The Blue Bolivian

So what's happened since the Colca canyon... hmm well not much REALLY.

We managed to tie up the rest of southern Peru in a whirlwind tour finishing back in Lima for a short spell. Of course we had to go looking for the 'Best Chocolate in the World' and a new 'Dancing Top' but it was amazing how stressed Ros could get on this seeming ideal assignment. Then it was a short trip through the old haunt of an ex-political group in Peru known as The Shining Path. But nothing too much shone except for the down some really steep valleys as we descended into the Amazon Basin.

We landed in Pucallpa after 22 hours on ANOTHER bus (we are becoming world experts on bus travel). The heat had descended as we descended from the mountains and it was good to feel a bit of a sweat, although that was almost foreign to us, being dogged by winter since we landed in Chile. Selection of a hotel wasn't difficult, being budget traveller, but Ros was just shy of freaking out and heading home after one sight of the bathrooms. First port of call was to the river port to find our home for the next week and a half. A Peruvian slow boat! We had been told to arrive early before ground-zero on the living deck got too crowded. We landed back at ground-zero the next day to be swamped by every kind of person trying ever manner of stuff from hammocks, plates and cakes to underwear. Ground-zero was a teeming festering wound on the Good Ship Claudia´s rusting hulk. If have to understand that a Peruvian slow boat is more like a river barge with about 3 open decks with, if your lucky, working showers and toilet and the kitchen all crammed at one end of the living space. As the minutes slowly ticked by this infestation inly worsened. Were we thought no more hammocks could go they were... on top and through each other. Ground-zero was ALIVE.When 'El Presidente' arrived and strung his penthouse hammock above another, forcing the eviction of a woman and her 3 kids we thought it had gone way too far: there were hammocks sideways crossways, feet and heads in our hammock!! But then MORE came, beside us, between - and there went the neighbourhood. 'El Presidente' later turned out to be a tour guide who spoke English  so after plying him with rum, R os started the torture techniques to find out where she could get her hands on a Sloth. Our hammock, Ros's pride and joy from La Paz, was of a tradition design of bright blue and other colours of the rainbow. No sooner had we lost the gumboots than we gained the 'Blue Bolivian' for MY backpack ;( This thing seemed like a magnet to the other hammocks in Peru - more like a light to the jungle insects. Where ever we strung our Blue Bolivian became the most congested area of the boat. The Peruvians may have some herding instinct that makes them forsake the wide open spaces in favour so as to flock together to bask in the glow of the Blue Bolvian. Finally Iquitos, where we tried 'El Presidentes' advice and sought out a sloth, which we had to crowbar from Ros's arms before leaving. Then there was another boat of the Peruvian slow variety to the border with Brasil and Columbia.

Days blend into each other sailing down the Amazon for Manaus. We followed the coffee coloured waters as they meandered across the flat expanse that is the Amazon basin. Lingering now and then at river bank villages to take on all kind of cargo and exchange a few passengers. There are women whose traditional costume is the habit of nuns coloured the south american way as greens, reds and purples. During the day the cramped hammock space swelters in the humidity, made worse by the steel hulls, but as the sun sets across the ever widening river we can witness the cool tranquillity and its serenity.
On the way Leitecia, a corner of south america shared by Columbia, Peru and Brasil, our Blue Bolivian snapped its moorings sending us both to the deck in the middle of the night. All I could do was laugh which woke Ros and it was then that she realised something had happened. Now the was the boat to Manaus, Brasil. All our efforts to learn the language would amount to nought because now we were in the Portuguese speaking world and it was back to sign language. The boat we were after, Voyager II, was not in town but we took the on that was. Then it was on to Manaus, this time in the relative luxury of a Brazilian boat. It was cool, the food was great, and they served coffee :) When we arrived we discovered that Ros's guardian angel had been looking after her again as the Voyager II had sunk just outside of Manaus!!

We hardly spent anytime in Manaus, not even long enough for Ros to buy one of those famous unmatchable bikinis. Then it was off to Venezuela where we saw a few too many waterfalls, including Angel, and got ripped off getting across the border to Columbia. We didn't even spend a night in Caracas, but met a ex-pat Trinidadian who told us how on his island the Holden was a Porche back in the '70s. He also told us that everyone in Venezuela as out to rip us off. Prophetic words. Columbia was altogether different. After hearing so many good things from other travellers we put it on our itinerary. First was the jungle walk to The Lost City. Sleeping in hammocks and walking through the jungle, it was one of the best walks we have done, putting Machu Piccu to shame. Then we had some RnR on a Caribbean beach subsisting on Chocolate bread (more like a cake) and coconuts. Cartegena was a beautiful colonial town still bearing the fortifications from being a Spanish collection port for Incan gold. But, perhaps it suffered a little too much from the cruise ships that come to plunder now like the pirates of old. But instead of Sir Francis Drake it is rich Americans and Germans.

Columbia was where our saga with American Airlines began. We had changed our round-the-world ticket to include a stopover in NYC, USA. All we had to do was get our coupons reissued, easy right. WRONG. AA in Bogata couldn't do it for the simple reason that we have Cuba on our ticket. The computer system for AA apparently has some 'smarts' that bar an American company even printing it out with Cuba in it. We did manage to get on the flight to Miami, after much head scratching, where we were assured QANTAS would sort everything out.

Miami. After about 4hrs of sleep the night before we struggle into the US of A. We try to find Qantas, its like asking for direction on a hike in Peru: noone will tell you they don't know, they simply send you the wrong way. Finally we discover that they have no office here and instead rely on AA, arrrggh, for ticketing. Javier begins by bagging the Columbians then proceeds to cover his own arse and he hasn't even seen our tickets. He is full of ideas but Havana may be Anthrax. We decide to trape back to the other end of the terminal and try our luck with British Airways. The attitude we got there was just short of hostile. Basically if we wanted to go to places like Cuba (or Tehran) then "it was our own fault". We were paying customers, with legitimate One World tickets and we were being treated like terrorists. All we wanted was to get to NYC and sample the junk food. Finally after nailing down an AA supervisor we were informed that we could go to Arizona to get our tickets reissue.. maybe. Then the problem got worse. We couldn't even leave Miami with this ticket because of Cuba. We were doomed to walk the airport for the term of our natural lives. We tried to go on the next leg, to Guatemala but we didn't have a flight out of Guatemala (required apparently) so they weren't going to let us on the plane. We eventually had to buy tickets, which we could cancel and get a full refund. We splurged on Ros's credit card and didn't sleep in the airport. The next day we landed at Guatemala city after 2 hrs flight. The stressed doppped from our shoulders, we were back o normality :) We walk through immigration, there in no customs, and nobody even checks that we have flight out. We cancelled he tickets but they still haven't refunded the money. We stayed the night at a hostel called Pension Meza which was once patronised by 'El Presidente' himself, Fidel, and directly across from a room once occupied by Ernesto 'Che' Guevara. I thought of the unhelpful people at Miami airport with their preoccupation with the hate of a small island possibly to close for their own liking and consumed with fear of a different way.

I spent my first day as a 32yo climbing a volcano. Ros was of course was worried if she could make it. I have to report though that this 32yo still beat the younger 25yo and had to carry her bag to boot.

In Guatemala the cheapest form of transport is commonly referred to as a 'Chicken Bus'. This is an ex-US school bus that is hideously overpowered. The seats are benches with an aisle barely wide enough to sidle between. This allows the maximum capacity, which is about 7-8 people to a row with the last having a cheek on either side of the aisle. These buses then roar around the mountain roads, that have more twists and turns than a midday soapie, flinging their less
jammed inhabitants from one side to the other.

Finally Mexico, where we are finding ourselves resorting to cooking in our rooms with our camp stove due to the costs. But the beaches are fantastic  The clearest blue waters and a whiter than white sand that never gets hot in the sun.

But this is our last night, we have seen the ruins of Chitzen Itza. A peculiar place that was abandoned by it inhabitants before the Spanish arrived. It could have to do with a weird cosmic energy that makes people walk around inanely clapping there hands. We had to escape before we too succumbed.

Tomorrow Cuba, to find out what all the fuss is about.

Sept 11 and Killer Sheep

Well we are still about, and not within cooee of NY and the Pentagon (yet). Its been awhile so to avoid from boring you all to tears I will keep to the highlights ;)

We finished some treks in the Andean alps (outside Huaraz, Peru) that we loved. Ros was just itching to go trekking, honest :) She has become more of a camper than me and has developed a serious case of weight naziness. To the point that she is taking the packaging off the tea bags. The first trek (just a few days) was fun except for the cows that kept giving Ros the evil eye (which I am reliably told means they are ready to charge)!

The walking up hills and living on soups and instant potato has had some marked effect on Ros that she has started saying things like 'I am wearing clown pants' or 'I have no butt'. She has started befriending burros who have returned the gesture by head butting her off the path. The altitude has strange effect on some minds ;) Me, I am craving roast lamb, anything but chicken and rice. All the mule drivers here are like the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland: you say 'Hola', they ask the time and when you tell them they dart off as if they are late for something.  The Huayhuash trek (7 days) was the best. We climbed a pass in all but one day. We started the trek out of the town of Chiquian where we immediately were passed by a large group of guys sporting the standard plague of the Israeli traveller. I gave them and cursory 'Shalom, Shalom' and they were instantly taken in and returned my imitation calls with a flurry of Hebrew  So I had to quickly identify myself as a charlatan/imposter and reply that that was the extent of my vocab.

We dined on meals of the local trout whenever possible but had to buy provisions whenever we could. On one such occasion I sent up camp while Ros (tired from the walk) went over to try and buy some local cheese. I later learned that with her tiredness and spartan Spanish that she had in fact been brokering a deal for a woman's child, much to the local's amusement ;)  On the fourth night there was an option to take the high route through the mountains for a better view. We dined with a local woman on trout and some vegies supplied by an English couple (Liz and Dez), whom we had befriended along the way. We were told the story of an guy who had taken the scenic route with an inexperienced guide and fallen to his eventual death. We returned to camp with the decision not to go that way and were greeted by an a guy (an Israeli man) who asked to look at our topographical map. We then learned that the four of them were planning the scenic route without any guide and hardly a map. We walked the next day with their mule driver and never saw them again. To this day we don't know what happened, but hope for the best.

When finally we finished we were walking down the last pass when we were greeted by a horseman going in the other direction. In our broken Spanish we learned that the road out was closed by an avalanche but if we walked back the way we came (for about 2-3 days) there would be a bus there :o NOT ON YOUR NELLIE MATE! We despondently stumbled into Cajatambo to see the 9 other despondent trekkers sulking outside the church... we guessed we had heard right. Luckily one of the trekkers was Spanish, and while he chatted to a local, discovered the old man had a nephew who had a truck. The old man dashed off and then there was a truck and a mad dash for it. 30 people crammed into the back, 11 gringos and locals and 2 shovels, and preceded by a bulldozer we headed back up the hill. After the bulldozer cleared a bit of an avalanche from the back road we were on our way crammed in like cattle. When it got cold they covered us with a tarp and Ros screaming 'Light I must have light' started leaping of bodies and clawing at the tarp but it was fine the claustrophobia was subdued by fine shards of moonlight seeping in. 12 hours later when they let us out we checked to make sure it wasn't Auschwitz (only Huanco), straightened our crooked backs and legs then caught another bus to Lima, in which we stood for another few hours.

We arrived in Lima (meant to be one of the most disliked destinations in all of SA), and greeted by a Lima taxi driver. We showed him the address of our hostel and agreed to a price of 4 soles. He was so proud of his taxi, 'German made car you know' (a badly beaten up old VW whose doors barely closed. He rounded the first corner and the fare became 7 soles. Ros lost it (too long in the wilds) and demanded him to stop immediately. I, barely staying out of a sleep induced coma, tried to participate in the 'discussion'. The driver backs of to 5 soles and changes the subject to the obligatory question 'Que pais´(what country you from). Ros is having none of it and is repeatedly screaming for him to stop, 'PARE, PARE'. He finally relents and we are taken to the wrong hostel!!! When we finally get him to take us to the right place, he leaps out of the taxi and accosts the woman who answered the door. Ros having none of his shenanigans dives out after him. We later learned he was after some sort of commission. No luck, he departs snorting 'Austria, hmmmph'. Oh well, let the Austrians deal with that one.

Tried to scam a few drinks in a Lima casino with another Aussie, Mark, then headed out to a local pub. Mark was followed into the toilets by a local gent who closed  the door behind. Unnerving situation, but just a local drug dealer trying to make a buck. Lima is a city of contrasts, the poor live in wicker huts on the fringes while on the seaside the affluent indulge in those symbols of success: MacDonalds and KFC (more expensive than the local tucker).

Peru is a desert (at least on the coast) where the mud brick houses seem perpetually crumbling back to the plains of their origins.

Then we have checked Machu Piccu (Old Mountain: Quecha) off our list having done the four day Inca trail. To be quite honest we are pretty disappointed. The trail MUST be done now in a tour group. Seeing that many trekkers is way to claustrophobic for the likes of us, used to more pristine conditions. The pass on day two we saw thin figures on the pass, that as we got closer precipitated out of the fog into the forms of backpackers waving the Union jack wildly or chanting in french.

Next was Bolivia and lake Titicaca. In all Bolivia has been the country that has amazed us the most. Titicaca was a gem of sapphire blue skirted by snowcapped mountains that held aloft bulging grey clouds into the sky. Fisherman sail across its glittering surface or crawl on oared legs. The Island of the sun was a favourite (which you must walk and stay the night in the untouristy north), there we lazed and watched sheep being herded along the shore. Ros befriended a little girl whom I had to remove from her back pack (almost) before we left.

Then to La Paz, and the Amazon Jungle. We decided to live it up in luxury at Chalalan lodge in the jungle for a few days which was absolute paradise. A five hour canoe ride into the jungle from Rurrenabaque. On the brief walk to the lodge the two of us were bemused by the biologist, seeking a location to study monkeys, who dragged her luggage on its little airport wheels for the full 1/2hr obliterating all in her path, while complaining about the rocks on the path. The jungle was good lots of plants and insects and even managed the tarzan thing of swinging through the jungle on a vine. We then did a tour of the Amazon plains in search for big game. Managed to get in a group of 3 other aussies and a Pom (needless to say she, Monners, attracted a lot of stick). We saw lots of gators and I swam with the pink dolphins (same creek) and am still hearing about the dangers of this from Ros. Got shat on (we all did) by a 2.5m anaconda. We waded through a swap in search of something black and yellow, Rob and I spruiking loudly that we would have no trouble bagging one of these babies. After 15mins we gave up and sheltered in the shade, which we learned later was the territory of black cobras (safer in the swamp with the gators). Finally a guide returned with the snake (grey and brown), and Rob and I changed our tunes. We could have tripped over it for all we knew.

We then bused to Potosi and almost froze to death as the left one of the windows unstickytaped-shut. When we landed we dived into bed for an hour to defrost. The mines, operated since spanish times, are still worked in medieval fashion. The ages vary from 8 to 54, which is an amazing stat because with all the asbestos and arsenic in the air the average life expectancy is 46. But things have improved because 40yrs ago they got dynamite and now the have pneumatic drills and work 8hr shifts, a far cry from the 48 hr shifts in Spanish times kept going only by coca leaves (made legal again after the Inquisition by special request to the Pope from the king of Spain  the coca made the miners more productive). Then the coup de gra... the Uyuni to Chile. 3 days of continually changing scenery: the dry salt lake that is ocean of white with Isla Peca a black hill of dead coral and cactus. Here I was waiting for Ros to come back from the loo when a guy approached. He said 'Sorry' and then proceeded to pluck thorns from a nearby cactus with a small pair of pliers. I gave him a funny look to which he replied 'I like them'. Ros appeared and we hurried away without looking back. There were lakes of blood red and pale green, steaming fumaroles and pink flamingoes  When we left Bolivia for Chile we landed ourselves on another tour of the stark landscape the fringes the Atacama desert. A giant salt plain sandwiched between two ranges and has been turned on its side so that now it look like the backs of many giant prehistoric beasts. 3 nights in Chile, Ros still cracking the whip to get us to Venezuela after Rob's (Lost Man in SA) ravings, and we're in Arequipa.

We just returned from a 4 day walk in the Colca Canyon (2nd deepest in the world). A 1am rise to get the 2am bus to see the condors. The first day Ros almost turned back, I think the view down was a little to far down. But we made to the bottom past the workers blasting a new path over our head (too think that they cold have waited after we bribed them with some lollies). We then had a 3am rise to do a mule ride to the top of the other side (Mt Bomboya) and saw the volcanoes. Day 3 we rose at the inhuman hour of 8am to visit the ruins of Tapay like Indianna Jones and raced to the Oasis. We were late leaving and walked the last bit in the dark. Luckilly 'we' were hurried along after being chased by some killer fluffy lambs screaming for 'our' blood. Day 4 we walked up and caught the bus back and were welcomed by the reality of 'civilisation' and the news that the US had been attacked.

Machu Piccu ... check

Well we have checked Machu Piccu (Old Mountain: Quecha) off our list having done the four day Inca trail. To be quite honest we are pretty disappointed. The trail MUST be done now in a tour group. This is good in some ways, the porters only carry 43kgs on their backs, the rubbish is weighed on the way out and the number of ppl is limited to 500 per day. Still seeing that many trekkers is way to claustrophobic for the likes of us used to more pristine conditions. The pass on day two we saw thin figures on the pass, that as we got closer precipitated out of the fog into the forms of backpackers waving the Union jack wildly or chanting in French Ros got sick on day two and is even now laid up in bed with bacterial infections of the throat and intestines. I have her dosed up ciprofloxin and she has me running around like her mother. I managed just now to sneak out and send a quick mail while she sleeps. The city of M.P. itself was the best bit, being an almost complete site, and we did get a sneak peak before the other tourists were bused in.

The trek up Auzengate is most likely out, Ros has lost her spirit for a short while at least. Cuzco is a gringoville and the majority seem to be French for some reason, not Israelis, which is a surprise.

So next will most likely be Bolivia, were there are some ongoing protests against the gov. for not filtering any of the money given by the US to the campesinos. It was given for allowing the US to spray the coca crops and now they have no money and nothing to eat. They in turn are blocking the roads and making it generally difficult to get around. The border between Peru and Bolivia is also in a state of flux, so hopefully it will be open when we get there.

Scary Cow

Just a quick note to let you know we still are about. We have just finished two treks in the Andean alps of 3 and 5 days each. Now that we have warmed up and got some acclimatisation going we are off for an eight day hike around the Cordillia Negro and from there direct to Lima. Ros is just itching to go, honest :) She has become more of a camper than me and has developed a serious case of weight naziness. To the point that she is taking the packaging off the tea bags. The first trek was fun except for the cows that kept giving Ros the evil eye (which I am reliably told means they are ready to charge)!

The walking up hills and living on soups and instant potato has had some marked effect on Ros that she has started saying things like 'I am wearing clown pants' or 'I have no butt'. She has started befriending burros who have returned the gesture by head butting her off the path. The altitude has strange effect on some minds ;) Me, I am craving roast lamb, anything but chicken and rice.

After this we get to Lima to see if we do Machu Piccu straight away (independently) or get the hell outta Peru to Bolivia where it isn't tourist season and inflated prices. But who knows?

Peru is a desert (at least on the coast) where the mud brick houses seem perpetually crumbling back to the plains of their origins. It is a little better here in the mountains and we haven't made in to the jungle.

So that's it until Lima.

Search for Cloud Forrest

SO much to say since my last post. In a nutshell we are still on the road (not damaged by any mudslides), we are now in Peru after overstaying a little in Ecuador. As I said before missed the Galapagos because of the cost and deferred the Amazon till Bolivia.

To start with we head east out of Quito to the hot springs of Papallacta where we soaked up the sun and steam under the blue skies while surrounded by lush green mountains and an old snowcapped volcano. We even managed to try the Finnish trick of diving between the steaming hot pools and the Arctic cold river water (Very Invigorating) while be watched by the bemused Quitoans. Ros was intent on seeing a cloud forrest since being in the S.American Explorer's club (probably to find out what one is) so we walked a few kms up a hill, only to be bitterly disappointed due to a stark absence of the fluffy white things (not sheep).

We dragged ourselves away to the backwater of Baeza further into the Oriente to further our search of the elusive Cloud Forest  We tried to sleep while the local disco blared downstairs from our hostel and then chickened out of the walk due to our lack of Amazonian trekking boots (aka Gumboots).

Next was Tenna where the first mission was to procure the 'essential' amazonian trekking shoes. Those in hand we took our first baby steps into the amazon. There was reports of a volunteer work with rescued animals somewhere out there but we had no contact details. The best advice we had was land at the doorstep and see what happens. That was hw we ended up being stuck in the middle of nowhere surrounded by dog poo (slowly being consumed by a chicken) waiting for a bus back to civilisation. The place had a web site but how were we to know. They suggested that next time we should email instead of just rocking up and saying 'throw me some cute animals to rehabilitate'. At least we got a ride in a river canoe.

We picked ourselves back up and continued south to the hot springs town of Baños, which we didn't even try (spoilt in Papallacta). We (Ros) did partake in the local toffees with gusto. The volcano here has settled down so much that they don't even take night tours out to see the fireworks anymore ;)

Next was Riobamba!! This is a place where you should come and go as quickly as possible. The gringos come because there is a train ride from here, the only bit of the national line still operational. We crashed at the nearest hostel. The next morning we moved from this really run down old colonial building to the run down colonial on the opposite side of the railway station. So what did we get for the extra 50c? Clean sheets (we saw them being dragged from the line), peep holes (everywhere), and of course peeping toms. It still suffered the water shortages endemic of the town and was generally a draughty, noisy dump. This is where my body chose to fight WW3 in my bowels for 2 days. Ros's conversation with me deteriorated to dicussions on the state of my aforementioned bowels and my only exercise was to cross the hall to the aforementioned waterless bathroom. We missed all the 'sights' of the town but not the wild enthusiasm of every Riobamban flooding the streets with a torent of honking cars and flags when Ecuador beat Peru in the soccer (nothing was said when Oz beat brasil). Even the rooster in room 14 got into the act crowed all day (yes you read it right). Finally I was fit enough to ride atop the train.

The train ride started as expected; gringos came out of the woodwork and grappled for every bit of roof space available like bargain hunters at a clearance sale while the locals watched on in confused amazement. We were nicely settled in the misty rain when a bus load of Swedes in a tour group showed up and packed us in shoulder to shoulder. The trip to 'The Devils Nose' was generally unspectacular bar a few precipitous drops and of course the inevitable derailments. For the first derailment everyone poured of the train to see the engineers run the train back and forth across the wooden sleepers (ripping them apart) over some steel sleds until they popped the wheels back on the tracks. By the 4th derailment we were so nonplussed that we just sat back and waited to get on with it. Others had given up and started walking the 2hrs back to the stopping point (they were bad luck anyhows). The second derailment was a doosie made more interesting by a Scottish engineer who ceaslessly offered his advice in broken spanish while looking on with a pensive frown (needless to say he was completely ignored).

Then there was a brief visit to El Tambo and the ruins of Ingapirca. We arrived there late with our newly acquired Belgian friends. It started bad by being dropped off at the bottom of the hill 5 blocks down from the only hostel. We trapped back. Ros had 2 restaurants picked out from our ever handy guide book so we avoided the one across the street and allowed fate to determine our direction (uphill of course) with the toss of a coin. So after a solid 20min climb in the dark we came to the truck stop diner. Ros and I naturally avoided the beef, just having beans and rice. This was a good thing because the Belgians couldn't stomach it when it arrived. The chickens feet soup was OK if you closed your eyes. When we had made it back down the hill, fending of dogs with any largish piece of rock that came to hand we saw outside the restaurant across the road... the Swedish tour group's bus (perhaps they did serve 1/2 decent chow :(

Ahhh Cuenca. Dumped everything at our hostel and wandered out to see the impressive churches lit up against an imposing black sky. We checked out 2 movies for $1.50 one being set in Ecuador that had some guy taken hostage (Proof of Life) which we at first convinced ourselves was Columbia. This finished at about 12:30 at night. That is how we came to be banging on our hostel door at 1am trying to raise anyone to let us in.We had drunk NOTHING (honest) and it is not as if we are not rocket scientists but it seemed impossible that this key, which turned in the lock, would open the bloody door. So we stormed off to some posh hotel with the intent of ringing the dead within. No luck, it wasn't listed! I cursed myself for not carrying the flyer, we thanked the doorman for his phonebook, and we stormed back to try our bank vault again. It was another round of banging and bell ringing and fiddling with the key. Finally, probably due to divine self pity for some peace, a particular combination of jiggling, turning, tongue placement and obscenities gave us entry to some sleep. I will say NOTHING futher!

Then it was to Vilacabamba, hippie town. Where the old hippies have cut their hair and settled in to respectable jobs (read profitable jobs that include voting the 'new hippies' out of town and poisoning dogs). We finally had some Cloud forest to explore. Ros was bouncing with anticipation ;) We didn't make it as far as the 14km due mainly to the gale force winds but we did camp up on the parimo (high plain) for one night. Absolute dreamlike walk back across the spine of the mountain range with the wind forcing the cloud up and over us. It entombed us like a spider in a web but instead of some stifling mummification I revelled in the feeling of isolation. Each step toward the next crest seemed like it was carrying me toward a bottomless abyss.

Oh as an asside have any of you travellers noticed this. I don't know whether it is a fashion trend, poor football technique or due to a proliferation of rhinoplasty surgeons (nose job) but there are far to much plaster on noses in Ecuador. We have noticed it since Pto Lopez and any theories or hypotheses would be greatly appreciated, haven't had the guts to ask myself.

So now we are in Peru (Chiclayo) having done the ruins thing and are waiting for a bus to Cajamarca to do some more. Hopefully something interesting will happen to us soon so I can tell you about it ;)

Ground hog Day in Coyaique

We have been languishing in Coyaique for the last 5 days and probably have another 4 days before we head north to the Island of Chiloe. We were to leave today but Ros decided against the 36 hour boat trip but we won't talk about that.

Celebrated our first passover a few days back which was a lot of Hebrew (some translation) a lot eating and much more red wine. Yes, it is written into the festivities that you must drink and eat to you burst. There is apparently another celebration the reversing of fortunes with a Persian king where you have to get drunk, but unfortunately for Ros we have missed that one by a few months.

We haven´t seen too many gauchos here (cowboys) we did see a fox catcher who was skinning it outside a cafe on the road in Argentina (probably for the touristas). There seems to be a preference for the beret rather than the traditional felt. They drink a very bitter herb tea in Argentina called mate or yerba mate (pronounced mar-tay) which is stuffed into a cup and doused with hot water and then drunk through a metal straw. This is downed and more hot water is added before being passed to the next recipient. Its seems to be more of a social event than a refreshing thirst quencher as it has the bitter taste more akin to beer than tea. Some say it has some hallucinogenic properties but probably after you have been drinking it non stop for the daylight hours. I am yet to empirically verify this. I will keep you informed as I plan to purchase my very own straw from the supermarket soon. 

We have survived the first three treks without a scratch. And I think Ros agrees that the mountains here are slightly larger than those of the blue mountains variety, although she wishes at times that they weren't (especially at the times when we are walking up them). Please don´t be fooled by her over dramatisations of everything. We crossed paths with a group from Australia (avg age 55) who having breezed through all the treks we had done, bar Dientes, were happily dining on red wine cheese and bikkies before heading off to their next conquest!!

Three more treks (easy) on our way north before landing back in Ros' favourite city of Santiago and flying to Ecuador.

Don't Mention Scree

So far so good. Roselin is still alive but don't mention scree or talus, she gets a glazed look in her eyes and shakes uncontrollably when you do. We made it to Puerto Williams (most southerly city in the world) and managed a 5 day trek which became 6 after we were snow bound to our tent for a day. Roselin agrees the Patagonian Andes are bigger than the Blue mountains (these ones still less than 2000m though). Ros also saw snow for the first time; did all the fun stuff: snow ball fight catching snowflakes on tongue etc. but after not being able to go out of the tent for a day and then having to walk through it snow has now lost its appeal to her... can't please anyone for long!

Puerto Williams (Chile) is a sleepy little town that looks over the Beagle Channel at Argentina and is in existence because of some border dispute between the countries. We arrived at the airport and headed for what we thought was the bus, following another tourista aboard. The door reopened and we strolled aboard and sat at the back.... only to find out it was someone's private car when they dropped us in the centre of town (dumb gringos huh).

So we are back in Punta Arenas, next step Torres del Paine for the "W" trek... round 2 :)