Part 3 - Lima to La Paz
Mosquitoes 65 (bites) - John 39 (kills) - No mosquitoes, no change!
19th July, Lima, Deepest Darkest Peru. Home to 8 million, one third of the countries population. Many living in the award winning Pueblos Jovenes squatter settlements. Birthplace of Paddington Bear, lover of marmalade, sent out into the world by his Aunt Sally after she went to live in the Home for Retired Bears in Lima. Which apparently exists although I failed to find it.
Having said goodbye to my rather “tired” looking pal Raj at the airport in Costa Rica I landed in this my first South American capital. Lima has gained a reputation for being particularly dangerous for the naive traveler. So, with guard up I proceeded through customs. Immediately I was “greeted” by the local tourist guys who organised an over priced but safe tourist bus to my hostal Friends House in the safe, middle class suburb of Miraflores.
The following morning the self same tourist guys were actually at my hostal to take me off to their office for the personal touch free information service and sales attempt. Armed with some useful info I left these sharks and headed off in search of a flight to Cusco. The next available at something like 5.30 on Saturday morning, meaning I had to be up at 3.30, a completely offensive time to be up and about in the morning.
So with a day to kill I resolved to head into the bad lands of downtown Lima. In order to get there I had to catch a mini-bus type thing called a Collectivo. These are usually vehicles that have been scrapped by some Westernised country and imported for use by half crazed lunatics for transporting the citizens of the city to and from mysterious destinations. They also have what is usually a small boy,screaming out the destinations from the side window. After standing by the side of the road, totally bewildered for about half an hour, my Spanish not up to the job of deciphering these screams, I just took the plunge. My luck held and I was soon being whisked through the almost permanent smog to the edges of the main city. Lima suffers from a damp mist between May and November called Garua (Scotch Mist) making everything cold and grey and trapping the smog.
Leaving the collectivo I strode purposefully and confidently North to where the main Plaza should have been located. I was using a poorly photocopied map given to me by the tourist sharks. Getting the guide book out in a dangerous city is of course, asking for trouble. Unfortunately I soon began to suspect I was a little off course. Looking down I noticed that the street sellers, as well as touting the usual trinkets, mobile phone covers and other miscellanea, were offering small hand guns for sale. Just lying on the rug like, next to all the other stuff. Concluding that I was perhaps not in a particularly safe area, I hunted down a McDonald’s for a guide book consultation.
Back on course I made it to the Plaza de Armas which really doesn’t disappoint. Truly impressive architecture, including the cathedral and main government palace. Walking over the river, whose stench of humanity and filth was truly disgusting, I could see the Pueblos Jovenes stretching out around the surrounding hills. Quite a contrast with this wealthy sector of the city.
After a busy morning I was now pretty hungry and the guide book pointed me in the direction of a good local restaurant called Heidi’s. Understanding nothing on the menu I took the waitresses advice and took a mini fish dish called a ceviche. Shock and horror when it arrived as I realised it was raw! Having always been terrified of sushi I steeled myself and valiantly tucked in. Delicious! Lovely marinade and great fish. Had a tricky discussion with some locals in Spanglish and decided I’d had enough of down town’s incredible pollution so headed back to Miraflores.
On the flight to Peru I made my first good friends in South America. Catherine, Mark, Michelle and Vicky, fresh from Manchester University and on a whistle stop tour of Peru, Bolivia and Chile. They were as tired as I but they had the excuse of jet lag. My reason was that the entertainment in Miraflores had kept me out to midnight, foolish boy that I am. The journey to Cusco was uneventful except for mistaking mountains for clouds and some hot scrabble competition.
The ancient city of Cusco was the capital of the Quechua civilisation, known by their kings, the Incas. It’s an incredibly beautiful city resting at 3,100 meters, surrounded by even higher mountains and with an interesting mix of Inca and colonial Spanish architecture. In many cases more modern buildings are built on top if the old foundations. No one seems to be able to recreate the stone workings as it is extremely complex, with some stones having multiple angles and fitting perfectly with the others. You need to see this to appreciate it as I cannot really describe it well.
Cusco is also a major tourist hub and dedicated to serving gringo needs and desires. My main reason for being here was to follow the old Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. A four day hike across the mountains including Dead Woman’s Pass which is at 4,200 meters, culminating in arriving at this complete Inca city which was buried in jungle until 1911.
Unfortunately, I had mysteriously managed to contract an inflamed Achilles. This meant that I had to take advantage of the other attractions available to me, namely, good food, video lounges, bars and nightclubs. The latter two taught me a lesson well worth learning and clearly stated in the guide books. Having bumped into a few Brits (hi Sam) in one of the Irish bars on my first night, while quietly sipping a Guinness and updating my journal…I was dragged around the various bars and nightclubs after little or no sleep the night before. The books clearly state that you should adjust to the altitude for the first few days. This should be done by rest, avoidance of red meat and a strict abstinence from alcohol. Ahem. I read this particular advice the following day while reeling about in my bed, suffering from what I at first thought was the worst hangover of my life. Travelers, you have been warned!
The next few weeks were mainly spent hoping for my Achilles to clear up (after visit to local doctor) and staying in my fabulous (expensive at $10 a night) room overlooking the city. Hanging out with friends, playing pool, enjoying an unprecedented scrabble victory run, watching films and enjoying the nightlife. One of the main highlights for me was my waiter in one of the restaurants. Outrageous moustache, loud poncho, cowboy boots, and sol-glo (see “Coming to America with Eddie Murphy) mullet hair. Truly outstanding. However, after two weeks the old injury hadn’t cleared up enough to risk the trail so I headed off to Puno to meet up with Catherine, Mark, Michelle and Vicky who had been busy seeing the sights while I had been languishing in gringo town.
Puno is on the banks of Lake Titicaca and is even higher than Cusco at 3,855 meters. It is also an absolute hole as far as I’m concerned and the only reason for going is to visit the Uros “floating” Islands.
The Uros live on islands made from reeds that are about 60 cm thick, or was it 1.5 meters? They use the same reeds for their boats and houses. Well, they did live on them. You get the impression that they’re only really there these days to sell their trinkets to the tourists. A strange voyeuristic tour, but the deep blue waters of the lake mirror the sky, the surrounding hills and distant cordillera. Hopefully some fantastic photos to come.
We visited another rather dull Island called Taquile which was busy celebrating some important occasion with bizarre tall hats and even more bizarre dance routines. The only other things of note were a visit to one of the local karaoke bars where we all resisted the temptation to compete with the Puno crooners, and after a ride in a cycle rickshaw we were done with Peru and were off to La Paz the administrative capital of Bolivia. At an even higher 4,000 meters it is the highest capital in the world, thank goodness there are none higher. It is exhausting just walking around at this height.
We spent a few days enjoying the city before heading off to Salar de Uyuni, probably Bolivia’s natural highlight, which you’ll hear all about next time.
Warning, don’t take photos of the dried baby Llamas, eyes of newts and teeth of crocodiles in the witches market. This I’m sure brings bad luck.
The Coca museum is pretty interesting and highlights the importance of this little leaf to the indigenous people and their culture. How the Spanish used it to increase worker productivity, particularly miners, and avoid having to spend unnecessary money on food (!) and the modern day abuse in the form of Cocaine. I must say that a cup of Coca tea is very refreshing and tasty, helps out with the altitude and does not have any wild affects on the old head.
Check out breakfast in Confiteria Ellis, La Paz, if you’re lucky the little waiter will be visited by his stern little rotund policeman pal and do a little impromptu dance for you. Little waddles and flicking feet. Don’t get caught sniggering though, they all carry dangerous looking weapons, even some sawn-off shot guns!
Hasta Luego.
John