La Paz – How does anyone breath here??? AND DEATH ROAD!!!

As people were shuffling into midnight mass we made our way to the market to sample the local fare. Hamburgers were fifty cents, sausages were fifty five cents, fresh squeezed juices were forty five cents, and they were giving away deserts (all converted into American currency). It was pure madness. Not only has this city bought every single Blue Bird school bus from the United States, they have also figured out how to make them pollute even more than we did. Hats off to them. The streets were filled with buses and minivans taking people all across town (and probably right back), every other store was a soccer store, adventure center or a hostel, and the sidewalks were the width of half a person. Vehicles were everywhere. You couldn't cross a street unless the traffic was gridlocked (which it almost always was) and breathing really wasn't an option.

We walked around until we found a place to book our Death Road experience for the following day and then tried to find a safe retreat from the hustle. We probably would be completely caught up on blog postings had our hostel not been overtaken with a group of Asians who had each brought three laptops and had them all hardwired into every available port in the place. They were uploading millions of pictures in which they were giving the good old thumbs up. I kid, I kid. Kind of.

So...the next day we actually got to experience DEATH ROAD! It is a road the Bolivian government all but closed in 2005 due to the casualty count surpassing 300 annually. Now it's open to extreme bikers and the occasional local truck that needs to make the venture out of the city below. The most dangerous part of the highway is just over 60 kilometers and from our starting point, was down the whole way. From what we can recall, it's over 2,500 meters in overall descent over the course of the ride along with a whole lot of DANGER! We found Hanna a safer spot in the 'Byron Support Van' that was driven by the more than capable Juan. Of course we all know that Byron don't need no support van, so she was there to cheer his name every once in a while.

Death Road was spectacular. The views were as incredible as the road was crappy. We stopped every couple of minutes to let everyone catch up and discuss what dude had gone flying off this corner last year or how dangerous the next twenty minutes were going to be, etc. The road was complete with sharp turn after sharp turn and gorge after gorge. I've ridden on cliff side roads before, but never ones where the cliff extends over 1000 meters straight down. This is no exaggeration if you can't believe our scenic pictures. They also took hundreds of pictures of us all dressed up in their gear and looking super suave. After we rode for over 4 hours, we reached a nice hotel complete with a swimming pool, hot showers and a late lunch feast prepared for us all

.

We drove back on the new highway that was constructed as the safer alternative to the Death Road. They call it the Pansie road. It's for those people afraid to live dangerously.

Oh, and check out the doggies they had at the hotel at the bottom....cuties.

Bolivia – Unpaved. Uncouth. Unforgettable (April 3-5)

After sadly parting ways with Phil and Bianca, we took off for Bolivia. Being the super travelers that they are, P and B left us with many pearls of wisdom about their adventures in Bolivia. Thanks guys!!

We took off on yet another overnight bus headed for Copacabana, Bolivia, just across the border from Peru. We set off for this leg our our trip with several hundred US dollars in our wallets, knowing that there is a $135 entrance fee for Americans – only Americans. We began to notice a general theme against United States citizens in the country. Don't they realize that Bush isn't president anymore?

Anyways, as we cruised along in the shaky bus towards the border, the bus personnel began to circulate around and notice that we were the only American on board. They asked us about the visa 'requirements' and if we possessed our necessary copy of our passport, copy of a credit card, proof of yellow-fever vaccination, $135 US dollars, a signed release stating that we would surrender our first born child, etc. Of course, since we were never planning on traveling to Bolivia we had none of the required docs, just purely the cold hard American cash that these border agents were slipping into their pockets. The bus company employees seemed okay with this explanation. Perfect. As it turns out, so are the Bolivian border patrol agents.

Although the visa costs $135 and even our state department website confirms that info, the visa itself clearly states that it only costs $100US. Busted, even though we still paid. Someone is making a killing on this scam. We quickly made copies of our passports, ignored the request for a credit card copy and paid $10 extra a piece to make up for our lack of vaccinations. We're such chumps.

We set our sights for Copacabana singing the song in our heads....'her name was Lola, she was a showgirl'. It only seemed right that each and every time someone said Copacabana it was to the tune of the song.

Once we were there we realized there was no ATM to be found until we got to La Paz, approximately 3 days later. We changed all the money that we could scrape together...about $60US for the next three days, from which we needed to pay for lodging, food, beer, bus tickets, boat tickets (to and from Isla del Sol) and other necessities. It sounds like so much more when you put it into Bolivianos...we had OVER $400! We definitely felt the pinch, but once we discovered the little cart ladies who sold lightly fried trout with a pile of potatoes and rice for $10 Bolivianos we knew we would make it. But that was after our Isla del Sol excursion. We're getting ahead of ourselves, they were that good. Hanna might become a little cart girl when she gets back to the states. Seems like a better career path than social work and plus, Byron wouldn't look that good in a skirt.

So, back to Isla. The trip over there was quite silly. I suppose they wanted to make sure that we could see every nook and cranny of the landscape since the ferry never got much faster than the boat equivalent of a doggy paddle. The views were quite stunning as we sputtered across the highest navigable lake in the world. Cliffs dove into the lake and every turn uncovered more and more natural beauty. When we happened upon Isla del Sol, we encountered a huge celebration. The entire island (less than 600 people) was in the 'port' area having a great time. Some even brought their donkeys to celebrate. How thoughtful. We found out the 'President' of Bolivia had been there that day, which warranted the small Navy gunship and all the armed personnel. The lovely ladies weren't too busy lusting after Evo Morales to charge us the appropriate entrance fee to the island. There's always time to add another tax on tourists for another non-service.

Once we walked in, we had to find a place to stay for the night. From the harbor we looked directly upwards at the island. We were clearly at the bottom and the trek up with our bags was sure to be quite a haul. Hostel prices varied wildly and all the twelve year-olds on the island were more than willing to set us up in any sort of habitation possible. Really dig the child labor the elder locals employ. Once we got set up in a room with an excellent view of the lake and Byron bargained down the 15 year-old from 70 Bolivianos a night to a mere 50 (less than US$3.50 each) we hit the road to find something refreshing to drink. Of course we had to bargain with another what we reckon was a twelve year old girl. After we struck a deal with the kid for a candy bar and room temperature beer we headed back to our hostel to enjoy the tree stumps that had been carved into excellent seats.

We headed towards the top of the island for the sunset with a couple of out new best friends from the UK. There were approximately three restaurants open. Once we sat down and one of us tried to order something that wasn't trout, we were informed that the chicken shipment hadn't made it that day (in reality we think they had eaten all the chicken in honor of Evo). We enjoyed the sunset and realized that the locals weren't kidding around when they told us how cold it got after the sun went down.

We had planned on spending two days on the island, but due to the lack of friendliness extended and the lack of options available on the Isla, we took off with the intentions to spend a night in Copacabana. We hooked it up with the boat ride back the next afternoon after we hiked around, messed with the donkeys, llamas and experienced everything that we could squeeze out of it. We didn't have to pay anything to leave the island. Thank goodness.

Copacabana was pretty excellent, especially since we were there right on Easter. They decorated their cars, taxis and semi's to the nines and made all kinds of crafts out of palm leaves. We walked around and every once in a while sat down to enjoy another ridiculously cheap trout dinner, just because we could.

Copacabana was a nice little city. We definitely missed the summer months, and I can only imagine how many tourists would flood the beaches of the lake and enjoy one of the many wonderful swan paddle boats they had to offer. We began to set our sights on the next segment of our journey. Back to the hustle bustle of a crazy city. We were off to La Paz next. Byron was mentally getting ready for Death Road and Hanna was trying to figure out how she might tell his parents that he went over the edge.

Rafting!

Since we weren't quite finished soothing that outdoor itch, we took advantage of Cuzco's bargain prices on a whitewater rafting adventure. It was a great time, but the rapids were...not even scary for Hanna. On the upside, they outfitted us to the nines and fed us an amazing lunch. Good work Peru!

Machu Picchu – Old Mountain

Words don't really do this bad boy justice. Neither do the photos (but of course we'll try to impress). Lastly, the random information that the tour guide makes up along the tour doesn't amplify the experience ('we think this was for this purpose', 'maybe they used this for this reason', 'we think this is the outline of a condor that they used to pray and sacrifice people to the gods', etc). Everything about Machu Picchu is absolutely stunning and amazing. The day we summited started a little foggy and a little difficult in the dark with only one flashlight for the four of us, but ended in pure magic. The day cleared up, and we marveled in the splendor that is Old Mountain. They refer to the mountain as old because they don't know the real Inca name for it and in keeping with the general unkown theme, the mountain beside Machu they call Young Mountain or Jueanu Picchu. Creative huh?

In order to climb the young guy, you have to be one of the first 400 people in line. Twasn't a problem for us since we were among the first 50 people to get in for the day. We got a ticket in for the 10am trek up the mountain after our ludicrous tour/guessing/hypothesis game of the ancient ruin. The trek up Jueanu Picchu would never have been allowed in any other country. We had to sign-in because they wanted to keep track of who entered the base of the mountain. The tour guide had factually told us that someone had gone missing last year and since then they wanted to keep track of everyone who came in and out. We saw a chick in clean white capris' applying make-up while standing in line, so figured it was just a silly mountain, no harder than anything we had already done. Boy was I wrong. The person who they couldn't find must have fallen further than anyone else, because people surely fell off this mountain and at least gravely injured themselves on a daily basis.

The mountain served as an Inca look-out/guard tower back in the day, but had been retrofitted with some handrails on the lower part of the mountain that afforded you the ability to grasp onto and pull yourself up. At the time I thought it was going to be much harder to get down. The closer we got to the top the more arduous the path became, and the more you reached out to grab whatever in order to stabilize yourself. We followed the signs through a cave and up to the top of the Young Mountain. The view was phenomenal, but I failed to snap a picture because I couldn't take a second to release my hands off the frail vegetation around me. As we reached the top of the mountain, we felt a funny substance dripping from the sky. A slight rain had begun. Not the type that soaks or drenches but the kind that makes the slippery surfaces more slippery. Perfect.

We scrambled back down slowly to find Hanna asleep on the very same bench that we left her. Nice hour and a half nap, especially since we woke up before the crack of dawn. Once we collected the team, we went up the hill for the 'facebook profile pic'. Everyone knows that spot where they see everyone taking the required picture. The one that looks like the ruins were photoshopped in.

Overall Machu Picchu was an incredible success. I mean just check out the classic pick we took here...Jueanu is that peak you see in the background below.

Inca Jungle Trek...sometime around March 28th...

On the morning of the 28^th, we stumbled down the hill in our happy pants (see photo) and boarded our bus for the first leg of our Jungle Trek. Here is where we encountered our fearless leader Edgar and our soon to be 4 new friends. The first of the four days consisted of a 4 hour van trip to the top of a gravel road high in the mountains. There we encountered our first questionable meal of “food”. There were two sandwiches, one of mystery meat, the other of mystery cheese. Not sure how well that went over with the Veggies in the group. It also included a “granola” bar made of quinoa that tasted of stale liquorice (if that's even possible), a solid piece of fruit and a juice box.

Afterwards, the rain chilled out a bit and we got suited up for our downhill adventure. With gloves, helmets, ponchos and riding faces on our group of 8 plus Edgar got rolling. After about three hills and four curves in the road, I decided that mountain biking might not be my forte. All the others in the group were so far ahead that I had to talk to myself aloud just to to get through the tiny streams and over the rocks in the windy mountain road. After about twenty minutes fearless little Edgar rode alongside to ask if I was ok...I spent the rest of the afternoon riding shotgun with Nacho in the silver van with my bike securely strapped on top. And no, Byron didn't dump me afterwards.

Our first night was spent in a town called Santa Maria. After the real troopers took their cold showers and hung their clothes in a fruitless attempt to dry them, Byron, Bianca, Phil and Edgar took off to the local concrete soccer pitch to play with some locals while I cheered them on and reapplied my bug spray. Then we all sat and watched as the Santa Maria team played a local visiting town. Wives cheered from the passenger seats of parked vans and children supported their fathers as the locals played their hearts out. Our dinner was served exactly at 7 at one of the two local restaurants. The meal included soup, bread, rice, meat, papas fritas and tea. They love their carbs here in Peru.

The next two days we hiked and trekked the Inca trail. It wasn't the famous part that you hear about, but was pretty amazing nonetheless. We walked every type of trail imaginable. We were on roads, paths, perilous steps, railroad tracks, mudslided regions, jungles, deserts; we crossed streams, jumped across rocks, painted our faces, picked avocados, ate avocados, learned some Inca history, danced to 80's discoteca music, befriended local toddlers, acquired enough mosquito bites to cover our entire legs, bathed in hot springs, ate delightful meals (of soup, bread, rice, meat, papas fritas and tea) and sung cheesy songs. Every night we encountered another city propped up on Inca tourism and stayed in the absolutely worst hostels Edgar could find, but I guess that's what we paid for. Thanks again man!

What may have been lacking in the cuisine and hostels clearly did not dissuade our overall sentiments towards the trek. Turn after turn we were constantly in awe of our surroundings. Of course, turn after turn revealed huge inclines, perilous drops and even hills effected by mudslides. We stopped every half hour or so to collect everyone, drink some water and talk about the history of the trail and the Incas. We found out that the Inca messengers would haul ass across the trail with wreckless abandon. We couldn't fathom that they wouldn't want to cling onto some sort of safety rope (like the ones they actually used for communication). It's sad the Spanish thought is completely necessary to wipe out everything about the civilization. At least they didn't get all the wonderful trails, bridges and handful of shrines.

Finally on the last night before we got to climb up to Machu Picchu we stayed in the city of Aguas Calientes. Our group was split in two because not one shitty hostel had enough room for all of us. Edgar liked the four of us the best so after dropping off the first four behind a sheet of construction plastic/tarp, he led us to the top of the hill to our personal oasis. This hostel was brand spanking new ad not quite open to the public. By not quite, I mean Bianca and Phil had to wait in the public area while their bed was assembled. The view, hot showers, free towel service, comfy beds, gigantic key-chain (no one was going to be able to walk out with the key since a baby doll was attached to it) and in-room televison (complete with three whole channels of crap) made the trek up the hill all the more worth it.

We met up with the other half of the group for dinner and made it seem that our hostel was just as second-rate as the previous ones had been. We could tell that 'Hostel John' was a piece, while our hostel was much more like a 3 star hotel. All of us were sick of the 'menu turisico' that we always got (soup, bread, rice, meat, papas fritas and tea) and we staged a mutiny to refuse the madness. We were at a pizza place and we weren't going to eat anymore of that food they passed off to tourists. We dined on pizzas of all types. We ordered as many pizzas as our hearts desired, drank coke and began to get excited about Machu Picchu. Sadly, in my anticipation of another horrid meal, my tummy gave out on me and I spent the rest of the evening frequenting many of Aquas Calientes' finest restrooms.

The plan for the next day involved us getting up at 4 am to hike the hour and one half to the entrance of Machu Picchu. Bianca, Phil, Byron and I decided to trek up like true troopers, while the rest of the group took the cheater bus. I was propelled up the hill by Byron and by my numerous gas emissions. Having not been able to keep any food in my system, this 1.5 hike up steep Inca rocks might have been the toughest of my life. However, we made it to the top promptly at 6:00am for the smoggy sunrise.

Coming to Peru – A Rocky Start (March 26 – April 3)

We know you've all been clicking 'refresh' on your computers awaiting this blog, and the inability to post it has been killing us too. Let me preface this entry by saying that we truly did love Peru and all it's beauty and culture, but those big-hearted little Incas did NOT make it easy for us...like the interpretaion of this sign...

This leg of our adventure began with our arrival in Tacna, the southernmost border town in Peru. Our intentions were to get from there to Cuzco by bus, knowing it would be an 15 hour ride, give or take a few. However, as we crawled out of the Crown Vic with our packs and started to enter the bus station, we were stopped by a local tour guide asking us where we were headed. He proceeded to explain that there are protests going on in between Tacna and Cuzco in the crappy pueblo of Puno (the only city on the Peruvian side where you can really see Lake Titicaca), which means it would be dangerous to go by bus. Since Pablo was already trying to help some hippied-out Norwegian girls find their way as well, he explained our options to us. All of them were pretty awful, and only one of them placed in Cuzco with enough time to acclimate to the altitude for our March 28 Inca Trail departure. So we spent the next 30 minutes frantically taking money out of ATM's, ordering plane and bus tickets, and getting explicit instructions from Pablo on where to go and what to do next.

With that being said, we scurried onto a bus en route to Arequipa, Peru. The kind and helpful Pablo paid for our bus entrance, which they charge for every bus in Peru, and we were on our merry way. With a 6:00 am flight to Cuzco looming over us, we knew we just had to get to Arequipa and deal with it from there. The plan was to sleep in a comfy airport seat since we'd be arriving around 9:30 pm. The bus ride was long and I had to fight my usual nausea while Byron drank a few cups (read...tried his best to finish the bottle) of wine, but somewhere in the middle of the nine hour journey we got to play an impromptu game of BINGO hosted by the bus stewardess clad in authentic Inca attire.

The six hours we spent awake in Arequipa were delightful. This is where I met my new beau, Cesar. Let me explain why a 50 year old Peruvian taxi cab driver became my biggest hero. Upon arriving in Arequipa, we were instructed by Pablo to go to a very specific address in the middle of town to pick up and pay for the other half of our plane tickets. We had to get there quickly before the travel agency closed. So we ran off the bus, skipping the requisite bathroom stop to find the closest taxi (Oh, we are off the bus? I absolutely must find a bathroom! Never mind that there was a perfectly good one just a few moments ago! - Love B.). We told him the name of the plaza and relaxed a little bit. When I caught my breath and decided to look for the exact address, I realized that my small purse containing my passport was missing. In a panic, I told Cesar he had to turn around because my passport is on the bus!

This is where my admiration for Cesar began. He sped and honked and yelled until he came to a screeching halt at the main entrance of the bus terminal. Byron ran in to find the bus while I waited with our backpacks and of course, with Cesar. He proceeded to calm my nerves and asked me where we were planning to sleep. When I told him “el aeropuerto,” he shook his finger vigorously and told me that it closes at night and we would not be allowed to do so. Great. He said he knew of a nice cheap place, and that he would take us there after we picked up our tickets.

With all that settled, I sat with my chin on the windowsill of the car's backseat waiting for Byron to appear. And so he did – passport in hand! Next stop, travel agency. Very long story short, we got our overpriced plane tickets, stayed in a very cheap ($10US) little room with a view from the roof one block from the main plaza, ate a three-course winner winner chicken dinner for less than $3US each and made it to the airport in the morning for our flight to Cuzco. Wheewww! And it was all thanks to Cesar, mi heroe.

Just get us to Cuzco already! This is us about to get on our silly little hour-long flight. Pretty chipper for 7:00 boarding time, huh?

While in Cuzco, we met up with our roomie from Buenos Aires, Bianca, and her Aussie traveling companion Phil. We all stayed at Hostal Resbalosa which overlooked the entire city. This meant that every time we wanted to go home it was an exhausting uphill hike. Exerting yourself at an altitude of 3300 meters really takes a toll on one's lungs. It was worth it and a great warm-up for the ominous Inca Trail hike. About that... When we arrived at the travel agency that we had already given our $400 down payment to, it turned out that they never wrote us down in their reservation book and we did not have spots on the trail. We were very upset, especially since they had come so highly recommended to us by various people. We had a long conversation with them about our options and “special deals”. We left the office while we stewed over our options.

After talking with our friends about other Inca options, we decided on a Jungle Trek package that would allow us to see Machu Picchu, just another route to get there. We stormed back into SAS Travel to demand our refund. The manager looked genuinely hurt, and maybe we felt a little for him, but that dude tried to ruin Peru for us. Bum. What unfolded on our Jungle Trek was more than we had ever needed...and $200 less for each of us.

Way back in March

We stayed in the great beach town of Iquique. We got a hostel recommendation from a friend which turned out to be very neat. It was less than a block from the beach and Hanna and I spent the majority of a day working on our sunburns. We actually got in the water for a second. The Pacific is still cold this far south, but we braved it for a total of 10 seconds. Badasses.

Onward toward Peru, we grabbed another bus from Iquique to Arica, the northernmost town in Chile. Once again, we rode through mountains of sand and boulders bordering the ocean, but not without a detour to the 'completo' hotdog stand so the fatty bus drivers could get their fixes.

Once we arrived in Arica, we headed off to our hostel which we had reserved earlier that day. Of course, nothing here is easy, and our reservations turned into a first-come, first-served basis. The hostel owner called up his Laguna Beach buddy who had a room where we could crash for the night. After talking to Franklin about how awesome it was that we were from the ole' USA (he didn't many of us, and he missed how wonderful we are). We were starved and after we got off the subject of America he pointed us to the strip of restaurants that were still serving. We bypassed the chicken place to find the joint that served up the 'big' sandwiches. We were skeptical of the size as everyone knows how big sandwiches can be in the states. Once we got the mother we realized they meant business. This thing was a pure monster. It was topped with everything you could ever want on a sandwich. We headed back to the hostel to hit the bed with a food coma.

The next morning we set out for the bus station where we could catch a cab to take us across the border into Peru. After locating our chariot in the shape of a red 4 speed Crown Vic, we haggled on the price and proceeded to watch our passports get taken into a shack so they can fill out some forms. When our chariot driver returned he had come upon a family of three and another random dude who also were looking for the perfectly pimped ride to cross the border in. Hanna, I, the driver and four of our newest friends began our journey into Peru. Buena Suerte!

Northern Chile, March 23rd 2009

We're on our way for the longest bus trip ever. There's not too much to see in northern Chile as much of it is a desert. As we drive up the coast the mountains are barren and the only thing they could really sell from here is dirt and maybe a couple rocks. Total trip time from La Serena to Iquique – 18 hours. We did spot a random golf course. No grass, only smoothed over dirt with a pin here and there. I bet the people around here are phenomenal out of a sand trap. Bring me some nature and green grass!

Alive and kicking

We´re still alive and kicking people! I know you´ve all been on the edge of your seat. We´re heading to Bolivia but have so much to write and show everyone.

Booyah!

Heaing out to get some chicken. Less than 3 dollars for a quarter chicken with papas fritas. MMMMM.

Besos

-Bej Ron Iham and Hanna Raskouski
(how our names were spelled for our train tickets)