingly quick read and a stunning look into the life of
someone who had a long and varied career in tennis. You won’t be disappointed.
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