Mi base herida

Sometimes life throws a curve ball at you. One of those balls, in the form of a soccer ball, smacked me right in the face recently (not literally).

Three days ago, I met two other gringos living in Ollanta. After conversing for a bit, they let me know of a group of locals who play soccer almost nightly at 10pm in the San Ysidro section of town. Having no intention of joining the game, we split ways and I went to my room, watching them walk off to the field. Getting back to my room, I realized I had already eaten, my girlfriend was at dinner, and if I didn't join I would simply be sitting in my room alone. With this realization, I grabbed my belt and meet them at the field. Soccer fields here are not what you picture in the states. They're concrete and about a third the length. That's not to say there aren't regular length soccer fields, covered in grass. Although, local pickup games are all played on the concrete fields.

Arriving, I realized what I had gotten myself into. Everybody there could juggle a ball with grace, with a handful drilling practice shots into the nets. I pictured myself getting smashed in the face by a ball and almost turned around. I had committed though and couldn't bring myself to get up and leave. The game commenced and I end up having much more fun than I had imagined 10 minutes prior. While I'm not nearly as good as most of the players, I can kick the ball around and am enjoying it. During the second game, one of the players became noticeably aggressive with me. I'm not sure if this is strictly because I'm a gringo, or if he actually had beef with me within the game. The latter made no sense, considering I was nothing to be intimidated by.

As the game continued, I became more aggressive. Running faster towards the ball, and sticking my legs out inches more with each attempt at retrieving it. Eventually it got the best of me. With the ball being passed near me, I made a very sudden change of movement towards it. My right ankle was not ready for the movement and decided to put its attention towards a chipped out section of the court. With the concrete dip being about two inches deep, it caught the toes of my foot and caused it to roll. Immediately, I knew this was no ordinary roll. Being a person who skateboarded for 10 straight years of my life, I've endured my fair share of rolled ankles. Whether it be the severity of the situation or the mere aging since then, I immediately knew this would be different from anything I had experienced before.

Walking to the stone bleachers, a bulge rose on the side of my foot after only 30 seconds. MAking the walk back to my room, it was the first time I had hated the beautiful cobblestone streets of Ollanta. With each step landing my foot on unstable ground, I cursed each cobblestone.

An hour after it happened.

The morning after.

Two days after (today).

One of the local doctors took a look at it the day after it happened. He said it's hard to tell exactly what the damage is until the swelling goes down. Possibly broke something, possibly pulled something, possibly nothing more than a bad strain. X-rays are only 20 soles ($8) so I will probably be getting that done soon. Regardless, each of us knows why I am here and it will be putting a great damper on that. While taking a few weeks off from riding is normally torture enough, it's even more difficult while living in a place that I came to for the riding. Hopefully it heals quickly. Until then, I'll be spending more time conversing with the locals, learning the language, working on bikes, and reading.

On a happier note, I made a veggie stir fry for dinner tonight and it was delicious.

Poorly captured photo, but you get the idea.

Audio delights tonight:
 John Lee Hooker - The Final Recordings

Dia de la quemadura.

Today has been a simple day. Free of adrenaline, conversation, or money. I've had a lot on my mind recently. Constant thought regarding the adventure and planning of travel, the realization that I still have goals in progress in the states, and the continual wonders of life. Waking early this morning, I had to cancel my eight hour ride due to muddy trails, caused by the tumultuous rain that triumphed the night. While this would normally bum me out, I looked forward to a day of thought. The sort of day where the mind is let free, able to pick and choose it's destination without being encumbered. Toward the end of the morning, the rain had completely ceased. The sun came out, the clouds slowly dissipated, and the heat began to set in. While the rain had stopped, the trails would still be exceedingly wet and the hours needed for the ride were quickly diminishing. Both of those may have been true, although I may had already fallen for the idea of a simple day. The ride could wait for another day. Tomorrow to be precise.

None of the usual morning routine occurred today. I made no appearance in the Truman Show, the dank meat corner was free of my conversation, and one less plate of rice and eggs was consumed at the food stand. While eating a bowl of Zucosos (South American equivalent of frosted flakes), I spilled a bit of milk on the closed book sitting on my bed, which I'm currently reading. My girlfriend, Ashley, gave me this book as a gift right before I left the states. The original 1925 edition of The Law of Success, by Napoleon Hill. While it's meant to be a book you read slowly, reading small portions at a time in order to ensure digestion, it has been the only book I've had with me here. That being the case, I'm reading it in more of a steamroller fashion. Seeing my milk drizzles land on the book, I decided I would spend my day between it's pages.

With the temperature easily surpassing 80 degrees, I decided to take use of the rooftop bar area of the hotel. Taking off my shirt to enjoy the warmth of the sun, I began to dwell into the book. Throughout life, I've found myself reading in two extremely contrastive modes. The first mode involves being more aware of the page number than I am the content of the words I'm reading. This can occur while reading a boring chapter of a textbook, not wanting to admit it's a book I'm not truly interested in, or simply not being in the right mindset for reading at that particular time. When in the second mode, I'm often confused when I hit the next chapter or section. I'll even trace backwards through each page of the chapter with certainty that I accidentally skipped over some pages. In reality, this is simply becoming lost and/or consumed by a book. Today, my brain had put me in the second mode. I wasn't able to read as fast as my mind wanted the knowledge. Jumping from word, to sentence, to paragraph, to page, to chapter after chapter. With time flying by, I realized I'd been sitting out there for a while and decided to head back to my room for a snack and some water.

I tried to work on bikes for a while, however my mind simply wasn't there. I had the desire to read more and nothing else would satisfy my day. Grabbing my book, I headed out to the Plaze de Ollantaytambo. This is the main plaza/square in town. I slowly switched back and forth between reading and taking the time to simply think. I made a point to completely think through each thought that arose in my brain. While doing so, I witnessed a food purchase from a tourist through a window of a bus that was around ten feet off the ground. Additionally, I experienced the cold, yet rightful, feeling of telling a beggar "I work for my money". The lady made a throat-slitting gesture as she walked away, causing laughter from the locals on nearby benches. The book seemed to pass the time between each of these events. As I watched one of the local kids riding his bike, he reminded me of my brother, Jerry, growing up. The kid had set up two rocks on each end of the plaza and would ride circles around the plaza, jumping the rocks with each pass. I could picture Jerry doing this same thing for hours on end when we where younger. Although he probably would have had flames and explosives involved in it somehow. The kid's chain was extremely loose on his bicycle and, in my broken Spanish, I told him to wait five minutes for me to come back with the tool to fix it. I'm sure he understood what I was saying, but he was nowhere to be found when I arrived back at the plaza. I'll be sure to bring the tool every time I sit in the plaza now, waiting for his return.

Arriving back in my room, I immediately began to feel my skin tightening up. The tops of my legs felt as if plastic wrap was being used to package my skin, muscle, and bone into one mess. Looking at my legs, chest and arms, I saw they were already red. With years of sunburn experience under my belt, as well as above my belt, I knew it would become far worse with time. Beginning to pound water, I lotioned every area exposed to the sun in hopes of having all factors on my side. It's now hours later and I closely resemble a poinsettia on Christmas day. I'm 90% sure my legs will be blistering, and 100% sure the rest of my body will be peeling. Aside from my right shoulder, which I covered with sunscreen to protect my scar. I'll be guzzling down the water until I fall asleep, because regardless, I'm going on the ride tomorrow!

Note to self: Cover ENTIRE body in sunscreen if lounging, for the sun is not forgiving at 10,000 feet.

Rooftop bar area. Peaceful reading.

The plaza. In the second mode.

I assure you I'm happy here. It was simply too bright out to possibly produce any other expression.

This kid's chain will be tightened soon! See the small rock in front of him? That's his jump.

Musical confidants I wrote with today:

Blackbird Blackbird - Summer Heart
Crash Test Dummies - The Ghosts That Haunt Me

Ollantaytambo. Mi pueblo corriente.

Throughout my life, I've lived in a big coastal city, small mountain towns, and a place that falls into the peaceful city category in between. Living in the small town of Ollantaytambo has been completely different than anything I've experience. Ollanta, as the locals call it, is a quaint little town of 2,000, settled in the narrowest section of the Sacred Valley. Bordered by steep mountains in the north, and the Urubamba river to the south. Complete with locals relaxing and vending around the plazas and market, a handful of gringos working in the town, and a consistent grip of tourists making there way to the ultimate destination of Machu Picchu. A people watcher's paradise. I've spent a few hours myself, sitting in the plaza, simply taking in the scene. Resident gringos scurrying around to get through their daily routine of life in a foreign country. Backpackers sitting up against store walls, trying to avoid the rain. Tourists taking as many photos as possible before their bus or train leaves within the hour. The locals either conversing in crowds or working off the visitors. Taxi drivers yelling "Urubamba mi amigo!?" or "Cuzco mi amigo!?" towards every single person who may possibly want a lift. Everybody seems to be your amigo. "Choclo con queso!" (corn on the cob with cheese) can be heard multiple times per minute from the older female natives. Everybody needs to be heard. Needless to say, it can be a wonderful source of entertainment when biking or hiking doesn't seem nearly relaxing enough. Additionally, I've learned that regardless of how many times I say I live and work in Ollanta, I will always be a visitor.

This picturesque little town, at 9,120 feet elevation, was once the royal estate for the Incan Emperor, Pachacuti. Later on, during the Spanish conquest, it became the main Incan resistance stronghold, led by Manco Inca Yupanqui. During the Spanish conquest, Ollanta was the only town where the Inca were successfully able to hold off the invading Spaniards. The resistance moved to high ground, upon their terraces, where they knew the Spanish would be unable to use their horses. The Spanish, recognizing the advantage held by the Inca, planned to occupy the town until the Inca starved and would therefore descend from their terraces. Aside from having food growing on the terraces though, the Inca had a very clear understanding as to how the rain and drainage systems worked in their valley.  Damming certain streams and rerouting the flow of water, they flooded the valley and therefore caused the Spanish to retreat. If the Inca would have incorporate this form of strategy in all their battles, Francisco Pizarro would have never made it past the first Incan city. Simply put, the Inca were not skilled in warfare. Wooooah…I just realized I’m giving away all my info that makes me tips on trips! For more…come visit me here!!!

Living here, I’ve found a fairly basic daily routine, into which I can throw different adventures. I’d like to say that each day starts out bright and early in the morning, but that would be far from the truth. Having a wonderful girlfriend back in the states, I choose to spend most of my nights chatting or Skyping until the early hours of the morning. This morning, I watched the sun come up and radiate through my window before I headed to bed. I still haven’t had a late morning that wasn’t worth the late night before, for which I spent conversing with her. It’s safe to say that most of my mornings start around 9am, with an occasional 10am rise. The mornings here are beautiful. While it is the rainy season, most of the downpour occurs through the night. The mornings present with cloudy blue skies, with a consistent drizzle until late morning. The kind of drizzle you can’t see, but can gently feel as it connects its little drops with others on your arms. First thing in the morning, I throw on my flip-flops, avoid the 5’10” doorway, and make my walk across town to the market.

Regardless of what time it is, I see the same amount of people in the plaza, doing the same thing as the day before. They may not always be the same people, but the same tasks are still being accomplished in the same areas. Three guys at the top of the hill asking if I need a taxi to Urubamba or Cuzco. Five older women, in Quechan wares, asking if I would like some choclo con queso. Two police police officers; one at each entrance to the plaza. Ten tourists admiring the center tree of the plaza from a nearby bench. Lastly, about two or three kids riding their bikes around, smashing their front tires into curbs, benches, or each other. They seem fully determined to taco their front wheel, but never find success with it. The boys always seem to be riding girl bikes, complete with Barbie designs and tassels. The girls always seem to be riding boy bikes, which are far too big for them. This morning, while slowly walking to the market, I couldn’t help but dissolve into laughter as I compared it to The Truman Show. Every person in his or her correct place, at the correct time. A daily clockwork of work, pleasure, and play for each involved.

Arriving at the market, my feet arrive in autopilot mode. While it is a very roundabout way of getting to my final destination, I take the same route each morning. Heading in the western entrance of the market, I glide through the crowd of soda vendors, towards the butchers’ nest in the back corner. I have never, nor will I ever, buy anything from the butchers in this dank corner. Quarter cows, chicken feet, tongues, trout, guinea pigs, hooves, and beautiful flanks all sitting out on picnic tables. Completely free from refrigeration from 7am until noon, the same meat will be out the next morning if it doesn’t sell today. Although I’m not sure why, I feel compelled to walk through it every morning. Sometimes I close my mouth and hold my breath, while other times involve me getting caught up in conversation as I ask how to say each cut or presentation in Spanish.  Once I’ve received my daily dosage of meat corner funk, I wrap around the market, walk up the stairs, and arrive at Arroz con Huevo. For those who know Spanish, you learned those words in the first month of any Spanish class. Rice and Egg. I capitalized it originally, because that is what the sign actually says, naming the little place. Essentially a closet, this woman in her forties has a sink, propane stove and small serving area. For a mere three soles, you can try out her delicious plate of rice, egg, potatoes (chips), and tomatoes. Feeling extra hungry? You can throw on a second egg for an extra fifty centimos. Don’t arrive too late though! She doesn’t have business hours, but once that big pot of rice is gone, she doesn’t make anymore.

Days involve whatever the heart desires. Biking, hiking, reading while sitting on a plaza bench, working on bikes, writing, or trying to converse with the locals. It varies greatly, day to day. There have been some days where I’ve done absolutely nothing. Simply enjoyed relaxing and enjoyed the sun. Days I work are a different story. Tour days start anywhere between 7-9am and end anywhere between 2-6pm.

The hikes in the area are beautiful. As you can see from the photos, there are numerous trails right outside, or even within, the city limits. Some are to decrepit ruins, while some are simply pack trails created by animals over the years. There’s a hike for each mood and desire. The cobblestone streets required to simply get to the hikes would even be beautiful enough for most.

 There's much more to be said, but I have to go work the hotel reception desk now. More to come!

Plaza de Truman Show

One entrance to the market.

Part of the corner.

The view out of the market.

River flowing down to the train station.

Cactus: the natural barbwire of Peru.

Cobblestone path for the kids to get to the school.

The view out of my office. This is my method of working on a bike without getting wet while it's raining.

The office.

Arroz con Huevos

My daily 3 soles meal. Peruvians don't use any sauces at all. You eat it as it is given.

Cobblestone area of traditional Ollanta housing.

Northern Ollanta cobblestone.

Cerro Bandolista in the background. Known as Temple Hill.

View from the rooftop bar at the hotel I live at. I live in the door to lookers right.

Garden at the hotel. Wonderful place to write. That's San Pedro cactus (peyote) to the right.

Garden again. The door is to the room I stayed in for the first two weeks I was here.

Beginning of a hike right out of town.

Hike overlooking the town. The facial expression is due to the camera tipping over right as this photo is being taken. Note: while I don't normally listen to headphones while hiking, it's a great way to listen to my Spanish lessons!

Flora overlooking the outskirts of town.

Cobblestone walkway, complete with beautiful overgrowing flowers.

City garden. I eat quite a bit of street vendor food in this park. Wonderful place to read.

Walk out of town to begin a six hour hike to the local sun gate.

Entrance into town.

Once again...entrance.

Musical fuel today:

High Places – High Places vs. Mankind 
Jefferson Airplane – The Worst of Jefferson Airplane   (Thank you pops for raising me on such powerful music) 
John Coltrane – Blue Train   (His best, in my opinion)

Authenticity Required

Anybody who has experienced some world travel is very familiar with the concept of tourism. People coming from around the world to experience a foreign culture or land. Communities throughout the world capitalize on this by providing specific products and services, although often with a lower quality or standard. Especially in developing countries, like Peru, this can provide income to a community that needs it. In that sense, I'm all for it. Although sometimes I get an itchin' for something authentic! My second day in Ollanta, I made it a point to walk the entire town. With bright/neon greens being my favorite colors, you can only imagine how badly I wanted to buy a massive neon green and black punchu (Yes punchu. They insisted I say it in their Quechan language, rather than poncho!) the moment I saw it. I decided to wait though after realizing that rushing it would be silly since I'll be here for months. Walking through the streets, I saw the same exact punchu at five different shops. Either the weaver has a skilled way of making perfectly identical punchus, or these were clearly made in a factory somewhere distant. I have a good idea as to which of these assumptions is more accurate. With all that being said, I've definitely bought my fair share of cheap stuff. I'm currently wearing a pair of $1.50 sandals that I bought near the base of Machu Picchu. I guess I like a mixture of it all.

Two days ago, I read about a mountain village, known for weaving authentic traditional wares from llama and alpaca wool. Immediately after reading this, I knew exactly what my day was going to consist of. Talking the idea over with my Irish buddy, and fellow guide, Paddy, we decided to turn it into a biking extravaganza. The weather was absolutely beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky (keep in mind it's the rainy season here) and hot enough to strip down to your socks and a t-shirt. While that seemed like an extreme idea, I settle with the pleasant "tank top in February" idea. Leaving Ollanta, we began our ride up the series of dirt roads, side streets, and occasional trail sections to Patacancha. While it did start drizzling a bit, the warm rain was far too enjoyable to shield with my raincoat. Similar to the amazing feeling of walking near a sprinkler on a hot summer day. The climb up was more than I had expected, but not due to the distance. This was my first climb at high elevation. Throughout the entire ride, my legs felt like they could always move faster and my lungs were consistently full, but it felt like my body was only using about half of the oxygen in my lungs! Climbing up to 11,800 feet was much more demanding than I had expected.


Arriving in the small village, nobody was out and about. I assumed they were either up at their mountainside farms or remaining in their homes to avoid the drizzle. With time, Paddy and I eventually found a Quechan woman who was willing to show us pieces she had made. Within minutes, she brought over another woman with another blanket full of clothes. As Paddy and I dug through the two piles of goods, the women rarely made eye contact, but would occasionally glance over to inspect our mountain bike shoes and hydration packs. While Patacancha is still a town that attracts gringos commonly, I’m sure it was so foreign to them. Cuzco, a decently sized city, is only 50 miles away and there’s a very good chance they’ve never been to it. Shuffling through the articles of clothing, we came across punchus, beanies, belts, scarves, bracelets, anklets, and coin purses. All the clothing was more earth toned than anything else I had seen before (compare the piles of wares to the brightly colored blankets they buy to wrap their woven crafts in.) Not having a mirror, we resorted to our cameras to see how each article looked. All the while, the two locals kept their head down and either spun their wool or continued weaving something. The feeling of each article was completely different than any of the pieces I had touched in the Ollanta market. Somehow all of it was extremely soft, yet felt strong and hefty. My overall favorite characteristic of it all though, was the fact that it smelled like animal. That may sound strange, but I liked the satisfaction of knowing where it came from. In the end, we decided on a beanie each, along with some gifts for others. The women in this town are often considered the best of the best, and I'm sure these beanies took a great deal of time to make, yet we purchased each one for less than the cost of a meal in the states.

Spinning her wool while we searched through the piles.

Some of these are gifts! Start guessing!

Using my camera as a mirror.

Paddy with the two women

Cheesin

It was time to head back down to Ollanta. The downhill was pretty much a brakeless experience of speeding frenzy. Occasionally, there were singletrack lines skirting the edges, cutting off one switchback after another. While the ride wasn't anything the seasoned rider would consider exceptional, I've come to realize that I'm simply happy being on a bike for any reason. Whether it be cruising through city streets, pedaling at high-altitude, picking lines through rock gardens, or just bombing down a dirt road. I absolutely, 100% love it. I mentioned the tank top earlier for one reason. When I arrived home, I looked in the mirror to find my back looking like a lobster, perfectly framed by the straps of my tank top. Note to self: more sunscreen next time!

Almost went for a swim!

Stunning views make up for the high-consequence barbwire boundaries on each side. While I don't normally condone listening to headphones while riding or hiking in beautiful places, it's a great time for me to get through some Spanish lesson audios.

I love this beanie so much that I even wore it while writing this. It really hasn't come off my head since I bought it.

While it may seem completely unrelated, I'm going to start writing down the albums I was listening to while I wrote each post. Mainly for me, it'll help me remember the mode I was in at the time.

Bon Iver - Blood Bank, Bon Iver, & For Emma, Forever Ago

Brett Dennen - So Much More

Jungle Boogie

It's incredibly hard to write from memory. Even when these memories are only a few days old. I've shrugged off the suggestions of writing while everything is fresh. Always assuming that powerful memories are never forgotten, I've put off writing about this experience. Regardless, the 3-day trip I experienced last week cannot be left out. Here it is:

KB and I arrive in Ollantaytambo at at about 9am. We had spent the previous night in Cuzco, not daring to travel the vast expanse of road between it and Ollanta (as the locals call Ollantaytambo). Peruvian combi drivers already drive as if speed limits, yellow lines, and laws don't exist. If another daring combi pulls up behind them, they'll speed up 20+ mph simply to ensure they aren't passed. Once they've realized they're going to be passed, regardless of how hard they mash on the gas pedal, they hug the yellow line as close as possible to make sure the passer is aware of their domineering presence. I've come to accept that getting a ride in a combi here is more of an extreme sport than throwing myself down these mountains on a bike. The whole ordeal is overwhelming on its own, but combined with darkness it becomes a death wish. Russian roulette with multiple bullets. Needless to say, having to stay in beautiful Cuzco for the night was worth ensuring an empty chamber.

Arriving in Ollanta, the day became a whirlwind of tumultuous progression. KB, our driver Gato, five Aussies, and I loaded into the van. We headed up to Abra Malaga pass, part of the South American continental divide. At 14,160 feet, this pass is the highest road until you cross the ocean and hit Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. It's a place of nearly constant rain throughout 4-5 months of the year. Dropping off the back side of the pass, we began our five hour bike ride down into the jungle. It's amazing how quickly the environment changes in a short ride. The top of the ride presented itself with dozens of picturesque waterfalls cascading down the mountainsides like silk. These waterfalls begin only hundreds of feet from the peaks of the mountaintops sometimes. The rain is so continuous that even with such a little gathering area, these waterfalls flow consistently with high volume. As the ride progresses, high-altitude desert gives way to a warmer forest of thickets and conquering ground cover. You're able to shed off the rain gear, soaking up the powerful "radiation" rays as you cruise down. Waterfalls are now channeled into wide-spread rivers that move OVER the road. You become extremely talented at slowing down, putting your feet on the handle bars or frame, and hoping the splashes aren't overly determined to occupy your shoes. Stopping for lunch at a beautiful Incan watch-post, I jumped off my bike to find myself planted right in front of a small little banana tree. The bananas weren't fully ripe, carrying the slight green shade of a banana you normally buy when it doesn't sound appealing then, but will probably be good in a future smoothie. I had no intention of missing out on eating the first banana I had ever seen growing though. Delicious to say the least. The ride ended in the jungle town of Santa Maria at 4,600 feet, aka Beer Town as the trip guides call it. I'd dwell into the enjoyment of a cold beer after a long day of adventure, but I'm sure all of you know the feeling.

Getting the bikes ready for the decent! I keep my bike on top unless it has to be used. No use wearing down my brake pads while at work.

Goodbye rain. Hello sunshine! (This is me at work)

The 4 hour drive up to Huancancalle that night contained all the aspects of a perfect roller coaster ride. Fast speeds, terrifying heights, and equipment that makes you second guess your decision. Halfway up, we came to a rutted, eight foot wide section of road that the van bottomed out in. Next thing you know, Gato has us out of the van, pushing it back a few feet. His complete lack of English made instructions more than interesting and brought a bit of humor to the situation. Using rocks, a group of us dug out the high spots and placed rocks in the ditch. We then stepped forward, selfishly watching from the comforting safety of the road, while Gato maneuvered his away atop the thousand foot drop to his left. The power was out in the entire valley that night. It was absolutely beautiful passing by dimly lit clay-brick homes with entire families huddling around a few candles, caught in conversation. While the Aussies didn't seem super stoked on the power being out and the complete lack of internet in the valley, I spent the night enjoying the tranquility of solitude. Hearing the sounds of the rain trying to compete with the roaring river only a few hundred feet away. 

Backyard of the place we stayed at. So many flowers!

The following morning, we began a beautiful trail hike out of Huancancalle. It was an overcast morning, as almost all are up in the mountains here. With it being the rainy season, the rivers were flowing fast and the flora consumed every crevasse of the beautifully green slopes. There were beautiful indigo berries, ten foot long ferns, and red pointed plants that seemed to grow on every level branch within the trees. The level of symbiosis among flora here is amazing. Certain plants grow only around certain others, some only grow directly on others, and some help to protect others. It amazes me the more and more I begin to notice the minute parts of a system that seem so simple. The ruins of Rosaspata – Vitcos were overwhelming at minimum. I had seen numerous ruins from roads, always with a good distance between them and I. This however, was the first time I had been right up to them, touching the actual stones. I will not try to pass over the fact that I have never cared about rocks in my life. I wish I could say they've always fascinated me and that I wondered how every rock was formed, but I really could care less. That being said, standing among some of these ruins is powerful enough to make anybody wonder. These rocks are carved absolutely perfectly into the shape that best fits its place in the wall. Carved out of a quarry, possibly miles away, and transported to a place where it would be used as a representation of precision and strength. Bathrooms naturally made private using walls without doors, carved anchoring points for roofs, and holes through walls in which a board could be placed to indicate “Don’t come in”. Locks where never used in Incan times. People simply respected the fact that if a board was across a door, they probably shouldn’t enter.

The river that overpowered the spattering of rain on the roof. The place we stayed in was the closest one to the left of the picture. Wonderful family.

Beginning of the hike.

This lichen/mold only grows on the ends of leaves of this specific plant. I'm assuming this is because the plant's defense is weaker at the ends. The lichen/mold also helps defend the plant from predators though. Pick your battles I guess?

Imagine a civilization building hundreds, possibly thousands, of these in their short 135 year existance.

The holes carved in these rocks were used to anchor some sort of roof.

View from the ruins.

Continuing up the hike, we moved through the gardens heading towards Yurac Rumi (aka “White Rock”). There are numerous waterfalls coming off the terraces in this area. Each waterfall empties into a bath before continuing on down the garden. I’ll refer back to the waterfalls later. At the top of the garden, you reach Yurac Rumi, considered by many to be the most beautiful piece of Incan artwork. It’s an absolutely massive rock with carvings all over it. Carvings accomplished before the time of metal or simple machines. The stones were carved with harder river stones collected from the numerous rivers in the area. I had seen the rock in photos, yet it didn’t prepare me at all for the grandeur of it's detail and size. Most Incan history has been completely lost due to the Spanish and therefore people must choose between what they believe is fact and fiction. Although, there is a more commonly accepted historical idea behind the area. It was a place enjoyed by utmost elite citizens only. While common people were traveling near it daily to deliver food and supplies, they were never allowed to turn the last corner and actually see it. The Inca would spend his time there, basking in the peacefulness of the valley. Occasionally, there would be a virgin from the lower towns that would offer herself to the Inca. She would walk up the valley, free of any footwear, until she reached the garden. She would then bathe in each waterfall on the way up, cleansing herself for the Inca. When she reached the top, she was said to be purified, but would still have to prove her virginity. Atop Yurac Rumi, there’s a channel carved into the rock with a seat carved above the uphill side. The virgin would sit in the recession and urinate into the channel, where a shaman would determine if she was a virgin. It’s not fully clear what method they believed to be accurate at determining this.

First of about five waterfall baths in the garden.

Notice the pointy red plants that grow in the trees. I've been informed by my friend Becca that they're called bromeliads She says: "They're epiphytes, which means they grow on other plants, usually ending up in trees in the rainy season when it floods, and since they don't root in the soil they live off nutrients in the air!"

White Rock complete with a white gringo.

Benches carved out below White Rock.

Channel and sitting area the virgin would urinate into.

 The uphill side of White Rock.

Cutest caterpillar I've ever seen. I wanted to put it in my pocket!

The bike ride back down to Beer Town was high speed and full of beautiful scenery. Bumpy dirt road for miles and miles on end. The moment that stands out most in my mind was bombing through a small little town along the way. As I’ve said before, Peruvians are fully convinced that all Americans are Tom Cruise. They LOVE seeing us be extreme! This little town contains a main road with a single ninety-degree turn in it. Peruvians tend to huddle together when anything is going on and this corner was clearly the place to be. On this day, it was a group of preadolescent kids. As I rode by, they cheered as loud as they could, trying to run as fast as me while I sped by. I could tell it was the highlight of their day.  

Banana tree galore! I felt like Donkey Kong.

Personal cheer squad.

Giving a local chimbolo (the local slang term for a kid) a high five right after he raced me on  bike with one pedal. His friends pushed him to get him going.

Arriving at the bottom, we proceeded to take another roller coaster ride to the fully jungle village of Santa Teresa. Plantations of bananas, coffee, mangoes, avocado, and papaya farther than the mountains allow one to see. Staying in an ecolodge, it was time to take my first Peruvian shower. Yes five days of extensive exercise without a shower. Words would not be able to explain the pain your nose would go through if you smelt me then. I gathered my things and found myself in the most beautiful outdoor shower I had ever seen. Atop the side of a large drop, it was open to the forest on one side. There were birds flying from tree to tree, looking to see which provided the plumpest bugs. Standing in it's warmth, I relaxed and enjoyed the view. I later discovered the entire group took freezing showers because they didn’t know it was an electrically heated showerhead that needed to be turned on. Afterwards, it felt necessary to try their own Eco Quechua cocktails, chalked full of rum, pineapples, oranges, bananas, and mangos. It seemed like more of a smoothie than a cocktail to be, but that’s even better! Some good laughs were shared and stories told over a delicious dinner. Everything about this place was new to me. Sleeping in a bed with mosquito nets, taking a shower outdoors, and massive fruits up for the taking.

One of the huts at the ecolodge. The weather was superb.

Twice the size of any avocado I've seen in the states. All free!

The next morning, we started our day with full doses of adrenaline. About 10 minutes away from the lodge is a zip-line tour that gives one a bird’s eye view of the entire valley. Coping with my curdling stomach and biggest fears, I double-checked all the equipment they had set up. My first doubts occurred when they didn’t double-back any of the harnesses. I almost took the harness off right then and walked away. The cliché idea of only living once ran through my head though and I immediate decided I was doing it no matter what. Observing a bit more, I found each zip-line post to have three failsafes. Good enough for me!

Still taken from a video. I hope you enjoy the silly expression!

Dangling!

Even being fully harnessed and a fairly adventurous person, it took all of my courage to let go to the point where my feet were above my head.

The next step in the trip was a short four-hour hike from the hydroelectric dam near Santa Teresa to another jungle town called Agua Calientes (Meaning “hot water”, due to all the hot springs in the area.) The hike travels along a beautiful river called Rio Urubamba. Supposedly, house-size rocks are normally fully exposed in the riverbed, yet the water was so high they couldn’t be found. The constant sound of massive boulders being pushed along beneath the water could be heard. The jungles here are so mundane to the locals. I’d come across a massive millipede and would be jumping with joy at the experience, while the locals laughed and probably called me a gringo. I’d like to see they’re expression upon coming across an elk or mere seagull in the states! 

Millipede motion.

Arriving in Agua Calientes.

Arriving in Agua Calientes, I was right beneath Machu Picchu. Looking up, I could see its massive terraces on the hillside. I pondered it for a while and decided I would wait to see it. It may seem silly to travel thousands of miles and pay so much money to arrive at the base without venturing the last few minutes. However, I can only imagine how powerful the experience will be. An experience I’d rather share with somebody I love, rather than five Aussies I had just met a few days before. I’ll be back. On that note, I jumped on a train for the hour and a half trip back to Ollanta.