PERU '05

Our flights synched up perfectly in Houston, we reveled with whiskey, then took off and spent all of our US cash on the plane bar, and landed in Lima for family and business friend Ramon to pick us up at the airport. He took Dan and me to a cheap motel near the bus station that rented single-bed rooms only, had mirrors across one entire wall of each room, and a complimentary toilet kit that included condoms. I slept great even though I heard noise (yeah, that kind of noise) from another room across the courtyard.

Seven hours the next day on a bus to Huaraz at 10,000 ft. No legroom and bad movies. Then a taxi to the Churup Hostel and our sweet room overlooking the street, and otherwise in the hostel a fireplace living room and top story deck looking out at the massive Cordilla Blanca mountains. With beers by the fire we meet some travelers. A girl named Rosie soon volunteers to guide us to a good place to eat in town, then to several bars, the first of which we had a few rounds of Peruvian pisco sours made with egg whites, the last of which was called the Thirteen Owls (Trece Buhos), where we partied with some locals. Dan and Rosie played all sorts of toothpick, chip, and puzzle games that bartender and owner Luis set up for them, and they failed to solve the trick on every single one of them. Hilarious night (and they just got better…). Home late, up late, sandals and ceviche just down the street, then gathering of supplies in town: white gas, a map, some bread, and cheese. The map turned out to not be available until tomorrow morning. Met up with Rosie again, hit a new restaurant, then another bar tour that ended up back and forth between Trece Buhos and the 80s bar next door. A new friend of ours, Jorge, gave us opera-like entertainment at the 80s bar, crescendoing with Bryan Adam's "Summer of 69" (??!!). Swiss girls at 13 owls helped us start a dance party. Tremendous fun and foolishness among all. Raucously awesome, as we at some point that evening became known as the two "crazy Americans". Who, us?

Chirup deck

Thirteen Owls

Bird to the bird

Jorge

Dan and Rosie

"Acclimatizing"

With a Swiss miss

The trio

Who are these people?

The next morning up to get the map. We show up and the guy says there are no maps and that they are out of print, then pauses and says he'll get us a map in 15 minutes. Right. We head down to the river and catch a combi to Caraz that at one point had 17 people in it (in a little Toyota van!), with our 85 pounds (each) packs on the roof. In Caraz a kid gave us a 2 hour taxi ride to the end of a dirt road at Hualcayan, where a man named Victor offered to take our packs up the trail tomorrow on burros. Yes thank you. We also set up dinner at his house that eve. Chilled for the sunset, then to an oh so delicious meal of fire roasted guinea pig with homefries, bread, and tea. Amazingly good and greasy.

Guinea pig, anyone?

Victor's burro

We slept in their semi-gross yard, and I puked in the morning. Dan ate breakfast. The 5000 vertical foot climb, even without packs, was brutal. As I slowly caught up on hydration, Dan got worse. Reaching camp, things seems good as Victor unloaded his burros (it took three to carry our two packs) and headed back home. Dan and I chilled, overlooking the huge lago Collicocha at 4683 meters (15,364 ft).

Lago Collicocha

15 second exposure

But, things went downhill around sunset as Dan started feeling bad with a big headache that was escalating dangerously fast. There was an engineer named Elvis Castillo at a station across the saddle who monitored water flow out of the lake (reservoir). I visited him and we agreed that Dan likely had altitude sickness, and Dan and I were thankful that he had some medicine. He slept well and felt a whole lot better in the morning, but his stomach wasn't settled as the food at Victor's began to haunt him. I guess I should have been glad I booted early, because as Dan's headache lifted, his craps got worse, then terrible. We had Elvis over for risotto and some whiskey. Dan ate some and was feeling somewhat better, but he awoke in the morning with even worse runs and concluded that his main enemy now was not the altitude but an intestinal bacterial infection (poor dude). So he took some advil and a broadly-hitting antibacterial medicine. Things got better and better from there on out. I hung with Elvis a bit, and gave him a lighter, as he had dropped his flint into the stove. Then I did a solo climb of a peak behind our campsight while Dan rested and shat his sickness away. The peak was 5124 meters (16,811 ft) - my highest ever climbed to date. Its entire top was 3rd, 4th, and some 5th class climbing, with an awesome summit block. Great views of huge peaks over 20,000 ft that were laden with massive, crumbling glaciers. On the decent I tried to short-cut my way twice down two different couloirs and got walled out on both of them, so had to re-climb. Made it back high as ever and Dan feeling well too. He encountered a Peruvian from Alpamayo (the valley ahead) who said he would be passing through tomorrow morning and would take our packs there on burros. Sounds good.

5124 meters (16,811 ft)

Santa Cruz peaks

Silky and sweet hot flour cereal with Elvis in the morning, but no man or his burros, so we finally dawned our monstrous packs (equipaca, mochillas) and hoofed it ourselves over the double passes and down into Alpamayo valley. It was a serious brunt of a hike, but we managed just fine and slept by the river that night.

Elvis Castillo, Danimale, y Don Cuervo

A mellow morning of warm sunshine while hanging in the grass. Lots of burro shit around. Then up the valley a few miles to the headwaters at Lago Jancarurish, a stunningly electric-blue lake fed directly by waterfalls pouring out of the glaciers below Alpamayo peak. A god-like setting. A rocky bivouac-style campsite that stayed amazingly warm (above freezing) through the night despite our elevation (4350 m, 14,271 ft), with the blue-gray glacier-till filled stream rushing by just a few feet away.

Lago Jancurish

Heeding advice, we hid our gear in rocks the next morning before hiking up the backside of the Santa Cruz peaks for the day. Huge mountains, again with incredibly giant glaciers draped luxuriously over their granite shoulders. Met two girls from Holland. Our bottle of Early Times greeted us back at camp, along with some super fat grilled sandwiches which I cooked up. Dan's head was hurting a bit though, so rest for him. Roy for me.

Alpamayo Valley

Alpamayo

Bivuoac Camp

Booyah

It rained that night so in the morning we were reluctant to hit the 4800 m (15,748 ft) pass ahead that was now speckled with snow, but the weather improved and Dan felt great so we went for it. It was a gruel over this (Gara Gara) pass, which like others to come seemed to lack switchbacks.

No switchbacks

Then down a long valley to a broad grassy campsight near a creek. Dan spotted a pair of Andean condors that circled overhead for a while. At 11 feet, they have the largest wingspan of any bird worldwide. The mountains around us were also especially beautiful: huge shafts of vertical granite rose from valley floor to their summit peaks, legendary size boulders, and more tumbling glaciers, all of which got even more amazing the next morning when we got to the top of the next pass. Alpamayo as usual took the cake.

Over Gara Gara pass

Andean condor

We cruised all the way down the valley to a two-building village (Huilica) at the confluence of three rivers, where we visited one of the families. We talked back and forth with the old man and his little daughters, giving them some extra food. I also gave each little girl a pencil and notepad of paper, as well as toothbrushes. Just as we were leaving, Dan noticed that there were a half dozen or so dead lambs in various stages of decay strewn about their thatch roof. Not just hides, but full carcasses. WTF?

Note dead lambs on roof

Alpaca

We then left "town", traversed a broad valley with an alpaca herd, and headed up one of the two river valleys in front of us. Up the slope we ran into a father and son. The boy ran to meet me and I showed him how to use and gave him a yo-yo. He was much pleased, and his dad waved in gratitude from across the ravine. Up the valley further, then camped near a muddy stream near a cow skull that became our yard ornament. It was a beautiful spot. More nips of the rot gut.

A cow crossed that pass behind me (?!)

A merciless trail took us 500 m over a steep pass the next morning with sweet glacier views and a lone rocky buttress that came up through the middle of the saddle - a perfect spire to climb for 360 views of the Peruvian Andes. We're in the fking Peruvian Andes!! It is so bad-ass here that on our way up this 4610 m pass a cow was ahead of us the whole time and it dropped down the other side.

Atop "Pass Cow" pass

Lowest altitude in 10 days

We followed it down a frigheningly steep slope that eventually lead to a broad plane and gorgeous lake for our campsite. The lake was walled in on one side by a granite cliff rising at least 800 feet over the water's surface. We camped at the end in a little shady grove where falcons, geese, little pipets, and even flies kept us company. It was the lowest we'd been in a week. The cool night drove our pests away, and we hung out loving life and living grand with our Early Times and such.

Jancapampa Valley

The next morning we bushwacked it down the valley to meet up with a trail that spilled into the Jancapampa valley. It was super broad and long, and headed by massive mountains and more incredible glacier-fed waterfalls. They never got boring. We rolled down the valley a long ways into a little metropolis called Pomabomba. I gave the last of my pencils, notepads and toothbrushes away to kids playing in the creeks throughout the valley.

Below 3000 meters for the first time since Hualcayan, and at the end of another aquifer, Pomabomba greeted us with a hostel and a cold shower (er, bucket of water). Soon we had cervezas in hand and were dining on bistec (most certainly, we decided, it was the "pass cow" we had been humiliated by the day before). Two unruly guys that were being refused service at the restaurant struck up a conversation with us, and soon enough we were all drinking heavily and making a racket at a nearby bar. By request, Guns 'n' Roses was played on the radio, accompanied by Peruvian air guitar. These two guys were in town working on a bridge. Juan did construction, and younger Abel, who spoke pigeon English, was an engineer. I asked if we could go to a place where we could dance with girls, and before we knew it we were in a three-wheeled taxi heading out of town to a mud-hut brothel. There we ran into friends of theirs and the drinking got heavier. I of course danced with a prostitute, but quit soon enough before such foolery led to trouble. We then made it back to the town square where I by request brought out our camping whiskey for Juan and I to nip while some dude that turned out to be Abel lay passed out a few feet away. Eventually, Juan carried his engineer boss away and Dan and I passed out cold in our lovely hostel beds.

Abel, Dan, Michael, and Negro in Pomabomba brothel

A kids parade outside our window in the morning helped remind us of last night's copious drinking. After eggs, rice, beans and steak for breakfast, we discovered that no bus could take us back over the Andes until tomorrow. So we toured the Sunday street market, ate lunch with Juan (walking by, he spotted us - the poor guy had to wake for work at 6 that morning), then went to some thermal hot pools outside of town for some sweet relaxing and recovery. Back into town in another three-wheeled taxi and soon enough cervezas and a huge dinner. We were living large and only spending change for all of these great things. We were also literally the only non-Peruvians in this entire village, and thus were often affectionately referred to as "Los gringos" everywhere we went. The combination of Dan being two feet taller than everyone else, and me having blond hair, made us a sight for all. Speaking Spanish with them was a riot. Everyone wanted to know where we were from and what we were doing, and we were still the only Americans we'd seen over our entire trip in Peru.

The next day we took the bus ride from Hell to Huaraz. Holy Christ. Crammed in little seats made for tiny Peruvians, we first endured 8 hours of single lane, rock road over the Cordillera Blancas. One could hardly think it was so bumpy. At least we weren't one of the people having to stand in the isle, or one of the 10 or so people up on the luggage rack. One wonderful thing happened: we crossed a 15,000 ft pass right next to the second highest mountain in South America - Huascaran at 22,500 ft! Finally we made it down the west side of the mountain range to a paved road for the final hour and a half. At this point the driver asked all of us to close the curtains in the bus. Then we started coming across boulders laid across the road, which a boy on the bus had to move for us to pass. Then we came across boulders and small fires on the road, which we moved and drove through. Then boulder, fires, and people on the side of the road. Apparently, we later found out, there was a nation-wide strike against the high gasoline prices and they didn't want anybody driving, including buses. We finally came to a town of decent size and things got serious. By now it was night, and we come across a section of road loaded with rocks and boulder, many fires, and lots of people yelling. The bus starts to stop, but some passenger yells "Mas rapido! Mas rapido!", and the driver guns it. We stampede over the rocks and through the fires, and people outside start yelling louder and throwing rocks at us. The sides of the bus thud all over from us being pelted, and rocks smash through several windows on either side. Passengers are shouting "a bajo!!" and women are screaming as the rocks break right through the glass (were not talking safety glass here, but the regular and very breakable kind of glass) and against the curtains. Glass sprays all over a few people, but we make it through alright. The remaining half-hour on the bus was less exciting - thank goodness - as we didn't get pelted anymore and only had to withstand the occasional tinkling of glass from the broken windows.

Bus ride from Hell

Back in the welcoming town of Huaraz, we were soon taking our first warm showers at the Chirup in two weeks. We meet up with a buddy, Ian, we knew from before and made plans to meet him at a pub called "Bar Extreme." After some grub we catch a taxi to this bar. Well, kind of. See, there really aren't any taxis here, but instead you just flag down the closest car which then takes you to wherever for a fee in Peruvian Soles equivalent to about 35 cents. We didn't know, nor did our taxi guy, where Bar Extreme was, so he finally gets the clever idea of dropping us off in a deserted dark part of town next to a building with a neon sign that said"Sky". This seemed close enough to him, and we figured the best thing to do was to just find another taxi. Upon getting out of the car, though, we were suddenly entertained by a woman who sticks her head out of the second story window and remarks with an upswinging tone, "Hay gringos?!." Then, "Gringos! Queres sucky sucky? Fucky fucky?" Uh, no gracias. As we scurry away from this scene we could hear her calling us gringos back for a good time, interspersed with an occasional witch-like "AAaaaayyyee haaa haa ha! AAaaayeeee gringos!!" Lord lord.

Back in Huaraz

With Ian at the bar a few minutes later we were soon immersed in tequilas, pisco sours and cervezas. I guess we served Ian a few too many drinks that night, because we saw him the next day and he told us that "apparently" (he doesn't remember) he took a bit of a spill a little later in the night and ended up in the hospital with stitches on his chin.

Boob shot

Extreme Bar shots

Note the bartender

The night rolled on and soon enough Dan and I were the only two people in the bar except the bartenders, with whom by now we were remarkably good friends. We celebrated more with them, helped them close the bar, then took them with us over to the 13 Owls for more festivities. Somehow we got a hold of, and I broke the head off of, one of the bars ceramic owls. I apologized profusely and they said it was fine, which gave me clearance to drop-kick the owl's body off the second story stairs and into oblivion. Dan put the head in his pocket as a spoil of our victory. We finally left the bar at some ungodly hour. Morning found Dan in ruins and me no good either. Ceviche fixed that pronto, then some tourist shopping, then we sat on the roof of the Chirup and played guitar and hung out. It was our last day here. I spied a posted note from Rosie telling us to get her at a school where she was working near the town square. Our English girl wanted to hang out for another "wicked" night. Dinner, then to an empty karaoke bar where the kid behind the counter put on a sick Bob Marley DVD for us. Dan promptly bought the DVD straight from him. Then around the corner and back to el Bar Extreme to meet Rosie and some of her girlfriends, whereupon we partied like no tomorrow, dancing and drinking for countless hours. For some reason our bartender friends brought out Viking gear for Dan and I to wear. We did, and swung the battle axe and huge hammer all about.

American vikings

Yeah buddy

They also brought from behind the bar an extra large glass for me to drink out of. Then, after I finished it, they took it away and brought out two huge, 2-foot tall glasses for Dan and I to use for the rest of the night. As with before, Rosie gave undeserved lovin' to both of us. At one point we decided we needed a round of pisco sours for everyone. By then, we knew where the best pisco sours were in town, so Rose and I caught a ride across town to that bar, ordered a dozen pisco sours to go (Dan had all my Soles, so poor Rosie ended up having to pay for them), then came back and served them on the bar at Extreme. Understandably, a taste test between the bars immediately ensued, proving that indeed this other bar across town did serve amazing pisco sours. During the whole trip Dan and I were determined to be generous to everyone we met, and I think we reached new heights that night, as we later determined to have ordered 150 drinks for well over a dozen people during those last 8 or so hours in Huaraz. This all totaled to a $60 bill. At one point our bartender friend got all serous and said to Dan, "We've got a problem." What was it??!, Dan alarmingly asked. "You owe us a lot of money." A lot meant about 40 bucks. We Americans are so lucky. Even stitched up Ian made it out that night. Some German made me do the worst tequila shot I've ever done in my life. He demonstrated many times, then I had to finally follow: first snort the salt, then squeeze the lime in my eye (??), next drink the tequila, and to wrap it up I had to get whacked on the back of the head. WTF? Twelve owls was closed that night (a death in the family?), so we never got to tour it one more time (oh yeah, ask Dan sometime about the graffiti on their wall - a little too crude for this story). We left the broken owl head from the night before above the front door to bartender Luis' house as a sign of our respect for that great establishment. Finally to the Chirup at past 5 in the morning, feeling like trainwrecks in the morning. Well worth it, my friend, well worth it.

un buho es muerto

I can't say much more about this trip than that we made it back to the dirt and grime of Lima and were so sad to catch our plane back to North America. Peru is amazing. The people, their culture, their enthusiasm for life, the mountains and scenery are all truly awesome. We only saw one other American the whole trip (a Peace Corps volunteer). I think we did a good job of representing our country (now they think all Americans are crazy).

Catching the last "taxi" in Huaraz (with new pet)

The only other thing I'll say is that in the Houston airport we were amidst the madness as people were trying to flee approaching hurricane Rita. At our gate we spied a woman decked out in pink fluff, gold-plated everything, a rhinestone jewelry belt buckle, and massive sunglasses. I watched here take her morning pills (it was 8am) with a bottle of wine which she then finished. Her last name was Calvert, so she took an immediate liking to Dan, telling him that she really should be home in Louisiana pickin' cotton (yeah, right). At one point she got all nervous and started feeling her chest, then exclaimed in relief, "Oh lord, I thought I'd lost my pearls." Like the whole trip, I guess you just had to be there…