Going deep

There were no wide-eyed tourists here. These people were seekers. They'd done enough research to know that we couldn't quite know what we were in for. Travel agents don't suggest this sort of thing.

The group I would be spending the next 9 days with had gathered in the foyer and I was the last to join them.

We loaded into two vehicles and drove for a couple of hours. Then we paired into mototaxis to a place on the Amazon river's edge. From there we changed vehicles again, like a Bond movie chase scene, into a speedboat. That was another couple of hours to a small, wooden jetty. It was here that we first met Zach, the founder and organiser of this retreat.

At this stop we climbed some steps at a remote police station where our passports were registered. I made a baño stop here for a number 1. I was already midstream when I noticed on the nearby wall a spider the size of my hand. I continued urinal etiquette and didn't make eye contact.

This last leg of travel was by longboat to a wood and thatch constructed jungle lodge. Here we were on a tributary of the Amazon, surrounded by pristine wilderness. No electricity, running water or phone signal. An oasis from the tentacles of the grid.



La Familia Medicina is a family run and donation-based ayahuasca centre. Ayahuasca is a powerful plant medicine used for at least the last thousand years by shaman for healing and spiritual purposes. Under the right circumstances, it can rock anyone's world and world view from the foundations and below. This camp had a nurturing approach to guiding the way.



The ayahuasca brew is prepared over the course of a day and is a combination of several plants. Chacruna leaves contain dimethyltryptamine (DMT) which is a neurotransmitter significant enough to be worth that many syllables.



DMT occurs naturally in a vast number of plant species and is also produced in trace amounts by the human body. The leading theory for its origin is the pineal gland (third eye), and it's activated during sleep. It's believed to be what makes dreams weird and visual.

Interestingly, the namesake of the brew (and from a shamanistic point of view, the more important plant) is the ayahuasca vine. This acts as a MAOI inhibitor, which allows the rich DMT source to travel from the stomach to the brain without getting mugged by the liver. It allows the doorway between the waking and dreaming world and is said to provide the healing aspect of the medicine.

The drinking of ayahuasca is not something to be done just for the experience. Physically, it's quite unpleasant. For the mind, emotions and spirit, it will likely tear your shit apart and then difficult inner work is required to put things back together. From stories I'd known previously, the payoffs can be profound.

Zach explained a concept that had been passed on to him about the difference between western and shamanistic medicine. Western medicine makes you feel better almost immediately, and then can cause illness in the longrun. A shaman's medicine makes you ill right away, then leaves you feeling great in the longterm.

Appart from Zach and Scott (his musically gifted volunteer assistant), the rest of the camp staff are an extended family. The intended atmosphere of the camp is a family environment and these were genuinely kind Peruvians. I was immediately comfortable in their presence.

Our first activity was the enjoyment of a large home-cooked meal. Then rooms were assigned, an orientation provided, then a Q&A about what was to come.

There was no ayahuasca scheduled today but we did have a tree bark ceremony at sunset. A tea was created and sourced from specific trees in the nearby jungle. This was so that the plants would "grant protection". My critical mind found a hammock to rest in for the next few days and I thanked the tree spirits as I drank. The taste was not unpleasant.



As the sun went down, the volume increased from beyond the dense undergrowth/overgrowth that surrounded the lodge. The constant chorus of varied and unidentified sounds made a theme change via those on the night shift.

Tomorrow, the internal rollercoaster ride begins.

Just a wee bit of human sacrifice

The fourth and last day of the Inca trail began during the night. It was a classic case of "hurry up and wait". We gathered our gear then made a short walk in the darkness to a closed checkpoint where the crowd kept increasing. The reason for this zombified early start is not to catch Machu Picchu at dawn as suggested by the itinerary. The checkpoint wouldn't open in time for that. Instead, it was so the porters could catch one of the two daily local trains. That reasoning was fair enough, but the extended period of time in an unmoving line seemed a bit pointless.

The sun rose, and the gate had yet to open. Finally the crowd started to shuffle through as paperwork was stamped. The trail quickly resumed its beauty. Part of it was on the edge of a steep mountain. The pole-assisted walkers funnelled into single file, like a shopping sale rush with zimmer frames.



The steepest part of the whole trail is the accent to the Gateway of the Sun. From here I caught my first glimpse of the destination and it was a powerful sight. The group rejoined here, spent a bit of time taking in the view and then carried on.



From this point we were heading back to a merge with airport-stupor tourists. As the bus loads of gawkers poured in, I had the impression of ants hollowing out a dead bird. The ruined city had a hard time sharing its magic as a theme park without any rides.

We tiredly entered the official boundary of Machu Picchu and our energy raised in anticipation of exploration. That feeling was quickly snuffed by our self-absorbed tour leader. He had the group sit down on a cold rock wall while delivering a lengthy and somewhat rambling monologue. He turned a facinating topic into haemeroids.

I'd noticed that he wasn't entertaining any questions either. His avoidance method was to just start talking over the top of the question about something else. That made me determined to pin some good ones on him and make him earn his peanuts. We were near the King's chair and an altar. He had exhausted his next rant and we were about to move on. It took a couple of goes but I got to ask "Did the Inca practice human sacrifice? ".

He said "the Inca sacrificed guinea pigs, llamas and", he held two fingers apart to indicate something really small, "some human sacrifice."

"So that would have happened right here?" I pointed to the altar before us.

He gave a single nod of the affirmative "Sí", he replied. Wow! How was he going to miss that juicey detail?

Before we were finally let loose in the ruins my phone battery flat lined, putting an end to my pics for the day. I hadn't really appreciated the size of this former capital of the Incan Empire until I started exploring.



The city was abandoned in 1572 when the Spanish were kicking arse in these lands. It would have made an excellent defensive position due to its strategic location. Add some medieval tactics to the mix and an invading force would have quite a boggle. But not so.

The leading theory for the purpose of this place was its religious significance. It also contains carved stones aligned to the compass points and solstice, used as an astronomic clock and observatory. After self-exile, this mountaintop city remained lost until its rediscovery in 1911.

From the Machu Picchu ruins, I caught a bus that zig-zaged down the mountain to the town of Machu Picchu, otherwise known as Aguas Calientes. This allowed the comforts of a shower, massage and meal. We regrouped here then caught a late train back to Cusco.

That left an extra day and a bit to re-re-revisit Greens cafe, explore some more and have some good conversations with a couple of friends from the group. Cusco now felt like a different place - like a city on a fuse.

The last scheduled tour group activity was a flight back to Lima. At the airport, I waited near the mouse maze while others lined up to check in their luggage. It took until the first person reached the front of the que to realise the spanner in the plan. The plane had already begun boarding and it was too late to check luggage. A futile arguement ensued. With my web check-in in hand, I wasn't prepared to go down with this ship. My journey still had an important mission and no buffer time to compromise. I said some quick goodbyes and rushed to the gate.

"You're late." At the boarding gate, my check-in printout scanned with a red light and disapproving beep. I was unfazed. "You're late" she repeated.

"How can I be late if I'm standing right here?" There were at least 20 people for the same flight in the que behind me. I wasn't going to miss this flight by association. I was an independent once again with no more flexibility left in my travel schedule.

It took them a while and an extended phonecall wait, but I was eventually let through. The others unfortunately made no appearance before the wheels left the tarmac. Another payoff for travelling light.

Lima airport again... such an interesting place...

I arrived in Iquitos at night. Deep in the jungle, on the shores of the Amazon river this city has the distinction of being the largest in the world that can't be reached by road.

My first (and lasting) impression was that this place is wild. Leaving the airport I entered a "mototaxi" - a modified motorcycle rickshaw with a passenger cabin on the back. There's a Mad Max element to public transport. Motorbikes and mototaxis rule the roads in a river of swerving chaos. Optional road safety extras such as helmets, indication and attention to lanes are all absent. Phonecalls, text messaging and even breast feeding were all shown to be possible with one hand on the handlebars. It was time to hold on and enjoy the ride.

A light turned red and there was a pause in the swarm. A couple of gringo hippie chicks ran out in front of the stationary vehicles for some impromptu performance art. The lights changed and they stood narrow while bikes raced past them.

I arrived at my accomodation, explored just enough to get some dinner, then crashed fully clothed on top of my bed for a handful of hours before an early start the next morning.

A unique phase of my journey was about to begin.

Things are going swimmingly

Inca Trail Day 3. It seems that the distinguishing feature of these tents is their light weight as opposed to their water proofing. The matresses were wet as well as items inside the tent. There had been a lot of rain. The clothes from my sleeping bag case (which I was using as a pillow) were quite damp also. Others had experienced an even greater level of overnight saturation.

After breakfast (delicious quinoa porridge deserves an honouable mention) a relentless drizzle began. I quickly realised that this was going to cause misery to other people I don't identify with, so therefore, I chose to enjoy it. "Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet." When I first read that quote it stuck with me. Now was the time to put it to the test.



Over the previous two days, our group had walked further than most of the others, placing us today at a different campsite. Today it was much easier to walk solo. To not be able to overhear a particular person's facinating sentiments about soccer, or pickles, or whatever else kept him out of the moment. Depending on my relative pace, I could notice hummed tunes or humming birds.

The stone path was becoming a river as I followed its decent. Even with my two extended walking poles, focus stayed fixed on getting steady footing.



At one downhill stage I could hear many rapid footsteps thundering from behind, which indicated an incoming team of porters. I stepped to the side to allow them to pass. Carrying heavy loads on their backs, they ran at break-a-neck speed down the steep, slippery steps. Each one took their eyes off their next several foot placements to glance at me, as many exchanged an "Hola". Stunt running.

Apparently, the nature reserve that contains the Inca trail has 13 ecosystems, and we pass through most of them. This can cause altitude effects to those acclimatised elsewhere in the world. Some of the path was cut into the mountainside and passed through caves.



The terrain I was entering now was easy to identify - cloud forrest. Lush greenery with a whitewashed background of mist. I realised that if you want to enter a cloud forrest, you don't get to complain about the weather. My beanie was saturated but my socks hadn't soaked through, so it wasn't all bad.



The placement of some of these cliff-hugging ruins is really quite awesome. These people woke each morning with a spectacular view. These particular settlements were used as signalling posts across the mountains. Location, location, location.





Some of the agricultural areas used soil from 40km away. The terraces at this site were used for "agricultural experiments". I figure that means something was lost in interpretation.



The word "Inca" today is used to refer to the people of the Incan Empire, whereas it originally referred to just one person, the king. It's like the difference between a Pharaoh and an Egyptian. Here it's spelt "Inka" and pronounced with the production of a mild phlegm ball.

Today, the lunch site was campsite. That gave time to try and dry some gear, but although the drizzle had fizzled, clouds still obscured the sun. The idea was to get an early sleep in preparation for a 3.30am awakening before the march to the "lost" city.

After dinner, our team of porters and the chef plus assistant were individually introduced. We presented them with their well-deserved tips and many muchas gracias's.

Attack the Mountain

The tour group split up as we left Cusco. Those who booked early enough (myself included) had one of the limited permits for the classic Inca Trail. The others would still end at Machu Picchu, but via the alternative Quarry Trail.

The Inca trail begins with a passport check and requires a tour leader (not Leo in this case). A small army of porters (around 2 per person) is the standard, plus a chef for each group.



Once our paperwork was done, we crossed a bridge over a river valley. The bridge signified that a filter was now applied to separate the type of tourist that can forego a hot shower for 4 days.

The terrain begins as loose rock and dry, compacted earth. There's a lot of shit to see, such as horse and donkey poo, which isn't mentioned in the brochure. There sure is a lot of it, which warrants slight concern because boots are to be kept in tents later. These pack animals are to service several small villages that border the trail on day 1. At these places, practical food and drink are available instead of the usual trinkets.



The incline is only gradual, although the elevation begins at around 2500 metres. There was only one relatively steep section on this day.

On the other side of the valley, the roofless stone walls of ancient ruins were visible near many terraces used for agriculture.



In the almost graspable distance, snow-capped mountain peaks.

This first day of the trail was the anniversary of my dad's last. I wanted to spend some time walking alone, but that was difficult due to the congested trekker traffic and the cling-on nature of one particular tour member. As the day stretched on, the crowd thinned, but it was still quite populated. I had read in the Lonely Planet guide that the Inca trail "was being loved to death". I could see how.

Back in Perth at the travel doctor, I had declined the suggested pharmaceutical for altitude, and was instead testing three natural adaptagens - coca leaf tea (widely promoted to tourists here and tastes good, but unlikely to do anything without an alkaline catalyst), maca (a powdered root vegetable), and an extract of the cordyceps sinensis mushroom, which just happens to be a fungus that grows on a caterpillar (via Shroom Tech Sport).

Around 2pm we arrived at the site for lunch, where our team of porters had set up a large tent with tables and chairs for a highly appreciated two-course meal.

After a few more hours walking, we arrived at the established campsite. For this to happen, the porters cleaned up and packed up after lunch, donned their mini-fridge-sized backpacks, overtook us at a running pace and then set up base camp. They were cheery too with an applause for each arrival. I was truly impressed.

Day 2 of the trail was characterised by the steepest, longest climb. The landscape became a greener forrest, with more humidity and moss on rocks.



Then the terrain changed again while passing the tree line. Then I was above the clouds.



I enjoyed the uphill battle as my breathing had mostly acclimatised and it had been too long since I'd earned a sweat. I think my extra few days in the Bolivian highlands had helped. That, and hindu squats. The summit was at 4200 to a place known as Dead Woman's Pass.

From this mountain top came the steep downhill descent to the river. Full concentration was required as a few of my knee stabilising muscles and ligaments are still in rehab. My pace was a little slower allowing cling-on to catch up. Hints weren't working and I'd already decided not to be rude. I just wanted to create the illusion of no one in front or behind. To cast but one shadow. He was stepping-stone jumping his time between me and a girl he was trying to woo through verbal attrition, so there were at least moments where it was just the sounds of my breathing and the changing environment.

The people native to the Andes mountains have a short, stocky build with large, barrel chests. A study determined that this is not genetic, but environmental in order to accomodate larger organs (especially lungs) to make use of the thinner oxygen. A finding that caught my attention is that they have an extra litre of blood. I was going to write something here about bloated vampires or maybe spectacular sacrifices, and, I guess I just did.

Some settlement ruins we visited, but many were just background scenery. The rock clad skeletons of a distant past.





Back on the topic of poo (I'm just calling it as I see it) - it seems that squat toilet maintenance thins out the further we get along the trail. As far as I could tell, the extent of a cleaning routine was via number 1's. I passed Steve on the way to the toilet block as he was returning. "That's fucking sick man. That's fucking sick." Haha. At night, you do not want to drop your torch, but you barely want to use it either.

Before dinner, I noticed that the porter who was also the waiter was carefully folding another new serviette design for this meal. The porters took their individual roles seriously at camp. I used some Spanish to ask his name (Marcus) and introduce myself. Instant BFF.

The meal was once again delicious and now the group was exhausted, so we retired to our tents without much delay.

It started raining shortly after I went to bed. I easily fell asleep to the loved sound of cold raindrops hitting my warm, waterproof tent...

Adventurer or Tourist?

I've tasted undiluted adventure, and this wasn't it. Travelling in a tour group has been a feasible and well organised way to visit some undeniablely cool places. My whole time in Peru has been spent as part of such a gang. The sights have been superb, but it just takes a while to notice the scratch resistant plastic.

I can't fault Leo, the wheeling and dealing tour leader. He's looking out for everyone and has several useful contacts in every town. Most of the group is cool too. The roleplay still feels like babysitting though. Exploration on a leash.

Here are some preheated locals we prepared earlier. They are going to show you how X is made, while selling XYZ. The only people we talk to who live here are selling goods or services. All additional conversations are with other tourists. Visiting sites while listing others they've been to. Eating a great local meal while raving about others they've had. Are you even here, or just ticking off another checkbox?

I was trying to get a feel for this new world through protective bubble wrap. Getting from one tourist site to the next is comfortable enough to be boring. I knew the upcoming Inca trail trek would be a sharp contrast to this, however, before the outer layer of this packaged tour tightened from smothering to suffocating, action was necessary to take back some control.

First thing in the morning, I approached Leo with two requests.

My second request (I'm breaking the rules of chronology like Tarantino), was a solo tent for the Inca trail. I knew there was the guilt trap, that some poor porter had to carry it up mountains and why couldn't I just get with the program. Leo gave me concerned look, assessing my level of commitment to what I just said. He advised that it could be difficult to organise and would cost extra. I didn't have my reasoning condensed into a sentence at that early hour, just my intent. So my response was, "I just need to make it happen".

After that, I was talking to the person I probably relate best to on this tour. Steve is a Canadian fisherman (that's his hobby/art/passion, not his employment, but still a better way to define a man). He captured the sentiment of getting more solo time on the path to Machu Picchu in a simple statement - "Well, this is your own personal journey." Spot fucking on.
Some phonecalls later, Leo advised a reasonable add-on fee, I agreed and it was done.

My first "request" was to bail half way through the planned bus tour today and find my own way back to the city. The schedule was to visit several archaeological sites (interesting), then see and feed some more llamas (they're just South American flavoured cattle by this stage), then head to a really big shopping district (really big "fuck no!").

Saqsayhuamán (commonly, but incorrectly pronounced as Sexy Woman) is made of big badass blocks. The huge stones are cut with many angles to fit seamlessly. The corners are smoothly rounded and the walls inclined inwards. My BS siren went off for another implausible rock moving theory from the quarry, 30km away. This one involved llama fat to reduce frictional drag. That's a lotta llamas. Most of this structure has been destroyed, and all the liftable stones recycled for buildings in the city. About 20% remains and it's still massive.



This site was originally built as a temple for the Incan empire in honour of the puma, which is the animal that represents this stub-your-toe-and-it-hurts plane of existence. (The condor is the sacred mascot for the world above and the snake for the underworld.)

During the Spanish invasion, the size of this megalith allowed it to switch purpose as a fortress protecting nearby Cusco. Eventually though, the natives were overwhelmed by the combination of firearms, horses, sharpened military tactics and small pox. King captured, decapitation, check mate. Thousands lay dead and the carrion-eating condors feasted, getting them a place on Cusco's coat of arms today.



Other ruins visited showed ancient knowledge of aqueducts, solar calendars and mummification, while continuing a staggering high standard of stone masonry. They were all cases of mysterious beauty smeared in tourists. And I was becoming one by association. Time to make like an Incan king and head off.



Leo helpfully gave me some bus then taxi instructions, but I deliberately didnt pay close attention. Shortly after, I was in a minibus with some locals and strangely loving the feeling of not knowing where it was going. Is this next stop mine, too soon or too far? I did not begin my travels this attitude, but then again, some Brazilian neighbourhoods warrant a more legitimate concern.

I stepped out of a taxi ("gracias amigo") and began walking the tall, stone corridor streets of Cusco while a storm thundered its threat overhead. On the independant hunt for lunch, I walked past an archway that caused me to stop then take a couple of backward steps. A beer garden interlinked some names that appealed to me - Dragon Palate Restaurant, Mandelbrot Cafe and Fractal Dragon Art Gallery.



I entered, sat, ordered and ate. It was an endorphin raising meal that I foraged myself (not quite, but that's how it felt). The taste of regained freedom. My lesson was that even here the invisible chains could creep closer. Imposed by another's agenda, or self-imposed secured limitations. In hindsight, escape was a simple matter, but it wasn't solved by waiting.

I traversed Cusco's streets some more, stopped here and there, then entered Greens Organic Cafe which some prior research recommended. On my table appeared slices of deep fried mango in crusted coconut. Am I going to become the type of person that photographs their food? Maybe just this once.



By this stage I was already on the wish-to-be-bulimic's tour of this city's food. I requested the drinks menu and took a recommendation for a smoothy made with avocado, banana, yoghurt and mint. Mintox indeed.

Sunken City, Floating Village

There is a budhist principle amplified by carrying your gear at altitude - The more possessions, the more you suffer. I enjoy this knowledge as much as the idea that tattoo removal hurts more than tattoos. Some pains are necessary.

Apart from being around 4000 metres above sea level, Lake Titicaca does a good impression of being an ocean. It's expletively big and even has seagulls.

The Inca's believed they originated from the lake and called it "The Womb of Mankind". Explorers, including Jacques Cousteau, had reason to think that it could be the resting place of Atlantis. Expeditions have discovered underwater roads and a temple. Incidentally, the lakes depths are the home of a rarely seen frog species up to 50cm long named Telmatobius coleus – the aquatic scrotum.

By boat, the tour group took a sizeable chunk of daylight to get to our destination, but we still had only navigated a fraction of the lake's length.

The journey was via a stop at the remarkable Uros Islands. What makes this place special is that they are floating islands artificially created from primarily one natural material - a reed that grows in the lake. Around 3 metres thickness of reed is woven together to create a new land for these people. This versatile reed is also eaten, used as fuel, medicine and for making boats and houses. When 3D printers become common, these islanders won't be impressed.



The original reason for these floating islands was defensive, whether the threat be pre-Incas, Incas or Spanish conquistadors. As the reeds rot they need to be replaced every 15 to 30 days depending on season. Where the thatch houses are concerned, they need to be lifted for this regular maintenance work. In the case of a neighbourly dispute that cannot be resolved, they cut through the "ground" and float off in different directions.



Our destination was the more terrestrial Amantani island. We were met by several Quechua-speaking local ladies in preparation for our home stay. The communication plan was a brief written list of phrases in the local tongue, the chance someone else in the family speaks Spanish, and the hope that 'smile and nod' doesn't lead to any irreversible weird shit.



From here, the tour group was divided up into pairs and then upland we followed the lady that was to be our "mama" for the next 24 hours. If this lady wants to be my mum, then she has a backlog of ordeals to catch up on. Let's begin with "Wipe me!"



At the humble, off-the-grid house, our room was shown, we presented some prior-purchased gifts (rice, sugar, oil etc) and the husband, grandma and 2ish year old daughter were introduced. A tasty late lunch of Quinoa soup and veges from the island was prepared. In my backpack, I still had a bag of toy soldiers, purchased at the mainland market. This was in anticipation of the family having a young boy (is that a believable cover story?). During the meal, the other temporarily adopted son made a paper crane for the interactive daughter. She identified it as "pato" meaning duck, then grabbed a knife from the table and proceeded to saw its head off. In this moment, I realised two things: 1 - this is a pretty authentic island living experience, and 2 - maybe she's ready for the plastic army men. As a bomber jet came out of the bag, I acknowledged that this could be a traumatic gift in a different part of the world. She loved them.

For sunset, we walked to one of the island's peaks. This mountain was dedicated to Pachamama, Mother Earth. Despite the extensive reach of the Catholic church across this continent (genocide has been a tad influentual), the cultures of the Andes still weave Pachamama into the worship.

Majestic Scavengers

Several buses and many winding roads have provided passage through these volcanic mountains. The altitude has increased again, calling for a rematch. Being the only person not wearing sunglasses in this intense glare, I think I seared one side of my cortex. Ten Peruvian soles later, I had some eye protection. After a recovery nap and a dip in a hot springs, I was good to go.

Another morning in a another town ready for another drive. This time the destination was Colca Canyon - a split in the Earth over twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. A walking path trailed along the edge to many lookout points. We were here to spot condors, although the scenery spoke very well for itself. We took our time, but the birds took longer, so we started to make our way along the path to where the rest of the tourists stood.



The first birds we saw were far away, soaring in the distance. They disappeared and we walked a bit more.
Andean condors are big. They are the heaviest flying birds in the world. Due to the ridges of the canyon, the next condor was able to suddenly appear nearby. On the lift of a thermal updraft, it effortlessly floated from below to above with its wing spread and then cruised past. Soon after, another did the same.





We had just taken the first few steps of leaving this place when one of the creautures silently rose up from the canyon and hovered over the group. As it was happening, my hand went to the pocket that held my phone camera. I needed to make a quick decision between playing with my zoom settings to possibly get a pic, or just taking in the rare experience of having a bird make humans feel small. I chose option 2. It was awesome.



In the town of Arequipa, it's difficult to spot the car that isn't a taxi. They love their car horns too and press them as much as the accelerator. Some have their horns modified to sound like car alarms. It's delightful music at night.



One of the attractions that puts this place on the tourist's map is "Juanita" - the Inca Ice Maiden. She is a well-preserved sacrifice discovered at the top of a volcano in 1995. Apart from being dead and frozen, she's in mint condition.

A few of us visited the museum where she is on display behind temperature-controlled and bullet-proof glass. Photography was once again prohibited and the guided tour was preceeded by a short video. This had footage from the expedition that led to her discovery. There was a different flavour to this hurried archaeological dig as a volcano plumed smoke nearby. The video also showed a reenactment of how she would have climbed the volcano with a entourage of ceremonial murderers for the honour of being received by the gods.

The pamphlet states she was "put to sleep before a precise blow on her right eyebrow". I think that slightly sugar-coats the ritual that ended with her hammer smashed face.

Just as 'cool', but only on display via enlarged photographs, was a boy sacrifice also left at the volcano top. He was charred black after death from being struck several times by lightning. This was the intent (only male sacrifices were adorned in metal) as thunderbolts were the hands of the gods touching a well-received offering. Fried crispy.

I've now travelled through a sandstorm and an apparently rare hail storm to arrive in the small town of Puno, on the shore of Lake Titicaca.

I've come for your head

It felt like detective work. In reality I'd mainly just walked down one long road. I'd passed through the populated streets of Nazca, to the less populated parts, to a wall that signified this road's end. The rest of the tour group was pursuing other activities, while I followed these requested directions to a different agenda.

Outside the gate to a large property the sign read 'Museo'. I rang the bell, exchanged an "Hola" on the intercom and the gate buzzed open.

It seemed that this was a sizeable household residence, with the larger part being a private museum. An elderly Peruvian lady greeted me and I bludgeoned my way through the language barrier until we gained an understanding. It seemed that the lady of the house would be back soon, but in the meantime I was given access to the museum with an English guidebook explaining the exhibits.

I tried to take my time, but there was really one main display I was after. The skulls. Craniums mishapen to increase their length for prestige apparently, like much religious headware today. I'd previously read the idea that brain plasticity could fill the extra 'headroom'. My info at the source suggested that the build up of fluid pressure would sometimes need a hole to be drilled through the forehead. Fuck asprin, hey? This hole also doubled as a rope hole after death so that the now ceremonial skull could be carried around.



The curator arrived and she carried a fancy cane, which seemed fitting. Her English was as sketchy as my Spanish, so my questions were limited. She opened a door to the backyard, removed a restricted access sign and indicated where I could walk. Outside there was a reconstructed aqueduct and other archaeological finds. There was also a pet peacock. I followed the path around to a raised platform that stood above a scale model of the Nazca lines. This was useful as I was soon due to rejoin the group and fly over them.



The Nazca lines are a series of huge markings (geoglyphs) including pictures of living creatures etched into the desert floor. The mystery for the images is that they can only be appreciated from the air. It wasn't until commercial aircraft flew over the patterns in the 1920's that they were (re)discovered. Before then, the Pan American Highway had already been built, obliviosly cutting through one of the images.

The lines were drawn over hundreds of years and preserved by the dry desert conditions. Due to this long time frame, more than one theory may fit their purpose. Some seem to point to water sources, others may fit a solar calendar or have astronomical references and there is even anecdotal evidence from pilots that some match condor flight patterns. A theory I heard here is that the maximum payload of a condor is greater than the weight of a little Peruvian dude, and condors can apparently be trained. My vantage point was to be via small aircraft.

As we took flight it immediately felt bumpy and hot. For each image in the desert floor, the plane performed a figure 8 maneuver with a heavy tilt on the wings so that each side of this 6 seater would get a decent view.

A steady photo proved difficult. The co-piolt announced the image of the 'Astronout' - a humanoid figure pointing upwards to the sky and down to the earth. I was only able to capture a mediocre shot on this turbulent gut wrencher.



My fingers rested in contact with the sick bag hanging in front of me. As I did several small distrustful burps, I was ready to quick draw like a queasy high noon cowboy.

We circled around some more images as I felt my stomach perform the magical carrot chunk transformation. Appreciation was rapidly diminished by nausea. The co-piolt announced that here is the shape of the whatever. I kept it together by a thread as we eventually landed, but this flight may be an example where the documentary is actually better.

In the next flight for the tour group, another member refunded breakfast soon after takeoff. She said it felt good, allowing her to enjoy the rest of the show. That's the thing about spew, sometimes it really does feel great. Other times it feels like gargling acid. I realise I could have titled this post 'The Nazca Lines Mystery & The Philosophy of Vomit'.

Peruvian Gastronomicon

Restaurant reviews are a chance to roleplay being a fickle princess. On this trip, I've often relied on online feedback regarding my countless options. It eventually proves informative, but there are so many violin moments to wade through, documented by people who suffered an imperfect three course meal. Data mining through whining about wining and dining.

Now I'm on the only tour I booked from Australia and it has a knowledgeable local Peruvian guide. This includes restaurant recommendations in what is claimed to be the 'Gastronomical Capital of South America'. I didn't heed much attention until I ate proof.

I'm not sure of all the ingredients of the meal, so I'll fill in the gaps with enthusiasm. A risotto sauce of awesomeness was topped with delicious chunks of duck and thin slices of green apple, paremessan cheese and other tasty spell components. This meal was so good it was exciting!

That was in Lima city. But first, let me back track to where I can use some photos.

I kept my last day in Bolivia unscheduled, and opted to just take in the capital of La Paz. Later in the afternoon, while sitting in the city square, I realised "I can jump off that green building over there."



A little later I was dressed like a space monkey, receiving instructions.



It was time for a face first rapple/abseil down the side of a building from the 17th floor. For the initial part, in order to lean horizontally over the edge, the inner voice takes some convicing. But once it's been metaphorically led down a dark alleyway, had a bag thrown over it's head and been figuratively stuffed into the boot of a car, the vertical momentum begins, and the adrenalised rush can be enjoyed.





After that came an enjoyable flight to Peru. I met with my tour group in Lima and we began a series of bus rides south.

One stop was at the Ballestas Islands, where sea lions laze about, penguins stand around and bird poop is a national resource.



I'm now in the dry desert town of Nazca and it's early morning. Last night over dinner (also delicious) the tour leader entertained my interest in coneheads and has directed me to a private museum where I can see the mishapen skulls. I am about to detour from the group for this mission and will then reunite at the small airport for a flight over the Nazca lines.