Hiking Machu Picchu, with no ducks in sight

Every morning around 5:30 a.m., voices outside our tent would offer us coca tea, saying, in not so many words, it was time to get our lazy asses out bed and head for the holy site.

To avoid the crowds and expense of the super-popular Inca Trail, Laura and I chose an alternate route to the lost city of Machu Picchu, one that took us by the base of the 20,500-foot Salkantay Mountain.

The 20,500-foot Salkantay Mountain

The trek started on a Wednesday in a clearing near the village of Mollepata. We were accompanied by two guides, a cook, three horsemen and six horses and eight Dutch people who would sometimes make observations in their native language that sounded, to our untrained ears, a lot like the phrase “There are no ducks here.” (In fact, there weren’t.)

One of our excursion's horsemen preparing to strap sleeping bags, fleece jackets and potatoes to that horse's back

The horse parade

During the five-day, four-night trek, we hiked across foggy alpine meadows littered with lichen-covered rocks, crossed the 15,000-foot pass at the base of Salkantay Mountain and descended into a lush jungle where bromeliads, begonias and banana trees flourished. We passed through a number of farming communities along the way, where we’d often see people hoeing for potatoes or loading donkeys up with the harvest.

At periodic intervals, our group would stop, our guides would snap out the camp table and stools, and we’d feast on typical Peruvian food: soups, stuffed peppers, lomo saltado (that’s steak with veggies and fried potatoes).

One day's lunch spot

The food escaped its hutch in the kitchen one day as we were eating, but no one seemed to care. No, we weren't offered guinea pig.

The trek ended in the super-touristy town of Aguas Calientes, the jump-off point to Machu Picchu, about a half-hour bus ride away. Not-so-tasty pizza parlors line the streets of this town built for travelers, and everyone wants you to try their restaurant’s cappuccino or spaghetti. We often did, I’ll admit, because there’s not much to do in the surreal little town besides eat.

When we arrived at Machu Picchu around 5 a.m. the following morning, a thick fog shrouded the ruins, giving them a very mystical air.

Llamas gently grazing in the lost Inca city

The fog lifted around 10:30 in the morning, revealing the Inca city in all its glory. Let me just say, I think Machu Picchu fully deserves its place among the New Seven Wonders of the World. The 15th-century Inca city is almost completely — well, 80 percent — original, just as the Incas left it around the time the Spaniards came to conquer them. The civilization built its city’s terraces, houses, plazas, temples, fountains and irrigation systems with smooth stones that fit perfectly together. We walked through the architecture marveling for most of the day.

The classic Machu Picchu shot

See, Laura and I really were there

Click here to see more pictures from our trek to Machu Picchu.

Love Potion No. 9

Need supplies to place a blessing or a curse? Find everything on your list at the La Paz Witch’s Market. Market vendors — witches, we can assume — sell their wares every day on the sidewalks and in the stores of the hillside Sagárnaga Street in the Bolivian capital.

In the crowded market, you can find llama fetuses, bat carcasses, ostrich heads, snake skins and lacquered toads. You can pick out a love potion, a good luck charm or a pill to make you stronger.

When I asked a vendor how I could use the llama fetus hanging in the doorway above our heads, she said it’s meant to be burned as an offering to Pachamama, or Mother Earth, according to Inca tradition. If I didn’t have space to light a fire, she said, I could just bury the fetus in my yard. I decided to pass.

And now, a couple other photos of the Bolivian capital, which is located in a narrow valley and bounded by white rock formations.

I think my sister is trying to kill me

The Ciprofloxacin antibiotic I'm taking to rid my stomach of the issues it picked up in Bolivia can have some serious side effects, according to Medline Plus, a service of the U.S. Library of Medicine and the National Institutes of Health.

They can include:

• agitation
• anxiety
• feelings of not trusting others or feelings that others want to hurt you
• difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep
• nightmares or abnormal dreams
• tingling or swelling of the face, neck, throat, tongue, lips, eyes, hands, feet, ankles, or lower legs
• difficulty breathing or swallowing
• rapid, irregular, or pounding heartbeat
• unusual bruising or bleeding
• extreme tiredness
• loss of appetite
• pain in the upper right part of the stomach
• yellowing of the skin or eyes
• seizures
• dizziness
• double vision
• pulsing sounds in the head or ringing in the ears
• confusion
• uncontrollable shaking of a part of the body
• hallucinations (seeing things or hearing voices that do not exist)
• depression
• thoughts about dying or killing yourself
• pain, burning, tingling, numbness, and/or weakness in a part of the body
• loss of ability to feel light touch, pain, heat or coldness, or vibration in a part of the body
• loss of ability to know position of a part of the body
• loss of muscle strength in a part of the body

Laura keeps looking at me weird. I don't trust her one bit.

A shot in the arm

At his suggestion, Laura and I paid the immigration official at the Bolivian border 100 Bolivianos to let us into the country without the yellow fever vaccinations required for our visas.“Get the shot the first chance you get, or you’ll have to pay again when you enter other countries,” the official warned us sternly, speaking Spanish, as he arranged our freshly-converted bills in a stack on his desk. And so, in the mid-sized Bolivian town of Sucre, Laura and I searched out the public health clinic (which we found in the midst of a dusty construction zone), gave our names and passport numbers to the lady at the desk and, in a room off to the side, got doses of yellow fever shot into our upper arms.

My hard-earned yellow fever card

Now, we’re bound and determined to expose ourselves to yellow fever so we can NOT contract it. Steamy jungle, here we come!!!

Pass the pepper: Crossing Bolivia's Uyuni salt flat

Our jeep barreled for an entire day across the infinite nothingness of the Salar de Uyuni, the largest salt flat in the world. For six hours straight, we saw salt, we saw sky, and that’s about it. The salar is 4,633 square miles of packed salt that measures an average of 23 feet thick. It’s what remains of the prehistoric Lago Minchin, which once covered the majority of southwest Bolivia. It’s an illusion-inducing landscape that plays tricks on the mind, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

We discovered people become really small on the Salar de Uyuni

And that doing ordinary things becomes much more fun

Our three-day jeep trip took us from the Chilean desert town of San Pedro de Atacama to the Bolivian valley village of Tupiza. We crossed from the border during the first ten minutes of the trip, then proceeded through the baked red Bolivian desert, where geysers boil and steam, and lakes take on colors other than blue.

The Bolivian desert

Lago Blanco, with waves frozen in place

Flamingos wade knee-deep in many of the lakes, filtering for microorganisms

The deserts’ elevation ranges between 12,000 and 15,000 feet above sea level. It’s extremity caused us to become short of breath every time we walked uphill and scramble for hats, gloves and extra layers every time got out of the jeep door to walk around outside.

The rock tree, one of many rock formations we saw along the way

Simione, our Spanish-speaking driver, was born in a village just a couple hours from the salar and normally spoke the Quechua language native to the region. He stared straight ahead and chewed coca leaves during most of the drive, but at each stop, jumped out to pop the hood, scoot underneath the vehicle or change a tire. At one point, he had to repair the front passenger door, which had been ripped off by the wind.

Simione and another driver operating on our jeep

Laura and me in a tiny town on the edge of the salar, waiting for our drivers to fill the vehicle with gas

We stayed the first night at a modest refuge in the desert and the second at the Salt Hotel, located two minutes from the edge of the salt flat. The hotel is constructed completely from blocks of salt; licking the walls, tables and stools would make you thirsty. Even the floor of the bedrooms and dining room was covered in grains of NaCl.

Two days before our trip, two jeeps traveling toward each other collided on the roadless, wide-open salt flat. The canisters of gas strapped to the roofs of both vehicles exploded, killing all passengers and one driver.

As we passed the accident remains from a distance, we could see the burnt hulls of two 4 x 4s standing out like dark skeletons against their snow-white surroundings. We all realized it could have been us, and the sight was truly sobering.

For more pictures of the trip, click here.

Put down the goggles and step away from the cap

After months of carrying my swim cap and goggles around South America, I have accepted reality: I am not going to need them. I bought the two luxury items in Punta Arenas, Chile last November in preparation for free swim at the city’s public pool. That’s the only time during my eight months in the southern hemisphere I’ve actually been able to use them. With this — and my backpack’s ungodly weight — in mind, I decided to take drastic action: I left my swimming apparel in the room of my hostel in Chile’s Atacama Desert, one of the driest places in the world.

My sister Laura bidding farewell to my prized possessions

I swam competitively through high school and have continued regular trips to the pool in all the places I’ve landed since then. Though my 100-meter freestyle is nowhere as fast as it used to be, swimming continues to be very important in my life. Thus, I did not give up on the dream without a fight. I searched out public pools in every place I visited, but found myself foiled every time.

Here’s the collection of excuses that finally defeated me:

• Sorry, the pool’s empty for its holiday cleaning. Try back in January!
• The pool is only open on weekends. Sucks for you it’s Tuesday.
• You cannot pass this gate. You are not a member of the club. Go back to your home.
• You must pay $17 to use this pool for an hour. We need exact change.
• The pool’s easy to find. Take the red line to the third stop, then the green line to the fourth stop. Walk four blocks north, two blocks east, and you’ll find it in an unmarked building.
• The pool is five feet long and full of kids on foam noodles. Probably won’t need those goggles.

Alas, I hope someone in the dry, dry Chilean desert has found a use for my cap and goggles. Given their location, it probably won’t be lap swimming.

As a sidenote: We spent a lot of time exploring the arid terrain around the desert oasis town of San Pedro. It’s hard to believe this dry landscape can be found in the same country that boasts the glacier-covered Torres del Paine National Park.

We rode the twisty trail through Quebrada del Diablo, or Devil's Gorge, on mountain bikes on day. Such fun.

Pisco sweet: Three days in Chile's Valle del Elqui

The skies over Chile’s Valle del Elqui are clear more than 300 days a year, making it an ideal place to study the stars. During our two days in the valley, Laura and I did just that… sort of.

The guide of the astronomy talk we signed up for led us to a dusty field, set up his telescope and then declared that science, constellations, the cardinal directions and naming things are — and I quote — “stupid.” Needless to say, we didn’t learn much about astronomy. We did, however, manage to see Saturn and its rings and a couple bright stars, I’m not sure which ones.

Valle del Elqui stretches the width of Chile, from the northern beach town of La Serena to the Argentenian border. It’s punctuated by little villages that sustain themselves mostly by growing the super-sweet grapes used to make the alcohol pisco, Chile’s national drink.

Labels for the pisco bottles, still on the spool

More than 85 percent of the pisco produced in Chile comes from the valley. On the way in, we toured the family-run Fuegos distillery, where we tasted the grapes and sampled the pre-pisco alcohol, which has an alcohol content of 68.7 percent.

Me, descending

A horse along the road

Laura and I fell in love with Valle del Elqui during our time there. On our second day, we rode mountain bikes down the dry dirt road from the far interior town of Alcohuaz to our home base in Pisco Elquis. Along the way, we passed lots of grape vines, a few men on horseback and many dogs too sleepy to bother chasing us. We stopped at the artists’ community outside the village of Horcón, where we wandered among artisans in hammocks and browsed booths filled with medicinal herbs, handmade jewelry and batiked clothing.

Laura and me during our bike ride, wearing protective head gear to prevent injury.

The REAL Santiago

During our two days in Santiago, my sister Laura and I didn’t visit the city’s main tourist attractions. No, we stood in line at the bank, visited a notary, mailed packages and took a series of buses to a mall in the suburbs to exchange a piece of merchandise at the only Patagonia store in the greater Santiago area. Who needs to visit the poet Pablo Neruda’s house or the fine arts museum when you can see a real, working office and learn to navigate a bus system?

Santiago

Anyway, we got the errands run, and we’re off to Valparaiso.

Buenos Aires: tango, mullets and cheap steak

It was not your typical tango show; it was not a formally-attired couple twirling dotted duple amongst the tables of lunching tourists.

It was the 12-piece Orquesta Típica Fernandez Fierro performing in a moody bar before a sea of 30 packed cocktail tables. It was passionate and edgy, it was Converse and dreadlocks, and it turned tradition on its head.

While the crowd sipped fernet, wine or gin and tonic, in the case of my hostel-mates and me, the musicians delivered the type of show that leaves you breathless after each song. The stage lights, which alternatively illuminated different sections of the orquestra in red, blue, white and green, lent a sense of urgency and drama to the music.

The energy, more than the actual look, of the Orquesta Típica Fernandez Fierro (Lighting was a challenge)

The highlight of the performance, I’d say, was the four accordian players seated in a row along the front of the stage. They played music with their entire beings, throwing their heads back and folding forward as they squeezed and stretched the instruments on their laps.

Apartment buildings along the street 9 de Julio

Me encanta Buenos Aires. The city of 14 million has it all: 18^th century European-style architecture and modern skyscrapers, cobbled streets and six-lane roads, privately-owned fruit stands and trendy, high-fashion clothing stores, business people and bohemians, public squares and green parks. It’s huge, but it moves at a relaxed pace. You don’t get crushed you if you pause before crossing the street or stepping onto a subway car.

A foggy park we discovered at one end of the pedestrian-only Florida Street

Some observations about the Argentine capital, and some photos:

• The mullet (negocios in the front, fiesta in the back) is quite in style, as is the color purple. With long hair and mostly blue capilene and quick-dry clothing in my backpack, I had no chance.
• Porteños (BA locals) are incredibly sweet. People we asked for directions on the street or in the subway often escorted us to our destinations, or at least to a corner from which we could see them.
• Creativity is in the air. Art galleries, design shops, handmade clothing stores and street markets abound, and the creations are cool.

Our hostel-mate Tim among the colorful houses and art for sale in the La Boca neighborhood.

Necklaces for sale in a San Telmo neighborhood market

• People eat late. Lunch takes place mid-afternoon and dinner around 10 p.m. Discos get rockin’ around 3 a.m.
• Speaking of which, Argentenian steak is abundant, inexpensive and deeeelicious.

We dined at the renowned La Cabrera one night. Alexis and I shared a tenderloin stuffed with ham, cheese and sundried tomatoes. Soooo tasty.

• Argentenian boobs are perkier than most. (Alexis and I were tempted to inquire in undergarmet stores for bras that would lend an Argentenian look to our chests. Probably would have been told the bras aren’t magic.)
• Though electronic music is wildly popular, the Buenos Aires music scene is quite international. On any given night, you can find musicians performing tango, flamenco, jazz, rock and hip hop music in clubs around the city.
• Many golden retrievers live in BA, and they are beautiful.

Alexis and her boyfriend, who later romped in a pond and, wet and dirty, lost her interest.

• Porteños are fútbol fanatics. On the bus ride from the airport to the city center, I passed about a dozen games being played in the fields and buildings along the highway.
• Argentina does coffee better than Chile. Chile does avocados better than Argentina.

And now, for some photos of the Recoleta Cemetery. I know, I’ve posted cemetery photos on this blog twice before. I can’t help it.

Evita is buried in this ornate burial ground, but I didn’t manage to find her grave.

Got my feet did!

After six months of schlepping me around Torres del Paine National Park, my feet got some royal treatment the other day. While Alexis got her hair cut at Buenos Aires’ Nuevo Club Creativo salon, I got a pedicure.A dainty little girl soaked, peeled and buffed my feet, then cut and painted my toenails.

She felt it necessary to wear facial protection during the process. And she was probably right.

Olympic torch passes through

The Olympic torch trotted right past me on its 8.5-mile journey through downtown Buenos Aires yesterday. Today, it’s headed to Tanzania and tomorrow, Oman, on its 23-city trip toward Bejing for the 2008 Olympic games.

In other parts of the world — namely San Francisco, London and Paris — the passage of the torch generated protests against China’s human rights record. Though Argentenian activists promised “entertaining surprises” during the torch’s relay through their capital city, nothing too surprising happened. The protestors paced peacefully down Pte. R. Sáez Peña Avenue with signs bearing slogans like “No rights in China,” “Eighty million dead since 1945,” “An Olympics against humanity” and “Free Tibet.”

A woman in a toga and gold sandals led the group, and a brigade of shield-bearing policemen and a truck blaring opera music followed. Argentine pedestrians stopped along the sidewalk to snap pictures with their camera phones, and taxi drivers encountering the march honked their horns and executed frustrated three-point turns to escape the blockage.

In an attempt to diffuse possible tension, hundreds of China supporters decked out in matching red windbreakers gathered near the Washington-monument-style Obelisco on 9 de Julio Avenue.

Hiking a hidden valley

My friend Juliana and I meant to spend a day meandering through Valle Bader, the high-elevation valley that runs between the 7,200-foot slab of the easternmost Cuerno and the 8,700-foot glacier-capped Almirante Nieto. Instead, we ended up scrambling up and down one of the more precarious moraines in the area and almost summiting both peaks. Not bad for a dayhike. Despite the wrong turn five minutes into the hike through the trail-less valley (the RIGHT side of the river, the RIGHT!), we saw some of the most amazing views ever. From the valley’s entrance, we could see numerous lakes, each a different shade of blue, and once inside, we could see the actual base of the cliffs we're so used to seeing from afar. Rainbows arced overhead most of the day, and we saw wild parakeets on the return hike.

That's me, squatting low to avoid blowing off the mountain, near the entrance to the valley.

That's Juliana. She's taking a photo.

Lago Nordenskjold and Lago Sarmiento, two of the lakes we could see from up high.

Nordenskjold again. Pretty.

During our hike, it rained, it snowed, the sun beat down on our backs, and the wind blew.

This is the Cuerno we almost summited, accidentally.

We traversed the top of this moraine — and ate ham sandwiches almost at the base of the Cuerno — before realizing we were probably very far from where we were supposed to be. We decided to walk out on the other side of the valley, where we could make out a faint trail through much safer territory.

Descending the moraine of loose rock was tough. We scooted backwards down the mountainside, placing our hands and feet on the rocks with great care to avoid starting avalanches. We crossed the pounding river at the base of the valley, and in the process of searching for the trail on the other side, almost summited Almirante Nieto.

While we didn't see as much of the valley as we could have if we'd had more time and hadn't climbed so far in the wrong direction, we were blown away by what we did see. Valle Bader is a magical place for sure.

For more photos of Valle Bader, click here.