time constraints and vast distances meant wishing Señor Vánchez a safe month or two without us and we hopped in a collectivo to cross the border to Peru and continue north on overnight buses. The crossing process is usually quick however on the day we set off the international camioneros (truck drivers) were on a second day of strikes and had blocked the border to Peru. Gossip filtered down the long line of stopped traffic that the border was closed for the day as the truckers weren’t budging. We were sharing a taxi with two Chilenos who used their translate app to explain to us what was happening. We continued to wait it out in the hopes something might change, and after half an hour the distant sounds of sirens blazing and horns honking became quickly louder and our hopes were rewarded. We were being forewarned to get off the road to make room for the passing fleet of assault police/squad cars/riot trucks/water cannon trucks tasked with the job of opening up the border. Unfortunately we weren’t within sight of the action as I imagine it would have been good viewing. Much to the delight of the very long line of onlookers, we all crossed into Peru about an hour later and could notice the significant change in economic status immediately.

The desert is strewn with tonnes of litter, half-built concrete homes left empty and clouded in thick smog which doesn’t paint the prettiest of pictures when entering a new country. The people look more Andean with smilier faces and strongly built bodies. We were both reminded of India as we recklessly sped north avoiding tuk tuks/people/potholes/dogs on the road while hoping a lack of seatbelts wouldn’t be problematic. We stayed in Tacna for the night and prepared for a brain-melting, feet-swelling 20 hour bus ride north to Lima the next day.

Our time in Lima was spent wandering around doing a lot of not much recovering from having driven 2500kms within the last couple of weeks. We did, however, make the most of being in the food metropolis of South America, eating everywhere from street stalls to fancy restaurants. The Mercado 1 was a seriously good local market with shops filled to the ceiling with exotic fruits, veggies, cheese, spices, butchers shops with mysterious carves of meat, and all sorts of odd shops in between selling everything from stickers to lace doilies to bootleg dvds and gold-framed mini paintings of Jesus. We found a great roast house cafe, ate the most delicious burgers filled with chicharron (pork fat) and camote (sweet potato), scoffed market ceviche, organic icecream, drank from a 44 gallon drum of sweet tea that was certainly dodgy, sampled a few too many of Lima’s latest craft brews at Barranco Beer Company, and basically had a sick time for a week.

               

i wish our farmers markets were like this at home!

After navigating the most frustrating websites and somehow wrangling tickets to Machu Picchu and the montaña, the train journey and flights to Cusco, we departed Lima and flew east to see some spectacular sights which we hoped would meet our long-awaited expectations. Which they did! Writing about Cusco is hard because I’m torn between loving it for its history and the local people (for example a couple in their 70s we shared a park bench with for an hour named Mariano and Sabrina and fumbled our way through the language barrier to share stories, have a laugh and learn things about each other while we watched the raucous happen in the square). In truth Peruvians speak Spanish a lot more clearly and slowly, which for us muggs is so helpful in moments like this. But on the other side, Cusco is a complete tourist trap and the two of us stood out to the hawkers and shopkeepers like white-skinned cash machines which felt disingenuous and left a bitter taste in our mouths on some occasions.

We gave ourselves four days to acclimatise (having heard numerous stories, including my parents, of altitude sickness ruining peoples time in the mountains) before we went to see the famous Machu Picchu. Unfortunately for Matt this meant lots of browsing markets and shops which according to him all “sold the same touristy shit”. I had heard a market in a nearby town called Pisaq had more authentic artesanal products so we hired a taxi and went to see some more “touristy shit”. But I was in heaven. Unfortunately about an hour into the wandering, the skies opened and the rain bucketed down as ladies rushed to cover their valuable items and used bamboo sticks to push the water off their makeshift stall covers creating gushing small rivers down the cobblestones, very wet feet and a very wet, unhappy boyfriend. I stood under the cover of one shop looking across to another that had several rugs for sale trying to decide whether I loved the rug or just liked it. Pressure was on to make a decision and for my loved ones you know how painful this is (for me and for anyone waiting for me to decide). But in the end I bought the rug against all rational thought, and have been lugging it in my pack ever since (well to be honest Matt has carried my bag most times giving him more leverage for the “irrational purchase” lecture) haha. Anyway I am so happy and look forward to it adorning our floor when we get home.

                          

     these ladies asked for a “donation” then wouldn’t accept our 5 soles coin (about $2), they wanted 10 minimum after taking their photo. the word must have gotten lost in translation.

Let’s get to the interesting part, Machu Picchu. Our tickets included entrance to the Montaña, which is at 3,082 meters (10,111 feet) above sea level and 652 meters (2,139 feet) above the Machu Picchu ruins. I must admit the advice given was that it was a “moderate to challenging climb” and was mostly Incan stairs didn’t restore my confidence in my ability to reach the top. But off we set, camera at the ready, me in my exercise clothes and Matt wearing a flanno, jeans and Vans. Not exactly mountain ready but those trusty Vans gripped their way to the top and we wondered whether this would be brand-embassador worthy. He has literally worn those shoes every day for the past 6 months. His thongs had a blowout early in the trip and since then they have carried him around the continent. Getting off topic. The climb is mostly stairs. Big stairs. I had such appreciation for the intelligent design of the Incas and marvelled at their craftsmanship, until I was about half an hour into the climb and started to wonder whether they were actually mad. What was wrong with having a nice flat grassy area for ceremonies? Why do they have to be on top of dizzyingly high mountains? Why did we think this was a good idea? Why are old people overtaking me? Why did I eat so much steak in Argentina? My lungs felt like little pips as my head turned beetroot red and my clothes embarrassingly sweaty. I admired the people who willingly pay money to walk the Inca Trail, and was dumbfounded thinking about the amazing porters who do it all year round. Matt rolled up his flannelette sleeves and took off upwards like a regular mountain climber stopping every now and then to let me catch up and then catch my breath. After lots of internal battles we made it to the top and the view was breathtakingly (literally!) spectacular. Machu Picchu is definitely worth the ridiculously high costs to see it, and we recommend a trip to anyone who is venturing to this part of the continent.

               

sweaty success

looking across to Huayna Picchu

the view really is that good.

This sight makes you completely forget about all of the things that get under your skin in Cusco. The annoying people reassuring you that their machine-made synthetic rug is hand-made genuine alpaca, the drug dealers lining the main plaza in Cusco whom seemed to think that if you have a beard you must want cocaine (poor Matt was stopped on every street corner which was pretty funny but got old quickly), people wanting to sell you their forged paintings (who were often the same drug dealers), men arguing  with you about the state of your leather shoes and their dire need for a buff (I like them scuffed) as well as the gringo-packed tourist shuttles that cost as much to go 10kms as it does to go half way across Peru in any other bus, is all forgotten once you are in the serene and splendid sight of Machu Picchu… There are places in the world that you can see in photos your entire life, but when you arrive and get the first glimpse they just hit you like a slap in the face. Machu Picchu is one of those places.

           

           

After the circus of Cusco and our fantastic time in Machu Picchu, our time in the mountains was done. Matt had been watching the forecast for northern Peru and had made the call that we had to hightail it on a flight back to Lima followed by an overnight bus to make it in time for an inbound swell up into the desert and the unknown . We will post about how this turned out in the next couple of days as it’s late now and time for sleep.

Buenos Noches.

b+m