Latin America/ Peru / February 2018

 

 Maybe a good to start to describe this adventure I took alone, will be that at the very end of it, I made a promise that I shall return with someone I love, because keeping this for just myself seams unfair. 

Lima

 The plan was to stay in Lima for four days, until my birthday, and then move to Cusco as a home base for the rest nine days. While planning it all, I spoke to friends who have been in Peru and devoured all the info. This was my first South American trip, first time traveling absolutely alone and the fact that speak no Spanish raised some concerns from friends and family. I had no expectations, which I believe is the best way to visit new places (if possible), stayed in Miraflores, walked for hours every day, got lost many times, day and night, and at no point I ever felt unsafe or worried. Huge part of the city lays on top of a cliff, and that sets up the narrative for some incredible sunsets. The one I got for my birthday is a personal favorite, as an ending of a day that started with Happy Birthday in Spanish, sang by four amazing new friends, women photographers, admits Karaoke, dancing and Peruvian vodka (Russkaya) If I had to pinpoint what I loved about Lima, I’d say the people I met, the food (oh, the food!), the colors and textures, the light (the award for enduring the merciless midday sun, is the warm, soft, all loving one at dusk )

Back to the people. The only planned anything ahead of time, was a reservation at Central for 13:30 on my birthday (Yes, I am a Chefs Table Addict) All dressed up, super excited I ordered my Uber ride and headed downstairs to wait. The Uber never made it. With no internet connection right in front of the building, I didn’t have time to dwell on the reason why, so I hailed a cab. The driver looked at the wrinkled piece of paper with the scribbled address and said “NO!” And before I could master a reply he drove off. Wait. Wait! What? This can’t be happening. I walked back into the building, almost in verge of tears and tried to explain to the receptionist lady the urgency of the situation. She took one look at me and said “No te preocupes!” Grabbed a hold of my hand and dragged me across the street again, like a mother with a toddler, to the exact spot where I got my heart broken. While not letting go of me, she stopped another one and in rapid Spanish bargained a price. “Tienes diez soles?”, she asked “Yes, Si, Yes! Gracias!!” I gave her the tightest hug, she kissed my cheek and shoved me in the back seat. Like the sweet Peruvian aunt I never had, she waived and hurried back inside. I was smiling and it didn’t even matter if I didn’t make my long awaited, fancy lunch. This cab driver was also smiling. He told me I looked nice, I told him it was my birthday, he asked how old, I said I’m not telling. “Veinticinco?”, I laughed and tipped him. 

Central did not disappoint. The food was colorful, warm and exiting, like Peru itself. I got an extra desert with a candle on, for the extra year on my personal calendar.

I walked back.

My birthday ended with that spectacular sunset I was telling you about, while eating a caramel filled churro. Later on I took my adorable airbnb Frenchie, around my Miraflores streets, where she chased a cucaracha, the size of a bird, and raced me back to the elevator. I felt like home.

At 6:45am next morning, I was waiting for the cab my host kindly arranged for me, after hearing about my previous transportation misfortunes. Sitting on my carry on, I felt a rub on my shoulder. The night receptionist (I wish I asked for his name, I wish I asked for everyone’s names) was heading home. And like the affectionate Peruvian uncle I never had, he then disheveled my hair, smiled, and said “Buen viaje!” 

Cusco

San Blas is a charming, hippy, hilly, very old part of Cusco. The stone streets are narrow and steep, most of them unreachable by car. The city sits on some 3000m above sea level, so climbing them, especially if in a hurry, would leave me breathless. Life happened here. People, dogs, lamas with colorful tassels, baby goats with handmade hats and cute outfits. Because of all the tourists, the people in folklore costumes (many of them children) and the animals ( except for the dogs) were all working. They were expected to be paid, if you took their picture. The dogs were everywhere, I honestly have never seen so many. Every night people put their garbage on the street, so they have easy access to food. I could hear them howl, all though the night, and often times it seamed like they were conversing with each other, or competing as to who will sing the saddest song. At 4:00am every morning the city started moving, big cleaning crews will pick up the countless plastic bags, and bring them to the square where the trucks could reach.

The weather here, has its own unpredictable storyline. Because of the altitude its generally colder, but if the sun is out, it is just as strong and uncompromising as in Lima. Its capricious nature is typical for mountainous places, but it still made it hard for me to plan my layers of clothing thought the day. No matter how cold or hot, rain or shine, day, nigh I loved waking that part of town. The markets are something to see, San Blas has its own mini version of the city’s big San Pedro. The first time I went there was a sensory overload. Smells, colors, noises. I had no idea what most of the things being sold were.The food and juice stalls are a staple, if you want to eat well and cheaply, follow the locals. There’s all sorts of food made right in front of you, from vegan, vegetarian to all meat imaginable (yes, lamas too). The perfectly skinned guinea pigs made me squeeze my eyes, I’m not gonna lie. But then there were all sorts of other wondrous things, fruits, vegetables (oh, holly potato!), flowers, chocolates, coca candy galore. The most brightly colored fabrics and everything lama you can imagine. Sweaters, bags, socks, hats made from lamas with lamas on. And when in Peru, you know, you gotta get your lama on!

I was lucky to have had two Sundays in Cusco, and the first one will go down in history as the Big Carnaval Sunday, when I got soaked in foam and hit in the head with a yellow water ballon. I am still unsure what the celebration was about, but boy, the foamy spray and water fight was no joke. Some tourists were better prepared then others, wearing rain coats and holding cans of foam in one hand, while videoing with the other. Im guessing they knew what was about to go down. So while the main street was filled with performers in costumes, the square and the sidewalks, slowly but surely became a wet, slippery, take no prisoners battlefield. It started innocently with a few kids shyly spaying each other, and then escalated fast. The fact that all I had was a camera in my hands, did not save me. I became a wide open target. Not paying attention who’s aiming at me while taking pictures and unarmed. Soaked from head to toe, I kept shielding my lens, thinking, just please, not the camera. At one point the air was so intensely filled with foam it actually hurt to breathe. The painful water ballon in the head, execution style, was my cue to retrieve. That was just about all the Carnaval fun I could take on that given Sunday. 

Two days later I was on a bus to Machu Picchu. Little did I know I was going to get soaked again, but this time there will be no escaping.

The ride from Cusco to let’s call it ” Adventure starting/ ending point” was about 6 hours, the scenery changed constantly, so did the weather. Fog, rain, sun, clouds, clouds, sun, rain, fog. The road changed as well, at times the ravines below the curvy, dusty parts of it were so deep and so close, it would give me vertigo. Our driver would honk the horn, before taking a turn, since there was absolutely no visibility from the other side and I couldn’t help but think, what if the driver from the opposite direction is listening to the music as loud as we are. Nothing bad happened, but in all honesty some parts of the narrow winding road were a little too close for comfort.

During the couple of the stops on our way I made new friends, an Australian couple, Ruby and Steve, and Georg (from Alemania, as he’d say in Spanish). They were all staying in the same hostel and doing this Machu Picchu trip together. I joined in. Their company was a lifesaver in the coming days and events. The 11km walk along the train tracks to reach Aguascalientes wouldn’t have been nearly as fun without them. Especially when the rain started. It was warm and heavy.  My jacket held on for a while and so did my waterproof shoes but after hours of walking, the water just made its way in. I was soaked, really soaked. I kept hoping that at least my backpack would hold up, but there wasn’t really any way of finding out until we’d reach dry land. When we finally made it to the town, the sun was gone, it was getting dark.  At this point we have been on the road for about 10, 11 hours, and even though the stunning surroundings and my new friends kept my spirits up, I was wet, cold, tired, hungry. I took my wallet out to get the map with our hostel’s location. It was literally a two minute walk from where we were, so instead of putting it back in my bag, I tucked it in between the strap of my backpack and my shoulder, under my jacket. I was in my room 10 minutes later and the wallet containing my life, ha, was gone. Passport, credit cards, cash. Everything. In a state of total panic, I went though my soaked belongings again, no joy. No joy. Georg came with me to the street where I last had it in my hands and then checked around the stores and a hotel nearby, all in vain. No tourist information centers, or the police could help us at this point. I am unsure how I would have handled the situation if I was totally alone. But I wasn’t. All three of them were comforting, with a super capricious wi-fi they were finding all kinds of info on their phones. Got me drinks at diner, offered to get me cash and Steve gave me his jacket because I was shivering. 

On three hours of sleep, dressed in damp cloths, with my mind on my lost everything and everything lost on my mind, at 4;30am we set off to see that world wonder. The physical pain after the first hour was so strong, that instead of worrying how will I ever make back to the US I started worrying if i’ll ever make to Machu Picchu. Georg, took pity on me, put off with my swearing in various languages and encouraged me to keep going. Can you imagine, I said, after all this we get up there, and it’s just blah. No, he said, I’ve never heard of anyone asking for their money back. He was right. It was all worth it. Its just as amazing, beautiful, majestic and breathtaking as you can imagine and more. Pictures don’t do it justice, I didn’t really put any in this post. If you want to see it, you have to go. And hurry, because apparently just like Venice, it’s sinking. With about one centimeter a year, for now. 

The descent was faster, the 11 km walk back dryer, the 6 hour drive just as crazy as the one the day before. When we finally made it back to Cusco it was cold,  dark and exhaustion took over. After saying good night to everyone, I had one more final climb to my airbnb, and in an attempt to find a short cut,  of course, I got lost. Then I cried. It was one of those, wow, that the heck, why me, can’t believe, all alone, I must’ve been out of my mind to think I can do this, kind of moments. But as the saying goes the morning is wiser then the night. Some much needed sleep did wonders and the next day, with my friends help, things slowly started falling into place. I was sad to see them all go. Not sure if I’ll ever see them again, I’d love to, but even if I don’t I’ll always smile and feel happy because I was lucky to have met them. Ruby, Steve, Georg, you guys rock! I am eternally grateful. 

My last “planned” adventure was the Humantay Logoon, and for the total price of $26.00 it was supposed to include transport in a Mercedes, breakfast, lunch, a small hike, English speaking group and guide, and of course unbelievable views. At 4:00 am in pouring rain, I was waiting to get picked up, in front of the San Blas church, where it was just me and a half asleep, wet dog. At about 4:30 the dog started howling and with no bus in site, cold and tired I really wanted to join him. Whatever his reasons were, mine seamed just as legit. If it wasn’t for the cleaning crew at the end of the street I most probably would have. Fifteen minutes later, a tiny cab pulled in, the window rolled down and a female voice yelled in my general direction “Señorita Estella?” I raised my hand to thank the Lord, and to let her know that I am in fact the señorita in question. Said goodbye to Benjamin (the dog) and told him I wish I could take him along to ease whatever heartache he was going through. I think he was grateful that someone cared, even if it was for only 45 minutes. Then after the cab, we got to the bus (Hyundai), where no one spoke English, and at 5 am didn’t even attempt to, which was understandable. In an effort to chase away the doubt that was starting to creep in, that this trip might actually suck, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But then the bus came to hauling stop. There were cars stopped everywhere, buses, trucks, people walking up and down the road. Confronted with the limitations of my Spanish I resorted to just sitting and observing nervously. It was still raining, it was foggy.  Raul, our driver/guide/magician had no intentions of getting stuck. He skillfully maneuvered the Hyundai within millimeters of mobile and immobile vehicles until we got in front of everyone. A  boulder the size of my house had fallen off the rocky cliff on top of the road, and rolled to the other side. Big rocks had followed and kept rolling down as we set off to cross. Raul was smiling. I was too. Way more exciting then talking to Benjamin about my bad life choices at 4:00am . This is not gonna suck. Raul, slowly approached, shifted to second and we entered the muddy trap.  Hello, my name is Stela, I am an adrenaline junkie.

 

Turns out the Mercedes, English speaking bus I was supposed to be on, could not make it through and was stuck for an hour and a half, waiting for a bigger clearance. Turns out the small hike was from 3000m above see level to 4000m in slippery, rocky, steep terrain. Turns out the Chilean students in my group did speak English pretty good, they were just shy. Turns out my Spanish was enough for me to make friends with the family of the two boys wearing NY hats, who told me I need to eat more and gave me bread and bessitos.  Turns out the views were unbelievable and so was the setting sun over the Andes.

Last day in Lima, Last day in Peru

I was at the US embassy at 7:30am, my flight to Fort Lauderdale was at 11:57pm. In cases of Emergencies, said the official site, walk in front of the line and explain your emergency. Ok, sure. Except, none of the guards spoke English. Hmmm. Im sure they made up for it by being exceptional in other areas. I had to leave all my luggage out, in order to be allowed in, everything except money and printed papers. Once in, it was pretty surreal. The building is enormous. The courtyard in front of it is calm and quiet, quite the opposite of the other side of the solid, tall fence where I just came from. The entrance door was almost fairy tale like, something you’d see on Game of Thrones. Seven, eight meters tall, heavy, ornate, gold. It was too out of place to be intimidating, but it didn’t feel  inviting either. Anyway, $135 later, papers filled, at 8am, I had seven hours to wait. With very limited cash and no CCs I couldn’t pop from restaurant to restaurant. It all became even more challenging when that strong Lima sun started showcasing all its might. I found refuge under a tree, in front of the embassy, and started fiddling with my camera and phone. Took a selfie with a palm tree and the US flag in the background. Tried to filter myself so I didn’t look like the bride of Frankenstein, but it was an impossible task. So instead to entertain myself, I started  counting how many blue cars a minute I can see…Not too long into my game, a very big and tall guard from the embassy approached me. He didn’t speak English either. With his phone in hand, through Google translator, he told me someone from the unofficial stuff ??? had seen me take a selfie. I need your phone, I read on his phone, to erase it. Its illegal, I read. You can get arrested. Ok, yes, I get the picture…Here, PLEASE, erase it, I look like Death itself on it anyway… But really? I also had to relocate my camp, because of my violation, preferably somewhere not in front of my own country’s embassy… And as the law abiding citizen, I pride myself on being, I did. After what seamed like eternity, during which I read about Pablo Escobar’s lucrative tourist legacy, fueled by Netflix, and met an ex Detroit Tiger (He was wearing a Detroit shirt so I literally attacked him. The poor guy had no chance of escaping and ps, I am a baseball fan now, ahem), it was time to check on the status of my passport. About 30 mins earlier then my assigned appointment, I was positive it was ready, and it’ll be an easy breezy, yes, please come in, have a safe trip back home, sorry we erased your selfie and made you wait seven hours. The woman guard in front looked at my paper and  told me I was early, no way she’s letting me in, have to wait. Agh! On the upside my Spanish was improving, because I understood everything she sternly said. As I was retrieving back to the scarce tree shade, while cursing silently, I saw a guy come out of a cab. Dark hair in a somewhat of a samurai hairdo, flip flops, gray cotton shorts and a tank top of a big breasted woman in red bikini. He approached the lady guard and attempted to do what I did. No more successful then me, he came in the shade, with an expression that was suggesting that he might be cursing silently too. I laughed and said, So happened to your passport? He smirk smiled and said, Do you really wanna hear?, Why not, they are not letting us in a second sooner then three, so might as well. And so he told me. The night before, he was on the way to the airport, in a cab. They have stopped at a red light and he was checking in for his flight on his phone when a hand reached in and grabbed it. The phone, that is. Patrick, that’s his name, and a friend of his, came out right away to chase the guy. Callao, the city next to the airport, is not the safest area, so in a dark alley with three other men on the other side, he told me it seemed like a good idea to just let it go. Not get shot over a phone. At the airport, he realized his passport was gone too, most probably fell off of his back pocket during the chase…Wow, I said, your story beats mine on any level, any time, no question about it. In fact, mine is not really a story, but hey, here we are both.

A little bit later, emergency passports in our hands, and a brighter future in plain site, I was going to Uber to the airport, almost eight hours before take off. Since Patrick was on my flight, he offered me shelter, beer and great company, at his Barranco hostel. And before boarding, admission to the airport vip lounge with free drinks and food. That was by far, the best offer I’ve had in a long, looooong time. So, there it was. Barranco at sunset with a Stella in hand, and a new friend, whom I’ve met because I lost my passport. Could not think of a better ending. Patrick, if you’re reading this, THANK YOU! I’ll forever think of you now when I see red bikini bottoms! After our free sandwiches and celebratory pisco sours at the lounge, we boarded, and for the very first time, EVER, I slept on a plane. Through the whole flight.

This blog contains merely 20% of everything that I felt, thought, saw, experienced…. Its impossible to put it all down. Thank you to you all, whom I’ve met on this journey. Whether I know your names or not, whether we spoke the same language or not, whether you were human or not (Oh, Benjamin!) I am grateful. 

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