Upcoming

Lake Titicaca, from Puno in Peru and Copacabana in Bolivia.

Snow-capped mountains overshadow any smaltzy roadblock on the way to La Paz.

Rallies are a dime a dozen in La Paz, but boy, these guys don´t like Americans.

That Irish passport sure comes in handy sometimes.

The Inca Jungle Trek

Here´s the gang -- from the left, Jans and Claudia from Germany, Daniel from Switzerland, Miranda the Brit, Melissa the Canadian, Geert and Kornelius from Holland.

The Inca Jungle Trek sounded appealing because it starts with a four-hour mountain bike ride from Alfamayo, somewhere in the mid-3,000 meters elevation range, down about 1,500 meters elevation over 80 kilometers to Santa Maria, a small town in what they call the high jungle.

This trek also appealed because we stayed in hostels three nights and the price was half what others pay to sleep in tents.

Our guide Leo goes ahead to check with men working on the mountain path wheter it´s OK to pass. It was.

The second day was up and down hill and dale, and mountain and higher mountain, on tiny little paths perched on the closest thing to a cliff there is. Long day of walking past fruit trees -- banana, mango, papaya, aloe vera plants and all kinds of birds and lizards.

The jungle in a jungle home converted to tour rest spot was amazing. These folks know how to cook -- but I didn´t want to know what was in it.

El viejo rides the trolley car across a river on the second day of the trek.

We had the option of walking a short distance over a bridge, or taking this manually powered trolley across the river. The kids voted for the latter, of course.

There´s a rope attached from the bank on either side to the cart. Leo went first. We pushed him out as far as we could, then he pulled himself over the rest of the way. He pushed the cart back, and we reeled it in. We did that a few times, and a guy who lives nearby pushed the last cartload, and we reeled em in, and off we went.

The third day, we climbed ladders more than 100 meters long made of tree branches.

The third day was bizarre. Four hours of walking in the morning rain along railroad tracks. Rocks and wood. Four hours in the rain. Yuk.

After lunch, we climbed Mount Putucusi -- a tad higher than Macchu Picchu and directly across from the Incan landmark -- for a sunset view from above. This was no easy task -- check out the enlarged view from above -- you can´t see the top of that damn ladder. There were only four of them, but they were steep and slippery.

And of course, the ladders being slippery, someone had to fall. Luckily, someone else had my camera.

That is, of course, a setup pic. We stood on a rock on top of Putucusi and jumped up -- silly, but it looks cool.

Sunset pics from a mountain also sounds cool -- till you have to descend in the fleeting light.

 

Putucusi from Macchu Picchu. Check out the town, Aquas Calientes, at the bottom right.

I thought I got more than my $225 worth just from the first three days of the trek. Then, the fourth day was Macchu Piccu. More later.

Paucartambo

Paucartambo, a small river town on the eastern edge of the Peruano Andes.

Spent a weekend in Paucartambo, a five-hour bus ride on rocky dirt roads through the mountains. Not much to the town, except for a festival in the summer when the people all wear crazy costumes and celebrate some Incan thing. The rest of the year, life seems to revolve around the river.

 

The bus ride to Paucartambo had too many sheer-drop cliffs to worry about after a while.

As with the rest of Peru, Paucartambo folk live behind big gates.

Unlike Cuzco and the other towns I{ve seen, many gates and courtyard doors were left open in Paucartambo, and you could catch a glimpse of the inside. Sometimes, some things are better left behind closed doors.

Dirt courtyards were the center of the housing complexes, many with goats or chickens. People cooked in big pots on wood fires in the courtyards, and hung meat out to dry on clotheslines. They said that after five days, the meat would keep for a month.

The people were very friendly, and while used to seeing muchos gringos in the summer for the festival, it was obvious they didn´t see too many the rest of the year.

One old boy, very drunk with a mouthful of coca leaves -- which they use to stave off hunger pains more than anything else -- serenaded me through town in Quechan, a very old, indigenous language, to many a laugh from the locals. The more they laughed, the more excited he got.

Finally, on the bridge in the middle of town, I turned around and said, "No mas, Waiky" -- and his eyes bulged and he coughed out a wad of gooey coca. No mas, of course, means no more in Español, and waiky is Quechan for brother. He must have thought for a moment that I understood more, and I took the opportunity to move on down the road.

Old-school laundry in Paucartambo.

As for the food? Didn´t eat much. Not only did people up the length of the town wash their clothes in the river, as above, but I saw at least 50 people carrying five gallon buckets of water from the river to their home -- and a couple of small restaurants.

Most houses are not on any kind of sewer system, and the people use the water straight from the river. Que sera, sera.

Holey mackeral

This manhole cover was missing on the busy Avenida del Sol for five days.

One of the more bizarre aspects of life in Cuzco is the number of holes in the street and in sidewalks.

They are everywhere. One needs to watch one´s step, or you´ll go down in a hurry.

Sometimes, the hole is the result of collapsed cement.

Some of the holes in the sidewalks are only a few inches deep. Others are a foot or more. Enough to lose a shoe, or break a leg.

There´s no telling whether this piece was taken, or if it broke.

None of the locals seem to notice the holes. They walk or work right past them, without batting an eye.

Half of the holes in the sidewalks are missing utility box covers. I think they´re mostly water control access boxes.

This manhole cover near my host family´s house has been missing more than a week.

Theft must rank as a top probability for the missing manhole covers. It might be the same gang that was robbing the lids in Elgin.

Some thoughtful soul placed a large rock in this hole.

Someone eventually puts a rock into a hole, which cuts the chances of serious injury. Sometimes, it´s a piece of wood over the hole.

The top manhole had some kind of construction material stuck in it for a few days, an apparent attempt to help motorists. The bottom manhole had four sizable rocks around it for three days.

Strike 2!

Every cause holds a parade, usually passing the Cathedral on the Plaza de Armas.

A rolling series of strikes stopped work in Cuzco again Tuesday, with the General Confederation of Workers of Peru calling it a National Day of Protest.

I don´t know if anyone knows exactly what these strikes are aiming to achieve. The strikers parade in droves, with different causes as their objective. All want jobs, but some dislike food additives, some dislike imports, some dislike government rules.

Most of the unionists looked pretty hard core, which is an international phenomenon.

Every street corner had delegations of workers by type of job, the market, candy vendors, newspapers, construction workers, political parties, traders, transporters, university students and more.

The union claimed that that 90% of workers joined the action, and I find that highly suspect. There simply weren´t that many people out anywhere.

Cops were ready, carrying shotguns, tear gas launchers, shields and more.

There wasn´t any trouble reported anywhere, except for a couple of burning tires left in intersections.

Once again, traffic was extremely light, as commerce was discouraged in general. But most restaurants were open, and tourists don´t need much else.

Market Day

Rural folk bring their goods into Cuzco, set up shop on a sidewalk and wait for customers, while paring a few potatoes just to keep up appearances.

Saturday is market day in Cuzco. Most of the streets in the Santiago area are completely taken over by tents and sidewalks "stalls," which really are just blankets spread out and covered with wares for sale.

Just about anything can be bought in this particular giant outdoor flea market. Car parts, new and used. Clothes, shoes and sneakers, new and used. Food, fresh or cooked. Chickens, puppies and unknown varieties of birds. Books, records, CDs, DVDs. Old bottles. Old coins. Tourist trinkets. Antiques and plenty of junque.

Don´t believe me? Check out this photo.

Yep, that´s a dead burro all cut up, with parts in a jar for sale.

I´m not sure what donkey fat is good for, but I believe it can be used for some skin conditions. It`s sold as a natural remedy for who know´s what -- complete with jars actually labeled "grasa de mula," or donkey fat.

The owner made two sales of 10 soles each within the three minutes I looked in on the stall.

Saturday is market day in Cuzco, and some of the point-of-sale techniques are a little dated.

Just about all of the stalls, tents and stores seem to be family operations. There are plenty of really old, really weathered women in charge. They are seriously hilarious when they get in disagreements with each other, yelling at each other through an endless stream of pedestrians.

There also are many kids, as young as five, chanting whatever it is their tent is selling. Very similar to older Dublin, with people pushing carts around the city yelling about mandarins or some kind of fruit. Young kids, and babies, litter the stalls, sleeping on top of bushels of grain or piles of clothes or in the occasional wheelbarrow.

Commerce doesn´t get in the way of much down here. Fixing up a hair barrette, chatting or just hanging takes precedence.

Business always comes first, but in between there´s plenty of time for socializing, and it´s amusing to watch how they juggle conversations with taking care of customers.

Somebody in the group usually knows someone passing by, and the chatter is endless. It`s really difficult to try to listen in with intermediate Spanish, as they talk rapidly and bounce between conversations quickly.

Multitasking in Peru. This young mom hauls a wheelbarrow around town, selling pineapple slices, sliced from the top down, not sideways, for 50 centimos a pop (about 17 cents) while carrying her youngun on her back.

Everywhere you look, some woman is carrying something on her back. They use blankets and wrap a kid in there, or herbs or grain, fruit, food or clothes. Doesn÷t matter. They are everywhere.

Not as many men haul stuff on their backs, but you do see it, and the object is usually heavier and/or bulkier.

Sheep`s head, anyone? Doesn´t really seem to interest the counter help in the Central Market in Cuzco.

The meat market area is particularly disturbing and intriguing at the same time. The meat hangs out in the open air, with huge parts of mostly pigs and sheep hanging around.

Dogs also roam freely through the aisles, poking their noses into the various stalls. The unmistakable language of shooing a mutt away resounds throughout the area.

Quechua and Aymara are Indian strains similar to the Incas. The women wear bowler type hats, though I`m not sure why.

The later in the day, the stronger the sun, and vendors start conking out. Old men totter on little benches, nodding in and out of sleep. Kids sprawl anywhere there´s room. And business starts slowing down, and some of the attendants head for elsewhere.

This often leaves one person to tend the store, and boy, does it look boring. And they look miserable. Bad combination.

Lunchtime at the market for the campesinos, or rural folk.

Everyone eats, and American health inspectors would suffer heart failure. The rural folk above, for instance, are sitting along railroad tracks, in the dirt, eating soup complete with a full chicken breast and boiled potatoes bought from a sidewalk vendor with a large pot and no heat -- in bowls and plates that are run through a bucket of lukewarm water in preparation for the next customer.

In the midst of 100 tents replete with people selling all kinds of junk, this women sets up a small gas fire and cooks fried food.

There are plenty of fried potatoes, and chicken. Chicken, chicken, chicken. Damn near everything in Peru is chicken and potatoes.

I have no idea what most of the stuff they`re cooking is, and some smells good, though most often the sight washes away any other thoughts.

Can you say contrast? I guarantee this woman has never seen any of the people on the posters on TV, and also that she couldn`t care less.

The markets are, needless to say, stuffed with American crap. Posters of Avril Lavigne and Britney, T-shirts of "stars" and other people who have no idea where Peru is. And the stuff is sold mostly by people like this, who don´t own a television and have no idea who the celebrities are.

Ignorance can indeed be bliss.

Seriously, there were stalls selling broken, used, and recycled crap. It was amazing.

Fùtbol en Cuzco

The cheap seats, and the loudest fans, are at the ends of the stadium.

Peru is ALL about fútbol. Cienciano is the home team, and last Sunday they outlasted a pesky Athletico -- and a lot of rain and even some hail.

Luckily, plenty of vendos were selling plastic ponchos for un sol a piece. About 33 cents. Still, we had to stand, as the stadium features cement step seating, and nothing else. So the rain has no where to go, and standing is your only option.

The home side, seen here, is the most expensive seating in the house -- 14 soles, or just short of $5.

The game also was on TV, which, combined with the rain, resulted in a small crowd. Generally, I can hear the crowd from a half mile away, as the stadium is nearly sold out for every game.

The following short video features some boisterous fans in the second half (It took 45 minutes to upload this little vid -- which shows how slow things are down here).

Caught in the crosshairs

Check out the cop to the left -- packing a big, silver piece.

So, I`m sitting in this little Internet cafe on a busy corner near mi casa, and all is quiet, but not for long.

Two city cops bust into the shop, very agitated, yelling and waving large pistolas.

It´s 2:15 p.m. on Wednesday afternoon, and it´s immediately apparent these cops are looking for someone considered armed and dangerous.

Very apparent when one cop faces me directly, assumes a firing position and points his gun directly at my face.

The distance from the barrel to my nose was about 5 feet.

After a wild little manhunt, the long arm of the law gets its man.

He held his position 3 to 4 seconds, and lowered the gun as his partner came back into the main room after peeking into the back room.

They speak rapidly and scram out of the shop. By the time the got outside, about five more cops had entered the area -- at least six cops have guns drawn, held up near the shoulder and pointing at the sky. One cop stops a motorcycle at the corner, pulls the kid off and takes off himself. Another stops a taxi and jumps into the back seat. A third commandeers a car, leaving a 40ish-year-old woman standing, shaken, in the street.

All three vehicles head south on Primavera. All three return within 3 minutes. The cop gives the bike back to the kid and walks off without a word. The kid pulls out his cell, makes a 10-second call and splits. No paperwork, no discussion, nothing. Never saw the taxi again, and the woman got her car back and was shooed out of the area.

The Spanish word for handcuffs is esposo, which is the same as the word for spouse, which I found amusing.

By this time, there were 20-25 cops milling about, about a third local, a third national and a third special forces, some kind of hybrid cross between cop and army soldier formed to deal with the Shining Path and other armed rebel types.

A crowd of at least 200 has spread around the T intersection.

Suddenly, five or six cops rush past the me and the others from the Internet cafe, now on the sidewalk, back into the cafe and grab a guy. They drag him outside, throw him in the gutter, kick him twice -- with the bottom of the boot, not the heel or toe, hit him with a baton once on the shoulder/neck area and cuff him.

A police SUV pulls up, the guy is thrown in the back and whisked away. No one in the crowd knows anything. Within five minutes, all the cops are gone from the area. Nothing in the papers Thursday or Friday.

Reverse tourism

Peruanos can tell where someone is from by their native dress, kind of how plaids signify a clan in Scotland.

Saturday was International Tourism Day, and Cuzco and surrounding towns turned out in droves for a parade, basically to thanks tourists -- and get in a plug for their business before the thousands of tourists looking on.

The parade went on for nearly four hours.

An announcer on a dais before the cathedral detailed each and every float and passing troupe, in the style of a South American sports announcer. For four hours.

There was a lot of Incan presence throughout the afternoon.

There were at least 10,000 people surrounding the Plaza de Armas, watching the parade, and the slight majority were locals. And a quarter of them were selling something. A couple of old women went around and stuck a lapel pin on you before you knew what was going on. Then they demanded money. I didn´t need a lapel pin.