Bull fights in Quito, Ecuador.
A visit to the second largest city in Ecuador allowed us the opportunity to go to the equator, actually both of them. Just north of town we took a series of city buses to the equator monument marking what we thought was the actual equator. The city built a huge tourism trap all around the big, red line that marks the center of the Earth. A funny thing though. As we were taking photos of it, a couple other tourists informed us that the actual equator (GPS accurate) was about 200 meters to the north of us behind the gates of another entrance fee. Once again businesses fighting over something as stupid. Not quite sure who to believe, we visited the second one anyway. Hopefully trudging back and forth between the two we crossed the equator.
Well the early morning of our departure we made a sadly brief boat ride looking for wildlife and fishing for pirahnas. The weather had been (as one could expect in a rain forest) rainy, which tends to put the animals into hiding. We did see a sloth pictured here at a distance and some monkeys. The pirahnas catch was a whooping one caught by me but it was about the size of a silver dollar. In all a bit disapointing but for our time and money crunch it was better than nothing. We headed back to Iquitos and boarded a plane. Equador was the next stop.
Swinging on jungle vines, sampling jungle fruits and eating grub, literally. I guess Eric and I both came into this trip with the goal of having an open mindset to trying new things. We found out quickly that the jungle provided many opportunities to test ours. Bananas are grown all over this region. I haven´t eaten a banana in twenty odd years. As a kid my mom used to cut up brown bananas on my cereal doing her best to remove the bad parts but by then the whole fruit was a discusting slimey mess and visions of vomit soon followed. I vowed never to eat them again. But they say time is a healer. After constant badgering from Eric, I finally tried a piece. Well…it didn´t kill me but the jury is still out on that subject. Some things came easily like drinking water out of cut vines. Our guide introduced us to a lot of plants and things that could be consumed if one where so inclined. But when he provided us with a leaf full of maggots, well somehow I just found myself a bit hesitant. But when in Rome. Think luke warm tapioca pudding in a rubber shell and you are in the ball park of the taste experience of these little jungle delicacies.
As soon as we arrived we had a quick lunch and then headed out into the jungle for a hike. You never really realize how jam packed the Amazon Basin is until you go there. Pictures can´t really do it justice to show the density of it. Here plants grow over eachother in a thick, blinding green fashion. Insects are the dominant species here. Everywhere you stepped, there was something that crawled. Walking and dodging our way through, I kept thinking that every leaf or tree hid something that would fall on you. It was the thought process that I could get knocked off by anything on the food chain. The Amazon allowed every organism a fighting chance. Here was a level playing ground. Ofcourse everything was fine. You realize your being an idiot and you just need to walk carefully and make sure to avoid the hazardous plants or insects that your guide points out to you. We saw about a dozen different types of ants. Some where poisonous and some just looked that way. There were literally ant highwways on the jungle ground where you saw millions carrying big green leaves back to the homestead. Cool stuff.
Something about the potential to catch a piranhas in the Amazon Basin just sounded like something too good to pass up. Not only that, but to return to the states after backpacking across the whole of South America and say that we didn´t visit the Amazon Basin would just be silly. Down right shameful. Poor or not, we had to make a trip in to make it official. So to remedy the dilemma, Eric and I found a jungle tour guide service in Iquitos for an overnight excursion into Amazon tributary. We boarded long, wooded river speedboats and headed out into the sticks.
Anna and her family were genuine in their offer for us to stay at their house and we followed them to their place from the port in Iquitos. Poverty is a hard thing to truely understand until you live it. They lived in what would resemble a broken down, two room shack. Rotten wood floors, cockroach infested, not running water, a hole in the ground as a toliet, and not much else. Yet despite having literally nothing, they opened their doors to us with warm happy hearts. They are a hapy family and not even being ¨pobre¨(as Anna warned us that they were) effected their attitude. I found it remarkable. As a thank you Eric and I made them a big American brunch for her and the eleven relatives that lived with them. They were a lot of fun and we were very grateful for their hospitality.
For as cramped as we all were, everyone was in good spirits. The hold had a cheerful pressence to it created from its occupants in it together for the four day haul. Laughter could always be heard coming from the crowds gathered around listening to the comic performances put on by some of the other passengers. Latin music blared. Loud. Often times in the early morning. Mothers breast fed there infants openly. Eric and I taught the girls how to play rummy and despite the language barrier they quickly started whooping our butts. The girls sit on the dirty mattresses making bead necklaces to sell as Anna changes their little brother´s diaper. I read two books and had plenty of cat naps. We felt like pirates hanging in our hammocks. The boat was a lot like a huge slumber party turned Lord of the Flies. We were all in this together. I was in a good mood, but as the third day floated by and gave way into the fourth, my body yearned to be clean and the closed quarters started to get to us gringos. Luckily we arrived in Iquitos early that morning.
Our ferry would stop at remote villages from time to time to pick up or drop off goods and the occassional person. For many of these villages, the once a week ferry stop was the only contact with the outside world. With that the boat served them under many different tittles varying from mailman to food delivery to hardware store and much more. For many of the poor vendors along the shoreline it was an opportunity for them to come on to the boat to sell goods while we sat for an hour at each port.
From the moment we started talking with them and answering all their questions, it was a friendship quickly kindled. They helped us with the routines of the boat, how it operated, explained what all the exotic foods where and despite being incredibly poor, offered and shared everything with us. It was a true pleasure.
The boat itself was an adventure all together. In the hold where we were, the capacity was pushed way beyond the max. Hammocks, mattresses and tents are everywhere. After four days even your own body odor starts getting to you only it isn´t just yours, it is every ones and we all share in it.
Three times a day our chef on the boat (who Eric and I have concluded is a cross dresser) dings his wooded spoon on a bell signaling the soup´s on, literally. The meals are on par with what one might imagine prison food to be but with a little more seasoning and a mind set based on substance not on looks or taste. We hold on to tickets that are required to receive your food and upon the ding, the masses drop whatever they are doing, grab their food containers and form a line from one end of the boat to the other.
Everyone had brought on board Tupperware bowls or buckets to have their food served in. Prior to the boat´s departure, numerous women were going around selling Tupperware to people. We couldn´t figure out why. Only after receiving our first meal did we realize how essential lids were for not spilling. Our plastic, foldable REI bowls don´t insulate against heat and we struggled routinely to maneuver through the mazes of hammocks back to our own as quick as possible, spilling our food and scalding our hands over the hot dishes.
Sanitation is non-existent. Dirt is everywhere as is trash. We both found it a bit shocking to observe that most food and garbage is tossed overboard into the river. There is no concept of pollution or the consequences of it. We learned that historically, all their needs were met from things in the jungle so when you finished eating something, you would throw it into the river. This tradition hasn´t mixed well with the introduction of products from first world nations contained in plastics, wrappings and packaging. They don´t realize the difference between organic and inorganic. Here it is the mind set of out of sight out of mind. Only it isn´t out of sight. It can be seen, floating down the river in the Amazon Basin.
From the get go of our trip, Eric and I have been adamant on visiting the Amazon basin. After learning that our last journey into the Bolivian rainforest wasn´t in fact the actual ¨Basin¨ we felt compelled to remedy the fact and journey into the belly of the beast. Being in Peru, that meant we needed to make our way to Iquitos, the remote Amazon jungle town in Peru. The town (pop. 300,000 people) is the diving board for jungle excursions and research studies in Peru´s claim to the great forest. There are only two ways to reach it. Flying by plane or a three to four day ferry ride along a tributary of the Amazon river called the Rio Ucayall.
By this point in our trip, we were scraping the bottom of the barrel for travel funds and the boat journey was our only option. We took a bus ride from Cuzco to the town of Pucallpa where after many mis directions from locals on the street, we found ourselves on the river banks at Puerto Henry. Rumors on the streets were telling us that finding a boat ride to Iquitos would happen for a day or two. Despite finding a room in a hotel, we were running low on time and figured that checking out the port wouldn´t hurt. At the very least it would be good reconnaissance for information. Once at the port, we saw numerous workers loading up a big river boat with goods that were to be delivered to remote villages along the journey to Iquitos and that in fact this particular boat was scheduled to leave in two hours. Just our luck. We found the captain and he informed us that he had some hammock space available on the second deck. We agreed to his price of 285 soles (just over a hundred US dollars), bought two hammocks from him and claimed our spot amongst the chaos of families and locals preparing for the long journey.
For us it meant we had to hurry back to our hostel and convince the owner to give us back our money, and get back before the boat departed. We hailed one of the thoisand mototaxis and after much hassle, we got off the hook with our hostel and were swinging in our hammocks, with books-in-hand, with about a half an hour to spare.
After about twenty pages into Robinson Crusoe, I looked over to see four pairs of eyes staring at us in curiosity belonging to four little girls with smile on their faces. They had discovered Eric with his long blond hair and were quizing him in rapid spanish on all his likes and thoughts, barely controling there excitement to chat with a gringo. As it turned out they were traveling home to Iquitos with their family. We met Anna, a Peruvian woman and her five children who were bunking next to us even before the ferry cast off. She has four daughters ranging in age from 4 to 12 and a seven month old son named Anthony who remained center of attention and show and tell for his sisters for the next four days.
Well after a long dusty hitchhike on a truck bed and a couple smelly buses, Eric and I returned to Cuzco. We had a day to wash some clothes and do some last minute exploring before we were set to head back towards the Amazon Basin. Wouldn´t you know it we stumbled back into our buddies Arjan and Saune from Holland and strolled the indoor markets (dIscounts on hog heads and toes) and then had a couple pints at the local Irish Pub.
Cuzco marked an important milestone in our trip not just because we climbed to Machu Picchu but more importantly we finished the discusting tube of Chilean tooth paste that we have been stuck with for the last two months. I admit now that it was an impulsive purchase on my part. In Puerto Montt, Chile I was without my trusty tooth brush (lost and forgotten somewhere) and I saw the brush-paste combo and bought without careful examination. Huge mistake. At first you wonder how one company could screw up toothpaste but this crap plagued us. Finally after all this time of bad, bitter aftertaste and shame we rid ourselves of it and celebrated by buying a new tube of mint Colgate. I can´t wait till I return to the states and rekindle my Crest kid status. For now Colgate is a welcomed relief.
…And then the crowds came.
Jesus Christo. We had the ruins to our selves with about a hundred other backpackers (which doesn´t seem like much in such a big place) when eleven o´clock rolled around and the gringos came in like a wave of lemmings. Women walking up in designer heels and people armed with their point and shoot cameras and wearing their safari vests that they purchased in town with the dorky hats saying ¨I survived Machu Picchu¨. Here Eric and I were surrounded by these people soaked in sweat and exhausted from hiking with all our gear and these Disneyland goers huffed up 30 meters of stairs after a air conditioned bus ride to complain about the hike up. It was like being at Yellowstone National Park, where 10 mile long traffic jams hold up the crowds so a few can take a picture of a deer, except here it was everyone in one spot with tour guides shouting over each other to tell the biggest stories about what they thought the history of the place was.
To note: It is a lost city of the Incan Empire. An empire that was wiped out by the Spanish and very little, if any, actual recorded history known. One of the main reasons the site is still in existance is that the Spanish never knew about it. Machu Picchu was never mentioned in that history. It was simply abandoned. So everything the guides where feeding to the crowds was strictly based on speculation or personal theory.
It was hard to know what to think. It was almost like it was taking something away from those of us that busted are asses to the top. The ones that earned it. It seemed to dull the beauty (almost) of the place. To know that it had turned into a over populated theme park where any paying fool could drive up to it. It came as a bit of a shock.
I suppose it is a result of the immense media attention given to it and the capitalization of the private company that owns the great Incan ruins. Building a road to the top, putting in restaurants and charging an arm an a leg to see them all the while paying their employees crumbs and barely investing any money in restoring the decaying structures. The extra traffic is definitely making an impact on the site. Local scientist are saying that the ruins are sinking 1 cm a month.
It was incredible to see the ruins but I wasn´t expecting the numbers. As Eric and I hiked down, saturated in humidity, we came across a waterfall and each dunked ourselves under the cool water. Having a little fun, Eric gave a bus load of tourist a special treat to close out their experience of Machu Picchu. Satisfied, we made our way down to Aguas Calentes for a well deserved drink.
It was a weird feeling to be on the other side of a wall climbing up to see one of the most photographed ancient ruins in modern history. Everyone knows what Machu Picchu looks like. They have seen it a thousand times in travel magazines, postcards, etc. In South America, it is “the´´ tourist destination. After our hard hike early in the morning, I knew that within a matter of minutes, the numerous buses driving up the road would unload their stock and the window to shoot Machu Picchu without the hoards of tourists in my shot would close rapidly.
So as I am hiking up I am thinking about all the pictures I have ever seen of the ruins. I knew that I needed to get up as high as possible. I had many things going against me. I was dehydrated, muddy, running on no sleep and massie muscle fatigue from the numerous days of hiking with a 30 kilo pack. The never ending steep, Inca steps were growing ever tougher as I kept racing the rising sun, hoping to get to my spot (where ever that may be) just as it popped over the distant mountain peaks. Little did I realize that my goal of first light was abolished from the fact that the Incan ruins are in what the locals call a cloud forest. The sun didn´t peek through the clouds until about 10 am. A for effort I suppose.
When you finally get over the hump of Incan terraces your view opens up to the mystic view that you have known since you were a little kid flipping through magazines. Machu Picchu. There you are.
Eric and I took some photos, grinned at our successful cheap conquest and then promptly laid down on the sacred rock for an hour nap. We were beat up. As we came to, we heard the sounds of Japanese tourists taking pictures of us while we were passed out. Maybe they were just astounded by Eric´s bear-like snoaring.
We came to and then the thirst set in. We didn´t exactly plan out the water ratio the night before. We each had a small bottle of water which was finished just as we arrived to the top. Out of money for more, we sneeked some into our bottles from one of the many aquaducts that flowed throughout the ruins. To our relief we didn´t get sick from it.
After a stairmaster torture session starting at 4:30 am we reached the summit gates just before the first bus arrived. The company that owns Machu Picchu doesn´t open the sight until 6 am. We were the first through and then we booked it up the back side to the famous hut where you see the famous photo of the Incan ruins. We made it up there before the crowds were able to swamp the scene. More to come…
After a two and a half hour hike along the tracks, we finally came to the small, incredibly touristy jungle town of Aguas Calentes. It was late and the town was still. I saw this chef putting back his kitchen utensils as he cleaned up for the night. After much discussion and debate, we opted not to poach the famous Incan ruins and paid 120 soles for the entrance fee. Still we were getting there cheaper than any other tourist that slept in the town that night. We found a cheap hostel and passed out in anticipation of an early morning hike to the summit.
After reaching Santa Teresa, we took a cab ride to the town´s hydro electric plant where we would begin our hike towards the town of Aguas Calentes which sits near the base of Machu Picchu. At the tracks, numerous families have set up shop there to sell the few backpackers that head that way, food and beverages. As we passed through, a group of little children were excited to see me carrying my 30 kilo backpack and formed a parade behind me while tugging at the funny straps that hung down from it. They saw my camera when Eric shot the picture, that they instantly wanted to have their pictures taken and then see themselves on the LCD screen. I´ve never seen such excitement over a picture.
After insisting that we needed to go see the mountain, they waved goodbye and we set out on a 8 km hike along the train tracks. We were following scribbled directions that Eric had found on the internet. Nighttime had set in as we walked blindly over the rough rocks following the two steel rails into the darkness of the jungle.
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