Ok, ok, ok. I know what you’re thinking. This is really
late. But… If you think about it, it’s not that
late. I mean, I only returned to the States 6 days ago (I started writing this
the 21st). For my tardiness, I will try to spare y’all of my
ridiculous rambling. Because you know it happens.
Friday July, 28th, I finished my position with El
Cultural. I kicked it off by playing a few tunes for an intercultural festival
for my school with drinks and friends to follow. July 28th is
Peru’s Independence Day! Now you know something new. The drinks were a bit
necessary. Good thing I didn’t have to wake up at 5:30 to catch a bus the next
morning, right? Wait. I did have to catch a bus. A 10 hr bus. With a touch of Rosy
Retrospection, the ride was not that bad. At that moment in time I am sure I
would have told you otherwise.
So that was the start. July, 29th, I took off.
Fled. Ran. Leaped. Left. Jumped. Whatever the hell you want to call it. I was
headed to Cuzco. In Cuzco awaited antiquated churches and beggars,
tourists and thieves, Incan temples and over-priced coffee, do I go on? Super
awesome place. Met people from all over the world. A few highlights: good
English beer, a wicked burrito (and I use that adjective in more ways than
one), textiles, markets, and architecture. The Plaza de Armas was one of the
more beautiful plazas that I have seen.
Though Cuzco was nice, I only came to Cuzco for one thing.
One big hike through the Salkantay pass that would lead me to the Incan city
named Machu Picchu (named after the small mountain range surrounding the city;
to this day, the Incan name of the city is unknown). Well, I did exactly that.
After 36 hours in the city, I left. Left the hostal at 4:00 a.m. and did not return until Saturday morning. 'Twas good. Very good. Indeed it was my first
multi-day trek! I will let the pictures speak for themselves, but I will say
this: a good group can seriously elevate the experience (pun intended). And I
had one hell of a group. People from Europe, the U.K., Australia, the U.S., New
Zealand and even some Brazilians. Not only did I gain a few additional red
blood cells to cope with the altitude, but a ton of insight. I do not know if I
have ever had so much reasonable political discussion in my life! I guess it is
a pretty relevant thing. Something worth learning aside from an Aussie’s
perspective on federal banks or a Swiss’ opinion on Laissez-faire capitalism is
that no trek is worth making if you’re viewing the entire damn thing through a
lens. This is where my pictures slowed. If I found something worth gazing upon,
I gazed. If something was marvelous, I marveled. With my own eyes this was done
– not with a camera. And ya know what? I do not regret it. I can still feel the
crisp, clean mountain air brushing against my face. I can still see the clouds
below me and above me as they lingered in valleys and clung onto mountain peaks.
I can still taste the cold water taken from the glacial brooks that flowed down
the mountain sides. I was selfish, y’all. I drank it in rather than bottling it
up. But of the pictures that I do have… well, here you go.
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| Coffee bean picker. |
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| I had to take the picture, people. had to. |
After the trek, I hung out with several of my new friends in
town while I tried to recoup my strength. With a few passing nights, I felt
strong enough to take on the 32 cumulative hour bus ride to Huaraz, Peru – the trekking
capital of Peru and home to South America’s tallest tropical mountain:
Huascaran (22, 205 feet). The bus ride from Cuzco to Lima was hell. 23 hours of
zigzagging through the Andes. It really did not help that I stuffed my face
with street food the hour before the departure at a festival in the square (but
damn that food was good). I mean, who’s going to turn down stuffed, baked
guinea pig served with all sorts of fixins and corn beer! Not this guy. After arriving in
Lima, I had to find a connection to Huaraz. Though I wound up with nearly 7
hours to kill, I did pretty much nothing; well, aside from getting lost, finding
myself, getting lost again, becoming fine with it, and then finding myself
accidentally. That ordeal involved two beers and wanton soup.
After arriving in Huaraz and catching up on some much needed
sleep, I hit the town. When I say hit the town, I really meant drank tea and
had muffins and llama burgers and fondue and more tea and burritos and cheese
cake and French fries and stuff. Buses don’t feed you much. Least not in my
standards. In Huaraz, I stayed in another backpacking hostal (of course) where
I bunked with two Spaniards and an Argentinean. THESE dudes… These dudes were
cool. Extremely dedicated and experienced mountaineers. Totally took me under
their wing. Had I had enough gear and time, I would have attempted to summit
one of the nearby mountains with them. Instead,
I did some cross-country mountain biking and hiking. I mean… the city is only 10,000 feet above sea-level. How hard can that stuff be? Not hard when you’re
already acclimatized! Boo yah! Ok, it was still hard. Huaraz was beautiful.
Plain and simple. Well, the country side. If I were to return to Peru once
more, that is where I would begin. Same picture mentality applied.
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| quite possibly one of my favorites. valleys are so nice. |
After 5 or 6 days in Huaraz, I returned to Lima for about 4
days. I stayed in one of the nicer districts called Miraflores. Dude. It was
sweet. Great cafes, used book stores, photography exhibits, WI-FI park, random
art showings, live music, and, of course, the Pacific. This upscale, artsy
community was situated smack dab off of the Pacific Ocean. The second day that
I arrived, I took a walk that lead to the water. Within 5 minutes, I was in a
wet suit and charging towards that wonderful sound with a 7’5” board by my side.
The water was chilly but the waves were nice. To this day, I am quite a
terrible surfer, but I have the heart of a seal. Sound ridiculous? That’s
because it is. It is quite ridiculous that seals are awesome surfers. Ellos corren
con las olas. I don’t give a damn just how big that wave is, but I will try my
best to run with it. One of the benefits from a surfer’s district is that you
meet other surfers. Real ones. Surfers tend to be pretty cool people. I do not
know of it not holding true in fact. During my short stay, I managed to become
pretty good friends with a fellow surfer from Sweden. Lima is cool, but I
believe it was definitely a little bit cooler thanks to her. I probably would
not have even gone to the Billabong surf competition 30 minutes South had she
not asked me – yes, I went to surf completion. Yes, the waves were big. How
big? Oh… just 30 feet. Ridiculous? Insane? You’re damn right. Lima treated me
well.
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| this wasn't the wave. just sayin'. |
The night of August 14th strange emotions begun
to take hold. It was the night that I would head to the airport. It was the
night that I would pass through security, pass through customs, pass through the food
court not hungry, and board the bird that would carry me home. At the time,
grabbing any particular feeling would have been impossible. Peru was different.
This trip was different. I worked a real job. I lived a real life. I did not
see the half-truths that a country portrays and a tourist sees. I saw it all. Felt
it all. Heard it all. To say that I grew would not quite be correct – I believe
it falls under the ambiguous shroud of comprehension. To understand. Entender.
Saber. Conocer. Tratar. Probar. Escuchar. Sentirse. Those and many more.
I suppose I will visit Peru again. That’s a pretty safe bet.
In the mean time, it has given me plenty of things to think about.
Sneak peak: Two of my greatest friends and I are planning a
trip to New Zealand. We’re buying one-way tickets. Interpret that however you
like ;)
Jonathon
Jonathon
