Tuesday, February 27, 2007
peru
Given that the idea of writing ten more days' worth of posts is too daunting for me to attempt at the moment, and given that I've been putting this thing off long enough, I think I'll tell the story of Peru in pictures and this brief summary: Cusco, Machu Picchu, sacred valley, sick, Puno, Cusco, Lima...verdict: I want to go back again and again.
the end of central america
Feb 7
Katy and April had to leave early in the morning in order to get back to San José in time for their flight to Peru on the 8th. So I stuck around in Bocas an extra day by myself, hopped on a boat to another island and walked through a town and then some jungle to a place called Wizzard Beach, plopped down in the sand and enjoyed the beauty of where I was. I really did a lot of that over the course of the trip, just marvelling at how beautiful some places are. Good times. Here's a pic of the path to Wizzard Beach, of the beach itself, and of the town on the other side of the island that you get off at to go there.
Hung out at the hostel that night with a couple of Israelis, an Irish guy and an American, drinking and talking and singing along to the Irish guy's (very good) guitar playing. Good times.
Feb 8
Early wake-up again and I checked out, walked down the road to the docks for the last time and got on a boat back to the mainland. While waiting to leave I struck up a conversation with perhaps the most beautiful couple I have ever seen in person: two tall, blond, tanned, spectacular, fit New Zealander newlyweds. They were super nice, to boot. Here's a pic I took of the boat ride back:
The way back to San José from there was uneventful, except that our bus broke down at one point and that I was seated across from a nun dressed all in white, down to her shoelaces. Spent the night again at Pangea, made friends with a couple of English kids, one from Manchester and the other from somewhere near London. We played cards and made fun of each other's accents and then I went to bed.
Feb 9
Getting out of Costa Rica sucked. The cab was late to the hostel and there was a traffic jam, so instead of getting to the airport two plus hours in advance, I got there 50 minutes before takeoff and had to beg and beg and wait impatiently while they got a volunteer to give up their seat on the plane (it was, of course, overbooked), while the American guy next to me flipped his shit about some other problem and kept saying that Costa Rica used to be great but now had let private companies take over (this was certainly true of the airport) and now was the "shittiest country in Latin America." Whatever, I liked it. Finally I got on the plane and we didn't even have to take off that late because the security line was nonexistent and I quite literally sprinted through. Of course, just to spice things up, there was a bomb threat to the plane when we were about 45 minutes out from Lima. I have never been more nervous in my life, and I think the only time I can remember being scareder was when Jack nearly broke his back sledding and I was standing 15 feet away from where he hit the bench. It actually surprised me, I didn't think I would have reacted the way I did, but hey, there you go. We landed and were escorted by two fire trucks with sirens blaring to the middle of the tarmac, where we got off and boarded some buses, which took us to some hall under the airport. We waited there for like an hour while our bags were searched and the people with connecting flights (there were a ton of people going on to Bs As, including an American kid I befriended because he didn't understand what was going on) got screened first. Finally, three hours late, I entered the Lima airport proper, found an internet cafe, called home, ate dinner and looked for a place to catch a few hours of sleep before my 6:25 a.m. flight to Cusco. Thus ended the Central American section of my trip and started the Peruvian section. And thus ends this post.
Katy and April had to leave early in the morning in order to get back to San José in time for their flight to Peru on the 8th. So I stuck around in Bocas an extra day by myself, hopped on a boat to another island and walked through a town and then some jungle to a place called Wizzard Beach, plopped down in the sand and enjoyed the beauty of where I was. I really did a lot of that over the course of the trip, just marvelling at how beautiful some places are. Good times. Here's a pic of the path to Wizzard Beach, of the beach itself, and of the town on the other side of the island that you get off at to go there.
Hung out at the hostel that night with a couple of Israelis, an Irish guy and an American, drinking and talking and singing along to the Irish guy's (very good) guitar playing. Good times.
Feb 8
Early wake-up again and I checked out, walked down the road to the docks for the last time and got on a boat back to the mainland. While waiting to leave I struck up a conversation with perhaps the most beautiful couple I have ever seen in person: two tall, blond, tanned, spectacular, fit New Zealander newlyweds. They were super nice, to boot. Here's a pic I took of the boat ride back:
The way back to San José from there was uneventful, except that our bus broke down at one point and that I was seated across from a nun dressed all in white, down to her shoelaces. Spent the night again at Pangea, made friends with a couple of English kids, one from Manchester and the other from somewhere near London. We played cards and made fun of each other's accents and then I went to bed.
Feb 9
Getting out of Costa Rica sucked. The cab was late to the hostel and there was a traffic jam, so instead of getting to the airport two plus hours in advance, I got there 50 minutes before takeoff and had to beg and beg and wait impatiently while they got a volunteer to give up their seat on the plane (it was, of course, overbooked), while the American guy next to me flipped his shit about some other problem and kept saying that Costa Rica used to be great but now had let private companies take over (this was certainly true of the airport) and now was the "shittiest country in Latin America." Whatever, I liked it. Finally I got on the plane and we didn't even have to take off that late because the security line was nonexistent and I quite literally sprinted through. Of course, just to spice things up, there was a bomb threat to the plane when we were about 45 minutes out from Lima. I have never been more nervous in my life, and I think the only time I can remember being scareder was when Jack nearly broke his back sledding and I was standing 15 feet away from where he hit the bench. It actually surprised me, I didn't think I would have reacted the way I did, but hey, there you go. We landed and were escorted by two fire trucks with sirens blaring to the middle of the tarmac, where we got off and boarded some buses, which took us to some hall under the airport. We waited there for like an hour while our bags were searched and the people with connecting flights (there were a ton of people going on to Bs As, including an American kid I befriended because he didn't understand what was going on) got screened first. Finally, three hours late, I entered the Lima airport proper, found an internet cafe, called home, ate dinner and looked for a place to catch a few hours of sleep before my 6:25 a.m. flight to Cusco. Thus ended the Central American section of my trip and started the Peruvian section. And thus ends this post.
feb 3-6
It really makes an even bigger difference than I thought it would not to have internet at home. I'm here in the COPA office now, and I'm going to try and finish up the trip in shortened fashion because otherwise it's never going to get done. Then I'll be back on a regular schedule, although posting less than I want to because I can't get online at home. I think my host sister has cable internet in her room, but I'm not sure; I did a little research and it turns out that wi-fi is less than 8 bucks a month after installation (with equipment, about 60 bucks). I think sometime in the near future, giving myself a little time to get more comfortable with them, I'm going to talk to the Pilars about getting wi-fi. Like it or not, I do everything online. I get my news, a lot of my entertainment, and practically all my communication with family and friends on Safari, Adium or Skype. Anyhow, on to the trip...
Feb 3
Got up earlyish and rented some bikes for the 13 km trip to Cahuita, a little town up the road with yet another beautiful national park. This one was supposed to have great snorkelling, which we all wanted to do, so we booked in over there. The ride was really nice and so was the park. So many monkeys! They skittered in the trees above us and dropped nuts from on high after shucking and eating what they wanted. Katy nearly got one on the arm and I found one exactly in the middle of my towel after coming back from a swim. They fell fast, too. Then, coincidence of coincidences, I saw Andrew Delphi and partner walking down the path behind the beach. I went over and said hi and we talked for a little while, until Delphi started yelling and pointing up. Turned out that she'd seen a three-toed sloth. These are now my favorite animal. The way they move is unbelievable, the muscle control and strength it must take to swing in slow motion from branch to branch blew me away. Their name is really, really undeserved. I didn't get a decent pic, which sucks. Anyhow we called it a day soon after that and biked back the way we came. The ride back was easier until the very end, when the paved road was replaced by dusty, dusty gravel and we all ended coated, literally to the teeth, in dust. Blech.
Feb 4
Super Bowl! We watched in a bar in town, with a funny mix of Americans who cared, Americans who didn't care, and Costa Ricans who yelled and screamed every time they saw someone else react to something. That place had great burgers, too. Also, I love Prince.
Feb 5
Katy and April had to deal with some stuff in the only bank in town in the morning, so they went and waited in the long, long line and I chilled outside, which was fine by me. We had checked out of our hotel in the morning and today was the day we were heading to Panama. It seems like at least a dozen people had told us to go to Bocas del Toro, so we were on our way. The bus was really late, though. We met some Chilean guys and an Argentinean who were spending the summer going by bus from Mexico back to Santiago. The bus ride was hot sweaty and packed and beautiful. We finally made it to the border and were immediately accosted by cab drivers telling us what to do and offering their services to the dock to Bocas. I tried to ignore them, as I usually do when accosted by cab drivers somewhere new, but, as it turned out, their role is essential. Getting out of CR wasn't hard, they just stamped our passports and over we went. The crossing into Panama was on foot, over a rickety, hole-ridden wooden bridge that had a narrow shoulder for pedestrians and one lane for trucks and buses. Very exciting, here's a picture:
Once across, the adventure started. We waited in line with everyone else from our bus to get our passports stamped and so on. But the Chilean guys got to the window first and came away muttering and angry and confused. My turn came, and the lady behind the counter told me that we needed to have tickets that showed we were leaving the country, which could be bought down the hill next to the supermarket, and to follow, that's right, the taxistas. So down we went, to a little plywood booth that looked like nothing more than a treehouse painted pink and sitting on the side of the road, where we paid ten bucks a pop for bus tickets out of Panama. Then it was back up the hill, with the Chilean guys shaking their heads and looking at everyone and saying "absurdo" over and over. It was worse for them because they didn't have any American currency (Panama uses dollars), and there, of course, was no ATM at the border. So they had to wrangle and haggle and finally ended up paying with CR colones. Then it was back up to the impatient lady behind the counter to get our passports stamped. But we weren't done! We had to go to the tourism office to get our visas filled out and stamped, then back to impatient lady for a final stamp. All in all it was the stupidest, most irritating entry to a country I have ever experienced. Then, of course, we had to get to the dock to get on a boat to Bocas itself. The only way to get there? Who else? The taxistas. So we piled into a van with a couple of Italian ladies and bounced through Chiquita banana and pineapple plantations for half an hour. We made it to the dock just in time for the last boat. Let me say it now: Thank god I walk fast. I was the first to the ticket booth and started talking to the guy there, who at first said there was no space left on the boat. This was ridiculous because there were probably six other people there, not counting the little Panamanian kids who ran around asking everyone for colones. After some arguing and pleading, the guy grudgingly conceded that there were two, no, wait, three seats left. Perfect for me, April and Katy but leaving the Italians in the dust. So I repeat, thank god I walk fast. If we'd gotten there after the Italians, we'd have to do what they and the Chileans and Argentinean (who arrived after us in another taxi) had to do: Race down the coast a little ways to try and catch the last boat from another town. Tickets bought, finally, and we settled in to wait. The boat came, we climbed on and from then on I could not stop smiling. We were going to get where we were going, our surroundings were absolutely, stunningly beautiful, the weather was perfect...Here are a couple of pics from the boat ride:
We got to the main island and disembarked and started walking down the street looking for a place to stay. We checked one place out, decided it was too much and kept walking until we found a place that I'd seen a flyer for somewhere, maybe in San José. It turned out to be really cool. We got the "penthouse," a.k.a. what basically amounted to a treehouse of rough boards with huge open windows and its own toilet and sink. The place had a cool, very international vibe and a great happy hour: beers for 50 cents and mixed drinks for a dollar. This is how excited we were to be there:
Anyhow we went out for some really tasty Indian food that night and then Katy and April went off to a different island to party with a couple of ridiculous, dumb dumb dumb guys they met and flirted with at dinner (just a liiiittle tips, they were) and I went back to the hostel to fall asleep, which I did instantly.
Feb 6
April and Katy got back around 8:30 a.m., hung over and chagrined, having taken what they deemed the "boat ride of shame." Nothing bad happened, but they just ended up being a bit uncomfortable. I couldn't stop laughing at them, and they couldn't stop laughing at themselved, so it was all fine. We went down to the docks again and bought a tickets for an all-day snorkelling, beach and dolphin-sighting boat tour of the islands. It was amazing, and is going to get short shrift because I've got other stuff to write about, but here's the site where we dropped anchor and me in my snorkelling gear:
I cut my foot on some coral, fulfilling my obligation to somehow get hurt everywhere I go. One thing I've come to terms with down here is my injury-prone-ness. But all in all the day was terrific. I'm going to stop this post with that, because it's long and photo-laden enough.
Feb 3
Got up earlyish and rented some bikes for the 13 km trip to Cahuita, a little town up the road with yet another beautiful national park. This one was supposed to have great snorkelling, which we all wanted to do, so we booked in over there. The ride was really nice and so was the park. So many monkeys! They skittered in the trees above us and dropped nuts from on high after shucking and eating what they wanted. Katy nearly got one on the arm and I found one exactly in the middle of my towel after coming back from a swim. They fell fast, too. Then, coincidence of coincidences, I saw Andrew Delphi and partner walking down the path behind the beach. I went over and said hi and we talked for a little while, until Delphi started yelling and pointing up. Turned out that she'd seen a three-toed sloth. These are now my favorite animal. The way they move is unbelievable, the muscle control and strength it must take to swing in slow motion from branch to branch blew me away. Their name is really, really undeserved. I didn't get a decent pic, which sucks. Anyhow we called it a day soon after that and biked back the way we came. The ride back was easier until the very end, when the paved road was replaced by dusty, dusty gravel and we all ended coated, literally to the teeth, in dust. Blech.
Feb 4
Super Bowl! We watched in a bar in town, with a funny mix of Americans who cared, Americans who didn't care, and Costa Ricans who yelled and screamed every time they saw someone else react to something. That place had great burgers, too. Also, I love Prince.
Feb 5
Katy and April had to deal with some stuff in the only bank in town in the morning, so they went and waited in the long, long line and I chilled outside, which was fine by me. We had checked out of our hotel in the morning and today was the day we were heading to Panama. It seems like at least a dozen people had told us to go to Bocas del Toro, so we were on our way. The bus was really late, though. We met some Chilean guys and an Argentinean who were spending the summer going by bus from Mexico back to Santiago. The bus ride was hot sweaty and packed and beautiful. We finally made it to the border and were immediately accosted by cab drivers telling us what to do and offering their services to the dock to Bocas. I tried to ignore them, as I usually do when accosted by cab drivers somewhere new, but, as it turned out, their role is essential. Getting out of CR wasn't hard, they just stamped our passports and over we went. The crossing into Panama was on foot, over a rickety, hole-ridden wooden bridge that had a narrow shoulder for pedestrians and one lane for trucks and buses. Very exciting, here's a picture:
Once across, the adventure started. We waited in line with everyone else from our bus to get our passports stamped and so on. But the Chilean guys got to the window first and came away muttering and angry and confused. My turn came, and the lady behind the counter told me that we needed to have tickets that showed we were leaving the country, which could be bought down the hill next to the supermarket, and to follow, that's right, the taxistas. So down we went, to a little plywood booth that looked like nothing more than a treehouse painted pink and sitting on the side of the road, where we paid ten bucks a pop for bus tickets out of Panama. Then it was back up the hill, with the Chilean guys shaking their heads and looking at everyone and saying "absurdo" over and over. It was worse for them because they didn't have any American currency (Panama uses dollars), and there, of course, was no ATM at the border. So they had to wrangle and haggle and finally ended up paying with CR colones. Then it was back up to the impatient lady behind the counter to get our passports stamped. But we weren't done! We had to go to the tourism office to get our visas filled out and stamped, then back to impatient lady for a final stamp. All in all it was the stupidest, most irritating entry to a country I have ever experienced. Then, of course, we had to get to the dock to get on a boat to Bocas itself. The only way to get there? Who else? The taxistas. So we piled into a van with a couple of Italian ladies and bounced through Chiquita banana and pineapple plantations for half an hour. We made it to the dock just in time for the last boat. Let me say it now: Thank god I walk fast. I was the first to the ticket booth and started talking to the guy there, who at first said there was no space left on the boat. This was ridiculous because there were probably six other people there, not counting the little Panamanian kids who ran around asking everyone for colones. After some arguing and pleading, the guy grudgingly conceded that there were two, no, wait, three seats left. Perfect for me, April and Katy but leaving the Italians in the dust. So I repeat, thank god I walk fast. If we'd gotten there after the Italians, we'd have to do what they and the Chileans and Argentinean (who arrived after us in another taxi) had to do: Race down the coast a little ways to try and catch the last boat from another town. Tickets bought, finally, and we settled in to wait. The boat came, we climbed on and from then on I could not stop smiling. We were going to get where we were going, our surroundings were absolutely, stunningly beautiful, the weather was perfect...Here are a couple of pics from the boat ride:
We got to the main island and disembarked and started walking down the street looking for a place to stay. We checked one place out, decided it was too much and kept walking until we found a place that I'd seen a flyer for somewhere, maybe in San José. It turned out to be really cool. We got the "penthouse," a.k.a. what basically amounted to a treehouse of rough boards with huge open windows and its own toilet and sink. The place had a cool, very international vibe and a great happy hour: beers for 50 cents and mixed drinks for a dollar. This is how excited we were to be there:
Anyhow we went out for some really tasty Indian food that night and then Katy and April went off to a different island to party with a couple of ridiculous, dumb dumb dumb guys they met and flirted with at dinner (just a liiiittle tips, they were) and I went back to the hostel to fall asleep, which I did instantly.
Feb 6
April and Katy got back around 8:30 a.m., hung over and chagrined, having taken what they deemed the "boat ride of shame." Nothing bad happened, but they just ended up being a bit uncomfortable. I couldn't stop laughing at them, and they couldn't stop laughing at themselved, so it was all fine. We went down to the docks again and bought a tickets for an all-day snorkelling, beach and dolphin-sighting boat tour of the islands. It was amazing, and is going to get short shrift because I've got other stuff to write about, but here's the site where we dropped anchor and me in my snorkelling gear:
I cut my foot on some coral, fulfilling my obligation to somehow get hurt everywhere I go. One thing I've come to terms with down here is my injury-prone-ness. But all in all the day was terrific. I'm going to stop this post with that, because it's long and photo-laden enough.
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