I've not been in the best frame of mind to enjoy Buenos Aires. In fact I've had a bit of a nightmare. Maybe it's because I lost my lucky coca seed when I put my hiking trousers in the wash...
Just before I (eventually) left the airport after my flight from Lima, I decided I'd better get some money out. That's when I discovered I'd lost my Barclays debit card. I think it's those stupid ATMs in Peru that only give you back your card after you've recieved your money - I must have forgotten to collect my card. I got to my hotel at about 5.30 (my flight landed at 1.30!!) knackered and worried. Hotel Splendid, the departure point for my GAP tour through southern Patagonia, is not too splendid, but the price list said $120 for a single! At that point I couldn't face looking for a cheaper alternative and having to move out the next day, so I just accepted it. I dumped my stuff and headed off out again to find a phone place and an ATM to get some money out with my emergency credit card. I needed dollars for the local payment for my GAP tour, and some Argentinian pesos to keep me going. I tried 2 big banks and my credit card did not work. I went to a locutorio to use the net and the phone; my card was rejected by PayPal and I couldn't get through to Barclays to cancel the card, the bank of my credit card, or my parents to give me a hand. The particularly unhelpful man in the locutorio refused to accept that it was a problem with his phones and insisted that the lines in England were not working. Aaaah! I owed GAP $300 tomorrow, the hotel $120 for the night, and money to keep me solvent, but I had only about $100 to my name. I was all alone in a huge new city and couldn't get in touch with anyone at home. Plus I'd had an average of about 4 hours sleep a night for over a week now. I was pretty stressed out.
I'm just about sorted nearly 24 hours later. It turns out that the stupid man was wrong, it WAS his phones that were shitty, because another locutorio worked fine and I got through to England. It took 2 attempts to activate my credit card, and I've still not been able to get dollars, but at least I can get money. And I've been able to use my card to pay for my next hostel over the internet. Plus I've now realised that the $ sign here actually means pesos, which are worth a third of a US dollar. So my room actually costs $40. Not cheap (especially considering the naff breakfast of fatty croisants, stale coffee and disgustingly sugary "orange juice") but a lot better than I'd thought.
So, Buenos Aires. It's called the Paris of South America, and it certainly feels more like Europe than a part of the South America I'm used to. Leaving the airport on the bus felt much like leaving Manchester airport, but for the Spanish roadsigns and driving on the right. The motorways are big and modern with loads of interchanges and junctions (and functioning traffic lights that drivers actually obey), and there were green fields and big green trees, and coming into the city there are what appear to be 1960s and 1970s high rise flats and offices. The centre is full of banks, posh clothes and shoe shops, western-style restaurants and bars, and lots of pedestrianised plazas with statue centrepieces. There are even functioning pelican crossings! But what's most significant in producing the European feel? The rain. Oh yes. It's pissing it down and very grey. Just like London. So my first purchase with my newly acquired pesos was a much-needed umbrella.
The European feel is quite nice though. Argentina, since it's recent economic crash whenever it was, is still really cheap, so you can get European food, clothes and shoes at South American prices. And there are lots of really interesting little shops and cafés I'm looking forward to exploring. Also, I am small again. After feeling like a pasty blonde giant (and a bit more powerful for it) amongst the tiny native Americans, I am once more a normal looking girl in a city of (generally) European looking people.
I am sad to leave Peru. I could have spent my remaining four months just exploring more of it. Plus I only had a few hours with Hels, who was in Cuzco on my last day to start her Inca trail with GAP. We got to catch up over a wander round the town and some lunch. Very nice, but way too brief! And I definitely could have spent another week at least in and around Cuzco. It's full of gringos (I ran into a bunch of students from my Quito language school there, and one of the i-to-i girls from Lima) but it's such a cool place. Three days and nights were nowhere near enough; I could spend those just wandering round the markets buying souvenir stuff. At least I now have a lovely cosy Alpaca jumper to keep me warm down in Patagonia. And a pair of gloves, and a hat, and a new bag to hold my Lonely Planet... Bargaining in Africa was good training, I got some good deals. The city itself is quite small, but full of character thanks to its narrow cobbled streets, red-tiled roofs and impressive central plazas in which stand the historic and beautiful cathedrals and churches. There are some great cafes and restaurants - not least a place called "Fallen Angel". It's tables are bath-tubs filled with water and real fishes topped with a pane of glass, it's full of funky modern art (including a few paintings that would seem to confirm it's reputation as gay-friendly), and there are no Ladies and Gents loos but rather two cubicles decorated as "heaven" and "hell" respectively, you can choose which one to use depending on "how you feel". The nightlife is pretty good too, with clubs playing everything from 1980s ballads to salsa, reggaeton (yay) and western dance music. There are a lot of drugs about though... and, amongst pretty much every nationality imaginable, a LOT of Israeli blokes using their free post-military-service air tickets.
And then there was the Inca trail. How to summarise that week?! It was certainly very touristy. Being in a large group (16) of gringos makes touristiness unavoidable, but there were also about 100 other groups of gringos doing the same thing a few paces ahead and behind us. But it was definitely definitely worth it. First of all we had our Sacred Valley tour. That was pretty neat. There are so many fascinating Inca sites in the area that you could spend a week just discovering more of those. After trying out our first Inca steps in the ruins, we visited the "Inca Bar", where we tried our hands at a very bizarre bar game called frogs (in which you attempt to throw large metal coins into the mouth of a frog), saw a room full of guinea pigs being fattened up, and sampled some Andean chicha (beer fermented from maize). It's definitely an acquired taste. Although the pink version, "sweetened" with strawberries, was a little less sour.
The first few hours of the Inca trail only confirmed my fears that it would be way too touristy and far less beautiful than Huaraz. We left our bus in a field that served as a bus park for the countless other tourists doing the same thing, and walked down to the checkpoint, where we were given our mass-printed tickets and glossy leaflets about the trek, in return for registering ourselves with our passports. We set off, with our crew of 22 porters carrying all our stuff, along a highway of people lined with electricity pylons and cables and peppered with stalls selling soft drinks and snacks what felt like every 200m. I was pretty disappointed.
Fortunately things improved as we walked further. I'm very glad I bought a replacement camera in Cuzco before we left. Even if it is a naff Kodak EasyShare. We left the main electricity route and entered more beautiful and rugged valleys and mountains. Our crazy guide Ali made sure that we were the slowest group by stopping every 10 minutes for a 20 minute break, so we soon lost the majority of the other hikers. Although lacking the towering snowy peaks of the Cordillera Blanca, the Inca trail is undoubtedly beautiful. The views from the high passes were spectacular, and the steep jungle-covered valleys and wide winding rivers in the cloud forest on the climb down to Machu Picchu are just incredible. Best of all, the Inca trail is far more than just the route to Machu Picchu, for there are countless Inca sites along the way that are impressive themselves. Unfortunately, after three days of beautiful weather (and nicely dry paths), the day we arrived to Machu Picchu was very very cloudy. We got to the Sun Gate, from where can be enjoyed the beautiful first views of the ruined city, to see...clouds. We waited for two hours but it never really cleared up. Nevertheless, even without nice blue skies as a backdrop, Machu Picchu is very impressive. It's setting is what makes it so special - nestled between steep mountains and surrounded (covered, until the excavation) by dense jungle, it's amazing it was discovered at all. Four of us decided to climb Huayna Picchu mountain, which overlooks Machu Picchu. It's even steeper than the Inca trail and scarily so on the way down. We got to the top and saw...nothing, again. Although the picture of us sat on a rock against a perfectly white background is kind of amusing.
The trail was pretty tough, more so than I'd expected. I had no problems with the altitude, except feeling a little light headed after getting off the plane in Cuzco at 3,600m. (Though that was probably the result of lack of sleep after getting up at 3.30am following 4 nights in tents and buses.) But the path is very steep, both up and down. The ascent to Dead Woman's Pass (so called not because it claimed the life of some unlucky gringa, but because the shape of the mountains resembles a woman lying on her back, apparently) is comprised of steep, unrelentless rocky steps. Fortunately we had lots of stops to regroup and catch our breath. But the way down was even steeper - especially the section of stairs nicknamed the "Gringo-killer steps". We all bought a bag of coca leaves to help us along - as well as a a black blob of stuff that apparently is the ash of burnt jungle vegetables which. Aly showed us how to roll 3 coca leaves up with a bit of the ash, which when chewed with the coca brings out the chemicals that do the magic. It certainly makes your mouth numb. The porters seemed to like it though, they always had a lump in each cheek. (And a pint of chicha in their hands at every stop.) I got sick of the taste after a while and gave up. I didn't feel any different chewing it. My rucksack still honks of coca, however. I'd better make sure I air it properly before coming back to blighty since it's treated as a drug outside of South America.
My group was really good fun. I was the only solo traveller, the others were with friends, spouses or family, so it was a little lonely at times. But not really. It was a very international group - there were two Norwegian girls, two Swedish blonde girls, three Danish blondes, an Australian blonde who turned 21 on the day we got to Machu Picchu (!!) and her parents, and an English couple on their honeymoon, as well as the three comedy Irish guys. Our guide was very entertaining and made sure the group gelled really well. (Even if he did take it a bit far by trying it on with the girls when we hit the Cuzco clubs on the final night.) We had singing sessions and joke sessions. Turns out our Englishman, Scottishman, and Irishman jokes are rivalled by Norwegian, Swede and Dane jokes. The food was unbelievably good. Everyday we were served sit-down multi-course breakfast, lunch and dinner at a long table duly decked out in an Andean tablecloth and adorned with 18 serviettes folded differently each day. This is as well as daily snacks and tea and biscuits on our return to camp in the afternoon. On the final night our "international waiter" (still trying to figure that one out, he only spoke Spanish and Quechua...maybe it was the serviettes) brought out a beautifully decorated cake dedicated to los Chulyos, which are the Andean woolen hats with earflaps, and which was the name of our group. I do feel that the porters/cooks/general slaves are rather exploited. They do all this amazing cooking, and put up our tents before we return and take them down in the mornings, as well as lug all our stuff up the mountains about twice as fast as we do with a fraction of the weight on our backs. One porter we passed was 72!
So with good memories and new friends (some of them now Facebook friends; it's practically global...) I came down with a bump to Argentina. I'd love to go back to Peru. But there's so much more of this continent to see, I have to move on. Tonight I meet my new group for my Patagonia tour, and we fly down into the southern tip of Chile tomorrow morning. Very much looking forward to it. We should get to see seals, penguins and maybe condors, not to mention the glaciers and snowy mountains of southern Patagonia. I'm missing the mountains already.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Fresh air at last
I admit that anything would appear fresh and beautiful after a month in the dry, noisy, polluted city of Trujillo, but this part of Peru has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Dad, you'd have been in heaven; I wish I could have shipped you out here for a birthday treat. If ever you get the chance, go to Huaraz and do the Santa Cruz hike. We walked through lush green valleys, among wild horses, cows and sheep, past bright blue lakes, and along roaring rivers with rapids and waterfalls. We climbed cold and rugged high passes between awesome snowy peaks in the sleet and bracing winds. We saw quaint thatched peasant dwellings and met rosy-cheeked kids in tatty traditional dress asking for caramelos in return for photos. We camped in the company of the highest mountains of the Cordillera Blanca, some of the most impressive in South America.
Sadly the weather was not in our favour. The path was basically a large stream which we had no option but to wade through at points, and our campsite last night (strategically located right next to a bulging river) was a swamp by the morning. It's a wonder I've not got trenchfoot after living in soggy walking boots for four days. The nights were pretty miserable - even wearing my thermals, two extra pairs of trousers, two fleeces, extra socks and a hat, it was still too cold to stop shivering and sleep. And that's when there wasn't a small pond in my tent. We only got rare glimpses of the mountains through the clouds. To top it off, the rain had weakened the valley walls and there had been several recent landslides. One large rockfall blocked the path for 500m or so, making it too dangerous for the donkeys to pass. We were therefore without our trusty burros from this point on, and had to lug all our tents, cooking equipment and rucksacks accross this treacherous rocky section and beyond. It would have been scary enough clambering over the debris with both hands empty, but carrying my sack of spare clothes and sleeping back in one hand and the bag of everyone's sleeping mats in the other across loose rocks on a steep mountainside was terrifying. Though I got off lightly; one guide tied three heavy wooden boxes to his back and set off down the valley at a sprint. Unbelievable.
But it was well worth it. Those few long-awaited glimpses of the mountains, when the clouds deigned to part for a few minutes, were all the more special for their rarity. Waking up to dawn views of six or seven towering peaks looming over our tiny campsite, before the clouds returned to shroud them from view again, was pretty awe-inspiring. Certainly, the obscurity and darkness of the mountain peaks gave them an air of mystery and danger. It was very easy to believe that hundreds have died in pursuit of their summits. When the rain (finally) ceased on our last day, we were able to appreciate the beauty of the Santa Cruz valley in sunlight. I just can't imagine how amazing it must be in the drier months when the weather is consistently good. To make it even more magical, we were treated to a rare sighting of a condor soaring above us on the journey out of the valley and back to Huaraz. It was the icing on the cake.
I hope the Slovakians didn't mind me joining their group. They were Jani and Ladi, 28 and 27, one a rock-climbing enthusiast and trek guide in the Slovakian mountains (which I am now very tempted to visit), the other a linguist and aspiring writer, both keen travellers just enoying life without getting tied down to demanding careers. Sounds good to me. Jani is mad-keen on photography and took over 250 photos in those four days. We often had to wait for him to catch up whilst he erected and dissembled his tripod next to get the perfect shot of a couple of cows or a waterfall. Oh how I wish I'd not lost my camera back in Ecuador. All three of us suffered a bit with soroche (altitude sickness) after climbing the 4,750m pass and camping at 4,250m. We had throbbing headaches, and the going was tough on the climbs. Drinking coca tea and chewing on the leaves can only do so much (if it does anything at all). Conversely, our well-acclimatised guides claimed that they have problems breathing at sea level. The guys had digestion problems too. It can't have been the water. I actually grew to like drinking iodine-flavoured melted glacier. The taste is hard to describe; I'm not sure whether it was more like licking a hospital floor or drinking from a swimming pool. The Slovakians turned out to be jolly nice chaps. I've been promised Jani's best photos (which ought to be damn good considering the number he took and the time he spent taking them) and a warm welcome if I visit Slovakia. Though I do have certain reservations. After those four days I have been left with two inexplicable puncture wounds, about an inch apart, on my right arm. Is Slovakia close to Transylvannia...?
I'm back in hot noisy Lima again today. I'm actually grateful to be here. Our trek guide Liz told me that the road between Huaraz and Lima is quite dangerous and there are frequent accidents, especially in the middle of the night when tired bus drivers fall asleep at the wheel and miss one of the many sharp turns, sending a busload of passengers hurtling over the mountainside. After hearing that, my smugness at saving money and time with a cheap overnight ticket for the trip had turned into regret and a growing sense of doom. Actually, after my terror subsided slightly when we didn't crash in the first few hours, it was actually a very pleasant journey. After three sleepless nights shivering in a cold damp tent, the dryness and warmth of the bus were blissful. In a couple of day's time I'll be doing the camping thing all over again with a new group on the way to Machu Picchu. I can't imagine that the trek will be as beautiful as Santa Cruz, but I'm praying it won't be as wet either. Hopefully I'll be acclimatised and won't get the headaches again. I'm meeting my fellow trekkers tomorrow, but I've encountered a few of them alreadys - three football-loving Irish guys in their mid-late 20s who seem to have survived so far in South America on a diet consisting entirely of beer. They were on their way to a bar.
Oh dear. I'm listening to a female gospel choir singing a Spanish translation of Robbie's "Angels". Think it might be time to go.
Sadly the weather was not in our favour. The path was basically a large stream which we had no option but to wade through at points, and our campsite last night (strategically located right next to a bulging river) was a swamp by the morning. It's a wonder I've not got trenchfoot after living in soggy walking boots for four days. The nights were pretty miserable - even wearing my thermals, two extra pairs of trousers, two fleeces, extra socks and a hat, it was still too cold to stop shivering and sleep. And that's when there wasn't a small pond in my tent. We only got rare glimpses of the mountains through the clouds. To top it off, the rain had weakened the valley walls and there had been several recent landslides. One large rockfall blocked the path for 500m or so, making it too dangerous for the donkeys to pass. We were therefore without our trusty burros from this point on, and had to lug all our tents, cooking equipment and rucksacks accross this treacherous rocky section and beyond. It would have been scary enough clambering over the debris with both hands empty, but carrying my sack of spare clothes and sleeping back in one hand and the bag of everyone's sleeping mats in the other across loose rocks on a steep mountainside was terrifying. Though I got off lightly; one guide tied three heavy wooden boxes to his back and set off down the valley at a sprint. Unbelievable.
But it was well worth it. Those few long-awaited glimpses of the mountains, when the clouds deigned to part for a few minutes, were all the more special for their rarity. Waking up to dawn views of six or seven towering peaks looming over our tiny campsite, before the clouds returned to shroud them from view again, was pretty awe-inspiring. Certainly, the obscurity and darkness of the mountain peaks gave them an air of mystery and danger. It was very easy to believe that hundreds have died in pursuit of their summits. When the rain (finally) ceased on our last day, we were able to appreciate the beauty of the Santa Cruz valley in sunlight. I just can't imagine how amazing it must be in the drier months when the weather is consistently good. To make it even more magical, we were treated to a rare sighting of a condor soaring above us on the journey out of the valley and back to Huaraz. It was the icing on the cake.
I hope the Slovakians didn't mind me joining their group. They were Jani and Ladi, 28 and 27, one a rock-climbing enthusiast and trek guide in the Slovakian mountains (which I am now very tempted to visit), the other a linguist and aspiring writer, both keen travellers just enoying life without getting tied down to demanding careers. Sounds good to me. Jani is mad-keen on photography and took over 250 photos in those four days. We often had to wait for him to catch up whilst he erected and dissembled his tripod next to get the perfect shot of a couple of cows or a waterfall. Oh how I wish I'd not lost my camera back in Ecuador. All three of us suffered a bit with soroche (altitude sickness) after climbing the 4,750m pass and camping at 4,250m. We had throbbing headaches, and the going was tough on the climbs. Drinking coca tea and chewing on the leaves can only do so much (if it does anything at all). Conversely, our well-acclimatised guides claimed that they have problems breathing at sea level. The guys had digestion problems too. It can't have been the water. I actually grew to like drinking iodine-flavoured melted glacier. The taste is hard to describe; I'm not sure whether it was more like licking a hospital floor or drinking from a swimming pool. The Slovakians turned out to be jolly nice chaps. I've been promised Jani's best photos (which ought to be damn good considering the number he took and the time he spent taking them) and a warm welcome if I visit Slovakia. Though I do have certain reservations. After those four days I have been left with two inexplicable puncture wounds, about an inch apart, on my right arm. Is Slovakia close to Transylvannia...?
I'm back in hot noisy Lima again today. I'm actually grateful to be here. Our trek guide Liz told me that the road between Huaraz and Lima is quite dangerous and there are frequent accidents, especially in the middle of the night when tired bus drivers fall asleep at the wheel and miss one of the many sharp turns, sending a busload of passengers hurtling over the mountainside. After hearing that, my smugness at saving money and time with a cheap overnight ticket for the trip had turned into regret and a growing sense of doom. Actually, after my terror subsided slightly when we didn't crash in the first few hours, it was actually a very pleasant journey. After three sleepless nights shivering in a cold damp tent, the dryness and warmth of the bus were blissful. In a couple of day's time I'll be doing the camping thing all over again with a new group on the way to Machu Picchu. I can't imagine that the trek will be as beautiful as Santa Cruz, but I'm praying it won't be as wet either. Hopefully I'll be acclimatised and won't get the headaches again. I'm meeting my fellow trekkers tomorrow, but I've encountered a few of them alreadys - three football-loving Irish guys in their mid-late 20s who seem to have survived so far in South America on a diet consisting entirely of beer. They were on their way to a bar.
Oh dear. I'm listening to a female gospel choir singing a Spanish translation of Robbie's "Angels". Think it might be time to go.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Happy Birthday Dad!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD! Sorry I'm not there to say it properly in person, but I owe you a treat when I get back. Miss you!
Arrived in Huaraz this morning, at 6.30am. Had a pretty uncomfortable journey and didn't get more than a few hours' sleep (including some wierd dream about Jennifer Aniston losing her nice-girl image and her youthful looks and developing skin like wrinkled leather...), but I'm grateful I got here at all. Stupid me was convinced for some reason that my bus left at 9.30pm, but it was only arriving at the bus station at 9.25 when I looked at my ticket, which was for the 9.00 bus. I'd missed it. Thankfully, the nice guy at the counter (after laughing at me for being a stupid gringa) found me a place on the 9.30 bus.
My last week or so in Trujillo was more of the same really. Sandboarding at the weekend was interesting. I think our guide was hungover, or maybe just a bit useless. He didn't introduce himself or bother to ask our names, and we spent the 40 minute journey to the dunes listening to the old fat taxi driver cackle as he took the piss out of our guide and flirted with some other girl that came along for the ride, seemingly to take publicity photos. The taxi driver had a big scar on his arm. I reckon he probably went a joke too far one night and rubbed someone up the wrong way. We stopped in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by rocky mountains and lots of sand, under the burning sun. Facing us was a very steep and very high sand dune. Guide dude just handed us each a board, and started climbing up the sand. I guessed we were supposed to follow him. Not easy. I eventually reached him where he'd stopped, panting a lot. Nicky had stopped for a break about half-way up. He put my board down and gestured for me to get strapped on. It was only at this point, on the edge of a 50m near-vertical slope, did he think to ask how many times we'd been sandboarding before. It took the camera girl to suggest that we go from a little lower down to start with. We were both pretty useless, much to the amusement of the taxi driver, and Nicky gave up after about 3 goes so it was just me wobbling down the sand and trudging back up again. Hot, sweaty and sandy, we called it a day after only about an hour and a half.
It was sad to say goodbye to the kids in the Benificencia. Though the blow was lessened by the fact that some little blighter ransacked my purse and stole my money! I only discovered what had happened later in the evening. They didn't take much, perhaps 30 soles (8 pounds or so) in notes, including one fake note that someone had fobbed off on me the other day. I know they're poor but that's just cheeky! I decided to let it go, and didn't let it stop me giving out sweets the next - my last - day. But I did leave my bag in a box with the teacher's stuff, thinking it would be safer. I got home feeling a bit sad at leaving them but grateful for the experience, only to discover when I looked in my purse that the little bastards had done it again! I'm not trusting anyone from now on!
On Thursday Nicky and I visited a really interesting mueseum of pre-Inca ceramics. No it didn't sound very interesting to me either. But, with a guide to point out the points of interest, I reckon it was worth the 7 soles entry fee. The small room held over 1000 pieces from different pre-Inca civilizations. Apparently, in the absence of writing, ceramics were the language of the people in those days. Though at first sight they seem like a load of drably coloured and primitively decorated pots, it turns out that loads can be learnt about the culture of the times from the designs of the pieces. Sculpted human faces and figures demonstrate the presence of such diseases and abnormalities as cleft-lip, leprosy, blindness, Downs syndrome, elefantitis, thyroid abnormalities, some gruesome sexually transmitted infections and some awful-looking disease that eats away at the face. Sculptures of faces with beards and of people of African and Asian origin indicate the presence of non-native peoples way before the Conquest. Native Peruvians can't grow beards! Feeling proud of ourselves after a morning of culture, we hit the beach for the rest of the afternoon.
Huaraz seems like a pretty town. I found my hostel (a $5 a night cheapo) and my dorm easily, and woke up the only other resident in there, a friendly German girl on a break from her job in Lima. We wandered out for some breakfast, past the indigenous men pushing carts full of whole plucked chickens, and the women, children in tow, selling bread and juice from their little mobile stalls. I was hoping to see some traditional Semana Santa celebrations, but it seems that the most important event of Semana Santa - the procession reliving Jesus walking to the crucifiction site with his cross - happened in the middle of the night last night. After the German girl (still don't know her name!) left for her tour, I started what I thought would be a mission to find a company offering the 4-day Santa Cruz trek leaving tomorrow. But two other gringos wanting to do the same thing wandered into the first agency I tried. The agency seems professional - they have nice photos at least - so I'm leaving tomorrow at 6.30am with two hairy Slovakians.
Arrived in Huaraz this morning, at 6.30am. Had a pretty uncomfortable journey and didn't get more than a few hours' sleep (including some wierd dream about Jennifer Aniston losing her nice-girl image and her youthful looks and developing skin like wrinkled leather...), but I'm grateful I got here at all. Stupid me was convinced for some reason that my bus left at 9.30pm, but it was only arriving at the bus station at 9.25 when I looked at my ticket, which was for the 9.00 bus. I'd missed it. Thankfully, the nice guy at the counter (after laughing at me for being a stupid gringa) found me a place on the 9.30 bus.
My last week or so in Trujillo was more of the same really. Sandboarding at the weekend was interesting. I think our guide was hungover, or maybe just a bit useless. He didn't introduce himself or bother to ask our names, and we spent the 40 minute journey to the dunes listening to the old fat taxi driver cackle as he took the piss out of our guide and flirted with some other girl that came along for the ride, seemingly to take publicity photos. The taxi driver had a big scar on his arm. I reckon he probably went a joke too far one night and rubbed someone up the wrong way. We stopped in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by rocky mountains and lots of sand, under the burning sun. Facing us was a very steep and very high sand dune. Guide dude just handed us each a board, and started climbing up the sand. I guessed we were supposed to follow him. Not easy. I eventually reached him where he'd stopped, panting a lot. Nicky had stopped for a break about half-way up. He put my board down and gestured for me to get strapped on. It was only at this point, on the edge of a 50m near-vertical slope, did he think to ask how many times we'd been sandboarding before. It took the camera girl to suggest that we go from a little lower down to start with. We were both pretty useless, much to the amusement of the taxi driver, and Nicky gave up after about 3 goes so it was just me wobbling down the sand and trudging back up again. Hot, sweaty and sandy, we called it a day after only about an hour and a half.
It was sad to say goodbye to the kids in the Benificencia. Though the blow was lessened by the fact that some little blighter ransacked my purse and stole my money! I only discovered what had happened later in the evening. They didn't take much, perhaps 30 soles (8 pounds or so) in notes, including one fake note that someone had fobbed off on me the other day. I know they're poor but that's just cheeky! I decided to let it go, and didn't let it stop me giving out sweets the next - my last - day. But I did leave my bag in a box with the teacher's stuff, thinking it would be safer. I got home feeling a bit sad at leaving them but grateful for the experience, only to discover when I looked in my purse that the little bastards had done it again! I'm not trusting anyone from now on!
On Thursday Nicky and I visited a really interesting mueseum of pre-Inca ceramics. No it didn't sound very interesting to me either. But, with a guide to point out the points of interest, I reckon it was worth the 7 soles entry fee. The small room held over 1000 pieces from different pre-Inca civilizations. Apparently, in the absence of writing, ceramics were the language of the people in those days. Though at first sight they seem like a load of drably coloured and primitively decorated pots, it turns out that loads can be learnt about the culture of the times from the designs of the pieces. Sculpted human faces and figures demonstrate the presence of such diseases and abnormalities as cleft-lip, leprosy, blindness, Downs syndrome, elefantitis, thyroid abnormalities, some gruesome sexually transmitted infections and some awful-looking disease that eats away at the face. Sculptures of faces with beards and of people of African and Asian origin indicate the presence of non-native peoples way before the Conquest. Native Peruvians can't grow beards! Feeling proud of ourselves after a morning of culture, we hit the beach for the rest of the afternoon.
Huaraz seems like a pretty town. I found my hostel (a $5 a night cheapo) and my dorm easily, and woke up the only other resident in there, a friendly German girl on a break from her job in Lima. We wandered out for some breakfast, past the indigenous men pushing carts full of whole plucked chickens, and the women, children in tow, selling bread and juice from their little mobile stalls. I was hoping to see some traditional Semana Santa celebrations, but it seems that the most important event of Semana Santa - the procession reliving Jesus walking to the crucifiction site with his cross - happened in the middle of the night last night. After the German girl (still don't know her name!) left for her tour, I started what I thought would be a mission to find a company offering the 4-day Santa Cruz trek leaving tomorrow. But two other gringos wanting to do the same thing wandered into the first agency I tried. The agency seems professional - they have nice photos at least - so I'm leaving tomorrow at 6.30am with two hairy Slovakians.
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