Cuzco
We´ve spent the last two days exploring the islands of Lake Titicaca (pronounced Titihaha in Aymara, as we learned) and have left behind the Lago and dusty Puno for Cuzco, Perú. Cuzco is different than I thought it would be, with more white people per square foot than Peruvians, and more touristy bad fashion than I thought possible for such a seemingly remote place.
We visited the floating islands of Uros people in Lago Titicaca. These people have created a whole community of islas flotantes, fashioned out of the spongy, slightly squishy reeds that abound on the Peruvian side of the lake. Now, they main industry that supports the communities is tourism, as people like us traipse around the delicate islands, riding on their traditional boats and snapping photos of everything. From the floating islands, we took a slow-moving boat to the island of Amanteni, nestled around the peninsula. Amanteni is crowned by two twin temples, one to Pachatata and one to Pachamama (the madre tierra, the mother earth goddess of the indigenous people). We hiked up the terraced mountainside, watched the sunset from over Perú, and contemplated the generally larger mysteries of life in the growing shade of the evening. As we hiked down in the darkness, the entire skyline off the island was illuminated by a spectacular lightning show, fat stabs of electricity highlighting the infinitestimal quiet of the island. We spent that night in a small brick shack, complete with a goaty smell and outhouse, sharing the company of Faustina (a shy, smiley indigenous woman) and her family. They have a ´discoteque´on the island in which they dress all the tourists in the traditional clothes of the native people, and have us all get drunk and dance to a traditional Andean band. We passed on the Cuzqueño (Peruvian beer) in favor of water, in an effort of offset the ill effects of debilitating altitude sickness.
The next day, we set off in our little boat for the island of Taquile, which has been thoughly capitalized by the tourist industry. We hiked up the Plaza Central, which boasts one Catholic church and one Adventist. Who knew?
After lunchtime, the boat made its lazy way back to Puno, and we spent the 3 hour journey lounging on the top deck in the sun, talking and listening to our iPods (like good little Americans). Back in Puno, we ate a fantastic dinner and met up with the English girls, and the Argentinians (who are probably two of the most afuera de mano, or out of hand, people I have met on this trip). We drank beer and sang songs and started a dance party with the willing help of the Peruvian bartenders, called it a night early and turned in for bed.
Today we left Puno for Cuzco, and after 6 hours traversing the awe-inspiring valleys in a spiffy tourist bus, we reached the city and our friendly little hostel. We´re planning on checking out the local nightlife here in Cuzco, spotting as many tourists from as many different countries as possible. It´s crazy to come to Cuzco after Puno, which is dirty and bustling and full of Peruvians. I´ve been thinking about alot of different things during this trip, which I hope will solidify into something a bit more cohesive when I get back to Chile. Until then...te vayas bien y buen viaje!
Monday, September 18, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Bienvenidos a Perú
As I write this, I´m at the bus terminal in dusty Tacna, the southermost town in Perú. My compañeros de viaje (ahora, Kevin, Kristina and the always effervescent Alicia) and I are crowded into the small bus company office, using their free internet and second floor vantage point to contemplate the bustling terminal (complete with random bangs and explosions, a regular South American cacophony). We´re on the first leg of our journey, jumping off from the north of Chile into the heart of Perú, Lago Titicaca and, ultimately, Machu Picchu. This is where we begin to truly feel the spirit of adventure, as we try to adhere to the warnings of DON´T DRINK THE WATER and STAY AWAY FROM FRESH VEGETABLES, keeping a close eye on our belongings and feeling the espiritu of carpe diem that surrounds this whole trip.
Peruvians, in my immediate and extremely limited experience, are nice and excellent speakers, enunciating their Spanish calmly and easily (the complete opposite of the frenetic Chileans, who drop letters and syllables like it was going out of style, rushing their words and gesticulating wildly). We all stick out like sore thumbs here, the light skinned gringos with the fancy backpacks. Our taxi driver cautioned us to be careful in Tacna, since there´s little police presence and we´re complete strangers to the dusty brown hills of Southern Perú.
We crossed the border, got the stamps in our passports, and continue forward. But far more than physical borders, this is a journey into the heart of our experience, as we cement experiences that will, I sense, later define this era of our lives.
As I write this, I´m at the bus terminal in dusty Tacna, the southermost town in Perú. My compañeros de viaje (ahora, Kevin, Kristina and the always effervescent Alicia) and I are crowded into the small bus company office, using their free internet and second floor vantage point to contemplate the bustling terminal (complete with random bangs and explosions, a regular South American cacophony). We´re on the first leg of our journey, jumping off from the north of Chile into the heart of Perú, Lago Titicaca and, ultimately, Machu Picchu. This is where we begin to truly feel the spirit of adventure, as we try to adhere to the warnings of DON´T DRINK THE WATER and STAY AWAY FROM FRESH VEGETABLES, keeping a close eye on our belongings and feeling the espiritu of carpe diem that surrounds this whole trip.
Peruvians, in my immediate and extremely limited experience, are nice and excellent speakers, enunciating their Spanish calmly and easily (the complete opposite of the frenetic Chileans, who drop letters and syllables like it was going out of style, rushing their words and gesticulating wildly). We all stick out like sore thumbs here, the light skinned gringos with the fancy backpacks. Our taxi driver cautioned us to be careful in Tacna, since there´s little police presence and we´re complete strangers to the dusty brown hills of Southern Perú.
We crossed the border, got the stamps in our passports, and continue forward. But far more than physical borders, this is a journey into the heart of our experience, as we cement experiences that will, I sense, later define this era of our lives.
Monday, September 11, 2006
It’s 10:30 pm in Chile, and homework can wait until tomorrow, as I pour over my Lonely Planet guide to South America. We’re leaving for Peru in a week, gearing up for the Big Mission to Machu Picchu, complete with Incan ruins and border crossings, train rides and the Peruvian frontier. And yet, it still seems surreal that this is my life, this is my twenty years of life put into action. Is it? Is it? Is it?
Last weekend:
We left Vina still feeling hungover, and an hour and a half later woke up in Santiago de Chile. It was one of those glorious, once in a lifetime days. The torrential downpour we felt in Vina had washed the city clean of its usual pollution, leaving the sky sparkling, arcing over the crown of the Andes. Santiago is surprisingly hip and modern, with a distinctly bohemian element that reminds me a little of Brooklyn. We staying in a very English-speaking friendly hostel, smack in the middle of the Bellavista district. Alicia and I wandered down across the Mapocho River, discovering along our way a little city playground. We wandered towards Cerro Santa Lucia, and accidentally discovered the park atop the Cerro. Santa Lucia is an incongruous hill right off the center of Santiago, converted “back in the day” into a spiraling city park. There’s a tower at the very heart of the hillside, leading up to a stunning view of the city. On that day, it was particularly beautiful, with hardly any of the stifling pollution that usually plagues Santiago’s skyline. We spent hours in the Feria de Artesanos en Santa Lucia, wandering around the little vendors’ stalls, picking out pieces of jewelry and exclaiming over the smooth pieces of lapis fashioned into rings, earrings, necklaces (how fun it is being a girl). Eventually, we found our way to the Plaza de Armas, and the crowds that flooded the streets on this warm springtime day. Later, back in Bellavista, we took the rickety ascensor to the top of Cerro San Cristobal. The towering statue of the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception big farewell to the sun with arms outstretched, as Santiago was transformed in hues of gold and orange. That night, “our” Bellavista was transformed into wild party district, as young Chileans spilled into the streets and out of the discoteques. We made friends at our hostel’s barbeque, and in mixed Spanish-English-Portuguese, waxed poetic over bottles of wine and Escudo (a cheap Chilean beer that’s perennially on special).
The next day, we met up with Lilia and took a bus down to Pichilemu, a five-hour journey south. All of our Hawaiian-gringo friends were staying in a trio of cabanas up in the hillside, so we trekked up the dusty hillside to our weekend homestead.
Pichilemu is beautiful. That’s the only way I can really describe it. From our cabins, the entire coastline fanned out below, framed by the soft undulations of the Chilean hillside. There is amazing surf in Pichi, eternal left-hand pointbreaks and faster beachbreaks. We walked to the beach at sunset, shared an Austral (a much better cheap Chilean beer), allowing the ocean to cover our footsteps as the light faded into the endless Pacific. The entire Hawaiian crew spent the night singing around the campfire, trading jokes and stories and food. I woke up early the next day, and we spent the morning lounging in the sunshine, enjoying the crisp air and the absolutely pristine skyline. Katie and I opened the box of Gato Blanco (cheap Chilean boxed white wine) around 10:30 in the morning, and started a truly memorable game of charades. We passed the day idly, eating and lounging, eventually packing our backpacks and heading back to Vina.
So many of my companeros here are saying how they could easily stay here for another semester. We’re each running towards something, I think, and in turn running from something else. For me, however, I think my journey here is more of a realization of my capabilities. I'm having dreams of New York and of Mexico, of places I've seen and loved, and places that are calling me in some weird transcendental manner. I fear that I've awakened a perennial wanderer inside of me, the spirit of the expat, of the traveler, of the "global citizen." And perhaps this is my pais inventado, as Isabel Allende says, forever invented in my dreams and my experiences.
Last weekend:
We left Vina still feeling hungover, and an hour and a half later woke up in Santiago de Chile. It was one of those glorious, once in a lifetime days. The torrential downpour we felt in Vina had washed the city clean of its usual pollution, leaving the sky sparkling, arcing over the crown of the Andes. Santiago is surprisingly hip and modern, with a distinctly bohemian element that reminds me a little of Brooklyn. We staying in a very English-speaking friendly hostel, smack in the middle of the Bellavista district. Alicia and I wandered down across the Mapocho River, discovering along our way a little city playground. We wandered towards Cerro Santa Lucia, and accidentally discovered the park atop the Cerro. Santa Lucia is an incongruous hill right off the center of Santiago, converted “back in the day” into a spiraling city park. There’s a tower at the very heart of the hillside, leading up to a stunning view of the city. On that day, it was particularly beautiful, with hardly any of the stifling pollution that usually plagues Santiago’s skyline. We spent hours in the Feria de Artesanos en Santa Lucia, wandering around the little vendors’ stalls, picking out pieces of jewelry and exclaiming over the smooth pieces of lapis fashioned into rings, earrings, necklaces (how fun it is being a girl). Eventually, we found our way to the Plaza de Armas, and the crowds that flooded the streets on this warm springtime day. Later, back in Bellavista, we took the rickety ascensor to the top of Cerro San Cristobal. The towering statue of the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception big farewell to the sun with arms outstretched, as Santiago was transformed in hues of gold and orange. That night, “our” Bellavista was transformed into wild party district, as young Chileans spilled into the streets and out of the discoteques. We made friends at our hostel’s barbeque, and in mixed Spanish-English-Portuguese, waxed poetic over bottles of wine and Escudo (a cheap Chilean beer that’s perennially on special).
The next day, we met up with Lilia and took a bus down to Pichilemu, a five-hour journey south. All of our Hawaiian-gringo friends were staying in a trio of cabanas up in the hillside, so we trekked up the dusty hillside to our weekend homestead.
Pichilemu is beautiful. That’s the only way I can really describe it. From our cabins, the entire coastline fanned out below, framed by the soft undulations of the Chilean hillside. There is amazing surf in Pichi, eternal left-hand pointbreaks and faster beachbreaks. We walked to the beach at sunset, shared an Austral (a much better cheap Chilean beer), allowing the ocean to cover our footsteps as the light faded into the endless Pacific. The entire Hawaiian crew spent the night singing around the campfire, trading jokes and stories and food. I woke up early the next day, and we spent the morning lounging in the sunshine, enjoying the crisp air and the absolutely pristine skyline. Katie and I opened the box of Gato Blanco (cheap Chilean boxed white wine) around 10:30 in the morning, and started a truly memorable game of charades. We passed the day idly, eating and lounging, eventually packing our backpacks and heading back to Vina.
So many of my companeros here are saying how they could easily stay here for another semester. We’re each running towards something, I think, and in turn running from something else. For me, however, I think my journey here is more of a realization of my capabilities. I'm having dreams of New York and of Mexico, of places I've seen and loved, and places that are calling me in some weird transcendental manner. I fear that I've awakened a perennial wanderer inside of me, the spirit of the expat, of the traveler, of the "global citizen." And perhaps this is my pais inventado, as Isabel Allende says, forever invented in my dreams and my experiences.
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