Don't Smile at a Crocodile in Rurrenabaque

We were standing around with our tickets to Sucre in hand when I says to meself, ¨hey, self, why are you going to another city when you don't like cities all that much and you have spent the last week stuck in one?¨

A good question indeed, and with 15 hours we had sold the tickets to Sucre, and were on our way north to Rurrenabaque by boat. North of La Paz, Rurrenabaque is a horribly hot town that makes most of Panama look like a ski resort, but is on one of the many tributaries that eventually finds its way to the Amazon. The Madidi National Park has original primary forest still, and the pampas (think everglades - I'd imagine) is a highly dangerous tour where if the crocs, anacondas, and piranhas don't get you there are still plenty of mosquitoes, flesh eating diseases, and the every scary candiru that will track you down.

The three day boat trip took place on our luxury cruise liner (read glorified canoe) that I called the Sloop John B, and despite humming the Beach Boys song for three days the name never caught on. The passengers turned out to be quite the mix of galling French Canadians, cute German girls, a South African couple that were great storytellers, and a pair of hilarious English sisters of which one was so scared of everything it makes me wonder how she got started on the trip to South America to begin with.

The boat trip was fun, except that Dave and I were the only ones to actually bathe for the three days. As accustomed as I was to peeing in large bodies of water it was quite painful to have to hold it for fear of the candiru who's common name seems to be the penis fish. The candiru's brain is wired to swim against a given current, so if one is urinating in the river, you may get an unwelcome parasite to swim up your urethra and expand its spines into the inside of your... *OUCH* For those of you who don't believe me I am not smart enough to make this stuff up, so here is the wikipedia link for further research http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candiru.

The boat trip would have been a lot more fun with a libation of choice and an innertube. Canoes are not exactly made for white water, and we spent most of the time avoiding all the fun parts of the river. Even this tributary which is probably 1000 miles away from the start of the Amazon river was huge, and pumped serious volume. I cannot imagine the size of the Amazon at the mouth of the ocean.

One afternoon we went piranha fishing which turned out to be anticlimactic. Before I could get a picture of the only one we caught as a group, the Canadian that caught it threw it back in. We also got to go on a jungle hike in the national preserve that was just like anything we saw in Panama, with the exception of the wild boars. The last day of our trip was Christmas Day, and because of the heat and jungle tour did not feel like Christmas at all. To compensate for the lost holiday we went out and had the traditional holiday meal, pizza.

Reason 327 why I love Bolivia... On a given day you find yourself in the middle of town with nothing to do, so you walk up to the motorcycle taxi stand on the street corner and say, ¨I want to borrow your motorcycle.¨ After assuring the owners that I knew how to ride a motorcycle (I didn't), and talking the price down, I took off my very own motorcycle, rented all afternoon for a mere $10. The crazy part is that I left no deposit or anything of value to insure I would return the bike. They just gave me the bike on good faith that I would not drive it back to La Paz to sell it, crash it, or run someone over. He didn't even ask for the name of the hotel we were staying in. I wish I had some jocular remark to make about the situation but to be honest I'm still dumbfounded.
We drove around town like bandits until we realized why they weren't worried. There wasn't exactly any place to go. After a picnic lunch, watching some lassos fly, and scaring at least one old woman out of three years of her life, we returned the motorcycles without a scratch, that the owners found anyway.

During our afternoon tour we took five minutes to get signed up for a tour of the Pampas. Upon arriving the next day in the swampy bog I immediately realize why I have never been to Mississippi. I imagine this place was similar to the quagmire of the bayou and I have seen leach field that look nicer to swim in. It was miserably hot, muggy, and filled with mosquitoes and toothless locals. The allure of the worlds largest snake, the most infamous carnivorous fish, and the age old question: is it safe to smile at a crocodile? were just too much; we had to investigate. The guide would say that we had a successful trip in that we swam with pink dolphins, fed bananas to monkeys, and saw some amazing birds. Blah-blah-blah, I say the guide is full of bull-pucky. In the one full day we had in the area we saw exactly nothing. I won't be sorry that we did not see an anaconda, but only piranha fishing for 30 minutes was just pathetic. Any fool could have driven the boat to a random spot had us throw lines in the water and claimed, "oops they're not biting today." Not to mention the guides total lack of enthusiasm and gregariousness. Make an effort!

All was forgotten when we got back and found that Oregon State showed why they are the number two rush defense in the nation holding Maryland to a mere 18 yards on the ground as they dominated their bowl game in the miserable San Fransisco rain. Oregon finally got a victory without Dixon so congrats to them, and my money is on a USC route of 21 points or more over the Fighting Illini.

Will someone please explain to me why three teams from the Big Ten which actually has 11 teams (idiots need to go to a better conference to actually learn something) got three BCS bids; including Michigan who finished 8-4 (with a loss to Appalachian State, a Div. 1 AA school), and the Pac Ten only got one bid. Any correct answer will include the phrase 'east coast bias'.

So with that as my final beef for this year, Happy New Years everyone! Even to those of you from the Big Ten, congrats on the strong bowl appearance. It's not your fault you live in the east and can't count. I just hope I never have to drive across a bridge in Pennsylvania that is suppose to be eleven meters long if engineers from Penn State helped to design/build it. To everyone else, I hope y'all go out and makes a new years resolution and then promptly break it. The only good thing about a new years resolution is when one discovers that resolutions are crap and forget about theirs. Thus my new years resolution shall be to find a job.

The Internet Wanderings of an Idle Traveler Still In La Paz

Picture this, Dave and I were running around town for a third day trying to put together the package of information to get our visas for Brazil. We had to show proof of the yellow fever vaccine again, but this time we needed the original. So we are up early on Monday morning to go to the Bolivian health center to get an original document (not a shot) with the same piece of paper that was denied the previous Friday. It didn't pass the Common Sense Test to me, and I had half a mind to tell her that. The most annoying part was that she was not going to keep the original, she only needed to see it. She knew that we had received the shot and could have overlooked the minor discrepancy, but had to be a jerk about the whole thing.

So we went back, ready to do battle the next day. Needless to say she found some other nit-picky things to send us scrabling to get done, so we fix that and went back, oh did I mention we were trying to catch a bus in the morning so that we could get out of La Paz? I ran 14 blocks in the high capital in the world to pay the processing fee, and had all my ducks in a row. I was looking at the clock realizing that the bus was leaving from the other side of town in five minutes. In my optimism I told myself the bus won't leave until 15 minutes late, we are totally fine. As I turn back to the same evil secretary she looks up and smiles in her unique way (uh, this can't be good) and says "I'm sorry but you don't have any pages left in your passport." From the euphoric look on her face I think she may have had an orgasm from the joy in providing such bad news.

¨What about the three pages at the end, there is nothing on them.¨ I reply in my ignorance of passports.

You could see the tingle of pleasure run down her spine as she turned my passport back to me and showed me the three pages, ¨It says right here that I can't put any visas on these pages, (euphoric shutter) you are going to have to go to your embassy first.¨

Bastards! Dave could get his passport processed, but he was going to need more pages as well. Between the two of us we needed to be in La Paz everyday for the next week (for maybe ten minutes). That meant that we were not going to make our bus that day or for the next week, and we were not able to go chasing after alligators, anacondas, and piranhas fishing in the Amazon Basin. Bastards!

The week off gave us an opportunity to do some good ol' fashion college style internet time killing. In the past two years the internet has improved greatly. It has gone far beyond Al Gore's expectations when he discovered it all those years ago. At least he finally got his credit for the discovery this year in the form of the Nobel Peace Prize. A couple of those discoveries I will share since I seem to have nothing better to do with myself than waste the reader's time.

First I started to YouTube (can YouTube be verbed?) the debates for our next presidential candidate. In the process I watched some of the participant's propaganda that they also leave up on the website. Based on one advertisement I have selected my dark horse, and because my candidate as lost every time I have voted for president I have no problem shamelessly plugging former Governor of New Mexico, Bill Richardson.




There is also a huge sub-culture based around everybody's favorite ass kicking Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris. At http://www.chucknorrisfacts.com/ one can get a glimpse of why Chuck Norris is a better man than you. My personal favorite: ¨Every night the boogeyman checks his closet for Chuck Norris.¨

Not to send y'all away from my blog, but there is a button that automatically comes up on most blogs that are affiliated with this website. If you scroll to the top you will discover as I did the ¨Next Blog¨ button. This button will allow you to go to another blog by a random person somewhere in the world. After an hour of mindlessly pushing the button I realized that most blogs are absolute crap. Which begs the rhetorical question, do other people think my blog is as crap as I think their's is? It probably is. Blogs are crap.

The largest waste of time on the internet was done without Lane's knowedge, he would be very disappointed in me if he knew I was search for a... hold on... Ok, he's gone, in search of a (whispered) Jay-Oh-Bee. That's right, I have been reviewing his bank account balance, and by the time he is done with this South America thing he will be more broke than if Chuck Norris would have roundhouse kicked him in the face. That's right a job (gasp!), so if anyone out their is interested (or knows someone that might be) in giving this future-less engineer a job (preferably one that pays more than monopoly money and boild green bananas) let him know, but you didn't hear that from me.

With that I must leave in search of more garbage on the internet. If you have not burned enough time at work yet I recommend starting with the ¨Next Blog¨ button, I wonder how many times I would have to push it to randomly come across the blog of someone that I know? There is only one way to find out...

A Safe Biking Path to Corioco

I made the mistake of telling my mother about the most dangerous road in the world bike ride before even leaving Panama, but I promised I wouldn't tell her when I was actually going to go. Now that I have survived and have the T-shirt to prove it I can happy jump up and down, fist pumping, and talk about having played chicken with fate and lived to tell about it. Ignorance is bliss, right ma?

In all reality as a biking on the road is not all that dangerous. The infamous road was built in the 1930's by some POWs from Paraguay who put the POW in gun POWder as they blasted the road out of the side of the mountain. The new road that goes through another valley has made the Yungas road obsolete, thus leaving the wide gravel path to a throng of daily tourists. Most of the souls haunting the area are drivers who made the mistake of try to pass another large vehicle at an inopportune moment. It also claimed the lives of several politicians who made the mistake of trusting their political rivals when they said, ¨Hey Vinny, take our friend here fer a ride.¨

That is not to say that the rider can break concentration, and the crosses that line the cliffside are a constant reminder of that fact. The road is very wide for a cyclist even the poorest ones, but if one falls of the road there is no ditch to land it. You might find on the way down the 500 ft straight drop that the helmet is wearing you for protection in stead of the other way around.

Mistakes are also more common at high speed, and of the 60-odd km of the trail all but seven klicks are downhill. Usually the tour begins at the top of the 4700 m pass and ends in Corioco at 1700 meters above sea level which works out roughly to be a 1.5 mile vertical drop. It reminds me of a pearl of wisdom my father gave so many years ago: It's not so important how well it goes, but how well it stops.

The concept, difficulty, and beauty of the ride could be compared to what I did in Huaraz, Perú. That I did all by myself this I did as a part of a tour, and there is no comparing the two. As a part of the tour other people were getting mad at me for taking my time, taking pictures, and generally enjoying where I was. The other two guys in the group just bee-lined staight down the road with the guide leaving Dave and I happily in the dust. They didn't seem to realize that it was not about journey to the goal, but rather the journey is the goal. (insert momentary pause of witty philosphical banter while reader discovers that this may have a parallel to life in general.) So in the end I felt bad for being slow, but not too bad.

That night there was a huge party near our hotel in Corioco. We were going to go to bed early, but there is no such thing as noise pollution in Latin America and one might have thought that the speaker was actually in the room with us. So, for rudely keeping us up that night we did the only logical thing, we crashed the party. Initailly we thought it was a wedding and were wondering how we were going to get ourselves invited in to go bridesmaid hunting. Upon arriving we discovered that it was actually the high school end of year party. One might compare it to prom, only with your entire family, and drinking is allowed. That's right, cultural difference number 48379: it shall be socially acceptable to drink and get drunk at your child's 10th grade graduation party. When in Rome...

Forged Documents and a Bolivian Jail in La Paz

Beaurocracy is a nightmare. In response to the United States' policy on visas for bolivians, Evo Morales has enacted a policy that went into effect two weeks before Dave and I crossed into the country. In addition to $100 and an invitation from a host country national I needed proof of a yellow fever vaccination. I received the shot in Panama, and had brought a copy of the document knowing full well that I would need it eventually. At some point during the first six weeks of travel the papers grew a pair of legs and walked off to go tour South America by themselves. No problem though, a little work with a copy of Dave's vaccination record, a copy machine, and some white out, and we soon found ourselves on our way to La Paz, Bolivia.

It took only ten minutes of being in Bolivia me to turn to Dave and say, ¨I can already tell that I am going to like this country.¨ I can't say exactly what it was, it could have been the uncomfortable bus, the local music on the radio, the bumper stickers that lined the inside of the bus, the drunk guy wanting to wrestle, or the going into blind curves three cars abreast which turned into a well ochestrated symphony squealing breaks, screams, but no crunching of metal. I can't put my finger on it, but there was something about the creative and unsafe way things were done that just felt right.

Case in point. At one point we had to cross a 500 m section of Lake Titicaca. We grumbled about our seperate uncovered boat until we saw the ¨ferry¨ that carried the bus across the channel. It was made of plywood with a minimal support structure. Just long enough and wide enough for a full size bus to fit on with a foot of clearance all around. As the boat rocked on the wind tumbed water of the lake, I couldn't help but wish I had my camera for two reasons: one to take a picture of the craziness, and two to protect it from the icy water that seemed inevitably sure to tip the boat and consume our ride. I did find this picture on the internet. It is of the same crossing, but our bus was at least twice as big as the truck in the picture.

We arrived late into La Paz, and the next morning we go out to walk around the highest capital city in the world. How high is La Paz? La Paz is so high that FIFA World Cup does not allow world cup games to be played there. In the history of the world cup Bolivia has NEVER lost a game there! In addition to a perfect home record, La Paz is an amazing city.

When inquiring about Bolivia on our way south the response was almost universal, Bolivia is great. But when asked specifically what it is about Bolivia that makes it so geat there is rarely anyone that can come up with anything besides it is cheap. I now understand their problem with being able to describe it, because it is more of a vibe that one gets than specific list of things to do. In general, the major difference though is that we are not treated any differently than any local. We don't have to barter with taxi drivers, no one openly stares, and people have gone out of their way to be helpful and knowedgeable.

One of the attractions(?) to La Paz is the San Pedro Prison. It was popularized by the book Marching Powder about an English drug mule who got caught trafficing cocaine and was imprisioned. In order to survive in a Bolivian prision the inmates must make their own money usually though artisanry. So the intrepid Englishman began to run tours through the prision to buy dinner, and became such a big cult tour that the bolivian govenment has banned tourists from the premesis. Dave and I went and looked in because it is right in the center of town, and though, ¨It's crazy to bribe our way into a prision in Bolivia!¨ and ¨It's not the getting in I'm wrried about, it's the getting out.¨ So we chickened out, and didn't even try to get in which should bring my mother's blood pressure back down to normal levels.

But this might send it back up... I don't think it will surprise anyone to know that the most dangerous road in the world is located in Bolivia. Another strange tourist attraction is to ride bicycles down this road to a near by town.

Final Breakdown on Perú:

Country of Origin: Ecuador
Total time in country: 19 days
Music: Besides the noise that the locals seem to call music there are also full CDs in most tourist locations that are dedicated to the Andean Flute redition of Beatles songs and old 80's hits. Immagine hearing 'Sweet Child of Mine' without the guitar intro or 'Hey Jude' without Paul McCarney screaming at the end.
People: I think the genuine people are out there, we just didn't find very many of them.
Transport: Decentralized bus terminals suck.
Landscape: Lots of extremes... Extreme mountains, extremely dry desserts, and extremely pathetic looking mud houses, extremely cool reed houses on reed islands.
Food: Besides the cheapest food thus far (a full lunch with soup and plate of food for less than a dollar) the shining star was the Peruvian tradional dish, ceviche.
Safety: Northern Perú is the least safe I have felt, ever! Most of the touristy places have safe areas and non-safe areas. It's good to know where the lines are.
Gas prices: 14.70 Nuevo Soles per gallon (4.90 USD per gallon)
Surprised by: Despite a country that has tourists all year round I still feel like I was stared at, single out, and generally preyed on more than in other countries.
Final word: Perú has some really cool hiking, climbing, ruins, and history to do and see, but afterwards get out.
Next stop: Bolivia

A Lake so Nice They Named It Two Times Twice, Lake Titicaca

Note: After catching some flack for a historical fiction story on the Galapagos based on a bird species I will be refraining from making comments throughout this article on the name of a certain lake that may or may not be referred to as something that could be construed as hilarious. I will allow the reader to make the appropriate inappropriate joke him/herself.

Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. How high is it? At 3810 m, it's soooooo high that [editor deleted inappropriate joke]. I'm still not sure what make a lake navigable and others not, but I can tell you that this altitude does not allow for casual swimming. I am all about a good polar bear swim, but I got no where near the 'point of no return' when I went wading into the water (it is colder than Crater Lake). Because swimming and lazing in the cold atmosphere did not appeal to us we found ourselves in a pickle until we heard about other peculiarities to explore in the area.

Puno, the town where one stays when visiting the Peruvian side of the lake is NOT one of these peculiarities. It is an uninspiring parched city that does not deserve one red (or any other colored) tourist cent. After touring the inside of several Internet cafes we busted out on a two day tour of some of the nearby islands.

If the foolish man built his house upon the sand and the wise man built his house upon the rock what does that make the people who build their houses upon floating reed islands? That's right, these two meters thick and several thousand square feet islands float on Lake Titicaca made of reed. These people's entire livelihood is based on the large grass that they get from the lake. They use it as cooking fuel, make their houses, boats, artisan goods, eat it, sleep on it, oh and did I mention that their island is made out of it? I have to imagine that this is the most unique place I have ever seen anyone living.

It is assumed that the reason these people are living how they are was to avoid the Inca's as they took over South America. To escape capture, waterboarding (amongst other torture techniques), and an assimilation process that makes the Borg look friendly these people moved onto their boats to live. Eventually they started tying the boats together to make small islands. Today the spongy reed covers a large enough area for them to have a volleyball court complete with net and ball.

There are multiple floating islands and when I asked one of the locals about this phenomena he just smiled and looked at his well used saw. Can you imagine your neighbor inviting you over for a drink one day, and as you walk out of your house the next morning with a wicked hangover you discover that your neighbor is gone. In fact the entire island that you use to live on is gone except for the small portion that your house sat on which fortunately you discover still softly under your feet. Oh well, I guess you would just have to grab your reed paddle and go tie up with another island.

After the morning on the floating islands we went to an earthen island were we stayed with a local family. These host families speak no English, but are still kind enough to invite tourists into their house. I would imagine that the room we stayed in is nicer than theirs, but I didn't get the chance to verify. Dave and I sat in the kitchen very comfortable in the awkward silence between the races because it gave us flashbacks of our days in the Corps.

After dinner we went to a night club in the plaza (read: large spare room in a store) and danced with the host family in their traditional no-rhythm style, and I fit right in. After a while some of the locals who were looking for a laugh came in to watch the gringo dancing mayhem. The guide introduced us, and for the first time in three weeks in Perú we found some real people that like the same three jokes I told in Panama. Things were warming up to be a late night talking and joking around when hour hostesses came up and told us it was time to go. We had no flashlight and even less idea where the house was, so we had to leave. Figures.

The second time around in Puno was no better than the first, but we did go out for one last-ditch effort to find cuy. The little rodent is expensive by local standards, and is only consumed by them on special occasions. It has a dark turkey meat flavor with a hint of gizzard, but the big turn off is it comes in the skin. The skin is chewier than leather, and the fat on the inside is worse than boiled pig fat. In fairness it was not horrible, but I'd rather eat alpaca or lamb any day of the week. With this quest finally accomplished we could finally bit bon voyage to Perú and get into the budget friendly Bolivia.

¨De Thooper Mountan Haykerth¨ on the Inca Trail

The classic four day trek along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World, is (not surprisingly) monumental! The majority of the hike was done on the original path build by the Incan Empire in the late 15th to early 16th Centuries. The ruins along the way teased the senses but do nothing to prepare the hiker for crossing the final pass at the Sun Gate early on the fourth day. December is considered to be the off season, but on the last day I found myself waiting in line to enter the final day with 199 other hikers (200 passes are issued daily). Thus the last day feels more like being herded than a peaceful sunrise walk in the Andes. During the walk down into Machu Picchu all the mooing was gone and there were nothing but smiles lining every face.

The guides took their time in the four day trek to give a prideful and comprehensive history of the Incan culture despite my doubts about their historical accuracy. They spoke English well, but the main guide always spoke with a smooth, sexy, Latin lisp (and a twinkle in his eye), and always called us, ¨the super mountain hikers,¨ which came out phonetically what I titled this blog. For all it's glory and international recognition the militant Incan Empire was only dominant over the Cuzco Valley for about a century, a historical blink of the eye.

Despite the empire's demise the locals are still proud to follow the three rules of the Incan Empire: don't lie, don't steal, and don't be lazy, 500 years after the fall. This was most evident in the porters. The porters on the trail at times would run in their shoes made from old car tires, passing the tourists who were generally struggling with the steep terrain and/or the altitude. Normally Latinos don't walk like they have somewhere to be, and they are generally content to get there when they get there. Being stuck behind a sauntering Latino on a narrow sidewalk was a frustrating experience until I learned how to walk like them. On the Inca Trail I found that the shoe was on the other foot. The 48 km (30ish miles) took us four days to finish, but the fastest porter ever completed it all in only 3 hours and 45 minutes. Note: this happened one year at the annual porter race, he wasn't carrying a pack.

Going up to the highest pass of 4200 m (13750 ft) I tried to pace what appeared to be one of the weaker porters. I kept up and probably could have passed him, but was not interested in getting into a battle of wills with him. Oh, i didn't mention that he was about half my size, his pack was at least twice as big as mine, and he was doing it in sandals. I was impressed, but am still trying to figure out how they still have any cartilage in their knees.

In our group of 13 tourists there were 17 porters. In a given day there are 200 permits for tourists and 300 for guides and porters. I am still trying to wrap my head around why one of them needed to carry a table and stools, another carrying a kitchen tent and mess tent, and yet another carrying three cups per person, full silverware, plates, bowls, napkin holders, and fake flowers for a table setting. My guess is the reason for all the extravagance is to give people jobs at the expense of tourists, but even most five-star hotel managers would be saying, ¨Geez, that's a little over the top.¨

One area where I was glad to have so many porters was when it came to the food. I have not eaten that well in a long time. There were five course meals three times per day, tea and popcorn at 5:00 pm, and daily trail snacks. I still think I was the most impressed by the pizza we ate on day three, but the hot coca tea in bed every morning to start the day was a close second.

On the first morning I was still enjoying my tea as my Irish roommate Eion was out preparing his bag for the hike. One of our Austrailian group members walked by and said, ¨Top of the morning to yeh.¨ (Note: According to Eoin no one actually says ¨Top of the morning to yeh¨ in Ireland. In fact it may be cause for punching someone in the face.) It was hard to watch his reaction while trying to not shower the tent with coca tea through my nose. He looked at me and turned a fire engine red that I did not think was humanly possible. After our hike was done and we were sharing a pint (in an Irish pub ironically enough) some of the others chimed in to get him to say, 'There always after me lucky charms.' Again Eoin turned his bright red and announced, ¨Noo, he'z (and points at me) bean tryin' ter get me to sey dat fer tree weeks nao. I doon't care how many paynts ye put in me I ain't gunna sey't. And we doon't sey, 'top o' de marnin' to yee,' eider.¨

During the hike though we all took turns faking all the accents to the delight of the rest of the group and evidently the Pachamama (Mother Earth) because she smiled fondly upon us all four days of the hike. The great weather meant there were great views. If at anytime the hikers would lift their eye off the shoes in front of them, they would be greeted with the panoramic sight in all 360 degrees. Everywhere you looked there was always another steep mountain or river valley. Therefore there was never a bad picture to be taken. All of the pictures I took came out great, but there is not one picture that can adequately do any justice when 'seeing in surround sound'.

This is most noticeably apparent in Machu Picchu itself. The ruins are situated in the saddle of a ridge line connecting Machu Picchu Mountain and Wayna Picchu Mountain. On both sides of the former religious center the cliffs drop straight away into the steep valley below. On a clear day one can see sheer rock faces and cloud forests that rival Yosemite and the Grand Canyon.

The quality of the stone work in Machu Picchu in mind boggling, and has to be experienced to be believed. Granite was used for to create everything from temples, to retaining walls, to bridges build in cliff faces. Despite not having steel tools to shape the stones the more important building, alters, and compasses were fit together better than most puzzle pieces. In area surrounding the Sun Temple it is claimed to be impossible to slip even a credit card between rocks. After careful exploration and testing I finally found one spot that permitted my credit card to enter. To my surprise a brand new 100 Sol note came out, a gift from the Pachitata (the father spirit) himself. But the god got the last laugh in the end, because when I tried to spend the bill, I was informed that it was counterfeit. It was a good thing I didn't trade real money for the fake currency.

After a morning tour with the guide we were released to do as much walking as our tired legs would permit us. A small group of us bit off a big bit as we attacked and climbed Wayna Picchu. We were going to try to run the steep and narrow assent to try and beat the record until we found out the current standing record for Wayna Picchu: 20 minutes up and 5 seconds down. The view from the top of the bullet shaped hill in the background of the classic Machu Picchu picture did not disappoint. Those who take the time find at the top a panoramic view in every direction. s impressive as the buildings are in Macchu Picchu, Wayna Picchu is that much more extraordinary because of its towering presence like Skeletor's lair on the top Snake Mountain. The rock work is not as fine as in Machu Picchu, but as one squints, focuses, and stares it is hard to tell when the sheer cliff face stops and the Incan rock foundation begins.

The only downer on the whole trip was the torturous four hour train ride home. AIt was like in the beginning of Office Space when Peter is sitting in his car in traffic and gets passed by a man using a walker. The train was painfully slow with no leg room, smelly neighbors, and no hope of getting off (insert maniacal laugh here). I would have rather walked home in four days than have spent the four hours on that train.

The bookends of our the Inca Trail was spent in the tourist staging town of Cuzco. This was the actual center of the Incan Empire and Spanish strong hold for so many years. This means that there are some interesting ruins and combinations of spanish churches on Incan retaining walls. It was here that Dave and I were reunited, and eventually ran into Matt and Drew from PC Panama. We spent a couple of days echando cuentas and reminiscing about the good ol' days. Once back from the trek I ran around doing all the touristy bits in town that I had missed before. The painting of the Last Supper in one of the Cathedral gave me pause. I never knew that Jesus ate chinchilla and mangos at the last supper! Where is that in the communion tradition? Someone has been holding out on me all these years.

Cuzco itself is overly touristy and it is impossible to even sit in the Plaza de Armas and eat breakfast in peace. I couldn't get more than 30 seconds of peace at a time before someone would show up and start bothering me about buying something, donating money, or taking a picture with them. It got old really fast, but there were benefits too. In the evening when wee were ready for dinner we would barter for a lower price, and then go club hopping and drink the one free drink at each place. The whole mood of Cuzco got old fast, it was time to move on.