Tiwanaku and a bit of La Paz with all pics

Tiwanaku is how the Bolivians like to spell Tiahuanaco. It´s their site and their history so I guess we should follow suit.

I only spent four nights in La Paz. I did explore the city a bit, but most of the thing to do while in La Paz involve leaving the city.

Tiwanaku is a standard tour. It includes a pick-up from your accommodation and I´m afraid any lingering reputation for efficiency in Bolivia was crushed by being picked up 40 minutes late. The minibus lurched through La Paz´s never-ending rush hour, picking up more passengers before we scaled the only exit road to El Alto (see La Paz to Uyuni) and escaped into the Altiplano.

From there, it was a pleasant drive across a plateau 4,000 masl to Tiwanaku.

Our guide spoke excellent English, which contributed to a very enjoyable day. First we were thoroughly educated by being guided through two museums, where the detail of the hieroglyphics on the statues was interpreted for us. Most unusually, we were given enough time to properly appreciate each museum and questions were answered fully.

Tiwanaku is the name of the place where a pre-Inca civilisation had its centre. The place name is used to describe a civilisation that lasted more than 2,700 years with 4 distinct periods. Why it diminished and succumbed to Inca domination is not known. It displayed many of the characteristics of an advanced civilisation.

The site was a major ceremonial centre with several very large temples. Excavations are still incomplete and, while the archaeologists are working, photography is restricted. Luckily for us, the scientists were having a break. Only the bottom two of seven levels have yet been uncovered in this temple.

Our guide used a practical demonstration of the manner in which burial was effected - the foetal position - and gave a convincing reason to assume that Tiwakans were even smaller than modern Bolivians.

I tried to get close enough to pick out the detail of the carving on this figure. If you look carefully, or enlarge it somehow, you should be able to see sun warriors, condors and images of the sun itself. The columns representing hair braids are out of sight.The hands were across the figure´s chest (the full statue includes legs and feet) and you can just see the top of an object that was held by the left hand. If I understood correctly this means the statue represents a ruler, rather than a priest or a wise man.

The site was originally on the shores of Lake Titicaca. The lake level changed over the centuries. The room dug below ground level is believed to have been an attempt to get nearer the underworld where the dead resided. It is thought that this may have been under water - or at least under the level of the lake - at some periods.

Note the regular light and dark strips in the background. They are part of the cultivation system designed to increase production when the lake covered the depression between the temple site and the hills beyond.

Many of the features of the Inca civilisation, such as agricultural methods, astronomy and burial practices are clearly evident in Tiwanaku culture. For example, at Tiwanaku there is a "Sun Gate", which has clearly been positoned to identify the solstices and equinoxes. See the Inca equivalent in my account of Machu Picchu in July.

Maybe it´s the proximity of the underworld in the sunken temple making my hair stand on end, or maybe I just need a haircut.

The temple walls are embellished with carvings of the heads of important Tiwanakans. It is believed that they were deliberately disfigured when the personage died.

Despite the extent of the site, we were finished in time for a late lunch. This was not included in the tour price and was a rip off for 20 bolivianos, when cafes in La Paz provide a complete lunch for as little as 7Bs. I wonder how much was the guide´s cut.

One girl elected to be dropped atthe roadside. She was going on to Peru, not back to La Paz and was hoping to reach the border by local bus. This is certainly feasible, but the local buses do not run to a timetable and the border does not stay open 24 hours. We wished her well.

This is what a serious plateau looks like - 4000 masl, thousands of km long and fringed by snow-capped mountains. I´m afraid the North Is plateau is a baby in comparison.

Most of the Altiplano is covered in small tussocks. The llamas and alpacas always seemed to be grazing in between the tussocks, but I´m damned if I could see what there was to eat there.

There are crops grown, but this is the dry season and there was nothing to see.

Everyone´s first view of La Paz. All roads lead to the lip of the valley, which is almost completely built up.

You can see the CBD on the right of the picture.










Stalls in La Paz´s Witches´ Market sell all sorts of things you probably don´t want to know about in detail.

Although the Andeans are devoutly Catholic they manage to incorporate many beliefs that pre-date the arrival of Christianity. For example, no-one would consider building a new house without a llama foetus buried on the site.

You can buy love potions and things I didn´t like to ask about in these little shops.



This is not a Bolivian bank-robber or an ex-Shining Path guerilla from Peru.

The shoe-shine boys of La Paz have adopted this rather intimidating costume as their uniform. I suspect that it conceals the fact that some of them are no longer boys. Not all the voices that issue from under the balaclavas are still in the treble register.

Lake Titicaca 2 and Copacabana -illustrated

I briefly mentioned Copacabana before (see "Farewell to Peru"). It didn´t get a good press. However, it had its points of interest. This post covers 7 and 8 August, which shows how very behind this blog is. Internet access is very cheap in Sucre, but the equipment is sooo basic. CD drives to access my photos are difficult to find.

The cathedral is home to La Virgen de Copacabana, credited with miracles, I believe. A large statue lives in the cathedral courtyard where many come in the hope of good fortune or maybe just a photo opportunity. The cathedral is typical S. American catholic. Oliver Cromwell, who liked his churches to be plain and unadorned, would not approve.

The cathedral from the front. The statue of the Virgen is located in the building on the right of the picture.

I wonder what he´d make of the Candle Chapel, though. It is a plain, narrow room round the back, but clearly signposted. Along the centre is a table where the faithful burn candles. But they do not burn and leave. The warm, white wax is gathered and moulded and then used to adorn the black walls. Most of the images are houses, but there are names, words, a few cars and other diagrams. I´ve not seen anything like it. Despite the fact that it is clearly noted in the Lonely Planet guide books every other traveller I´ve spoken to who visited Copacabana missed it.

Somehow I don´t think Mr Cromwell would be sympathetic to the local custom of blessing motor vehicles. It´s true. I´ve seen it. A young priest in crisp white vestments splashing holy water over a car with his brush and pot. Someone please add a comment with the proper name for that equipment. I feel I should know it.

This procedure is in demand. On the 9th the queue of cars, trucks and buses waiting to be blessed tailed all the way downhill to the other plaza where I was catching a bus. The vehicles were prettied up for the occasion to the extent that some of them were nigh on impossible to drive bacause of the decorations obscuring the windscreen. Colour and glitter wins over taste.

On Wednesday the 8th I did the day trip to Isla del Sol (Sun Is.), the island where traditionally the Inca civilisation was born. I met other New Zealanders, the first since I arrived in South America. Jonno, Kate and Alex are three young lawyers on their OE making their way to London. Jim, who works for Fonterra near Cambridge was on a shorter holiday. So when they turn up they are in packs!

Other travellers have enjoyed overnight trips to Isla del Sol, and it is also possible to visit Isla de la Luna (Moon Is.) but I felt that I´d had one night on a Titicaca island and that was enough.

We were ferried over in the same style of plodding launch that operates out of Puno. It dropped us at the more distant, northern end of the island. A local guide, who only spoke Aymara and Spanish, met the boat. He escorted us to the local museum (adission extra), where some artefacts from underwater excavations are housed. I felt lucky to be first in, because when the last person had paid his/her admission we got 3 minutes of explanations and then were herded out into the sunshine.

The guide explaining the significance of a pre-Inca rock, whose name I have forgotten. The left-handed salute is merely to block the sun.

In fairness, there was some need for haste. After admiring the sites at this end of the island we had several kilometers to hike to rejoin the launch at another village.

Unfortunately the guide mostly chose words outside my Spanish vocabulary, so I barely understood a third of what he said. But I did better than the other kiwis and a couple of nice English lads so I was hard put to provide English explanations.

A nice natural effect was called the Sun´s Footprints, and it did look remarkably like the oputline of two huge footprints burned into the rock. I lined up my camera - and the batteries died. I was already lagging behind so I hurried to catch up and changed the batteries later. No photo. Curses.

I did get a photo of the Sacred Rock that looks, if you have an elastic enough imagination, like the head of a puma. One translation of "Titicaca" is "Puma Rock" so it can be argued that the lake is named after the sacred rock. The adjacent triangle of rock is a much more convincing likeness of the Inca´s supreme deity, Viracocha.

I´m sure you can see the mouth, at least.

Amongst the nearby ruins our guide pointed to what he claimed was the starting point for a planned Inca tunnel under the lake to connect Isla del Sol with Cusco and Machu Picchu. I have encountered no other references to such a tunnel and, much as I admire the Inca engineers, I conclude that this is the result of our guide´s over-elastic imagination.

The 5 kiwis puffed our way along the spine of the island. The guide, after relieving us of 5Bs ($1) each, told us that it was uphill for 25 minutes and then level. Broadly speaking, he was right.

The Inca water supply on the island is still in use. The full containers are carried up to the village by donkeys.

We arrived at the landing with 25 minutes to spare.

On the way back to Copacabana the launch stops at Pilko Kaina (admission extra) for 15 minutes. This is a small Inca ruin, but particularly interesting because several rooms still have stone roofs. Elsewhere there are no roofs and the explanation is that the Incas used wooden beams and thatch. As might be expected, I barely made it back to the boat in time.

The others agreed to meet at a tourist restaurant on the main street. I had eaten there before and opted for a cheaper option by the beach. But the beach cafes were closing up and it was getting pretty cold so I chickened out and went back to La Orilla, which boasts effective heating. My timing was excellent. The others had not yet ordered. Jim´s partner, Gemma, had been unwell during the day but she had recovered enough to join us, so 6 NZers had a very warm and convivial evening.

Machu Picchu

Peruvians are very proud that Machu Picchu has been selected as one of the new Wonders of the World. I´ve only seen one of the other Wonders and a few of the runners up, so I won´t try to compare it. However, I readily agree that it is a most impressive site, perhaps the most complete city that remains of the very impressive Inca civilisation. OK, Jose, Ancient Quechua civilisation (see "My Inca Trail").

One of my Dutch companions on the trek, Winnie, wanted to be on the first bus from Aguas Calientes up the mountain to Machu Picchu. There is a very good reason to be early. Hundreds, if not thousands, of non-trekkers arrive each day by train from Cusco and the site becomes very crowded. But the first train gets in at about 10am and the first bus is at 5:30. I must be too much of a gentlemen because I agreed to catching the first bus.

So we were up at 5 o´clock and breakfasting in a cafe at 5 past. I hope I didn´t pay much for this meal (it was part of the package) because it was pathetic. Getting the first bus to Machu Picchu is a popular notion and at 5:15 the queue was already long. Jose had previously explained that there are several "first buses"; a nonsense I suspect was intended to placate Winnie. The first bus leaves promptly at 5:30 and others follow as fast as the tourists can climb aboard. The fleet is shiny, new Mercedes vehicles. The operator can well afford them, since the monopoly on the route is milked for all it is worth - US$12 return.

On the way we passed sturdier folk hiking up the steep mountain, determined to save $12 and still see the dawn from the Inca site.

The day was cloudy so we didn´t see a dawn; night eased into pale daylight. I hope Winnie was pleased with the effect.

Jose was impressively alert for such an hour and launched into his last and longest history lesson. For Wikipedia´s discourse click here.

Briefly, Machu Picchu is reckoned to be a major centre of learning. There is a part of the site that archaeology strongly suggests was a cluster of workshops, but there are many temples and multi-door rooms that are believed to be classrooms.

This is the temple of the sun. There are two windows, one aligned with the summer solstice sunrise and the other with the winter solstice. The winter solstice marked the beginning of the Incas´ year.

The photo was taken as the sun finally came through and shows how the light fell on a carefully positioned stone. We were there not long after the winter solstice so the morning sun was shining through the ´New Year´ window.

This is a young mountain caracara. They are carrion feeders so it was presumably hoping someone would fall off one of the steeper parts of the site.

Did an Inca architect get it wrong? No, Hiram Bingham, who ´discovered´ Machu Picchu, excavated too close to this wall and it started to slip. Jose told us that earthquakes have made the gaps between the stones wider.

This is intihuatana, the "hitching post of the sun", another huge stone positioned with great accuracy as an astronomical device.

Cooking pools? No.

The royal lavatory? No.

These are shallow pools believed to have been used as mirrors for teaching astronomy. It is much easier to make sure the class understands if the teacher can point to a star in the classroom instead of pointing to the sky and hoping that everyone is looking at the right point of light.

After Jose had spent two hours educating us, we were free to spend the rest of the day wandering round the site. All the guide books recommend climbing the adjacent peak, Huayna Picchu for its magnificent views of the site and the surrounding mountains. The path is very steep and narrow and the authorities have decided to limit the visitors to this summit. Only 400 per day are allowed. As we queued two officials came down the line, counting. "Trescientos noventa y nueve, cuatrocientos!" And the arm of doom fell between Jasper and me. Well someone has to be 401st.

Later, Jasper and Winnie reported that the climb is very hard and the path is distinctly vertiginous. I am an acrophobe, so maybe it was just as well.

Having been thus separated from my companions I found a quiet corner (not easy at Machu Picchu) and had a nap to compensate for the early start.

Proof that I was really there and didn´t just copy someone else´s pictures. I am standing on some agricultural terraces with the main site and Huayna Picchu in the background.

The camera was on my mini tripod and the sun was in exactly the wrong place.

About 20 minutes walk from the main site is the "Inca Bridge". It´s remarkable not for the three logs across the gap but the mass of stonework built up the sheer cliff face.

The dark spots are larger stones that project out from the wall to be used as steps, presumably in the construction of the massive viaduct.

The bridge is no longer in use. The path to it has fallen away from the mountainside entirely.

I couldn´t spend hours anywhere without some nature observations. These red bromeliads are perched on a tree not far from the Inca Bridge.

In this area I also saw rwo amazing butterflies. They were the size of morphos, i.e. giants. They appeared to be all white, but as I watched their fast, erratic flight there was a fuzzy, electric blue after image. If anyone knows about these butterfles and their optical properties, please leave a comment.



As the bus zig-zagged carefully back down the mountain it was ´raced´ by a youth running down the steps. This is a local custom designed especially to extort tips from tourists. Since the bus often had to pause to manoevre past buses coming back up, I don´t think the endeavour was all that remarkable.

The remainder of the day was spent in Aguas Calientes, where Peru´s most expensive Internet cafes (3 soles per hour when the norm in Cusco is 1 sol or 1.50) delivered the most terrible connection.

Perurail has a very strange system of allocating seats on the tourist trains and the tour operator, Wayki Trek, has to take what it is given. Matt, on the previous day, was on a 4:30pm train. Jasper, Winnie and I had to wait until 8:00pm. Even changing to a minibus at Ollantaytambo, which is faster than staying on the train, we did not get back to Cusco until about midnight.

You, too, can visit Machu Picchu by taking a virtual tour. More pictures and explanations.

My Inca Trail

As I lay in my tent on the first night and swallowed 2 Panadol with a slurp of water so cold it almost burned my mouth I reflected: I had got up to visit the toilet tent 3 times, when even the 2 to 3 metres vertical rise over the turf to the primitive facility was a breath sapping effort; I had not stopped shivering until I was wrapped in thermal underwear, an extra pair of pants, 3 pairs of socks, shirt, sweater and jacket all within a good quality sleeping bag; and I had a migraine-style headache. This was not a happy moment.

But it would not be appropriate to describe it as a low point becasue we were camped at 4,200 metres above sea level (masl). Jasper, of the Dutch couple, had calculated that this was 14 times as high as the highest point in Holland. Matt from Cornwall had admitted that it was rougly 3 times as high as Ben Nevis, Britain´s highest peak. It is even higher than every one of NZ´s real mountains. We were seriously high up.

Day One
The day had started with a 6am pick up from my Cusco accommodation. When the party was complete, the minivan carried us and our support crew out of Cusco´s valley and into a countryide of very low tech farming. Early morning pigs quartered the edge of the road looking for anything edible. Suddenly our route took us off the paved road over a terrible track between farmhouses. Surely this wasn´t the way to Mollepata, where we were scheduled to start walking?

Indeed not. We parked and while Mario, the cook, and his daughter/assistant Maria got breakfast ready, Jose, the guide, showed us an Inca site, Tarahuasi, that is still being excavated and restored and is thus not on the regular tourist trails. There were no imposing Imperial Inca walls, but some working water channels and a carved stone with an image interpreted as the moon.

With his back to a grove of eucalyptus trees Jose gave us the first of several history lessons. "Inca" was the title of the leader; the God living. The rest of the population were not called Inca. We do not call the ancient Egyptian peoples "the Pharoes", Jose argued. The leader was the Inca and the people were the Quechua. We should call it the Quechua civilisation. The fact that Jose is of predominatly Quechua blood and speaks Quechua as his first language is merely incidental. We were impressed by the logic and had to correct Jose several times over the next 4 days when he used the common term, Incas, to describe the people who served the Inca.

Behind Jose dozens of birds called and fluttered, despite the eucalyptus being exotic trees from Australia. And for once I had not bothered to carry my binoculars. Curses! But I did manage to remember enough to identify two species later with the help of my field guides.

Breakfast was served with paper napkins on a folding table. The four trekkers and Jose sat on little camp stools. It could have been a picnic at Henley, but I doubt that mate de coca features on Henley table cloths. Drinking ´coca tea´ and chewing coca leaves is a centures old tradition in the Andes and is a boon to those struggling with the altitude. Jose advised that we would need to absorb 20kg of leaves to have a hallucinogenic effect. We wondered whether the few grams in our tea means we could test positive for cocaine. I presume not, or the Peruvian football team would all be suspended.

As the van crawled through the ruts back to the road a lady drove her herd of cattle out to graze on the mountain. One steer (or young bull), one heifer and one calf. How can she make a living from these resources? On the other side of the lane a man was ploughing. It was the first time I had seen a ox-drawn plough except on a TV documentary. I´ve since seen another example - and in over a month I have yet to see a tractor in Peru.

One thing I did see was a ground tyrant. This family of birds was new to me, but the size and upright attitude was unmistakeable. Another tick. Good.

When we did reach Mollepata there was a fiesta in progress. Once again (see Pisac post) a brass band of indifferent quality shambled to the church and disappeared inside. On this occasion the square was being decorated with pavement art, but instead of chalk the colour was provided by chopped vegetable matter. I´m sure the green frame was simply grass clippings.

We now came to our first decision, would we start walking or continue in the van? Jose recommended continuing in the van. We had a hard climb on Day 2 and it made sense to preserve our energy. We felt this was good advice but, as we watched other groups sweating in the sun, we wondered if we had been a bit feeble. Jose pointed out that the cheaper treks did not use minivans but the public bus to Mollepata instead, so they had no option but to walk.

The end of the road was a pleasant area of grass, bushes and streams where we met Rene and his horses. Porters are not used to carry the baggage over theSalkantay route. Long before tourists discovered it, the local farmers had started using horses and mules to carry their produce and in consequence had broken up the steps built by the Incas - sorry, ancient Quechua - for their human and llama beasts of burden.

This was also our lunch stop, and in no time Mario had whipped up a delicious soup (no packets) and a nourishing main course. Despite the choices offered, we all stuck to the infusion of coca leaves to finish the meal.

And now to the real business. We shouldered our day packs and set off. Back in Cusco Wilbert had earnestly coached me in high altitude tramping; take small steps, breathe in through the nose to avoid heat loss, take short rests so that the muscles don´t lose heat and suck coca toffees. Remember it´s not a race. I tried to put all this into practice, but it was hard. Breathing through the nose was the toughest part. My body craved more oxygen and I wanted to suck great draughts into my lungs. Worst of all, I was the slowest. I knew it wasn´t a race but I´m not used to being the slow one on the trail and, irrationally, I felt I was letting the team down.

They say that age is not a factor in altitude sickness, but I´m quite certain it is harder for an older body to adjust to high-altitude activity. My lungs have had 55 years of life at sea level to unlearn. If Sir Edmund Hillary needs oxygen when he visits Nepal these days I guess it´s all right for Bill Heritage to puff and take frequent rests in the Andes. If you want to know, I was fully 30 years older than everyone else on the trail (except Mario, and he has lived all his life at altitude).

For all that, we all completed the climb to the first nominated camp site well inside the time Jose had predicted. He told me several times that I was doing well. "The others are fast." And 5 minutes after I arrived at the site I was fine. Once the effort stops, the body quickly recovers its equilibrium.

Decision no.2. Shall we press on to a higher camp site? It would be colder, but it would mean less of a climb to the pass on Day 2. Here the wisdom of the extra few kilometers in the van was evident. The weather was beautiful today and who knows what it would be like tomorrow. We picked up our packs and moved on.

It wasn´t a long hike, hardly more than climbing around the shoulder of the mountain. Jose had estimated one-and-a-half hours, but Jasper had timed the youngsters at 1 hour. Apparently I was truly not far behind.
And I had overtaken a trekker in another group. At least I wasn´t the slowest on the trail.

The camp site at Salkantay Pampa is at 4,200 masl. I took the picture by holding my arm out and pointing the camera where I hoped it would capture both the sign and my grinning face.

And it did - look!

The warning about the extra cold was, if anything, understated. It was bitterly cold and none of the foreigners was terribly constructive in pitching camp. Jasper and Winnie had one tent, of course. Matt and I had the option of separate tents, but we agreed that sharing would provide a morsel more heat in the tent.

In the dining tent we were presented with hot drinks and freshly popped corn. This, I thought, is sensible. Carb loading before the effort of scaling the pass. What Matt and I didn´t realise was that this was merely a pre-dinner snack. At 8 o´clock on the dot Mario served another 4-star soup, followed by a main of such size and succulence that I felt it was an insult not to finish it. The result was that I ate far too much, even though I could not clear my plate. This no doubt contributed to the miseries during the night.

Day Two

We were roused soon after dawn with a hot cup of mate de coca, and by the time we had packed our sleeping bags direct sun was visible on the upper slopes and the air was warming up. Mario´s breakfast for mountaineers included a yummy Spanish omelette. I know a couple of guys who have climbed Mt Cook. I must ask them if they have been served with a hot breakfast at more than 4,000 masl with mountain caracaras wheeling overhead.

No-one had slept well and we had all heard avalanches rumbling down Mt Salkantay in the night. However, anyone who looked out of their tent in the night was treated to a glorious display of stars in the cloudless sky.

Matt´s thermometer had registered -2 degrees Celcius when we went to bed at 8pm, but +5 degrees in the tent. No-one´s water bottle had actually frozen, but the little lake nearby was covered in ice. A fist sized rock lobbed at the pond just bounced and skidded away. Ice on the trail was at least 5mm thick. Jose estimated that it had probably dropped to -10 during the night.

We hit the trail again. Walk 20 to 30 steps, pause for a few breaths and shuffle on again. Just keep going, little be little and suddenly Jose was talling me that the pass was just 12 seconds away. Yes, there were the others grinning and taking photgraphs. The sign said this was the Salkantay Pass; Jose insisted it was the Humantay Pass. Whatever, all the authorities agree that the saddle between the two mountains is at 4,600 masl, about 13,800 feet.

I added a stone to one of the cairns to thank the apus (mountain spirits) for my safe arrival and took lots of photos.

Me, Jose, Winnie, Jasper and Matt. The picture is badly framed and poorly exposed but it does prove we made it to the top!

Walking down the other side was easy! With the body not doing the hard work of lifting my 90kg against gravity, the need for oxygen was reduced. This was more like it. I still lagged behind, but now it was because I was scanning the puna (high altitude grassland) for birds. Mostly they were little grey birds that would not come close enough to permit observation of identification details.

Jose was amused by my interest in birds and liked to tease that there was a "condor over there". Once he pointed at a "white condor" as a plane flew over.

The lunch site was at Huayracpampa, a large and marshy river flat. It was home to a few pigs and many large plovers that I was able to identify as Andean Lapwings. Tick.

Note that we had only got to the soup course. It is accompanied by warm garlic bread.

The afternoon hike continued downwards and we quickly exchanged the puna for cloud forest. The path was mostly quite narrow and the passage of thousands of ponies had left the trail as a rubble of irregular stones in a treacherous mixture of dust and bedrock. Hiking downhill is easy on oxygen consumption, but it is hard on ankles and knees. Finding secure footholds added significantly to the effort required.

There was disappointingly little visible birdlife. One hummingbird raced past at about the speed of a ´white condor´ and another one was seen as a singing silhouette.

But there were interesting plants. The others all marched straight past sprays of gorgeous yellow and chestnut orchids but Jose called them back as I experimented with the super close up function of my camera.


This is another type of orchid. There were several others rather less spectacular and I won´t bore the non-botanists with their photos. For scale, each ´bell´ is about the size of two peas and only slightly larger than the two-tone variety above.

The end of our trail was Collpapampa, where some beautifully cropped turf was an ideal campsite. The local farmer apparently cultivates this to promote sales of bottled drinks to trekkers. Maybe the tour company also pays for its use.

While Mario worked more magic on his two gas rings we collected dead twigs and branches for a campfire. We had descended to only 2,900 masl - lower than Cusco - and the forest retains some of the day´s warmth. It was comfort indeed to eat our meal by the light of the flames and then to drink coca and yarn until the last of the fuel had been used up.

Day Three
This was to be a relatively short hike, so it was 7 o´clock before Maria called "Buenos dias" and handed round the morning drinks. Everyone had slept soundly and Jose´s enquiry detected no injuries. My right knee has a history of strange pains so I wore a brace on it just in case.

As a concession to the easier terrain Mario only served plain omelettes this morning.

Our hike to La Playa was "Inca level", i.e. up and down. The day was warm and there were plenty of stretches of loose rubble to demand attention. One spot was alive with swifts and swallows to remind us of the importance of mosquito repellent.

We followed the valley of the Santa Teresa River. It looked like ideal torrent duck habitat, but Jose had never seen a duck in the valley and, despite great vigilance, nor have I. However, there were still orchids of different kinds and increasing numbers of butterflies.

There were also more farms, although there was no vehicle access. Everything has to be carried by ponies or humans. The produce includes potatoes, bananas, avocadoes, a large and most delicious variety of passionfruit and coffee. The plots were tiny. No wonder selling a few bottles of water to passing foreigners was considered worthwhile.

La Playa means "The Beach" and refers to banks of boulders beside the river. Peruvians have a sense of humour! (And playa de estacionmento means parking beach, i.e. car park!) The straggling village is the end of the road and actually has a bus service. The campsite was once again delightful, springy turf. The trekkers actually get there before the horses, so we put up the tents while Mario whipped up another Cordon Bleu offering for our late lunch.

We had a free afternoon, so I retired to my tent and tried to enjoy a siesta. Unfortunately someone nearby had a very loud receiver tuned to Radio Misery. Properly the station was Radio Santa Teresa, but it played an endess succession of dreary songs. I came to believe that the singers would finish their 25 stanza wails and then shoot themselves in the studio. Occasionally an announcer would tell us the time with so much excitement that the news of 4:27 was apparently more wonderful than a large, unexpected legacy.

Matt trying to ignore Radio Misery.


Again there were few birds. A couple of hummingbirds were spotted in gardens and flocks of parrots flew high overhead, chattering excitedly to each other.


For his last dinner Mario excelled himself. After the soup five separate dishes were delivered to the table, all of them hot and all of them delicious. How did he do it? Even Maria was smiling. She ususally wore a very solemn expression. This was only her second trek and we suspected that she was not a genuine volunteer. We guessed that she was 15 or 16 and had only been recruited because the schools were closed due to a teachers´strike.

Maria in her usual sombre mood photographed on Day 2.

Day Four

We have a mountain to climb and descend before lunch and an early start is essential. Maria´s morning greeting was accompanied by the sound of rain on the tents. Ugh.

At least there was a nice little hut to eat breakfast in, not the cramped dining tent. And what was this? Pancakes! Mario, I want you to come to New Zealand and open a Peruvian Restaurant.

My waterproof cape is more than 30 years old but it is still waterproof and it goes over everything. We trudge off on the muddy path leaving Mario and Maria to strike the tents and pack up in the rain. They are going to catch the bus (another reason for the early start) and meet us at the hydroelectric power station for lunch.

The trip documentation describes this climb as "hard" but there are two mitigating circumstances. This trail has not been churned up by horses and we are much lower so there is more oxygen. And maybe we are fitter.

Winnie leading the way with Jasper in pursuit.

Matt was not feeling well, so I was not last for a change.

After about an hour the rain petered out. The valleys were full of swirling cloud and birds start to make their presence felt. If there weren´t a real need to make good time this could have been a great birding morning. But we did see parrots just too far away to identify and the large brown birds crashing around in the branches are Andean Guans. Tick. Botanical studies continued with some strange and beautiful plants to admire along the trail.

A fist-sized orchid after the rain. You can see the raindrops.


Jose´s attempt at a group photo at the top of the pass was out of focus, but I can tell you the ridge was strongly reminiscent of NZ bush, with many epiphytes and mosses.

Five minutes of descent brought us to Llaptapata, where a small part of the site has been cleared of bush and restored. Jose explained that the restored rooms have two doorways, which is interpreted as a meeting room or classroom.

A history lesson at Llaptapata. Professor Jose holds forth.

Matt retired to the bushes for a few minutes and returned looking much better.

We had once again made good time so we enjoyed a long break to eat our daily snack of fruit and chocolate bars. Clearly Mario wanted us to finish the trek heavier than when we started. I saw a large bird with a puffed out rufous chest. It should have been easy to identify, but I have not been able to find it in my field guides.

The downhill from Llaptapata to Hidrolectrica is steep and tiring. The track is very variable and constant care is needed.

Once down in the valley I saw my first Peruvian morpho butterflies. They look very similar to the ones I saw in tropical Australia.

The lunch in Hidrolectrica is Mario´s farewell. He and the baggage were going back to Cusco. The trekkers have the choice of walking to Aguas Calientes or taking the train. Correction, Matt has no choice. He is not coming to see Machu Picchu with us and foreigners may not use the local trains so he has to walk 11km to catch his train from Aguas Calientes. Maria went with him to ensure he claimed his ticket and got the right train.

Mario always looked cheerful, even before he received his tip.

The rest of us took the train option. After brief confusion about where we were staying, we checked into a hostal. My room has no furniture except the bed. The ensuite bathroom was equipped with modern hardware, but the shower only delivered cold water. This is not a welcome discovery after four days of hiking.

So, after a cold sponge down, I packed my togs and set off for the local hot pools. By chance, Jose did the same, although I could not have missed the way. It was nothing like the Polynesian Spa in Rotorua, but the water was pleasantly warm and just the thing for a tired body. The pools serve liquor to bathers - in glass containers! Happily, I did not see anyone step on broken glass.

Aguas Calientes exists only for tourists going to Machu Picchu. Much of it is newly built and it is growing, but it is a clip joint. The restaurant dinner provided was significantly inferior in both quantity and quality to what we had enjoyed in the three previous evenings. Three traditional Andean musicians arrived and played loudly next to our table. They were quite good, but we didn´t invite them so we declined their invitation to buy a CD or tip them. I fear we did not make friends there.

And so to bed. We were to rise early again the next morning to visit Machu Picchu.

Pisac

No, Pisac is not an alcoholic beverage. You're thinking of pisco, a Peruvian liquor that I rather approve of.

I have backdated this post to 15 July, the day I actually travelled to Pisac.

A local bus, photographed in Pisac.



This was my first encounter with Peru's local buses, and it was very different from the journeys by intercity superbuses. It was easy enough. I had directions to the bus station, where an orderly queue was waiting to buy tickets. Buses appeared to be leaving as soon as they were full, rather than to any timetable. Luggage (some people were travelling with a small trailerload) was lashed on the roof rack.

I secured the last seat, number 31, a fold down affair just beside the door. A half a dozen additional bodies leapt aboard as the engine started and we moved off. From my bucket seat I had an excellent view of the driver crossing himself twice as he pulled into the street. His face wore a worried, almost distressed, expression as he navigated through the streets of Cusco. Every so often he pulled over and additional passengers boarded. One of the standees turned out to be the conductor, a competent veteran of no more than 17 years. He now stowed luggage in the underfloor compartment as the aisle of the passenger compartment became ever more crowded with Andean women in large hats.

More Peruvian transport: a mototaxi and cycle carts, both photographed in Pisac.








As we left Cusco's built up area the driver's face relaxed. He had the traditional dark tan of the Quechua, with deep lines in his face that now wore a merely doleful expression. Twice I thought I saw him smile, but it was only a grimace as he hauled his vehicle round a particularly tight corner. For all his apparent lack of confidence, he drove well and safely. He displayed none of the aggression of the city taxi drivers.

Pisac was a major destination and dozens of passengers spilled out. I started my visit with a stroll to the village square, where the weekly Sunday market was absent. It was a fiesta day and a small brass band was marching through the square to the church. The band wasn't very good, but they sounded as though they had at least played together before. They stopped at the church and, after a last chorus, went inside.

The major attraction in Pisac is a large Inca site high in the hills. Local taxis charge an exorbitant S/.15 or 20 to take you to the top, but a 4km uphill hike in the sun was not an attractive proposition. I waited for some other visitors to share a cab with, and yet another brass band appeared, heading for the town square. How did brass bands replace Andean pipes in Pisac? This one sounded fairly competent.

Eventually I shared a taxi with Phillipe, a French Canadian. We were charged S/.10 each, but at least we were driven to the very top. Climbing even small distances in the thin air is hard work.


An explorer, with some of Pisac´s terraces in the background.


The ruins cover a very wide area, with acres of beautifully walled terraces, and the remains of houses and temples. In a neighbouring hillside I could see the shadows of cave entrances, where the Incas buried their mummified dead. Unfortunately for science, all these caves had been robbed before the archaeologists got to them.

Although the plumbing was not as impressive as that at Tipon, there were still some watercourses containing running water.

Surprise, surpise. I met a couple last seen in Nazca. They had been to Arequipa and Puno while I had been straining to learn Spanish in Cusco.

The way down to Pisac pueblo (village) contained lengths of pathway hewn out of the rock and even the pictured tunnel. If the ancient Incas were not short people they would have had to bend low in the tunnel, just as I did.


The surrounding scrub and farmland was almost devoid of birdlife, which was a great disappointment. However, there were a few interesting plants and I tried out my camera's super close up feature a few times on flowers and cacti.




Peru´s national flower. There is also a red variety.

The path took me to another couple of temples before zig-zagging down through the terraces and hillside to Pisac. The route is staked out by local women urging the visitor to buy their handiwork. The foreigner in Peru just has to get used to the attentions of hawkers. Finally the route enters the village along a street lined with souvenir stalls. Ugh.

Lunch was very overdue. Several establishments on the square offered tourist fare. A sidestreet cafe advertised a menu economico, and I got a two course lunch (soup, then trout with salad) plus a drink for just S/.7 (just over $3).

The bus back to Cusco was a very different affair. When it drew up there was no polite queueing. Peru should play rugby the way these campesinos scrummed to get at the bus. All the seats were taken but no matter, if there is physical room in the bus you get on. It was not at all comfortable, and those wishing to get off had to start early to push though to the front and the door. Eventually the conductor wormed through to collect our fares. Pisac to Cusco was S/.2 so I can't complain about the value for money.