TravelStream™ news feed for member rwathne on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/rwathne en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Wed, 14 Oct 2009 15:31:42 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rwathne/1/1255458193/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rwathne/1/1255458193/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rwathne/1/1255458193/tpod.html Wed, 14 Oct 2009 15:31:42 -0400 Freedom at the age of 26

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Seattle, Washington, United States

My trip in 12 minutes and 31 seconds
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Huanchaco, Peru

I am awake and cannot sleep. I find myself in a state of constant passing of the time. Meaningless conversation is spiked with the experience of travel as the revolving door of Huanchaco's surf passes random tourists. It is interesting how constant solitude has added self analysis to my plate by the hours as the sun crosses the sky. My feet leave imprints in the sand that will be erased by the tide only to replaced once again as each day comes and goes. The consistency of life here is welcoming. My ever looming future hangs in front of me with each step that I take as the waves crash into the shore.

What is to be expected when I get home? These things are unknown. The present is so simple. No phones, no watch, no schedule. My body changes with each day that passes. Food has become a second thought with the parasite that sits in my body. My belt seems to shrink with each passing day. Somehow I nearly welcome these changes, my lacking diet leaves me looking somewhat more handsome without the extra pounds. Finding a job is easier for the more handsome of our species. These thoughts of mine are entirely too vain to enter my mind, yet they penétrate and add confidence to my return opportunities. I shall look dashing in a tie, before possible employers.

The question that haunts my thoughts on the two hour shoeless walks revolves around what I will do with my experience. What do I want to take from South America? More than anything I only desire to return, to those who blessed me with an abundance of generosity and smiles. To pass again through their thresholds and share more hugs that I will miss when I am home. I wish that I could bring all of my new found family home with me to the states. I will find opportunities to create again what I have experienced here. I will find an occupation that enables me to study and bless them in areas of development and health conditions that will make their lives better. The idea of going back to Seattle and hitting the books once more with a new untapped zeal fuels excitement in my heart. I will strive to see my experience evolve into a greater creature.
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Huanchaco, Peru

Waiting in Lima is both costly and slightly monotonous. I made the decision to travel back to where I started, with Mary in tow. Traveling north without stopping to Quito would be a bus ride for about two days. Thus we decided to make the trip in between stops. The first being a little place called Huanchaco.

The bus to Trujillo from Lima is an overnighter, nine hours, hopefully sleeping the entire time. I have come to the realization that the worst part of riding buses in South America, is not the ride. Its not the food, the movies or the high cost of a water if you so happened to forget to buy some before getting on. After dismounting whatever bus you are on, no matter where you are, there is always a barrage of taxi drivers waiting for you when you walk down the steps. It is amazing, there never fails to be less than about ten. It is the worst when you are waking up only to be immediately kicked off the bus and bombarded by the same word over and over. Taxi?...Taxi?...Taxi?...Taxi amigo?...Taxi?...Taxi?...You need Taxi?...Taxi?...Destination? ...Taxi?...Taxi amigo?. I will not miss the annoyance that I have grown to expect. When I wake up on the right side of the bed it can sometimes however be fun, only if the Taxis are willing to play my auction for services game. The morning we got off the bus in Trujillo was exceptional for the taxi game. With about 7 taxi drivers vying for our business I managed to get them to drop the price five times before we settled with our winner.

Trujillo was a town that I passed through at one point in my trip on my way down to Lima when I left Ecuador. I had no idea of the gem that was hidden about 20 kilometers outside of town on the coast. Huanchaco is a small surf town. We arrived amidst a perfect breeze and the sun blaring with all of its brilliant power. The waves are extremely long coming into shore at a somewhat 45 degree angle. Perfect for those who want to learn to surf. Our room sat about three blocks from the beach on the fourth floor of the hostel. French doors opened to a shared balcony and a view of the beach. I couldn't have asked for a better way to begin our trek into Ecuador. Three days of Paradise.

Huanchaco has the most amazing mangos. The pineapples are a close second. I knew at that time that I would be coming back for a more extended stay. Our hostel included hot showers...very important trait, internet, views, a kitchen and a short walk to the local market.

Happenstance conditions for those who don't like to necessarily lay down and rotisserize in the sun for an even tan. The beach heading north curves in a way that right around three o'clock you can take a hour to two hour walk and place every part of your body in direct sight of the sun's rays. The beach as you leave the more trafficked areas is covered in purple and clear jelly fish and crabs of various colors and sizes. Absolutely amazing.

The time there was too short, we should have eaten more mangos. Haven't found any of the same richness since.
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Lima, Peru

After a few days with Louis and Lukas, we found ourselves in Lima once again. I am scheduled to meet with Mary and travel for the next month into Ecuador and possibly Columbia. Obvious obstacles exist, no passport, no money. When you lose everything that tells people who you are...it becomes immediately difficult to get all of it back.

I woke up one morning and decided that I should go through all of my things and see what I come across. My ignorant bliss was a copy of my passport. This saves intense amounts of paperwork and time with the embassy. Next came convincing family members that I had not been obducted and held for ransom by Lukas and Louis. Family precautions were definatly more than justified, as I was having them send money to a name they had never heard. Five hundred dollars in my hands later on in the day was an amazing redemtive feeling. No more dependence on L and L who were on the bus with me when I was robbed.

The embassy process was much quicker than I thought that it would be. Lines were decieving and not nearly as long as they seemed. One hundred dollars later and my passport would be in the mail, headed for Peru. Reason that the US pisses me off. We do not have temporary passports for travel. Unless you decide to take a plane out of the country in the following days, Americans are stuck in the country without travel options. This would mean interesting circumstances for the near future. It takes two to three weeks to receive your replacement passport in a foreign country. Mary and I had a little less than a month to travel before we were scheduled to be back in Cusco to finished up our work with "Carve your own path".

Decisions decisions, whether or not to watch money burn in my pockets as it does so in Lima, or bite my bit and risk myself in unlawful circumstances. Mary and my reunion would bring interesting unexpected circumstances. In addition to my own personal longing desire to return to my starting place and see the family that I made promises to.
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Cusco, Peru

The reason I organized my trip was to eventually see Machu Picchu. I have dreamed of the site since studying the Incas in middle school.

What happens when expectations are met with such great
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Arequipa, Peru

What is it like to have all of your important possessions stolen in a moment? I know. When I got off the bus at ten in the morning to stretch my legs and grab some water, I had no idea that I would be spending the next five hours thinking about my actions with my nose against the window. Time is a crazy thing. In Peru and Ecuador I have found myself more patient with the simple things. Waiting for people, accomplishing a task and the simple aspects of waiting for one day to come and the next to go.

The passage from Puno to Arequipa is desert. With only 30 dollars in your pocket, no ID, and all of your physical memories gone. The desert carries with it a heavy burden. All I could tell myself is that, I am safe and unharmed. Pictures are not an end all to my experience. And I miss my Ipod. Since the robbery, it has come to my attention that my music and pictures of family were a home away from home. The story.

I got to the bus station in the morning and began reading a book about a kidnapping. It began with a small town, where a woman was bringing her children out to a high school reunion. About 70 pages in, the woman takes her eyes off her kids to check into their hotel. Moments later her son, Ben, is missing. As we pulled up to the stop in some random spot along the way to pick up more passengers, the idea to stretch my legs was inevitable. Right before getting off the bus one of the gringos in the back and I had a short conversation about whether or not to leave our bags on the bus. After spending my last month and a half on safe tour busses I was a bit jaded. I said it was probably safe.

Outside the bus introductions followed with the two gringos. Lukas and Louis were traveling together, there home is in England. Lukas is from Poland and Louis from Spain. Not more than a minute and a half after getting off the bus Lukas noticed someone get off the bus with a backpack. He immediately came over and told Louis and I. As I was boarding I looked to my left towards the lower baggage department of the bus. A man in red plaid with a black backpack was talking to the bus driver in charge of the baggage. As I approached my seat, my heart sank into my stomach. My bag was gone. Seconds later I was outside looking every direction to see if my bag was in sight. It wasn't. I got back onto the bus and began to question the other passengers. They told me they were asleep, but they saw a man in red plaid walk through the aisle and get off. My next step was the baggage checker. My Spanish is nearly fluent; he bold faced lied and said that he had seen no one of the description I gave him. I saw him talking to the chorro two minutes prior. As I write this account I can close my eyes and picture the man talking to the bus driver. Definitely something I wish that I could erase. Doubt and regret stalk my memory, when I question myself as to why I didn't approach them when I first witnessed my bag walking away.

I ran into the middle of the intersection and looked for police. My eyes came across one only seconds later. As I approached him, I began to tell him of my plight. He pointed me to another group of police, and told me to go talk to them. I flagged the truck down with four men inside. My explanation seemed to spark emergency in their eyes. I pointed to the bus where my things had been stolen from, and started trotting over expecting them to follow. I beat the truck to the bus and then watched it pass by and keep going. There wasn't even a flash of brake lights. The police in the small town could not have cared less that my passport, and valuables had been stolen in their district. I was just another ignorant tourist in their eyes.

Again I ran into the middle of the intersection, scoping for any tinge of red amongst the busy street. My circumstance began to set in. Thirty dollars to my name, no passport, no debit card. More than likely stranded in Arequipa, with five hours to my arrival.

The bus was ready to leave. My only option was to board and deal with the consequences later. As I sat in my seat, my face fell into my hands and reality began to torture my thoughts.

After a few minutes, Lukas and Louis offered me a seat along the back row with their condolences. Out came a bag of coca leaves, some trago and conversation. They are proof to the kindness and generosity of travelers. Like myself they are of the rare breed that believe in lending a hand to those who are in dire need of help. I found myself in a position of immense gratitude to their offer to bring me to Lima with them where I could get my things sorted out. Call it luck, or fate, grace or mercy, maybe karma, this crazy puzzle of my travels for the past year has given me the chance to witness and experience life in ways I would have never expected.
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Puno, Peru

Masticar...meaning to chew. When the word masticar is used here in Peru I have found that it is mostly associated with coca leaves.

One more hike up the island to find a place to stay on Taquile. We took port on a different part of the island that we had yet to visit. Packs on our backs Ailsa and I began to ask about homestays that were close to the Plaza de Armas, but also close to the new side that could be explored. As we walked were approached by several people trying to take us to their homestay above the Plaza. This was not what we wanted. Soon we came across a gate with what looked to be a hostal above the pathway. As we climbed the trail leading to the large hostal a man came down to greet us. We talked him down to half price. His was probably the best place to stay on Taquile. Our arrival interrupted a deep cleaning session of his hostal. In two days he was expecting a group of 20 students to stay at his place. Chewing coca leaves and work go hand in hand in many parts of Peru. The owner was a perfect example of this truth. Each person chews differently. Some, like myself, will not chew and break the leaves up into tiny little pieces. Others see more benefit from the leaves if they broken down completely. The owner's mouth was covered in miniscule bits of the energetic plant. To say that he had something that needed taken care of in his teeth would have been an understatement. Brushing and flossing were going to definately be necessary later on. Just one more example of cultural differences that make one person conscience of appearance, and another just going about the day to day.

I love the islands of Lake Titicaca. Their tranquility stands apart from other parts of Peru. Their differences make them unique and beautiful in my mind.
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Puno, Peru

Plans for the next day on the lake were to head out to a neighboring island, Amantani.

We woke up and headed to the principle port of Taquile with the intention of looking for a ride out to Amantani. With all of our packs packed and set to migrate we arrived at the docks. Word on the passage to Amantani was mixed, for every three people that we talked to there was one that would tell us it was possible. Thus we set up camp and waited. Every boat that docked was returning to Puno. After questioning the locals about the possibility, they began to talk to fishing and local smaller boats about taking us. Prices were a mixed language ranging from 50 soles for transport to 120 soles. After four hours of waiting we finally talked to a pair of fishermen who were willing to take us for sixty soles.

The boat was full of fishing nets. Our baggage was laid on top and barely secured over the top of the equipment. One of the men helped us down onto the boat while the other attached a makeshift motor to the end of the boat.

The motor: The motor was on its last leg. With no cover, all of its parts were exposed to the elements. As we began the two hour venture to the next island, the air intake had to be constantly adjusted by our driver. Adjustments were carefully made with a piece of hard plastic that was jerry rigged to the motor. Gas at times had to be re-syphoned from a bucket at the end of the boat to power our voyage. The slow trip was complimented by their versions of the lakes origens and stories of Lake Titicaca's history. None of their words matched those of our tour guide. We learned three things on the trip. Taquile was was an island where they exiled devious incas that stood up against the Spanish that conquered the people of the area. Lake Titicaca actually means cat dung. And the most interesting, the Lake was once a huge fertile valley that was filled with water by seven large rivers. You can look at pictures of recent glacier melting and find some credibility in last fact. There exists a mountain here in Peru whose name roughly translated means white mountain. In five years snow and ice will cease to cover its peak.

As the wind picked up the waves turned to light white caps, and it became evident that we left not a moment later than necessary. Had we left an hour later, the passage would have been much more interesting.

We docked the boat and were approached by a young lady who offered us a couple of beds for the next couple of nights. This is typical behavior by the locals. It is a free for all to capture the business of the tourists coming onto the island. The next morning we watched ladies running down the pathways leading to the port to host a boat of tourists that was deboarding a larger boat. Amantani is a completely different animal than its sister island Taquile. It has not been assimilated into a tourist trap for selling local goods and trout. It is beautiful. You don't feel the same show time presence of the people.

Dinner was served in our room. Our hosts treated us with hospitality like we were family. Time on the two islands is a mix of tranquility and light. As the sun fell we were again treated to an amazing spectacle of lightning and thunder.

When we woke up, breakfast was served with tea and a request from the young woman that met us at the dock. Her son had his first birthday two days prior, it is traditional that a man apart from the family give his first haircut. I acepted the honor. Our agenda for the day included time on the beach, a swim in a very chilly lake and cutting the youngsters hair.

Lake Titicaca is cold. It is the second highest lake in all of South America. I will say it again Lake Titicaca is really really cold. We borrowed a blanket from the homestay. The day turned out absolutely perfect. The sun was hot, making a shower in the lake quite a bit more entertaining. Most of the people that I have talked to about swimming in the lake think that we were crazy to do so. At the same time it was worth every moment to check it off of my list of crazy things to do in SA. Shower in Lake Titicaca, Check!

When we went back to the homestay. The young lady had a pair of old rusty scissors in her hands. "Are you ready?" I was nervous, its not every day that the first haircut that you give, is that of a squirmy youngster. The whole family gathered into our room and we took a seat indian style on the floor. No styling involved, just cutting the hair down to a managable length. I grabbed a bit of hair between my two fingers, similiar to what I have had done to me in the past. As I began to cut the first group of hair the reality of my inexperience of cutting hair set in. The rusty scissors could not handle a decent grip of hair between my fingers. The task at hand would have to be done slowly with patience and determination. After a few minutes the young one year old began to get restless. His first distraction was a newspaper, second a bottle cap. Then as is very common, his mom pulled out her nipple for lunch. I find it amazing how some very natural practices are considered a faux pas in the states as compared to here in SA. Yet at the same time, my upbringing still leads to an uncomfortable tweak in my brain to the conditions. Couldn't react to the reality before me, just keep cutting. When we finished the young man was without his natural dreadlocks, and looked as handsome as he could given the conditions...non-experienced me cutting his hair. Later we took the hair and burried it in one of the unplanted plots of farmland.

My acceptance to cut his hair brought Ailsa and I immediatly in better standing with the family. From that point on all meals were eaten in the same room, together. It is a beautiful cultural characteristic how simple things carry such weight here. That night I bought a bottle of Coca Cola that we shared with our homestay family. Their reaction was over the top to my simple gesture.

The next morning we left with hugs and goodbyes. Back to Taquile for another night.
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Puno, Peru

Hello Friends and Family,

Lake Titicaca lies on the border of Peru and Boliva. Sixty percent of the lake is the territory of Peru, with the obvious other forty percent belonging to Bolivia. It is said to be the birthplace of the children of the sun, the Incan people. Friends of mine from Blue House, Ailsa and Lucy as well as myself decided to make the trip down to the islands on the lake and visit the diverse cultures that live apart from one another on the lake.

A bus strike was set to begin the day after we arrived and to last two or three days while we explored the islands. Lucy's plane for home was to leave a few days after our arrival. This would cut her trip a bit shorter than Ailsa and my own. We arranged for our tour of the islands in the bus station that morning over breakfast. The first stop would be the floating islands, followed by a tour of Taquile and then back to Puno. Rather than getting back on the boat back to Puno, we would have the option of using our voucher as a return ticket when we saw fit to leave the lake.

Lake Titicaca at the moment was in a state of algae bloom. As the boat cut the water leaving the dock, our wake left a trail of blue amongst a bright green of the flowering organic material. I have never seen such a saturation of thriving weeds sitting on top of a lake. It is as damaging to the local water life environment as it is beautiful.

Our first stop was a series of floating islands. Each is made of two meter thick reed root systems topped with a meter thick layer of the reeds themselves threaded in an X fashion over and over. These communities exist solely to support a tourist demand to see their antique culture. It was weird to basically be part of a show put on by our guide and the island leader. Each island depending on the size is home to one or two families totalling about 40 people surviving on a 30 meter squared off block of weeds. In the past the islands used a barter system to exchange local resources and food, with the mainland. The market still exists today without the use of money. Our floating islands experience was culminated with a fifteen minute taxi ride on a reed boat for 10 soles a person.

The islands on the lake are like icebergs that jut out of the water with a plateau on the top. The communities of the islands sit about 200 steps from the level of the lake. The altitude of the lake changes this short hike into a out of breath trek, especially with a heavy pack. Taquile has maintained a formal dress code for its inhabitants. Every person wears the same black pants with a white shirt and colourful vest. I can't describe the atmosphere that is created by the non-expression of individuality through dress. The continuation of this culture feels in part a result of the tourists that pass through the island. After a conversation with one of the local store owners, we were told that the consequence for not wearing the traditional clothing is a 5000 sole fine. To hear this was disappointing to speak lightly.

We said goodbye to Lucy after lunch. After spending my last month and a half in the room next door to the young lady, the farewell was sad. We had an interesting communication exchange using a combination of mostly broken spanish, and even more broken english. When we first met, we were instantly friends via our love for Cusco culture and atmosphere.

Our lunch was served on the balcony of one of the more popular places in the main plaza. Every restaurant on Taquile is a perfect example of price fixing and conformity. Trout is served with rice and soup...every restaurant serves trout with rice and soup. Diversity is expressed in their various hot sauces.

Taquile's stone pathways are amazing. There are signs at various Ts and Ys that lead to landmarks worthy of visiting. Our first venture out of the hostel was to the ruins that sit on the island's peak. The short hike leads you through cookie cutter farm land distinguished by rock walls that mark various different types of produce. The walls create a distinct uniformity and uniqueness to the terraces of Taquile. Looking down from various vantage and view points you capture a sense of beauty to the place that is unforgettable.

Electricity is basically non-existent on the island, there are solar panels, but only used in emergencies. As the sun falls candles come out. Dinner was served over candle light and Bob Dylan from my ipod. When the stars came out the first night I sat underneath their brilliance in absolute awe. The heavens on Lake Titicaca remind you of just how small you are. It was like looking out over the ocean and putting perspective to the reality of how grand and amazing our world is. I have never seen so many stars. Taking a moment to imprint the picture that my eyes were seeing could have continued all night. It was interrupted by an intense lighting storm. The horizon was lit up every thirty seconds with spikes that at times had four or five legs. Lighting is different in complete darkness. It seemed as if the lake was transforming into an evil witches concoction, a most energetic brew of diamonds in the sky marked with streaks of light over Bolivia in the distance. It is no wonder that the Incas worshiped the offspring of the sun from the birthplace that was under my feet. Without modern knowledge, I can understand how they could come to believe in their folklore. As it grew colder as night pressed in, I couldn't pull myself from the show in front of my eyes. When I did finally hit the sack I fell asleep looking out my window.

...to be continued
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Cusco, Peru

Hello All,

So it has been more than a little while since I last wrote in my blog. I would like to just say that I am back. Life has taken many twists and turns in the last month and a half leading to a funk that has enveloped my mind and body.

After leaving Cusco I went to Puno and spent four days on the islands of Lake Titicaca. On my way from Puno to Arequipa, I stepped off of my bus to grab a breath of fresh air. About a minute later, another gringo on the bus came up to me frantically saying that someone walked off the bus with a backpack. That backpack was mine.

There are times in your life when pondering your actions of the past only makes one really really frustrated. Before getting off the bus I had a short conversation about how our things were more than likely safe on board. They were not. The following five hours was like an extended timeout from childhood. Contemplating all that I had lost in the short time, and what would come in the near future. I had roughly thirty dollars in my pocket. This would be sufficient for a couple of days in Arequipa. My debit card and passport were the least of my loss, these things could be arranged in the near future.

Diversify always.

Leaving Puno, I for some reason thought it a superb idea to place all of my valuable and treasured items in one bag. Stupid.

My camera with 4000 pictures, Camcorder and video diary of my explorations, my ipod, telephone with all US contacts, passport, debit card, all of my journals as well as various sentimental items that I had aquired in my travels were taken. Christmas came early for the Chorro that shouldered my bag that day.

Six months of travel and a seemingly perfect experience was slapped in the face.

Beautiful part of all of this is that I am healthy and well.

What proceeded this day however has been a cloud of unexplainable light depression. Resulting in more drinking than necessary, decisions that were slightly dangerous and a lack of communication on my part to those who are close to me. As of last week all of my papers are in order, and I feel like myself once more. Worries for money and stops by random police looking for bribs from the gringo without a passport have lifted.

What will proceed from this day to the rest of my trip is a flood of random stories that sometimes surprise myself from my travels in the recent past. As well as the culminating entries from Machu Picchu, the reason for my adventure.
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