Tengo siempre hambre

The simple act of eating may be the main source of adventures for me here. Every time I journey down the path of hunger, I end up with a new experience or lesson. Resulting in either satisfaction from victory or wisdom from failure. Today I'll be sharing both with you. 

Taste buds and opinions will always differ, fueling the vast variety of foods available to us. Always allowing us to pick and choose what we desire. As a vast generalization, I consider Peruvian food to be fairly mundane. Understanding that is a generalization, there is also some very delicious cuisine being cooked up constantly. Without having easy access to anything outside of the region, the locals have found their own way of utilizing what grows well in the area. The food staples of the region are potatoes, corn and rice. There are more than 2,000 varieties of edible potatoes that grow through Peru. Considering how easy potatoes are to transport, a variety of them can be found at any market. While rice is not grown in the immediate region around the Sacred Valley, it is grown in the coastal and jungle regions. Once again though, it is found everywhere due to its ease of transport and cheap source of sustenance. Corn is absolutely everywhere in Peru. Look to the left, cornfields. Look to the right, cornfields. Look up into the clouds, cornfields. The corn here is very different though. It’s called choclo and has a far different flavor and texture than the sweet corn grown in the states. The kernels are much larger in size. As a rough estimate, the average cob of choclo has about 20 kernels along its entire length. The kernels are so large that they’re actually pulled off the cob by hand and then eaten, one at a time. The skin of the kernels are much thicker and the guts hold a much more starchy taste. Every street corner or plaza seems to have numerous women selling choclo con queso (choclo with cheese) at it. 

Cheese brings me to the subject of refrigeration. It’s almost non-existent here. Milk, cheese, yogurt and all meats sit unrefrigerated for days and sometimes even weeks before being consumed. In the market, meats of all sorts are laid out from early morning until early evening. Visiting the market the next day, I will see the same meats sitting there that didn’t sell the day before. While Peru is in the third-world status, it is developing. Seeing the bustle of cars on the streets and the Internet café on each corner, I simply assumed there would be small refrigerators. However, I now see they simply don’t use them, by choice. The family living above the reception of the hotel has a refrigerator, however when I open it, there is nothing in it. The milk and cheese are actually stored on top of the cold fridge! When I say cheese, don’t picture hard cheeses such as Parmesan or Romano.  The cheese is similar to the texture of mozzarella.

Every traditional dish comes with rice and/or potatoes. Some dishes come with only one of the two, although most include both. My favorite traditional dish of Peru, so far, is lomo saltado. Being a fairly simple dish it, I find it has the most robust flavor. Nestled between a pile of white rice and a stack of potato wedges, they combine seasoned meat with sliced onions and tomatoes. The three-ingredient combination is marinated in chili spices and then sautéed together. Ashley, you’ve talked about cooking more in order to become a master chef; I’ll send you recipes for it! While I’ve tried many of the dishes, I always feel strange taking out my camera at local restaurants. I’ll start making sure to snap off more photos of them though and throw them into random future posts. Unfortunately, due to the toll it takes on my stomach, my favorite foods here are found at street vendors and markets. For two or three soles (a dollar or less), you can purchase anything offered from a street vendor. Each meal comes with a complimentary stomachache in the hours that ensue.

Last week I met my friend Wes in the nearby town of Urubamba. It's quite a bit bigger and has much more selection among stores. A store called San Ysidro sells numerous cheeses, fresh yogurts, and bacon. Yes, bacon! While it is a bit expensive, we purchased some and hope to use it in our cooking soon. 

There is so much more to note regarding the food, although this is all my fingers wish to express at the moment. There will be more. 

I’m sure many began wondering about the guinea pig upon reading about the food. I’ve seen it a few times, but haven’t tried it yet myself. I have my friends, Greg and Aunie, coming into town in two weeks and plan to share the experience with them. Stay tuned!

This is the most typical lunch you can get here. The local lunch. For a range of 5-8 soles, you walk into a restaurant and get the "menu of the day". This is it. Chow down.

Alpaca sandwich. Very basic. I bought this my first night in Peru. I now know of much better places to get it.

The kitchen I cook breakfast at when we do trips to Huancancalle. The hose leads to a propane tank outside. While the foggy window deceives, I assure you the garden view is beautiful.

Banana smoothie during breakfast for the win!

The most effective way to get "Montezuma's Revenge". For 2 soles, you get a delicious stick of meat and potato, covered in chimichurri. Cooked by street vendors on flimsy pieces of steel on a propane stove. It comes complete with a horrible stomach ache and diarrhea about 4-12 hours later.

I lived on these sandwiches for the first 3 weeks. I then spent 2 days in bed, feeling like death. I haven't eaten them since, although I'm sure I'll be back for more before I leave.

Very sweet juice drink made from the local chicha corn (the black corn on the label). Some people absolutely love it and drink it with every meal. I think it's repulsive.

People have asked me how the burritos and fajitas are. This isn't Central America! This is South America! When you ask for fajitas, you get this. Essentially a burrito inside of a pancake. The close-up photo is to show the thickness of the pancake.

This is where it's at. Noodles, rice, chicken, potatoes, ketchup, mayo, and aja sauce (the yellow). 2 soles. Not as effective as the stick-o-meat, but still a very good way of getting "Montezuma's Revenge". I eat it all the time. You occasionally get the leg or neck of the chicken. Chow down.

Amazing juice stand in the market. 4 soles gets you the combinado. A mixture of numerous different fresh fruits (banana, strawberry, papaya, mango, carrots, etc..) with fresh squeezed orange juice. They'll also throw in a raw egg for you.

Want it to go? It comes in a bag with a straw!

Stick-o-meat. Chicken and bologna edition.

Avocado cheese sandwiches. They came and went for me within a day. The cheese here doesn't strike my fancy.

I found a place to get hardy sandwiches! Some friends of mine opened a cafe called La Esquina (the corner) on...you guessed it...the corner of the plaza. Strawberry cinnamon rolls from the previous day are only 1 sole. I spend a lot of time reading my book here.

Pear nectar. It never left my side in Europe and it's the same here. My travel beverage.

I now have access to a kitchen. The first nights were me sitting on the floor as I cut up vegetables while listening to my Spanish lessons. I now have a table and system that allows me to peacefully cook while reading.

Alejandro making his nightly ramen and eggs. Afforable, yet still packed with protein. He's an amazing kid who always tells me he's going to beat me in the Inca Downhill Race.

The first night I cooked my own meal. This is supposed to be rice, onions, tomatoes and carrots. Nothing else. You may be wondering why it looks so mushy. Well...it turns out the Spanish words for salt and baking soda are very similar. The salt here is already very different and similar to baking soda too, which doesn't help. Fortunately, the only other white powder in Peru has a very different name and wont be confused. Since this photo...I've purchased salt.

Typical candy popcorn found in the cities.

The kitchen.

The stove. Cooking some penne florentine.

Alejandro's mother, Marilu, makes this delicious smoothie. It consists of banana, cantelope, grapes, dates, apples and walnuts in a yogurt base. This particular time was on the hottest day since I've been here. It was perfect.

12 sole meal at a local restaurant, away from the touristy plaza. The ingredients are fairly apparent, with a broth sauce.

Marilu also makes this wonderful chicken noodle soup. They'll occasionally make me this and I'll occasionally make them stir fry.

Somehow, I found a place that makes BLT sandwiches. Although they are very different here. The photo makes the bread very deceiving. It falls apart before you touch it. Regardless, it's a wonderful way to mix things up when I have a little extra money.

Street vendor pastry. Pretty much a powdered roll filled with a gooey yellow filling. The filling kinda freaks me out though, due to having absolutely no flavor. Strange. I'll be trying it again soon.

Hands down...the best mocha I have ever had in my life. The chocolate at the bottom is gritty, although in a pleasant sense.

Of course I found a place that sells Kraft Mac n Cheese! It costs an arm and a leg, but my buddy Wes and I decided to make Wednesdays the nights we get to enjoy it. The meat in the center is smoked chorizo.

Words will not describe this deliciousness, nor the massiveness of that avocado.

Chicha. The illegally brewed beer made from chicha, the local corn. This version is pink because it is chicha fresca (strawberry chicha), which is supposed to knock a bit of the bitterness off. Even with the strawberry, it doesn't satisfy my taste buds one bit. Chicherias, chicha brewery/sellers, are indicated by houses that have sticks at the front door with a red plastic bag on the end. If you see a red bag, you can knock on the door and walk inside to enjoy a glass of chicha.

Yes...a Big Mac. After you eat all the Peruvian food you can, sometimes you have to cave. I needed a burger while I was in Cusco. Needed one. Unfortunately the only place to get a burger is McDonalds (the only one within hundreds and hundreds of kilometers). I NEVER go to McDonalds in the states, but it was required here.

Dwindling in music:
Pinback - Nautical Antiques
Neil Young - Harvest
MiM0SA - September 2011 Mix
Frank Zappa - Apostrophe/Overnite Sensation

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)