Howdy, everybody.

It’s been awhile. The site is back up, coming soon with even bigger and better changes. But for now, at least it’s back UP.

So, read on . . . Quite alot has been going on during the down time. I’ve climbed some big, intense mountains. Matt fell in a six foot deep hole and is lucky he didn’t break his ribs. We’ve found the madre of rocotto rellenos. Some stuff got stolen from us, but that’s OK, they basically got our guide books and some empty beer bottles. We’ve had the pleasure of seeing wild condors fly right in front of us. We’ve been drinking water from mountain streams and swatting mosquitoes that truly are bigger than horseflies.

Right now, we’re in Arequipa . . . heading off toward Nazca tonight . . . the adventure continues . . .

Let me recommend Ampay bus line for all of the above.

We hop onto the afternoon bus bound for Quillabamba and I am impressed. This bus is a Mercedes-Benz with freshly ironed curtains lining the windows. The entire bus has a crisp appearance, every surface has clean edges that don’t seem to be worn down with years, grime and abuse. But the best features are the padded, plastic covered leg rests. Ah, luxury! We recline our seats, kick down the leg rests and breathe deep. I am looking forward to a relaxing, comfortable ride to the jungle town of Quillabamba.

The lady across the aisle from us is the only other rider I have an awareness of. She’s holding a cute little puppy in brightly colored manta. Great! We’re riding in comfort next to a cute little puppy . . . can it get any better? We play with the puppy and his little blanket. The puppy eventually shits on the bus floor. We all laugh and the lady cleans it up and throws the toilet paper out the window.

The journey to Quillabamba is long and arduous. Not many travelers take the trip because it’s an eight or nine hour bus ride and the last few hours are on a bumpy, unpaved road and there aren’t many popular tourist destinations in that direction. Quillabamba sits in the high jungle just on the other side of a range of 14,000’ mountain peaks that overlook the popular tourist town of Ollantaytambo. We want to go to Quillabamba for an experience of the high jungle, locally grown coffee and just to see what it’s like.

The bus twists up and up and up for a couple of hours, on a really nice smooth paved road. Then we hit the clouds and we glide through mist. Every once in awhile, the bus is flagged down by little Peruvian kids wearing traditional Quechua clothing. We stop for just a second, the driver hands the kid some bread and we are off again. I’m so comfortable and I’m thinking about how I need to have an Anna-tude adjustment about riding the busses and just learn to relax and trust that everything will be all right. The clouds are so beautiful, we’re crossing the apex of the mountain peak, the cute little puppy is running around . . .

. . . and all of a sudden, there’s a bit of a commotion. No less than four Peruvian matriarchs, including the one sitting next to us with the puppy, run toward the middle of the bus. “Que paso?” I ask the guy sitting next to us. He makes a rounded-belly motion with his hand. “Nacimiento?” I ask. A birth? He shakes his head an emphatic yes. The bus still twists and turns through the clouds, not slowing down at all. I look up. Sure enough, there are four matronly ladies with concerned looks, swaying and staggering in the ailse as the bus rounds the curves, looking down at a passenger who is reclined in one of the comfy bus seats. All I can see from my seat in the back is that they are pushing on a woman’s belly. I’d like to get a picture, but feel it just wouldn’t be right . . .

They ask me if I want to see. I stand up and make my way, swaying with the bus, toward the woman. She’s reclined and her fists are clenched into the blanket that covers her waist. She’s made not one sound, hasn’t cried out in pain at all. “Has she had the baby?” I ask, thinking that the woman is still in labor. Then I notice the man sitting next to her. He’s holding the cloth that the puppy had been wrapped up in earlier. He pulls the cloth back to reveal a tiny baby so new that it’s still covered in goo.

“Close the windows!” one of the matrons calls out. Another passenger offers a sprig of some kind of plant. The woman holds the sprig over the baby and murmurs a prayer in Quechua. The Andean people revere the surrounding mountains as gods. The fact that this baby was born on the very top of this apu is not lost on these mountain women. This baby is special. That apu wanted it to be born right at that moment.

Sometimes the apus claim lives in horrific bus crashes. It’s a daily fact of life that Peruvians just live with. But this time, a new life is born, innocent and new at 14,000’, in the clouds and mist at the top of the mountain.

It is 9:30 AM, and we just finished buying bus tickets. We want to get a cab to downtown Cusco, get some lunch, go to the bank and then return to this bus station on the outskirts of town just in time to hop on the afternoon bus bound for Quillabamba. That’s when we see him . . . well, to be more correct, we hear the thumping . . .

Across the street sits a tiny little cab decked out with flashy rims, waiting for us. The young driver is jamming in his seat along with the rhythmic “umph, umph, umph” of the dance music blaring from the speakers loaded in the hatchback. The hood of the cab sports a graphic of the Tasmanian Devil with flames. The interior of the cab is covered with a glitzy cloth in honor of Senor De Huanca, of course, but that’s the only similarity to the average Cusquenian cab.

I have a lot of respect for this kid’s cab. In a town where just about every taxi is exactly alike, Dante and his disco-mobile really stand out. We tell him that all he needs are disco balls and a van and he could start his own new kind of specialized tour company that caters to the party crowd. We jam through the streets of Cusco. Dante is such a personable guy that we get his phone number so he can be our regular cab driver. We ask him to pick us up later in the day at the same spot.

He returns promptly at 1PM and rocks us right back to the bus station, where we begin our adventure to Quillabamba . . .

By the time we arrive in Paucartambo it is nearing midnight. We just want to find a hostel and get the skinny on how to get to Tres Cruces, the place with the amazing sunrises.

We find a hostel/hair cutting place. There are actually still wet hair cuttings on the floor of the entryway. We explain to the clerk/hairstylist that we want to go to Tres Cruces to see the sunrise. She looks at us sort of funny, shrugs her shoulders and begins her schpiel. The taxi leaves around 3:30 in the morning and the cost is 100 soles for the cab to transport us there, wait for two hours and then drive us back. Taxi? I explain that we don’t need the extravagance of a cab and are really just looking for a bus to take us there. We could hang out in Tres Cruces for the day if we needed to. She looks at us funny again.

After I ask the same question four times, I finally realize that Tres Cruces is not a town or a village. It is a lookout point only. There is nothing there. No town, no village and no busses to get there. The clerk assures us that there will be lots of clouds and most likely no amazing sunrise. She does, however, show us a wall calendar with a golden picture of the three-sunrise optical illusion that only occurs in June and July. Yeah, most of the time I skip using a guidebook, or else I might know these things – but the trip would also be a lot more boring. I crave the ups and downs of self-exploration.

But we decided that dammit, we came all this way in a rusted tin can of a bus, bouncing around on dangerous, rocky roads for eight hours to do one thing – go to Tres Cruces – and nothing, not even clouds obscuring that magical rising sun was going to stop us. We hired the cab. After a couple hours of sleep and we get into the cab at 3:30 in the morning and head off, Matt with the hostel’s pillow and blanket in hand.

We are pretty much delirious from bad planning and lack of sleep. We just laugh at the ridiculousness of our journey and decide to have a blast anyway. The cab drives at approximately 25 MPH for over an hour, slogging through thick mud and big rocks. The driver and his partner in passenger seat both comment on how ugly the road is and how a month ago a bus driver they used to know lost control of his bus and slid off a cliff. Now the dry season was starting up again, so there was less to worry about.

It is still the dead of night when we finally get to the Tres Cruces area, where our drivers stop at an abandoned security shed so we can pay the ten sole park fee. They bang on the darkened door, but no one answers. We drive onward, to another park ranger building. The driver’s partner gets out of the car and pounds on the door for a few minutes, until a sleepy-eyed ranger opens the door. He explains that some people want to go to Tres Cruces. The ranger shakes his head and demands a 50 sole fee to walk to the gate and open it so the cab could drive through.

“So, I guess no one comes here during this time of the year?” I ask the driver.

And just like an American with attitude would shrug his shoulders as if to imply that my question was ridiculous, the driver says in an incredulous tone, “No, nadie!” No, you crazy gringa, no one comes here in April!

The driver himself gets out of the car and talks the ranger into walking down to open the gate so we can get through. We drive down a neglected path for about another half hour. When we finally get to the coveted overlook spot, Matt and I laugh together as we stand on the simple concrete slab while freezing in the pre-morning light. We watch the clouds lighten and cackled to one another, “No, nadie!” every once in awhile.

But just knowing that we were standing on the lip of a mountain that plunges down over 10,000’ into a cloud covered jungle, whether we could see it or not, was enough. We watched the sun rise and it didn’t matter to us if the three suns were rising behind grey clouds or not. We were acutely aware of everything, appreciating even the smallest details of the obscured morning – first the infinite quiet, then the sounds of the earth waking up. Every dew-drop, every frog croak and every scrap of light that made it through the layers and layers of fast-moving clouds that engulfed us were sheer wonderment and excitement for us. That was the real magic of the morning.

Matt is a big sweaty guy. When he rides in a cramped bus, he likes to feel the air from an open window. The only problem is that Peruvians often insist that people close the windows while riding through the high cliffs of the countryside.

We found out that this is because of local superstition regarding the mountains, or apus. Each mountain has it’s own apu, or mountain spirit, each one sacred and each one considered to be a god. According to the locals, some mountains, or apus, are good and some are not. Regardless of their personality, no one wants to attract the spirit of the apu toward them. They are afraid that the spirit of the apu might take an interest in them and ‘want them.’

So, if riding in a hot, cramped bus and an old Quechua mamacita asks you to please close the window, just do it, out of respect for the mountains. It’ll get hot and stuffy on board, but it will keep the apus from wreaking havoc with the humans. And with the roads and bus conditions in this country, everybody needs every little bit of help that’s available.

So when we get on a bus, Matt usually tries to get on first, open as many windows as possible to let the bus air out before the journey begins. Then the windows slide closed one by one as the bus careens through the mountains. We sweat, smile and watch the gorgeous apus as we glide by, undercover and with respect for the gods who watch over this sacred land.

Recently, I made a claim that there really isn´t much difference between the wet season and the dry season in Peru. I hereby revise my earlier statement.

I lived in Pisac for the wet season this year, and in the Sacred Valley, I truly don´t see much difference between the wet season and the dry season. There is some rain (and great rainbows!) , but not the constant downpours that everyone foretold to me.

But, do beware if visiting other parts of Peru during the wet months of November through April. This past week I´ve realized why. The roads in the back-country places outside of The Sacred Valley just are not safe during the wet season. Rock slides, mud and slick conditions make travel by car or bus very treacherous.

It´s officially the dry season here now, and with it, I can see a HUGE increase in travelers. We traveled for hours last week along bumpy, unpaved roads that twisted through 14,000´ plus mountain passes with mountain streams often pouring across the roads. One taxi driver pointed out to us where a bus his friend was driving lost control last month on the wet gravel road and fell into a gully.

I´ve had a good time living here during the slowest part of the year, getting to know the people and seeing lots of rainbows. But there is a reason why the dry season is more happening for travelers in this region – it´s safer for travel and sunnier for sightseeing. But still, don´t let the wet season deter you as it´s got high points as well.

We decided to head to a high mountain town called Paucartambo for no other reason than that we heard the sunrise near there in June and July is amazing. We figured, eh, why not go check it out? It’s the end of April, so that’s close to around June, right?

We sort of knew what we were getting ourselves in for. The amazing sunrise near Paucartambo, in a place called Tres Cruces, is nearly always obscured by clouds. But during the months of June and July, the high clouds disappear, revealing a strange atmospheric phenomenon that makes the horizon appear as though three golden suns are rising above a sea of lower clouds that cover the jungle in the basin below. We held out hope that maybe, just maybe, we’d be lucky and there wouldn’t be any clouds when we visited.

We made several critically wrong assumptions on this leg of our journey. It never occurred to me that the road and bus would be sketchy. With all of the crazy bus rides I’ve had lately, I should have known better. And honestly, there isn’t much going on in that part of Peru, unless of course, it’s June and July, the season for the amazing sunrises. We decided we were in it for the adventure, no matter what did (or didn’t) happen. In the end, we at least had some good laughs.

We caught the last bus of the day to Paucartambo. I was in seat number 49, all the way in the back. I got a glance of the bus before boarding and I immediately had my doubts. The huge front tire was worn down, with gash covering what little tread was still there. The front half of the bus was divided from the back half by a jagged rusty line of corroded metal. The windows seemed loose in their casings and the luggage rack above everyone’s heads was rigged with a combination of plastic strips, wood pieces and extra screws.

Once the bus went into motion, I jiggled around so much that a few times I actually caught some air, getting tossed upward in my seat. The windows rattled, the entire bus creaked with every shimmy and the luggage rack shuddered like it would fall down any second. This bus was like an amusement park ride, made to feel scary with jumps and jolts and sharp turns that pull your stomach in the wrong direction. Except this was not an amusement park ride, safe and comfortable with a false specter of danger.

This bus ride was tense. And it wasn’t just Matt and I who felt that way. Nearly every man on the bus broke a sweat and kept an eye on the road with a worried glance. The guy next to us ate crackers obsessively, nervously finishing one package and immediately opening the next. We left the paved road at the base of the mountain and headed up a dusty, rocky trail barely wide enough for a fifty-passenger bus. Essentially, we were off-roading in a tin can, creeping up the side of a 14,000’ mountain, taking blind curves and oncoming semi-trucks with the honk of a horn and the prayer of everyone on board.

There were several times when Matt and I began talking about those last second scenarios, like in slapstick movies, where the plane has malfunctioned and everyone on board acts crazy during their final moments. Most of the time, we were shaking around so much that truly, it was difficult to even talk to one another. We made the trip with sweaty hands and stiffened muscles. Coca leaves helped with the altitude. The spectacular and often stomach churning views of mountain peaks kept our attention focused on the wide open spaces just beyond the bus windows, instead of focusing our attention on the fact that the road was so small that we couldn’t even see it moving below us . . .

Travel Well! And always remember that the world is basically a good place, full of honest and well-meaning people.

The reason I bring this point up today is that last week, Matt and I met a very distraught traveler. I´d been introduced to Sarah a few days earlier by some fellow acquaintences of hers.  The next time I saw her, she was alone and kind of wandering the streets in crisis – her face all teary and she was sort of panicked. The friends of hers that I knew had moved on, leaving her all alone in an unfamiliar place.  Travel often brings up all kinds of issues to deal with – fear, anxiety, isolation and sometimes just a general  funk due to being constantly on the move that I call ´traveler´s blues´.  Sarah was freaked out, alone and needed to be with other travelers.

If this happens to you when you are on the road . . . relax. Take a deep breath. Don´t put any pressure on yourself about having to do anything in particular. If you want to stay cuddled up in bed at the hostel for the entire day . . . then give yourself that luxury, no matter if you are leaving in two days or two months. Always, always, always be kind to yourself. Beautiful things await, great hikes are to be had, and gorgeous pictures to snap, but if too panicked to really enjoy any of it . . . then what´s the use?

And most of all . . . remember that the world and life itself is all in how you process it. If you think the world is shit and full of theives and dishonest people, then truly, you will attract only people who will try to take advantage. It is crucial to remember that while the world does have the occasional unscrupulous cab driver or tour guide, that a very large majority of people are helpful, friendly and kind. Remember that you are safe, and that the world will take care of you. Trust, but keep alert always.

So, Matt and I sat down on the cobblestone street with Sarah and listened to her cry. She was all inside her head, spinning in circles . . . upset about losing her camera, confused about obligations of being taken on ´tours´ that locals offered to her and yammering on and on about how she only had five days left in Peru and on one hand wanted to see ¨everything¨ yet was afraid to leave the hostel. Whoa.

I asked her if  she´d eaten yet that morning. She had not. Eating is important – especially if you are in an emotional and confused state. We fed her. Then we insisted she come with us on our hike. We couldn´t leave her there, crying in the street and completely freaked out. She came with us on our hike, and consequently the beauty of the day got her out of her head. I have not seen her since and most likely never will again.

Remember that if you are feeling down while on the road, there really are plenty of other travelers you can join for a day or two. Ask around at local hostels or join a networking group such as couchsurfing.com. Take a few deep breaths, go on a short hike, or if you need to, just spend the whole day laying around in bed. But mostly, just remember that the world is a good place. Trust in that fact and you will find that your woes will eventually slip away . . .

After being in the Cusco area for a week or so,  it´s really easy to regard the next set of ruins on your sightseeing list as most likely being ´just a big pile of rocks.´ After all, if you´ve seen one set of ruins, you´ve seen them all, right?

Not so fast.

Tipon is worth a visit – for several reasons. First of all, it´s a relatively inexpensive site. It is one of the sights on the Turistico Boleto. The Turisto Boleto is a ticket with pre-paid entry for about ten sites and museums found in the Cusco area. The only problem is that the Turistico Boleto is only valid for about a week and it´s really difficult to find the time to see everything on it that you´ve pre-paid for. Most people have to drop something off their list. A lot of people skip Tipon because compared to most of the sites on the boleto, it´s slightly out of the way.

I love Tipon! Compare the ten sole (3. 30 USD) price of admittance (without a Turistico Boleto) to the $42 USD price of Machu Picchu and your wallet will be especially happy. Plus, while there are a fair amount of tourists, this site is tranquilo compared to the throngs of folks headed to Machu Picchu.

I have a feeling that it won´t be too long before the foot traffic at the Tipon site steadily increases. The town of Tipon seems to be working on the roads heading toward the ruins and the town is currently seeing alot of construction. Right now, there aren´t many restaurants in the square, but stop off at the main highway that goes through town after your excursion to the ruins and you´ll find no less than fifteen cuyerias – places that offer Peru´s specialty of guinea pig – served up fried, baked or wood fired in gigantic home-made circular clay brick ovens.

Tipon itself is amazing . . . ! The impressive Inca water fountains are still in working order 500 years after the collapse of the empire. I think that the gorgeous fountains alone are reason enough for a visit. But also, the grounds are immaculate – not much trash and very well-kept with lots and lots of green, green grass to lounge in or have a picnic.

There are three main areas to the ruins of Tipon. The main ruins are composed of a mass of twelve huge open grassy areas, each one larger than the next that eventually end in a network of gurgling stone fountains. Furthest up the mountain you´ll find more ruins that are difficult at best to spy from the main site. Follow the rock stairway to find this part and the overhang that gives a spectacular view of the entire valley surrounding the area. The third area you will see as you climb up to the main grassy area.  You will notice the entire area of mid-height ruins located sort of in front of the grassy areas, closer to the entrance, higher than the main area and lower than the highest points and not easily seen from the entrance.

More excavation is currently underway at the site – both at the top as well as the middle section. After we left the overlook at the top of the site, we decided to blaze our own trail down the side of the grass and cacti covered mountain instead of taking the paved route. That was a fun adventure, but if you decide to blaze your own trail, I highly recommend the use of a walking stick in order to keep the cactus from poking out your eyeballs. As we climbed down the side of the hill from the rocky overlook, our goal was to end up on the back side of the secluded middle area near the front of the site. After an hour of sliding down the mountain and avoiding cactus, we made it. We ended up surprising a kid who was excavating even more Inca stairways . . .

From the ruins of Tipon, we walked the entire way down the mountain back to the main road and town. BTW, the guide book we have says the hike UP to the ruins will take about an hour. That is completely incorrect. Get a cab up there, or else the altitude will wreck you . . . it would have taken me at least two and half hours to walk up there. But the walk down DOES take about an hour and since it´s all downhill, it´s fairly easy. From the ruins, there is a separate footpath that runs almost half way down the mountain so that you don´t have to walk the entire length via the dusty gravel road that the taxis take.

The people in the actual town of Tipon are not as accustomed to seeing tourists as other towns like Pisac, Cusco and Aguas Calientes. Not that the people of Tipon aren´t friendly, just know that the kids will probably stare more or possibly poke some fun at you . . .

Tipon is incredible  . . . and mark my words, within the next two years, I am willing to bet that the tourist traffic there doubles.

I want to visit some places that are not as trampled and full of people as Machu Picchu. For the record, Machu Picchu really is spectacular and all, but since it became one of the New 7 Wonders of The World in 2007, not only has the already heavily toured area become ever more dense with sightseers, the entire area surrounding Cusco-Machu Picchu has become significantly more expensive – particularly the heavily advertised sites, museums and towns near them. Machu Picchu is truly great, but many people fail to realize the amazing amount of beauty and wonderful things to see that are (literally)  just around the bend.

Many people come to Peru with only a couple of weeks to attempt to cram pack in as much adventure as possible. That´s fine, but if you can stay in Peru longer, you definitely should. Take it easy and leisurely and you will find some incredible gems and meet wonderful people, probably see some crazy stuff along the way and never be sorry for one cotton-pickin´ minute that you aren´t back in your home country working the same boring grind.

Oh yeah, and that travel guide that someone gave you as a gift for your Peru trip . . . just one bit of advice . . . Travel guides are great, but don´t expect the information in them to be current . . . even if the book was published recently. We have a travel guide published in late 2008 that covers the entire Inca heartland. All the prices are waaaaay underestimated and a lot of the information is already outdated. Peru gets more and more travelers every year. Consequently, prices keep rising accordingly and infrastructure gets changed often. So while the info on the sites themselves is mostly correct, just be aware that pricing and modes of transport to get there may not be up-to-date.